#there's always someone higher on the food chain

[mayhasopinions]

Helluva Boss s2 ep4 spoilers!

ohhh i am so normal about this

the way Blitzo got genuinely worried about him, was like 'oh shit this might actually be serious' and he said afterward 'he can get hurt?' implies that he didn't realise before that Stolas can feel as everyone else feels, as before he always put Stolas up on a pedestal as higher than him - a prince. It's now that he realises that Stolas is just as much of a person as anyone else. He can die, he’s not invincible. he can feel, he has a heart. I think this is now when Blitzo starts developing genuine feelings for him from here, as he now sees him as not a prince or someone higher than him on the food chain, but Stolas, a person like anyone else.

[missrosiesworld]

Starlight Flutters

Here are some cute headcanons for Billy Kid when he has a crush:

Starlight Hero Persona: Billy adopts a more heroic persona around his crush, often quoting lines from "Starlight Knight" and trying to emulate the show's protagonists.

Billy: "In the name of justice, I vow to protect you! No harm shall come your way while I'm around!"

Crush: "Are you quoting Starlight Knights again?"

Billy: "Maybe, but I mean every word!"

Over-the-Top Gestures: He tends to make grand, dramatic gestures to show his affection, like showing up with a bouquet or performing a flashy stunt to grab their attention.

Billy, arrives with a dramatic flourish, bowing slightly: "For you, a token of my admiration!" hands over a bouquet of holographic flowers.

Crush, laughs, clearly amused and touched: "You didn't have to go all out, but thank you!"

Billy, his voice warm and sincere: "Anything for my favorite person."

Nervous Energy: Despite his confident exterior, Billy gets nervous around his crush. He fidgets with his hands and his voice may rise a notch higher when he's excited or flustered.

Billy, fidgeting with his hands: "So, um, do you... like movies? I mean, of course you do, who doesn't, right?"

Crush, smiling: "Yeah, I do. Got any recommendations?"

Billy: "Oh, totally! I've got a list! Uh, maybe we could watch one together sometime?"

Show-Off Moments: Billy loves to showcase his skills, especially with his custom-made revolvers, "the girls." He might challenge others to friendly duels or display impressive marksmanship to catch his crush's eye.

Billy, pulls off a perfect trick shot: "Not bad, huh? Just a little something I picked up from Starlight Knight."

Crush: "Wow, that's impressive! You're really good."

Billy, trying to act casual: "Oh, it's nothing. Just, you know, a hobby."

Special Attention: He gives special attention to his crush, remembering small details about their likes and dislikes. Whether it's their favorite snack or a specific hobby, Billy tries to incorporate these into his interactions with them.

Billy: "I remember you mentioned liking spicy food, so I brought you this hot sauce. It's got a kick, just like you!"

Crush, surprised: "You remembered? That's so sweet. Thank you, Billy."

Billy: "Of course! Anything to see you smile."

Protective Stance: Billy becomes protective of his crush, always positioning himself in a way that he can keep an eye on them. He wants to ensure they're safe and will step in if he senses any danger.

Billy steps in front of his crush: "Hey, stay close. I’ve got this covered. No one's getting past me."

Crush: "You don't have to do this, Billy."

Billy: "I know, but I want to. It's my job to keep you safe."

Clumsy Sweetness: When Billy gets flustered, he can become adorably clumsy, sometimes tripping over his own feet or dropping things. He laughs it off, hoping his crush finds it endearing rather than awkward.

Billy, stumbles slightly, almost dropping a package: "Whoops! That was... not supposed to happen."

Crush, giggles: "Are you okay?"

Billy, laughing nervously: "Yeah, just distracted by... something, or someone."

Secret Glances: He often steals glances at his crush when he thinks they’re not looking. 

Crush, catches Billy staring: "What is it? Something on my face?"

Billy, his voice faltering slightly with a hint of nervousness: "No, no! Just... admiring the view."

Crush, teasingly: "Smooth."

Confiding in Nicole: Billy confides in Nicole, seeking her advice on how to approach his crush. 

Billy: "Nicole, what do I do? I can't stop thinking about them, but what if I mess it up?"

Nicole, smirking: "Just be yourself, Billy. And maybe tone down the Starlight Knight lines a bit."

Acts of Service: He goes out of his way to do small, helpful things for his crush. Whether it's fixing a malfunctioning gadget or finding something they’ve misplaced, Billy is always eager to lend a hand.

Billy: "Hey, I noticed your bike was making a weird noise, so I tightened the chain and oiled the gears."

Crush: "You did that for me? Wow, thank you so much!"

Billy, rubbing the back of his neck: "It's no big deal, really. I just wanted to help."

[gatorbites-imagines]

uhhh maybe sanji uh tied up and uh desperate becos uhm he wants to touch you so bad but he's forced to just sit there and watch UHHH or not yknow that's cool you're cool I'm cool with it yeah

Sanji Vinsmoke x male reader

Ficlet

I swear I go insane whenever someone adds Sanji getting a nosebleed in fics. Barking and snarling.

Sanji was seated on his knee upon the unforgiving wooden floor of your shared bedroom on the sunny, something given to the two of you when you started dating. The décor was a mixture of your interests, something that normally brought Sanji so much joy to look at. From his cooking books and notes and his neatly folded suits and other clothes. To your weapons hanging on the walls or leaning in a corner, as your different gis and compression clothes strewn about with less care.

You were a martial artist and weapon expert, someone Luffy had looked at and immediately wanted you on his crew. It might also have been because you were the only person on the island that offered your captain food, as everyone else there seemed to despise outsiders. There didn’t go a day Sanji didn’t thank the gods for Luffy being so insistent for you to join, as it meant Sanji got to meet you and fawn over your muscular body every single day.

Sanji’s mouth tasted like blood as he audibly gulped, his throat giving a click as he tasted the blood that ran from his nose and down across his lips. His nose had been bleeding since the moment you tied his arms up with one of your weapons, the sturdy chain of your well cared for kusarigama woven tightly around Sanji’s wrists and up his arms.

His eyes might as well be heart shaped as he panted, small not fully formed begs leaving his lips as his eyes ran hungrily across your body as you splayed across the bed, your upper body propped up by pillows. The way you laid was very intentional, meant to show off your hard muscles and heavily scarred body as much as possible.

You could see the full body shiver that runs through Sanji as you rub your hands across your chest and stomach, loosely gripping your half hard length and giving it a slight squeeze. Not enough to do much for you, feeling wise, but just enough to make Sanji keen in want, his strong legs twitching with the need to jump up and fling himself at you.

Something about being together with Sanji always made you feel so attractive and wanted, no matter what you wore or what you did, he always seemed to appreciate what he was seeing. Even post battles, when you would be covered in grime and blood, your Gi torn in multiple places and that feral battle seeking glint in your eyes, Sanji would still look at you like you hung the stars. You quickly found out he quite like your post battle adrenaline too, as it always left him limping in the best way.

“please, please, please… my love, please let me touch you” he whines, his voice at a higher pitch as he leans forwards, leaning almost far enough to have him tumbling forwards, his nosebleed dripping off his chin and leaving a puddle on the floor. Sanji almost looked starved, like you were a full course meal, and he had gone without food for weeks.

A soft, almost taunting chuckle leaves your lips, your hands and fingers teasing at your thick muscular pecs, flicking at your nipples in a way you know Sanji so loves to do. Instead of getting up, you just sigh and melt deeper into the pillows, head tilting to the side as if Sanji was just another piece of furniture, and as if his begs didn’t have arousal rushing through you like the bloodlust you always gained in battle.

The chains wrapped around Sanji’s arms creaked as he pulled against them, your lover panting open mouthed, his eyes hooded and pupils so blown it almost swallowed all the blue of his irises. He looked like a mess, his white button up half undone, his equally white undershirt stained with blood at the collar from his nosebleed running down his neck and meeting the fabric.

His black pants did little to hide the raging bulge between his thighs, the tight fabric only seeming to torture Sanji further as his hips twitched and jolted, seeking any type of friction.

With another chuckle, you finally pushed yourself up, scooting towards the edge of the bed. Sanji was kneeling just far enough away to not be able to touch you, even as he whined and tried to lean forwards to do so. “You want it?” you ask, as if the question isn’t clear, as you wrap one of your scarred callused hands around the base of your cock, giving it a slow stroke as if tempting and taunting your lover.

His begs barely make sense, jumbled up vowels as Sanji’s eyes grow misty, as if his inability to touch you is about to bring him to tears. Biting into your bottom lip, you aim your shaft towards him, giving it another long stroke. Sanjis hungry eyes are locked on the gesture, his pink tongue licking at his lip subconsciously, as if tasting you and savoring it.

Seeming to have decided that his verbal begs wont work, Sanji peeks up from under his blonde bangs. His mouth opens, and his tongue flattens as he sticks it out as far as possible as he leans forwards, stretching his neck to try and catch your tip across his tastebuds.

Seeing Sanji so desperate to touch you has a jolt of want to shoot up your spine, leaving your head feeling heady and filled with cotton. “Such a desperate pervert…” you mumble, your voice teasing and breathless, the debauched expression on his face only making your toes curl, as you could have never imagined someone would look at you this way.

A shaky exhale leaves you as he simply nods, agreeing to your statement. Normally you two poke jokes at each other like that, and hed have shot something back at you for calling him a pervert, but here and now, all Sanji seems to care about is the possibility of getting your cock in his mouth, and to taste you upon his palate.

With a feeling of heat curling in your gut, you huff out a breath through your nostrils, the same move you always do before battle, readying yourself for an experience. And being with Sanji really was an experience. Especially as he noisily moaned as you start stroking yourself faster, his eyes locked desperately on the slick movements of your scarred hand upon your shaft, a mixture of drool and blood dripping from his tongue onto the floor, as well as running down his chin.

[cyjammy]

Magenta or Green When Alastor Desires to be Seen

After rewatching the pilot and the scenes where Alastor is singing, I realized his palette swaps may be emotionally/situationally dependent. At first I thought, “Yeah, this is just a callback to the pilot where he sang with Charlie,” but I think it’s deeper than that.

In both instances of singing with the Morningstars, Alastor is seen to have a palette change.

When he has the duet with Vox, he stays in his original color palette for the entire number.

Once is coincidence and twice is a pattern. When the color green is so engrained in Alastor's abilities, it's difficult not to notice.

When he’s in the presence of someone he considers powerful, he puts in that extra effort to change appearances. If it was only for production sake, he could have remained in his usual red outfit with a different background color to push him forward like in Stayed Gone. Even then he was still on a red background most of the time.

Both of these performances take place within the Hotel, which has become Alastor’s domain. Even then, at the end of Stayed Gone, he was in his radio tower in the Hotel. There were no special effects and Alastor only showed off his demon form.

When Alastor feels like he needs to posture, he changes his color. In the pilot, he demonstrates his strength by changing everyone’s outfits, manipulating the environment and summoning demons under his control. That really means that Vox isn’t shit but an annoyance to him. And I think that's hilarious.

Alastor at the end of his breakdown is enshrouded in green.

When he gets upset with Husk, the chains are green. When he makes deals with both Vaggie and Charlie a green outline is around their hands, within the walls, spreading in the cracks of his face.

Almost like a poison dart frog, Alastor wants to be seen as a danger. He wants to be a warning sign. Always caring for his image, he desires to take attention away from his possible weaknesses. He was reborn as a deer in Hell which is something I and many others head canon that he's insecure about. His perceived lack of strength as a creature commonly considered prey is definitely a factor in how he portrays himself.

Alastor's deep rooted insecurities led him to begin antagonizing Lucifer. He's held under strict contract with his deal and his power has been stifled. Alastor's dignity has been stripped away under these constraints, he's forced to follow orders when he yearns to be the one in control.

When Alastor is in that green and magenta state, he is posturing. This is his attempt at taking back his agency, showing that despite his situation and probably poor choice to have signed a deal with a currently unknown entity more powerful than him, he is still strong. He is the infamous Radio Demon, a sinner full of natural magical talent who took down countless Overlords within his first few weeks in Hell.

(Unless that happened due to his deal rather than his own ability and he postures to make up for that to get people believe that he is all powerful.)

Alastor only feels the need to do this in the presence of those who he considers a threat -- no matter how reluctant he may be to admit whether they are or not. To him, other Overlords, especially Vox, are considered low on his list. His first targets when he arrived in Hell were Overlords

Meanwhile, the Morningstars are a whole different ball game. Two holy entities that are ranked higher than him on the food chain are most definitely threats, so he tries to act unbothered and remain confident in his abilities.

For someone so adamant about hiding his emotions with a smile, he's certainly created a whole load of flashing tells for others to key in on his wavering mental state. Alastor is not as fortified in will as he claims.

[mactavsh]

Watching Over

Synopsis: Price tries to keep you awake while captured.

Relationships: Father Figure!Captain John Price x Female Reader, John “Soap” MacTavish x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: violence, swearing, mentions of blood/injuries

Note: Debated posting this one because it is quite self serving, but maybe someone else needs their fictional father figure to tell them they're proud of them too. The title was inspired from this song.

Masterlist

If it was an Intel mission that required a certain level of finesse, Laswell always knew who to send. You and Captain Price worked seamlessly after the many years of training he'd given you. He scouted you early on in your career quickly becoming a mentor in your eyes. He had also easily fallen into a paternal role, unbeknownst to him. 

However, Laswell knew how Price had a habit of adopting kids. As a joke, she kept a running list of his “next of kin”. It started with you and has grown over the years to include Gaz, Soap and Ghost. 

The mission required the two of you to go completely dark, Laswell was sending you to Mexico at the behest of Alejandro. You would both have to be in zero contact until the mission was complete. You both understood the gravity of the situation - there would be no backup.

You were given a month to track down an emerging cartel that was responsible for a rise in weapons trading. Los Vaqueros couldn’t yet make a move against them so Alejandro reached out to Laswell and Price for assistance. 

When you landed in Mexico you had a brief meeting with Alejandro and Rodolfo to learn what they knew. After that you and Captain Price set out to see what you could find. By then end of your first week you had figured out the names of the higher ups and the locations of a few meeting spots.

However, when you had gone to infiltrate the meeting, there were more men than expected. The two of you certainly made quite a dent in their numbers but were eventually overpowered. You had been knocked out by someone who snuck up behind you. Price heard you fall and was distracted just long enough for someone to sneak up behind him, subsequently knocking him out next.

When you woke up you were both chained to metal chairs. You were situated on opposite sides of the room but facing each other. The cold metal dug painfully into your ribs with every breath. There were no windows, no way to tell how long you had been there.

Hours blurred into days then weeks. The daily torture had worn the both of you down. They gave you just enough food to keep you alive and looking at how Price’s features had grown sunken in you assumed yours had as well. 

They had learned early on the dynamic between you two as much as you both tried to remain stoic, so they focused their torture on you hoping it would get Price to talk. What they didn't realize was that both Price and you would sooner die than tell them anything.

You were sure the check-in date Laswell had set had long since passed and you could only imagine the hell Soap, the 141, and Los Vaqueros were raising trying to find out what happened. 

Your captors had just left after another bout of torture trying to get information out of both of you. Bruises began blooming on Price’s bare chest, emerging blue and red tones mixed with already yellow spots. Your arms sported new deep gashes atop barely healed scar tissue. Blood slowly trickled down your arms as your chest heaved. Your mind was dizzy from the pain and it was taking everything in you to stay awake.

“Stay with me, kid.” Price spoke from the other side of the room voice even and calm as it always was.

“I refuse to die at the hands of some random fuckin’ cartel member.” Your voice was firm despite the exhaustion you felt.

“That's my girl.” Price's chest swelled with pride that turned to worry as your head lolled downward. “Tell me about why you joined.”

You groaned and slowly brought your head back up to squint over at him. “Haven't I already?”

“You like to call me an old man.” He smirked, ”I forgot, tell me again.”

You huffed, if your brain wasn’t so foggy you would have immediately realized it was a tactic to keep you awake. “My dad served, his dad served, felt like I had to keep the legacy going. My grandfather also said I’d never outrank him so I had to prove him wrong.”

“That why you’re my youngest Staff Sergeant?”

“You bet your ass it is.”

Price forced out a laugh. “Out of spite, eh?“

“It’s how I do most things.”

“He still around? Your grandfather?”

“Passed a year or so after I was promoted.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

You shrugged as best you could with the chains restricting your movement. “He lived a long happy life.” Price didn’t press further about your family, he knew your parents were also passed and you didn’t have any siblings. The 141 had become your found family and he was happy that you were no longer alone. 

“You remember the day we met?” Price pressed, trying to keep you awake.

“Yeah,” You breathed out, exhaustion dancing in the corner of your eyes. “you called me a muppet.”

Price smiled recalling the day. “You looked bloody ridiculous under all that gear. Five feet tall wearing gear in Ghost’s size.”

“My CO did it on purpose when we got word you were coming to scout recruits for some secret spy shit. He wanted his golden boy to be picked.”

“Bastard's plan failed. When I saw you running the course like that I knew you were the best for the job.”

You looked down at your feet, you weren’t sure you could ever put into words how thankful you were for all he's done for you. “Thank you, for choosing me. You pulled me out of a dark place that day though I didn't see it at the time.”

“You’ve got nothing to thank me for. Hell, you’ve saved my life more times than I can count. I’m proud of you, Y/n. You’re a whole lot more than you give yourself credit for.”

You weren’t sure if it was the praise or the blood loss but tears began to well in your eyes and you were powerless to stop them.

“When we get out of here we are going on leave.” The Captain’s voice was firm, an unofficial order.

“That so? Don’t think my husband would let me go on holiday with another man.” You joked half-heartedly, the day you told Price you were officially dating Soap he had called the sergeant into his office. An hour passed before you saw either of them again and for a week after that Soap could barely make eye contact with the captain. When you and Soap had gotten married it was Price who walked you down the aisle. 

Price rolled his eyes. “All of us. Been too long since we had a day we weren’t fighting for our lives.”

“Would be nice.”

“Thinkin' a lakeside cabin deep in the woods. I’m going to teach everyone how to fish-” Just then the sounds of distant explosions rocked the room you were in. Concrete dust fell into your lap and you stared at it for a moment.

“I hope that's our favorite demolitions expert.” You spoke as you looked back up at Price.

“Wonder how they found this shithole.”

“Alejandro?” You proposed as another explosion sounded, this time closer.

“Maybe. These idiots probably got cocky and sent some bloody ridiculous ransom note to Los Vaqueros.” 

The sound of gunshots grew near, gradually getting louder until they stopped altogether. Price looked at you then you both looked at the door. What felt like an eternity passed until the door was broken open. A familiar masked face entered, gun at the ready until his eyes settled on the room’s occupants.

“Bloody hell,” Ghost said as he dropped his weapon and pressed the button on his communication device. “I’ve got Price and Y/n. Second-floor northwest corner.” He grabbed the bolt cutters off his back and moved towards you, quickly snapping the chains that were holding you in place. He put a hand on your shoulder and you grabbed his forearm, both gently squeezing the other before letting go, a silent reassurance. He then stood and moved toward Price to free him.

You stayed seated and rubbed your wrists, you knew if you stood now the blood loss would likely make you pass out. The sounds of footsteps in the hallway made your body tense before Soap’s frantic form stepped through the doorway.

“Thank fuckin’ Christ.” Soap spoke as he ran toward you. He kneeled in front of you, gently placing his gloved hands on either side of your face. He rubbed his thumb along your cheek, careful of the small cut there. “You alright, love?”

You stared into his eyes for a moment, basking in the blueness that had come to feel like home. A tired smile crossed your face as you leaned into the gentle touch. “Better now.”

Soap smiled back and you and then slowly helped you stand. He kept a gentle hold on your arm as you regained your equilibrium. After you were sure you weren't going to pass out you walked over to Price, immediately wrapping your arms around him.

“We made it, old man.” You spoke into his chest.

Price placed his chin on your head and gently rubbed his hand along your back. “Knew we would, kiddo.” 

Bonus:

“Should I be jealous?” Soap whispered jokingly to Ghost as they watched the exchange.

“Shut the fuck up, Soap.” Ghost rolled his eyes before swatting the back of Soap’s mohawk.

[a-twistedheartslonging]

In your nonhuman AU, would the humans at NRC have to be scared of their beastie classmates legitimately trying to eat them? I imagine being smaller and more defenseless would make them easy targets. Also, could you elaborate on your prior statements about humans being sort of a status symbol due to being rare?

Making threats of eating those related to an animal lower one the food chain than one's self is common, but actually killing/eating someone is very much not legal, plenty still have that animal urge to take a bite out of someone and you look particularly nice to bite to many. But unless you meet, like, a serial killer you're mostly fine, humans are still considered people, though many still have it hard.

Still, someone having done it is harder proof and more common in places in the coral sea, the mers have their own culture and way of doing things. Who's to say a regular shark didn't do it? People going missing or getting eaten by a dangerous sea creature isn't uncommon there. There's always someone going missing during the mer version of Halloween, like the twins said. As a result, you would be in more danger in water than on land unless you make friends with something more dangerous.

Now the status symbol thing?

Humans in particular are very few, the beasts were always better suited for living in wonderland, particularly the humans without magic didn't have much of a chance, especially in wars like what happened with the valley. Over time their numbers kept dwindling.

Now, it's common for higher class families to want to hire beasts of more rare breeds to work for them since it's another way to show off status as a result. To have someone so rarely seen, they become valuable, simply because people decided that it's a big deal to have it. Similar to something hard to get suddenly becoming worth a lot simply because some rich guy decided it was valuable, now everyone else wants it so they can be cool and show off.

Another less nice part is...well, fetishization. Plenty of humans are odd-looking to them but in a pretty/cute way. Those soft faces and softer bodies without claws or fangs to defend themselves, cute round little ears, soft, thin skin with no fur, scales, or feathers to protect it. Such weak instincts and sense could get them killed so easily. Are humans truly weak? Though not as strong as most beasts, no. We of course have always found a way to survive, but it's hard to fight against certain stereotypes and preconceived notions and people will believe what they want.

I guess some look at humans and get that similar urge that we get when we seeing a cute weak little creature and want to keep it and take care of it. Though unfortunately others view it as something they can easily hurt for fun and play with.

Attraction-wise it conflicts with what many look for in a mate since typically you want someone strong to breed with but...humans just have a certain allure. Plus, males of a lot of species, when courting one of their own kind often have to deal with aggression and the possibility of being eaten, it makes sense they would want to go for the less dangerous option, humans.

[abigfatbug]

snowballing addictive chain pregnancy that gives you no time to lose any weight and has incrementally more drastic, irreversible effects from an endless barrage of pregnancy + lactation hormones...

(going full mask off shamelessly horny with this one, you've been warned)

Thinking you're relatively safe at first, being *glad* you're not stuck with the combo of being short *and* stick-thin anymore, and having actually *wanted* the newfound curves.

Feeling reasonably confident that you just naturally won't gain too much further than this.

After all, you start your first pregnancy at just 19. You've never been anything *close* to fat before, your metabolism's fresh and sharp, and besides, it's so hard to fit enough extra food in your stomach and keep it down when the babies take up so much space, anyway...

And your first three pregnancies end up being only two singletons and a set of twins, all relatively normal, maybe even a bit small in birth weight. It's nothing *that* crazy, you figure.

But then you're knocked up for the fourth time in only three years, and something's shifting...

With all the back-to-back, your body is being *forced* to get used to this, and never given time to go back to that "old normal".

It's only a singleton this time, and yet this time you feel like you eat more than ever, more easily than ever. The innocuous singleton takes the extra womb elasticity you've developed, the extra nutrition you consume, along with all the excess pregnancy-promoting hormones coursing through you, and becomes your first whopper, comparatively speaking, being born 12 pounds.

You're proud, if a little shocked you had it in you, and think nothing of it, or of how this officially bumped you up to "chubby" and not just "thick" or "curvy". You're so used to seeing yourself swollen already. Desensitization has already set in.

By the time you've crammed eight pregnancies into six and a half years, you're too deeply distracted and exhausted by the double whammy of child-rearing and gestating to notice this is officially getting weird.

Five kids is already sixteen now. After that singleton, your kids have never dipped back below 9 pounds each, even though now, you always have at *least* twins.

You don't take any fertility supplements. You're just unknowingly picking up a strong tendency to hyperovulate, thanks to years of your hormones being out of whack, on top of the natural higher odds for repeat pregnancies to be multiples.

Your entire body chemistry and abdominal cavity's shifted and adjusted itself to the point it no longer matters how pregnant you are, you never have much trouble indulging every craving that crosses your mind. Your stomach has far more stretch and resilience than before, and has long since been forced to get used to the ups and downs. Morning sickness seems to be something you simply outgrew. You don't even bother to wonder if maybe you shouldn't be so indulgent. You're a parent of sixteen, of course you deserve to be nice to yourself whenever you can.

After ten years of this, you've recklessly managed to squeeze *thirteen* pregnancies into that timeframe.

The doctors don't know what to say. You're something of a medical mystery at this point. Much like how someone with extreme morbid obesity can actually be worse off from the strain of losing it, it's feared that the same may apply to your continual state of insatiable pregnancy.

You've popped out forty-one kids by now. At this point, you only ever seem to get pregnant with *litters*. All but one of the last five batches have been at least quadruplets. Your latest go around was a surprise set of almost freakishly big septuplets, misindentified as sextuplets thanks to all the blubber you've piled on.

Your breasts have become utterly out of control, each obviously bigger than your head and often difficult for you to even see past as you lie in bed. They get sore at the drop of a hat without several milkings a day. Your body's accidentally become stimulated to over-lactate, just as it hyper-ovulates worse than ever. And the demand of both making milk and growing oversized fetuses means that now, you only ever seem to have the worst, most fattening sorts of cravings.

Lately, your body seems determined to never let a single infant be born under 13 pounds, and it seems to *know* this is impossible to do on an even *remotely* clean diet.

Meat. Carbs. Sugar. Grease. *Quantity*. You don't just want it, you *need it* around the clock. You feel *awful* when you haven't been pigging out enough. Medical wisdom dictates that you should feel awful regardless... But honestly, as long as you get food and aren't asked to move around much anymore, you actually feel *much* too good to bring yourself to *stop*. And through raging hormones and stubborn, reckless indulgences, you seem to have accidentally ruined your stomach's ability to ever even actually *tell* you when you're full.

Once you've officially racked up fifteen years of this, and find yourself already in the midst of your twentieth pregnancy, bringing with it God-knows-how-big nonuplets to round out the ranks from eighty-three to a solid ninety-two hungry mouths to feed.

The last batch of the same had a "runt" who still managed 15 pounds, and a giant who'd somehow hit 24 and a half.

The media went into a frenzy at the realization this was the hugest newborn *ever*, despite having to contend with *eight* rivals for food and space.

It likely has something to do with how your much-abused stomach not only doesn't know what "full" means anymore, it's also forgotten how to stop telling you you're "hungry". The best you can do is reducing it to an incessant but tolerable peckishness, requiring nigh-endless snacking on pizza, ice cream, brownies, and cheeseburgers to achieve, interspersed with being tube-fed a thick, vitamin-fortified shake, recently reformulated to include heavy cream and butter.

After all, your health paradoxically *plummets* if you're not constantly overfed now, your body genuinely relying on gluttony to sustain its unnatural state of over-fertility.

And just not getting knocked up again simply isn't in the cards. There's no more stopping. No more changing your mind. It's as if your soft, heaving blubberbound form simply doesn't know "how" to go back to normal. Pregnancy *is* its normal, now. You genuinely feared for your life when they tried to keep your spouse from knocking you up, only to soon inexplicably recover when it was allowed, against all logic. You're thankful for your spouse's creativty, along with the reinforced, adjustable bariatric bed and the systems of ceiling-mounted pulleys and slings the medical team devised, or it would've been fundamentally impossible.

On a good day, you can churn out nine, closer to nine and a half gallons of milk now. They note that nowadays, it's oddly rich and thick, too, no doubt because of some strange new hormonal imbalance of yours, brought on by your confused body being constantly screamed at to provide more than it was ever meant to. In turn, it forces your body to demand yet *more* sustenance to fuel its needless, wasteful decadence, keeping you further trapped in your endless, distended, engorged cycle of excess.

In contrast, your children seem surprisingly normal and unassuming as they mature. That is, until everyone from about the eighth pregnancy onwards...

Nobody's *precisely* sure what it is, but essentially, some mumbo-jumbo mismash of altered epigenetics, hormones, nutrients, and natal environment seems to have permanent knock-on effects, from that point on.

*You* were almost flat as a board before all this began. So it goes for some of your eldest daughters. But then... before you know it, at a certain point, the rest all end up with at *least* a set of mildly absurd, unwieldy K-cups by the time they hit 18.

*You* were a waifish thing, desperately wishing you could *gain* a bit of weight, at that age.

After that nebulous tipping point in birth order, you end up with overgrown, strapping sons and curvaceous, voluminous daughters who've grown up to find that they practically can't even *look* at a cupcake if they'd like to stay below 250, or even 300, apiece.

Neither you or your husband were ever particularly strong, and yet, when some of these sons get fed up with being bullied for being from an "oversized family of freaks", and start hitting the gym, they head off to college amidst swarms of rumors that they *must* be on some potent cocktail of growth hormones and steroids.

What else would explain all three being massive, virile, studs, each built like refrigerators, at least 350 pounds apiece and standing at no less than 6'8 each?

And when the first daughter within this odd category trips up and gets pregnant, betrayed by a mix of a bubbly personality with an uncommonly high libido and a rather worrying natural resistance to birth control...

Nobody can say they're too shocked when despite her almost lifelong plumpness, she begins showing extremely early. Or when they discover it's going to be *sextuplets*, or that her already uncommonly intense appetite now includes *ravenous* cravings for the unhealthiest, greasiest foods she can find. It's not at all surprising when her milk comes in so early and so aggressively, or when her newly expanded diet rapidly adds even *more* padding on top of all the lush, creamy softness that she'd spent her whole life utterly incapable of shifting.

Nobody can be surprised when the same keeps happening to her sisters. When they keep failing to keep their legs closed, and keep failing to say no to unchecked hedonism, one by one. When even a couple of her supposedly thin, small-chested, "normal" older sisters get a bit careless, have kids a bit too close together, and start to descend into the same cycle that gripped you.

All because of your hedonism, your stubbornness, your obsessions and indulgences, you irrevocably altered and awakened something within not just yourself, but your *future bloodline*.

And the only question is...

Might these changes be even *further* amplified, as the generations carry on?

[chishiyasbiscuits]

simon says! || chishiya x reader xo

[3.8k words.]

[Warning: Smut, your casual riding, very casual. No extra kinks, I don't believe? Any extra warnings, do inform, please, and thank you!]

[This is a long one to initiate my return. I'm proud of this one, and excited to share, I haven't written with Chishiya in a year, and I'm hoping my literary skills have increased. Please do enjoy. Lots of love xo]

Why did we, as humans, feel the need to consume the earth? Why do most believe our calloused fingertips were created to grip, and clutch, and control. Why are some of us prone to obeying, and others, not?

Niragi shifts his shoulder, and the rifle brushes the clothed skin of his bicep. His brows furrow, and knit with a wire of concern, but mainly, uncertainty.

Niragi orders, and he instructs. He would never follow. He's higher on the ladder of obedience, consuming all beneath him. He hitches, and tenses. "What the hell is this?" He curses. There's an unattractive scowl upon his parted lips.

Chishiya lowers his head, repressing his smirk. He was knowingly aware, all of the time, and it had frustrated me. How it must feel to never be caught off-guard?

The screens were lightening, and the words scrawled along them began to flicker. It was no longer a matter of seconds, the game was beginning, and now. Kuina neared me, her shoulder couldn't have brushed mine. She was at least a head taller than me, and I had to tilt my chin to catch the way her unlit cigarette had pressed, cautiously, along her pursed lips. She was focused, but unsure. The air had thickened with an unfamiliar silence.

Her eyes darkened. I stole a glance toward Arisu, and Usagi. Theirs had too. Arisu was thinking, hard. The cogs spurring before a game had even been established.

"Game title." The female voice was mechanical, as always. "Simon Says." Completely devoid of emotion, monochromatic sentences strung across the screen. "Rules." She began. I could hear the spur of breaths, deepening, quickening. Some slowing, others hitching. Others ceasing, as if they had mentally pulled the plug on themselves. Kuina was stagnant. Her fingertips pressed along the faux cigarette, and she rolled her thumb, and forefinger patiently. She had barely brought her lashes down into a blink. Niragi was unamused. I could only infer what he had been doing before the speakers had begun. Flashes of static had rounded the sheep of the beach. The population all eyes, and ears. Excitement, and uncertain fear.

Chishiya's lips had rose smoothly. I swallowed drily, in return. It was almost frightening how nonchalantly he slid his fisted palms into his pockets, and rested his clothed spine, and head along a nearby pillar. His chest lifted, and fell softly. There wasn't a sign of distress, or anxiety, not within his stance, or the light flecks within his searching eyes.

"To pass this game, one must obey the screen's orders. Each specified amount of minutes, the screen will have a new rule for the participants to follow. Failure to do so will result in the player being disqualified."

I had audibly released a long-held sigh. My shoulders relaxed, softly slumping. It wasn't so bad. Obey, really, and that's all. The only hint of difficulty would be for the lions, and tigers of this food chain. Niragi, I hummed, Aguni, too.

"The first rule will be displayed shortly."

The screen flickered. I wrapped my arms over my waist, my fingertips digging, deep, into the dents of my ribs, and leaving reddened, crescent-shaped marks. Chishiya was eyeing me, curiously, but I had refused to give in, and lock eyes. I swallowed, again, and strained my stare, until my irises burnt, and stung, as if there were rogue flames flittering from the screens.

"Simon Says, make the area around you empty of participants."

The silence faltered, and fragmented quickly. Shattering, as if our focus was a china plate, and the screen was a rampant bull. "What does that even mean?" Someone called to her peers. "You have five minutes to follow this rule."

She shrieked, lightly. Her eyes wide, and doe, like an animal in brightened headlights. She stilled, and the man beside her clasped her shoulder, and shook her. "What does it mean?" He was both frustrated, and urgent. Spit coating his chapped lips.

"It means you're all dead, fuckers!" Niragi snorted, raising his rifle from his shoulder, and aiming the tip toward the ceiling. He shot once, and then twice, until his prey had begun to scatter, and shuffle about each other like pigeons rushing from a nearing car. He slung the weapon forward, and took aim. Ruthlessly letting the sharp tips of his bullets become blood-stained, as they embedded themselves into the bare flesh of his victims.

I cursed beneath my quickening breath. Niragi had knocked at least twelve residents to the floor, and the remaining participants had either fled, or had begun slaughtering those surrounding them, as Niragi had implied would be the meaning attached to the rule.

Kuina was long-gone. Arisu, and Usagi, and Chishiya, too. I thought deeply, and began to raise my pace. I neared a pillar, and rounded it cautiously. Slipping through entwined bodies, pushing past the shoulders of injured players. Sweat, and blood, and possibly tears had coated the skin of my palms. I winced. Brushing them along the lower cloth of my swimsuit. I was inside, now, and the screams had been muffled by thick, concrete walls. They faded, softly, yet not so softly. It was eerily quiet, and desolate, as my aching soles brushed the carpet beneath me. I slowed to a still. Stagnant. Chasing after my own, spent breath.

"Time is up." The voice radiated, like heat, throughout the architecture. I dared soften my features, and the tensing muscles of my calves. I leant along a wall, the plaster chipped, and leaving eggshell pieces against the small of my back. "Congratulations, to those who have survived."

I had figured, really, quite early on, that the rule was simple. The corridor was empty, and I was safe. Easy. These games had always urged for violence, through leading the participants in a false direction, but those who knew, knew that these types were often overcome easily, with no need for death. The remaining participants had conformed, wrongly.

"Your next rule: Simon Says, engage in sexual intercourse with the first person you see. You have ten minutes to find a partner. Failure to do so, and failure to begin initiating sexual intercourse within this time limit will lead to your disqualification."

My brows arched, and my features had become sharp, and thinly layered with sweat. It was an odd rule for this game, and for any game, really, but I had no time to ponder. I had to obey, whether it stretched my moral grounds, or my boundaries. I had to live, and dying for the reason of not wanting to have sex would be an embarrassing way out.

I sighed, and began to walk. Slowly, at first, as if I were hesitant. I picked at my cuticles, and lightly chewed my lower lip, as I searched the upper floor. I was both curious, and afraid of who I may come across first, and had pleaded, with all the strength my limbs could give, that it wouldn't be Niragi. I wasn't sure if I did, truly, have someone in mind. Out of the residents here, who would I fuck? That's an outrageous question to think over. My vision was blurred, and my head fogged. I couldn't begin to think, even if I had wanted to.

"Interesting."

"What?" I inhaled, sharply. My lungs felt as though they were two sizes too small for the oxygen I needed to consume. I winced at the ache, and turned, cautiously, on the heel of my foot.

"Chishiya?" I swallowed a breath. I searched him, traced his features, and scanned up, and down his stance. He perked a brow. His smirk was soft, but smug. His head fell, ever so slightly, to the side as he spoke. "What a nice surprise, hm?"

He was quiet, but amused. Repressing the urge to chuckle through his nostrils. His palms were hidden, comforted by thick cotton. He blinked, slowly, peering at me through his thick, dark lashes.

My limbs were red-hot, and pulsing. My stomach knotted, over, and over, and then wringed itself out like a dirty, damp dishcloth.

"Do you want us both to die?" He questioned, after a few seconds of silence. I swallowed, and shook my head, quietly. "Why would I? That's silly."

His lip quirked higher. "What's truly silly is that you're wasting time, when you could be having sex with me."

He was smug with the reaction. My cheeks heating. Tinted a faded red. My lips parted, only for silence to ensue. I was stilled. Thoroughly shaken by his careless words. Lazy, but sexual. Chishiya was never sexual. My heart quickened its pace, beating roughly against my ribs. They felt as though they were closing in, and shrinking. Squeezing my organs, tightly.

He clicked the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and neared me. His hands still encased within the cloth of his pockets. I remained stagnant, until his shoulder met mine. They brushed, and his head dipped low. The stray strands of his hair, that had fell from within his hood, were feathery, and light along my jaw. His breath was warm. Gentle across my cheek, and the shell of my red-tinted ear. "Would you rather me initiate?"

I'm certain he was well aware of the answer. He was toying with me, though. Urging the return from between my lips. My lower stomach tightened. He hummed, questioningly. My knees had threatened to buckle, lightly shaking, as I ran my tongue along my lips. He wanted to see how far he could push me, taunt me, tease me. "If you're really so desperate, Chishiya?" I smiled, coyly, tilting my chin upward, and twisted to the side. My eyes met his, irises dilating beneath my lashes. His smirk had only become more enticing. Stretched softly across his cheeks. His eyes were lazily flickering between mine. Searching, searching. He was amused, his utmost interest had been piqued.

"Didn't think you'd like this sort of thing, Chishiya." His name rolled alluringly from the tip of my tongue. His brow twitched. "Hm. Is that so?" He dragged. "What made you think such a thing, Y/n?" He returned, within the same manner. My name a low, tempting whisper. I watched his full lips form the sentences, absent-mindedly wetting my own. He was following me, carefully. Matching the behaviour I had allowed him to see.

He tilted forward, ever so slightly, his lips parting. It was subtle. My jaw ticked. "Let's take this somewhere private. I'd much prefer if we weren't interrupted."

For a second, I was expecting him to kiss me, and I'm sure he had read the belief, as if I were an open book. He smirked harder, if that could have been possible. "We can't waste time kissing, unfortunately." He watched me, closely. His stare hardening. The words had left his lips so sincerely, I couldn't help but startle, and choke on the breath I had been gathering. "We have five minutes, and I have to be inside of you for the initiation to count."

Was this truly happening? My brain was static. He raised a palm, and waved it, side to side, before my blank expression. "Have you turned off?" He teased. "I was hoping for the opposite."

"No, no." I shook my head, and swallowed. Straightening my spine, and composing myself. This is life or death, Y/n.

We were quick, or as quick as Chishiya could be. He was nonchalant, too careless to truly be affected by the entire premise of this sex, and violence fuelled game. I was nervous, on the other end. Cursing at myself for not having had any liquid courage before the screens had fell. I was itching at my wrist, and making the bones within my fingers click. Trailing the tip of my tongue along my inner cheek, and chewing on the skin of my lower lip.

He was beneath me now; on the bed of a resident, I could only assume had been slaughtered. His head was leant along the wooden bedframe, his upper body was propped up, by his clothed elbows being buried within the mattress. His fingers raised, and wrapped lightly around the rim of his hood. His chin dipped, and then raised, as the cloth fell along his tousled hair. "Do you want to stop, now?" He questioned, as he watched me, still, rested on his hips. My thighs either side of him, caging his clothed pelvis. "No, I want you." I returned, confidently. My breath faltered, when his brow had flickered upward. "I never asked if you had wanted me, Y/n." He was being cocky, now. Smirk edging along his lips, silently. His features were soft, no sharpened lines, or angles. He was gorgeous beneath this dim light. Eyes dark, and lidded, lips wet, and full. Beneath me.

I smiled, smugly. "Don't be cocky, Chishiya." He sent me an amused look. "Didn't think you were the type to be a pillow prince." I teased, regaining myself. I shuffled forward, pressing my heat down, between his parted legs. He hadn't reacted, though the muscles within his thighs had tensed. His head fell softly, with a light thump. "Ah, you're switching the subject, Y/n."

His palms were fished from his pockets, half-heartedly, and hung themself over the skin of my hips, like loose cloth. His grip wasn't tight. His fingertips feathery, as he rolled his thumb across the exposed flesh, dipping beneath the thin fabric of the swimsuit.

"Just ride me." He spoke, far from affected by the lewd sexuality of his request. The words should have been desperate, but he had uttered them so listlessly. He was languid, as he squeezed my upper thigh with his cupped palms, pulling the thin strip of fabric from my hips with his curled fingers.

I bucked forward, subtly. Pushing my clothed, aching clit along the slowly forming bulge. I could feel it, now. His cock, beneath his swim shorts, pulsing beneath me. It was heated, where I was settled on his crotch. His shorts had been filled well, tightening each time I had slid my hips forward, teasingly.

I raised myself, and he slid the remaining cloth down my thigh, gently brushing them as he did so. He squeezed, lightly, cupping the thick flesh. I could see his bulge, now. The outline. My breath hitched, clit swollen, and desperate. He knew, of course he knew. He was smug with what he had done to me. He smiled, in a self-satisfied way.

He watched me, carefully, eyes never threatening to leave my own, as he led his palm beneath his shorts, and held himself. His grip tightened, and then he pulled himself from beneath the cloth. He was watching curiously, now, smirk stretching. He wanted to see my features contort. Wanted to see how I had reacted to his cock, hardening further, in his hand. He was above average, only slightly, but enough for the saliva to build within my cheeks, and my tongue. I swallowed, as if his cock was already stuffing my jaws, and his cum was dripping down my throat. I shamelessly clenched around the thin air, resisting the urge to buck forward, and violate the oxygen particles surrounding us.

"You're not hiding much, Y/n." He speaks, lowly, lifting his cupped palm, excruciatingly slow along his shaft. The tip of his thumb pressed along his slit, and rolled softly, collecting the loose drips of pre-cum. "You really do want me, don't you?"

My eyes drop, unable to hold his stern, yet taunting stare. He sighs, exhales, quietly. "Don't just watch me."

He drops his arm, and his empty fingers find solitude within his pockets, once more. His cock is standing, and curved toward his abdomen. Neglected, yet prepared to be buried deep inside of you. Chishiya watched, blinking slowly. Lethargically. Of course, he isn't the type to take the majority of the action. I push a breathy whimper down the tightening confines of my throat, as he holds the base of his cock with one palm, and steadies himself. Allowing me to sink onto his cock, his swollen, leaking tip spreading me wide, and then wider, as I had sunk further down his shaft.

He was stretching me. Stagnant, his hips remained low. It ached, and stung, yet the displeasure was temporary. I was quickly reminded of how deep the man beneath me was, inside of me. His cock sucked, tight, between my walls. I clenched, and he twitched. I could only imagine his fists were balling up within his pockets. My own, were clutching the fabric of his hoodie between my fingertips. He smirked, knowingly. "This isn't about the game, is it, Y/n?" He questioned, softly, watching lazily, as I had begun lifting, and dropping myself down on him.

"What." I breathed, shakily. My clutch tightened. His cock slid, so effortlessly, plunging back inside of me, each time I had sunk down, after lingering with his tip between my folds. It was an attempt to tease him. Drag a whimper from between his cockily parted, dampened lips.

"It's not about the life, or death here." He expanded, searching me, with a glint of pride within his darkened irises. "The way you're using me to satisfy you so desperately. It's genuine."

I scoff, with the little breath I had within my expanding, and shrinking lungs. My chest heaved, with each bounce. "You think I want to fuck you?"

He was quiet, but had a knowing look across his features.

"No, no. I'm doing this so I don't die." I argue between ragged breaths. It was difficult to think straight, and to reply coherently, when he was stuffing me so well. So, so full. He pulsed inside of me, my walls tightening around his cock as he dipped, in, and out, in, and out. My lower lip slid between my teeth. My eyes rolling beneath my eyelids.

Chishiya smirked to himself, tilting his chin backward, as his blinking faltered, and his lashes fluttered. He raised his hips upward, in a way, as if he were repositioning himself. No moan, no whimper, no grunt, or groan. If you had listened closely, you could hear his breath pick up pace, but that was all. The exposed part of his smooth chest raised, softly. Falling, quickly. The zipper struggled against his expanding lungs, and dipped downward, revealing his chest, even more.

He was so unbothered, even as he had me slamming down on his balls, sucking his entire cock between my plush, clenching walls. I dropped harder, and faster, drawing a slight breath from between his lips. Relieved, and satisfied. His dampened palms left his pockets, and drew softly, up, and down the heated skin of my waist. I hummed, biting back a surfacing moan.

He sighed. "I saw you walk upstairs, and into the third corridor, before the second rule had begun." He was watching me, contentedly, as if were expecting something from me. A reaction, or an answer. My brain was misted, and fogged, like the windows would surely be if we were in a car, right now.

I furrowed my brows, a sensation circling my lower stomach, like a sneeze preparing on the tip of my tongue.

"You..." I swallowed. "You knew where I was?"

He lowered his head, a lethargic nod. He was smirking, still, and searching me, expectantly.

"S...so..." I stammered, racking the mess of my brain, like my IQ had been rearranged, just as my guts were being. I was almost slurring, his cock drawing a drunk effect on my mind.

He didn't correct me, or urge me, or return. He simply laid back, thumbs tracing the dips within my hip. Gladly appreciating the heat, and pleasure I had given him. His eyes had dipped, for the first time tonight, lightly flittering over the outline of his cock in my lower stomach. Pride.

I was left to infer. He had known where I was, before the second rule had begun. He had bumped into me, or had he? Had he found me, knowingly. My eyes lit, and caught his gaze, once more. My lips parted. His lips rose.

He wanted to find me.

"You wanted to find me?" I questioned, falteringly. The ball in my stomach was knotting tighter, and was prepared to be undone. He lifted himself, once, twice. Effortless. Angling himself, so that the tip of his cock had pressed the deepest it had been, brushing my g-spot. Teasing an orgasm with each listless stroke. He was breathing harder, now, head brushing the wooden frame, and focused, entirely on drawing an orgasm from deep inside of me. I was slack-jawed, muscles tensing. My eyes were lured to the back of my head. His hair was messy, his lips parted, his eyes half-lidded. Cheeks a faded red, the smooth expanse of his revealed chest shiny with a thin sheen of sweat.

The air was thick with tension, but quiet, bar the breathing, the soft whimpers, low groans, and slapping, dampened skin.

"Chish...Chishiya." I moaned, loudly. Eyes screwing shut, as the ball in my stomach loosened, and each, and every muscle and limb I had possessed tensed, and pulsed with rushing blood. My walls squeezed the girth of his cock, as he slid back inside of me, luring a deep, breathy groan from the man beneath me. His eyes closed, and his brows furrowed sharply, his lips parting, yet his jaw was loose. He even looked calm, and unaffected during his orgasm.

I watched in awe, breathless. Unable to string any two words together, but I was certain he was able to. He swallowed, eyes drifting to the far corner, before tracing my features. "I found you, on purpose." He spoke. No stutter, or stammer, or slur. I blinked. My lips still parted; I was sure to be catching flies.

He inhaled, and exhaled, accordingly. "You were the first person I could think of that I wouldn't have minded doing this with." His head had fallen to the side, his hair dropping to frame his jaw. He smirked. "Thanks, I guess?" I answered, uncertainly. I wasn't too sure whether he had just complimented me, or not.

He chuckled breathily, through his nostrils, chest jerking. "You can get off now."

"Oh...oh, right, yeah." I blinked back my daze, and lifted myself from his half-hard cock, and dropped myself, gently, beside him. The covers were pleasingly cool, in contrast to Chishiya's warm crotch, though I wouldn't have minded being above him longer.

He glanced at me knowingly. Reading me, as if there were printed black letters across my forehead.

If we survive this game, this won't be the last time he finds me above him. I know that, and he does, too. Almost, as if he yearns for it, just as much as I do.  

[inkspottie]

26 "How dare [you]" with fish bug?.. 😇

Sebastian knew anger. It was his best friend, the one emotion he knew too well. How it would boil in his blood, leading him to snap, to lash out. Often hurting others and himself.

But one thing he didn’t know was Sadao’s anger. It was different. Sadao was mature, quiet, held back. He wasn’t the type to lash out. He didn’t like to rock the boat. When there was an argument he was often the first to bend. To be willing to compromise.

He never saw that anger, until now. It was foolish of him, to say such a thing. To try and call off whatever this relationship they had. Telling him that he didn’t deserve someone like Sadao.

Sadao deserved someone who functioned, someone who wasn’t broken. Someone who wasn’t fucked up.

The tightened face, the pointed brows scrunched together and lips parted to show off the wicked teeth within.

“How dare you.” Sadao’s voice is molten fire, but it’s a quiet burn. Not this blazing explosion that Sebastian’s was. It was the type that you woke up to when smelling the smoke. His words dripping off his tongue like water spilling off a gutter.

“How dare you,” He continues and Sebastian flinches clenching his hands for a moment. “How dare you tell me what I can and can’t do. You can not dictate my life.”

“I’m not worth it. It’s too much effort. I’m so broken. You don’t deserve someone like me.” Sebastian says, his voice raw, his throat feeling like he had just scooped a bunch of gravel and shoved it down his throat.

Sadao shakes his head, eyes burning bright as they stared into Sebastian’s own, flicking ever so slightly as if trying to see if the larger male was playing a trick.

“Ten years.” Sadao states his voice firm, gentle. “Ten years I stayed down in that site. I was offered promotions, transfers, ones that could take me higher up the food chain. But I denied each and everyone.” The last one was a threat, and he was taken from the world.

“Just so I could take care of you. To make sure that you were safe.” With that he reaches for Sebastian’s hand. Not the smaller one like he usually did, knowing it was not as sensitive as the others due to the thick scales. He can feel the smooth scales brush against his own, how cold his hands were.

“I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

Sadao shakes his head, “Do not say that. Please Sebastian. You push me away, and I fear my heart could not take it.” He is practically pleading for Sebastian to listen. To understand.

Sebastian knows he’s not lying, for Sadao was always genuine. He spoke the truth and would not hide from it. He could hear how hard Sadao’s heart was beating. How passionate he was about this.

Gently Sebastian leaned down, and Sadao is quick to melt into the curves of his body. Fitting like a perfect puzzle piece, a part of his soul reconnecting.

He breathes in deeply, and Sadao grips Sebastian’s hand giving it a soft squeeze. Four fingers touching three, and even if it’s awkward he makes it work.

If Sadao could make it work…so could he.

“I’m sorry.”

“Never be sorry. I will be here. Always.”

[communistkenobi]

the scenes with Syril and his mother are really interesting because I think it would have been incredibly easy to turn them into a sympathy show for Syril. give him this sad backstory about how his mommy is always mean to him and that’s why he’s this prim little fascist now. but the perspective the show takes in those scenes is hilarious because like, you are pretty clearly meant to think his mother is an insane overbearing weirdo, but you’re also not encouraged to feel sorry for Syril either. There is almost this view from nowhere in these scenes, presenting you with this intimate view of inside a home without any interest in intimacy or connection. A lot of the angles in those scenes are oblique and off-putting, lots of wall space taking up the majority of the shot, uncomfortably close shots of the profiles of their faces, juxtaposed with very clinical shots of the breakfast nook in the geometric centre of the frame. You’re supposed to be uncomfortable the entire time and there is no indication as to where you should place your discomfort, because neither of the characters in these scenes are worthy of being sympathised with.

And these feel more unique than the other scenes in the show because you ARE given a clear character to attach yourself to, whether that be Cassian or Mon Mothma or Luthen or Cinta or even Dedra. But Syril never really gets any leeway. He loses but the show feels indifferent to that loss, and when he wins it feels just as indifferent. And I think this is particularly effective because throughout the entire show, Syril doesn’t form a connection with anyone. The closest he comes to making a friend is with his sergeant, but he bails on that guy the moment he sees Dedra in the finale. He also doesn’t offer him a job or the opportunity to apply for a better one, despite A) being the reason the sergeant lost his job in the first place and B) Syril’s family having connections with the empire that could’ve easily allowed for another nepotism hire at the bureau of standards or whatever the fuck. The sergeant is someone who followed Syril’s orders to the letter, was loyal to a fault, and that is disgusting to Syril because that means the sergeant is beneath him and therefore not worth impressing or even considering. Being nice to the sergeant will not further his career or advance his place in the hierarchy and so he can be disposed of whenever it becomes convenient to do so. And even Syril’s fixation on Dedra has nothing to do with emotional connection or attraction, he’s obsessed with her because she represents the ideal - someone who is completely in control and wields absolute power. She isn’t a fanatic the way Syril is, she seems only concerned with the maintenance of power, and that is something Syril craves. The appearance of indifference while wielding power. To achieve that would means his position in the hierarchy is so secured that he wouldn’t even need to hold fascist beliefs for those beliefs to be realised, they would simply flow from the hierarchy itself.

So I think Syril demonstrates a very effective framing of fascists in media. There is a specific structure and perspective the show takes for his character, one that is indifferent and mildly disgusted, and that perspective echoes his own inability to form meaningful relationships with other people or even consider such relationships to be worthwhile. There is only the hierarchy, and his admiration and fervour is reserved only for the people higher up the food chain than him

[resident-idiot-simp]

Snake Riley

@bl-nk-sp-ce

Ok black mamba Riley who is usually curled around a teammate or the Captain.

Riley who as a human has scales all over his body and is always cold and his room is specifically temperature controlled for humidity as well so he can be comfortable.

Riley in snake from who has (and will again) lunged at higher ups who have annoyed him.

He has a pattern on his face that looks like a skull. His normal mask is painted to resemble a snake skull.

Bro poor rookies who have no idea about Riley seeing a black mamba curled up somewhere without context. Then this legendary Captain just comes along and offers out his hand and the snake just wraps around his arm and makes his way to around his neck.

The Captain has a snake tattooed around his neck and on his trigger finger (trigger finger idea goes to @spottlessspectre).

Spot- He has a fang that fell out of Ghosts on a chain. He collects them (Ghost gives them to him)

Riley who is the best stealth operative because who the fuck is looking for a snake. Riley with fangs that are too big for his mouth and always stick out over his lips.

Maybe he has a small lisp because of it. Also he has a split tongue

Riley who can be found napping on top of buildings to soak in the sun. Riley sometimes can't be found because he's curled in a pocket of someone's jacket.

Riley Just chilling in someone's hair.

MacTavish has a heat lamp in his room and office where Riley can normally be found chilling under.

Riley who in human form has the snake pupils and they really freak people out. MacTavish is all dreamy about them though

Riley who will open his mouth to smell things and MacTavish wants to awe at him.

Riley who will deepthroat random foods that are too big for him sometimes because he's used to the ability to unhing his jaw as a snake. And MacTavish has to run after him to get him to drop whatever he has in his mouth.

MacTavish from the other side of a table preparing to run after him in whatever direction he chooses: DROP IT!

Riley *pupils blown food still down his throat and a moment away from choking to death*:

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober Day 14 - Left for Dead

title: a boy falling out of the sky

fandom: limited life smp

this is a follow-up to my day 6 prompt fill, exit 73. you don't need to read it to understand this :)

cw: blood and injury, implied/referenced abuse

~

Jimmy doesn’t stop fighting.

He never does. Always been a fighter, his mother used to say.

Doesn’t know what’s good for him, his boss says now.

He isn’t well liked among TIES, he knows that. He’s been running with them for about four months, and they still won’t give him the chance to prove himself.

He usually spends his time manning the front with the same group of five, all of whom have been involved in TIES for years, all of whom see him as nothing more than a kid who needs to shut up and pay attention to them. They don’t like that he has ideas—probably because they’re better than whatever they could think of.

They report him to Impulse when he says that last bit. Impulse takes Jimmy aside and reminds him that the only reason he’s here is because he begged them, and that if he wants to prove his worth, he can do it by following orders.

It’s stupid. It’s so, so stupid, because he knows what he’s doing! He learned how to shoot when he was four years old—he doesn’t need someone telling him how to hold his gun! He knows how to sneak around—he used to do it every night to get to his sister’s room, trying not to anger their father. He knows how to steal, he’s been doing that since he was seven, slipping snacks into his shorts at the grocery store.

He knows how to do everything that the higher-ups ask of the others, but nobody wants him to do it. They keep him on menial work—delivering mail, manning the front, occasionally being sent to peacefully threaten someone. Nothing interesting. None of the really good-paying stuff.

He needs the money. He really, really needs the money.

But he can’t get the money when none of these morons trust him to do even the most basic of tasks!

Jimmy spends a lot of time frustrated. He spends a lot of time hanging out in the alley behind their front (a self-storage business), kicking at the gravel and smoking, letting the tobacco calm the anger.

That’s where one of the leaders finds him, one day.

“I bet your fifteen minute smoke break is up.”

Jimmy glances up—Tango. That’s Tango, one of the bosses of TIES—Jimmy’s so low on the food chain that he’s never actually met Tango before, just seen him in passing. Jimmy’s under Impulse’s command, technically (though he almost never sees him, either), and Impulse and Tango’s commands rarely interact.

Tango probably expects him to be starstruck at seeing one of the kingpins, or ashamed at being caught an extended break.

Jimmy just rolls his eyes, takes another puff. He doesn’t know what Tango’s doing here, and he doesn’t really care.

“Are you even old enough to smoke those things?”

“I’m not a baby,” Jimmy growls. “I’ve seen just as much as half the people here, and more than the other half. I know what I’m doing.”

“Whoa, that sounds like a disproportionate response to my joke,” Tango says. He doesn’t sound mad, which is good. Jimmy’s not all that skilled in the art of keeping his mouth shut. “Who said you didn’t?”

Jimmy gestures vaguely with his cigarette. “I don’t know. Everyone. Why else would I be stuck at the desk all day? I can shoot. I can sneak. I need a mission, not this.”

Tango’s quiet for a moment. Jimmy looks down at what’s left of his cigarette, takes one final drag, then drops it to the gravel, grounds it out with his heel.

“Do you need a mission?” asks Tango. “Or do you need money?”

“I—does it matter?”

Tango shrugs casually. “Not to some people. Most people are here for the money. That’s fine. It’s pretty easy to guess what for, too. Debts, treatments. . . .” he squints at Jimmy. “You look like your mom has cancer. Yeah?”

“Don’t talk about my mother,” Jimmy snarls, sudden rage flooding his chest. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Tango laughs. “Dude, I know more about you than you know about yourself. What, does your dad beat her—gak!”

Jimmy cuts him off by grabbing the front of Tango’s shirt, shoving him up against the wall. He can’t—nobody gets to talk about his mother like that, he isn’t going to stand her name being dragged through the mud—

“Don’t you dare,” he hisses. “I don’t wanna hear—”

“One of my men has a gun trained on you right now,” Tango says calmly.

The breath freezes in Jimmy’s lungs.

He lets go, steps away. “I—”

“Shut up, I don’t have time for apologies. You wanna prove yourself, kid? You wanna get the money to get your mommy safe? Fine. Tomorrow. Six in the morning, all right?”

Jimmy’s hands clench into fists, but he nods shortly. Tango, his cool demeanor soured by irritation, rolls his eyes.

“Chill out, dude. The world’s not gonna end tomorrow.”

“You don’t know that,” grumbles Jimmy. Tango shrugs.

“Sure. You should chill out, anyways.”

-

“Canary, take the right with Eagle. Vulture with me, to the basement. Hawk and Blue Jay, you’re on left.”

They’ve gone over the plan a hundred times, so Jimmy knows that he’s going right without the Cardinal telling him which way to go. He rolls his eyes, but turns down that way, pulling his mask up a bit higher on his nose.

He fiddles with the earpiece that they’d given him—it’s a bit clunkier than everyone else’s, but he’s trying his best not to argue today so  he doesn’t bring it up. If he wants Tango to consider sending him out again, he has to be perfect.

“Listen to me,” Eagle says harshly, the moment they’re out of sight of the others. “You’re going to do everything I say, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Jimmy mutters. Eagle backhands him across the cheek; Jimmy freezes, clenching his fists.

He’s not going to fight. Even though fighting is all he knows how to do, he’s going to lay low and wait for his time to come. He can prove himself. He will prove himself.

“Don’t talk back,” says Eagle. “I’m in charge. You’re a kid if I say you’re a kid. Now—you’d better do everything I say, you hear? No mouthing off, no assuming you know better—because you don’t. You don’t know anything. Got that?”

Jimmy nods angrily. Eagle raises an eyebrow at him (and Jimmy just knows he’s smirking under his mask, the little—), then continues down the hall.

They’re infiltrating the main headquarters of a rival, though nobody will tell Jimmy who or why. He’s just there to clear the building, as out of danger as he can be. It’s not the highest position on the team, but it is on the team, and Jimmy’s doing his best to feel grateful about that.

This is a dangerous mission—a very dangerous mission. Tango had offered to let him back out around five times, his eyes glinting with something like self-satisfaction, but Jimmy had stubbornly remained and now he’s going to prove that he’s earned his place on this team. Not just on this team, but in this family. He belongs in TIES, and he’s going to prove it.

Despite its danger, it still surprises Jimmy when they walk straight into a firefight.

“Eagle to Cardinal, we need back-up! Anyone—we’re on the second floor, it’s—there’s already a fight—”

Jimmy doesn’t know what’s happening or why guns were firing before they got there, but he throws himself back around the corner with Eagle and readies his own gun, aiming it in the direction of the massive garage that they both just fled from.

“The Bad Boys are here, too, looks like—they must’ve gotten the same intel,” Eagle hisses into his earpiece. A moment later, Jimmy’s own crackles with a painful spark.

“Cardinal to all. Evacuate and regroup, sunglasses are here.”

Eagle nods, motions for Jimmy to follow as they creep back into the hallway they’d come from, into view of the garage again.

Jimmy pauses to look—it’s a quiet moment in the fight within, everyone hiding on opposite sides of the room, occasionally darting out to fire at one another.

The garage is massive, its ceiling vaulted high above the hall, and Jimmy scans the room as quickly as he can—and he spots what he’s looking for.

“Who are the Bad Boys?” Jimmy whispers. Eagle grabs his wrist, tugs him along.

“Another gang.”

“Are we enemies? Because—look—”

He points up across the room, toward a window set into the wall near the ceiling. “There’s a room up there. We could go up and snipe both sides, easy.”

Eagle sighs. “Bad Boys aren’t our enemies, not right now. Etho apparently gets along pretty well with one of their higher-ups.”

“Then—why don’t we join them, help them out?”

“Just because we aren’t enemies doesn’t mean we’re friends. We don’t want them to get the package any more than we want these guys to have it.”

Jimmy doesn’t know what this so-called package is, but he nods. Sure. It’s not like this was his one chance to prove his worth to Tango. Now—

One of the Bad Boys—he’s got a leather vest on, a green streak through his hair, no mask (the mask might be a TIES signature, Jimmy thinks, but he isn’t sure)—rolls out from behind a car, aims his gun—

But he gets hit before he can pull the trigger. A pained grunt tears from the man’s lips as he falls, a bullet piercing his calf, blood splattering out onto the concrete below him.

Jimmy looks over, sees the man who shot the Bad Boy cocking his gun, aiming it at green-hair’s prone body, and acts before he can even think.

Well, not really. He does think, but all he thinks is, maybe if I save a Bad Boy, Etho will like me.

He knows how to shoot a gun. There’s only a couple of things Jimmy knows how to do really well, and one of them is standing between the injured and their abuser and the other is firing a gun. This is both of those, so he reckons he’s pretty much in his element.

Jimmy ducks into the garage proper and fires.

He lands a shot on the man who had risen up from behind a barrel, gun aimed at the Bad Boy. The man falls with a cry, and Jimmy only has a moment to acknowledge that he just pulled that reckless stunt before he turns and runs.

That was probably really stupid, now that he takes a moment to consider the consequences.

“You—idiot—” Eagle snarls, quickly overtaking him. Jimmy hears pounding footsteps behind him, and Eagle—

Pain tears through his chest—

Jimmy’s on the ground before he can so much as blink. There’s—there’s so much ice-hot fire burning through him from his chest, all of the sudden, and he pushes himself up onto his elbows before it overtakes him and tries to make sense of what’s going on around him. How did he end up on the ground? Why did Eagle stop running?

Eagle stands frozen in front of him, gun trained on something behind Jimmy. Jimmy hears a voice behind him—

“They’ve got back-up, get the package and get out—”

Then Eagle, into his own earpiece—

“They’re taking it and running, this is a bust—”

Then his heartbeat, loud and heavy in his ears.

More footsteps behind him, as the person there runs back the other way.

Jimmy’s lips move, but nothing comes out but a long, whistling wheeze.

He was shot.

He was shot in the back, and now his chest feels warm with blood as it runs down the inside of his shirt. He was shot. Is he dying?

It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. He’d propped himself up on his elbows before it really came over him, but now he feels frozen there, limbs locked up, unable to even roll out of the middle of the hallway. He’s been hurt before, he’s been beaten almost to the point of death before but it wasn’t quite like this, because he can’t move or speak or anything. Is he in shock? That must be it. He’s in shock.

He blinks up at Eagle, not entirely sure what he’s trying to convey. A plea for help, probably. As much as it hurts his pride, he can’t do anything else.

Eagle stares down at him, face expressionless. Then, his hand touches his earpiece again.

“Canary’s dead. Let’s get out of here.”

“I—” Jimmy manages, because he isn’t dead, he’s still here and sure, it hurts to breathe and he isn’t sure how to move, but he’s still alive.

Eagle doesn’t say anything. He turns away, jogs down the hallway, and eventually out of sight.

Jimmy wishes he could feel the rage that he longs for, that’s always so close to the surface.

He hurts too much for that, though.

A tear slips down his cheek and he curses, the words pained and broken. He can’t die here. If he dies here, who will protect Lizzie?

He promised to get them their own place. He promised to get her away from him. If he dies here, she’ll be left to face him alone, stuck with him forever, no escape in sight.

He can’t let that happen. He won’t let that happen.

Agony lances through his chest as he forces his locked limbs to move, shifts until he’s on his side, head bumping lightly against the wall of the hallway. There’s still gunshots coming from behind him, but he ignores it. Embarrassingly high-pitched whimpers escape his firmly-pressed lips as every movement jars his chest, but he eventually finds himself kind of sitting up, slumped against the wall.

His shirt is soaked through with blood. The grey with which he’d been outfitted shows how the blooming bloodstain had spread, out from the right side of his chest, down his stomach and up his shoulder. There’s a long smear of blood on the floor from his maneuvering, shockingly bright against the dirty tiles.

Jimmy stares at the blood, his heart pounding in his ears.

How is he going to find the strength to get up? He was barely able to make it to this point.

Once he does get up, how is he going to get out?

Will he walk out of here on legs that won’t cooperate? Will he manage to call for a taxi to take him to a hospital? Will the hospital turn him away without insurance? Will they call the cops?

He licks his lips, cracked and dry.

Every breath feels like another bullet pushing through his chest.

He isn’t getting out of here.

He clutches feebly at his shirt with his left hand, as if he has the strength to strip it off, as if he could ever manage to bandage the wound.

His hand is stained with blood, snaking through every crack of his palm.

It feels wrong to die like this. Alone in a corridor, his lifeblood slipping between his fingers. 

Last time he thought he would die, he wasn't alone. Lizzie was holding him, frantically trying to dress his injuries, muttering nonsense about how everything would be all right and how she was going to call an ambulance and he would be fine.

Jimmy still remembers how the musty carpet smelled like smoke under him, how he couldn't make his eyes focus on Lizzie's face, how his entire body morphed into blurry pain.

It was different.

But one thing is the same—the anger that usually burns in the pit of his stomach has been replaced by cold, disgusting, creeping shame.

He failed her. He failed the only person who means anything to him, and she's not even here for him to apologize.

It hurts even more to breathe. It feels like there's a shard of glass pressing into his lungs, each breath digging it deeper.

Another tear falls, trails down through his lips. His tongue darts out to taste the saltiness, and it tastes like failure.

“We got it, that's all that matters.”

“No, what matters is that you get medical attention. You don't get shot and just walk it off, Joel—”

For a split second, Jimmy thinks wildly that perhaps Lizzie is here, is on her way down the hall to find him, but that isn't her voice. Lizzie isn't here and nobody is coming for him.

They abandoned him.

Two men enter the hallway—one is the man who got shot, his green streak of hair falling into his eyes as he limps out, supported by another man. This man is dressed in a red shirt with a leather jacket, sunglasses stuck into his messy hair.

They're bickering—

“Can't believe we have to take the back way out—”

“It's your fault, shouldn't have gotten injured—”

But they both freeze when they see Jimmy.

“Wait—Grian, it's that kid,” the green-haired one says. “He shot the guy that was going for me. Is he still alive?”

“Yeah, he is,” Grian says, his face twisting. He lowers green-hair to the ground carefully, propping him up against the wall a foot or two away, then kneels at Jimmy's side.

“Hey, kid,” says Grian, lifting Jimmy's chin to meet his eyes. “What happened?”

Jimmy resists the urge to cough, squeezes the wet fabric of his shirt. “Chest,” he manages. “Not—not a kid.”

“Talk to me,” Grian instructs, flipping open a pocket knife to cut through Jimmy's shirt. “Who are you with? Is someone coming for you?”

“He's with TIES, look at his mask,” green-hair interjects. “Classic Etho, looking out for me.”

“Let him answer, Joel.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy breathes, nodding in Joel's direction. “TIES. They—they left me.”

His eyes burn with tears at the admission. Grian frowns, hands dancing across Jimmy's chest. “Really? That's not like them. They usually take care of their own.”

But Jimmy isn't really one of them, is he? He made an enemy of everyone he talked to. He made it clear that he wasn't in it for friends, he'd fought tooth and nail over every little thing, so does it really surprise him that they left him to die here?

He’s dying.

“I failed her,” whispers Jimmy. He hisses in pain as Grian presses on his chest, right up against the burning bullet wound. He swallows back a cough, refusing the pain it would surely bring.

“Went clean through, looks like. I'm gonna move you, look at your back.”

Jimmy actually cries out when Grian shifts him forward, letting him slump against his chest.

“Keep talking.”

“I-I'm gonna die. I failed her. He's gonna kill her.”

“Who is she? Tell me about her.”

“M’ sister,” Jimmy mumbles, biting his lip as Grian prods at the wound. “She—he'll kill her, I'm gonna die and—and nobody—”

“What color is her hair?” Joel asks.

Jimmy blinks, more tears spilling down his face. “P-pink.”

“Pink? That's a weird color.”

Jimmy sniffs. “He—he hates it. I told her not to dye it—” he cuts off with a strangled gasp, one that makes his chest seize with pain, as Grian presses his hand down firmly on Jimmy's back.

“Throw me the spare ace bandage,” Grian orders, holding his hand out to Joel. Joel digs a roll of bandages out of his pocket and tosses it to him.

“How old are you?” Joel asks. “What's your name, how old are you?”

“Jimmy,” he barely manages, as Grian wraps the bandage around his chest. “I—I'm—seventeen.”

Grian curses in Jimmy's ear. Joel’s face darkens.

“Told Etho they need to be better about checking ages,” says Joel angrily. “A kid shouldn't be part of a dangerous op, for goodness sakes—”

“We don't have time for this,” Grian says firmly. He ties off the bandage and arranges himself to be side-by-side with Jimmy, loops an arm under his shoulders. “Joel, can you call in back-up? Kid, can you walk?”

“We don't need back-up, I can walk—”

“Absolutely not—”

“We'll help Jimmy between us, all right? Then he can lean on both of us and I can lean on him—”

Jimmy’s next few moments are a blur of pain and nausea, but he somehow finds himself standing, one arm slung over Joel's shoulders, one arm over Grian's.

“Just take a step,” Grian grunts, and Jimmy stumbles forward, just trying to breathe the best he can through the stabbing pain.

Do they think he’s going to survive? They wouldn’t be helping him if they didn’t, right?

“How far to the car?” Joel asks tightly.

“If we take a left, we should hit the stairwell soon after.”

“Right. Stairs. That’ll go great.”

They make their slow way down the hall, Jimmy’s exhaustion growing with each step. They stop frequently, adjusting their positions so that Jimmy can rest easier on the two of them. Then they keep going, one painful foot forward after the other. 

After what feels like ages of the hall tunneling in front of him, Grian shifts them both left, toward another hall, identical to the first (but a good bit shorter).

Joel is breathing heavily, occasionally making small, pained noises under his breath. If Jimmy had enough space in his chest for more emotions, he would feel guilty that he was making Joel go to all this trouble for him.

He doesn’t have room for that. Just the shame.

There’s a door at the end of the hall, and all three of them are gasping for breath by the time they make it. Joel leans against the wall and Jimmy leans against him. His feet are practically deadweight, his shoes feeling like cinder blocks.

“We go up one level of stairs,” Grian tells them, voice a bit raspy. “The door out should be there. The car’ll be . . . probably a short walk from there. Good?”

Joel flashes a thumbs-up. “Can we . . . all right if we take a minute, first?”

Grian checks his watch, worries his lip between his teeth. “I don’t think we have time. We should go.”

Joel huffs, but he pushes himself off the wall, readjusting Jimmy’s arm around him.

Jimmy just swallows, then finally gives in to the urge to cough.

Apparently, it’s the wrong decision to make. The cough instantly makes the pain skyrocket, so much worse than it’s been so far, and Jimmy can barely keep standing\. He tries to breathe through it—but barely any air seems to be entering his lungs, it’s like there’s hardly room for even half a breath.

He falls to his knees, another weak cough escaping him, one that only serves to drive out what little air he’s managed to collect. He can’t breathe. It hurts too much, and he can’t breathe.

“Jimmy? Jimmy, stay with us—”

“Stay here with him, I’ll go grab whoever’s in the car—”

Jimmy barely registers the sound of running footsteps as he falls further, leaning on his hands. He gasps fruitlessly, in and out and far too shallow. He can’t do it, he can’t manage it.

He’s dying. He was shot in the chest and he can’t breathe. He’s dying right here, after everything, abandoning Lizzie and everything he’s been fighting for his whole life.

He’s so scared.

He’s terrified, the fear even colder than the guilt, because he doesn’t want to die, but he can’t breathe long enough to even say it.

I don’t want to die, he thinks with all his might. I don’t want to.

He’s always been a fighter. That’s what his mother would tell him, as she spread numbing cream on his bruises and kissed his forehead good night. He never got to hear her last words, but every day before school she would ask him to watch out for his sister (even though she was three years his senior) and he thinks she would have said something like that if he was there when she died.

He’s failed her, too. He couldn’t save his mom, and he can’t save Lizzie, even though it was all she ever asked of him. He’s let them both down, and he can’t even get enough breath for an apology.

“Jimmy, listen to me,” Joel says, his voice sounding as if it’s underwater. The man sits on the floor in front of him, adds his hands to Jimmy’s shoulders to try and keep him somewhat up. “Listen. Can you see me?”

Through tear-blurred eyes, he can just manage to see Joel, discern the worry etched into his face. Jimmy nods, just barely.

“Good. Calm down, okay? Breathe slowly. Slow and deep, okay?”

Jimmy shakes his head. He can’t. He can’t breathe slowly, he can’t breathe deeply, he can barely breathe at all. His arms are trembling, and it’s only moments before they give out entirely. He slumps against Joel, noticing vaguely that his fingers are numb.

“Bullet probably hit your lung,” Joel mutters, adjusting Jimmy in his arms so that he’s sitting, Joel’s legs around him. “Do you smoke? Or, did you smoke, I guess. You won’t anymore.”

The room is going out of focus, and not just because of the tears. Jimmy tries desperately to hold on to consciousness, licking his lips and flexing his fingers compulsively.

Joel tilts his head back, peering into his eyes. Jimmy wonders if he can see the fear there, if he looks as scared as he feels, heaving for breath.

“It’s okay,” Joel says, voice considerably softer than it’s been this whole time. “Geez, you’re just a kid. Killer aim, though. Where’d you learn to shoot?”

My dad taught me, Jimmy wants to say. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have enough air.

He’s going to pass out. Jimmy’s been beaten to unconsciousness too many times to count on one hand, so he knows what it feels like when his head starts to fuzz over, goosebumps breaking out over his entire body.

He swallows, squeezes his eyes shut.

He’s going to die.

He failed.

-

He survives, somehow.

His lung had collapsed after being punctured by the bullet, which was life-threatening, but didn’t claim him this time. Jimmy woke up in an unfamiliar library-turned-medical wing, an oxygen mask taped to his face and an IV stuck in his arm.

He heals up nicely, according to the doctor, and once he’s cleared to walk (on oxygen, pulling a portable oxygen canister behind him), he starts exploring the manor he finds himself in.

It’s massive, dozens of rooms and chandeliers and fancy carpets, and plenty of people always coming and going. He spends a lot of time sitting in a cushy chair outside of the library, looking out at the main entrance, people-watching everyone who comes through. He gets strange looks, sometimes, but he’s ignored for the most part, and for the first time in a long time he feels almost relaxed.

Not quite. A nagging voice in the back of Jimmy’s head reminds him of Lizzie, of the hell he’s left her to face alone, and he knows he has to do something soon or the guilt and anger will overwhelm him again, but he tries not to think about it and just focused on recovering.

Grian and Joel show up on the fourth day, when he’s finally released from using an oxygen cannula during the day.

“How are you feeling?” Grian asks awkwardly when they approach his bedside, hands stuck in his jeans pockets.

Jimmy shrugs. “Good,” he says. “I mean, like I was shot in the chest. Good, given the circumstances.”

Joel snorts. “Well, yeah, duh.”

“Good enough to get going, soon?”

Jimmy blanches. He’d been dreading this conversation. “I . . . actually, I was wanting to ask. . . .”

They know what he wants before he even suggests it.

“Absolutely not,” Grian says. “We don’t take on kids. It’s not—”

“I turn eighteen in six months—”

“—super dangerous, and—”

“I think he should stay,” Joel says helpfully, settling into an armchair far too grandiose for what should be a hospital setting. Grian glares at him.

“You know we don’t bring kids into this.”

“We can’t send him back to TIES, can we?” Joel says. “We can’t turn him loose on the street, or else they’ll probably try to take him out, just in case. You don’t just quit TIES and walk away.”

“I don’t want to go back to TIES, if it helps,” Jimmy adds. “They left me to die back there.”

Joel waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Etho said you’re welcome back, if you want. But you don’t, so we don’t need to worry about that.”

“But he’s—”

“I’ll do anything to stay. I’ll—I’ll even just work the front, I just—I need it,” Jimmy says, glancing between the two of them.

They don’t know how desperately he needs it. They don’t know that the only reason he has for living is saving Lizzie.

He’d tried getting a normal job, but no place that paid enough was willing to hire someone underage full-time, much less someone without a high school diploma. TIES was the first place to offer him more than seven dollars an hour with the promise of one day making more.

He needs this kind of money to get an apartment. And he needs an apartment more than anything in this world.

Grian bites his lip, looks over at Joel.

“We can say he’s eighteen,” Joel suggests.

“I’ll get my birth certificate changed,” promises Jimmy. “I just—” this is it, he has to convince them— “I have to get my sister to safety. Please.”

“I—look, you can’t tell anyone, ever,” Grian stresses, running his hands through his hair. “You’re eighteen, all right? And don’t expect to get any ops—”

“Do expect to get ops, you’re a decent shot—”

“Joel and I are your only friends, don’t trust anyone else—”

“Do whatever you want, we aren’t your dads—”

Jimmy lies back on the bed, propping the pillows up under him. Relief tastes sweet on his tongue, after the building guilt he’s been feeling over the past few days. So . . . he’s a Bad Boy now? Would he get a leather jacket? Or sunglasses?

That doesn’t matter, really. What matters is that he’s already become friends with two people here after being a member for less than two minutes, and that’s way closer to getting Lizzie to safety than he ever was with TIES.

He can keep his promise.

And one day, when he’s got enough rapport in the Bad Boys, he’s going to call out a hit of his own. And he’ll fulfill it on his own—he’ll hold the gun that he was given on his sixth birthday, the last gift he ever received, the one with his father’s initials messily carved into the hilt—

He’ll take that gun and shoot his dad in the head, and they’ll finally be safe.

[writeforfandoms]

Waking Lions 1

Find the series masterlist

Eventual John Price x f!reader. Buckle up people, this is a slow burn. 

A few things to know: reader is an independent intelligence agent, morally gray, bisexual, and has some backstory. You’ll learn what you need to know. Primary codename is Ace, but has a couple others. 

This first chapter is setting the scene and giving you all a start on learning about this mess. We do mess a bit with timelines - this starts before MW 2019. 

Warnings: Swearing, flirting, mischief. 

Word count: 2.2k

You hummed to yourself as you walked to the meet point. By now, this was all standard for you - meet up with some underling, pass along the information, wait for payment, and be on your way. 

It was a system that worked well for both parties and had for years. Since you'd discovered you could make a living at this. 

But only if you were careful. 

Which is why you arrived at the meet point a full twenty minutes early. You picked a table out on the patio and ordered a coffee while you waited. It was a lovely day, after all. 

And when someone dropped into the seat across from you fifteen minutes later, you smiled to yourself. 

And then you looked at the man. 

Oh, this one was good. Big and broad, that much you could tell even with the both of you sitting down. Brown hair kept neat, mutton chops. Interesting choice. And the most intense blue eyes you'd seen in a long time. 

"Nice weather we're having." The first half of the code was long habit to you, and never changed. That way you always knew you had the correct underling. 

"Yes but I always bring an umbrella," the man answered with the other half of the code. English accent. Lovely. 

"Anything to drink for you?" You offered with an easy smile, crossing your legs at the knee. 

"No. You have something for me." His voice was rough and low, gaze fixed on you. 

"I suppose I do." You reached into your pocket and pulled out a flash drive, holding it between two fingers. "Password is enterprise, all lower case. This is all up to date. Oh, and one more thing." You leaned in, dropping your voice. "They're planning to move within 24 hours. I can get a more precise time, but it'll cost." 

His eyes narrowed, just a little. "Wait here." He took the USB, tucking it into a pocket before he stood. He towered over you, and you blinked slowly up at him. Oh yes. Oh you liked this one. 

He stepped away, pulling out a cell phone. You picked up your coffee, taking a sip and watching him with half-lidded eyes. He had turned away so you couldn't read his lips. Smart. Clearly someone had updated him as to your capabilities. Your bet was on Laswell - she liked to ruin your fun. 

If Laswell was indeed his contact, that was. And if she was… well, that made him a little higher up the food chain than you initially guessed. Fascinating. 

Normally you dealt with underlings, normal soldiers. People who could act as go-tos but ultimately just followed orders. 

This one, though…

He rejoined you at the table, gaze hard. "You have authorization to proceed. But. There will be rules." 

"I'm listening," you agreed, watching him over the rim of your coffee cup. 

"You keep a comm on you. You alert me as soon as you have the information. You do not take any risks or alert them to our plans. I will have a sniper on overwatch."

“You won’t need them.” You tipped your chin, holding his gaze. “I suppose you’ll be able to hear me but not the other way around, then?” 

“You won’t need to hear from me if you do your job right.” 

You chuckled. “I suppose so. What shall I call you, then?” 

“You don’t need my name.”

“Your name? No. I don’t. But I would like to know what I can call you.” You winked at him. “For my diary, of course.” 

He was silent for a few long moments, blue eyes searching yours. Not that you knew what he was actually looking for. But whatever he saw must have satisfied him. “Captain.” 

“Captain,” you purred. “I assume she informed you of my preferred call sign.” That was a calculated gamble, dropping that hint.

Apart from the tiniest twitch of his lips, he didn’t react. “Ace.”

“Right.” You smiled, all teeth, and finished your coffee. “Well then! Are you coming back to mine, handsome?” You fluttered your eyelashes at him playfully. 

His jaw clenched. “We’ll RV at a secondary location,” he ground out. Either he disliked you or he disliked flirting. Or possibly both. 

“Alright. When?” 

“Half an hour.”

You did a quick bit of mental math. You had most everything you needed on you, but clearly he did not. He hadn’t come equipped to send someone else in on a quasi-op, after all. “Alright. Where?” 

“Tailors shop, called Black Label. Half a click north of here.”

“I’ll find it.” You tucked a cash tip under your empty coffee cup and stood. “I’ll see you in thirty minutes, Captain.” 

It took you ten minutes to be sure he wasn’t following you, although you wouldn’t be surprised if he had someone up high tracking you. He seemed the paranoid type. But you risked it to go back to your hotel room. If all went well, you’d be leaving town within hours. 

It took minutes to ensure your things were packed up, and you hummed to yourself as you double-checked the knife strapped to your thigh under your clothes, the false pocket of your pants giving you access. Perfect. You did like it when all your things were in working order. 

And then you sauntered back out the door, leaving your baggage behind for the moment. It didn’t take you long to find Black Label. 

But this time, you weren’t there first.

Captain walked up to you before you even reached the door, his hand securing just above your elbow, firm but not painful. He guided you around the side of the building and down an alleyway. 

“You leave this on,” he said firmly, releasing you only to grab a tiny microphone out of one of his pockets. “You turn it off, we assume you’ve betrayed us.”

“Sniper, overwatch, I remember,” you agreed glibly. “Allow me.” You held out one hand, imperious, and he handed over the microphone. Without an ounce of shame, you secured it under your shirt where it was completely hidden from sight. “Will this audio suffice?” 

He tipped his head just a little to the side. Undoubtedly listening to the report of whoever was on the other end of his comms. Then he nodded once, short and sharp. 

“Good. I need to get going or I’ll be late.”

He stiffened. “Late?” 

“Didn’t I mention? I have a dinner appointment.” Your lips curved in amusement as you watched him struggle not to react. Much. His flush betrayed his anger, though. 

“I’ll be listening very closely,” he finally growled. 

“I hope you do.” You winked at him again and turned, walking out of the alleyway. Sometimes men were just so fun to tease. 

You did, in fact, have a dinner date with Sergio. You’d arranged it well ahead of time, knowing that either your contact would authorize paying you more for more information, or you’d have some tidbits to sell to Sergio. You were guaranteed a delicious meal, at least. 

The restaurant where you were due to meet Sergio was nice, upscale without being outrageously fancy. You’d been here once before, a few years back. But then, you’d looked quite different then. You’d changed your hair color since, as well as your style of dress. 

Nobody would remember you. 

Sergio was waiting for you - you always arrived precisely on time with him. If he showed up second, he took it as a personal affront and was useless for the next few hours as he worked through his temper tantrum. So, allowances had to be made. 

Like letting him kiss your cheek and pull your chair out for you.

“It has been too long,” he said, taking his seat across from you. 

“It has,” you agreed easily. “How are the girls?” 

“Ah, they are well. Sophia is nine now! And growing like a weed.” He chuckled fondly. “She is already so big. It seems like just yesterday she was small enough I could hold her with one hand.”

“Yes, children do grow fast,” you agreed with a slightly wistful smile. “Especially the ones you’re attached to.”

You both chuckled over that. When the waiter appeared, you let Sergio order drinks for you both. Another calculated move. He was a man who liked to believe he was in charge. 

But it wasn’t until after the appetizers had arrived that he brought up business.

“Any news from our friends in the south?” He feigned disinterest, glancing at you before looking back at his plate. 

“Nothing new, unfortunately.” You shrugged, very much a “what can you do?” “They insist they are on time, of course. I have a feeling they might benefit from a… surprise inspection. If you’d like me to go…”

“No need,” he said, waving off your offer. “I will be going myself in two weeks.”

“Perfect timing, then.” You smiled, though your heart beat faster with excitement at the new information. “I am sorry I don’t have a more satisfying update for you, then.” 

“It is hardly your fault. You are merely the messenger in this case.” His eyes gleamed at you from across the table, dangerous and sure of himself.

“I do hope I’ve earned more than simply being the messenger after all this time.” But you kept your tone light and teasing, smiling playfully. 

“Much more,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Minx. I would invite you back to remind you of what you are, but I won’t have time tonight.”

You pouted at him. “Busy schedule?” 

“Workers nowadays. Can hardly expect them to keep on top of the schedule unless you’re watching them. You know the feeling, I’m sure.”

“Of course,” you agreed in a murmur. “Nothing ever gets done right unless you oversee it yourself.”

“Precisely.” He tipped his glass to you in a silent toast, taking a sip. 

“Tight deadline, then?” 

He tipped his head back and forth. “Well, if I wasn’t due to be leaving in the morning, I’d push it a little, just for you.” His smile turned filthy.

You chuckled, one hand toying with the stem of your wine glass. “You flatter me.” That was likely as precise a time as you were going to get from him, and you didn’t dare push for more. That would just raise suspicion. 

You liked your head where it was and in one piece. 

“And what of you? You haven’t mentioned your plans at all.” His foot nudged yours under the table. 

“Well, since I’ll be robbed of the pleasure of your company… I have a little business of my own to attend to in Turkey. I’ll be catching an early flight out.”

“Time is simply not on our side this time,” Sergio agreed with a (slightly exaggerated) sigh. “Next time then, hm?”

“Of course.” You smiled, leaning back as the waiter brought your entrees out. “I’ll find something pretty for your girls in Turkey.” 

The rest of the conversation stayed away from business and leaned more towards pleasure - the latest hobbies of his two daughters, the ongoing complaints of their mothers, and his persistent search for the third future ex-wife. (He was hoping for a boy next time, he admitted.) 

The two of you parted ways amicably, and you didn’t watch as three other men melted out of the restaurant. Sergio was decently high up in his organization. It made sense he would have protection with him. 

You didn’t stop moving for twenty minutes, taking random twists and turns through the city until you ended up near the Black Label.

“No sign of a tail, Captain,” you murmured, walking into the same alleyway as before. You half-expected him to be there already. “I’ll give you five minutes before I decide to keep this as a souvenir.” 

He arrived in three, expression carefully neutral, though you thought you saw a tiny bit of grudging respect in his eyes. He held out one hand and you handed over the microphone. 

“Satisfied with your intel?” You smiled coyly at him. 

“Your money has been sent already,” he said, which was an answer. 

“Pleasure doing business with you, then.” You started to walk past him, only to stop when he stepped in your way.

“If I find out you’ve double crossed us…”

Your smile was still firmly fixed in place, although you had a feeling it was much less pleasant now. “Piece of advice for you, soldier,” you murmured, low and dangerous as a snake. “Your boss trusts me to get her good quality information, and she doesn’t meddle in my life. In return, I keep her secrets to myself. It’s a system that’s worked for us for a long time. Now, I doubt I’ll ever see you again, so here’s a nickel’s worth of free advice. Don’t tell me how to do my job, and I won’t ruin yours.” You bared your teeth in the barest mimicry of a smile. “Have a good night, Captain.” You stepped around him and continued on down the road. After half a dozen steps, you began whistling.

Just because you knew it annoyed some people. 

The walk to your hotel was uneventful, and you collected your things and left. The cab ride to the airport was silent, and you booked a flight to Turkey for first thing in the morning. 

You had some gifts to buy, after all.

[imeanitplsmorenamifics]

This is for my Nami lovers! WE HAVE BEEN STARVED FOR TOO LONG! I CAN'T LET IT GO ON ANYMORE! THE FAMINE IS OVER! I hope you all enjoy this 💞! 100%, I was giggling, kicking my feet, and grinning the whole time I wrote this 😂. You can request here, my masterlist is here, my Flower Asks are here, Hozier asks are here, and my Taylor Swift asks are here. You can find my rules for requesting here. Electric Touch: Just by touching you could she set you on fire. Characters: Nami, GN!Reader Pairing: Nami x GN!Reader TW: Nothing I can think of.

Electric Touch

.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.

There was one thing that you would always remember. It was engrained too deep in your mind to ever get lost in the sea of memories. The first time you ever won something couldn’t beat this one memory. Even eating your first-ever dessert couldn’t top this one memory. It was a memory that always stuck around in your mind, no matter how deeply you tried to push it down.

It was supposed to be a regular day for you. You were part of a pirate crew that decided to dock at a restaurant called the Baratie. You weren’t a higher-up in the crew, just someone who cleaned up after the other crew members. You were no one important. That was all you were. Just you.

Being pushed around was something you were used to. You were bottom of the food chain, so the other crew members could tell you to do something and you had no choice but to do it. This led you to walk out to the outside bar while it was dark outside to get alcohol for your crew that was eating inside. The kitchen apparently ran out of alcohol, and they would have to get some from the bar. Your captain told them to save their time and just let you do it. You had no choice but to comply.

A sigh escaped you as you walked through the crowd of people dancing at the outside bar. If you could leave the crew, you would. You only joined because you were under the impression your position would be much more important than what you are now. The captain said he saw potential in you, essentially leading you on in order to get you to join. When you found out that none of what he said was true, you brought up leaving. Let’s say that was the last time you ever mentioned it out loud.

And then it happened.

You bumped into someone. You were approaching the bar just as someone was going to leave it. Both of you collided with each other. Thankfully, no one was injured. You were able to walk it off fairly easily, and the other person was able to do the same. At first, in your annoyance, you wanted to tell the other person off.

The other person spoke up before you could say anything, “I’m sorry about that.” It was the voice of a woman. You looked up just as she touched your shoulder to help stabilize you.

In front of you was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen. She had orange hair that stopped a little above her shoulders. Mesmerizing blue eyes stared back into your (E/C) ones. It was as if time stopped in that moment. You felt butterflies in your stomach. The hand she placed on your shoulder was warming your skin, and you almost felt it buzzing. You never believed in the concept of love at first sight, but you were sure you were just now feeling that.

That feeling never went away, either. As you stood side by side with her on the Going Merry, you were talking about nothing. It was a casual conversation. Everyone had those. Things changed when, for a fraction of a second, you felt her hand graze your own. Just like the first time you met, you felt the warm, buzzing feeling. Butterflies went crazy in your stomach, and a smile graced your features.

“What is it?” She inquired with a curious glance.

You shook your head, “Nothing.” But it was everything. To you, moments like these were everything. You wanted to be like this with her for the rest of your life. You didn’t know if she felt the same way but you wanted things to work out between both of you. This woman could easily wreck your whole life or make it ten times better. Either way, you would invite her to do whatever she wanted with your life. As long as she was with you, it didn’t matter.

[blxrrii]

SICK DAY

S. Itoshi x Reader

Fluff - 3.6K words- No Warnings That time Itoshi Sae got sick, and you took it upon yourself to take care of him.

The sound of his repeating alarm woke Itoshi Sae from his slumber, his hand reaching in a desperate attempt to shut the sound up because, holy shit, was it loud.

A headache shot through his head, resulting in him sucking in a breath. His whole body burned with pain, not the pain and numbness he felt the morning after a really intense practice session; no, he felt fatigued, as if he was bound in the same position. 

It took Sae a good minute or two to gather that he was in his bed next to you, who had somehow always slept through his alarm. 

His burning eyes soften at the site of your peaceful, sleeping figure. Your hair was dishevelled, strands falling in front of your face that Sae refused to move away because he loved your ditziness.

A soft sigh escaped past his lips, his eyes closing as he swore it would only be a minute, and then he would get up to start his day.

Itoshi Sae wasn’t someone who delayed his tasks.

No matter how tedious, overworked, or pained he was, Sae strived to better himself, pushing forward in any way he could. So why was today so different? Why did dread fill him at the mere thought of doing anything?

Disregarding his feelings, Sae gets up from the comfort of his bed, only to quickly grab at the bedpost when his eyesight starts darkening, the sense of falling face down on the floor overcoming him.

A hushed groan vibrated within him, moving his spare hand to rub his temples. He hated this weird, foreign feeling. It felt like his whole body was weighing him down, as if there were hundreds of weights chained to him.

Despite the terrible feeling that spread through his body, Sae continued on to get his day started, stumbling to the bathroom in his tired and sick state.

After Sae finished getting ready, which took him much longer than usual, he grabbed his bag that contained all that he’d need for soccer practice and started to make his way out the door. He didn’t eat breakfast, as he felt nauseous and usually grabbed food from outside most days. 

The midfielder was just about to open the door, his hand twisting at the knob. However, he was quick to stop his actions at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Sae?”

His head spun back quickly, an action he almost immediately regretted when his head pounded at the quick movement. Sae hissed as a result of the pain. Standing next to the staircase was you, eyes still tired from having just woken up.

“What are you doing up?” He asked. You, however, disregarded his question, getting closer to inspect him.

“You look like shit.” Your voice was laced with worry, matching your facial expression. Sae rolled his eyes, looking away from you as you reached a hand towards his face.

“Gee, thanks.” In any other case, you probably would have replied to his sarcastic comment with a snarky one. Though with his more than usual tired look and his deepened voice that sounded like he was on the verge of tears, you decided there were more important matters at the moment.

“I think you’re sick, Sae.” He scoffed lightly, clutching the strap of his bag. In the years he has been alive, the likelihood of getting sick was nearly nonexistent. So, it was damn near difficult to believe that he was now. 

“I’m fine, just tired.” He mumbled, his speech slowed more than it was usually. 

“Sae, you can’t go to practice like this. You’ll catch an even higher fever!” Itoshi found warmth in your concern. (But he’d refuse to ever admit that to you.) Despite this, he kept persisting in leaving. 

“It’ll be ok-” He paused abruptly, turning his head away from you and sneezing into his arm. He was definitely not making a case for himself in your eyes. 

“Yeah, I bet you will.” A distasteful look made its way onto his face at your sarcastic remark, to which you snickered. Sae shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes closing for what felt like just a second to try and stay in the moment forever. 

“…Sae!”

He reopened his eyes, narrowing his eyes at you as if to question why you yelled out his name when he was right in front of you. 

“Hm?” 

“I’ve been saying your name for a good minute-” you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, “did you fall asleep… standing?”

The midfielder wished he could respond back to you, say something to assure you he was fine. Though he couldn’t. His throat burned, a scratchy feeling overcoming it every time he talked. Instead, he decided on a sound that was somewhere between a whine and a whimper, closing his eyes once more to restore the tranquillity he had felt just a minute ago.

And maybe staying home wasn’t the worst thing for him. He was tired out of his mind, his mind yearning to be put to rest, for his brain felt heavier with every sentence he spoke. So what was just a single break? It wasn’t like you were about to let him leave; why not take advantage of his situation?

You sighed once more, grabbing his arm to drag him back up the stairs. You were glad he hadn’t fought the idea of staying home from practice too much, though it wasn’t like you didn’t have a backup plan in case he was more persistent. Sae was too sick to realize you stole his keys from his pocket when he wasn’t looking and couldn’t leave even if he wanted to.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

You both get to the top of the staircase, the practice taking a slightly longer time than usual because you were dragging Sae behind you. Once the both of you made it to your shared room, he stripped off his bag and jacket, throwing both onto the floor because, at that moment, he couldn’t give a shit about either of his belongings. All he yearned for at that given time was being asleep beside you. 

Sae stumbled into bed, practically passing out the moment his head hit the pillow. You sighed, grabbing the duvet covers and placing them on his sleeping figure before getting into bed alongside him.

~

The sun in your eyes wasn’t such a great feeling. 

Having to be forcefully woken up because your eyes are being hit by something so bright it pains you.

You were in a similar predicament at the moment. However, you were stripped of the luxury of turning yourself away from the source of the sunlight so that your back was against the window to shield yourself from the sun. No, instead, Sae’s arms wrapped around your waist, head rested into your neck, his breathing tickling you ever so slightly. The way he positioned himself made it hard for you to move without waking him up.

You huffed softly through your nostrils, contemplating closing your eyes and returning to your slumber. The idea didn’t seem half bad to you; however, you had school, and if you didn’t get up to get ready soon, you would definitely be late. 

You managed to wiggle yourself out of Sae’s grasp, freezing every time he made a sound or switched positions. Ultimately, you managed to escape the bedroom without waking him, leading you to quickly grab an outfit and dart into the bathroom to prepare yourself for the rest of the day.

It turned out that you had lots of time to spare, resulting in you sitting on the kitchen island wondering what to do with the leftover time. You didn’t want to wake Sae because, even if he couldn’t see it, he was terribly sick. 

You weren’t blind to Sae’s poor eating habits. Because he couldn’t cook, he usually subjected himself to buying takeout if he couldn’t have a cooked meal with you. And, if he wasn’t going to order fast food, it was because he had forgotten about eating altogether. 

This led you to take the role of making sure he ate properly. You were pretty good at the task. However, it was hard for you to make sure he ate breakfast, as he woke up at a far too early hour of the day that you were not prepared to wake up at.

You put your phone down on the counter, stretching once before coming to the decision that you’d make your boyfriend breakfast. You wouldn’t be able to see him for most of the day due to your classes, and this would be the most caring thing you’d be able to do for him now.

It didn’t take you too long to make your first perfect batch of pancakes. After plating them and putting the dishes you used into the dishwasher, you tip-toed your way up the stairs and into your bedroom. You nudged the slightly closed door open with your hip, hands currently occupied with the food you cooked for Sae. He was still peacefully sleeping, soft snores leaving his mouth because his nose was clogged.

The corner of your lips twitched upwards at the sight of him, your brain poking at you to run a hand through his ashy red hair. You ended up giving in to the urge, setting the plate and cup of water on the bedside table as quietly as possible. Your hand first went to his forehead, nearly wincing from how hot it was. There was no doubt in your mind he was sick.

Your mind wandered off as you kept playing with Sae’s soft hair, not noticing how his tired eyes started to open slowly.

If there was a heaven, Itoshi Sae was experiencing it right now. 

Thanks to his career path, there weren’t many days that he woke up after you. However, today was different. Today, he had gotten to experience the feeling of hands raking through his hair, the scent of what he presumed to be breakfast filling his nose delicately. And, if that wasn’t enough, from the moment he opened his eyes, long lashes fluttering away from each other to reveal his beautiful blue eyes, he was able to capture the sight of you looking down at him.

This had to be heaven.

The euphoric feeling only lasted a minute, the symptoms of his cold hitting him like a truck soon after. He grumbled in annoyance at the pain that was shooting through his body, bringing the covers closer to his body to preserve some body heat.

You chuckled at his actions, sitting down on the side of the bed so you could talk to him. 

“How are you feeling, princess?” Sae furrowed his eyebrows at your sarcasm, sneering at you, which only made your laughter more prominent. His mannerism reminded you of a child who refused to go to school in the morning.

 “What time is it?” He asked in a dazed voice.

“Uh… 10:30.” You said, looking at the large bolded numbers at the top of your screen. “Shoot, I have to get going for school.”

You scooted your body closer to his face, pressing a kiss on his forehead before standing up to leave. 

“I’ll be back soon. Call me if you need anything-” Your words were interrupted by the redhead, who grabbed your forearm and forced you to sit back down on the mattress. You narrow your eyes at him from the sudden gesture, waiting for him to properly sit up before starting any banter.

“Sae, I really have to go. I’m going to be late.” He opened his mouth to say something but was quickly interrupted by a sneeze.

“Can’t you just skip?” The remark made you roll your eyes. Of course, Sae would suggest something like that.

“No, I can’t just-” You wanted to continue your sentence; tell him no because you couldn’t afford to skip another day. But when he was looking at you with slightly glossy eyes brows, an expression on his face that was practically begging you to stay with him, how could you possibly say no?

“Please?” He knew saying no to him wasn’t something that came easy to you, and he was using it to his advantage. You grumbled quietly, loud enough for him to hear but not articulate enough to understand what you were saying. 

Sae picked up his phone from his bedside table, shuddering at the cool air that hit his arm. He raised his brow when scrolling through the mass amount of messages he received from his coach and teammates. His confused expression quickly changed; his lips pursed as he read the messages.

When he fell back asleep, Sae forgot to inform anyone that he wouldn’t be coming in for practice. And because everyone seemed to depend on him (or at least what he thought), they were having some sort of heart attack from him not showing up.

The football player quickly typed a short, dry response to his coach before turning his phone off and throwing it to the side. His attention was back on you, who had gotten off the bed again and was about to put on a pair of shoes.

“Wow, you made me cancel practice just for you to leave me alone? I’m hurt.” The snarkiness in his voice made you scoff.

“Well from your peachy attitude I can tell your fever isn’t too high. I’m sure you can take care of yourself for just a few hours.” Sae puffed out his reddened cheeks, crossing his arms across his chest. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his mannerism.

“My love, do you want me to do everything for you? Would you like me to undress you and shower you myself?” 

The two of you both knew that you were clearly joking. It was apparent in the tone of your voice. However, seeing as Sae’s lips curled upwards into a sinister smile, you widen your eyes in disbelief. You swiftly walked towards him and flick his forehead to rid him of his weird, perverted thoughts.

He grunted from the slight pain he felt from getting his forehead flicked, narrowing his eyes at you as you smiled delightfully at his discomfort.

“I hope you die.”

“Awe, I love you too!”

~

It was stupid how quickly Sae got you to skip school. 

You were so persistent in leaving, allowing him to rest on his own without you distracting him. However, now that you had his head on your lap, you couldn’t imagine ever leaving him in the first place.

The two of you sat in the living room, the TV blaring noise from a show none of you were actually watching, instead letting it act as background noise. You scrolled through your phone with one hand, the other raking through Sae’s ashy hair. He, at some point, was also on his phone, though he was now sleeping comfortably with your favorite blanket.

Despite what you said earlier, Sae’s fever had started to rise, which caused you to worry more. You were used to common fevers, though he was beginning to exceed what could be considered the common cold.

The thought of calling the doctor wandered into your mind. You knew Sae wouldn’t be too fond of the idea and would try to convince you that he was perfectly fine. He would then later continue on to rant about how a doctor wouldn’t know what was best for him nor how he truly was feeling. (Well, at least that’s what he tried to convince himself from when he was a small child.)

 Despite this, you entertained your mind with the possibility of him having the flu. You definitely did not have the proper medication to treat the virus, and there was only so much that Ibuprofen could do.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the body in front of you shifting positions, moving from facing the television to facing upwards at the ceiling instead. You stared at Sae’s sleeping face for a good two minutes, contemplating once more the idea of making him an appointment. And, after letting out a soft sigh, you turned on his phone and went into his contacts to call his doctor’s office.

You only got so close to hitting the call button that you felt a hand grip your wrist firmly.

“Hey-”

A pair of bloodshot blue eyes stare up at you, a knowing look contained in them.

“What are you doing, mi amor?”

Fuck. Of course, Sae had to use Spanish pet names. He knew how quickly it made you fold, made you into a stuttering mess and forced you to tell the truth.

“I was just… calling your doctor.” The sheepishness in your voice warmed Sae’s heart, almost making him ignore what you said. 

Almost.

He quickly swipes the phone out of your hand, getting off your lap and scooting away from you and towards the other side of the couch. Your mouth was hanging slightly agape at his actions.

“You can’t be serious.” He folded his arms around his torso, knees bent towards his stoic and severe face. He was being dead serious.

“Sae you have a high fever, it wouldn’t be bad to at least check-”

“I’ll be fine. All some dipshit doctor is going to tell me is to rest and take some more days off. Days that I can’t afford to miss.” You roll your eyes at him. 

“Aren’t you the one who’s always going on about how annoying your coach is-” he took you off guard by throwing a pillow at your face, causing your posture to stumble a bit. You bit the inside of your cheek, a menacing look on your face. So that’s how he wanted to play?

“I’m going to beat you up right now if you don’t give me your phone.” You threatened as you fixed your posture, an arm reached out towards your boyfriend. He held it to his chest protectively, squinting at you as if he were daring you to try and grab the device out of his strong hands. 

“You’re acting like a child!” You complained, eye twitching at your boyfriend’s incompetence. You soon came to the realization that Sae was not going to reason with you and that you had to go for a second approach. 

Attack.

You quickly placed your phone on the coffee table to avoid damaging it. Sae noticed your new attitude and put his guard up. 

“You’re really going to fight a sick person? Wow.” You paid little to no mind to his speech as you rolled your sleeves up. 

“You forced me to, I never wanted to do this.” 

“Try me, loser.” 

You quickly jumped on top of him, a gasp escaping his lips the moment you’d done so.

“GIVE ME THE PHONE-”

He held the arm that held his phone as far away from you as possible, not having enough energy to do anything more than defend himself.

“Come reach it, shorty.” You knitted your eyebrows and smacked his arm hard.

“OW.” He hissed, instinctively putting his other arm down, using it to rub the one you hit. 

“You should be the last person talking about other people being short.” You grumbled, taking his temporarily stunned body as an opportunity to snatch his phone right out of his hand. Unfortunately for you, he was quick to react, tightening his hand around the phone. 

The back-and-forth fight lasted for five more minutes, ending quicker than usual due to Sae’s shortness of breath. In the end, his phone in your hand with him wheezing underneath you. You were also out of breath, head resting on top of his. On any other day, Sae would definitely have taken your vulnerable state to steal the phone back. However, he was on the verge of falling asleep again, exhaustion hitting him so hard that even the thought of lifting his hand filled him with dread.

“Aren’t you-” Sae went into a coughing fit, his lungs burning with each cough. “Aren’t you going to call my doctor?”

The sourness in his voice nearly humored you enough to laugh out loud; however, you, much like the boy you were straddling, were tired out of your mind. The idea of getting up, adequately dressing, and then driving all the way to the clinic made your body flood with dread.

“Shut up.” You mumbled, grabbing the blanket that was discarded just a couple inches away from the two of you. Sae’s lips curled upwards as you wrapped the blanket around both of your bodies. He decided, however, not to make a snarky or sarcastic remark on how you changed your mind, instead closing his eyes and letting sleep overcome him.

~

When Itoshi Sae woke up the following day, he was pleased to find that the sick feeling he had felt yesterday had vanished, thanks to your care. He still had slight coughing fits from time to time, but all in all, he had returned to his original state.

The football star didn’t waste time getting ready for his busy day, as he had double the work to do because he missed yesterday. 

He swiftly grabbed his bag off the floor of your shared bedroom, doing his best not to wake you up. He, however, was shown that his attempts were futile, the sound of you shifting in your bed alerting him. 

When hearing your movements die down, he started to walk out the bedroom door and into the hallway, twisting the knob so the door wouldn’t close too loudly.

Only then did he pause abruptly at the sound of two soft coughs from the other side of the wall. 

‘Shit.’

First time writing for blue lock ‼️ lmk how I did :))

[cosmichighpriestess]

Chosen Ones, Be Wise As Serpents and Innocent As Doves.

One thing about you Chosen One, is you know how to heal yourself. It doesn’t matter how many attacks you have had to go through in your lifetime. You always survive and dodge each bullet shot at you, and you always take accountability for your actions because you never intend to hurt anyone. 444 as I say this. You are a precious gem in this world, you are an extremely rare diamond, extremely exclusive person that few deserve full access to. You are a beacon of purity. You walk with Yeshua.

God chose you, and your ancestors chose you to break generations worth of trauma, toxic cycles and curses once and for all to evolve our species and planet. This life chose you because you were the only person in your bloodline who could break the cycles. Yes You. You have the hardest job on the planet. It is not for the faint of heart. Every single lower timeline reality rejected you and pushed us out. Every single person could not handle our authenticity and light because it threatened their shadow. Every single job and career rejected us, and God made you quit or get fired because your energy was too valuable, too precious, to be wasting time in a place that was not in alignment with your higher path. We felt rejected by the entire world.

Always remember when someone rejects you that is their own limitations and limiting beliefs feeling threatened and is not a reflection of your true worth. They are rejecting apart of themselves what they are capable of being. What you may not have realized in those draining times is that after you left they realized they lost out on someone very real, and special. When you were in their lives they received good luck, abundance, promotions, fame, praise, light and favor. They thought your abundant energy belonged to them and was their own hard work and energy. But they were just using and abusing others to get up.

As soon as you left and they rejected you, the favor went out the door and they lost everything, lost their good reputation, their jobs, their world became dark and they received bad luck and karma and only met inauthentic people who lied to them, used them and cheated on them. They treated us like we were worth two cents. They mistook your kindness for weakness and naivety. You were reading them and seeing right through them the entire time observing in silence. You are at the top of the food chain appearing to be at the bottom. God did this on purpose to teach them a lesson.

That is why you are always isolated and alone cursebreaker, black sheep. God/Source needed you isolated so you could soley focus on healing yourself and the matters at hand without lower vibrational energies (narcissists) constantly using and abusing your healing energy, vampirac distractions. Taking and taking what they have not worked hard on like you have done daily. They stole your crown and they look like a clown wearing it. They love to profit off all your hard work giving you zero credit for it. They can’t even sit with themselves and be in their own energy.

You send people into ego deaths on the daily. Isn’t it comical and infuriating, how they benefit off your abundant energy and use it to feed their ego, and they look down on you still? Yet, have the audacity to copy and steal from you continuously? As if they put in the hours and hours of introspection, deep prossesing, pushing through intense emotions, manifesting, meditating connecting to Source and healing like you did? Isn’t it funny that your demons who now work for you, have been testing your copycats with integrity lessons everyday and they keep failing? Even in the midst of your darkest experiences, you learned a lesson from them. You are the opposite of fake. You’re not fake love and light. You’re balanced in your darkness. You know yourself. They think you’re full of it. You are not narcissistic, you are pure divine love.

They think they can duplicate your pure, divine energy. Chosen One, you will often be copied, but you can never be duplicated. You are One of One. You are irreplaceable. People are afraid to approach you, because you are a forbidden territory. You have spiritual bodyguards. Your energy is so unique and powerful. Your light is blinding. From the higher perspective of Source you are equal to everyone and everyone is loved unconditionally and forgiven by Source, but the difference between you and most people is that God/ Source can trust you, and you trust Source/God/The Universe completely. Your love is unconditional.

Because you know Source/God/The Universe is your provider and protector. You’ve experienced it. Your faith could move mountains. While others seek to get even, retaliate and cause more unnecessary pain and trauma in an already dark world, you Chosen One, trust God will handle your burdens for you, keeping your energy pure and safe for Source to trust you. You are not a victim, you are a warrior, you didn’t let your circumstances define you. You didn’t let what other people did ruin your future. You decided to keep going despite all odds against you. You are the definition of resilience.

Chosen One, you have so much ammunition, it’s like you have two machine guns behind your back at all times, as well as an army behind you that you never unleash on any soul. No matter how much they betray you. You have information and secrets that could destroy lives. Yet, you keep it between you and God because you understand what you put out is what you get back. You have excellent karma. Even if you did share sensitive information, you shared it with complete strangers who would never even know who you were talking about.

You forgive people so often with no apologies because you have been burned so many times you lost count and it doesn’t even phase you anymore what toxic people do and say to you. Even though your anger is valid, anger is a completely normal emotion and you never attempt to burden anyone with your anger or pain. You feel extreme guilt for ever unintentionally hurting another. Your heart is so pure, rare and so beautiful.

They see you frustrated, angry and crying and call you weak, mentally ill even though they refuse to feel their pain and heal themselves so they give you all their pain and anger to transmute for them. They unleash their anger onto you instead of feeling it fully themselves. Yet, you’re the weak one? You have been a safe space for others to unload and vent to about their lives, their problems and heartbreaks but no one gave you the time and space to tell your heavy story, to share your problems and vent about your trauma, extreme spiritual warfare and your heavy story with. They hold space for each other while leaving you to be ignored.

They treated you like you were not important and like you hadn’t been through anything, they talked right over you, changed the subject or completely ignored you and walked away. There was no one who wanted to listen to your intense stories and pain, so you began to minimize the trauma and pain you went through and you actually started to believe that you weren’t worthy of being heard and listened to. You questioned if it was even important.

You cried to God instead and God counted every tear you shed. Your heart hardened and you stopped trusting people to be vulnerable with. You felt like you were stuck in limbo because you were the bridge to heaven all along. You became so silent and so distant that people thought there was nothing special about you besides your looks or what you could do for them. You were so overlooked, misunderstood and forgotten about that they treated you like a burden instead of a gift from God.

You waited quietly, patiently for them for years to wake up from their endless ignorance, but they had too much pride and they were stuck in their ego, they never wanted to give you credit for how strong you were inside. You held it together even though you wanted to die most days. There was a boiling lava fire within you, that was holy sacred rage, because even your anger is divine.

All you ever desired was to be free and have peace from this horrible life but you could never be free because you were always in service to others with only breadcrumbs in return from them. They always put you in danger. You worked so hard everyday with almost nothing to show for it in your 3D physical reality. You worked blindfolded through a dark maze not knowing what the point of it all was, longing for promise, a miracle, a rainbow at the end of the storm but your days just kept getting harder and harder.

Chosen One, your beautiful, inner glow shines so brightly that your light is seen from the heavens and all the years that you waited for things to get better have finally come. God did not forget about you. The Universe never gave up on you. God needed them to underestimate you so God could prepare your table for you in front of them. You are so grateful for every experience you’ve been through. You still found a way to be grateful even if things were not what you wanted them to be. That’s what makes you so strong and resilient.

You were always meant to fly and escape your torturous life, you are a walking talking miracle. You are a gift anywhere you step foot in. You’ve been looking for a miracle, but you were the miracle the entire time. You saved yourself, and you saved so many others and because you chose to serve others for the light, you chose to love and forgive those who betrayed you, you will finally go home now to the place you always belonged. I know it’s been very lonely, but you will always have God. Don’t forget about God when you receive your blessings. God said, don’t worry about a thing because every little thing is gonna be alright. Don’t worry you’re safe and provided for. You can build a castle with all the bricks they threw at you. And you did. You built your castle and now you sit on your throne.

You are free now. Because you have suffered so much, it is a law in this Universe that you MUST as a law, experience ecstasy for the rest of your life. Ecstasy and heaven on Earth is yours for the taking from now on. Your hunger to taste heaven while you were burning in hell has finally paid off. Congratulations light warrior, curse breaker, sacred rebel, light holder, earth angel, black sheep, God, Goddess, Chosen One you won the war. God has an extraordinary plan for you.

You can take off your warpaint now, take off your armor, no more suffering, give your burdens to God and watch what God is about to do for you in front of the very people who sought to destroy you. Let people talk sh about you and stay unbothered. Forgive. Forgive. Forgive them and love them but let it go. Let their jaws drop when they see you next. Be anxious for nothing. Rest your tired soul. You’ve done the hard part already. Hold the light. Continue to count all your blessings. Never settle for less than you deserve. Breathe. Be proud of yourself. Protect your peace at all costs. Be at peace shining star. I love you, God loves you unconditionally. Get ready.