#my collection of little rat men...

[simptasia]

about "ugly" people, people will often say like, ~true beauty is on the inside~ and yes, true but like. the stuff on the outside can also be considered beautiful. i like big noses. i like crooked teeth. fuck you

#my collection of little rat men... #also strong eyebrows have come up enough times so that too #im not against straight teeth but they can be pretty uncanny valley sometimes #and i think it sad when somebody is pressured to fix any of these features when they don't have to #a big nose has improved many a face #some ppl will talk like somebody is beautiful despite their big nose and no no... thats part of it. thats enhanced the face #please bro let people look interesting #with generically attractive actors i often can't tell what they fucking look like. a sea of similar shaped blonde women #and tell me. how would you describe chris evans. how! #im autistic i appreciate being able to tell what people look like

[tarjapearce]

Crimson Crown (Pt. 6)

Royal AU! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Thanks to @pinkiemme for the amazing cover ✨

Summary: You beat Miguel to take the first step.

A/N: Thanks for the patience 🥹❤️. Hope you enjoy ~

The heavy footsteps echoed through the dark alleys of the city, lost into the forever echo of Arachne's capital. Stony roads lead to different places, but the cloaked figure's path lead to a tavern. More to the underground facade of the place, to a secluded and exclusive area.

The oak door was knocked with a characteristical bang, A little slot within was slid open, just to reveal a pair of beady eyes. The cloaked figure smirked upon hearing the locks turn and pull until the hefty door was open, allowing them in.

"You're alone."

"Yeah" the cloaked man removed his disguise and downed a pint of beer before reuniting with the others, that like him, were awaiting for his presence to start their clandestine reunion. Dressed up to mingle with the shadows.

"The king has increased the security in the east prison."

"That's a problem if we want our mercenaries out."

"What about Fisk? Tell him to send some of his men undercover to scout the area."

Another man grunted in response.

"He also is a king with responsibilities. Getting an audience with him alone takes time."

"Then what the fuck are you waiting for?"

The other man scowled as he pulled a knife out of the many pockets his suit allowed him to carry. And that unleashed a domino effect as the rest either pulled guns or more knives.

The dark and makeshift reunion was made with five men and a young boy, that didn't pass his sixteens.

"Hey! If you wanna fight someone, save those energies for the king-"

"The king has been too busy to care. His new toy has him quite preoccupied."

A brow was quirked, "New toy?"

"A princess."

"Well, ain't that wonderful?"

"Great. Now we have to remake our plan."

"No, no. What are you talking about? If we don't attack now, our chance will be for naught."

"You truly want to go ahead with a plan when we're missing our most important associates? I'd love to see you try to take on the king yourself."

The jeering words flew constantly between some members of the little gathering.

"Seems like you forget why he is called The Red King."

A roll of eyes and a dismissive gesture made the man to keep interrogating.

"So what about the princess?"

"We need more information about her."

The youngest cleared his throat and spoke.

"She's a Thelerian."

There was a collective round of not so surprised and bored 'ahs' from the men.

"No wonder why there is Arachne's soldiers in the West Passage and the borders."

"Borders? Through the city. Even within the castle!."

"Guess the old trick of 'I sell my daughter to you for protection' always works."

"She wasn't sold. Their wedding is a month and a half away."

"This is bad."

There was another pregnant silence before the teen spoke again.

"She's a doctor."

"Of course she is. Damned Thelerians. Always meddling with our affairs one way or another."

"They're strangers."

"Oh?"

The boy spoke as everyone's eyes settled on him.

"What do you mean strangers, boy?"

"They don't get that much along. King just talks to her when necessary."

The interest shone in the many pair of eyes. One face contorted into a smirk.

"Of course he does. I'd be surprised if he'd still get his cock functioning after being so inactive."

There was a combined titter and malicious giggles from them as the joke was told.

"There will be a meeting soon. With the council. I'll take my guess that he's introducing her to it."

"Told you this boy would be useful."

"Of course, it was my idea."

"Hey, you filthy rats... stop playing and listen. Is there anything else you can tell us about this princess?"

The boy shrugged.

"What do I get in return?"

"What did you just say, boy?"

The eldest man mumbled, clearly vexed by the plucky and defying attitude of the boy.

"I said, what do I get in return? All of you have something to win over this plan. And so far I've been used as a spy. I think it's fair if I get something back."

"And what would you possibly want?"

"I'll take it when I see it."

"Right."

"Anyways, Let Fisk know we need him. We gotta get that big brawn twerp before The King gets to him first."

"Oh god, not Rhino."

"Shut up. As much as I hate him too, he's useful. We need him."

"Stay in the castle. Find out where he was last seen."

The man spoke to the boy, that only stared back with a piercing gaze.

"Even though the princess is a new addition to the plan, it only gives us a new advantage. Political marriages are a thing, so we gotta make the most out of it."

"She recently visited her parents. Apparently the king fell ill after his mistress tried to poison him."

Another laugh.

"See? This is why exactly I've been telling you that Theleria will fall by it's own king's hand. We don't even need to meddle with them."

"True that."

"What about Prince Gabriel?"

A solemn silence fell on the stony and secluded room.

"Keep that fool busy. If we can make he gets sent away even better. Less to worry about."

"And the princess?"

"Keep an eye on her."

-------

Nervous and anxious was an underestimation on how you really felt. You were sure the insides of your cheeks were nearly chewed raw as you waited outside the grand wooden doors, just as Peter had instructed a few moments ago. Your knees trembled underneath the layers of your dress, palms became sweaty and your breaths a bit more shallow.

The day to finally meet the council, had arrived. The past two days were spent solely on your studies about Arachne and the current situations surrounding the kingdom. You tried to cram up as much info as possible, but what truly would be judged was your criterion on things and how well you could adapt to the situations.

Royalty expected so much, and hopefully you'd pass this evaluation. It was unavoidable to not feel curious as to why councils held almost the same amount of power as The king himself. Back in her kingdom, councils remained as an extra help, and as much as a mistress indulging your father, King Blanchard was, he took his ruling seriously.

Councils were summoned when your parents needed to keep updated in the things that needed to be done. But again, different kingdoms, different customs.

The doors slid open to reveal none other than Miguel himself, motioning for you to come in. The room was large and so was the war table, as people gathered around it. A total of six, you and Miguel made eight in total.

There had never been another chair at the top of the table, cause there was no need for another one. Until now. You sit next to Miguel. Eyes settled on you.

Some with hardened expressions you couldn't quite pinpoint as to why of their sudden and implicit hostility, others regarded you curiously.

Jessica, Ben and Peter joined not long after.

"Now, that we're all in, let us begin."

"Your majesty."

Everyone bowed to Miguel and soon an elder lady spoke.

"As you may know, the nether lands are asking for an audience with you ever since some months ago. They will not stop until you've listened to them, apparently."

Her tone was tired, a little annoyed but respectful nonetheless.

"What is it what they want anyways, May?"

"For you to lower their taxes on seasonal products."

"Can't do if they charge as twice for imports that are brought out of time. And recreating their things is proven to be even more expensive."

Miguel sighed while resting his cheek on his knuckles.

"Lower them a two percent."

"But, my lord! You lowered them already last month!"

Another man spoke, pointing at the outside lands out of Enethor. Your eyes frowned upon seeing the distance to travel and import. Miguel looked at you from the corner of his eyes.

"What do you think, Princesa?"

"W-Well, taxes are quite important for the kingdom, and so are the seasonal products the merchants offer, naturally, they'd ask to lower the taxes"

Some scoffed at the obvious information, but you kept talking.

"Why don't lower the taxes in the plot of lands they use?"

"Care to explain that?"

"Look at it this way, the cheaper the land, more opportunities they have to create more jobs"

"So basically making the rich, richer."

You frowned at the tempting words from another man.

"No. A mutual help, sir. By lowering the prices, there will be no need for them to travel such great distances, and subsequently they won't raise their prices on the market. Because they'll produce what they can here."

May seemed to consider your words as the rest discussed.

"Do you use this in your kingdom, your highness?"

Another man, Ben Parker spoke with genuine curiosity.

"We do. Since Theleria produces medicines, we cannot be picky when it comes to import the finest materials for it. We want to help others. Not monopolise health."

"How... benevolent of you. Though I'm quite surprised you allow such thing, when your kingdom is the tiniest among the continent."

Another man, Darko D'Angelo spoke.

"Yet, with all due respect, none has taken our place as the main supplier of medicines in the continent, sir."

Miguel smirked as you took a discreet deep inhale. It was unavoidable to feel angered when someone tried to belittle Theleria.

"Now, now, let's get our attention focused on what truly needs to be discussed."

The council expanded on various topics, even though the start was a bit rocky, there were times where you actually felt included and taken in consideration. May Parker seemed on a neutral line. And so was Ben Parker. Another amusing thing, was to know that there were so many Parkers and Ben's within the ranks.

They all seemed connected to the need to fight for what was good, and Miguel slead them all on. It made your heart to leap a bit in your chest as your eyes settled on him, discreetly.

For a dark king everyone assumed him to be, he had been one of the kindest, wisest and considerate man with a deep love for his kingdom you've ever met.

Jessica couldn't help but elbow Peter to witness the look you were giving him. An absolutely fascinated one. That turned into a blushing stare the more he spoke about the revamps he wanted to do into the esthetics ways of Arachne.

The council had discussed many things he had neglected, like arts and other needs revolving around them. You were so temped into taking his hand and ask him personally to let you handle it. That you would help him and not disappoint him.

But the same man from before changed the mood and the conversation's route so quickly fast it had cut you short to prepare yours and the rest's replies.

"I think your highness should focus in producing heirs, instead of feeding the needs of a little bunch that hold no productivity besides entertaining momentarily the rest."

"Ser Darko."

May warned but another man spoke.

"Baron D'Angelo is right. You see, we are at the verge of war-"

"Against who, my lord?"

You questioned and if the men could kill with their looks, you'd be a cold body by now. Their subtle and not so discreet disdain over your ideas an opinions hadn't go unnoticed, specially by Baron D'Angelo, who seemed fixated into getting any sort of negative reaction from you.

"Against who?! How preposterous of you to believe we are in times of peace, when outside the continent there is so many enemies that want to invade us, princess."

If it wasn't for the warning glare Miguel shot him, he could've kept rambling about how naive you were.

"My apologies, ser. Has anything been done to appease their intentions?"

"It's not something you can't just fix by talking to them, princess. That it has worked for you and your people means it will work for us."

"But have you tried dialogue? Know the cause of their-"

"Again, we've tried anything.-"

"Not to sound disrespectful, ser. It's clear I need to know more of Arachne,-"

"Indeed."

Your brow quirked at what he had just said

"And I know that some kingdoms reject dialogue or any peaceful solution before it's has been offered," You took a breath, testing carefully your words., "But it does seems odd their stance of attacking, remains after the supposed peace offerings."

"We've known these realms for so long that a pacific solution has been discarded eons ago."

You blinked, but it was a good chance to put the spotlight on the both. It was clear that they loved to engage in war. Which concerned you.

"So, you're assuming they want war, and you're ready to engage without giving a chance for real words to be treated?"

"With all due respect, princess. Thelerian pacifist and foreign outlooks towards Arachne's belic conflicts are everything but helpful."

Miguel's jaw clenched, and so did Peter's. Tension in the room was heavier and denser than a black hole. He was set to make you angry, and it was hard to not bait into his game, but like your mother, you kept it calm and composed, even though you wanted to put a little datura into his drink.

"Quite ironic how roles invert here, ser D'Angelo."

"Beg your pardon?"

His voice came a bit louder and annoyed than he had intended to.

"Even though I do agree that I must know more about Arachne, I believe you must expand your knowledge in Theleria. Not the one you all now know. But the one before being The Fallen Kingdom."

Darko scowled but remained quiet, letting his haughty look to speak for him.

" What about it?"

"Theleria has been one of the most ancient lands of this continent, ser. And the one that has the most antique monarchy lines through Enethor."

"So?"

"It happens that we turned into a fallen kingdom by being exactly as you voice your opinion."

"And how is that?"

"Closed to any other option that wasn't war. And look at us now, ser. May the creator above forbid this land to fall under the same curse we have."

"That's... That's not gonna happen."

"It might happen if you keep refusing what you have overlooked so far."

"Are you threatening Arachne, your majesty?"

"I am not. I have no power to stand against your armies, ser. But only a fool would take a fair epitome of what happens when acting recklessly, as a threat."

Baron Darko's mouth gaped as his eyes widened in disbelief. How dared you to play him like that? Even worst in his own game.

"Or so is what my mother always says."

The other man that had initially been with him had kept quiet in the whole exchange. Watching and listening to the verbal spar where you had gotten by a few inches the upper hand.

"I am not opposed to war, gentlemen. But, like I said to the king once, if I am able to prevent unnecessary bloodshed, I will."

There wasn't much said after that, little pleasantries and polite goodbyes from your end, made you exit your room. Head high, even if the whole meeting was a fiasco, you would've still held your head high. Your legs shook as Peter followed you. A subtle yet knowing smile plastered on his lips.

In the room, however things weren't done. Not when Baron D'Angelo and Lady May approached.

"You still refuse to give us an answer when it comes to have heirs, your majesty."

"They'll come when the time is right."

Miguel didn't want to dwell into the subject. Children sure were in his list, but responsibilities had taken so much away from him already, that he forgot about them. He was past his thirties, and he could die in battle, leaving no heirs to follow his legacy.

"I guess the time is approaching sooner than we think, your majesty. What if the future queen is unable to conceive?"

His eyes narrowed at Darko's words. Even though his yapping was irksome, he had a fair point.

"As much as I differ with Baron Darko, you know the rules of this game, your majesty."

Lady May spoke with the same tired tone in her voice from before.

"The princess will bear the future heir of Arachne."

Miguel's words made Darko to tense and frown.

"But she knows so little about us! We don't know if her kingdom will remain loyal to us in a future if trouble arises, my lord."

He rubbed his hands nervously as Miguel  sheathed his sword on his hip.

"Please, consider your other options, in case the princess is unable to-"

A hand dressed in the obsidian claw made the sharp fingertips to hold on Darko's chin, tips softly prickling at his skin.

"She will. Not your daughter. Am I clear?"

The Baron could only nod with a difficult gulp.

----

Miguel had taken a small break from all that just happened, Jessica had the most shit eating smile one could muster.

"She will, huh?"

"Aren't those the rules?"

"You seem a bit too enthusiastic about following those certain rules."

"I'm getting old, and they keep pestering me."

Miguel mumbled before removing his armor and plop on his ever trusting chair.

"You have to do something regarding Dana first."

"I know."

"Or else-"

"Jessica... I know."

His commander and right hand sighed, but preferred to change topics.

"Guess she has a temper after all."

A faint chuckle escaped Jessica's lips.

"Why did you assume she didn't?"

"She's not precisely someone that strikes me as vindictive, or demand her father's mistress death."

Miguel huffed an airy laugh while slicking his hair back, pensive.

"Peter explained why she... got so upset regarding that situation. Makes sense."

"So, you're knowing eachother more?"

"Apparently."

Jessica rolled her eyes with an exasperated grunt.

"She seems a little too fascinated with you, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Back in the council. She was giving you these dreamy puppy eyes."

Miguel's lips twitched in a little smile.

"So you better make a move, before someone else fool but brave enough does."

Bushy eyebrows furrowed. And only deepened when Jessica tossed a little envelope, smelling like roses and other pleasant herbs before going away.

For my muse.

The scribbled words were almost as stylish and perfect as yours, definitely another Thelerian.

Who dared to be foolish enough to pursue something out of his reach? He gave a quick reading to the letter and scoffed at the maudlin words. Not that he blamed the man for feeling so intensely.

After what transpired today, it felt like a little switch was turned on in him. It wasn't an outcome he had expected, but the balance had been tipped in your favor. Not entirely, but had enough member's approval to reaffirm his choice.

And he had to thank you for leaving those harrying members that demanded from him a heir, behind with their mouth shut for long enough.

Darko however always seemed to favor Dana. At first, they all agreed that the main mistress should occupy the throne.  But Miguel never really regarded such things. Too busy fighting enemies in allied countries and waging political wars to actually have a pause and produce the next line of descendants.

He didn't know it if was coincidence or something greater than him that put that passageway in his path, and now not only had a true reason to get married, but someone that shared his convictions and dreams for his country.

And, he was sure his future heirs would be beautiful.

Just like you.

The letter had annoyed him, but also amused him. A man that had only saw you and spoke to you twice, put all his feelings in the letter that was turned into ashes by now.

But he had to give that fool some credit. Unlike him, he knew how to express and convey his feelings without any apparent issue, yet he wasn't able to talk about something else that wasn't work and duties related.

With a sigh, he changed into a more casual attire and picked his sword. Then, ventured in his palace, looking for you.

----

You were about to leave for the gardens to take the afternoon tea with Margo and Gwen when Miguel's shadow loomed over from your bedroom's doorframe. A little jolt buzzed through your body, startling you.

"My lord, not to be... disrespectful but, I think it's time for you to knock on my door."

Miguel chuckled and motioned for you to come closer.

"Come. Follow me."

With a quirk of your eyebrow, you obeyed and followed him. Long legs took him further as you tried your utter best to keep up with him. Miguel's ears perked at the sound of your steps hastily following him. A pleased smile was etched in his face to then suddenly stop before a room.

With a deep sigh and a bit of pantings, you also stopped.

"Close your eyes, Princesa."

"W-What?"

"Close your eyes. Please."

The confused look in your face made his eyes soften and a smile to stretch wider as you obeyed him once more.

Quite compliant

And oh so pretty. His eyes stared at your face for what seemed forever, time had stopped specially when his deep ruby eyes stared at your lips, and then trailed themselves down to the collarbone. Before his eyes could rake you over, his throat was cleared and he opened the doors for you.

He then gave your lower back a gentle push for you to move forward. He took your hand and guided you inside. Warm fingers curling softly on his big and weathered hands.

He took you further into the room, the scent of the ever familiar herbs and flowers filled in your lungs, subduing your rising nervousness.

"Open them."

You did, and your heart beat with such strenght you had to clutch harder on his hand at the sight. It was a much more advanced laboratory from what you had back at Theleria.

In one side, you had the many and an endless looking supply of herbs and other medicinal things. And in the other side, you had the tools. Canisters filled in with strange liquids that boiled, glass containers, a oak table sturdy enough to bring and attend anyone in need of a surgery, and of course, many books related Arachne's medical story.

"This..."

"Is yours."

His words and gentle smile had your eyes glossy while a shivering laugh escaped your lips.

"Mine? All Mine?"

"All yours."

He nodded while enveloping your hands with his.

"This is-... Oh by the heavens. My lord. This is... too much for me, I-"

"Princesa."

Your eyes settled on his warm expression.

"I know you will make a good use of it."

"Your highness"

You mumbled while squeezing his hands a bit tighter.

"I... I don't even know what to say."

"A 'thank you, my king' would suffice"

A little laugh and his heart skipped a beat.

"You are part now of the medical staff. Their leader, you'll be a great mentor to them."

"Will you visit me, my lord?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Of course. Seeing you is always good. Though I must ask. Do... you fear me? Or feel something strongly negative towards me?"

"I'm afraid the question confuses me, Princesa."

"Let me rephrase that question. Do you feel averted towards me or repulsed?"

All the opposite.

"It is not personal if I don't approach, Princesa. I've been busy. I'm always busy-"

"I... I know that, ser. But, you're always seeming to avoid me until something that requires me appears."

Miguel's brow twitched at the lack of reply, instead you spoke again.

"Political or not... I wouldn't like to marry an acquaintance, much less a stranger."

A soft blush crept on your cheek and you inhaled deeply before mumbling.

"That's why... I... I'd like to know my future husband better. If its not too much to ask."

Going from acquaintances to be called future husband surely made his brain a puddle and his heart to accelerate in a way that for once didn't concerned him.

"Would you... join me tomorrow at a lunch in the meadows?"

You gulped, and casted your eyes down, a bit too embarrassed to meet his bewildered stare.

"Its alright if you can't go, we can know eachother-"

"I'll be there."

Words came so soft and like butter from his mouth that you stared at him with round eyes in surprise.

"We have a lot to discuss anyway. I think it's time for us to properly address our wedding, your highness."

"As you wish, my lord."

The sweet smile on your face made him want to forever have it tattooed in his mind.

The way he looked at you didn't sit right in the spying and vindictive blue eyes that followed you almost everywhere.

Her heart broke upon seeing the kind of look Miguel threw your way. All different from hers, full of annoyance and cold hearted, nearly in despise. But you, had managed to fulfil one of her dreams with such easiness it made his own heart to crash and burn in anger.

This wasn't over. It would be when Dana said it was. With a new target in mind, the main mistress disappeared in the shadows. Unable to widstand the momentarily defeat. She came first, she had the right to that crown, his heirs and him. Dana would have him, either the good or the bad way.

And Miguel always seemed to learn the bad way.

---

Taglist:

@obi-mom-kenobi @allysunny @nxrdamp @a--dedicated--fangirl @rin0r1na @queenofroses22 @sofi786 @murnsondock @okayiamkassandra @kimmis-stuff @ceoofmiguel @meeom @handsomeprettytoes @ladymoztaza @chiikasevennn @mxtokko @gabrielarose29 @oooof-ifellforyou @minalovesyoubabes @kikisstrawberrie @know-that-its-delicate @aikoiya @st0r-fruit @ittybxttykxttytxtty @local-mr-frog @liidiaaag @berlinswifey @eepybunny0805 @vonev @cheerrioeoz @solesurvivorjen @zaunsin @ange-grayson @peachsteven @kdrosebme @geraskier-thots @rjasmin2021 @yehet-moi-ohorat @death-moth-art @smookycloyd @somehopeatlast @jadinwitch @bunnibitez

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨ #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel ohara #king miguel #miguel o'hara x y/n #princess reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you

[emeraldborealis]

You Never Left

Pairing: Captain John 'Soap' MacTavish x GN!reader

TW//CW: Angst, mention of torture, reader is held captive, blood, hallucinations, gender neutral pronouns but use of lass/lassie, no use of y/n, my attempts of writing a Scottish accent.

A/N: My first time writing COD, an entry for @glitterypirateduck 's SoapItUp challenge.

Prompts used: 14. I've been looking for you. 10. I won't let anything happen to you. 20. Just a little more. 11. I'll take care of you.

Part Two

Words: 2,490

The fan blades incessantly spun above you, cutting out the only source of light in the room, plunging you into total darkness before bathing you in blinding light over and over again, moving at a speed that your eyes could never fully adjust to the light or the darkness.

It was proving to slowly drive you insane. A way to keep your senses constantly disoriented.

You'd lost track of how long you'd been stuck here, sometimes unsure if you were even still alive or if even the grim reaper had forgotten to come collect you.

The only indicator you had that you were even still a person was the cool metal of the chair you were tied to, and the grounding pain of the rope tied too tight biting into your raw wrists.

Pain, constant pain of some kind was all you could even feel.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, it was a simple recon mission, supposed to have been an in and out thing, but everything had gone horribly wrong, bad mission intel, and trusted the wrong sources.

And when push came to shove you were left behind to save the rest of the team, a necessary loss.

The sound of footsteps approaching didn't elicit fear in you like it had once, it was nothing but the announcement of more pain.

It didn't matter anymore, eventually you'd die from the beatings, the dehydration, the starvation, the rats were placing bets on which would come first so they could nibble on your corpse, waste not want not.

A tingling sensation ran up your spine at the sound of the heavy metal door creaking open, two men walking in.

"C'mon lass, chin up. Don't give them the satisfaction of ye giving up." A familiar phantom of a voice rang in your ears, but he wasn't here. Not really. Still, the echo of falsities gave you strength. The desperation to truly hear that voice again.

"Not dead yet, are we?" A forceful grip grabbed your chin, tilting your head up. The sudden movement puts spots in your vision, the taste of blood strong in your throat and mouth. "Hand me that rag." Your captor spoke to his companion, who quickly supplied the rag.

"Here you go sir." You didn't recognize this man, he was younger, probably new, fresh out of whatever training a terrorist group like this gives their soldiers.

"Let's get you cleaned up, your soft face is being obstructed by all this blood of yours." Your captor spit on the rag and got to work roughly wiping under your broken nose, making you wince. "Hush, I'm taking good care of you, if you handle this well maybe I'll even reset your nose properly."

You didn't say anything, you didn't have anything to say. You knew the routine, he'd come in here, beat you within an inch of your life, leave you for a few days then come back acting sweet, just to clean you up in the roughest way possible.

"Sir, why do we even keep them?" The new guy asked a bit meekly, blinking his eyes weirdly, clearly getting annoyed by the fan blades too.

"Just what the higher ups want, they think they have intel. So don't question it." He hissed at the younger boy, rubbing with the scratchy dirty rag at a cut on your cheek, somewhere the skin had split open from one of his punches. The bone was probably fractured, it definitely needed stitches or butterfly bandages.

You had to fight yourself from blacking out, the pain almost blinding with the way he was assaulting already searing wounds. "Stay wi' me." John urged, his voice nothing short of a command, spoken in his harsh captain voice.

"This is your own fault, remember that. If you hadn't tried to escape, things would be better for you right now." Your captor taunted you, holding your cheek and rubbing your cut with his calloused thumb, picking away any remaining scabbing the rag didn't remove to keep you bleeding.

Keep the wound from healing and closing.

Truthfully it was foolish to try and escape, the echoes of the memory replaying in your mind like a drum, the patter of your bare feet running on the cold harsh ground of the hallways, not knowing where to even run, which way was the exit, relying solely on the voice of John guiding you.

"No' that way." He'd warned, the strange shadow of him blocking the way down a hallway. "Go that way." He'd pointed another way, and you'd followed, listened.

Each step you took sent another wave of pain through you, but you'd persisted. "Stop." John spoke directly into your ear, making you halt, hearing a set of footsteps you previously hadn't before.

They were coming your way, you couldn't turn around. You were out of options. "Run, go. Noo." And you'd listened, putting every ounce of yourself into your shaky sore legs, running like mad in the way you'd hoped was the exit.

And it was.

You'd made it an entirety of five steps out and away before being tackled and dragged back inside, you'd screamed your vocal cords to shreds, screamed until you'd tasted iron in your lungs. But the pain in your throat didn't compare to the punishment you'd gotten for your attempt of escape.

"Where did you think you'd go? I mean really. Your team left you a long time ago, remember? They abandoned you, saw you as less than and tried to save themselves. They aren't ever going to come back for you. You're going to die here." Your captor reminded you, patting your head, snapping you back to the present.

Maybe he was right, you were going to die here. They weren't coming back for you. You were never going to make it out of here. You knew that from the beginning.

But yet you kept pushing, being told to hold on, being called back from the brink of death by the only ounce of hope you had left, your Johnny. He'd shown up at some point after your capture, probably the result of one too many punches to your fragile face.

"We'll be back later, try and think real hard about what we want from you, if you just tell us what we want, I promise to make your end painless, no more of this. You won't have to see my face again." Your captor pulled away, proposing the idea of death as a tender mercy. Maybe it would be. "Remember who left you here, loyalty means nothing when they're the reason you're here."

He made a point, but even still. You wouldn't talk, because they never really left you. John- Johnny, was still here with you.

Dozing off events from your early capture would replay in your mind, the bumpy blind rides you'd been on with a sack over your head, being moved locations several times before ending up in what your captor liked to call your 'tomb'.

You didn't know how long it was waiting for your captor to come back, hours, maybe days. He liked to leave you in anticipation.

But he never came back.

The sounds of gunfire and explosions sounded like nothing but another distant memory.

The sound of the heavy metal door creaking open would always bring a chill up your spine, something trained and beaten into you, to fear that sound.

You didn't care to look up, too much exhaustion and dehydration weighing your head down, you knew who it was. He'd move your head for you to force you to look at him. "I've been looking fur ye."

The sound of his voice, his actual voice, brought your bloodshot eyes to wander up to the door, landing on your captain who was already directly in front of you, kneeling to cut your binds around your feet.

Your eyes desperately raked over him, the scar on his cheek, the curve of his nose, the stubble on his face, his ears you liked to nibble on in secret, his Adam's apple, his broad shoulders.

Back up to his blue eyes, the blue eyes you'd looked into so often you'd memorized each fleck of lighter blues against darker blues, something so beautiful that you'd never been able to put them into words. You drank all of him in.

"Are you real?" Your voice croaked out, sounding hoarse and shaky, it was barely recognizable as your voice, but the pain that accompanied it proved to you that it was indeed your voice who asked.

"Aye, aye lassie, I'm real." The state of you made him take pause, pressing his forehead to yours, gently holding the nape of your neck to bring you closer to him. He needed to acknowledge for just a moment you were alive before he moved behind you to cut the rest of your binds.

The ropes holding you to the chair were all that were keeping you up, when they were cut you were released, he had to rush to catch you before you could hit the floor. "Easy. I got ye. I won't let anything happen to ye." Holding your shoulders he moved around you to face you again, pulling his canteen out for you. He brought it to your cracked, dry lips to give you some water, careful not to drown you all at once. "I'm getting ye out o' here."

Once he was satisfied with the small amount you drank he grabbed you by the arm, hauling you over his shoulder to carry you out.

Everything was a bit hazy, the whole way out, you could identify the sounds of your other teammates voices, the sounds of the helicopter, a prick in your arm, and coolness spreading in your veins, but nothing was clear. Nothing but the fact you were safe.

Things didn't become clear until you were opening your eyes, hearing an irritable beeping sound, a steady rhythm. Looking down at yourself your wrists were bandaged, two IV's in your right arm, one in your hand, the other on the inside of your elbow.

"Yer awake." A hand came to gently touch your head, coming in gentle contact with one of the bandages there.

Despite the fluids being brought back into you through the IV's your throat still ached with dryness, your captain seemed to take notice of it, quickly moving to bring you some water, gently holding a straw to your lips so you could drink.

The coolness of the water worked to both soothe your throat and highlight the pain there. You Pulled away but John didn't seem quite satisfied yet. "Just a wee bit more." He urged, and you complied.

After that some nurses and doctors came in to check on you, completing their rounds and making sure all was well with you and that you were comfortable, well, as comfortable as you could be.

John stayed the whole time, and after the nurses and doctors left he remained, a silence between you two.

He ran his hand over his mohawk, it was cut recently, a little shorter than the last time you saw it, a testament of just how long you really have been gone.

"I'm sorry, I never meant tae leave ye." His voice sounded a bit pained, trying to clear his guilty conscience.

"You never left. I always heard you, shadows all around me, prickles on the back of my neck. Your voice pushing me. Picking me up. When all the colors were black, you're the reason I'm still alive." It hurt to speak still, but you needed to get it out, it did little to comfort him, if anything making him look more worried.

"Love, I'm sorry. It shouldn't have been ye. Anyone but ye. Me. It should have been me. Not ye." He slipped from his chair, kneeling beside you, clutching your left hand with desperation, but gentle enough not to hurt you. He kissed your hand, over and over, each knuckle, each little mark, scar, bandaged blister, callous, everything.

It hurts to move your right arm with the IV's, not to mention the overwhelming weight of your bones. But you needed to, bringing your hand to gently rub his head, feeling his short hair, running along the slightly longer mohawk, grounding both of you with the sensation.

"It's not your fault. Everyone would have died if you stayed, it was a necessary sacrifice. A call I would have told you to make." Your hand slipped from his head, feeling too exhausted to be able to keep it there.

"I spent so many nights desperately searching fur ye. The only thing- the only thing that kept me going wis the thought of finding ye. I needed tae find you." Hearing his voice, really hearing his voice was something so grounding and comforting to you.

The familiar rumble and fluctuations, the Scottish accent that's mellowed out over the years of service, adjusting with hearing other's accents for so long, a lot of his slang being replaced by slang in the areas he spent time, his accent becoming a shell of what it used to be, changed so he could be easily understood. But ever present.

"You did, you found me. I'm okay. I'll be okay now." You had to say it out loud to reassure yourself that you weren't still tied to that cool metal chair, the fan blades spinning overhead, always waiting for the next dose of pain to bring you closer to the edge of blackness. Death.

Recovery sounded almost impossible, you were sure you'd never fully get over what happened to you, that the psychological as well as physical scars would always remain.

Taunt you with each flickering of light, the sound of metal, the taste of iron, each time you closed your eyes you were sure you'd see your captor, his interrogations and questions would always repeat like a broken record in your head.

But you yourself weren't broken, you made it through.

"I swear I'll never let ye go again, I'll take care of ye. Till my very last breath. I'll spend the rest of my life atoning for the pain I put ye through by leaving ye there." His words were spoken with absoluteness, a testimony more than a promise.

"Just never stop speaking to me and I'll be alright, as long as your voice is here to ground me I'll make it through." His blue eyes bore into you, they were soft, filled with longing.

It was so stupid to fall for your captain, not to mention against so many rules, even more stupid for him to fall for you too. There was only one way this could end, you were lucky this time. But who's to say you will be next time?

You shook the thought from your head, pulling him weakly with your left hand up to you, kissing him softly. He was hesitant at first, scared of hurting you, but he melted into it. Relishing having you back safe. 

#soapitup #x reader #oneshot #reader insert #gender neutral reader #cod fandom #john mactavish x reader #captain soap mactavish #cod #captain john mactavish #og soap #angst #whump #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #cod soap #cod soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap call of duty #soap mactavish x reader #soap cod #soap mctavish #soap mw2 #john mactavish #cod fanfic

[yellow-yarrow]

Liz is such an underappreciated character, I'm starting a collection about the things we know about her since the wiki doesn't have much info.

She went to law school for 4 years, (so she is in her early 20s) Evrart paid for it. I find it a little contradictory that he calls her middle class, since she also grew up in Martinaise & needed financial help for school, but maybe she is a little bit wealthier than the avarage person in Martinaise. She's a legal counsellor for the Dockworkers' Union and she's a socialist.

Evrart Claire - "Oh, Liz is a bright one!" He grins broadly. "I paid for that law degree myself, thinking it'll probably turn her all fancy, but hell, Harry -- she came back a firebrand socialist! Sometimes she scares *me* with her zeal."

Evrart Claire -"She thinks of herself as a guerrilla fighter. These middle-class kids and the books they read are crazy, Harry. I think she would rather be an *insurgent* than a lawyer. I hope it's a phase."

Easy Leo - "Oh, Lizzy? She is a real sharp tool. Mr. Evrart put her through some fancy school and everything, east of the river. Four years she was gone and when she came back she was all fancy and *law-yerly*." Easy Leo - "But she's a real nice girl, grew up in this here neighbourhood, knows everybody and gets along with everyone, real pillar of the community one day, I'm sure."

You - "Thank you comrade. Property is theft." Elizabeth - "Vulgar idiot," she shakes her head. Conceptualization - Your understanding of the worker's struggle is about one century old, she's thinking.

Elizabeth - "Listen, you Moralintern lackeys. You're a mob, enforcing the unlawful privatization of Revachol. Twenty fat men in the Occident are stealing it all -- and you're their body guards."

She is very pretty, "could be a model" but doesn't think highly of models.

Glen - "You *could* be, Liz. You could be anything. You could even be a model." Elizabeth - "*Even* a mod..." Her face stiffens. "Glen, I went to *law school*. I am an attorney." Electrochemistry - He's right, with a face like that she could be on the cover of La Débutante International. Glen - "So fucking what? Lots of models are actually really smart people, fuckwad!" Elizabeth - "No, Glen -- they aren't." Her tone is cold and uninvolved.

Rhetoric - When she's angry, she emphasizes the *s*. It gives her voice a strangely hypnotic quality. Her lips barely move as she speaks. Inland Empire - Frankly it's a bit terrifying.

Likes and dislikes:

Elizabeth - "Anodic dance music, you wouldn't get it." Elizabeth - "No." It doesn't look like she's into popular adventure-fantasy.

You - "Do you listen to disco?" The Gardener - "Uh... I'm gonna say no." "Can't wait to change out of these rags."

She is good at lying, to some degree:

Drama - She feels interrogated now. It's hard to say if she's lying. Composure - She hides it well, but behind the sweat and dirt there is something... else. In her rigid posture. Drama - You get a strange feeling, looking at that smile. It spoils the moment. It is disingenuous. You - What's going on here? Drama - Surely it was nothing, sire. Just paranoia.

Liz obviously doesn't like Harry, she didn't want to cover for Klaasje. She is annoyed with the Hardie boys.

Elizabeth: "Babysitting imbeciles... what the heck, Liz?" Elizabeth - "Why are you so fucking FAT, Angus?!" Lizzie snaps at him. "Now it's all pointless, because of *you*. You wasted my time. I told you, Titus --" she turns to him. "I told you to just give her up."

Her thoughts on Cuno:

The Gardener - "The kid did this, right? The red-haired rat? Can't say a sentence without *f****t* or *kipt*... He's always giving me trouble." You - "I was talking to him, yes." The Gardener - "Maybe you shouldn't be. I mean... you do your job, but that kid is beyond help.

Easy Leo says she is very nice and gets on well with everyone. I think we have to take into consideration that when we meet her 1. we play as a cop 2. she is in very high stress situations. She has a huge responsibility by being the union's lawyer. So I can imagine that she is usually a bit more like what she acted like as "the gardener", and doesn't always snap at people.

That's all I found so far, if anyone wants to add to this, feel free to do so

#long post #elizabeth beaufort #disco elysium #someone please tell me what part of revachol is 'east of the river' cause im too dumb to remember geography #i started this post like 2 days ago it got quite long lol #edit: i've been told east of the river is the wealthiest part of the city so that makes sense

[mightymizora]

The Library

1300 words, Rated E, Enver Gortash/Ffion Goldgrind CW: Ropes and suspension, BDSM, Piss :)

Read on Ao3

He’s an easy client, but it doesn’t make him a good one, and her feet are already sore in her boots and her corset is chafing with the sweat of the hot summer. This time of year is always a foul sort of time to work; tempers are high after taxes have been collected, those with money are flush, those without are demanding. At least her job allows her to keep a part of herself away, unlike some of the other workers. She notes the precious flower of young Sadrine is wilting, the poor halfling half full of seed and half empty of sweat and tears. At least she does not have that to deal with.

He is an easy client, but that doesn’t make him a good one, but at least he is direct with what he wants. As soon as he enters, shrugs off his heavy coat and gently unlaces his breeches, he is already setting his expectations silently, pointing out his preferred methods and tastes for the day.

“It has been a busy week in the Upper City,” he tells her in that jovial tone of his, placing the gold on the table by the door. The bag is heavy; he will be expecting to be here all afternoon. “As I’m sure you’ve heard many times today. I’m certain you will have seen some of my colleagues through your doors. Young Bormul perhaps? Glitterbeard, almost certainly. You seem the type they might enjoy.”

“Quiet,” she warns him in her strictest tone. He knows she can’t and won’t talk about other clients, and he does not want her to point out that he is here, just as they are. That’s not the game, and he wants the fantasy from the moment he crosses the threshold into the library.

Brat.

Once his shirt is off and he is down to his smalls he puts his hands in front of him, slipping into the cuffs with a smirk on his face. She hates this moment, where they are so pleased with themselves, but normally it does not last long before they start to stink of fear.

Enver Gortash takes a little longer. He is, after all, here to be taken apart by an expert.

She checks in briefly for his word (arbalest, as usual) before guiding him to the pulley. She clips him in, checks the tension through the dual anchors on the ceiling and the floor, and then pulls until he is dragged to the tip of his toes. His strong arms flex, hold his weight, and that smirk is still there as she pulls the last of his clothes from him roughly and squeezes his half-hard cock. As expected.

“You have been caught, rat,” she tells him. This is the script, this is what he wants. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Cunt.”

Simple this time. He must be tired. She pulls sharply and ties it twice around the floor hook, leaving him squirming on the ropes as she pulls up a seat, far away enough to be out of reach of his squirming legs.

That is one thing she can say about her time with Gortash. She at least gets some time to take the pressure off her feet. Though there are other things she likes less, she thinks, as she parts her legs wide and is met by the stink of two days without washing.

“Poisonous… disgusting cunt,” he continues, fighting against the strain. “I’ll kill you.”

“You have been caught,” she repeats, leaning across to select a crop from her selection. “Is that really all you have to say, worm?”

He spits at her, and she taps the end against the straining tip of his cock, just hard enough for him to hiss in pain.

“You have been caught,” she says again. “Do not make me call the Master.”

There is a shudder that goes through his body at that. These men are always a mix of issues, and Gortash wears them on his sleeve. Little megalomaniac.

“I’ll kill you before you can speak.”

“You try and take from my library,” she replies, “and you expect there to be no consequence? Little wretch. Foolish boy.”

She stands and pulls the ropes again and he groans with the strain, his eyes squeezed shut for just a moment before he fixes her with that dark stare again. Those eyes, set in the deep black rings of a boy who was beaten black and blue, the eyes of somebody who could indeed kill her, should he wish it. There is something about him that makes her want to hurt him, something that pushes her beyond the lure of coin.

She raps the crop against his nipples, once, twice. His breath is ragged, but he does not slip. 

“Your defiance will not save you, Enver.”

“You will not break me.”

“I do not need to. Apologise.”

“No.”

“Apologise, Enver.”

“Never.”

She lets the rope slack only slightly, tying it off again and taking the paper from her desk as she goes back to sit, reminding herself to part her legs as she flips open to the latest financial news. Glitterbeard has indeed been in, spilling his financial secrets in his love of indiscretion, and it serves her well to check his information against the latest trades. Gortash gives her a good few minutes before he finds his voice again, darker now.

“When I am free,” he tells her, “I shall string you up like you have me. I will string you up for the people to peck at like ravenous beasts. They will rip your flesh from your bones, whore, and I will laugh.”

She does not move, but twists the rope in her hand and tugs sharply, revelling in him losing his breath for just a moment. But he does not stop. “I will let you beg-”

“You take from my library,” she says, “You will stay here until you apologise.”

“I will let you beg for your life. I will string you up and let you beg me to kill you.”

She strikes him on his cock once, twice, harder this time, and he finally loses his footing and slips.

“Quiet in the library,” she tells him, and he finally says nothing.

She has time to read the whole paper. She has time to hold his gaze. She has time to hear him spill a dozen more insults, each slightly wavering as his fatigue set in. He is getting older, she notices it in his stamina first, his head drooping, his eyes becoming unfocused.

“Apologise,” she tells him again. “Or I will hand you to the Master.”

“Never, Korilla.”

That name only comes out occasionally, and she pretends she does not hear it, covering his slip with three heavy strikes on his cock that make his legs fall from him. A trickle of urine drips down his legs, and she cannot resist pulling on the rope hard to let the stream drip down from his toes. He still does not reach for his word, even as it starts to cool. Stubborn.

She catches his gaze, and he sneers at her, eyes blown open. “I will catch you, take you from here. I’ll bind you to metal and you will be my slave.”

This is new. She strikes his sodden balls hard three times, and he cries out with abandon. She says nothing, running the crop along his heavy, purple cock as he thrusts against nothing.

“I will bind you and I will have you, you will belong to me and me alone, you will be mine, you will be mine and all of your power-”

“Apologise-”

“And I will own…you. M…ma… Mine. You will be mine. You will-”

She taps against his cock softly as his seed dribbles from him, his voice tapering off to a whimper as she watches him collapse in on himself.

“The bath is extra,” she tells him as she releases him gently to the floor.

#my fic #posting this and running lmao #enver gortash #listen I'm giving him ISSUES honey

[justcallmefox89]

The Importance of Vegetables

X'aa'nath stands up for Astarion and opens up to Gale

“Astarion, how is the rat diet going?”

Gale bites back a smirk at Wyll’s question.

Astarion pins the warlock with a long-suffering glare.  “It may soon come to an end if you don’t -”

A small, perfectly round thundercloud forms directly over Wyll, promptly dousing him with frigid rainwater.  Astarion sneers at Wyll, delicately skirting around the rapidly forming puddle on the ground as he saunters towards his tent.  Out of the corner of his eye Gale spots X’aa’nath sporting a self-satisfied smile.

“Was that truly necessary?” Wyll asks, stepping out from under the cloud and wiping the water from his face.

X’aa’nath flicks his wrist, conjuring a small gust of air that gently blows the raincloud back over Wyll.  “Leave the elf alone,” he says quietly, marching past the warlock without sparing him a glance.

Odd, the insistence he has on continuing to refer to Astarion as an elf, even though we all now know he is much more than that.

Gale shakes off that errant thought and offers Wyll a small smile.  “At least he didn’t threaten to kill you this time?��

“Thank Helm for small mercies,” the warlock replies, shaking his head.  Water droplets fly in every direction, spattering Gale and an unsuspecting Karlach.

“Oi!” the tiefling exclaims, surprised by the cold touch of the water that quickly turns to steam on her skin.

Wyll flashes her an apologetic smile before returning his attention to Gale.  “I didn’t realize he and Astarion had become… close.”

Gale frowns, uncomfortable with Wyll’s insinuating tone. 

“I don’t think it’s like that,” Karlach says before the wizard can formulate a response. 

The two men glance at each other, then back to her, waiting for her to elaborate.

“It’s just… Astarion’s the first one Soldier found after the nautiloid crashed.  I think he feels a little protective of him.”  She shrugs.  “Wyll being ‘the Blade of the Frontiers’ probably doesn’t help either.”

Wyll winces as he digs a dry shirt out of his pack.  “I didn’t make the best first impression on him, did I?”

“Storming into camp that first night and attempting to kill Karlach probably wasn’t the best way to win his friendship, no,” Gale acknowledges with a slight smile.  It had taken the whole camp, minus Astarion, several long, tension filled minutes to convince X’aa’nath not incinerate Wyll after he threatened Karlach.  It took the collective group another two hours to convince the stubborn gith to allow the tadpoled warlock to join their party.  Even now, several days and just as many battles later, X’aa’nath only acknowledges the man with hostiles glares and frighteningly aggressive gith noises.

“Ah.  Well, my father always did say that anything good is worth waiting for. Hopefully this proves true of our sorcerer’s friendship,” Wyll says with a good-natured smile.

Karlach chuckles and slaps Wyll on the back.  “Wouldn’t count on it.  He fucking hates you.  You should probably just be happy he hasn’t tried to kill you in your sleep.”

Gale tries, unsuccessfully, to stifle his laughter at Karlach’s remark and Wyll’s crestfallen expression.  “I’ll just go uh, check on him shall I?  Then I’ll start on our dinner.”

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

Snk.

I glare at the carrot in front of me as I chop it up, fuming and imagining the smug warlock’s stupid face as I do.

How dare he?  The elf may not be particularly brave, or even that intelligent, but that does not give that devil-bound pact chaser the right to mock him.

I toss another carrot on the cutting board.  Snk, snk, snk.  My dagger is moving fast, nearly as fast as my thoughts.

I tire of him.  Tonight after everyone else is asleep –

“Hello.”

“Tsk’va!”  Startled, I narrowly avoid slicing off the tip of my finger.

“Oh!  Oh good heavens!  Are you alright?” 

Gale’s voice sends my already tumultuous thoughts into further turmoil and my heartbeat treacherously quickens. 

“Hm.  I am fine.  Begone, wizard,” I snap, trying to shoo him away.

“Are you truly alright?  I didn’t mean to… what on earth are you doing?” Gale asking, taking in the large bowls filled with chopped vegetables sitting on the ground in front of me.

“I wished to stab the warlock, but you would have interfered.  So I stabbed the vegetables instead,” I reply, proud of my restraint.

“But why?”

“Did I not just explain this to you, istik?  I chopped the vegetables because you would have been displeased if I chopped the warlock into little bits.”

Gale settles down on the ground next to me with a small grunt.  “May I ask a few questions for clarification purposes?”

I scowl and roll my eyes, positioning another carrot on my cutting board.  “If you must.”

“Well, first, why are you so antagonistic towards Wyll?”

I pause my chopping and squint at him, certain I’ve misheard him.  “Is your memory poor because you are elderly or are you merely simple, istik?  Just because the rest of you are content to pretend that he wasn’t hunting Karlach mere days ago doesn’t mean that I am.”

Gale clenches his jaw in annoyance.  “My memory is flawless, and for your information thirty-six is nowhere near elderly in this plane.  Wyll was misled by Mizora and Karlach has forgiven him, don’t you think you should as well?”

I stare at him.  “So you are not elderly, but idiotic then?  Why do you all insist on placing such trust in someone who sold his soul for power?  Who obeys a devil’s commands without question?”

“He stood against Mizora to keep Karlach safe, and he’s paid the price for it,” the wizard says quietly.  “Surely that’s proof enough that he is a good man.”

“Did he do it out of the goodness of his heart or because Karlach had allies ready to skewer him if he so much as laid a hand on her?” I challenge.

“I choose to believe he did so because he knew it was the right thing to do.”

Stupid, stupid man.  Trusting in others is what gets you killed.

My chest tightens uncomfortably at the thought of Gale dying.  I frown, unsettled by the foreign feeling. 

“Is there something else that bothers you about Wyll?” Gale prods, taking advantage of my silence.

“He lied about his eye,” I mutter.

“I’m going to need you to expand on that statement.”

“He false eye is a sending stone.  I questioned him, and he denied it.  I am not stupid, Gale.  I know a sending stone when I see one.  And now that we know about Mizora, I assume it’s a leash of sorts so that she can keep close watch over him.” 

“In all fairness, Wyll doesn’t owe you any explanations about such personal things as his false eye,” Gale says reasonably.  “But I think that will be a subject that you and I shall have to agree to disagree on.  Is there anything else?”

I busy myself wiping down my dagger with a clean rag, refusing to meet his eyes.  I am aware that my third grievance is quite illogical, and as such, I am hesitant to give voice to it.  “I do not like the way he speaks to Astarion,” I finally mumble.

Gale sits quietly, allowing me to gather my thoughts.

“Astarion is not a creature, not… not some monster for him to hunt.  Astarion is one of us.”  I grip the fabric of my robe in my hands, clenching and unclenching my fists.  “I do not like it when Wyll speaks to him as if he is other.  As if he is less than because he is a vampire’s spawn. He is one of us. He belongs.”

My hands begin to cramp, my claws punching small holes in the thin fabric of my clothing.  I feel like I’ve been dunked under water; my blood roars in my ears and my breathing is rapid and shallow.  Large, warm hands settle over my own, and agile fingers gently disentangle my cramped fingers from my clothing.  Soft skin glides against my callouses, making me shiver as Gale silently hold my hands in his. 

He waits to speak until my breathing has calmed.  “It reminds you of where you were younger, doesn’t it?”

I glance up at him, startled.  “What did kin tell you?” I ask suspiciously.

“Enough,” Gale admits with a rueful smile.  “I don’t believe Wyll’s teasing is malicious, but I’ll speak to him about it.”

“Hm.”  I bow my head in thanks, unable to articulate the words while he still holds my hands in his.

“One last question, if you’ll indulge me?”

I nod.

“Why the vegetables?”

I stare at him, uncomprehending. 

“X’aa’nath, there are no less than four training dummies in this camp.  If you wanted to stab something other than Wyll you could have taken your frustration out on one of them.  Why the vegetables?”

“You’re making the evening meal,” I reply simply.

Gale nods.  “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“You always use vegetables when you make the evening meal,” I say slowly.

“You did this for me?”  Gale’s full lips tip up into a grin and a sudden urge to close the distance between us nearly overtakes me.

“What? No!”  I shake my head, my face rapidly heating up.  “It was a logical conclusion.  I was thinking about you and remembered you had mentioned you wished to prepare this evening’s meal.  You always use vegetables, ergo; I vented my frustration upon the unsuspecting produce and saved you the trouble of having to chop them.  You are welcome.”

“You were thinking of me?” Gale asks, his voice low and husky. 

Yes.  No.  Constantly.    

Realizing my inadvertent admission I quickly spring to my feet.  “I must go," I blurt out awkwardly.

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

Gale watches X’aa’nath nearly sprint away to the safety of his tent, diving inside and out of Gale’s line of sight. 

I was thinking about you…

The gith’s words echo in his mind, sending a small thrill up his spine.

“I think of you too,” Gale murmurs softly. 

#gale bg3 #bg3 gale #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #karlach #wyll #tav #baldurs gate #bg3 oc #gale bg3 fanfic #tav bg3 #my tav #bg3 githyanki #bg3 gith tav #githyanki #gale dekarios #gale x reader #gale of waterdeep #baldurs gate astarion #astarion ancunin #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #karlach cliffgate #karlach bg3 #bg3 gith

[thelaundrybitch]

Employment Opportunities - TMNT HCs

TURTLE DOVES

I hath finished some HCs that have been sitting in my drafts for FOREVER 👀

Please enjoy

TW: Thirsty bitch ahead. And some swear words.

Please don't steal my work. Reblogging for others to enjoy is highly encouraged, though 🤩

These are Jobs I can see the guys doing once accepted into society...

Raph 

Fire Chief. 

Probably Fire Marshall. 

Cuz boyfriend be hot hot hot

Dressed in that SCBA gear

Barking out orders to his men

Ripping down walls with his ax 🪓

Using ONE HAND to hold the fire hose while it spews tons of water at tremendous speeds 💦💦💦

Running into burning buildings to save children

Saving kittens from trees

Might also be a bartender.

Working those beer taps

Shaking up those margaritas

Poppin the tops off of beer bottles with his biceps 💪

Flirting with EVERYONE

Raking those tits tips in

But also

Bouncer backup™ 

boi-oi-oing

Don 

Forensics. 

Getting super into all the creepy, weird shit

Thinks about things that the detectives wouldn't ever even consider

Could actually, most likely, solve every case by himself

But that's a pain in the ass

And a lot of paperwork 📄🖇️

I could also see him being a judge. 🧑🏾‍⚖️

Seeing right through all the lawyer BS

Putting away the bad guys

Giving punk ass teens a shit load of community service

Tossing out parking tickets for all the little old ladies

Would definitely be a movie critic on the side 🎞️🍿

Acting more like Stetler and Waldorf 😂💜

Mike 

Animal Control Officer. 

Especially the big scary shit. 

Like crocodiles. 🐊

Or Huntsman spiders. 🕷️

I can see him Snow Whiting that shit too. 

*Sings sweetly and turns into the Pied Piper for all animals*

And sometimes women

Mike, as the animal control officer, would be like 

Crocodile Dundee x Steve Irwin. 

Asshole would be yelling CRIKEY at the worst moments.

Arrives at someone's house

Walks across the lawn to get to the backyard

For a run-of-the-mill opossum removal 

Finds your dog's chewed-up crocodile stuffed toy lying in the yard

Screams, "CRIKEY!"

right before you step on it and scaring the ever-loving shit out of you

As he dives in front of you and wrestles the toy like Ace Ventura

Tells you he's billing you for hazard pay 😂

He's totally only kidding

But still an ass 🧡

Leo  

OSHA inspector 😂💙 

Chief of all safety 

And the world's best asshole. 

"I'm sorry, sir. That cracked outlet cover is a direct OSHA violation." 😂

"No, ma'am, I will not drop the $5000 violation for all the missing grounding prongs on the shop vacs."

Would probably work part-time for a boys' teen center

Where all the little rat bastards delinquents like to hang out

And cause major shit

Teaching them respect

And Honor™ 

Through free ninjitsu classes 🥷🏽

I can also see him being a Fire Inspector. 

Working with the broski

Can you imagine?

Having Red and Blue show up at your workplace for a walkthrough inspection?

Bye bye panties 🩲

Oh shit

I'm on fire🔥

Safety Violation in progress

Get out those hoses

And hose me down, boys

🔥🔥💙❤️🔥🔥

Enjoying my work? Find my Master list HERE

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#thelaundrybitch #tmnt #tmnt bayverse #tmnt aged up #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt hcs #tmnt headcanons #bayverse tmnt #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt leo #tmnt raph #tmnt donnie #tmnt mikey

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

Sending love to one of the best writers on ao3 😘💕 I check your page frequently and wanted to ask about the things that you enjoy doing or aspire to do

Hi Anon, it's so sweet of you to send this ask to ask after me. Rest assured your words are appreciated on this end; thank you from the bottom of my heart and top of my soul 🫂 I'm very glad you think highly of my work even after so long, and I'm so so sorry I haven't had any new content in such a long time. But I am hard at work on a oneshot that will definitely be published before the next chapter of Samarra, so the well won't stay dry for long! The summary is “A jaded prison nurse must come to rely on a man she hates and fears in the midst of a deadly prison riot.” I started writing it in the ward; it's based off of the Moundsville Penitentiary which is an especially spooky place I've been to–an old 19th century prison made of towering stone turrets, eerie high ceilings, and rusted iron cells packed together like pigsties. I'm hoping to get that atmosphere across; it's about ⅔ of the way finished so good progress is being made!

Well I enjoy writing, most of all, but I've already talked about that in detail a thousand times so I'll spare you. I love reading, of course (I just finished “The Five”, about the victims of Jack the Ripper, and it's a fascinating bit of history and an incredible and horrifying look at Victorian-era industrial Britain). I love exploring the mountains with my cats trotting along beside me and photographing what I find. In all honesty I'm a bit of a trappist–I rarely see people except hunters and cashiers, and most of my time is spent alone with myself or my dad. But each day is an adventure when you're in nature and each season brings primordial and beautiful changes– I collected watercress the other day and found the downy remains of a fawn. 

I love watching old movies. My dad and I were watching Laurel and Hardy last night and I swear it holds up a century later. Before that we watched King Rat, which is one of his–and my–favorite movie; about two men stuck in a Japanese prison camp and the Machiavellian and underhanded ways they survive there. The book is particularly good too, and the epilogue about rats devouring each other has haunted my dreams for a long time. 

On the same subject, a series that I highly recommend is called Tenko, which is very similar to King Rat, except the prisoners are women. It's so grueling, realistic and enrapturing; I've never seen anything that so squarely focuses on women's experiences, relationships with each other, the hardships they face, and how they struggle to survive together in a thankless, deprived environment. The backstabbing and despair that comes in their darkest moments, the love and support in which they uplift each other with, their mistrustful and uneven relationships with their captors that occasionally erupt in friendships and affairs–and all the episodes are on dailymotion, too!

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x74u4fi

I like dreaming most of all. So many of my story ideas come from my dreams. The worst thing in the world is waking up and trying to catch the stray strands of the dream slipping through your fingers. It's amazing to live so many lives–good or bad–inside your head. Sometimes when I wake up, I feel a sweeping, palpable sense of relief that I don't live in the world I conjured last night, and sometimes I wish I could just claw myself back into my brain and live in that little pocket world for the rest of my life.

I do not aspire to much. I don't really have any base wishes but to keep writing and live til 70. We all have our hopeful fantasies, of course, and when I finally do get Ragnatela on Amazon Kindle (Microsoft Word is trying to swindle me out of one hundred and fifty American dollars to use their dogshit platform, and since the manuscript is half-edited, I'm afraid to lose my formatting if I switched to a free program like Libreoffice) maybe it will get some attention. 

I still intend on writing on Ao3 until the day I die, though. Even with its unsavory content I have such a soft spot for its unrestricted freedom of speech and prose. Plus I don't want to give up talking to you guys and goofing off in the comments ☹️ I also aspire to stop drinking. I'm sure I've already shaved a few years off my lifespan with my tippling habit. But when one day is much like the other, is there much point in extending it?

I aspire to travel around the United States more. I took a trip through the Deep South to visit Savannah and it was enrapturing; something I will remember for the rest of my life. Rusted-out cars felted in green moss, skinny, grazing horses in windswept fields, peeling roadside signs advertising tent revivals, clownish golliwogs behind still windows of cafes, forgotten tugboats half-sunken into lagoons, highway strip hotels where craggy hookers peered at you suspiciously from their fold-up chairs, and derelict cemeteries separated between Union and Confederate. It was just post-Irma and we were often the only tourists at any of these places. The effects of the hurricane were stark and obvious, with the land in a state of shock before any official agencies came to clean them up. I remember boats crashed into the harbor and grandfather trees felled in front of opulent antebellum homes, and the sea churned brown and murky when we trekked to the beach. The sense of desolation, and not only from the hurricane, was chilling–but I loved being there and loved being swathed by the kudzu and history. My mother is very ill and before she dies we might make up briefly and take a trip to New Orleans together and explore rural Louisiana; I'd always wanted to write a story set in New Orleans. Louisiana is a fascinating state with its mixture of Napoleonic and Creole influences; and I've always been drawn to the grand, decaying tombs of New Orleans as much as I have been to the odd Francophone swamps and their hidden dialects and traditions. And one day I would like to go way, way out west and explore the Gold Rush ghost towns. All the mines where I am are filled-in, so I would like to venture underneath the earth just once. 

Most of all, I aspire to be alone, and live by myself for the rest of my life, far away from town, somewhere in the mountains like where I am now. I wish I didn't have to see another person for the rest of my life. Being alone with myself is bad enough, being with others is intolerable.

Anyways, I apologize for my undue pleonasm, you caught me in a chatty mood 😀 Here's an excerpt from the newest prison one-shot:

Rhoda had met Jesse Fitzner her first day on the job. It was midway through her shift, and she was taking a lunch break and grading her sister Sherise's homework in her office. The day had started with a white-knuckle ride in early morning mist so thick she couldn't see the taillights of the car in front of her. Midway through her preliminary tour of the prison, an inmate had stuffed his toilet full of socks, which promptly overflowed and leaked sewage out of the cell onto her high heels. The hoots and jeers had made her speed up, trying to avoid the leering eyes of her future patients. And her introduction to the mental ward, by a younger but just as pessimistic Fawna, had not lifted her mood any either.

So there she sat in her office, snatching a moment of calmness and frantically scribbling corrections over Sherise's homework before her sister turned it in tomorrow. And then the door swung open.

A blond man poked his head in and briefly raised his eyebrows. He was wearing the omnipresent, drab gray prison uniform, pants and a sweatshirt rolled up to his elbows. "What are you up to?"

She flipped the cover of the notebook over.

"Going over my sister's homework. Is there something you need?"

"Passing on a message to Nurse Judson. One of the inmates wants to switch his blood pressure medication."

"Oh, she'll be back soon. I think she's–doing something with the prisoners. Just give her a few minutes."

"No hurry." He pulled the chair opposite her and sat down in it. "So you're grading your kid sister's homework? Shouldn't she be doing that herself?"

The man had thick blond hair that stuck up in back like a duck's tail, and very rosy cheeks. He looked like he had just shaven, by the nicks on his neck. 

"It's a long story. I should be–"

"I've got time. If this is your first day, you need to take some time to yourself to relax--else you'll end up in the infirmary."

Rhoda laughed. He had a nice smile and a nice manner about him–very jovial and friendly. It was refreshing to see a man who didn't stare at her like she was a piece of meat. "Well, my parents died when my brother and I were still young. Seth was seventeen, I was fifteen. He went to work so we didn't have to break up the family, and I stayed home to care for my little siblings, all three of them. It wasn't fun. I always wanted to do more for them than what I was stuck with, so I'm making sure they get good grades and go to good colleges. That's why I got this job in the first place, to put some back for their college funds."

"That's real decent of you. I don't know a single woman who would go so far for their family. You'd best be proud of yourself. Where's your brother now?"

"He's working out of state in Pennsylvania. He found a good woman and has a concrete contracting business now."

"You got yourself a man?"

"Never saw the need. Someday, maybe, when I'm lonelier."

"Working here for a few years will train that loneliness for a man right outta of you." 

They both laughed at that, and Rhoda felt her tensed muscles begin to relax. "I didn't catch your name."

"Jesse Lee Fitzner." He reached across the desk to grip her hand. For being such a small-built man, he had a crushing handshake.

"Rhoda Ames. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"I knew a few Ameses when I was on the outside. Where your folks from?"

"Beckworth, west of here."

"Oh, you're bullshitting me. I have folks from there too. You don't know a Harry Fitzner, do you?"

"Harry who used to run the car repair shop?"

"That's him! My uncle. He retired a few years ago. His lungs got to him. Too much time in the mines."

The door slammed open again. An elderly prison guard, who had greeted her rather abruptly upon her hiring and who had a hard and wrinkled face, was standing in the doorway. When he saw Jesse, his face grew harder. "What are you doing here, inmate?"

Jesse raised his hands, still not moving from where he was leaning back on the chair. "Just dropping off a message for Nurse Judson."

"Next time, leave the message with Nurse Ames and promptly return to your cell. There's no reason for you to be here actin' so friendly."

To Rhoda's mild disappointment, the guard grabbed Jesse by his arm and yanked him out, harder than he needed to. Before he was escorted out, Jesse tossed a glance over her shoulder and winked at her. "Rhoda, you're a young lady, and I'm a bit of a spring chicken myself. I think we would get along real well outside these walls."

Rhoda couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up from her throat. She felt lightheaded. She was a rangy and abrupt woman with a working tan, and hadn't much experience with men flirting with her.

When Jesse was marched out, Rhoda stood up and grabbed her peaked nurse's cap, girding her loins for the next shift on the ward. While she was counting medications, the elderly guard–Miles–came in again and shut the door behind him. She flinched, expecting a dressing-down on her first day of work. I wasn't fraternizing with the prisoner, was I? Am I… am I gonna lose my job?

He sat down opposite her. "You ever hear that tale 'bout the lady and the snake?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to–"

"Old story; old, old story. One of them Aesop stories they wrote when people was still in togas and carved words in stone. A woman was walking home one day when she saw a frozen snake lying on the side of the road. It begged her to save its poor little self, this little creature of God. So taking pity on it, the woman brought it home and warmed it by the fire between her breasts. And as it thawed, it bit her breast. 'Oh, why would you do such a thing? Your poison will kill me,’ she wailed. And the snake smiled and said, 'You knew I was a snake before you brought me into your house.'"

Rhoda stared at him, puzzled. "I don't understand."

"You know what that fellow did to get in here? Fitzner was top dog in a motorcycle gang outside of prison. A real nasty one. He ordered a contract killing on a rival gang member. They snatched the poor fellow when he was leaving a bar. Hung him from a tree, broke his legs with doublejack hammers, used him as target practice with their sawed-offs, cut his dick off and shoved it in his mouth, then left and let him choke on it and bleed to death for the rest of the night. He was out, too, far out in the mountains, and they only found him weeks later when a hunter stumbled on him. One of the killers snitched on Fitzner in exchange for dropping a drug felony sentence he was staring at. That snitch went into hiding and changed his name. Two days after Fitzner was taken to this good penitentiary, he was found with his head beaten in, in a dry creek bed."

Rhoda's head began to spin in slow whirls. Her hand where Jesse had shaken it grew very clammy. She remembered his bright smile across the desk, his dark eyes, and felt bile and vomit churn in her throat.

"You both were talking for a while, I noticed. He's good at prising information out of people, Fitzner is. A boyish smile and a few good words and he can make both men and women melt like butter on yer tongue. See? Now he knows who you are, and where your folks live. Now he can get to you."

Rhoda tried to talk, but her tongue was paralyzed. She looked down and wiped her sweaty hands on her knees.

Miles got up and went over to the door. He looked out of the window set on top, and his hard face relaxed. He seemed much older in that moment, more wrinkled and exhausted.

"You'd best be careful of him, Nurse Ames. He's a bad 'un. I'll be glad to see the back of him."

As it turned out, Miles retired later that year and it was Jesse who saw the back of him. 

And Rhoda became very wary of him from then on. Whenever he saw her in the hall, in the chow line, in the infirmary, he smiled at her and tried to make small talk. She ignored him, or was curt with him.

Unfortunately, he seemed to take that as an invitation.

#personal #asks #writing

[fireflowersandblood]

Letters From Home - Preview

i promised a preview so. here it is. or maybe. a first chapter. maybe. i'm not promising anything.

Pairing: Tom Bennett x f!reader

WC: 800-ish words

TWs/Warnings: strong language, adult themes

Summary: Knitting for Victory has never been bigger and Tom gets a nice, cozy package from home.

“Hey, look at this, lads!”

Tom’s head snaps up. Immediately, his lips curl into a smirk. One of the men has jumped up on a box of supplies, holding a paper in his left hand. With his right, he’s trying to ward off the poor sod who has just lost his picture. Tom can’t see what it is with all the waving about, but he’s almost entirely sure it’s a lady, maybe even a lady with very little clothing. Little else gets the men this worked up.

“Bennett, for you.”

Before he can react, a paper wrapped package has been placed in his lap. It looks almost like a wrapped Christmas gift, with the string that ties it together, and is no bigger than the Encyclopedias that Lois collected when she was younger. 

“What’s this?” Tom glances down at the package and frowns at the handwriting. It’s nothing he recognizes and he can’t think of anyone who would want to send him something. Maybe his dad, but even that seems unlikely. 

“Red Cross”, his superior explains. “Knitted socks and the like. You’re not the only one.”

Tom gives an appreciative hum and glances back down on the box. The handwriting is neat, neater than anything he could manage, and spells out his full name. To his own surprise, he runs his fingers across the letters, before he takes care to open it.

The box is filled to the brim. He finds not one, but two, pairs of navy blue socks. A matching pullover and hat, as well as a small box of hard candies in all sorts of colors. It feels strange to hold something so normal in his hands, and it reminds him of when he was smaller. His mother used to have them, he remembers, in a small tin box by the radio. She’d always give him and Lois one each, and let them pick between the fruit shaped ones.

“You got socks”, someone next to him complains, and the sigh is nothing if not envious. It makes Tom feel just a tad superior, and he immediately kicks his boots off, tears the old socks from his feet, and pulls the new pair on with a self-satisfied grin. 

“I did”, he boasts. It’s all in good fun; now that the first few months have passed, there’s not as much fighting. Everyone has seen battle one too many times to spend any time asking for trouble, even Tom. “And they’re cozy.”

Everyone close enough to have heard laughs, and Tom takes the opportunity to make sure he hasn’t missed anything. He would hate to leave another tin of candies for the rats. 

Tucked away in a corner of the box, he finds a letter. Again, with a handwriting he doesn’t recognize. Not the same as on the wrapper around the box, but something a little smaller and cleaner. He tears the envelope and is met by a sweet, light scent. It takes a moment too long to realize it must be perfume. It reminds him of the one Lois wears, and the thought makes his nose scrunch up. To take his mind off the rather unpleasant thought, he unfolds the letter.

Dear soldier,

When I’m writing this, I have no idea who you are. I might never know who you are. You, however, will know a little something about me when you’ve read this letter.

I’m the person who has made you the socks and the sweater. I hope you’ll find them useful and warm. The rationing has made it difficult to get a hold of yarn and I decided to unwind an old sweater of my father’s. I know he would much rather it be used by you.

I know our Navy must need as much as our Army, but if you have no use for two pairs of socks, perhaps you can give the second pair to a friend. I know the endless walking that the Army does tears the garments rather quickly, but two pairs might have been too much. I couldn’t help myself, when they said that the packages will be delivered to people who rarely, if ever, receive mail. I wanted you to know that there are people who think of you back home. 

The candies are made in London and remind me of my childhood. I hope it brings back pleasant memories for you, as well. 

I don’t know if people actually spray their letters with perfume, but I read it in a book once, and I thought it might lift your spirits. Pass it along and let the boys sniff it like a pair of used knickers, for all I care. 

Write, if it would please you. I would love to hear if the clothes have come to use, and make sure that you’re safe. I will pray for your safe return and a quick end to the war. 

Most love.

Tom flips the letter to find a name and an address.

“Mate, you got paper and a pen?”

#world on fire #world on fire bbc #wof bbc #tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #letters from home

[atinylittlepain]

Of Saints and Sinners - Chapter 2

Joel Miller x f!reader/f!oc

read chapter 1 here

warnings | 18+ angst, canon-typical violence

a/n | A shorter chapter. Still very much in the exposition but we learn a little more about our girl!

“I’m like Ellie.”

Those are the words that keep replaying in Joel’s mind. Her words. That, and the image of her mottled back, the grave scars and the swirling black ink on top of them. They've made it back to town, only after promising she'd talk to him later that night, so long as he kept her secret. He had asked her who else knew and she had told him only Tommy and Maria and the men you came to Jackson with. Suddenly she wasn't so cold, practically begging him not to tell anyone. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she had been on the verge of tears.

He’s supposed to go to her house tonight, to get some more answers. He feels like his head is spinning because suddenly, there’s another person like Ellie. Someone else immune. He understands why she wants this kept secret. It’s the same reason he feels the pull to protect Ellie. She's valuable, and that makes her dangerous. 

He gets to her house late, already dark out. The curtains are shut but faint light seeps out along the edges. She lives with Alex and Steve, and it’s one of the two who answer the door when he knocks, although Joel can’t be sure which.

“Miller, what can I help you with?” The young man crosses his arms over his chest, making himself a little bigger, a little grimmer. He’s the one that can sometimes coax you down to the bar in town, Joel’s seen him even pull a smile out of you. 

“He’s here to talk with me, Steve, it’s alright.” She comes up behind her companion, squeezing his shoulder. The two of them share a look before Steve steps back, sulking back into the house.

“I didn’t realize he was your bodyguard.” She snorts at that, shrugging her shoulder to invite him in. “He means well.”

“Where’s the other one?” She tells him that Alex is on patrol tonight, letting him follow her down the hall to what he assumes is her room. She closes the door behind him. It’s sparse, a mattress on the floor, an old wicker rocking chair, and a few stacks of clothes. What draws his attention are the stacks of books next to her bed. She must have been picking those up for ages to have so many collected. 

She sits at the end of your bed and motions for him to sit in the chair. “Well, I told you I’d give you answers. So start asking questions.”

“Where’d you get all that ink?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Joel huffs. He’s not really sure where to start, that’s just the first thing that came out.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezed shut. “Alex, he was an artist before – well, before. When I met him he had a gun made out of an old sewing machine motor, making his own ink out of ash and witch hazel. I’d let him practice on me. Figured anything would be better than what was already there.”

Quiet descends again. Joel wracks his brain, trying to find some thread of sanity, what to ask her next.

“That doesn’t sound real safe,” she fully laughs at that, pressing her palms into her thighs to stand up. “Look, if you just came to ask me questions about my tattoos, this conversation can be over right now and I can be out of here by tomorrow morning and no one has to know anything.”

“Listen, I’m trying to figure this all out too. I’m still having a hard time believing what I saw, what you told me. But I don’t see why you’re getting ready to fly the fucking coop. You got a good thing going here.”

Joel’s up on his feet and suddenly they're both in each other’s faces.

“Yeah, I do have a good thing going here, and I think you know better than most what a secret like mine can do to a good thing. I’m not gonna be turned into another person’s lab rat, do you understand?” Joel swallows, “another?”

“What?”

“You said you weren’t gonna be turned into another person’s lab rat. Is that what all those bites are from?” Joel doesn’t need an answer, he’s already got it in the way she shrinks back, gaze skittering to the ground. Something in him twinges at that.

“Does Ellie know about you?” She looks up at him again, shaking her head.

“I told you already. Only Alex, Steve, Tommy, and Maria know. And now, unfortunately, you.” She crosses her arms over her chest, letting out a long exhale.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone, you know. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Joel tries to sound genuine, but feels like he ends up coming off like a dope. “For some reason I’m inclined to believe you.” She sits back down on the edge of her bed, Joel leans back against the wall.

“Is that why you go out on those raids?” She looks up at him, questioning. “You’re immune. Feel like you can go out and play hero or somethin’?” She prickles at that, hardening her eyes into a glare.

“Hardly. I just need to get away from all this. It’s good. But it’s not real. Out there? That’s what’s real.” She's looking down at her hands, mumbling out the last of it. It’s quiet for a moment. Joel can understand that. That feeling like everything’s gonna fall out from under you eventually, because it always has, and you have to be ready for that inevitable plummet.

He studies her for a moment. The slope of her nose, her eyelashes falling over the tops of her cheeks. He thinks to himself that she would’ve been pretty, back before. Now, she's something else entirely, something that makes his breath kick in a way he’d be hard pressed to admit.

“You got any other questions?”

“Is Steve your – your man?” That one draws a laugh out of her that makes Joel reel. “You really ask the dumbest shit, you know that?” He hardly hears what she says, too focused on the waft of a smile across her face.

“I don’t have a man, Joel Miller. Just really important friends.” With that, she stands up, tilting her head as if to say are we done here? “So you’re gonna keep my secret?”

He nods, “you don’t have to worry about it, I will.”

She lets out another long sigh, opening her door and walking him back to her porch. As Joel’s walking out, he turns on his heel, “can I ask you one more thing?” She looks at him, expectantly.

“Why does everyone around here call you the saint?” 

“You’re out of questions. Good night, Joel.”

#joel miller angst #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #fanfic

[foap-enjoyer]

AI-Less whumptober, Call of duty Soap edition. Starting off fluffy!

Overworked | Insomnia | Exhaustion

Exhaustion. Soap x either Ghost or Gaz, your choice! Soap is too tired to tell who he's talking to anyway.

~

He was exhausted.

One whole fucking week. Twenty-four fucking seven. That’s how long higher-ups had had him working for. Running surveillance- a solo mission, of course, because why wouldn’t it be?

Soap knew for a fact he wasn’t the best candidate for something as delicate as surveillance, especially something that required him to lay low. Soap Mactavish didn’t do laying low, but apparently, he was the best candidate for this his commanders had on the roster at the time. Which, now that he had time to think about it, was almost insulting. Not to him, of course, but to the whole British military. He himself had been flattered, at the time.

Now, however? 

Now, these ‘commanders’ could shove a few hundred guns up their asses collectively and fire them to the sound of a Queen song. The mission sucked. He’d been shot at, he hadn’t slept, and he never, never wanted to ever see their dumb smiling faces ever again. Stupid old men who should’ve retired years ago instead of sending him on a one-way trip to hell. 

He’s still not even sure how he got out alive. Not that he wanted to think about any of that right now. His time of ‘usefulness’ was over, the mission was done, he was back on base, and most importantly he was fucking tired.

“I’m going to need a debrief, sergeant.” 

Of course. Of course he couldn’t have a moment to breathe come seven days later. None other than Captain John Price meeting him on the tarmac at two in the fucking morning asking for a debrief. If he wasn’t his higher up, Soap might’ve considered throttling him out of pure spite. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he gave a half-assed smile and looked up at the man. Price’s stern eyes instantly softened at the look. “Jesus, Mactavish.”

He was swaying on his feet like a damn flag in the wind. He felt like he could collapse at any given moment, and the tarmac under his feet was the last comfy place he could think of. “Think you’ll find my name is John.” 

Price snorted, waving his arm towards the door, “Fuck off and go sleep, I’ll see you first thing tomorrow-or, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “I’ll see you whenever you wake up next.”

“I don’t plan to wake up.” He mumbled as he moved past his Captain, the man hot on his heels. He could feel a hand ghost over his shoulder, steadying him as he wobbled. “Ever again.”

Somehow, he was able to make it inside. The hand on his shoulder leaves him reluctantly with a squeeze as the heat of the building encases him, steadying him in its own way. 

It’s beautiful. 

It seeps into his cold, frozen skin. Brings life back into him, and at the same time, reminds him just how tired he is. The heat slows him drastically; his muscles are relieved to not be aching as much as before, and it makes the full weight of his exhaustion very well-known to his brain. 

Not that it wasn’t already. But now, he felt more zombie than he did human.

This zombie-body would not make it to his room. This zombie-brain couldn’t even remember if he had his room key to even get into his room. So he aimed closer, nearer.

His squadron’s common room was only down the corridor.

The common room was about as lush as one could imagine a military, government-issued common room could be. A sad little kitchen, a small chipped dining room table, and most importantly, a sofa. 

Sure it was an old, creaky one, but it was a fucking sofa, and Soap honestly couldn’t give a rat’s ass about spring consistency. Not anymore. His back was already aching, and that sofa would definitely not fuck it up further than it was already.

So, gathering what little energy he had left, he shuffled along. His feet were heavy, and his eyes were closed as he slowly manoeuvred himself through the empty corridors. His hand glided across roughened brick as he guided himself forward purely through tired muscle-memory. When he finally arrived at his desired door, he eagerly let himself in.

The common room looked abandoned when he peered inside with half-lidded eyes; the lights of the kitchen were on, bleeding a soft yellow glow out into the rest of the room. But other than that, it looked undisturbed. The chairs were empty, the room untouched. It looked perfect.

He soon comes to realise, after he’s collapsed onto the cushions, that he is in fact, not alone.

“Soap?”

Soap forced his eyes back open from where they had closed once more, groaning. God, how tired was he that he didn’t realise the sofa was in fact not empty and he had just willingly fell into the lap of a poor random soldier head first?

His eyes blurred with exhaustion as he attempted to push himself back up onto his elbows, sleepy, yet frantic to move out of the way. “Sorry,” He murmured tiredly, yawning, “Sorry, sorry-” 

A hand rested hesitantly on his head, pressing his cheek back onto the warm thigh beneath him. “It’s alright.” They assured him, beginning to gently scratch at his scalp. His eyes fluttered closed at the contact, and a noise left his throat that he could only, embarrassingly, describe as a purr. But he was too tired to honestly care.

If the soldier above him heard it, they didn’t comment. Instead, they moved slightly, getting comfy, before their hand disappeared, something soft and fluffy hitting his back a brief moment later. A blanket. Where the fuck had that blanket come from?

The hand returned, running through his matted mohawk. Talented fingers began working at the knots in his hair, and he sighed into it, relaxing further. “You broken?”

He shook his head slightly into the thigh. A no, which was half-true. He had enough bruises and cuts to make an adventurous toddler jealous. Sure, he’d been shot at, but he was a Sergeant for a reason, and a madman on top of that. He’d jumped off of way too many cliffs and rolled down one too many hills in his time spent in the wilderness of Russia.

The voice huffed fondly, fingers continuing to work their magic against his skull. The other hand reached to rub against his blanket-covered shoulder. “Sure you aren’t.”

~

Also can be found here, on AO3:

Ouch. - Chapter 1 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

#ailesswhumptober2023 #modern warfare ii #call of duty #mw2 #cod #modern warfare 2 #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod fanfiction #gaz cod #soap cod #cod modern warfare #ghost cod #cod fanfic #gaz x soap #soap x ghost #soap x gaz #ghoap #soapghost #johnny soap mactavish

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - The Wharfside Devil - Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Silco meets Sevika's father.

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

tw: mentions of alcoholism, dysfunctional family, child abuse, emotional abuse

Snippet:

Her father, catalyst to her regrets, sneers, "Protecting."

"Living with you was like living with an animal. You beat us. You starved us. You locked us up." Her voice distorts into a snarl. "For fuck's sake—you broke my arm!"

Samik puts a mocking finger to his lips. "Ssh. Keep it down. It’s visiting hours."

"I want to know why you did it."

"What's it matter?" He shrugs disingenuously. "Got yourself a shiny new one."

Sevika's expression calcifies into disgust. "That was an explosion."

"Yeah. I heard. You backed the Eye and lost a limb in the bargain. But it was worth it, right? For freedom." His voice assumes a dramatic vibrato before dropping to the casual cruelty whose flipside is bitterness. "Didn't give a rat's ass about backing your old man. All those Stillwater hearings you could've testified in. Never bothered to show up."

"You killed three guards. My testimony would've made no difference. You'd rot either way."

"And now?"

"I can help you." Solemnly, "Question is, do you want my help?"

For a moment, Samik's contempt shades into something else. Temptation? Then a flat sheen surfaces in his eyes, the barest limescale over old rage.

"The only help I want," he says, "is for you to stay out of my godsdamn way."

"But—"

He rises to his feet.

Sevika blinks. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Back inside." A parting shot. "We're done."

Sevika rises too—so abruptly that her chair would've gone flying if it wasn't bolted. Recognizing that she is sturdier and faster than Samik does nothing to make his exit less belittling. In a flash, she's a little girl again, stunned and bereft.

Silco has seen enough.

Unfolding from his own chair, he tips his chin at the guard. Obeying, he unlocks the door. Silco's footsteps barely make a sound. In the chamber, he coalesces as if risen up out the floor.

Samik and Sevika jerk—he in surprise, she in chagrin. Silco realizes she had forgotten he was watching.

"Sir—" she begins.

Silco gives her a three-fingered signal: Stand down.

Samik snaps, "Who the hell's this?"

Silco ignores him and addresses Sevika. "I'll see you outside."

"Sir—" Sevika protests, as if Silco's safety is on shaky grounds. Silco's eyes meet hers, and she collects herself. There is no sentiment in his stare. He's not coming to anyone's rescue. He's at his baseline level of calculation. He's seen the drama; he's summed up the odds. Now he's ready to pass the sentence.

"Visiting hours are done," he says.

Sevika swallows. "I—"

"Go on." Silco hooks a finger into his waistcoat, checking his pocketwatch. "This won't take long."

Questioning the flat certainty of the order would be futile. Sevika's eyes flick once from him to Samik. She looks conflicted. Then the concern ebbs; the armor resolidifies. With a terse nod, she exits the chamber. Her father isn't spared a parting glance.

The chamber door bolts shut. The two men are alone.

The Eye of Zaun and the Wharfside Devil.

Samik's eyes are a stealth-crawl over Silco: from the tailored lines of his suit to the volcano glow of his eye and the gnawed-at skin around it. Fascination flickers in his stare; disgust is smothered in his jaw. Not an unusual reaction—from free men or inmates alike. Not all monsters are born equal.

Samik says, "You better explain who you are, buddy."

"In a moment."

A polite reply, and none at all.

Silco circles around the table to Samik's side. He trails a fingertip along Samik's empty chair and rubs it between his thumb, contemplating the rust.

"You're not wrong," he says. "Dredge is a step below Stillwater." His stare slithers across the bare lamps and weeping cinderblock walls, then up to Samik's face: a flecked mirror. "A fixer-upper is due."

Samik edges closer. "I asked who the fuck you were."

Silco doesn't answer. He settles into Samik's chair, one leg folding over the other. No ground ceded, but a playing field leveled.

Samik says, "You're—what? A Warden?"

"No such thing."

"What then?" His dark eyes hook into Silco's bad one. "A circus freak? 'Cause that's one nasty scar. Looks like a dog took one chomp too many."

"The dog lost." Silco gestures with a pale splay of fingers. "Care to sit? I'm not contagious."

Samik remains standing. Silco surmised as much.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #arcane sevika #sevika #silco x sevika #forward (never forget)/xoxo #forward but never forget/xoxo #snippet

[scandinavianfairytale]

Psycho

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Warnings: Both Lloyd and Reader are a bit psychotic in this so be warned, mentions of fighting, implied torture, murder, one description of injury (the rest is implied), mentions of blood, knives and guns, mentions of brief alcohol consumption and a bunch of threats.

"So, you're the female version of me?" Lloyd commented with a cock of his head as he observed you. You mimicked his posture and raised one of your perfectly plucked eyebrows.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Good fighter. Smart. Cunning. One of the best in your field. A little bit psychotic?"

"If that description fits you Lloyd then I'm nothing like you. I'm much better. More psychotic too." You smirked.

"What happened, sweetheart? Daddy didn't love you?" He mocked you.

"We can go with that." You pushed away from the wall and stalked towards him. "Or maybe I got my heart broken by my big bad ex-boyfriend." You faked a pout and walked around him.

"Or maybe I just like it when I make people hurt." You stopped in front of him with a smirk.

"I think I'll like working with you." Lloyd smiled, his perfect white teeth showing.

In the months that followed you and Lloyd worked on missions together and while he liked using guns and explosives, you preferred getting close and personal with your target. From hand to hand combat to knives to using ordinary objects for torture. Even Lloyd was surprised by your innovative ways of extracting information.

The latest target was a cocky businessman. He really pissed off your bosses by trading information for money, hiring the best of the best to protect him and his assets. Weeks of observation proved fruitful when Lloyd kicked in the giant entrance door of the appropriate giant house. The businessman ran from the storming duo and hid in his office. He was aware of the reputation Lloyd had and once he saw him at the door he was rightfully fearful for his life. Which is why he was surprised when the office doors opened and Lloyd went to the liquor trolley, pouring himself a drink and sitting down leisurely at the far end of the office.

"W-What's happening?" The man asked, his voice trembling.

"Don't mind me, David, I'm waiting for my associate to arrive. She was tempted by something in your kitchen." Lloyd replied, sipping on the expensive whiskey.

"Aren't you going to kill me?" The businessman gulped.

"I'm not sure what her plan is. Though I can certainly tell you that you're not going to enjoy it...whatever it is." Lloyd smirked.

"You're psychotic."

"Oh, I'm not the psycho today." Lloyd smirked, your heels echoed down the long hallway leading up to the office. "She is. I'm just here to watch." He pointed to the office door, where you just appeared, smiling sweetly at the two men.

"Did I miss anything?" You asked, your voice dripping in honey. While your appearance soothed David, his easiness quickly vanished when he saw the knife you were holding in one of your hand.

"Oh, don't mind this. I collect knives." You smiled at your target, putting the knife on the liquor trolley, walking to the desk and sitting in front of it. Crossing your legs, you motioned to the businessman to sit down. He cautiously sat down and observed you.

"Now, David, you know why we're here. We're not leaving without information and it's up to you how much you suffer while giving that information. So, I'm going to need you to tell me who exactly are the broker, the buyer and the rat."

"I can't tell you that. They're going to destroy me."

"And you think I'm here to drink tea with you?"

"I suppose not. But if I give you information, they're going to come here and kill me. Better you just get things over with and I don't have to be afraid for the rest of my waking days." David leaned towards you. "I'm sure whatever your gorgeous face has in stored for me pales in comparison to what the other would do." His hand slid across the table towards yours. He let out a shrill yell as the knife pierced his palm. Holding the handle and driving it further into the dense wood, you smirked.

"Believe me, everything they'd do to you pales in comparison to what I'm going to do to you." You whispered into his ear. Releasing the knife and standing up, you walked towards Lloyd and grabbed the offered glass of whiskey.

"What are you thinking, Pumpkin?" He asked as he lazily slid his hand over the small of your back. Tapping the glass, you racked your brain, thinking of what you wanted to try. Slapping Lloyd's hand away you turned around and smashed the glass box, where a signed baseball bat was displayed.

"No! You have no idea how much that's worth. Put it back down." David yelled from his position. He was trying hard not to move too much as his hand was still in searing pain.

"Really? Money is what you're still worried about? In this situation I'd be more worried about what a psycho would do to me with it." You mocked, tapping the bat in your other hand, walking toward him. Your heels clicked on the hardwood floor and David twitched with every step you took, brining you closer to him.

"The human body has 206 bones. I suggest you tell me what I want to know or you and I will start the countdown now."

The businessman laid crumpled on the floor, bruised, battered and bloodied. He was barely holding onto life, but he remained alive. You were wiping your hands and props as Lloyd observed your handiwork.

"You did a stellar job, Sunshine." He wrapped his hands around your shoulders, kissing your neck.

"We got what we came here from. You can put him out of his misery if you want to finish the job."

"Oh, come on, there's no fun in killing if I can't play with it first. You don't want to kill him?"

"I just cleaned that knife." You whined as you looked at the long blade.

"You can always shoot him." He whispered as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

"You know my stance on guns."

"Messy. Traceable. I know, I know." Lloyd rolled his eyes. You spun around, pushing him to the side and throwing your favourite knife at the businessman, ending his life as it lodged itself in his skull. Pulling Lloyd by his collar, you kissed him hard, before he lifted you up onto the small table and deepened the kiss.

Thank you for reading! 😊💙

The GIF doesn't belong to me - belongs to the amazing creator 🙏😊

I actually haven't written anything in over a month and have been active less...there's been a lot going on 😬 which is also the reason for a very not typical story 😅 I have written several drafts but only this one actually amounted to something 😑 but beggars can't be choosers or something 😑

I had to recheck what I do in the document after the story is over hence why I'm adding this part now 🙈

And of course I had to choose Lloyd, I can't imagine the sea of new stories that will come after the movie drops 🤭😁

#Chris Evans #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #fanfic #short story #psycho

[mytheoristavenue]

ST Gareth x Reader - Blessings 🌟

Warnings: Fluff, angst

Summary: After being caught in the act, you and Gareth must face your family for the consequences of your actions. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Eddie’s jaw hung open as he stood in your doorway, baffled. The time in the room sat still as all of you waited for the other to react. Finally, you broke away from your boyfriend, darting for your cousin, hanging off him. 

“Eddie, promise me you won’t tell dad!” you pleaded, tears pricking your panicked eyes. 

“Wayne!” he responded, less to you, and more to the situation, frozen and unwilling to spearhead finding a way to resolve this. His eyes remained glued to his best friend, who was also paralyzed, jaw clenched, and staring back. “Uncle Wayne!” he called again, finally taking a breath when he heard oncoming footsteps, in tune with the annoyed grumblings of his mother’s younger brother. 

“Can’t you kids get along for ten min-” Your father halted in the small hallway, at first puzzled when he watched you withdrawal from his nephew  as if your skin was allergic to his, before his tired eyes wandered to the curly haired stranger standing in his daughter’s bedroom. “(M/N),” he growled, his confused expression melting into a hate filled snarl. “Please, enlighten me as to why the hell there is an intruder in my house?”

“Daddy,” you struggled to come to words, but you chose the few you found carefully. “I can explain, I swear!”

“Be my guest.” Wayne angrily squinted at you. “Because it almost seems like you have been sneaking this little hood rat into your bedroom behind my back.”

Your lip trembled as tears began to freely flow across your blushed face. “It’s not like that! I just wanted someone to myself, I deserve that much!” you raged, furious that you weren’t allowed to make the same decisions that the men in your life did. “I-I-!”

“Gareth Emerson, sir.” the three of you snapped to your boyfriend, finding him extending an arm. “It’s nice to finally meet you, though, I’d hoped it’d be under better circumstances.”

Your father glared at him cautiously. “Wayne Munson, I can’t say I share the pleasure. What do you think you’re doing in my daughter’s room, boy?”

Gareth calmed himself with a deceptively confident breath. “I came to check on her, sir. I noticed that she seemed a little off at school today, and I was worried. I tried to call, but nobody answered.”

Wayne seemed to ignore the intruder’s response, only turning back to you. “Is the boy Ed was talking about? You better be honest, young lady.” he prodded, angrily sighing and looking too an empty corner when you nodded shamefully. “How long?”

“Three months and six days.” Gareth answered. 

Wayne was desperately trying to keep himself from overreacting. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around this teenager’s throat and strangle him against the wall, but you’d never forgive him. You liked this boy, he could tell, and unfortunately, you weren’t his little girl anymore. 

“Garett, was it?” he finally asked, walking into the living room. 

“Gareth, actually, sir.” your boyfriend answered, as your collective attention followed him. 

“Whatever. C’mon, we’re gonna go for a drive.” your father decided, kicking into a pair of slippers and grapping his keys. “Just to talk.”

“Dad, no, please.” you instantly protested, worried he’d do something to hurt the boy. Likewise, Gareth, was petrified. This was how he’d die.

Wayne simply held a hand to you, your que to stop arguing. You shamefully withdrew yourself, something that didn’t go unnoticed by your partner. “Right behind you, sir.” Your head shot up in surprise as he walked to the door, following your father onto the porch. 

“Babe, you don’t have to, you can just go home.” you tried to reason, feeling defeated by the sound of the trailer door slamming shut, accompanied by the roaring to life of the engine in your father’s car. 

You were left in the hallway, mind racing, and tears still rolling freely. You could feel the gaze of a companion burning into the back of your skull. Furiously, you spun around pointing an accusing finger at your silent cousin, who was glaring condescendingly back at you. “You!”

“Me?!” he snarled, finally speaking for the first time since your dad became aware of the situation. “The fuck did I do?!”

You could feel your face burning with rage as you continued to pin blame. “You just had to fucking tattle on me, didn’t you? How many times have I cover your back when you wanted to hide shit from Dad?!”

“Oh, name one fucking time!” Eddie demanded, fists clenched, and bare feet wet from the milk he’d spilt into the carpet. 

“Like the time you tried to sell that cheerleader ketamine! Or the fact that you sell ketamine at all!”

His mind was immediately brought back to Chrissy, a girl he’d had a crush on earlier in the year, that had approached him for drugs, wanting the strongest he supplied. She backed out of the deal at the last minute and Eddie, terrified he’d be found out with the substance, begged you to help him dispose of it, which you did. “That’s different!” he argued half heartedly. 

“So I guess it’s not me that rents you movies all the time because you’re banned from the video store for theft?” you asked rhetorically. 

“W-Well,” he faltered, a stack of past due tapes in his peripheral. They were late, and under your name. He’d blown you off when you asked for a ride to return them, even though he’d picked them out. “It’s not the same, (Y/N)! You’re having sex, I think that’s a little bit bigger than a copy of fucking ‘Fast Times’.”

“Oh!” you chirped sarcastically. “You want to talk about sex? Let’s do that. Let’s talk about that pair of handcuffs you keep on your wall!” 

“That’s none of your business, kid!” he yelled over you, instantly regretting having done so when he saw the hurt expression on your face. You hated when he called you ‘Kid’. It reminded you of how under his thumb you were, and how he couldn’t ever truly respect you as an adult. 

“I hate you, Ed.” you spat, seething. In contrast to your cousin’s guilt in hurting your feelings, you reveled in the idea of causing him pain. It was only fair. 

“You don’t mean that.” he denied, crossing his arms and turning away like a child. 

“I do too! I hate you, and I wished your mom was still alive so you could her her problem and not mine! Dad actually cared about me before you came to live with us, he used to be nice! Now all he cares about is setting you straight and working because you won’t get off your ass and get a fucking job!” The violent words poured over your lips like a rapid waterfall, and you lacked the river stones to ease the transition. You didn’t mean any of what you’d said, but you were hurting, and upset. “My life has just been hell since you got here! Gareth was the one good thing I had and you ruined it! I won’t ever forgive you!”

With that final outburst, you stormed out the back door, stealing your fathers pack of cigarettes and lighter on the way out, before stomping over to the small sheltered picnic table just outside the trailer. Eddie sat and stewed in your words, tears hateful and fat, brimming his chocolatey eyes. As droplets fell, his gaze wandered over to the stained carpet when he’d accidentally smudged cookies into the carpet as he stepped on them. He knew you only smoked at the worst of times, but there still could be time to make things right.

----

“Now, are you going to tell me what you were really doing in my little girl’s bedroom, son?” Wayne’s tired voice cracked as he drove. He’d long since began to regret leaving his menthols on the kitchen table, but oh well. He could have one when he got back. 

“Visiting her, sir.” Gareth answered, suspiciously quickly. 

“With your shirt on backwards?” Your boyfriend’s eyes blew wide as he instantly glanced down, being met with the tag of his shirt against his collar bone. “Inside out too? Imagine that.”

The teen sighed. “We were having sex.” he confessed, his stare glued to the passing foliage of the passenger side view. 

“I know you were. Safely, I hope?” 

“Absolutely!” Gareth exclaimed. “So...you’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m livid.” Your dad answered. “You’re damn lucky I got work in the mornin’, or I’d drive this truck into the quarry and let you drown.” he could see the terrified look on his companion's face and chuckled a bit. “But I won’t. This time.” Your boyfriends sighed, relief falling off his chest like a boulder. “I can see she likes you. (Y/N)’s a good girl, and she wouldn’t go to these lengths to hide you if you weren’t somethin’ special.”

He couldn’t help but blush a bit. There was doubt in Gareth’s mind that you loved him, but he didn’t think it was so obvious. Taking in a sharp breath for courage, he turned toward your father. “Mr. Munson, forgive me for being so forward, but I think I’m in love with your daughter.”

Wayne scoffed, laughing off the comment, making his passenger deflate with low self esteem. “Y’all don’t even know what love is. Three months isn’t long enough to fall in love. You don’t know the first thing about my little girl.”

“I know that she’s afraid of (y/f).” Gareth breathed, brows furrowing. “Her favorite color is (f/c), and she likes (f/s) better than any other subject in school.”

“You’re plan to prove you love is trivia?” the older man snorted. “You don’t think I know all this?”

“I bet you do.” Your partner said, frustration playing on his face. “I might not know everything about her, but learning about her is my favorite thing, and I want to spend the rest of my life doing it.”

“That’s dramatic.” Your father finally sighed. “Look, I ain’t gonna try and keep y’all apart.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” Wayne muttered begrudgingly. “Won’t do any good to. How am I gonna benefit from my kid hating me?” An uncomfortable silence fell between the two men, neither knowing exactly how to approach the situation, now that it was understood that you and Gareth would be allowed to remain a couple. Finally your father grunted, humbled in his fatherly pride, and bending, as he always had to whatever he though would make you smile. 

“Garret,” he began, purposefully mistaking the boy’s name with a disguised smirk. “I may never like you, but (Y/N) does, and so long as you ain’t mean to her, I guess that’s good enough.”

“Oh, I’d never dream of it, sir.” Gareth promised, gushing a bit. “I don’t know how anyone could be mean to someone like her.”

“She’s a cutie, I’ll give ya that, boy. You’re lucky.”

“I know I am.” you boyfriend confirmed, picturing your visage in his mind. “Thanks for...ya know, not killing me.”

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

----

Eddie paced back and forth, socked feet beating against the linoleum floor of the kitchen. He knew what to do, there was still a few left, and he could buy more milk tomorrow. He glanced out the window toward the road, catching a glimpse of you, sitting atop the picnic table, angrily ranting to the air, spent butts littering the concrete slab beneath you. He grumbled, dragging his palms down his face. “Jesus Christ,” he whined, finally taking another small plate and glass from the cabinet, and spilling the remainder of the pecan sandies onto the the dish. Milk splashed into the glass, a bit collecting on the countertop, which Eddie made a note to clean up later. With a final deep breath for courage, he steadied the snack in his grip in a way that would allow him to also open and close the back door as he used it.

“Go away, Eds.” you demanded sternly. “Just leave me alone.” your cousin was startled. You hadn’t even seen him yet, though, he guessed it wouldn’t have been hard for you to guess who was using the creaky door. He was the only one in the house, after all. He continued to make his way over, steadying himself as he walked across the uneven lawn and sat beside you. You sighed, displeased with his presence. “What do you want, Eddie?” He plastered on a fake, nervous grin, holding up the plate with a chuckle. You rolled your eyes. “Nice try, sandies aren’t going to make me not hate you.”

Eddie let go of a sad breath, setting the dishes to the side, his head hung low. “I know...I thought I’d at least try.”

You finally looked him in the eye, bringing a freshly lit cigarette to your lips, speaking with it bouncing as you did. “This is bigger than cookies, Eds.”

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for telling on you.” he muttered, fingers idly tracing the brim of the glass of milk.  

“Yeah, right.” You scoffed. “You’ve been dying to get me in trouble.”

Your cousin’s brows furrowed. “I’m sorry for that too. I think I’m just...having trouble coming to terms with the fact that you’re not my baby cousin anymore. You’ve got your own life now...and you’ve got someone new to eat cookies with.”

Against your will, your heart melted a bit. “Eds, are you...jealous?” you asked cautiously. Eddie rarely ever shared his feelings, and this wasn’t a moment you wanted to come to a premature close. 

“I guess?” he responded, sounding more confused that you were. “Yes but no. Sometimes I just worry that you’ll outgrow me. You’re so mature, and you’re set up for a great future. One that I know I’m not a part of. I’m a failure and your not and that terrifies me.”

You cringed at his words, feeling a bit offended that he was so spiteful of the success you’d earned after years of hard work. “So you don’t want good things for me, just because you don’t care to make them happen for yourself? Great apology.”

“Not, that’s not it, (Y/N).” he whined, crushing a few cookie crumbs in his fingertips. “You’re gonna go on to bigger and better things without me. We’ve always done everything together and...I guess I’m starting to realize my time with you is limited. I’m not mad that you’re with Gareth, he’s a good kid and I know he’ll treat you right. I’m just overprotective.”

“Eddie, I appreciate you wanting to protect me, but I need to make my own mistakes, and I know he’s not one of them. I’m really happy with him. And I’m not going to start my life and forget about you. I want you to have a successful life too.” You explained, hoping to put him at ease.

“I know you do.” he mumbled. “I do too. I don’t wanna be the dead beat uncle to your kids or the burden that falls on you when Wayne’s not around anymore.”

“You don’t have to be,” you smiled, sympathetically. “It’s not too late, Eddie, you know that, don’t you?”

“I don’t know...” he trailed off, outwardly aloof, but secretly a little flustered that you had you still had so much faith in him after everything he’s done. “I can’t even graduate, how am I supposed to do anything better than that?”

“You can graduate, Ed. You just have to try, I can help you, but only if you’ll put in effort.”

“I will,” he agreed. “Thanks, (Y/N). And sorry I’ve been such an ass.” He flashing a sheepish smile, before dragging the plate of cookies to the space between you, offering one after he dunked it into the glass, which you happily took, biting into it. 

“I forgive you,” you grinned, dipping what was left into the milk.

“Hey, no double dipping!” your cousin protested with a snort. 

As if on cue, your father’s car pulled back into the driveway, both males stepping out, doors slamming behind. Wayne slowly approached, juxtaposed to your boyfriend, who ran to you, scooping you into his arms as you climbed down from the table to meet him. Gareth laughed, spinning you in his arms, peppering your face with kisses, until your father laid a hand on his shoulder, signaling that he’d seen enough of your gross display. He set you on your feet, but kept you in his arms, beaming down at you. Unbeknownst to you, Wayne had motioned for Eddie to follow him back into the trailer, which he obliged. 

“You’re dad says he’s gonna let us be together.” Gareth exclaimed, cupping his hands around your cheeks. 

“Really? That amazing, babe!” you gushed, pecking his lips quickly. “I talked to Eddie.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, a bit more anxiety in his tone now. “What’d he say?”

“He said that he’s not mad at us, and he thinks you’re a good guy. He just worries.” you giggled. 

“Oh, he should definitely be worried.” you boyfriend smirked devilishly, hoisting you up again, and carrying you over to the table, laying you down on it and tickling you mercilessly. “Because you’re all mine now!

Taglist:

@blairscott @strangerthingsstories5255​ @justsana @vintagemoss @alexsees1111​ @garethswifey  @ayyyy-le-simp @dickfacemcshitboner @banana-man0 @american-idiot-jpg @bingustheferal @infinitywarnatenthusiast @sugarizcool @k0miiki @saturnsfifthring​ @emersongareth​

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #eddie munson stranger things #st #st4 #stranger things x reader #stranger things gareth #eddie munson #gareth emerson #gareth emerson x you

[danisbrainrot]

capitol!academy!reader (shes 18 and is a coryo friend) teaching gf!tigris to read and write because she never had the opportunity due to having to take care of coriolanus and grandmother

tigris snow x reader

also, she and coriolanus aren't really friends, it's more of a symbiotic relationship. i hope you don't mind.

you were desperately poor. your family had been this way ever since the war. crassus snow had persuaded your father to invest everything in district 13, that when it was bombed to nothing, your whole life collapsed before your eyes. now, your family had to take up any and all kinds of jobs to make a little money.

you had always been incredibly smart. in fact, you and coriolanus were often academic rivals, trying to out score each other in exams and essays. it made sense that you'd be able to help tutor the dumber—but much richer—students at the academy in the grades below.

one day, coriolanus was walking past you explaining the themes of an old fictional book from before the war that surprisingly stuck on the curriculum—something about mice and men.

you started packing up, collecting payment from the younger student, before you locked eyes with coriolanus. you stood in shock—no one in the grade was supposed to know that you were poor. he swiftly approached you, promising not to rat you out if you helped his cousin. you asked why he couldn't do it himself, but he evaded the question. you sighed, but agreed—you couldn't just say no. what if he told everyone about your family's. . . situation?

that's how you found yourself outside his apartment, standing on the pavement of the corso, gripping onto your book bag tightly. you knew they lived on the penthouse, which meant climbing several hundred stairs; you discovered the elevator was broken upon entry. groaning, you began the long climb to the top, wondering how coriolanus did this everyday.

you pounded on the door, catching your breath once you finally reached the top. tigris eagerly opened the door, pulling you in for a tight hug and thanking you profusely for coming.

the first thing you noticed was how barren the grand apartment was. there were only a few necessary pieces of furniture, paint was peeling off the wall and the carpet looked like half of it was ripped up years ago. you realised that the snow's were as poor as you were.

"coryo's at sejanus' house right now, and my grandma'am is asleep so it's just us right now, I hope you're okay with that," she explains, leading you to her room and where her desk was. it was significantly smaller than all the other rooms she'd seen throughout the apartment, half of it still damaged from the war. she sat on her bed, gesturing for you to sit at the desk.

"that's fine. coriolanus told me you were struggling with your reading and writing?" you ask, taking your book bag off and setting your stationary on the desk.

she bit her lip sheepishly, looking at the ground and nodding. "besides the basics and a few things he's taught me, I'm almost illiterate. I had to drop out of the academy to get a full time job, but even then I was terrible at literature," she replies, rubbing her arm up and down.

you freeze, looking at her for a moment too long before shaking her head, "well, I guess that just means we'll be spending a lot of time together," you state, sitting down next to her. you didn't really know where to start, considering all the other people you tutored were usually at a 10th grade reading level, but you quickly found out that tigris wasn't being modest; almost illiterate was an accurate claim.

pulling out an old literature skills book, you place a pen down in front of her and open it to the twentieth page. "do all the activities you can," you say, beckoning her over and standing up. she filled in a few blank spaces, corrected one spelling mistake and bit her lip, before finally placing the pen down. you sigh, knowing that there was a lot of work that would need to be done.

over the next week, tigris' literacy gradually improved. you meticulously poured over past notes you'd taken, encouraging her to learn however she felt comfortable. you stuck to a slow, but effective pace.

you had found out that the reason coriolanus refused to teach tigris was because his temper was far too short and he valued her too much. this didn't completely surprise you—remembering the countless group projects where he'd snap at arachne or festus when they couldn't understand something.

when tigris could finally complete ten pages all by herself, you deemed it a cause of celebration and bought a small cake. it had cost you the same as one tutoring lesson, but it was all worth it when you presented it to her. her eyes nearly bulged out of her head; she subconsciously kissed you on the cheek.

she blushes once she realised what she did, before taking a bite out of the cake and closed her eyes in bliss. "I can't believe you bought me a cake for something so simple," she mumbles, avoiding your gaze.

you snorted, shaking your head in disbelief, "are you kidding me? it's a huge improvement. besides, it's nothing," you lie. your family really needed the money, but the way tigris' face lit up, you couldn't help but know you made the right choice.

"what are you going to do if I finish the whole book?" she asks teasingly, taking another bite of the cake before offering it to you.

you refuse it, before thinking about her question for a minute. "hmm, I think I'd have to kiss you," you joke, winking at her.

the blood rushed to her cheeks, as she turned a dark shade of scarlet. she had grown to really like you over the past week, forming a slight crush on you—the suggestion didn't sound like a bad idea to her. but she knew you were joking, by the way you started laughing straight afterwards.

when you left that evening, she made it her mission to complete the 150 page activity book before your next tutor session. you had a group assignment you had to do with lysistrata so it wouldn't be for another week, giving tigris ample time to get it done.

one day at the academy, you were in the library studying with lyssie and hilarius when coriolanus pulls you aside. he thanks you in private for helping his cousin, and mentions how she was so inspired that she'd managed to finish the entire book. your eyes widen, shock evident on your face for two reasons. one, the book was long and the many pages were extremely difficult. two, did that mean tigris really wanted that kiss?

you and coriolanus walk to his apartment that very afternoon. as he opened the door, tigris ran into the room, flapping the book in your face excitedly. you laugh at her enthusiasm, pulling her into a hug and congratulating her. she grabs your hand, leading you to her room and out of coriolanus's view.

"I guess this means I'm getting that kiss, huh?" she asked shyly. you could tell it was meant to come out teasingly, but tigris was genuinely flustered.

you smiled softly at her, leaning and caressing her cheek with your thumb. "you're smarter than you give yourself credit for," you praise, watching as tigris' cheeks turn pinker. finally, you delicately press your lips against hers and pull her in closer to you.

she sighs into the kiss, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and smiling at the soft way your lips felt. she wanted to stay in this blissful moment forever; you felt similarly.

once you pull away, she pouts momentarily—missing the way your lips felt on hers. "you know, I have another exercise book at home. I could get it for you, and then once you finish that I could kiss you like that again," you tease.

she shook her head, "I think I wanna kiss you like that all the time. not as a reward," she replies, pressing her forehead against yours. you couldn't help but agree, leaning in to kiss her again.

#tigris x reader #tigris snow #wlw #blurb #thg series #tbosas #fluff #thg #fanfic #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #danisasks #dani's fics <3

[ourtearsofrain]

Chapter 2- Ready for the Garden

Pairings: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Genre: angst

Word Count: little over 1.7 k

Warnings: being held at sword point, Sam’s a little crazy and Josh has trust issues, talking about killing someone but just as a pirate tale, brief mention of prostitution

--------------------------------------------------------

Your hands fly up in surrender as you hold your breath, afraid that even the smallest sound would earn you a meeting with The Master.

A taller man who also bears a striking resemblance to Jacob comes into view; his long brown hair pulled back with a small scrap of purple fabric as he grins at you maniacally, his eyes alight with an intense hunger.

“What do we have here, Jacob? A hostage? Please tell me it’s Helena’s right-hand man.”

Jacob reaches for the sword at your throat, pushing it away from you and allowing you to take a much-needed breath now that the threat of the blade is gone.

“They’re not, Samuel. This is Polaris, and no harm will come to them on this ship.”

“So we’re collecting pets now, Jacob? What the fuck were you thinking, bringing them back to the ship with you?”

He takes a step towards the other man, using the inch of height he had on him to his advantage.

“My judgement will not be questioned, Joshua. This is my ship, may I remind you. My question is, what are you doing off The God Song?”

Joshua sheaths his sword, glaring at his brother as he responds shortly, “Daniel and I came over to find you as soon as we heard the first cannon fire. We need to leave, now. How many times have I told you not to venture into town alone when we make port?”

“You are not my master. As I said, this is my ship, and I will do what I please.”

Joshua squares him up for a few moments, clenching his jaw before turning his attention back to you.

“You will stay out of the way. Our downfall will not be because of some street rat my brother found in an alley.”

He turns his attention to another man, standing on the other side of Samuel quietly. “Daniel, you stay here and keep them out of the way. Samuel, you’re coming back to The God Song with me.” Is all he says before turning to walk across the deck towards a large plank of wood connecting the two ships.

“What? Why can’t I stay here with them?” Samuel turns towards you with a glint in his eye. “I bet I could have some real fun with Jacobs new pet.”

“And that is exactly why you are coming with me. As much as I disagree with Jacob’s choices, this is his ship. I have no jurisdiction over what becomes of them here.”

Samuel bares his teeth before turning to follow his brother onto The God Song.

“Alright, lads! Get a fucking move on, there’s no time to waste!” Jacob shouts at his crew as they quickly scramble to ready the ship to set sail.

“Take them to my quarters, keep them safe and out of the way.” Is all he says to Daniel before he too springs into motion to ready the ship for sailing.

You feel a warm hand take ahold of your bicep as Daniel begins steering you towards the captains’ quarters. “C’mon.”

Just as Jacob had directed, you say nothing, allowing him to lead you down corridors as men scurry past you. You come to a stop at a large room, taking a seat by a table covered in various hand drawn maps as Daniel closes the door behind you.

“So, Polaris, right? You must be something special for the captain to take such a quick liking to you.”

“You’re The Archer.”

Daniel laughs at this as he takes a seat across from you. “Yes, I am. But you can call me Danny.”

You say nothing as you eye the man, not sure whether to trust him or not.

He waits for you to say something and when you don’t, offers a small sincere smile. “You hungry?”

At the mention of food, your stomach answers the question for you, having not eaten since that morning before you had gone down to The Black Smoke.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He stands, making his way towards the door before turning back to you. “Don’t leave this room, or it’ll be both our heads.”

With that he disappears, leaving you alone to take in your surroundings. Much like the table before you, the walls were covered in hand drawn maps and battle plans, the planks of the walls hidden by hundreds of pieces of parchment. Various daggers, swords, and pistols lay scattered across multiple tables around the room, and you make a mental note of each one as a backup plan. Set into the wall across from the door sits a large bed, covered with expensive-looking sheets and fabrics mainly dyed blood red and black.

Daniel returns moments later as he enters the room and securely closes the door behind him. He tosses you a ripe apple, bright red with streaks of yellow.

“We were planning on restocking our food supply in town but, that didn’t happen for obvious reasons. It’s not much but, it’s something.”

You eye the apple in your hand, still unsure whether to trust The Archer, Danny, or not. Your stomach protests as you set it on the table, turning your attention once more to Danny as he takes the seat across from you.

“You can eat it, I swear it’s not poisoned or rotten or anything like that.”

You say nothing, keeping your eyes fixed on him and your features blank.

He sighs, shaking his head with a small smile. “You don’t have to trust me, but it’ll make your life a hell of a lot easier if you do. I trusted you not to make a run for it or try and kill me with one of the many weapons we both know are in this room. Now you must choose if you want to trust me. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already.”

You consider this for a moment, deciding you would find out if he was telling the truth sooner or later.

They’re probably going to kill me eventually anyways.

Bringing the apple to your lips, you take in its intoxicatingly sweet aroma before finally taking the first bite. You groan at the taste, quickly taking another bite as its flavor melts on your tongue.

Danny cocks an amused eyebrow at you, smiling as he observes. “It’s good right? We got those from Giapan. I swear, all other apples are ruined for me now.”

You say nothing, your mouth full as you quickly devour the apple until it is reduced to nothing but its core. You set it back on the table, moving a few maps so that its juice wouldn’t tarnish the parchment.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. So, Polaris, tell me about yourself. How did you meet the captain? He was only gone for a few hours before the attack started, your brief interaction must have been something special.”

The look on his face instantly tells you how he thinks you met Jacob.

“I’m not a street whore.”

“Didn’t say you were. There’d be nothing wrong with it if you were.”

“You were thinking it, weren’t you?”

“Maybe. Jacob doesn’t get attached to strangers easily, especially enough so to save them from Lady Helena’s blade.”

“I served in a pub, The Black Smoke. I happened to be next to him when the attack started, I don’t know why he saved me.”

“Huh, you and me both.” He pauses for a moment. “Again, Polaris. Your parents were sailors then?”

“Yes. Well, my dad was. He took… morally questionable jobs.”

Danny grins, “Ah, so he was a pirate?”

“You could say that. Although, Polaris isn’t actually my name, Jacob gave me that.”

“So then, what is your name?”

You pause before responding, the memory raging through your head of your town set alight. “Doesn’t matter anymore. Whoever I was before now died along with my home.”

“That’s fair. Do you know what it means? Polaris?”

You only shake your head as your hand comes up to toy with your star pendant, a nervous habit you’d had for years.

Dannys eyes shoot down as the light catches across the worn metal, a smile on his face as he puts two and two together.

“It’s the North Star; our most reliable way of navigating the seas. Looks like you’re Jacobs North Star.”

Your hand stops as you look at Danny quizzically. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, still smiling at you from across the table. “Ask him.”

You say nothing for a few moments until your curiosity gets the best of you.

“How did you get your name, “The Archer”?”

“Have you not heard the stories? Working in a pub by the docks, I would have thought so, with all the sailors that must come through your doors.”

“I’ve heard you shot a British Admiral in the eye straight through his telescope from a mile away, dangling only by a single rope from the Figurehead of The Ether.”

Danny laughs loud and bright at this. “Through his telescope? From a mile away and dangling from a rope? These tales really do get tall. Well, I hate to ruin the story for you but, it was only 500 feet. And while I did shoot him in the eye while I was perched on the figurehead, it was not through his telescope nor while I was dangling from it.”

“500 feet. Still impressive.”

You fail to contain a large yawn, your mind and body exhausted from the day you had had.

Danny motions towards the bed with his chin. “You can sleep if you need, we still have a few hours before we make dock next.”

Sensing your hesitation, he continues. “I promise I won’t kill you in your sleep. Trust, remember? Plus, Jacob told me to keep you safe.”

“Alright…” you stay as you stand. You awkwardly climb into the bed, not knowing how Jacob would feel about you sleeping in his bed, but your body instantly relaxes into the soft silks of the sheets despite the thought. Before you know it, you’re falling fast into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

--------------------------------------------------------

Suddenly, the sound of water drumming violently against the planks above rips you from sleep, your eyes going wide with fear.

“What is that?”

Once again, Danny flashes you a toothy smile. “The waterfall. We’re here.” He says as he stands, making his way towards the door and waiting for you to follow.

“Where is here?”

“The Garden.”

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A/N: the title, of course, is taken from the lyrics to The Indigo Streak

#greta van fleet #gvf fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #jake gvf #jake kiszka x reader #pirates #pirate jake kiszka