#HYPOTHERMIA???

[birb-boyo]

Linked Universe(but not really) Hunger Games pt.3

Added that one again because I find it funny and ironic that the only person Malon sparred was Twilight

Anyway

RAVIO SWEEP

[helen--richardson]

"The best part of being fat is being soft and comfy to cuddle with" "The best part of being fat is knowing people like you for your personality and not your looks" Wrong. The best part of being fat is getting to swim in ice-cold water for FAR longer than my peers. My skinny friends can barely last 10 minutes in the pacific ocean without losing feeling in their fingers meanwhile i can be in there for HOURS. I was born to swim in glacial lakes and icemelt streams. Also I float.

[yeyinde]

With his marriage on the rocks, Price ends up drinking himself into a stupor at the bar the night after his wife of fifteen years tells him she wants to separate. It's where he finds you—a man's walking midlife crisis. Much younger. Too pretty for your own good.

Just passing through, he can vaguely remember you telling him as you twirled a black straw around the drink he ordered for you. Whiskey sour but with cherries instead of lime.

He grimaced around the thought of it, but couldn't seem to peel his eyes away from the way you curl your tongue around the red cherry floating in your drink. Too goddamn pretty for your own good.

Too soft, too.

He feels it when he places his hand on your thigh—to steady you, he tells himself when you start to wobble on the stool—the soft meat of your body giving so easily under the weight of his thick, grizzled fingers.

You don't belong in a pub like this where the floor is always sticky, the wallpaper is probably still made of lead, and there's gum stuck to the underside of the table. Despite the smoking ban, the room is clogged with dense tendrils of smoke. No one lifts a brow when he pulls a cigar from his front pocket, and strikes a match to light it. Puffing away in the corner with a too pretty, too young thing leaning into him, asking can I give it a try?

It's wrong. He feels it in his bones. A siren wailing in his head. Leave, go home. Don't look back. And maybe that's what you are:

a siren

because he peels it from between his dry, chapped lips and feels his heart throbbing in his chest when you lean over him, his lap, eyes still locked on his in the near the perfect pastiche of an early 90s pornography video—amateur, grainy around the edges; soaked in that glossy, faded old film filter—and wrap your cherry red lips around the hilt, lashes fluttering as he swallows thickly and rasps out that's it, sweetheart, now suck—

Feels his age acutely in the ache of his thighs as his muscles tense, drawing tight together when your eyes close, pinching in disgust around the heady mouthful of maduro, but mm, love, ain't supposed to swallow it.

The gleam of unshed tears pooling against your lashline catch beautifully in the warm, lambent glow of the lights overhead that are undoubtedly older than you. Lachrymal. He feels it in his guts like a stone. A thick lump of smouldering coal he has to try and breathe around.

The eight—nine, maybe—whiskeys he had since he sat down and grunted his usual order at the barkeep catch up with him all at once the moment a single drop spills over, and those cherry red lips part, embarrassed, and the smoke in your voice, the raw, scorched wound of untested flesh doused in tobacco fill the hole in his belly when you say I've never done this before and, soft, shy, sweet: will you teach me?

It's awash in the jaundiced spill of winter lights. Blue hour bathed in orange. There's a mark on your thigh when he pulls his hand away, damp palm leaving a stain in the soft cotton of your pants. He's not sure why that renders all logic in his head null, but it stabs into him like a pickaxe through the temple. Sudden, violent, and jarring.

His hand cupping you through your pants, feeling the heat of your cunt on his still-wet palm. Growling in your ear when you tremble against his chest about how he has a lot he plans on teaching you, sweetheart, so be a good girl, and come home with him—

He doesn't make it that far.

Unbuttons his trousers the moment you climb into the back seat of his truck, legs spreading in anticipation for him to fill the split of your thighs, and curl a single finger in his direction, a silent comehither.

Marionette on strings, he follows. The obeyance rankles down his spine but he's too far gone to give it much more than a passing, agitated flick. Ignoring it in favour of wrestling his trousers down his hips, and pulling you on his lap.

It's every part the indecent, goatish drunk hookup he vaguely remembers from back when he was some approximation of your age. Pawing clumsily at your cunt in a selfish, perfunctory preparation. Unpractised despite having decades of experience throbbing insistently in his temple, muted under the cloying haze of too much alcohol and the manifestation of his fantasies come to life in his lap, perched so prettily above his aching cock.

Pants into the mess he makes of your neck about how much better he'll be later. Take you home, eat your pretty pussy out until you're nearly ripping his hair out from how good it feels, and then he'll fuck you on a bed. Proper, he grunts, snaking a hand down between your thighs to grip his cock, the other peeling away from the warm, tight heaven between your thighs, fingers slipping out slick and sticky, smearing it over his fat, weeping head.

"need you," he grunts, barely cognisant of much outside this concupiscent ache in his belly. This hunger he's never felt before. Just mutters, slurs, need you, need this pussy. Come on, love, let me in—

He pushes against your opening, flared head splitting your folds so obscenely that he's almost desperate with the need to commit the sight to memory. So fuckin' pretty—

You whine, mewling above him as his slick fingers squeeze your waist, pulling your down over him. Forcing his cock into you as you bable about it being too much, god, it's too much, too big—ego feeding, incendiary. Mesmeric. If it's meant to slow him down, or make him stop, it slips through the cracks. Eaten alive in the fog.

His hand pushes against your throat, fingers folding over the span of it. Gripping tight. Holding firm as he catches your gaze and plants his feet on the ground. The noise you make when he bucks into you from below, forcing the rest of his cock into the impossibly tight squeeze of your cunt is snuffed out when his hand spasms, closing into a choking grip.

Seated deep inside you—too deep, it's too much, please—he feels heavenised. Bathed in bliss. Nirvana. Can't quite wrap his head around how good you feel beyond staggered grunts that spill from his sweat-slicked lips, and a needy, urgent roll of his hips, unable to pull away from the euphoric clench of you swallowing him down.

It's an eye rolling pleasure. The kind that rips through his belly and drags him to the brink in an instant. All heat. A molten, velvet clench. Primal. All animal seeking a warm, safe latibule.

He thinks of the womb and it's primordial incalescence as he works himself into you, head blanketed in a dizzying, almost delirious spot of pleasure. Soporific. And that's what you are—an overwhelming sense of sempiternal warmth. Something every fibre of his being wants to crawl inside of.

And he does. Over and over again. Peels his hand from your throat to curl it over your nape instead, pushing your mouth against his in a scorching, bruising kiss. Laying claim, eating your moans from between your teeth, chasing the cherry sweetness that lingers. Making a mess of you with the sweat that drops down his temple and the spit that slicks your chin.

Inside you, too. Spilling in your cunt with a belly-deep groan. It rips through him like a head cold, a fever, and leaves him feeling warn and sore. Unable to keep up with the gutpunch of his pleasure as you cling to him tight and mewl in his ear for more.

(Something he plans on giving you for the rest of his life if you'll let him.)

Makes it to his house somehow. Fucks you in the foyer because the sight of your bare, cum-slick thighs shakily climbing up the stairs, knees pressing together to keep his release inside, is enough to rent him in two. And it does. Spilts him down the middle until all that's left is want.

Avarice. Greed. A hunger so deep, it rattles his bones when his belly growls.

Spends himself dry inside of you, unwilling to pull out even for second. Falling asleep with you slick and warm around his cock. Content for the first time in ages. Slipping into a sleep so deep, he wakes up at noon the day.

But you're gone when he does, leaving nothing behind except deep scratches down his back and the pair of panties he stuffed in your mouth last night to keep you from waking the neighbours.

Despite regretting not tying you to the bed and slipping the ring his wife left on the end table on your finger, it's cathartic.

Just—

Not meant to last. His fleeting siren. A secret he'll take to the grave because if it ever got out, it would ruin his reputation. His family. Everything he worked hard for.

And when his wife changes her mind two weeks later and comes back home, life returns to normal. He's once again the dutiful husband. Provider. A good, honest man even though he finds himself dreaming of you as he lays beside his wife, your scent still clinging to his pillow. Hungry. Unfed.

But this is the way it has to be. Must be.

Until his siren comes back to haunt him three weeks later when you turn up again, back in town and pregnant with his child.

[piggycyberwarrior]

Summary: After Task Force 141 got a hint that you gave important information to their enemy- the boys do not hesitate to chain you up and give you a taste of hell. You on the other hand are innocent but they do not believe you

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Platonic Task Force 141! x Fem!Reader (Simon Ghost Riley x Reader) a/n: pretty proud of that ngl.. enjoy guys love you!

Warnings: uhm this whole fic is basically a warning. Torture; Blood; Mental Health; Angst angst angst not proof read

genre: ANGST

+ 1,6k words

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6

You thought you were going insane.

Maybe you already were, but it was no suprise- seeing the circumstances you were in. Arms stretched uncomfortably backwards and up- chains rubbing your wrists painfully raw. The stress position Soap put you in wasn't easy peasy lemonsqueezy.

Tears brimming in your eyes at the thought. You felt fucking betrayed. You were fucking betrayed, for gods sake! by your own team- the people you cried with- the people that you loved more than yourself- the people you called your family. That one man you took a bullet for.

Fuck all that bullshit.

Those were the same people that didn't believe you when things got rocky. When some pricks pointed their fingers at you- they immediately treated you as an enemy. The same people that chained you up. The same man that made you fucking blind on one eye

Everything was a lie, apparently.

The cell you were in was shady- you didn't expect something different- i mean you just served the military for many years and did everything for your country- of course you didn't deserve something more decent.

In the end you didn't care. Just waited.

When Gaz interrogated you- you kept your mouth shut. What should you do? Lie? Fuck no, you had so much self respect left, even in this dehumanizing situation.

of course your facade broke often times- you were only human after all. And it hurt- you were in this situation before- tortured by your enemies knowing that you would probably outlive them anyway as your team would rip them apart in a few days.

But now- being here- seeing how your 'friends'- your family- spat at you with nothing more than hate made you feel even more miserable- knowing, that no one will safe you this time.

You cried- having panick attacks deep into countless nights-being triggered by any small sound that wasn't coming from you or that rat in the corner of the room. Yelling at them- telling them that you didn't do shit. They didn't believe you.

Spiraling deep in your thoughts- shoulders sore and numb hands from the stress position- still tasting a faint trace of your own blood-

the sensory of the dried up blood on your cheek was uncomfortable at the beginning- cracking everytime you opened your mouth- but it quickly got kicked to the bottom of your worries as Price's wodden bat flew into your face yesterday- tooth flying onto the ground as you spat the crimson liquid at his feet- earning another strike from your Captain.

Your Saliva turning pink with the blood, sticking to your chin- slowly dripping down- having no free hand to wipe it off.

.

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You were here for about 1 and a half weeks now- how'd you know that? because you could hear the guards mutter something behind that steal door.

You shivered, suffering from hypothermia, a consequence of being almost naked in this shithole. Simon himself stripped you down- ignoring your pleas and protests.

Simon.

The man you did everything for, took a bullet for, cared for and slept with. He was the love of your life- or so you thought.

You were never scared of Simon. Since the first day you met him- you were kinda drawn to that giant of a man. Always spawning in his near with hearts in your eyes- Soap always made fun of you- but he found it cute neverthless, he could see that Simon didn't hate you.

You stitched him up- knew his fears (being a therapists daughter was quite a help for having deep convos), you knew of his past- even if it took you years to finally break his many iron walls down

You saw his face- kissed his scars and showered him with your time and love- giving him your all- even your body.

You weren't in a relationship- but everybody knew that Simon 'Ghost' Riley liked you. Even if you didn't tell anybody from the Force.

In the end it seemed not be enough, as the same man nearly strangled you to death down here. At first you were desperate, scared- but you stopped pleading a long time ago.

.

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.

heavy footsteps shook you out of your trance- spiraling thoughts stopping for a mere second as you looked into his stone cold eyes.

Balaklava on his scarred face- making you inhale sharply- heart throbbing at his sight. The black paint around his eyes made them pierce through the dark even more.

The same paint you applied more than once onto his unique face. he looked beautiful in your eyes. Even after everything that happened.

You're in here since a few nights.- Clothes starting to hang loosely around your body- having not eaten in days.

"Simon-" you croaked out- voice not cooperating as it should- making you tear up. When did everything turned out to be like that? This nightmare? You flinched a bit- chains clinking softly at your slight movement when he came towards you- still not speaking.

He stared. Stared at your weak frame. The dark hole you were chained into- being in a constant state of fear- Anxiety pulling and clawing at your nerves.

You gritted your teeth- looking to the side with a defeated huff. Tears prickling in your eyes once more- threatening to fall as he watched you like you were a kicked stray dog. Maybe you were in their eyes.

"I-" you croaked out once more "I didn't do it, Simon, i swear" you whispered into the dimmly lit room- Still not looking at him. "I swear to god Simon, I didn't.." you weeped in silence as he just looked "Fuck why should I betray you!!" you screamed in frustration at his figure- tears falling as he only left- leaving you in complete darkness- letting you cry to yourself till you eventually passed out.

.

Not even two day passed before he bursted through the iron door again- the loud sound ripping you out of your unconsciousness before he angrily grabbed you by your collar- hate flickering in those eyes that once held nothing but adoration for you.

"You fuckin' liar" he seethed through gritted teeth- behind that mask. Pushing you into the wall behind you- your head knocking against the brick wall with such a force that made you wince.

You could feel his anger. And you felt the danger that radiated from the man you gave your heart to.

His hands coming up to press against your jugular with a firm grip- picking you up a few inches into the air- chains clinking again. "Y'think you hav' it in you to lie into my fuckin' face" he growled while pressing down harder- you could feel yourself getting more lightheaded- gasping for air- choking for oxygen.

"Plea' Simon" you begged inbetween small gasps- scared what he will do to you. Hands tied together, wiggling in his painful hold like a suffocating fish- legs kicking to get him away from you- it worked- you gasped, trying to get in as much air as you could while your built up saliva ran down your chin-

he let you go for a second before his fist collided with your face. Hard- knocking the air out of your lungs once more "Jus' tell us the truth" he huffed, before hitting again- at first it hurt and then it burned. Your nose cracked under his fists-

Making you see stars and breath heavily before he took the knife out you gifted him for his birthday. Both your names engraved in it-

"'t will be easier for you" he said before popping the knife out of its sheath. "No, Simon" you cried out- whilst seeing the blade. "You don't have to do this" you gasped as he came dangerously close.

"No,no,no!!" you protested as he teared down your clothing, leaving you in a bra and your underwear. Feeling helpless as he teared down your clothes- ignoring your protest. The coldness of the room let goosebumps arise on your skin almost immediately.

He was quiet. That wasn't a good sign. You waited- staring at him, pulling at your chains as he looked at the blade. Fist tightening as he saw the little heart that was engraved into the hilt. Betrayal flushed his senses as he pushed the knife into your upper leg- making you scream in return.

Twisting the knife- hearing your agony but not stopping- he quickly hit you into your left eye socket with the hilt of the knife to shut you up. he didn't want to hear your screams.

Even if he didn't wanted to admit it- he was also teared apart- but his need to let his anger out was stronger - all the time he spent with a fucking liar- gave you his fucked up heart. All for you to be a fucking snake- a traitor.

He had to do his job- protect his family.

Another jab to the eye- hearing your muffled cries echo across the room- making you see red- the burning sensation was an ugly one. You couldn't see on that eye anymore.

"I fuckin' wish I could just kill you" he seethed before leaving you there in the dark- all beat up and bloody- head throbbing and surely a broken nose- making it hard to breath.

.

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You waited since then. Waiting for death to come. Waiting for Ghost to end it- but of course he never came back since then. Your wounds were starting to inflame- everything hurt and burned. Your eye swelling almost shut.

They all tortured you. Johnny, Kyle, John and Simon.

But they forgot something important. You were known for being patient. A fucking patient and stubborn woman. You waited. Yes you sometimes protested, and kicked and screamed and insulted them- but you neverthless waited for the day.

The day they finally see that they wronged an innocent. The day you would hurt them. Seek revenge.

Fucking. Revenge.

-

!please do reblog! :)

join the Taglist here (Taglist post)

[vesperosy]

these two spend so much time running around investigating in the dead of winter that i'm afraid they'll both get colds

[technically-human]

To relive a death

@williamvapespeare commissioned me to draw anything with the boys being gentle to each other and Edwin comforting Charles in general, so we went with this!

The idea of a character who is dead having to go through it once a year is very dear and near to my heart (how many dead blorbos do you have, I hear you ask. Too many) but at least these two have each other

[martyr-inthedark]

Make your Whumpee tired.

Whumpees that have been deprived of sleep by Whumper, so much so that they don't remember how to walk in a straight line and can't figure out whether the recent appearance of little black bugs in their cell are real or a hallucination.

Whumpees that can't get a full night's rest. They doze off, only to be jolted awake by their own anxiety of not knowing when Whumper would come back. Perhaps they are awakened by phlegm-coated coughs induced by their illness. They are awakened by nightmares, or by Caregiver who is worried they may succumb to hypothermia, or by a thunderstorm, or the rough blanket scratching their open wounds, or so on.

Whumpees who pull all nighters to protect their friends or lovers.

Whumpees whose eyes burn when they finally can close their eyes. Whumpees whose muscles twitch, who can't stop yawning no matter how hard they try to stifle it. Whumpees with dark, glassy eyes. Whumpees who are slow to react or have a hard time keeping up with the conversation. Whumpees with throbbing headaches. Whumpees with brain fog and memory loss.

Whumpees who have been on the run and have over exhausted their bodies. Their muscles and joints continue to scream long after its over. Whumpees with extensive blood loss. Whumpees who are malnourished.

Whumpees whose survivor's guilt keeps them awake, wondering what they might have done differently, whether it was all their fault, or why they were the ones to live.

Whumpees whose bodies are in chronic pain or illness and who have to hide it, causing muscle and mental fatigue. They keep going with a smile until they collapse or pass out.

Whumpees who break down in tears, begging to be left alone so they can rest. Whumpees who sob when they are told that the bed in front of them is theirs to use whenever they want.

[rathonk]

put him in a coat

[gloryofnegativity]

[specsthesecond]

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°

The sunlight tries in vain to pierce through the cloud covered sky as you make your way under the canopy of conifer trees. Winter will only last a few more weeks but for now you must trudge through the hardened snow on the forest ground.

You clutch your new book close to your chest, peeking again to see if the piece of paper you slipped between the pages hasn't somehow fallen out despite your tight grip. You look up from your graphite stained fingers to the stone cottage in the middle of an increasingly familiar meadow. Drawing in a breath, you adjust the bow and quiver slung over your shoulder and clamber through the pasture, watching smoke rise from the old chimney.

This time, you don't panic when you reach the door, you knock before the nerves can even seep in. He opens the door for you, eyebrows scrunched in confusion just like the first time. He looks ready for the weather outside, snow boots, axe in hand, he's even wearing his big fur coat. He clearly had other plans today but he still looks pleasantly surprised by your presence and gestures you inside.

You shake your head lightly at him, feet stuck to the stone veranda. He looks more worried than confused now as he looks down at the book in your hands, you try and not let all the determination you just had flutter away. Hands shaking more than you'd like, you slip the piece of paper out of the book and hand it to him unceremoniously. You can't will yourself to watch his reaction, it's weak but you can't seem to look away from the floor.

A shame really, because if you were watching, you'd see his face grow pink in real time as he reads in your terribly scrawled Orcish -

"Hunt with me?"

He has to read it ten times before he can believe it's real. He looks down at you and then back to the poorly drawn Orcish characters, mouth agape. He turns to the shelf next to the door and gently places the piece of paper there before turning to you. You fiddle with the book in your hands, biting your chapped lip. He rests his hand on your shoulder making you look him in the eye, when you do you're taken back by the look he gives you. It's an expression you can't describe, appreciative doesn't cut it but you wouldn't dare say affectionate.

He nods his head firmly.

Now you both sit amongst the brush, target birds nest only a few meters away. Your Orc friend sits quietly, leaning on a stump next to you, waiting for you to make the shot.

Little movements in the nest have you tensing up and pulling the string back. You wait patiently for the birdie to peak its head over the weaved twigs of the nest but you wait too long and before you know it the bird's wings flutter for takeoff. You panic and shoot the arrow before the bird can fly away but the arrow shoots just a bit too high, piercing the tree trunk as the bird takes flight in a rush of feathers.

An agitated sigh leaves you and you turn towards where the Orc roars out laughter. He quickly tries to muffle his laugh when he sees your pointed, deadpan expression. You point towards where your arrow is stuck in the bark of the tree and hold out your bow for him. He goes to decline the offer but you fix him with a challenging glare that says "If it's so easy then why don't you do it?" You shove the weapon in his hands and hand him an arrow as well, then take a seat on the stump.

He breathes in and positions himself on his knees, just like you were. You sit back and watch him fumble with the bow, failing to notch the arrow against the string for a while before finally aiming the thing. He makes the bow looks so small, it's like a thin stick in his hands instead of a deadly weapon. He pulls the string back and you worry for a moment that it might snap before he lets go and the arrow whizzes through the air and into the canopy of pine needles, never to be seen again.

You burst out in laughter, slapping your knee with a hand on your chest. He huffs and hands you back your bow, grabbing his axe from the stump. He aims it carefully and chucks it into the tree. It lands exactly where your arrow landed, splintering it into pieces. You're shocked to silence for a moment before letting out an impressed "Huh". He seems very proud of himself, giving you a cheeky bow, making you click your tongue and shake your head as he walks off to pull his axe from the tree.

He slumps beside you on the frosty dirt as you hastily page through your book. It's a shame you don't see how he leans his head on his hand and stares at you, not even trying to hide the admiration. When you find the word you were looking for you slap his arm hard with the book, he flinches back playfully. You point to the word "owe" in the book and look at him sternly.

He looks back with a blank stare.

You point to him accusingly, point to the Orcish word for "owe" and then point to yourself before getting an arrow out of your quill, pointing towards it and putting up two fingers.

You think he gets it, if his bashful face says anything. He rubs the back of his neck with an apologetic look. He stands up, axe in hand and nods to you with a look of determination.

Now the sun is gone as you walk alongside him, on route to your home, belly full, carrying a basket of fresh bread. You tried telling him you were only teasing, but he insisted on taking you back home and making you a meal. You were never one to turn away a meal, especially if it was his cooking. Hours went by as you sat in his living room, comparing translations in each other's books and trying, mostly in vain, to write in the others language. You didn't even notice the sun setting until you had to light a candle to see the scribbled mix of Human Common and Orcish on the white papers scattered across the table.

He offered to walk home with you and you, once again, didn't put up much of a fight. Maybe it's just the moonlight or the after-taste of his food but you can't stop stealing glances at the orc as he walks alongside you. His dark eyes reflect the warm light of the lantern so beautifully. Little flakes of snow decorate his hair, they look like stars amongst the inky black mane. You can feel his body heat more than you can feel the heat of the lantern, he's always so warm and it makes it very frustrating to be close to him. He looks over and catches you staring, you quickly avert your gaze to the snowy ground, embarrassment bubbling up again.

You come to a break in the trees and all your thoughts are slapped away. You stare fear-stricken at the massive lake in front of you. A deep chill crawls over you as it always does when you see it now, you meant to avoid it entirely, just like you've been doing since the incident but you must have been more distracted than you thought.

Frost nips at your nerves as you stare at the deceptively thin ice covering the lake and remember the cold, dark depths just beneath. Remembering how difficult it was just to breathe after being plunged into those waters, like spikes of ice piercing your lungs with every breath. You clutch your chest as your breathing quickens, ghosts of pain nudging closer.

Your sight is cut off from the lake by a dark brown furcoat. You look up at the worried face of your friend, eyebrows scrunched and frown deep. His pretty eyes are now filled with concern and it only makes the pain in your chest worse. You turn away from him, you can't look him in the eyes like this. This has happened before, when you wake up in your bed cold and crying. At least then you're alone, now you're outside, in the dark, with who is essentially your closest friend watching you break down.

If he didn't think you were weak before, he definitely does now. You let out a choked sob as your legs crumble beneath you. The orc falls with you, he lightly holds you closer, hands just brushing your shoulders. He clearly doesn't know what to do or what the boundaries are for something like this, and neither do you really.

He's right there. You can feel how damn warm he is, you just want to give in, why won't you let yourself give in? His gloved hands gently urge you to look up at him and you struggle against it but when you eventually meet his gaze, his expression punctures right through the cold panic. You expected to see pity but what you get instead is plain tender worry. He looks ready to help but he's waiting for instruction, like he'll do anything you ask him to, even in your state.

You wipe your cold, wet cheeks and push your head into his chest hard, clutching his waist under his coat in the tightest squeeze you can manage. He squeezes you back and you finally get to feel his warmth surround you again, just like that first night. His body surrounds you, like he's trying to protect you from the cold night air itself. The hug is just tight enough that it encourages you to breathe slower, you can hear and feel his heart beating in his chest and you press your face even closer to his chest to hear it better.

Eventually, your breathing and heart beat evens out with his, only letting out the occasional hiccup. Even then, he doesn't loosen his protective hold until you shift to stand up. He helps you up and you meet his gaze, his dirt coloured eyes hold something you can't place. His hand shifts up from your arm to your cheek to warm the puffy skin. You don't think when you take his hand in yours and hold it against your cheek, even through the leather of his glove you can feel his body heat.

You close your eyes and savour his touch for a minute before turning around and pulling on his arm. You hold onto his hand for the rest of the walk home, only letting go when you reach your front door. You both try and decipher the others gaze for longer than you should've until you wrap your arms around his shoulders in another embrace. He reciprocates, hands winding around your back, breathing into your shoulder. You whisper, "Be safe" into his ear and retreat from the hug, missing his warmth the second it leaves you. If he knows what it means, he doesn't show it.

You watch him leave from the front door, basket of bread in hand. When he turns to give you a little wave goodbye, you return it with a smile. You only step inside when he's out of site, lamp light disappearing amongst the trees.

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°

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[paingoes]

Whumper decides to leave whumpee out in the cold to punish them. They don’t realize just how cold or long it has been and become panicked when they realize whumpee has developed hypothermia. Whumpee wakes up in whumper’s bed, wrapped tightly against their chest as they try to restore whumpee’s temperature.

[snailspng]

Cold/Hypothermia-themed PNGs.

(1. Icicle glass decorations, 2. Ice on statue, 3. "Panoptes" by Laurent Grasso, 4. 18th c. angel head, 5. Painting by Gustaf Fjaestad, 6. Ceramic rabbit, 7. Paw pendant from "Relics of Martyrs" by Jane Dodd, 8. Ice glasses by Vincent Olinet, 9. Sculpture by Yoshihiko Ueda)

[loud-whistling-yes]

HUGS!!! HUGS!!!! HUGS!!!! HUGS!!!!!!!

[comfortingcatharsis]

A recently hypothermic character whose core temp is technically back to normal but just cannot seem to actually feel warm enough seeking out every scrap of additional warmth they can- basking in the sun like a cat; curling up practically on top of a radiator or on the hearth nearly in the fireplace; wearing an almost comical amount of layers; padding about the house with a blanket clutched 'round them as a cloak; drinking exclusively hot beverages and cradling the mugs of tea and cocoa and mulled cider tight between their hands; constructing elaborate blanket-nests wherever they're resting; sticking limpet-like to the side of any companion(s) to leech their bodyheat or insistently cuddling any available pets- they turn into a heat-seeking missile whose entire goal is just to feel warm.

[piggycyberwarrior]

Summary: After Task Force 141 got a hint that you gave important information to their enemy- the boys do not hesitate to chain you up and give you a taste of hell. You on the other hand are innocent but they do not believe you

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Platonic Task Force 141! x Fem!Reader (Simon Ghost Riley x Fem!Reader)

a/n: part 3‘s probably gonna take a while- oop.. enjoyyyyy

Warnings: uhm this whole fic is basically a warning. Torture; Blood; Mental Health; Angst angst angst not proof read CURSING!!! (Like always ngl). Being extremely drunk in a funny way(?) idk never been drunk before

genre: ANGST

+ 1,7k words

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6

Base. Last Year. Warm summer night.

A memory so stupid yet so sweet you often thought back to it. Still fresh, lingering in your brain like a welcomed cloud. Nothing special- still, like a upbeat song- making you happy- feeling fuzzy.

Just a night spent with your people. People that understood you. People that were aware of your fears just like you were aware of theirs.

Time slowed down when you dived back into the memory. Happiness flooding your senses every time.

Crickets chirping late at night- warm air coming through the opened window of the community area- making you feel fuzzy and warm.

Johnny was drunk as hell back than- just like you have been. Ghost- was clearly amused- having a softer look on his face- as you and Soap emotionally sung 'let it go'- feeling every second. Soaps loud voice combined with the scottish accent made you laugh uncontrollably- finding it hard to breath.

Everything was just so much funnier that night.

Making up lyrics at some point- too drunk to remember every line- and even Ghost had to admit the next day that the freestyle parts weren't even that bad.

Price was in a good mood as well- leaning back and watching two of his three Sergeants almost crying while singing a stupid song and dancing to it.

And Gaz? That man was deep gone in his slumber- beer still in hand whilst he snored the whole time- drool dribbling down his chin and pooling onto the table where his head crashed onto half an hour ago.

'Kids'- Price just thought- chuckling while shaking his head slightly in disbelief. His Fingers shortly ran over moustache- giving Simon a knowing look as his liuetenant switched your drink with cold water- not wanting you to throw up your organs the next day. Even if Ghost didn‘t admit it- Price knew how fond the liuetenant was of you. He saw it in the way he let you near- how he carried you when you dodged that bullet for him.

Price never mentioned it but he saw the tears that brimmed in Simons eyes back then- frantically carrying you bridal style to the medics- never leaving your side for days. Just waiting and praying for you to recover

You took a sip of the water- now too busy to paint Kyle's nails with a hot pink Nail polish named 'Babygirl kiss' or something of the sort- not even noticing the switch of your drink- too drunk to care.

Soap was also busy distracting Price before the man finally saw what you did to Kyle. "Y/n- no" John only tutted like a parent- as he saw Gaz' now pink nails. "Whaaaa'? shi' loogs good" you slurred with a loopsided grin- hiccuping after your words and earning a gentle pat on your shoulder

"Maybe a little punishment for passing out.. its not even permanent" Ghost shrugged- same unreadable expression on his face even tho you finally abandoned your artsy task and were sprawled over his lap on the couch- fiddling with his mask like a child- feeling tired out of the sudden.

Soap just nodded his head furiously at Ghosts words- just like you- liking the polish on your friends fingers. „Ya dinnae fink tha‘ thad lass hs a broblem wih‘ tha, did a?“ the man with the mohawk slurred while stumbling slightly to take another shot.

Price sighed with a nod- taking a big gulp of his Whiskey befor he closed his eyes- feeling the burning sensation trailing down his esaphagus. Still suprised that Ghost even let you so close to him. Touching him so often.

"Uhhg" Soap moaned in pain as he laid on the cheap carpet floor- holding his belly.. "May'be- goo mally jelly jots" he bitched- curling up to a ball to immediately pass out- earning a chuckle from his Captain.

It was a silly memory- just funny when remembered- thats what you liked. Something that feels normal- comfortable.

.

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.

Now it wasn't anymore.

Far from it actually.

You dreamed often times down here- memories that normally made you laugh- now making you cry. Wishing to just forget everything you ever witnessed with them. Even if it made your day back then.

You had to admit that you sometimes wished to travel back in time. Make everything right- but what did you even do? Right.

Nothing.

You could feel yourself getting weaker. Little to no food, the wetness and cold temperatures of the room crawled up your bones- making you shiver almost all the time- legs and arms turning painfully cold- almost like dead meat.

It was quiet most of the time. Too quiet. Too dark. The cell was made to torture- to confuse- to limit your senses. And it did.

You shook your legs in the darkness of the room. Feeling them getting weaker again. You didn't sit down for almost 2 weeks. Trying to move your fingers- hissing softly as the cuffs scratched uncomfortably at your already raw rubbed wrists. You couldn't feel your arms- just hoped that your fingers really did move.

„Fuck“ you hissed- vision getting blurry with tears of frustration- and pain- and all the fucked up stuff that clouded your brain down in this shithole.

Slamming your bare foot behind you against the wall- definitely scratching it up during the process. „Fuck- I am going to kill everyone of you dirty fuckers!“ you yelled in agony- pulling at your chains- they did not budge a millimeter- just clinking under your movements.

Everything hurt. You had to admit that. Your eye was almost swollen shut, you could feel that. Broken nose, maybe also a black eye on the other side. Cuts adorning your Belly as well as your back-

You could swear that your toes and fingers were turning blue due to the coldness

You sighed into the silence. If it were any other occasion you would have probably thought about killing yourself? But now? Hah.

You will fucking live. Fucking spit in their faces Make them fucking bleed their hearts out and Scream.

Simon.

oh you were going to make him weep like a baby when all of this is done- destroying his tough shell with hateful words. Something that hurts him the most. Being Abandoned.

You were fucking Angry.

angry wasn‘t even fitting- you were furious, boiling with hate, wanting to see them destroyed.

Yeah. Your mother probably would say something like "Anger and revenge is no way out- its an unhealthy coping mechanism". You loved your Mother- didn't even know if she got informed what was going on here- probably not- you thought.

Still you wanted to throw a middlefinger at that statement. Yes. revenge isn't always a good answer. But here? Right now?

It seemed like a fucking good plan.

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"Just tell us, sugar" Gaz spat at you with a venom laced voice. Looking at your quiet and beat up frame. Painfully squeezing your chin inbetween his fingers to make you look at him.

"What? Cat gotcha tounge?" he asked with a bloodthirsthy smile. "Didn't think we would find out, eh?" he asked staring at you with a clenched jaw- he was seething.

No need to be a pro to see that.

Your feelings matched his expression perfectly - you didn't show him though. Staring into his eyes with a dead look- not bothering talking to him. "Maybe I should cut your tounge off, huh? Liking that idea, sweetie?" holding up his knife and cocking his head towards it to prove his point.

You rolled your eyes at that gesture, earning a quick stab into your shoulder, grunting at the sudden attack- not expecting it. Breathing getting heavier as you comprehended the pain that passed through your veins like a wildfire. Spreading its painful heat into every tissue of your body.

"fucker" you chocked out- getting kicked into your stomach for your words- your whole body cramping at the forcefull impact.

Body crumpling together as much as you could- still chained to the bar at the ceiling. "Just tell us the truth!" Gaz sneered angered- fist tightening as he pulled the sharp dagger out of your shoulder- an ugly squelching sound emitting during the process- making you shudder, even though you heard it pretty often during your career.

You huffed angrily- cold sweat forming on your body. Mixing with the dirt and dried up blood- sticking to your skin in an uncomfortable way.

"I. Didn't. Do. SHIT!" you yelled at him- a fire errupting in Gaz eyes, his mouth clenching shut- jabbing you into your throat with his hand out of nowhere-

And everything turned black.

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Gaz sighed at your unconscious self. Fist clenching and unclenching around the hilt of the bloody dagger- other hand coming up to wipe away the sweat that formed on his face.

"Fuck, just please.. tell us the truth" he whispered before turning around.

he quickly left- Room turning dark again. The singular lightbulb getting dimmer and dimmer till the light completely vanished.

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Your shoulder stung like a bitch after you gained consciousness. Groaning in pain- the warm liquid still slowly trickling down your shoulder, over your chest- trailing further down.

„Fucking bitch“ you moaned in pain- curses- all directed at Kyle flooded your mouth

„Motherfucker!“ you whimpered- shoulders trembling- making you wince even more. Feeling the tightness in the back of your throat- accompanied by the bitter taste and burning sensation in your eyes- frustrating you even more. tears falling free- creating small streaks on their way down- contrasting with the dried up blood on your beat up face.

A sob was the first thing that broke the silence for a long time. Then another- and another. All drenched in pain. Hurt. Betrayal.

Sobs wrecked your body- coughing after some minutes of crying your soul out. Too much Saliva or mucus in your nasal area. You pleaded into the cold air. Missing your family. Missing your happiness. Missing the old times.

old times..

Hours passed. Exhausted look on your face. Eyes shallow. Trying to drift off into sleep again.

You didn‘t care that you were probably ignoring the advice from your Mother that she taught you since you were little.

Fucking making them die on the inside it is.

Die on the Inside.

Fuckers.

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!please do reblog!

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[jackiietaylor]

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