#fuel price rise

[thecodyagenda]

public transportation kings

[scribblestatic]

Let me tell you something: nothing quite informs you of worldwide events like researching groups of people you previously knew little to nothing about for a short story. And it really shows you exactly how big this world is and how absolutely little you know as an individual.

Like, I'm making an original story I intend to publish on "official" lines, like, submitting it to different publishers and contests for money and the sort. And I decided that I wanted to make a sideline character Kazakhstani instead of Italian, because why not? Why not involve people from groups you don't really hear about so much? It's not like I'm making political statements with the guy, I just want this character to have a different background.

So, I decided I would attempt due diligence and look into what life is like for Kazakhstani people in general. While we're all people, of course, cultural differences alter how we respond to things, and I don't want to base this character on nothing but stereotypes or act like the way they grew up has nothing to do with how they act now at all. Like, I feel like that would've been a bit shite of me.

But in looking this stuff up, I learned about the small amount of Kyrgyz people in Kazakhstan, some details about religious backgrounds in the area—

And the fact Kazakhstan's police gunned down 238 of their own citizens under a shoot-to-kill order from their during fuel protests.

I knew jack shite about this before now, and I'm just kinda shocked.

We really don't know anything. Like, at all. There's too much to know and not enough brain to know it. And even knowing that Bloody January occurred, I can never read enough to know exactly how it all went down or all of the results of it.

It's just something I thought about.

Ah, still, I'm keeping the character Kazakhstani. If I don't try to make him, even as a minor character, I feel like that would erase him, and I don't wanna do that. I'll just need to be careful about relying on stereotypes.

[creativemedianews]

Scavenging fuel from overturned petrol tanker in Nigeria kills over 100

[werothegreat]

The governor of Pennsylvania (the state the Adjuster was found in), Josh Shapiro (who was on the shortlist to be Kamala's VP pick lol) just said at a press conference: “In America, we do not kill people in cold blood to resolve policy differences or express a viewpoint."

What, Josh, exactly, are we supposed to do?

Vote? Thanks to gerrymandering, the electoral college, politicians being funded by corporations, and "news" organizations peddling propaganda, that does shit all.

Protest? We try doing that and we are just ignored. The right makes jokes about running over protestors (because apparently only the lives of rich white people matter).

Call our politicians? They don't fucking care. We've been trying that for decades and they barely passed Obamacare, which Trump now wants to dismantle.

MLK said "a riot is the language of the unheard." We have been screaming at the tops of our lungs that these "policy differences" are killing us. Costly private medical insurance is killing us. Lack of gun control is killing us. Rising food and fuel prices are killing us. Microplastics everywhere is killing us. Fossil fuels are killing us.

And people like you, Governor Josh Shapiro, do nothing except protect your rich friends.

I'm surprised it's taken this long, and I'm surprised there haven't been copycats yet. Let me know when I should grab my torch and pitchfork, because my student and medical debt ridden ass is very ready for some good old-fashioned revolution.

[reasonsforhope]

The World's Forests Are Doing Much Better Than We Think

You might be surprised to discover... that many of the world’s woodlands are in a surprisingly good condition. The destruction of tropical forests gets so much (justified) attention that we’re at risk of missing how much progress we’re making in cooler climates.

That’s a mistake. The slow recovery of temperate and polar forests won’t be enough to offset global warming, without radical reductions in carbon emissions. Even so, it’s evidence that we’re capable of reversing the damage from the oldest form of human-induced climate change — and can do the same again.

Take England. Forest coverage now is greater than at any time since the Black Death nearly 700 years ago, with some 1.33 million hectares of the country covered in woodlands. The UK as a whole has nearly three times as much forest as it did at the start of the 20th century.

That’s not by a long way the most impressive performance. China’s forests have increased by about 607,000 square kilometers since 1992, a region the size of Ukraine. The European Union has added an area equivalent to Cambodia to its woodlands, while the US and India have together planted forests that would cover Bangladesh in an unbroken canopy of leaves.

Logging in the tropics means that the world as a whole is still losing trees. Brazil alone removed enough woodland since 1992 to counteract all the growth in China, the EU and US put together. Even so, the planet’s forests as a whole may no longer be contributing to the warming of the planet. On net, they probably sucked about 200 million metric tons of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere each year between 2011 and 2020, according to a 2021 study. The CO2 taken up by trees narrowly exceeded the amount released by deforestation. That’s a drop in the ocean next to the 53.8 billion tons of greenhouse gases emitted in 2022 — but it’s a sign that not every climate indicator is pointing toward doom...

More than a quarter of Japan is covered with planted forests that in many cases are so old they’re barely recognized as such. Forest cover reached its lowest extent during World War II, when trees were felled by the million to provide fuel for a resource-poor nation’s war machine. Akita prefecture in the north of Honshu island was so denuded in the early 19th century that it needed to import firewood. These days, its lush woodlands are a major draw for tourists.

It’s a similar picture in Scandinavia and Central Europe, where the spread of forests onto unproductive agricultural land, combined with the decline of wood-based industries and better management of remaining stands, has resulted in extensive regrowth since the mid-20th century. Forests cover about 15% of Denmark, compared to 2% to 3% at the start of the 19th century.

Even tropical deforestation has slowed drastically since the 1990s, possibly because the rise of plantation timber is cutting the need to clear primary forests. Still, political incentives to turn a blind eye to logging, combined with historically high prices for products grown and mined on cleared tropical woodlands such as soybeans, palm oil and nickel, mean that recent gains are fragile.

There’s no cause for complacency in any of this. The carbon benefits from forests aren’t sufficient to offset more than a sliver of our greenhouse pollution. The idea that they’ll be sufficient to cancel out gross emissions and get the world to net zero by the middle of this century depends on extraordinarily optimistic assumptions on both sides of the equation.

Still, we should celebrate our success in slowing a pattern of human deforestation that’s been going on for nearly 100,000 years. Nothing about the damage we do to our planet is inevitable. With effort, it may even be reversible.

-via Bloomburg, January 28, 2024

[rebelliousneferut]

fan frenzy | jude bellingham

summary; when jude's fangirls from borussia dortmund don't love you but things change with your move to madrid

genre; angst, smau

face claim; kaaviya sambasivam

note; English is not my first language

masterlist!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

yourusername

liked by judebellingham, jobebellingham, username and others

yourusername date night 🌉✨

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username can someone explain to me why is jude dating with her??

username jude is too much for her

username he doesn't even pay attention to her, she's always the one who looks desperate

username he needs someone prettier

username fr

username i wait for the day he opens his eyes

swallowing the bile rising in my throat, I scrolled through the comments on my latest photo. the negativity was a suffocating wave, a stark contrast to the joy we shared in the picture.

dating jude bellingham was a whirlwind from the start. we met in dortmund, sparks flying despite our initial clashes. over time, that spark evolved into a love as powerful and exhilarating as his world-class strikes. jude, with his kind heart and dazzling smile, was a revelation. despite his young age and rising fame, his patience and unwavering affection showed me a love i never thought possible.

living the dream alongside the man i adored shouldn't have come with a price tag. but jude, besides being a phenomenal footballer, also boasted a massive, and sometimes harsh, fanbase. the adoration soon turned towards me, morphing into a relentless stream of negativity. hateful messages, fueled by envy, became a daily torment. i shielded jude, who was blissfully unaware thanks to his social media inactivity. but the constant barrage chipped away at my self-esteem, leaving me questioning every aspect of myself and our relationship.

jude's future was bright, and i convinced myself i was letting him down by being a target. so, with a voice thick with emotion, i began, "jude, i think we should take some time."

his hand shot out, his touch warm against mine. "why do you say that?" he pleaded, his eyes filled with a concern that mirrored my own. "is this about the move? because if it is, we can talk about it. we'll figure it out together, like always."

i shook my head, tears welling up. "it's everything, jude. all the hate, the negativity... i can't take it anymore. i don't want to be the reason you're attacked."

jude's brow furrowed, his expression a mix of determination and tenderness. "who cares what they say? they don't know us, y/n. they don't know the way you light up a room with your smile, or the fire you ignite in my heart. you are strong, kind, and more beautiful than any comment could ever diminish."

he cupped my face in his hands, his touch wiping away a stray tear. "you are the woman i love, the thought of facing anything without you is..." his voice trailed off, his eyes searching mine.

taking a deep breath, i confessed, "the comments... they make me doubt myself, jude. they make me doubt us."

jude's jaw clenched for a moment, then softened. he pulled me into a tight embrace, the warmth of his body a familiar comfort. "we'll face it together," he murmured against my hair. "we'll show them what true love looks like. and if they can't see it, then their opinion doesn't matter. all that matters is you and me."

and i decided to trust him.

"maybe a fresh start in spain would be better," i thought. "maybe they won't hate me there."

the following day, the world woke up to a new post on jude's social media – a photo of us, radiating pure joy.

judebellingham

liked by yourusername, jobebellingham, footballwags and others

judebellingham my rock, my confidante, my love, my y/n. to anyone who has anything negative to say, save your breath. we're happy, and that's all that matters.

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yourusername i love you so much 🥺❤️

❤️ liked by the author

judebellingham i love you more than words can express

username i never understood the hatred towards her, she is beautiful and they make a nice couple

username madrid welcomes you with open arms 🫶🏽

username she makes jude happy and that's all that matters

username i still don't like her

username touch grass

the response was a wave of positivity, drowning out the negativity. the spanish fans, known for their passion, embraced me with open arms. it wasn't an instant fix, but it was a start. jude, by my side, had become my shield, our love a beacon against the darkness. we were in this together, and together, we would face anything.

[getindumdums]

Ok. I think it’s time we talked. About Uranium.

You see I actually know a thing or two about it. I love science. And the idea that rottmnt Donatello, can’t get any. Well… you can BUT it. And get more for your buck than you may assume. And it isn’t as dangerous as you think! (I’m not mad, I swear!) But! It IS a great, powerful source of energy.

Uranium comes in rock, and powder, yes powder. Uranium glassware that glows if you’re feeling fancy.

So we need to ask. Can Rise Donnie convert it, the price, and can he get enough of it?

First. Donnie is primarily an engineer. Plus he has a love for botany. BUT! He has stated “Geology stinks”. It’s a boring science to him. And we neurodiverse folks can’t focus on and forget things we aren’t interested in. So? He’s SMART! Surely he could get past this hurdle for something he’s clearly passionate about right?

What’s more, conversion is chemistry. Well we don’t see him so much of chemistry either. But! It is implied with the deleted episode where he was submitting a giant pumpkin into a contest, that he modified it. And THAT’S chemistry. So we’ll file this into “very likely”. Even if there was a LARGE chance it was gonna grow a mouth and attack everyone…

So. The price. US citizens are only allowed to legally purchase up to 3.3 pounds of uranium, and have a limited amount they can own. But for a low $50-100! You TOO! Can get a box of rocks!

Perhaps this is a main reason why he started his secret Stark tech company, WITH an apparel line! Considering he was counting a heap of cash. I think he was doing well off it. (Though perhaps he was struggling with it after Shredder wrecked the lab.) Plus with SHELLDON shown stealing from ATMs apparently being a thing. I don’t think money is an issue.

(Though considering he “didn’t have money” to give to Mantis, he could a. Been hiding his money so his bros wouldn’t find out/also not give a villain money. B. His company isn’t accessible to the public (yet?) and he actually stole it from an ATM or something.)

So. Can he get enough for what he needs? He probably needs a lot of it right?

The thing is. Uranium is abundant. REALLY abundant. You can mine for it yourself. So, surely a “reasonable” demand to ask for!

But perhaps this is why he spent so much time, and effort on a giant … drill.

So I can only conclude that: Donnie is banned from uranium by his family. “It’s not as dangerous as you think!” He shouts. But woe is the mad scientist with questionable intentions!

(Imagine him begging Leo to use his sword to teleport him to a mine. Pfft!)

And so, he’s been slowly, slowly, collecting uranium samples. Has him hidden away. Changing his information every time to hide his intentions from the FBI and government. While developing ways on mining it himself.

There’s literally no excuse for Donnie not to get his hands on uranium. It’s not a matter of IF. Just WHEN. He will get his hands on uranium.

So WHAT. Is his first use for this? Perhaps… a titanium Ironman suit fueled by a miniature nuclear reactor!

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 30

(Che'nya is officially considered a Bakeneko, but he is actually half Bakeneko half Kitsune. He has an affinity for daydreams and and see what others are daydreaming about due to his Bakeneko heritage, including what the Human daydreams about. He does need to be close to his target to see what they are daydreaming about and there are rules to what a daydream specifically is that allows him to view them, but he typically doesn't share what he sees in the daydreams of others.)

Warnings: yandere, yandere relationships, yandere behavior, crimes committed and a price paid, Queendom of Roses visit start, mention of public execution, hurt/comfort, several guards are chosen for this event, Heavy weighs the title of the Last, Human artifacts, Harpies, Hellcat, Selkie, Sphinx, Dragon, Vampire bat, Nemean lion, Drider, Merfolk, Unicorn, Shinigami, Gnoll,

~~~~~~~~

"Good morning, my Little Bird."

Your eyes slowly opened to see the beaked mask of the Crow Headmage watching you closely, a smile on his lips and his eyes glowing in the darkness. The sudden appearance of the male made you almost scream before he shushed you gently and tried to keep you calm. It was nearing the end of the week and you likely were going to have to attend yet another Housewarden meeting to see who would be your guards for the next week.

"What are you doing in here? What time is it?"

"It is early. I wanted to talk with you before we have to meet with the students about your guards. This week is going to be different."

"Different compared to my ovulation or different overall?"

"Different over all."

Crowley sat on the edge of your nest and you sat up, rubbing at your eyes and trying to keep your movements limited so you don't wake Grim. The almost worried way Crowley spoke piqued your interest and you wondered why he was so unsettled. Something must have happened to make him change his behavior and be willing to wake you to speak with you about it.

Despite how much the Crow cooed over you and treated you like his child, he still respected your space more than most students and wouldn't do something so brash without reason. Even the collar- despite how much you disliked it at first- was done for a reason. Now you just needed to know what new hell your life would be facing.

"Get dressed, and we will discuss this downstairs. The other staff are already awake so we can talk about this."

You nodded and Crowley left to give you some time. As you were getting dressed, you vaguely wondered what happened to make such a change on your life and if it had anything to do with the past traumatic events you had already gone through. Surely it couldn't be more threats to remove you from NRC, but you wouldn't put it past the other countries to try and use Erikír's Overblot as more fuel for the fire.

You gathered the sleeping kit into your arms, letting him snuggle into his blanket and purr as you stroked the smooth gray fur. He didn't even rouse as you quietly made your way through the building and to where the staff awaited you in the main lounge area of the dorm. The sun had yet to rise and the staff all seemed rather groggy, most barely awake even as they drank their tea or sipped at their beverages.

Naturally, Divus was first to greet you with a sleepy smile, happy to see you join them and even made space for you to sit next to him. It was difficult to not see the Selkie as a kind of father figure given his protective behavior and gentle attitude towards you. Even Trein seemed like a grandparent given his attitude towards you and the other staff all seemed to fall in similar roles. A large disjointed found family that sought to protect and shield you was certainly not a bad thing by any stretch.

Trein set yet another cup of tea in front of you, the warm porcelain feeling nice on your hands. Even that first sip seemed to warm your insides and settle smoothly in your stomach.

"(Y/n), the Huoshu- the Rat- has been sentenced to death in the Queendom of Roses, and- as per their laws- you need to attend his execution. The representatives agreed to allow you to stay in Night Raven College so long as you make several visits to the various countries that are financing and supporting your wellbeing. Your visit to the Queendom will count as one of these pilgrimages."

"So I won't be here at school for this week then... What does that mean for guards?"

"You will have to choose several students to be your guards while you are away from Night Raven. The staff and I have agreed to allow these selected students to be exempt from schoolwork while they are with you and their guarding will count as full marks for any assignment they miss during this time."

"I choose them?"

Crowley nodded, his feathers slightly ruffled as if he didn't want any of these students to be tasked with your safety. Still, he had a school to run and he couldn't come with you while he was running the school. From the sounds of it, you wouldn't be able to take any of the professors with you on this trip at all.

"Yes. It would make no sense for you to be assigned guards if you do not feel safe with them around you, especially when you are somewhere new and don't know your way around."

"How many can I choose?"

"However many you would like, but I would rather a few Housewardens stay to ensure anarchy doesn't reign."

You sat in silence for a moment, busying yourself with the cup in front of you and trying to mentally parse out what was happening. Even on top of who you would choose- which you had several in mind- there was the question of what would be done with Grim during this time. Honestly, you didn't think he should have to see the execution as he was still so young and shouldn't be exposed to such things at such a tender age. However, if you left him at NRC, he would panic and enter a distressed state without you- his mother- to comfort and soothe him.

"What about Grim? He can't stay here. He will panic without me or think I abandoned him and he doesn't need that kind of stress so early in life. But I don't want him seeing the execution either, that is far too brutal an event for one so young."

Trein nodded to this, his own feline companion Lucius was laying curled up in his arms and sleeping peacefully. None of the staff seemed particularly comfortable with you being away from Night Raven but none seemed to be able to fond a better solution. It was only made more dire to know that you had agreed to these 'visits' to other countries prior, meaning you had to follow through with the promises you made.

"He should go with you, and you should cover his eyes during the execution. If he stays, he will work himself into a panic and you won't be there to calm him down. If he goes, he can't leave your side or others may try to use him to get to you. He needs to go with you, but you can stop him from seeing the execution and being impacted by it."

A soft sigh escaped you as you gently pet the kit's head, Grim stretching his paws out in his sleep to grab your hand and nuzzle it. He was so young and so little, it was heartbreaking to think about anyone taking advantage of him to hurt you and that Rat- Huoshu as Crowley claimed- had been willing to pay for the kit to be killed. You wanted the Rat dead, but you knew even the Rat's death would not fully soothe the stressed kit.

"Okay. I agree he should come with, just to keep his stress down. I'll see what I can do about stopping him from seeing the Execution."

"Who would you like to guard you?"

"..."

~•§•~

It was rare that you were the first to arrive for a Housewarden meeting, usually one of the last. However, Crowley waking you early to talk with the staff before he called for a meeting meant you were first to arrive with the Crow and Grim. You figured Malleus would not be in attendance unless you called for him given what Lilia had told you about his issues with technology. Still, you sent a text to Lilia, Silver, and Sebek to try and attend with Malleus so you wouldn't cause the Dragon undue stress.

Given your many options to choose from among your guards, you had a good list of those you were planning to bring along. The only thing that worried you about this list was the potential for the beast men to become either prideful at being selected, or angry at not being selected.

Most of those that filtered in actually seemed pleased to see you already in attendance and you recognized many brought their chosen group along even if they had not guarded you prior. Vil brought Rook and Epel. Riddle brought Trey, Cater, Ace, and Deuce. Leona brought Ruggie and Jack. Azul brought Floyd and Jade. Kalim brought Jamil. Idia brought Ortho. Malleus was last to arrive, but the Hoard came with him always.

When all of the others had finally arrived for the meeting, Crowley actually let you take the lead on it to explain what was happening and why. It was a little odd- as the Crow had not done this prior- but perhaps even he was beginning to realize you had your own agency and could mostly handle yourself.

"I won't be staying at Night Raven this week-"

Your first words were met with outcry from all of the guards and you had to wait for them to fall silent again, now all of them seeming stressed compared to their behavior prior.

"I am to attend the execution of the traitor scientist who hired the Wolves to kill me. He has been sentenced to death by beheading in the Queendom of Roses and I am required to attend. As I will be away from Night Raven and have no magic of my own to protect me from potential threats, Headmage Crowley and the other staff have agreed that I should take several guards with me for this endeavor. Those who come with me will be excused from classwork for the duration of time I am in the Queendom. I have an idea of who I wish to bring with me, but I do have a few questions that will determine who ultimately is selected. Who here is from the Queendom of Roses?"

Riddle was quick to raise his hand, as was Ace, Deuce, and Trey. You nodded, taking note of those who would be familiar with the landscape and the expected rules of the country. Despite knowing you were not held to the same rules as the others, you still didn't want to break any laws regardless of if you would be held accountable or not.

"Very well. Riddle, you're one of the guards I am choosing to come with. We are leaving later today, so I do hope you can pack quickly as we will be in the Queendom for at least six days. I do expect you to tell me of any laws that I need to be mindful of so I do not cause offence while we are in the Queendom. Trey, the Heartslabyul dorm needs at least one of their Dormleaders, so I can't bring you too, despite the fact I would like to bring you both."

Trey nodded, seeming to be somewhat downcast but also understanding your reasoning. His quick acceptance gave you a bit of hope as to how the others would react to not being selected despite how they clearly wished to all come with you.

"Malleus, because I know it will stress you out otherwise and I would rather keep my strongest guard with me, I would like you to come with as well, just in case anything happens. Lilia, that does mean you can't come with since Diasomnia needs you."

"I understand, (Y/n). Hopefully there won't be dire need, but Malleus will absolutely be able to protect you even if I am not there. Keep me updated though, and I will drop everything to come help should you call."

Lilia was always the more socially graceful of the two, and though you wanted him to come instead of Malleus, you still figured the strongest would dissuade others from attacking or trying their luck. Malleus seemed positively thrilled, however.

"Leona, for the sake of Sunset Savana and to combat the racism against Nemean Lions, I do think you should come with as well. Ruggie, I hope you can manage the Pride while Leona is with me."

"Aww, does that mean I have to starve for the week?"

"Ruggie-"

"Shihihi, I'm just playing with you (Y/n). I'll do it, but I want double portions when you get back, okay?"

"Fine. I figured you'd want something in return."

The Gnoll seemed pleased with the arrangement and Leona was beaming with pride. That at least gave you three Housewardens on your side, but you also didn't plan to stop with just the three guards.

"I can't take every Housewarden with me on this, but it would be remiss of me to not include Vice-Housewardens and regular students as well. Rook, you are a Hunter with keen instincts and a sharp eye, I do feel safer if you came with as you can read the body language of others better than I can and you know what behavior to watch out for."

"I will happily take the role of your gallant knight and guard you with my very life, Mademoiselle Trickster."

Rook could keep an eye on vantage points and see if anyone was targeting you, as he had the mind of a hunter. He would be first to know what to look out for and who to be suspicious of while you are exposed to the rest of this insane world.

"Floyd, think you can entertain yourself enough to come with, or should I choose Jade?"

"Naw, Jade is always whining about new foods, don't pick him. I'd be happy to go along with you, Lil Shrimpy. Sounds like it will be a blast and a half!"

Jade sent a pointed glare to his twin, but clearly Floyd was elated by being selected. Azul almost seemed like he wanted to argue with the decision but ensured to keep himself quiet despite his internal protests.

"I don't want to take too many with me on this trip, so I think the five I've chosen are the best bet for this situation. Idia, if I take a tablet with me, will you be able to keep tabs while I am gone?"

"Absolutely."

"Good, does anyone else have any complaints or want to suggest they come along? I'm going to need a good reason to allow it, but I am willing to listen."

You looked around at the group, noticing Azul and Vil were both huffing in anger despite your explanation for not taking them as well. Despite their poor moods, neither of them objected. Much to your surprise, it was actually Ortho who spoke up.

"I think I should come with. I may not be from the Queendom of Roses, but I can scan for unusual behavior, odd activity, and can detect heat signatures through walls. On top of that, I can check to see if there are any unwelcome or undisclosed monitoring technology planted in whatever accommodations are provided."

"That... That is actually a damn good point. Ortho, feel like visiting the Queendom? I will request you don't watch the beheading though... It is sure to be a messy affair and I would rather someone of your age not have to witness that."

"You can count on me!"

Idia seemed a little unsettled with Ortho leaving, but he also seemed to agree with Ortho as to the reasoning for him coming along. He would just have to make sure that Ortho can fix or repair himself well enough before he leaves in case anything happens. The older Shinigami would rather not lose his little brother if he can help it.

"Alright. It is decided. Those who are coming with, make sure you are ready to go by midday today. They will be expecting us."

~•§•~

You stood looking at the mirror in your room, frowning slightly to yourself. There was no way to know if the Ghosts were there or not and you wanted to let them know where you were going before you left, just in case they tried to speak to you. All you could do was hope they heard you as you murmured softly to the mirror.

"I won't be here this week, but I will be back. If you all find something... Anything... Please wait for me to come back. This isn't the end, but... Who knows what will happen? Please... Please wait for me."

A faint shine took over the mirror despite nothing forming in the surface of the glass. Though none of the ghosts spoke to you through the mirror, you still took it as a sign that they heard you.

As you grabbed your bags, a kind of stress overtook you as to what exactly would be waiting for you on the other side of the looking glass. Perhaps the Queendom would welcome you, seeing as so many laws were in place to protect Humans despite their extinction. Perhaps they would covet you the moment you stepped on Queendom soil. Perhaps they would hate you. You really didn't know.

Still, there was no way you could avoid this and you knew the execution was to be a public event. Maybe, just maybe, the laws and the public beheading would be enough to discourage most from acting against you. You weren't holding onto too much hope, however.

Heavy weighs the burden that is being the last of your species in a world that craves so viciously. Heavy weighs the title you were given unwillingly. Heavy weighs the duty foisted upon you.

All you could do now was hope you could survive long enough to escape, and continue the pantomime until you were free.

[rose24207]

Mafia lando smut where reader was mad at him from an argument the other day, so she spends heaps of money on his bank account. He doesn’t find out till the bank calls to make sure it wasn’t fraud. And he punishes her

Stress Shopping

Summary: After a heated argument, you storm off on a stress-shopping spree with Lando's card, prompting a call from his bank, but the fight ends in heartfelt apologies and a reminder of his love for you.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: arguing, spending way too much money

A/N: loved the idea but I changed it a little! Hope you don’t mind! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The sound of the door slamming reverberates through the mansion, shaking the antique fixtures on the walls. You stomp into the grand foyer, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, your anger palpable in the air. Lando's sharp voice follows you, his British accent more clipped than usual.

"Don't you dare walk away from me, love!" he barks, his footsteps quick behind yours.

You spin on your heel to face him, eyes blazing with fury. "What do you want me to do, Lando? Stand there and listen while you talk to me like I’m one of your employees? Like I’m beneath you?"

His jaw tightens, the muscles working as he clenches his teeth. He’s wearing that infuriatingly expensive suit you helped him pick out, and right now, you’d love nothing more than to rip it off him—not in the fun way. "I don’t treat you like my employees," he growls. "But I am in charge, and you seem to forget that sometimes."

You laugh bitterly, crossing your arms. "Oh, how could I forget? You love reminding me every chance you get."

Lando rakes a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up slightly. Normally, the sight would make your heart soften, but right now, it only fuels your fire. "You’re being unreasonable," he snaps. "We had an agreement—"

"No, you had an agreement!" you interrupt, your voice rising. "I never agreed to this ridiculous, controlling nonsense, Lando."

His amber eyes flash dangerously. "Watch it," he warns, his voice low now, like a storm about to break. "You’re pushing me, and you know I don’t like being pushed."

But you’re too far gone to care. "And I don’t like being treated like some trophy wife who needs to follow orders. I’m done with this conversation."

Without waiting for his response, you grab your purse from the console table and march toward the front door. His voice chases after you. "Where are you going?"

"Out," you snap. "Don’t wait up."

Before he can stop you, you’re out the door, the evening air cool against your flushed skin.

The mall is your sanctuary. Under the glow of bright lights and the hum of happy chatter, you lose yourself in racks of designer clothing, rows of shoes, and glass cases of sparkling jewelry. Lando's black card burns a comforting weight in your purse, and tonight, you intend to make full use of it.

You start at Chanel, swiping the card for a pair of heels and a matching bag without so much as glancing at the price tag. Next is Cartier, where a sleek watch catches your eye. After that, you make your way to Dior, where a silk gown feels like the perfect antidote to your frustration.

Each purchase soothes the ache in your chest, replacing anger with satisfaction. By the time you leave the mall, your arms are laden with bags, and the backseat of your car is filled to the brim with boxes and tissue paper.

But your phone buzzes just as you’re pulling out of the parking lot. You glance at the screen and see Lando’s name flashing. You don’t answer.

Back at the mansion, Lando is pacing his study, his phone pressed to his ear. The man on the other end clears his throat nervously before speaking. "Mr. Norris, this is Daniel from Barclays. We’ve noticed some unusual activity on your account and wanted to confirm if your card has been compromised."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "What kind of activity?" he asks, though he already knows the answer.

"A series of high-value transactions," Daniel replies. "Chanel, Cartier, Dior... altogether totaling a little over seventy thousand pounds. Should we freeze the card?"

Lando smirks despite himself, shaking his head. "No, Daniel," he says, his tone resigned. "It’s just my wife... throwing a tantrum."

There’s a brief silence on the other end. "Ah," Daniel says finally, clearly unsure how to respond. "Very well, sir. Shall we flag the transactions as authorized?"

"Yes," Lando says. "And don’t call again unless it’s life or death."

You return home hours later, your anger dulled by exhaustion and the satisfying sight of your new purchases. You push open the door to the mansion, your arms laden with bags, only to find Lando waiting for you in the foyer. He leans against the staircase, his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp features unreadable.

"Have fun?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm.

You ignore him, stepping past him with your head held high. But before you can make it far, he grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is firm but not painful, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Don’t ignore me," he says softly, dangerously.

You whirl around to face him, the fire in your eyes reigniting. "What do you want, Lando? To scold me for spending your money? Go ahead—I’m sure you’ve got plenty of lectures lined up."

He doesn’t rise to the bait, his gaze steady on yours. "It’s not about the money," he says. "You know that."

"Then what is it about?" you demand. "Because I’m tired of fighting with you over every little thing."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. Then, finally, he speaks. "It’s about us," he says. "About you running off every time we argue instead of dealing with it. You think throwing my money around is going to make things better?"

"It made me feel better," you snap, yanking your wrist out of his grip.

"Fine," he says, his voice cold now. "If that’s what you want—things, clothes, jewelry—then take it all. But don’t pretend it’s going to fix what’s wrong between us."

His words hit harder than you’d like to admit. You stare at him, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back tears. "Maybe if you treated me like your wife instead of your possession, we wouldn’t have these problems," you say quietly.

Something flickers in his eyes—guilt, maybe. But he doesn’t respond, and you don’t wait for him to. You turn on your heel and head upstairs, leaving him standing alone in the foyer.

Hours later, you’re sitting in the walk-in closet, surrounded by your purchases. The excitement you felt earlier has faded, leaving behind a hollow ache. You sigh, running your fingers over the soft fabric of the Dior gown, wondering if you went too far.

A knock at the door startles you, and before you can respond, Lando steps inside. He looks tired, his tie loosened and his hair disheveled. In his hands, he’s holding a small box tied with a black ribbon.

"I brought you something," he says, his voice soft.

You raise an eyebrow. "More things? Haven’t I spent enough of your money today?"

He ignores your sarcasm, setting the box down on the bench beside you. "Open it," he says.

Curious despite yourself, you untie the ribbon and lift the lid. Inside is a delicate necklace, a simple gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped pendant. It’s nothing like the flashy pieces you bought earlier, but somehow, it feels more special.

"It’s not to bribe you," he says quickly, as if reading your mind. "I just... I wanted to remind you that I don’t care about the money or the fights. I care about you.“

You look up at him, your heart softening. "You have a funny way of showing it," you say, though your tone lacks its earlier bite.

He kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees. "I know," he admits. "I’m not perfect, and I don’t always know how to handle you when you’re upset. But I’m trying, love. I promise I’m trying."

For a long moment, you say nothing, letting his words sink in. Then, finally, you reach out and cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his stubble. "I’m sorry too," you say. "I shouldn’t have stormed off like that. It wasn’t fair to either of us."

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes briefly. "So... we’re okay?" he asks, his voice tentative.

You smile softly. "We’re okay."

The next morning, you wake up to find Lando already dressed, his tie perfectly knotted and his usual confidence back in place. He leans over to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin.

"Breakfast is ready downstairs," he says. "And I told the bank not to call me again if you go on another shopping spree."

You laugh, pulling the covers over your head. "Good. Because I might need a few more things."

He chuckles, his hand brushing against your hair. "Just try not to spend the GDP of a small country next time, yeah?"

You peek out from under the covers, grinning. "No promises."

And for the first time in days, everything feels right again.

Thank you for reading!

[narcoticv3nus]

Say You Want Me Too 𝜗𝜚 John Price

Kinktober Day XVII: Honeymoon

summary: the first night after getting married is always special tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, p in v, fingering, cunnilingus, praise, body worship, sweet lovemaking, fluff wc: 1.2k

MASTERLIST

You let out a fit of giggles, watching your new husband press his face into your thigh, clamping his teeth around your lacy white garter before ripping it off your body, his large hands holding your legs apart.

He gazes up at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief before he drops the garter from the clutches of his mouth, letting it fall to the floor as he yanks your legs over his shoulders, burying his nose into your pubic mound.

With a low growl of desire, John's rough yet warm palms slide up the length of your thighs, his thumbs gently teasing your sensitive skin. He looks up at you, his gaze filled with a mix of lust and admiration. He whispers huskily, his voice dripping with desire, "Never imagined this is how I'd spend my nights. Never imagined I'd be lucky enough to call you mine." Before you can respond, his lips press against your center, his tongue tracing a path of fire as he tastes every inch of you hungrily.

John's gaze locks onto yours, his blue eyes piercing through the dimly lit room. He leans closer, his hot breath tickling your skin as his lips part in a sensuous smile. He slowly trails kisses upwards, along your thighs, leaving a path of warmth in his wake. With a firm grip on your hips, he pulls you closer, deepening the connection between the two of you. His tongue swirls around your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your breath hitch.

The sound of your moans fuels his desire, driving him to please you further. He moves his lips down, delving deeper into your wetness, his tongue exploring every fold and curve.

Raising his head for a brief moment, John flashes a cocky grin, his cheeks flushed with desire. "You taste so bloody perfect," he murmurs against your skin, his voice gruff with need. He gently nibbles on your thigh, sending a shiver through your body.

John's fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance, testing your readiness. He smirks as you squirm beneath his touch, a thrill coursing through him. "You like that, love?" His eyes twinkle with a playful challenge as he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue. The salty tang of sweat mixes with the sweetness of your arousal, an intoxicating cocktail that makes his heart race.

He slides two fingers inside you, curling them expertly while continuing his assault on your clit. The rhythm is relentless, matching the tempo of his racing pulse.

John's eyes never leave yours as he works his fingers in and out of you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit in tandem with the movements of his tongue.

He savors the feeling of your body tensing underneath him, the way your muscles contract around his fingers. His desire grows stronger, his erection straining against his trousers. He wants nothing more than to be inside you, but first, he needs to see you fall apart in his arms. John increases the pressure, his tongue flicking rapidly against your sensitive nerves.

"Come on,” he breathes your name. “Let go," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. He feels you getting closer, your moans turning desperate, your hips bucking against his mouth. John's fingers curl deeper inside you, his movements becoming more urgent. The room fills with the sounds of your pleasure, each gasp and moan spurring him on. He feels his release building, mirroring the storm brewing within you.

Finally, with a keening cry, you shatter beneath him, your body convulsing in ecstasy. John drinks in your pleasure, his release held at bay by sheer force of will. As your tremors subside, he slowly withdraws his fingers, planting a final kiss on your damp skin before rising to his feet.

With a satisfied sigh, John moves up your body, trailing kisses along your stomach, chest, and neck. He cradles your head in one hand, supporting it gently as he looms over you.

He reaches down with his other hand and unbuttons his trousers, freeing himself. John's erection springs forth, hard and insistent. He positions himself at your entrance, savoring the heat radiating from your core. Leaning in, he brushes his lips against yours, tasting yourself in your mouth.

With a fervent hunger, John's lips capture yours in a deep kiss, his tongue dancing against yours as he aligns himself with your entrance. His fingers flex against your hipbones as he pushes inside, filling you. He groans into your mouth, the sensation of you tightening around him sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body.

John breaks the kiss, his gaze never leaving yours as he begins to thrust. Each movement is deliberate and decisive, mirroring the intensity of his feelings. He wants to claim you and mark you as his own. The headboard thumps rhythmically against the wall, echoing the primal beat of their lovemaking. As John drives deeper into you, he lets out a low moan, his eyes narrowing with pleasure. His pace quickens, each thrust more brutal than the last.

John's grip tightens on your hips as he feels your body respond to his, the heat building between you two unbearable. His heart pounds in his chest, the adrenaline of the moment taking over. He leans down, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a dance as old as time itself. As he moves inside you, John's thoughts become primal—each stroke a testament to his desire, each gasp from you a reward for a job well done.

He can't help but think back to all the times he's been close to death, all the moments he thought would be his last, and how they pale in comparison to this. With a growl, John breaks the kiss and whispers in your ear, "I love you." He nips at your earlobe, groaning your name into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

He rolls his hips, changing the angle slightly, and you cry out in pleasure. The sound goes straight to his core, pushing him closer to the edge. John's movements become erratic, his breathing ragged. He lifts his head, eyes blazing into yours, and says, "Come for me, love." As if on command, your body tightens around him, and your orgasm crashes over you both. John follows suit, his release powerful and intense. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he rides out the waves of pleasure.

When it finally subsides, John rolls off you, pulling you close to his side. He softly kisses your forehead, his hand idly stroking your arm as he catches his breath. His heart rate slows, and he feels a sense of peace he hasn't known in years.

In the aftermath of passion, John’s body cools down, his breathing evening out as he holds you close. He gazes at you with a tender smile, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your bare shoulder.

Leaning in, John nuzzles your neck, planting feather-light kisses along your collarbone. "My wife," he murmurs, his voice still rough with desire. His eyes roam over your flushed features, taking in every detail of your beauty. "You're mine,"

main masterlist, rules

[ruaafromgaza]

DONT SCROL🙏‼️‼️‼️

PLEASE HAVE HEART AND DONT SKIP

DONT SCROLL! We need you ! Yes YOU!

WE lost everything we owned in the burning of the house we used to live in, including all our winter clothes. We are now without any clothes. I want your help in spreading my campaign so that I can buy clothes for my family. It is very cold now.

Clothes are extremely expensive in Gaza.

They need $600 to buy winter clothes for the family.

Their campaign has only raised €17.

Please have heart and do not skip!

https://gofund.me/4a619aed

IF YOU SKIP ME YOU KILL ME 😢

I’m RUAA from GAZa .

My family and I go to bed hungry every night. There is no food in the world except poor, expired canned goods, with the prices of vegetables rising in the markets due to the closure of the crossings.

We can no longer afford even a piece of bread, a sip of water, basic medicine, or cooking gas.💔

Soaring prices and sealed borders have brought us to our knees. Please, we’re pleading for your help 🙏

your donations are our last hope for survival.

Please DONATE‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ if you skip me you KILL ME 😢

Every €10 makes a very, very big difference to help my family get out of this holocaust

The surrounding conditions are getting worse every day. Do not delay in donating. You are saving a family from death.

My family consists of 6 adults and 1 child. The challenges they face daily are beyond imagination.

Basic necessities such as water, food, fuel and electricity have become scarce commodities.

Increasing danger and deprivation make their lives a constant battle for survival. Due to the loss of jobs and the absence of their previous sources of income, they are now facing an existential crisis.

sources of income, they are now facing an existential crisis.

Your generosity and support can make a big difference in saving their lives.

Your kindness will provide them with an opportunity to rebuild their lives and renew hope for the future.

I humbly appeal for your compassion and kindness in assisting in the urgent evacuation of my family. Your contributions will be a lifeline that enables them to escape the perilous conditions they currently endure.

Thank you for your compassion and support in this critical time of need.

With gratitude,

https://gofund.me/4a619aed

[55sturn]

for loser!chris & mean girl!reader, what do you think going to the fair/carnival would be like between them? and the ferris wheel 👀

✮ LOSER!CHRIS AND MEAN GIRL!READER BLURB 0.5

disclaimers: unresolved angst, swearing, reader is a bitch.

the domesticity of it all, the slightly charged atmosphere between her and chris, the simmering tension that was built over the last few weeks beginning to rise to the surface as she sits beside him in her car, stresses her out, a lot. not much could be done to ease her nerves. they had only decided to go because chris had been adamant on spending time together, away from the parties and people throwing their money at chris for the endless supply of drugs he had, especially following the way the dock drop off had gone so wrong. and he had finally forgiven y/n for ratting him out to the authorities, also known as her father.

and as they walk through the hoards of carnival goers clumped all around the fair grounds, her nerves were on fire. she‘s overwhelmed and frustrated by her feelings that she’s trying so hard to push down rising to the surface, but the moment chris’ hand slips into her own, his fingers slotting between hers like they were meant to fit there, quieted her mind instantly.

“y’want anything sweetheart?” he hums, gesturing to the line of food trucks selling various over-the-top and slightly grotesque food combinations that had her stomach turning just at the sight and smell of them, and they were being sold at such low prices to fuel the overconsumption of the world, but in true carnival celebration, she points to the fresh tacos, as she nods.

he gently pulls her along behind as he moves to stand in line, and the elderly couple ahead of them turn around to smile at chris and y/n, and the older woman’s heart melts at the sight of the two younger kids, chris’ arm wrapping protectively around y/n’s shoulders, and the woman can’t help but ask,

“don’t mind my asking, but the two of you look like the sweetest couple, have you two been together long?” the woman hums, catching both chris and y/n off-guard, and as chris goes to gently correct the woman, much to both of their surprise, and slightly to y/n’s dismay, she cuts chris off.

“we’ve been together going on six months.” y/n smiles, and she doesn’t know what took over her, what compelled her, to say that. they weren’t together, they hadn’t even been fooling around officially for six months, but doing that, telling the kind older woman that they were together felt so natural to y/n, and her face warms with embarrassment as she meets chris’ unreadable stare.

“ah, young love, make sure to cherish it, it feels new and fresh now, but in the blink of an eye, you’ll staring down fifty years together.” the woman sighs wistfully, her eyes flitting to her husband’s face as she smiles at him before turning back to face the line ahead of her.

and the silence between chris and y/n is palpable, and her the doubt swirling in her mind is beginning to eat away at her but as if he could read her mind, chris’ arm tightens around her shoulder and he squeezes her bicep gently, as if to let her know it’s okay.

the two eat their food in comfortable silence, watching people go about their evenings before lining up for the ferris wheel. and as they sit in the carriage, y/n leans her head on his shoulder, the two of them finding peace in y/n’s false proclamation. and before they know it, they’re at the top, the wheel pausing as the conductor lets more people off and chris takes this opportunity to kiss y/n.

the kiss is soft, tender, the tiniest bit rushed, but that makes it all the more romantic to her as she pushes into the kiss, but it’s cut short as chris pulls away, looking into her eyes so intently that it forced her to break the contact they held, and chris chuckles as he tilts her head up, forcing her to look at him as whispers an unmistakable confession that has her stomach twisting with guilt.

“i love you, y/n, i have since we were fourteen.” he hums, his heartbeat picking up as her face twists with anger and disgust, it shocks how easily she can switch from being the kindhearted, sweet girl she hides beneath the surface, and the cold, rude, selfish girl she proudly and outwardly shows to the world. and his heart breaks from the way she rips away from his touch, spit firing harsh words with such venom it makes him physically recoil.

“chris, don’t. i’m warning you, do not do this. don’t embarrass me. don’t fucking ruin the night because what i have to say is only going to hurt you.“ she snaps, watching as chris’ brows furrow with confusion and unbridled sadness, he thought that they were finally getting somewhere.

“but you said-“ he starts, and she’s quick to cut him off with a pitiful scoff and she looks at him incredulously, unable to believe that he truly is that stupid and naive,

“what i said to that old bag was nothing but a lie to make her happy, you didn’t actually believe me did you? because if you did, you’re an idiot. we’re not together and you know that, i know you do. i don’t love you, i don’t want to love you. i’m only with you for two things, the sex and your drugs. that’s it. i can’t be with you, i don’t want to be with you, you’re such a fucking loser chris, i can’t believe you thought i meant what i said.”

the way y/n narrows her eyes at him, her posture rigid as she speaks to him, the way her anger begins manifesting from every pore has him scoffing and shaking his head in shame, he can’t believe that she still fights what she feels for him, when it’s so blatantly clear that she feels the same, and the words she spat at him in that moment proved that maybe, just maybe, his friends were right.

“you’re such a selfish bitch. every time one of my friends tell me t’get over you, to let you go, t’give up on ever getting through to you, i tell them that you’re worth the fight. every time they tell me you’re just another selfish druggie tryna to find her next high, i defend you, i tell them that they don’t really know you but the thing is, they’re pretty fuckin’ spot on. but m’done, don’t fucking text me, don’t call me, don’t even fuckin’ think about me until you sort your shit out y/n. find a new fuckin’ dealer.” chris spits, watching the way she physically recoils from the strength and truth to his words, before turning away from and watching the crowd below them as the ferris wheel lowers.

as they’re let off the ride, chris is quick to walk ahead of her, maneuvering his way through the crowds of people, leaving y/n stranded behind him, her arms winding tight around her body as the reality of what just happened sets in, regret and guilt settling deep in her bones, and she’s quick to curse herself for being so cruel to chris. the image of the hurt flashing across his face being the only thing replaying in her mind.

STARS CORNER oops! also you’re not getting the story in chronological order bc i feel like it’s more fun that way! and i know i asked for fluffy asks but i couldn’t help making it angsty bc it hurts so good in their story

MASTERLIST HERE

[lunarw0rks]

sweet thing | part one

˖⁺‧₊˚ read it on ao3 | masterlist | ask box | next part

price takes a liking to his neighbor. vulnerable, expecting, and in need of his helping hand. it's a good thing he always wanted a family.

john price x pregnant!reader (based on this idea of mine.)

warning(s): MDNI (18+); NOT EDITED, price is touch starved and kinda pathetic, pregnancy, angst/depression, alcoholism, fluff, fem!reader [wc: 1.3k]

Involuntary stress leave, they called it.

But for John, it was just short of decay. Sedentary, bitter—restless. Stuck at home while there's still a fight to be fought, men who need guidance. His men.

Before the stress does him in, he figures boredom will close in on him first, and it would be less merciful than any bullet or blade. Chores are a necessity, and hobbies are nothing more than a temporary soothe to his aches.

Every morning, irony wakes him up cold. Takes its pound of flesh. The world he devoted his adult life to fighting for, has nothing in it for him.

(Stiff fingers, heaving chest, bile in his throat, tremors marring his nervous system.)

It's hours before he can shake the feeling, so he compromises by rising at ungodly hours and fulfilling a rigid routine—still a trained soldier to his core. And by nightfall, he nurses a bottle until he's warm again, ready for the reset at dawn.

As they gaze out the window, his eyes search for purpose. Two fingers parting the blinds. Something, anything, please. But nothing. The sharp sting of cheap booze rushes past his teeth, and he's ready to retreat.

He winces through the taste before he's at attention again. The rumble of an engine cut short right next door. He angles himself to catch a clear view of the person. Instinct yells for him to be vigilant, but the sight in front of him snuffs the bellow.

The flow of a slip dress in the breeze, sticky strands of hair pulled back, glowing skin, a nurturing hand resting on the bump that shows through the fabric.

You look anything but thrilled while you wrangle your bags and fight the wind gusts, and you're well aware of it.

All John sees is bloom. Purpose. Duty.

Before he can gather all his wits, he's closed the front door behind him, his spilled bottle dribbling along the end table. It's not so much your beauty that drives him; he isn't a superficial man and can't afford to be.

A living, breathing person is what quickens his stride. Someone to talk to. Someone to touch and study. As of late, the only people near have been on the other side of the TV screen, fueled by dramatics and in character.

You find yourself stuck in your headspace again, mentally listing all the tasks that await you inside your house. Chores, mostly, some grocery shopping—and loads more of that endless baby planning. Relaxation wasn't an option and you're actively learning to accept that. Although, it's admittedly difficult to feel any other way when you've got another human to consider now.

John clears his throat. "Let me take tha' for you, darling."

He waits until you meet his stare to extend a hand, fingers grazing the flimsy straps of your shopping bags. You freeze, soaking in the sight of him.

"Hm?" Your brows knit together, and it's only then that you catch up with him.

"Your bags."

The man has already taken them before the words finish rolling off his tongue, but he stays in place.

A soft chuckle comes out of you to crack open the sheet of embarrassment. "Sorry, I'm a little out of it today."

Pregnancy brain, you want to blame it on. But deep down you know it's because kindness is a new taste nowadays.

Most are courteous and accommodating, making way for you. Others look at you like dirt on their shoes. Fatigue draining your features doesn't help, and neither does the absence of a wedding band. Early on, you were naive enough to believe society had moved beyond the stigma. Wrong, more wrong, and a fool is all you are nowadays, even if only in your head.

Exhausted, not out of it, he analyses, and his heart aches.

"It's alright." His voice is smooth as nectar, leaving goosebumps on your skin that you'll chalk up to the wind. "Shouldn't be carrying all this by yourself, anyhow."

You fight the urge to scoff and instead lead the way to the front porch.

He's right. You shouldn’t be doing any of this alone.

Turning the key, you step inside and let the words spill. “Yeah, I, uh— I didn’t have anyone to call.”

Price should be more shocked by your words, but he isn’t. He is really, and truly, desensitized to all the misfortune around him. And it’s not any different with you. His eyes—conditioned to spot every minute detail of a person—took milliseconds to notice your left hand.

Feel her out. Find out more.

“That so?” He questions softly but doesn’t give you a chance to respond. You’ve painted the whole picture and more.

His words are full of every sensibility possible. “That’s a shame.” Pity. Empathy. Grief. Outrage. All except condescension; none of this is your fault, he can sense it.

You expect admonition.

Leading a stranger inside is bad enough, and walking the fine line between small talk and oversharing is worse.

But you can’t bring yourself to taste it. Outside of some coworkers and your mother, this is your first taste of organic interaction, and it’s been overwhelmingly amicable so far. Not something you can take lightly; loneliness is prevalent.

You let out a tired sigh, letting the silent gesture speak for itself. What else can you say? He's already got you pegged after spending all but two minutes with you. Makes you wonder how you haven't noticed him sooner, though you remember his driveway is usually vacant and the blinds are always closed.

By now, it's obvious that if he had ill intentions, he would've acted on them by now. The silence isn't thick or stiff—it's refreshing, oddly enough.

When his mouth upturns, the crow's feet around his eyes are made visible. They've witnessed things, awful things, no doubt. But he's also got a world of wisdom in them.

This is the part where you find a farewell, something moderately polite so you don't feel awful for kicking him out. (Not your fault you need to rest your feet. At least you get the sense that he'll understand.)

In search for the words, you place a hand on your stomach, "well, it was kind of you to bring that in, uh—"

"—John." He interjects.

Out of habit, you form a clumsy smile and ache to get the proper words out. "It was very kind of you, John. Thank you."

Without any further direction, he's able to pick up on your hints for him to make his exit. The bar is so low these days, it's almost shocking. Shuffling to follow him to the front door, your hand seizes the knob.

There's a lot left unsaid, despite meeting your handsome neighbor only a short time ago. The voice inside urges you to keep it short. Send him off, get out of his hair. He was just being nice.

"I should thank you again," you blurt, almost abruptly. Price turns on his heels with little surprise, a leer written on his thin lips. "Next time, I'll take another trip to carry the bags."

"No next time, love." A purr and a new nickname.

Too smitten to even notice the ruffle of some paper when he reaches a hand in his pocket. Even stole the pen off your entry table (a.k.a the junk-pile-of-mail-table) and you were none the wiser. Dated, the way he scribbles on the crumbled receipt and hands it to you between his index and middle.

Heat rises up your neck and to your face when you inch closer to retrieve the number, somehow finding it within yourself to not break eye contact. John's gaze stays genuine, despite the puff of his chest and the way he breathes your scent in shamelessly.

Albeit frazzled—you weren't born yesterday; he's attractive and extremely luring and you're single and hormonal. Wouldn't take much for something to happen.

And if not, you know you'll have fond daydreams, at the very least.

"You ever need anything, give me a call. 'M good for more than bag carrying."

[shizuturnspages]

PLEASE hear me out yan ajaw whether hes taken over kinich or made a contract with us like kinich has POTENTIAL and ill DIE ON THIS HILL

and if its the latter u can annoy him and he cant do shit we finna become a bully with this one

... how about both?

Ajaw Taking Over Kinich

❥ When Ajaw takes over Kinich, you’re no longer dealing with just a yandere—now you’ve got this ancient being level of possessiveness wrapped in Kinich’s body. His obsession? Fucking amplified. Ajaw doesn’t just want you—he needs you like a force of nature, like the sun fucking needs to rise. You’re not just a person to him; you’re his divine claim. And this isn’t some subtle obsession—Ajaw’s got that “I will literally destroy worlds if you leave me” kind of energy. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming.

❥ Kinich might still be in there somewhere, but Ajaw’s taken over, and he’s using Kinich’s love for you to fuel his own fucking twisted desires. Imagine that—Kinich still loves you, but it’s buried under Ajaw’s possessive rage, and that makes this shit even more terrifying. Ajaw’s merciless, and Kinich’s gentle nature is just another weapon to get you to submit. One minute you’re being coaxed in softly by Kinich’s memories, the next? Ajaw’s locking you away, claiming you’re his and only his. Forever.

❥ With Ajaw in control, you’re untouchable—but it comes with a fucking price. You belong to him, and he’s going to make sure everyone knows it. This isn’t just regular protection—it’s on a divine level. Anyone who even looks at you? Gone. He’ll bring down the full force of his godly power to keep you safe, and if that means erasing threats from existence? So be it. You’re his, and he’ll ensure no one ever comes between you, even if it means sacrificing the world to keep you close.

Ajaw’s Contract with You

❥ In this scenario, Ajaw’s not taking over Kinich—he’s making a contract with you. And let’s be real, he didn’t want this shit. He’s a powerful, ancient entity, and now he’s bound to you, someone who’s more than happy to mess with him at every turn. And he can’t do shit about it. You’re his contracted partner, and he’s supposed to be controlling the situation, but you’ve turned the tables. He’s stuck, and you’re having the time of your fucking life making him squirm.

❥ Now that Ajaw’s bound to you, he’s technically at your command—but he’s not happy about it. You can push his buttons, tease him, and get under his skin in ways no one else could dare. He’s used to being worshipped, feared, and obeyed. But you? You’re treating him like a toy, poking fun at his divine powers, and reminding him he’s stuck with you. And that pisses him off in the best way. He tries to act all cold and detached, but deep down? You’re the one driving him fucking crazy.

❥ The more you tease him, the more fucking obsessed he gets. Ajaw isn’t used to someone who doesn’t cower in front of him, and that only makes his obsession burn hotter. He tries to keep control, tries to act like h.e’s the one in charge, but you keep flipping the script. You bully him, annoy him, and he can’t do shit to stop it. And the worst part for him? He likes it. You’re the only one who challenges him, the only one who doesn’t fall in line, and it fucking drives him wild.

❥ You know those moments when you’re really pissing him off, and he wants to punish you but can’t? That’s where the petty god shit comes in. He’ll try to get back at you in the most ridiculous ways—subtly messing with your day-to-day life, making things inconvenient, like blocking the sun for a few hours or causing minor natural disasters just to make you mad. But the more he tries to assert dominance, the more you push back. You two are in a constant back-and-forth, and honestly? It’s fucking hilarious.

❥ Even though you’re bullying the hell out of him, Ajaw’s possessiveness never fucking fades. If anyone else tries to get close to you? Oh, they’re fucking gone. He might be bound to your contract, but he’ll still pull some divine shit to make sure no one else gets near you. And deep down, you know he’s obsessed. No matter how much you tease him, at the end of the day, Ajaw’s burning need for you is so intense it practically consumes him. You hold all the cards, but fuck, does he love playing your game.

[velvetures]

Omg I love your stories so much especially the cod ones 😍😍😍 could you please write a ghost x reader oneshot where the reader maybe gets shot taking a bullet meant for him and maybe they are in an established relationship please with a happy ending

Ignoring Orders & Accepting Lead

A/N: I loved this req. and I hope you're okay with the direction I took this in. I'm trying to get the other asks I've been sent finished in a somewhat timely manner... haha! Honestly, I never thought anyone would enjoy my writing as much as all of you have. <3 Summary: Established relationships mean occasional arguments... You and Ghost have one before a mission. And the make-up conversation is a little less than standard for most couples. T/W: Canonical Violence, guns, knives, Blood, Death (non-major characters), severe injuries, tension, hurt/comfort, HAPPY ENDING, Ghost being a bit overprotective, Reader being a smartass, not proofread.

Arguments with Ghost happened a lot more frequently than anyone would ever suspect. While he liked to stay quiet when the opportunity arose, it was also know that if you could avoid a conflict, you would just to make sure the temperature of the situation didn’t rise too high. As a pair, it made you great operators, just for the skill-set you each had as well as the predisposition to get things done quickly, and quietly. As for being in a relationship, your character’s held zero influence on the way that you cared about each other of how that would display itself during moments of tension or disagreement. Especially in moments during missions where things weren’t going to plan, and your ideas severely countered Ghost’s.

One of those fights had occurred right before you’d been dropped into a very small town outside of Culiacán, Sinaloa. At HQ, Price was splitting everyone up for their distinct purposes, and you’d been immediately assigned with Ghost for an infil job. One requiring both of you to get in and get out of the well-known cartel stronghold without getting caught or being killed. Naturally you accepted the task without so much as flinching, whereas Ghost didn’t have such an easygoing attitude about it.

He was fucking furious.

First he tried threatening Price, demanding that you not be listed for that and go with Soap for the much less risky job of tracking down a small-time dealer who’d been listed as having information valuable to the task force. Price wasn’t stupid enough to not recognize where Ghost’s rage was coming from, and just simply said that if you wanted the job, there was nothing he could do about it since you’d already read the briefing and knew the entire plan just as well as anyone else. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear from the Captain, and that made things all the worse for you when you said you weren’t going to let him go in alone.

One of the worst fights you’d ever had with Ghost since your partnership became a fully-fledged romance happened right off the helipad being fueled-up for your departure. God it was miserable, and it hurt every ounce of you to have to defend yourself over the one thing that you were certain you could do. Your job. Understanding Ghost’s protective instinct was one thing, but there had to be a line drawn where him throwing his weight and rank around to limit your exposure to risk couldn’t be done anymore.

He’d been totally insensitive to your side of the story, and was obstinate that if you got on the helo, he’d not do a damn thing to keep you safe once you got to Culiacán. Merely to prove the bullshit point that you couldn’t to the job without him. That statement alone had you strapping into your flight harness quicker than Ghost could utter ‘jesus christ’ under his breath. Totally stonewalling you for the entire flight and practically acting like you didn’t even exist. Hell, he wouldn’t even go over the mission plan as was typical, leaving you fully to fend for yourself and follow his lead without even a hand signal to lead you through it.

Everything on entry went smoothly.

No guards were stationed in the underground sewer tunneling, leaving you very dry and unhindered on the half-mile walk from your drop-point to the access ladder leading up into the basement of a massive chapel-turned-base of operations. Whether or not you’d been keeping up or not didn’t appear to phase Ghost in the slightest, and he continued on and up into the basements without so much as glancing your way. You were quickly losing your patience, and getting than much more hurt with hoe easily he could turn off the affection and care that he always had for you. Sure, he wasn’t the coddling type, but you’d never wanted that from him; but this was a whole different level of coldness.

Inside the basement there were stockpiles of cocaine, pre-packed on shipping crates with a printed docket of everything contained on each. Just seeing that much shit all in one room made your head spin. It was one thing knowing it existed, and understanding that tons of it were being shipped all over the world, but actually being in a room surrounded by it from almost floor-to-ceiling was quite overwhelming. And Ghost’s own utterance of the sheer volume confirmed that it wasn’t just your own imagination leading you to think this was way too fucking much to handle. Bad part was, you couldn’t touch any of the shit or destroy it, and were solely on the objective of cloning their hard drives and bringing them back for examination.

Clearing stairwell after stairwell, and only needing to dispose of two guards -quick work with a sharp knife- you’d been able to access their massive data stores collected in what appeared to be nothing more than a personal server farm. Kept extremely cold for the benefit of the rows of towers, you’d been given the small cloning chip needed to transmit data back to HQ. But you needed a window of up to fifteen minutes to ensure everything was fully copied. You -and Ghost- both knew that fifteen minutes was far too long to just stand around with your thumbs up your asses and just hope that no one wondered why the two guards you’d shanked hadn’t checked in, or come to make a round inside the server room.

Ghost very instinctively covered the access door to the room, not even bothering to demand you give him the chip or take care of the data itself. A small reminder that he wasn’t totally untrusting of your skills, but still not large enough of a show that made you feel any less miserable about how your relationship was quite strained at the moment, all of something as small as a fifteen minute window of gathering information. By some miracle, you watched the progress on a small tablet linked to the chip and HQ’s data stores, watching it hit one-hundred percent in just under eight minutes. Perfect. It couldn’t go much smoother than that.

You were tapping Ghost on the shoulder, and giving a small thumbs-up just as the sounds of footsteps running up the stairwell outside began echoing. More than just one or two. It was actually a lot more than you even had the ammunition to handle, considering the job was deemed covert. Neither you or Ghost went without some protection… but you’d been packed out a lot lighter than normal. Right away he was stepping back from the door and checking his watch with a stern look in his eyes. One you recognized as realization that you’d have to fight your way out of this. Ugly, bloody, and violent.

Exactly what he didn’t want in the fuckin’ first place.

Ghost was inside of his own mind, trying to balance out the fear of you being in the middle of a cartel fire-fight and the rage he still felt when you just wouldn’t fucking listen to him right from the beginning. He knew what cartels did to women, and a pretty one like you wouldn’t have the mercy of just being killed. No. They’d fucking torture and toy with you until there wasn’t anything human left inside of you. That’s why he’d been so goddamn adamant that you stay behind for this one.

The data you’d copied over was bullshit compared to you living and breathing for another day. And Ghost couldn’t stand to think he’d walked you right into this place without at least trying to show you that he cared enough to see you live. Dying wasn’t a fear of his, but there was nothing he dreaded more than the mental image of you bleeding out in his arms all because of his own fucking mistakes.

Yet, here he stood. Having to make the decision on what to do or how to get you both out of here alive if he could even manage that in the first place. Part of him was already preparing to let them take him and give you enough time to slip away. You were fast enough. Small, so they’d have a far harder time picking you out in a crowd. But if he’s assumptions were correct, the tunnels would still be clear.

He gave you one last look, and grabbed hold of your vest to pull you behind him; Hearing the footsteps of more than six men filling into the large room outside of the server farm. Some barking orders to check down the hall, while others were meant to stay posted at the stairs to block off anyone flushed out. Ghost felt his own body starting to get cold. So desensitized to the violence he was already prepping himself to commit that if it wasn’t for you being there, he’d had already burst through the door and met them head on.

“Fuckin’. Listen,” He snapped as quietly as possible. Your ears perked up, happy to have just heard him speak, even if he sounded downright vicious. Your little hand tapping at his ribs as confirmation you were paying attention sent a shiver up his back.

“Don’t engage unless they’re right in your way. Take the tunnels out, I’ll be right behind you.” He barked out the orders under his breath.

Ghost couldn’t help but feel your hand fist into the material of his shirt. You didn’t like that one bit, and he didn’t need to see your face to know better. Because for whatever reason, you had it in your thick little head that he needed protecting as much as you did. Like it was your job to make sure he didn’t get hurt. Cute and a little bit amusing, Ghost hadn’t the slightest clue where you got the idea from or why it was such a massive trigger for him to challenge it. But right now, there was no fighting about it. He’d not take no for an answer, and when you didn’t give a confirmation right away, he growled in impatience.

Reluctantly, you gave it with a small tap rubbing your thumb over his hip bone.

One minute, Ghost was pushing open the door and spotting only three men within direct threat distance and seeing only one man standing at the top of the stairs. A split second of decision had him throwing two knives, and charging at the third to ensure that you’d only have to take care of the one remaining. He sunk a third knife in, feeling the man sink to his knees and drop to the floor, retrieving two of his blades before turning around right as the sound of a pistol registered. Ghost realized his fatal error in the squeeze of a trigger too late.

Only you saw what was coming, and Ghost watched you crumple to the floor between the shooter and himself; Stopping the man from shooting him in the back, but catching you somewhere of your front that residual splatter from the rained over his mask and tac vest. Everything around Ghost slowed, nearing an entire halt to the earth as you fell limply to the ground. Not even moving to try and cover your wound or catch yourself from the fall to the marble floor. Nightmares couldn’t compare to the sight of you crumpled in a heap of gear and bulky material after watching you purposefully allow your life to be traded for his.

The shooter wasn’t lucky enough to squeeze the trigger again for the knife that embedded itself in his forehead. Retribution. Quick but not as instantaneous as it would’ve been with a gun of his own. He was forced to see his own death approach with the snapped rotation of a throwing knife Ghost had sharpened days ago. He wanted to it last longer… make the bastard pay for it. Torture him for as long as his body could take, then give him just enough time to recover and start all over again.

But you needed him… Fuck. He needed you.

On the ground, you knew you’d taken a shot. But the adrenaline and immediate blow of it had you frozen on the floor. You couldn’t really tell where you’d been shot, or how bad the damage was. Truthfully you’d never experience it, and while many of the stories you heard over the years of your service, nothing they ever did to explain it was touching the utter fire radiating through your body. What you did know was that you were bleeding, and the shot had missed your tac vest; A small stream of blood was rolling through the grout lines in the floor, staining the white marble a sickening color.

Seeing Ghost on a knee in front of you, eyes wide and searching over your face was the next hazy image you recognized. His mask was shifting with the motion of him talking, but your ears were ringing. A pitchy and high whine blocked any other sound, even Ghost’s voice which you’d always been so very keen on paying close attention to. You felt awful. Putting him through this after you’d literally just had the fight about you getting hurt. Guilt flooded your limited emotional capacity, and as Ghost readjusted to pick you up, you felt tears rolling down your face.

You’d not had a single second to react to the fourth man in the room, him having the jump on visualizing Ghost facing the other three. It made him a vulnerable target. And in the split second you had to do something, you’d jumped in the way. Laying out totally flat to use your entire body to shield his. Hoping to god luck was on your side. At this point, hanging over Ghost’s shoulder limply as he rushed down the stairs on his way towards the basement, you weren’t sure if luck was on your side or not.

Thankfully, your hearing was slowly coming back in certain frequencies.

Sounds of gunfire and sirens blaring from the street level let you know that everyone within a few miles of the cathedral would be on the lookout for intruders. With all of the people who’d seen you, killed, no descriptions could be sent out or blared to citizens under control of the cartel. It didn’t help that Ghost was the largest man in the city who just happened to have on a skull mask and carrying a woman leaving behind noticeable drips of blood as a gruesome kind of trail to follow.

“C’mon baby, answer me!” Ghost panting yell finally registered, and you were able to manage a weak pat on his lower back. You felt his hand squeeze the back of your thigh for a moment before his pace slowed from a quick run to almost a crawl.

“We got company…”

There hadn’t been any men in the tunnel. But now that Ghost was less than fifty yards from their extraction point with a “medical” heli waiting for their return; three men were posted at the gated slope leading up to the hillside entry. The Lieutenant could feel your blood soaking into his shirt, wetting his shoulder. A bad reminder that you needed to get the fuck out of here right now. But he couldn’t get rid of those fuckers unless he put you down.

He squeezed at your thigh again to get your attention.

“I need - need to -fuck- set you down…” Saying those words utterly destroyed Ghost. You were the only thing he cared about right now, but the longer he put this off, the risk of you dying loomed closer.

“Need ya t’stay right here… okay? Don’t come out…”

Carefully you felt him settle you behind a large sewage drain pipe connecting from the street into the small walkway. Easing your back against the curved brick wall and once again taking a very hard look at you. This time, he could see where the bullet had just missed the edge of your tac vest, entering through the ripped hole in your shirt just below your collarbone. Every hopeful fiber in Ghost wanted to believe it wouldn’t be non-lethal. But if it shattered your collarbone, the bullet fractured and clipped a vein or small artery, there was plenty to be concerned about.

He would’ve packed the would just to stave off the blood flow. But he didn’t have the luxury of time. And whether or not Ghost would ever admit it to himself, repeatedly shoving his finger into your wound would render him down to a shell of a man. He couldn’t hurt you. Fuck, he couldn’t hurt you.

“Stay here… I’ll be right back.” He whispered against your forehead, pressing his masked mouth to your forehead.

You leaned into him, hearing his words and consciously noticing just how difficult it was to understand the words after hearing them. Almost like you couldn’t natively speak english and the meanings just weren’t instinctual anymore. God it took everything to comprehend that he was planning to clear the rest of the way, leaving you here. Eyes trailing after him sluggishly, you fought with your own arms to try and scoot back just a little further to peek between the large pipe you were leaning against to see if you could spot Ghost or the targets.

Being told to stay was always a difficult order for you. Even if you weren’t shot and struggling to manage simple bodily functions. Surprisingly, you were able to see the shadowed figured standing guard right at the gates you’d come through, holding rifles and totally unaware of Ghost lurking within such easy range. You wondered why he didn’t just shoot them, and get this over with.

Why he needed stealth when the entire city was looking for you didn’t make a lot of sense in your mind. Until you saw five more men walk down to join the others. With one cut of your eyes to look at Ghost, you realized he had anticipated more and planned of making quick work. It’d been a long time since you watched him work alone. Nearly two years. Attempting to shift your shoulder it rocked your entire system. Biting your jaw to keep from making noise, you tried focusing through the tears in your eyes as the only man who held the key to not only your life, but your heart in his fist.

Ghost kept reevaluating his odds with each step closer. Feeling distracted in the worst way with the guilt of leaving you unprotected, and in no position to defend yourself in the case that he wasn’t able to take all of these men alone. Those odds -either realistic or narcissistic confidence- didn’t phase the Lieutenant in the slightest. He was fueled with rage. And while these bastards hadn’t done anything, just being in his path was a death sentence.

The fight started smoothy and efficiently, taking out the largest of the men and using his half-dead form as enough of a shield to eliminate the threat of three 12.7x99mm wielders, too surprised to shoot off five rounds. Another three surrounded him with nothing more than machetes swiping through the air with near misses. One smooth draw of his own pistol dropped two men, and when Ghost turned around to face the third the butt of a shotgun smacked across his vision, dropping him to his knees and hearing his pistol slide across the floor out of reach.

He hauled himself to a knee, watching the man throw the empty shotgun away and approach with a knife, glinting in the sunlight just on the outside of the tunnel. Ghost could actually hear the rotor blades of the helicopter cranking up, set into motion by the small tracker in his belt giving the pilot a comm-less tip off. He’d have to fight this hand-to-hand, and while he didn’t feel the least bit tired, Ghost knew a long fight only risked you further. And fuck if making you wait didn’t make his hair stand up on edge. Even in your state, he knew better than to think you wouldn’t start getting worried in the next couple of minutes.

His opponent took the first blow and used the hilt of his large blade to connect fully with Ghost’s jaw. A heavy crack sounded, but the Lieutenant merely flinched; Throwing his own weight on the weight-matched man, and there ensued a grappling match that risked deadly knife wounds being grazed against straining forearms and a battle of wills that totally opposed one another on every basis… Save for being the last man standing. For the second time in a single mission, Ghost found himself at the razor’s edge of a knife pressing against his throat and no really foolproof tactic of getting out of it.

“Seré el que te mate, fantasma..” The man breathed hotly against Ghost’s ear, jerking the knife closer and fighting the sheer strength in the Lieutenant’s arm. “Colgaré tu cabeza en mi pared, bastardo.”

Ghost fumbled with his other hand under the pressure on his throat began taking away the normal dexterity he functioned with; Trying to find a knife on his belt, or any kind of weapon at this point. Only all of them had been embedded in the dead bodies scattered around them. It had been a bad decision to listen to Price when he said to pack lightly. It would be the end of him.

Simon Riley didn’t show himself often during missions. Always locked away in the recesses of Ghost’s mind, quietly biding his time until there was the few-and-far-between moment for him to appear for a few moments. Typically in the darkness of your shared bedroom with your face pressed between his shoulder blades and your little arm wrapped around his waist.

Simon loved feeling your hand against his belly, twitching your fingers in your sleep and reminding him just how soft and loving you were; Happy to hold his hand tightly in the middle of unconsciousness just like you did when awake. Ghost did everything he could to protect Simon from anyone and anything that could hurt the other half of himself. But hearing another pistol register loudly in the tunnel, echoing back and forth for almost a whole minute; Ghost found himself losing control to Simon.

He felt the man above him slump in dead weight against his back. Muscles slack and the knife held to his throat clanged to the concrete. Looking in the direction of the shot, whatever protective grasp Ghost had on himself utterly dissolved. You’d managed to lay yourself out on the floor, hardly propped up on one elbow with your smoking pistol shaking in your hands. Tears spilled over your cheeks and with each second that passed, he could visualize the pain you felt from such a rough kickback in how you abruptly dropped the pistol in front of you and collapsed flat on the floor with a low groan.

He couldn’t have moved to your side faster.

Immediately picking you up again and making the very short but tense run back to the heli; all the while the pilot was looking between his instruments and the sight of Ghost holding you close to his chest in the floor.

“No one… threatens… to kill you… but me…” You mutter pained, bearing a muddled smile up at Ghost.

Unbelievable… Ghost hardened his stare, putting pressure to your wound and watching in quiet grief that he needed to cause you pain.

“Good shot… did good baby…,” He whispered back weakly, burying his face in your neck and squeezing you against him. Desperate to get you home and safe.

“Gonna ignore how you refused to follow a superior’s orders three times…” He added stiffly, feeling you twitch when a spasm in your shoulder seized. You just bit out another pained noise, coughing a bit with the dust being kicked up from the helicopter lifting off.

The look you gave him couldn’t be seen as anything other than pure, innocent, and unflinching devotion. It nearly ripped Ghost out of the body you clung to, leaving Simon bracing you against his chest as the pilot at the front started giving information to the rest of the squad about fifty miles away at a safe house. Much too long for the Lieutenant’s liking. But close enough that he could get you to his squad and they could ensure you didn’t leave him.

He couldn’t stand losing you, and they’d make sure you didn’t.

“Simon,” Sweet and weak, your hand cups his cheek as you bring him out of an initial trigger. “M’not leaving you anytime soon. Love you too much.” Your eyes close as your head leans agains him trustingly.

His chest crumbled in on itself. “Love you too, baby… I love you too.”

Reblogs & Comments are Appreciated! <3

[briefalpacashark]

~Meeting 141~

The first time you meet the members of task force 141.

Warning: mentions of violence, death, blood.

================================================

It was a typical mission. Neck deep in shit and halfway to hell. The mission was simple. It had two parts. The first part was to collect information off a computer. It was a two team mission, Alpha consisting of Gaz, Soap and Ghost. And Bravo, consisting of Price and Roach. Currently, they were both making their way through an oil rig in the early hours of the morning, with the cover of night. A nice little base for some black market operations. The second part of the mission was harder. Extracting the asset. And asset Price informed them beforehand would be joining their team.

“What ya recon he's gonna be like?” Soap asked as he stood in the main office room, gun raised at the door, ready for anything. The group had many guesses of who the newest member of their team would be. Price wasen't necessarily secretive about them, but he didn't tell them anything about them either. “He's a medic. Probably likes sticking stuff up ass’s,” Ghost, who was positioned by the door, said, making the two guys smirk. “Youll love that then, won't you?” Gaz asked, not taking his eyes off the computer screen in front of him. Soap chuckled at Ghost's dead panned look. “Come on Gaz, you know he's sensitive about that sort of thing,” Soap joked. “I hope you both get shot in the ass,” Ghost grumbled. “Done,” Gaz announced. “Alright, let's move,” Soap said. Getting into formation, they peeled out of the room. “Ghost to Price, we've got the package, on the move out of er,” Ghost spoke into the com's. “Copy that, Asset secured, see you soon,” Price's voice cracked over the radio. They moved through the oil rig quietly, their shadows barely noticeable in the dark as they moved down the outer side of the buildings, the metal racks slick with the rain that had just started. Then it started, a lucky spot, a glint of metal perhaps brought attention to team Alpha. They were set upon by a volley of bullets. They bucked behind the cover of a building, trying to return fire as best they could. Ghost, who had taken point, peeked around the building taking out two men. That was until he felt his leg buckle as pain erupted up his thigh. “FUCK!” he exclaimed as he dropped to one knee.

“WE'RE TAKING HEAVEY FIRE! GHOST GOT HIT!” Gaz yelled into the com's as he helped Ghost to the ground. He took one look at the bullet hole, his face washing itself of colour. It was spurting blood like crazy. “He's hit bad!” Gaz added. His worry for his friend was quickly forgotten when a group of men came around a corner to their left. He raised his gun and started shooting. “Theres too many,” Soap grunted as they tucked themselves behind a few barrels. They were pinned down, unable to return fire and stuck like sitting ducks. They couldn't use explosives, one wrong flame could set the whole place up like a tinderbox. The enemy team slowly moved forward, laying the cover on heavy as they approached the barrels. The soft rapid patter of feet on metal drew the lad's eyes high. And there you were. Your small five foot three frame throwing itself of a higher level soaring across the sky. Knife and gun in hand. Your hair long and braided, whipped in the wind behind you. The assaulting team barely registered your presence before you landed upon the lead. Your knife burying itself beep into his neck, His body toppled over with the hit. You used the momentum to roll up to your next opponent, you dragged the knife across the back of his knee, pulling him into a kneel. Rising up you shot him in the head before propping his body up as a shied as you delivered three more accurate shots. The small assault team now all lay dead at your feet. Fueled with the adrenalin, and the absurdity of the stunt you had just pulled, you slowly tuned around to the three guys peeking over the barrels with shocked looks.

“Friendly,” you raised both your hands. You chest heaved, your eyes scanning over them to see if they would believe you. “Macgyver, the fuck was that!” You snapped around to Price, who stood at the edge of the level you had jumped from. Seeing if from that angle you could see that you drastically underestimate the height of it. “Improvisation?” you shrugged, you didn't really know yourself. You had never done anything that crazy before. yet you had seen your team mates in danger. And you acted. “Fucking hell. Patch Ghost up and let's get the hell out of here! We'll provide cover!” he ordered. You nodded, tucking your gun and knife into the back of your pants. You rushed up to the barrel, vaulting over it and landing in a crouch over the legs of who you assumed was Ghost. What stared back at you was a skull mask, revealing only the dark pools of his eyes. He certainly was a sight. One you didn't know whether to be scared of or impressed by. “Ghost?” You asked. In your adrenaline fueled state, you didn't notice how close you were to him. He could feel your hot breath fanning his face. He could smell the lavender soap you had used that morning. He gave a curt nod, but you had already moved your eyes down his body, looking from the issue. Finding it the gapping whole you quickly knew what it was. The bullet had hit an artery. Your hands ran down the Ghost's vest, searching for the familiar tourniquet. Soap shared a look with Gaz as you practically fondled their friend. Finding the tourniquet, you undid it, slipping it up his thigh. It was a high shot, so your hands were placed dangerously close to his groin as you quickly worked your magic. Ghost didn't know what to do or say as your small hands touched his so closely with no remorse. After all, you were a medic. You didn't care about that sort of stuff. Still, you could feel a blush dusting the tops of your ears. “He's hit an arty, we need to get him out. I've stopped the bleeding, but I need tools to fix that,” you said absentmindedly peeking around the corner of the building. You quickly ducked your head back as bullets volleyed towards you.

“Ok, can't go that way, Come on,” You swiveled yourself to Ghost's left side, taking his arm and hooking it over your shoulders. You huffed as you heaved him to his feet, They were momentarily surprised at the strength your little body possessed. Gaz quickly took his other arm and you lead them quickly to the rendezvous point. Where you practically threw ghost into the boat. The poor lad grunted as he hit the bottom of the boat taking Gaz with him. “Sorry,” you apologized jumping over them to the controls of the boat. “Were at the rendezvoused, where are you?” Soap asked into the com's. “Look up,” Piece said. You all did just in time to see their bodies plunge into the water beside you. You waited till they were pulled into the boat before you slammed the throttle down. The sun slowly started to rise, casting a golden hue over you. “Both assets secured?” Soap asked. Price nodded, wringing his hat out, Gaz doing the same as he lifted up the hard drive. “So,” Soap trailed off. "She's a woman," he stated. "Great deduction skills," Ghost commented. “That is Sargent Y/L/N. Australian special forces. Best medic out there. Can do anything a doctor can do,” Price stated. “Oh Cap, you're making me blush,” you said, looking back at them with the brightest smile you could muster. A smile that seemed to be awfully contagious. “Men meet the newest member of 141,” Pierce smiled back at you. “Glad to be on board,” you nodded before your eyes fell back to Ghost. “Can someone take over?” You asked. Roach happily obliged. Walking over to Ghost you pulled your knife and started cutting away at his pants. “At least buy me dinner first, love,” You chuckled slightly, placing your hand on his bear thigh gazing deeply into the bullet hole. Your hand slipped around the back. “No exit wound. Looks like I'm gonna have to dig it out when we get back,” you muttered. Ghost wasn't listening, he was fixated on the feeling of your hand running across his bear skin. Aside from the burning pain of being shot, it felt pleasant. “I think I might have a bullet hole too,” Soap interjected, raising his hand. "I'll put one in you," Price warned.

And that was how you first meet the 141. Literally dropping into their lives.

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