#I don't care that it's Nevada

[thingsifoundongeoguessr]

When your partner doesn't know where they want to go for dinner we have just the place for y'all

[cowardlycowboys]

I mean yes please to the kiss but i meant like, as in, "utah? more like eww-tah"

LMAO yeah utah is pretty ew minus like the natural beauty

[reddbuster]

Some people really just do not understand the concept of legal precedent do they? I feel like a solid 30-40% of the awful takes I see on this site could be avoided if people knew the most basic shit about their own legal systems.

[minecraftfalloutau]

I remember once, during the Las Nevadas arc (think like, right after the first stream Wil and Tom went there and spoke with Q), I went into the NV tag because I like looking at the art there from time to time. Some asshole was having baby rage that someone on Twitter realized there were some similarities between LN arc stuff and NV. Like, they were so so upset that someone would dare compare the story bits to the game. How dare!! It was honestly pretty funny. NV as a game is no way perfect, it has a lot of issues, it’s DLCs as well. Especially a certain DLC. So there was some irony to it as well.

I know eventually a few other people also realized the similarities. There aren’t many, but still a good few. Very fascinating. I made my character/sona the courier, with this whole story of going from the wasteland to the smp world, because of my block game username. I ain’t gonna just not take the opportunity when it’s right there. Can’t wait for people to get pissy about that. 

[wraithlafitte]

bitchin'

pairing: dean winchester x reader

CONTENT: violence (hunting), SMUT, only one bed~ enemies to lovers (kinda), unprotected p in v (encase before you embrace), hate sex, Dean calls reader "princess" mockingly, manhandling, slapping, spanking, big dick!Dean has all the audacity, dirty talk, degradation, choking, cum eating, brat taming, edging, overstimulation, squirting

word count: 4.7k

To say you were unhappy to be working with Dean Winchester would be putting it lightly. A massive understatement, in fact. But, as luck would have it, you needed backup on a vamp case; and when you called Bobby Singer for help, it turned out that Dean was the only hunter nearby.

Your jaw set uncomfortably as you dialed his number and held the phone to your ear. Asking for help from anyone was hard, but from this man? Practically your mortal enemy? A feeling of shame, or maybe embarrassment, crept into your stomach as you listened to the phone ring.

He's probably just watching it ring, you thought cynically. Who's to say he would pick up at all? Maybe he won't, you hoped.

There was a laundry list of reasons why Dean was the last person you'd want to work with on a case. He was reckless, had no respect for plans, and tended to go in guns blazing without regard for his own life, which meant that you would constantly be saving his ass. And boy, was he a pain in yours.

The cherry on top of the Dean Winchester disaster cake was that he hated your guts. You never really figured out why, but you assumed it was his misogynistic tendency to be completely contrary to any woman he met who didn't fall all over him. God forbid a woman doesn't care about his rugged good looks or roguish bravery!

When he finally picked up, you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, dripping with self-righteousness. "Well, well. What do you want?"

You decided it would be best to cut to the chase and just get it over with. "I'm working a case in Nevada," you said calmly. He would not get you riled up. "Vegas. There's a vamp nest, been snatching homeless people. Tunnel dwellers," you added. "Not that it matters. People are people, vamps are vamps."

"What are you tellin' me for?" Dean asked gruffly. He was gonna make you say it. Of fucking course he was, because he just had to hold it over your head.

"Need backup," you said curtly. "There's at least five of them."

"So what you're sayin' is...." The smugness in his voice was unmistakeable.

"I need your help, you dick."

"Oh do you now."

You huffed, already fed up with him. "Bobby says you're the only hunter he knows nearby. Said you're in Flagstaff."

"Maybe I am," he said vaguely. "Bobby should know not to tell you anything about where I am or recommend me as reinforcements for you."

"He didn't want to, but I made him. Are you coming or not?" you said sharply.

I'll be there by nightfall. Don't wait up," he said teasingly and hung up, leaving you to listen to the tone, steaming.

Why does he have to make everything so difficult?

Rough pounding on the door of your motel room startled you up from your chair at midnight. Dean wasn't even in the room yet, and he was already tormenting you. You went to the door and jerked it open, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could feel the headache coming on.

"Honey, I'm home," Dean said wickedly. He pushed past you into the room, dropping his duffel bags in the middle of the floor. He dropped into the chair you had just vacated and looked up at you with a shit-eating grin.

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be," you warned him, eyes narrowing.

"Hey, I'm just excited to kill some vamps," he said, jabbing a finger towards you.

"Give it up. We both know you would rather be anywhere else."

"True," he conceded. "But let me just bask in the moment real quick."

You roll your eyes and return to your task, packing up your stuff. "Don't get too comfortable. We can't stay here. I was followed earlier."

"Perfect," Dean said sarcastically. "Of course you were."

You turn on him. "It can happen to anyone."

"Sure," he mocked. "So what's the plan, genius?"

Your face hardened. "We take the fight to them."

"Say no more."

The vampire's nest was in an abandoned warehouse (real original) that was a few streets away from one of the tunnels that the homeless had set up camp in. Chain link fence, corrugated metal, broken windows, the whole deal. And of course Dean wouldn't wait to make a game plan, sliding open a side door like nothing bad was waiting to jump him. In a vampire nest. At night.

All you could do was follow him, machete at the ready, and hope that the scuffing of his boots on the concrete floor wouldn't alert any vampires to your presence.

Dean ducked down, holding a fist in the air. You hurried behind him and crouched behind a shelf just in time to miss a patrolling vampire rounding the corner. Without missing a beat, Dean jumped out behind it and chopped it at the neck soundlessly. The body fell to the floor. As much as you hated to admit it, he was good.

You crept in the direction the fang had come from, Dean hot on your heels. He was so close you could hear his leather jacket creaking, smell his cologne, feel him practically breathing down your neck. You shot him a glare over your shoulder, then suddenly you hear voices. You stopped abruptly in your tracks, causing Dean to bump into you. You elbowed him and gave him a look.

Peeking around the doorframe, you saw what appeared to be the vamps' main hangout room. And there were a lot more than five of them, lounging around the walls, circling victims that were hung by their wrists from a beam.

"We can take them," Dean whispered in your ear.

You looked at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?" you hissed back. You tried to count the dark shapes in the next room. "There's at least ten in there. There's only two of us."

"We can do it." Without waiting for a reply, Dean busted down the door and started swinging. You had no choice but to follow as the vampires started coming out of their startled stupor and attacking.

Dean cut down two of them easily, their heads rolling on the floor before they knew what hit them. The rest, however, had time to react.

One of the vampires rushed you, just managing to avoid your blade as you swung it. She snarled and leapt towards you. You slashed her across the chest and she howled, clutching her shirt. You took the opportunity and decapitated her.

Someone grabbed you from behind, claw-like nails scratching your neck as it was forced to the side, baring your skin. You stabbed behind you, blade finding purchase, and used the distraction to cut off the fang's head.

Another vamp rushed you from the front. You swung your blade out in defense, but he just grabbed it and ripped it from your hand. Then, as if they could smell your defenselessness, you were suddenly swarmed, vampires clawing at your skin, your clothes, pulling your hair. Several hard punches landed to your gut and your face and the wind was knocked out of you as you fell to the floor, smacking the side of your head into the concrete. You yelped in pain and shock.

A boot pressed into the side of your neck and your vision was suddenly obscured by a heavy-set vampire bearing down on you, grinning. "Not so tough now without your little sword," he sneered, fangs descending. His mouth was smeared with blood and you could smell the tang of iron on his breath. You struggled to breathe as the pressure on your neck increased, your vision getting spotty.

Great, this is how I die....

As if in the distance, you heard Dean shout. The looming face of the vamp was promptly detached from its body, hitting the floor by your head. His body fell on top of yours, his gross bloody neck stump right in your view. The boot left your neck and charged in the direction of Dean's voice.

You struggled to free yourself from beneath the former vamp, ears ringing from your near-suffocation. You could hear the ensuing scuffle, all grunts and wet slices and heavy footfalls, but you had no idea who was winning.

Then, it was silent.

You held your breath instinctively, listening to a lone pair of footsteps approaching you. You found yourself realizing for the first time that you hoped Dean was coming. Better than the alternative.

Sure enough, Dean's hunt-beaten face appeared above you, screwed up with effort as he pushed the large vamp's body off of you. You sat up quickly, surveying the carnage, slapping away the extended helping hand. The shock of your near death experience wore off quickly, but the adrenaline from the fight did not, so your energy turned towards Dean.

"What the fuck, Dean?" you yelled, rising to your feet, wincing from the pain in your sides.

"What do you mean what the fuck?" he returned angrily. "I just saved your goddamn life!"

"After you endangered it!" you shoved him, scowling furiously. "Ten to two are not good odds! We could have fucking died! I almost did!"

"Hazards of the job, sweetheart!"

"There's hazards, and then there's suicide," you replied, fuming.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't have to thank me."

"I won't." You shoved him out of your way and made for the door. "Don't you ever fucking do that again."

"Not so fast, princess," Dean called after you. "Hunt's not over."

You froze in your tracks. "What."

"I didn't get all of 'em." You whirled around to face Dean, who was looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

Your voice was dangerously quiet. "What do you mean you didn't get all of them?"

He made an attempt at a self-confident grin. "They saw me ganking their buddies like nobody's business, turned tail and ran. I was more concerned about saving your life than to chase."

You smirked tauntingly. "Oh, you cared about my life?"

Dean just shrugged. "Couldn't just leave you there."

"Whatever." You started walking to the entrance again. "Since you let some get away, I say we get a night's sleep. They'll probably be expecting us to come after them, so they won't hunt again tonight. We can pick up the trail in the morning."

"What do you mean you only have one room left?" Dean asked angrily, slamming his hands down on the motel counter.

The clerk looked at him blankly. "Just what I said."

You were at the cheapest motel you could find in the city that was built on tourism. You and Dean were both short on cash, so it seemed like the best option. It was this or take shelter with the junkies in the tunnels.

"I'm not spending the night in the same room as her!"

You hit his shoulder. "Hey!"

"Like you don't feel the same," Dean said exasperatedly, digging out his wallet. "Next cheapest is still too expensive. I'm basically broke," he whined, rifling through his meager collection of bills.

"What happened to all your credit cards, Mr. Fraud?" you sneered.

Dean glared at you. You glared back. After a few moments, the clerk cleared his throat.

"So, do you want the room or not?"

You dropped your bags just inside the door of the room. "You're fucking kidding me."

Dean pushed past you. "What- oh. Oh my goddd." He ran his hand down his face tiredly.

Staring you in the face was the decidedly lumpy surface of a double bed. One. That fucking clerk could've warned you.

You and Dean slowly looked at each other, then you made a mad dash to claim the bed, shoving each other out of the way, kicking, tackling, until you both lay tangled on the floor, still not in the bed. You had his arm pinned behind his back, but he was pinning you to the floor with his weight.

You jerked on his arm, panting, and he grunted painfully, digging his knee into your side.

"Say.. uncle," you gritted out.

"You first!" Dean rasped.

"No!"

You laid there for a few more seconds, then, almost as if it was painful, Dean asked, "Should we- call it a draw?"

You rolled your eyes and released him. He rolled off of you, getting to his feet. He didn't help you up, of course.

"I'm not sleeping on the floor," he said spitefully.

"Well, neither am I." Your eyes narrowed.

You laid on the bed stiffly, positioned all the way at the edge of the mattress, as far away from Dean as possible. He was doing the same, and the blanket was pulled taut between you as you wordlessly battled over it.

You were steaming. You should have known that everything would go to shit if you called on him. He completely ruined what should have been a one-hour job, endangering your life and letting a few vamps go. He did, technically, save your life though. You were grateful, but you wouldn't tell him that in a million years.

Adrenaline from the hunt and your constant fighting with Dean coursed through your veins, keeping every sense on high alert. Every tug of the sheets from Dean lit a fire under your skin. His weight behind you on the bed filled you with a painful awareness of how touch-starved you truly were. As much as you tried to suppress it, tension began building in your core.

You shifted uncomfortably, squeezing your thighs together. "Ugh," you let out before you could stop yourself.

"Shut up," Dean grumbled through the darkness.

The sound of his voice, rough with tiredness, intensified how extremely horny you felt. You felt your underwear getting damp in spite of your hate for the man.

"God dammit," you said frustratedly, sitting up and swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

"What?" Dean said, throwing the covers back and sitting up too. "Why can't you just let me fucking sleep?"

"Nothing," you snapped, taking a swig from your water bottle. Hydrating would calm you down, surely.

"Yeah, right," he snapped back. "What the fuck is wrong?"

"I'm really fucking horny, Christ!" you blurt, whirling on him.

"If I fuck you, will you stop bitchin'?" Dean demanded, fire and a deadly seriousness in his eyes.

You opened and closed your mouth, stunned.

He just smirked at you. "Is that what it takes to shut you up?"

You stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"You want me so bad, huh." He moved across the bed and settled right behind you, his face in your neck, inches away from your own.

"Shut up," you say, flustered, still trying to keep some semblance of control. But you couldn't deny the arousal pooling in your gut.

"Say the word," Dean said smoothly, breath fanning over your exposed shoulder.

"Fuck," you whispered, cursing what you're about to do. You turned your head and smashed your lips to his.

Dean responded immediately, pulling you backwards and into his lap. He bit at your lips, forcing his tongue inside your mouth. You made an indignant sound, battling him for dominance, teeth clashing in a messy display of pure desire.

Your lips only parted to rip off each other's shirts. You dug your fingernails into Dean's bare shoulders as hard as you could, trying to elicit some kind of reaction from him, which came in the form of a deep groan into your mouth. He broke away, panting, and flung you onto your back on the mattress.

Leering down at you, he placed himself between your legs. "That's how you wanna play, huh princess?"

He yanked your leg up by the knee and slapped the back of your thigh. An involuntary moan escaped your mouth, and Dean chuckled darkly. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."

"Just shut up and fuck me," you whined, hitting his side with your foot.

"Ah-ah," he tutted. "Bad girls don't get what they want."

You sat up and came nose to nose with him. "If you think for one second that I am going to sit here and play submissive for you-"

Dean laced his fingers through the back of your hair and sharply tugged your head back. You moaned in response. A smile slowly grew over his face and he let go abruptly and shoved you back down. Your back barely hit the mattress before he was yanking off your sleep shorts and underwear in one go, tossing them to the far reaches of the room. You gasped as the cool air from the room hit your core, driving home the fact that you were now completely exposed to him.

"Aw, already so wet for me," Dean jeered, running a finger up your slit roughly. You flinched away from the sudden contact, heat spreading to your face.

"Don't flatter yourself," you gasped as he shoved a finger inside you, curling it vigorously, relishing the wet sounds your pussy produced.

Dean palmed himself through his pajama pants, groaning. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, he added a second finger inside you, scissoring you open. At least he has the decency to prepare me, you thought.

He yanked his fingers out of you, giving your pussy a quick slap, and you whined at the sudden empty feeling.

"Don't whine," Dean said roughly, getting off the bed and kicking off his pants and boxers. You looked down, unable to help yourself.

You saw where he got all his confidence from. He was big. You practically quivered with anticipation. You loved a good stretch, and you liked it rough, and this was about to be both.

"Like what you see?" Dean mocked, shaking his cock.

"Looks like maybe your confidence isn't completely unwarranted," you admitted dryly. You could feel your combative spirit giving way to lust, but you weren't giving up that easily.

He winked, grabbed your ankles and jerked you to the edge of the bed, your thighs around his waist, your hair fanned out on the blanket behind your head. Dean took hold of your calves and pressed your knees up by your face, leaning over you and pinning you down with his weight again. Only this time, it was way hotter.

"Gonna be good for me?" he asked, voice dripping with mock sweetness.

"In your fucking dreams," you spat.

In one fluid motion, he backed off of you, grabbed you by the waist, and spun you onto your stomach. You squeaked as a heavy hand landed on your ass, much harder than he hit before.

You used your feet, barely touching the floor, to push yourself back towards him, hoping he would get the point and just fuck you already without you having to ask him again.

"So fucking needy," he murmured in your ear. "Use your words, princess."

"Fuck you," you moaned, feeling his cock jerk against your leg.

"Mmm, that's not right," Dean warned, fingers digging into your hips.

You grit your teeth. "Fuck me."

Dean splayed his fingers over your ass cheeks, spreading you open for him, and thrust into you roughly, filling you in one go.

You gasped, feeling his cock throb inside you as your pussy complained against the intrusion and desperately tried to adjust to his size. He groaned as you clenched around him, pulling out slowly and slamming back in.

"Dean," you gasped out. "Don't be such a fucking tease."

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want, princess," Dean growled, his thrusts becoming faster. "You asked for this."

"Technically- you offered," you corrected, eyes screwing shut at the pleasure building inside you with each thrust.

"God, shut- up," Dean griped, punctuating his words with a deep thrust that hit just right, eliciting an embarrassingly loud moan from you.

He just grunted, hips colliding against you, now just chasing his own high. You pressed your face into the bed, clutching the blanket with both fists, fortifying yourself against Dean's relentless pace. His fingers pressed deeply into your hips, carving out a place for him, letting you know you wouldn't be coming away from this encounter unbruised.

"God, you're so fucking tight," Dean rasped, slapping your ass. You moaned in response, unable to think of a witty retort. "Bet it's been a long time since you were fucked, huh?"

When you didn't reply, he slapped your ass again, on the other side, sending fireworks through your core.

"Bet that's why you're so desperate for me," he groaned. "Haven't gotten laid in a while. Bet that's why you're such a bitch, too," he added snarkily.

"Oh, fuck off," you mumbled into the mattress.

Dean pulled out, much to your chagrin, turning you onto your back again. "If you want," he said, eyes glimmering with mischief.

You pouted and whined, hooking your feet around his waist and trying to pull him back. You were rewarded with a sharp slap to your pussy. You cried out from the stimulation.

"Don't whine," he growled, pushing into you again on the last word.

"Sorry," you whispered in spite of yourself, gripping onto his arms as he cages you in with his body.

"What was that?" Dean said, grinning wickedly and thrusting into you sharply.

"Fuck-" you moaned instead, refusing to cooperate.

He wraps his hand around your throat loosely, putting slight pressure just under your jaw. Your eyes widened as he slowly increased the pressure, jeering down at you, still slamming into you at an incredible pace. Your body started to become overwhelmed with all the sensory input and your core tightened.

You knew Dean felt it, because he grimaced. "Gonna come, you little slut?" he taunted, reaching down with his free hand to rub harshly at your clit. A low whine released from the back of your throat.

His grip tightened around your neck to see your reaction. You gasped, straining to get a full breath in, your pussy clenching hard around his cock.

"Such a fucking slut that you're gonna come from being choked out," Dean said through gritted teeth, his thrusts becoming sloppy.

"Fuck- Dean," you choked out, both hands wrapped around his wrist. He eased up on the pressure some (he didn't want to kill you) and your hands moved desperately up his arm, gripping him tightly.

Dean was getting close, you could tell, but the question remained: would he come before you? And if he did, would he still take care of you? Somehow you doubted it. The self-absorbed jackass was probably going to cum inside you and fall asleep, like almost every other man you'd slept with.

Suddenly Dean lurched forward, shoving his face into the space between your neck and shoulder, breathing heavily in your ear. You clenched in surprise (and also because a man getting desperate was one of the hottest things on the planet).

Dean groaned deeply in response and bit down on your shoulder, hard. You cried out, half from pain and half from the surprising pleasure it sent roaring through you, causing your cunt to squeeze down on him tightly. He practically whimpered, detaching from your skin and pulling out, pumping himself a few times before spilling onto your stomach with a moan.

He looked down at the mess he'd made of you, dragging his fingers through his cum. Then he brought those fingers up to your mouth and pressed them against your lips. "Open."

You scowled at him, once again determined to be contrary.

Dean glared back. "Open, or you don't get to come," he said harshly, forcing his fingers between your lips and teeth.

So he was planning to take care of you. Your neediness returned in full force, and you opened your mouth to allow him to shove his fingers deep into your mouth. You gagged as his fingertips hit the back of your throat, the taste of his cum filling your mouth. He pressed down on your tongue and you dutifully sucked on his fingers as he smirked down at the sight.

"Good little slut," Dean said nastily, obviously feeling proud of himself. He started to pull his fingers out and you closed your teeth, scraping his skin as he did. He slapped your cheek lazily once his hand was free. "Swallow it."

You glared, but did as you were told, sticking out your tongue to prove it.

Dean grinned. "Ready for your reward, princess?"

You moaned needily, throwing your head back and bucking your hips up towards him.

"Such a fucking whore," he chastised, bringing his hand to your clit and stroking around it lazily. A pang of arousal shot through you as you quickly approached the edge again. All thoughts of defiance went out the window as you grinded against his hand.

"Please," you whimpered, squirming under his touch.

"Since you asked so nicely," Dean mocked. He stuffed your pussy with three fingers at once, thrusting and curling them inside you. "Fuckin' dripping, princess."

He brought his other hand to your clit, thumbing it in figure eights in time with his fingers. You gasped as your core tightened. His fingers were bringing you so close to the brink and just keeping you there, never increasing the pressure just enough to push you over.

"Fuuuck," you moaned, panting. "Please, Dean! I need- I need-"

"You need what?" he teased. He twisted his fingers up to your g-spot, simultaneously ceasing his movements on your clit to press down on it hard.

"Oh, God!" you cried out, almost hyperventilating. The feeling of your orgasm building up was almost too much to bear. A dry sob wracked your body.

Dean nipped at your chest, gazing up at your contorted face with eyes so innocent looking you could've sworn, for a moment, that this was not a man you hated with your entire being, who was not currently doing the most sinful things to you with his hands.

You whimpered pathetically. "Please," you said in a small voice. "I need to come so bad." Your face flushed with shame as you finally admit what he's done to you, both with your words and body.

"All you had to do was ask," Dean said, sickly sweet. His hands sparked into motion again, redoubling their efforts. You let out a strangled scream as you were brought right back to the precipice, only this time, surely, he's going to let you?

It was like a pot boiling over, overwhelming heat spreading from your core out through your stomach, making your legs shake and your abs tighten. You made another strangled, desperate noise as you grinded down on his hand.

"That's it, princess, fuck yourself on my fingers," Dean goaded.

You struggled to catch your breath, eyes wide. Your face was hot and wet, and you realized numbly that tears were streaming down your face, running into your hair. He started to take his hands away, but your hands chased them, seizing them and bringing them back to your core.

Dean seemed surprised, but more than willing to fuck you past the point of no return. "Fuck, you just can't get enough, huh," he said, sounding mildly impressed. Your body shook as he all but stilled his fingers inside you, just rubbing your clit slowly until it became too much to bear and you pushed him off.

You laid there panting quietly, your body shivering from the aftershocks of one of the most intense orgasms you'd had in a while. For once, it seemed like Dean didn't know what to say.

You closed your eyes for a moment, then suddenly felt his hand on your clit again, rubbing vigorously. Your eyes flew open and you looked down to see Dean's face set in determination. You clutched at his wrist, trying weakly to get him away, knees trying to close around him, but it didn't take long for you to cum again with a shriek, heels digging into the mattress to push yourself away. Your cunt pulsed around nothing, and you felt a gush of arousal leave you. Dean looked delighted.

"I fucking knew it," he said triumphantly, holding up his hand to survey the mess.

"What?" you asked feebly as another shiver ran through your body.

"Knew you'd be so touch-starved I could get you to squirt," Dean explained smugly. He licked some of your arousal off his hand.

You threw your head back onto the bed exasperatedly. "God, I hate you."

"Could've fooled me," he returned, displaying his hand to you and smirking.

dividers once again by @cafekitsune and @saradika-graphics

[fallenneziah]

An unexpected spark.

Tag: @heiress-prime

Summary: Your relationship with Optimus is... Complicated. Between the adjustment to life on a new planet and saving your asses from the Decepticons, there was only so much you could handle. And having Optimus' kin had not been on that list for either of you.

Cw: Pregnancy, minor injury, implied sexual encounters, Femme reader. Optimus doesn't have the software update for dadification. Italics for past conversation.

Your relationship with Optimus is... Complicated. Purely for the fact that being sparkmates with a Prime is exactly how you'd expect it to be. 

Yes, Optimus had grown more intimate when you finally decided to stop dancing around each other's afts. Optimus was used to the way of the Prime, so it wasn't in his routine quite yet to acknowledge you romantically. Occasionally when you got some alone time he'd press his helm to yours and remind you how much he appreciated you for sticking by him.

Optimus cares about you, he does. He cares about you to the point that If you didn't contribute so much to the team and were few in numbers he may have yoinked you off the field for good. 

He hates seeing you come back dinged up with scratches glaring in your paint. He hates that exhausted look and he wishes he could keep you safe. 

You knew this, nudging him with your field and smiling softly at him from across the room, excited and lighting up like a puppy when his EM field would brush you back.

You'd sit and have your Energon in the morning together. In the past couple weeks Optimus had noticed the rate at which you had Energon had been increasing. You just found yourself thirsty a lot.

Optimus would tell you to go easy, you only had so much supply after all. It eased the aches you felt after spending the night curled up next to him.

Optimus left you satisfied. You knew it would be a difficult relationship, if not for his duties as Prime, but your survival. 

And you were no stranger to a recon mission, driving down the open Nevada road and taking in the dirt and grime under your tires. Optimus had given you coordinates to an emerging supply with a light squeeze of your shoulder and a loving gaze only he could pull off.

It was nice to spend time away. At least you didn't have to drag one of the kids with you. The children were so interesting. At least, earth children were. 

They were always full of energy, they always asked questions and wanted to be around and play with you. It made you chuckle a little.

Your drive down the road led you to a discarded backroad into the Nevada hills. You shifted your tire and diverted from the pavement off into the trees.

The constant ping from your interior leading the way.

You felt, in a sense, pent up. The way your back struts strained despite being tucked up into the carriage of your car. You could have chalked it up to your latest intimate night with Optimus.

Usually, you shake off the aches in a day or two. Optimus was the kind of 'bot who made up for his less-than-constant intimacy strings with an all-nighter that left you unable to move for the week following.

The weeks prior you had been more sensitive than usual, which Optimus had noticed. It left you both unable to find any time for intimacy because when you got to that point, you just couldn't handle it. But he was gentle. 

"Easy, am I hurting you??"

Your servos gripped onto the plates of his forearm, your expression twisting slightly. "No... I just.." You paused briefly to see if relaxing would ease the unusual pain and sensitivity.

"I don't know..."

"Should I stop?"

"No, no you're fine... I'll be fine."

Optimus' face at the time didn't show he was too convinced. He'd rather be cautious than be sorry later...

"You're coming up on the signal, be careful when you enter." Ratchet's voice broke you from your thoughts, causing you to slow down.

"I'll be careful."

You transformed and shook your pedes along the loose rock of the road. You scanned the area briefly, then continued on foot through the trees. The Energon supply would be right below you soon enough.

You absentmindedly rubbed your abdominal plating to ease the tension in your struts and fuel lines. He must have messed you up good considering the noticeable dent. You'd had it there for a bit, but it was barely noticeable.

The constant beep of the counter led your way through broken foliage and trees barely taller than yourself.

"Coming up on it." You said into your comm. You kept yourself at a good pace as you made it through and found the crater. 

Bingo.

"Get a move on!" A distant voice calls, causing you to duck behind a rock and bushes. 

"Could you useless 'cons work any faster!?"

You shifted and looked through the foliage to see a plateau-heeled Decepticon screeching away.

"Just... Perfect."

You leaned back, "Decepticons got the jump." You whispered into your comm and waited for Ratchet to update.

"How many??"

"Their usual mining crew... I'd say 15- maybe 20?" Your servo pressed against your plating again, feeling the uneasy warmth fill your gut. 

"I'll send Bumblebee and Bulkhead out to you, see if you can get a better idea of who we're up against." Ratchet again replied, giving you something to focus on while waiting for the scout.

You shifted against the rock and ducked back into the foliage. You tread up the small hill. Thankfully the only notable figure among them was Starscream. The rest looked like workers, they wouldn't pose a huge threat. 

You kneeled, your hip plating grinding loudly, making you freeze. The combined sink of your plating and the sound made you cringe. "Fraggin' hell..." 

You grimaced and continued to stay low and wait. It was all you could do. 

You sat there watching them mine the precious Energon that should be for you and the team. That wouldnt be the case if they didn't hurry up and get Bumblebee out here.

Your plating ached. It ached in a way that made you think about Optimus. About his hands on your hips and his denta on your neck cables.

Your plating heated, and the thought of Optimus made your fuel pump thump in your chassis.

"Frag," You whispered.

Your fans kicked on, and your panels clicked.

"Ratchet I- I'm not feeling well..." You swallowed hard.

"Not well?? What are your readings showing?"

You checked your monitor, looking down at the diagnostics on your forearm. You were experiencing intense tightening just above your hip plating. And the rising temperature caused your fuel lines to tangle and a lightheaded feeling to sink in.

"My plating feels... Too tight."

"Is it painful?"

"Yeah."

"Can you make it back?"

"I.. Yeah.." You started to stand.

You paused, and your servo came to your stomach plating. Your Energon levels were down to 40% despite your rationing before you left.

"Bumblebee and Bulkhead are on their way to your coordinates."

Optimus was in the other room, concentrating on some old data pads he skimmed whenever he wasn't on missions.

He heard Ratchet in the other room but tuned him out. A tight warmth grew in his chest which caused him to adjust and shake his shoulders slightly. But as he read the feeling grew more prominent until he couldn't ignore it. His EM field pulsed, feeling that faint pulse of your spark alongside his. It felt uneven. The usual soft pump in rhythm that comforted the Matrix in his chest felt off. 

Optimus pressed his servo to his chassis and tuned in to the feeling. Your spark throbbed against his rhythmically. The tight pulse and pull yearning for him, tugging the Matrix as if new life was growing the strength to stir from your chest.

It made him forget to breathe. He adjusted his optics again and pressed his chassis shut again, unaware it had come slightly ajar.

You leaned up against the rock, listening for anything around you with your servo still pressed against your abdomen. Footsteps softly came up behind you, a servo touching your shoulder. You jumped slightly and looked up to see Bumblebee. He whirred softly and pressed a digit to his helm as he moved toward the 'cons.

Bulkhead was close behind him. You sucked in the minor pain, took a deep breath and got on your feet again. You drew your arm cannon and followed the mechs out into the open.

"Hey, Screamer!" Bulkhead shouted and clanged his fists together. 

Starscream saw the three of you and frowned deeply. "Autobots!" His wings fluttered in a panic. "Get them!" He ordered the 'cons. They abandoned their mining and ran at you three.

You shot at the first wave, taking them down before they could get too close. Bumblebee and Bulkhead worked together to get the bigger bots and leave the smaller ones for you.

As you went to take another shot the ache returned.

You winced, taking down the miner and looking around the area. Starscream was nowhere in sight.

You were about to comm Ratchet, but a sharp pain in your chassis forced you to hunch over and hold yourself.

The energy in your veins is pumps and pulses. Bulkhead noticed you and quickly rushed to your side, defending your flank while you recovered. You recovered and moved toward the Energon reserve. Bumblebee and Bulkhead held their position. You rushed to the middle of the pit, Starscream jumping down in front of you.

"Where are you going?" He grinned and aimed his arm at you, spindly digit threatening to pull the trigger.

"Starscream-" You held a hand up, the other resting against the pain in your plating.

"Oh, you're not getting any mercy today!" He lunged at you and shot a round into your shoulder. You tumbled to the ground, the pain seering your plating. "Frag-" You reached your knee up and kicked him off, deflecting his arm that swung at you, twisting and throwing him off of you. His nimble frame was back on his feet in seconds. Luckily so were you. You raised your fists, blocking his left hook, his sharp arm plating screeching against yours.

His leg swept under your ankle and threw you to the ground again. He stood over you and aimed his arm in your face. "I've been waiting for this... Megatron will praise me." 

You panted and tilted your head back. "I wouldn't be too sure of that..."

A shadow fell over you both. Starscream's wings tucked in defeat as a fist violently shoved him out of the way and threw him against the wall. Starscream yelped, rock falling and landing in his lap.

Optimus stood over you, his servo reached for you and grabbed your arm to pull you up.

You winced and held yourself, feeling your struts and plates shift uncomfortably.

"Thank you."

He nodded firmly, activating his arm cannon and placing a protective arm on your shoulder. He moved you somewhere safer and rejoined the fight. You watched him go and smiled softly. Ratchet split from the group and came over to you. You slowly sat down and looked up at him as he worked. You took a deep breath and looked down. Your spark was warm, and your chest felt like it was going at a million beats per second.

Ratchet checked your diagnostics and nodded. "That was one of my fears... We need to get you out of here." You looked at him. How he looked at you made your spark flutter but for the wrong reasons. "Ratchet it's not..."

"It is. Optimus had a hunch."

You shuddered softly. Ratchet kept you sat down and watched over you protectively until the sound above the reserve grew quiet. Starscream squirmed out from his place and transformed, flying off. 

"We'll get him next time." You said.

"I'd say so." Bulkhead approached.

You tried standing but were met with resistance.

"I can walk," you said stubbornly, moving your hips slightly. Ratchet gave you a firm look and kept you down. Optimus walked over, the other two moving away so he could come close to you.

"It's as you thought, Optimus," Ratchet said and got up. He motioned the others to follow him and they went to look over the Energon.

You looked up at Optimus softly and searched his optics to try and identify any anger in his face. Or, anything. Any emotion would be great right about now. "I... I don't know how I didn't notice sooner... When would we even-"

Optimus gently reached out and took your servo. You looked down and then back up. Optimus fully kneeled to your side, squeezing your servo. "I am not upset. I'm not... anything, right now."

You sighed softly. "I should have known... all the signs were there." You looked down, "I should have known."

Optimus' faceplates softened, "I'm glad you're alright." He let go of your servo and cupped your faceplate, tilting his head down. Your shoulders loosened a little. You reached up to cup his neck when his helm met yours. He welcomed your EM field into his, surrounding you with a mellow warmth that soothed your hydraulics.

You were a nervous wreck. He knew that.

You leaned forward and nuzzled into his neck cables.

"Optimus.."

"I need to get you and the team home." His voice rumbled low in his chassis, soothing you with something fierce. He slowly leaned back and helped you up. Your knees wobbled and crumbled underneath you. Optimus caught you effortlessly, a large hand spreading across your breastplates, helping you lean back up. "Easy.." He kept you close to his body, a comforting weight in your chest that reminded you you were safe.

"I've never had to carry someone so much before."

You smiled up at him. "I wouldn't mind if you did it more often." 

He cracked a small smile at that. He effortlessly pulls you up off your pedes and against his warm chest. The others got the Energon they could, and Ratchet called Arce to open the bridge and bring you back to base. Optimus went first with you in his arms. He held you tightly and protectively as he made his way through the tunnel.

The team followed close behind, Arce shutting the bridge and coming to Ratchet's side.

"What happened out there?"

Ratchet looked up at Optimus, they shared a silent conversation for a moment before Ratchet turned back to his computer. "Mishap, come on, let's get the rest of this, yes?" The others nodded and followed Ratchet's instruction.

Optimus brings you back to your berthroom and slowly sets you down. Now that you were in private you could properly talk.

"I am not mad."

You looked up at him.

"I don't want you to think I am. We are in a dangerous war. I cannot blame you for this, nor am I mad at you for it. You couldn't have predicted this. I couldn't have either." He knew that wasn't entirely the case. You two were sexually reserved, sure. But you could have avoided this.

He gently reached out and touched the side of your helm. You leaned into it and reached up to touch his wrist.

"I am..." He paused. He didn't know what he was. How he felt, it was very mixed emotions. "I don't know what I feel."

You understood.

You leaned forward and nuzzled his wrist. You looked up at him with soft optics, "It doesn't change anything?" 

To that, Optimus shook his helm. "No, not a chance." You looked down, and a smile formed across your derma. "If it means anything... I wouldn't do this with anyone else."

Optimus chuckled softly.

You sat up a bit straighter. 

"I wouldn't feel privileged to raise a sparkling if it weren't with you." He said, his thumb tracing your jaw.

You leaned in and pressed your lips to his. He held you, his hand on your jaw slowly traveling to the back of your helm. His EM field pulsed around you, warming you as it wrapped around your body. He pulled back and pressed his helm to yours.

"I'm glad we're in this together." You whispered. Optimus was quiet in favor of kissing you again. One servo comes down to protectively rest against your abdominal plating.

If Primus brings him a child, then who is he to say no? It may not be the ideal condition, but he wouldn't want to raise a sparkling with someone else.

You gleamed up at him. He returned the soft smile, gently nudging your forehead. "You're going to be a sire," Your smile grew wider, the momentary fear and worry that troubled you replaced by the joyful realization of what was to come.

Optimus couldn't help thinking of the future, of Megatron, of others who would get to hurt you, who surely would try to lay a hand on his child. Megatron wouldn't go that far... Would he?

He didn't fragging care. Not right now. Right now he allowed himself to bring his walls down, to hold you and kiss you all over until you giggled.

"And you, my Cybertronian beauty, the carrier of our sparkling."

A higher honor than anything. And even if sometimes Optimus didn't have it all figured out, he knew that if there was any time to commit to being the best sparkmate he could, it was now. For you, and for your sparkling.

After all... It wouldn't be long. He could feel it in his spark.

[cdroloisms]

always absolutely fucking hilarious when sbiers in their self-righteous need to assert themselves as better than everyone else in the same way they've done since 2020 even when they're apparently 'out of the fandom' and consider the whole thing cringe and dead (skill issue, methinks) go all um acktually no one cared abt any of the lore except for c!sbi. like well for one thing i don't know of a c!sbi personally speaking i'd like for you to point out to me where character sleepy boys inc ever like, existed, because it certainly wasn't in any dream smp i watched like is there even a single moment where the four of them interact together alone??? and secondly, it's always reeeeeeally obvious when they mean this as a diss on The Other Side Of The Fandom (read, dream team and co) when two-thirds of the dream team just did nawt have any interest in being part of the 'main characters' in the first place and would much rather do their own thing and roleplay in ways that wouldn't get picked apart for ages on twitter dot com, and the other member of the dream team played a character so integral to the lore that even c!inniters will often name him before they name their own goddamn guy because they cannot keep his name out of their mouths (see, the meme i saw like literally just yesterday that boiled down to me, after learning the dream smp lore: i need to kill c!dream). like bro yall are c!inniters you're not fooling anyone you think that the entire story revolves around this one teenager being abused and then completely ignore the months of abuse that was shown on screen for us before exile. "c!sbi" like cmon now guys the ao3 pages are like, right there, we all know who ends up being the villain for ur sbi fanfic that has its foundations in a dynamic that literally never existed in canon.

like "no one cared about anyone's lore except for wilbur and tommy--" well yes they were in fact some of the main fucking characters. imagine someone going up to you and going "well no one cared about the lore in the star wars original trilogy except for luke and leia" like damn really?? (now imagine this same person trying to convince you that darth vader's role was unimportant, actually.) like yeah the dream smp involved a lot of separate storylines and each of those storylines might've had their own "main cast" of characters but i'm also not blind bro, the story that started at the start of the fucking server and the start of the fucking lore was ABSOLUTELY the "wilbur-dream-tommy" triangle that is, in fact, the story that the l'manburg revolution was built on and the story that remains the throughline literally until tommy and dream have their confrontation with a nuke coming down over their heads, something that the characters themselves acknowledge with the repetition of the idea of tommy and tubbo against dream. LIKE ALKJSDFKJSADF yeah bro there were main characters in the tommy-dream-wilbur story an that's also the story that people tended to be invested in in the beginning, to the point where even other self-contained stories in the dream smp absolutely referenced and emulated it (cough cough, las nevadas). like, why are we acting like it's at all groundbreaking for people to be invested in THEEE fucking story the one that first started to exist because at the time basically no one else was part of The Roleplaying Trio and then slowly got padded out and developed as the server developed more and more into the lore server?

and it's the fact that none of these people, too, would deny that they care about ex. c!schlatt in manberg, right, or c!quackity in relation to c!wilbur's deal, etc etc whatever. like breaking news you gaf about The Story as a dream smp fan wow am i supposed to be like, surprised. do you want a medal. LIKE LKJASDJF

[read-marx-and-lenin]

Liberals: Of course I participate in political actions other than voting! Liberals: Well, not that boycott. I mean, you can't expect me to give up *all* Coke products, right? Liberals: And don't you think that strike was a bit disruptive? I mean, those workers had kids to feed! You can't blame them for crossing the picket line! Liberals: And don't get me started on that riot you call a "protest". You can't expect to be taken seriously if you throw things at the police, can you? Liberals: Why should I donate to some half-baked community fund? They're not even an accredited charity. What if the people running it are scammers? Liberals: It's laughable that you think any third party could ever win an election. Why don't you work within the Democratic Party? It worked for the Nevada DSA. Briefly. Liberals: The Democrats might not care about migrants, the homeless, the disabled, the unemployed, or Palestinians, but there has to be someone they care about, right? Trans people! They've only somewhat thrown trans people under the bus, unlike the Republicans. If you don't vote blue, you hate trans people! Liberals: See? I'm politically active! I'm protecting trans people by voting for the Democrats. What have you even done for trans people, tankie?

[otdiaftg]

The King's Men - Chapter Eleven

Day: Thursday, February 29th/March, 1st* Time: 10:45 PM EST

By the time the Trojans and Lions hit halftime Neil had forgotten all about Kevin. He'd been so wrapped up in the Foxes' season and the Ravens he'd forgotten how spectacular the rest of the Big Three were. These teams played like they were professionals. They didn't have the Ravens' spotless record but they were only a half-step behind Edgar Allan. Kevin had warned them weeks ago the Foxes weren't ready to face these schools. For once his callous dismissal felt like a gentle understatement. He wasn't the only one who found it a sobering sight. Dan muted the commercials, tapped the remote against her thigh in a nervous rhythm, and said, "So we definitely need to step it up, guys." Kevin frowned at her. "Even if you'd stepped it up when I told you to a year ago, you would have no chance of beating them. There is nothing at all you can do this late in the year. They are better than we are and they always will be." "Do you get off on being such a Debbie Downer?" Nicky asked. "Denial does none of us any good," Kevin said. "We struggled against Nevada. How do you honestly expect us to make it past the Big Three?" "California's overdue for a big earthquake," Nicky pointed out. "That'd take care of USC, at least." "That's a little extreme, don't you think?" Renee asked. "We need something extreme at this point," Allison said. Renee's expression was calm and her tone steady, but Renee didn't need to look disappointed in them for them to get the message. "The Trojans had our backs when we needed them most. Do you really want them to suffer just so we can profit?" "It's just not fair," Nicky said, shying away from her gaze. "Us getting this far and putting up with so much and then losing here, I mean." "We haven't lost yet," Dan said, "but we will lose if you give up right out of the gate." Kevin started to say something Neil knew would be negative and dismissing. Neil reached behind Andrew and popped Kevin in the back of the head to shut him up. Matt choked on a laugh and tried unsuccessfully to pass it off as a cough. Kevin froze for a startled second, then sent Neil a scathing look. "No one wants to hear that right now," Neil said. "If you hit me again," Kevin started. Andrew cut in with a casual, "You'll what?" Kevin shut up but didn't look happy about it.

Art used with permission by Rainbowd00dles. Thank you @rainbowd00dles.

(I merged the og art as well as the re-draw because I adore Andrew's face in the second panel.)

*Due to the Leap Year, I have opted to highlight the day rather than the date to keep the events in occurrence to the 2007 year. I will continue to mark both days accordingly.

[ryemackerel]

"in my life, why do i give valuable time to people who don't care if i live or die?"

wyllow sage, the same goof ive been drawing for ages, but she now has a new name and design now :) the au has been in development for years, but this is my first post centered on the new storyline of the "TINE/This Is Not the End" au 🫶 (and ofc, she's been renamed for certain reasons HAGASHSV)

and ofc, the TINE au is still in HEAVY development, so some parts of wyllow and the other characters' lore is still missing. some stuff might not make sense yet? so the lore WILL change whenever needed. consider this just an intro into what ideas i have so far :)

basic summary!

[wyllow used to live with her entire family: her two siblings and her parents. she was born a god, her parents being gods themselves. however, after a series of tumultuous events that lead to her death, she is suddenly brought back to life.

unwilling to face her family again, she decides to live completely on her own. she lives in her own apartment and works minimum wage in a gas station, located in a small town in a desert. this just so happened to be minutes away from the new, upcoming, bustling city of las nevadas.]

for things such as what was the cause of her death, and what/who exactly brought her back to life, and why she chose her current lifestyle, i hope i can figure those parts of her story out as i continue developing the TINE au. again, the storyline is still a heavy work in progress, so i currently only have the basic vision of how it might go. :)

(version without filter for those that need accurate colors refs vvv)

[roosterforme]

Two to Tango Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley isn't afraid of a little competition between the Naval aviators and Air Force pilots. And when you prove to be as good as you claimed, he refuses to back down.

Warnings: Adult banter, swearing

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This fic was written for a request! Thanks for reading! And please check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun.

"This is the worst fucking week of the whole goddamn year," Bradley muttered to Phoenix, Hangman, and Coyote as they stood on the blazing hot tarmac in southern Nevada. 

"Seven days of training with these assholes," Phoenix added, lowering her sunglasses to the tip of her nose and glaring at the four US Air Force pilots standing a few feet away.

"I love how Maverick told us we were lucky to be the four who were chosen, when honestly nobody wants to be here," Coyote complained, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his flight suit.

"Let's torch these losers and get back to San Diego," Hangman said with a devilish grin.

"Doubt any of them can even fly well enough to compete," Bradley said, eyeing up the pilot who just spun around to face him. 

"Excuse me?" you said, strolling confidently toward him with your chin in the air. "What did you just say?"

Bradley smirked. He didn't care if you were going to call him out; he and the other Naval aviators were the best, and he could back up his words any day of the week. Plus you were kind of cute, and getting you all flustered could be fun for him.

"We were just discussing your ineptitude. Well, not yours specifically, sweetheart. Just the general incompetence of Air Force aviators in general," Bradley said, and he heard his friends hooting with laughter around him.

He had expected you to blow up at him, but your placid smile was almost more alarming. "It's really cute, sweetheart, how you think you're better because you can land on a boat. When really, nobody gives a fuck about you at all," you stated calmly. 

Bradley would never admit that he was the one who was feeling flustered, so he just crossed his arms over his chest and said, "It takes real skill to land on an aircraft carrier. Runways are for amateurs," he said, inching closer to you.

"It's almost cute how stupid you are," you told him. "What's your dumb call sign?"

"Rooster," he told you, and you smirked. "What's yours?"

"Tango. As in you don't want to tango with me, sweetheart. So since you're running your mouth, why don't we make a little wager?" you asked, standing your ground as Bradley and his cohorts laughed at you. 

"What did you have in mind?" he asked.

"Two hundred bucks says Air Force ends the week with more points than Navy," you told him, glaring at him over your sunglasses. 

Bradley nodded slowly. "Okay, sounds good. But, if I end up with more points than you, you've gotta say something nice about me in front of everyone."

You chuckled. "And if I end up with more points than you, you'll be the one saying something oh so flattering about me."

Bradley stuck his right hand out and you took it in your smaller one. "Deal. Sweetheart," you told him before turning and stomping away in your boots, back to the other Air Force pilots.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Phoenix said, patting Bradley on the shoulder. "We're gonna smoke them."

--------------------------------------------------

The following morning, Bradley was awake at five and stretching. He'd have a full day of long distance running and obstacle course races ahead of him, and he was determined to take a massive lead in points right off the bat. No way he was going to lose money to a bunch of whiney Air Force pilots who wouldn't be able to cut it at Top Gun. 

He was the first one in the cafeteria, and he selected his breakfast very carefully, trying to get the maximum amount of calories he could. When he turned to find a seat, he saw you breeze into the room. Out of your flight suit, you looked hotter than hell, and Bradley almost dropped his tray of food.

"Morning, sweetheart," you crooned, barely glancing at him as you grabbed a bunch of random food. Your athletic pants were skin tight, and your matching shirt left very little to the imagination and showed off an inch of skin all the way around your waist. Your hair was pulled back showing off your neck and upper back, and Bradley was so mad at himself for picking a fight with you. Because now you automatically found him annoying, while he was thinking about how much he'd like to touch you.

You turned away from the food, leaving him in the dust while he stared at your ass. Now he was distracted. A distraction would be very bad. Especially when his reputation was on the line. "Fuck," he muttered.

He went to sit down at the table where you were already eating alone. "That seat's taken," you told him when he pulled out a chair. When he reached for the one next to it, you told him, "That one is, too." 

"Let me guess," he rasped, setting his tray down anyway. "They're all taken."

You smiled at him while you licked your lips. "You're not as dumb as you look."

Bradley just smirked and sat down directly across from you. "And you're not as sweet and friendly as you look," he said before shoving half of a breakfast sandwich into his mouth and chewing it up. 

"You think I look sweet?" you asked, leaned a little closer to him across the table. 

Bradley let his eyes dip down to your mouth and then your neck before sweeping back to your eyes. "I didn't mean it as a compliment."

Your smile never wavered. "That's fine, because I lied to you."

"About what?" he asked, eyes narrowed. 

"You are as dumb as you look," you told him, nodding at someone behind him. "The seats really are taken."

Bradley turned to see your Air Force teammates looking at him like he'd lost his mind. "You're sitting with us? You know this is a competition, right?" one of them asked.

"This asshole bothering you, Tango?" asked the biggest guy, and Bradley turned back to look at you, your face shining with mirth. 

"Nah, Killer," you replied, looking right at Bradley. "He's just a dumb pussycat. Couldn't hurt a fly." 

Bradley desperately wanted to keep teasing you, but not with company around. "Should I go then?" Bradley asked as he started to stand. 

"No, why don't you stay and get to know the guys. They aren't as sweet and friendly as I am, sweetheart," you told him, walking away without a backward glance. 

And then Bradley had to endure the most uncomfortable breakfast of his life. 

----------------------------

Bradley was two miles into the ten mile run, and he was feeling great. He was keeping pace with Hangman, saving as much energy as he could for the last mile. He ran side by side with Jake, neither of them talking. The sun was intense, and he had already soaked through his compression shorts and his US NAVY TOP GUN tee shirt. But he was determined to win. 

At mile six, you came out of nowhere and caught up with Bradley and Jake. 

"Hey, boys," you said casually. You barely sounded winded at all, and instead of pouring sweat, you looked as good as you had at breakfast. "You guys look a little warm," you said, taking in Bradley's sweaty form from head to toe. "See you at the finish."

Then you tore off ahead of them. Bradley was impressed and once again distracted by your ass. He tried his best to keep up, but it seemed like you kept gaining on him. 

"Damn. She's fast," Jake huffed next to him, and Bradley just grunted. "How much money did you bet?"

"Shit," Bradley gasped, trying to pick up the pace. 

-----------------------------

You had been waiting for him at the finish line, cheering him on by chanting "Rooster!" very loudly and looking like you'd barely broken a sweat. Meanwhile, Bradley had a horrible stitch in his side and was doubled over. He wasn't sure how he was going to manage doing the obstacle course after this, let alone try to beat you at it. 

"You okay, old man?" you asked, crouching down next to him and smirking. 

Bradley turned to look at you. "How old do you think I am?"

"Too old to beat me," you replied, shoving a water bottle in his face. "Drink up. It will be more fun for me to destroy you in the obstacle course if you're properly hydrated."

Then you walked away, and Bradley had to admit he kind of liked your smart mouth. 

Once the points were tallied after the ten mile run, the Air Force team was leading by a small margin. Bradley was angry as he confronted his teammates. "Okay, who dropped the ball?" he asked, eyeing Coyote with one eyebrow raised. 

"I'm not a runner! I'll destroy them on the obstacle course," Coyote promised, and Bradley knew he would. 

Bradley also knew he was exhausted while you looked like you were ready to tear up every obstacle in your way. "Yeah, Tango," the guys on your team all said, giving you high fives. 

It was one thing to be the best on the ground, but being the best in the air was where Bradley would shine. So he would try to get a good time on the course and then focus on the rest of the week. 

Everyone groaned when they got to the course after lunch. It looked like a mud pit that was now baking in the sun, and Bradley thought he would rather run another ten miles than have to do this shit. 

"Let's work as a team to start," Phoenix told the guys. "I am going to need help getting over the second and third walls quickly." So they came up with a game plan to boost Nat over the walls since she was much shorter than they were. Then she would have no trouble crawling under the ropes that came next. Each of them had their strengths, and they would stick together when they could.

Both teams lined up, and when the whistle was blown, they were off. Bradley watched out of the corner of his eye to see that the Air Force team went with the same game plan. They were boosting you over the wall at the same time Bradley was practically throwing Phoenix over. Then he used all of his upper body strength to pull himself up and over. The next few walls were taller, and Coyote had to have Phoenix practically stand on his shoulders so the guys could use her body to pull themselves up. 

"Fuck!" Phoenix yelled. "You weigh a shit ton, Bradley!"

"I'm sorry," he gasped, pulling her over the wall with him once he had reached the top. Then he reached down to give Hangman a hand to grab. 

Navy was pulling ahead of Air Force, but Bradley was determined to keep the lead. Now everyone was starting to work more independently, and he could see that you were ahead of him going through the tires. Bradley forced himself to move, shoving his larger form under the ropes and diving into the mud when necessary. 

Coyote, Phoenix and Hangman were all close behind him, and he tried to encourage them along. But when it came to the mile run back to the starting line, Bradley went full force. He was gaining on you now, each of his strides counting for two of yours. Pumping his arms and gasping for air as his chest and throat burned, he caught up to you just as you crossed the line.

"A tie!" the officer with the stopwatch said. "And the best course time this year!"

Bradley watched you walk in a circle before you bent in half with your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. Much less gracefully, he plopped down into more mud and rolled onto his back, baking in the sun and sucking in air. 

When he opened his eyes a few seconds later, you were making your way toward him with your hand outstretched. Bradley gave you a high five and let you help him to his feet.

"Impressive, old man," you told him. Bradley rolled his eyes as he stood, massaging the stitch in his side. 

"Yeah, well..." he started, just as he saw his teammates in the distance. "Age comes with experience."

You narrowed your eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Bradley just shrugged as he looked at you. "I'm just saying, it must be nice to win races because of age and stamina, but that has nothing to do with your flying."

Your eyes went wide and you took a step closer to him. "Listen up, sweetheart. I've worked my ass off to be the best. And you don't know anything about me or my experience. So why don't you stay in your own lane and watch me destroy you and everybody else." You were practically touching him now, seemingly just seething in your anger. 

Bradley's heart was pounding. You were covered in mud and yelling at him. And embarrassingly enough, he was kind of turned on. He didn't even mind you calling him old man. But now he felt a little bad about what he had said.

"Listen, I-"

But he was cut off by you planting your hand on his chest and pushing yourself away as your teammates and his all crossed the finish line in a large group. You raised your middle finger up behind your back and aimed it at him when you walked away.

"Shit," Bradley muttered. He hadn't meant to piss you off even more. Honestly, he liked you. You were smart and quick witted. Cute too. 

He was going to have to apologize when he had you alone again. Hopefully letting you call him old man for the rest of the week would help smooth over what he'd said. 

"We just barely beat their combined time," Coyote said, panting to catch his breath. 

Hangman was walking in circles chugging water while Phoenix patted Bradley on the shoulder. "I'm never letting you use me as a human rope again. That was painful," she said.

"I'm sorry, but at least we won this round," he told her. "We'll get up in the air tomorrow and kick their asses."

As everyone made their way back toward the locker rooms to get cleaned up before dinner, Bradley cut you off in front of the ladies' locker room door.

You planted both hands on your hips and looked up at him. "You lost, sweetheart? Mens' showers are that way." You nodded your head to the side where Coyote was disappearing through the door. You had a streak of dried mud running across your forehead, and your hair was an absolute mess. 

"No. Listen, I just wanted to apologize," he said, running his hand through his muddy hair. "I'm sure I came across as a bit of a sore loser when I insinuated that you lack experience in the air. You're right, I don't know anything about it. Sorry."

There was nobody else around as you closed the distance between your bodies and tipped your head up to keep your eyes on his. "Yesterday you called me incompetent. Today you called me inexperienced. What are you planning on calling me tomorrow?" you asked in a controlled voice, but your eyes were angry.

When Bradley didn't respond right away, you let your fingers rest on his abs before flattening your palm there. Slowly you dragged your hand up the front of his mud soaked shirt, teasing the hard planes of his body. Bradley didn't dare move as he watched your eyes which were focused on your own hand. He wanted to kiss you, but chances were you actually hated him and were just trying to get a rise out of him for your own entertainment. 

But when your hand traveled over his pecs and up around the scars on his neck, you stroked your thumb softly there. His pulse quickened as his dick throbbed. "Oh, so now you're quiet, old man? Gotta say, I like this version of you much better." 

Bradley didn't dare move as you pressed up onto your toes and kissed him hard, pushing your fingers up roughly into his messy hair. He wanted to turn you and push you up against the wall, press his hardening length against you and make you moan. 

But as soon as he had his hands on your hips, you pulled out of his grasp and slapped him lightly on the cheek. 

"Apology accepted. For now," you said, pointing at him as you turned to walk into the locker room. 

Bradley stood there for a moment in shock before he crept quietly into the men's room with a boner. 

-----------------------

Thanks for reading this one! It will be four parts total! And thanks for all of your help @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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[sewinrat]

Heyy can u do nyen n nyon x cat reader who Luther has adopted just to keep his other cats entertained??? lol thought this was creative since a lot of cat owners do that

have a nice dayy

*Reader is gn. Can be read as platonic or romantic really.(There's not really much entertainment here sorry)

"My dear cats, I got you two a new cat to play with!" Luther called out happily to Nyen and Nyon as you are walking with him from behind with a smile and looking around in curiosity. Nyen and Nyon both perked up at his voice, saw you and didn't say much. They really don't know how to take this in but they don't really mind that much.

"Now, play nice okay? They're part of the family now." Luther encourage you to talk to them as he push you gently towards them. You eagerly wave hi at them. They just glance at each other and then nodded at you. You didn't mind that much and instead just skipped towards the one with floppy cat ears and lay down beside him on the floor. Then you sniff him to get his scent and started to purr as a friendly greeting. Nyon looks hesitant before he went ahead and sniff you to get your scent. He then just decides to leave you be and went back asleep to your purring. (Cats sniff each other when first met - don't be alarmed.)

Nyen however was another problem. He's violent and he technically doesn't give much care except only for tolerance. But since you don't know any of this, you wanted to invite him in on a catnap together. At first, he hissed at you because you are unfamiliar but since his master was the one who brought you, he doesn't do much to try and kill you immediately. He knows that he's the top of the pets anyways so he knows you're basically under him in rank.

You stand up and walk towards the other cat with a Nevada shirt who in returned, hissed again as a warning. He's starting to growl as well. You don't mind this and continue onwards while he tries to back away. You jump at him and wrap your arms around him, trapping his arms so it doesn't try to hit you. He tried to escape your grip but you were so persistent that you use all your strength to keep him in place. You drag him towards where Nyon is sleeping soundly. You lay down beside him again and brought down a squirming Nyen down with you on your other open side. You make him lay down on the floor as you lay on top of him to stop him from moving so much and start purring without a care in the world. Eventually, and by eventually I mean, after a VERY long time, Nyen just gave up. He instead just decides 'whatever' and started to catnap with you and a surprisingly quiet Nyon who didn't even realised what happened.

Luther who was there the whole time, watching it all go down, exclaimed softly and enthusiastically, "Aww they're getting along so well~♡"

[nevadancitizen]

-> YOU'RE OUT OF TOUCH – I'VE BEEN OUTTA TIME

synopsis: you died six months ago, but you've come back to haunt johnny. not as a ghost, no – as some twisted version of you that johnny still loves. too bad you don't still love johnny, or remember him in any capacity.

word count: 4k

characters: john "soap" mactavish, resurrected! reader

trigger warnings: talk of canon-typical violence, temporal weirdness, hurt + damn near no comfort

notes: first soap fic.. hopefully i've written him well!! also i couldn't resist incorporating madness combat in this somehow lol it's taking over my life (you don't need to know anything about madcom to read this, don't worry). also tumblr user nevadancitizen using the amnesia trope again? it's more likely than you think.

Somewhere in Nevada, a battered body is denied death, so that it may be granted, en masse…

And six months ago, somewhere in Russia, you were killed in action. 

It was a single shot through the skull – nice, clean. You didn’t suffer. Despite your killer more than likely being a terrorist (or working for one), they did you right. It was probably unintentional, but they still did you right. 

Johnny couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed, even to piss, for weeks after. He was completely numb to almost everything. The world passed by while he stood completely still, laying on his side in your shared bed, spooning a pillow that was rapidly losing your scent. 

(He even tried spraying it with your perfume or cologne, but it didn’t work. It was too strong – it didn’t smell like when you wore it.)

Johnny thought all-too-often about what happened after death. He was ready to die, always has been, but he never really thought about what would happen if (or, more accurately, when) you died. He always cast those thoughts away, because he was done losing people. He was done with grief and screaming, pleading to God, and crying so hard he threw up. 

But he eventually returned to his job. He eventually put you to rest. He prayed for the first time in damn near two decades that, if there was really an afterlife, that you were in Heaven.

(He just hoped that, whatever Heaven there was, it was good enough for you.)

But again, six months ago, somewhere in Nevada, a battered body was denied death, so that it may be granted, en masse.

It is a land without sun, without warmth unless you could find it in another body. It is a land without rules, without remorse, without regret. 

It is a land of violence. It is a land that fits you well.

Despite being dead, you were sewed back together and cursed to live once more. Someone put a gun in your hands and told you, “Listen bozo, I don’t care where you’re from – just shoot!”

Of course, Johnny didn’t know this. How could he? He watched your casket be lowered into the ground. He knew it wasn’t empty – he had to confirm your identity in the morgue. 

But he can’t help but feel his stomach drop when Kyle comes rushing into his office, pointing behind him and, in a panting breath, says your name. 

Johnny immediately springs up from behind his desk and almost pushes past Kyle to get out the door. He turns down the hallway to the left, where he knows it leads to the hospital ward. 

“No, Soap – Soap!” Kyle sprints after him, just barely catching his wrist. “Wrong way, man.”

Johnny stops and, in his stunned state, lets Kyle lead him down the hallway to the right, away from the medbay, away from where you were surely waiting for him, recovering.

Kyle leads him into an elevator, scans his keycard, and presses the button for -3. They’re both uncharacteristically quiet. It just faintly registers in Johnny’s mind that the floor -3 is below the parking garages, past where anyone typically goes. 

(Past where anyone can hear screams ripped from tortured throats, really.)

When the elevator doors open, Soap’s greeted by a familiar sight. It’s a grey concrete hallway, with two soldiers on either side, guarding the way in. Doors line the hall, each one steel with a keypad to unlock it.

Gaz leads Soap down the hall and doesn’t stop for a while. Eventually, he stops in front of the last door and takes a deep, almost shuddering, breath.

Gaz inputs the code into the keypad and opens the door, nodding at the inside. “Come on.”

Soap, almost so quick he clips his shoulder on the doorframe, goes into the room. It overlooks an interrogation room, and it’s fit with a double-sided mirror, recording tech, everything.

Soap freezes when he looks into the interrogation room. It – it’s you, but… not you. You’re pacing, and Johnny can only stare. There’s a grey flush to your skin – no, your skin is actually grey – and bandages cover the back of your head, dirty and frayed, like you haven’t changed them in a while. 

You’re angry, a far cry from the person Johnny knew you to be. Sure, you could be angry, and Johnny’s seen you angry, but this…

You’re panting as you pace, fists clenching and unclenching as your eyes dart around the room. Soft mutters and expletives leave your mouth as you look around, surely looking for a way to escape. 

Johnny just keeps staring. You’re… alive? Yes, you’re not what Johnny remembers you to be, but you’re still alive. 

“Fucking – goddamnit!” You bang your fist on the steel table, causing it to rattle. “I don’t have anything to tell you! You’re all cowards –” you turn to the double-sided mirror and point at it “– especially you, Sheriff! Don’t tell me you’re not back there!”

You immediately turn away, your hands coming to clutch at the sides of your head, your fingers digging into the bandages, almost ripping them. “I swear, when I get my hands on you…!” 

“We don’t know what to do,” Kyle says softly. He looks over at Soap, his gaze obviously sad and sympathetic. “Do you want to try ‘n talk ‘em? Even if they’re feelin’ a tad… neurotic.”

Johnny can’t rip his gaze from you as you throw a steel chair at the wall, still cursing out someone named Sheriff and his lackeys. The chair bounces off the wall and one of the legs hits your shin, causing you to curse it out, too.

“Yes,” Johnny says quickly, decisively. 

Soap shifts on his feet, oddly impatient, as he waits for Kyle to unlock the door to the interrogation room. As soon as he does, Johnny shoulders past him and into the room. He hears a faint click as Gaz closes it behind him. 

You immediately whirl on Johnny, your eyes wide and your breath labored. 

“You!” You point at Johnny like it’s meant to be some offensive gesture. “What do you want?”

You move closer, and Johnny catches sight of the dogtags hanging from your neck. You were buried with one, and he kept the other. He even gave you one of his own because, on that day, a part of him died with you. But… instead of two, you have four hanging from the metal chain. 

You shove your finger in Johnny’s chest, your fingernail digging through the thin fabric of his fatigues. “Answer me!”

Soap immediately takes your wrist and cradles your hand to his chest. “Bonnie, please, calm down.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!” you bark, ripping your hand away from him. “I just lost one of my team and you’re telling me to calm down?!”

“Your team?” Soap echoes.

“Deimos!” you snap. “You – you killed Deimos.”

You take a step back, your fists still clenched and your eyes still angry. “I saw your stupid fucking Engineer murder him. He was dead from the first five bullets, and you know he knew that! But oh, let’s just make sure he’s dead by unloading clip after clip into him.”

You heave a breath, almost growling. “Let’s desecrate his corpse. All because he’s a dissenter. Let’s make it oh-so-hard to bring him back.”

Johnny steps forward, just barely moving his foot, and you jump back like he took out a knife. 

He breathes out your name, soft and unbelieving. “Are… is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me!” You turn and rest your hands on the steel table, obviously resisting the urge to bring your fists down against it. “Always has been, always will be. It’s always me.”

Johnny circles around the table and leans down a little, taking in your face. The grey makes you look dirty and unwashed, like you’ve got a layer of dirt on you that you couldn’t wash away.

You look up at him through your eyelashes. “I know you.”

Johnny’s heart leaps into his throat and, for a hopeful moment, thinks that you remember him, that this is all some sort of stupid trick, that you went MIA instead of being KIA, that this is really you. The you Johnny knows, the you Johnny loves. But his heart is crushed beneath your boot when you speak next. 

“I know soldiers like you,” you say softly. “Soldiers, produced en masse, told to shoot first and die quietly. We’re both clones, you know? But there’s a difference in what we want.”

You stand up straight, glancing at the double-sided mirror before turning your eyes back to Soap. “You follow orders. When they say jump, you ask how high. But I…” you laugh beneath your breath. “I am fighting for change. Normality. You’re comfortable living in this… this chaos.”

“Bonnie, what are you on about?” Johnny reaches across the table, trying to take your hand. You snatch it away before he even comes close.

Gaz slides into the room, holding a tablet. You whip your head around and glare at him. 

His eyebrows lift a little, and he raises the tablet, as if in a defensive manner. “Your tablet. It –”

You snatch it from Gaz’s hands before he can talk again. You set it down on the table and stare at it, waiting.

Johnny can just barely see the interface. The top of the screen reads COMBASIC .9(beta). It looks like some sort of chat room. A few messages pop up in quick succession.

FellowD9: GOTEM FellowD9: YOU WERE RIGHT FellowD9: HE WAS COMPLIANT 2BDamned: Neat FellowD9: CHECK MY SECTOR FellowD9: ANCHOR HIM NOW [user:FellowD9 IS OFFLINE]

The messages seem to relax you, even if Johnny has no idea what they’re talking about. You bring a hand to your forehead and laugh breathlessly, then set to typing.

CrosshairF6: lol hey im still alive CrosshairF6: aahw assholes gave me my tablet idk why CrosshairF6: check my sector & get me back 2BDamned: Getting Deimos right now, I’ll get back to you CrosshairF6: better do it right CrosshairF6: saw his corpse, looks like he ran through traffic [user:2BDamned IS OFFLINE]

Johnny watches as you tuck your tablet back in one of the inner pockets of your jacket, casting a suspicious glance at Gaz, like you expect him to take it back. 

Gaz raises his hands and slips back out of the room, leaving you and Johnny.

“So.” You look at Johnny. “Why are you trying to act all buddy-buddy with me?”

“You’re… you were…” Johnny sighs, an overwhelming feeling settling in his chest. “Do you remember… dying?”

“Of course,” you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “2B brought me back.”

“2B?” Johnny echoes. “Like, the one you were talkin’ to? 2BDamned?”

“Yeah.” You move and lean back against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s all doctor-like, y’know? Brings us back when we need it.”

“And he’s… on your team?” Johnny asks. He feels a deep pang of… something in his chest when the thought of you actually being on another team, separate from him, settles in his mind.

You nod. “Yeah. 2B, Hank, Sanford, Deimos.” You tap the dog tags resting against your chest. “We’re a team. Some of us are on a subteam, but still. We’re a team.”

Johnny blinks hard, shaking the thought from his head. “Do you remember anything before you died?”

“Some, but… not a lot. Just blips of fighting, some soldiers, then Nevada.” You shrug. “2B says that happens sometimes.”

Johnny feels his tense shoulders relax, if only a little. “Any one specific soldier, bonnie?”

“No,” you say. You look away and fiddle with your dogtags. “But I’ve got the dogtag of someone named John.”

“John?” Johnny echoes, his heart picking up in his chest. “John ‘Soap’ MacTavish?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze fixes on him again, immediately suspicious. “How do you know that?”

“That’s me, bonnie.” Johnny laughs breathlessly, moving towards you. He makes sure to stay slow and cautious, just in case. “I’m Johnny. Your Johnny.”

You move along the wall, away from him, just slightly. You seem to bristle a little, and bring your shoulders up a bit. “You’re not mine. I don’t own anyone.”

“Not in the literal sense, bonnie,” Johnny laughs, resisting the urge to trail after you. “I’m yours, romantically.”

You bring yourself off the wall, taking a step back. It’s like you’re repulsed by the idea. “I’ve never been romantically involved with anyone. You think I’ve got time for that?”

It’s like Johnny’s been punched in the gut. Tears well in his eyes and he suddenly feels so fucking sick. His feet almost come out from under him as he stumbles to the door, shaking hands putting in the code before slipping out. 

He could take the idea of you maybe not remembering him, sure. He could just re-introduce himself. He could take the idea of you forgetting the time you’ve spent together, because you’d remember, right? But the way you were disgusted by the idea of romance, the vitriol in your voice as you spoke…

Johnny doesn’t like the word ‘relapse’ because he thinks it holds too heavy of a connotation, but that’s the best way to describe what he did for the rest of the day, and into the early hours of tomorrow. He rotted in your shared bed, but instead of feeling numb, he felt his heart being wrenched by your hand, by your words. 

He just laid there, looking at his sketchbook – a good one with thick paper. The one you’d gifted him for your six-month anniversary. It’s filled with drawings of you: candid ones, ones where he had you pose (even though you were embarrassed), ones of you and him, together, doing couple-y things. 

He could only mourn what was lost, because you seemed to have absolutely no interest in recovering it. 

A week passes before you’re able to be let out of your cell. You slowly lost the fire and brimstone that filled your heart as you realized that the 141 really did want to help you. You feel better now that you have a few people by your side, fresh bandages, and a renewed sense of comfort.

(But you forgave yourself for acting like that in the beginning because, in Nevada, no one is nice. Not without an ulterior motive, at least.)

You’re practically on a leash as Ghost leads you throughout the base. He doesn’t talk as he guides you through winding hallways and up an exhaustive amount of flights of stairs. 

Eventually, he opens a door labeled ‘ROOF EXIT.’ He tilts his head towards the door.

“Someone waitin’ for you,” Ghost says gruffly. “And…”

He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes. Your cigarettes. 

Ghost takes your hand and puts it in your palm. “Don’t set anything on fire.”

You close your fingers around it and nod. “Got it, boss.”

Ghost starts back down the stairs, leaving you and the open door to the roof. You move through it and look around. 

Johnny’s sitting, cross-legged, on the concrete roof, facing away from you. It’s dark – obviously, it’s night. You look up and take in the stars, and…

“You have a moon,” you say softly.

Johnny looks back at you, a tentative smile on his face. Like he’s scared to be too hopeful. “Yeah. We do.”

You hum and look at Johnny. 

“Do you…” Johnny glances at the floor, then back up at you. “Do you wanna sit with me, bonnie?”

You slowly move over to Johnny and sit by him. You keep a healthy distance, but you’re still closer than you’ve ever been to him before. 

“Those fags for sharin’?” Johnny asks, a teasing smile on his face. 

You look down at the carton of cigarettes in your hand. You grip them a little tighter, causing the thin carton to crumple a bit. “Sure. Don’t know if you’ll like them, though.”

“Nonsense, bonnie.” Johnny bumps his shoulder against yours. “Let’s give ‘em a go.”

You smile and take out two cigarettes. You hand one over to Johnny. They’re hand-rolled and don’t have a filter, so they look more like joints, but the overwhelming smell of raw tobacco quickly quells that thought.

“Got a light?” you ask.

“‘Course.” Johnny reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small lighter. He lights his own cigarette, then pulls it away with a sputtering cough. 

“Steamin’ Jesus, what is that?” He asks in between coughs. 

You laugh, hitting your knee as Johnny reels from the taste. “It’s good, yeah?”

“Hell no!” Johnny wipes tears from his eyes and looks over at you. Despite his coughing, a soft smile spreads across his face at the way you’re laughing – loud, unabashed. Just like before.

You swipe Johnny’s lighter from his hand and light your cigarette, the cherry basking your face in a soft, warm glow. “Welcome to Nevada.”

“Let’s see that thing.” Johnny reaches over and takes the carton from your hand.

He turns it over, looking at it. The carton is worn, like it’s been refilled many times. There’s no warning about nicotine being an addictive chemical, just a grey box with a simple brand: G01 Choice. There’s a name scribbled on the back – Deimos, in all capital letters. 

“Deimos,” Johnny says aloud. “The man died and you stole his cigs?”

“He’s not dead.” You take the carton back and tuck it into your jacket pocket. “Not anymore. Well, he’s died lotsa times, so I guess he’s an... honorary corpse.”

“An honorary corpse,” Johnny echoes, looking down at the cigarette in his hand. He puts it out on the concrete. “Just like you, yeah?”

You take a drag off your cigarette and blow out the smoke in a single, smooth stream. “Just like me.”

A silence settles as you look up at the moon. You can feel Johnny’s eyes occasionally flitting to you, then back up at the night sky. 

“Your dogtags.” Johnny points in your direction. “Whose are they?”

You look down and tug on the metal chain, causing them to clink together. “Mine, yours, and my team’s.”

“Your team?” Johnny asks softly. “You never told me about them.”

“Yeah.” You look over at him. “I’m part of an extraction team. My partners are Sanford and Deimos.”

A pain, almost so real he thought he was actually injured, runs through Johnny when you say partners. The logical side of his brain chides him a few moments later because you obviously meant it in a militaristic sense, not a romantic sense.

“Can I see them?” Johnny asks.

You nod and take off the chain, then hand them to Johnny. He looks at the dogtags – he recognizes his and yours as being standard military dogtags, but Sanford and Deimos’ are much more… odd.

Sanford’s reads SANFORD / MELEE + EXPLOSIVES / G02 (NEG) / RETURN TO FAMILY. Deimos’ reads DEIMOS / FIREARMS + TECH / G02 (POS) / NO FAMILY. 

Johnny tilts the dogtags so that you can see them and runs a finger along the lettering. “What do these mean, bonnie?” 

You move a bit closer and lean in. “The first lines are their names, obviously. The second is what they’re proficient in. The third is what generation clone they are, and their blood types – there are only two blood types for second generation clones. And the last one is what to do with their bodies if they can’t be revived.”

“Wait, bonnie.” Johnny laughs breathlessly. “Clones?”

“Yeah, clones.” You tilt your head a little to the side. “What, you don’t have cloning technology here?”

“Of course not!” Johnny laughs.

You laugh and bump your shoulder against his. “You people are so primitive.”

Johnny smiles back at you and it’s like nothing is wrong. You both go quiet as you stare at each other until you look away.

“I, uh…” you clear your throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry for being so… abrasive. Earlier, I mean.”

“It’s alright,” Johnny says, almost too quickly. 

You scratch your cheek and glance over at Johnny, then away. “But it’s not, is it? I should’ve handled things better.”

“Someone you know died right before we talked.” Johnny reaches over and, cautiously, puts his hand over yours where it rests on your knee. “It’s expected that you don’t act like yourself.”

Your breath hitches, and Johnny squeezes your hand reassuringly in response. 

“But that’s the thing,” you say. “I’ve seen so many awful things before. People getting shot, stabbed, beaten, Hank tearing people apart with his bare hands. But, Maker…”

You drag a hand down your face, rubbing your jaw. “Deimos is young. So young. He’s only twenty-seven, and he always has a smile like he’s just tied your shoelaces together and is waiting for you to trip. And he’s so smart, even if everyone calls him a bit stupid. Yeah, he’s got a slower reaction time, but that’s what me and Sanford are for, y’know? He…”

You blink hard, trying to will your tears away. A soft, frustrated groan leaves your mouth as you duck your head and put your cigarette to your lips. “Don’t look at me.”

Johnny starts to pull his hand away, but stops when you squeeze his hand. Instead, he squeezes your hand back, averting his gaze.

To Johnny, it again almost feels like nothing ever happened. Like there’s no Russia, no Nevada, nothing besides you and him on this roof, together. But he’s no fool. He knows things have changed – that Nevada has changed you. 

You breathe out a shaky plume of cigarette smoke. “I just want to go back.”

“But you’re here now, bonnie,” Johnny says. He tries to ignore the crushing feeling in his chest, tries to keep his composure for you. “Aren’t you glad you’re back?”

“I don’t know this place.” You look over at Johnny, your eyes rimmed with unshed tears. “You keep saying that we’re together, that – that this is my home. But how can this be my home if I don’t remember a thing about it? How can you be my boyfriend if I don’t remember a thing about you?”

Johnny exhales sharply, like he’s just got the wind knocked out of him. “Bonnie, please don’t say that. Please.”

“I know violence, and I know bloodshed,” you say softly. “I know Nevada. This place, this world…” You gesture vaguely with your cigarette still in your hand. “It’s not mine.”

“But there is violence here, there is bloodshed here,” Johnny insists. “Here, we fought together.”

“But I don’t remember us being together, in any capacity!” you snap. You take a breath and try your best to soften your words. “All I remember from before is just flashes. I didn’t remember your face. I just had your dogtag and a weird, empty feeling.”

Johnny sighs and feels tears welling up in his eyes. He can’t tear his gaze away from you. 

“You really expected me to trace the bullet and sift through fleeting memories when there was an entire agency playing Pinkertons knocking down our door?” you ask softly. “2B was bandaging my head ‘cause he just finished playing around in my brains and Sanford was shoving a gun in my hands. They pointed me in a direction and told me to shoot. I didn’t have the time to remember you.

“I’m sorry, but I just didn’t.” You squeeze his hand before letting it go.

Johnny immediately scrambles to catch your hand in both of his, holding on desperately. “No, bonnie, please.”

A few tears slip down Johnny’s cheeks as he looks at you. Your face is a mirror of his own, just in greyscale. Your cheeks are stained with tears and your eyes are just beginning to get a bit puffy. 

“If you know you’re gonna be leaving again, then just let me hold your hand,” Johnny says softly, his voice wavering. “Just for a few more minutes.”

You nod and, when you blink, a tear rolls down your already-wet cheek. ��Okay.”

Johnny slowly moves so that you’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder to him. He hesitates before resting his head on your shoulder. You smell just like how he remembers, albeit tinged with the acrid tang of G01 Choice cigarette smoke. You’re just as beautiful as the day he lost you.

“Okay.”

[heavenlymorals]

I found your blog recently and it’s so refreshing to see a canon based Arthur! I was wondering, how do you think Arthur would react if his partner had tuberculosis instead of him? This has been on my mind a lot lately and I’m intrigued to see what you think

Thank you ❤️🥺 Im glad you enjoy my posts- to think people are actually interested in my ramblings is equally amazing and humbling.

And this response is also going to be for a female partner, just for transparency and because of the established canon of who Arthur is attracted to.

Anyways, what if Arthur's partner got tuberculosis? Here are my thoughts:

I've mentioned in a past post about Arthur's relationship with a partner that he is someone who loves to devotion. We know this because of his relationship with the gang. He is always busy, supporting the gang, outwardly and domestically. He also places men's self worth on a man's expectation to provide, take care of business, and protect. Note how annoyed or even angry he gets when a man doesn't "behave" like a man.

"Well while you were having a failure of reason and HIDING behind your woman, we we're getting shot at." Arthur to John.

"We couldn't HE come and RESCUE you?" Arthur to Penelope Braithwaite.

"Get the hell out of here and be a goddamn MAN!" Arthur to John.

So what does this have to do with Arthur? Well, he loves to devotion and he will do whatever he can to try to protect you, provide for you, and take care of you till you either recover or till you peacefully pass away.

The doctor says you guys need to move to someplace warm, dry, and not humid? Ok honey, we're packing up and going to Nevada. You need a specific type of medicine? Word, he'll go to hell and back to try to get it. Does your body hurt? Are you too tired to work? Then stay in bed and don't get up, please.

When you guys first find out that you have Tuberculosis, Arthur wouldn't start freaking out or crying or any of that. He'd be quite stoic. He'd be calm. He'd be an anchor in a whirlwind of emotions. He'll comfort you and try to make you feel better.

Love to devotion- he wouldn't expect you to take on chores like he would himself. He'd clean and cook if he needs to and if you're too weak whilst also working. Though he may be hard on himself, he'd never be hard on you.

He'd make sure all your clothes are clean and would never complain by how bloody they could get, same with bedsheets. He'd learn how to help you still look presentable just to keep you happy (read some 1800s women's hair routines and omg, they seemed exhausting). He'd sit down with you and tell stories and try to make you laugh just to see a genuine smile.

He'd try to make you as comfortable as possible and will try to fulfill your wishes as best he can before your final days.

When Arthur loves, he loves to devotion. And when you die, he'll go off someplace alone and finally start to cry. They will be silent tears. He would never allow you to see him so crushed- for your sake.

He'd be the male love interest in those old love stories that we love to hear about so much.

Now I made myself sad ☹️

Thanks anon ❤️❤️

[octobre-ackedia]

*random phonecall at 3am*

Wilbur: We have a problem

Quackity: No, you have a problem, leave me alone

Wilbur: Listen, I know my kinks are my problem, but I'm in Las Nevadas so now they're yours too

Quackity, clearly annoyed at this point: Wilbur, I don't care if you wanna sniff some feet in my country, just please don't bother me about it

Wilbur: No, no, you don't understand

Quackity: Just... what is it?

Wilbur: Do you, by any chance, know someone who can disarm bombs, is a surgeon, and into men?

Quackity, finally able to use all his qualifications at once: Yes.

Listen, before you judge me, I saw an actual article about someone with a missile up his ass and disarming professionals had to come to the hospital to help lol

[beemers-hell]

HANK. HEAD CANONS. pretty please?

IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE

Hank HCs!

Early 50s

AMAB that doesn't really give a shit about gender, has what i like to describe as "object permanence romance" i.e. he doesn't think about or want to engage in romantic situations unless it's offered to him, or more or less, he dgaf until he visibly percieves the romantic/even sexual thing in front of him!

Around 7'00", was originally 6'02" but kept getting larger due to his body being modified the more times he died!

Boricua

The Three A's as my guy Blade describes it: Autistic, Albino, and has Alopecia!

His body is more or less not really his own anymore, he's kind of a Frankenstein's monster of dead bodies brough back to life. Due to this, he has all sorts of aches and pains from his body not really matching any one source within him, as well as minor complications stemming from the fact that Doc really isn't a doctor, he just knows how the body works! Sanford takes care of fixing anything major that pops up with his body failing or rejecting parts since he actually has field experience/knowledge, while Doc takes care of the more cybernetic parts of Hank's innards that he's needed to install over the years.

Seems to be over and or understimulated like, 24/7, this dude hasn't really felt peace in a LOOOOOOOOONG time which explains why he's such a jackass a majority of the time. He's capable of showing care for others but he's just in a bad mood all the time from being either over or under stimulated.

Like I mentioned with Doc's HC post, the two were once together, before the events of the series, but eventually drifted apart in a romantic sense after things got bad. It was clear him and Doc's goals were vastly different, which led to them splitting. They still work together because Doc's one of the only people Hank feels like he can trust.

I don't think Hank is actually evil, he's just really fucking tired of the path he's gone down in life, but clearly the higher powers of Nevada have something else in mind for him. He feels like he has this weird feeling thats "possessing" him to some degree, not in a literal sense of possession but like in a way where he feels like something is driving him to continue his slaughter of Nevada despite him not really giving a shit anymore. He keeps it controlled by carrying contracts out for Doc, which allows him to appease that feeling of needing to kill, while also allowing him downtime to just chill the fuck out. The feeling never really goes away though, it's just always there, even if it's numbed.

Hank doesn't really care about what happens to Nevada, he just wants to dull the drive he has to kill. The fact that there's an entire agency dedicated to stopping him, which means he seemingly has an endless supply of attackers, just works out for him.

Speaking of this, Hank doesn't attack innocents. Or at least, anyone who hasn't already provoked him. Like I said, he's capable of feeling empathy for others, and can even feel remorse, which is why he isn't some mindless spree killer. He only goes for those who directly antagonize him!

Fuck you dude loves Evanescence!!!