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omegapropaganda · 2 months ago

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The Armpit and the Pendulum

cw: dubcon, power imbalance, armpits, mostly unedited horny rambling

Captain John Price x Trans Male Reader

2.6k words

for @ferindencadash

The first time Price put you in a headlock you were just doing some simple sparring. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just two bodies fighting for dominance like good soldiers do. Your response was out of the ordinary though. Face smushed into the captain’s armpit you took one last desperate breath and the fight left you.

Price was surprised at how quickly you submitted to him. He held you there for half a second longer than necessary. He was testing you. Wanted to see if his theory was correct. You tried to hide how affected you were by the proximity to what you had coveted for so long, but the quick flutter of your lashes as he pressed your nose deeper into the sweat soaked fabric covering his armpit told him everything he needed to know.

The next few days were a whirlwind of training and there was something about your commanding officer that was throwing you off your game. Price's wardrobe was slowly changing. The normal T-shirts he wore began slowly evolving into cut off sleeveless monstrosities that all but yelled at you, begging you to stare at the juncture where his arm met his chest and the little wiry brown hairs peeked out.

Price also became more... tactile with you. A high five here and there after a successful take down in hand to hand or an arm slung around your shoulders on the way to the showers after weight training, all of these motions giving you tantalizing glimpses of his sweat soaked skin.

It was driving you crazy. You were becoming desperate for another chance to get up close and personal with your captain's scent.

Your desperation would prove to be your downfall.

One day while training in the Task Force's private gym Price stripped his sweat soaked shirt from his body and tossed it onto the nearest piece of equipment. He continued his jog on the treadmill, and you did your best to focus on your own workout rather than letting your eyes follow the lines of his back and the way his hair stuck to his body with fresh sweat.

That way lies madness.

Price finished his run and wiped the sweat from his brow with the towel he had around his neck. He made for the door, warm hand rubbing the short hairs on your head on his way out, letting you know he was headed for the showers.

As soon as the door was shut your eyes zeroed in on the forgotten shirt.

It was just sitting there all alone, draped across some fancy work out machine that you had only ever seen in public gyms.

The rest of the team were off at the shooting range and most likely wouldn't be back for hours.

And Price was headed to the showers, so nobody would be in here for a while.

You had time.

You waited a few moments, listening for footsteps just in case, before getting up from the bench and grabbing Price's forgotten shirt. It had begun to dry, no longer soaked through as the sweat evaporated in the heat of the gym, but the scent was still there.

It was heady and pure, no trace of synthetic fragrances, just the spicysweet clean musk of a man. Not just any man though, this was your captain, your boss, your superior. You were not supposed to be lusting after him. Craving him. You were in dangerous waters entertaining these thoughts, but that seemed to only make you want him more.

With the scent of your captain invading and making itself at home in your senses you were lost. You were huffing it down like a drug, getting high off Price's dirty laundry like some kind of pervert. There was a part of you that wanted more of him. You wanted to take this scent and taste it straight from the source. Wanted to bury your nose in his hairy armpit, lick him clean until there was no trace of sweat left and then start on the other side. You wanted to worship that man, pay tribute to his body in the only way you knew how.

Without much more thought your hand traveled into your exercise shorts and under your boxers, heading straight for where you wanted to be touched the most. Your fingers were met with moist heat as they slipped just far enough into your slit to gather that moisture and begin stroking your dick. You no longer cared that you were in the middle of the gym with your face buried in Price's dirty shirt and your hand down your pants. The only thing that mattered now was finding that release you had denied yourself for so long.

This wasn't going to take long at all. You were already on edge and panting into Price's shirt. You were trying to be quiet, but in the silence of the gym your moans could only be muffled so much by the dirty cloth. There was a buzzing in your body starting right behind your navel warning you that the end was near. You were going to cum. You were so close, just a little bit more pressure and you would be sent over the edge into oblivion.

“Can’t believe I forgot my- Oh!”

Your entire body froze. Like being submerged in a bathtub full of ice water. All the blood left your face as your eyes shot open to find Price just inside the doorway. His eyes were flitting between where your hand had disappeared in your shorts and the shirt currently pressed against your face, hiding everything except your shame filled eyes. “What do you think you’re doing, soldier? Out in the open like this?"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What were you supposed to do now? You prayed to any god that would listen for them to take that moment and strike you down, putting you out of your misery. Your captain had just caught you jerking off in public, and there was no way to hide that you were thinking about him. And he was slowly getting closer. His gaze dark and stormy as he stalked towards you.

He was still shirtless, but the towel he left with was missing, giving you an unobscured view of Price’s hairy chest. You couldn't stop your eyes from dipping down to get a glimpse of his form once more. If this was going to be the end of your military career you wanted one last look before they sent you packing.

His hand gripped your chin tight, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You haven’t answered me, soldier. What were you doing? Tell me.”

You couldn’t speak. It felt like your tongue was plastered to the roof of your mouth, still frozen from the moment you were interrupted. Tremors wracked your body and your heart felt like it was trying to leave your chest. This must be what an animal feels like being hunted for sport. Toyed with, dragging out the hunt, delaying the inevitable only until the predator was left satisfied.

“Your hand is still in your pants.” He pulled his shirt out of your grasp and let his eyes settle on the waistband of your shorts. Now Price’s expression changed to something you hadn’t yet seen from the man. It was smug and condescending, but at the same time hungry.

“If you won’t tell me, I guess I’ll have to figure it out on my own.”

Price grabbed your wrist and started pulling. Finally your self preservation instincts started to kick in.

You struggled and fought against your captain, but he had you pinned on the floor under his large body in no time. His hips pressed down hard against yours, one of his muscular thighs wedged in between your legs. Any more friction there and you would be going off like a rocket, but you didn't dare move.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment when he finally freed your hand from the confines of your pants. Your fingers were drenched and shiny with your slick when he brought your hand into the light.

Price softly tutted under his breath as he moved your hand this way and that, inspecting every inch of your wet skin, before bringing your fingers into his mouth.

"Mmmm..." Price hummed low in his throat as he savoured the taste of you on his tongue. "Think I know what you've been up to now."

Price slowly began rocking his hips against yours, and you could feel something firm and weighty through his thin grey joggers.

"Such a dirty boy. You just couldn't help yourself."

His gentle thrusting wasn't enough to get you off. Just enough to keep you on edge, though his voice alone was doing a good enough job of that, you didn't need that added friction. If he kept this up for too much longer you were going to explode, and not in a good way.

"Been teasing you all week. Wondered when you would break."

Price's words brought you back to reality. Back to every memory from this past week. All the extra friendly touches. The wardrobe changes. All the flashes of armpit too close to your face that you thought were accidents.

They had all been planned.

"What the fuck, Price?!" There were so many emotions bubbling in your chest, but the easiest to latch on to was anger.

Price's grip on you tightened and his hips were working just a bit faster as he growled in your ear. “What? You going to tell me you didn’t like it? That you don’t want me to smother you with my scent right now? Are you going to try to tell me you’re not drenched right now like a dirty fuckin’ slut waiting to be used?”

"Bastard." You mumbled without much heat into your shoulder as you tried to hide your face from your captain. Sure, all of this had been by his design, and you weren't really in trouble, but he had still scared the shit out of you. You were embarrassed and horny and still riding the adrenaline high from the fear. It was an intoxicating mixture of emotions.

You couldn't stop the deep moan that left your lips when Price's bristly beard scraped against your sensitive skin as he kissed up and down the column of your neck.

"So glad you took the bait," he whispered into your skin. "Didn't think I was going to last much longer. Loved seein' you like that. Such a sweet boy actin' like a slag."

You felt bereft as the weight of Price's body against yours was stolen from you, but his hands were back on your skin in no time as he pulled your pants down and off of one leg, leaving them to dangle from the ankle he pulled up and over his shoulder.

Price's mouth was divine. It was a gift from God. Maybe you had actually died in a freak gym related accident and this was what heaven was like.

He sucked your dick like it was his job. Just as focused on licking up and down your slit, tasting every bit of you, as he was on any mission out in the field.

His arms wrapped around your hips keeping you from bucking up and away from the terrible wonderful overbearing sensations.

Your eyes had closed the moment his mouth was on you, but when you finally opened them all you could see was the top half of his face, brows furrowed and eyes unblinking as his moustache moved in time with the ripples of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Please..." you gasped. Everything felt so good, but you wanted, no, you needed more. "Please let me taste you, Sir!"

Price's mouth left your cunt after a few last slurping sucks to your cock that left you shuddering and in one dizzying movement he had you flipped.

Price was now laying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head as he pulled his cock out of his pants, tucking the waistband behind his balls. He pulled the foreskin back and forth over the ridge of his glans. Not enough friction to cum just yet, but enough to ease the ache in his balls just a bit.

Once your eyes locked on to the man's pit and its garden of coarse hair you couldn't think of anything else. You dove face first into it, snuffling and licking, your attention solely focused on tasting more of him.

He was savoury and salty, pungent with musk, but not bitter with antiperspirant. He really had been planning this. Your captain wanted you dumb and drooling over his pits. Maybe even craved it just as much as you did.

You moved to straddle his hips, grabbing the hand that he was currently using to slowly jack himself off and raised it above his head. You had thoroughly licked over every inch of one pit and now you needed the other. In this new position you could now rub your dick up and down Price’s, leaving a warm wet trail in its wake. Price’s free hand went to your hip and pressed you down further against him. You both groaned at the same time when your folds slipped open and rested on each side of his cock. The slip and slide of your cocks against each other sent shock waves of pleasure through your body.

“Good boy,” Price murmured against the top of your head, hand running up under your shirt exploring your heated skin. “You my good boy?”

Your mouth was too busy licking and leaving sucking kisses against his fragrant skin to answer, so all he received in response was a muffled whine of affirmation as you frotted against him.

Between the slick friction on your dick, the scent and taste of Price overwhelming your senses, and his praises you were back to that sweet spot before you had been interrupted, right on the edge of oblivion and then some.

“I… I’m gonna…” you whined into his skin, huffing down more and more of his scent as your hips moved in a desperate staccato against his.

“Go on, be a good boy and cum for me.”

You felt his words more than you heard them. The rumbling in his chest vibrating against your face as stars erupted behind your tightly closed eyes. It was like the snap of a rubber band stretched too tight, pure ecstasy filled your veins and overflowed where you were connected to your captain.

Price let you ride out your aftershocks and folded you into his chest before bending his knees to plant his feet flat on the floor. His arms moved to grip you tight around the waist, clutching you even closer to his body as his hips pressed you up into the air. He began rolling his hips in fast and powerful thrusts, moaning and grunting into your ear as he whispered dirty promises to you.

“Gonna fill you up one day. Fuck you till you’re full and leaking. Watch it spill out and fuck it back in you again and again.”

You had only just cum and yet Price’s words had you on that precipice once more, overstimulating you, riding that edge of pain and pleasure until you burst again. This time gushing all over his cock as you felt thick ropes of his cum erupting between your bodies.

Neither of you moved afterwards. Both taking a moment to bask in the afterglow and catch your breath before you even thought about trying to clean up. Worried thoughts tried to rise up about what this would mean for your future in the Task Force, but you batted them away. You could think those thoughts later. What mattered right now was the warmth of the man beneath you.

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hometoursandotherstuff · 9 months ago

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What a lovely 1923 English style home in Saint Louis, Missouri. It's been redone, but if I had to pick a home that did black, grays and white right, this one would be it. 4bds, 4ba, $1.295M.

Original arched doorways with a foyer and central hall open to the rooms on the main floor.

And, there are also stairs to the 2nd level.

Isn't this an attractive sitting room? It's black & gray, but perfectly mixes old and new.

Love this room so much- the original fireplace was left untouched.

Across the hall is an elegant dining room in deep blue with black trim, offset by just enough white.

From the dining room, enter a beautiful gray/blue kitchen.

What a lovely guest powder room.

Check out the spacious family room with doors to the patio.

There's also a 2nd powder room. Love that sink and the striped wallpaper.

Upstairs is the typically English curved open hall with wrought iron stair railings, niche and leaded glass windows.

Lovely large primary bedroom.

Wow, this is some en-suite redo.

Also up here is this wonderful porch.

The closet doesn't even look like one, it looks more like a boutique.

I wouldn't mind working in this classy home office.

One of the other beautiful secondary bedrooms and baths.

Check out the laundry room with 4 machines and comfy seating.

Lots of storage and room for a workshop.

Out in the garden.

The house has a sale pending and really, with all the remodeling, I think that $1.3M is a good price. It was only on the market 11 days. Lot Area: 8,407.08 sq. ft.

https://www.trulia.com/home/557-warren-ave-saint-louis-mo-63130-2747781

#english style home #houses #house tours #home tour

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yoongikapi · 8 months ago

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Okayyy but neighbor Levi???

You just moved into a satisfactorily priced apartment complex in the near outskirts of the city. Not in the heart, yet close enough to where you can walk to the grocery store!! You go to the gym that's within the complex (win in this economy) and surpriseee, your neighbor his a hot, nonchalant-looking man.

Stolen glances because he thinks you're nice to look at…sarcastically criticizes your form as an excuse to be your spotter🤭

i actually giggled and kicked my feet at the idea of this i love it tysm <3

hot neighbor || levi || modern au! oneshot

fluff?

aot masterlist

finally. after days of unpacking, decorating, and a ridiculous amount of grocery store trips you were fully moved in. folding up the rest of your laundry, you come across a pair of gym shorts and instantly remember the gym you’ve passed a million times on all of your grocery runs. you remember it looking really nice from the outside, and figured you’d go check it out.

the smell of sweat instantly filled your nose as people moved around the space. you squeeze your way by a group of people to an almost empty area and begin your workout. after your second set, a faint ‘excuse me’ startles you and as you remove your headphone you’re met with a beautiful pair of blue eyes.

his stare is sharp and pierces through you, and his deep, smooth voice catches you off guard; “excuse me, is anyone using this?” he asks and points to the machine next to yours, to which you quickly shake your head “no, go for it” you go to put your headphone back in but he speaks again, “also, you need to lift your elbows more when you do that”

taken back by his comment, you just decide to ignore it and you end up moving a couple of machines’ away from him.

as you continue your workout, you notice his gaze constantly drifting your way, which you find rather distracting. yes, he was good looking but you couldn’t help but think he was only watching to see if your form was right as you exercise. when he wasn’t watching you, you were watching him. he was mesmerizing; the way he moves, the way he carries himself, all of it. your eyes meet through the mirror and you look away, but he approaches you again. and of course, with another critique.

“you need to spread your feet apart more when you squat”

you smirk, “so you’re watching me squat?”

he says nothing, but makes no move to leave. instead, he stands in a squat position himself; showing you how it’s done. “this is how your feet should be” he motions down to his feet and you follow his gaze. he suddenly has you step up to the squat rack, and before you know it, you’re squatting with him watching; as your spot for safety reasons of course.

that’s what you keep telling yourself as you watch him watch you through the mirror. his eyes are on yours and he has no intention of looking away. after what feels like a lifetime, you’re walking back up to your apartment and him keeping you company.

“well thanks for the tips i guess” you say as you reach your door, “but you didn’t have to walk me back.”

he smiles at this and walks across the hall from you, pulling keys from his pocket and unlocking the door across from yours.

“who said i was walking you back? i was just going home.” he smirks at your shocked face, clearly unaware he was your neighbor. your super hot neighbor.

“see you around, neighbor” the words roll of his tongue in a teasing manner and he’s in his apartment before you could say anything in response.

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petalruesimblr · 10 months ago

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Heartland Community Center

Download Link: Sim File Share | MTS (for approval)

Description:

HCC is a vibrant hub of activity nestled in the heart of the neighborhood. Sign up for our diverse range of classes and workshops including art, music, writing, sculpting and soccer. We also offer convenient shower facilities, nursery and function room complete with buffet catering options that is perfect for gatherings available for reservations only. Staffed by dedicated volunteers, the HCC is your go-to destination for personal growth and community connection. Join us today!

Details:

Price: 109,851 Lot Size: 30x20 Version: 1.42 Store Content: None CC Used: 2 (Coffee Machine and the base needed for the Coffee Machine by ATS3) ⚠️Not included in the download Packs Needed: The Sims 3, Ambitions, Generation, Late Night and Seasons File Type: Package

This took me a while to finish because I had to make some last-minute changes to a few rooms and remove a few ideas that were already present in other community lots. This is also my first attempt at a modern build, so I kept second-guessing if it looked okay or not and wasn't entirely satisfied with some aspects, which took a longer time to complete.

Click on the Keep Reading below for more information and pictures on this lot.

I decided to create a community center that focuses on skill improvement, especially for those sims who may not have the means to acquire the necessary objects for skill-building.

There is an on-site nursery where parents can leave their children, complete with a custom playpen for toddlers to prevent wandering and toys to keep them occupied while also increasing their logic and music skills. Additionally, there's a 'pretend' changing area for toddlers or you can replace the counters with a Dirty No More Changing And Bathing Station from The Sims 3 Store, if preferred.

I placed bookcases containing toddler books in the nursery and skill books in the small library.

There is also a function room with a Buffet Table if ever they get hungry and unfortunately this lot can't be used for destination, birthday or campaign parties due to the lot is set as "Visitors Allowed". However, you can change the lot type if you'd like to host a party here to any of the following lots stated in this Wiki here.

You can also change the Soccer Goal to a Rim Rockin' Basketball Hoop from the The Sims 3 Store if you like that one better, I made sure that their sizes fit in that area.

Outside:

Soccer Goal

Bike racks

Decent parking

Basement:

4 Shower rooms

4 Lockers

4 Toilet Stalls

4 Sinks and counters

8 Mirrors

2 Laundry Basket

Free Towels

1st Floor:

Reception/Waiting area

Nursery: Custom Play Pen, Toys, Custom Changing And Bathing Station, Summer By The Sea Shelf Bookcase, TV

Small Library: The Book Corral and Penningway Bookshelfs, few couches

2nd Floor:

Art Room: 3 Artsy Easels

Sculpting Room: 2 Pedestrian Sculpting Stations

Music Room: Marvin Beats Drum Kit, 4 Sonaflux Guitars, 1 Shibata String Bass, Prudence Pennypincher's Portable Piano

Computer Room: 4 computers

Function Room: 1 Great Eats' Recycled Consumables Buffet Table, Balloons, 8 dining chairs and 2 dining tables, 1 Public Sounds Stereo, Get Up, Get Down Dance Floor

#petalruesimblr #the sims 3 #ts3 #ts3 simblr #sims 3 download #sims 3 lots #sims 3 screenshots #ts3 download #ts3 screenshots #ts3 simmer #the sims 3 community center #ts3 community center #sims 3 #ts3 community #Community Lot

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macravishedbymactavish · 1 year ago

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Dishes Vs. Laundry Headcanons (TF141 + Alex)

Based off the theory that every couple has someone who prefers doing laundry while the other prefers dishes. NOT an x reader HC list

Amazing at fitting all the dishes into the dishwasher.

Soap // Dishes

Not to mention it takes care of all the work for his dishwasher safe items (95% of his kitchen)

The other 5% (all his cutlery - somehow he ended up with all handwash only) is washed and drying in under 10 minutes.

Side note: he runs out of forks the quickest and can't quite figure out why.

Then it's waiting for the dishwasher to be done, the dishes to be dried and quickly putting them away.

Gets so, so sick of the guys making jokes about his codename in regards to this.

The first time was funny, the 10th time gets you a soaked shirt and Scottish swear words.

Doesn't hate laundry necessarily, but definitely not big on folding his clothes.

He just kind of accepts the fact that they're going to get wrinkles.

Accepts the fact that he'll be ironing his clothes for the rest of his life.

"Can't let those lessons from Ma go to waste"

Has, on more than one occasion, started doing his bedding in the morning and forgot about it until he was ready to sleep for the night.

Something about the meticulous process with sorting, folding, and putting away clothes just clicks with him.

Ghost // Laundry

Always sorts whites from colours

Has a seperate hamper by the washer for towels

Folds everything (even the underwear) into small little bundles when he packs for a trip or work.

Soap's entire worldview on laundry stresses him out a bit. Adding steps to a chore you already don't like?

Why

WHY

Not a fan of doing dishes. Somehow finds it more repetitive, time-consuming, and soul crushing.

Has thrown out 2 plates in his life because he couldn't be bothered with washing them

Has also genuinely contemplated Soap as a housemate when doing dishes.

"Solving each other's problems"

Has an expansive plastic cutlery collection.

Not even the type you'd buy in a large bulk pack from the store; but like cutlery, you get from takeout.

Argues that it's amazing for on the go lunches (you toss it out) and uses the forks to stir his coffee in the morning.

I would be lying if I told you this man hasn't thought of buying bulk everything to last him a month just so he doesn't have to clean.

Price // Neither, but does them anyway

Except Ghost pointed out that the bulk underwear would itchy, and Laswell refused to let him use her Costco card for this.

Not that he's messy or gross - no, no.

He is a rather clean guy but absolutely hates the process of getting there. It's mundane. It's exhausting.

Has walked by the washing machine, full of laundry he's waiting to swap over and muttered "fuckin' hell" when he realized it's not done yet.

Glares into the cupboard when he realizes his favorite mug is dirty, promptly glares at the mug for being dirty.

Then internally complains the entire time he's washing the thing. Despite having many other, perfectly suitable mugs in your cupboard. John.

He has the utmost pride in his appearance and is fairly meticulous about the care of his clothes.

Gaz // Laundry

It helps that his dad was the same way in his youth and taught him all the tricks to keeping things bright, getting stains out, and having the nicest smelling laundry.

Happily gives this advice out to his teammates and friends (no, I'm not doing your laundry for you. Wankers)

While doing dishes is sort of the same concept (different care needs for different things), he finds it too much of a pain when cooking.

As Kyle is the "seven knives" meme.

Yeah.

It also doesn't help that he always organizes the cupboards and drawers before all the dishes are done

Then, he has to start re-doing everything when he runs out of room for bowls.

Which typically ends up in the surplus of clean dishes stacked neatly on the counters or table.

Not by concious choice

Alex // Says he doesn't mind either, but it's actually neither

He truly doesn't mind either. he's just too much of a free spirit about it.

I'm talking: "eh, I'm fine to do it on the weekend"

Then, realizes he has one set of clean boxers left on a random Wednesday night.

Or forgets the clean laundry in the washer until it gets a weird smell and needs to be rewashed

Kyle had no other advice other than:

Just don't forget it in there then???

The same goes for the dishes in the dishwasher (minus the weird smell)

80/20 split on dishes, though (clean, sitting in the dishwasher)

80% of the time, he'll grab whatever dishes he needs for meals or cooking from the dishwasher as he goes.

20% of the time, he'll take everything out and put it away.

100% of the time, he promises himself to get the entire process done in one day (then 80% of the time forgets)

Taglist (all content): @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

Taglist (Alex content): @glitterypirateduck @deadbranch @gcing-back-to-505

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quirkymarshmallows93 · 1 year ago

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Gas Station Stream of Consciousness Post

Gas Stations as Liminal Spaces

I've had quite a few hyperfixations in my day - ATMs, laundry detergents, credit cards - so my current one pertaining to gas stations is fitting considering my affinity for liminal spaces and the dedication of this blog to them. Liminal spaces are transitory in nature, hence their portrayal in online circles through photos of carpeted hallways, illuminated stairwells, dark roads, and backrooms, among other transitional points.

Gas stations are posted online as well; images of their fuel pumps or neon signage photographed through a rainy car window communicate their liminality and the universal experiences they provide to all of society. Perhaps they are the ultimate specimen of a liminal space. The machines they are created for, automobiles and tractor trailers alike, themselves are tools for motion, vestibules that enable travel and shipment across long distances at high speeds. Cars and roads are liminal spaces, albeit in different formats, and gas stations serve as their lighthouses. Vehicles at filling stations, therefore, are in a sense liminal spaces within liminal spaces within liminal spaces.

The uniqueness of a gas station as a liminal space, however, is its intersection with the economics and aesthetics of capitalism. Gasoline (and diesel fuel) is a commodity, downstream from crude oil, merely differentiated by octane ratings. Some argue that minute distinctions between agents, detergents, and additives make some brands better than others. Indeed, fuels that are approved by the Top Tier program, sponsored by automakers, have been shown to improve engine cleanliness and performance, but this classification does not prefer specific refiners over others; it is simply a standard. To a consumer, Top Tier fuels are themselves still interchangeable commodities within the wider gasoline commodity market.

The Economics of Gas Stations

The market that gas stations serve is characterized by inelastic demand, with customers who reckon with prices that fluctuate day in and day out. This is not to say that consumer behavior does not change with fuel prices. It has been observed that as prices rise, consumers are more eager to find the cheapest gas, but when prices fall, drivers are less selective with where they pump and are just happy to fill up at a lower price than last week. In response, gas stations lower their prices at a slower rate than when increasing prices, allowing for higher profit margins when wholesale prices fall. This has been dubbed the "rockets and feathers" phenomenon.

When portrayed as liminal spaces, gas stations are most often depicted at night, places of solitude where one may also enter the adjacent convenience store and encounter a fellow individual who isn't asleep, the modern day lightkeeper. The mart that resides at the backcourt of a gas station is known to sell goods at higher prices than a supermarket, simultaneously taking advantage of a captive customer, convenient location, and making up for the inefficiencies of a smaller operation. It may come as no surprise, then, that gas stations barely make any money from fuel sales and earn their bulk through C-store sales. This is a gripe I have with our economic system. Business is gamified, and in many cases the trade of certain goods and services, called loss leaders, is not an independent operation and is subsidized by the success of another division of a business, a strategy inherently more feasible for larger companies that have greater scale to execute it.

Nevertheless, most gas station owners, whether they have just one or hundreds of sites, find this method fruitful. Even though most gas stations in the US sell one of a handful of national brands, they operate on a branded reseller, or dealer, model, with oil companies themselves generally not taking part in the operations of stations that sell their fuels. The giants do still often have the most leverage and margin in the business, with the ability to set the wholesale price for the distributor, which sells at a markup to the station owner, which in turn will normally make the least profit in the chain when selling to the end customer at the pump. This kind of horizontal integration that involves many parties lacks the synergies and efficiencies of vertical integration that are so applauded by capitalists, but ends up being the most profitable for firms like ExxonMobil, who only extract and refine oil, and on the other end of the chain merely license their recognizable brands to the resellers through purchasing agreements. Furthermore, in recent years, independent dealers have sold their businesses to larger branded resellers, in many cases the ones from whom they had been buying their fuel.

A Word on ExxonMobil's Branding Potential

The largest publicly traded oil company in the world is Exxon Mobil Corporation. It is a direct descendent of the Rockefeller monopoly, Standard Oil, which was broken up in 1911 into 34 companies, the largest of which was Jersey Standard, which became Exxon in 1973. This title was generated by a computer as the most appealing replacement name to be used nationwide to unify the Humble, Enco, and Esso brands, decades before AI was spoken of. The latter brand is still used outside of the United States for marketing, arising from the phonetic pronunciation of the initials of Standard Oil. In 1999, Exxon and Mobil merged, and the combined company to this day markets under separate brands. Exxon is more narrowly used, to brand fuel in the United States, while Mobil has remained a motor oil and industrial lubricant brand, as well as a fuel brand in multiple countries.

Mobil originated in 1866 as the Vacuum Oil Company, which first used the current brand name for Mobiloil, and later Mobilgas and Mobilubricant products, with the prefix simply short for "automobile". Over time, Mobil became the corporation's primary identity, with its official name change to Mobil Oil Corporation taking place in 1966. Its updated wordmark with a signature red O was designed by the agency Chermayeff & Geismar, and the company's image for service stations was conceived by architect Eliot Noyes. New gas stations featured distinctive circular canopies over the pumps, and the company's recognizable pegasus logo was prominently on display for motorists.

I take issue with the deyassification of the brand's image over time. As costs were cut and uniformity took over, rectangular canopies were constructed in place of the special ones designed by Noyes that resembled large mushrooms. The pegasus remained a prominent brand icon, but the Mobil wordmark took precedence, which I personally believe to be an error in judgement. This disregard for the pegasus paved the way for its complete erasure in 2016 with the introduction of ExxonMobil's "Synergy" brand for its fuel. The mythical creature is now much smaller and appears only at the top right corner of pumps at Mobil gas stations, if at all.

Even into the 90s and the 21st century the Pegasus had its place in Mobil's marketing. In 1997, the company introduced its Speedpass keytag, which was revolutionary for its time and used RFID technology, akin to mobile payments today, to allow drivers to get gas without entering the store or swiping a card. When a Speedpass would be successfully processed, the pegasus on the gas pump would light up red.

When Exxon and Mobil merged in 1999, the former adopted the payment method too, with Exxon's less iconic tiger in place of the pegasus.

The program was discontinued in 2019 in favor of ExxonMobil's app, which is more secure since it processes payments through the internet rather than at the pump.

What Shell has done with its brand identity is what Mobil should've done for itself. The European company's logo was designed in 1969 by Raymond Loewy, and is a worth contender for the "And Yet a Trace of the True Self Exists in the False Self" meme. In recent years, Shell went all in on its graphic, while Mobil's pegasus flew away. I choose to believe that the company chose to rebrand its stations in order to prevent the malfunction in the above image from happening.

ExxonMobil should have also discontinued the use of the less storied Exxon brand altogether, and simplifying its consumer-facing identity to just the global Mobil mark. Whatever, neither of the names are actual words. As a bonus, here is a Google map I put together of all 62 gas stations in Springfield, MA. This is my idea of fun. Thanks for reading to the end!

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fragileizywriting · 10 days ago

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the laundry room is more of a suggestion than an actual room. smack in the middle of the hallway that leads from the kitchen and into the bedrooms, it's tucked away into the closet, fitted with a pocket door to make it hidden away.

it's got the tub and the washboard— handwashing, how special— because though luka's rich, he's not rich enough to actually figure out how to set up an entire plumbing system on The Serenity to set up a laundry machine. a dryer is also out of the question— nobody can afford the energy prices on those things, christ— so they've instead rigged up a good ol' fashioned drying rack mounted on the high ceiling, with a pulley-rig that hangs low enough for her to actually reach without her little step stool, and maybe that's a good thing, actually. this is nice. not ideal, but anything they need to properly wash, they'll wash at her mom's house.

luka's band shirts are apparently better looking the more faded and distressed they are, anyway, and marinette likes washing her clothes by hand. gloves are necessary because she doesn't like to get her hands wet— "like a cat," luka teases, har har, how funny— but she's always liked taking care of her clothes. for her, a proper outfit is essential. is it high maintenance? or just consideration with her own stuff?

it's her turn to do the laundry this week, so it's her turn to put it away, too. which means...

"i'm stealing this," marinette snaps, taking the hoodie off the clothes line and squirreling it away into the hamper on her hip. the clothes pin twirls on the string from how fast she's pulled it down, and makes a flat twang like a disheveled guitar. "don't you dare try to stop me."

meanwhile, luka's in the middle of licking all the nutella off of his spoon— his only dessert for the week, attempting his best to gain some muscle back in his arms— and barely looks up at her while he sticks the rest of the spoon in his mouth.

"why would i stop you?" he says, or tries to, coming out a bit muffled. he must've got some on his fangs. he sounds like a dog licking at his own teeth. then, with a boyish smile that she hates so much: "as if you're going to manage to keep it on you, anyway."

"and what does that mean?"

"it means if i catch you wearing it, i'll fuck you, kitty." the intonation he gives is a resounding duh. especially with that shrug. "you're just too cute to ignore when you wear my clothes."

marinette shouts expletives at him from across the living room, face turning dark and red.

#speakizys #4am ginseng tea

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augenblicklich-lila · 2 years ago

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cod incorrect quotes #1

First post on this account! And it's about CoD. If you told me that a few months ago, I would've laughed in your face. Alas, I do not choose the hyperfixation, it chooses me, and boy, am I glad it did!

I was super bored one night and these are the result. I literally have so many of these. Too many. Probably.

Mainly Y/N stuff, platonic and romantic. Also has some Soapghost and Alerudy because I just love them a lot, okay? I think I kept most of this gn. Feel free to interpret however you like, this is just here for enjoyment and funsies! So enjoy :D

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛ ♛ （ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)つ━━✫・*。 ⊂　　ノ　　　・゜+. しーーＪ　　　°。+ *´¨)

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛

Y/N: I’m kind of crushing on someone, but I’m worried about telling you who it is, because you’re not going to like it. Ghost: Just rip the bandage off. Y/N: It’s Soap. Ghost: Put the bandage back on.

Ghost: What, in the name of sanity, have you got on your head? Alejandro: It's a fez, I wear a fez now. Fezzes are cool. Soap: snatches the fez, throws it in the air Ghost: shoots it

Soap: Tell me something dirty Y/N: Your kitchen

Price: You have an impressive pain tolerance. Y/N: Thanks, it's the trauma.

Ghost: I’ve only had Y/N for a day and a half but if anything happened to them I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.

Y/N: Don’t worry, I have a permit. Ghost: …This just says “I can do what I want”.

the Squad at Disneyland, in the teacups Ghost, Price, König, and Rodolfo: spinning a little and talking Alejandro, Gaz, Soap, and Y/N: flying past them, spinning as fast as they can, screaming

Ghost: If you got arrested what would be the charges? Gaz: Theft. Soap: Disturbing the peace. Alejandro: Aggravated assault. Rodolfo: Arson. Y/N: All of the above. In that order, probably (I THINK I SHOULD FEEL BAD FOR RODOLFO'S BUT IT IS HOW IT IS)

Soap: What's worse than heartbreak? Rodolfo: Waking up in the morning and your phone wasn't charging. Alejandro: Waking up in the morning. Ghost: Waking up. Y/N: Waking up in the morning… Y/N: And seeing Gaz. Gaz: Hey! Rude!!

Gaz: Who else is hiding in the laundry room trying to listen to Price and Ghost's convo? Y/N: Me. I'm in the laundry basket. Alejandro: I'm in the washing machine. Soap: I'm in the closet. Y/N: We accept you Soap. <3 Soap: No I'm literally in the closet. Y/N: Love is love. <3

Squad reactions to being called straight: Ghost: The fuck, no I'm not. Alejandro: Excuse the hell out of you? Soap: Ding dong, you are wrong! Gaz: Who told you that? And why did they lie? Rodolfo: Rude. Y/N: punches the person

Y/N: Soap is so… Ghost: Annoying? Rodolfo: Cute? König: Funny? Gaz: Weird? Y/N: I don't know, maybe if y'all let me FINISH for ONCE IN MY LIFE, I'd tell you!

Alejandro: The floor is lava! Ghost: helps Y/N onto the counter Gaz: kicks Soap off the sofa König: lays on the floor Rodolfo: …Are you okay? König: No.

The squad's reaction to being told they're the chosen one Price: I will not let you down. Soap: Sounds fun. Gaz: K. Y/N: No, I'm fucking not. Rodolfo: Do I have to be? König: Please god, I am so tired.

Ghost: When was the last time you cried? Y/N: Uh, like 15 minutes ago, why?? Ghost: really? That recent? Y/N: Yeah voice crack is that an issue? starts crying again

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛ 　 ∧＿∧ （｡･ω･｡)つ━☆・*。 ⊂　　ノ　　　・゜+. しーＪ　　　°。+ *´¨) “Hie thee home, little wanderer.”

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛

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gaytruckerthoughts · 4 months ago

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things that some trucking companies list as 'perks' to potential new drivers that are really just a given, or at least should be:

-a driver's lounge. what?? you mean at the company yard there is a place to.. sit down? whaaaaaat

-laundry. you mean your company yard provides 1-2 washer and dryer machines to the drivers that basically live in their trucks that belong to your company?? whhaaaat

addendum: im not joking, these mega-carriers that will have upwards of 40 tractors parked in a company yard overnight at once will usually not have more than 2 sets of laundry machines. it's ridiculous. in case you're wondering, the other place to do laundry on the road is at commercial truck stops, where they charge high prices and the machines don't work and it's a great time)

-weekly or bi-weekly pay. yeah that's how jobs usually work my guy. we're not going on the honor system here

-24/7 dispatch. whaat?? you mean if someone is making a delivery at 2am and they run into a problem or need an extra fuel stop, there will be someone available to call?? ridiculous. that sort of thing would never happen literally all the time. nobody has ever gotten into an accident and had to talk to the safety dept after business hours. unheard of

-electronic logs. any company that's not basically just one owner/operator who is using paper logs anymore is highly suspect, and is probably trying to coerce employees into driving unsafe/illegal hours

-fuel card. yeah obviously. if you are a company driver, or an owner/operator and paying your own fuel costs, it is extremely common for the company to provide a fuel card for at least one truck stop chain. they are going to do it to get discounts for their company drivers anyway, they should also let the owner/ops benefit

-flexible home time. you mean i can go home specifically in time for my niece's bat mitzvah or my grandmother's funeral?? how kind of you

-higher pay for specialized driving such as triples or heavy haul. obviously more difficult. requires more training and endorsements. and worse routing if there are roads you can't access. for example, an oversized load might not be able to fit under certain bridges, and some national parks don't allow hazmat tankers in case of spillage

-sufficient weekly or monthly miles rolling. people aren't signing up to drive in order to.. Not

ACTUAL perks to look for:

-rider/passenger policy (your partner or kid can be in the truck with you)

-pet policy (you can have a little friendo living in the truck)

-general pet policy, instead of like 'one pet allowed, and it has to be a dog under 40lbs and there's breed restrictions' bullshit (we have met some massive trucker puppies. depending on the individual dog, a large size dog can do fine in a truck)

-no pet deposit. like at an apartment where you have to pay a fee for the pet to stay there

-no slip seating, meaning you have the same truck for like a year at a time. generally you can also ask to have the tractor detailed/cleaned when you swap to another tractor that's not brand new. slip seating doesn't allow you to settle, in or decorate, and you often have to put up with smoke smell or a huge mess or whatever

-extra pay for things like extra stops on the same truckload, tarping [for flatbeds], passed dot inspections, detention hours, etc

-exclusively no touch freight or exclusively drop and hook freight. this is specifically for over-the-road, dedicated, or regional drivers though

-for lighter-than-truckload drivers, having a person to unload the truck, instead of having to drive and also ruin your spine and knees all in the same eventful day

-extra pay for driving in some urban areas, driving internationally, and having your hazmat endorsement

#otr trucking #trucking #truckingindustry #trucker problems

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ryaiga · 1 year ago

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The One God Forbade

Chapter 2

Pairing - Captain Price X GN!Reader X Lieutenant Riley

MDNI 18+ PLEASE.

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

Summary: You finally get some well deserved downtime, getting a new tattoo to hide a scar you had. However, you get a call saying that you were recently transferred from the ECHO team to Task Force 141.

AUTHOR’S NOTE AT THE END!

WARNINGS/CWS/TWS: Military terms that might be wrong, Paranoia, Drinking.

Spacers/Headers by: @mmadeinheavenn , @imlevis , @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

“Please!- Please- I have a- a- a family.. Please, I swear I didn’t want to do all that to you! I was just doing as I was-” BANG-

Your body jolted forward, waking you from the slumber that was fueled by the nightmares of being on the field. You raised your hand to see them, clenching and unclenching whilst you turned them repetitively to inspect for any change. Your t-shirt clung to your body with the remaining sweat that was too stubborn to evaporate into the cold air. The room was dark, with nothing but the moonlight emanating from the window. You weren’t on the field, you were in your small apartment complex now. You took deep breaths as you scanned the room, looking at the trinkets you had scattered over the few surfaces you had. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see picture frames of the Echo team and one of your mom sitting across your bed. A reminder that you weren’t in the barracks. A small speaker with white noise playing softly sat on top of your dresser. Slowly, you felt yourself being grounded back to reality.

Nights like this meant that you weren’t going to get more sleep now that you were rudely awakened. That being said, you walked to the bathroom of your small studio apartment with a clean tee in hand. You changed and sat on the bed, not wanting to forget the words said in your dream, you reached over to the bedside table for a small journal with quotes that had awakened you the same way tonight’s little plea did. You merely wrote it down, not wanting to dwell on the thought or memory any longer. You figured that you might as well preoccupy yourself with a little spring cleaning to allow your mind a break. Or so you could zone out, like the times on the field but without a sniper rifle in hand.

You chose to start with the laundry. You grabbed all the ‘dirty’ clothes and placed them in the basket before walking to your washing machine and stuffing it with said laundry. Doing what’s necessary, putting the two cups of detergent liquid, closing the door, and setting the machine to mix before starting it. Then, you made your way down the list; Dishes? Washed and dried. Furniture? Pushed back to the exact millimeter of where it was first placed when you first moved in. Dust? Hunted and dusted. Laundry to end it off, dried, folded, and kept in their respective places. Doing all this helped ground yourself more with reality, bringing you out of the deployment mindset that was conditioned into you. Albeit, it was also what you were used to doing back in the early days of being a Navy recruit.

And as per the routine, the clock strikes 6:00 am, three hours since you woke up. Now it was time for your morning run around the street. You put on your shoes and grabbed the headphones from the table that housed your knick-knacks like your keys, wallet, and karambit. You grabbed the two, hooking the keys through your pants loop, and holstered your karambit in its place by your inner thigh. Wallet and phone in hand, you leave your apartment, locking the door and exiting the complex.

It's been a week. Yet no amount of vodka helped with the nightmares. But something about last night’s dream was different. It wasn’t just the sounds that followed the war and the imagery of corpses from both sides littering the field. Instead, it was the body of a man who had pulled your fingernails. And this time he was begging to be given a chance before it was abruptly interrupted with a pistol shot to… to?

That you don’t remember. Yet it haunted you as you ran. Every stride you took awakened a feeling of fear in you from that day for some reason. Running your usual route with tunnel vision slowly creeping into your sight. Sounds of even more white noise playing through your headphones usually helped with it, making sure your mind didn't drift away. But

You finished your run and decided to drop by the local tattoo parlor you wanted a ‘cover-up’ of the branding scar you had. It still sustained a little of its bright red color, so you thought why not slap a knight holding a sword to help divert the viewer’s eyes? You’d embrace the scar on your left arm instead of just hiding it. You didn't know what to get, not wanting to be the typical American soldier who gets an eagle or skull with any form of ammunition. You decided a knight with a shield that has the Echo team insignia and a sword would fit both you and the spot perfectly.

Since you knew the artist who works at that shop, the booking went smoothly. All that’s left is to come in tomorrow since she was nice enough to keep a slot open for you. Your next stop was a hole-in-the-wall cafe for a light snack and coffee.

You diverted from your usual routine. See, usually you’d buy your order of americano with a nice little blueberry cupcake (it’s what you’d get at the base for breakfast.), but today felt off. It felt like you had eyes on you. You weren’t on the field, and definitely not too far from base. Yet the paranoia and instincts in you are blaring brighter and louder by the second, similar to a flare that was shot out in the midst of the night’s darkness. Unavoidable. You gave it time just in case it really was just paranoia, you decided it would help if you sat outside the cafe. You’d scan your surroundings with just your peripheral vision, something that was instilled into you for reconnaissance missions. No one stood out.

An hour goes by and you were starting to get stares from small families who’d pass you, taking it as a sign to leave. You beelined home, not wanting to deal with more stress than you already felt. The nightmares weighed your consciousness long enough and the possibility of someone stalking you was making you feel on edge. You got home, checked all the rooms and locks. Sweeping from one end to the other, bathroom windows locked and covered, bedroom windows locked and curtains drawn, all living room windows got the same treatment. And there you sat, by your bed with a pistol in hand with a clear shot to the front door. That’s where you remained for the rest of the day, glad that you took care of the chores earlier that morning.

You were awoken by the buzzing of your phone. Just your alarm, 6 a.m. Time for your run. You must’ve been so mentally tired that you didn’t realize you’d passed out. However, you were glad you were that tired as there were no nightmares, just empty silent darkness as you rested. You got up and headed to the bathroom, remembering that you didn’t have a rinse after the run. You got ready, headphones, keys, karambit. But today you had your pistol with you too. You kept it hidden in your boots.

You went for your run, nothing out of the norm yet. No prying eyes followed you like a hawk, as it should be. You made your way to the tattoo parlor for your appointment, you know it isn't the brightest idea to get a tattoo on a recent scar but you'd rather look at art than a bright red scar. You looked around and realized that the shop was empty, your tattoo artist made sure to not have people around so you can have peace of mind while being tattooed.

She sat you at one of her booths and got your arm ready for the long first session. It was a big piece for a first and she asked if you really wanted to get the entire tattoo in one go . You've been through a lot so a needle continuously stabbing you should be fine. The concerned expression she had faded as she starts. You sat there in her care with the buzz of the needle she wielded and the radio playing in the store. She'd tell you stories, from the different clients she had to the apartment complex and her weird neighbors.

You had bumped into her on a moving day. With your small stature and zero presence, you couldn't blame her. She felt bad and chose to help you despite you telling her you didn't need it. Apparently, she lived in the apartment across from yours. She told you about her little tattoo parlor. You never caught her name surprisingly, considering how she helps keep your apartment dust-free whenever you go on deployments. She treats you like a younger sibling, occasionally inviting you over for food which you always accept. Better than the shitty microwave meals you had procured in the freezer. She’d keep you up to date with what’s going on with the neighbors.

She was your only form of social interaction and you were honestly glad. But you could never tell her anything about your ‘job’. All she knew was that her neighbor is never home and when they are, she’ll never know until they bump into her. Hours later she finished the piece, you thank her with a simple ‘Thank you, neighbor.’. “You do know I have a name right? No need for neighbor anymore, it’s Jordan.” Both of you walk to the counter as she tells you how to care for the fresh tattoo but she stops you when she sees you pulling out your wallet. “On the house. You keep me company while you're home and eat whenever I invite you. This is the least I can do since I talk your ears off.” She chuckles and tells you to come over tonight for dinner, it was burrito night and you wouldn’t miss it for the world. You agreed and left the parlor. Deciding that maybe you should bring a nice drink to Jordan’s place, you walked to the store.

That’s when you felt something out of place again. Someone watching. Not close, but within said person’s peripherals. You quickly took to the sheltered alleys and crowd. It’s off-putting, the fact that you are spending your downtime feeling like you were being watched. You couldn’t just blame it on your paranoia anymore. It honestly starts to piss you off, you shot Jordan a message with your burner phone. You asked if she could cook for you every day now. The feeling of being watched made you decide that it wasn’t worth leaving the house, you can run loops around your apartment and Jordan loves cooking for you so it seems like a win-win in your book. You finally reach the supermarket, grabbing a trolley. You start filling the trolley with ingredients for Jordan, 2 big bottles of soft drinks you think she’d like, and a bottle of vodka for yourself. You quickly make your way to the checkout, you feel the eyes of civilians, and yet the one who’s following you is what caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand. You practically threw a hundred-dollar bill at the cashier and rushed out with the bags. The person was a professional stalker because no matter how well you scanned the people around you, you couldn’t spot them.

You finally made it to the flight of stairs to your apartment level. You dropped off the ingredients by Jordan’s door before knocking it and heading back to yours. You needed a shower before dinner. You needed to feel the cold water wash the sweat and paranoia off your heavily scarred skin. You needed it off you asap. It's funny how it's about a week into your downtime and it feels as if you were on the receiving end of a reconnaissance mission.

You stepped into the shower and stayed under the water for a solid 30 minutes. You only left as you hear Jordan yelling at the door saying something about phone and dinner. You dried off, put on your usual fit, and made your way to the fridge to grab the soft drinks. You hoped that a bottle of sweet tea and some soda would make up for asking her to cook meals for you. You quickly shot a message to Jordan to make sure all curtains are drawn and to not ask why. You didn’t want whoever to see that you were acquaintances with a civilian and that her safety is not jeopardized by your friendship with her. You waited 5 minutes before heading over.

Jordan welcomed you in with that bright smile of hers and the smell of beef hits your nostril, making your mouth moist. It’s been a while since you had something that had even smelled this good. You walked to her little dining table and set the drinks on it before heading to her kitchen and helping with setting up. She knew exactly what you liked and made your burrito perfectly to how you did the first time you two had burrito night. All this simply from watching you eat. Both of you finally sat down after a long day and were ready for dinner and a little chat. You thanked Jordan for dinner and started eating, she started talking about how the neighbor next to her had their boyfriend move in and every night has been a nightmare for her. Just as she was about to say what was the reason, your burner phone rings. You apologized to Jordan but by now she was used to it from the few dinners you had to up and go back to base. You stood up and pulled your phone out to see who it was that is bothering your dinner time, it was Rodney. You excused yourself to the bathroom to answer it.

“Hey (Y/N), just got a call from Laswell. Warrant Officer (Y/N), you are officially part of Task Force 141 as of today and are to report back to base to collect your gear and fly to their base. Congrats on making it into the big boy league and thank you Echo 2 for everything, hopefully, we’ll get to run missions with you in the future. As the Echo team once said, Best 2IC. I know you’ll do well there, you are still welcome to talk to me whenever (Y/N). Rest up, Echo team and I will see you off.” Just like that, Rodney ended the call before you could say anything.

Leaving the Echo team? So soon might you add. It’s only been 3 years since you were assigned to the Echo team and yet you were the one selected to transfer to TF141. It made sense as you were a warrant officer but it was usually just for a mission or two with a different squadron. But never a permanent transfer. It’s not that you’ll miss them, you weren’t close to them in the first place, but you felt that someone better was more deserving of such a position. However, you never doubted Rodney’s decisions ever so you’d have to learn to get used to the new team, or the other way around.

You went back to the dining table and apologized again to Jordan for interrupting her. You felt that telling her you might not be home for years on end could wait until after dinner. You let her continue talking, listening, and chiming in on the conversation every now and then with small questions. You felt bad for leaving as it means she’d go back to helping make sure your apartment was kept dust-free while you were away and it’s no longer a few months but potentially years at a time. Maybe you could get her little souvenirs as a thank you.

You polished your plate and brought both of your plates to the sink to wash. You felt that you’ve been there longer than usual and decided to call it a night. Before you left, you called out to Jordan who was confused as you usually just leave and she didn’t need to see you off. “I wanted to let you know that I’ll be traveling for work now Jordan and it might be for a year at a time. That being said, you really don’t have to clean my place while I'm gone-” “If you think I wouldn’t clean your place just because you’ll be away longer, you’d be very mistaken. Plus I could stay at your place if Rachel and her boyfriend decide to fuck every so loudly. You wouldn’t mind would ya?” You chuckle at how she purposely mentioned the loud fucking part loudly in hopes that the neighbor would hear. You told her she could use your place whenever but to make sure that everything stays in its place for the sake of your OCD and to make sure the curtains remain closed at all times when she’s there.

You went back and immediately went into your routine of making sure everything is secured. After which you immediately crashed onto your bed, too tired from everything that happened today. You’ll worry about packing tomorrow morning.

In your seventeen years of being in the military, you never would have predicted that you would have been selected to be a part of something bigger.

You’ve done six years in the Navy, two years in Afghanistan for your first tour. During your time there on patrol duty, you saw it all. From being your fellow soldiers being shot at by terrorists who were kids armed with Ak-47s to the burn pit where every and anything is thrown and burned. Not forgetting the time where the humvee your team was in happened to drive over an IED and exploded, causing it to flip. Thankfully everyone was safe, walking off a concussion and a few scratches. You spent another year in Germany for the same thing. Throughout all this, you climbed the ranks and became a lieutenant. You managed to impress the higher ups with your combat skills and they had recommended you to go through the BUDS training to become a navy seal. Since you had barely any sense of direction to how you wanted to leave, you went with the flow.

Six months of grueling training and seeing soldiers drop out purely from how intense it was, you made it out as a Seal team operative. Another 6 years of deployments as a Seal op and you witnessed many deaths, you’ve lost so many friendlies and some to which fueled your nightmares from how you wished (and sometimes knew) you could’ve saved. In a deployment, you were blown up by a rogue IED that the Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) Specialist had missed. Luckily for you it wasn’t enough to kill you but it did rattle you for the few months after, being very wary of where you stepped. What was your luck with IEDs? At some point people knew you as an IED detector that detects them a second too late, you even considered becoming an EOD specialist but decided not to as you were already a sniper and a combat medic.

Once again someone had eyes on you and had invited you to DEVGRU training to which you once again went. This time it was six weeks of training and you were part of the tiny few who were approved. Not to mention as they were deciding who to accept, you had caught Rodney’s attention but at this point Echo team was a complete team. You spent two years training and waiting for a position in any team. To make use of the time, you decided to go to the Special Force Warrant Officer Institute. Not long after becoming a warrant officer, you were called in to join Echo team as a member had stepped down to retire. That’s where you met Rodney and the team.

And that’s where you found yourself again, the door that led to the cages but this time was to say goodbye. Everyone stood by the table in the center with shit eating grins on their faces. “Finally made it here 2ic, we’ve been waiting man!” Ricko spoke up, he was Echo’s K9 handler. The pup, Cerberus, comes up to you as if he knew that it was your time to leave. It touched you that they wanted to send you off, never would’ve thought that you were that much of an impact to the guys. Rodney hands you a picture, it was a picture of Echo team after your first deployment with them. You chuckled before patting him on the back, you turned to the guys and thanked them for coming to say their goodbyes. You stepped into your cage to grab your gear. You told the team that you’d want to visit the surplus store to get more stuff just in case. A couple more inner long sleeves and pants wouldn’t hurt to have.

You soon made your way to the store for a quick shopping session, with Echo team behind you being rowdy as their usual selves, it got you thinking whether you’d miss the noise whenever you're on base awaiting a green light for the next mission. You grabbed the clothing you needed, in hopes that it is enough for your time in the new base, then again you could shoot Rodney a text for a care package if needed but you’d rather be prepared for now. You decided to grab a couple of t-shirts in a material you like to repurpose into a fitted mask that would simply cover half of your face down to your neck, the balaclavas available were nice but you wanted a more personalized article of clothing for your face. You were about to pay when the entirety of Echo team fought each other to pay for your items, you simply stood back and chuckled alongside Rodney. Never in your time in the military would you imagine seeing grown men fighting each other to pay for clothing specifically.

It soon came time to board the plane to the UK to meet your new team. The guys had lined up the walkway to the plane’s entrance with Rodney next to the entrance itself. Before you could make your way to the walkway, someone walked out the entrance. A lady with blond hair comes out to talk to Rodney. You walked past the guys, man hugging them and telling them to take care of each other now that you were gone. You waved your final goodbyes to them and made your way to Rodney and the lady. “(Y/n), this is Station Chief Kate Laswell, she supervises all the missions Task Force 141 goes on.” You shook her hand with a slight bow of your head to show respect to her. “Take care of this one Laswell, they’re quite a handful but a handful worth keeping.” He lets out a soft chuckle and you could see that Rodney was a little sad behind those eyes of his, he looks at you and gives you a sincere smile before telling you to take care of yourself and to text him if you need anything. He soon joins the boys to see you off from a distance.

You boarded the aircraft with Laswell, noting that there were a few other officers from your base who were making the trip with you. None of whom you personally knew, you’d find an empty corner and chose to sit there. It wouldn’t hurt to take a nap during the flight over. Despite your eyes being closed, your mind was awake. You heard everything around you, the whispers of you by the other officers on how you were terrifying. Little did they know, you were merely a quiet one and not that scary if they bothered to chat. Even if you didn't like talking to new people thanks to social anxiety, you wouldn't have been that much of a killer if they'd just said hi.

The flight was as smooth as you could get when traveling between bases, you 'woke' up from the nap thanks to Laswell and had helped the rest gather up their bags before touchdown. Soon enough the pilots gave us the announcement that we arrived safely and could depart. You braced yourself, not sure who's in your new squad and whether they were going to be nice enough to you.

You grabbed your bag and gear, 'no reason to be nervous, you're more than capable' you told yourself. You set foot onto the asphalt, sun glaring down at you as if it was foreshadowing your 'bright' future with TF141. Eyes finally adjusting, they set upon only Captain Price. Surprisingly enough the rest of the team wasn't there, you were almost glad until you heard a familiar Scottish accent.

"Sorry capt, tried to get Lt out of his office but apparently he has much more pressing issues to handle before meeting the new recruit- I mean lieutenant." If you recall his name correctly, Soap corrected himself when he saw you. He donned a look that wasn't bad nor good either. You simply chalked it off to the vase incident you two had. "Hell's fuckin' bells if it isn't you, you vase chucking cunt." He chuckles before smacking you lightly behind the head. Well that clears the air, no hard feelings for the past and clearly he was on best friend status with how he greeted you.

Laswell had gone to Price to chat a bit before he walked up to you. "Welcome to our base (Y/n), glad to see that you came prepared already." He pats you on the back before having Soap show you to the barracks. "Didn't catch my name did ya, Sergeant Johnny "Soap" McTavish but I'm not one for the whole formalities shite. Plus you're now part of our fuckin' team, practically family now." He sure does talk, not even the boys from Echo could compete but at least it isn't an awkward silence. "Warrant Officer (Y/n) (Y/L/N). Nice to properly meet you Soap, apologies for the vase." He merely waved you off, laughing and giving you kudos for catching him off guard.

You weren't far off from the barracks from what Soap has told you, glad that you weren't going to lug around your gear for much longer. But you suddenly felt those same eyes from back home on you once more. It almost had you stop in your tracks just to look around, but you didn't. You had a nagging feeling that Soap was gonna bombard you with questions and right now you were in no mood to entertain an interrogation. You tried to ignore it for now. The two of you finally reach the front door to the barracks, with the stalker still watching.

When all of a sudden the door nearly flies off its hinges with 2 guys chasing one another out. "Gaz!- Get back here right the fuck now before I get the old man here!" A British man with tight curls dashes right past you with an American man with hazel hair chasing close behind. You quickly moved aside not wanting to get rammed into. "Steamin' hell- well that was Gaz and Alex, although you won't see Alex around base too often as he's helping a special someone back in the Urzikstani Liberation Force. More on that later!"

Soap proceeded to drag you to your room. "Nothing too fancy, just consider yourself lucky not having to share a bunk with the other guys." It was pretty similar to your apartment and way better than your barrack back home. Although, it was a little more on the luxury end of a military barrack. The common room was rather spacious, that in itself was a major difference from what you had back home. Soap had shown you the little break room they had if the squad decides to eat a meal together. Soap stated specifically to not eat in the common room unless its snacks aren't messy, this was because a certain member was rather particular on the barracks cleanliness. He did not specify who exactly it was. Soap shows you to your personal room. You thanked Soap for the tour before deciding to place your stuff down and organize them into their respective spots.

Once you were done, you realized it was already 7pm there. It's been 2 hours since you touched down and you are definitely long overdue for a good wash down. That's when you also found out that the barracks here have private bathrooms and not a communal one. You walked into your shower, it wasn't big nor was it small enough to feel stuffy from being in it. Thankfully there were spare towels in the cabinet under the sink, you grabbed it and instantly used it to cover the mirror. You were about to shower when you forgot your toiletries in one of the bags you brought.

Wrapped in a towel, you stepped out to grab your toiletries. You turned to head back for a shower when there was a knock on your door "(Y/n)? We're heading out to a local pub not far from here. Wanted to see if you wanted to come." Unfamiliar voice, probably Gaz. You gave a quick response, agreeing but that you wanted a quick shower before you leave. He gives you the go ahead and you finally take that well needed rinse. You squatted low under the showerhead as you let the harsh mist wash the sweat from your body. You must've zoned out because Soap was hammering on your bathroom door. "Oi! Gaz said you were showering, not fuckin' asleep in there. Hurry up so I can drink Gaz under, you vase cunt!" You hear Soap chuckle at someone's disagreement, that you couldn't quite hear, coming from the common room.

You dried off, taking your dirty clothes and placing them neatly by the sink, before wrapping yourself once again with the towel. "Steamin' Jesus- give a brother a heads up!" You caught Soap by surprise when you stepped out, receiving a slightly disturbed look by him before he turned to leave. You quickly grabbed some cargo pants, a crew neck instead of the usual as you weren't in the mood for a hassle, and chose the half-face balaclava and a cap. You pocketed your burner phone and wallet after putting on a simple pair of gloves.

"Finally the diva is out, shite. Gaz and Alex meet (Y/n), pretty sure you remember the fucker Alex." He giggles after his little comment to Alex before it turns into a full blown cackle after seeing Alex grimace. You mentally noted to apologize for whatever you did. Soap grabs you and starts pushing you out the barracks door, only to be greeted by a 6 '2 (189cm) man with a lower half of a skull painted on his balaclava. You dug your foot into the concrete just in time to not get pushed into the man in front of you. Soap smacks his face into your back causing him to groan.

"(Y/n), this is Lieutenant Riley." Price walks up from behind the man. Oddly enough, his presence felt familiar, but you dont think it's in a good way. "I think he prefers-" Soap butts in but is interrupted immediately. "Just Ghost will do soldier.” Ghost shot a glare towards Soap, garnering chuckles from the rest of the squad. Price beckons for you guys to get into a pickup truck as enough time has been wasted. He also called for you to ride shotgun while the rest sat in the cargo bed. You followed as told, sitting next to the captain as he started the engine and drove the whole lot of you towards the pub they frequented.

"Enjoy your personal space here? I know it isn't much but if there's anything you need, do let me know." Price shot a smile at you before knocking the small window behind both of you, letting the rest know that we'll be reaching soon. Price finds a spot that is right next to the pub's entrance. "Try to relax, I know we pulled you from your downtime so use this as both a welcome gesture and an apology for pulling you to base." He spoke softly as if the rest could hear. Once the truck came to a stop, your door was yanked open and similar to the door you were next to be yanked.

Soap practically pulled you out the truck like nothing, laughter from Gaz and Alex soon followed. The trio dragged you into the small English pub, definitely different from the usual bar scene you were used to with Echo. You just hope that they had something you could drink. The trio sat by a booth not far from where the bar was as Ghost and Price went to. Alex got up to get a round for the booth, coming back with 2 tall boys in each of his hands before passing them out. Despite not liking beer, you took it to be polite.

The three chatted amongst each other catching up from what seemed like individual assignments while you took sips of your beer. You turned to Alex, "I wanna apologize for the uh, incident..?" Alex simply leaned his head sideways, "Don't even sweat it greenie, you happened to just come back from something traumatic. Just don't remind Soap- too late…"

Before Alex had the chance to finish, Soap’s ears had perked up. He starts retelling his version of the incident. Soap had swapped watch duty with Alex to grab a bite and after he felt rather nice because he had grabbed snacks for Alex. He came back to med bay when he saw the doctors trying to pull you off Alex who was honestly too flustered and confused at what just went down. "Okay, in my defense, I just walked in and all I saw was bare ass. Sorry (y/n), but honestly that gown did jack shit for your ass. Why do medical gowns not cover ass even?" Alex stuttered as he tried to defend himself.

Your cheeks now flushed red, you had almost spat the sip of beer in your mouth when Alex brought up 'bare ass'. Apparently, the doctors at med bay were doing their daily checkup on you when you came to again. You had assumed the worst and were defending yourself, Alex had caught you by surprise when he walked in. Soap literally had to pull you off him as Alex was too confused at what went down. You couldn’t blame him either, how would you react if some random soldier jumped you and you were flat on the ground within 5 seconds?

You thank Soap in your head for segwaying into messing with Alex and how he reacts to shit that happens out the blue. Gaz simply chuckled and soon added onto the teasing. You took this opportunity to slink your way to the bar for some alone time. You wait for the bartender and when they come to you, you simply tell them to keep your shot glass filled with vodka and a glass of bourbon constantly topped up till you tell them to stop. You were a heavyweight drinker and knew that it took a shit ton of drinks to actually feel somewhat drunk. Guess you could thank the sleepless nights for building your tolerance to alcohol.

You were down 10 shots of vodka and 2 glasses of bourbon, picking at the threads that lined your forearm while tuning out the noise of the rest of the pub. You didn’t notice Price walked up and sat next to you. “So how did Laswell get to know you (y/n), CIA then soldier? Cause if she sent you, you got one hell of a track record.” Price was the one to start up a chat. Captain being proactive and learning about the new member before anyone else, nothing you weren’t used to. “Seventeen years climbing the ranks from Navy to Seal, but I’m sure you’ve seen my file Capt.” You felt that whenever your team captain asked how or why you got transferred over, that they surely already know about your past in the military. “That's quite a lot of years in service. How did you become a soldier, you grew up with a soldier parent? or was it just something you wanted to do?”

You decide to entertain Price's questions, nothing to hide after all. “No. Dad died and I left mom after college. Somehow ended up in the Navy. After 5 years there, I was promoted to a Lt. I decided to transfer to special ops, did BUDS and DEVGRU training that took another 5 years, the last 7 years was doing missions with Echo Team wherever we were needed.”

Price hums in response as he lights a cigar. “Life's tough soldier. But as long as you have a good team, it becomes a little less hard. What's your opinion on war?” The question threw you off, no one had questioned why any of you were sent to war. “dumb politics. the only reason for war. politicians feeling the need to one up each other, and at what cost? Their brave soldiers and the lives of innocent civs.”

“I agree. Politicians send our boys to hell and for what, money? power? they're not the ones fighting or dying. But it’s for the better good of maintaining some resemblance to world peace.” Price gave a response that you’d expect from someone who’s been in the military for a while. You were glad that both of you were on the same page. “So, how do you deal with stress? I’m sure a soldier as experienced as you must’ve got some way to cope, enlighten me.” Price asked as he finished the glass of whiskey he brought over. You chuckled, “I’m sure it’s similar to any of the others, vices. Drinking, smoking. That's about it.” You followed suit and downed your own glass. He waves for the bartender, offering you some whiskey to which you felt that you couldn’t turn down.

“To The soldiers that made the ultimate sacrifice.” Price holds up his hand up his glass to cheer.”To those we lost along the way, the bravest ones as well.” You smiled sadly under your mask, remembering your partner that you lost on a mission. The two of you take a drink from your glasses. “Aight enough about the heavy subject soldier. What was the funniest thing that happened to you in the military?” You appreciated the change in topics, you sit and think for a bit before remembering what Echo did recently. “Being given a trophy that reads "The best 2IC of the year", I brought it over from base.” You laughed, the mixture of alcohol has definitely made you looser than you’d normally are. You asked for your last shot and glass of bourbon from the bartender.

Price took it as it was time to head back to base, turning to the boys in the booth and being met with the sight of Alex with his head down on the table and Gaz slurring at a Soap who’s for sure too drunk for his own good as he himself was slurring random Scottish gibberish while laughing. Price stood up and headed towards Ghost who was simply drinking water as he smoked, letting him know that he'll drive the team back. Ghost took his last puff before heading to the booth. He grabs Soap by the back of the collar dragging the drunken Scott out the booth before gently getting Gaz and wrapping his arm around his neck. Ghost with the two drunks walks his way out the pub and to the truck, setting them in the cargo bed. You down your drinks quickly to help Ghost with Alex who was clearly too hammered. You slowly guided him out the booth before slinging his arm around your neck and walking him to the truck. You pass him off to Ghost once you reach the cargo bed.

You only managed to get one foot on the step of the bumper bracket when Price walked out as he thanked the bartender. “(Y/n), you’re sitting passenger, I’ll handle the boys back here.” You tried to offer to watch the boys when he reassured you that this was the usual routine the team had. You weren’t gonna argue with the man so you stepped down and headed to the passenger side and entered. You buckled the seat belt and Ghost took his seat on the driver side. He buckles himself before knocking on the glass window behind him, letting Price know that he was about to start the drive back.

“What’s with the mask.” Ghost took you by surprise with that conversation starter, his focus still locked on the road. “Keeping my face to myself, maybe for the right people I can trust.” You were sure he saw what you looked like, especially since he was one of the people who came to your rescue. “Don’t worry, Price made sure no one saw your face when he found you.” It was as if the broody British man read your mind, it was a relief to say the least. You decided to shoot the same question back, similarly curious as to why he wore a mask himself. “Same reason as you.” That was it. One sentence. It was painfully honest that he did not want to indulge in sharing more than necessary. Not pushing, you nod in response and go back to staring out the window.

“Anyone back home, family or partner?” You wanted to question why he wanted to know more about you, maybe it’s just to see if he can trust you or hell just to know you. But it did break his character, or the infamous character everyone labeled him. “No. Dad died, disappeared from mom’s life. No partner.” He hums, tapping on the wheel as if the cogs in his head turns as he looks for a response but doesn’t. That’s where the line of questioning from your fellow lieutenant. The rest of the ride was simply filled with an oddly comfortable silence and the sound of the wheel rolling over the gravel road as you pulled up to the gates to base.

Ghost drives through base to park up by the parking lot closest to your barracks. “Help Price dump the boys in the common room. They’ll go to their rooms in the morning.” He states as he parks the truck. You hopped out and headed to the cargo bed, opening the tailgate door and pulling Soap to the edge to get him safely. Price lays Gaz on the couch while Ghost sets Alex on the recliner, leaving no spot for Soap. Ghost tells you to just drop him on the floor and you do. You walk into the communal kitchen to grab a drink before stepping out for a cigarette.

You settled for a bottle of water to help hydrate yourself and prepare for the headache you'll get in the morning. You sat on the step leading to the entrance of the barrack, lighting a cigarette once you were comfortable. You sat there for a while, smoking alone and looking at the sky. You were glad the balaclava was thin, allowing you to take a drag without even lifting your mask. You touched your clothed face, reminded that you are scarred and that no one will look at your face without fear. You chuckled at the thought that stumbled into your mind, maybe Jordan would laugh instead of fear you, just like the older sister she is.

Just as you finish that thought, Ghost walks up next to you. “Can’t sleep, soldier?” “Not that, just not ready to sleep.” You lit another cigarette, not wanting to say that your mind was still yelling at you on random topics. You take a drag before asking “You? Why are you out here?” No answer, nothing not to be expected of the silent man. You tap at the cigarette, tapping the ash off onto the gravel. You offered, to which Ghost surprisingly took a stick from your pack of cheap cigarettes. Once again like the drive back, the both of you sat in silence. A comfortable quiet, one that both of you welcomed.

You were finished with your cigarette, getting up, you pat Ghost’s back before heading back in. He grunts in response. You threw the bottle away before checking up on the three that were out cold. You decided to place blankets on them before stepping into your room. You looked around, a bed you weren’t familiar with, four walls which enclose you in this new unfamiliarity. Your new room. Just like before, when you were first tasked to Echo team. But this time, no one was around to silence the voices. Those you had to kill, their pleas for mercy despite the heinous crime they committed mere seconds before, the cries of your fellow brothers and sisters in arms dying in your arms. No one to yell at each other to keep quiet so that anyone could sleep, no sound of someone watching a video on the lowest volume yet it was too loud for anyone to ignore, or even the sound of someone’s loved one on a call, talking like it was going to be the last call they’ll ever make.

Now you were left in the silence of these four walls in a country you weren’t familiar with. Surrounded with soldiers you knew nothing about except for the rumors about them and the long tales of the missions that they’ve come to complete. What were you there for? Whose shoe did you have to fill now? Questions like that started to plague you, filling your mind with doubt that you belonged. You weren’t meant to leave Echo, you certainly didn’t deserve a place in a prestigious team like Task Force 141. Right?

You threw your clothing to the side, tears on the brinks of escape. You laid on the bed, in your garments. Wondering if it was truly your own thoughts or it was just the effects of the alcohol. You drifted to sleep, still questioning yourself as you fell deeper into the nightmare that awaits you in the hours to come.

A/N:

I KNOW- It's a long awaited chapter release, but between college and my health, it's been hard to get anything out. I've been chasing deadlines with all my projects on top of trying to not fall sick since catching Covid (thanks to my weak immune system). Not to mention the mountain of ideas that keeps flooding so it was hard to figure out how I wanted this to play out without revealing too much. Thank you to my proof reader for helping make sure this chapter has little to no grammatical errors and that the writing was perfect for you readers!

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