#government asset!Soap

[charliemwrites]

Greater Bad - Part 5!

This is the final chapter of this series. I had so much fun working on it, making myself write a character that was genuinely just really mean most of the time and not chickening out by softening him (mostly).

Again, a gigantic, smooch-filled thank you to ceilidho for letting me write this based off her drabble/concept.

(The concept comes from @ceilidho’s concept/drabble of “military asset Soap” and heavily inspired also by @391780’s Nikto version. Please go check out theirs because they’re brilliantly written.)

Content: Dub-Con/Non-Con Elements, Unreliable Narrator, Semi-Safe/Not-Sane/Dub-Con Intimacy

You still smell the same.

Clean water, soap and skin. It saturates the back of his tongue when he inhales deep. The sharp, cloying scent of printer ink has been replaced by the buttery aroma of bread and sugar. It’s better. His mouth waters, canines too big and sharp in his mouth, jawing aching to bite down until he’s teething on bone. Scrape his imprint into marrow.

Some shrink mentioned it in those first sessions, before Laswell and Price realized their precious Johnny wasn’t lost in the hole in his temple.

The human olfactory sense is strongly associated with our memory. What smells like home to you, Soap?

The jagged puzzle of his mind didn’t have a piece for home. But it had one for his – you – and that’s just as good.

The humidity in the shower leaves him drowning in the scent of you, lungs heaving. If they’d waterboarded him with your perfume, he wouldn’t have struggled at all.

“Easy, easy,” your voice derails him.

Velvet and smooth, purring in the bottom of your throat. It bounces off the walls and cracks across his skull, a concussive force, disorients him. He grips tighter to keep his balance, swaying into you. You’re all slick and soft, caught between his body and the wall, nothing but naked skin and those big eyes that drive him more mad.

His face is still buried in the vulnerable curve of your neck; you taste just as good as you smell. You jump when he nips, a high noise caught on your clumsy tongue. He growls, wants to hear it. Wants to be overwhelmed by you until all his senses are blown out.

“I’m not saying no,” you soothe, hands skittering down his biceps.

Of course you’re not, not his girl. It’s not a matter of yes or no, not for the two of you. The moon doesn’t agree to orbit the Earth, the sun doesn’t choose to shine. You’re the gravity keeping his feet on the ground.

“Slow down a bit,” you murmur, “We’re not in a rush, are we?”

Just hearing you say “we” sends his heart thundering double-time and euphoria flooding his poisoned veins. “We” - you and him. You squeak as he thrusts hard against your lower stomach, where you’re pillowy and perfect from a life of plenty.

He doesn’t even process what you’ve said for a few moments, too busy nibbling “we” into your shoulder. Only when you thread shaky fingers into his hair – too excited to keep them steady, sweet thing – does his head surface over the swelling waves of desire to hear you properly.

“Missed you,” he explains, raking fingers over your thigh in hopes it’ll bruise. Your mouth parts on a gasp, inviting him in. He ravages your mouth, teeth snagging your plush lips. Needs to leave his mark everywhere for always. Don’t you get that? How could you ask him to slow down when your skin is still pristine, your cunt all tight and unspoiled – a fucking tragedy that.

“Ye missed me too, aye?” he asks. Of course you did, of course. Made this pretty little cottage for the two of you, filled it with so many things that he could never forget where he is again.

“I ken ye did.” He does you the favor of answering, since you’re too busy with his fingers in your mouth. You’ve gotten better with your priorities since that first reunion, laving your tongue over and between his digits rather than waste it on idle chatter. “Can go slow once I show yer mine. Been too fuckin’ long they kept us apart, little bird.”

Your fingers curl around his wrist. Must be satisfied with how wet they are, then. He presses down on your tongue one last time before pulling away.

“B-but you took care of them… we don’t need to—ah!”

He smirks as your entire body jolts. You’re already starting to warm up, but your saliva makes the slide between your delicate folds even easier. You’re just as silky as last time, clit shy at the top of your slit. He coos in your ear, gets you flushing and hot from filthy promises.

“Ye wan’ this just as much as I do,” he growls. Poor thing, he knows you like your little games and he’s being impatient. But it’s been too long and you’re playing with fire. “I ken ye do. Tell me ye do.”

You stutter in shock – if he still felt guilt, he’d feel bad for doubting you – and stumble over your words. He stills his hand to help you, bracing his arm over your head. The stretch of his body seems to distract you, mouth parted but frustratingly quiet as your round eyes roam scars and muscle.

He clicks his tongue and pinches your clit to catch your attention. You yelp, little nails sinking into his chest. He rumbles. It feels good, but he’s on a mission.

“Tell me,” he repeats when you blink up at him. “Tell me.”

“I-I just want to be able to go again,” you babble. “If I’m too sore…”

He chuckles. Is that all? “That won’ stop me, love. We’ll go plenty.”

You whine as he draws tight circles over your clit, coaxing it hard and swollen.

“I d-don’ wanna be t-too�� sore! Christ!”

He huffs, caught between amusement and exasperation. Voice of reason you are, he knows you’ve got a point. Big as he is, and he knows he’ll lose any sense of restraint once he’s inside.

“I’ll make it good, bonnie,” he promises, biting kisses along your trembling jaw. “You’ll cum crying if tha’s what it takes.”

With that matter settled, he drops his head to your pretty tits. Water has beaded all over them and he jealously licks paths between each drop, flattening his tongue over your hard nipples. You moan and squeal as he sucks and nips, teasing them sensitive and achy. One of your hands tangles in his hair and tugs. Tingles race down his spine, scattering any sweet thoughts of going slow or gentle or with restraint.

You’re babbling at him but nothing could be more important than the rosettes he’s biting into your breasts. And you must agree because you’re getting so wet, leaking all over his rough palm, bucking your hips. He tilts the heel of his hand for you to grind against while he prods at your slick little hole.

You really have been good, somehow even tighter than he remembers. Of course, you were; he never doubted you. No wonder you were so insistent on prepping. He’d split you in half as you are now – fuck but that’s tempting.

“S-Soap – John. Please don’t… stop.”

“I won’ stop, birdie,” he soothes. Nothing could make him stop now.

Two is probably too much for you, but he loves the punched out little noise you make when he forces them in. The way your entrance clings and squeezes around his knuckles. How your spine goes tight and stiff, tilting your head back so that he has access to your singing throat. Pretty face all scrunched up as you struggle to adjust, stinging too much to even squirm. A flighty little bird right in the palm of his hand.

You’re so hot and wet inside. Feel fucking heavenly. Coating him in arousal, in need. His cock is aching to replace his fingers, feel you strangling him down to the base. Grinding against your thigh isn’t tiding him over anymore.

“Yer hand,” he grits out, “on my cock. Now.”

You shudder and circle the head, fingers tentative. Little tease.

He thrusts his fingers into you hard in retaliation, hips driving into the loose tunnel you’ve made. You must know what you’re doing, goading him on like this, plucking at his fraying patience.

“More,” he snarls, “or I’m going to use you like a fleshlight.” (Sooner than he was planning, anyway.)

You whimper and close your hand tighter, rubbing your thumb just under the head. Relief makes him generous, scissoring those two fingers inside you, easing you open. Lets you grind your clit on the meat of his thumb.

He crooks his fingers and finds a spot that has you mewling all sweet and precious. Does it over and over just to get your hand squeezing rhythmically around his shaft, precum dribbling over the back of your knuckles.

Christ, it’s been so long that he thinks he could blow just from this. Your voice in his ear, drooling pussy wrapped around his fingers, grinding into the open circle of your hand. But he needs to be inside you when he cums, he has to.

You don’t even seem to notice the third finger until it’s halfway inside, prying you open. Your legs buckle, knees shaking. He catches you with an arm around your waist, but it squishes you against his chest, the arm you’ve been stroking him with nearly immobilized. He can only stand the lack of stimulation for a few moments, occupying himself with his tongue down your throat.

“Enough,” he rasps, kicking the shower off.

Dazed, you blink at him in confusion, half-lidded and guileless, panting. He wants to fucking ruin you.

You yelp as he scoops you up, fingers still slippery where they grip your thigh. He croons as you cling, asking in a high, nervous voice where he’s going.

“Poor thing, dick’s not even in yet ‘n yer all addled.”

The dripping head of his cock grinds against your sopping slit as he carries you back to the bedroom. He remembers how much you liked it before – and you still do, your blunt little teeth buried in your bottom lip as you whimper.

It’s still dark, the crescent moon no use to your weak eyes. Like hell you won’t look at him when he finally claims you proper.

He slaps at the wall switch, a tiny lamp flicking to life across the room. You’re bathed in soft golden light, deep shadows swimming where it doesn’t reach. You and him, gold and black, light and dark.

He eagerly lays you out on the blanket, drinking in the marks decorating your upper body. You even have teeth prints on your arm that he doesn’t remember putting there – fetching, though.

You wiggle further up the mattress, and he follows, flashing a grin as he plants his hands on either side of you. The size difference is stark like this, the breadth of him subsuming you. Safe, tucked away, all his. Your breathing is loud as he bullies his way between your plush thighs again. You have to spread them so wide just to accommodate.

“Lemme see,” he says, voice barely leaving his chest. “Lemme see her. It’s been so long, baby.”

He can already tell you’re about to start up the fussing again – so shy, his little bird, but he’ll get you singing nice and loud now. No more of this demure chirping facade. You both know what you really are.

You squeal as he forces your thighs up, far enough apart that you babble that you don’t bend that way. Of course you do, though, you’ve just done it. Not that he really hears you by that point.

No, all his attention is on that gleaming, puffy pussy. So fucking pretty. Sticky and throbbing, your hole hardly showing the stretch of three fingers. Dripping as he watches, a dewy glob of arousal sliding down the seam of your cunt, towards your ass.

Just the slightest shift and his cock is nestled between your folds, the glans chafing against your hot clit. He measures the depth of it against your abdomen, head cloudy on the nervous whine that eeks from your throat.

Even with prep, he might break you anyway.

He hopes he does. Break you around him, shape you to him so that no one else will fit – not that anyone else will ever get the chance.

It’s not a conscious thought that gathers saliva on his tongue, purses his lips. You jump when he spits, rubbing the head of his cock through your combined fluids. Your cunt looks good in white. Like a bride.

You’re too needy, wiggling with nervous anticipation. He has to hold you down while he sinks into you – poor thing too blissed out to control yourself. One hand around your wrists above your head, the other pinning your hips at an angle to drive in as easily as possible.

One snap of his hips, and he’s buried to the hilt. You cry out, shuddering and dry sobbing. His vision goes spotty with the pleasure of it, your little pussy squeezing. You’re so…

“Fucking perfect.”

He shushes you, unable to bend to kiss you without making the stretch worse. Settles for rubbing circles into your hip, twisting to lace your fingers together. Now that he’s finally, finally where he belongs, it doesn’t seem such a monumental task to muster some patience.

“B-big,” you whimper. “You’re t-too big. I d-don’t – I can’t…!”

“You already are,” he coos, “little girl taking this fat cock, I’m so proud. My girl is so brave, my little bird. Bonnie lass.”

He’s rambling now, a dirty stream of consciousness. But that primal urge to fuck you open and loose and stupid is already clawing at him again. The tight clutch of your cunt calls for him to break you in, mark you up on the inside. Claim you as his irrevocably.

You feel him drawing back, eyes flying open wide. Writhing, half-formed protests on your tongue - that you’re not ready, that he’s too big, that it still hurts.

As if that’s any reason to stop, when anything needs to sting a bit to leave a lasting mark.

“Only way to make it hurt less,” he reminds, burying inside again. This time he rolls his hips, grinding the head of his cock along your satiny walls, against the hard barrier of your cervix.

Whatever you’re about to say is swept off in a wave of moans, washing over your wet tongue and down the back of your too-empty throat. Every time you try to gather them, he fucks back into you, hard enough to bounce you up the bed before he tugs you right back down.

Eventually you give up on doing anything but keening for him, massaging his cock from root to tip in those twitching walls. You loop your legs around his waist, ankles locked at the small of his back, knees squeezing against his ribs.

“Tha’s it, love,” he slurs, “jus’ take it.”

He lets your wrists go to clutch at both of your hips, angling them as he straightens his back. On the next thrust you scream, curse, throw your hands up to brace against the headboard. Smart girl.

His restraint unravels with each thrust until he’s pounding into you, slamming the bedframe into the wall. Your eyes are rolling into the back of your skull, jaw loose, spilling pathetic, weepy “ah, ah, ah” noises in time with his hips. He’s not going to last long at all. Not when you feel so goddamn good, finally claimed.

He presses his thumb against your clit and grins wickedly as you thrash. Tears leak from your unfocused eyes. You babble incoherently as he rubs a little rougher than he should, but your walls are sucking and clutching at every centimeter of him, so he doesn’t stop.

Even when you seize up, back bent into a sharp arch, clamping down so tight that he goes lightheaded.

“Soap! John… John it’s too much,” you sob. “John – Johnny!”

His orgasm blindsides him, makes him fuck you so hard that something in the bed cracks. In the haze, he flattens you to the mattress while bucking into you, not taking any chance of coming unseated. You whine in his ear but go limp, resigned to his cock spurting at the entrance to your womb – as deep as he can get – your cunt milking him for every drop.

He comes back to himself when you tap weakly at his hip, uncoordinated.

“Hm?” he asks, a little miffed that you’re disturbing his afterglow already.

“Hard to breathe,” you squeak.

He huffs. Alright, suppose he can understand that. Besides, he wants to see you.

And what a sight you make, splayed out and shaky on pleasure. Sweat at your hairline, lips swollen and bitten. He can still feel your pulse against his cock.

He sits himself up, eyes trailing down to the place where you’re joined. His cum is already seeping out a bit at a time, a thin creamy ring around his still half-hard cock. You keen a bit when it twitches.

“Pretty girl,” he coos.

You groan softly, flopping an arm over your glassy eyes as he pulls out – slow because he’s reluctant to leave.

But the sight of your slick diluting the milky white of his cum is too much to resist. You jolt at the first swipe of his tongue, react much faster than he’s expecting. Flip onto your front and try to scramble away. He growls at his stolen prize and pounces.

Under normal circumstances, you’re no match for him. Trembling and spent like this, you don’t stand a chance.

He grabs your calf and yanks you back, chuckling at the helpless stretch of your arms. You try to plead your case, but he’s hearing none of it. Plants his hand against your back as he shuffles onto his stomach, your thighs over his shoulders, knees digging into muscle. He tilts your hips with his other hand, thumb fitted in the crease of your pelvis, and brings you to his mouth.

Your struggling has made more spend leak out, and he laps it all up hungrily, tongue flat and ravenous. Sweeping from clit to hole to gather any stray droplets, even skimming over the tight furl of your ass. He licks into your loosened hole, high on pride at the difference he can feel his cock has made.

“’S too much,” you wail, “J-Johnny, please. I-I can’t, it’s…”

In retaliation, he slurps loudly at the fresh arousal blooming across his tongue. You hiccup, try one last time to wriggle away. He can’t have that.

You shriek as he fucks two fingers into you, voice thick with a fresh wave of tears. But you stop trying to escape. He doesn’t show mercy now that you’re behaving, coaxing more out, licking around his own knuckles. When he sucks at your overstimulated clit, you jerk and whine.

“I’m – I’m gonna… feels… w-wait, wait!”

It’s too late. He’s already laved his tongue over your trapped clit, crooked his fingers. You cum again with a shout, wetness splashing across his mouth, chin, down his neck. He groans, deep and rough in his chest. Doesn’t even give you a moment to recover before he pulls away, licking his lips.

“Do tha’ again on my cock.”

You’ve learned better now though – you lay there like a good girl as he stuffs you full again. Even better, you keep rewarding him with your soft cries of pleasure.

You really are made for him.

--

He likes the couch you picked. Not very big, but cushy. Besides, the two of you don’t need a lot of room anyway. Not when his lap makes a perfectly good seat for you.

You’ve been quiet all morning – probably still waking up from the coma he fucked you into. Eating babka from his fingers, licking them clean between bites. Docile and sweet, melting against his chest with your face tucked against his collarbone.

“Sore?” he asks.

“Mhmm.”

Your sweet little voice is all hoarse and soft. He’d coo if he didn’t think he’d be pushing his luck with skin so close to your teeth.

“Maybe I’ll massage you later,” he offers, smirking at the grumpy little “hmph” he gets in response.

He encourages you to sip a bit of water before your voice emerges again.

“What happens now?”

He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand the question.

“Now I get the life I’m owed,” he answers. All that fighting, suffering, bleeding, dying – and for what? A hole in his skull and his own goddamn people thinking he’s a monster. Even you, at first. You’ve learned, though. He’s sure of it. The rest can swallow bullets for all he cares.

“What if they come back?” you ask.

He hums. “Might contract with someone. Not opposed to killin’ on principle – just sick of doin’ it to someone else’s tune, aye?”

“Wh-what… what about…”

What about you. Poor thing, afraid Laswell and her ilk will snatch you up and dangle you in front of him again. Or worse – some other sod drooling for a slice of heaven in the pits of hell.

He doesn’t loosen his grip even when you shift a bit – needs to feel you in his hands.

“Got a plan for that, don’ you fret, little bird,” he soothes. “Still got one friend, I think. Jus’ gotta find ‘im.”

You exhale slowly, accept another piece of babka. “We’re stayin’ here, though?” you mumble around the mouthful.

He chuckles. Sweet little thing.

“Worked so hard on the place, might as well. Don’ care so long as I’ve got my bird, aye?”

“Mm.”

“How ‘bout a kitty, eh? Get ya somethin’ to keep ye company when I’m away.”

You swallow audibly. “I wan’ a dog. Big one.”

He chuckles. “’Course ye do. Aye, love, a big fuck-off dog to keep ya safe.”

First | Previous

Masterlist

[ceilidho]

neil with a beard is giving me an au where soap is a military asset or something and he's given reader for "good behaviour" (i.e. being a good government pet killer)

government assigned free use girl :\\\ soap's in his cell when they parade her by him and he goes crazy. she's so nervous and he's so ravenous :(( trying to pull the bars apart so he can get to her

[soaps-used-urn]

Soap fics from other creators

Red= dark fic

Orange- fem reader

Green- g/n Reader

Purple- male reader

? - I'm not exactly sure

(I’ll keep adding DONT get mad bc there may be more than others..)

Calling him by his name - @baohanhanesel

Fishy business - @lovifie

Throat mics - @tocka-ibris

Second chance - @bookbrokelibrarian

Repeat until death - @kcmactavish ?

Childhood friend - @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

It’s a match! - @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries

Soap x Male Reader - @rodolfoparras

Brain rot - @embry-garrick

Muscle / body worship - @gatorbites-imagines

Government asset- @charliemwrites f reader

Enamored - @rowarn

Souvenir - @syoddeye

Soulmate au - @all-purpose-dish-soap ?

Dividers by - @cafekitsune

Header from - Pinterest

[loadedberetta]

I fucking love the sudden puppfication of the government asset that is John "Soap" MacTavish. multimillion-pound killing machine and certified demolition expert. like it was Tumblr's JOB to shove ballgag into his mouth and think of the different flavour chew toys he'd enjoy while Ghost is resting his legs on his back while getting blown by Reader

[sheeple]

I'm not the best at these kinds of things (headcanons) but I just had to put it out into the world before I go crazy. This is mostly inspired by DEATH by Melanie Martinez (link). It's half-baked and has no real end. Do with it what you want Warning(s): death / wonky use of past and present tense Part 2 (ish)

Okay so I've had this idea of a soldier (you) that's a human experiment done by the government 

And through science or something you are immortal and heal really quick

Like a stab wound is nothing, a bullet is maybe an hour or two

Very indestructible

You get bounced around different squads and countries 

And when it's time to move on, you get from their handler the signal that they have to fake their death the next time you go on a mission 

It has been like that for years until the 141

At first, the boys don't trust this random soldier Laswell claims is needed until they actually see the absolute beast that is you (you know how to fight and fight well)

Price likes you because you're a fighter. You know how to follow orders and have great discipline

Ghost is iffy at first, but when you take a bullet and a knife to the shoulder for him he sees that you're not just some rando that's temporarily placed with them. He also feels like he owes you

Gaz and Soap are happy to have your company

I feel like they are the most likely to actually talk to you. They don't trust you immediately (Soap does after what you did for Ghost)

Soap is also happy to no longer be the youngest around

It's honestly a surprise to you that you mesh with the Task Force so well

Because most soldiers see you more as a hindrance than an asset

And you're honestly glad to have not received a message to move on

Days turn to weeks, and weeks turn into months that you're with the 141 

This is the longest that you've been with one team and you feel at home

You train with Ghost and celebrate every time you manage to beat him. The man actually laughs when you flop him onto his back and you jump up and down

You help Gaz with cooking when it's his duty. He's a horrible cook, but with your help, his pasta doesn't taste like dog piss

You keep Price company while he does paperwork. He takes your cup of steaming coffee with a grateful smile before turning back towards the file. You take place on the chair in front of his desk and read

You and Soap are often found outside playing soccer together or on the shooting range. He teaches you about explosives and you improve his reloading speed

Everything is fine and you actually feel like a member of the 141. You even think they forgot about you until you've got called into Price's office for a secured phonecall

Price eyes you as you receive the news to get yourself KIA on the next mission and report to your handler

The captain raises his brows and you lie that it was a message from your family. Something about a cousin getting married. 

You even joke with the guys before the briefing about how your parents felt the need to go above and beyond to bring you the news

The mission is simple; get in, extract the hostage, and get out.

You're quiet on the way towards the location, your mind racing a million miles an hour about how you're supposed to leave this

How you're expected to leave the first people who felt like home to you since... ever

You don't notice that a tear has escaped you until Soap has laid a hand on your shoulder. You quickly wipe it away and give the sergeant a smile, reassuring him you're okay

The mission went smoothly until Ghost radioed in that the hostage had a bomb strapped to their chest

You see your opportunity and make your way over to Ghost. He's concerned when you tell him you can free the hostage from their vest

And you do so, successfully

The hostage is free and Ghost is leading them away

You grab your chance and mess with the vest, making it display ten seconds until detonation

"Ghost... Run..."

He turns around, his eyes wide behind the mask. They flicker between you and the vest in your hands

Seeing that the lieutenant isn't moving, you take your own initiative and start running

Away from Task Force 141

Away from your guys

The vest explodes and it makes the building above you collapse and burn. You manage to crawl out under the rubble and get to the rendezvous point that your handler has given you

A chopper is already waiting for you once you get there

Teary-eyed, you watch the buildings grow smaller and smaller until you're too far away from them

Meanwhile...

Soap tries to dig you out from under the rubble but gets pulled away by Ghost

He fights the lieutenant as tears stream over his face

Task Force 141 is sombre once they arrive back at the base and give you an unofficial burial 

One of the hardest things Price ever had to do was report your death to Laswell

Months pass before the boys are a semblance of okay. They are no stranger to death and they know they have to move on, but you were something else

There is a you-shaped hole in the team's heart that won't close for a very long time

You are being bounced around again to different teams all over the world

Until KorTac

You've received word that KorTac bought you and that you've got a new handler

That being König

At first, he isn't thrilled about taking care of you. That is until he sees how capable you are

Where König goes, so do you

It's one of those missions that the unthinkable happens

You're scoping a building, clearing a path for König when you spot familiar figures at the end of the hallway

"Shit", you curse, pressing yourself to the wall

König looks at you with raised eyebrows before peeking around the corner

At the end of the hallway stand Soap and Gaz, and you have no way of escaping without hurting them

[loudblonde]

"A little wolf and its handler" Simon "Ghost" Riley & Male Reader & John "Soap" MacTavish

Summary: (Y/N) is a werewolf who has to hide it from everyone and has been with success. His curse makes him a valuable asset that the military isn't willing to let go of. But what happens when (Y/N) gets targeted by a hunter? And why is Ghost suddenly in front of him?

Warnings: Cod Typical violence, body horror (only a bit), Alzheimer's disease. angst in the end. Werewolves live longer then humans and age slower

word count: 2,4K

Many mortal men often whispered of rage, a desire to go berserk and the ability to blindly kill. They think of themselves as akin to apex predators. But in reality, their self-confidence and sense of self-worth are that of a meek mouse dressing up as a wolf and like mice they breed more and more of their kind, spreading their diseased and infected worldview to more and more.

(Y/N) wasn’t an imposter, no, he didn’t have the time nor the energy to worry. He hadn’t had it for years.

The way his bones broke at every mission, his skin tearing and stretching thinner and thinner as the hair grew out. Painful and necessary. A true monster against those who seek to hurt, those who wish death on others. Perhaps (Y/N) was the same as them. After all, he did kill them and did end up ripping them apart but oh how they tasted wonderfully. Their blood and flesh coated his teeth not only as the beast, the monster but also as the man.

(Y/N) overlooked the room covered in enemy combatants. It was cold out, (Y/N) could see his own breath and yet he still felt the raging inferno roar beneath his skin. It demanded more blood, more pain and more food.

“Beast, come in, are you done?” His headpiece hung around his neck, it almost fell off his shoulders. (Y/N) lifted it up and pressed the talk button.

“Yes, it’s done, send in the recon team.” (Y/N) spoke, his voice still holding onto the growl as though (Y/N) was capable or even willing of letting go of his other side.

(Y/N) stepped outside, the ice beneath his feet cooled his blood and quenched his desire for murder and death. (Y/N) let go of a sigh. The wind tore into his body and froze the blood on his skin. (Y/N) walked past the soldiers trying their very best to not look at the fully naked soldier who was walking past them with no problems. (Y/N) never felt the effects of the cold, not in human form or beast form. He glanced at the tundra, knowing if he wanted to, he could run and never be found, he could give in and live freely… but he shouldn’t and couldn’t. The tracker in his neck made sure of that.

(Y/N) entered the tent that was mercifully set up for him and showered, the blood rinsed off him and fell down, staining the snow red. (Y/N) didn’t care, it was the same as always. Ice cold water followed by clothes he had worn for the past few days. At least, he could get back to his usual team. The 141. He missed Price, he hadn’t been with them in a few months, hopefully, they weren’t on a mission.

The team didn’t know about (Y/N), only Price knew. (Y/N)’s lycanthropy was a government secret. Need to know only. Soldiers he worked with were told ‘You will see something tonight that will shake you to your core and you will forget it, it never happened.’ (Y/N) couldn’t care less if they were told or not, he knew he was safe, and he knew that as long as he was of service, the military wouldn’t let him die. He was too precious of an asset and where else could he go to get enough food? He had already tried starving, it wasn’t a pretty sight.

(Y/N) now, fully undressed walked out of the tent and walked to the mission commanders, he gave his report and was ushered away and onto a helicopter before the weather became worse.

A short plane ride and he was home, back on base and in a less cold but just as miserable place. England. (Y/N) walked off the plane and greeted a few people with a nod. He was more than happy to be home.

(Y/N) noticed Soap first and smirked. “Aye McTavish!” He yelled and watched as Soap turned around.

“(L/N)!” He greeted him and walked towards him. They hugged tightly. (Y/N) was the first to pull away fully. “How chaotic has it been since I left?”

“Too chaotic. But hey, we are getting a new member, Price is showing ‘em around.” Soap said.

“A new member, huh. Well, that is always interesting, I will drop off my bag and find Ghost, he is probably sulking in someplace people don’t think to look.” (Y/N) said.

“How do you always manage to find him?” Soap asked.

(Y/N) chuckled and leaned down to whisper. “I call it my Ghost Radar. I always know where he is hiding.” He said before winking at Soap. “I will say hi to your boyfriend for you!” He called as he walked off.

(Y/N) didn’t know why but his nose itched, there was a scent from the new guy that was just wrong, he hadn’t even seen him and (Y/N) was already ready to tear his own nose out. But he didn’t. He had self-control, which one should have if he was a beast.

(Y/N) dropped his bag off and followed Ghost’s scent outside and all the way to someplace isolated. He pulled himself up on the roof and sat next to Ghost who was reading.

“Good mission?” Ghost asked his voice monotone as always.

“I didn’t get shot.” (Y/N) said, mimicking the monotone voice.

Ghost chuckled a bit and closed the book. “Have you seen the new guy?”

(Y/N) shook his head. “No, but something seems wrong, I can’t explain it.”

Ghost looked at him, those beautiful amber pools sat carefully behind the mask. “I guess we'll just have to see what he brings to the table.”

“Hm, true.” (Y/N) stood up. “By the way, your boyfriend says hi.” (Y/N) smirked and jumped off the roof, landing in a perfect roll without any damage to himself. He ignored Ghost’s yells as he ran, content to be the one chased for a moment.

A dull thud came from behind him, signalling Ghost was hot on his tail.

(Y/N) managed to get inside and lock the door, so Ghost would have to go the long way around. (Y/N) started walking, making it into the common area where Price and the new recruit stood.

His smell was making (Y/N) itch all over, as though he was allergic to the man's presence.

“Ah, Valentine, I want you to meet Sergeant (Y/N) ‘Beast’ (L/N), he has just returned from a mission… Beast, did you get Ghost to chase you again.” Price asked, sounding like a tired dad that just wants his kids to behave.

(Y/N) rubbed his eyes as they started to burn. “Affirmative sir.” He said before coughing. “Valentine, what kind of perfume do you use?! It’s burning me up.”

Price didn't react fast enough as Valentine pulled a gun and shot (Y/N) in the chest.

(Y/N) fell back as he felt the burning sensation hit his bloodstream. Pure seething anger pooled from the wound and took over his entire body. (Y/N)’s hands twitched before he snarled and growled deeply.

His vision went red. Fueled only by the anger and fear of being hurt, like a cornered animal, (Y/N) began the transformation, faster than he had ever before and on too little sleep. It was a recipe for disaster.

His arms broke and fixed themselves over and over again. His skin blistered and stretched, turning darker than the night itself, where the skin had once been carefully cared for with creams and tender self-love, now stood leather-like calloused bulges of muscle. The beast rose up, bones breaking and rebreaking yet he couldn’t think, wouldn’t think. He was simply gone, replaced by a need to protect and kill.

The beast opened its eyes and glared at the shooter, shouts of his name and orders not to hurt the hulking monster went unheard by it.

As the beast was about to jump forward and tear the throat of the man out, a familiar white mask appeared in front of him.

“Stand down.” The command was simple and it broke through the rage. An ear twitched as the beast stopped up, looking down at Ghost.

Ghost, either the world's luckiest man or the biggest idiot with plot armour, held a hand up and pointed at the ground like you would with any dog. “Sit.”

In what would normally have been a humorous event, but currently, with people shitting themselves watching a monster standing almost 3 metres beast, it wasn’t really a time for humour.

The beast growled a bit but sat down and glared at Ghost, it didn’t pay attention as the shooter was brought out of the room.

Price came over. “Congratulations Simon, you have just become his handler.” Price said.

Ghost glanced at Price. “How long does he stay here?”

“Until he is fed, someone is bringing some meat as we speak.” Price said.

“So you knew,” Ghost said before he looked back to the beast. “I assume there is a reason we weren’t told.”

“It’s classified information, strictly need to know only. Can’t have incidents like today happen again.” Price said.

All in all, it took an hour before (Y/N) was back and ushered off to change into clothes before the whole team gathered in the meeting room. (Y/N) stood beside Price.

“Okay people, what you saw today was the result of a dormant gene that was triggered by accident a few years back, (Y/N) in all the time you have known him have been like this, he isn’t a threat to any of us but that man was intending to kill him.” Price said. “(Y/N) explain the details.”

“I am what you would commonly call a werewolf. It’s a bit more complicated than that but we have research on people like me, the history of it I can’t go into details about. The beast form you saw isn’t usually how I look, it’s more of an underworld look than full-on daemonic as you saw.” (Y/N) said. “He used what we now know to be wolfbane to mess me up, if I start having that allergic reaction again I will leave the area, don’t worry I will be found, I have a tracker in my neck.” (Y/N) said.

Ghost looked at him. “How was it that I could control you? You didn’t attack me.”

“I don’t know, my guess would be you are familiar with or already have a sense of authority over me. Either way, no one else has successfully stopped me from killing, they have only pointed me towards a group and said kill. There are currently 16 people like me in different militaries all around the world. We do have our own sub-unit in times of crisis. If we are needed we will be called in and it overrides any and all missions or work, including our handlers. I am sorry Ghost.”

“It’s fine, it’s work, nothing else.” Ghost said. “At least I got to you in time.”

“There wouldn’t have been consequences for Beast had he killed the shooter, his value as an asset is worth more than the life of someone trying to kill him.” Price said.

Soap whistled a bit. “Well, at least we know why you are called Beast.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “I actually got that name before my curse. An enemy caught me, and tortured me but didn’t tie me up properly, so I escaped and ripped everyone apart. I escaped and tried to find our base of operation but got lost in the forest. My team found me in a den of wolves who had taken me in.” (Y/N) said.

Ghost chuckled a bit. “Living up to your name, what was it before you were named beast?”

“… Trip, we did a training course during a particularly rough winter and I kept tripping so everyone called me Trip.” (Y/N) said with a sigh. “I think I like Beast better.”

Soap stood up. “Well, we will be a very successful group.” He said.

—

Years had passed, the task force had long since dissolved and most had died, either from injury on the field or from old age. (Y/N) had seen new members come and go, seen Price be replaced and seen Price’s replacement be replaced.

It was peaceful now, the war still raged on but it wasn’t (Y/N)’s problem, not anymore, a much newer and younger generation had taken over.

(Y/N) gently knocked on the door to the small house before letting himself in.

A wrinkled Soap was sitting by the kitchen table a little bit away, drawing in his book. He looked up and saw (Y/N). “Simon! Get your ass down here! Good to have you back.” Old man Soap said.

(Y/N) smiled and closed the door. “Good to see you too, John.” He said as he took his boots off.

“Simon! Where are you?!” Soap yelled upstairs.

(Y/N) walked over and sat in front of his old friend. “John, you remember don’t you? We visited Simon yesterday.” (Y/N) said softly.

Soap looked at him and his eyes filled with tears. “How could I have forgotten?” He asked before wiping his eyes.

“I miss him too.” (Y/N) said softly. “But I promised him I would take care of you. He loved you a lot.”

Soap smiled sadly and looked up at (Y/N). He pointed at the few grey hairs gathering at (Y/N)’s temples. “You don’t look a day over 40,” Soap said.

(Y/N) chuckled. “Yeah well, I am a lot older than that.” He said.

Soap chuckled. “How old are you even?”

“Would you believe me if I said that I was found in that den of wolves during world war one?” (Y/N) asked.

“No way, I assumed it was more recent,” Soap said.

(Y/N) shook his head. “No, world war I, a brutal time to be a war prisoner. I was born in Canada so I didn’t get the worst treatment but it wasn’t fun.”

Soap hummed. “Did Simon ever know?”

(Y/N) shook his head. “No, but you look like you haven’t eaten all day so I am going to cook you something that matches what the doctor said you could eat and then we will see Simon’s grave again, alright?”

Soap nodded. “Yes, that sounds good.” He said and looked back down at his drawings. He blinked before looking up again, smiling. “(Y/N)! It’s so good to see you.”

(Y/N) smiled a bit softer. “It’s good to see you too, old friend.”

My requests are open. Feel free to send in anything you want to have written ^^

[vanillaxmochi]

[MMD] Rose Spade Earrings [DOWNLOAD]

Hi, my name is Dee (alias Vanilla Mochi) and I like abusing Metasquoia 4's Text to Mesh function whenever I can

I was not going to put these up for download. On top of me just making these for personal reasons, I'm a verified Dumb Stupid Idiot™ who can't read context clues and/or subtext to save my life. If a creator doesn't explicitly state what I am and am not allowed to do with their assets, I will be stuck in a limbo of indecisiveness until I make up my mind or hunt around for a clear answer. And if いつものほん had a clear answer, I could not find it. I've seen others use flowers made by いつものほん on public downloads before, so I am going to assume this is okay and I'm not breaking any rules. Don't be surprised if I do take these down

I'm a very firm believer that everyone should have a hands-on hobby. Things like crocheting, sewing, making soaps or little sculptors out of clay. Stuff like that. My Government Assigned Hands-On Hobby is making jewelry, and earrings have been my bread and butter lately. Mostly because both spools of chain I bought don't like me, and I can't separate them easily to make necklaces or bracelets. I made a set of earrings based on Ace and Deuce from Twisted Wonderland for funsies, and I ended up making a sister set with just the Spade face. I wanted to make a matching set with the Heart face, but for whatever reason the pack I bought online only had one Red Heart while the rest where black??? And I only got 6 Hearts to begin with out of a (supposed) pack of 40 charms. Anger about that aside, I'm actually quite proud of my work and I decided to recreate the earrings in MMD. I might go back into Meta and make matching sets with the other 3 card faces, but for now it's just the Spade

Fair warning, these are heavy. Like, 1,180kb heavy. Absolutely not for the feint of heart

Rules may be subject to change without notice. Please refer to the online terms before downloading this part and before every use, but also read the Read Me given in the file for any rules that may be specific to that part. In cases were the online terms directly crash with the rules written in the Read Me, the online terms will always take precedence

Failure to adhere to these rules will result in suspension of distribution with no chance of redistribution. For any further inquiries, feel free to contact me

Created using Metasquoia 4, textures created using BeFunky. Rose model borrowed from いつものほん. SPH's borrowed from OE

Password Hint: Found in the Read Me

DOWNLOAD

Model: TDA, Vanilla Mochi Pose: Yamimori MME: ミーフォ茜, そぼろ

[freddiemark]

A Comprehensive Analysis on Nirma Share Price Performance

Introduction to Nirma Share Price

Nirma Limited, a diversified conglomerate, has established a significant presence in the Indian market across various sectors, notably in consumer products (detergents, soaps, personal care) and industrial products (soda ash, cement, chemicals). The company's performance in these sectors often impacts Nirma Share Price dynamics.

Company Overview:

Founded in 1969 by Karsanbhai Patel, Nirma initially gained prominence as a detergent manufacturer. Over the years, it expanded its product portfolio and market reach, becoming a key player in multiple industries.

Business Segments:

1. Consumer Products: Nirma's consumer product range includes various detergent brands such as Nirma, Nirma Advance, Super Nirma, etc., along with offerings in the personal care segment.

2. Industrial Products: The company expanded into manufacturing soda ash, cement, and chemicals. Notably, its acquisition of Lafarge India's cement assets in 2016 significantly bolstered its position in the cement industry.

Factors Influencing Nirma Share Price:

1. Financial Performance: The company's quarterly and annual financial reports play a crucial role in determining investor sentiment and share price movements. Factors such as revenue growth, profitability, and debt levels influence market perceptions.

Industry Trends: The performance of consumer goods and cement sectors, market demand, competitive landscape, and regulatory changes impact Nirma Share Price.

3. Macroeconomic Factors: Economic conditions, inflation rates, interest rates, and government policies affect stock markets, thus impacting share prices.

4. Company Developments: Strategic decisions, new product launches, mergers, acquisitions, or management changes can significantly impact market sentiment and share prices.

Nirma Share Price Performance Analysis:

Analyzing Nirma's historical share price movements, one can observe trends, fluctuations, and notable events that have influenced its stock performance. This includes examining long-term trends, price volatility, and market reactions to specific events.

Comparative Analysis:

Comparing Nirma's share price performance with industry peers or benchmark indices helps in assessing the company's relative strength and market positioning.

Investor Sentiment and Market Projections:

Insights into investor sentiment, analyst recommendations, and market projections for Nirma's share price offer valuable insights into the stock's potential trajectory.

Future Outlook:

Considering the company's growth strategies, market opportunities, challenges, and potential disruptions, forecasting Nirma's future share price trends becomes a crucial aspect for investors.

Conclusion:

Nirma Limited Share Price is influenced by a multitude of factors, ranging from its financial performance to broader market dynamics. Understanding these elements aids investors in making informed decisions regarding buying, holding, or selling Nirma stocks.

Please note that this summary provides an outline of key points for a comprehensive article. For a detailed 1500-word article, it would involve elaborating on each section, providing statistical data, historical analysis, expert opinions, and market insights, among other aspects.

[logicalnivesh]

Will income tax news benefit the taxpayers? Union Budget 2023 expectations

The current year’s budget announcement, due on February 1, 2023, has a lot of positive changes expected in the capital gains rate of the current tax system, especially from the taxpayers. Particular focus is paid to encouraging long-term equity investing with specific tax provisions.

The Union budget announcement comes with high prior expectations relating to tax deductions, inflation management, higher investment income, social welfare and infrastructure improvement, etc. In a nutshell, people wish for a better tomorrow. Similarly, the current year’s budget announcement, due on February 1, 2023, has a lot of positive changes expected in the current tax system, especially from the taxpayers.

According to the income tax department reports, around 50% of the ITRs filed in 2022 were done by salaried individuals (ITR-1), who account for a larger group of taxpayers. The current budget announcement should focus on widening the tax base to provide relief to the taxpayers and grow the government’s tax revenues.

Below are some significant changes expected from the income tax news of the current year’s Union budget.

Capital gains tax rate – Capital assets have different holding periods and tax rates. For example, gold and debt fund units must be held for at least three years to be classified as long-term capital assets, equity fund units for one year, etc. Investors consider encouraging long-term investing with proper tax provisions. They suggest that there shouldn’t be any long term capital gains tax if investments in listed or unlisted stocks or equity mutual funds are held for a minimum of ten years.

Simplified tax structure – As per the previous budget, the income tax system did not meet the taxpayer’s expectations. Therefore, the new budget is expected to have a simplified tax structure with more exemptions and deductions for taxpayers.

Rate revisions in long-term and short-term capital gains – There is a need to encourage long-term and short-term investing with suitable tax soaps. Having short-term equity capital gains at 15% tax with an income tax rate of 5% is punitive for investors. Similarly, the long term capital gain tax rate on debt funds should also be reduced from 20% when inflation has surged and tax rates have declined due to the pandemic.

Children’s education and hostel allowances – The education and hostel allowances for children of government employees have not been revised for more than four years. Their current monthly exemptions are Rs 2,250 and Rs 6,750 per child for education and hostel costs, respectively. It is expected to rise to Rs 3,000 and Rs 7,500 per child, respectively.

Interest on a housing loan – Interest taken on a home loan during the construction period is allowed for deduction in five equal installments from the year of completion of construction. However, irrespective of the construction status, the buyer is paying the EMI, so the interest deduction should start from the year of payment itself.

Capital gains tax on stocks – Current year’s Union Budget capital gains tax on long-term equity funds, units of listed and unlisted equity should be waived off for holding beyond seven years. Such rebates on taxes on stocks and other additional rebates are likely to enhance the trading volumes in Indian markets, which can also drive economies.

As per the current budget expectations, there is an urgent need to rephrase the entire system of capital gains tax. India is in high hopes of driving the economy by eroding the impact of current laws of taxes on stock gains, particularly long term capital gains, and not mingling with things that are already functioning correctly.

[charliemwrites]

(Government Asset!Soap) - Final update: 8/11/24 Banner by @sentientcave

An old contact, Kate Laswell, calls you in for a favor. You should have known that when it comes to a loan, the government will always overspend their balance. Especially for an asset.

(The concept comes from @ceilidho’s concept/drabble of “military asset Soap” and heavily inspired also by @391780’s Nikto version. Please go check out theirs because they’re brilliantly written.)

Content:Threats, Dirty Talk, Objectification, Dub-con, Non-con/Rape Specific warnings at the start of each chapter

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[ceilidho]

hi! you can totally ignore this if you want but i'm having a hard time finding a fic i thought was yours! it was a soap/reader where reader was like locked up by laswell(i think) and used as a reward for soap's behavior on the battlefield, if you could point me in the right direction i'd be so grateful😭🙏

ehhehehe so this is actually an idea of mine but @charliemwrites wrote it !!! It’s their “government asset Johnny” series (and my personal fave fic of all time; only a little biased)

[direwombat]

okey okey okey...i’m almost done with mwii (just like...a mission and a half left flakfdja) so here are some thoughts/backstory for cecelia “kentucky”/”tuck” burbage...

former contract assassin

she and ghost first met while on the job somewhere in eastern europe (i’m thinking belarus): the man he was supposed to capture and interrogate was the same man she was hired to kill

it’s a mission failure for both of them because they ended up fighting each other and scaring the guy off

it’s a fucking nasty fight. tuck is small (or at least she is compared to ghost), quick, and deceptively strong, and she fights dirty. she smashes a full bottle of bourbon over his head and he ends up giving her a cut over her lip that leaves a scar

he ends up victorious and turns her in to the cia. she blames him for ruining her life and damning her

laswell sees her as a potential asset and breaks her a deal once she realizes who tuck is. they’ll turn a blind eye if she agrees to serve the united states government (and thus be kept on a short leash), otherwise it’s death or, even worse, lifetime of solitary in a maximum security prison

that said, she maintains that laswell saved her life and feels indebted to her. 

neither she nor ghost thought that she’d be joining the 141 as the squad’s permanently lowest ranking officer. this. naturally. leads to so much bickering and borderline insubordination (as tuck maintains that she’s loyal to laswell, not the unit). she’s (mostly) full of hot air and price knows it, which is why it doesn’t bother him too much, but it sure as hell grates ghost the wrong way

she actually gets along really well with price and gaz and spends the events of mwii with them (up until it’s time to go after graves, in which case she’s on ghost and soap’s team)

she’d rather die than admit she was worried about ghost when she found out that shepard and graves betrayed them

there are a ridiculous number of stories behind her codename. all but one are true and she refuses to say which one is fake. 

and moving into more shippy territory...

her and ghost’s first “date” is just the two of them sitting and drinking from a bottle of the same kind of bourbon she broke over her head because she had “wasted good fucking bourbon” during their first encounter

he lowkey has a thing for the lip scar he gave her and she’s not sure whether he kisses it to apologize or if it’s like...a claiming mark to him. could be both, honestly. 

[tomatograter]

Do you think Dirk saying that he doesn't like to label himself as gay means he has internalized homophobia? Or does he really just don't like to put labels on himself? I've seen ppl saying it's homophobia but there's ppl in real life that don't feel comfortable with labels so I'm a bit confused honestly, cus we are talking about Dirk and he's... Dirk after all

Easy answer: Dirk is Gay.

Prolonged answer: I think it's kinda weird how some fandom discussion around "Dirk dodging the label in One pesterlog" has largely spiraled way outside of its original context to be talked about in a vacuum, especially when that context is crucial to understanding what is actually being said, AKA — it belongs to a deeply awkward conversation between Dirk and Roxy. One of Many they are implied to have had about the subject of Roxy's sustained, unwelcome, and oft drunken advances towards Dirk (& his splinters).

I'm going to reproduce it plus another bit of text down below, for the sake of comparison.

(To prevent the trickster text from looking like absolute shit, I have altered the background. Read the original here, if you're nasty: https://www.homestuck.com/story/5754 )

Now that we've been reacquainted with how and where that sentiment is expressed, let's try to break down what Dirk is doing here.

He is not receptive to Roxy's early advances, and spends most of the 'intro' for this conversation (not pictured) ignoring when Roxy flirts with him, until she gets upset at how 'boring' he is being right now.

Dirk is the one compelled to apologize.

He proceeds to shut the scenario down as an unwanted probability, eliciting further guilt-babbling from Roxy over how Dirk never wants to play along with the perfect traditional family fantasy, until she finally blows up and says it's because he's gay.

"I mean, yeah, that's what I thought."

Dirk, rather than saying I Am Not Gay, since he looooooves changing a conversational subject, claims that "Gay" is not entirely historically appropriate for this situation, given the non-negligible passage of time and the wildly dystopic circumstances* they find themselves in.

Dirk reassures Roxy he does still care about her.

Dirk is absolutely terrified of a similarly inclined (and intoxicated) Roxy up close. This is the most exclamations he's ever used.

Now, *These circumstances? The loss of 99% of the human race, including their society, customs, culture, and prejudices. (ALLEGEDLY.) It's important to remember that from Dirk and Roxy's side of the timetable, troll culture has been pushed as "the norm" for actual fucking centuries. HIC tried to recreate the caste system by artificially coloring human blood, leading to the death of billions. Faygo came out of the water tap, not water. Troll slang was incorporated into the English language. Humans ceased to organically reproduce. They were actively Discouraged from reproducing, since that's not something HIC could have total genetic control over; rendering traditional marriage and the concept of the nuclear family pointless.

You could also argue that same-gender relationships are not uncommon in Alternia, making "gay" altogether unnecessary by proxy, and that's true! But my point is this one: any union (or at least our society's holy concept of it) between straightie humans would be by definition undesirable under HIC's rule, too. She is the church, the president and the governing body. The population is only as good as they are assets for her to do whatever she wants with, including mass murder.

But wait! While that tracks… Roxy clearly still holds onto very 'conservative' definitions of romance for most of Homestuck. We see this multiple times. Dirk, as proved in conversations with Jake, uses 'gay' as an ironic pejorative. Suddenly it's not Historically Inaccurate anymore, Jake's interests are just gay.

Does this mean the context above is basically worthless, since they don't seem to have internalized it? No.

What must be kept in mind is this: Dirk and Roxy's only "active" link to de facto humanity is our society as it was in the early 2010's. Those glimpses they get by talking with jane and jake. They have all that dystopic context, yes, but the reality that seems the most "unfucked" to them for a grand majority of their lives are the halcyon years before the Condesce's rise to power: back when weed was illegal, BlogSpot was popular, movies sucked, MTV was still a hip channel, and gay generally meant something real bad. The wave of homophobia as a punchline or fear mongering tactic was at THE HEIGHTS. Marriage equality was a hot debate topic. Those were the dayz.

Dirk is keenly aware of the taboo implication the word "Gay" as a self-denomination carries. He's no dummy. But he's rarely direct with his intentions either. He's slippery as a bar of soap. (He's never "straight about his feelings", if you prefer.) And for a guy that cares so much about his reputation and maintaining a curated sense of utter coolness, he wants to avoid outing himself as any sort of weirdo no matter the cost.

But that's not all. I think the gravity of just how much Dirk believes he *owes* Roxy simply for existing as the last human in the same timeframe as her is a severely underplayed aspect of Dirk's core character, together with how much he tries to avoid her sexual advances only to end up feeling like absolute shit over it, because — if they truly are the last people on god's blighted earth, isn't he being "selfish" and "irrational" about not feeling shit for Roxy, in the grand scale of things? Is Roxy not his only friend in tangible reality, even if he avoids the mere suggestion of visiting her? Even if she gets black-out drunk and tries to push him into indulging her, regardless of how many times he's already said no?

(Spend enough time here and you realize how it directly mirrors the jane/jake experience.)

Dirk cares a lot about each and every one of his friends.

He pointedly adapts his speech based on whichever one of them he's talking to in an effort to express that investment. May it be reassuring Jane, fooling around with Jake, or trying to prevent Roxy from falling into a total catatonic doom-spiral; he avoids telling them anything that would be too crushing to hear. That's not what he's trying to do here. Not to say that he isn't bitchy sometimes, but that’s far from the central thing he does. The Epilogues have retroactively led people to believe that Dirk abhors and despises every single person he's ever been close to before (god forbid) LIKING them, and I think buying too much into that assumption ignores the foundations of his canon text, as well as the central motivation behind 99% of his actions in the story. This is the guy that grew up on Friendship Is Magic, has a picture of rainbow dash shamefully glued to one wall and a rainbow poster of Jake's symbol stapled to another, and everything he does is a little cringe attempt to demonstrate his worth by showing how much he cares about people, even when he's punching his actual feelings down instead of up and saying them.

Which brings us back to the load-bearing part of this question: Admitting to Roxy that there is absolutely no fucking way he will ever agree to having her babbys because he is gay is precisely the opposite of what Dirk wants to say, if his intention isn't pulverizing her. So he doesn't. And his worry on this regard is such that it prevents Dirk from even telling Roxy that he does love her, in the platonic sense, as a friend and hell-earth survivor, because he knows that specificity is what that would disappoint her greatly. (He only ever confesses this to Jane, on the death slabs.)

But also I think this is a really funny visual of Dirk's relationship with the word gay, to put statements into perspective:

[menaticide]

( ben barnes. 106. he/they. cis-male. ) are you a HERO? something tells me that cat fur on a leather jacket, an ache that won’t go away, flinching like a dog in a thunder storm make you who you are, JAMES ‘BUCKY’ BARNES. with the powers of SUPERHUMAN PHYSIQUE, you’re sure to have a adroit, phlegmatic personality — and you definitely belong to SHIELD. were you listening to YOU WANT IT DARKER by LEONARD COHEN on your way to the subway? it suits you. 

character name:   james buchanan barnes.      >  barnes*.   bucky**.   the winter soldier / зимний солдат, the asset ***              *   current introductory title (as of post-ws).              **   known as;  former nickname/close friends              ***   under the control of hydra only age:   106. faceclaim:   ben barnes. voiceclaim:   also.. ben barnes. skill set:   superhuman physique from a super-soldier serum variant.  vibranium arm.  years of training as a soldier in ww2  &  then being turned into a living weapon and assassin by hydra.  excellent at knitting. affiliations:   shield  &  sword!   they’re more  loose  affiliations then anything,  something he’s inherited through his relationship with the avengers.  his strongest loyalties are however,  to steve, daisy, sam  &  natalia (so yknow, 2/4 still kicking it!). myers-briggs:   istj, the logistician; introverted / observant / thinking / judging. enneagram:   type 6, the loyalist. temperament:   melancholic, earth.  languages:   hebrew (primary language),  english (secondary,  native fluency),  deutsch german (primarily read  &  verbal),  polish (primarily read  &  verbal),  russian  &  polish (dominantly verbal),  dutch (limited,  primarily verbal),   bsl  &  asl (fluency). family:   winnifred barnes (mother; deceased, 1935) george barnes (father; deceased, 1935) rebecca barnes (sister; deceased, ????) zodiac:   pisces,  march 10. wiki link!   & i suppose this one too.

was your character “blipped” out? if so, what did they return to and how is it affecting them? if not, who important to them was blipped out, and what has it felt like after those five years have passed?

yeah mans got DUSTED.  follow up: man is NOT doing well. 

where are they living? are they living with anyone?

the worlds tiniest sad man apartment. oh my g-d its such a sad man apartment. his time there is only kept in the company of alpine (the goodest girl)  &  a service dog (because i am a sucker for tropes) named шарик.. also known as mr. soap.  and now steve’s here.  it’s the worlds saddest old man apartment.

why is your character affiliated with who they’re affiliated with?

no other friends.

who are their major friends, allies, and foes?

hydra. baron zemo. john walker. the american government. thanos and his cronies. i think i should legally say flag smashers here but i think they did nothing wrong so i’m not saying it.

whose hands do they believe the country should be in?

sam wilson. next question.

what’s their current mental state at? their physical state?

absolutely garbage on all levels. his arm hurts. his joints hurt. 24/7 headache. i’m being very lazy writing this but bucky experiences a LOT of phantom limb pain which tbh cycles heavily into his mental health.........

&  bucky has fairly extreme cptsd that has gone untreated for decades. it feeds into a spiral cycle of other mental health issues (generalized anxiety disorder, panic disorder, social anxiety, agoraphobia, selective mutism..) he’s a walking mess. while he is in therapy for it, he’s not overly trying. he’s doing a poor job of caring for his own mental health and well-being. getting soap was probably the only good choice he has made.

LORE  /  CHANGES.

i’m primarily inspired by  captain america (2005),  winter soldier: winter kills (2007),  winter soldier (2014)  &  winter soldier: second chances (2019).  what can i say? i’m a huge comics nerd.

bucky barnes is jewish. i hope disney would hate this. im also projecting my jewish trauma onto ANOTHER character now. hi im jelly. welcome to me fist fighting walt disneys corpse.

bucky does not enlist in the us military, he heads overseas at the start of the war to join a resistance group  (eventually ending up in the soviet partisans) after leaving new york in december of 1939 and eventually meeting up with his childhood best friend,  steve rogers (then captain america) and the us military in 1941. 

then generally just a lot of the 616 timeline for his brainwashed era.   black widow ops,  killing jfk because i think its funny,  but i’m letting him kill tony’s parents becasue again  i think its funny.

i...... i suppose i respect marvels choice for “““unbrainwashing bucky””” in wakanda but i do not see it

INFO DUMPING BECAUSE ITS MY HOUSE AND MY RULES

bucky does not like to be touched.  at all.  do not touch him.  he’s incredibly touch-averse and does not like any form of human contact (animal? yes!) and will react badly if touched and will flinch away if its someone he knows or react with some level of violence from strangers/anyone else.   even over clothing,  he still does not want to be touched.   all of him (read:  both skin and the arm) are not to be touched.   please assume he is a strange dog and you should not touch without asking.

#me holding bucky: dog#wheres that post thats like ‘please hold the professor gently he has rabies’#thats me with bucky#however i beg of u i fucking beg of u 2 bond w/ this mfer#he actually.. loves being touched he just is Nervous#again he just sum dog lmao let his dumb ass trust u and then u will have 6'4 of beef flop on top of u#and following u around at the heel because he doesnt wanna b alone#but yah in all srsness he will break ur arm? if u touch him? he Does Not want it

i simply think. bucky wears stupid leather jackets and all black just for the sake of looking intimidating & hoping that strangers wont talk to him but in the same breath i just think he only wants to wear sweaters and sweater vests

#genuinely feral on main#i think he introduces himself to new ppl as barnes but allows old friends (read: steve; probably the other avengers since#steve would have introduced him [as]) as bucky#but really: prefers to be called james because it is a very Soft name but#he will break ur kneecaps for calling him that unless you exceptionally close#& even then Not In Public

okay But the winter solider was hydras attack dog. because he just didn’t have the. ability to say no, to chose to stop or turn and run. he would complete a mission or die there was no self preservation which is what made him such a good dog. he barked and attacked on command, at the heel of his master. he’s fucking leashed by hydra, a choke chain on him. just a beast waiting to be let loose on enemies. he’s an attack dog, he’s a guard dog?? everyday i just bucky some fucking dog. hes a dog. hydras had him with an electric collar or a prong collar. and if you train a dog which a shock collar, even after you’ve taken it off, it’s still reactive. it doesn’t stop being reactive just because you decollared it. bucky never stops being a dog ever. he’s always going to be reactive and touchy, someone labeled as aggressive with a collar that says nervous or i bite strangers. you can’t ever train out abuse like that in an animal. and humans really are just animals.

[abygaildd]

On 31 December 2019, WHO was informed of cases of pneumonia of unknown cause in Wuhan City, China. A novel coronavirus was identified as the cause by Chinese authorities on 7 January 2020 and was temporarily named “2019-nCoV”.

Coronaviruses (CoV) are a large family of viruses that cause illness ranging from the common cold to more severe diseases. A novel coronavirus (nCoV) is a new strain that has not been previously identified in humans. The new virus was subsequently named the “COVID-19 virus” (https://www.euro.who.int/en/health-topics/health-emergencies/coronavirus-covid-19/novel-coronavirus-2019-ncov)

The COVID-19 pandemic has resulted in a significant loss of human life around the world, and it poses an unprecedented threat to public health, food systems, and the workplace. The pandemic's economic and social effects are devastating: tens of millions of people are at risk of falling into extreme poverty, and the number of people who are unourished. Hundreds of millions of businesses are in danger of going out of business. Nearly half of the world's  billion workers are at danger of losing their jobs. Workers in the informal economy are particularly vulnerable because they lack social security and excellent health care, as well as having lost access to productive assets. Many people are unable to feed themselves and their family during lockdowns because they lack the means to earn a living. For most people, no money equals no food, or at the very least, less food that is less nutritious. The epidemic has had an impact on the entire food chain, exposing its vulnerability. Farmers and agricultural workers have been unable to access markets, including to acquire inputs and sell their goods, due to border closures, trade restrictions, and confinement measures, disrupting domestic and international food supply chains and limiting access to nutritious, safe, and diverse meals. The pandemic has decimated jobs and placed millions of livelihoods at risk. As breadwinners lose jobs, fall ill and die, the food security and nutrition of millions of women and men are under threat, with those in low-income countries, particularly the most marginalized populations, which include small-scale farmers and indigenous peoples, being hardest hit.

        While feeding the globe, millions of agricultural workers – both salaried and self-employed – confront high levels of working poverty, malnutrition, and bad health, as well as a lack of safety and labor protection, as well as various forms of abuse. Because of their poor and irregular salaries, as well as a lack of social support, many of them are compelled to continue working, often in hazardous situations, putting themselves and their families at risk. Furthermore, when faced with a lack of income, individuals may turn to negative coping techniques such as asset distress sales, predatory lending, or child labor. Migrant agricultural laborers are especially vulnerable because of the dangers they confront on the job. Women, who are over-represented in low-wage jobs and caregiving duties, must be given special attention. Cash transfers, child allowances, and healthy school lunches are all important, as are shelter and food assistance measures, support for job retention and recovery, and financial relief for businesses, especially micro, small, and medium-sized businesses. Governments must collaborate closely with employers and workers when formulating and implementing such policies.

Countries dealing with existing humanitarian crises or emergencies are particularly exposed to the effects of COVID-19. Responding swiftly to the pandemic, while ensuring that humanitarian and recovery assistance reaches those most in need, is critical.

Now is the time for global solidarity and support, especially with the most vulnerable in our societies, particularly in the emerging and developing world. Only together can we overcome the intertwined health and social and economic impacts of the pandemic and prevent its escalation into a protracted humanitarian and food security catastrophe, with the potential loss of already achieved development gains.

A safe distance from others, even if they don't appear to be unwell, to prevent the transmission of COVID-19. When you're out in public, especially inside or when physical separation isn't possible, wear a mask. Closed spaces should be avoided in favor of open, well-ventilated ones. If you're indoors, open a window. Hands should be washed frequently. Use soap and water or an alcohol-based hand rub to clean your hands. When it's your turn, get vaccinated. Vaccination should be done according to local recommendations. When you cough or sneeze, cover your nose and mouth with your bent elbow or a tissue. And if  you're sick, stay at home.

~Nobody knows what the ultimate outcome of the COVID-19 crisis will be, but one thing is certain—we are stronger when we act together. The lessons we absorb and the energy we put into making positive choices today will make a meaningful difference tomorrow.

And also we must rethink the future of our environment and tackle climate change and environmental degradation with ambition and urgency. Only then can we protect the health, livelihoods, food security and nutrition of all people, and ensure that our ‘new normal’ is a better one.

Always remember Luke 1:37 because if we have faith in God nothing is impossible. Because prayers are the most powerful weapon that we have.

             Luke 1:37(KJV)

    “For with God nothing shall be impossible.”

[charliemwrites]

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

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