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saistappen · 15 hours

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Paddock guests | MV1

In which you and your class visited Max at the track in Zandvoort.

warning : This is the second part of 'special guest' and you don't have to read the first part first, but it might make it easier for you because of the connections in this part. You can also find 'special guest' on my profile :)

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ALL EYES are on you and your class as you enter the paddock in a row of ducks.

Until now, it has never happened that countless six-year-olds in Red Bull merchandise and paddock passes around their necks have entered the paddock together with their teacher.

But that changes today. Having plucked up the courage a few days ago to save Max's number and thank the Dutchman for a great day in the lion class, you didn't expect the three-time world champion to invite the whole class into the paddock as a thank you.

"It's important that we all stay together. As you can see, the paddock is quite large and spacious, so we all have to stay very close together to get to the Red Bull Garage, okay? ", you look at your pupils one by one with a smile.

You can clearly see the beaming faces of your protégés and the anticipation of the day ahead.

Today is Friday, so there won't be too much happening at the track this weekend, so this is the perfect day for Max to show the six-year-olds where he works.

In a video message sent directly to the Lion class, he thanked them for the great day at school and invited all the students to his garage to take a look behind the scenes.

You're also looking forward to seeing everything up close, so you can hardly wait to walk over to Red Bull and marvel at everything up close.

"Then let's get going," you indicate to your charges with a smile.

As it is impossible to keep an eye on all the children alone in this spacious paddock, you are accompanied by a nice Red Bull employee who introduced himself as Mason a few minutes ago.

You're grateful to Mason not only for helping you keep the kids together, but also for guiding you through the paddock and getting you to your destination.

Because if you're honest, you wouldn't find this way on your own. The paddock already looks pretty big and expansive from the TV, but in real life it looks twice as big, so if you didn't have a clue, you'd be one hundred per cent lost.

Mason starts to run off in front, while the rows of two that the children have formed follow the Red Bull employee and you bring up the rear so as not to lose any children in the hustle and bustle.

Every now and then, a few employees or even drivers cross your path, who give you a big smile and greet and wave to your protégés in a friendly manner.

It doesn't take long before Mason comes to a halt in front of the Red Bull Hospitality and all the children gather in a semi-circle around Mason.

"We've reached our first destination. This is the Red Bull Hospitality. This is where we stay from time to time when Formula 1 is on a break..." While Mason begins to explain a little to the children, you start to take a few photos with your mobile phone to capture today's event not only for you, but also for the children.

"Max has another appointment, so it will be a while before he can show you all round. But I see you've all got rucksacks with you, which must contain your breakfast, right? " the Red Bull employee adds as you walk up the small ramp to the hospitality centre and shortly afterwards the sliding doors open to reveal a large room with countless tables and chairs.

A loud chorus of 'yes' answers Mason, who indicates to the children that they should find a place to have a snack to tide them over while Max has something to do.

You smile gratefully at Mason when the dark-haired man presses a coffee into your hand a few seconds later.

"The little ones are really adorable, " Mason enthuses as he sits down at a table opposite you.

Your students are sitting around you, talking excitedly and eating their breakfast.

" Yes, isn't it? " you smile and wrap your hands around the cup before taking a sip of the hot liquid. " It's really great of Max to make this possible for you. "

"Max is a really warm person, " Mason smiles and shortly afterwards starts to engage you in conversation, which you're really grateful for.

Because it's not just your class that's pretty excited and nervous about what's going to happen in the next few lessons. You are also really nervous and excited, but you try your best not to let it show.

—

"I hope the garage has room for you all," Mason turns to you and your class with a grin as he continues walking backwards.

You all sat in the hospitality centre for about an hour, where you ate breakfast in the back and then the children were allowed to ask Mason a few questions about the team and his duties.

Mason is part of the mechanic crew who look after the car before and after the sessions.

The children have listened attentively to his stories during the last lesson.

But now, the closer you get to the actual destination, you clearly realise how excited your charges actually are.

A smile plays around your lips as Mason starts to walk down the dark blue corridor towards the garage and begins to tell the children that Max and Sergio Perez always walk along this path to get to their cars.

A few seconds later, you finally reached your actual destination. The garage.

The six-year-olds fill the garage with amazement as they see the two blue cars for the first time.

A broad grin appears on your lips as you realise where you actually are. So far you've only ever seen this view from the sofa on your television and now you're actually standing here.

Apart from a few mechanics who have gathered at the front wing and seem to be making a few preparations, the garage is empty.

"As you can see, Max's car is on the left and Checo's car is on the right. Can anyone tell me what makes the two cars different? " Mason looks round with a smile, from which countless index fingers shoot up.

" Max' is faster! " Milan shouts formally after Mason takes his turn. Loud children's laughter from the class fills the garage.

"Milan..." you almost admonish the blond-haired man. Not because it's true, but because it makes you a little uncomfortable that Milan is more or less rubbing salt in the wound, because everyone knows that things aren't going as well for 'Checo' as they are for Max at the moment.

The Red Bull employee begins to scratch the back of his neck in embarrassment and seems to be struggling with the words. However, he can't seem to think of a suitable answer, so he looks relieved when Max suddenly appears.

The children happily start shouting the Dutchman's name, who gives each child a high five and then gives you a friendly smile, which you return.

" I'm glad you all came! " Max begins as he stands in front of the children and Mason disappears from the centre of attention and goes back to work. "As you probably already know, you're now in the place where I spend a lot of time. How about we take a closer look at my car? "

With a wave of his hand, Max gestures for everyone to come a little closer so that he can show the children his car in more detail and answer a few questions.

Excited, everyone moves a little closer to the car.

"Make sure you don't get too close to the car, will you? You remember what I told you this morning, don't you? " you ask the group.

"Don't touch other people's things!" your class shouts back in chorus, causing a proud smile to spread across your lips and Max looks over at you.

His lips form a wordless 'thank you' before he crouches down to be a little more at eye level with the children and shortly afterwards he begins to explain everything about the car and answer questions.

—

" Thank you very much for your efforts, " you thank Max as the Dutchman comes over to you.

A few minutes ago, you stood a little apart in the box so that you weren't in the way but also didn't lose sight of your class.

"Always a pleasure," Max smiles as he leans against the wall next to you and you look over at your class and Checo.

During Max's detailed explanations of his car, Checo joins in later and now the Mexican takes over to explain the steering wheel to the children in detail.

Sergio sits on a folding chair with the steering wheel in his hand, while the class sits in a semicircle around him on the floor and listens attentively to his words.

" It's really not a matter of course that you invited us all here. That really wouldn't have been necessary," you begin. You are really grateful for what Max does for you and especially for your class.

"It's nice to see the little lions again. And so I also have a reason to see your great teacher again. " Max winks slightly at you, causing the warmth to start shooting up your cheek.

Embarrassed, you brush a strand of hair out of your face and then slowly raise your eyes to look at the Dutchman.

Max's blue eyes are fixed on your face as his lips curve into a smile.

" I mean that seriously, " he adds.

" U-uh... thank you?" you stammer, almost caught off guard. Max's words were so surprising that you didn't even come close to having a perfect answer.

But that 'Uhm, thank you' didn't even make it any better in your mind.

The Dutchman, however, seemed to take this quite calmly, as a grin appeared on his lips.

"I didn't think I would succeed in making you so embarrassed. " Max takes a step closer to you so that you can clearly smell his aftershave.

Without meaning to, warmth begins to gather in your body, causing a warm feeling to spread through your whole body.

"But you succeeded. " Your voice almost sounds like a whisper, so you're not sure whether Max has understood your words at all, as children's laughter can be heard in the background.

" Max! Come here, you have to take over again," Checo calls out just as the Dutchman opens his mouth and starts talking.

"We'll talk later, " Max says in your direction, before he runs over to Checo and, together with Checo, begins to explain the racing gear to the children and, shortly afterwards, one or two of the children put on Max's and Checo's helmets.

And while Max sinks back into his element and makes sure that the children have an unforgettable day, your thoughts are permanently with Max and his words, which you won't be able to get out of your head any time soon.

—

Countless new impressions and information and a completed first free practice session, which you and your class followed live, the day of your visit to the paddock at Zandvoort slowly comes to an end.

A satisfied but also exhausted smile is on your lips as you watch Max hug each child goodbye and have a few kind words for each of them.

You’ve been impressed all day today by how well the Dutchman has dealt with the children and how much time he has really taken for each of them, even though he has a tight schedule and is certainly quite exhausted.

It's sweet to see how some children wrap their arms tightly around the Dutchman and don't want to let him go.

Even for these children, he takes extra time to talk to them quietly and whisper a few words that you don't understand.

And then the Dutchman is suddenly standing in front of you, while all the children are already waiting with Mason at the exit of the paddock.

"Thanks again, Max. Not just for today but also for the visit to the class. That really meant a lot to us, especially the children," you thank the Dutchman again.

"I was happy to do that," he replies with a smile and pulls you into his strong arms to say goodbye, which takes you rather by surprise.

It takes you a few seconds to break out of your little stupor and carefully wrap your arms around his middle.

"I hope we meet again. You've got my number," he whispers in your ear as he hugs you a little closer.

"We will," you assure him.

A tingling sensation begins to awaken in your body and your whole body is slightly electrified.

But before you can really savour the feeling, the Dutchman has already pulled out of the embrace.

"Then I hope you won't say no to that. "

Confused, you look at Max, who pulls something out of the back pocket of his trousers and shortly afterwards presses another Paddock Pass into your hand.

You frown in confusion. The Paddock Pass in Max's hand looks exactly like the one you already have around your neck. What is he trying to say?

Max must clearly see your confusion, because the Dutchman begins to grin slightly before he starts to speak.

" I'd like to see you in the paddock for the next two days so that we can spend some more time together. But only if you want to, of course. "

He starts to scratch the back of his neck nervously while he waits for your answer.

" I'd love to! " you say quickly as you take off your paddock pass and hang it around your neck.

And if someone had told you back then that it was the beginning of a relationship, you certainly wouldn't have believed a word they said.

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula one imagine #red bull racing

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starsofang · 1 day

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Change of Heart

hitman!simon x f!reader / part 6

previous part

tw: gore, violence, blood, ghost makes a return ooo, please be warned! <3

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

Simon had never felt such a boiling rage to the point his blood was bubbling, ready to explode out of his body and paint the walls of your apartment a crimson red that would stain the chipped-away white with messy splatters. It simmered hotly beneath his scarred skin, sifting through his veins like wildfire and egging him into dangerous territory.

He was no saint. He killed people for a living. He took the money of pathetic, lowly people who had the coldness in their heart to request his favor in killing somebody they didn’t like. Lawyers, CEOs, big name people who ate with the silver spoon embedded in their teeth and tainted their smiles with a greedy unnerve.

So no, Simon was no saint.

But he’d certainly ruin any chances of redemption when he got his hands on the coward who’d brought you harm.

Simon didn’t need payment to seek him out. He didn’t need a stack of cash waved in his face, or a bank transfer notified on his phone.

All he needed was to see the pretty girl in tears and blood, lying broken on the floor like a toy, used and tossed aside – worthless, undeserving. His pretty girl.

You were enough to tear down the concrete walls he’d encased around himself, built with his own bare hands. You were enough to wake the flame in his soul, to remind him just what he was capable of.

Simon was tired of killing those who did nothing to him. Sure, many deserved it, but they hadn’t done anything to him. He was a mediator. A spectator. He was a part of a story as a side character, only rising from the shadows to cut that story short and end it with bloodshed and a transaction. Their pages were quipped, torn from the spine of the book with no prospect of a completed ending.

Now, the plotline had changed.

He had the upper hand in this story. He was able to rewrite it without the complications of another’s orders. And he’d be damned if he didn’t tear the man who hurt you right out of the pages.

Simon didn’t want to leave you. He knew how disoriented you were from the fists that had put you through torment – torment he wasn’t there to protect you from. You were dazed and lost, hanging on by the thin of a wire that Simon was the one desperately clinging to.

When he had patched you up and put you to bed, he waited until you succumbed to the exhaustion and fell asleep for him to strike.

He was a man on a mission. A dog off its leash. His nose flared from under his mask as if he was a damn K-9 tracking down his suspect.

He searched through the entirety of your apartment, tearing it to bits in order to find a hint, a clue. All he needed was one quick search of your phone through your blocked numbers to find what he needed.

There was no contact name. No indication of who this man could be.

But a phone number was enough, and when he texted it to Gaz with the demand of finding it out for him, it wouldn’t be long until your ex-boyfriend would be another name on a crumbling gravestone.

Gaz was quick to find him the information. No questions asked, and that’s why Simon loved working with him. He minded his own, and trusted him to complete a job alone. He was good at tracking information for Simon, good at all that he did, and he was sure as hell good at picking up on the signs that Simon was involved in something, or someone that made him bend the fabrics of reality for them.

The name left a bitter taste in Simon’s mouth.

Phillip Graves. American. Bastard with a sharp tongue and a cockiness that’ll get him killed.

Ghost could make that happen.

The man walking down the streets, prowling with a threatening cloud of smoke around him wasn’t Simon.

Simon was the one who tucked you into bed, who wiped off every dot of blood that tainted your pretty skin. He was the one who watched over you in the corners of the night, making sure you got home safe, making sure you were keeping up your end of the deal.

He was the one who you baked pastries for, and didn’t have the heart to tell you he didn’t have a sweet tooth. He stuffed his mouth full of every single crumb despite the fact, just to see you smile.

He was the one who thought you were beautiful at first glance, and didn’t have the capacity to take your money and rid the world of a human being carved like a piece of art in a mausoleum. He was selfish, and he wanted you.

The man in the reflection of every store window as he strode by was Simon no more. Simon was gone, tucked away in the back corner and replaced by the brute of a man he’d been before you.

You were Simon’s religion, his reason for salvation. He’d bow at every altar, pray to every God with his blood stained hands clasped in a plea, just to worship you – but Ghost wasn’t a religious man, and he garnered no peace from anyone. Not even you.

Simon was the one who would protect you. Ghost was the one who would kill for you.

All Ghost had on the screen of his phone besides a name, was an address. It was a temporary one, judging from how recent your ex had moved into it, and the thought of it caused his teeth to grit in annoyance.

The fucker was staying close to you, with intentions so sick it could only make Ghost’s fire burn into grueling embers. He was stalking you, tracking you down, plotting.

Ghost knew exactly what he needed to do to ensure your safety. He made a promise to you, a promise that he hadn’t vocalized but rather slipped in when he made that deal with you. It was written in small lettering, so small so you’d gloss over it and he’d be able to hide away the watchful eye he had on you.

Finding Graves’ apartment was an easy feat. He nearly laughed at how effortless it was to stalk his way up to the apartment building that was somehow even more rundown than yours. But it made sense – Graves wasn’t planning on staying for long, and he was going to flee after latching his grimy hands on you once and for all. He didn’t need a fancy apartment to stalk his claim.

On normal jobs, Ghost was discreet. He’d figure out an alternative for breaking into one’s apartment or home, one that required no curious eyes or witnesses to see. He was quiet, like a shadow moving across the walls in dark anticipation.

This time around, he found himself stomping right up the musty stairwell, boots clattering along every step that creaked beneath his weight. He was an incoming storm the way he clouded over the hallway with impending doom, rain clouds hovering over him with lightning prepared to strike at any given moment.

He didn’t knock. He didn’t wait or stall.

He kicked at the door with the heavy soles on his feet, wallowing in every crack and snap the door made under its sudden force. It withered, flying off of the hinges and slamming up against the wall as it smacked open.

The apartment was a shithole. Messy, cluttered, and uninhabited. Dust collected on every surface, furniture bare from every room, and all that was used was an old mattress with blankets to keep Graves warm from the chill of every night.

Graves stood in the aging kitchen, cooking up something that made Ghost’s nose flare. The bastard didn’t deserve to have an appetite after what he had done to you. He didn’t deserve to use his tongue, didn’t deserve to keep his teeth.

Stood like a deer in headlights, Graves quickly regained his composure, sneering at him with a mock threat made Ghost snort.

“What the fuck?” Graves shouted in a fit of anger, stumbling in the kitchen as he caught himself from the sudden surprise. His narrowed eyes stared Ghost down, taking in every inch of him.

A looming mass with a skull painted mask with eyes that could kill. Graves would be a dead heap on the floor if that was so.

“You,” Ghost spat. He walked slow and dangerous, darkened glare focused on Graves without a single intent of leaving. It was cold, piercing, full of millions of daggers that he wished could mutilate Graves in front of him. “You should’ve gotten a more secure place.”

“The fuck are you talking about? Who are you?”

Graves was tougher than he thought, Ghost had to give him that. He didn’t cower in fear, nor did he try to run like most people did. Ghost was a force to be reckoned with, and looking at him was like looking the Devil himself in the eye.

Ghost continued stalking towards, like a predator to prey, every step calculated. His boots were like hell’s bells ringing as they hefted with every step, stomping clouds of musty dust around his ankles. It was enough to have Graves leaning back, the action so small Ghost would’ve missed it if not for his keen eye and trained skill.

“You touched her,” he stated. His tone was so calm it caused unease to smother the room, suffocating the two of them in a thick cloud. “You hurt her.”

It took a second for Graves to understand, and when he did, he scowled, perfectly aligned teeth just begging to be knocked in. “You’re Simon.”

“Ghost,” he was quick to correct. “Not Simon to you.”

Graves laughed mockingly, the sound more like a scoff as it escaped his thin lips. “Oh, right. She calls you Simon. Little whore, that one is.

Ghost stopped when he was in front of Graves. He peered down at him with a thirst for blood glimmering in his eyes, locked in on Graves’ own and burning the retinas with the flames that danced around his pupils.

“You hurt her,” Ghost repeated. “I don’t like men who hurt women. Don’t like men like you.”

Graves’ expression soured and he stared up at Ghost with a mix of confusion and offense. He was trying to read Ghost from under the mask, see what was burning in those embers of his, but he only saw rage. A calm, brewing rage that held no remorse and no sympathy for a man like Graves.

“I’m going to rip the flesh off your fucking bones and pluck every single one of those teeth out with my bare hands,” Ghost threatened, and it was only then that Graves showed a single sign of fear. His lips twitched, hands flinching at his sides as if debating on whether or not he could throw a punch at Ghost and scurry his sorry ass away.

Back to his town, far away from this shitty apartment, and far away from you.

He didn’t know Ghost never left a job unfinished. Not until he was left a bloodied, gory mess on the floor of his kitchen, face unrecognizable, tiles stained with the red he had colored your own bathroom the night before when he laid his hands on you like the weak link he was. Graves’ eyes were glossed over, lifeless, staring blankly into the pit of Ghost’s as he took each and every brutal impalement from the kitchen knife Ghost had snatched from the counter.

Ghost didn’t falter, nor did he stop until the fire in him slowed to a stop, leaving behind nothing but ash and debris. He stared down at the man who had hurt you, watched the way his blood seeped into the grout of the tiles like a sponge absorbing water.

It was a picture Ghost never wanted you to see. A side he never wanted you to take a glimpse of in fear of you running.

Ghost wasn’t religious. He didn’t worship you like Simon did. Wouldn’t get on his knees for you and beg for forgiveness for his sins.

Ghost was hungry. Starved. He’d shed the whole town’s blood for you. He’d bury every fucking soul six feet deep if it meant none of them would have a chance to hurt you.

When you woke up from the deep slumber you found yourself in, everything ached. Your body was crying for help as it twisted and stiffened when you sat up in bed.

The apartment was quiet. Cold. Simon was nowhere to be found, nor did he leave you a note when you got up to look for it. The kitchen was void of his presence, void of the banter you two had shared just nights ago when you baked for him and he sat with an admiring gaze.

Last night began to resurface, and your mind flashed you the ghostly images of Graves’ face as he stood over you, lips pulled into a menacing sneer, bitter laughter leaving his lips as he kicked and slashed every part of your body. He didn’t leave a single bit unscathed from the torment, and you felt the weight of it with the way your skin hissed when it tugged or how your nose gasped for air beneath the swelling and ache.

Bile filled your lungs as you replayed the painful memory and recalled every hit and strike he laid upon you. Recalled Simon not answering the phone, not showing up until the damage was done.

Your legs moved before your mind did, and they took you back to that very bathroom where you were nearly left for dead. The contents in your stomach were minimal, and when you emptied them out into the toilet, you were left dry heaving and begging for air. Pangs of grueling pain fluttered in your stomach, and the butterflies that once flew freely had turned into overbearing moths that were desperate to get out.

You didn’t know tears began to flow down your cheeks until they caused your open cuts and wounds to sting. They cascaded in waterfalls, bathing you in a cold, sticky sheen of despair.

Your mind was angry at Simon, but your heart longed for him. The loneliness of the bathroom as the tiles dug into your bruised knees was just an aching emphasis that he wasn’t there to fill that void, to help pick you back up like he’d been doing ever since the two of you met.

Anger you could get over. The hurt of knowing he didn’t answer your call, you could get over.

But the yearning in your heart was something that no amount of anguish could get rid of, for it filled you up like an overflowing glass, pouring and pouring over the rim until you couldn’t take it.

So you waited. And waited. You laid curled up in the same bathroom he found you in the night before, all the way up until he showed – because even if it was late, it was always.

Simon was a mucked up mess when he came ducking into your apartment the same way he left. His hands, covered in dried, cracking red, and his shoulders pulled taut with unfurling tension were the first thing you saw when he entered. His eyes had immediately searched for you, and just like before, willed himself to you like a moth to a flame when he saw you in the bathroom once again.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted softly. His voice sent warmth through your bloodstream, lighting you up from the inside and out. “What’re you doin’ in here?”

Simon crouched to your level, lifting a hand to grace it across your features before it froze up and dropped away when the sight of red reminded him of the sins etched into his skin. The sins performed by Ghost, with Simon seeking redemption.

“You weren’t here when I woke up,” you sniffled, a pathetic sound leaving your mouth, almost like a hiccup. It shattered Simon’s heart and buried a knife through the arteries.

“M’sorry sweetheart. M’here now, I promise. I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he promised, and blood be damned, he wanted to touch you, to reach out to you and cradle him in his loving light.

So he did.

You didn’t flinch away when he shoved aside his worries and placed calloused hands on each side of your face. You stilled, melting into him like a child would its mother, sinking yourself into the tranquil solace of his touch. It chased your demons away, filling you with angelic purpose.

When you allowed yourself the brief slice of heaven in the form of a man, you worried your gaze on the blood that soaked from his hands and up his tattooed arms, lacing him with a layer of damnation. Your eyes trailed up, slow and unsteady, before reaching his eyes, which were softened and filled with apologies.

“What did you do, Simon?” you asked in a whisper, and for the first time, he flinched as if you burned him.

“I took care of it,” he assured. “I handled it.”

The it being him. The him being Graves.

Simon didn’t go into the details, but he didn’t have to. Given his track record and the reason as to why the two of you met in the first place, you could assume the worst – but really, it was far from it. It was a taste of freedom.

You would no longer have to walk on eggshells, or peek around every corner. You wouldn’t have to remain bound to shackles that were never meant to be chained to you in the first place.

Simon freed you from the demon you were indebted to, and he did so without a single ounce of hesitation or regret. He’d do it all over again if it meant releasing you from hell and showing you a glimpse of heaven. He broke the contract you signed when vulnerable, and freed you from a lifetime of purgatory.

“Why did you do that?” you asked, and he smiled under his mask. You could see the faint imprint of his lips curling up on the edges, and the crows feet that wrinkled the corners of his eyes.

“Nobody hurts my pretty girl. They’ll be sorry if they do.”

My pretty girl. His pretty girl. It was a claim, one that didn’t feel like a trap that will lure you in and sink its teeth into you, but it was also a declaration of his devotion for you. It posed the option to back out, leaving you no longer bound like you were with Graves. A choice.

Your hand moved on its own accord, and it sauntered its way up Simon’s arm. Fingertips brushed along coated and marred skin, until they rested on the bottom of his mask. You heard him inhale a sharp breath, but made no move to stop you, so you continued.

Grasping on the hem of the mask that laid upon his throat, you lightly tugged it up, and up, until blond hair fell in short tufts along his forehead. The mask fell to the floor of the bathroom where you both resided, but that wasn’t what you focused on, no.

You were seeing his face for the first time, all of it. Not just his mouth where he’d nurse a cigarette, or would stuff your crummy pastries. You saw every blemish, every scar, every bit of stubble that poked from his skin. His cheekbones, high on his face, and his eyebrows, thick and unkempt yet soft and lax without a hint of daunt or upset.

The fingers that had taken off his mask with such care slowly traced along his features, grazing the plush of his lips, to the prickle along his jaw that scratched your fingertips in a way that had you smiling.

Simon was unsure why you smiled, but he offered a pleased one back, his shoulders releasing the tension that had stiffened them before.

“You’re pretty, Simon,” you complimented, and your eyes watched his lips as they parted into a laugh. Teeth, aligned and pretty, making him light up the entire room in a luminescent glow.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Thought you were the pretty girl, sweetheart.”

Your smile grew, nearly cracking the cuts littering the skin of your lips.

“Your pretty girl,” you reminded, and he gazed at you in a mix of adoration and amusement.

“My pretty girl,” he repeated.

The way he said it, so sweet and treacly, caused your mind to fuzz over with unrelenting homeliness. This was what it felt like to be loved, to be cherished, to be at home.

“Can you say it again?”

Simon beamed. “My pretty girl.”

You sucked in a breath. “Again.”

He leaned closer, his own fingers cradling the plains of your bruised face and layering the black and blue with tender touches and glimpses of a world where your skin would never feel the tortures of pain again, but rather longing and care.

“My pretty girl,” he repeated one more time, and by the last syllable, his breath was fanning across your face, warming you and nuzzling you with unfathomable fondness. “I really want to kiss you. You know that?”

Your eyes fluttered as you stared at him, feeling those moths transform back into butterflies from the simple weight of his words, swarming you with a never ending fervent.

“Would you do it if I said yes?” you managed to murmur through your newfound shyness.

“I’d be an idiot to ever deny you, sweetheart,” he muttered sweetly, and with no more words needing to be said, he pressed his chapped lips to yours, taking you with such gentle care it left you dizzy.

Home was where Simon went, and to Simon, he’d go with you to the ends of the Earth if it meant you’d follow him.

With close to three days left of your deal, he had high hopes you'd pull through.

posting this and running away (also thank u to my bbg abby for the BAR of a line about you being simons religion I LOVE U)

#cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw3 #ghost cod #cod mwii #cod x reader #cod fanfic #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #hitman au #lets fucking GOOOO

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fuck-customers · 3 days

Note

Jeez a lot of customers need to have lessons in general manners. Adults. Not children. These offenses are repeatedly made by grown adults who are old enough to be my parents, generally 40+.

▪︎If you need to speak to an employee, but that employee is currently on the store phone, unless it is a life-threatening emergency, WAIT for that employee to finish the phone call. I can't tell you how many times I've been on the phone with a customer and an in-store customer thinks whatever they want is more important and starts talking to me while I'm on the phone. I simply ignore them. Be rude, I'll be rude back idgaf.

▪︎If you need to ask an employee something, greet them first so the employee knows that you're talking to them and aren't just on the phone or something. And don't yell your question from across the room. Simply say "excuse me" or "Hi, could you help me please?" Or something similar and when you do that....

▪︎Be polite. Say please and thank you and phrase your requests in the form of a question rather than a demand. Basic kindergarten manners here.

▪︎If you want something from an employee, such as an extra bag or a gift card that the employee may have to retrieve for you, communicate that you want the bag/card/etc. Don't just stand and stare at them. Employees cannot read your mind and are contractually obligated to help you, but will not be able to do so if you don't communicate your needs.

▪︎Keep your opinions about an employee's (and honestly every stranger's) physical appearance to yourself? I shouldn't even have to say this wtf. If you don't like the way someone has dyed their hair or if they have acne or bad makeup, shut the fuck up about it.

▪︎Do not stand in the middle of the aisle and block the entire aisle for customers and employees both, especially not the main aisle. And if you space out and accidentally block the aisle and someone says "excuse me" to try to get past, LISTEN and MOVE.

•If you change your mind on an item in your cart and you don't remember or don't feel like putting it back where it goes, give it to the cashier to put in go-backs. Don't shove it on some random shelf.

•If you knock something over and break or spill it, notify an employee so they can clean it up so no one gets hurt. Retail chains generally don't have "you break it, you buy it" rules.

▪︎The vast majority of employees actually have extremely little control over the store. Problems with inventory, online orders, return policies, etc are not caused by anyone you will ever see working on the sales floor of a retail store. These problems are caused by outside forces, such as corporate or third-party delivery services. Ask an employee for the number of corporate to give your complaint to them if you absolutely must voice your complaints.

▪︎If you ask one employee a question and you receive an answer you don't like, suck it up and move on. Asking a different employee will not get you a different answer, it will just piss the employees off and now you're DEFINITELY not getting whatever it was you wanted.

▪︎Stay the fuck out of employees only areas? Shouldn't have to say this one.

▪︎If you arrive at a store before it opens, stay in your car and wait until the doors are opened. Or go somewhere else until opening time. And do NOT try to force open the doors yourself.

▪︎If you're in a store and it is near closing time, most stores make warning announcements 20-30 minutes before closing time. Listen and follow those announcements. The only reason you should be in a store after closing is if you got in line before closing time and you need to wait for the people in front of you to be rung up.

▪︎Do not go to a store 20 minutes before they close or less.

Posted by admin Rodney

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et6rnalsun · 8 hours

Text

LET ‘EM KNOW, chris sturn

𝜗𝜚 pairing: chris sturn x fem! reader

warnings: 18+ smut, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up) literally js sex, chris being rough as always, slightly toxic! reader & toxic! chris

posted this cuz i needed to post something so here u go sum freaky smut. there’s a small time skip directly to the sex, hope it’s clear

your relationship with chris was complicated — and it couldn't even be called that.

something unfinished, that neither of you wanted to end. something that you had to let go but were too attached and dependent to the toxicity of the entire thing. you fucked, argued, argued while you fucked. it was a cycle that repeated itself, threats of never seeing each other again and then ending up in each other's bed with sinful moans escaping from swollen lips.

you weren't a jealous person, never been, especially towards him. you knew perfectly well he fucked other girls and pride ate you up completely before you could make a scene or something. but there was one of his hoes in particular, who made your hands tingle with the desire to beat her ass, that kept hanging around on him as if he was hers.

you fought the urge to nibble on your freshly manicured nails as you stared at that photo posted on his instagram story, their faces too close for your liking, clearly laying in his bed. so, you didn't think twice before clicking on his number, calling him. you waited one ring, two rings, and at the third he finally answered, his raspy voice saying your name slurredly.

"can you come over?" you asked shortly, getting straight to the point as you sat on the edge of your bed. chris sighed, knowing where you were going with this. "i'm busy right now, i think you know that"

"do you think i care? drop this bitch, chris, we both know you're dying to come here anyway" you huffed, not caring in the slightest that maybe you sounded too cocky. then your voice took on a more pleading tone, trying to get to him. "please, i need you. i’m not even kidding"

you could practically hear him wavering, his silence the answer you needed while you were already smiling in victory. "i'm coming. i fucking hate you" and hang up.

you then stood up, walking to the bathroom as you changed out of your underwear into his favorite thong, a smirk on your glossy lips the whole time. you had won, as always. you had confirmed that chris couldn't even resist you and your sweet voice of yours that begged him so subtly.

you didn't care if you sounded pathetic, or if you wouldn't do it for any other man anyway. you wanted him and had him again.

and then you didn't care even more as your fingers continued to pull the long curls of his hair to draw him closer to your neck, already tortured by marks and hickeys. your other hand gripping the crumpled sheets of your bed due to the inhuman rhythm of his thrusts. your moans were like music to his ears, especially after not hearing them for so long.

the tight, pink thong you had worn a few minutes before his arrival had been thrown to the floor without the slightest importance or care, like the rest of your clothes, only that one had been completely torn by chris's fucking impatient hands.

“you're such a needy slut,” he murmured through gritted teeth, one of his hands resting on your neck to keep you still. "you couldn't stand the fact that i was with someone else, huh? admit it" to those last words he added a thrust that hit right in that sweet spot, making you whimper.

“shut the fuck up” you managed to breathe out, your thighs tightening around him as you were desperate to reach your orgasm. "you didn't even - ah- didn't even hesitate to come here, didn’t you?”

he tightened his grip on your neck, lifting one of your thighs onto his shoulder with his other hand as he groaned. "fuck you" small beads of sweat had formed on his forehead at that point. “no one, no one has a pussy as fucking tight as yours” he felt like your walls were about to snap him in half, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head. "you drive me so crazy"

your moans had increased, feeling that pressure starting to persist more and more. “admit it” you whimpered, your long nails scratching his back as your arched yours slightly in pleasure. "admit that no one is like me"

his lips had found your bare shoulder, his teeth digging and biting into the sensitive skin as he whispered and moaned shamelessly into it. "no one makes me feel like you do, ma, i would gladly die inside this pussy if i could."

and you're cumming around him the minute the words leave his lips.

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #fem reader #chris sturniolo x reader #smut

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petew21-blog · 17 hours

Text

Life upgrade

Hi, I am Earl Montgomery. I am 34 year old gay man. I studied history and enhlish literature at Columbia and then I became a teacher. I have been working as a teacher since than and I have to say that being a teacher is one of the most honorable proffesions there are. You get to educate all the young minds and set them on a right path in life. If only they would listen to me during classes. Maybe my life wouldn't be so boring. The job takes all my energy. I never believed that so many teachers get burnt out, but man. Once you see that your job affects only few of those kids and the rest just doesn't care, you contemplate back on your life. What could I have done different? I could have had a happy, adventurous life full of fun and sex. Oh how I miss the sex.

Oh sorry, my bad. You thought the guy wearing sports clothes is me? Oh no no no. This is me actually

That guy is Barry. The gym teacher. He's the same age as me. But his life is much better. He works as a gym teacher, coach and in his free time he is a personal trainer in gym. He gets to coach all the hot bodybuilders and sometimes women, that lust over him a later on sleep with him.

I onced tried to hit on him, thinking he might be bisexual, but ended up being ignored for the rest of the school year. He started talking to me again recently and that's fine. If there is no drama it's all good. Besides. He has his own life full of sport and travelling around the world, fucking everything that moves. And I have my own life. My slightly boring and depresive life.

Who am I kidding? I hate my life. I wish I were Barry. To have his hot body, his libido, his life full of travellling and fucking everyone.

Suddenly it was so bright all around me. I was in a garage. Running. I stopped. Where am I? Why am I running? How did I get here?

I looked around but the place was empty. Then I looked down and saw the grey clothes for sport that Barry has. "This can't be". I walked over to the nearest car and saw Barry. No, I saw my reflection.

"Well well well. Can't ignore me now, huh?" I flexed my biceps over the shirt. So freaking hot. He is so buff. Must be amazing to be so strong and have strong muscles like this. His skin is so tense and beautiful. I gotta go somewhere more private to look what he's hiding under this. Don't know how this freaky friday will last.

Vibration in my pocket. Some girls want to have a private class with me in the gym. But the emojis don't seem like they want to take the training very seriously. Might be fun.

"Flex for the camera. Perfect!"

"Omg Barry, you're really hot. How did you get so big?"

"You think this is big... you haven't seen all of me yet. Haha" Where the hell was this coming from? Why did I say that?

"Really? We were actually thinking you coul help us stretch some time and show us how to do this to not hurt ourselves."

"I can stretch you both now in the showers, babes" Whyyy am I saying this. I'm not straight for fucks sake. Oh no. I'm not, but Barry is. I need to get back. I can't be straight.

1 hour later

"Thanks Barry. What a great personal class. Haha. Same time next week?" the taller oned asked while walking away from the gym

"You bet!" the sex was really good I have to admit that. But only this body craves it. Not me. I am gay, I don't want to watch pussy all day.

Phone vibrated again

Holy shit, A message from my number:"Hey, I don't know what you did to me, but I just jerked off for the third time thinking about my own body and I can't keep doing this... I want to swa... SUUCK your dick"

Oh maan, he has the same problem as I do. His body responds to what the person craved before, bout our minds didn't change our sexual orientation it seems.

"Came to your body's place in 30 minutes. Bring lube. Don't be late" I texted. I love this confidence the body is so full off.

And I bet I am gonna love the fact that my old body is gonna suck my dick very soon.

Haha. Gotta thank the istock photos for the inspiration

Story from inbox: Would you be able to do a story where a nerdy teacher swaps bodies with the hunky football coach. Maybe even cucking him?

#straight to gay #gay to straight #body swap #body switch #male body swap

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annabelle--cane · 2 days

Note

Hiii! Your podcast recommendations have been so fun and helpful when trying to find new podcasts to listen! Do you have anything for fiction podcasts with women/non-binary protagonists?

sure thing! despite ostensibly being a Podcasts Guy I haven't actually listened to that many audio dramas in the grand scheme of things, so this will overlap somewhat with any general recs I have given out before, but:

the strange case of starship iris: firefly-esque scifi show. biologist violet liu is the only survivor of her research vessel's explosion and gets picked up by a passing ship who help her investigate what happened. explores the aftershocks and political consequences for if humanity won a space war.

midnight burger: quirky scifi/fantasy. after her restaurant closes down in the pandemic, gloria gets a job at an all-night burger joint, not realizing that it changes location in time and space for every opening. the plot goes in all sorts of directions every season, it's hard to give in an in-a-nutshell vibe description.

mirrors: scifi/mystery. in three different locations in three different time periods, three women start seeing the same ghost and make audio logs about it. if you're willing to dive in on that description alone, please do. it's a really short listen and it is my number one recommendation for anything of its length and quality.

alice isn't dead: americana horror. keisha, a long haul truck driver, can't accept that her wife is dead and goes on a mission to find her. I keep starting and stopping this one because it's objectively really good but just never seems to fit my moods so I can't give much overarching description, but it is scary as hell and I would listen to jasika nicole read a grocery list.

trice forgotten: nautical period drama. jaded ex-pirate alestes just wants to keep herself to herself as she sails her merchant ship around the indian ocean, but nooo she keeps picking up these pesky "crew mates" who "need help" and are "useful to have around." has some extremely good scenes of toxic yuri.

#answered #anons

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hugmekenobi · 3 days

Text

S3: The Bad Batch (6)

Chapter Six: Infiltration

Gif by @timetodiverge

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Series Summary: Ever since Eriadu, Clone Force 99 had been a fractured squad. Months have passed but you're finally back with the Batch but Omega is still out there and you won't stop until you find her again.

Chapter Summary: A reunion with Rex unveils some more intel

Masterlist for S1 and S2

<Previous Chapter

Genre: Friends (idiots) to Lovers (we're in the lovers stage now)

Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence, light spice (making out, dirty talk, teasing touches, praise, nickname 'sweetheart'), I make up Fireball lore, brief call back to Order 66, general threatening atmosphere, I also dance around the M-count stuff (please be nice and just accept it lol), suggestions of misuse of the Force for interrogation purposes, brief mention of food and referenced character deaths

Word Count: 4.3K

Author's notes: Don't get excited about CX-2 because I still haven't thought about a way around his fate in S3 finale and my current plan is probably going to be very boring lol. Also Ch7 is out too!

The meeting between Senator Chuchi and Senator Singh had started promising until a rather crude assassination attempt disrupted matters.

Unfortunately, Greer had fallen victim to the black armoured assassin– the grim silver lining being that he was the only casualty and they’d managed to capture the shadow clone sent after the senators.

As the ship flew through hyperspace, Rex and Howzer stared at the unconscious assassin- both of them wondering how such a change was possible. There was a distinct different to the clones that had remained loyal to the Empire and these shadow clones.

“Think he’ll cooperate?” Howzer asked apprehensively.

“I wouldn’t count on it, but we have to try.” Rex replied.

“We recovered this from his gear.” Howzer pulled out the puck. “It’s a data puck. Highly encrypted.”

“Have Fireball find out what’s on it when we get back to base camp.”

Teth

Rex stepped into the interrogation room to join the two other clones already in there and he saw that the clone assassin still unconscious. “Did you extract the device?”

Howzer handed it to him, “The electro capsule was implanted in one of his teeth. Just like you said. His identifying number’s been wiped too.” Howzer stared on the clone, “What exactly did the Empire do to him?”

No sooner had Howzer finished his sentence, did the clone open his eyes.

Rex knelt in front of him, “What’s your name, trooper?” He was met with stony silence, so he tried a different approach. “Listen, no matter what they did to you, no matter what you’ve done, you’re still a clone. Still one of us. I can help you, but we need answers.” Again, he was met with no reply, and he got the sinking feeling that whatever the Empire had done to him couldn’t be easily undone.

Tantiss

Scorch entered the communications office to stand in front of the holographic image of CX-2.

“Why have I been activated?” Came the modulated voice that had an air of contempt to it.

“One of the other operatives has gone dark. His internal homing device remains intact. So, we know he’s alive.”

“My orders?”

“He’s been compromised. Track him down and neutralize him.”

“We know there are others like you. Where are you based? Coruscant? Daro?” Rex asked. They’d been at this for hours now and all they’d gotten out of the clone was a series of hateful glares. “Tantiss?” That finally got a different reaction, the clone’s eye’s widening gave him away. “Oh, yeah, we know about Tantiss. And the clones imprisoned there. Were you one of them? Tell us where it is.” He said, more force behind his words now but again, the clone stayed quiet.

Rex shared a glance with Howzer who jutted his head and the two of them came together closer by the door.

“You need to push him harder.” Howzer stated in a hushed voice.

It had been what he’d been hoping to avoid but it was looking like all other alternatives were ineffective. Rex sighed but before he could do anything else, the door whirred open, and Fireball called his name.

“Rex.”

Rex and Howzer left the clone in the room with Nemec and met up with Fireball.

“The data puck was a target register.” Fireball revealed.

“Who was he after?” Howzer asked.

“Senator Singh. But that wasn’t the only person on his list.” He activated the device and showed the first image.

Rex saw the slight unease in Fireballs face as he changed to the next image and noticed a distinct sinking feeling in his stomach as he recognised the two targets. “Contact Echo and Hunter. We need to let them know.”

Fireball nodded and went of to do just that.

“We should bring them here.” Howzer insisted.

“No. No. I- I don’t want to involve them in this.”

“It’s too late for that.” Howzer said simply. “Crosshair is with them. This is our chance to question him.”

“Echo’s already done that.”

“But we haven’t. He knows more than he’s saying. If you want to locate Tantiss, then we need him to talk.” He moved away from him.

Rex thought through Howzer’s words and whilst he didn’t want to drag you all into this, he had to admit that Howzer was right.

Howzer paused after a couple of paces and turned around. “Rex.”

Rex angled himself to face him.

“You’ve talked about the kid before, but the woman, who is she?”

Strong hands gripped your hips as they backed you into the wall of the Marauder and an agreeable groan left your throat at the enthusiastic insistence of the man currently kissing you with such fervour and hunger, it made your head spin. You attempted to weave your fingers in his dark locks, but you didn’t get very far.

Not breaking away from you, Hunter gathered your wrists in one of his own hands and raised your arms above your head. His hold was strong as pressed them into the metal wall, not to hurt but to send the message that that’s precisely where you were going to keep them for this time alone that the two of you had managed to coordinate for yourselves.

You were utterly powerless to resist- not that you wanted to. You had to pull away for air eventually, but Hunter never faltered, he just turned his attentions to the rest of you and your body arched into him to rid yourselves of any offensive gaps between you.

Hunter pressed doting kisses to the skin of your neck, teeth scraping along your pulse point. “What do you want, sweetheart?” He murmured seductively.

Breathless whimpers were the only noises that came from your mouth. You were overwhelmed by him, by the feeling of his body pushing against yours, by the sensation of his touch, by his lips. Words were hopeless a hopeless venture with him against you like this.

Hunter grinned against your skin before he kissed the hollow of your throat. He pushed his thigh between your legs and relished in the soft moan that left your lips. He trailed his lips across your jaw as he rasped, “Tell me what you want.” He kissed the sensitive spot behind your ear.

Your entire body was pliant against him, and you couldn’t fathom one single word of basic due to his ministrations.

Hunter continued what he was doing, and he moved to the underside of your jaw, “Do you want my fingers?” He hovered his lips a mere few inches from yours before whispering in a low voice, “Do you want my mouth?”

And when he felt your pulse quicken at that last one, he brought his lips back to yours and kissed you deeply, teasingly. “You want my mouth, sweetheart?” He uttered softly against your lips whilst simultaneously applying more pressure between your legs with this. He swallowed your moan with another kiss before he started to lower himself to his knees.

Your hands scrambled for purchase against the wall, and you just about managed a nod as he mouthed his way down your still clothed body. You inhaled shakily as you felt his gloved hands dip under your layers stroke against the bare skin of your stomach before they suggestively toyed with the waistband of your leggings. “Yes, that’s what I want.” You panted, the dark lust you saw behind his brown eyes had you weak at the knees.

Hunter smirked up at you. “Good girl.” With that he properly took a hold of the waistband and got ready to pull them down.

And then the most objectionable and devastating of sounds materialised around you and the delicious anticipation of what was about to happen instantly evaporated as reality came crashing down around you.

Hunter paused what he was about to do and exhaled a deeply dissatisfied sigh as he readjusted your clothing.

“And I want that to be a software glitch and not our comms going off.” You grumbled; the words punctuated by you lightly banging the back of your head against the wall in annoyance.

“Hunter, (Y/N), do either of you copy?”

Hunter hung his head in his own disappointment before he stood up tall. He kissed your cheek before pressing his comm, “Yeah, we copy, Echo.” He confirmed.

“What’s going on?” You asked as both you and Hunter slipped back into your squad roles.

“Rex got in touch. We need go. Now.”

You two grabbed your gear and hurried out the Marauder to head for Echo’s ship.

“So, where exactly are we headed?” Hunter asked Echo as the ship travelled through hyperspace.

“It’s a base of sorts.”

“I thought your rendezvous with Gregor was top priority.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll pick him up after dropping you lot off.”

“Any idea why Rex wants us there so urgently?” You asked as you rubbed Batcher’s belly. The hound’s demands of attention were the distraction you needed from the growing nerves surrounding going to a base made entirely up of clones and although you knew they had no loyalty to the Empire, you weren’t sure how far that sentiment would extend with regards to you.

“He didn’t say. But it must be important.”

Hunter pondered over this for a moment before he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced around his chair and thoughtfully observed Crosshair and Omega- who had a toothpick of her own- and she was mirroring the way Crosshair was using it. The behaviour was typically exhibited by her when she felt particularly close to someone or looked up to them in some way. Clearly their experience in Tantiss had it had brought them close in ways he hadn’t considered or in ways they- particularly Crosshair- were yet to fully realise.

You and Wrecker had been paying Batcher some attention, but you stopped as you noticed the way Hunter had looked between Crosshair and Omega. You saw what he saw but as you reached into the Force around him to get a gauge of his feelings, it wasn’t jealousy or hurt behind his eyes, it was more contemplative. She’ll have to learn to be a moody teenager from someone. You smiled over at him as he half-turned to face you.

You felt a wet nose nudge your palm and you went back to petting Batcher.

Teth

Rex and Howzer watched as the ship landed. Once the doors opened, they went to meet up with the oncoming group.

“They don’t look happy to see us.” Wrecker said. “Just like old times, huh?” He remarked cheerfully with a nudge to Crosshair’s back.

“Are you alright?” Echo asked as he saw you had yet to follow the others out.

“Yup.” You answered distantly as your hand subconsciously came to unclip and reclip your lightsaber to your belt.

Echo picked up on your tense fidgeting. “Rex assured me that it wouldn’t be an issue.”

“I know, I know.” You inhaled a calming breath and jogged to catch up with the group.

“Thanks for coming.” Rex said as Hunter’s squad came to a halt in front of him. He then nodded at you and Omega.

You had heard the hushed whispers and murmurs from the surrounding clones as you’d approached the rest of the group and you saw the brief moment of shock that flashed across the features of the clone next to Rex. “They already knew before I walked out here.” You guessed, their reactions and shared looks told you that it wasn’t just because they only just noticed the lightsaber on your belt.

“I, uh, filled a few of them in before your arrival. Word travels fast but some of them still didn’t believe it and, well, some of us knew already. I’ve been to quite a few Outer Rim planets… you haven’t exactly been laying low in recent months.” Rex replied, glancing curiously as you.

You sighed, “Fair point. It’s certainly been an… interesting time.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Rex reassured you. “We all have that past to contend with.”

“Well, that’s comforting I suppose.” You said lightly before you fell into place beside Hunter.

“It’s good to see you, Rex.” Hunter said sincerely.

“Wish I felt the same.”

You all glanced to the hostile voice of the clone beside Rex who was glaring at Crosshair.

“I have unfinished business with this one.” Howzer stated as he kept his sights firmly on Crosshair. “Remember me?”

Crosshair just stared at him blankly.

“Surprised I’m alive? Most of my squad from Ryloth is dead because of you.” Howzer spat.

“Easy Howzer.” Rex cautioned. “I know you two have history. But we’re all on the same side now.”

Howzer only released a doubtful scoff, but he eased off.

“Why’d you call us here, Captain?” Hunter asked.

“We have something to show you. Follow me.” He led the way to the base.

You got ready to follow behind, but Echo’s voice made you and Wrecker pause.

“Omega!”

Omega turned and ran back to the ship.

“I was planning on giving you this after I made a few more modifications. But, uh, now’s as good a time as any.”

Omega released an excited gasp as she examined the weapon. “An energy crossbow. Where did you get it?” She eagerly took it from him.

Echo laughed, “Well, I’ve made a few interesting contacts across the galaxy.”

She activated it and the green glow of energy hummed strongly before she turned it off. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Echo.”

“Well, I won’t be gone long. You better head inside and, uh, keep them in line.”

They shared in a salute before Omega dashed off the ship to rejoin you and Wrecker and the three of you made your own way to the building.

“Your numbers are growing.” Hunter commented as he saw the clones in the room.

“Well, we need all the help we can get. Once we find the exact coordinates of the Tantiss Base, we have to hit it hard if we’re gonna pull our brothers out of there.” Rex said, coming to a stop by the centre console. “I have questions about the facility but that’s not the only reason why I sent for you.” He picked up the puck and chucked it to Hunter. “We recovered a target list from an Imperial operative. And both of them are on it.”

“Not a surprise. You’ve got a Jedi and someone who escaped Imperial custody.” Crosshair replied, sounding bored as he put a toothpick between his lips.

“So did you. But you’re not on the list.” Howzer retorted.

“Guess I’m not as valuable to them.”

“Or you’re feeding them information.” Howzer accused.

Hunter frowned at that and came to his brother’s defence. “You’re gonna have to back down, Captain.” He warned sternly.

“You expect us to believe he was held on Tantiss for months, but he doesn’t know how to get back there?” Howzer said angrily.

Crosshair removed his toothpick and faced up against Howzer. “Whether you believe me or not, it’s the truth.” He waited for his words to sink in before speaking again, “But I’m not loyal to the Empire any longer.”

That wasn’t enough for Howzer. “Your squad may trust you. But I don’t.”

Any further argument was cut short as the doors whirred open again and they all looked to see you, Wrecker and Omega come in.

You almost ran into the clone that was exiting at the same time and your eyes widened as you saw his face. “Fireball?!” You gasped as you recognised the clone that had been your trusty second in command of the battalion you had been assigned during the war.

“General?” Fireball replied, completely stunned as he instinctively straightened his posture. When he’d seen your holo-image, part of him still couldn’t believe it. Even with Rex’s confirmation, he still had his doubts but that all vanished that very second as he heard your voice. As he saw your face. As you were standing in front of him. It really was you.

You couldn’t help it; you gave him a quick hug. “It’s been years! I’d heard Master Tobar Ka-Teen took over from me…” You trailed off and cursed yourself as you realised the added effect of your words and you immediately became apologetic. “Fireball-”

“About that day… I did- and Order 66- I couldn’t- And I know if it had been you, I know I wouldn’t have been able to resist-” He stuttered.

You placed a hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Fireball. I’m not holding anything against you.”

Fireball released a sigh of relief before he said, “There’s something else you need to know, General.” He jutted his head over to the others before he headed out the room.

You then saw the way Rex, Hunter, Crosshair and Howzer were all glancing between you and Omega. You felt the tension in the Force around them as you approached. “What’s going on?”

“The Empire’s targeting you-” Crosshair started to say.

Wrecker let out a dry chuckle. “No surprise there.”

“Yeah, we already knew that.” You replied with an unconcerned shrug.

“And Omega… again.” Crosshair added.

That got your attention and achieved a sufficient amount of worry. You came to stand just beside Wrecker and behind the young girl. Your voice was serious as you asked, “Do we know why?”

“Not yet.” Rex answered before he addressed Omega, “Why were they after you before?”

“To force Nala Se to cooperate and conduct certain experiments.”

“Which were what?”

“She was working on something involving M-Count? I don’t know what that means, but they were taking blood samples from everyone, even me.”

“They were looking at your M-count?” You repeated. You thought through the possibilities but dismissed the main one that ran through your head because surely you would’ve sensed if she had that particular potential. You racked your brain for other theories but came up empty.

“Uh huh.” Omega glanced up at you curiously.

Her inquisitive look matched the expression the rest of them were giving you. “I know how it can be significant, but I have no idea as to how it would relate to her or any clone that matter.” You admitted ruefully.

Rex took a knee in front of Omega. “What else can you tell us?”

“When we escaped, there wasn’t enough time to free the other clones. We have to find a way to get them out.” She said resolutely.

Rex rested a hand on her shoulder. “We will.”

The door opened again, and Fireball re-entered holding a bowl of food. “Chow time!” He announced. “Gregor’s recipe, with a few spicy modifications.”

“Oh, now you’re talking.” Wrecker said eagerly, leading the way as he, Batcher and Omega went to the table.

You watched them go with a small smile before Crosshair’s voice brought you back to the discussion at hand.

“Wait. There’s more you should know.” He paused for a second as he readied himself for what he was about to say. “Not all of the clones on Tantiss are prisoners. Some are loyal to the Empire. There is a division of clones trained as specialised operatives and initiated into a secret deep cover program run by Hemlock.” His voice grew quieter as he recalled the time spent in that room. “Their identities are erased. They undergo conditioning. The few that make it through come out different.”

“If the program’s so secretive, how do you know about it?” Howzer questioned suspiciously.

“Because they tried to make me into one of them.”

“Tried?”

“It didn’t work. Being defective is in my nature.” He finished his explanation.

“You’ve encountered one before. The assassin on Coruscant.” Hunter said.

“We’ve known they existed but never knew exactly what they were.” Rex said cagily.

It wasn’t just their visual mannerisms that gave them away, you felt the evasiveness around them. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Rex hesitated a moment before he said, “We captured one. I’ve tried questioning him, but he hasn’t been very cooperative.”

“This is where you come in.” Howzer said to you.

You noticed the grimace on Rex’s face and regarded the clone captain warily. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

“Well, you’re a Jedi, aren’t you?”

You gave a single slow nod of your head as you awaited further information.

“You’ve got certain… skillsets.” He took half a step closer to you. “Ones of persuasion that we don’t have.”

You realised what he was getting at. You shook your head. “That only works on the weak-minded and from what Crosshair just described, he’s anything but. No clone is.”

“You could make it work though if you really had to. You could get him to say what we needed him to.”

“Captain-” You objected as you sensed his growing desperation- it was rolling off him in waves.

“But could you do it?” He took another step towards you.

“Doing so verges on torture, Captain.” You attempted to explain. You felt Hunter gravitate closer to you in response to Howzer’s movement.

“But could you do it?” He asked again.

You remembered the last time three Jedi tried that- against Cad Bane of all people- and the impact had nearly been disastrous. You held his stare with a strong one of your own and spoke steadily and with plenty of conviction behind your words. “One, I don’t have that kind of power.”

“But-”

“Two, even if I wanted to, it could destroy his mind and you get nothing.”

“The time for debate is long gone. We need the information.” Howzer insisted. “It’s a risk-”

Further debate was silenced as Crosshair interrupted, traces of panic in his voice. “You have one here? Alive?”

Rex nodded.

“Impossible. The Empire would be on top of us already. They have ways of tracking their operatives.”

“We scanned him. He’s clear.” Howzer said.

“It’s not the kind of tracker your scans would pick up.” Crosshair asserted. “Hemlock’s smarter than that.”

“Where’s the operative? Show us.” Hunter requested.

Sneaking into the base had been all to easy and as he scanned the room ahead with the scope of his sniper rifle, he saw the other two targets in the room, but they weren’t his first priority. He’d bide his time with them. He retreated back outside.

First, he had to give Scorch the news about the targets and his location for the Recovery Strike Team.

Then there was the other operative to take care of.

Then he could get his hands on the next set of targets that were so easily within his grasp.

The five of you stood in the interrogation room and studied the cuffed clone in front of you.

You weren’t sure if it was solely because of the look of pure disgust he gave you as you walked in, but there was disturbance in the Force that you couldn’t just dismiss. Your guard was up.

Crosshair inhaled a sharp breath as the clone then looked directly at him, “We need to leave. Now.”

You glanced at Crosshair and saw a level of fear you’d never witnessed from the clone before. It sent a chill down your spine.

“If you want answers so badly, why aren’t you asking him?” The clone sneered as he looked at the familiar clone ahead of him. “Right, brother?”

“He’s lying.” Crosshair shifted uncomfortably as all of your eyes fixed on him.

The dark, menacing voice of the operative spoke up again. “You’re right about one thing. They are coming for all of you.”

An explosion suddenly rang outside.

“Comms are down.” Rex said as he attempted to check in with those patrolling the perimeter. Another dark chuckle from the assassin clone told him their time was up. “We move out. Now!”

Howzer opened the door but just as he went to press the button, you sensed what was about to come.

“Rex!” You shoved him down just as the shots fired and dove to cover but you couldn’t stop them as they hit the operative in the centre of his chest. You tugged your coverings up just as the others put on their helmets.

“We’ve got a shooter out here!” Wrecker yelled as he put his helmet on and provided a round of cover fire for you all to get out of that room and to better cover.

“Shots coming from the back of the room!” Omega yelled from her position.

“Nemec, we need to get comms online” Rex said.

Nemec went to the centre console at a crouch, but a shot made contact with the exposed wire and all he saw was the light of an explosion as his body was flung backwards into a crate. He struggled to get back up as he fought for consciousness.

“Backup plan. Into the command post!” Rex ordered before looking at Wrecker and Omega. “I’ll cover you!” He timed it out. “Go!” He stood up and fired on the assailant as he helped Nemec to his feet.

You began running with the others but paused as you realised Fireball had split off from the rest of you. You saw him grab a flamethrower and run directly towards the attacker. “Fireball!” You yelled in warning, but Hunter pulled your arm to get you to follow the rest of them back to the room.

Rex could only watch in dismay as Fireball took a shot to the shoulder and crashed into a crate of grenades, but the flamethrower was still activated.

The resulting series of violent explosions had the roof of the base collapsing and Rex was left with no choice but to sprint back to the room. He dived through the entrance just as it was completely blocked by rubble, and it was then he felt a stray piece of rock collide against his helmet and black spots clouded his vision.

The Recovery Strike Team entered the planet’s atmosphere.

“Commander, we’ve lost contact with the operative.”

“Prepare to land and set blasters to stun. Our orders are to retrieve the targets alive.”

Next Chapter>

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @arctrooper69, @dominoeffectsworld, @andreaaxy, @notgonnaedit, @nightmonkeysstuff

#the bad batch #the bad batch season 3 #the bad batch s3 #hunter x reader #hunter x femalejedi!reader #hunter x female!reader #hunter x fem!reader #sergeant hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #hunter tbb #hunter the bad batch #the bad batch hunter x you #hunter x y/n #tbb hunter x reader #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars #friends to lovers

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thedeviltohisangel · 2 days

Note

Okay number 7 for Cass and Bucky please??? Maybe it fits on the forced march?? I love them and your writing!

INJURY PROMPT BLURB ERA

7. “No. No, stop. Stop talking like that. You’re gonna be fine.”

not quite the march but how about john learning cass is in the camp?

tw: physical abuse

Gale sees her first. Had heard the whispers and the murmurs around the yard that a girl was on the premises. Heard she was as beautiful as an angel and was floating around like she had built the place herself. After months and months of nothing but black and white photos to keep their appetites as bay, the men were restlessly watching and staring and doing their best to not let curiosity get the better of them. They assumed the ring around her neck meant she was already taken. And they would be correct. They just had no way of knowing she was taken by Major John Egan.

Her nose is broken and her vision out of her left eyes is blurry but she triumphantly has a stack of letters in her hand, all addressed to men of the 100th bomber group. Her first few days in camp are filled with violent interrogation but Cass is doing her best to grin through it. They would never be able to break her. Not with all the pain and suffering she had been through the past year and change.

She had found the mailroom with ease, rifling through the envelopes for names she recognized and shoving them inside John's sheepskin before the guards had dragged her off for her daily session of threats and beatings. But after they'd had their fun and had gotten no further in trying to get her to admit to being anything more than a lost Air Force Captain, she was stumbling back through the yard with her prize.

And when her knees buckle under the pain and black spots flash across her eyes, she is hit with a faint yet familiar smell of aftershave. Like the wind carried the last drop of it to her nose to keep her awake.

"Gale?" she mumbled as his hands landed under her arms and he dragged her over to the side of the nearest building. "I got your mail."

"What the hell are you doing here? Does John know you're here?" Cass chuckled and blinked up at him slowly, Gale's sleeve going to the blood trickling from her nose in an instant.

"This place would be ash if he did, Major." Gale sighed at the way her pupils were dilated and unable to focus on anything.

"You get knocked in the head a couple of times?" Cass nodded.

"Caught me getting these for you boys." She handed him the stack of letters and looked to her left at the sound of a group of voices. "I have to go." His hands shot out to steady her as she wobbled on her feet.

"Cass, I have to tell him."

"No, you don't. I'm working on getting the three of us out of here. Just give me some time to get everything into place." Gale looked to see who was in the group coming up on their position.

"Cass-" When he looked back she was gone. Drops of blood on the dirt the only sign she had ever been there at all.

John noticed that Buck was unusually quiet while they all played cards that night. He popped a few nuts in his mouth and watched the blonde man with barely concealed interest.

"Buck, you hear from Marge yet?" The other man's head snapped up.

"What would make you think that?" The letters were heavy in his coat pocket. He didn't quite want them to hand them out without knowing how to explain them first.

"Just trying to make conversation," John said as he raised his hand in surrender. He knew the mail being delayed was weighing on his friend but hadn't known it would inspire quite that reaction.

"Well, I heard we got a new member of our ranks today. One of a feminine nature," Benny teased around a puff of his cigarette. All the men groaned that they had heard the same.

"Heard she looked carved by God Himself."

"One of the guys who got shot down last month told me he saw her and tried to turn a pebble into a diamond."

"I think I saw the back of her head by the coal pits today and, let me tell you boys, I will happily die on my knees for her." John smirked, looking back over at his bed and the collection of pictures he had taped. Cass never sent him one with her face, telling him it was out of concern for her safety, but had managed to get creative. Her shadow in the flower field. The silhouette of her facing the sun. Close up pictures of her lips or her collarbone or her hands. Little pieces of her that aided the shards of his mind in puzzling her together every night before he tried to sleep.

"I'm sure she's got nothing on my wife," he added.

"Of course not, Major. There can be only one Spook Egan," Crank laughed.

"The depraved things you two are going to do when we get out of here. Kind of wish I could watch," Benny said as the rest of the man laughed.

"We'll let you listen, Demarco. Make sure you're billeted right next door as a thank you for letting Meatball keep my girl company while I'm away." John threw in the rest of his cards and waved the men to keep on playing before wistfully making his way over to his bunk to look more closely at the photos of his wife. God, how he missed her. he felt like they hadn't gotten to spend any time together at all before he had been ripped away. "I'm coming home to you, baby. I promise."

"Hey, Bucky?" John turned to see Gale, joining him in leaning against his bunk. "There's something you ought to know."

"Yeah? What is it? Everyone okay?" Shakily, Gale pulled the envelopes from his coat and rested them on the mattress. "Mail? How in the fuck did you get this?" His hands were sorting through in an instant to look to see if the next letters from his wife or mother had made it in this batch.

"The girl they've been talking about-"

"She some kind of Joan of Arc?" John smiled as he found four with his name on it. Three from his wife and one from his mother. "She's such a fucking angel, my wife."

"John, no, the girl they've been talking about, she's exactly your type." That got him to pause with a furrowed brow.

"My type? Gale, I've got no type anymore. Just a girl, my girl. The photos look a little chaotic but that is Cassandra Ann Egan right there. I'm a married man, I don't got a type."

"John, Cass is-" The door to their room banged open and two German officers were standing in their doorway.

"Make sure she gets medical attention." They practically spat as a tiny ball of yellow leather and white fur was thrown through the doorway, the frame rolling over and reaching for the metal bucket by the door to empty the contents of her stomach, blood trickling down her chin when she was done.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Hambone swore.

"No fucking way," Murphy whispered. Her breaths were shallow as she gripped at her side, her old rib injury flaring to life, her throat raw from coughing up blood for the last hour.

"Gentlemen," she wheezed, "where's-" Cass turned to the side and there he was. "John." His name came out of her mouth in a whimper. The first sign of emotion she had shown since she cried over his trunk all those months ago. All the uncertainty and fear of not having him by her side was wiped away as her gaze settled on him with no chain link in the way. He looked thinner and his hair was looser and maybe their was less of sparkle behind his eyes but he was John. It was really John, her John.

She reached for the chair to help herself stand up, Crank aiding her quickly, but she stopped when John turned to face away from her.

"Bucky? It's Cass. You're not hallucinating," Gale whispered as he rested his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"You keep her the fuck away from me, Gale." It felt worse than the Germans hands marring her skin. Worse than the pain of her miscarriage. Worse than the sight of John being beaten by rifles and dragged through the forest away from her. "I don't want to look at her. I don't want to hear her."

"No. No, stop. Stop talking like that. You’re gonna be fine," Gale reasoned.

"John-" she began to take a step towards him but he wheeled on her and she froze.

"Don't. Don't say my name like that. Don't try to rationalize this absolute lunacy." He was shaking with anger and Cass could see tears welling in his eyes. "Why the fuck would you do this? Why couldn't you just leave it be?" A piece of John had accepted he might die here. But at least she would be safe. Now, he was supposed to accept she would meet her fate in the same rat-infested hell hole? He could see a handprint around her neck. Bruising around her eye and blood dried onto her nose and chin. She was clutching her side like her rib was broken.

"Please let me-" Their door banged open once again, Cass recoiling slightly at the sight of a man who had been in the interrogation room just hours before. John noticed.

"You like putting your fucking hands where they don't belong?" He surged forward and all the boys followed, grabbing at pieces of him to try and hold him back. "You son of a bitch! I swear to God I'll-" The guard laughed and pulled the chain for their light and closed the door without another word.

"Alright, boys, let's all calm down and try to get some sleep. Our guest gets the bunk above Bucky. Everybody else figure it out," Gale ordered as John shook them off and they migrated to their respective beds.

Cass quietly shuffled past him and paused as she took one step up onto the lowest bunk, wincing at the pain. A strong chest pressed to her back and she shuddered at the contact, his nose burying itself in her hair now that they had the privacy of darkness.

"Where does it hurt?" he whispered.

"Everywhere," she relented. His hand replaced hers against her ribs, the warmth soothing the ache and goosebumps flittering across her skin. Cass could moan with how good his hand felt against her skin for the first time in over a year. Her hand rested on top of his and he removed it from her skin like she had burned him. In a way, she had.

"You need some sleep." She nodded. "And we need some ground rules."

"No one can know that we mean anything to each other. It just makes us both more of a target than we already are." Her eyes flickered to the collection of photos on his wall that were illuminated by the moon. She bit her lip to suppress her smile.

"I'm going to kill them all. Every last one of them who touched you." Starting with the three he had seen tonight. "No one else is going to hurt you, okay?"

"John?"

"Don't say it. Please don't fucking say it to me right now." There had been a time he had begged to hear her say she loved him. Now he doesn't think he could handle it.

He held onto her waist, holding her ribs steady, as she climbed onto the top bunk and pulled the blanket over her body. When she shivered ever so slightly, he tucked his own blanket around her shoulders without a word. John wordlessly tucked himself into his own bunk, staring through the top as best he could to listen for her grunts and groans as she tossed and turned. To remind himself she was alive.

And when her hand dropped down the side of the mattress and his own reached up to grab her fingers, and when they both screwed their eyes shut and cried at the pain of being apart and the unease of finally being back together, no one saw. No one had to know.

That was just between husband and wife.

#john egan #masters of the air #john egan fanfiction #masters of the air fanfiction #mota #john egan x oc #answered #cass and bucky

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phoenixyfriend · 1 day

Text

This was on a reblog of a fic concept someone added one of my posts but I decided it was risking backlash against the person, and also it ended up half vent post, so just tucking it into its own little post here instead.

I'm glad you're enjoying this, but... Okay, actually, I'm really sorry but this goes against what I was thinking with this post in a lot of ways. I know you didn't intend any malice, but I just. I cannot not talk about this right now. I need people to know to just... not do this to my posts. Because it keeps happening.

I do know which "the younger person should be the sugar daddy, like they made an app or something" post you're thinking about, and i'ts a good post, but that is 100% an Obikin plot. Cody is not a guy to make a super successful app. That is an Anakin thing. In that respect, this is an Obikin fic in Cod*Wan clothing. I mean, I've talked about wanting people to do more Obikin plots in Cod*Wan, but that's about exploring the age difference and power dynamics, not Cody Is A Tech Whiz.

A billion is too much. The only, only ethical ways to get to billionaire status are 'lottery' and 'relative I never heard of just died and left me everything.' In both cases, the only ethical way to proceed is to invest enough to live off of comfortably, and donate the rest. If an app makes that much money? The app is screwing someone over.

I also cannot imagine Obi-Wan in the financial industries sector unless he absolutely loathes his job or is an auditor who delights in making Rich People's Lives Miserable. Better option would be that Obi-Wan is the president of a charity that Cody partners with, like the CEO of a Free Housing For The Homeless initiative or a big name lawyer in an activist lobby for environmentalism or something. This might just be my "I am a business major who hates the business major norms" and look at financial services industry types with uhhhh distaste. If he's a financial advisor, it is for a nonprofit. At most, he is part of a company that specializes in helping rich people funnel their money into charitable ventures.

This also just doesn't fight my envisioning of either Obi-Wan or Cody.

I do need to throw in that my first thought reading this was my Codakin version where Cody wins the lottery and Anakin is the sugar baby. It's not that similar, but the vibes were there (for me).

Finally, it's just... the point of this post is that I find it frustrating when people make Cody the same age because I find it disingenuous to flatten the power dynamic. Some people do it fine, are multi-shippers who are as honest about Cod*Wan as they are with something like Obikin. If they have one fic where Cod*Wan are the same age with no power diff, and another where the power dynamic is flipped, and a third where the power dynamic is as in canon and just explored as necessary, that's fine.

But with the number of Cod*wan (and Barr*ssoka, which is full on NOTP for me as a direct result of this behavior, despite having a canon age diff of 4yrs) folk that have talked shit to and about me and mine for doing something similar with ships like Rexsoka or Obikin... The amount of shit I've had to deal with for shipping Rexsoka for adjusting ages in a modern AU, coming from people who do the same thing with Cod*Wan, is the driving force of this post. It's basically this: If I don't get to change the ages a bit to make things palatable, then neither does anyone else.

This is not just about the age difference. It's about looking at canon and going 'if you guys are going to give me shit for my ship, then play it straight on your end. What does it look like when you're honest about the power dynamic?

There is a reason my first suggestion is Cody having a crush on his boss.

The intent was always that Obi-Wan is the sugar daddy, because Obi-Wan is the General. Because Obi-Wan is the one with power. Because Obi-Wan is the one with control.

Because this post was about "if I don't get to change my ships to make them less problematic, then neither does anyone else."

Also because I just find a lot of Cod*Wan fics to be OOC, and not in the fun way.

#personal #vent post #star wars #phoenix babbles

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lunapwrites · 5 months

Text

in the course of looking at posts about love and grief i remembered your house.

i remembered the short path through the woods, well-worn and spider-strewn, the smell of honeysuckle, dead leaves crunching underfoot (softer in summer.)

i remembered the long way "round the block" (mile and a half at least,) bike tires whirring over pavement. pedaling up that stupid hill. the relief when i turned your corner, gliding down the road. slipping a little on your gravel driveway, my legs swinging over the seat without touching the brakes.

i remembered sage green siding, a little gingerbread cottage with the rust red trim, your window gazing out over the yard. the swimming pool with the wooden fence your mother never painted. the back deck, the same. your front porch, covered, with the door that never knew a knock.

i remembered warm wood and cool tiles, all reddish brown, wide windows, the double doors to the side room with your mother's computer and that microphone we got up to no end of trouble with. i remember guinea pigs. i remember bob the cat. i remember cracking opening fat cans of cherry juicy juice in the kitchen. punching the little holes in the lid.

i remember putting candles out with diet coke and screaming when the glass shattered (we never said we were smart.) i remember not knowing any of the songs for karaoke on your mother's couch. your living room was always a little dark. i remember bringing him there once.

i remember the stairs up to your room (first door on the right.) i remember the weird long hallway with the steps in the middle that went to your mother and sister's rooms. we never went down that way. i remember the cd player in your room, sharing our music. (raspberry swirl - you never much cared for tori amos.) we used to make each other playlists, burned cds with clever little permanent marker titles that made sense when we were thirteen-sixteen-nineteen. i still listen to them.

last week i watched our show, and remembered that time we dressed up as our favorite characters. animenext, i think. i remembered you getting cat-called, your ass falling out of your little-too-faithful skirt. we'd painted everything black - the boots, the skirt, your hair. playing dr mario on a jailbroken blackjack phone (it was white and blue and i kind of loved it.) taking pictures by the lake. i still have them. it was such a good weekend, even if my car died in the parking lot (we left the lights on.)

i'm glad i have the pictures. i'm glad i could find the show. i'm glad i kept that binder full of burned cds and songs that make me think of you.

there's new people living in the house now (they've changed the color) who don't know about the treehouse that used to be just inside the woods. there's new people picking up the phone (you've changed your number) who don't know about the hours spent talking about nothing that mattered to anyone else.

i hope the weather down in georgia's nice this time of year. i hope the peaches are still sweet.

i hope wherever you are now, you're loved (you are.)

but most of all i hope you're well.

#help i got hit by the nostalgia bus #too many hormones for this shit rn #but it's like #do you know????#i haven't drawn with anyone else????#i stopped making comics at all?????#it just doesn't feel right if it's not with you #and i'm mad i let this happen #like. i should have tried harder #because we didn't even fight #we just drifted #and somehow that's fucking sadder #i almost would rather you hated me #than just forgot me #bc i don't know if you think of me even half as much as i think of you #you're the only one who changed their number.#and yes i recognize you were a chronic phone-misplacer #but like. email???#facebook?????#send a letter to my fucking mother????#they're still there #like. idk man.#i'm just always kinda low key sad about it #because i really do love you even now.#anyway. that got depressing.#will probably delete later.#lp talks

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helianskies · 22 days

Text

ugly maths.

i hate maths, right. i don't usually like numbers, and if i do like numbers it's gotta be an 8 or a 48 and nothing else.

thing is, i've recently caught myself doing maths again. ugly maths. the kind of maths that, really, i've been trying to avoid as much as possible because, well, it's ugly!

you... wanna see?

okay, fine... but don't say i didn't warn you!

ugly, see? look at all those numbers! not a 48 in sight!

huh? what's that? you don't see what i'm on about? oh... oh! hang on, lemme just—

better? yes? no? no? okay, what if i—

mmh, yes. ugly numbers. see it now? can you see why they're ugly?

here, i can make it worse.

these numbers are ugly. the maths they make me do is ugly.

now i'll level with you: the worst ones by far are the yellow numbers. the maths they make me do it the ugliest.

why ugly?

because it makes me ugly.

those numbers turn me into not only a suddenly number-obsessed fool, but a fool who also cannot understand these numbers and what they mean and why i feel like they reflect on me and my ability.

87, 75.

the thoughts are as follows:

• the orange numbers are big, so why are you being ugly about the yellow ones? you should be happy with what you have. so many nice big numbers! not everyone receives that.

• is it that there are two different audiences for these two different fics? perhaps. they are quite different works, with different appeals, and different themes. maybe you are reading too much into it.

• why are you obsessing over numbers anyway? you don't like maths! you left maths behind when you were 16, put it down!

okay, okay, fine! i'll put the maths down. right here, in fact!:

that 87 was an 83 at the start of the year. the 6161 it is attached to was a 5453.

4, 708.

ugly maths.

the 75 is a nice number. in fact, compared to 87, it is beautiful, radiant, enchanting. at the start of the year, 75 was 48. wow. now that is one sexy number!

27.

mmmm.

6161, 1061.

5100.

87, 75.

12.

mmmm.

you know, my most favourite comment left recently on a fic of mine was 2 characters long: :(

it made me :)

well, actually, it made me >:) because it was left in response, presumably, to one of the key scenes in a new chapter which left the exact impression on someone that i hoped it would.

they must be the only one who reacted like that, though.

have i mentioned that that 87 and 75 include author responses?

i won't try to do more maths, there. it might not end well for me. the maths is making me tired enough as it is, and i have an early start tomorrow.

oh! but, that being said, i have another set of ugly numbers to show you, so keep 87 and 75 in mind.

ready?

838, 245.

(want a hint? the green numbers!)

838, 87. 245, 75.

9.6, 3.3.

ugly maths. it's ugly again, see? i don't like it. i'm seeing numbers within numbers within numbers, and i can't seem to stop!

the numbers make me ask new questions:

• why is it not good enough?

• people seem to engage more with one fic over the other, so shouldn't you prioritise?

• is all this maths this really good for you?

no, it isn't.

i want to avoid ugly maths. ugly maths makes me want to tear my hair out. it makes me want to start from scratch. it makes me want to grab someone and scream. it makes me want to cry and press a button that has tempted me many times before when the numbers become too ugly to bear.

ugly maths turn me into an ugly person.

ugly maths make me obsessive, paranoid, anxious, regretful, vindictive, spiteful, alone.

i hate maths. i hate numbers, just like, it feels, the numbers hate me.

#helia rants #cw vent #i'm okay but i'm not #this has been playing on my mind over the last couple of weeks #it's aimed at the sky rather than anyone here #i know i'm not the best myself as commenting. i justify it to myself by affirming i don't read much. which i don't.#since the start of the year i have tried to comment on everything i have read #bearing in mind i may also dm someone rather than comment because i want to scream and ramble about their fic more personally #that being said. i know i'm not the only one who finds themselves doing ugly maths #and in turn starting to feel uglier too #i don't like looking at the numbers #i was doing well at the start of the year #but as i open my drafts and look to a new chapter and at the notes i wrote #i can't stop myself from opening the fic. from seeing where it's at. from seeing if it's changed. from checking my inbox to see if...#if only...#what it's meant is that i've come to a point where a fic i loved has become exactly that: a fic i loved. past tense #the other fic is still a fic i love. but i know deep down that that is tied to the numbers too #i hate that this is what i've become #because i have tiny fics. fics with 50 hits and maybe 1 comment. and i love them. i still love them #but when it comes to the big ones. the multi-chapters. the hefty fics. after a point all i see are numbers #and those numbers have come to determine both my happiness and fulfilment as a writer #and so i am ugly. i am sad. i am pathetic.#and i don't know how to stop.#helia's stuff #this was meant to save back into my drafts. i was editing tags. tumblr decided it should post. so... so be it.#also this is not an attention thing if anyone dares go 'oh but you're a good writer uwu' i might do something we'll all regret #this is also not a 'ffs comment on my fics will you 😒' hell no #it's just about me. and my issue. and my unhealthy relationship with these fucking numbers.#gotta get this shit out of my head somehow :)

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cruelsister-moved2 · 1 year

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actually insane that multiple people felt the need to be like ummm op this doesn't actually prove that no lesbian has ever done anything wrong in their life so my lesbophobia is completely justified😘!!!!!! proves my point exactly if the fact that the largest dataset we currently have says that lesbians are the most likely sexuality to say they support trans people and instead you want to refocus on how lesbians are the problem. like read the room. ask yourself where that urge comes from. ask yourself why it makes you uncomfortable to think that unless you're a lesbian yourself, transphobia in the lesbian community probably isn't the #1 hill you should be dying on. look inside yourself 💜💜💜

#I cant get over the person who was like 'this is only from white people at one school' and then posted data showing it's from 3000 people #at 300 institutions #also I.... don't think you want to be implying lesbians of colour would've swung the numbers is that what you're implying?#also I linked an article abt the study rather than the study itself because I know yall can't read data #which again have already had my point proven #not @ oomf who commented I agree the wording was misleading and I changed it #I also don't find self reporting particularly reliable however I think it's fair to use comparatively #when we assume anyone reporting as 'not supportive' is like pretty drastically a bigot and there are far more of those reports #among gay men and bi people and also. cishets😭

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aeide-thea · 2 years

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like i guess i'm just. thinking a bunch lately about what our various socmed conversations are achieving. like what does Condemning Things Online actually materially accomplish wrt the moral causes we care about. if you didn't already know that eg serious active complicity with the military-industrial complex was worth trying to avoid (even as all american taxpayers are in some less-active sense complicit), is public shaming by the twitterati actually going to belatedly teach you that. (or is it just going to make you retreat further into private spaces that don't challenge yr complicity.) and what is our setting ourselves up in superior judgment as a punitive mob doing to our psyches in the meantime.

like. idk. shaming ana m*rdoll off the internet changes literally nothing about l*ckheed m*rtin's impact on the world, is the thing. it does mean xie no longer has a pulpit from which to dispense dubious moral punditry, but like. if we spent half as much energy cultivating a little healthy skepticism wrt this sort of self-appointed moral influencer as we've collectively spent whipping one another up into Righteously Condemnatory Mob Fury, we'd be saving ourselves from them AND from the next hypocritical grifter—because there's always going to be another one. (and then maybe we'd have some energy left over to throw at the actual MIC issue, and not just at this symbol of it.)

anyway this is just. some muddled thoughts. but i guess it just does feel to some extent like a lot of Internet Outrage is a performative circlejerk that doesn't benefit the non-online causes we supposedly care about even a little bit—it's just scapegoating someone and then getting the catharsis of driving them out, without actually earning that catharsis by accomplishing anything actively positively beneficial.

#i read something a while back that was like 'only listen to critique from ppl who are actually going to spend energy helping you change'#and like. that's a little too black and white but i do think there's *something* there wrt all this sitting back and pointing #anyway i have the urge to stick a lot of caveats on this but i kind of think that would also be performative #either you're going to assume a lot of shit abt what i mean by this and what my priorities are‚ or you aren't #my point here is not abt the scapegoat xerself‚ who as presented seems to have behaved heinously on a number of counts #but like. these issues and patterns are a lot bigger than one person‚ ultimately‚ so it seems to me our thinking ought to be bigger #anyway. doesn't necessarily have to be a zero-sum game (complaint vs action) but one does kind of suspect that in practice it is #however. this post is already too long for something not fully worked out.

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originalcontent · 1 year

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Night in the Woods and Pathologic 2 are literally the same game, beyond a few superficial contrasts in presentation there isn’t a single difference.

#this is a vaguepost @ my sister #it is a joke but also if you try to challenge this statement i WILL defend it #*ahem* in this game you play as someone returning to their small town after having left for college (which they did not complete)#the character is honestly great. sarcastic little shit who might stab you but has a heart of gold and is a hero of the people.#the town is a part of you but you're also separate. your home feels like it changed but maybe you're the one who's different.#the town itself is a character. the autumnal atmosphere is not only beautiful but also perfectly ties in with the story's themes of change #the central conflict to the setting of course being the tensions between the past/tradition and the future/progress #drastic measures are employed in order to fight back against all the inevitabilities of industrialization involving ancient powers that be #and you're left to unravel its secrets and address it in just under two weeks before more people get killed #the game is set around 12 days plus a prologue and an epilogue #anyway. you arrive in town and go to your parents house and get in touch with three childhood friends. nothing is the same as when you left.#day 1 will also slap you in the face with a murder mystery but it's far too early for the full scope of the story to be revealed #in the following few days you get to explore the town and choose which npc's to spend time with #the game is designed so that you never have the time to do everything. many events will be locked forever if you don't do them on given days #your character is brash and possibly even violent but still finds themself mentoring kids and showing kindness to strangers #you also talk with a number of older more engrained members of the community and learn about the town's history and spirituality from them #there's a stark contrast between the full and bustling streets vs the abundance of abandoned spaces and empty buildings #you'll also discover that your dreams are packed with meaning and symbolism and will sometimes even see you commune with supernatural forces #tensions will rise as you uncover more and more pieces of the mystery. this ultimately culminates in a journey into the earth below the town #your character visits the magical pit that resides there where you learn the final truths of the story and can finally put it all together #you make a fateful choice in hopes of saving the town and the game ends allowing you to wander it one last time to see the results #you can take your time and when you're ready to end the game you return to a stage you've visited so often for your final goodbyes #of course the similarities don't end there. the weather. the rats. earth/sky dichotomies. the discussions of labor movements.#the church conspicuously lacking any christian iconography. the giant animals as a representation of god but also not. the color palettes.#the human characters who look like stylized dogs and birds. the empty theater. man i could go on forever.#they even each have a side story where you play as a traveling scholar trying to unravel the secrets that lie beyond the veil of death #if i were a games youtuber i would make this into a 20 minute video with spliced footage from both games #for those who don't get the joke nitw has the coziest vibes my side of gaming despite its inherent sadness and patho2 is a survival horror

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weaselle · 3 months

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it was too much i had to make my own post

line cook here. ACCURATE

if you don't get the hate, here's what you don't understand.

it takes up to 2 hours to close down the kitchen.

The last 60-90 minutes before closing time you do almost no cooking because the restaurant doesn't have many people in it and you've already cooked most of their diners.

So if someone walks in during, like, the last hour, the cook is in the middle of an industrial deep clean of the kitchen.

(these numbers can vary quite a bit from place to place but i have worked several restaurants with these actual times and the concept remains the same)

Say the place closes at 10. If you wait til the restaurant is already closed to start all your cleaning duties, you'll be there until at least midnight.

More than that your boss knows that on an average night you can start your clean up as soon as the last rush ends and get out of there around 10:45, even 10:15 on a slow night if you get lucky. That means there are plenty of restaurants where if you do take until midnight the manager is going to come up to you at some point that week and ask you what went wrong that night, and you'd better have an answer.

So this example restaurant closes at 10 pm. The dinner rush ends around 8:30, and shortly after that the cook is going to start getting every single dish possible over to the dishwasher because the dishwasher always gets hit hard and late, and the machine runs for 2 full minutes and only holds so many dishes, so the way that works out is if you wait an extra 30 minutes to give the dishwasher all your stuff it can mean adding like 60 minutes to the end of his shift. And you're gonna KEEP finding shit to send to the dishpit right up until you leave probably.

all these little square and rectangle containers in this cold table have to be pulled out and changed over into new containers, replaced by new full ones, or in some cases filled from larger containers in the back, which can result in even more empty containers to send to the dishwasher.

while it's all pulled apart to do this, you have to clean up all the spilled food and sauce and juices and stuff from the joints and ledges and shelves and drip trays

Once you get your line changed over in this way, and fully stocked, anytime someone orders something that makes use of a bunch of that stuff, you have to restock and re-clean it some. It might already be covered in plastic. Some of it might already be stuck in the back to make room to take apart your cutting board counter to clean. To cook a dish isn't TOO much of a problem at this point, but you're really hoping for zero orders because you still have so much other cleaning to do.

Meanwhile the salad bar and appetizer section and server station and everybody are all doing the same thing. Even the bartenders are stocking olives and lemons and sending back whisks and stir spoons and shakers and empty 4quart storage containers that used to hold the back-up lemons and olives and things. Every section is dumping their must-be-cleaneds to the dishpit as fast as possible because early and fast is the only thing they can do to to help that dishpit not absolutely drown into overtime.

The poor dishwasher is always the last to clock out, soaking wet and exhausted.

Around this time you probably scrub the flat top, which has turned black from cooked on grease and is still about 500 degrees. Line cooks are divided in opinion on water-based or oil based cleaning methods for this, but they all involve scrubbing with (usually) a brick of pumice stone using every ounce of your strength while you try not to burn yourself

you scrub it from fully blackened to gleaming silver and now if somebody orders something that needs the flat top to cook, you can either fuck up your cleaning job or fake it in a couple frying pans and pass that tiny fuck you down to your dishwasher (who usually understands, especially if you help them take the garbage out or clean your own floor drain later)

If there's deep fried stuff on the menu then the fryers have to be cleaned out, which includes straining the oil out into enormous and super-heavy pots full of oil so hot that if you spill on yourself then it's probably a hospital visit and if you slip and fall face first into it it'll be the last thing you ever do.

Then you gotta scrub out the fryer. Like you gotta take the (hot) screen out and reach your arm down into the weird rounded pipes and curved areas (so hot, burn you if you brush against them hot) and scrub off whatever is down there

Depending on your kitchen you might have to do up to four of these. Then you'll have to pour the (dangerously hot) oil back in

oh, and if you didn't dry the pipes and get ALL the water out of the trap and tank?

water reacts with hot oil in a sort of mentos and coke way that can send a tidal wave of oil past the open flame of the pilot light ...HUGE dangerous mess and/or burn down the kitchen if the oil lights up.

Unless! If the oil has been used too hard and needs to be changed, it's time to carry those open topped super heavy pots full of will-kill-you-hot oil and dump them in the barrel outside by the dumpsters so you can put room temp fresh oil in the fryers. whew!

The clean up is not just some light wiping down that can be easily interrupted, is what i'm saying.

You might have to do some kind of walk-in duty (moving around 50lb cases of lettuce and 50lb bags of onions to get to the stacks of five gallon buckets full of salad dressings and sauces to move so you can reach the giant metal pots and bus tubs full of prep and get it all organized and make sure it's all labeled and i have to stop now i'm having flashbacks)

THE POINT IS

by 15 or however many minutes to close, the line cook is doing an intense deep clean and probably has the whole stove taken apart to detail.

For some industrial stoves this means lifting off large cast iron plates that weigh like 20 lbs each and are still quite hot. Whatever metal burners are on there, you gotta take off and clean, you can see here the lines that indicate the large thick cast iron rectangles that sit on top of the burners to allow heavy pots to rest on. Those five (each has one front burner hole and one back burner hole, see?) have to be lifted off and cleaned with soap and a wire brush usually, and then the underneath area also has to be cleaned because a lot of shit falls through the burner holes on a busy night.

if you didn't do it when you did the flat top you have to do the grease trap (which can be like a full five minutes and is always disgusting).. You gotta clean out all the little gas jets in each burner with a wire or something so the burners all flame evenly, and sometimes you have to remove some of the natural gas piping that connects the burners to access where you have to clean.

you gotta clean out the bottom of the oven and the wire racks, and, oh gods, you gotta take down the filter vents from the hood fans above the stove.

See all the lined parts along the top of the wall?

those are hood vents, and as they pull air up they also pull a lot of grease and they have to be taken down and cleaned, then you gotta climb up there and scrub where they go before you put them back...

And then there's the mopping and floor drains and...

Anyway, that's what the line cook is doing when you walk in fifteen minutes before closing and order something that needs to be cooked on that stove. They are doing an entire industrial cleaning of a professional kitchen.

In some restaurants maybe one or two of these jobs will be every other night or even only twice a week, but in many, possibly most kitchens, ALL of these things happen EVERY night. You don't want to leave any food mess that might attract insects or rodents for one thing, so a really good kitchen is as close to brand new as you can get it every night.

IF YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO ORDER SOMETHING ANYWAY, HERE IS WHAT TO DO

open with an apology and ask the server to go ask what the cook would prefer you to order.

Any good server will already know what the cook is hoping for and what will make their line cook go into the walk in and scream. If it's significantly less than an hour to close and they say some variant of "oh anything is fine" they are either telling the lie their boss wants them to say, or they actually do not know what their line cook wants, and you can either use human connection and a conspiratorial just-between-us tone to get them to drop the customer-is-always-right act, or get them to actually go ask the cook.

It might be as specific as "the lasagna is easiest on the kitchen" or it might be a simple guideline like "nothing that requires the flat top" or "any of the sautés are easy" but a good line cook will probably have a system for if they have to make a couple of the most popular items after they start their close, so the answer is likely to include something most people like and you should be good to order that.

but for the love of all that's holy, please only do so at great need. Leave that last 30-60 minutes to the truly desperate and the crew's duties.

#long post #sorry #i just have a lot of DO PEOPLE UNDERSTAND feelings left over from all my years in restaurants #restaurants #line cook #service industry

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