x☠︎︎☠︎︎☠︎︎

[4gnt13]

𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚄 𝙽 𝙳 𝙴 𝚁 𝚂 𝚃 𝙰 𝙽 𝙳

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟 𝚒 𝚘 𝚕 𝚎 𝚗 𝚌 𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔

𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐 𝚎 𝚗 𝚝 𝚕 𝚎 ?

❝ but believe it or not,

there are things older in this world than

ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ᴀ ᴍ ᴇ ʀ ɪ ᴄ ᴀ． you see,

they could kill a 𝑑 𝑟 𝑒 𝑎 𝑚 𝑒 𝑟．

but they could never 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍 the ᴅ ʀ ᴇ ᴀ ᴍ．

they could jail the 𝒓 𝒆 𝒗 𝒐 𝒍 𝒖 𝒕 𝒊 𝒐 𝒏 𝒂 𝒓 𝒚．

but they could never jail

the r e v o l u t i o n．❞

— ˢʰᵃʳᵒⁿ ᶜᵃʳᵗᵉʳ; ᶜᵃ [ᵛᵒˡ.¹⁰] #⁷

ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ • ɪɴᴅɪᴇ • ɴᴏᴠᴇʟʟᴀ • ᴍᴜʟᴛɪsʜɪᴘ • 21+ • 616 ʙᴀsᴇᴅ

Visit Original Link

🝊 𝐼𝑀𝑃𝑂𝑅𝑇𝐴𝑁𝑇 𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐾𝑆 & 𝑇𝑂𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑆 :

𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 :

𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 :

𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚘 :

𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚜 :

𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜 & 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚜 :

𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜 :

🝊 𝑆𝐻𝐴𝑅𝑂𝑁 𝐸. 𝐶𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐸𝑅 — 𝐴𝐺𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑅𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑁 :

𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 :

𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚌 / 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 :

𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙴𝙻𝙳 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚛, 𝚎𝚝𝚌. :

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚜 :

𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝟷𝟹 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 :

𝚓𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 :

🝊 𝐼𝑁𝑆𝑃𝐼𝑅𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑅𝐴𝐶𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑍𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 :

𝚌 𝚘 𝚖 𝚒 𝚌 𝚜 :

𝚋 𝚘 𝚘 𝚔 𝚜 & 𝚜 𝚑 𝚘 𝚛 𝚝 𝚜 𝚝 𝚘 𝚛 𝚒 𝚎 𝚜 :

𝚏 𝚒 𝚕 𝚖 𝚜 & 𝚝 𝚎 𝚕 𝚎 𝚟 𝚒 𝚜 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 :

[4gnt13]

❝ while her gift for secret put distance between us, it also taught me the value of i n t e l l i g e n c e: i learned that a secret is POWER, that POWER in application is force, that force is strength && strength is advantage. ❞ — 𝑎 𝑚 𝑒 𝑟 𝑖 𝑐 𝑎 𝑛 𝑠 𝑝 𝑦

𝑚𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 & 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒 • 𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑒 • 𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑎 • 21+ • 616 𝑏𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑

[vallorouslly]

"How long have we been down?"

Keeping voice quiet, deliberately breaking the working silence here in the dim dark of the pit. The two operatives working with him respect how he works and his importance resting on this mission running as flawlessly as humanly possible. They all knew this part was gonna be the easiest, finding her. But who knew how she'd be once they got to the 'we're getting you outta here' part.

"About an hour and twenty minutes, sir."

Jaw clenches ever so softly, a nod in the shadows and they peek out, the little disheveled 'town' coming into view. Once inside, it's two lefts, a right, straight and a slight left to reach her cell. Whatever it's called, Logan could care less other than seeing her alive and breathing. The extra time was most likely due to the spot they were dropped off, lowered into nothing other than a pit of hell itself, vomiting decay and destruction just beneath their feet. It made Logan sick to his stomach.

What's worse is hearing the screams of the terrified people trapped here. The ones he had to walk by and forget. It was easy, supposedly, to dissociate from it all and move on. That's part of what a soldier does with fallen enemy troops: walk on. Don't interfere, don't watch suffering, and keep going. The grime of the place settled already on the back of his neck, making him feel gritty as a frown reaches his lips.

A nod later and they're entering the maze of this disgusting town, the excuse of it crumbling to ruins and filth all around them. He feels as if he sticks out in his black tactical gear when in actuality, they haven't been seen. Gun strapped to his thigh is equipped with a silencer that has endured some use in dispatching guards, but he tries to leave that to a minimum. It's a trail they could be followed by, and he will not take unnecessary risks. Streaming through these creaking fences, they finally round the last corner and Logan spots her in this thick dark almost instantly.

"Agent?" He asks, feeling so separated from her, so mechanical from letting that pass his lips addressing her. This incredibly resilient woman who deserves to hear her name. Taking off the ski mask covering his face, he crouches down to her level but not too close: they warned him she could attack, could strike from years of conditioning to do so to survive. Besides, he'll be putting it on her when they extract her in an effort to help conceal her identity. He tries again when she doesn't immediately stir. "Sharon?"

@4gnt13 plotted starter

[4gnt13]

𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐉𝐀𝐈𝐋  𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍  𝐀  𝐉𝐀𝐈𝐋  –  cells  carved  into  stone  that  somehow  seemed  older  than  the  implementation  of  the  prison  itself.  Something  a  part  of  her  would  have  been  idly  interested  in,  a  part  of  her  she  couldn’t  even  remember,  not  consciously.  Two  years.  Seven-hundred  and  thirty  six  days…by  her  best  estimation.  This  place,  this  very  intimate  and  unrelenting  hell  –  this  was  her  tomb.  An  unequivocal  fact  that  Sharon  had  long  since  resigned  herself  to,  because  what  else  could  she  do?  In  a  place  like  this,  a  place  with  no  name  where  people  lived  and  died  while  their  screams  vanished  into  the  stone  and  the  world  passed  them  all  by.  

It  was  the  place  where  Doom  (  and  the  litany  of  treacherous  associates  he  kept  )  threw  away  dissidents,  enemies,  or  anyone  that  needed  to  be  thrown  down  a  hole    so  deep  into  the  darkness  –  time  wouldn’t  even  remember.  Schmidt,  Red  Skull  –  it  wasn’t  enough  that  Rogers  was  dead,  the  idea  his  wife  roamed  free,  was  a  galling  insult  that  screeching,  bald  animal  could  bear.  Long  ago  she  stopped  wondering  what  deals  and  money  exchanged  hands  to  coordinate  sending  her  down  here.  There  were  a  great  many  things  Sharon  Carter  stopped  thinking  about,  because  the  shreds  of  false  hope  could  be  as  insidious  and  fatal  as  the  guards  and  fauna  that  haunted  the  prison.  So  she  spared  herself  those  hopes,  that  someone  would  find  her  –  that  Jasper’s  brilliant  mind  would  puzzle  it  together,  Natasha  or  Nick  would  beat  the  information  out  of  someone.  But  how  could  any  of  them  manage  any  of  those  outcomes  if  they  didn’t  even  know  what  they  were  looking  for.  Where  to  look.  Who  to  look  at.  This  is  where  she’d  die  and  the  resignation  to  that  fact  came  easier  than  she’d  have  ever  thought  possible,  but  it  also  came  on  the  heels  of  realizing  that  if  they  all  thought  she  was  dead,  who  looks  for  a  dead  woman?  The  only  people  she  could  think  of  that  would  have  looked  until  they  held  her  body  in  their  hands  are  eight  feet  in  the  ground,  on  a  hill  in  a  lonely  cemetery  in  Brooklyn.  Knees  folded  against  her  chest,  Sharon  slid  her  fingers  without  purpose  along  the  thread  of  water  streaming  down  one  of  the  cracks  in  the  stone  –  distantly  she  wondered  if  it  was  raining  outside.  She  missed  the  rain.  In  the  darkness  behind  closed  eyes  she  could  see  it.  Bouncing  off  the  sidewalk,  the  umbrellas  off  passers-by,  the  petrichor  smell  after  it  was  done.  She  imagined  being  a  drop  of  rain,  free  to  fall  and  break,  the  only  freedom  she  could  cling  to  here  was  the  freedom  to  hate  her  tormentors.  The  freedom  to  resist.  To  withhold.  The  only  freedom  she  had  was  the  freedom  to  not  break,  despite  her  soul  screaming  throughout  the  echoes  of  her  whole  life  to  just  collapse.  She  wouldn’t.  She  couldn’t.  It  was  all  she  had  left  –  not  breaking.  Not  stopping  anymore  to  consider  what  that  meant,  what  her  goals  were,  she  did  what  she  only  could  do;  remained. Their  footfalls  are  what  she  heard  first.  They  weren’t  loud,  but  it  was  a  sixth  sense  they  all  developed  down  here  –  the  steps  of  someone  coming  for  you.  The  sound  of  some  kind  of  impending  torment  written  out  in  your  own  fear,  but  Sharon  didn’t  know  how  to  feel  fear  in  an  atypical  way  anymore.  Dirt  laden  hands  gripped  the  handle  of  the  makeshift  shank  she  kept  tucked  in  the  band  of  her  pants,  fashioned  from  an  aluminum  can  she  scavenged  from  the  guard’s  trash.  The  sneer  on  her  face  was  hidden,  she  hadn’t  looked  behind  her,  but  she  heard  the  word  Agent  –  what  the  fuck  did  they  think  that  would  do?  Stir  some  kind  of  emotion  in  her?  Then  her  name.  What  were  they  playing  at?  It  didn’t  matter.  These  guards  were  getting  so  green,  she  wondered  if  the  only  prerequisite  for  the  job  was  a  midlevel  grasp  on  reading.

“Come  closer  –  my  eyes  do  not  see  well  anymore.  My  ears,  they  no  longer  hear  like  they  once  did,  dear  friend.  Come  closer…”  said  the  Wolf  to  Red  Riding. Her  voice  was  high,  unnatural.  A  sound  followed  her  voice,  the  closest  a  person  could  compare  it  to  was  a  laugh,  but  a  hard  comparison  to  make  when  the  sound  was  so  devoid  of  any  and  all  mirth. New  guards  were  a  thrill;  because  so  rarely  did  she  get  to  play  a  game.

@vallorouslly

[kataireo]

" So don ' t tell me to back off , —

' cause I won ' t . "

#kataireo ; independent, selective, mutuals only k a r e n p a g e .

nmcu based, street level-ish, crossover + oc friendly.

[torchings]

📢 Help Save a Family in Gaza 💔

My name is Maisouline Ziad Bahader, a mother of four children: Rami, Rafif, Mohammed, and Yazan.

We live in the heart of destroyed Gaza, after losing our home and everything we had.

No food. No clean water. No shelter. My children go to sleep hungry every night.

I launched a GoFundMe campaign because every one dollar can make a difference:

If you donate,l can buy

a meal to stop my children’s hunger 🍞

Clean water to protect them from disease 💧

Temporary shelter to keep them safe 🏠

🙏 Your donation, no matter how small, can save lives.

Please, stand with us and help us survive.

📌 Donate here: https://gofund.me/556d5689

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #165)

.

[4gnt13]

𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 something entirely alien to Sharon, but when there was something she held close to the vest – this emotional unknown – her ability to gauge his reaction was decreased by well over half. The longer she waited, the more it felt like she was keeping something from him, and that was rarely ever her intention; even the times when she’s had to keep certain variables of a mission or set of directives as classified to him. Though this wasn’t the particulars of something handed down from Nick Fury that was sending them into some far flung place. This was the unpredictable chaos of the particulars of their lives, their hearts, their hopes. Those intimate details that often felt like a Herculean task to express, even more so trying to find the words to articulate those emotional intimacies. This much had been so painfully true for Sharon for the better part of ten months, and that wasn’t easy. For either of them. Steve doesn’t complain. When she felt too out of place in their bed, and would get up to plant herself in a fetal position on the floor, on his side of the bed, and when she woke in the morning to find him sleeping beside of her, on the floor, on his side of the bed — Steve Rogers didn’t complain. He didn’t complain about the time when she was so lost to a past horror, she forgot him and insisted he was someone else; at knife point. He took her in stride, all the ugliness that followed her from that specific place in hell. Steven Rogers didn’t complain. She wondered if she had the emotional right or agency to approach this with him – was it asking too much? Was it even fair? Though it would have been an exact lie if she said she didn’t have this want herself, and would be an even bigger lie to say Sharon hadn’t desperately wondered if he at least considered the same thing. Idly moving a piece of chicken through florets of broccoli, twisting up her courage enough to wrestle the words from her throat, “ – I’ve been meaning to bring up my appointment from last week.” The voice that spoke almost sounded foreign to her, a little higher pitched than what was normal for Sharon. “So it turns out that the intense cramping I had been having was the result of a very early miscarriage – but Dr. Mirza said everything is normal and I’m fine,” adding that last bit with indecent haste, because it was ostensibly true; she was entirely fine. “And I really am, on all levels –” that little coded way she referred to her lapses in stability in the last ten months. The flush of red in her cheeks that heralded the shame she felt having to reflect on that aspect of herself at all. Pushing rice around on the plate, her flimsy situational excuse to avoid seeing the look on his face, the imagined rejection or indignation she thought might be lingering at the corner of his stark blue gaze. “ – but it did get me to thinking,” tentatively she clears her throat, “. . . that we do have all this time right now, without the distraction of some threat or assignment or mission. All this time, to sort of situate ourselves, and who really knows when we’d have something like this again.” Somewhere right there at the end her voice wavers, almost cracks. The brittle piece of courage stinging her throat, muscling itself around the swollen feeling of guilt. “I just thought –” the words came soft, a bit ragged. She starts again. “I just thought, what if we tried? You know – add another member to the band?” The laugh at the end was breathless and almost a whisper, halfhearted in her attempt at humor, and still unable to draw her eyes away from her plate and to the man across from her; a wild flourish of fear searing through her, almost unrecognizable to her in the ways she’s experienced fear. “𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑡, 𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑣𝑒.” But the words were so quiet, she wondered if she’d said them aloud at all.

@perditos

[hawkgyrl]

founding member:   Hawkgirl.   reincarnated by edie.

[4gnt22]

⁽ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵃ ᶠᵘᶜᵏⁱⁿᵍ ʰʸᵈʳᵃ ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳ ⁾

d e d i c a t i o n

{ 𝐝𝐞𝐝 • 𝐢 • 𝐤𝐚𝐲 • 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐡𝐧 } 𝑛𝑜𝑢𝑛.

𝚍𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔, 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 / 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎, 𝚒’𝚖 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗’ / 𝚒’𝚖 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗’ , 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗’ / 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗’

𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘， 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺； 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝑀𝐴𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐶𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑆 𝘰𝘧 ｈａｒｄｋｎｏｃｋｓ． 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝔸𝕃𝕌𝕄ℕ𝕀 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘫𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴， 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝙍𝙐𝙉． 𝘢 🅻🅾︎🆅🅴 🄻🄴🅃🅃🄴🅁 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 last breaths 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺． 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑． 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 [ 𝑠𝑜 𝑤𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑊𝑂𝑁’𝑇. ]

ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ᴀɴᴅ sʜɪᴘ • 21 + • 616 ʙᴀsᴇᴅ & ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ ʟᴏʀᴇ • EXTREMELY PRⵊVATE ( ʙᴜᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀʟ, ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ʜᴏᴡ ᴡᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ sᴀʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ - ɪꜰ ɪ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏʀ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ⵊ REALLY WANT TO WRⵊTE ) • ɪɴᴅɪᴇ ʀᴘ, ɪɢ? • sʜᴇ / ʜᴇʀ 30 + •

[suredid]

                 "no trespassing" "restricted area" "private property"

        bro im literally curious by nature

[nightprompts]

&. 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬. 

(  an  assortment  of  dialogue  prompts  that  are  a  mix  of  fluff  and  angst  for  all  your  shipping  needs.  feel  free  to  change  how  you  seem  fit.  )

❛ you look happier. ❜

❛ they’re teaching me to kill, but who’s teaching me to love? ❜

❛ it’s hard to sit here and be close to you and not kiss you. ❜

❛ you left like i was never a reason to stay. ❜

❛ i never craved attention until i tasted yours. ❜

❛ if i kissed you, i don’t think i’d be able to stop. ❜

❛ you had my heart before i could say no. ❜

❛ but friends don’t look at each other like we do. ❜

❛ i like you. a lot. like a lot, a lot. ❜

❛ you’d look cuter holding my hand, but whatever. ❜

❛ they say you’re dangerous, but you’re my safe. ❜

❛ you are the peace i crave in this chaotic world. ❜

❛ i need you, you idiot. ❜

❛ i’d be yours, if you asked. ❜

❛ what’s meant to be will always find a way. ❜

❛ i never planned to have you on my mind this often. ❜

❛ you still live in the silences between my thoughts. ❜

❛ we’re not perfect, but we’re perfect for each other. ❜

❛ with a heart like that, you deserve the world. ❜

❛ i will look for you in every lifetime until we finally stay. ❜

❛ it’ll always be you. ❜

❛ i am yours. no refunds. ❜

❛ meet me in my dreams and stay for a while. ❜

❛ please don’t let me forget your voice. ❜

❛ i am in love with a moment we never had. ❜

❛ you steady me and stir me all at once. ❜

❛ i never want to stop making memories with you. ❜

❛ what i have with you, i don’t want with anyone else. ❜

❛ you smile a lot more since we’ve met. ❜

❛ do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? ❜

❛ i may not be your first, but i want to be your last. ❜

❛ i have passed by many eyes, but i only got lost in yours. ❜

❛ i’m pretty sure i didn’t meet you for nothing. ❜

❛ for you, i’ll risk it all. ❜

❛ i’m happiest when i’m with you. ❜

❛ i wonder what i look like in your eyes. ❜

❛ you’re important to me, you piece of shit. ❜

❛ and now you’re a stranger with all my secrets. ❜

❛ it terrifies me what i would do for you. ❜

❛ anywhere with you is everywhere i want to be. ❜

❛ my soul just wants to be closer to yours. ❜

❛ you’re still my person, even if i’m no longer yours. ❜

❛ you didn’t just break promises, you broke me. ❜

❛ some people search their whole lives for what i found in you. ❜

❛ you return like autumn and i fall every time. ❜

❛ i think about kissing you all the time. ❜

❛ maybe i’ll see you in another life if this one wasn’t enough. ❜

❛ the most beautiful part is, i wasn’t even looking when i found you. ❜

❛ your eyes hold everything my heart thirsts for. ❜

❛ you are enough. a thousand times enough. ❜

❛ a sky full of stars, and i’d still watch you. ❜

❛ i broke my rules for you. ❜

❛ in your eyes, i found gravity. ❜

❛ you have no idea how much i like you. ❜

❛ my heart is so full of you i can hardly call it my own. ❜

❛ so do right people with wrong timing get a second chance? ❜

❛ i pushed everyone away because they weren’t you. ❜

❛ you were worth the wait. ❜

❛ c’mon, we’d look cute together. ❜

❛ if you take care of everyone, who takes care of you? ❜

❛ i think i might be in some kind of love with you. ❜

[4gnt13]

— hey everyone !

i recently made some updates to my rules page. everything after the line about steve rogers blogs is new, so whenever you get a second if you can swing in there and give those a read — it would be greatly appreciated. additionally i’ve added two verses that i’ve been very keen on writing sharon in, but no one is under any pressure to write in them !

quick links :

rules of engagement

verses

thanks ! 💋

[4gnt13]

𝚅 𝙴 𝚁 𝚂 𝙴 𝚂 :

𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙷 - 𝟺𝟸 ; 𝙿𝙰𝙸𝙽𝚃 𝙸𝚃 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺 :

This verse was taken/inspired from Spider-Man: ATSV, wherein we have a reality where there was never a spider-man, but I’ve also expanded on this to encompass a more ‘villainous/desperate’ scenario. So Captain America was never found and taken off the ice, Peggy never made Shield, Tony never made the suit. It’s a world whose Age of Heroes either never arrived or was a blip in time long since forgotten. There are more vicious street vigilantes that are found in heroes like Frank Castle, Matt Murdock and The Moon Knight, while other would-be-heroes slated into more nefarious avenues and deeds. Sharon and Jasper Sitwell operate in a similar role/capacity as Wilson Fisk and James Wesley from Netflix’s Daredevil seasons specifically. Sharon Carter known only as Thirteen / The Cipher / The Spymaster.

This verse is designed for the virtuous characters to walk on the darker side of their paths or to even have villains reign down morality. It’s a bizarro-upside down verse. Also if you write any of the characters mentioned above, don’t be deterred, obviously if you’re interested in this verse, you’re not beholden to any outlines of your character, you’re encouraged to put your own unique mark on Earth 42, for what’s most entertaining and meaningful for you and your character.

𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙷 - 𝟽𝟷𝟽 ; 𝚂𝙻𝙴𝙴𝙿 𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝙸𝚁𝙴 :

This verse is a big one and is meant to exist as a setting that can bring a level of comic ‘Story Event’ excitement and danger, built in pockets to let your characters shine and take center stage in a perilous, all or nothing fight.

The story concept is that William Stryker, with the coordinated efforts of Sebastian Shaw’s Hellfire Club, Bolliver Trask’s wealth and influence, and the political power and protections of Doom and Latveria were able to dispatch the current American president’s administration and family. In point of fact something done in the dead of night in precisely 27 minutes — in the years to come it will be known as ‘The 27 Crash’. William Stryker seizes office and an all out attack on mutants, both on the ground and in legislation.

Steve Rogers and Tony Stark, prior to the fall, had worked long years and forged a cohesive hero community in the country, starting with their formation of the West Coast Avengers. After Stryker takes office and publicly executes one of the X-Men (who depends on how you want this verse to take shape). And for the first time, the hero community rises up and stands on business, ten toes out, for mutantkind. The world falls to war, Genosha burns with Erik and Wanda fending off Trask’s Sentinels and air and sea forces from Latveria, Wakanda makes an emergency treaty with Erik to assume Genosha as apart of the Wakandan Nation, thus Wakanda effectively declaring war against Latveria and America. The Avengers, X-Men, the remains of SHIELD hold a tenuous line through the middle of America, in a compound Stark and Richards built in the Rockies in Colorado, fending off Stryker’s forces from the East, ushering civilians over the mountains and toward the West.

Everything is at stake, the odds aren’t in anyone’s favor, and victories are hard won and slim.

[4gnt13]

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 in the Rockies while a bright, laughing moon hung high against an inky black night, leaving the snow to shine eerily white, almost an opalescent glisten. Sharon had grown to love these late hour target shoots. The hours where she wasn’t the captain’s grieving widow, an agent, a freedom fighter, a mother — she was, for a few short hours, Sharon Carter. Just Sharon. There was always a kind of star spangled guilt that stabbed out from the back of her heart when she was here, with @onlyathief , but it wasn’t anything Rogers shaped — and nothing but the specter of herself.

She leaned closer against him, positioned her leg between his and flush against the inside of his right, her arm laid out longways over his, fingers over fingers, right down to her index snaking over his to hug the trigger. When she turned her head to speak, the words were whisky warm and unfurling over his neck; “—𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒌’𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅, 𝒊𝒏𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏; 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒕.”

It was unclear whether she meant for the tip of her nose to brush just so against his neck. Something roiling under her skin that was vacillating between want and frenetic worry.

“—𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒎𝒊,” her mouth was against the ridge of his ear, “—𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒅𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏?”

[4gnt13]

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 ?

𝙷 𝙰 𝙽 𝙳 𝚂:

Hands can do so much, they’re extremely versatile much like yourself. They can nourish, they can pray, they can comfort. But we both know that’s not what you use yours for is it? You know as well as I do how hands can maim, can strangle, can destroy. They are unthinking and unfeeling, and unlike the others they do not act off instinct but off of command. Every act you commit is purposeful, filled with an intent, sometimes to be cruel and sometimes to be kind. You know who is deserving of your hurt, who is deserving of your love. Always make sure you can tell them apart before you wrap those hands around them.

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 : @nvrmiss

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 : @c4ptainrogers , @etoilebleu , @onlyathief , @onlyarogue , @stickytm , @asgardianhammer , @agentsterling , @ogalactus , @usohno , @aston1sh1ng , @zimwy & you !

[invisingsrchives]

ONE THING is for sure — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 are here FOR YOU ! #stormdcosmic DR. SUSAN ' SUE ' STORM RICHARDS . by kylie ! — heavily headcanon based & own character development influenced primarily from all comic iterations , 20+ & MUTUALS ONLY . mcu welcome with selectivity .

[4gnt13]

❝ while her gift for secret put distance between us, it also taught me the value of i n t e l l i g e n c e: i learned that a secret is POWER, that POWER in application is force, that force is strength && strength is advantage. ❞ — 𝑎 𝑚 𝑒 𝑟 𝑖 𝑐 𝑎 𝑛 𝑠 𝑝 𝑦

𝑚𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 + 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒 • 𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑒 • 𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑎 • 21+ • 616 𝑏𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑

[4gnt13]

“Sitwell — status?” her voice cut through the open room like a scalpel, precise. Exacting. Eager.

“Murdock and Castle are headed northbound, toward Hell’s Kitchen,” the lower thrum of a man’s voice called back to the other.

Lightning flashed over New York’s skyline, rain smashed into glass windows that made up nearly every wall, floor to ceiling, on this floor. The place where The Cipher Premier, The Spymaster, the long hand clenched around the throat of the city; Thirteen. Not a name. Not a moniker.

Just a number.

13.

“Bring @zimwy .” Thirteen said to the room at large.

“Now?” a third voice enters the conversation. An edge to the woman’s voice, an edge that elicits an expression from Sitwell like he’s just smelled something foul — but after all; cowardice is a pungent perfume. “It’s just…if we wait—“

The Cipher doesn’t turn.

The words come from a body so still creates a disconnect so stark it projects an unsettling energy over the room, “ — if we wait? We’ve waited for months. We’ve waited while Castle and Murdock hold down twelve city blocks, that every vigilante rat in this CITY DECIDES TO RUN TO.” She turns, white hot in fury and indignation, beautiful and terrible all at once.

“I WANT THEIR HEADS AND I WANT THEM TONIGHT —“ the gun seemingly comes from nowhere, and with indecently cruel accuracy, without so much as looking at Maria Hill, the shot goes off and down the woman crumples silent and still to the ground. “NOW DOES ANYONE ELSE HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO FUCKING SAY ON THE ISSUE?” If anything was more silent than the lifeless woman on the ground, was every other agent of Thirteen in the vast, dimly lit marble room.

The only thing to disturb the silence was another agent, standing with a figure much taller and looming, something that carried with it a promise of retribution, the extension of her wrath, her red star rhapsody, the fait accompli of her power in absolute — her hunter, her assassin.

The Winter Soldier.

A wildness flashed in her eyes, craven for the loyalty, the artistry of precision that was their death-craft — should they have uttered a desire for the moon, The Spymaster would cut it from the sky and slipped it softly under their heads, unbothered by the blood on their hands.

She’d smear it across heaven just to mock god.

“My best beloved,” she whispered, almost like a spell into the air between them. “Forgive me that ugliness,” her head gestures to the lump on the floor that was once one of her agents, “— and forgive me once more for asking of you more than I deserve,” there was a black, satin box in her long hands, equally longer fingers clutching it from above and below.

“I need you to show the Man Without Fear and The Punisher what true fear and punishment really is — that to spit in our eyes is to court death.” She stepped closer, close enough The Spy could feel the other agents tense and their minds linger on their weapons, but Thirteen was a very old flame of Death.

“Let me sweeten the request — with a gift. A gift for your hunt.” And with measured, even movements, slipped the satin box into both flesh and metal hands.