#ALSO WHY THE FUCK WERE THE PRICES SO INSANE THIS YEAR?????

[inhidingxoxo3637]

Autographed Collectables hunty why are Acosta's knee sliders the same price as Mir's and a mere £39 less than Quartararo's??

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Simon's body matures into its prime. There's only one mate he wants. #GhostPriceWeek.

Day One: Confession/Kneel.

cw: omegaverse, penetrative sex, dubcon by nature of Price's sex negative attitude, gentle sex, bonding. ( @gomzdrawfr )

Simon wasn't sure what had changed or why, but he knew he was looking at Price differently these days and he couldn't ignore it for much fuckin’ longer. It was driving him even more insane than he already was.

Price had been helping him–them, all of ‘em–through ruts for the last few years. When it had just been the two of them, Simon would spend the few days leave in Price's Hereford flat exhausting himself between Price's legs and then they would return to normal once the cycle had passed. It had been hard at first, trusting someone, but like in everything, Price had his back. He had only ever treated Simon with dignity and respect.

When the other two joined, Simon didn't bat an eyelid. It made sense. Price was logical like that; easier for them to fuck him and get it over with in a few days, than long it out over a week and risk them snooping around the local villages, potentially ending up with a pup brewing and an angry farmer at the barrack gates with a shotgun. Johnny had priors with it too. Simon had seen the indiscretions on his record, and Gaz was so painfully good-looking that Simon wouldn't be surprised if there were already a few Garrick pups knocking about North London. 

The arrangement bloody worked. Everyone seemed satisfied. So why had Simon started… yearning?

The word had appeared when he'd googled his symptoms one day in a coffee shop. He'd headed off base to do it because all the search histories passed over Price's desk at some point, with questionable or worrying shit highlighted by the IT team for review, and he really didn't need that conversation. “Why are your guts aching, Simon? Do you need medical?” Price would ask, that stern line between his brows, lips pressed down in a deep frown. 

No, sir, my intestines seem to twist themselves in knots every time I see you shirtless at the moment and I can't stop thinkin' about how much I want to shove my tongue down yer throat, now about that requisition form… 

But it wouldn't be like that. Simon would stand there in dumb silence trying to find the words to explain that being around Price at the moment made him ache in ways he had never experienced before. That when he was alone in his own flat a short bus ride away from base, he thought of their time together with a hand around his knot and his knuckles between his teeth. He thought about how good the indomitable John Price would look in the throes of heat, completely vulnerable.

He must have been acting differently, because Price had become more distant. Detached, almost. He was shorter, sharper, than Simon had ever known him to be, even when his temper occasionally flared in the face of red tape and stupidity. Simon needed to get this, whatever this was, under control.

Sitting in that café with his black coffee and Bakewell tart, Simon had learned that an alpha of his age was reaching full maturity and his body was ready to find a permanent mate. By mid-thirties, an alpha’s strength and esteem within a pack was fully established, or it would be if the world still worked like it did a few thousand years ago. If they were still in loincloths, Simon would have battered his fair share of pack alphas and worked his way to the top by now. An omega would select him as worthy and choose him to father their pups. His body was just doing what it had done throughout millennia. Preparing.

In all honesty, his sex ed’ had been woefully lacking. Partly because the mixed comprehensive he had attended had been in special measures and the PSHE lessons had been all out brawls at some points, but also because his attendance had dropped below fifty percent fairly regularly throughout his compulsory education. ‘Very intelligent and capable, but limited by his frequent absences,’ had been his school report a few months before he had scraped just enough GCSEs to fall into a trade apprenticeship, and then September eleventh had happened and his whole world outlook had changed.

The guidance on the website also told him that his scent would change. That he might experience more attention from fertile omegas, and notice their scents more, their bodies. There was a paragraph about consent that followed and Simon had winced at the implications of needing it. He had met enough knotheads in his time even outside his own deranged father, fuckin’ Roba, to know why it was there. While most omegas were dominant and fierce by nature, the modern world had flipped things. Sometimes it just wasn't that straight forward.

The notes said it would pass. By late forties, his hormones would ebb away to normal levels again and by then he'd either be mated or, in his case, probably dead. The odds weren’t exactly in his bloody favour with his current choice of career. They also said his attention would probably flit between options, from omega to omega, as his body sought to spread its genetics as far as possible.

Except it fucking didn't, did it?

There were other omegas on base. A gorgeous blonde in logistics with tits and arse for days, a strapping redheaded mechanic with strong thighs and a pretty smile, then there was the brunette in medical. But those are cursory observations. Simon saw them as attractive in the detached manner you looked at someone who was attractive in the traditional sense. Yeah, he could see it, but he didn't want it.

He wanted Price. His fockin’ captain.

Tart and coffee finished, Simon had headed back to base. He tried to exhaust himself in the gym, finished some paperwork, and eventually wandered to the mess hall for some dinner. It was just as he was tucking into a pile of mashed potatoes and gravy that his phone pinged. 

CJP: My office.

Simon chucked his tray onto the trolley and headed out. By the time he was knocking on Price's door, his heart was beating hard in anticipation. Of fuckin’ what, he had no idea. Clearly needed to watch less porn because the image his mind provided of Price spread out on his desk, presenting, was bloody unhelpful.

“Simon.” Price acknowledged him with a glance as he shut the door behind him. The room was warm, the old radiator beneath the window chucking out more heat than was strictly necessary this early in October. The lights were dim too, the brightness on Price's monitor turned down lower, and there was a subtle, sweet scent beneath the must of paper, furniture polish and old wallpaper that usually hung in the air. 

The primal part of Simon recognised it for what it was, and the rest of him caught up as he got a good look at Price; his cheeks flushed, his blue eyes bright. Pre-heat. Price was getting more sensitive to everything; light, the cold. The smell in here had to be bloody awful to his sensitive nose. Simon blinked slowly, taking a deep breath through the fabric of the mask just to taste more of that glorious promise. If he could lick it out of the air, he would.

“We've got a problem,” Price murmured, slumping back in his chair, his fingers wounded together over his belly.

Simon didn't need to ask. He knew. “S’not a problem, sir. I can keep it under control.”

Price looked down, his face twisting in a brief grimace as he considered the edge of his desk. “S’not just you, Simon. It's me as well.”

Simon blinked, shifting his weight. “Wot?”

“Yer think I can't smell ya? When ya left the gym few hours ago I was meetin’ with Saunders about some performance data. Could smell ya from the otherside of the corridor.”

“Weren’t that fockin’ bad…”

“T’ normal man, no.”

There was an edge in Price's voice. Simon knew his secondary sex was a sore spot. If Price could have chosen, he would have been born an alpha. He despised everything about what he viewed as his ‘condition’. No one else knew, of course. The captain played his personal life close to his chest. Most of the time people assumed he was an alpha and didn’t look any closer. He was six foot two, built like a soldier should be; there was no reason to assume otherwise.

Perfect in every way, Simon's mind offered unhelpfully. Followed by an intrusive thought about how strong and intelligent their pups would be. Fuckin’ ‘ell.

“Was’the plan?”

Because there was always a plan and Simon would follow Price into hellfire if he asked. 

“Thought about sending you away, reassigning you,” Price said, his gaze flicking up to level Simon with a pensive look. “Bu’ I couldn't. Need ya. 141 needs ya.” 

Simon realised he could breathe again. The mere idea that Price would send him away - to fuckin’ where? No reasonable officer would take him on - left him frozen, every muscle seizing like he'd been turned to stone. Need ya.

Not just the 141. But Price. Price needed him.

“Then wot? Wot we doin’ ‘ere?” Simon’s voice crackled, the words cloying in his throat.

That grimace was back. A pinched look of regret pulled Price’s lips back, his eyes squinting. He scrubbed a hand over his beard and breathed in a deep breath through his nose. “Gonna ask ya sommin’. Ya can say no. S’your right t’ say no. Ya’understand?”

Simon’s fingers clenched into his palms, and he dipped his chin in a barely perceptible nod. 

“This… whatever it is. Could put ‘em danger, Johnny, Gaz, any soldier we have with us. It's foggin’ our minds, distractin’ us. I can't afford that in the field,” Price spoke slowly, like he was trying to reason with himself as well as Simon. “Way I see it is we need t’ nip it in the bud. Best way to do that is give it what it needs. A bond.”

An errant gust of wind could have knocked Simon to the floor at that moment. Like a giant rotten oak tree barely clinging on in the soil. His mouth went dry, huffing in another deep lungful of Price's scent as his heart accelerated in his chest. 

“I know ‘m askin’ a lot of ya. More an’ I ever have. But what we do, the greater good we fight for, s’too important t’--”

“Yeah.”

“Wot?”

“Yeah, I'll do it. I wan’ it. Wan’ you.” The confession tripped out of Simon's mouth before he could stop it. He stepped up to the desk, his hands planting on the surface, which, in hindsight, had probably been a poor choice. He watched Price tense in his chair briefly, before he slowly rose to his feet, weathered palms planting opposite Simon's to level him with a stern look.

“That's the hormones talkin’. Ya need t’ think it through.”

“Naw, I don’t,” Simon said, studying the freckles on Price's face, the sun damage on his forehead, the wrinkles around bright blue eyes, strong jaw framed by his uneven beard. A face he linked with safety and certainty and leadership. “S'you, s’always been you.”

Price dropped his eyes away, his head hanging for a moment, the sigh that followed sounded dog tired. When he looked up, those blue eyes had hardened, the light dulled.. “Simon, ya committin’ to a bond. S’for life. And ya not gettin’ a sweet thing that’ll fawn over ya. I'm not gonna give ya a pup, no family of yer own, ‘m not gonna kneel for ya, not gonna walk barefoot round yer kitchen, do ya laundry. ‘m not some pretty arm piece, Simon. Few years of lookin’, ya might find yerself a proper mate.”

“Don't care ‘bout any of that. Never have.” 

“Because ya never gave yerself a chance,” Price growled, rubbing at his face again. “Take a day. Think about it. Fer…” he swallowed, “...fer me, if not for yerself.”

Simon could smell something new. It was bitter on the back of his tongue. Distress. He lifted one of his hands without thinking, reaching for Price's face, but the captain flinched back. It was an involuntary response and Simon hated himself for causing it. “Sorry,” he grunted, fingers curling into his palm. 

“S’fine, jus’...” Price stood up straight, adjusting his t-shirt, thumbs hooking in his belt. Recovering himself, “...go, fink it over, don't give me an answer ‘til tomorrow after work.” 

“Right.” Simon stepped back from the desk even though every instinct was screaming at him to protect Price from whatever was causing that smell. There was no immediate threat so he couldn't even fight something; his entire skill set rendered useless in the face of whatever battle was going on inside Price's head. “See you for mornin’ briefing, sir.”

Price nodded. Simon left.

He didn't sleep that night. He stared up into the gloomy grey above his bed, wholly fixated on the parting image of Price, his face pinched, his scent riddled with distress and misery. He didn't want this, did he? Didn't want Simon like Simon wanted him. But what was new? Simon was perpetually unwanted. It was the story of his life. 

This was the right thing though. For the 141 and, Simon knew, for him. A mate like Price was more than he could have ever aspired to in normal circumstances. He had resigned himself to dying unbonded, to never experiencing what it felt like to be one with another person, to hear their voice and feel peace, to smell their scent and feel joy, to taste their skin, hold them, and feel whole. 

He had given himself to Price in all but bond anyway. This was a natural next step, even if Price himself seemed conflicted. It was an imperfect solution, riddled with grey, the cracks in the facade papered over, but that was them through and through.

The following day went by slower than a slug crawling across a salt flat. Price was nowhere to be found, sequestered away in his office while he tried to tidy up urgent matters before his three days of booked leave. Simon ran courses with the new batch of rookies up for selection and sparred with Johnny in the gym. The opportunity to exercise his physicality was welcome. His body was strong, capable, the best part of him. The part of him that would serve Price loyally. 

After dinner, Simon headed back to Price's office and tapped the door. The voice from the other side sounded even more exhausted than it had the night before. “Simon,” Price said, not looking up from the form in front of him. “Got yer answer then?”

“Yeah,” Simon said, “it's a yes. I accept. I… wan’ to bond with ya.”

Price placed his pen down slowly and leaned back in his chair. There was sweat on his temples and Simon could smell him even stronger than the day before. Fuckin’ delicious. “Right,” Price said. “Simon, you, uh… you need to know my heat, it's uhm… I find it difficult. Never shared it with anyone before.”

Simon could see Price's discomfort. How much he hated exposing this vulnerability. He sniffed, scratched his chin, and finally looked up at Simon's masked face. Simon blinked slowly. “S’ok. We’ll take it at your pace. You headin’ off tonight?”

Price glanced at the duffel bag on the chair by the window and nodded. “Yeah. You, uh… we can wait ‘til next time if you were savin’ yer leave for somethin’ special.”

“Naw, I'm good. You alright to put it through so I can go shove some pants in a bag?”

Price huffed. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, not only approvin’ your leave requests but now I'm fillin’ ‘em in for you lazy bastards.” He tapped at his keyboard and jutted his chin at the door. “G'won. Leavin’ base at nine. Don't be late.”

Simon left Price to do his paperwork and headed back to his quarters. He grabbed some underwear, some clean t-shirts and a pair of flannel shorts, his headphones and the Asimov paperwork he was chewing through at the average pace of a single page every three days. Omegas needed to sleep at some point, right? 

The final hour for departure sped by and soon Simon was heading out into the base car park to find Price's old Land Rover chugging away on the tarmac. Price sat in the driver's seat, wrapped in his coat and scarf, beanie pulled low over his ears, breathing into his hands.

“All good?” Price asked as Simon climbed into the passenger seat.

“Yeah. You… uh, you ok to drive?”

Price’s jaw twitched and Simon regretted opening his stupid fucking mouth. “Yeah. Fine. Stupor will set in later. Once I'm…” his voice dropped, “nesting.” He said it like it was an embarrassing admission, not a natural part of his instincts and cycle. Simon didn't probe any further and sat in silence as Price pushed the Landie into first and pulled away. The drive into town was quiet. Price turned on the radio once they'd pulled off base and they listened to the latest chart on BBC Hereford & Worcester. 

Price had a little one bedroom flat in Leominster that he commuted from most days. Sometimes he kipped over in the barracks after a long shift and it wasn't unusual to find him asleep in the rec room if a briefing had over run and he was too tired to drive back. The 141 knew it well as they had spent their ruts there since they'd joined the task force. It was cozy, clean, with traces of their captain as a man rather than a legend. 

When Simon stepped through the front door, the Land Rover tucked up for the night in the carport, he drew in a deep breath and felt his eyes flutter. He shed his coat and kicked his boots off and watched with no small amount of affection as Price grabbed them immediately to stack next to his, before slipping into a pair of well trodden slippers. “Brew?” Price asked as they headed into the open plan living room.

“Yeah, gaspin’,” Simon said, placing his duffel down by the arm of the couch before slumping into the middle of it. The material was a well worn brushed cotton, with two tartan fleece blankets thrown over the back. Simon pulled his mask over his head and ruffled a hand through his flattened hair, before burying his newly naked face into the scent of Price soaked into the soft material. He could picture him here in the evenings, wrapped up and snoozing, probably snoring his bloody head off like he did on op. But relaxed, at home, nested.

“Yer like a fuckin’ bloodhound,” Price grumbled as he walked over, a steaming mug of tea clutched in each hand. 

“I ain't drinkin’ outta that Liverpool mug.”

“Ahh, wind yer neck in, it's mine.” Price dumped the other mug on the coffee table in front of Simon, and then fell into the armchair. Still keeping a slight distance. This was different from when they met to weather Simon's rut. Simon was the vulnerable one in that and he trusted Price implicitly, but now their roles were reversed, and Price wasn’t used to not holding the leash. 

Simon slurped a mouthful of tea - perfect brew, strong, two sugars - and glanced at the telly when Price switched it on. The ten o’clock news, a slew of reports about how the world was going to shit and the rich were benefiting from it. Simon was only half paying attention, maybe not even half, because from the corner of his eye he was observing Price. 

He was slumped low in the chair, his lips parted, his eyes misty. The scent rolling off of him was saccharin, deeply appealing, and Simon's fingers twitched against the warm ceramic of his mug. Price managed to finish his before his eyes slid closed, his breathing growing a little ragged as his fingers kneaded at the arms of his chair. “Captain?” Simon prompted, his mug landing softly on a coaster. 

“Yeah, I'm good…”

“D’ya need anythin’?”

Price swallowed, observing Simon from beneath low lashes. A grimace passed over his face, his thighs pushing together. “Gonna shower… there's scran in the fridge, help yasel’.” His accent thickened briefly as his mind struggled to find purchase, and Simon watched him head into the bedroom with a faint smile. He listened to Price move around his bedroom through the wall, and then the rush of water as he turned the shower on. 

How long did he wait? Did he coax? It was usually easier than this. Price led the way, tugging Simon's clothes off, praising him in that rough, no-nonsense way he had; stable, certain. This Price was different. He was distant, anxious, even. Simon waited until the stream of water was disrupted, sloshing against the glass and tiles, before he rolled to his feet.

Maybe it was a shitty thing to do, but he knew he needed to do something. Price was clearly struggling. Limping through the last few hours before his heat settled in and dreading every moment of it. Simon pulled his clothes off, folding them over the laundry basket near the bedroom door, before he walked into the bathroom. He found Price panting in the steam, his hands against the wall as the water streamed down his freckled back, head bowed low between his shoulders.

He wasn't quiet as he slid the glass shower door to the side and slipped into the cubicle, his palm sliding over Price's ribs to glide up his chest. Price startled with a snarl, twisting around to latch a hand around Simon's throat as the other snatched his wrist. “Easy,” Simon whispered, airways restricted as Price squeezed. “Lemme help. Not gonna hurt ya, John.”

Price's shoulders heaved, blue eyes bright and feverish. Simon leaned into the palm at his throat and realised Price’s arm gave. He was shaking. Simon slid a palm up the tiles and eased Price back against his forearm as he pushed further, closer, until his lips slotted to Price’s and his tongue swept into his mouth. Simon used his greater height and bulk to his advantage, enveloping Price in his arms and drawing him into the warmth of his body, hand sliding down his back to his arse to bring their hips together.

Price was skittish, he wanted the kiss but kept drawing back before licking forward again, like he was clinging onto the cliff edge by his fingernails. His hands scrambled over Simon's chest, pushing him, gripping him, uncertain how to respond to the alpha swamping him. Price wasn't small, not by any standard, but Simon had a little extra, enough to cradle him, make him feel safe. Where Price was athletic and lean in his height and strength, Simon was bulky. Lots for a hungry omega to sink his teeth into.

“Simon…” Price grunted, tensing up as Simon's mouth kissed down his throat to the slope of his neck where his gland sat beneath his skin. His nails bit into Simon's shoulders, lips peeling back in a low growl. “Don't… not… not ready, can't…”

“S’ok, I know,” Simon murmured. “Relax. Need ya t’ trust me. Not gonna hurt ya.”

“‘m… don't judge me, for…”

“Not gonna. None o’ this will make me think anythin’ less of you, sir. S’a gift.”

Price flinched. “S’a curse. I… I fuckin’ hate it.”

“I know,” Simon murmured, opening his mouth to suckle on Price’s neck as he caressed up and down his body. Every pass of his palms over flushed skin seemed to be easing the tension, gentling him into his heat. His touch only paused to grab the soap and shampoo, washing Price tenderly, encouraged by the way he arched and writhed beneath the smooth glide of skin on skin. Simon worshipped every scar, every mole, every dip and curve of muscle. Those ragged pants broke around soft whimpers and soon the steam was saturated with the scent of an aroused omega’s heat. 

When his fingers slipped over the full curve of Price’s arse to the crease of his thigh, Price’s foot shifted out, inviting Simon's caress between his legs. Simon gladly provided, fingertips stroking gently over slick folds, pressing a little firmer with each pass until he was teasing Price's hole, tight muscles fluttering at Simon's finger in eager anticipation. “Fuck… you're wet…”

“‘m.. in the shower..” Price rasped, sounding dazed, and Simon smiled against his neck. Tentative hands began to explore Simon’s body, following familiar paths around his full tits and down his stomach to the thick, hot length of his erection pressing into Price’s hips. Simon shifted his own until his shaft could slide between Price's thighs. Spread as they were, it was just a tease, the ridge of his crown drawing back and forth over Price's slit, glans catching across the swell of his own small cock and making him stutter. 

Simon moaned into Price’s neck, the scent, the heat, the feeling of Price's strong body yielding to him inch by inch, it was a heady mix that was teasing him higher into feverish excitement. But he couldn't knot Price here. The first one took a while to go down and he didn't fancy keeping six foot plus of omega pinned to cold tiles while they waited for the tie to end. 

Simon drew Price out of the water and wrapped him in the warm towel from the radiator. The bedroom was warm, the bed even warmer as Simon lowered Price into it, tugging the towel into the floor, and nudging his thighs apart as he leaned down for a kiss. Simon ground his cock through Price's folds, smearing slick and precum over flushed hot skin. Price arched, opening his hips and hitching his legs high up Simon's sides. 

Simon gathered one of Price’s hands and wound their fingers together, pressing them into the mattress above Price's head as he reached down to guide his cock. He held it steady as he thrust his tip into the tight clutch of Price's body, teasing back and forth. It was sweet, sweet torture.

“Simon, hnn, ahh… please…”

“Tell me ya wan’ this.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck… ahh, please…”

“Yer fuckin’ gorgeous, sir. Look at you.”

Simon kissed him, sucking his lips, his tongue, but drew back when he began to thrust in deeper. He wanted to watch Price’s face as he was taken for the first time. The way it relaxed in bewildered pleasure, blue eyes rolling; glistening, kiss-swollen lips parting as a low moan trembled from his chest. Simon bottomed out, his balls pressed to the underside of Price's arse, full and heavy in the heat. 

He had never wanted to knot and breed so much in his life. Not even in the chokehold of rut did the urge feel this strong. The scent of heat soaked his tongue, cloyed in his throat, and as Simon began to thrust deep into Price's body, the snug, warm grip of it sucking so eagerly on the thick girth of his prick, Price finally relaxed, his head tilting back as he panted and moaned. 

The sheets dampened beneath his arched back, Simon's hand slipping beneath him, encouraging the curve of his spine as Simon sat up on his knees, drawing Price up onto his lap to bounce him down onto his cock with his furred chest pressed up and open, letting Simon suck and kiss his full tits, his dusky nipples pebbled hard in arousal as tongue and teeth swept over them.

Price clenched a hand in Simon’s hair, the other dropping behind him to support his weight against the mattress so he had agency in the roll of his hips, meeting each of Simon’s thrusts over his sweet spot. Now that he didn't need both hands to support Price’s body, Simon snuck one between them, thumb rubbing the swell of Price’s leaking cock.  Price got loud, more than the stifled pants of their usual trysts. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck–”

Price's thighs pushed wide as his orgasm curled through him, sinking down until every inch of Simon’s thick cock was inside him. Simon ground in, growling low in his chest as he felt Price pulse and throb around his cock, slick dripping down his balls and thighs. Price was completely lost in pleasure, fockin’ beautiful, flushed and euphoric. He didn't fight when Simon shifted him onto his front and raised his hips, mounting him while on his feet, two big hands pressing down on his waist. Price dropped his chest to the bed and spread his knees wide, cocking his hips so that Simon could thrust deep. It was a natural breeding position and Simon's arousal intensified, cock rock hard as his omega presented. 

Watching Price's back muscles flex, his arse cheeks ripple under the force of Simon's thrusts, hearing his blissed out noises as they were punched from his chest, soon teased Simon's knot out of him. It swelled just as Price's second orgasm tightened his hole, and Simon ground forward, circling his hips until it popped inside clenching muscle. 

Price cried out, his orgasm intensifying as his body pulsed, instinctually milking Simon for every drop as he came. It was intense; mind-fuckingly good. Simon scrunched his eyes closed and saw lights behind his lids, and he listened as Price’s gravelly voice broke and whimpered through the swells of pleasure rolling through him.

When the aftershocks calmed, Simon eased them onto their sides, wrapping Price in his arms as his knot stayed snug inside his body. He pressed kisses into his damp hair, teased sensitive skin, and whispered praise. They dozed like that, surfacing to exchange lazy kisses before drifting off again. When Simon's knot went down, he drew out gently, only to replace his cock with his fingers. Price's hole was sloppy, loose and relaxed, and Simon groaned low in his throat. “Gonna breed you, love. Gonna make you mine.”

Price chuffed softly in response, thighs flopping open so that Simon could caress him properly, pushing his leaking seed back inside. Simon didn't need asking twice.

They mated throughout the night into the early morning. Simon left the bed long enough to get some food and water, and helped Price with both as the haze of heat made his movements sluggish. After a few hours of sleep, Simon woke him with another knot, holding him back to chest as he slid into him from behind. Each knot was a thorough breeding, their hormones, their scents, their bodies mixing until Price was ready to be bonded. 

Simon was hilt deep when he finally sank his teeth into Price's gland. His omega draped over him, back to chest, strong body arched in submission. Simon cupped beneath a thigh, thrusting into him with a semi-inflated knot that was making his eyes roll in overwhelming bliss. He tilted his head away under the guidance of Simon's hand at his chin, and Simon finally claimed the object of his desire, knot swelling inside him and triggering an intense wave of pleasure that made Price's body seize up.

The wound stopped bleeding as Simon licked it. He remembered vaguely reading something about alpha's having a clotting agent in their saliva sparked by the process of mating. Price’s pained huffs faded into softer sighs, and Simon held him as his body adjusted to the sudden surge of hormones in his bloodstream. Simon slid his palm over Price’s belly and cupped beneath its slight swell. 

“I know ‘m not your first choice,” Simon whispered in the quiet, his throat hoarse. “But…”

“Simon,” Price murmured, soft, wistful. “You're it. Jus’... always thought ya deserved better ‘an me.”

Simon's heart clenched in his chest, his nose burying in Price's hair. “Ain't nothin’ better ‘an you.”

“Got… bad taste in clothing and men, that bloody bally…”

“Olrigh’ boonie hat,” Simon chuckled, rocking his hips up a little in revenge. Price groaned, his body bearing down around Simon’s knot in a sudden throb of pleasure. “Heard bonded mating is a whole new level, but this… fuck, the noises you make.”

Price huffed softly. “Gettin’ a big head, Riley…”

“Naw, reckon I'm on the money, maybe I need t’ remind you again.” Simon slid a hand down Price's body to stroke his cock, rolling his hips slowly to grind his knot over Price's sweet spot, the stretch just the right side of too much. Price gasped, his back arching, and Simon clamped an arm around his chest to keep him still, giving him no choice but to endure the heated pleasure curling through his hips.

They had another day and a half to secure their bond before they had to return to work, and in that time, Simon would make sure Price never had a reason to dread his heat again. 

[namazunomegami]

Mélange

Pairing: Okkotsu Yuta x gn!reader

Synopsis: Sometimes humans are not above animals. Sometimes they burn to fulfill the same basic needs and not strive for more in the moment. A full belly, safety, procreation. What happens when all three of them need to be satisfied? Tinged with spice. Under the influence of an unknown substance.

CW: aphrodisiac, dubcon, slight somnophilia, feral and animalistic Yuta, he has cannibalistic thoughts, licking, lovebites, scratching, biting, slight pain, handjob, premature ejaculation, fingering, Reader can feel Yuta’s ring during fingering, slight dacryphilia if you squint, implied multiple rounds, porn with feelings, good old unprotected sex + creampie, both Reader and Yuta are ultra possessive in their own toxic way <33

WC: 3.6k

Credits: my dearest @notveryrussian for proofreading this mess and doing a bit of rework on the tenses <33 the cannibalcore pics are from pinterest

Song rec: needles and pins by deftones and gibson girl by ethel cain both give a nice vibe to the fic as we slowly transition from Yuta's POV to Reader's POV

A/N: Can't believe I'm posting my first one shot here 🥹 After so many unsuccessful attempts to wrap up multichaptered fics, at least, this one messy smut got finished. My first ever finished fic 🥹 And the first to get completed in a relatively short time. Yes, a week is a short time for me. And happy holidays to y’all, this is gonna be the last fic in this year so expect only shitposts from me from now on lmao.

Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

Minors do not interact or else I'm gonna go apeshit, also a seperate warning for heavy dark content as usual. If there's anything mentioned in the tags that you're not comfortable with, this is not your fic.

Many sorcerers envy the title of special grade. Yuta thinks these people deserve a separate Naraka in Hell. They don’t realize the immense responsibility, they can’t fathom the challenges, the danger of the missions. The threat those curses pose. They only care about the power he carries.

During today’s mission, Yuta realized he’s not entirely an unstoppable force. Even someone like him is weak to certain fighting styles, he can’t counter everything with his wide range of copied techniques. This curse’s grade was well deserved. Whenever the katana slashed deep into it’s skin, a strange kind of gas was emitted from the wounds. Though he eventually exorcised the curse, he did breathe in the weird, sweet-smelling substance. The scent was hard to resist, it felt like the perfect mixture of all his favorite smells, inviting and comforting. However, he trusted his body to withstand the temptation, reinforced to near perfection with cursed energy and the usage of reversed cursed technique.

There was no problem until he finished reporting back to the higher ups and was on the way home. Maybe it was just the fatigue, the late summer heat, the humidity of the night but something made him feel weird. Almost sick. A thin veil of sweat glistened on his skin, his cheeks, ears and upper body were flushed. His chest was heaving, a burning, aching sensation tormented him between his legs, throbbing with a synced rhythm to his heartbeat. All his thoughts narrowed down to one single, inherently primal thing. A need. A hunger.

Shame and confusion swelled inside his chest. How can he lose his composure? How can he want it so badly? If he wasn’t so wired for monogamy, he would have fucked anyone who moved. And with every passing minute the feeling was getting worse. Descending slowly to the brink of madness. Hell, he was close to wheezing and growling like a rabid dog. He already had no patience to find the right key to the door. He could break that shit, he definitely could. He had no idea why, but he could stop himself from doing that. Maybe the insane price to get it fixed.

But the comfort of his home isn’t helping him. He can’t calm down, he can’t unwind. On the contrary, everything intensifies the strange urge in him to act territorial. But it’s only natural when he grew up feeling like he didn’t have anything he could call his own, whether it’s a material possession or a person. Every comprehensible thought vanished from his head. Leaving only the instincts. The need to claim. He immediately goes to the bedroom, not even bothering to have a quick shower or a light meal.

He gazes at your sleeping form, unknowing and peaceful. Innocent and vulnerable like a newborn lamb and he’s… he wouldn’t compare himself to a wolf, he’s a more vicious predator than that, all starved and keen on capturing its prey. Your limbs are thrown in every direction on the mattress, a thin, silk blanket barely concealing your body, but you’re hugging a some of it to your chest. Like you’re missing him, finding solace in the way the material is touching you. The windows are wide open, hoping that the night air can cool you down.

Yuta caught himself almost drooling at the sight. He can’t stop himself, he can’t fight the shameless thoughts plaguing him. The need, the want is stronger than what he deems right in the moment. His steps are quiet, that part of the floor that normally creaks is now completely silent. He looms over you, like a sinful, ungodly spirit, your very own kanashibari that’s bound to you. His weight is pressing down on the mattress ever so slightly, caging your form between his arms. He breathes in the smell of your freshly showered skin. A mixture of heady vanilla, milk and honey. He mindlessly licks a stripe up your thigh, wanting to taste you, to bite you, to tear out a big chunk of your flesh with his teeth to satisfy this torturous hunger he feels for you. More than anything he wants to devour you. Completely. Have you all for himself. The thought alone makes his dick so hard it’s outright painful.

He ascends towards your hips, leaving soft yet wet kisses that make you twitch in your sleep. Yuta swears that he’s more sensitive to all stimuli, his senses are working at their maximum capacity. He’s able to feel every morsel, every particle of you. The soft peach fuzz, the bumps, the ridges of your stretch marks, their pearl-like glistening texture flowing on the surface of your skin like a river. The material of your shorts, loose and thin, he can feel the seams on the band of your underwear through the fabric. Where the bones bend, where flesh folds. Your smell. Not just from the shower gel and the laundry detergent but your natural scent, so strong he believes it’s some kind of weird pheromone that’s driving him wild. To the point he almost considers nudging his nose between your legs, just like dogs do when they smell blood there.

Maybe it’s not entirely wrong to claim you this way. He can spare you from this more primal side of him, you won’t get to see it and despise him for it. It’s enough if he deals with the shame alone, self-deprecation is his ultimate talent afterall. But that can wait until after he finished soothing this excruciating itch. Because now the last remnant of his resolve goes out the window.

He pulls up your shirt all the way up to your chest. His shirt to be exact. It makes his heart flutter, a piece of him enveloping you, makes the boundaries between your sense of selves blend and blur. The thought of you using his stuff as your own feels so right, so promising.

He practically glues his face to the expanse of your stomach. The flesh is so soft between his teeth, feels so good to bite on it, so easy to suck on it until the skin turns a deep purple.

And maybe… maybe he can lower his crotch onto your knees. Just a little. Just for a little friction…

You stir, opening your eyes slowly, tiredness and confusion are still heavy on your expression. And then you feel teeth nipping at your stomach, fingers digging into the dips of your hips firmly, some wetness here and there along your leg.

Your first response is fear.

You start to squirm and fuss, kicking your legs up in the air, not even thinking about who’s doing this to you until Yuta grips your shoulders and pushes you back into the sheets, keeping you still by the weight of his own body, shushing you. You can feel his nails penetrating the skin, branding the crescent Moon itself into your flesh.

“It’s me, don’t panic.”

You’d recognize this voice anywhere, but you blinked a few times just to clear your vision. The striking white of his coat is easy to spot, even in the dimly lit darkness of the room.

“Yuta…?”

Your voice is an ode, a blessing. Even when it’s hoarse and faint after waking up. He bends down and kisses your temple, nuzzling into your hairline, breathing in your scent. His body feels oddly warm, almost overly so, radiating through you. Through your spine, to the very center of your being and that’s when you notice that you’re a little bit… hot and bothered. What has he done to you while you were asleep?

“I’m so sorry…” he whispers an apology. But his voice is just… it’s like his mind is not entirely here. Something is hurting him and he’s trying to conceal it. Barely. You can hear his voice is hitched from the deep breath he takes, in a futile affort to calm himself. “Have you been sleeping for long?”

He asks you for the sake of it, there’s no genuine interest behind it. Even if you were sleeping for hours, it wouldn’t stop him. He couldn’t stop. He genuinely feels like he’ll die if he can’t get it out of his system. He snuggles his face into the crook of your neck, listening to the rhythm of life coursing through your veins. The thought of puncturing your jugular with his teeth is so irresistible. He must do it… It’ll drive him insane if he won’t.

“N-not really.” your answer is weak, all your strength is used to move your arm freely, trying to locate your phone on the bedside table. The light coming from the screen almost blinds you as you’re checking the time. “I went to bed about… half an hour ago.”

He dips his fingers right into the hollow dips between your ribs, he kneads the skin in a way that has his nails slightly scratching you. And then you realize that you’re almost entirely topless.

He traps your earlobe with his teeth, sucking on the soft tissue.

“Y-Yuta…” your voice is more reprimanding that you want it to be. But your patience is starting to run thin. You want to know what the fuck is wrong with him, he never did anything like this before. Even if he’s horny as hell he would ask for your permission because that’s the way he is.

Instead of giving you an answer he bites your neck. Hard. It hurts, it makes you yelp. Shit, that’s gonna leave a mark. And he growls, just like a wild animal.

You squirm, you jolt, trying to get away from the source of your pain with a prolonged hiss. Only one hand of his is enough to stop you from fussing while the other fondles your chest. Your nipple is caught between his fingers, he twists it slightly. You can’t see it getting red, hard and swollen. His moves are awkward and tactless, but somehow they help with soothing the sharp pain in your neck. Your tensed body eases up a little.

He kicks the inner side of your knee with his own, creating a little space in between them, then forces your legs apart with one smooth movement. As he tries to settle right under your core, you feel him brushing the apex of your thigh.

He’s so painfully hard.

You’re sure he can read the instinctual reactions of your body. The rush of adrenaline, your pulse, how your heart is almost breaking your ribs with every beat. You’re getting more and more aware of your surroundings because you have no idea what will happen to you. He pins your wrists down on the bed. He doesn’t want you to escape.

What has gotten into him? Where’s your shy and gentle man, your sweet little angel? The one who needs so much guidance, who gets so awkward about his lack of experience compared to you. The one you need to encourage to talk about what he likes since you won’t judge him for it. Well, angels shouldn’t be benevolent and sweet, right? They’re the soldiers of god after all. And the depth of his psyche is still very much a mystery to you…

“I don’t want to hurt you… I just need you.”

He has no control over his own thoughts, everything on his mind gets blabbered out. Not just that he needs you, but that he wants to fuck you (he rarely uses that word so you’re even more baffled), that he wants to eat you up, bite for bite, digest you so nobody else can have you.

It sounds devoted yet utterly terrifying.

“You’re-“

He’s scary. Well, you knew this prior to crawling into his life. What people thought about him, one rumor more unhinged than the other and you have no idea how much truth there was to them. Everyone has some sort of admiration, respect for him or repulsion of him. You just tend to forget sometimes, how malicious his cursed energy feels, how his eyes never reflect the light, looking outright dead. But it’s all so contradictory to his personality… you know that you’re dear to him, he’s willing to risk everything for his friends, he’s so starved for connection, to carve himself a place within people’s hearts. You blamed the whole phenomenon on Rika. And you took pride in yourself, for taming a monster.

“I feel so…” he suspires, trying his best to contain himself. “… weird.”

And he’s a kind monster indeed, even now, controlling his impulses as he humps your thigh like a feral dog.

“I don’t know if I’m able to hold back, so I need to know….”

His voice is desperate, almost a plea. He’s afraid of himself too. With the last bit of his sanity, he wants to make sure that it’s alright for you, whatever he has in store for you.

You don’t protest.

His lips crash into yours in a violent, hungry kiss. Your teeth clang together, he shoves his entire tongue in your mouth. He grabs the hem of your shorts, peeling off anything that covers you below the waist. You hear the fabric tear. It’s the same with his own clothes too, in a few blinks of your eyes he’s already stark naked.

He takes your hand, pulls it towards him, you can feel him in your palm. So hot, hard and swollen to the touch. He closes your fingers around him and his hips start moving back and forth, fucking himself into your grip. You smear the precum along his length with your fingertips, squeezing lightly when you feel the base. It has him moaning, breathily, more vocal than he usually is. He’s so sensitive, his pace quickens and his voice is thinner, almost like a whimper.

And he groans. Unexpectedly. It bursts deep from his throat. You feel his cum pooling in your palm. Though you may be surprised, you don’t make a big deal about it. You search for tissues on the bedside table to clean your hand like nothing happened.

“Feelin’ okay?”

Your voice is calming, tender, it warms his heart but the mere sight of his cum on your hand makes the blood rush to his dick again.

You sit up to caress his face. You open your mouth to question him, but he won’t let you start your aftercare routine.

“It’s… not enough.”

He grabs your thigh, hooking your leg over his shoulder, giving him better access to your naked core. Your back falls onto the mattress again.

“I’ll take care of you.”

It’s a promise, you’re sure of it.

His fingertips sink into your folds, relief ripples through him when he finds them already wet. He goes all out on you, his thumb circles your clit and two fingers dip in at your entrance, waiting to loosen you up so they can be pushed inside. His nails gently caress your inner thigh, it’s a tickling sensation, goosebumps dot your skin, a sigh dies on your lips. Treating it as a sign, his fingers start stretching your walls. They curl and curl inside you to the point of the cold band of his ring touching your folds, your essence soiling the stainless metal. The symbol of the haunting spirit of his first love. Childish love that it is, unserious, all just a game. The promises… the word forever holds no weight. Or maybe it does but they have no idea how hard it is to maintain those vows.

Can you ever compare to Rika in his eyes? Have the same effect over him? You don’t dare to talk about it just yet. No, the nature of your relationship is not the same. Childhood love is not like adult love, you just want some reassurance. You want to feel important.

And your reassurance is soaking that wretched finger with your juices. Make that wretched ring yours. He spreads his fingers inside you, scissoring you apart, eagerly working to prepare you. You’re holding onto the sheets and the pillows desperately, your body feels so volatile you might as well float away.

When he pulls out you feel hollow, incomplete. But he won’t keep you waiting long. The head of his cock feels like salvation. Scorching hot and wet with the mixed arousal. And he completes you with one smooth thrust. You’re whole, fulfilled, a merged existence worth suffering over. He’s throbbing deep within your walls, pulsating through your nerves. You can’t tell if the noise coming out of him is a moan, a whine, or a growl, you only know that it’s bordering on bestial. Filled with need, an ache, coupled with something beyond your comprehension.

He drills into you, there’s so much strength and resilience in him, it almost makes you scared. But something else also swells inside your chest. An unknown kind of excitement, a thrill, it makes you feverish, wired. The dissonance between his absolutely feral state and the fact that he’d never hurt you. Or maybe he would, in a way that you’d like it. Nobody could bite through your throat with such force that your windpipe breaks, only him, him and no one else.

He holds you at the back of your pelvic bone, lifts you up in an utterly perfect angle. You mewl him that it feels so good, so perfect, so raw. You love this feeling so much. You get completely lost and immersed in it.

“…it?”

His voice is faint yet his broken self-worth shines through it. Poor soul… You didn’t pay attention to his most important desire. He’s a parasite living off of your kind words, but nothing can make him as blissful as knowing you love him, despite everything he despises about himself. And you’ll feed him. Prove it to him that he matters more than the things he does to you.

“Oh Yuta, my sweet…” the rest of the sentence gets stuck in your throat as you open your arms and he crashes into your embrace like a lost, lonely puppy. You hug him tightly, brushing through his locks with a free hand. The sweat makes the strands stick together. “Of course I love you, don’t be silly.”

He might as well have been a puppy in his previous life. And now your words eased his guilt about his temporary condition. He gained your forgiveness.

What he does next is much more instinctual. He folds you in half, where your knees bend, is pressed right against his traps, your heels graze the middle of his back. Now his thrusts have weight, uncovering spots that even you had no idea that existed inside of you. Tears of joy prickle in your eyes, calling upon whatever deity’s name you can think of, off the top of your head. You can swear his pace increases at the sight. It’s so intense a broken cry erupts from your throat.

He thrusts right into a sweet spot, which has you melting and trembling. Please is the only word your lips can form. At this point, you couldn’t care less about the lewd sounds of your skin slapping together or the squelching noises that make the whole act sloppy, shameless and primal, you only want to reach  your peak, and you’re not far from it as you’re clenching around him with a rhythm that you have no control over.

It crashes, it ruptures, sudden, sharp and hot like an electric spark. A scream empties your lungs, but Yuta muffles it with sealing his mouth onto yours. You feel yourself getting filled as you’re convulsing around his length.

After he fucks you through your orgasm you feel yourself shaking, your whole body is limp, numb, drifting slowly to sleep. You’re both soaked in sweat, your bodies stick together but there’s a need to bond further in each other’s embrace. You plant a kiss between his locks, praising him, telling him you love him. Satisfaction clouds your mind, like a soft, pillowy pink mist.

However, his cock is still not soft.

“I have no idea what has gotten into you.” you tell him, marveling, as you’re still catching on your breath. “I like it though, but you owe me an explanation.”

He handles you gently, like you’re some precious thing, made from glass, fragile. Your body is like a ragdoll’s, he has you lying on your stomach, lazily, flatly, you might as well fuse together with the mattress. Calloused fingers are drawing nonfigurative shapes on your shoulder blades.

“I’ll tell you right after we finish.”

Your blood runs cold for a moment.

“Again? Yuta, for the love of god I’m exhausted.” you whine.

He apologetically kisses your spine.

“Just this one, okay? Please? I’ll do all the work, I’ll make it quick. You only need to relax, you can sleep even.”

You want to tell him that sounds a little bit creepy, but you don’t have the strength to talk. He kisses the two shallow dimples right above your tailbone. His gaze lingers on your folds, admiring how red and swollen you are.

“If you manage to make me cum again, you deserve a fucking award.” you comment, face nuzzled into the pillow, your voice is obviously snarky.

You can feel teeth sinking into the flesh of your asscheek. The mark that is burning on your neck found it’s pair. He presses down your overly sensitive clit with his thumb, balancing the pain out with pleasure. But it gets overstimulated so easily, you feel the need to bite the pillow.

You brace yourself with a deep breath through your nose. You’re going to pay him back next time, you promise yourself that you’ll make a begging, crying mess out of him, and the thought makes you chuckle.

[moongreenlight]

What if your brain tells you that nurse!reader from the previous fic was on the field with the boys as an on call medic and gets taken as a POW and ghost is losing his fucking mind?? - like actual feral behavior

Ohhhhhhhhhmygod. Hi? I’m in your walls. So mad I didn’t see this before because I’ve been SLAVING over a Simon fic all week and this apparently is the motivation I needed to put some more batshit insane things on the internet forever.

We all know that Simon is a fucking machine. Prides himself on his ability to essentially turn off his humanity on the field. But for some reason his nurse!reader is the one thing that interrupts that ability. Even seeing you treating a few rowdy privates gets him worked up. Lingers around the medbay in his free time for no apparent reason just to side eye your patients and glare at them to make sure there’s absolutely no possibility of you getting hurt.

There was probably an occasion where you were treating a soldier who didn’t fare well with pain. Moaning and crying and thrashing while you did something simple like tuck their arm into a sling, and they somehow writhed around enough to hook you in the cheek with their elbow. Nothing serious, but it left an angry red mark on your cheek for so long that he caught it on one of your evening walks around base. Usually after dark so you could both avoid being found out.

And then the next day you see Simon dragging that same soldier to a different nurse’s bed under the armpits. Explaining gruffly that he went unconscious because he couldn’t handle training. (He made the poor bastard run the track in full tactical gear on one of the hottest days of the year for nearly an hour straight. No water. No breaks.)

You were the kindest, softest thing he’d ever come in contact with. Something he never thought he’d be able to find in this lifetime after so much hate and anger and pain. He couldn’t risk losing you, which is why he was so strict on his saying no to you joining the task force on the field. The shit they did was dangerous. Immensely so. And this brought up two main points for Simon.

One; he wouldn’t be able to focus on the task at hand knowing you were out. He slept with one eye open when you were nestled close to his chest and snoring softly in the comfort of your own home that he’d all but booby-trapped home alone style. No fucking way he’d allow you out into hostile territory with only a introductory understanding of self-defense. He’d be on pins and needles the entire mission. Probably get the entire squad killed because he’d constantly be looking over his shoulder for you.

Two; it would rip him to shreds if he lost you. You were the only person he truly saw as an equal. The first time the two of you met, he was probably being angsty and rude because he did something to land himself in the medbay, and when he refused to take off his tact vest so you could listen to his heart and lungs, you all but held him at scalpel-point and threatened him within an inch of his life until he finally submitted. After that he was fucking hooked. Obsessed with the way you could get brutes like him to roll over and show you their belly like obedient dogs. And you were kind to him. Immeasurably kind. Dealt with his mood swings and took the time to get to know him. Suffered through the impossibly long process of him letting his guard down.

So if somehow his orders were ignored, it was almost certain that you’d be given strict orders to keep your involvement under wraps. Price would have enough of an idea of the situation to keep the two of you on opposite schedules in the days leading up to deployment. Minimize the possibility of you letting slip that you’d be coming along to preserve not only the integrity of his team but also his quality of life.

It would seem like a regular day to Simon at first. Loading into the helo before dawn, sitting between Johnny and Gaz and trying to tune them out while they snarked at one another across him. And then Price would come on looking guilty as sin. You could practically smell it coming off him. Leaning both his arms on the open door and signaling the driver to start the engine for a quick take off in case Simon decided to abandon ship in his outrage.

He’d give some spiel about teamwork and the importance of focusing on the mission and whatever other bullshit he thought would keep Simon the most level headed. Spewing on and on until Gaz finally cut him off with a pointed yawn. At which point he’d give the group one last look, lingering the longest on the ghost mask, before stepping aside to reveal you.

Dressed up in a uniform that looked about a size too big. Tailored as best it could be in the short notice. Pants chopped and hemmed to make them a manageable length, belt pulled as tight as it could go around your waist. Strapped into a vest that was loaded with medical supplies instead of weapons. Two pistols holstered on your either side.

Simon was beyond livid. Spouting steam like a cartoon bull. Staggering to stand when the chopper took off and stalking over to the cockpit where Price sat and tried to look casual.

Gave him a fucking earful. Screaming over the roar of the engine into the earpiece on a private channel for the entire two hour long flight. Bitching about paperwork and dead weight and how it’s just another person he’ll need to look after and he doesn’t want to. It’s almost impressive. Price doesn’t get a word in sideways. Gets shut down immediately if he even dares to open his mouth.

And he’s a monster when he finds out you’ve been taken POW. Circled by the enemy team like ravenous wolves finding a wounded deer. Soap and Gaz both have to pin him down when Price breaks the news. Seeing fucking red.

A large part of me thinks he internalizes a lot of the torture he went through in the comics. Letting it sit and fester inside him like the worst kind of poison that it took him years to meticulously extract from his very being and carefully contain into a small vial. Laying dormant in the back of his mind for a moment like this. He had no idea what the enemy wanted with you, so he had to assume the worst.

Storms their base by himself. Sniffs you out through a maze of bunkers and underground tunnels and infinitely many heavily secured doors. And the rest of the force just watches his six. Stands back feeling a little nauseous, but letting him blaze down his war path. Any and everyone who gets in his way is guilty unless they can prove their innocence- and they don’t get the chance. Runs through all his ammo gunning down countless grunts and privates stationed outside the base of planted as decoys. Specifically demanding that Price be the one to give up his weapons and ammo so he can continue on. And it’s the one time that the captain allows him to snarl orders like that.

Price knows that Simon is, in his core, a fighting dog. Rescued by the force and given an opportunity to channel his aggression into a more productive outlet. And now it seems all his hard work and training is coming unraveled. Watching Simon once again snap his jaws and bare his teeth, killing without rhyme or reason to get you back, is jarring to say the least. So in some last-ditch effort to preserve some of the trust that they’d built, he surrenders. Shows his belly. Shrugs off his rifle with no objection other than the way his mouth drew into a tight line.

Simon kicks through heavy metal reinforced doors without the need for a battering ram. Pushes himself well past the point of exhaustion. Fueled purely off the instinctual need to recover you. He can’t speak. Can’t eat. Can’t drink. Can’t stop.

He’d mow through the first few ranks of soldiers until they finally found someone that looked like they’d have at least a sliver of useful information and beat them within an inch of their life until they gave up the information that would eventually lead him to you.

In all honesty, you were probably taken with the intent to lure them in. Not anticipating your absence would have such an impact. Kept you bound in a guarded room. Roughed up a bit just from your struggle, but they hadn’t had time to interrogate you before they got word that 141 was coming in wild and sideways.

This would send Simon even further into madness. Body aching, bleeding from his knuckles. His knees and shoulders screaming their protest when he broke down the door, sending it crashing into the room. And the first thing he sees is you huddled in a corner blindfolded and bound with handcuffs that were cutting into your wrists from your trying to escape. He’d be an entirely different person. (I am giggling and kicking my feet.)

He wouldn’t even bother wasting time with the rifle. He’d handle what few guards were left with his bare hands. Possessed by some kind of superhuman strength. Catching a second wind the moment he laid eyes on you. He’d rush over, the rest of the boys standing guard in the hallway, and break you free from your restraints.

And as much as I would want him to be sweet and coddle you and coo over you, he’d probably be riding such a high that he wouldn’t be able to. He’d immediately start in on you, but with significantly less ferocity than he had with Price.

“You got a fuckin’ death wish? Think they’d turn you into a martyr for bein’ a medic on the field? Real original fuckin’ concept, yeah?”

He’d pull you in close to him, giving you an incredibly detailed once over. Inspecting your face and neck and arms legs for any further damage, and once he determined after three checks that all your wounds were purely superficial, he’d allow his hands to shake just slightly when he smoothed your hair back off your forehead.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Ketheric continues to be the member of the Chosen I struggle to get a grip on. Like the other three I can tell you the details of why (I think) they grew up to monsters:

Long post.

-

Let's start with Gortash: spent his childhood being told he was a selfish monster for his thoughts - apparently from birth - for the way he perceived the world, for *checks notes* wanting his parents attention as an undeveloped human being that relies on its parents to survive and thrive.

Then his parents send him to hell as part of a deal. Because that's where monsters go isn't it? They go to hell to suffer eternal damnation because they were monsters in life.

So you grow up in one of the literal cesspits of the universe, where the only people you meet are the literal scum of the universe, or those you're going to learn to see as weak fools who had to rely on others - and were ultimately willing to commit atrocities themselves - who were taken advantage of by the scum of the universe. You get to the Hells by committing atrocities, either because you want something so badly you'll fuck somebody over for it (out of greed, or because you couldn't fix it yourself (weak)) or because you did them of your own volition. And curiously, some of these people had their price tags wrapped in such subtle terms they don't even realise they did anything wrong! Lesson learned; anyone will willingly be a monster if you make the evil sound nice. Every single devil you meet has had the humanity flayed from their soul, and they got to where they are in their existences by fomenting (and committing) hate and rape and murder and everything evil under the sun as a regular Monday morning in the ultimate goal to make the universe an evil place. Devils are also 'self made men', everybody started from nothing as a lemure and clawed their way to where they are now. Every social interaction in the Hells is manipulation and abuse. Everyone there hurts everyone.

But you do have one example of a good person! There's Hope! Lovely lady, kind and sweet... Trapped in hell being abused forever going insane because of it because your ambitious sister fucked you over. That's where trust and love being a good person gets you.

And that was his entire social life. That was the people he had to look to for examples. All his early experiences were limited to a sample of the absolute worst it has to offer, and he has a very skewed view of the universe.

And the fact that he's apparently so damn good at sex a lady gave him a ring worth everything she owns after growing up around a pleasure devil whose role is harming and corrupting people with sex and has built in charm person at etc is not ringing alarm bells(!) I'm not side-eyeing the boudoir at all.

I wonder why having a child/teen spend their formative years in the evil factory literally designed to spit out monsters... spat out a monster? Kudos to Karlach, though: just how many layers of defence mechanisms has she got in her brain?

Gortash's thought processes are 50% through the lens of engineering and 50% through the lens of a devil's perspective to me. People will sell out others for their own gain, because they're too weak to do it themselves or because they're bastards. If you don't get with the programme you're the victim. You only get ahead by being ruthless. Everybody is untrustworthy, and relying on them will get you betrayed. The world is divided into the weak and the ruthlessly strong who take what they want. Yes, he's a monster. And so are his parents. And so is everyone. And then Bane saw this perfect example of his way of thinking and said 'that one.'

-

Orin: obviously we've got grooming. The fact that her formative memories include her mother trying to murder her, and the fact that she feels like the only person who has ever cared about her or supported her is her grandfather. Who is implied to have been raping her, or intending to. All she's permitted is to have her brain poisoned by her faith, which her life revolves around, and then her kin 'does it all wrong' and inherits everything she's been groomed to believe is hers. But no, 'they're not wrong,' says everybody around her 'you are!'

She's a Bhaalspawn, so her relationships with her kin are "kill or be killed," as Helena proved. You will please father by slaughtering your siblings, or you will die - or worse. You must be and stay favoured by Bhaal above all the others to be truly safe ("safe"), and Durge outranking her is a threat to her existence. Actually Durge existing is a threat to her well-being. She has no way to live a life outside the cult, never has and never will. Her life is insanely lonely and mostly consists of paranoia.

But the overlaying theme here is that she's a changeling. She's mirrorkin with no unique physical identity of her own, she can only reflect those of others. To be dnd canon accurate: she has no real facial features, no pigmentation. She's not permitted an identity of her own, and was punished for trying. She's a mirror born and raised to reflect the glory of Bhaal, the glory of her failed grandfather, the rise of Bhaal's favourite child. Never her own. Gee, I wonder why she literally wears people's skins.

Denied the ability to do anything but live according to what she's told, she does her best to live up to it because to fail is to become her parents and the countless aunts and uncles currently enjoying their damnation in the Throne of Blood. And then she's told she's doing it wrong. By everybody. She's a 'rabid dog'. She, despite having doctrine poured into her ears and probably carved into her flesh her entire life 'doesn't understand Bhaal.' And everybody is insanely patronising about it! You're never allowed to be anything but what we tell you to be, but you're still not good enough! Which is death. The Temple of Bhaal needs murder feminism.

-

The Dark Urge is my favourite little nightmare, and I've talked about them at length: much of Orin's trauma also applies to them, although where she's a mirror made to reflect the egos of others, Durge is only allowed one identity: Bhaal's. Where Orin can never seem to reach the standards forced on her, Durge is never allowed to fail to meet them, or else. Every outside connection they ever had was brutally sabotaged, and they've had 'you're a monster and only I (your abusive Father) can love you' drilled into their mind. They hate themself. We got the threat of sexual exploitation (assuming it didn't happen), there's a subtle undercurrent of incest to some interactions. The prayer for forgiveness kind of sums it all up: 'I'm sorry for forming an emotional connection that isn't blind love for you father, but don't fret, I'll destroy it with my own hands just like everything else and then finally get to kill myself just like I've always wanted.'

-

But Ketheric? Like villains don't need tragic backstories to be terrible people, but it does make them more interesting.

OK, so your bio family is fucked up and I definitely get the impression that they sucked (Malus is giving me vibes that say he'd have been a villain anyway, and might've been secretly Sharran to start with; Gerringothe seems to be drowning whatever her issues are in gold), and then the loving family you made for yourself broke: your wife died, and your daughter died, sure. But plenty of people on Toril probably have similar if not the same stories and didn't go evil overlord! Why are you doing this? What is informing these decisions? Why does your existence hinge so much on your dead daughter that your son is basically named after her and you seem to hate him for existing and not being her? Does Shar have something to do with it? Has Ketheric just carved out so much memory and emotion, so much of his own identity, that all that's left is the grief and the hunger for the pain to stop but, as per Shar's intent, it keeps coming back, with less and less positive memories to soften the pain. A wound that festers and never heals. Is the obsession with Isobel because she's the icon of everything that was good in his life, and her loss was the moment everything good was gone? Was he a rational man who turned to Shar to stop the pain in a moment of understandable grief and rage at her sister, and then was trapped in a cycle that destroyed everything that was good in that man until we get the General?

Just guess working my way through his entire backstory...

[bueckers-sturniolo]

i have literally been begging for someone to write a paige fic based on “Slut!” by TS like the parts that’s like “if i’m all dressed up, they might as well be looking at us” where reader is famous and gets like hated on for being a “slut” 💁‍♀️💁‍♀️

“slut!”

paige bueckers x female!reader

a/n: hi guys!!! sorry it took me so long to edit this and actually post it. i don’t have much to say but THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE ON THE ALCHEMY!!! i promise part 2 is coming soon!!! ps: this may suck a little but i wrote it in an hour and a half so im sorry!!! also, this hasnt been proofread bc its 6 am and i havent slept! hope u somewhat enjoy!!! love uuuu!

warnings: naur, just swearing :)

word count: somewhere around 1k-ish

-

got love-struck, went straight to my head. got lovesick all over my bed. love to think you’ll never forget. we’ll pray the price, i guess.

you had been dating paige for 5 months, now. she was the best person you had ever met, and an even better lover than you could have ever imagined. but, being in the public eye isn’t necessarily ideal, especially when you’re queer. paige was a basketball player at uconn, and you had been famous for a few years. you had been famous before you knew paige, and even before paige was famous. it’s awesome, and you love it. the lifestyle can be very rewarding and enjoyable.

but, being ‘famous’ comes with its faults. as most things do. over the years, you had developed this sort of…. title. this title being that you are some kind of insane serial-dater. it was pretty ridiculous. of course, paige loved you for you, and didn’t really give a fuck as to what people had to say about you. but, it’s still obviously hurtful, and paige gets that.

present day, the epsy’s were coming up. this is something that meant a lot to your girlfriend. and, quite frankly, you’d do anything to make her happy.

until that thing was going as her date (or +1) to the epsy’s. not that you didn’t want to, not that it was because you were gay. but, because you knew how much this could mess with both of your careers. you didn’t really care about your own, cause people are gonna talk about you regardless, but paige’s social presence made it hard to just come out and do whatever you guys want.

“i mean, i’d just really want you there. we can like…. coincide outfits ‘n shit.” paige says, looking over at you, eating a bite of her cereal.

“yeah, p. i understand.” you say, sighing. you look down at your hands, acting like you were paying attention to anything to distract her (and yourself) from the fact that you really just do not know how it would go, and that fact is stressful in itself.

“baby, if you don’t want to go, it’s fine. im just saying it would be cool.” she says, and you meet her eyes again.

you know she’s right. it would be really fuckin’ cool. but like, at the same time, you really didn’t want to have to receive all of the texts from your publisher of news articles with pictures of you and paige where they essentially just put your name in bold letters then talk about how much of a slut you are for dating 4 people in your approximate 5 years of being famous.

yes, it may seem like a lot. but, also, most of these relationships only lasted a few months. you never necessarily wanted them to go public, but, they almost always did. that’s why you and paige took extra precautions.

obviously, one day, you wanted to tell people about you and paige. but, you wanted it to be when you guys had atleast made it past the new relationship stage.

but, if im all dressed up, they might as well be lookin’ at us. and if they call me a ‘slut,’ you know, it might be worth it for once. and if im gonna be drunk, i might as well be drunk in love.

you couldn’t help but give in. there was exactly a week before the epsy’s, and even though you’d kept telling paige you really didn’t think going was a good idea, you felt so bad for saying it that you randomly changed your mind.

“p, come here.” you say, calling from the couch in your living room. she walked in the room, hands on her hips, sleeves rolled up. she was loading the dishwasher for you, as the ‘gentleman’ she was (in a world of boys, (s)he’s a gentleman.)

“yes, baby? what’s wrong?” she says, walking toward you and sitting down, resting an arm on the back of the couch behind your head. “i wanna go with you, p. ill go with you to the awards.” as you say this, you fiddle with the hem of her basketball shorts.

“you wanna go with me? seriously?” she perks up. her whole face immediately lights up. this was the reason you were doing it. that reaction right there.“yes, love. i want to go with you.” she grabs your chin, pulling your face closer to her and gently pressing a kiss to your temple.

“you know, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. i know you don’t want to read about all of the stupid shit men online say about you. they don’t even know you and it’s so infuriating that they think they can talk about my baby like that. my sweet, sweet girl...” she rubs your side, kissing your temple gently a few more times while babbling a few more sweet names in your ear.

“i know, p. but, i also know i don’t owe anyone shit, and if i want to go out in public with you, i shouldnt be scared. i mean- it’s just…. like, i don��t want to keep hiding us because of the fact that people always have some stupid shit to say. you know, if they call me a whore or if they call me a slut, it might be worth it. it may just be worth it this once.” she smiles ear to ear as you say this. seconds after this, she tackles you onto the couch, pecking all over your face as she tickles your sides.

half asleep, takin’ your time in the tangerine neon lights. this is luxury. you’re not saying you’re in love with me, but, you’re goin’ to. half awake, takin’ your chance, it’s a big mistake. i said, ‘it might blow up in your pretty face.’ im not sayin’ do it anyway, but you’re going to.

the night finally arrives. you guys are both getting your hair done. paige is wearing a lilac suit, and she looks ridiculously attractive. you were wearing a white dress with lilac heels, to coincide with her.

you guys get to the carpet, and it feels so surreal. you guys are finally out together and it’s just fucking insane. she does a few interviews, and they even ask you for your own pictures (even though you’re not an athlete)

the awards themselves are good, paige presents and even changes suits. she looks fuckin’ phenomenal.

but, then the after-party comes. the lights are tangerine and kinda dim, everyone’s drunk, and some people are even outside in a swimming pool. (???)

you had been to award shows yourself, but this was so cool. paige grabs you guys drinks throughout the night, careful not to get too wasted, but enough to get a little tipsy. by the end of the afterparty, so many pictures of you guys had been taken you felt like it was kinda too hard to hide your relationship from the world anymore.

while this wasn’t the main goal of tonight whatsoever, paige decided it was time to make your relationship social media official. she thought you deserved to be loved out loud, and honestly she couldn’t give any less of a fuck who said what. you loved her. she loved you. that’s all that mattered.

@paigebueckers

liked by kamoreaarnold and others

paigebueckers: Cats out of the bag I guess 🐈👜

view all 2,405 comments

kamoreaarnold: Photo creds on slide 3

> paigebueckers: @kamoraarnold Best photographer 🙌

yourusername: wow she’s cute who is that

> paigebueckers: @/yourusername Idiot

>> yourusername: @/paigebueckers 😁

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[therobotmonster]

So... Shapeways is going bankrupt.

This is particularly irksome for me, as that's a good 1/3rd of my monthly income, so I'm crossing my fingers while I start setting up a new store on cults. I have literally thousands of items so getting them all up is going to take ages.

But why did this happen?

Well I'll fucking tell you what I think happened.

It was a company run on arrogance and cowardice.

Shapeways made its mark as the cafepress of 3d printing. The weight of this was their marketplace that let people sell prints directly to customers without having to do the printing themselves. At its peak, I made more from Shapeways than from my day job.

The problem was that Shapeways put zero effort into the marketplace. They'd send some of us to a con to promote the idea of 3d printing game minis a couple of times, sure, but when it came to actual site maintenance and design every suggestion and request by sellers was roundly ignored. We asked for better search and categorization options. We asked to be able to name variants in our stores. We asked for better communication from the print techs. We asked for accurate subcategories that actually reflected how customers looked for items. None of it was done.

As such, the site was baffling to customers and difficult to understand. This was made worse by Shapeways' continual renaming of their materials. So after a couple of years Shapeways announces that they're not going to do anything for the marketplace because it's underperforming, and are going to focus on B2B, and in doing so they buried the marketplace in a tiny little link on the front page.

Overnight sales plummeted. We complained again, nothing was done. We asked for a different URL that went straight to the marketplace (something that would literally cost them $80 to do) that we could direct customers to, we were ignored.

The marketplace is underperforming, so we won't put in the effort needed to make the marketplace perform. Makes perfect sense.

Prices go up. Shipping goes up substantially, and then it was a thousand little cuts. The auto-checks were altered to make it impossible to verify anything manually with any accuracy, so it became harder to design for the limitations of their printers.

The site slowed down substantially so every click had a several second pause, making shopping and maintaining frustrating and unpleasant. Shipping costs to many areas of the world became insanely high, effectively cutting off entire markets.

Want to not be Shapeways? Then remember this:

Your users know more about your site experience and their own needs than you do.

If you have a sales site, and the people selling through it say "this isn't working, we need this" then maybe you should listen to them and not just say 'you're wrong' to their faces.

Oh, and also, if goddamn Rolls-Royce comes in filing false DMCA claims over the use of the word "Phantom" in any context on your site, you don't take every item through a multiple day review for every edit and say "LOL, we can't do anything"

You take them to court for abusing the system on behalf of your user base, you fucking bootlicking cowards.

OH, AND I ALMOST FORGOT!

I HAD TO FIND OUT ABOUT THIS FROM A DM ON TWITTER.

They've sent me a check every month for half a decade and they don't even send a "We're closing shop" email.

Look upon my prints, ye mighty, and despair.

If you want to help me though the meantime, here's my paypal.me and my gofundme.

[televisionenjoyer]

WHY ARE MOVIES GETTING DARKER I AM ON MY KNEES

Ok fuck it let's go. My amateurish opinions on the three biggest mysteries of film: why they're getting darker, less vibrant and harder to hear. As someone who has worked on camera, montaging, effects and animations, colorimetry when I'm allowed, and on one weird occasion, audio (but I'm an enthusiast ok?)

The short answer is because of technology. The long answer is more nuanced

- Why are movies getting darker?

The "official answer" that filmmakers give actually is technology. Digital cameras allow for much more detail with less lighting required. It also allows videographers to play with different light and exposure settings on the go, instead of having to go with the limitations of the pre-bought film's asa and the precalculated ideal settings. Also film is notoriously bad at capturing dark scenes and responsible for much of the graining we see on analog tv and film.

So basically, they claim it's a stylistic choice. Which could be debated, I mean, after at least five years of everyone complaining about poor lighting, you'd think they'd finally give it up.

BUT there's the whole fact that (certain) special effects are generally easier to pull off when the viewer can't see enough to detect any flaws. They require less care and thus are cheaper and faster to produce. Any studio's wet dream.

Less notably, it's easier to work "down" on colorimetry than it is to work "up." Taking away light from a shot is easier than "creating more light", the latter sometimes leading to very "digitally broken" results. It looks bad. Just grab any video and crank the exposure. It looks horrible.

"But what does exposure have to do with color?" Everything!!! Color IS light!!!

Which leads me to the last reason, HDR. Which leads me to one of the reasons why everything looks so dull.

- Why are movies less vibrant?

So. What is HDR? High Dynamic Range refers to technologies that achieve a much wider light variation. And as we established earlier color IS light, okay? So. More light, more color, brought to you at the hand of display technologies such as OLED and microdimming.

These technologies ramp up the price of domestic screens exponentially. This is why you see domestic televisions that are way above the 2000 dollar mark. And then people will say "oh but my low end television supports HDR, so that's not the issue". Yes. Supports. As in supports files encoded in HDR. Doesn't mean that they have the necessary technology to take advantage of it. Yet they get to put the HDR10 label on their product and get in on the newest marketing fad (it's the new 4k dude. Which is the new 3D. You get what I mean)

And since it is the newest fad, then of course filmmakers HAVE to get in on it. I mean, it's more quality, who doesn't want more quality?

me!!! please stop. not everything has to be aimed at high end equipment (more on this when we get to the audio aspect, aren't you excited?). HDR looks like DOGSHIT if your tv isn't actually OLED. And most consumer TV's aren't OLED.

Tech rant over, I assure you that there is a cultural aspect to this. Don't worry, you're not insane. And it probably is related to the clean girl minimalist iOS style UX modest and demure mentality that is advancing on the 2020s. But it is also related to an art medium shift that we've been undergoing since wayy back when. The sixties.

Yes. I'm gonna go there. I'm gonna talk about Star Trek. I'm going to elaborate on my previous slight outrage.

So. Star Trek marks the beginning of a transition from black and white television into color. It also lands on that weird spot where the whole medium of film and television was still figuring out which elements to import from the ancient medium of theater and which were best left behind.

As a result, Star Trek is very theatrical. And color is a good friend of theater, a medium where everything has to be maximized so that the people in row fifty could appreciate the show almost as well as the people on the first row. Color is a good friend of theater: in wardrobe it helps the performers stand out, boosts up the characters' personality traits, etc. And in lighting, it amplifies moods, conveys emotions and atmospheres related to particular scenes.

The version of Star Trek that you can find on streaming these days is considerably altered from the original product, remastered to make it more palatable to our contemporary brains. As a result, many scenes have been visually altered. The following example shows the original master on the left and the remaster on the right

And while at first I held my head in my hands and asked "why, god, why??" The answer is probably that this reads as unserious as fuck. Having the technology now to desaturate scenes and make certain settings look "cloudy", "gritty", "dark and grim," and so on changed the way we perceive colors in regards to mood on modern film and television. This primary color ass setting in today's context reads as goofy, on a scene that is actually meant to impose concern on the viewers. This wouldn't read this way on theater, but it does on television, because we see them as completely separate mediums.

(however I insist that, star trek being a culturally significant show, making these type of creative decisions strips it of its original intent and shits on its cultural value as a window into how they did television in the sixties. so like. fuck you paramount)

Now, television has been getting thematically darker this century (some call it the post-9/11 effect. I wouldn't know. I am latinoamerican) and our palate as viewers has grown more used to these desaturated settings, to the point where seeing something vibrant like the original star trek makes us feel like we're watching a kids show. And not even a modern kids show, more like teletubbies or barney, because have you guys even seen bluey?? It's so... pastel-y.

It's not just HDR. Movies have gotten less vibrant because we're miserable. Sort of. And television and film have grown obsessed with appearing more serious. (Not that sitcoms and comedy movies have ceased to exist, I'm generalizing.)

- But why is dialogue less intelligible?

Official Answer? Technology. Nowadays we are able to capture subtleties in dialogue, so actors don't have to project their voice 24/7, and we can get more intimate dialogue, something almost intended to be a secret that you shouldn't be listening to, making you feel like an intruder. It's the intent.

Unofficially? Technology (marketing fad edition). It's surround audio!!! That's the real culprit!!! And listen, I love surround audio, I have two 5.1 systems at home that we bought secondhand and work like a charm. All that being said: why is star trek tos in 5.1? (YES I'm still on star trek). Why is everything natively encoded in surround audio on streaming these days, left to be down-mixed in real time by your tv?

I'm going to quickly explain surround to y'all using 5.1 as an example. On stereo (which is how most consumers watch film and television) you have two audio channels: your left and right speakers. 5.1 has six: front-left, center, front-right, rear-left, rear-right, and subwoofer. Most dialogue goes through the center speaker. Downmixing is when your tv takes all these channels and mushes them into two: left channel (containing left-front, left rear, center and subwoofer) and right channel (right front, right rear, center and subwoofer). So your center channel is suddenly competing with all these other frequencies and gets a bit muffled.

But wait! It gets worse! 5.1 is now ancient by technology fad standards. For a while there was 7.1 and now the newest, incredibly expensive marketing fad is Dolby Atmos (you might have seen it as a badge on streaming services such as Disney plus). This protocol supports up to 64 channels. You know, if you're crazy and rich enough.

Dolby Atmos was originally developed for cinemas but it's now being sold to direct consumers. According to Dolby, the ideal sound configuration in your home in order to listen to this material the way it was intended from the comfort of your living room is of at least eight (very fancy) speakers and up to 12 speakers.

So. Even with a 5.1 system your audio is still down-mixed.

In conclusion:

Film and television did not get shittier (well, they have, but that's not the sole culprit of this crisis), it just became less accessible and overall uninterested in catering to the average consumer.

[faerromagnetic]

Harrow the Ninth, Thoughts part 3

Finished the book! Harrow wasn't even insane, everyone was just gaslighting her. Gideon the First WAS attacking her. Ianthe was lying all the time, because Harrow told her to do so. Augustine and Mercy were lying to keep their cover, Johnny G. was lying because he also didn't know anything, even Harrow was lying to herself.

I understand, why both Lyctors had to kill John. But the consequences of what they'll do is insane. Obliterate 9 planets. Kill, likely Billions of People, Again. Who's to say killing off all life in a planet post ressurection won't make another Ressurection Beast to wreck havoc in the Universe. In an awful way, Mercy and Augustine are recreating the sin that John did. With likely the same consequences.

I can't agree with killing the Emperor, yes he deserves to die, but the price of doing so would have been too steep. I'd lock him in a tomb, and have him empower Dominicus for eternity. Killing John, and Dominicus in turn leads the nine houses to be put under the control of Augustine or Mercy, and through that connection, the Blood of Eden.

We don't even know who tf the Blood of Eden is! For all we know they're Fanatics and Zealots. With a name like that I'd bet money on them hyper religious freaks and Zealots. Probably some Brotherhood of Steel, Adeptus Mechanicus style cult. Likely the type to uncritically worship Nostalgia and the Past.

I'd stick with John honestly. Maybe John Gohn could be better one day, and I HOPE he was telling the truth about his regrets. If he didn't, well fuck him then. Warhammer 40k had the right idea for God Emperors. Turn the bastard into a living battery. I think, a part of Jod was hoping the 8 in GtN, would crack the formula. Maybe that's why he was hoping they would take it slow, do it with years of study and preparation. So, I can't really hate Ianthe for what she did. Or maybe, I just fell for Jaius Gaius sad wet cat act.

Also, Harrow and Gideon definitely opened the stupid tomb. Gideon found Harrow in the Tomb. So Alecto was definitely released. Maybe, partially? But she's still out there, somewhere. Maybe the girl living with Camilla. Who knows

I am, so very very happy I got my prediction about the Sleeper right. Once I realized Gideon was alive and consciousness inside Harrow, there was only one suspect. Gideon's Mom. Where else was a friggin Haz Suit ever mentioned except the one her Mom was found in. Considering Palamedes mentioned that you bring your last memory with you when you died, of course her Mom remembered being in a Haz Suit

[vide0-nasties]

Going to be rambling insanely about Ghost and probably what his feelings on the monarchy would be, coming from one deeply damaged povo to another.

Anyway, specifically around the time the parasite in chief in her idiot hat (thanks Eccleston lub u) died and passed said idiot hat on, I was seeing a lot of (fun and gentle-ribbing, mind you!) posts about Ghost getting razzed about the queen croaking and maybe him being sad about it or something - I don’t really remember bc I have shit for brains and I just latch onto what bits my adhd will allow.

SO. I really don’t think Bruv Innit gave two shits about Liz buying the farm, bc he grew up working class in a working class town to a drug addicted, drug peddling dad, and a fairly nondescript mom who likely didn’t have a way to get her and her kids out of that shit situation (per ‘09 MW lore and some presumption). I imagine dude was dragged around a shitload of council estates and his dad’s friends’ shitty crash pads, no stability whatsoever, where food insecurity was a big ass forever-looming deal, mom had no idea if her 20 year old vauxhall was going to make it another trip to her minimum wage part time job, and school was forever on the back burner bc when it came to school supplies/trips vs eating and keeping the lights on. You can guess which one won.

If we’re also going with him being about 35-40ish, he would’ve been 10-12ish or so around Diana’s divorce and then her death. So, here’s this starving, horrendously abused kid, with his starving, horrendously abused mother and little brother, drowning in a system that is pretty much just letting them sink to the bottom, nothing is being done about the evil sperm donor that ruins everything for them, and he’s obliterated constantly by TV coverage and tabloids and radio DJs talking about this goddamned family’s stupid fucking drama. Charles cheated, Diana left, her poor boys in their fancy private schools with their endless wealth and glowing skin and brand new clothes that don’t stink of consignment shops are sad.

Sorrows - sorrows, prayers. 🫶

It’s a story he’s seen countless times, the only difference is money and coverage. And, realistically, the women in the stories he knows aren’t killed in car wrecks, they’re killed by their infuriated husbands who think they’re owed something catching up. Maybe that’s why his mom doesn’t leave the cocksucker that trapped her, she could’ve ended up another council house Diana that no one gave a shit about.

He grows up, becomes a butcher’s apprentice, joins the army. Straightens his brother out, makes sure his mom is set up nice, finally beats the shit out of his dad. And all the while, there looms the most fucking pointless, parasitic family in England: living off taxes taken from the public, god knows how much land and how many castles, even owning all the fucking swans on the island.

Relics, vampires, leeches.

But, you know, twenty years down the road, he’s pushing 40, his services to the country are done in the dark, the family he tried so badly to save were brutally cut down anyway, and when he goes to Tesco, the price of a fifth of piss Smirnoff is insane, and he’s still got Soap swimming in his head mid-rant bc his mam’s fucking knee replacement appeal has been denied for the third time and she can’t even walk anymore, Gaz is moving for the second time in a year bc he just can’t afford to live close to his parents even on his salary, meanwhile there was a stretch where it looked like Philip was surviving solely by being pumped full of virgin blood and straight stem cells.

So, yeah, if anything he probably said cheers when the news broke and cracked a couple extra jokes that day.

“What d’you call one dead Windsor? A good start.”

Edit: This is picking up some traction. @50cal-fullauto-astarion is my CoD blog if you like my Call of Bullshit stuff, this is my main and I don’t really go into CoD here

[it-was-too-cold-always]

Always Read the Fine Print Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Who actually reads all the terms and conditions? After mindlessly checking a box years ago, our Reader unintentionally agrees to be part of a scientific study to create super soldier babies. To make matters worse, her fellow test subject is the brooding and intimidating Bucky Barnes.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: As the Reader processes her role in this experiment, Bucky becomes more and more intrigued with her. He decides that his pardon is not worth her life, consequences be damned.

Warnings: arranged marriage, forced proximity, eventual smut, lots of angst

As soon as you left the room, Bucky let out a long, exasperated sigh. Fuck this, he thought, it’s not worth it. Bucky knew when he sought pardon for all his crimes as the Winter Soldier, it came with a price to pay. He knew they were going to run tests to try to recreate the serum. Granted, Bucky never thought they’d try to create super soldiers quite like this, which sent him into a blind rage. Hence why he’s on thin ice with SHIELD – turns out they don’t like it when you beat the shit out of their agents. But his rage was justifiable. Mandatory baby making? Talk about throwing consent out the window. He’s done enough harm as the Winter Soldier – making a woman to have sex with him so she can carry his child sounds like the opposite of making amends. So he decided that the only way he could morally proceed with the study is if he marries her; he can’t let her feel the cold and empty life of being a science experiment. With this new plan, he was able to swallow the idea of the study. But when he saw the dazed look on your face, the shock and fear settling into your eyes, he decided his pardon wasn’t worth it. He’d rather be locked in a cell for the rest of his days than subject you to this study…and to him.

You, on the other hand, were still in complete shock. A string of ‘holy shit’s were on a loop in your brain. You made your way up to the hotel room, ready to crawl into bed and mull over everything that just happened. I just met THE Bucky Barnes, you thought. Seriously? Quit fangirling and focus. They said you had to make super soldier babies. Surely it’ll be like IVF, right? No, you remember that guy saying something about if they fertilize too many eggs inside you, you could die. It had to be organically. Meaning sex…with Bucky Barnes. You’d think after crushing over this man for most of your life, you’d feel a little less devastated. But the whole “experiment” aspect of it really sucks out any potential for romance. With a heavy sigh, you decided not to think about it until tomorrow. Right now, it’s time for bed.

You woke up insanely early after tossing and turning all night. 3:37 AM. The goon squad said they would pick you up at 9 to start prep for the study. Better kiss your IUD goodbye. Don’t they say it can take a couple months before you can get pregnant? That could give you and Bucky enough time to get to know one another, so the whole sex part won’t be as awkward. But that lady did say that she’s moving up the timeline – boy, this was stressful. Not only did you have to get pregnant, but you’re on a time crunch. You never really did well under pressure.

Bucky also couldn’t sleep, replaying the entire interaction with you over and over, analyzing as much as he could. You came into the room dazed and confused; when your eyes met his, he saw you tense up. He anticipated not being well-received – he was, after all, an infamous Hydra killer. What he couldn’t wrap his head around was the look in your eyes afterwards. You seemed almost relieved. He couldn’t understand why. He HAD to be reading you wrong. So he replayed that moment over and over, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. Your dark eyes hiding under thick lashes. The deep red blush on your cheeks. The way you fidgeted with your hands. All these details rolling around in his mind. The more he thought about that moment, the more he felt protective of you. He couldn’t let you be a lab rat, pardon be damned.

Finally, 9:00 came around and you soon found yourself back in an exam room at SHIELD. You were right on the verge of passing out from the IUD removal when you heard a commotion down the hall. The doctor quickly finished yanking it out of your cervix and ran off to god knows where. You heard what sounded like hand-to-hand combat – punches landing, grunting, some bones breaking. Suddenly the door to the exam room busts open, causing you to nearly shit your pants (if you were wearing any, you were still clad in nothing but a hospital gown). Bucky’s metal arm was gripping some guy’s throat, dragging him across the room.

“Get dressed,” he ordered.

Your brain was desperately trying to process his command. Dressed, right. Clothes. Where are my clothes? It was hard to think with severe cramping and being a little woozy from that damn IUD removal. While you shimmied off the exam table, Bucky tossed the now passed out guy onto the floor, looking for something. He found your clothes and purse, throwing them at you. He turned around and waited for you to put them on.

“You done?” he asked. “I’m getting you out of here. Follow me and stay close.”

“What? Are you out of your mind?” You were always such a rule follower. God forbid you get in trouble. “Bucky, that lady said you’re already in hot water. Let’s not make this worse, yeah?”

Before he could respond, several agents pop out from the hallway, guns trained right on him.

“Barnes, enough is enough. Quit throwing your little tantrum and get back to your exam room.” It was the same lady from yesterday.

“Or what, you’ll shoot me? Can’t have your little experiment if I’m dead,” Bucky taunted. Without skipping a beat, the woman fired one shot straight into his right shoulder. Agents approached to escort him out of the room, but he threw one of them into the wall with his metal arm. In response, the other agents whipped out taser batons that looked scary as hell.

“Bucky stop,” you pleaded. You were traumatized enough watching him literally get shot, you didn’t need to see him beat the shit out of the other agents while they tased him with their fancy sticks. To your surprise, he actually listened to you. He put his hands up in surrender, dropping the guy he had in a chokehold. He looked over at you defeatedly, knowing his window for breaking you out was now closed.

Chapter 4

Taglist 💛

@kandis-mom

[yawnderu]

About the COD fandom. I just came across a fic that was labelled 16+ yet it was explicitly porn! The blog was something like "Coquette" or whatever with no age in their bio. And I swear you can't explain to these kids WHY you have to label shit appropriately because they just don't get it. One has to state it's 18+ because if you brazenly let minors view explicit content, YOU (in general) can get into major shit.

There are too many minors in the fandom. Too many blogs writing and liking fics with no age in their bios. I remember when teens were told to shut the fuck up in fandoms, at least when they tried to encroach on the 18+ side of it. Yes I am old and yelling at the clouds lol

Oh and I've seen "AKCHULLY Price would date an 18-year-old! He would so nah nah! He's not real so I can write what I want!" Write what you want but it's still gross. Especially because they really make a point of bringing up an age gap. there are alarming pedophilic themes in said fics of price fucking/dating 18-year-olds.

"Controversial young reader!" has 11k notes. "DBF Price/Simon/Konig" and the fics are revolting in nature because the reader is heavily implied to be young and very inexperienced and not in an "I have no interest in this shit" kind of way.

TLDR it's like fics are being written by minors, for minors. Just seems that way...

There's a meme w this same format that goes ''I wish all minors a very get off my blog'' but I can't find it bfehbjefbjhfe

YES!! istg it's always the coquette lana del rey stan girlies who are into weirdly pedophilic things. It's even worse when they're actual adults purposely targeting minors with NSFW content, such as saying Price would date a barely legal girl or wait until she turns 18 to date her like... are you insane? fejnfejhbh This man would definitely want someone around his own age OR with at least a fully developed brain. Sure, everyone can write whatever they want, but people can also talk about it when you're making these men straight up predators.

HEAVY on the too many minors in the fandom, TikTok viralized the masked men and now you have minors commenting sexual things on the media of cosplayers or people who simply like tactical gear. Not to mention they RARELY respect a ''MDNI'', saying things like ''oh but I turn 18 in 2 years'' hbfehjbef PLEASE. And I get it, I've been on many different fandoms ever since I was like 11, I understand wanting to interact with creators and their content— but at the very least respect what they ask if they don't want to interact with minors.

That goes to the other point of kids developing parasocial relationships with the VAs. God, the comment section of the VAs is pure nightmare fuel full of kids saying they're gonna marry them one day or straight up commenting weird sexual things to people who are in their 30s. It's WEIRD, especially because it's so painfully obvious the parasocial relationship they develop is fully one-sided 😭 like why are you commenting how much you want to fuck this married 40-year-old man with kids on a post with his WIFE? Not to mention the hate people close to them get, such as Alain's girlfriend.

I have a small series of DBF!Keegan, but I imagine the reader to be at least in her mid-20s rather than an 18-year-old (or even younger, I've seen some DBF stuff making the reader a minor). It's honestly a bit bizarre to see ADULTS making pedophilic/predatory content targeting a young audience bfehbjfewl

[kimboo-york]

Unpopular opinion time:

The LN and manga fans are on a tear of "hahaha you were wrong about him the whole time!" and yeah, I was wrong, but also, I'm not really sold on Lakan being a tragic antihero, anymore than I'm sold on Fengxian actually being in love with him. He's not a bad guy, sure, but he's not a good one either:

1. The man is a brilliant chess player. The courtesan he cares for suddenly changes up their "game night" right before she's going to be sold off to the highest bidder and...he just ignores that? Are we supposed to believe he's the most talented strategic mind alive and he just didn't notice he was being played? Nahhhhh. He wanted a piece of her and did not want to be bothered with complications. Why didn't her letters get through to him? I assume his family kept them. However, why did none of his letters to her get through to her? Because he didn't write to her. He totally forgot about her, as a person, for three years. He comes back, realizes he fucked up, and cries about it. I don't that that makes him a victim here, and I am not sympathetic. Mao Mao does not need to be sympathetic either. He literally made this bed.

2. Fengxian was not in love with him, but knew he would be better for her long-term than any of the jerks trying to buy her, and he at least appreciated her mind. The clue is that she asked him when he would be back, and he said "three months as usual." She knew then that he did not have the money to buy her out; if he had said "next week" or smth she would likely have asked him to put a bid in. But she knew he could not afford her, so she did the next best thing: baby trapped both him and herself. She knows he's honorable enough that once her price dropped, he'd buy her out, for both chess and baby reasons. But her plans were thwarted by fate stepping in to send him away for a long time.

She rolled the dice and lost the bet, and that sucks. But the real question here is why she went insane. Let's be real, Fengxian is SMART. She'd know how to find out where Lakan went, and even if her letters went unanswered, she had a lot to gain just holding her shit together until he came back. Instead, she went utterly bonkers. What? Why??? (Something was already off, IMHO, given her creepy singing in bed with Lakan. Poison? Addiction?)

Anyway, Lakan literally let himself be a pawn in Mao Mao's mother's game then just walked off the board without a second thought of the repercussions of his actions. Lakan has a long way to go to prove himself and I don't think his daughter owes him any kind of forbearance about it.

[persesphonestears]

More cod incorrect quotes

A/N: There is an obvious pattern cause I used a generator lmao anyway

C/W: uh swearing? i think thats it for once

Ghost: Favourite horror movie?

Soap: It

Price: Saw

Gaz: Annabelle

R/n: High School Musical. after watching it I spent all my middle school years terrified that the entire school would start singing something and I’d be the only one who didn’t know the lyrics

-

Price: You're a loose cannon, Ghost.

Ghost: No, I'm not. I'm a cannon maybe, but a loose cannon? Is that what you think of me?

Soap: I think you play by your own rules.

Gaz: No way, they think rules were made to be broken.

Price: Those are all attributes of a loose cannon.

Ghost: No, I'm just a reckless renegade. R/n is a loose cannon.

R/n: *smashes a chair*

-

Price: Good morning.

Ghost: Good morning.

Soap: Good morning.

Gaz: You all sound like robots, try spicing it up a bit.

R/n: MORNING MOTHERFUCKERS

-

Price: Where's Ghost, Soap, and Gaz?

R/n: They're playing hide and seek.

Price: Where?

R/n: I don't think you get how this game works.

-

Price: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast?

Ghost: Several traffic violations.

Soap: Three counts of resisting arrest.

Gaz: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks.

R/n: Also, that’s not our car.

-

Price: Nothing in life is free.

Ghost: Love is free!

Soap: Adventure is free.

Gaz: Knowledge is free.

R/n: Everything is free if you take it without paying.

-

R/n: We need more help. Maybe I should call my friends.

Ghost: ... Your what?

R/n: My friends.

Price: Are they saying “friends”?

Gaz: I think they're being sarcastic.

Soap: No, no, no, this is delirium, they've cracked from being awake all night. Hey, R/n! All of your friends are in this room.

R/n: I have other friends! You asked me to make new friends, I made new friends! It was a task. I complete tasks.

-

Price: Good responses for being stabbed with a knife?

Gaz: Rude.

Soap: That’s fair.

Ghost: Not again.

R/n: Are you going to want this back? Or can I keep it?

-

R/n: Is having a penis fun?

Ghost: It has its ups and downs.

Soap: Sometimes it’s a little hard.

Gaz: It’s a pain in the ass.

R/n: Oh, Jesus, fuck, guys, come on.

-

Gaz: That's it, we're gonna go out and find what we need!

Price: To the city?

Gaz: Yeah, no matter what!

R/n: Well- How exactly do you propose we do that, exactly?

Gaz: I... I don't know!

Ghost: Oh come off it, be serious!

Gaz: I am serious!

Ghost: You're insane!

Soap: Why, if only we were all wiener dogs, our problems would be solved!

Everyone:

Price: What???

Soap: Or maybe it was a basset hound!

R/n: no no maybe Soap is onto something..

Ghost, panicked: YOU'RE ALL INSANE!

-

Price: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what R/n will and will not eat.

Ghost: Grass? Yes!

Price: Moss? Yes!!

Ghost: Leaves? Ohh, yes!

Price: Shoelaces? Strange but true!

Ghost: Worms? Sometimes!

Price: Rocks? Usually not.

Ghost: Twigs? Usually!

Price: Soap's cooking? Inconclusive!

Gaz: How did you… test this?

Price: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if they eat it, they eat it.

Gaz: ... I don’t know how to feel about this.

Soap: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

-

Price: Are we really going to let R/n keep the cat?

Gaz: Hey we kept R/n.

-

Price: Why isn’t the statue smirking at me?

Ghost: It isn’t smirking at anyone, they’re all just imagining it.

Price: Three of us saw it, Ghost. How do you explain that?

Ghost: *points at Soap* Sleep deprivation. *points at Gaz* Paranoia. *points at R/n* Delusional personality disorder.

-

Price, trying to convince R/n to join the task force: You know... I thought it'd be good to have someone alongside us who's really... smart!

Gaz: And loud!

Soap: And grumpy!

Ghost: And oblivious to reality

R/n:

-

Price: Bridge the generation gap by combining old and new slang into one!

Gaz: Tubular AF!

Soap: Mood to the max!

Ghost, annoyed: Groovy, I hate it.

R/n, just as annoyed: If she breathes, she’s a square.

Price: Tf

-

Price: Imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the items you have lost throughout your life

Ghost: Self-esteem, haven't seen you in years

Soap: Oh wow, my innocence! Thank you for finding this!

Gaz: I knew I lost that potential somewhere!

R/n: My entire childhood and happiness, is that you?

Price:

Price: I was just gonna show you this cool trunk my mother left me but do you guys need a hug?

-

Price: What does 'take out' mean?

Soap: Food

Gaz: Dating

Ghost: Murder.

R/n: IT CAN MEAN ALL THREE IF YOU'RE NOT A LIL BITCH.

-

Price: Anyone d-

Ghost: Depressed?

Gaz: Drained?

Soap: Dumb?

R/n: Done with life?

Price: -done with their work... need to get Laswell to get you all therapy …

-

Price: So uhhh... question: my ‘friend’ keeps on going into the pantry and grabbing handfuls of fettuccine... uncooked...

Gaz: I would hope they're not grabbing handfuls of cooked fettuccine!

Soap: In your pantry!

Price: Yeah... and eating them raw, and they keep calling them 'chips'. ... How do I make them stop?

Ghost: Is your friend here?

Price, motioning to R/n: Yeah.

Gaz, to R/n: You're a monster! Words MEAN things! >:(

Soap: Does anybody remember- I haven't been to Olive Garden in many moons- but they DO have a like- fettuccine bottle that you can just- grab em out of and chew-

Soap: HOLD ON. WAS THIS A PRANK YOU GUYS PULLED ON ME WHEN WE WENT TO OLIVE GARDEN AFTER THAT MISSION?!

Soap: NO, STOP. EVERYBODY SHUT UP. DO THEY GIVE YOU RAW FETTUCCINE TO CHEW ON IN THE LOBBY OF THE OLIVE GARDEN

Everyone else: No.

Soap, to Gaz and R/n: YOU FUCKIN BASTARDS

Gaz: YAAAAAAAAY!

R/n: THE PRESTIGE!

-

Price: What did you guys get in your yearbook?

Gaz: 'Prettiest Smile'

Soap: 'Nicest Personality'

Ghost: 'Most likely to start a bar fight'

R/n: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'

-

Price: What if the person who named Walkie Talkies named everything?

Soap: Pregnancy tests are Maybe Babies

R/n: Socks are Feetie Heaties

Gaz: Forks are Stabby Grabbies

Soap: Defibrillators are Heartie Starties

R/n: Nightmares are Dreamy Screamies

Gaz: Stamps are Lickie Stickies

Ghost, annoyed: You are disappointments

Price to Ghost: You agreed to join the team.

-

Soap: I’m an idiot.

Ghost:

Price:

Gaz:

R/n:

Soap:

R/n: If you’re waiting for us to disagree, this is going to be a long day.

This stupid long omg, uh anyway I used a incorrect quote generator cause I'm lazy but edited most of them so the make some more sense :>

[crazy-hazy-sims]

I apologize to all my mutuals and discord servers and discord friends for not talking to anyone for months now, and not making cc and just not being as active as i used to

Im completely burned out on socializing as its been extremely stressful irl work is stressful and home like is extremely stressful and people stomp on my boundaries left nd right and keep talking to me no matter how many times i ak them not to

My parents dont care and keep forcing me to listen to them even if i have a spliting headache unfortunately as i live with them i cant exactly leave the room when i please as that will make them hurl more abuse towards me Which defeats the point, and im not kidding but sometimes i'd be sitting on the train and people start talking to me one lady kept pulling my headphones it was so fucking stressful

Everyone is utterly miserable here (rightfully so its very hard to even live or breath cause everything is so corrupted and expensive) but weirdly lately they will not hesitate to vent on literally anyone infront of them

Yesterday i was in a taxi and the driver made a pun about my home street's name and i laughed because it was funny and like i like the small pleasantries between people its harmless but i kid you not the next words out of his mouth were him complaining about everything under the sun and he got so heated that he was banging the steering wheel left and right instead of idk guiding it normally absolutely terrifying and i did not need him to dump his problems on me like that and i kid you not every fucking interaction i have is like that i was at the grocery store looking at coffee and some really old lady was like "prices are insane huh?" I didnt reply and focused on the coffee The next thing i know shes holding onto my arm tightly and telling me about how miserable thing make her it started with prices and ended with her dead husband its all like that if you even glance at people while passing by they start talking and it always leads to an angey vent.

I understand the frustration i am too frustrated by this life but idk why is this the norm now

And why me ? The most introverted person in the world i barley even have social battery for myself for my own things and now everyone has turned to consuming everyone elses social battery for thier own good its exhausting

I know i have to learn to say no and be assertive but As i said i already am a super introverted person (and this is not an exsagration i once only left the house for about 5 times total in 2 years i jut dont engage with the world much as it exhausts me)

But untill i get successful at pushing back against people and also the bigger problem my parents im gonna barely have any energy to talk to people online or in discord im sorry i can only do so much at once 😞

[captain-mj]

Vampire Part 7

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Ghost and Soap just stared at Price as he started to ramble about his fiance. 

Dark hair. Pale skin. Beautiful and lovely accent. 

“That doesn’t sound like Graves.” Soap asked tentatively, looking confused. He was under the impression they were going swimmingly. 

“Unfortunately… Graves… turned me down.” Price looked close to tears. Eyes going red as bloody tears filled them. “I asked him to marry me two nights ago after a few hours of making the beast of two backs. He told me that it was too soon.” 

Soap shuddered at the use of that metaphor. “You two have known each other like two days.”

“Exactly! Plenty of time to fall in love.” Price grinned. 

Soap sighed. “No. Humans take time. Months. Years even. It’s not something you really do in a day.” 

Price frowned. “Why?”

“We don’t have an infinite amount of time like you guys. If we end up with the wrong person, we could waste out lives. So we have to make sure it’s the right person.” 

Neither Price or Ghost seemed to get that. Both stared blankly at him as if he was talking a different language. 

“Nevermind.” Soap sighed. They didn’t get it. Neither of them were human anyway. Also, if Ghost asked him to marry him, he’d say yes with absolutely no hesitation. Didn’t want to dissuade him in case he wanted to ask. “Is your fiance also a vampire?”

“No! She’s a witch I believe.”

Ghost gasped. “What if she’s just trying to steal your semen? Witches do that quite often.”

“You’d know from personal experience, wouldn’t you Simon?” Price laughed. “That lady had you tied up for…”

“Three days. She sucked. Literally.” Ghost moved away and looked around. “Have you guys considered that we need a cat?”

Soap was trying to come to terms with what he just heard. 

Interviewer: Sorry for not being here yesterday. I was super sick. Everything alright

Soap: Let me catch you up. So…

Interviewer: Oh my god. 

Alejandro: WATCH THE G-WORD

Interviewer: That’s great! I’m so glad you finally got bitten. Will you turn now?

Soap: Unfortunately not.

Interviewer: Uh huh. And what’s with the witches?

Soap: No clue. Let me ask Rodolfo. 

Rodolfo: Witches steal vampire semen. Everyone knows this.

Interviewer: Why?

Rodolfo: For their evil spells!!

Interviewer: What spells require vampire semen?

Rodolfo: Fucking idiots. 

Interviewer notates that he rolled his eyes and left him to continue his interview with Soap. 

Soap heard knocking and excused himself to go handle it. He opened the door to see… a man. A rather tall man with dark features. Tan skin, black hair, dark eyes. He wore a trenchcoat and had a crossbow with silver tipped arrowheads. 

Please do not be anyone’s sires or anyone’s spawn. 

“Hello. My name is Reyes. Religious?”

Soap stared blankly before realizing his cross necklace was out. He hadn’t even realized he had moved it to be visible while interviewing. He must’ve been fidgeting with it. “Ah. Non practicing catholic. Why?”

“You should keep that close. Are you aware that there are monsters in this neighborhood?”

Oh fuck. Oh no. Did he know? “Huh?”

“There is a monster wandering around back yards and down alleys. Harassing people. Stealing from people’s trash.”

Which of his vampires did this dumb shit?? Which one?? They were all so stupid. Rudy would never go through trashcans so it wasn’t him. Alejandro would get chewed out by Rudy. But Ghost didn’t let people observe him and live. Gaz wasn’t monstrous enough. Price had been busy the past few nights with this mysterious fiance. 

“I am of course talking about bigfoot.” Reyes continued.

Soap sighed in relief. “Oh that’s it?” He was all dressed up and had a crossbow for fucking bigfoot?

Reyes frowned. “This is very serious. A monster is loose. There have been multiple sightings. It’s a public safety concern.”

This dude is insane. Certified. Soap knew for a fact that bigfoot isn’t real. “Right. Well, it’s 10 pm and you’ve just given me a lot of information. What do you plan on doing about this?”

“I’m spreading the word in case they’re spotted.” He handed Soap a business card. “If you see anything wrong, just give me a call and I’ll be there. I want to nip this monster in the bud before it can get away again.”

“Again?”

“I’ve been tracking them for months. Following them across the country to try to trap them and I believe in this town, I can finally get them.” 

Soap didn’t know that Bigfoot used they/them pronouns. He was proud of them for coming out. 

“Right. Well, if I see anything, I promise to give you a call, Reyes.”

Unknown to Soap, Alejandro heard the name and felt a summon in his soul. He fled down the stairs and stayed at the edge of the door so he couldn’t be seen by the hunter in the door. 

Reyes nodded. “Thank you. Stay safe. Save your eggshells and crush them up. If you put them in your windows, it’ll keep werewolves out.” 

Alejandro immediately grabbed some eggshells and started to crush them as he waited for him to leave.

Soap noticed and rolled his eyes. “Uh, yeah. Thanks. I’m sure my roommates will be doing that. See you later.”

“Roommates?”

Soap closed the door in his face. “Alejandro.” 

Alejandro was hurried putting the crushed (not to powder, just vaguely crushed) eggshells in the windows. “I’m going to be rid of that dog.” 

Soap found how easily Alejandro could change from intelligent, almost manipulative suave person to a superstitious and… almost goofy guy was interesting. “Why did you come down?”

“Heard his name. My friend Chuy warned me that a hunter was nearby.”

“Chuy? Haven’t heard about him.”

“Yeah, he’s this vampire that dresses up in weird suits and then hangs out in the woods.” 

Soap paused. “Wait, what?” 

“Yeah. Like… the grassy ones. Ghillie suits.”

“Huh. So bigfoot is real. Just… a vampire in a costume.”

“Yeah, exactly. He’s great. Really funny.” Alejandro got out his phone and used siri to call Chuy. He put it on speakerphone but they both heard the ringing coming from upstairs. 

Soap jumped into Alejandro’s arms. “Why is in the house?? With no warning?”

“Look, I didn’t even know he was in town! You’re being really rude right now. Go welcome our guest.”

It occurred to neither of them that someone had to have invited him in if he was a vampire. 

Interviewer: Hi.

Chuy: Hi. 

Interviewer: I love the… antlers on your suit. 

Chuy: Thank you. I fled here to escape a cartel located in Mexico. I was betrayed.

Interviewer: Oh, wow. You’re an open book, I love that. Why were they chasing you?

Chuy: I stole all of their money.

Interviewer: Ah. 

Alejandro slowly crept up the stairs, still carrying Soap.  He planned to use him as a shield if Chuy attacked them. 

“Oh. You’re doing an interview?”

Chuy looked up, wearing a cowboy hat and sunglasses. “Oh, yeah. Just… chilling. Why are you toying with your food?”

Alejandro dropped Soap on the ground. “He’s Ghost’s familiar. How are you man?” He pulled up a chair, distracting from the interviewer who just shrugged it off and got up to get himself a coffee. Soap continued to lay on the ground, thinking about something else. 

“Ah, Ghost. Hope he’s doing well.” Chuy stretched, bones popping unnaturally. “I heard Koenig is planning on traveling through this area soon as well. Wonder if we’ll all bump into each other.”

Alejandro frowned. “Lot of vampires have been coming through lately. Price is actually staying right now. There a reason for that?”

Chuy hummed. “Hunters for me and Koenig. Apparently they’ve been trying to crack down on us. Won’t work well for them though… Don’t kill Reyes by the way. He’s not dangerous to anyone but me. He’s a dog with a bone I’ve realized and I want to see how long until he gives up.”

Alejandro nodded slowly, though he looked suspicious. 

Soap dusted himself off and properly introduced himself. “Chuy is it?”

“Well, my actual name is Jesus.” Alejandro flinched when Chuy said that. “But as you can see, it’s a bit of a sensitive name around here so I stick with Chuy.” 

Soap nodded. “They call me Soap.”

“Considering how clean the house is, it’s a fitting nickname.” Chuy smiled kindly at him. 

Soap beamed at the praise but Alejandro quickly took Chuy’s attention to found out more about why he was there. 

Soap went outside for a smoke. The night was young and he was already stressed. Before he could even light it, he heard a whistle and looked over at Graves who was waving him over. He took the invitation, clearing the small space between his front door and Graves’s fence. 

Graves had almost healed bruises on his neck, so it looked like Price had gotten lucky. 

Soap wanted to get this out of the way. “If you’re going to ask me about Price, I’m sorry but he’s got a fiance. I’m really really sorry.” He prepared for high emotions. Sadness. Anger.

Graves just sipped his coffee and nodded. “I didn’t… He didn’t use me to cheat did he?”

“No. They uh… moved fast.”

“Yeah. I’m glad he found someone who’d accept his proposal five minutes into meeting. He kept calling me nicknames and just moving really fast. It was strange. You want a cup?”

Soap could’ve kissed Graves on the fucking mouth. He had money to spare so he always got really nice coffee. The expensive kinds that came in little packs or had to be brewed certain ways. “I’d love to, man.”

Graves smiled and let him inside. “Did the weird religious conspiracy theory guy talk to you?”

It took Soap just a moment to realize he meant Reyes. “Yeah. Dude was definitely out there. Did he give you his card?”

Graves laughed. “Oh, yeah. Monster hunter huh? What’s he going to do? Kill all the vampires in your house?”

Soap froze, staring. Graves didn’t seem to notice, just quietly fixing the cup before sliding it over. 

“Oh, come on Soap. They all have fangs, never come outside during the day and, oh yeah, Price told me. Like immediately. Said I looked like his dead wife.”

“That why you invited me in?” Soap was afraid. He didn’t know why. This was new territory. His neighbor, which was one of the few people he had to hide this from, suddenly knew. 

“No. I invited you in because you looked dead on your feet and I thought you might want to talk.”

Soap took a deep breath. 

Yeah. He did want to talk.

“Monster hunters are so dumb.”

Graves laughed. “Not where I was expecting this to go. But okay.” 

Soap nodded. “They’re so stupid! They just bumble around and sometimes kill someone! I killed a vampire easier than them!”

“You killed a vampire?”

“Don’t tell anyone.” Soap sighed and started to drink the coffee. “I know you won’t which is why I am telling you because I really need to talk to someone about this. And the vampires are so dumb sometimes too! Like certified idiots. The only reason they haven’t walked into the sun is they’re old enough to know better and honestly?? I think they’d forget if not for everyone else.”

Graves sat down to continue listening.

“And now I have to deal with these werewolves, those are real by the way, and they’re great but they just barge in at all times without caring about the fact that I have to clean up after them and try to get the smell out of the carpet.”

“They smell?”

“The vampires think so!” Soap exclaimed, feeling so tired. “I don’t know why they’re like that. All of them are so particular and want everything to be just right and….” He sighed and put his head on the table.

“And you put up with this, why?” 

“I’m their familiar. Ghost is going to make me a vampire.”

“That’s it? I mean… You could probably just find a vampire elsewhere right?”

Soap hesitated. “I mean. Yeah, I could. But they couldn’t know I’m a familiar. It’s improper to turn someone else’s. And Ghost would be upset.”

Graves tilted his head. “Ghost is the masked one, right?”

“Yes.”

“What’s he like?”

“Tall. Hot. Amazing. Dramatic, but I love it about him.”

Graves smiled at him and got up again. He went into his cabinet and Soap noticed some weird bottles of powder. Not quite salt. Just white powder. He really hoped Graves wasn’t an addict. Graves grabbed whatever he was looking for and shrugged. “I hope you get turned soon, friend. See you around.” 

Soap was up and out of there before he really put together how weird of a dismissal that was. It worked well though. 

Graves quietly sharpened a couple of bolts he had for his crossbow. 

What a shame. He’d hate to have to take a different hunter’s kill.