#i mean he's been doing better but i think that's largely because of the medication!!

[foone]

honestly it would be funny to make an analog horror and include hints to all the normal tropes but then none of them end up being actually the case.

there's a kid acting weird, they weren't abused, murdered, or possessed. they've got ADHD and having trouble at school, but with some medication they're doing better now.

there's a company making a video game and it doesn't come out, and there's mysterious stories about the developers... the game is found on a CD-R at goodwill, and it's a decent if incomplete platformer-RPG.

the developer disappeared because he got kicked out of the country due to an expired work visa. He's actually just fine off in a different country doing work on other things. (fun fact: this happened to the main programmer of Final Fantasy I-III & Secret of Mana halfway through making II & III: His Japanese work visa expired, and they had to finish programming the game by moving all the other (Japanese) developers to Sacramento)

The company is experimenting with weird physics, and they have tons of security with it. There's no portal, no backrooms... but their new capacitor chemistry is significantly cheaper but with similar longevity. The security was to keep their competitors from stealing their millions of dollars of research.

There's a religious sect which has weird rituals and it turns out... they're a bunch of christians who have minor issues with the similar christians they split off from. They are very passionate about 1 Corinthians 3:16 and they refuse to eat avocados or other large berries, at pain of expulsion. What? No? No one got abused or sacrificed. I mean, Tanya sacrificed her weekends for 5 years to cook for the preschool, but she's still alive and happy.

There's a serial killer stalking the city. He leaves cryptic clues to his next target. The police capture him easily with a illegal DNA test after his daughter got cancer.

There's a spooky entity sometimes seen in analog media, and corrupting digital ones... after additional shielding is added to the main turbine of the Long Shoals Power Plant, the audio/visual disturbances in the area vanish.

That spooky tall person haunting the woods turns out to be a trans woman in a hoodie (it's cold in november!) foraging for mushrooms. She talks your ear off about how to tell the difference between Spring kings (Boletus rex-veris) and the deadly brown roll-rim (Paxillus involutus).

The abandoned house has a dark secret: the floorboards on the second floor are not up to code. why do you think it got condemned in the first place? Don't go up there, you might die! not from a ghost, from falling through the floor and getting super-tetanus.

The toy company closed down, all to hide their dark secret: those toys were made in sweatshop! the paint on the dolls has unsafe amounts of lead! The producer for the cartoon resigned in disgrace... no he just got a DUI and spent 9 months in jail for it. no kids were involved and no one died.

there's an alternate history about the US where it turns out all kinds of secret massacres and evil architecture and deals with pure evil and super weapons... but it's just the same ones we did in this reality. you know, the Black Hawk War, the MOVE bombing, the various mining wars, Robert Moses's racist & classist city planning, Project Paperclip, and ICBMs. No need for magic glass or hidden structures inside monuments: we've got Trinity Glass and the Cheyenne Mountain Complex.

You get strange notes left by your door, and it turns out they were all left by that nice lady who helped you with the groceries the other day. Her english isn't so good, and usually her grandson stops by and helps, but he's been away for school and her broken words didn't get across how she had some spare eggs from her chickens if you'd like some, it instead read more like she was going to "take your eggs"?

You can't believe that urban legend about an evil barren woman preying on pregnant women. that was just some bullshit made up by that christian group who was protesting abortion on your campus. It never happened (insert frakes gif here)

The guy stuck in a submarine at the bottom of the ocean is just there because he's an idiot techbro, not because he's a criminal condemned to one final mission at the bottom of a sea of blood in a universe where the stars are all dead. He just thought he was smarter than the people who actually build submarines, and made his out of expired tin foil.

I'm gonna make a analog horror

hard mode: there will be no "anomalies".

[werewolf4vampire]

tell me why the vet ordered our medication (that we need TODAY) through the sketchiest pharmacy ever. they barely had any on hand when we went in on Saturday and they apparently gave us everything they had and they haven't gotten more. and now we're completely out, since they gave us not quite even two days worth. and the sketchy pharmacy says it won't ship until 3-4 days from now

[darklordofthesimp]

Delirium (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Summary: Being partnered with Ghost was never easy. However, when you find him bleeding out on the kitchen floor and delirious from blood loss, you make a discovery. The L.T loves to talk.

Requested by Anon: #57 You're shaking.

A/N: Some Sunshine to feed you while I work on Anything III.

Category: Mutual Pining

Warnings: Description of injury || Graphic language

You weren't a medic by any means. 

There was the combat first aid course that you were all forced to do during basic training, but that had been a century ago. You'd handled your own injuries when an enemy sniper would get a lucky shot. Again, there's not much to do there other than put some pressure on it.

Otherwise, you were fairly inexperienced when it came to handling injured team members. There were shortfalls to being a sniper, hand-to-hand combat wasn't as relevant and having to provide first aid was rare. 

You call them shortfalls because now, in a situation where those skills are required, you're fucking struggling. 

You'd opened the door to the safe house with a sigh, frowning when you couldn't see Ghost through the windows. You'd assumed he'd be waiting for you to arrive from your nest but clearly, he didn't give enough of a fuck to wait around. 

You could have died en route and he'd be sleeping. 

For some reason, the thought hurt. 

You could think of a million things that he probably thought more important than you; staring at a wall being high on the list. What you hadn’t expected, was to find him collapsed on the kitchen floor.

“Ghost,” you rasped, choking on his name. His eyes flickered open at the sound of your voice, the relief palpable in his gaze. He groaned and let his head fall back against the wall with a strangled noise. You were frozen. You’d never seen him injured and honestly, you thought that you never would. 

You’d even told Soap that Ghost was probably just a bootleg Robo-Cop beneath the mask.  

But, the blood soaking through his uniform said otherwise. 

“You gonna give me hand or not?” His voice was low and rough. It had no edge, though. There was no bite behind his words like there usually was and it scared you. The man hated your guts and if he was too injured to convey that then he was definitely dying. 

“Oh God,” you breathed, leaning your rifle against the wall slowly. Your eyes never left his crumpled form and his eyes never left your face. “Oh God.” 

You slid to your knees, rushing to his side with frantic curses. You couldn’t see the extent of the wound from beneath his armour and he clearly didn’t have enough strength to take it off himself. 

“Stab wound,” Ghost offered the cause of injury through gritted teeth. “Got me good.” 

“This shit needs to come off,” you tugged at his armour, reaching for the quick-release cord. The man groaned but he didn’t object. One hard tug of the plastic ligature had the vest falling apart at every seam, the line now loose in your hand. 

“Fuck,” the man gave a startled chuckle, taking a large breath with his chest free from pressure. “Feel better already.” 

You didn’t reply, eyes narrowed on the wound beneath his ribs. You pulled up his shirt, tucking it beneath his arms as you scanned over the injury. It was clean cut, a clear entry wound that was steadily leaking a shit tonne of blood. 

No sounds of air sucking in through the jagged flesh and you thanked whoever was listening that it wasn’t a punctured lung. You didn’t have any seals on you and you didn’t want to slap him with some duct tape instead. He’d never let you live that down.

“How’s it lookin’, Sunshine?” Ghost asked, breathing heavily.

“Unfortunately,” you began, pressing the cotton padding from your kit against the wound, “if you apply pressure, you’ll live.” 

“Unfortunately?” He coughed,  the sound strained and you could tell he immediately regretted the movement. 

“Very fucking unfortunate,” you confirmed with faux seriousness. 

You stuck a gauze pad to the wound once you had finished packing it, reaching into your med pouch for a bandage. You’d wrap it around his midriff to keep pressure on the wound, you decided. 

“A ray of Sunshine you are, as per fuckin’ usual.” 

You clenched your jaw, reminding yourself that he was injured and that you couldn’t stick a finger knuckle-deep in his wound as retaliation. At the very least, he was back to hating you. Meant he wasn’t dying any time soon. 

You frowned at the bandage in your hands, desperately trying to remove the plastic wrapping. You couldn’t think straight and your body felt jittery as the adrenline began to settle. You couldn’t believe how vulnerable he was, unable to gather the strength to take off his own body armour. 

You hated it. 

Why the fuck couldn’t you open this wrapping? 

You pulled harder on the plastic, trying to bring your heart rate down. Why were you breathing so hard? 

A gloved hand fell over your own. 

Your frantic tugging came to an immediate halt and your eyes snapped up to meet his, startled. Ghost's gaze was half lidded but just as intense as always, grazing over your features. Heat flushed through your body at his drunken stare. You knew it was from the blood loss, you knew he could barely see straight, but that kind of look was reserved for someone he was sharing a bed with and you couldn't function at the sight of it. 

For a moment he said nothing, blinking slowly- too slowly- as he took in a breath. 

"Relax, kid," he murmured eventually. "I'm okay."

You swallowed hard. 

His fingers were soft over your own, too weak to apply pressure but curled over your hand just the same. 

"I am relaxed." You bit back at him, returning your gaze to the stupid fucking bandage beneath both of your hands. You didn't want him to see how much this affected you, you didn't want him to think you were a cowardly mess. 

There was a soft huff as he patted your hand lightly. "You're shaking, Sunshine."

You sucked in a breath.

Your eyes flickered back to meet his, lips trembling at your exposure. He knew. The gentleness in his gaze was otherworldly, so foreign you wondered if it was even Simon Riley beneath the mask. Blood loss was clearly doing a number on him and he was doing a number on you. 

“I’m a sniper, Sir.” You coughed, trying to tear yourself from the sudden intimacy of the situation. “I don’t shake.”

Ghost tutted from beneath his mask. 

“Haven’t been with the right bloke, then.” 

Your jaw dropped. 

Ghost blinked at you as though he couldn’t believe what had come out of his mouth, either. Jesus fucking Christ. You suddenly realised why Soap had made fun of Ghost for never drinking when you’d all be at the pub. You remembered asking the Sarge why the masked enigma would always bail after an hour or two and his response was simple. 

“The L.T can’t hold his tongue when he’s on the piss.” 

You thought that implied aggression. 

Clearly not.

“There is no right bloke,” you rasped, slowly pulling the bandage from beneath his hand. The loss of contact left you feeling empty but suddenly you could breathe a little easier. 

Your fingers shook violently as you tried for the plastic wrapper again and your gaze flickered to Ghost’s face, praying he hadn’t noticed. You should have known better. 

His eyes were on your trembling digits, a soft exhale making it’s way to your ears. 

“Looks like I’ve proved you wrong, Sunshine.” 

The words were low but there was no heat behind them. It didn’t feel lustful, they were murmured like an afterthought, his mind elsewhere. You wondered where Simon Riley disappeared to in his head when he looked at you. 

“You crack a lot of jokes for someone who’s a literal shish kebab,” you snapped, tearing at the plastic wrapping with your teeth. Finally, the bandage came loose.

“And you talk a lot of shit for someone who cares more than they let on.” The words were fired back, demanding your attention. 

You stared at him for a long moment, resisting the urge to squirm beneath his dark gaze. You’d never seen that expression on him before, as though he were daring you to disagree. As if he were waiting for you to say something. 

“Can’t care too much in this business, Sir.” You choked on the words, unravelling the bandage.

“I believed that once,” he tilted his head. 

“And now?” You prodded, leaning over him to wrap the bandage around his midriff. You tried to ignore how close your face was to his, how your fingers trailed against the skin of his stomach. The Lieutenant shivered beneath your touch and you kept your gaze downcast. 

Fingers gripped your chin softly and you gasped as he tilted your face upward. 

You were half on top of him, nose to nose and his stuttered exhale brushed against your lips. Simon’s eyes were half lidded and this close you could see the blue of his eyes, a stormy ocean that swallowed you whole. You were caught in it’s rip tide, drowning in the reverence of his stare. 

“Now,” he murmured, lazily examining our features. His eyes lingered on your parted lips, his thumb slowly swiping your bottom lip. “Could say I’ve had a change of heart.” 

[websterss]

ABOVE EVERYTHING ELSE — TYLER HARRISON

SUMMARY: Tyler has everything to lose especially when Weyland Corps has you in their hold, so why wouldn't he follow through with his orders in order to get you back.

WARNING(S): angst, fluff,

WORD COUNT: 2,844

PAIRING: Tyler Harrison x fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

Tyler sat rigid and on edge as he waited in the west wing of the ship's infirmary bay. The cool metal bench seeped through his pants as he bounced his knee for five minutes. The long wait agitated him and made him uneasy. He clocked his three o'clock and then his nine, both ends of the hallways vacant and deserted apart from him and his need to see you. They usually were sporadic with being on time and persisting he be there on time for his debrief before he was allowed to see you again. That was Weyland's leverage over him, holding you high over his head, out of reach, and using your status updates as a means to get him to cave into doing their dirty work.

This new task made him feel like a snake. Made him hate the way he was going to have to betray those he cared about. Rain. How she and Andy were his first step in getting you back to him. This was the last of many debriefs he had been given before, many tasks where he had to carry out and commit crimes that plagued and haunted his dreams. Everything he's done, everything he was about to do was unforgivable. There was also that slight voice in the back of his head weighing all the possibilities where you would find out about his assignments and leave him. He at times thinks you should but you never do. You don't leave because if there was one thing that was keeping you here, still being with him, it was the undying love you had for one another.

"Harrison." A nurse calls out, pulling him out of his spiraling. He straightens his back and stands up. "Follow me."

Tyler nods, not one to question orders, and follows the nurse down the hallway quietly.

Tyler follows the nurse through multiple lefts and rights. He reigned in on the fact you weren’t easily accessible to reach. The facility was large and sterile, cold and unsettling. The nurse leads him down to a large room that looks more like a high-tech lab. They reach the closed door, where she swipes her badge across the scanner, a beep is emitted from the device and before he knew it the door was swishing open in a slide. The second his foot crosses the threshold, he meets your gaze. He takes no time in rushing towards you, wrapping his arms around your fragile state. He sighs, breathing in your scent, the oxygen cords inserted in your nostrils colliding with his chest as he hugs you gently but firmly.

"Ty!" You breathe out, a smile dawning on your tired expression.

Tyler feels himself at ease at the sound of your voice, his arms tighten around you as if you would disappear if he let go. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, taking his time to drink in the sight of you alive in front of him.

"Hey, sweetheart." He greets you tenderly, pulling back to get a proper look at you. You look so small and fragile in comparison to the massive medical bed you're lying in. The oxygen tubes in your nostrils and the plethora of wires that run from you to the various pieces of medical machinery make you look more like an experiment than a person. It breaks him to always see you this way. His gaze never falters from you as he calls over his shoulder to the nurse. "Leave us." Once he hears the swish of the door open and close again he looks back and then faces you once again. You look back at the door, feeling at ease now that you have him all to yourself.

"I've missed you. You weren't here last week. T-they said I'm getting better." Your breaths are slow and labored.

"I know. I couldn't come." A pang of guilt makes his stomach twist as he remembers the real reason he hadn't shown. "But I'm here now, alright? Sorry, I couldn't be here earlier." The words felt like bile in his mouth, but he pushed past the feeling as he squeezed your hand in his. "I had a meeting to attend to, but all's well and said now. I'm here and I'm all yours." He reaches forward to tuck one side of your oxygen tube behind your ear.

"I-I like the sound of that." You hum in delight, melting into his gentle caresses.

"Of course you do. You're pretty easy to please, sweetheart." Ty teases softly, his thumb rubbing small circles against the top of your knuckles. He studies your features, noting how tired you look, he can also see that your hair is getting long and unkempt. The sight of your hair growing back gives him all the hope he needs to push through.

"I missed seeing your smile." He murmurs, his hand continuing to stroke against your temple and hair. A beat of silence passes. "I think the treatments are starting to pay off. We were right to start you on them. I mean you're glowing compared to how you were these last two months." He beams. "How have they been treating you here? Is everything okay? Have they been too harsh or rough on you? I'll get Captain Mayfair to provide you with better nurses if they are. I won't hesitate to–" He inquires, his voice lowered slightly.

"Ty, baby, it's okay. They've made sure to make me feel as comfortable as possible."

"Promise?" Ty probes, staring earnestly into your eyes. "You would tell me, right? If they have been harming you? You'd tell me."

The way Tyler's looking at you lets him know there's a good chance that if any of the staff here have been making you feel uncomfortable you wouldn't complain. He knows you'd be too nice to even consider it.

"You'd kill anyone on sight if you so much as saw a bruise on my skin…I'm okay." You reassure him. Squeezing his hands. He looks down at your grip, amazed by the strength you've garnered again.

He chuckles, looking down at your intertwined hands, a soft breath of relief passing through his lips. The slight squeeze of your hand does little to soothe his fears, but for the moment, he lets himself bask in the fact that you're okay. It's more than he can hope for given the circumstances.

"You don't know the half of what I would do for you." He murmurs, slowly bringing your hand up to his lips. He plants a light kiss on your knuckles. "You're my top priority, infinitely."

"Infinitely?" You try to mask your chuckle, but he hears you anyway. "Two weeks ago you said I was a top priority, yet eternally."

"Forgive me, my love, for thinking you're the most important thing in the entire goddamn universe?" He smirks, rolling his eyes playfully as a scoff bubbles from his lips. He gives you a lopsided smile, bringing your hand to his cheek to nuzzle his face into it. He shuts his eyes and relishes the feeling of you against his skin. "You're top priority every single day and that's not going to change, you know. But when I say eternally…" His eyes open, looking back up at you. "I mean eternally. Until I die, or if you give out on me, and I no longer have you, the one thing keeping me from jumping into space without a suit. You're my top priority, no matter what. It's you above everything and everyone!"

"Well…I-I wouldn't go as far as to say above everyone, surely there are others that trump me-"

Ty pulls back slightly, a small frown playing at his features as he cocks his head to the side to look at you more directly.

"No." He asserts, his voice firm. "No. Don't even go there. You're top prior, my love. You are above all of them. You'll always be above everyone. I wouldn't be where I am today without you by my side. I wouldn't still be breathing if it weren't for you. You're the–the center of the Milky Way, my love. You are a…" He pauses, searching your eyes for any doubt, glitching when his brain farted.

"A black hole?" You quipp.

"Hush." He teases, grinning down at you. He playfully jabs your side with his index finger, watching a small smile grace your features. Seeing that smile makes his heart leap into his throat. He'll never get used to it. "You cheeky thing." He mutters, grabbing your other free hand. He takes it in his, intertwining the other hand that was there. He brings both your hands up to his lips again and gently kisses your knuckles. "You're more than a black hole. You're a supernova that's going to explode everyone's galaxy." He pauses, his smile never leaving his lips. "Including mine."

You flush under his warm eyes. You bite down on your bottom lip, your demeanor evolving into one of timidness. He had got you with that one, that was for sure. And he seemed to notice the fault in your composure. His smirk only grew.

"Really? That's the one that gets you?" He coos, grinning at the lovely flush that was spreading to your cheeks. It wasn't often that he was able to render you into a speechless blushing mess but when he could, my god did it fill him with an incredible amount of pride and love for you. His fingers gently squeeze your knuckles. "I'll remember this for next time, my love. Duly noted." He remarks slyly.

"It was good…" You laugh.

"It was pretty good, huh?" He teases lightly, his thumbs slowly starting to rub soothing circles against your knuckles. He chuckles, bringing his gaze up to your eyes again. "You don't make it too hard, my love. Just mentioning anything with a celestial connection and you're blushing like a school-aged teen, practically eating right out of the palms of my hands."

"It's the accent." You shrug. Blaming his pronunciation of his words and delivery. Mostly the delivery.

"Oh, now you're just grasping at straws, sweetheart." He quips again, grinning at you. "Now, I admit, my accent might be one of the finer things about me, but it's not exactly the primary reason you get all flushed." He hums, letting his thumbs press a little harder into your knuckles.

“You’re right, it’s all your hotness that’s making me swoon.” You feign a sigh.

"Yeah right, you big fibber." He calls you out, but there's a hint of a smirk that forms on his face. "You're swooning because you know who I belong to." He replies, his voice taking on a lower, gruff tone. "You swoon because you know I'm yours." His voice is just above a whisper, his eyes darkening. "Only yours, sweetheart."

You avert your gaze down to your lap. A faint smile displayed on your lips. But it slowly fades as Tyler tilts his head to meet your eyes. "W-what did they tell you?"

Tyler's face quickly morphs from playful to apprehensive. His thumbs had stopped their motion and now rested against your knuckles as he looked into your eyes.

"Let's not. Let's not talk about that right now." He says carefully, his dark eyes narrowing.

"Tyler, I can see it practically eating at you. What is it this time? What are they sending you to do?"

Tyler's jaw clenches, his eyes closing briefly as he lets out a soft sigh. He had been praying to anyone that you weren't going to mention his work for Weyland-Yutani. He should have known better. You were never the type to simply ignore the big elephant in the room.

His lips form into a thin line as he averts his gaze away from you. His mind is in an internal debate, contemplating whether to be honest with you or not. Tyler bites at the inside of his cheek, hesitating before he decides to speak.

"There's something new." He pauses, trying to organize his words. He looks at your face, noticing the growing sadness in your expression. His eyes soften as a wave of sadness mirrors over his own features. "They…" He pauses again, his jaw clenching slightly. "They told me it would be a retrieval."

"A retrieval for what?"

"Some sort of substance called Plagiarus Praepotens?" 

"Plagiarus Praepotens? What's that?"

"They didn't tell me much just that it was extracted from a xenomorph and combined with human DNA to perfect humans, whatever that means."

"A xenomorph...what the hell is that?"

"From what I’ve been told. I don't want to know."

"Tyler maybe this one isn't such a good idea. I mean from the sounds of it, it doesn't feel safe."

"I don't have a choice, my love." He mumbles, his head lowering in shame and guilt, the reality of the situation hitting him like a truck. He releases your hand from his grip and turns his whole body away from you. It pains him to feel weak but the truth is that is exactly what he is in the grand scheme of things. "I have my orders so I have to do this. I'll get them what they need, but not only that…" He inhales deeply. "I found a way to get us to Yvaga."

"Yvaga…Tyler what are you talking about?"

For the first time since you've known him, he looked desperate. In the years you'd been together, you've never once seen a crack in his confidence. He was always the strong and steady shoulder for you to lean on, but right now, in this very moment, that facade he usually wore was cracking. The facade he'd tried so hard to keep up for you was crumbling.

"I-" He pauses, swallowing thickly. "I have a plan."

"Ty…" You warned.

His eyes flicker around your face, his fingers twitching against his pants. His features shifting from desperate, to guilty and then finally to pleading. "There's cryostasis chambers on that spacecraft." He murmurs, licking his lips nervously. "I-I just need you to trust me."

"You're gonna go rogue…"

"No. No, I'm-" He stops himself short and he sighs deeply. "I-" He hesitates. His eyes are locked on your face and a wave of guilt washes over him as he sees the look in your eyes. "Damnit." He mumbled under his breath, his shoulders slumping.

He leans forward from where he sat on your bed, bringing his head close to yours. He tilts his head down and presses his forehead against your shoulder, his hands coming up to rest on either side of your waist. "Sweetheart…" He mutters, his voice hoarse. "I'll tell you everything. I swear. But, you have to trust me." He pleaded. He could feel your body stiffen against him, whether it was from the pain of his grip or from what he was asking of you, he didn't know. "I just want to get you out of here."

"Yvaga was always just a pipedream for us…It always felt so out of reach." You shake your head.

"It's not, my love." He whispers against your shoulder. He tightens his grip on your body ever so slightly. "It's not out of reach. I know it's not. I-I just need you to hold on for a bit longer. Can you do that, for me?" He murmurs, his head slowly pulling away from your shoulder, so he can look you in the eyes again. His expression had changed to one of almost desperation. "I meant every would I said about getting you out of here and I intend to keep my word."

"I know you do Tyler, but what are the risks huh? What's the catch in all this?"

"I-" He cuts himself off short, his eyes flickering away from your face for a moment. He knew he couldn't lie to you, you wouldn't accept that. But the truth wasn't going to make the situation any better. Instead, he slowly drags his hand up from your side to wrap a piece of your hair around his finger. He gently rubbed the strands between his fingers. He took a deep shaky breath before he was able to answer you. "Honestly..." He began, his voice low. "I need Andy to be able to access the entryways onto the ship."

"Andy? But that would mean you'd need to talk to Rain about him."

He nods his head slowly. "Yeah…I-" He pauses, hesitating. "I-I'll have to talk to Rain." He replies, his tone sounding reluctant. He didn't want to get anyone else involved in the situation, especially since he was essentially putting them on the line in the process. But what other choice did he have?

"Y-you're not gonna tell her about all this are you?" Your voice grows shaky.

He shakes his head slowly, his brow furrowing. "No." He murmurs in response. There was no way in hell he was going to drag anyone else into this. Putting you at risk was the last thing he wanted to do, but there were no other options. "It's you above everything and everyone else."

[byelacey]

so you want to keep a great pyrenees as a pet

recently a little comic i made did big numbers on here and i keep seeing tags like "gotta get me a great pyrenees" and like AWESOME there are SO MANY of these big boys looking for adoption, especially in the US but i feel like as a person who got a pyr as their first dog (because i'm insane) there are some things you need to know - they BARK. all day and all night. they've been bred for barking. this is not bond spyxfamily borfing this is LOUD and CONSTANT. barking is their job. working pyrs protect their livestock by looking intimidating, bluff charging and barking very loud. they're also often naturally nocturnal, which means a lot of their barking is done at night. if you're the type who doesn't enjoy loud noises for most hours of the day, reconsider keeping a great pyr as a pet - they are LARGE. they are large when they are hormonal, idiot puppies. their bodies grow VERY FAST but their brain takes 2-3 years to catch up and during that time you've got a 75-150lb puppy on your hands. everything is more expensive because your dog is big, too. beds, accessories, food, vet stuff, medication, grooming, *everything is more expensive* for big dogs. get yourself some pet insurance. you'll thank yourself later. - they're sensitive creatures who form strong bonds with their flock. if you're keeping one as a pet: congratulations, you're now this dog's flock. separation anxiety is huge. they're meant to be guarding their flock, and if you go off without them, they're gonna worry about you. they also don't take well to you shouting at them for doing their job (barking very loud at wayward leaves). i'm serious. they're so so sensitive. - they're extremely smart and independent, which reads as stubbornness to us. they think they know better because they've been bred to work on their own, without humans around to tell them what to do. they're gonna pick up commands really fast, but they do shit on their own time. and recall? forget it. "an off-leash pyr is a dissa-pyr", as the saying goes. this is not a dog you'll be able to have off-leash, as he's gonna do and go wherever he damn well pleases - THAT BEING SAID as they are a large breed dog (extra large, actually), training is extremely important. small untrained dogs can get away with a lot more than a large dog. some people are afraid of dogs. you need to teach your pyr early and often what isn't a threat to you so they aren't causing trouble with their guardian shenanigans - they shed. they drool. they're large, double-coated dogs with big jowls. i have cleaned drool off of every surface of my house, including the ceiling. they blow their coat twice a year and also shed undercoat all of the time. i brush mac once a week during regular season and every other day when he's blowing his coat so that his coat stays healthy and doesn't become impacted or matted. - EDIT: someone just tagged this with a great point as well. you need a lot of space for a pyr! a fenced backyard, at least, with a fence tall enough they can't easily climb over (6ft preferably). they aren't high energy dogs but they do get a lot out of being able to roam around and patrol their yard. they are not apartment dogs (unless you walk them a lot, and you hate your neighbours) admittedly my fenced backyard isn't huge, but mac gets around 2-2.5 hours of walking per day, split between a morning & afternoon walk. they need the mental stimulation of walking around and sniffing stuff! if i haven't scared you off yet, owning a great pyr as a pet is a difficult, but rewarding experience. try and find a breed-specific shelter, there are many, because unfortunately these dogs are overbred in the US (either on purpose or by accident), and they're also often surrendered as puppies because people didn't know what they were getting into. a shelter will also take your lifestyle into consideration when pairing you up with a dog, because they want to find permanent homes for these guys.

anyway i think that's it. and if you have a pyr i am wishing you a very (show me your dog)

[avengersfantasies]

Strong (Bucky x Reader)

Summary: You aren't feeling good one day, and Bucky finds out what you've been keeping from him.

What to expect: mental health issues

Let me know if you want to be added to a taglist here!

Taglist: @winterslove1917 @natashasilverfox @gojoismysensei @mavrellover91

You lay in bed – having told your boyfriend that you were feeling sick and didn’t feel up to doing anything. Bucky knew you better than that though…you’d been together long enough to read each other like open books.

            “Alright, my love,” he spoke softly – rubbing your back as you pulled the blankets up to your nose.

You’d never know it, but he was growing suspicious as to the reason behind your illness. He had seen this before, so he went to look for a possible cause. You fell back asleep in the large, plush bed the two of you shared – the nausea taking over your body. You felt like you were going to throw up…like your entire being was being drowned. Your eyes felt like they wanted to close and stay closed, but you could still hear Bucky looking around the apartment. He looked everywhere for something to make you feel better after not having any luck in finding the cause. He headed for the medicine cabinet in your shared bathroom – hoping there would be something in there to help with the nausea and fatigue. When he opened it up, however, his eyes landed on the familiar orange bottles. Your medicine for your mental health sat there, and to his dismay, the bottles were nearly full. He looked at each of the bottles – calculating how long ago they were filled and how many should be in there if you had been taking them correctly.

Twenty days ago, he told himself as he took out the pills from each bottle – counting them. Theoretically, if you had been taking them correctly, you should have a total of 10 left from your 30 day supply. When he counted them, though, he sighed when he realized you had 28 left in each bottle. Thinking about what to say, Bucky slowly left the bathroom and headed back into the bedroom.

“Hey, babe?” he called out – causing you to open your eyes. You didn’t look at him – looking straight ahead at the mirror that hung above the dresser. Your lack of communication didn’t stop him though. He sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed your back. “Can we talk about this?” he asked softly – holding out the nearly-full medicine bottles for you to see. You still didn’t respond. “Please?”

            “What about them?” you finally spoke up – your voice weak and shaky.

“Baby…why haven’t you been taking them?” he asked with a voice filled with concerned. You shrugged in response. “You know you need to take them, right?”

“I shouldn’t have to,” you weakly argued. “Why should I have to take medication every day?”

“Because, baby…you need them so that you feel better.”

“But why?” you scoffed. “Why do I need medication to feel better?”

He reached for your hand and held it gently. “I know it’s not fair,” his voice was soft and caring. “But sometimes, some people need a little help…it’s not always something that can be solved by talking to someone…sometimes, it’s chemical.” The fact that you had been on medication for years was always something you viewed as wrong. When you were first put on it, your parents tried to talk you out of it…saying that you were overreacting and didn’t need medicine to help you…all you needed to do was get your shit together and work hard. Hearing that for years from them somehow affected the way you viewed yourself, and you couldn’t help but think that everyone else thought the same thing. “Baby,” Bucky continued, “taking medication doesn’t mean you're bad or subhuman.”

“You don’t have to take it for your PTSD,” you argued.

He stroked your cheek gently. “We have different brain chemical makeups…talking out my thoughts helps me more than medication…and medication seems to help you more than talking.”

“You don’t think it makes me weak?” your eyes were filling with tears as you looked up at the handsome soldier.

“I think the fight you fight every single day makes you one of the strongest people in the world.”

[davidtennantgenderenvy]

A Letter From An Ex-Conservative To Her Parents On November 6th, 2024

Mom and Dad,

     When Trump got shot this summer, I remember you saying that this was all because the Left wouldn’t stop calling him Hitler. How we needed to “turn down the temperature” and stop “inciting violence.” I don’t think you understand that when people compare Trump to Hitler, it is not, in fact, just because they do not like him, but because he uses Hitlerian rhetoric on a regular basis. Obsessing over an imagined past version of a country that never truly existed. Saying that (insert frequently dehumanized other) is “poisoning the blood of the nation.” Before Hitler began the Final Solution against Jews, what did he say he planned to do? Deport them, until he realized it was too costly. I don’t think you understand that Hitler did not start putting people in death camps the second he came to power. Trump is currently in about the same position Hitler was in in the 1930s. Is it going to take him putting undocumented people in gas chambers for you to believe me? 

     You might think that I’ve only come to my current conclusions about Trump because of the lies of “the mainstream media”, which, as I’ve said numerous times, I don’t even watch. But it’s actually been largely due to the things Trump himself has said. I understand that you don’t like Biden calling Trump’s voters “garbage”, but the language Trump uses to describe his political opponents is at least as disturbing. He’s disparaged fallen soldiers as “suckers and losers.” He’s proudly boasted about being the president who got Roe V Wade appealed, regardless of the estimated thousands of women who are dying because the medical treatments they need fall too close to the legal definition of abortion. A massive portion of his campaign advertisements are explicitly anti-trans. He thinks Palestinians should be moved off their land because it would make “great beachfront property.” He regularly speaks positively of and rubs elbows with the most disturbing members of the alt-right, such as Laura Loomer and Nick Fuentes. He’s a bully. (you voted for a bully. Remember when I was bullied?) And if Kamala’s plans are incoherent, which admittedly some of them are, Trump’s are even more so. He doesn't have a plan. America is just another failed business to him. 

     I don’t think you’re bad people. But I do think your party is bad. This is far more than just one guy. My journey has been less one of changing any of my beliefs than realizing that the Republican Party never represented those beliefs to begin with. It is the party of the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer, of stripping the oppressed of their means to succeed and then asking them to “pull themselves up by the bootstraps.” Your precious Reagan was a racist. There’s recorded evidence. His policies were racist. He enabled denial and misinformation about AIDS until it was too little too late and millions had died. And you proudly display his book on your shelf, right next to Rush Limbaugh and Pat fucking Buchanan. Your son is a gay man. How could you. 

     Being a conservative, whether you think so or not, is inherently about preserving the status quo, about making sure things stay the way they are, that the people who are down stay down, and crushing anyone who tries to make things better. I didn’t vote Democrat because I am one. I voted Democrat because it would be easier under one such administration to push this country in the direction of equity and liberty. Project 2025 was intended for the next conservative administration. Trump may deny involvement, but the foreword of one of the sections was written by none other than his own vice president. And with the House, Senate and Supreme Court all red now, it’s going to be easier than ever for him to pass any portions of it he likes. 

     I’m writing you this letter so that you know that if a nationwide abortion ban gets put in place, if schools and parents who support their children’s gender affirming care (which does NOT mean surgery) start getting investigated (which some already are), if Israel continues bombing Gaza until there’s nothing left, if billionaires continue to take up larger and larger percentages of the nation’s wealth, if immigrants who’ve lived and worked in this country for years start getting deported in droves because they couldn’t get the right paperwork, that it’s on you and people like you, even as you continue deny the very real damage done in Trump’s first presidency, the awful, awful people who felt empowered because of him. I tried for a while this summer to see if I could change your minds, but all it did was screw up my mental health and make me realize something truly painful: that you aren’t the people I thought you were. Not when your reaction to police shooting students the same age as your own daughter with rubber bullets because they don’t want their university to be complicit in a genocide is “well, what are they supposed to do? They’re the police.” Not when a man can say immigrants are poisoning the blood of the nation and you still vote for him. 

     It breaks my heart that you and so many people I love have been so deeply conditioned to vote against their own best interests, to think that a government that actually helps its people without actively harming others is a childish, fanciful expectation. I think I truly believed to the depths of my soul until last night that this wouldn���t happen. That we were better than this. That we wouldn’t reelect someone who objectively ran a terrible campaign, who conducts himself with boorishness and indignity, who genuinely, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, represents everything that made me scream "Fuck America" out Laura’s car window this summer. But why should I be surprised America likes fascists? My own parents certainly seem to.

     But I hope you’re happy with your lower grocery prices, I guess. Which we probably won’t be getting anyway, because that’s not actually what Trump’s policies are going to do. 

     You sold out my friends, and entire marginalized communities, for cheaper groceries. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you for that.

Lauren

[mamabearcatfanart]

"Inuyasha, I'm cold."

"I'm not fuckin' surprised", he snarled, trying to move her closer to his body. Any closer and she'd actually be sitting in his lap, which normally he'd be feeling some mighty strong feelings about, but right now his strong feelings weren't the happy kind. He'd already removed her sodden shoes and socks, but before she could get changed into some drier clothes they needed the fire going.

Shippo and Kirara were doing their best with damp kindling and an even damper cave, while Sango sorted through Kagome's backpack for dry clothes and medical supplies. Thankfully, no one else had been injured during their battle against the boar youkai.

Just Kagome.

For once, Miroku was keeping his trap shut, understanding that now was not the time for teasing. After one glare from Inuyasha as he had pulled the shivering Kagome close to his body, he had busied himself by walking further down into the cave to make sure it contained no more unwanted surprises with pointed teeth and a large appetite for shikon shards. Thank goodness for small mercies.

"You're angry at me, aren't you", Kagome whispered. It didn't sound like a question.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" he muttered, rubbing her back gently as she shivered against him.

"Oh, I don't know. The growling maybe. Your shoulders feel like rocks you're so tense."

Inuyasha rolled his eyes.

"I'm not angry at you, I'm angry near you. There's a difference."

"It doesn't feel like a difference", she said in a small voice. "Why won't look at me?"

Inuyasha pointedly kept his face turned aside and she sighed, tugging on his sleeve.

"Hey. I didn't know that bit of hill was going to give way."

That earned another growl. He almost looked at her, then turned his face away again.

"Why do you think I put you and Shippou over near the trees Kagome! You're the one who's meant to be smart with all that reading you do. Even you should have been able to tell it was unstable with all this rain!"

She tugged on his sleeve again.

"I couldn't get a good shot from where I was, so I moved to a better spot. And I took him out too! Before I fell I mean. But I helped! And we got another shikon shard!"

"For fuck's sake Kagome, you could of been really hurt!"

"But I wasn't."

"You've taken half the skin off your face! And your leg and your arm!"

"It'll grow back. Sango'll help bandage it up and it'll be good as new in a week or two - you won't even be able to tell it was there at all. And because I ended up in the river, it's washed all the dirt away, see? I'm just a bit cold, but I'll warm up. Inuyasha? Please? I don't know why you're so upset."

He growled again; she could see him biting the inside of his cheek as he stared out into the heavy rain outside the cave.

"Inuyasha, look at me. Please?"

Grudgingly he turned his head. She could see the concern in his eyes, the worry, the self blame, even though none of her injuries were remotely his fault. She tried to smile, but had another attack of the shivers.

He sighed, rubbing her back again. He tucked a long dripping lock of her hair behind her ear.

"You look like a sad wet cat."

"I kinda feel like one", she smiled, and then hissed, because smiling actually hurt quite a lot right now.

"A sad wet stupid cat with mush for brains", he sighed again, using his palm to turn her head gently so her uninjured cheek rested on his chest. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Help keep me warm?" she shivered, wrapping her cold arms tight around his chest.

He rested his cheek on the top of her head, and she smiled, even though it hurt, and then giggled. She could feel his grumbles rumbling against her body as he pressed her even tighter against him.

"I guess I can do that. But you're grounded."

"What? How do you even know what that means?"

"I know plenty. And you're grounded. No more stupid heroics from you, or I'm taking away your keeping warm privileges."

"You wouldn't!"

"Watch me."

[copperbadge]

Hi, Sam! You mentioned being bad at/nor liking driving, and I was wondering if you'd done much driving since starting medication, and if you've noticed any difference? I'm also a bad, nervous driver, and I'm pretty sure I have ADHD, but I've heard meds can help with the driving part.

Not that I recall -- I've driven at least once since starting medication but it was at night in semi-rural Pennsylvania and I don't think that counts, since no amount of Adderall is going to help me see the road when there are no streetlights. :D

I do have a zipcar membership for emergencies, but it's expensive to use and driving in urban Chicago is a nightmare regardless of medication, so even if medication makes it better I don't think I'd be able to tell. If I were to get behind the wheel for the specific purpose of seeing how it is driving while medicated, I'd probably go deliberately to a suburb and get a car there, so that I wasn't doing urban/highway driving after not having driven for years.

I mean, even if I were to be a better driver, I don't think I'd want to, and I for sure don't want to be a more relaxed one because I don't think most people have internalized just how insanely dangerous cars are. Your ability to kill someone when behind the wheel of a car is absolutely immediate and almost entirely out of your control. I don't mind riding in cars, like it doesn't make me nervous to be a passenger, but I've been in enough accidents (on foot, as a passenger, as a driver -- none my fault but many unavoidable) that I want nothing to do with piloting one. They are large, fast murder machines.

There are a couple of sounds that live rent-free in my head; two of them are a) the sound I made going up onto the hood of a car when I was hit in college and b) the sound a twelve-year-old made running into the passenger door of a car I was driving because he tried to cross a street while looking backwards at his friends.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Century Egg Macaque is very confused and bitey

referencing this Century Egg au post (Macaque bit a bunch of gods to protect Wukong when the king's health crashed after the Egg's delivery).

Macaque was at Wukong's bedside, newborn Xiaotian wrapped snuggly in his scarf asleep, when the doors to the former Attendant's bedroom opened.

The black-furred monkey's fur is immediately standing on end like a frightened cat - he rarely would miss the sounds of approaching footsteps, but his mind must be far too occupied to notice.

The appearance of the Queen Mother herself does little to calm Macaque's nerves, especially upon seeing the large monkey-claw-shaped gashes on her forearms.

At the sight of his guilt and possibly fear, the Queen lets out a sighing laugh.

Queen Mother: "Do not worry Liu'er Mihou. I know what it is like to worry so much for someone that you lash out at all that separates you. You but up a fair fight, even with so much magic sedative in your bloodstream. " Macaque, quietly: "M'sorry about the arm ... it just when... when Wukong's eyes closed and he lost his strength I felt...?" Queen Mother, knowing: "Hopeless." Macaque: "Yeah." Queen Mother: (*kneels to get a better look at the baby*) Queen Mother: "They're truly beautiful. To think such a tiny thing could bring the entire Court of Heaven to a standstill amazes me." Macaque: "We're calling them Xiaotian. Wukong picked it." Queen Mother, her voice fond: "It's a fine name. One that all of big Heaven and the Realms beyond will know soon enough." Macaque, nervous: "What do you mean?" Queen Mother: "You trial was successful in a way. King Yama has agreed to acquit your unlawful resurrection in light of the circumstances. Preparations are being made to charge the White Bone Spirit with conspiracy to commit treason." Macaque: "But there's a catch isn't there?" Queen Mother, nods: "You will be required to face her in a secodary trial, and protect yourself against her own defence." Macaque, shuddering: "Ugh..." Xiaotian: (*grumpy squeak! at the sudden movement*) Macaque, quickly checking the baby: "Sorry bud." (*kisses face*) Xiaotian: (*satisfied grumble*) Macaque, eye locked on the baby's face: "If... if it means they and Wukong stay safe from her, I'll do it." Queen Mother: "I knew you would. I must warn you though... Erlang awaits a rematch." Macaque, surprised: "You're joking me..." Queen Mother, amused smile: "It is true! In your fury to protect your mate, you gave him quite the injury. I've never seen him with such bruises!" Macaque: (*smiling proudly to himself*)

Erlang has like a huge bruise covering his face, and his eye is swollen shut for weeks after the Egg's arrival. Word quickly spreads (via Nezha being annoyed that Macaque "practically ignored him" during the frenzy) about the general's injury, and celestials are shocked to learn that it was cause by no other than the Great Sage's mate! And by accident no less! Erlang is taciturn about the matter, though that could be because his lip has swollen over too.

Macaque gets challenged to a lot of duels over the coming weeks - most he ignores or shadow-portal's away. This is where he learns that his silly Brotherhood-era nickname is apparently his legal title in Heaven. He cringes each time an official unironically refers to him as "Great Sage Informing Wind", Tieshan giving him a cheeky sibling-esque smile all the while.

The day that Wukong finally awakes from his medical coma; Macaque had been asleep at his side, clealry run down by the (still awake) Xiaotian excitedly running his tiny hands through either parent's fur.

Wukong makes a joyous gasp at the sight of his baby - healthy and here. It takes a moment for Macaque to stir awake before he realises that his King and Mate (!!!) has finally awoken! Kisses and hugs abound before Macaque thinks to alert anyone else of Wukong's return to the conscious world.

Bonus: Tang, Pigsy, Sandy, and the Ao-Longs have been running around the Celestial Realm as often as possible during this time (tho Tang worried at first if the time dilation myth was true) and the whole realm is super confused but just accepting that the Monkey King's pilgrim brothers are just Here now.

[bochedogmeat]

So. Ive been kind of turning this au around in my head like a rotisserie chicken bc i obviously want to keep as many details as possible consistent with canon, but also that is kind of impossible given the massive leaps in technology between mouthwashing’s distant future and. Well. 1917. So what happens is that i figure their platoon is being court-martial’d for something (maybe cowardice/refusal to follow orders? For getting stuck up in the mountain bunker?) and Jimmy suggests blowing up the bunker theyre in so that they would have solid evidence that it wasnt their fault. Curly, still reeling, agrees, not thinking it would go anywhere, but Jimmy nabs the explosives from swansea and goes through with it anyways.

…more ramblings below v

Jimmy, in this au, was aware that Anya is trans before they were even stationed together, and becomes aware that Curly may be an invert (which, historically, means that he is not only queer, but adopts the ‘woman’s role’. This phenomena of inverts being treated more harshly than their more ‘manly’ counterparts is supported by history! Fun fact) while on the Ypres frontline. He is resentful towards Curly because how can a supposed invert, someone whom he has been taught is less than half of the man Jimmy himself is, be such a well-loved leader and well-rounded man? Why is Jimmy so drawn to him? Why does he still respect and even love this ‘man’? What does that say about his own masculinity?

The cognitive dissonance is too much for his weak, spiteful, hateful little pea brain and he feels like he is losing what little control he had over his own masculinity and understanding of the social world to begin with. This leads him to assault anya and, added with the stress of a court-martial, blow the bunker up.

I figure they give Curly what little chloroform they have in the medical kit to keep him asleep until they run out/it starts making him too sick and are forced to start giving him soothing syrup and gin in large doses. Anya and Curly had something of a mutual understanding/budding friendship before the incident, both having had a sense about the other, which makes Curly’s subsequent inaction suck all the more. He understands Anya better than anyone else there, so why didnt he do anything? Anya doesn’t understand, and she never gets to ask. She still takes extreme care in tending his wounds though, and will often go to his bedside and tell him stories/play cards with him (and by that i mean play cards by herself and narrate her strat)

I also figure the whole thing happens over a matter of days as opposed to months because. You know. 1917. But anyways. If anyone wants to talk about this w me/add on to it, any musings are more than welcome!! I love queer and ww1 history :) see tags for more tidbits❤️

[writer-and-thrasher]

I have a lot of thoughts about 9-1-1 this week (long post fyi), mostly about pacing. This ep was a bit of a train wreck, in that regard. They basically shoved multiple plot lines that should’ve taken 2-3 episodes minimum (but probably could’ve been a lot longer) into 1 episode, which really messed with me. How long was all of this, timeline-wise?

I wish Bobby had been on Hot Shots longer and given us more parody and meta content. They used that gimmick exactly one time, and it was great! But where’s the rest of it?

I really wanted to see more of the Wilson-Han household, specifically how hard that must be. While Hen and Chim are best friends (and likely have similar views on things like parenting), I would’ve wanted to see how their disagreements manifest. What happens if the Hans do something the Wilsons wouldn’t like? I love their friendship, but sometimes friendship is about having hard conversations and trusting the other person to have your best interests at heart. Plus, it would’ve been nice to see a disagreement where no one is in the wrong — where everyone is just doing their best, and it hurts and sucks anyway. But maybe that’s what fanfic is for.

The whole “spy Buck” thing lasted all of five minutes. I’m glad he leaned on Bobby, but like — it would’ve been interesting to see a singular episode where his proximity to Gerrard became a talking point. I’ve also talked about how white, queer men (like Buck) do still have proximity to power, and it would’ve been cool to see how Buck pushes (either immediately or eventually) against Gerrard’s power to stand explicitly with his friends. I especially think this because 9-1-1 clearly has a lot of cultural clout and a large fan base — it could help educate white, queer men on their privilege and how to use that effectively for other marginalized people.

I liked Eddie in this episode, though I wish he’d used his medical training more in other seasons to keep it in our heads that he’s good at this. It seemed like a pretty big leap for a moment, especially since Hen was hesitant to jump in, and she’s done some wild shit. But the fact that he’s processed how much he misses Chris, to me, is a huge stepping stone to developing a better relationship with him — one that’s a little more honest and a lot less with the view of Chris as a little kid. He’s a teenage boy, and that sometimes means seeing that his dad isn’t perfect.

I’m also glad Athena and Bobby have a house plan figured out, after the airplane disaster, I truly didn’t care about the mundanity of looking for a house.

Gonna make a separate post about the Gerrard of it all, but… a wildly paced episode lol

[rowiewritesstuff]

Got any thoughts on what yandere EarthSpark Megatron might be like?

TFE Yandere Megatron - The Protective Yandere

Dottie and you had been friends for a long time. You both fought side by side in the war, and you took a bullet for her. You recovered, but it took a long time to get better. 

Ever since then, Megatron has had a lot of respect for you. You often hung out with Dottie, who in turn hung out with you. You were like a member of the family at this point, almost living at their house. Mo and Robbie saw you as a sort of ‘cool relative’ that they could always trust with their secrets. While you were really chill, you still scolded them and took care of them when Dottie and Alex couldn’t.

When they decided to move to Witwicky, you were invited to go with them. You, of course, agreed. They were all you had left now. 

When you all moved there together, Dottie insisted that you live with them. Eventually you caved because Alex promised that he’d cook you your favorite food. Mo and Robbie were happy that at least you got to come with them.

Dottie and you went out to put cones up near where an accident had occurred the previous night when Optimus, Elita-one, and Megatron showed up. You were down on the side of the road picking up some pieces of broken taillight, so no one noticed you at first. 

When you came up the hill, Megatron had to fight the flustered blush that was rising to his cheeks. Dottie knew Megatron well and quietly teased him. 

“U-Uh, (Y/N)! It’s been a while!” He stumbled over his words. 

“Yeah, it has. How have y’all been?”

Megatron’s mind went blank as you smiled at him. When you didn’t answer, Optimus chimed in. “We’ve been good. We actually came to Witwicky because there’s a new enemy threatening this town. Prisoners are going missing.” 

Your eyes furrowed in confusion. “Abducting prisoners? Maybe a Decepticon?” 

Optimus sighs. “The drones didn’t find anything, we’ll have to search the towns ourselves!” 

That’s how you ended up in Elita’s alt-mode, racing into the town. You never expected your day to go like this. 

Because of the incidents in the town, you and Megatron worked together often. This unfortunately put a large target on your back. One day when you were driving home from work, you noticed a stealth-bomber sneaking up behind you. 

“Shit!” You fumbled around trying to grab your phone when Soundwave transformed on top of your car. You slammed around like a pinball and hit your head, making you pass out. 

When Soundwave attacked Megatron and the others, he had you in his grasp. You were unconscious with dried blood trailing down your face. “Wait! They have (Y/N)!” Megatron stopped the others from attacking.

“Soundwave, release them at once!” Optimus’ battle mask went on. 

Soundwave mocking dangles you between two digits. Your body swung by your arm. Megatron takes a threatening step forward, “Put. Them. Down.”

Soundwave shakes his head. “So, this is why you became a traitor? You care for this…insect?” Soundwave’s visor glows a brighter red. “You can have them.” He throws you as far as he can into the air, raising a blaster to shoot you. 

Without a second thought, Megatron dashes forward. He puts his fusion cannon right to Soundwave’s spark chamber, and in seconds his ex-third in command was gone. Energon tainted his servo as he reached up and caught you. 

Optimus and Elita-One were frozen in shock. Elita’s hand dropped to her blaster in slight fear. Optimus took a hesitant step forward. “Megatron. We need to get them medical attention.”

Megatron could only nod as he transformed, you strapped into the front of his alt-mode. He quickly made his way to the nearest hospital, not fully trusting G.H.O.S.T. to take care of you. 

Optimus and Elita followed closely behind. “Optimus, do you think…I mean he-”

“He did what he had to do. He was going to kill (Y/N).” Optimus had a hard time believing his own words. He wanted to believe his friend didn’t have a choice. He just had to remind himself of just how dastardly Soundwave actually was.

While you were in with the doctors, Megatron and Optimus talked. “I didn’t mean to- I didn’t want to.” He looked at the dried energon on his hand with sadness. “I couldn’t let anything happen to them. I wouldn’t know what I’d do with myself if they got hurt- or worse- because I have a target on my back.” 

Optimus looked at his friend and sized him up. The true sadness on his face- he knew that he regretted killing Soundwave. He placed a gentle hand on Megatron’s shoulder. “It’s okay, old friend. I’ll talk to G.H.O.S.T.” 

When he talked to G.H.O.S.T., they were instantly wary. They demanded that Megatron face some sort of evaluation. While Optimus was fighting G.H.O.S.T. on the matter, Megatron was with you. He was watching over you when you woke up- it was a little weird to stand by your window, but he made it work.

“M-megatron?” Your voice croaked out.

“I’m here, love. I’m so sorry this happened to you.” He reached his arm in and held your hand gently between two digits. “I will never allow something like this to happen again.”

The doctor walked in and was shocked to see Megatron standing there- but he managed to keep his professionalism. “O-oh. Well, you seem overall fine other than a concussion. You’re alright to go home, just take it easy. Someone already took care of your discharge papers. Have a good day.”

You looked confused, but realized G.H.O.S.T. probably took care of everything. Megatron gently scooped you out of the bed and transformed with you. 

“Uh, Megs? Where are we going?” 

“Shh, you’ll see soon enough.”

You both flew for a long time- probably two hours. After about fifteen minutes you fell into a peaceful slumber. You woke up in a comfortable bed. You were confused because you didn’t recognize your surroundings. You walked around what turned out to be a cabin, wondering if this was a G.H.O.S.T. facility. 

You walked outside to see where you were only to discover miles of forest- and Megatron. 

“Megatron, where are we?” 

He averted his eyes to the side. “Somewhere safe.”

“What does that even mean? Where’s Dottie? The kids?”

Megatron sighed sadly as he gently picked you up. “We can go visit them together in a few months, okay? You need to lay low for a while until you’re off the Decepticon’s radar.”

“Who are you to decide that for me?” You growled out. “Take me home, now.”

Megatron placed you on the ground. “You are home. I managed to buy this cabin discreetly, so no one knows where you are. It’s for your own safety- I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.” 

“Megs, I understand that I got hurt. I'll be okay- I can defend mys-”

“You can’t! You were almost killed. You will stay here- when I can trust you, we can go visit everyone. Don’t try to get away- I’ll know. There’s also a hundred miles of forest around this cabin- so stay put. It’s for your own good.” Megatron leaned down and kissed your head. “I’ll be back with supplies soon. Stay inside, it’ll be cold tonight.”

With that, Megatron flew off. When he went back to G.H.O.S.T., he said you’d been captured by a group of Decepticons. While everyone looked for the ones who took you, they never suspected it was actually him.

[stripedstarsblueflags]

for the hurt/comfort dialogue game - 6 and 21 for sargebon :)

MY FIRST PROMPT!! im so excited!

may have gotten a little carried away with this just a little. no beta we die like fourth of july at silverstone. TW for mental health

“Did you miss me?”/“You’re a terrible liar.”

When Alex emerges onto the roof deck of the hotel, he almost expects Logan to not be there.

Not that he thinks Logan would lie to him. But when Logan had finally picked up the phone after a day of missed calls and one-sided texts, the conversation hadn’t started well.

”What,” he’d snapped on the second ring. “This better be good. If you call me one more time I’m blocking you.”

Alex had been taken aback, flinching in place like a chastised kid. Logan’s tone was defensive, nearly a snarl; all the menace was aimed at Alex, but Alex had still felt more worry than fear. He’d seen Logan once since the crash, on his way back from medical. And then nothing.

”You didn’t answer me,” he’d said after a delayed moment. “I was worried about you. I didn’t see you since the cr– since practice. I was freaking out, okay?”

Logan a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “You saw me get out of the car. I got cleared by medical in, like, two minutes. There are probably ninety people who could’ve told you I was fine.”

And Alex had bitten his lip against the sudden urge to yell into the phone, because that wasn’t fair. His pent-up frustration and fear and distress wasn’t Logan’s fault.

Instead he’d looked around his empty hotel room, paranoia coiling around his spine, and lowered his voice: “James barely even talked to you. Why would I trust anyone there if you were actually fine or not? The way they didn’t let me see you?”

”Wait, when?”

”All day! Jon was practically yelling at me!” Alex did shout then. He didn’t mean to, but the words tumbled out of his mouth with heavy and unrelenting force, like a weight he could barely lift. He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes, willing Logan not to hang up. “I just wanted to see,” Alex tries, then his voice was too quiet. He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to see for myself if you were okay because, Logan… it looked bad. Really bad.”

Logan took a deep breath and let it out slowly, static crackling through the speaker. “It wasn’t that bad,” he mumbles. “I walked it off.”

”Don’t try that with me,” Alex said. “I can hear it in your voice.”

”You don’t hear shit,” Logan retorted, but there was no heat behind his voice at all. He just sounded tired, and in pain.

Alex ignored the weak deflection. “Where are you right now?” he asked. “I know it’s late, but–”

”I’m on the roof,” Logan had told him, and that in and of itself was surprising. That Logan would answer him so quickly, and without any snark or rebuttal. That he’d answer at all. Alex thinks of the endless weeks of summer break, the endless silence between them.

”Okay,” he said. “Wait a minute, I just need to get something warmer on.”

The roof deck is large, with sweeping canopies and dead firepits, so many couches and chairs that in the dark he feels like he’s in a cushioned maze. Still, it’s almost completely empty, so it doesn’t take long to find Logan.

Alex joins him at the railing, panes of glass separating them from the dizzying drop below. He takes one look over the side and his stomach rolls; the glittering city lights and streaking cars blur together in a smear of vertigo. He white-knuckles the railing.

Logan had been impossible to read when Alex first joined him, but as Alex stumbles he reaches out and puts a steadying hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Woah there,” he says. “You can’t go over the edge, you’ve got a race tomorrow.”

His words sound like they should hold something sharp– resentment, jealousy, some bitter and unforgiving edge. But instead his eyes are smiling and he’s laughing around his words. The glow from the city underneath paints one half of his face in gentle gold, the rest of it purple from the nighttime shadows. His hair is wild from the wind, whipping around his eyes. He takes his hand off Alex’s shoulder to push his bangs away from his face.

Alex is wishing he’d worn something with a hood. The wind stings his cheeks and makes his eyes water. He shuffles forward, curling his shoulders in, and manages to put his hands back on the railing without collapsing. “Wind’s still crazy,” he mutters.

”You didn’t have to come up here.”

”No, no,” Alex backtracks, all but stuttering. “I wanted to be here.” He hears the desperation in his own voice, the eagerness to contradict, and cringes. Does he always have to sound so obvious?

Logan turns to face him. He has to lift one hand to the right side of his face to keep his hair back, and now his entire face is in shadow. Deep blue shadows hide his eyes. His lips look almost purple in the darkness. It makes Alex want to be closer just to see his face.

”What,” Logan begins, and Alex doesn’t see but hears the slant in his smile. The cocky way he tilts his head back, the way he lets his laughter slip into his voice. “You missed me that bad, huh?”

Alex is unexpectedly flustered. He looks away without meaning to, but that means he turns his eyes right into the gusting wind, and the stinging is sharp and immediate. “Ah,” he grimaces. “I can’t see.”

”You wouldn’t last a day in Miami.”

Alex is trying to protest that he’s lasted a day before, more than a day, admittedly without any storm activity on race weekends but his hastily formatted argument falls to pieces when Logan steps back to take off his hoodie.

His shirt rides up as he does it. Alex absolutely does not stare.

Logan tosses it at him. “Put this on,” he says. “I can’t talk to you while you’re losing a fight with the elements.”

Alex grumbles his protests but puts the hoodie on anyway. It’s warm with Logan’s body heat, a tender relief from the cold. It feels like being embraced. He sighs contentedly.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Logan taunts. “I’m gonna want that back.”

Alex pulls the hood up, and the sounds of the city at night fade away. The shrill rushing of the wind quiets and the clearest sound in the air is Logan’s voice.

“’ll give it back,” he promises. “Are you sure you’re okay, though?��

Logan tilts his head down and crosses his wrists over the bar. “I’m cleared to race tomorrow.”

”That doesn’t answer my question.”

”You’re not gonna let this go until I tell you, are you?”

“You know me too well.”

Logan scoffs, then closes his eyes like he’s given up. “There’s some bruising on my ribs and my shoulder that’ll take some time to heal. And I did something to my wrist getting out, but I can still steer, I’ll just ice it after the race.” He looks down at his right hand and turns it over, fingers curling slowly into a fist, then releasing. “That’s all.”

Alex waits.

“That’s all,” Logan insists. “I saw the footage. It looked worse than it was.”

“It looked pretty bad,” Alex whispers, and he doesn’t mean for it to come out as a whisper– a broken, unstable hush– but his voice won’t resolve. “I was scared.”

”I’m sorry.”

”Don’t be sorry.” Alex lays his hand over Logan’s outstretched wrist, and it shocks both of them.

Logan stares at Alex’s hand, lips parted, eyes still in shadow. Alex holds his breath, waiting to be shaken off, pushed, slapped. But Logan only stares.

Alex takes his other hand and slides it carefully under Logan’s, stabilizing the wrist. Alex has the sleeves of Logan’s hoodie halfway over his palms, but even through the fabric he can feel how cold Logan is. He steps closer.

“You didn’t get out of the car,” Alex says.

Logan tries to draw his hand away then, rolling his shoulders, but Alex doesn’t let him. He holds Logan’s hand tenderly but firmly, lacing their fingers together. Logan watches him do it without resistance, his face impossible to read, but his head is tilted just slightly in Alex’s direction.

”There was fire.”

”I got out.”

“Not when you should’ve. George told me. You just sat there. In the middle of the track. Burning…”

Logan squeezes his eyes shut, clenches and unclenches his jaw. “I didn’t know.”

”Logan, you’re a terrible liar.”

Logan lifts his head and looks steadily at the horizon, swallowing hard. As he turns back to the light, Alex can see the shine in his eyes. “You know,” he murmurs to the city. “Even before I hit the grass I knew, I just knew I was gonna lose it.” He pulls his free hand in and taps his fingers restlessly against the railing. “And then it all just–” he raises that arm and flings his hand out, miming a shunt. “It all just happened so quickly, I remember hitting the wall the first time and the car was in the air and I just thought, ‘This is it.’ This is the end.”

Alex tries to speak, but suddenly he can’t breathe. This is the end. He feels like razor blades are sinking into his throat, the concept whirlpooling in his head like the vertigo. He tries to close his eyes, it the burning afterglow of the city flashes behind his eyelids like fire. He holds Logan’s hand a bit tighter, needing to reassure himself that he’s actually there.

Logan winces, and Alex eases up a little. Logan doesn’t pull away.

“And then it wasn’t,” Logan continues. He pushes out the sentence in a stuttering breath, and the broken smile on his face clearly means he’s trying to laugh, but the sound is jolted and unnatural and he gives up. “And I just sat there like, No, this can’t be right. Like maybe I just had to wait for it.”

“No,” Alex chokes out. He looks at Logan through his tears, willing the other man to turn, to look at him, to give him the mercy of eye contact. He stares helplessly, but all he sees is Logan’s blurred profile. “Logan…”

Logan ducks his head again. “It wasn’t,” he mumbles. “I mean it wasn’t, like, over for me. I told you. I was fine.”

”If you’re waiting in a track when your car is on fire, you’re not fine,” Alex counters fiercely. It’s dark, but his tears are obvious in his voice, the way the words come out strangled an painful. He doesn’t care. “It wouldn’t just be the end for you. You know that, right?”

“What do you mean?”

Alex pulls his hand away so he can grab onto his hair, pulling in frustration. “You think we’d be fine?” he shouts. “You think everyone else would just move on after a fire like that? You think you can just leave?”

Logan finally turns to him then, but Alex isn’t done.

“We were scared. Fucking hell, you nearly gave George a heart attack. We thought something was wrong. We thought you weren’t gonna make it out!”

“But I did. It’s fine.”

“IT’S NOT FINE!”

Logan reaches out with his good hand and gingerly pulls Alex’s fingers out of his hair. Alex’s hands are shaking; Logan laces their fingers together, drapes their hands back over the railing. “Hey,” he whispers. “Calm down, okay? You sound like you care more than I do.”

“I think I do,” Alex spits out.

“Alex…”

“You can’t fucking leave.” It sounds like a demand, it sounds like a plea. And in a way it is; he’s begging Logan to understand, to show some regret, to somehow prove the danger is really over. “Please, Logan… it would kill me.”

Logan says nothing, just stares back. The wind ruffles his hair. He licks his lips.

”You can’t leave,” Alex insists. He’s repeating himself. He’s a broken record, but he can’t pull any more coherent thought together. The only thing that exists in his mind is the paralyzing urgency to make Logan understand. “Promise me that won’t happen again.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “That I won’t crash again?”

“You know what I mean.”

Logan looks down at their joined hands. “I don’t know why you care so much.”

It’s Alex’s turn to roll his eyes, putting as much exasperation in his heavy sigh as possible. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

Logan laughs bitterly. “What? You’re confusing me, man. You say you care, and then you’re yelling at me, you wanted to make sure I’m fine but you don’t believe me when I tell you I am? Like, jesus christ Alex, what do you want from m–”

Alex has heard enough. He steps forward and takes Logan in his arms.

Logan flinches at first, hands raising almost defensively, a shudder racking his body.

Alex is patient. Logan feels so cold and small in his arms; he’s never felt their height difference more. He runs his fingers through Logan’s hair.

Logan folds all at once, dropping his head onto Alex’s shoulder and staggering to the point where he almost topples them both. Alex stabilizes them as Logan grabs him around the ribs, hands crossed over the small of his back, holding too tight like he’s afraid Alex might let go at any moment.

Alex lets Logan hold him, hurt him. Logan’s shaking in his arms, hitching in breath, nearly choking. Alex holds him through it.

“I got you,” he soothes. “I got you. You’re not going anywhere.”

[damiansgoodgirll]

Heyy! Could you do Damian Priest x fem!reader who takes care of him after an injury

Love your work <3

damian priest x reader

different prospective

you always knew that your boyfriend’s job was dangerous, but you always thought in the back of your mind that at least he was being careful, that he had a friend that would look out for him, and it was exactly like that, he had so many friends in the wrestling business that cared for him, but as you knew his job wasn’t very usual and that an injury soon or later would come.

you always thought that later would be best, maybe when he was too old for wrestling, so he would agree to settle down with you and start a family.

he knew you weren’t a wrestling fan, and no matter what he did, you never changed your mind. you weren’t much for violence and even though it was all entertainment you couldn’t stop but worry for him, that’s why you hardly watched his matches. you followed him on tour.

of course he wanted you there because he always said that you were his lucky charm but you wouldn’t attend too many shows also because you were pretty impressionable and he knew our overwhelmed you would get. he preferred to know that you were safe in your hotel room, instead of being in a large and loud crowd.

while he was fighting against sami and kevin he injured his shoulder. he didn’t say nothing at first, thinking that he could fight again, but he felt the pain becoming unbearable.

rhea and finn noticed it too and when the match was over they helped him getting backstage.

“how you’re gonna tell her?” rhea teased him and even if he wanted to laugh, he couldn’t, because he knew how worried you could get, especially if damian was injured.

“don’t know…don’t wanna know” he said while he was sat in the medical bay.

you knew that the match was over, and it was kind of weird that damian hadn’t texted you yet.

you were too lost in your mind to ear the hotel door opening and seeing rhea helping damian sitting on the bed.

“what the! what happened?” you almost shouted when you saw he couldn’t walk straight and had to sit down. you also saw the bandage on his shoulder and you almost had an heart attack.

“it’s nothing i assure you” he smiled at you kicking his shoes off, while he got more comfortable on the bed.

“yes, he will be fine” rhea added but your eyes looked like could kill so she saw that as an opportunity to leave you two alone.

you were too focused on his arm and leg that you didn’t even noticed the scratches on his face.

“dam you’re face…” your hand gently touched his cheek “you’re bleeding” you said.

“it’s nothing i promise you…i’m fine” he kept smiling. you were the one who was supposed to take care of him and instead he was the one keeping you calm.

“let me get something for your face…” you whispered.

you moved to the bathroom and got some alcohol to clean his wounds. you gently did that and even if you were scared as hell you wanted to show him that you were there for him.

“come here…” you softly smiled at him, making more space on the bed so he could lay next to you “ does your shoulder hurt?”

“not much…it did before but now it’s better”

“and your leg?” you asked him again.

“a little when i walk” he said.

“well luckily for you tomorrow we can stay in bed all day so i can take care of you” you snuggled closer to him and he let his head rest on your shoulder.

“take care as…” he teased.

“nope, no sex, you’re injured” you said.

“but”

“no but, you’re injured so you’re gonna stay in bed while eating and watching some shows and movies until we have to take off again” you said looking at him.

“fine by me…as long as you’re here” he kissed your cheek.

“dam…”

“mh?”

“why wrestling? you know you could have been a professor or a doctor or whatever normal jobs that’s out here, why the heck did you choose wrestling?” you asked laughing.

he was laughing too, he knew you weren’t serious and the tone you used confirmed him that “i guess i had a different prospective, i mean i wasn’t a normal kid so why would i choose a normal job?”

“fair…” you said smiling “just don’t die the next time, otherwise i’ll kill you”

“i promise you” he kissed your cheek again and before you could both lay in bed you gently helped him changed him from those jeans to a pair of shorts and helped him remove his t-shirt as you knew he loved sleeping shirtless.

you brushed his hair and let it go loose over his back and you helped him back in bed.

“do you need anything? water? painkillers?” you asked him.

“just you…” he opened his not injured arm for you to snuggle close to him and he let you rest your head on his chest as you both fell asleep in each other’s arms.

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Shades of Red - Chapter II | 4k

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three ao3 | masterlist ✦ Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x civilian f! reader ✦ Summary: The sole survivor of a terrorist attack that killed over a hundred. The soldier responsible for saving her. He wants to help you, but his own trauma make him withdraw when he wants to get closer and intoxicate when he wants to remedy. He kisses your scars and hopes you’ll runaway. He wants you to run away. But you won’t. ✦ TW: NSFW, explicit, f!reader, little to none f! physical appearence descriptions, canon typical violence, mentions of abuse and trauma/PTSD, bit of gore, mental illness mentions, slowburn;

✦ Chapter TW: slightly obsessive behavior hehe.., just a hint yet; mentions of trauma and violence

A/N: Dropping chapter two because I'm excited to start the real deal of this story! Also, chapter three might take a little while to come out cause I'm working on a request I received; hope y'all enjoy! If anyone's interested in getting into a tagslist just lemme know!

Chapter 02 - Survivor

The hospital room you were in was pleasantly cozy. A large bed in the center, a considerably large television right in front of it and the big window to the left, whose blinds were closed for the time being. There were a few empty chairs next to the bed - you were sure that at some point in the last hours, someone was sitting there, as there was a small vase of flowers resting on one of the chairs. Although you could not see the world out there, you knew it was raining by the sound of the raindrops hitting the window; the sound echoed through your ears in an almost hypnotic intonation as you dissociated.

Your daydreaming was abruptly cut off when someone opened the door to your room. A lady, a nurse, whose name tag said Doris. You shook your head and quickly looked in her direction, your eyes no longer as confusing as before, but equally expressive.

“You’re awake, finally.” She pointed, as she approached her bed with some caution. “You’ve been sleeping for at least fifteen hours since you came here. I was starting to worry,” she said, sounding somewhat caring.

You raised your eyebrows briefly.

“Fifteen hours? Fuck my life…” You whispered, and her face turned into a little grimace in response.

“Language, lady.” she joked, as her hands caringly wrapped your nearest arm and began to remove the tapes that covered your venous access. “How are you feeling?” She asked in a murmur. “I don’t expect you to say ‘well,’ for God’s sake.” she pleaded.

“Well, I’m not feeling any pain at least.” you said. For the first time in those twenty-four hours in which you were silent, your mouth bitter in the metallic taste of blood and the horrible feeling of a cake in your throat, you began to speak. There was still a lot you wish you could say, but felt like you might never get to do it. You could never take the weight you felt on your back, the unsaid words, the pain that grew restless in your mind.

“That 's good. Means the medication is working; you hurt yourself pretty bad let me say,” she commented, still trying to sound as caring as possible. The care that emanated from her made you feel a little better, you had to admit. “but you will be fine. Can you move your leg?” She finally asked, finishing by skillfully exchanging your access without causing further pain.

You looked into your legs, and felt that bitter taste invading your mouth again. Fuck. You didn’t stop to think about it: that wound on your leg, previously partially buried by concrete, was well, very extensive. 

After breathing deeply, you concentrated your energies into the hurt leg. Your face shrugged in a strenuous expression, you were giving your best; your leg began to tremble and the rest of your body too, by the effort. It was as if that concrete block was still there, preventing its movement, causing you to suffer in stuckness.

“It’s okay, you can stop now.” she said, but you were negative and shaken your head with all the strength you could, small tears forming on your red face as you tried to move.

“No. I can do it.” you grumbled between your teeths and closed your eyes.

“Dear, no-” she tried to say, but nothing seemed to be able to change your mind right now.

A little move was all you got, and then the relief. Your breath accelerated, exasperated and relieved by victory, but still concerned by the fact that all you could achieve was almost equivalent to a spasm. Doris sighed.

“Why can’t I move straight?” You asked, your eyes ran into hers with some despair and impatience. "Will I lose my leg’s movements? Will I need to amputate?” You asked anxiously.

“God, girl. No!” She assured you, striking with her head and placing a new tape on your arm. Doris then walked to the end of your bed. “No one will amputate anything. Just see, well,” she started, and pulled the blankets that covered you from the waist down. 

Your expression relaxed, perplexed as you looked at the scarring on your leg. Almost like a crack, in your thigh — it started near your hip, and went up to almost half your thigh in a diagonal angle. It was a red, ugly wound, a crack in your now imperfected shell. It was sewn with the help of so many stitches that you could barely count. “you hit a nerve. It didn’t break, of course, or could barely move this leg, but it hurt and badly. It will take some time for you to recover from it. But you will.” she said.

“It’s horrible,” you whispered, your eyebrows scratched in a sad expression. “I’m horrible.”

Doris looked at you, to the tears that formed in your tired eyes. Her lips were compressed in a line.

“Oh, dear... You’d never be awful, don’t say that,” she whispered. “A scar won’t make you any less beautiful. Got it? It’s your survival mark.” she said, trying to encourage you a little.

You wanted to curse her. You felt angry at the kindness she offered you, for trying to make everything seem less heavy than it really was, but it didn’t seem fair. You knew that this should be some reaction of your mind poisoned by the depression you felt now. 

It would not be fair to discount your frustrations on the only person who had offered you some comfort so far, would it?

No.

Your face formed a smile so weak that maybe it only made her more worried than she was already, but that was all you could do for now. Doris covered you again, fitting the blankets around your body in a very comfortable way.

“I’ll bring your lunch. You’ll need to eat enough to get some energy for your recovery now.” she commented quietly by changing the IV from the support over you. Your eyes followed the whole process attentively.

Although you were grateful for the treatment you were receiving from the hospital, there was only one thing surrounding your mind. The Ghost.

The man in the skull mask who had saved your life. He was nowhere to be seen, you knew that you might possibly never see him again, but the idea that you didn’t even have time to thank him correctly tormented your mind. He was in your dreams while you were unconscious, standing there looking at you, glaring at you with those dark eyes of his. The curiosity of what was hidden behind the mask was hitting you hard this time, the need to see something human in him; the way his eyes seemed to present him as nothing but a machine. He seemed unbeatable, but when he took you in his arms, gently as he could be, like he was holding porcelain - you could only see a human being. And you wanted to see it, you craved for confirmation, that there was a human beneath the mask and that this human was just the way you pictured him to be. Or perhaps the complete opposite. You liked surprises, and fairly - you just wanted to see him.

“Where are the soldiers? You know, those who took me out of the building.” You curiously asked, cleaning your throat. The nurse's eyes wandered around the room in search of the small window that turned out to the hallway, she could not see anyone there, a confirmation that they might have been there before but not anymore at the moment. “I didn’t have time to thank him.” you whispered.

“Ah yes. Of course. Captain Price said he would call you when you were feeling a little better. Do you want me to give  them a call?” Doris asked kindly.

“Yes, please,” you agreed.

━ ⟡ ━

Soap was watching the news on TV in the town hall of the headquarters. His eyes were attentive, his ears well opened; he heard the television reciting for the thirteenth time that day those words that echoed in his mind, "hundred and two dead." The news anchor was saying something about the intelligence’s inability to detect the terrorist threat before the bombing occurred. Massive criticism of the military staff responsible for national security; people were in panic. How would you feel safe after that?

After the 141 left the building back to the headquarters, the British intelligence team searched the ruins of the disaster looking for any indication of association of some terrorist group known to the incident. At first, nothing. Bombers usually leave no traces but a blast of blood and human flesh everywhere.

But then, an agent left the building with a piece of semi-destructed cloth in his hands. It was almost incomprehensible but soon they discovered a symbol in it. And to the most absolute disappointment of all, no soul even recognized the symbol in question. A new terrorist group.

Fuck.

While the population was hiding in fear, the press was rendering a disgrace to society and introducing even more chaos by spreading information that should be confidential. Soap was too distracted with their babbling to even listen to Price and Ghost’s conversation in the background. 

“She will need physiotherapy, and a good time to recover.” said the captain, releasing some smoke from his cigarette into the air. “She apparently suffered a nerve injury.” 

Ghost had his arms crossed, resting on the wall behind himself, facing Price. His eyes were fixed on the ground, as if he was thinking of something.

“I can imagine.” he whispered, with a head nod. “I hope it goes well. What these guys did there...” he closed his eyes and snorted, seeming nervous.

“Yeah... The press won’t give anyone no peace now. I get nervous just to think.” he grumbled as he threw his cigarette butt into the ashes. Ghost only shook his head negatively, in disapproval; in accordance with the captain’s speech. 

The silence that followed Price’s last words did not last more than five seconds before he spoke again.

“She asked about you.” he said, raising his eyes to Ghost. He was looking back at him this time. It was as if his words had caught his attention now. “Said she wanted to thank you personally.”

“She doesn’t need to. I just did my job.” he argued, pulling his back off  the wall and pulling one of the available chairs around. As he sat down, he grabbed a piece of a disassembled rifle that rested on the table, and went on with his work to clean it.

“I know that, but work sometimes involves accepting a bit of gratitude from other people for what you did for them, Riley. In this situation specifically.” Price raised his eyebrows, and watched the gun as Ghost cleaned it, his concentration quickly diverted from the conversation to the work he was doing. “You should go see her.”

“With all due respect, captain, I think the job of talking to the victims is anyone else's but mine.” he replied almost instantly.

“Maybe, maybe. But she wants to talk to you.” Price insisted.

Ghost released an annoyed, almost annoyed breath. 

“She doesn’t have to thank me. I know she’s grateful,” he tried to argue again, but the captain seemed irreducible for the moment. “Bloody hell, Price, hire a psychologist for once. She needs help, not to talk to me.” he continued, receiving nothing but silence in response.

“She wants you.” Price said, simply, unfazed by his upset behavior.

Ghost immediately stopped what he was doing and left the gun aside, the hand

supported on his knee, once again an uncomfortable breathing leaving his nostrils in a surely irritated mood now.

They would not understand. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you; there would be no reason for it, no. Ghost didn’t want to see you again. He followed the whole moment the ambulance left you in the hospital along with the rest of his crew, was informed of your situation, and like all other soldiers, he was discharged after that.

His job was to rescue the victims who survived the attack. Not to talk to a victim, sketch some sort of feeling – even if it is false. He would need to say something, comfort you, or at least try to look positive. He would have to face the idea that getting in touch with your trauma could remind him some more of himself, could bring back past memories he wanted to bury. There was no good in it, no. He wasn’t a therapist, wasn’t built for it.

Although he wanted to, he couldn’t feel compassion for you. He couldn’t feel sorry – He thought it was an extremely illegitimating, invalid feeling. Affirming that someone was worthy of pity was almost like treating someone like garbage, no; he would rather die than have others pitying him, why would it be different with the people around him? He wasn’t the right person for that.

As if the universe laughed at his face, the moment the conversation between the two became silent and he raised his eyes to the television, the image of the building's debris was replaced by one of the only survivor of the attack; a recent photo you had taken in London, two months ago. You were smiling, you could still do that at that time. The screen displayed your name, while the reporter was now talking about you.

“It’s her; poor girl.” Soap said, turning a little to observe them, and turned up the volume. The news said something about your success in keeping yourself alive: you were treated as a great achievement, called a ‘miracle girl'; they were talking about you as a poor little girl, about how clever you were, in college studying to become a prestigious doctor. Ghost squeezed his jaw, his teeth gritted in a bitter taste inside his mouth. There was no miracle in what happened to you.

You were lucky. You were in the right place, at the right time. 

Two hundred people did not have the same luck.

A hundred and two people, men, women and children, were now dead. You had eternal marks engraved on your skin and soul. A miracle? He felt offended as if he were with himself — as if they were calling him a miracle for having survived all the painful events he had experienced so far.

“How dare they say this kind of thing?” he grumbled lowly. The other two shrugged their heads in denial, in disagreement.

“Fucking vultures.” it was Price’s turn to complain.

━ ⟡ ━

You had turned off the TV the moment you heard your own name. There was no reason you’d want to know, to to hear what they had to say about you. You didn’t want to hear them treat you as a mere victim of an incident, acting as if that disaster was all about you that mattered. You hated the way everything seemed to be reduced to that now: the attack.

The survivor. The only survivor. Your name didn’t matter anymore – you had become a martyr, and everyone treated you with caution, as if you were made of glass, as though it was impossible to get close to you without the risk of breaking it.

Since the silence established itself in the environment when you turned off the TV, all you heard was the static silence floating in the air, sound of little drops that flowed through your veins. Your mind had become vague, your thoughts made room for your imagination, you slowly fell asleep. There was a long time after you felt unconscious - you weren’t sure of how much exactly. Maybe two, maybe three hours. You had asked Doris to open the window before she let you rest alone in your room, and the wind was hitting your skin, still sensitive due to the excess of meds; the subtle cold you were feeling was making you feel alive.

The lights were off, and as soon as it became dark, the lights of the city reflecting through the window were no longer enough to light up the room belongings.

In that intense darkness and in the most absolute silence possible, the ghost that haunted your dreams was standing, tall as always, at the end of your bed. Haunting you. Silent like a snake approaching a possible victim, even his breath seemed to be controlled enough not to make a noise. His eyes, behind the mask, fixed on you; you slept quietly in a heavy sleep that was obviously the result of the strong medicines you were taking. He approached the bed a little, your hand was laying in your body side by the bed. So small.

Drop.

Drop.

The sound of the drops of IV falling through the bag invaded the environment as if it were the sounds of a giant walking. The big night silence had this effect on small sounds – it enlarged them. You heard the sound of the window closing inside your dreams, but that didn’t seem to wake you up. The cold wind no longer hit your skin, and you began to warm up.

How long has passed since the sound of the curtains closed you could not say; but what awakened you knew: it was the sounds of the door opening. You instinctively frightened and adjusted your posture in bed a bit abruptly, until you realized that the man who was entering — now unarmed though still dressed in his combat suit — was him. The Ghost.

He watched you in silence for a few seconds before shaking his head.

“Did I wake you?” He asked, the same serious and rough voice, the loaded British accent, different from your American one. “Forgive me.”

“You’re all right.” was all you could think of answering in the first moments. His eyes looked at you altogether; he was so tall that only his presence there made you feel intimidated, even if that was not his goal. “Don’t you want to sit?”

“I don’t intend to delay myself much.” He responded quickly, getting a little closer to the bed and sitting on one of the chairs next to him just to match your heights a little, imagining it should be uncomfortable for you, bending your neck to look at him standing. “Do you need something?”

“No. I’m fine now,” you whispered, sitting down. “I just wanted to thank you personally. I didn’t have time before, I- I just don’t think I was in good senses for it.” you admitted, holding your hands together on your lap.

“I just did my job.” he nodded, a serious air to his words. Ghost seemed like a man of few words, of few feelings too. His tone was monotone, always serious, seemingly stern sometimes. Made you feel like it was perhaps due to his habit of giving orders; he was a tenant, as Price told you. You knew little about the military hierarchy you had to admit, but the little knowledge was enough for you to know he did give orders. 

“I know, but... What you call ‘job’, to me was saving my life.” you seemed to try to remind him as if it was something obvious. “If I have any way to reward you for that, please tell me.”

Ghost closed his eyes for a moment and stretched his neck, shooking negatively.

“Again, I just did my job. You don’t have to reward me for that.” he said, looking at the flower vase that rested on the headboard table for a moment.

Simon noted that although there were thousands of gifts and tickets on the outside, sent by ordinary citizens in support of your situation - there were no balloons or any indication of a family or friendly gift inside your room. Only those flowers.

They were addressed to Anthony Miller. He assumed it would be your boyfriend.

“You don’t get it, Ghost. It’s not  about needing, it’s just something I want to do. It doesn’t have to be right now, you can tell me in the future if you need a favor or something like that.” 

“I don’t usually need favors.” he assured, snorting at your insistence, but trying to stay as polite and friendly as possible. He didn’t want to end up making you worse, did he? You were already sad enough. 

“Everyone needs favors. I also used to not need many before yesterday’s events.” You admitted, raising your eyebrows quickly and turning your gaze away.

“I didn’t do you a favor. I helped you, those are completely different things.” He shook negatively, irreducibly. “Any other decent soldier would do the same. You owe me nothing.” 

“Yes, but it was you. If it had been someone else then I’d like to thank this person.” you argued, and your stubbornness began to irritate him; he gave in compassion to your state and only sighed deeply.

“That’s all you have to treat with me, miss?” He asked, turning his head a little, and you corrected him; do not call me lady, you murmured, and instructed him to call you by your name.

You watched him in silence for a few seconds, before breathing deeply.

“Actually no. I have a request.” you said, in a whisper, and he shrugged his head as if giving you a positive one. “Can I see the face behind your mask?” You asked curiously.

“Negative.” He answered, almost immediately, without even giving you a chance to try to refute or argue. “I can’t show my face, and if it relieves you if anything, it’s not a nice image to look at,” he continued, rising up.

You were a little desperate for his sudden rising, hoping he would stay a little longer. Of all those people with whom you had talked so far — Price, Doris; he remained the one who seemed to please you into a conversation the most. You wanted to talk to him, because, unlike others, Ghost did not treat you like a porcelain doll.

He was treating you like any other person. 

“No, wait — you think you’re ugly, is that so? I don’t care.” you assured. “I doubt you’re ugly, to be honest.”

“I didn’t say that,” he raised an eyebrow, seeming to have your commentary somewhat amusing. You raised an eyebrow in response and laid your body on the pillows behind you.

“Wouldn’t you open an exception for me?” You asked, and he shook negatively. You closed your eyes, in a frustrated but accepting sigh.

“Well- you get well soon. Hear me, girl?” Ghost gently said, and walked a little further to the door, and stopped in his steps before leaving. He looked at you for a moment. “Are you here alone?”

“Yeah, I am. Why is it?” You asked curiously.

“Because your IV is running out, and without those pain meds, let me tell you...” he raised his eyebrows quickly. “Should I call your boyfriend or a nurse?” He asked, glaring at  you.

“Wait- my boyfriend?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows for a moment, and he remained silent. His hand stood up and pointed to the flowers next to the bed, as if he mentioned that the person who sent them should be your boyfriend. You eyed the flowers and let out a soft laugh.

“Ah, that... No, it’s not from a boyfriend.” You explained.

“Well, I’ll call some nurse then.” he said, his hand leaned on the door knocker and his fingers danced in unison, in a thoughtful expression. He looked at you again. “Stay safe.” he said, before his huge, broad figure disappeared through the door and the long hallway of the hospital leaving you once again lost to your thoughts, and alone.

Your eyes looked at your own hands for a few seconds, and you realized that they were pleasantly warm. You looked out the window, closed.

How strange was the fact that you didn’t remember having closed the window, thought to yourself. 

It could have been Doris. But your intuition said no.