#(& of-substandard-parts)

[dimensionalspades]

@of-substandard-parts said: ‘So, I found this disturbing and rather grotesque object, and I was wondering, is it yours?’ the android asked, the deliberate development of a mischievous lopsided grin animated his features as he held a threadbare stuffed teddy bear by its leg, precariously dangling it over the bustling Promenade below. ‘Or should I deliver it to the “lost property office?” Mhm? What say you, wonderboy?’ — Some Lore shenanigans from @of-substandard-parts for Julian! >:)

. "Lore!" His tone is sharp for once. Whatever his kindnesses for Lore's antics stopped at the threat to such a precious object. How he'd gotten ahold of it, Julian didn't know, and right now that was less important than trying to make sure the rather delicate stuffed bear didn't get plunged into the crowd below.

. "Please just give him back." He could see where some of those old threadbare stitches were pulling at the worn fabric. He grit his teeth, trying not to give Lore too much entertainment with his worry, but it was hard when it was Kukalaka. "If you really want to take him to the lost property office, you're free to do so." Odo would return the bear within an hour if he did- at least he'd be in kinder hands. Julian didn't actually know if Lore intended to harm the bear, but taking the chance that he wasn't kidding seemed too big of a leap right now.

[sohelish]

[x] @of-substandard-parts

'Assuming I've got one,' she muttered, referring to the comment about her heart. What a strange choice - to perpetuate that notion with a self-deprecating joke even if she disagreed. Her mind immediately latched onto another distraction, eyes glazing over, focusing on Lore's shoulder. The android was either attempting to surpass Helena's level of sarcasm or suggesting a form of torture. The potential density and roughness of his body would imply the latter. But it was likely a bit of both.

'I didn't plan for our conversation to be so… unrestrained. But I didn't expect to encounter this depth of vivacity either.' Being informed about this particular model still wasn't enough to fully prepare her. At the mere sight of his animated face, followed by the tone of voice radiating wit, she immediately felt a nudge of ache somewhere slightly above her gut. She wouldn't be able to keep her composure next to him. She'd have to at least be as "large" to match. Her own smile grew into a grin.

'You are Lore. Correct?' For all she had heard of Soong, who could know, for a fact, of the numerous "surprises" the man might have created. But she was seeking out this particular one. 'I'm here to consult with you on an issue I've got. And I'm prepared to pay and trade for it. Within reason, of course.'

[cybertron-smash-or-pass]

i knew it would happen but oh my god. oh my. fucking god. i couldn't imagine it would be so bad when requesting. i was thinking about the lola propaganda and emo boy lovers and the gross freak haters. i couldn't possibly imagine that he would get such a GIANT pass percentage. yes there's six more hours to go but i know it's going to get worse over the night. As the blog curator is he really now the most passed on character I'm curious

Currently Masterson is still at a higher percentage than Beast Machines Rattrap, who I believe is our current Least Fuckable character. Masterson clears the bar by a whole percent.

And with your help we can set the bar even lower. It's not too late to Get His Ass

I don't know beachcomber too well but any humanfucker bots are welcome here.

Admittedly I was thinking at least a little bit about the rescue bots when I wrote the post because I swear to Primus every one of the main cast of bots is trying to fuck humans. Not even necessarily their human partners specifically (boulder and heatwave absolutely are tho), but at some point, every one of the bots has Said or Done Some Shit in the show that reads like they're interested in getting with humans. Prowl "I've fantasized about being human before" TFA walked so the rescue bots could sprint.

(I've also just kinda had Boulder/Graham Brainrot lately, so that might be contributing lmao)

[my-timing-is-digital]

Just a little starter call. The length of the starter may vary. It wholly depends on how much muse I have (I could end up sending elaborate one-liner starters, we'll see).

Anyway, leave a little like if you're interested in writing with Data or Lore (please, do specify you'd like a little something from Lore in the comments). Multis, as per usual, specify the muse (or muses) you'd like to hurl at my boi(s), or I will select one and send Lore your way as a punishment for not adhering to the rules. >:)

On a side note, I'd love to do crossovers and plonk Data in other verses that are not Trek. The verses I'm familiar with are listed in his Carrd, but I'm open to anything (especially sci fi related stuff)!

[of-substandard-parts-a]

“Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep...” — Lucifer, Paradise Lost

An independent, canon-divergent, & semi-selective roleplay blog of Lore as seen in Star Trek: The Next Generation. — Penned by Parker.

[belovedai]

@of-substandard-parts liked for a starter

A world of new concepts, new discoveries. An overabundance of stimuli.

Fear, uncertainty. Loss. A collapse.

Her father's intense effort. A finality.

Then nothing.

How long this nothing had lasted she was uncertain, for her internal chronometer had been shut off. An instinctual sensation that told her there was no need for alarm, despite the memories which evaded her. Certain that there were events in the vacuum of time that were presently unaccounted for, but no panic materialized to take their place.

The android opened her eyes with a soft whir to test their focus on an unfamiliar room. She knew this lab. Not because she had physically occupied it previously, but that her knowledge of it felt like phantom memory; Terlina III. The refuge of the displaced Dr. Soong.

She knew that she was not alone.

"Hello, uncle."

[van-goghs-smoking-skull]

So, there's a guy and his friend that I blocked a while back as he was basically an AI art theft apologist claiming that Glaze is just as bad, even worse, than anything human artists that do not want their art stolen can claim about AI. He also kept sidetracking comments on another post in which the question of whether AI being used to replace human therapists to help treat mental illness and trauma was a good idea.

His premise about me was that when he asked what my opinion was on when AI was first developed, I did not answer with the same year that Wikipedia has listed as the beginning of working towards AI development, nor did I answer with the year the term AI was first coined. Essentially, he was incapable of understanding the nuance between opinion and assumed facts written in some history books and on Wikipedia. But no surprise there, black and white thinking and if/else/then statements in programming have a lot in common, and if all you do is work as a machine learning specialist, I suppose getting so lost in the processing of code that you forget how the real world works and how human thoughts and emotions differ from...

[question -> if yes do this, if no do that -> go to next question in the programmed flowchart]

...is fairly inevitable. It's like the transhumanist answer to how to present as 'more efficient', like a single-minded bot.

But, ofc, I was the big 'ol anti-progress, tech-hating dumb-dumb as clearly I was too stupid to know AI is real and the future and going to save humanity. Clearly I've never worked with AI so how could I possibly understand? Mind you, I haven't worked with AI, though I have worked with complex programs and written code, though the reason for this is that AI is not actually intelligent and is certainly not as the cusp of sentience or completely sentient as AI apologists like to claim.

But, hey, what if we asked an expert on the matter? Or better yet, what if an expert already answered the question before it had even been asked in the comments on those 2 Tumblr posts? And what if, as corny as he is in the video, he explains that "AI is BS" (I'm quoting him there)?

May I present this guy as an expert? (I mean he's been teaching machine learning for a while now, so go figure.) Apologies in advance, he was hard for me to watch as well - too many wah-hoos and such.

[samkerrworshipper]

Initiation | Barca Femení x reader

part 1

warnings: insinuations of smut, sexual references, don’t read if you aren’t open to non monogamous relationships lol

you are responsible for your own digital consumption this is not made for anybody below the age of 18!

When it all had been proposed to you, you’d been shocked.

It was no secret amongst the soccer world that certain clubs had certain initiation customs, it was also no secret that inside a lot of clubs, especially the European ones, there was a lot of sexual fluidity across teammates. You weren’t oblivious, you’d heard the many stories from your national teammates, but when you’d signed with Barca and had two of your teammates approach you to talk about the Barca initiation you’d been shocked.

You were having coffee with Keira and Lucy, the afternoon after you’d signed and finished up all the media that had been required of you for Barca to put up on their social media and website.

You were sipping on your iced latte, whilst trying to finish off the pastry that Lucy had bought you, when they’d popped the question.

“Has anybody talked to you about Barca initiation?”

It was Keira who had piped up, her voice anxious from the other side of the table.

This was your first senior professional team that you were a proper member of, being only 22 you’d played the majority of your junior career with Manchester United, and your senior career had been a lot of bouncing between different teams. You’d never signed a contract that had you dedicated to a club for multiple seasons, so Barca was a big change for you.

“Lucy said that she had to sing a song or something.”

You hadn’t really thought about it much, you’d gone through the singing thing at your English call-up when you were 17.

“Right, but there is a little bit more to it than that.”

You looked up from your croissant, one of your eyebrows raised in questioning at your two older mentors.

“Are you going to tell me what you are talking about or continue to look at me like I’m about to explode?”

Lucy laughs, the anxiety on Keira’s face only becomes more prevalent.

“Okay, so a lot of the professional teams have different rituals that happen at the start of every season, initiation nights.”

You nod along, this isn’t new information to you, but the squint in Keira’s eyes at your obliviousness is enough to tell you that you aren’t catching on to whatever she is saying.

“Keira, can you get to the point?”

You're getting sick of Keira beating around the bush like you are a 10 year old.

“Barca has a night every year, a special night, it’s very important to some of the girls, no phones, no technology, it’s a very personal night, where some things that could be deemed unprofessional occur.”

You are still so lost, and you are certain that it’s being portrayed in your facial expression, is she talking about alcohol? Dancing? Pranks? Hazing?

“Keira, just tell me.”

Your statement is a plea, a plea for Keira to end this whole awkward encounter and just get to the point.

Lucy laughs heartily at the terrified look on Keira’s face, when she realises that Keira is stuck at what to say she takes over the conversation, both of her hands thudding down on the table.

“At the start of every season, we all get together, we have fun, no rules. This is different to your substandard initiation, this night is about connecting, on a different level with your teammates, on a sexual level.”

Your jaw slackens almost immediately, your eyes blinking aimlessly as you take in the last piece of Lucy’s statement.

“Now, that’s not to say that you have to do anything, if you want we can forget I just said that and you don’t have to be apart of that part of the night, it’s completely optional, a lot of the girls chose not to participate, but we just wanted to let you know that it is a option.”

An option.

It’s such odd wording, like it’s just an everyday decision.

“Sorry, I just need a few seconds to process.”

You take your time, taking a deep gulp of your coffee and a big bite of your croissant before you look back up at your teammates.

“Can I have a bit more of an explanation? I just want to understand this a little bit better.”

Lucy nods her head eagerly, a big smirk covering her face.

It’s such a taboo conversation to have at a fucking cafe, over breakfast, but neither of the other women seem very bothered by it.

“It’s a free for all, a survey is given out every year beforehand, things you are and aren’t open to engaging in. It’s separate to the other initiation, that happens during pre-season. This is different, It’s all very consensual, and if you choose to participate then you're limited on alcohol consumption, for safety reasons. It’s a lot of fun, a lot of pleasure and exploring. Alexia's been organising it for a few years now, so it’s a very secure process. It’s kind of seen as a final hoorah before pre-season and training starts. Normally they book out a suite at a hotel somewhere, but some years it’s been done at teammates' houses or airbnbs.”

You nod your head, it’s a very interesting concept, one that you are completely shocked by. Sure, you’ve heard about sexual innuendo amongst groups of players in clubs, but this is a completely different level. It’s uncharted territory for you, you definitely aren’t any form of prude or innocent type. You enjoy sex, you’re experienced enough to know that you are good at it. But you’ve never experienced anything near what this is.

“You’ve both been a part of it?”

Lucy nods definitively and Keira nods almost ashamedly.

“You’re okay with your partner being with other people?”

It might be an over step, but you figure this whole conversation is an over step.

“It’s not like that. I speak for both myself and Keira when I say that we both like to see each other having fun, that’s what this is. It’s a night of fun, and it’s with people that we both trust and spend every day with, there isn’t any worries about jealousy. There are a lot of the girls on the team that are in relationships, Ingrid and Mapi are together and they participate, Jenni and Alexia, Caro and Marta, there are also people in relationships outside of the team, it’s all consensual amongst both partners.”

You nod your head, it’s not like it matters to you, your not in a relationship, but it does make you feel a little bit better about the whole interaction.

“Sorry-I’m asking a lot of questions.”

Lucy just smiles and shakes her head.

“Don’t worry about it, I had plenty of questions to ask and I didn’t have a national teammate to ask about it. Ask away, it’s better to ask now then wonder later.”

You nod your head, you are still so shocked by this whole encounter.

“I-What happens at this night?”

It’s a broad question, and you almost palm yourself in the head for asking it.

“I seriously don’t need to give you the birds and bees talk do I?”

Lucy is jesting you, so you roll your eyes, pivoting to Keira with a genuine look of curiosity.

“It differs each year, depending on what people want to do. Toys, kinks, bondage, anything really. If you want to do something, someone is probably likely to want to oblige you. For example, last year, Luce put down that she liked to watch me service other people, and I got the opportunity to do that.”

Keira is stuttering over her words, it’s kind of cute, especially when you catch the glance that Lucy throws at her.

“This is the only time it happens every year.”

Keira cocks her head, looking at Lucy for some kind of permission before shaking her head.

“Not quite, there are agreements between some of the girls, on trips and things often happen but that’s more private, this is common knowledge amongst the team. Although, if you enjoy yourself there is a more than likely chance that more opportunities will come up, if you catch my drift.”

Keira is like your older sister, so sitting down and talking to her about sex has never been something that has ever crossed your mind remotely, but you are kind of glad that it is Kei that you are talking to. Because Keira doesn’t joke around the same as the others do, she wouldn’t make fun of you about something like this, nor would Lucy consider she’s Keira’s codependent.

“So, correct me if I’m wrong, and I'm going to be blunt about this. Every year, before the season starts, the Barca women have a massive sex free for all that’s disguised as an initiation party.”

Keira hesitantly nods, but not before she can correct you a little bit.

“It’s not disguised as an initiation party, there will be other new signings there, Ona, who you would know from United, and a few other girls. I can promise you that the newbies get the most attention, if that’s something you want, of course, there is absolutely no pressure for you to participate, this is about you doing as little or as much as you’d like.”

You take a few minutes of silence, whilst you toss up all of the words that have been spoken in the conversation between you and the couple.

It’s a lot to think about, and the thought is massively daunting.

Especially considering that you are going to be walking into a room full of women that you’ve hardly talked to. You’ve met Alexia, she dropped in to meet you when you were going through the process of your signing, but it had been a fairly rushed interaction and you’d been too busy being in awe of her to even think about anything besides the fact that in a few months time you’d be playing on the field beside her.

“If I said I wanted to?”

Lucy broke out into a fit of giggles, a big smile breaking out across her face.

“I’ll text la capitana, she’ll text you any details, you’ll probably get a visit or a phone call confirming your interest.”

You were still a little bit shocked, this whole conversation felt like it had been a dream, so much so that you’d had to reach down to your thigh and pinch it to confirm that this was in fact your life.

“That’s it?”

Lucy smirked and nodded, reaching over to pat you on the shoulder.

“You aren’t signing yourself off to the devil, Ale will be in contact, if you have any questions you’ll see Kei and I everyday leading up to it, and if you want to pull out at any stage that’s completely fine, no hard feelings, no judgement.”

You nodded your head, unable to do much more than that.

“It’s as easy as that?”

Lucy nods her head.

“Easy as that.”

It’s two days later, when you are properly acquainted with your captain.

You are sitting at your kitchen counter, finalising some university work that you are trying to get ahead of when you are rudely interrupted by the sound of a light knocking at your door.

You close your laptop, and turn down the volume of the playlist you have playing across your speakers, before you jog to the door of your apartment.

The last thing you expect to be faced with, is the face of your newest captain.

“Hola, Capitana.”

You don’t really know what else to say, you’ve had zero warning about this sudden visit, and whilst you are honoured, it’s also a little bit daunting having one of the best players the game has standing right in front of you.

“Lo siento, puedo pasar?” Sorry, may I come in?

You are nowhere near fluent in Spanish, Lucy had been giving you crash courses over the past few months once she’d found out about your signing, you had managed to get a cusp of basic conversational talk, the club had told you that once season commenced you’d be assigned a spanish teacher and a translator, so you hadn’t been super worried about it.

“Please, make yourself comfortable, would you like something to drink? I’ve got water, juice, coffee, tea?”

You list off everything that you can think of, as you open the door fully to Alexia.

“Just water should be fine.”

You are slightly shocked by the Spaniards' flawless pronunciation over her English, and also extremely relieved that you aren’t going to be forced to try and understand Spanish, because it certainly isn’t a skill you’ve even begun to master.

Alexia takes a spot sitting at your island bench, directly beside your uni work that had been the previous centre of your attention, which is now being completely occupied by your Catalan company.

“Here you go.”

You pass the glass over to Alexia, electing to stay positioned on the opposite side of the counter, instead of sitting down beside her. It feels less confrontational, more conversational and less one on one.

“Gracias, I’m sorry for dropping in without any warning, I was in the area and I figured it was best to discuss this all with you in person, I won’t be here long, I don’t want to disturb anything.”

You smiled at Alexia, shaking your head at her.

“It’s no trouble at all, I was just getting ahead of some course work, what can I do for you, Capitana?”

Alexia gives you a wry smile, reaching for her handbag which she’d set down on the floor.

“Please call me Alexia or Ale, none of the formality is necessary.”

You nod at her, Ale, it sounds nice coming off of your tongue, it makes you feel a little bit less terrified of the woman.

“Okay Ale, what can I do for you?”

Alexia smiles at you, a genuine smile that somehow warms your soul, it’s like magic, and you give yourself a mental note to ask Lucy about the effect later on.

“I’m just here to talk to you about our initiation night on Friday, Lucia tells me that you are keen to join in, si?”

You nod your head cautiously, it’s impossible to miss the little dimple in Alexia’s cheek as she licks her lips and smirks at you.

“Perfecta, I can assure you that you will have a lot of fun. Has Lucia talked to you about it, or would you like me to give you a bit of a debrief?”

Technically, Lucy has given you the debrief, but you are curious to learn more and see if Alexia has anything else to add.

“Lucy talked about it, but it was pretty brief and non-specific.”

Alexia nods, and gently pushes a sheet of paper across the table to you, one look at the words across the sheet had your eyes nearly bulging out of your eye sockets.

“On the left, you’ll see a list of girls' names, those are the girls from the team that are choosing to participate. Some just come to watch, others come to please, others come for pleasure. Everything that happens on the night is exclusive to the team, and if talked about outside of the team there are consequences. On the right you’ll see a list of common things that occur. I'll send out a survey to you later, the majority of those things will be on the list, you do not have to engage in anything that makes you uncomfortable, there is absolutely no pressure for you to do anything. Please understand that.”

You nod dutifully at Alexia, your eyes scanning the page and taking in the amount of names as well as different sexual acts and activities.

“We’ve rented out a house, it’s on private land, nice and spacious, lots of privacy. I’m sure Keira and Lucia will take you along with them, you can be as included as you wish, we take care of newbies, anything you want you’ll get, just don’t be shy to ask for it, okay?”

You nod sheepishly at Alexia. This conversation would make you uncomfortable normally, but talking about it with ‘La Reina’ like the two of you are discussing the weather is perplexing.

“Don’t stress about it, cariño, you’ll be well looked after, you are well sought after amongst the group, I’m sure that you’ll be very popular if you desire so. If not, I’m always happy to look after our newest additions.”

Alexia sends you a sardonic smile, sweet and sultry, full of teeth and a chunk of her plump pink lip caught in her teeth.

You think that Alexia can sense that you are stuck on what to say to her, a little bit star struck and still trying to process the words that have just left her mouth.

“Well, unless you have any other questions I'll see myself out, I’ll see you in a couple of days, adios.”

Alexia is up and out of your kitchen in a matter of seconds, barrelling towards the door, your body following hers and managing to speak out just as her hand connects with the brass of your door knob.

“Alexia, thank you for coming around, I really appreciate it, just one last question if you have a second?”

Alexia pivots on her heel, turning around to face you fully.

“Ask away.”

You nod your head, working up the confidence inside of you to ask the question.

“What should I expect?”

You are well aware that it’s a broad question, and you don’t know what kind of answer you are going to receive, but there is a part of your gut that’s just begging for more information, for something.

“You really want a spoiler?”

You nod your head definitively, you aren’t a person who enjoys surprises, you like to know what to expect, what’s happening. You’ve been this way since you were a child, and it’s followed you up until now.

“It’s an atmospheric experience, the feeling, the endorphins. There is nothing that matches being in a room full of people full of desire, nothing like being in a room full of women reaching levels of pleasure they never even imagined. I don’t know what else to say, it’s an out of body experience, there is a reason why it is so sacred amongst our team, as a newbie it’s daunting, I know it’s hard to believe but I was once in your position as well, and the best chunk of advice I can give you is to just let go, let yourself live in the moment whilst you are there, nobody is going to judge you, take a leap of faith, okay? I’ll see you in a couple of days, text me if you have any more questions or if you think I’ve left anything out, even if you just want to chat I’m here, take a read from the list I gave you, it should provide some insight.”

Alexia’s words resonate with you for days to come, the way she talked about the whole situation like it was gospel, her words making it seem like a holy sacrament. You study the sheet she’s given you as if it is the holy bible and you are trying to learn your scriptures.

14 women.

15 including yourself.

That’s a lot of people, and yet as you read over the names it seems nowhere near as magnitudinal as it sounds.

The list of kinks and situations is a source of a lot of your late night self explorations.

You’ve experimented with a lot of things over the years, but some of the things on the list have you weak at the knees just reading them. When your receive the email from Alexia it takes you a whole day to work up the courage to open up the attachments. The first one, as previously discussed is a survey. It has all of the things from the sheet Alexia gave you, plus a surplus of other things, and then some more questions to be personally filled in. It’s near impossible to work through it, it takes far longer than you think it should, but by the end of it you are left with a warm feeling in the bottom of your stomach, anticipation, shock at what you are looking at.

There are four boxes for each topic, yes, no, maybe. And below every maybe box there is a little text box which reads ‘please specify’.

It’s well organised, and you have a feeling that Alexia will have put a lot of time into it, from the very short amount of time that you’ve grown to know her you’re under the impression that she takes her role of captain very seriously.

Fingering? yes. Vaginal pentration? yes. Spanking? yes. Bondage? maybe - no ropes or handcuffs. Oral receiving? yes. Oral giving? yes. Use of toys? yes. Double penetration? yes. Anal? maybe - only experimented but open to trying. Sensory deprivation? maybe - no gags. Humiliation? no. Sex with multiple people? yes. Orgasm denial/control? yes. Sex with a couple? yes. Praise? yes. Degradation? yes. Choking/breath play? no. Dominant? no. Switch? maybe - most likely not. Submissive? yes.

The list goes on, it covers every single thing you’ve ever done and then more, it makes you quiver in the depths of your core, just with anticipation.

Once you’ve finished the yes no part of the survey and answered the questions down the bottom you move onto the other attachment, which from a quick skim over outlines the rules, expectations and details of the night.

The main things that cathc your eyes are the sentences relating to safe words and consent. It seems important so you pay extra attention to it. It talks about the traffic light system, that once you consent to the night it is your responsibility to use your words, there will be regular check ins but unless you use your safe word there is no expectation for anything to stop.

Some other topics that catch your eyes are details about time, place, clothes, etcetera.

The majority of it is just information that Lucy and Keira had already outlined to you, the newbie run down.

Three days later, and you are slowly getting ready for your night to come.

Over the past 72 hours there has been one thing on your mind, tonight. You aren’t spared a minute from your thoughts and when Keira and Lucy walk through your front door, running an hour late you are buzzing. You are well aware of the fact that you look like a 8 year old who has just skulled a bottle of cola, every single extremity connected to your body shaking wildly.

You were lost on what to wear, and it had taken a long chat with Keira yesterday to convince you that apparently it was nowhere near as big of a deal as you were making it in your head.

You settled for a matching sweat combo, just because you figured it would be coming off anyway. It was paired with one of your nicest pairs of lingerie, a red set which was probably leaning towards a size too small. The set accentuated every single part of your body though, it hugged your curves, made your ass pop and your tits look delectable.

It felt almost criminal to cover it up with a tank top and nike tracksuit and sweater, but you also found comfort in the extra layer of clothing, it feels like a layer of armour.

You’ve been sitting in your apartment, contemplating everything for an hour and a half when Lucy and Kei finally show up.

They walk in without any warning, and it’s certainly a sight for sore eyes.

You aren’t sure when was the last time you’ve seen either of them glowing and looking so smiley, but it’s definitely a moment where you take a mental picture for the future.

They’re both dressed similarly to you, and for once you don’t find yourself guilty for being curious about what hides beneath the couple's clothing.

“Hola.”

Even your words are practically dripping with anxiety, your voice shaky and stuttery.

“Hola amor, you ready to go?”

Lucy looks especially delighted.

Her hair is down, something that you don’t see very often. She’s got a light layer of makeup on that compliments her facial figures without making it look like she’s over done it.

Keira looks similar, her hair is down and curled every so slightly, if you didn’t know her so well you probably wouldn’t have realised but the effort is noted inside your brain. She’s also got a very light layer of makeup on, both women look stunning, perfect together, the picture of love.

It makes you hopeful, hopeful that one day you’ll find somebody that looks at you the way Lucy does at Keira, and vice versa.

“Mhm.”

You don’t get up from the couch, all of a sudden you feel unable to move.

Keira recognises it fairly quickly, taking a seat down next to you, her hand falling on top of your knee and squeezing lightly.

“Everything alright, little one?”

Keira’s voice is so soft, it makes you feel safe, like you’re at home.

“Just nervous.”

As far as nerves go, you're fairly certain the euros final doesn’t even match this, it’s weird.

“You know that if you want to back out that’s completely fine, nobody is going to make fun of you.”

You shook your head, backing out was the last thing you wanted to do, but it didn’t make everything else less daunting.

“M’ fine, just need a sec.”

Keira’s hand slowly moves up from your knee, to your thigh, her grip becoming a little bit lighter.

“I can think of a way to calm some of those nerves.”

Keira’s voice is unusually confident, and it surprises you greatly when she reaches down to your chin and pulls it upwards so you’re looking at her.

It’s just then that you realise exactly how close the two of your faces are, so close that you can feel Keira’s breath on your face. It’s warm and it tickles against your skin in a way that you’ve never felt before. She’s smiling at you, but there is a deeper connection through her eyes, the way she's looking at you makes you feel like you are the only person in the world.

“Luce?”

You’re well aware of what this whole night ensues, but it doesn’t settle the slight niggle in your gut that you definitely do not want to be reading this situation wrong.

“Yes, honey?”

Keira’s eyes don’t waiver from your own, even as yours look across the room to look at Lucy, who is giving you a similar look to Keira, somewhat predatory in the best way possible. Her voice is practically dripping with confidence, doused in assertiveness.

You look between the both of them, realising that there is definitely no push back from either of them.

“Please tell me I’m not reading this wrong.”

Keira silences you by pressing her lips to your own, you freeze up for a few seconds, your mouth completely unmoving as you realise this really is happening, that for the last week you haven’t been walking around in some kind of weird dream that’s been created because of some weird delusion in your head.

After a few seconds, you relax into the kiss, moving your own lips against Keira’s and savouring the flavour of strawberry gum and coffee that is fresh on her lips. It tastes how Keira feels, warm and content and it calms down any of the previous nerves that were occupying your stomach, the shaking across your whole body as Keira’s hand on your jaw gently caresses the skin with the pads of her fingertips.

After a few more seconds of Keira sucking and biting at your lips she retracts herself, a big smile on her face as she continues to stare at you.

“Luce you need to try, she tastes divine.”

The compliment makes you blush more than you were already, the redness spreading down to your neck as you feel the couple's eyes on you.

“All in due time Kei, we don’t want to overwhelm her, now I think it’s about time we get a move on, hm?”

You nod subconsciously, your brain still floating on a different planet as you compartmentalise exactly what just happened. All you can think about is how Keira’s lips felt, addictively soft and supple, it’s a feeling that you are certain you won’t forget.

“God you’ve gone and broken her Kei, already?”

The feeling of Keira squeezing your knee once again manages to awaken you from your trance, your eyes darting between the couple cautiously.

“You ready to go, honey?”

Keira’s voice is as soft as her lips, you're so effortlessly enraptured by her that it makes you more than a little bit excited for whatever is to come.

You’ve never seen Keira look this carefree, this cheeky and it makes you feel so much more at peace then you had previously.

You allow Keira to guide you out of your own apartment, your brain still working at a snail's pace so before you even realise you are sitting in the backseat of Lucy’s very nice mercedes. Instead of sitting in the front beside Lucy, Keira has elected to sit in the backseat with you, her body pressed up against your own and her hand resting comfortably on the inside of your knee.

Your knee is bouncing up and down under Keira’s hand, and before you can say anything, her hand is moving up to your chin and rotating it to meet her lips.

This time the kiss is more motivated, more purposeful but sweet all the same.

You give Keira control, your lips practically melting into hers as her hand tangles into the back of your head, tugging at the tresses of hair at the nape of your neck.

It feels so good, so good that you part your lips to moan, instead your sounds are silenced though by Keira’s tongue.

Keira kisses with passion and fervour, it’s quite shocking based off of her personality and all the times you’ve seen her around Lucy, but it makes you giddy on the inside all the same.

“Keira, behave.”

The words come when Keira’s spare hand comes up to your covered breast, you don’t even really notice until you see Lucy looking directly at Keira in the rearview mirror and the look on her face is a mixture of displeasure and humour.

“You're just mad that I got her first.”

Keira’s hand doesn’t move, and it’s fairly clear that Lucy isn’t pleased about it.

“You keep talking like that to me and you won’t like how the night goes for you.”

Keira’s hand quickly moves down from your breast but she doesn’t remove it completely, instead moving it down to your lap again, but her kisses don’t stop, she litters little kisses all over your jaw and neck, all whilst you maintain the eye contact with Lucy in the rearview.

She’s smirking, her eyes don’t leave yours unless they go back to the road, and even when they don’t you keep your eyes on her.

Keira is only egged on by the little sounds and moans that leave your mouth as she finds different spots across your neck and face that make you melt even further into her.

“How does she feel honey? Is she getting you warmed up?”

Lucy’s words are directed towards you, it takes a few seconds for your brain to wrap it’s way around them but once you do you reply quickly.

“Feels good, m’ sorry.”

Lucy’s eyebrows furrow, and when the next red light comes she turns around completely to look at you.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

Lucy voice is more questioning than accusatory.

“Sorry for getting Kei in trouble and kissing her without your permission.”

Lucy scoffs and Keira snorts from her spot on your neck.

“Oh honey, not your fault that Kei is choosing to be a bit bratty, these nights always get her quite over zealous, as far as kissing her you’ve got my full permission, you don’t need to ask.”

You nod cautiously, moaning as Keira begins to suck a mark right into the pulse point on your neck.

“Kei, behave yourself, you know what Ale said about not getting over excited.”

It’s the mention of Alexia’s name that has your ears perking up.

It seems to get Keira to back off a bit, her lips at least, her hand continues to rub gently at the inside of your knee and thigh and you slowly drive down a dark and windy road.

“Y’know you're all Kei’s been talking about all week, she’s been very excited for tonight.”

You look over at the older English woman, feeling a little bit confident when you notice that Keira is blushing wildly and avoiding your eye contact completely.

“Lucee.”

Keira is clearly embarrassed, which must mean that what Lucy is saying has come truth, which means that Keira has been thinking about you.

“All she’s been talking about, I can say the same about quite a lot of the girls, you are a popular topic.”

It makes you feel all giddy in your stomach with the acknowledgment from Lucy, she’s the last person that would lie to you, so it makes you feel especially good.

Keira groans and hides her head against the window.

“Really?”

Lucy scoffs once again at the shock in your voice.

“Trust me honey, pretty sure there will be girls queuing up for you, us oldies don’t get that kind of attention.”

Keira rolls her eyes, which is enough of an answer for you to realise that Lucy is trying to be humble.

It’s just as you’re about to say something that the car pulls into a driveway, which is already full of cars.

Alexia is right, it’s the only light that you’ve seen for miles, there is nobody for miles, which is a big comfort.

Lucy opens your door for you, helping you out and immediately beginning to assess your neck.

Once she’s certain that there are no marks she moves her vision up to your face, reaching down for a quick kiss.

It’s different to Keira, rougher, her lips more coarse.

It still feels equally as good.

Lucy releases fairly quickly, Keira’s already walking up the stairs to the house, an extra pep in her step as she makes it to the door.

Lucy and you are quick to follow her.

The door has a keypad on it, Keira quickly punches in a four digit code before the door pops open. The entry hallway is completely empty and silent, all three of you toe off your shoes and leave them and your socks by the door.

Lucy leads towards the door at the end of the entry way, you loiter behind, completely terrified of whatever is going to be behind it.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Eisteddfod Chairs: Pick Your Winner!

It's almost June! Nearly time to reveal the 2023 Chair! So come, gather round Tumblrs, let me tell you of the furniture-based customs of my people

So Wales has been celebrating Eisteddfodau (festivals of poetry, music, and disco dancing), in some form or another, since at least the 1100s, when Lord Rhys of Dinefwr had one all formal-like and made it into a big fun party and that. The word basically means 'sitting place', and probably refers to the way people in summer would gather round the twmpath in the village to listen to bards that passed through and drink mead and shout 'hurrah!' a lot. Amazingly, this is not where the Chair Thing comes from.

Part of Welsh history is the Bardic Age, and it was custom for bards to travel the country and visit the courts of assorted gentry types (also normal people's houses and taverns and twmpaths but let's stay on topic) and play for them. If the lord paid well, great; if not, the bard would write a Super Mean Song about them and sing it everywhere, so they were pretty well treated.

But if they were particularly good, rather than making them play for the WHOLE meal, the lord would offer them a chair at the table to join in the feast as a guest, rather than a worker, and THAT is where the Chair Thing comes from.

Anyway that's preamble to say that every year in the biggest Eisteddfod of all - the Eisteddfod Genedlaethol - the highest honour awarded goes to the Prifardd - the bard who writes the winning cywydd (super complex Welsh poetry WE DON'T HAVE TIME TO EXPLAIN ALL OF THIS). And the prize for writing the winning cywydd is that you are awarded, you guessed it, the Chair.

Now these Chairs (capital C, please, we like a bit of Fantasy Novel Capitalisation and for this cultural reason I will never understand people who complain about it) are unique. They are thrones. They are carved each year by one chosen carpenter, who crafts a one-of-a-kind Chair with symbolism and that, never to be replicated. They usually have the year carved on, but otherwise, they vary wildly in aesthetic and symbolism. In a No Award year (because Eisteddfod judges don't subscribe to the Western idea that there HAS to be a first, second and third place; if no one is good enough there is no award, and I have seen choir competitions for seven year olds where there was no first or third place but there were two choirs in joint second), the Chair is sent back to the carpenter who carved it, and they get to keep it. In a year where the bard died before the ceremony, it is draped in black, and given to next of kin.

(That has only happened once. RIP Hedd Wyn, 1887-1917. Also the only reproduced Chair; the original, known as the Gadair Ddu (the Black Chair) is on display in his family home, but a 3D printed replica has been made for display by Amgueddfa Cymru)

BUT THEREFORE a big part of Eisteddfod fun is seeing what the Chair will look like this year. Traditional ones, see, we tend to think look like variants of this:

(Apologies for the substandard attempts at alt-text; I have no clue how to describe these properly)

This one is from 1896. The phrase "Y gwir yn erbyn y byd" means "The truth against the world", and was included in a lot of old ones. Modern ones tend to incorporate the druidic symbol for awen ("poetic inspriation") instead. Some of these incidentally turn up in lil' chapels and that about the country.

But actually even the old ones were mad different, look; clockwise from top left, these are y Gadair Ddu (1917), 1876, 1926 (when the carpenter was Chinese and enjoyed the cultural fusion), and 1908.

Still the same theme, though, but in the modern day the carpenters are all off the shits! They're all over the place! Fuck the rules! And I have Opinions.

Category: I See What You Did There

SYMBOLISM!!! 2011 is a pit wheel from Wrexham's mining past! 2013 is the head of a harp, from Denbighshire's cultural harp-making past! 2017 is fish, from Anglesey's maritime present! Fantastic. Love it.

Best in category: 2017. Why does Anglesey's have so many eyes on the fish? We don't know. Wylfa B protestors reportedly furious.

Category: The Modern Throne

TALL!!! That silhouette! That height!! They have the range, darling! Christ knows 2016 doesn't have anything else going for it! Shout out to the Conwy river on 2019, the different woods from the forests of Maldwyn for 2015, and the red kite symbolism for Ceredigion in 2022 (the spiritual home of the bird, where the species was first saved).

Best in category: 2019, Conwy. I like the bridge and the river lines and the water effect on the front of the seat it's just so pretty.

Category: That's Just A Chair

(I am actually friends with the Prifardd who won 2018 at the bottom there :D )

WHAT ARE RULES WE JUST WANT FUNCTIONAL CHAIRS. Man even so 2014 was fucking ugly. You could have 2018 in your house. Around your table, like. Even 2012 has a sort of IKEA vibe that's boring but palatable. 2014 is only coming in the house under sufferance.

Best in Category: 2018, easy, and not just because it's the one I'm most likely to get to sit in one day. It's pretty.

Category: NO GODS NO CHAIRS NO MASTERS

WHAT

WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED IN 2010

BRO I DO NOT THINK YOU TRIED

Best in Category: OBVIOUSLY 2021 I COULD PHYSICALLY MAKE 2010 MYSELF

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

To preface this, I know there are parts of this that make me look bad. I know. I've been a substandard boss and I should've taken care of the situation a long time ago. But I'm in a bind and I really just need to know if I'd compound my assholishness by doing the main thing I'm about to ask.

I manage a manufacturing business that also has a delivery component. We make the product and make sure it gets where it needs to go--which I'm sure you understand isn't as easy as it used to be, with Amazon and Temu and all of those nipping at our nose. The manufacturing sector is working fine, no complaints, absolutely shipshape. It's in deliveries where the problem starts.

We have a newer employee who...let's just say stands out from the rest of the bunch, who are mostly old guard. They're reliable, I've been working with them for years, but they're set in their ways and have been giving the new guy shit, especially over his appearance. It's not even about something he can control, poor kid, but I don't want to get more specific than that. I've been so swamped with getting everything ready for the holiday season that I dropped the ball and let them treat the kid pretty poorly. I know I can't dictate what they do outside of work, so them leaving him out of social events was out of my hands, but I've caught them calling him just awful things when they thought I wasn't around. I should've come down harder but I was afraid our productivity would suffer as a result. (And if I'm honest, I thought a little bullshit would toughen the kid up. Our industry isn't for the faint of heart, after all.)

But now we're down to the deadline and I think he's our only option. He's the perfect choice, and the kicker is it's BECAUSE he's different from the rest of the guys. But I'd feel like a bit of an ass if I asked him to swoop in and save us after the way everyone's treated him. WIBTA if I asked Rudolph, with his nose so bright, to guide my sleigh tonight? Time-sensitive question, sorry mod, but maybe just this once you can move it up the queue? After all, I did bring you that Pokemon game you wanted more than anything when you were ten!

What are these acronyms?

[dimensionalspades]

@of-substandard-parts said: that's not a very good joke. ⸺ For Julian, from @of-substandard-parts! :3

- eeaao || accepting -

. He swatted the air at Lore dismissively, exhaling dramatically.

. "I've been giving you all my best jokes!" He exclaimed, finally spreading his arms to the sides as if to emphasize this clearly important dilemma of getting the android to find his comedy at least entertaining. Once.

. "You don't like puns, knock knock jokes, traditional setup and delivery, different languages- there has to be a joke you find funny, and I'm going to find it."

[jmdbjk]

Cannot wait...

Still a month away from watching these two be their adorable goober selves together:

I keep telling everyone around me I'm going to be insufferable for a while, with Jimin and Muse coming soon and then these two together, week after week ... makes me giddy. Sorry, not sorry.

We'll get teasers. I'm going to squee over all of those as well. Again, sorry, but not very sorry at all actually.

All of it takes me back to when I realized JK's 2022 Vlog was going to be centered around camping. Honestly? I was a little surprised. He has never come across as the outdoorsy type to me. But he'd never had the chance to express much of what interests him outside of BTS and outside of what we saw on various content through the years either!

This series of vlogs helped us see each member doing things they chose to do on their own and helped kick off the "solo" era in 2022.

Jungkook's delight in stopping at Korea's version of Buc-ee's and buying gas station food and eating to his heart's content was oddly satisfying. Maybe because I take great pleasure in doing such simple things too, after all, the best part of a road trip is stopping to buy snacks along the way, am I right? The service area where they stopped is called the Gapyeong Service area on the Seoul-Yangyang Expressway (60). These places are like a food court/mini mall. Just like Buc-ee's.

I am already laughing at the thought of he and Jimin stopping at a grocery store to buy deli pizza in Connecticut... IT'S GOING TO BE WOEFULLY SUBSTANDARD I FEAR!

In his 2022 vlog, Jungkook helped set up the camper he slept in and cooked and sat around the campfire drinking. And we know in past Bon Voyage seasons and other content, they've pitched tents and slept outdoors. All of these things he must have immensely enjoyed if we might be seeing them again soon with Jimin.

Then there's the recent story going around about someone spotting he and Jimin returning their rental car in Japan and learning Jungkook was driving... Jungkook got to drive on the "wrong" side of the road in Japan! He put that international driver's license to use finally!

From the preview clip the other day, it appears Jungkook also got to practice his motorcycle handling skills. Handling a Harley Davidson is a bit trickier than handling a smaller motorcycle. Those things are heavy. And it's a little different when you have a passenger sitting behind you. The two Harley helmets we saw sitting on the edge of his sofa last year... yep, he's had practice.

TMI: I was today year's old when I learned that motorcycles are banned on major roadways in Korea.

Are we going to see how Jimin scraped his knuckles while snorkeling on Jeju?

And that nekkid-in-bed live when Jungkook was begging him to come over and Jimin told him to look at the photo he sent... did Jimin get a black eye from being elbowed when they were sleeping?

And as I was running through my blog posts, I realized all of these things I previously said last year:

Me wondering if their trip to Japan was unstructured and spur of the moment...

I wondered if Closer Than This was a pre-release to an upcoming album...

I'm thankful to Tae for bringing JK along with his Wooga friends to that ski resort back in 2022. We can't know if JK had ever snowboarded before that but it appears he loved it enough to want to stick around long after they left him there. And now he had the chance to do it again with Jimin! I know they had so much fun together. At the beginning of this year, I pointed out some fun facts about Sapporo...

Skiing? Snowboarding? All of the above?

And save this for future reference, it's the onsen resort image we heard about and I mentioned in a weekly Bangtan report this past February....

Maybe none of the above will be accurate, but thinking about how much fun they had anyway has me very excited for August 8.

[sprout-fics]

And On the Wind, It Howls

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Seven of Snowblind

Rating: Explicit MDNI 18+ Wordcount: 7.3k Tags: Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, There's Only One Bed, Awkward Sexual Situations, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Female Masturbation, Size Kink, Praise Kink, Fluff Warnings: N/A

It’s a soft, overcast Wednesday when you and Ghost set out to Scotland.

You watch the sprawling landscape from the window of the passenger seat, captivated with a small bit of childlike wonder as the car navigates the aging, cracked roads of the Scottish countryside. A dove gray sky- brumous but not yet threatening rain, arches over the tall, rugged peaks of the hills that flank you on either side. Even in the damp cold of early spring the wild, untamed beauty of the Scottish highlands breathes magic bleeding into your veins.

There’s a rawness, a brutality to the Cairngorms that aches heavy in your heart. You feel it in the way water trickles down from the hilltops in small springs, carving its way through dark stone and allowing infant growth to spring forth in green fronds that unfurl like a wistful sigh. Despite the jutting rocks atop the hills, the intimidating slope of the mountains that give rise to the highlands above, the landscape around you breathes with the barest whispers of fresh life. Beautiful, unrestrained, beckoning you to hike higher into the hills.

You take it all in, daring to lift your face to the crack of the window that allows a sliver of wind to slip through. It fills the emptiness inside you, allows you to fill your lungs with air that seems scarce inside the silence of the car.

Beside you, Ghost does not speak as he drives.

You cast a sidelong glance at him. It’s unclear if he ignores your stare or simply doesn’t see it, eyes trained on the road that curves higher into the hills. There’s a murmur of tension in his shoulders under his jacket, the hood drawn up despite the balaclava that covers all but his eyes. Without the smear of paint and the hard plastic skull you can see the pale skin underneath, the awkward curve of his nose that speaks of a bone broken one too many times. If you look closely enough you can see the silvery pink of a jagged scar that runs from the bridge of his nose to his right eyebrow, the traces of burn scars, and the smattering of soft freckles under his eyes.

Even in the daytime, the vision of his moonlit face haunts your dreams.

It’s not entirely a coincidence the two of you are together, but it certainly is unexpected. When Price had brought up the topic of leave following the team’s most recent deployment, you’d felt the men around you silently take a breath of relief. It felt like ever since you’d gotten back to the team you’d barely had more than eight hours of rest before being sent out again. You’d barely gotten six hours of sleep after getting back from your disastrous helicopter mission before Price had the five of you boarding a chopper to go hunt down an arms supplier south of Georgia.

The next week and a half was spent existing on MREs and substandard rations while you camped out in spider infested safehouses, counted your limited ammo supply and spared precious radio hours to inquire about supply drops. You’d found your target, eventually, and thankfully he’d croaked not too long into the makeshift interrogation. It had only taken Ghost two of the man’s separated fingers before he’d finally given you the lead on your target.

Eighteen hours later you’d returned to base with the same AQ captain that had slipped through your fingers on the night your helicopter had crashed. Even then, the weeks that followed were spent skimming actionable intel for something worth the fruit of your labors. Back to back missions meant you were catching what little sleep you could in transit, often nodding off on one of your comrade’s shoulders despite yourself.

When Price had announced leave for all of you (without failing to firmly state “None of you are allowed off base until I get your after-action reports, you complete your physical exams and read the dossier of our next objective. Phones on at all times when off base. Be prepared to be back sooner than you think.”) You’d been looking forward to a strong cup of tea and a book as you curled up in the corner of whatever airbnb you’d managed to secure for a few days off base.

Gaz and Soap had different ideas.

As soon as you had mentioned staying in the UK for your break, the two sergeants jumped at the chance to drag you along on a complete tour of London and Glasgow respectively- taking turns hosting you and ensuring you had seen the true side of each city (minus the tourist traps). The idea charmed you, admittedly, but when you’d asked Price and Ghost if they’d be interested in tagging along, Price had levied the three of you a tired, bemused sort of smile and declared he had alternative arrangements.

Ghost, on the other hand…

“I’ll be up north, hunting.” He declared flatly despite the slight tilt of his head, the small glimmer of interest in his eyes. “If you get sick of these two tossers, come find me.”

You were certain he was joking of course. In the days that had followed the reveal of his face to you, the breathless, almost tender exchange that had occurred at the safehouse, you’d managed to go back to convincing yourself Ghost was nothing more than a teammate, perhaps a friend.

It didn’t stop you, however, from eyeing him from afar. It’s hard not to notice Ghost despite his moniker. The sheer breadth of him is hard to miss. He towers in door frames as you sweep houses, takes up space in the back of the confiscated truck rolling through the countryside, exists purely as a sweeping obsidian shadow just in your periphery- there and gone again in pursuit of the target.

Off the field he’s imposing, an undeniable presence in any room. You’ve gotten used to sensing him through footsteps alone, by the way his massive weight shifts behind you. You’ve caught sight of him at the gym more than once- sleeves pushed up to reveal the swirl of dark ink tracing up his left forearm as his biceps bulge under the weights. You feel his eyes linger on you in turn- burning coal dark into your spine. Watching. Waiting.

They haunt you at night, in the darkness of your room. You try not to, but sometimes you find yourself imagining what it would feel like to have those eyes bore down into you from above, the warm exhale of his breath fanning through the mask and onto your face. You think about his scarred hands, the knuckles uneven from the number of times he’s broken them. In your mind the calloused palm of him slips down over the meat of your thigh, hauls your leg open and his voice murmurs darkly into your ear:

“Fix.”

In the morning, you awake sweaty, heart racing, the whisper of a dream clinging wet between your thighs.

So, despite yourself, despite the knowledge it was a poor decision, you’d gone to him.

Now, six hours into your drive, the silence in the car sits as a low pit of regret in your stomach. Whatever meager conversation the two of you had managed died off long ago, and now instead you turned your face to the open countryside where the barest slivers of sunlight slice through the clouds above.

Four days, Ghost had said. Four days tucked up in a hunting cabin at the edge of some Jacobian estate atop rolling hills and rocky crags where red elk and roe deer roam at the tail end of spring. Four days alone, away from civilization with nothing but the howling wind and the superior that you long to touch to keep you company against the vast wilderness between you.

In hindsight, you’re beginning to think maybe that grand tour wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

Ghost guides the car off the A9 just as a passing rain shower splatters against the windshield. It feels as if you’re driving to the ends of the earth, not a car in any direction as you slowly pick your way up the road and higher into the hills. You eye Ghost from the corner of your eye, watching him fixed on the road ahead and gently avoiding potholes along the way. He catches your glance at him, and you feel warmth rise to your face as you quickly look away, even as the silence lingers.

“Soap is going to be pissed we didn’t invite hi up here.” You offer mildly, and Ghost grunts.

“Too loud. He’d scare the deer off with all that barking.”

You snort.

“What, you’ve never hunted with hounds before, Ghost?”

“Mm.”

That seems to be all the response you’ll get, and you turn again back to the window, watching a soft sheet of rain pass you by.

“I used to go out hunting with dogs.” You say softly, not even entirely sure if he’s listening. “In the summer as a kid. We...my parents had a caretaker who had two bluetick coon hounds. The kind that you use to tree raccoons and black bears.”

Ghost is quiet, but when you glance at him the fission of tension in his shoulders seems to have loosened. It’s an odd gesture, miniscule except to your studious eyes that track every flinch, every movement, the tiniest indication of displeasure or contentment.

“If I ever went out into the woods, those two dogs would always come with me. Especially on hunting trips.” You go on, smiling. “If you think Johnny is loud, you should have heard those two howl.”

Ghost taps his fingers against the steering wheel for a moment. You try not to think about how much larger they are than yours. “Didn’t realize you could hunt that close to Washington.”

“West Virginia.” You correct him, averting your eyes once more. “At least in the summers. Up in the Appalachians.” You look out the window, to the rolling, ancient hills where mist hangs like a reverent sigh. “Same mountain range, you know. Just millions of years and thousands of miles apart.”

“Going t’tell me you’re Scottish?” Ghost intones dryly, keeping his gaze ahead, and you grin.

“Haud yer wheesht.”

“English.” Ghost replies, but there’s no real bite to the warning, and it only makes you giggle. Except it’s muffled by the sudden sound of a low, concerning rumble from the engine followed by an irritated clicking. Your eyes shoot to Ghost, who curses low in his chest and carefully manages to navigate the stuttering car off to the barely-there shoulder just as the engine begins to sputter.

“How much did you pay for this rental?” You ask innocently, and Ghost slams the steering wheel with his hand with a growl.

“Too much.” He seethes before putting the car in park and swinging outside in one fluid motion. You follow him just as he pops the hood and peers irritably at the engine inside. You manage to lean in and gaze down next to him, looking over the components just as Ghost towers beside you, annoyance radiating clear off his form.

“There’s a toolkit in the trunk.” He states, making no motion to retrieve it. You recognize an order for what it is, and despite the fact that you’re no longer on the field the familiar weight of Ghost’s leadership feels almost second nature. You reappear with the toolkit in hand a moment later, and rather than hand it to Ghost, you begin to unpack it yourself- ignoring the sideways glance Ghost casts at you.

“By the sound of it, it’s the starter.” You tell him, and when you gently nudge him aside for more space he makes way, stepping back to watch you bend over the engine with tools in hand. “Would you mind trying to turn over the engine for me?”

Ghost doesn’t respond, and when you glance behind you his eyes suddenly dart up to your face after looking elsewhere. “Ghost.”

He holds your stare for a moment before nodding and making towards the driver's seat. A moment later the engine attempts to turn over, the car shuddering and coughing before silencing once more. You poke your head a little further into the hood, trying to locate the source of the noise. Ghost reappears at your side a moment later, just as you fiddle inside the toolkit for a wrench.

Ghost is quiet, observant as you slowly work at the engine, peering over your shoulder close enough you can almost feel the warmth of him spill into your back. It takes everything in you to suppress a shiver at the fact he’s so close. Yet he offers no commentary as you work, no snide comments or dry humor. It would be unnerving if it weren’t for the fact you’re well used to it by now.

“Got it.” You declare a few minutes later, straightening up quickly- colliding with Ghost’s hand that shoots out to cushion your head from impacting the metal hood. “Oh- thanks.”

You hold up the retrieved spark plug victoriously, corroded and rusty from age. “Probably caused a misfire.” You declare. “It needs to be replaced, but we’d have to drive into town for a repair shop...” You trail off, face falling with realization before digging in your pocket for your phone.

No signal.

You look at Ghost, who stares back at you. Nonplussed, done.

and then, without another word, he turns around and starts walking.

It takes about three seconds of you gawking at his back before you’re running to catch up.

“W-where are you going?”

“Town.”

“That’s...15 kilometers away?”

“We’ve hiked farther with our gear.” Uphill. In the snow. You mentally hear him add.

“Shouldn’t one of us stay with the car?”

“No one is going to steal a car broken down on a country road.”

“What about our stuff?”

“Did you lock the car?”

“Well...yes. But-”

Ghost’s pace doesn’t falter, purposefully long strides as he hikes further up the winding incline. You follow him, casting a forlorn little look at the little green car parked on the side of the road. You’re loath to leave it, but between the choice of staying alone on the side of the road or going with Ghost, you know you’ll always choose Ghost.

The hike is quiet, just as it was in the car, and you find yourself focusing on the broad expanse of Ghost’s shoulders rather than the stunning scenery around you. You’re so used to Ghost bringing up the rear on long distance missions with the team, watching his own six, and by doing so watching everyone else’s, including your own. You’ve always trusted him to watch you, knowing that any possible threat from behind would have to go through him first. Now, you stare at the wide expanse of his back cloaked under his dark jacket and wonder if maybe he feels the same.

and you try not to imagine the bare expanse of his rippling muscles underneath.

“Kinda reminds me of Nepal.” You murmur after clearing your throat and quickly pushing away the image, and wonder if Ghost can hear you over the wind.

Ghost raises his head a little, but doesn’t turn. “Going hypothermic again, are ya?”

You huff, breathing warmth into your fingers chilled by the slicing wind. “A little.”

You nearly run into his back when Ghost suddenly stops, turning towards you. Before you can object, you watch as he shrugs off his thick leather jacket and uses a hand to drape it over your head.

Then he promptly turns and resumes walking.

Heat blossoms across your face, hot enough to warm you down to your toes. The smell of Ghost, of gun oil and charcoal and sweat permeates your very being. You try not to dizzy yourself with a lungful of it, try not to be obvious about scenting the blissfully warm and rain resistant jacket that you quickly wrap yourself in with zero complaints. Your heartbeat flutters against your ribs breathlessly, and you try to tell yourself the warmth you feel is just from the jacket, and not the helpless feeling of longing you keep secret there inside your chest.

You catch Ghost pause just long enough to look over his shoulder, but whatever choked thanks you can offer feels swallowed up by the wind.

At the top of the hill, you pause to take a breather, clutch the jacket a little tighter around you and let the wind ruffle your hair. Below lies a lush, green valley cast in soft hues from the gray shadowed sky, a tiny village tucked away at the edge of the long, sloping hills. It’s nothing more than a collection of houses, a shop or two, a petrol station, and a pub of some sort, but to you it’s the closest thing to civilization that you’ll see for the greater part of the day.

You don’t notice Ghost’s eyes on you until you turn to him.

“Olright?” He asks, and you pause for a moment, looking at his smoky brown eyes to wonder why they feel so heavy on your form.

A sound catches both your attention, and you turn to observe the sight of a small factory Ford making its way up the sloping valley road.

After a moment, you shoot Ghost a grin.

“Ever hitch-hiked before, LT?”

Before he can answer you sway to the roadside in sight of the oncoming car, jutting out your hip and sticking out your thumb before glancing back at him.

“Stay back a little, might scare them off with the whole serial killer get up.”

Ghost squints at you, hard, and you feel a little laugh bubble up your throat at the fact he looks almost offended. But he obediently takes a step or two back before crossing his arms and staring at the oncoming driver. If anything, you think he looks more intimidating than he did before.

Fortunately it isn’t enough to dissuade the driver, who honks at you both before slowing and pulling up beside you facing the wrong way.

“Do ye need some help, lass?” The woman in the passenger seat asks, accent thick. She’s a homely sort, round in the face with graying curls and rosy cheeks. Her gray-green eyes dart between you and Ghost behind you nervously, and it takes all your resistance not to shoot Ghost a look that says “I told you so.”

“Yes, actually, if you don’t mind. Our car broke down a while back and we were wondering if we could have a ride to town?” You ask politely, putting on your best smile and explaining quickly. “We tried fixing it ourselves but we need a mechanic.”

“Oh!” You see the woman visibly relax and flutter a hand at the driver, an equally older bearded man you assume to be her husband. “An American! You’re not that common around these parts. Archie dear, don’t you think we can give the nice girl and her fellow a lift?”

You nearly choke at that, opening your mouth to correct here when the husband, Archie, you presume, arches a thick eyebrow at you and looks at Ghost for a long moment.

“Aye, hop in.” He offers gruffly, jerking his head, and you thank him profusely before nodding to Ghost and sliding into the cramped backseat. Ghost takes up almost the entire space in the tiny car with his breadth, but manages to not squish you against the door despite having to tuck his legs a bit sideways to fit. You have to make it a point not to look at him lest you give yourself away.

It takes Archie a minute or two to point the car in the direction of town again, by which point his wife, who introduces herself as Ainsley, has begun to talk your ear off.

“Are you two on holiday?” She asks cheerily, all previous suspicion gone. “Visiting family?”

“We uh-” You spare a glance at Ghost, who’s stony silence offers no help. “We’re- yes. On holiday. Up to Balfour Manor?”

“Oh lovely! It’s quite the romantic spot, Balfour. We get lots of couples up that way. Archie and I had our handfasting ceremony there, ye ken.”

Oh.

You glance at Ghost, a little aghast at Aisley’s bold assumption. Yet when Ghost returns your stare, he looks oddly amused.

You feel your face warm, clearing your throat and attempting to speak. “O-oh well we’re not-”

“Balfour isnnae all that far from here. We might as well drive you all the way. We know the manager there, Lorna. She’s as sweet as they come. She’ll get you all set up and send someone for your car.”

She pauses, looking at her husband. “Aye, Archie?”

Archie grunts, looking at you in the rearview mirror before shrugging and nodding.

“That’s...very kind. Thank you. But you really don’t have to, we can wait at the petrol station-”

Aisley waves her hand at you. “Dinna fash yerself. We were going out for a drive anyway, got to stretch the ol’ bones. Now we’ve a story to tell at the pub!”

That seems to make Archie perk up a bit. “Aye.” He drawls, chuckling as he navigates down the valley road. “Bout the polite American girl and her burglar beau.”

“Archie!” Aisley gasps, swatting at him before turning to you apologetically. “He dosnae mean anything by it, lass.”

Ghost huffs beside you, offering Archie a withering look, but gives no indication of a reply.

“It’s alright.” You try. “He’s just-”

“Shy.” Ghost deadpans, and you arch an eyebrow at him. You can see his eyes laugh. Something breathless flutters in your chest.

“I was going to say ugly.” You whisper teasingly, low enough for him to hear- and Ghost leans in, crowding your space.

“You and I both know that’s a lie, Fix.”

Jesus.

He pins you with his coal dark stare, and you feel the sudden urge to look away from the intensity of his gaze. Your heart is racing in your ears, and the backseat suddenly feels too small, too close with the way Ghost suddenly is almost on top of you, heedless of your company.

Fortunately, it seems Aisley is too busy chastising her husband to notice the way Ghost has to practically crowded against the opposite door, his hand planted over the middle seat just close enough so his gloved thumb grazes against your hip through your jeans-

Only to sit back in a blink when Aisley pokes her head back again and begins to prattle on about the care rental salesman down in Perth and his shady marketing tactics. It takes all your composure to calm your racing heart and nod along politely despite the warmth flooding your face.

Beside you, Ghost looks oddly smug.

In the miles that follow, you find yourself glancing at him, and trying to match the memory of his moonlit face against the impenetrable mask that you’ve begun to see the cracks in.

- - -

Aisley and Archie end up driving you past town and into the hills where the manor rests upon a rolling, green slope that sits on the other side of the valley. Shadowed in mist, the ancient brick manor house overlooks the village below with tall windows and a tall, imposing archway which shelters a thick iron door. Carefully tended ivy crawls upwards along the brown brick towards the chimney, where a whisper of smoke is carried away by the gusting wind.

The car rolls to a stop in the long, gravel driveway that encircles a bubbling fountain and a collection of signs that likely details the land’s history. You long to peruse them, but Ghost is quickly shuffling out of the car with a murmur of polite thanks and quickly heading up the front steps. You scoot out behind him, remembering to turn and wave at the couple. Before you can trot after Ghost, Aisley makes a quick, urgent gesture for you to come closer.

“Have patience with him, lass.” She whispers with the window rolled down, halfway leaning out. her eyes dart to Ghost, who stands a ways behind you. “My Archie was a stiff, quiet one too. Give him time, he’ll let you in when he’s ready.”

You blink, and once again open your mouth to once again try and dissuade her of the notion that you and Ghost are a couple, but Aisley’s gray eyes shine knowingly, and in the end you smile quietly to yourself and give her a small whisper of thanks before turning to follow Ghost inside out of the slicing wind.

The interior of the manor appears to have blended well with the ages, renovated but kept at its bones a true token of history. The carved banisters and railings are worn with age, and the walls maintain their wood carved paneling. Yet the furniture is distinctly modern, and the grime of centuries past has been sanded down to nothing.

There’s a freckled, ginger-haired woman who greets you at the desk labeled ‘check-in’, and upon seeing Ghost you watch her instinctively raise her hackles at his mask and gigantic, looming stature.

“Reservation for ‘Riley’.” Is all he offers as his shadow falls over her, and it takes her a moment to process before she’s furiously typing at her computer.

You peek your head out from behind Ghost, and the woman who you assume to be Lorna instantly looks relieved at your smile.

“Sorry for the late arrival, we ran into some car issues on the road and had to hitch-hike. Do you have a way to call the repair shop in town? Neither of us have a signal.”

“Oh!” Lorna chirps, looking befuddled, then mildly distressed. “That makes sense. I tried to phone you, Mr. Riley. I’m afraid that we’ve run into a wee problem with your reservation.”

She swallows thickly, typing away at her laptop for a few moments. “We- we’re terribly sorry. We had a stag party booked prior to your stay, you see. The guests before you were a bit of a rowdy bunch. We’re still cleaning the walls after the…” She trails off, looking a little green. “...Well.”

“Does that mean the reservation is canceled?” You ask, brow knotting. Beside you, Ghost stiffens. You hear his gloves creak as his fists clench.

“No, no! We’ve just been forced to switch you over to a different cottage. It’s slightly smaller, but this one comes with a fireplace at least. We’ve also charged you the lesser price due to the issue, but we won’t be able to put you in your original booking seeing as we’re all booked up.”

You glance at Ghost, who appears mildly annoyed but otherwise calm. “O’lright.” He eventually offers after a beat, and Lorna’s shoulders relax visibly.

“Lovely. Let me finish checking you in, and then I’ll see about your car. I know the repairman in town, he should be able to drive out and see what the issue is.”

“It’s one of the spark plugs.” You tell her, stepping forward a little and ignoring the way Ghost’s bulk stays warm at your back. “Should be a simple change, but we’d like to at least get our luggage if possible.”

Lorna nods seriously, which is a bit of a humorous expression on her otherwise mousey features. “I’ll be sure to let him know. We’ll try to get your bags to you by this evening.”

Lorna quickly gives you a series of pamphlets and map of the surrounding grounds, pointing out the small trail that leads off into the woods towards the cottage you and Ghost will be staying in.

“There’s breakfast and dinner served in the dining room at seven am and seven pm, plus tea service at three. Otherwise you’ll have to run into town for lunch or groceries.”

Ghost nods stoically, eyes tracing over the hunting pamphlet, which Lorna sees him eyeing.

“Oh, and the hunting range is northwest of us. You’ll need to check in with us before you set off to make sure your hunting permit is in order. We do process any deer you hunt for a fee, otherwise you’re welcome to take it back home yourself.”

Ghost nods again, and murmurs a small thanks before tucking the pamphlet in his hoodie pocket and turning. You give Lorna a smile and a wave before following after him out the thick iron doors. The clouds outside have darkened to an ominous gray, with a whisper of moisture lingering in the air. You huddle deeper into Ghost’s jacket, falling in step with him as you begin to make your way towards the forest cottage.

You eye him out of the corner of your eye, finding his gaze directed forward. Yet he softens his stride, ensuring that you don’t fall behind him as you walk. One of a thousand silent things to fit further into the puzzle of him.

“Riley, huh?” You ask after a minute or two of walking, and Ghost glances at you before making a small, noncommittal grunt.

“Laswell gave you my file, didn’t she?”

She did, but the file had been so redacted that you’d only managed to get bits and pieces. SAS selection, top of his class, record breaking scores, details of his skills in covert infiltration, sabotage, and clandestine tradecraft. There was a mention of an extended leave, but after that? Black. Nothing. The words POW stood out among the endless redactions, but until his recruitment into the 141, Ghost’s file was an enigma, an anomaly, leaving you to fill in the gaps in between with the scarce glimpses behind the mask he offered you.

Then again, there were things in your file that you refused to share as well.

“You’re a mysterious man, Mr. Riley.” You smirk at him, and if you look close enough, you think you can see his mask tug at the corner with a smile.

“You sleep with that mask on?” You ask teasingly.

“Like a log.” He drawls.

“Might scare the deer off with that.”

“Brought a camo one.”

You gape at him. “You’re joking.”

Ghost looks at you, silent, deadpan. “I’ve been told I’m a comedian.”

You bark a laugh, out of pure surprise more than anything, only to quickly dissolve into a fit of giggles.

In the woods now, a thick grove of twisted trunks that shields you from the worst of the wind, you and Ghost enjoy a comfortable, mutual silence. Despite the fatigue from the day’s travel, the lingering unease from ruined plans and impromptu decisions, there’s a small warmth that curls inside your chest as you walk beside him, huddled in his jacket several sizes too big as the moorish wind sweeps across your cheeks.

“Well.” You say at last. “Broken car, nosy neighbors, and a just barely rescued reservation. They say bad things come in threes. I think we’re past the worst of it.”

As if on cue, a raindrop falls right on your nose.

You look up just in time for another to land on your cheek. Ghost pauses beside you, cocking his head, listening. There’s a distant rumble of warning from the sky above....

and seconds later the bottom drops out of the clouds and onto your heads.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” Ghost swears, glaring up at the sky with putrid annoyance. Then he looks at you as you hold his jacket over your head to try and shield yourself from the worst of the downpour.

You gulp.

“I...might have jinxed it” You confess, and you think you see a vein in his neck throb.

Your clothes are soaked through by the time you get to the cottage, teeth chattering loudly as the cold quickly sets in. Ghost’s tension is palpable, a low rolling thunder that mirrors the stormy skies above. You try to remind yourself you are not the source of his ire, rather that the events of the day draw heavy on his shoulders and rest as a tightly coiled tension under the soaked fabric of his hoodie.

You drip water onto the mat of the entryway, hugging the jacket tighter around your shoulders as you survey the interior. It’s quaint, cozy. The entryway feeds into a small kitchen with old wooden cabinets complete with brass handles. Beyond is the living area, and without thinking you walk over to the old stone fireplace and crouch before it, heedless of the puddles you leave in your wake.

“It’s an actual fireplace.” You smile at Ghost, nodding to the wood stacked on the edge. “Do you remember your boy scout lessons?”

Ghost scoffs, striding past you to survey the living space with keen, wary eyes. You know what he’s doing on instinct- marking entryways, noting escape routes and barricade points, possible fire hazards and other threats. Like you, he’s able to leave the battlefield, only for it to exist in his mind.

As he checks the locks, you wander over to the two doors opposite of the fireplace, peeking inside one to find a bathroom, and the other to find the bedroom.

Except...

“Oh.” You whisper, and you sense rather than hear Ghost instantly pause behind you, crossing the room to hover tall and dark behind your shoulder as he looks at what’s caught your attention.

A single bed, neatly made. Between the pillows, a red rose.

You feel Ghost go stiff behind you just as heat warms your face all the way down to your toes.

“Did you...” You ask quietly, without turning towards him. “...Book us a single bed?”

“No.” Ghost replies, a little too quickly, terse, and scoots his massive frame past you to grab the red rose on the pillow and briskly toss it in the garbage pail. You hear him mutter an annoyance under his breath that you think sounds like “Bloody stag party.”

There’s a laugh bubbling in your chest akin to hysterics. You’ve slept close to Ghost before, sure. Hell, he kept you alive with his body heat before, but that...that was different. That was on the field, in the presence of teammates, things necessary for duty and survival. Here, in this quiet, romantic cottage where it’s just the two of you, where everyone seems to be operating on the understanding that you’re a couple...

“I’ll take the couch.” You say before you can catch the thought. “You- you’re too tall to fit comfortably. You can have the bed.”

Ghost looks at you, dark eyes meeting yours, and you’re reminded just how intense his gaze is. You feel untethered, unbalanced, caught in the gravity of his stare alone. For a single, daring moment you pray that he’ll find a reason to disagree, that he’ll insist you both sleep together, but eventually he blinks and nods.

“Olright.” He cedes at last, finally turning away from you, and it feels as if there’s something left unsaid between you both, something you’re not brave enough to voice yet. It curls under your skin, and you shiver hard, curling your arms around you for warmth.

“You’ll catch a cold.” Ghost nods at you, and proceeds to unzip his wet hoodie so it lands on the floor with a wet splat. “Should change out of those.”

You don’t respond for a second, too distracted by the way Ghost’s shirt clings to every plane of his muscled torso, the soft flesh of his belly, the dip between his shoulders. Eventually your brain catches up with you, and you blink, swallowing back the dryness in your throat.

“Into...what, exactly?”

Ghost looks at you for a beat, before grabbing a quilt off the end of the bed and tossing it at you. You gape at him, equal parts baffled and aghast.

“Y-you can’t be serious.”

“If you’d like to catch your death that way, by all means.” Ghost returns, and turns from you to begin stripping off the shirt that clings far too tightly to his massive frame. You stand frozen to the spot, hands clutching too tight to the quilt as the pale, scarred flesh of Ghost’s torso is slowly revealed. The ink on his forearm swirls all the way up to his shoulder, and from there you trace a long, jagged scar that forms a ‘T’ across his pecs with their pale pink nipples. You don’t miss the blonde thatch of hair that coils just below it, curls down his stomach towards his waistband as his fingers go for his belt, only to pause.

With dawning horror, you look up and meet Ghost’s heavy, lidded stare.

“Looking ‘respectfully’, Fix?”

You can feel the instant your neurons misfire, electrocuting into nothingness as you stand paralyzed with your mouth open, caught ogling him in a way that’s so far removed from what might be considered ‘respectful’ you may as well bury yourself alive. You try to speak, to say an excuse, to offer an apology, anything, but the way Ghost’s eyes burn into you, the way you can’t seem to budge from his stare roots you to the spot, staring at the pale expanse of his bare torso and forgetting how to breathe.

The clink of his belt as he resumes undressing sends you scrambling out of the room and slamming the bathroom door behind you.

As you bury your burning face in your hands, you swear you hear Ghost chuckle from the other room.

You lean hard on the door, waiting for Ghost to finish doing...whatever it is he’s doing, and desperately trying to ignore the torrent of images that flood your brain of his scarred, pale shoulders, the smattering of freckles at his clavicle, the wisp of hair trailing below his waistband...

It takes effort to silence the groan bubbling up in your throat, caught somewhere between desperate desire and baffled embarrassment. Still sitting in your sopping wet clothes on the bathroom floor, the water slowly puddling beneath you, you try vainly to compose yourself and think of something...anything other than the vision of Ghost’s bare, rain-slick body hovering mere feet away from you with nothing but a wall to separate you both.

It’s the shivering chill of your soaked limbs that eventually forces you up, carefully peeling off your wet layers and wringing them as best as you can in the sink before hanging them to dry. By the time you step under the hot stream of water in the shower to warm up, you’re shivering head to toe from the cold.

Steam curls around your bare form just as the sounds in the other room gravitate towards the living room, and once more you try to brush away the thought of Ghost striding around the cottage completely naked with little success. There’s a coiling sort of tension that runs southward at the image of your lieutenant’s muscled, bare figure just steps away from your own naked form. It’s not the first time you’ve caught yourself with such thoughts- thoughts you usually reserve for your bunk at base, alone, lights turned off as your hand slithers below your waistband.

Even now, your fingers glide southward, cupping your bare cunt with a shuddering little sound. You’re a little wet just by the sight of seeing Ghost dripping, shirtless, hands fiddling brazenly with his belt with little regard for your presence. You can’t help but think about what might greet you if he had pulled his pants just a little further down, letting you see the bulge there. Ghost is massive, towering over your frame, and you wonder if whatever he hides there is at the least proportional.

You spread your cunt a little, fingers slipping between your folds as you tip your head back against the tile with a soft little sigh. You’re not sure if it’s the water or the burning heat of your own skin that coils warm in your veins, sending a murmur of pleasure electrifying across your hips and up towards the small of your spine. Your fingers trace slow, languid circles around your clit, your other hand raising to cup your breast just as you surrender and allow the vision of Ghost to engulf your hazy thoughts.

Ghost, bare, strong, built like a tank and able to rip men apart with his bare hands. Ghost, with scars littering his skin that speak of a lifetime of brutality and yet his eyes- eyes that fix you with a stare so intense you wonder sometimes if you’ll crack under the weight, burn so brightly you turn to glass, obsidian as dark as his voice that purrs in your ear during missions. Ghost who’s dark, swirling ink traces shadowy tendrils across your mind and drags you down, down into the abyss of his phantom touch.

You keen a little behind your teeth, hips pushing up into your hand just as you shudder at the thought that it’s not your nimble fingers, but his.

You have to keep quiet. The last thing you need right now is Ghost knocking on the door and asking about the barely stifled whimpers and moans you’re swallowing down with deep lungfuls of humid air. It’s hard not to make noise though, especially when you think about the idea of Ghost walking in on you like this, caging you with his towering frame against the shower wall and purring down in your ear.

“Fix.”

“Ghost.” You whisper, barely audible as your breath hitches, eyes squinted shut with pleasure. There’s a whimper bubbling up your throat, and you bite the back of your hand just to silence it, fingers working your clit faster now, the dawn of your climax ascending rapidly. You think about him, about Ghost trapping you against the shower with nowhere to run, sinking two, broad fingers into you deep enough for you to feel his knuckles broken one too many times to be even. You wonder if even that is little compared to the cock that hangs heavy between his toned thighs, ruddy and pink and leaking at the thought of sinking himself into you.

“Fuck-” You gasp, a little too loud, but you don’t care because you’re close, close enough that you can feel yourself teetering on the razor’s edge, ever nerve in your body drawing taut, tighter.

You want him. You want him here, in the shower. You want his fingers inside you plucking at the sensitive point of pleasure inside your gummy walls that clench down on him with every retreat, trying to keep yourself full. You want him to split you open on his cock, to haul your legs up to his shoulders and fold you in half as he fucks you down into the bed, growling, snarling in your ear. You want to feel yourself bow off the bed with a little cry, walls rippling over his cock just as he huffs warm breath into your ear: “Good girl, Fix. Good fucking girl.”

When you cum, you have to swallow down a sob.

As the liquid warmth of your release unspools through your veins, you tip your head back against the tile, panting, trying to catch your breath. Your legs quiver as they hold your weight, muscles weak. It takes concentration to just remain standing in the afterglow of your shattering orgasm, shoulders heaving and brow pinched as you try to regain yourself.

You raise a hand to wipe the water from your face, holding the heel of your palm to your forehead and whispering out a little curse that’s muffled by the water. Outside, you can hear Ghost shuffling about in the kitchen and living room, and you pray by some grace of god he heard absolutely nothing from inside the shower.

It’s only after you’re steady on your feet again that you remember you have no clothes.

You groan then, heedless of the sound, burying your face in your hands and praying for some type of divine intervention or damnation. Inside the mist of your mind, Ghost’s chuckle haunts your thoughts.

You’re so fucked.

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[hellyeahscarleteen]

You have the right to be bad in bed.

When sex is consensual, we all have the right to be our own idea or someone else's idea of who or what is "bad" in bed. Sometimes; anytime. That's because we're human. While we can give consent -- or ask for it -- for a given kind of sex, and put a lot of specifics on that, what we can't ask anyone for, nor can anyone insist on with us, is that there is consent ONLY if sex is totally awesome. No one can ever promise that or be expected to deliver that. We also have the right to suck at sex in someone's estimation because anyone else involved always has the right not to have sex with us or, if they already have, to opt out of sex with us at any time, or to choose not to have sex with us again. Someone we have any kind of sex with gets to be what we consider a lousy lover because we have the right not to have sex with them, to opt out of sex with them at any time, or to choose not to have sex with them again.

I keep noticing lately that there's a lot of media and cultural messaging out there, that continues to be out there, that would easily have us believe that life doesn't go on when crummy or substandard sex happens or we're any part of sex being crummy or unsatisfying for someone else. That it's really not okay, or as simple to accept or address as I just did with it up there. That a "bad" lover by anyone's always-arbitrary standards is a broken person who needs fixing at some kind of sexual fix'em-up shop, rather than someone who had the unmitigated gall of simply being a human being in one of the most human things we can do. I also keep noticing an escalating fear of "doing it wrong" in bed, like just being a human being learning one's own body, someone else's body, exploring their sexuality and those of others -- and slipping in the mud, or choosing a route that turns out to be less-than-stellar, as we'll all do at least one time or another when exploring anything from sexuality to a new hiking trail -- is the equivalent of stepping on a land mine.

Your Right to Be Lousy in Bed (After All, No One Has to Have Sex with You)

[of-substandard-parts-a]

“You didn’t fill Data with substandard parts, did you, old man? No. That honour was bestowed upon me. You owe me, old man. Not him. Me.”

An independent, canon-divergent, & semi-selective roleplay blog of Lore as seen in Star Trek: The Next Generation. ⸺ Penned by Parker.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

the crowleying of your mascot's hair.

Good morning maggots, as I write this it is 11:53 pm on the uh, asmi10kpocalypse/10khaos (both stunning names, whichever of you came up with them please walk on stage and take a goddamn bow) and I have awoken from deep slumber.

The Good News: My hair is dyed! The Bad News: It was torture that I nearly fainted from!

Okay well uh, we know what I'm best at, and it's summaries of chaos. So without further ado (much ado about nothing ahahah everything is a 10k reference now), here we go:

It starts, as it will end, in my room in front of the laptop screen.

Now, as you know, I said I would dye my hair after I scarfed down my lunch. I do that and I also take a nap because fuck yeah, sleep.

I check tumblr one last time, grab my phone without charging it, tell my mum I'm dyeing my hair, and begin the walk to the salon.

On my phone is Arthur, @howmanyholesinswisscheese, who as a cishet deadbeat dad of a lot of us, is the worst person to ask for hair advice, but I do it anyway. I need a reference photo for a haircut.

Arthur helpfully scours the internet and comes up with options that include: Gay, hot history teacher, Joe Locke but something's off about it, same as above but different slightly and I can't place it, top 20 haircuts for crazy people, top 100 teen boy haircuts for teens, mullet slash hot history teacher, Hozier, why does the teen boy have a beard, Aussie AFL player, and Chris Hemsworth.

His words, not mine. Does anyone want to check in on Arthur's history teacher because I am getting very concerned for that man.

So I pick a haircut and land up at the salon. Arthur also tells me my hair is wild and I have needed a haircut for too long. Thanks dad.

The hairdressers are not pleased when I point to the red shade and tell them to bleach and dye my entire hair.

They inform me it will look like shit.

They keep asking if I'm sure. I say, with increasing annoyance, that yes I am.

Arthur is in the phone enabling me, yelling that I need to do it for crowley and "THEY DON'T GET TO TELL YOU WHAT TO DO"

The hairdressers then say they're out of red hair dye, I can either do a magenta or come back the next day.

Arthur tells me to leave and go to another salon.

So I do, and I wind up at the salon right next door (Arthur and I cheer for capitalism), an extremely seedy looking place with a poorly painted stairwell that could well be haunted.

I tell the hairdressers there what I want, and they also argue with me about how it will fade, look like shit, etc etc.

Arthur says "THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT, THEY'RE JUST HAIRDRESSERS"

He tells me that if Crowley can keep the Bentley together through hellfire through sheer will, I can do the same for my hair.

Finally, they huddle in front of a laptop, muttering, and agree to take me on.

I am then also hair-shamed by the stylist, who tells me in no uncertain terms that if I don't cut my hair as soon as it grows out even slightly, it looks "kharab", which is Hindi for... 'substandard, inferior, bad, shoddy, deficient'. Thanks, mate.

The haircut is done. What follows then is on of the top five most excruciatingly painful experiences of my life.

No, I'm serious. The bleaching and dyeing. It was. Fuck.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

JUST THE MEMORY HURTS

OKAY NEXT PART OF THE SAGA I WILL REBLOG THIS IT IS GETTING TOO LONG

IF YOU WANT THE HAIR REVEAL THEN YOU WILL HAVE TO SIT THROUGH THIS LIKE I DID, I'M AFRAID