#captain or pilot are some of those | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ridingtorohan · 4 days ago

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hey!! i saw ur recent post about the tulpar crew walking in on reader touching themselves, could u do the same but vice versa?

Ask and ye shall receive!

𓇻 ft. tulpar crew x gn reader

𓇻 content. 18+ content, minors dni. possible second hand embarrassment. masturbation, sexual propositions, the whole shebang. this is a sequel to this post. this one can definitely be read on its own though. lightly implied that reader didn't accept swansea or daisuke's offers in the prequel but that can be left up to interpretation. jimmy's definitely happened though.

𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, reblog, or send in asks!

‎‏‏�� ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎Masterlist - Want to Join my Taglist?

Curly is just so damn tired. Tired of the reports, faxes, checking the straps in the cargo bay. One of the few downtimes he gets is when he can sit and watch the constellations pass on the common room monitor. The Augira, Constantine and Mitena were all ones that he recognized from this sect of the system, all penned from the eyes of Saturn and further.

Movies are a scarce commodity on the screen, given Jimmy's track record of not wanting to hook the systems up, but it helps him nod off most times.

Working out, though? Working out he can do. Pony Express has given him permission to bring his weights on board, alongside a slew of magazines and audiobooks to listen to.

While Curly doesn't think of himself as a gym rat, those moments to himself are some of the best. Nothing but the burn of iron, the strain of his muscles with each rep. It's methodical work, one that sets his mind at ease and off of reports for once.

Some days, he can get Jimmy in on the action, but most of the time his co-pilot bemoans it. Each time they worked out, the stretches between the next session grew longer.

He's pleased when you agree to attend a few sessions with him. By then, it's almost amicable between you two, as if him walking in you didn't even happen. He's very much acted the part of a dutiful captain, though, he can't help his own eyes from wandering when he sees you stretch. Can't help himself from putting his hands firmly on you when he goes to correct your stance. It doesn't linger, doesn't wander, but goddamn, does he wish he could throw propriety out the window.

It's after one of his solo workout sessions when he chooses another way to unwind. Really, that's the only explanation for it. One that he tells himself anyway, because the strain of propriety is heavy. If he still thinks of you from time to time, if your face crops up in his thoughts while he touches himself, that's his business.

The only places you'd catch him in the act is either in the bathroom or his room.

Curly has always been imaginative, thoughts trailing to roads not travelled, paths that burn out of sight. Of you, sprawled out on the bed, and how he wished he had stayed. How he'd have given anything to hike your legs over his waist and kiss you senseless when he slid against you.

As it always is, every fantasy comes to an abrupt end. Every night that he had dreamed of walking in to find you waiting, you found him. Wifebeater drenched in sweat, towel draped over his shoulders, every line of his well built body on display, hand fisted around his cock.

There's a difference between wishing you'd walk in on him and actually receiving it.

A painful, terse moment lingers between you two, tension so thick he swears he can cut it. His hand completes the motion, wiping from his base to the tip, each breath deep. Despite how uncomfortable he felt (for more than one reason), he also felt more prepared. "Hold on a minute." He'll cover himself, boxers and uniform hiding himself from view.

If you believe you could flee from the room without Curly following you, you're dead wrong. He'll track you down, put this to bed once and for all. He'll catch you, half-dressed in his uniform, blue workwear draped around his waist, hand against the wall. "We have to talk about this."

Regardless if you stay or leave, not talking about it is no longer an option. You've both seen more of each other than was warranted, then what you both signed up for, but dammit he wants this. And he's so tired of shying away from things that he wants. From the person that he wants. All because of some higher-ups sitting cozy back home saying that it's wrong to do. He can't do it anymore, not when he feels like he's on the cusp of something great for once in his life.

"I know that what happened isn't what either of us expected," he'll start, voice low and perhaps far too sensual to be appropriate considered his half-dressed state. "And frankly, we can keep it to ourselves, pretend we never saw it." Biting the bullet is one of the fewest things he's done in life, but this is something that he wants to do. By fractions, Curly leans in closer, his voice entering a low murmur. "But... it doesn't have to be. We could give each other a.. hand, so to speak."

Routine. That's one thing that the Tulpar is good at. Routine. Each meal time, the rigid necessity of clocking in and out on time, even bathing. Pony Express may be a shit machine but it's well oiled, worked raw by the people under it. Delivering the payload is a smooth easy task because they all work on it together.

Part of that routine is shift work. Jimmy, ever the night-owl, works evening and night shift. This makes it so incredibly easy to avoid him if you wanted, especially since he walked in on you tending to yourself.

But he doesn't let you forget it. Since that moment, there's a smoldering heat in his gaze, eyes hooded as he watches you go about the room. Watched as you did your tasks, always standing too close - enough that you can get a whiff of his woodsy cologne, or feel his arm against yours.

He's almost helpful, even when your tasks really don't necessitate the need for another. His hands linger, hot against your uniform, his hips against the back of yours whenever he steadied you, or reached above you. Each word a rumble in his throat.

Except there's never really any change to talk to him about what happened. Not when every moment is tense, fraught with unresolved desires and need. Not when Daisuke or Curly walk into the room, silencing the burning questions and words that haunt your lips. Jimmy seems especially disgruntled about the interruptions, getting almost snappy towards the other crewmembers.

All in all, you rarely have a moment to speak with him. It's the furthest thing from your mind when you step out of the shower, more than eager to collapse face first into bed and sleep the weariness away.

If you're the sort to bring clothes into the washroom to change into, the absence of them is noted fast. No amount of scrounging around turns them up either. At a loss, it's to your sleeping quarters to wrangle up something else to wear.

Except you're very much not alone the second you step into your door. The door swishes behind you but you're effectively grounded, eyes drawn to the man lounging on your bed.

His head is tilted, messy hair falling across his hooded eyes, a dark and smoldering look to them. A slow stretch of a smirk crawls across his face, a pleased look darting into his eyes.

Jimmy is just as bare as the day he was born, an arm languidly thrown over your pillow. A leg bent up, not at all coy about having himself on display. His other arm is resting against his thigh, one hand smoothing along his flushed cock in a slow, slick motion. His fingerstips are all but slathered in precum - or actual cum, as you might suspiciously think when you look at your clothes haphazardly thrown onto the floor, looking sticky.

"There you are. Took you long enough." He breathes out your name, chin tilted upward, something primal lurking deep in his eyes. Jimmy clicks his tongue, ever the disapproving copilot. "You should know better than to keep someone waiting." Despite the curt, wanting tone to his words, he doesn't move towards you. Letting you go to him. Like he knows you will.

"I've been thinking," each word is low and deep, husky in his mouth. Jimmy's hand very much doesn't stop moving, stroking himself as you're rooted to the spot. Whenever you glance down between his thighs, his smirk deepens. "That you owe me for what I did for you."

It's not like you could dance around the topic forever; each touch, every interrupted conversation, it all would have culminated to this. Jimmy waiting for you, eager to put his hands back on you, to feel you tremble and shudder beneath him as he pulls you apart.

The thing was, you realize, it'd be terribly easy to leave him here. To not respond to his advances. The door was to your back and even Jimmy had enough sense not to walk out nude in pursuit of you. It'd be easy to walk to another crewmate's quarters and pilfer clothes. It'd be laughed off, brushed under the rug just as another incident, excused as you being unable to enter your room because of 'technical difficulties'.

The thing is, though, you can clearly remember how his hands felt, the way he moved. How Jimmy watched you with the same intensity now, his eyes a dark promise of a repeat experience, if not more.

You don't really want to refuse such an offer, do you?

Try as Anya might, she can't get the image of you out of her head. The sounds you made, how your hands moved. She'd tried to be civil, though how quickly she averts her gaze and fidgety hands betray how much it affected her. Nerves, she'd try to excuse it. Nothing ever related to you, of course, because that sounds too much like blame. She blames herself for walking in on you masturbating, and blames herself for wishing that she hadn't left.

But by god, did it make her needy and so sexually frustrated. She's found every excuse under the sun to touch you then jerk back, at war with herself. She has to act professional. Doesn't she?

Something about you, seeing you like that, had coiled something burning inside of her. Something hot, that festered low in her gut.

For the most part, she can act professional. Mostly. But she can only get so far from letting her eyes trace your silhouette, from sitting on her leg whenever you talk to her. It's risky business, even riskier when she decides to keeps a few tokens of yours. Things that smell like you, even distantly - papers, a bracelet. Things that you've lent to her before.

It's been a while since she got laid, since she's even been attracted to anyone. But something about you just sets her on fire, burning with want and need. She needs you like she's never needed anyone before.

Realistically, Anya knows it's because of the forbidden nature; because of the close proximity day in and day out, but there's something so tantalizingly beautiful about it too. She's a sucker for it.

One of her favourite places to get off is in the medbay; she can lock herself in it - but she doesn't. Because it's so much more tantalizing when she thinks about you walking in. When she thinks about pressing you against the desk and using her medical expertise on you. She wants to hear you - taste you - feel you. Is that too much to ask for?

That's exactly where you catch her. Her breath coming out in hot breaths, eyes shut tightly, uniform pulled open. It'd be so easy to mistake it for something else, such as the room being hot - if it weren't for where her hands were.

One has all but ridden up her shirt, rolling the peak of her breast between her fingers. The zipper has gone all the way down to her waist, one hand curled tightly in her underwear, motions jerky as she fingers herself.

Every inch of her wishes that it was you, your fingers working her over, touching her clit and prodding at her walls. She feels so close, having edged herself for a bit until you came in.

It was just to ask her her input on supper, or for a nonsensical question that very well could have waited for another moment.

The door swishes shut behind you and her eyes flutter, dark as she looks up at you, flush all but crawling up her neck.

Seeing how you look at her - how you came to look for her- needing her for something, a question halfway on your lips - and it's her undoing. She moans your name, guttural and hoarse, hips jerking, dripping over her knuckles. "Wait-" Singlehandedly one of the better orgasms she's had, better than when she pined endlessly.

When her senses come back, Anya is breathless and shaken - and you're long gone.

She's not letting you go this time. Not when a new, burning question lodges inside her. Did you like what you see? Did you wish you weren't there?

Anya approaches your door at night, knocking crisply and when you grant entrance, she stands there, the atmosphere almost palpably awkward. She takes a few steps closer, feeling flighty and desperate, eyes searching your face, whispering your name.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she whispers, voice low in the room, nerves biting at her throat. She can't not know anymore. "But I'm... glad that you did."

"Is this.. tension between us all in my head, or, do you want me too?"

It's one thing after the next. Couplings came loose, Daisuke's homework is not up to par, the lightbulbs need to be changed but no one seems capable of doing it. It all amounts to a sort of frustration winding up in him. Swansea has enough grace not to lash out at anyone, but it's there, palpable in his tone.

By some saving grace, you're willing to help him out with his work. Passing over screwdrivers and wrenches, new copper wire as he needs it. Swansea has noticed that you're attentive and eager like that; willing to help. Sometimes, he really wished you were his intern instead of Daisuke, not that he blames the kid.

He really needs a damn beer.

Wanking out his frustrations as a teenager and young adult had really suited him just fine, and with each passing day, it becomes a far more likely possibility.

It surely does not help when every little moment with you feels charged. Knuckles brushing when you supply him with mechanic tools, or when his arm brushed against your thigh as he steadied the ladder for you.

Swansea finds his gaze lingering.. on how your uniform bunches, the sway of your walk, the excited chatter to your tone when you've launched into some spiel or other. Each look he gives you is in quiet contemplation, though perhaps not as obvious as to why.

He's long since brushed off your curious questions.

It's when Anya outright slipped and fell over an oil spill that Swansea called it quits. There's only so many small annoyances that he could take before it became a hazardous snowstorm.

After it's suitably cleaned, he tried to find a place to tuck himself away. Keyword: tried. Something else always needed to be fixed, and he had enough years under his belt to know the ins and out of everything. Leaky faucet? Hold his glass. Vaccuum given up? He's got it. Curly, goddammit, he has it.

It's so grueling to find a moment of peace, so he takes what he can. That just so happened to be in the utility room, frustrations to a boiling point.

He knows his body, knows just the right way to stroke himself, the perfect amount of pressure. Learned it long since his youthful days, since his amicable divorce from his wife. Sure, it might feel mechanic at a certain point, but to him, it was a small reprieve. A getaway that only booze came close to.

Foreskin pulled back, his head is tucked low, eyes heavily lidded, fingertips pressing under the tip of the head just like he likes.

Swansea has himself sticky with precum when the utility door rattles and open. "Swansea, I found your keys-"

His eyes track up, eyebrows raised. Whatever hasty attempt you may have made, it's blocked by the aging mechanics of the utility door. It's from an older rig, one that still uses keys instead of the security bars that the medbay and cockpit use. Which means it's faulty as shit.

He sighs, head tipped back, eyes still on you. "That's on me for not leaving a sock out there," he grumbles, voice gruff and husky. A reference to how he told you to ward off people when he caught you masturbating earlier.

Moving his hand from his cock, his gaze is surprisingly steady, arm draped against the back of the chair. "Listen, kid, I won't say shit about this if you don't. Keep it jammed tight better than a olive jar when making margaritas. But." He rolls his neck, feeling a satisfying crack run through him. "I can show ya a few things that the ole cap' or other men won't, if yer interested."

Daisuke has been, for lack of a better word, edgy around you. Hovering, then trying to create distance. He can't seem to decide how to act around you. Not when he's seen you that way, pleasuring yourself. When he wishes you'd involve him.

He's seen plenty of naked people before, got hard over them, but wow, did you take it to the next level. Even how you tilt your head or roll up your sleeves has him in an outright tizzy, straining hard in his pants.

Daisuke often has to excuse himself from your presence. Ignoring Swansea's rolling eyes and knowing scoffs is easy; ignoring you is harder.

It's during one of those mundane tasks, where you're prattling about your work to the others, his eyes glued to your form, absorbing every word that he can't take it anymore. Excusing himself, he pops right out of the room, awkwardly striking towards his bunk.

But of course that is the exact moment you decide you need to return his gameboy - or comic, or whatever he had lent you a few weeks prior.

Daisuke is completely in the groove, pants folded down, back propped to the wall, knees folded and lips parted with each heavy breath. He's always been loud, noisy and boisterous. But his saving (and falling) grace is that he's also often playing movies in his room, and what muffled sounds you may hear from the other side of the door is easily chalked up to that. (Or perhaps, you knew.)

You catch him like that, hand fisted around his lean cock, shirt ridden up over his stomach, his movements sharp and jerky. It's bad enough that you walk in on him like this - but another to hear Daisuke rattle out your name, the sound breathy and full of want coming from his lips.

He's a poor, flushed mess, eyes wide when he looks up at you - and it's so plainly obvious to the both of you that he didn't call out because he heard you come in.

"I- I can totally explain." Except he really can't, can he, when he has his dick in his hand, just moaning your name literally seconds ago.

Any attempt to backtrack out of the room will be greeted with a hasty, "Oh my god, no, pleasewait!" As he all but tries to leap from his bed, tripping over his pants in his haste to get to you. Daisuke is nothing but determined and will try to talk to you about this, even if you manage to successfully flee.

Choosing to stay has him utterly red-faced, almost ashamed as he rambles through a tirade of, "Okay, so," punctuated by repeated, stumbled phrases before he manages to get out, "So, me calling out your name just now - total accident. Unlessyoudon'twantittobe? But, like, I definitely understand if you want to leave but I'dreallyratheryoustaybecause I really can't stop thinking about you and, - oh hey, is that my gameboy? You can just set it-- that's not important! I just. Really don't want you to leave. Please."

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moonxknightx · 4 months ago

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♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : LITTLE MUTANT: :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff :))

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: You are spending a peaceful afternoon with your four-year-old son, Tommy. While playing, you notice his toy plane suddenly floating in the air, revealing the first signs of his mutant abilities. Startled, you call Logan, who rushes back home. Together, you both watch as Tommy uses telekinesis to stack his building blocks, completely unaware of the gravity of what he's doing. Logan reassures you that, just like him, Tommy will learn to control his powers, and you both find comfort in knowing you'll handle it as a family.

Based on this request.

IT WAS A QUIET SUNDAY AFTERNOON AT THE HOWLETT HOUSEHOLD, the kind of peaceful day that felt like a rare gem. Birds chirped outside the open window, sunlight streamed into the living room, and the air smelled of fresh laundry. The idyllic scene was only made more perfect by the sight of you and your four-year-old son, Tommy, curled up on the sofa together.

Tommy sat in your lap, giggling as you tickled his belly, his small fingers clutching a toy airplane. He looked up at you with those big brown eyes, the ones he’d inherited from his father, Logan. That same scruffy intensity, but softened by the innocence of a child.

"Mommy, fly!" Tommy exclaimed, holding the plane above his head and wiggling it through the air. "Look! I'm a pilot!"

"You sure are, sweetie," you said, grinning. "You're the best pilot I've ever seen. Where are you flying today, Captain Tommy?"

He squinted, thinking seriously about it for a moment. "To the moon! And then... and then to the jungle to find the lions!" His arms wobbled as he made dramatic sound effects, roaring for the lions.

"The moon and the jungle? Busy day!" You played along, tousling his messy hair. He was so full of energy and imagination that it felt like every day with him was an adventure.

Just as you leaned down to kiss his forehead, you noticed something odd. The plane in his hand seemed to... well, it seemed to be shaking.

No, not shaking. Floating. It was barely perceptible, but it was definitely hovering, just a few inches above his hand.

You blinked, rubbing your eyes, thinking maybe you were just tired. Four years of motherhood didn’t exactly do wonders for your sleep schedule. But when you looked again, the plane was still floating, a soft blue glow surrounding it like it was suspended by some invisible force.

"Uh, Tommy?" you said, trying to keep your voice calm. "How are you doing that, honey?"

Tommy, completely oblivious to the phenomenon, just giggled and shook the plane in the air again. "Doing what, Mommy?"

You felt your heart skip a beat. Oh boy. Logan was going to want to see this.

You carefully placed Tommy on the sofa and reached for your phone. Logan had gone out for one of his "I need some space to clear my head" walks in the woods behind the house, but it looked like he was about to get pulled back into dad duty.

You quickly dialed his number. It only took one ring before his gravelly voice answered, laced with that familiar grumpiness.

“Yeah honey?”

“Logan, you need to get back here. Now.”

There was a brief pause. “Why? What’s wrong? Is Tommy okay?”

“He’s... fine. Sort of. Just... hurry. I think something’s happening.”

“Be there in five.” You heard the rustle of leaves and the faint sound of him running before he hung up. Classic Logan. Always ready to bolt into action the second his family needed him.

You turned back to Tommy, who had abandoned his floating toy plane in favor of drawing on the wall with a crayon. Normally, that would’ve driven you crazy, but given the circumstances, a little crayon art felt like the least of your worries.

True to his word, Logan burst through the front door exactly five minutes later, his rugged frame filling the entryway. His flannel shirt was half unbuttoned, exposing his muscular chest, and his hair was as wild as ever. He looked like he’d sprinted the entire way back.

“Okay,” he grumbled, striding into the living room. “What’s going on?”

You pointed toward Tommy, who was now sitting on the floor, happily stacking his building blocks... without touching them. The blocks were arranging themselves in mid-air, each one glowing faintly, as if magnetically drawn into place.

“Logan...” you whispered, your eyes wide. “Our son is a mutant.”

Logan’s brow furrowed as he knelt down to Tommy’s level, watching intently. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just observing the floating blocks. Then, he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered under his breath. “He’s got it.”

You knelt beside Logan, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do you think... do you think he knows what he’s doing?”

Tommy, blissfully unaware of the significance of his new abilities, just grinned up at the both of you. "Daddy, look! I'm a magician!"

Logan’s gruff expression softened, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, buddy. Looks like you are.”

You leaned in closer, feeling the warmth of Logan’s body next to yours as you whispered, “What do we do?”

Logan huffed a small laugh and shrugged, his usual stoicism breaking just a little. “Hell if I know. You think there’s a manual for this? He’s a kid. He’s got a mutation. We’ll figure it out.”

“But... what if he can’t control it? What if it gets worse?”

Logan glanced at you, his expression serious now, but not without comfort. “He’s our kid. We’re not gonna let him go through this alone. We’ll teach him, just like I was taught.”

You nodded, feeling the tension in your chest ease slightly. If anyone could handle this, it was Logan. He’d been through enough in his own life to know what it was like to have powers he couldn’t control. And now, with Tommy showing signs of being a mutant, it felt like you were entering uncharted territory as parents.

Tommy, meanwhile, was completely absorbed in his floating blocks, giggling as they danced in the air. “Look, Mommy! I’m making a tower!”

“That’s... a very nice tower, sweetie,” you said, forcing a smile as you watched the blocks stack themselves higher and higher.

Logan chuckled softly and ruffled Tommy’s hair, his gruff exterior melting just a little more. “Hey, kiddo, maybe we should keep the floating stuff between us for now, huh? Don’t want to freak out the other kids at daycare.”

Tommy looked up at Logan with wide eyes, as if he was processing the most important secret of his life. He nodded seriously. “Okay, Daddy. I won’t tell. It’s our secret.”

Logan shot you a look, raising his eyebrow as if to say, *See? Easy.* You rolled your eyes and nudged him playfully.

“So, what now, oh wise and experienced mutant dad?” you teased, leaning your head against Logan’s shoulder.

He smirked, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. “Now? We teach him how to use those powers right. And maybe... we start bolting down the furniture.”

You laughed, feeling the tension finally break as Logan kissed the top of your head. It wasn’t exactly the parenting journey you’d imagined, but with Logan by your side, you knew you could handle anything. Even a four-year-old with telekinesis.

Tommy, now bored of his floating tower, climbed into Logan’s lap, resting his head on his father’s chest. “Daddy, can we play with the lions tomorrow?”

Logan smiled softly, stroking Tommy’s hair. “Yeah, buddy. We’ll play with the lions. But remember... no floating lions.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Tommy murmured, his eyes fluttering shut as he dozed off.

As you watched your little boy fall asleep in Logan’s arms, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of love for both of them. Your life might not have been normal by any stretch, but it was yours. And honestly, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Guess we’ve got our hands full,” you whispered, resting your hand on Tommy’s small back.

Logan glanced down at you, that familiar glint of affection in his eyes. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, darlin’.”

And as the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over your family, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe parenting a little mutant wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

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villainessbian · 2 years ago

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Concept: most aliens can get anxious, can get scared, can get fight-or-flight. What most aliens do not get, however, is stress. Stress is a weird thing even by human standards. It can build up over time or be something tied to a very limited situation. It can be caused by a lot of things, and it comes in a lot of different ways. But it's a core human reaction, when a situation is wrong, it causes stress until it is righted. And it even affects different people differently!

Cue Human Cassandra, on a ship with her friend and co-worker Human Pauline. The ship is crewed with a mix of species. It's a cargo ship - load up in a space port, unload in another, get news and supplies during their stops, and live as an ever-shifting family as some of the two dozen crew members, give or take, get replaced. Some leave come payday, and new ones come looking for the thrill of low-level adventure, experiencing warp drives across the safer roads of the known universe.

But getting the supplies you need, or want, in stops is never so easy. Humans are new to the galactic community, and their needs misunderstood. Most broad-edibility food is bland for them, but that's okay. A big enough bag of their condiments can last them years. But ADHD meds... now that's less easy to get, the further from Earth you are. And a contract too big for their captain to pass on came up, much farther than the two humans expected.

Cassandra's mood deteriorated, her work priorities out of order, her sleep schedule in disarray. Little by little, she grew restless, shifting moods and gears unpredictably. A few weeks in and she was a mess, barely able to keep up with the minimum her job doing maintenance and running safety diagnostics for the route charting team required of her. While Pauline could help with the mechanical aspects of keeping the ship running, picking up the "slack", the safety had to be double-checked by the charting and pilot teams. When the curves of asteroid probability reached beyond a certain level, several hundred simulations had to be run, time-consuming processes had to be used, to avoid any collision at speeds beyond speed c. Some truly exotic things happened to ships that experienced those, but none of them contained the words "surviving crew." A safe route avoided any probability of collision over .1% and when going faster than light, any choice of course required thinking in 3 dimensions plus relative time to navigate dangerous probability fields in one piece, finding time-specific corridors and accounting for a dozen variables at once.

After she had a breakdown over a path she would normally have been able to find in under a minute, Pauline spoke to a concerned pilot team member:

"You have to understand her, this is a stressful situation and she's doing her best..."

"What do you mean by 'stressful'?" Gabalt asked. The furry little creature stood on two arched legs, and barely reached up to Pauline's shoulder, opening three wide eyes with curiosity and concern in equal parts.

"Things are... getting difficult for her, and keep getting more difficult because she does not have medication to help her brain be efficient. It makes her tired, and inefficient, and as it goes on, she's less and less able to cope with the situation. The longer this goes on, the worse it gets, and that is stress. Getting more tired because it takes more energy to deal with the situation, and less efficient because she's more tired, and things get harder because she's less efficient, on and on until something can solve the problem and the stress goes away."

"That sounds... hard. Do all humans have to deal with this?"

"Well, everyone has sources of stress, but she's got a disability. Without her meds, she gets stressed all the time. Not a lot all at once, but it always adds up."

"Oh no! So she'll be stuck like that until we get closer to Earth?"

"Most likely, yes."

But the most momentous thing to happen this day was not her breakdown. Not an hour later, alarms blared up. The simulation holograms all displayed blinking red masses - the less-travelled "safe route" was not as well protected! An asteroid range had been detected cutting through the border field, and it was in their way!

Pauline froze up, not knowing what to do. Gabalt was too surprised to act fast. All the courses from the ship's library of regular manoeuvres suggested a crash chance of over 60%, and mere seconds to act before entering the field!

Before anyone could react, Cassandra came in running from her corner to the front of the bridge, slamming the warp drive shutdown button. Most holograms stuttered and collapsed, the exit from FTL essentially dividing one or several of their dimensions by zero.

Looking quickly at the few remaining ones and gazing at the screens showing the current outside situation like a large window would have - plus a few critical extra points of data - she adjusted the angles manually while everyone still shuddered from the gravitational and temporal whiplash of suddenly coming back into normal time. Unblinkingly, she spotted the asteroids on the route while the ship was still going, if not at relativistic speeds, still fast enough for a single pebble they met to vaporise the Whipple shields, the outer hull, the inner hull, the crew members, and the hull again coming out if they but grazed it. Confirming the angles visually, she played with the reaction wheels, the thrusters, the gravity drives, to divert the ship's course just enough to miss a collision while not risking any grave injury on board. There was no time to react - if anything showed up straight ahead on the "unaugmented" outside view screens, it was too late to not get splatted. After half the crew had had the time to get thrown to the side or on the ground due to the rough handling, she'd managed to avoid any crash.

Gabalt was reeling. While it was surely not impossible, these was the kind of moves experienced veterans would never wish to attempt, and the margins for error were ridiculously low! She'd saved the ship and everyone on it, whereas she'd been unable to do a simple safety run so soon before?

Pauline was white as a sheet, but this was nothing compared to Cassandra, shaking violently and breathing unevenly.

"Pauline? What is she doing?"

"That's... probably the adrenaline."

"What's it for?"

"It's from stress. When it comes it overcharges the body. It's like the traditional, 'fight or flight' instinct from survival in prey-predator paradigms, it lets you move fast but paralyses thought... it feels pretty bad after a lot of it is released though. Now she's crashing down, must be harrowing."

"How did she do that? And you said her thoughts were paralysed for precision manoeuvres?"

Cassandra's voice came, nearly a mutter: "I just... had to. do it."

Gabalt needed to understand what happened.

"What do you mean you had to? Someone had to do it, but why you?"

"It- it was very stressful, I saw you freeze, and so."

"But... but HOW did you do all that? That was extremely complicated, few pilots -whose main craft is directly piloting- would want to even try doing that when given a choice!?"

"I had to. do it, so I did. I couldn't. couldn't make a mistake."

"This makes absolutely no sense."

Pauline interrupted. "She just works like that. Lots of stress and when people freeze up, humans with her condition... sometimes, surprisingly, function better in the moment than others can."

"Ah. So it's a human thing. of course, it's a human thing. NOTHING MAKES ANY SENSE WITH YOUR ACCURSED SPECIES" the diminutive pilot pouted.

And so one more story of the humans doing the impossible spread around. Humans of a subtype, more easily harmed, sometimes unstable and needing help for the simplest things... accomplishing odd, unthinkable, borderline heroic feats under duress none could be expected to withstand - but only then. Cursed, blessed? No story-teller seemed too certain. But the "magical" species never stopped surprising all others. And a new proverb developed: "it's not over until the human says it is".

#humans are space fae #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are deathworlders #earth is space australia #stress response #ADHD #attention deficit hyperactivity disorder

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mind-intheclouds342 · 1 month ago

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A new ladder - Reader x Curly

Previous - Part 2 - Next

"Those were the words of the former captain of the Tulpar ship, owned by Pony Express, Grant Curly, who miraculously was the only survivor even in his condition after going through a series of murders on the ship, completely vulnerable, by the same person who caused the crash, his co-pilot Jimmy-"

You turned off the television while they were broadcasting Curly's testimony on all channels.

"I'll go buy a few things" you mentioned, getting up from your seat and putting on a jacket to go out. "Wanna come with me?"

Curly turned to look at you curiously, thinking you were going to leave him there on his own until you returned, or that you would take him without asking to keep him close.

Curly: "Please"

He sighed and you took his chair to start pushing him to the store.

They could notice the looks of the people passing by, all recognizing the man, but none able to approach him to ask a question.

"Do you like peas? Lin told me that you could eat without any problem as long as your pieces are small."

Curly: "I have no problem with the food... I just don't like sweets."

"Okay"

You nodded, adding things to the cart, checking the prices, and thinking about what you could cook.

He stood gazing into the distance at the chocolate aisle, remembering the boxes of chocolates he used to buy for Linda, sighing at the thought that those days were in the past.

He found it strange to think that she was already over 50, while he remained at the age of 34, now being cared for by the younger sister of the woman who had once been his fiancée, who must now be around 32.

Curly: "Your birthday... It was a few months ago, right? I remember Linda used to say that she liked spring because it was when you were born."

"...No, my birthday hasn't happened yet, there's still some time left. But I don't really celebrate it, I just treat myself and that's it."

You shrugged even while looking at the products on the shelves.

Having everything you needed, you went to the cash registers to pay. The woman had seen Curly on television and gave him a discount as if he were some kind of veteran or senior.

That didn't please the man very much.

You stopped halfway back to his home, the streets were no longer so busy, after all, you had left a bit late after all.

"Would you like to feel something different?"

You asked him while firmly holding the wheelchair, there was a slight slope on that street, the man immediately turned to look at you, you looked excited to do something, like a child about to pull a prank.

Curly: "Sure?..." he said without being very convinced

And he let out a scream when you climbed onto the chair's wheel tubes and let the slope of the street make you go down, he could only hear a mix of his screams and your laughter as you went down.

He feared crashing into something or flying off, he didn't want to experience more pain, but the chair kept moving even after the descent was over. Curly was grateful for the good quality of the chair, and that it didn't fall apart when you got on it too. He was able to breathe easy when they stopped after a few seconds.

"And we arrived! Much faster, right?"

You patted his shoulder, ready to get off and push him inside the house, the man could feel the rapid beating of his heart at that moment.

Curly: "Do you do things like this often?" he asked, trying to have a conversation to calm down.

"Didn't you feel more alive?"

He fell silent as he thought about your question, while they descended, the only thing he could feel was his heart racing, the wind on his face, and he heard your laughter close to him, but at no moment was there sadness, remorse, or any of those emotions he constantly felt.

Just adrenaline.

Curly: "You could say that... yes..."

You put the groceries in their place and left out only what you were going to use, you ended up making some fried rice with chicken, egg, onion, and peas.

You could see how the man struggled to use his prosthesis to hold his utensils and eat, everything falling onto the table several times.

You moved your chair closer to him, making him look at you.

"Do you want to keep trying or would you prefer that I help you?"

Curly: "I give up for today..." was his only response, sighing.

You took food on your fork and brought it to his face, he opened his mouth and finally managed to take a bite, enjoying the taste of that simple food, he had missed homemade meals after so much time eating the provisions on the ship and then the bland hospital food.

"And? How is it?"

Curly: "Delicious," he replied, opening his mouth, hoping you would give him more.

You couldn't help but compare it to a baby bird begging for food, but you held back your laughter to keep feeding it.

Curly: "Mm.. So, when is your birthday?"

It was a very bad idea to talk to his implant while eating, causing him to start coughing as he choked on the food.

"Well... It's exactly in 5 weeks," you smiled, making him raise his arms and you patted his back.

He was surprised at how quickly he was able to stop coughing when you did that, you immediately handed him a glass of water.

"I'll be right back, I'm going to get a cloth to clean the food scraps off the table."

You mentioned standing up to go to the kitchen.

While you were away, he kept trying to eat on his own, managing to get a small amount of rice on his fork and being able to eat that.

While he chewed, he kept watching out the window; that orange and reddish color appearing in the trees was tinting the whole place.

Her birthday... It's in autumn...

#A new ladder mouthwash #mouthwash #mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing x reader #curly mouthwashing #captain curly #captain curly x reader #curly x reader #mouthwashing curly

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star-trek-dumb-comics · 6 months ago

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I guess I forgot to post this but - last year I made a bunch of star trek OCs ! They're a group of friends who all serve abord the USS T'Sera during the late TNG era. I just really wanted to design a friend group made up of the four original federation founding members lol

They're on my ArtFight if anyone here participates

Here's some info about them :

Khov is a xenobiologist. Quite the Andorian history nerd, he won't shut up about the Ch'eraotherh Dynasty (his Roman Empire).

His naturally emotional disposition as an Andorian especially expresses itself when he's nervous or under some pressure, making him seem jumpy or easily panicked. But he's as capable of doing his job and performing under pressure as any other Starfleet officer - externalizing his emotions is just the way he regulates and keeps a cool head.

He's usually well spoken and witty (you need to when you're friends with Rog and Ketis) but when it comes to romantic encounters he easily gets flustered. He has a (not-so) secret crush on the chief of security of the T'Sera, which he is very embarrassed about

Nadia is a relief helmsman. She's very eager and optimistic, and motivated to move up in the ranks. She loves piloting and daydreams about saving the whole ship with her prowess at the helm (and maybe even have a maneuver named after her, why not !)

She's a space native, her parents worked on a deep-space cargo freighter.

She often appears chill and the "reasonable middle ground" in her friend's heated debates (which they call "human mediator syndrome").

She also loves discussing couple gossip and gives a lot of romantic advice despite never having been in a romantic relationship herself (she's probably aroace but hasn't really thought about it)

Rog is a security officer. He first met Ketis on his arrival day during his medical checkup - during which he got into one of the most fun arguments in his life, and they've been best friends since then.

He values honesty and despises bootlickers and people pleasers. In that he counts those who try to start an argument with him as a pleasing tactic - he wants his debates to be genuine, thank you very much !

He's also a bit of an order and cleanliness freak.

His job at security made him very observant and perceptive . He's also capable of functioning on very little sleep.

Ketis a medical technician. He genuinely enjoys his friend group of varied emotional species, he finds it stimulating and an intellectual challenge (as well as a test of his emotional repression). He also finds their reasoning and points of view interesting and is always taking them into consideration. All this makes him pretty critical of some vulcans' arrogance and sense of superiority over other species, which he considers an to be an emotional response.

He particularly likes debating and can hold a friendly argument tirelessly, which is always good when being friends with a Tellarite.

He suffers from motion/space sickness, which is rare for a vulcan - and especially for a vulcan in starfleet. He sort of became infamous for it on the ship after an incident where he threw up on the Captain (who he was taking care of in sickbay during a red alert). Good thing he's purely logical because that'd be really embarrassing !

#star trek #non comic art #ocs #original characters #tng #andorian #vulcan #tellarite #starfleet #oc #original character #star trek fanart

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faggotbeloved · 2 months ago

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Cold Metal Biting Soft Flesh | Yandere Curly x Captain!M!Reader

Prologue: Decay (~2k words)

CW: Canon typical gore and violence, yandere themes, named original characters. Vomiting, blood and decay, no beta we die like Anya

This work can be skipped, since it's just a prologue.

This work does not contain smut but is 18+. Minors and fem-aligned people, please do not interact. AN at the end.

└───────────────────────┘

As the captain of the Astraeus, a colonization ship in which you take crew back and forth to barren rocks with no life save some algae that's a few million years from walking, you'd seen some shit. The only constants in your life were your ship, your base crew of just six, your nephew, and your title as captain.

Your life was good enough; you picked up around sixty colonists with various skills, dropped them off on a moon or a planet with the things they needed to flourish, then flew back to do it again. You had your late sibling's kid dropped in your lap recently, but he was a good kid and a promising pilot. You hardly spoke to the passengers below deck, but your little gaggle of crewmates were good friends, usually.

You thought you'd seen all that the vast, empty space had to offer until an unidentified object entered your flight path. The red flashing lights warned you that this clearly wasn't an asteroid, but in a meeting your resident doctor claimed that, regardless of its identity, it was in your best interest to ignore it and simply hop over it. When he suggested this to your crew, they were much less than happy to hear it.

"Are you kidding? Whoever it is, their SOS light is on, it's objectively immoral to ignore them. They'll die, if they haven't already!" Sascha protested. Sascha, with her spiky and colorful hair, was always the loudest and most abrasive, so it was no surprise she was vocal in her opinion against it.

"I understand that, but it'll add days to the trip. The passengers will be outraged, we could miss a supply drop—" he defended earnestly, but shut off once you raised a hand to silence him.

"Rhodes. She's right, and it's in our scientific interest," you emphasized, "that we dock at an undocumented craft. If there's living people, it is our responsibility to save them. If there's samples, we should get those, too, since there's no telling what the craft has."

Rhodes sighed and sat back, relinquishing the argument to your wise opinion.

"I motion to investigate the craft," you announced.

"I second the damn motion," Sascha growled.

"All opposed, raise your hand," you instructed. Nobody raised a hand, so you adjourned the meeting and prepared a team to investigate. The passengers didn't really care, not after you explained the cruciality of it all, so you and gathered your selected team.

You were a given; your nephew was in charge in the event that something happened on the Astraeus. Rhodes, with his medical expertise, was forced to come along. Harbor, the resident cook and communications leader, wanted to volunteer, but was overrode by Sascha. Finally, Lucille, who was just about the only person who specialized in combat, came with.

──────────────────────

With that, you donned your suits and ventured into the ship. Once you got inside and depressurized, you were immediately greeted with the thick air of rot. Fuck.

There was no oxygen in the ship and the lights flickered dully as the automatic doors showered with sparks once you left the airlock. You and Lucille forced the door open whilst Sascha and Rhodes bickered over whether or not anyone could still be alive. Sascha was optimistic, and Rhodes was less than.

"Hey, this is a Pony Express freighter," Sascha suddenly realized. "That... uh, fuck, what was her name? The pony mascot, Polle! Yeah, her face is all over the place. What were they hauling?"

Once the broken door opened with a uncomfortable screech, Lucille spoke slowly. "...Mouthwash."

You were stunned. That must have been a million empty bottles in here, all strewn about or in piles. "They ran out of food," Rhodes said softly. "No shit, dumbass. You think they drank it for fun?" Sascha huffed.

"You two, quit," you spoke up. "Pair up and focus. If anyone's alive after this long, it's not going to be pretty. Lou, get your gun."

"Will do, Captain," replied Lucille, waiting for your go-ahead to continue on. You ventured left and met with a wall of insulation foam. Ugh. Of course Pony Express would use insulation instead of spray metal; why wouldn't they cut corners with the cheapest material possible? Makes you glad that they went under a couple decades ago.

"We need to find a new route. These old kinds of ships have a central kitchen, a few other rooms, and a downstairs cargo bay," Sascha informed.

"Get with your pair. Lucille, go with Rhodes. Sascha, you get Lucille's extra gun, come with me. You two, take the right fork and we'll take middle. Keep your mics on."

──────────────────────

As you and Sascha went forward, you found long abandoned bedrooms belonging to a couple crew members. One door, the one without a lock and the only one open, held a woman's ID card, which prompted you to collect the IDs of all members.

"Huh, she's cute. This generation ship had cryopods, maybe she's a popsicle," Sascha joked.

"Be on the lookout for... four crew members and a captain. Young Anglo female named Anya, teenage East Asian male named Daisuke, middle aged Anglo male named Swansea, and a young Anglo male named Jimmy," you announced. "Looks like cabin's cut off from the rest of the ship. They probably had to sleep in the kitchen or medbay."

"Hm. Found the utility, but the door's jammed. I'll circle back," Rhodes said over the mic, passing by the room. "I'm in the medbay. It has traces of blood and vomit on the floor and—fuck, that bed is soaked in dried blood. Empty pill bottles; Captain, I think someone overdosed. It'd be easy, these painkillers are only a little less strong than what we have."

Rhodes observed the room while you and Sascha ventured back and followed their path to meet up.

"There's a gun case. Gun and bullets are missing. Be prepared to see either a crazy, gun wielding bastard or a whole lot of brains on the wall," Lucille said bitterly as you entered.

Sascha had been abnormally quiet since the Medbay news was delivered. "I'm a little nervous to check further now. But I guess we have to, huh?" she muttered.

Emeto and Gore warning.

You pressed on, and in the cockpit was a mess of foam and some dried blood. Nothing too damning just yet, though. You and Sascha lingered back to check out the control panels and determined that the ship steered directly into an asteroid, something virtually impossible with how simple the instructions were. "This was a purposeful crash, gu—" you began, but was cut off by a gag and the sound of vomit hitting a helmet.

"Lucille? Lucille!" You shouted, springing up to rush into the central room.

Ho-ly Fuck.

──────────────────────

Three people of the four you'd seen earlier were slumped across a table, party hats either hanging from their neck or somehow still on their head. You'd never wished to throw up more than in this moment. Lucille, since she'd already thrown up once, had to deal with the vomit coating her helmet, which only prompted her to go again.

The girl, Anya, had bloody saliva and puke dried onto her lips and decay around the her face, while her eyes were bloodshot and her body exhibited every symptom of opioid overdose. She slumped backwards, her position hardly mattering to whoever set this disgusting sight up. Fuck.

The boy, Daisuke, was unrecognizable with his face caved in. He was gruesomely propped up with his head on his hands, which had blood dripping down the forearms. His lips were twisted into a mockery of a smile, and the party hat had stayed on throughout the years of stationary movement. His bowels were nearly spilling out, clearly having been cut by a large sharp object before having been killed by the blow to his face.

The man, Swansea, had a clean bullet hole through the head and had both arms on the table like he was waiting to eat. His head fell backwards and the crust of regurgitated blood caked his lips and chin. Furthermore, his eyeball hung loosely around his chin and he'd been clearly beaten up before hand.

Five steaks lined the plates, and the barely-started decay made the sight worse. Five steaks... in a ship that had no real meat.

Not only were the crew in space with no decomposing lifeforms to feed off of them, they were in a room cold enough to freeze their bodies now that the heater power failed, so decomposition ceased entirely. They were stuck like they had just been killed days ago, their skin bloating and their organs slush inside them. With every poke and prod you made, Lucille gagged and only worsened her condition as she attempted to lift her helmet, since she suddenly had no oxygen but was hit with the smell of rot.

"Look away," you said firmly, motioning for Rhodes to bring Lucille to the side.

"Sealegs, this is your Captain speaking. Do you copy?" You spoke into your microphone, radioing back to the ship.

"Captain, this is Sealegs! I copy!" A young boy's voice chirped out eagerly.

"Sealegs, I want you to talk over the intercom—the big, red button I tell you not to touch—and tell the passengers to send up anyone with 'for-en-sic' or medical expertise. They need suits and tell them that it's a 'Rated R' sight. Three 'ca-da-vers' so far, and to bring barf bags," you said carefully, using words he was unfamiliar with to try not to traumatize your nephew.

You spring into Captain mode, reassigning roles to fit the crew's comfortability and capability. "Sascha, lead the passengers up and make sure they bring actual supplies. A gurney or something in case one of us passes out. Lucille, hand Rhodes your gun. You're dismissed; go shower and clean the vomit from your helmet. You don't need to see this."

──────────────────────

A full inspection of the ship, including the storage, determined that two crew members were missing—Jimmy, and the captain, whose name you hadn't yet found. Unfortunately, both of the captain's ID cards were destroyed beyond repair in a manner that seemed on purpose. The only room not observed yet was the utility room, which was seemingly blocked by a fire axe and multiple furniture items. In the spirit of a full check, you and about a half-dozen passengers broke through and gasped as you finally saw the inside.

The Util room itself was fine, but the final crew member, Jimmy had shot himself in the chest.

It didn't kill him immediately.

He crawled to beside a cryo pod and used his hand to make a handprint on the handle, as if begging someone else to open it.

"Check all of the other pods. I want someone to get that gun, too," you organized, then followed the handprint and lifted open the hatch. Oh. Oh, fuck.

"Shit! I need medical, now! Gurney, respirator, and morphine!" you shouted as a man—the former Captain, you were sure, fell out of the pod in the fetal position, shivering, choking, and staring at you with a wide, terrified eye.

You picked him up, wincing as you felt his raw skin squish under his weight, and removed your helmet to set it over his head for a gasp of real air. God knows how long he'd been without fresh air. You may have been suffocating, but you had good lungs. In less than a minute, the team brought a respirator and oxygen tank with a gurney.

You set him down and placed the mask over yourself, gasping and gagging at the rotting stench in the air, then rasped out to the man, "It'll be okay. We've got you."

You took back your helmet and put the mask over his lipless mouth, then sprinted back to the ship. Once you looked back down at him, you saw a tear escaping his eye and piercing blue irises set upon you.

┌───────────────────────┐

Yay... first post on this blog! This is obviously not the only part, I have plans, but this is essentially a skippable cutscene, since you could probably just ignore this part and head to the next once I make it. I just wanted to set the tone and setting, try my hand at gore, and voice my post-judgement headcannons. Anyways, I really hope my writing wasn't bad and it made sense! No Curly just yet, but just wait lol.

#✑ my works.#✑ captain curly.#tw yandere #tw emeto #captain curly x reader #captain curly x male reader #curly mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing x reader #curly x male reader #curly x reader #curly mouthwashing x male reader #yandere curly #yandere mouthwashing #yandere curly mouthwashing #yandere captain curly #x reader #x male reader #yandere x reader #yandere x male reader

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 7 months ago

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Okay, so, there's one thing that I'm kind of tired of beating around the bush with white fans about, and it's this: if you pretend to "ignore" race in OFMD, you will miss a lot of what the story is trying to tell you.

Now, I do not truly believe that race is something you can ignore in a story. I just don't think it's possible, and when you try, what you wind up with is something like the conservative worldview of "not seeing color." Trying to ignore race will make you sound racist and ignore important racialized themes.

You can't understand Stede's need for character growth at the beginning of the show if you just focus on how he's "cringe" instead. When Stede makes his crew members of color serve them at dinner when the English board, this is gross, and their faces tell us exactly how they feel about it. Stede unlearning his biases here isn't subtle (guy who called him and Pete "fucking racists" I love you forever), and learning to take all of his crew members seriously as fully actualized people, moving away from the sort of Kindergarten-teacher behavior at the start to truly valuing them as people and taking their input and suggestions, it's an important aspect. Stede asking Abshir for intel at the party isn't just funny, it's also proof he's learned to see value in people in positions like Abshir's.

You can't understand the motivations behind Ed's actions, especially the violent ones, if you ignore the racist overtones. Ed is not a randomly violent person - he gets angry at a captain for calling him a "rich donkey," and if you think it's unreasonable for a brown man to want to get revenge on a white man for calling him that? Then fuck I'm glad you can't see the conversations I have with my other black friends, man. Ed's anger and frustration at the party aren't just because he fucked up with some spoons, lol, you can't get it unless you realize he's the only brown guest in that room. Yeah, he's ignoring Stede's advice, but he's immediately under a pressure Stede never has been. Ed's wanted posters in s2, too, rely on heavily caricaturizing Jewish features to make him look grotesque and monstruous. We're supposed to be horrified by that aspect.

And, yeah, when we ignore the racist tones to Izzy's behavior, I think that's undermining an important aspect of who he is as an antagonistic character. Him buying Ed from the English should feel like a gross violation, because it is. When he sits in front of the crew eating and making Fang and Ivan serve him, I think it's a pretty obvious parallel to how the crew members of color were similarly insulted in the pilot. It's impossible to ignore race in the way he dehumanizes Ed and tries to force him back into a caricature of behavior he hates and is horrified by - when he calls Ed a "wild dog" in s2, if that doesn't cause a visceral reaction of disgust in you, I dunno what to tell you. This doesn't mean that Izzy is irredeemable - just as Stede wasn't - but it does mean that racist biases are things Izzy had to unlearn.

OFMD so often takes so much care with how its characters of color are depicted. We get thoughtful, relatable moments (those French boat people getting humiliated and setting their boat on fire after they'd tried to touch Ed's beard is so satisfying, guys) and excellent, supportive friendships between men of color. The characters of color on OFMD are clean, smart, respected, and it's wonderful. And just because these things aren't always relatable to you specifically doesn't mean they're not important parts of the story.

#ofmd #our flag means death

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wandering-pirate · 6 days ago

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Mouthwashing Characters Headcanon

How the Crew Takes Care of You on Your Period

Captain Curly

Knows your cycle so well that he starts prepping his monthly Captain Curly Period Kit a week before it starts

The kit includes all hygiene products that you need including painkillers, five of your favorite chocolate bars and the best part: candid photos he had secretly taken of you, each with a note underneath

The notes ranged from awful period puns to sweet compliments. This man knows how to keep you happy, physically and emotionally

Whispers comforting words as you sob over a character’s death during movie night

Though once, it was about a cockroach getting pancaked on screen

"Babe, that roach? It’s in a better place now—cockroach heaven. Endless trash buffets, living its best afterlife”

Spoiler: it worked

Checks in on you throughout the day, either with a sweet “How’s my baby feeling?” text or by dropping into the room for a quick chat, always making sure you feel loved and cared for

He understands how hormones can mess up with your mood and always reassures you that he isn't going anywhere

Co-pilot Jimmy

The man has somehow mastered the art of finding all the right spots to massage when you're doubled over with cramps or just feeling downright miserable

What you don’t know is that he once secretly googled “how to massage girlfriend in pain” (in incognito mode cause his ego won't just let him ask outright)

Big mistake. Huge. He was immediately bombarded with nsfw content, all roleplay, mostly rough

Let’s just say it took half a day, several deep breaths, and a burning face before he stumbled onto an actual helpful website

Ever since then, he’s been sneaking off to “practice.” But it got a little weird one day

Every time you passed by, he’d be glued to his phone, staring at it with this weirdly intense look, and his free hand squeezing the air at different angles

“Uh… babe? Are you… hallucinating? Maybe some floating breast action?”

“Huh? Wha—no! Unless you’re jealous of the air now, darling. Should I be worried?”

It all paid off when you let out those godly noises he loved, his hands were massaging with just the right pressure and on the right places

To top it off, he even got an essential oil in your favorite scent

Not without drama, though—apparently, walking into Bath & Body Works fully hooded and masked with shades doesn't scream 'thoughtful boyfriend'. It screams robber

Mechanic Swansea

The man and his craftsman hands will do anything to make you comfortable

Need a hot compress? Heats up grains, puts it in a sackcloth bag and places it in your lower belly

On days when you feel ugly looking in the mirror? Secretly blurs them slightly with shampoo or soap

Cold hands? Wraps yours in his larger ones

The kids being too loud while you're in a damp mood? He'd play tea parties with them (he was crowned the princess of all dragons)

Before sleeping, he always lay the towel down at your side of the bed whenever you're at the bathroom

Even built you a custom wooden cabinet that dispenses pads and tampons efficiently. Always stocked because he secretly checks it regularly

You have to force him to sit or lay down with you when he would be silently stressing out on what more to do

"Swansea, love, you're all I need right now, just stay here with me"

Nurse Anya

The nurse uses her medical and psychological expertise like a pro, making your period feel a lot less miserable

Meds are always your bestfriend whenever your killer cramps hit and she made sure to always carry all kinds of painkillers and have every dosage for each pain scale you're in

Wincing and doubling down? she's quick to ask

"Scale of 1 to 10?"

Even when she’s busy, she finds little ways to remind you you’re not alone like leaving sticky notes with doodles of you or your favorite characters in places where you’ll find them

After noticing how you loved wrapping your feet in blankets, she got you matching fuzzy socks that you now have to wear whenever she’s around (because she’s wearing hers too)

Lovingly strokes your back and hair while you scream at reality show contestants for choosing the dumbest of choices

Very much amused and nods along every time you asked her if you're both witnessing the same stupidity

Intern Daisuke

The boy is sometimes dense but when it comes to you, he sure isn't incompetent

One day, when the bed was way too soft to escape from, you did the only logical thing: text him

"Hey Dai, can you buy me some tampons? forgot to buy some yesterday"

"Be there in 5 babe! (⁠づ⁠￣⁠ ⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠づ"

And he meant it

He gave the pharmacist a heart attack by storming in and loudly asking for a box of tampons

Proceeded to grill them on what brands were most likely to leak so he'd avoid them (no shame whatsoever)

Never arrived empty-handed. Along with the tampons, he’ll pick up a plushie, a cute keychain, a little hair accessory or literally anything he knows that will let him see your pretty smile

He’ll wrap you both up in comforters, flashdrive loaded with all your comfort movies, from romcoms to horror

The mission? Movie marathon until you're both knocked out

Despite shrieking at every jumpscare, he still kisses your forehead between scenes, like you’re the one who needs reassurance (Spoiler: he needed those forehead kisses more)

a/n: thanks so much for reading! headcanon requests are very much appreciated ʕ•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ

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whateversawesome · 3 months ago

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Spy x Family AU Fic Recommendations

It's been a while since I've done fic rec list. There are so many good fics out there, so I thought it was time. For this list, I will focus on my favorite Alternate Universe fics!

After Peace by @unhappy-sometimes : My current favorite AU, also named by someone else the "midwestern au" for its vibes. In this fic, Twilight is no longer the best spy of the West, but an agent forced into retirement in small town in the middle of nowhere because of a terrible injury. As you can imagine, he's quite depressed without a purpose until a little girl named Anya enters the picture.

Tactic & Strategy by Puolain: In which Twilight and Thorn Princess are forced by their agencies to get married. Twilight is undercover as Lionel Reiss, from the national guard. This fic is not only beautiful but also very exciting.

Hidden Under the Roses by @sister-cna-reader : This is a mafia AU that has plenty of fluff and plenty of spice! In this story, Yor is the Garden's heir and must marry Loid to ensure an alliance. Also, did I mention Anya is a baby in this universe?

As Time Goes By by @nightofnyx8 : In this AU, Twilight is a spy and an American pilot that crashes near Yor's garden. After nourishing him back to health, they face the terrible Captain Winston Wheeler, who won't rest until he captures that spy. This story is incredibly exciting and also sweet.

Green Eyed Monster by Bigbruja: If you like jealous Twilight, this is the fic for you! Here, an old friend of Yor's returns with the intention of taking her away from her husband, but Twilight is not going to let him do that so easily.

Air by @cantareincminor : In this AU, Twilight and Thorn Princess meet during a mission gone wrong. I can't say much without spoiling it! Just know that it's very sweet and you can feel the strong chemistry between those two! Major flirting alert hehehe.

The Cat, the Key, the Cook, and the Queen by @lpham2525 : If you like fairytales, this fic is perfect for you. In this universe, Queen Yor must marry, so she creates a clever competition to find the right man for the job!

Lo que se hace en el primer día by @gijipaw : Yes, I am aware this is in Spanish but, do you want to see Loid and Yor as boyfriend and girlfriend? Then you have to read this fic! If you speak Spanish or if you know how to use Google translate, give this short and sweet fic a try.

The Five Times Loid Forger Went Topless In Front of His Wife and the One Time She Reciprocated" or "Bare-Chested in Berlint" by Talik_Sanis: Ahem...yes, I am aware of the title and what can I say? This list needs a crack fic! This is probably the funniest fic I have ever read (the title says it all) so I encourage you to read it and have a good time. And when you get to the ice cream scene come back and tell me what you thought about it. It's my favorite scene in the whole fic hehe.

The following is not a fic per se, but an exciting, ongoing multichapter fancomic that has become a staple in the fandom and is definitely worth checking out. I'm talking about none other than...

Doppelgänger by @buf309 : Without giving too much away, in this AU there's a man who looks exactly like Twilight going on a killing rampage. Twilight will have to face his worst nightmare and do everything he can to save his family. This is an amazing story!!

And finally, the list wouldn't be complete without some shameless self-promotion 😆

My Enemy : A war fic AU in which the Briars are forced to host a Westalian high-ranking officer in their home. As an Ostanian, Yor hates this man, of course! However, little by little Captain Loid Forger wins her over and, despite being enemies, they end up falling deeply in love. Riddled with exciting twists and turns, this story is also full of fluff and spice.

Love Is...: A non-traditional omegaverse in which Twilight is a shifter (a person who can shift between Alpha, Omega or Beta) who experiences his first rut after a kissing practice with his wife. This fic has plenty of fluff, plenty of angst, and some spice too!

Eden's Ball: If you like Eden AU, you're going to love this fic! In this story, Loid Forger, president of the student council, is in charge of organizing a ball at school. His intention is to ask Yor Briar to go with him but things go terribly wrong!

That's it! If you like these recommendations, check out my Spy x Family fic compilation and my previous fic rec lists (part 1 and part 2).

#spy x family #twiyor #sxf #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #spy x family fic #loidyor #spy x family fic rec #spy x family fic rec list #spy x family fic recommendation #loid x yor #twiyor fic #spy x family fanfic #twiyor fanfic #spy x family fanfiction #artists on tumblr

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citrusici · 11 months ago

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LU Star Wars AU: Part 3

Got a theme of noncanon characters for this one, this time we have Spirit and Warriors! (It doesn't feel right having a Star Wars AU without including Spirit)

PART 1 | PART 2

Spirit

Spirit isn't actually related to Wind, but the two of them are so alike in appearance that many mistake them for twins. While Wind loves to pilot, Spirit's interest lies more in tinkering directly with the spacecraft itself. He personally works on Tetra's, Linebeck's, and Wind's ships, and ended up also working as a mechanic for the Alliance for a brief time before moving on.

Spirit has had his own adventures with Spectre (AKA his Zelda); he is one of the rare few people alive to venture into the chaotic Unknown Regions of the galaxy without a wayfinder or star compass and return to tell the tale. That adventure involved an encounter with a ghostlike being named Malladus.

Spirit is also especially in tune with the Force and spirits, just like Wind. He also has some skill with a blaster, and is extremely handy in space combat, but he has no interest in combat and would rather work on his personal projects and ship designs. His personal favorite is a prototype set of powered armor he designed for Spectre, but unfortunately it got wrecked in the encounter with Malladus.

Warriors

Warriors is an active military captain in the Alliance. He is also a close friend of Artemis, who is a high ranking general and a current member of the Imperial Senate. Their home planet has widespread anti-Imperial sentiments and secretly hosts a base for the Alliance, and Artemis does her best to keep it hidden from Imperial eyes.

Warriors actually inherited his saber from his mother, a former Jedi Knight from the days of the Jedi Order, and was taught how to wield it by her before she passed. He grew up on stories of the old Order and is determined to uphold the legacy of being a Jedi Knight. Part of that is looking out for his men and protecting those who can't protect themselves, and protecting Artemis in her efforts with the Alliance.

He has a certain amount of pride in that legacy and the skills and stories he was taught. He quickly rose to the rank of Artemis's personal knight, and his achievements make him stand out among Alliance forces. It took a few particularly close calls with Imperial Forces to temper his pride.

One of those encounters involved a Sith Lord named Cia, whose attention he unwittingly caught. The only reason he escaped alive was due to someone named Lana, who he later learned was Cia's twin sister. Cia still has a one-sided obsession with Warriors in particular and is determined to hunt him down.

Warriors has also met plenty of people across the galaxy during his time with the Alliance; among these people were Wind and Spirit. Wind had a brief stint with Warriors as a pilot and Spirit ended up tagging along for the ride.

(Linked Universe AU belongs to Jojo)

#linked universe #lu warriors #lu spirit #LU Star Wars AU #star wars au #star wars #my art #alas I can't fit young time into warriors' story because of the timeline

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simpforrooster · 3 months ago

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the best pilot in the navy.

pete “maverick” mitchell x f!simpson reader

summary: your admiral father allows you to work control room during the uranium mission, despite your relationship with maverick. the pilot who’s a pain in his ass.

t/w: some angst, language. fluff at the end. not sure if the specifics are navy accurate, but let me have this xD

“can you handle this, captain?” you father asked you in his office.

“yes, sir,” you replied.

he studied your face. “you know there are risks-“

you cut him off. “yes, sir. i know that. i know that every time he flies in that plane he may not come back.”

the admiral mask fell from his face. working with your father, admiral simpson has its ups and downs. throw in you dating one of his subordinates. then have that subordinate bc roughly the same age as your dad.

yeah.

“y/n. now answer the question as my daughter.”

your mask slipped as well. “i’ll be fine, dad. promise. mav is a hell of a pilot.”

“dagger one is hit. i repeat, dagger one is hit!”

the words you’ve been praying to avoid echo in your ears. your boyfriend is flying dagger one.

you struggle not to look over your shoulder at your father, not wanting to give him any reason to regret allowing you to work the control room for this mission.

“asking permission to launch search and rescue,” hangman comes over the coms.

“negative,” your father says.

that does it. you spin around in your chair, ignoring hangman who is waiting on you to relay the admiral’s answer.

“sir?” he calls again.

your eyes hold your father’s, matching in color and glare. “dad,” you squeak out.

“he’s waiting on the answer, captain.” his admiral mask is firm, unwavering.

“we can’t leave him out there,” you press. hondo meets your eyes, the same sadness holding there.

“there is nothing we can do for maverick. not in a damn f-18.” the words spear through your heart.

you’re not an idiot. you know he’s right. that's been the whole point of the extensive training, the enemies superoir aircraft.

“negative, spare,” you relay.

your heart grows heavier in your chest as the seconds go by. your concentration ebbs and flows from the monitor. the dots of the other daggers get closer to the boat.

natasha and bob.

coyote and fanboy.

rooster.

not maverick.

the sounds of the control room go silent, replaced by a high pitched whine. water drips onto your keyboard. is the roof leaking?

it takes a second to realize those are your tears.

you launch your headphones toward the monitor and slide back from the desk. you can't take it.

you can't take it.

"captain simpson!" your fathers calls. his booming voice is enough to get you to stop for a millisecond. "do not walk out that door."

ignoring him, you run out into the hallway, hondo on your tail.

his burly arms wrap around you from behind. the action makes the tears fall from your eyes without abandon.

"i know," he murmurs above your ear. "i know."

mav tried to tell you goodbye before he left and you wouldn't let him.

"hondo! simpson! get back in here. rooster turned around and was shot down!" warlock orders.

damn it, rooster.

slipping back into the control room, you expertly avoid your father’s heavy gaze. it’s like the two of you have time-traveled back to your high school days, and he got a call from the school about your excessive talking.

the two of you being cut from the same cloth makes working together tooonns of fun.

swiping away stray tears, you get to work.

“sir, rooster’s radio just turned back on. but he’s supersonic,” the controller next to you says. you peer over at his monitor. sure enough, the rooster dot is moving at a steady pace.

your gaze finds the admiral’s. “maverick,” he says.

your heart swells at the thought of maverick still being alive.

“they’ve got bandits on them,” you say.

“send out spare one,” your father tells you.

com-ing over to hangman, he’s up in the air in no time.

waiting for mav and rooster to make it back to the boat felt like eons. as they approached, everyone left the control room to meet them on deck.

you follow warlock and your dad up to the tower.

as your stare out over the water, trying to spot the place your boyfriend’s in, your dad’s voice fills the air.

“i hope you understand my call,” he says.

holding your gaze over the water, you want to pick a fight. you want to scream and argue. you want him to feel the heartbreak you felt in that moment.

the moment he didn’t allow hangman to go over mav.

but you understood.

you truly did. of course losing one pilot was better than two. the thought makes you want to throw up.

“i do. i told you i could handle the mission,” you reply, your back still turned.

his hand comes up to your shoulder, lightly squeezing, the admiral mask slipping.

you turn, knowing you’ll get your dad and not your admiral. once your eyes meet, the tears fall from your eyes.

“i was so scared,” you say into his chest. cyclone pulls you tight against him, a dad holding his girl tight.

your sobs subside when warlock points towards the distance. “thank God, there they are.”

cyclone slips back into admiral mode right as maverick buzzes the tower. the three of you are jostled at the sound and speed of it.

your father cocks an eyebrow at you. seriously, this is who you want to be with?

all you can do is offer him a grin before running from the tower.

on deck, maverick and rooster accept hugs and slaps on the back. maverick gives everyone a polite acknowledgment, his head craning for someone.

for you.

once he sees you, relief floods his face. “oh, baby,” he says, that relief palpable in his voice. he grabs you, pulling you into him, one hand in your hair, the other around your waist.

again, you don’t bother hiding the tears. he pulls back, his thumbs running across your cheeks. “i’m here. i’m here. i’m okay.”

your hands run over his body, checking for injuries. any scratches to his perfect self.

“talk to me, simpson,” he says, his voice wary.

it’s like you’ve forgotten how to speak with the flood of emotions. instead, you pull him down to you, enveloping his mouth with a kiss.

a kiss you were afraid you’d never be able to give him.

maverick rests his forehead against yours, “i was so worried about you.”

“me?” finally finding your voice. “i was worried about you.”

“haven’t i told you not to worry about me? i’m the best pilot in the navy,” he smirks. you playfully shove him back, letting hondo greet his friend.

the two men wrap each other in a tight embrace. maverick pulls back first, glancing up to the tower. warlock pumps his fist and your father nods his reluctant approval.

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick fic #pete mitchell x you #pete mitchell x y/n #pete mitchell x reader #pete mitchell imagine #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #maverick x y/n #maverick x you #maverick fanfic #maverick x reader #maverick imagine

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thewulf · 9 months ago

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The Price of Protection || Captain John Price

Summary: Request -Recently I was SA. Now I wasn't R@ped. But I was peer pressured/manipulated and intoxicated to verbally consenting to things I didn't want to do. I'm not asking for it to be relived but rather comfort. Everyone always talks about feeling disgusted but I want comfort for the guilt and second thoughts... Read Rest Here

A/N: THIS ONE IS HEAVY. Please read the trigger warnings below. Thank you anon for trusting me with this. I hope you like it.

Pairing: Captain John Price x Female Reader, TF 141 x Platonic Female Reader

Word Count: 4.8k +

TW: MENTIONS OF SA (Not outright but hints), Heavy Angst, general COD warnings.

You had always admired your Captain for as long as you’ve known him. It wasn’t but almost three years ago now that you were assigned to Task Force 141. They were skeptical at first, as you would be too. Who was this little American girl infiltrating their ranks? This was a Task Force with the most brilliant minds and somehow you were there. Yet, you had proven yourself one of the most valuable assets to the team time and time again. You were good, great even, at your job. You could hack into anything, take over any camera you wanted, reroute rockets if you had the time allotted. You were the genius behind some of the missions that could’ve gone south fast. You were Captain Price’s secret weapon that he kept well hidden.

It took you a while to open up to the guys. But leave it to Soap to get you talking. After a year of trying your best to maintain the Ghost persona, Soap had successfully broken you down. They learned of your past, how you came to be so freakishly good with computers and hacking, where you went to school and where you grew up. You were an enigma to the team. And they grew to love you. It was slow until it wasn’t. You were an outcast until you weren’t. You found yourself laughing and bantering with John, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost time and time again. Suddenly, you were a part of the team, a true member of TF141.

Most times you would head out with the team to help them out. But sometimes you could do the job right from your home base. And this mission turned out to be one of those times. You didn’t hate that you didn’t get to go; you just felt a little left out when you stayed back. But Price always assured you it was for your safety above all else. Sometimes these missions were a little too dangerous for even you. Which of course led you to be more nervous than ever. If it was too dangerous for you, then what was it for them? Surely no walk in the park.

You walked with Price out to the chopper trying one last time. “Captain, are you sure? I can help with logistics once you get there.”

He gave you that signature soft Price smile before shaking his head softly. “I’m sure. It’s a quick in and out. No need to put you in the line of fire for it.”

“But…”

He cut you off. “I know you want to go. I really do. But it’s not worth the risk. You’re too valuable to this team.”

You let out a sigh before nodding. “I understand. Please be safe. Make sure everybody comes back in one piece.”

He gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Like we always do. We land at 0800 local time. Soap will be giving you a call then. We’ll see you soon.”

Pressing your lips together you forced a smile to him. “You better.” With a quick nod, you watched as he hopped in the chopper with the rest of the team. Soap flipped you off before the pilot ascended, leaving you in a fit of laughter, always the shit he was.

You had forgotten how much you disliked being away from the team. You felt so far, so disengaged. Even with MacTavish swearing like a sailor in your ear. You felt totally helpless but tried your best to do whatever you could for the team. The mission was successful but not without hiccup. Gaz had been shot, fortunately, it was just a small graze to the shoulder but nevertheless it reminded you of how fragile their lives were. How one misstep could take a best friend away from you. How crucial you really were to their livelihood.

The stress was getting to you tonight though. The thought of mortality was becoming too much. So, you found yourself at the bar just outside of base. What better way to bury your stresses away than to drink your worries away right with it? You weren’t usually so careless. But the worry and the helplessness got the better of you. One beer turned to two. Turned to a few shots bought by a man across the bar who was giving you the eyes. You’d seen him around base. Maybe even chatted for a brief time. But you chose to never give these men the time of day, until tonight. You knew the type and usually stayed far away. But it was a moment of weakness that got to you.

As the night wore on and the drinks kept coming, the edges of your worries dulled. For a fleeting moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders. It was a temporary reprieve, a fleeting sense of freedom from the constant pressure of your responsibilities. In the chatter and clinking of glasses you felt an unwanted hand on your shoulder, and you turned to see the man who had been buying you drinks. His smile was charming, but there was a hint of something predatory in his gaze. Instinctively you tensed as your senses were on high alert in your inebriated state.

You forced a polite smile, but you felt uneasy. The alcohol had clouded your judgment, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. You knew you should’ve left right then and there. Find your way back to the safety of base, but a part of you hesitated. Maybe it was the loneliness or the desire to forget, but you entertained the idea of staying just a little longer.

As the minutes ticked on, you found yourself ensnared in a web of conversation with the soldier. His words were like honeyed poison, dripping with false charm and manipulation. He seemed to know just what to say. But beneath the surface there was a darkness lurking. A predatory intent masked by the guise of friendly banter. The alcohol eventually dulled your senses, clouding your judgment as you struggled to keep up with the rapid pace of the conversation. His words became a blur as each syllable merged into the next until they lost all meaning. But still you listened captivated by the illusion of connection he wove around you.

His touch was insistent. His hands lingering where they shouldn't have been sending shivers of discomfort down your spine. You tried to pull away, to put some distance between you and this stranger who seemed to know too much about you. But he only tightened his grip, his fingers leaving marks in their wake.

As the night wore on, the line between consent and coercion blurred. Your protests drowned out by the relentless onslaught of alcohol and manipulation. You knew deep down that you didn't want this, that every fiber of your being screamed for you to escape. But you felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of his expectations. And so, with a soul weighed down by guilt and shame, you surrendered to his advances. Your body moving on autopilot as you sought refuge in the temporary oblivion of physical pleasure. But even as you gave in a part of you screamed in silent agony you mourned the loss of you usual control.

In the aftermath as the harsh light of reality pierced through the haze of alcohol and regret, you were left grappling with the devastating truth of what had transpired. You had been used, manipulated, reduced to nothing more than a pawn in someone else's twisted game. The guilt threatened to consume you, gnawing at your insides as you struggled to come to terms with what had happened. You blamed yourself, berating your own weakness and naivety. Wishing you had been stronger, smarter, better able to protect yourself. But deep down you knew the truth. You were not to blame. You were a victim of his manipulation, preyed upon by someone who saw you as nothing more than a means to an end.

The next day dawned with a heavy burden that seemed to press down upon your shoulders, weighing you down with the crushing weight of guilt and shame. As the TF141 team returned from their mission, the atmosphere in the base shifted. You left the air thick with an unspoken tension that hung over the corridors.

Alone in your room, you felt as though you were drowning in a sea of despair, the walls closing in around you with every passing moment. Tears streamed down your cheeks unchecked, leaving salty trails in their wake as you grappled with the overwhelming flood of emotions. Each sob that wracked your body felt like a physical manifestation of the agony that churned within you. A relentless reminder of the betrayal of your own body and the violation of your trust. Every breath was a struggle, a battle against the suffocating weight of shame that threatened to crush you beneath its relentless onslaught.

Outside your door, the sounds of laughter from Soap and Gaz only served to deepen your anguish. You could hear Price and the others talking, their footsteps echoing through the corridors as they made their way back to their quarters. But despite the familiarity of their presence, you couldn't bring yourself to face them. You couldn't bear the thought of meeting their eyes and seeing the disappointment and judgment reflected back at you. Instead, you remained sequestered in your room. You isolated yourself from the world outside as you struggled to come to terms with what had actually happened.

As the hours passed and the weight of your guilt continued to bear down on you, your phone buzzed incessantly with messages from Soap, Gaz and even Ghost. Each notification felt like a sharp jab to your already fragile psyche, a painful reminder of the concern and judgment you knew awaited you on the other end of the line. Soap's messages were filled with words of worry and encouragement, his concern evident in the way he repeatedly asked if you were okay. Gaz's messages were more subdued, but no less concerned, his terse inquiries betraying the depth of his worry for your well-being.

You ignored their messages, unable to fake it to them. Instead, you buried yourself deeper in the cocoon of your own despair, the silence of your room offering little solace in the midst of your turmoil. But as the day wore on and hunger gnawed at your stomach, you reluctantly dragged yourself out of bed and made your way to the cafeteria. It was late, far later than anyone else would-be getting dinner, or so you thought.

As you entered the desolate cafeteria, your heart sank at the sight of Ghost sitting alone at a table in the corner. Despite the emptiness of the room his presence felt suffocating, casting a harsh spotlight on the turmoil brewing within you. With a sigh you ignored him and walked up to serve yourself the usual dull military food. You felt Ghost's gaze boring into you. His eyes a mixture of concern and confusion as they lingered on your tear-stained face.

You filled your plate with food, your hands shaking as you struggled to maintain your composure. The weight of Ghost's scrutiny felt like a physical burden. But as you made your way past Ghost's table, you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes. Instead, you kept your gaze fixed on the floor. Your cheeks burned with shame as you tried to hide the evidence of your recent breakdown.

With a quick nod of acknowledgment, you hurried away from Ghost's table. Your steps quickening as you sought refuge in the farthest corner of the room. You found an empty table and sat down keeping your head bowed as you focused on your food, desperate to avoid any further scrutiny. But despite your best efforts, you could still feel Ghost's gaze burning into you. His concern was a palpable presence in the empty room. You felt exposed, vulnerable, as if every inch of your skin was laid bare for him to see. And as you picked at your food, your appetite all but forgotten in the wake of your turbulent emotions. You couldn't help but wonder how long you could keep up the charade. How long before the facade you had constructed came crashing down around you?

As Ghost approached your table, his presence a calming anchor in the midst of your turbulent emotions, he gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. "Hey, kid," he greeted you in his trademark gruff tone, his voice carrying a note of concern beneath its rough exterior. "You alright?"

You tried to mask the evidence of your tears with a feeble attempt at a smile, but Ghost saw right through that. His keen eyes bore into yours, his gaze unwavering as he waited for your response.

"Yeah, just allergies acting up," you replied, your voice betraying the strain of your attempts to deflect his concern.

But Ghost wasn't fooled. He knew you better than that, could see the pain etched into every line of your face. With a grunt of acknowledgment, he accepted your explanation, though you could tell he wasn't entirely convinced.

"I won't push ya," he said with his gravelly voice, his tone softened by a rare display of empathy. "But if you ever wanna talk about it, I'm here." With a grateful nod, you thanked him and watched as he walked out of the room leaving you to your thoughts.

As the morning sun filtered through the curtains you found yourself ensnared in a labyrinth of restless thoughts. Each beam of sunlight seemed to illuminate the tangled mess of emotions that swirled within you, highlighting the heavy shroud of guilt that enveloped your very being. You had spent the night tossing and turning, your pillow dampened by tears that ebbed and flowed.

Just as you had managed to drift into a fitful slumber the persistent knocking at your door shattered the fragile semblance of peace you had managed to find. Each rap on the door felt like a blow to your already fragile composure jolting you awake from the fleeting respite of sleep. Groggy and disoriented you stumbled across the room, every step a struggle against the weight of exhaustion that hung heavy upon your shoulders.

With a heavy heart Captain John Price stood on the other side of the door, his hand hovering tentatively over the handle as he took in the sight before him. His breath caught in his throat, a pang of concern twisting in his chest at the sight of you. The vibrant energy that usually radiated from you had been replaced by a sadness he rarely saw from you. A shadow of your former self. His heart clenched with a mixture of empathy and apprehension as he took in your fragile state. Every instinct urged him to gather you into his arms, to shield you from the pain that etched lines of sorrow upon your face. But he held back, knowing that you needed space to unravel the tangled threads of your emotions in your own time. With a silent prayer on his lips, Price waited for you to acknowledge him.

"Captain, what are you doing here?" you greeted him with a ghost of a smile, though it failed to reach your eyes, which still held traces of the turbulent night you had endured.

Price's gaze softened at the sight of you, his concern etched into every line of his expression. "Hey love," he greeted softly, his voice carrying a gentle warmth that offered solace in the midst of your turmoil. "Missed you this morning at PT. Everything alright?"

You forced a tight-lipped smile, the effort of masking your inner turmoil nearly unbearable. Every word you spoke felt like a weight upon your chest, each syllable a struggle against the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to engulf you. "Yeah, just feeling a bit under the weather," you replied, your voice strained with the weight of the unspoken troubles that gnawed at your conscience. Price's brow furrowed deeper in concern as he studied your haggard appearance. His gaze lingered on you, searching for answers in the depths of your tired eyes, his intuition telling him that there was more to your distress than a simple case of illness.

"You sure that's all it is?" he pressed gently, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and skepticism. He had known you long enough to recognize when something weighed heavily on your mind, and the mask you wore now couldn't conceal the truth from him.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to respond. The weight of your secrets threatened to suffocate you, but you clung to the fragile facade you had constructed, unwilling to burden him with the weight of your troubles. "Yeah, just... a rough night," you murmured, the words tasting bitter on your tongue as you forced them past the lump that lodged there.

Price had always treated you differently, with a softness he never seemed to reserve for the others. From the moment you joined Task Force 141, he recognized the weight of the horrors that came with the job. He made it his mission to be there for you in a way that went beyond mere professional obligation. He became your confidant, your sounding board, the one person you could turn to when the darkness threatened to overwhelm you. His gentle demeanor and unwavering kindness provided a safe haven in the chaos of missions and the toll they took on your spirit.

Price's gaze softened with understanding as he reached out to gently squeeze your arm. His touch was a far cry from the man a few nights ago. He was that comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions.

"You don't have to face it alone, you know," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm to your weary soul. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me. You can always talk to me, love."

Indeed, Price's tenderness towards you was unmistakable. While you were every bit a soldier like the rest, he recognized that you were different. The things you witnessed and the actions you took on these missions slowly started eating away at you long ago. But Price was there offering solace and understanding. His affection for you growing deeper with each shared moment of vulnerability.

Over the three years of working together Price found himself drawn to more than just your skills and abilities. It was your spirit, your unwavering determination, and your unique personality that captivated him. At first it was subtle, just a flicker of admiration for the way you handled yourself under pressure, the way you never backed down from a challenge. But as time went on and he got to know you better, that admiration blossomed into something deeper. He found himself enchanted by the fire in your eyes when you spoke passionately about something you believed in. He admired the way you never lost your humanity, even in the midst of the darkest missions. Your compassion and empathy for others in the face of danger touched something within him that he hadn't realized was missing.

Price began to notice the small things about you, the adorable quirks that made you uniquely yourself. He found himself smiling at your jokes, laughing at your antics, and feeling a sense of peace whenever you were around. He cherished the moments when you let your guard down and allowed him to see the vulnerable side of you. He felt honored that you trusted him with your fears and insecurities.

As the years went by, Price realized that his feelings for you had evolved beyond mere admiration. He was in love with you. He loved the way you made him feel alive, the way you challenged him to be a better man, and the way you brought light into his dark world. But even as his feelings grew, Price knew that he could never act on them. Not while he was your Captain and the stakes of their missions remained so high. So, he buried his feelings deep inside. He was content to love you from afar and grateful for the opportunity to know you. Even if it meant keeping his emotions hidden.

Soap, Ghost, and Gaz were like a finely tuned unit, attuned not only to the dynamics of the battlefield but also to the subtleties of their comrades' interactions. They noticed the way Price's demeanor would shift whenever you entered the room. The slight softening of his usually stern expression, the warmth that crept into his eyes as they lingered on you, and the way his voice would adopt a gentler tone when he spoke to you. It was unmistakable to them though they never openly acknowledged it.

In their downtime when the mission chatter had quieted, and they found themselves lounging around the base, the guys would exchange knowing glances whenever Price's attention seemed to linger on you a little longer than necessary. Soap might chuckle and nudge Ghost, raising an eyebrow in silent communication that spoke volumes about Price's apparent fondness for you. Ghost, ever the silent observer, would offer a small smirk in return, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched Price navigate the delicate balance between professionalism and the undeniable affection he held for you.

Gaz, always one for a bit of banter, wouldn't hesitate to make playful remarks whenever the opportunity presented itself. He'd tease Price about being extra protective of you during missions, jokingly suggesting that Price had a soft spot for you that he couldn't quite hide. Price would roll his eyes in response, brushing off Gaz's comments with a gruff retort. But the slight flush that colored his cheeks betrayed the truth behind Gaz's jests.

Despite their teasing, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz respected the unspoken boundaries that surrounded Price's feelings for you. They knew that his affection for you was genuine and deep-rooted, and they never pushed him to confront it unless he was ready. As for you, you might have been the only one oblivious to the undercurrent of emotions swirling around Price. To you he remained the steadfast leader, unwavering in his commitment to the mission and the safety of his team. His true feelings were well hidden behind a mask of professionalism and duty.

Tears welled in your eyes as you struggled to find the courage to vocalize the turmoil that had been devouring you from within. The weight of your confession hung heavy upon your shoulders. Each word feeling like a jagged stone forced from your chest. "I... I had a little too much to drink while everyone was gone," you confessed, your voice barely rising above a whisper, as if you were afraid the words themselves would shatter the fragile sanctuary you had built around yourself. "And... I did things... things I didn't want to do."

As you spoke, the air in the room seemed to thicken with a suffocating sense of shame. You couldn't bring yourself to meet Price's gaze. You feared the judgment you were sure would reflect in his eyes. But when you finally summoned the courage to glance up, the expression etched on Price's face was not one of condemnation but of utmost concern. His features tightened with an intensity that mirrored the turmoil raging within him. His heart twisted with a potent blend of anger and sorrow at the thought of someone exploiting your vulnerability in such a despicable manner. But despite the roiling emotions churning beneath the surface, he remained stoically composed. He understood that now was not the time for upsetting you even further.

"Coerced..." you added, your voice trembling with shame as you unveiled the truth that had festered within you like a poison, eating away at your sense of self-worth with every passing moment. "I tried to resist, but... he wouldn't listen. He wouldn’t take no for an answer."

As the weight of your confession hung heavy in the air between you, you couldn't help but feel a surge of relief wash over you. As if the simple act of vocalizing your pain had lifted a burden that had threatened to crush you. Despite the shame that threatened to consume you there was a profound sense of solace in knowing that you were no longer bearing this burden alone. That you had finally allowed yourself to be vulnerable in front of the one person you trusted implicitly.

In that moment of raw honesty, you couldn't help but wonder if Price understood the depth of your feelings for him. If he could see beyond the facade you presented to the world and glimpse the tangled mess of emotions that lay hidden beneath the surface. As you spoke you couldn't deny the palpable sense of comfort that enveloped you. It was as if in allowing yourself to be vulnerable with Price you had discovered a sanctuary where judgment held no power, where acceptance reigned supreme. Captain John Price was the best of men.

And as Price listened his gaze never wavering from yours, you couldn't shake the feeling that he knew on some level the depth of your affection for him. Perhaps it was the gentleness in his touch, the understanding in his eyes, or the unwavering support he offered without hesitation. Whatever the reason, you found yourself daring to hope that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way. As the weight of your confession hung heavy in the air between you, you realized with startling clarity that Price was more than just a trusted confidant. He was your rock, your pillar of strength in a world filled with uncertainty and doubt. And as the realization settled deep within your heart, you couldn't help but acknowledge the truth that had been staring you in the face all along: you loved him, in a way that transcended mere friendship.

With each passing moment, the bond between you and Price grew stronger, forged in the chaos of shared experiences and unwavering support. And as you looked into his eyes seeing the reflection of your own emotions mirrored back at you, you knew without a doubt that you could tell him anything, and he would be right there for you, no matter what.

Price's grip on your arm tightened ever so slightly as you made your confession. His touch both grounding and reassuring in its strength. His resolve hardened as he fought back the surge of protectiveness that threatened to consume him. "I'm here for you," he reassured you, his voice unwavering in its conviction. "Whatever you need, I'll do everything in my power to help you through this."

As Price listened to your trembling words a whirlwind of emotions roiled within him. Anger burned hot in his chest at the thought of someone taking advantage of you. His fists clenched with the urge to seek retribution. But beneath the rage a deeper sense of sorrow welled up aching with empathy for the pain you had endured alone. "I will always be here for you," he murmured again. As the weight of your confession settled upon you both Price felt a swell of tenderness wash over him, mingling with the fierce determination that burned within him. He wanted nothing more than to wrap you in his arms, to shield you from the pain that gnawed at your soul.

With a gentle hand he lifted your chin, meeting your tear-filled gaze with unwavering reassurance. His heart clenched at the sight of your vulnerability, and he couldn't help but brush away the tears that traced delicate paths down your cheeks. "You're not alone. I promise you that," he whispered, his voice infused with a quiet strength that resonated deep within you. "I'll be right here, every step of the way." And as he spoke those words you felt a sense of solace wash over you. You knew that you could lean on him, trust in him.

Against his better judgment, Price drew you into his embrace. His arms encircling you with a tenderness that concealed the strength of his resolve. He held you close as you surrendered to the flood of tears that just kept coming. "It's okay," he murmured softly, his voice a gentle reassurance in the midst of your turmoil. "I've got you. You're safe now."

His heart clenched at the sight of your vulnerability. He couldn't help but brush his hand through your hair. His touch a comforting caress that made you shiver. With each stroke he hoped to ease the burden that weighed so heavily upon your shoulders.

"You're not alone love," he whispered in reassurance. His voice a quiet promise against the chaos of your emotions. "I'm here for you, always." He said once more letting you know that he wasn’t going anywhere. He continued to hold you as the tears slowly subsided. His silent grasp on you a vow to stand by your side through every trial and tribulation that may lay ahead.

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elvensorceress · 9 months ago

Text

not quite tuesday tidbit teases

it's probably tuesday somewhere and this just popped in my head and I wanted to share. what do you think? do we want more?

tagging if any of you want to share something 😘 @hippolotamus @eddiebabygirldiaz @messyhairdiaz @rainbow-nerdss @tizniz @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @monsterrae1 @diazsdimples @watchyourbuck @wh0re-behavi0r @911onabc @chaosandwolves @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @rogerzsteven @epicbuddieficrecs @bekkachaos @fiona-fififi @wikiangela @exhuastedpigeon @the-likesofus @hoodie-buck @lover-of-mine @mikereads @jesuiscenseedormir @lemonzestywrites 💕

It’s just after midnight and Buck is going to bed.

He’s been saying this for a couple hours but YouTube had too many AItA videos and Instagram had those gorgeously edited food recipe posts and he doesn’t even want to talk about the doomscrolling of TikTok. But he had a day off and it was supposed to be with Tommy so they could take the weekend and go somewhere fun and romantic, but then Tommy had to work. Buck could’ve gone in with the rest of A shift. But it was nice to have some alone time for himself so he took time for himself.

His phone goes off with a call five seconds after he’s gotten into bed. It’s a number he doesn’t know. So he could ignore it. Or wait until they’ve left a message. But who would call at this hour for no reason? Or for scamming, telemarketing reasons?

So Buck answers.

“Buckley?” The man on the other end says. He sounds vaguely familiar but not enough that Buck came put a name or face with a voice.

“Uh, yeah? Who is this?”

“Mehta. Captain Mehta. Of the 133.”

“Oh, hey,” Buck says, automatically friendly and smiling. That makes sense now. “What’s up? Why the— why are you calling?” Why would he call in the middle of the night?

Why does anyone call in the middle of the night.

“Buckley,” he says and it sounds… it sounds… it sounds like…

They have him now. They’ll take care of him. Why don’t we get you cleaned up. He’s in good hands. They’ll rush him to surgery. You don’t have to worry. Let’s get you cleaned up.

Lets get you cleaned up.

Buck can’t breathe. His whole body is cold. Frozen.

He tries to get out of bed. He tries, but just slides to the floor beside it. He doesn’t make it any further.

“Buckley, there was a helicopter crash. Your team, our team we went to rescue the pilot. Your, uh, sorry, I don’t know what you call him, but your boyfriend? Life partner? He—”

Oh god. No. No, that’s not. That’s not happening. That is not what is happening right now. This can’t be a, Tommy is dead and I’m letting you know. It can’t be that. It’s not. They were going to—

They were supposed to have a romantic trip together. Wine tasting and some kind of museum Tommy thought Buck would love and maybe a visit to a hot springs up north and they were going to watch the sunset and the sunrise and—

And he can’t be dead. He can’t be.

“He’s alive,” Mehta says. “We’re at Cedars-Sinai. He’s alive, but. It doesn’t look good. He’s in the ICU now. He’s critical.”

Buck pushes himself up. Has to. He has to be there.

He barely remembers to thank Mehta or even end the call before he switches off his phone and runs out the door.

The drive is a blur. The drive is probably very illegal and he doesn’t know how he doesn’t crash, but he doesn’t have time to wait for an Uber or for anyone else. He runs as fast as possible to the ER lobby, and almost runs directly into Chimney.

Not almost. Buck crashes into him and almost knocks them both to the floor but that almost actually is an almost because Chim somehow steadies them both.

He’s pale. Shaken up. His eyes are red. He’s been crying.

“Chim,” Buck says as broken as he feels. “Chim, where— where is he? What happened? How did this happen? Please tell me he’s okay. He can’t be dying, right? That can’t be happening?”

Chim opens his mouth and grips Buck’s arms tighter, still trying to steady him. “Buck, we— we don’t know yet. It was bad, but he’s tough. You know that. He could be fine.”

Buck lets out a broken whimper and backs away from him. “No. He is fine. He’s fine and this isn’t happening. I just— Chim, I just found him. I can’t lose him already.”

There’s a flash of something on Chimney’s face but there’s movement around Buck, too. Other people. Bobby, he’s pretty sure. And Hen. They would be here. They would try to comfort him. But they don’t need to because it’s fine. Everything is fine and this isn’t happening.

It can’t be happening.

He can’t be dying.

There’s more movement and it’s all blurry, probably filtered through tears, but then everything stops. The world stops.

Tommy is right in front of him. Whole, alive, real, a little rumpled and there are bloody scratches and bandages on his face and around his arm. But he’s here. He’s fine.

Buck slams into him, throws his arms around him, and sobs as he clutches him.

“Baby,” Tommy says softly as he hugs Buck tightly, cradling him, comforting him, and Buck can breathe. He’s not frozen. Everything is okay. They were all wrong. Buck knew they were wrong. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Tommy tells him and holds him tighter.

Buck pulls back just to look at him. “No, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He takes a deep breath and smiles because Tommy is fine. He’s right here and everything is good. Buck touches Tommy’s battered face and caresses him gently. He’s bruised and also pale, and very soggy. It’s been stormy tonight. Another reason why Buck wasn’t all that eager to go out in it. “They told me— fuck, they scared me. I thought— I thought I lost you. I was so scared. I don’t want to lose you. He told me—Mehta, Captain Mehta— he called and told me there was a helicopter crash and my boyfriend was in the ICU and he’s critical and it didn’t look good, and I can’t— god, I can’t. Tommy, I—”

Tommy’s face isn’t good. It’s pale. Bad. Not smiling. Not relieved. It falls and he can’t even hide the devastation on it. He looks like guilt and death, and his mouth moves but nothing comes out. “Evan,” he finally says, barely says. It’s too quiet, too broken. “Evan…”

No. No, Buck doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want to throw up right now. And he just might. His heart is rabbit speed lightning and his legs don’t exist anymore and there’s an awful blackhole of apocalyptic world-ending destruction swirling and growing in his stomach.

Someone takes his arm. Someone needs his attention. He’s moved from Tommy’s arms because there is no safety or comfort anymore. There’s no relief. There’s no happily ever after, nothing will ever be okay.

Buck knows why Mehta said what he said. He knows who isn’t here. He knows who would have come to him and immediately comforted him.

He knows.

He knows what this is now. It can’t be that. It can’t. Buck doesn’t know anything.

Hen tells him. She holds his arm and says calmly even if it’s broken. Everything is broken. They’re all broken. “Buck. It’s Eddie.”

No. No, it isn’t. It isn’t that either. Buck really can’t take that. It was bad enough, unimaginable enough the other way. It can’t be this.

He’s already done this. They did this before. More than once. Forty plus feet of cruel earth and a whirling burst of metal and blood all over him.

Eddie’s blood was all over him.

“The helicopter went down and got stuck on the cliffs. He went in so he could pull Tommy out, and we got Tommy out,” Hen tells him, every word a knife stabbing through both of them. All of them.

“He saved me,” Tommy says, quiet and full of regret. “He saved me and went down with it. They thought it was stable enough. It wasn’t. They got him out after. But…”

Buck collapses to his knees on the floor and holds his head in his own hands as if he can somehow hold himself together when there’s no holding himself together.

It’s Eddie.

It’s Eddie it’s Eddie it’s Eddie.

Buck shatters like flimsy glass and sobs in all the pieces that are ripped out of him. What about Chris? What about Abuela? What about Eddie’s parents and sisters and friends and everyone else who loves him?

What about Buck? They can’t be BuckandEddie without Eddie.

“I need to see him,” Buck suddenly says to the closest person who will listen. “I need to be with him. Please. Please.”

There’s arguing that happens. Bobby yells at someone. Hen, Chim, and Tommy stay around him like a protective guard. Until someone finally agrees. He’s not in surgery, they can’t take him to surgery yet. He’s not stable enough. But he’s on a ventilator, life support. They warn him and Buck doesn’t care. He knows how bad these things can be. He’s lived through several.

They give him five minutes.

They’ll have to drag him out with an armed guard if they think Buck will agree to only that. But at least it’s something.

It’s something.

Eddie is mostly covered. Blankets, wires, tubes, IV lines, bandages. He’s paler than all of them. Slightly blue-purple, cyanotic. They tell him a few things but Buck can’t hear them. He just wants to be with Eddie.

Buck sits beside him and rests a shaking hand over Eddie’s hand, under the blankets where it’s trying to be warm. Buck would give anything to keep him warm, and alive.

Eddie needs to stay alive. He needs to.

Buck rests his forehead on the side of the bed near their joined hands. He would say something if he had the capacity to form words and sentences. The only thing in his head right now is, don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.

And that’s probably all he can say. All that really matters.

Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, please, don’t ever leave me.

(read now on AO3)

#tease tidbit tuesday #jenwyn wip #buddie wip #mentions of #bucktommy #but this is me okay lol anything and everything is about buddie #911 #buddie #fic: if i should fall

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