#it's breakdown time lads

[fireheartedpup]

I'm just gonna say it. Almost every time someone posts a pic, all excited because they got to meet their favorite actor, I feel more and more isolated from Baldur's Gate 3 community.

I've tried my best to share factual information about covid. I don't really understand how people are missing it, because it wasn't that hard for me to find. I just follow people who are sharing relevant information, and they're paying attention to the data.

They're still actively tracking what they can, in spite of the fact that major governments have simply stopped supporting research on a virus that is still just as disabling as it was from the start.

And 99% of this community can't even wear a mask.

It wouldn't be that hard to incorporate it. Just add a bandana that's an appropriate color and call it an accessory. It's not the best protection ever, but it's better than nothing.

Dave got covid and no one cares. Oh, people said they hope he'll get well soon, but with covid there's no guarantee that he'll ever get it out of his system at all. It's a latent virus, like mono.

We know that chicken pox eventually morphs into shingles. We have no idea what covid is going to do in the long term. It's surprised the experts from the very beginning, because they haven't encountered anything like it.

Dave was face to face with so many people at that con. He probably passed on the virus to pretty much everyone who met him that day.

Yet there's no talk about safety precautions. There's no talk about providing air purifiers foe meet and greet tables or masking up so that we can prevent this from happening again. He had to miss the awards ceremony, something that's only going to happen once, because he didn't take precautions. And he's damn fortunate if that's the only thing it knocks him out of.

Covid is a direct threat to their careers. It affects the lungs, and can make it hard to breathe. Permanently. This would make voice acting harder. It can give you a persistent cough. This also makes voice acting harder. It can make you so tired on a daily basis that you can't think or even sit up, which means that they won't be able to work at all.

And yet they don't care. There's absolutely no sign of any precautions whatsoever. And fans keep saying, look! I met them!

I share the posts because I'm happy for everyone, but I see people who are passing around a virus like a game of hot potato when i look at those photos.

It's extremely demoralizing. I can't even enjoy the things I love without getting reminded that most of the fandom doesn't care about the health or safety of other fans.

This isn't just fear mongering, this is epidemiology. This is how viruses work. This is how covid works. Ignoring it and pretending everything is fine doesn't make it go away.

[b4kuch1n]

hi it's me. bulletpoints

job has concluded! barring sudden expansion on the project I think that's gonna be it for my work here. six character cards in total! this leads to

wrists are bit fucked. I'll be putting that thang (creen tablet) in da closet again for at least a month while trying to hold as few heavy objects as possible for the time being

why one month deadline? well it's bc I made an artfight account. I'm fucking doing it this year on god I'll kick anyone's ass I'll kick my own ass. I'll post a link to my acc a week or so before the event starts, meanwhile I'll keep updating my roster and cleaning up this cardboard box I arrived at their door in. do u guys have a spare pair of suspenders I have a really funny joke to make

will be doing it on the creen tablet, unless I make enough to get a new graphic tablet that works with SAI2 inbetween. on that note

ink comms should come back sometimes next week babeyy I need to get back into da groove! miss my G pen it feels like I was close to something last time. I wanna get back to it. but also

I'm writing a fic now. tis the season it seems this happened last year too. but I'll try my best to not disappear off the face of the earth for 3 months running again lol I'll do my best to pace myself, since this is gonna be one of the heftier writing things.

sk8 people and another very specific subset of people will be pleased to know it's a sk8 Real Steel AU. if this means nothing to u carry on. have a good day. to the five people still here I'll probably be brainposting abt writing this so don't be surprised if that comes up here and there

circling back a bit I'm currently 120 USD away from the graphic tablet I wanna get, so that'll be what the ink comms are going toward. otherwise if u enjoy my art and have a spare doller to buy the baku a coffee I'd absolutely appreciate ur support! not mandatory but I'll definitely be very thankful! especially bc

I'll probably phase out the redbubble store some time in the future. at the very least I'll probably stop uploading new things on there while looking for alternative. ohh baby they are doing some wild shit and I want off the ride please. please

but yeah. that's the current plan for things. I've accepted that comics happen when they want to, and I have faith they still want to see the sunlight some time this year. meanwhile we keep busy keep training keep recovering! thank u for ur patience. have a good night take this sharp object

[soloisfine]

Just finished episode 4 of the 3rd season of the boys and as an enormous Hughie Campbell stan I find it fucking ironic how he started making the stupidest decisions as soon as he consciously decided to do things Butcher's way.

[artoounit]

me, a humble stateside fauxstralian, watching the uswnt and the matildas both lose their second matches:

[raeathnos]

.

[junewild]

slices of life from this weekend

[cerealmonster15]

I have!!! My first therapist appointment tomorrow morning!!! Before work!!!

[lunapwrites]

.

[cocomere]

Most of this (bar some romantic stuff) is. Pretty much just Blood & Gold discduo.

On one side you have Tommy, the equivalent of a mangy street dog who longs with his entire heart to have someone and something he can protect. He thought he found it with Wilbur and L'manburg-- only to be near-fatally betrayed by his own brother. in Pogtopia

By virtue of concern, kindness, helping Tubbo, and willingness to humble himself before his future protege, Dream earns Tommy's complete and utter devotion. We would wrest the sun from the sky and hold it, burning and deadly, in his arms if it meant Dream would be happy.

He gets referred to as a dog several times. By being seen first as an annoying brat and then as Dream's right-hand man, he's underestimated and sneered at.

He doesn't deny it. He's already devoted his heart to the path that he believes will make his mentor happiest. Dream is smart in so many ways, but he's an idiot with people. He has righteous ideals that sound great on paper, but in the real world...

Well. Tommy decides to become a dog, a sword, a shield, a barricade to make sure those beautiful, shining ideals aren't exposed to the harsh truths of the world.

At the same time, he considers himself a rabbit.

His monster is very right about that. “I’m already scary– scary enough to make you back down.” Dream hums, his smile growing. “On some things. On others…” “On others, you’re just being stubborn. That’s fine; I can be like that, too.” Dream laughs in surprise at the blatant challenge. “You think you’re more stubborn than me, then?” “Obviously.” He doesn’t know what it’s like to need that stubbornness to survive. To be starved and feel the need to deny a part of himself because he believed lies about it being wrong. We do. That’s why we’ll win. Tommy lifts his chin and tells his mentor, “There’s a metaphor or fable or whatever– the dog hunts for its dinner, yeah? But the rabbit is running for its life. You don’t know what it’s like to be a rabbit– or if you did, you’ve forgotten too much about it. I’ve never been a dog. Every step I take is to run, because if I ever stumbled I’d die.” The admin is visibly startled at the tone Tommy takes, composed and almost threatening. It sort of surprises Tommy too. He wonders if the solidified presence of his admin side is giving him a boost in confidence.

Dream has stood at the top of the world. He's been a wildly popular and famous fighter; he's had his friends (imperfect though they might be); he's the admin of a server-- something that Tommy has been learning means so, so much more than he could have ever dreamed of.

Tommy, by contrast, can only claw himself up a little before he's kicked down to the bottom again. Found abandoned and malnourished, then brought to a wildly dysfunctional home and nearly entirely raised by Wilbur. His elder brother was only around 14 to Tommy's 5 or so.

Wilbur is his shining ideal, a person whose approval he chases to the point that he gets killed twice and makes a dangerous deal with the person who killed him.

The life of a rabbit is all he's known. Dream has things and people to fall back on. Tommy only has Tubbo, and kinda-sorta Wilbur (as long as Tommy needing him can be used for his schemes, of course.)

And then, much later...the guard dog slips his leash; the rabbit who played at being a hound pivots; and both sink their teeth into the hand that dared to try and force a collar around his throat.

He claws off the collar of allegiance and hero worship that he wore entirely willingly.

Then, in Sanctuary, you have a different but similar starting point for Aster.

He is a mangy dog, yes. But he is one who has been hit and kicked and hurt in more ways that could be named. His every freedom was restricted with an unwilling leash.

When he turns on the hand that held it, he knows the consequences will be deadly.

That's the point.

And then a miracle, in the form of the T3. Aster is snatched from the cusp of death and brought back so he can be treated.

Despite a lifetime of pain and abuse, he finds himself enamored with the Was-Taken family. Theo is a shining ideal, a pinnacle that, if beaten, would prove that Aster really is strong.

And, of course, there's Lee.

A six-ish year old who sometimes knows things he shouldn't, and at other times doesn't know things he should. While he's a Dream, he's...harmless. All he really wants is to apply a growing assortment of bandaids (magical, he believes, in the way they draw smiles from people who have them on) to him and occasionally show him fun things.

Aster gets other little tokens of affection, too. Flower crowns, and freshly-baked cookies, and drawings, and smiles as radiant as the sun.

So, with time (and with Daz's involvement), Aster slips a new collar around his throat.

He becomes a guard dog for the safest six year old in the cosmos. He trains other dogs to stand at his side for the same purpose. He works with someone he kinda hates to ensure that none of them ever need to attack.

But if all else fails...the Swords and Shields can and will mobilize to protect Achilles Reed Was-Taken from whatever threat was stupid enough to turn its gaze towards him.

collection of posts for a very specific dynamic

[fairysylveon]

by the way to the anon that's been sitting in my inbox for a little while with the ja/ckothy prompt, I'm trying to get to it, I just can't figure out how to properly execute it 😭 sorry if I never finish it, I'm not the strongest writer 😔💔

[mayjeffneverstopyou]

.

[comrademango]

Time-sensitive!

Abdulrahman @3bdulra7manosama is a medical student from Gaza who managed to evacuate to Egypt in May before the border closed, but he did so without his family, in order to achieve his dreams and help his people.

[Verification: #4 in this post by gaza-evacuation-funds]

At a time where we keep hearing news of the atrocities inflicted upon health professionals by the IOF, it is incredible that young people like Abdulrahman are not deterred from their dreams of serving their people. And he has the opportunity to continue pursuing this dream, but to do so, he needs out help.

He aims to raise €5900 for the international student fees at Alexandria University (yearly $4000 fee + various processing fees). Documents and details of his acceptance are in this post (same post as the one linked in par. 1) and a breakdown of the other fees he has to pay in this post.

Deadline for this is on the 30th of November. As of the time of writing, the GFM has raised just €2,562 (long-term goal of €30k), with only 2 donations in the past 24 hours. A further €3308 is needed so that Abdulrahman can enroll this incoming academic year.

Please donate and/or share. Do not let this lad's dreams be stalled for longer than they already have been.

tags for reach, tysm

@roadimusprime @nogender-onlystars @heydreamchild @butchmagicalboi @heliopixels

@a-shade-of-blue @neptunerings @lesbianmaxevans @brutaliakhoa @thatsonehellofabird

@imjustheretotrytohelp @batricity @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @paparoach @feluka

@chexcastro @anneemay @mesetacadre @forevergulag @tamamita

@determinate-negation @notallmensheviks @thedigitalbard @gabajoofs @phenakistoskope

@feralparsnip @thesummersucks @moonrver @amethyinst @ilynpilled

@disinfobot @tweedfrog @unrealcities @captainrayzizuniverse @pannaginip

@afc-agitprop @carebearcody @thewingedwolf @autisticmudkip @pitbolshevik

@dykesbat @komsomolka @mangocheesecakes @girlinafairytale @buttercuparry

@anarchangel666 @akajustmerry @jeemar @youholdthewater @meshugenist

[smutstationchoochoo]

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room. 

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

  Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?”  His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

 You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

 His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?  

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment.  It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.  

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up.  Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

[evilminji]

Ya'll remember Ace? Bat-hound?

No WAY Cujo became a Ghost and He did not.

Is he a little lost? Maybe. This is not his beautiful home. This is not his beautiful, maladjusted, Bat Family. Who are you people!? Where IS he!? This place is FAR to cheerful and green to be Gotham!

But he is Bat-Hound. A PROFESSIONAL. A HERO. He can handle this. He just has to track his humans down... through... whatever this is. If Krypto can fly, bless his mostly empty, hyperactive head, then so could he! It can't be THAT har-*Thwonk!*

.....no one saw that.

But what's this? A helpful young pup? Cujo you say. Ah, he too, was once a gaurd dog. Cujo, lad, he seems to be lost. Could you...? You WILL! Fantastic. But wait? You're worried about your Young Human?

*Bat Concern Rising* *Doggy eye squint*

WHY?

*cujo spills the frankly horrifying beans about Danny's home life*

.........ha ha, NOPE! We can be having THAT! He's coming too! Bruce LOVES young humans! Especially sassy ones. He'll adopt him in no time! You grab the older one's, I'll grab the baby. Then we can head home, yes? You'll love gotham! Plenty of scoundrels to chase!

Cut to the Bat family. Damian is training Titus in the yard. Rare sun-ish day. It's a cook out. The Kent's are over. When?

Titus and the Supers both perk up. You hear that? Somethings about to-

*reality RIPS* *Ace the Bat Hound, dead for over a decade, jumps through... THE SIZE OF A HORSE. He is holding a struggling small preteen girl in his mouth* *Splat*

He dropped her. Eeeeeeew! She is loudly protesting. There is a SECOND dog. Green. Two more teens, clearly related to the first. Dumped on Bruce's lawn.

Ace looks proud of himself. Shrinks to normal size and pads over. Plops down in front of Bruce like he'd never left, tail wagging. Still in costume. He's glowing.

The burgers burn on the grill. No one can bring themselves to notice or care. Damian is elated. Krypto is fly wrestling is bestest buddy. Bruce is having a nervous breakdown over his dead dog.

Clark is calling their co-workers and trying to STOP the nervous break down.

Lois is just feeding the strage kids the dogs brought. Asking some casual "I'm totally not an investigative reporter" type questions. Who wants chips? Have a towel.

Ace? Is a Good Boy. 🐶

@hypewinter @hdgnj @nerdpoe @ailithnight

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Is This a Tragedy?

You're an actor and you finally got your big role in a hit TV show. Unfortunately your character only made it to Season 2 before they killed you off. This is how I imagine the lads men react to watching that scene [Requested by: Anon]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

calm cool and collected on the outside; whole time he's really having an internal breakdown

grips your hand a little tighter in his as the scene progresses

“are you dying? is this a tragedy?”

is very aware that it’s just a show, but can’t stop his heart from pounding at the thought of losing you

rubs his eyes to keep himself from tearing up

stares at you after the episode ends “What?” “The thought of losing you has always terrified me; watching you perform that scene does not help” “it’s my job Zayne besides im right here”

finds himself staring at you more often just trying to commit every feature of yours to memory

never willingly watches that episode again

skips over that part every time or just turns the show off “You still can’t watch it?” “No”

praises you for the phenomenal performance although he claims it was a little too realistic

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

is great at slipping in and out of character so he was the one helping you with your acting skills

sits up straight when he realizes what's happening “is this the scene you've been keeping secret?”

falls out immediately in your lap

bawling his eyes out goes as far to curl up in your lap

would be so proud of not only you, but himself as well for helping you perfect your craft

“Do I get credit as the acting coach?” “Yes would you like a reward?” “You know I do”

Although he’s proud of you he can’t bring himself to watch the episode again also doesn't continue watching the show in general "they killed off my favorite character how can I continue watching it now?"

keeps pushing you to work on crying on command so if you need to cry for your next roll it’s even better

acted out the scene with you at home for fun once and had a mental breakdown

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

Fell asleep in the middle of the show and missed it

“just watch it when you get a chance” “no replay it”

immediately turns the show off in the middle of the scene

“im not watching this” “Xav…” “No”

drills you with questions about why you didn’t tell him you were dying in that episode

“I can’t watch that don’t make me watch it” "You're being a little dramatic don't you think?"

pouts, pouts, and pouts some more

won’t watch it no matter how much you beg

although he never finished watching the whole scene he holds your hand tighter now these days

asks for a warning next time so he can prepare himself …… to fast forward

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

watches quietly giving away nothing

“You even shed a few tears for your own scene?” teases you for crying at your own death scene “it looks different after the editing okay!”

won't admit it, but one time was enough

“it made you sad didn’t it?” “Well I don’t take pleasure in watching you die onscreen sweetie” “im alive though” “Let's keep it that way”

weasels his way out of watching the scene again

his voice slightly wavers whenever you bring it up

avoids eye contact when you tease him about it

held you tighter at night for at least a month

Bonus: the twins bawled their eyes out and tackled you to the ground with a bone crushing hug

[lilyarchived]

behind closed doors [simon "ghost" riley]

a/n: URGH this idea literally came from a silly twitter picture, PLEASE SEND ASKS YOU CAN SEE HOW DESPERATE I AM FOR IDEAS!! Also thank you for the love on my first post, you guys are awesome!

warnings: gn! reader, reader has a breakdown, jealousy, cursing, angst (to fluff), 0.7k words.

summary: you overheard a conversation that included you, and it wasn't a positive talk.

"Ghost, please. leave me alone." you whimper as you walk away from your lieutenant just following behind you. “Not until you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.” he replies in that same old gruff voice since the day you met. 

You were wandering through the base, having done all the tasks Price had assigned ya. Hearing a familiar deep voice in one of the rooms, you were about to enter but a flash of hesitation hit you once you heard your name. “[mumbled] and what [scrambled] about [scrambled] [Y/N]?” muttered soap, his voice an unserious tone. You gulp, wondering if the context was negative or positive. “What about them?” your heart drops, did he really think nothing of you? Of course not, you were overthinking, you assure yourself this was just ghost being ghost. “I don’t mean to pry ya, lad. Don’t you and [mumbled] have something going on?” your smile reappears after soap’s suspicion. You were about to burst in, smiling, before hearing ghost’s voice once more. “What? No. There was never ‘anything’ between us.”

 Oh. Tears blur your vision before hearing soap say “Ah. So you’re pretty serious about this one you’ve been talking to, huh?” You run away before your heart shatters even more.

“Don’t bullshit me Simon. I heard you in there with Johnny.” You finally turn around once you’re out in the training field, only this time it was empty. You’ve never seen it this empty. What a strange sight. You bring your hands up to your head, fuzzying your hair as you scoff and fold your arms, waiting for ghost to respond. He just looks at you with those same deadpanned eyes, only this time it was laced with a confused look. “What?” he voices in a hushed manner.

 You could only fall to the rough ground as you broke down in an out-of-breath manner. Hearing Simon's footstep’s rummage through and leveling with you to hold you in his arms, his grasp tight as he hushes your cries.

“[Y/N], did you get those files i asked yo-” he barely got to finish his sentence before you dropped them at his hands and began to make your way out. “Gotta go, I'll see you later, Kyle.” you utter, quickly shutting the door behind you. “What’s up with them?” Simon asked Kyle, eyes wide with how the normally-clingy [Y/N] was now being avoidant. “You cannot be that fucking stupid, LT.” Kyle remarked. “What?” ghost asked, voice slightly raised now. Gaz scoffs, “You shit talked them to Soap, you think they wouldn’t find out?” he added. “I never said anythi- fuck. I wasn’t-” Kyle just raised an eyebrow, letting his lieutenant explain himself. “I was telling Johnny how much i like them.” Kyle drops his pen whilst smirking, clearly intrigued now. “Go after them, idiot!” he yells, as Simon bolts outside, in search of you.

And now here you were, in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. ‘How pathetic.’ you think. “Do I mean nothing to you? All those nights, those- stupid breaks I spent with you, getting to know you, nothing?” Simon’s heart aches as he hears your broken voice, feeling immense guilt creep up. “[Y/N], I was telling Johnny how I wanted to be with you.” your sobs quiet down, trying to process what he just said. “There’s no one else?” you whisper, silent cries slipping.

“Really? And what about that gyal you were talking to, Sarah? still want [Y/N]?” – “I don’t mean to pry ya, lad. Don’t you and Sarah have something going on?”

He was denying ever having ‘something’ with a different girl. It all seems foolishly funny now. You laugh through your tear stained cheeks as you punch Ghost on the chest playfully. "i hate you." your voice softer than before, if that were even possible. “It’s you, it’s always been you.” he explained, in that same old gruff voice since the day you met. Only this time, it held more emotion than ever.