#and whether it's a play on war never changing

[thevulpinehero1]

GWatch -- Mobile Suit Gundam 0079 Ep 1

Since Armoured Core came out and everyone's in a mecha mood, I figured I would talk about an entirely different mecha series instead. The plan is to watch one episode a day, talk about it, and include one (or more) screenshots to facilitate enhanced rambling. I want to start with the original series since I've watched it before, see if I can get through it all, and then maybe move onto some other Gundams if I have the spirit.

Beware! Spoilers for a 40 year old anime inbound, as well as possible misreporting since I probably am not going to fact check too well. Gundam nerds may feel free to correct me and dispense wisdom where appropriate. Also, I'm just going to go with whatever name spelling is on the subtitles I have at the time. Sorry, not sorry.

The first thing I have to talk about is the theme song, which honestly gives me emotions. Nowadays, we all have this image of Gundam as basically the show that invented the real robot subgenre, but you would absolutely never get that impression from the theme song or OP. Honestly, go find it and listen to it -- it's actually amazing how widely it misses the tone of the series, with lyrics like "Bring to bear the rage of justice!" and "If you are still burning with furious rage, you must fight the towering foe!" It sounds much, much more like a Super Robot theme song for like Daitarn 3 or Raideen or something, than something you would see associated with a classic "war is hell" series like Gundam.

And this was probably completely intentional. I remember hearing that even as far back as its initial run, the series had to fight the sponsors/toymakers in order to carve out its own identity, and part of that was projecting a surface level impression of a more palatable Super Robot style show. (Some things never change, I guess...)

To me, it adds a lot to the charm, because the singer is obviously going in and doing their best, singing an ode to a giant metal hero of justice who doesn't really exist outside of the fertile imagination of an advertising/toy exec who has been thoroughly mislead. I love that. I just want to go and tell them, hey, I appreciate you, you are singing your heart out on this theme song for an entirely different and imaginary series than the one they've actually made, and you're killing it. You are fighting the good fight, and you may be one of the reasons the series even got off the ground in the first place because you were part of this obfuscation.

This is Amuro Ray. His shadow looms large over every Gundam protagonist that will follow him; many of them either use him as a blueprint for their personality, or are meant as a study in contrast to it. He kills a lot of people. He eats a lot of sandwiches. There are long and intricate scenes of Amuro eating sandwiches, and they are among my favourite scenes in the whole series, and, in fact, any Gundam show I've ever watched. I'm not kidding.

I picked this screenshot not just because it shows a stone-cold, unrepentant sandwich-murderer in his natural habitat, but because it also showcases another thing I love about the show: the goofy animation. This was not a show with a huge budget. There is something weird or goofy happening in every episode, almost every scene, and the first episode -- traditionally one of the best funded in most series -- is no exception. Amuro eats like a turtle. Hayato's hand is an amorphous, misshapen blob. I think it honestly adds to the charm; the series is scuffed, and probably knows it's scuffed, but it's doing its best to tell a story in spite of that.

For now, Amuro is not the pilot of legend. He sits around the house doing science in his underwear, his neighbours don't like him enough to tell him about an actual military evacuation that he's supposed to be undertaking, and without the aid of his childhood friend Fraw Bow (who he mostly summarily ignores), he wouldn't bother to evacuate at all and would likely die at home. He's a scrunkly kind of dude. Maybe even a scrunklemeister. Your boy probably smells like a scratch and sniff card if you rubbed off all the panels and tried snorting them all at once.

The show is surprisingly quick at characterising him, too. Within a minute or two, we know all the above, plus that he seems to have a certain amount of tension with his father, who his neighbours blame for bringing the military to their peaceful colony. His father, Tem Ray, loves him at least enough to put a picture of him on his desk, and makes vaguely prophetic statements about how kids as young as Amuro are already joining the war as guerrilla fighters. Foreshadowing hit different in the eighties.

One scene I didn't actually remember, but really should have in retrospect, is the part where Amuro confronts his father ("Do you care more about Mobile Suits than humans?" is the absolute first thing Amuro says to him), and the death of Fraw Bow's mother and grandfather, both of which expose a more sensitive core to the scrunklebeast within. It's very convenient/poetic (delete as appropriate) that Fraw Bow was herself very nearly caught in the explosion that killed the crowd her family was in, and only survived because she separated from them in order to check on Amuro.

I was also kinda surprised to relearn that Amuro doesn't really 'fall in' to the cockpit; he very deliberately gets in, having happened to read the manual earlier, in an effort to either protect the remaining civilians or take revenge for the ones who've just fallen (the context doesn't really make it clear which one, but he rushes to the cockpit soon after Fraw Bow sees her family die and is making her escape).

One thing that's really interesting in the metacontext of the series is that although Amuro ends up being one of the best pilots (he's a legend in mecha anime for a reason), he kinda starts out as one of the worst. Many Gundam protags are either experienced, have some level of training, or have other reasons why they're hot shit right out of the box; Amuro really does not know what he's doing, and is carried entirely by the fact that the Gundam itself is dizzyingly durable for the time period. It also comes with a learning computer (which I bet sounded very advanced in the time the anime was made, but kinda brings certain chatbots to mind in the present day) to ease the piloting burden while he learns how to use the dang thing. Not only that, but he goes up against a lot of mobbers who aren't that much better than he is and can't do much against his much better machine.

(A really interesting experiment is to contrast Kira from SeeD, which follows a lot of the original Gundam's major story beats quite closely for the first part of the series and is almost a spiritual remake in some parts. Kira almost has the opposite end of the equation going on -- a very good pilot from day one, he has the misfortune of having five other named dudes who are close to his level and have machines that are arguably better than his in a vacuum, and he fights them pretty regularly.)

Anyway, through more luck than skill, Amuro manages to get through his first Mobile Suit battle in Side 7, but Bright is already looking to utilise him as labour, and Char is advancing on the colony. That's the first episode, more tomorrow. (I don't intend these to be exhaustive or talk about every little, but I wanted to go a bit more in depth for the first ep, and I don't want to restrict myself from veering off on tangents because those are fun.)

#mobile suit gundam #gundam '79 #anime blogging #idk #felt like a fun thing to do #there's a whole other conversation about Gundam's meta eternal recurrence #and whether it's a play on war never changing #or just laziness for reusing the same plot all the time #probably a bit of both #it's very FromSoft come to think of it #there's your armoured core 6 segue right there #screenshots #Gwatch

[giamee]

𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐄!

... aka fictional boyfriends as things my pet cat does lmfao

༊*·˚ featuring ➻ my genshin, hsr & jjk faves

༊*·˚ gia's notes ➻ switching up the layout bc i can teehee... also this one is kinda slop cos its just every character on my masterlist oop. N E WAYS i found out that im allergic to my cat but love is pain and i am a masochist so here we are

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 DOESN'T RESPOND UNLESS YOU CALL HIM BY HIS NICKNAME.

he's leaning against your kitchen counter, fingers tapping against it as he's poised so deliberately to give off the impression that everything he's doing is so absent-minded. the way he's scrolling through his feed so aimlessly, just tuned out from the world, including you and your futile attempts at getting his attention.

you call his name, tug at his sleeve, and you don't miss the mischievous smirk on his lips as he glances up at you.

"i don't know who that is, sorry, i hope you find him though."

it's infuriating, sometimes, when he lets his more playful side out. but you know him well, and you play along, not being able to help the smile that fights to stay on your lips.

"well then, my beloved, could you help me look for him?"

and there's an instant change from him, back straightening as he stops leaning against your counter, arms open wide to receive you, a beam on his face.

"gladly, my love."

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ kaveh, welt, dan heng, luocha, GETO

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 GETS EXTRA AFFECTIONATE AND CUDDLY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.

no matter as to whether you had gone to bed with him or before, you're woken up prematurely in the middle of the night at the sensation of your body being moved, ever so gently, across the sheets, closer towards a warm body that nestles itself solidly behind you.

you're barely awake, but you smile to yourself at the newfound comfort, having drifted away as you slept, and now happily reunited.

"i missed you," he breathes against your ear, turning his head to dip down and press kisses to your cheek. you smile, nose scrunching at the ends of his hair that tickle your skin, but welcome it nonetheless.

his arm slips around you, keeping you safely anchored to him, and he lets out a contented hum that almost sounds like he's purring, chest solid against your back.

"you're acting like you've come back from war," you murmur, and he can hear the way you tease even in your half asleep state.

"every second away from you is agony, my love."

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ DILUC, alhaitham, JING YUAN, choso, NANAMI

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 RANDOMLY BITES AND HEADBUTTS YOU.

sure, there's doing something unexpected to grab your attention, but it catches you off guard every. single. time.

he has seemingly no regard for whatever it is that you're doing- you're cooking something? he sneaks up behind you, teeth sinking into your shoulder before he slinks away like it never happened.

trying to get work done? he comes up to you, using his head to poke you and offering no explanation as he walks away.

it's ... endearing, to say the least. it comes from a place of love, that's for sure. make no mistake that you like to bite him too, but he still manages to one-up you each time.

while it started off as surprising in the early days of your relationship, over time you've adapted to it, now even offering a body part for him to headbutt as a greeting.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ cyno, WRIOTHESLEY, neuvillette, BLADE, toji, HIGURUMA

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 FOLLOWS YOU AROUND AND WHINES IF YOU DON'T GIVE HIM ENOUGH ATTENTION.

"babyyyy, i'm bored."

you don't have to turn around to know that he's pouting, some grown ass man acting like a toddler in hopes that you'd pay attention to him. you can't help but roll your eyes, what with him pushing the limit between cute and aggravating for the past half an hour or so.

ever since you had invited him over and he practically let himself in, he had basically followed you from room to room, huffing and puffing as you focused on your work instead of entertaining him.

and as you finally settled in your room, at your desk, you watched out of the corner of your eye as he flopped down onto your bed, his head dangling off the edge as he scrolled through his phone half-heartedly.

and you had to admit, he looked cute like that. you bite back your smile as you see him glance up at you to see if you're looking at him before flopping back down on the bed with a huff.

you'll be done soon, then you'll give him all the attention he wants.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ CHILDE, thoma, sampo, gepard, GOJO

IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... enjoy the silence!

an introduction to your new roommate dan heng, and the guitar that he loves to play so much

#kaveh x reader #hsr welt x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #luocha x reader #geto suguru x reader #diluc x reader #alhaitham x reader #hsr jing yuan x reader #choso x reader #nanami kento x reader #cyno x reader #wriothesley x reader #hsr sampo x reader #hsr blade x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #higuruma x reader #childe x reader #thoma x reader #neuvillette x reader #hsr gepard x reader #gojo satoru x reader #genshin x reader #hsr x reader #jjk x reader

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Bandits

As a game of heroic fantasy that centers so primarily on combat, D&D  is more often than not a game about righteous violence, which is why I spend so much time thinking about the targets of that violence. Every piece of media made by humans is a thing created from conscious or unconscious design, it’s saying something whether or not its creators intended it to do so. 

Tolkien made his characters peaceloving and pastoral, and coded his embodiment of evil as powerhungry, warlike, and industrial. When d&d directly cribbed from Tolkien's work it purposely changed those enemies to be primitive tribespeople who were resentful of the riches the “civilized” races possessed. Was this intentional? None can say, but as a text d&d says something decidedly different than Tolkien. 

That's why today I want to talk about bandits, the historical concept of being an “outlaw”, and how media uses crime to “un-person” certain classes of people in order to give heroes a target to beat up. 

Tldr: despite presenting bandits as a generic threat, most d&d scenarios never go into detail about what causes bandits to exist, merely presuming the existence of outlaws up to no good that the heroes should feel no qualms about slaughtering. If your story is going to stand up to the scrutiny of your players however, you need to be aware of WHY these individuals have been driven to banditry, rather than defaulting to “they broke the law so they deserve what’s coming to them.”

I got to thinking about writing this post when playing a modded version of fallout 4, an npc offhndedly mentioned to me that raiders (the postapoc bandit rebrand) were too lazy to do any farming and it was good that I’d offed them by the dozens so that they wouldn’t make trouble for those that did. 

That gave me pause, fallout takes place in an irradiated wasteland where folks struggle to survive but this mod was specifically about rebuilding infrastructure like farms and ensuring people had enough to get by. Lack of resources to go around was a specific justification for why raiders existed in the first place, but as the setting became more arable the mod-author had to create an excuse why the bandit’s didn’t give up their violent ways and start a nice little coop, settling on them being inherently lazy , dumb, and psychopathic.   

This is exactly how d&d has historically painted most of its “monstrous humanoid” enemies. Because the game is ostensibly about combat the authors need to give you reasons why a peaceful solution is impossible, why the orcs, goblins, gnolls (and yes, bandits), can’t just integrate with the local town or find a nice stretch of wilderness to build their own settlement on and manage in accordance with their needs. They go so far in this justification that they end up (accidently or not) recreating a lot of IRL arguments for persecution and genocide.

Bandits are interesting because much like cultists, it’s a descriptor that’s used to unperson groups of characters who would traditionally be inside the “not ontologically evil” bubble that’s applied to d&d’s protagonists.   Break the law or worship the wrong god says d&d and you’re just as worth killing as the mindless minions of darkness, your only purpose to serve as a target of the protagonist’s righteous violence.  

The way we get around this self-justification pitfall and get back to our cool fantasy action game is to relentlessly question authority, not only inside the game but the authors too. We have to interrogate anyone who'd show us evil and direct our outrage a certain way because if we don't we end up with crusades, pogroms, and Qanon.

With that ethical pill out of the way, I thought I’d dive into a listing of different historical groups that we might call “Bandits” at one time or another and what worldbuilding conceits their existence necessitates. 

Brigands: By and large the most common sort of “bandit” you’re going to see are former soldiers left over from wars, often with a social gap between them and the people they’re raiding that prevents reintegration ( IE: They’re from a foreign land and can’t speak the local tongue, their side lost and now they’re considered outlaws, they’re mercenaries who have been stiffed on their contract).  Justifying why brigands are out brigading is as easy as asking yourself “What were the most recent conflicts in this region and who was fighting them?”. There’s also something to say about how a life of trauma and violence can be hard to leave even after the battle is over, which is why you historically tend to see lots of gangs and paramilitary groups pop up in the wake of conflict. 

Raiders:  fundamentally the thing that has caused cultures to raid eachother since the dawn of time is sacristy. When the threat of starvation looms it’s far easier to justify potentially throwing your life away if it means securing enough food to last you and those close to you through the next year/season/day. Raider cultures develop in biomes that don’t support steady agriculture, or in times where famine, war, climate change, or disease make the harvests unreliable. They tend to target neighboring cultures that DO have reliable harvests which is why you frequently see raiders emerging from “the barbaric frontier” to raid “civilization” that just so happens to occupy the space of a reliably fertile river valley. When thinking about including raiders in your story, consider what environmental forces have caused this most recent and previous raids, as well as consider how frequent raiding has shaped the targeted society. Frequent attacks by raiders is how we get walled palaces and warrior classes after all, so this shit is important. 

Slavers: Just like raiding, most cultures have engaged in slavery at one point or another, which is a matter I get into here. While raiders taking captives is not uncommon, actively attacking people for slaves is something that starts occurring once you have a built up slave market, necessitating the existence of at least one or more hierarchical societies that need more disposable workers than then their lower class is capable of providing. The roman legion and its constant campaigns was the apparatus by which the imperium fed its insatiable need for cheap slave labor. Subsistence raiders generally don’t take slaves en masse unless they know somewhere to sell them, because if you’re having trouble feeding your own people you’re not going to capture more ( this is what d&d gets wrong about monstrous humanoids most of the time). 

Tax Farmers: special mention to this underused classic, where gangs of toughs would bid to see who could collect money for government officials, and then proceed to ransack the realm looking to squeeze as much money out of the people as possible. This tends to happen in areas where the state apparatus is stretched too thin or is too lighthanded to have established enduring means of funding.  Tax farmers are a great one-two punch for campaigns where you want your party to be set up against a corrupt authority: our heroes defeat the marauding bandits and then oh-no, turns out they were not only sanctioned by the government but backed by an influential political figure who you’ve just punched in the coinpurse.  If tax farming exists it means the government is strong enough to need a yearly budget but not so established (at least in the local region) that it’s developed a reliably peaceful method of maintaining it.  

Robber Baron: Though the term is now synonymous with ruthless industrialists, it originated from the practice of shortmidned petty gentry (barons and knights and counts and the like) going out to extort and even rob THEIR OWN LANDS out of a desire for personal enrichment/boredom. Schemes can range from using their troops to shake down those who pass through their domain to outright murdering their own peasants for sport because you haven’t gotten to fight in a war for a while.  Just as any greed or violence minded noble can be a robber baron so it doesn’t take that much of a storytelling leap but I encourage you to channel all your landlord hate into this one. 

Rebels: More than just simple outlaws, rebels have a particular cause they’re a part of (just or otherwise) that puts them at odds with the reigning authority. They could violently support a disfavoured political faction, be acting out against a law they think is unjust, or hoping to break away from the authority entirely. Though attacks against those figures of authority are to be expected, it’s all too common for rebels to go onto praying on common folk for the sake of the cause.  To make a group of rebels worth having in your campaign pinpoint an issue that two groups of people with their own distinct interests could disagree on, and then ratchet up the tension. Rebels have to be able to beleive in a cause, so they have to have an argument that supports them.

Remnants: Like a hybrid of brigands, rebels, and taxfarmers, Remnants represent a previously legitimate system of authority that has since been replaced but not yet fully disappeared. This can happen either because the local authority has been replaced by something new (feudal nobles left out after a monarchy toppling revolution) or because it has faded entirely ( Colonial forces of an empire left to their own devices after the empire collapses). Remnants often sat at the top of social structures that had endured for generations and so still hold onto the ghost of power ( and the violence it can command) and the traditions that support it.  Think about big changes that have happened in your world of late, are the remnants looking to overturn it? Win new privilege for themselves? Go overlooked by their new overlords?

Art

#monsters reimagined #bandits #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder #heavy topics #monsters reimagined

[germiyahu]

When the war ends (who knows when that will be though) and you know at least 95% of Gazans are still alive and can begin rebuilding their lives (hopefully with Israeli financial compensation), the antisemites who insist a genocide is occurring will do one of a few things:

Refuse to acknowledge that Israel was interested in a peace plan. They will never give Israel credit for deescalating or withdrawing. They will most likely attribute any (semi) permanent ceasefire and hostage deal to Joe Byron "forcing" Netanyahu to comply. I don't think this is too likely as I can't really see them switching up on Biden and suddenly thinking he's a good leader or a morally driven person. So this group might delusionally believe that Egypt or Saudi Arabia, maybe Iran/Russia... or laughably, Hamas or the Houthis, were the ones to "force" Israel to back down. And you know what, I'll take it personally. As long as they can see that no genocide occurred, I don't care if they're too petty to admit that Israel never intended to commit one.

Lose interest. It's that simple. When the dust settles and no evidence of genocide is constantly being fabricated and shoved in their lazy incurious faces... they'll move on to something else. Some of them will become lifelong obsessed antizionists and will probably agitate all their circles to continue talking about The Genocide That (almost) Was, but even they will have to go "dormant" about it eventually.

Continue to insist that a genocide is occurring. Whether it's the people who play with semantics and devalue words and change definitions who'll be saying that Israel committed/is committing a "psychological" genocide or something... or the conspiracy theorists who will cite the lack of evidence and news coverage as proof that the Genocide has moved on to a quieter stage... or the people who say "this genocide has been ongoing for 80 years this is just a lull in Isnotreal's ethnic cleansing program to save face and wait for further instructions from their American masters!" I think this will be the largest group. Antisemitism, as a conspiracy theory, is just too fun and too addicting for these people. They don't have the tools to get themselves out of this cult. And it's not Jews' responsibility to help them. Thankfully the other two groups' existing, and of course, all of us normal people, will make this a small minority in the grand scheme of things.

#israel #jumblr #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism

[beskarandblasters]

A Dwindling, Mercurial High

Part Two of Time, Wondrous Time

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Cooper Howard Masterlist | AO3

Series summary: You’re California Crest Studios’ newest production assistant, getting the opportunity to work on the hit movie, The Man From Deadhorse. But when you meet the movie’s lead, Cooper Howard, you fall head-first into a secret affair. Enter a war, a cryogenic freezer, and a two-hundred-year time jump. And yet despite all that, you just might run into him again.

Chapter summary: You have another encounter with Cooper in his trailer, proving that this is more than just a fluke.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: unspecified age gap, infidelity, reader is able-bodied, workplace romance, finger sucking, nipple play, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, begging, praising, pet names (sweetheart), sir kink, mentions of food, no use of y/n

You don’t remember much of the drive home. It felt like you were having an out-of-body experience, watching yourself cruising down the highway. Just when you think the disbelief has left you, something reminds you of him again. Whether it be the wetness leaking out of you, his scent lingering on your skin, or the dull pain of where he nipped your neck. His scent only goes away once you take a hot shower, letting the physical remnants of your affair wash down the drain. But one thing remains; the shame. 

That night your dreams are filled with him. 

You’re not so sure if that’s a good thing. 

-

You head to the studio in the morning with a pit in your stomach. You wonder how your work relationship with Cooper will change. Will you continue to eat lunches together? Will he talk to you? Will he even look in your direction?

Your daily routine starts like it always does– getting people’s coffee. Emil was right, you don’t need to write the orders down anymore. You leave for the cafe without talking to anyone, anxious for the moment you’ll see Cooper today. 

When you return with the coffee, you save his for last, passing them out as the anxiety swirls through you; and then you lock eyes with him, blood running cold and your heart sinking to your knees. There’s recognition on his face but it’s different than before, it reads darker like a sworn secret. A language only the two of you speak. But then his face softens and he treats you as normal, accepting the coffee with his gracious smile. 

Normal. Uneventful. Business as usual. 

And then it’s time to shoot. You view his acting differently now. 

-

At lunch you linger by the table of catered food, hoping he’ll ask you to eat lunch together again. But to your dismay, his wife shows up, waiting around by the table for him. You can’t bring yourself to introduce yourself; let alone even look in her direction. 

But then Cooper appears out of nowhere, walking over to his wife first, of course. He pulls her in close by her waist, giving you flashbacks of last night when you were sitting in his lap. You can’t stand to be around the two of them anymore so you start to walk away. 

Until he calls your name.

You look over your shoulder and he beckons you to come to him, same dazzling smile as always. Reluctantly, you walk over to them, standing awkwardly by them as Cooper says, “I never introduced you to my wife the other day. This is Barb.” 

She smiles and holds out her hand but her smile is like she can see right through you. But there’s no way she knows… Right?

You introduce yourself and Cooper says, “She’s one of Emil’s new production assistants.”

“Congratulations,” she says. She leans into Cooper again and kisses him before saying, “I have to get back to work. See you later tonight.” 

She bids you goodbye and leaves. It isn’t until she’s out of sight that you can start to relax a little. 

“Why would you do that?” you ask. 

“Do what?”

“Introduce me to her after what happened-”

“Shh,” he says, putting his hand on the small of your back and ushering you away. He takes you behind his trailer and says, “To pretend like everything is normal. She knows almost everyone on set.”

“So now what? Are we just supposed to carry on like nothing happened?”

“Right now, yes.” He takes a step closer to you and whispers, “But the second I get you alone, you’re mine.”

“Cooper!” you gasp. “Not now.”

“I know,” he groans. “I don’t think I can swing another late night tonight but maybe on Monday.”

“That long?” 

“Believe me. If I had it my way, you’d be bent over in my trailer begging for me to fuck you.”

Fuck. 

“But I suppose we should get back to set.”

“We should,” you nod, poking your head around the corner to make sure no one’s watching. You walk back to the soundstage, more flustered than ever with excitement brewing between your legs. 

That man’s going to be the death of you. 

-

As the workweek wraps up, you find yourself craving him. But not just sexually. You want to be held by him. You want to listen to his life stories. You want to just be with him. 

And yet he spends his nights with his wife while you’re left feeling more jealous of her than ever. 

-

On Saturday morning, you get a phone call, ripping you out of your pining. You pick it up and hear your friend Reina’s voice on the line, excited about something. 

“Are you free this afternoon?!”

“I am. What’s up?”

“Let’s get lunch!”

“Sure.”

“I’ll pick you up in about an hour. I have something to tell you!!”

“Oooh, I’m excited. See you then!”

-

After getting ready for an hour, Reina picks you up, giddy and smiling like a kid. You’re barely sitting in her car before she says, “So I thought we’d get together to celebrate.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well for one, we’re celebrating you and your new job.”

“Aw, thanks.”

“But I wanted to tell you in person that… I got a new job!!”

“Congratulations!! Where?”

“Vault-Tec.”

“Shit, really?? That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you!”

“I’ll be working in one of their labs. I start on Monday. I can’t wait.”

“Look at us, movin’ on up in the world,” you say as she pulls away from your place. 

You go to a cafe in your neighborhood, spend a few hours doing some much-needed catching up. She asks you all sorts of questions about working on a movie set. A tempting feeling tells you to bring up Cooper but it’s against your better judgment. 

Once you’re home alone again, the lonely feeling returns. You think about Cooper and what he’s doing. Maybe he’s spending time with his daughter. Maybe he’s at dinner with his wife. 

…Maybe he’s fucking his wife. 

God, the thought makes you sick. Isn’t that fucked up?

Whatever. All you know is that for once, you can’t wait for Monday. 

-

Monday morning. Wake up. Drive to work. Grab everyone’s coffee at the cafe. It’s muscle memory at this point. 

You hand Cooper his coffee and smoke innocently, asking, “Hey Cooper. How was your weekend?”

“It was alright. How was yours?” 

“Not too bad. I’m excited for work today.”

It’s an innocent statement to the wandering ear. But he’ll catch your drift. 

“You and me both, swee-”

He cuts himself off and your eyes go wide. He almost called you sweetheart in public. You playfully slap him on the bicep and say, “Watch it, Coop,” before walking away with a sway in your hips. You feel his stare practically burn a hole into you. You glance over your shoulder and look at his flustered stare; cheeks flushed and wearing a dumbfounded expression. You giggle and give him a playful wave, somehow even more excited for tonight than you already were. 

-

You expect to eat lunch together like you normally do. But when it’s time to break he comes up to you and says, “Hey, I was thinking…”

And for some reason the cadence in his voice has you set up for disappointment. 

“Yeah?”

He lowers his voice and continues, “If we’re going to continue this… thing we have going. I think it’s better if we stop eating lunch together. You know… to avoid any suspicion.”

What he’s saying makes perfect sense but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt any less. You try your best to mask your disappointment, telling him, “I get it.” 

“Thank you,” he says. “Don’t worry, you’ll have me all to yourself later tonight.”

“I know,” you nod. “I’ll catch you later.”

You force a smile and turn to walk to the parking lot. You’ll let your disappointment show there. Once you’re alone, you let the tears flow and feel fucking stupid about it. What he’s asking for is logically sound. You’re having a fucking affair with him for crying out loud. And not only that, he’s your coworker. This type of relationship is not one that he can flaunt proudly. And yet… You find yourself wanting that. But for that, you feel crazy. You’ve barely been seeing him for a week and you’re already developing the desire to be exclusive no matter how unrealistic and unattainable it is. 

If anything, it’s a testament to your attraction to him, that it far surpasses just a physical connection. 

-

Once shooting is wrapped up for the day, you hang back at the studio for a while, waiting for people to leave. Finally what you’ve been aching for for days is here. And you couldn’t be happier. 

You meet him at this trailer where he quickly pulls you inside. He locks the door and immediately pushes you up against it, kissing you passionately. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Really?” you ask, followed by another quick kiss. 

“You’re driving me crazy, sweetheart. I’ve been thinking about this all weekend.”

“I’m honored,” you joke. But you quickly drop the smug facade and add, “I feel the same way.”

Inhaling his scent reminds you how much you missed over the past few days. He pulls you over to the couch, sitting with his thighs spread in a wide, inviting stance. He pats his lap and beckons for you to come over to him. You take it a step further. Unlike last time when you just slipped off your underwear, this time you shed all your clothes. 

His jaw falls to the floor as he takes in your form. Every beauty mark, scar, freckle, birthmark– you name it, he’s admiring it. The cool air in the trailer makes your nipples form into stiff peaks. You straddle one of his thighs, resting your hands on his shoulders. One of his hands holds your waist while the other caresses your cheek, brushing his thumb against your face. His calloused hand is a stark contrast to your soft skin. You close your eyes and revel in the feeling of just being here with him. 

“My pretty girl,” he says softly, hand migrating to your chin. Your lips curve into a gentle smile as you open your eyes. You meet his gaze and notice his pupils are blown wide, just like last time. 

“You’re heaven-sent. You know that?”

“You don’t mean that,” you say, turning your head and looking away from him. 

He grabs your chin and directs your head back towards him, telling you sternly, “Swear on my heart.”

You lean in and kiss him, wrapping your arms around him as his hand on your chin joins his hand on your waist. You roll your hips into him, your cunt rubbing against his thigh and creating a wet spot on his pants. 

“So needy,” he teases, hovering over your lips. 

“I’ve been waiting so long,” you whine.

“Poor thing,” he tuts, pulling back and looking at you with a smirk. He brings his pointer and middle fingers to your mouth and says, “Open.”

You oblige and take his fingers in your mouth, sucking on them like a good girl. But once you’ve done enough he pulls his hand away and teases your cunt. When he finally sinks his fingers inside you he caresses the outline of your breast with his other hand. Both hands work to build up your pleasure, one curling his fingers against your walls and the other taking your nipple in between his fingertips. You grip his shoulders harder, using them as leverage while you rock your hips back and forth, fucking yourself on his fingers. 

He silently watches you, in awe of you and your beauty. He doesn’t speak until you cum, letting out a strained “Oh fuck,” as your wetness runs down his hand. You cum with a string of soft moans and whimpers, aching for his cock to be inside you already. He pulls his fingers out of you and gives you a swift slap on the ass, “Alright, now get up. I meant it when I said I wanted you bent over.”

You move off his lap and bend yourself over the couch. He stands up and takes the opportunity to get undressed. He takes his belt and slaps it against your ass. Your nerves sting as the leather collides with your skin. He tosses the belt beside you on the couch, leans forward, and whispers, “And I meant it when I said I wanted you to beg.”

“Please fuck me,” you whine.

“You can do better than that.”

“I need you to fuck me, sir.”

“Sir??” he says, sounding taken aback. 

Your stomach sinks, fearing that you said something to turn him off. Instead, he gathers the remnants of your spend with his hand, leans forward, and says, “Good girl.”

You feel his lubricated cock enter you, splitting you apart as your knees buckle underneath you. He holds your hips as he slams into you repeatedly, his cock hitting the most perfect angles inside you. Moans force their way out of your throat, filling up his trailer with your choked-up sobs. He slaps your ass and showers you with praise, telling you how you’re such a good girl for taking his cock like this. You hold onto the back of the couch for dear life, feeling your orgasm threatening to break loose. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you whine.

He leans forward and whispers in the shell of your ear, “Do it. Let me feel it.”

With one last thrust inside you, you come undone around his cock, wetness running down your thighs. He wards off his own orgasm, letting you ride out your high before pulling out and coming on your ass. You collapse against the couch, feeling the aftershocks of your eventful night. He grabs a tissue and wipes off the beds on your back. He lies down on the couch and pulls you into him, limbs intertwined and bodies slick with sweat. You rest your head on his chest and feel his wild heartbeat. He sighs, prompting you to poke your head up and ask, “Everything alright?”

“I just… I needed this.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been so stressed lately.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Barb works for Vault-Tec and I don’t… I don’t particularly care for them.”

“No? My friend works for them, too.”

“Oh yeah? What department?”

“She works in the labs. What about Barb?”

“I’m not even sure. Every day she tells me less and less about what she actually does there.”

“I see.”

“I just can’t shake the feeling there’s something more sinister going on.”

“With Barb? Or Vault-Tec?”

“Maybe both? I’m not sure. She wants me to shoot a campaign ad for them in a few weeks and I feel like I can’t say no.”

“An ad for what?”

“To advertise the vaults, I guess.”

“I just don’t get it… Do you really think we’ll have to live in these vaults one day?”

“I sure hope not, sweetheart.”

The uneasiness on his face is undeniable so you change the subject. 

“Let’s focus on something else… We’re almost done shooting!”

“Thank God. This shoot’s gone on for too fuckin’ long…” he trails off. His face softens into a smile. “But at least Emil’s poor time management led me to you.”

“I did think it was weird when he hired me so late into the shoot.”

“Well, the rumor is the last production assistant got fired because he was a Commie.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

You rest on his chest again, staring up at the ceiling of his trailer. 

“Everything’s so uncertain lately… I hate it.”

“At least we have this moment together, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head. 

“You’re right,” you whisper back, feeling yourself drift off to sleep. 

-

You wake up with a gentle shake from Cooper. You open your eyes to meet his, expecting him to be frantic. But instead, he’s unusually calm. 

“What time is it?!”

“About three in the morning.”

“Oh my God?! What are you gonna tell-”

“I’ll just tell her I fell asleep in my trailer.”

“Is she gonna-”

“Yes, she’ll buy it. I’ve done it before.”

You stretch and sit up while he gets up and grabs your clothes. The both of you get dressed before leaving his trailer. You’re still shocked you fell asleep for that long and you’re paranoid Barb won’t buy his excuse. He walks to your car, kissing you on the cheek before hastily walking to his own car. Part of you feels guilty for putting him in this situation. But it takes two to have an affair. 

You go home and crash into bed, dreaming about him like always. 

Part three

End note: I originally planned for this story to be three parts but it’s grown to four!! If you’d like to be added to the tag list, comment or shoot me an ask!! And thank you to @clawdee for beta reading!

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Dividers: @saradika-graphics

Tag list: @widowmakerow @bisasterbisexual @wowitsem @vegetarianvamp @celestial-vomit @ghoulsimper @anyzandy @justfoxymuffins @hobnob2020 @fallout-girl219 @ipostwhtifeel @awhoresjourney

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x female reader #cooper howard smut #cooper howard fanfiction #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #the ghoul fanfiction #the ghoul x female reader #fallout #fallout fanfiction #time wondrous time

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Immortal (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 3)

"The path to paradise begins in hell."

— Dante Alighieri

Word count: 5.5 k

Summary: He knows now why he always returns to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased. What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead? (Last part of Ghost stories.)

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Angst, fluff, smut. Protective!Simon Ghost Riley. Graphic depictions of PTSD, suicidal thoughts and depression, mild violence. Emotional sex, love confessions, happy ending. Ghost POV.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

No one has ever scolded him.

He's the one who whips people into shape, who makes them recall who and where they are, that Task Force 141 is no place for fuckery. Now he's the one being reminded of his place. 

Somehow it's ok to bring her flowers before dinner, but ever since he started to bring her coffee to get an excuse to see her at work, she began to shut down. He can fuck her doggy style at her place, but if he so much as lifts his mask to kiss the back of her neck at her office, she bats him away like an annoying fly.

And he's fucking confused.

He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought that women like to be courted. Now he's standing in the middle of her apartment, waiting for… he doesn't even know what. Pardon, perhaps.

"Why do you always call me lieutenant?"

"Well I can't call you Simon at work, can I?"

She's chaste and decent. Has been like that for a while now, retreating back to her role of a distant professional. 

Something's troubling her, and he tries to get to the bottom of it. Tries his best to cheer her up, even if it's absurd that someone like him attempts to do that.

"Y'could use the alias."

"I'm not going to call you that."

She reads Virgil while making it clear that he's quite ridiculous. A ghost. It must remind her of a children's book rather than something stealthy and fatal; to her, it's a grown man's sad attempt to play a superhero.

"Did you come up with the name yourself?" Her voice has a whiff of irony as she finally spares him a glance from her hard-cover poetry.

"...No," he lies, too soon. Far too soon. She catches him on it, pants down.

"You're a silly, silly man." She shakes her head slowly and returns to her book. Last week, it was Dante who had better things to offer, far better things compared to him – such as a more poetic depiction of hell.

But even with the distant aura he can't quite pierce, she gives him a concept of what it would be like to have a home. A real home where you don't have to dread the evening and everything it brings out in people. Even when he was doing the SAS Fan Dance and lying on the cold ground to have a compulsory 2-hour shut-eye, he never missed home. The weather-beaten trail and a flapping tarp were still a cosier place than the one he'd left behind. 

The closest thing to an actual home was always solitude. A few days without routine. A cold shower in the morning to wake him, but not frigid enough to kill the erection. A good, unhurried fap and some stale spit circling down the drain. No one giving him a pitiful eye for tossing old takeaway in the bin and opening the cupboard only to be met with some canned food and table salt.

Now, the first thing in the morning is the sensation of her. Fingertips sneaking their way under his arm and ghosting his stomach, stirring him so softly he doesn't quite know if he's gone to heaven. Home is a sleepy nest and slow kisses followed by the sounds of brewing coffee. Home has become a place of mundane tasks: helping her water the plants and tasting whether the vanilla pudding she made has enough sugar. Changing sheets together, listening to the fitful sea as it breaks upon the shore. Watching how she reads of the Trojan War.

When he just stands there, admiring how her manicured nails glide over the pages, she talks to him again without raising her lashes from the book. 

"Did you need something?"

…You. All of you. 

Now and forever.

"Ya wanna go out to eat tonight?"

Finally, he grabs her attention. The distance between them is sewn up so fast even a jerk like him can understand he finally made the right fucking move.

"What about your… The mask?"

He shrugs.

"I thought you liked my cooking," she gives him a smile. Sly… Foxy.

"I do. But let me feed you for a change."

He sees in that stare and the way she purses her lips that she's trying to prevent a dirty joke from coming out of her pretty little mouth. As much as he appreciates that little cunning look, as much as he loves when that mouth gets a little dirty, he's more than serious now.

"Come on. Let me take you out."

"Well. If you insist," she smiles, shuts the book, and flies to her closet to pull out a stunner of a dress.

…..…..…..

Her fingertips always make his cock stir. They were supposed to go to sleep – a rare thing, to not slip inside her after a nice lil evening. To his surprise she starts to trace the few hairs on his stomach, threading through them as they thicken below. 

He can feel how she gets tense upon seeing that he's hard and heavy before she even reaches there. But she's not tense from anticipation.

"I overheard some of the guys talking about us. Or, well, me."

His cock gives a tug, and she still doesn't touch it.

"How I'm your luxury whore."

The curtain shifts as the wind plays with it: softly, while he's ripped out of the dark safety of the womb.

"Luxury…" She laughs, but it's bitter and thick. "Isn't it funny?"

He's hard now mainly because of the fury that rises. It ripples through his chest and pulls his stomach taut.

"Was it the rookie?"

He hears his voice from far away, from under the sea, but luckily, her hand brings him back. It's placed on him again, this time further up. She likes to trace the cavity between his pecs, pet the hair she finds there, too. Sometimes, she buries her face there and inhales his sweat, then uses that spot as her pillow. It's that very moment when he finds peace if he already hasn't by then.

"You don't have to defend my honour," the night speaks softly.

So, it was the rookie.

Nothing but a boy, younger than Soap and cockier than he was when he left Manchester with nothing but a duffel bag on his shoulder. Nothing but a boy, and she knows how boys are. She knows how boys talk. She wouldn't be in the Force if she took filthy quips seriously. 

But this is fucking different. The fantasies of what he'll do to the fucker when he gets back get sicker and more beautiful by the second.

"Just… don't come there anymore unless you're injured. Ok?"

He can't hear her because the vile word overrides even the gorgeous visions of torture. It gathers up his throat as bile, and he barely has time to take a deep breath to force it down before it's too late.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." 

"At this hour…?"

"Can't sleep anyway."

He reaches the bathroom just in time before the vomit flies. The power of it forces him on his knees, forces him to take hold of the door frame. Everything he fed to her shoots up, like it was only a dream that he could make her happy.

…Are you just here for sex?

Her shy question echoes from the tiles as another retch pulls the rest of his love out. 

He's sweating worse than the time they had to operate him in the field, back when a bullet had worked its way through the naked spot between the straps of his plate carrier. The shower washes some of it away, but the stench stays, the foul word and the insolence, all the shallow things he has given her coat the insides of his mouth no matter how many times he tries to spit it away. The water only does so much, and she's still not asleep by the time he returns to her. 

The luxury is waiting for him, silky and sweet. 

Wet, even, if he wants.

"Baby… Honey?"

Baby.

Baby.

He feels his guts in his throat again but swallows them down. She's beautiful, even when sad and sorry. Sorry, and for what? For him, instead of herself and what she's been called, the spite she has had to suffer simply for lying down in the filth with him. 

"Are you okay...?"

"Yeah."

He goes to her, pulls her in his arms, and hopes he doesn't smell of puke.

"They're just words. Right?"

I'm more than just your whore, right?

Her hand doesn't shy away from the sweat that breaks through his back. She's not afraid of him, even when he's the monster she never asked for. He can respect that kind of fearlessness. 

"You're awfully quiet," she tries. 

Baby, please don't go berserk, is what he hears.

"Go to sleep, pet," he calls forth his softest voice, relieved to notice it sounds more like a lullaby than a command. He allows her to kiss him, wondering if she can taste the grave. 

"Yes, sir," she breathes a soft smile in his mouth. Then she turns and coats herself with his arm. It must feel heavy around her, but she only gives a happy sigh. "I always sleep better with you. You feel so good… Safe."

He wonders how strange it is that love sometimes feels like pain. Her words come close to a knife slowly being pushed to his insides. They're still burning when she mutters the last essential thing, already half-asleep in his arms.

"They're just words, Simon…"

…..…..…..

He doesn't know much about poetry, but perhaps Dante was right. 

The heart of hell is not a fiery lake of torment but an icy, cold, stagnant place. There's nothing there. Everything is frozen: screams, thoughts, even dreams. 

He's walked through grey rubble and drenched asphalt, through alleyways of havoc and debris, he's trekked through desolate woodland and marsh. He's run through life like it's a day-to-day race to not get killed, but the worst of it isn't the bullets or the cold or the wind or the rain. It's the sleepless nights, the inertia. His soul in chains. On those nights, he wanted to get killed. 

And yet, he's not the only one who has suffered the unfortunate event of being dragged through every plane of hell. He's not the first man to go through the funnel, nor is he the last. It only looks bad in a society where he's supposed to own a credit card and a house. It only tastes like shit when someone asks "How does it make you feel?" 

People like him shouldn't go to therapy at all. His solution was to quit playing a modern man the minute he realized he's no longer fit for that role. He's simply a dead body, reanimated to serve a purpose. He's a sharp tool, a weapon. (A zombie.)

He serves the greater good, but everyone knows the greater good is propaganda too. There's no grand fight between light and darkness. Good and evil only conduct people's choices: even his old man must've thought he was making the world a better place by playing the rebel. He told him he served the Queen just to piss that sodded bastard off, but the truth is he never served anyone. Not even himself.

Now, there's an odd purpose to his task. Now, every cell in his body is full of animus. 

He's an animated corpse, perhaps, but they forgot to bury the wrath.

"Where's the rookie?"

"Getting stapled."

"Where?"

Which room? 

Which fucking room?

He doesn't stay to heed directions. He doesn't need them; his instinct tells him enough. He doesn't even bother to knock, simply barges in, only to see that the boy sits on the bed he used to sit on, in the exact same position as him. And he knows it's not just the blood loss that makes the fucker look so drowsy and smug. 

The fury is pierced with an ice-tinged sword as he sees her gentle touch – she's tending to the wounds of an ungrateful kid with the same compassion she gives to all her patients, and the first thing on his mind is that she would make a good mother.

"What're you doing here?" 

His voice is soaked in ash, but the boy only looks up from the bed with pure, trouble-seeking gall.

"What are you doing here…? Sir."

She's looking at him too. She's pleading with those eyes. Silently, desperately. 

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

Her request only now makes sense as he sees how the boy looks him up and down and sees there's not a scratch on him. There's no reason for him to be here other than to relieve the pain in his loins.

"Well… Have fun," the rookie jumps from the table, and the rage threatens to pull him underwater like a tide. He never needed anything but his voice to stop a man in his tracks. Not size, not rank, not even his reputation, just voice. 

"My office. Five minutes."

The boy dares to give him another foul look.

"Is that all you need? Just five minutes?"

He even detects admiration in that stare – like he's some stallion, a prized old stud who receives fine mares to rut. Like the celestial woman standing behind this… boy is just some slag thrown to him like they threw to gladiators of old. His luxury whore.

The rookie finally catches the impending wrath that must swell and roil like sea inside the sockets of the skull. 

Yes, boy.

Death is coming.

"Sir," the boy swallows with an arduous blob, then walks out of the goddess's domain, finally with some humility upon those shoulders. 

The torture has already begun, and it shoots him full of sweet adrenaline. He tries to mask the rising war from her, but she sees enough just before he leaves her as well. Her words follow him but cannot penetrate the cloak of fury that shrouds him as he goes to prepare for carnage.

"Simon. I just stitched him together..."

…..…..…..

He doesn't solve the problem with a gun or a cock this time. 

He uses his fists and a knife.

It should disgust him; how much he enjoys it. It's one of those rare occasions when he almost loses himself in the riptide of blood. The things he imagines are far worse than what he finally allows himself to do. When the boy has a split lip and half his face swollen so bad he can't even see from the bruise, when the wetness dampens the crotch area and threatens to stain the carpet, he lets him go.

"Get out."

He's a different man when he rises from beside that broken boy; from next to the knife he plunged to the floor an inch away from his face to make his intentions clear. The boy is stripped of all arrogance and probably regrets the day he got the splendid idea to insult a woman. 

He doesn't have to get his hands deep into paperwork to have the rookie transferred; the boy does it for him. He leaves the base quietly as a shadow and with a face that looks like it has been forced through a waffle maker.

After that, everyone salutes him feet away.

His orders are obeyed without question, without a second's delay on missions. He has never pursued to be loved, but neither has he worked on making people fear him. Now he's not only a source of mystery and intrigue but also fear and wonder.

Soap isn't scared quite as shitless as the rest of them, but neither is he as friendly as he used to be. Price says nothing but he gets a few looks that tell him he has gone too far.

"You shouldn't have," she whispers when they're alone, stopping him in the quiet hallway. She's the only one who doesn't have fear and avoidance in her stare. If anything, the adoration in her eyes has deepened.

He has avoided her strictly, this time obeying her request not to go to her unless he has business there. He doesn't defend himself; he doesn't have the luxury to decide what should or shouldn't be done. He's not a saint nor a judge. He is territorial, though.

"You must be the craziest man I've ever met." 

She talks to his shadow as he's standing only a few feet away, unable to touch her.

"Good."

"...and the most incredible."

His sharp intake of air hisses between them as the artificial light casts shadows in electric blue. She tries to thank him for bashing a face in, all her noble Hippocratic Oaths forgotten.

She takes a step – just one, to make it perfectly clear she wants to touch him too.

"You're a brute, Simon."

The woman's eyes are a deep sea of gratitude. He wonders if she's equally as wet between those legs. Her voice says it all: she likes brutes.

The worship in her stare makes him understand why wars have been waged – this is the reason why crusaders sloshed through rivers of crimson blood, why whole civilizations were destroyed. This is why swords are forged and guns are fired. He draws another breath to swear his allegiance, an oath bound in blood.

"No one's gonna call you a–"

She crosses the final breadth of air between them and lifts his mask.

…..…..…..

The waves crash on the shore like clockwork. To him, it's the sound of limbo. 

The sea used to pull him in like a seductive pit, especially at night, during the sleepless shifts when he walked to the beach with nothing but the ghosts of all the people he had lost to keep him company. Watching all the futures and should have been's slowly drowning in the sea. 

Now he’s here with a living being, and the cold, dead sea has turned into blooming fireworks of crimson and coral. The amnesia has turned into bliss; all the treasures lost in the depths suddenly wash up on the shore like a sunken hoard.

She takes her shoes off the minute they reach the shore, then descends the sands with laughter. She could be from a movie or a magazine, gliding through bleached gold with sunbeams in her hair, sandals dangling from the crook of her fingers, heathers kissing her feet as she dives down the path. Her smile eclipses even the setting sun, and for the first time ever, he thinks it might've been a stupid idea to enlist. 

If there’s an opposite to ice and inertia, it's this. 

It's her. 

"You lied to me," she turns around but doesn't stop walking. "You have been to the beach."

She tilts her head as if reprimanding him, but he knows she's just laughing at his expense. She laughs at his name… She laughs at his broodings, she laughs at his shadows and his hubris. 

"Does anyone else know about this place?"

"No."

There's no soul out here but theirs; even the seagulls have withdrawn to rest. She stops to admire the sun, features turning soft as she takes in her counterpart. Apparently, she likes his humble tribute, the scarcity he has to offer. Some hollow bones, his opinion of a beach. Emptiness… A day coming to an end.

"I have no words for this."

"It's just a beach," he offers, and swallows when she turns. When the fuck has he ever felt embarrassed? His mask is gone, so she can see him swallow again as she approaches. It's the strangest thing how she can still cause his heart to hammer in his chest. He's used to stepping into a hail of bullets, driving a truck through a wall, waiting for that last unaware step to lunge forth and slit a man's throat. The organ never wailed then.

Her eyes take in his every flaw and scar, the rotten work on his skin before she wraps her hands around his neck. 

"No. No it's not. This is paradise."

She has to rise on her toes to kiss him, and he's glad he got rid of the mask. There's nothing between him and the taste of summer anymore – she reminds him of some bright tropical drink, something pure and sweet and innocent, pure fucking fun, something he has come to understand and define only through movies and tv. 

And he knows now why he always comes back to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased.  

She has introduced him back to the world: the sun, the birdsong, the simple, good life. How it feels like to have curtains, or bake just because it's Thursday, or walk barefoot on the beach in order to feel the burning sand on your skin. 

What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead?

"Simon," she shivers into his mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't want people to think that… That we're just…"

"Pet. I know."

"They said you didn't trouble yourself with relationships."

Years of instinct and training make his spine tingle. He's holding another future in his arms and hopes it's not possible for a sea to swallow a sun.

"They?"

"Well, John. Captain." 

Her lashes hide what's going through her mind, but he can tell she's feeling shy from the way she shifts in his embrace.

"I asked about you. In spring. If there's someone… waiting for you."

He wrestles down a bitter laugh. The only lover ever waiting for him was nothingness in that chair; the only wife he came home to was shades, shadows, and dust. 

But he's starting to understand what she's trying to say. How, without even thinking about it, he just made the strongest possible declaration of not being here just for sex. He couldn't have sent a louder message with that boy.

Because not only Jonathan Price know that she's his. Soap knows too. Gaz knows too. Everyone working in Task Force 141 knows, even the fucking scrubbers and accountants know what's going on. Everyone knows that Ghost is real, and alive, and troubles himself with a relationship.

"I dreamed of you, you know." Her lashes flutter open, and he's met with the perfect example of total surrender. She's more than happy with the outcome, and why the hell shouldn't she be? Actions speak louder than words. He of all people should know that.

"Love–"

"Do you remember the day I found out you were a smoker?"

"...Sure."

She laughs, taking him back to the odd meeting in the yard when she was prying her suffocating latex gloves off, and he was trying to find some solace in a cigarette because he couldn't have her. 

"I was so angry at you. Playing with death at every turn..." 

"Yeah. Not the perfect man."

"But you were. You are." 

"Pet. If someone's perfect, it's you."

"No… I'm a hypocrite. I wanted you to just–just take me against the wall. After your stupid smoke."

He always wondered if she was suffocating too. In her gloves, in her beauty, in her sterile, medical, professional chasteness.

But he had no fucking clue that she–

"Or during, I don't care…"

Even the thought of her wanting him to tear apart her facades shatters the last sane thought in his head. He has tried to be civil, tried to suffocate the longing, but apparently, he doesn't have to. The image of burying himself inside her cunt while taking a drag from the thing she despises even more than his name or his mask or his guns is too fucking much. The fact that she views a dog like him as a perfect man makes his cock answer her call like a good, stout soldier. 

"Is that so?"

She stops breathing for a moment as he takes a drag from her now. She's raw whiskey straight to an empty stomach, the way his mind goes blank from sliding his mouth over the column of her throat. She tastes of sea there, and it's not pulling him in; it's pulling him under. The open-mouthed kisses make her jolt, he even draws out a moan or two; they swell between his legs. 

"You like that…?"

She answers to him with a soft whine. A soft nib of her ear, and her hips reply with a roll. The woman tries to latch onto him by gripping his shirt, threatening to do permanent damage to the fabric.

"No walls here, pet. Gotta take you on the sand," he gruffs in her ear, cock hard and ready from her tight little breaths. He could bet half his money that she's wetter than November down there. He could drag his cockhead across her cunt and the sound would be divine. 

"Simon–"

"I'll light a cig first."

"Stop teasing," she laughs, voice thick with hunger.

"...Roger that."

His hand is on his belt before he knows it. It's pathetic how much patience he has if he needs to crouch in a downpour and wait for a kill, but at the sight and smell and taste of her, he can't stop himself from wrenching his belt and pants open like a starved dog. It's a rush born of fear - that any time could be the last time.

She seems to shiver from his stare only when she lays herself upon the warm sand, naked as can be. She's like a vision on that beach: leaning on her elbows, thighs slowly parting, revealing the glistening sex between her legs. And she's fucking dripping, like an overripe peach. He could've safely bet all his money on her.

"How do you want me?"

Fucking fuck… 

He's walking in a dream: the most beautiful woman in the world is lying naked before his feet, bathing in gold, asking how he would prefer to take her. He doesn't even bother to get out of his clothes; he merely tugs his pants down and crawls between her legs, relishing the tight gasp he gets from being so crude.

Her eyes grow wide at the sight of him there, so close to her core, cock hanging heavy just an inch away from that tight cunt. She tries so hard to look composed while lying under his shadow, to not make it obvious that she wants that ugly thing inside. And it does feel like sin not to spread those legs and plough right in, especially when his fingers meet her silk and find that she's already throbbing.

"Want you just like this, pet," he rasps while dragging the pad of his thumb around her clit. Her back arches on the sand, forcing his fingers deeper into the dripping fruit.

It's different, her wetness; not thick and halfway there, but flowing, leaking, soaking good. The pussy is so glazed that he slips at the first attempt to slide a finger in. Her walls grip him the second he's seated deep, making it known how much she appreciates it that he's not here just for sex. 

"Someone's greedy," he's breathing rough, and she whines – he only gets to two fingers before she demands him to fuck her already.

"Want your–I need your cock…" 

She's begging, poor thing, almost crying on the sand, and he has no fucking choice but to remove his fingers and grab his cock instead.

"Have to go slow, love."

"Riley–for god's sake, now."

"F' fuck's sake…" He stumbles forward, all but gracefully, forces the tip on her soaked cunt as delicately as he can before pushing right in. She cries from the spread, fingers curling in the sand: a futile attempt to take him in without fainting.

"Tried to warn ya–"

"Don't you dare stop," she gasps, eyes full of love. As always, her wish is his command, and the tightness makes it an endless journey to bliss. The basest parts of him think about dying – having a heart attack on the same beach he almost drowned in, about ceasing to exist just for the sake of knowing that nothing is as good as this. 

He's deep as can fucking be, and it's still not enough – it's never enough. He collects her in his arms with a frustrated grunt, cock giving a tight pull only when she's finally safe and snug in his embrace. It's a tight cuddle that leaves them both breathless.

"Hold me tighter..." 

It's a soft order, but he can't get any closer: chest plastered on her skin and balls pressed against her ass, the sand grinding against her back as he makes love to her. She’s not made of twigs, but he’s far bigger than her, already threatening to crush her with his weight.

"Tighter…" she begs on his lips, tries to pull him closer with her whole being.

"Pet, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she sings, completely shieldless. Something warns him of danger, a reset far worse than drowning or being buried alive or shooting himself in a lonely apartment. He tries to calm her down with a kiss: he knows she loves kisses - but there are tears in her eyes, and his heart is hammering, hammering… 

"Simon, do you love me…?"

She asks that question right on his lips, and the first thing in his dog mind is that it's a stupid thing to ask when he's balls deep inside her and still trying to get closer.

"Yeah," he almost chokes on it, knowing it could be their wedding day and he would still choke on it because it doesn't taste like salt or metal or grave.

"I love you," she whispers. "Do you understand?"

No. No…

I fuckin' don't–

"And I'll always be here for you."

To his shock, there’s no sea water in his lungs, no dirt in his mouth. He’s not choking on anything, he's not in fact dying at all: he’s floating, somewhere between the sun and the sand and the sea. There's no more rush, no jaws of death snapping at his heels. He doesn't even long for heaven anymore. Not when there's a paradise on earth.

"Love, I need you to–need you to focus," he tries to stutter nonsense while she's pledging herself to him. Of course she only laughs at him: it hits him with the sweetest warmth.

"You're so silly…" 

"Yeah? I know." 

He's laughing too. It's just a few notes that get taken away by the sound of waves. It's just a breath from deep within, and still… Her gaze drops to his mouth, a flutter blinks back more tears.

"I love it when you laugh..." Her eyes shine brighter than the sun, riding the spine of the sea as one perfect tear rolls down her cheek. "Love it…"

The sun sets in tangerine, his new favourite colour. There's a whole bloom out there in the sky when she comes, fast and bright in his embrace. He comes right after, just from trying to stay inside her warmth, deep inside her, around her, and she says it, again and again and again… Until he breathes.

….….….

"Remember when I said I could've managed? Without you," she asks when they lie on the sand, skin on skin, watching the sun set beneath the onyx sea. The waves rise and break, but around them, the air is still. He's still inside her as she pulls his hand over her heart, entwining their fingers together: it's the softest little arrest, but her squeeze doesn't lack strength. 

"I lied too."

"I know."

She chuckles softly. "Is there something you don't know?"

"...Yeah. Why you're here out of all places."

She turns her head from the sunset into the falling darkness of him, and he wonders if that's why she's here... To be with his night. She said that people always get the dark wrong: that it's not supposed to be scary at all. That the purpose of darkness is safety, security, that there are tales where the day chases the night, and the night chases the day. She said it's because they're in love with each other.

"You really don't know…?" 

"You were smiling before we met and now you're crying all the time."

She looks up at him with trust and devotion, his daylight, his sun. There's none in the sky anymore, but it doesn't matter. It lives in her eyes.

"People cry from happiness too, Simon."

#ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x female reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #cod fanfic

[koiiiiijiii]

I would...you tenderly roughly

my favourite russian songs + lookism boys (pt.2)

тебя нежно грубо (by TARAS) = Gitae Kim

author's note ; i will never stop romanticizing bad boys. im not even gonna say that this is ooc bc we don't even know his character yet, but i feel that gitae that type of men who mercilessly outside, but in bedroom can be completely different. but yet having his... moments...

author’s note 2 ; for better immersion in the atmosphere try to search akuma_asmr on reddit [masked yan] (or just dm me, i’ll send you link)

pairing ; gitae kim x reader

tw ; gitae kim himself is an a threat, DNI IF YOU ARE MINOR, f!reader, angst, toxic, stalking, non con, slight knife play, pet names, sensual but rough sex. this fic contains non consensual sex, read on your own risk

summary ; reader being a model who came to Mexico on her indefinitely long vacation to reconnect with herself and find some peace from loud and bright paparazzi, only to catch some certain attention.

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

00:00 - 00:30 "you're on repeat in my dreams who are you, my naked drug? and if you are my thrill, dissolve yourself in me up, up, up your hands, you raised your hands up"

the sun dipped low over the Mexican horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the sprawling villa where you resided. villa, perched on a secluded beach, was meant to be a sanctuary for the weary, a place where the soul could find peace. a villa located on a secluded beach, surrounded by hills and rocks was supposed to become your shelter for about the next year, this place was supposed to become your healing, a place where you could hide from the stuffiness and dust of the big city from which you came, a place where your body finally then you could take a break from endless shows, filming, flashes of paparazzi cameras and the endless pursuit of fame and money, a place where your soul would find peace and solitude. this place was supposed to be a refuge… instead it became a gilded cage.

it’s not that you knew Gitae well - you were from different worlds - you are from the world of endless fabrics, chic, camera flashes, gloss, all kinds of bags, heels, suits and other rags, all this is your everyday life - shows, changes in looks, flights, new countries, jetlag and again and again. Gitae was from a world of violence, pain, blood, dirty money and endless fights. wars for territory and business, illegal deliveries and prohibited fraud, with everything that could be imagined were his daily routine, and this suited him quite well.

it seems one day, the owner of the agency - on behalf of which you worked, - threw a big party in honor of his birthday, just at one of the luxurious resorts in Mexico, and through Gitae’s people, various types of drugs and other illegal substances were delivered to that party. by this time, Gitae's business had grown so much that he rarely personally attended these types of transactions, but when did he refuse an invitation to secular parties? that's when he laid his eyes on you.

1:53 - 2:40 "i gently suffocate you i'll either choke you or you'll be mine and you put a knife to my throat - either i’ll stab you or will be yours i’ve never met anyone more cunning than you, but you’re making yourself look stupid but you know, it doesn’t matter much whether today you were voluntarily or by force i would take you gently, i would take you roughly i would...you gently-gently, i would...you roughly i would take you gently, i would take you roughly i would...you gently-gently, i would...you roughly" <...>

bare feet quietly padded on the white marble of your villa. the hem of a white, light silk robe silently trailed behind you as you got out of bed and headed towards the balcony. it's about three in the morning, and you still couldn't sleep. throwing the doors wide open as you step onto the terrace, the warm, gentle breeze from the ocean softly caresses your skin, carrying with it the faint scent of saltwater and tropical blooms. the night sky is filled with countless stars that twinkle like diamonds scattered across a velvet blanket. the Milky Way is clearly visible, its dense cluster of stars creating a shimmering river of light that stretches across the sky. the moon a glowing orb, casts a silvery reflection on the calm surface of the ocean, creating a path of light that seems to lead directly to the horizon.

quiet and solitude are rare and precious opportunity to reconnect with nature and yourself. as you breathe in the night air and gaze up at the star-studded sky, a profound sense of peace and contentment settles over you, until... '

"what are you doing here?" - your quiet voice cut through the distant noises of the night.

<...>

Gitae had eyes and ears everywhere. you have more than once noticed men in the crowd, - usually there are three of them - here and there, at the beginning of the street, from the other end of the market where you came for fresh fruit - a better choice than paraffined, plastic fruits in the supermarkets - and one is always in the car just few meters away, they were everywhere you went, keeping their distance, but making their presence known.

Gitae liked watching you, it was calming. there was so much lightness and calmness in your every movement and gesture that it seemed to him that you were producing the same effect on him… even from a distance. he liked to know where you were, who you were with - even if you spent almost all the time here alone or had small talk with lady from house keeping, who came a couple of times a week, and with the women at the market where you usually came to buy fruits or vegetables [the only thing you don’t know, is that this sweet woman was the mother of someone from the cortel, this small market was under their protection, and the fact that you periodically traveled several kilometers just to buy fruits from her honestly added adorability points to you in Gitae's eyes]- he liked control, and he knew that he was completely in control the situation is under control. although, to be honest, this could not be said about his… thoughts and desires, he would never admit that he felt anything other than desire towards you.

he would never admit to himself or anyone else about what emotions your sight awakens in him in the morning, when you, still half asleep, go out onto the terrace with a cup of tea clutched in your thin, slender fingers, or in the afternoon when you are basking in the rays of the sun, allowing fall asleep again while you are reading a book, or while you are sleeping. oh, this awakened in him the most familiar feelings for him, when he silently stood over you in your house, enjoying your sleeping look, your light, unobtrusive smell, looking at your cute face, looking at your things, maybe even taking that cute couple of lace panties with a bow for himself. at such moments blood rushed to his dick so much that it became painful.

<...>

it seemed to you that hours had already passed since he threw you onto the bed, bowing right in front of the bed and throwing your legs over his shoulders. contrary to the first impression that might have been formed about him, he was gentle… more precisely, his tongue on your pussy, but his hands roughly squeezed the skin on your thighs, rising higher, squeezing your waist, running along your ribs and going higher, to your chest, roughly kneading the delicate skin in his huge palms. Gitae wasn’t rough with you, kissing inner side of your thighs, your tummy, your clitor, but each of his touches felt like hot metal on thin, soft skin. maybe it was the huge knife with which a few minutes ago he, oh so carefully cut your panties and the cute little blouse in which you usually slept. oh, he said that if you turn away from him or fidget too much, he'll have to start using it.

but right now he was too busy with his tongue in your tight hole - “you like being humiliated like this, don’t you, bunny?” a deep growl vibration touched your bare pussy when he almost buried his nose in you. wet sounds filled the entire room, and you were embarrassed to admit to yourself that it was pretty hot. now one of his hands was squeezing both of your wrists on your tummy, while the other was caressing your thigh, moving his hand back and forth, not allowing you to twitch and sway your hips away from him, keeping you in place. Gitae is agonizingly slow, he likes to slowly coax your first orgasm out of you, lightly licking and teasing the tender bundle of nerves and the entrance to your tight slit. you are so pretty, lying on your huge bed, the sheets are rumpled, the blankets and pillows are scattered, half fell to the floor - the result of the little cute resistance that you tried to give to Gitae when he pushed you back into the room and threw you on the bed. even though he was now kneeling in front of your bed, burying his nose in your tight, sensetive cunny, you couldn’t help but feel the strength and dominance with which he was squeezing you, completely suppressing any attempts to resist. all that you could oppose to him was your sweet moans and quiet pleas for him to stop. he even liked it.

when the heat engulfed your entire body, trembling began to break through your legs and thighs, and without controlling yourself, you began to lean forward yourself, towards his tongue, searching for more friction. Gitae let out a low groan more like an animal growl, “there you are... good girl, now cum. cum on my tongue,” he growled protractedly letting go of your hands and cupping your ass cheeks with his huge, harsh palms, slightly lifting you above the bed, making you gasp, arching your back more and throwing your head back.

with a quiet hum, Gitae slowly licked the remains of your finish, teasing the sensitive, heated skin, allowing one finger to slip inside you, earning another pitiful moan.

“so sensitive and wet… and all mine…” his voice boomed somewhere above you as he stood up from his knees, his finger still inside you, probing the hot, gummy walls while your body instinctively tried to shrink into the fetal position and close yourself off from him. Gitae just grinned, leaning lower, crushing you under him, clinging to your plump pink lips, persistently sliding his tongue further, only to hiss a moment later and pull away from you, “fuck. did you just fucking bite me?” a loud slap rang out across the room and you yelped from the sharp, burning pain spreading across your butt cheek.

“come on, do it again,” he growled in your ear, slapping loudly again and pressing you harder into the mattress with his hips. his hands found yours again, grabbing your wrists and pressing them into the sheets above your head, pinning you completely to the bed. you felt your shoulder blades touching his bare chest, and something heavy was pressed into your ass and it clearly wasn't a knife in a sheath on his belt. “tell me, doll, you didn’t think that was all, yeah?” you felt his smirk on his lips and that mocking tone in his voice as he pinned you down on the bed with all his weight. “oh don’t worry bunny, i have so many plans for this night,” he purred in your ear, slightly biting your earlobe and slowly and persistently moving his hips, making you feel his boner in his jeans more strongly.

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

it doesn’t matter to listen whole song just this part bc i got inspiration just from there🤟🏻🤌🏻

#[ ~ koi.talks🗣] #lookism #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #webtoon lookism #lookism x reader #yandere lookism #kim gitae #kim gitae x reader #x reader #kim gitae x you #lookism kim gitae #Spotify

[lets-try-some-writing]

Got Angst for Prime.

AU: Whatever AU you want to use.

Concept: Ratchet's Optics never really recovered from his Synth-En incident. He sees everything in a tint of green. And his optics show it. So, every time OP looks Ratchet in the optics, he sees the blue with a tinge of green surrounding it, and he gets hit with how bad he failed Ratchet.

(I've pretty much always HC that Ratchet had some lasting aftereffects of his tests. This one's my favorite though.)

I can't help it.

I am going to make this shippy.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Optimus had always loved Ratchet's optics. If you asked him, he would deny the way he often found himself staring wistfully off in the doctor's direction. It was all professional concern for a mech who simply didn't know when he needed to rest and recover. If he shared a glance with Ratchet for a little longer than normal, it was simply because he cared. That was what he told others. Whether or not they believe him was up for debate.

But beneath that veil of half truths created for both his and Ratchet's safety, Optimus's affections ran deep.

Even before the war, he'd loved those optics. Ratchet's optics were aged even when Orion was young. And yet they held a life to them that was undeniable. Passion incapable of being smothered by the harsh words of others and the seemingly impossible trial that was going up a caste. Ratchet bore every burden and political scheme with blunt determination, his optics always shining brightly as a hint of a smirk played on his features. Optimus loved that mischievous grin and the telltale glint that Ratchet got in his optics when he had some wild plan cooked up. Even though he was unable to bring himself to utter the compliments that formed in the back of his mind, he loved the Doctor's optics more than he cared to admit. So much energy contained within a compact frame. It was beautiful in its own unique way.

Once the war began and Orion Pax became Optimus Prime, he did not think about Ratchet's optics as much. At least until they began to lose the shine that he had been so familiar with in his youth.

War was uncaring and it held no love for those trapped within its web. Optimus endured it with the patience of the old gods of Cybertron long since left to rot. Whispers of ancient beings far beyond his comprehension clouded his sense of time. Tears he wept for the fallen turned his gaze away from those around him and instead to the rivers of energon that flowed around his pedes. He endured it as the last of a long line of divines given frame. But Ratchet was mortal, and as the war dragged on, those optics that Optimus adored grew darker. Passion changed to red hot fury so bright and dangerous that Ratchet's gaze felt almost like venom at times.

Stokes of fire leapt through Ratchet's blazing optics, and more than once Optimus feared he'd be scorched by that boiling inferno of loss and grief. And yet despite being the one to lead their war ever onward, Optimus never felt Ratchet's anger directed at him. When those optics gazed up at him, Optimus felt only age old affection and care. Fire was tamed and turned to comforting warmth. Steady servos ran along his arms and a soothing voice lulled Optimus into temporary serenity on long cycles where he simply had no more tears to shed or reason to give to their Primus forsaken war. All the while those optics met his own and Optimus was at peace.

Vorns passed by. Optimus continued in his eternal march toward victory and Ratchet continued to change. Rage turned into bitterness, the molten hot wrath of war transforming into a deep set sorrow that left creases in the living metal that surrounded Ratchet's optics. Grim darkness pooled in that once passionate gaze. Those optics flickered in wrath long fostered each time Megatron made himself known. Those optics flared with every injury that the team brought with them back to base once they arrived on Earth. Those optics that Optimus loved so dearly dimmed and quieted, their light softening in the dark of the medical bay on long nights when Ratchet thought no one would hear his quiet sobs.

Optimus always loved Ratchet's optics.

He should have treated him better.

"Does it still hurt?" Optimus asked as he ran his digits over the weld on Ratchet's side.

"Of course it does. The weld has only been in place for a month and the wound ran deep." Ratchet replied clinically, not looking up from his work even as Optimus risked wrapped his arms around the doctor's waist. Others could see, but in the moment, he didn't care.

"I'm sorry." He murmured into the crook of Ratchet's neck as he leaned down, desperate to feel the comforting warmth of Ratchet's frame against his. The Doctor stilled, his field extending and wrapping around Optimus is concern.

"Optimus, please, we've talked about this. I was out of line in saying that. You are not at fault." Ratchet broke from Optimus's embrace and turned around. Optimus wanted to look away in shame as those optics looked up at him, still as lovely as ever, but tinted a haunting green.

A sign of Optimus's greatest failure.

"I am at fault, and you know that as well as I do. Let us not delude ourselves." Optimus reached out to cup Ratchet's face. The Doctor leaned into his touch obligingly. Any open affection was a risk, but there was something unspoken that needed to be addressed before time ran out and the world drew them apart yet again.

"You have always done what you think is right. I can't blame you for hoping and trying to save a mech who was once a friend." Ratchet's optics cycled and the green became more prominent within them in response to his emotions. Optimus frowned and shifted so caress the metal around the Doctors optics. His scarred digits traced creases and small scuffs, lingering around the corners of Ratchet's optics as Optimus observed the green hue in sorrow.

"You shouldn't have felt pressured to do this to yourself. The risks were too great. If I had only-" A digit pressed to Optimus's derma before he could continue, silencing his attempts at being self deprecating before they could truly begin.

"I made my choice. It is not your fault. Besides, the world is just a little more green for me now. That is all." Ratchet forced a smile, but Optimus could not bring himself to do the same. Ratchet's words while he was on synthetic energon were cruel... but undeniably true. How many times had Optimus had the chance to bring down Megatron only to let the warlord go? How many lives could he have saved if he had only put aside his feelings on the matter and acted?

"I can tell you are beating yourself up over it. Stop. It's over now and I'm fine." Ratchet pulled away and Optimus's servos fell. They stood quietly together for a nanoklik before Ratchet moved forward, his smaller frame pressing against Optimus's in a gentle embrace. Strong arms hooked themselves around the crooks of Optimus's torso, unwavering but gentle enough that if he wished, the Prime could pull away.

"Forgive me." Optimus murmured in the quiet of the medical bay. A gentle hum met his plea. Neither said another word as they stood in the relative dark, comforted in the presence of one another. Only the light of the nearby console lit up the area, but it was more than enough for the Prime to work with.

Green tinted optics glowed in the gloom, illuminating Optimus's face as he leaned down. Ratchet's optics closed, most likely expecting a gentle touch to the crest of his helm. Instead, Optimus leaned as close as he was able, even going so far as to angle his helm so that he could get near enough to place a ghost of a kiss over Ratchet's optics. Each closed optic received the lightest of touches, so soft that it may as well have been a gust of wind. But as Optimus pulled back and settled into the helm touch that Ratchet had likely been prepared for, the Prime finally smiled.

"Thank you for standing by my side." Ratchet stared in shock as the Prime's digits again found their place tracing around the Doctor's optics. Ratchet stood still, uncertain of how to respond until Optimus spoke again.

"I've always loved your optics, regardless of their hue." Optimus assured, earning a gentle huff from his companion.

"You sap." Ratchet whispered even as his optics glowed in all too rare joy at the show of affection. The green was still present, a permanent reminder of the costs of war. However Optimus continued to smile all the same, simply pleased to have those optics locked on him.

Yes, Optimus would admit it aloud if times permitted.

He had always loved Ratchet's optics.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #ratchet #optiratch #transformers fanfiction #fanfiction #slight angst #finally a chance to write something angsty fluffy #I do love me these two old bots

[dixons-sunshine]

Seizing for a part two of young!daryl head cannons omg😩

Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU Headcannons Part Two | Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine.*

Word count: 853.

A/n: Here's a part two of my personal headcannons while I mentally prepare myself for the scene I'm about to write in my newest fic. Hope y'all like these!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

★ So it's quite common for us Daryl writers to have him call the reader "Sunshine", but I feel like it explains a lot about how he feels about you in this.

★ He definitely called you sunshine long before you actually got together. It's because Daryl sees his life as a bad thunderstorm, but you're the ray of sunshine that breaks through the devastating downpour.

★ Of all the things he loves the most about you, his favourite physical thing about you is your thighs. Whether you guys are watching movies on the couch and are cuddling, whether you're with him when he's driving, whether you guys are doing more... not-so-family-friendly activities, it doesn't matter. He loves gripping them. It's his absolute favourite.

★ Despite that, however, he's definitely a boob guy. He just can't hold them when you're in public, so your thighs share first place with them.

★ He definitely is also enamoured with your smile. It just makes his day so much better whenever he sees it.

★ He wanted to drop out of high school, but you talked him out of it—it wasn't easy, and you promised him that you'd support him either way, but he decided to stick it out and graduate.

★ In the first part, I mentioned that you and your mom lived with your grandparents until you were six. I definitely headcannon that your grandparents didn't love you and were deeply disappointed in your mom—they are really conservative and couldn't come to terms with the fact that their daughter got pregnant at 18.

★ They were abusive to you. Whether it was physically or mentally, that I'll let y'all decide for future fics.

★ Despite that, you remained positive. That was over a decade ago and you had refused a long time ago to allow them to be an anchor around your neck.

★ You talked to Daryl about them a while after you officially got together.

★ You told them about what they did and that made Daryl realise why you were so patient and caring with him. You understood.

★ On a more lighthearted note, Daryl has an unhealthy obsession with playing little pranks on you.

★ He's usually a serious guy, but with you, he allows himself to let loose. He plays pretty innocent pranks on you, like swapping your toothpaste out for mayonnaise. Never anything that could hurt you.

★ You always returned the favour, though, and that started many prank wars between the two of you.

★ Daryl isn't a great dancer, but sometimes he'll pull you into his arms and just sway with you, with or without music.

★ You absolutely loved it, even if you didn't understand why he did it.

★ “D, not that I'm complaining, but what's this about?”

★ “Jus' 'cause.” He never revealed more than that.

★ He would never tell you this, put he loved wearing face masks with you.

★ He kind of loved the way his skin felt afterwards. However, he loved how giggly you would get whenever he put up a "fight" and then finally agree to it.

★ He would always agree to it, but he allowed you to think you convinced him to change his mind. He'd let you have that just to see your radiant smile and hear your radiant laugh.

★ He lives for forehead kisses. Whether it's him giving them or receiving them from you, he doesn't care. He just loves them.

★ You and Daryl had both walked in on your mom being all lovey dovey with a man and teased her endlessly for it.

★ She always teased you and Daryl, so it was only fair to repay the favour, you had told her once.

★ She knew it was all in good fun, though, so she didn't scold you for it.

★ Your mom and Daryl are close. Not in a gross way, but in a familial way. She sees Daryl as her son-in-law.

★ She worked a lot of nightshirts at the bar and more often than not walked in the next morning to find you and Daryl acting all romantic in the kitchen.

★ Has she accidentally walked in on you and Daryl having sex? She would never tell...

★ She has met Daryl's father, as stated in the previous part, and absolutely hated the guy for what he was doing to Daryl.

★ She may or may not have been the reason why he had a flat tyre once and was late to something.

★ She had grown to heavily dislike her parents for how they treated her when she got pregnant with you. She vowed to herself that if you were to get pregnant at that age, she would never make you feel like you were worthless. She may have been a kid having a kid, but she loved you dearly and couldn't imagine her life without you.

★ She knew she wasn't always the best mom, but she tried her best and hoped she was doing okay.

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

Okay, so here's part two. I might make a part three?

#krys writes .ೃ࿐ #shopping spree hangout dreams #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #twd daryl #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #the walking dead #young!daryl #young!daryl dixon #young daryl dixon

[kyleoreillylover]

Dominik Mysterio x Fem!Reader headcanons

A/N: I am obsessed with Dom, can you blame me? Here's some small headcanons while I am working on a smut fanfic for him.

Always needs to be touching you in some way. His hand never leaves yours when you walk to the ring, his arm around your waist when the both of you are standing together just because he wants to feel you, slinging an an arm over your shoulder and hooking your legs together when the both of you are sitting on the couch.

This man is the perfect gentleman. Never let’s you get in the ring without holding the ropes open for you. Will always try to take any hits for you, he doesn’t want you getting hurt at all. Doesn’t let’s you drive anywhere, you’re his passenger princess and that’s never gonna change. Takes you on romantic dates whenever your schedules are free, and buys you a new outfit for each date even though you tell him it’s not necessary because he wants his baby to be happy. The man just loves you a lot and loves to spoil you a lot and doesn’t let a day goes by without letting you know.

Brags about you a lot. Whether it’s on social media and having his Instagram flooded with pictures of you, in the ring during a promo when he absolutely trashes your opponents and reminds them how much better you are, or to his friends in a conversation, this man will not stop bragging about you and your accomplishments. He’s just so incredibly proud of you and everything you do. You are his world and he wants everyone to know that.

Is dependent on you. You’re the more dominant one in the relationship, so he will stand behind you and relies on you a lot to take the lead and defend him, but if anyone disrespects you that’s when he will push you behind him and give them absolutely hell to defend your name. You find it adorable when he protects you and get's all protective, but you still want him to stay behind you and let you handle it yourself.

Teases you and jokes around with you a lot. You have a very playful relationship with each other, always messing around, having inside jokes, having prank wars with each other and the other wrestlers in the roster, and constantly play fighting with each other (which ends in you chasing Dominik around and him running away and using other members of TJD as a shield). Whenever Dom's with you, he can't stop smiling and laughing like a little kid with his crush.

Loves your body. The way your outfits and gear hugs your body deliciously, encinuatiyng your curves and boobs. Can barely focus during promos or backstage segments because he's too busy looking at you and can't take his eyes off of you. Loves your soft supple skin and how addicting it is to nuzzle his head into your neck and feel your skin against his. Loves your perfume and feels like he is always on a high whenever you're in his arms and he inhales it. He just can't get enough of you.

This man just loves you a lot, and would do anything and everything you ask of him, even if that meant putting his career on hold or leaving wrestling altogether. You mean more to him than his dream career, you are his dream world and having you in his arms makes him happier than any title around his waist.

#wwe x reader #nxt x reader #nxt #wwe #aew x reader #rhea ripley #wwe fanfiction #fanfic #rhea ripley x reader #wwe fic #dominik mysterio x reader #dominick mysterio x reader #dominik mysterio #wwe headcanons #wwe imagine #wwe imagines #wwe fanfic #wwe nxt #tjd #the judgement day #the judgement day x reader #wwe x you #wwe x fem reader #dominick mysterio #finn balor #wwe x black reader #finn balor x reader #damian priest #damien priest x reader

[unlikelypandahologram]

Reasons to ship every single version of MegOP

since Very Dumb Discourse™ exists about whether or not certain versions of this ship are valid, this is going to be THE most positive post about all versions of MegOP. refer back to this post for reasons to ship your favorite version of MegOP if anyone gets weird about it with you. now let us begin!!

G1: goofy '80s faction dads fighting each other in a denny's parking lot every week LET'S GOOO, that shit is fun as fuck. orion pax also totally had a celeb crush on megatron before megatron ruined that and shot him and his pals 😔 and there's a lot of angst you can add with megatron becoming galvatron and optimus coming back to life to see how much he's changed!

BW: it's the sheer fucking comedy gold factor of a newly minted college graduate and a terrorist dinosaur IMMEDIATELY singling each other out on a prehistoric rock and deciding to call their daily gang slap-fights the BEAST WARS, what iconic drama queens LMAOOOO. also, megatron made his final body in BM look like optimal optimus SPECIFICALLY to fuck with him, and that's just...incredible

UT: the fact that megatron CANONICALLY acted like a grieving widower over optimus after he died in armada is. amazing. never forget their absolutely insane obsession with each other that they can never EVER give up on played a direct part in unicron nearly ending the world <3

Bayverse: this is the one continuity of all fucking things that gave us the lore about megatron being prime's lord high protector. absolute galaxy brain writing from the tie-in comics. also these two would ABSOLUTELY have the messiest, nastiest, most brutal hate sex imaginable, and that's beautiful. <3

Animated: optimus being a rookie washout underdog and megatron being a super scary much older warlord is a really interesting and underrated fresh take on their dynamic! lots of fun to be had with exploring what their relationship would be like after megatron finally acknowledged him as his archnemesis, lol. also...age AND size difference ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Prime: do i even need to say anything, i'm pretty sure that one flashback still of orion and megatronus being friends is responsible for birthing a million shippers for this pairing alone LMAOOOO. the bitter ex-boyfriends energy was TRULY off the charts in this show, it's a damn shame megatron never appeared in RID15

Cyberverse: same bitter ex-boyfriends energy but this time with dates at maccadams. megatron also dies encouraging optimus to beat the unhinged alternate dimension megs AAHH THE ANGST

IDW1: they're both depressed gay war criminals in this one who CONSTANTLY live in each other's heads rent-free and that's amazing, lmfao. also, megatron becoming an autobot means this is one of the VERY FEW continuities where it's not nigh impossible to figure out a way to give these two a happy ending together in fanon

IDW2: space date space date SPACE DATE. they were falling together and everything. megatron also LITERALLY tells optimus to open himself to him...to give him the matrix...yeah megs my dude i'm sure that's the ONLY thing you wanted from optimus "opening" himself. toootally positive, lol

G1 Marvel: megatron was SUPER fucking pissed and weird as shit about the time optimus died over a video game. it counts

Dreamwave: their first fight had megatron urging optimus to join him AND they disappeared together in a space bridge explosion once which is like, a fanfic-esque setup for them to be alone. also i'm pretty sure this is the continuity where optimus accidentally gave megatron a lobotomy, so...uh...potential for angst is to be had

SG: mirror universe!! evil crazy villain optimus with noble goody-goody hero megatron has so much potential for absolute chaos. bonus if you also bring in the normal versions somehow through multiverse shenanigans <3

KP: the only way this version of prime can redeem himself from the creepy underage human girl bullshit is if he gets a good hard dicking from megatron. next

Prime Wars: huge "ex-husbands go on a road trip with their disgruntled daughter" energy here. megatron also LITERALLY says "oh optimus, if only you could see me now" <3

Earthspark: again...need i say why? they're pals and working together from the get-go, what's not to ship??

Skybound: optimus literally wears megatron's arm. truly beautiful <3

TF One: it's not out yet but give it time. the entire movie is going to be about orion and d-16 being madly in love and tragically breaking up, baby!!

#if you're wondering why i didn't include the wfc trilogy it's because those shows fucking suck and i hate them LMAO #transformers #maccadams #megop #edited after the fact to include the new comics lol

[criminalskies]

The Aaron Hotchner Mega-masterlist. Part 1/?

Hi!! I wanted to make a sort of recommendation list for some Aaron Hotchner writers in this gorgeous community and what makes their work so special in my eyes. Please note this list is not exhaustive by any means. If you would like me to add you or your work to this list, please just fire me a message and I'll run through your masterlist or fics to see what you're all about <3

please note, this is a way to support writers on here. So play nice.

@honeypiehotchner - (K) an extensive masterlist, mixing fluff, smut and angst or hurt/comfort, they use the most stunning imagery and descriptions to really make you understand how reader's feeling in each moment. She never writes hotch out-of-character, able to make him sound exactly like himself, no matter how far off-canon the story takes place. The dialogue always feels like real chemistry between real people. I also adore how they write hotch x autistic!reader. Such a beautiful understanding and patience and love between them. I really enjoy K's ability to show how thoughtful & considerate he is of his lover's needs. mostly fem!reader fics, some gn!reader. K's masterlist.

@show-your-fangs - (A) does an amazing job of writing Aaron's mental battles with himself as he moves outside of his comfort zones. She can orchestrate such a sea of emotions in every scene I read, and I can never pick out even one word in the entire fic that seems out of place. Not only can she beautifully capture every shift in emotion or thought process throughout these fics, but jesus christ can she make Aaron Hotchner the sexiest motherfucker on earth. The scenes feel so natural and just ooze raw sex appeal. Marvellous work, not every piece is linked in this masterlist but i highly recommend giving her blog a good old search.

@hotchs-big-hands - (A) doesn't have many works currently released, but oh boy do we get quality over quantity. Her three part series 'what did you call me?' is stunning. She takes her time to really make me feel what the reader is feeling and it's so easy to step into reader's shoes. Not to mention that she manages to infuse suave and sexy into every hair on Aaron's head. Every step this man takes seems to leave me breathless because he is just so smooth and sure of himself, but simultaneously we get a glimpse of the war going on in his head. Most works are plus!size!reader (female reader) but some gn!reader works as well. A's masterlist.

@greg-montgomery - (Fay) can make a splinter in your thumb feel like a warm cozy blanket, every domestic or blissful or lovestruck situation you can dream of with Hotch has been written, and made to feel like hot cocoa on a rainy day. She does a gorgeous job of writing a brief, fleeting moment with him like it's something you'll remember forever. Fay's masterlist.

@ssahotchnerr - (Katie) has a beautiful way of melting readers hearts with the softest little moments that can be shared between two people. Whether Aaron's changing your tyre or building your a bookshelf, the tiny little details can make it feel like the most heartwarming thing a man can do. She really captures that certain unplaceable Hotch quality in every single scenario Katie's masterlists.

@reidersspencer - (Miso) is always a breath of fresh air, her fic ideas are creative and fun, she is very active, always working on several hotch fics/blurbs at once. Miso responds to every request within days, having produced something sweet enough to make you prediabetic, she does a fantastic job of keeping hotch, well, hotch, with just that extra sparkle in his eye as he looks at reader. Miso's masterlist.

@slutforsilverfoxes - (she/her), I truly think sf2 could find inspiration in a glass of water. Her fics are so original, and she has a way of making sure the dialogue never feels forced or unnatural, and the chemistry is thick in the air between her characters. You can always see just how reader and aaron became drawn to one another, she's always able to make me envy just how much our star-crossed-lovers have in common. She's able to make every character's actions seem deliberate and measured, and the imagery adds so much depth to her scenes. slutforsilverfoxes' masterlist.

@canuck-eh - (she/her), wrote some of the most beautiful, delicate, authentic, raw hotch fics I've ever had the pleasure of reading. Some of her works are as long as 20k words, but not even one of those words is wasted. The most beautiful characterisations and imagery. Hotch never feels out-of-character and these fics deconstruct him so well, giving you a beautiful look inside his mind. Please note, this account no longer writes for hotch, as of right now. So please do not run to her inbox asking for more. But I promise you, her masterlist is enough to sustain you for a lifetime. Canuck’s masterlist.

@montyfandomlove - (Mon) does a gorgeous job of making your wildest fantasies come true. Her response to every request will both melt your heart and make your pussy throb. Mon writes Aaron as both smooth and sure of himself, but also sensitive and self-conscious. She can use any situation to bring that old man to life, making him feel younger and more carefree in the process. Mon's version of Hotch feels so true to himself, and don't we all love him that way? Mon's masterlist.

@hotchs-bitch - (T) does such a beautiful job of breaking my heart. She has a real talent for building angst until my eyes well up. She writes so realistically about Hotch's struggles and triumphs with love, but also the happy little moments in his life with you that make it worth living. Lovely characterisation of the man himself. T's masterlist.

@chateauhotchner - (Andi) also loves to break my heart and make me cry. But, the angst is so beautifully tragic. Wonderful imagery and she's even been capable of making me want to smack my favourite man in the world. Andi's masterlist.

@hotchs-babygirl - (Zeina) can always capture the thoughtfulness and gentleness of our Aaron Hotchner. Makes me want to squish his silly little cheeks and stare into his big shiny doe eyes forever. Zeina's masterlist.

@alluring-andrayav - (Andraya) this girl likes to not only have Hotch break my heart but also stomp it into smithereens and spit on it in the process. Levels of angst I can never quite recover from but it's done so well I can't bring myself to hate her for it. Andraya's masterlist.

@whiskey-bumblebee - (Hannah) loves to give me cavities by making our man so sweet and beautifully himself. Hotch-in-love is a different beast, and one that Hannah captures really well. Also, some sweat-inducing smut here and there that I cannot fail to mention. Hannah's masterlist

@honeybrowne - (she/her) manages to write the very best and worst parts of dating aaron hotchner, having the most attentive, thoughtful, considerate boyfriend is of course a pleasure greater than words can say, but at the same time, he can only ever give you half his time and he tends to eat away at himself for it. A great cross-section of this man. honeybrowne's masterlist.

@hotchscvm - (Neens) writes some of the most carefree, caution-to-the-wind, sexy aaron we all need sometimes. But she also doesn't miss when she writes the soft moments between you two, the little things that make you fall in love with him (and get butterflies). Neens' masterlist.

@dudeitiskarev - (Cat) does such a fantastic job of creating whole worlds in each of her stories. She paints the most beautiful pictures of her scenes with each word, I never have trouble getting a crystal clear mental image of what's taking place. That's not to even mention how well she sees right through the many layers of Aaron. note that I believe cat is retiring from writing for Aaron but please cherish all of her works, they are gorgeous. Cat's Masterlist.

@masterwords - (Angela) has written hundreds of thousands of words about our Hotch, although most of her works are for hotchgan (hotch x derek morgan). In the years she's spent writing for these two, it is clear she knows both of their minds even better than her own. Every single romantic situation/scenario I can cook up in my imagination has already been written in completion by Ang and it is just amazing. Even if she breaks your heart, she'll usually put it back together even better than before. Angela's masterlist. (this is the hotch-only masterlist, the hotchgan list is here)

@ssahoodrathotchner - (Andi) writes the most feel-good fluff, if you just want to hold aaron in your arms or have him look at you oh-so-longingly, snuggle up nice and warm and read some of Andi's work. Mostly gn!reader <;3 Andi's masterlist.

@angelhotchner - (Marl) I do NOT see enough people freaking out on the daily about these works. An awesome range of gn!reader & fem!reader both sfw & nsfw. Like, reading the titles of these fics alone should clue you into just how stunning most of these works are to read. I highly highly recommend a deep dive. Marl's masterlist.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Again. There is definitely still two hundred blogs I want to add to this list, and I will as time goes on add to this because the talent and love and passion being poured into loving on this man is so staggering to me. I hope you've found at least one blog on this list that you maybe didn't know of before, or that it's a reminder for you to check out some writers you already know of.

If your name made it on this list, please know I adore you. If your name didn't make it on this list, please know I probably still adore you, and I will almost certainly get there in time. <3 I really just want an excuse to tell a bunch of writers why I fell in love with their work, so! if you have another writer in mind, please just drop their username or info in my inbox and I will get to work.

#Rome's recs #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #TALENT #RAW TALENT #come and see 'em!

[sparrow-bear]

Okay so here’s the thing that gets me about Good Omens (s2 in particular):

Earth and humanity are (as far as we know) meant to exist so that heaven and hell have a playing field to best one another, initially by seeing who can exert their influence on humans most and ultimately as a battleground for their war. Humans themselves are kinda inconsequential.

But! Anyone from either side who comes to earth with even a *skerrick* of curiosity immediately starts to fall for the emergent properties of humanity- the music, the food, the art, the shades of grey that simply do not exist in heaven or hell. We see this in Aziraphale and Crowley who have found ways to keep their positions on earth for 6000 years yes, but we see it even more in Beelzebub and Gabriel, who have been to earth many times but only started to *see* it for the first time together, and in Muriel who we are told has never been to Earth before and is overcome with excitement seemingly within seconds of arriving.

There is something so deliciously pure and healing about this story that centres not just love between individuals being the most powerful thing in the universe, but also the simple love of *being alive*. It’s so potent that celestial/demonic powers succumb to the joy of living the *moment* they open themselves up to it. To see these timeless entities stumbling together through human history interacting with and delighting at, not humans themselves so much but the things that they have created. To know that the joy they find in these human constructs is literally changing the very fabric of who they are in ways that they clearly find freeing and deeply fulfilling. That they would literally rather live their quaint little lives on earth, drinking and eating their fill and experiencing human creations, than fulfil their purpose in some cosmic destiny. That they’ll fight to protect it so fiercely even though they’ve been told it’s destruction is preordained.

It’s wild that a story that doesn’t have human characters at it’s centre (in the show anyway), so expertly conveys the joy of being human. Whether you believe humanity exists for a purpose or not, we are simply silly little creatures with an overactive pleasure drive making things that are infinitely more complex than the sum of their parts.

Idk man, it’s the absolute reverence for simple contentment this story holds above all else that gives me life (especially in contrast to its irreverence of Christian morality). I liked season 1 a lot but season 2 soothed some deep hurt in my heart and I’m just so grateful it exists.

#I don’t even know if I properly described it here #I just have so many emotions #*slaps my own back* this baby can fit so many feelings in them #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #ineffable husbands #ineffable bureaucracy #Muriel must be protected at all costs #good omens analysis #good omens meta #okay wow we’re all a little starving for the simple joys of life huh

[theragethatisdesire]

꧁ rage's library ꧂

hello there, this is the best attempt at a masterlist i have been able to keep even halfway updated. there are lots of little ramblings and musings on my blog otherwise, but all the big chunks of writing are catalogued here. thanks for stopping by<3

DISCLAIMER: all of my writing contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor or ageless blog, please kindly leave my page.

Eren Jaeger

ti penso ogni giorno (a collection)

a collection of one-shots set in a modern au that spans nearly 10 years of your relationship with the cute boy you met at a party in college.

much ado about nothing (ongoing series)

plug!eren enters the life of our stressed out, literature student reader just when she least expects him. in true shakespearean fashion, chaos ensues. strangers to fwb to idiots in love.

scary dog privilege (one-shot)

you enlist eren as your fake boyfriend for connie’s birthday party, unable to face your ex, jean, without the help of your best friend. you forgot one crucial thing, though: where jean’s all bark, eren’s all bite.

quick bright things (two-parter)

part 1 - spending your summer sweltering in the uppermost regions of italy with your wealthy friends, you stumble across a man who seems straight out of a shakespeare play, and who seems to be completely fascinated with you.

Jean Kirchstein

pretty girl (one-shot)

your new boyfriend jean is pretty much perfect, except when it comes to your incredibly vanilla sex life. you make the mistake of underestimating him.

Reiner Braun

a girl is a gun (canon-divergent series, ao3 only for now)

after years of bloodshed and distance, evin finley reconnects with her childhood friend, reiner braun. they’ve both changed over the years, but the string that ties them together seems to have survived the wars they’ve faced. when secrets about evin’s past start to come to light after eren jaeger’s raid on liberio, reiner finds out whether or not love truly is the death of duty.

Multi-Character

aot faves as dads (headcanons)

just my favorite boys with their precious little ones in another, happier life.

three’s a… (poly!erejean uni)

you and eren have been getting more adventurous in the bedroom and roping jean into your adventures. jean’s way too in his head about the whole thing.

show off (poly!erejean uni)

eren notices that you and jean have a bit of a crush on one another. he helps you act out your fantasy.

cabin in the woods (poly!erejean uni)

you and the boys head up to jean's mountain cabin to celebrate the one-year anniversary adding jean into your relationship with eren

drabble masterlist

sometimes i literally just never shut up and sometimes i play ask games so find the result of both of those things linked here.

#rage.writing #masterlist

[furiousgoldfish]

Living in an abusive family means constantly navigating an information warfare situation. These people will not share a shred of information unless it's beneficial to them, and will not communicate even the basic bits of information, to anyone.

Information is withheld and twisted at will. You can never know whether something you've been told has been embellished, changed, made up, or completely fake. You cannot tell whether two people behind your back have decided to give you this modified and manipulative info because they wanted something from you. You cannot tell whether someone is telling you something because it's the truth, or because they can benefit from it.

There is a mountain of information that is just withheld from you because people think it's 'better if you' don't know', or sometimes even just because it's 'bothersome to tell you' or they don't think you deserve the information. It can be as simple as, where a certain family member is, when is some event taking place, who is sick with what, who is working where, who is coming over, what has been gain or won or procured, what's for dinner, who is buying or giving something. It can even be withheld from you just to make you look stupid and embarrass you in front of others for not knowing. It can be withheld so you would be accused of 'not caring enough to ask'.

You end up playing the information war as well, because you have to conceal some of your interests, movement and actions just to protect yourself against further abuse, and to protect your privacy. You know what would be done with your private information in such environment. You sometimes have to keep completely normal things secret because your family is insane about normal things and don't think you should have any. Anything that can be used against you has to be withheld, and they know it, and will fight to pull it out from you, either by the pretense of care, or by withholding resources and threatening you to gain the information.

Living with people who use communication as a method of gaining power is stressful and the opposite of a safe and nurturing environment. If simple information about each of your family member is continuously concealed and hidden and only revealed when it can be used as an advantage, you're constantly in a situation where you know only 5% of what's going on, and the rest is waiting to be used against you. Or hidden so you would be easier to guilt and trap in lack of knowledge. Your family could be hiding resources, money, advantages and privileges they have, and making you feel guilty for being a burden on them. They could be hiding just how much money they make to make you live in poverty. They could be hiding any kind of illegal activity, affairs, crimes and secret life they have and guilt you for wanting the tiniest semblance of your own privacy. And you wouldn't even know who you're talking to because they have it easier if you don't know who you are.

The worst is they will act like you should have known the entire time, and it's you who is stupid for not having the information that is purposely withheld from you. They can make you feel stupid for their own concealment of the truth from you.

#abusive family #information warfare #withholding information to gain advantage #emotional manipulation #psychological abuse #information abuse #manipulation #abusive parents #child abuse

[thirdeyeblue]

“Nine would have treated Martha better than Ten did”

I need to talk about this argument that never seems to stop circulating.

Note: Not a venomous/anti post. There’s more than enough of that across fandom spaces as is, and this is supposed to be a place for ✨sweet, blissful escapism✨

When making this argument, people seem to envision a scenario in which Nine never met Rose.

While I can appreciate a good hypothetical, recognizing Rose's significance to the Doctor (Nine and Ten) is essential to understanding why things with Martha played out the way they did in the first place.

In the third series, the Doctor is grieving. This grief is deliberately threaded into nearly every script, whether spoken aloud or not (and these are just a few examples):

He's burning in Rose’s wake the entire time Martha travels with him, which is why it’s so frequently called upon: It’s 100% deliberate in framing his grief. He grieved as Nine too, of course— having been fresh on the heels of the Time War — but then he met Rose, which changed everything.

Back then, he was still a rude, traumatized pain in the ass, but we watch Rose soften more of those jagged edges with every episode as they grow closer; as he lets his guard down and forms a deep connection with her.

He falls in love (against his better judgment) and it's game over.

And yes: provided S1E1 had been titled 'Martha', one can realistically assume things might have unfolded similarly to how they did with Rose. However, it wouldn’t have been that way just because the Doctor was Nine and “Nine was different” — it would be because he wasn’t already in love with someone else. The same can't be said for the start of S3.

Think of it like this: if Rose AND Martha had been in that cellar — if Nine had taken both of them along with him in S1 — we’d eventually be looking at the most melodramatic love triangle ever, what with him living in close quarters with two brilliant, gorgeous, compassionate young women... But Doctor Who is plenty “soap opera” as is with just one woman in the TARDIS.

(I certainly wouldn’t object to reading that fic, though)

Now, regarding the unrequited elephant in the room…

His inability to be romantic with Martha isn’t because he thinks her lesser, nor is it for lack of compatibility. It isn't because Rose is any better than her. It certainly isn’t just because he’s Ten.

It’s really only for one reason, which can't be denied — and now I’m a broken record:

He is still in love with Rose.

(cut from a tenrosedaily gif)

Nine is Ten, and Ten is only such a mess in S3 because he’s just lost the love of his life. Martha merely got caught in the crosshairs of a volatile Time Lord in mourning, and yes — it sucks. Absolutely.

But it also feels dismissive to chalk Ten and Martha’s relationship up to little more than some sort of mindless dance of pining, jealousy, and toxicity.

Ten trusted Martha with his life over and over again — and hers, with him. He constantly praised her brilliance, happily carting her around time and space with no intention of letting her go. In the BBC’s extended universe of novels/comics/cartoons/etc, there’s so much depth to their relationship: love and trust and trauma and sacrifice. They had their own special bond as mates, their own complexities — so it’s a bummer that it's forever overshadowed by the other things.

I’m not denying that there was a lot of stuff that sucked/was for sure toxic about Ten's S3 behavior, but so many of the things I've seen him catching flak for can be directly attributed to being A Clueless Fucking Alien Idiot (not a trait that’s unique to Ten) — as well as his flat-out obliviousness to Martha’s feelings.

So yes, I agree: if Rose never existed, he would have treated Martha differently as Nine. He also would have treated her differently as Ten. Certainly.

But Rose did exist, and when discussing canon, it matters.

“He tells me that he absolutely, 100% loves Rose... He tells me how my daughter; my wonderful, beautiful, clever little girl saved him from himself before… And he says that’s all because of me! I made her into the Rose Tyler that saved him.”

-Jackie Tyler, Flight Into Hull!

Martha got the short end of the stick in S3. She came round at the wrong place and time, but that doesn't mean it was all bad. It doesn't mean the Doctor didn’t adore her. It certainly doesn't mean the time they spent together was wasted or worthless. They were brilliant!

Sure, he could be a twat, but let it be known that he was a twat with Rose as well, both as Nine and Ten. I’m sure Tentoo can be plenty infuriating, too. So while I'll defend Ten (and Tentoo) into the ground forever and ever and ever, I'll concede that he's fucked up.

The Doctor is a certified Pain In The Ass. It’s one of the things I love so much about this character — dynamics.

But never forget that Martha was goddamn tough as nails and overcame every bit of it. She moved on with her life, and the Doctor moved on with his. One can only pray that, when they inevitably drag her back onto the show (which feels inevitable if I'm honest), we see at once that she's been living her best life for all these years.

#I'm paranoid af about posting this but also feel like maybe two people will read it so perhaps I'm safe #doctor who #tenth doctor #ninth doctor #rose tyler #martha jones #baby's first meta #dw meta #I hope this wasn't just a mess of discombobulated stream-of-consciousness chatter #try as I may to avoid it #I'm somehow still aware of the sea of bad fandom vibes surrounding almost every character mentioned #besides Nine - who for some reason seems to be above reproach #there's a painful absence of civil discourse #especially where shipping is concerned #but let me tell you #I've vibed with T/M people about T/R and T/R people about T/M and it is a beautiful thing #I wish we could all just get along #also I've got so many more thoughts about this topic #like an embarrassingly long list of thoughts #I tried to scale it down as best I could while also being as inoffensive as possible #gonna crawl back under my rock now #also you should all go read Peacemaker #best DW novel since the Stone Rose #good god