#ok so no tarp

[pastafossa]

i get how it might seem like a good idea to put a tarp over the hole in the ceiling but i can’t get the image of the plumbers peeling it off and a gazillion spiders fall from it like balloons in a game show and then they scatter like they’re in an indiana jones movie i’m so sorry to disturb you with this information 😭

I CHANGED MY MIND THE TARP IS A TERRIBLE IDEA

[draconicace]

i went to ikea

[viovio]

but yea me and my sister had this "game" where we smothered pillows on each other's faces and sat on it and screamed it was fun

[samwisefamgee]

hi I also live in a trailer filled with mold and haven’t seen your previous posts about it but uh. are you okay? am I also going to be okay? I keep trying to kill and dry out the mold but it doesn’t want to go away. sorry it’s ok if you don’t wanna talk about it but I don’t know anyone else who is living in a Rot Box

Hi! Pretty sure we’re boned until fate smiles on us and we get outta the boxes

[llamagoddessofficial]

Oh Dearest Horror I would love to go on a multi day winter hike with you ❤️❤️❤️

"warm?"

Horror's voice was so very soft. With your back against his chest, you could feel it pleasantly reverberating through your whole body.

How could you be any warmer? Though your breaths escaped in puffs of steam, you were cuddled in his lap, your hood pulled down over your head. You wore a heavy knitted sweater lined with fur and cotton, a blanket Horror had carried the whole way wrapped snugly around you, his own huge arms tucked around your middle, and his massive thick wings laid over the top like your very own fluffy down blanket. Snowflakes still speckled the mottled browns and blacks. He was so comfy - he felt so secure, he smelled like delicious cooked meat and home. With how snuggled you were against him, you couldn't have possibly felt more secure or safe.

"Yes." You assured, rubbing the thumb of your gloved hand over the forearm locked around your middle. "I'm very very warm."

He purred, gently. It was like sitting in a massage chair. "ok."

You looked up, admiring the scenery. Horror always knew the best places. But this place was particularly nice. He'd led you into a forest of willow trees, their branches frozen in a way you'd never seen before - rather than being loaded with snow, they were laden with droplets of clear ice that twinkled like a sea of hanging crystals. He eventually settled into a clearing, laying down his bags and setting out a tarp so he could sit with his back against a tree.

He had invited you to sit beside him. You picked his lap instead.

"This place is beautiful." Years of wandering in his free time had made him intimately familiar with a landscape not many dared to see. You felt flattered every time he expressed that he wanted you to join him on his hikes. "I'm glad you brought me here."

"just wait," he murmured. "trust me."

You didn't need to be told twice. You nestled against him, eyes getting heavy. Comfortable silence covered the two of you, like just another lovely blanket.

After a little while, the aurora started to emerge from the sky. It snaked across the darkness above you, a ghostly flickering slowly gaining power and colour - a trickle increasing into a stream, then a river, then a silent rushing current of green fire full of its usual glory. You watched it in quiet, cosy delight.

Something in the corner of your vision. A twinkling. At first, you thought it might just be the aurora into the backs of your eyes. But it was too sharp for that. You stopped watching the sky, glancing down to the surrounding forest instead.

The ice hanging from the trees was beginning to glimmer. You drew in a breath. The light was catching in the icicles; they were all beginning to twinkle, new stars emerging from the once-dark woods surrounding you.

... Then the aurora gained strength. And the icicles started to reflect.

You gasped; every icicle that could see the sky was shining, casting sparkles of blue and green onto the snow below, a ring of coloured flecks that slowly shifted and circled as the aurora moved. Like a sunrise, the collective glow of the reflections began to set the whole forest alight - all around you, light and colours, rainbows as far as your eyes could see. A sea of stars across the snow, casting away into the distance.

There were two night skies. One above, and one all around you.

Horror seemed to like your reaction. He nestled his chin onto the top of your head, purring just that bit more.

"knew... you'd like this."

"I-I do," you replied, unable to look away from the lights. It was like being inside a gemstone. "I really do. How did you... know about this place?"

You felt his warm breath across your hair. "found it. thought of you."

"So we're the only ones who know this is here?"

"mhm."

"It's magical."

"s'ours."

You leant back against his chest, breathless. "Can we stay here until the aurora sets?"

A hum of affirmation.

You wriggled somewhat - you tugged one of your gloves off and poked your bare hand out from under the blanket. Still beneath his wings, you found the large clawed hand of the big comfy arm wrapped around you, touching the top of his palm.

He let out a sound you'd come to call his 'happy grumble'. To the untrained ear, it seemed like a growl. But it was a sound of unfiltered delight.

He turned his hand over, and enclosed yours in his own.

You stayed like that, as close to 'hand in hand' as the two of you could get... even well after you'd already fallen asleep.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Immortal (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 3)

"The path to paradise begins in hell."

— Dante Alighieri

Word count: 5.5 k

Summary: He knows now why he always returns to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased. What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead? (Last part of Ghost stories.)

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Angst, fluff, smut. Protective!Simon Ghost Riley. Graphic depictions of PTSD, suicidal thoughts and depression, mild violence. Emotional sex, love confessions, happy ending. Ghost POV.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

No one has ever scolded him.

He's the one who whips people into shape, who makes them recall who and where they are, that Task Force 141 is no place for fuckery. Now he's the one being reminded of his place. 

Somehow it's ok to bring her flowers before dinner, but ever since he started to bring her coffee to get an excuse to see her at work, she began to shut down. He can fuck her doggy style at her place, but if he so much as lifts his mask to kiss the back of her neck at her office, she bats him away like an annoying fly.

And he's fucking confused.

He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought that women like to be courted. Now he's standing in the middle of her apartment, waiting for… he doesn't even know what. Pardon, perhaps.

"Why do you always call me lieutenant?"

"Well I can't call you Simon at work, can I?"

She's chaste and decent. Has been like that for a while now, retreating back to her role of a distant professional. 

Something's troubling her, and he tries to get to the bottom of it. Tries his best to cheer her up, even if it's absurd that someone like him attempts to do that.

"Y'could use the alias."

"I'm not going to call you that."

She reads Virgil while making it clear that he's quite ridiculous. A ghost. It must remind her of a children's book rather than something stealthy and fatal; to her, it's a grown man's sad attempt to play a superhero.

"Did you come up with the name yourself?" Her voice has a whiff of irony as she finally spares him a glance from her hard-cover poetry.

"...No," he lies, too soon. Far too soon. She catches him on it, pants down.

"You're a silly, silly man." She shakes her head slowly and returns to her book. Last week, it was Dante who had better things to offer, far better things compared to him – such as a more poetic depiction of hell.

But even with the distant aura he can't quite pierce, she gives him a concept of what it would be like to have a home. A real home where you don't have to dread the evening and everything it brings out in people. Even when he was doing the SAS Fan Dance and lying on the cold ground to have a compulsory 2-hour shut-eye, he never missed home. The weather-beaten trail and a flapping tarp were still a cosier place than the one he'd left behind. 

The closest thing to an actual home was always solitude. A few days without routine. A cold shower in the morning to wake him, but not frigid enough to kill the erection. A good, unhurried fap and some stale spit circling down the drain. No one giving him a pitiful eye for tossing old takeaway in the bin and opening the cupboard only to be met with some canned food and table salt.

Now, the first thing in the morning is the sensation of her. Fingertips sneaking their way under his arm and ghosting his stomach, stirring him so softly he doesn't quite know if he's gone to heaven. Home is a sleepy nest and slow kisses followed by the sounds of brewing coffee. Home has become a place of mundane tasks: helping her water the plants and tasting whether the vanilla pudding she made has enough sugar. Changing sheets together, listening to the fitful sea as it breaks upon the shore. Watching how she reads of the Trojan War.

When he just stands there, admiring how her manicured nails glide over the pages, she talks to him again without raising her lashes from the book. 

"Did you need something?"

…You. All of you. 

Now and forever.

"Ya wanna go out to eat tonight?"

Finally, he grabs her attention. The distance between them is sewn up so fast even a jerk like him can understand he finally made the right fucking move.

"What about your… The mask?"

He shrugs.

"I thought you liked my cooking," she gives him a smile. Sly… Foxy.

"I do. But let me feed you for a change."

He sees in that stare and the way she purses her lips that she's trying to prevent a dirty joke from coming out of her pretty little mouth. As much as he appreciates that little cunning look, as much as he loves when that mouth gets a little dirty, he's more than serious now.

"Come on. Let me take you out."

"Well. If you insist," she smiles, shuts the book, and flies to her closet to pull out a stunner of a dress.

…..…..…..

Her fingertips always make his cock stir. They were supposed to go to sleep – a rare thing, to not slip inside her after a nice lil evening. To his surprise she starts to trace the few hairs on his stomach, threading through them as they thicken below. 

He can feel how she gets tense upon seeing that he's hard and heavy before she even reaches there. But she's not tense from anticipation.

"I overheard some of the guys talking about us. Or, well, me."

His cock gives a tug, and she still doesn't touch it.

"How I'm your luxury whore."

The curtain shifts as the wind plays with it: softly, while he's ripped out of the dark safety of the womb.

"Luxury…" She laughs, but it's bitter and thick. "Isn't it funny?"

He's hard now mainly because of the fury that rises. It ripples through his chest and pulls his stomach taut.

"Was it the rookie?"

He hears his voice from far away, from under the sea, but luckily, her hand brings him back. It's placed on him again, this time further up. She likes to trace the cavity between his pecs, pet the hair she finds there, too. Sometimes, she buries her face there and inhales his sweat, then uses that spot as her pillow. It's that very moment when he finds peace if he already hasn't by then.

"You don't have to defend my honour," the night speaks softly.

So, it was the rookie.

Nothing but a boy, younger than Soap and cockier than he was when he left Manchester with nothing but a duffel bag on his shoulder. Nothing but a boy, and she knows how boys are. She knows how boys talk. She wouldn't be in the Force if she took filthy quips seriously. 

But this is fucking different. The fantasies of what he'll do to the fucker when he gets back get sicker and more beautiful by the second.

"Just… don't come there anymore unless you're injured. Ok?"

He can't hear her because the vile word overrides even the gorgeous visions of torture. It gathers up his throat as bile, and he barely has time to take a deep breath to force it down before it's too late.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." 

"At this hour…?"

"Can't sleep anyway."

He reaches the bathroom just in time before the vomit flies. The power of it forces him on his knees, forces him to take hold of the door frame. Everything he fed to her shoots up, like it was only a dream that he could make her happy.

…Are you just here for sex?

Her shy question echoes from the tiles as another retch pulls the rest of his love out. 

He's sweating worse than the time they had to operate him in the field, back when a bullet had worked its way through the naked spot between the straps of his plate carrier. The shower washes some of it away, but the stench stays, the foul word and the insolence, all the shallow things he has given her coat the insides of his mouth no matter how many times he tries to spit it away. The water only does so much, and she's still not asleep by the time he returns to her. 

The luxury is waiting for him, silky and sweet. 

Wet, even, if he wants.

"Baby… Honey?"

Baby.

Baby.

He feels his guts in his throat again but swallows them down. She's beautiful, even when sad and sorry. Sorry, and for what? For him, instead of herself and what she's been called, the spite she has had to suffer simply for lying down in the filth with him. 

"Are you okay...?"

"Yeah."

He goes to her, pulls her in his arms, and hopes he doesn't smell of puke.

"They're just words. Right?"

I'm more than just your whore, right?

Her hand doesn't shy away from the sweat that breaks through his back. She's not afraid of him, even when he's the monster she never asked for. He can respect that kind of fearlessness. 

"You're awfully quiet," she tries. 

Baby, please don't go berserk, is what he hears.

"Go to sleep, pet," he calls forth his softest voice, relieved to notice it sounds more like a lullaby than a command. He allows her to kiss him, wondering if she can taste the grave. 

"Yes, sir," she breathes a soft smile in his mouth. Then she turns and coats herself with his arm. It must feel heavy around her, but she only gives a happy sigh. "I always sleep better with you. You feel so good… Safe."

He wonders how strange it is that love sometimes feels like pain. Her words come close to a knife slowly being pushed to his insides. They're still burning when she mutters the last essential thing, already half-asleep in his arms.

"They're just words, Simon…"

…..…..…..

He doesn't know much about poetry, but perhaps Dante was right. 

The heart of hell is not a fiery lake of torment but an icy, cold, stagnant place. There's nothing there. Everything is frozen: screams, thoughts, even dreams. 

He's walked through grey rubble and drenched asphalt, through alleyways of havoc and debris, he's trekked through desolate woodland and marsh. He's run through life like it's a day-to-day race to not get killed, but the worst of it isn't the bullets or the cold or the wind or the rain. It's the sleepless nights, the inertia. His soul in chains. On those nights, he wanted to get killed. 

And yet, he's not the only one who has suffered the unfortunate event of being dragged through every plane of hell. He's not the first man to go through the funnel, nor is he the last. It only looks bad in a society where he's supposed to own a credit card and a house. It only tastes like shit when someone asks "How does it make you feel?" 

People like him shouldn't go to therapy at all. His solution was to quit playing a modern man the minute he realized he's no longer fit for that role. He's simply a dead body, reanimated to serve a purpose. He's a sharp tool, a weapon. (A zombie.)

He serves the greater good, but everyone knows the greater good is propaganda too. There's no grand fight between light and darkness. Good and evil only conduct people's choices: even his old man must've thought he was making the world a better place by playing the rebel. He told him he served the Queen just to piss that sodded bastard off, but the truth is he never served anyone. Not even himself.

Now, there's an odd purpose to his task. Now, every cell in his body is full of animus. 

He's an animated corpse, perhaps, but they forgot to bury the wrath.

"Where's the rookie?"

"Getting stapled."

"Where?"

Which room? 

Which fucking room?

He doesn't stay to heed directions. He doesn't need them; his instinct tells him enough. He doesn't even bother to knock, simply barges in, only to see that the boy sits on the bed he used to sit on, in the exact same position as him. And he knows it's not just the blood loss that makes the fucker look so drowsy and smug. 

The fury is pierced with an ice-tinged sword as he sees her gentle touch – she's tending to the wounds of an ungrateful kid with the same compassion she gives to all her patients, and the first thing on his mind is that she would make a good mother.

"What're you doing here?" 

His voice is soaked in ash, but the boy only looks up from the bed with pure, trouble-seeking gall.

"What are you doing here…? Sir."

She's looking at him too. She's pleading with those eyes. Silently, desperately. 

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

Her request only now makes sense as he sees how the boy looks him up and down and sees there's not a scratch on him. There's no reason for him to be here other than to relieve the pain in his loins.

"Well… Have fun," the rookie jumps from the table, and the rage threatens to pull him underwater like a tide. He never needed anything but his voice to stop a man in his tracks. Not size, not rank, not even his reputation, just voice. 

"My office. Five minutes."

The boy dares to give him another foul look.

"Is that all you need? Just five minutes?"

He even detects admiration in that stare – like he's some stallion, a prized old stud who receives fine mares to rut. Like the celestial woman standing behind this… boy is just some slag thrown to him like they threw to gladiators of old. His luxury whore.

The rookie finally catches the impending wrath that must swell and roil like sea inside the sockets of the skull. 

Yes, boy.

Death is coming.

"Sir," the boy swallows with an arduous blob, then walks out of the goddess's domain, finally with some humility upon those shoulders. 

The torture has already begun, and it shoots him full of sweet adrenaline. He tries to mask the rising war from her, but she sees enough just before he leaves her as well. Her words follow him but cannot penetrate the cloak of fury that shrouds him as he goes to prepare for carnage.

"Simon. I just stitched him together..."

…..…..…..

He doesn't solve the problem with a gun or a cock this time. 

He uses his fists and a knife.

It should disgust him; how much he enjoys it. It's one of those rare occasions when he almost loses himself in the riptide of blood. The things he imagines are far worse than what he finally allows himself to do. When the boy has a split lip and half his face swollen so bad he can't even see from the bruise, when the wetness dampens the crotch area and threatens to stain the carpet, he lets him go.

"Get out."

He's a different man when he rises from beside that broken boy; from next to the knife he plunged to the floor an inch away from his face to make his intentions clear. The boy is stripped of all arrogance and probably regrets the day he got the splendid idea to insult a woman. 

He doesn't have to get his hands deep into paperwork to have the rookie transferred; the boy does it for him. He leaves the base quietly as a shadow and with a face that looks like it has been forced through a waffle maker.

After that, everyone salutes him feet away.

His orders are obeyed without question, without a second's delay on missions. He has never pursued to be loved, but neither has he worked on making people fear him. Now he's not only a source of mystery and intrigue but also fear and wonder.

Soap isn't scared quite as shitless as the rest of them, but neither is he as friendly as he used to be. Price says nothing but he gets a few looks that tell him he has gone too far.

"You shouldn't have," she whispers when they're alone, stopping him in the quiet hallway. She's the only one who doesn't have fear and avoidance in her stare. If anything, the adoration in her eyes has deepened.

He has avoided her strictly, this time obeying her request not to go to her unless he has business there. He doesn't defend himself; he doesn't have the luxury to decide what should or shouldn't be done. He's not a saint nor a judge. He is territorial, though.

"You must be the craziest man I've ever met." 

She talks to his shadow as he's standing only a few feet away, unable to touch her.

"Good."

"...and the most incredible."

His sharp intake of air hisses between them as the artificial light casts shadows in electric blue. She tries to thank him for bashing a face in, all her noble Hippocratic Oaths forgotten.

She takes a step – just one, to make it perfectly clear she wants to touch him too.

"You're a brute, Simon."

The woman's eyes are a deep sea of gratitude. He wonders if she's equally as wet between those legs. Her voice says it all: she likes brutes.

The worship in her stare makes him understand why wars have been waged – this is the reason why crusaders sloshed through rivers of crimson blood, why whole civilizations were destroyed. This is why swords are forged and guns are fired. He draws another breath to swear his allegiance, an oath bound in blood.

"No one's gonna call you a–"

She crosses the final breadth of air between them and lifts his mask.

…..…..…..

The waves crash on the shore like clockwork. To him, it's the sound of limbo. 

The sea used to pull him in like a seductive pit, especially at night, during the sleepless shifts when he walked to the beach with nothing but the ghosts of all the people he had lost to keep him company. Watching all the futures and should have been's slowly drowning in the sea. 

Now he’s here with a living being, and the cold, dead sea has turned into blooming fireworks of crimson and coral. The amnesia has turned into bliss; all the treasures lost in the depths suddenly wash up on the shore like a sunken hoard.

She takes her shoes off the minute they reach the shore, then descends the sands with laughter. She could be from a movie or a magazine, gliding through bleached gold with sunbeams in her hair, sandals dangling from the crook of her fingers, heathers kissing her feet as she dives down the path. Her smile eclipses even the setting sun, and for the first time ever, he thinks it might've been a stupid idea to enlist. 

If there’s an opposite to ice and inertia, it's this. 

It's her. 

"You lied to me," she turns around but doesn't stop walking. "You have been to the beach."

She tilts her head as if reprimanding him, but he knows she's just laughing at his expense. She laughs at his name… She laughs at his broodings, she laughs at his shadows and his hubris. 

"Does anyone else know about this place?"

"No."

There's no soul out here but theirs; even the seagulls have withdrawn to rest. She stops to admire the sun, features turning soft as she takes in her counterpart. Apparently, she likes his humble tribute, the scarcity he has to offer. Some hollow bones, his opinion of a beach. Emptiness… A day coming to an end.

"I have no words for this."

"It's just a beach," he offers, and swallows when she turns. When the fuck has he ever felt embarrassed? His mask is gone, so she can see him swallow again as she approaches. It's the strangest thing how she can still cause his heart to hammer in his chest. He's used to stepping into a hail of bullets, driving a truck through a wall, waiting for that last unaware step to lunge forth and slit a man's throat. The organ never wailed then.

Her eyes take in his every flaw and scar, the rotten work on his skin before she wraps her hands around his neck. 

"No. No it's not. This is paradise."

She has to rise on her toes to kiss him, and he's glad he got rid of the mask. There's nothing between him and the taste of summer anymore – she reminds him of some bright tropical drink, something pure and sweet and innocent, pure fucking fun, something he has come to understand and define only through movies and tv. 

And he knows now why he always comes back to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased.  

She has introduced him back to the world: the sun, the birdsong, the simple, good life. How it feels like to have curtains, or bake just because it's Thursday, or walk barefoot on the beach in order to feel the burning sand on your skin. 

What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead?

"Simon," she shivers into his mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't want people to think that… That we're just…"

"Pet. I know."

"They said you didn't trouble yourself with relationships."

Years of instinct and training make his spine tingle. He's holding another future in his arms and hopes it's not possible for a sea to swallow a sun.

"They?"

"Well, John. Captain." 

Her lashes hide what's going through her mind, but he can tell she's feeling shy from the way she shifts in his embrace.

"I asked about you. In spring. If there's someone… waiting for you."

He wrestles down a bitter laugh. The only lover ever waiting for him was nothingness in that chair; the only wife he came home to was shades, shadows, and dust. 

But he's starting to understand what she's trying to say. How, without even thinking about it, he just made the strongest possible declaration of not being here just for sex. He couldn't have sent a louder message with that boy.

Because not only Jonathan Price know that she's his. Soap knows too. Gaz knows too. Everyone working in Task Force 141 knows, even the fucking scrubbers and accountants know what's going on. Everyone knows that Ghost is real, and alive, and troubles himself with a relationship.

"I dreamed of you, you know." Her lashes flutter open, and he's met with the perfect example of total surrender. She's more than happy with the outcome, and why the hell shouldn't she be? Actions speak louder than words. He of all people should know that.

"Love–"

"Do you remember the day I found out you were a smoker?"

"...Sure."

She laughs, taking him back to the odd meeting in the yard when she was prying her suffocating latex gloves off, and he was trying to find some solace in a cigarette because he couldn't have her. 

"I was so angry at you. Playing with death at every turn..." 

"Yeah. Not the perfect man."

"But you were. You are." 

"Pet. If someone's perfect, it's you."

"No… I'm a hypocrite. I wanted you to just–just take me against the wall. After your stupid smoke."

He always wondered if she was suffocating too. In her gloves, in her beauty, in her sterile, medical, professional chasteness.

But he had no fucking clue that she–

"Or during, I don't care…"

Even the thought of her wanting him to tear apart her facades shatters the last sane thought in his head. He has tried to be civil, tried to suffocate the longing, but apparently, he doesn't have to. The image of burying himself inside her cunt while taking a drag from the thing she despises even more than his name or his mask or his guns is too fucking much. The fact that she views a dog like him as a perfect man makes his cock answer her call like a good, stout soldier. 

"Is that so?"

She stops breathing for a moment as he takes a drag from her now. She's raw whiskey straight to an empty stomach, the way his mind goes blank from sliding his mouth over the column of her throat. She tastes of sea there, and it's not pulling him in; it's pulling him under. The open-mouthed kisses make her jolt, he even draws out a moan or two; they swell between his legs. 

"You like that…?"

She answers to him with a soft whine. A soft nib of her ear, and her hips reply with a roll. The woman tries to latch onto him by gripping his shirt, threatening to do permanent damage to the fabric.

"No walls here, pet. Gotta take you on the sand," he gruffs in her ear, cock hard and ready from her tight little breaths. He could bet half his money that she's wetter than November down there. He could drag his cockhead across her cunt and the sound would be divine. 

"Simon–"

"I'll light a cig first."

"Stop teasing," she laughs, voice thick with hunger.

"...Roger that."

His hand is on his belt before he knows it. It's pathetic how much patience he has if he needs to crouch in a downpour and wait for a kill, but at the sight and smell and taste of her, he can't stop himself from wrenching his belt and pants open like a starved dog. It's a rush born of fear - that any time could be the last time.

She seems to shiver from his stare only when she lays herself upon the warm sand, naked as can be. She's like a vision on that beach: leaning on her elbows, thighs slowly parting, revealing the glistening sex between her legs. And she's fucking dripping, like an overripe peach. He could've safely bet all his money on her.

"How do you want me?"

Fucking fuck… 

He's walking in a dream: the most beautiful woman in the world is lying naked before his feet, bathing in gold, asking how he would prefer to take her. He doesn't even bother to get out of his clothes; he merely tugs his pants down and crawls between her legs, relishing the tight gasp he gets from being so crude.

Her eyes grow wide at the sight of him there, so close to her core, cock hanging heavy just an inch away from that tight cunt. She tries so hard to look composed while lying under his shadow, to not make it obvious that she wants that ugly thing inside. And it does feel like sin not to spread those legs and plough right in, especially when his fingers meet her silk and find that she's already throbbing.

"Want you just like this, pet," he rasps while dragging the pad of his thumb around her clit. Her back arches on the sand, forcing his fingers deeper into the dripping fruit.

It's different, her wetness; not thick and halfway there, but flowing, leaking, soaking good. The pussy is so glazed that he slips at the first attempt to slide a finger in. Her walls grip him the second he's seated deep, making it known how much she appreciates it that he's not here just for sex. 

"Someone's greedy," he's breathing rough, and she whines – he only gets to two fingers before she demands him to fuck her already.

"Want your–I need your cock…" 

She's begging, poor thing, almost crying on the sand, and he has no fucking choice but to remove his fingers and grab his cock instead.

"Have to go slow, love."

"Riley–for god's sake, now."

"F' fuck's sake…" He stumbles forward, all but gracefully, forces the tip on her soaked cunt as delicately as he can before pushing right in. She cries from the spread, fingers curling in the sand: a futile attempt to take him in without fainting.

"Tried to warn ya–"

"Don't you dare stop," she gasps, eyes full of love. As always, her wish is his command, and the tightness makes it an endless journey to bliss. The basest parts of him think about dying – having a heart attack on the same beach he almost drowned in, about ceasing to exist just for the sake of knowing that nothing is as good as this. 

He's deep as can fucking be, and it's still not enough – it's never enough. He collects her in his arms with a frustrated grunt, cock giving a tight pull only when she's finally safe and snug in his embrace. It's a tight cuddle that leaves them both breathless.

"Hold me tighter..." 

It's a soft order, but he can't get any closer: chest plastered on her skin and balls pressed against her ass, the sand grinding against her back as he makes love to her. She’s not made of twigs, but he’s far bigger than her, already threatening to crush her with his weight.

"Tighter…" she begs on his lips, tries to pull him closer with her whole being.

"Pet, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she sings, completely shieldless. Something warns him of danger, a reset far worse than drowning or being buried alive or shooting himself in a lonely apartment. He tries to calm her down with a kiss: he knows she loves kisses - but there are tears in her eyes, and his heart is hammering, hammering… 

"Simon, do you love me…?"

She asks that question right on his lips, and the first thing in his dog mind is that it's a stupid thing to ask when he's balls deep inside her and still trying to get closer.

"Yeah," he almost chokes on it, knowing it could be their wedding day and he would still choke on it because it doesn't taste like salt or metal or grave.

"I love you," she whispers. "Do you understand?"

No. No…

I fuckin' don't–

"And I'll always be here for you."

To his shock, there’s no sea water in his lungs, no dirt in his mouth. He’s not choking on anything, he's not in fact dying at all: he’s floating, somewhere between the sun and the sand and the sea. There's no more rush, no jaws of death snapping at his heels. He doesn't even long for heaven anymore. Not when there's a paradise on earth.

"Love, I need you to–need you to focus," he tries to stutter nonsense while she's pledging herself to him. Of course she only laughs at him: it hits him with the sweetest warmth.

"You're so silly…" 

"Yeah? I know." 

He's laughing too. It's just a few notes that get taken away by the sound of waves. It's just a breath from deep within, and still… Her gaze drops to his mouth, a flutter blinks back more tears.

"I love it when you laugh..." Her eyes shine brighter than the sun, riding the spine of the sea as one perfect tear rolls down her cheek. "Love it…"

The sun sets in tangerine, his new favourite colour. There's a whole bloom out there in the sky when she comes, fast and bright in his embrace. He comes right after, just from trying to stay inside her warmth, deep inside her, around her, and she says it, again and again and again… Until he breathes.

….….….

"Remember when I said I could've managed? Without you," she asks when they lie on the sand, skin on skin, watching the sun set beneath the onyx sea. The waves rise and break, but around them, the air is still. He's still inside her as she pulls his hand over her heart, entwining their fingers together: it's the softest little arrest, but her squeeze doesn't lack strength. 

"I lied too."

"I know."

She chuckles softly. "Is there something you don't know?"

"...Yeah. Why you're here out of all places."

She turns her head from the sunset into the falling darkness of him, and he wonders if that's why she's here... To be with his night. She said that people always get the dark wrong: that it's not supposed to be scary at all. That the purpose of darkness is safety, security, that there are tales where the day chases the night, and the night chases the day. She said it's because they're in love with each other.

"You really don't know…?" 

"You were smiling before we met and now you're crying all the time."

She looks up at him with trust and devotion, his daylight, his sun. There's none in the sky anymore, but it doesn't matter. It lives in her eyes.

"People cry from happiness too, Simon."

[citruswriter]

How will the bay bros react to shredder having a mutant turtle reader as a pet,he obviously treats reader horribly and gives them wounds.

You don't have to do this if you don't want to. Love your works

Bayverse Turtles Reacting to Shredder Having a Mutant Turtle as a Pet

Listen with me! ↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

A/N: Oh this is gonna be fucking amazing.

Leonardo 🧡

When Leo saw you in your cage, he was shocked. I mean, he wouldn't put it beyond him. Like "yeah that adds up". But seeing it was still so jarring.

When he saw the collar with the word "pet" engraved on it, Leo almost lost his cool.

When he saw you pressed up against the bars, staring up at him and his brothers with such wonder, he knew he needed to keep it together.

"I didn't know there was somebody like me..." Your voice comes out in a whisper and Leo smiles and bends to your level.

"That's right. And we're here to bust you out and take you somewhere safe, ok?"

He has Donnie break you out and his heart almost breaks at seeing all the bruises and scars on your body.

"What about Master? If he finds me gone, he'll be upset." You murmur, eyes downcast in worry and fear.

"Let him be mad. We'll protect you".

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Raphael 🧡

Raph didn't know how to react at first. Another turtle? Fantastic! They're being kept as Shredder's pet? Fuck that bitch, he deserves to fucking die.

Raph is the first one to deal with the collar. He asks you gently if he can take it off and you eagerly nod.

If Raph didn't hate Shredder before, he utterly despises him now.

Raph becomes one of the most protective over you, you're his little buddy now. No you don't get a choice in this.

He gently tries to nudge you to get into the gym with him so you can get strong.

He can get a bit too protective at times but you know it's only because he's worried. A gentle pat on his arm and a smile and he usually relents.

If he gets the chance to fight Shredder again, this man will need to be restrained from ripping throat out in your honor.

Heaven forbid that man get his hands on you again. Not even Leo will be able to keep him from busting the door down and smashing Shredder's head into a brick wall.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Donatello 🧡

Utterly shocked when he first sees you. He knew Shredder was horrible man but not even he expected something like this.

Keeping a mutant as some little plaything? A pet? You were essentially his slave. It made him so mad.

Donnie's very soft with you. Very gentle and patient. He doesn't let people in his lab very often, but when he sees you peaking in one day, he let's you in.

Sometimes the larger machinery can scare you because it reminds you of Shredder, so Donnie puts large blankets or tarps over them.

Sometimes shares his pop tarts with you if you catch him working late at night because you can't sleep.

Immediately wants to teach you how to fight and get you your own signature weapon and color too.

Excitedly introduces you to April and Casey. Not so excitedly introduces you to Vern.

Loves doing parallel play with you when you finally get comfortable enough to hang around him and his brothers without exhausting yourself too much.

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

Michaelangelo 🧡

"I didn't know there was somebody like me..." Oh those words make his heart squeeze.

Immediately wants to join Raph in ripping Shredder's throat out but he's better at hiding his anger, not as good as Donnie and Leo though.

Gets Donnie to get you a phone so you can text him if you need literally anything.

Night Terrors in the middle of the night? Call him. He'll come sooth you back to sleep. Want food but don't want to socialize? Text him and he'll get you a whole pizza for yourself.

Is the first one to introduce you to Master Splinter. He's so excited to have another turtle sibling. He already loves you so much.

He can understand how hard it can be to have a lot of trauma so he's always there for you if you need to talk or need a silly distraction from all those dark thoughts in your mind.

One of the first people to start recognizing your triggers and icks and does his best to cater to them or to stop whatever's triggering you before it gets too bad.

Big ole sweetheart who desperately wants to see Shredder six foot under. Another one that will try to fight for honor.

Ik it's not the best but I tried. 😭 I think it's pretty decent tho. :3 I hope I have satisfied you. ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ

[soft-mafia]

Risky [Buggy x Reader]

warnings: fem reader, sex in a public area, risky sex, cream pie, squirting, Buggy being horny

a/n: I just realized I’m making a lot of smut posts. I need help I’m too obsessed with Buggy😭 the plot is kind of sloppy but I really wanted to write some smut so sorry about that lolllll

Buggy had no idea what was wrong with him today. He had locked himself in his office, he lost count of how many times he had came, jacking off for hours at the thought of you.

When a crew member knocked on his door they were met with nothing but harsh curses and shouts from him; not knowing that their captain had been rubbing one out into a rag. His jaw clenched, teeth grit tightly as he tried to conceal his grunts and groans. He was huffing like a damn dog thinking of Y/n.

Maybe it was the lack of actual sex over the past few days that got Buggy so riled up, they’ve just been so busy setting everything up as soon as they got back to bed they both just tuckered out.. but damn why the fuck was he so horny now?!

After what seemed to be his 5th cum of the day, Buggy came out of his quarters, his makeup smeared, and he looked a bit disheveled. He put his hair up into a ponytail as he walked to the green room, going to see what his girlfriend was up to. She preferred to work back stage and behind the scenes, mainly on the contraptions and the lighting.. much to Buggy’s disappointment— he would love for her to be another accessory to his acts, not take up the entire spot light, but.. serve as some kind of eye candy for the audience.

With the way she bent and moved for him she could easily be a good contortionist.. fuck he was hard again.

Buggy’s muscles tensed as he saw Y/n talking to Mohji. The blue haired man seemed to physically restrain himself from grabbing Y/n and dragging her off somewhere to get some sex.

“Stop letting Richie come in here— we can’t use these lights anymore because he chewed them all up, and he pissed on the costume wigs.” Y/n said as she chewed out the beast tamer. As much as she was an animal lover, working with Richie was… a chore to say the least, but it was mainly to blame on Mohji for his poor animal management skills. “Y/n.” Buggy grunted out as he walked over to her, standing at her side and putting a hand on her waist, “Are you busy?” He asked, his voice a bit lower and gruffer than usual.

“Umm.. not right now, no.” She said, looking up at him. Buggy then turned to Mohji and made a tilting motion with his head, that told the man to ‘get the fuck out’, which he quickly obeyed.

“Are you ok?” Y/n looked up at Buggy, noticing his smudged makeup and how slightly sweaty he was. He smelled a bit muskier than usual, and he hadn’t covered his scent with cologne like he usually would. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Buggy said under his breath, his hands roaming all over her body now that they were alone, which she noticed. Buggy shuffled closer to her, pressing his body against her side as he leaned in to whisper in her ear, “God I wanna fuck you so bad.” He growled. Y/n could feel his boner pressing into her hip, his hands squeezed at her sides.

“Buggy..” Y/n whispered, biting her bottom lip, “Wait not in here—”

“I don’t care, I really don’t give a shit.” Buggy grumbled and looked around, trying to find a closet or something, “We haven’t fucked in a good week, I need this.” He huffed, then slapped Y/n’s ass and gave it a firm squeeze.

Y/n yelped and blushed at that action, pouting at Buggy before she pulled away and walked over to the large crate wagon that the crew just used to haul a bunch of props covered with a huge tarp, “Here, we can take some of this stuff off.” Y/n said, moving some of the props out and to the side. Buggy rushed to her side, throwing off some stuff as well; god he felt desperate.. I mean yeah he fucked Y/n like it was a hobby but he was literally throwing things so he could get some pussy.

After they had gotten most of the stuff off and made some room, Buggy picked Y/n up, making her squeak before he laid her down on her back, immediately getting on top of her and throwing that blanket over the both of them. “B-Buggy..” Y/n whispered, looking down and seeing Buggy’s rock hard boner press against her crotch.

Truth be told she wasn’t as pent up as Buggy was.. she had been so focused on making all of his shows perfect for him, sex wasn’t the first thing on her mind— but now that she was pinned down like this, she was starting to feel that same heat.

Buggy yanked her shorts down below her hips, sitting on his knees before grabbing her ankles and pulling her shorts and panties off completely and dropping them to the side. However, he took her panties and held them up to his nose, inhaling deeply and groaning, “Fuck that’s good..” he growled.

Y/n blushed, already sweating from the enclosed space, Buggy’s heat radiating off of his body. He tossed her panties on top of her shorts before unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. She watched him with eager eyes; she didn’t know why but she found it so attractive watching Buggy get his cock out, the way his forearms and muscles flexed with each movement, jerking his belt until it was open so he could get his throbbing, sensitive dick out.

He was already so sensitive from how much he had been jacking off.. the fabric of his boxers squeezing on his boner had nearly brought him to his knees as soon as he walked in here.

His hard cock bobbed upon being freed from his underwear, he groaned and jerked it a bit, making it leak a little pre. Y/n reached down between her legs to grasp at it, wrapping her hand around his length and rubbing it with him. “Yeah, that’s it baby..” he grunted, his abs already clenching at the feeling.

He hunched over her, one hand keeping his balance and the other held onto her hip as he started to guide his penis into her cunt, his tip swiped against her wet clit a few times before he slid in; eliciting moans and groans from the both of them. Y/n’s arms wrapped around Buggy’s neck, whimpering and mewling like a kitten just how he liked it, her pussy twitched around his cock, struggling to take him after so long without a good fucking.

Y/n squirmed, making Buggy squeeze her hip, “Take it.” He growled as he began to thrust; he was rough like always, but there was more force behind it this time, more desperation on his end. “B-Buggy..!” Y/n whimpered, trying to be as quiet as possible. Buggy was not trying to be as careful as she was, grunting and growling like a beast as he plowed into her like they haven’t fucked in decades. “Mmm..~ Buggy..~” Y/n moaned softly again, making Buggy’s cock throb inside of her, urging him to thrust even more; it felt so good.. hearing her say his name while he was going in, balls deep. Fuck.

The hand on her hip slid up to rest at the side of her neck, gently squeezing before he tilted his head and gave her a rough kiss, groaning into her mouth. His hips slammed against her crotch in a rough, rhythmic motion, growling and snarling, probably drooling all over the poor girl. He was a fucking mess.

Though the stubble scraping across her skin made her feel a little itchy, the burning sensation of pleasure from Buggy hitting her cervix easily overpowered the stubble itching. With the way Buggy was fucking into her she was not going to be able to walk properly for days, again.

Buggy’s groans and growls got louder and rougher, he moved his lips down to the nape of her neck and began attacking it savagely, sucking and licking at the skin, the sensation made Y/n let out a loud mewl, her legs wrapping around his torso as his movements sped up.

Both of his hands moved down to cup the sides of her ass, squeezing it as he continued ravaging her. Y/n gasped, her walls fluttering and twitching around him as she came, squirting lightly due to the sensation, “A-Ah~!!” She moaned.

“I’m close baby, I’m so fucking close.” Buggy grunted, squeezing her ass harder and slamming his hips into her even rougher, making her jolt and whine. It wasn’t long before he was spilling his seed into her, coating her walls with milky cum. They were both panting and moaning heavily. Buggy’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his muscles were twitching; this was what he needed.

He threw the tarp off the both of them, the cold air instantly hitting their warm, sweaty skins. Y/n was still panting hard, an arm folded over her torso as she leaned her head back. Buggy sat on his knees, still deep inside of her as his cum leaked out around his cock. He smirked and let out a breathy laugh, “You’re so fucking hot.” He panted as he rubbed Y/n’s side. “Yeah I feel fucking hot. Jeez.” Y/n groaned, sitting up on her elbows and looking down at Buggy’s cock still inside of her, that dark blue tuft of hair down below that trailed up, fading out slightly below his belly button.

Buggy pulled out, then moaned lightly as he watched his cum leak out of his girlfriend’s pussy. He lifted her thigh up slightly to spread her wider and get a better view. “Wait- stop, it’s gonna spill everywhere.” Y/n grumbled and attempted to close her legs, Buggy kept them spread wide though. “It’s fine I’ll clean it up, babe.” He whispered, watching her pussy leak until it was all out.

After getting cleaned up and putting all of the props back, Buggy watched as Y/n put her panties and shorts back on. He eyed her up, finding her body so god damn attractive.. he walked over to her once she was finished and put his hands on her waist, “Hey, you hungry? There’s a buffet down town in this area and I’ve been meaning to take you there.” He said, hands moving over her body, over her belly button then resting at her sides again.

Y/n smiled and looked up at him from behind, “Yeah, sure!”

[copperbadge]

The HVAC guys are here to put my new unit in! The Cats Do Not Like It!

This morning I moved their litterbox from the bathroom utility closet (where the HVAC unit is) into the bedroom. The cats were intrigued. "Oh, this is in here now? OK, better poo in it."

[ID: A photo of the cats' litterbox on its litter mat, on the rug usually found in the bathroom; the whole thing has been moved into the bedroom. Polk is sitting in the litterbox, head sticking out the top hole, looking perplexed but resolute.]

Then I closed the bedroom door so all three of us were stuck in the bedroom, and they didn't like that; they got snippy with each other and ran around hissing and fighting, although their tails weren't brushed out and their ears were perked so they were mostly playing.

But around 9 when the guys were supposed to show up I slipped out of the bedroom, leaving them in it, and they were BIG MAD. Dearborn sat behind the door and yelled.

Now that I've let the guys in and shown them the bathroom, they're making all kinds of exciting noises while they put down padding and tarps and open the new unit up and presumably remove the old unit. The cats are under the very center of the bed, antagonism forgotten as they huddle away from The Horrors Outside. I imagine they're experiencing what Lovecraft's protagonists generally do when they hear a Great Old One moving under the Antarctic ice.

[luveline]

Jadeee! I had a thought reading the last zombie au story, with r taking a bath in the cold water and she was super chilly maybe she gets a tad sick (maybe just some sniffles or a stuffy nose) and Robin and Steve kind of go overboard to take care of her? (And cuddles with Robin's new cat!!)

thank you for your request angel, hope this is ok. steve zombie au —steve and robin take look after you when you get sick. fem!reader, 2k

There are better places to feel shitty. You're the kind of sick that could get dangerous —hypothermia, maybe pneumonia, you got too cold after a cold wash in the river outside of camp and didn't warm up the right way— and it would be a thousand times easier in a building with central heating. But at least you're not in a tarp anymore. 

You, Steve and Robin share a real tent. It zippers closed and doesn't have any mesh, so heat brought inside of it doesn't ebb away immediately, like it had in the poorly constructed tarp tent. You pull your second blanket over your body and try to seem casually tired rather than sickbed exhausted as their footsteps return. 

"Hey, killer," Robin says as soon as she sees you, ducking under the tent's opening, a box in her hands. "You're finally awake. Since when do you sleep in?" 

"I'm tired from the girl's trip." 

"That was nearly a week ago," Robin says. 

"And yet you're still reaping the benefits," Steve says to her dryly as he follows her inside of the tent. He gets on his knees and crawls to your side. "Hello," he says, kissing your cheek. "Good morning." 

"Hey." 

He frowns at you. "Why do you sound like that?" 

"What? I just woke up," you say. 

Steve clearly doesn't believe you, and he's right not to. Sick of being a burden on him, you've stopped telling him about your aches and pains, your injuries, your worries. He absolutely hates it but no amount of begging has changed your mind. You're not interested in being his weight to carry. Love, sure, but there's no reason he should be so intrinsically responsible for your wellbeing. Or at least that's how you feel right now.

"Sarah's given Robin a present," he says, his eyes narrowed at you. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine. What did you get, Robs?" 

Robin slides the lid off of the box eagerly to show you the contents. "It's a baby grow, only Sarah's cut off the arms and legs and sewed the hems. I'm going to put it on Stinkyboy." 

"I thought his name was Shark?" you ask. 

"Or something as stupendously stupid," Steve mutters. He smells like woodsmoke. "Are you sure you're okay? You don't look okay." He rubs under your eye with his thumb. "You're all puffy." 

"I don't think you can speak to her like that, Steve," Robin says. 

Her deadpan delivery makes you laugh, and it's a perfect segue to new conversation and away from your unokay-ness. "Are you and Sarah, like… you know?" 

Robin looks at you for a second. "Like what?" 

"Romantic?" you whisper. 

"Oh, no. She's my new Steve, I'm replacing him."

"Can't you replace him with me?" you ask. 

Steve puts his hand on your forehead. "You're warm. You're warm, shithead, are you sick?" 

"No?" You frown as his hand moves to the back of your neck. You're not warm there, you're a furnace. 

"You're actually sick?" he asks, frowning down at you. "What, were you just not gonna say anything?" 

"It's not that bad," you mumble. 

Robin and Steve make simultaneous sounds of disbelief. "You really weren't gonna say anything?" Robin asks. 

They talk so quickly. 

"I don't know for sure if I'm sick, and neither do you guys, don't worry so much." You sit up to get away from Steve's overly cautious hands, black spots behind your eyes and a shooting pain at the back of your head. "Ew," you say, bringing your hand to your eyes, "Maybe I'm sick."

Steve puts his arm behind your shoulders. "Dummy," he says, rubbing your arm. 

"What he said." Robin stands up. "I'm gonna go track down some breakfast for little miss secretive. I'll be back. Don't let her die." 

"I'll try not to," Steve says. 

When Robin's gone, Steve gets nicer. Which isn't to say he's mean when she's around, of course he isn't, but he's polite enough to spare her the full reality of his affection for you, and maybe slightly shy about it. He gathers you into his chest and rubs his cheek against your crown. "You're so warm, honey. I'm not fucking around, you have to tell me when you're not okay." 

"You can't do anything about it, Steve, just a flu." 

"Where would you have caught the flu?" 

"I mean, I must've got it from the cold. It's a cold, that's all it is." 

"You sure?" he asks, his hand snaking under your shirt. He takes an unabashed handful of your stomach. "How do you feel?" 

"I'm fine, Steve." 

It isn't without fondness, but it's said to be simple and straight. Steve tends to catastrophize —why wouldn't he? You can't be cut, you have to be bleeding out. You can't trip, you always fall flat on your face. You have the worst luck in the entire world (or, almost, getting bit would plant you firmly in the worst luck category). And Steve's the one who pays for it, every single time. 

So you assure him as best as you can and describe your symptoms honestly. "My head hurts, and I feel like I'm on fire. My hands and my legs are really hot, but I don't feel sick. It's not food poisoning, and it probably isn't, like, influenza."

"I guessed that much." 

"Oh, did you?" you murmur, turning in his arms to hug him back, and better. Steve gives the best hugs for you, but you know everything that he likes down to the placement of your pinky finger. You do your own skin-searching and slide your hands under his shirt, one palm roving over each bump of his spine to the midway point. His skin is smooth as velvet under your touch here, and noticeably colder. "Stevie," you say, still murmuring as you drag your fingertips down to the base of his back, "I love you. Don't worry, okay? I caught a chill from the river." 

"I do worry," he murmurs back, nuzzling your temple with his scratchy cheek. 

"I know, baby." 

"It's hard to be the one in charge when you speak to me like that," he says. 

"Who says you're in charge?" 

You snuggle like fools until Robin insists you eat your breakfast outside in the cold, which you abhor but your feverish skin appreciates. Steve sits on one side of you and Robin on the other. 

You know Robin likes you, but you think she must really love you, she's so worried. She doesn't say it, but she keeps glancing your way with a pinch between her eyebrows, and she asks you twice if your breakfast, a lukewarm soup she procured from the campfire, is hot enough. You lie each time, 'cos cold soup stopped bothering you a long time ago, and she's a sweetheart for caring. 

Steve suggests a group reading, as in, he grabs a book and usually you'd read, but you're sick, and they both tell you it isn't your turn. Steve reads, practised by now, more confident with each page. He even tries to follow the dialogue tags, whispering and sighing when instructed. 

You start to nod off. There are things you should all be doing, but none of you move. You can't report for washing duty, you can barely stand, and Steve refuses to go without you. Robin's supposed to take baby Ada for two hours. When Robin doesn't show up, one of the other members of the camp appears and makes her take her anyway. 

"You should strike," you say, woozy on Steve's arm. Your fever is getting worse. The cold breeze helps some, but eventually Steve's gonna have to dunk you in the river. 

"I should." She hugs the baby on her chest. "I don't even really like babies. Like, I'd die for her, but kids aren't my thing. At least, they weren't." 

"She's quiet," Steve says. 

"Why don't you hold her, Stevie?" you ask. He loves kids. 

"I'm busy with my own baby." 

You can't decide if it's funny or romantic. You fall asleep against his side and wake a few times throughout the evening, your face in his lap, his hand protective in your hair or against your ear. He wakes you at dusk, kissing a stripe down your cheek. 

"Sorry," he says softly by your ear, "but I can't carry you." 

"You would if you loved me," you tease, your eyes sticky and hard-pressed to open. 

Steve helps you stand and takes more of your weight than necessary as you walk back to your tent. Robin's already inside sans baby Ada, and she has a surprise for you. 

"Tada!" she says. "It's a pillow." 

You rub your eyes with your fist. "Aw," you mumble, disoriented, "yis."

Steve laughs like you're the cutest thing on earth, and he helps you sit down. You're horrified that you actually need him to, almost slipping and smashing your head on the packed dirt ground as your leg buckles under your weight. Now that would've made you sick. 

One fool on your left and another on the right, you rest your aching head on Robin's miraculous pillow and breathe a sigh of relief. 

"Where did you get this?" you ask. 

Robin taps the side of her nose. "Not saying." 

You huff at being out of the know but are ultimately too tired to pioneer for your right to know —you nod off a minute later, and vaguely recollect the sound of the tent zipper. 

Much later, you wake to whispers. 

"He has fleas, Robin," Steve says. 

A weight lands on your legs. "He doesn't anymore! And fleas don't live on people." 

"But they bite. And they have diseases! Stinkyboy can't stay in here." 

"Stinkyboy has just as much right to shelter as you do." 

"No, he doesn't. Not if he's going to give bubonic plague to the love of my life." 

You try to wake up properly. All you manage is a weak sound and a leg twitch. There's a sharp and sudden silence, disrupted only by a thwacking of skin on skin. 

"Did you just hit me?" Robin whispers furiously. 

"No! You tried to hit me, I was defending myself!" 

"You're so done. I'm taking Stinkyboy and Y/N in the divorce." 

"Idiot! Shut up, you'll wake her up. She needs to sleep to get better." 

"You're the idiot, idiot. Isn't that right, Stinky? Isn't Uncle Steve just the worst?" 

After a night of tossing and turning, you finally wake at daybreak. You're confused at first when you can't see Steve, until you realise he's pulled your head into his lap again, stroking the skin before your hairline. It tickles. 

"I still feel awful," you say hoarsely. 

"I don't think you'll recover after just one day," Steve whispers back. Robin sleeps beside you, a blanket wrapped bundle of cat at her feet. 

"You let her let the cat in?" you ask.

"We actually argued about it at length." Steve's fingertips draw a heart over your temple. "She swears that flea ointment stuff worked, but I found a flea on my sock. I'm furious." 

"You sound it." 

"Don't worry. She has to de-flea everything, we made a contract." 

"Well," you say. "It's a big tent." 

It most certainly isn't. If Stinkyboy was as rife with fleas as he was when he first came along Steve would've put his foot down and so would’ve you rather than let him stay, but he only has a few stubborn ones hanging around, and Steve feels really sorry for the poor cat. Imagine how lonely he must have been, he'd said, and then coughed, like sympathy was something to be embarrassed of. 

You feel very sorry for the cat, but you absolutely don't want fleas. You ask Steve to help you go down to the river so you can change your clothes and wash the ones you'd been wearing. You're still too sick to do a good job, but Steve sits half behind you and helps your aching arms scrub the fabric against the makeshift washer (corrugated metal from a shed roof).

Being sick isn't so bad when you have that much love at your back, metaphorically and physically. You lean all of your weight on him and sigh. 

"Love you," you say. 

"Love you," he says back. He holds your wet hands in his. "Now let's go and warm you back up, loser. You're just dying to get hypothermia." 

"It's in season." 

"Funny." 

[ghcstao3]

ok more natm statue!ghoap because i’m insane

(edit: part 2 !!)

-

John has long since lost track of how long he’d been a display in the museum when Simon arrives.

His room had been sectioned off one morning, about an hour after sunrise, which is typically indicative of one of three things: repairs, renovations, or a new addition to the exhibit. And whichever it is, it has excitement thrumming through John, waiting to be released come the next night.

He’s always been a fan of change, however insignificant.

And come two hours after the ropes are set up at every entrance to the room, in is rolled a statue of John’s size, a translucent tarp draped over the carving itself as John had once found himself to be, however many years ago. Museum employees work quickly to install the new piece, plaque and pedestal and all, and once that tarp is removed—if John had lungs, he thinks his breath might’ve been stolen away.

Simon—or Ghost, as his placard reads, and as John first knows him as—is the most beautifully carved statue John has seen in his centuries of existence. It’s clear that his details were etched into pale stone with care and love, every fold of fake cloth, every wrinkle of false skin intricate and deliberate.

The separate slate of stone that serves as a piece of skull to mask Ghost’s face is more than intriguing enough for John to know he wants to meet the other statue the moment the museum closes that night. He knows he want to be the one to introduce Ghost to the world of the living the museum is so generous to offer, no matter how limited it is.

He has to be the one.

It’s no surprise, once the exhibit is reopened, that so many visitors flock around Ghost. John wishes he could be among them, warm and brimming with real, human life—but at the same time, he’s also happy to be where he is, with the opportunity to stare at Ghost forever.

John feels giddy, contained within his frozen form, when the final call announcements sound. When he feels the freeing magic loosen his limbs, his joints slow to movement, he’s immediately off his pedestal to wander over to Ghost.

Who has yet to move.

He knows the first night for any new display is strange. Some are hesitant, unwilling to break their original form. Others are eager, the first to wake.

John had been the latter.

“I wanted to welcome you,” John says, staring up at Ghost. He can tell Ghost knows he can relax his pose, and yet he remains tense. “My name’s John. Do you have a name?”

Piercing eyes shift to peer down at John. Still, Ghost does not move. A beat, a lull of silence if not for the other displays also coming to life, then, “Can’t you read?”

John grins. Ghost’s voice is wonderful deep, wonderfully full. “I can,” he replies, tilting his head. “But sometimes that isn’t the right name.”

Ghost’s jaw shifts, his shoulders finally dropping, the hand that’s poised and holding his mask in place falling away with the skull to reveal a face just as stunning as the rest of his composition, all sharp lines and smooth stone. He still watches John from above, though now with a gentle curiosity that holds questions that would never be asked, at least not tonight.

Quietly, almost timid, Ghost amends, “Simon. That’s my name.”

“Well, Simon.” John extends a hand out to Simon to help him off his pedestal. To John’s surprise, Simon doesn’t hesitate to take it—and again, he feels that in another life, he’d be breathless by now. “Why don’t I show you around?”

What he means to say, is that he looks forward to an eternity alongside Simon, the magnificent piece of art that he is.

And he hopes some day, Simon will feel the same.

[fizzyboi-98]

Raining on the rez in forks

💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️

Rainy day Headcannons for quil, embry, seth and jacob,

~Quil ateara~

Most days raining or not are spent on patrol with the pack in the woods,

But the times he does have with you, you both sit on the porch with tea, coffee, or hot chocolate, and a blanket and cuddle, he's so warm, but if you're a wolf too then no blanket,

"I love you so much" his pretty brown eyes sparkling, he looks so love struck when he looks at you sometimes,

Sweet baby boy smiles a lot when you're with him, you cuddle and talk about everything & anything, he likes playing with your hair that lays on your back & the back of your neck or around your face,

The wolf boys love feeling their imprint's warm skin on theirs, his hand on your skin somehow, if you're ok with it of course,

Reading to him or him reading to you cuddled together for awhile.

) Jacob black (

He honestly wants nothing more than to eat dinner and take a nap with you in his dark room listening to the rain hit the roof, or take a nap midday and shut the curtains,

(he can't sleep in anything but complete darkness) he kisses you on the forehead and drifts off to sleep knowing you're safe and asleep against him, (also he snores but pretty quietly).

- > Embry call < -

(as I've said) he would want to go camping, you two don't even have to be far away from yours or his house,

he would put up the tent with or without your help before the rain starts (and put the rain tarp on of course)

You two would eat whatever you brought or eat inside before going out to the tent, but what he really wants is what he calls (the best sleep he's ever gotten)

If you're a shifter or not he still sleeps shirtless, if you're not, he'll keep you warm but if you are then you'll keep each other warm,

he'd honestly want as much skin content with you as you're comfortable with while you sleep, he loves sleeping in the warm tent listening to the wind and rain with you (it is the best sleep he's had) ;)

// Seth clearwater //

I feel he'd want to take a walk with you while it rains, wearing rain coats and boots he doesn't need them maybe neither do you but since he wants to walk around in public places with you it would be pretty weird to be barefoot and not dressed for the rain walking around forks,

Maybe check out some stores and/or just walk around, but holding hands is mandatory, talking about whatever's going on in yours and his busy or slow week,

Stop to eat and make a cute little date out of it (like this wasn't his plan all along)

Running into an old family friend and watching him grin sheepishly when they say how cute you two are. "ha, thanks."

Bringing back some dinner for leah and their mom, and when you get to his room he gives you the hoodie/jacket/sweater he was wearing because it's so warm and smells like him and his body wash/cologne

He puts something else on and you two watch movies with leah and his mom, not caring if you fall asleep on each other,

A/n thanks for reading ☺️🫧

🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧🌧️💧

april/21/23

[mindingmybidness12]

Zombie Lover[Wednesday Addams x zombie! GN! Reader]

Summary: Wednesday learns something interesting about you.

Warnings: Mentions of bodily harm. More on the ridiculous side but still.

Word Count: 700 words

************************************************************************

“Hey, how ‘s it going?”

“You have a knife in your shoulder.”

“Yes.”

“You have my knife in your shoulder.”

“That is correct.”

“Why?”

“Well I was watching a cool action sequence and it had some knife fighting. I wanted to try it but I don’t own any knives. But I knew you did. One thing led to another and… well.”

“Give it back…”

“Ok.”

You reached up and snagged the knife out of your left shoulder. Ignoring the burning pain and the blood pouring out of the wound, you turned to give it back to  Wednesday but thought again.

“Hey… do you mind giving me a second to—“

“I can wipe the blood off myself later. Don’t you think that there’s a more pressing issue to deal with first?”

“Like what?”

“You are bleeding you idiot.”

“I noticed.”

“…you’ll die if you bleed out, you ignoramus.” 

“I won’t die.” You replied while waving Wednesday off without a care in the world,”I have an incredible healing factor with an abnormally high pain tolerance to match. For example.”

You picked a conveniently placed ax off of a nearby desk.

“My ax.” Wednesday supplied

“I will be using your ax for this demonstration.”

“Give it b-”

“Observe.”

“What are you–!”

“Observe. HYAH!!”

With an unnecessary battle cry, you lopped off your own left hand with a swipe, sending your hand and blood flying across the room. Wednesday stood frozen in shock at your insane act. Before she could even begin to start yelling at you for doing something so outrageous, the door to her dorm opened and Enid walked in.

“Hey, why is Thing just slumped on the floor bleeding?!”

Thing crawled out from Enid’s drawer with lotion in tow at the sound of his name. Enid looked between both disembodied hands and then finally turned towards you and Wednesday. She took one look at Wednesday's shell shocked face and towards you with a missing hand and bloody ax and nearly lost her mind.

“Wait before you get mad know that it’ll grow back in-”

*POP*

“Oh there it goes.”  your hand grew back in a spray of blood and wet pop to accompany it.

*THUD*

Enid could only take so much.

“Well that could’ve gone a bit better.”

Wednesday turn towards you and just stared with her usual brand of utter disdain

********

“No, I've never seen how far my regeneration could go. I’m curious but not that curious.”

You were answering Wednesday’s questions of your newly discovered (by her) abilities as you and her cleaned up the bloody mess you left on the floor. Enid was still unconscious on her bed with Thing tending to her.

“Would you…like help discovering the extent of your abilities?”

“No…I’d imagine that would hurt quite a bit.” You raised an eyebrow at the girl's seemingly eager tone.

“We could start off slow. See if you leave any scars from cuts before we jump back to dismemberment.”

“Why'd you already have a game plan? Shouldn’t you be more… I don’t know, weary?”

“On the contrary, Y/n. Your new revelation has left me quite excited I must admit. I suggest you take me up on my offer. After all, it is important to your growth to test your own limits.”

“This sounds like we’re moving a bit too fast in a direction I’m not too sure I wanna go yet chief.”

“I’ll be gentle.” Wednesday promised

“Ayo, pause.” you recoiled at her choice of words.

“Pause what?” she looked just a touch confused at your reaction.

“Just…nevermind.” You didn’t want to have to be the one to explain Wednesday’s accidental bedroom talk to her.

******

“Ok my safe word is “AYO” just so you know.” 

In the end you ended up agreeing to Wednesday’s offer. Now you find yourself strapped to a chair with a tarp placed under you. You and Wednesday were in the Hummer’s shed and Eugene was given orders not to disturb the two of you.

“Also we can just go bury the limbs I end up losing in the forest or you can put them all in jars filled with suspicious viscous liquid…whichever tickles you more. I regrow everything back pretty fast anyways.”

“After my own heart are you?” Wednesday smirked as she snapped rubber gloves onto her hands while standing in front of various sharp pointy torture tools.

“Well, I gotta say. Craziest first date ever. Not even close.”

************************************************************************

A/N: And that's that! I'm not dead hurray! Had to take time off because of life but now I'm back. Leave a like and reblog and comment what you guys think. I'll see you when I see you!

[vanossfan10]

RWBY: Jaune Arc Mandalorian AU: Jaune’s Starfighter

**During the last Two Years at Beacon, Jaune and his friends all got along he managed to have a very loving relationship with Yang and the two Teams became power houses after their first year, but on one night they played Truth or Dare Jaune Revealed in a Truth he has a Starfighter to help him go earn some cash from bounties in space given to him by his Bounty Hunter Mentor; Boba Fett.**

(Night of the ToD game night)

Ruby: BULLSHIT! I call BULL!! SHIT!!

Yang: Ruby! Language! I’m sure Jaune is just joking

Jaune: who said I was?

Yang:…huh?!….

Teams RWBY & (J)NPR: ………EEEEHHHH!?!?!……

They all yelled in shock and saw that he wasn’t joking at all.

**The very next morning he took Team RWBY and his own team down to Ozpin private landing bay for Beacon where bullhead ships were kept, they all soon saw a ship that was covered in a large grey tarp and once they walked over to it Jaune grabbed the tarp and revealed his Starfighter.**

Ruby:…oh wow…(eyes shine and she begins to drool)…

Weiss: mhm this is quite a spectacle~

Blake: I mean I’ve read these in science fiction books but never thought I’d see one in person

Yang: that’s fucking hot babe~💕

Pyrrha: Jaune you always continue to surprise us

Nora: I WANNA RIDE IT! I WANNA RIDE IT! I WANNA RIDE IT! AND I WANNA BLOW STUFF UP WITH IT!!!

Ren: Nora No! (He said trying to hold her back)

Nora: NORA YES!!

Jaune: I’ll think about it Nora, anyway this is my Eta-2 Actis-class light interceptor, years ago it was originally made for a old warrior race of people known as Jedi but they all went extinct and are only a few left in the Galaxy, as from what my mentor told me when he got this for me

Blake: your mentor got you this?

Jaune: yeah it was a gift after I completed my training, but despite it all I wear his family crest on it to show my thanks to him and to honor my mentor

**Suddenly Weiss interrupted**

Weiss: if that’s so, what’s this art piece supposed to indicate mhm~

**she said in a teasing tone as they all looked at the side of Jaune’s Starfighter wing and saw a pin up spray paint art piece of Yang**

**everyone looked at the pin up with blushes, some covered their mouths and some looked at Jaune with a cheeky smirk, but Yang mostly was looking at it in embarrassment but also a little bit happy on the inside seeing Jaune still thinking of her when he’s away**

Yang: J-Jaune WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!?!

Jaune: now Yang come on I can explain

Nora: so fearless leader got a sexy mascot to show off to the galaxy huh

Jaune: NORA!

Pyrrha: my goodness Jaune I didn’t think you’d do that and by yangs reaction you didn’t even get her permission, how deviant of you

Jaune: Pyrrha it’s not what y-

Yang: how could you Jaune! (She said blushing harder)

Jaune: Yang please it is just a pi

Yang: how could you get my Signature Wrong!!

RWB(Y) & JNPR:…….Huh???

**they all said in confusion**

Yang: if you wanted me to be your pin up you should have had me sign it!

Jaune:…..umm…ok I’m sorry?….I guess?

Yang: good but I’ll forgive you under one condition

Jaune: what?

Yang: if you take me for a ride in it first before everyone else

**she said tapping her fingers together and making a pouty face along while doing it**

Jaune: (Giggles) sure thing babe

**he said as he pulls her in for a kiss and her soon accepted his apology from the kiss and his promise**

Nora: can I blow up a Cabbage Stand with it now!

Ren: why a Cabbage Stand?!

Blake: you really wanna ask her that question Ren?

Nora: Well my beautiful Ren Ren, it’s because in every universe there is a Cabbage man who yells “No! My Cabbages!!” It’s a universal thing Ren Ren~💕

Ren: What?

Nora: I WANNA BLOW SHIT UP!!

Ruby: ME TOO!! I WANNA BLOW SHIT UP!!

Ren: NORA NO!!!

Yang: RUBY LANGUAGE!!

Fin

[remembertheplunge]

California Supreme Court OKs Gay Marriage in California

5/15/2008 7:27pm Thursday

My feet ache. Caluses dig in. Ouch!

Den fireplace air conditioner has churned since 2:45pm or so. Great!

Jim cleared out the ashes and I helped set it up as calls came in that Gay marriage was made OK by the California Supreme Court today! May 15th Day!

End of entry

Notes: 8/8/2024

My gay partner Jim and I lived in a house that had two fire places. One had formally been used  for backyard barbecuing when the house was built in 1953. But, in 1957, a den was built which extended into what was half of the back yard and enclosed the BBQ fireplace. The den roof was not insulated, so, the den would get very hot during the long hot central California summers where we lived. So, we bought a room air conditioner and on May 15, 2008., placed into the fire place. Despite the fact there was no insulation in the den ceiling, and the fact that the roof leaked when it rained, the den is where we spent the majority of our time! Jim set up an elaborate system of plastic tarps and metal nipples along the ceiling and buckets on the floor to catch the rain leakinging. But, it would still find a way to drip on our heads as we sat in the den watching TV!

In the midst of our unofficial gay marriage life  came the news that the California Supreme Court had made Gay Marriage official in California!

Per google search today: 

“The California Supreme Court ruled  on May 15, 2008 that lesbian and gay couples are entitled to the same fundamental right to marry as heterosexual couples, a right protected by the California Constitution’s guarantees of privacy, due process, and equal protection under the law.”

[tgirlwithreverb]

Ok, so that tarp line tensioner!

Yr gunna need:a long line and a bunch of short sections tied into these slings(and sling adjacent doohickeys):

Weird little Venus fly trap prussiks, 3 of them(2 on one end of yr rope, 1 on the other), I used double dragon loops, but use whatever end loop you want

Regular prussik slings, 2(second one optional but recommend) put both on the end with the single fly trap prussik

Some little rings, 3, placement to be explained, generally better if they're small, technically optional but they're going to take most of the wear in the system.

A 6foot length of rope(could maybe be smaller but this has been working fine), arranged like so as a weird half-poldo tackle with the rings and inner prussik

To operate, you're going to attach the free loop on the big sling to the inner fly trap prussik, with the slack from the line between them

This is how you use a Venus fly trap hitch, look it up on youtube for the guy who invented it's better explanation.

After you secure the weird half-poldo sling, take up what slack you can through the prussiks on the ends of the sling and try to position it around the middle of where you want your tarp to hang.

Continued below