#how the hell do you even tag them? i don't care enough to check

[iseeyoujon]

I've never understood Michael and Helen's attitude toward their own identity more than when my husband hit MAG 101 and I had to explain it.

Husband: "So Michael is dead, right?"

Me: "Well, I think Michael Shelley has been dead for a long time. But the Distortion wasn't Michael. Or it was, but also not."

Husband: "Yeah, I got that original Michael was dead. But is Distortion Michael dead?"

Me: "No. The Distortion is Helen now. Except not really."

Husband: "But Michael wanted to kill Jon and Helen doesn't."

Me: "But they're still both the Distortion. The Distortion just stopped being Michael because Helen made it her instead."

Husband: "Ok, fuck everything about the Spiral."

[eggsistential-basket]

thinking about the person i could have been if i tried a little harder to find my own way

[thelostconsultant]

Not a gold digger

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: Fans think you only want Max's money. But as it turns out, you were wealthy before he came into your life--you just don't make it obvious.

warnings: No smut, but there's a part that makes me say MDNI.

note: So... I'm kinda back? Idk, I'll see if I'll stick around.

The toxicity of the fandom was becoming quite entertaining, really. It was the third time since you and Max had made your relationship public half a year ago that someone started an anti gold digger campaign to protect your boyfriend. They truly believed they were doing this for a greater good, and they all begged Max for his attention.

It always began after they sniffed out he had given you something expensive as a gift or took you shopping to a luxury boutique. While there were some people who tried to protect you by pointing out that maybe he enjoyed showering you with gifts, the rest didn't care about that. 

You lived in a small apartment back home, you were driving a five years old Renault SUV, and no one knew what you did for a living. This was enough to enrage them and make them believe all you wanted was Max's money at the end of the day. Just think about the way she's looking at him, one of them wrote about two months ago, she's so clearly not in love with him. Poor Max, someone please save him. 

Ridiculous.

“Is everything okay?” he asked when he got home and kissed the top of your head. 

You were sitting in his sim rig, using the time while it was free to practice, because you wanted to play with him when you weren't here together, and he was more than happy to show you the basics. “Someone started another campaign to cancel me,” you replied casually as you got out with his help. 

Even when you were standing in front of him, he didn't let go of your hand, instead he raised it to his lips to place a soft kiss on its back. “Gold digging?” You nodded with a sad look on your face, but less than five seconds later you were both laughing. “Look, I know you're having way too much fun with this, but–”

Without waiting for him to finish, you raised your hand to make him stop. “I'm not stepping out of the shadows, Max. I've been hiding for years, even fucking Forbes doesn't know my real name or face,” you told him.

Back in the old days, when Bitcoin appeared, your geeky uncle had gotten into mining and trading it. He knew the potential, so he put most of his savings into buying them, then he held onto them, and by the time he got sick years later, he knew they were valuable and would be worth a lot more in the upcoming years. In his will, he left his savings and his wallet to you, giving you the chance to use them as you wished since you had learned everything about crypto from him.

So now you had Bitcoin as well as old fashioned investments, and you had used your money to help out an up-and-coming tech company for a forty percent share, and it was later sold to a tech giant for a lot of money. But despite your wealth, you chose to stay under the radar, because you loved your small apartment, and you weren't about to trade it for some fancy penthouse. 

You had met Max the year before in Las Vegas. F1 was a sport you watched with your uncle while he was still alive, and you were hell-bent on getting a VIP pass for the weekend. If you asked your boyfriend, he would say it was love at first sight, but in reality he was just annoyed by you. For a solid ten seconds, he would correct you every time you talked about it.

You agreed that you would hide in Max's apartment until this latest campaign died down, which gave you some time to spend together in peace. Every now and then you checked the tags to see how things were going, and after the silence of the past few days, today your name was trending again. Ready to have a good laugh, you opened the tag, but the most popular post gave you a minor stroke.

“Oh, fuck me,” you yelled as you launched your phone into the couch.

Max pulled the headset down to his neck as he looked over at you. “Is everything okay?” You raised your finger to your lips as if you wanted him to stay quiet, but luckily he got the message. “I'm muted. So?”

You grabbed your phone and went over to him. “They know. One of those idiots from the company I helped back in the day posted a tweet to protect me, saying that if it wasn't for me being an angel investor, they wouldn't be millionaires now,” you summarized as you gave him the device.

He scrolled through a series of tweets, and found a post from a journalist of Forbes in which he promised a proper investigative piece based on this info. He handed you the phone, then wrapped an arm around your waist. “It's okay, schatje. I know that's not what you wanted, but maybe they'll stop with the recurring hate campaign now,” he tried. “And if you’re worried about the article… Don’t be. There is nothing compromising about you. Yes, you inherited the money, but you have proven you know what to do with it.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you admitted with a sigh. 

“I’m usually right. C’mere,” he said as he reached out to pull you closer, but you glanced over at the camera. Rolling his eyes, he quickly turned it off, then gave you an expectant look. “Will you hug me now? And I want a kiss too.”

With a laugh, you leaned down to wrap your arms around his neck and gave him a soft kiss. But he wanted more, his hand slowly sneaked under your shorts, his fingers running over your clothed cunt before he decided to pull your panties aside and dip a finger between your folds. You moaned into the kiss, but he pulled away a second later to lick his finger clean. 

Shaking your head with a chuckle, you patted his shoulder and walked back to the couch. You could feel Max’s eyes on you the whole time, and when you looked at him again, he flashed a devilish smile at you. “I should quit the stream. Now that I had a taste, I want more,” he told you. 

“I’m not going anywhere, just try to be patient.”

He looked back at the screen, then put the headset back on his head and unmuted his mic. “Sorry, I have to go. See you next time,” he told the others, then logged out. You couldn’t remember the last time he left the sim rig this fast, and only a few seconds later he was kneeling in front of you, eagerly reaching up to pull your shorts off you.

liked by user1, user2 and 947,896 others

f1gossips: Breaking news! Turns out Max Verstappen's girlfriend isn't a gold digger after all as she has her own fortune according to the investigative article published by Forbes. Will the fans apologize?

view all comments

user2: And here I was, thinking she's just a greedy airhead...

user3: Easy to be wealthy with your uncle's money.

↳ user4: Have you read the whole thing? She invested the money and helped out several startups--that later became pretty successful--as an angel investor. Yes, maybe she inherited a lot of money, but she knows what to do with it.

↳ user5: May I remind you how many F1 drivers started their careers with their families's money?

user6: Told you she wasn't a gold digger. Suck it, haters.

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 1,577,353 others

maxverstappen1: If you don't buy your girlfriend gifts every once in a while, you're a bad boyfriend. I love to spoil her, it's not a crime. I love her, I'm proud of her, and you can send us as much hate as you want, it will only make us stronger.

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

yourusername: I'd be perfectly fine without the gifts, I already told you.

↳ maxverstappen1: I don't care.

landonorris: You're absolutely right!

↳ maxverstappen1: You're single, how would you know?

↳ landonorris: Just FYI, I've been in relationships before.

danielricciardo: You're so disgustingly smitten with her. (I love you both.)

[elysiae]

do you think operator & drifter treat their warframes wildly differently?

somewhat insufficient TLDR: i think the operator and drifter are emotionally attached but in vastly, strikingly different ways, and it manifested very, very differently too.

in operator's case, it isn't that they dont *care*, but they know how durable a warframe is. they know they can take one hell of a hit, and they'll be okay because that warframe takes the brunt of it (albeit with some phantom pain if the damage is bad enough). theyre less comfortable outside the confines of those large, bulky war machines because they know they're ultimately safe. those warframes can take hits. they cannot. the operator knows they were people, but they never met those people before the tragedy. besides... a lot of them really are just empty shells. they're hardly the people they once were, especially since they recreated those warframes from blueprints. don't get me wrong, they do remember the anguish of the originals - they were there, they lived it, and they still have empathy for them... but the operator knows the limits of every warframe like the back of their hand - they can maneuver however they want, they can take hits, they can run into armies and not be too afraid because they (as in the operator and the warframe this time) be fine. even if the warframe is damaged, they can fix the damage, so no harm done.

but drifter on the other hand? at first i think they never really realised the power they had. in their mind they were still them, just running, rolling on the occasion, it took them ages to maneuver those things *properly*, and probably only ever really learned with the operator's guidance. they would not let a warframe take a hit, not because they felt empathy for it (at least not a lot, last i checked you kind of need at least *some* to have effective transference?) but because they were so used to walking around vulnerable. yknow, not inside a killing machine. but what would've really solidified the difference was after they went to 1999. sure, hearing that these things used to be people is one thing, but at the end of the day, to drifter, they're still just machines. drifter never got to experience what the tenno did, they never had to deal with reaching into their freshly scarred minds to ease their anger, sorrow, fear, rein them in like the terrified animals they were turning into and hush their cries with understanding - they only knew the dead inside remnants... but it's an entirely other thing when you go to the past and see the people who were hurt. you meet them and you get to know them, become their best friends - maybe even date one of them - and it hit drifter like a fuckin' freight train. they have this entirely different view on warframes from that cold perspective they had at first. they weren't just war machines. those are people. every time they go into the head of those machines, they're looking through the eyes of *people.* people who had families and desires and hobbies, things they looked forward to, entire futures ahead of them that were snuffed out. people who were scared, people who didn't know what was happening. people who knew what was happening, who lived in fear knowing they weren't able to stop it... people who lived in fear of losing themselves. and i think it hit drifter a lot harder than they'd ever admit.

but thats not to say one of them is more attached than the other - both of them care deeply about their warframes. it's just that, they have different ways of looking at them. after all their experiences were so vastly different, it'd be impossible to look at them the same way.

(too lazy to type it out all over, but i have an example in the tags i think kinda helps pull it together more)

[howdoyousleep3]

Pairing: 3DWD/Bunny Baby Rating: Mature Word Count: 2.7K Tags: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Power Dynamics, New Relationship, Confession of Feelings, Origin Story, Groping, Office "Sex", Orgasm Denial, Teasing, Age Difference, Size Kink, Yearning (oh the yearning, the chase!) A/N: Woke up one morning thinking about them, couldn't stop myself from pouring it all out into a doc. I don't think about their beginnings enough. I hope you enjoy. ❤️

Bucky suspects something is amiss when he feels more eyes on him than he’s used to as he walks into the office after lunch. 

Truthfully, he’s used to eyes on him wherever he goes, but he’s not used to the silence. 

Hmm. 

He carries on down the hallway towards his office, unbothered yet curious. He quickly stops to check in with Pepper, confirming their outing with their newest client to the nearby fabric district. Bucky is grateful she seems as excited as she is; it’s always thrilling to take on a new client and start a project from the ground up. 

He turns and heads towards his office, fully intending on spending the next hour he has before their outing ensuring his deliveries and meeting times at the Romanoff house later tonight are squared away, when he stops in his tracks. 

The second and final clue that something is amiss. 

He’s embarrassed to admit it, to recognize it. 

Steve is here. 

Bucky can smell him. That overwhelming and intoxicating smell of masculinity, of ruggedness. Cinnamon, sandalwood, citrus; it drives Bucky insane that he can’t pinpoint what the notes are. Steve has claimed he doesn’t wear a cologne. Bucky calls bullshit. 

Nobody smells that good, naturally and without any help. 

Nobody. 

The smell of Steve in his office building, on his floor, nearby, immediately puts him on edge. He wills his knees to keep him upright even when his body and mind want to cave immediately. There’s no way Steve is here. Bucky must be imagining it, his subconsciousness conjuring up the smell in his mind in order to distract him, in order to force Bucky to think of Steve when he’s convinced himself he doesn’t want to. 

No, he won’t be distracted by a crush, by a one-night-stand. 

He reaches for his keys, opens his office door with ease— 

And nearly falls to the floor. 

Steve is here. In his office, standing at his office window seemingly admiring the view of the city just outside it. 

What is Steve doing here? More importantly, how did he get into Bucky’s office? 

When Steve turns to look at him, expression riddled with proud mischievousness, Bucky immediately takes pause. He can’t let Steve think he has the upper hand even though he’s surprised Bucky at his place of work. He can’t let Steve’s sweet talking ways and his rugged sex appeal chip away at Bucky’s self-control and boundaries. 

This is unacceptable. 

But Christ, Steve looks good. 

He looks better than good— he looks sexy as hell. 

His beard is neatly trimmed, his hair infuriatingly windswept. He looks as if he’s come off the farm after a long day's work: well-worn jeans, a navy blue henley that clings to the bulk in his arms, a pair of reliable boots. A leather bomber jacket with a sherpa collar is tossed carelessly across one of the chairs opposite of Bucky’s desk. The ensemble’s sticker price would send Bucky reeling into a coma, but one would never know it. 

He’s certain Steve doesn’t even know how much his clothes cost and that’s because he doesn’t care. He doesn’t have to care. And the thought of Steve not caring about price tags is enough to ratchet up the arousal Bucky is trying uselessly to ignore. 

Stay strong. 

“Hey, Bunny…” 

Fuck. 

Bucky’s willpower clings to its existence. 

Bucky takes a deep breath, steps into his office, and closes the door behind him. He ignores Steve’s pet name for him even though it digs under his skin in the hottest of ways. Nobody has ever given him a pet name. Bucky doesn’t do pet names, is too strong-willed and confident for them. No partner has ever babied him or given him sweet names or worshipped the ground he walks on. 

Steve did it from the moment they locked eyes. 

Bucky sends out feelers for his willpower, questions if it even exists when it comes to Steve. 

“What are you doing here?” is all Bucky can damn near choke out. He steels his spine and walks to his desk, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. 

When he chances a glance up and over at Steve, he nearly whimpers. Fuck, he’s so sexy, Bucky can barely stand to look at him. 

Steve shrugs. 

“I was in the area, thought I’d stop by.” 

A lie, one that Bucky can call him out on. 

“No you weren’t. There’s nothing around here that would interest you.” 

Steve chuckles and the noise goes right to Bucky’s groin. 

“You interest me,” he says matter of factly, pushing away from the window. “Thought I made that pretty clear, Buck.” 

Bucky swallows audibly, makes a show of turning his computer on. 

Yeah, pretty fucking clear. The older man has all but professed his love for Bucky, sent him endless gift deliveries, whispered his affection and awe into Bucky’s skin, laid himself bare and—

Stop. 

No sex, don’t think about sex with Steve, god. 

“How’d you get in here?” Bucky presses, ignoring the hot press of Steve’s presence against the line of his back.

He can sense Steve’s easy grin even if he doesn’t chance another look up at him. 

“I sweet talked my way in. I’m pretty good at sweet talkin’. Ain’t that right, Bun?” 

He doesn’t think Steve understands the power of his sweet talking ways, even as he jokes about it. 

Bucky thinks he’s sweating, can feel the drops of it pooling in the curve of his lower back, can feel it on his upper lip. It’s embarrassing. He can command a boardroom, lead a design team, walk confidently through rooms, homes, exhibits he himself has designed. He’s confident, overly so, is bossy and demanding and overbearing. 

And here he is crumbling under the mere words of Steve Rogers, a man ten years his senior who has been relentlessly chasing after him ever since their first date. 

This is what Bucky gets for sleeping with Steve on their first date. But fuck, who could blame him? 

Bucky feels as if he’s going into heat. 

When Bucky turns to admittedly flee from his office and demand security come take Steve from it, he runs right into the familiar wall of packed muscle. The older man doesn’t even hesitate; he grabs onto Bucky confidently and purposefully. 

“It’s easy to get what I want, Buck. I’m a man who’s used to getting what he wants,” Steve murmurs, a mitt for a hand cupping the back of Bucky’s head, the second pulling Bucky snugly against his front by his lower back. 

When their bodies meet, sex is all Bucky can think about. 

“That’s why I’m so frustrated with how difficult it’s been to get the thing I want most,” Steve tells him, his voice taking on a gravely edge that damn near sends Bucky under. “I appreciate a good chase, I love good back and forth. But goddamnit, Buck— what the fuck are you makin’ me wait around for?” 

Bucky feels the burn of shame in the form of a blush build on his neck.

The thing is, Bucky doesn’t have a good answer and he’s ironically afraid to admit that he’s scared. This isn’t traditional, this isn’t normal, what he shares with Steve. Their age difference is surely to be frowned upon, Steve’s position as a CEO will surely make it seem to others as if Bucky is just wanting into his pockets. 

More prevalent and more difficult to admit is that Bucky’s not used to Steve’s treatment of him. 

He doesn’t think he’s deserving of Steve’s treatment. He doesn’t know what to do with his attention and his affection and the way he wants to surround Bucky with an endless flow of devotion. 

Steve’s fingers tighten in his hair and Bucky all but moans, bringing his hands up to curl his fingers into the front of Steve’s shirt. He wants to curl his lips up in a snarl when his fingers find their way into the fuzz just underneath said shirt. 

“I won’t have you denying us something good because you want to be stubborn. I won’t have you stopping us from having each other because you’re afraid.”

Bucky does what he does best when he’s backed into a corner— push. 

“I don’t want you,” he weakly attempts, the words making his gut churn and his throat burn, his body rejecting them immediately. 

Steve smiles, crowds Bucky further against his desk. 

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me, Bunny,” he turns and whispers into Bucky’s ear, their bodies curling tightly together. Steve easily pulls Bucky into him, a hand on his nape and now an arm around his lower back, reminding Bucky what Steve does to his body. 

Just the presence of Steve, the press and bend of their bodies together, does something to Bucky that he’s never experienced with someone else. 

When Steve squeezes at his nape, pulling Bucky’s attention upwards, the older man’s exhale sounds like a groan. 

Bucky’s vision blurs when he feels Steve’s growing and impressive erection dig into his belly. 

“You’ll learn not to lie to your Daddy over time,” Steve tells him, breath hot on Bucky’s mouth. The title goes right to Bucky’s own growing erection, arousal shooting through his body hot like lightning, his mouth dropping open to let a whine easily slip out. 

“You may try to lie to me now, but your pretty little body can’t lie to me, oh no. Sweetheart, your body can’t lie to me. Just look at’chu…”

Bucky is finding it more and more difficult to remember why he’s spent weeks denying Steve another chance with him. Steve’s hands feel like magic on his body, like Bucky can drop the facade and feel. And once Bucky’s eyes lock with Steve’s ocean ones, they drive that point home even further— 

Let go. 

Unsurprisingly, Steve sees the internal waver. 

“There he is,” Steve coos, deliciously pursing his lips around Bucky’s bottom one. “There’s who I’ve been chasing.”

Steve presses another hot kiss to his mouth, Bucky’s knees buckling. 

“Who I’m done chasing.” 

Another long and hot kiss that Bucky helplessly moans into this time. 

“Who I want.”

Just when Steve dips his tongue into the next set of kisses he gives Bucky, he trails his lips down the column of Bucky’s neck, sucking his way down it. Bucky doesn’t even fight the way his eyes roll back into his head.

“Want is an understatement— I’m damn near obsessed. You may be afraid to show your true feelings or give into this, but I’m not, Bun. I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. Everything I do in a day I wonder what it would be like to do it with you by my side. When I go to sleep, I want you there. When I wake up, I want you there.” 

“Steve…” 

“When I touch my cock, I want you there. Fuck, do I want you and your tight, little bunny ass there.” 

It’s as if he’s lost all sense of himself as Bucky hears those words. He curls his fingers around Steve’s thick neck at the same time he moves to wind his legs mindlessly around Steve’s stocky waist. He knows Steve will hold him, that Daddy won’t let him fall, and he’s proven right when Steve does just that with a heavy exhale. He gathers Bucky easily up into his hands, obviously appreciating the feel and weight of Bucky in them, before sitting him on top of his own desk. 

“Christ, I miss you, Buck,” he tells him in between kisses, hands holding onto either side of Bucky’s face. “Tell me you miss me too, baby.” 

Bucky’s moan grates against the front of his throat. 

“I miss you,” Bucky murmurs, reaching for Steve’s tongue with his own. “I miss you so much, Daddy.” 

Steve groans into Bucky’s mouth. 

“Fuck yeah, missed that. Missed the hell outta that. Lemme hear it again, Bun.”

Easily, eagerly.

“Daddy…” 

Bucky lets out every ounce of pent up want and need he’s been ignoring over the past weeks and pours it into that word. He digs his fingers into Steve’s shirt, yanking at it until his hands meet the warm skin of his stomach, pulling at the older man until Bucky’s hands slide easily around to his muscled back.

Steve’s skin is so shockingly warm it forces another moan out of Bucky’s throat.

As someone who runs cold, he misses that warmth. 

“You’re such a fuckin’ brat,” Steve mumbles between kisses before he’s smirking. “We’re gonna have so much fun together.” 

Bucky is more than ready to let Steve fuck him on his own desk, in his own office. The thrill of being chased by someone he’s so wildly attracted to combined with the surprise of him showing up at Bucky’s office to confess his feelings has Bucky feeling like a live wire. His dick is so hard his balls ache, Steve’s hands on his body coaxing noises of pleasure out of him that others are sure to hear. 

If they saw Steve walk in though, they shouldn’t be surprised by what’s happening in here. 

He turns his cheek and bites at Steve’s bearded jawline, reaching for the older man’s belt buckle, fingers digging into his zipper to feel the pushback against the metal. 

“You got a party tonight?” 

Bucky is too distracted by the feel of Steve’s thick cock beneath the denim of his jeans to register his question. 

It’s a bite on Bucky’s own chin that pulls him back into his brain. 

“What?”

“Don’t you have a Christmas party tonight?” 

“How…how do you know about that?” 

Steve’s teeth catch Bucky’s bottom lip between them. Bucky’s toes curl in his dress shoes. 

“Pepper told me about it.”

Of course she did. 

“I’ll pick you up at 8.” 

What? 

Bucky’s vision may be blurred, but he’s certain Steve is pulling away, suddenly widening the gap between them. His dick aches something fierce between his legs, yearning for Steve’s touch, Steve’s mouth, Steve. 

“What?” Bucky asks, unable to hide his breathlessness, running a hand down and over his mouth. 

Steve’s reached his jacket now and he turns to Bucky, slipping his arms into it. 

He barely looks affected by their office rendezvous at all. 

“I’ll pick you up at eight at your place. Make sure you pack a bag; you’re comin’ home with me tonight.”

Bucky resists the urge to collapse back onto his desk. 

“Are you…are you insane?” Bucky huffs, doing nothing to disguise his annoyance at being left in his office to deal with his own erection. He watches through half-lidded eyes as Steve walks back over to him, stepping between Bucky’s spread legs and reaching for his throat. 

“You thought I’d come in here, profess my love, and give you my cock?” 

Bucky’s neck goes lax at the word love, but he curls his lip anyway. 

“Yes?” 

Steve chuckles happily into his last set of smacking kisses before squeezing at the fingers around Bucky’s throat. 

Fuck. 

“Daddy’s got a lot to teach you.” 

He gives Bucky’s cheek a light smack. 

“You make sure and wear somethin’ pretty for me, you hear?”

Bucky doesn’t argue. His heart slams against his ribs. He hears Steve at the door of his office. 

“I’ll have what I want you to wear underneath it sent over.” 

Bucky not-so-slowly collapses backwards onto his desk, chest falling and rising rapidly, dick throbbing in time with it. 

“I’ll see you soon, Bun. Don’t ignore my calls.” 

And just as surprisingly as he showed up, Steve’s gone, leaving Bucky a damn near hyperventilating mess atop his once pristine desk. 

With too much to think about, Bucky focuses on settling his breathing, on easing the ache in his dick without the time or place to take care of himself. When the absurdity of the situation hits him, when the full force of his crush on Steve makes him kick his feet where he lies, Bucky giggles. 

And once he starts, he can’t stop. 

Steve was right— they’re going to have so much fun together.

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

Mc that wants a secret relationship

This is from an ask/request from @notemejellyfish (tagging so they'll see it sooner). I went in another direction than their headcanons on the same topic, but that's not to say that theirs aren't good. They're a great writer, check them out.

Satan

He understands it

Kicks everyone that tryes to make your relationship public

He would still like if he could brag to Mammon about his relationship with you. Just Mammon, he swears.

Would take away the phone of anyone that ships you with anyone

He preferes smaller scale dates anyways, so just cuddling with you while you both talk about random subjects works just fine for him

He cares deeply about you so he'll always keep your prefrences in mind

Mammon

Why though?

That's his only thought

Don't get him wrong, you're his master, he'll do anything you tell him to without complaints

But he wants to know if something is bothering you about being seen with him in public

He can't have his master feeling self-concious, now can he

After you explain that it's due to all the shipping he can't help but laugh

Really? That's easy to fix

Tartaros is the main internet provider in Hell, so he'll ask you if you want all the shipping forums to get removed

He'll try to keep the relationship a secret no matter your answer to the previous question

He's never been in one before and he always wants to try out something new. The feeling of adrenaline at potentially getting caught makes him shudder and he's grateful you gave it to him

Leviathan

Omg finally

The shipping was getting on his nerves, probably more than it did to you

He's so glad you finally made a smart decision, the second in your whole life (the first was dating him)

Since the monarchies in whb are absolute, he bans the use of any tag that includes your name from Hades

Sends a petition to do the same in the other countries and I think only Avisos would sign it (not only is it illegal to steal people's love there, but Bael had enough war threats sent his way from Hades)

He was planing on having a secret, low-scale relationship with you in the first place, so he's the happiest about this change

Beelzebub

He takes this as an invitation

Oh, you want the relationship to be secret?

He can make that fun

He'll make out with you in changing rooms, grope you at the back of the club, pin you to a wall in a small alley and sniff you

He likes the danger of potentially getting caught

Also, just because your relationship isn't public doesn't mean that he won't glare down anyone that gets too close to you

Just because you don't want the internet to know about it doesn't mean that he'll be less passionate and protective of you

Whenever you're out on dates he'll use his power to discuise the two of you, that way, he can be as open with his affection as he likes

He's one of the few that minds the secrecy of your relationship, but he mostly sees it as a new challange

Lucifer

Ok

He'll curse all cameras to shatter when taking a photo or recording of you

It's simple and affective

Gives Gamigin some lectures on how to lie and there's that

Everyone in Paradise Lost might know that you're dating Lucifer, but they're not allowed to say anything about it

And, since no devil would go to Paradise Lost willingly, there's no chance of the secret getting out

He's probably the safest to have a secret relationship with

Nobody in the other countries likes him enough to call for chit-chat, so even if you were in a regular relationship people would still be surprised when they heard you two were dating

[ghost-proofbaby]

Something my family always did was qe would open presents very carefully because we had to reuse wrapping paper (we were poor) and reuse bows. We didn't get much st Christmas but it always meant something to me as a kid. There were times my parents got nothing just so me and my sister could have something.

I can see Eddie being raised the same by Wayne

i absolutely agree with this. it was harder in my household since we always bought such cheap paper that ripped if we even breathed on it, but bows? always reuse. name tags? save them. any sort of gift bags? don't even think about throwing those away.

and i just... it's nice to think about Eddie being raised that way as well? like a sense of comfort in knowing he wouldn't give us a weird glance when we still do it, even if now we're not in the same position of necessity.

also, i can so clearly picture the first christmas where wayne does this, only his second christmas with eddie. and he's just downright scared. which is weird, because why is the weight in his chest turning so heavy at the thought of letting his nephew down? just this thirteen year old boy who's gone through hell, whose standards might just be six feet under. but it's all he can think about, all he can worry about, as he's wrapping up that damn guitar so carefully. eddie's only gift that year - the only item he'd even brought up in the last six months. and wayne had spent his entire check on it, no room left for frivolous wrapping or shiny new bows. wayne is reusing last year's paper, using an insane amount of tape he'd borrowed from a neighbor to patch up any and all tears his shaking hands make in his rush to wrap the guitar in time.

and you know what? eddie would notice.

make a small comment, saying "is this last year's paper?". and i can feel wayne's heart dropping as he waits for eddie to be upset but then the boy does this easy thing, something wayne watches him do many more times over the years, where he turns it into something positive.

"sick," he'd say, with a toothy grin and buzzed head, eyes genuinely shining as he looks up at wayne, "this paper is sick. i'm so glad you found it again this year."

wayne doesn't have to tell him to carefully unwrap the gift. because eddie wasn't stupid at thirteen, and he knew had to still his shaking hands just long enough to not leave a single extra tear in that paper, just in case wayne needs it next year. he doesn't mind - he's just glad to be celebrating the holidays again with someone who cares.

but it's all over when eddie sees that guitar. wayne expected shrieking or yelping or just... he doesn't really know, just anything. but all he sees is some kid with hair that's a little bit longer this year, shoulders a little less slumped, and tears pouring down.

"son-" he'd start, not even sure how to comfort the boy but needing to.

eddie does the last thing wayne had expected. the boy had been distant since showing up at the trailer, keeping to himself quite a bit, flinching away from touch. but for the first time in over a year, eddie doesn't flinch away.

he launches himself at wayne.

hugs him through his tears, just babbling out his thanks on repeat. they both agree to never talk about it again after the tears dry, and wayne even sheds a few of his own. but something melts that night for them - jokes happen easier, awkward side hugs and messing of eddie's blooming curls as wayne leaves for his shifts are more frequent. every damn day he hears him playing on that damn guitar, even without an amp. the next christmas wayne gets him the amp, another lonely present, wrapped in the same paper (probably for the final time -- it's seen far better days and he's pretty sure eddie could see the gift through one of the torn corners two days before christmas even came) and eddie once again makes a comment about how lucky it is wayne can still find that paper in stores. they both know the truth, and neither really care.

eddie keeps that guitar for the rest of his days, adorned with the nickname of Sweetheart. and they keep reusing paper, both knowing it was more than some bit but deciding to make jokes all the same as if they were actively choosing to do so. it makes it all a bit easier.

eddie doesn't care if wayne never has another dime to spend on another present for him, or can ever wrap another gift. he'll take his damn christmas presents in paper bags if it came down to it, cause the love is there, and god, he had missed that.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Bait and Switch. || Scammer!Reader x Victim!Ghost

Rating: M Words: 2.6K~ Pairing: scammer!Reader x victim(but not really)!Ghost CW: phone scams/conning (reader never actually cons him), financial issues?, threats (Simon threatens to find reader), degradation?. other tags: crack, OOC Simon., you/your pronouns (gn!reader but uses a female fake name), obviously fake names (pun/funny), lying, joking, the weirdest meet cute? a/n: this started out as a joke/crack and turned serious/dark at the end? idk how i did this.

Simon Riley would say that being legally dead is the best thing to have happened to him and that's because it allowed him to escape a bunch of responsibilities that regular men have to uphold.

He gets paid covertly, in full, and does not have to pay taxes on his income.

He rented a flat from a sweet ol' lady, who didn't run a background check or ask for a copy of his birth certificate (terrible choice on her part), and he pays her by dropping an envelope of cash in her mailbox on the 1st of every of the month.

He not only is old enough to drink but also sounds and looks old enough as well, which means he doesn't need I.D. to buy alcohol (not that any shops or bars really care enough to check).

He doesn't have a credit card. Or a debit card for that matter. Hell, he doesn't even have a bank account, so he doesn't have to pay maintenance fees.

He doesn't have a smartphone. And up until recently he only had a pager. In fact, the only reason he doesn't have a pager anymore is because it got shot in the crossfire during a mission... so Price forced him to get a jitterbug.

In short... Simon Riley can escape a lot of things (death, taxes, Philip Graves...). But telemarketers and phone scammers are not one of those things.

That's how, on a boring Wednesday afternoon, his new phone ends up ringing, like it had been doing multiple times a week for the last four weeks.

Telemarketers.

He never got telemarketers on his pager.

He hated telemarketers.

But that didn't mean he blocked them-

"What?" He answered as soon as he picked up the phone.

An automated voice came over the call, one of those typical Siri-esque robot voices, delivering a prepared speech: "Congratulations! You've won a free cruise to the Bahamas! To claim your prize, press 1."

Oh, now, this was different. He didn't need to hear more to know it was a scam call. But that didn't mean he was going to hang up.

So Simon pressed key 1, which caused a beep to sound over the call.

"Thank you!" The automated voice continued. "We are now connecting you to a live operator to claim your prize!"

Barely a millisecond went by before you took over the call. "Good afternoon, this is Stella Gormoni with Blissful Blessings Inc.! Who am I speaking with?"

As stereotypical as it is, Simon had expected a different voice on the other end of the line... maybe from a scammer in a foreign country who'd speak heavily-accented English...

But instead, he got a sweet and professional sounding person... It almost made him second-guess the scam that was being pulled on him.

His mind moved quick at coming up with a fake name. Not just a fake one, but a pun one too. "Wanh'a, first name Aiden." He replied, his gruff voice reverberating on the call.

"And how do you spell that?" You asked him politely, and, through your headset, he could hear your keyboard keys clacking in the background.

"That's A-I-D-E-N." He replied as he entered his kitchen, spelling his first, as if that was somehow what was causing you difficulty.

"Uh-huh!" You acknowledged in a peppy tone. "And... your surname?" You asked him.

"W-A-N-H-'-A." He continued spelling as he crossed the small kitchen, hearing your fingers tapping away at your keyboard in his ear.

For a moment, you didn't talk, as if stunned into silence. Had you just picked up on the fact he was trolling you by giving you a name that, phonetically, sounded like 'I Don't Wanna'? Probably. But you hadn't hung up yet.

"Well, congratulations, Mr. Wanh'a, you just won an all-inclusive, two-week long cruise to the Bahamas!" Your peppy tone made him bite his lip to contain a laugh. Well, at least you were dedicated in continuing the scam. "How are you feeling?"

"Very well, and yourself?" Simon asked casually as he leaned himself against the door of his refrigerator, leaning down to look inside and find a snack.

"I'm doing very well, thank you, sir." You replied in a cheerful tone. "So, let's process the information so we can get you your prize, shall we?" You announced in a polite tone.

"Go right on ahead, sweet'eart." He murmured as he grabbed a yogurt and closed the fridge with his hip, sitting at the table and peeling open the lid.

"Well, for us to start, I'm going to need your-"

"Actually, I have a question, before we start." Simon interrupted your speech, cutting off your silver-tongued lies.

You went silent for just a moment before you replied with a sweet little: "Of course, what can I help you with, Mr. Wanh'a?"

"I want to know how exactly I signed up to receive this prize." Simon replied before he placed a spoonful of yogurt in his mouth.

He was trying to accomplish two things by doing this: 1) throw you off your game and make you stammer and stutter, and 2) see how long it took for you to get annoyed, and hang up on him.

"Well, that's what I was going to explain, you see-" You replied, a smile behind your voice, but his trained ears could pick up the slight frustration. It made Simon smile.

"Oh, then, I'm sorry for interrupting you, sweet'art, please go ahead." He replied and gestured with his spoon, as if giving you the stage, unnecessarily so, because you were not there to watch it.

"As I was saying... You were entered automatically into the draw by buying a cereal box of any Kellog's cereal at Tesco. I'm sure you saw a 'Win a free cruise!' sticker on yours?" You asked in a professional and sickly-sweet tone.

He could see right through your scam, he had already done that. You name a famous brand, one people trust, to trick naive or impressionable ones into believing you...

Normal people would tell you they no longer have the cereal box, many of them naive enough to believe your scam despite the fact they hadn't even bought one of those boxes in the first place...

Next, you'd ask for the card used to make the purchase, and some people were dumb enough to read their number aloud to you...

Oh, how he hated scammers. Even more than telemarketers.

"I do remember seeing something like that..." He murmured, his voice deepening, before he popped another spoonful of yogurt past his lips, loudly smacking them right against the receiver of his jitterbug.

"Well, all I need is for you to get the box and read me the code that's imprinted on the inside of the flap!" You announced.

"Well, you see, I would, sweet'art... But my sight isn't so good anymore..." Simon replied. "I'm getting up there in age, you know?" He continued eating his yogurt.

"I understand, sir." You replied. "I'm sorry to hear that. One of my cousins also started losing his vision pretty early." You announced.

Huh.

There was no hint of forced sympathy in your voice.

No, you were being genuine. That was a real story of your life you were telling him...

But you had picked up on the fact he was trolling you, right? So why were you-

"Good thing though, about this system of ours, is that you can just confirm your credit card details so we can double check them and get you that prize!" You had, your tone right back to the scamming silver-tongue you had held until now.

Secretly, Simon had to admit that he admired your commitment to the bit. He couldn't help but smile a bit, amused.

"Oh, of course. Let me just set you down while I get my card." Simon replied and got up, finishing his yogurt and tossing out the plastic container, popping the spoon into the sink, and, after setting down his phone, he walked out of the room.

Simon glanced down at his wrist watch, noting the time on it, then, approached his bedroom door, grabbing his over-the-door pull-up bars, and began doing a quick set, leaving you to 'wait' for him in the kitchen.

After a few sets, he waltzed back into the kitchen and grabbed his phone again. "You still there, da'lin'?" He beckoned in a gruff tone.

You sighed, your politeness sounding slightly more forced. He had kept you waiting for over ten minutes after all. "Yes, sir, I am. Did you get your card, Mr. Wanh'a?"

"Oh, please, enough of this 'sir' thing, Mr. Wanh'a was my mother." He replied, then went silent for just a beat, almost like he could hear your frustration sizzling on he other end.

He was being more and more obvious with his trolling... And it pleased him immensely to imagine a parasite like you seething on the other end of the line, reaching your wits' end.

"You can just call me 'Ai', it's what my friends call me." Simon continued, a smirk forming on his lips. "And we're friends now, right? You're giving me a cruise and everythin'." He added, his tone just as charismatic and peppy as his had been.

"I guess we are!" You replied, returning the overly cheery tone. "So, 'Ai Wanh'a', then?" You asked, but he could hear the mix of frustration and amusement behind your voice.

"Yeah? What d'you want, babygirl?" Simon asked, unable to resist making a more impish remark. And, unfortunately, it had the desired result. It genuinely caused your brain to blue-screen for a moment.

Sure, you'd experienced plenty of people getting angry at you when you attempt to scam them, or even trolling you the same way this bloke was doing but...

It was definitely a first, to have someone flirt with you, even if it was still part of his trolling attempt.

"Your... credit card details?" You ended up adding, your voice still showing the surprise and light meekness that came from him catching you off-guard.

"Oh, of course. Are you ready? It's a very complex number." He replied.

"Ready when you are." You added as you steeled yourself for another smartass response or run around from him.

"Here it is: 1234-5678-9987-6543." He replied, reciting the numbers 1-9 in order and then backward. "And the three digits on the back are: 210."

Oh, he was so fucking annoying! He didn't get to troll you, even if it was pretty amusing of him to do so, then flirt with you, then go back to trolling.

"Sir, if you're not interested in the cruise, just say so. There's no need for this mockery." You replied, your tone serious and professional though you were definitely seething on the inside.

Simon could tell. And he reveled in it. "Oh, but I am interested!" He replied with a smirk behind his voice. "In fact, I want to know more. Will my cabin in the cruise have an ocean view?"

Simon heard you inhale aggressively on the other side of the line, steeling yourself not to hang up on him, or down right berating him on the phone. "Yes, Ai, of course!" He heard your fake cheeriness through your clenched teeth. "It'll be a luxury cabin, actually. Isn't that great?"

"No, it's not that great, actually. I get very seasick, you see?" Simon murmured. "Not to mention, ever since my pet goldfish died, I've just never been able to look at the ocean the same..." He added in a forced pitiful tone.

You went quiet again on the other side and Simon knew he had finally worn you out. He waited to hear the clicking sound of the call falling, but, instead, he just heard you let out a sigh.

"You're very frustrating." You murmured.

"Oh, my, is this how you speak to all your prize winners?" Simon gasped dramatically.

"Shut up... You didn't have to be a smartass, you know?!" You scolded him, as if you had any ground to stand on.

"No, I fear I did, sweet'art." Simon replied as he leaned casually against the kitchen counter. "You called me, interrupted my day, and wasted my time with a scam, of all things. I have every right to be a smartass and have some fun with it." He added, a smug tone obvious in the dulcets of his deep voice.

"Okay? You could've just hung up on me?" You were truly grasping at straws to justify your behaviour. It was comical.

Simon laughed dryly. "And waste an opportunity to annoy a parasitic leech like you?" He quipped.

That stunned you into silence for a moment and you couldn't help but pout a bit.

"Not to mention, what you're doing is illegal, you know that righ'? And I'm military, I could get you arrested for this." He added.

"For that, you'd need to know where I am." You retorted, maybe a bit bratilly. "Besides, I knew you were a soldier."

"And how did you know that?"

"You used the NATO phonetic alphabet while spelling 'your' name'." You replied directly. "Nobody spells 'Aiden' as 'Alpha-India-Delta-Echo-November'."

"So you knew I was military and you still went ahead with your little scam attempt? You're not that bright, are you?" He defied you, which earned him a scoff from your end.

"No, I already knew you were trolling me."

"Oh, so you just wanted to waste my time?"

"That's exactly it, Aiden."

"Sounds to me like you're just looking for trouble, da'lin'." He quipped, his voice having lowered to a gruffer tone.

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. "Am not. I'm just enjoying myself. You're not the only one that can make jokes at people's expenses."

"No, you really are..." He tutted his tongue and shook his head. "Need I remind you you were trying to scam me, and other people?" He added in a tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I know what I was doing."

"Yeah? And are you proud of that? Proud of being a conniving little cunt who tries to take people's hard-earned money?" He taunted you.

You didn't reply. Of course you weren't proud. You still had a conscience! But you wouldn't tell him that. He wouldn't get the satisfaction of hearing you apologise.

"I see. You don't like what I'm saying, so you give me the silent treatment, is that it, sweet'art?" He teased. You could hear the smirk behind his words.

"I wonder if you'd still act like this if you had to face me and had to answer for yourself."

Closing your fists tight, you steel yourself again to gain some edge and reply to him. "I guess you're going to keep wondering then. Because it's not happening."

"You know, it's a shame your little computer spat out my phone number for you to call..." He trailed off.

"And why's that?"

"Because instead of anyone else, you got me... And that's just... really bad luck for you. Any other service member, you would've been fine..." He trailed off.

"What, are you some sort of General-Major-Chief thing, super high up the ladder?" You taunted.

Simon simply chuckled dryly on the other side of the line. "No. But I'm definitely the worst person you could've tried to play with."

"Oh, big scary man, what are you gonna do? Gonna come teach me a lesson?" You added, taunting him some more, clearly feeling comfortable behind your laptop, with your smartphone, sitting at home, comfortable and warm, with your pet at your feet. "Oh, I'm so scared!" You added, feigning fear in a dramatic tone.

"Is that a challenge I'm hearing, sweet'art? Inviting me to come pay you a visit?" Simon asked you, his brow cocking, despite the fact you couldn't see it.

You don't know what it was about the way he spoke. The way he said that. The way his voice sounded.

It sent a shiver down your spine, a cold sweat, like he was, for the first time, not joking around anymore.

"No...?" You murmured in reply, feeling your shoulders tensing in an unpleasant way.

"Yeah... That's an invite I'm hearing..." He disregarded what you said and chuckled. "Maybe I'll come pay you a visit then, hey? How does that sound, little leech?"

[orange-demons-deactivated2024]

Luke s. x bimbo!fem!reader

not a luke girlie, but I think out of everyone in street fighter 6. he's the only one to fully appreciate a bimbo gf.

When Luke first sees you, you were being harassed by a couple of thugs near his gym. 

And of course, being an outstanding samaritan and having a chance to impress himself in front of a hot girl, he did what anyone would do and kicked their asses.

After he scared them off he went to check if you were fine. To which you wrapped your arms around him to thank him.

That's how you met.

He likes to show off in front of you, whether in the arena or on the streets.

He also spoils you rotten, that Louis Vuitton purse you were eyeing, purchased. The Dior lip oil that was out of stock, yours. That cute mini skirt you pointed through the window, now lies in your wardrobe.

Luke loves it when you cling on his arm, it really strokes his ego.

When you told him you had a dog named Cupcake he fully expected a tiny spoiled chihuahua. The type that's way too pampered to move. Not a 100lb Rottweiler who serves as your attack dog. She scared the hell out of him when he first came over.

She's fiercely protective of you and only you, so she doesn't take a liking to Luke no matter how much he tries. 

You like to see if your new lipstick is smudge-proof by kissing him. You would sit on his lap and pepper his face with kisses, not like he's complaining.

You insisted on wearing matching lockets, so Luke keeps his on the chain holding his dog tags.

You made it a point to have your picture on one side and his on the other. So when you closed it, you both would be kissing.

Well...at least that's what you said.

Every time he enters a tournament before he goes into the ring, he kisses his locket good luck.

He's the type of guy to say wear what you want, I can fight.

But if he notices someone who can't take their eyes off of your low-cut top, he'll pull you closer by your waist.

You randomly asked him one day how it feels to be put in a headlock, because you saw him do it to one of his students when you went to visit him at the gym. So he decided to give you a demonstration.

His forearms weren't tight enough to restrict your airflow, but you could definitely feel your cheeks squish and your lips puckering. Maybe dying like this wasn't too bad.

Luke laughs at you for liking this too much. 

You like to show him the cute charms on your nails every time you get them done.

One time when you both were making out, you noticed one of your gel nails was broken, and that was the only thing you could focus on for the next hour, despite him whining for you to keep kissing him.

He knows you don't like it when he tries to hug you when he's all sweaty because you don't want his sweat to get on your outfit.

but he still does it anyway even after you push him away.

He's never cared much about the latest fashion trends or the makeup drops from famous influencers, but he'll allow himself to be dragged to the mall if you beg him enough.

He'll hold all your bags with no complaints.

He definitely gives you princess treatment. Like massaging your legs when your feet hurt from wearing heels all day, or even paying for all your shopping expenses when you refuse.

When you come home from a successful haul you're always eager to show him. And he will tell you which ones he likes the best.

He says to give him a little twirl.

You complain to him about how much you don't want pizza because he eats it all the time.

Every time Luke is able to customize a character in game, he makes them look like you. 

He does his best to have them adopt your style and mannerisms.

Luke knows he doesn't need to protect you 24/7 because you're capable of handling yourself, but he still wants to teach you a couple of moves in case something does happen.

He taunts you a bit so you can pack more to your punch.

And let me say, you have a mean, right hook. Knocked Luke in his jaw.

He actually thought it was pretty hot, especially when you were fussing over him. 

When you guys travel, he gets to relax in your pink car. The seats are lined with fur and filled to the brim with stuffed animals. Fuzzy dice hanging from your rearview mirror and snacks in the hidden compartments of the car. 

He makes you drive because he can't see through the gaps in the plushies like you do and gets too distracted by them. 

You text constantly since you both have different routines. But you mostly send pics of yourself when you're in dressing rooms. 

You: [sent pic] Does this skirt make my butt look big?

Luke: I think you should go shorter. 

So you do.

Playing co-op with this guy is easy for you. Mostly because he's good enough to carry both of you through an entire game. 

It's different if you're competitive, because he is too. So he won't let you win so easily. 

But if you decide to opt-out, he'll sit on the floor while you passively braid his hair. You even stick a couple of hair clips in his hair with small charms on them.

As much as you love Luke, you hate sleeping over his house. He doesn't have anything to eat in his fridge other than protein shakes and red meat.

And showering was a different story. Body scrubs, lotions, scented shampoos, and conditioners are nowhere to be seen. You have to tuff it out with the 3 in 1 men's shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

But you do like snuggling with him in bed because he gives the best hugs, so you guess you can deal with it.

love potions (feat. princess paparazzi)

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

hey, im assuming its a mistake but just fyi the whole vague "noticing patterns" language is an antisemitic dogwhistle: https://www.tumblr.com/onethirdofimpossible/726829590062006272?source=share

no idea who the account you shared from is, just wanted to pass this on!

Okay so I got this message when I woke up this morning and decided to delete the post until I got around to checking out the OP's blog. Nothing about their blog has anything to do with antisemitic movements or even hints at potential content like that.

The original post is this

It's specifically referring to literature and academia (don't love that it's tagged with harry potter but I know that fandom is still tied up to those circles)

I think we have to be careful about policing speech and "calling out" things that may not actually be there. I get that the point of a dog whistle is that no one is supposed to understand what it means except the Nazis. But these people really aren't as slick as they think they are with this sort of thing.

A good example is the "okay" sign that got co-opted as a white power dog whistle. It's been used pretty obviously by white supremists who think they're being really clever about it but like... they're using it in the middle of a "white power" rally while waving Nazi flags. It's not exactly subtle.

Whereas we also used that sign in scuba diving to signal "okay", with a thumbs up being "ascend" (which confused the hell out of me as chronic "thumb up-er" when I was learning). I'm pretty sure when we're signaling "okay" 20m under the ocean we're not secretly signally "white power". Context is important.

This post and everyone reblogging it is not talking about any sort of conspiracy theory - just how being in a fandom and being excited about something makes you notice patterns and parallels. It's also kind of an "autism meme" too.

But idk... I know when people reach out to "let me know" about something, it's in good faith but it's... frustrating when the context is pretty obviously not that. Being paranoid about dog whistles is kind of the whole point of them.

White supremists/antisemites ect. like having power over others by making them question reality and gaslighting them. But again, they're usually about as subtle as a brick wall about this sort of thing. Not saying they can't be quiet about it sometimes but ... it usually isn't hard to spot. Especially on personal blogs.

Maybe I'm just tired that leftist spaces continue to try to tone police and "call out" their own in-groups *just in case* someone might be a secret Nazi while the real actual Nazis and Christian Nationalists are quite literally taking over the American government (which affects the entire world, especially countries where I live like Australia that are allies with the US and extremely influenced by their politics).

And actual Nazis aren't even using dog whistles any more, they're marching in the streets loud and proud because they feel empowered enough to do so...

So idk... maybe lets focus on that and work on mobilising and organising against what is going to be a really rough 4 years.... Though I wouldn't even be surprised if it goes beyond that, looking at past history and what happens when fascism takes power...

[rougepancake]

May i've NSFW request for mitsuri kanroji , kanae,Shinobu , and lady tamayo . sugarcube ~~.

With strong husband male leader who really love to suck breasts while Mitsuri Kanroji , Shinobu kochou,kochou kanae,and lady tamayo is breastfeeding their baby.

you don't need to write this request if you don't like it , i really like your blog .and also can you make it like a story .i hope it's not too much

You Are my only hope 😭🥹❤️

👀👀👀

The Good Stuff

Ft. Mitsuri Kanroji, Shinobu Kocho, Kanae Kocho, and Lady Tamayo

Warnings: Lactation, breast sucking???, I deadass have no idea how to tag this. I really hope you guys get the point lmaooo- MDNI!!! Not proofread like at all.

MITSURI KANROJI

She’s often complaining about how heavy her breasts are since she had your child, saying that she gets mad back pains now and that it’s your fault

You don’t mind though (not when she’s got bazingas like that-)

She’ll just be finished breastfeeding the baby when she crawls into bed, her nipples still leaking milk

She doesn’t say anything though and just puts on a bra, hoping that it won’t stain her shirt or something

But you stop her, pulling her back to the bed and taking her shirt off. You look into her eyes as you attach yourself to her breast, suckling away

She can’t help the gasp of surprise that escapes her as you go to town, drinking that shit up like it’s water

To your surprise, it’s sweet. Much like the dango she was eating earlier.

It’s so… good. You just can’t stop. She might beg you, but there’s no turning back now. She’s flustered and you’re having the time of your life.

When it’s all said and done though, she’ll come back and shyly ask you to help her out. It’s embarrassing for her, but you don’t mind.

SHINOBU KOCHO

Shinobu is an incredibly confident woman, so when she comes to bed and asks you to help her out, don’t be surprised

She’s bold with her requests too, like “Be careful” “Softer” “Don’t use your teeth”

She definitely has no problem telling you how she likes it, and you don’t mind

However, the first time you tried her milk was something else. Shinobu was squirming underneath you as you lapped up the milk, relishing in its sweetness.

You’ve never had anything quite like it, and you just can’t get enough of it either. Occasionally, you’d look back up at her to check and see if you’re doing a good job

Oh yes you are

She definitely says “good boy” when you’re done helping her I’m sure of it.

KANAE KOCHO

Out of all of these lovely ladies, she’s the most embarrassed about it

She’ll walk into the bedroom with a sigh, allowing her tits to hang out as she frowns at the sigh. She doesn’t like that they’re bigger than usual, and she doesn’t like the pain they cause her

You offered politely as a joke, but when you saw her eyes light up at the idea, you knew you couldn’t deny her

She’ll be pretty quiet the whole time, letting out squeaks here and there as your teeth graze across her nipple

However, when she asks you to stop, fearing that she might pass away from embarrassment, you don’t stop. You can’t. She’s just so… sweet. You’d be one hell of a fool to stop now.

She’s still embarrassed to ask you, but is a little more confident the more you assist her like this

(She’ll tell you otherwise but she FUCKING LOVES IT when you look up at her, suckling on her breast like a child. It makes her feel things frrrr)

LADY TAMAYO

The boldest of them all. Girlie didn’t even ask before just shoving your lips onto her sensitive nipples

It was growing to be unbearable, and she wasn’t about to put up with it longer than she had to

So here you are, her hand on the back of your head as you lap away at the sweet sweet milk she’s made. Quiet moans fill the room as your other hand massages her other breast, making sure she’s fully content before pulling away

She is discreet about it, and makes hints here and there when she needs you to help. However, she doesn’t like to make a big fuss about it. Tamayo would just rather get it over with to spare herself the embarrassment

Girl has just stopped wearing a top around the house entirely just in case her breasts begin to leak. But we all know you don’t mind

Honestly, I think she’s a very private and intimate person, so I could really see her cherishing these moments

They definitely replay in her mind daily

She once made you beg for it like you were a child, relishing in the sound of your pleas. She totally gets off to the idea of you begging for her milk

Yeah she’ll never tell you that

[yanderesimp2000]

Extreme yandere adam x Fem listener Chap 2/5 "building "trust" MINORS STAY AWAY

prev Chap https://www.tumblr.com/yanderesimp2000/745338401920860160/extreme-yandere-adam-x-fem-reader-chap-15-start?source=share this is my second post and second chap I've been really excited to do this My request are open so request away fuckers the TWs and tags for this one are

Drugging,gaslighting,manipulation,verbal abuse , Adam purposely making you bed ridden sick, Misogyny, Forceful kisses and cuddles, Abuse of power, Implied SA and VERY LIGHT body shaming

REMEMBER THIS IS FICTION ANY OF THIS IRL IS unacceptable Call your local Hotline for Domestic Abuse

"babe cmere you don't have to be scared" Adam complained he sounded like an annoyed and needy child This is your 9th day living with him and its already been Hell One thing you learned about Adam is he's more of a misogynist then you previously thought he thinks that you as a women are just a object for his pleasure he doesn't ask Before making a move he's much stronger then you and he know it but he's getting nicer its not like he treats you with respect but your life isn't that bad he looked through your life before you died and even though your locked up in his bedroom the minifridge in their is always stocked with your favorite food so if you would never get hungry

Adam kept looking around his room knowing you could not have left then he saw a feather sticking out of the cabinet "really bit- I mean baby hiding in the cabinet yknow you cant leave your trapped with me"you then felt his hand grab that little feather that was at the tip of your right wing and start pulling causing immense pain pulling you out of the cabinet he started down at you before saying "found ya" in a teasing and playful voice before giving you a kiss on the check and gently picking you up you didn't fight him you don't know why but he was kinda starting to seem tolerable I mean he was right in one thing you have no loved ones or friends in heaven so who was really gonna miss you and nobody had shown interest in you so you were lucky to have him and before he "took" you, you had to live in a small apartment now you get it live in his big room and even one day you could leave the room and go out with him once he trust you enough even though you thought he might have a point you just chose to brush it off as intrusive thoughts "he kidnapped you dumbass why are you starting to give into him" was your main thought

As you kept thinking you were gently placed onto the bed by him and he layed down next to you he said "babe guess what I got you" he said in a giddy tone "i dont care what you got me your not convincing me to stay with you " you said angry i got you your favorite food he then snaps his fingers and boereg your favorite food appeared "i got you boo-greg I don't know how ever ya fucking say it" he said in a calm tone little did you know he would weaponize your favorite food to get you to give in to trust him he put a small lace of strong poison in their not enough to kill you but enough to keep you bed ridden and sick he could then coddle and nurse you back to health and then you would think of him sooooo much better he saved your life how could you not

when he handed you the food you were happy but said " if you think this will make me magically love you then your wrong" you hissed he just laughed and said "oh we will see we will see" he said condescendingly

you grabbed the boereg and started shoving them in your mouth they tasted just how you remembered your grandma making them a crunchy outside of pastry and a cheesy goodness on the inside you greedily kept grabbing them and shoving them in your mouth the spices tasted a little different but that's just because of the new recipe... right after about 15 of them Adam made the plate disappear " be careful I don't want you turning into a little pig I don't like my women big" he said teasingly you thought to yourself "like he's some muscular man himself he's got a fuckin dad bod and I'm a fuckin twig but this still stung A LOT " you were right you were VERY skinny and Adam knew if he gave you insecurity's you would cling to him thinking you could do nothing better then him

You then said "it doesn't matter I'm full anyways by the way did you put any new spices in there" you asked talking about the new taste in the dish he just giggled a little and said "nope this was JUST like your grandmas recipe it has just been a little bit since you last had it so your probably just fuckin tasting things" he said that so confidently you just blindly believed him He then yawned and without warning collapsed onto you he stood at a good 13 feet and you were a feeble 5,6 so he was crushing your whole body his soft wings wrapped around you creating a nice blanket It felt like you were in a big blanket fort just trapped in between his Wings

Even your light struggles inside his Wings did nothing other then make you look more adorable and helpless you then were fed up and tried to punch him as hard as you could in the stomach but he just sighed "Yknow your not escaping sweet cheeks yknow why, cause your mine all fucking mine and you bet your sweet ass you will never get away from me" he said teasing before saying "yknow I'm Adam I could just banish you to hell if you leave me you you better stay" he said that firm and threateningly you believed and stop squirming he then layed down and released you from his Wings but still was holding you against his chest and was rubbing cuddling you his cuddles to you were rough they were like tossing you around and it hurt but to him it was just gentle playing around with you which you hated he then settled down and held you tight against him then saying "its time to get some sleep" before turning the lights out and falling asleep

*18 hours later

you were in a whole new level of hurt last night you woke up in agony and started vommitng and Coughing up blood when Adam saw this he feigned concern and took you back to bed with a bucket to throw up in and lots of medicine but in reality the non lethal poison he put in your food worked he knew you weren't gonna die so why be so concerned he did feel really bad making you go though physical pain It made his heart break but he knew that this was a surefire way for making you trust him and believe him more

he said "I'm gonna call out of work today" in a caring tone this made you think "well he cares about me more then just a cuddle and fuckmeat that can just be left to rot" this sorta mad you care about him a little more and this was even more proven when he started to give you "medicine" in reality it was just water with Bitter syrup in it to make you think it was medicine in reality he knew the poison would just leave you system in 3 more days so why bother trying to stop it earlier

after giving you the medicine he crawled into bed with you and started to snuggle you unlike all the other times you let him you were in so much pain and agony you just needed comfort and the poison alters your thinking skills so you just let him you even started to snuggle him back he knew this event would alter you and it is you started to view him in a better more positive light someone who just wanted to take care of you rather then use you

even the words of comfort he was giving to you just seemed so... real it sounded like he was being genuine and since you had no family or loved ones in heaven why not just stay with him. "yes he's a little rough but that can be fixed outside of that hes gentle caring and just look at him taking time off of work just to take care of me Ill give him a chance if he screws up I'll leave him" you thought

Adam then snapped his fingers and soup appeared he looked at you gently like someone would look at a wounded animal and said here have some he then started to spoonfeed you the soup tasted fine a little salty but Adam said it would make you feel better his mask showing a caring and gentle appearance. As he spoonfed you he said "I'm so so sorry I don't know how this happened you you must of caught fuckin a disease or something like that but don't worry just keep eating you soup im sure you will be fine he said while spoon feeding you

once the soup was done you just looked at him and said "t-thank you" you were greatful that he saved you and took care of you, you then said "I'm sorry for being so harsh on you I'll g-give you a chance but if you screw up I'm leaving you" adams mask lit up in surprise before a light smile formed everything was going according to his plan

"no no don't worry my little fuckin doll" Adam said in his casual voice "I'm sorry for being so rough on our first date" he said referring to the time he kidnapped you, you stupidly believed his words all Adam could think was "dumb bitch she thinks she has a choice to leave me but on the other hand shes warming up to me so I should be gentle and make her relent on me before I start playing with her more" you stupidly fell for his plan and just cuddled against his chest it was warm and soft the body fat serving and a pillow as his soft wings gave you a hug you could not help but feel safe and secure with him "as long as I'm with him nothing bad will happen to me" you thought since he was the first man and gods favorite so you were nice and protected with him nice and safe this was where you were meant to be you fell for his tactics like a fly to a web and now you were trapped you did not know it yet but this was the time when you fell and completely helled to him like a dog to their owners

[strawwritesfic]

Joel x Female!Amputee!Reader: (Don't) Hold Your Breath [Ch. 14]

Summary: You’ve made a lot of monumental mistakes in your life. Cutting your arm off isn’t even at the top of the list. Now you’re about to learn a lot of life lessons at the hands of your savior and her brute of a guardian–and they’re not about to let you learn them the easy way either.

Challenge: "#32 in His Rulebook" by Edible Heart Monster on Lunaescence Archives

Rating/Warnings/Tags: M (post-The Last of Us; excessive swearing; sexual references; violence against children; infected children; references to abortion; references to cannibalism; references to starvation; references to riots; implied domestic abuse; implied grooming; implied sexual relationship between an adult and a minor; death of a parent; violence; gore; blood; gun use; ableism; amputee!Reader; enemies to lovers; not canon compliant)

Pairings/Relationships: Joel/Female!Reader; Tommy/Maria; Reader/Male!OC; Ellie & Reader; Ellie & Joel; Ellie & Maria & Tommy

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Master List (with important note!)

Rule #14: If it's your birthday, just remember it's your fault if we get ambushed at the party.

The stables were, without a doubt, the quietest damn place in the entire fucking settlement. Possibly this was due to holding only three horses, but it simultaneously held very few people as well. You may have gone kicking and screaming, ranting and raving the first time. Then you realized horses were much preferable to people. Feeding, cleaning, and talking with Ellie’s horse might have been a chore, but at least it was a chore that didn’t make you want to drive a hoe through your fucking eye.

“Getting kind of low on the hay,” you told the horse as you groped for the feeding trough through the red sunlight flooding Callus Two’s window. He (or so Ellie insisted; you weren’t about to check yourself) stamped one hoof when you found it, nearing only to nicker in obvious disappointment at the little amount of hay inside.

“Sorry,” you said with a careless shrug. “It’s hard all around.”

“I don’t remember giving you permission to give my horse attitude.”

Twisting around, you saw Ellie standing pale in the entrance of the stable. Her glassy eyes flashed dimly in the semi-darkness, her lips set in what you could only assume was a shitty attempt at a scowl. How she intended to frighten anyone when she still looked as limp and moist as a fucking cooked noodle was beyond you. You could have tackled her to the ground—if the damn horse hadn’t got in the way. As soon as Callus Two spotted her, he was pressing you against the rough, splintery wall to get at Ellie.

“That’s right. You know who loves you,” she crooned as she patted his neck with one hand and held a second up to his fucking gross horse lips. A familiar crunch filled the air. So that was why the damn horse was so excited to see her.

“The fuck are you doing out of bed?” you asked.

If Ellie was well enough to bring the thing treats, she was well enough to feed and water and clean it and scoop its fucking poop. Wielding a shovel with one arm was no easy task—though you would admit to yourself (and yourself only) that the work had done wonders for your muscles. That did nothing to change the fact that you still spilled the fucking manure all over your shoes more often than not, though, which meant you felt no inclination to be charitable.

“Is she taking good care of you?” Ellie asked the horse. “Just tell me if she’s not. I’ll have her fired so fast her fucking head’ll spin.”

You were in no mood listen to the little shit poke fun at you. Filthy, exhausted, and hungry, you wanted nothing more than to choke down whatever the fuck the cafeteria had leftover this late and crawl into bed. Too bad for you that Ellie was somehow your personal responsibility until Joel came back from wherever the hell he’d run off to. The brat had come down with a bout of food poisoning due to fucking marshmallows of all things. Tommy couldn’t have thought of a better punishment for you skipping out on night-watch duty if he’d fucking tried, not that Joel had allowed it easily or all that willingly.

“Get back to the goddamn infirmary,” you snapped, “and quit wasting the apples on your fucking mule.”

Ellie shot you a look of what might have been amusement—the same look she’d shot you since you were assigned to be her personal slave. She might not have taken Joel ditching her very damn well, but you remaining behind seemed to go a long way in cheering her up. You supposed there must have been something funny about watching you struggle to open fucking doors with your only damn hand clutching a glass of water; still, it didn’t exactly endear Ellie to you any further than she’d already wormed her way into your shithole of a life.

“Why should I?” Ellie wanted to know.

Callus Two had finished his fruit and moved onto mouthing his slime into Ellie’s hair. The fucking horse seemed more interested in breaking your toes than grooming you, but you shuddered all the same. Horse spit was not something you wanted to have stuck in your hair until wash day. Unfortunately, Ellie saw and her weak smile only grew at your obvious discomfort.

“Just go,” you said. Maybe if you started shoveling, she’d leave you the hell alone—not that that ever worked. “I don’t want yelled at for letting you walk around again.”

“She’s with me.” Maria stepped inside the stall, her eyes narrowed at you. Ellie practically beamed.

“So she’s well enough to be out and about?” you asked coolly. Maria’s presence was not one you knew well enough to think snarling would be tolerated. Though you sensed a kindred spirit in her commands and scowls, it was carefully buried underneath several layers of strained patience.

“I haven’t thrown up in twenty-four hours,” Ellie said with a brightness that did not match her syrupy movements.

“I’ve seen more of your fucking insides than I ever wanted in the past week and a half, and one day means your good to go?”

“She’s fine.” Ellie turning to speak softly to her horse again force Maria to answer your question.

You noticed that though she met your eyes, Maria’s expression didn’t seem as fiercely determined as usual. Ellie still looked pretty damn white and sweaty. Food poisoning hadn’t been too bad in the distant past, but in this day and age where medicine was jealously guarded and hard to come by, all anyone could do was watch as Ellie tried and failed to keep down one grainy dinner roll after another. Tommy and Maria had spent as much time as they could spare in the infirmary with her. If they thought Ellie was well enough to move about, who were you to argue? Besides her fucking nurse, that was. At least this meant they were watching her. It would keep Ellie out of your hair for a few more days, thank fucking God.

“Fine.” Arguing with Ellie’s aunt wouldn’t do you any favors anyhow. “Just make sure I haven’t been abusing your pet and get out of here. I want to be done before it gets dark.”

Ellie looked over at Maria, who simply moved her head to frown at you. “It’ll take as long as it takes. This is your job until further notice. Failure to do so—”

“Means I don’t get to eat.”

You rolled your eyes. How many times did Tommy think you needed to hear this fucking lecture? A couple of days without food had been more than enough to get his damn point across. Several months with three regular meals a day, however meager, made it all the more difficult to go without. It spoiled you. As much as you hated knowing that, though, you just couldn’t bring yourself to not eat when there was food available. For all you knew, next week it wouldn’t be.

“Ellie,” Maria said, the frost in her voice so apparent you were surprised that you couldn’t see her breath, “go get your saddle.”

Normally, you got the feeling that Ellie liked watching you get told off. Hell, you assumed she fucking loved it. Today, she scuttled off eagerly enough. Callus Two tried to trot after her. Maria blocked the way, though, and looked entirely unperturbed by the hooves going up and down near her feet. It didn’t seem likely that looking busy would get rid of her any quicker than her annoying niece, but you did your best.

Maria cleared her throat.

“What?” you demanded.

“Listen.” Maria stepped closer, her expression not shifting from a frown once. You didn’t see why you should do as she said, but the idea of having a pistol shoved to your head was just as unappealing as it was any other day. “You let anything happen to her—”

“Me? I’m not the one letting Joel’s dying whatsit out on a joyride, th—”

“Quit interrupting me.”

When her palm pressed into the holster at her thigh, you fell into a silence that was sure to be as sullen as you intended it to be. There you’d been, minding your own fucking business, and now Tommy’s damn wife was in here acting like you’d dragged Ellie out of her sickbed yourself.

“We got a signal from Joel. She’s not going to sit still until she sees him. So she sees him, and you bring her right back here. Understand?”

“No, I don’t fucking understand,” you said, shoulders hunching up around your ears as though you were some sort of cornered cat. “Why the fuck does she need to go running after Joel when she’s sick as one of your dogs?”

Unlike everyone else in Jackson, Maria didn’t react at all to your temper. There was nothing there of Joel’s impatience or Tommy’s pained sympathy. It was like your words slid off of her. All Maria was concerned about was getting her way; how you went about it didn’t seem to matter. “We can’t get her well until she knows he didn’t ditch her. We need someone to get her there safely.”

“What about you?”

“I can’t leave right now. But before you go, I need you to understand one thing, very clearly.” Maria got so close to you that your skin crawled. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to retreat, to get the fuck away before she drove a bullet through your skull. Instead, you stood your ground, muscles tensed as her nose nearly touched yours. “You’re expendable. She’s not.”

Even with adrenaline racing through your system so fast that thinking was difficult, your lips curled at the suggestion that a fucking fifteen-year-old warranted more importance than you, the experienced adult. You’d been hunting since before Ellie had been a fucking thought in some guy’s dick. Of course, you’d lost your arm and become a useless sack of shit since then. You knew it every bit as well as Maria. Arguing wasn’t going to do you a lick of good. Still, your chin lifted in defiance.

“And how do you suggest I get her away from Joel if he’s not finished with whatever he’s doing out there?” you demanded.

“Drag her back. Tie her to the horse. I don’t care. I’m just saying, if she’s the only one that comes home on that horse, that’s fine. If she’s not on that horse at all, don’t bother coming back.”

That pissed you off. Everyone kept acting like you’d asked for this, like it was only out of the goodness of their hearts that they didn’t send you packing out the front door with no time to prepare—as though the collective of humanity even had any goodness any longer. Your knuckles went pale around the handle of your shovel; your lips parted with what you could only hope was a stinging retort, and then Ellie came back and the room was once again filled with excitedly prancing horse.

“What’s going on?” Ellie looked honest-to-God curious, as though the idea of Maria threatening you was the furthest fucking thing from her mind.

You’d seen Maria give Ellie her fair share of lectures (the only person in the damn settlement that bothered), but Ellie seemed to take these in stride as part of being family. Maria was no family of yours, but she seemed perfectly willing to chew you out for something you hadn’t even done yet. And in fact, Maria didn’t bother explaining. All she did was smile that same strained smile given over the discussion of Ellie’s health.

“Nothing,” Maria answered, and stepped away from the horse. “Saddle up. Hold tight to [Name] while she’s steering.”

What you could do to this order but snort? “Like I know how to drive a goddamn horse.”

“You don’t drive a horse,” Ellie said. “You ride.”

“Whatever.”

Maria didn’t look like she believed your lack of horsing experience. Why shouldn’t she have, though? Horses took up space and food—a lot more of both than human beings. Jackson was the only non-military settlement fucking stupid enough to keep them around. It was obvious why: Ellie’s damn sentimentality. Callus Two was like the damn dog she’d never got at that godforsaken school of hers. You, on the other hand, had grown up with real fucking transportation: cars and buses and airplanes, for fuck’s sake. By the fucking way? You only had one arm. How the fuck could you steer a horse one-handed?

After considering you through the growing night, Maria snorted herself, turned back to Ellie, and folded her arms across her chest. “Fine,” she said. “You steer. But if you start having trouble, you’re walking home.”

“We are not walking home,” Ellie muttered underneath her breath as Maria marched past her and out into the stable hall.

“You will if you have to,” Maria called back flatly.

That was the last you heard of her. Only the sound of her boots against the ground indicated that she had left. Ellie, meanwhile, was busy getting her saddle situated. It was clearly from before: old and scratched, with fraying straps and tarnished buckles. You supposed it must have done the job fine, though this didn’t matter much either way. Surely Ellie of all fucking people didn’t know how to ride bareback either.

“Are you coming or what?” Ellie’s voice snapped rudely into your musings about whether or not you actually should have learned to ride a horse when you’d had the damn chance. When you looked up, she was already atop Callus Two, reins in her hands and as close to a look of impatience as she could manage on her face.

“And if I’m not?” you asked in a voice of feigned curiosity.

“Can we not do your fucking drama queen bullshit right now?”

As if the dumb horse could sense Ellie’s agitation, he began to stamp again. “Shit,” was all you got out before you’d been backed into the wall again avoiding having your feet broken.

Ellie did not appear to notice or care. Her eyes were already glued to the tree line outside the window. “I need to see Joel. Either get on or fuck off—but remember it’ll be really fucking easy for me to catch up with Maria on horseback.”

“You little—”

“Not right now, okay?”

The look she threw you was almost pleading, or maybe that was just the sheen of sickness underneath her shell of contempt. Whatever it was, it wasn’t that that made you clumsily climb onto Callus Two’s trough and scramble onto his back. Last time you had been in this position was when Ellie had brought you to Jackson. She’d been a hell of a lot more accommodating then; now you were forced to struggle to get yourself adjusted all on your own. Ellie didn’t wait to make sure you were before she snapped the reins and the horse started off. The bouncing made it much more difficult for you to find your balance and all that came out of your mouth for the next few minutes was a stream of quite but vehement profanities.

“You done now?” Ellie asked once you had finally come to a stop behind her, legs pressed against hers and hand clutching at her hip as lightly as you dared. With the back of her red-brown head nearly pressed against your nose, you could smell the faint, cloying scent of illness clinging to her. This was the first you’d smelled of it, and it nearly made you sick yourself. Even what used to be Wyoming got warmish in the summer, meaning that you hadn’t had to cuddle the little shit to keep her warm at night. You wished you had been able to keep that distance now.

“Hey. Bitch. You settled?”

“I’m—fuck!” The damn horse obviously hated you, as he took the incline toward the forest with such a bound that you nearly flew off its back end again. “I’m settled, thanks.”

She glanced back once at you without pulling to a stop. Unlike you, Ellie knew the lay of the land surrounding Jackson. You could find your way to Joel’s swimming pond and that was fucking it. You were half-surprised that Maria hadn’t insisted on blindfolding you for this little venture with how little you were allowed outside these days. And for what? Who the fuck were you supposed to bring here? Who the hell did she think you liked enough to remain in contact with?

“What’s your deal?” Ellie asked.

“My deal?” you repeated incredulously. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Look, I didn’t fucking ask to be saddled with you for this. If I’d had my way, I’d be going to Joel alone.”

“Too bad for me that your family seems so damn keen to keep you around.”

The back of Ellie’s neck turned slightly pink. When she looked at you a second time, you could have sworn that the ends of her lips were twitching up. You must have been mistaken; Ellie never smiled at you or because of you. Then again, you weren’t sure if you were mistaken when Ellie spoke again, her voice uncharacteristically soft: “Yeah, well, you need to get out sometimes, too.” Must have been those marshmallows talking.

Once in the forest, Callus Two slowed considerably. At this rate, it would be past dark by the time you got Ellie home. Maria hadn’t outright said you had a time limit, but you wouldn’t have been surprised to find her standing at the gate waiting for you if you took too long.

You snorted into the top of Ellie’s head and looked away. “Your gesture of kindness might be more appreciated if your fucking aunt hadn’t twisted my arm about it.”

“She shouldn’t have to twist your arm.”

“Why the fuck should I listen to her?”

It was Ellie’s turn to sound incredulous. “Because she’s in charge.”

Why did you have to explain the workings of Ellie’s family business to her? That round of food poisoning must have fried the last few brain cells in the kid’s head. “Tommy is in charge,” you said slowly.

Ellie’s responding eye roll was so massive that her head moved along with it. “Maria is in charge. Jackson belongs to her family. She used to run it with her dad before he—”

“Died,” you finished for her. Everyone’s loved ones were either dead or fungal, and it wasn’t hard to tell if it was the latter. “If it’s Maria’s settlement, why does Tommy give me all my assignments?”

“Maria can’t stand you,” Ellie said bluntly. “Kind of a repeated pattern in your life, if you think about it.”

Already the images were there. They had been creeping closer and closer and close every night since that bungled attempt at watch duty. You could see a stunted, misshapen figure chained to a tree just out of the corner of your eye, hear the grunting slowly turning into the godforsaken clicking, taste the ghost of warm meat in the back of your throat.

Holy fucking shit, could one glimpse of a familiar face in the dark really turn you back into a quivering member of the non-fungus walking dead that quickly?

“Fuck!” Ellie hissed. “Let go.”

Too late, you realized your ragged fingernails had dug into her side. You hastily forced your fingers to straighten, balance be damned, but you didn’t bother offering Ellie an apology. You simply sucked in a high, quick breath.

“You stand me,” you answered smoothly a moment later. Ellie snorted again, forcing you to add almost insolently, “And Joel.”

You had, of course, intended to get a rise out of Ellie. Baiting her was about the only fucking thing that brought you joy in this life anymore—and no way in Hell were you speeding your way along to Hell. You figured you might as well enjoy the simple things in life, but Ellie had to go and ruin that too. She didn’t immediately snap at you; in fact, she hardly responded at all. For what felt like a whole damn minute, the only sound in your ears was the steady beat of horse hooves against the wet leaves on the ground. When Ellie finally did speak, her voice was so quiet that you could barely hear:

“Did he ask you to go with him?”

“Huh?”

“Did Joel ask you to go with him?”

A frown pressed wrinkles into your forehead. Was Ellie fucking delusional all of a sudden? “Did Joel as me to go where?”

“This isn’t that hard of a question!” Ellie snapped, twisting in her seat to glare at you. “Did Joel ask you to go along with him on this trip or not?”

Now that you understood what Ellie wanted to know, you couldn’t prevent a bitter laugh from bubbling out of your lips. You had been afraid that things were about to turn genuinely serious there for a second. “Why the fuck would Joel ask me to go anywhere with him? You’ve heard him. I’m ‘quite frankly as useful as a chocolate teapot in the desert heat,’” you said, mimicking Joel’s drawl for the last bit.

For once, Ellie didn’t fire back with a comment about how you were as useless as a chocolate teapot. She really must have been sick, because she just turned back around and was silent again. Well, if the rest of this trip went by without Ellie’s typical useless chitchat, you could count that as a victory. You: one; Ellie: somewhere in the fucking thousands.

Unfortunately, she did not remain speechless. “He had a girl once, you know.”

Her tone was so different all of a sudden. You frowned at the back of her head. What did Joel’s past have to do with anything? He tolerated you because Ellie—for reasons that were beyond you—liked having you around.

“A daughter or a girlfriend?” you asked.

Again, Ellie fell silent. Obviously, she was still thinking about the girl, though, because her thin shoulders pinched together. You were only just starting to feel a burning annoyance at her for bringing the subject up if she wasn’t going to elaborate when she finally got her damn tongue back on track.

“A girlfriend,” she said quietly.

“Before or after?”

“After. I met her once. Tess.”

“Tess.”

What kind of woman had Tess been, you wondered? Tough, presumably, to have lasted that long. Joel took any and every insinuation that Ellie was anything other than his daughter so badly that Tess must have been old enough to be romantically involved with him instead. You imagined a tall woman, quiet, with smoldering coals in her eyes instead of fire. Maybe she had been a better shot than you, or more likely she had done something productive with her life. She’d definitely have been whole, at least, probably didn’t go around chopping off limbs in a wild attempt to stave off the inevitable burning of eternity.

Wait. Why the fuck did you care what Joel’s old girlfriend was like? You ought to have wished she was still around so she could fill in as parent-slash-guardian when he was gone. It was Joel’s fault you were being dragged on a horse out into the middle of nowhere to begin with!

While these unsettling thoughts flipped through your head, Ellie appeared to be lost in thought. You could not see her eyes from where you were sitting, but she held the reins loosely in her hands, unmoving other than the occasional twist to get Callus Two back on what she must have felt was the right track. Even more irritated to find that she could escape your presence that easily, you cleared your throat.

Ellie gave a fucking ridiculous start and said “What?” with obvious frustration, which you ignored.

“Where the hell is your dad anyway?” you asked.

Too much longer and the clickers would be out—and it wouldn’t easy to keep them from hearing the steady pounding of Callus Two’s hooves. Maybe a horse could take out a few of them on its own; maybe not. You weren’t all that eager to find out firsthand.

As soon as the question was out of your mouth, Ellie’s shoulders hunched again so that her shoulders were up around her ears. “Joel isn’t—”

But whatever Joel wasn’t (the possibilities were endless), you never got to hear. Laughter filled the air at several different pitches, and noise echoed against the tree trunks eerily in the red-orange light of the evening.

The smart thing to do probably would have been to keep going—but hell, you weren’t the one driving. Frowning, Ellie pulled your ride to a complete stop. In the shadows beyond Callus Two’s path, five darker shadows shifted, closer and closer, until their owners appeared: three ragtag men and a couple of equally ragged women. As always in bands such as these, there was an apparent leader; the dark-haired, relatively clean-shaven man stepped forward so that his relatively clean-shaven face showed clearly in the sun. As the laughter died away, he smiled a disarming smile that showed a surprisingly whole set of teeth.

“Oh, he’s far enough away, darling. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.”

Ellie frowned down at the man. “Who the fuck are you?” she asked, tone mild.

None of the five had weapons drawn, though several backpacks had iron poles sticking out of their tops and the man in front had a sawed-off rifle in plain sight. For all of Ellie’s tense curiosity, however, his eyes were focused squarely on you. He did not even seem to have heard Ellie speak.

“How you doin’, sweetheart?” he asked, sauntering forward as casually as fuck.

Your eyes felt so wide that they might pop out of their sockets. Your fingers had once again latched onto Ellie’s hip as your only anchor to this goddamn earth. “Looks like that crazy plan of yours worked—‘less you just go runner slower than the rest of us.”

Your companion twisted in the saddle to gape at you. “You know him?”

You would have known him anywhere. Seeing him, your chest ached as badly as the day you had met, and once again you tasted meat in the back of your throat, the first real meal you had had in years and years and years.

“Ezekiel,” you breathed. And then, before Ellie could demand that you explain or before anyone else in that cramped forest space could react, you launched yourself off of Ellie’s fucking horse and tackled Ezekiel to the ground.

[lycastatic]

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀⋆ — lycastatic

Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call — Lightcannon AU

She vividly remembers how she spent many other nights in that fashion. How her heartbeat seemed to double every time they locked eyes. Or every time they shared affectionate moments behind closed doors. Moments only meant for them. For them to remember. It continues to haunt her.

Lightcannon Modern AU (SFW) 10,878 Words Tags: Exes, Mutual Pining, Mutual Yearning, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Character Study, Jinx-centric

EXCERPT:

“Jinx, someone’s asking for you.”

She rolled her eyes, hating the riddle-y, suspenseful way Caitlyn told her that. She hates being puzzled so early in the morning. She hates early morning guests. She hates it when she drags herself to the door and swings it open only to see Lux standing there, a mix of anxiety and guilt etched on her face.

She was about to close the door right on her face, something she would’ve never done years ago. But this time’s different. She’d rather do that than listen to whatever gut-wrenching realization the other has to offer to her.

“Jinx, please.” Her voice was enough to stop Jinx from slamming the door, a sense of plea radiating off of her. Jinx looked at her, sharp pink eyes a contrast to her anxious blue ones, “What do you want?” Her tone came out harsher than she intended. But maybe it was better this way. Sharp edges around her voice were better than cracks from her own vulnerability.

“To talk—”

“Blondie, please. What’s there to talk about?’

“Plenty,” Lux replied, her voice steady. Her feet perched in between the door to stop the blue-haired girl from slamming it, “If you’d let me.”

There was silence, only the soft gush of the winter air among the leaves, the only noise between them. The air was thick with something neither of them could put a name on. Was it tension? The mutual feeling of dread? That sense of yearning for something you shouldn’t be yearning at all?

It’s all too confusing.

Maybe she shouldn’t have come back in the first place.

“I wanted to check on you. You just…left last night, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Lux shifted nervously, her hands nervously pulling on the loose strings on her sweater, one by one tearing the material away. Jinx almost felt bad seeing her like this—so small, so vulnerable. But she can’t just break the distance between them and hug her like they used to. Touch her like they used to. Kiss her like they used to.

Not anymore. Not now that she’d decided things were better off this way.

“I’m fine. Maybe check on that bitchass lover boy of yours if his ego’s still alright.” She let out a snicker, the mere view of Ezreal’s face last night after she flipped her off was the icing atop a very chaotic cake.

Lux sighed, “About that…I need to explain. Ezreal—he…he’s just a friend, I swear. He’s an idiot when he’s drunk, I’m so sorry about it.”

The blue-haired girl rolled her eyes, leaning on the doorframe as if unbothered by everything else despite that small relief brewing on her chest, “Why d’you think I care? Heads up, Sparkles, just ‘cause we’re exes does not mean I give a damn who you’re shacking up with now.”

Lux hesitated, unsure whether she should say what her mind wanted her to. A sense of fear of completely damaging the already existent rift between the two of them, “I just don’t understand why you’re so mad when you’re dating someone else now.”

“Now what the hell are we talking about here?”

“Ekko…” Lux replied, her voice quiet. Like the silent fall of snow on the ground. She’s confused as to why she was hesitating to say that name when she shouldn’t be caring about it in the first place, “I mean it’s obvious, right? You two…”

A bitter laugh escaped Jinx’s lips, cold and sharp, almost like the stinging air of winter, “Why do you care so much, huh? Even if me and Ekko aren’t a thing—and for fuck’s sake I really hope not—why are you so fucking concerned about it, Lux?”

The way her name left Jinx’s lips felt like poison. Like a dagger filled with blood, twisting her chest in ways she doesn’t want. Lux fell silent, Jinx’s knife-like stare enough for her to understand the turmoil of emotions beneath calculated laughter and snide remarks.

“I’m the bad guy who screws everything up. So why don’t you just…let it go? Why can’t you stop pretending that everything’s okay since I left?”

She’s right. Jinx is right. Why? Why exactly does Lux keep reaching for her? Lux heard the moment she arrived, it wasn’t hard to miss those two twin-tails against the white of the snow. Back at the cafe, she could’ve walked away and ignored her but she sat and talked to her anyway. At the party, where she could’ve easily just not invite Jinx. But she did anyway.

So why exactly?

Lux’s expression softened, her throat constricting her, unable to fully flesh out the words she’s gonna say, “Because I care about you, Jinx. That hasn’t changed.”

Funny, isn’t it? This felt like a mockery of the whole world to her. To hear that the only thing she wished would change stayed constant throughout these years felt like a joke. Like a cry of mockery on her own stupidity. She looked away, her chest tightening. She didn't know what to say to that, not when she already convinced herself to leave everything behind, including emotions that remained alive.

“You should hate me.”

“I don’t.”

The sincerity in her voice was enough to tighten Jinx’s throat, enough to put her thoughts into a spiral, going haywire amidst the calm sight of snow before them. She swallowed hard, her hands gripping the doorknob tightly until her knuckles turned white.

It was an unspoken set of options.

To close the door and leave everything behind.

Or to cross that minuscule distance between them and envelop that golden girl in a hug. Kiss her in ways she did years ago. Watch how their hands fit on each other like a puzzle made to fit every time.

Fic is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61595344

To those who noticed, yes—this is inspired by the song with the same title. It's just so gut-wrenching and full of yearning that I can't help but write something about it aaaa. Also, it's been a while since I posted <//3 college has been keeping me busy.

Merry Christmas !!! <333

🎀🍓⋆⭒˚｡⋆

more about me -> here

me core | masterlist | i have a liking toward cupcakes <3

🎀🍓⋆⭒˚｡⋆

[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Things They Carried: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Cole is back in Dean's life, not to kill him but to ask for his help. A worm is making its way through people and eventually through Cole, giving you the perfect opportunity to get the chaos you're craving.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

The room you've been trapped in is a bit lighter instead of being pitch-black darkness. There is enough light shining in to see that this room doesn't have any windows. How is the light getting in?

"Hello? Anyone there? Someone please help me," you yell.

In a fit of frustration, you send a ball of blue magic at the wall and it bounces off several before exploding at your feet. You turn and see a door with a small window on it that wasn't there a second ago. You've stared at this wall for several days and there hasn't been a door there. Now there is. Where the hell are you? What is going on? You walk over to the door and peer through the window. The window is small enough that you can't see much but then someone walks by and your heart soars in happiness.

"Dean! Dean! I'm in here! Hey!" You bang on the door to get his attention but all he does is walk back and forth in front of the door like he's on patrol. "Dean, please help me. I want to go home!" You keep banging on the door in hopes it'll get him to come over. "Please! Dean!"

Dean winces in pain and presses his fingers to his temples. His headaches are getting worse and if he thinks hard enough, he can hear you begging and crying out for him. No, he must be imagining things. He wants to imagine you near him. Your voice isn't real. It's all in his head. Through the pain of his headache, he gets dressed for the day and heads to the library where Sam is. The Bunker door opens and he pops his head into the war room to see you come down the metal stairs in last night's clothes.

"Where have you been all night?"

"You're not my mother. I don't have to tell you everything I do," you scoff.

"Hey, come check this out. I think I got something," Sam says from the library.

"A case? What case?"

"I thought you weren't interested in hunting anymore?" Dean asks as you two walk into the library.

"Well, I've got nothing better to do at the moment. Plus, I'm not interested in saving people. Hunting is a different story. I'll be in the car."

"You didn't hear what the case was about."

"I don't care," you say as you walk out of the library.

Sam shakes his head and hands over a tablet with an article about a soldier who has died.

"The vic was trained in Krav Maga and jiu-jitsu, and she still ended up with her organs drained, and the marrow was sucked completely out of the bones."

"Cannibalism? Are you thinking it's a rugaru?"

"Or a God, maybe."

"Give me ten and I'll meet you by the car."

After the long drive to North Carolina, you walk into the Fayetteville police station and are greeted by a group of police officers enjoying pieces of cake. The bell on top of the door rings and they all look at you. One of them sets his cake down and breaks apart from the group to greet you.

"Agents, l gather?"

Uh, was it the suits, or do we give off some sort of a Fed stench?" Dean asks.

"It's the suits," the sheriff stutters. "What can l do for you folks?"

"We are here investigating the death of Private Jackie Prescott."

"Sorry to waste your time, agents, but you wasted a trip. We wrapped that one up hours ago. We know the man who did it--Rick Willis."

"What makes you so sure it was him?"

The sheriff grabs the murder file and flips through the pages.

"His fingerprints were all over the storage room out on the base where he did it. He even left his dog tags by the body."

"Is he in custody?"

"No, the bastard drank a boatload of gasoline and then lit himself on fire. Helluva way to go, if I'm honest. He left behind a wife and baby. He's the third suicide we've seen in six months. Would you like some cake?"

"Yeah," Dean immediately says.

Sam stops him from grabbing it and Dean pouts slightly.

"No, uh, you know what? Uh, we're okay," Sam stutters.

"No, it's really good. My partner made it."

"It looks great, but we're alright. We do have one more question. Were there any bite marks found on the body?"

"No. The vic was killed with a Bowie."

"Thanks for your time."

You three leave and you let your hair down in soft waves. It hurts when you have your hair in a ponytail.

"Well, that's a waste of our time. I say we head to the beach," you grin.

"We're not leaving," Sam rolls his eyes. "No bite marks means a rugaru didn't do it. What are you thinking? A God?"

"I don't think so. The guy Molotov-cocktailed himself. That's bonkers. That's like demon-possession bonkers. We should talk to Rick's wife if she's up for it."

That's where you head next. You're waiting for them to royally screw this up. You're not interested in saving people. You're not interested in their lives. You're only interested in the chaos all this death is going to bring you. That's why you tagged along. If something tragic doesn't start soon, you're going to have to make your own.

Beth, Rick's wife, let you into her house to talk to her even though she doesn't seem in the right mind to answer questions. Sam and Dean handle all the questioning while you're off to the side looking at the many pictures she has of her and her husband. You're so glad you're not plagued by pictures of your past.

"Rick did it." You pull your eyes from the pictures and look at her. "I'm not trying to say that he didn't. I mean, he just got back from deployment and we've all seen what it can do to a soldier's mind. My Rick . . . when he's home and good . . . I have to kill the spiders, you know? Rick was a kind soul. He never took more life than he had to."

Did you notice anything strange or weird like violent mood swings? Or weird smells?" Sam asks.

"No, but Rick was so... He was thirsty."

"Thirsty for what?"

"Water. He'd spend half the day drinking from the garden hose. Then, one night, I caught him in the tub drinking the bathwater. When l told him to stop, it was like he couldn't even hear me. His skin got so dry it bled."

"Did he see a doctor?"

"I took him to the VA but he just got on a list to get on a list. Then, he stopped talking and just wasn't himself. I thought maybe it was PTSD," she cries.

You roll your eyes in annoyance. This is not the kind of tragedy you're hoping for.

"We're very sorry," Sam sighs.

"You said that Rick was recently deployed. Do you have any idea where?"

"No, that stuff is classified. They don't even let the wives in on it."

"Okay, we'll leave you alone now but if something comes up, anything at all, please give us a call."

Sam hands her his business card. You're the first one to the door, eager to get the hell out of here, but she stops you.

"There's one other thing. I ran into my friend Jemma at the supermarket. She's married to Kit Verson, a guy from Rick's team. She thinks Kit came back different this time. Kind of felt like we were dealing with the same thing."

"Thank you."

You three leave and you turn to the brothers.

"I don't remember hunting being this irritating."

"You're the one who wanted to come with us. This is part of hunting. Either shut the hell up or leave."

You glare at your husband but don't say another word about it. Jemma, once she knows you just came from Rick's house, eagerly lets you in to tell you her story. Much like before, you let the brothers handle the questioning while you're off to the side looking at pictures of her and Kit.

"Can you tell us more about Kit?" Sam asks.

"Kit's been going through some stuff for sure. It takes him a while to get back to normal, but he always does."

"What about you? How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay, for the most part. With what happened to Rick and Beth... it's been hard."

"May we speak to your husband?" Dean asks.

"He went out last night but he should be back any minute. You know, he comes back from these deployments and he needs his space."

"He's been out all night?" you ask.

"Yeah." Both brothers look at each other with knowing looks. "God. I can't even convince myself. I'm worried. This isn't like him."

"Has he been thirsty? Like 'drink out of the dog bowl' thirsty?"

"How did you know?" she gasps.

You look out the window and see Cole Trenton, the man who has been obsessed with Dean even when he was a demon. You lock eyes with Dean and gesture to him with your eyes, and he stands up quickly. You don't bother saying anything to Jemma as you leave her house, but Sam and Dean wrap up the conversation quickly. Cole is leaning against the Impala with his arms crossed.

"I recognized your wheels."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asks.

"Jemma called me in. I've known Kit since we were military brats raisin' hell on the same base. He's a good man."

"No one's saying he's not."

"Oh, really, now? So, what are you three here for, Jemma's sweet tea? You want to tell me why you're really here?"

"You got a lot of nerve coming in and demanding answers," you glare and step up to him. "Watch yourself."

"Hey, stop," Dean whispers and pulls you away from Cole. "We're working a case."

"Kit's case?"

"Honestly, we're not sure just yet but it's looking like it."

"Says you."

"You really want to dial it back, hot shot," you smirk. You raise your hand and show off your powerful magic. It's only a wisp or two but it's enough to send a message. "Or you might not like what happens next."

"There's a murder-suicide in town. Your buddy Kit is in the same unit as the killer with the same whacked-out antics. Like it or not, we're not going anywhere. If you care about your friend, you'll let us handle this."

"Nah, I think I'm coming with you."

"The hell you are," you scoff.

"I got contacts. I can help. For example, a friend of mine works in military intelligence who owes me a favor."

"Would he know what Rick and Kit's mission was?" Sam asks.

"Sure, and he'd tell me all about it."

Sam and Dean look at each other before sighing.

"Fine," Dean rolls his eyes.

"No, it ain't. I'm going to make sure my friend comes home in one piece, okay? l know what you three are thinking, but we are not gonna hunt my best friend who happens to be a fucking war hero, by the way. We are gonna find him, and that's the difference."

"No, I was thinking how pretty your head would look like on a stick," you shake your head.

"Stop it. I mean it," Dean hisses in your ear.

"Listen, we're right there with you. Kit's a hero, but you have to prepare yourself. Kit might not be Kit anymore," Sam says.

Dean decides this is a good time to get some food so he takes everyone to the nearest joint that serves a good burger. Everyone gets something but you. You're not hungry for food. With Cole being here, it might raise the exact trouble you're looking for.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[brainrotcharacters]

She Wasn't Always Like That part 2 (It's Too Much)

ship: Ghost x reader

summary: "When I burn out, I want you with me." But he wasn't there.

tags: sfw. angst comfort. reader is a member of 141. no labels with Ghost they just care for each other a lot.

part 1

You're being held for ransom.

It was taking all of Ghost's willpower not to slip away from the others, take a chopper, and run through every single one of those bastards to get to you. He could do it; everyone knew he was capable and dedicated enough to do it and succeed. Instead he and the rest were grounded at base, one eye on the live feed on the screen showing you, beaten up on the wet floor, blindfolded, stripped to your underwear and restrained against a thick metal pole. The rest of the room was pitch black, save for the occasional thug passing the camera to swing a punch or a kick at you.

Ghost opened his hand slowly. Then closed it. And opened it again. He did his best to match his breathing with the movement.

"Are they gonna take any longer?" Gaz lifted his head towards the main building. Price and Laswell were in there, negotiating with the higher ups about the wisdom in taking you back. Price had explicitly ordered them to stand down until a decision was made. What good would it do to get you out of there if your own people would shoot you down as soon as you came home?

Soap cursed under his breath as he noticed the screen: one of the henchmen grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked it towards the pole behind your head. The shout of pain that left your cut lips was accompanied by the resounding clang of your skull against the metal. Under the light, your swollen and bleeding right eyelid was visible, as well as the dried blood down your nostrils to your right cheek.

I want you with me. The words condemned Ghost now.

Soap and Gaz stood on either side of his chair, postures tense and ready to take off. Without Price there, Ghost was technically in command. He could stand right now and the boys would make sure a chopper is up and running. You'd be just as relentless if it had been any of them.

"Where the hell are they?" Soap glanced back at the main building.

Ghost checked his wristwatch. 10... 9... 8... He stood from his seat. "On your feet, boys. We're going after Y/n."

Gaz extended a hand, but didn't stop walking. None of them did. "Wait, hold on a minute. They need to come back out first, don't they?"

"The captain gave me a signal, Garrick."

"Lt, what signal?" asked Soap.

Inside the main building, Laswell casually crossed her legs in front of her. Price returned to her side, setting down their cups of tea beside each other on the table. Across the space, the higher ups shifted uncomfortably, despite the number of soldiers behind them. "You won't be able to return to your 141 to give any sort of signal to save Y/n L/n."

"The signal," Price nearly choked on his tea, laughing. "Kate, should you do the honors, or shall I?"

"I got it." Laswell smiled, not even looking at him. Price smiled behind his mug. "Gentlemen. The signal is us not returning."

Soap boarded the helicopter, one hand on the display screen showing you as they put cloth around your mouth. Gaz already joined Ghost at the cockpit, flicking on the controls.

Laswell went on. "When L/n comes back, and the whole base celebrates because she's a reasonably popular person, I'll tell her everything. How you think a broken nose and three busted ribs is enough to make her talk, how you delayed the rest of her team from coming to get her... and then some."

"Is that a threat, Laswell?"

"Should it be?" 

The helicopter was airborne within thirty seconds. Soap and Gaz both noticed how Ghost used up more fuel more quickly. They didn't address it.

Price used a remote to switch on a screen. The live feed of your injured body flickered to life. "Why don't you take a seat, boys? Kick your feet up. You'd want to see this."

--

It was mere seconds before they reached to cut your tongue out that one of their phones rang. The man behind the camera fished the device from his pocket, lifting it to his ear.

He said to a third henchman, "It's for her."

The other man took the phone. "I don't believe you can demand―"

The helicopter engine was switched off. Ghost's gravelly voice had to come through perfectly.

"Your location is 435 South Boulevard, Floor Six, Pallon City. There are three fighter jets exactly ten miles south, and explosives fifteen miles north, directly over your precious greenhouses. Put the woman on the phone or else you'll be fertilizer."

Soap smirked, knowing the explosives were a bluff. Still, if Ghost asked, he would have his things set up.

The third man handed you the phone, and you ached to lift your shoulder and keep the phone pressed up your ear. "Y/n."

"Tangina, ang ganda ng boses mo." He knew it was a cue to listen when you switched languages. No matter how flustered he felt when he understood you. "Sumagot ka ng oo, please. Napansin mo ang mga windmill? Timog-kanluran."

Ghost watched you from the display screen Soap shared to them. He glanced at the tops of the windmills nearby, and said to the phone. "Yes."

"Tanging kuryente nila dito 'yan. Pakisuyo? Bigyan mo kong trenta segundos. Salamat."

"Alright, enough." The henchman took back the phone. "You speak Span―?"

He didn't finish his sentence when the heel of your foot flew up his crotch. The sudden pain made him double over, close enough for you to headbutt him. Your bare legs wrapped around his body in a vise grip.

"Are you good with guns, boys?" you purr at the two goons now aiming guns at you. "Let's play pin cushion."

"Don't shoot!" the third man waved his flabby hands. As far as your legs would let him, anyway. "Don't shoot!"

You looked down your nose at your captive. "Untie these ropes."

His trembling hands went around you to peel off the restraints. You couldn't help yourself from mocking. "Not quite what you imagined when you thought about getting between a woman's legs, is it? Aww." 

Something warm that had nothing to do with the weather climbed up Ghost's neck. He stood from his seat. "She needs those windmills down. I got it."

"I let you go, you let me go." The trembling man was saying, finished with the last of the binds around your wrists.

"Alright," you relaxed your legs, waiting for the back of his neck to touch your instep. 

In a heartbeat, your other foot shoved against his jaw and snapped his neck. His body fell to the ground limp. Dead.

No hesitation or regret in your expression, clear for the camera to see. There was only a cockiness, a destructive glint in your eye when the two men fired their guns. You quickly heaved the corpse in front of you as a human shield, and when their bullets ran out, tossed the body into one person.

The other man lifted a second handgun. You ducked low, punching him in the side of his knee and between his legs. One hand rose to his extended wrist, keeping the gun aimed away from you, and your other hand grabbed his jaw to direct his momentum downward. 

He crashed to the ground with a loud thud, gun sliding off three inches away. You gave him the liberty of unconsciousness, too. 

The remaining goon had a knife. He enjoyed to brandish it, swinging wildly at you. You allowed him to back you into a corner. "Nowhere left to go, little missy."

On the drawer you bumped into, there was a face towel big enough to cover that blade. You snatched it free in the same moment that he swung the knife from high above your heads. You wrapped the towel around the blade, following his momentum until you lifted his arm back up and brought it across your shoulders. The knife slipped from his grip to yours. 

You buried the blade deep into his chest, dragging it down to his gut and twisting the handle for good measure. Fresh blood gushed out, warming your hands. You kept your eyes on his face, wordlessly daring him to continue living. He didn't. 

In a movement so slow it was eerie, you faced the camera. Right. Was it still live? You didn't particularly care. With a gun and a knife in your hands, you walked off screen.

Alarms blared. All the entry points to the building began to close, and through the intercom, through the live feed that now showed the metal pole and the corpses of your captives, a calmer male voice was heard. "Just like that, trapped, Y/n." 

The broadcast room was on the fifth floor― six men remained between you and the ringleader. You giggled, returning to the camera. "What we have here is a failure to communicate." 

"Oh, don't say it." smirked Gaz. Soap was grinning already. 

"I'm not trapped in here with you," you grinned, and the person that stared back through your eyes wasn't quite you anymore. "You're trapped in here with me." 

Then the power inside the building went out.

Ghost must be done with the windmills. Gaz murmured. "He's got good timing." 

You pelted the camera at the far wall, watching the lens crack and flicker. You shot it twice, too, just to be sure. 

It was a running joke between you, Ghost, and Pierce, that you 'enter the zone'. A killing calm that reduced you to your baser instincts. You stopped being Y/n, stopped being human, and became this thing that moved up, down, left, right, slashing and swinging. There were nine people per level of the building, and as you went, nine became five, then two, then none. The ringleader must have already bled out from his split throat by the time you reached ground level and the doors opened up again.

Ghost beelined for the building directly, knowing Gaz and Soap are on their way. Smoke from the grenades and tear gas you used floated up the threshold, and it was taking too long to clear...

"Simon?"

Oh, he hated hearing your voice crack. It didn't sit well in his gut. "Yeah, love. It's me."

Your silhouette rushed at him from the smoke, and then there were your hands grasping at his vest, face pressed into the material as you shuddered. "Get me away get me away get me away―"

He freed one hand to hold the back of your head, and you settled down. Slightly. "Johnny and Gaz are here, too. Come on. Let's get out of here."

Half-heartedly, you pulled away. Ghost noticed how sheer your clothing looked, and was about to check which blood wasn't yours when Soap's voice was heard. "Y/n! Thank fuck you're alive."

"Johnny, carry her out. Gaz, lead." Ghost took two steps back, scanning the surroundings.

Gaz nodded, twisting back the way they arrived. "Copy."

"This alright?" Soap reached to lift you from behind your knees and behind your back. You mutely nod, ignoring every instinct that wanted to make a joke just to get that serious expression off his face.

When Soap secured you in his arms, he turned back. Over his shoulder, Ghost was watching you. 

You stared back. Burned out. Nothing had ever terrified him more. 

He blinked three times. You okay?

You blinked twice. No. 

He blinked four times. Do you need me?

You broke eye contact, burying your face in Soap's shoulder. Conversation over. Too tired. Too much.

Ghost shifted his attention back to the surroundings. Later. Deal with the awful twisting in his stomach later.