#national guard dogs

[ask2ps]

i made interps of 2p liech and 2p swiss so many years ago but never posted em... not sure where the files are now. >__< but i finally am working on the new ones lol. i know that 2p swiss and 2p liech arent as popular, but theyre one of the few i have an Actual history planned out for.

tldr: the worlds ultimate paranoid germaphobe and his creepy little sister, who is armed with lysol wipes and also a Gun

[justanimalsofficial]

Protogen Military Police Dog (Alt view 1)

View of Protogen military police dog with mouth open, exposing gun.  Art by Ghost Troupe

Posted using PostyBirb

[casbooks]

Book 56 of 2024 (★★★★★)

Title: Thunderbird Lounge Authors: Robert J. Brandt

ISBN: 9781412244831 Rating: ★★★★★ Subject: Books.Military.20th-21st Century.Asia.Vietnam War.Aviation.US Army.Helos.Slicks, Books.Military.20th-21st Century.Asia.Vietnam War.US Army.Advisor

Description: This is a story as seen through the eyes of one 1st Lieutenant Army aviator, during the early US military commitment to support the Republic of South Vietnam in its counter-insugency operations against North Vietnam's campaign to reunite Vietnam under communist rule. It depicts the daily life of these soldiers and aviation crew members as they went about proving the importance of the helicopter in modern warfare. Describes in detail how the helicopter was employed, puts you in the pilot's seat, death and humor, frustrations encountered, and a tribute to those soldiers and airmen who paid the ultimate price.

My Review: I absolutely, without question, highly recommend this book to those who want to really feel like they're sitting in the seat of a Shawnee during the early days of the Vietnam War. Gen. Brandt was a fresh Lieutenant in the National Guard who volunteered for active duty and flew CH-21's and was the maintenance officer for the 33rd TC flying CH-21's out of Bien Hoa in support of the ARVN. This book was written with exquisite detail and full of stories of the people in the unit, the history of what was occurring around them, and the challenges faced by the early units. Too many books tell you instead of show you… "We took off and then landed" … while Brandt is a story teller who explains what he was thinking, seeing, and doing in the helicopter. He isn't afraid to also mention his failures and screw ups, while always taking care to name and give credit to those who helped him succeed. The early days of the war aren't written about as much, and you really get a good understanding of how confusing everything was - from the Buddhist protests, to being told you're not in combat while being shot at constantly. From the fact that they're told everything has to be temporary and ready to be torn down at a moments notice while seeing Bien Hoa airbase turned into a first class facility across the road from them. Everything is duplicitous and everything makes so little sense, but they still go out and do their best in the face of danger and conflict. Definitely a good book only marred by a few repetitive statements.

[despazito]

Colonialism is an ongoing problem in the purebred dog world and i just wanna take as second to talk about the national dog breed of Israel, the Canaan dog. Because here's the CKC's blurb on them

I have no doubt and am not denying ancient Hebrews lived with these dogs, but the Canaan comes from a stock of landrace breed native across the Levant and it has also gone by names such as Bedouin Sheepdog or Palestinian Pariah Dog.

Organized breeding of the Canaan began in the 20th century from captured Palestinian dogs (i would also point to the wording of 'redomesticating' used here, implying the feral pariah dogs were in some way not domesticated, which i think is disingenuous phrasing.). If you look up the Canaan, most sources you see on them explicitly brand Canaans as an Israeli breed, neglecting or downplaying any history they have with any of the other countless peoples or cultures in the region this breed has coexisted with across millenia. There's even an archeological site with ancient remains of canaan-like dogs was found in Ashkelon, located just 13 miles from the Gaza strip.

The developer of the 'modern' purebred Canaan was "ardent zionist" Rudolphina Menzel, who trained attack dogs for the IDF:

What really gets me about this story is how this native landrace breed was taken and trained to guard colonial settlements from the very people they lived alongside, there is something so twisted about it..

This is unfortunately nothing new in the world of dog fancy. There are many instances of explorers and settlers importing exotic new dogs from their travels, establishing a breed club, and then claiming stewardship over said breed without any involvement from the local peoples they took or bought them from. I'm not sure what to leave this on, i just think more people should be aware of these 'softer' forms of colonialism and how domestic animals can play a part in colonialism and nationalist narratives.

Anyway, long live the Palestinian pariah dog/ Bedouin sheepdog!

[murderousink23]

04/26/2023 is Frontier Guards Day 🇦🇲, Day of Remembrance of the Chernobyl Tragedy 🇧🇾, Denim Day 👖🌎, International Guide Dog Day 🐕🌎, National Audubon Day 🐦🇺🇲, National Help a Horse Day 🐎🇺🇲, National Kids and Pets Day 🧒🐰🐹🐱🐶🦜🇺🇲, National Pretzel Day 🥨🇺🇲, National Richter Scale Day 🇺🇲, National Library Outreach Day 📚🇺🇲, National Administrative Professionals Day 🇺🇲, International Chernobyl Remembrance Day 🇺🇳, World Intellectual Property Day ™️🇺🇳

[theartistichuman]

I love the aftg main trio because it’s like the butcher of Baltimore’s son who has managed to make it out alive, an actual fucking guard dog in human form, and national sensation exy star Kevin day. It has real “I am here for yakuza negotiations. I have brought my body guard boyfriend, and also celebrity Kevin day is here. He wouldn’t stop crying when we tried to leave.”

[wingedjellyfishflight]

Harem in Reverse

"You're soon to be 26, Your Royal Highness. You must put together your harem soon or risk being married off to whomever the regent chooses for you." You sigh, nodding in agreement. Choosing a direct husband would be against the rules, and frankly, you weren't interested in interviewing for the perfect man. Choosing many for their adherence to various qualities, though. That would be a good choice. "Shall I put forth a call for certain attributes? Strong arms? Large chest? Impressive intellect?"

"No, I want to review the troops this week. I will find my consorts among the best our nation has to offer." The advisor looks stunned.

"Your Royal Highness, those are rough men. They do not have the breeding or training to handle you gently as a consort should. They are-."

"Advisor Williams, I know what attributes I am looking for. Schedule me to review the best of the troops, then. If none catch my eye, then I will consider others." The advisor nods, frustrated at not being heeded, but knowing they must follow a direct order.

The following week, you are almost nervous while getting ready, the beginning of butterflies in your stomach. If you weren't so tired, you're sure it would be worse, but the night before was yet another attempt on your life. They are becoming more frequent and more violent now.

Sighing, you hurry to the courtyard where your mount, Rosebud, is waiting. A gift that you feel had been meant to be another threat on your life. The mount was no ordinary horse or pony. Instead, it was the largest draft mule you had ever seen. If you had treated him like a horse, you're sure the thing would have stomped within minutes. He was a vain creature who had to be sweet-talked and treated with utmost respect before he would agree to do much of anything. He was covered in whip and spur scars, telling anyone that he was difficult to force submission from, despite their best efforts. Not that you thought anyone could force an animal born of a mammoth jack donkey and a Shire horse to submit physically. You loved each and every scar, the signs of his stubborn nature on display for all to see.

"Hello, sweet boy." You greet him and let him snuffle you over, waving off the over eager stable hand. "May I ride you today? I am to inspect the troops." He blows a huff of air and turns his head away. You slide your hand along his proud neck and across his withers to the saddle. Checking it over, you deem it done well enough and climb on his back. Your legs spread wide across his broad barrel. Your advisors turn away, knowing that you will refuse their most strident pleas to ride sidesaddle.

"Let us inspect the troops." With that, the company is off at a quick walk to the parade grounds. Your group of advisors and the personal guard that you only marginally trust join the General and his entourage at the front of the formation. You strongly dislike the General. He is somehow the worst mix of ass kissing and condescending.

"The army is excited to be inspected this morning, Your Royal Highness." You barely manage to cover your snort. There is no way they are happy to be here standing in the sun to be inspected on your whim. You move from company to company, looking over the men and pointing out individuals to be inspected, but seeing none you would consider as consort. Reaching the special forces, the rabid dogs as your advisors refer to them, the General is incensed to see that the leader of one is missing.

"Where is the Captain? This is not an optional inspection!"

A man steps forward, "He was injured in a skirmish this week and is still confined to the hospital, General Argus." Looking over the group, you see several still sport bandages and healing abrasions. You nudge your mount closer, his ears perked forward in a match to your curiosity. The General apologizes to you for the disrespect of the men for not appearing but is cut off.

"Your Royal Highness. Escaping the hospital took longer than predicted. For that, I sincerely apologize." You turn, seeing a man limping toward the formation at a quick pace. This must be the Captain. As he falls in, you dismount your mule, resting your hand on his broad neck. Your personal guard hurriedly surrounds you, standing much too close. Rosebud takes exception to being crowded, ears flattening against his head. He strikes out like a snake. His teeth click just shy of the nearest man, who stumbles back yelling and unsheathes a sword. Without a thought, you draw your own ceremonial dagger.

"Touch one hair on Rosebud, and I will gut you." Everyone around you freezes before slowly backing away. "I will not be crowded by your incompetent forms when I am here to inspect the troops." They retreat from your anger, not wanting to risk you calling for their death. Rosebud drops his head, relaxing, and you absentmindedly rub his long ear the way he loves. His lip twitches and his eyes half close for a moment before he pulls away. You step forward, and Rosebud matches your pace, keeping his shoulder just behind yours. It took months to build up a relationship with him, and now he is putty in your hands most days.

An advisor tries to signal you to stay back, but you ignore them, your eyes on the men, looking for the best of them. You memorize the name of the Captain and another likely candidate, signaling Advisor Williams to your side. He groans but carefully walks to you, eyes locked on the increased alertness of Rosebud.

"I will have an audience with this Captain Price and Colonel König. As soon as the men are dismissed. In private." You walk forward and give a cursory inspection to the man who had spoken on the Captain's behalf. His uniform is impeccable, you are happy to see. You don't want them punished on your behalf. The smirk on his face beneath his mask sends a thrill through you. Another man who is not cowed by your station. That is important in advisors. Lieutenant Riley, his uniform says. You nod and mount Rosebud again, rejoining the pack of advisors to inspect the remaining troops. No others catch your eye.

Walking into your State room, you signal for everyone except the two soldiers to leave. While unusual, they are compelled to do so by your haughty glares and Advisor Williams guiding them away, barring the doors behind him and standing guard. Sitting in your throne, you drag your eyes over the men. Colonel König is wearing his customary face covering, and Captain Price has the cover he is well-known for in his hands.

"I have a proposal for you both that I want you to carefully consider. This proposal will not be spoken of again if you decline and it will not leave this room." The men perk up, and you see heat in their eyes as they consider one of the possibilities of your words. "I need advisors who are not advisors." That throws them off, and you see the Colonel shift uneasily. "These advisors would be the closest of any man or woman to me. They would teach and protect me with their very lives. My life is under threat and has been since the King and Queen died, my uncle taking over as Regent. I need advisors who will help me oust him and take my rightful place on the throne without contest and without raising his suspicions. Thus, I need men who will join my harem." You pause, savoring the way their faces change as they process this.

"Your Royal Highness, are you asking us to find you men to join your harem? That is most unusual, but we will do our best." You shake your head at Captain Price.

"Yes, but not in the way you are thinking. I am asking the two of you to join my harem and to advise me on the best men to round out such a harem. To be advisors and leaders in removing the despot from his fake throne. To be my lovers, spoiled in every way and to guard me from all attempts on my life. I want you both, and I trust you to choose others and to bring them to me for approval. If you decline this position, we shall never speak on it again."

"Yes, I would be honored to be chosen for your harem, Your Royal Highness." Colonel König does not hesitate to agree. He feels he has loved you from afar for years, and this is an opportunity he will not squander.

"I would be as well, Your Royal Highness." Captain Price is confident that declining now would be a mistake, and he is not a man prone to mistakes. "I have a few men in mind that would be good additions. They are a bit of a package deal." You nod, expecting as much.

"Their names?"

"John MacTavish, Simon Riley and Kyle Garrick, Your Royal Highness."

"I have two in mind that would be good choices as well. Hiro Watanabe and Kim Hong-jin. They are foreign, but good, loyal and strong men, Your Royal Highness."

The smile you bestow them with is almost a surprise to the men. "Then, I wish for you to gather your men and their belongings. You will join me tonight, my consorts."

"Yes, Your Royal Highness." The men bow and leave, stunned at the way this meeting has gone. You order Advisor Williams to prepare the harem quarters and pack your own belongings secretly. It would be folly to live apart from the men who will be your new private guard and you would be lying if you weren't excited to see under those perfectly done uniforms.

[strawberryspence]

I will never not be OBSESSED with the Famous trope + Found Family trope with the Party 😭 The headlines would be so chaotic? Like:

Famous Rockstar Eddie Munson is seen eating lunch with two time Pulitzer winner Nancy Wheeler, Highest Paid Photographer Jonathan Byers and Successful Entrepreneur Argyle Alvez. How does he know these people???

Three time Grammy Winner Eddie Munson seen in a McDonald's with World Renowned Astronaut Dustin Henderson and New York Times Best Seller Will Byers-Wheeler and Mike Byers-Wheeler. What the actual fuck???

Eddie Munson, seen in a Chicago Bulls game looking confused as hell, mere seconds after finding out his second album just went Multi-platinum, with his husband, Steve Munson. Also seen in pictures, Eddie Munson hugging point guard Lucas Sinclair and his wife, Max Sinclair. How???

MSG Sold Out Performer Eddie Munson seen in Chicago Medical Center with World Renowned Surgeon Dr. Erica Sinclair. Our insiders say that the rockstar is FINE and was only having lunch with the doctor. What in the multiverse is happening???

Eddie Munson and his husband seen in line at the book signing of rising Linguistics Author Robin Buckley. They ended up laughing so hard when they reached the author, they almost got kicked out. Turns out they all knew each other???

Rock Star Eddie Munson bringing packed lunch in pajamas to a small Chicago preschool where husband, Steve Munson and known friend, Jane Hopper works. Why??? How??? What???

Third most followed person on Instagram Eddie Munson, just broke the internet by posting a group picture with Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Jonathan Byers, Argyle Alvez, Dustin Henderson, Lucas, Max and Erica Sinclair, Mike and Will Byers-Wheeler, his husband Steve Munson and family friend Jane Hopper. HOW DO THEY ALL KNOW EACH OTHER?! WHAT A WEIRD GROUP?!

The more people speculate, the more they say shit. Like people ask them how they know each other and they all just throw out the weirdest answers.

Nancy gets asked in a press conference how she knows Rock Star Eddie Munson? Nancy answers with, "I was driving myself to California when I was 19 and I picked him up as a hitch hiker along the way. We’ve been friends since then."

Robin gets asked in a lecture how she knows the Sinclair Clan? Robin answers with, "I go way back with Dr. Erica. She once saved me from Russian Doctors trying to cut my toe nails."

Eddie goes on an interview in National TV and the host asks how he's friends with Argyle and Jon? Eddie answers with, "I got kidnapped by a killer clown when I was 17. They saved me by crushing the clown's still beating heart with their own bare hands."

Steve gets bombarded with questions online of how he knows Nancy, Robin, Jon, Argyle and even Eddie (his husband)? Steve answers with, "We were stuck in detention every Saturday when we were in senior year. We all became friends when Eddie Munson started singing Don't You (Forget About Me)."

Will and Mike gets asked in an interview about their friendship with Basketball Star, Lucas Sinclair? Will says, “Lucas once gave my dog CPR, ultimately, saving it’s life and we’ve been friends since then.” and Mike just goes, “Who???”

Erica once got asked how she knew Genius Astronaut, Dustin Henderson. Erica rolls her eyes, “That boy owes me his life. Ask him, not me.”

Dustin gets asked how he knows Eddie Munson. Dustin goes with, “Eddie once saved me from a feral army of bats and almost died. I’ve never let go of him since then.” The fans think this one might actually be true, they’ve seen the scars on Eddie, they’ve got theories and Dustin just gave them a puzzle piece.

Argyle got asked in a Business Magazine how he knows this weird, interconnected group. Argyle says, “Oh dude! Those are my life long friends! It started with a pizza van, a dead man, and a road trip to Utah. There was also a bald girl involved. In the end, the real treasure really is the friends we make along the way.”

Jonathan gets asked how he knows Eddie Munson. Jon gives the softest, sweetest smile and says, “We were in a satanic cult together.”

Jane Hopper gets asked once in public (how she knows all these famous people), someone filmed it and it went viral on Twitter. El says, verbatim, “Oh. It all started when I was kidnapped by an evil scientist who tested stuff on me like I was a lab rat. Long story short, they saved my life and they are my family.” By then people already don’t believe any of them because they all give out the most ridiculous answers. Hopper still grounds her for that even though she doesn’t live with him anymore. (Owens, who hasn't called them in 15 years, reached out with a warning).

→ Current Additions: Lucas Lie Detector & Max's Future (Scroll down the link)

[giuseppe-yuki]

oh, deer!

george russell x deer shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 2k

warnings: asshole reporters, cursing, suggestive material

part of my shapeshifting!reader series

summary: the ability to shift into a deer gets you out of some complicated situations

picture credits from pinterest :)

“wake up love, we are here!” george whispers, softly shaking you. 

you open your eyes slowly, and find yourself in the familiar inside of george’s sleek silver mercedes amg c 63 s. next to you, george has already turned his attention to searching in the middle console compartment for his badge, forehead wrinkled in irritation.

blinking the sleep out of your eyes, you grab your chanel clutch and feel inside for the familiar rectangle shape of you and george’s badge. even if your boyfriend was so skilled in driving that he could become one of the world’s top drivers, he definitely still had to work on his organization skills and not leave things lying around. 

you take out the badges from your bag and hand them over to george, sending him a small smile when you see the relief on his face.

“good lord, i don’t know what i would’ve done without you,” he says, giving you a kiss on the cheek. “i nearly had to call toto again to print me a new badge! at this rate, they should probably put a badge printer outside the gate for me when you’re not here,” he joked. 

you laugh aloud. it wasn’t often that you attended george’s races. it wasn’t that you didn’t want to- it was that your job as a lead conservation biologist in one of canada’s biggest national parks, wood buffalo, was really demanding and took up much of your time. this time though, your boss allowed you to take a few days off in order to watch your boyfriend at the canadian grand prix.

“ready to go?” george asks, putting on his team kit jacket. 

you nod, and like the gentleman he is, george hops out of his side of the car and rushes to open the door for you. 

“why thank you, good sir,” you say in a fake posh accent, taking his hand and climbing out of the car. 

the weather in montreal was slightly drizzly, but nothing you weren’t used to working in wood buffalo. you brush a few fat raindrops off of your coat as you walk towards the gated entrance of the paddock, wet gravel crunching under your feet. george reaches for your hand, entwining it with his. he suddenly turns to you. “i just want to thank you again for coming to the grand prix with me,” he says seriously. “i know you’ve been exhausted managing everything thats going on in wood buffalo and i’m so glad you’re spending your off days with me!” 

“aww, georgie!” you say grinning, “no need to thank me! i would willingly spend my break wherever in the world as long as you’re there.” 

by the time you arrived in the garage, the media had been notified of your presence. it wasn’t everyday that george russell’s shy elusive girlfriend showed up in the paddock. why haven’t you shown up at any other of george’s races? did you secretly hate him? were you hooking up with other guys while george was racing in japan? they didn’t even bother researching your background as a conservation biologist before throwing the wildest accusations at you. 

the second george left your side in the garage in order to hop in the car to start fp1, you started noticing media reporters and cameraman sneak into the mercedes motorhome in order to get the “scoop” about your attendance record at george’s races. when you looked at the live feed on the tv screens, you could see your own face staring back at you with a little frown. 

“hey, i’m a reporter for motorsport.com!” an enthusiastic woman exclaims next to you, causing you to jump a bit. “can i–”

before she could finish her sentence, a white samoyed barrels straight in the small gap between you and the pushy reporter. the dog barks at the woman, circles you a few times, and sits in front of your heeled feet, as if guarding you from the other newscasters. 

you whisper a small ‘thank you’ to the samoyed, giving a few pets on its thick white coat. you were pretty sure this was lewis hamilton’s dog, as you always saw it trailing around him in the media pen and around the paddock whenever you rewatched the f1 recaps and interviews when you were stuck in wood buffalo. the dog turns around, winks at you, and pads off towards lewis’ part of the garage. 

what the- you think. i had to be imagining that, because no way a dog just winked at me.

thankfully, the rest of the reporters keep their distance the rest of fp1, and you watch george as he gets a respectable result. you keep your distance as the engineers and strategists fix and put away parts of george’s car when he pulls back in the garage. george himself, sweaty from the multiple laps, pulls off his helmet and ear piece before approaching you. 

“how’d i do?” he says, grinning at you. his eyelashes seem extra long and his lips seem extra kissable right about now. before you can react, lewis shouts from across the garage.

“george, toto wants us in the meeting room in five. there’s an emergency meeting about tire management that he wants us to go over before fp2.” turning to you, lewis looks apologetically. “i’m sorry love, i know you probably wanted to spend some time with george before fp2, but toto was insistent on the meeting. you are welcome to wait in the driver rooms or walk around the paddock in the meantime!” 

you nod understandingly at lewis as george steps forward and wraps you in hug. he places a kiss at the top of your head, and whispers in your ear, “i’ll try and get out as soon as i can.” 

without george, lewis, and lewis’ samoyed, the reporters started to creep up to you again. your tired physical and mental state from the flight from wood buffalo along with the stress from having to talk to the journalists did nothing but piss you off even more. it got to a point where they were chasing you down, with their mics and cameras in hand. you spotted other drivers, but you were too scared to ask them for help, because you barely knew them from the small amount of time that you spent at any of the races.

you had managed to squeeze yourself between two garages at the edge of the property, haas and mercedes, to hide from the reporters, when you finally decided to use your last resort. 

you hurriedly morphed into your deer form right as the reporters found your hiding nook in between the garages. 

“huh?” a man dressed in a tropical button up says, eyeing you suspiciously. “i swear to god she ran in here!” 

a reporter from a different source shrugs. “that’s so weird. i guess we were chasing the poor girl down though. maybe i’ll come back a little later to do a double interview with her and george after fp2.”

the first man nods in agreement. “i guess so. we could possibly take a few shots of this random deer here though. it’ll be good for the nature and wildlife panel we can make for the paddock.” 

you flee from the scene the moment they are gone, and wander around the paddock, gaining attention from many fans. they stop to take a few pictures with you, not that you minded, because at least they were nicer than the reporters. fifteen minutes later, you find yourself by a patch of grass by the track. you spot a few wild rabbits hidden amidst the green blades of grass and approach them slowly. keeping mental notes about the characteristics, you continue to observe their movements. you giggle internally when they glance at you and tilt their heads in a questioning look. your shapeshifting abilities definitely had its perks, especially when it came time to analyze the wildlife. your boss had always wondered how you were able to make such accurate notes about the behaviors of other species. 

unbeknownst to you, f1tv had captured a live feed of the “cool deer by turn 10.” 

“what a magnificent creature!” david croft remarks. “it’s just wonderful seeing the wildlife around canada.”

partly through toto’s rant about how the unpredictable rain is fucking up their entire tire management plan, george has already zoned out. the word “wildlife” booming from the outside speakers is what captures george’s attention as he idly spins a pen around his fingers. perking up, he looks outside the window of the mercedes motorhome. sure enough, he sees you, his girlfriend, plastered on the gigantic screen that usually showcased the live feeds of the drivers during the race. his eyes widen the size of saucers. he could hear crofty comment on how the deer was probably seeking out the wild bunnies in order to make friends. but, from his pov, he could see you still and unmoving, probably analyzing the rabbits and taking mental notes. 

he quickly excuses himself, ignoring the questionable glances from the rest of the engineers and lewis, and rushes out the door towards the track. 

when he nears your area, he lets out clicking sounds with his tongue- three short and two long- a secret code you both had devised when you first started dating. 

you immediately lift your head and come prancing towards him, letting at a little bleat when you see the wide grin splitting his face. 

the meeting is all but forgotten when you both find yourself in george’s drivers room. you are sitting on george’s lap, lips a little bruised and hair messy after sharing a few heated kisses. 

“care to tell me why you were literally on track during my meeting?” he asks teasingly. “lewis did say you should explore the paddock, but not the grass two inches away from the track!”

you roll your eyes, and explain what went down after he left with lewis. his brow furrows more and more as you continue to describe how some reporters chased you down. 

his mood shifts quickly to furious. “i am taking this to the GPDA. this is unacceptable behavior towards anyone, much less my own girlfriend!” 

you place a hand on his chest, calming him down. “it’s okay, georgie. i understand they were just trying to do their job and get content- it’s just that they were a bit harsh, that’s all.” 

he nods, but doesn’t stop looking concerned for you. “you must still be so stressed and tired, love. i can give you a shoulder massage, how about that?” 

“a shoulder massage?” you ask, incredulously, “erm… sure.” you climb out of his lap and sit on the floor, while he places his hands onto your shoulders.

he rolls his thumbs into the sore muscles around your back, loosening them out. continuing up, kneading the tense tendons in the lower part of your neck.

you sigh in contentment, “mmm, that’s so good georgie!” when he brushes past a particularly achy part of your shoulder, you let out a groan. “a little harder,” you murmur, eyes closed in enjoyment.

at the worst time possible, you hear a loud knock on the door of george’s driver room trailer. 

“george, open up the goddamn door!” says someone in a german accent outside. “i literally hear your girlfriend’s voice in there! you better not better not be fucking when you should be in the meeting that you left half an hour ago!”

your eyes widen in surprise. “what the hell, george??? you left the meeting to come see me? why the hell did you do that?” you whisper-yell at him. 

before he can answer, the door slams open. 

toto peers in, only to see slightly sweaty george with messy hair, and a stunned-looking deer in front of him. 

“ermm… what is going on here?” he says, mouth in a frown and arms crossed. “why is the deer from turn 10 in your drivers room, george? are you a disney princess attracting all the wildlife or what?”

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin @ale-522 @formula1-motogpfan @aceyalonso @my0hmary

@mbappebby @madkohi @rakshatos @heartsforleclerc @papaya-twinks

[great-axepectations]

What must it be like to be on a server with Doc? Every time he posts in the Hermitcraft Discord server must be absolutely insane.

Is anyone available to help me kill 3 wardens that got loose on the nether roof? Sorry actually it might be more like 20

Hey if it's not too much trouble, could no one log on for the next 30 minutes? I'm trying to transport an ender dragon I pulled into the overworld and loading chunks could mess it up

Anyone want to play a children's card game? I outsourced my deck building to a think tank made of hundreds of people and I want to absolutely destroy someone in a match

Does someone know a good rap artist to collab with? I want to make an anthem for the nation I founded in my massive hole of a base and Snoop Dog never got back to me

So we're not having a team meeting, just an informal brainstorming session? Cool, can I invite Christopher Paolini? Yeah the guy who wrote the Eragon books

If you see any ghasts flying over spawn town, I released like 30 of them as a prank. There should be like 2 left so don't kill them, they're an endangered species

I left that shulker at spawn FOR A REASON. Whoever took it, YOU KNOW WHAT I'M CAPABLE OF. RETURN IT OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES

Just a heads up guys, I'm inviting some Mojang devs on to the server so I can show them the cannon I made that can shoot an arrow through 3000 solid blocks in one tick and immediately destroys a full set of netherite armor

Grian was annoying me so I built a cannon that shoots charged creepers at his base with startling accuracy. Then he used it for his own gain so I build a goat mech that poops explosives to guard my base. What do you mean that's not how normal people handle disputes? He's clearly the unhinged one!

Be careful going into my base, I have a pet warden at the bottom of the perimeter. No, a PET. Yes it's there on purpose, his name is King

No one touch the chunk loader at spawn, I'm using it to transport items thousands of blocks instantly. No, of course it's not an intended feature but I still managed to pull it off in vanilla, didn't I?

How did the world eater go? Well I needed to use 3 minecraft accounts so it would run properly and at one point it was disrupted by solar flares, which I think might have been God trying to strike me down for my hubris. But other than that, yeah it went well!

Please note that these examples are ONLY FROM SEASON 9

[loveindefinitely]

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

13 — THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS BAD THOUGHTS, ONLY YOUR ACTIONS TALK

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. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

You’d, somehow, forgotten just how… vibrant two of your oldest friends were.

With the blades of the helicopter still spinning, the deafening sound of aircrafts around you, and a steady mist of rain, your body collides with another.

“Oi, watch it!” You exclaim, a beaming smile stretched over your features as the bulky, oblivious man squeezes his arms around your torso and buries his head into your neck. “You smell like gunpowder. And your fiancée.”

His voice comes out muffled against your skin. “And you smell like cheap body wash.”

He squeezes you once more before finally letting you go, his dimples deep and hair soggy with rain. You study his features, the sharpness of his jaw and the dusting of brunette against it. Him. One of your oldest friends in the military.

He looses a breath, eyes meeting yours and his hands falling to your shoulders, a comforting weight. You don’t have any words, can’t find them, so all that leaves your lips is a single name.

“Alex,” you whisper, voice breaking in the middle, heart a sore throb in your chest.

The storm clouds above paint the world around you in harsh greys and physical manifestations of sadness – but in it all, your light has arrived. 

And how powerful it is.

“Moonflower!” A deeply familiar, feminine voice shouts, and you spread your arms wide and accept the body that crashes against your own. Your laugh is startled and pure, but relief and serotonin floods your system as warm as the embrace you’re surrounded in.

You’d found solace and even a home in your solitude, your loneliness, but now? 

Now, with the only two people in your life that have remained by your side, no matter the distance, holding you in their embrace?

It feels like family, even if you know there isn’t a space between the two of them for you to fit in – no crevice large enough for you to ever comfortably merge.

A foster family, maybe. Or a found one, however tenuous and distant.

“I missed you both so much,” you murmur, voice cracking slightly. You clear your throat, inhaling a trembling breath as you squeeze your eyes shut and rest your face in the crook of her neck. She smells of an odd mixture of her usual perfume, and Alex’s cologne.

You wonder if you’ll still have enough limbs attached to get to their wedding, by the time everything has been dealt with.

If you’ll even have a head attached.

It’s a small eternity (or maybe a few seconds, or maybe a few years) until she pulls away, a glint in her eyes that seems a concoction of pity and strength.

“You look stunning, Farah,” you grin, and your cheeks burn with the odd sensation of joy.

She crinkles her nose, dark stray hairs flying across her face from the continuing wind of both winter and the helicopter. Her skin glows with health – and you realise, then, how even with the stress of reconstructing a nation, she’s happy. Honest and unrepentant and golden. A survivor of war, but a survivor nonetheless.

Raising a brow, she returns, “You look like shit.”

A chuckle leaves your throat, the familiarity that is Farah’s honesty akin to a hot chocolate and a blanket wrapped around a freezing frame.

“You look like you’ve been injured,” Alex adds, a small wince gracing his features. He’s miraculously found himself once more at Farah’s side, not unlike a loyal guard dog. 

A guard dog guarding a lion, maybe, but a guard dog nonetheless.

“Unlike you two,” you chastise, folding your arms and burying your cold hands in the space between your bicep and breasts, “I’m at war.”

“With the guy we warned you about,” Farah raises her brow, voice acidic and biting. “The guy we told you was going to ruin your life?”

“There’s a difference between ruining my life, and quite literally ruining my life,” you counter, watching a cloud of breath hang in the air, chilled by the evening cold, before dissipating into the breeze.

“He can continue ruining your life inside,” Alex cuts in, a hand falling against the dip of Farah’s spine, and the other moving to rest between your shoulder blades. He applies just enough pressure to be convincing, but not demanding.

It may as well be a demand, however, with how weak your mindscape seems to be in the face of comfort and familiarity. 

The base seems small, even with the short distance, a reminder of how self-contained and cataclysmic your life has become (has always been). It’s well past eight, now, and with the winter hours it’s almost pitch black already. A few stars decorate the black landscape, this far out from most light pollution. Your eyes stray to the glistening balls of flame, and you wonder if someday soon you’ll find yourself amongst them.

Two duffel bags hang off of Alex’s shoulder, and it sparks your interest. 

“How long are you two planning to stay?” You ask, as if they’re merely old friends staying for a weekend, catching up over bottles of wine and damaged decks of cards. 

They both shrug, almost in sync. Your heart thunders in your chest at the small display of how attuned they are with each other – how in love. It’s Farah who answers, simply, “However long it will take.”

When you look down to your boots, ripples of water against sleek concrete cascading beneath each footfall, it’s merely to hide the stretch of a smile that braces your chapped lips. Your voice is small, uncharacteristically vulnerable, when you mutter to the ground, “Thank you.”

“We owe you, hell, we owe you more than a dozen lifetimes for what you’ve done for us,” Alex scoffs, the gratitude rolling off of him unlike the rain soaking his long-sleeved v-neck. 

“Let’s just call this even, then,” you retort, lifting your head once more, allowing them both to see the softened curve of your mouth, the gentle slope of your brows.

The rain has paused its pouring, but a whole other kind of thunderstorm awaits the three of you in the entry of the base.

When you’d called Farah and Alex – just two nights ago, mere minutes after finishing your meal with Ghost and Soap – you hadn’t spared many details about Graves. You’d told them of your betrayal, of your thoughts, of the adrenaline rush that was that last fight with him.

What you hadn’t disclosed was your increasingly peculiar arrangement with the 141. Or your tryst with Gaz. Or your mess of feelings, as a whole.

So, really, you hadn’t told them much in the realm of everything.

Now, seeing the outline of four starkly familiar profiles, waiting underneath the small awning above the entrance to the base, you regret leaving such vital pieces of information out of your hours-long call.

“This is the one first impression you don’t want to fuck up,” is all you manage to grate out to the two beside you, before you fall into hearing distance of the very imposing image the 141 has managed to portray. Sometimes, you forget how genuinely daunting the four men are, with the different lights you’ve seen them in.

This is not one of those times.

As soon as the light sitting at the door shines against the three of you, Soap startles forward, clad in only a tight-fitting grey shirt, with a hefty leather jacket in his grip. When he reaches you, not even glancing at the newcomers, he pulls the jacket over your shoulders, warm and gun-rough hands brushing the soft skin of your neck as he does so.

“Impatient, lass, runnin’ off into the rain without any feckin’ layers,” he reprimands, without any bite at all.

You’re stumped, for a moment, before shaking your head lightly and stepping away from the utterly confusing man. With a dramatic flourish of a hand gesture, you motion towards your left. 

Thankfully, Soap hadn’t met you too far out, so it only takes a few steps before you’re standing before the other three. A healthy dose of scepticism and tension fills the air between you all, and while you could certainly do without it, it still stings.

Just as you’re about to introduce everyone, despite Soap’s oddly rude behaviour, Price interrupts.

“Bloody hell, small world, ain’t it?” He chuckles, throaty and pleased, muscle-corded arms folded over his chest. His smile is like a beam in the dark of night.

“Thought it’d be a nice surprise, old man,” Farah returns, bringing out her hand for him to shake with a firm grip, both comfortable and at ease in each other’s presence. When Farah goes to pull away, however, Price stops her from doing so with wide eyes, laser-focused on her ring-adorned finger.

“Well I’ll be damned, Alex, how’d you convince her to deal with your arse for eternity?” Price teases, and while you expect the younger man to hit back, he simply beams.

The three seem to be in their own little world, with you, Soap, Gaz and Ghost being left with raised brows. 

“Oh, sorry, guys,” Alex raises a hand, having the decency to look sheepish. His eyes trail along the 141 warily, before meeting your own eyes, relaxing slightly under your gaze. He seems reluctant to break the contact, but does so nonetheless, words directed at the 141 as he says, “Price is an old friend.”

Farah and Price break their quiet conversation, directing their attention back to the group at large. It’s quiet, for a moment, which is a blessing considering the large personalities at hand.

You’re the one to break it.

“Well,” you start, a sudden burst of anxiety sparking in your stomach – you hadn’t considered the merging of your two lives, of past and present, the clashing of…

Oh. God.

Oh God. Oh God, you had almost forgotten that, but if you had, maybe they did, too? Yes. Definitely. It’ll be fine.

(It won’t be fine, you’re more certain, but a little lie to yourself can’t hurt. Much.)

You continue, not a breath out of place despite your internal thoughts, “Farah, Alex, meet the 141.”

Gesturing to the four men, meeting all of their eyes, you then gesture to the other two. “Guys, meet Farah and Alex.”

Silence fills the space between you all for a mere moment – just past a second, really – but it’s damning and heavy all the same. It has your chest tightening and your throat constricting, not unlike a thread of rope being pulled taut around the curve of your neck. 

“Thank you for taking care of her,” Farah says, voice steady and calculated. Defensive, really.

Gaz’s eyes narrow, his voice perfectly even and sickly sweet as he responds, “I can promise you, the last thing Sweetheart needs is to be taken care of.”

It’s… tense.

You’d, of course, expected that it would take some time for Farah and Alex to become anything close to friendly with the 141, but this feels different. A kind of static alights the air, a live wire sensitive to any spark that will instantly set it aflame.

“It’s good to see you again too, mate,” Alex smiles, but a sharp edge lines the curve of his lips. His eyes meet Gaz’s, and they don’t stray.

With a tight smile, Gaz responds, “Likewise.”

Ghost stands farthest from the group, a haunting spectre, shrouded in shadows with his arms folded over his chest and his hip resting against the wall. It’s impossible to see where, exactly, his eyes are trained – but you know they rest on you nonetheless.

Soap’s jacket remains a comforting weight on your shoulders, and although you’re loath to admit it even to yourself, it is miles better than the thin top you’d braved. He’s standing closest to you, on your right, posture straightened and imposing. He exudes a kind of energy you haven’t felt from him before, the closest being when you’d been separated from him post-surgery, maybe.

“Let’s have some tea, maybe, in the common room?” You ask, but it’s not really a request. Your tone is thick with insistence and command, and no one is in a place to deny you.

By the time you all make it to the common room – Alex and Farah comfortably speaking with Price, and you walking silently with Gaz, Ghost and Soap. The latter, especially, remaining a close presence at your side.

A few candles are lit against the windowsill, and a singular lamp sat against the large couch has been lit. No need for the blinding white light of the ceiling – just comfort and familiarity.

It feels at odds with the terse energy at hand, but simultaneously, a blessing.

Alex immediately takes a seat on the far right of the couch, at ease with himself and his surroundings. Gaz sits on the far left, leaving two spots between them. Without a word, Soap’s hand finds your lower back, and he virtually pulls you with him to sit between the two men. 

You find yourself stuck between Alex and Soap, with Ghost, Price and Farah more than happy to stand. Even if there was space, you doubt they’d choose to take a seat.

“We need to find out what Shepherd’s up to,” you speak, breaking the small talk between Price and Farah, as well as between Gaz and Soap. The room falls silent immediately. “And we need to find out what actually happened to my mother.”

The silence continues, and you find yourself pulling the leather jacket tighter around your frame – finding solace in the heat of the two men at either side of you. Your past and your present, both there, both helping.

It’s, surprisingly, Ghost who answers the sentiment first. 

“We’re at your disposal,” he simply says, as if it’s ever that simple. Maybe it can be, maybe it will be, with the powerhouse of a group that’s surrounding you now, with all of your history and feelings and sentiments. 

You can feel the seeds of hope in your chest begin to blossom, begin to shine underneath the rays of sunlight that are Ghost’s words.

“Are,” you roll your tongue in your mouth, feeling the words out before you speak them, “Are you all ready and willing to do this? Because if you’re not, I’m going to get the job done myself.”

It’s true, suicide mission or not. 

“Yer outta yer feckin’ mind if ya think we’re leavin’ ya behind now,” Soap scoffs, relaxing further into the couch as he throws his arm up and around the back of the couch, hand skimming your left shoulder. His thigh presses against your right one.

“You’re stuck with us now, Sweetheart,” Price shrugs, hands in his pockets.

Murmurings of agreement and similar sentiments echo around the group, and you find yourself exhaling such a deep breath that you’re sure it expels some decade-old air that had been stuck in the crevices of your lungs. 

“Hold on,” Farah raises her hand, brows furrowing as her other fist rests at her bucked hip. “What’s this whole Sweetheart thing about?”

Soap’s hand finds the nape of your neck, brushing away your hair to rest a firm grip around the warmed skin. Your heart skips a beat in your chest, and another when he responds, “Simple, aye? She’s a Sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s impossible to quell the growing grin that’s creeping onto your face. “This idiot,” you nod towards the Scot at your side, “Was bleeding out. Gave him some sweetheart lollies to help with the blood loss, and, well, here we are.”

“Here we are,” he echoes, his eyes trained on your profile. When you meet his eyes, for a mere second, it feels like an electric shock.

Alex, on your other side, glances at you through the corner of his eyes with a hint of conspiracy. He leans in, mouth just a hair away from your ear, when he asks, “Which one of them are you fucking? Or have they all tumbled into your bed?”

Your elbow to his side is more a knee-jerk reaction to his words than anything, but you’re at least decent enough to wince at his groan of pain. He clutches his side like he’s been shot on the field, head falling to rest against your chest with dramatic flourish. Both Gaz and Soap start, as if about to physically restrain the man, and your unamused gaze immediately finds the Sergeants.

What the actual fuck is up with everyone?

“Not a jealous woman, are you, Farah?” Ghost chimes, voice guttural where he stands just to your left, by the arm of the couch. You can’t say you’d forgotten his presence – even with his silence, it’s a tangible, physical weight on your shoulders – but it still startles you when he speaks.

Farah’s easy smile turns into a cryptic smirk instantaneously, and, fuck.

Maybe, very possibly, most likely definitely: they remembered. Or, at least, Farah did.

Fuck.

You suppose it’s not really a thing you forget, unless your mind’s an overfilled storage room of memories and current events and problems. Which yours most definitely is, and of which theirs is likely not.

“Can’t say I am. Not the first time they’ve gotten handsy,” she shrugs, as if it’s an obvious statement.

As if the room hasn’t instantly dropped approximately ten degrees, and your heart stops where it should be thrumming in your chest.

It’s almost funny, how you instantly train your attention to Gaz. How your mind immediately fears his expression, his reaction to such a thinly veiled sentiment.

What you see is the instant rising of walls, the shuttering of his eyes, and the stiffening of his frame.

You wonder how many missed heartbeats it takes to constitute a heart attack.

“Old fling, were they?” Price asks, because, really, of course he does. When you look to him, he deliberately keeps his gaze on Farah, not giving you a single glance. It’s not jealousy, you know, because it’s Price, and he, in no capacity, holds any such feelings towards you. But it’s something damning nonetheless.

Alex, oblivious idiot that he is, finally pulls his head back up with a sharp laugh. If you didn’t know him, you’d think it was malicious. “Nah. Just thought some experimentation with an extra partner would be fun, and, hey, she is pretty damn hot.”

“You’re a dickhead,” you chastise, suddenly aware of all the points that you and Alex touch – all the points that you and Soap touch. 

“Didn’t realise ye were into that,” Soap bites, abruptly, tone sharp and acrid. You barely suppress a shiver at the shift in the man’s attitude, in comparison to his usually jovial and good-natured attitude. 

“Didn’t realise you were into kink-shaming, either,” you retort, almost startling at your own defensiveness.

Ghost’s hum feels like a reprimand, akin to an owner using a dog whistle on their trusted border collie, or a dominatrix snapping her whip. 

“I don’t think threesomes are a kink?” Alex’s statement ends in a question, a confused look settling over his features. “Like, polyamory definitely isn’t, but what about one-offs? Babe, do you know?”

Farah doesn’t answer, not for a long while. Entirely too aware of the tension filling the room, of the dangerous game she’s about to partake in. The one Alex started, likely unknowingly, but started nonetheless.

“No. It’s not kink. But some of what we did was.”

For, well, not the first time in your life (or even the last week, really), but pretty darn close to it, you consider storming into the weapon supplies and shooting yourself.

“Well!” You exclaim, nervous laughter following the statement, palms clammy where you wipe them against your pants, “Farah, Alex, you probably need some rest, y’know, after your flight. I certainly need it.”

Standing before you even realise you are, you move to get the hell out of there, when Soap’s hand wraps around your wrist, and tugs you back down to sit even closer against him. When Alex’s hand finds your shoulder, you realise distantly that this must be a kind of tug of war. Or piggy in the middle.

Potato, patata. You’re the bait either way.

“The night’s still young,” Price cuts in, and everyone around you seems to nod. “Unless you’re uncomfortable, Sweetheart,” he adds, and the genuinity beneath his words turns into a threat of your pride in your head.

“I’m fine,” you straighten your shoulders, set your nerves. “Just looking out for my friends.”

It’s a lie. You know it, Ghost most likely does, too, and you can only hope that everyone else is ignorant to that small fact.

Subconsciously, you find your attention drifting to Gaz once more.

He hasn’t spoken, you realise, not since Alex had said that. When he catches you watching his profile, lit by the lamp, the candles – he meets your eyes. Not for longer than a second, or half of one, you’re sure, but it hits you like a bullet. When he instantly looks away, you can’t help the sudden anger that stokes the flames in your stomach.

It’s not as if you were openly flirting with either Alex or Farah, and even then, who was he to be mad? You’d been together once, for God’s sake – not for a single moment since. Long days of work and stress and training made the comfort of his bed simply that.

And even then, even then, you were in no way official. Not in any semblance of the word, not with the stakes of the mission at hand, the risk that came with such relationships.

His response gives you half a mind to play up your past on purpose. You won’t, but the urge is definitely there.

It’s not silent, thank god. Alex, Price and Farah have continued a previous conversation, Ghost is silent and brooding, and…

“Didnae pick ye as promiscuous,” Soap states, fiercely meeting your eyes with a swirling of emotions visible within his own. He says the words like they’re poison on his tongue, and, fuck, you’re close to breaking point.

Your responding smile is nothing short of mocking. “Calling me a slut is less wordy, don’t you think?”

“Dinnae put words into my bloody mouth,” Soap seethes, leaning in further to your space, the scent of his cologne invading your senses. You hate how confused it all makes you feel, how unsure of your emotions and goddamn attachments.

“Oh, sorry, does the big bad military man want to tell me what such a big word means? If I don’t have the mental capacity to choose how I have sex, I surely can’t understand your wide vocabulary, can I?” You hiss, bending your neck slightly and not backing away from his posturing for even a moment.

“Soap, stop threatening her,” Price barks, and you distantly remember the people around you, the setting, the image the two of you must make.

You remember, and you can’t seem to find a single fuck to give.

“I can fight my own damn battles!” You yell, not sending a single glance Price’s way – eyes completely remaining on darkened blue instead.

“And that’s why ye still got bloody feckin’ bandages, damn bruises –”

“Do not go there with me right now, Johnny, or I swear to fucking god.”

Both of your chests heave, and you’ve forgotten what even sparked this sudden argument, this spiteful back and forth. You haven’t a clue in this moment, and you relish in it.

“She’s a better damn fighter than the lot of you,” Alex interrupts, “Injuries don’t mean shit, ‘specially not when you don’t know what the fuck she’s gone through.”

Soap directs his ire toward the man at your side, voice thick with anger and his accent when he counters, “And ye know ‘er so much better, jus’ cause ye got in ‘er pants? Aye?”

“Because he isn’t acting like a goddamn meathead!” You find yourself fisting your hand into his shirt, pulling him closer to you, faces inches apart.

“‘Nd kissin’ ‘n tellin’ is fine ‘nd dandy,” Soap laughs, without a hint of humour, “Thought ye had standards.”

A lot of things happen in the preceding moment.

You’d like to say you can’t be blamed for any of the actions that occur, but you also know that accountability is a virtue. And you mean to uphold it.

It goes something like this.

The fist that had been wrapped in his shirt pulls back, and instead, collides with his jaw. 

Arms wrap around your chest, caging your arms to your side. Arms, too, wrap around Soap, pulling him away from you. You’re both yelling obscenities, none of which you can name, and you both fight against your restraints. 

You don’t need to have a full frame of mind to know that it’s Alex and Price holding you back, and through the haze of it all, you’re sure it’s Ghost and Farah keeping Soap away.

“Calm the hell down!” Price commands, voice a beam of light in a storm. It brings you back to yourself, but not enough to stem the bleeding of your anger, just enough for you to recognise it.

“Bloody idiot, Johnny, get it together!” Ghost is saying to Soap, standing in front of him and shaking his shoulders as Farah’s arms remain wrapped around his torso, keeping his fists below his waist.

Gaz is nowhere to be seen.

“Don’t fucking speak to be, Johnny, I don’t want to see your face,” you shout, eyes glassy, before you finally ease into Price and Alex’s grips, their own going lax. You shoulder off their arms, before without a word, storming down the corridor.

Your name’s called out after you, ‘Sweetheart’, ‘Moonflower’ – none of it matters. Not past the roaring in your ears, the spite burning in your veins. The pent up energy of an unfinished fight.

Shoving open the door to your – Gaz’s – room, you startle when you see the man himself, standing in the middle of the room, shirt in hand. The only light comes from the window, the full moon high in the sky more than enough light to serve as a lamp. His sweats hang loose on his hips, his muscles bulging but still lithe, more like a gymnast’s build than a wrestler’s.

He’s never looked better.

Whether that’s the adrenaline speaking, or the anger, you don’t know. Don’t care. Not past the need to have his mouth against your own.

It takes all of two seconds before the door slams shut behind you, and you’re shoving Gaz onto the bed, his own groan answer enough. His brown eyes glisten with the moonlight, and his throat dips when he swallows, focus trained on where you tug off that damn leather jacket. your shirt following.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” you demand, “Unless it’s yes, no, or please.”

He nods, shaky, voice breaking when he responds, “Yes.”

Kicking off your pants, leaving you standing in only your panties and bra, you move to straddle him. He dutifully remains laid onto the bed, chest heaving in harsh sweeps, mouth slightly open in a mixture of shock and lust.

“Where do you get off,” you breathe, voice heavy with threat as you drag your pointer finger along the length of his throat, before following the line of his collarbone, “Being all moody about who I’ve fucked? What gives you the right?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the weakest he’s ever sounded, “Not – I’m not mad, I just. I want you.”

Your hand finds his neck, forming a light grip around it. You haven’t applied any pressure, but his breath hitches at the weight of it, the promise. 

“That sounded like more than one syllable,” you frown, mockingly patronising. You squeeze his neck, not anywhere hard enough to choke, but enough to have him squeezing his eyes shut. “We can talk later.”

He nods, harsh, quick jerks of his head, and the slightly unhinged smile returns to your face.

You hadn’t gotten the fight you’d yearned for, not with Soap, but this is a good enough replacement for that need.

Dragging your hand down his bare chest, you pause when you see scars. Not healed like those from battle, and ones you recognise. Before you can process what it means, Gaz lets out a sharp gasp, and when you look to him, his eyes are wide and.

And scared.

“No, hey, you can speak,” you ramble, and you can feel the flame of rage dim to sparking charcoal. It should be scary, how quickly you find yourself worried for the man, but it’s not. “It’s okay.”

“I should’ve told you,” he immediately breathes, squeezing his eyes shut once more. His head falls back to the bed once more. “I’m.”

He swallows, and you find your hand gravitating to his throat once more – this time, in a soft, soothing caress.

“I’m trans,” he finishes, saying it like one would whisper a secret in a confessional. Your heart stutters in your chest, and it aches, the idea that he’s had lovers who’ve made him feel so awful about his identity.

Your hand moves from his neck to his cheek, thumb brushing underneath his eyes, and they finally flutter open once more.

They soften when they see your smile.

“Thank you for telling me,” you say, voice low and cautious. “If you wanna stop, it’s fine, but,” you shrug, “You’re hot. I still wanna fuck. You might have to show me what feels best, but that’s kinda hot, too.”

“You’re okay with it?” His voice is fragile, shaky, and fuck he’s pretty.

“I’m okay with it,” you echo, sentiment genuine and kind. “Tell me what you want, Kyle.”

His arms remain laid out on the bed at either side of him, his skin still heated with want and need and wanton lust. His voice strengthens when he answers.

“I want you to use me – take it out on me,” he says. “Please.”

And who are you to deny such a request?

author's note. i was veryveryvery close to orphaning or marking as complete. i'm not really in or interested in the COD fandom at all anymore, but, i realised that i also want to see where this story goes? excluding the characters, the actual story and world i've created for sweetheart has me wanting to see it to its end.

that, along with the fans. you guys and your genuine interest and comments have made this project worth it. i can't express enough how much you all mean to me, especially those that comment on every chapter and have been there every step of the way. thank you, thank you, thank you.

i can't promise as efficient and regular updates, but i CAN promise that i plan to finish this story in its entirety.

thank you to those who have stuck around, and thank you for those that continue to do so. you mean the world to me, and the very writing of this fic is owed to you.

(also, if anyone has any feedback on my trans rep and dealing with a trans character, PLEASE lmk. i am in no way perfect, and if i've made a mistake, please tell me so i can fix it and grow as a writer!)

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 @thriving-n-jiving @callsign-pyro @mmmangel @aisawa-reo @just-pure-trash @silly-norman @annoyingstrawberryballoon @chop-zulyzulyyy

[pers1st]

could you just try to listen?

pt 2 of kiss me, try to fix it

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

notes: writing this was a pain tbh but you guys wanted it so I hope this suffices

Ditching Alexia was easy, as you spent the last week of your break with Keira and Lucy. If the two minded you interrupting their couple time, neither of them mentioned it, and to be quite honest, you didn't care much. You had known the couple for a long time, and given the way Lucy had witnessed the absolute mess you had been that morning - you figured she was happy to keep you in her sight, for as long as she needed to.

You had told Keira as well, though reluctantly. Admitting that Alexia had cheated on you had felt like knives stabbing your mouth with every word that dropped from your chapped lips, which you had been chewing on relentlessly since the revelation.

On a positive note, though, you were presented with two very personal security guards, making sure that neither Alexia nor Mapi, who had been chasing after you like a stray dog, were awarded any interaction with you, other than passing a ball. The pain was still rooted deeply - every time you looked at your ex girlfriend, it pierced through your body, reaching every nerve, numbing your face. You put on a stone hard expression whenever you were met with her sight, although it was harder than you could put into words. Alexia didn't deserve your sadness. She didn't deserve to see the damage she'd done to you - you didn't deserve for her to know how badly she'd hurt you, though you figured it was easily visible by the fact that you didn't talk anymore. Barely any words to Lucy and Keira, complete silence to the rest of the team. Anyone else would've figured the loss to the Spanish national team had hurt your pride so badly, you refused to speak their language anymore. In truth, you were simply too tired.

Nights were spent tossing and turning and fighting the urge to absolutely wreck your apartment, because everything there reminded you of her -

The framed pictures, the hoodies in your closet, the shoes by your door. All of it was Alexia. All of you had been Alexia.

She didn't stay away from you though, as much as you wanted her to. With every time the two of you were left alone in a room, either Lucy came running back, realizing she had forgotten you as though you were a little child, or you ran away from her. You didn't think she deserved to explain. Didn't think she deserved for you to listen.

It was much harder to ignore Mapi, though. You had expected her to stick to Alexia's side through this breakup, partially due to the fact that the two of you had never been super close, but what happened seemed to be quite the opposite.

She was everywhere. Waiting on you in the locker room, sneaking up on you during gym, trying to pick you for partnering exercises, approaching you during at lunch. And she always asked the same question - Can we talk?

Most of the time, it was Lucy who told her no. Except for the fact that, since you had seen who seemed to be the assistants of your breakup have a very aggravated conversation yesterday. Ever since, Lucy had let you loose a little bit. And that was how you had found yourself here - in the locker room, fresh out of the shower, dressed in sweats with a towel around your head and Mapi sitting in your cubby, inspecting your locker shamelessly.

"Ale gave you that, no?", she asked, holding up a bracelet she had picked out of your belongings, one that you had stored at the very back of your locker.

"Give it", you huffed, stretching your hand out for the piece of jewelry and watching as Mapi handed it to you, just for you to throw it to the very back of your locker once more.

"Chica, we need to have a talk", she sighed as you pulled her away from your cubby, sitting down to take off your slippers.

"I don't think we do", you smiled bitterly as you pulled your socks on rather aggressively.

"You think, but you don't know!"

You furrowed your brows as you allowed yourself to look at your ex's best friend for just a second, the frown on her face, along with determination making you gulp ever so slightly.

"I don't want to talk to you", you huffed.

"Okay, then listen, at least."

Knowing that there was no way to get Mapi out of the locker room without forcing her (physically), and knowing that you would inevitably loose that battle, you stayed silent, wishing for nothing more than Ingrid to come get her girlfriend out of your way. But you weren't that lucky.

"Ale was drunk."

You had to laugh at that. You had seen how drunk your girlfriend was, but there was no way Mapi seriously believed that it would be a good enough excuse for you to forgive her, did she?

"I know that", you chuckled bitterly, turning towards your locker for your pair of sneakers.

"No, Y/N. She was drunk. Like, so drunk she couldn't even stand on her own. Jenni was helping her to not collapse. When Jenni kissed her, Ale-", Mapi stopped herself.

"She didn't even realize until it was too late. She pushed Jenni off, but someone had taken a video of it and posted it. Alexia didn't even- she couldn't-"

You stopped in your tracks. This didn't compare to the scenario you had made up in your mind in the slightest.

In your imagination, it had been Alexia to initiate the kiss. It had been Alexia who had grown tired of you, who had been happy to celebrate her win with her teammate, and her ex-girlfriend. In your mind, it had been Alexia who had had enough of you, and decided to ditch you for someone she knew was a better girlfriend than you.

What Mapi was saying- it was doing your head in.

"Jenni took advantage of her, Y/N. Alexia was so upset that she cried, but- chica, she doesn't even remember it. That's how drunk she was. Jenni knows it was shitty and apologized, but- Ale has no idea how to make this up to you. She blames herself, when - and trust me on this - this was in no way her fault."

Looking up from where your gaze had fixated on your sneakers, you found Mapi's face. She was genuine- you could tell. Mapi was a lot of things, but she wasn't a liar, you figured. What she told you made sense- Alexia really hadn't remembered. You noticed it now when you thought back to that morning, the morning that had shattered your world.

"Okay."

There was nothing else you could say. Before Mapi could react, you had left the locker room already, only then noticing how Lucy waited on the other side of the door.

"Okay? Seriously?", she asked, raising her eyebrows as you pushed yourself past her, ignoring her reaction entirely. The fact that Mapi knew this was enough publicity for you, and you'd be damned if Lucy got in on the whole conspiracy as well.

At home, you had time to think about it, well and truly. You allowed yourself, for the first time, to look at the picture that had broken the Internet, it seemed. Your heart still stung as you saw the fabric of your shirt on Alexia's body, her lips on that of another woman. But now, you noticed things you hadn't before -

The first one was Jenni's arm around her waist, and if you believed Mapi's story, it was to hold her upright. Alexia's head was almost laying on her own shoulder, which at first you had interpreted to be pure passion, but now, it seemed as though the energy had been soaked out of her body entirely.

You didn't believe Mapi was a liar. You had never believed that. You had known she told the truth from the very first word she'd spoken, but now that you had looked at the picture again, for the first time in months, it only confirmed what you already knew-

You were in the wrong here. Alexia hadn't broken your heart in a malicious attempt to ruin your life. The woman you loved hadn't simply discarded you for her ex.

Yet you had yelled at your girlfriend like a mad woman and left her without giving her the chance to explain herself.

Guilt was creeping up on you within seconds as you remembered her hazy eyes, the tears dwelling in them, the way she had kissed you and promised that whatever it was, the two of you could fix it.

Silently, you wondered whether that offer still stood.

Before you could even come to a conclusion, you were up on your feet again, keys in your hand as you headed towards the front door. You were going to talk to Alexia, you were going to talk to the woman you loved so dearly and win her back.

Only you didn't have to go anywhere, because the second you opened your door, there she stood- phone pressed in her hands, eyes fixated on the screen, one of your hoodies on her body.

When the wood creaked, she finally looked up at you.

"Oh, I was just- texting Mapi, to-"

She stopped herself.

"I was just coming to see you."

"So Maria spoke to you?"

You nodded. Her shoulders sunk a little as she gazed at you, her eyes wide.

"You want to come in?"

You didn't have to ask twice, as Alexia gently pushed herself past you, discarding her shoes by your door and strolling through the hallway as if it was her own home. In a way, it was. Or at least, it had been. Maybe it still was, you didn't know. But the way she drew herself into the corner of your couch, pulling her legs up to her chest as she nuzzled herself into the soft pillows made a warmth spread through your stomach, following her shortly after.

"I'm sorry", you started, but Alexia was quick to interrupt you.

"No. You don't have to be. You didn't know-"

"Yes, but I should've-"

"Amor, let me speak."

You huffed at that but nodded, leaning yourself against the cushion as you sat across from her, taking in her features just like you had that night. One night, you had began counting her freckles. Despite the fact that you didn't allow yourself to do so now, desperate not to get lost in her mesmerizing beauty but to actually listen, you still hoped that one day, you'd get the chance to count them all. To kiss each and every one of them.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten drunk, and what happened was bad. But, amor, I love you so so much. I would never cheat on you, I would never even dream of kissing another woman. You are the only person I ever want to kiss again."

"You want to kiss me again?"

You shuddered slightly. Was Alexia still giving you a chance, after you ignored her for weeks on end, and had risked your relationship for just a simple misunderstanding.

"Sí, you muppet. I want to kiss you for the rest of my life, if-"

She halted for a second, taking your hands into hers. The warmth of her skin immediately slowed your beating heart, which was pounding within your chest as your breath hitched slightly.

"If you let me?", she asked, her voice so soft that you almost melted on the spot.

You nodded at that, only now realizing your vision was blurry with tears.

"Hey, don't-"

Cry. She had wanted to say. But you didn't let her speak this time, instead closing the gap between you as your hands found the back of her neck, pressing your lips against hers.

You would let Alexia kiss you for the rest of your life. And you would never, ever not hear her out again.

[justanimalsofficial]

Protogen Technologies Military Robot Dog

The military robot dog line by Protogen Technologies. This one in particular has been deployed to Philadelphia (hence the insignia) and has been given a prosthetic tail and prosthetic ears to make civilians less uneasy, especiall children.  Art by Ghost Troupe

Posted using PostyBirb

[lillygamine]

𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝐿𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝒯ℎ𝑒 𝒬𝑢𝑒𝑒𝑛

♡ Warning: Female!Reader X Male!Yandere, Male!Sodier!Guard!Yandere, Delusional!Yandere, Mention of non-consensual relationship, Mention of nsfw, Short imagine. ♡ Note:I had thoughts about nsfw with a medieval soldier/guard, but I needed to at least put something about it since I'm not very good with NSFW stories, maybe if this has repercussions I'll write something 👀 ♡ Note2:I don't speak English so I'm sorry for any mistakes in writing. ⚠️ Minors please dni with most posts/follow ⚠️

Fight battles and wars that are not mine, live for a single purpose, the purpose of serving, the duty to the Queen and to this nation. Never before have I been so loyal to something or someone, living life in an endless limbo, without purpose or happiness, without duty or reason to continue living, existing as a long-lost soul, wandering in this dark and endless limbo. I was always good at obeying orders, doing what I was told to do, after all; I had no ambitions, values, opinions or desires, I was a shell of a man, so I don't understand…

That woman, who had just been entrusted with such a huge responsibility, taking care of an entire kingdom, carrying such a heavy burden that was placed on her shoulders without even having her wishes taken into consideration, could have noticed my presence. She looked deep into my eyes and extended her hand to me, offering me a purpose, a reason to live, not as an order but as a request. As if we were equal, as if what I wanted was important.

A warrior, her sword, her hands, her dog, I was all of that. Fight your battles, Win your wars, be your eyes and ears, be your most loyal dog, but I was flawed Serving her is my purpose, my duty, but my desire was to possess her. Desire corrupted me, growing inside my chest like weeds, gnawing at me from the inside, expanding and feeding on every little sigh, every little smile, every look from her.

I don't know when it started, but when I finally noticed it, it had already spread through my being like a fire in a dry forest on a burning summer day. My body burned in flames even away from her, my mind, corroded with profane thoughts, making me desire her so ardently. Your smile, your voice, your eyes, your touch… I felt haunted every time I closed my eyes.

I wanted to touch her, hear her voice calling to me, feel her tremors and fill her with my bastards, desecrate her completely, make her mine and mine alone. I know she feels the same, her kindness, her pity, it can be nothing but love, a pure love from someone who has never been tainted by the sadism and cruelty of life, who has never been desecrated by lust and greed, a pure being .

The queen must be desecrated by the world, but it's okay if it's me…right? Your most loyal guard, your most obedient dog, right? I can it,right? I have that right, I'm only loyal to the queen! She certainly agrees with me… I can protect her from the dark world, even if I end up desecrating her along the way… The queen will be alive and safe, the queen will be mine... Long live for the Queen

[fancy-fangs]

"oh c!ranboo was such a pussy" "c!ranboo was so annoying they didn't have a single backbone" ARE YOU ALL CRAZY??? DID WE WATCH THE SAME DSMP???

Imagine you're just a guy, you don't remember anything, you don't know where you came from, you don't know where you are, you barely remember who you are and you see you have nothing to your name. You see this big ass nation full of people and PEOPLE ACTUALLY KILLING EACH OTHER - of fucking course you'd keep to yourself and try to not start conflicts!!!

He literally saw how people were hunted and murdered over simple disagreements!!! He literally saw how people got tortured for not doing what they were told!!! Of course he would follow the laws and whatever else he was told. Of fucking course they didn't go around starting fights and punching people around.

They were literally already at the bottom of the food chain and saw what happened to ppl who were already better off than him. Why the fuck would he not just choose to listen to everyone else.

Plus as mentioned before, he didn't know shit. He didn't know how things worked. He didn't know how their community and society worked. He didn't know the rules of their made up countries. Of course he'd just listen to what people told him. What fucking other option did he have.

Yes he was a people pleaser intrinsically from the start and obviously that stayed a part of his character (plus meta reasons and bla bla) but some people are acting like he was the biggest loser for behaving the way he did.

PLUS he got so much more confrontational when he had things to lose??? When he owned things, when he had a husband, WHEN HE HAD A CHILD - he was fucking ready to kill over them no hesitation. He didn't care enough about his own back, but he kept Tubbos like a guard dog that bites off your hand if you make the wrong move.

Do not tell me Ranboo didn't have a backbone and was such a pussy, when he literally would have fought philza about leaving tubbo alone.

C!Ranboo was a teenager with self worth issues in a society where people killed and tortured over the smallest disagreements. I think he was okay to be a bit of a "yes-man"

[mydaddywiki]

Tim Walz

Physique: Average Build Height: 6' 2" (188 cm)

Timothy James Walz (born April 6, 1964) is an American politician, former schoolteacher, and retired United States Army non-commissioned officer who has served as the 41st governor of Minnesota since 2019. He was a member of the U.S. House of Representatives from 2007 to 2019, representing Minnesota's 1st congressional district. His cheerful and friendly demeanor has made him popular in office and that propelled him into the reckoning to be running mate to Vice President Kamala Harris.

Walz was born in West Point, Nebraska. After high school, he joined the Army National Guard and worked in manufacturing. He later graduated from Chadron State College in Nebraska before moving to Minnesota in 1996. Before running for Congress, he was a high school social studies teacher and football coach.

Funny how a week ago, few, if any people had no idea who Walz was, but now wanting to get into his pants and to be honest I’m here for it. He'd would look stunning, naked in my bed with my dick in him.

Handsome, looks hairy and he’s got some damn nice DSLs (Dick Sucking Lips) too! Walz is indeed a cute and sexy guy, but don’t get your hopes up, he’s straight. Married since 1994 with two children and a dog named Scout and a cat named Honey.

But… The more I look at him. The more I think he kinda has that guy next door who’s secretly into fuckery. Gay, straight or other fuckery? Who knows. But fuckery none the less.