#and stop becoming whoever his latest target will like

[britcision]

Hey by the way if anyone tries to deny Kabru is a judgy bitch I’ll send you the panels of him calling everyone worthless

Respect his duality he’s a good boy who genuinely wants the best for everyone but also thinks he has to do everything himself despite being the Least Qualified Ever because no one else lives up to his standards

He doesn’t even want to look at monsters but oh well every single other person is a piece of shit let’s go get my friends killed over and over again

He’s interesting BECAUSE he’s not one dimensional Good Pure Boy all the time, he’s a judgy manipulative little shit who will eat monsters if it gets him towards his goals, which are “nobody should be killed by monsters actually” and “i want to know what the fuck is going on”

He coulda had ONE honest conversation with Laios and known literally everything about him, Laios has never met a filter

But Kabru was raised for a good chunk of his life (6-18) by Milsiril, and for all he believes elves can never understand short lived people… he picked up the whole “I must be secretive and always conceal my own motivations”

He only breaks under literally the most intense high pressure situation he’s likely to see in his life, which along with being the potential goddamn apocalypse is also a rehashing of All Of His Personal Trauma oh and also Every Suspicion He Ever Had About This One Guy

He’s not more honest because he’s an honest person, he’s more honest because he forgot how sentences work when he finally caught Laios and doesn’t have the bandwidth to play the constant 4D chess in his head that underpins his EVERY INTERACTION WITH EVERYONE EVER until Marcille takes the lion

Kabru’s a pretty good person, with extremely good motivations and goals.

He’s a manipulative son of a bitch who will do anything, anywhere, anytime, to meet those goals, and spends a solid chunk of his time and energy on reading people so he can be someone they like… regardless of his own feelings.

He’s the living The Good Of The Many Outweigh The Needs Of The Few, and solidly puts himself in with “the few” by doing shit he hates because he thinks it’ll help.

Isn’t that more interesting than “oh he would never manipulate anyone, he’s so nice and good all the time”?

#kabru dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #this was supposed to be short but i am buzzing so #dungeon meshi spoilers #delicious in dungeon spoilers #also tbh why kabumisu has me by the throat #kabru’s sacrificed himself on the altar of his goals for so ling #long even #becoming everything for everyone so they like him and don’t get in his way #he Needs to get back in touch with himself #and stop becoming whoever his latest target will like #and mithrun could not give less of a fuck who kabru is if he tried #which is why kabru can finally drop the act and just be himself while they’re alone in the dungeon #he’s not trying to read and anticipate mithrun half as much as he does laios and That Is Actually So Much Better For His Mental Health #like yes boy give up on trying to please people #it’s a fucking endless pit get you a man who doesn’t give a shit and will tell you not to too #and then even when kabru stopped trying to be someone mithrun would like #that sneaky fuck won mithrun over anyway and THAT is why they are OTP shit

[anonymousewrites]

There's a Will; There's a Way (Book 2) Chapter Six

Chapter Six: Celebration

            The Agency had gathered and prepared a small celebration after saving Yokohama. It was also to welcome Kyouka. While most of the detectives were setting up, Atsushi was making sure Kyouka would arrive at the right time. Spying Dazai leaving out of the corner of her eye, (Y/N) quickly said she’d be right back and followed him out.

            “Dazai!” she called.

            “If you’re hoping for me to show up or do work, I’m not going to~!” sang Dazai.

            “I didn’t expect you to, but this is about something else,” said (Y/N). “I didn’t want to worry anyone, not after we just fought the Guild.”

            Seeing her nervousness, Dazai stopped and become concerned. “Are you alright?”

            “Right before the Moby Dick started coming down again, even after Atsushi and Akutagawa stopped it, I got a strange text,” explained (Y/N), hesitantly. She didn’t want to trouble Dazai but was also unnerved from the message she had received.

            “Show me.” Dazai’s voice was commanding. (Y/N) instantly obeyed and held out the phone.

[Unknown]: If you jump into the water, angel, you’re more likely to survive. I hope to see you soon.

            “Have there been any other messages like this?” asked Dazai. He hid the extent of his worry behind a mask of businesslike attitude.

            (Y/N) shook her head. “No, this is the first one, and I’m hoping there won’t be more.”

            Handing her phone back to her, he said, “I’ll try to track the phone number, but since this is most likely from whoever hacked the Moby Dick, I probably won’t get much.” Dazai wished he could assure her that she wouldn’t have to worry about these strange messages anymore, but he wasn’t a fool. He suspected he knew who this was, judging from Atsushi’s description of the emblem that had appeared. Knowing (Y/N) was targeted by Fyodor Dostoevsky was worrying. The most concerning part was how the message said he’d see (Y/N) soon. “(Y/N), go try to relax with the Agency. I will look into this.” He knew she may not feel comfortable currently, but it was the only thing she could do. Dazai would try to ensure she would have some sort of protection, even if that meant him taking time out of his day.

            “Alright. Thanks for this,” said (Y/N) honestly. She knew she probably wouldn’t learn anything. The only thing she could do was distract herself and try to continue with life while being careful.

            “Anytime,” said Dazai. He meant it, too. He’d help her whenever he could.

            The two parted ways with Dazai going to wherever he had been heading and (Y/N) returning to the party. Atsushi and Kyouka would be arriving any minute.

            “They’re on their way. Atsushi texted me,” said Naomi.

            “Finally,” said Ranpo, already munching on snacks.

            As the door opened and revealed Kyouka, the members of the Agency set off confetti.

            “Congratulations on joining the Agency, Kyouka!” cheered the detectives.

            The young girl’s eyes widened, and she blushed, slightly embarrassed but pleased. Handing around drinks, the group of friends toasted to each other, happy to have completed the latest mission and gotten a new member in the process. With that, they began to eat and laugh. They were like a family.

            “Hey, Kunikida, why the long face?” asked (Y/N).

            “My weekly budget has been obliterated…” sighed Kunikida.

            She patted him on the back. “Try to enjoy where the money’s going. It’ll make the pain go away.”

            “I suppose…Oh, Atsushi,” said Kunikida, spying the young weretiger who had just walked by. “How are your injuries?”

            “I’m all better,” answered Atsushi.

            “Your actions saved the city from destruction. I thought I should say something as your senior here at the Agency.” Kunikida pushed up his glasses, already forgetting his previous distress from the budget.

            Kunikida certainly is resilient, thought (Y/N), smiling and sipping on soda.

            Then, the blonde’s temper exploded. “First of all, solo operations are an exception at groups organizations such as ours! I won’t tell you not to apply the experience you gained from this in the future, but don’t dare neglect the Agency’s prime activities! Likewise for Kyouka! Be mindful of the fact that you are a member of the Detective Agency and act in a way that none would be ashamed of!”

            “Less snapping, more snacking,” said (Y/N) stuffing a cupcake into Kunikida’s hands.

            “No, I’d rather not eat too many sweets,” said Kunikida.

            “Yeah, yeah, isn’t there something you wanted to say to Kyouka and Atsushi?” said (Y/N).

            Begrudgingly, Kunikida said, “You did well, both of you.”

            “All right! Sappy stuff out of the way! Let’s drink all night!” said Yosano, dragging (Y/N) and Kunikida away.

            “No, thank you,” said (Y/N), slipping out of the doctor’s grasp.

            “Fine…Kunikida, it’s you and me!” Yosano dragged the protesting man away.

            (Y/N) looked over and noticed Atsushi gazing dejectedly at his feet. “Don’t let Kunikida get to you. He’s proud; he’s just not great at expressing it. He rambles, so don’t take it to heart.”

            “Right, but there is something I need to say,” said Atsushi, “To Haruno and Naomi as well.”

            “What is it, Atsushi?” asked Naomi.

            “I’m sorry.” He bowed to all three. “I did some awful things to you thanks to Q’s ability. It would never have happened if I’d known how unstable I was.”

            The girls blinked at him then faced each other. “Oh, that,” they said, finally remembering it happened.

            “I’m really sorry,” repeated Atsushi.

            “It wasn’t too bad. I’ve had worse fights,” said (Y/N).

            “We can’t keep holding on to stuff like that here,” said Naomi, smiling.

            “We already forgave and forgot,” said Kirako.

            “Really?” said Atsushi.

            The girls nodded in response.

            “Thank goodness,” breathed Atsushi, slowly sinking to the ground in relief. “There was something seriously wrong with me, to have done what I did to you.”

            “Atsushi.” Jun’ichiro, wearing a dangerous face, appeared behind the weretiger. “I’ve never heard about this until now. Atsushi, what is this about?”

            As Atsushi began trying to explain himself to Jun’ichiro, (Y/N) laughed along with Kirako and Naomi. As she looked around at the smiling, celebrating faces, she felt at home. This was her family. And she loved them with all her heart.

l

            Far away, a ship was burning as it rested in the sea. The Port Mafia members on board had been massacred. One man stepped calmly through the flames, undeterred. He had successfully tricked an executive into killing himself and now could retrieve the files he desires without trouble. He was Fyodor Dostoevsky, leader of the Rats in the House of the Dead. Intelligent and manipulative, his opponents hadn’t realized who they were truly up against until it was too late.

            He paused in strange deference to his latest kill, a young redheaded boy. “May you be freed from the shackles of your crimes, and your soul salvaged. Next, the Port Mafia…and the Armed Detective Agency.” Fyodor looked down at his phone as someone sent him a picture. He opened it. The photo displayed a picture of (Y/N) at the celebration. It had been taken by a camera positioned across the street looking into the window. Fyodor smirked. “I’ll see you soon, angel.”

#there's a will; there's a way #tw yandere #bsd manga #bsd anime #bsd #dazai bsd #bsd x reader #bsd fanfic #bsd fic #bsd x you #dazai #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #armed detective agency #the guild bsd #bungou stray dogs fyodor #bsd fyodor #fyodor x reader #yandere fyodor #yandere #yandere x reader

[unfoundhoney]

mom’s mushroom stew ↠

↠ sapnap x fem!reader , dream x sister!reader ; fluff ; requested

↠ masterlist

You built your home deep in the forest, away from the majority of the rest of the residents of the SMP. You’ve found keeping away from the rest of the server and- more prominently- remaining out of the conflicts that go on amongst them all has led you to a more peaceful life.

You keep to yourself, though that’s not to say you can’t defend yourself when need be; there have been several instances where you have been targeted as a result of your brother’s actions. Your days consist of mining and reading, though mostly you tend to your garden. Your cottage itself is quite small but your garden extends behind your home for quite a ways, giving you plenty to keep yourself busy with.

Unless you’re mistaken, most server members don’t even know where you live. It’s not often someone other than your brother (who has a habit of checking on you more times than necessary) finds their way to your cottage. However, one person has begun to visit you frequently.

“Y/N!”

Sapnap’s call of your name is loud but not startling; you’d carefully been watching his approach as he walked along your paved garden path.

“Y/N? Where’d you go?”

Sat on your knees and effectively hidden among your flowering lilacs, you don’t show yourself even as Sapnap passes right by you. After eating lunch together, you’d gone out to the garden ahead of him as he used the restroom, giving you enough time to hide. He continues his search through your garden, unsuspecting as you sneak out from within your flowers and sneak up behind him.

“Y/N...? Is she not here?” he wonders aloud to himself.

You clap your hands on his shoulders, “BOO!”

Sapnap shrieks and spins around, shoving your hands off him and reaching for his sword. He relaxes immediately upon seeing you, who is now bent over in laughter.

“You little- come here!”

Sapnap reaches for you but you dodge his hands, dashing away further into your garden. Sapnap chases after you, faux anger offset by his laughter. He catches you, pulling you to a stop and into himself, bringing you both falling to the ground. You lay in the grass just laughing for several moments.

You roll to your side and support yourself above Sapnap.

He laughs, grinning brightly up at you, “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say back.

“You’re a sneaky little thing, you know that?” His words hold no hint of malice as he cups your face.

You lean into his touch, “Hm, you bring it upon yourself.”

“Are you victim-blaming me?”

“Shut up.”

You both laugh and he tugs you down, pressing his lips to yours. It’s almost impossibly picturesque: laying in a garden and kissing your secret lover. You tilt your head to the side, slotting your lips together. Just as Sapnap’s hands have found your waist- no doubt planning to flip you onto your back- a third and heart stoppingly familiar voice calls out and shatters your sweet moment.

“N/N!”

You pull away from Sapnap immediately, eyes wide, “Dream.”

Below you, your boyfriend looks absolutely terrified. As much trouble as it causes being the owner of the server’s younger sister, Dream and you are close. You are someone who he can always rely on to talk sense. It’s almost comforting how you will refuse to take his side in conflict if you disagree with him despite being siblings; he can trust you to be honest with him.

Dream has always been protective of you. From the moment your parents found you and took you in as an infant, he has been your self-appointed bodyguard, so to speak. While this was endearing as children and handy later on in life when the occasional man would have too much gall around you, it has become something of nuisance upon your entering a relationship with one of his best friends. Friends who had been told you are “off-limits.”

“Stay,” you tell Sapnap, who nods without a thought of argument.

You jump to your feet quickly. Luckily, you and Sapnap had been sheltered by the lilacs that you had hidden in minutes before. As you call out to your brother and make your way over to him, Sapnap remains out of sight in the grass behind the flower bushes.

“Hey, Dream,” you greet him with a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Just stopping by to see my favorite sister.”

“I’m your only sister.”

“And therefore my favorite.”

You laugh, “Sure.”

“Anyway, I was hoping to have dinner together and catch up but I see you already have company.”

Your heart stops, “Company?”

“Sapnap’s horse is tied to your fence out front.”

Crap crap crap crap crap crap crap-

You speak a little louder than necessary, “Oh, right! Yeah, Sapnap dropped by. He just went to go get mushrooms for the stew I’m making later. You know how he likes mom’s old recipe, so I told him if he gathered the mushrooms I would send him off with some.”

“Okay...”

Dream seems suspicious but you can only hope it’s because of his protective nature and not knowledge of your relationship. His eyes are looking out towards where you had popped up from.

“You wanna come inside? I was just checking on my lilacs,” you lie smoothly, walking towards the back entrance of your house and hoping to take his attention with you.

He, thankfully, follows after you, “You’re making mom’s stew?”

“Yeah, I’ve been feeling a little nostalgic lately.”

Your conversation with your brother flows easily like it always does when you two meet up after a while apart. As you prepare the rest of the stew, Dream rants to you about Tommy’s latest misadventure and you tell him that your recently-planted alliums sprouted, replacing the ones that you gave Niki for her flower shop. It’s about half an hour later that there’s a knock on your back door.

“Can you get that?” you ask your brother, “It must be Sap back from mushroom hunting.”

There’s a brief pause.

“Sap? Since when do you use nicknames with Sapnap?”

You bury your panic with a roll of your eyes, “Come on, Dream. I’ve known Sapnap and George as long as you have; it’s hardly a crime to call them by a nickname.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dream says, unconvinced.

He goes to open the back door and you turn to face the pot of ingredients cooking on the stove, releasing a long breath to try and calm yourself.

It’s fine. You’re fine. He doesn’t know. Just be cordial to Sapnap, not overly friendly. Don’t raise suspicion. Be cool be cool be cool.

“Oh, hey, Dream!” you hear Sapnap greet his friend, “What are you doing here?”

When you turn, you’re incredibly relieved to find Sapnap carrying a sizable amount of mushrooms wrapped in a handkerchief. Thank god he picked up on your plan from the garden earlier.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Dream says, arms crossed over his chest.

You can see the barely contained fear on Sapnap’s face.

“Dream,” you say firmly, “I’m an adult woman. I’m allowed to be friends with whoever I want to.”

Your brother turns to face you, “But not with-“

“You don’t get to decide who I’m friends with.”

“But-“

“No buts.”

Dream obviously wants to argue further but for once, he heeds your wishes and lets his shoulders drop in defeat. The wave of relief that washes over your body is unimaginable. Sure, you may not be just friends with Sapnap, but getting Dream to understand that you are your own person and don’t need protecting anymore is an uphill battle; you’ll have to take it one step at a time.

“Come here, Sapnap,” you call. “Everything else it ready, it’ll just have to cook for a while with the mushrooms.”

“I’m watching you,” Dream says threateningly as Sapnap passes by him.

“Stop it.”

#sapnap #fluff #dream #dreamwastaken #sapnap x reader #mcyt #mcyt x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream x reader #minecraft youtubers #dream smp #dsmp #sapnap fanfic #sapnap fanfiction #dreamwastaken fanfiction #dreamwastaken fanfic #dream fanfic #dream fanfiction #dream smp x reader #dream smp fanfic #dream smp fanfiction #sapnap imagine #mcyt imagine #dreamwastaken imagine

[wiypt-writes]

Too Loose And You’ll Lose It

Prologue: Well, Fuck Me!

Co-Written with @icanfeelastormbrewing​

Intro: The Losers infiltrate a child sex trafficking operation based in the Middle East thanks to their new inside woman...only she isn’t new to all the team.

Warnings: Bad Language. Smut (NSFW, 18+) Mentions of child slavery

Pairing: Jake Jensen x OFC Stella Stevenson

TLAYLI Masterlist // Main Masterlist

The mission was simple, well, on paper. Clay and the rest of his specially selected Black-Ops team were charged with bringing down a child sex trafficking ring being operated by a number of corrupt US and UK Soldiers who were currently stationed in Iraq. His person on the inside had successfully infiltrated the ring following a 6 month period of being undercover and thanks to them they now knew how it was being operated. The kids targeted were orphans, so there was no one there to make a fuss or protect them. They were taken from the streets, refugee camps and then smuggled into Turkey (not Syria as they had originally thought)  where they were transported to Hakkari before being auctioned off and handed over to whoever it was that had bought them for the evening, ready for whatever disgusting fate awaited them. This process was repeated several times over a week, before the kids were then disposed of before a fresh new bunch brought in for the next auction in three months time.  It was slick, well organised, and fucking disgusting. But Clay knew he had to keep that disgust at bay, if he had any chance of keeping his cover. Earlier that day Cougar had successfully taken out one of the original players who would be attending the auction, thanks once more to the info their insider had passed on, and Clay had taken his place. He sat in the plush, velvet arm-chair which surrounded a dimly lit stage, a glass of scotch in one hand, cuban in the other. Coupled with his dark suit and open collar white shirt, he looked to be a seamless copy of the the rest of the perverts lounging in equally opulent seats around the circle.  A literal paedophile ring.  "In position..."   Roque spoke into the tiny ear-piece Clay was wearing. He had no microphone, nothing. Wearing anything like that was far too big a risk, but the ear piece as designed by Jensen was far too small for them to have noticed. It meant he could still hear what was going on, and once he gave the signal his team plus the rest of the CIA officers waiting outside would swamp the place. And if a few of the perverts happened to hit a few steps or fists on their way out, no one was going to cry about it.  "We have visual on you Colonel..."  Pooch spoke again "Jensen hacked the CCTV and is now about to cut their comms..." "Easy as pie..." Jensen muttered  "And as I am a genius, they are now officially unable to contact the outside world..." "If you're a genius then they seriously need to rethink what they call Einstein..."  Pooch retorted. “Shut up Pooch, not my fault you can't even figure out how to work a laptop..." "Enough!"  Roque cut across the banter, Cougar's chuckle hitting Clay's ear as he watched a pretty, slim blonde Woman striding onto stage. "It's starting. Keep comms clear until further instructions received." Clay looked at the woman, her black dress was tight leaving little to the imagination. Her hair was pulled back into a high pony-tail and her lips were painted a blood red. Dark eyeshadow adorned her lids and her calculating blue eyes scanned the room, falling on him for a second before she continued looking around, a smile curling across her face. She looked the part of a Gentlemans Club owner. Pristine, perfectly put together, but she was a female pimp- nothing more, nothing less.  "Gentlemen, welcome." she spoke, her soft American accent cutting across the rooms and Clay noted the slight New-England twang she had. "The Auction is about to begin but I must first of all run down a few rules with you. You will find to your right your bidding pads. Should you wish to bid, tap the button. Simply put, highest bidder wins. Once your purchase has been made and the monies have been collected from your specified accounts, you will be invited to meet with your latest acquisition in the specially provided rooms. They are yours to do with as you wish until 9 am tomorrow morning upon which time they will be collected from your rooms and your personal effects will be returned. All we ask is that you do not kill them. It becomes messy and attracts unnecessary attention to the club from the outside." She turned and barked something in Turkish to someone and a door to the back of the room opened. The woman moved to another smaller plinth at the back of the room as a man dragged a crying girl, that can't have been older than 9 years, dressed in nothing but her underwear onto the circular plinth under the spotlights. "Fuck..."  Clay heard Pooch's disgusted voice in his ear. "This is sick." Jensen muttered. And it was. But Clay had to remain still, and silent. The play was simple, he put in a few bids and hung back. But at some point, when he was sure they had enough evidence, he would enter a bid of a million. That was the team's cue to move. He let the first girl go, much as he didn't want to. But seeing her being dragged off the stage was enough to make him decide he was ending it with the second. He couldn't take watching another kid go through that, they had to have enough to bust this wide open, surely.  The next was a small, dark haired boy. He was pulled onto the stage by the burley guard, trembling, his brown eyes wide in fear. The bidding began. 10, 12, 15 thousand... at that point Clay hit his button, submitting his bid of 20. It was beaten, so he entered another and was beaten again. "Bidding stands now at 40 thousand." the woman spoke. "Any further bids?" Clay pushed his button "1 million." he spoke clearly. The woman cocked her head to one side, her eyebrow raising but before she could say anything the doors to the back of the room blew off. Jensen, Cougar, Roque and Pooch flew into the room, flanked by a number of CIA agents and army officers as there was the usual pandemonium associated with a raid. As Jensen sprinted off down a corridor to the left in search of their Offices and computers,  Pooch tossed a gun to Clay who joined the fray. He looked up in time to see the woman who had been running the auction sprinting out of the room down another corridor, but before he could say anything Roque was after her. "You sick, fucking bitch..." Roque mumbled as he sprinted down the winding corridors in the depths of the club almost tripping over her discarded heels as he went. Eventually he caught up with her, just as she raised a gun that she seemed to have produced from nowhere, shooting someone in front of her. Just as the shot rang out, Roque threw himself onto her, taking her down. She struggled a little in his arms, her strength taking him by surprise as they tangled together but eventually his strength won out and he pinned her on his back. His hand reached up to grab the wrist of the arm she held her gun in and he banged it sharply on the floor a few times until she dropped her weapon.  He looked at her face for a second, and something flashed in her eyes. Almost relief and she let out a breath. "I'll come quietly" she said and Roque shook his head. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right here, right now." "Because you need me." she shrugged "I'm your key to busting this whole thing wide open." "Get up..." Roque snarled, as he hauled her to her feet, secured her wrists behind her back with his restraints. He looked her up and down and noticed that her dress had ripped slightly, exposing her right thigh flashing the hold-ups and garter straps he was wearing, into which was tucked another pistol. He ripped it from the strap which ran up and over a large, floral tattoo before he spun her round and with the gun jabbed into her back, he pushed her in front of him back the way he had come.  "Can I at least get my shoes?" she asked. Roque looked at her, incredulously, but let her slip the heels back on before they continued, emerging into the large cavernous room containing the stage. The plush velvet chairs now scattered all over the place, shreds of fabric still in the air as they were riddled with bullet holes and Clay was barking orders to someone in an Army uniform who nodded, and started to instruct his men to move out the prisoners they had taken to the waiting vehicles. Pooch and Cougar turned to face him first, before Clay spun round. The woman Roque was holding looked Clay in the eye and arched her eyebrow slightly as she raised her chin in defiance.  "Caught her in the back, she shot one of the other operators." Roque said, his gun nudging her forward another step "Probably to stop him talking." Clay eyed her for a second, before a wide grin split across his face and he looked at Roque "Let her go, she's one of us." "What?" Roque blinked, not sure he had heard correctly. Behind Clay Pooch and Cougar exchanged a look. "I said she's one of us." Clay said, "She's my person on the inside." Roque paused for a moment, looking at Clay then to the woman who turned to face him, her shoulders shrugging slightly "I told you I was your key to busting this wide open." Roque uncuffed her and she moved her arms, rubbing her wrists slightly. "Sorry." he said gruffly. "It's fine, you didn't know..." she said, cocking her head to one side "But can I have my guns back?" Roque fished in the waistband of his jeans and handed her the two pistols which she slipped back into her suspenders, giving a little moan. " You ruined my dress..." Pooch and Cougar gave a little snigger each and Roque glared at them both. Clay, however, ignored the 3 of them completely and looked at the woman. "Did you get him?" She nodded "Bullet straight through his head. I never miss."  "Through the head?" Pooch looked at her. "It was a shoot to kill order." she shrugged "So I shot and I killed him." Cougar tipped his hat slightly in approval as Pooch looked at him, then to Clay, then to Roque. Clay let out a huff of a laugh before he turned to the team. "This is Stella Stevenson, aka Arty..." "Like Artrois...that's clever." Pooch chuckled.Arty grinned at him as Roque looked at Clay "Emma's replacement, right?"

Clay nodded. "She's slightly less volatile..." 

Arty raised an eyebrow "Until I'm pushed...although leaving a bomb in someone's car is far too crude for my liking. You wouldn't see me coming, Clay." Clay snorted "Losers, treat her well. She's like a daughter to me, we go way back."

She smiled, and then looked around before she nodded to a door at the back, gesturing at them to follow her. "Everything you need is on the systems. I buried it as deep as I could to stop them deleting any of it. You got names, dates, transactions..."

"They kept transactions?" Pooch frowned as they walked down towards the offices she was indicating.

 "Key blackmail opportunities." Clay took a deep breath.

"Which I daresay we'll uncover as well." she spoke "This goes deep Clay. Deep. And it's not the only one. They're operating out of Syria and Afghanistan too." "Ok." Clay nodded, "Let's see if Jensen is done retrieving the intel off the systems and then we can-"

"Jensen?" Arty blinked at the mention of the familiar name and Clay turned to her grinning "You son of a bitch..." she laughed, shaking her head.

Roque, Cougar and Pooch exchanged a look.

"What did we miss?" Roque asked as they stopped outside a door.

"You're about to find out..." Clay said, pushing the door open. 

The five of them stepped inside and Clay looked at Jensen who had their back to them  and was leaning over a screen, his nose almost touching it. "You get what we need?"

Jensen didn't look up. "I was right, they had an automatic virus in here that can be remote operated but the stuff was buried deep, by someone who wanted to make sure it didn't get wiped, they clearly knew what they were doing..." he mused, and Clay glanced at Arty who raised an eyebrow "Just transferring it back to base now. We got names, dates, transaction history...and there are a few very naughty senators who are gonna be getting their collars felt. Which is better than them getting their balls felt by twelve year olds..." "Shame you weren't this good at Mario Karts JJ..." Arty spoke and Jensen stilled slightly before he whipped around in his seat.

"Stel?" he spoke, utterly astounded as he stood up, his dark green t-shirt rippling over his chest. She looked at him for a second.

"I thought you were in Afghanistan." she cocked her head to one side, taking his appearance in. He hadn't changed a bit in the year or so it had been since she had seen him last. Same cheeky and boyishly handsome face, same spiky blonde hair, same broad shoulders which tapered into a slim waist."

I thought you were in Iraq." he shot back, eyeing her up and down. She hadn't changed a jot either. Same curvy figure, same long legs and he let out a moan as he saw the guns strapped to her thigh through the rip in her dress. "Are you wearing suspenders?"  His eyes widened before they worked their way up her body.

"Always were observant Jakey." she grinned as his eyes locked onto her own, those crystal blue orbs shining slightly in the light of the room.

"Alright quit perving and for your information she was in Iraq." Clay said, "Under my orders." "Ok, what's this all about? You know each other or something?" Roque asked, gesturing between them with his hand.

Pooch rolled his eyes "Good call Roque, you think?"

"She's my best friend..." Jensen grinned, "All the way through middle and high-school..."

Stella barked out a laugh "So that's what we're calling it now?"

"Ok, best friend with...certain benefits.. if you get my drift." Jensen shrugged, his eyes twinkling cheekily. A that, Pooch let out a groan whilst Cougar smirked "Nice..." he said, tipping his hat, speaking for the first time since Arty had met him, a low chuckle escaping his mouth. Roque blinked and turned to Clay "And you knew about this?"

"I told you, she's like a daughter to me..." Clay shrugged. Jensen and Arty stood still, not really paying attention, simply looking at one another, until Jensen grinned and threw his arms open.

"Come here!"

With a grin she threw herself at him and he hugged her tight, arms wrapping around her back as he lifted her off the floor slightly and kissed her cheek.

"It's good to see you Stel”

“You too Jakey" After an hour or so, Clay signalled to the team that it was time to depart and they headed to the chopper that was waiting to take them out of Turkey and to the UN Base in Damascus where their handler was waiting to talk to them. The man, known only to them as David, took all the information down, told them what was likely to happen over the next few days and informed them that they would be ex-filled back to CIA HQ in DC in the next week or so, for full debrief. They were shown to their quarters for the next few days, which were all private rooms in the officers' lodgings, thank God, and they all retrieved their kit bags from the piles that were waiting for them, Arty's own pack being significantly smaller.

"Hope it's all the right size." Clay nodded towards it.

She smiled and took it from him with a thanks. "Sure it will do...hang on, did you buy me underwear as well?"

Clay shrugged.

"Ok, that's kinda gross..."

"I said I was like your dad..." he arched an eyebrow, "Not that I actually was. The rest of your stuff from the base will be shipped back, most likely waiting for you by the time we exfil."

"Thanks Clay." The team bid each other goodnight and Arty, once in her room headed straight for a shower. She turned the water on as hot as she could stand, and stepped under with a light groan, scrubbing her body and hair down as if the soap and shampoo would wash away the last 6 months. It wouldn't, of course. Some of the things she had seen and had to do during her stint undercover had been vile, and she knew would stick with her for the rest of her life but she had known that it wouldn't be easy. She needed to compartmentalise, decompress, which was the whole point of the debriefs and psyche evaluation she would be subject to when she got back to DC, just like any agent returning back into the fold after a mission. Arty knew the drill, it wasn't the first undercover op she had been involved in, having been a part of Delta Force for almost 2 years now, but it was the first one during which she had been directly undercover herself following recruitment into the CIA Special Ops Group Ground force. She knew that you never stayed in Special Ops long, it was a short term thing few people were lucky enough to be chosen for and could be cut even shorter if one of the missions left your face too easily recognisable, so Stella was intending to make the most of it even though she knew already it was gruelling.  And then there was Jensen. She had no idea he was working for the CIA but then, why would she? That was the point of Black Ops. Covert. Still, she couldn't help but feel a little upset at how far they actually had drifted since they had last seen each other 12 months ago. When they both went their separate ways after completing the ROTC, they'd promised to stay in touch, and to be fair for the most part over the past 8 years they'd done just that. Phone calls, emails, and then spending any time they could when they both had leave at the same time together, but it had certainly waned over the last year and, well, now she knew why.

Turning off the shower she dried off and dug out the night wear Clay had provided her with. Pleasantly surprised and pleased to find a pair of pale yellow pyjama shorts and matching tank top she shrugged them on before she flicked on the small TV that was attached to the wall, and just as she was about to throw herself on the bed there was a knock on her door. Knowing full well it would only be one person she padded barefoot over the clean, but clinical flooring and opened it. Jensen leaned against the door frame, barefoot and dressed in a pair of black shorts and a white tank top, his handsome face sporting his trademark grin as he held up a bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Me and my friend Jack were just takin' a stroll, thought we'd pop by for a catch up." He watched as she smiled, and stepped back to let him in. His eyes slid up her bare legs to her shorts and over her ass for a second before he shut the door behind him.

"Not gonna lie Stel, was kinda hoping you'd still be in that dress and those damned thigh holsters."

"They only come out for special occasions." she quipped, heading over to the small kitchen area at the back of the room and waving 2 mugs. "You want one or we doing it straight from the bottle?" "Why change the habit of a lifetime?" he snorted, twisting off the cap and taking a mouthful. She crossed towards him and he handed it to her and she took a loud mouthful, swallowing it as it burned her throat a little. "God it's hot when you do that." 

She shot him a look as he took the bottle from her, placing it down on the side before he grabbed her hips and pulled her closer

"Fuck, I missed you Stel."

"What happened to no strings attached?" She looked at him, her hands falling on top of his.

"I still really missed you. Not just the sex, but you..." he shrugged. "You know I have..."

"That why we've hardly spoken in 12 months?" she looked at him.

"I emailed..." he frowned, one hand moving to run through his hair "You're the one that went silent 6 months ago."

"I was undercover..."

"You can be under the covers now too..." he grinned and she scoffed, shaking her head. "Is this really wise if we're gonna be working together?"

"Since when have I ever done anything wise?" he shrugged, pushing his glasses back up his nose slightly.

"You should try it sometime..." Stella said, patting his chest. She stepped back out of his hold, grabbed the bottle and took another drink before she walked to the bed and flopped down on it. "Assume the position JJ." she instructed him and he grinned, dropping down beside her and she handed him the bottle. Neither of them spoke for a moment, they fell into a comfortable silence, having been in this situation many times before. Lying side by side, drinking, and just being close to one another. Jake took another mouthful of the liquor, stealing a glance at her, her damp hair pulled into a braid, the spattering of freckles that adorned her nose and cheeks evident following her being fresh from the shower, the trace of her jawline down her throat to the slight swell of cleavage he could see thanks to the neckline of her tank top... 

As she made a gesture for the bottle he handed it to her, and she took it, her eyes still fixed on the TV, and she grimaced, nodding towards the screen. Jake followed her gaze as it was cutting to a News flash.

"I said there would be some very nervous senators..." he quipped, as Stella shook her head as the footage of Capitol Hill rolled, the news reporter carrying the story about a number of arrests linked to a suspected Military Raid earlier that day. They both knew, however, that any arrests would have been made hours previously, as soon as the information they had syphoned had hit the CIA base. The entire operation was timed to a tee.

"Hope they throw away the key. Sick bastards." she muttered "Honestly Jakey some of the stuff I saw...it was fucking disgusting." Jake looped an arm round her shoulder and she lay her head against his chest, her arm looping over his stomach as he gave her a squeeze before she sat up again, taking the bottle. She took a large gulp, larger than her previous ones and pulled a face as she swallowed, her throat bobbing and he felt the familiar stirring in his pants. She looked at him for a moment, their eyes locking and his gaze flicked down to her mouth before it moved back up again as he took the bottle off her and blindly reached behind him, placing it on the table besides her bed.

"Wanna fuck?" he asked.

She shrugged "Sure, why not?"

No sooner had the words left her mouth, his lips crashed to hers in a bruising kiss and he smirked against her mouth as she straddled him, his hands falling to her hips as her mouth hungrily worked against his. Their lips moulded together in a well-known practice, her tongue teasing against his own before she pulled back, gently biting his bottom lip as she went, drawing a groan from his throat as he rest his head against hers, his eyes flickering open to lock onto hers. 

“You know…” Stella sighed, drawing back slightly to cup Jake's face in her fingertips “I'm liking this..." she traced her fingers lightly across his goatee, and he smiled at her as she reached up and took his glasses off, dropping them carelessly next to the bottle of Jack by their side. 

“It's supposed to make me look meaner…” he murmured, his lips gently brushing hers as their noses bumped together.

"Doesn't work, especially not with the bleach in your hair." she mumbled as his mouth trailed a path across her jawline and down the length of her neck "You're still that adorably yet slightly dorky 18 year old that took my cherry." "You took mine too Stel." he mumbled and her eyes closed as she rolled her head back, giving him access to more of her neck, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "How could I forget?" her voice was nothing more than a whisper as his fingers flexed on her hips, his groin pushing upwards, his hardness pressing into her core through their clothing. "I'm glad to report you got a lot better at it since then..."

 "Well, you'd know..."  he said, his tongue licking a line back up her throat as his hands grabbed at the bottom of her tank top. She moved to allow him to take it off and Jake looked down at her bare chest as she reciprocated the favour, pulling his top over his head, tossing it to the floor. Raising his head he gently nipped at the base of her neck, his hands sliding up her bare sides, calloused fingers ever so gentle over her ribs as his tongue flicked at her nipple as he took it in his mouth, drawling a loud groan from her as her hips bucked involuntarily at the sensation. 

God it really had been far too long

.Unable to take it anymore he flipped her over so she was on her back, his body sliding downwards as he dispensed of her shorts and then his own, before he kissed his way back up from her ankle all the way to that thigh tattoo which was ingrained in his memory forever. Well, most of it was anyway...

 "This...this is new. " he said gently, his fingers tracing the outline of the large, pink flower that sat at the top, almost in the crease of her hip.

"Go Petunias." she looked at him and he let out a bark of a laugh as she snaked her right leg in between both of his and using a well-executed move she threw him on his back drawing a loud huff of surprise from him.

"Jesus Stel, give a guy a warning" he mumbled as she slid over him. "Where's the fun in that?" she whispered,  brushing her lips across the hairs on his face tracing a path across from one side of his jawline to the other as his eyes fully closed in pleasure, large hands gripping at her thighs, then her hips as she shifted slightly to start taking him in. Her mouth dropped into a small ‘o’ as they both groaned as she slid down, her warmth engulfing him entirely.

."JJ..." she mumbled,  her hands falling to his chest as she held herself still "Jakey, look at me...wanna see you." He opened his eyes, locking them onto her own which were half-lidded with desire as she began to move. Her hips rotated as she ground down again, and again, his own rising to meet hers as she did.

"Fuck, Stel..." he sighed, "Still feel so good baby girl..."

She grinned, and bit her lip as her hips moved again, his hands sliding down to grab at her ass as she pushed down harshly, causing him to grunt as she ground down against him, tilting herself forward finding that angle that always got her off. Her pace was slow, torturously so, but it wasn’t long before she began to move slightly faster, working him harder as she chased her relief. The roughness of his pubic hair was grinding against her spot, the friction feeling amazing as she pushed down. With every roll of her hips, Jensen's eyes which were still locked onto hers grew darker, and darker, his hands digging into her hips as he pulled her onto him, grinding upwards further and deeper.

He sat up suddenly, so they were face to face, the change of angle making her cry out, as he slid his hands moved round her back, pulling her close to him as he kissed and sucked at her neck, biting at that spot beneath her ear whilst he held her still for a moment, gently thrusting upwards, deeply, slowly, savouring the moment. Stella rolled her head back, a louder cry this time tumbling from her lips and he felt her tighten around him, pulsing strongly as her orgasm washed over her and he let out a groan of his own as her head fell forward to his shoulder, her groans soft in his ear. . .“Good?” he whispered, smiling as she managed a broken noise of affirmation, and without giving her a moment to recover he flipped her onto her back, his hands lacing with hers at the side of her head as he began to thrust into her, his pace harder and faster.

"Jake..." she gasped, as his lips crashed onto hers, swallowing her cries as her nails dug into the back of his hands whilst he thrust into her with deep, powerful strokes. The sweat was beading over his brow as he broke the kiss, his head falling forward slightly as he felt his own relief beginning to creep up on him. He tugged his right hand free, sliding it down between them to rub at her sensitive nub as he pounded into her voraciously and she gave a loud wail her head tipping back into the pillow, her breathing ragged.

"Come on Stel..." he gasped, "Come on baby, give it to me..." And give it she did, her body shook underneath him as her mouth dropped open and she let out a loud noise which bubbled from her throat, as she once more succumbed to the wave of pleasure washing over her. The feel of her clenching around him was enough, and Jensen followed her right over the edge into delirium, his hips stuttering as his thrusts grew sloppy, riding his own orgasm out before he collapsed down on top of her, completely and utterly blissed out. They lay in silence, both struggling to gain control of their breathing in the aftermath, not a sound being made by either of them bar gasps for air as the TV continued to play in the background. Stella gently moved her hands up and down the expanse of muscle on his back, his skin slick to the touch and Jensen laid still, relishing the touch of her fingertips as they danced over his body.

Eventually he raised his head, propping himself up on his elbows as he gave her a lazy grin which she reciprocated. His hands cupped her cheeks, his lips seeking hers out once more for a kiss that was this time soft, gentle, a stark cry from the ardent ones they'd shared before. He pulled away, pressing his forehead to hers, gently brushing their noses together before he spoke, his voice slightly raspy from the exertion of the last 15 minutes or so. 

"Welcome to The Losers, Stel" he grinned.

**** Chapter 1

#too loose and you'll lose it #jake jensen #jake jensen x ofc #jake jensen x original female character #the losers

[ace-oreos]

You must be so sick of alpha and Fordo asks but you’re latest fic has given me angst potential- maybe a one-shot with alpha working with the bad batch to find Fordo post order 66 an him just breaking at the seams when he finds his Vod because he thought he lost Frodo like he lost Sev. Tears and man hugs ensue

Oh I am NEVER sick of Alpha and Fordo asks - they’re such a fun chaotic duo to write for. :D Also, Alpha working with the Bad Batch is something I never knew I needed until I saw your ask and I would absolutely write something with all of them again. I cannot express how difficult it was to not go off on a tangent about Hunter.

In true Sev style, I chose Kashyyyk as the main location for this one. It’s just so useful for these kinds of things.

Also. Y’all. I did not realize until I was four pages into this that I forgot Echo. So uh... whoops?  😅 😂 With that in mind, let me warn you that this is WAY longer than the other fics. I have no idea what happened. I have no idea what I’m doing.

Also also, thank goodness for Wookiepedia lmao

Edit with tags: @dudewhynotthis @merspots @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @delta-the-mando (taglist is open!) 

“Captain.” The sergeant keeps his distance even now, face inscrutable as he surveys Alpha. 

“Alpha,” he corrects half-heartedly, more for the sergeant’s sake than his own. 

“Alpha,” Hunter amends. “We’ll be entering the Mid Rim soon - maybe an hour, hour and a half tops.”

“Good to know.” Alpha knows he sounds despondent at best, but he’s hit enough dead ends by now to know all too well this will likely be a fruitless endeavor. There’s nowhere in the galaxy safe from him - not when his brother’s life is hanging in balance.

But it’s a big galaxy, with little regard for individual yearning or emotion. Alpha can vow to upend the galaxy as much as he likes, but the fact is they’ve only so much time, and only so many resources, and...

And maybe Hunter picks up on that, in that way of his as he observes Alpha without further comment. The sergeant is as much his vod as anyone else Alpha has encountered. Still beyond him sometimes, a little too other for Alpha to ever fully mesh with him or his brothers, but he’s a good soldier. A good man. 

“We’ve always got room for another,” are Hunter’s parting words as he makes his way back to the cockpit. 

If you find out your brother was dead all along. 

Alpha doubts it was anything less than a genuine offer, but it isn’t the only route. Not until I’ve exhausted every other option. And even then....

It doesn’t do, to let himself become so intertwined with a brother until he isn’t entirely sure he knows who he is without the other. He’d tried, both for his brothers and for his own peace of mind, to put a stop to it before it went too far. And maybe that was Jango getting in his head more than Alpha ever should have allowed, but he’d thought it was the right thing to do.

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder...

________________________

“ - you know as well as I do we’ve been going in circles for weeks now - ”

“Yeah, you might’ve mentioned that once or twice…”

“You said it yourself - we’ll get ourselves killed if we aren’t careful.”

“So we’ll be careful.” Hunter’s voice holds a note of finality. “We can keep rehashing this conversation, or we can help a vod.”

Alpha doesn’t catch the muttered reply, but it’s hardly amenable, if Hunter’s sigh is anything to go by. He can’t blame them, really - Fordo isn’t their brother, and outside of combat they’ve little common ground. And it’s only natural for Crosshair to raise the questions none of them are yet ready to face. Alpha thinks he could learn to like the man, given time. 

He reigns in his thoughts before entering the cockpit. The least he can do is put on a rational front. This whole thing isn’t at all rational, but the Bad Batch seem to understand better than others. It runs deeper than brotherhood here, whatever it is, and Alpha is irrepressibly reminded of Fordo, somehow - 

(And osik, does that thought burn, dig under his skin to remind him once again that he failed, that should he redeem himself it will be not on his terms but likely an inconsequential whim of a galaxy that cares nothing for them or everything they’ve fought so hard to hold on to - )

“Y’know, I’m not sure we’ve ever been to Kashyyyk,” Wrecker muses. “That’s a first.”  If he’s trying to divert Alpha’s attention from Crosshair, it’s a skillful effort that almost takes Alpha aback. “‘Course, I only remember the fun parts,” he adds as an impish afterthought.

“Anything with explosives, you mean?” Alpha asks drily. 

Wrecker grins. “Something like that.”

You and Fordo would get along fine.

What leaves his mouth is, “I don’t suppose anyone has any relevant information about this place?”

Right on cue, Tech pipes up from his position alongside Crosshair. “Actually…”

Tech is just as much of an efficient distraction in his own right. It’s not exactly the height of strategy on Alpha’s part, but once again it redirects attention. He has no doubt Hunter sees right through it; still, the man has enough tact to refrain from commenting.

You understand, I think, Alpha decides, watching exasperation and amusement play across Hunter’s face in turns as his brothers’ bickering fills the cockpit. You would go to hell and back for them, wouldn’t you, Sergeant? 

Hunter casts him a wary glance. Alpha holds his gaze.

There’s too much we can’t say. It’s okay, vod - I think I’m starting to understand too.

________________________

Kashyyyk is dishearteningly vast, all sprawling jungles and endless island chains set on a swath of ocean that dissects the planet’s hemispheres. Getting in was no easy task, what with the Imperial blockade cutting off the planet from others in its sector. But Tech’s adroit piloting had come through, and they’d slipped past the blockade with little disturbance.

“You really think your buddy is here?” Crosshair asks dubiously, surveying the area with a distinct air of displeasure.

“I’ve seen the records,” Alpha says, as much to reassure himself as the other man. “The Empire’s tighter with the book-keeping, I’ll give them that. Fordo’s unit lost contact not long before Order Sixty-six went down. If they made it out, it would be on record somewhere.”

“And if they didn’t?”

Alpha battles his temper into submission before replying. “Then they would be confirmed KIA. But they’re still listed as missing as of two weeks ago.”

“Sounds like you’re leaving an awful lot to chance,” Crosshair opines. There isn’t malice in his voice so much as an unmistakable note of disapproval. “What’s your plan if it turns out they were just waiting for reinforcements and pulled out days ago? That leaves us here in the heart of Imperial occupation.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Alpha says grimly. “But if they lost comms before the order came through, then there’s a chance they aren’t with the Empire. Their main focus would be survival, not falling in line nice and neat like Palpatine expects.”

It’s clear there are a number of objections rising to the forefront of Crosshair’s mind, but the man keeps them to himself. There’s a conflict brewing there, Alpha knows, but that’s a matter to address at another time. 

“There’s an area south of here where all comm signals go dead,” Tech announces, tapping furiously at the device mounted on his vambrace. “According to intel, the Wookies call it the Black Forest.”

“Sounds inviting,” Hunter says. “What’s the deal with it?”

“A prison ship crashed there centuries ago,” Tech relays. “The Wookies believe it’s cursed, so they avoid it whenever possible. It’s possible Fordo and whoever was left were driven back by the Seps - or it was a desperate bid and he was banking on the droids not following somewhere they can’t maneuver well. But why cut himself off from allies…?”

“The forward operating base was set up in Kachirho,” Alpha muses aloud “There was another commando squad deployed here, but they were retasked shortly after Order Sixty-six. If Fordo’s here, I doubt he would hang around anywhere with high Imperial activity.”

If he were operating alone, the decision would be simple. But he has the welfare of four other men to consider now; one wrong move, and they’ll all end up on the business end of a blaster.

With that in mind, Alpha looks to Hunter. “Sergeant. What do you think?”

“It’s your call,” Hunter answers. “If you have reason to think your brother is hiding out here, then I think it’s worth taking a look. So long as we go careful, I don’t see why the Imperials should notice us.”

Wrecker’s chuckle fills the comms. “Famous last words.”

_________________________

For all that they have a reputation for being unorthodox - a reputation that is doubtless justly earned - the Bad Batch can pull off stealth pretty well, too. It comes as a bit of a surprise, if Alpha is being honest, but if nothing else the overarching threat of Hunter’s wrath is enough to keep them in line. 

“Keep an eye out for slavers,” Tech warns. “The whole planet has been a hotspot for them ever since the CIS first let them in.”

It’d be just our luck to run into slavers, Alpha thinks wryly. Individually they’re not much of a threat, but a group of Trandoshans spells trouble for anyone. Even without the training to back it up, their brutality can overpower even an ARC trooper. ‘Course, it’d be just like you to get into a mess like that, Fordo…

“We’ll be a bigger target if we travel as a group,” Hunter says. 

“If we split up we might as well ask for a death sentence,” Alpha cautions. Typically his first choice would be to operate alone, but between the slavers, the Imperials, and the remnants of the Separatist forces, he’s starting to think their strength might lie in numbers this time. 

Alpha mulls it over. Greater numbers means slower going. If we split up, we’ll be able to cover more ground. It’ll be risky, but - payoff is worth it. 

“We’ll move faster this way,” Hunter says, echoing Alpha’s thoughts. “Wrecker, Tech, you’re with me. Cross…” He fixes his brother with a stern stare. “Don’t do anything stupid. Alpha has my full permission to stop you by any means necessary.”

Alpha rewards the sergeant with a wolfish grin. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He can’t read Crosshair half as well as the others, but the sniper doesn’t appear altogether displeased. He merely shrugs when Alpha jerks his head towards the route they’ll be following, and trails after him without argument.

Silence lays thick over the jungle. There’s an odd rustle here and there, interspersed with faint growls from time to time, but progress is relatively smooth. Alpha takes pains to remain on guard; just because he can’t see a threat doesn’t mean they’re in the clear. 

Before long the silence is disconcerting. Given the planet’s Wookie population, there should be regular movement around them, or some sign of existence. But this stretch of the jungle is oddly lacking. 

“This doesn’t feel right,” Crosshair mutters. 

“Guess no one’s home,” Alpha answers absently, scrutizining the terrain. “Look - there’s no sign of a fight. Maybe no one was here to begin with.”

“Kachirho isn’t too far from here,” Crosshair points out. “You don’t think it’s a little odd that this path hasn’t been used at all?”

“It is,” Alpha allows, “but look at it this way. We’re traveling the way we’ve been trained to in this kind of setting. The Wookies probably have their own methods for getting around.”

“It’s still weird,” Crosshair decides. “And if your brother really was here, we’d have found evidence of that, too.”

He isn’t wrong, but it nonetheless stings to hear the man voice the doubtful thoughts that have been creeping up on Alpha. Still, we’ve come this far. What have we got to lose?

(More than he’s willing to surrender. But Crosshair doesn’t need to know that.)

“Let’s keep moving,” Alpha says, sharper than he intends. 

“Hang on,” Crosshair says suddenly. “Contact - ”

Alpha pivots in time to see a Trandoshan emerge from the surrounding foliage. The lizard is taller and more solid than he previously anticipated; instead of hitting it head-on like he initially planned, Alpha redirects in order to avoid being gutted on the lizard’s knife. 

He hears the shot and the telltale thump of the lizard falling to the ground. As Alpha picks himself up, Crosshair scans the area through the scope of his rifle. 

“Oh, shab,” the sniper hisses. 

It doesn’t take long for Alpha to locate the cause of Crosshair’s disgruntlement. A group of Trandoshans lurches towards them. Alpha does a rapid assessment: each lizard is packing some sort of ranged weapon - including slugthrowers, he notes unenthusiastically - and most are carrying an assortment of knives.

“Ideas?” Crosshair asks tersely. 

“They’ll just follow us if we run,” Alpha says. “It’ll save us trouble in the long run if we take them now.” 

“I can see why Hunter likes you,” Crosshair says, oddly nonchalant considering the circumstances, and fires. 

With Crosshair covering ranged attacks, Alpha elects the more up-close-and-personal option. The slavers have the advantage of size, but Trandoshans aren’t renowned for their intelligence. As long as he stays in motion the risk of having his throat slit is greatly reduced. 

Alpha targets a straggler first. He hits low, knocking the lizard off balance and sending it staggering into another. The other makes a grab for him, but Alpha is already ramming his vibroblade into the first slaver’s exposed neck. Using the limp body as a buffer, Alpha pushes against the other lizard, trying to force it onto its back foot. 

Just as he feels his opponent’s defense start to give, another three descend on him. Cursing, Alpha throws himself aside before they can hem him in. One of the slavers has enough presence of mind to bring his knife down on Alpha’s unprotected back; the force of the blow has him crashing to the ground. 

Alpha scrambles for a foothold, but one of the lizards seizes his leg in a vicelike grip. He writhes instinctively, kicking out with his other foot. He feels the impact more than sees it and wrenches himself free. 

Just as a third lizard fills the other’s place, there’s a crack from Crosshair’s rifle, and the lizard topples. Alpha springs to his feet to avoid being crushed by several hundred kilos of Trandoshan. The others are wary now, trying to divide their attention between him and Crosshair. 

Alpha doesn’t give them time to choose. This time he uses his blaster to put a round through the closest target. It’s not quite enough to put the lizard out of commission entirely, so he follows up with a quick succession of bolts. 

It’s not exactly an even match, but things aren’t going as badly as he first feared, Alpha thinks. No sooner does the thought cross his mind than his helmet flashes a warning. He turns to deflect the attack coming from behind, but he moves too late and steps directly into the strike. 

The slaver’s curved knife skids off Alpha’s breastplate and sinks into his bodysuit in the gap between the cuirass and the shoulder bell. Alpha manages to pull away, but not before the knife catches the underside of his arm and slices a gash halfway down his bicep.

A line of pain sears through his arm. There’s no doubt the Trandoshan cut deep into the muscle. That arm is effectively useless now; Alpha grimly switches his knife to the other hand. 

He doesn’t have eyes on Crosshair from his current position, but the rasping breaths and occasional curses over the comms suggest the sniper isn’t having an easy time of it either. Time to fall back and reassess.

“Let’s pull back. We might be able to lose them.” Alpha bites the inside of his cheek to suppress a hiss of pain when his wounded arm is jostled. “We can’t take them now, at any rate.”

“You might want to rethink that, alor’ad…”

Crosshair jerks his head to indicate the slavers pouring into the area. There’s a slim chance they’ll be able to slip by, but not without risking serious injury. Slowing down to accommodate a bad hit would mean certain death or capture.

Pinned down. Shabla brilliant. 

Alpha makes an effort to keep his rapidly rising alarm in check. “We’ll have to hold them off, then.”

“There’s no way,” Crosshair objects. “We’re outnumbered eight to one.”

Alpha sends a slaver sprawling rather than answer. He can see it as plainly as Crosshair, but he’s not going to lay down and die, not when his brother is still out there somewhere, not when there’s still a chance they could pull this off -

He hasn’t been this close in weeks and it isn’t his place to gamble anyone else’s life but his own, but even now he can’t bring himself to give in and he understands in a sudden flash of clarity that this is where he will always fail - because he has a foothold, now, and even though all logic points to turning back for once he can’t give in - 

An arm clamps around his neck. Alpha thrashes, trying to throw his attacker off, but now that he’s been caught off guard the lizard has an advantage. His vision begins to blur at the edges and he redoubles his efforts, fueled in no small part by panic at being unable to draw breath. 

He doesn’t know where Crosshair is anymore. He can hardly see beyond his own hands, scrabbling desperately at the arm locked around his neck. 

No sooner does his vision begin to fade than the crushing pressure on his neck abruptly loosens. Alpha hits the ground gracelessly, coughing violently as he tries to inhale. His breath rattles in his throat, but his vision gradually returns. 

He lurches to his feet and assumes a defensive stance as best he can. He’s lost track of how many slavers are still standing - too many is his best estimate.

But the man standing before him isn’t an enemy. He’s -

“Vod,” Fordo says softly. 

Alpha can only stare at his brother in stunned silence, momentarily deaf to the ongoing struggle around them. Fordo....

“Later,” his brother promises. 

______________________

“So how’d you end up running with them?” Fordo asks with a nod towards the Bad Batch. 

“It’s complicated,” Alpha says lightly. “Too much to unpack now, at any rate.”

Fordo laughs. He’s battered and weary, with something lurking in his gaze Alpha can’t quite decipher yet, but it’s Fordo, and that’s more than enough. 

“It’s quiet here,” Fordo remarks. “I like that.”

“‘S nice,” Alpha agrees. 

They’re still hovering just above the surface. Tentative. It’s not exactly what Alpha is accustomed to, but for Fordo’s sake he lets his brother take the lead. 

“Everything’s gone sideways, hasn’t it,” Fordo says suddenly. 

“It has,” Alpha admits. There’s no use pretending otherwise. “But we’ll find a way through.”

Fordo flashes a small smile. “You’re good at that.”

Alpha merely shrugs. There’s a thousand other things he wants to say, but he hasn’t the faintest clue where to begin. Finally he ventures carefully, “Y’know, for a while now I thought this mission did you in.”

Fordo lets out a long sigh. “I was starting to think it might, myself.”

“I…” Alpha breaks off, startled by the sudden pressure behind his eyes. It worsens when he tries to continue. “I don’t know what I would’ve - ”

He falters again. I care more than I should. I never should’ve let that happen, but even now I don’t know if I regret it.

“Alpha,” Fordo says softly, and pulls him into an embrace.

Alpha doesn’t know how much time passes before he finally disentangles himself from Fordo as gently as he can and scrubs at the hot trails on his face. He can’t quite bring himself to feel any shame over it. He’s never been given to such displays, but… Fordo is his vod. 

“So what’s the plan, alor’ad?” Fordo asks with a familiar note of mischief in his voice.

Alpha smiles despite himself. “It’s a big galaxy.”

“We’ve got time.”

“Yeah,” Alpha laughs. “We have time.”

#alpha-17 #alpha 17 #captain fordo #the bad batch #bad batch #clone force 99 #the clone wars #star wars #fic prompt #thanks for the prompt! #this was really fun #and i would absolutely write for them again #hunter specifically but shhh #if you make it through this post good on you lmao #my askbox is open!

[yourillusoryenvy]

Favorites Fall Activities - Phantom Troupe

What does the troupe enjoy doing during the fall? And what I mean by this is what NORMAL activities do they enjoy? Let’s take a look!

Chrollo: will get cozy with the latest book he stole from a nearby bookstore and read all day. He doesn’t care much for fall season, but seeing his fellow troupe members enjoying it is nice. He will sit comfortably against a large window -- with his book, a warm blanket and a hot drink -- so he can enjoy both the warmth of the sunlight and the view of the foliage while reading. He will stay there for hours, until it is too dark to continue.

Nobunaga: relishes drinking apple cider. He will tour the apple cider mills in the area, always searching for the strongest one. Doing it alone is not so fun, so of course he will bring Uvogin with him. And don’t you dare thinking that they are just having a small glass to taste. Hell no! These two are downing bottles at each stop.  The pair has turned their apple cider tasting in a drinking contest and by the end of the day both of them are so drunk that Pakunoda needs to come pick them up. 

Feitan: fall = Halloween = “scary” (well what most people consider scary anyway). This is the best time for Fei to binge-watch any sort of true crime shows/documentaries. He watches them, analyzing every elements, often reaching the correct conclusion before the identity of the killer is even revealed. “He no good” he can be heard muttering to himself when the killer is caught.

Machi: she will be using the colder rainier fall days as an opportunity to sit inside and knit. The repetitive mouvement makes her calm. She always had an affinity with threads and was amazed at what something so simple could do: save people lives, fix torn fabric, and simply make clothes. She can knit basically anything but lately she has been enjoying working with thick yarn and making large blankets. She might sit by herself with some music in the background, or in the kitchen to talk with Paku, or in the living room with Fei as he watches is true crime docu-series. 

Hisoka: fall, spring, summer or winter, Hisoka is only interested in one thing: finding a strong opponent. So just like every other season is fall activity is trying to find that person that will give him a good fight. After a long day, he will wander around the streets looking at people’s Halloween decoration, occasionally using the carved pumpkins as target practice. His guilty pleasure though is jumping in a pile of leafs. This was one of his favorite thing to do as a kid and it hasn’t change one bit.  When he sees a big pile of dry leafs he will stop and look around. Once he is sure no one is watching he will jump in; and then he will get up and leave like nothing happened, but he will be wearing a softer smile than usual on his face.  Warning: he is ashamed of how much he enjoys such a childish activity, so he will kill anyone catching him doing it. Do NOT try to spy on him to catch a glimpse of this playful Hisoka. You won’t live long enough to tell anyone anyway.

Phinks: is a simple guy. He loves going out for hikes. Meteor City far from offer beautiful landscape and fall foliage, and Phinks just fell in love with the beauty of raw nature the first time he saw it. He will just pretext going on a run, but in reality he will find a forest/national park near by and go on a hike. He doesn’t fear stepping outside of the hiking paths and will often do so just to find himself completely alone with nature. If he has extra time he might actually settle in for a night or two.

Shalark: L.O.V.E.S corn maze. Don’t ask me why, he just does. He will be dragging every single one of his fellow troupe member in one. Shizuku actually it. With her memory, she ends up passing the same spot dozens of time. She is just terrible at it, so when Shal’ does drag her in one he makes sure to not leave her alone. There is something strangely soothing about being surrounded by nature in this unique way. It has become a game to him and he will time how long it takes him to get out. If he feels particularly bored he will just give wrong directions to people, forcing to be lost in there a bit longer.

Franklin: when he is not indulging his fellow troupe members by participating in their favorite activities, he will be enjoying fall foods. Fall food is one of his favorite, specifically snacks. Roasted pumpkin seeds, popcorn, and any sort of nut mix are some of his favorites. If he has the opportunity to be camping or somehow finds himself around a bonfire roasted marshmallows are his go-to. 

Shizuku: Fall drinks, especially hot ones. From hot chocolate to pumpkin spice latte she will try every single one (actually several time because she often forget what she has already tried) and absolutely LOVES it. It doesn’t matter if she is drinking a hot chocolate while siting under a Machi-made blanket and watching a true crime docu-series with Fei, or she is sipping on tea watching Paku bake, or even tagging along on one of Phinks’ hike with her pumpkin spice latte. Give the girl a nice warm drink and she will be happy.   

Pakunoda: really enjoys baking all sort of pies. Pumpkin or apple pies are a must at this time of the year. She will faint annoyance when someone come steal a slice, but she secretly love baking for her friends and makes sure everyone get a piece of it.  She will definitely make more once everything has been eaten. While she doesn’t mind cooking by herself, she prefers to have someone keeping her company in the kitchen, not helping just someone there to talk to.

Bonolenov: is very versatile and can find enjoyment in any activity. He will most often just tag along with different people depending on his mood of the day. Fall used to be an harvesting season for his tribe, it was the time of the year during which everyone would start building reserves of food in preparation for the winter. If he is to do something by himself, he will used some of the skills he learn from his youth and go collect some various in-season food: apples, mushrooms, squash etc.. . He will come back with a ton, and give it to Paku who will find new recipe to use the ingredients in.

Uvo: Fall is football season and he is a big sports fan. He loves the pre/post game party so.. tailgating. Of course, this year his tailgating plans took a hit because of Covid. When things are not so crazy in the world, he will just convince whoever has the nicest tailgate setting to give up their spot to  him. Strangely no-one dare say no to this 8 foot tall mountain of a man.  At the game, give him one too many drinks and his favorite team loosing and you are in for a show. Uvo runs on the field and destroying (literally and figuratively) the team he doesn’t like. 

Kortopi: likes to carve pumpkin. Actually, he is one of the member that decorate the most on Halloween but more on that later, and carving pumpkin is part of it.  With his nen-ability he only needs is to find one good pumpkin. He will then copy it, and carve the copy. This way if he is unhappy with it he will simply make a new copy. He will attempts some basic carvings as well as more intricate ones when he has time. Kortopi is really patient and doesn’t mind spending a few hours carving something. And yes, of course he carves a 12 legs spider in a pumpkin every year. (Bonus: after emptying the pumpkin he gives the seeds to Paku, for her to season and roast!)

#hxh #hunter x 2011 #hxh 2011 #phantom troupe #chrollo #nobunaga #feitan #fei #machi #hisoka #phinks #shal #shalnark #franklin #shizuku #paku #pakunoda #bonolenov #uvo #uvogin #kortopi

[vagrantblvrd]

Modern day spy/assassin AU where former singer/musician/~artiste works in a cozy little coffee shop neatly sandwiched between a bookstore and, idk, a flower shop.

Expected to be one of the hottest new stars coming out of Oxenfurt if it hadn’t been for that scandal with fellow band member and rumored lover Valdo Marx over alleged song theft and so on. Followed by a messy break up - band and personal - and a drawn out legal battle that drained what money Valdo hadn’t stolen from him.

(And a year or so after all that Jaskier doesn’t like to think about too much before he got his feet back under him and a friend mentioned this coffee shop she frequented, and anyway, he’s doing much better now and also somehow ends up owning it himself when its previous owner retires and sells the business to him for like, five bucks, because the power of friendship or something, idk.)

One day on his way home he stumbles over someone half dead in an alley and is like oh, oh, no because the last thing he needs is another scandal attached to his name?

Like.

He’s kept his nose clean for just over six month now, has been playing around with new melodies and bought a new notebook for lyrics and whatnot. Looked into playing at some local places, not really wanting to be a megastar or whatever these days, but he loves music and performing in a little bar somewhere would be nice, you know?

ANYWAY.

Turns out the guy isn’t actually dead, thank goodness but might as well be? Has this medallion around his neck, a cat? Which, okay, whatever he’s seen stranger and he’s getting his phone out to call an ambulance or whatever, crouched next to the guy.

Memory from the CPR course he took in college surfaces in his mind - the instructor was hot and even if Jaskier never got the guy’s number he learned valuable life skills. (And also met Shani and that proved better than getting the guy’s number because she’s one of his best friends and also incredible and anyway.)

Reaches out to check for a pulse, which is when the guy grabs his wrist - surprisingly strong grip for someone who looks like he lost a fight with a freight train - and hsi eyes snap open and they are...extremely striking and not at all normal - cat eyes, to go with the cat medallion and hahaha, oh shit, this is bad, bad news, isn’t it?

The guy tries to threaten him, which. Not as effective when the growl he’s trying for just sounds sad and pathetic, and anyway, there’s something...not fear, no, in his eyes, that has Jaskier forgetting to put the call through for an ambulance.

It’s very close to fear though. Worry? Concern? Something that Jaskier relates to in some incredibly fucked up way.

(The way he felt when Valdo Marx fucked him over and everything he’d built fell apart around him, and anyway, yes.)

He doesn’t even know why, he does, or why he ends up hauling the guy up to his apartment and patches him up best he can with wwhat he has on hand.

Will probably end up being murdered by the guy the moment he’s on his feet, but eh, that’s a problem for future Jaskier, really.)

Anyway, Aiden - because of course it’s Aiden - is super suspicious of Jaskier and his everything and there is indeed a moment where he pins Jaskier to a wall with a kitchen knife - it was an apartment-warming gift from Shani and Essi and Jaskier’s more worried about it being damaged than Aiden slitting his throat, which just confuses Aiden?

Because what even is Jaskier and his priorities???

But he doesn’t kill Jaskier and the knife gets put back and aside from that little bump in their relationship they actually become friends after that.

Jaskier takes to referring to Aiden as a stray cat whenever one of his friends or whoever asks why he buys more groceries or hurries home after work instead of sticking around to gossip a bit the way he usually does.

 Aiden thinks it’s hilarious as opposed to insulting, which is great seeing as how Jaskier’s pretty sure the man’s a hitman or assassin or other similar career?

(Might be the way he mentions past jobs and his dark sense of humor and also the time he could have killed Jaskier if he felt he was a threat? So, yes.)

And Aiden, okay.

Got burned or something to leave him half dead in an alley for just anyone to stumble over and since Jaskier hasn’t made any fuss about him moving out decides he might as well stay where he is for the time being, you know?

He goes and gets a job...somewhere to help with rent and so on. Offers Jaskier enough hints to make it sound like he’s out murderizing people right and left the moment he’s out of the apartment, but then Jaskier sees him helping Triss bring in deliveries out behind the flower shop so he knows Aiden’s been fucking with him on that front and is like, dude, not funny.

(Aiden begs to disagree, but whatever.)

And then!

A month or so after Aiden’s back on his feet Jaskier runs into one of the owners of the bookshop next door?

New management and so on, and oh no, he’s exceedingly hot.

White hair and gold eyes and, sure, he’s not the most talkative guy around? But Jaskier’s cracked tougher nuts or some other way of phrasing it that doesn’t sound like a euphemism.

Also, also, there’s another painfully attractive man working there who is incredibly sweet and has a menace of a goat that they have instead of a bookstore cat?

Which.

Seems like a bad idea since Jaskier often hears about how Lil Bleater nibbles on the books if someone isn’t watching her and anyway, it means he gets to listen to Eskel lament about her latest misadventures while Geralt stands there and tries not to let on how amused he is by both the bookstoer goat and her owner and Jaskier is like shit, because Geralt and Eskel are so, so hot and he’s only human and Aiden, Aiden, do not laugh at his pain, you utter bastard of a man.

ANYWAY.

Shenanigans in which Geralt and Eskel think Jaskier has this insufferable bastard of a former stray cat at home and Jaskier piiiiines like a sad bastard while Aiden laughs and laughs and laughs.

(It should be pointed out that not once in all the time Aiden started working for Triss - and Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert - who Jaskier has heard all about but not yet met - have seen one another even though they spend most of the working day a few hundred feet apart, because Plot Reasons.)

And then!

Some shenanigans in which Geralt or Eskel - who are totally spies who are using their cozy little bookshop as a cover - get tangled up in trouble and Jaskier stumbles on them with this incredible sense of deja vu.

He drags them into the coffee shop to patch them up, and he forgets to lock the front door, which is convenient because then Aiden wanders in hoping for a free coffee?

(Power of ~friendship, and also roommates, and yes.)

Jaskier is kind of covered in blood - Geralt and Eskel’s - and Aiden is immediately in Assassin!Mode because he’s fond of Jaskier, right, owes him his life and such.

But also, Geralt and Eskel who have also had their oh, oh no he’s hot moment when it comes to Jaskier are likewise fond of him - and working up the nerve to ask him for a date, but that’s neither here nor there - go into Spy!Mode and there’s an honestly kind of terrifying, kind of sad stand-off.

Jaskier is in Adrenaline!Mode because fuck his life, of course Geralt and Eskel can’t just be incredibly hot bookstore owners and is like “If you fuck up my coffee shop I will not be happy, and also please consider my delicate sensibilities,”

Which manages to stop whatever fight was about to break out and he essentially does the Chris Pratt with the raptors thing, only with a couple of spies and his assassin roommate.

Pretends the three of them aren’t throwing menacing looks at one another as he patches Geralt and Eskel up and then is like “Well, that was fun!” because no, no it was not, and his heart is going to burst with all the tension and whatnot in the air. and hahaha, this is fine.

Which of course is when Lambert comes stomping through the front door and there is even more Drama and Angst because his ~forbidden relationship with Assassin!Aiden and heartbreak when it was assumed he’d been killed by his agency a few months back, but wait, he’s still alive???

And idk, just a lot of ridiculous spy movie cliche nonsense in which Jaskier is reluctantly dragged into things because he saved Aiden’s life that one time, and is piiiiining for Geralt and Eskel and of course he gets taken hostage and they have to band together to save him but shenanigans and ~plot twists and so on.

(And then when it seems all is lost Triss and her utterly terrifying girlfriend Yennefer actually save the day because they, too, are spies and Jaskier would honestly like to know if he’s the only normal person he knows or what, because really, what are the odds???)

Whenever the death-defying events and such are over Jaskier does, actually, go on a date with Geralt and Eskel and some smooching happens.

(Technically not their first, because that happened after they saved Jaskier’s life in that oh thank god none of us died moment after all the danger and excitement, but none of them mind, because smooches.)

Lambert and Aiden make fun of the three of them, but gently because they, too, are prime targets for mockery as they also decide to try a proper relationship and not just stolen moments here and there, and anyway, anyway

A year or so down the road Jaskier gets tired of coming home to find the two in compromising situations and is like, why, though, which conveniently happens around the time Geralt and Eskel approach him about moving in with them somewhere and he’s like, well, if he must, like he’s not thrilled about it because he’s kind of gone on the two of them, you know?

So they get this place big enough for the three of them and Lil Bleater and Aiden and Lambert get his old place and it all works out?

Sure, sure, there are a few close moments where Geralt and Eskel’s work puts Jaskier in danger, and that time whoever tried to kill Aiden targets Jaskier and so on?

But he’s like, eh, it happens, because obviously it does.

Which means Geralt and Eskel take it upon themselves to teach him to defend himself - and half the time it ends in smooches and sexytimes because hand-to-hand and being pinned to mats and adjusting his stance while learning how to use firearms and such, you know?

But also Aiden and Lambert teaching Jaskier knives and explosives - “I’m sorry, but one of these things is not like the others,” in regard to Lambert and his explosives, but it’s a ~bonding moment, so whatever.

(Also, also, that time Jaskier was able to defuse a bomb in some highly improbable and ridiculous bit of shenanigans with spy nonsense and Lambert being a smug prick about it for forever afterwards.)

And then Jaskier finds out Geralt has this incredible kid with Yennefer and what the hell is his life that all these people know each other and he doesn’t find out about it until ages afterwards, but anyway.

Ciri is awesome and after her Vesemir comes to meet the guy two of his sons are in love with, and Coen shows up along with other assorted characters I’ve forgotten and anyway, yes???

(Also, also, Yennefer happens to find out about Valdo Marx and she straightens out that mess quietly and efficiently in such a way that Jaskier doesn’t realize it until long after the fact and is like hm, because he didn’t think she particularly liked him, but apparently he was wrong? Which leads to brunch dates with her and Triss and gossiping about the other idiots in their lives and discussing Jaskier giving Ciri music lessons and anyway, yes.)

#witcher nonsense #geraskel #geralt/eskel/jaskier #aiden/lambert #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #stray cat au #¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #long post #the witcher

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Too Loose And You’ll Lose It- Prologue: Well F**k Me!

Co-Written with @icanfeelastormbrewing​

Summary: The Losers infiltrate a Child Sex Trafficking operation based in the Middle East thanks to their inside woman. New to the team, Stella has never met the men she will be working with going forward, all except for one that is...

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut (NSFW) NO UNDER 18s PLEASE!!!! This also deals with mentions of Child Sex slavery, but no details really. 

Pairing: Jake Jensen x OFC Stella Stevenson

A/N: So this is written for @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ 's challenge, and our prompt was the photo below. We'd also like to submit this for @jtargaryen18​ 's 30 Days of Chris challenge. As you will gather form the title, we fully intend this to be  a Series as well, which will arrive at some point. Hope you enjoy, let us know what you think!

Happy Birthday Evans, you beautiful bastard!!

The mission was simple, well, on paper. Clay and the rest of his specially selected Black-Ops team were charged with bringing down a child sex trafficking ring being operated by a number of corrupt US and UK Soldiers who were currently stationed in Iraq. His person on the inside had successfully infiltrated the ring following a 6 month period of being undercover and thanks to them they now knew how it was being operated. The kids targeted were orphans, so there was no one there to make a fuss or protect them. They were taken from the streets, refugee camps and then smuggled into Turkey (not Syria as they had originally thought)  where they were transported to Hakkari before being auctioned off and handed over to whoever it was that had bought them for the evening, ready for whatever disgusting fate awaited them. This process was repeated several times over a week, before the kids were then disposed of before a fresh new bunch brought in for the next auction in three months time. 

It was slick, well organised, and fucking disgusting. But Clay knew he had to keep that disgust at bay, if he had any chance of keeping his cover. Earlier that day Cougar had successfully taken out one of the original players who would be attending the auction, thanks once more to the info their insider had passed on, and Clay had taken his place. He sat in the plush, velvet arm-chair which surrounded a dimly lit stage, a glass of scotch in one hand, cuban in the other. Coupled with his dark suit and open collar white shirt, he looked to be a seamless copy of the the rest of the perverts lounging in equally opulent seats around the circle. 

A literal paedophile ring. 

"In position..."  

Roque spoke into the tiny ear-piece Clay was wearing. He had no microphone, nothing. Wearing anything like that was far too big a risk, but the ear piece as designed by Jensen was far too small for them to have noticed. It meant he could still hear what was going on, and once he gave the signal his team plus the rest of the CIA officers waiting outside would swamp the place. And if a few of the perverts happened to hit a few steps or fists on their way out, no one was going to cry about it. 

"We have visual on you Colonel..." 

Pooch spoke again "Jensen hacked the CCTV and is now about to cut their comms..."

"Easy as pie..." Jensen muttered  "And as I am a genius, they are now officially unable to contact the outside world..."

"If you're a genius then they seriously need to rethink what they call Einstein..."  Pooch retorted.

“Shut up Pooch, not my fault you can't even figure out how to work a laptop..."

"Enough!"  Roque cut across the banter, Cougar's chuckle hitting Clay's ear as he watched a pretty, slim blonde Woman striding onto stage

. "It's starting. Keep comms clear until further instructions received."

Clay looked at the woman, her black dress was tight leaving little to the imagination. Her hair was pulled back into a high pony-tail and her lips were painted a blood red. Dark eyeshadow adorned her lids and her calculating blue eyes scanned the room, falling on him for a second before she continued looking around, a smile curling across her face. She looked the part of a Gentlemans Club owner. Pristine, perfectly put together, but she was a female pimp- nothing more, nothing less. 

"Gentlemen, welcome." she spoke, her soft American accent cutting across the rooms and Clay noted the slight New-England twang she had. "The Auction is about to begin but I must first of all run down a few rules with you. You will find to your right your bidding pads. Should you wish to bid, tap the button. Simply put, highest bidder wins. Once your purchase has been made and the monies have been collected from your specified accounts, you will be invited to meet with your latest acquisition in the specially provided rooms. They are yours to do with as you wish until 9 am tomorrow morning upon which time they will be collected from your rooms and your personal effects will be returned. All we ask is that you do not kill them. It becomes messy and attracts unnecessary attention to the club from the outside."

She turned and barked something in Turkish to someone and a door to the back of the room opened. The woman moved to another smaller plinth at the back of the room as a man dragged a crying girl, that can't have been older than 9 years, dressed in nothing but her underwear onto the circular plinth under the spotlights.

"Fuck..."

 Clay heard Pooch's disgusted voice in his ear.

"This is sick."

 Jensen muttered.

And it was. But Clay had to remain still, and silent. The play was simple, he put in a few bids and hung back. But at some point, when he was sure they had enough evidence, he would enter a bid of a million. That was the team's cue to move.

He let the first girl go, much as he didn't want to. But seeing her being dragged off the stage was enough to make him decide he was ending it with the second. He couldn't take watching another kid go through that, they had to have enough to bust this wide open, surely. 

The next was a small, dark haired boy. He was pulled onto the stage by the burley guard, trembling, his brown eyes wide in fear. The bidding began. 10, 12, 15 thousand... at that point Clay hit his button, submitting his bid of 20. It was beaten, so he entered another and was beaten again.

"Bidding stands now at 40 thousand." the woman spoke. "Any further bids?"

Clay pushed his button "1 million." he spoke clearly. The woman cocked her head to one side, her eyebrow raising but before she could say anything the doors to the back of the room blew off.

Jensen, Cougar, Roque and Pooch flew into the room, flanked by a number of CIA agents and army officers as there was the usual pandemonium associated with a raid. As Jensen sprinted off down a corridor to the left in search of their Offices and computers,  Pooch tossed a gun to Clay who joined the fray. He looked up in time to see the woman who had been running the auction sprinting out of the room down another corridor, but before he could say anything Roque was after her.

"You sick, fucking bitch..." Roque mumbled as he sprinted down the winding corridors in the depths of the club almost tripping over her discarded heels as he went. Eventually he caught up with her, just as she raised a gun that she seemed to have produced from nowhere, shooting someone in front of her. Just as the shot rang out, Roque threw himself onto her, taking her down. She struggled a little in his arms, her strength taking him by surprise as they tangled together but eventually his strength won out and he pinned her on his back. His hand reached up to grab the wrist of the arm she held her gun in and he banged it sharply on the floor a few times until she dropped her weapon.  He looked at her face for a second, and something flashed in her eyes. Almost relief and she let out a breath.

"I'll come quietly" she said and Roque shook his head.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right here, right now."

"Because you need me." she shrugged "I'm your key to busting this whole thing wide open."

"Get up..." Roque snarled, as he hauled her to her feet, secured her wrists behind her back with his restraints. He looked her up and down and noticed that her dress had ripped slightly, exposing her right thigh flashing the hold-ups and garter straps he was wearing, into which was tucked another pistol. He ripped it from the strap which ran up and over a large, floral tattoo before he spun her round and with the gun jabbed into her back, he pushed her in front of him back the way he had come. 

"Can I at least get my shoes?" she asked. Roque looked at her, incredulously, but let her slip the heels back on before they continued, emerging into the large cavernous room containing the stage. The plush velvet chairs now scattered all over the place, shreds of fabric still in the air as they were riddled with bullet holes and Clay was barking orders to someone in an Army uniform who nodded, and started to instruct his men to move out the prisoners they had taken to the waiting vehicles. Pooch and Cougar turned to face him first, before Clay spun round. The woman Roque was holding looked Clay in the eye and arched her eyebrow slightly as she raised her chin in defiance. 

"Caught her in the back, she shot one of the other operators." Roque said, his gun nudging her forward another step "Probably to stop him talking."

Clay eyed her for a second, before a wide grin split across his face and he looked at Roque "Let her go, she's one of us."

"What?" Roque blinked, not sure he had heard correctly. Behind Clay Pooch and Cougar exchanged a look.

"I said she's one of us." Clay said, "She's my person on the inside."

Roque paused for a moment, looking at Clay then to the woman who turned to face him, her shoulders shrugging slightly "I told you I was your key to busting this wide open."

Roque uncuffed her and she moved her arms, rubbing her wrists slightly. "Sorry." he said gruffly.

"It's fine, you didn't know..." she said, cocking her head to one side "But can I have my guns back?"

Roque fished in the waistband of his jeans and handed her the two pistols which she slipped back into her suspenders, giving a little moan. " You ruined my dress..."

Pooch and Cougar gave a little snigger each and Roque glared at them both. Clay, however, ignored the 3 of them completely and looked at the woman.

"Did you get him?"

She nodded "Bullet straight through his head. I never miss." 

"Through the head?" Pooch looked at her.

"It was a shoot to kill order." she shrugged "So I shot and I killed him."

Cougar tipped his hat slightly in approval as Pooch looked at him, then to Clay, then to Roque. Clay let out a huff of a laugh before he turned to the team.

"This is Stella Stevenson, aka Arty..."

"Like Artrois...that's clever." Pooch chuckled.

Arty grinned at him as Roque looked at Clay "Emma's replacement, right?"

Clay nodded. "She's slightly less volatile..." 

Arty raised an eyebrow "Until I'm pushed...although leaving a bomb in someone's car is far too crude for my liking. You wouldn't see me coming, Clay."

Clay snorted "Losers, treat her well. She's like a daughter to me, we go way back."

She smiled, and then looked around before she nodded to a door at the back, gesturing at them to follow her. "Everything you need is on the systems. I buried it as deep as I could to stop them deleting any of it. You got names, dates, transactions..."

"They kept transactions?" Pooch frowned as they walked down towards the offices she was indicating. 

"Key blackmail opportunities." Clay took a deep breath.

"Which I daresay we'll uncover as well." she spoke "This goes deep Clay. Deep. And it's not the only one. They're operating out of Syria and Afghanistan too."

"Ok." Clay nodded, "Let's see if Jensen is done retrieving the intel off the systems and then we can-"

"Jensen?" Arty blinked at the mention of the familiar name and Clay turned to her grinning "You son of a bitch..." she laughed, shaking her head.

Roque, Cougar and Pooch exchanged a look.

"What did we miss?" Roque asked as they stopped outside a door.

"You're about to find out..." Clay said, pushing the door open.  The 5 of them stepped inside and Clay looked at Jensen who had their back to them  and was leaning over a screen, his nose almost touching it. "You get what we need?"

Jensen didn't look up. "I was right, they had an automatic virus in here that can be remote operated but the stuff was buried deep, by someone who wanted to make sure it didn't get wiped, they clearly knew what they were doing..." he mused, and Clay glanced at Arty who raised an eyebrow "Just transferring it back to base now. We got names, dates, transaction history...and there are a few very naughty senators who are gonna be getting their collars felt. Which is better than them getting their balls felt by 12 year olds..."

"Shame you weren't this good at Mario Karts JJ..." Arty spoke and Jensen stilled slightly before he whipped around in his seat.

"Stel?" he spoke, utterly astounded as he stood up, his dark green t-shirt rippling over his chest. 

She looked at him for a second "I thought you were in Afghanistan." she cocked her head to one side, taking his appearance in. He hadn't changed a bit in the year or so it had been since she had seen him last. Same cheeky and boyishly handsome face, same spiky blonde hair, same broad shoulders which tapered into a slim waist.

"I thought you were in Iraq." he shot back, eyeing her up and down. She hadn't changed a jot either. Same curvy figure, same long legs and he let out a moan as he saw the guns strapped to her thigh through the rip in her dress.

"Are you wearing suspenders?"  His eyes widened before they worked  their way up her body.

"Always were observant Jakey." she grinned as his eyes locked onto her own, those crystal blue orbs shining slightly in the light of the room.

"Alright quit perving and for your information she was in Iraq." Clay said, "Under my orders."

"Well..." Jensen nodded, his hands falling to his hips as he looked down at his feet before he glanced back at Stella then Clay "Fuck me."

"Ok, what's this all about? You know each other or something?" Roque asked, gesturing between them with his hand.

Pooch rolled his eyes "Good call Roque, you think?"

"She's my best friend..." Jensen grinned, "All the way through middle and high-school..."

Stella barked out a laugh "So that's what we're calling it now?"

"Ok, best friend with...certain benefits.. if you get my drift." Jensen shrugged, his eyes twinkling cheekily. 

A that, Pooch let out a groan whilst Cougar smirked

"Nice..." he said, tipping his hat, speaking for the first time since Arty had met him, a low chuckle escaping his mouth.

 Roque blinked and turned to Clay "And you knew about this?"

"I told you, she's like a daughter to me..." Clay shrugged.

Jensen and Arty stood still, not really paying attention, simply looking at one another, until Jensen grinned and threw his arms open  "Come here!"

With a grin she threw herself at him and he hugged her tight, arms wrapping around her back as he lifted her off the floor slightly and kissed her cheek "It's good to see you Stel."

"You too Jakey"

********

After an hour or so, Clay signalled to the team that it was time to depart and they headed to the chopper that was waiting to take them out of Turkey and to the UN Base in Damascus where their handler was waiting to talk to them. The man, known only to them as David, took all the information down, told them what was likely to happen over the next few days and informed them that they would be ex-filled back to CIA HQ in DC in the next week or so, for full debrief. They were shown to their quarters for the next few days, which were all private rooms in the officers' lodgings, thank God, and they all retrieved their kit bags from the piles that were waiting for them, Arty's own pack being significantly smaller. 

"Hope it's all the right size." Clay nodded towards it. She smiled and took it from him with a thanks..

"Sure it will do...hang on, did you buy me underwear as well?"

He shrugged

"Ok, that's kinda gross..."

"I said I was like your dad..." he arched an eyebrow, "Not that I actually was. The rest of your stuff from the base will be shipped back, most likely waiting for you by the time we exfil."

"Thanks Clay."

The team bid each other goodnight and Arty, once in her room headed straight for a shower. She turned the water on as hot as she could stand, and stepped under with a light groan, scrubbing her body and hair down as if the soap and shampoo would wash away the last 6 months. It wouldn't, of course. Some of the things she had seen and had to do during her stint undercover had been vile, and she knew would stick with her for the rest of her life but she had known that it wouldn't be easy. She needed to compartmentalise, decompress, which was the whole point of the debriefs and psyche evaluation she would be subject to when she got back to DC, just like any agent returning back into the fold after a mission. Arty knew the drill, it wasn't the first undercover op she had been involved in, having been a part of Delta Force for almost 2 years now, but it was the first one during which she had been directly undercover herself following recruitment into the CIA Special Ops Group Ground force. She knew that you never stayed in Special Ops long, it was a short term thing few people were lucky enough to be chosen for and could be cut even shorter if one of the missions left your face too easily recognisable, so Stella was intending to make the most of it even though she knew already it was gruelling. 

And then there was Jensen. She had no idea he was working for the CIA but then, why would she? That was the point of Black Ops. Covert. Still, she couldn't help but feel a little upset at how far they actually had drifted since they had last seen each other 12 months ago. When they both went their separate ways after completing the ROTC, they'd promised to stay in touch, and to be fair for the most part over the past 8 years they'd done just that. Phone calls, emails, and then spending any time they could when they both had leave at the same time together, but it had certainly waned over the last year and, well, now she knew why.

Turning off the shower she dried off and dug out the night wear Clay had provided her with. Pleasantly surprised and pleased to find a pair of pale yellow pyjama shorts and matching tank top she shrugged them on before she flicked on the small TV that was attached to the wall, and just as she was about to throw herself on the bed there was a knock on her door. Knowing full well it would only be one person she padded barefoot over the clean, but clinical flooring and opened it. 

Jensen leaned against the door frame, barefoot and dressed in a pair of black shorts and a white tank top, his handsome face sporting his trademark grin as he held up a bottle of Jack Daniels. "Me and my friend Jack were just takin' a stroll, thought we'd pop by for a catch up." He watched as she smiled, and stepped back to let him in. His eyes slid up her bare legs to her shorts and over her ass for a second before he shut the door behind him. "Not gonna lie Stel, was kinda hoping you'd still be in that dress and those damned thigh holsters."

"They only come out for special occasions." she quipped, heading over to the small kitchen area at the back of the room and waving 2 mugs. "You want one or we doing it straight from the bottle?"

"Why change the habit of a lifetime?" he snorted, twisting off the cap and taking a mouthful. She crossed towards him and he handed it to her and she took a loud mouthful, swallowing it as it burned her throat a little. "God it's hot when you do that."  She shot him a look as he took the bottle from her, placing it down on the side before he grabbed her hips and pulled her closer "Fuck, I missed you Stel."

"What happened to no strings attached?" She looked at him, her hands falling on top of his.

"I still really missed you...not just the sex...but you..." he shrugged. "You know I have..."

"That why we've hardly spoken in 12 months?" she looked at him.

"I emailed..." he frowned, one hand moving to run through his hair "You're the one that went silent 6 months ago."

"I was undercover..."

"You can be under the covers now too..." he grinned and she scoffed, shaking her head.

"Is this really wise if we're gonna be working together?"

"Since when have I ever done anything wise?" he shrugged, pushing his glasses back up his nose slightly.

"You should try it some time..." Stella said, patting his chest. She stepped back out of his hold, grabbed the bottle and took another drink before she walked to the bed and flopped down on it. "Assume the position JJ." she instructed him and he grinned, dropping down besides her and she handed him the bottle. Neither of them spoke for a moment, they fell into a comfortable silence, having been in this situation many times before. Lying side by side, drinking, just being close to one another. Jake took another mouthful of the liquor, stealing a glance at her as she sat besides him, her damp hair pulled into a braid, the spattering of freckles that adorned her nose and cheeks evident following her being fresh from the shower, the trace of her jawline down her throat to the slight swell of cleavage he could see thanks to the neckline of her tank top...

 As she made a gesture for the bottle he handed it to her, and she took it, her eyes still fixed on the TV, and she grimaced, nodding towards the screen. Jake followed her gaze as it was cutting to a News flash. 

"I said there would be some very nervous senators..." he quipped, as Stella shook her head as the footage of Capitol Hill rolled, the news reporter carrying the story about a number of arrests linked to a suspected Military Raid earlier that day. They both knew, however, that any arrests would have been made hours previously, as soon as the information they had syphone had hit the CIA base. The entire operation was timed to a tee.

"Hope they throw away the key. Sick bastards." she muttered "Honestly Jakey some of the stuff I saw...it was fucking disgusting."

Jake looped an arm round her shoulder and she lay her head against his chest, her arm looping over his stomach as he gave her a squeeze before she sat up again, taking the bottle. She took a large gulp, larger than her previous ones and pulled a face as she swallowed, her throat bobbing and he felt the familiar stirring in his pants. She looked at him for a moment, their eyes locking and his gaze flicked down to her mouth before it moved back up again as he took the bottle off her and blindly reached behind him, placing it on the table besides her bed.

"Wanna fuck?" he asked.

She shrugged "Sure, why not?"

No sooner had the words left her mouth, his lips crashed to hers in a bruising kiss and he smirked against her mouth as she straddled him, his hands falling to her hips as her mouth hungrily worked against his. Their lips molded together in a well known practice, her tongue teasing against his own before she pulled back, gently biting his bottom lip as she went, drawing a groan from his throat as he rest his head against hers, his eyes flickering open to lock onto hers. 

“You know…” Stella sighed, drawing back slightly to cup Jake's face in her fingertips “I'm liking this..." she traced her fingers lightly across his goatee, and he smiled at her as she reached up and took his glasses off, dropping them carelessly next to the bottle of Jack by their side. 

“It's supposed to make me look meaner…” he murmured, his lips gently brushing hers as their noses bumped together.

"Doesn't work, especially not with the bleach in your hair." she mumbled as his mouth trailed a path across her jawline and down the length of her neck "You're still that adorably yet slightly dorky 18 year old that took my cherry." "You took mine too Stel." he mumbled and her eyes closed as she rolled her head back, giving him access to more of her neck, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

"How could I forget?" her voice was nothing more than a whisper as his fingers flexed on her hips, his groin pushing upwards, his hardness pressing into her core through their clothing. "I'm glad to report you got a lot better at it since then..." 

"Well, you'd know..."  he said, his tongue licking a line back up her throat as his hands grabbed at the bottom of her tank top. She moved to allow him to take it off and Jake looked down at her bare chest as she reciprocated the favour, pulling his top over his head, tossing it to the floor. Raising his head he gently nipped at the base of her neck, his hands sliding up her bare sides, calloused fingers ever so gentle over her ribs as his tongue flicked at her nipple as he took it in his mouth, drawling a loud groan from her as her hips bucked involuntarily at the sensation. 

God it really had been far too long.

Unable to take it anymore he flipped her over so she was on her back, his body sliding downwards as he dispensed of her shorts and then his own, before he kissed his way back up from her ankle all the way to that thigh tattoo which was ingrained in his memory forever. Well, most of it was anyway... 

"This...this is new. " he said gently, his fingers tracing the outline of the large, pink flower that sat at the top, almost in the crease of her hip.

"Go Petunias." she looked at him and he let out a bark of a laugh as she snaked her right leg in between both of his and using a well executed move she threw him on his back drawing a loud huff of surprise from him.

"Jesus Stel, give a guy a warning" he mumbled as she slid over him.

"Where's the fun in that?" she whispered,  brushing her lips across the hairs on his face tracing a path across from one side of his jawline to the other as his eyes fully closed in pleasure, large hands gripping at her thighs, then her hips as she shifted slightly to start taking him in. Her mouth dropped into a small ‘o’ as they both groaned as she slid down, her warmth engulfing him entirely.

"JJ..." she mumbled,  her hands falling to his chest as she held herself still "Jakey, look at me...wanna see you." He opened his eyes, locking them onto her own which were half-lidded with desire as she began to move. Her hips rotated as she ground down again, and again, his own rising to meet hers as she did. 

"Fuck, Stel..." he sighed, "Still feel so good baby girl..."

She grinned, and bit her lip as her hips moved again, his hands sliding down to grab at her ass as she pushed down harshly, causing him to grunt as she ground down against him, tilting herself forward finding that angle that always got her off. Her pace was slow, torturously so, but it wasn’t long before she began to move slightly faster, working him harder as she chased her relief. The roughness of his pubic hair was grinding against her spot, the friction feeling amazing as she pushed down. With every roll of her hips, Jensen's eyes which were still locked onto hers grew darker, and darker, his hands digging into her hips as he pulled her onto him, grinding upwards further and deeper.

He sat up suddenly, so they were face to face, the change of angle making her cry out, as he slid his hands moved round her back, pulling her close to him as he kissed and sucked at her neck, biting at that spot  beneath her ear whilst he held her still for a moment, gently thrusting upwards, deeply, slowly, savouring the moment. Stella rolled her head back, a louder cry this time tumbling from her lips and he felt her tighten around him,  pulsing strongly as her orgasm washed over her and he let out a groan of his own as her head fell forward to his shoulder, her groans soft in his ear.

“Good?” he whispered, smiling as she managed a broken noise of affirmation, and without giving her a moment to recover he flipped her onto her back, his hands lacing with hers at the side of her head as he began to thrust into her, his pace harder and faster.

"Jake..." she gasped, as his lips crashed onto hers, swallowing her cries as her nails dug into the back of his hands whilst he thrust into her with deep, powerful strokes. The sweat was beading over his brow as he broke the kiss, his head falling forward slightly as he felt his own relief beginning to creep up on him. He tugged his right hand free, sliding it down between them to rub at her sensitive nub as he pounded into her voraciously and she gave a loud wail her head tipping back into the pillow, her breathing ragged.

"Come on Stel..." he gasped, "Come on baby, give it to me..." And give it she did, her body shook underneath him as her mouth dropped open and she let out a loud noise which bubbled from her throat, as she once more succumbed to the wave of pleasure washing over her. The feel of her clenching around him was enough, and Jensen followed her right over the edge into delirium, his hips stuttering as his thrusts grew sloppy, riding his own orgasm out before he collapsed down on top of her, completely and utterly blissed out. They lay in silence, both struggling to gain control of their breathing in the aftermath, not a sound being made by either of them bar gasps for air as the TV continued to play in the background. Stella gently moved her hands up and down the expanse of muscle on his back, his skin slick to the touch and Jensen laid still, relishing the touch of her fingertips as they danced over his body.

Eventually he raised his head, propping himself up on his elbows as he gave her a lazy grin which she reciprocated. His hands cupped her cheeks, his lips seeking hers out once more for a kiss that was this time soft, gentle, a stark cry from the ardent ones they'd shared before. He pulled away, pressing his forehead to hers, gently brushing their noses together before he spoke, his voice slightly raspy from the exertion of the last 15 minutes or so. 

"Welcome to The Losers, Stel" he grinned.

#the losers #jake jensen #jake jensen x ofc #30daysofchris2020 #sweatersanyficchallenge

[scarletbluebird13]

Hi! Can I request some MK angst.

Hiya! You absolutely can! One thing tho, I didn’t know if you wanted a specific character or not, so I did a hc just to be safe :) Hope that was okay and that it’s to your liking! :

Without You

Kazuomi:

You were a flower. The most graceful thing he’d ever come across

Everything literally dulled around you

He loved your passion, wit, and sharp tongue.

You were the only one who’d ever really challenged him and didn’t succumb to his charisma.

Maybe he liked the chase

Or maybe it was you he liked - maybe it wasn’t the chase

Was it the way you made him feel?

The way your hair’d fall elegantly, perfectly, gracefully down your back with no effort?

Was it how you never gave him a moment’s peace?

Whatever it was, you were all he could think about

Had the situation been different - one little thing changed -

If he’d been the one to offer you a ride to Raven Resort, maybe none of you’d be in this situation.

But that didn’t happen.

And he knew even if he’d offer to pick you up and bring you to the resort, you’d probably swat his hand away and give him another tough time.

Maybe - if he’d just opened his mouth that one night and told you how he felt, he’d be able to give you the roses and see your smile - that is, if Arisa Mifune could smile.

Either way, he wouldn’t be putting the roses here.

Laying them atop your headstone, that is.

They say it was an accident - you were on your way to the resort like Kazuomi’d asked you,

...but you never made it.

A robbery, they called it.

But it wasn’t true and he knew it.

You could take on any man four times your size, but you were still gone.

This was no normal robbery.

This was something much larger, and he knew it.

But he couldn’t do anything about it.

Ever since he heard about your death, he stopped functioning.

He tried to find comfort in the resorts he built - where you felt needed, where you felt like you belonged and weren’t alone.

But that didn’t work.

Yuzuru and Kei tried to cheer him up, but he was a broken man.

No amount of whiskey could fill him -

Hell, he lacked the energy to talk to other people.

His charisma dulled, and every woman who threw herself at him - he was repulsed to look at.

They weren’t you.

Then again

He believed he would have you if he’d been a man and admitted how he felt about you earlier.

But for now and probably for the rest of his painful life, he’d live solely to regret not being there for you. He really believes it was his fault.

Yuzuru

You two were the happiest people in the world

Kazuomi and Kei’d always make little jabs at you two here and there

Occasionally Victoria would say something to make you blush - even if it was reminding you you had access to Yuzu’s room (plus his special one), or reading Yuzu’s temperature out loud whenever things got steamy.

You were the only one who was capable of making the ringing in his ears stop.

He was at peace with you

And the woman you’d revealed yourself to be - not just the real you, the woman you’d grown to become as well - he found, was never meant to be his in the first place.

You were hanging around with Yuzuru as usual.

Wondering about the latest bit of tech he was perfecting.

When there was an unfortunate accident.

You were tagging along slightly behind Yuzuru, asking him a bunch of questions - ones you’ve already asked, but wanted to ask again just to annoy him a bit

“What’s the new techy thing you’re working on again, Yuzuru?”

“When’s it gonna be released?”

“How does it work?”

“Who is it meant for?”

“Can I help?”

He didn’t mind the questions

He thought they were cute - even if it was the hundred-millionth time you’d asked

Plus he chose to see it as you taking an interest in his work ...not just you actively deciding to annoy him

On one of these days, however - one of the rare days you’d followed him to work

A flood light fell.

They were working on the ceiling, and one of the workers shifted a certain way

Accidentally knocking a heavy, steel flood light off the ladder it was resting on.

It hit you on the head.

When Yuzuru heard the BAM and your cry - he turned around like no one’s business

He was all over you in a millisecond.

Your robotic boyfriend was full of concern - petrified for you.

You were lucky you didn’t black out

Or, for that matter, that all there was to prove the incident ever happened, was a red bruise forming on the top of your head, under your hair.

That and, at the moment, throbbing pain.

It hurt so bad and you were in so much shock you didn’t speak.

You tried not to cry

But you did - and they were silent tears.

Alarmed, Yuzuru took you to the ER.

After a while, the doctors said you were fine - even taking a CAT scan just to be safe.

At first, you seemed to be normal. So they let you go.

Still, Yuzuru was so very concerned about you.

He insisted on staying around you 24/7

But you insisted you were fine.

Unfortunately, that bright smile you gave him on that last day was the last time you knew who he was.  

In less than three days since the accident, Yuzuru noticed a change in you.

You were different

But he didn’t know exactly how you were different, he just knew.

One evening, you stumbled upon the door in his living room - the one with the picture of his family when he was younger - and you said something.

“Hey, what’s this?”

That’s when his worst fears were realized.

Something definitely happened. And you most certainly were not okay or “fine.”

He took you to a neurologist

They did an MRI scan and an EEG scan.

That’s when they found the problem.

Your amygdala was damaged.

It controlled your memories, personality, and judgement calls.

He knew you weren’t the same

He paid for the best doctors his money could buy - the best in the country

You had a surgery to help repair your amygdala

But your chances weren’t very good -

The doctors explained that to him a thousand times over

When you woke up, Yuzuru Shiba had been wiped from your memory.

Your memories, your secret promises -- gone.

That fast, someone Yuzuru cared about so much, was gone.

So he did what he thought was best and let you go

Of course, he only did this after a year of caring for you and trying to get you to remember him -

But someone else caught your eye.

And he had to let you go.

He decided he’d remember your time together - for the both of you.

He’d never see that dazzling smile aimed towards him ever again.

Your smile, laugh, relentless questions, and heart all belonged to someone else now.

Kei

He’s never known how to communicate his emotions.

It’s just something he’s always struggled with.

He liked you, he really did

He was just too conflicted on how to show it.

He thought pain and bondage were the best way to show he cared for you

But he just didn’t understand

That you’d never get the hint if he continued that way of expressing himself.

Had you tried to understand the eccentric Kei?

Yes. Yes, you have.

You’d tried communicating with him for over six months and trying to explain what you felt towards him

But he just…only knew how to communicate his feelings of affection for you by causing you pain and bondage.

He thought if he let you catch him with another woman in bed, the pain would be so much for you, you’d be bound to understand his overwhelming love for you

But it didn’t necessarily go as planned.

When you saw him in bed with her, you were done.

You packed your bags and left.

A few months later, Kei spotted you at a café with some guy

You made eye contact with Kei, standing there across the street, head tilted to the side, silently observing you two

And you moved closer to the gentleman you were sitting with - unbeknownst to Kei, he was a target.

You placed a gentle finger on the man’s arm, and directed all your attention towards him.

Kei, ignorant to the fact the man you were sitting with was your target, decided to let you be.

If you were happier with someone else, then so be it.  

Boss

He should have never sent you on that mission.

The one that’d be your last.

There is no “worst part” for him.

Every second he lived out while you were in this state was hell to him.

You two were lovers.

Finally, after god knows how many years of you crushing on him and him secretly side-eyeing you.

He finally had you -

And he was happy

When it lasted, of course

But god, or whoever runs the universe - he’s lost all faith in anything - is a sadistic son of a bitch.

But he knew he couldn’t blame something on this like the universe

No

It was his own fault

For sending you on that mission

He knew it was dangerous

And he told you so

But you wanted to do the mission anyway

And he assigned the mission to you, trusting only you - since you were his number one agent

His protégé.

Now you were also the only thing he could think about

Night and day.

Tormented by the smile he knew he’d never see again.

That laugh he’d never hear.

The feeling of his arms around you.

None of it.

He’d lost it.

Forever.

Rather, he believed he threw it away.

Something went wrong during the mission, and what’s worse, you weren’t even dead.

You were still alive.

But you had to live out your days in a coma.

Practically brain dead.

The doctors said it wasn't good.

That your chances were slim to none

But he still visited you every day.

Held your hand

Played with your hair.

Before, he brought Hugo to do your hair and make up for your anniversary.

But Hugo just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Since then, it’s been him, the nurses, and doctors walking in and out of your room.

He visited you not only because he loved you or he felt guilty, rather,

He believed he had to have hope that you’d wake up.

That one day your eyes would open, you’d groan and this horrible, terrible nightmare would cease to exist.

He had to believe it.

It’s what happened in movies, right?

He had to believe you’d wake up.

He just had to.

Afterall, you’d wake up.

...right?

#masquerade kiss #kazuomi #kazuomi shido #yuzu #yuzuru #yuzuru shiba #kei sojima #kei #boss #voltage #voltage inc #love 365 #mk #hc #headcannon #headcanon #ask #request #angst #masquerade kiss angst

[the-mighty-jellybean]

Till The Final Bullet

Series Summary: “In a place where they won't let us feel, In a place where nothing seems real. I will hold you. In a world that’s moving too fast. In a world where nothing can last. I will hold you.”-Last Night of The World- Miss Saigon

From the age of twelve, Y/N Y/L/N, has been trained by Hydra, and used as an assailant for a number of years. She’s been taught not to feel, but when she’s put in a kill squad with the Winter Solider, their partnership is deadly, as their motivation becomes more than just keeping themselves alive.  

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Series Warning: Angst, Fluff, Strong Language, Eventual Smut, Dark!Bucky (I think??) (18+ Only)

Part One// 

Part Two: Are We Bad People?

Chapter Warnings: Violence, Strong Language, Rumlow gets a bit aggressive

Word Count: 3.1k

“We have reason to believe that Director Fury, has obtained a hard drive containing important information about Project Insight.” Pierce stood in front of you and James, as he began to give details about your latest mission. “Your mission is to remove Director Fury from the picture.”

“He will leave the Triskelion, at fifteen hundred hours, I want him permanently removed by sixteen hundred. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” You and James chorused; saluting, before walking to your weapons lock.

~~~

“You ready for this?” James asked you, as you secured your belt of explosives, and checked your two magnums that were strapped to your thighs.

“I’m sure we can handle it.” You say over your shoulder. You feel James pressing himself against you, and you just smirk and shake your head.

“You’re playing with fire, Sargent.”

“You would never burn me.” He responds slyly. You push him away, grabbing the keys to your armoured truck.

“Get in soldier, otherwise it won’t be me smoking your ass.” You chide sliding into the driver’s seat. James quickly joined you.

~~~~~

You sat in a layby, waiting for your signal. You were watching the people crossing the street in front of you, and the cars that zipped past every now and then. You couldn’t help but feel eyes on you, as you stared out the windscreen. You turned to the passenger seat of your truck, only to be met with the steal blue eyes of your partner.

“What are you lookin at?” you smirk, turning away from him.

“You.” He responds simply.

“Why?” you chuckle.

“Because you’re the only thing worth looking at.” You shake your head at his cheesy comment, your eyes dropping to check the time, on the truck’s dashboard.

15:05

“They should have called us in by now.” You mutter, glancing at your own watch, where it read the same time.

“Aw, what you aren’t enjoying my company?” James pouts at you.

“Not when you’re just staring at me, like some creep.” You laugh, finally turning back to him.

“You like it when I stare at you like this.” James gives you one of his looks that makes your heart flutter slightly.

You don’t have time to respond, as you soon hear the echo of a single police siren, bounce off the skyscrapers.

“Show time.” You sigh, putting the truck into gear, and bursting out of the small alley way, narrowly missing a few pedestrians.

James begins to get a little shiftier, that was always his way, when a mission was starting to get more tense, you knew now was not the time to be flirty, but to be serious. He put his face mask on, and his goggles. Despite his change in mood, he helped you to put your mask on whilst you kept your eyes focused on the road.

“Vehicle 342, this is Red Fox, what is your location?” you press the button of your coms, and the radios response is fuzzy at first, before it clears giving you a location.

You were heading towards the area.

You flicked a switch on the dashboard, which gave you access to all the channels, you now had around 20 people yelling in your car.

“We’ve immobilised the Target.”

“We are using rapid fire on his vehicles plating.”

You role your eyes, before jabbing the button aggressively; “the vehicles got armoured plating you, jackass. No bullets are going to penetrate it. You’re just wasting your ammo, use the pressure canon.”

You swerve through the road, zig zagging in and out of cars, you can still hear the other operatives, over the coms yelling incoherently to one another. Then one clear channel breaks through them all.

“Subject has fire arm, repeat subject has fir-“ the transmission is cut short, before it is continued by a second operative.

“Subject is on the move, heading towards 22nd Street.”

You glanced at your navigation screen, watching the streets passing you.

“Leave it to us. Just steer him towards the intersection.”

You turned the wheel sharply, James grasping the side of the car, you managed to swerve an oncoming truck, and pressed your foot on the gas, the peddle going to the floor, as you weaved your way through the oncoming traffic.

You can hear car horns, and screeching of tires up ahead, and you slam on the breaks, putting the truck into a spin, before it stops just short of a large stretch of road.

In the distance you can see the two HYRDA vehicles persuing the black four by four.

James dove out the car before you, grabbing his rocket launcher, and began to walk out into the middle of the road.

He calmly walked towards the speeding car, firing the disc that skimmed across the surface of the road, then attaching itself to the bottom of the car, before imploding.

The force of the explosion causes the car to flip over, and you hold your breath, as James side stepped out of the way at the last second. You watch the four-wheel drive land on its roof, and skid across the road before coming to a crumpled stop. You join James by his side and begin to advance towards the wreckage.

Your gun is poised in your hands, you hold it up to your face, and nod your head, when James looks to you, asking you silently if you were ready.

Using his metal arm, he ripped what was left of the car door clean off of the frame word. You get ready to strike, but you huff, when you see a large hole, with smouldering edges, through the tarmac of the floor.

“What the fuck?!”

~~~~~

“I thought you said you could handle this, Sargent Barnes and Major Y/L/N.” you lowered your head a little, as Pierce spat at you in disapproval.

“We’re sorry, Sir. We thought we had him, but-“

“But nothing, Major Y/L/N. You failed me!” He punctuates his sharp words with a harsh slap across your face. You can feel James tense up next to you, but try to hold your ground, taking a deep breath through your nose, and looking to James briefly, giving him a calming look. “We have intel that he’s hiding out in a property in Washington D.C.”

“Let me take this one, Secretary Pierce.” Rumlow piped up from the corner, you and James turn to look at the smug agent in the corner. He approaches The Secretary, his chest puffed out. You hear the heavy breath of air that James huffs out, but you just resort to glaring.

“No.” Pierce shot Rumlow’s suggestion down, “I want you two, to redeem yourself. Go to the apartment in D.C. scout it, and then eliminate the target. You fail again, and you’ll both be going back to reconditioning.”

You just about hide the shudder, that Pierce’s threat washes over you. You give him a sharp nod, before leaving the briefing room.

“Sargent Barnes, wait here.” You hear Pierce’s voice echo behind you. You continue to march down the hall towards the weapons room. Your steps are fuelled by rage and your own disappointment, your cheek still stung.

As you round the corner, a force knocks you into the wall, and you gasp, your back slamming against the cold stone. Your met with lifeless brown eyes, and an intense grip is on your wrists.    

“What the fuck are you doing, Rumlow?” you growl, struggling in his grip. His fingers curl tighter round your wrists, and you hiss.

“You think Barnes is so much better than me, don’t you. You think that you’re so much better than me.” Rumlow spat in your face, and you could do nothing but tug at his wrists.

“What are you talking about, asshole. Get the fuck off me.” You break free of his grip, but before you can shove him away, he pins your hands to your chest.

“What do you think would happen if I told Pierce, what was going on between you and Barnes?” your eyes flash, you are stunned briefly, but snap from your panic, and you bring your knee up to his crotch.

Rumlow groans, and doubles over.

“I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about, Rumlow.” Whilst Rumlow is bent over, you bring your elbow down on his back, and he buckles onto his knees. You send one last kick to his ribs, before you quickly walk away.

You increase your pace, when the door of the weapons room becomes visible. You dive in, slamming the door behind you. Once you are sure that the room is empty, you allow your body to shake, and your eyes to sting and steam up.

The door clicks, and you sniff hard, wiping at your eyes furiously to get rid of the tears. Spinning round to face, whoever had just entered the room.

You immediately relax, when you see James standing in front of you, a sad smile on his face.

“Hey.” You said, dryly.

“Hey.” James walks towards you, wrapping his strong arms around you, falling against his chest, you let a heavy sigh fall from your lips. “You okay, doll. You’re shaking?”

“I’m okay now.” You hum, reluctantly pulling away from his arms, to grab your sniper. As you turn away, but James catches your wrist.

“Are you sure?” you just pull your wrist free, and nod your head once, before jumping in your truck.

~~~~~~

“Which floor are we supposed to be looking at?” James and you were laying on your stomachs, shoulder to shoulder. Your snipers trained on the walls of an apartment complex.

“There’s movement on the 3rd and 5th floor, but nothing on the 4th.” You explain, looking through the scope of your gun. Your eyes are following along the darkened windows, of a particular apartment on the 4th floor.  

“What’s so interesting about that apartment?” James also uses his scope, to look through the blacked-out windows.

“There’s music playing, but there shouldn’t be anyone home.” You look down at the tablet, scrolling through the owners of the apartments. Stopping on a Steve Rogers, who owned the apartment you were looking at. You recognised the name, but couldn’t place it, either way according to the records in front of you, nobody should be home.

You snapped away from the tablet when a light blinks in the window of the apartment. It was as if it was giving you a signal.

“That’s the one.” You grab your sniper, and shuffle along the roof top, so that you could scan the apartment with the heat censor.

James followed you, and dropped to his stomach, scoping the windows of the room.

The navy blue of the walls filled the screen, before the yellow and red outlines of two men appeared on the screen, one of which was facing you, whilst the other had his back to you. The one, who had just entered the apartment, was clutching, what appeared to be a circular shield. The other stood from the chair, he appeared to be injured, and was slightly bent over.

“Target located.” You lifted the scope to your eye, your finger wrapping around the trigger, you line the cross of the scope, with the back of the target.

Without blinking you squeeze the trigger, you do it once more. The gun kicking back into your shoulder, as the shells burst through the wall of the building, you watch the monitor, as they strike the target, causing him to collapse.

“We need to move.” James stands, and looks down at you, but your eyes are trained up on the screen.

“Not yet, we need to make sure he stays down.” You didn’t want any room for error, not again. Pierce’s words still wove their way around your scalp, you needed to protect yourself, and James.

“We need to move, Y/N.” James was pulling at your shoulder, but you didn’t budge.

You were so focused on the target, you didn’t notice the other person enter the apartment, until she knelt by the target.

“Come on, Y/N. We need to go now.”

You had seen enough, grabbing your sniper and the tablet, you stood and took off running, James by your side.

As you crossed the rooftops, you noticed a figure following you bellow. Glancing down through the glass ceiling of a nearby building, you realised it was the second man from before, the one that was clutching the shield.

“Jay, we’re being followed.” James follows your eyeline, and spots the guy chasing you. He grabbed your sleeve, pulling you towards a dead ended roof.

A loud smashing sound from behind you, makes you throw a look over your shoulder; the man that had been chasing you, had broken through one of the windows, and now shared you escape route.

He swung his arm back, and launched his circular shield, towards the two of you.

“James!” you yell in alarm, the shield, flying towards the pair of you.

“Jump!” That’s all James says to you, the last image you see of him, before you throw yourself off the top of the roof; is James stopping and plucking the shield out of the air, like it was a paper aeroplane. He swings the shield back, before he also leaps from the roof.

He looks around him for a place to hide, you grab him by his collar, pulling him into an ally way, and pressing close to one another, until you see the man walk from the roof.

You didn’t realise you were still holding James close against you, until he cleared his throat, and jutted his eyebrows at you.

“Sorry.” You immediately let go, brushing the front of his uniform down, before walking towards your truck, that you had hidden in another ally way a few streets away.

~~~~~

“Were you successful this time, Major Y/L/N?” Pierce asked you coolly.

“Yes, Sir. Target has been erased.”

“Excellent, the two of you may retire for the night, I will speak with you both in the morning.”

You salute him, before you and James leave the command room, and head down towards the basement of the building, where your ‘rooms’ were.

“You okay?” James had been quiet since you got back from the mission, he hadn’t spoke a word to you. His eyes were a little glazed, and colder than they usually were.

“I’m fine.” He says bluntly, turning into his room, and closing the door.

You sigh heavily, but you know there is no point in pursuing the reason why he’s in such a miserable state, it wasn’t uncommon for him to become distant after a mission like this. Once you got to your room, you grab a towel and some cleaning products, and instead head towards the shower, deciding you need to cleanse yourself of the day.

Turning into the shower block, you were relieved to see it was empty, quickly turning the shower on, you stripped, then stepped in. Shivering, as the ice-cold water poured down your back.

You had been in there a while, so long that your body had become numb, and you could no longer feel the iciness of the water, that beat at your back. The water tingled as it hit your scars, it made your back feel fuzzy.

“Can I join you?” you jump almost slipping on the mouldy tiles of the shower floor, but a metal arm held you up.

“Jesus Christ, Jay.” You press your hand to your chest, heart hammering against it.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, steadying you. Your heart was still beating quickly, but your mind relaxed, when you saw the sorrowful look on his face.

“Don’t worry. And yeah, come join me.” You waved him in, you weren’t expecting him to jump in straight away, but he did. Standing under the cold water, whilst he was still fully dressed, in his combat gear.

“Don’t you want to get undressed, my love?” you hold his cheek, he avoids your eyes, and just stares at the floor. The water soaking his hair, making it flop in his face, you smooth it out of his eyes, cupping his chin so he looks at you.

“At least take your boots off, Jay.” Before he can answer, you are bending down to unlace his shoes, and holding them to the floor whilst he steps out of them. You pull his socks off, tossing both the items into the dryer area of the shower room.

You stand, and James’ face is still glum, you give him a sad smile, but soon you notice it’s not the cold water that is causing the trails of water down his cheeks.

“Oh James.” You try to pull him into your arms, but instead his legs buckle, he kneels on the floor, and wraps his arms around your hips, while he sobs into the skin of your stomach. You don’t say anything, as you know, now was not the time for you to speak. Instead, you just comb your fingers through his hair, and shush him quietly.

The two of you stay like that for a while, before James’ sobs turn to quiet sniffles, he stands up, and finally looks at you in the eye.

“Are we bad people?” his voice is hoarse and sounds tired. Your heart breaks at the sight of him, and throbs at his words.

“No James.” You move his hair from his eyes, and continue to hold his face, “we are not bad people.”

“But what we’ve done…what we do…what is it all for?” he searches your face, and for a while you don’t know how to answer, until your face softens, and you squeeze your hands tighter on the sides of his head.

“What we’ve done, and what we do; we do to stay alive. To keep each other alive.” You rub your thumb under his eye, in an attempt to rub his combat paint off, “I wouldn’t take any of it back, if it meant I lost you.”

The more of the black paint you washed away, the more you realised that the darkness under his eyes wasn’t from the paint. You didn’t notice how tired he looked, until you had moments like these, which seemed to be happening more and more.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, sweetheart.” He finally speaks, and you are relieved when he does.

“You’re never going to lose me, Jay. Never.” You press your lips under each of his eyes, before you pull back to look in his face. The ocean in his eyes looked less stormy and more like it was beginning to settle.

You weren’t sure how much longer you stayed under the water, but you didn’t care. The two of you stayed still, in your own little worlds, just holding each other close. Your body heats were providing all the warmth you needed.

Both of you content, in the other’s arms.  

A/N: Writing this chapter, with Stan Lee’s voice in my head say: “Bucky’s one of good ones.” 

Part Three//

Taglist:

@amanda-the-fangirl​​ @winchester-wifey​​ @lemonadygirl​​ @lunagrangerweasley​​ @omfgforthelordalmighty​​ @hhxppyyy​​ @furioustrashprofessorneck​​ @sznri​​ @mugscraps​​ @colourforanamee​​ @grav3dollie-666 

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky angst #reader insert #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #marvel movies #winter solider x y/n #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #civil war #darkbucky #dark bucky x reader

[arcticdementor]

The news business just can’t stop clowning itself. The latest indignity is an international fact-checking debacle originating, of all places, at a “festival of fact-checking.”

The Poynter Institute is perhaps the most respected think tank in our business, an organization seeking to “fortify journalism’s role in a free society,” among other things through its sponsorship of the fact-checking outlet PolitiFact. A few weeks back, it held a virtual convention called the “United Facts of America: A Festival of Fact-Checking.”

The three-day event featured special guests Christiane Amanpour, Dr. Anthony Fauci, Brian Stelter, and Senator Mark Warner — a lineup of fact “stars” whose ironic energy recalled the USO’s telethon-execution of Terrance and Phillip before the invasion of Canada in South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut. Tickets were $50, but if you wanted a “private virtual happy hour” with Stelter, you needed to pay $100 for the “VIP Experience.”

…

However, the public is regularly misinformed about what fact-checkers do. In most settings — especially at daily newspapers — fact-checking, if used at all, is the equivalent of the bare-minimum collision insurance your average penny-pinching car renter buys. There’s usually just enough time to flag a few potential dangers for litigation and/or major, obvious mistakes about things like dates, spellings of names, wording of quotes, whether a certain event a reporter describes even happened, etc.

For anything more involved than that, which is most things, fact-checkers have to scramble to make tough judgment calls. The best ones tend to vote for killing anything that might blow up in the face of the organization later on. Good checkers are there to help perpetuate the illusion of competence. They’re professional ass-coverers, whose job is to keep it from being obvious that Wolf Blitzer or Matt Taibbi or whoever else you’re following on the critical story of the day only just learned the term hanging chad or spike protein or herd immunity. In my experience they’re usually pretty great at it, but their jobs are less about determining fact than about preventing the vast seas of ignorance underlying most professional news operations from seeping into public view.

Unfortunately, over the course of the last five years in particular, as the commercial media has experienced a precipitous drop in the public trust levels, many organizations have chosen to trumpet fact-checking programs as a way of advertising a dedication to “truth.” Fact-checking has furthermore become part of the “moral clarity” argument, which claims a phony objectivity standard once forced news companies to always include gestures to a perpetually wrong other side, making “truth” a casualty to false “fairness.”

…

But objectivity was never about giving equal time and weight to “both sides.” It’s just an admission that the news business is a high-speed operation whose top decision-makers are working from a knowledge level of near-zero about most things, at best just making an honest effort at hitting the moving target of truth.

Like fact-checking itself, the “on the one hand and on the other hand” format is just a defense mechanism. These people say X, these people say Y, and because the jabbering mannequins we have reading off our teleprompters actually know jack, we’ll let the passage of time sort out the difficult bits.

The public used to appreciate the humility of that approach, but what they get from us more often now are sanctimonious speeches about how reporters are intrepid seekers of truth who sit next to God and gobble amphetamines so they can stay awake all night defending democracy from “misinformation.” But once you get past names, dates, and whether the sky that day was blue or cloudy, the worst kind of misinformation in journalism is to be too sure about anything. That’s especially when dealing with complex technical issues, and even more especially when official sources seem invested in eliminating discussion of alternative scenarios of those issues.

From the start, the press mostly mishandled Covid-19 reporting. Part of this was because nearly all of the critical issues — mask use, lockdowns, viability of vaccine programs, and so on — were marketed by news companies as culture-war narratives. A related problem had to do with news companies using the misguided notion that the news is an exact science to promote the worse misconception that science is an exact science. This led to absurd spectacles like news agencies trying to cover up or denounce as falsehood the natural reality that officials had evolving views on things like the efficacy of ventilators or mask use.

When CNN did a fact-check on the question, “Did Fauci change his mind on the effectiveness of masks?” they seemed worried about the glee Trump followers would feel if they simply wrote yes, so the answer instead became, “Yes, but Trump is also an asshole” (because he implied the need to wear masks is still up for debate). By labeling whatever the current scientific consensus happened to be an immutable “fact,” media outlets made the normal evolution of scientific debates look dishonest, and pointlessly heightened mistrust of both scientists and media.

#matt taibbi #substack #journalism in action #fact checking

[kcatta-wodahs]

👉👈 if you're,, still doing the matchups,, I'd like one please? 🥺 My name is Kai, he/they (also gay-mammon, heyo 👀) Don't mind what kind of matchup you wanna do, or with any of the boys! I'm an aries, an introvert but I'm also really clingy and touchy djdbdb, usually like slow building romances. I usually draw, play games, or make stuff in my spare time, and meme humor makes me laugh the most. I'm emotional so I cry when I get mad, but I get mad a lot anyway. (1/2)

(2/2) I usually sleep when I'm having a bad day. I'm very passionate about the things I'm interested in, whether it's hobbies, fandoms, or communities. Neurodivergent and stimmy as all hell, and I invest a lot of my time in my special interests. Uhhh I'm not sure what else to put sjdbdn but i hope you're having a good day!!! I tried keeping this in one ask but that failed miserably 😭

A/N: KAIIIIII  hello i love your blog so i hope you love this i want to be friends. Also don't worry about the ask amount I've tried and it's like... impossible to get everything in one. I've sent in like 4 at a time. I have no idea how some people send in the longer ones without breaks? Tumblr mysteries.

I pair you with... Simeon!

Now, we all know he's an angel. Soft and supportive of so much, and you're so passionate that he can't help but be drawn to you. Your joy when surrounded by your interests, and when you delve deep into them warms his heart. He finds himself just watching you in order to calm himself, or when he needs to be cheered up. There is a lot of pressure on him as an angel and friend of Michael -- being with you brings him to his roots: The belief that he carries that angel and demon are no different from each other, or from humans. He finds the way you bring the three worlds together inspiring, and he wants to help you.

More Below the Cut!

Expect his latest writing to draw a lot of inspiration from you. He'll have new characters who stim like you do, or who find similar hobbies. He can't help it - you know so much more than he about how to be genuine. 

He loves to join you in your hobbies and interests, and will listen to you for hours. He gets invested in your special interests with you, and makes an effort to learn at least half of how much you know about them.

He is absolutely adorable about it too. If you're into cosplay? Guess what, he'll do the best cosplay just for you. He always gives you little gifts that are related to your interests, and you have no idea where he gets half of them.

Simeon loves to explore. He is up for anything once. (I mean, did you see how calm he was during that event?) And honestly, there isn't much that he won't enjoy.

👀 take this fact wherever you will 👀

He will go with you for moral support absolutely anywhere.

And if you're caught in a bad situation? If someone's being a dick? He's right beside you to help.

When you end up crying out of anger, he somehow knows how to help you get words past the lump in your throat. He will refuse to let whoever angered you demean you for crying, and will hold them there until they have properly apologized for their transgressions. 

Expect that there will be tons of times where you turn to look at him and find that he's already watching you with the fondest little smile.

Especially when you get excited about something, no matter how you show it. He is once again absolutely smitten every single time and he wants nothing more than to be near you.

He likes to watch you draw, if you're comfortable with it. Same with games -- he sucks at them (like a lot of technology) but since you play them he can easily enjoy them with you!

You like to take pictures of his failed attempts at using technology. 

Also his cluelessness with technology make him the perfect target for grandpa-meme jokes and its honestly so fun.

"OOh man he's a magic man" 

Snippet

The soft sliding of the door against the carpet woke Kai from his fitful sleep. Somehow he felt more tired than when he had collapsed into bed. The memories of the morning he had had still rang in his mind, and he wanted nothing more than to forget them.

However, when he looked up to see what had woken him, he found Simeon standing before him. The angel was holding a tea cup and platter and came to sit on the bed beside Kai's legs. Slowly, Kai sat up.

"Are you feeling any better?" Simeon asked. Kai could only respond with a shrug. Sympathy clearly crossed Simeon's gaze as he laid a hand lightly on Kai's leg and held out the cup to him. "This is for you. Once you finish it, I promise to leave you be."

Kai took the drink and breathed in the soothing steam. Whatever it was, it smelled lovely, but it wasn't what he needed right now. Seeing Simeon had helped him realize what it was he was truly looking for. He set the cup to the side, looking at the angel whose brows had knitted together in worry.

"If I don't finish it, will you stay?" 

Simeon's expression cleared into a small smile. "I might even if you do," he teased. In response, Kai held open his arms, looking for a hug, which Simeon instantly gave. Something in Kai released in that moment, allowing him to sniffle as tears started streaming down his cheeks. 

Simeon hummed softly against him, rubbing his back and brushing his hair with his fingers. He let Kai cry as long as he needed to, even if the tea grew cold in the meantime. When his tears slowed, Kai tried to mumble out an apology, but Simeon was having none of that. He leaned in and pressed their foreheads together, wiping away the tears on his cheeks and following his fingers with little kisses. 

Then his breath whispered against Kai's ear, beautiful words that made the human’s breath catch in his throat, even though he couldn't understand them. It was as if Simeon's breath had become its own form of magic, a sigh with the feeling of a whole world in it. The rising of the sun and the beauty of a bird's song; the longing of the moon and its stars reflected in the seas; all hidden within the sentences he spoke.

Though he was reluctant to pull away, Kai did just to try and find some explanation in the angel's expression. Simeon's gaze was endlessly gentle, the closeness between the two only further cutting off Kai's questions. A small chuckle showed that Kai's unspoken confusion was heard.

"It is a poem we have in the Celestial Realm," he murmured, taking Kai's hand to his lips. He laid a small kiss on the first knuckle.

أنا أحبك.

Simeon breathed the beginning of the phrase again, a slight smile curving at his lips as the ancient language made Kai's breath stop once again. But he continued in the human tongue.

"As if all hearts were a mirror of mine,

"As if life were invented for my love,

أنا أحبك.

I love you. 

#its just arabic there because i think it's the most beautiful script #pretend its another language #the poem is written by #Adonis #answered #match ups #i hope its gooood #obey me matchups #matchups #or by Adunis depending on spelling

[rocorambles]

A Cop and His Black Cat (Part 1)

Pairing: Daishou Suguru x Kuroo Tetsurou 

Genre: Superhero AU

Summary: Daishou just wants to solve cases and live his life, but a certain Black Cat vigilante refuses to leave him alone.

Part 2, Part 3

Daishou slams his cup of coffee down on his desk before dropping his head into his hands as he grits his teeth and rubs his temples in irritation. Today was supposed to have been just another normal day on the job. He had finally gotten his hands on some promising leads for the series of armed robberies he’d been trying to solve and was excited to finally make a move today. He’d driven to the police station and walked into his office, but instead of an empty room, he was greeted with the sight of four men, bound and gagged, struggling to free themselves. He quickly shouted for assistance before stepping closer to the bizarre scene, but he froze when he saw a red box, decorated with a single black feline paw print on his desk. Rage bubbled inside of him and he stormed over to open the offensive object, finding a USB and a note written in a maddeningly familiar scrawl.           

You sure you’re in the right profession, Daishou? This is the third case in the last month that I’ve solved before you. Doesn’t it get boring just sitting there in your office looking pretty? 

Scowling, Daishou tossed the note aside and plugged the USB into his computer. Sure enough, it contained all the incriminating video and photo evidence he needed to arrest the tied up criminals and solve the robbery case he had been working on. When help arrived, he directed them to take the men as he furiously made his way to the office kitchen in the hopes that a cup of coffee would help take the edge off of the fury inside of him. It did not help and that’s how Daishou finds himself back at his desk, glaring into space as he thinks about how many ways you could skin a cat. 

A knock at his door interrupts his thoughts and a sturdy figure walks over to sit down on the empty chair next to Daishou. “I heard your favorite cat left you a little love letter.” Daishou just grunts in acknowledgement as Daichi picks up the tossed aside letter. “Aww he thinks you’re pretty.” Daishou grabs the note from Daichi and proceeds to rip it to shreds before tossing it in the garbage. “Is it really such a big deal, Daishou? He might be incredibly annoying about the way he goes about it, but at the end of the day, he is helping you solve your cases.” Daishou scoffs. “Are you telling me you support vigilantes? Need I remind you they’re technically breaking the law by just using their abilities however and whenever they want?” Daichi shrugs. “Sure, there are the ones who abuse their abilities, but Black Cat has never caused a problem before. He actually helps Bird of Prey quite a bit and he’s not such bad company once you get to know him better.” Daishou slumps even more in his chair. “I forget Bokuto and you are actually friends with that stupid cat.” Daichi just smiles as he pats Daishou on the back before standing up. “Come on, let’s go. Boss wants to brief us on another case we’re being placed on.” Sighing, Daishou grabs his coffee and trails after Daichi.

They enter a conference room where a blonde haired man is already seated. Ukai looks up and greets the two officers. “Let’s get right into it. As you probably already know, there’s been an increase in the amount of arson crimes we’ve been notified about. Usually, it’s something we could easily handle, but recent evidence has shown that these aren’t being committed by your average villain. The latest hits have been heavily guarded buildings and residences and now the public is beginning to become uneasy as more high-profile locations are being successfully targeted. We need to put a stop to this quickly before it gets out of hand.”

Daishou and Daichi spend the next few days following any leads they can find about possible motives, where the next attack might happen, and who might be doing it. They discover a pattern in the types of buildings that are being targeted and with that knowledge, they send their men to patrol other similar locations. More days pass and there aren’t any more arson cases, but they’re also no closer to figuring out who the villain is. 

It’s late in the evening and Daishou is getting ready for bed, when his phone rings. “Sir, we need you to come right now! A fire just started and we think the villain is still around.” Daishou hastily throws on his uniform as he scrambles to his car and switches on the sirens. He can feel the heat of the flames before he sees them as he turns around the corner. The fire is raging at this point as firefighters and heroes with water-based abilities work to douse it, but nothing seems to be working and the flames continue to encase the entire building. He rushes over to Daichi who is shouting orders at the other officers. “Keep on searching! The flames are still going strong and we can’t put them out with regular water, which means the villain must still be nearby doing this.” Daishou exchanges a few words with Daichi before he too begins to run and search for whoever is behind the attack. He’s running out of breath and his uniform is soaked in sweat, but he grits his teeth and determinedly continues his search. He turns into an alley and almost collides with a masked figure whose arms are outstretched in the direction of the burning building. 

“Hands down now!” Daishou screams at the person, but they don’t make any move to listen. “I’m giving you one more chance. Put your hands down now!” There’s still not even a hint of acknowledgement from the figure, so Daishou reaches into his holster for the gun that contains his venom coated bullets and aims it. Only then does the villain turn to face him and a flurry of movements ensues. Daishou fires the trigger, while the villain swings his hands at Daishou and an enormous wave of fire blazes towards him. The alley is too narrow for him to avoid the inferno and he’s too slow to run away from it. All he can do is cover his face with his hands in an attempt to at least protect that and he screams in pain as the flames reach and burn his entire being. He barely registers that someone else has entered the alley over the pain that is overtaking his body, but through bleary eyes, he sees a familiar lithe figure encased in black leather fighting the villain before he closes his eyes and succumbs to darkness. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he’s awoken by the feeling of someone maneuvering his body. He groggily opens his eyes and sees the annoying grin that’s haunted him smiling down at him from beneath a leather mask that covers the upper half of the man’s face. Daishou musters enough energy to scowl at the black cat ears attached to the top of the mask. “Why the fuck are you always meddling in my business?” Black Cat’s grin only widens at Daishou’s harsh words. “Couldn’t pass up a chance to save a poor damsel in distress. Plus, I’m enjoying carrying you bridal style.” Daishou’s eyes widen at those last words and he cranes his damaged neck as much as he can to see if that was just a joke, but sure enough, he’s being carried like some god damned wife. He wants to say something, but the extensive burns and exhaustion catches up to him and he slumps into the hold, resting his face in the crook of Black Cat’s neck. He drifts off into darkness once again, but this time his descent is softened by the warmth of the body holding him and the scent of cinnamon he inhales as his nose nudges against Black Cat’s throat.

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu writing #haikyuu drabbles #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo #daishou #daishou suguru #kuroo x daishou #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios

[eeveevie]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (7/18)

Chapter 7: Romantic as a Pair of Handcuffs

It has been a busy month for the Valentine Detective Agency—Madelyn, Nick and Piper regroup to go over all the evidence in the case against Eddie Winter. Marty Bulfinch arrives with a lead and an invitation to an event perfect for “Charmer” and Deacon. After having her partnership with the Railroad spy questioned a second time by Piper, Madelyn confides in the most unlikely of people. Later, at the Third Rail, it’s showtime for two undercover agents.

“Well, you’re about as romantic as a pair of handcuffs.” - Debby Marsh as played by Gloria Grahame (The Big Heat, 1953)

[read on Ao3] x  [chapter masterpost]

April 8th, 1958

The first signs of spring arrived in Boston not a moment too soon, alleviating the city from a harsh winter—weather wise, at least. Piper couldn’t resist using the change in seasons as a clever headline for the latest edition of Publick Occurrences— “Winter is over, but Eddie Winter isn’t.” It had been a busy month for the mob boss, who had all but taken control of all the major crime families in the city. With the exception of a few holdouts, his men had wormed their way across the criminal underground and begun to infiltrate once reputable businesses. Nowhere in Boston was safe.

Madelyn had kept herself just as occupied, juggling her work with the agency and the Railroad. Most days she would investigate leads with Nick, tracking down the necessary proof to pin Winter for his crimes. In her spare time she was partnered up with Deacon, fielding the work from Desdemona or Doctor Carrington, and the few odd job from Tinker Tom (maybe odd was putting it lightly). The two had caught a break and made contact with a surviving safehouse—Randolph—and worked to bring them back into the fold, strengthening the organization numbers. It was still slow going as the data from the Switchboard was decrypted, but she was glad to have given the group—and Deacon—a second chance.

Meanwhile, the agency had been successful in collecting the evidence that had been disappearing from police custody through their own unscrupulous means—but if there was sabotage within the precincts, their options were extremely limited. MacCready’s lead on recordings had so far been a dead end, as promising as it sounded. Nick had followed up on the rumor with his old friend Marty Bulfinch at Precinct 8 but finding physical proof of Eddie Winter’s crimes was like trying to capture lightning in a bottle. Winter’s corruption had spread through the entire government—from law enforcement to the mayor’s office—with anyone from beat cops to prosecutors offered bribes. Nobody could be trusted.

Madelyn was carefully inspecting the handwriting of a newly obtained letter, comparing the messy scrawl to the copies on hand, trying to determine if the note MacCready snatched off a drunken police detective belonged to their set. She read over the lines of text again, wishing that more than a few words in a sentence were intelligible. The most she could make out were the words sir, head, and artist. Whatever that meant. At least she could say the scribbles belonged to the same hand who wrote the other letters. Even though none had been signed, there was enough inference to say Eddie Winter had penned them all.

“He’s done it again!”

A Boston Bugle newspaper slammed down right atop of Madelyn’s work, causing her to snap up in alarm. Nick was fuming, pacing in front of her desk as a waft of cigarette smoke trailed behind his head like a halo. This wasn’t a surprising mood to find him in as of late—as they ramped up their investigation, the detective had become more stressed than ever, bordering on manic—relentless in his endeavor to stop Eddie Winter’s takeover of Boston. Late nights in the office had left his jaw shadowed, in need of a shave, and his light green eyes were dull with sleep deprivation.  

Madelyn glanced down to read over the newspaper print, frowning when she saw the bolded typeface—Boston mob leader Ron Trevio found dead. Nick paused in his footsteps and approached, reaching down to tap his finger against the article in question.

“What they don’t say is that Winter had him assassinated,” he muttered, reaching up to grab at the nearly burnt out cigarette. Madelyn scooted the ashtray she kept in her office specifically for him closer so he could snuff the smoke out. “Whoever he got to do the job blew his head clean right off, destroying the bullet in the process.”

She grimaced at the thought, swallowing down the sickly feeling that crept up her throat. Not that she doubted Nick, but she questioned what made him so confident. Trevio was a mid-level player on the mob-scene but had stayed out of Winter’s way—rumor was that he was even making plans to head east to New York. For him to wind up dead and deposed of in such a gruesome way seemed unbefitting of even Eddie Winter.

“Are you sure?” Madelyn asked, watching as Nick ran a hand through his dark hair, distraught. “We both know he’s unhinged but this…this seems brazen.”

Her partner gestured to the newspaper again. “He knows he can get away with it. He has this entire city in his palm, and this is a warning to anyone who dares to go against him.”

She considered his words, wondering if he had thought about what Eddie Winter would do if he knew about the depth of their investigation. It was likely no secret to the crime-family organization that the Valentine Detective Agency was after them, but Nick had always been considered a joke to the city—something that used to bring him shame, he was now using to his advantage to keep their work under wraps. Still, Madelyn was on edge. If Winter and his men knew how much they had discovered, how close they were to finding a smoking gun, her and Nick were as sure as dead.

“Hey doll,” her partner called her from her thoughts, and she flicked her gaze up to meet his eyes. “You alright?”

This was what she signed up for, wasn’t it? When she first came to the agency all those years ago, he didn’t just need a legal assistant, but somebody who would help him in the pursuit of justice. After Nate’s death, she wound up relying on him for similar reasons. Nick was more than her partner, but her friend and somebody she trusted with her life. She was more than ready to see the Eddie Winter case to the very end with him, even if it killed her.

She put forth a smile. “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

Before Nick could protest, quick footsteps echoed though the lobby and the two could hear Ellie correcting their guest to the right office.  

“Oh so we’re in here for a change,” Piper joked sarcastically, taking a second glance at Madelyn’s name on the door before entering. She had a copy of the Boston Bugle and her own newspaper tucked under her arm, her bright red coat thrown over the other. As she threw herself into one of the cushioned armchairs, she let out a large sigh. “You saw the news?”

“Yes,” Nick and Madelyn answered simultaneously.

Piper regarded them both, grumbling under her breath. She tossed the papers haphazardly towards the desk, and Madelyn had to fumble to catch the copy of Publick Occurrences. The front page lacked any information on the Trevio murder, instead focusing on Mayor McDonough and his finances—sources were able to track donations to the McDonough reelection campaign back to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology—

“This wasn’t the first time a murder has occurred and we’re the last to hear about it,” she sneered, interrupting Madelyn’s reading. “Talk about a media cover-up. Police corruption is one thing, but now Winter is messing with the freedom of the press!”

Nick choked over a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of course they’d have a mole at the Bugle. Control the flow of information to the public. Spread fear through lies.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Madelyn warned, reading over her friend’s newspaper again.

Ever since the agency had begun collecting hard evidence against Eddie Winter, Piper had been itching to blow the whistle, promising to site the two as anonymous sources. As convincing as she made it sound, and as safe as her previous unidentified informants remained, Nick vehemently denied her request. The agency and Publick Occurrences were cut from the same cloth, and it wasn’t because they shared the same building. If Piper shared any information, she’d be painting a target on her back too.

“I know Blue, I know,” she relented, looking more defeated than before. “We’re so close.”

Nick nodded, pulling a new cigarette from the pack in the breast pocket of his shirt. “We are,” he nodded towards Madelyn as he flicked at his lighter. “Let’s go over the list again.”

She shuffled through the small pile on her desk until she found her steno notebook, lined with the details of the case. With a pen, she started at the top, suppressing the memories the name conjured. “Johnny Montrano, Jr.”

Nick and Piper nodded in agreement that they could still find a way to pin Montrano’s murder on Winter, even without a witness. Based on the information she had learned from Henry, the casefile and street rumors, they could corroborate that Eddie’s old hitman Robert Cooper had been hired for the job.

“Mac said Winter’s boys have been trying to keep that one quiet from Johnny’s pop,” Piper quipped. “Maybe he’s afraid of somebody after all.”

Madelyn shrugged, continuing down the list. “Arlington Green three,” she paused. The bodies had been discovered in the sand-trap just before Thanksgiving while Eddie Winter was still incarcerated at Cedar Junction. “Doesn’t Boston P.D. want to pin this on one of the O’Malley brothers?”

“Doesn’t mean the order wasn’t given down the chain of command,” Nick said, tapping his smoke over the ashtray. “Did they ever identify the victims?”

She solemnly shook her head. “The theory is they were low-level members of the Irish crime families.”

“They also could’ve been innocent bystanders for all we know,” Piper argued. She waved her hand, encouraging Madelyn to read on.

“Arthur Black,” she spoke. “Murdered a waiter in Winter’s presence. His girlfriend was there too.”

“Claire Pozinski, what a piece of work,” Nick scoffed. “What she sees in him—”

“Money, probably,” Piper interjected. “That, or she’s got a few screws lose in the head.”

“That’s besides the point,” Madelyn brought them to attention, dragging her unclicked pen down the paper. “Black was found dead, multiple stab wounds outside one of Winter’s clubs.”

“He was a liability. Leaving him out in the open was a warning to the others,” Nick reminded, harkening her back to their earlier conversation.

She nodded, blood running cold at the next item. “Danvers.”

None of them said a word, silently nodding in agreement. Just over Christmas, right after Eddie Winter had been released from prison, there had been a shooting in a speakeasy in the small town north of Boston. Two rival gangs had encroached on neutral territory and it didn’t take long for guns to go blazing. When the dust settled, each side had their fair share of casualties, but civilians had also perished. The prevailing rumor was that Winter had sparked the confrontation, sending his men to provoke the fight. Police had closed the investigation with all responsible parties arrested, even if their leaders still walked the streets.

“Alice Lansky,” Madelyn voiced after a moment of silence. “The missing safety inspector that was found…” she shook her head, unable to form the words. The poor woman had been stuffed into a barrel, remained dissolved in hydrochloric acid. Out of all of the victims linked back to Eddie Winter’s crime family, her death had been the most grotesque.  

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around why they needed to off a safety inspector,” Nick mused, rubbing at the stubble along his jaw. “How does she fit into this?”

“Maybe she stumbled across something she wasn’t meant to see,” Piper suggested, lips falling into a straight line the moment she said the words. As if Madelyn hadn’t already been worried about meeting an untimely end at the hands of Winter’s men, now she was imagining being crammed into a metal barrel, never to be discovered again. She did her best to hide the shiver that ran down her spine.

“Other than the numerous unexplained disappearances, robberies and drug running that have been occurring,” Madelyn sighed as she leaned back in her chair. “That’s what we have so far.”

“I know we’ve been over this before but,” Piper started. “Are you sure there isn’t anybody you trust within Boston P.D. with this information? Other than Marty, that is.”

Nick smiled, shaking his head. “You must think I’m real thick if you believe I trust that snake in a blue suit, Piper.”

The reporter laughed along with him, though Madelyn held back her amusement as she noticed Ellie leading a guest towards the open office door. She straightened in her seat. “Speak of the devil.”

Marty Bulfinch stood in the doorway with a sly grin, hands poised midair as he surveyed the room. He looked disheveled as always—even the expensive, navy pinstriped suit he wore didn’t do much to hide his less-desirable features. “Nicky, you talking trash in here?”

“You can’t walk around Boston with ducks on your ties and expect people not to say something, Marty,” Nick joked, deflecting what they had been actually been speaking about masterfully.

The other man rubbed at his necktie self-consciously. “Hey now, the other guys think its hilarious.”

Madelyn grimaced, wondering when, or how Nick would’ve ever been friends with such a slimeball. Even if her partner kept him on a short leash, she had her doubts about having the police detective as an informant—it was too risky, for all parties involved.

“What brings you here, Mr. Bulfinch?” she finally questioned, motioning for him to sit in the other armchair. Madelyn knew that her politeness always seemed to unnerve him and fairly quickly his expression shifted, eyes fixating on her as he moved from the doorway to the empty seat. He looked like a nervous child, come to the principal’s office for a punishment—that is, until he flicked his gaze back to Nick.

“You know those recordings you’ve been asking about?” he said, hand disappearing into his jacket pocket before revealing a holotape—technology only used by police, the government and a few lucky hospitals—the others in the office were taken aback by its appearance. “Now, I couldn’t well smuggle a holotape reader out of the office, but, I have it on good authority that this tape has Winter’s voice on it. With some self-incriminating information.”

“You don’t know what it says?” Piper asked directly. “Is there a transcript?”

Marty glared at her, tired eyes unblinking. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” he slowly handed it over to Nick, who carefully inspected the foreign piece of data in his palm before passing it over to Madelyn. Marty shifted in his seat. “You’ll have to find your own way to listen to it.”

She had her own ideas, thinking about all of the various gadgets and inventions Tinker Tom had built and tucked away beneath the Old North Church. Of course, she wasn’t about to make the suggestion in front of their guest—for all he knew, the Railroad was a fairytale.

“I also have a lead on where ol’ Eddie might strike next,” Marty continued, fidgeting with his tie again. “Tensions between Winter and Skinny Malone have reached a fever pitch and he’s ready to have him offed.”

“That frosty, huh?” Piper chimed in, eyeing the rest of the room’s occupants. “Last we heard, Winter was allowing Skinny and his Triggermen to operate the speakeasies downtown, as long as they got a cut.”

“Skinny Malone doesn’t want to share anymore,” Marty explained, flatly. “And that made Eddie flip his lid.”

“Any idea on when the hit is supposed to take place?” Nick asked, extinguishing his cigarette. He leaned against the front of the desk, staring his former partner down. “The whole scene has been brimming with activity lately, it could be any day now.”

Marty nodded in agreement. “Skinny Malone is throwing a bash at his joint this Friday to celebrate his broad’s birthday,” he tilted his head side-to-side. “Ya’ know, the Third Rail? It’s been pulling in customers from Scollay Square ever since it opened.”

“That has Eddie Winter written all over it,” Piper remarked, leaning forward eagerly. “There’s no way he’ll make an appearance himself, though, right?”

“I doubt it,” Nick grumbled, considering the information. “Is Boston P.D. working on this? Are they going put Skinny Malone into protective services?”

Marty shrugged. “A few of us are being sent to the Third Rail undercover just in case we have to intercept,” he explained. “That’s when the offer will be made. We don’t expect Malone to come in quietly unless he feels his life is truly in danger.”

“Speaking of,” the investigator spoke, pointing to Nick. “Say the word and I can get you on the short list and inside that club.”

Nick was dumbfounded by the offer for a split second before smirking. “Undercover work isn’t really my schtick, Marty,” he said, raising his right hand to emphasize the prosthetic he wore. “Kind of hard to blend in. And don’t get me wrong but working with a precinct of cops that already hate me seems…risky.”

“I could always fill your shoes,” Piper grinned, fanning her fingers through her hair. Almost immediately the others were shaking their heads.

Madelyn softly chuckled at her friend. “Everybody in town knows about Public Occurrences, Piper. Even if you dyed your hair blonde and wore Nick’s trench-coat, you’d stick out like a sore thumb.”

The reporter slumped, defeated. That’s when Marty reluctantly flicked his gaze to where Madelyn was sitting behind the desk. He cleared his throat. “What about the dame?”

Nick raised an eyebrow, irritated that he was still going on about calling her that. “Madelyn?” When he realized what Marty was implying, he made to argue. “Marty, if you think for a second I’m sending Madelyn in with the wolves, you’re outta your damn mind!”

The danger was very real, and while Nick had every right to be upset and defensive, she couldn’t help but feel offended. It brought her back to that night in the agency, after the destruction of Ticonderoga, when he and Deacon almost came to blows. If the last month proved anything, she did her best work not cooped up in the office or behind a desk, but in action.  

“Nick,” she said his name calmly, gaining his attention. The moment he met her gaze, he knew she had made up her mind. But she could ease his worries, if only slightly. “I don’t have to go alone.”

Piper caught on to what she was inferring immediately, a disgruntled expression pulling at her lips as she sank further into her armchair. Nick remained stoic, but eventually relented as he nodded, looking back to Marty.

“You can get her in?” he asked. “Plus one?”

The Boston police detective looked unsure, meeting her gaze for a long moment. “Uh, sure,” he mumbled, before quirking his mouth up in a smile. “You better come with one hell of a disguise, ya dame.”

Madelyn rolled her eyes, and Nick took the cue, politely gesturing to Marty that it was time for him to leave. “Come on, you oaf, you better get back to the pen before they start searching the gutters for you.”

Marty let out a hearty laugh, slapping Nick on the back as he brought him into a handshake. “Don’t be shy around the precinct, Nicky. They don’t hate you—that much.”

The three were silent as he exited the room, listening to Ellie wish him farewell.

“You’re seriously going to take whatshisname to the Third Rail?” Piper wasted no time in questioning Madelyn as soon as the agency door slammed shut.

“He has a name,” Madelyn replied with a sigh. “If I can’t take you or Nick, what’s the harm in taking Deacon? Undercover work is what he’s best at.”

“Are you sure about that?” Piper mumbled, crossing her arms.

Madelyn frowned. Her friend had been upset ever since she had first met the man and learned of the deception it took to keep the Railroad a secret. The strain hadn’t eased, even as she continued to work with the organization and as his partner. It seemed the reporter couldn’t get past the fact Deacon wasn’t willing to divulge much of the truth—at least with her.

“What do you have against him?” Madelyn asked, wanting to clear the air.

“I’m just saying Blue,” Piper’s tone softened. “You seem to trust this guy a lot, but you barely know him. How long has it been? A few months? And he’s come in here and—whew—swept you off your feet like it’s damn Roman Holiday!”

Madelyn was stunned into silence, a warmth settling in her chest. She couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment, or excitement at having the relationship she had with Deacon described in such a way. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized how whirlwind it had been. Since their first meeting in the Memory Den, she had been chasing that feeling back and forth all through winter. There was an unspoken intimacy between the two, lingering touches and close calls where she was sure either one of them could’ve closed the gap and just kissed. And yet, there was also a silent boundary, an invisible line keeping them apart—she had always assumed it was her guilt, the weight of the wedding ring she still wore on her finger, the specter of a dead husband lingering above watching her every move—but now, she wondered if there was something more.

“I mean, what’s with the codenames?” Piper sighed. “Do you even know his real name?”

“I—” Madelyn choked on her words, at a loss. Her friend was right, and she was suddenly second-guessing every one of her emotions all over again.

Nick had been silent through the entire exchange, but finally spoke, reading her mind in the process. “Maybe Piper is right,” he mused with a little shrug. “But damnit if this isn’t the happiest I’ve seen you in months.”

Madelyn was flattered, especially when she noticed the way Nick was smiling at her, considering she knew how there was still tension between the two men whenever they happened to interact. But her chest felt heavy—the doubt had already started to creep its way in. Piper seemed ready to continue her verbal pestering when Nick sharply shook his head in warning.

“Don’t let it get to you,” he assured—a little too late. Still, Madelyn put forth a small smile and nodded. “We should plan for Friday.”

They had work to do.

The conversation with Piper and Nick continued to replay in Madelyn’s head the remainder of the day and into the evening. Even on the carbide home (on which she insisted on, so that Nick could make it home at a reasonable hour for once), her mind was clouded with conflicting emotions. She couldn’t deny that she had felt livelier, more like her true self in recent months—but didn’t want to base that happiness on lies or deception. A part of her understood it was the way the Railroad operated, outside the fringes of society where dishonesty was a necessity.

“Remember, you can’t trust everyone.”

“Even you?” she asked.

“Especially me.”  

Months later, he would put an addendum to his well-spoken phrase, holding her hand as he told her he was in her corner, and always had been. As the memory came to her, all she felt was confusion. Madelyn wanted to see him, but she wasn’t sure what she would do or say, or how her feelings would shift—for better or worse? What was stopping her from acting on impulse like she had been as of late? What if Codsworth had never walked in on them that cold March evening? Would she have kissed him and sealed the deal right then? She shook her head, breaking herself free of her delusions, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to dream of what-ifs. Instead, she needed to focus on the future and what she really wanted—if only she could figure that out.

As Madelyn walked into the lobby of her apartment building, she noticed Drummer Boy at the mailboxes, sifting through various envelopes. He regarded her with a polite smile, moving to join her in the trek up the staircase.

“Have a good day at the agency?” he asked.

She sighed, trying not to sound too disgruntled. When he shot her a concerned look, she forced a smile. “It’s been very…busy. With the Winter case, that is.”

“Right,” Drummer Boy replied, letting her half-assed excuse slide. It was difficult to bluff when she was emotionally compromised, and exhausted after a long day—and hauling herself up seven flights of stairs. “I have a note for you, from Deacon.”

Madelyn swallowed down the tightness in her chest at the mention of his name. “Isn’t he in DC?”

He had been put on a special assignment by Desdemona to make contact with the southern branch—something about helping set up a new safehouse for the newfound agents and assisting with their first round of assignments. As much as Madelyn wished she could’ve joined, her obligation to the agency and the Eddie Winter investigation kept her in Boston.

Drummer Boy nodded, handing over a folded note. “I thought it was a serious correspondence, so uh,” his cheeks became red in color, which made her feel equally flustered. “I shouldn’t have read it.”

The two paused on the third story landing if only so she could scramble to read the letter, which was hardly filled with anything important, or relevant. Rather, it was incredibly lewd, and even a modern woman such as herself was turned flushed by the contents. Of course, she realized fairly quickly as the note rambled on and became more grandiose that it couldn’t possibly be real. Oddly enough, it sparked a wave of relief as she was unable to contain her laughter.

“You know he did this on purpose to get a rise out of you, right?” she chuckled, trying to give it back to Drummer Boy who waved it away, still red in the face.

“His idea of jokes sure are…elaborate,” he sighed, lifting his blue cap to run his hand through his hair. “Too much time on his hands, even hundreds of miles away.”

Madelyn regarded his words. “Do you think he’s bored?”

“No,” he answered as they continued walking up the stairs. “The opportunity to set up a new safehouse is right up Deacon’s alley. Not that he doesn’t have the experience, but to do it all on his own is a big deal.”

“He helped with HQ, right?” Madelyn clarified. She eyed Drummer Boy carefully. “After…”

He looked solemn but held back any grief. “After the Switchboard, yes.”

“Deacon’s been a big help to Dez even before the move, he does a lot more than is asked of a regular agent or heavy,” Drummer Boy mused. “You’d think he was the second in command, or the head honcho but…”

She stole another glance when he paused, seemingly in thought. “You know our history, right?”

Madelyn shrugged, taking a reprieve on the fifth story landing. “Tom once rambled off a lot of codenames to me in-between telling me how the air was going to poison me while I slept and that I needed to take the immunization shot he invented to protect myself against ‘invisible bugs’”

Drummer Boy softly laughed, nodding along. “Well, before Dez, there was Pinky Thompson. She only became leader because of a string of organizational failures under Pinky’s watch.”

“Are you suggesting that somebody might be vying for Desdemona’s position?” Madelyn questioned. “As in, Deacon?”

“No, not really,” he replied. “Deacon would never stage a coup like that. Carrington maybe, but never Deacon,” he smirked. “He’s been around…well, before my time. He was around when Wyatt and John D. ran the show, building the Railroad into the organization into what we know today.”

She found herself amused. “I always thought he was lying when he said he helped create the Railroad. Sounded too boastful, even for him.”

“Well, depending on who you believe or what you make of the records,” Drummer Boy flashed an impish grin. “Some of the agents like to think Deacon and John D. are one in the same.”

The confusion from earlier settled back into her mind, but this time, she wasn’t sure what to make of the information. This was just more conjecture—a rumor—Railroad gossip that had been passed down from agent to agent. Deacon himself had even fanned the flames, relishing in the spotlight. If anything, it only fueled the argument set forth by Piper that Madelyn truly didn’t know anything about him—about his past, about his present…about their future. Rather than anger, she felt despair—whatever had been built between them had to end, and when it did, it wasn’t going to be easy.

On the seventh floor, the two separated to their doors across the hall from one another. Almost as an afterthought, she turned back to him, motioning to her ajar door. “I prepared a pot-roast this morning, if you’d like to join me for dinner,” she offered, feeling more awkward than she meant. Even he looked perplexed. “As my neighbor, Robby. No Railroad business. Otherwise, most of it is going to Dogmeat.”

After a beat, he laughed. “Pot-roast sounds great, Hardy.”

April 11th, 1958

Madelyn hardly recognized the woman staring back at her in the reflection of her vanity mirror as she applied the finishing touches to her makeup, searching her drawers for the perfect red hue of lipstick. Her natural golden hair had been tucked back and hidden beneath a long, wavy dark brunette wig, the soft barrels falling over one shoulder and resting across the sweetheart neckline of her dress. Gown—she could hear Jenny correcting—Madelyn reminded herself she would need to be extra careful with the borrowed garment. It would not end up in the box of ruined clothes she had ripped or stained while running around the city investigating with the agency and Railroad.

Outside her bedroom, she could hear Dogmeat happily barking, Codsworth murmuring something while a third voice laughed along. Deacon—fresh from his trip to the nation’s capital, he had wasted no time in agreeing to an undercover operation and promised a show. She hadn’t seen him since he departed—communicating through dead drops to confirm their ‘assignment’—and could feel the anxiety bubbling to the surface over her conflicted feelings for him. But that night, more than ever, she would need to suppress her emotions for the sake of the investigation and stay focused.  

She slipped her feet into a pair of strappy black heels as she stood, reviewing her appearance in the full-length mirror. The strapless gown was black, with a sheen to it that sparkled under the right light. The fabric hugged her curves (and then some), loose around her legs with a slit along one slide that was almost too high for her tastes. It was unlike anything Madelyn had in her closet, and not something she would’ve expected her partner’s fiancé to own either, until it was offered as the perfect outfit for the evening’s festivities. The only problem was that she and Jenny weren’t exactly the same size—she stretched to reach the zipper again, struggling to get the right angle to make it budge.

“Miss Madelyn,” Codsworth buzzed outside in the hallway. “Mr. Deacon is inquiring about your presence. Is everything alright?”

With a defeated sigh, she opened her bedroom door for the robot, laughing at the way his mechanical eyes widened as he inspected her appearance. “Can you work a zipper?”

“Pardon, mum?”

She gave his metal chassis an affectionate pat as she walked past him, awkwardly holding the dress to her body as she walked the short distance to the main room of her apartment where Deacon was sitting at the kitchen counter, turned towards the hallway as if he had been waiting for her appearance. Or at least she thought it was Deacon—if it weren’t for his ever-present reflective shades, she wouldn’t have recognized him. The black pompadour (which High Rise had strongly hinted wasn’t natural to begin with) was gone, replaced with a short, wavy style instead, a warm ginger in color—it matched his eyebrows. He wore a different, well-tailored black suit than he had before, black wingtip shoes looking like he hadn’t been walked a step in. Handsome was an understatement—Madelyn wasn’t sure what to make of the not-so-subtle transformation—reminding herself to remain on task.

“Need some help there, Charmer?” he asked, breaking the silence. He gestured to her dress and beckoned for her to come closer.

Madelyn approached with a small nod, finding that her tongue felt too heavy in her mouth to speak. She turned her back to him, breathing in deep and straightening slightly when she felt his fingers brush across her skin for the zipper of the dress. What should’ve been a simple and quick movement had turned into another spark between the two, his touch lingering far longer than necessary, thumb sweeping across her spine. But she didn’t move away.

“You look downright sinful.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, hoping he couldn’t sense how nervous she was, how her skin had turned burning hot at his words. She focused on his hair, and curiosity got the better of her.

“Is that your natural hair?”

He smirked, one eyebrow arching up like he expected something a little more flirtatious from her. “Maybe.”

Madelyn twisted around to face him, resting one hand along the kitchen counter to balance herself. As Deacon pulled his hands back to himself, she noted the glimmer on his left hand and a new tightness formed in her chest at the sight of the golden band. Why was he wearing a wedding ring? At her confusion, he gestured to her own wedding band, causing her to clamp her right hand around the diamonds to hide the jewelry.

“I knew you weren’t going to take it off, even for the sake of an undercover persona,” he explained. “Figured we’d go for the easiest play in the book. Better to blend in than stand out.”

As uncomfortable as she suddenly felt, a new wave of emotions taking over her body and mind, Deacon was right. He was also far more of an expert at espionage than she was—he knew what he was doing, and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she needed to trust him.

“We’ll need a good cover story,” she offered, nodding in agreement. Still, she anxiously twisted at the ring Nate had given her almost twelve years prior, burning against her skin. More than ever, she could feel the weight of his presence around her, the guilt compounding as she agreed to this charade—even for one night.

“What do you suggest?”

Madelyn deliberated, fidgeting with the slit of the dress before thinking of who had leant it to her in the first place. Her mother had always taught her that when in doubt, use what you know.

“I’m a nurse at Medford Memorial Hospital and you’re a retired army vet. We met when you ended up in my ward after a training exercise went wrong and I had to nurse you back to health. Sparks flew, our parents disagreed, and we had to elope. Thanksgiving weekend, 1954 in Manhattan.”

She thought about the rest of the specifics. “Catherine,” she said. Her mother’s name—not that Deacon needed to know that. “My name is Catherine. Kitty for short.”

Deacon looked stunned. “Did you just come up with all that right now?”

She softly chuckled. “Thank Nick and Jenny, give or take…the rest of the details.”  

“How romantic,” he mused. “I’d say you’re better at this than you think. A natural.”

He stood, signaling to the clock on the wall that they needed to catch a cab across town, or they would be more than fashionably late to the party. Feeling more confident than she had earlier, she smiled at him. “So husband, what should I call you?”

Deacon grinned as he laced their hands. “Dollface, you can call me Johnny.”

The Third Rail was classier than Madelyn expected for a speakeasy, built into one of the abandoned subway tunnels downtown. Even if Skinny Malone and his gang of Triggermen—as he dubbed them—were gangsters, she had to give it up to them for the ingenuity of the idea. There was a certain kind of ambience to the place—low lighting and dark linens spread across the tables—seedy characters lining the walls with leery expressions, it was enough to make anybody fearful. Yet Madelyn felt strangely at ease, and it had everything to do with the way Deacon’s hand was resting along her waist.

For an hour now, they had been seated at a candlelit table, chairs pushed close to ensure their cover as husband and wife remained intact. Despite her comfort, her mind had been running wild, filled with questions about Johnny. Was that supposed to be an allusion to John D.? As Madelyn took a sip from her glass of champagne, she took a side eyed glance at him, fixating on his hair. She wondered if this was his way of shedding his Railroad persona and if for a little while, he could be himself without anyone knowing. The mystery of not knowing frustrated her even more—this wasn’t exactly the place to confront him for the truth. Instead she continued to sip at her drink, allowing herself one brief moment to think about brushing her fingers through the ginger waves before looking away.

A gorgeous woman adorned in a sparkling red dress crooned a slow song about love from the lit stage, her small band of jazz musicians accompanying her like they had rehearsed the melody a hundred times. Skinny Malone had introduced her as Magnolia—a starlet in her own right among Boston nightclubs, there as a special treat for his beloved girlfriend on her birthday. So far the evening had been as calm as one could expect when in a room full of drunken mobsters, with no sign of anyone suspicious, even as she sighted a few men so green they had to belong to the Boston police force.

“Kitty darling,” Deacon leaned to murmur in her ear. “We’ve got eyes on us.”

She nonchalantly glanced to find a man at the bar taking too many looks at them over their shoulder. In spite of his disguise, his fidgeting and whiskey gave him away. Marty Bulfinch. With a small smile she shook her head. “That’s a friend.”

Deacon nodded, though his lips twisted into a thin line. “Looks familiar.”

“Hmm?” she was genuinely curious, wondering how their paths could’ve crossed.

He frowned, quickly dismissing the topic. “Not now. Later.”

Madelyn continued to survey the crowd as she drank her champagne, giggling on cue when Deacon would provide her with information from the conversations he was eavesdropping on, under the guise of saying something nonsensical into her ear.

“You didn’t happen to sneak a weapon past the guards, did you?” he asked, fingers tightening along her waist as he took a long sip of his brandy.

She brushed her foot against his ankle, catching his attention so he’d glance down to wear she was hiking up the slit of her skirt ever so slightly to reveal the holster attached to her garter belt—a trick Piper had taught her after watching too many detective movies. Madelyn didn’t realize how practical it would become, the .22 cold against her skin. Deacon made a low sound, somewhere between a hum and a growl and it caused a warmth to bloom in her chest.

“If all else fails, there’s the hairpin in my curls,” she added, adjusting her dress and flashing him a knowing look.

He held her gaze, the candlelight flickering in the reflection of his sunglasses. “We both know how deadly you are with that.”

As Magnolia dedicated the next song to Skinny Malone and his gal, Deacon shifted out his seat and extended his arm to her. “Come on Kitty Cat, let’s dance.”

Madelyn took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, her heart racing with excitement and skin tingling alive with goosebumps. Almost immediately she was transported to that first dance at the Memory Den—the electric feeling that had engulfed her body and soul. Maybe she should’ve known then that she would be enraptured by his enigmatic nature. It was inescapable, no matter how hard she tried to deny herself the truth. But what was the truth?

Deacon tugged her close as they swayed to the slow song, dipping his head so his lips were angled near her ear. “What do you think?”

She blinked, struggling to remind herself what he was referring to. Her eyes danced around their environment, looking from the pairs of dancing couples to the patrons that sat at the surrounding tables. As far as she could tell, the only people present were Skinny Malone’s Triggermen and the people Marty Bulfinch had brought from the precinct. If any of Eddie Winter’s men were in the building, they had yet to make themselves known. She didn’t want to assume they wouldn’t take the opportunity to strike, not when the iron was hot.

“Something isn’t right,” she muttered, unsure. Madelyn focused on the bar where Marty was sitting earlier, only to find he had disappeared. In an effort not to panic, she steadied her breathing, looking towards where Skinny Malone was standing, entertaining some guests near the stage. A waitress came by with a new round of drinks, just in time for the birthday toast.

Madelyn tried to lead him closer, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Easy now, kitten,” Deacon assured, the hand at her waist tightening a little. “We have an audience.”

She flicked her gaze over his shoulder to the two Triggermen on the edge of the dancefloor, muttering to themselves as they gestured to where they were dancing. With one steady breath, she slinked herself closer, resting her head against his shoulder. “We need a distraction.”

“I like the way you think.”

Madelyn looked up at him through her lashes, and felt his fingers trail up to her shoulder and then her neck, leaving a burning path in their wake. Cupping the side of her face, she could feel the cool metal band of the wedding ring he wore, reminding her of the charade they were meant to be playing. He wasn’t Deacon, but Johnny—not her Railroad partner, but her husband. If she wanted to, she could kiss him, and blame it all on the undercover assignment. It didn’t matter what her real feelings were—she could face them later—or live in this fantasy and sin for as long as she wanted.

He noticed her hesitation. “I won’t kiss you if you don’t want me to.”

She didn’t say anything, tilting her chin a fraction closer just as Magnolia finished her song. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the sound of clinging glasses and the echoing sounds of cheers! It faded away as Deacon’s lips ghosted over hers, and she didn’t even care if the Triggermen were watching. Madelyn fluttered her eyes closed and could feel herself drifting—

A loud crash resonated through the entire club and on impulse she pulled herself away, inhaling a sharp breath as she focused her vision. For the split second she settled on Deacon’s face it was difficult to discern his expression—was he disappointed? It quickly melted away as they both diverted their attention towards the stage where Skinny Malone had collapsed, the table knocked over and glasses shattered. Madelyn was disoriented as she rushed over through the crowd of people—there hadn’t been a gunshot—what had happened?

A stocky man in a well-made, pinstriped suit was inspecting the tray of drinks that had been discarded on the floor. “Boss’ been slipped sumthin’!”

Poison? Madelyn felt the dread settle in her chest—this was unlike Winter—he always liked to take a direct approach when killing off his competition. But she had no time to question his methods when as of late, his crimes had become unpredictable.

“Move away!” she yelled over the crowd of frantic Triggermen. “I’m a nurse, maybe I can help!”

In the chaos, nobody made to stop her as she knelt over Skinny Malone’s crumpled body, pressing her fingers to his throat to check for a pulse. Frosty white foam was sputtering from his mouth and his eyes were wide, bulging. His hands were scrambling at the carpet for purchase, but a moment later they switched to yank at his jacket and tie. It was all in vein as he lie there suffocating, choking on his own tongue—there wasn’t anything Madelyn could do, even if she was a real medical professional. She gave him a sympathetic look, before noticing the thick pocketbook in the seam of his blazer. Without a second thought she snatched it, tucking it as well as she could in the front of her dress.

Skinny Malone began to struggle, gripping the arm of his nearest Triggerman. Madelyn was swept up at that time, Deacon’s hands tight around her waist as he led her away as calmly as possible.

“Time to hit the road,” he said through gritted teeth, suppressing his distress that they would be stopped in the confusion as they made their exit.

As they left the Third Rail, Madelyn felt as though their undercover assignment was a failure. Eddie Winter had gotten what he wanted with Skinny Malone’s death and was one step further in his complete take over of Boston.

It was time to play their hand.

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #madelyn hardy #deacon #nick valentine #piper wright #marty bullfinch #drummer boy #the john d. theory persists even in noir okay #piper has valid concerns #who called for undercover lovers?! #AND GINGER DEACON!? #👀👀👀 #i am so sorry this is 7k+

[howtoregrowlosthairnaturall]

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[keeroo92]

Be My Nightmare Ch12

The Precipice

Warnings for rape/non-con, violence/murder and some steamy spice. Enjoy!

Word count - 3,923

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

________

The exhibit featured reproductions of some of his favorites. The Blinding of Samson, Saturn Devouring His Son, Judith Beheading Holofernes, and several others. He kept his head tilted low, avoiding the cameras entirely where he could as he made his way deeper into the museum. While the other pieces were sublime, he was here for one reason only.

The murderous artist hid his tattooed hands in his pockets as he entered the room of his target, a small alcove off the main hall of artwork. Not many of the visitors bothered to view this piece, since no well-known names were attached to its creation, and it didn’t merit a large viewing area. Security for it was abysmal, to boot. 

Still, he waited a few minutes to be sure he wouldn’t be disturbed. This was private, not for anyone else to witness. Even his friends remained silent as he approached the wall where the canvas hung, barely two inches to spare on either side.

It always stole his breath to see it. A field of flowers on a mountainside, crimson petals a blanket under the feet of those gathered there. The figures all faced slightly away, so just a profile was visible. The composition hinted at the unreachable, that this group was somehow separate from the viewer. That they existed somewhere most people would never reach.

He recognized two or three faces, but only one mattered to his twisted heart.

Nero.

His friend stood on the edge of the field, a forlorn look on his face as his crystal-blue eyes gazed at the sky. Seeing his face again, even just his own meager attempts to capture it, brought the familiar tightness to his chest and throat. He remembered every stroke of the paintbrush as he crafted his friend’s likeness. 

All for this pale imitation of his kindness...

A rhythmic click broke his thoughts; footsteps. Who could say whose feet they belonged to? He needed to conceal himself, now. Whoever dared to interrupt him would pay the price.

The artist dipped into the shadows, choosing the corner he deemed most likely to be ignored by anyone viewing the artwork. The blade in his pocket greeted his fingertips like a lover, the same blade he used to craft his latest work. It sent a thrilling pulse of adrenaline through him to imagine what he might create here, in the same halls that held such classic works. Perhaps they’d inspire him?

A slim figure entered the room as he raised the blade. Female, with a pleasing shape. Lovely hair, and-

Wait…

Is that…?

It couldn’t be you, what were the odds? In such a vast city, for you to wander across his path was something he never expected. He’d imagined a multitude of ways to draw you out, but for you to simply appear? 

Yet there was no mistaking that face, those pursed lips and furrowed brow. 

“In Memoriam…” you murmured. “Why does each face… that’s odd.” 

V smirked and slid to the next shadow. What an interesting day this was becoming. Perhaps he could accelerate his plans, take the next step today since fate brought you to him? One must never waste opportunity. He licked his lips and stepped closer, lurking behind you like a bodyguard. 

“Hello, Y/N…” he purred.

Your eyes widened as you turned to face him, lips parting in shock. He’d missed that, how expressive your face was. No matter how hard you tried to mask your feelings, he saw them all. If anything, it became easier each time he saw you.

“V? What the hell are you doing here?”

---Reader---

You’d almost forgotten how the murderous artist’s eyes gleamed, the way his lips curled when he was amused. How damned tall he was. The intricacy of his tattoos and the poise with which he carried himself.

What the fuck?! Is he trying to get caught?

“Now what kind of greeting is that? Come now, doctor. Show some courtesy.”

The madman stepped closer, tilting his head to stare down into your eyes. You’d never stood this close to him before, so close you smelled a hint of musk from his skin. It sent a rush of dizziness through you. You worked with killers on a regular basis, why did this one in particular cause such powerful reactions?

He took another step, now only inches away. Your heart pounded in your chest, for what reason you weren’t entirely sure. The whole situation made you want to run away, but equally powerful was the urge to stay and finally solve the puzzle of his mind.

Too close, he’s too close! I have to keep it professional.

You shuffled back, trying to establish a boundary between yourself and the obsidian-haired artist. As if he’d pay attention to such things. Maybe you should just run, leave all this behind and never look back. 

No. You needed to figure him out, you couldn’t bear the thought of walking away now.

“Am I frightening you, dear Y/N?”

He closed the gap. You stepped away again, only to find your spine pressed against the extravagantly paneled wall. No escape: he had you cornered. The only question was what he planned to do next.

A tattooed finger rose to stroke your cheekbone, leaving sparks of electricity behind. You licked your lips nervously, battling the urge to lean into his fingertips. It felt alarmingly good to be touched. Even by the hands of a killer.

Am I losing my mind?

“No,” you finally replied, but your voice shook. Damn traitorous vocal cords.

He smirked and dropped his hand to rest on your shoulder, running his palm down the length of your arm to seize your hand. Logic screamed at you to run, break free and get security, but what had logic gotten you? Suspended and alone, friendless and isolated. Maybe logic wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Yep, I’m losing my mind.

“The truth is obvious in your eyes, my dear. Perhaps one day you’ll even be able to admit it to yourself,” he replied.

The heat of his body withdrew and your hand ached as he dropped it. Disappointment colored his piercing eyes and an apology crept up your throat, begging to be spoken. But why? What did you have to apologize for? You hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Seriously, though. What are you doing here?” you asked. A poorly disguised attempt to change the subject, but you honestly wanted an answer. 

He sighed and gazed at the strange painting, his face twisting into an expression you never expected to see. Guilt.

“I came to remember.”

You followed his eyes to find a white-haired figure in the painting. The very same one that reminded you of his unique style, something about the brush strokes…

No way...

“Did you paint this?”

A wry chuckle slipped from his lips. “Part of it, yes.”

And it’s called “In Memoriam”. Did he lose someone?

Of course. Grief was a powerful emotion, enough to break people or change them beyond recognition. You knew it well. The textbooks didn’t do it justice; the desperation and agony, the loneliness and fear that something would remind you of the loss and shatter you into a million pieces all over again, like taking a sledgehammer to a pane of glass. How every breath you took was one more the other person never would, and how much that hurt to know. Anything that eased the pain was a welcome refuge. 

The artist murmured a few words, so quietly you didn’t hear anything more than the rumble of his voice. In the next instant, you found yourself pinned once again, back against the wall and wrists held in an iron grip on either side. You twisted and writhed but he was too strong; you were helpless and vulnerable with no way out.

Well, almost.

“L- let go of me or I’ll scream!”

A single sentence, and the status quo flipped. No longer was he your patient, no longer were you the one with the power. In the facility, yes, but here? 

He can do whatever he wants to me and I can’t stop him. Shit…

A wicked grin split his face, taunting you with his enjoyment of your distress. He hummed and shifted to press his hips against your thigh, letting you feel the twitching length growing firmer by the second. 

“Why do you resist? What has your endless obedience brought you? Nothing but pain.”

You hissed as his hands twisted around your wrists. The automatic protestations died on your lips; how could you argue with the truth?

“Please, just let me go…” you murmured instead. 

The artist chuckled. “I think not. I’d much rather show you the alternative to your suffering, perhaps teach you to see through the lies of society.”

A quiet whisper echoed from the main hall, footsteps treading past the room you found yourself trapped in. For a moment you considered calling for help, but no sound escaped your lips. 

This can’t be happening…

“Let go, doctor. Surrender and be set free from all that holds you back,” he continued, rolling against you with a quiet groan.

Coils of warmth pooled in your belly at the sound, the first hints of need waking deep within. Your lips parted and heat gathered in your cheeks as he leaned closer, eyes glinting. Hot breath fanned your ear as his mouth neared your skin and a soft whimper slipped from your lips. Completely inappropriate, but how were you supposed to control hormonal responses? It simply couldn’t be done.

“Tell me, my dear. Why do you fear me?”

You thrashed your arms again in a useless gesture of rebellion. Whatever you were feeling, you knew it wasn’t fear. There was an edge of risk to it, a hint of vulnerability and danger, yet you were not afraid.

You were excited.

“I’m not scared of you,” you said. 

“Hmm… even after all I’ve done?” he purred.

More voices nearby reminded you of your precarious location. At any moment, another museum goer might wander in and discover the two of you. Or worse, security. You tried to break free again, but your efforts were in vain.

“Perhaps there’s hope for you yet,” he murmured, and then the murderer’s lips were on yours.

For a moment, you froze. How long had it been since you’d been kissed? Quite a while, but that was irrelevant. What was relevant was the texture of his mouth and the heat of his body, the sharp sound of your surprised inhale and the rough stubble scraping against your chin. 

Fuck! Oh, fuck!

Separating your biological desires from your logical ones was suddenly out of your capabilities. The flicker of heat in your core grew to a scorching inferno as he ran his tongue over your lip, demanding entrance you were powerless to deny. The sheer wrongness of your dancing mouths had your heart galloping and blood rushing in your ears. 

And damn, did he taste good.

The inner voice that guided your steps for years, the one that kept you in control and maintained the mask of normalcy, the force that insisted you could never show your true self…

That which once held such power over you, now seemed so frail and weak.

Playing by the rules and coloring inside the lines, what did it really get you? A job that bored you, false friends and the respect of fools. Nothing worthwhile or truly meaningful, a life devoid of joy and purpose.

Damnit, this wasn’t part of the plan! You were supposed to be whole by now, fixed and undamaged. It was the reason you studied for so many years, worked so hard and spent countless hours searching for new treatment methods. 

You were broken, but you could fix it.

Right?

You fixed murderers; your own life should have been easy. Yet it was the hardest case of all, and you were so tired of pretending. Enough of the lies, enough of the secrecy and hidden agenda. Enough blending in and trying to be like everyone else. 

Enough hiding, enough smiling at every face as if you gave a damn about them. Enough empty words and masked words. Enough doing what you were told, and enough ignoring what you wanted.

Enough.

---V---

That brief taste of your skin seemed so long ago. The palest reflection of everything hidden just below the surface. The full-bodied flavor of your mouth was infinitely more dazzling. 

As he’d requested, his friends were silent. This part was his alone, and they would not spoil it by breaking his concentration. No doubt they’d share their thoughts later on, but for now…

For now, he had you all to himself. The softness of your wrists in his grasp and the scent of your skin had him reeling, each caress of your tongue adding gasoline to the fire of his need. You were teetering on the edge of letting go, he could feel it. All you needed was the right push.

The artist ground against your thigh, easing the ache in his cock by a minuscule fraction. The answering whimper was a thing of beauty, especially when coupled with the twitch of your hips. Images from his fantasies flooded his mind, visions of all the ways you could satisfy him. Mouth and fingers and oh, the velveteen walls of your core…

No! Restrain yourself, she isn’t there yet!

He forced himself to break the kiss and rested his forehead on yours, sharing each panted breath. What a glorious expression you wore, glassy eyed and swollen lips parted. Yes, you were worth being patient and careful. No one else would do.

“You see, doctor? You see how I can set you free?”

The corners of your lips twitched into a sardonic smile. “You say you’ll set me free while you restrain me. You really are insane.”

She’s got a point, pal.

“Hush, Griffon! Not now.”

Despite the infuriating interruption, he couldn’t deny that the mouthy demon was right. His fingers opened, relaxing enough for you to at last break his hold if you desired. A risk, but a necessary one to gain your trust.

Indeed, you jerked away from his grip and glared at him, but he didn’t step back. Freedom wasn’t something he could truly give you.

You had to take it.

With a wicked grin he rolled his hips once again, bracing his arms on either side of you to support his weight. Your hair smelled so good, and just the right length for pulling…

“Fuck!” you whispered.

Then he stepped back, when your voice and body conveyed the need he’d drawn out. 

“You’re free, now. What will you do with it?”

Truly, you were a wonder. Only tiny changes revealed your thoughts; less attentive eyes might not have spotted the hesitation or the hunger in your gaze. Yet the conclusion was inevitable, and as he watched resolve harden those lovely eyes he couldn't help but grin.

“Fuck it,” you growled.

This time it was you who closed the gap, pulling his head down to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. Your hands pawed at his back, begging and pleading for more, and who would he be if he denied you now?

Tattooed fingers took hold of your ass and lifted. Lithe legs wrapped around his waist like a bear trap, forcing your core to meet his painfully hard cock. Sparks jumped from every nerve your hands caressed and flames devoured the last of his restraint as you mewled, tugging on his lip with your teeth.

The artist pinned you against the wall and brought one hand to your waist band. He didn’t hesitate and plunged his digits within, tracing the soft flesh hidden beneath. Positively divine, so soft and warm…

And wet…

He grinned and trailed kisses down your pulse, licking and suckling at the tender flesh as quiet moans spilled from your lips. A single fingernail scraped across your core, gathering the slick fluid as it traveled to the small nub of nerves nearby. 

“You see? You see what a delight it is to claim your freedom?”

“Fuck, please, just-“

He shattered your voice by pressing against your clit and rubbing. The lewd moan that rewarded him might become his favorite sound and he dragged his digit across again to hear it once more. 

Your small hands clawed at his back, hips rotating to rock against his hand. With his nose buried in the crux of your neck, he couldn’t see your face, but every stuttering breath you took guided his motion. A fine sheen of sweat broke out under his lips and he lapped at the salty fluid even as his hand drew more moisture from your body. 

Sinful noises filled the air, a symphony of pleasure his mind would play on repeat for days to come. He traced the silken flesh like it was the most precious canvas in the world, deliberately stroking and pressing into your most sensitive spots. 

“This is but a taste of what I can give you. Imagine it: total autonomy, each choice your own to make.”

“Ah-! Fuck, please!”

He hummed and sank his teeth into your shoulder, simultaneously burying two fingers in your wet heat with a lewd groan. Soon enough, it wouldn’t be just his fingers enjoying the welcoming tightness.

You scrabbled at his spine and keened his name, your legs pulling his hips closer on instinct alone. Obscene gasps and moans spilled form your lips as he curled his fingers and pistoned inside you. A tiny hint of copper leaked where his teeth cut your flesh, the perfect morsel for his depraved soul. 

“Ah-! Shit, I’m gonna-“

“That’s it, Y/N. Break your chains,” the artist hummed.

A final cry, the gentlest of flutters against his fingers. There it was, perfection in ecstasy. He lifted his head to watch your face, twisted in a mix of pleasure and pain.

He’d seen a face like that once before, the day his life changed forever. After the gunshots fell silent and blood soaked the auditorium floor. He was still trapped under Nero’s dead body, desperately trying to appear equally deceased.

A few feet away Becca lied on the floor, mascara-laden tears streaming from her eyes and terror painting her features. Drops of crimson splattered her cheeks. 

One of the shooters approached the poor girl and dragged her into position, splayed out across one of the larger patches of floor. Her blond hair reddened along with her face as the killer’s hands groped at her body. Her sobbing intensified and V’s heart clenched in sympathy.

I wish there was something I could do!

But to intervene would mean his death, of that he was certain. All he could do was bear witness. 

He watched in silence as the shooters took turns, each adding their own marks to her flesh. Not once did she beg for mercy, instead taking their abuse without a word. If only he were so strong…

The leader was last, identifiable by his swagger laden stride and massive weapon. He held the barrel to her neck and unzipped, gloved hands drawing out his hardened length. 

“Don’t worry, Becca. I know how to treat a lady,” the attacker growled.

Indeed, he took the time to guide her forcefully to bliss. His hands teased at her flesh and gently caressed the marks left by his comrades, praise and filthy phrases accompanying his touch. Even as choked sobs still leaked past her lips, moans and whimpers slowly mixed in. 

The artist’s heart broke for her. She was always kind to him, a vague sort of friendliness that was more than most bothered with. She didn’t deserve the cruelty she was receiving.

Nor did she deserve to have her body manipulated until a sharp cry broke through her tears. Only her face and part of her torso were visible, but it was enough. Her features twisted in ashamed pleasure, arms tightening as her spine arced off the bloody floor. Such a tortured expression, he’d never seen.

He closed his eyes, but there was no blocking the sound of the shot that claimed her life moments later.

---Reader---

“God damnit, V…”

Heartbeats after your peak, the artist’s face had lost all expression. He mumbled the same phrase over and over, in the grip of a powerful catatonic episode. Somehow, he didn’t drop you. Thank heavens for small mercies.

“Between two moments, bliss is ripe,” he murmured. Another small blessing – he didn’t shout.

Still. The longer he stayed like this, the more likely someone would wander across him.

And me…

With a few careful wiggles, you extricated yourself from his grasp to stand on the parquet flooring once more. The resistance he gave you was negligible; never had you seen him so helpless.

I could just… go.

He was a killer. He deserved justice, and all you had to do to make sure he got it was walk away. Leave him to his fate, abandon this strange man and let go of your fascination. After what happened, there was no chance he’d end up in your care again. You’d never have to see him for the rest of your life.

“Between two moments, bliss is ripe,” he repeated.

A sigh slipped from your pursed lips. There was still so much about him you didn’t know. To try to help him now would undoubtedly mean the end of your professional career, if it wasn’t beyond repair already. You knew where this road would lead; to death and blood.

But also to answers.

Is the cost too high? Is it worth it?

If only the court sent him somewhere else. Then, none of this would be an issue. The murderous artist would be someone else’s problem and you wouldn’t have to make such a ridiculous choice. Your life would still be on its planned trajectory.

Yet that life held little appeal, now. It was pointless to deny his madness, but equally so to deny the tornado he coaxed to life in your heart. Emotions more powerful than you’d ever experienced, not to mention what his lethal hands could do to your body. A single moment in his presence sparked more curiosity and unanswered questions than a year spent in solitude.

No. there’s no going back now.

With a muttered curse, you tugged his skull down to look at you. This was such a terrible idea. “V, I don’t know if you can hear me, but you can’t stay here.”

No response, as you’d expected. Plan B, then.

You took his hand and led him into the shadows, away from the beautifully painted canvas and bright display lights. It was fortunate he liked black, or the darkness wouldn’t hide him so well.

“Between two moments, bliss is ripe.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. C’mon, sit down.”

With a little prodding, he managed to take a seat on the floor. Time to get to work.

His glassy eyes refused to follow your finger, but his breathing sounded fine and there was no evidence of a seizure. Gentle taps resulted in appropriate twitches. Heartbeat normal. Physically, the man seemed completely fine.

Okay, all I have to do is wait and he should come out of it eventually.

Considering the last time he had one of these episodes, it lasted over an hour, you settled in beside him. Your jacket made a decent blanket and it was dark, hopefully enough to conceal you from prying eyes.

If it wasn’t, you knew you’d pay the price.

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

#fanfic #Be My Nightmare #my writing #tw: mental health #tw: assault #tw: rape #dmc5 v #dmc v #v x reader #reader insert #devil may cry #dmc