#this was a pain in the ass to write on mobile
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Lust by Nature {Part 4}
Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Read on ao3
Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader
MDNI: 18+!
Warnings for this chapter: Drugging, hinted non-con but just a hair
Word Count: 5,777
Summary: He’d been used to the small messages telling him to make you simmer down, something not uncommon in the scope of you being, well, you.
A/N: There are a few POV Shifts and time skips in here, denoted by the "---". Work has been kicking my butt so sorry this is late. I hope ye enjoy
Waking up, you almost bit a medic’s hand off.
Wild and afraid. It was sudden and the place was seemingly so new that it triggered your fight or flight. You did not want them anywhere close and for far too long than you deemed necessary. Insistent on them leaving you to heal on your own even if you’re sucked dry of any magic at this point. Snapping your teeth like a wild animal when one medic tried taking your shirt off to get to the gouge on your side, before snarling as two were tag teaming you to keep you down.
Something about their hands not feeling warm enough, not having the smell of tobacco leaves stained into their skin to leave a trail of smoke. Yet there was something lurking in the air. Something different; You knew the scent was familiar, it felt like it belonged in the medical ward yet it shouldn’t be here near you. It screamed danger, something clawing and scratching at your mind to remember.
The scent trails around the room like the smell of burnt clover, making your stomach want to recoil and throw up its acid with the lack of any substance in it.
The lab.
Neurons fire off, and your hackles are raised. Literally. Hissing and ignoring the medics around you, yowling like a damned animal in pain when you realize what you’re smelling. Stuck in fear, now grappling with the sheets as your hands grab onto the bed rails, shaking the bed as you shift in short and shaky bursts.
---
Somedays Price’s office felt like a sanctuary, while others, it feels like his own jail cell. Head down, furiously scribbling his memories onto paper to prepare the after-action report while leaving a separate sheet blank and off to the side with your name at the top.
God, he had it in his head that he needed to be so fucking pissed at you. For the dream, for disobeying orders, for getting hurt. But he knows it’s irrational and can at least objectify his emotions enough to see them from a third-person point of view.
His head’s in his ass and he’s acting like a fucking boy.
Even Soap had earned a scolding from the Captain, taking it in strive to only break the berating with a smirk on his lips. He knew. Johnny knew, Ghost knew, and even fucking Gaz knew that you were getting underneath Price’s skin. Something no woman had ever done so easily and successfully before.
His cell rings, not his personal mobile but rather his work flip phone. One that either means business or trouble.
“Laswell.”
The number was unsaved, as all are since this was the one he toted around everywhere while deployed.
“Captain. I’ve got some news for you. Now a good time?”
Leaning back, he takes this saving grace as a moment to rest his eyes and hand from writing. “Of course. Wha’s goin’ on?”
There’s shuffling on the other end of the line, sounding like she’s standing up to walk somewhere. Price presumes it is towards a window. Dramatic woman.
“We’ve gotten word that there's some unrest back in-”
Her statement is cut off when the phone begins vibrating again. “Laswell, hold on. I’ve been expecting this call, can I catch you in a moment?”
A scoff is his answer before cutting the call and switching to the new one.
“Yes?”
“Need you in Med, stat. Saint’s going-”
“On it.” Snapping his phone shut while moving to the door. He’d been used to the small messages telling him to make you simmer down, something not uncommon in the scope of you being, well, you.
He can hear the commotion at the end of the hall before he’s near the door. Opening the door in a flurry, he finds you in a state he’s never seen before; Wide-eyed, backed into the back of the bed, and curled up to shield yourself. A second sweep of the room makes him realize you’re not protecting yourself from the medics. No, you’re looking towards him, but seemingly not at him.
“Saint.” The growl catches your attention, focusing on his mustache twitching as his eyebrows furrow. “Care to tell me why the medics said you need to leave the infirmary before you make one of the staff go to inpatient?”
“It's wrong. Doesn’t smell right.” In return, your head only snaps in his direction, eyes only keeping on his for a moment. “Don’t take me back, I don’t want to go back.”
The blatant stare you receive is more than enough to let you know he’s lost in whatever this whirlwind of emotions is. “You need to settle down, and behave.” The whisper is a promised threat, entirely off-kilter from what you need right now.
“I don’t want them touching me!” You hiss almost petulantly, being sure to restrain your voice for only him to hear. “I have to leave. Just let me heal myself, please-”
His hands move out of sight from your narrowed eyes as you beg; Coming up to capture your jaw with one hand as the other holds your shoulder. He steadily leans in to hold your face still.
“You need to stay and get checked out. You were hurt, sweetheart.” The harsh command battles with the softness of his palm cupping your jaw as his thumb stroking your cheek.
That’s when you saw him through the window.
A man, dressed in square glasses and a white coat that seemed cheap and fake in material. A scam of a man. Dr. Deidrick.
This man knows you well, as you know him. He was a constant in the lab, the person who oversaw all testing of blood, vitals, but most importantly testing the magic inside you. A large amount of scars on your body were because of him, always measuring your healing capabilities depending on your energy levels and what you had used as energy prior to the test.
Locked in a stare-down, Price only registers your change when you stiffen and stagger a breath. “What’s wrong?”
Looking at where your eyes are, he finds the man looking in through the small door window, glaring at your face, seemingly at where Price touches you gently. When he moves to glance at Price, he gives a small nod before entering.
“Everything okay, Captain?” His tone is polite and neutral, speaking to Price while his gaze remains on you. “Is she having a little fit?”
The clicks of his dress shoes make more noise of his entrance, your hands latching onto Price’s forearms.
“And you are?”
The doctor laughs, giving a smile more than forced. This you know for certain.
“My apologies, I am Dr. Deidrick. I came to visit once I heard our little demon was wounded.”
His possessiveness in the phrasing alone ticks off the Captain's mind, raising questions as to what in the fuck is going on. He can feel the slight tremor of your hold and, for more decency, the hand cupping your jaw moves to hold onto yours.
“So, you’re from the facility?”
“Yes, I was her previous caretaker in medical for the last several years.” Cockiness evident when his attention shifts to grab the chart at the end of the bed. “I hope you do not mind I came to check in on her healing and progress. Just a simple evaluation and report.”
He reads over the chart for a moment; Flipping the page while moving closer to your side, opposite of Price.
“How are you feeling, Devil?”
Instead of quiping a sharp or actual answer, the response is enough to shock the Captain.
“Hello, Dr. Deidrick.” Speaking softly and politely, as if you were some nobel greeting a high priest. Don’t misbehave.
You’ve learned this lesson with him.
“Hello. Now, how are you feeling?” He digs in further with the question, eyes moving up from the paper with a weighted look.
“I’m fine. Sore. Tender. I told them I could heal on my own.”
"Mm..." Dedrick watches as you speak before moving to place the clipboard down, grabbing a pair of gloves. "And you believe that you can heal yourself easily?" His voice remaining calm and civil.
That's one thing you’ve always hated. Even in the cruelest and inhumane moments when studying creatures and hybrids alike, he had the calmest voice.
“Yes, I’ve dealt with worse.” Spitting the answer at him in a quick snap, you can't help but let anger flare. “You of all people should know that.”
Dedrick's expression changes for the first time. His eyebrows raise and jaw tightening in warning with a sharp look.
"I know that you can heal, but that doesn't mean that you should." A hint of an edge to his voice bleeds through. "Your injuries are still serious. If you leave here before fully healed, that would be highly irresponsible."
“The medics already cleaned and sutured it. There’s nothing more to do.”
You can see the game he plays, yet you’re playing it too. Price doesn’t know, the entirety of your team doesn’t know. If for their sake or the sake of keeping yourself alive, it's not certain.
Telling Price would solve this problem right here, right now. Screaming the horrors Dr. Deidrick has committed to others and to you could easily raise alarm bells through the whole base, yet you remain a perfect little actor. Just as you were trained.
“I’ll determine that for you, not you.” Deidrick retorts shorty, gaze shifting from your body to Price. “I will have to do an exam of the wound and her damage. Just to make sure there are no outliers to her magic or health.”
There isn't room for argument here, seeing as Price is a Captain and not a fucking Doctor over mystical creatures and beings.
“Well, I can be in the room with her. That be an issue?”
The most Deidrick can muster is a forced grin, narrowing his eyes to Price’s presence. “Yes, that is perfectly understandable for you to oversee the process, Captain.”
A swift silence ensues as Deidrick walks to the medical cabinets and the end of the room, looking over his clipboard and grabbing medical tools- the kind that isn’t even needed but instead for show. All for the sake of Price.
The velcro cuff of the sphygmomanometer wraps around your arm before the manual pump begins from Deidricks hands. The cold stethoscope in the crook of your elbow, silence as he measures your blood pressure. Just as he is about to speak, the sharp ringing of a dial tone sounds out.
“Shit- I have to take this.” Price’s hand retrieves the phone from his pocket, confirming the caller. “Be right back.”
“No… No, please.” Unabasidly begging, your hands on your Captains arm to try and anchor him to you. “Don’t go.” It's a quiet plead, begging if that, but the wild look in your eyes makes him stiffen for a moment while caught between two choices.
“I’ll be right back. Be good.” The faint squeeze of your hand registers in tandem with him leaning down to place a reassuring kiss on your head. Before you can beg again, he’s out the door.
---
“Laswell.” Price speaks quietly into the phone, moving into the hallway near the medic’s station, a few idling around on their computers to input vitals.
“Said you were gonna call me back, John. Got worried your old mind forgot about me.”
A small scoff out of courtesy for the woman's harsh humor, yet he doesn’t say anything back.
“Anyway, I need to tell you where your group has been assigned to. You’re headed out to-”
“Do you happen to know if any personnel relating to Saint's previous facility can be on base?”
Cutting off Laswell would usually end with a sharp reprimand akin to an elementary school teacher. Yet this question is well worth her thought. Even she can recognize that.
“Not without warning and an established confirmation of visitation. It’s the normal protocol for off-site visitors to that level. Why?”
He chews the side of his cheek, nodding in thought as he confirms what he previously knew. His eyes flit between your medical room’s door, the window to the outside, before settling on a whiteboard with various patient names.
“There’s a doctor in the med unit with her right now. Say’s he found out she was wounded and came to check on her… That’s just downright unnatural when she was wounded three days ago for fuck sake. How’d he even find out?”
Silence greets him in response, but it's a sign of her thinking. A tussle of paper sounds out before typing on her keyboard. “There was no agreement or discernment of their medical staff being on base. Only the executives and her previous commander. He shouldn’t be there nor even have access.”
It only confirms Price’s simmering anxiety, eyes stuck on your door from afar.
“What did you say his name was?”
“Dr. Deidrick. Said he’d be givin’ her an exam of the wound-” The words die in a sharp crumble on his tongue when you scream his name.
“Was that-”
“Send the boys my way, I’m dealing with it.” Hanging up the phone, his body already shouldering the door at a moment’s notice.
It doesn’t budge.
Looking through the window, he’s met with your wide eyes, brows arched up, while your body tries to scurry off the bed yet you’re not even moving. The sight of brown leather tied to your wrists becomes glaringly obvious.
“Somebody get this door open, right fucking now!” The bellow echos in the hallway, sending a fluttering panic around the staff while he continuously tries to shoulder the door and get the handle down.
“John! Help me!” Your howling meets his ears to send a shiver down his spine. I should have listened, I should have stayed, I should be in there.
I should be protecting her.
Shifting his stance to the left, he can see Deidrick at the counters, holding up a small brown vial while extracting its contents into a syringe. Only after he deems it filled, pushing the air bubble out, does he look to Price.
“It’s just to settle her down, not to worry.”
God, he wants to throw up. He wants to murder this man with his hands and rip each artery from his body to hang up as vines growing onto the wall. He wants nothing more than to soothe your crying face in his arms away from whatever torture is going on right in front of him.
“WHERE THE FUCK IS THE KEY?” He shouts again, sparing a glance towards the staff as five of them look in drawers around the main pod of their stations.
Movement from the room demands his attention, the footsteps ringing out in heavy weighted clicks on the floors. You can’t even look back to Price, struggling like an animal caught in a metal trap.
---
“They already know, just fucking run while you can.” The guttural hiss is uncontrolled as it leaves you, voice raw from lack of water in your mouth accompanied by the panting of your breath. Eyes only set on Deidrick, you can’t focus on anything but keeping the needle away from you.
“This is your exam, my dear. There’s no harm in that.” He chastizes, tsking you with a mocking voice. Fully seeing his old self alights your body and magic, trying to strum out of you like a whip, yet so dulled into yourself with nothing to thrive on.
“I can see how weak you are. Have they not been taking care of you?” The coldness of his hand dawns upon your face, grabbing roughly on your jaw to pull you towards him. “You know I can give you what you need.” The green of his eyes makes you sour, having only ever seen them as a rancid mix of piss yellow and barf green to match his existence.
“You’ll settle down and be a good girl for me, yeah? Just like old times.”
“I can’t wait to torture you in hell.”
He laughs, a genuine smile lighting his face up as he leans in closer. “The sweetest promise of eternity, devil.”
Moving back after giving your jaw a far too firm squeeze, his bony fingers bring the needle up to the light to double-check before gripping the meat of your bicep. “Dont. Move.”
You couldn’t hear anything over the commotion outside, thus, when the metal door slams open, you jump.
Right into the fucking needle.
A shocked cry leaves you, eyes now stuck in fear to watch for the amount he pushes through.
Half of the dose goes into your arm.
It would have been more, save for the body that immediately pulls him and the needle away from you, throwing him onto the ground.
Price stands, heaving and shaking with a snarl lighting up his face while looking down on the man.
“When I put you under, it will be six feet under the god damned ground.” His hands are on the man in a flurry of movements, checking his waistline for any other surprises, and when finding none, he throws a punch at him.
Then again. And again. And Again.
You don’t realize you’re stuck in a trance of watching him until warm hands find your wrist on the opposite side of the commotion. You’re startled until being met with warm brown eyes that match his skin, his smile calming.
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?” Gaz’s hands work quickly on undoing the straps of your wrists, letting the sounds of the fighting echo in the room while rushing footsteps come from the hallway.
Ghost and Soap enter the doorway, a quick survey before getting to Price and doing god knows what to the man- you can’t see anymore as Gaz cradles you into his neck. Tucking the blanket around your backside before carrying you away in a bridal carry, he shushes you when his scent and warmth break you into a sob.
“Shh, it’s okay. We’ve got you now.” Vaguely registering his lips on your head, your eyes dim into a barely open gaze while the world moves too fast around you. Hot tears track down your face and onto his shirt.
“You’re with us now. Not gonna let that happen ever again.”
The sound of a whimper mixes in when you call out his name. Raising a hand to grasp his shirt in a weak fist as you register him moving you to somewhere through the hallways. Somewhere familiar; the team’s common room.
“Gonna make you nice and comfortable right here. Not gonna leave you, Saint.”
And in the most ironic series of events, for a second time, your world goes dark.
---
The sound of the TV playing a god-forsaken soccer football game makes you stir. Muscles stiff and tired, a feeling of something on the back of your hand makes you wince. Groaning, you move the other hand to paw at the intrusion, before someone else’s touch halts you.
“Hey now, none of that.” The soft voice from earlier speaks out, with an almost hint of authority as he moves your hands away from each other. “You’ve got an IV in you, Need to keep that in for a bit longer.”
Stirring, the world comes back into view when your eyes open slowly and try to blink the yellow overhead lights away. “Gaz?” His name is slurred in your drowsy speech, head lifting up to look around before finding him face to face with you.
“Good morning, Princess. How’ya feelin?”
Stiff, sore, like you just got run over by a train.
“Not too bad.” Sitting in his lap, now in a pair of sweats and a shirt that you recognize isn’t yours, you both sit under a fuzzy blanket pulled from your room. “What happened? Where is-?”
“Hang on, let's focus on you first. Does your side hurt right now?”
It does, a constant stinging that radiates into a dull thrumming. It feels bulky, the firmness of tape keeping down what you presume to be gauze while it pulls at the peachfuzz on your skin. Your arm, the one that took the injection, feels sorer than after a full mission.
“Feels fine right now, would like some meds maybe later.” Quietly responding before looking up to his brown eyes. While Gaz usually has enough snark to serve his entire country, his gently and nurturing tendencies highlight in the soft and intimate moment.
He holds the qualities of a leader, and possibly be concerning at his young age. But seeing as he’s grown under Price’s wing, being a favored candidate from the beginning, maybe his weight was a shouldered experience to lighten the Captain's load. Maybe he won’t be able to fully take his place until the gentleness withers away into hate and bloodborne desire to bark and bite under the pull of a leash.
Maybe he’ll get sick of it and decide to have a family, leaving this life behind when he feels his hands have turned far too dirty.
He turns his gaze to the TV for a moment, drawing a long sigh in before releasing, a small frown on his lips. “You remember anything?”
You’d rather not. Had you still been in a sterile environment, you’d have woken in a panic just as before.
“Yes. The… yes.” Glancing away, you can feel the shift in your eyes focus. “I remember something happening when I saw Price’s face then you were there.”
You miss the look of worry on his face when the game on TV catches your attention as someone scores. “Where are the others?’
“Price and Soap dealing with the brass. Ghost was here a second ago but will be right back.” Gaz’s head tilts back behind him to check around before reaching up to the IV bag behind you two. “You’re just about finished, you fine if I take this out?”
Offering him your hand, he removes the tube and tape before placing a gauze square and bandaid over it. “Not supposed to take it out until you’re completely done, but you’ll drink your water, yea?” Inadvertently speaking close to your ear while he clamps the IV line shut, a chill runs down your spine.
“Mm, I will. Thank you.” Silent gratitude for him being sweet enough to let you off the tether, you take it as a signal of freedom and try to get up. Before being interrupted.
“Stay down, Saint.”
Ghost enters the archway of the common room; Dressed in baggy sweats and a T-shirt that shouldn't be as form-fitting as it is. A black gator mask hides the lower half of his face. He makes his way to a spot on the couch adjacent to you and Gaz.
“Your stitches are barely holding from earlier. Not allowed to be moving like that.”
Underneath you, Gaz squirms while clearing his throat once you settle down. “Ah, actually. Ghost.” He starts, voice now sounding reluctant with trepidation. “You mind taking over for a bit? Haven’t eaten and need to piss.”
A mix between a laugh and worry crosses your mind as you pout when realizing he’d been here the whole time with you.
“Sorry, Kyle.” Whispered as you give his shoulder a pat, looking to Ghost for whatever his plan would be. “How long was I out?”
The lieutenant scoots next to you, arms brought out to grab underneath your legs and back before gently transferring you into his lap. You can feel Gaz getting up behind you, a soft squeeze on your shoulder before he leaves. “Bout an hour ‘n half.”
The difference between Gaz and Ghost is definitely in size, but the lieutenants body is firm and demands that you accommodate to him rather than how Gaz’s size lets his boldly mold to you. You’re still blinking slowly, sluggishly trying to reintegrate your mind into full speed. A grunt acknowledges the statement.
“Didn’t know you had blond hair.”
Ghost is pretty, not even in his own way, he is just simply pretty. Brown eyes contrast the lightness of his hair, some spots missing where scars trail over his scalp. His forehead also having lines from stitches done too messy, wrinkles from years of fighting, and a few freckles decorate the top bridge of his nose. A second scan shows a hairline scar over his left eyelid, a group of eyelashes being blond where the scar ends.
“You wouldn’t ‘ave known.” A huffed laugh makes his chest puff up, only looking down at you for a moment before watching the game.
Before you can even ask another question, he voice muted. “That… doctor. He wasn’t supposed to be on base. Not even from what he did, but there was no agreement to have the facility’s medical here. Not even the command can get on here without clearance and a schedule.”
The clench in your jaw halts your words, growing almost distant in the eyes as you digest the information. “So how did he get on base? Just lie his way through everything?”
Ghost sighs, watching one of the teams score a goal before turning back to you.
“Yes. Fucking skunk lied his way through, altered some ID and got into medical. They say he was watching over your file and once he saw your name ping in as a combat injury, he was acting as your attending and case manager.”
It really should send more of a chill down your back than the small amount it does, rather, a sluggish feeling churning in your stomach. You’ve been through horrible things. Having eyes on you stopped phasing you a while ago.
Letting the conversation drop, you both turn your attention towards the football game to watch the halfway point. You find a place for your face to rest on his collarbone, laying yourself to use his chest like a pillow. He doesn’t react, yet in moments where the visiting team comes close to scoring a goal, his knee bounces in anticipation.
“Did you ever play any sports?”
His knee settles before responding. “Hockey. Short time, but ‘s fun.”
“Hm, was gonna take you for a rugby kinda guy.”
“Nah, that's more John’s style. The both of them.” The mental image of a younger pair of Johns conjures in your mind, a soft grin twitching the corners of your mouth at the thought. “Sometimes they’ll play when we’re together on leave.”
“Leave?” A pause as your eyes blink open slowly. You don’t remember closing them. “Like you guys just… Leave?”
The feeling of his large, warm, hand moving to hold your back comes when he shifts to look down at you. “Leave. When we get a break from duty.” It comes out as a question more so, his brows furrowing down.
“Oh.” Matching his confusion. “I didn’t get to have those. Nowhere to just, go.” You didn’t have a home, lost that long ago. Sadness was gaslit into happiness by telling yourself you didn’t have to pay rent, and bills, and not worrying about the economy.
Something shifts in his eyes, Ghost himself looking like a kicked puppy now as he takes in your implications. Softness emits subtly in his eyes and the way he slightly rests you on his chest when pushing you into him.
“I’m sure you can ask Capt’ to fix that.” A soft scratch of your scalp leads you to settle down, and when you keep breathing in the smell of him, you fall asleep.
---
“... lost it by a point. Bloody coach looks like a muppet.”
“Won’t be able to show his face for the next year. Damn bloke.”
The voice sends enough of a spark to take you out of your REM cycle, now taking stock of where you’re at. From the smell of it, you’re on the couch but now lay on it instead of a body. There's a few more steps of shuffling before it stills.
“How is she?”
The warmth next to you grunts, shifting to leave the couch. “Seems fine, but fell back asleep quickly once Gaz left ‘er with me.” The new set of footsteps have a distinct gait, trying to be silent but failing with the TV no longer being on. “How’d your side go?”
“Almost got me on excessive force.” The croaky voice makes your mind wake up more, realizing its Price. “Almost knocked the brass out hearing that. Had to make sure he saw the vials and needles he snuck in.”
“Was he going to… do anyth-”
“No.” Price cuts Ghost off immediately, something lying in the tautness of his voice. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know, else I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘em.”
Exhaustion covers your body and mind, fighting it to the point where it feels like you have to unstick yourself from the couch but tingling makes your body want to still. You pull on your muscles enough that Price notices.
“Hey, pretty girl. Can you hear me?”
The groan that leaves you is enough of a signal that you can. One of his hands moves to pet your hair down as the other adjusts the blanket on you. Footsteps elsewhere fade away, signaling Ghost’s departure. Your eyes open to watch Price squat down in front of you.
“There she is.” He coo’s in a hushed whisper. Part of you wants to cry at how good it makes your heart feel. All you can manage is a whimper.
“Still tired?”
“Mhh. Yes.” Croaking makes you realize how thirsty you are, somewhat regretting not staying up to drink your water like you’d promised Gaz. “Where were you?”
Blue eyes leave the depths of your red ones, tracing over your face to your neck, down to your body, and how you lay on your uninjured side. “Taking care of business. Nothing to worry about.”
His hand comes back to your arm, making you flinch as he presses onto the tiny spot of dried blood. The small twinge of pain from his softness makes you want to scream at him, cry at him while crying for him to hold you. To give any emotion clearly while silence eats away between you.
“Did I mess up?”
The white of his eyes shows a bit more when he widens them in surprise, fliting up to hold your gaze. “No… No, Saint. You did not mess up.” In a moment, he moves to his knees, crowding you onto the couch while bringing your face closer to his. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have left you in there. Should have fuckin’ listened to you.”
In a twisted sense, the couch seems like his pew, and you are the body he weeps over. Wrapped in a blanket is a far-off notion from any white to be buried in, but your open eyes just feel so tired and dulled from the last few days. Rightfully so. His hands cup your face like they would hold a bible open, finding scripture in the features of your face.
Price doesn’t cry. How much would it take to make him? Has he had a family? Did he lose someone he loved because of enemies? Did he have a tragic backstory that granted him an almost immortal sense of luck?
There’s certainly no angel on his shoulder because you’d have fought and killed it on the first day.
“You didn’t know.” Starting hoarsely, swallowing the saliva in your mouth. “I didn’t want you to know.”
There's dissatisfaction from hearing your answer, a pull at the corners of his mouth. “I need to know, Saint. I have to know. That’s not goin’ to happen again.” Leaning down to press his chapped lips to your forehead. “I’m sorry.”
The feeling of his hair in your hands is surprisingly soft, almost as surprising when you realize you’re bringing him in to kiss you.
It’s soft, languid, and slow, yet anxiety boiling at the bottom of your stomach. His lips part yours, leading you to taste the tobacco you tried days ago. His mustache and beard scratch your face, prickling your skin in an added sense of feeling to grapple onto. Dragging you closer with an arm wrapped behind your back, his tongue teases yours before diving in deeper.
“While this is sickeningly romantic,”
The voice makes you gasp like a whore in her lover's shared bed, the drawl sardonic enough to know it is exactly not that.
It’s so much worse.
“I rather prefer a different type of scene.”
The woman stands against the doorway, arms crossed while she surveys the scene. Dressed in black pants and a turtleneck, her blue eyes light up with the white overcoat that shields her from the coldness of desert nights.
“Kate-” Price backpedals, separating himself from you enough to sit up straight from his place on the floor. Stuttering, he glances at you before back to her, a blush fading into existence on his aged skin. “I- uh. What are you doing here?’
Kate Laswell, smirks before looking at you with a slightly softer expression. She’s still cocky through and through from catching her prestigious ally making out with his little demon.
“After the shit show got up the ladder, I decided to make a quick trip to check-in. And, you never called me back, Captain.”
Ok, now it is starting to seem like a lovers quarrel. Feeling out of place, you don't move until Price takes a moment to clear his throat, leaning forward as if to obstruct you from her view.
“Well, I’m assuming it’s more serious than a phone call let it out to be.” Standing his hand brushes your shoulder before he crosses his arms. Laswell watches, moving forward a bit. Her eyes glance towards you, a subtle nod in greeting.
“Pleasure to meet you, Saint. Sorry to interrupt.” Absolutely no shame eludes from this woman. Continuing on, she holds Price’s gaze; “A base just got accredited for their first hybrid operator. Similar to our situation with Saint.” She takes a moment to look over you, briefly checking out the remainder of the IV bag on its stand. “Need you to go do didactics for our friends.”
“And which friends are you speaking of this time.”
She pauses, a flicker of her lips turning upwards if only for a moment.
“You’ll be headed back to Las Almas.”
As if watching a dramatic TV show, your eyes flit back to take in his reaction. If you had the energy, you’d feel bad for Price’s stress levels. With the sigh he lets out, you know that he can never catch a break.
#task force 141#call of duty#cod mw2#captain john price#call of duty modern warfare#tf141#john price#john price x reader#captain jonathan price#captain price x reader#kyle gaz garrick#sergeant kyle gaz garrick#simon riley ghost#ghost simon riley#simon riley#is this how you write suspense#John Price needs a break
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1 + 29 for ao3 wrapped :D ?
1. How many words have you written this year?
A lot of words have been written but I've only posted 58,796
Which doesn't seem like a lot considering my AO3 total is like. 186k?
But the other 130k was posted between 2011 and 2021 (cause yes I wrote in 2022 but I didn't post anything then oops?)
So somehow I wrote over a third of my total word count just this year
29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?
Oh man I have SO many good ones, so have another 3 in no particular order (this is the third time I've answered this question, and it never gets old)
Jason gets it now, kind of, why Bruce had his whole thing with Jordan, why none of the other League members managed to get under his skin the way Jordan did – all of the Green Lanterns did, really. Kyle’s a brave little shit. He likes to throw himself up against the biggest threat to their existences and tell it to bite him. He regularly gives Jason heart attacks over it.
From Cause there's nothing left for us to bleed, which was the only Non-Trigun fic I posted this year (it's a DC fic!)
“I loved you,” Chronica says instead. “I do, still, love you.” She has grieved Domina since she lost her and will continue to grieve Domina until she becomes so much stardust.
Chronica/Domina my beloved underrated ship. At least two people have told me this is their favorite line from Six AM, Mulholland Drive, Moonlight Sonata and I, which is the first true DomiKnives/knivesanddomina fic I posted to AO3
When Vash was silent a bit too long, Meryl sighed. “You are a natural disaster.”
“Certified natural disaster and act of god!” Vash chirped. He ducked the comb aimed for his head. “Hey!”
Yeah I know this bit is in the summary for Aflutter but like. It's silly. It's soft and loving and it makes me giggle.
(links to fics to come and also I'll reblog the list in just a moment)
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Your disappointment warrants a disclaimer though, otherwise you're seeding a certain sentiment a lot of trolls and shill are trying to whip up. Don't be that person who thinks writers and actors owe you endless content for less than a living wage.
i respect your opinion and you’re not strictly incorrect but… thats not my point lol & you’ve kinda proved my issue.
the main part of my thoughts was that i have an issue with, and i quote: not being able to post when you’re experiencing multiple conflicting feelings without explaining all of them without being attacked.
it’s not only about the strikes, it’s anything that someone thinks you cant have complicated emotions towards if you don’t explicitly say so. my example was about the strikes because thats the most recent thing i’ve seen, but it’s more than that. not allowing people to express only their negative feelings in their own space online, simply because it might overlap with people being dicks intentionally about it isn’t the right way to go about it. for example, saying you’re disappointed because your favourite band pushed back their album release doesn’t mean you’re not sympathetic to the fact they delayed it due to health issues, it just means you’re disappointed because you were excited about it & had planned for it happening on a specific day. you expressing that upset online shouldn’t need to involve a disclaimer, because it should be implied - until proven otherwise - that you care about your band’s wellbeing. if you send a string of posts abusing the band for postponing it, yeh, youre a dick. but if you send one which is ‘aw man this sucks so much we wont get the album’, thats not something you should associate with the people being dicks about it despite it being negative in tone.
idk, i like to assume the best of people rather than thinking they’re dicks & don’t feel a complicated way about things.
if someone expresses disappointment about their plans changing due to something, that doesn’t mean they disagree with the thing that changes their plans? it solely means they are disappointed that their expectations for the coming time period changed & to assume otherwise unless proven only makes your worldview more negative.
this… insistence that all your feelings must be explained entirely and in full in order for you to grumble about something online is exhausting, and unnecessary if you simply assume the best of people. and, quite frankly, it is why i stopped using my tumblr for anything beyond reblogging stuff until recently.
i’ll add a disclaimer here, as well as the one that’s in the tags, bc my point is being proven lol: i support pretty much all unions & their decisions to strike (us police unions are not included hence my ‘pretty much all’). i am 100% sure that the wga & sag aftra should strike & fully support them doing so, shutting down hollywood is a great way to have bargaining power. the conditions they are expected to work under are abhorrent & they need better protection. it is also absurd to say that you can’t express disappointment about things you were looking forward to being cancelled without needing to add a disclaimer that your frustration is aimed at the other side of the negotiations for not capitulating, and not at the sag members. if you are posting your feelings on your blog, you should not need to caveat those feelings. the default of people assuming the worst of others makes the world a worse place.
i have a tendency to over explain my point so that it gets across, and often that means my coherence suffers lol. please bear in mind i am cognitively disabled & severely ill.
#eli’s nightblogging#like i said in my other tags - i am always pro strike#but that support for actors getting appropriate contracts that arent exploitative#does not negate my disappointment that something i anticipated is no longer happening#and that is okay!!#because i am human and can experience multiple feelings at time#this is made even funnier to me by the fact i barely watch tvs/films & when i do its british stuff atm lol#*tv oops#i think i was gonna write tv shows#anon please dont take this as a personal attack - i dont mean to be rude or cruel#im just tired that the assumption is people are acting out of malice rather than just expressing upset#this might be a mish mash because writing this on mobile is hard for my brain & im already in pain that’s making it worse#but hopefully i got my point across#im happy to continue a polite discussion about this#but my opinion hinges on ‘assuming people are complicated and arent being dicks until proven otherwise’#and im not sure that can be swayed atp lol#if you’re really worried someone’s maybe being a dick then do the mature thing and ask them#even if its ‘hey whats your opinion on the strikes?’#assuming makes an ass out of you#wish you could edit tags on mobile. urgh. i wrote time above when i meant ‘once’
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I have a short Hunter fic I’ll be posting later today 🙃
#mobile is being a pain in my ass rn so I’ll have to post it later#here I go writing about Hunter again#I totally have a crosshair fic that I’m working on but I’m having some writers block#the bad batch fanfiction#Hunter tbb#the bad batch
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[Image description: Black text on a white background titled "Cannibal." The text reads "I slowly pick at my skin, watching the blood ooze as I ruminate on our love. I stare at you, at the flesh between your teeth. I smile. / Isn't it lovely, letting you devour me." End description]
#my stuff#writing#cannibalism#this was a pain in the ass to format on mobile btw#was considering making this longer but i ended up deciding i like it#wrote this in like. a minute lol
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365 Days of Poems: Day 12 (January 12th)
Evanescent Forest
Somewhere—
not too far from here
but not a place you've ever heard of—
there lies a forest,
small and sacred,
that flickers
in and out
Like swirling mist or fickle fog
coat the skin in warm drops of velvet
slowly fading
The forest and all its creatures
show themselves for a blink
before the vanishing
of ghost trees, sugar-spun animals, smoke moss
You will not find
this forest on any map
as paper cannot hold vapour
or a fleeting memory,
and if you ever see it,
no-one will ever believe you
or your tales of phantoms in the night
Do not go
searching,
child
it will find you
when it is ready
to claim what is its
- - - - -
Here's the link to the corresponding writing prompt post
#the formatting on this one was a straight-up pain in the ass#and thats mainly why i was putting it off#that last line in the third stanza is supposed to be right-aligned (rather than left-aligned)#but because it is long it is really hard to do that especially here on mobile#so i just hope it looks okay on both mobile and desktop#and im lowkey proud of myself for finally biting the bullet (so to speak) and just posting this#even if the formatting cant be perfect or how i really want it#regardless i think the poem speaks for itself in terms of what its about#especially in junction with the title/prompt#so i wont ruin anyones interpretation or reading experience by saying more#as for my 12th i believe my girlfriend and i went to the house to do laundry#other than that i dont think we did much#(if i remember something i will add it as an edit)#(again this is what i get for procrastinating on posting these for so long)#thanks for reading#writing#writer#creative writing#writing prompt#poem#poetry#writeblr#trying to be a writeblr at least
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"The frost, it looks like dust settled on the world after everyone's long been gone."
#mitski#the frost#lyric quotes#lyric posting#easily the cutest lyric of 2024#makes me think about how tiny the world is#like we're in a little snow globe and havent been shaken in a while#the whole song is just a masterpiece#the land is inhospitable and so are we#this album fucks#that was a suggested tag#this album fucks fr 💪💪💪#(positive connotations)#hate writing tags on mobile it makes it a pain in my ass to correct typos in tags#so i just leave them until i log in on my school issued chromebook which i do most of my posting from
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Voicemail
A Seams oneshot, but can be read independently of the series
{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }
Rating: T
Summary: You find Joel's old Nokia at the back of a drawer.
Warnings: Angst, description of a panic attack, grief, comfort, no use of Y/N, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has no physical description, definitely incorrect description of how mobile phones work, very lightly edited.
As always, Seams oneshots are set on a relaxed timeline. Voicemail can be considered to take place at an unspecified time after Part IV.
Word count: 1.8k
Notes: I don't know if anyone has written anything similar, but I've always wanted to write something about Joel's Nokia (the idea for Butter actually came from the phone scene in episode 1 - can't you tell? lol). This idea took me by surprise one night and didn't let me go.
Important note: I know voicemails don't work this way, but let's pretend that they are saved onto the mobile phone itself and can be accessed decades later, and that a Nokia can indeed survive the apocalypse.
After the outbreak, after Sarah, after missing his shot - he doesn’t remember much of those early, blurry days. Tommy barely managed to drag his catatonic ass to an abandoned house somewhere on the outskirts of town, where he had to punch him in the face to snap him out of it.
It being a cocktail of shock, grief, pain and numbness that should’ve killed him, could’ve killed any man. And for the longest time he wished that it did.
It was in the aftershock of that punch, left cheek snapped to his shoulder and his eyes downcast, that Joel saw his Nokia was still clipped to his belt, by some miracle unscathed when everything else had fallen apart.
And he keeps it all these years.
He hadn’t meant to take it with him when he packed up his meagre life to leave Boston behind. But the grubby afternoon light glanced off the screen when he was grabbing maps and hammers from under the dusty floorboards, and with a fuck it, he shrugged and shoved it into the bottom of his backpack.
If he was being honest with himself, it didn’t feel right leaving it behind.
And so the phone made it to Jackson, and survived the detour to Salt Lake City, largely forgotten. Joel was almost surprised by the sight of it when he finally unpacked his bag in the house that was now his and Ellie’s.
With a wry smile, he tossed it into a nondescript drawer in the garage, never to see the light of day again.
Until one weekend, Joel asks you to help him find some obscure screwdriver in his garage, not able to get up from where he’s on his back, stemming the flow of the perpetually leaky sink in Ellie’s bathroom.
The space is cool, the shutters down and the air dank from the lack of sun. Under the flickering fluorescent light, you go through a frankly ridiculous number of toolboxes without sighting the elusive screwdriver. With a sigh, you try the middle drawer in the workbench, which is clogged with what looks like everything under the sun.
Your lips twitch - Joel Miller is a messy man.
Digging around the random clutter, you startle when your fingers brush the long-forgotten, yet instantly familiar plastic case of the Nokia.
Wrapping your hand around the rectangular frame, you smile, in disbelief that you’re holding a mobile phone. You had a similar one that got lost in the confusion of the first days of the outbreak, and you haven’t seen one in the years since. At least not one in such good condition.
Joel’s faraway voice jolts you out of your thoughts. ‘Found it, sweetheart?’
‘Just a second!’ you call back.
Tucking the phone back where it came from, you grab the nearest screwdriver and hope for the best.
It takes you a few days of asking around town, poking around dusty storerooms and untangling twenty year-old electric cords, but you eventually find what you’re looking for, and there’s a spring in your step as you cook dinner that evening.
Joel seems to pick up on your energy, and he grins, amused, when he brings in the empty dishes after you eat.
‘You’re buzzin’ out of your skin, sweetheart,’ he teases, grabbing you by the waist. ‘What’s up with you?’
You cock your head to the side. ‘Well, I have a surprise for you.’
‘Is that so?’ he hums, then lets his voice drop an octave in playful insinuation. ‘What kind of surprise, hmm?’
‘Not that kind of surprise,’ you huff with a smile. ‘It’s - it’s hard to explain.’
‘Try me.’
Twisting out of his grip, you open a cabinet and pull out something that fits neatly in your palm. Joel frowns, confused by what looks like - a charger.
When you speak, it’s slow, as if you don’t want to startle him. ‘There’s a whole warehouse of wires and things down by the canteen. A patrol stumbled across an electronics shop in a nearby town a few years ago.’
He gives you a crooked smile. ‘And what am I s’pposed to do with it, sweetheart?’
You take a moment, making sure that his eyes are on you before the words come out. ‘I found the Nokia in your garage the other day, when I was looking for the screwdriver.’
You watch as Joel processes your words, and he goes still, stiller than you’ve ever seen him.
Then he blinks and shuffles his feet, glancing down at the charger. ‘I - I didn’t expect this.’
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. ‘I know. And you don’t have to do anything with it, really, but I just wanted you to have it.’
He nods, slowly. ‘Ok.’
Hesitating, you stutter, ‘So, um, do you - want to take it -?’
Joel holds his hand out, calloused palm quietly upturned. You half expect him to jump at the contact, but he doesn’t move a muscle when the black wire lands in his grasp, and his thick fingers curl around them.
‘I got the dishes, if you want to go first,’ you prompt softly.
Joel swallows, then nods. ‘Yeah, I think I’ll do that. If y’ don’t mind, sweetheart.’
‘Of course,’ you smile, pressing a kiss to his lips.
It’s cold outside, but he doesn’t feel it, not when the charger seems to be burning a hole in his hand. When he gets back to his house - empty, Ellie is at Lucy’s for dinner - he heads straight to the garage, and tugs open the drawer.
The Nokia stares back at him, screen blank.
Flinging the charger into the drawer without seeing where it lands, he shoves the drawer close with a snap.
Weeks pass. It hangs in the back of his mind like a spector, even though you don’t bring it up again, and he doesn’t either.
He’s not sure if he’s afraid of it, or dreading it, or worst of all - hopeful of what he would find on it.
It’s been twenty years. Electronics don’t last that long. It’s gotta be wiped clean.
One Wednesday night, Ellie is upstairs, music blaring, doing ‘homework’ or whatever she does on a weeknight (he doesn’t believe in helicopter parenting), and Joel finds his thoughts drifting to that damn drawer.
Feeling reckless, he reaches for the top shelf in the kitchen, pours himself two fingers of whiskey, and charges into the garage.
Hopping onto a workstool, he takes a big gulp of liquid courage and sets the tumbler on the work surface. Before his resolve slips completely out of touch, he yanks on the handle, and he winces when the drawer yawns open with a screech.
The Nokia feels foreign to the touch, like he’s forgotten how to hold a phone. It was, of course, glued to his ear almost all hours of the day and night once upon a time. He turns the plastic case over and the other way around again, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the buttons.
There’s no putting it off forever.
In goes the plug into the electric socket, and he looks down, phone in the left hand, the end of the charger in the other.
He thinks he’s seeing double until he realises that his hands are fucking shaking.
In one determined motion, he slots the charger into the bottom of the phone and drops it like it’s acid.
Then he downs the rest of his whiskey.
He’s not sure how long he stares, the very air around him as unmoving as himself, and he feels the alcohol spread its warm fingers through his veins.
Just when he’s about to look away, it happens.
The battery sign appears on the screen.
Joel almost chokes on a chuckle. He can’t fucking believe it. You really can’t kill a Nokia if you tried.
It doesn’t take long for the familiar home screen to pop up, the time on the top right corner, the battery in the bottom right. The bright green glare casts a cool glow in the dim. Joel picks up the phone, only to be nearly knocked backwards off the chair when the words flash across the screen.
1 NEW VOICEMAIL.
He’s sure his heart has stopped, it definitely feels like it, a deadweight in his chest sinking into his stomach. But he hears it, the relentless beat of it, pounding violently in his ears. Too fast. Gripping the edge of the work surface, he tries to breathe, mouth open, but air isn’t getting in.
It could be nothing. Could be a voicemail he missed from a client that night, or a junk call.
He’s not sure if he’s afraid of it, or dreading it, or worst of all -
He’s trembling so badly that he needs both hands to hold the phone steady, just so that his thumb presses the selection key.
He doesn’t hear the pre-recorded message, his brain skips it entirely. Then there’s five seconds of silence, and his life flashes before his eyes at the familiar beep -
Dad, are you on your way home? Please tell me you remembered the cake. Uncle Tommy bet me ten dollars that you won’t and I kinda need that lunch money tomorrow. See you soon, love you dad -
And everything goes white.
When Joel comes around, he’s on his knees, the empty tumbler in crystalline pieces around him. The phone is no longer attached to the charger, clutched so tightly in his hands that he feels the imprint of every button in his palm.
He won’t know that his face is wet with tears until you thumb the streaks off his cheeks on your doorstep minutes later, no memory of how he got there. You draw him into you, but your embrace barely contains his broad frame.
You can’t get him far in his state, whiskey on his breath and shivering all over. You drag him across the living room and onto the couch, where you curl up against him, warming him up with your body heat, cradling his head on your chest. The candlelight bounces off the phone screen, which glows green in his grasp.
It will take him weeks to get his head around what you have given him. And when he does, he will ask if you want to hear Sarah’s voice - shyly - as if you would ever say no.
Watching him watch you, Sarah’s warm, fun-loving voice in your ear, the seams of your lashes sting with tears as your heart clenches, swells, breaks for him - and then put together again by his hand finding you, fingers filling the gaps between yours.
But for now, he lies prostrate, his weight pinning you to the couch, as you comb soothing fingers through his hair, anchoring him to you.
‘I got you, Joel,’ you whisper in his ear, and his eyelids droop and his breathing evens out, as if he’s run a thousand miles. ‘I got you.’
As he drifts off to sleep - his baby girl's love you dad echoing between his ears - he knows that you do.
More notes: I don't lean too hard into angst in my fics as a rule, so this took me places I haven't been for a while, but it's ok cos Pin's got our man 🥺 Thank you for reading, as always! ❤️
#fuckyeahseams#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller angst#joel miller oneshot#joel miller imagine#the last of us fanfiction
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some thoughts about top surgery recovery, as of 3 days post-op:
when they say using your chest muscles sucks afterward, i never realized exactly how much was going to be be limited. coughing, sneezing, hiccuping, laughing — all of it is terrifying right now. even talking for too long starts to put that kind of stress on my chest, and my voice isn’t as strong as it usually is. it takes me forever to fully empty my bladder when i’m on the toilet because i’m totally relying on gravity to do all the work (and shitting was effectively impossible without a stool softener even though i haven’t taken the pain meds they said i would need them for)…and don’t even get me started on figuring out how to wipe (hint: back to front while sitting, using my dominant hand to push my non-dominant hand far back enough). using the computer is also harder — i was planning on playing lots of baldur’s gate after, but for the first couple days i could only really go for a few minutes before using my arms that way got too tiring. having a mastectomy pillow has been an absolute godsend when i’m using my phone because i can prop my arms up on it and not really have to use any muscles at all to hold them up.
the biggest piece of not being able to use my chest muscles right now, which i’m writing separately because it’s been such a huge thing for me, is that i cannot sit up or back by myself at fucking all. like, if i sit on the couch and lean back a bit to sit against the cushion, it hurts to pull myself back up to fully straight — and if i’m leaning back any more than that, i just can’t do it at all and i’m stuck there unless my boyfriend puts their hands behind me and pushes my dead weight back up. i totally get why some people sleep in a recliner now because i’m completely at the mercy of having someone there to help move me around once i’m at any sort of angle. sitting back is mostly the same as far as what i can do, and arguably hurts worse to attempt at all, but my ability to do it seems to be coming back faster than my ability to sit up. if you’ve never had your mobility limited to that extent before, prepare yourself: the first time you’re stuck somewhere and the person who normally helps you doesn’t answer immediately can be really fucking scary (i learned that the hard way).
the anesthesiologist warned me that i might have a sore throat after surgery from being intubated, but i was not prepared for what “sore throat” ended up meaning for me. you know that feeling of swallowing something that’s too big and you can still feel it in your throat even after it’s down? it’s like that times 20, and further down in my throat. the worst pain i’ve felt in the last three days wasn’t from the surgery itself, it was from trying to swallow pancakes when my throat was at it’s worst. today is the first day it’s even started to fade, and even now, it hurts just to swallow my own spit. i don’t know about you, but that’s not what comes to mind when someone tells me “you might have a sore throat”.
on that note, the incisions themselves have really been the least painful part in general, probably because the nerves there aren’t reconnected yet. the vast majority of my pain and discomfort at this point has been from the drains and bandages — the drain sites getting sore or just randomly starting to sting, waking up feeling suffocated by the ace bandages, etc. it’s not because anything is wrong with them — the drains weren’t placed wrong and the bandages aren’t too tight, they’re just a huge pain in the ass to deal with 24/7. i can’t express how much i’m looking forward to getting the drains out and being able to take binder breaks because it’ll make things so much more comfortable.
my incisions are connected in the middle because my chest tissue was all really close together, and the part where the incisions connect is really the only part where i’ve felt any pain so far. i suspect it’s because the swelling on either side is making that part of the incision push together and press against itself, and then the binder pushes on it even more. it’s not a severe pain at all, but i do sometimes lift the center of the bandage off my chest for a second to give that spot a bit of a break.
i’ve already started getting some of the weird sensations associated with nerves reconnecting, and it definitely is wild. so far, it’s been mostly tingly feelings, sometimes like chills and sometimes more like a limb falling asleep. (weird observation: taking a shit makes my ribs tingle? i’ve got no good explanation for that one.) i’ve gotten a zap on one side and some buzzing feelings too. it’s pretty mild right now, probably because it’s so early on.
i’ve also gotten what i would describe as phantom boob feelings, especially on the first night. specifically, when i close my eyes, sometimes i’ll feel like someone is touching or jiggling the boobs i don’t have anymore. definitely not a super pleasant experience, but i think being out of it from the anesthesia still really helped me not be too upset by the worst of it. i’ve gotten a couple little phantom nipple touches too, but those were just split second blips of sensation that were far less bothersome in comparison.
i never realized that the classic post-op hunch is caused more by the binder than by the body itself, but we had to take all of my bandages off the night after my surgery to send pictures of something to my surgeon, and i was shocked by how much straighter i could sit with everything off. i was definitely still hunched, but it was more like a natural slouch and less like i looked like i was using an invisible walker. with the binder on, it’s super uncomfortable for me to try to stand straight at all because it feels like the ace bandage doesn’t come with my body and just drags everything down, and i’m always holding my mastectomy pillow or my hands to my chest while i walk around to stop it from feeling like gravity is going make the bandage tear my chest open.
every so often, when things are getting especially painful or uncomfortable or just generally difficult, i do start to wonder if i made the right choice. not because i regret getting rid of those things — not by a long shot — but because it’s a fucking hard process to go through. this is probably the hardest thing for me to admit, but the rational part of my mind knows it’s natural to feel that way once in a while. all of this is temporary and the relief from dysphoria will be permanent, but right now? this is my entire world and it doesn’t feel particularly temporary and i do have moments of “why do i have to go through all this when other people get to just have the right body from the start? why couldn’t i just live with what i had? why can’t i just be living my normal life right now?” no matter how sure you are of your choice, no matter how proud you are of being trans, this shit is hard and it’s okay to feel that.
i’m going to put the pictures of my chest one day post-op under the cut, because i think it’s pretty rare to see pictures from that soon after the surgery. they’re not gorey at all — the actual incisions are totally covered by steri strips and everything around them is clean — but still, if you don’t want to see relatively fresh surgery results, don’t look under the cut.
for all the discomfort and pain and limitations and other weirdness of recovery, every time i look at these pictures it reminds me of exactly why i’m doing all of this, and i’m so glad i kept fighting for this for so long. some people might never understand why someone would choose to go through this whole process, but i know it’ll be worth it in the end.
here’s my chest one day post-op! i think it looks super good and my surgeon said it looks like it’s healing perfectly (as much as it can be healing at one day). for reference, my chest was a DDD/F before surgery. i know this isn’t how my chest will look in the end, but i’m already thrilled with how things are turning out! i’ve truly never been more confident in my choice of surgeon — like, come on! look at that! she did so good!
#top surgery adventures#<- gonna start putting all the posts about my top surgery in that tag#top surgery#trans man#transmasc
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narcotics | arsenal x reader
summary: reader has a drug problem.. her arsenal teammates help her to realise and overcome it
warnings: mentions of drugs use and abuse
this was so tough to write for me and hit home sooo fucking hard buttt also very fulfilling so i hope you enjoy
You’d never intended for it to get this bad.
Injury, surgery, recovery, drugs.
So many drugs.
That was what happened when you had major surgery, when you were an athlete, they showered you with every single kind of drug that they could, to distract from the pain and to try and start the recovery process as soon as possible. It was good, especially post surgery when you felt absolutely no pain, it was great, and it allowed you to be a lot more mobile after the operation than you would have been if you hadn't been medicated.
It was good, being pain free was so incredibly good.
That was all you could focus on, your whole recovery revolved around being pain free, tearing your tricep was a pain in the ass, but as far as football was regarded, you were hopeful to return to the pitch as soon as possible.
You didn’t need your arm to kick a football or play on the pitch, so the whole entire focus of your recovery was to make the pain bearable so you could return to the field as soon as possible.
For this reason, the doctors just kept refilling your scripts, handing you bottles and bottles upon pills, it was their job to get you back on the field to help Arsenal redeem themselves from the fall from the champions league.
You were back on the pitch in three weeks, which was almost psychotic considering that your tricep scars were still bandaged and covered in gauze.
It was procedural for you, you fell into a routine of relying on the drugs to get you through a game, to take off the edge of the pain that originated in your arm.
It was fine, it was good.
For months, the doctors filled the bottles for you, they kept filling them, past the point of where you medically needed them anymore, it was just routine for you, just a part of your day.
You woke up, and you took pills with your morning protein shake and breakfast, then you car pooled to London Colney with Beth and Viv. Once you arrived at training you ate a protein bar, which you consumed another set of pills with. Then typically as a team there would be a morning gym session, after gym there was lunch, where you would consume another set of pills. Then there was training, afterwards before recovery you inhaled another set of pills.
It didn’t really worry you, you needed the pills, they were the reason you were able to play, they were the only thing that was keeping you on the pitch.
It felt that way to you at least, even if you were months past the injury, it just felt like you needed them, that without them you would be hopeless.
So, even as the weeks passed by you continued your routine, but as every day passed by it was clear that your teammates were becoming more aware of your reliance, the concern and questions becoming far more frequent.
You insisted that you were fine, that it was the doctor's orders, even if the doctor had told you months ago that you needed to eventually wean yourself off the pills.
He was the same doctor though who continued to fill your scripts and hand you pills like they were candies.
Eventually you would stop, you would, some time, it was just something to get you through the day, something to make it easier for you to deal with everything that was happening in your life.
The first time the word addiction was thrown at you was in the most abnormal situation.
You were sitting in the locker rooms, early on a wednesday morning the likes of Katie, Jen, Beth and Alessia surrounding you as you all casually joked around.
It was all common conversation, trivial basic stuff, until Katie pivoted towards you, her whole body turning in your direction as she sent a question your way.
“Y/n, is there any history of addiction in your family?”
It’s spoken so casually, and for whatever reason you’re the only person in the group taking a double take over what she’d just asked you.
Everybody else was just kind of waiting for your answer, all eyes on you as they watched on carefully.
“No, why?”
Katie just nods her head, her eyes not leaving you and the curiosity in them.
“Just curious, Less and I were talking earlier about it, one of her cousins struggled with it majorly after having surgery, just interesting to think about, it’s just a really tough topic.”
It was blatantly obvious that there was an underlying message underneath her words, at the time though you had been completely oblivious to it.
“Yeah, well I couldn’t give any info on that, both of my parents were in the army and were as clean as whistles, my two brothers were the same, and as far as my aunts and uncles go I’m fairly certain they’ve never touched any drugs beyond paracetamol and tylenol.”
Your words are measured, calculated, trying to decrypt the overarching question lying beneath the surface of Katie’s random spiel.
“It’s definitely interesting to think about, considering how many surgeries our team has encountered in the last little while.”
Katie is digging around, for something, but you aren’t quite sure what.
“I’m not the one to ask about it, Viv and Beth are the ones who have been doing all the research.”
Katie seems to get the message that you don’t want to talk, but you can’t ignore the way she continues to look at you with a mixture of concern and annoyance whilst you tugged on your uniform and trainers.
When you thought her eyes had slipped from you, you turned into your locker, taking a sip of water before pulling two pills from your bag and slipping them past your lips as discreetly as you could.
You thought you were discreet, but when you turned back around to head out of the rooms and into the gym, and realised that all of your teammates' eyes were on you, you realised that this whole ordeal had become quite the spectacle.
You ignored the on looking eyes, especially those of Katie and Beth’s, which were practically burning holes through your body.
You avoided their eye contact, knowing that if you met their eyes it would give them a space to confront you, something which you were looking to avoid for as long as possible.
You somehow managed to make it into the gym without any further troubles, but when you did make it inside the gym you were met with some similar looks from your teammates and captains who were already occupying the space.
You got straight into your program, your mind reeling about how exactly your teammates had come to the point of pretty much accusing you of addiction.
You weren’t addicted.
You just needed the pills to take the edge off, there was nothing wrong with knowing your body's limit. Sure, you’d been told it was safest to start weaning off them after about a month on them, but you needed them, you needed them to be the same you, the old you, the pre-injury you.
You weren’t an addict, addicts were frantic and uncontrolled and definitely couldn’t play football.
The gym plan for you was fairly simple, a lot of tricep exercises and some upper body work that you finished off fairly quickly, within the hour you were heading back to the locker rooms, to grab your jumper and some pills before heading off to the lunch room to see what the chefs had cooked up today.
Kim, Leah, Katie, Viv, Beth and Jen were all sitting inside the rooms, the six of them hushedly talking between themselves. You did your best to ignore them, beelining straight towards your locker, throwing on your hoodie first before reaching into the pocket in your bag where you’d left the container early.
You felt around, confused for a few seconds when you didn’t immediately feel it.
You shoved your hand deep into the pocket, again your fingers touched nothing but the mesh of the inside pocket in your bag. At this stage, your hands begin to shake, you pull your hand out of the empty pocket, maybe you put them somewhere else.
You begin to rifle through your bag, searching incessantly for the one pill bottle that you need so desperately.
It’s not in your bag, three searches confirm that.
Maybe it’s fallen into your locker somewhere?
You pull out your things from the cube, searching desperately for your sweet relief.
This can’t seriously be happening, how the fuck could you have possibly lost them?
“Kid, what are you looking for?”
You ignore Beth’s question, continuing to toss your locker, even though it’s blatantly obvious that they aren’t hiding anywhere, they’re gone.
“Kid, what’s wrong?”
You pivot on your heel to address Beth, but your eyes are glued to Leah’s hands, or more so what Leah has resting in her hands.
The little orange bottle, the sacred fucking bottle.
“This whatcha looking for?”
You try your very hardest not to slip up, not to give it away too much, not when it’s very likely that whatever this is, it’s a test.
“Why have you got my pills?”
You decide to pivot with a question, it seems like the best decision.
“Why are you still on pills?”
Leah’s words are cut throat, they hit you hard.
“Because of my surgery.”
It’s an ominous answer, maybe it’ll save you from the vice captain's anger, maybe it won’t.
“You had surgery four months ago.”
Leah’s words, whilst they are a statement, hold questioning behind them.
“I don’t see how anything between my doctor and myself matters to you, he’s given me a script for medication, one that I use.”
It’s definitely the wrong thing to say, Leah looks offended, Kim looks like she’s about to kill you, Beth and Viv just look sad, Katie and Jen look like they don’t really know what to say.
“It’s not our fucking business? You should have been off pills three months ago, it’s my blood business to know when my teammates are continuing to take drugs way past the point of it being logical.”
Kim’s voice is angry, but not the kind of anger where it’s directed at you, it’s more the kind of angry where she clearly wants answers that you aren’t giving her.
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, my doctors fill my scripts, beyond that it’s none of your business what I take and don’t take to get through sessions.”
Kim’s face scrunches up, Leah’s looks similar, it’s funny to you sometimes how similarly they captain.
“You haven’t had any complications, you should have been completely pain free months ago, why do you still need pills? Why do you need them so frequently? Don’t think that we all haven’t realised how often you are taking them, you’re going through them like a bag of candies, it’s not healthy.”
Kim’s right, it leaves you a little bit gobsmacked and takes you a little bit to recover from what she’s saying to you.
“I’m playing well, am I not? Beyond how I am playing on the pitch it’s none of your fucking business.”
When you think about it, swearing at Kim was possibly the stupidest thing you could have done, but you suppose there isn’t any coming back from it now.
“It’s not my fucking business? Beyond being your captain I give a shit about your health and mental wellbeing, so when I see one of my best mates and teammates looking like they are fucking addicted then I am allowed to ask questions, questions that you are going to answer or else we will be having a very different conversation, one that includes Jonas and the medical staff and I promise you that it will end with a very different result.”
Kim’s words hit you right in the chest, you force yourself to take a seat, looking at the six women and taking in the guilty look across both Viv, Katie, Beth and Jen’s faces.
“You guys fucking ratted on me, for nothing? I’m not fucking addicted, people who are addicted are frantic and stupid and fucking unhinged. Do you think if I had a pill addiction that I’d be able to play, do you think I’d be able to do half the things we do if I had an addiction, I just need them to get me through the day, to get me through the work outs.”
Your justification is weak, you know that, but you still believe in what you are saying, you don’t have a problem.
Kim’s face deflates, it looks like whatever she is about to say is going to be a lot more emotional and heavy then you are prepared for.
“Kid, you have a problem. How you manage to do it all baffles me, truly, you should not need pills to be getting you through the day, not when you are in recovery, not when your tricep is almost fully healed, Beth and Katie told me about it because they are genuinely worried, I am too. We’re all here for you, whatever you need.”
You shake your head, you don’t need help, you don’t need support, what you need is your fucking pills back.
“Can I have my fucking pills back?”
Leah shoves the bottle into her pocket, you know that you aren’t getting them back but it was worth a try.
“Are you fucking serious?”
It’s apparently Katie’s turn to be the bad cop.
“They fucking belong to me.”
Katie looks absolutely fuming, if it wasn’t for the whole situation you were in you would probably laugh about it.
“Not anymore they don’t, you’ve lost that fucking priviledge. This is how it’s going to go from now on. You’re going to move in with Beth and Viv for now, Lia’s searching your apartment as we speak, you’re done with pills, no more, you’re cut off. You’re going to get a fucking handle on your life and all of this shit or else you’ll be benched and sent to rehab or wherever Jonas thinks is the best place for you to sort out your fucking addiction, because that’s what this is. You can’t survive four hours without slipping some pills, that is seriously fucking concerning and all of us are so fucking worried about you. If you want to continue playing then there are going to be a whole set of rules and conditions because this can’t keep going, it’s unsafe.”
All the other women nod along with Katie’s words, you realised that you are definitely fucked.
“I’m a fucking adult, you guys have no right to be doing this to me, I don’t have a fucking problem.”
Katie rolls her eyes, standing up from her seat to walk over to you.
“Kid I am so sorry none of us realised earlier, maybe if we had it wouldn’t have been so bad, but you have to understand how bad it is, you should not be reliant on drugs that are prescribed to a person after a serious surgery, your attached. Not all addicts are frantic, you definitely aren’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that you have a problem and if you don’t stop it now, you never will. We all want to help you, however you need.”
You don’t really know what to do, everything Katie is saying hits you so hard, you can’t help but let tears fall, they’re wrong, you don’t have a problem, you need the pills, how are you supposed to be okay without them?
“Please, just give me the pills, I’ll do whatever you want, please, I need them, I’ll do anything please just give them back.”
Katie wraps you up in her arms, so tight that you worry about your ability to breathe, it makes everything stop for a few seconds, you forget about the pills, forget about how much internal pain you are struggling with.
“You know I can’t do that kid. How about we get you home? I don’t think you're in the mindset to train, Viv and Beth will leave with you, they’ll take you back to theirs whilst we finish up here for the day and then we’ll all have a chat about it later, okay?”
You pull yourself out of Katie’s arms, your face in a deep frown.
“You don’t understand, I fucking need them, I can’t live without them, what am I supposed to do without them? This is fucking crazy how am I supposed to play when you’re all forcing me to go cold turkey on the one thing that I rely on most.”
Katie’s hands move to your shoulders, planting themselves down firmly on you.
“No you don’t. It’s going to be a hard adjustment but it’s for the best. If we’re right and you are addicted, you’ll go through withdrawals, it’ll suck, but we’ll be here for you through it, we’re here to kick you in the ass but pick you up when you are hurting, we’re here for whatever you need.”
In a split second decision you lunge forward and directly at Leah, the blonde doesn’t expect it, and definitely doesn’t expect you to reach right for the pocket that you’d previously seen Leah push the pills in.
You don’t really know what your plans where for once you’d managed to obtain the bottle, but you knew one thing, you needed those pills and Leah was standing in the way of that.
Within seconds Jen and Kim’s arms were linked around yours, pulling your desperate form off of Leah.
“Please-Fuck please just give them to me, I’ll do whatever you need, please, I need them. I don’t need you guys, you guys don’t give a shit about me, I’m fine, I don’t want our help, just give me the drugs and leave me be, I’ll be fine, I’m always fine, I don’t need you guys. J-Just give me the pills and I’ll leave, I’ll never bother you guys again. ”
Kim managed to tug you completely away from Leah, whilst the older woman is significantly smaller than you, she was far stronger and you stood absolutely no chance against her.
You ragdolled in an attempt to make it harder for Kim, she replied to that by dragging your limp body up onto a seat, resting both of her hands on your soldiers just like Katie had, except for the fact that instead of Kim’s face being one of care and genuity, hers was stern and concerned.
“You don’t get to do this. You do not get to push us away because you want a fucking dose of drugs. We are family, family means so much more than some stupid object and the kid who worked her way here through the academy would have told me the exact same eight months ago. I know you have been through a lot, I know this injury has sucked, I know that you are going through a lot but you can’t push family away. We’re going to be here for you when you are at your biggest high and your lowest low, we are here through thick and thin. I can stand for you breaking down at ever minute of everyday if it means that we can help you, you can hurt us all as much as you want and we will continue to come back because whilst you might think that you are breaking us, you aren’t.”
Kim’s words just send tears running down your face and sobs coming out of your mouth.
Everything from the last hour is barreling directly at you, the realisation that maybe you aren’t as fine as you’ve been telling yourself, even if it feels wrong, you know what they are telling you makes sense, it hurts way more admitting that to yourself though.
Kim removes her arms from your shoulders, reaching for your torso and bringing you into another big hug, it’s suffocatingly painful and you swear that your skin prickles with the contact.
“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry.”
You don’t know what you are sorry for, which probably makes the apology pointless, but it feels like it needs to be said, like you need to make some kind of attempt to recognise your wrongdoing.
“It’s okay kid, we’ve got you, it’s going to be okay, we’re all here for you, let’s get you back to Beth’s, hmm? I think you could do with a good nap and a proper feed. You’ve been working yourself to the bone, it’s time to let yourself rest. Take it from me, this whole routine you have for yourself, the over working, the pills, it’s only so long before you completely burn yourself out and trust a woman who’s been there, that is the last possible thing you could want, especially considering you are so young.”
Kim’s opinion and words are gospel to you, being another midfielder ever since you’d become a part of the arsenal senior team you hung onto every single word that she spoke, so having the Kim Little calling you family, it was something else completely.
“Please, just take me home.”
Kim nods, pulling back from you to reach into your locker to grab your bag before handing it over to Beth who gives you a little smile, it doesn’t quite reach her eyes though, that’s how you know that whatever is happening, it’s not good at all.
You try your hardest to wipe away the tears with the sleeve of your hoodie, but it’s a losing battle, the salty liquid continuing to flow freely down your cheeks.
Viv replaces Kim, her arm flinging itself over your shoulders and shielding you from the outside world.
Without much fuss the couple pulls you out of the locker rooms and as quickly as they can towards the car park and back to the same car you’d arrived in this morning, this time though it’s so much harder, it feels nearly impossible, especially knowing that instead of the normal routine that entails the couple dropping you back to your apartment, this time you are going back to theirs.
Normally, you’re very happy to participate in a dinner or game night with the duet, but you know what going back to Viv and Beth’s means, it means accountability, change, pain, things you aren’t really sure if you’re ready for.
Viv makes the decision to slide into the back seat with you, a constant comfort as you try to navigate exactly what has just happened.
The ride to Viv’s and Beth’s is a blur, Viv drags you out of the backseat and into the elevator, then into their apartment.
You're too lost to do much more than let Viv lead you to the couch dropping Myle into your lap, who is apparently more than happy to cuddle up under the blanket that Beth throws at you.
All you can think about is what your teammates had to say. About the nights where you’d doubled up on pills to mask the mental pain of all the pressure you were taking on of leading a midfield without Kim, about how you felt like you would cripple up and break if you went a day without your pills, about how for the last few months the highlights of your day has been the pills in the bottle instead of the people around you, about how you’ve been finding more happiness in drugs instead of the life you are living, about how your whole life revolves around pain meds which you didn’t even need anymore.
Addicted wasn’t a word you had ever used in a sentence with you and drugs before, but now, it’s all that you can think about.
Addiction.
It had never been a possibility for you, how could you be addicted? Nobody you knew had ever had problems with pills, you’d done countless injuries including pain meds and never had a problem. No injury you’d ever done had such a negative reception though, the fans were fuming, your teammates were stressed, you were pressured. You needed to recover, for the good of everybody, pain meds were the way to get through that so you’d taken them, to fix all of the problems.
That was the reasoning your brain was using, it wasn’t perfect, but it made enough sense.
Beth sat down next to you and you felt at peace enough to meet her eyes.
They were calmer than before, you felt similarly, calmer, less like you were at war with yourself.
“I was so stupid that I didn’t even realise, I thought I was doing fine, I was so fucking stupid.”
Beth takes a deep gulp of air before she says anything, it’s hard to watch somebody who you’ve come to care about so dearly look like they are struggling so heavily to communicate with you.
“You’re not stupid. It’s not your fault. A lot of people enabled this to keep happening and you couldn’t have known better, what matters most is we are here for you now, the sooner before the later.”
You nod along to Beth, bringing a asleep Myle up to your chest and clutching onto him, the puppy is so soft, a big contrast to how you feel at the moment.
“I didn’t want to let everyone down.”
Beth sighs an oh so familiar sigh, the same sigh you heard every single time someone out of the acl crew mentioned how they felt like they were a burden or a problem or like they were letting the team down.
“You could never let any of us down, not really, sure we’re all very worried about you, but shit happens, life fucking happens. Every single day we all struggle, every person on this world, life is a bitch and the worst part is that we have people holding us accountable for it every single day. Fans, social media, teammates, we don’t get a break, even when we need it the very most. As teammates, it's our job to love you no matter what anybody is saying, you are different to every single human on earth, you have different needs, you don’t have to try to be someone you aren’t, we love you best when you try not to. Do not think for a moment that you will ever disappoint us, sure we can be angry and annoyed and disappointed with your actions but never you directly. We all love you no matter what, just be whoever you need to, not who you think everyone needs you too.”
You don’t know what to say, so you chose to say silent for a few seconds, really observing what Beth has just said, the complete honesty behind her words.
“I want to do better for you guys Beth, I don’t want to be reliant on drugs that I don’t need, I just don’t know how to live without them.”
Beth nods, her eyes all glazed and watery.
“Then we’ll help you, we’ll do whatever is necessary to help you, just let us in, let us be there for you.”
#woso#woso community#leah williamson#arsenal wfc#leah williamson x reader#arsenalwfc#arsenal imagine#up the arsenal#arsenal x reader#arsenal women#arsenal#kim little#mum kim little#beth mead#vivianne miedema#jen beattie#katie mccabe#katie mccabe x reader#woso imagine#kim little x reader#beth mead and vivianne miedema#beth mead x reader#i’m in pain#this hurt
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CW: Orientation play/conversion. Remember that your sexuality is valid, and conversion is NOT a thing beyond fantasy. Also, fuck "conversion therapy"
“All I’m saying is…”
“Look, you’re speaking out of your ass”, Ava said, barely containing her frustration.
“How am I speaking out of my ass? It has been done and thoroughly…”, he tried to reply.
“Yes, yes, Pavlov, blah blah blah. But you’re talking about something else entirely, not conditioning reactions”
“Not Pavlov, Skinner! Actions can be conditioned too. Look around you! Mobile games, casinos, even the goddamn army uses conditioning to…”
“Can we agree that there’s a difference between conditioning obedience in a controlled setting and whatever the fuck it is you’re suggesting? You’re not talking about tapping on impulse to buy funbucks in a game! You are talking…”
“It’s only a difference of degree, not of kind. With the right combination of techniques…”
“No, there’s a core there that you can’t just… overwrite. Some things can’t be changed. Like… like how you can’t hypnotize someone into doing something they would never do”
“You know that’s bullshit, right? The whole hypnosis thing. You absolutely can make someone do whatever the fuck you want. It’s just a matter of how you approach it. Like, you would never harm a person, okay? But if I change what your idea of ‘person’ is, say, by making it more narrow you would absolutely harm someone I made you see as a not-person. Or maybe you can be made to believe you’re helping them, not harming them”
“That’s some creepy cult shit, dude. And anyway you can’t write a paper on this because a) there’s no evidence and b) doing the research to get evidence would be absolutely immoral. So I say look for another topic and for the love of God don’t go around spewing that bullshit if you want to ever get laid. Oh, speaking of! Linda will be arriving shortly and we have a date night, so please, please try to be a normal roommate and not freak her out. For me, okay?”
“When have I ever freaked her out? Linda loves me! And who knows, maybe she has an opinion on our little debate”
“Dude, she’s an Art student. I doubt she’ll be interested in our weird Psych dissertations”
“Perfect! Fresh eyes!”
“See, that’s the kind of weird shit I-”
The buzzer cut through the air, and a moment later Linda was inside the apartment, all smiles as usual. He took a moment to watch them as they embraced.
They were almost comical in their contrast. Linda was tall, taller than he was, willowy and slender, her limbs graceful and shapely, her hair a long, flowing river of playful copper that almost seemed to dance on its own volition– with her green sundress she appeared to him as some sort of elven princess ripped from the pages of a fantasy novel and stuck into a mortal world in which she didn’t really fit. Ava, on the other hand, was probably the shortest adult he had ever seen. He might be tempted to call her petite, but that had a connotation of a lithe frame, almost like a tastefully proportioned doll. Ava was the complete opposite of that. Sometimes he felt Ava was an experiment aimed at testing how much of a person’s weight could be tits and ass, held up by strong, thick thighs. He felt quite guilty about such thoughts, and he understood why she wore nothing but oversized t-shirts and hoodies. It was logical: an early, spectacular growth spurt, heightened by her small size, had made her the target of relentless bullying by jealous classmates and awkward come-ons by hormonal teen males. It enraged him, he realized. Ava was beautiful and the cruelty of idiots had made her feel pain about it instead of pride. He made a point to never stare at her, even if he sometimes failed. It made their relationship as roommates a tad hard, he had to admit.
Not that he had a shadow of a shot, of course. Ava had no interest in men.
Unless, of course, he was right in his theory. And he had good reason to think he was.
“So, Linda: Ava and I were having a bit of a debate…”
“Don’t start, dude”, said Ava.
“Oh, a debate! Do tell!” chirped Linda.
“Do you think we can be completely conditioned and changed, or is there some part of us that cannot be modified, no matter what?”
“Huh. Hard one. Like… a soul? I don’t know I buy it. I feel there isn’t really a self, you know? Like… Buddhism. The self is an illusion and all that”
“Come on, you can’t be serious! You can’t change who someone fundamentally is, and it’s sick to even consider it!”, said Ava.
“Well… what if I could prove to you it can be done?”, he stated, barely able to hold back. He know what he was going to do. He had been reluctant, but now it felt like a certainty.
“You can’t, so stop being an ass”, said Ava.
Fine. Game on.
“Linda, I love your socks! Pride socks!”
“Yup!”, said Linda
“What the hell–”, mumbled Ava.
He took a deep breath.
“Linda: rainbow socks…”
She replied in an instant.
“Are for sucking cocks!”
Ava felt as if reality had shifted into some horrible, twisted nightmare. She was about to scream something, anything really, to make Linda take that back before something stopped her in her tracks. Her body heard it before her mind did: her roommate's voice simply commanding her. Watch.
And she watched. She watched as the love of her life smiled and went on her knees. Ava could do nothing but watch in disbelief and pain. Linda had never been with a man. Ever.
“I might have… started testing my theories. On you both. Not that you’d remember, obviously”, he stated casually as the beautiful girl in front of him lovingly undid his pants. “I’d say Linda’s sexuality is part of her core self, wouldn’t you? Let’s see how that holds up after the months of conditioning I’ve subjected her to”
He felt guilty, sure; but there was such a high to it, such an entrancing quality to the combination of seeing instant, complete obedience and the final, definitive proof of the truth he had known to be right all along. Was it wrong? Yes. Did he care? Not at the moment. Ava’s eyes were a poem to him. Suddenly he was ripped from his reverie by the soft, loving touch of Linda’s tongue on his dick. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten hard just from the sense of complete power, of total, undeniable conquest. This was a primal, ancient arousal. Ava could do nothing but watch, and he took that sight in. God, he could almost taste it.
Linda moaned. The cock was so beautiful. So perfect. She felt so… silly, like she was now, for the first time, seeing in color and realizing the sky was, in fact, blue. It was obvious. Simple. Natural. Cock deserved worship. Cock deserved devotion. Cock demanded obedience. It was as if it was growing in her mind, taking over more and more of her, pushing who she had been out effortlessly. It expanded. It corrupted. It twisted and shifted all within. Cock. Cock. Cock. She kissed it with reverence, in awe of it. It was all that existed to her. All that mattered. She needed to please it. Needed to feel it throbbing inside her. Needed to be taken by it.
Ava saw her girlfriend slide a hand between her legs and felt nauseous. As much as she knew this wasn’t Linda’s fault, she could feel her heart breaking, her anger rising… and worse, her pussy getting wet. Her body betraying her. She hated him, and she hated Linda, and she hated herself most of all.
Suddenly, Linda couldn’t contain herself. She relaxed her throat, looked up at her Master and took his entire manhood inside her mouth. She almost came instantly. It was peaceful and sexy and just simple, like his cock was the puzzle piece that fit her perfectly, completed her, made her whole. She existed to be conquered, and realizing she was putting his pleasure over her ability to breathe was the final sign of her complete, loving surrender. She let it out, watched it glisten with her spit, and started licking it and loving it and she didn’t know how much came from her own need and how much it was a silent command by the man who had shown her the light. Her mind was too fuzzy to make such distinctions anymore.
He took a deep breath, fighting back the first signs of an orgasm. He needed to make a point.
“Linda… do you love Ava?”
The blonde stopped for a moment, shocked by a myriad of contradictions.
“Yes”, she decided. Her voice was shaking.
“Tell her”
Linda looked at Ava, the woman she had loved above all others.
“I love you…”
“But you have more to say, don’t you?”
“I… hmph… I…”
“Tell her”
“I love you… but… but… I love his cock so much more! Fuck! I need it! I need to feel it, to suck it, to be fucked by it… I’m sorry… but… I love it, I love it, I love it! I want it to fuck my throat, to take my cunt, to ram my ass! I need it! I need to be a slave to it, a whore for it, a fucking living toy!”
“What if you had to choose between Ava and my cock?”
“Fuck her! Sorry, my love… I do love you, but… You can never do to me what… what Master does to me, what his cock makes me feel! I hope I won’t have to dump you but… I would leave you for this cock in a minute! I’d do anything. Anything. Anything!” If she had more to add, her need to serve cock snuffed it. She took it all in with desperation, with total, shameless abandon. She needed to feel... used. In her proper place.
Ava felt a tear roll down her cheek. Her knees buckled in defeat. She didn’t even care. It was all gone. Her life, her love, all gone. And she could feel her eyes drawn again and again to the cock that had destroyed her. She felt her mouth watering.
“Linda, would you say you’re a lesbian?”
“Fuck no!”, she said before immediately wrapping her lips around the cock’s head.
He felt a swell of pride. Of triumph. He knew Ava sensed the truth as well. He was right. He had proven his point. And now Ava’s full conditioning would take hold. A little bet with himself, making her own mental acknowledgment of his theory her final trigger. She took off her t-shirt. She would never wear it again. No more shame, no more pain about her figure. Only arousal and pride. His gift to her.
She crawled to him on all fours. The girls kissed– but now, they kissed for him, to arouse him. They were lovers, only they both knew there was a higher love. A truer love. Ava looked up at her owner and opened her mouth, greedily awaiting his blessing. Linda used her skillful hands, aiming his cock and teasing it, jacking it off, using just the right amount of pressure and speed.
No man could resist such a sight.
In a few seconds, Ava was covered in his cum, more beautiful than she had ever been. Linda certainly felt that way, and she licked and kissed her sister slut clean.
He watched carefully, looking for signs of defiance, and finding none. In fact, Linda put his fears to rest with a simple statement.
“Ava, we need to buy you a pair of rainbow socks”
Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu !!
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okay so, i can explain!! it’s 1 am and i completely read this incorrectly, so it’s about the reader finding a picture of herself in his wallet because i’m an idiot! i was going to scrap it but i am just proud of myself for actually completing a blurb without giving up
so, i will be writing the actual request tomorrow because it’s so cute and adorable and makes a lot more sense than this and i can’t WAIT write it because 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 so fluffy man 🫶 but until then, enjoy this piece of work i am writing while very woozy on strong pain meds that ultimately makes zero sense! (posting this on mobile too because my dedication the craft is not enough for me to look for my laptop charger soz queens xxx)
“Have you seen my purse anywhere, Roos?” Your eyes dart around the living room, trying to retrace your steps.
“No, why d’you need it?” He shakes his head, glancing over at you from where he had collapsed on the couch.
“Uh, I need to go to the grocery store. I think a 6”1, 200 pound Navy fighter pilot raided my refrigerator.” You quip, smiling snarkily at the man in question. He grins as his eyes scan over your form, letting out a little appreciative hum.
You’re wearing that pretty little sun dress that drives him crazy, and he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy the way it accentuates the curve of your ass as you get on all fours on the floor, leaning down to check for your purse under the couch. You wouldn’t be surprised where it ended up, Bradley had an annoying tendency to just kick things on the floor out of his path; especially if he had been making a bee line for the couch, then he definitely wouldn’t pause to pick it up.
“What are you humming at, perv?” You question as you stand back up, rounding the couch so you were standing behind it, eyes once again scanning the room for the missing purse as you let out an aggravated scoff.
He laughs vehemently, his head tilting back against the back of the couch until he’s peering up at you from where you stand behind him. “Oh, just my breathtakingly beautiful wife.”
You scoff, a manicured hand coming down to absentmindedly play with his mess of curls as you tried to track down your purse. This will bug her all day, Rooster thought to himself, as he watched you scan the entire room over and over again.
“Wife?” You grinned. “Did I miss the wedding?”
He laughs again, your witticisms humouring him greatly, grabbing the hand knotted into his hair and bringing it down to his lips, pressing a kiss to the soft skin just below where your pretty engagement ring lay on your finger.
“Formalities, honey.” He tuts, and another hum slips from his lips as you bend down to press a soft kiss to his rosy lips. His mustache tickles your chin, your kiss slightly awkward, seeing as your face was leaning over his slightly uncomfortably.
His arm reaches up, hand knotting into your hair to keep you close to him as his soft lips work against your even softer ones. Your nose brushes against his chin as you reluctantly pull away, the ache in your lower back growing more and more every second you keep yourself in the awkward position.
You wipe at your mouth, giggling as you bring your thumb down to wipe at his chin. “You got a little gloss…. everywhere, Roos.”
He chuckles, wiping at his skin. “You can bring my credit card, if you want. I think it’s in my jacket pocket. I’ll look for your purse when you’re gone.”
You hum, annoyed at the fact your purse was still missing, but thankful for your fiancés generous nature. You squeeze at his muscular shoulder, before you’re walking into the hall to grab the wallet out of his coat pocket. “Thanks, baby; you’re a godsend. I’ll transfer you the money later.”
He sends you an incredulous look once you come back into the living room. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Pretty sure it’s my turn to go grocery shopping anyway, you need to stop doing my share of the chores for me.”
You chuckle, gasping dramatically before you open up his worn, leather wallet to grab his card. “What? And have my big strong fighter pilot fiancé be burdened with tedious household tasks that should be for civilians only? I would never!”
He shakes his head, having grown accustomed to your sarcastic remarks throughout your relationship, and anyway, you both know that he’s undoubtedly going to be the one making dinner and doing the dishes tonight.
“By the way, I feel like we should address the fact you’re totally sugar daddying me right now? I know it’s only groceries, but it’s still kind of hot.” You chide.
He mumbles something about how you have serious issues, and you're about to shoot him a quippy remark in response, until your breath gets stuck in your throat. Stowed away in the transparent pocket on the left hand side of his wallet, are two small pictures. One of his mum and dad, smiling happily at the camera; and another one of you.
You didn’t even know he’d taken the picture; you were on the beach, in the middle of laughing, probably at something he’d said, eyes looking over the camera, filled with nothing but love; so you were definitely staring at him. The picture had been folded at the edges so it would fit snugly into the pocket. Your heart melts, looking up from the wallet to stare at your fiancé.
He could feel your eyes on him, but his eyes didn’t move from the television; not thinking much of your gaze. “If you found the picture of me and my second family, I can explain.”
You don’t even laugh at his joke. You just clamber onto the sofa, your legs either side of his lap as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in tight to you. Ultimately, you don’t really know why you’re so touched by the picture. You’re engaged, it’s not overly unique to have a picture of your fiancée in your wallet. However, when you saw the photo, you just couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of being totally completely adored and cherished by the love of your life. You felt so much love for the man, while you also felt incredibly loved by the man. “Hey, what’s all this about; you okay, baby?”
You nod, cupping his face into your hands as you shoot him one of the prettiest smiles he’s ever seen. “I love you. So much. You know that, right?”
He nods, a bemused grin painting his face as he laughs. He is completely lost, unsure of where this all came from, but he graciously accepts it anyway. “I know, honey. I love you too.”
#rooster bradshaw x reader#rooster bradshaw#miles teller#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw#rooster bradshaw imagine#rooster bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw fic#rooster bradshaw blurb
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No please I am begging for you to expand on the Gator Tillman headcanon, I will give you my firstborn, a million dollars, anything you want
Hurts so good / Gator Tillman / One shot / Smut <3
CW- smut, hair pulling, degradation, spitting, name calling, p in v, thigh riding, creampie, D/S, pain, blood.
AN- I gotchu anon:,) I hope this is okay!! <3 thank you so so much for your request and taking so much interest in my writing! It means the whole world to me.
“You’re pathetic y’know?” Gator spits out, his words practically impaling your skin. “Look at you, riding my thigh. Since the second I got through the door. Fuckin’ all over me, stupid fuckin’ whore.”
He takes a fist full of your hair, pulling you back from your place in his neck so you can see his face. You can just about whisper out the word “Daddy” before he’s pulling at your hair and biting at your neck so hard, you wince at the thought of the bruises that will decorate your skin in the morning.
“I’m going to fuckin’ ruin you.” He growls, and with a dead pan face he’s eye fucking you before he even lays a finger on your skin. Gator brings his index and middle finger up to your lips, gently tracing them. His touch is featherlight, so painfully soft you’re desperate to feel more. He points to his belt, you know it’s a demand. Hands scrambling to undo his ridiculous sheriff’s belt buckle. “Fuckin’ cock drunk already? Even more of a whore than I thought.” He laughs, that quiet Gator chuckle of his that if you blink you’ll miss. He takes a hit of whatever disgusting flavour he has in that vape and blowing the smoke into your face.
Without warning or any real foreplay, Gator slams inside of you. “Tight fuckin’ hole. Made for me. Made for me to fuck. For me to ruin. I’ll tell you this darlin’ no other motherfucker is gonna have this hole. I’ll make sure of it.” Spitting on his cock before pounding into you again. He mutters, “don’t you fuckin’ dare move. For the same reason you don’t get to go on top. I fuck this whole for my pleasure, not yours. Pathetic little slut.”
He drags his nails into your back harshly, marking up his property. Gator takes your hands from beneath you, holding them behind your scratched up back. Your mobility taken away by that small act of dominance, your face has no choice but to be smothered into the bed sheets.
“There ya go, just fucking take it. Quit ya whining. I know m’ big but you just gotta be a good lil cocksleeve for me.” Pulling your hair backwards, contorting your body so he has access to your face. His wrist swings and you feel the familiar sting of his right hand burning against your face.
“Count with me now.” He spits once more, aiming for his cock but it reaches your back. The spit surrounding the fresh scratches that have begun to bleed. It stings but that’s the last thing you’re worried about.
He slaps your flushed cheek once more. “Two.” You manage whimper, your voice somewhat lost in the scene. “Three” .. “Four”… “Five”…
The pool between your thighs feels warmer, the overly familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach rises. You’re so close, your orgasm building becoming more and more intense by the second. You scream to Gator, signalling that you’re about to come undone on his cock. He takes a handful of your ass and squeezes, digging his calloused fingers into your skin, crescent marks left as decoration.
“Fuckin’ the moans out of you huh?” He teases, he’s not wrong though. The sounds pouring out of your mouth are ungodly and animalistic. You come undone, saliva dribbling from your mouth onto the pillow. Your cum drooling down your thighs. He doesn’t stop. He knows you’re overstimulated from the release.
“Gonna fuck you through the aftershocks. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Whore.”
He flips you over, fucking you in missionary.
He grunts, bending forward to grope your tits. Twisting your rosebuds in his fingertips, he spits on them caressing them before yanking at them once more.
He thrusts into you once more, spurting hot ropes of cum deep inside you. “Fuckin’ dirty whore, letting me do whatever I want to you. God I’d be embarrassed to be your father.”
Pulling out of you to spank your sensitive clit with his tip before easing up on you. “S’all good now baby. I got you.” Gator collapses on the bed beside you, pulling you into his chest. Reaching out for his vape, “so good for m’ princess” he praises and kisses your forehead and wiping the sweat from his.
“Wanna hit?” He offers you his vape, to which you aggressively decline. “Gross.” You laugh and shake your head.
“You’re gross” he repeats, brushing your hair away from your face, planting a kiss your cheek. “You’re the grossest girl ever, my grossest girl.”
#Gator Tillman#Gator Tillman smut#gator tillman fargo#gator tillman fanfic#gator tillman x female reader#x reader#gator tillman x fem!reader#gator tillman x reader#gator tillman x you#smut#gator tillman smut head canon#request#mine#smut one shot#Fargo#fargo gator#fargo smut#gator fargo#joe keery fargo#fargo fx#fargo season 5#fargo s5#smutty#gator x female reader#gator x reader
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My relationship with SJM characters
TOG:
Sjm: Hey look there’s a hot teen assassin and look! Sexy dark-haired prince? Isn’t he hot?
Me: *falls for the captain of the guard*
Sjm: wait what? lemme fix that. *writes crown of midnight*
Me: Nope, still love Chaol and WHAT?!!! YOU RUINED MY SHIP????!
Sjm: Not to worry! Big fat hot Fae males will make you forget all about Chaol!
Me: Ew who is this stupid Rowan. Bring back Chaol.
Sjm: … *writes Queen of Shadows* Come on you HAVE to hate Chaol now, choose a big Fae male! Rowan, Fenrys, or Aedion. Not Lorcan though, he’s a big ass amirite?
Me: NO! CHAOL WAS COMPLETELY VALID.
Sjm: *takes Chaol’s mobility*
Me: NOOOOOOO *cries*
Sjm: Ha, he won’t even be in the next book. So you HAVE to choose somebody else to like. So who will it be? Rowan, Fenrys, or Aedion?
Me: Fine, I’ll pick someone else *chooses Lorcan*
Sjm: NO. YOU WERE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT. *writes ending of EOS*
Me: NOOOOOOO ELIDE HE DID IT FOR YOU *sobs*
Sjm: Aelin is in a coffin and you’re worried about Lorcan? Anyway here’s a Chaol book for you.
Me: YESSSS CHAOL IS FINALLY HAPPY
Sjm: Nice nice ok. Now here’s some pain.
Me: FLY FARASHA FLY FLY FLY *sobs*
Sjm: FINE! I’ll convince you next time!
ACOTAR:
Sjm: Look hot Katniss wannabe! Hey look, hot male High Lord! He’s sooo hot amirite?
Me: *falls for courtier and emissary*
Sjm: WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU. YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO FALL FOR THE PRINCE NOT THE LOYAL FRIEND.
Me: What can i say, I have a type. I’ll still ship Feylin tho, it’s pretty good.
Sjm: Oh you’re gonna forget all about Tamlin and Lucien. Look! Hot bat boys!
Me: BITCH! YOU RUINED MY SHIP AGAIN?!!! AND WHERE IS LUCIEN?!!!
Sjm: *retcons Tamlin* you must hate him now?!
Me: DUDE EVEN WITH RETCONS HE CAN’T BE WORSE THAN THESE SLEAZEBALLS. WHERE IS LUCIEN???!!!
Sjm: You’re gonna hate him now! *writes Lucien scene at night court in ACOMAF*
Me: YES. SAVE HER LUCIEN. YOU GO HONEY!!
Sjm: ???? *writes end of ACOMAF*
Me: YES POSSESSIVE FERAL LUCIEN STEP ON ME.
Sjm: …FINE. if you can’t beat em, join em. *writes ACOWAR*
Me: *sighs* Feyre and Lucien would’ve been so good together.
Sjm: yeah but rhysand is better amirite
Me: NOOOO IANTHE YOU BITCH
Sjm: *writes Ianthe’s arm breaking scene*
Me: YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Sjm: so you like Feyre again right?
Me: What? No! Lucien was the better friend!
Sjm: … *brings Lucien to night court*
Me: NOOOOOO LULU IS DEVASTATED HIS MATE IS HOLLOW
Sjm: But look, elriel! Three brothers three sisters amirite?
Me: FLOWERS NEED SUNSHINE. ELUCIEN FOREVER.
Sjm: Yes yes i was just joking. Anyway, sending off Lucien to find Vassa.
Me: We’ll get his POV tho right?
Sjm: …
Me: right?????
Sjm: *writes ACOSF* THERE. He’s barely in this book. So you HAVE to pick somebody else to love. So, Cassian is hot too if you don’t like Rhysand.
Me: FINE. I’ll CHOOSE SOMEONE ELSE. *picks Eris*
Sjm: …I have learned my lesson.
CC:
Sjm: Look! Hot sorority girl who’s also an illegitimate princess! And her loyal knight! Hunt is sooooo hot amirite?
Me: I’m too smart for you. He’s the first love interest so he’s NOT endgame. Don’t get attached.
Sjm: wait he’s endgame this time I swear!
Me: NOPEEEE NOT BUYING IT.
Sjm: I’m fr this time. Isn’t he so hot?
Me: *falls for the tattooed warrior prince*
Sjm: …
Sjm: I give up
#throne of glass#acotar#crescent city#dorian havilliard#chaol westfall#chaolena#lorcan salvaterre#tamlin#lucien vanserra#feylin#hunt athalar#quinlar#ruhn danaan#eris vanserra
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Platonic tadc cast with a child reader Who is like :
"hey, wanna see me do a cartwheel :D"
Basically very spontaneous and chaotic in the adventures lol
Ty!! (and remember to drink water) ;3
TADC cast x chaotic!kid!reader ! (Platonic)
Guys I'm literally so tired I just got done baking a ton of stuff, like I'm talking 12ish hours of non stop cooking and baking I'm going insane im trying so hard not to fall asleep rn because I kinda. Feel bad for not really answering requests today
Anywahs
Hope you enjoy anon!
Written on mobile
CAINE:
Well well how the turn tables (writing caines portion last for once)
Very similar to kinger and ragatha in that he supports everything you do; in fact he encourages your behavior as long as no one is getting hurt. Very loudly (and sometimes obnoxiously) cheers for you
While kinger can only cheer and clap, I think Caine sets off sparkles and fireworks... probably has a whole group of bubbles cheering you on too , assuming there can be multiple bubbles at any given time (I personally think there can be, and they all share a hivemind of sorts)
So what was the occasion that prompted that?
A wonky cartwheel, of which you excited called "a sideways front flip"
(Fun fact from the admin, I called my first cartwheel that bc I didnt know it was called a cartwheel yet)
POMNI:
Anxious parental figure and hyper child, a dynamic that's hit or miss at least for me. Really it depends on how its executed
That said I think she struggles to keep up with you
Constantly scrambling around you make sure you dont fall into any danger. Literally and figuratively...
Her attempts to get you to sit down for more than five minutes fail
Your ass is failing the marshmallow test/j
RAGATHA:
No thoughts only that one clip from adventure time where BMO pretends to be a wheathervane before trying to nose dive off the roof, all while calling for finns attention. Thats you and ragatha, basically (in essence, not exact scenario though)... maybe zooble too, but we'll get there when we get there (I am currently having a brain blast)
Says things like "what am I gonna do with you" everyday, always lightheartedly of course and usually accompanied by a tired chuckle
Generally very supportive of you though, just so long as you're not hurting yourself! Sure, this is the digital world and injuries dont really stick, but still! The pain is still there
JAX:
I mentioned the marshmallow test in pomnis part and I feel like jax would do something similar with you. Except the test is rigged and the candy (which he uses in place of the marshmallow( is actually for him and not for you. So if you actually earn the extra candy you dont even get it
That said I do think jax would feel bad when you get upset about the joke
Anyways
I think he finds it funny, as long as you're not tugging on his overalls and screaming at him for something, or interfering with his plans
Hes not a neglectful rolemodel/familial figure, he just has a short fuse with the above I think, regardless of who it is, kid or not
That said he fully embraces your spontaneous nature
KINGER:
Peepaw and his grandchild, that's it that's literally the dynamic
"Kinger is only 48-"
Hush♡
"Oh that's so lovely, (reader)" when you run up to him with your hands full of god knows what
Eagerly claps and cheers when you show him a new trick you learned
Bonus if you try to recreate or one up his embellished stories in order to make him proud of you (hes always proud of you)
ZOOBLE:
As mentioned in ragathas part, the wheathervane BMO thing is basically in essence you guys' dynamic. Except where I think ragatha would be quicker to pay attention to you, zooble may be a little slower. Not because they dont care about whatever you're trying to display to them, but because I think a lot of the times they kind of mentally check out (me too honestly)
Tries to scold you if you do something too dangerous or out of line, may come across as way angrier or upset than they actually are though thanks to their voice being kinda
You know
Zooble gives off "cool older sibling who doesnt care about nothing" energy
GANGLE:
Meekly tries to get you to calm down for a few minutes, especially if theres an IHA going on because she doesnt want you to run off and potentially get hurt. Tries to keep you occupied with arts and crafts. Watches in horror as you impulsively eat the glue
Tends to wrap one of her ribbon hands around yours so she knows you're not running off.. this is more so when theres an IHA going on
As per usual not many ideas for gangle <\3
#tadc x reader#the amazing digital circus x reader#digital circus x reader#caine x reader#pomni x reader#ragatha x reader#jax x reader#kinger x reader#zooble x reader#gangle x reader
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365 Days of Poems: Day 4 (January 4th)
Spurious Memory
they tell me
what i remember
is quite “spurious”
“spurious” is rather
an interesting word
for my experience
it means fake
false
illegitimate
to my mind
and applied to
what happened to
me that night
it means planted
fabricated
forged
if the bright lights
of magenta and teal
in saturations beyond sight
and the disappearance of
my rusted-out pick-up truck
in wide barren acres
along with my own
cold and trembling vanishing
longer than seasons know
was all fake
false
illegitimate
that i didn't feel
smooth ceramic and blood
against my bare thighs
ice pool inside me
from the tessellating terror
parts of myself breaking
like glass in suspension
then someone gave them
to me for nightmares
to dread and haunt
- - - - -
Here's the link to the corresponding writing prompt post
#firstly i will say that formatting this one on here was a pain in the ass#i wanted to do something that moves all across the page and feels disjointed and scattered#but is not reflected in the words (as they are pretty clear and descriptive)#so it was easier to achive this on docs through the intention and alignment features#and i tried my best to replicate them here#(i hope it looks okay on desktop and on other mobile types)#when it comes to the contents of the poem itself#i will leave that up to reader interpretation cos i know what its about is a bit ambiguous#i just hope im nudging people in a direction that is ajacent to what i had in mind while writing this#as for what my 4th was like i recall my girlfriend and i going shopping (well they went in while i stayed in the car cos i didnt feel well)#and then they made us nachos when we were home#i also believe on the 4th (or perhaps the 3rd or even the 2nd) i read my first book of the year which was the test by sylvain neuvel#it was pretty good but it was nowhere near as 'messed up' as the reviews on goodreads led me to believe it would be#thanks for reading#writing#writer#creative writing#writing prompt#poem#poetry#writeblr#trying to be a writeblr at least#*indentation (not intention)
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