#required listening to understand me i think

[revelboo]

ayo, would you be able & willing to update either Rodimus or Tarn ? Am loving both of those rn!

Sure- I’ll try to get both updated today if I have time

L.G. Fuad Pt 5

Tarn x Reader

• It’s ludicrous really. Irrational. Weak. Staring up at the ceiling of his habsuite, he’s aware of the way you’re sprawled on his chassis, half out of your tangle of blankets, face against him. Almost positive you’re drooling on him. What would Megatron think? At least one of you is recharging, because he’s been kept alert by your thrashing and twisting. Your skin sometimes hot to the touch and slick with sweat, other times clammy and so cold. At some point, you’d stopped struggling. A little hand outstretched and your fingers against the mesh of his neck as you finally rest. But you survived the night. There were times he wasn’t sure what the outcome would be. Hating that he’d been almost concerned.

• Shifting as something gloriously warm slides against your spine from the back of your neck to the curve of your butt, you open your eyes but don’t move. Still too weak and just wanting to sleep. But realizing you’re sprawled on top of your guy with the lovely voice? That he’s absently petting you? You should be embarrassed, but you’re just too exhausted. Rumbling his alien gibberish at you, he touches your jaw with surprising gentleness.

• “You’re alive, then,” he mutters, cupping a hand against you and sitting up. Hearing your noise as you slide down to sprawl against his fingers, your expression uncannily Cybertronian and very obviously unhappy. “If you’re going to tag along, you’re going to learn to listen.” Tone strict, he twists and deposits you on his berth. Tugging your blanket away as you momentarily resist him. “Let’s see how clever you are,” he says as you just flop down, glaring.

• Shivering as he talks at you, attention on your blanket, it takes a moment to realize he’s repeating the same sounds. Eyes narrowing you watch him shake your blanket and say something. And he does it again. Is he trying to teach you? Not that you can hope to repeat those clicking, rumbling whirs of noise. “Blanket. That’s a blanket. I’m cold and it’s mine,” you retort knowing he can’t understand you as you point. And he hesitates. Makes his sound and shakes it again. “Blanket,” you say, refusing to attempt his alien gibberish. You’re too tired for this crap and your head is pounding.

• Optics narrowing as you point and chatter, he’s almost certain you’re saying the same thing in two different languages. Slowly enunciating he says the word in Cybertronian. Then tries to repeat your sound. “Blaaynk-it?” And your little eyes widen as you lunge to your feet only to wobble and fall back down with a grimace. Repeating the word and pointing with both hands. When he gives you the Cybertronian you just scrunch your nose at him. But finally make an attempt. A terrible, incomprehensible attempt. But still. “Good. Very good,” he says reaching to pat you on the head as you swat weakly at him and point more insistently. Ah. Draping the blanket around you, he watches you cocoon yourself. You require positive reinforcement to learn. Some kind of reward.

Previous

But I can still pretend with my memories and photographs,

I have learned to love the lie.

I wanna know what it's like to be awkward and innocent, not belligerent.

I wanna know how it feels to be useful and pertinent and have common sense.. yeah

Let me in, let me in to the club, cuz I wanna belong,

And I need to get strong, and if memory serves,

I'm addicted to words and they're useless.

[supercap2319]

"Alright, listen up. The spell requires three things: the blood of a witch, the blood of a vampire, and the blood of a werewolf." Silas addressed the Scooby Doo gang of Mystic Falls. Silas knew of a way to bring Bonnie back from the Other Side, but it was not without consequences.

Grayson nods. "We can get you blood from a werewolf. I already have blood of a witch and vampire running through my veins."

Silas nods approvingly, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Excellent. With your unique lineage providing the witch and vampire components, we're nearly set." He glances about the group, settling on Damon. "Damon, I presume you can handle securing the werewolf blood?"

"Yeah. I think wolf boy Tyler Lockwood can help." Damon grumbles with a frown. Silas smirks at Damon's response, clearly amused by his attitude. He nods, satisfied with the plan. "Good. Once we have all the necessary components, we'll begin the ritual. And with Grayson's... unique abilities, we'll have more than enough power to bring our little witch back."

Grayson nods and walks with Elena to the side. "Elena? I don't trust Silas. He's going to screw us over."Elena nods in agreement, her brow furrowed with worry as she watches Silas conversing with himself. She turns to Grayson, her voice low. "I know. But what choice do we have? We need to get Bonnie back, no matter the cost."

"Look, the moment something goes South, you take Jeremy, and you get out of town. You understand me?" Elena nods slowly. "I understand." Casually, Silas approaches the pair, having overheard enough of their conversation to know Grayson's protectiveness extends beyond just Elena. "Sweet of you to look out for sister dear Elena and baby brother Jeremy. But tell me..." Silas's voice carries a dangerous edge as he moves closer.

"What?" Grayson asked.

"What happens if I decide to double-cross you all? You seem to have a backup plan for Elena and Jeremy, but what about you, Grayson?" He chuckles darkly.

"If I die, then I'm taking you with me. You may look like Stefan, but you are not a good person." Grayson said.

A sharp, dangerous laugh escapes Silas's lips. "Ooh, how... predictable. The hybrid threatens the villain. I've heard it all before." He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper."Tell me, Grayson... What exactly are you willing to sacrifice for your friends and family?"

The hybrid leans closer to Silas. "Everything." Silas holds Grayson's gaze, searching for any hint of deception. Finding none, he nods slowly, a grudging respect flickering in his ancient eyes. "Everything, hm? Now, that's what I call dedication." He straightens up, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

Grayson nods. "How did you get like this? According to textbooks, you were supposed to marry Qetsiyah. What happened?" Silas's expression darkens briefly at the mention of Qetsiyah, a flash of annoyance crossing his features before he masks it with that familiar smirk, though it seems a bit forced this time. "Well, that's a story for another time, isn't it?"

"You're damn right it is."

[gabessquishytum]

Hullo! I just saw a video today from Dancing with the Stars about mango or two men dancing the tango and immediately thought Yesss Dreamling! I was rambling about it with friends and thought of sharing some ideas here too. @yamru who's from Argentina, also let me know that tango was originally danced by male partners!

This clip particularly reminded me of two alphas from extremely wealthy but rival families, who think they can't be together because societal norms say they have to be with an omega to continue the family line. In fact, initially they hate each other! But after a lot of meet ugly moments, angst, UST, these two fall head over heels in love with each other. Now this dance happens at a party where they are still in their enemies phase, but insanely attracted to each other, and they are developing feelings as they dance. After the party they cannot stop thinking about each other and how it will feel to be together. They torture themselves about the logistics of it and concerns of how to continue the family line. But eventually when they get together, all rules fly out the window. They also realize that being together is more than just resolving physical tension. Their culture requires them to be macho alphas but what they both truly crave is just being pampered by each other. But because they are idiot alphas, they don't tell each other how they really feel. When one of them, maybe Dream, is forced to marry an omega suitor, say Alex or Calliope, Hob comes to the wedding at the right time to profess his love and that he doesn't care about these social norms. And Dream, who was waiting to hear these lines, flies to Hob's arms! The family and guests are scandalized but Dream and Hob don't mind what others might say anymore. I'm not sure how to resolve the baby business. Maybe lucienne is a doctor who tells them about scientific advancements about how alphas can carry a child. Or use a surrogate. Anyway everyone kinda resigns to the fact Hob and Dream are a couple now. They are both still every bit ruthless alphas but also indulgent softies for each other. When they finally get married, of course they dance the tango again at their wedding!

MANGO. MAN TANGO. I love it.

I really lean towards the idea of Dream and Hob being business rivals - maybe not rivals, necessarily, but they're both big-shot CEOS. Dream has that inherited wealth and Hob is more of a self-made man. They know each other from conferences, galas, and society in general. Both are considered VERY eligible alpha bachelors. And they're kind of frenemies. Who obviously want to fuck.

Hob is always teasing Dream by flirting with him, and it annoys Dream because it really turns him on. So at this party he tries to teach Hob a lesson by being receptive to his flirting, and dancing with him. Turns out, Hob wasn't teasing though - he's totally sincere in his advances and spends much of the dance whispering filthy things in Dream’s ear, until Dream drags him out to a secluded spot and shuts him up. With many, many kisses.

They spend the night together and it's like paradise, but of course it can't last...... Dream swears Hob to secrecy, Hob is kindof offended that Dream would be so ashamed of him. But he also understands. He's an alpha with his own reputation to uphold, too.

(If Dream’s intended omega bride is Calliope, she knows exactly what's going on and spends the entire betrothal trying to subtly encourage Dream to follow his heart. Dream is too stubborn to listen.)

Hob is fortunately brave enough to make a stand and declare his love for Dream. He doesn't want to live without the man he loves, and doesn't see why it matters that they both have knots! Hob wants to build a life with Dream and do cute domestic things like baking and flower arranging, and he also wants to fuck Dream face down on the living room carpet. He wants to merge their companies and be ruthless in board meetings together. Isn't that what life's all about?

Even if they can't legally marry, Dream decides that he'll put a ring on Hob’s finger anyway. He's not letting him go. So, Calliope happily marries someone else, perhaps one of Dream’s siblings. After a few years she offers to be a surrogate for her favourite pair of alphas. And a few years after that, laws are changed and Hob and Dream finally tie the knot (hahaha).

They are very very good tangueros, and have learned to seamlessly swap the lead/follower roles... although other dancers have to beware. There's no telling whether they might actually start fucking on the dancefloor...

[aldisobey]

The Veilguard's Gift

AO3 link for you all

Set some months after the epilogue. Rook is feeling rested and visiting Neve at the Cobbled Swan for some easy work. Unfortunately the conversation doesn't get a chance to stay light.

------

A muse fairy visited me tonight and put this in my hands. Normally spend way longer with stuff before putting it out there but I know this'll be in wips way too long if I don't offer it up now and I think it's fun enough to share (or not we'll see how the morning hits haha). Full story below because it's shy of 2k, guess I wanted to practice Neve for the future.

“Rook. It’s good to see you.”

“Neve!” It’d only been a few months but he couldn’t help it. Rook took off dashing and engulfed her in a hug. Nearly sent them both tumbling into the muddied street at the violent joy of it.

“Whoa,” she responded with a dry laugh and a smirk, “must be doing well.”

Rook released her, still beaming and laughed in reply, the sound deep, and for once, maybe in all his years, rested. “My head’s finally quiet, I think I slept four weeks straight.” He hadn’t. Emmrich had made sure to wake him as much as need required, but those had been blissfully quiet moments, soft remembrances lost in fade of melding dreams.

“Aw, you’re thinking of him aren’t you?” She still smirked, dug an elbow into his side. The touch was grounding, made Rook blink and snap his head to the side where she walked with him. Their feet led them up the steps into the Swan as he gave a characteristic shake of his head.

“What?!” But he smiled, others might guess what subject his mind had retreated to when he spaced out, but Neve had a knack for knowing just what each glazed look was. Or…did she always guess Emmrich? Was it always him? Rook screwed his face in thought, and Neve chuckled low again, seemingly aware that she’d lost his attention to the lich once more.

“You’re still with him right? Where is he?”

The smile returned, but Rook kept the memories and distracting thoughts free from his mind as he and Neve made way to the preferred spot for the day in the Cobbled Swan. It shifted after all, and today the mood suited here. Sometimes intuition was the thing to follow.

“Of course! Neve we’re soulmates.” Said with his full chest, he cleared his throat, covered the sincerity with a chuckle. That was too loud, oh lord don’t think him too serious. Maker help him. It felt that and more.

“He’s back in Nevarra dealing with…” he nearly said lich business out loud. In the middle of Docktown's most prominent bar while accompanying someone that always drew eyes. He took a seat opposite the detective. Naturally Neve would meet him somewhere safe from enemies and their gossip. But it wouldn’t be uncommon for friendlier eyes to have an eye on her, for protection at the very least. Best not spread that ‘secret’ further than needed. “...Mourn Watch business.”

Rook muttered as he settled into his chair and folded his hands in front of him on the table. Nodded. Pleased with the answer and seeming importance of his partner. “You know classes and stuff maybe start…”

Neve copied his movements, leaned onto the table in much the same way, perhaps stoking a conspiratorial spirit as she made direct eye contact. It broke off his thoughts, paused his words. Rook felt a shiver on his neck, something in her eyes was dire, insistent, and he couldn’t turn his gaze from it as she spoke even, slow. “Soulmates or not, you should think about breaking it off.”

She wasted no time. Rook confirmed it. Emmrich wasn’t here. Lucanis had checked, double checked. The Warden was here alone. And she didn’t know when that would happen again. If ever? Didn’t feel like bringing up the subject around the professor. Oh he would understand of course, give them space, but could he listen? Would he still hear every word? Friend or not, the foundations of the patterns taking form were troubling, best nip this early if possible. If it wasn’t dealt with…

Rook was in shock, jaw dropped, folded fingers coming loose as he drew back. His breath escaped hushed, surprised, and without any thought, “Neve…what…I’m…life is perfect?” Pained. It was like he’d been slapped.

He figured they would be swapping stories of their work. Well, his tales were mostly rest, but he could share such things after some of those dreams. And this meeting was supposed to be his first foray into some relaxingly safe work. Like building a park or something. And surely she wanted to talk about Lucanis, the Threads, detective work…anything other than whatever this was? It started with pain, to confusion, and was simmering into irritation, why would she say that?

“Listen, Rook. I love Emmrich, we all do, sincerely. We’re happy for both of you. And we know he’s obsessed with you.” Rook wanted to mutter obsessed with each other thank you, but her flat tone was as sincere as ever, and the gravity of the moment kept him silent. But for once, the hint of a tremble entered her words, “Where do you think that’s going to lead as you age? If you ever choose to put yourself in real danger again?” she paused, something had caught her eye, a flit of magic or some thinning of the Fade.

Thankfully a Thread mage outside the Swan had seen the same and dealt with whatever it was, but for the briefest moment her eyes widened in rare shock, and her voice dropped to a whisper, “It might take you a while to realize, that’s fine…” this was taking too long, too painful to say aloud and to make real, she groaned, “...just, if you ever need to disappear, I specialize in that work, know people that do. And I’ll always be here to help you. Okay? I’ll leave someone in my place if I’m too old for all this, so know that it’s always. Even if you’re in Nevarra.” With that said she pulled something from her pocket.

“You know how to use some magic items right?”

Rook nodded. Steeped in silence at the ‘attack’ or whatever this was.

Neve revealed a ring, pressed it into Rook’s slack hands before he could protest. He picked it up from his palm. It had a thick gold band, set with a large deep purple sapphire, and within it glowing soft, without shedding light, was the elven rune for rebellion. But when it caught light just so it threw soft purple in the room. Rook didn’t have the keenest eye for such things, but even he could tell this was a princely gift.

“Lucanis paid for this.” Rook muttered as he turned it in close examination, at times searching for that spot where it threw the light. Neve laughed light at that, eager to soften the conversation as well.

“Oh? Looking to take my job are you?” Rook looked up from the ring to Neve’s winking face, and found that he could smile again.

“Consider it a gift from your Veilguard. Wear it at all times. Never take it off. Grave gold is a thing for you now right? If you're buried...well...it needs to be with you.” She spoke halting, slow, firm. Many things left unsaid.

But the Warden heard them, and the warmth of sentiment over receiving such a grand gift faded, replaced with a feeling tight in his throat, a shiver that ran from head to toe. He closed a fist around the ring, he didn’t dare wear it until this picture came into focus. “Why? Neve. It’s magic?”

She sighed, looked ready to reach for a pipe as she leaned back in her chair. Content enough that Rook held it for the moment. She took a deep breath and briefly held up two fingers, “It’s got two uses I need you to learn. And its magic nature shouldn’t be detectable. Dorian helped with that.”

Rook blinked, “Why’s that…but…is this a secret?” His heart beat fast. The ring suddenly felt cold where it sat digging into his palm.

“First use. Tilt it just so, it doesn’t need light just the right angle for that rune, then whisper ‘whatever it takes’. We’ll try to get to you as fast as we can. A safety precaution. It’s likely Emmrich already gave you something of the sort.” She nodded to an expensive new piece of gold on Rook’s right index finger that he’d started rolling with the thumb of the same hand. The Warden gulped, brain rebelling against fitting the pieces to the pattern Neve could see so clearly.

“A beacon.” he muttered.

Neve nodded once, “Mhm. And when you activate it, it should be undetectable, that light is attuned to you, I can’t see a thing. Dorian struggled with that but seemed satisfied by the result. It won’t alert Emmrich. It…” She refused to voice any doubt. Shrugged, a brow furrowed, sighed before a firm, “It won’t.” Silence came between them as drinks were delivered.

Rook stared down at his fist, the ring hidden from sight. Mind reeling at the implications of it all. So much thought that had gone into this. All that work. And from the best people he knew? Why? Why go through all this trouble? Spend all this money? On magic that was hidden from…Rook bit his tongue, nearly bled, but once they were alone, servers absent, he spoke, his voice flat, a certain irritability building, “The second use?” his knuckles were white, clenched hand nearly shaking.

“Instant conflagration. For the wearer.”

“What…” a whisper of horror, a burn of bile in his throat, Rook coughed, settled it, but his face fell. He could feel a roiling in his gut, wanted to throw the damned thing as far as he could, but something caught, he couldn’t. He grasped it tight, went pale, sweat beading his brow. “...why…what…Neve…” pleading for her to spell it out, at the same time he seemed likely to bolt, his eyes wild, round, looking for some way out of this conversation. Out of all this.

Neve reached across the table, placed her hands over Rook’s quaking fist, over that princely magic ring meant to protect him. Protect him from? The Warden's nails were digging deep into his palm, nearly cut into flesh before the Tevene stilled him. He expected cold hands from an ice mage, the warmth surprised him, but calmed the uncontrolled movements. A shudder ran his skin, a warm touch. He closed his eyes, calming, breathing, and then looked back at Neve.

“Rook. I’m sorry." He could hear the pain there, the true grief. Perhaps even disbelief that she had followed through, had made this happen. But then she cleared her throat, and Rook could see determination take hold. A confident resilience that knew this might seem extra, but precautions always did seem silly when the storm you prepared for had never been witnessed. At least not of the specific type, she had seen…other varieties.

"I need to be quick, I want you to know it’s perfectly safe to wear.” Neve squeezed his hand, gentle, reassuring as best she could, “Like I said, Dorian helped. It’ll only happen in very specific steps. It'll be instant. Leave nothing behind. I need to know that you’ve learned the steps.”

The Warden swallowed. Blinked back the heat threatening again. Neve withdrew her hands as she felt him still. Rook choked down the rising anger towards her, at this, and looked down again. Opened his hand, once bruised and cut, twisted, calloused. Now, he noticed with a soft smile and shining eyes. Scarred, but soft, still rough, but not so harshly calloused. He hadn’t had to fight in months. Was that so bad? The ring looked blurry in his vision.

He blinked at the loving gift, the cursed thing. Picked it up. Turned it again in the light, noted that hue of the sapphire, they'd captured a favorite, and that rune what it meant for them all, that weight, and there that cast of light. And he felt warmth again. Love radiating from the rest of that family he finally found. They were warning him. He didn’t believe them. Almost hated Neve for this.

He slid the ring onto his left index finger.

“What are they?”

[pyromance]

it's kind of my song actually

[carcarrot]

having another one of my job-related crises

[tianshiisdead]

im happy my post is garnering discussion but honestly i wasnt around for 2018-2021 fandom on tumblr and i was mainly talking about how its kind of silly to get mad at people for portraying colonizer countries as mean, or calling it demonization and stuff. like its okay not to like personally portraying ur fav characters as mean or part of the state, but getting irritated at the fact that it exists or is popular imo kind of misses the fact that this… is the state and nation personification fandom. and its hard to say its not canon when canon did once portray the characters in uniform and at times involved in their state activities… like the early strips discussing western imperialism in china is literally ‘china being bullied by the allies’ ‘france wanting to grope china’ ‘china being treated like a maid’ etc etc like they were very much. the state LOL also china and japan’s canon relationship, as much as I have my issues with it, has an entire thing about china being stabbed by japan… i do feel like hetalia started out as a history nerd’s history exploration that blended humour with ‘what i find cute’ with satire etc etc, which inevitably involves illustrating the personifications as vessels of state and culture, and although the modern strips have deviated quite a bit… well, different people will approach this series for different reasons, right? Whether its serious or comedic content showing the characters as mean or imperialist or unpleasant, it’s not something that deviates too far from canon (if we take all canon eras into consideration) nor is it surprising given how history laden the topic is.

[girlivealwaysbean]

so tired of being a shitty bandaid for my parents' loneliness. like have u ever considered you passed your curse to me and some days i feel so lonely it's like i can't breathe around the emptiness in my chest????

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

2am thinking about aglaya lilich who executed people without any pity had an insane amount of power but also always knew she's just a doomed marionette with no actual will

"The desire to put people out of their misery by restoring the broken logic of the world is what drives her to action."

"There is an eternally predetermined order by which everything goes as it should along a predetermined path."

This is from patho 2 which i didn't play but fr..

"So how do you build a perfect world if you're going to have less than perfect people living in it?

The Inquisition has no answer to that question. All I can do is protect the system, keep it from collapsing and burying millions of lives under its rubble."

"Betrayal is death. Next. Treason is betrayal. Betrayal is death. Left. Next. Death. Next. Death. Anybody not on any of these cases?There are no other crimes. There is no evil, no murder, cannibalism or violence. There's nothing worse than betraying someone who's trusted you. And everyone with a confession like that goes straight to the left. It's death. It's out of the question."

"Are you kidding me? I'm an automaton. This is an unsolvable city. I don't know how to do that. Listen. I don't have much time left. If I can't solve this city, I have, uh. ampoule. They sent me to do this on purpose. There's no winning this thing. "Resolve" means… well, bring the matter to an end. Inquisition. You know what I mean? It was - and now it isn't."

_

"Aglaia is a God-fighter. Those whom she touches begin to rebel against the established order of things. At the same time, Aglaia is the voice of the law. She sees the universe as a machine. She asserts that the logic of the universe is above all, and to hell with polyhedrons. God-fighting for her is also the restoration of justice, the law of nature. Those she touches begin to realize that there are limits to what is possible and one must obey them."

[depresseddepot]

trying to determine which parts of my relationship with sex are asexuality, which are trauma, and which are autism is like trying to have a conversation with three people talking loudly and all at once

[timeisacephalopod]

Lol out of curiosity I looked up my old job on Indeed and yes they ARE urgently hiring for the position and if I didn't get treated like dog shit for expecting a stress free work environment with reasonable expectations and not wildly cunty management who seemed to be under the impression they were doing THE most important job at THE most important store ever maybe I wouldn't have just not shown up one day 🤷🏻‍♀️ asshole thing to do to my poor coworkers but I didn't even have the energy to quit right after spending a month and a half feeling deeply surveilled at every aspect of my job lest I get another frivolous writeup no one else got for doing their jobs worse than me so fine. You want me gone enough to threaten my livelihood and SHRUG when I point out I have rent to pay, fine, but I wouldn't put up with that behavior from anyone in my life generally and I LIKE those people so my JOB pulling bullshit? Oh hell no, if I wouldn't take it from people I CHOOSE to be around on purpose I ain't taking shit from a fucking JOB. I refuse to be in a work environment that's unaware it's a GROCERY STORE, not a 5 star establishment frequented exclusively by world leaders or some shit. Like Sam, my job is cooking food at a fucking sobeys and you're acting as if I'm disarming bombs it's so important get reasonable priorities and standards for employees and then apply them equally to managers and not EXCLUSIVELY minimum wage staff 🙄

Which is funny because my new job everyone seems surprised with how fast I've caught on to stuff down to a coworker yesterday telling me he thought I worked in a shoppers prior to the pharmacy I'm in because Im catching on so quick. This isn't unusual for me either, some time in the last five or so years I've found every workplace I'm at I end up being heavily relied on because I'm good at my job, so fucking sucks to suck for sobeys because it took me some week or so to be consistently praised for being better at the job than the guy I replaced only for them to throw that out because they think management should be able to do whatever the fuck they want while they shove minimum wage staff under a fucking microscope to ensure they're doing their shit right and even that isn't consistent. They punished me exclusively because I did not lay down to be treated as a door mat and dished the treatment I got handed. If you treat me like shit I WILL treat you the way you treat me, no worse, and sometimes a little better because I don't lose my moral standards in that treatment either. Just because I'm being an ass doesn't mean I'm willing to do whatever the fuck, just enough to ensure that the person who's decided I'm their new plaything knows that'll be going both ways so fuck off. I've never had a job so willing to keep on shit management they had at LEAST a dozen meetings with regarding performance and I was the one who got punished for being frustrated about that. But I will take a new significantly less stressful job 🙌🏻

[sateurn]

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

These sobs really limited my tags?????

I have so many more thoughts this is so so much less than 1/2. Broski. Big dislike

[salemdotcom]

Why is it that every time I talk to a straight person they’re like “so how long have you been a lesbian?” And I’ll be like “Never been one. I’m not a lesbian. I am nonbinary though.” And they’ll be like “ohhhhhh I see. Wait how does being a lesbian fit in with that though.” And I’ll be like “IT DOESNT. ON ACCOUNT OF IM NOT ONE.”

[mokeonn]

Sorry about all the posts about people not educating themselves. It's a topic im deeply passionate about and have a hard time understanding the opposition on because I am a fundamentally curious person who went and practiced the research techniques I was taught so that I may research better.

Plus I have autism so "researching to understand the world around me better" comes with the territory.

[dawnwriterimagines]

The Guilty Plea

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1) and Innocents Among You (Part 2)

Verdict Due (Part 4) Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: As you're discharged from the infirmary, under watchful eye, you head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Running your fingers along the raised, pink scar across you cheek, the feeling of it...it really looked terrible. A part of you thought it would disappear, hoped it would, but it didn't. It just became severely more noticeable. Looking at this, you knew you'd always have to think of it. You'd sport this reminder for the rest of your life.

Looking away from it, you find your own tired eyes in the mirror, you haven't been sleeping well. Or at all. You can't remember the last time you got 4 hours, let alone 8. Dark circles still surrounded them but at least the bruising and the swelling had gone down.

You couldn't recognize yourself. Not really.

This woman looked so exhausted, so frail and so goddamn angry. It was accurate, it was how you felt. All of it. So, you supposed that the mirror's reflection was the truth, this was you indeed.

"If you need another day or two, no one will ask questions."

You glance over towards your psychologist, your fucking therapist, a nice little 'gift' sent over by the bureau to check in on your mental state after your ordeal. Glaring at him through the reflection of your mirror, he sighs, putting down his pen that slaps against his notepad, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"I'm going to Laswell." Ignoring his statement, you speak. "I'm ready. I'll pack up. Get back to base. Vera had me discharged from the infirmary. I can start ov--"

"Vera?"

"My nurse. You met her," you continued, annoyance spiking at the interruption. Your wrist brace squeaking quietly under the pressure of your fist tightening beneath the table.

"Right..."

"Do you listen to a word I say outside of...my 'trauma'?" You wonder, bluntly.

Your psychologist blinks, surprised, before clearing his throat, appalled. "If you feel I can be more attentive to your state of well-being throughout our process, than by all means--"

"Oh, so 'no'?" you lean back into your seat, a strained laugh leaving you. His lips press together and you continue before he can find the words. "Because whenever I mention leaving this fucking team, you either adjust our schedule for another two weeks or suggest hypnotic therapy, as if I need anyone else digging around to fuck up my mental state."

"I never meant to imply--"

"Oh, you implied it," you interrupted, gritting your teeth. "I know what I want. And I want off Task Force 141."

He taps at the leather of his notebook. "Scars heal, just remember that, Ms. (L/n). The reminders of your experience shouldn't have to haunt you."

"It's not the scars, I've had my share way before this," you admitted, rising to your feet. You exhale deeply that tells to the effort of it, the steel gear hinges along your leg braces shift with your change of position. Still getting use to them. "It's the person."

"Has she changed, you think?" the psychologist begins to write, getting somewhere.

"She doesn't exist anymore."

Finally, placing the mirror down and onto the side table, you pushed off of the table, rolling your IV pole along with you. Passing the chair your psychologist sits on, he closes his notebook with a frustrated huff, looking over his shoulder. "Session over for you already, Ms. (L/n)?" he sighs. "We've still got the hour."

"I'm done," you take the knob in your hand. Turning.

In more ways than one.

"You understand that, informing your captain on your leave is required of you. Have you spoken to any of them, in the last few weeks?" he spoke up, quickly. "I'm sure giving them a space to open up, share from their view--"

"Why should I care--"

"--will give you better understanding, better clarity of the situation they were in--

Appalled. "What the fuck?" Jamming the door closed with a loud, shuttering thud, you whip around. "IT'S NOT ABOUT THEM!" you could just rip your hair out. "Who--who says that to someone?!"

Your psychologist sits there, eyes wide in confusion. "What--"

"Christ, can you hear me? Can you--can you see me? I've got metal plates in my spine, braces holding my knees in place and nerve damage that'll never heal! Who gives a fuck about them!" your skin feels red hot, your face twisted in rage. "I gave my life! My life to this! And then I'm tortured, I'm threatened, drugged and beaten by my own team, my f--my family for eight fucking years..."

You continue with a heavy chest. "And I'm supposed to invite them for dinner to talk and listen them bitch and moan about why they thought it was necessary to beat me to death for two weeks?! Fuck you!" you spat. "I don't owe them anything!"

"That's not what I was trying to say, Ms. (L/N). I apologize, I overstepped. Come sit down--"

"Of course you meant it," you interrupted, mock humor. "Don't be a pussy, own up to it. Revel in your truth. Be tter yet--" you snatch a journal from the cabinet. Tossing it his way. "Make a note of it."

Turning the knob, you leave the room with a slam of the metal door.

---

You were officially famous. On the base, you were now a legend.

A story that would be mentioned and told at lunch for months. Probably years.

First, you were a rat. Next, you were innocent. This was the most gossip any of those in service had ever seen in their years of service.

An interesting reminder to those in service that you weren't safe off duty either.

You learned a few days ago that there was an update put into the interrogational unit, something about how to properly go about dissecting evidence and being on the lookout for enemy spies in the militia.

You guessed you had been told about it in an effort to be appeased by the thought that the head of control paid attention to anything beyond their own noses for once. But, you had little to no faith in a system that's nearly killed you on and off the field by now, so it didn't matter.

You doubted the new rules would be followed though, there was a plethora of things they'd done to you in that cell that were both illegal and unsanctioned. Most of all, that were expected towards an enemy, a prisoner of war at best, and not a fellow marine.

You arrive at the housing quarters, swiping your key card, pulling the handle and entering the wing. Immediately, you're greeted by a dozen eyes, conversations stopping short and clothes ruffling to silence, suddenly whispers fill the space and eyes turn away.

"Oh, god, it's her..." says one man in the far corner.

"Shut the fuck up, man!" came a harsh whisper back.

"I didn't know it was that bad..."

All those eyes on you, makes you pause in your step, looking around at all of your fellow soldiers, the men and women you've served with for years. Many you recognized, ate with, fought beside that turned their backs to you now. Out of respect? Out of distaste, morale, nerves, pity, it all didn't matter. It all felt the same.

The wheels attached to your IV pole suddenly sounded much too loud on the polished flooring, as you walked down the hall as fast as you were able to.

Breathing out deeply, you get to an elevator, pushing on the button, once, twice, three times, just open goddamn it.

With a ding, the metal doors open, and suddenly you're aware that people could be in the elevator, they could be in this elevator, he could be in this elevator. Your eyes flicker down to the floor, your grip on the pole of your iv tightens, your shoulders stiffen, waiting for a blow that will never come.

You stand there as the doors open up, the small space empty, the metal walls reflect only her and a streak of lighting from the ceiling.

Looking up slowly, finally taking a breath, before sliding the iv up and onto the elevator, following it as you press your floor number along the way.

The ride up is fast, a little rumble as it stops, and then the doors open. Faster than you were prepared for.

Peeking out down the hallway, luckily no one to bump into, which you were thankful for. But, it didn't make this hall any less haunting. You'd been cornered in this same hall, you could recall being hauled out of the room after the solid handle of a knife hits your temple.

You don't go down fast enough, whipping around as you stumble to take the wrist of your attacker, mostly for balance, it's Price. In shock, you're unprepared as Johnny's arm encircle your neck, locking you into position as you both stumble backwards onto the floor. He blocks your airways, hushing you harshly as you struggle, feet kicking out and your vision blurring as your team surrounds you. Your family.

That was quite the headache to wakeup with afterwards.

You hadn't quite remembered until now. Being back served as a hell of a kickstart to your memory.

Just a few more reasons to get the fuck off of 141.

Getting off the elevators, the metal doors sliding closed behind you, you make your way down the hall. The polished flooring creates a subtle squeak through the wheels of your iv pole, your hand absently running over the fading stitches along your side.

Passing the shadows of your tortured memory, the doorway of the office was closed, locked.

You pass Kyle's room.

Johnny's.

Finally, you rush up to the next room on the left, grabbing the handle, before beginning to twist, but then you're yanking your hand back as if the metal had burned you. Your back ramming into the back wall, catching yourself, this wasn't your room.

It was Simon's.

You'd spent hours, days, in that room. More than your own.

Why wouldn't you? You were about to get married to the man. You had more in this room than you had in yours.

Sharp breaths leave you, shivering in your effort to keep yourself together, your head goes back into the wall, swallowing down the ache in your chest.

You wait, muscles tensed and your body pressing back into the wall, hoping it'd absorb you if that door opens. Listening for every sound, any pin drop, even an exhale from beyond that doorway. Luckily, Simon seemed to be out for the day.

Hurriedly, nearly running, you steady yourself against the wall as you rush down to the corner of the hallway, finally finding your room.

Turning the handle, it's not locked, it's broken. It opens with ease.

Entering the room slowly, pushing the doorway aside, the crackle of glass beneath your boots as you step forwards, clothes and picture frames laying scattered.

The mattress flipped and ripped open, springs and cotton cut from it. Your wall of metals and certificates, from acts of bravery and mementos of valor, discarded, later you'd find them in the trash, one with a bullet lodged into the gold.

Sniffling as you leaned down, picking a specific frame off the ground, the only one that hadn't been broken. Laying along the ruined rug, with no care for the glass digging through your jeans, you stare at the still shot of your family.

The only family you had outside of Task Force 141, your father and his sister, military brats themselves, until their retirement. Your mother had passed, or just up and left, days after your 5th birthday, you weren't completely sure, the story kept changing every year. But, these two were the only family you've ever known, ever had, until you joined the military, following in their footsteps.

They'd been so proud when you arrived back after your first assignment, in truth you were heavily traumatized, but seeing them, you just had to smile. Having a family that understood the harsh toll on the line of a trooper, now a lieutenant, it was always easier to bring your troubles to them. But, they were also military nuts so "suck it up" was also a quick go to answer from your aunt, while your father was the smoother talker.

They had met Simon, loved him, his rank, his love for you, his seriousness. They trusted him completely with your heart.

So, when he called them, after the evidence leaked...

They believed him.

"What're you talking about?" You took the handle of the chair in your grip, easing you down into it as your legs do weak at what you were hearing. "I didn't...I didn't do it, Dad."

"Do you know how humiliating and disappointing--how it felt to hear him say that to me, hm?" he says, static crackles on the reciever. "My daughter...my own flesh and blood...working with terrorists--"

"I'm not working with anyone! Are you-" you huff out a breath of disbelief. "Are you even listening to me? I've never betrayed the code. How can you think that way of me?"

For a moment, he's silent. "Alright, then," he began. "Than, what'd you do? huh?"

"What--what..."

"Oh, come on, (Y/n)!" your father yells. "What did you do?! What could they possibly have had on you that made you the most likely target? You had to have had done something, been somewhere, were with somebody you weren't supposed to be with! They didn't just get that information from anywhere."

"What the fuck--" Your expression twists with frustration and misery, running your hand through your hair, pulling at it. "I've sacrificed every part of myself for this job, for this team, what do I have to gain from throwing that all away? They send me everywhere, places you've never heard of, places you'll never hear about and people you'll never have to meet, because of me! Why would you just believe Simon? Why couldn't you just wait to talk to me?!"

Hearing your father scoff at your words was painful. "What reason do I have not to believe him? He knows you, maybe even better than any of us. Besides, he was going to be my son in law--"

"I'm your daughter! Fuck Simon, what about me? You'd believe him instead?"

He sighs. "Listen, you're upsetting Cass. We didn't expect your call. I gotta make this brief..."

"You're upset?" pulling at your hair, sucking in sharply. "I'm the one who's permanently fucking altered here. What do either of you have to be upset about?!"

"Watch your fucking mouth!" he seethes. The anger in his voice isn't new, but the way he spits it at you is. "You did this to yourself, I didn't. Maybe that's what your nightmares were about, am I right? Your guilt?"

Wiping the streaks of tears that had fallen down your face, lips quivering and chest aching with sobs you frustratedly shoved down. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I don't deserve the disgrace that will come with you as my kin, I've lived my part of this war. No daughter of mine should even be in this fucking position," your father spat, disgusted into the receiver. Suddenly, he was the cruel, bitter old man your mother had always known him to be, you wished she had stayed to at least remind you of that. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt as much. "You should be ashamed of yourself, but at least you got yourself out it. The least you could do for us."

"Well--what does that mean?" you spoke, quietly.

"Don't call again..."

"Dad, no--" you break this time, a sob escaping you.

"Me and your Aunt Cass..."

"Daddy please, don't do this--"

"..We've decided to cut ties. We're not taking any heat from this, you're on your own," he finishes, clearing his throat, waiting a moment, listening to the pleads and cries of his only daughter, his once pride. "You take care of yourself. Goodbye, kid."

"Why can't you just believe me? Why?!" you cried.

"Don't come to the house."

"No, no,--" the line goes dead. And staring down at your phone, his caller id going blank and the call disconnecting.

Your phone all of a sudden feels heavy, the device and your hand falling down to your thigh, before the phone slips out of your grip and onto the floor. You sit there silently, until your tears drop up and even after.

Staring at the photo now was haunting in its own way, it was just another painful reminder.

Using the bed frame to stand to your feet, your grip on the frame is painful as you squeeze it, the glass cracks audibly.

"Bonnie..."

Whipping around at the sound of John MacTavish's voice, you back up a few steps at the sight of him, your back hitting the edge of your desk.

He reaches out as you stumble, before his fingers curl back into his palm as you find your balance, his hands receding back to his sides. He doesn't enter the room, just lingering just beyond the doorway, his eyes flickering around the room, guiltily.

"I didn't know--we didn't know you were out," he speaks quietly, as opposed prideful personality that translated into his voice usually.

You say nothing.

In the dark, your eyes are wide and your shoulders are tensed up, he can see the glint of your leg braces, the iv pole at the side, the scar beneath your eye. You looked terrified to see him.

"We were coming back to clean up today, just got back from...from a mission..." he stutters on his words, shifting his feet.

"It's been a week."

His lips press together hearing your voice. "I know..." Johnny glances around at the room he'd let those officers destroy, it hadn't been them, but they might as well had done it. "I know...we just...didn't know it was so bad."

"Really?" your voice is mockingly sweet, drawing out the word. "You didn't know? Well look..." you hold up your family photo, the light in the hallway catching on the glass. "You missed one."

Your hand dropping, the heavy frame comes down just as fast, ramming into the ground, the glass practically exploding on impact.

Johnny flinches, the photo of your family...He looks back to you, surprised. "Bonnie..."

Snatching the next closest thing from your desk, a ceramic cup. "Oh, wow, can't believe you guys missed this one," you chuck it into the wall. It breaks on impact, the remains scatter along the flipped mattress and onto the floor. "That used to be my favorite mug by the way."

The Scotsman worriedly steps forwards, 'Lass, I'm sorry--"

"FUCK YOU!" you spat, coming into the light. You're sure you look deranged, and you didn't care. You could've wrapped your hands around his throat, killed him right on the floor and you wouldn't have blinked. "It doesn't mean anything! 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', over and over and over again! As if you shouldn't be! Your apologies mean fuck all."

"I know...I know," he breathes. "But, I've gotta say it anyway, bonnie. I should've believed you, there was no reason not to. I know that now. I just--"

"Believe me!" you cut him off with a yell. "Trust me! Fucking 'HELP ME'!" you screamed with the same fever as your days in the interrogation room, that terrible cell, the cold, the burn and pain. "I cried it all to you, to all of you, and nobody came. Nobody came for me," you breathe in sharply. "It doesn't matter what you should've done. You didn't do it!"

Johnny's eyes are red, he opens his mouth, closes it and then swallows down whatever chokes him up as he looks at you. "I should've came for you. I wish I did. I wanted to, Bonnie..." he steps forwards, and you recede back away from him, your eyes narrowed with violence. "I'll never forgive myself for not listening to you. For not coming to help you. For laying a hand on you. I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I'm sorry..."

I'll never forgive myself... "That makes two of us," you assured.

Johnny's eyes widen, before they close, his guilt ever consuming. He can't help but understand, to respect your decision, to know things can never be ok again. "(Y/n)...."

Grabbing hold of the nearest thing, a pencil cup, you hurl it at Johnny. He doesn't put his hands up, flinching as it hits him, the metal clinking against his kevlar, eyes closing then opening, he stands still. "I don't forgive. I don't accept your apology. I don't fucking care about it!" with each sentence you throw something else his way, a broken frame, the trash bin, a pillow, the CD player.

His hand has to come up for the knife you unsheathe, a memento from one of your missions, it's rusted, ancient probably. But, you hadn't given it up to a museum or to pawn, you had nearly died on this mission, saving Johnny ironically. You had to keep it.

Seeing the weapon, his defensive position is instinctive but his hands drop just as fast, he understands, you need this. You deserve this. "If you need to..." he speaks. Your eyes flicker up to him, away from the knife. "If you need to, I get it..."

And you need to. You really fucking do.

Your grip on the knife is dangerously hard, it hurts.

Looking at Johnny, he'd been your brother in more than a few ways on and off the field, he had been your comfort, your friend, your family. You had bled with him, held onto him as he carried you from the battlefield, joked, laughed, screamed and cried. You've loved him for years.

He'd had a rough few nights you could see that. He was quieter, reserved. Almost as terrified to see you, as you had been of him.

And you could kill him right now and never bat an eye.

And so, throwing that knife was so fucking easy.

Johnny's eyes close as you do just that, fists clenching and teeth biting down on his tongue to prepare for the pain.

The ancient weapon whiz's through the air, the sound is sharp and he knows it will cut through him like butter.

The thud rings in the room, and Johnny's eyes blow open wide, holding his breath as he collapses to his knees, before turning to you.

You dig into the pile of clothes that had been cast aside, a pair of sneakers and a new shirt. You don't look at him a single time as you take it all, stuffing them in a bag, and leaving the room, passing him completely, a limp in your step.

Johnny releases a pained breath, tears finally leaving him as he looks up, the knife lodged into the frame of the doorway, just barely missing him. The sleeve of his uniform ripped open.

He sits there in the quiet, destroyed room. A testimony to the relationship he's destroyed between you.

Part 4!! OUT NOW

[deadtwice]

✿ heh

FRIENDSHIP.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need  /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime  /  old friendship  /  [ your muse ] is the good influence  /  [ your muse ] is the bad influence  /  [ my muse ] is the good influence  /  [ my muse ] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other

ROMANCE.     childhood sweethearts  /  [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush  /  [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [ from your muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from my muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from both sides ]  /  skinny love  /  friends to lovers  /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  /  soulmates [ metaphorical ]  /  soulmates  [ literal ]  /  awkward  /  turning toxic  /  toxic love  /  cheating [ on your muse ]  /  cheating [ with your muse ]  /  other 

FAMILIAL.     siblings [ half ]  /  siblings [ step ]  /  [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /  [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse  /  [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours  /  [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /  [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing  /  [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing  /  other

ANTAGONISTIC.     dangerous to each other  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into sexual or romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of off circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based off misunderstanding or lies  /  conflict of ideology  /  betrayal  /  hero - villain dynamic  /  enemies  /  fight club  /  friends turned enemies  /  lovers turned enemies  /  exes turned enemies  /  other