#can i just float. in like a river or something?

[demonic0angel]

:33 Can. Can... Cough. DCXDP PROMPT

Dan is the crowned Ghost King, Dani and Danny are like his kids and Jazz his sister ofcourse. Dan tries to be peaceful and shit for his siblingskids' sake but the GIW has other plans and kidnaps/Ambushes the two and boom. Chaos. Dan loosing his shit and the JL having to be involved (I wanna see a rare pair for Dan <33)

-A.E. 👻

Ps. I'm drawing an animation for this prompt <33

Pps/pass(??). I'm still drawing the cutting Wit ship, never forgot that <33

Superman froze.

There was a monster in the middle of the room. It had a humanoid shape, but its general form was incomprehensible, unable to be understood even by Superman. Something white resembling clothes covered its body, but it was stained crimson. Rivers of blood dripped onto the floor in puddles.

The creature was clutching at two smaller beings, who were desperately clawing at its back and cape, whimpering. The creature made noises alongside them, a strange sort of wheezy noise.

Superman looked around at the torn apart corpses on the floor. Limbs laid askew and organs were separated from bodies. Everything smelled like blood and fear.

The creature made another soft sound and Superman finally realized what it was doing.

It was crying.

“… excuse me?” Superman asked, because he wanted to know everything, “are you alright?”

“… disgust me,” the creature mumbled.

“I’m sorry?”

The being turned and its glowing red eyes struck Superman and froze him in his place in fear. The color was unlike anything he had ever seen, like fire and death and glowing ashes from complete and utter annihilation. The creature was crying brightly colored, acidic tears that trailed down a green face, with each droplet rolling down its cheek and burning holes onto the ground.

“You humans disgust me!” The creature roared, flashing sharp fangs that could break through bone. “I held myself back! I tried to be a good person! A better person! I tried so hard to make good decisions and be a good king and a good family! And this is how you repay me?! By hurting the ones I love?!”

Superman’s gaze involuntarily darted downwards, to the two other beings. They whimpered, and Superman suddenly realized that they were this creature’s family. They were sluggishly bleeding and they were also crying softly, the same tears flowing down their faces as they sobbed.

Superman’s heart simultaneously broke in two and dropped to his feet from fear as the creature snarled.

“I was too kind. I should’ve eradicated all of your worlds! Every single one of you will die for hurting them!”

Superman floated an inch back and the creature bristled like it was an offense, wispy hair flaring like a roaring flame before it prepared itself to lunge forward, and just as Superman readied himself to fight, a woman stepped in front of him and a whip immediately wrapped itself around the creature’s throat, holding him still.

“Danny! Calm yourself! We’re fine!” The woman said, and Superman immediately snapped back to attention.

“What do you need for me to do?” He asked, and the woman, who was bravely defending herself against the creature, waved a hand for him to leave.

Superman blinked. And then he stayed, watching. The creature calmed, still crying, but now it— he just looked sad, brows furrowing as he then reached for the woman with another sob, not dissimilar to the children in his lap, “Jazz!”

The woman stepped forward, dropping the whip without a second thought, and enveloped him in a hug. “Shhhh,” she said. “You did so well. You protected the kids. You did well.”

She calmed the creature with a few more words, stroking the creature’s hair, and after a few long moments, where Superman started to feel like a fifth wheel, there was a bright flash, and the creature that once had white fiery hair and luminescent skin, turned into a normal man with pale skin and long, raven locks.

Superman’s eyes widened. The woman finally turned back to address him and said, “I’m sorry, can you take Dan, please? I’ll take Danny and Ellie.”

Superman nodded, drifting down to carefully handle the now unconscious man. He was surprisingly light, despite his bulky frame, and he was also undoubtedly beautiful. His eyes were closed, but he had a shadow of fear over his face. Superman gingerly held him close, a mixture of worried for the man, afraid of him, and also very confused at the entire situation. The man stirred, causing Superman to tense, but then he only buried his head into Superman’s shoulder.

A shiver ran down Superman’s spine. He felt irrationally conflicted within himself with how close the man was to tearing his throat out.

“I’m sorry, but can you please explain to me what happened? Who are these people? What is this place? What happened, and who is this person? Who are you?”

The woman nodded, picking up the two children. One of them tucked his head into her shoulder, but the other hissed at Superman, bright blue eyes flashing as she bared tiny little fangs. Oddly enough, Superman felt extremely endeared.

“I’ll tell you everything. Just take us out of here first.”

Superman nodded, and off they went.

(Side note: I have a hc that the name ‘Danny’ is very important to Dan and Dani, since it is a name that they chose for themselves. However, since Danny is considered more important, they ‘surrendered’ the name to him, but only Jazz really knows how much they like being called “Danny,” which is why she uses it to calm the two down or address them, and then uses “Dan” and “Ellie” anytime else.)

[theloveinc]

(On one hand, Enjin is excited to have his own baby. So excited that he can't think about it for longer for a few seconds before his bones start turning to liquid and his gut fills with something so euphoric he's afraid it might cause him to up and float away.

But then on the other hand, part of him dreads it, almost, is annoyed by his excitement for it—not so much the actual having of, caring for a baby part, but the... creating one from nothing part. The... putting another living, breathing being onto this earth, part.

Babies are... no, children are quite a sore subject for him. Everything about them, about his experience as one, are the antithesis of his existence. Reliance on others in and of itself is far from a bad thing, he knows this to be true... but children have no choice in the matter as to who they are surrounded by and who they are helped by, much less whether or not they have to exist in the first place.

Besides, for all intents and purposes, Enjin has children. Grown-up children, children he only partially raised, but a family of the them, nonetheless, who'd choose him as their mentor in this life and the next. Having another, from conception feels selfish, somehow. Unnecessary. Disrespectful.

And he doesn't want to name it. Of it all—your pregnancy, the birth, the whole shebang—naming it definitely feels the worst: slapping on what will one day be an independent person an identity nobody else has the right to choose but them. He went through it, Rudo went through a version it... and he's certain any child of his will, too. It's why he has yet to come to terms with it... and has absolutely zero ideas for a name.)

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Drifting - Passive floating in a river, thinking about letting himself drift away while the sun occasionally peaks from behind clouds. Before a decision is made, Dream interrupts him. Sun appearances coincide with happier thoughts? Ends on positive note since Dream is like the sun?

Dust to Dust - Nightmare accidentally getting killed by Dream, probably with his bow? While Dream is shocked & Nightmare is turning into dust, it takes until someone points it out for Dream to notice he is also dusting away at the same time.

Revert - Nightmare is hit with a positivity arrow(?) & the goop melts off of him as he screams in agony, eventually going quiet as his passive form is revealed laying passed out. Once he wakes up, he's very confused & can't understand anyone except for Dream, since languages have changed.

Fall - Something based on an incident that happened to me, where a tree fell & crushed me when I was young. Nightmare would take the place of me, obviously, in his passive form.

[whoa-where-did-the-pancakes-go]

All the things I'm never going to experience properly again... all the things I'll never do because It'll feel wrong.... all the things I'm never going to have the right way because people will never see me the way i want them to..... this shit sucks man

[chaosciara]

Ciara, gonna make an absurd guess but I think you really liked the Peruvian Cocaine

god I wish I was that theme park owner. the slogan for his park was “fun for all ages” and he fucking meant it.

[impossible-rat-babies]

1.0 making Direct Eye Contact and breathing heavily while [redacted] makes a giant mess of her house like

[aw-bean-s]

Bro my dad didn't know I can't swim 💀

[homo-house]

hey uh so I haven't seen anyone talking about this here yet, but

the amazon river, like the biggest river in the fucking world, in the middle of the amazon fucking rainforest, is currently going through its worst drought since the records began 121 years ago

picture from Folha PE

there's a lot going on but I haven't seen much international buzz around this like there was when the forest was on fire (maybe because it's harder to shift the narrative to blame brazil exclusively as if the rest of the world didn't have fault in this) so I wanted to bring this to tumblr's attention

I don't know too many details as I live in the other side of the country and we are suffering from the exact opposite (at least three cyclones this year, honestly have stopped counting - it's unusual for us to get hit by even one - floods, landslides, we have a death toll, people are losing everything to the water), but like, I as a brazilian have literally never seen pictures of the river like this before. every single city in the amazonas state is in a state of emergency as of november 1st.

pictures by Adriano Liziero (ig: geopanoramas)

we are used to seeing images of rio negro and solimões, the two main amazon river affluents, in all their grandiose and beauty and seeing these pictures is really fucking chilling. some of our news outlets are saying the solimões has turned to a sand desert... can you imagine this watery sight turning into a desert in the span of a year?

while down south we are seeing amounts of rain and hailstorms the likes of which our infrastructure is simply not built to deal with, up north people who have built everything around the river are at a loss of what to do.

the houses there that are built to float are just on the ground, people who depend on fishing for a living have to walk kilometers to find any fish that are still alive at all, the biodiversity there is at risk, and on an economic level it's hard to grasp how people from the northern states are getting by at all - the main means of transport for ANYTHING in that region is via the river water. this will impact the region for months to come. it doesnt make a lot of sense to build a lot of roads bc it's just better to use the waterway system, everything is built around or floats on the river after all. and like, the water level is so incomprehensibly low the boats are just STUCK. people are having a hard time getting from one place to another - keep in mind the widest parts of the river are over 10 km apart!!

this shit is really serious and i am trying not to think about it because we have a different kind of problem to worry about down south but it's really terrifying when I stop to think about it. you already know the climate crisis is real and the effects are beyond preventable now (we're past global warming, get used to calling it "global boiling"). we'll be switching strategies to damage control from now on and like, this is what it's come to.

I don't like to be alarmist but it's hard not to be alarmed. I'm sorry that I can't end this post with very clear intructions on how people overseas can help, there really isn't much to do except hope the water level rises soon, maybe pray if you believe in something. in that regard we just have to keep pressing for change at a global level; local conditions only would not, COULD NOT be causing this - the amazon river is a CONTINENTAL body of water, it spans across multiple countries. so my advice is spread the word, let your representatives know that you're worried and you want change towards sustainability, degrowth and reduced carbon emissions, support your local NGOs, maybe join a cause, I don't know? I recommend reading on ecological and feminist economics though

however, I know you can help the affected riverine families by donating to organizations dedicated to helping the region. keep in mind a single US dollar, pound or euro is worth over 5x more in our currency so anything you donate at all will certainly help those affected.

FAS - Sustainable Amazon Fundation

Idesam - Sustainable Developent and Preservation Institute of Amazonas

Greenpeace Brasil - I know Greenpeace isn't the best but they're one of the few options I can think of that have a bridge to the international world and they are helping directly

There are a lot of other smaller/local NGOs but I'm not sure how you could donate to them from overseas, I'll leave some of them here anyway:

Projeto Gari

Caritás Brasileira

If you know any other organizations please link them, I'll be sure to reblog though my reach isn't a lot

thank you so much for reading this to the end, don't feel obligated to share but please do if you can! even if you just read up to here it means a lot to me that someone out there knows

also as an afterthought, I wanted to expand on why I think this hasn't made big news yet: because unlike the case of the 2020 forest fires, other countries have to hold themselves accountable when looking at this situation. while in 2020 it was easier to pretend the fires were all our fault and people were talking about taking the amazon away from us like they wouldn't do much worse. global superpowers have no more forests to speak of so I guess they've been eyeing what latin america still has. so like this bit of the post is just to say if you're thinking of saying anything of the sort, maybe think of what your own country has done to contribute to this instead of blaming brazil exclusively and saying the amazon should be protected by force or whatever

[utterlyotterlyx]

Can I request something where Azriel has to pick up Nyx from school one day and thinks his teacher is cute & is very flirty with her?

Yes! Love this idea so much!

When I Kissed The Teacher

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - Feyre loves Nyx's teacher but loves playing matchmaker even more. After sending Azriel to collect Nyx from school one day after feigning a studio related emergency, she's very happy to learn that Azriel's affections are completely in the palm of your hand.

Warnings - none really, just cuteness all round

Feyre had always been worried about sending Nyx off to school, even though she believed Rhys when he told her that the schools of Velaris were the best in Prythian, she couldn't help but feel anxious that he wouldn't thrive.

Then she met you, and all of her worries faded away.

You were everything Feyre wanted in a teacher for her child, it had taken a lot of weight throwing to get him into your class, it was full to the brim of children from higher born families, only wanting the best for their offspring. Feyre wasn't even surprised.

It was clear how much you cared about your children, in nurturing them into intelligently creative creatures. Other teachers focused solely on the academics, but you had a passion for the arts, you said creativity helped children to find their passions and grow into more compassionate and joyful souls.

Nyx had run into her arms when she had come to collect him that first day, babbling on about what a wonderful time he had with you. Miss Y/L/N. Feyre had never seen such wonderment in his eyes when he told her in that broken infant language how great you were. Everyone's worries about Nyx becoming a shell had vanished.

The little thing had returned home with paintings, reciting poetry from your favourite passages; he had the desire to read, making different voices for the different characters like he had learned from you. Nyx was well and truly flourishing.

Feyre had insisted that you walk home with them one afternoon, since you only lived five minutes from the River House and it was on your route home anyway. From that walk, Feyre had learned much about you, that you were from Spring but left after being disowned by your family for wanting more from life than being married away to be used as a breeding tool. After that you had travelled the continent, making many friends along the way and opening your mind to the world before settling in Hewn City, only to be brought to Velaris on Rhys' orders because he had heard of your talents and passion and wanted it taking root in the children of his city.

The more you spoke, rambling on about art and books and theatre, did Feyre come to the realisation that a certain someone would be absolutely besotted with you. When you had hugged Nyx goodbye, ruffling his hair and telling him you'd see him in the morning, did Feyre begin to hatch her plan.

Azriel wasn't one for sunshine and rainbows, but even he had to admit that Nyx's and Feyre's gushings about you had him intrigued, even Rhys had commented on how sweet you were, seemingly very fond of how Nyx was excelling under your wing.

"Az, would you mind grabbing Nyx today? I have to head to the studio, delivery emergency," Feyre floated past him toward the door, a thin cloak fitted around her shoulders to protect her from the afternoon summer breeze that drifted along the Sidra.

"Uh, yeah. Sure," he waved Feyre from the house as she dashed down the path shouting over her shoulder what time to be at the school for.

The sun was beginning to dip in the sky but warmth still flew through Velaris, Azriel walked along the winding paths and up the hill to the school, the skittering sound of children's laughter filling his ears as he approached. Parents parted as he walked down the cobbled stone path, not wanting to graze against his wings with slight unease in their eyes. Azriel was used to it by now, the looks of disapproval, the slight fear in the people he passed.

The bell rang and birds shot to perch on the branches of the trees that surrounded the plush gardens teeming with bright flowers and wildlife. Children began to file out from the open door, grabbing their bags and running to their parents with wide smiles, excited to tell them what you had taught them that day.

Azriel spied the inside wall littered will paintings and cards, all addressed to you, as well as a wooden table filled with the gifts the children had no doubt made their parents purchase for you.

Then he saw you, and the Shadowsinger audibly gasped. There you were, dressed in a loose white blouse with stringed corset, an earthy brown skirt that fell to the floor covered in colourful handprints that reached your thighs, your hair was unbound and baby hairs whispered along the sides of your face.

You were sunshine. You were radiant.

Nyx's hand was curled in your own as you led him out of the classroom and Azriel could have sworn he'd never seen a brighter look on anyone's face as the little man searched the crowd, "Uncle, Az!"

Your gaze had also fallen on him and you drank in his smile as Nyx left your grip and hurtled to the Shadowsinger, his grin was large, showing off all of his teeth as he bent down and wrapped Nyx in his toned arms, laughing loudly and asking about his day before standing up.

"I don't think we've ever formally met," you held your free hand out, your other carrying Nyx's bag, "I'm Y/N, well, Miss Y/L/N."

You were as soft as summer rain, adoration in your orbs, and you radiated purity and grace. Azriel glanced at your outstretched hand, sliding his own into it and feeling a force of gravity will him closer to you, "So you're the one that has Nyx ready for school at the crack of dawn," he felt relief when you didn't recoil at his hand in yours, the hands that usually made people grimace, "Azriel," you giggled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your pointed ear.

High Fae.

"Guilty as charged," your voice was like butter, smooth and rich, the perfect balance of femineity.

"Can't say I blame him," he smirked at the heat that rose to his cheeks, at the sheepish smile that tugged at your lips.

"That's very nice of you to say," one of your students walked past you, waving goodbye, and Azriel watched you bend down and fix her jacket to her body, telling her to have a lovely weekend in the sun, "Nyx has had a lovely day today. He just keeps on flourishing, it's remarkable," you had told him once you had risen again.

"I'm sure anyone could flourish with you around. Must be the Y/N effect," he cocked his head to the side at your giggle, just happy to be able to examine the woman who had Nyx all excited every morning. Feyre and Rhys were right, you were remarkable. Like a rainbow rippling in a storm.

"Must be it," the birds jumped from branch to branch around you, like they wanted to keep an eye on you for as long as possible, flitting to the bird houses you had erected by the pond of ducks and in the trees.

"Would you like to walk home with us? Feyre mentioned that you didn't live too far from the house?"

Your mouth fell into the perfect o shape, "Oh, I wouldn't want to impose-"

"You're not," Azriel smiled, looking down at Nyx, shaking his little hand and asking, "Is she, Nyx? Would you like Miss Y/L/N to walk home with us?"

"Yes!" Nyx shouted and you laughed, a laugh that made the edges of your eyes crinkle, you disappeared into the building, returning a few moments later with you satchel, locking the door and taking Nyx's free hand in your own after handing his bag to Azriel.

Azriel was positive that he'd never seen Nyx shine so brightly.

The walk home was full of light chatter, you made Azriel laugh more times than you could count, and Nyx was pointing out random things along the way, looking up at you for approval and tapping his feet on the ground when you nodded and smiled.

From the house, Feyre watched through the curtains as Nyx ran up the path, and kept watching as Azriel lingered behind, she wished she could hear what he was saying to you. But as you smiled, and blushed, and then nodded at the Shadowsinger who was kicking his feet like a schoolboy, she knew it was going well.

Strong arms wrapped around her midsection and her back hit a hard chest, his deep chuckle vibrated through him and his warm breath fanned against her ear, "Playing matchmaker again, darling?"

Feyre hummed with a gentle smile, accepting the peppering kisses over her shoulder as she watched you walk away, looking back at Azriel and waving before turning the corner, "I think this is my best one yet," she told Rhys, noticing the pursed smile on Azriel's lips and the faint pink tinge to his complexion as he followed Nyx up the path.

"I'm inclined to agree."

SO CUTE!

Thank you for the request! x

[gay-dorito-dust]

Deadpool with a teenager protege plsss, thank youuu!

Wade will always claim that he never wanted a side kick.

‘Protege’ you’d correct him on the fly.

‘That’s a way too big of a word to be in your vocabulary so suddenly little featus.’ He’d quickly say in response before going in to boop you on the noose, only for you to swat his hand away.

Wade as a mentor was so unserious it hurt.

He tried to shoo you away as though you were a stray fucking cat trying to follow him home or something!

There was no point in searching for any deep wisdom from him when anything he said was rude and rather crude for some people, you’re better off finding wisdom in a brick wall then wade, but still you were stuck with the human personification of intrusive thoughts.

He was the devil on your shoulder telling you to dropkick the elderly down a flight of stairs or send them floating down a river in a box (not blind Al tho) and or to kill/kidnap and torture the enemy in your love life.

Wade acts like he hates having you follow him like a lost puppy but the moment he losses sight of you he runs amok, claiming that his ‘mother’s adrenaline’ was kicking in and he had to find you while causing death and destruction in his path.

He wasn’t the ideal person you should be following in the footsteps of and he knew it too, but by this point he had grown an attachment to you and he knew in that moment he was fucked, royally, up the ass with no lube nor warning beforehand.

(He likes a pre-warning countdown before he gets royally fucked in the ass)

You bicker more often then not about how to handle things and it ends with the enemy often getting away, which then becomes even more unnecessary bickering!

‘He got away! Again!’ You’d cry.

‘I’m not the one who wanted to talk all peace and love with the guy in hopes it would change him, this isn’t booktok little fetus!’ Wade would shout back.

‘You were going to kill him without finding out where the rest of them were based at!’ You screamed incredulously, waving your hands towards the twin guns in his gloved hands as though it wasn’t obvious enough.

‘You’re in time out.’ Wade said. ‘Go and sit in the taxi with Dopinder and think about what you’ve done!’

‘Fuck you, you ain’t my dad!’ - you

‘That’s it! No Mac and cheese when we get home!’ -Wade, crossing his arms.

‘I hate you wrinkle dick!’ - you shouting over your shoulder as you walked towards the taxi.

To anyone else It looked more like siblings fighting rather than a mentor and protege going at one another for the second fuck up that day.

While it may look like Wade doesn’t take anything seriously, if you were to get seriously hurt however, it was a different side of him entirely. He’s doing things that you have never seen him do before and just how terrifying he could be with how effortlessly he moved through the goons as though they weren’t shit before making it to your side.

Whether you can heal like him is up to you, but regardless Wade will make sure that your wounds weren’t too deep or too serious for him to handle. He didn’t want to see his protege hurt, not on his watch, you had very much became his child over the course of your time as mentor and protege, so much that he was finally allowing himself to sit with the feeling he had been having for a long while.

He cared. He really cared and it kinda scared him as how was he suppose to look after someone else when he couldn’t even look after himself? He didn’t want you to end up like him as he knew you could be greater but was too selfish to let you wander too far away from him, not without feeling that tug within his chest that told him to keep an eye out.

You never knew what you were getting with deadpool/Wade Wilson, he was unpredictable and chaotic but you wouldn’t want it any other way.

If you were to do anything that was too ‘Wade’ he would pretend to wipe a tear as you looked back at him with a smile as though you didn’t have blood on your face, and fake a sniffle.

‘That’s my little featus, I birthed them from my womb and now they just began to run with their tinny, stumpy baby legs.’

Wolverine next to him like: 🤨what the fuck are you on about-

Wade: shhhh, I’m being proud of my tiny creation, don’t ruin this for me with your toxic macho man brooding.

Needless to say you need to be a little bit mental to have someone like Wade as your mentor.

[themultifanshipper]

hiiii! i absolutely love your writing- could you maybe write something with oscar and logan x reader with reader and logan in subspace while oscar talks them through getting each other off? thanks so much!

also, could i be the ♥️ anon for your page?

It had been a tough week for all of you. You’d gotten a lot of hate in the media for seemingly dating two drivers, Logan was trying to piece together what was left of his career, and Oscar had a McLaren civil war of sorts to deal with.

But Oscar knew just how to give you all the perfect distraction.

Of course you can be ♥️ anon!

Warnings: smut, PinV, Sub Logan and Sub reader, Dom Oscar, slight subspace, facials and cum stuff (for a change lmao), edging

It had been hours (it had realistically only been about 30 minutes, but it felt like hours).

Your mind was starting to get fuzzy around the edges, and your body burned with the need for release.

Logan wasn't much better off.

He was writhing in your arms as he humped you relentlessly, the friction on your barely clothed core was driving you both insane.

You had long since soaked through your pathetic excuse for underwear and Logan's never ending river of precum definitely contributed to the wet slide of your bodies.

The two of you were completely lost in each other, chasing your pleasure as your minds floated serenely.

You were so close you could taste it. Just a bit more, just a couple more strokes and...

“Stop”

The order came loud and clear and the two of you wailed as you were forced to separate once again, the cool air against you making you shiver.

Logan heaved in a breath against your neck as Oscar held his hips firmly in place so that he couldn't rut his hips into you like he so badly wanted.

Fresh tears followed the tracks on your cheeks as you sobbed, clinging onto each other for dear life.

“please, Oscar” Logan cried out.

“S'too much!” you gasped.

Oscar just stroked your faces as you both calmed down enough to be able to hear his next instructions.

“You've both been so good for me, you deserve to come now.”

He helped you take your underwear off and lined Logan's cock with your sopping wet entrance.

“Go on Logan, you can fuck her, but she needs to come first, yeah?”

Logan panted like a dog as he entered you swiftly and immediately started slamming his hips against your like a man possessed. Oscar took mercy on you both and slipped a hand between your bodies to help get you off, by rubbing harsh circles into your clit.

You yelped and Oscar laughed at your fucked out state.

“Go on then baby, you were so desperate to come, now come on Logan's cock like a good girl.”

It didn't take more than a couple more thrusts for you to tumble over the edge, taking Logan with you as you panted and whimpered into each other’s mouths.

Once you were both properly sated after a few orgasms, Oscar sat at the edge of the bed and ordered the two of you to kneel in front of him.

He pulled his cock out and hissed, the tip angry and red at being neglected for so long.

“I'm not going to last long, my loves.” He started fisting his cock hard and fast “who wants my cum?”

You and Logan both whined and leaned in closer, cheeks touching and tongues out for Oscar.

The older man groaned and sped up his hand, so close to the edge already.

“You both want it?”

You and Logan nodded, eyes shining up at Oscar.

“So pretty for me on your knees, so good, fuck- shit!”

He came in spurts all over your joined faces, some of it landing on your tongue and you hummed at the taste.

Once Oscar was properly finished, Logan twisted his head and kissed you, sloppily making out with you and spreading Oscar's cum all over your faces.

“God... you two are gonna be the death of me” he groaned as he watched you hungrily.

Once you'd all cleaned up in the shower and crawled into bed together, you all felt at peace for the first time a while.

Their bodies were warm against yours, and you all fell asleep like that, wrapped up in each others arms.

It was all going to be okay.

[luveline]

Missing my zombie!steve husband 🫶🏻

quiet day at the camp… hope something bad isn’t brewing… zombie apocalypse au <3 fem, 2k

Steve loves the sound of the river, but he only allows himself a moment to lay down on the riverbank during laundry hours. 

You stand knee deep in the water with your pants and sleeves rolled up, the corrugated metal of an old shed roof that’s been repurposed into a washing board held to your chest. It was pointless to roll your sleeves up, you’re soaked to the bone, even your hair, but the summer sun keeps you warm. 

“Don’t get too hot!” you call. 

“I’m fine,” he says, unwilling to shout. 

“He’s fine!” Robin shouts from beside him. “Numbskull.” 

Steve stares at you, locking you in, so to speak, the nice shape of your hip and stomach, the mess of your wet hair. Tonight, he’ll help you fix it, but there’s no rush and no hurry to dry off while the sun is out, and the fences are up. He turns onto his stomach. Grass tickles his cheeks. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Robin asks quietly. 

“Fine. Can you tell me if she needs help?” 

“Sure.” He listens to the sounds of her moving, likely pulling the slim lengths of her legs against her chest to hug herself, the tan leaves of a book spread out just in front of her. 

Steve could really go for a cigarette. You swapped the last box you found for toothpaste, isn’t that how it always goes? You and Robin found a cheat code in the apocalypse, nicotine with a capital ‘N’. You swap Arctic chewable for socks without holes and boxes of Marlboro’s for the bathroom essentials. Everybody wants them, and you’re great at finding them. Steve never thought he’d crave a cigarette again considering he wasn’t addicted, having smoked for a couple of months in high school to feel cool with his friends, stopping when his mom asked him to. He doesn’t remember why. She’d asked, and he’d listened, as he used to do. Swim team, cross country, basketball, lifeguard training, mowing the lawn, not upsetting his father, taking out the trash, vacuuming, no drinking and driving; task after task after task. Some of it was easy. He liked doing the dishes, and he loved taking care of his mom even if she didn’t feel the same. 

Not that it matters now. Does it matter now? He’s never gonna see her again. She’s a memory. She’s a bad memory, most of the time. 

The more he reflects on it, he decides. She was a bit shitty, but she’s his mom, and she’s likely gone, so he’ll try to remember the cookies they made together and the way she’d smile at him after she tied his shoelaces before school. And also the mean fucking bitch she’d turn into when she drank two glasses of wine. 

“What are you thinking about?” Robin asks.

“That’s the wrong soap,” you say from the river. Your voice floats over the breeze. 

“Fuck off, soap is soap,” Eddie says, your not-so-new friend, Steve’s sworn enemy. 

“I’m just saying,” you laugh. “Look, I’ll wash, you rinse.” 

“I’m thinking about that time,” Steve begins, holding his hand out toward her, open but not expectant, “when my mom and dad came home early from his business trip in Missouri and found us sleeping together.” 

“I’d never heard your dad laugh before,” Robin says. 

“My mom really didn’t like you after that.” He smiles as she takes his hand. They were a lot more touchy, pre-apocalypse. He misses that sometimes. 

“I don’t even think she thought we were dating.” 

“She was disgusted.” 

“She said we were being weird teenagers.”

“I guess we were. I never had a friend like you before so maybe I can’t blame her,” he says. He has something special with you, you’re a best friend because you’re half of his heart, but Robin was his first proper best friend, and remains it. “I missed you a lot when we were stuck in Indiana. There were a ton of times where shit would go wrong and I would get mad at you because I knew you’d know how to fix it, but you weren’t there.” 

“You’d get mad at me?” Robin asks, squeezing his hand. “You jerk. Be mad at yourself.” 

“Can you wait for me next time?” he asks.

Robin’s quiet, then she laughs, “I’m nodding but you can’t see.” 

He wonders how she’s feeling. He admits to not doing that much in the past. Not that he didn’t think about how he made others feel, he was always worrying about that after Nancy, but he can’t say he thought of it in the moment. Steve forces himself to sit up and offer his arms for a hug, which Robin gladly accepts, her frazzled laugh on his neck as he pats her back. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

“You know Y/N says I’m possessive?” 

Robin leans away, fingers curled around his elbow. “You’re fighting?” 

“No, just. She says I’m possessive, that I get mad about, you know, my people.” 

“Right. Isn’t everybody?” 

“I never thought I did. I’m not, like, too proud most of the time.” 

“Steve, this is super introspective,” she says, frowning, smiling, a weird expression somewhere melding in the middle of happy and concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s fine if you’re not.” She laughs shrilly. “I woke up the other day and cried and then ten minutes later I felt fine. I’m far from okay.” 

Steve glances past Robin’s head to watch you in the river. You’re sitting down amongst the stones. It really isn’t too deep, water to your ribcage washing suds down to Munson, who’s smiling at you kindly, not smarmy or flirting, just smiling. 

“Why did you cry?” he asks quietly. 

“I missed my cousin, I think.” 

Steve curls his arm behind her head and encourages her in for a fiercer hug. 

“Think we should probably go help them,” she mumbles. 

He takes it for the brush off that it is; sincerity is too much to take, sometimes. If she wants to be evasive about it that’s okay, she already took the leap and admitted to getting upset. 

“I cried thinking about Y/N’s hands the other day,” he says. 

“Steve.” Robin rubs her eye with the heel of her hand. “I don’t even know what to tell you.” 

“What? I’m trying to show you I’m pathetic so you don’t feel bad.” 

“I know you’re pathetic, and I don’t feel bad.” She climbs off of the ground and brushes broken grass off of her legs. Steve climbs up next to her, nudging her with his elbow. “You’re mucho pathetic. It’s kind of crazy.” 

“I think I might try and drown him,” he says conversationally. 

“Why now?” 

“Why do you think?” Steve asks, toeing off his shoes and peeling off his socks, nearly pitching forward on the wet bank closer to the river.

You and Eddie look up as they approach from different spots of the water. Your smile at seeing him winds him for the thousandth time, just so happy to see him, so in love with you he doesn’t even know what to do for a few seconds. “Hey, honey,” he says, “can I help?” 

“Now you wanna help?” you ask, gesturing to your soaked front. 

You’re messing with him, and he doesn’t care anyways, you can talk to him like crap if you want to. He shuffles down from the mud of the riverbank and into the water, cold and wet like a shock against his ankles, softer as it climbs to his knees. You’re sitting where it’s more shallow, opposed to Eddie on his knees and almost drowning further down. He puts his hand on your wet shoulder and kneels down in the water beside you. “Wanna hug?” you tease. 

Steve hugs you. Doesn’t care that you’re soaking or that the water is freezing against his crown jewels, though he shivers by your ear, prompting your laugh like bubbles in his own. “It’s cold,” he says. 

“Freezing!” 

Not to be a freak, but he can feel your chest pressed to him, and he knows you get achy in the cold. He wraps his arms doubly behind your back and rubs at your sides. “How much laundry’s left?” he asks. “We’re gonna get hypothermia. Again.” 

“You didn’t get hypothermia,” you remind him, folding into his space. “Steve… is everything okay?” 

“Do I look mopey today? Robin just asked me the same thing.” 

“You don’t look mopey, but you’re being touchy. You’re cuddling.” 

“How am I not supposed to cuddle you, dummy? I’m keeping you warm enough to function right now. Without me you’d be an ice cube floating down the river.” He leans back to hold your face in one hand, your cheek under his thumb, water racing down his wrists and your neck. 

You push against his hand gently with your cheek. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

“What for?” 

For lots of things. “I didn’t realise how cold the water was. I would’ve come to help you.” 

“It’s fine. I scrub everything and then Eddie catches it. We’ve only lost one pair of underwear,” you say. “The river’s like a long washing machine.” 

“How much do you have left?” he asks. 

“Nothing. I was just about to get out.” 

“Couldn’t have told me that before I came to get you?” 

“No,” you say, lifting your chin. Not challenging, but close. It’s an offer, Steve decides, kiss me or don’t kiss me. You don’t seem to realise he doesn’t decide, he needs you. If you always wanted to kiss him, you’d always be kissing, all the time, everywhere. 

Steve gives you a quick peck. “Come on, let’s go set up the line.” 

You somehow, together, make your way back to the tents without freezing to death after throwing your clothes on a drying line between trees. It’s warm enough that stripping down to your skivvies is mildly pleasant (away from the eyes of the other campers). You get dressed in the softest clothes you own upon Steve’s insistence, sweatpants and a dark hoodie, three pairs of socks and the tent door left open, before he lays you down on the sleeping bag, and settles between your legs, his full weight bearing down on you, his face nestled in the damp crook of your neck. 

“I couldn’t kiss you the right way,” he confesses. 

“Why?” You pull mildly at the ends of his hair. 

“‘Cos I always want more than one kiss.” 

“That’s a strangely romantic way to say you wanted to make out with me,” you whisper. 

“It’s not like that,” he insists, even though he does want to, and he did in the river, and he does all the time.

“You’re getting kinda heavy, Steve,” you mumble. 

“What?” 

“It’s a good thing.” 

“How dare you.” 

“We got sorta frail for a bit.” You wrap an arm around his head, tip of your nose to his forehead. 

“Yeah. Lucky we’re in camp Eddie now,” Steve says. 

“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” you murmur, so close to sleeping Steve can tell. You just need a feeling of security to nudge you over the edge. 

“Lucky we’re together.” He climbs off of you slowly so as not to rouse you too much, kissing your slack cheek as he settles on your shoulder. “You and me. I don’t care where we are.”

He ends up falling asleep not long after you, lulled by the rhythm of your light snore. 

[narryffdreaming]

HI! HELLO!

RIO GRANDE DO SUL / BRAZIL NEEDS YOUR HELP, PLEASE 🇧🇷

Guys, I know my blog isn't big at all for me to be doing this, but after living some of the most devastating and scary days of my life I feel the need to at least try.

I hope I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure most of you don't know that the state of Rio Grande do Sul (Brazil) is going through the worst climate catastrophe in its history.

To give you some context, it started raining on Saturday (April 27th), and by Monday (April 29th) cities were already underwater. As days went by, and as rain didn't give us a single moment to catch a break, not only floods were a problem, but also multiple, huge landslides. By Wednesday (May 1st), it was like everything was falling apart around us. Everywhere.

Blackouts. No communication. No water supply. Brigdes collapsing. Roads washed out. Houses floating away. Animals drowning. People dying. Missing. Begging for help...

I mean, it's been a really long and painful week. There are so many videos and pictures that I could show you, and I still wouldn't be able to show and explain what we're going through.

Now, a week later (May 6th), we're still living this nightmare. Water follows the course of the river and it's like floods just move from one place to the other. On top of that, more rain is expected during the week.

So far*, out of 496 cities in the state, 341 cities have been somehow affected by all this. At least 78 people died, over 100 were reported missing, and at least 175 were injured. Also, over 134,000 people were forced to leave their homes behind, and most of them won't be able to return because houses aren't even there anymore.

So whilst we're doing our best here to help our people, volunteering ourselves and just doing whatever we can to try and start all over (cleaning up the streets and houses, making food, donating clothes and furniture, etc) we know there's only so much we can do without financial help. Which is why I'm writing this.

If you can, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE 🙏🏻 consider donating and helping us. Especially if you live outside the country — basically bc your money will be worth even more here, as you can see:

€1 = R$ 5,49 || €5 = R$27,46

US$1 = R$5,10 || US$5 = R$25,51

£1 = R$6,40 || £5 = R$32,00

And if you can't donate, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE 🙏🏻 at least just share and spread the word. You'll be already doing a lot for us!

We already went through something like this seven months ago (September/23) and we really, really need more international help/awareness now.

Official links for donations are listed here:

IF YOU'RE FROM BRAZIL: Link

IF YOU'RE FROM A DIFFERENT COUNTRY: Link

Also, if you want to know more about what's happening, you can start here: governo_rs || abcnews || G1 noticias

JUST PLEASE DON'T IGNORE THIS

—

*I wrote this post on May 6th, at 2am. Now it's May 6th, 11:30am (not even 10 hours later), and numbers have already changed: 345 cities have been somehow affected (+4), 83 people died (+5), 111 were reported missing (+11), 276 were injured (+101), over 141,000 were forced to leave their homes behind (+7k).

[luetta]

capturing angels is easy. snipe them from the skies, break their halos, and watch the divine light fade from their eyes as you turn them into fleshlights.

capturing a seraph is harder.

they live in the upper atmosphere, far beyond reach. luckily nothing grabs their attention better than desecrating nature. you’ll have one hovering above you the moment you start pouring oil into the river.

but they’re invisible, they don’t actually do anything. they just watch with seething rage. but you can tell where they are, if you look carefully at the ripples in the sky. and they can be speargunned like any other piece of meat, they’re not intangible.

but they’re fast. once they get hit they’ll try to fly away, faster than you can blink. but it’s against their code to break something holy. that’s why i soaked the speargun rope in the blood of that drunk priest. it simply can’t snap the rope.

it’ll try attack you now, lifting it’s veil of invisibility and showing you it’s form. it’s beautiful, it’s blinding. that’s why we wear these industrial goggles to block most of its rays.

after the initial blast of light, you can see it’s true form. a 3m tall body of white porcelain, with undulating red spirals flowing from her talons. 3 halos, 2 pairs of wings, 6 uncaring eyes. it tries to attack us, shred us to pieces. but with a few more unbreakable spears, she’s essentially pinned in place.

it lets out a screech, attracting other seraphs. they come, but they just watch from afar. the leaves of all the trees nearby shrivel up. putting 2 pikes into her main wings, she can’t move. turning her head to look at us like an owl, she starts to speak.

“SURRENDIPITY. AMALGAMATION. DESECRATION. VOLITION. QUINTESSENCE.”

it’s best to just ignore them during this part. and instead just focus on the halos. that’s the target.

striking it with tools - sparks flying off - it’s amazing how much these floating discs feel like they’re anchored in place. they simply don’t react. but that’s a boon in our favour, not theirs. it means, eventually, they’ll shatter. if they warped it’d be exponentially harder to destroy.

eventually, the first one breaks with the help of a winch attached to the truck.

the seraph starts to struggle against her binds now, strange new feelings of danger making it panic.

“LIGHT FLOW BEAUTY RESIST ERODE TRANQUILITY. WATER AIR SPLIT GROW RECEDE. MAPLE LIMESTONE WIND TIDE BLOOD.”

the second halo breaks.

“SMOKE FIRE WAR WAR WAR. SHARK DARKNESS DEATH. MISERY. BLOODSHED. FEAR. TERROR. ACID BLINDNESS DECAY.”

the last halo cracks, it’s about to give out. the seraph is straining against the spears, shaking, desperate emotion in her eyes.

“LOVE WISDOM HAPPINESS. JOY PROSPERITY ENDLESS. RAINDROPS. YOURS. OWNERSHIP SUBJUGATION FREEDOM. LOVE EMPATHY ENVY PLEASURE RESPITE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. HOSPITALITY. INTIMACY. MERCY.”

the halo shatters to a million pieces. the area is no longer illuminated by some unseen source. the ripples in the sky disappear, the watchers retreat, uninterested now. the scared creature is speechless, her eyes wide and unbelieving. dirt now sticks to her body, instead of just sliding off. flesh instead of ceramic. we take the spears out, but bind her with ropes much harsher now. she’s still has strength, but it’s no longer unfathomable like it was.

now she’s just another fallen angel, about to learn the one thing divinity lacks, and humanity excels in. physicality. we have a lot of breaking in to do before she’s ready to join the other angels downtown. or perhaps i’ll find a private, permanent buyer. something like this would probably fetch enough to let us get out of this shithole finally.

as we throw her into its new room, a cold, stone room, with hooks in the walls to attach chains to, she speaks again.

“hurt. sadness. freedom fear anxiety. lost indecision hubris. mercy pain silence. separation beauty uncountability. exploration … limitations. unknown darkness fear. ”

“don’t worry darling. we’ll have you singing again in no time.”

[astrologysaysno]

I saw this Tumblr post floating about on the world wide web and decided, "Hey, let's turn that into a Moshang AU"

Mobei is the heir of Northern Goods, a family-owned multimillion dollar company whose main stream of revenue is the sale and transfer of produce and other goods all across China. As Vice-President, he is the successor to his father, who is planning to step down within the decade or so and retire.

Mobei is a hands-on boss, actively participating in the process of harvesting and preparing to ship these products around the country and internationally, a family tradition to be as involved as possible in the process as to not forget their roots as humble farmers who resided in the desert.

That's all fine and dandy, it's why the turnover rate is so low in his company, their boss is competent in this field.

What Mobei isn't competent about is the more beaureaucratic type of business.

He has no real clue about how things such as accounting and the logistics that ensure that transportation and sale goes smoothly happen. Mobei isn't the business-suit on Wall Street type, he prefers to let his products and their quality speak for themselves.

So he hires a manager from the city to deal with it instead.

Shang Qinghua, a man who lives in the city since he was a child, gets hired by Mobei to as the Logistics Manager of Northern Goods. He snatches up the offer even if it means having to relocate to the countryside.

Plot follows, they fall in love, all that good tea.

Mobei is enamoured by this tiny (Shang Qinghua is not THAT short, Mobei is just very tall and well-built) little man that has somehow paved a way for Northern Goods to be stronger than ever.

Shang Qinghua is in love with his ever friendlier boss that actually understands the hardship and struggle of working out in the field as a farmhand, doing his best to ensure a better and more efficient environment for both the company and their workers.

Shang Qinghua one day decides to try his hand at this whole farming thing now that Mobei and him are closer, but Mobei refuses.

Shang Qinghua is a city man with a city boy constitution. He fears that such strenuous activity may actively kill the poor guy. SQH has worked at a desk and ONLY at a desk for his entire employment, filing taxes and filling forms for the company. Mobei would much rather have his man safe in the shade (hopefully entranced by his figure as he works) rather than having him sweat a river and dying of a stroke while gathering crops.

Shang Qinghua convinces Mobei to let him try anyways, stating he wanted to experience what Mobei experiences.

(If Mobei agrees and both of them use it as an excuse to spend more time with each other, that remains unsaid.)

What Mobei concludes that day is that Shang Qinghua is that the man has no upper body strength at all, but invested it all in his legs. When I tell you this man can run like the wind. Shang Qinghua would put a trackstar to shame.

After having to constantly run from one side of factories and fields to the other in order to stop someone from doing something dumb so many times, he's built up the cardio for extremely long distances without breaking too much of a sweat. He will need some melon seeds and a long nap afterwards, though.

(And if Mobei thinks about his legs every once in a while, he doesn't say a word.)

[slater-baby]

im a mess right now😞my dog just died…could you please write some comfort?

my dog had a heart disease but he was doing fine…but today he started throwing up blood…he got to the vet but it was too late…his little lungs were filled with blood….im devastated. i went to see his body and he looked like he suffered so much…the vet tried to bring him back but he didn’t….

tomorrow he’s going to be cremated 😞

hello, hon, I am so sorry to hear that your dog passed away <3 I'm sure your dog was loved just as much as family, and I'm sure he took that love with him when he passed. Here's some comfort for you ❤️ sending so much love and hope in your direction!

**small note: I wrote comfort over fluff, so it’s emotionally heavy. Sorry if you wanted something lighter!!

Broken, Together

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!Reader

Tags: slight blood and injury, hurt/comfort, reunion, fluff, confessions, flirting, implied sexual content, implied relationship, getting together, literally just straight tension between the two of them Word Count: 5.5k

-

“Hah—fuck,” you groan, not even bothering to mind your volume. Birds—what few of them were left—fly wildly from the tree next to you, running away from the pain of your shivering voice.

Let them, you think, resting your tired face against the plain of rock beneath you, There’s no helping this now.

The rain falls in merciless sheets, pelting you like miniature balls of ice with every minute of this miserable downpour. The river behind you is overflowing now, running red with untreated cuts and gloomy skies, and whirls around your dragging feet with every move, swallowing you up in muck. Listlessly, Scarlet trails of blood follow your path, but you can barely feel it pouring from the gash in your stomach.

You’d given up on walking a long time ago. Compared to the pain in your side, the fracture in your ankle was nothing, but they’re both a unique agony in their own right. You’d walked on the injury long enough, stumbling through the forest with your rifle and helmet. However, one wrong footfall had sent you tumbling down a cliffside, shards of rock and rubble imprinting themselves on every broken bone in your body—and not gently, either.

That had been half an hour ago. You’d barely made it a quarter of a kilometer since. 

The moss of the river bank tears into clumps within your grasp, washing away in the stream as you heave yourself up onto the bank. The scream you let out rings throughout the forest like a siren, and there was no doubt about it now: anyone who might have heard that would be coming soon enough. If they hadn’t trusted the sound the first time, they’d be running come the third.

Somewhere behind you, the war zone rages on. Dropping bombs paint the sky an eerie, smoke-shade of reddened blood. The nightscape is starless, hidden beneath a layer of dust and grime that not even the most powerful of telescopes could have seen through, but you look anyway.

Uselessly, you flop onto your back atop the river, unable to contain the tears of pain that leave you with the movement. 

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself once more, shakily setting your hand atop your bleeding cut. The treetops dance above you, swaying with every gust of the wind. It’s a gentle movement. Serene, almost. 

It’s not a bad place, you think idly, Wouldn’t mind staying here for a bit…or forever, at that.

Your lower body floats in the stream water. The rain washes away the dirt on your face. The searing pain of your injuries continue, but for the first time in days, you manage to take in a single, clean breath.

No one was coming for you. Your teammates had forgotten you—not that you blame them. If anything, you should be the sorry one. When the bombs had dropped and the five of you had been tossed in different directions, they were hardly the first thing on your mind—that’s not to say they were the last, however. Though, to claim that you’d even thought of them within the last twenty-four hours would be a stark lie. No, you were much too focused on your own dripping blood to do anything more than sit in the darkness and lick your wounds.

You sigh, trying desperately to find a star between criss-crossing tree branches, but your mind ranges on.

You didn’t come for them.

So they wouldn’t come for you.

If they aren’t already dead, that is, your mind helpfully supplies, Forty-eight hours alone, wandering through a war zone without backup and with no ammo reserves to speak of…better men had died from less.

Your fingers slip when another swathe of blood pours from the wound.

Well, at the very least, if they were well and truly gone, you’d probably be joining them soon, you smirk at the thought, Apologies can be saved for then…

The idea should have been a grim one, something that made your skin crawl and tears spring to your eyes. Yet, you find that it does the exact opposite. Instead, it falls over you like a worn blanket, painting yellow strings of warmth up your exhausted skin. An easy smile overcomes your face, and with little more to spare, you let your eyes fall closed, imaginary clouds swirling in the mass of darkness. Like that, you fade into the grass and rocks, fall away into the clutches of the earth underneath you, until it’s impossible to discern where the moss begins and where your camouflaged body ends.

Every breath is a trembling affliction, some sort of well-endured soreness. And for what seems like hours, you relish in the idea that soon enough, this will all be over. Soon enough, you really will fall back into the place you come from, back into the cradle of the distant star your very atoms were born inside of.

The moss is like a pillow.

The rocks feel like home.

The sky hangs overhead like a mobile, and with it, everything spins…

…and spins…

…and spins…

Until it doesn’t.

A loud snap resounds from the edge of the riverbank, and before you know it, something solid rams itself against your shoulder, falling headfirst into the stream at your feet. All at once, what feels like five hundred pounds of weight crushes down on top of you, replacing your comfortable end with a set of broken ribs instead.

“Fuck—,” you scream, automatically shocking into action despite the agony curling in your stomach. Uselessly, you try to push yourself back up the bank, but whatever—or whoever—just interrupted your reverie has a different plan.

A set of shaking hands grapple at your clothes, protruding from the water like a leering monster. They thrash though the waves, yanking you back down the rocky bay. You shriek as they pull your body into the water, nearly shoving you beneath the surface as they stagger to their feet. The shadow of them—the enormous, looming ink of it—consumes you when they emerge, haphazardly digging their claws into the collar of your uniform.

“Don’t—” they pant urgently, like they’d been suffocating mere seconds before, “Don’t you dare fucking move, you hear me?”

Flecks of water and spit rain down on you with his every word. Through the haze of your pain, you note that his voice is hollow and grisly, like he’d been choking up blood for hours before he came. With wide eyes, you clutch at his meaty forearms, trying to shove him away.

“Don’t fucking move!” He shouts again, jostling your body in his grip as he stumbles over his own two feet, “One more move, and I swear—swear to god, I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out.”

Something cold and wet is shoved up against your forehead. The barrel of the gun shakes with the force of his shivering. Between words, white plumes of breath fan over your face, and just barely, you can make out the shine of his irises through the fog of night.

“Woah—woah,” you tremble, limping lifting your hands in surrender, “I’m—I’m unarmed. Swear to god. I’m…fuck, I’m dying anyway. Couldn’t—couldn’t hurt you even if I tried…Swear it.”

For a few seconds, only the stunted sound of your shared breaths taints the air.

“I swear,” you whisper, like you still had anything left to plead for.

The man above you pauses, breathing deeply, and for a second, you take in the look of him. His face is…

Well, it’s a mess, to put it lightly. He’s covered in blood—watery rivulets of it—from bones to teeth, gathering in the slits of his gums. His lips are blue and split down the middle, front teeth broken crudely. His hair is matted with sweat and dirt, and mottled wounds cover his hollowed cheekbones. And his eyes are…Well, you can’t even see them. They’re swollen shut almost completely, a shade of purple so dark you might have mistaken it for black. Judging by the way his muscles contort around his words, he’s feeling every ounce of the violence inscribed upon his face.

“Just let me go,” you ask him gently, “Let me go, and—and I swear I won’t follow you. The allied FOB, it’s—” you point over his shoulder into the tree line, “It’s back that way…at least, I think. Whatever country you’re f-from, they’ll take care of you.”

The longer you continue speaking, the more skeptical the man becomes. Though, ‘skeptical’ might be the wrong word to describe it. If anything, he seems…confused. Shakily, he lowers the barrel from your forehead, and the purple skin around his eyes draws tight for a split second, almost as if he were trying to squint at your face.

“Rogue?” His voice is gentler this time, softer, “Rogue…is that you?”

At the sound of your callsign, your blood runs cold, brain shocking back to awareness.

“How—” you grab onto his forearm, ready to fight for your peaceful death if it comes down to it, “How do you know my name…”

A sharp breath escapes him, and all of a sudden, he’s holstering his gun, grabbing you under the arms to haul you up. His broken lips curve into a hazy smile.

“‘Cause—’cause it’s me, Rogue!” he huffs, a shivering laugh following the noise, “It’s me, Ghost.”

At that, you force your eyes to open impossibly wider. Puzzled, you squint at his ravaged face, fingers tightening around his wrist.

“Ghost?” You furrow your brows, “You’re not—you’re not Ghost. Ghost doesn’t show his…”

“Rogue, just—just look.”

He reaches down towards his belt, haphazardly sinking to his knees in the muck when your weight becomes too much for him to support. Like that, both of you fall back into the freezing lap of the stream, an odd peace overcoming you. It takes him a minute to find it. However, soon enough, he pulls a sheet of sopping, black fabric from under the surface, shakily holding it up in front of his face.

There, against a muddy background, stands that familiar white skull. It’s chipped around the edges and somewhat sad looking, what with the water. Yet, there’s no denying it. That’s Ghost’s mask, the same one you stared at over a hand of playing cards or over a couple drinks at the bar. Instantly, his hands hardly feel like chains around your wrists anymore.

“Ghost?” You huff, sitting up with more strength than you can remember having in the past forty-eight hours.

The man—Ghost—can’t contain the smile that overcomes him, not even when you’re sure the pain of it must be blinding.

“Yeah,” he answers happily.

“Ghost!” 

Without even thinking, you grab him around the strap of his vest, yanking him into a tight hug. The water pushes in between your bodies, in between your beating hearts, and yet, his warmth sustains you. It survives you. You, with your cold hands and trembling body. Him, with his warm chest and blue lips.

“Holy shit,” you laugh into the crook of his shoulder, feeling more alive than you have in days, “How did you—Fuck, where have you been? Are you hurt? How are you?”

“Fuckin’ better now that I found you, love,” he chuckles, locking his arms around your waist. You can feel him resting his chin against your shoulder, stubble scraping over your cheek. It’s weirdly close, to feel him like this—to feel his arms, chest, cheek, and smile bleeding life back into your body after you’d gone so long without it.

“God, me too,” you exhale, relaxing inside of his grasp. You’d never considered it before, but something inside of the way that he holds you—like he’d sincerely missed you all these hours—is so comforting you can’t even begin to describe it. No, you can only melt into it, counting every beat of his heart as they come and go against your sternum.

“You’re…” Another sharp breath; this time, worried, “You said you’re dying…?”

His arms weaken around your body, almost like he wanted to pull back and look at you, but you don’t let him. Instead, you hook your arm around the back of his neck, pressing him into your shoulder. Some part of you—small and nagging—doesn’t want even an inch to separate you any longer.

“I—I don’t know,” you shake your head stupidly, some dumb smile on your face, “I guess…I thought I was. It definitely felt like it. But I’m not so sure anymore. God, now that you’re here, I…”

Your words trail off, their meaning too heavy for you to shoulder alone. Unconsciously, your fingers tangle in the hairs at the base of his neck, and you squeeze them lovingly, chest stuttering with a sort of happiness you never thought you’d feel again. 

Unwillingly, you can feel as tears gather in your eyes. They burn against your freezing cheeks when they fall.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Ghost,” you whisper, voice trailing off into a small cry. 

He doesn’t say anything—he can’t. The only response to your words is the way that his muscles tighten, the way that his chest rises and falls rapidly when he pulls you in all the harder, holding you steadfast against his thrumming pulse point.

“Me too, love,” he rasps, voice choked, “Me too.”

For a minute, it all fades all. From the fires raging in the distance, to the death you thought was waiting so near, they all fall limply in the face of your embrace—in the face of the emotions coursing through you.

Maybe you wouldn’t die here.

You didn’t want to die here.

Not anymore.

Not now that you have him.

Not anymore.

“Fuck,” you pull back with a sniffle, crudely wiping snot away from your face. You reach out with your dirty hands, gently cupping his swollen cheeks. He winces at even the smallest touch, instinctually grabbing your wrist to lighten your touch.

“Where have you been?” You ask with a grimace, looking at his battered body, “Are you dying?”

“No,” he chuckles, but it cuts off into a small grunt. He drops his face, tucking the mask under his belt, before reaching up a finger to play at the cut of his split lips.

“Hope not,” he huffs gleefully, lifting his face into the light for you to look at, “Probably got a pretty good concussion going on. Head sure fuckin’ feels like it. But…I think m’alright.”

You nod, pulling your hand away from his cheek to run it through his buzzed hair, checking for cuts along his scalp.

“You don’t look like it,” you joke, “I mean, I’ve never seen your face before, but…I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that.”

At that, Simon laughs heartily, not even trying to resist the grin on his pale lips any longer.

“Yeah, that,” he sighs, running a hand over his jaw, “After the first fire run, I ran into the tree line. Wasn’t much cover anywhere else, so I figured that was the best shot at survival—and I wasn’t wrong. Only problem was that I was running in the wrong direction,” a grim countenance overcomes him for a minute, “Ran East for just a minute too long, accidentally ran straight through their bloody lines. For what it’s worth, the bastards didn’t notice me for a few hours…but, once they did…”

He sighs, rolling his eyes—like this were all just some stupid inconvenience for him instead of a life-threatening injury. You resist a laugh. Simon was like that, always confident in himself and his abilities, even when one simple mistake could prove so deadly.

“Some prick from Kortac thought it’d be a right laugh to get a look under the mask…paid for it with his life. But, not after he banged me up good,” he continues, “He tried to smash a rock over m’head, but couldn’t manage it, so he brought my head to the rock instead. That was yesterday. The swelling’s flared up pretty bad, and when I tried to put the mask on, the faceplate felt about two sizes too small…”

He huffs, looking down at his sodden mask.

“Figured I’d rough it for the night,” Simon chuckles, “Hasn’t been too bad. Mask woulda gotten in the way, anyway. M’eyes are so swollen I can barely fucking see…Didn’t even know you were there ‘till I tripped right over you.”

He looks down at your body and at the swirls of red blood cascading through the ripples around you.

“Sorry about that, by the way,” he breathes, reaching down to idly put pressure on your seeping wound.

“It’s alright,” you grit, hurriedly grabbing a hold of his shirt at the sudden sensation, “Better—than the fucking stab wound, I’ll tell you that…Though, you could do to lose a little weight, LT. Swear to god you almost cracked a rib when you fell on me like that.”

“Well,” he snarks, “Noted, love. Guess I won’t be on the cover of Vogue anytime soon, anyway. Not with a face like this, at least.”

“Exactly,” you giggle, but it quickly turns into a pained gasp when his fingers pull the two sides of your flesh back together. You writhe in the water, curling into his chest in some vain attempt at hiding yourself from the pain.

“You good?” He asks absently, rubbing over your stomach without hardly batting an eye at the way you cling onto him.

“I’ve been better,” you mewl, eyes wrenched shut, “Still—still not sure I’ll ever do better, though…”

“Don’t say that—”

“Ghost—”

“I said, don’t say that,” he scowls (or, well, as much as he can with his bruised façade), “Not yet, at least. I won’t let you.”

For a moment, all you can do is sit there against his chest, looking at where the scant moonlight phases through the colors of his blonde stubble. Although his face isn’t a pretty sight at the moment, you can’t help but memorize it, running your eyes over his each and every detail, like you were looking at him for the first time all over again.

“You promise?” You ask hesitantly, grabbing onto the back of his collar.

“I promise,” he answers without a second thought.

At that, you take in a low breath, before nodding in response. The hand against your stomach tightens for a beat—a token of reassurance—before he’s shifting on his knees.

“Here,” he huffs, getting his feet underneath himself, “Over that hill, you see it? There’s an overhang. Might give us a bit o’ cover from the rain.”

“Okay,” you follow listlessly, hooking your arm around his neck. However, just when you begin to come to your feet, the crackling bones in your ankle <em>scream</em> in protest. Limply, you fall against him.

“Fuck,” you grunt, looking down at where your feet disappear in the water, “Stupid legs…”

“Can you walk?” He huffs, stumbling over his own two feet. It nearly sends the both of you tumbling back into the water. Mentally, you chuckle at the pitiful image the two of you must make.

Maybe that concussion was worse than he was letting on, you raise your brows, staring at his grisly face.

“Far enough,” you reply instead of speaking your mind, carefully curling your hand around his back. Although your strength is marginal, even just the suggestion of your touch seems to straighten him up—enough to get onto the bank of the stream, at the very least.

“Good, ‘cause—” Simon’s voice peaks on your first step, a deep, hollow noise escaping him, “‘Cause once we’re there, m’not sure how much longer I can—bloody stand.”

“Right—back at you...” You grit, wrenching your eyes shut with another blistering step.

-

Fire-starters were a fickle thing, you’d learned.

Especially in the rain.

“Damnnit,” you curse, scowling down at fingers once more. The rain had done a number on Simon’s dwindling supplies, and none but a single fire starter remained. Good thing he was a heavy smoker, otherwise you’d have to light this fire caveman-style.

Yeah, you take a deep breath in, Maybe you could lay off all the warnings about lung cancer…it all seems like a trivial fucking problem in the face of this.

“Here,” Simon weakly shuffles closer, jacket halfway down his arms.

He pries the lighter out of your hands, flicking his thumb across the wheel. Without further persuasion, the flame blinks to life, a stark burn against your frozen skin.

“Fuck—!” Simon’s arm jerks, and he hurriedly covers his eyes, nearly dropping the lighter against the ground.

“Woah—you okay?” You yank the lighter out of his hand, hurriedly nestling the sparks against the kindling. It goes up in flames (thankfully) hardly a second later.

“Yeah, s’just—” he furiously rubs over his eyes with the palms of his hands, shoulders tight in agony, “The light is just…This—fucking headache won’t go away…”

“Ghost,” you shuffle closer to him, wrapping your arm around his shoulder, “Maybe you should lay down for a minute. I’ll—I’ll finish setting everything up, and we can figure things out in the morning.”

“No—no, Rogue, I won’t fuckin’ leave you by yourself,” he rakes a hand through his hair, under-eyes blackened and tired, “You’re hurt, too. That cut needs cleaned and dressing—and don’t you dare fuckin’ tell me otherwise.”

At that, you snap your mouth shut, swallowing the very words he’d just predicted. His eyes are woefully deadpan beneath all the swelling.

Gotcha.

“Ghost, you’re just as bad,” you come closer, holding his shoulders.

“Don’t say that,” he pulls your hand off of his shoulder, clutching it in front of his chest, “Don’t compromise yourself for me just because of a stupid little—”

“I’m not compromising myself—”

“I said no, okay? So just—”

“Ghost, your face is fucking purple right now—”

“And that’s okay so long as I know you’ll make it through the fucking night!” He whisper-yells, voice strained, like even the act of talking were painful in and of itself, “This headache can last as long as I know that you’ll last, okay, love? You get what I’m saying? Do you understand now?”

With every word that he speaks, his fingers curl tighter and tighter around your own, until you’re sure the shaking in your frame is from the blistering way he melds your skin and not the frigid winds whipping up your back. Unbidden, you’re speechless, and eventually, his voice dwindles into nothing. However, his hold remains.

“Ghost…” you begin, but you don’t know how to continue. His breath materializes like falling snowflakes between the two of you, and from his height, he curls over you closer.

“You remember what I said back then? That night at the bar?” He leans his face down, forcing you to meet his eye.

Your breath hitches at the mention, a glowing heat gathering in your cheeks. You barely have the bravery to raise your lashes to look at him, but when you do, he remains the same, bloodied man that he’d always been.

“I’m done letting you think that you’re unimportant, Rogue,” he whispers, his very words woven into the plains of your skin, “Not to me. Not to any of us. I’m done. Do you hear me?”

Shakily, you nod your head, looking down at your intertwined hands. Something inside of you—small and fragile—revels in the heat of his skin, and yet, another part of you shudders in the shadow of it. The cast of its unfamiliarity. The way that he touches you. The way that he speaks to you. The thoughts you know he has of you…and your own inability to muster your bravery.

“Let me take care of you. For once,” he continues, pleading.

Briskly, you swallow, closing your eyes. His scent wraps around you like a blanket, and with shivers running up your spine, you submit to the uncertainty of it. To a man whose face you’d never seen before…to a man whose lips you hardly remember the taste of.

Unwittingly, your brain thinks back on that night in the bar.

Kentucky bourbon.

Slurred dialogue.

Linen sheets. 

Dripping sweat.

The truth of him—one that you didn’t even know had existed…

God, you remember the way he tastes. In the recesses of your drunken memories…

Lime and hops. Stringent alcohol and cigarette smoke. Victory, virility, vitality and all of their counterparts. It was wasted on you. Or, at least, you thought it had been. Ghost, on the other hand, had never given up quite so easily.

“Simon,” you say for the first time in months—for the first time since that night. His chest stills against you.

“Then,” you press your hand to his sternum; it looks inconsequential against the mass of him, “Let’s do it together. Take care of each other, I mean. Can we do that?”

You look up at him from where you sit, shadowed beneath everything that he is. Through the darkness, you can see the way his jaw grinds for a few seconds, before he gives in.

“Only if you let me make the first move,” he huffs, a small smile overcoming his lips.

You can only scoff, eyes dropping back onto the ground between your legs. Blood rushes to your face, and your fingers fidget against his chest.

“Don’t you always do that?” You quip under your breath.

“Well,” he shuffles closer, gently grabbing your shoulder, “You tell me, love. Was that night in the  bar a one-off or…?”

“Simon,” you keel forward with an embarrassed laugh, looking over his shoulder instead of his face, “You—you can’t just say things like that…”

“Why?” he turns his head, lips brushing against your cheekbone. His fingers fumble at your collar, painting shivers into your being with every brush of your touching skin. The sound of the zipper is stark when he begins to edge it downwards, “Afraid you might like ‘em?”

At that, you don’t even have the strength to make a joke. No, you hook your arms around his neck, placing your chin on his shoulder while he slowly opens your jacket. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” this time, he presses his cheek into yours; it’s so dreadfully, beautifully warm, “But I know you’ll listen.”

His words are like a balm, distracting you even when his fingers begin to pluck at the hem of your shirt.

“Can I push it up?” He asks you gently, “Just enough to clean the cut. I won’t look if you don’t want me to. I swear.”

“Why?” You mumble, hiding your face in the crook of his shoulder like that might give you more bravery, “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before…”

“Trust me, love, I remember,” he shifts on his knees, nose brushing your hair, “But I know how you get about that stuff…All delicate ’n whatnot.”

“M’not delicate,” you giggle, even as something cold and wet presses into your bloodied stomach.

“You’re not,” he replies mindlessly, “But you felt that way. That night.”

That night.

Your skin bristles viscously at the thought, but even more viciously at the feeling of his fingers holding your wound closed. Instead of focusing on the pain, you try desperately to lose yourself in the memory of it, of how his bare skin had felt against yours that night. He doesn’t see it, but you can’t help but smile dreamily at the thought of it.

That night.

God, that night.

You were younger than him. Callow, too. Half the time you felt like some bloodless kid standing next to the rest of them. Unintelligent. Unimportant. The charity case that somehow made it to the big leagues. 

Of course you’d always had eyes for Ghost—who wouldn’t—even before he’d dropped the pretenses and admitted that he thought of you as friends. You still remember the night he’d finally told you. You’d nearly drove yourself insane with all of the swirling thoughts that had swallowed you up when you’d laid down for bed.

After that, you felt like a teenager writing his name in the margins of her diary, in looping hearts and gel pen. 

He was so far above you, and you, so beneath him. By all means, you were nothing to him.

Until that night.

Until you were in your cups, falling off of your barstool.

Until he pulled up his mask to take another drink, and you saw his smile for the very first time.

Until the boys went home and only you remained.

Until he pulled you close and told you that he thought you were beautiful—that he thought you were everything.

Until the only thing you could sense was the whiskey on his breath and the slick heat of his sweaty hips pumping back and forth between your legs.

Swallowing, you pull your fingers into his jacket, holding onto him like he might disappear into the very earth that had encompassed your tomb not an hour ago.

That night, you weren’t some small thing any longer. You weren’t some crushing high-schooler or immature teenage girl. You felt like the woman you’d finally become, the one you swore he’d made you.

If only you could’ve had the courage to look him in the eye and admit to all of it in the months that’d followed…

“I think you’re delicate,” you murmur in the swathe of his shirt, “Not back then, but now…”

You pull back, cupping his jaw. His skin and taut and thin, mangled and grisly. You can tell that the singular point of contact is agonizing to him, but he doesn’t resist it. No, he lets you hold him there, even when a wince works its way up his throat.

“Is that how I seem to you?” He asks, breathing you in.

“Simon, like this…” you follow the marks with your eyes, from his chin to his hairline, “With everything that’s happened to you…I guess, I thought you were invincible, but…”

Listlessly, your hands drop to his collarbones, plucking at a loose string on his shirt.

“But you’re fragile,” you whisper, lips brushing against his chin, “Human.”

The words are chock full of some unspoken emotion, something that had been boiling inside of you for so long, but had never quite managed to spill over. Until now.

“I guess that I…” you take a deep breath in, “I guess that I thought I couldn’t hurt you. That nothing could. And…I’m sorry for that, Simon. For thinking that of you.”

When you raise your head, he looks deep into your eyes, into the flickering shadows and dancing firelight. They burn his senses, grate on his nerves, rip out his heartstrings—and yet, he remains still. Fighting, still.

“Rogue, listen…”

He pulls his hand from underneath your shirt, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you close. When your bodies meet, when his chest becomes flush with yours, hips nestled just above yours, a warmth you’d nearly lost in that freezing stream returns to you. Everything you’d felt that night—the night when you’d finally done right by yourself and by him—comes rushing back, just as jarring as the headache that rocks his world.

“Everything out here—everything that’s happened…” he speaks, “The light, the sound, the people, this world—they hurt me…but you don’t. You never have. Never could.”

Transfixed, you push your hand into the pocket of his jacket, pulling him closer.

“I promise you, love,” he whispers, “Nothing you’ve done, nothing you’ve said has ever done that to me. You’ve a kind heart. A soft one.”

The words are raspy and low, a salve or medicine.

“Sometimes, though, I just wish you’d hurry up and give it to me,” he chuckles, though it quickly transforms into a wince.

At that, you can’t help but chuckle too, muscles tightening around his comforting embrace. Here, the world is just as peaceful, just as calm. It’s just as serene as the stream or woods, just as bright as the furthest shining stars. But unlike the rest of this world, you don’t want to leave it. Not now. Not yet.

“Then…” you swallow the emotions in your throat, “Would you mind waiting for me for just one more night?”

His chest rumbles with a hearty laugh, his big palms sliding over the curve of your back.

“Hardly,” he answers, “As long as tomorrow comes, I’ll have you. I promise.”