#Torture and Vulnerable Groups

[torturevictimsday]

Statement of the ACHPR on the occasion of the International Day in Support of Victims of Torture 2023.

The African Commission on Human and Peoples' Rights, through its Committee for the Prevention of Torture (CPTA), commemorates the symbolic date of June 26, International Day in Support of Victims of Torture. 

For the past twenty-six years, the commemoration of the adoption of the United Nations Convention against Torture has highlighted the urgent need for our continent and the rest of the world to adopt protection mechanisms for victims, and to put an unequivocal end to all forms of torture and inhuman or degrading treatment. This commemoration is of particular importance to the CPTA, which continues to support African states by encouraging them to adopt and ratify international instruments against torture. We would also like to congratulate those states on our continent that are fully committed to implementing these instruments, thus contributing to the eradication of impunity. The CPTA wishes to express its sincere gratitude to all those actors, from civil society and academic institutions, who, through their active involvement in advocacy actions, place their academic expertise at the service of human rights and the preservation of the intrinsic dignity of every human being. We urge them to persevere in their noble efforts. 

To date, a total of 54 countries have signed up to the United Nations Convention against Torture, demonstrating their commitment to the protection of fundamental rights. The Committee for the Prevention of Torture in Africa (CPTA) urges these states to persevere in implementing essential mechanisms and practices, such as training security officers, safeguarding the physical and mental well-being of persons deprived of their liberty, and guaranteeing improved access to prevention and redress mechanisms. Furthermore, it is important to practice zero tolerance towards abusive acts, torture and inhuman or degrading treatment. It is imperative to emphasize that the challenges of the continent, as well as security, political instability and conflict, can contribute to situations of instability conducive to such treatment.

As we mentioned two years ago, the declaration of states of emergency in several countries represented fertile ground for all kinds of deprivation of individual freedoms and excessive use of force by national security officials. We urged States to take the utmost precaution in the face of possible abuses of these provisions. The Robben Island Guidelines state that "public order", a "national emergency"[ Guideline 10] or "superior orders"[ Guideline 11] must not be used as a justification or excuse for acts of torture and other ill-treatment. 

We regret to see these contexts repeated today in several countries, under the guise of security threats. 

We are concerned by the rise in violence and war in many regions, and by the resulting abuses, crimes and acts of terror. We call on states to put into action² peaceful solutions to conflict resolution, and to take measures to put an end to all excesses committed against the population, in particular vulnerable people, such as people on the move, those suffering from physical or mental disorders, women, minors and LGBTQI+ people. Furthermore, despite initiatives proposing alternatives to detention, we still observe prison overcrowding, deficiencies in the classification system and difficulties in accessing healthcare, and insufficient means committed to effective reintegration.

At the same time, this commemoration gives us an opportunity to report on the progress made as a whole, and to highlight the work of the CPTA and its partners, including civil society, international NGOs and NHRIs. 

We welcome the adoption of the Mendez principles and the mobilization of the international community in favor of these new principles, which reinforce the prevention of torture from the very first hours of detention. 

The ACHPR has encouraged States to adopt these principles, and has also contributed to the progress made in providing access to rights for people wishing to refer urgent cases of torture to the CPTA, with the introduction of the Abidjan Rules. We are currently in the process of disseminating this new form of urgent procedure. To this end, we have begun training courses for NHRIs, civil society associations, international NGOs and legal practitioners in the 5 regions of the continent.  

2020 initiated resolution 472 Prohibiting the use, production, export and trade of tools for torture. Through this resolution, the Commission called on all States to assume their responsibilities with regard to the use of security tools and weapons for torture, and insisted on the responsibility of States in the trade of tools dedicated to this practice. Today, we can see that the fruit of this work has enriched the global reflection launched by the United Nations Special Rapporteur on Torture. 

Today, while continuing to enrich research on this theme, we are highlighting our 2023 annual theme of "Vulnerable Groups facing Torture", with a particular focus on the many acts of violence, aggression, deprivation of liberty, inhuman or degrading treatment and torture perpetrated against vulnerable groups such as women;   indigenous communities and minorities; people living with HIV (PLHIV); the elderly and people with physical or mental disabilities; refugees, asylum seekers, internally displaced persons and migrants; human rights defenders; and finally, people who are victims of enforced disappearance. 

The CPTA is firmly committed to combating violence, torture and inhuman treatment of vulnerable people. Their vulnerability depends not only on social perception or administrative status, but also on difficult access to legal, medical and mental health support. In times of war, they are the first victims, and their need for support is even more crucial. In times of deprivation of liberty, their vulnerability is heightened. We call on states to be more attentive to their needs, to put an end to abuses and to guarantee their human rights in dignity.

Twenty years after the adoption of the OPCAT, CPTA calls on African states that have not yet done so to ratify the Optional Protocol and promptly mobilize the resources needed to set up national preventive mechanisms. It urges them to criminalize acts of torture and ill-treatment, and to establish independent and impartial commissions of inquiry to investigate such acts. It is imperative to rigorously prevent torture in all places, including those where freedom is restricted. 

#convention against torture #Committee for the Prevention of Torture in Africa (CPTA) #victims of torture #against torture #Robben Island Guidelines #African Commission #Torture and Vulnerable Groups #International Day in support of the victims of torture #26 june

[earthtooz]

fluff!!! little mentions to bakugou's past as a bully :/ but he's now very much in love with you <3

the best way to let bakugou katsuki know that you’re mad at him is by refusing to hold his hand. 

handholding is one of bakugou’s all time favourite affections. although subtle, it’s grounding. he likes to know that you’re safe by holding you close to him, and he has the chance to pull you away from danger the moment it happens. also, to know that you trust him to keep you safe is another bonus.

he is destruction’s incarnate and it is from his hands that danger is initiated: hands that have threatened and bullied many- good and bad alike. 

hands that have also pushed you into a corner when you were younger for defending a vulnerable midoriya from any more harm. 

hands that have sparked explosions in your face during many school festivals as he sparked threats to match.

hands that gradually, but surely, learnt how to chase after you longingly.

after months- years of maturing and apologising for his stupidity, bakugou thinks he is the luckiest man in the world to be able to hold you with the same hands that sparked fear during his youth. he thinks he is the luckiest man in the world because you have trusted him to protect your heart in his very hands. similarly, you openly cherish his with your two palms and despite how it bleeds with love for you, you have never once let it break.

he also thinks he is unfortunate that you’re not compassionate enough to be against torturing him when he fucks up.

and the best way to show that you still have not forgiven him is by revoking his hand holding privileges.

bakugou hates it when there’s tension between you two and despises it even more when you have to pretend like nothing is wrong when in fact, everything is wrong. you’re mad at him for some shit he said last night and now you don’t want to hold his hand, let alone look at him, and he wants to crumble. 

instead of finding a chance to talk, you both had to hang out with sero, kaminari, kirishima and mina as part of your obligatory monthly meetup and it was very obvious that something was off between you and bakugou. 

when a merciless gust of wind hits, bakugou sees this as his moment to react. as goosebumps emerge on your exposed skin and you audibly shiver from the cold, it earns you a fair share of concerned looks.

“you okay, y/n?” kirishima asks and you nod, shrugging up your shoulders as a futile attempt to shield yourself from the frostbite. from the corner of your eye, your boyfriend is already shrugging off his jacket, keeping his sassy muttering to a minimum. 

“just cold, thanks for asking,” you murmur, extending your palm to anyone in the group, “can someone hold my hand?” 

bakugo immediately reaches for you, grumbling an ‘i’ll hold your hand’ but you retract from him with a dirty glare before he could even touch you. his jaw drops and his crimson eyes become windows to how betrayed he’s feeling, and even more so when you utter the next words:

“can someone else hold my hand?” 

“but i’m your boyfriend?” he all but screams, earning a few snickers from your friends. they knew this dance all too well, sero and denki hissing ‘roasted’ at the blond. 

mina’s the only one brave enough to challenge bakugou, “i’ll hold your hand, y/n!”

she’s almost successful too if it weren’t for small explosions stopping just in front of her face as bakugou glares at her with the ugliest (affectionately) expression you have ever seen. no one can resist laughing when he yells out a ‘touch y/n and you die, racoon eyes!’ before snatching your hand into his; his grip far too tight for you to even try and wrestle out of it.

“yeah, laugh all you want extras! at least i get to hold y/n’s hand, dipshits!” 

“y/n’s got two hands though, can i hold your other one?” denki asks, feigning ignorance to the daggers bakugou was sending him and before you could giggle out a ‘sure!’, bakugou is lunging forward and shielding you from the electric blond. 

“none of you are worthy, go away morons!”

your stomach is cramping at this point, your throat is begging for you to stop laughing, and your cheeks are so very sore that it hurts. your laughter has been mixed with the rest of the groups- with the exception of bakugou who is pouting with irritation laced deeply in his expression, but so long as he gets to see you smiling at him rather than frowning, he doesn’t really mind.

“whatever, laugh all you want,” he mutters before stuffing your hands into his pockets, where he can keep them warm. the remainder of the squad continues forward, knowing to leave you two alone.

his thumb is soothingly rubbing circles on the back of your hand as he shares his warmth with you. when bakugou katsuki meets your eyes, all the tension from last night dwindles away as he visibly relaxes, relieved that you’re at least allowing him to hold your hand again. 

“we are okay, right?” he asks tentatively.

you shrug playfully, “i mean, i don’t really have any other choice than to say yes, do i?” 

his next comment is quick, passive, but heavy in its meaning, “you do.”

you soften at his vulnerability, squeezing his hand before reassuring him that “we’re okay, katsuki, and we will be for a long time.”

hello hello everyone!! thank you for reading, if you enjoyed the fic PLEASEEEE reblog!!! even if you don’t think it’ll do much, reblogs is how tumblr accounts function. you don’t even have to leave a message bc i appreciate every single interaction nonetheless.

hope you like my writing and i hope to see you around!!

- earth

#good start to fluffvember anyone??? #pulled this out of my ass #as always ‼️ #i had this FUNNY ASS prompt but i didn't execute it well </3 #idk how to feel abt this one #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fluff #bnha fluff #bakugou fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugou imagine #bakugo imagine #bakugo katsuki #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #ao3 bakugou

[fayeriess]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ SINNED SOIL ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

astarion ancunin x gn!reader

summary: after a restless night, astarion finds himself seeking comfort. your tent is where he finds it.

warnings: some angst?? a little fluff, not proof-read

a/n: this is my first one-shot for bg3, and i'm lowkey excited?? not as familiar with the game as i'd like to be ( on my first unfinished playthrough ) so bare with me

There’s a nagging in the crevices of the fluid that occupies Astarion’s skull; aside from the tadpole wriggling about - making home directly in his frontal lobe. He tightens his jaw, grinding his teeth together so harshly that he could feel his spine reverberate in the process; a small pinch near his salivary gland. 

This is a recurrence- something he hates dearly with his non-existent soul; thinking. Even though his heart no longer thrummed in his chest, the air was long gone from his lungs, and cold permanently tainting his body, he still had his thoughts.

More often than not, that bothered him severely. No, it tortured him as he lay mindlessly blinking in the darkness of his tent, arms pin-straight by his side, lips pressed together to keep from wobbling slightly. 

He supposes he could cry, albeit having to be silent about it. Astarion’s done it before; in the musky abyss in one of Cazador’s many dungeons underneath his luxurious castle of torment, but it’s difficult tonight. Clenching his left fist, he felt the blood drain from his knuckles as the even ridges of his fingernails indent his frigid palm, the muscle of his tongue darting out between his teeth to graze over chapped lips.

Through the silence that seemed to suffocate him slowly, his pointy ears perked at the constant chirping of crickets and the crackling of the firewood a few feet away from his bedroll. Astarion was coming to realize that those sounds sounded oddly serene; nature. The grass, the moon, the sun. Oh, how warm it had felt on his marble skin. A nice low heat to the teeth-chattering ice that sat dormant in his veins. He could practically bathe in it, arms outstretched toward the big ball of fire in the sky, trickles of light seeping through his pores, heating every fiber of his being.

It basked his figure in a glow so bright and fuzzy that Astarion swore his dead heart actually skipped quite a few beats, a low buzz in his sternum. He cherished it.

It was something he would never utter aloud, his sharp tongue suddenly dulling when he felt his gaze soften during interactions, a subtle but noticeable change in his mood he always tries to mask with his cracking facade. Vulnerability did not look good on him as much as his prized tunics did.

Letting a sigh seep out into the chilled night air through glossy, spit-covered teeth, Astarion shuffled within the comfort of his bedroll, his bones cracking slightly as he rose to his knees slowly. Blinking back the burn developing in his sockets, he lifted an index finger to wipe at his hooded lids, sharp canines puncturing a pillowed bottom lip. 

Secretly, he hoped that no one would be able to tell how stressful he’s been lately, especially you. You could always read people like an open book; a story laid bare before you - cut and dry and easy to decipher. It didn’t take much for you to come to simple conclusions in dire situations of need. Everyone else in your small group could attest to that with blind faith.

That was something that made the pale elf roll his eyes in slight distaste, as if your actions were something that inconvenienced him severely, as if everything you said was something he was supposed to agree with. But, you weren’t like that.

Astarion figured that out under the glow of the moonlight, hidden by thick tree branches and surrounded by the overwhelming smell of dewed grass merely a month ago, back when his attempts to bed you were more than apparent. His brows had furrowed in confusion then, a small pang in his chest as if the knife lodged within the tissue of his heart was dipped in poison. He was confused. For the first time in a while the elf was confused as to why you didn’t take him as you saw fit that night. 

Closing his eyes, Astarion took a wasteful breath, feeling as if it was needed in the moment as his lashes brushed against the blotches of watercolor black, blue and purple that adorned his under eyes, hand reached out to swat away the flap of his tent soon after.

Crimson eyes darted to look through the treelines, a sense of alert flooding through his body as leaves rubbed together, sounding like crumpled parchment as he averted his gaze to Karlach’s back, her nightwear frumpled as she hunched over, sharpening one of the many weapons laid out on the soil next to her; dirty and dull. 

Shuffling past her as quietly as he could, Astarion blew air from between his lips in hopes of adjusting the snowy white coil of hair that blocked his vision, making his way to your tent. A certain hunger arose in him when his pointed ears picked up the sound of your blood flowing through thick veins, sweet like the rolls you’d occasionally bring to the camp from a nearby trader if they had a few.

His throat is dry, the thirst for your blood creeping up on him just like the soft spot for you had after you had confided in him after accidentally bearing witness to the angry scars that littered the expanse of his back, a constant itch to follow the raised skin. He knew you wouldn’t refuse his request to drink from you, having let him sink his teeth into the pulse point of your neck multiple times to keep his hunger at bay. 

Nocturnal animals didn’t satiate his cravings as much as your essence did. It was a pull stronger than he ever thought possible, even if his belly was full - he was not, not until he had your sweet, sweet blood pooling at the tip of his tongue. Instinctively, his upper lip curled, teeth bared before he swiped the muscle of his tongue over them, swallowing the sandpaper that covered his esophagus. 

“‘Starion?” Your small whisper carried in the wind, straight to his ears. 

Within the thin fabric of your tent, he could hear you shuffling about before your head peaked out from the open flap, eyes still ridden with sleep looking up at his towering frame through long lashes. “What are you doing?”

“Restless night.” 

At that, your brows furrowed, warm, clammy palm cupping his; an invitation inside your private space which he accepted without another word.

In the darkness, he could make out the array of worn out pillows covering every inch of the small space, alongside a couple of different items from past journeys and small trinkets that reminded you of your childhood; innocence lost. He figured it was something you were trying to gain back - a sense of control over your dysfunctional life.

Crouching down, his knees ached slightly, palms flat against the ground before making himself as comfortable as he possibly could given thoughts plaguing his mind. With narrowed eyes, he watched as you spun on your bottom to face him, knees knocking with his as you pressed your lips together thinly. 

“I must admit I'm struggling to find peace tonight as well.” Mumbling, your hand raised to smooth over the goosebumps that had found their way to the surface of your arms, raising every individual hair. “Dreams become much too vivid to me now.”

Leaning as far back into the pile of pillows as he could, he could see your eyes, glossy and wide as they locked onto his. “Do tell, darling.” 

His tone is slightly playful, a small inch of concern weaved between his words as his spine stiffened from his position. 

Huffing, your shoulders lifted in a small shrug before falling back into place, ears growing hot from the embarrassment oozing through your pores. You weren’t one to confide in others about your state of distress, especially to those who you deem untrustworthy. 

This was merely a Freudian slip, a loose tongue, but you continued despite everything in you telling you to sew your lips closed with thick thread. 

“There was this… looming sense of dread in my dreams. I was in a field of tall grass, it reminded me of this meadow my father used to take me to when I was ten and one.” Your voice trailed, the scenery of a multitude of flowers and lucious, bright green grass appearing in the forefront of your mind. “I can still smell the manure of the nearby pigpens, but everything was just so bleak. I’m sure I was alone, and even though I somehow knew it wasn’t real, everything else felt like it was. There was a red rose sitting in a bed of white ones, almost as if it was being cushioned just for me.” He could hear the smile in your words, although from the tone of your voice, he could tell that it wasn’t a genuine one. 

“I reached out toward it, and then felt a slight pinch almost as if something poked me.” rubbing the pads of your thumb and index finger together, you stared at them, expecting a trickle of dotted blood to seep from the barely visible wound you had received in the meadow in the crevices of your mind. “It was a thorn, a big one at that. That’s when I woke up, and then I saw your shadow outside…”

The pause that followed was one of comfort, a way for you to know that the vampire before you was listening, grasping onto each word uttered through chapped lips, your warm breath on his face.

Astarion gnawed on his bottom lip gently, careful of his two sharper teeth as his gaze never left your troubled face, a twinge of empathy. “I have those dreams sometimes too. When I let my eyes drift shut, there’s a sort of vulnerability that follows; renders me defenseless.” 

You nodded in the darkness, grasping onto the words that he forced out of his throat like bile, unwanted and already digested. Astarion was a secretive person, for many reasons that were acceptable, drenched in endless pain and suffering. “My skin still burns. It’s all so fresh.” 

Scooting beside him, you cautiously took notice of the way he curled into himself, knees now tucked into his chest as he raised a hand toward his back, sliding it under his shirt to let his fingers ghost over the scars on his back. The muscles in his face contort, a pained expression painting his face, no developing laughter lines, no crows feet at the corners of his eyes. He was forever a little star; his name a memory of a past he can’t recall.

“He can no longer touch you.” You stated firmly, each word spat with venom. It was true as far as you were concerned. You’d never lie to Astarion. You’d never lie to any of your friends about the impending death that loomed over them, the blood that would be on their hands in the following weeks as you continue your trek to Baldur’s Gate. 

“You’d think after being a slave for nearly three centuries that I'd bask in the glory that freedom has to offer me.” A curt, bitter laugh escapes his lips as he throws his hands in the air, “But I-I can’t, and I have no idea why.” 

Twisting your neck just a couple of inches, you stared at the side of his face, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. 

Astarion could hear how loudly your heart thumped in the solace of your ribcage, the blood flowing through your veins, the quiet hum of your throat as you swallowed. And for once - he wills himself to think about life without his affliction, even if just for a second before he could no longer stand to see himself so meek and small, so… helpless.

“It’s the fear he instilled within you. He tormented you your entire existence and it’s not something you can let go of so easily, I un-”

“Please don’t tell me you understand.” His words were nothing above a whisper as he leaned closer, the material of his sleep shirt rubbing against yours before you felt the chill of his skin on your upper arm. 

In those rare moments of genuine words exchanged between the both of you in the safety of each other's company, you had never seen him so fearful. Fearful of becoming a slave for the desires and sexual needs of others  once more, hands forever touching bodies he’d force himself to forget, washing the dirt and grime off of every crevice of himself with tears in his eyes and silent sobs. “I’ll never return to that, to him.”

“I won’t let that happen. You’re more than what he created you to be.”

Hesitantly, you wrapped an arm around his shoulder, causing his spine to grow rigid for the third time it seemed, before he melted under your touch, soft curls tickling the skin under your jaw before he buried his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of lavender and pine wood that always seemed to be glued to you. It wasn’t the first time you’ve touched Astarion like this, in an intimate way, without the premise of sex in the foreground, but this time felt different. 

It was different.

You were more soft than he realized, weren’t you? Astarion thought himself to be nothing concerning a warm-hearted, selfless individual. He was anything but. Bred for destruction and submission, bloodletted countless times through frantic and harsh whips, lashes - anything that could make the smell of his coppery perfume permeate the air.

However, for once in his eternal existence Astarion realized he felt something that had grown foreign to him; love.

Love for you. 

Love for himself. 

And he’d be damned if the sinned soil of this earth took any of that away from him.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #astarion x you #astarion imagine #baldur's gate 3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 x you #astarion

[blondephenobarbitol]

TSH hot takes 🔥

-Julian was actually a dick. He isolated and groomed vulnerable students (do you think it's a coincidence that every single member of the greek class had a difficult home life?) into thinking that these very outdated concepts of love and power were good for them. He compared their dangerous behaviour to that of ancient gods. Then, rather than face the consequence of his actions and take accountability, he left when it mattered.

-Charles was an asshole, but he's not a scapegoat. You cannot blame all the problems on Charles, he was an addict as a result of his trauma. He needed help. This doesn't excuse him from his actions, but it explains them. At the beginning of the book he physically could not bring himself to hurt Camilla. He's not a "bad" person. He's a sick person.

-Bunny didn't deserve to die, but he was also probably going to condemn the group at some point. He didn't just die for no reason. (Believing that Bunny's death was truly pointless also means believing that Henry was an actual psychopath who killed his friend for shits and giggles.)

-Judy, Cloke and Sophie ended up the happiest. That is literally the moral of the book. Judy wasn't all tortured when Richard didn't want to hang out with her, she shook it off and kept living her life. That's literally the point.

-Richard was never in love with Camilla. He loved the idea of her, but didn't see her as a person. Because of this specific dynamic and the fact the Richard is narrating, we know nothing about her actual personality. Anything he says can be disputed, and a lot of it contradicts itself.

-Francis is not blameless or unproblematic, but of the group he probably had the best intentions. Most of his behaviour that can be interpreted as creepy can be chalked up to Richard's internalized homophobia (remember, everything is told from his point of view, and Francis was a gay man in the 80's) When you look objectively at what Francis did, you see that he made a pass, got rejected, then dropped it and moved on. There is (i think) one more attempt made later on in the book, and that is furthered by Richard and only interrupted when Charles shows up.

-Henry may be the metaphorical representative of death when talking about the book, but in the narrative it's important to remember he's also just a person. Otherwise everything he does seems beyond question, and he's assigned this label as just "evil." He was 21!! Literally still a kid

-There were not good or bad characters. The reason they hit so hard is because each of them are so layered. They all have good traits and bad traits, but calling one "evil" takes away their humanity and dismisses their complexity that makes them so great.

#the secret history #tsh #donna tartt #charles macaulay #camilla macaulay #henry winter #richard papen #bunny corcoran #francis abernathy #judy poovey #booklr #hot take

[johannestevans]

all superheroes with secret identities are to an extent about being closeted and secreting part of your identity, which is gay, but like. batman is specifically about his identity in the closet where he dresses up in leather and engages in violent acts with groups of other men

every time joker puts a gun in his mouth. squirts his face with water. every time the riddler collars him. every time bane grips him by the throat, or croc pins him down, or penguin blows cigar smoke in his face, or ra's al ghul touches his jaw and talks about his potential

yes, obviously, he fucks women - he's public about that. bruce wayne, in fact, is very explicitly a womaniser in many adaptations. in the best of them, he's vapid and kind of a himbo, and women are charmed by his hapless appearances and unending niceness

and the thing is like. yes, bruce wayne is that kind. he is caring, he is compassionate - he notices the vulnerable and he wants to help; he listens to people, he remembers details, he's thoughtful.

and also he craves to hurt, and be hurt. he craves the strain in his body.

he aches for the scent of blood and sweat and oil and gunpowder; he wants to feel the bruises heal, wants to feel the itchiness of the healing cuts. he wants to be whipped. he wants to be beaten. he wants his knuckles to hurt from throwing so many punches.

it's not about justice. he beats up goons and tosses them in jail, and they go to jail, and then they come back and keep being goons. he puts the villains in an asylum that tortures them, and he visits the special cases. it doesn't help: that's not the point.

batman's obsession with joker is absolutely about joker's attraction to him and batman's attraction to joker but like. it's also about the fact that joker sees what he is - that he gets off on it. joker pushes him to the max bc he thinks it's funny to force him to admit it.

and the thing about arkham knight, or any other plotline where bruce becomes so obsessed with the joker that he hallucinates or imagines him is that like.

there are 3 people on earth who actually find the joker funny. one of them is the joker. SOMETIMES, another is harley

but the other one is batman. people who don't understand the batjokes dynamic (and crucially don't Get this as a crucial element of batman) don't understand that. batman finds the joker funny. and he feels so so fucking guilty for it. /but he keeps going back/.

batman's little fucking quips are the same as the joker's, he just puts on a deeper, grizzly voice. batman makes puns. batman makes lateral connections for the sake of terrible humour. he's deadpan and autistic and dry as dust, but he makes bad, bad jokes CONSTANTLY.

AND THIS IS WHY HE LAUGHS at joker like. that's what it is.

because this man's just. buried his identity four or five fucking personas deep. all his laughter is fake. most of his smiles are fake. humour is about the unexpected, and joker catches batman by surprise

it's not about joker being Good bc he isn't. the fact that joker is fucking irredeemable and cannot and will not be "fixed" is what makes him the same as batman. they both make choices to never be fixed. they don't want to be. they choose to be fucking clowns instead

#musings #batjokes #joker #batman x joker #batman

[eldritch-spouse]

Is it safe to assume that Saudramar is the kind of guy that secretly stares at bathing humans?

[Absolutely, yes. Fem reader. No outright action but lots of fantasizing.]

He can't help it.

Most protectors deployed to the surface have a rather large group of humans assigned to them, kept under their wing, organized. Especially in areas of conflict, instability and susceptibility to demonic presences.

Saudramar, as the poster boy of siadar protection forces, has been entrusted with a considerable slice of humans, a group comprised of notable individuals and the most apt specimen who must not suffer any kind of grievous harm.

Is this quite a lot of responsibility? Yes. Does he feel bothered by the fact? No.

Other things bother him. Bigger matters, those of which Saudramar is powerless to change.

But, in moments such as these, he can almost accept his current circumstances, give into them, forget all that ails his soul.

It had been a troublesome night, to say the least. The Traitor's forces are ruthless yet cautious, a blend of patience and bloodlust making them proficient hunters in the cold shadow of night, where they see miles ahead and humans are about as blind as it gets. In those hours, there are only few forces that can help, the Protector and his warrior celestials.

Even still, with such a large group of humans, his numbers are few. The higher had to distance his angels into very specific areas, while he himself would roam from point to point, snatching stragglers and the most powerful of fiends that would dare invade his territory.

His warriors were left damaged and sore, while he was soaked in the dried blood of the hellish.

Saudramar tended to his deflated angels and reminded them, once more, that no lesser perished under their watchful eyes. And that is why they're the peak of their kind.

Instead of resting however, the siadar is now standing nearby while the humans begin their daily routines, bathing themselves.

Just to be sure that the invading forces wouldn't try to attack lessers in yet another extremely vulnerable moment, he would lie to himself.

Yeah. As if.

He may have four eyes, but only one needs to deviate from the perimeter for Saudramar to get the view he's been craving.

Lessers. Bare as they day they'd been born, as they day the very first were created.

This group's routine is peculiar. The adults first prepare meals for their younglings, rushing to bathe while their offspring feeds and plays in the care of guardians.

This leaves Saudramar staring at figures he wishes were less appealing.

Frankly, he shouldn't react like this.

He's seen thousands upon thousands of lessers, he saw the prints and manuals and many of the intricacies your species sports. And yet, no matter how many times they appear before him, Saudramar drools at their soft flesh, their molding skin, the delicious curves of their legs and glistening chests. Even their hair, something he'd previously find kind of unpleasant on creations, it draws him in.

Humanity is temptation itself. It's a dirty, lasciviously designed project constantly taunting him with its inherent carnality. And the worst part is that they themselves don't realize how seductive they are. Don't know they evoke such lusts in him. In more than a few, but especially him. Saudramar wants, oh he wants, he wants to grab a handful and lavish them from top to bottom, he wants them to beg at his feet for a chance to sample his malehood, he wants these lessers all but in heat, squealing and melting around him, broken by the pleasure only someone who loves them enough to protect them can offer.

His eyelids twitch erratically when droplets of water cascade down the back of a female he had eyed a bit more than the others lately. She arches her body and swings her soaked hair back, unknowingly lifting her leg in a way that has him letting out a tense hiss.

Torture yet irresistible. This view is his reward for a job well done.

And Saudramar continues to lie to himself, when he says that he's content with this. That he doesn't want more, that he can curb his own urges.

How many times hasn't he thought about it? Considered it.

How easy wouldn't it be to grab one and abscond to a deserted location. Like you, you always smile so sweetly at him, always work so hard to please, he enjoys your offerings the most too. Yet, just once, Saudramar wishes you'd offer him your body, and he could pretend to not know it's forbidden. He could keep it a secret, and so could you.

He can't forgive himself for the images of cleaning his own seed off the apex of your thighs just so no one would suspect how close you are to your Protector.

He should relax, the last thing Saudramar wants is to tent his cloth right now.

" My Lord... "

Oh for the sake of his sanity just leave, will you?

He thinks of the bane of his existence and you manifest before him like some blasted curse.

" Lesser. "

Your sweet little doe eyes gaze at his form, reverent yet completely at ease. Locks of wet hair cling to your pretty face, droplets racing down the peaks of your tits and crawling into the space between your supple thighs he'd like to occupy. You make him so disgustingly libidinous Saudramar nearly fumes.

" Please come join us! "

He actually physically flinches.

He's most definitely not hearing right. His silence makes you visibly nervous.

" ... Speak once more. "

" I- You're covered in... We would like to help clean you my higher, as thanks. "

Saudramar is trapped in a dream. Some foul force has him in the throes of vivid hallucination. This cannot be real.

Again, the lack of response has you squirming.

" We know it's not a standard offering, my Lord, and forgive us if we are overstepping our- "

" I accept. "

You blink several times. " Wh- You do? Wonderful! Please, come with me! "

This is a terrible idea, he will regret this later. But in the moment, all Saudramar feels is the tingling warmth of anticipation as he settles upon the mildly warm water your kin is using.

Other humans bow and scatter, making space for his footfalls upon the body of water that is inevitably displaced by his sheer mass. Unfortunately, as Saudramar removes his sparse cloths to sit properly, the water turns murky with the natural soot of demonic blood. This location will be unsuitable for bathing now.

The Protector subtly schemes his lessers, wondering wantonly if any dare cast their gaze upon his brilliant form.

Sure enough, many do. He catches the flickering gazes of males and females settle on his figure, both the familiar and unfamiliar parts of him. Saudramar catches a few daring glances escape to the water, where his pelvis is blurred. Beyond his slit, there's little else to see of course, but Saudramar is aware humans wonder.

He wishes he could show you all.

As is, the higher tries to remain calm at the sight of his lessers approaching him, still bare and wet, all warm smiles and murmured praises when those soft hands rinse and stroke at him. Delicious.

Saudramar tilts his head back and relaxes, legs parting somewhat in the water as he sighs a little too shakily to come off as natural. Fortunately, his debauched reactions are interpreted as no more than a product of tiredness.

" Look, he overwhelms himself for us... "

He hears one of them sadly exclaim.

" So dedicated! So loving! "

" We should offer this service every morning. "

He parts his mouth briefly, a quiet shudder coursing his figure when two pairs of hands work on his thighs.

Saudramar knows these humans would never dare touch him in intimate zones, but he can still thrill himself with the false anticipation that perhaps those hands will climb a bit closer every time.

He's bold enough to pluck you from his sides and place you over his chest wordlessly, watching you squeak in shock but quickly adapt, getting to work on the dried blood around his neck.

He pretends he can't feel your plump ass on his skin, that your tender touch isn't making his lowermost eyes lid in satisfaction, that he can't see your chest shift from up close.

One of the Protector's arms reaches beneath his leg and inserts two fingers into his own slit.

It's the only way to make sure his cock won't spring out at this point.

#Krulu oc #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #terato tag #monsterfucker

[severussnapemylove]

James Potter stans will really look at a privileged boy with a loving family and close group of friends, torment and torture another kid because he finds it funny, and write it off as "oh it's just teenagers being teenagers".

And at the same time, see a boy who was relentlessly abused for his whole childhood, was never safe or protected, was vulnerable enough to be taken in by a cult and carried his trauma-based anger into adulthood because he never had the space or support to heal, and they'll act like he's the devil incarnate.

Make it make sense. There's nothing "Oh just teenagers" about what James and co did to Severus. He chose cruelty for cruelties sake and there's no indication that that attitude ever changed. Severus on the other hand, with everything he'd been through, still tried. He recognised the mistakes he made, he carried that guilt and he fought for years, through anger and fear, to make it right.

#severus snape #pro snape #pro severus snape #anti james potter #anti marauders #harry potter universe #tw child abuse

[jellycreamjammedart]

I have such a brainrot idea of post-betrayal Cassie teaming up with Roxy to help get her out but with the elevator destroyed they have to take the long way back, aka going through the entire PizzaPlex again. Roxy is determined to get Cassie out no matter how hard it is but Cassie decides she has a lot more to do down there in the meanwhile.

First thing turning M.X.E.S security back on but it's very weak and vulnerable without the security nodes. The Mimic is down there somewhere still but it certainly will try to follow and escape once it's no longer stunned. So Cassie offers M.X.E.S her vanni mask as a first initial node (with M.X.E.S and Helpi instructing her how to do so,) so that the security bunny has some grounding to start on. This allows both Helpi and M.X.E.S to talk to Cassie through the mask's implant.

So on the long way back Cassie tries reactivating the parent nodes and child nodes.

Since she gets on better terms with M.X.E.S it no longer tries to get her killed, meaning most past threats aren't gonna be prone to attack her... but thats not enough for Cassie.

She goes out of the way to help those broken, confused things seemingly tortured beyond repair. She tries to save every thing stuck down there with her. She clings to the idea and need to there being some meaning in a little compassion in such cruel, twisted world.

Getting her hands dirty pulling trash and rotten food out of Chica's body to disobstruct these nasty things from her endo ontop of returning her voice.

Getting her hands scratched up trying to reboot Monty after draining the water he was electrified in.

Getting her hands sore trying to pull out every sharp metal seen impaling into Prototype Glamrock Freddy.

They join Cassie along with roxy.

Reactivating the mini Music Men, they help her through too vertical vents. Reactivating the wet floor bots.

Basically undo everything the Mimic tricked her into doing, with an additional offer of bits of kindness. It was her kind heart that led her down. It can lead her back up. And she's taking everyone up with her.

Trying to patch and fix Bonnie up. Recruiting the Daycare Attendant so they're not doomed to an empty lonely daycare.

Cassie tries to make everything better for everybody. By god does she wish she had the power to just fix literally everything! But she can't... so she sets on her heels and tries to fix whatever she *can* fix.

By the time they make their way back to the lobby where this nightmare and deception started, Cassie has gathered a large group of unlikely friends. They're finally here! They finally can leave. See the sun. Be free! Be happy again!

As beautiful of a sentiment that is... it's not that simple.

They can't all just leave; they need to stay to help M.X.E.S keep the Mimic sealed away. They're guardians as much as M.X.E.S is. And if a similar crisis happens again, M.X.E.S needs guardians to send distress signals to to come and help. It can't guard the place alone.

Cassie can leave though. She earned it. She deserves her happy ending. She did enough- no she did more than enough. She did more than many ever did.

But if it's her happy ending, then why does she feel her heart breaking? Why does it feel so unfair? Looking at those disfigured broken faces (or lack thereof, in the case of Prototype Glamrock Freddy,) she can see real friends there, despite everything they've gone through. Real friends that would show up to her birthday party in a heartbeat, she knows. Real friends that wouldn't leave her behind. She's never had such friends before in her life!

And now she's the one who has to leave them behind?

This feels awful. She feels awful. It doesn't feel like a happy ending at all. All she can bring herself to do is cry her heart out while hugging and clinging to those metal monsters.

But it's necessary, as painful as it is to part ways. It's the right thing. They have a very important mission in there, and Cassie has a whole life ahead of her-- she shouldn't stay really, there's no proper or safe food for her down there. And this is no place for a child, this is no longer the fun Freddy Fazbear's Mega PizzaPlex where people come to play, eat and watch the Glamrock band. Those are times long passed, long gone, and forgotten by most.

Besides, she can leave with her vanni mask, the first and now last node. Even if history repeats itself, there would always be one node left. It's a perfect safety plan.

Or... Cassie can choose to stay a little longer, if to check if there's anything else she can do... such as unlocking that mysterious scooper room... it sure is scary, the thought of getting down there again. But with those new friends by her side rather than trying to stop her, the trip back down is quite easier, if still rather dangerous due to the place's hazardous condition. But she will not fail this time. She's determined not to.

Maybe then, she can make everything right again, for them all, after all.

#fnaf sb ruin spoilers #fnaf #fnaf sb #fnaf sb ruin #five nights at freddy's #five nights at freddys #five nights at freddy's security breach #five nights at freddys security breach #five nights at freddy's security breach ruin #five nights at freddys security breach ruin #cassie #roxanne wolf #glamrock freddy #montgomery gator #glamrock chica #glamrock bonnie #daycare attendant #the daycare attendant #sunnydrop #moondrop #eclipse #helpi #mxes #mimic #ruined roxy #ruined monty #ruined chica #prototype glamrock freddy #jellycream speaks #I LEGIT CRIED AS MY BRAIN THOUGHT OF THIS AS I LAID IN BED

[torturevictimsday]

Protecting vulnerable groups from acts of torture in Africa.

The notion of a vulnerable person involves taking into consideration a particular weakness of the individual. Vulnerability not only forms the basis for the construction of legal rules, but is also used here as a pragmatic legal instrument to reinforce existing legal protection that appears insufficient, or to make up for a lack of legal protection for the person in a given situation. The vulnerable person is thus seen as a functional concept, likely to adapt to any particular need for legal protection [Marion Blondel. La personne vulnérable en droit international. Droit. Université de Bordeaux, 2015. P.60]. Exposure to acts of torture requires specific protection, especially when it concerns vulnerable groups. What does torture mean? The UNCAT defines torture as follows: " any act by which severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a person for such purposes as obtaining from him or a third person information or a confession, punishing him for an act he or a third person has committed or is suspected of having committed, or intimidating or coercing him or a third person, or for any reason based on discrimination of any kind, when such pain or suffering is inflicted by or at the instigation of or with the consent or acquiescence of a public official or other person acting in an official capacity. It does not include pain or suffering arising only from, inherent in or incidental to lawful sanctions" [Article 1 of UNCAT.]. 

The CPTA's 2023 annual theme "Torture and Vulnerable Groups in Africa" aims to address the issue of protecting vulnerable groups from acts of torture in Africa. The topics to be addressed in this newsletter will provide answers to the following question: do vulnerable groups benefit from effective protection against acts of torture in Africa?

Without being exhaustive, the various contributors will be able to build their analyses around the following axes: - Strategies for protecting vulnerable groups from torture: NGO experiences - The legal framework for protecting vulnerable groups against acts of torture: how effective is it?  - Vulnerable groups facing torture: the current situation  - Etc.

Writing guidelines: Number of pages: 5 pages maximum; font: Time new roman; size: 12; line spacing: single. At the beginning of the text, include a 100-word summary and a 100-word abstract in two different languages.  Authors should write the titles of their contributions in bold, font 14, Time new roman; with indications of first and last names followed by titles and institutions.

Deadline for submission:  Authors must submit their original contributions by July 30, 2023, to the following address: [email protected] 

Information notes: The Committee for the Prevention of Torture in Africa, formerly the Follow-up Committee of Robben Island, is a special mechanism of the African Commission on Human and Peoples' Rights. Under its terms of reference, the Committee must:  - Organize, with the support of other interested partners, seminars to disseminate the Robben Island guidelines to national and international actors. - Develop and propose to the African Commission strategies for the promotion and implementation of the Robben Island Guidelines at national and regional level. - Promote and facilitate the implementation of the Robben Island Guidelines within member states. - Report to the African Commission, at each ordinary session, on the status of implementation of the Robben Island Guidelines.

TORTURE

#Committee for the Prevention of Torture in Africa (CPTA) #victims of torture #against torture #Robben Island Guidelines #African Commission #Torture and Vulnerable Groups

[ficmashup]

Taken

Summary: You join TF141 after something happened on your last deployment. They take you in and while it takes some time, you find yourself warming up to them, and them to you. Perhaps especially to the Captain.

A/N: Nothing like a sprinkle of angst on Christmas Eve. ;) I will be doing a part two for this because I can't resist, but can't promise when I'll post it. Soon, I hope! Have a lovely holiday to everyone celebrating. :)

Warnings: SA mentions if you squint, crass language, death, stabbing, beating, shooting, torture, angst, trauma, overall I just decided to stab the characters in the feels. Just a bit. Happy ending though, imo.

Word Count: 4.7k

Masterlist

It’s not expected, but then again, these things never are.

What kills me the most is that Ghost had to be there, had to see it. I’d rather it had been anyone else just so I could spare him the pain of reopening old wounds. We’d been clearing a warehouse and stumbled upon more than we’d expected. We both realize our mistake at different times and I have a split-second decision to make. I’m ahead of Ghost by a dozen or so feet and hidden behind a pile of crates, so I see the group first.

There’s no time to warn Ghost and if he comes forward, he’ll be shot on sight. So I step forward first. I take out those closest to his entry point and my focus on keeping him safe leaves me vulnerable. Ghost moves in just as I’m grabbed from behind and I ram the butt of my gun backward into my captor’s ribs. There’s a grunt, but he doesn’t let go and I drop my gun to hang from my chest in exchange for the long knife on my thigh. I plunge the blade into his thigh and hear a string of curses spat into my ear as their grip only tightens on me.

I fail to realize that during the struggle, they’ve managed to drag me backward towards a side door. My last view as I twist the knife is Ghost’s wide eyes behind the mask before my head is slammed against the wall and all goes dark.

*     *     *

I wake up tied to a chair. I keep utterly still and take stock of my body. My head is heavy and I feel the tightness of the skin on the right side of my face from where blood has dried. There’s a sharp sting coming from across my collar bone and my right ankle twinges. A sprained ankle and a scrape, I’d guess. Possibly a concussion. Nothing too bad. My wrists and ankles are tied to the arms and legs of a chair and the rope chafes, but the ties are sloppy. Keeping me here like this was unexpected, then. An opportunity that they couldn’t pass up.

I keep my breathing steady and my head bowed with my eyes shut. All I do for a few moments is listen. There’s shuffling and voices, but they’re muffled and seem to be coming from a nearby room. Multiple people, but more than likely less than a dozen. I take a chance and open my eyes, looking up and finding the space dim and empty. It looks like a shack barely held together by the sand and dirt covering the floor.

“Awake.” A voice with a rough accent comes from behind me and my spine stiffens as he moves in front of me. He’s limping slightly and I get a brief moment of satisfaction at knowing this is the man who grabbed me and I clearly dealt some serious damage. With the dried blood on my face and him being able to walk after clear medical assistance, I’d say I’ve been gone a few hours. The fact makes what’s left in my stomach curdle.

The man says a few words that I don’t understand, then one that I do. “…bitch.”

I chuckle softly. “Unoriginal.” His fist darts out and the hit is harder than I expect. It leaves me dizzy as the weak chair rocks with the impact. Stays on all fours, though. The man grunts and spits at my feet before walking to the door, apparently satisfied with his revenge. He opens the door and shouts something down the hall before looking at me with ill intent in his eyes. I shift a bit in my chair, noting that they’ve removed my uniform and boots. I’m only in tight shorts and my tank top. It’s going to be torture then. Fine. I’ve already been through hell and lived through it, fashioned myself teeth from the mouths of my demons I killed, I can take whatever poor imitation these amateurs try.

Three more men come in and one steps in front of the others. “Why you here?” He asks in broken English.

“To kill people like you.” I answer simply, staring unblinkingly at him.

He gives me a smile. “Coincidence. That is why we here as well. To kill people like you.” It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes. That’s the base of every conflict in the history of the world. He pulls his handgun and aims it at my forehead while I go completely still. “Tell me more.”

*     *     *

Hours pass. The torture is easy enough to sit through, nothing unexpected, nothing skilled, nothing I haven’t been trained for. The true killer is waiting with my own thoughts. Like thinking that they aren’t coming for me. Stupid. Utterly stupid. Yet the persistent feeling of being unworthy lingers in my chest. And I know that the longer I’m here, the more nagging those thoughts will be.

They can finally be rid of you, no trouble, no hassle, just a lost soldier, happens all the time.

I gasp as a soldier lands a particularly well-aimed punch to my gut and the chair finally falls over. I feel the arm crack at the impact while the group laughs, but the ropes around my right wrist and ankle are now free. My fingers slowly curl around the splintered piece of wood hidden under my body. One of the men waves his hand and another steps forward and yanks the chair back up. I use the momentum of the sudden movement to plunge the long piece of wood into his throat and get my free leg up under me to keep me from toppling over.

The man’s eyes go wide as he chokes on his own blood and everyone else in the room is frozen with shock. I take advantage of that and take the gun in the man’s thigh holster and manage to shoot two men before they draw their guns and one more before they manage to shoot. I use the body of the man I stabbed as cover, but I can barely hold him up. I grunt under the impact of a bullet hitting his dead weight and feel another bullet graze my shoulder before the door straight across from me bursts open. I take advantage of the distraction and shoot one more while the other gets a bullet between the eyes from the intruder’s gun.

I turn on instinct and level my gun at the intruders, stopping my finger just in time when I see the distinct, pale skull mask. “Fuck.” I lower the gun and let the body drop to the floor as Ghost pushes in, but I don’t miss the way he looks me over.

His hand grabs his radio before anything. “Clear, I’ve got the package.” He slings his gun over his back as he reaches me and I don’t realize that I’m trembling until he guides my hand to his shoulder to keep me upright as he unties my other wrist and ankle. My fingers cling to his tac vest like a lifeline.

“Confirmed. If package is secure, move out.” Price’s voice comes over the radio and my heart squeezes at the sound of his voice. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and my hand still holding the gun twitches before I recognize Soap moving into the doorway to watch our backs.

“Clear, LT.” He reports before looking me over with wide eyes. I must really look like shit then.

“Affirmative.” Ghost responds over the radio with a wave back at Soap to tell him the same. “How bad, G?” He asks gruffly once the flimsy chair falls to the floor behind me and he stands up, keeping his forearms within my reach so I can use him to stand. His fingers graze my arms too, not gripping or grabbing, simply guiding.

My head shakes as I stare at him. “Not bad. Nothing broken.”

He nods in return and pulls out my uniform shirt and pants that he must have collected from the other room. My boots too. “Then let’s go. Can you walk?” I take my clothes gratefully and he keeps to my side while I slide the top on with only a slight wince as the fabric slides over the open wounds covering me. The pants are a little more difficult, but I manage before nodding to Ghost that I’m ready. He wraps an arm around my waist and I lower his hand to my hip as my ribs ache with protest. He corrects his grip and we limp out with Soap leading, gun up.

A few more bodies litter the narrow hall and the room beyond, but the true relief is when we walk outside and I can see the stars. I hadn’t realized how stale the air was in that shack and how the metallic smell of blood had stained my nostrils. I gulp down the cool air before I press my lips together as I hold in a laugh. My shoulders start shaking and Ghost’s pace falters before I shake my head. “It’s fine, I’m fine. It’s just the shock and exhaustion.” Laughter taints every word and I swear Ghost’s eyebrows furrow with concern before we keep moving.

“You get scarier all the time, G.” Soap comments ahead and I can’t hold back a low laugh even as I shake my head at myself.

“I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry.” I breathe as the giggles make every word waver.

Ghost’s grip tightens as we carefully scale down the side of the rocky hill. “Not sure what you’re apologizin’ for. You fuckin’ got taken watching my ass and I’d rather have you laughin’ than anything else.”

My head shakes, the laughter fading as I struggle to keep my feet moving while my body starts to shut down. “I’m sorry for thinking you wouldn’t come for me.” Ghost comes to a full stop now as I look between the men and Soap has shock scrawled over his face.

“Course we did, lass. The hell you talkin’ bout?” Soap’s accent gets a little thicker, betraying how deep my words hit.

Ghost starts to move again and I stumble after him even though he’s practically carrying me on his hip. “Keep movin’.” He grumbles and regret lingers in my chest as we fall silent the rest of the way. At the bottom of the rocky path sits a car and my heart beats a little faster at seeing the two figures waiting there for us. Ghost picks me up and carries me the rest of the way before immediately handing me to Price once we’re close enough. He holds me close and tight for far too brief a moment before sitting me on the hood of the car. The moonlight is just bright enough to make out each other’s features and I can’t get enough of his eyes, even with the worry filling them.

“You broken?” He asks quietly and I can hear how the words drag and crackle on the way out of his chest. His hand perches on the side of my neck, his thumb brushing lightly over my pulse point to feel my heart beating.

I give him a weak smile. “Just a bit chipped. Nothing permanent.” I promise and it’s a gift to see a little tension leave his shoulders. “But I’ve lost a lot of blood. I need to be kept conscious as we head back.”

“Still the medic, hm?” He teases dryly but the attempt at humor soothes me more than anything else. “Gaz, let’s go. Fast and steady.” Price pushes the keys into Gaz’s hands as he passes by with a wink, pushing something small that crinkles in my hand. A real smile tugs on my lips. A candy. We pile in the car and it’s a surprise to find myself pressed tight between Ghost and Price with Gaz driving and Soap in the passenger seat. It’s as if everyone traded seats.

“Did…did either of you grab my med kit?” I ask as my head gets a bit dizzy and I pop the hard candy Gaz gave me into my mouth. Soap turns in his seat with a half-grin, holding up my kit. My hands reach for it, but Ghost intercepts and pulls it into his lap.

“What d’ya need?” He asks as he opens it and looks over the contents.

I shift the candy into my cheek. “Bandages. My ankle’s fucked. Need to wrap it at least.” Ghost glances at Price and they instantly come to a nonverbal agreement as John shifts me closer to him while Simon gingerly lifts my foot into his lap. I frown. “I can do it—”

“Let him. That’s an order.” John’s voice in my ear and the command in it has my body stiffening for a moment, then laxing a moment after. My back is pressed against John’s chest with his arm thrown across my middle, his hand heavy on my hip to use it as a steadying point rather than put any pressure on my ribs. He must’ve noticed how Ghost was holding me earlier. Doesn’t miss a thing, my Captain.

Ghost eases my boot off and my hands clench at the pain, but he’s careful and the steady ache of the rest of my body makes it easy enough to sit through. Once my sock is off too, he takes out a small flashlight and I grimace as the light illuminates just how bad my ankle looks. It’s red and swollen from all the activity I forced it through after the sprain. Ghost starts wrapping and I nod when he looks at me to make sure he’s doing it correctly.

When he’s finished and I’m satisfied, I move to pull my foot away, but he keeps a firm hold on it. He gives me a deadpan look. “Keep it elevated.”

I give him a look back that I’m sure is a bit lackluster given my current condition. “It’s supposed to be elevated above my heart, but that’s not happening in the car.”

“Better this than nothing.” Ghost responds without a second of hesitation and his eyes don’t budge from mine. My mouth opens again, then shuts when Price gives my hip a soft squeeze. My lips purse, but I don’t say another word as I relax into John and try to keep my eyes open. I rest my hand on John’s knee and my thumb slides back and forth as I breathe in his scent.

“Give me a list of injuries.” He says and I nod, fighting through the fog of my mind to think clearly.

“Uh, sprained ankle, head wound, possible concussion, multiple lacerations, bruised ribs on my right side, a bullet graze to my left shoulder, and some bumps and bruises.” I go over the list twice in my head before nodding slightly in confirmation. The car is silent for a few beats and I feel a weight settle over all of us. The weight that comes with caring for someone else and hurting when they’re hurt. I swallow, struggling to accept the feeling rather than struggle against it and feel guilty for inflicting it on others. In truth, it’s a choice they all made. I choice I made too, when I let them in.

“Don’t think I ever asked how you are when you’re the one who needs to be treated.” John barely breaks the silence, but the tension lessens when I hum a tired laugh.

“Oh, I’m sweet as sugar, Captain. Naturally.” That gets chuckles from most of the men in the car.

“Liar.” Soap accuses, grinning back at me and I give him a smile in return. Also, I show him my middle finger. He returns the gesture instantly and happiness flits through me at the simple banter.

“You’re not gonna be difficult for me, are you, sugar?” John whispers just low enough for me to hear and I smile, wincing as it stretches a cut on my cheek.

“I like to think I behave better than most of you do when you need care.” I give Ghost a pointed look since he’s the worst of the bunch and he grunts, shaking his head while Soap and Gaz make noises of dissent.

Price shifts and my grip tightens on his knee until he settles again. “I remember being pretty docile last time.”

“After some convincing.” I return, my eyes shutting for just a moment before I feel light flicking at my nose. My eyes open and see Ghost pulling his hand back, head shaking with eyes on mine. I nod once. Got to stay awake. It goes on like this for the rest of the drive. One or all of them keeping up a conversation with me while Ghost taps my nose, pulls my ear, or annoys me in some other way when I start to drift. When we arrive at base, I can barely give one-word answers because I’m so exhausted.

The men rush me into the medical tent and I hate being set on the bed, hate being the one who needs treatment, hate the starchy feel of the sheets, and hate being poked and prodded. There’s a deep frown on my face as I allow the medics to do their job and they give Price the same list of injuries that I gave him earlier. Only after they hear that, and that I’m going to be fine with rest and treatment, Price dismisses the others and they reluctantly go. Although Gaz slips me another hard candy before he goes and gets a smile out of me.

Price stays. Even after the medics pull me aside and push me into a sterile bath to clean all my cuts after I practically showered in that man’s blood, I return smelling like chemicals and find Price waiting. I give him a look and the corner of his mouth lifts, but I can’t bring myself to verbally scold him. His presence settles me as it always has and that’s something I’m especially grateful for while I’m here.

There are a few places where I need stitches and I sit through it silently, Price and I just looking each other over. Seeing that we’re both alive and safe. The medics wrap my ankle again and lay me down in bed with it elevated while I try to keep my grumbling to a minimum. I’m exhausted, but this place, this position, keeps me on edge. But it’s getting harder to resist.

“Just sleep.” John says with a hint of humor in his voice as he sits in the chair next to me.

I heave a breath, nodding. “I’m not fighting it. Just hard to do in a place like this.” He moves a touch closer and breathing comes a little easier as his fingers slot with mine, the tips of his fingers sliding over the length of mine. He understands more than most why I’m having trouble.

“You’re not going to be alone here. Not for a second.” He promises with nothing but sincerity in those lovely blue eyes. My lips press together.

“I can’t ask you for that.”

“You’re not. I’m giving it to you.” He returns instantly and I can’t help but melt. Can’t argue with that. “Sleep.” His other hand raises to slide over my head, his fingers twisting a few locks of hair between them. My eyes flutter closed at the feeling and I don’t mean to fall asleep, but his gentle touch lulls me into peace in seconds.

*     *     *

I wake up feeling a slight weight settling on top of me and I’m on alert in a split second, my eyes flashing open and my hands darting out to grab what I can. The person freezes and I end up staring into dark eyes with their wrist in one hand and the collar of their shirt in the other. “Just me, G.” The voice takes a few moments to sink in, but I relax a second later with a grimace as the sudden movement tweaked my ribs.

“Ghost.” I breathe and slowly release him while he lets go of my wrist that he grabbed to keep me from choking him. “Gotta stop meeting like this.” I tease and he hums as he sits in the chair next to me, moving it as close to the bed as he can. I settle back down and note that the slight weight was another one of his jackets laid over my chest. A little smile pulls on my lips at the sight.

“Think I’d have learned by now. Especially since you still have my other jacket.” He flicks his chin towards the one covering me and I smirk while my heartbeat slowly calms. He’s only wearing the cloth that covers his face tonight and there’s no black smudged around his eyes. It’s as close to being Simon as he allows himself to be on base.

“I always meant to return it.” I say honestly, thinking fondly of his jacket hanging in my closet back home. “Think I like it too much now. I’ll get you another one.” That earns me a rare chuckle as he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Sounds good.” He agrees and there’s that little glint in his eye that tells me he has something to say. He’s either waiting until he’s ready to say it, or he’s still mulling over the words in his mouth. “Took me a solid ten minutes to get Price out of here.” I smile, imagining the soft argument followed by Ghost shoving Price out of the infirmary.

“Thanks for relieving him.”

He shakes his head. “Not a problem.”

“And you wanted to talk to me.” I help him along a bit with amusement in my voice as his fingers knit together and his gaze steadies on mine.

“I did.” He confirms and now I wait, letting him decide when he’s ready to talk. My hands slide over the jacket he laid over me, grateful for the lack of chemical smell emanating from it. It just smells like him. Like bitter tea leaves and a small citrus tang that usually taints his clothes. Probably his detergent. “I don’t forgive you.” He starts and my attention immediately shifts to him and his dark eyes trained on mine. “I don’t accept your apology for thinking we wouldn’t come for you because that’s bullshit and I won’t forgive you until you never fucking believe that again.”

My eyes widen when I hear the heat in his tone. It’s not that odd to hear Ghost get riled up, especially around Soap, but I’ve never had him take that tone with me. Not seriously. “I know it was stupid.”

“Damn right.” He grumbles and I give him a pointed look for rubbing it in. “Say it. Tell me you know we’ll always come for you.” His gaze is unyielding and I know he means it.

“I know the team will always come for me.” Even to my ears, the words sound hesitant. Ghost’s eyes narrow.

“You say that every day ’til it feels as natural as your fucking name. And I’ll ask you to say it every once and a while. ‘Til it’s a reflex.” I sigh, but his tone is insistent. After a moment, I relent with a nod and he pins me in place with his eyes before nodding back and relaxing again in his chair. “You don’t get to save my ass, then think we’re not coming after you. Never believe that, G.”

“I get it, Ghost. I’ll do it.” Because it’s important to him and because he’s clearly trying to do something good for me, even if it’s something I hesitate to do. “And when I can stand without falling over, I’ll give you a hug for being such a pain in my ass.” The mask twitches and his eyes crinkle so I know he’s smiling.

“We’ll see if you can catch me to do it.” He returns and I smirk, knowing he’ll let me. “Now, go on and pass out. Price’ll have my hide if I keep you up.”

“Mmhmm.” I smile and let my exhaustion catch up with me, falling asleep a little easier with his scent in my nose rather than the chemicals that cleaned my body.

The next time I wake, Soap has taken Ghost’s place and morning light is seeping into the tent. “Morning, lass.” He greets and I give him a bleary grunt in return. “Cheery in the morning.” He quips and I’m about to tell him what he can do with his cheer before he points to a tray beside me. “That’s for you, if you’re up for it. Will ye let me help you up without bitin’ me?” Soap gets up and I nod, grabbing onto his arms as they slide under mine to pull me up into a sitting position.

A long breath leaves me as pain echoes through my body with every movement, but Johnny is gentle and makes sure to stack pillows behind me before moving back. He pushes a glass of water into my hand along with some pills. “Nurses said to give those to ya.”

I raise a brow and take the pills despite how my face hurts. I bet I really look like shit. “They trusted you with a task? I’m shocked.”

He smirks. “At least your spirits are still high.” Soap reaches over and pulls the tray closer to hover over my lap. “Eat up. Took everything in me not to steal your applesauce.” I hum amusedly, picking up the small container first and happily digging into the sweet treat. Soap flicks my ear. “Cruel lass. Careful, I might rethink my offer.”

I pause and raise a brow. “Offer?”

Mischief glints in his eyes and I take a deep breath to prepare myself. “You’re coming to Scotland with me.” He says with a smug grin. “The group we took out last night were the last few we were after, so we’re on leave starting the day after tomorrow. Since you’ve got no one waitin’ for ya at home, I’m takin’ ya with me to see my family. So I can keep an eye on ya.” He winks at me while I blink a few times to make sure I heard him right.

“That’s…that’s not necessary, Soap. I can take care of myself.” I frown as I think of myself laying on his couch surrounded by his family, just taking up space. “I couldn’t possibly impose on you and your family.” Besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve met someone’s family. Parents…I haven’t been around parents in at least a fucking decade.

“Too bad.” Soap answers instantly, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve already told my Ma and she’s excited to meet ya. If you resist, I’ll carry you there slung over my shoulder.” I pout, setting my food down on the tray as I try to think of a way out of this. “Come on, lass, it’ll be fun. You only have to stay off your foot for a little while and I’ll be there to entertain you in the meantime.”

My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I look at him and if anyone can pull off a puppy dog look, it’s Johnny. After a few moments I sigh, pressing my fingers to my temple. “You’re sure your family doesn’t mind—”

“They’re fucking thrilled, G. Come on, just say you’ll come without a fight.” He leans forward and nudges my leg gently.

A smile tugs on my lips and I’ll admit the thought of seeing Johnny at home is a tempting one. “Yeah, okay, I’ll come.” His face brightens immediately and his big grin makes accepting worth it.

“You won’t regret it. One minute in Scotland and you’ll never want to leave.” He assures me and I nod along, listening with a fond smile as he tells me about his sisters, his mother’s cooking, and his father’s terrible jokes. To my own surprise, I find myself actually…looking forward to it.

Taglist (hello, lovelies, hope you enjoy. Lmk if anyone wants to be tagged):

@under-the-dirt @jj-ara33 @sorchateas @cherry-blosom-tree

@thriving-n-jiving @jinxxangel13 @emsstuff1 @missmidnight-writes @thereeallink @younggirlgenius @1wh4re1nova @ghostslillady

#captain price #angst #call of duty #cod #fluff #cod mw2 #gaz #ghost #price #price x reader #price x OC #captain john price #cod mw3 #cod mwii #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #mw2 #hurtxcomfort #female!OC #oc:G

[voicesknewmyghosts]

Jealous Jealous Jealous

Jenna gets a little jealous of you and Melissa (Anon Prompt)

You can feel her eyes boring holes into the back of your head as you walk onto set. You know what’s coming; the script has slowly been building tension between yours’ and Melissa’s characters over the weeks and months you’ve been shooting, and today is the day they finally realise the feelings they have for each other. 

To say Jenna is particularly enthusiastic about watching you make out with someone she considers her sister is far from the truth, to say the least. 

She decided to stay to watch, even though she was done for the day. Whether it was out of curiosity; or a way to torture herself; or to ensure no funny business occurred; you weren’t sure. Besides, having her there always made you feel more secure in your abilities: her presence alone, whether on the sidelines, in a scene with you or simply just being in the same room always fills you with a hidden confidence only Jenna can make appear. 

However, feeling the daggers she’s currently shooting into your back, you feel a little more nervous to film this scene than you did before you and Jenna confessed your love for each other at the beginning of shooting Scream 6. 

You two had met on the set of Scream 5, quickly becoming inseparable after discovering you shared the same dark, dry humour the smaller girl had become famous for. Over time, you had grown closer and closer, until, on the second day of shooting for Scream 6, Jenna had taken you for a moonlit picnic by a lake, where she soon told you the feelings she’d been harbouring for you from the day she met you. 

She was nervous, that you could tell. She’s always been quiet around those she feels comfortable with and like she doesn’t have to perform for, but that night she looked smaller than usual.  She looked like the weight of the world was on her shoulders, and only after you kissed her gently did she look strong and confident again, almost like you were the one with the power over her; capable of making her feel like she could take on the world. 

Ever since that night you two had tried keeping your relationship a secret, at least until filming was wrapped up. 

That was until you had to kiss Melissa, and Jenna decided all bets were off the table. 

The scene was simple. Your character walks into the empty apartment - save for Sam - and confesses their undying love for her, how the Ghostface killings made life seem too short and vulnerable to be keeping a secret that big and important to yourself. 

And, with this being a movie, Sam moves in and takes your head in her hands and kisses you with a ferocity so powerful the scene ends with you falling to the ground, the aftermath left to the imagination. 

You thought you were prepared.

You were not. 

You said your lines, delivering them with as much conviction as you could, even shedding a tear or two as your character describes the hell the group have been through with Ghostface. Melissa is staring at you with a soft gaze, the corners of her mouth slowly turning into a small smile before she’s moving, grabbing your head in her hands and telling you she loves you too. And then her mouth is on yours, her hands forming a tight grip in your hair like she’s scared you’re going to leave, and then you’re falling to the floor, dragging Melissa down with you and then, mercifully, the Director yells cut. 

It was a good take; but you had to repeat it 4 more times for the Director to finally be happy with the camera angles, much to the chagrin of the figure in the corner of the room, unable to keep her eyes off of the scene in front of her. 

5 times she watched Melissa attack your face. 

5 times she had to keep her mouth shut every time the Director called for “just one more, I want the cameras moved more to the left.” 

5 times she wished she could just drag you away and claim you as hers. 

She’s not angry with you nor Melissa; that would be insane. No, she’s angry with the little goblin inside of her that makes itself known any time someone shows you attention only she should be giving you. 

And that little goblin is certainly making its presence known today. 

Jenna sees the relief in your face as you finally finish for the day. She knows how tired you are; mentally and physically, from how hard you work here. She doesn’t want to make your life harder or make things awkward with Melissa, but when you start walking towards her, that cute sleepy smile on your face? She can’t help it. 

She rushes you. All of her 5-foot-nothing body comes barrelling towards you out of the darkness, slamming you up against the wall and smashing her mouth with yours. 

You don’t have a second to breathe; Jenna is all over you like an animal; claiming what’s hers and reminding you who you belong to. 

Not that that was in any doubt to begin with, of course. She just can’t help the goblin inside of her egging her on to show you just who you belong to, no matter who sees. 

You can feel the bruises forming on your lips from how hard Jenna is kissing you. You don’t fight it, even though you know the whole cast and crew are probably trying their hardest to get out of the room as quickly as possible lest anything unsavoury happens in front of their eyes. 

As much as you wish that Jenna had perhaps saved this little show of jealousy for inside the privacy of your bedroom; you’re not complaining. The fierce show of dominance over you is enough to make you want to drag her home so you can continue this escapade in private, no holding back.

A cough from beside you startles you both out of your daze. Jenna quickly lets her tight grip on your shirt go and steps away, embarrassment evident in her body language. 

“Don’t worry Jen, i’m not stealing your girl.” Melissa chuckles before grabbing her stuff and walking towards the exit. “Carry on.” 

You can hear Melissa laughing to herself all the way down the corridor, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen between you and Jenna as you both start to giggle at the situation. 

Giggles turn into full belly laughs as you slide down the wall, Jenna following, and laugh until it hurts, tears stinging your eyes. 

It takes a while to calm down, what with every time you think about what the crew must have looked like when Jenna grabbed you setting you off again, but eventually, calm silence falls between the two of you. 

You both catch your breaths before you turn to the girl next to you. 

“So, want to finish what you started?” 

A dark smirk replaces the smile. She stands and offers her hand to you. 

“First one home gets to top.”

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega fanfic #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x reader

[scarredwithcruelintentions]

chapter 1: this is a gift

Find the masterlist here!

W/C: 2,700

Over the course of his unnaturally long life, Astarion had experienced many things. However, he couldn’t recall ever having had the displeasure of acting with such altruistic compassion before now. It was almost as if Cazador himself had thought up an entertaining new way to torture him, forcing him to don a mask of tight-lipped humility to maintain his facade of belonging.

One thing was made abundantly clear from the start of this journey: Astarion did not belong among this group of would-be heroes. His first taste of freedom in two hundred years, consistently squandered by the incessantly self-sacrificing actions of his traveling companions. He found himself in a constant state of exasperation these days, an eye-roll or a scoff away from striking out on his own, for better or worse. 

No matter how uncomfortable a role it was to play, far be it from him to turn down the objective safety in numbers that his companions provided him with, however unwittingly. It wasn’t as though he was a stranger to playing uncomfortable roles for the sake of his survival. Were they ever to find out just what it was they were traveling with, they’d surely turn him out in an instant, if not stake him outright. Neither being vulnerable to recapture by Cazador nor the finality of death quite tickled Astarion’s fancy, so he kept his head down and the worst of his sarcastic quips to himself in hopes that he would remain relatively safe from prying eyes - or more accurately, prying thoughts.

And it worked - for the most part. The gith and the cleric were too busy quarreling amongst each other to pay him any heed, and the warlock was all too consumed by his loathing of his contracted owner. The wizard, while clearly educated and well-read, didn’t seem to have a perceptive bone in his body if the way he carried on was anything to go off of. Astarion could swear that listening to him speak was the closest he’d come to truly sleeping since he’d been turned. The tiefling woman, bless her infernal engine, had heart and brawn to spare, but had been less than fortunate in the intelligence department.

You, however, were far harder to read, and therefore far harder to trust. Not to say that he trusted his other companions, but he could at least trust that they remained steadfastly oblivious as to his true nature. He was never sure with you, occasionally catching a glimmer of something deeper in the warmth of your gaze when you exchanged pleasantries, or looking up from his book to find you staring at him from across the campfire, your pleasant voice lilting the harmonic accompaniment to the lyre in your arms. Your eyes held far too much keen interest for him to be comfortable, so he kept an especially safe distance from you.

At least, he tried to.

As the days wore on and the fights became more grueling, he found himself growing weary and bone-tired beyond what his typical nightly hunt could satiate. He felt sluggish and weak; stringing together rational and coherent thought had become burdensome. He could scarcely breathe in the company of his companions without feeling overwhelmed by the sheer might of his bloodlust. Luckily, he’d mostly learned to ignore his bottomless hunger over the span of his enslavement, and whatever wasn’t held in the firm grip of his self-control was allayed by the fear of Cazador’s retribution.

The longer he spent away from Cazador, though, the more that fear shrunk alongside his waning self-control. The fact that he’d left his most recent kill, mangled and exsanguinated, in the middle of the path for his traveling party to stumble across was testament to his current lack of presence. Under different circumstances, its discovery could have been his death sentence. As it were, he only had to listen to the shocked and horrified exclamations of his companions, none of them the wiser that the beast in question capable of such a grisly and disturbing kill resided in their camp. For his part, Astarion remained steadfastly silent, watchful gaze leveled on the back of your head and fingers twitching toward his dagger.

After a quiet “hmm” and a shrug, you stood from the corpse of the boar and brushed your hands off. 

“Nothing to be done for it now. Best be on our way,” you said gravely. Astarion’s fingers stopped their twitching, and he released a silent breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.

Later that night, as his companions sang and danced and made merry around the campfire, Astarion began to hatch a plan. An ill advised plan, mind, and not one that he was proud to have conjured up, but he was so hungry and could no longer ignore the mouth watering smell of the sentient life around him. All that was left was to pick his target and wait for the right opportunity to strike.

As he pretended to eat his bowl of stew that the wizard had prepared, he sorted through the list of his companions in his mind, weighing his options. Both the gith and the warlock were sure to kill him if they caught him in the act, so they were immediately discarded. The tiefling would melt his face right off if he got too close to her, which made her an impractical option. Something about the wizard smelled off, so naturally he was struck from the list. That left the cleric… and you.

Just as he was preparing to puzzle out the best option between the two, you waltzed past him with your gentle instrumental and sultry lilt, and he made the mistake of inhaling. His mouth practically watered at the smell of you: jasmine blossoms and orange peel and heady musk. Without any further thought, he had his vict- target. 

He shook his head warily, attempting to clear his disquieted thoughts like so many cobwebs from his mind, just as you turned to send a soft smile his direction. 

His insides twisted with the sharp discomfort of shame and he smiled back, taking care to keep from baring his fangs. He couldn’t tell if the vise grip of unease was of his own or his master’s making, but it was almost strong enough to make him reconsider. Almost. Then, his hunger returned to him full-force and all at once, and his resolve was strengthened. Once everyone else had reached the land of dreams, Astarion would have his first true taste of freedom: ‘the blood of a thinking creature’. ______________________________________________________________

Astarion volunteered to take first watch, so, mercifully, he was the only one awake. If he were capable of nervous sweats, the back and underarms of his shirt would be soaked through, his palms clammy and the curls at his forehead damp. One would think that being abducted by mindflayers would make the prospect of drinking his companions’ blood pale in comparison, but he found himself more terrified now than those handful of nights ago when he’d been snatched up and imprisoned on the Nautiloid. Perhaps it was the fear of Cazador’s wrath, when he inevitably found out Astarion wilfully disobeyed his cardinal order; perhaps it was the fear of losing control and hurting you, and then paying the price with his life.

Whatever the case, Astarion made a concerted effort to steel himself before proceeding with his plan. He crept from his post, silent as the grave with the practiced ease of a night stalker and crossed the camp to your tent, its flaps open to dispel some of the muggy summer air trapped within. The closer he got to his prize, to you, the further his wits were flung from him until he knelt at your side, salivating at the thrum of the pulse in your neck. He licked his lips and leaned in, intoxicated by the smell of you, fangs poised to puncture your carotid artery -

“You could ask, you know,” he felt more than heard you say. “It’s impolite to touch people without first gaining their consent.”

Astarion reeled back as if he’d been struck, a muffled curse escaping him as he hastily tried to retreat.

“Move any further and I’ll scream. I’d fancy a guess that you don’t want the whole camp to find you unwelcome in my tent, so I suggest you quit squirming away and explain yourself,” you grumbled, and though your voice painted a perfect picture of disenchantment, Astarion could see the way your body had drawn taut with adrenaline; you were prepared to fight your way out of this if necessary.

“No, no! It’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he pleaded, voice just shy of frantic and hands held aloft in placation. “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed - well, blood.” 

The shame returned to him at a near dizzying magnitude, his last words falling flat in defeat on a final exhale, sure to be his last.

You sat up, body still tense and prepared to strike if the need arose, and scrutinized him with narrowed eyes. To his surprise and immense relief, you only questioned him further.

“How long since you last killed someone? Days? Hours?” 

Though your voice held the edge of cold steel, it could not conceal the glint of curiosity in your gaze. Despite his better judgment, Astarion decided to tell you the truth, hoping to appeal to the bleeding heart of your empathy.

“I’ve never killed anyone! Well, not for food,” he sneered, then schooled his expression back into something non-threatening after remembering that he did not want to make his predicament worse.

“I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds - whatever I can get. But it’s not enough. Not if I have to fight. I feel so… weak.”

“Ah, so that was your dinner we found so carelessly discarded this morning,” you bit back.

He weighed his next words carefully after examining your body language, still finding you tense but sensing no fear.

To Hells with it, he thought.

“If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please,” he begged, eyes wide and round with desperation.

He watched in relative discomfiture as the tension drained from your posture, expression morphing to regard him with no small amount of pity as your tadpoles connected and you were granted a fleeting glimpse into his centuries of abuse and torment. It took all of his courage to not shut you out; he felt painfully flayed open and on display with what little you were able to glean from the brief brush of your minds. 

To your credit, you didn’t ask about what you’d seen.

“Why didn't you tell me, Astarion?” you whispered.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no,” he scoffed, then sighed, “More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

He held his breath again, daring to hope that you might actually be amenable to helping him.

“Hells. I do trust you, Astarion. Believe it or not, I do. Would have preferred you to just ask instead of having this uncomfortable confrontation in the wee hours, though,” you chuckled.

He almost couldn’t believe his luck, or perhaps it was your stupidity, and he waved a hand noncommittally in front of him.

“Does this mean…” he breathed, his nerves alight with something akin to elation.

“Yes, you may make a meal of me,” you sighed.

“Wonderful! Thank you, truly-” he began, abruptly cut off by the hand raised wordlessly to silence him.

“But you’d better not take a drop more than you need, or there won’t be a next time,” you finished with a resolute nod.

Astarion nearly balked at your words, simultaneously blessing and cursing whatever gods would listen for leaving something so preciously stupid as you alone in his company.

“Of course, darling. Not one drop more, on my honor,” he said, placing a hand over his undead heart.

You snorted inelegantly, “Right, honor. As if you have any of that, Rogue. How do you want me?”

“You wound me, my sweet. More to the point, how don’t I want you?” he drawled, playing up the flirty charm in an attempt to ease the stiffness of anxiety that had once again overcome you. 

However, it seemed to have opposite the desired effect, and he watched in disconcerted fascination as your hands balled into tight fists at your sides. You rhythmically unclenched and clenched your fists a few times before releasing a shaky exhale.

“Do you plan to bite me sometime before the sun rises or not? If you’ve changed your mind, I’d very much like to get some sleep before we have to spend another day meandering through this blasted forest, hunting down an impossible cure for our stowaways,” you huffed out.

“My apologies, do get comfortable,” Astarion mumbled as he scrambled to kneel at the edge of your bedroll once more. He brushed the wisps of your hair away from your neck, fingers trailing down the delicate column of your throat almost reverently. He wanted to savor this moment, this first.

“Will it hurt much?” he felt the rumble of your words through his fingertips.

“Not terribly, but it will be uncomfortable for a moment. I will try to be gentle,” he murmured back, steady gaze leveled with your apprehensive one.

“Get on with it, then,” you gritted out, turning your head to expose more of the tender flesh of your neck.

Astarion leaned in, once again overwhelmed by the smell of you in this close proximity, but no longer dogged by the feeling of malaise at what he was about to do. He gently dragged his fangs up the column of your throat, searching for your pulse point. He heard your quiet gasp and felt the slight shudder that ran through you, one of your hands flying up to nestle in the silvery curls at the nape of his neck and the other twisting in the furs of your bedroll. It was then that he struck.

The first splash of blood across his tongue was like the finest wine he’d ever tasted. He vaguely registered the sound of a groan, but whether it was yours or his, he wasn’t sure. Everything beyond your lifeblood spilling from the puncture wounds in your neck and his tongue lapping at it was hazy with his euphoria. He could taste the salty musk of your sweat coupled with the ferrous tang of your blood, the fleeting sweetness of your desire giving way to a deeper, more buttery contentment. 

He quickly lost himself in the act of drinking from you, gulping down great mouthfuls of your blood like a man having stumbled across an oasis after spending too many long nights parched in the desert. He drank deeply and greedily, rational thought all but gone as he slaked his bloodlust.

Eventually, he registered the bitter taste of your fear and felt the fingers buried in his curls tighten and pull.

“Astarion,” you garbled in warning, “that’s enough.”

Reluctantly, and with no small amount of effort, he pulled back. 

“That - that was amazing,” he mumbled in awe, tongue darting out to clean the blood from his lips and wiping up the droplets that spilled down his chin, only to lick his fingers. 

“And strangely intimate,” you laughed breathily.

“Indeed. My mind is finally clear. I feel strong, I feel… happy!” he breathed, voice full of wonderment. 

“I’m looking forward to seeing you fight,” you whispered, the ghost of a smile playing at your lips.

“Shouldn’t take long,” he smirked back, “So many people need killing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

He stood and turned to exit, then thought better of it and paused at the mouth of your tent. He looked over his shoulder to find you seated upright, looking at him expectantly.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

He didn’t miss the way your face fell as he turned to continue out into the waiting darkness. This time, it was guilt that made his gut churn unpleasantly. As to why, though, he couldn’t say.

#bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion #tav #astarion pov #unnamed tav #no use of y/n #reader insert #afab tav #bard tav #trauma #angst #astarion needs a hug #past abuse #past torture #slow burn #the bite scene #au canon divergence

[yourqueenb]

I thought I’d be able to write a semi coherent post expressing my thoughts on the finale and the book overall after stepping away from it for a while. But as I’ve started thinking about it again, I’ve only gotten more annoyed. So here’s some disorganized rambling on my issues with Blades 2 instead. Probably just gonna make separate posts for my thoughts as they come to me.

I feel like I should start with Valax because she’s one of the biggest reasons why I feel like this book was absolute dogshit tbh. When you create a whole new character who will eventually be instated as member of the main friend group or an LI, there’s a certain amount of prep work that has to go into establishing them as a character. That work doubles when the character starts off in opposition to the MC or other important characters. And in Valax’s case, not only did she start off simply opposing MC and what we stood for, she stole us from our home and family, forced and kept us in a vulnerable state (for a year? 2 weeks? do we even know atp?), and then violated us by quite literally trying to bleed us dry.

MC’s kidnapping and torture were the catalyst for this entire book. Yet the perpetrator doesn’t have to acknowledge anything that she did at all… Our friends can ignore and downplay what happened (even though it was apparently oh so hard without us) for the better half of the book… And worst of all, MC defaults to brushing everything off, placing trust in this person, and even going out of the way to empathize with her at every turn.

We have the option to express some anger and frustration with our friends’ treatment of us in a rushed scene in the second to last chapter of the book. But that’s where the majority of the focus goes. The only mention of Valax is MC expressing confusion about her role in things and a little bit of hurt about being “betrayed”. Yet up until that point, the writers had done nothing meaningful outside of diamond scenes to actually establish her as someone that could be trusted or become a friend, nothing to show that she could empathize with MC and the insane amount of trauma inflicted on MC and friends because of her, and nothing to prove that she was even seeking forgiveness for it in the first place.

Then to add the icing on the cake, they turn around and invoke the word “friend” in reference to Valax at every opportunity in the last chapter. They have her claiming she couldn’t hurt us. Pouting and shedding a couple of tears in what is probably the most ridiculous and melodramatic CG I’ve ever seen. And MC once again empathizing with her at every turn. Placing trust in her, protecting her, standing up for her, offering to leave her friends, family, and entire life behind to go to the Shadow realm with her.

It’s already been established that MC was basically just a tool the writers used to tell all of the other characters’ (especially Nia’s) stories. But as of now, I feel Valax far surpasses Nia in that regard. MC had to bleed, lose time that can’t be replaced, have her agency stripped from her, and ultimately suffer in silence through all of it just so Valax (a completely new character) could have her lackluster story told in scenes that you don’t even see if you don’t pay for them.

#choices bolas #choices blades #blades of light and shadow #choices stories you play #playchoices #choices #choices app

[ohbo-ohno]

Serial killer AU and the contrast between how Ghoap treat us and other victims. Maybe they're holding our friend group hostage in the basement, and every day we're forced to see pain and torture of our friends and then Ghost drags us upstairs by our hair and....

The softest pillows ever, Soap helds pur hands so we won't struggle as Simon tortures us with cumming over and over again. We're literally covered in blood, they are covered in blood, and Ghost is so mean with everyone( Soap laughs as our friends struggle against his axe and then covers our face with kisses because we're adorable and he wants us to cry forever((

Scaredy cat whiny wet napkin reader who constantly needs to drink because we cry our daily hydration worth, and we don't really get used to them or fall into Stockholm syndrome, we're just terrified enough to comply with them. It's my favorite dynamic tbh, not just falling in love, but mostly submitting out of fear. Ghost is so soft with us, gots us sweets and vegetables even though Soap is moody because of the lack of meat, because we can't bring ourselves to eat normally after we saw what they did to our friends

🎷🐛

i am fucking LOSING IT

you're so real for preferring scared submission over stockholm syndrome btw. stockholm syndrome can be fun but something about complying only because you're scared... it's so delicious...

also... soap wanting meat... if any of you want a cannibal ghostsoap apocalypse au go read this it's sooo good. ghost kidnaps soap and takes him back to his cannibal compound to keep him :( it's written as a love story from ghost's perspective and a horror story from soap's lol it's great

anyways more about serial killer ghoap below the cut :) listened to bilgewater by brown bird while writing this if any of y'all like gothic country music

soap torturing someone with you in the room (because he hates letting you out of his sight) and he keeps taking breaks to come comfort you and gives you kisses IM :((( wipes your tears away and gets streaks of red all over your face, wants to fuck you cause you look so pretty but his victims don't deserve to see you that vulnerable, that's just for him and simon. ties you up in the corner so you don't run, maybe locks you in a little cage (i will put petplay into everything i write like god has challenged me to it personally). gags you because you get real scream-y and tend to beg for their lives, but sometimes has to tug it out so you can throw up :( tells you to close your eyes when he does something particularly nasty, the gore and your terror in the corner nearly enough to get him off without even touching his dick

being soft with you is like their reward to themselves for torturing people so well lmfao. like, they did so good making those people's last moments agonizing and now they get to cuddle up with you <3 washes off their hands and your face, bundles you up real close to them, gets to lay in all the nice soft warmth now.

ghost is so so tender when washing you off (when he doesn't want you covered in blood - sometimes he leaves it for hours, until it flakes off and you nearly scratch it away until you bleed). he's cooing to you while brushing a soft washcloth over you face, humming a little and saying things like you were such a good girl for us. such good bait, led our toys right to us, thank you so much, doll. look so good covered in their blood, wanna paint you with it sometime. that sound nice to you? no? ok, ok, deep breaths, honey, calm down. just relax for me, you're safe. gonna be real sweet to you now, you don't have to be scared anymore.

and they are sweet. place you on a mattress covered in the softest most plush blankets you've ever seen. they set a little stuffed animal in your arms, let you curl around it and hide your face in it. they know it makes you feel better, and they're nice enough to let you hide your face from them for now :( content themselves with pulling you right up into them (making you hold the stuffed animal when they kill people, look at you all smiley and say make sure he doesn't get dirty, baby, picks it up out of a pool of blood and tsks at you all disappointed, tell you to clean him and say gentle, like we are with you whey you get too rough)

actually can't stop thinking about this au it's like a curse

#this is one of my faves like im obsessed #gremlingottoosilly #ghoap x reader #bo writes #asks and answers #favorites #serial killer ghoap x reader

[lovergirly]

the love languages (wednesdays version)

hi my loves! i’m sorry i haven’t been here, i’ve been horribly busy the past couple days. i met the love of my life over break and i’m trying to start a relationship with them so fingers crossed 🤞🏻

this isn’t a request, but feel free to leave me some! <33

they say there are five different ways to display your love to a person. love languages. conventional couples constantly love showering each other with affection and giving each other flowers or go to the drive in for dates. wednesday was the opposite of conventional. she finds it hard to believe she was even capable of loving someone, let alone be able to let herself be vulnerable around someone. even her girlfriend she struggles with showing affections to. her girlfriend however was able to see every single love language wednesday provides for her.

1. words of affirmation

waking up was always the hardest part of your day. who was sadistic enough to make teenagers wake up at 6 in the morning everyday?

“mi amor it’s time to wake up.”

of course your macabre girlfriend enjoyed this torture. you don’t answer her and instead groan into your pillow. unknown to you she rolls her eyes and starts to open your curtains. this doesn’t give her the reaction she wanted as you only hide more into your blankets.

“y/n we have school and i can’t be having you late. get up, my love.” you still don’t move and now wednesday is getting annoyed. “cara mia, if you don’t get up i’ll deny you your kisses for the rest of the day.”

knowing she was 100% serious with that threat, you slowly force yourself out of bed causing your perfectly dressed and composed girlfriend to smile, “you look absolutely miserable.”

“thank you, i am.”

“well even while miserable you look absolutely breathtaking mi amor.”

2. acts of service

after getting ready for your day, you and wednesday had to seperate and go to your classes. the only problem is these kids have been teasing you. a group of three girls tried to start a rumor about you and nearly tripped you just in this period alone. finally after they “accidentally” spilt their drink on you, you run out of the classroom only to see wednesday standing right there with a bag of muffins she got for you. she saw you nearly sprinting out with tears in your eyes and a group of girls all watching you and laughing. she realized she either had the option to kill then now or go check on you and kill them later. knowing you’re worth more than those imbeciles were, she ran after you to see you sitting with your knees to your chest crying in a random corner. she saw how vulnerable you looked, and wished she could take away your pain just as fast as those girls inflicted it.

“querida mia, what happened?”

“wednesday those girls are just awful! they tried to make up a rumor about me and they’re just so mean.” you stuttered while sobbing. her heart broke for you. just because she had thick skin and can easily take down a bully doesn’t mean she knows you get too overwhelmed to defend yourself in situations like this.

“y/n don’t let them get to you. they’re a bunch of clowns who are jealous of what you have.”

“what do i have that they don’t?”

“me. the love and adoration i try to provide for you.” she simple walks away after that and unbeknownst to you, is planning a way to get back at those intolerable girls. it wasn’t until the next day when you saw how your girlfriend sent thing to cut giant chunks out of all the girls’ hair and a horrified expression when they see you with your beloved.

3. gifts

wednesday comes from a rich family. it wasn’t a shock. she was a trust fund kid and often asked her parents to take out money to get you some lavish presents. you weren’t used to the high class lifestyle she had, so she made sure to buy to the most luxurious items. you like that jacket? it’s yours. it’s $500? that’s not too bad, she thought it would’ve been at least $2000. wednesday wouldn’t say she’s carelessly throwing away money, even if your closet had got restocked by her. she just enjoyed the look on your face when you got the newest all black Balenciaga bag or the softest pair of pink pajamas money can buy. the presents you liked the most, however, were when she tried to be romantic with her gift giving.

one night, wednesday walks into your dorm with her hands behind her back.

“hello my love! i missed you so much.”

“i missed you as well y/n. i actually got you a present.” she pulls out two viles and a little needle.

“i want to show you that i am completely enthralled by you and wish to grow old with you until we both face our demise.” she goes to sit on your bed “i want to give you some of my blood that you can wear as a necklace. it’s supposed to represent the deepest trust and love i have for you. you of course don’t need to give me one, but i want to give you one.”

“oh my love of course i’ll give you one. will you do the honors of pricking my finger for me?”

with that you and wednesday spent the rest of the night making and presenting blood necklaces for each other.

 4. quality time

wednesday doesn’t believe in small talk. she thinks it’s a waste of time. she does enjoy a good conversation with you, but she doesn’t want to hear the little details about who said what last friday and why it’s so bad. her writing hour was her time. she frequently kicks enid out during that time because she needs to think and get inspiration. people don’t give her inspiration. she hates people. viper de la muerte hates people. well everyone except her girlfriend. vipers girlfriend who is a little too similar to you. how did she get the inspiration to creat vipers girlfriend? by making you stay in the room while she writes. the first time you stayed in the room it was a nuisance. you were with enid and laughing the full hour. it was torture, and not the kind she enjoys. now, she can’t write without you in the room. whether you’re just reading over her shoulder, she loves your critiques. even if it’s just a simple “i love your writing my love!” or “i like this part!” she needs those words to allow her creative mind to continue. she feels pathetic , relying on you to do something as simple as writing, but nothing makes her happier than seeing your face as you read her writing or give her shoulder rubs the second she finishes her writing hour. even if you’re not reading with her, just you in the room gives her a calm feeling. she loves when you’re both in her dorm alone, doing your own thing silently. it makes her feel like you’re already a married couple and the dorm room is simple your house.

5. physical touch

if wednesday hates one thing the most, it’s physical touch. the only people who can touch her without dying is her family, and even they barley can touch her without her pulling away. you might think you’re an expection, but wednesday addams doesn’t do cuddling. she hates it. not because she gets hot or anything at night. she just simply hates it. the only way you’ll even get her to consider cuddling with you is after constant begging. you literally have to get on your knees in front of her (which she liked more than she’d like to admit) just for her to put her arm around you in bed. she’ll never be caught dead being the little spoon. whether you’re her height or six feet tall, she’ll be the big spoon. she likes the feeling of protecting you at night. you’re her love, it’s her job to keep you safe.

and while wednesday would deny any of this as love and would never admit to “mellowing out”, the wednesday addams found a love. a love she can cherish and treat just as her father treats her mother. she wants to cherish you and protect you from the world in the only way she knows. the love language of an addams.

————————————————————————

i hope you guys enjoyed, i wrote this in one sitting so it might not be the best. i really want to make each of these little snippets it’s own story, but i’m not sure yet. definitely leave a like if you enjoyed though and leave more requests <33

#wednesday #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega #lgbtq #addams family #jenna ortega x reader #fanfic #wednsday addams

[kun3ho141]

This image does not belong to me. All credit is due to its respective owner.

Inspiration: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: After accepting the fact that he'd never intertwine his life with another's, he crosses paths with you. Now, all he desires is to take your hand in marriage.

Word-Count: 1.1K

Warnings: None

☆ Reblog, Comment, and Like ☆

I do not permit others to translate or republish my works on this platform or any other A.I. program.

A/N: Have you seen the TikTok trend where military personnel highlight their partners or loved ones using one of Hoizer's songs? This trend actually inspired me, and I created a scenario based on it.

Thank you for reading!! ♡

Simon 'Ghost' Riley, the notorious special forces operative, is a figure known and dreaded by various specialized groups. Wearing a skull mask, it represents a wounded and solitary side of his character, a fragment that still bears the scars and fractures from the trials he’s encountered. After enduring brutal torture, losing his loved ones, and immersing himself in a military career, he had accepted a life of solitude, convinced that he could never intertwine his life with another’s. 

Yet, as he stands at the altar, surrounded by his teammates, they watch as you make your way down the aisle.

At that moment, time seems to stand still for Simon. His hardened exterior, built over years of pain and loss, collapses as he admires you, revealing a vulnerability he never thought he’d experience again. Nevertheless, as his gaze meets yours, he feels a glimmer of hope, a sentiment he links solely to you.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Simon spent years reaching this point, with you gradually breaking down Ghost. Progress wasn't consistent, with some days being more successful than others. While his defenses only crumbled for you, you played a significant role in shaping his current character. You healed someone who believed he would only break further, someone who considered himself irreparable. You provided him with hope, love, a confidant, and a secure place to call home. After years of knowing Ghost, you crossed paths with Simon. Your Simon…

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Facing each other, the world around him begins to blur. The instrumental music and officiant's words fade into the background as he studies you, captivated by your radiance. His focus narrows, fixated solely on your silhouette. He’s always found you beautiful, whether you're dressed in tactical gear, casual clothing, or simply bare. However, seeing you in a wedding dress, with your veil gracefully cascading over your hair, he believes that you’ve never looked more gorgeous.

Following the officiant's opening remarks and readings, the exchange of vows takes place. Simon, appreciative of you and all that you’ve done for him, healing him in ways no one else could, ensured his vows were perfect. Without your knowledge, he had rehearsed his vows prior to the wedding day, dedicating time to writing, revising, and practicing them repeatedly. Instead of relying on a written script, he chose to look directly into your eyes during that moment.

“My love, when I was cast aside by others, left fractured and isolated, you didn't turn away. Although I’ll never understand why, you offered me your love. With that love came a sense of belonging, a life I never thought I’d experience. You never once considered giving up on me when I seemed beyond hope,” he expresses, his voice faltering as tears stream down his face. In your peripheral vision, you noticed his teammates smiling, witnessing Simon's presence after years of working alongside Ghost.

“You cherished every aspect of me, even the sharp edges that wounded you. You polished them down with your love, shaping me into the man I am today. In this moment, all I desire is to spend eternity with you," Simon declared, his eyes glistening with tears as he gazed at you. His voice remained strong, despite the tears cascading down his cheeks. He knew he had to be strong, just as you had been for him throughout the years.

"I, Simon Riley, take you to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death. And if there exists an afterlife, may our marriage endure beyond the grave,” he concludes, a gentle smile gracing his face. Tears stream down his cheeks, and he exchanges nods with his groomsmen, acknowledging their silent support. 

Tears fill your eyes as his words sink in. Despite your efforts to stay calm, your emotions flood over you. Reflecting on how much you’ve both grown, memories flash through your mind like scenes from a film.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Reciting your vows becomes a challenge, as you have to stop several times to compose yourself. Your voice trembles, but you compensate with a tearful smile. Simon gazes at you with admiration, witnessing as you profess your love for him just as he did for you. Your tears and faltering voice do not deter him, but rather intensify his love for you.

“...take you to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death. And should an afterlife exist, I will happily hold your hand as we walk the expanses of our universe." You conclude your vows by promising to take his hand in marriage; during your lifetime and long after. Your eyes meet, unwavering, reveling in the romantic hues reflected in each other's gaze.

Upon finishing your vows, Johnny emerges from the line of groomsmen, presenting you and Simon with each other's rings, signaling his approval with a nod before returning to his place. Drawing closer, you and Simon intertwine hands, his touch tenderly guiding yours. Never did he imagine that his hands, typically calloused and stained with blood, would be adorning your finger with such a delicate stone. A symbol of his affection for you.

The ring is delicately placed on your finger, causing the beautifully cut diamond to sparkle in the glow of the cathedral lights. You gaze at the stone, admiring its beauty before sliding your husband’s band onto his finger. The wedding band bears both of your initials on the exterior and the date of your wedding inscribed within. Raising your eyes, you meet Simon's loving gaze, reciprocating the smile.

With the approval of your officiant, his hands glide to your waist while your arms elegantly drape over his broad shoulders. Drawing you closer, your lips meet simultaneously, holding onto you as if he’d never see you again. The applause from the intimate gathering fades into the background as he gently dips you, his hands tenderly supporting your back. Your lips linger against each other for a few moments before you both reluctantly part, resting your foreheads against each other in a moment of pure affection.

“I love you,” he confesses In a hushed whisper, a declaration meant only for your ears. A gentle smile graces your lips as you separate from him, your hand tenderly caressing his cheek, tracing the scars that have become so dear to you.

"I love you more, Simon."

#cod fanfic #cod fandom #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #scenarios #x female reader #call of duty #task force 141 #x fem!reader #call of duty imagine #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod #oneshot #comfort #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost fanfiction #Spotify