#Steel Cartel

[canadian-pug-cartel]

Created by my buddie (@toastpandadraws) for me and it’s too beautiful to not be seen by the world

[harrelltut]

Hello Q [QUANTUM HARRELL TECH] Dara™ of attdotcom.com... My Highly Complex [ADVANCED] Ancient 9 Ether 6G x 3 = 18G Quantum Electronic DNA Compu_TAH [PTAH] Program of Fully Operational IBM [FOI] Intranet Protocols [I/P] Approved by My [I AM] International 9 [i9] Ether steelecartel.com of SIRIUS Federal Information Processing Standards [FIPS] Privately Issued by Our National Institute of Standards and Technology [NIST] on qhtatt.tech @ 1921 QUANTUM 2023 HARRELL 2024 TECH 2025 Apple & IBM [A.i.] LLC of ATLANTIS [L.A.] 5000

WELCOME BACK HOME IMMORTAL [HIM] U.S. MILITARY KING SOLOMON-MICHAEL HARRELL, JR.™

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[ghettogirly]

Hey boo! I'm not sure if you're taking requests, but if you are, would you be willing to check this out?

I was thinking about a fresh out of prison Armando Aretas. He's been a little rough with you during sex, ever since he was released. Hurting you is definitely not his intention but he can't help but lose control after all this time away from you. It doesn't bother you at all but he still feels bad about his actions and wants to make it up to you. (Soft smut)

xblackfemalereader or femalereader would suffice.

This is for the freaks! Okay, I'm out.💋💋

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𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐨́𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚..

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᯾ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐗 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

᯾ synopsis: Armando couldn’t wait to return back to you after being freshly broken out of prison, wanting to come back home and to cherish you again was all that he wished for. However, he certainly didn’t wish to hurt you either.

᯾ theme: angst with a happy ending, smut.

᯾ format: story.

᯾ warnings: sex, mentions of escaping prison, armando is a rough during sex, mature language, reader gets hurt during sex, use of a safe word.

᯾ authors note: i hope you enjoyed!! This is my longest story yet, sorry it took so long, i added so many different elements.

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𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆, this was a normality within the institution as the men went crazy being locked in their cell for 23 hours a day. Their brains slowly turning insane at the routine of staring at white walls while the day goes by. Men turned into animals here, feeling as if they’re in a cage, they had nothing else to cast out their anger on.

Animalistic screams were scattered around the block of cells as the prison warden took no notice, sitting down on his chair with his hat covering his eyes as his head was down. Clearly taking no notice of the cameras. Casually walking over to the welded steel door, Armando looked through the tiny screen on his door, looking around as far as the tiny little screen within the door let him. He was used to the chaos, however, that didn’t mean it got any less annoying.

Yet, today was the day.

Plopping his magazine on his bed, he walked around to his shower room. Armando crouched down slightly. Pushing his fingers through the small steel gaps of the tiny vent in his cell, he opened it, taking out a match. “aquí tienes…”

His prison flip flops created a smack on the concrete floor as they connected. Whistling, he looked up at the camera while messing about with it in his hand. Wasting no time, A whoosh of light appeared before him as the flame quickly ignited and started moving slowly down the little stick. “Hasta el fuego.” Throwing the match onto his bed, he ran into the shower and disappeared down the hole.

Below the hole was a motorcycle waiting for him , with some cartel members side by side. Jumping on the blacked out bike, armando revved his aggressively before driving off. “Vamos! ¡No tenemos tiempo!” The other men nodded before quickly following their boss.

𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃. Armando’s orange jumpsuit clung to him as the fibres shrunk due to the contact of the rain above, now displaying his buff physique. Alarms were heard blaring in the distance, presumably because of the chaos he left behind.

Regardless, he kept his pace, running to a remote location within the field. His cartel organised a chopper for him there, to safely secure him back at the mansion. Branches snapped as he jumped over them or threw them out the way, Armando stayed alert.

Left. Right. Up. Behind.

Every area had to be surveilled. No witnesses. No police.

Finally reaching the location, a chopper was there awaiting him. A member stepped out to greet him, yet, there was no time for that. “¡Súbete al puto avión!” The male shouted, ordering his men as he signalled the pilot to engage. Some cartel members were still far behind. “Tsk.”

Bolts of light flashed among the mexican faces as bullets made of hardened steel penetrated the bodies of the workers still running to the helicopter, knocking them down one by one, the male angled his arms with ease. Looking through the scope, he released each bullet one by one, none of them being able to escape this fate. BANG! BANG! BANG!

“If they can’t keep up, leave them in the dirt.”

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 ��𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 ��𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐍̃𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐒. Twirling his ring around, all he could think about was his wife. You was the light of his world. Staying with him through thick and thin, you even gave up your dream of a beautiful wedding by marrying him in prison.

He was coming back home now though, ready to give you the world baby.

Satisfied with the life Armando already gave you, each day you thanked the heavens that he was still alive. It was painful, seeing him locked up. Yet, it would’ve been worse placing down his casket six feet under. 𝐌𝐈𝐗𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓, travelled through your system as amygdala integrated your emotions with the other areas of your brain. He was coming back.

“Ma’am he’s here.”

“Jefe, estamos aquí.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐌𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐈. Cartel members swiftly moved to the door, opening it, revealing the muscular leader. Splashes of dirt imprinted the orange jumpsuit due to the dampness of the forest. It had slight rips in it, clear signs of getting caught onto nature.

Armando slowly made his way out of the chopper, slowly analysing all his workers as they waited for his approval. “Es bueno estar de vuelta.” Bottles were popped as loud cheers were heard from the whole crowd, who walked over to greet him. He gave handshakes and side hugs to his most loyal “friends.”

𝐀 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃. “Finally you’re home!” Running up to him, you jump in his arms as they wrap around you, leaning in for a kiss. “ive te perdió..” Armando whispers, feeling your scent flow over his senses, bringing him a sense of comfort. Looking up at you with love in his eyes, he licks his lips, “Maldita sea, no puedo esperar para quitarles la ropa.”

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𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐋𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒, 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍. His heavy arm laid on your thighs, sleeping at an angle due to his constant movement while sleeping. Clearly he was not used to being in a comfortable bed, transitioning from prison conditions to luxurious conditions being a massive jump.

Yet, you felt strange. Your body felt sore due to the sudden use of muscles contracting while keeping up with Armando’s rough pace. Maybe it was the prison system that made him more aggressive, maybe it was the excitement. Who knows?

Nevertheless, you brushed it off. Not wanting to overthink all the possibilities of the sudden change in his sexual stance the night before. This was a moment to enjoy life, not dwell on it.

Removing the pink, silk bonnet that rested on top of your head, protecting every curl from breakage, they spilled out. Resting beautifully on your shoulders. It was frizzy at the roots due to the intensity of last night, the sweat causing the curls to become puffy, but that’s not nothing a little mousse can’t fix. Messing about with your curls as you was lost in thought, you felt a gentle press to your shoulder.

“está bien?”

You nodded, not really feeling the need to tell Armando about your thoughts from the night before, not wanting to concern him on his first morning being free from the cage he used to be contained in. “Never been better.” Planting a kiss on your lips, he smiled at your reply, not thinking anything of it as he was essentially on cloud nine. “Ven a acostarte con-“

A loud buzz reverberated off of the oak bedside table, a loud groan was made by the male as he slowly rolled over to pick it up. Swiping the green button, he answered. “¿Por qué coño me llamas tan temprano en la mañana?” You chuckled at his blunt answer, typical Armando.

A sigh escaped your husband’s lips, clearly annoyed at the shit he had to deal with so early in the morning. Placing the phone down he looked over at you, “tengo que irme..”, annoyance was plastered all over his face.

“That’s fine, i’ll be waiting here for you anyways babe.” You said gently, kissing his cheek and then his lips. Wrapping his arms around you, he leans for another kiss. and another. and another. “You need to go..”

“¿Realmente tengo que???”

Chuckling you lightly hit his arm, “Go and get up.”

“Ya no me amas?”

A pillow was then flung towards his head.

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𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟎𝐏𝐌 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍. Armando had blood splatters on his white-collared shirt. The first two buttons were undone as he coordinated the outfit with black pants, he was looking sexy but that wasn’t the point. “What happened?” Asking in a panic as you walk up to him to check if he’s okay. “Estoy bien, no te preocupes.”

He walked into the bathroom, taking off his shirt and pants as he threw them into the wash basket. Walking back out, half naked. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, the scars tattooed all over his body due to the violent nature of the cartel being a sad story to tell, but sexy to look at.

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 - 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐀

“Súbete a la cama, princesa.”

Wasting no time, you did as you were told, stripping off your clothes. Slowly crawling onto the bed you laid down, spreading your legs as he got in between you. Tracing his finger up and down your clit, your wetness coating his finger. “Stop-“ Not even having time to finish your sentence, he pushed a finger in, making you gasp.

Pumping it in and out, you writhed under him at the pleasure he’s inflicting upon you. “Oh fuck!”

He slowly lowered himself down by your clit, still pumping in that finger. You felt his hot breath on your lower area, sending down electrical impulses throughout your nervous system, diffusing through your synapses. A wet object then placed itself upon your clit, circling it.

Armando licked stripes up and down,

making you moan in pleasure, tugging on his hair as you urge him to do more. “I can’t..”

“Puede.” Lifting himself up from that area, he pulls his finger out from you, putting it in his mouth and tasting you. Repositioning himself, he lines up his cock with your pussy before pushing himself in, stretching you out. A sharp flash of pain struck you before quickly dying back down. Armando didn’t seem to notice and slowly started thrusting for about 5 seconds before increasing his speed.

It was somewhat animalistic as he roughly thrusted into you, clearly taking his anger out on your body. It was satisfying at first, but then, his pace got faster. His grip becoming harder. “Armando!” You shouted, but he was still caught up in the overwhelming feeling of being inside of you.

“Cherry! Cherry!”

That’s when he noticed and stopped., quickly pulling out of you “¿Te lastimaste?”

“Estoy bien, todavía estoy adolorido de la otra noche.”

You noticed the pained expression that plastered his face. “Lo siento, lo siento-“

Holding his face in his hands, you look at him with a passion in your eyes. “I know you never meant to hurt me. Stop blaming yourself so much.”

Armando looked at you and nodded, before lifting you up and carrying you to the bathroom.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇, he slowly stroked your face as you relaxed against him. “Perdoname quierda.” He whispered.

“Don’t worry, i already have.”

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[🕷️] 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

“aquí tienes…” : there it is..

“Vamos! ¡No tenemos tiempo!” : Let’s go! We don’t have time!

“¡Súbete al puto avión!”: Get on the fucking plane!

Los campañeros: Their companions.

“Jefe, estamos aquí.”: Boss, we are here.

“Es bueno estar de vuelta.”: It’s good to be back.

“Te extrañé” I missed you.

“No puedo esperar para quitarme esta ropa”: I can’t wait to take these clothes off.

“está bien?” : You okay ?

“Ven a acostarte con-“ : Come sleep with-

“¿Por qué coño me llamas tan temprano en la mañana?”: Why the fuck are you calling me so early in the morning?

“tengo que irme..”,: I have to go

“¿Realmente tengo que???” : Do i really have to ???

“Ya no me amas?” You don’t love me?

“Estoy bien, no te preocupes.” : I am fine, don’t worry.

“Acuéstate en la cama, princesa.” : Lie on the bed princess.

“Puede.” : You can.

“¿Te lastimaste?” : Are you hurt?

“Estoy bien, todavía estoy adolorido de la otra noche.” : I’m fine, i’m still sore from the other night.

“Lo siento.” : I’m sorry.

“Perdoname quierda.”: Forgive me, love.

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[🕷️] 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @milliumizoomi @shurisgf @tyneshaaa @sarcasticbitchsblog @amplifiedmoan @wizewhispers @5tarlan7 @thedarkworldofhananerea @armandosbabymama @dyttomori @deadpool15

[sunshowersanddandelionwine]

au where the Riley family lives and simon gets into some Deep Shit™️ with some sort of group, whether it’s cartel or a terror org or what have you. And despite his and price’s and laswell’s best efforts, even the most privileged information eventually makes its way to the highest bidder. Which means that when this amorphous Group wants to hurt the ghost, they go after his most tender weak point.

They snatch Joseph Riley on his way home from school one day, and he’s terrified. He knows what his uncle does (vaguely and highly sanitized), enough for a kid his age to understand the gravity of the situation. So he has some idea of what’s about to happen.

Joseph doesn’t really have a good gauge on the passing of time, trapped in a dank, moldy cell in the ground with a single dirty window that doesn’t let in much light. The cuffs around his wrists are too tight, chafing against the thin skin. He’s hungry, thirsty, tired, but not scared. Okay, he’s a little scared but not as scared as he should probably be. Because he knows that come hell or high water, Uncle Simon is on his way.

That is, until the Group gets tired of waiting for Ghost to make a move and decide to send a message. They grab Joseph by the scruff and drag him out of the cell he’d memorized every inch of through the building. Joseph doesn’t know what’s happening, but whatever it is can’t be good.

And it isn’t. The door they come to is large, looks like it’s solid steel but with a weird sheen to it. There are claw marks digging into the frame and the ground. And a low, persistent growl echoes from behind the metal. Before Joseph can even think to speak, to beg for his life, one of the men unlocks the door, throws Joseph to the ground, and slams it shut behind him.

He falls in a crumpled heap, panting and coughing into the darkness around him. And then he freezes. Because the room is silent. The growl is gone. With the last bit of courage he has, he lifts his head from the dirty, iron-smelling floor and locks eyes with two bright blue irises glowing in the dark.

He’s heard stories of the wolves before, caught somewhere between man and monster. Some had come from Uncle Simon, some where rumors floated around school, some were just stories told to scare children. The stories all talked about the ferocious majesty of wolves, massive frames and thick fur and pearly white, razor sharp fangs.

This wolf is entirely unlike those stories. In the barely-there light leaking through the seam of the door, he can see just how bad the wolf is. His fur is ragged and hanging off his skeletal frame. Barely healed scars cut deep gouges into his face and flanks. And his eyes have no keen intelligence left, just base animal instinct. He’s watching Joseph silently, unmoving.

Joseph knows the wolf is starving, and he’s the unwilling lamb led to slaughter.

But the wolf doesn’t pounce. He inches forward, nosing gently at the bruises and scratches on Joseph’s face. He whines quietly when Joseph hisses from the movement. And he herds Joseph away from the door towards a tangled pile of dirty blankets and straw, curling around his shivering body with eyes pinned to the locked door.

Wolves are pack animals, and werewolves are no exception. When one werewolf soldier Sergeant MacTavish was drugged and captured, the Group thought they had themselves a mindless killing machine. They thought they could throw a child at a lonely, feral wolf and send the Ghost a gruesome message. They either didn’t know or didn’t care that pups, no matter the species, are precious to the pack. They gave Soap a pup, and he would protect that pup with his life.

(And when Ghost bursts into the cell not long after, blood soaked and wild eyed, he doesn’t expect to see his nephew, alive and relatively unharmed, with a massive guard dog curled around him. He doesn’t expect that guard dog to change back into a man. And he doesn’t expect that guard dog to stick around once he’s back on his feet, sticking to his side like he’s got no where better to be.)

[andy-15-07]

Hiiiii hru??? I saw your post that requests were still open (if not, please ignore this) but I would love something where Javier Peña or Joel Miller save reader from something? (From (being kidnapped by Pablo, or an accident, whatever) something with a lot of angst ahahah

Thanks in advance 🫂🥹

Under Fire and Shadows

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 1246 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The hum of the ceiling fan barely cut through the oppressive heat of the Medellín afternoon. You leaned against the cool surface of the bar counter, a bead of sweat sliding down the back of your neck. It was supposed to be a simple job—slip in, pass along the intel, and slip out before anyone could ask too many questions. Yet, here you were, stuck in the lion’s den, your escape route compromised.

“You look like you’re ready to bolt,” the bartender said, his voice tinged with curiosity.

You forced a tight-lipped smile and took a sip of your drink. “Long day, that’s all.”

But your gut churned. You could feel the weight of their eyes on you. The cartel’s men, stationed strategically throughout the room, weren’t just watching the entrance anymore. They were watching you.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” His voice was calm, but the steel in his tone sent a chill down your spine. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. Javier Peña.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, barely turning your head.

“Saving your ass, apparently.” He slid onto the stool next to you, his presence drawing the attention of the room like a magnet. Javier had a way of owning any space he walked into, and you hated him a little for it.

“I had it handled,” you snapped under your breath, though your clenched fists betrayed your nerves.

“Sure you did. That’s why half the room’s ready to pounce on you.” He signaled the bartender for a drink, his nonchalance making your frustration boil over.

“You’re going to get us both killed.”

“No, you were going to get yourself killed. I’m just here to make sure that doesn’t happen.” His voice dropped, his eyes locking onto yours. “Now, do you want my help or not?”

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor broke the tension. One of the cartel’s men was approaching, his hand resting too casually on the holster at his hip. Javier shifted, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.

“Time to go,” he muttered, grabbing your wrist and pulling you off the stool.

“Peña, I swear—”

“Shut up and move.”

The two of you weaved through the crowd, Javier’s grip firm and unyielding. You could hear the murmurs behind you, the rustle of movement as more men followed. Your pulse raced as you stepped out into the blinding sunlight, the noise of the street momentarily disorienting.

“This way,” Javier said, pulling you into a narrow alley.

“What’s the plan?” you asked, your voice laced with panic.

“Plan?” He gave you a lopsided grin. “The plan is to not die.”

“Great plan,” you muttered.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind you, and you barely had time to react before Javier was shoving you against the wall, his body shielding yours. His hand came up, gun drawn, and you could feel his breath against your cheek.

“Stay quiet,” he whispered, his voice low and commanding.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as the footsteps grew louder. Javier’s body was tense, every muscle coiled like a spring. You wanted to argue, to tell him you could handle yourself, but the truth was, you were terrified.

The men passed by, their voices fading as they continued down the alley. Javier didn’t move until the silence settled like a weight around you.

“You okay?” he asked, stepping back.

“Yeah,” you said, though your voice betrayed you.

He studied you for a moment, his dark eyes searching yours. “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you shot back. “Not everyone has the luxury of calling the shots, Peña.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took your hand and started leading you down the alley.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

The “safe place” turned out to be a dingy motel on the outskirts of town. Javier checked you in under a fake name, his hand never straying far from his weapon. Once inside, he locked the door and pulled the curtains shut.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you said, looking around the shabby room.

“What were you expecting? The Ritz?” He dropped onto the bed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s temporary. Just until things cool down.”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the door. “You didn’t have to follow me, you know.”

“Yeah, I did,” he said, his voice softening. “You think I’m just going to let you get yourself killed?”

“Why do you care?” The question came out sharper than you intended, and Javier flinched slightly.

“Because I do,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “I don’t need a reason.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the air between you thick with unspoken words. You wanted to yell at him, to tell him he had no right to interfere, but part of you was grateful. Grateful that he cared, even if you didn’t understand why.

“Get some rest,” he said finally, lying back on the bed. “We’re going to have a long day tomorrow.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you sat down in the chair by the window, watching him as he closed his eyes. Despite the chaos of the day, there was something comforting about having him here. And as much as you hated to admit it, you felt safer with him by your side.

The next morning came too soon, the faint light of dawn filtering through the threadbare curtains. You had barely slept, every creak of the motel and distant sound on the street keeping you on edge. When you finally looked over, Javier was already awake, sitting up on the bed with his gun in hand, his eyes sharp.

“You’re up early,” you said, your voice hoarse.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied, not looking at you. “Too much to think about.”

You didn’t ask what was on his mind. Instead, you stood and stretched, the tension in your shoulders refusing to ease.

“We need to figure out our next move,” you said, crossing your arms. “I’m not sitting in this dump all day.”

Javier finally looked at you, his expression unreadable. “The cartel’s not going to stop looking for you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you said, your voice firm. “But I’m not going to hide forever. There’s too much at stake.”

“You’re stubborn as hell,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Fine. But we do this my way.”

“Your way?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he said, standing and slipping his gun into its holster. “Because my way keeps us alive.”

You wanted to argue, but the determination in his eyes stopped you. Javier might be infuriating, but he knew what he was doing. And as much as you hated to admit it, you trusted him.

“Fine,” you said, grabbing your bag. “What’s the plan?”

“First, we get out of here,” he said, moving to the door. “Then, we make them think we’re going one way while we head another.”

“And after that?”

“We figure it out as we go,” he said with a smirk. “Now, let’s move.”

You followed him out into the morning light, the weight of the day ahead settling heavily on your shoulders. But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel completely alone. And as much as you hated to admit it, that made all the difference.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

umm sorry if this is bad or too much but could you maybe write something lalo x reader where the reader is ignoring lalo's texts, maybe for work reasons or something, and lalo. uhm. breaks into their house and noncons them to remind them who's in charge <3

yes anon glory to the salamanca cartel

had this freezer burned shit in my drafts and im digging it up for turno nocturno. just when i think im out this crazy bitch pulls me back in 😔

warning: noncon, physical/emotional abuse, gunplay, face slapping, oral

"Talk."

Lalo demanded, as if you had something to confess to. Like there was a reason for him to break through your bedroom window, straddle your chest, and point a glock at your face. To any normal person, that sort of behavior is never justified, but to Lalo, it’s a natural consequence of what happened. What you did to him. Your blatant act of disrespect.

“Tried calling you today. Three times. They all went straight to voicemail.” Lalo explained, venom dripping from his voice, his thick thighs around your ribcage, his body weight pinning you to your bed. You weren’t sure which was more intimidating, the steel barrel tapping against your forehead, or the one tucked away in his jeans, beating against your sternum, also aimed directly at you. “Why’s that?”

“Wh-Wha…?” You sniffled, “Wh… When did you call me—ow!”

Lalo answered your question by pistol whipping you across the face. He left your ears ringing, your cheeks stinging, and with most likely a black eye come tomorrow morning.

“No, no, no. You don’t get to ask questions, puto (whore). Not until you answer mine. What the hell was so important that you had to turn your phone off?”

Your adrenaline-chugging mind raced to answer him. When could he have called you? No idea. Why didn’t you hear it? The hell if you knew. What did you even do today? Uh… All these searches coming up blank. Turns out you can’t think too well with a gun in your face. A few more seconds of agonizing confusion, and then it came to you. Oh, that’s right.

“I… I went *sniff* to see… *sniff* a… *sniff* m-movie with my *sniff* f-friend… *sniff* Jesse…” You sobbed, struggling to breathe through the tears and the pressure on your chest. What a shame. You and Jesse actually had a great day together, hotboxing his car and cackling in the back row of the theater, but that joy was the furthest thing from your mind right now. This was quickly turning into the worst night of your life.

Lalo lowered the gun. “That’s it?” He reached out to cup your jaw, his thumb swiping away your tears. “You promise?”

You nodded.

Lalo seemed content with that answer. He shook his head, then sighed in disappointment, “Ay, chico tonto… (silly boy). What am I gonna do with you?” He placed the gun on your nightstand. “Next time? You text me if you gotta turn your phone off. And you text me when it’s back on. Okay?”

“Okay…” you mumbled.

“Good boy!” Lalo smiled, ruffling your hair as a gesture of good will. A sign that he still loved you, in his own sadistic, psychotic way.

“But we gotta make sure this doesn’t happen again, yeah? Gotta keep you in line, pretty boy.”

While distracting you with headpats, his other hand went to his belt, tugging it off and tossing it on the floor.

“Luckily, today wasn’t anything serious. But what if I really needed you? And you’d just gone missing? Sheesh. Could’ve been a disaster for you, kid.”

He unzipped his pants and fished out his cock. Menacing in size, the physical manifestation of his rage and power over you, mere inches from your face.

“But don’t worry.”

The gentle stroking of your hair suddenly turned into knots clenched in his fist.

“I forgive you.”

And before you could protest, he shoved your face forward, and the barrel went down your throat, gagging you, keeping you quiet. A silencer.

“Suck.”

[callsignfate]

Hi I have a request (if you don't like it that's fine), let's say fem reader works with Valeria and reader have a big crush on her leader. One day Valeria has a meeting with another cartel leader ,but he didn't want to make business with her, he wanted to kill her. Reader was outside the office but when she heard the fight she wanted to help so she covered Valeria with her body and reader got shot ( not bad ,let's say leg or arm). So Valeria was so mad at her bc she actually care about the reader. It can be a little angst with them saying what they feel (no need to be super romantic...but still 😆) and ofcourse fluff at the end. Sorry if it's chaotic, English is not my first language 😭 if you do this I'll be so happy but if you decide it's a thrash I'll understand 😆😆😆😆 thank you

Seeing Red

Day Twelve of Writemas/Birthday post

If you want to see the scheduled posts go here If you want to see more posts like this go here

Okay so I saw this and I immediately wanted to write and post this so todays post that was supposed to be posted today will be posted as tomorrows post! Thank you Anon for this request and never apologize for your English's skills they are really good for how terribly hard (and stupid) it is to learn English. I was born in the United States and I still personally struggle with so much! This was such a cool Idea!

TW: Mention of injury, blood, guns, gun shots, needles, medications. If I've missed any let me know!

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

Valeria was an attractive woman, and she knew it. She rarely had eyes for anyone, that was until she found you in the midst of her cartel pyramid.

She was aware of your attraction to her. She observed your eyes scanning her body and face whenever she was around, how your breaths would become heavier when she ordered you around, and how desperate you were to listen, to be perfect for her.

She adored this, and you. Although she never showed it directly to you, she would inquire with the people closest to her about your whereabouts, how you were doing, and if they could give you a better position—something closer to her.

She knew you would never betray her; she could see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice when you always responded with a quick "Yes ma'am." She made it believable that you had climbed ranks yourself; your skills weren't mediocre by any means. In her mind, this justified her desire to keep you close, to keep an eye on you.

So, when the day to meet another cartel leader arrived, she ordered you to stand outside her office, keeping anyone else out and keeping him in.

And that's exactly what you did. Standing like a soldier guarding a base, you stood there for an hour, listening to the muffled conversation that slowly became heated. The harsh, angry words of Valeria were muffled through the door before the man's voice erupted into an angry yell. Awkwardly hovering your hand over the doorknob, you pushed the door open to see Valeria's eyes locked on the man who held the cold steel pointed at her.

She didn't even glance your way, and Valeria's eyes didn't waver—there wasn't a hint of fear in her gaze. Without thinking, you pushed the man away from her. His anger flared, and a loud bang rang through the room. Another two men, whom you usually worked with, rushed in. Your eyes frantically searched Valeria's body as your hands patted over her gear and arms, only stopping when her face looked... bewildered.

The two men had the cartel leader pinned on the ground as they handcuffed and gagged him. Your eyes only glanced back at them once before you started shaking Valeria's shoulders, asking if she was okay, where she was shot.

A painful burn slowly faded into your mind, and your focus flickered to your hand as you pushed it against the pain that was getting worse. The adrenaline faded quickly, and your trembling hand moved into your line of sight, stained a deep red.

"Oh." A strange calmness settled over you as you stared at the blood on your hand, the pain registering more profoundly. The gravity of the situation hit you, and you felt the room spinning. Valeria finally shifted her gaze from the restrained cartel leader to you, her expression a mix of surprise and concern.

"Let me see." She hissed out with a level of anger in her tone that almost made you flinch backwards, Her hands moved quickly to move your gear, before she groaned and started taking it off quickly to get a better look.

"Damn it," Valeria muttered under her breath, more to herself than to you. "It doesn't look too deep, but we need to get this patched up."

Despite the urgency, there was a gentle touch in her hands as she started to apply pressure to the wound. The makeshift bandage she fashioned from a torn piece of fabric was surprisingly efficient, considering the circumstances. "I've patched up my own wounds before, let's go." Valeria added before she began moving you out of her now busy office, her mind racing as she led you to a room that only had one large table in the middle and fluffy lather chair's around it. "Sit. Now." She ordered out, you looked at the chair as she moved to open a small closet that was tucked away in the order. "I don't want to bleed all over the chair, it could make a mess." You murmured out quietly, her head whipped around with a glare that felt like daggers, without another word you sat down, her head giving you a brief nod before she went back to searching for the medical supplies in the closet.

Valeria swiftly grabbed a medical kit from the closet with a small sigh of relief, her hands moved with practiced efficiency. The atmosphere in the room was tense, but there was an odd sense of trust between you and Valeria, an unspoken understanding.

She cleaned the wound meticulously, her movements precise. The pain was sharper now as she probed around, but you held back any sounds of discomfort. Valeria didn't seem to appreciate the stoicism.

As she finished applying a more secure dressing, she met your eyes with a disapproving and concerned glare. "What in the hell were you thinking rushing in to take the shot, I had it."

You met her gaze evenly, a sense of defiance flickering in your eyes. "You were in danger. I couldn't just stand there."

A mixture of irritation and something else danced across Valeria's expression. "You think I can't handle myself?"

"It's not about that," you replied, choosing your words carefully. "It's about having each other's backs. We're a team, Ma'am."

Her eyes softened, the harsh edge momentarily giving way to a more contemplative look. "A team, huh?"

"Yeah, a team," you huffed.

She sighed, glancing away for a moment before refocusing on you. "Well, next time, let me do my job. I can't afford to lose you."

Your mind stuttered as you heard her last word, you? Did you hear that correctly? You tried to blink away your pleasantly surprised expression at her words.

"Just me?" You asked with the smallest of smile pulling at your lips as Valeria pushed her hand out at you with two small medications in her palm.

"Alright, don't get all mushy on me," Valeria retorted, almost avoiding your question. She handed you the medications, a clear attempt to steer the conversation away from the momentary vulnerability.

You took the medications, suppressing a chuckle at her deflection. "Thank you."

"Yea, just take those, and no running into gunfire without a plan next time," she said, resuming her typical authoritative tone, "I care about you too much to let you just get shot, understood?"

You nodded, a genuine smile playing on your lips. "Understood, Ma'am. I'll leave the heroics to you.. maybe"

Valeria's stern expression softened for a moment, a rare hint of warmth in her eyes. "Good. Now get some rest. We both have jobs to do."

As you left her makeshift medical room, you couldn't help but feel a subtle shift in your dynamic with Valeria. It was as if the unspoken bond had solidified, creating a connection that went beyond the professional.

♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤~♤

If you want to see the scheduled posts go here If you want to see more posts like this go here

[andmaybegayer]

it's really wild that they still use so much wood for homebuilding in the USA. Is it a cartel thing? I can't imagine why you'd want to use a material that is so variable and flammable for home construction. Like yeah sure it's great in the pre-industrial era but now you can excavate and process gravel and cement and clay and iron and aluminium.

Wood isn't exactly cheap! Supply is variable and very sensitive to all sorts of weird things and it simply cannot correct very quickly. Steel is taken out of the ground and we make huge amounts of it, it's much more stable.

Maybe the amount of wood isn't that high? A fair amount of a house is gypsum board which you do actually dig out of the ground.

Still, I'm surprised that steel studs haven't completely outcompeted wood. Does it require more work to assemble? It might just be an industry momentum thing, you'd have to find builders who know how to work with metal framing, which presumably isn't a lot of people. You jump straight from wood framing and drywall to curtain walls on steel skyscraper frames.

There were some Construction Physics articles on this that I missed because I was busy hang on.

This article shows that the material and labour cost of framing are both the largest single costs within their own class, at 8% and 11% of the total cost of a home respectively, so it is expensive, and presumably that makes your homebuilding very sensitive to price spikes in wood.

This is from the last wood pricing spike and yeah, wood pricing can seriously affect the overall cost of a house, but it's also shockingly stable for a while there for being, you know, wood.

But yeah it feels like it's a significant fire hazard. It's not bulk lumber that can char without burning, it's all 2x4's and framing beams.

None of what I say is meaningfully correct.

[oddclan-askblog]

More slig stuff plus lore below the cut (there is a lot.)

Slig growth differences: 

free sligs can see well and do not need goggles. They maintain their lower set of mandibles which are used to feed food into their moths as well as taste. Teen sligs steel guns, ammo, and goggles from older sligs when they're not looking. While most of this goes to new escapees sometimes cool stuff "slips through". Teens don't really need any of it, they're seldom allowed to fight or raid. It all just looks really cool so of course they snag it. 

Adult tribal sligs new or original, are expected to leave the old gear behind in favor of copper jewelry and tattoos. Some keep their old gear but most move on. 

Slave sligs are blinded and their lower set of mandibles are removed while they're young. This makes tough food harder to eat and disincentives them from fleeing the factories in adult life. Additionally their tails are bound and cut short making movement without pants very painful. 

Occasionally baby Sligs are smuggled to freedom but very very rarely. Rescuing a squawking sadistic slug is quite difficult compared to a mud egg. 

New blood: 

Slaves who try to become free can not enter the community at will. They are required to bring their weapons and gear (unloaded), whatever they can snatch food wise, and must mark themselves to show their commitment. A mark consists of a very obvious "X" across the head or chest, anything hidden is likely to be missed and the latter will be shot on site. The X must be scarred over by the time they arrive unarmed. 

When this policy was first implemented there was a lot of success and their numbers grew by the day. Once the cartels caught on the deserters thinned out significantly. Recourses have dwindled. Some suggested the policy be changed so marks could be carved across other parts of the body, so as to be more hidden. Treun will not allow it he wants the mark to be obvious.  

Village life: 

There is only one above ground settlement left in Oddworld, the rest are numerous connected by a maze of caves. Escapees are allowed to congregate at the aboveground settlement but no further. Any interaction from the other clans require natives from above or below meeting in the middle. A free queen is rumored to exist but this has never been verified. The sanctuaries constant need for new support and supplies suggests otherwise. 

Sligs live minimalist lifestyles, their tents are woven fabric with leaf littered over the top to blend in with the ground. Each member hunts and gathers together for the clan. Trade with mudokon allow for the acquisition of new art and the occasional tattoo. Muds are not allowed into specially marked sections of the slig tunnels. 

Underground is more complicated, most of the smaller settlements are only three to ten homes strong. The inhabitants feed on cave mosses when desperate but otherwise eat off of dead animals swept into the caverns. Their homes are short dead end tunnels dug into a horizontal "s" shape. A flood room is built into the lower curve so excess water stays in the front half of the home. At the high point of the second curve a long vertical tunnel is dug up toward the bedrooms and other chambers. 

Almost everything is made of some form of clay with fabric and food being stored indoors. Rotten food and waste are disposed of ahead of the village by several kilometers so it flows down current come the storm. Sligs responsible for this travel on specific days of the week. In the interim, trash is carefully sorted and clutter is discouraged. 

The Catacombs: 

Under the swamps lie the ruined Slig cities and shrines. Tunnels and hidden enclaves dug deep into the earth over thousands of years weave a beautiful and dangerous tapestry out of the rock. They can be navigated and shrines can still be accessed but doing so requires careful effort. The biggest danger below is not getting stuck, crushed, or lost, its drowning. Rain is hazardous and inconsistent from above, mountain melt, swamp mog, and anything small enough to drag under, will flood even the largest chasms. 

Bells and bridges connect the highest non flooding point of the caverns. They are specially designed with grooves on their exterior so they will ring as the rain pours. If one can not make it to a bridge above, death is assured. 

The deepest settlements have specially dug water drain offs and bastions so other caverns remain safe. Many ancient cities and statues are closed off by collapsed tunnels or completely submerged underwater. All point to a powerful past where queens warred for power and free sligs thrived in abundance. 

Some areas are inaccessible due to toxic gas which can spread to other caverns if opened. Sligs have a variety of ways for assessing the danger of rooms ahead. Birds are the old-school method, less preferred given the scarcity of food. Repurposed gear can be used especially gas detectors if stolen.

The most common method is tying a trained rat to a string and allowing it to skitter through a small opening. The opening will be closed momentarily with food occasionally added in. The short string keeps the animal close by, its breathing and squeaking being an indicator if the environment is unsafe. If the rat stops squeaking all together the chamber has no oxygen. If the chirps are frantic and it begins scratching at the lid the room is toxic. If all is normal the room is safe. When the results are in the string will be pulled like a leash and the pet returned. This keeps the sligs and their fuzzy buddies alive without wasting resources or much time. 

As Ratz serve a vital role their is much cave art and carvings in their honor. Indeed it seems even ancient sligs understood these creatures genius. Rats and Mize are bred and sold across slig territory for looks, colors, size, and sometimes food. Other Odd races would find this disgusting but Sligs could give less of a damn about their opinions.

Beliefs: 

Sligs are not religious or particularly spiritual at present, they are mostly focused on day to day survival. Some settlements are zealous in their practices and preach their own version of a coming end time. A world borne anew from a great ancient flood where only the most steadfast are saved! Treun blows these isolated settlements off, his people are experiencing enough pain as is. Wouldn't help to preach of imminent death even if most would ignore the rapture too. 

[canadian-pug-cartel]

Houston and Dallas (not my best work but also fuck digital)

[harrelltut]

1968-michaelharrelljr.com's GOLDEN Domain Creator [D.C.] Father of 1921steelecartel.tech's Pure BLACKANUNNAQI.tech GOLD MOUNTAIN [GM] LAND PATENTS... Computationally [PC] Mining Eternal [ME] 1698 Wealth Economies [WE] in Mother's Old America [MU ATLANTIS]

WELCOME BACK HOME IMMORTAL [HIM] U.S. MILITARY KING SOLOMON-MICHAEL HARRELL, JR.™

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quantumharrelltech.ca.gov Outside Our 1921steelecartel.tech MACHINE SKY Firmament Domain DOME… OVER Earth [Qi]

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EYE GO DATA [i-GODaddy.com] ADDRESS MINE... MY OWN ANCIENT MICROBIAL WEALTH & METAGENOMIC BUSINESS @ quantumharrelltech.ca.gov!!!

LOOK AT ALL THAT GOLD DEEP INSIDE Aghaarta's Inner Earth [Qi] Domain of TIAMAT's Enclosed Garden of Pure Delight!!!

GOLDEN 9 ETHER LAND [EL] PATENT WEALTH from 1698!!!

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[ghettogirly]

Omg your stories are too good to me. I'm stop bothering you. One more time . Can you do something for bad boys 4. Since the reader , Armando, Marcus and Mike probably the ammo square are on the run. They see why she the way she is. '' they are are in her world now''

Something that goes with this song '' I don't want to play this part but I do , all for you . ( Reader) What she does for Armando.

What ever you have in mind . I know it going to be good !!

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀 “𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐒“ 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍.

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄 - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃

-> synopsis: Armando meets a girl who is exactly like him. While on the run, he is dragged into her world.

-> theme: angst.

-> format: story.

-> warning: mentions of blood, fight scenes, spoilers for bad boys ride or die, mentions of urban folklore, mature language, Malia and Armando both have daddy issues.

-> authors note: thank you for requesting! i really enjoyed writing this one. 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠! 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄. Four bodies were littered around the girl as she was pinned down on the sandy floor, her face cementing a print in it due to the force of the two security officers. Clouds of Smoke covered the yard, as they moved in a tactical form to stop Malia. Dragging her up, they pushed her down the empty corridors, all the way to solitary confinement as they investigated the incident.

She shouted as they threw her into the cell, cursing at the shit she landed herself into. She was mainly furious at how she didn’t know the reason why they tried to murder her, unclear about the past and the future presented to her. All Malia could do was to stare at the white walls around her as they slowly made her lose her mind.

“They tried to murder her because she’s the only one who could ID Captain Howard and exonerate him from all this bullshit!” Mike shouted, sweeping the papers off the table.

Lockwood and Rita looked at each other and then looked at Mike.

“Guys please, just transfer her to the Miami Correctional Facility and then i can deal with the rest.”

A sigh escaped Lockwood’s lips, raising his eyebrow at Mike, indirectly telling him to not fuck this up. “Fine, but if you mess up, my ass is on the line.”

The trio walked into the aircraft, side by side. Armando accompanying the duo for extra manpower, skilled in combat, there was no question for this addition. Malia was slid next to them, chained to the aircraft ceiling in a steel cage. The bars were slightly rusted as the metal corroded due to the moisture in which the cell was kept it. She looked up at him, her doll-like eyes hung low, her black iris staring right at him.

“45 minutes.” Armando stated, his voice running through the girls body, surprising her due to the low frequency of his tone. Clearly he was not fazed at her notoriety as another cartel member. Nevertheless, she tried to make herself comfortable, leaning back on the metal bars as she fiddled with the handcuffs that entrapped her hands.

This was going to be a long ride.

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐓’𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐊. “Something doesn’t feel right,” he whispered, looking back at the crew before the door flew right open. Two caucasian men came running out of the boot armed with the same weapons Mike handed in at the entrance. Marcus was winded on the floor, leaving it up to Mike and Armando to stop the men from reaching you.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, the mexican male flung into action. Jumping off his chair, he twisted in the air, striking one of the men in the face with his foot. Using this opportunity, Mike then ran for the other one, repeatedly punching him and unarming him.

It was like a war zone, blood splattered everywhere, staining the silver aircraft.

This continued for minutes, yet it felt like hours due to the quick pace of the fight contrasting with the slow movement of the aircraft. Both of the men were holding their own, getting hit but still standing their ground. Clearly showing the similarities between the two. How ruthless, fearless and fucked up both was.

Unbeknownst to the men, the aircraft suddenly opened. Releasing a big gust of wind in, the gravity of the air causing the men to suddenly fall back, causing them to hold onto a stable structure in hopes of not falling to death. However, the gravity of the wind started to rattle Malia’s cage, suddenly causing the rope to elongate. Sliding off the cage plane as the chemical bonds that held the fibres together, were slowly unraveling.

“Get me out of here now!!” Malia shouted, urgency in her voice as she signalled to the men, banging the cage to cause a reaction. Mike leaped into action, holding the rope in order to stop the cage from flying out. Still fighting off the men, Armando was hit from behind and knocked down. His forehead being slashed causing a cut to occur on the males forehead. “Fuck!”

The stinging sensation caused Armando to pause momentarily. This split second allowed the men to fly off the plane, activating their parachute not before smiling at the struggling crew. “Armando, get her out!!”

The man snapped out of his gaze at the two, now disappearing men. Looking back at his father, he noticed the rope about to snap. Running to one of the guards, he grabbed the keys before ramming it into the padlock for the cage. 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃.

𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐑𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐓. “You’re in my waters now. Get rid of the fucking phones. Ya’ll better not slow me down.” She spat at them, irritated at the idea of becoming apart of a team.

Armando scoffed, before catching up with the girl. The two older men trailing behind as they argued between each other. “We need firewood.” He said lowly, his eyes focused on looking around the forest, it being a habit to check his surroundings.

“Since when was you the leader?”

“We saved your ass. Show some respect.” Bumping past the girl with his broad shoulder, making her lose her balance, he walked ahead.

“Dick.”

The fire illuminated the forest as the four sat around it, reflecting on the chaotic day. Malia just stared at the flames. Her eyes in trance as they danced around each other. “Yo Malia, where you from?” Marcus shouted, interrupting her focus on the flames. Mike shoved him, signalling a “why the fuck would you ask her that?” type look.

“I’ll answer.”

𝐌𝐘 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐒, where my dad grew up. My mother was from the Caribbean lands of Trinidad and Tobago, she was originally on holiday to visit family where she met my dad. They were inseparable, attached to the hip even, Bonnie and Clyde.” She scoffed, shaking her head as if the love story was grotesque.

“My dad showed her his work, playing it off to be an innocent man who does construction. Yet, he lived a double life. He was the head of a Caribbean drug syndicate. The ‘Baku’ cartel. Based on a Bajan folklore of a tiny man with a long beard who terrified residents by constantly moving objects around in their houses. The Baku man was supposedly owned by East Indians and when customers lapsed on payments for goods received, this little man would be summoned to put fear in the hearts of those who owed debt.”

“Oh shit, so he’s linked with them voodoo people.”

“Shut up Marcus.” Mike whispered, urging me to continue on with my story.

“My dad was associated with that legend as he too put fear into those who owed him. Unfortunately, It was too late for my mom to escape him as she was pregnant by him with me and she was murdered when i was 5. The end.”

They just went silent, shocked at the abrupt ending as they looked up at her with sympathetic eyes. Except Armando, who instead, looked at her as if she just gave him comfort. “Your mother died too?”

“Yeah, as much as i hate my father for all the terrible things he did, including being a reason for my mother’s ending. He gave me a sense of purpose you know?”

“Sí, conozco ese sentimiento..” Armando whispered, fiddling with the dirt below him as his eyes reflected the fire pit in the background. Sadness weighed down his heart as he met someone else with the same tragic fate of his own, his eyes becoming glossy.

He sucked it up though. He never cries.

“They’re bonding..” Marcus whispered, leaning over to Mike who just shrugged him off. “Come on guys bring it in.”

Malia just stared at him. “You guys are some soft ass motherfuckers.”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐?

[🕷️] 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

“Sí, conozco ese sentimiento“ : Yeah, i know that feeling.

[🕷️] 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

@milliumizoomi @thedarkworldofhananerea @wizewhispers @deadpool15 @5tarlan7 @amplifiedmoan

[nightlyrequiem]

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 2- Analyze, Adapt, Overcome

Masterlist AO3 Next Previous

New Chapter Every Saturday

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: This is one is a bit short and a little uneventful, but I promise you it gets good. I'm very excited to get to the later chapters.

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH19.), Dual POV

 Even after a few weeks, you can't get that meth out of your mind. You lightly swish your hips to the beat of the song playing in your earbuds. Your gloved hands carefully pour the liquidated Red Phosphorus into an Erlenmeyer flask. Even through the gas mask you can still pick up wafts of the garlicy smell of the chemical. You'll have to talk to Valeria about getting a new a gas mask. Destroying your lungs is not one of your goals in life. While you work on this batch your mind strays to the meth Valeria brought you. The Enginuity of its creation is both impressive and irritating. You're a little upset that you didn't think to use morphine. Although that isn't entirely your fault. Getting unlicensed morphine here is like pulling teeth. That's why Las Almas's choice of drug isn't heroin.

You inaccurately hum along to the song while you measure the proper amount of Sulfuric Acid to add to the Red Phosphorus. You're very precise with your cooking. Too little and it won't be as potent, too much and you'll blow it up. You learned that one the hard way. Someone abruptly taps you on the shoulder and you yelp in surprise, almost dropping the Sulfuric Acid. You set it down on the steel counter and turn to look at the intruder. Corra's light brown eye's stare back at you, shining with amusement.

"Valeria wants to see you in her office." She informs you. Her eyes dart to the equipment behind you.

"Alright, tell her I'll be right there I just need to finish up." You reply. Corra leaves and you turn back around to swiftly finish up this batch.

Once done, you leave it in the big metal container to let the liquid product ferment into the iconic methamphetamine crystals. You make your way out of the lab after properly disrobing out of your PPE and neatly stuffing it back into the locker. On your way towards Valeria's office, you're ignored by the others. You see two of her worker's snorting something off of a table. You assume it's your product. You'll have to tell Valeria about that. Like you'll need to tell her about the gas mask. Come to think of it, you're also severely low on Ephedrine.

You open the door to her office and walk in. Giving Deigo a flat look, one he returns. Valeria gives you a much more friendly look and invites you to sit down.

"I want to discuss this new meth going around." She says. Leaning back and bringing a lit cigarette to her lips. 

"I think it's coming from one of those little gangs that have been popping up." Diego remarks. Furrowing his brows. Recently the Cartel has been dealing with new gangs that think they have what it takes to compete. After Valeria was arrested, multiple people began vying for the metaphorical crown. Her incarceration created a power vacuum, as Valeria would put it.

You shake your head at Deigo's claim, refuting it quickly.

"No, I don't think it's even being produced in Las Almas, let alone Mexico." You object. Both Deigo and Valeria look at you.

"Why do you say that?" Asks Valeria. You look at the wall. It's painted some muted red colour. It makes the room feel smaller. 

"Because," You say, staring at the wall. "morphine is such a hassle to obtain, if someone was stealing it, we'd know. And if there were a group big enough to pay hush money to hospitals, we'd know about them too."

Valeria nods in agreement.

"She's right." Valeria murmurs. Deigo rubs a hand over his knee, smoothing over the denim of his pants.

"There is that growing nuisance in Pajaro Azul." He grumbles. Pajaro Azul, Las Almas's sister city. You went there once and hated it. It even has it's own bigwig cartel. You'd never tell anyone, but they scare you a little bit. The men look ten times meaner and the man who runs it is crazy. You prefer the traditional small-town cartel in Las Almas. Even if their reach and influence is anything but.

"Let them deal with it." You say, furrowing your brows. "If the meth is coming from there then I doubt the Pajaro Azul Cartel will let that slide for much longer."

Valeria stubs out her smoke and stretches. Deigo fixes you with a look of annoyance.

"They've let them get this far." He grunts. "They're a bunch of pussies. We need to take care of it ourselves." 

You look to Valeria for backup but she's looking at Deigo. Regarding him with careful consideration.

"I'll think about it." She says. "I don't want to tread on their toes though. A war is the last thing we need right now." Her gaze darkens. Just a year ago, Valeria was caught by Los Vaqueros, aided by foreign military. The whole town was ravished by one of the groups going rogue and both she and the town are still recovering.

It's thanks to you, in your humble opinion, that the cartel is healing so fast. Your meth is making them great money. Well, it was. Until that other stuff just appeared out of thin air. The thought brings a jealous scowl to your face.

"How did that new batch do?" You ask. Looking at Valeria intently. You worry the inside of your cheek. Valeria glances at Diego. Nodding at him. He takes the cue and stands up, brushing off his pants and lumbering out of the room, shutting the heavy wooden door behind him. The office feels much lighter without his intrusive presence. "It didn't sell." She says.

You frown at her. "What?"

"Most of our usual customers weren't buying." Valeria explains. "The other stuff is cheaper and better."

The statement is a wrecking ball to your pride. Cheaper and better? You frown deeply at the news.

"Well..." You start, picking at a loose thread on the sleave of your shirt. "I'll have to come up with a new recipe." Something more addictive than the Super Meth. Which will be hard without morphine. Valeria stares at you as you go quiet, retreating into the dark folds of your brain. Meth causes intense sugar cravings. Which is one of the main reasons meth users have bad teeth. That and the Acetone in it reacts badly to saliva, drying it up which makes keeping bad bacteria at bay much harder, causing cavities and rot.

You brighten. That's it, sugar.

"I need sugar." You tell her. Looking up at her with renowned determination. Valeria blinks but nods.

"Okay." She agrees. "How much?"

"Three pounds should be enough." You say, then pause. Something in your mind is wiggling for attention but the harder you try to think about it, the less clear it becomes. You needed to do something. You shrug it off. If it were important, you would have remembered.

Valeria dismisses you and you head back down to the lab. You sit at your little desk and begin to start planning out the proper ratios of your ingredients. Excitement wells up inside of you. Nothing is better than a good challenge. You spend hours carefully crafting a new recipe. A few orange crystals of the meth sit on your desk for motivation.

[happilybredbellies]

“Thanks for choosing me mister,” Heather said, smiling up at the man as she opened her jacket to give him a good look at her bikini-clad curves. “I promise you won’t regret it! I’m allllll yours till morning, so just tell me what you’d like to do to this curvy little body of mine first!”

Inside, Heather was trying her very best not to vomit. As a cop, pretending to be a ditzy high-class escort for this snobby businessman was just about the most humiliating thing she’d ever done, but there was no way around it. This man was supposed to have ties to the local cartel, the same cartel that her partner had been looking into when she disappeared close to a year ago. The brass might've written the woman off as dead, but Heather wasn’t about to give up on her friend so easily. While it pained her to resort to playing the part of a prostitute, it was the only way she knew of to get at the files he kept in his penthouse safe.

So Heather swallowed her pride, making sure to keep the vapid smile plastered across her face as she stripped off her clothes and spread her legs wide. This man was nearly twice her age. It shouldn't take long to tire him out, and once he'd blown his load and fallen asleep Heather would have free reign to start snooping around.

“C’mon big guy,” she teased, steeling herself internally, “take me for a spin and show me what you got!”

2 Years Later

Heather groaned, rubbing a hand over her bloated dome of a belly as she plopped down on one of the communal beds she shared with the other cows. Her twins were overdue and had been kicking practically non-stop all week, but that wasn't a valid reason for taking time off work. If anything, the constant stimulation her children provided only served to make Heather more productive, as the dark stains currently forming on her shirt could well attest. The door to their living quarter swung open barely a second after she sat down, revealing one of the cartel’s goons.

“Mornin’ ladies,” he called, gesturing back out the door. “Better get moving. The Boss wants you girls in your pens and pumping as soon as possible today. Word is he’s just snagged another cow for the herd and is looking to give her ‘the tour’.”

Heather stood, grunting with the effort of heaving her gravid figure up off the bed. She made no complaints as she waddled out the door along with a dozen other women, all former cops, all now in varying stages of pregnancy. The businessman Heather’d been looking into two years ago had turned out to be the hidden leader of the cartel, and he had a…unique way of handling any women who got too close to that truth. The memory of Heather’s own ‘tour’ was seared into her mind. She could still remember the terror that’d gripped her heart as the Boss walked her down the rows of pens, letting her see the heavily pregnant women inside squealing in pleasure as industrial grade milking machines pumped streams of sticky white liquid from their swollen tits. But that hadn't been what broke her. Rather, it'd been the sight of her old partner, the very person she’d been trying to save, staring out at Heather with unfocused eyes as she climaxed from labour pains, the head of her child already poking out from between a pair of thick, motherly thighs, that ended up shattering Heather’s fragile hopes for rescue. Well, that and all the aphrodisiacs, fertility boosters, and growth hormones laced into every meal she was given.

Thanks to that cocktail of drugs, Heather’s breasts soon expanded into a pair of proper udders, and it wasn't before she found herself hooked up to a milking machine of her very own. Despite her initial reluctance, Heather ended up settling quite nicely into life as the cartel’s newest dairy cow, enjoying days spent mewling in pure delight as each spurt of milk sent pulses of pleasure shooting up her throbbing nipples. The breastmilk of captive policewomen was apparently quite the hot commodity within the criminal underground, and the Boss’ ‘open pen policy’ when it came to fucking them had made him quite popular, both among the guards and their increasingly needy livestock.

Today, as the men fastened cups around her dark, swollen teats, Heather simply leaned back against the stall and let out a happy sigh, already feeling the pressure in her milf-stuffed tits beginning to ease as she reached around her giant belly to finger her dripping snatch. She didn’t even notice the Boss entering the pens until he was right on top of her, but the slim young woman at his side looking strangely familiar. It took a moment to place the girl, but then it clicked. She’d been one of the station’s newest recruits, fresh out of the academy and always pestering Heather for advice during her last few months on the force. 

Now, judging by the horrified look the girl wore as she stared down at the fertile cow her old mentor had become, it seemed as though the girl was starting to regret her decision to follow in Heather’s footsteps. Heather simply smiled up at the slender girl, trying to communicate to her the wondrous future that awaited her once she’d plumped up a bit and finally had a baby or two rounding out that flat tummy of hers. But the smile twisted abruptly, becoming a grimace as there was a sudden pressure between Heather's legs, accompanied by the sound of something splattering onto ground beneath her. Her water had broken.

“Understand? This is what happens to women who stick their noses where they don’t belong.” Boss said, forcing his newest pet to watch as Heather began pulling herself into a squatting position. “That’ll be you in a few months, just another fat breeding cow for my herd, happy to spend the rest of your pumping out milk and babies for the cartel. Don’t worry, the drugs will make sure you end up loving every second of it, even during childbirth.” He turned to Heather. “Isn’t that right, cow?”

The first contraction slammed into her as if waiting on his cue, the pain converted into a wave of indescribable pleasure that washed over her entire body. Heather came immediately, squirting all over the floor as the former policeman let out a long, throaty “Moooooooooooo!”, already feeling the first of her babies starting to slide out of her womb and into her birth canal.

The younger girl tried to recoil in disgust but the Boss just laughed, holding her in place by her hair. She'd soon learn to obey, just like Heather had before her. Like it or not, she was a cow now, a member of the herd, and cows like them belonged on a farm.

[skinnyazn]

Lick Your Wounds

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Chapters: 2/3 Notes: Thank you to @solidly-indulgent for inspiring the fic with their request of Jag getting injured and Ghost being sad feral, I'm cranking out these chapters, also idk why this needed to be a chapter but we had to put Ghostie through some more ~t r a u m a~, smut next chapter,

Part One | Part Three | AO3 | MASTERLIST

Simon watched everything happen with wide eyes behind his mask. He watched as the man with the rocket launcher’s brains exited his skull, watched as the death of his cranial neurons caused his finger to twitch against the trigger—one last desperate grip at life. And he watched in absolute horror as the missile made contact with the wall you were firing from. Screamed your name as the wall caved in a plume of smoke and chaos. Shook Soap’s hand off of his shoulder when he tried to pull him into cover. 

It’s happened once before, these feelings. A long time ago when he saw the corpses of his family littered about the floor. His nephew looked undisturbed, as if he was just sleeping. His mother, face down. Every sequential death he witnessed or caused left him feeling nothing. He’d steeled all his emotions away, turning himself into an empty vessel: a ghost. Waking in the middle of the night drenched in sweat—to horrors replaying and a voiceless scream on his lips and a constant numbness. But here he was, all these years later. Feeling. Guess you brought out the worst in him. You reminded him he was human after all.

Soap yanked him hard into cover as a bullet whizzed by his head. 

“L.T.!” the Scot shouted. “L.T. focus! We can’t worry about her right now.” He fired his assault rifle at an approaching target. 

Can’t worry about her. It echoed in his head. Reverberated off every part of his skull. In spite of the oppressive heat, Simon felt hypothermic—like he was frozen in Russia instead of this Mexican jungle. But he sucked in a deep breath and snapped back into The Ghost because that was all he knew how to do. He stabbed the enemy next to him in the neck; a spray of blood gushed across his mask as he removed his bowie knife. 

The pair advanced in unison. Soap set up the charges against the metal door to the target room while Ghost provided cover.

“Clear out!” Soap shouted. Simon shifted two steps to his left. 

The explosion was small but impactful as it burst the doors open. Soap ducked inside, clearing out any remaining enemies while Ghost surveyed the grounds of the compound, looking for any stragglers. He fired his rifle into a few more bodies before following Soap.

“Fuck,” Soap breathed. 

The inside was filled with caches of equipment. Computers, hard drives, munitions. It was what all of you had come for and then some. All the evidence that the Buluc Chabtan were smuggling for the Cartel.

“It’s gonna take ages to sort through this, L.T..”

Simon’s mind was still reeling—fighting the bile that was threatening to come up. He tamped it down.

“Fifteen minutes, Sergeant. That’s all the time we get if reinforcements come.” He looked at his watch and then at Soap with something of a plea in his eyes.

Johnny sighed. “Go. I’ll bag as much as I can.”

Ghost nodded, then threw his collapsable duffel on the floor and hurried out the door.

Back in the stifling heat, Ghost weaved between crates and trucks and corpses, making his way toward you as fast as he could while maintaining his guard. It was oddly quiet amidst the chaos—all the insects and birds silenced and only the radio playing. The compound appeared clear as he sprinted with his rifle in hand. His sweat drenched his camo fatigues, turning them a shade darker. Ahead, he finally saw the rubble and smoke from the rocket's destruction. He felt the bile come back but sucked in a deep breath instead and climbed inside the collapsed structure.

[queermentaldisaster]

“The Hunt Is My Muse”

Hello! The first chapter of my shifter!au fic is here! This one is gonna be a long one, so you better strap in. This one is gonna be so much fun! I'm so excited to introduce you all to the intricacies of this AU i have plotted out.

Tags: @forestshadow-wolf @spicyspicyliving @bringinsexybackk69 (If you wanna be added or removed, leave a reply, tell me in a reblog, or shoot me an ask. Reblogs are greatly appreciated.)

Chapter under the cut.

Chapter 1: "Steel and Silver Sing For Justice"

“No.” He said, being adamant about this. “I’m not working with him on this.”

Price exhaled, his eyebrows furrowed. “Ghost, you will be working with Sergeant MacTavish on this.”

“And do you remember what happened the last time we worked together?” Ghost huffed, crossing his arms. 

Price closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ghost, this isn't a discussion. We need both you and the sergeant on the field for this one. If it makes you feel better, you'll be working with Commander Phillip Graves as well as Colonel Vargas and Sergeant Major Parra.”

“It does not, but it's not like I have a bloody choice, eh?” Ghost asked, his eyes narrowed under the mask.

Price exhaled once more. “No, no you don't.”

“Of course.” Ghost mumbled, turning around and leaving.

That was a few days ago. Now he was sitting in the helo next to Soap, the Scot rambling about something. Honestly, he'd tuned Soap out a while ago. He stared at the ground, feeling the urge to shift, that feeling like deep-rooted anxiety deep in his gut, bubbling up. He clenched one of his hands into a fist, taking deep breaths. ‘In for three, hold for three, out for three.’ He thought, repeating that in his head as he continued breathing.

When he looked back up, Soap was giving him a weird look. “What?” Ghost asked. Soap shook his head. “Nothin’, ye just looked nervous is all. Ye alright?” He responded, his voice soft and calm. Ghost looked away. “‘M fine, sergeant. Worry about yourself.” He whispered. Soap arched an eyebrow. “Lt, ye clearly ain’t fine. Just talk tae me, please.” The younger man pleaded.

Ghost shook his head, as the helo landed “No, Soap. I’m fine. We need to focus on the mission.” He stood up. Soap huffed. “Fine.” he said as he stood up. “But ah dinnae believe ye.” He muttered. Ghost looked back at him. “You don’t have to believe me.”

The helo opened and Ghost walked down the ramp, Soap at his side. The Colonel, Alejandro Vargas, walked forward to meet them. “Alejandro!” Soap exclaimed, offering his hand for a handshake. Alejandro took it with a polite; “Sergeant MacTavish.” 

Soap chuckled, his smile growing ever wider. “Call me Soap,” he said as the two men pulled away from the handshake. Alejandro looked to Ghost. “Lieutenant. Laswell says they call you Ghost.” He murmured. Soap cut in. “Actually, I believe he prefers to be-”

So Ghost cut him off. “That’ll do.” He said, looking back to Alejandro and nodding. Alejandro nodded. “You two shifters?” He asked, and it was a simple question. But one that Ghost did not answer. But Soap nodded. “Ah’m a red fox shifter.” Alejandro smiled. “Ocelot here. Let's go.” He turned around and led Ghost and Soap towards an armored vehicle.

Ghost and Soap climbed in the back. Alejandro got into the passenger seat. “This is my second in command, Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra.” He murmured, and Rodolfo looked at the two in the back seat. “Hello.” He murmured, before saying something to Alejandro in Spanish.

“Where’s Hassan?” Ghost asked. Alejandro smirked. “Cartel safe-house, ten clicks from here.” Ghost nodded, and the vehicle began driving, two more behind it.

Ghost honestly kinda zoned out on the drive through the city. At some point, he heard Soap say something to him about kids, guns and balloons, and Rodolfo said something about his mask, but he was too busy trying to ignore that damned feeling in his gut.

Ghost didn't shift. Not since Zaragoza and Roba. He used to, even with his dad's abuse, albeit rarely, but he couldn't anymore. Not when all it brought up were memories of pain and suffering. So he let the animal in him fester.

It would never get out again.