#Also these will fuck you up haha … I’m in a world of pain in places that I didn’t know could hurt rip
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I learned tonight that some of my coworkers DON’T pretend to be ghostbusters when using the backpack vacuum and I’ve never been more disappointed in my peers. Like look at this (stock image) and tell me what self respecting adult wouldn’t have the dang theme song playing in their head on loop ]:<
#🎃 Cryptid Sighting#I kid but only just#I get not everybody grew up with easy access to the classic movies or exposure to the better entries into the franchise#But these are people about my same age who grew up knowing about Ghostbusters and they don’t picture these monstrosities as proton packs smh#Where’s their fuckin’ whimsy?#Also these will fuck you up haha … I’m in a world of pain in places that I didn’t know could hurt rip#Pretending to be a ghostbuster while having to lug one of these 30+ lb monstrosities up & down stairs for about 7 hours a day can do that#But I can’t deny that they’re kinda fun. My mental illnesses were happy for a while
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Take Care of Me — Paul Maud’dib Atreides (smut)
Leila is Chani’s trusted crony. While Chani and Paul share a passionate and intimate love for one another, as Paul embraces his role as Lisan Al-Gaib, Chani encounters detrimental trouble in dealing with his new persona and thus turns to Leila as a channel for her frustration. Leila has been Paul’s own medic for a day, and returning to his chambers to treat an opened wound, she takes her frustration out on him. And yet, she finds out he’s frustrated, too.
The full story will be posted on AO3–HAHA. Just kidding. I have no fucking motivation anymore and it’s killing me. If I manage to fill in a few scenes on this story, then it will make it onto AO3. The full story starts a few scenes ahead of this.
Also, this is based on the movies. I’m reading book 1 now, but I wrote this pretty early on. A lot of the stuff probably won’t make sense in the Dune world. If u have a problem suck my cokkk
Isn’t it obvious I like medic smut scenarios
Also if u want the ending of this tell me! idk if the Dune fandom will welcome me here🙏
I enter Paul Maud’Dib Atreides’ chambers for my second round—and yet within my circumstance, and the unfortunate display of events that have fallen into place, instead of knocking, I barge through.
I find Usul confined to his bed, blood gushing through his white garment.
“Leave.” I pronounce with an impatient tongue. The nurses at Usul’s side take a look at me, and with silent agreement, rush off and through his grand doors.
Usul dons a blank countenance, slightly embellished with the graze of concern. More prominently, however, I can see physical pain in his eyes. I try not to let him uncover that this deeply perturbs me.
“Now why in the fucking world would you do this to yourself?” I demand. My footsteps boom through the lifeless room, my lips stiff with inhibition.
He sits there for a second, gaping up at me slightly, plainly confused.
“Excuse me?”
I know this is the Messiah. And I understand that he could have me thrown off the planet for speaking to him in such a wretched way. But with this, I uncover in myself boiling rebellion.
“Damnit, don’t gape at me.” I snarl a bit. I can feel my indignation running wild, through a pounding chest and through my mindless mouth.
“Sit up.”
He does, silently. I’m grateful.
“Take this off.”
I gesture to his shirt. He does this, too.
I come around with a cloth. Staring down at him, I survey the image—he’s bleeding out. Quickly, at that. He messed up his stomach wound considerably. His toned stomach is scaled with blood, a red, filthy gash on his left side. My heartbeat chases a pounding rhythm. Holy shit: he might fucking die.
My inhibition snaps.
“Nevermind. Screw it. Lay against the headrest. Be careful, you damned fool.”
Usul groans as he backs into his bed. “I was told I was getting nursed, not chastised.” He seethes through a set of clamped teeth.
“Yes, well, you managed to ruin your binding. I can see it took an incredible amount of effort, too.” I climb into the bed. Barring off any uncomfortable undertones, I crawl towards him.
“Yet I also don’t need a fucking coach right now, Leila. I need a medic.” I feel his hot breath lingering in the air near; I snap my face towards his. His gaze is unwavering, and I can see his studying gaze, his brow twitching calculatingly.
I’m a frazzled mess—I can tell as my eyes twitch that’s it’s painfully obvious.
I flinch suddenly. My gaze wanders, and I find warm, masculine digits consuming mine.
“You need to stop shaking, damnit.”
His quiet yet pregnant words resonate with me and into my weak, distressed body. I fall still. With his palm against my aching fingers, I find the quickest respite.
“Focus. I will not die.”
“Did you prophesize that, hm?”
“No. I trust you.”
My eyes flutter shut. I inhale a tremulous breath. He’s right—I can’t work in my state right now. But if I want to do as much as merely stopping the bleeding, I’ll have to shift my attitude. Swiftly.
My mind doesn’t dare wander towards Chani. It would be custom for me to turn to her for strength, but the mental image of her mainly brings about animosity. Instead, I focus here, now—on Usul’s palpable heat, in his hands and in the heavy scent of his presence.
I take a moment. A moment, quietly finding my peace and my lost, inner instinct.
After many prolonged breaths, I sit up.
And I get to work.
“This is going to hurt. You might want to lay down.”
Silently, he obeys me.
My skills succumb to my mind. I work intensely—I dab the cloth into his thick blood, which stains his alabaster skin. As I work, a few meager thoughts roam my mind: I doubt no Fremen wouldn’t pay their wage for a touch of his blood, I ponder. Being so intimate with his mortality brings everything into scope; Usul has a power only rivaled by Emperors, Kings, and Queens, however any hit can be fatal. Without Paul, the Fremen lose their symbol and their incentive. But, well, no pressure.
On the other hand, I’m notably grateful for his compliance. And I’m even further impressed with his determination too, in refusing to speak a single word nor a mere sound. As I uncover my own tenets, and I come out of Chani’s shadow, I’m starting to realize.. my favor isn’t entirely for Chani.
A bowl of water arrives with a nurse. Thanking her and sending her off, I near Usul again.
“Does this have to do with Chani?”
As I begin to clean his wound, I talk pointedly, inquiry woven into my tone.
His voice comes eventually, but he groans when I pour the sacred water directly onto his gash. His bony fingers twitch and attach onto the mattress, grasping lightly.
“-Did she tell you anything?” He utters begrudgingly.
“Mhm.” I answer.
“Is that why you’re in a mood?”
Water pools onto his stomach, which is hard with muscles, rising and falling with his trained breaths. It slips onto the bed, wetting it gradually by the second.
“I questioned you first.” I demand.
I can smell his eyes rolling a mile away.
“Yes. I attempted .. reaching her. She’s more stubborn now than I recall.”
I nod involuntarily. Stubborn was a nice word.
“So, you’re not her minion anymore?”
My focused brows shoot up. I drive my mien into his.
“Do you want me to screw up your wound?”
“Leila.”
Trickles and little indications of nerves meander through my body. I realize I’ve paused my work, and with a surge of purpose, I return.
“I don’t dislike the change. You’re finding yourself.”
I bite my gum. “So I have been a nobody until now?”
“No.”
I draw a cloth, lathered with soap around the borders of his wound. He mumbles something, maybe a curse, before speaking again.
“It’s gratifying to see you.. not so impressionable.”
I really do hate being timid and gullible sometimes. Thus, the reason Chani’s been such a magnetic force of my life. She has stiff, ardent opinions, and a defensive stance. Her caution keeps her ready to strike.
But I know this persona is who I am. Even now, with a callous expression discoloring my soft features, I understand—this isn’t me.
“Well, I can’t take care of you forever.” I speak with disdain, brushing away my probing thoughts. “Whatever you do in your pastime isn’t my business, but if you manage to break through this dressing a second time, for whatever reason, I’m getting another nurse to manage your carelessness.”
I hear a smile. “Yes ma’am.”
“Do you know what it is to be a nurse?” I begin. “No. You fight, and you thrust your blade at any living thing. We clean up. We witness the rubble of war, and we tend to the malignant products of violence.” I set the now empty bowl aside, my eyes cast far into the monochrome walls.
“You can’t afford to be careless. You’re the Messiah, Usul. And I surely cannot, either. I mess up, and you’re blood’s on my hands.” I pause. “In this very moment, we’re linked—so I just want you to do your part, as I do mine.”
“So I’m the source of your ire.”
My face scrunches into a frazzled frustration. “Did you hear anything I just said?
“I won’t mess up again. You can trust me.” I rest there, sitting above his body as my fingers dress his wound with ointment, a stone-cold countenance on my face. “What bothers you?”
I bite my gum grimly. “Don’t provoke me.”
“But if you keep your anger confined, what else might invoke it?”
“This isn’t the time for this, Usul.”
“-Paul.”
My fingers halt, propped against his warm skin as I meet eyes with Usul.
“What?”
“I would rather you call me Paul.”
I search my mind. Does anyone other than Chani call him Paul? His mother, of course. And Gurney, obviously. But the list drags to a stop there.
Is he marking the enhancement of our friendship? Maybe he’s egging me into transferring information. Altogether, it puzzles me.
Alas, I disregard my selfish thoughts. It’s foolish of me to pleasure myself with the thought that I might mean something special to the Lisan Al-Gaib. Sighing, I rise from my position.
“Okay, Paul.”
I turn to the table at my flank, taking up a pristine, fresh sheet of dressing into my hands. “Sit up against the headrest. ..Please.”
He does so without complaint once again. I approach him apprehensively. The silence is disarming. I can feel his gaze on me like a cool, unshakeable breeze.
As I begin my work, I succumb to his request.
“Counsel-Member Sarat has been my patient for the past week.” I swallow my shame while my fingers press into Paul’s stomach, attaching the covering gingerly. “He died today. Of infection. And .. and the counsel thought it fit for me to be demoted from my position as head nurse since, inherently, the war has ‘dulled my senses and muted my skills’. They’re rather unyielding in their blame, which they’ve..” I laugh dully. “..brutally pinned on me.”
“They’ve stripped you of your title as head nurse?”
“Mhm.” I confirm gently. It feels that, if I speak a decibel louder, I might crackle and fall apart.
“Give me an hour; I’ll give you your title back.”
“..Paul, it is not your place.” I tell him with warning eyes.
“What do you mean? Why not?”
“I-“ I grunt out an intermittent groan. “Do you really care if I’m head nurse or not?”
“You’re the best in your field. I’ve seen it, I witness it this very moment. Ignorance runs through the council, it’s rather obvious.”
If my complexion warrants it, I blush. I haven’t heard kudos of such high acclaim of late, or.. ever, perhaps. Hardness and disdain may have encrusted my heart, but his words seem to chip at the layers with ease.
“Just, don’t act yet.” I say carefully. “Today has been enough for me. A prolonged night of sleep might just be enough to relieve me of this stress.”
I apply one last morsel of pressure into his side with my palm, scrutinizing the dressing. Immediately, the strings of responsibility lay off of my shoulders. He’s alive, breathing, and his stomach is marked by white linen rather than the thick, maroon tints of his precious blood.
“And you. Our deal?”
I look for understanding in his face, yet I’m met with gentle confusion. I roll my eyes.
“Take care of yourself. Don’t fuck your wounds up, and I don’t have to stress about you.”
“Mmm, because you care so much about me?”
He says this blandly and with a husky tone. I chuckle, falling cocky. “You know what I mean-“
Something warming creeps up my waist. My eyes drawn to the sensation, I look down to see Paul’s hand at my side.
I lift my head. I’m met with his eyes—blue and slitted, brushed by the shadow of the dim light at the end of the spacious room. The cold throb of the air suddenly becomes terribly tangible.
Suddenly, I know. As he holds my gaze, as he holds me, I know. Every stalking thought of my intuition was valid—the prickles of tension were never figments of my wild imagination. That look, that look of his is polluted with infatuation.
I press myself away from him. “What is—what are you-”
“Just stop, Leila.”
His fingers dig a little into my skin. Suddenly, my walls are up. My shoulders surrender to stiffness; my breath refuses to release.
He leans in closer, stealing meager inches of the mattress.
“Isn’t it easier this way? We’re both stressed out of our minds, it hurts, I know. I can relieve you of your pressure, Leila-“
“You jest!”
I push him away with incredulous palms. This shocks me just as much as it does him.
“Chani. We both care for her—is this what you imply?! For two of her loved ones to betray her in one night?-”
“What is there to betray?!”
With a quickness I’m unable to fathom, we are then a mess of limbs; his legs have crawled forth and are propped onto mine, his arm bridging the distance, deft fingers bordering the brink of my neck and shoulder.
Not a wisp of breath sprouts from inside of me.
“She is frustrating. I know you’re angry with her, with how you so unabashedly project. You’re awfully transparent.”
“You are a cocky bastard.”
“Mm.”
Paul tilts his head, as if saying ‘see?’. I stifle a curse from spilling out, off my flaring tongue.
Warmth spreads like wildfire at my hip, as his left hand claims its spot. The thumb of his right ventures over my jaw and to my cheek, while his remaining digits curl around my neck. I repress a shudder, as well as a susurration at my mouth—one that would surely betray me.
“Don’t you see?” He says it so low, his voice crackles in its sudden baritone as he speaks. “Let me take care of you.”
My eyes flutter shut. My mouth gapes slightly; he leans closer and closer.
“You are Chani’s. Chani is yours.”
“You know that's not true.”
My breath trembles audibly. I can hear it in the thick air.
“Why don’t you act on your own desires?”
“How arrogant do you have to be? I do not desire one morsel of you-“
“Ah, I’ve yet to see you pull back.”
My lashes flutter, opening my eyes so that I can witness a peek of the image in front of me: he breathes me in like oxygen, as if he might suffocate any moment. I can see two slits of blue, their light dawning on me and onto the amalgamation of our intimate shadows.
“I'm afraid I know you better than you know yourself, Leila..”
I breathe in, desperately attempting to sort out my visceral thoughts. Maybe a mere moment of preparation, maybe just a little time ..
Yet he denies it. I breathe in, and Paul Atreides has ensnared me with his lips.
The power he has over me is, in itself, terrifying. I mold underneath his touch, every contiguity setting my skin aflame. Paul kisses like a savage—as we sway, his tongue slithering hungrily between my lips, our mouths a battle of uncertainty and voracity, I see him in a different light. The stiff, self-controlled, solemn boy stripped of his armor is revealed to be an animal, just like any other man.
He must be stressed out of his mind. His movement is desperate, his lips feral. His body snakes over me as my hands brush against his skin—each finger passing a rib one by one, drinking in his warmth. Skin of the Messiah.
Even if I refuse to merge with the Fremens’ united belief, I understand well, with awe and terror, Paul’s title and his power. It chills me, through flesh and into the cavern of my soul: I contact the armor of a royally begotten warrior, and I am all the same groped by the hands of a mighty killer.
Chani. Chani. Chani.
I miserably try to redirect my focus. It shocks me how insanely hungry I am for him—it never occurred to me that I had affection for Paul, but my desire flows copiously. I think back on Chani. I attempt to meditate and recall their love and what strife I’m paving.
And yet my body betrays me, These thoughts, even further, backfire.
I am angry. I am tired, and worn from Chani’s groping. The circumstance is rousing something in me—a beast of a feeling, a pit of animosity. Without caution, I shove Paul into the headrest.
“Stay still.”
I climb onto him. I look down, and find his glimmering blue eyes consumed with startled shock.
“Don’t you care about your wounds at all?”
I kiss him. I trap him against the head of the mattress, letting my hands run wild. With his waist bearing my weight, I begin to steadily ride his crotch.
Paul isn’t mine. In a perverse way, this motivates me further—he could be using me as a channel of relief or as a source for his irate, and he might even be infatuated with me. Yet once I’m immersed in my drive, and I’ve established a tantalizing pace to bounce over and over on his hard-on, I realize: I don’t really care. I want this, and I’ll take my goddamn share.
#paul atreides#paul atreides smut#dune part two#dune#timothée chalamet#Paul Atreides fanfic#Paul Atreides fanfiction#dune fanfiction#Paul Atreides x oc#fanfiction#oneshot
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TOWL EPISODE 5 SPOILERS AHEAD MY RAMBLY THOUGHTS AS WATCHING THE EP
LOSING MY SHIT IT’S FATHER GABE MY MAN MY IDOL OMG
NOT how I expected this episode to start omg unWELL
I truly have no idea what to expect from this ep holy hell
Rick is passenger princess confirmed
The hand kiss 🫠
Honeymoon take 2 woopwoop
TASTEFUL NOODS SHUT UP
AND THE MUSIC SHUT UP
OTP on a scenic road trip I’m in love with this
Look at them looking lovingly at Carl
HE’S FINDING GIFTS FOR HIS SON
MAKING A GIFT FOR HIS WIFE 😭😭😭😭
MICHONNE GETTING RJ AN AX IM KILLING MYSELF
TOOTHPASTE FUCK OOOOOOFF
I WAS IN LOVE WITH MY SON’S BEST FRIEND I DIDNT KNOW WHAT TO DO - ARE YOU FUCKING KIDIDNG ME 😭😭😭
RICK KISSING HER NECK 🫠🫠🫠
they found a cabin, they on a real vacation now baby
I NEVER LET GO 🙌
New people I’m scared I don’t like it
Rick is really at Michonne’s beck and call ‘they look pretty hungry’ INSTANTLY drops his bag to find them food lmaoooo
OHHH DONT try this with Richonne you silly silly people
‘Well how bout you just listen’ 😂😂😂😂😂
That’s right Michonne you take your food back lmaoooo
Rick emptying the bullets into michonnes hand sooooorry I’m unwell
Keep your promise asshole 😂
Us against the world 💖
Toothpaste, booze, what are you up to grimes???? I’m just working with what I got - the necklace 💖 RICK LOVES HIS WIFE SO MUCH
RIGHT who is this now??? Is this GABE?
WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK???? GABE AND JADIS????? IN CONTACT????? Noooooooooo I AM CONFUSION
GABE TALKING ABOUT RICK TO JADIS FUCK THIS
GABE IF TOU KNEW RIGHT NOW YOU’D KILL HER YOURSELF AMEN
FUUUUCKING HELL JADIS WAKING THEM UP, it’s like when Jesus walked in on them their first night lmaoooo but this is 1 million times worse!
Michonne looks so hot rn haha
I actually could give a flying fuck about Jadis, hurry up and kill her richonne lmao
YAAAS RICHONNE
OMG GABE ONE DAY RICK SAID THAT I SHOULD MARRY THEM 😭😭😭😭
And he’s kept a wedding ring for Rick actually shoot me rn
Gabe is a richonner confirmed 💖
Now I want Gabriel to be the one to kill Jadis because this is sick and twisted from her
HE GAVE HER RICKS RING GABRIEL YOU BETTA NOOOOT
okay so they’re gonna kill Jadis and as she’s dying she’ll hand him the ring
And next year same day same place it won’t be Jadis that meets Gabriel, it’ll be richonne
HERE we go fuck her up Michonne
Here Ricky dicky goes, fuck them walkers up
Jadis is scum these people better not help her
HAHAHHAHA Michonne just wants to kill this bitch ‘maybe just maim first’ yeah ok Ricky dicky 😂
THATS WHAT U GET FOR TRUSTING JADIS YOU DUMBASSES
UGH DONT KISS HER GABRIEL IF YOU ONLY KNEW
WHAT THE FUCK JADIS WHAT DID SHE DO TO GABRIEL
THIS BITCH SHOT HER MAN MICHONNE IS DEFO GOINGG TO GUT HER LMAOO
Omg
Michonne what you gonna do
Michonne has a plan yes
OMG ARE THEY SPLITTING UP TO SAVE EACH OTHER
‘You’ve looked better’ sassy Rick lol
I’m stilll hoping Michonne just fucking murders her
YEEEEES FUCK THIS BITCH
PAINFUL WALKER DEATH FUCK U JADIS
side note Rick looks v handsome rn
I’ll see you next year Ann - noooo you’ll see richonne next year gabey baby 🤞
‘We’re gonna do that’ ricks like sure whatever you want baby
THE RING KILL ME 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
I don’t want a proposal in front of jadis save it for when you’re alone Ricky dicky
IS THIS A PROPOSAL RIGHT HERE IM CRYING
SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP
‘I could never have imagined this but it could only ever have been you’ 🥹🥹🥹🥹
SOMEBODY SEDATE ME 😭😭😭😭😭
THE PROMO ‘are we crazy’ ‘certifiable’ LMAOOOOOO
ALSO how the fuck are we wrapping this up in one more episode, we deserve MORE dammit
#twd#towl#richonne#michonne#rick grimes#the walking dead#danai gurira#andrew lincoln#the ones who live#rick and michonne#twd: towl#twd: the ones who live#become#towl episode 5
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David fighting for his life during his date night dinner with Lestat.
David : Leatat, no
Lestat: Lestat, OUI
Forget AMC IwtV Daniel, book David was the original old man fighting for his life against a manic gay vampires
I laugh so I can also process the fact that underneath the usual Lestat ass-clownery this is also a really good depiction of what it’s like to be in a relationship where the other person is spiraling or not regulating and their partner doesn’t catch it.
Lestat is fresh off an attempt at ending his life in the desert and - hey look at that he survived! Just like that, he’s back to being good ole’ Lestat. And, some of this misunderstanding we can write off to David being So Terribly British (stuff upper lip, don’t talk about your feelings too much), but the other part is understandably just Lestat always kind of being a mess.
So if someone’s basic personality is Clown everyone around them just kind of gets to a place where …. Oh that’s just Lestat, I guess? Lol
So what do you when the other persons usual level of manic energy begins to go into over drive? Again, there’s no way David can know because Lestat isn’t communicating to him about the Claudia dreams, and how weird he feels post-Akasha about his new powers and how he doesn’t even feel human anymore. He’s just spent the last 6 months traveling the world and killing serial killers because they’re a convenient symbolic stand in for how Lestat sees himself at this point. Killing them again and again he has the opportunity to live out his fantasy of self harm and destruction.
But again, David’s in the dark. So to him it’s just another case of Lestat typically being messy and not having his shit together and he’s getting more and more irritated.
Which is familiar to anyone who went through their unmedicated period in a relationship.
Can’t you just listen to common sense?
I’m getting sick of your BS
Can’t you just be normal for once?
Why are you acting like that?
And then just a few pages later there's this interesting contrast with Louis where the opposite is happening. Louis might not know that everything is going off the fucking handrails, but he's showing up. He's being present in their relationship, but because he's not engaging in any of Lestat's love languages (words of affirmation, gift giving) and Lestat is going through it, he's missing all the signs and viewing Louis' care for him through this super distorted lens.
Hahah, it's not like Louis is actually showing up because he might actually want to spend time with me or anything. Lollll that would be super weird right? Because, like, I hate myself. Haha I'm literal TRASH LOLOLOLOL Like, no one could ever just want to spend a night watching movies all of which are about ordinary people being elevated through their love of what is monstrous or anything. Louis must just really like my apartment and my TV and my shower because all of these things and the things I could buy for him just have so much more intrinsic value that the presence of my being 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲
everything is pain
And then when Louis DOES realize how deep in Lestat is, he deflects. Absolutely can not handle it.
#tvc#anne rice#iwtv#lestat#totbt#tale of the body thief#lestat de lioncourt#david talbot#Lestat/david#david/lestat#loustat#louis de pointe du lac#louis/lestat#lestat/louis#tvc reread#vc meta
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@subzero1818 : Hey, can I make a request? For this request I'd like to see stupid Y/N, Angie, and Heisenberg playing a prank on everyone by dressing Y/N up in Heisenberg's clothes along with his hat and shades as they use his cigars and hammer everywhere they go even to the point the prank gods into the lords meetings and Y/N acts like Heisenberg and argues with Alcina while whenever they need to use his powers Heisenberg is hiding somewhere and using his powers to make it seem like Y/N is doing it
Haha! I love this! These three together are dangerous. Let’s get into it!
Heisenberg Y/N and Angie: *Hanging out*
Angie: You know what would be fun? And no, I’m not talking about egging Mother Miranda’s house this time.
Y/N: *Shakes their head*
Karl: … Dressing up Y/N in my clothes and tricking everyone into thinking they’re me and using my powers to make it seem like they can control metal, but they’re really not, thus the appearance of them wielding electromagnetic powers only further solidifies in the others’ minds that Y/N is me, and then we can shout at them and say “Ha! Got you, fuckers!” and they feel embarrassed and ashamed, as they should, because they are the worst people in the world and I hate them, also, this situation would be kind of like in that episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender when Aang was trying to learn how to earth bend, but he couldn’t yet so he used his air bending to move a boulder so th-
Angie: Damn, shut up! … I was gonna say we should get some ice cream.
Karl: …
Y/N: …
Angie: … *Sighs* Yeah, I like your plan better too.
Karl and Y/N: *Cheer*
At Karl’s factory:
Karl: *Placing his coat on Y/N* And, we’re done!
Y/N: *Literally looks like Karl, wearing the top of a floor mop as a wig and his hat and glasses* Damn, Karl! This jacket reeks! I can’t tell if this is b.o. or if you wrapped a dead body up in this thing!
Karl: *Shrugs* I mean, probably both. I’m not quite sure either.
Y/N: *Gags, starts panicking* Get me out of this fucking corpse coat!
Angie and Karl: *Reassuring Y/N*
Angie: Come on, Y/N! Don’t you want the plan to work?
Karl: Yeah! We’ll finally grind them into paste! The anguish on their faces is the stuff dreams are made of, kid!! *Grabs Y/N by the collar and shakes them*
Y/N: *Freaked out* I’m not really sure what we’re doing anymore…
Karl: Just shut up until we get to the meeting and then pick a fight with big bitch!
Y/N: How am I gonna start a fight with Alci?! I love everything about her!
Karl: I don’t know. Make something up! But remember, it’s gotta be something that I would be mad about.
Y/N: Hmm. *Thinks* I’ve got it! Let’s go everybody!
At the meeting
Miranda Donna Alcina and Sal: *Talking*
Karl and Angie: *Slip in from a hole in the floor, unseen*
Y/N: *Kicks open the door*
Everyone: *Startled*
Y/N: *Trying to talk in Karl’s voice, coughing like hell from smoking one of his cigars*
Y/N: Big *Hack* bitch! I’m *Cough, wheeze* angry with you! *Cough*
Alcina: *Smirks* Well, man-child, it seems like you can’t even keep from coughing up a lung. Did you finally smell yourself or something?And what are you so upset about?
Y/N: *Breaks character for a second* I know! This coat smells awful!
Karl: *Rubs his face, annoyed, uses his powers to smash his hammer on Y/N’s foot*
Y/N: *In pain, mad at Karl, decides to switch gears* Ow, fuck! *Clears their throat* Uh, I mean! I was going to bring up how your daughters and Y/N have been spray painting the side of my factory with graffiti… *Turns to stick their tongue out at Karl*
Karl: *Yells* You did WHAT?!
Angie: *Shushes him*
Y/N: But now I know that you’ve been telling people I have a small ding-dong!
Karl: *Pissed, shouts out* You fucking imbecile!
Angie: *Clamps a hand over Karl’s mouth*
Miranda: *Gasps* Karl! We will not discuss such vulgar things!
Alcina: *Crinkles her nose* Well, I’ll have to add that one to the arsenal. But no, I haven’t!
Y/N: *Gets a bit carried away* Yeah, you did! And I’m secretly jealous of Y/N because I think you’re really cool and you’re my favorite sibling, but I’m too pathetic and weak to get your attention! Y/N’s just so awesome, I wish I was them!
Karl: *Seething*
Y/N: And I have a patchy beard that never seems to grow in right!
Karl: *Fucking loses it, walks up to Y/N, harshly pokes them in the shoulder* You dumbass! Why can’t you ever just stick to the plan!
Everyone: *Panics* Two Karls?!
Karl and Y/N: *Start pushing each other, yelling*
Angie: *Trying to break up the fight* Hey! Knock it off, you two!
Karl: *Picks up Angie, throws her at Donna*
Donna: *Expertly catches Angie, holds her close*
Karl and Y/N: *Start beating the shit out of each other*
Miranda: *Comes over to break up the fight* Hey! HEY!
Karl: *Accidentally hits Miranda*
Everyone: *Gasps, shocked*
Karl: Oh shit! I’m so sorry!
Miranda: *Holds her face where she got punched, eyes wide, starts wailing*
Alcina: Now, look what you’ve done! *Runs over and scoops Miranda up like a child* It’s okay, Mother Miranda! There, there. *Starts rubbing her back*
Miranda: *Bawling, points at Karl and Y/N* One of you hit me! *Buries her face in Alcina’s shoulder*
Y/N: *Doesn’t want to be blamed* Actually, that was Karl! *Takes off the coat and hat* It’s just me, Y/N! It was supposed to be a prank!
Alcina: Draga! How could you trick me like this! *Settles Miranda onto her hip like a toddler*
Y/N: It was all Karl’s idea! I didn’t want to do it!
Alcina: *Rolls her eyes* Well, if Karl wanted you to jump off a bridge, would you?
Y/N: …
Miranda: *Still crying*
Alcina: *Raises an eyebrow*
Everybody else: *Waiting for Y/N’s response*
Y/N: … I mean, I’m gonna be 100 with you, babe. Yes, that sounds fucking awesome. I’d probably dress up as the Queen of England and film it, too.
Everyone: *Groans* IDIOT!
Y/N: *Crosses their arms and sticks their nose up* I believe the correct title is “Your Majesty”, peasants!
Masterlist
#re8#re8 village#alcina dimitrescu#lady dimitrescu#alcina dimitrescu x reader#alcina dimitrescu x y/n#lady dimitrescu x reader#lady dimitrescu x y/n#re8 shitpost#y/n is stupid#re8 incorrect quotes#mother miranda#karl heisenberg#salvatore moreau#angie beneviento
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Hi (waves excitedly!!!!) do you have any recs where draco's characterisation is basically just "my life's mission to harass harry potter is back on track." Like he is just living his life being chaotic and also embraces muggle things yk
Hi there! Such good food, love me me a chaotic Draco driving Harry up the wall Harry haha peak dynamics! I hope you enjoy these:
What Potter Wants by birdsofshore (E, 3.3k)
Harry definitely didn't want to do that to Malfoy. Not at all. So why did Malfoy keep saying that he did?
The Morning After by birdsofshore and capitu (M, 5k)
This is what happens when you stick your wand in places where it really shouldn't go.
The Antique Bed Frame by lazywonderland (E, 5.4k)
Draco “needs his bed fixed.” Harry offers to help.
Let Me Have You and I'll Let You Save Me by Frayach (M, 6k)
Draco keeps coming back, and Harry keeps letting him. Draco can’t stay away, and Harry can’t live without him.
The Risk of Exposure by marguerite_26 (E, 6.6k)
After Draco discovers something about Harry during a chance meeting, Harry can’t seem to get him out of his head or out of his life.
Good Talk, Potter by loveglowsinthedark (E, 6.7k)
Potter begins to take me apart, each savage, pounding thrust peeling away layer after layer of everything that I am, reaming me open in a way that makes me wonder how I’ll ever be able to let anybody else but him fuck me after this.
Per my last letter (I hope you choke on it) by fluxweeed and lastontheboat
Or: the one where Harry has writer’s block and Malfoy isn’t helping.
Adventures in Truth and Texting by fluxweed (E, 11k)
Former Death Eaters are being targeted with a Veritaserum curse – it’s permanent, and makes victims speak aloud their every thought. Luckily, it’s easier to control when writing – and Hermione is trying to introduce Muggle technology to the wizarding world.
An Act of Kindness for One Harry Potter by a Sympathetic Draco Malfoy by 0idontknow0 (E, 15k)
As Draco leaned on the wall to wait for them to get dressed, he could not help feeling like he had done a very kind thing by disrupting them. Someone should give Potter a better rogering than that sorry sod had. The man had saved the bloody world—okay, mostly Europe—the least someone could do was give him a proper shag.
Stupid Love by The_Sinking_Ship (E, 17k)
Harry Potter, how does Draco Malfoy hate thee? Let me count the ways.
Reparatio by astolat (E, 17k)
Draco snorted. “I’m not reduced to penury. I want something considerably beyond money, and I rather think you’re the only one can give it to me.”
The Courting by the Pureblood Who Only Has Five Milligrams of Romantic Intelligence and Thinks He’s Real Smooth by Cibee (T, 19k)
Draco could grab Potter and shove him into a stall before proceeding to suck his soul out of his dick, but secretly, deep down, in the part of Draco that he will never admit to anyone, he is (everyone pauses to shudder) a romantic. Potter is not someone Draco wants a one-off with. Potter is — Draco’s beloved!
IDK My BFF Hermione? by lettered (E, 19k)
Draco's a hot mess. Harry's lovin' it (hell yes).
Breaking All The Rules by Frayach (E, 22k) - AU
Malfoy is slowly wringing the last vestiges of pleasure from Harry’s life with all his rules and committees and agendas and reports. Or is he?
Fearful Trill by Vukovich (E, 29k)
Harry should have come out and met someone when he was younger. He should have seen a doctor about the pain in his hip while youth was still on his side. Now, he's made his peace with dying young, but maybe not with dying alone.
Glory Be by Lomonaaeren (E, 33k)
Draco—Draco Malfoy, skilled assassin, powerful and wealthy Veela, former Death Eater—has always known what to do, where to go, who to kill. And then Harry Potter came along: Harry Potter, Unspeakable, former Auror, the most powerful wizard Draco has ever seen. And Draco catches a glimpse of glory he may be unable to live without.
The Four Ds of Apparition (or: Destination, Determination, Deliberation, and Dicks) by eidheann and firethesound (E, 36k)
After transferring to the Apparition Department, Harry's life becomes one big dick joke. And all his friends are arseholes. So is Malfoy, but what else is new? AKA Harry Potter and the eighteen twenty dicks.
Bite Me, Hate Memes by pir8fancier (E, 44k)
Draco Malfoy is incensed to realize that someone is trying to usurp his position as the premier Harry Potter hater.
Vis-à-Vis-à-Vis by Vukovich (E, 50k)
Harry's assignment was simple. Close out Draco Malfoy's missing persons case so he can be declared dead.
Loverboys by corvuscrowned (E, 84k)
As post-war violence and tensions rise, it seems as if there’s no hope to unify the wizarding world. Except, maybe, a manufactured relationship between resident Saviour Harry Potter and known purveyor of the Dark Arts Draco Malfoy. (The fact that they detest each other is beside the point.)
Soup-pocalypse and The Great Curry Cataclysm by SquadOfCats (E, 104k)
Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.
What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym (M, 131k)
Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.
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cold secrets, warm light (simon “ghost” riley x f!reader) - part 1/3
I wasn’t going to write more, but then I was like “okay what if…” and then this story was born. I’m splitting it into parts because this bitch lengthy as hell.
This takes place in the same universe as cold hands, warm heart and is seen as a continuation of that fic. A spiritual part 3, if you will.
Rating: Mature (Explicit Language, violence, blood/injuries)
Fic warnings: hurt/comfort, tending to injuries, touch!starved ghost, mentions of murder/suicide (not related to main characters), unplanned pregnancy, angst with a happy ending, forced proximity (haha bitches u gotta live together), injuries/discussions of lack of mobility, canon-typical violence/consequences, reader goes feral to protect ghost, then he goes feral to protect her, mutual respect, lovers to soulmates.
** All the names of politicians are fake/do not relate to any living or deceased person. I also created 2 entire locations because I don’t want to use the real world lmao. (Al-Qunbar & Noreth)
No use of Y/N. Reader is described as muscular/toned with scars from active combat/torture, and no other descriptors are used.
Summary: Soap’s been shot. Price makes the call to bring him to a safe house occupied by an old associate. And when Lt. Ghost crashes into your orbit again, your treasured secret is revealed, and the aftermath inspires you to ask him to follow you into the light.
(Read on Ao3) ||| 🔪🔪🔪
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Fuck!” Soap shouts before he collapses into the muddy marsh. Ghost whirls around to provide cover. The ricocheting gunfire and Johnny’s desperate, pained breath in his earpiece fills his head. A migraine pounds behind his eyelids. They’re exposed. They’re sitting fucking ducks out here.
Ghost yells, “get up, Johnny!”
“I’m fucking tryin’” Soap grits out. He crawls through the mud and his leg drags uselessly and heavy behind him. His temples flare. His mud-streaked face flushes red under the hot Noreth sun. A stinging pain slits across Ghosts’ shoulder. He ignores it.
Ghost returns fire, “Price, tell me we’ve got evac!” He shouts brusquely into his comm. His voice crackles like a dry log. “Affirmative, Lieutenant.”
Bloody hell. Ghost crouches into the tall, swaying reeds, his pants are slick with dark earth, and his reflection ripples in the rich, cloudy water before disappearing in a plume of umber. He pulls Johnny’s arm over his shoulders and lifts him from the muck.
“On your feet, soldier.” He barks. The helicopter rains hell from above, covering their exit, as the Humvee’s tires squelch and squeal to a harsh, mud-splattering stop.
He yanks the door open, “Soap’s been hit!”
“How bad?” Price demands.
Soap’s face crumples and he turns his head away from Price’s line of sight. “I can’t feel my leg.”
Fuck.
The tires spin wetly. The truck jolts forward, jostling them, as Price’s boot slams onto the accelerator. Ghost doesn’t bother asking where they’re going. He trusts Price to get them the hell out of here and into safety. The wetland fades into dirt roads and tiny rocks rebound with sharp, tinny pings against the vehicle's undercarriage. Ghost hangs onto the handlebar above and frequently checks behind him.
“You’re bleeding.” Price observes. Shiny wetness glistens across his black sleeve. He doesn’t feel it. His body is thrumming with adrenaline. There is gunfire and grenades in his head.
Ghost glances at his arm. “Superficial.”
“Suit yourself.” The Captain murmurs under his breath. They pass farmland and wetlands. Most of Noreth is contained within these two biomes. It’s flat, and warm, and their winters are mild. Price joked that it wouldn’t be a bad place to retire.
“Still with us, MacTavish?” asks Price while glancing in the rearview toward him.
“Affirmative, sir.”
“Good. We’re here.” The truck crests over a small hill and Ghost stiffens at the sight of a woman approaching their vehicle. She raises a hand. Price slows to a stop. There’s a dilapidated barn behind her, its roof caved in, but he notices the flash of a sniper’s scope in the loft. On the side of the barn, a pickup truck is parked, and an obvious metal ladder juts from the truck bed. It feels like a set up. It feels like a trap. He stiffens. His finger poises over the trigger of his pistol.
“Price…” Ghost injects a note of warning into his voice. Where are they? Who is this woman?
“At ease, Ghost.”
She approaches the driver side window. Her head is wrapped in a navy Shayla and her chestnut brown hair peeks from the scarf. The right side of her face is scarred, her brown skin bumpy and ridged.
His chest aches. A phantom pain, an old memory. He doesn’t have a heart. Not even a cold one. He said goodbye to his heart nearly three years ago in a hospital room. But, if he were to think about it, about you, he’d remember your scars. He crushes the thought. He buries it among the rest.
“You’ve gone the wrong way, traveler.” She says, neither unkindly nor kindly. Her walkie-talkie crackles suddenly at her hip.
A voice slices through the static.
“They’re clear. Over.”
The words blind him. He grips the handlebar and his knuckle joints crackle under the pressure. It can’t be. It’s impossible. He must’ve misheard. But he doesn’t make mistakes. It is your voice. It’s you. It’s you, you, you–come back to haunt him, damn him, torment him with a life he cannot have.
You said goodbye. You both did. That was meant to be the end of it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
You peer through the scope one last time, seeing Ghost, seeing Price, and your heart threatens to detonate your ribs and send your organs flying. You scramble on your stomach, intending to rise and join her, but Samira’s voice comes through the walkie-talkie.
“Three in the vehicle, one wounded. Over.”
You bite your tongue. Ice slithers through your veins, numbing them, and your teeth chatter in your skull. You stop yourself from asking how badly, or where, or whom. Samira is an ex-army medic, and her knowledge greatly outclasses your own. She’s needed. And you are better suited here.
“Go.” You reply, “send Agathi to cover your shift, over.”
“Copy.”
Through the scope, you watch Samira wave at them, but Ghost clambers out of the passenger side. He looks directly into the loft. You nudge and wiggle yourself deeper into the shadows. It’s pointless. Awareness ruptures across your skin in equal parts euphoria and dread. You’ve dreamed of reunions. But that’s all they ever were, all they ever could be. Dreams. Paltry. Insubstantial. They were akin to the stories you created in the cemetery. A way to cope amidst the madness and subterfuge.
You bring the radio to your lips. Below, you can hear Samira arguing with Ghost that he cannot go into the barn because it’s dangerous.
“I bet it’s dangerous alright.” He grouses. You snicker and roll your eyes.
Samira opens her arms to stop him. If the choice is between keeping you safe and helping strangers, then it is no choice at all for her. She will choose you every single time. You know this.
“It’s alright.” You announce into the walkie-talkie. “Go help the others and don’t make me pull rank. Over.”
Samira glares mutinously at the loft. She replies, “we have no rank. But I will go out of the goodness of my heart. Over and out.”
You stifle another laugh. Samira is pretending to be sarcastic and cold, but you know her better than anyone. She’s warm. She cares. You would not be here–you would not be alive–if not for her.
You set the rifle aside, though you are not unarmed as you climb down the rickety, wooden ladder into the decayed, rotting barn. You hear the truck pull away, gravel and dirt kicking up beneath its tires, and you walk toward the sliver of angelic daylight that pours between the large doors. You don’t use the barn door. It’s likely to fall off its hinges if you did. Instead, you push aside several wooden planks nearby and crawl out of the barn. You return the planks to their rightful place and kick grass with the toe of your boot to hide your tracks.
His shadow is the first thing you see. Big and imposing, stretching in the open sunlight, a dark splotch against the overgrown grass. You inhale slowly and prepare yourself.
You meet his eyes for the first time in nearly a year.
The world stops spinning. Or it spins too fast. It’s hard to say. You feel, somehow, both grounded and completely out of orbit. Your throat is painfully dry, uncooperative, and you swallow around the strange tightness before breathing sharply through your nostrils. Ghost is as you remember. You are both relieved by his consistency and saddened by it. The world will change, regimens will rise and fall, ice caps will melt, but Simon will remain immovable and unchanging.
You observe, “you’re wounded.”
“It’s nothing I can’t manage.”
You roll your eyes. You don’t doubt it, but he should know as well as anyone that an injury can get infected without proper treatment. You walk to the parked truck and open the glovebox to remove the first-aid kit. The truck barely runs, but it’s good cover and makes it seem like someone is trying to repair the barn in case any patrols pass by.
“Who else was in the truck?” You ask, setting the kit on the passenger seat and snapping on a pair of latex gloves.
“Soap.”
Your heart freezes. You’re thankful Ghost he cannot read your expression due to your turned back. Your mind flashes with images, with memories of MacTavish. Your time was limited with him, but his kindness and earnestness made a lasting impression.
You cannot stop yourself from asking, “how bad is it?”
“Don’t know.” He replies gruffly.
“Classified?” You venture, glancing over your shoulder to him.
Ghost hooks his thumbs underneath the straps of his tactical vest and shifts his weight. You take his silence as an affirmative. He has no reason to tell you, really. You aren’t part of his task force. You aren’t anything, anymore. Not to him, not to anyone. With that thought firm in mind, you grab the scissors and approach Ghost, your expression calm and neutral.
“May I?”
Ghost nods stiffly. You lift his t-shirt sleeve with your littlest finger and snip away a section of fabric that’s caked and sticky with blood. Thankfully, the wound is little more than a graze. A bullet passed him but did not lodge itself into his skin. You click your tongue and smile archly.
“Lucky.”
“I told you it’d be fine.”
“Not if it gets infected.” You say in a singsong, wiping away blood with an alcohol pad. He doesn’t even wince. You avoid his eyes, focused on the injury, though you can feel Ghosts’ attention burning into the side of your face like an open flame. It doesn’t need stitches. You disinfect the area and tape a piece of gauze. Your touch is careful and practiced and never lingering no matter how badly you want to.
Once finished, you drag your eyes away from the glaring, white square of gauze on his skin and drift toward his skull mask.
He holds your gaze for what feels like a lifetime. You haven’t forgotten the intensity of those dark, mysterious eyes. You recall them in every variation–heavily lidded with lust, intense and serious, suspicious, or dark and narrowed, bright like coffee with sarcastic humor and bad jokes.
Beneath his gaze, Ghost makes you feel as if you are the only object in the universe.
You realize slowly that your fingertips are on his bicep. You tentatively pull your hand away and his muscle jumps reflexively at the absence of your touch.
“It’s good to see you.” You admit softly.
His gaze softens imperceptibly. Agathi’s voice comes through your walkie-talkie, informing you that she’ll be there in a minute, and that she’s bringing along Kaja, so you can speak with ‘Mr. Price.’
You laugh when Agathi calls him ‘Mr.’ instead of Captain. Ghost’s breath hitches in his throat.
You respond, biting your lip to stop your smile, “copy that. Over and out.”
Your stolen moments of reunion with Simon beside the barn dwindle like dry tumbleweeds across the desert. You are grateful for whatever little time you have considering you never expected to see him again. Yet, you are selfish and wishing you could have more time.
You organize and store the first-aid supplies, tucking your bloody gloves in your back pocket to throw them away once you’re in the house. Ghost says nothing. He watches you. If it were anyone else–you’d bark at them for leering, for being creepy, but this is Ghost, it’s Simon. You are – intimately - comfortable with his gaze on you. A sudden flush of heat burns your ears.
Agathi rounds the corner with Kaja behind her. Agathi is nearly six feet tall and seeing her next to Ghost is impressive and it puts his massive height into perspective. Her hair is short and blonde, and her striking blue eyes are hidden behind her large, dark aviator sunglasses. Kaja is younger than Agathi and a foot shorter. She is olive-skinned and has dark, ruffled hair that lays across her head like a raven’s nest.
“Whoa.” Kaja says when she sees Ghost, then looks to you quizzically, “he a friend of yours?”
You nod. “Old friend.”
“You said all your friends were dead.” Agathi says. She is less welcoming than Kaja and rightfully distrustful.
You smile at her. “They are.”
Agathi scoffs and pushes her sunglasses up at her nose with two fingers. She doesn’t say anything when she walks away from you, but you can feel suspicion radiating from her. However, the task force is under your protection, and she won’t do anything to anyone beyond sneering. Kaja watches you leave with awe on her youthful face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After ten minutes of silence, you see your haven in the distance.
“Agathi has two boys. Sven and James.” You announce. “Try not to brood so much and scare them.” Ghost’s footsteps are light beside yours and you move like wraiths down the dusty road.
“That’s risky.” He intones, voice deep and scratchy.
You whip your face toward his, frowning. There is risk to everything, you think. But you know Agathi. You trust her. You care for her. You know Ghost isn’t judging her, only taking the intel he has, and drawing a pragmatic conclusion. Noreth is at war and traveling with multiple people–especially children–increases the overall danger. Still, despite knowing this, you cannot help but defend her.
“What? Was she meant to leave them behind?” You shove your curled fists into your pockets. You made a similar decision six months ago. Although, in retrospect, it wasn’t much of a choice at all.
“Besides,” you continue, your tone and face hot, the sun beating down on the back of your neck like someone’s gaze. “It’s easier to think of this place as a sanctuary. A temporary place for refugees to recover before they continue onward.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Six months.”
“Since Al-Qunbar then.”
You wince at his steel-trap memory. Nothing slips by Ghost. Six months ago, you fled Al-Qunbar and settled into Noreth with Samira’s help. The recent conflict between East and West Noreth has torn asunder all the comfort and stability your little ragtag family found.
“Thereabouts, yeah.”
“And is this what the agency has you doing?” He motions with his chin toward the house, “running a safe haven?”
You suck your lower lip between your teeth, worrying flesh between your teeth, and shrug noncommittally.
The agency no longer owns you. No one does. You wish you could celebrate this with him, but you don’t know what his reaction will be. Will he call you a coward and say you are abandoning your country? Or will he be grateful that you’re no longer in the line of fire? That you're no longer puppeteering diplomats and manipulating powers beyond your ken? If you explained your reasoning, explained why, would he understand? Or would he hate you for keeping secrets?
He doesn’t press for more information, and you don’t try to fill the silence with idle chatter. You’re reminded of your long, quiet treks through the fresh snow in Russia. Your face tucked in your scarf, the air bright and sharp, the sky a delirious blue like chlorine above your heads. You’d walk for hours without saying anything.
You watch two birds’ flit across a sky of cotton ball shaped clouds. You hope the conflict and fighting will not reach you, but you know it’s a foolish dream. Your lips twist in a chagrined smile.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your safe haven consists of two buildings. The first is a two-story house with a front porch, bulletproof glass windows, and peeling, chipped green paint. There is laundry strung up on the line and it flaps like an elephant’s ear. The second building is smaller, the size of a studio apartment, the roof is squat and flat, and the brown paint appears baked-on from the distance. Price’s vehicle is parked outside alongside Kaja’s pet project motorcycle—still in pieces. The infirmary is sequestered and guarded from the main house. A necessary precaution for privacy and sustainability.
Despite the soundproofing and the roaring generator for electricity, you hear Price’s voice. You grimace, looking back at Simon briefly, before opening the door.
“And I’m telling you,” Samira exclaims, “I will not move him! He must not be moved!”
“I need him out of this zone in order to extract him.” Price says.
“He cannot go!” Samira’s dark brown eyes meet yours. “Talk sense into your old Captain,” She gestures impatiently with both hands. A bloody blue smock covers her clothes and a surgical mask dangled from one ear.
You ask, “what happened?”
Samira debriefs you. Soap was shot in his lower back. She managed to remove the bullet, but she suspects moderate to severe nerve damage, and he’ll need physical therapy included in his recovery plan if he wants to walk again. Price wants to remove him and return him to Scotland.
However, Samira explains he’ll need to wait a minimum of four weeks before traveling overseas, otherwise he’ll risk blood clotting and other complications. Although Price is willing to honor and uphold the secrecy of your haven and not request a direct evacuation–he wants to drive Soap to a safe zone and have him evacuated from there.
“He stays.” Samira says sternly, “or he dies.”
Price looks at Ghost and you.
“Lt, can I talk to you outside?”
You step aside to let them pass and approach Samira. You expression pinches in worry and you touch her shoulder. Your stomach binds itself into knots. In your mind, you see Soap smiling and crossing his arms after you defeated him in a card game, your heart alive with mirth for the first time in years.
You peel your words free like dried, white crafting glue, “is he going to be alright?”
“That’s mostly up to him right now.” Samira sighs, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. About two months ago, a refugee died on Samira’s operating table from an ill-fated bullet wound. You hope that Soap isn’t as unlucky. Your eyes dart to the window to Soap and Price, talking with their heads bent low, and the knot in your stomach tightens.
“Can we move him to the house?”
Samira nods. “In a few hours, yes.”
“Good. I don’t like it when everyone is spread out.”
You wait until Ghost and Price are finished before offering to take them into the house.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two blonde boys run out of the front door toward you. One has the gawkish and long-limbed awkwardness of a teenager, his pale face is dotted with pimples, his smile is wide and crinkles the skin around his clear, blue eyes. You open your arms and the smaller, younger one leaps into them. His blonde hair shines golden beneath the sun. You spin him in a circle, and he giggles, delighted. Ghost is momentarily stunned.
When was the last time he heard a child laugh? His expression stiffens. His breath shudders and fans through his mask. You set the boy down. His big, curious blue eyes look past you and toward Price and him.
“James, this is Ghost.” You gesture to him, “and this is Captain Price.”
“Like a boat captain?” asks James.
“Something like that.” Price responds warmly.
You introduce the teenager as Sven. Agathis’ boys clearly and obviously adore you. While walking to the door, James holds your hand and prattles endlessly about a ‘dragon game’ that he and his brother are playing. Your replies are warm, attentive, and genuinely curious about his make-believe game. He wonders if it’s an act. Another layer of subterfuge, to make the residents of this place feel welcome and safe, all part of your role—whatever that may be. But the moment the thought passes his mind, he dismisses it.
There is something to you that didn’t exist before. The light you carried within has changed, it has shifted, and he doesn’t know if anyone else can see it. He doubts Price notices it. The scathing, self-loathing part of him entertains the idea that you’ve fallen in love with someone. That would explain the lightness to your step and the glowing warmth of your smile. He roughly shoulders the dark thoughts to another dusty corner of his mind.
“And you, you’d be a red dragon.” James says knowingly, his voice filled with innocent wisdom.
You laugh. He wants to get drunk on that sound – your laugh. It bubbles inside his veins like dry, expensive champagne. It heats his skin like a good sunburn. He can endure any level of torture as long as he has your laughter playing on a loop within his mind.
“Why red?”
James clarifies, “because red dragons are strong! A-and they have magic fire powers.”
“Ah!” You chuckle, “that makes sense.”
James asks, “will you play with us after dinner?”
You don’t even pause to think about it. “Of course!”
The front door leads into a sitting room with overstuffed, stripey couches and black iron wood stove with a thick column that feeds into the wall. Next to it, a narrow kitchen is painted robin’s egg blue. A small, ancient white fridge is humming in the corner and the oven has several knitted washcloths dangling from its handle.
The light fixtures are barren, their sockets empty or completely removed from the walls their thin wires exposed like intestines. The file on Noreth comes to his mind. Earlier in the conflict, families blacked out their houses with dark, heavy curtains or bedsheets, or removed their lights to hide from the air raids. However, the aerial risk has since vanished now that Noreth’s only airport is smoldering ruins.
He imagines you efficiently pinning up curtains and unscrewing lightbulbs. He wonders if you said anything to the children, offered them explanations, or words of comfort. His tongue tingles like he’s pressed it to a live battery charged with a thousand questions.
Price is engaging you in conversation, and your voice is amicable, but your body language is guarded. He notices you – more than once – avoid a pointed question and maneuver around it like an Olympic figure-skater. Topics like Noreth’s political climate or the safety measures at the house are encouraged, but any personal questions about yourself or the other women living at the haven are swiftly evaded. Ghost stands near the door, watching through the window toward the road and he occasionally looks at you or the two boys building a puzzle on the living room floor.
“You’re confident then?” Price is saying, “Samira can handle Soap’s recovery?”
“I trust Samira with my life.” You say, steadfast and poised. Ghost’s molars gnash and he averts his gaze. Jealousy burns like acid reflux in his gut. “If I had any reservations whatsoever about her abilities then I would argue against her call.”
“You have everything you need for him?” Price prompts. Ghost almost wants to give him shit for being overbearing like an old, nervous mother hen. He checks out the window. All clear. Samira paces outside the infirmary, smoking. He finds that wonderfully ironic. A doctor who smokes. He scowls. Who is Samira to you? Do you trust her because of your circumstance? Or because you’re teammates? Or has something happened between you?
You respond, “yes.”
Price sighs heavily like the air inside his lungs is a physical object that he can lift and carry around.
“Samira says she’ll move him in a few hours. You’re welcome to stay until then.”
Price grins, “and stay for dinner?”
“It gives us a reason to take out the nice, fancy plates.” You smile easily. Ghost greedily traces the lines of your mouth from his peripheral vision. He can savor it when your smile isn’t direct at him. He wishes he could pull you aside, speak privately, but this isn’t a job where something as childish as wishes get granted.
He realizes he can’t stay in this room, listening to Price make small talk, hearing the soft murmuring and excited chatter of the children on the carpet. He needs to be useful otherwise his temper will shorten, and his mood will sour like curdled milk.
He says to Price, “I’m goin’ to check the perimeter.”
“Copy that, Lt.” Price nods.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You chop onions for the soup stock and your vision blurs with tears. Through the blinking, wet haze, you see Price regard you with warm familiarity and steady, quiet gentleness.
“It’s good to see you alive, Lux.” He says softly. “Seems like I made the right call.”
Your chest warms. It’s nice to see his face and talk to him again despite the shitty circumstance.
“Getting sentimental in your old age?” You joke to hide how deeply his comment affected you. You’re happy to have the onions as an excuse for the tears strolling down your cheeks.
He laughs. His white teeth flash and his eyes are enfolded by mirthful wrinkles. “At ease, solider.”
You wipe your wet eyes and glance toward the door that Ghost exited through. Price’s eyebrow notches upward and he leans his arms on the countertop. Your scalp prickles. You suddenly feel like a teenager caught passing a note to their crush in class. His perceptive eyes narrow and the unsaid question lingers in the onion-smelling air between you.
“He’s the same.” You explain quietly, shrugging.
“He’s not,” says Price.
You occupy your hands by scooping the chopped onions into a large soup pot and avert your eyes from Price. You aren’t sure if this is a conversation you’re supposed to have or meant to have. Ghost is private. It feels wrong – no – it feels treacherous to talk about him when he’s not in the room.
“You and MacTavish.” Price continues without prompting, “you’ve changed him for the better, I think.”
“Oh,” you say, “that’s good.” You say it like you’re commenting on the weather. You shove as much nonchalance into your tone to make it boring. Ordinary. But your mind spins wildly on its axis. Ghost has changed on some level because of you. And it was noticeable enough to catch the attention of his superior officer, someone who has known him for years. You wonder if it’s the same for you. You wonder if Price can see Ghosts’ fingerprints all over your skin. Wordlessly, you tuck your moth charm necklace inside your shirt.
The necklace isn’t your only secret connection to Ghost. There is a more precious, more sacred secret. And he’s sleeping upstairs. You imagine telling Price about him, but immediately disregard the idea. There’s no guessing what Price’s reaction would be. Or Simon’s. No. It’s safer for everyone if he remains a secret. Your heart aches with foolish, idyllic longing to walk outside and talk to Simon and pour out every feeling you’ve bottled over the past six months.
You redirect the conversation away from Ghost and shelve your deep, complicated feelings aside.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When he returns hours later, you are peeling potatoes. He admires your skilled, careful hands and the sunset behind you frames you in butterscotch gold and hazy yellow.
A memory hits his skull like a stun grenade. In Russia, you skinned a rabbit in front of him and he called you a ‘proper boy scout’. You laughed, your head thrown back, your hands red and slimy. He thinks that might’ve been the moment his heart started to thaw.
Samira says something to you in her native tongue. You reply with a faux-serious expression but then your eyes crinkle and your smile runs the facade. Is this what you’ve been up to? Making soup and hiding in old barns?
Steam rises and billows from the pot around your face like a cloud. You tap the wooden spoon rhythmically against the rim. His heart squeezes like a fist. Price and Soap talk lowly in the sitting area, Soap in a wheelchair, Price leaning his hip against the arm of the sofa with his muscular arms crossed and his face drawn.
The domesticity of this moment should frighten him, it should fill him with self-loathing, yet all he feels is keening, sharp yearning. This could be any kitchen in the world. It hurts to look at you. It feels like heartburn. He balls his fingers into fists.
Price’s words come unbidden to his mind: “You need to stay here,” he said.
“What d’you mean?” Ghost said, scowling behind his mask.
“Noreth is a war zone. I can’t pull Soap out, so you need to stay here and look after him.”
“You’re kidding.” Ghost deadpans.
“Not counting ourselves, there are only two individuals on this farm that have combat training.” He knew Price was talking about you, so it was either Samira or Agathi who had experience, though he didn’t know which.
Price said, “There are few he’d trust with his life, Simon. But I know you’re one of them.” He couldn’t argue with that. He’d stay. Even if he didn’t have much say in the matter.
Sven shouts from the staircase, “Lukas is awake from his nap! Can I bring him down?”
“Yeah!” You reply, your words followed by an easygoing smile. His gaze flickers back to the staircase at the sound of Sven’s careful, yet loud footfalls.
Sven carries a toddler in his arms that must be his youngest brother. He guesses his age is somewhere around 2 or 3 based on size alone. You mentioned Agathi had boys. Plural. It’s hard to imagine a mother of three crossing hostile territory, but he supposes anything is possible within the right circumstance. When you defended Agathi, your voice was filled with flushed pride and indignation like you were scolding him for being uncouth. His lips press together under his mask. He missed that—your spark. No one has a bite quite like yours.
The boy’s cherubic face is more solemn than bashful Sven or inquisitive, talkative James. And his big, round brown eyes must’ve been inherited from his father (who is likely dead, Ghost assumes, since there’s no one else at the safe house).
Sven settles the child onto the carpet and passes him a red toy truck.
“Beep beep!” He proclaims. His voice deepens to rumble the car across the wooden floorboards.
You ask from the kitchen, “Lukas, what do you want for dinner?”
“Mashed potatoes!” Lukas replies and his smile dimples his chin.
Samira rolls her eyes. Her lips twitch, and her sideways pose, and half-smile remind Ghost of a coyote.
“Naturally,” says Samira.
“He likes what he likes.” You say breezily.
You divide the soup into neutral toned bowls and Samira helps you hand them out. Price accepts the meal with a grateful smile. Soap complains about how little Samira has given him and she primly responds that he’s likely to throw up as a side effect to medication, so he ought to eat in small portions.
The soup bowl is between your hands like a tender, reverent offering.
He declines with a small and curt shake of his head. He ate an MRE during his walk-about of the property. He doesn’t have the stomach for anything else. He never could eat much on missions. He ate enough to keep him coherent, keep him sharp, but that was it.
“My cooking’s not that bad, is it?” You say with a teasing, familiar lilt to your voice.
He shifts his weight. His rifle, a comfortable weight, nudges between his shoulder blades. “Sod off.” He grumbles. Your eyes brighten followed by your smile.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He glances to the rest of the room. Everyone else is talking or eating. No one is paying attention to this corner. Some of the tension in his shoulders relaxes infinitesimally. He feels his jaw unclench, the sensation miniscule yet poignant, as he regards you.
“Quit fishin’ for compliments.”
“Can’t blame a gal for seeking a little praise.” You cover your lips over your spoon, slurping, and mischief illuminates your expression. He watches you. Something low and aching and hardly forgotten comes to life and unfurls in smoldering heat. If you were alone—God help him—if you were alone…
He inclines his head ever-so-slightly, his voice deep and rumbling and dangerous, “consider it noted.”
Samira calls to you in her language. It grates at him. Is Samira trying to hide something? Does Price know what she’s saying? How much can they really trust anyone here? You’re quick to reply and you sidle over to her and Sven, though you switch the conversation to English.
His jaw tightens. You might suddenly come under fire from an ambush. He peers out the window. All clear. The walkie-talkie at your hip is silent. Price looks relaxed. You look relaxed.
However, it doesn’t mollify his sense of paranoia. The flatlands of Noreth are too exposed for his liking.
The property is filled with tall, thin reeds similar to switch or cord grass. It’s massive enough to camouflage his height if he crouches and he suspects the boy—James—can get completely lost in it. But the spongy earth makes it difficult to travel on foot and the lonely safehouse isn’t fenced in.
Thankfully, he did find an all-terrain vehicle covered by a mottled brown and green tarp which meant you had some evacuation plan if things went south. He glances sideways out the window again. All clear.
Johnny pushes on the wheels of his wheelchair toward him and he nearly knocks into Ghost’s heavy combat boots. He balances his empty soup bowl on his thighs. The heat and warm food has flushed Johnny’s neck and cheeks to a soft, dusty pink. It’s good to see some color on him. He was too pale and ashen on the drive to the safehouse.
He’s changed out of his tactical gear. He’s wearing an ill-fitting gray jumper and sweatpants. He assumes the clothes are from Samira because they didn’t bring their full kits. This mission wasn’t supposed to be overnight. Now they’d be stuck for a minimum of four weeks.
“I guess we’ll be here for a bit, Lt.”
“Looks like it.”
Following the abrupt, wheezing sound of your laughter, Soap tilts his head over his shoulder to you, then returns his gaze to Ghost.
“I know Price asked you to stay, but you don’t have to.” Soap begins, “I’ll make a quick recovery. And they need you in the field, running operations, not sitting here playing guard dog.”
Ghost shakes his head slowly.
“Orders came from Price, Johnny.”
“I know.” Soap sighs. He peeks over at you, Samira, and Sven again. Then murmurs quietly to himself, “won’t be all bad, I suppose.”
Ghost pretends like he doesn’t hear and ignores the part of him that agrees.
[ Part Two ]
#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley reader insert#simon ghost riley fanfic#simon ghost riley#ghost x you#no use of yn#reader insert#simon ghost riley smut#call of duty fanfic#ghost cod x reader#call of duty modern warfare fanfic
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hunger games posts gave me Thoughts i wanted to share so uhhh hiiiii local friend who studies literature and it’s place/function within society here with a comment. stories and writing (even though this p much goes without stating) have always been modes of entertainment and education and much more, we humans love our mediums. i think the biggest issues with the hunger games bullshit is people have begun to treat it like it’s a meme to just make the comment about it and leave it behind without using genuine critical thinking skills. it’s been going on for months and it’s starting to water down focus on what’s happening in favor of talking about fiction. i think the fiction shouldn’t be getting this in the way of the discussion of what’s REALLY happening. if it helps to click in younger minds that what their country is doing is wrong, that can be a positive, but fully grown adults repeating it like it’s a joke feels abysmal. like they’ve missed the point somehow.
i don’t know if this makes sense but summary is: literature as a tool for understanding the world = important especially for kids, but, constantly talking about the literature ONLY and not what it actually reflected of the world you live in/treating the real world thing with the same level of respect as the fiction = missing the point and making real issues into what feels like fandom talking points. i don’t think it should take a book or movie series for the average adult to understand horrors of violence on the scale we are witnessing and i definitely don’t think that they need to use that as the only frame of understanding what’s happening.
anyways hope that made sense and also to others who might be reading this…. the moment something fictional clicks you into something really happening, try to understand the real world through the real world information you can find, not a novel. any novel. go learn real history. as much as possible do not distance yourself from the worlds pain with a wall of fictionalization, engage with the world like you actually live in it and like life matters to you. even i engaged with people pointing out comparisons once or twice, months ago when they started, but i have not sat and made that all i will talk about, and certainly not to the point i’m not even keeping up with what’s //really// happening in rafah right now. especially not in favor of all the soulless “ooogh omg guys the capitol is real???” jokes i keep seeing from ppl talking about the kentucky derby.
this turned into a micro-hate rant about western europeans / US citizens thinking it’s some brain blast enlightenment to point out a dystopian novel about the US is a dystopian novel about the US. from fully grown adults it’s almost embarrassing, there is real life suffering happening and you need to talk about it like it’s real not like it’s a fucking story. it is baffling
Exactly like fiction can be a tool to help initial understanding of subjects especially for young people but when we're talking about current genocides and invasions going on people really need to learn to pull their socks up and behave like adults with sense. It's so insulting and dehumanising to the people of Palestine to be compared to some fictional group of ppl from some district in a book written by a lady whose father was a fucking Veteran.
It's so immature and stupid and so intentionally obtuse and unserious. It's cruel and selfish and totally just being done to be self congratulatory like ' haha look at me i made this connection between fiction and reality I'm so cool and special' like SHUT THE FUCK UP.
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Ooo so what fics have you been imagining exactly??
Right now, I’ve gone down the Wilmon/Young Royals hole when it comes to fics so that’s what I’ll talk about here. There are SO MANY things I want to write/read in this fandom, but some of the headcanons have been stronger than others and there’s too many for them all to be written. Anyway, without further ado:
1. I want to explore how Wilmon’s sexual dynamic changes after the video gets published. This fic would be canon compliant and take place after a lot of the events of the series have shaken out and Wilmon finally have the chance to just be. Except now they have so much time and sometimes, when you have a lot of time, things Simon’s been ignoring start to come out of the woodwork. Namely - everyone on the internet has seen him have sex. When the video first came out, while Wilhelm totally shut out the world, I want Simon to have watched it back over and over and over again, picking himself apart and drowning in the embarrassment and regret of it all. I want it so that he feels exposed now whenever he’s intimate, doesn’t want Wilhelm to get him off, doesn't want Wilhelm to even look at him, wants to be in control, and is deeply, deeply unhappy. I have this vision of the ending where Simon would finally relax again, allow himself to be vulnerable, and Wilhelm would take over with a kind of there you are, I’ve got you kind of vibe.
2. Another exploration of Simon’s arc as Wilhelm grows out of his anxiety with the support of therapy and age and friends/family. I have this line rattling around in my brain: Simon has always held a fundamental belief that Wilhelm’s hurt runs deeper than his own, that his pain is somehow more important than his own. Throughout the series, Simon takes great pride in being able to take care of or protect people, often to his own detriment. He likes being needed. And I don’t think he truly understands the difference between being needed and being wanted. As Wilhelm starts to stand on his own feet and rely less and less on Simon for emotional stability, I want Simon to feel the conflicted horror of realizing that he doesn’t want Wilhelm to get better - because what if he doesn’t need Simon anymore then? What purpose would he have in Wilhelm’s life? What if he is unwanted?
3. (I think I’m going to write this next maybe): Wilhelm is a student at Hillerska, a secretive, expensive boarding school for mutant teenagers, loosely based off of the X-Men comics. I want him to have Storm’s powers of controlling the weather/having the weather reflect his mood. While he’s at Hillerska, he meets Simon, who has seemingly no powers. Mutants are a secret to the rest of the world, and Simon says he’s basically only there because his sister is a mutant (she can talk to animals) and it would be safer for the sake of the secret and if they both boarded at Hillerska. Wille has never seen such an exception made, but he’s not about to question it because he fucking adores having Simon around. They fall for eachother slowly but surely, but Simon keeps pulling away, like he’s afraid. Long story short, Simon does have a power - a very rare one - hint hint, Rogue is my favorite character.
4. (Or maybe I’ll finish this one first instead of the super hero one) I want a fic mainly just for the dynamic of Simon getting a whiplash of Wille’s personality HAHA and I’ve never written an office romance before sooo. Wilhelm would be in some position of corporate power, a senior partner at some firm, a director somewhere etc. And he definitely only got this position because of his family connections. While he’s good at his job, he’s a little too young and a little too inexperienced to have actually worked his way up there. Simon joins in an entry-level position and he’s shocked to learn that his skip level leader is his age but when the CEO says that Wille is her son, it all starts to come together. It also doesn’t help that Wilhelm is a bit detached and uncaring as a people leader but Simon doesn’t have room to complain, he really needs to keep this job so he shuts his mouth and puts his head down. His manager, August, might potentially be worse than Simon - he keeps taking credit for other people’s work and while Simon often takes no shit, again he really needs this fucking job. Eventually, one day, Wilhelm comes over to speak to him and to Simon’s shock, he asks him out. All of Simon’s friends tell Simon not to go, that Wille is likely just using him, but Simon is too fucking curious for his own good and Wille’s easy on the eyes so he does - and it turns out that Wilhelm is actually the nicest person ever? LOL
5. (this is not going to be like, irl accurate but idc) A really angsty/melo-dramatic fic that’s summed up with: If this is their happily ever after, why aren’t they happy? I want Wilmon to be married, but for Wilhelm to remain Crown Prince. Simon absolutely loathes royal life, but he loves Wilhelm. And Wilhelm still feels a strong sense of guilt induced duty, especially now that he’s been allowed to keep Simon at his side. Still, some days he feels as though he can barely bear it. One day, they have a blow-up argument about something trivially silly and Simon goes back to his mom’s house for a few weeks to cool off. He tells Wille that he needs to reevaluate their relationship and their priorities and Wilhelm doesn’t think he’s ever been as cold as he is at that moment. The main problem is that the things that Simon hates about their life cannot be fixed - whether or not Wilhelm abdicates, he will be hounded for the rest of his life, he will never be allowed to live in a normal apartment, he will always need to have security, and the press will only become more invasive. Simon had once said that Wilhelm was worth it, but now Wilhelm’s not so sure that Simon means it anymore. Security follows Simon back to Bjarstad, where unbeknownst to Simon, they keep sending Wilhelm updates on his whereabouts and doings. Wilhelm wants them to stop, but he also misses Simon like a missing limb, so he doesn’t say anything even if he knows it's wrong. Pretty soon, Wille is looking at pictures of Simon laughing in restaurants and playing soccer out on the old field and volunteering at the local church. And despite all the benefits of Wilhelm’s wealth and power and privilege that they both have enjoyed over the years, the sentiment that Wilhelm has ruined Simon’s life has never felt more real.
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Just when I thought I had my Top 5 @apoptoses smut scenes SET IN STONE (a solid top 5 at least), you post the second chapter of Come Get Your Knife and turn my whole world upside down!!! Where to even BEGIN here jfccc
1. That blowjob scene at the beginning, so stupid hot and we were like 5 paragraphs in lmao insane 😭and then their conversation right after that, with Armand clinging to Daniel’s tigh and then going to the bathroom to spit out his cum without Daniel knowing. Armand would 100% swallow and then not tell Daniel it can’t actually stay in his system for long lmfao I love him sm
2. Daniel putting a hand on Armand’s exposed waist in the kitchen and Armand lowkey losing his mind over it yes GOOD
3. THE PLAY WRESTLING ON THE COUCH MY BELOVED. they totally still do this at home btw it’s just way more competitive now that Daniel actually has a shot.
4. Armand wearing Daniel’s hoodie and then trying to pass it off as an accident when Daniel noticed 🥹
5. “There were all sorts of ways Armand adored seeing him- half awake and grumbling in the evening, tipsy and hanging off his arm. Bright eyed and enthusiastic about the film they’d just seen. But Armand thought this was one of them that he loved best. Daniel loose limbed and eager to get close to him, with that hint of mischief in his eye.” GIVE HER THE PULITZER 👏 😤 And then Daniel blowing smoke into Armand’s mouth!! 🥵 still losing my mind over it.
6. the fingering bit aka the star of the fucking show. I had to pause like three times while reading it lol I didn’t want it to end and needed to drag it out for as long as possible 🥹 idk if we’ve talked about this before but like... Daniel fingering Armand is one of those things I consider 100% canon lmao. I mean it makes perfect sense ("every inch of his body" etc) and of course Daniel felt curious enough to try it and of course Armand let him. so if a fic includes a fingering bit I have to read it lmao regardless of the circumstances/plot/setting idc I’m giving it a go. But some of the ones I’ve read have been like... unnecessarily aggressive? still hot, don’t get me wrong, but they were basically about Daniel wanting to be as rough as possible because Armand didn’t feel much anyway/could take it and Daniel got off on it. just aggressive in ways I don’t think it ever was between them during their most intimate moments. Daniel is a passionate lover yes but he’s a gentle king first and foremost, and he cares so much about Armand’s pleasure, and you captured that so perfectly. Armand coating Daniel’s fingers with his blood please 🥵 🥵
I’ll stop now before I get carried away but know that I’m still very much obsessed!!! xoxo DA
DA I've missed you!!
Lord I have so many obscene thoughts on Armand and Daniel's come haha Like absolutely he would swallow despite what the vampire body can or cannot consume. Absolutely he would let Daniel come inside him and walk home to his hiding place and go to sleep with that in him, because that part of his body is useless now! It's just a receptacle for Daniel's messes and he's a little freak who would want to keep part of Daniel inside him in more ways than one (which I discuss in an upcoming wip)
haha I forgot I had that in there but that's a domestic thing I think about all the time with them. Like, little touches that make them both insane but especially when Armand is the receiver of those touches. It's intimacy he's never had before!
YES like even if Daniel doesn't 100% equal him in strength after he's turned Armand would be so overwhelmed and caught off guard that Daniel would win just by sheer virtue of getting him worked up over having his wrists pinned (I might also have this in a wip oops)
Daniel, deep down, knows it was no accident 🥹
🥹🥹🥹 listen Armand loves when Daniel is being a little shit, he's beseeching and demanding and that's why he liked him in the first place! He's found the man who is the same flavor of randy pain in the ass as him 🥹
HELLO I love a gentle overwhelming fingering for Armand and I think it was you who gave me the idea of Daniel teaching Armand dirty talk? So like I wrote that and you'll be happy to know that specific act occurs in there too. But YEAH I think Armand can feel a lot if he lets himself and gentleness gets him out of his mind better than roughness, so just Daniel's long fingers are perfect for him because like- that's ALL about him, you know? Being fucked is mutual pleasure, getting touched with hands/someone's mouth is more hedonistic, and he deserves hedonism ♥
Hey, because I love you, here's a fingering preview treat for you (this will go up for kink week for impact play day)
“What would you call this part of you?” Daniel asks.
He’s tracing over his entrance again with a slick finger, maddening slow circles. He presses firmly like he might slip his finger inside and then pulls it away and starts the whole process over again.
Armand’s brain feels like the eggs he makes Daniel for breakfast, a sloppy mess that’s liable to run out his ears and stain the blanket with the way Daniel has taken him apart. He’s so thirsty his veins seem to have constricted with their demand for blood. Everything in him feels drawn too tight.
“I only know the clinical term,” Armand finally manages to admit.
Daniel’s finger slips inside him in one slick motion. It’s humiliating how Armand’s body doesn’t even resist it. Even the most dead, useless parts of him are desperate for sensation.
Or maybe just desperate for Daniel. Armand has the delirious thought that if this part of him has no purpose then Daniel could stay inside him forever, could live in his body and become part of him.
“You’re tight. Sometimes I wonder if that’s because you’re so clenched up all the time or if it’s just because you’re dead, and I’m the only person who uses this part of you,” Daniel says absently, like he’s saying these things to himself. As if Armand isn’t even in the room, he’s just a toy to be played with and not acknowledged. “I’d ask if you like having something in your hole but then the way you keep lifting your hips up like a slut answers that question for me, doesn’t it?”
“Daniel-“
The word comes out in a ragged rush of breath. Armand’s been called names before. Words meant to humiliate, to shame. But coming from Daniel it’s different. It sounds loving, like Daniel has stared down into his soul and seen him for the needy thing he is and adores him for it. Daniel, whose hand keeps stroking his lower back as his finger sinks in deeper, deeper. Armand feels the bumps of his knuckles, the stretch as his finger grows wider closer to his palm. And then it’s all the way in, rubbing at his insides while he struggles for air.
Daniel is always good at this. He’s always got this gentle way with his hands, a light touch that leaves Armand aching for more. Immortal flesh is sensitive- Armand has never told him that, he’s just picked it up on his own. And so he knows exactly how to rub teasing circles into his insides. How to drag his finger in and out so slow Armand thinks he’s about to sob with it. It’s only his index finger and that’s all it takes to have him come undone.
His finger presses all the way in, curls at just the right angle to make Armand make a choked off sound; something halfway between a moan and repeating Daniel’s name. Armand lifts his hips. Shameless, he spreads his thighs and arches his back in his silent demand for more.
“Hm? Is there something you need?” Daniel asks.
xoxo ♥
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“Not a happy story”?????????
I was already really worried the last time you said the last chapter was going to be so full of angst. Now I’m just really really worried at the possible sequel.
Forgot to say hi first lol. Hi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Though I suppose overall for me who is a “life sucks so much already I’m not reading angst in my spare time”, rreereading your story so many times has sort of trained(?) me for it, because I kind of know that sitting through the pain only gave me such sweet intimacy later.
Or maybe we just have different understanding of angst? Because for me once they have established the foundation of trust that “no matter what happens we are going to be here for each other, for the championships, the pregnancies, the parenting, the long-distance relationship and the so sweet life together” , then is just growing into themselves, growing up, and growing stronger. Not to mention even if said foundation was not acknowledged out loud (yet?) they are still actually actively trying to baby trap each other hahahaha.
So I was just sort of doing rereads and calmly waiting for the next chapters, now you say the sequel(if it happens) is going to be not happy?????? They have a baby! That’s grounds for a happy story(in fiction) right???? Right??
Haha in truth I’m just ready for anything you decide really.
Hopefully your projects are coming along better, I studied finance and maths which were in no way as stressful as architecture, and I still jumped between “if they want my (tuition) money they would let me graduate right?” “What was I thinking picking this subject my brain is not built for this” and “just let me die” most of the time. Of course you would pull through!!!!!!
Xxxxxxoooooooxxxxxxooooo
Hahha helloooo!! i love that my askbox is known to be a place to say hi now dkdfjdfkjdjk dear random person somewhere in the world we are at the same stoplight and i am waving at you from my car <3 This got super long so ill put a cut line
Hmm so I think maybe angst was the wrong word then! its not gonna be a happy story in the sense that the plot wont be 'max and charles live happily ever after with a baby', theres still going to be some shit going on. Ur 100% right that there's always sweetness scattered in within that, it's not just angst for the sake of angst, and they'll at least be able to outright support each other in the sequel without like jumping through hoops to quantify what they are to each other or whatever. So in that sense maybe what i mean is more that it won't be a fun fairytale epilogue kind of vibe, there will still be stuff they need to figure out?
also this is going to sound so pretentious im so sorry but the first two fics are heavily heavily written around the idea of gender. if you cut max and charles out of the entire rest of it it's just a story about two equals who love each other and are trying to find a common language to communicate that, but once you add in gender roles and expectations and judgement it all becomes this huge fucking mess even though the core of it is something so simple. the sequel is probably going to be kind of similar, but more along the lines of defining what a family is to them outside of their own expectations or trauma. so ya sorry to summarize theres room for intimacy and happiness and love and all that but there's also a heaviness if that makes sense. Kinda like what we have now
they also have just basic issues honestly. newborns cant really fly so max cant travel with charles for a lot of the beginning of the season. charles wants to be home as much as he can but he's kinda torn between his family and his job. they miss each other! the baby misses her mom!! kinda screws with everyones head a little, especially max who grew up without a mother! they try their best but its just hard sometimes my friend
and thank youuuuu honestly that's where i'm at with school rn!! we had 3 more hours of presentations yesterday (had to do the project over the weekend) and literally as soon as the last group was done we got assigned 3 versions of a 5 floor apartment building which we have to present tomorrow? this on top of the essay due today, the other one due thursday and the third one due next tuesday??? me and my friends just looked at each other in silence and apparently we were all fantasizing about dropping out djfkdfkjdfj they're trying to weed out our class rn though and im sorry but if admin want me gone theyre going to have to kill me
anyway thank you so much my dear!!! im sorry this is one big long ramble but hopefully it answered your questions!!
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Also, I’m not analysing today because I need to contain myself and start with chapter 20. So I’m literally just going to skim through chapter 21 again and point out some lines that made me do hand-flappy things. I was gonna put a spoiler warning, but my last ask has spoilers too, and by the time you answer these there will probably be a wall.
[“My brother didn’t want me walking back alone with the protests and shit going on, so he met up with me and we’re heading back now.”] listen I know we saw it in the snippet, but they are Brothers. Oh my god how DARE you put that in there and then follow it up with Tommy getting cursed. Bee, you are evil. (also, Wilbur instantly forget the entire brother’s comment in favour of self-loading, goddamnit.)
[Everyone here is going to put their hand on the statue. Whoever takes their hand off last will get all of their medical debt paid off by me!”] This was when I realised it was the mister Beast cameo. I did choke. It’s so funny. Of course that’s what he would do in this universe. (there’s so much subtle word-building in that one bit too. It says so much about the social and economical situation, especially it being medical bills.)
[Ignoring how violently his hands were shaking, he reached up to untie the blindfold.] and [Tommy was looking into his eyes.] Listen I know this is a very unfortunate sequence of events, but as I said, I have chosen denial and I will be staying in the first phase of grieving thankyouverymuch. Also, while I was reading I was going ‘hell yeah I was right’ and then ‘Fuck no, I was right.’
Also, Bee, your foreshadowing is absolutely amazing because once we know it’s very obvious that of course that’s what the vision was warning them for, but like Wilbur, we only get that confusion because it’s so vague. The pieces only kinda snapped into place with the context of how they ended up outside and the idea that Wilbur had no proper way to hide his blindfold so he would have to take it off (and I get immediately thrown off by the mask and jacket only to end up there anyway).
[“Ah shit, sorry about that, officers! The roads are a little wonky here compared to where I’m from!”] Glass Foolish, you have had like 2 lines, but I already love you. (also was he following them, I feel like he was following them, which good on him cuz he just saved their asses.)
Enjoy what is basically a delayed live reaction. (Enjoy the tears of your suffering readers) And enjoy the rest of your day too!
-🌲
spruceeeee <33
HAHA yeah sorry I had to throw the first brother moment in with this chapter for maximum pain. I think it really fit timing wise with the development of their relationship so it just worked out very well
YUPPP it was meant to be a worldbuilding moment bc I wanted that whole bit to feel very overwhelming jumping from the chase to the pythia hologram selling skin cream to a zon streamer exploiting financially burdened people, and then I was like "wait mr beast" so that's how he ended up there. it's both a funny cameo but also meant to flesh out how fucked up this world is
the fact that you were right about the theory you kept saying "I don't think this is right but-" is so funny to me
YEAHHH I had to phrase the vision in a very careful way so as not to reveal the full context of the scene but make it clear in retrospect that of course that's what's going on
ty spruce I hope you have a lovely day!
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Hello there :), you as prime minister would definitely be a cultural reset, a power move the world ain’t ready for!
I bet you’re more smooth than you give yourself credit for, see flirtatious eyes and pretending to fall, you ain’t fooling nobody haha. Also if midnight dances with a cute girl in the rain would feel like heaven, don’t get me started on snowball fighting with a cute girl during Christmas.
I deeply relate to you regarding hiding this part of ourselves, if I had to take a guess on why, I would say it’s a combo of protecting my vulnerable self and a society effect. Our everyday life connections usually feel superficial, it’s hard getting to really know somebody, we’re always running and busy with everything and nothing, don’t get me wrong we meet beautiful souls and great friends along the way, but really knowing these human beings takes a long time and I don’t know if we’re truly capable of letting go and let somebody know 100% of us, I hope we are.
I love your positivity and I couldn’t agree more, I think we need to be more kind to one another. Life is funny, life is weird, life is painful, life is beautiful and i also don’t know what life is haha. We really don’t know nothing about this world, I have no idea what we’re doing and what our purpose it’s supposed to be.
Omggg yesss pleaseee take me with you!!Lets runaway and write a bunch of books, we can write all genres, self help, crime, romance, thriller, poems, whatever! You really have no idea how these words warm my heart ahaha sometimes I think about it, like in another world I would be somewhere in the woods writing, in another I would have a coffee shop in a small town. What about you? What are you doing in another world?
Well, whatever place your words come from, I believe that are a lot of people out there that need to ear it, although some aren’t ready for it yet. The world is better place because you’re on it 💕
I also love staying in touch with nature, I love going for walks just to get fresh air, with music or no music it really depends on the mood, it’s lovely either way. I’m drinking my water haha thank you, hope you too. I didn’t see a lot of flowers today, but it was pouring raining and I decided to go for a run in the middle of it haha, it was quite the experience but it brought me peace and it reminded me of you.
I hope you get to eat some chocolate, because well it’s pretty self explanatory, chocolate’s amazing and I really hope you aren’t one of those sociopath people who hate it haha. Stay well :)
Hey anon 👋, hahaha yeeeeees 👏🙈
Ha ha whaaaat? O.o nooooo, Oh shit bloody nuts your on to my game 😅😂. Oh my gosh, yeeeessss. Snow ball fights.
I agree with you, people have been brought up differently and it’s so hard to break the cycle of the shit you’ve seen and been put through. It’s a challenge on its own. I think we hide things about ourselves as we feel ashamed. People either leave before you know them or just don’t want to get close so they don’t get hurt.
Yeah life is funny and weird as non of us actually asked to be here, if you ask me I think that’s hella rude. But seriously, life is just so fully of life, it’s filled with such amazing things. How things are growing so quickly and how far we have come. I believe we find our own purpose, our own happiness, our life is ours and nobody can take that away from us. It’s in our hands and we have to take control of it. We might get lost as things will get in the way but we can either destroy ourselves or make it the best life. Humans are masters of destroying their own minds and lives. We have to look a lot deeper than just see things that are there. Instead of seeing an object, look deeper into it. Without the rain and sun we wouldn’t have a rainbow, there is just so much more to life than just work and living. But life can be suffocating but it’s not life itself it’s the things around it that are causing you the suffocation and damaging you. We pick our destination so make it a fucking good one.
Right I’ll be waiting outside with my bicycle lol, I have a spare helmet ?? 🙈. Your world sounds hella fucking peaceful, it sounds so warm and made me feel like I’d be comfortable and at home. I hope you escape to your world when things get tough. My world?? My world is crazy ahaha. One version is, having a restaurant/spa/coffee place as I’d cook food for everyone and watching them eat my food as they smile into the bite they took. My place would be in some woods but on a high hill with a beautiful sparkly Diamond like waterfall. The best sunsets and sunrises as we are high up with the best view. Spa to help relax and the coffee show to see people come together, drink my hot drink as they sink into their chairs and holder the mug a littler tighter. Listening to their problems, gathering the darkness and letting it go as the sun goes down and the darkness burns in the sunlight. The most memorising, spectacular sky’s, the moon and stars. Filling my soul and making me feel light, as if I can fly with no worries. The smell of wood burning, the light restoring the light inside my soul. Taking peoples darkness and turning it into hope. A place where there are no judgments nor expectations. Filled with love and kindness.
That is so kind, you’re so freaking kind thank you for your words. You’re a positive human being and awesome no lie. I hope that light never dies inside of your soul and that it keeps burning 💕.
There won’t be much flowers as the leafs are falling. It’s still freaking amazing. Did you do well on your run? That’s so sweet 🙈. Did you feel the rain or just get wet? I’m glad the rain brought you peace, peace is good for the soul.
Chocolate is amazing, tastes hella good 😍. Who can hate chocolate??? I actually don’t eat chocolate because I can’t stop if I do. I have to have a mini fight with myself inside my mind tell me to stop 😅😂. I hope you’ve been well and that things have been good for you.
Also, if all you did was breath and do nothing, that’s enough and I’m proud of you. Sometimes getting through the day is an achievement within itself.
#positive anon is back#kind#chocolate loving anon#😉#ask me stuff#send anons#girl who loves girls#lesbian#advice blog#gwlg#gay blog#girlwholikesgirls#be positive
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My Chiron is in the 5th house which means people don’t like my art or my writing or singing or whatever but I don’t think we should do things for others approval , we should do what we love because we love it.
Because Chiron represents our original wound I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t make me shy or sad because I really wanna share enthusiasm with someone ya know. I think the energy of connection is really wild sometimes - you could really push a lot of boundaries and dare to try new things.
The problem with this placement is that when I look at this I get excited as fuck and think it’s really grimy and cool and represents an entire culture of graffiti writers who came and went with the layers of this wall. I snagged these broken pieces from the free wall by one of Edmonton’s largest encampments , a place many fear going but I’ve always found a sort of warrior like beauty in it. It’s a place where people survive and dream and for the most part that sums up my entire life. I’m a Saturn ruled girl which means my life has been a series of really hard lessons that I’ve had to power through and do the stupid work haha. I’ve come face to face with far scarier things in life than a bunch of tents in the hood. I go here often.
For others, they probably see this as trash that can be tossed in the bin. In fact, that’s happened to me.
I went on a date with a dude and took him to the graffiti wall because I’m unconventional I guess, lacking in the girly romance department though I have no shortage of softness and sweetness.
I brought medical gloves and collected some really cool pieces that lay amongst used needles and such- it was a real effort to collect it lol. Then I forgot the bag in the dudes car and he threw it out and told me to get off drugs.
He’s probably just mad I didn’t sleep with him lol. I hate that guy so much 🙄
Healing a wound isn’t something that happens over night , it’s a decision, a choice , to brave the pain and push through.
Chiron in Taurus in the 5th house takes on wounds around scarcity mindsets ( fear of poverty), poor body image, artistic talent which is never praised , encouraged or supported . It’s a fear of self expression, unsure of how to shine in the world, missing out on your childhood, low self confidence and low self esteem, a childhood spent dreaming of fun but not experiencing it, loneliness as a teenager,being denied attention your whole life and a real fear of expressing uniqueness because of previous rejections.
It can lead to an adult life where one overstimulates themselves - a lifestyle I’m trying to leave in the past.it can indicate that very painful things happened to you as a child and that you likely cannot conceive in adulthood.
It can indicate painful relationships, extreme heartache and wounding around intimacy and sex.
Many people will make you feel undesirable and rejected
It’s a wound that takes decades to try and soothe.
It can make the wounded child grow up to fear vulnerability, to fear losing control and having no sense of security in their lives.
They say the only way to work through this is to embrace creativity which is something I started doing when I went into psychosis over my suppressed trauma.
I can’t even begin to explain the ways I’ve grown since I made this commitment to myself.
I still battle with loneliness, with fear and with self doubt but these are not able to take me down anymore- they are fleeting.
I feel really blessed that for the most part I can finally just have a little fun and allow myself to take up space, make messes, get paint on everything and to secretly exist in my little world of art.
Tomorrow my art will be up in the gallery for anyone to see and it makes me feel icky but also really proud because these types of wounds aren’t easy to overcome.
Far from easy, but so worth it.
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I’m starting uni in just over 2 weeks too! How are you feeling about it? You probably get that question a lot, I know I do, I usually just say I’m excited but a bit nervous because explaining how I’m really feeling is too much haha. I’d love to hear how your really feeling about it though, I feel like it would be nice to hear someone else’s experience even if it’s just to remind anyone else going that we’re in the same boat :)
HELLO HI thank u for. talking to me, it's really nice to know i'm not alone out here on tumblr/the world :,) NOW get ready for an unnecessarily long + personal answer bc i love to talk 😀👍
ok so i'm in a bit of an interesting position because i took a gap year. sixth form burnt me out academically and emotionally so i knew i had to do something else for a bit to fall back in love with the idea of being student. AND I HAVE!! so like you, im immensely, immensely excited.
one advantage of doing this is that i got to watch my friends and how they got on in first year. i'm feeling quite confident because of how much i observed and learnt, how to avoid making mistakes/what mistakes i'm inevitably going to make. im quite lucky, im comforted by the fact that i already know a few people there bc i deferred, but im also able to make new friends. sorry, this answer is so niche and specific atm ANYWAYS I DIGRESS.
but like you, i'm so nervous. i cannot contain how genuinely terrified i am, the idea that MY WHOLE LIFE AS I KNOW IT is completely changing — im actually gonna shit myself. like this year i really got to a position where i really like myself, i feel on top of the world because i feel like i know myself and how my life looks like, WDYM THATS ALL GOING TO CHANGE. oh, the dread i feel when my parents with drive back home without me. i've really learnt to love so many things abt my pre-uni life as well, i wish i could set up myself up to not have my heart break, but that's inevitable and SCARY.
it's all so close as well, i think about what my life will look like in two/three weeks and i see nothing? in the least fatalistic way. it's both a comfort and a nightmare.
i'm moving from a small town to a big city (such a cliché), so of course i'm like. 🎶JUST A SMALL TOWN GIRLLL, LIVIN IN A LONELYY WORLDD🎶 excited, i feel like my life is expanding outward like a galaxy and that the next three years are a blank canvas for me to do whatever the fuck i want with, be whoever i want to be, study what i LOVE (english lit and film [ofc im doing film, reader in that fresher!ross oneshot is embarrassingly based off me]), take every opportunity that's available to me, do things i otherwise would never be able to do in this town. im so excited to meet new people and to talk (u can tell i like to talk 💀), it's just really nice to know i'm on the border of some of the best memories/most formative years of my life.
but im also grieving this idea of growing up. it will surely pain me to move all my stuff from my childhood bedroom to a new place, to not have my parents' cooking everyday, to come back an adult and be regarded to as an adult. ITS A REAL MIXED BAG. i dunno if any of this helps, im shitting it but i am so so so excited.
last thing i will say that might help anyone reading is that, hey, im a delusional girlie, i started a fanfic account of gods sake, so i tend to fantasise and fictionalise my life, have expectations on what my life or what this milestone should look like. eg. in uni i will find the love of my life and we will be together forever (exaggerated example but an example nonetheless) — im saying this more for me but the answer is to let go of expectations. operate on no plan. organise your academic life sure, but personal life wise, BE FREE! take every situation as it comes and don't give yourself a headache thinking too far ahead. from what i've heard and read, thats a big thing people in their twenties have to deal with, with some people having children, getting married, whilst others are job searching, still in school etc. ive only just turned 19 so that's far away from me atm, but it's just a good thing to remember that everyone's life is different, paced differently, and there's no fix structure anyone needs to follow.
that's about it, let me know your thoughts :,) sorry this was so long 💀 but thank you for asking that because i enjoyed answering 🫶🫶🫶 please know that you are not alone, if u need a friend during uni, theres a you-sized hole in my messages/asks inbox thats all for you.
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ADULTING-101 PHASE
Heeee yoooooooooooow it’s been so fucking long since I’ve updated this shitty life of mine. HAHA
anyway, before anything I would like to congratulate meself for completing my fucking years of studying… 22 years of going to school studying somewhat lessons that can be mostly integrated by the real world. BACHELOR OF SCIENCE IN COMPUTER ENGINEERNG but not licensed because why should I get it in the first place? HAHAHA I FUCKING SURVIVE THAT BLOODY FUCKING THESIS WE’VE HAD shout-out to THE BOYS (LUIS, RAINE, JEANRIE and JERICHO) arigthank you sa sakits ulo jk! Waiting nalang for longest graduation rite that I will be waiting. Because of that I explore the real world and find a fucking freaking job HAHAHAH
I’ve looked and seek multiple jobs opportunities I’ve applied as if there’s no tomorrow because why not? HAHAH, it took may 1-2 months before someone send me a job offer.
Like it’s not their lose whether they reject me or not? But for some reason I’ve been tested technical interviews/exam and even communication exam. And I’ve been offered a job of being a Service Desk Agent bisag dili jod ko comfortable sa pakig-storyag clients especially in full English. But what do you expect from the great JAESON of the ALAGBAY? Don’t ever underestimate my capability bitches! HAHAH FYI, this is my fucking first job of my life and despite its obstacles that I will be facing knowing that’ll be challenging I’m up for it. Because again why not? If it’s easy then it’ll be boring right??? REMEMBER? THESIS? HAHAHA FUCK CODING BUT STILL I LEARN A LOT FROM IT AND HOPEFULLY IT’LL BE MORE HELPFUL TO MY PATH ON PROFESSIONAL CAREER DEVELOPMENT! SHIT ENGLISH WITH CAPSLOCK ANG BUANG HAHAHAHA
If you’re looking for any reason, why did I search for a job after my last semester of my life ends. It’s because I wanna treat my family a plane ticket as well as dinner or any eating shit that will be facing on my upcoming graduation rites. Isn’t it a win-win situation? While I’m developing my communication skill and career path at the same time, I’ve been pain for 22,000 pesos w/ benefits.
What else? Girlfriend? I still don’t have one even another female friend is no luck. My batchmates at DXC are experienced individuals even right now I feel like I’m the youngest of them all knowing that we have SHS graduate. Right now, I’m just focusing on the opportunity to have money to be rich or travel on different destinations whatever the destined location I’ll be assigned with. I fucking wrote SR. CLOUD ENGINEER on my GOAL earlier, it’s not like I’ve been listening to my brother on who or what to take but I’m still not really sure after 5 years what is my professional career will be is? However, there’s a little part of me that is interested on what CLOUD INFRASTRUCTURE is. Like it’s an IT job that you barely face against computer programming. It will or may change for the upcoming years but nevertheless at-least I currently have a target goal.
For my upcoming journey road to adulting because right now I’m in charge on whatever I’m gonna do, I may or desperately need a driver’s license especially on motorcycle so that whenever I’m on Camotes I can freely do whatever I do riding a fucking motorcycle. Solo camping at Santiago or even at TULANG DIOT. What else? Maybe driver’s license on a car? Maybe I can borrow Manoy’s car HAHAHAH and and and also a fucking passport! ROAT TO THE INTERNATIONAL if this career will make me become a successful individual. Lastly, achieving my childhood dream level 1000 or 2000 battle pass <3. AND FOR THIS LONG-TERM GOAL BUILD A FUCKING MUSCLE or at-least have a healthy and fit body!
FOR NOW, THIS WILL BE THE UPDATE BECAUSE I’M TOO TIRED TO EXPRESS THINGS LATELY. BECOME A MAN AND STOP THINKING NEGATIVE THINGS JAESON! SAYONARA FOR NOW IF THINGS MIGHT BE IN TROUBLESOME SITUATION I MIGHT UPDATE or IF I’M GONNA HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!
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