#but nothing for my rotten soldier...

[woomashin]

[leche-flandom]

My poor baby

Surgery went well and she'll get her cast off next week yay

[ruushes]

For Nox! Motion, Stillness, and Texture

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

supremely in control of their body - perfect coordination, preternatural reflexes, uncannily quick - from years of experience and their nature as essentially a god-crafted weapon - but orin's attack and their subsequent treatment take a huge toll on their physicality that they don't even come close to fully recovering from in-game

stillness: How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or tics? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves while at rest?

extremely fidgety and restless, always moving in some way - touching things, playing w some object in their hands, tapping their fingers, popping joints, the Leg Jiggle. i like the canonical trait of dark urge having unconscious tics as well which iirc are mostly described as twitching. never fully 'at rest' unless unconscious

[deadrlngers]

vio playing lanceboard with gale and winning only bc tara is the one telling her how to play send post

[manaosdeuwu]

what nobody tells you about bg3 is that you get brainworms about your tav

[radioactive-cloud]

those past few days are really testing my patience with some of the takes and opinions i've seen on the internet and i'm so fucking done with all of this i just want to delete all my accounts from everywhere and live somewhere in the woods (as far away from russia as i can) and to never come in contact with another human being again

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Hello! I am absolutely in love with your writing. 💖 would you be willing to write my request? : its about an yandere in a post apocalyptic world (zombie apocalypse like in ‘the last of us’). Thank you if you do write it :)

Yandere Survivor x Reader

The world ended with a scream.

Not yours, though. No, yours was locked tight in your throat the day the sky turned black and the cities choked on fire. The day the news channels cut out mid-broadcast, and people who looked like your neighbors began tearing into each other with bloodstained teeth and frantic hands.

You’ve gotten used to silence since then. Or maybe not silence—quiet punctuated by growls in the distance, by the crunch of bone under your boots, by the breathless rush of survival. But it’s a silence of a different sort, the kind that lives inside your chest and refuses to let go.

You learned quickly. How to run. How to scavenge. How to kill things that used to be human.

But nothing prepared you for him.

—-+

You met him three months after the fall. You’d gotten careless—too hungry, too tired. You'd pushed into a half-collapsed convenience store hoping for a can of something, anything. And the dead had been waiting. They always were. Rotten limbs, clouded eyes, and those sounds—wet, urgent, mindless.

You thought that was it. You remember the blood on your arm, the weight of one of them pinning you, the gaping, blackened mouth hovering too close. You’d gone still, whispering apologies to a family long-dead.

And then the world exploded in movement.

A blur of motion. Machete. Bone. Screams that weren’t yours. You remember the thud of a body falling beside you and a hand—big, warm, callused—grabbing your wrist.

“You alright?” he asked, and there was a wildness in his eyes. “You shouldn’t be alone out here.”

You didn’t want to trust him. You didn’t want to trust anyone.

But hunger makes beggars of us all.

—-+

He said his name was Lucien. Strong. Built like a statue of a soldier from some long-forgotten war. Dirty-blond hair, pale blue eyes that seemed to shimmer like broken glass. Always smiling, but the smile never quite reached those eyes.

Lucien brought you back to his shelter—an old fallout bunker nestled under the ruins of a farmhouse. Steel-reinforced, well-stocked, surprisingly warm. He let you eat. Shower. Sleep.

“You can stay,” he told you, so casually. “If you want. I’ve been alone too long, anyway.”

You thought: maybe this is how people survive now. In pairs. In borrowed places with borrowed time.

You didn’t know the price of his kindness. Not then.

—-+

The first time you tried to leave, you found the door locked.

You’d only meant to scout ahead. You’d left a note, taken a knife, didn’t make a sound.

But when you came back—empty-handed, guilty—Lucien was waiting. Sitting on the floor in front of the door like a scolded dog.

“I thought something happened to you,” he said softly. “I worried.”

You tried to explain. He didn’t shout. He didn’t threaten.

He just smiled.

“You don’t need to go out there anymore,” he whispered, pulling you into his chest. You could feel his heartbeat pounding against yours. “I’ll take care of everything. You’re safe here. With me.”

The locks got heavier after that. The key never left his neck.

—-+

At first, he was sweet.

He cooked for you. Taught you how to shoot. Wrapped your ankle when you twisted it on a loose floorboard. He found a dusty record player and played you music at night—old, haunting songs full of longing. Sometimes he danced with you in the candlelight, humming against your skin.

“I don’t need anyone else,” he’d whisper, voice low and reverent. “Just you. Always you.”

But his touch lingered too long. His gaze followed you too closely.

He started counting how long you spent in the shower. He watched you sleep. He asked questions he already knew the answers to—about people you’d cared about, people long gone.

He wanted to know every thought, every fear. Every scar.

“It’s okay,” he said once, fingertips tracing your jaw. “You don’t have to lie to me. I love you enough for both of us.”

—-+

You stopped talking about leaving after the third time.

You remember the look on his face when you said you were going. You remember the blood on the wall. The splinters in your shoulder from where he shoved you. You remember him weeping after, clutching your hand as he begged for forgiveness.

“You made me do that,” he said, eyes wild with pain and devotion. “I need you. I can’t lose you too.”

And the world outside was full of death. Full of rot. Full of things that didn’t sleep, didn’t speak, didn’t love.

So you stayed.

Because maybe monsters are better than the dead.

Because maybe you could learn to survive this too.

—-+

Lucien was a predator shaped like a man. But he adored you.

He stitched your clothes when they tore. Brought you flowers from the ruins—dead, brittle, but still beautiful in his eyes. He carved your name into the walls of the bunker, hundreds of times, like a spell. Like a curse.

Sometimes he sat beside you at night, hand in yours, whispering about the future.

“We’ll have a garden,” he said once, voice hushed. “We’ll find a place with sunlight. I’ll build you a house. You won’t ever need to worry again. I’ll protect you from everything. Even yourself.”

Even yourself.

—-+

You tried to escape again on a night when the power flickered and his patrol ran late.

You didn’t make it far.

He found you sobbing in the mud, half-lost in the woods, with the moans of the dead growing louder.

He killed six of them to get to you.

He carried you back like something precious, broken, beloved.

“I forgive you,” he murmured, brushing hair from your face. “Even if you want to leave, I’ll keep you close. I’ll chain the world down if I have to.”

And he did.

The next day, he shackled your ankle to the radiator with a long chain and a soft smile.

“You don’t understand,” he said, kneeling. “You’re all I have left. I’d rather die than be without you.”

You don’t scream anymore.

You don’t fight him when he holds you at night, whispering dreams into your skin.

Outside, the world ends again and again.

But Lucien will never stop loving you.

Even if it kills you.

Even if it already has.

Masterlist

[nagitosstolenhand]

i don't like the growing opinion that people are being 'too hard' on deku for his failing to save shigaraki.

i've seen quite a few people complaining that a lot of the bnha-critical crowd are being too mean to deku for getting tomura killed, arguing that it isn't really his fault, and that hes a 16 year old child soldier who's been failed by almost every adult in his life, why should we be putting all of this on his shoulders? hes just a kid after all?

and the truth is, they're right. deku IS a 16 year old boy whos had the fate of the world thrust on his shoulders. but the story itself just plainly refuses to acknowledge this.

the narrative doesn't acknowledge how fucked up having a school that trains literal children how to be combo cop-celebrities is. it only tentatively acknowledges the fact that a universe having combo cop-celebrities is fucked up, and even then the only people who ever point this out are antagonists, who are portrayed and treated in-universe as untrustworthy. the narrative doesn't care how fucked up dekus circumstances are. the narrative treats deku like hes a fucking messiah here to touch the hearts of the evil depressed villains with his magical empathetic heart of gold before they get blown up or just sent to fucking superhell for daring to challenge the status quote.

deku isn't a person. he's barely even a fucking character at this point. he's a plot device, and a mouth piece for the objectively shitty themes bnha is trying to spout. the themes that tell you that if you're mistreated by society and want to do something about it, you're a villain. that disrupting the status quote and refusing to repent to some random teenage boy spouting empty platitudes at you means you deserve to get sent to fucking superhell. the themes that portray people fighting for civil change as mass murdering supervillains. the themes that look the audience dead in the eye and can call deku the greatest hero to ever live.

deku, who barely spared a second thought to lady nagant telling him the truth about the hero commission. who spouts meaningless platitudes about heroism and morality at nagant, and aoyama, and toga and shigaraki, when even the thought that he should question the world around him comes up. who's constantly talked about as this truly kind, empathetic person, but hasn't spared an empathetic thought to literally anyone who is classified as a villain. who listened to every authority figure around him except the ones who asked him to question his worldview. who saw la bravas tears, shigarakis various breakdowns, himikos plead for understanding, chisakis catatonic state, lady nagants truth, and barley batted a fucking eye. deku, who killed tomura shigaraki.

people don't criticize deku for failing shigaraki because they just hate deku. people criticize deku because of what he represents. because hes a mouthpiece for the atrocious morals and themes of this ideologically rotten manga. because any character he had was chopped up to bits in favor of the incomplete husk we have now. people criticize deku because hes the main character of my hero academia. theres nothing more damning then that.

[multific]

Long Live The Empress of Rome

Emperor Geta x Sorceress!Reader

Summary: You promised to keep him safe. It was part of your job as his wife. And in return, you received his heart and the power you always wanted. 

A/N: This contains spoilers for the movie! This is also an AU fiction.

Ever since you were little you had powers.

One might think you were a Goddess. And they wouldn't be far off.

You could hear people's thoughts and control the elements.

Throughout your life, you have perfected these powers.

You hid them well from most people. 

But you were unable to hide it from The Emperor.

While you were rather calm, a storm raged inside you. Behind your calm and collected demeanour, you were actually quite the opposite.

Emperor Geta was not like that.

He mostly pretended to be sane, but he truly had no reason to.

He and his brother led an empire that wasn't kind.

But you enjoyed it.

Sometimes, Rome was exactly how you felt on the side.

Rotten to the core.

You liked it.

And you liked the Emperors.

Mostly Emperor Geta.

Who was not shy about showing you just how much he liked you. 

His interest in you was beyond interesting. 

Of course, he was used to having women around, but you, you were different.

And soon, you became his biggest obsession.

A simple woman he thought you were, but your beauty and wit were undeniable. 

It came to you as no surprise that he took a liking to you. What did surprise you, however, was that you also felt the same way.

It's not like you weren't interested in men before, and sometimes even women. But Geta was different.

So different from everyone.

You liked that.

He matched you perfectly.

He claimed you to be his wife the second time you met him.

Your wedding was just as grand as the crowning of the Emperors. 

"My Beautiful Empress," he whispered as the priest declared you wife and husband in front of the Gods.

And so, you became the Empress to Emperor Geta.

Emperor Caracalla on the other hand was not as fond of you. He often claimed a dark and cold chill running down his spine whenever he saw you. Little did he know the truth.

Geta fell in love with you.

He liked your cold demeanour and your hidden rage.

He liked you for you.

Not your powers or beauty. Although beauty was a major factor in getting your hand in marriage.

Later on, he found out about your powers when you were attacked one night.

Even his soldiers couldn't stop the angry people who wanted nothing more than to kill.

Geta watched as you murdered them all, with a simple move of your finger all of them fell to the ground.

Your husband found out your true self.

"The Gods sent me a Goddess. A Goddess of my own, My Wife." 

Rumours of a Dark Empress began to spread, but that is all they were in the eyes of most, rumours.

There you were, sitting next to him in the Colosseum. 

Enjoying the blood and games.

Some gladiators were more promising than the next.

The Emperors enjoyed the games and so did you.

Macrinus sat right behind you, you heard whispers from his thoughts.

A plan.

A sinister plan to overthrow your husband and his brother.

But you smirked, knowing he was not aware of your full potential.

Macrinus truly thought you were going to be the easiest to take out from the bunch. He formed a very complicated plan for the overthrow of the Emperors while he hired men to kill you. 

You slightly turned your head and offered him a look. He nodded his head, thinking you were praising him for his newest Gladiator.

You watched as the rhino ran into the wall, grabbing your husband's hand you turned to whisper into his ear.

"I wish to heal the animal."

"Whatever My Sweet Wife wishes." he kissed the back of your hand.

Even if you didn't like people, you loved animals.

After the games, you retrieved into your home, back to your room.

"Crimes are being committed against us. Right in front of our eyes," you said as Geta closed the door behind himself.

"What did you hear?"

"Macrinus has a plot. A sinister and twisted plot. He wishes to rule."

"Treason!"

"I will deal with him. Do not worry yourself with peasants like him, My Love."

"What would I do without you?"

"You would be beheaded." you smiled and he wanted to laugh but the seriousness of your tone changed his mind very fast.

"Will there be blood?" he asked, hope-filled in his voice.

You nodded, and his smile grew. 

"Lots of blood. But not ours, nor your brother's." 

"Long live the Empress," he said as he leaned in to kiss you, but just as he was about to, you spoke.

"Long live us," you replied before pulling him in for a kiss.

---

The next morning you woke up, and your husband was still asleep.

You headed to the balcony, taking in the smell of smoke.

You grabbed onto the railings, everyone's thoughts filled your mind, and you often found it to be overwhelming.

Hearing everyone's thoughts, some people were louder while others were quieter.

You weren't sure why that was, it was all you ever knew. 

Geta's thoughts were usually silent, even his most wicked ones, you used to struggle to be able to read his thoughts until you gave up. It was rare but it did happen from time to time in the past. 

You can sometimes hear words from him but not full sentences. 

But you didn’t have to hear them to know what he was thinking. 

A word you constantly heard was “Beautiful.”

Simple. 

Kind. 

You love him. 

But even with powers like Gods, it could become too much to handle. In those moments, Geta was always there by your side.

As if he knew you needed some reassurance.

And this time was no different. 

He soon pulled you close and hugged you from behind.

"Is My Wife happy?" 

"I am." you truly were.

"What will you do with Macrinus?"

"I spoke with your brother, and warned him of the plan, I suspect he was too drunk to remember so I sent him a dream. I'm sure he understands, he usually does."

"And what about the Poet Gladiator?"

"Lucius? He claims he wants to free Rome." you turned around in his arms. "But Rome will never be free. During the games today, I have a special plan for the lost prince of Rome." you lifted your hand and ran it through his hair. "I'm sure you will like it."

And he did.

Killing four birds with one stone.

Lucius, his mother, Acacius and Macrinus. 

What a delight it truly was.

Unfortunately, the tiger seemed too big of a task for the men, trying to save Lucilla. 

A completely normal tiger at that... of course, you had no hand in the matter. 

And Macrinus? 

For being a traitor, his head was placed by the walls of Rome. Setting an example to all who dare even think about overthrowing the Emperors.

"My Love. My Beautiful Wife." as he stood in front of you, out on your balcony, the moon lit the night as you heard the people or Rome riot, all you could think of was how beautiful his eyes were.

As he looked at you with the most love.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou 

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen 

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[i-am-just-a-slut-for-simon-riley]

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆ 18+ MDNI (ಡ‸ಡ) ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆

Why are my ✨smut rotten senses✨telling me that Simon Riley is an absolute menace to his plus-sized gf!reader🫢 like girl- he can’t get enough … man is like a teething puppy with a chew toy, you best believe you’d be covered head to toe in love bites.

He can’t explain it but there is this primal satisfaction he derives in watching his pretty little girl squirm and wither under him as his teeth sinks down breaking flesh, indenting the smooth surface with a feral bloody mark, his tongue following soon behind to soothe the dull ache...he can’t help it Lovie! He just needs to let the world know that you’re his to claim and pamper 😩🤚🏻

OH! And do not get me started on how he treats you like play dough, his calloused scarred hands are gigantic and rough and they are on your body ALL the time !!! 🙄 most times it’s not even sexual, he just wants to squish you as you squeal like some squeaky toy (it’s not his fault you have most adorable reactions¯\_(ツ)_/¯), your chubby arms, plush thighs, flushed cheeks, soft tits and ass.. ABSOLUTELY NO part of you is safe from his wandering hands and sharp teeth… (he’s just a big old grumpy man in love …awww🥺)

( ps.. I headcanon him as a basic bitch - so I consider ✨💅🏻pretty boy simon 💅🏻✨to be obsessed and I mean OBSESSED!! with your soft tits… needless to say they are his Achilles heel.. don’t believe me ? The big brute of a man melts into a puddle if you flash him , seeing your tits just turns him head empty (and I mean ✨zero thoughts✨- ask him his name at that moment and he’d go ‘boobies’… he really be dumb like that)… you always end up reverting him into some hormonal teen humping air seeing tits for the very first time.. )

But don’t mistake that as him getting tamed , he’s not nice about how he treats your tits, once his lips seals tightly around one of your stiff peaks, he sucked hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he groans and slobbers like a fucking animal, he would never dare neglect your other tit though as his hand comes up to knead and squeeze the soft flesh, plucking and tugging at your nipple as he pleasures himself on your perfect fucking body. (it doesn’t help that he is practically a mountain of muscles and oozes dominance without even trying so any plans of escaping him when he pins you down and latches his greedy mouth onto your sensitive little nipple is pointless - (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞just fyi …)

(not to mention!!- he is pathetically needy when it comes to you sitting on his face… he didn’t become a soldier for nothing, dying a martyr’s death was always a looming possibility .. but the only death acceptable to Simon was being suffocated between your plush thighs as they squeeze around his head , his hands shamelessly gripping your ass forcing you to grind down on his face as his nose nudges your swollen clit , tongue lapping at your trembling folds , drinking your sweet nectar down like it was ambrosia as his stubble prickles and rubs your skin red and raw -)

(Protesting is useless so don’t ever try ….uwu ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ )

[daylighted]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤshield ! reader ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤpart two !!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤULTIMATE REVENGE.

summary memories are reawakened with the arrival of soldier boy into your life again, but his presence is not the only new thing slipping its way through the cracksㅤㅤㅤwarnings feminine rage, light discussions of trauma, violence against men HAHAHA, me trying to mimic butcher's accent ( embarrassing edition )ㅤㅤㅤword count 2.1k

ㅤㅤㅤ"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY ANGRY WITH ME?" it was a ridiculous question to be asked, considering all that happened, but you'd let him talk. how deep of a hole could one man dig himself into?

you don’t dignify him with any answer. of course you were angry. it had been festering since you were created, switched between homes like a rejected foster child that no one really wanted, but got stuck with. it was bad enough knowing that the entirety of your long existence would be spent being a pest to the ones stuck with you; they did not need to find ways to torment you.

you shove the closet door open with your shoulder, having waited in the closet until soldier boy vanished. he didn’t deserve any of your attention, and didn’t deserve any indication that you knew him. that was another irritant to your fury.

“i told you to stay in your space.” it’s the only defense that the legend has, so he milks it, stresses the points of it as if that can deter your frustrations. “i told you that this is the risk i was keeping you from, dammit—”

the legend doesn’t have to get it, and so he never will. still, you can’t help but feel the need to try. “you knew it was a risk,” you say it slower, as if that will make it click in his rotten head, “and you did not tell me. you knew that soldier boy was alive, and could come back, and kept it.”

“look at how you’re reacting!” his hand shoots up toward you, hovering in the expansive closet’s entrance. “you decked him. you crushed his nutsack—”

“not. enough.”

“plenty enough, indy.” your name is always a weapon in men’s mouths. no one ever looked at you and thought you were something worth whispering or promising. you were a gun, your words the bullets, the safety always off. and nobody wanted a girl in a constant state of misfire. “i get what you’re going through, and what is going on inside of your head—”

“you do not.”

his lips thin in his frustration. “are you going to let me finish a single fuckin’ sentence today, indy, or are we going to argue around each other because you don’t listen?”

your jaw clenches tightly, teeth grinding together. “you do not get anything that is in my head. you are just an old man minus a leg.”

“you are old too,” he shoots back at you, wagging his finger in your face. you shove his hand away with a scoff. “just because little miss indestructible doesn’t physically age doesn’t mean she hasn’t been here as long as i have. so you should know better than to act like an insolent child.”

it’s so easy for a man to flip the script on you and blame you. you were not asked for permission before you were created. you were not ever treated kindly in the tests you endured after it. you were shaped and molded into something as strong as you’d been as a manmade shield, and then punished for what evolved from that.

“i would know better if i was not locked away.”

somehow, his thin lips press together tighter. you’ve got him. you always get him on that point, and still, the legend doesn’t ever listen to you. it was so useless to have a voice when it did nothing for you.

the bell to his door rings, and your head snaps in that direction. you can see the front door now, from where you stand — considering the fact you’d broken down the hinges to that side of the penthouse, and soldier boy had dismantled your door.

multiple shadows stand on the other side. you see their outlines, big and broad, through the glass walls surrounding the doorway. your eyes narrow. “soldier boy has brought guests.”

“i hardly doubt he will come back.” the legend steps around you, back into the living room, with a glance over his shoulder. “i’d highly suggest sitting this one out.”

“you cannot keep me away anymore today.” you stalk after him, following him again through the broken mess of doors scattered around his living space. “the door is ruined. you have to let me see.”

“i don't have to do a thing.”

he never listens to you. you’ve been stuck with him for forty years and he does not listen. he’s the cruelest sort of captor, controlling everything of your life down to the rooms you’re allowed to take up space in.

you shove past the legend, grabbing the doorknob before he can, tugging the locked, heavy door open with an agitated growl. “go away. you are not wanted here.”

the man in the center on the other side raises his eyebrows. “sassy lass, ain’t ya?” he has an accent, just like you, except his is much more pronounced and nothing like how yours sounds. “i didn’t know the legend kept around girls that can beat him in a tongue lashin’.”

sickening how every single man you’d had the displeasure of meeting assumed you were one of the legend’s playthings. this was the consequence of his containment. you faced the scrutiny of his choices.

you dash forward, grabbing the gun he had poorly concealed at his hip. you release the safety and step back before any of his crew can process the barrel of the pistol pressed against the center of his chest. “mind your mouth.”

his hands raise in mock surrender. “alright, love. i don’t think we should be playing with things we don’t know how to—”

you’d known how to shoot a gun since you learned how to grip. you cock a bullet into the chamber and point it backwards, pulling the trigger at the two feet distance between the legend’s cane and your own feet.

the tall, lankier man in the back of the group shudders out an, “oh my god.” the one next to their assumed leader grimaces at the ringing echo of the bullet. behind you, the legend is seething, hissed curses falling out of his spluttering mouth.

you press the warm barrel to the man’s chest again. “tell me i am too stupid to work a gun again.”

the corner of his mouth tilts higher. “my apologies, lass,” he says, raising his eyes from your face to behind you. “might i speak to the man of the hour?”

“he has nothing worthy to say,” you say, finally dropping the hand holding the gun to your side, “not unless you like idiocracy and long-winded tall tales.”

the man shrugs. "i'm afraid that's all this lot has got to offer, anyways, yeah?"

you don't give the gun back. you untuck your shirt from your pants and stuff it in the waistband, offering a smile to the group of men waiting outside. "i can tell," you hum, turning on your heel, walking back the way you came from.

the basketball game is still on, but it's wrapping up — as far as you can tell, anyways, through the giant black hole in the center of the screen. you weren't in any sort of mood to get in another argument about the channel after what you'd gone through, so you drop down onto the couch again with only a huff of protest.

expectedly, the men follow afterwards. expectedly, the legend is apologizing on your behalf to men that don't deserve it, using words you'd never use. she's really sorry. no you weren't. she's always been crueler than the other of vought's creations. the familiar sentence, still stings all the same.

"she's a supe, then?" the lanky one asks, like you aren't even there. he catches your eye when you turn to glare holes into his temple, and his face flushes a little. "you're a supe?"

your face twists up. "i hate soup."

"oh." he nods a couple of times, clearing his throat in the process. "well. that answers... nothing."

the irritable, disgusted scowl becomes one more laced with anger. "i am not one of the heroes." the legend's reaction is proof enough to an unanswered question you had. that, no, before soldier boy's departure, he did not inform the hero of who you really were, and he was dancing around it now. you'll spare him from the science lesson. "i was created in laboratory. by the vought man." he's never been doctor frederick vought to you, because he never acted as a doctor, only an enforcer. "a someone out of something."

the lankier of the men blinks his surprise, somehow not deterred even with the look you gave him before. "created how?"

no one has ever addressed you in these conversations. usually legend apologizes for you, and they talk about you like you don't exist, and you are expected to stand down even when the order is not enforced. a long silence passes before you speak, unwilling to answer if he was not genuinely asking. but his eyes don't stray from you, and so you nod slowly in acceptance.

"you know of soldier boy?" his name is poison in your mouth, the only thing that has ever hurt you. "the great american hero with a shield?" there is no point of you explaining the world's first hero to these people. they probably know more about him than you ever would. "i am the shield."

the original man, the one with a smirk permanently plastered across his face, turns to you, then, abandoning whatever plans he'd come with. "bullshit."

"you are bullshit." you don't need any of them to believe you. trying to convince others of what you knew to be true was pointless. you slump backwards against the couch again, your eyes zeroing in on the shattered television screen.

it's the lanky one that comes to sit next to you. the legend doesn't even sit as close to you as he does, and he'd lived with you for forty years. "vought does some crazy shit." his shoulders lift in a shrug, letting out a little hum. "doesn't seem so off base that they turn a shield into a girl."

"the shield is with him," you clarify, finding it hard to actually meet his eyes whenever he's watching you with more understanding than anyone had bothered to offer. he wears the same curiosity that you saw in soldier boy's, which simply wouldn't do. "it is just useless now."

"does he know?" the original man, his rugged voice giving way to its own sort of morbid curiosity. there are too many men around you, and not enough space for you to feel safe and secure.

you shake your head, shooting a pointed look at the legend, balking on the other side of the room. "he did not tell him."

"ben is not going to be doing anything with that shield to warrant knowing its truth—"

frustration pours out of every orifice of your body. "soldier boy is a ticking bomb." he has always been volatile. a man cannot change simply because the man was locked away for decades. from what you saw of him, there wasn't any ounce of growth from him at all.

"she's right." the man sitting beside you turns to look back at the legend, and for once, you feel seen. someone else sees the hypocrisy of the man you were stuck with and is not afraid to reflect it back at him. maybe the legend would listen this time, now that a man was telling all of his sins to the choir. "he's a ticking time bomb."

"don't start, hughie," the rugged brit says, his voice nothing more than a growl.

"no, she's right." he gives butcher a long, hard look before he shakes his head, glancing sidelong at legend. "you know what we're planning to do. you know that we're trying to use him for it. and you sent him into the world to die."

the confirmation makes your stomach feel leaden. you should not care at all about what that means. you shouldn't care that soldier boy could die. and you don't. it's just—

"and what do you want me to do about that now, huh?"

the room is quiet, the only sound being the distorted audio coming from the broken television. you know where this is going. you sense it in the way that the man that isn't hughie stares at you, piecing together everything that the options laid out for them offered.

hope was a bitter thing in your mouth. this could be your sole chance of freedom, finally getting to see a breath of the world you'd spent your entire life locked away from. it just came with the added downside of—

"hand over soldier boy's shield," the man finally says, his eyes never leaving yours, "promise with every inch of my wee heart we'll take good care of 'er."

notes. indy beat up all men ever era !!! billy butcher EAT UR HEART OUT. just a heads up that this !reader has a structured timeline vs baby & lore not <3 u can still send asks abt her if u wanna but in my head this lil lady is all plotted for ... i dont wanna say it in case i abandon it midway ... so just know there's a proper number of parts oKAYYY thank u 4 reading love u bye

tags. @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @jensenacklesballsack @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @hyacinnths @blushpinkdoll @mccartneyqp @svbnra @h8aaz @mahi-wayy

[holylulusworld]

Food thieves (1)

Summary: They are always hungry.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader x Steve Rogers

Warnings: fun, fluff, banter, food theft

Food thieves masterlist

Gone. Again. Not one day ago, you refilled the fridge, and now, there’s nothing left but a half-eaten apple and bottled water.

Your stomach growls loudly, in need of a late-night snack. Now there’s no food—not even a tiny bite of the cheese you bought.

“What the heck?” You curse. “I bought all the good stuff, and it’s gone again?”

“Whatcha doing?” Bucky asks as he strolls into the kitchen. He’s hungry too and hopes there are some leftovers from the food you bought. “Is there any cheese left? It was awesome.”

You turn around like in slow motion to glare at the super-soldier. He ruffles his disheveled hair, smiling as you look him up and down. Bucky is in nothing but his boxers and a white undershirt.

“You ate all my cheese strings?” You growl. “How dare you steal my food. I bet it was you all this time!”

“What’s wrong?” Steve joins you and Bucky in the kitchen, hopefully looking at the open fridge. “Is there more cheese, or did you eat it all, Buck?”

“You too, Cap?” Putting your hands on your hips, you huff. “Really? The golden boy. The righteous Captain America steals my cheese strings?”

Nervously running his fingers through his hair, Steve stammers, “Uh—sorry. At night, we get hungry after a fight. I think we have a very fast metabolism.”

You narrow your eyes. “I call bullshit, Cap. You stole all the food I bought. At least admit that you stole my cheese strings and everything else.”

Bucky watches his friend’s cheeks turn red. He snickers before grabbing the last apple lying abandoned on the kitchen island. The brunette has no shame. He takes a large bite and chews loudly.

“You are unbelievable! Why are you eating that much?” You throw your hands up before slamming the fridge shut. “You will replace all my food!”

“We are big guys and super-soldiers,” Bucky mutters between bites. “We get hungry and eat food.” He shrugs before wolfing down the rest of the apple.

“You get hungry—” you huff. “I got hungry too. And imagine my surprise, finding the fridge empty. There was nothing left but a half-eaten apple.”

“Oh, that’s mine,” Steve calls dibs on the apple. “I forgot I left it in the fridge.”

“It’s rotten, Steve,” you point out. “You cannot eat a rotten apple. Hungry or not.”

Steve pouts. Steve fucking Captain America Rogers pouts like an angry child. He pats his empty stomach, looking at you for help.

Bucky mirrors his friend. He pouts and pats his belly.

“No.” You cross your arms over your chest. “I do all the grocery shopping and didn’t even get a bite! Again!”

“Doll, have mercy. We are hungry,” Bucky purrs your name while slowly sneaking closer to the kitchen counter. He rounds the counter to glance at the fridge. “I bet you’re hiding something in your secret stash.”

“Secret what?” You act like you never heard of a secret stash. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Barnes.”

“The good stuff,” he says while pouncing on you like a lion. Bucky cages you between the counter and his hard body. “Give us something, and we will pay you back.”

“No—”

“Buck, maybe she doesn’t have a secret stash,” Steve says but moves around the counter to look at you. “Right, doll, you’d share with your captain?” He quirks a brow, making you snort.

“Even if I had a secret stash,” you retort and stick your tongue out, “I wouldn’t tell you. You can torture me, bite me, or punish me. I won’t say a word.”

Bucky and Steve look at each other. They have one of their silent conversations. The ones making you wonder if they are telepaths.

“Tickles?” Steve asks.

“Tickles.” Bucky conforms before both men start tickling your sides.

“No!” You laugh and scream, trying to fend their skilled fingers off. “No!” You giggle and snort. “Please…no!” You push against Bucky’s chest, giving him the chance to move his hand under your shirt to tickle your belly. “No….no…”

“I think we are close to cracking her,” Steve says and starts tickling your thighs. “Give up and tell us everything about your secret stash.”

“I—” you giggle even louder. “I got a mini fridge at my place.”

“Buck.” They stop and look at each other.

“Got it, Steve,” Bucky confirms before grabbing you by your waist and throwing you over his shoulder. “Off to her place to raid her fridge…”

Part 2

[sumendi-blog]

Green // blue-greens symbolize "new beginnings too", and Harvey and Yana had pointed out Guillermo's desire for a "rebirth // new goals" in S6

Maybe reading too much. Also, Guillermo has always worn brown/black clothes (security/confort and mystery colors) so I myself read it too as a more "self confident" Guillermo

Okay, there’s definitely something going on here.

[amazingabellini]

Every Single Thing 621 is Called on Rubicon

Dog Augmented Human C4-621 You 621 Intruder Illegal Enemy AC Merc Corp AC Registration number Rb23 Raven Callsign: Raven Mercenary Corporate Merc Corporate Dog Interloper Military Force Hostile AC Shameless Coral scavenger Independent Mercenary Hunter Sharp A local An Independent A merc who only kills for credits A real merc G13 G13 Raven Kiddo Freelancer Maggot Fake Redgun Tagalong Sewing club member Not a total amateur Not a pro Corporate Vulture Mere pawn Scavenger Hound of Walter Competition Good for nothing Good for something Wretched vulture Unidentified AC Damn Hyena Rotten Money-grubber Corporate scum Enemy backup One of the infamous Walter's hounds Wallclimber War buddies Comrade Buddy Intruder Doser Shameless Corporate Dog Greedy Mercenary Greedy hound Daring A symbol of resolve Only Other Person That Can Keep Up With Me You Again Old Augmentation Recalcitrant Mutt Vermin Pest The Pest of Rubicon Code 15 Raven the Wallclimber Code 31C Solo Independent Mercenary Pitiful Dog Gen 4 Fine hound Another dead dog Older type of Augmented Human Tourist No ordinary tourist Smart Cookie No slouch A cut above the rest Not afraid of anything Belongs in a museum Freak My favorite little Tourist A certain someone New friend The Freelancer from the dam raid Target Walter's Hound Solo AC Independent Merc Trespasser to Rubicon Walking Advertisement Mascot AC of Unknown Affiliation Suspected Corporate Hire Single AC Code 5, Unknown AC Independent Mercenary Assembly That AC Hostile AC Priority Subject for Termination One helluva merc Hired Operative Intruding AC Grunt Famous Mercenary Fine Soldier One Loose End Corpse Quick on the uptake Not like those savages Cur Scoundrel Oathbreaker Just an AC Patchwork AC Better than the other ACs Like a bird in flight Killer Menace to Rubicon Target for Termination Unknown Intruder Intrusion Attempt Menace Volunteer The Objective Just a Gen 4 Strong Worthy of your name False Alarm Impostor Impressive Pilot Wormkiller Threat to Planetary Closure 20 Iguazus A Real Redgun Not so Special Too Dangerous to Keep Around Not Afraid to Die The Only G13 Who's Managed To Live This Long

One of Carla's

A new friend from afar Strong A Threat Dangerous Another Threat to Rubicon Veteran The Mercenary Who Took Your Name Rat Fool The Big One Corporate pawn Rather Extraordinary Gen 4 Augmentation High Level Threat Strong Candidate One of Allmind's The One Rusty was talking about Head in the Clouds Old-Gen Alive Handler's Hound Old Colleague Subject Beast of burden Guest of Honor The Key Smartass Freelancer Wonderful People Demon Miserable Relic Trigger for the Change to come Dog without a shred of intelligence Not worthy of humanity Stray Dog Obstacle Faithful Hound Biggest Threat Legacy Augmentation The Greatest Obstacle The Liberator of Rubicon The only one The Spark of War The Fires that Haunt Rubicon The Monster who Burned the Stars One With Allmind Aberrations to The Plan Trigger for Coral Release Irregular The Old-Gen Who Could Do It All

The Freelancer Who Had It All

[islakaliko]

— Small beginnings

disclaimer: a/b/o universe, alpha john price, male omega reader, very self indulged, m!preg, after the birth

< previous | next >

The hospital room smelled like fresh linen, soft antiseptic, and newborn scent. That sweet, instinct-stirring scent that could calm even the most battle-hardened alpha with a single breath.

John sat on the small couch pushed up against the window, arms full of something precious. He looked like he’d just stepped off a battlefield—messy hair, circles under his eyes, wrinkled shirt—but the way he cradled the tiny bundle in his arms said he’d never been more at peace.

(y/n) slept in the hospital bed, curled on his side with a hand resting over the edge, fingertips brushing John’s knee. Even in sleep, their bond held tight.

And then came them.

Soap knocked once before pushing open the door with his usual lack of subtlety. “We heard someone had a baby!” he announced.

Gaz followed with a soft grin and a ridiculous balloon in hand that said “Congrats, It’s a Cub!” And Ghost, ever the shadow, lingered in the doorway like he wasn’t about to melt.

John chuckled quietly. “Keep your voices down. (y/n) just fell asleep.”

Gaz approached first, peering into John’s arms. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. “He’s tiny.”

“He’s perfect,” Soap said immediately, walking right up without a shred of hesitation. “What’s his name?”

“Oliver,” John said, voice softer than the others had ever heard. “Oliver Price.”

Soap cooed—actually cooed—and leaned in with the gentleness of someone who’d never admit to knowing how to hold a baby but had definitely practiced with his nieces. “He’s got your nose.”

“He’s got (y/n)’s mouth,” John murmured with pride. “Pouting already.”

Ghost finally stepped in, quiet as ever. He walked slowly, boots heavy on the tile, and stood next to John without saying a word. He just… looked. His eyes softened behind the mask in a way that didn’t need explanation.

“…he’s alright,” Ghost muttered.

“High praise from you,” Soap smirked.

Gaz knelt slightly to get a better look, careful not to jostle John. “He’s got that baby smell.”

“Yeah,” John said, smiling down at his son. “Gets right under your ribs, doesn’t it?”

The room was still for a moment, the pack of soldiers all silent now, watching something so gentle, so pure, it made the war-stained parts of them ache.

(y/n) stirred softly in the bed.

John turned. “Hey, love.”

(y/n) blinked open his eyes slowly, voice still scratchy from sleep. “They’re here?”

“We didn’t want to wake you,” Gaz said quickly.

But (y/n) just smiled, drowsy and radiant. “Come meet your nephew properly.”

Soap was already halfway to the bed. “Do we get to hold him?”

John looked hesitant, then down at Oliver, then at (y/n). (y/n) gave a sleepy nod, and John gently passed Oliver into Soap’s arms.

And that was it—Soap absolutely melted.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, cradling the baby like he was holding an angel. “Oh, mate. You’re gonna be so spoiled.”

“Don’t drop him,” Ghost grunted.

“I know how to hold a baby!”

“You’re holding him like a rugby ball.”

“Shut up, Simon.”

Gaz laughed as Soap passed Oliver to him. “He’s so small. Can’t believe this is really happening.”

“It’s real,” (y/n) said, his voice filled with something soft and whole. “We’re really a family.”

John sat beside him again, brushing hair from (y/n)’s forehead and pressing a kiss there.

“You did amazing,” he whispered.

“You both did,” Gaz added, looking between them.

Soap finally looked at (y/n) and said, “You know, you’ve ruined him, right?”

(y/n) blinked. “Ruined who?”

“Price,” Soap smirked. “He’s all soft now. Won’t survive a mission without talking about nappies and night feeds.”

John rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “Wouldn’t want to.”

They stayed for hours, taking turns holding Oliver, sharing stupid jokes and plans for spoiling the kid rotten. Ghost, when no one was looking, tucked a small stuffed bear beside the bassinet and said nothing about it.

Eventually, (y/n) dozed again, and John stayed beside him, Oliver back in his arms, the baby’s little fingers curled around one of his.

The team packed up, leaving one by one, each offering soft goodbyes and lingering looks over their shoulders.

Before Ghost left, he stood in the doorway and said quietly, “He’s lucky. To have the two of you.”

John looked down at his sleeping son, then over at his omega, curled beside him.

“We’re the lucky ones.”

[wheneverfeasible]

🧠🪱Wriggly Wednesday🪱🧠

Thanks for the tag @augustjustice! I was actually just thinking about how I had something for one of these.

So I’ve been reading a lot of historical fic lately, and it really got me wanting to do a royalty au. I don’t have a lot of solid details for it yet, and I don’t know if I’ll ever actually write it as I have a lot on my plate currently, but my basic idea is this:

The kingdom of Hawkins is ruled by a tyrannical king; lazy, prejudiced, and greedy. His queen is beloved by the people for the charity work she does, yet the king never hides the fact that he’s disloyal to her. He doesn’t have to, he’s the king. He doesn’t care if the woman he’s interested in is married or not herself, if he sees her and wants her then he’ll take her and the husband just has to deal with it. It’s almost an honor at this point. (Think very JFK.)

The queen hates it, however, and is just as vicious as her husband, only behind closed doors. She married for the crown, not for love, and her kindness is only a front she puts on for the public. Behind closed doors she is cold and vain and uncaring of the plight of others.

And then they have a son. The prince. He is just as rotten as his father. Lazy, greedy, thinks himself above all others. When he grows bored, he demands a plaything. That’s when the soldiers will sweep the streets and bring him beggars and street urchins and, sometimes, the prince will also demand for a petty criminal to become his plaything instead of being shipped off to slavers or executed. The playthings never seem to last for long, and they’re never seen from again.

One day, Eddie is brought forward as a criminal. It wasn’t actually him, or course, but his father. His father however skipped town and left Eddie to fall in his place. It’s known that Alan Munson was the worst sort of miscreant. A petty thief with a silver tongue that somehow managed to avoid being caught. Until one day he strove for too much and the kingdom was out for his head.

With Al having fled, however, sights turned to his son, Edward. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? Of course not. At least, that’s what everyone says. So Eddie is brought to trial in his father’s stead. Eddie is certain he will be sent off as a slave or worse. Except.

Prince Steven whines that he’s bored, and he doesn’t want to sit through a whole trial. Can’t he just have the criminal as a plaything since his last one broke?

The king grants his son’s request.

Eddie has heard rumors of what sorts of things the prince gets up to with his playthings. According to some, it was a fate worse than death. At least a judgement of death was swift.

Except.

Well, Steve learned how to wear a public mask from the best of the best: his mother. His mask is more extensive, however, because he wears it inside the castle as well. Even his parents believe him to be nothing more than a spoiled, pampered brat. But in truth, it is quite the opposite. And the playthings?

Steve purposely seeks out the destitute, the needy, the ones who one more night out on the street could mean their death, and brings them in. Criminals too, if he knows they’re innocent, or only stole from necessity to survive, or if he believes the punishment far too harsh for their crimes. He takes them in too, as many as he can without his father growing suspicious.

He takes them in, acts for the public like a monster, and only when it’s just him and the “plaything” does he drop the act and let them know the truth. He’s going to get them out. He’s greedy and materialistic to the public because he gives the items away in secret, helping his playthings start a new life elsewhere. He helps them sneak out of the castle and out of the kingdom, if only they promise to leave their old life behind. It is the only way to keep them and those after them safe.

Eddie, of course, believes the worst of the prince, even when Steve’s mask drops alone in his room. He learned long ago not to trust royals. There’s a little bit of enemies-to-friends-to-lovers here then, as Eddie doesn’t trust Steve at first, and also refuses to leave the kingdom without his uncle.

So Eddie and Steve bicker about it, and Steve says fine but Eddie has to play the part of his plaything for the public and his parents, which involves a lot of being caught in compromising positions sometimes to sell it.

Except Eddie starts to grow real feelings when he realizes that Prince Steven really is a good man. Eddie soon has another reason why he doesn’t want to leave the kingdom, even if he believes a prince could never return his feelings.

Plot Possibilities:

- Steve’s last “plaything” was Jonathan. A rare volunteer to be the prince’s plaything in exchange for goods for his poor family. He initially does not trust Steve for a while, but eventually they build a kind of wary friendship.

- Steve was in talks for a betrothal with a noble lady, Nancy. She thought him a cretin as she only knew the mask he wore, while her lady-in-waiting, Barb, would mutter insults about him to her making Nancy have to cover her laughter. Steve heard them and thought they were hilarious, but pretended to be clueless.

- Jonathan sees Nancy and falls in love immediately, making Steve have to figure out a way to get the two of them together without blowing his cover. He eventually succeeds and Steve makes everyone believe Jonathan “broke” and was discarded when on reality he helped smuggle him out with Nancy’s entourage when the betrothal talks fell through and she returned to her land.

- Steve still anonymously takes care of Jonathan’s family like he promised he would, the only way Jonathan would leave with Nancy.

- Robin was originally given to Steve as a tribute, the daughter of an enemy soldier, and Steve keeps her as a plaything for a while (she attacks him the first night before he can explain the truth) and when she “breaks” he shortly thereafter obtains a new servant who looks remarkably like her, named “Rob”.

- During one of the times Steve is manhandling Eddie in public to keep up the act, Eddie gets a very ill-timed boner at the fake threat Steve growls at him, finding out the hard (pun not intended) way that maybe he might like some of the things evil Prince Steven is supposed to be doing to him.

- Eddie seduces Steve realizing the man would never force himself on Eddie. They try out some of things Prince Steven threatened him with and eventually Steve can make his mask’s threats seem far more genuine when Eddie follows him with bruises and a stiff gait afterwards. (Eddie loves every second of it.)

- A minor nobility cannot pay taxes so the king takes his young daughter for his son as payment and to humiliate the noble as a lesson for others. Her name is Chrissy.

- Robin is instantly smitten with Chrissy. The feeling is swiftly mutual once Chrissy realizes “Rob” is a woman.

- something something something

- Steve’s parents die/are murdered/are executed/idk

- Steve is made king and people are wary at first expecting him to be like his father. He can finally drop his mask and it’s revealed that all the good things people thought was his mom was actually him doing it.

- One of the first orders of business he does is grant Rob a title of nobility for loyal service and saving his life (stripping another noble of their title for their disloyalty/treason?).

- Steve tells Rob “he” can have any one wish of his granted. Rob asks for Steve’s concubine Chrissy as his wife (as per previously plotted by the three of them) and Steve grants it.

- Steve frees Eddie from his bondage, expecting Eddie to leave and never look back. He tries not to show how much that hurts.

- Eddie stays. Obviously.

- They go to bed with a bit of role reversal. Steve loves every second of it.

- Steve remains a bachelor king with a questionably close friendship with one of his advisors that the people of the kingdom knowingly smirk about but support because he’s an amazing king who always takes care of his people.

- Steve appoints his heir as this loudmouth whippersnapper with an attitude he takes under his wing for whatever reason. He questions his sanity every day after.

- Years later, King Dustin and Queen Suzie rule the land following in his predecessor’s footsteps; with care, humility, and equal justice for all.

~

(No pressure) Hostage Hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife @everywherenothere

Other no pressure tags: @steddiecameraroll @mundaneone @endlessmusings1801 @stervrucht @hotluncheddie @eddiethebrave