#john brown did nothing wrong

[babaloo-2424]

[victusinveritas]

In news of what the actual fuck...

This piece of shit still draws breath and that's a shame if they are serious. If it is satire it's a bit too...much.

[gleep-glorp-bobcat]

[all-socialism-is-democratic]

[kilowogcore]

Y'ever actually read what went on from bloody Kansas ta' Harper's Ferry? I don't mean the popular legends, I mean actual history. Lemme just say, John Brown ends up lookin' really heroic, an' the US government ends up lookin' pretty awful. He weren't the best tactician, but he did his best against violent 'n treacherous slavers.

(Art sampled from "New Guardians" Vol. 1 #4 by Cary Bates, Joe Staton, Mark Farmer, Carl Gafford, John Costanza, and Andrew Helfer)

[genericfiredemon]

Stolen from discord :3

[wrightinthephoenix]

Just in case you should need to know about Jury Nullification in the coming months/years…

[daffodilhorizon]

i don’t think Daenerys Targaryen was ever intended to be Good because none of the ASOIF characters are, and i think she’s going to be more obviously Bad in book 6 & 7, in the tv show she also does pretty obviously Bad stuff. Both the book and tv show Dany act as white saviors (the tv show does a lot of racist tropes). In the books i think that’s somewhat of the point, she acts like she can save everyone but can’t really, because she is not connected enough to the people she’s saving to actually help the people in ways they materially need instead of the ways that make her feel good or reinforce her ego that she is the One Who Mounts The World. It’s pretty clear that part of her story, like many others in ASOIF, are about childish desires being challenged by the brutalities and complexities of the real world. And as a ancom, i disagree with monarchy in principle. If Dany was Good IMO she would have set up worker’s councils with slaves and taken on a leadership role for morale but given the power back to the underclasses (the slaves most of all). There is absolutely no reason for her to be at the top of that pyramid in Mereen. That belongs to the people now. She should have very little desire to conquer King’s Landing, as the needs of her true people - the ones calling her Mother - should be her primary focus. All Monarchs are Bad. I don’t care who fucked your great great great great grandfather, you do not deserve to control the lives of others. i’ll even go more joker mode, as a vegan she should just let her dragons be free. Chaining them is bad Actually. Training them to kill humans is bad. Riding them is definitely bad. They can think and feel and don’t deserve to be harmed and controlled just because they can also hurt humans. You think a dragon is really gonna kill more humans by themselves or when his human general forces him into battle repeatedly? Drogon has probably killed hundreds of people because Dany trained him to do that by the time he consumes a human child in Meeren. It seems like wild dragons will mostly just eat nonhuman animals by themselves anyway and aren’t like, solely human predators. But either way, I’m in favor of just leaving nonhuman animals in nature alone, even if i disagree with them ethically. [i know the dragons are essentially a metaphor] This is all just pretext to say this: Despite that, I will never get over the discourse that it’s proof she is Violent and Bad because she went John Brown on actual fucking slaveholders who forced mutilated slave children to kill puppies. Using violence in defense of others who are actively being harmed is not the same as violently oppressing people for personal benefit. That’s not to say she’s not bad for other reasons, but killing slavers should be encouraged, actually

[gleep-glorp-bobcat]

Hell yeah

[a-b-riddle]

Part 8

You had planned to spend Sunday morning nursing a hangover with Mere and Tabitha, but after last night’s events you had decided to catch up on organizing the shop while putting your phone on do not disturb.

You had turned your location services off in hopes that for a few hours the world would just leave you the fuck alone.

A few hours was all you were given before a tapping came on the front door of your shop around noon. Peering through the glass window, you spotted him.

He was holding a huge brown paper bag looking at little worse for wear since the last time he showed up. You debated on ignoring him. He had missed the early morning shower otherwise you really would have left him outside.

Bastard.

"John-" When you opened the door, he entered immediately. No doubt guessing you planned to slam the door immediately after telling him to fuck off.

He would have been right.

"Please," you say flatly before closing the door. "Do come in." After last night, after this week, the last thing you wanted to do was see anybody. Him, Johnny, Simon, Kyle, fucking Meredith or Tabitha. Why was it so hard for a person who had very few people in her life, all of which were on the skirts with her, to leave her alone for a single day?

"Well?" You asked when he said nothing. He cleared his throat, as if preparing himself for a long, drawn out speech.

Instead he handed you the bag, the smell hitting you. Warm and welcoming. Price was the only one out of the four who could cook a damn good meal, which made him extra picky when it came to eating out. “Wanted to check in.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, not knowing what to do with them now. “Simon said you had a rough night.”

You scoffed at the understatement. "Yeah," you hated this. You didn't want to tell John about your shitty night with your even shittier friends. "It wasn't the best night out."

"So you know that bloke who got handsy or was he just some random prick?" Your mouth fell open in shock. You didn't expect Simon to be such a fucking gossip. And how fuckin' dare John for thinking he had any right to know who was grabbing your ass and your involvement to that person.

No. Fuck that.

"We're not doing this," you said putting the bag on an empty display table. Fuck. You need to go ahead and unbox that shipment in the back.

"What?" He asked, oblivious as to what he said that was wrong. You push heel of your hands into your eyes, trying to stop the headache that was threatening to form. "Some prick took a feel of ya' and I want to see if-"

"If what?" You cut in. "If I need some comfort at being utterly fucking humiliated at Simon going all caveman in front of everyone and dragging me outside like a child? Or do you want to finish want Simon start with almost killing him!"

"From what I heard, he didn't kill him," John's audacity to correct you as if Simon's restraint was remarkable baffled you. "There's something to be said about that."

"He held him by the neck in the air like a ragdoll. He choked him out in the middle of the pub."

"But," he held up a finger. "he didn't break his neck. He knew you'd be upset."

"You're not seriously defending him right now." You could feel your blood pressure rising. Your lid ready to blow like a fucking kettle.

"From what Simon said it didn't look like the attraction was mutual." That gave you pause. Simon told John it didn't look... mutual. Could Simon tell you were uncomfortable? Did he hear everything Percy said?

Where the fuck did Simon come from anyway?

why the fuck was he at the pub in the first place???

Your mouth hung open for several beats. Any longer and a bug could fly in. But fuck if it didn't feel like cold water had been dumped on you. Why and how did Simon think it wasn't mutual? Why did he care??? Why was he acting like he didn't?

"He-" You began, trying to think of what to ask only to simply screech out "What?" John held his hands up in surrender. Your kettle whistled. You were pissed. More pissed than John had ever seen you and it was still a miracle you hadn't hurled the take out at his head.

"All I'm saying is if he grabbed you without an invitation and Simon saw, the prick is lucky to be alive, much less still walking around with hands."

"Si-" you started. "He-" You clinched your fists so tightly your nails painfully cut into the palm of your hand. "UGH!" You stomped your foot. It was childish, but you didn't care. "I don't need him rescuing me goddamit! I don't need any of you pissing on my legs like a fucking dog and-" you didn't stop. You weren't sure how long you carried on verbally lashing John nor did you give a single flying fuck.

Fuck him. Fuck Simon. Fuck all of them. They didn't get to stalk you and relay information like gossiping fucking school girls. They didn't get to break your heart and believe that you would let them piece it back together. They didn't get to neglect you only to realize you knew your worth. Only giving a shit until you walked away.

You went on and on until your throat ached. You weren't sure what thoughts had left your lips. You weren't entirely sure all what you said. All you knew is that you didn't feel any better. The look on Price's fallen face didn't give you any relief. You took it out on him and you were still hurting.

"Why?" Your voice was hoarse and pleading. "Why won't you guys just fucking leave? You were barely staying in it when we were together? Why now?"

He took a tentative step forwarding. His hands started to reach out to touch your arms before falling back down at his side. He knew he had lost the right to touch you. To comfort you.

"I miss you, Dove." He confessed it as if it would somehow make it all better. "We miss you." You try not to let it phase you, but fuck you were made of flesh, not stone. No matter how angry furious disgusted absolutely devastated you were with everything that happened, with what they did and didn't do, you still, or at least had, loved them. That love didn't vanish over the span of a week. Lord know your broken heart hadn't. "We'll do better."

"It's not that simple." You shook your head, your palms covering your eyes as they began to prickle. You hoped the motion would come across as tired frustration, but John knew. It was your tell. You were close to crying. You always rubbed your face when you were upset.

"It is." He said, finally taking the chance to touch you. Even if it was just to hold your hands in his calloused ones. "We mucked things up, let us fix it. Give us at least the change to be better."

"How?" You asked. "Stop fucking yelling at me for a couple of months until something makes you blow your fucking lid and I'm left feeling like a little kid who's in trouble?" You were surprised not to see him flinch away, but the soft look in his eyes was enough to break your heart all over again. "Or Kyle actually showing up for dates? Johnny not treating me like a fuck buddy?"

"We haven't been good to you." He admits and you still don't feel better. Leaving them hasn't made you feel any better. Only angrier. Yelling at him didn't. Fucking Johnny and breaking his heart didn't. Maybe Mer had a point. Just not with Percy. "We all wanted you and slacked off in doing right by ya."

"So what?" You press. "You want to resume where we left off? I just take you all back and work through the fact of how shitty you all were and hope that you make it up to me?

"No," he shook his head. "Not like that."

"Then what?" You asked.

"I'm fighting for me and you. No one else." You didn't know what to say. The four of them had always been a part of the deal. All or nothing. I mean, the fact that you even entertained the idea of being with all of them was the reasoning that if one of them had went down on the field, three more were there to take care of you.

"If the others can get their own shit together great." He shrugged his shoulders. "If I can't and they can, that's fine too." He stared in your eyes and for a moment, you thought about the first time John apologized for getting angry. Not at you, just in front of you. How he had gotten on his knees and told you the last thing he wanted was for you to be afraid of him. To look at him the same way recruits looked at him. "But I think where we failed was all of us was expecting another one to pick up the slack."

That much was true. Where others failed, others thrived. Simon always stayed after sex, Johnny never raised his voice, John was insistent on going on dates, and Gaz was emotionally available... when he was around at least.

"I know I wasn't the man I needed to be. I wasn't the man you deserved. I took things out on you that weren't your fault. I spoke to you in a way that if any other man did, I would knock him right the fuck out." He shook his head before giving your hands a squeeze. "I'll do what I need to do to set things right between you and me. I'll put in the work to do whatever it takes to have you trust me again."

"It wasn't about not trusting you." You counter

"But it is now." He said. "You don't trust me to respect you; to show kindness, patience. And I know I have my own shit to sort out before even thinking about us being like we were. When things were good, I mean."

You don't know what to say, but you can't say he's right. You don't trust him. Not with your heart. Not anymore.

Moments of silence pass before John lets go of your hands and takes a quick survey of the boxes around you. Your background music of Van Morrison still playing softly from the speaker near your computer.

"You seem busy, so I'll let you get to it." He takes in a deep breath. You're expecting another spiel about how he promises to work on it. Just to give him a chance. You're actually worried you'll consider it. "I picked up your usual. Figured things haven't changed that much since we last went to our spot down by the river."

"Haven't been there in a minute."

"You wouldn't." He said. "Closed the place and moved shop. It's over by the park."

"The one with the asshole geese or the one where Johnny and I were flashed by that guy strung out?" That makes him laugh. You can't remember the last time John laughed. The way his eyes crinkled and his smile shifted his whole face into something entirely joyous.

You missed it.

"Asshole geese." He answered before turning and heading to the door. You didn't speak until the chime of the bell rang.

"What if the others don't?" You ask before he had the chance to close the door. "Get their shit together, I mean."

He turned, giving you that signature closed smile that makes him look like a quokka. You told him that once and he had to googling before arguing that he didn't look like the world's happiest rodent. "That's on them. I have my own work to do." His smile dropping into something softer. Something pleading and pitiful. "But, we still want this. We all still want this. Want you."

You shook your head. The threat of tears returning as you realized how wrong he was. Maybe he did. But not all of them. "Simon doesn't." you huffed, arms crossing over your chest. "He's made that much clear."

"That I don't believe." He shook his head. "Not for a minute."

"Believe it." You sucked in air through your nose as if trying to clear it. Price knew he had to leave. He knew he couldn't see you cry. He knew you wouldn't want him to even if he wanted to stay and make up for all the times he was the reasons behind your tears.

"I didn't do what I needed to and I'll do whatever it takes to get you back." He promises. "But if it came down to it... if you want to settle down and just chose one of us to have you, to keep you," he took in a deep breath. The next words like a knife twisting in his chest. "I wouldn't truly love you if I didn't tell you that Simon is the only one of us who deserves you."

"Why?" You knew in that moment Simon hadn't told John about that night. About his cruel words and your realization that he was right. There was never a true happily ever after with them.

"Because he's the only one willing to hide in the shadows and let you live your life," his smile now gone completely. "I'm sorry that I'm too selfish to do that."

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

12 — IN SOME SAD WAY, I ALREADY KNOW

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad.

<- previous part | next part ->

“A written statement from the General himself.”

You mindlessly nod, eyes unfocused and ears ringing as you sit at the conference table, Laswell at the head with the paper in hand. Her brows are furrowed, and one of her hands rests at her hip as she reads over the paper’s contents once more.

Everything feels numb. Like your entire body’s been reset, and nothing makes sense – as if your very existence has been muffled.

Price and Ghost sit at the table, too, sharing looks with each other. The Sergeants are out training rookies – and a small, minute part of you is grateful. You don’t want them to see you so…

Whatever you are. Numb, cold, unfeeling. Any adjective that fits.

“Shepherd traded her,” Price seethes, knuckles whitening on the tight grip he has around his pack of cigars. 

“But why?” Laswell asks, exasperated, pacing at the front of the conference room. The overhead beams have been left off, so the frosted window is the only source of light. It allows a soft, gentle glow from the moon to fill the room, and it helps with your racing mind.

“We need to find him,” Ghost demands, voice gruff and icy. Thinly veiled anger – you recognise the tone all too well. 

“This gives us evidence to push the search further,” Laswell cuts in, her footfalls pausing as she searches the scrawled handwriting for something. “And it opens up a new trail. Why did Graves want you? And what did Shepherd deem worthy of trading his star soldier?”

Your leg’s bouncing, the soft tap tap tap of your foot against the linoleum floor sounding more like a ticking time bomb than anything.

When you look up from the table, your eyes instantly clash with a pair of dark brown. Ghost.

He’s watching you – something hidden behind his gaze that you can’t unpack. Not now, at least, with your mind racing at a million thoughts per hour. With your body feeling as sensitive as a live wire. Every breath feels manual, a feat in and of itself.

You break your eye contact with him suddenly, weary, looking to the window instead. The moon isn’t so complicated; doesn’t hold so many layers of darkness, both in colour and soul.

There’s nothing like the feeling of moonlight against your skin, the brush of nightly breezes against your chilled skin.

“Sweetheart –” Your attention instantly goes to Price, whose hands are clasped on the table, gaze heavy where it sits on you, “Do you know anything at all that could help us. Any leads.”

You go to open your mouth, but everything feels wrong, your stomach sinking and hands trembling and vision going blurry.

Without any thought, or reason, you abruptly stand, slightly shaky on your feet. You swallow, once, a difficult movement against your barren throat. Scratchy and harsh.

“I – I’m sorry, I need a moment,” you manage to mutter out, taking a step back in a shadow of defence.

Brows furrow, a question’s asked – you don’t hear, don’t see, because all you can do is turn and bolt out of the room, shouldering the door open and heading down the hospital light-white corridor, the white burning your vision.

Your eyes sting with unshed tears, your chest heaving, the echoing sound of your boots against the floor a distant soundtrack.

“Fuck,” you mutter, palms coming up to rub harshly at your face as you slow, unsure. You just need space, a moment to yourself, a place to break apart with no one as your witness.

A slightly ajar closet to your left seems like your best bet.

Heading for it, you push in, the stale scent of cleaning products hitting your nose. It’s difficult to find any part of you that cares in the slightest.

The door closes, and you just stand, for a moment, your head resting against the wood. Every breath rattles your bones, like your core is falling apart at its seams. Another breath. Two more.

Except it’s getting harder, with every breath, to fill your lungs. They come out harried, shallow and not unlike slices of a knife against your windpipe. They tear from your mouth like coughs.

Your back hits the wall, and you slide down, until you’re sat on the floor, head sat between your bent knees as the first tears finally fall down your cheeks. Hiccups leave your chapped lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut as your shoulders shake.

You haven’t allowed yourself to break down like this in... Gods, you can’t even remember. All you know is that it hurts, at your very core, but it’s also kind of freeing.

It’s as if your world is closing in around you; your breaths doing nothing to quell that intense sense of suffocation, cruel in the grasp your fear has around your throat. Nothing makes sense – everything hurts, your tears leave lines of heat down your cheeks –

The door creaks open.

Heart stuttering in your chest, you look up from your balled up frame with blurry vision, to see who your intruder is. Did Gaz or Soap leave the rookies early? Did Price or Laswell get worried and come check on you?

“Sweetheart.”

The tall, threatening frame of the man fills out the small crack of the door in a way that has your breath catching for a whole other reason.

“Ghost?” You find yourself asking, your voice threatening a whine with the state you’re in. 

He steps in, the scent of blood and some cologne filling the space as he does. You wipe at your bloodshot eyes, curling in closer.

“If you want to kill me, this is probably your best bet,” you bite, posturing, an attempt of goading so your image isn’t completely ruined. The idea isn’t completely unfound, either – he very well could pull out his gun and shoot you clean through the head.

He shakes his head, closing the door – allowing pitch black to envelop you both.

“You’re too cheeky for your own good,” he mutters, and despite all of your notions of the man, he slides into a sitting position next to you.

If you could stabilise your breaths, you would, if for no other fact than your own embarrassment. Your body still trembles, and small hiccups still leave your lips with every shaky breath.

His presence is warm against yours, and when he moves, the fabric of his uniform brushes against your own.

“Why are you here?” You find yourself asking, a whisper under your breath. Just loud enough for him to hear, for him to hear the fragile undertone. The risk you’re taking, sitting beside him in this state. 

He looses a breath – easy, soft. Unlike everything you know about the hulking man. “I understand.”

You can’t help the uneasy chuckle that leaves your lips. “You understand? Mister been-conspiring-against-me-since-day-one?”

“I understand what it’s like to have the weight of the world on your shoulders, with no one you trust there to hold you, too.”

You look to him, but in the darkness, it’s more of an instinctual act than anything. 

“Didn’t realise you were a poet, Lieutenant,” you chide, voice breaking slightly around the syllables. He doesn’t comment; a small mercy.

He shrugs, brushing against you as he does. “Not a poet. Just a soldier.”

“And an asshole,” you hum, and you can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes you when he elbows you in the dip of your waist. You elbow him back, unthinkingly, freely.

Silence fills in the gaps, except for the background noise of your shaky, tight breathing, and the bounce of your knees.

That is, until the man beside you breaks it.

“I asked my dog what two minus two is,” Ghost says, easily. You loosen your posture, just slightly, brows furrowed when you turn your head towards him once more.

“What are you on about?” You ask, incredulous. He shrugs. Nods.

“I asked my dog what two minus two is,” he continues, despite the confusion that is surely emanating off of you. “She said nothing.”

You let out a shocked, lost bark of a laugh at that, turning your body around so you’re facing him in the enclosed space. “Was that a dad joke?”

“I found out why my dog’s such a bad dancer,” Ghost starts once more, continuing despite your elongated groan. Seems to relish in your dismay.

“And why’s that?” You entertain him, despite the anxiety in your gut, the words left unsaid burning your tongue.

“She’s got two left feet.”

You heave a sigh, shaking your head – but the corners of your lips pull into a cheesy grin, and your breaths are lighter. Easier, natural, less harsh against your dry throat. “Do you even have a dog?” You ask.

“Her name’s Riley. She’s my family,” he says, earnestly, and your heart shatters just a bit more.

“What breed is she?”

“German Shepherd. Used to work in the military, till a mission gone wrong left her too scared to work in the field. Saved ‘er from the pound.”

How can this man be the same one who threatened your life? Who – who had made it very clear how little he trusted you, and was generally such a jerk? A complete asshole, of whom you had no qualms hating?

“She’d like you,” he adds, and you blink, “Always did like girls more than guys. Strong ones, at that.”

“You think I’m strong?”

You can tell he rolls his eyes, even without being able to see it. “I’ll bring ‘er in, when this is all said and done.”

“When this is all said and done, we’ll probably never see each other again. Small mercies, hey?” Your tone takes on a joking lilt.

He doesn’t laugh.

And it hits you, then. How fragile this very situation is. How unimportant, in the real scheme of things, your relationship with the 141 is. When Graves and Shepherd have been dealt with, where do you fit in? What purpose will you have?

You don’t, can’t, truly fit in with them. They’re already so interconnected, memories spent together that you’ll never understand, connections you have no place in joining.

Oh, what a stab in the gut that is.

“I can get Johnny or Kyle if you want,” Ghost offers, but you find yourself answering just this side of too soon.

“No.”

You realise, as you sit here beside him, that he is all you need. Soap and Gaz would’ve tried to ramble or make a move on you, Price would’ve tried to embrace you. Ghost just sits, and waits, his presence speaking a thousand words. He’s your anchor, right now.

“What does a bee use to brush its hair?” Ghost breaks the quiet, once more, his words steady and grating with the low timbre of his voice.

You exhale, but go along with it anyways. “I haven’t a clue.”

“A honeycomb.”

You scoff, but the smile on your face doesn’t waver – your cheeks hurting from the way it tugs on the muscles of your tired face. “That was awful, Lt.”

“Johnny laughed at that one,” he replies, head tilted to rest his skull against the wall. His arms rest on the bends of his knees.

“That’s cause he feels bad for you,” you hum, satisfaction weighing on your words.

Ghost elbows you once more, a bit too hard, but you find the movement grounding more than harmful. Like a way for your body to come back to itself, and register the world around you. No need for self-destruction or derealisation.

“They really like you, y’know,” he murmurs, and your breath pauses in your chest. “The Sergeants. Won’t shut up about you when you’re gone.”

“Well, if you’re gonna hate me, some support is nice,” you retort, and he huffs a low breath. Pauses, like he’s thinking something over. Weighing the risk and reward of his next statement.

“I don’t,” he rolls his tongue in his mouth, “I don’t hate you.”

“You’ve had me fooled,” you retort, the cool wall against your cheek a steady reminder of the world. “The whole threatening to kill me thing, and all.”

“If it means protecting Johnny, Kyle – even Price, I’d do it. Still will,” he says, the last statement bordering on a warning. “If you’ve somehow fooled us all, then I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”

You swallow. Scratch at the skin of your wrist.

“I just need to figure this shit out,” you admit, looking to the roof for answers. “Once Shadow Company’s been taken down, and Shepherd’s dealt with, everything can go back to normal. This’ll just be a blip in time.”

“The Sergeants aren’t going to let you go,” Ghost warns, an edge to his words. “What are you gonna do, anyways? Live in the countryside?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, picking at your fingernails. “I’ll figure it out when it comes to it. We’ve got bigger things on our plate.”

With his shoulder pressed against your own, you let your body relax, your breaths finally even. No tears on the verge of falling down your cheeks – and no fear lacing your veins with a thick coat of adrenaline.

However, that short-lived relief is quickly replaced with the all too familiar crash.

Your head pounds, and your limbs suddenly feel heavy. Your eyelids threaten to close, even though you don’t feel the need to sleep.

“Tired?” Ghost asks, low and soft, careful not to startle you. So at odds with the idea you had of him.

Without meaning to, you lean further against him, using his frame to hold your own up. He doesn’t comment on it. “I’m – just need a minute,” you murmur.

His hand moves to rest at the side of your head, pulling you in so your temple rests against his shoulder. It’s warm, comforting – a parallel to the man of which you thought you hated.

Rest comes easy, at the side of one of the men who wants to kill you.

*

When you come to, it’s with the feeling of fingers brushing through your hair, and the scent of cajun.

The gentle mid-morning light filters into the room, casting light through your closed eyes, the faraway sound of bullets being fired an odd comfort. Soft sizzling, too, can be heard, as well as the chopping of a knife against a board.

“That smells bloody divine, Si,” a familiar, Scottish voice calls, quietened by what you can only suspect is due to your ‘sleeping’. “Ya’d be a bonnie housewife.”

“Watch it, Johnny,” Ghost replies, stern, even with the undercurrent of humour in his voice. 

The fingers in your hair continue to card through your strands, pausing to massage at your scalp every now and then. The movements have you melting further into Soap’s lap.

“Ken the other two are goin’ at it?” Johnny chides, and even without vision, you can see the goading smile on his face.

“I ken you should shut your face,” Ghost retorts, the sound of chopping finally coming to a pause. “And, no, you’re a bloody idiot.”

“Rude.”

Fluttering your eyes open, you let out a small huff of air, stretching your tense muscles. They feel sore with lethargy, and stiff from the position you fell asleep in.

“Mornin’, Sweetheart,” Johnny smirks, looking down at where your head sits in his lap.

When you look towards the kitchen, it's to find Ghost, flipper in hand as he stands by the stove, a glass bowl filled with salad to his side. One thing in particular has you looking twice.

“A bit promiscuous, don't you think, Lieutenant?”

Ghost's eyes narrow, but Soap lets out a pleased chuckle. “Like a lad seein’ an ankle, aye?”

Instead of gloves, the pale skin of his hands is shown for the first time, patterns of ink decorating the back of his hands. The small hint of a sleeve has you desperate to see the full thing.

“You're both fuckin’ ridiculous,” Ghost scoffs, starting to swap the contents of the pan into the salad bowl.

As you move to sit up, Soap’s hands fall to your waist, pulling you so your back presses against his chest. His thumbs trace circles into the skin where your shirt rides up, but it’s more out of instinct than anything else.

“What’d you make us?” You ask, rubbing at your weary, sleepy eyes as you deflate against Soap.

“Cajun chicken ‘nd salad,” Ghost quips, serving up a plate for each of you. It smells nothing short of delicious, and you sit up straighter against the Sergeant.

“Lt and Gaz are our personal chefs,” Soap chimes, squeezing you tighter against him. “Bloody perfect at it.”

Ghost rolls his eyes, but comes over with two plates, setting them on the coffee table in front of both you and Soap. It’s a small space, next to the personal kitchen, but it’s nice. Intimate.

The first mouthful of salad is like heaven on your tongue, and you look up at Ghost with wide eyes as you swallow. “This is amazing.”

“You’d better eat it all then,” he jerks his chin towards your plate, grabbing his own before sitting on the chair to your left. Soap, still with his chest to your back, shovels his food into his mouth like a man starved.

It’s quiet, for a few moments, just the three of you enjoying your food.

“What’s the next step?” Johnny asks, around a mouthful. You elbow him in the side, and he feigns hurt. He swallows, before continuing, “Aye mean, what’re we gonna do? What lead do we follow?”

“I think,” you work your jaw around the words, thinking, “I think if we get to the root, we can bring down the whole tree.”

You scan the two men, and it’s Ghost who understands your words first.

“Shepherd. You think we should take him out first,” Ghost leans back in his seat, studying you with calculating, chocolate brown eyes. They shine in the midday light.

Nodding, you swallow around some lettuce, before continuing, looking between the two. 

“If we can find Shepherd, and learn why everything’s happened the way it has,” you rub at your face, “Then we can bring it all crumbling down. Like dominoes.”

“He’s MIA,” Soap furrows his brows, placing his empty plate on the coffee table. “We’ve tried finding the twat – he’s gone.”

You shrug, a plan forming in your mind like the final pieces of a puzzle connecting. A small, pleased smile spreads on your lips, before you’re moving off of the couch, ready to head to Price’s office.

“Where’s you going?” Ghost queries, leaning forward, elbows resting on his spread knees.

You tilt your head.

“Power in numbers, right?” Heading for the corridor, you open the door, before turning back to look at the two men one more time.

“I know two soldiers who’ve been waiting for a call.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee @simp-sentral @littlecellist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @browtfyoudoing @oreo-cream @fanngirl19 @infpt-zylith @marispunk @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @xvintageghostx @thigh-o-saur

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … DUMB & POETIC ♡

track eight of the short n’sweet series. pairing: dbf!johnb + reader. based loosely off the song dumb & poetic by sabrina carpenter. enjoy! ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱

word travels fast when you’re hopelessly in love with your dads best and youngest friend.

rain was starting to spit down on the crown of your head as you marched your way up the dry grass to the chateau. a storm was headed your way, and john b was probably to give you a real earful at the fact you’d even walked here so late in the evening with a storm on the horizon but that didn’t matter. it seemed a feeble thing now, too focused on the tugging of your heart strings.

“old john b’s got himself a date.” your father had chuckled into his newspaper that morning and you froze at the sink, pouring milk into your coffee. your skin felt hot, eyes prickly.

“what?” you ask quietly, trying your hardest to sound unshaken by the news.

“the guys down at the garage stitched him up. i didn’t get involved, was too busy working but… yeah. finally getting himself out there. was wonderin’ when he might. times ticking for him.”

your milk pours over the rim of your now overflowing coffee mug and you curse, lurching to clean it up.

now you’re knocking at the older man’s door, shivering from the icy droplets that are tickling your hot skin. you feel feverish, wrong, all muddled up. john b was yours.

he’s frowning when he opens the door, and you don’t let him speak.

“is it true?” you yell over the wind, voice cracking and he pulls you inside by the arm.

“uhm, did you walk here in a storm? are you— what, have you lost your mind now?”

“is it true, john b?” you don’t lower your voice even though you’re inside now, infact your words are punctuated by a harsh shove at his chest. he stills, staring down at you solemnly and shamefully.

“i assume your…dad told you—”

“so this — us, it just means nothing to you?” you go in for another push, crying now and he catches your wrists, eyes softening sympathetically as he pulls you in.

“you know that’s not true. look, listen to me—”

“who is she?” you wail and he holds your wrists tighter.

“listen to me!” he raises his weathered brow, hands loosening around your wrists just enough to swipe his fingers gently in windscreen wipers on the skin. you stare up at him expectedly — fat tears even frozen on your cheeks and his shoulders drop slightly. how was he meant to compete? it wasn’t fair when you looked at him like that. “the guys at the garage set me up.” he explains calmly and you’re quick to cut him off.

“and you agreed! you could have just said—”

“i have to! okay i—” he takes a breath, ripping his fisherman cap off to run a hand through matted brown hair, streaks of silvery grey through the sides illuminated in the warm orangey light of the chateau that made your heart clench with fondness and familiarity. “its not right that i’m feeling this way for someone so much younger than me, and more importantly — it’s not right that you’re dating someone so much older! you should… i don’t know, be out there! experiencing the dating pool! going on dates with guys that are allowed to be seen with you! not… your dads friend.” he shakes his head, defeated.

“i don’t care about all that!” you step up to him, a glimmer of hope in your eyes.

“well i do!” he bellows back, and just like that it dies.

you crumple, heels of your hands coming to press into your eyes as you lower yourself to the floor. you mewl in devastation, salty tears burning into your retinas and he watches in heartbreak, heaving out a long sigh before lowering himself to the floor with you.

“its not fair! its not fair— just because shes older than me doesn’t mean — it doesn’t —”

“i know.” he mutters into your hairline, pressing a kiss there. you clutch his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping you tied down gravitationally to earth.

you get real worked up into hysterics so soon he’s calming you down the only way he knows how, straw-feeding you water as you sit in his bed wearing his clothes, still snivelling. he shuffles in beside you with a book, pulling your head to rest down on his shoulder and shushing you when you fight.

“you think y’know everything john b.” you croak, glaring at the dumb pretentious poetry book on his lap.

he clears his throat, flipping to a random page.

“though the night was made for loving, and the day returns too soon, yet we'll go no more a roving, by the light of the moon—” his husky voice begins to read, lulling you into that calm safe space that only he creates. there’s a lingering sadness in your chest when you drift off, knowing it could be the last time and between his words you’re sure you whisper a “dont go”. but you’re not sure whether or not you dreamt it.

you wake up at noon somehow. all that crying wore you out and it goes without saying with the situation you’re in, you didn’t have the greatest sleeping pattern. sticky eyes flutter from the alarm clock, to the absence of john b in his own bed beside you. you hope for the reassuring sound of coffee being stirred or the tv in the living room but the chateau is deathly quiet. once your eyes focus, you’re confronted with a note on the bed side table.

his familiar scrawl, it reads —

‘I’m sorry. I just have to see for myself.

— Yours, J.B ♡’

[victusinveritas]

[gleep-glorp-bobcat]

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

can you do something with anxious reader who is just always overthinking everything and bf jj comfort her

looking out for you

pairing(s): bf!jj maybank x gf!fem!anxious!reader , sarah cameron x fem!reader (platonic)

warnings: overthinking, slight jealousy, pet names, alcohol

summary: after seeing jj with another girl at a kegger, you start to think of all the possibilities.

authors note: thank you so much for the request! this is my first time writing one so i hope it’s good :) i’m kinda excited to write these so please request more!!

not edited

do not copy my works. i do not condone rewrites, translations, or edited versions. all my content is my content that i wrote.

not my gif

“you need another drink, babe?” sarah asked softly, holding out a red solo cup to you. “you feelin’ okay?”

you smiled gratefully and took the cup. “thank you.” she followed your eye line to jj who was across the boneyard talking to a different girl. “i’m okay. just a little out of it, i guess.”

she leaned her head onto your shoulder, frowning at your expression. “i’m sure its nothing to worry about. don’t stress yourself out too much.”

“sarah! come here real quick!” john b called out from by the water.

she looked to you for a moment with a sad look on her face. “i’m sorry, babe. i gotta go make sure he doesn’t fall on his ass with how drunk he is,” she explained. “you’ll be okay though. if you need anything, i’ll be right there and my doors always open.”

a sweet smile spread across your lips. “thank you, honey.” she giggled and took a sip from her drink.

she waved at you as she walked away, headed towards her boyfriend who was drunkenly stumbling around on the water.

your eyes averted back to your boyfriend who was still talking to that same girl. she had perfectly tanned skin and long brown hair. she was definitely athletic, maybe a surfer if you had to guess.

something jj would totally be into.

from the looks of it, he looked like he was really passionate about whatever he was talking about. was he flirting with her?

your mind began to race and your hands were starting to get clammy.

you had met jj at a kegger and that what had started your relationship. was he doing the same with that girl now? did he want to be with her instead of you? were you not interesting anymore?

they’d been talking far too long to just be passing. you took another sip of the cheap beer and threw the cup away, beginning the walk to the chateau to try and take your mind off things.

————

jj laid behind you on the couch, his chest against your back and your butt flush to his pelvis. a blanket draped over the two of you, the blonde having mischievously turned the temperature in the room down so you’d snuggle up closer to him.

there was a movie playing in front of you, one that you weren’t even paying attention to, too focused on what you’d seen earlier and what it could’ve meant.

his head was propped up on his hand that rested against the arm rest so he could watch while the other twirled your hair between his fingers absentmindedly.

suddenly, a new thought popped into your head.

were you too close to him? maybe you were starting to make him feel suffocated. or maybe your weight was leaning too much on him? did he even want to lay with you like this?

you scooted forward slightly, your body no longer pressed against him. he groaned and placed a gentle hand on your hip. “where’d you go, baby?”

you just shrugged and held onto the blanket tighter. he reached around you to grab the remote and pause it. “whats wrong?” he asked, looking at you with his brows furrowed in confusion.

“nothing,” you mumbled quietly.

his hand moved from your hip to gently grab your chin and turn your head towards him. “tell me what’s wrong, pretty girl.”

you shifted uncomfortably. “who was the girl you were talking to earlier?”

he smiled and kissed your neck softly. “just some random girl.”

that didn’t help at all. “what?”

“some girl tried flirting with me,” he said.

you began to get in your head. “you were talking to her for a while. seemed like you were really into her.”

he kissed along your neck again. “baby, i was talking about you. i told her i had a girlfriend then she started saying all this shit so i started bragging on and on about you before i walked away.” you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips before he was pulling you back in. “c’mere.”

you scooted back against him, his lips peppering kisses all over your neck, cheek and jawline. “‘s only you that i want, pretty baby. you’ve got all my attention.”

[arthurs-better-half]

John and Yellow (Mirrors and Monsters)

Reblogs much appreciated 👍

1. Julio Cortázar, Los Reyes // 2. Malevolent - Part 23 // 3. Brené Brown, Daring Greatly // 4. Brutus - The Buttress // 5. Malevolent - Part 40 "The Order" II // 6. Minotaur Forgiving Knossos - Moonface // 7. Dawning Night by Joseph Feely / Malevolent - Part 1 / Malevolent Part 21 // 8. Joan Tierney, The Elektra Complex // 9. Malevolent - Part 24 // 10. The Bravery - Bad Sun // 11. Minotauro (Minotaur) by Jordi Garriga Mora (2007) // 12. Malevolent - Part 40 "The Order" II // 13. Margaret Atwood, Corpse Song // 14. Repeat Until Death - Novo Amor // 15. Malevolent - Part 40 "The Order" II // 16. The Calling - The Amazing Devil // 17. @autistic-evil-xisuma (sorry for the tag) // 18. Bad Bad Things - AJJ // 19. Marie Howe, The Affliction // 20. Malevolent - Part 40 "The Order" II // 21. Ragnarok III: Strange Meeting - The Mechanisms // 22. a conversation about identity - tea // 23. Malevolent - Part 40 "The Order" // 24. Requiem - Death Note Musical (English concept album) // 25. Richard Silken, The Long and the Short Of It (Annotated)

ARIADNE Why do you fear him? He is my brother. MINOS A monster has no siblings.

YELLOW: But it was me. I-In a way. ARTHUR (sighing): John. YELLOW: He was... different than me.

I want to experience your vulnerability but I don't want to be vulnerable Vulnerability is courage in you and inadequacy in me. I'm drawn to your vulnerability but repelled by mine.

But why do I lie awake each night thinking "Instead of you, it should be me"? Something wicked this way comes And as I set to face it, I'm unsure Should I embrace it, should I run? What motivates me? Hatred? Is it love?

ARTHUR (sighing, pityingly): Yellow. He never will. You are trapped with him. Forever. JOHN: Trapped?

I was born into this We were all born You were born like a pearl We were all born

YELLOW (in awe): There's a building, with lights on.

ENTITY (surprised): Well. ARTHUR: What? ENTITY: Nothing. I, I just... the city is so alive.

YELLOW: I... appreciate the life I saw. I... am at a loss for words.

ENTITY: I... the city... the life that exists on every street corner. It's... so different than the Dark World I thought I would forever call home.

I tip my head like a dog at the window. The outside world is so interesting, and I am not a part of it; I'm just witnessing.

JOHN: It's nothing, Arthur. I'm just telling you that every time you call him a monster, you're forgetting that I am the same.

I don't know what's wrong with us They just made us this way There's a hole in you and me That pulls us together

JOHN: If killing Larson kills Yellow... ARTHUR: Then you'll be fine! Stronger, maybe. JOHN: Or. I don't know if I can survive with only half a soul.

I exist in two places, here and where you are

Don't go, you're half of me now But I'm hardly stood proud

JOHN: I know you can't promise me. I know you aren't sure. But... Yellow is a piece of me. Can you imagine having to destroy a piece of yourself? Even if it's a reflection of yourself you may not like!

I look into the waters and see a face I don't recognise Who's this (Who are you)

people always talk about evil clones like oooh a dark mirror oohh what if you saw what a cruel person you were/are capable of becoming. and well yes but what if you were the evil clone. what if you looked in the mirror and what you saw was so bright it blinded you. what if you had to know exactly how good you could have been.

So I looked into your eyes And I saw a reflection Of a coward that you and I both hate very much

And he: (and this was almost unbearable) he saw me see him, and I saw him see me.

ARTHUR (quietly): But we all have to face our demons. Even if they're ourselves.

[Verse 2: THOR, LOKI, & Together] Where are you going? For vengeance For love

You're losing in a staring contest With whatever's in your mirror You are me and I am you But we're not one and I'm inferior

YELLOW: I... I... (Quieter.) Why you, John? What did you have to offer? Why does he care about... you?

Gone, who was right or wrong Who was weak or strong Nothing left to learn

The question for this issue was Do you have a human soul and can you prove it? And, of course, there was no definitive answer.

[Tumblr has deleted progress on this like three times now so I'm posting it now while it's done before it can fuck it up again!!! And thank you @ghostnotoast for being so lovely here is the weave]