#this is a weird thing for me to be losing my shit over but i am foaming at the moutht htat episdoe is so weird and i fucking love it so muc

[hahaifolded]

I had this thought earlier but never knew how to fit it in so why then we just do a

Imagine if…  You, as the POC! Intelligence Officer, got hit with some sort of enemy “sex pollen”-esque thing and have to rely on a conflicted 141. (Warning: MDNI, Bad smut, ANGST, long as fuck) - also instead of a gender neutral reader, it’s more of AFAB reader because I don’t know how to write GN!smut so my bad)

So imagine, at this point, the 141 had began to ice you out and you are still trying to figure out what happened. So in an attempt to get back in their good graces, you decide to do a late-night mail sesh. Maybe you could find some sort of holy grail of intelligence that will prove your worth again. 

So you’re so determined in finding something that you start opening envelopes and packages without little care. With so little care that you rip into a weird looking package and immediately get sprayed with some weird powder. You jump back, but it’s too late, you’ve already inhaled the foreign substance. 

Trained for a situation like this, you sound off the alarm, alerting the base of the tainted package. You’re immediately taken into medical to monitor your health.

The 141 are immediately made aware of the situation and rush to the infirmary. The four pace outside, devestated that you were hurt and they weren’t with you. 

Their blood goes cold when the base’s head doctor calls the four in the hallway, brow furrowed. They listen intently as the doctor explains you were hit by a new toxic agent that just entered the black market. They all sigh in relief when the doctor explains that the medical team had gotten word of it weeks prior and figured out a way to combat the agent’s effects. However, relief quickly turns into the weirdest mix of shock and arousal when the doctor explains…

“The agent attacks the hypothalamus, making the body go into overdrive. The quickest way to negate its affects while also flushing it from the body is rigorous intercourse. So if you want to save your intelligence officer, someone will need to go in there and give them a hand.” 

After explaining your exact state (lucid but incredibly horny), the doctor leaves the four to decide who was going to help you. Johnny, Kyle, and Simon all look at their captain, unsure on what this meant in terms of the pact. 

“This is for them, not us,” Price announces. The other three nod. Kyle opens his mouth to ask how would they decide, but before he could say anything, Ghost walks to your door and turns your doorknob.

“Woah, woah, woah. Who said you could do it?” barks Soap. Kyle joins Soap in glaring down at the Lieutenant.

Ghost slowly opens the door. “I’m the only one who won’t enjoy this.” And with that, he walks in. 

You really didn’t think this could get much worse. Instead of making life easier for your boys, you just stressed them out. And now in order to save your life, your poor lieutenant has to take one for the team and touch you. Fuck, you’d rather die than let that poor man go through with this.

Despite the growing heat between your legs, you try to shrink yourself in as Ghost enters the room. Fuck, he looks good. Strong, big, powerful. Shit, you wanted him. But he didn’t want you. 

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize how close Ghost had gotten until he was practically hovering over you. Not really, but that’s how close he felt as he sat by your side.

“You okay, pretty thing?” You couldn’t help but moan at that. You tried to fold yourself further in, but Ghost wasn’t having none of that. He gently turns you towards him, forcing your body to spread out. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothes. He caressed your face. “I know the situation sucks, but let me help. Please. I— we, we can’t lose you,” he pleas. You were caught off guard. You had never heard your lieutenant so soft before. 

“But,” you try to stabilize your voice, but you couldn’t hide the strain in it, “you don’t want this.” You try to leave his grasp to further sell your point, but Ghost holds you down. He leans towards your face and stares straight into your eyes. 

“I want this. I. Want. You,” he enunciates each word. You didn’t think you could get any hotter. You stare straight into his eyes to search for any hesitation or disgust. Instead, Ghost’s eyes are twinkling, clear sign he’s smiling under that mask. Fuck, that mask. Maybe you do have a mask kink.

“Promise?” You whimper.

Ghost leans down and digs his face in your neck. “Promise.” 

That’s all the confirmation you needed. You sit up and throw yourself against your Lieutenant. You push him against the bed and crawl over him. Fuck, you knew he was big, but feeling him under you made the size difference even more glaring. You weren’t necessarily tiny yourself but damn did he make you feel small. That alone makes you go dumb. 

And Ghost knows he said that he wasn’t going to enjoy this but fuck did he feel good. He wished y’all’s first time wasn’t under these circumstances but it is what it is. Your entire body pressed against his, begging for more. If this was going to be a one time thing, then Ghost was going to savor it to its fullest. He moved further in the bed and pushed you deeper on his lap. He grabbed your back and rocked you against his groin. You immediately cry in pleasure at the extra fiction. Ghost needs to hear that again. 

“Do that again,” he begs. He rolls you over and starts to drive his hips into yours. You moan which only fuels the Lieutenant more. There’s no way you don’t feel what you’re doing to him.

“Come here, pretty thing,” Ghost pleads. He tears his mask off. Now it’s the moment of truth. You look up and stop rocking against him. Shit, did Ghost fuck up? 

No actually as you crash your lips against his. You moan against his mouth, eager to taste your Lieutenant. Not one to waste an opportunity, Ghost reciprocates your kiss with the same fervor. 

You’re the first to break for air. He moves down towards your neck as he fumbles with the button of your pants. Ghost couldn’t believe his luck. After weeks of ignoring you, he’s now about to devour you whole. You continue to moan against his neck as he continues to rock against your hip. As much as he loves to hear your moans, Ghost needed something more.

“Say my name. Say my name, baby. Say Simon, say Simon,” Simon babbles. You just moan in response. Ghost grinds harder into you, hoping it will egg you on to say his name. Instead, of saying his name however, you grab at his shirt, tugging it up his torso.

Understanding what you want, Ghost gets up and takes a good look at you. He stares down and takes in your heaving chest, your gaping mouth, and your empty eyes. Your empty eyes. That makes Simon’s blood run cold.

What the fuck is he doing?

He treats you like shit for weeks and now suddenly he’s going to be your knight in shining armor by fucking you while you’re under the influence. What kind of man is he.

“I can’t do this.” Ghost jumps off the bed in disgust. He rushes out of the room, unable to be in the same space with you a moment longer. He is greeted by a sitting Price and Soap. They both jump up in shock, surprised to see the lucky Lieutenant maskless, but fully clothed. Before anyone can say anything, Ghost rushes past them, leaving the two confused.

“What the fuck happened?” asks Soap. He strides towards your door and peaks inside. It doesn’t look like you’ve been satiated so what happened? John stays silent. He recognized that look in Simon’s eyes. 

“Soap, go. I’ll check on Ghost,” John states. Soap didn’t need to be told twice. 

The door slamming nearly sobers you up. If your body wasn’t already hot, you know it would be burning in shame. Ghost didn’t want you. Ghost got a taste and couldn’t go through with it. Ghost… Simon was disgusted by you. 

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you fail to notice the Scottish sergeant enter the room until he slips in your bed. He maneuvers your head so its between his bicep and chest. You try to pull away, not wanting to disgust another member of your team, but Soap doesn’t allow it. 

Pulling you back in, he whispers against your head, “no, no, none of that. I’m here to help, mo ghraidh.” He pulls you in closer so your body is right against his. “Nearly killed L.t. when he went in your room first.” You let out an airy gasp in response which only eggs Soap on. He slides his hand down your torso until it reaches the top of your pants. He toys with the buttons and breathes against your head, “let me help, please.” 

Fuck, you need this. You need him. You moan out a yes in his ear and further press yourself against him. He immediately slips his fingers down your pants and underwear and gets to work. 

“Jesus, you’re wet,” breathes out Soap. In any other circumstances, Soap would have been worried for Ghost, but he couldn’t help but feel grateful right now. He has you exactly where’s he wanted for the longest time: moaning, wet, and begging for more. He alternates between rubbing your clit and slipping a few fingers in you which only makes you moan. To his delight, you dig your face into his neck, nipping at every piece of skin you could get. 

With every moan and nip, Johnny felt his pants get tighter and tighter. However, as much as Johnny wanted to ravage you, he had to remain poised. Sure the doctor said you were still cognizant, but that doesn’t mean you wanted this… or at least wanted this in this way. So Johnny remained professional… controlled. He’ll let you take what you need and that’s it. Your pleasure was his main task at hand.

And fuck was he giving it to you. You had to give it to your sergeant, he was good with his fingers. You pull your pants down as you knew with a little more space, Soap would be able to get you to see stars in no time. Intuitive as always, Johnny helps you, one hand on your pants and another on you. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble against his neck. You needed more. More of Johnny. You stretch your head further up, landing wet, hot kisses against his jaw. Just a little more and your lips would be against his. Just. A. Little. Mo—

“Ah, ah, ah,” tsked Johnny. He slowly pushes your head down and curls his arm over it. “Whores don’t deserve kisses,” he growls in your ear. The room only gets hotter, but not in the fun way. The reality of the situation suddenly washes over you. Here you are, bottoms off, getting fingered by your fully clothed co-worker who frankly hasn’t said a single word to you in weeks. Is he even enjoying this? 

“Stop,” you gently cry. You push on his chest which he responds by holding you tighter in his grasp. He says something, but you are so overwhelmed by shame and embarrassment, you fail to hear him. You fight against his grasp and begin to squirm. Realizing the situation, Johnny releases you from his grasp, allowing you to scoot fully away from him.

“Get out,” you state. You reach for the bed’s sheets and cover yourself as your body burns from both shame and arousal. 

“Wait, I wasn’t talking about y—,” he begins, butyou interrupt him, asking him to leave once more. Shame clearly painted all over your face. That was the last thing Johnny wanted you to feel in this moment. 

“Please mo ghraidh, I didn’t—“

“GET OUT JOHNNY…please,’ you cry. Johnny’s heart shattered as he sees tears brim your eyes. Realizing his time was up, he got up and left the room. 

Much to his dismay, Johnny is met with his Captain and recovered Lieutenant. He just looks down and joins the pair at the bench, silent but very clear in his message: he fucked up.

The three sit in silence. John is the first one to speak as he asks about Kyle’s whereabouts. 

“You have to do it.”

“What?”

“You have to do it,” Ghost states. His voice emotionless and hollow. “We have no clue where Kyle is and he’s not answering his phone. They don’t have a lot of time and Johnny and I already messed up.” 

John takes in a sharp breath. It’s not like he didn’t want to because Lord knows that he wants to. He just didn’t think he deserved to. How does the man who ordered for your isolation get to accompany you in your most vulnerable state, 

“Save them,” adds Johnny who shifts in his seat, clearly still affected by his time with you. 

Price shifts his gaze from the two men to your door. Determined to save you, he rises from his seat and opens the door. 

You grip on the sheets harder as the door lets in a harsh glow of light in, another reminder of your situation.

“It’s fine. I can handle it,” you groan out as you cover yourself with the bed sheet. 

“You know I can’t do that, sweetheart.” You squeeze your legs together at your captain’s deep voice. He timidly approaches the bed and takes a seat at the edge of the bed. He tries to shrink himself to no avail. “I don’t know what got into Ghost and Soap and I promise you, I will have a word with them, but right now, you’re my priority. So tell me, how can I help?”

You shrink yourself further in the bed, fighting every nerve in your body telling you to mount your captain. 

Your captain slides his body towards you with one of his arms leading. “This isn’t your fault, sweetheart. It’s never been your fault.” You can’t help but look at him as his voice falters. You’re taken aback when you see guilt flash across his face. 

“Please, let me make this right,” he pleads. On your most desperate nights, it’s been your captain’s dominance that’s gotten you to unwind, but right now, your captain’s unexpected submission was making your entire body burn with desire. 

Unable to fight the urge anymore, you look straight into Price’s eyes and slowly took the covers off yourself. His eyes widened as your bare legs were unveiled. He kept his eyes on yours, trying to be as respectful as he could. You stretch out your legs and slowly spread them. 

“Say it,” your captain breathes out. 

“Eat me,” you whisper.

Those two words are all that John needs. He lunges forward and hooks your legs over his shoulders. It’s time - just the moment he dreamed of for months. 

John dug his face in your cunt and got to work. He wasn’t sure who moaned louder, you or him. With how wet you were, John knew his beard was just soaked but he could care less. All he cared right now was making you scream over and over and—

“Fuck captain,” you screamed. John pulls you in closer, lifting your entire lower half off the bed and closer to his face. He wanted to feel you finish on his lips. The louder you got the tighter his pants became. He couldn’t believe he was denying himself and his boys this. You are perfect. 

As your screams turn to whines, John slowly lays you down to catch his breath which isn’t long as he begins to pepper your inner thighs with kisses. 

“Better?” he asks. You shoot him a quick glance before tugging his hair and pulling him up. John eagerly follows your lead. His eyes catch the ways your gaze shyly glance down at his lips. Not wanting to deny you anymore, he passionately takes your lips, kissing you with the same fervor he had when he ate you out. To his delight, you kiss back just as fiercely. 

Despite the orgasm, your body aches for more. As you tasted yourself on Price’s lips, you toy with his pant buttons, hoping he’ll indulge you with something bigger.

“Say it,” Price jests against your lips. You feel his lips curl into a smile. You can’t help but laugh at the irony of the situation. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks. His eyes crinkle with joy. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen those eyes. 

Without a second thought, you answer “you’re looking at me like I haven’t been a pain in your ass these past few weeks.” You giggle, trying to hide the pain you’ve felt these past few weeks. 

“What do you mean?”

“Oh c’mon John, let’s be honest here,” you start. “You and the rest of the guys have treated me like shit for weeks now… for good reason though,” you quickly add. Oblivious to your captain’s inner turmoil, you push him on the bed and begin to feather kisses all over his face. “But don’t worry, maybe I can make it up right now,” you joke. Fueled by the drug in your system, you pull John’s pants and underwear down, revealing his well-endowed member. 

“You really don’t have to,” John pushes back as your breath hit his dick. Despite it being the a dream come true, he couldn’t let you pleasure him under the guise of ‘you making it up to him.’ If anything, he should be making it up to you. He hurt you. He made you feel worthless. He doesn’t deserve your kindness. He should be on his knees for week and erasing every ounce of doubt in that pretty head of yours. He doesn’t deserve to feel good. He deserves to suffer.

And to your dismay, his body agrees. Within your own mouth, John’s dick softens. You try to ignore it and reason it was all in your head. But as the extra limb got softer and softer, shame overtook your body. Are you really that undesirable?  

John gently tugs on your head and asks that you let him try. His voice is tight (with embarrassment). John scoots to the edge of the bed and tugs on his dick, hoping to revive it. You watch as it refuses to come back. 

“Fuck,” he barks. He glances back at you and assures you it’s not your fault. Despite his reassurances, you can’t help but feel disgusted by yourself. Three men, three busts. One walked out, another didn’t want your touches, and now your captain is unable to get it up. You inch yourself away from John until your back hit the bed’s frame. You grab the sheets once more to cover yourself. 

You break the silence that had filled the room. “It’s okay. You can stop now.” John’s shoulders slump. 

“Sweetheart—“ he starts but you really didn’t want to hear it. 

“It’s fine. You don’t have to excuse yourself,” you try comforting your captain who you think is distraught by his performance. “I know it’s not your fault.” You see John’s back slightly straighten before it relaxes once more. “You can g—.” Before you can even let out that “o,” John shoots up from the bed and pulls up his pants. As he strides out the exit, you can’t help but yell out a quick, “thank you for trying.” 

Price freezes at that. With the door slightly agape, he sadly mutters, “I’ll get Kyle.” And with that, you’re alone once more.

Kyle couldn’t help but glare at his exiting captain. He couldn’t believe his luck. Bad enough Ghost was the who got to help you but now you’re telling him that Ghost AND Soap AND now Price all had the chance to help you but all fucked up.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he spits as Price leans against the wall, shame written all over his face. “I leave for what? 30 minutes? And you all got your dick wet without helping them.”

“I didn’t even pull it out.”  “Technically my fingers were the ones that got wet.” “My dick wouldn’t even get hard.” 

Kyle glared them all to silence. “It doesn’t matter if THEY’RE still dying.” Gaz couldn’t believe his team. Determined on saving you, he strides to your door, leaving the other three to wallow in their guilt. 

“Baby?” Kyle calls out. His heart breaks as he takes in your heaving, sweaty body. You quickly glance at Kyle and let out mix of a groan and moan. Not wanting to waste another minute, he crawls in your bed and presses you against him. “I’m right here, baby. I’m right here.”

“Kyle?” you groan out. You try to leave his grasp but Kyle wasn’t having it. He begins to kiss your neck and caress your body over the sheets. 

“I’m right here. Let me make you feel better,” Kyle begs. He can’t lose you. You’ve been slipping from his fingers for weeks, but now, he’s going to hold on to you and never let go. 

While Kyle didn’t want to let you go, all you want to do is escape. You are done. It’s bad enough that your teammates ignore you for weeks, but now, while you’re at your lowest, they all come get a quick taste and gag. You aren’t even angry. Just hurt. And really confused because why does Kyle care so much? 

“Use me.” You stop pushing against him and look up at him. Your entire body began to burn at the idea of using Kyle “Gaz” Garrick for your pleasure. And it seems like Kyle noticed your excitement. 

“You like that?” he whispers in your ear. “You on top,” he kisses your cheek, “or I’m on top,” a kiss to your other cheek, “I could be on my knees,” a kiss to your forehead, “or you could be on your knees,” a gentle kiss on your nose, “we can do whatever you want.” 

Your head starts to ring by the contrast between Kyle’s dirty promises and sweet kisses. You aren’t sure what’s hotter, free rein with a special forces sergeant or for once, after weeks, being in complete control of your own pleasure. 

“Take it off,” you command. To your joy, Kyle immediately starts to strip. Now determined to put yourself first, you rip the covers off your body and take off the last few articles of clothing on your body. As soon as Gaz finished, he began to crawl over your body. However, not wanting to be under him anymore, you push him on his back and climb on top of him. 

“Take whatever you need,” Kyle breathes out which only makes you wetter. You couldn’t help but moan when you felt Kyle’s already hard member between your legs. You grab his dick and slowly ease yourself on it. You groan in delight as Gaz’ dick filled you up. Determined to end this once and for all, you start to bounce. Your moans, Kyle’s groans, and skin slapping fill the room. In another life, this would have been a dream come true. Instead, this is just a means to an end. While you try to ignore the implications of you sleeping with your sergeant and really the entire 141, Kyle beings to babble. 

“You’re perfect,” Kyle groans, “everything I’ve dreamed of.”  As he starts to spew our compliments, you can’t help but cringe. Of course, the only time Kyle compliments you is when you’re riding his dick. 

“I love y—.” Unable to hear such a lie, you bend over and shut him up with a kiss. Wanting to end this dream-turned-nightmare, you begin to bounce furiously. Kyle begins to whine against your lips. His hands grip your bottom as he uses his legs to bounce up in you. You really wish he actually wanted you like this. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Kyle!” you scream in pleasure as your orgasm hits you. You slump against Kyle’s chest as your body tingles in pleasure. It’s short lived as the reality of the entire situation hits you like a bus. 

Kyle caresses your back and whispers every sweet thing he’s been wanting to say for weeks. Right now, the only thing that mattered was making sure you feel cared for. 

However, it seems like that’s the last thing you want as you suddenly climb off him and quickly hide under the covers. He calls out your name and asks you to come back. “Hey, come back. Let’s can cuddle for a bit and make sure it’s completely out of your sy—“

“No need. I feel better now. You can leave,” you rush out. 

“Baby, c’mon, let m—“

You sit up and glare at Kyle with watery eyes. “I’m not your fucking baby,” you spit out, “And I’m not Ghost’s pretty thing. I’m not Soap’s mo ghraidh and I’m not Price’s sweetheart. I get it, okay? So stop pretending like you care and just leave. I’m fine now. You got the job done.” You lay back down with your back towards Kyle. His heart breaks as he catches the way your shoulders shake. Realizing that the damage was done, Kyle slowly gets up, gets dressed, and leaves. 

— — — 

Kyle winces as he’s greeted by the bright light of the hallway and the hopeful faces of teammates. 

“How’d it go? Are they okay?” Johnny shoots up from his seat, eager for his fellow sergeant’s answer. 

“They’ll live.” Johnny cheers as Price and Ghost physically relax. 

But, their joy is short-lived as your sobs reach their ears. The four look at each other, all questing whether it was all worth it. 

Word Count: 4350

More Thoughts

[luvvictoria]

I'm writing this because I feel like I'm losing my mind ; after a recent traumatic experience I just started to feel weird and see things and this migh ease me up a bit

The first time it happens, it’s subtle. A shadow in the corner of your eye that vanishes when you turn your head. A whisper on the wind where there should be silence. Your hands twitch on your rifle, but you say nothing.

The second time, it’s worse. A figure standing right in front of you in the safehouse mirror— a dark shadow, riddled with bullet holes, blood pooling beneath its feet, a goresome image. You don’t react, doesn’t even blink. You just simply walk away.

It becomes a routine. See. Ignore. Move on.

You don’t tell anyone. Not Soap, who would joke until he realized it wasn’t funny. Not Price, who would bench you for being compromised. And definitely not Ghost.

Not until the mission over Las Almas.

You’re all on the plane back to base when you mutters it under your breath. A careless mistake, but you’re exhausted, frayed at the edges, unable to keep your thoughts inside.

"Shit… forgot my meds."

Silence.

"What meds?" Soap asks, frowning.

You freeze.

Gaz lifts his head from where he’s been dozing. Price watches you carefully. Ghost—he doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the weight of his gaze.

"You don’t take meds," Price states, not a question, just fact.

You shrug, trying to brush it off. "It’s nothing."

Ghost speaks up then, voice low, unreadable. "Didn’t look like nothing when you damn near jumped out of your skin back in the field."

You clenched your jaw. You hadn’t realized anyone noticed.

Later, when they land, Ghost corners you. It’s not aggressive, but it’s firm. A quiet presence at your side as you walk toward the barracks.

"You’re seeing things," he says, like it’s a fact, like he already knows the answer.

You stop walking. The air feels thick, pressing against your skin.

"I don’t…" You exhale sharply. "It’s not just that."

"Then what?"

Your hands tremble. You shove them into your pockets. "I don’t feel like I’m real anymore."

Ghost doesn’t say anything, letting you talk.

"I eat, and the food tastes like nothing. I smoke, and it’s like sucking in air. I touch my face, my arms, but it feels—wrong. Like my body isn’t mine anymore."

You look at him then, searching for something, maybe disgust, maybe pity. But there’s nothing. Just understanding.

"Why didn’t you say anything?" His voice is quieter now, almost careful.

You scoff, shaking your head. "Because what the hell am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, guys, I think my brain’s broken. I see dead people, and my own skin doesn’t feel like mine. Can we still go on missions together?’"

Ghost is silent for a long moment before he speaks. "Yeah. That’s exactly what you should’ve said."

You blink.

He exhales, tilting his head slightly. "You think we’d let you go through this alone?"

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. "I don’t know. I— I didn’t want to be a burden."

Ghost’s eyes soften, just barely. "You’re not."

For the first time in weeks, you feel something. Not much, but it’s there. Something warm, something solid.

And for now, it’s enough.

[jellogram]

I've discovered r/roadtrip and this is like, a gamechanger for me. I feel like a weasel that just found its bucket of snow. Normally people are like "What should I do in Southern California? I want to go to Hollywood!" and I have to be like "Noooooo go hang out in the desert with these people who make mosaics out of whippets canisters!" and they look at me like I told them to eat a shoe. My expertise in the odd nooks and crannies of the American Southwest is usually unacknowledged and useless to everyone but me.

But not on r/roadtrip. No no. These people WANT to know about the whippets mosaics. They'll be like "Anything to do in this random stretch of road in Nevada?" and I'll be like omg I know that exact road. You GOTTA go to this one weird alien-themed gas station, it fucking rules.

And then I get a bunch of upvotes from the other freaks who know this exact Nevada gas station because everyone in this sub is the kind of person who loses their shit over that sort of thing. This is my tribe.

[puckdoll]

mmmm can i humbly ask for reverse amnesia with kris??? make this man suffer a little

Leave it to Geno to reserve one of the VIP rooms at the most popular club in town. Take you all out, Geno had said after a particularly brutal loss, we, like, relax and drink. My treat.

My treat my ass. Inevitably by the end of the night, Geno would pay part of the bill and leave the rest for everyone else to cover. Same as every year, yet everyone else always fell for it. Kris hadn't for at least the past five years, always starting his own tab and leaving the rest to flounder. Not his problem if they hadn't learned yet.

Stumbling over his own feet, he caught himself on the wall and forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath. The bathroom in the lounge had been full--Kris was pretty sure he heard Doc and PO on the other side of the door, puking their guts out--so he'd been forced to step out. He hated this shit, the private lounges and the velvet ropes and the weird security guard that kept people out. He'd much rather go to a nondescript bar where he could fade into the crowd, and just hang with the guys. The drinks were always a lot cheaper, too.

He made his way up the illuminated stairs, the neon-purple lights stinging his eyes. Gaudy, he thought, but just the kind of thing Geno liked.

Nodding to the security, he went to enter the lounge, when that large, muscled arm jerked out, blocking his path. The security guard reeked of booze and Old Spice, a lethal combination that had Kris rocking back on his heels.

"Private party," the guard said, and didn't so much as blink when Kris glared.

"I know," Kris replied, a little hot, "I'm with them. I literally just came from there."

The guard smirked, tilting his head, the light refracting off of his bald scalp. "Nice try, but you're not getting in."

"This is ridiculous--" eyes sweeping the inside of the lounge, relief flooded him as he caught sight of Sid. "Sid! Hey--Sid."

Initially, Sid didn't visibly react, even though Kris knew he heard him. He wasn't that far away, Kris could almost touch him if he stretched as far as he could over the velvet rope. But upon the second call, Sid stopped, a look of resignation sweeping across his features before he turned. The entire thing was strange; this didn't feel like a joke, or some sort of awful prank.

The feeling intensified when Sid turned, slowly approaching the velvet rope. His guard was up, his entire body slowly tensing like it always did when he interacted with fans. He had plastered on his media face, the fake genial look that too many people read as genuine. "Hey," Sid said, not an ounce of real emotion in his tone.

Kris didn't like this at all.

"This guy says he's with you," the guard tilted his head back towards Sid, who's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I am," Kris protested, stomach twisting into knots at the looks the two exchanged. "I just came from there. Jesus Christ--Sid, you know me."

There was that head tilt, the slight adjustment of his weight, drawing himself up as he focused in on Kris. It was not a good sign. "I do?" Sid asked with the incredulity of a man who had met many 'long lost cousins' before.

Despite knowing that he was losing the argument, despite knowing deep in his gut that something terrible had happened--perhaps he was asleep, in a fucking nightmare that he desperately wanted to wake up from--he kept going, digging himself deeper and deeper into this hole. "I--Sid. We've played together nearly twenty years, we've--God, we've won three cups together."

That was the wrong thing to say. Sid's face shut down, the shutters closing. "We've won one," he said, and Kris could feel himself react, his jaw dropping and his brows arching as Sid continued, "Just the one."

"No--no, that's not true at all." Kris' eyes scanned the lounge, searching for someone else, anyone else. Where the fuck is Rusty, he thought, where's EK? Surely Sid was just misremembering. Surely--

He didn't know what else to do. He couldn't accept that this was his reality, that somehow by going to the bathroom and coming back, he was in an alternate universe where he wasn't a hockey player--because, fuck, Sid didn't even recognize him--and the Pens had only won one cup. Did Sid hit his head? There had got to be some explanation as to why--

Sid turned to walk away, frustration embedded into his features, like Kris had just insulted his mother and sister to his face. Kris' heart leapt into his throat--if Sid left, if he walked away, how the hell could he prove--

My jacket, he thought, eyes landing on the dark leather coat draped across the back of the chair. That's my fucking coat.

"What?" Sid turned back, brows furrowed. Kris hadn't even realized he'd spoken out loud, but he had, as Sid was staring him down instead of disappearing further into the lounge. The security guard was the only thing keeping Kris back, one large arm wrapped around his chest as Kris attempted to lean over the velvet rope, his nails digging into the guard's forearms.

"That's my coat," Kris said, pointing to it with the urgency of a dying man. "Just--it's my coat. If I'm not who I say I am, why's my coat there?" At Sid's skeptical look, Kris gesticulated wildly towards it. "Check it. Check. My wallets in there, my phone. Phone's in the right pocket, wallet's on the left side, inside zip."

Like he was possessed, Sid moved to Kris' coat, hands dipping into the pockets, searching. He pulled out Kris' phone, and Kris' heart soared. Then, he reached in, and pulled out Kris' wallet, flipping it open and sliding his driver's license out. Sid stared at it for a moment before his eyes darted up, curious but untrusting. "What'd you say your name was?"

"Kris," God, he sounded so pathetic, practically pleading with Sid to believe him while he was restrained, "Kristopher Joseph Pierre Irwin Letang. April 24th, 1987."

There was no recognition in Sid's eyes. Instead, he slid the license back into its slot then into it's pocket, zipping it up. He approached the velvet rope, holding out Kris' jacket like it personally offended him. The last bit of hope Kris had been clinging on to began to violently die.

"Sorry," Sid said, the coat falling limply into Kris' hand as he stepped back. "I don't know how it got in here. One of the guys must've grabbed--"

"You are Victoria's godfather," the words left his lips in a rush, panic and fear twisting in his gut as Sid jerked his head back, "You're my daughter's godfather. Your sister had a pet hamster as a kid that died because your mom sucked it up in the vacuum and it had a heart attack. She made you go buy another one and you felt so guilty about it you eventually told Taylor, who told you she knew because her old hamster was a girl and you bought a boy. You despise the way Geno eats his food but you'd never tell him that because you care about him way too much; you order pineapple as a side when the team goes out and gets pizza so you can still have it on the pizza without forcing everyone else to eat it like that. You're thinking of getting another cat because you're nervous that Maverick gets lonely. You--"

"--I think you should go."

The definitiveness, the finality of his words left Kris speechless. There was genuine fear and apprehension in Sid's eyes, like Kris had just flayed him open and played in his guts before attempting to sew him back up. Everything Kris had said had rung true, was true in this universe, and Sid didn't know how to reconcile the fact this complete stranger--to him, at least--knew all of these things about him. This wasn't something you could Google, probably wasn't even anything you could ask Sid's friend about because they were conversations that only he and Sid had together.

Still, it wasn't enough. Still, Kris was being sent away, unaware of where the fuck he was, who the fuck he was, if his entire life had been a dream, or if he'd even wake up from this nightmare.

Without a word, Kris pushed himself up, and took a step back, stumbling backwards down the stairs, his jacket clenched tightly in his hands. He pushed through the clubs door, practically gasping for air as the cold swarmed him. He staggered away from the entrance and down the street, away from the bright lights and line of people waiting to get in. As he was shrouded in darkness, his hands fumbled into his pocket, yanking his phone out.

The screen saver was of him and some random guy he didn't recognize. His fingers shook as he typed in his passcode. His background was, again, of that same guy with a German Shepherd. He stared at the photo, and thought, am I fucking dating him?

Text messages from a man named Youri--not his Youri, because this number was completely wrong, and this Youri didn't text the same at all--popped up along the top of his phone as he stared blankly, asking him if he was okay and when he was going to be home. Swiping them away, he pulled up his photo app, searching through them with a hunger that he'd never felt before.

There was no Cath. No Alex, no Victoria. Just him, a bunch of people Kris didn't recognize, that man, and the dog. The only people he recognized was his family.

"What the fuck," he whispered, sinking down on the curb, clutching his phone so tight he feared it might crack, "what the fuck."

There was no Sid in his contacts. No Geno, no EK, no Flower. Not even his fucking agent was listed.

Before he could really think it through, he was pulling open his messages, punching in a phone number for a new text. It had to be Sid's number still, right? Not everything could've changed.

I know your number, Kris typed, almost in a frenzy, I know you. Please believe me.

Sid read the message. Three dots popped up, then disappeared. Kris pressed the edge of his phone between his brows, scrunching his eyes shut.

He didn't know what to do. Didn't know where to go. Who the fuck was he, where the fuck was he, why had everything changed when he had left the lounge--

"You Letang?"

That Russian accent sent hope surging through Kris, his head snapping up, each vertebrae popping in his neck as he craned backwards. Geno stood in the halo of the lamp post, his face shadowed. Even still, Kris could tell he was on guard. Why are you here, he thought, before it answered itself. Kris had been Sid's guard dog; with him gone, him being nonexistent in their lives, someone else had to step up. Clearly, in this fucked up universe, that duty fell to Geno.

"Yes," he said, hopeful, despite everything, "You recognize me?"

Geno tilted his head. That was a no.

"Fuck," Kris said, putting his face in his hands again, "fuck."

"You act like I'm supposed to know you."

"Because you do. This shit isn't fucking real."

Geno said nothing, and Kris had to bite his lip to stop himself from rambling. Fucking fuck.

"Sid say you know things about him he not tell anyone. That you know his number. How?"

"Like I said," Kris said, resignation slowly begging to eat away at his frustration and anger, "you know me. I know him. We--" his voice cracked, just for a split second, "were something."

The implication didn't seem to be lost on Geno, because every inch of him perked like a hunting dog. Kris bowed his head, fingers twisting in his hair and pulling. Maybe, he thought, without a sliver of optimism, maybe he'll believe me.

"I'm think you sick," Geno said, effectively crushing whatever fight he had left in him for tonight. "You need help? I'm call cab, ambulance for you?"

"No," Kris swiped at his eyes, at the tears that were beginning to brew. "No. I'm good."

Silence gathered between them, the only sound being the echoes of life from the bar and Kris' occasional wet, snotty sniffles. He didn't know why this was getting to him so badly, but he supposed having your life turned upside down in the span of an evening would do that to you, especially when you got confirmation, twice, that it was real. That there wasn't going to be a gentle pat on the back, a reassurance that they'd just been fucking with you.

Geno's shoes scraped against the sidewalk as he turned to walk away, evidently deciding that Kris wasn't a threat.

"Hey."

Geno paused, glancing over his shoulders. Kris ground his forehead against the heels of his hands before he turned his head, mouth pressing against his bicep as he stared tiredly at Geno. They locked eyes, Geno's slit but curious, Kris' open and exposed, wet. Kris sniffed. "Remind PO that he needs to re-lace his skates."

PO had taken the laces out last game, and had put them back, shoddily. He missed a couple of holes, and hadn't gotten around to fixing it yet. No one had noticed except for the guys in the room.

Geno's eyes widened, his lips parting, but still, there was no recognition within those kind eyes. Curiosity, shock, confusion, but Kris was still a stranger in his eyes.

Turning away, Kris tightened his grip on his hair, staring between his knees. Geno stayed, his eyes burning a hole through Kris' thin shirt for a couple minutes before he left, clearly unconvinced. Had ultimately decided that Kris was just a freak who was either really good at guessing, or a stalker.

There was nothing more he could do. Kris sat on that curb in the cold, staring at the pavement until his eyes grew blurry, until the club went quiet and the street lights began to flicker off.

Kris checked his phone. A couple more texts from Youri. Swiping them away, he opened the chain he had started with Sid's number.

You liked it when I kissed you, he typed, you liked that it was uncomplicated, that the three of us could be together and go home to Kathy, to Anna, to Cath. You liked that you could forget about us.

He clicked send. It came back undelivered.

[mumblesplash]

the fact that doctors can just Recommend Weight Loss with no instructions beyond ‘eat healthier/less’ is actually insane to me, i lost weight on purpose ONCE and it took me like 6 years to recover a semi-normal relationship with food and hunger

[lincolnlogsnfrogs]

i literally love dark harvest so much i love that fucked up chase scene i love that damn pigeon and i especially love how fast dib goes from "omg i wanna move in with zim and wear his clothes ;3 (no homo tho lol)" to "oH dEAR gOD hE'S iN tHE vENTS" i will cherish this beautiful nightmare forever

[rotisseries]

chapters 51 and 58 of bloodmarked are absolutely CARRYING bree/nick/selwyn polyamory truthers

[ragnars-tooth]

One of my big compulsions is taking a fuck ton of screenshots Just In Case a piece of information is important in like 4 years and I can't remember it (sometimes the information is an instagram post that I might not remember later and of course needs to be recorded everywhere (I will Not be looking at that again)) so today is my transfer 16000 images off my phone admin day (woo)

Like yeah I never looked at any of them and they were completely irrelevant to my daily life, But what if I need them ✨️ later ✨️ (you'll see that the idea of Later is doing a lot of heavy lifting here) OR what if there's a vital piece of information in the mix somewhere that I'll lose forever if I delete them? So: onto the external hard drive they go

This is one of those cases where. Yeah. Ideally I wouldn't take 16000 screenshots in half a year. And YEAH ideally I'd just delete them and not transfer them somewhere else to never look at again. BUT at least I get a clean slate and I can maybe not mindlessly save everything for 2 seconds. It's like. Small wins? Progress. Yknow.

[lover-of-mine]

You know, my whole thing with believing Eddie fell first and Buck will inevitably fall harder comes back a lot to the way I think people misuse the trope. A fell first/B fell harder for me was never about the actual intensity of the feeling but more about how the characters handle it. A has been feeling it for longer so they know how to contain it better than B, because usually B is hit with it in a way they can't hide it, which I personally think is the most fun interpretation of it all. You can play with canon and say Eddie has been aware of something as early as the tsunami, even if I believe he named the feeling during the shooting, so it's really easy to make Eddie look like he's been coming to terms with his feelings for a while. You can very easily put intent behind Eddie's feelings going back as far as stuck. To be the one who fell first you need a level of awareness of your own feelings that Buck just simply does not have. Sure you can play with the idea of Buck feeling some form of attraction for Eddie since they met, but Buck is bad at identifying feelings, so you can't really give him the "I'm at peace with my feelings" thing as easily as you can with Eddie. Because, personally, I think Buck took what was definitely a crush and labeled it as admiration and never looked at it again, because Buck is scared of defining things because he exists in fear of being abandoned. If he doesn't look at it, he can't want it, if he doesn't want it, it can't be taken away. He has a very specific way of looking at love that will make him never look too closely at what he and Eddie have. But that also means that if he ever does catch up, it will be bursting out of him in a way he can't control. Because Buck never dealt with big feelings, so that would hit him hard. And also because Buck feels things in a big way, so it would take over. If Buck knew, it's not the type of thing you can miss. But Eddie is really good at pretending things aren't there which makes it easier for him to act as if the romantic side of his feelings for Buck won't matter in the grand scheme of things. I don't really think Eddie is at peace with his feelings, mostly because I don't think Eddie has ever felt at peace about anything ever, but also because I think the cemetery made him think no amount of waiting is gonna get Buck on the same page as him and he doesn't want to ask for it and risk being wrong, so the easiest route is to pretend it's not there, even more considering he thinks he's watching Buck fall in love with someone else, so he needs to find peace with whatever he can get. So Eddie doesn't think Buck can feel the same, leading him to not ask for what he wants, and Buck just doesn't know how to name it.

Anyway you should read my Eddie fell first essay.

[ajxrn-archive]

I need to be put in a waffle iron or something

[blupengu]

Y’all is Hollow Knight hard or do I just suck because oh my god??

[silverselfshippingchaos]

I fucking HATE how the fandom treats m.ine. it's so bad 😭

[butchlifeguard]

attention spans dont real lmao. nothing about the condition or support needs of yr adhd can be measured by measuring yr attention span because the nature of adhd is that attention span is incredibly variable. this is bc adhd is characterized by dopamine seeking behavior and not just a timer until we get bored and go on our phones

[the-acid-pear]

Why did my cooking dream get hijacked by my brain making a William Afton oc and au what was that about.

[fingertipsmp3]

Someone needs to put me down like a sick dog

[arcadequeerz]

Oh mind electric we're really in it now.