#there you go - i was hit with a bullet this evening

[matan4il]

The other day, I went with my rl bff to the Jerusalem branch of the Museum of Tolerance for an exhibition on the Hamas massacre.

This is the sight that greeted us. "Esthers of the world, rise up!"

It's a poster celebrating two women whose families had lived in Iran, one is Jewish, the other is Muslim, and both women ended up being murdered due to the Islamic regime of that country, even though the Jewish woman's family had escaped Iran and fled to Israel after the Islamic revolution. The face of each girl is actually a composite, made from many smaller pictures of her people who have lost their lives because of the Islamist regime of Iran.

I knew this right away, because I have shared a piece that was done about the poster and how it came to be almost 2 months ago. 

"You don't understand!" my bff (who works as a teacher) said, all emotional, "She," my friend points to the Jewish girl on the left side of the poster, Shirel Haim Pour, "is the cousin of one of my students."

There is zero distance in Israel between us and the Oct 7 atrocities. 

We go in and join the tour of the exhibition. The guide tells us it was built jointly with Malki Shem Tov, who is a well known name in Israel, if you work at a museum. Malki founded a "creative visual solutions" company with his brother Assaf, through which among other things, they helped build many Israeli exhibitions over the years. "His son..." the tour guide starts to say and I don't need more than that for something to click in my head. I know so many of the names, faces and stories of the hostages, and so Omer Shem Tov pops right away into my mind. I didn't make the connection before, but now I can only imagine what it meant for this father to work on an exhibition that recounts, among other stories, how his son was victimized and robbed of his freedom during this massacre.

There is zero distance in Israel between us and the Oct 7 atrocities. 

The opening wall has a huge time stamp, 6:29 in the morning. 

The tour guide doesn't have to explain this number to Israelis, or why it's designed to look like an alarm clock display. We were all woken up on that fateful Saturday morning by the alarm clock of Hamas' rockets. And it doesn't matter what we thought or believed the day before, as the full scale and horror of the attack were starting to become known along Oct 7, we were all woken up.

There is zero distance in Israel between us and those atrocities. I know this, and still it strikes me, again and again.

There's an area dedicated to the pictures of one photographer who went to the south soon after the massacre. I knew some of them already, like the pic showing the bodies of 13 elderly Israelis, who were on their way to a tour of the Israeli south on that Saturday.

Some are new, like the pic of the door handle in one bomb shelter. I stop for a second, because now that I've moved into my new place, it hits me that the bomb shelter door was made by the same company. Suddenly, I feel like I'm inside the picture in a reality where the terrorists took a slightly different route on Oct 7. The door was photographed from inside the bomb shelter, and the bullets that pierced it, they had to have hit the personal holding it shut. The handle has blood stains on it, and it's broken off. I can only imagine how many hours this person held, and how much force they had to use, for that to happen. I know one thing, even without knowing exactly who this bomb shelter belonged to... If this person was on their own, they would have probably ended up surrendering rather than keep fighting to hold on to the handle this desperately. This was likely someone trying to keep their family safe. 

One note retrieved from the body of a terrorist is on display. It says everything about the motivation of the monsters who committed these atrocities, and every word is purely motivated by antisemitism and religious zeal. The note is actually not in Arabic, as it may first appear, it's in Farsi, the language spoken in Iran, hinting at the source, the Islamist regime there, which doesn't care about the liberation of anyone, it aspires to create a global network of fanatic terrorism.

The translation: "You must sharpen the blades of your swords and be pure in your intentions before Allah. Know that the enemy is a disease that has no cure, except beheading and uprooting the hearts and livers. Attack them!"

There is a section dedicated to women's stories. The exhibition visitors spread out to watch the testimonies, each on a separate screen. It's a not like a forest, you can't really see it for the trees, and it's another moment of feeling overwhelmed because we can't truly get it. It's just not comprehensible, facing so many stories about intentional, face to face cruelty, brutality, sadism and joy in it. Mali Shoshana tells the story of how she tried to play dead while lying shot in a pool of her own blood, but her body wouldn't stop shaking, so she somehow turned on her side to the wall and knocked her injured knee against it, causing herself to pass out from the pain. It saved her life. Ricarda Louk tells the story of the last message they got from her daughter Shani, trusting she was right and there was nothing for them to worry about. Then Ricarda's son started screaming and crying, because he saw the same vid many of came across on that day, of his sister being dragged into Gaza stripped down, mutilated, abused, molested and humiliated, while Gazan civilians were celebrating the public degradation of her body. And there's more and more and more. "You can come back and continue to listen," the guide promises as he moves us to the next segment, but the truth is no matter how many stories I've listened to and absorbed, it still doesn't feel like enough.

There is a wall with the head shots of the victims in Israel who lost their lives due to this war, whether they were murdered on Oct 7 or since, but it's only been updated up until Mar 27 of this year. Even so, no matter what angle I tried, I couldn't fit in all of the pictures.

Interactive screens allow a geographic telling of the massacre's story. They show maps of Israel's south, with dots on them, red for the murdered, dark blue for hostages, bright blue for hostages who have been returned, grey for the injured. You can tap a dot and read a story. Or you can zoom out and try to comprehend how is it possible for there to be that many dots on the maps.

"From darkness to light," reads the exhibition title. That's the perception of time in Judaism. We always move from darkness to light. And there's a section for the light, for stories of resilience, of bravery, of rehabilitation, of mutual support and caring. Filmed interviews that do their best to summarize an incomprehensible amount of good we've seen in response to an incomprehensible amount of evil. It features people from every demographic in Israel, and in that way also serves as a reminder of just how diverse we are as a society.

This part, I think to myself, was included for visitors from abroad. We Israelis, we know.

There's one story I know already. Tomer Greenberg, an Israeli officer, rescued on Oct 7 baby twins from the carnage. He was later killed fighting in Gaza. Like a puzzle, I've heard this story from several angles, including from Tomer before he died. This movie features an interview I hadn't heard yet, with the volunteer paramedic that Tomer handed the twins to. Shalom, this medic, talks about how they clung to him desperately as they got to be fed and feel safe and cared for again for the first time in what's estimated to have been 14 hours. I'm sitting there, thinking of those babies crying, not understanding why their parents aren't coming to feed them, and I don't know how to deal with this.

Shalom shares that the experiences of Oct 7 have inspired him to try and become a combative soldier, something that wasn't on the cards for him before that. I wonder again at people who can act like subjecting an entire (already traumatized) society to a sadistic massacre can liberate anyone.

And I understand Shalom fully. When your family is in the pits of hell, there's nowhere you want to be other than there, with them, doing what you can, rather than sit and watch helpless from afar. Most people would say he did a lot on that day. Shalom must have felt like that still wasn't enough.

At the very end, visitors are invited to add their own little piece of light, through neon notes and pens on which they'd share their thoughts. Nothing feels like it can sum everything I'm thinking and feeling up, but not writing anything feels worse, so my bff and I add a few of our words to the notes.

I don't have any profound conclusions for this post anymore than I did for my note. I just know that this still hurts, that we're still losing people daily, that we can't begin to heal, because we're still in the middle of the wound being inflicted. But I also know that we WILL heal, that even if the wound can't be closed yet, our collective immune system kicked into action on Oct 7 already, that we will continue to share the pain and the comfort and the care, and this massacre and war will probably never stop hurting, that we'll never be the same, but eventually we will be alright. Where people choose to care, there's just no other option.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #israelunderattack #terrorism #anti terrorism #antisemitism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #personal #photography

[sentientcave]

Pompeii//Good Grief

Read on AO3

Johnny's gone, but the sun still rises. There are still missions to go on, the world spins on. Ghost does the only thing he can ever do, and keeps going.

But nothing feels right. He wonders if it will ever feel right again.

Contains: Canon typical violence, Grief, Flashbacks, Involuntary drug use, Hospital setting, Hope, Loss, Love

(Through it all, the love is there)

~3.3k words - MDNI

“Bravo zero-seven, do you copy? Regroup at infil point— We need to get out of here.”

“Negative. I’m cut off.” Ghost waited for a pause as the soldiers at the end of the hall to ran out of bullets, and took his opportunity to fire back while they reloaded their clips. Sloppy, not covering themselves properly. Amateurish. He expected better from mercs at a top security base like this. He quickly peered around the corner and picked a target— One of the mercs not properly behind cover, and fired three times before pressing himself back behind the corner, broken bones aching sharply. Three broken ribs, left ankle, dislocated shoulder. The strangled yelp was music to his ears, a confirmed hit, if not a confirmed kill.

They didn’t advance, content to hold him in place while the timer counted down on that bomb. He could hear the shuffling of their retreat, dragging their injured comrade behind them.

“Ghost? What’s your location, we’ll come get you.” Typical Gaz. Always thinking there’s a way out. A clever work around.

Not this time.

“Negative. They’re gonna blow the base. Reckon you’ve got forty-five seconds to get clear, so you’d better move sergeant. That’s an order.”

“Ghost—”

“Now, Gaz,” he barked. “No sense anyone else dyin’ in here.”

“Shit. Try to get to cover. We’ll dig for you.”

“Yeah.”

The guns had stopped firing, the enemy soldiers retreating, figuring that the bomb would finish the work they couldn’t.

Ten seconds, give or take. He crawled into a doorway and braced for it.

3, 2, 1.

He pulled blindly at his tags, gripping the little gold cross he’d hung next to them tight. He had never been a praying kind of man, and even now, he wasn’t praying for escape. The explosion ripped through the base, the air turning hot, dust rising up so thickly that Ghost could do nothing but close his eyes against it, burning lack of oxygen tipping him into unconsciousness as the walls rumbled and shook around him.

His last thought, before black jaws swallowed him whole, was of blue eyes fringed by dark lashes, a scarred chin, soft lips and scratchy stubble, the ache of absence. At least he’d see him again.

“He’s in love with you, you know,” Aileen Mactavish says, putting the newly dried mug back in the cupboard with the rest. She has Johnny’s eyes— Or Johnny has her eyes, maybe, but they’re the same bright blue, and they sparkle the same way.

Simon rinses soap off the next cup and sets it in the drying rack. The kitchen is dark and quiet, compared to the noise in the other room. Johnny’s telling some wild story, and everyone’s laughing, caught up in that irresistible energy that Johnny carries around with him everywhere he goes.

“I know.” Simon struggles to get the words out. He’s never deserved love, never known how to accept it, how to express the depth of what it is that he feels. How can he offer someone like Johnny something as bruised and beaten and scarred up as his heart? It’s not enough. It could never be enough.

“You love him too.” She says it like it’s a simple thing, a fact, undeniable. The sky is blue, the earth is round, and Simon Riley loves Johnny Mactavish.

Throat tight, too tight to risk words, he nods.

Aileen leans toward him, puts a gentle hand on his arm. “You should tell him.”

He does, that night, while Johnny snores softly against his chest. He’s so sure that Johnny’s asleep that he lets the words sneak out, soldiers across an enemy line, stealthy and danger close.

And it strikes like an incendiary bomb, right on target, when Johnny opens his eyes a tiny bit and pulls himself closer, right into the fire.

“I love you too, Si. Now go tae sleep, ye bloody menace.”

Ghost woke with a start, coughing, ripping at the mask over his face as his lungs screamed for air. The fabric was so thick with blood and dust that breathing through it proved impossible, so he tossed it to the side, laying flat on his back while he pulled in choking, painful gulps of air.

He’d been thrown clear of the doorway, but he was still in one piece. “Johnny,” he growled into the darkness. “If you’re pullin’ some guardian angel bullshite, save it for someone who deserves it. Gaz’d be a good choice.”

As usual, there was no response. Not that he expected one.

It was some kind of fucking sick joke. He was a dead man who couldn’t seem to die. He clicked his radio, hearing only crackling static. “This is Bravo zero-seven. Does anyone copy?”

Nothing.

Well. It wasn’t the first time he’d dragged his own arse out of a grave. Probably wouldn’t be his last either.

He reached into his vest and pulled a glowstick, cracking it, lighting up the pitch dark space with sickly green light. He’d gone through the first floor into the basement, somehow not getting trapped under the rubble that had come down with him. The hallway he’d ended up in hadn’t collapsed fully, but it wasn’t in good shape either. The concrete was cracked, the weight of the ruined complex making the walls groan, broken pipes and conduits hissing distantly into the space.

He braced against the wall and forced his shoulder back into the socket, grunting at the sharp pop of pain. Next thing he needed was a splint for his bloody ankle. An inconvenient break, but fixable. The ribs would be fine, so long as they hadn’t punctured his guts. If they had, he was already dead, it just hadn’t kicked in yet.

So he had to continue under the assumption that they hadn’t. Fine. Splint.

A broken crate nearby would suffice. He crawled over and cracked it apart, sandwiching his foot between two splintery lengths of wood, tying them together with a length of para-cord, looping it around the bottom of his boot a few times to keep the joint as immovable as possible. He pushed himself up, wincing when concrete flaked off under his hand, the wall shifting from the pressure he put on it.

He started moving down the hall, the glowstick illuminating a small circle around him, revealing the gleam of water under a broken pipe, the particles of dust still hanging in the air. A tomb, but a roomier one than Ghost was used to. His ankle throbbed dully with every other step. He checked comms periodically, and got nothing but static in return.

The hallway ended with a pile of rubble. Dead end.

Had be been moving the wrong way? Or had there been multiple charges on the base? It was hard to say— He was pretty sure the cut on his head had been superficial, but maybe he was concussed, disoriented, wandering blindly.

He heard snarling. Distant. Swearing? Someone else was alive down here.

Ghost pivoted and headed back down the hallway to the last intersection— He’d stayed in the main hall because it looked more structurally sound, but the near-inhuman growling was coming from this smaller corridor. Probably an enemy, but maybe they’d have working comms.

He shouldered his rifle and hugged the wall as he moved towards the sound.

The swearing stopped, the hall turning eerily quiet, just the dripping of distant water and the sound of Ghost’s ragged breathing, the reliable thump of his heart. He stopped where he was.

“Oi! Whoever tha fuck ye are, get yer arse over here,” a voice snapped. A familiar voice.

No. No, he was just hearing things. Just a Scottish accent, and he was imagining the familiarity. The voice was a little deeper, a little rougher anyway.

“Hey! Dinnae jest stand there ye dobber. Ah can see you.”

Ghost took a breath to steel himself, and moved closer, gun at the ready. His circle of light illuminated black liquid (blood?) and eyes that gleamed at him from the darkness like an animals. The greenish light illuminated a face a moment later, the lower half covered with a muzzle-like respirator, but the upper half— “Johnny?” he asked hoarsely.

But the eyes didn’t soften with recognition. They were rendered colourless and glassy in the green light, not the sharp, laughing blues he remembered. New scars too, a slash over one eye, and the healed over wound where the bullet had gone through his head.

The bullet that had killed him.

“Somethin’ wrong with ye?” Johnny snapped, shoving at the hunk of concrete that had his lower half pinned to the floor. “I’m no’ yer Johnny. Now gie this fuckin’ rock offa me.”

Simon couldn’t get himself together, he dropped to his knees beside the man, confusion blooming through his head, clouding the mission. He usually knew what to do. But this? “Johnny— 'ow the fuck are you alive?”

“I’m no’ Johnny.” A hand shot out and grabbed Ghost by the strap of his tac vest, hauling him in closer. “Git yer shite together, English.”

Simon flinched. Even with the strange shadows, the unfamiliar snarl, Simon knew that face. Knew his Johnny. “What the fuck did they do to you?” he asked. “They said you were dead!”

“Listen, English, I dinnae know ye. Now, can ye shift this shite or no’?”

Simon shook himself, and stood, checking out the rubble that had Johnny pinned, lifting the glowstick to illuminate the ceiling where it caved in. The pile of debris on top of Johnny was holding up the whole section. “No. The tunnel’s gonna collapse if I do. You’re stuck.”

“Ah, shite.”

Simon carefully lowered himself back to the floor, grunting. “My team’s lookin’ for me. You injured? Got workin’ comms?”

Johnny let his head thump back to the ground. “Fuck. No, no’ injured, best I can tell. No comms either. Blast fried my kit. EMP in it, probably ta wipe the computers on base. I go’ a hard-drive, hopefully it’s no’ crushed under this big feckin’ rock!” He gestures rudely at the concrete.

“Who’d’you work for?” Simon asked. “M16? CIA?”

“None of your bloody business, English. If you dinnae know me, it’s above yer clearance.”

“Doubt it. I’m SAS. Taskforce 141.” It was so strange to tell him information that he was supposed to know. “Lieutenant Simon Riley. Besides, I do know you.”

“Oh, are ye?” Johnny studied him for a long moment. “I thought Riley wore a stupid skull mask all the time. No pictures on file. They call him Ghost, which is a bloody stupid name.”

“That’s me. Your name’s worse. We call you Soap.”

“Listen, English, ye dinnae know me! I’m no’ your sudsy Johnny or whatever.”

“Yes. You are.” Simon took off his gloves and reached into a pocket to pull out the photo he liked to keep on him, a picture of the two of them in Glasgow, in front of the big stone arches leading into one of the parks. Arms around each other, Johnny’s smile brighter than the sunny day. He’d had someone take his phone and snap the picture for them, talking up a storm. Simon had it printed— Had printed most of the good pictures of Johnny— and made an album. This one was a favourite, though. He could see the happiness in his own eyes.

Happiness had died with Johnny. But seeing him again had a little flicker of it coming back to life, even if he did look at him like he was a stranger.

He handed the picture and the glowstick to Johnny, watched the wrinkle of confusion grow between his eyebrows. “I dinnae remember this.”

“Bullet probably damaged your memory.” Ghost shifted closer and brushed his fingers over the healed injury. “Or maybe they did somethin' to you. What’s with the muzzle? You were always a dog, but this looks different.”

“Canister cracked, but it’s for aerosolized— They told me I had a wife. Tha’ she’d died, an’ Ah’d volunteered for this.” Johnny’s thumb brushed over his own face.

“Who’s they?”

"Doctors. God, there was so much missin' I didnae ask the right questions." He sighed. "CIA, maybe. Some of them were Americans. Watcher's American."

"Watcher? Kate?"

"Aye, tha's her name. Laswell."

Simon's hands curled into fists. He didn't much care for the idea that Kate knew that Johnny was alive, and had let him think he was dead this whole time. "What did they say your name is?" He asked.

"Nautilus."

"What, you think that's what your mum named you?"

"Well. Guess no'. Didnae really think about it." Johnny looked at him, something sheepish in his eyes. "Sounds daft now."

"Can't know what you don't know."

"Weel, maybe, but everythin' from before is just a big fuck-off black hole. It shoulda bothered me more."

"What's the cracked canister?" Simon asked. "The shite all over the floor yeah?"

"Aye. Makes me stronger, faster, heal better. Guess it might make me stupid too." He chuckles, tugging the respirator down off his face. "Johnny. Riley?"

Simon snorted. "Mactavish. We weren't married."

Johnny flexed his jaw, working it side to side. "But we were… Together, aye?"

"Yeah. I'm real familiar with the Scotland Forever tattoo on your lower back."

"Away and bile yer heid. Go' it oan a dare, when Ah was a…" He trailed off, realization colouring his expression. "Recruit. Didnae know tha'."

"Between Price and Gaz'n me, we can probably fill in some'f the blanks for you."

"What else do you know about me?"

"Just about everythin'. Got three older sisters. Born and raised in Glasgow. Right pain in the arse. Rangers fan. Cousin in the air force. You're an artist, got sketches that make even me look 'andsome." Simon grinned, brushing a hand through Johnny's mohawk. "Glad you kept the stupid 'aircut."

"Oh fuck off," Johnny said, grinning back, thumping his fist against Simon's chest. The tags spilled over the edge of his vest, the cross catching the eerie light. Johnny stared at it. "That's mine?" he asked. "An' you wear it, all the time?"

"Yeah. You recognize it?"

"Kinda. I guess, yeah."

"Gave your tags to your mum. She said I could keep this."

"I don't remember her. Or you. Or much of anythin' really. Thought I remembered he wife, but I guess I was just tryin' to make sense of what they told me." Johnny hummed. "Didn't do so badly for myself though, did I? You're a big handsome feller." He tried to hand back the picture, but there was reluctance to it, like he didn’t really want to let it go.

Simon knew the feeling. “You keep that. I can print a new one. Show you the rest when we get out of here. See if we can shake loose any other memories.”

Johnny tucked the photo into his vest, letting his arm fall to his side, into the narrow space between them. “Aye, that sounds nice.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Simon wrapped his hand around Johnny’s, slotting together perfectly, just like they were supposed to. Johnny lifted his hand, fingers tightening in case Simon tried to pull away. He studied their interlocked hands for a long moment.

Simon opened his mouth, but he changed his mind about what he was going to say when he heard the distant scuff of footsteps, his busted radio buzzing with static. A rescue already? It seemed soon, but then again, he didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious before he’d started moving.

He clicked through the radio frequencies, trying to get a clear channel, but nothing that came through was intelligible. He picked up his rifle, surging to his feet, ignoring his ankle. “Hey!” he shouted. “Over ‘ere! Got someone trapped.”

The distant footsteps turned into a stampede, so much noise, voices (English, American) talking over each other, the static of radio. They had flashlights— Too bright after all that time with just the glowstick. Simon blinked, trying to adjust as people crowded into the space, separating him from Johnny, hands pulling his gun from his hands.

“Easy, Lieutenant,” a voice said from behind one of those too-bright lights when he tried to hold on to his rifle. “We’ll get you both out of here. Are you injured?”

“I— Yes, but—”

“Nautilus secured,” someone said.

“Oi, get yer hands off me, let me see him—”

This wasn’t right. “No, no! Johnny— Get the ‘ell off me— Johnny!” He tried to push past the hands, to see past the lights, but they pushed back. Something pinched at his neck, and everything turned upside down, his vision warping, ears ringing. “No!”

The world turned white, rather than black.

There are flashes of colour and sound, reality bleeding in around the edges of the noise. The blue sky, Price’s face, Gaz’s arm pulling him up, more bright lights. They try to get him on a stretcher, but that’s the wrong way— He needs to get back to Johnny.

Price says something, but the words don’t make any sense. Simon grabs his collar, tries to explain, but there’s no understanding in Price’s eyes.

Noise from a helo. Nik’s voice. Blue gloved hands and more lights.

No Johnny.

He stared at a white grid of ceiling tiles, confused, body heavy as lead. He looked to one side, at Price snoring in the chair, then at the beeping monitor on the other side.

“Price,” he rasped.

Price jerked awake in an instant. “Shit, Simon, you gave us a scare.”

“What ‘appened?”

“You dug your way out— Gaz and I found you passed out above ground. Don’t know how you did it, they said you were exposed to gas fumes, lack of oxygen for god knows how long. You were hallucinatin’ when you came to.”

“No. No, I wasn’t. Price, I saw Johnny down there.”

Price’s eyes pinch with concern. “Simon… Johnny’s dead.”

Simon shook his head vehemently. “No! No, ‘e’s alive, Skipper. I saw ‘im. ‘E didn’t know me. They did somethin’ to ‘im, made ‘im different. Someone came to get ‘im, they must’ve left me above ground.” He scowled. “They took ‘im from me, Price. Again!” He flexed his hands, remembering the feel of Johnny’s hand in his.

That was no hallucination.

“Simon…”

“No. Look at my ‘ands, Price. If I’d dug myself out they’d be bloody scraped up.” He held out his palms, calloused, but unmarred. “I know I’m mad, Price, but I swear. I saw ‘im.”

Price frowned. The evidence didn’t add up, but he didn’t believe him either. If their positions had been reversed, Simon might not have believed him either. They’d seen Johnny go cold. Carried the ashes back to Scotland. He’d told Aileen and the girls what had happened, cried with them.

But it didn’t matter. That was all a bad dream now. Simon knew what he’d seen. Johnny was alive, and he’d find him. And he’d never let anyone get between them again.

Undeniable fact. The sky was blue, the earth was round, and Simon Riley would see Johnny Mactavish again.

In a spartan, concrete room, a man that might have once been named Johnny stares at Simon’s half-covered, half-familiar face in a photograph, standing next to a mirror image of himself, younger and smiling. Happy.

In love.

He wonders what that feels like. Does it feel like the squeeze around his heart when Simon wrapped his big, scarred hand around his? Calloused palm to palm, bare skin that burned like holy fire where they touched, dark eyes that looked at him with some indescribable emotion? Did it feel like light after an eternity in darkness?

He thinks it must feel like coming home. Like belonging somewhere warm and familiar, in someone’s arms, not this cold, sterile room that now feels only a step above a cell.

He presses a kiss to Simon’s image, and holds it to his chest, and wonders if somewhere Simon is thinking of him too.

(He is.)

I've been thinking about writing something like this this since I first saw the new Nautilus skin for Soap. The idea that they were going to Winter Soldier our boy has stuck with me, and when I was listening to these two songs, the idea solidified into something actionable. Sorry it's not a happier ending! But I think it's still a hopeful one.

Thanks for reading!

Image Credits: Basement - Smoke

Pompeii, Good Grief - Bastille

#Cave writing #cod mw fanfiction #GhostSoap #SoapGhost #MW3 happened (booo) #Grieving #I'd apologize but I don't want to #SFW #MDNI #Post 1 down for Pride Month baybeeeee

[hoejosatoru]

Off Limits Part 2

Pairing: fem! y/n X Bonten Ran, y/n's skin/ hair color and texture not specified

Summary: After your brother catches you with Ran, whom he forbid you to date, things get complicated. This is a follow up to this fic. (sorry this took me five million years)

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: Abduction, Hanma being a creep, guns/shootings (reader is unharmed), blood mentioned, oral male receiving, p in v sex, cream pie, not proof read

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. You held the blankets firmly up to your chin. Not just to cover your nakedness, but as a shield of sorts to protect you from whatever was about to go down. Your body was taught with anxiety, but Ran appeared calm and cool. Almost smug as he slipped his boxers back on.

"Get out of my fucking house," Mikey snapped, his voice so icy it sent a chill down your spine.

Ran buckled up his pants, taking his time. "Can't we discuss this like civi-" BANG!

The sudden firing of the gun made you yelp. The bullet was buried into your wall, mere inches away from Ran's head. Mikey was a hell of a shot; if he wanted to hit Ran, especially this close up, he would have. That was a warning. If Ran was scared, he didn't show it. In fact, he appeared bemused. If you were so rattled, you would have registered how his unflappable attitude was hot.

"I'm not fucking kidding Haitani. Next one goes in your head," Mikey said, his eyes filled with pure hatred. "Now get out."

As much fun as this was for Ran, even he knew when to not push things further. Mikey didn't bluff and he was certainly pissed enough to make good on his promise to kill him. Ran through his hands up innocently, before picking up the rest of his clothes and making his way towards the door. Mikey's eyes followed him carefully with each step.

Once he disappeared into the hallway, his eyes flicked over to you for the first time since he busted in. The anger made your stomach flipped. "Get dressed. We are going to talk once I'm done with him." He slammed your door shut before you could reply. Not that you had anything to say; the whole situation left your head spinning. What did he mean by when I'm done with him? He couldn't really kill Ran, could he? Your stomach churned with anxiety as you quickly redressed. Your ears were straining for the sound of a gunshot, or anything that might indicate what Mikey was doing with Ran. All you heard was another door slam and angry footsteps return to your door.

"Are you dressed?" Mikey asked. Not even the door could filter out the anger in his voice. Ugh, you were in for it.

"Yes," you mumbled. Your eyes fell sheepishly as he swung it open. You were embarrassed your brother had walked in on you, but who it was with made everything so much worse. Mikey just stood silently for a few minutes, the anger rolling off of him. It made you uneasy; you'd rather him just yell at you and get it over with.

"Really y/n? Ran? In my fucking house?" He seethed.

"Did you kill him?" you could helped but ask.

"Are you seriously worried about that right now?" Mikey asked. When he saw you were he continued, annoyed, "No I didn't fucking kill him. Not yet anyways."

"Mikey please you can't-"

"I can do whatever I want," Mikey cut you off. "He's my employee and I gave him explicit rules. He knew what he was risking." Mikey saw how you balked. "Don't tell me you're stupid enough to be in love with him."

You bristled at his words. You weren't in love with him, but you did really like him and you didn't like that Mikey thought he had the right to dictate who you could be with. "I'm not stupid," you snapped. "And I'm not one of your employees. I can do what I want. Who I want." You tossed the last line in for the sole purpose of pissing Mikey off, which worked.

"You think he gives a fuck about you?" Mikey questioned. "You're just a game to him. He wants to get at me and you're the easiest way to do that. Really fucking easy, apparently."

Your cheeks burned at Mikey's insult. "So you're saying I'm a slut?"

"I'm saying you fell into his little trap. You don't know him like I do, y/n. He's a piece of shit and doesn't care about anyone but himself. He's gonna take what he wants from you and toss you aside. You're more naive than I thought if you believe any different," Mikey replied.

His words stung, but you bit back your tears. Crying right now would not help your case. "Now you're just being an asshole," you grumbled, "I'm an adult, Mikey, I can handle myself."

Mikey softened, but only slightly. He loved you and didn't want to hurt you, but he knew there was no other way to get it through your head. "I'm just trying to protect you. I've kept you away from my lifestyle for so long to avoid shit like this. But now you don't realize the seriousness of this. Even if Ran was a saint," Mikey paused, his lips curling like he tasted something bad. "I wouldn't want you with him if he was in this line of work. It's too dangerous for you to be connected to this."

Despite what your brother thought, you weren't naive. Though he kept you away from his work, you had a pretty good idea of what it entailed. Though you may not know in detail, you knew that it would be a dangerous to be connected to it in anyway. However, you couldn't get yourself to care when you thought of Ran. You wanted to be with him. Maybe he was playing you, but you wanted to figure that out for yourself and not because your older brother forbid it.

"Please just don't kill him," you said. "I don't want that on my conscious." You played at Mikey's emotions, knowing he wouldn't want to put that burden on you.

Mikey scowled a bit, but replied, "I will think about it. But you are to never see him again, understand? If I catch you with him there will be no second thoughts. I will kill him." You grumbled that you understood and Mikey finally left you alone.

Mikey's head pounded as he returned to his room. He wasn't surprised that Ran had gotten to you, but he was surprised that he had the fucking balls to do it in his own home. He just couldn't help but find knew ways to be a sleazy piece of shit.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to figure out what to do next. As much satisfaction as it would give him to kill Ran, realistically it was a bad idea. Rindou would be beyond pissed and he was sure he would defect to the rival gang, taking Bonten's secrets with him. With you already in danger, he couldn't risk more information about you getting out. Killing both of them wasn't a great option, either. He couldn't be down two men at a time like this. Especially when he, begrudgingly, had to admit they were good at what they did. Firing them put him in the same predicament, so he had no choice but to keep them. He would not, however, let Ran get off easy.

***

The next week Mikey practically had you on house arrest. He left only a handful of times for a few hours, but it was pretty clear you were expected to stay put and behave. Not that you had many options, Mikey had taken your phone and blocked Ran on everything. You didn't bother fighting it, Mikey was as stubborn as they come. Plus, you knew the more your fought it the less he would trust you and longer you'd be stuck at home.

Finally, a little over a week later Mikey said you were returning to work with him. There were, of course, some new rules. You were not allowed to be one on one with any of the men anymore, nor were you allowed to be with Ran at all.

Despite Mikey's attempts to keep you from Ran it was a small office and you saw him in passing the first day back. You couldn't help but gasp when you saw him. He had a black eye and a slip lip, which you knew were the work of your brother. You shared only the briefest eye contact as you passed, but it was enough to make your stomach flip. Ran kept his face unreadable, though, and it was killing you to not know what he was thinking. Had he decided you weren't worth the trouble? Did he really just get what he wanted from you and now had no interest? The uncertainty ate at you.

The first few days were awkward to say the least. You knew between the changes Mikey made and his obvious beating up of Ran the guys had put 2 and 2 together. No said anything directly to you about it, fearing the wrath of Mikey, but you felt the curious stares, heard the stifled snickers between members. You hated being alone with Sanzu the most. He was the only one your brother allowed to be alone with you, as he trusted him the most. He didn't even try to cover the judgement in his eyes.

Today, however, Rindou was with him which only made it marginally less awkward. Mikey had been keeping Rindou at a distance as well, considering his closeness to Ran, but he'd been paired up to watch you a few times. You didn't dare ask him anything outright, but you tried to send him looks, hoping he'd pick up on your desperate pleas for information. So far, he seemed not to notice, or at least not acknowledge them.

Until today. "Shit, Mikey needs to talk to me," Sanzu said looking at his phone. "Seems important."

"Oh yeah?" Rindou asked in a voice that indicated he wasn't all that interested.

"I think he's made some progress on finding the guys that were looking for her," Sanzu responded. You hated how he referred to you like you weren't there.

"You do realize I can hear you, right?" you grumbled, as you kneaded dough. Mikey thankfully was letting you bake still. You would have gone crazy without something to keep you busy. Rindou's lips twitched.

"Funny, Mikey told me you weren't a very good listener," Sanzu commented. It was the closed anyone had gotten to referencing what happened between you and Ran. You rolled your eyes, not wanting to get into it with him. "Keep your eyes on her, Rindou. I'll send someone down to help you while I'm gone."

Rindou yawned. "I think I can manage." Your mind raced as Sanzu left the room. This was the best chance you had to get information on Ran or have a messaged passed to him. But someone could walk in at any moment. What if Sanzu came back for something? He would certainly rat on you. You weren't sure about the other guys, but you couldn't take the risk. Rindou was the only person you could potentially trust.

"Y/n," Rindou's voice broke the silence. Your head whipped up, meeting his calm, cool gaze. He looked like Ran in that way. "I would check the cake tins before you leave today."

"Oh... okay," was all you could think you reply. You knew he was trying to tell you something, but you weren't sure what. You didn't even have a chance to ask, as Takeomi entered the kitchen.

The rest of the day dragged as you were dying to look at the cake pans. Takeomi and Mochi were watching you now, though they weren't paying much attention. "Mikey said it's time to go," Takeomi said, barely looking up from his phone.

"Okay, I just have to put some stuff away," you replied, which earned a grunt in acknowledgement. You scurried over to the cabinet you kept all the baking tins. Your heart hammered in your ears as you dug out the cake pan, finding a disposable phone. You bit back a gasp, quickly slipping the phone in your pocket before with of Mikey's underlings could notice.

You popped up, a little pep in your step. "I'm ready to go!"

That evening you tried to keep calm and stick to your normal routine. It wasn't easy, as you were dying to look at the phone that was left for you. It practically felt like it was burning a hole through your pocket. You knew your brother was incredibly observant, so you couldn't give him a reason to be suspicious.

"Sanzu is coming over soon," Mikey announced. That's right, its Thursday. This was perfect timing, Mikey would be distracted by his drinking with Sanzu.

"I'm gonna head to my room then. Have a good night," you replied. Mikey nodded, knowing you preferred to keep to yourself whenever Sanzu came over. The second your door closed, the phone was in your hand. There was a singular message from an unsaved number that read: it's me, text me when you get this. You quickly sent out a hello. Ran responded almost instantly.

Ran: Miss you, can we meet tonight?

You were instantly flooded with relief knowing that he wasn't ditching you.

You: How?

Ran: do you trust me?

You: of course

The two of you created a plan. You would wait for Sanzu to leave the house, wait another hour to ensure Mikey was asleep, then sneak out to see Ran. Ran would be waiting in his car a few blocks away to pick you up. It would be risky, if Mikey caught you sneaking out you and Ran would both be dead. But it was absolutely worth the risk.

It felt like forever, but an hour finally passed after Sanzu left for the night. It was about 1am when you texted Ran you were heading out. Your heart thudded in your ears as you tiptoed from your room to the front door. You eyes never left the hallway that led to Mikey's room, half expecting him to appear asking what the hell you were up to. However, you slipped out the door without issue.

When you finally got to the street, you were practically skipping you were so giddy. You were a few blocks away from where Ran instructed you to meet him, when you saw a man walking towards you. At first you thought it was Ran. Your brows turned in confusion. He had said to meet him in is his car, right? You pulled up the messages, confirming that was the case.

Your eyes flicked back up to the man approaching you and you felt your heart leap. It was one of the men who had been looking for you that day in the bakery. Your legs felt like jelly. Was this some crazy coincidence? Did he even recognize you? You knew running would bring too much attention to yourself. There was still enough distance that if you walked quickly, and prayed this just a freak coincidence, you could get back to Mikey's unscathed.

The second you turned around, your stomach dropped. Coming up the other direction was the other man who had been looking for you. He had a sinister smile on his face that sent a shiver down your spine. You were completely trapped. You felt the phone buzz in your hand, it was Ran asking where you were. Without thinking, you hit call.

"Hey what-"

"Help me!" you yelled into the phone. You were running across the street now, trying to get distance from the two men.

"What, y/n? What's happening?" Ran asked frantically.

You were about to answer when two strong arms wrapped around you. You let out a scream. "They've got me! It's them!" you cried. You didn't get a chance to respond, as a blonde with glasses ripped the phone out of your hand and crushed it on the ground under his boot.

"You won't be needing that," he said coldly. "Get on with it Hanma." Before you could let out another scream, there was a cloth over your face. You choked on a chemically-scent before everything faded to black.

***

The first thing you noticed when regaining consciousness was the pounding in your head. It took your mind a few second to catch up to reality, your body stiffening as the events that preceded your loss of consciousness flooded back. You tried to move, but quickly realized you were tied firmly to a beam in some sort of industrial warehouse.

"Oh, you're up!" a voice cheerily announced, as if this was some friendly gathering. A lanky man with brown and blonde streaked hair appeared before you, his golden eyes alight with excitement. The look made your stomach churn.

"W-what do you want?" you stammered, your heart thudding in your chest. You were trying to stay calm, knowing that you would need your wits about you for a chance to escape. But looking at the man standing in front of you, you didn't like your odds.

"Aw don't look so scared sweetheart," the man replied, "We are going to have fun together." He knelt down in front of you, at your eye level. You tried to shrink away as he reached for you, but there was nowhere for you to go. He took your chin in his hand, grinning. "You're a pretty thing, I see why your brother tried to keep you hidden."

"You're wasting our time, Hanma," sighed the blonde with the glassed. You startled at his voice, not noticing that he had been sitting a few yards away. "We should get moving to another location. She's our most valuable tool to use against Mikey."

"You're so boring, Kisaki," Hanma yawned. "Mikey's probably out looking for her now. It's safe to keep her hidden here and enjoy our time together." He flashed you a faux smile, tucking hair behind your ear. You bit back a gag.

Kisaki sighed. "Whatever, just make sure you're 'fun' includes getting some information out of her. And keeping her fucking quiet." Kisaki turned his attention to his phone, knowing there was no point in arguing with Hanma when he got like this. It would be better to let him get it out of his system.

"Well, aren't we lucky then," Hanma smiled. He pulled a gun out of his waist band, making your heart start, but he placed on the floor next to you. He didn't miss the fear that flashed in your eyes. "Oh, don't worry y/n, I don't plan to use that on you. As long as you behave, that is." You hated that he knew your name, it made you wonder what more about you did he know.

"You will be good for me, yeah?" You nodded, but it wasn't enough. "I except a response when I speak to you," Hanma stated.

"Y-yes," you managed, which returned the smile to his face.

"Good. Now we are going to play a fun little game," Hanma began, "I am going to ask you a question and you will answer honestly. If you refuse to answer or lie to me, I will remove a piece of clothing. I hope you won't end up naked, but that's up to you." Hanma was grinning like that was exactly what he was hoping for you. You had a sick feeling that it didn't matter how you answered, that would be the end the result.

Hanma was staring at you, waiting for a response. "Okay," you all you could bring yourself to say.

"Great! Let's start easy. Are you a virgin?"

You blinked. You were expected questions about Mikey or Bonten, not something as trivial as that. You felt like you were playing some stupid high school game of 20 questions, but you knew this game was not so innocent. "No," you replied honestly.

"With a face like that, I didn't think so. But it would have been fun to be your first," Hanma sighed. "Now wh-"

"Wait! Shouldn't I get a chance to ask you things if we are both playing?" You asked. You were trying to stall, anything that would delay the inevitable end to this.

"Sorry sweetheart, that's not how this game works. You'll have to figure out a different way to get me out of my clothes," Hanma grinned. If you weren't so scared you'd have rolled your eyes. "Next question, where is Bonten's headquarters?"

"I don't know," You lied.

Hanma's eyes narrowed. "Guess you won't be needing your pants."

"I'm not lying!" You insisted, "Mikey never took me. He didn't want me to know where it was."

"You're not a good liar," Hanma replied, sliding your pants down your hips. Your cheeks burned red as he looked at the black lacy underwear you had put on for Ran. "Pretty," he grinned with a sinister glint. "Where does Bonten keep their weapons stash?"

"I have no idea," you answered honestly.

Hanma sighed, "You're making this harder than it has it be." He pulled a knife out from a holster at his ankle.

"I swear I don't know, please!" you begged. Hanma made a quick slash, cutting open your shirt. He just barely missed cutting your skin.

"If you're going to lie to me, maybe I should just cut to the fun part," Hanma said, the knife toying with the strap of your bra.

You shuddered, feeling desperate. "Please-"

Your pleas were cut off by a door slamming open. Relief washed over you as your saw Ran rushing in with murder in his eyes. Hanma and Kisaki sprung up like cats, brandishing their weapons. Kiskaki let out a shot, which made you yelp, but Ran dodged it, taking cover behind a cinderblock beam. Curiously, he fired his gun into the air twice. When the rest of Bonten burst through the door, you realize it was a signal.

Hanma and Kisaki shot at the other member as they tried to make a retreat without getting hit themselves. They made their way to towards you, hoping the members would be less likely to fire at them with you in the potential shot range. They were right, as Mikey called for his subordinates to stop firing.

You thought they were both going to run, but Hanma turned to you, his gun raise. It happened too fast for a scream to even escape you, but your eyes closed and your whole body tensed in anticipation.

BANG!

You cried out, waiting for the pain to hit you... but it never did. When you opened your eyes, Ran was in front of you, gripping his shoulder. Blood spilled between his fingers. It took your brain a minute to catch up and realize he had jumped in front of the bullet for you.

"Ran!" you screamed, thrashing furiously against the ropes the bind you. Hanma was rushing past both of you. Mikey sent Sanzu, Mochi, and Takeomi after them.

"I'm okay, y/n," Ran said, plastering a soothing smile on his face. He crouched next to you, pulling your pants back up your body. He winced as he moved the arm that was shot.

"You're not okay! You were shot!"

"It's just a little scratch," he replied, but his voice was off. He lost a decent amount of blood, making it hard for him to undo the ties around you.

"I'll take it from here," Mikey stepped in. "Rindou, take Ran to be taken care of." Rindou nodded, helping Ran up.

"Don't worry about me, y/n, I'll be okay. I promise," Ran said. You wanted so badly to believe it, but you were scared for him. You've never seen anyone get shot before.

"Y/n are you okay?" Mikey asked. He worked the knots out quickly and you collapsed into your brother, holding him tightly as you cried. "I'm so sorry this happened, but I'm going to take care of this. I will burn their whole fucking gang to the ground, I promise." He slid his jacket over your shoulders, proving you some extra coverage. "Did they hurt you?"

"No, not physically. I was knocked out by something and woke up here," you explained, still shaking.

"Okay, let's get home, then." He helped you up.

"What about Ran? Is he going to be okay?"

"He will be fine, we have a nurse on our payroll to take care of this sort of thing," Mikey explained. You felt a little better knowing he would be taken care of by a professional. Mikey led you to a car where Koko was behind the wheel. You went to HQ instead of Mikey's house, Mikey explaining that HQ was better hidden and better protected at the moment.

Mikey ushered you into one of the bedrooms kept at HQ for when members needed to stay onsite. You wanted to see Ran, but you were afraid to push it. You knew how Mikey felt about you being with Ran and you knew he was going to figure out, if he hadn't already, what you were doing out of of the house. You were terrified Mikey was going to blame Ran for this and what he would do to him because of that

Mikey mistook the fear on your face. "Don't worry y/n, you're safe now. One of my men will be posted outside your door all night. I promise this scum bags will be dealt with. Just try to get some rest, okay?"

"I will," you nodded. Mikey told you to call him if you needed anything at all, before stepping out of the room. You didn't think it would be possible for you to fall asleep, but the exhaustion of the nights events caught up to you. You feel into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

When you woke you cleaned yourself up in the bathroom connected to your room. You were still processing everything that happened, but you did feel calm enough at the moment, thanks to the safety of HQ. You were thinking about what you would say to Mikey about this situation when he knocked at the door.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. He had bags under his eyes, like he hadn't slept at all. You immediately felt bad for creating this mess for him.

"I'm good all things considered," you replied.

"We should talk about what happened."

Your stomach dropped. "Okay, sure."

"I know you were going to see Ran."

"Mikey I'm sorry I-"

Mikey held up his hand, silencing you. "Listen, it was stupid and risky what you did. But if I hadn't given you such a hard time, you wouldn't have done it."

"Mikey, it's not your fault," you replied.

"I know, but still. I was trying to protect you and it backfired," Mikey said, "I don't regret what I said about being involved with someone in my line of work, but I should have trusted you as my sister and at least talked to you about it."

"It's okay Mikey, I know you were just trying to protect me," you replied, "Even if you were being an ass about it." You could help but toss that in, glad it had the desired affect of making Mikey crack a smile.

"I obviously still have my reservations about you being with Ran, but he took a bullet for you. For that I will forever be grateful to him. I have to believe he is going to try to treat you well," Mikey said. You felt a rush of love for your brother. You knew this wasn't easy for him to say and you appreciated him giving it a chance.

You wrapped your arms around your brother, hugging him tightly. "Thank you, that means a lot," you said.

"Of course," Mikey replied, patting your back. "I can take you to his room, if you'd like." You nodded and Mikey led you down the hall. Ran was inside laying in bed shirtless, but his shoulder was wrapped in bandages. All things considered, he looked good.

"Y/n," he smiled when he saw you. You couldn't help yourself, you ran to his side. You wanted to hug him, but weren't sure if you could so you gently squeezed his uninjured arm.

"Are you okay?" you asked, searching his body for any signs of injury you missed.

Ran nodded. "I'm okay. It's you I'm worried about. Are you hurt?"

"I'm not, I promise." Mikey cleared his throat and you both turned to him. You instinctively let go of Ran, though Mikey wasn't keep you from him any longer.

"I'm glad you're okay, Ran," Mikey began, "I will be forever indebted to you for saving y/n's life... And I've decided I want you to be happy together, if that's what y/n wants." The last part sounded hard for him to get out, but it made you appreciate him even more. Your brother was tough, but at the end of the day he just wanted you to be happy.

"Thank you, sir, I will take good care of her," Ran replied.

"You better, Haitani, because if you don't I will deal with you. And I'm a much better shot than Hanma," Mikey replied, only half joking. But the message was crystal clear and Ran nodded in understanding. "Speaking off, I'm heading out to hunt that bastard down with the rest of the gang. You take care of her while I'm gone."

With that, you and Ran were alone. All the emotions you had been keeping locked started to bubble up.

"What's wrong angel?" Ran asked seeing the change in your face. He patted the spot next to him on the bed, prompting you to sit.

"You saved my life," you replied, "And you almost died in the process."

"It would take a lot more than that to kill me," Ran said with a grin, "Don't worry about it, okay? I would do it again without a second thought." His thumb circled your thigh gently as he spoke, soothing you.

"Okay, but I have to make it up to you," you replied.

Ran perked up, "Oh? And how would you do that?"

You climbed on top of him, straddling his lap. "I'd rather show you, if you're up for it."

"There's literally nothing I would want more." Ran tried to sit up, you to pushed him back down, shaking your head.

"No, I'm taking care of you." You leaned in, pressing your lips to his. His hands slid around your waist comfortably as your bodies were flush against each other. Your hands tangled in his hair, deepening the kiss as your desire quickly rose for him. Your rocked your hips against his, feeling him start to harder in response to your touch.

You kissed down his jaw, his neck, his chest, stopping just above the waistline of his sweats. You slid them off him, revealing his hard on. Your eyes flicked up to his as you licked up the length of him.

"Fuck pretty girl, you're gonna kill me," Ran groaned. You glowed at his praise, taking him into your mouth. You hollowed out your cheeks as your bobbed your head on him. Ran's hands found your hair, gripping it at the root as your sucked him off. Your tongue swirled over his tip, teasing the sensitive spot.

"Shit you gotta stop that or I'm not gonna be able to cum inside that pretty pussy of yours," Ran breathed. Your lips made a popping sound as you pulled yourself off him. You were more than eager to oblige, your pussy throbbing at his words. You stripped yourself under Ran's hungry gaze. "So fucking pretty," he mused, running his hands up and down your naked body.

Normally you'd feel shy, but his gaze made you more confident. You took the base of him in your hands, sliding his tip through your wetness and teasing him at your entrance. Ran wriggled impatiently.

"C'mon baby don't tease me. I took a bullet for you," Ran complained.

"You trying to guilt me into fucking you?" you laughed.

Ran grinned. "Only if it's working." And it was, if only to sate your own needs. You slid down on him, a low moan escaping you as you stretch around him. Ran's fingers dug into you as you rolled your hips. He let out loan groans watching himself slide in and your of cunt.

"God I missed this," you sighed, feeling him press into the deepest spots inside you. Your hips were moving faster now, chasing the euphoric release that was building in your lower stomach.

"Missed you too, baby," Ran replied, "Missed feeling this press pussy squeezing me." His thumb found your clit, rubbing circles over the sensitive spot. Your head fell back as the building you felt swelled and snapped, sending pleasure surging through your body.

"Fuck, Ran," You whined, continuing to fuck him through you high.

"So good, y/n, shit," Ran's hips flexed up as he released into you, his warm cum filling you. You both continued to grind into each other until you were fully spent. You collapsed on top of him, catching your breath. "Shit I might try to get shot more if these is what I get after."

You smacked his chest lightly. "If you promise me to never get shot again, you can have that whenever you want."

Ran grinned, "Promise."

#ran haitani smut #ran haitani x reader #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers hcs #tokyo revengers smut

[coconut530]

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES

#Nevermore #Nevermore Webtoon #Webtoon #Funny episode liked it a lot #Monty playing with Prospero’s cravat funyyyyyy #“I’m anybody” HE’S SO DONE IT’S HILARIOUS #Prospero Monty relationship who thought #He’s the dad of the group it’s hilarious and all the kids and his wife are giving him troubleeeeeeeeee #Doctor’s bag??????? What did you use it for in life my guy #“We couldn’t just leave Montresor to die!” …it was an option and omg their faces on the bottom panel 🤣 #LENORE STOP YOU’RE TOO HOT OH MY GODDDDDDD *FANS SELF* “LOOK WHO IT IS GENTS” LENOOOOOORRRREEEEEEEEEEEE #I want to redraw but life be busy so soon ish #Episode 25 “Stains are so hard to get out of mahogany!” I knew it before Duke even said it 😂 #He saw a ghost and it hit him on the head smacked his face sliced his shoulder sliced his side and broke his leg 😂 #Lenore is unfaaaaaaazzzzzzeeeeeddddd also Duke wanna protect his bestie #“…A little bit. Maybe” I THINK IT’S MORE THAN A LITTLE BIT #MAZE TRIO LAUGHING BEING FRIENDS LOVE ITTTTTTTTTTT #LENORE AND MONTY SHOWDOWN MY FAVE IT ESCALATES SO WELL ALSO ANNABEL’S THE ONE WITH A BULLET IN HER GRAVE SORRY TO SAY #“Go to hell” 😂 this is the best #Annabel did NOT prepare for her to say that #Will doesn’t even have a roommate just throw Monty in there Will likes him enough and Prospero’s kinda wary of people it works out #Although Prospero you gave Annabel your key with ZERO hesitation or question so mayyybe you should’ve been more careful #Very funny episode I liked it a lotttttttttt oh no we’re heading into the formal divorce arc oh nooooooo

[0809sysblings]

it is always a little funny to me when people try to make psychologists and psychiatrists out to be the only people ever capable of being able to accurately diagnose mental illnesses and disorders and that their word is law as a way to criticize self diagnosis when like. once i was hospitalized and the psychiatrist there who i had not even known for more than a day tried to diagnose me as bipolar despite me having No history of mania because he.. couldn't really understand why i acted the way i did i guess???

#milgran't #tw hospital #tw psych ward #i just randomly remembered this (i say randomly as if i dont know exactly why im thinking about this stuff). dont mind me #tbh i should make a tag for like. more personal posts. but. idk what to make the tag name.. #oh well #apologies for not being cool and collected and expressing things that show that im a human with emotions and needs recently #The Holidays are probably. one of the worst times of the year for me </3 #its not even seasonal depression or whatever its just Oh Jesus Oh Fuck Oh God (gets hit by 99999 trauma bullets) #that psychiatrist sucked SOOOO fucking bad btw #trying to prematurely diagnose me as bipolar was one of the tamest things he did during my stay #i hate him i genuinely hope he dies <3 #tbh i think he actually did. Break The Law with me. he probably couldve argued it was for the safety of others bc im crazy :3. but. #sometimes i just Remember That and im like. huh. hey what the fuck actually #but seriously. so many mental health professionals just make you sit there and go. .. how the FUCK did you get your license?????? #ive heard some of The Most ''oh only people who are completely ignorant about mental health say this!'' type of shit from professionals #idk why im the one being labelled as insane when they think saying some of that shit is okay and professional MFKDLSFMDSf

[chokehoe]

Sobbing somebody save me from alnst

#alien stage #alnst till #alnst #alnst mizi #i can’t take it anymore #these gays are making me depressed #where is sua?? #why’d they kill her so soon #why is Ivan now dead to #these aliens are homophobic as shit #the only time I’ve seen this many gays kicking the bucket was with toji from jjk #they need to put the jjk mangá down these aliens got to many ideas from toji #what do you mean the bullets make peoples heads explode?! #that’s fucking sick!! #why do you need that?! #also they clearly didn’t hit Ivan with them #if they did the man would’ve exploded #he would have been looking like gojo from chapter 236 #would’ve broke like a dam Kit Kat😭 #son of a bitch someone save me from these tragic gays #does till even like Ivan back?!?!? #like how does till feel about this?? #man is going through one of Hercules trials I swear #till don’t worry baby I’ll save you!! #I don’t know how but I will!! #also mizu are u ok? #that was a dumb question of course your not #aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #also Ivan calling his love shallow aaaahhhh #LET ME OUT!!!!!!!

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

The closer the moon, the stronger the magic. That simple phrase was something his fellows had often whispered in his ears as far back as the first Becoming. And there was truth to it, Mistoffelees supposed. He never felt as at peace with himself in this body as he did while bathed in the full bellied moonlight on the slated roofs of the city. There was a brief sense of satisfactory quiet that would come alongside its light that he looked forward to, as though - for a brief moment - he weren't failing in every aspect of the word. The quiet was a salve, of sorts; a chance to regroup and perhaps even attempt his rest.

"I had a feeling I'd find you up here."

Or at least it had been a chance.

"You really must stop sneaking up on me, Rum Tum Tugger," Mistoffelees deadpans, feeling a twisted sort of satisfaction at the annoyance he feels radiating from the other at the use of his full title. "Lest you wish to be sautéed."

"Ha ha, that's so funny," the other tom mutters in return, slinking forward to sit just within Mistoffelees' personal bubble of space, seemingly ignoring the way he was being watched. Mistoffelees observes that, despite his boldness and constant envelope pushing, even Tugger knew to draw a line somewhere. "I only serve well stuffed and basted, you know."

Seems, however, he was still learning where that appropriate somewhere was. 

The Maine Coon sighs as his "joke" (that's what he calls them: jokes, even when they are not amusing or proper) falls flat on its face - not even a cracked smile. He resigns to pulling at the chains that decorate his collar, but he keeps staring at the other tom, as though trying to puzzle out the misaligned tilt of his melting features. "And, please, stop calling me Rum Tum Tugger."

"Why?" Mistoffelees asks, feigning innocence, of all things. It feels strange, fizzing under the roof of his mouth, as if it knew it didn't belong anywhere near his tongue. "It is your name, is it not?"

"No," Tugger counters, too quickly it seems, as he immediately scrambles to correct himself. Mistoffelees takes careful note of this. "I mean yes it is, but it's for, like, when I'm in trouble, or being superficially adored, not…"

Mistoffelees also notes how he trails off, but more specifically where he trails off. Much to his nature, however, he cares very little to pursue the issue. For now, at least. 

"Anyway, Mr. Mistoffelees," he continues, nonplussed, flopping to his belly. "Why are you here?"

Mistoffelees rolls his eyes, the whites slightly too prominent in the glow of the moon. "In the end, why are any of us here?"

Tugger's nose wrinkles. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Do I know it?" This liberal misplaced innocence in his damned mouth is beginning to numb the skin of his teeth, but he must admit it was amusing to counter his annoyance. He deserves it - a treat, if he may be so bold, for being stuck in this place.

Tugger does not continue his childish retort, as expected. Instead, he continues his critical deconstruction of the side of Mistoffelees' paper thin skull. "You remind me of my dad."

Mistoffelees feels himself frowning before he can stop it. Not so much offended as he is…confused at the change in direction. "How so?"

"You both speak in riddles so you can avoid actually talking about things." He says this plainly, as though the observation was obvious. Mistoffelees suddenly feels…uneasy.

"I see."

Tugger grins, full and even, free of any previous irritation. That was one thing about The Rum Tum Tugger: he did not dwell on anything too long. A flaw or an admirable trait, Mistoffelees was still figuring. "Trying to get me to learn my own lessons, are you?"

"The beast who is burned does not approach the flame twice," Mistoffelees recites, feeling the empty words rattle in their cliché. "Would you not prefer to come to your own conclusions independently rather than rely on another's distorted perspective?"

"It's just nice to get a straight answer every once in a while, isn't it?"

And that was another thing about The Rum Tum Tugger - he composed symphonies from singular notes; gave infinite information with one sentence. Managed to nail the simplest of points down with such precision, he might have made a decent archer in a past life.

Mistoffelees ponders this. Teach the beast and he will flee. Feed the beast and he will come back. 

It slices a touch too close to the bone for his tastes.

"So," Tugger tries again, cutting through his thoughts. "What's going on with you?"

Mistoffelees turns fully to the other tom, peering at him from the depths below. "What are you doing, Tugger?"

"I'm trying," Tugger says, deliberately dragging his words, looking at him directly in the eye…unafraid. "To get you to open up."

"For what purpose?"

Tugger falters slightly at the question, but he plunders on. He is unused to being questioned; little prince. "Because I want to get to know you better."

"I think," Mistoffelees counters coolly, feeling a spark beginning at the base of his neck. "You are trying to satiate a curiosity."

"Maybe." Tugger shrugs. "But I think you want to be known, don't you?"

Mistoffelees' spine stiffens suddenly, the spark becoming a full, indignant crackle. "That is a very bold assumption to make."

"Is it?" He counters, drawing to his full height, full of the devil, staring down at him. Tugger smiles impishly at the ear twitch Mistoffelees cannot quite suppress. "I can play this game too, sparkles."

The two toms stay in their lock of wills, laced tight by a single, unflinching thread, and there is a sudden…weight in the air that hadn't been present before.  Tugger looks…determined and expectant. Predatory, almost, in his size and the glint in his eye. Every instinct in his borrowed body tells him to look away, break the bond, reshift the balance, but his mind betrays him. Something else betrays him. 

The quiet comes back, but it is no longer restful as it was before.

"What if," Mistoffelees manages at last, voice oddly strained, as though he were pulling it up from a well. "When you manage to…'open me up', you do not like what you see?"

The other tom's adamant face freezes just a moment, too quick to be noticed by any regular cat, but Mistoffelees sees it, lingers on it as the genuineness of emotion bleeds into the easier, softer expression that replaces it. Surprise, wariness even. But still, no fear - not a single trace of it. If only you knew. "Then I'd say you have the right to sauté me, then."

There is a foreign pressure deep within the cavern of his body at the answer. He does not recognize it; he has not felt this in centuries - millennia, possibly.  "I do not believe you understand what you are asking for."

"Listen." Tugger licks his lip, rocking back on his haunches so he shrinks again, non-threatening, and the thread snaps. Mistoffelees lowers his tail cautiously. 

"I know you think I'm…I don't know, irresponsible with myself - everyone else thinks so," Tugger says evenly, carefully avoiding what he thinks of the admission. "And you'd be right, but I promise you, I'm a big tom, I can handle myself. If I asked it's because I want to know - how bad could it be?"

Bad, bad, very bad. You will never look at me the same.

And there it was - that relentless sincerity, glittering in his dark eyes again. 

Why do I care? What am I doing? a tiny voice wails in his ear. What am I doing?

"Very well," his traitor's tongue betrays its own master. "What would you know of me?"

For the first time in their conversation, Tugger casts his gaze downward, looking, a moment, almost shy; overwhelmed by the offer. It would be charming, he thinks, if it did not feel so…horrid in his chest cavity. He would file that away for future consideration. "I don't know…honestly, I didn't think I'd get this far."

Mistoffelees hmphs, the unrelenting heat and heaviness of the moment cooling enough that he was able to regain a semblance of his bearings about him. Typical Tugger. 

"Maybe…” Tugger scrunches up his muzzle in thought. “Where were you born?"

Mistoffelees looks away at last, and it seems like an eternity passes until he speaks again, sitting under the steadily fading moon. He prays, as close as he could get, that the other would not live to regret this. That he would not live to regret this.

"Perhaps," he begins softly, nearly - Tugger's betraying mind whispers - with affection. "You may want to start with something simpler."

"Like?"

"Where were you when the world began?"

#mr. mistoffelees and the horrifying ordeal of being known #see previous post on blog for context #Mr. Mistoffelees #The Rum Tum Tugger #tuggoffelees #fanfiction #my fanfic #there you go - i was hit with a bullet this evening #takes place in the same universe as the other tuggoff fic i wrote #i can only write them in that way sorry #mephisto and the horrifying reality that you may just be in love with faust #no beta as usual - i will edit as i reread it several dozen times

[floral-hex]

Can’t tell if I’m so anxious because of drug withdrawal or it’s just because I have a bad brain 😓

#I took buspar for about 4 nights then had to stop because it put me on edge #first night without it and I’m hit with the same feelings again #just sad and hopeless and my nerves feel sick #I had thought there wasn’t supposed to be any real withdrawal from that stuff #so maybe this is just me being sad #quick rant: I feel so hopless and alone and scared #it’s 4:30am and I know there’s nothing I can do right now about it so I should just chill out #brains suck #just go to sleep! #I have my first therapy session tomorrow/today so we’ll see #and I’m realizing now I really need to bite the bullet and apply to some jobs #any jobs. even if I’m afraid my hearing will go out and I’ll fuck up working #I NEED to get out of this house more. I NEED money. I NEED some hope for a future. #I want moneyyyy so I can go out to eat and take my brothers to the movies and help my mother with bills #I can’t just stay awake all night suffering. I need to be productive. #ian I swear you will feel so much better with a purpose #even if that purpose is just to work a register for a few hours a day #it’ll be okay #we can do this. we’ll talk to the therapist tomorrow. we’ll call our doc and bitch about our meds. we’ll apply for jobs #we’ll shower and eat and go out in the sun and it’ll be okay #baby steps baby #get a job. get money. buy a burger. find someone to kiss once or twice. #I can do this #I feel everything falling apart and fading away and I have to fight that #I’m fighting it now just verbalizing this and it’s helping #it’ll be okay ian! #life can still be beautiful! #you’re afraid of losing everything well then fucking grab it hold it do what you can #I’m so fucking scared but I have to try #text

[sysig]

I thought I was done being feral about Tamagotchis but no, it was just a lull

#I was already interested in getting a Gotchi for the past couple months and then KKClue dropped that video (praise be) #And Then I learned that there was a cheap way of purchasing legit Japanese Gotchis?? I may uh. Have. Purchased a few #I never really had That Moment as a kid or teen of being impulsive with money - I'd either save it up and get one big thing #Or I'd buy little things until I eventually ran out - and that habit has kinda continued into adulthood lol #Nowadays the one big thing is usually something like a new computer when my old one dies but it certainly is a big thing lol #And I like getting little things like my puzzle cubes <3 But I'm fairly miserly! #Well. Until. #I've finally hit The Phase of impulsive purchases because of a perfect storm of Things Happening lol #I first wrote down that I wanted to start looking for Tamagotchis in March of this year and I was going about it rather casually to start #Just looking around Big Box stores to check pricing - then various toy and vintage stores to see if they had stock #Most of them didn't but I did get in some delightful networking :D I want to go back and continue! #I finally broke down a week ago and checked Amazon for the ''custom'' shell designs because I like the galaxy one hehe #And then - that accursed video (affectionate) #I may have watched it five times so far lol and then actually bit the bullet and checked out the sponsor and Fucking Hell #I can never get into gambling this does absolutely wack shit to my brain it's only half about the Gotchis themselves anymore #That said I am very excited for my Mesutchi to arrive! I really want to get an Osutchi to go with her and a Gen 1 and and and #I want to collect all the Angelgotchs so bad you don't understand I Must Have them in all the colours it's very important #I'm even considering doing some kind of Project with them once they arrive I don't know it's just all so exciting #I'm feeling very normal #Oh yeah and barely related other than IRL silliness - I finally got a haircut! :D #It'll take a bit for my sona to update but it was today! All sorts of things haha

[wovenstarlight]

oh fml 의신아 are you serious. are you serious

#star.txt #exrlb #i made 염준열 tear up so now 용제건 must be mad at me <- YOU LITERALLY FUCKING TOOK A BULLET FOR HIM A SECOND AGO #YOU KNEW HE'D BE TARGETED AND YOU CONSCIOUSLY SWAPPED PLACES WITH HIM AND ALMOST GOT KILLED SO HE WOULDN'T BE HURT #ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE? DID YOU HIT YOUR HEAD? IS SOMETHINGWR ONG WITH YOU #he's like i'm sorry about getting your clothes ruined i'll pay you back for them [IS COVERED IN HIS OWN BLOOD FROM WHERE HE WAS SHOT] #i'm going to go insane genuinely #LIKE. I GOTTA EMPHASIZE THIS. 의신 TOOK THE HIT FOR 용제건 AND THEN INSTEAD OF USING HIS REMAINING SKILL USAGE DURATION TO HEAL UP #USED IT FOR A LAST DITCH DESPERATE ATTEMPT TO ATTACK THE GUY TRYING TO KILL THE OTHER TWO #EVEN AS 용제건 WAS SHOUTING FOR HIM TO HEAL HIMSELF INSTEAD #LIKE?????????

[radioactive-earthshine]

Writing tips for long fics that helped me that no one asked for.

1.) Don't actually delete content from your WIP unless it is minor editing - instead cut it and put it in a secondary document. If you're omitting paragraphs of content, dialog, a whole scene you might find a better place for it later and having it readily available can really save time. Sometimes your idea was fantastic, but it just wasn't in the right spot.

2.) Stuck with wording the action? Just write the dialog then revisit it later.

3.) Stuck on the whole scene? Skip it and write the next one.

4.) Write on literally any other color than a white background. It just works. (I use black)

5.) If you have a beta, while they are beta-ing have them read your fic out loud. Yes, I know a lot of betas/writers do not have the luxury of face-timing or have the opportunity to do this due to time constraints etc but reading your fic out loud can catch some very awkward phrasing that otherwise might be missed. If you don't have a beta, you read it out loud to yourself. Throw some passion into your dialog, you might find a better way to word it if it sounds stuffy or weird.

6.) The moment you have an idea, write it down. If you don't have paper or a pen, EMAIL it to yourself or put it in a draft etc etc. I have sent myself dozens of ideas while laying down before sleep that I 10/10 forgot the next morning but had emailed them to myself and got to implement them.

7.) Remember - hits/likes/kudos/comments are not reflective of the quality of your fic or your ability to write. Most people just don't comment - even if they say they do, they don't, even if they preach all day about commenting, they don't, even if they are a very popular blog that passionately reminds people to comment - they don't comment (I know this personally). Even if your fic brought tears to their eyes and it haunted them for weeks and they printed it out and sent it to their friends they just don't comment. You just have to accept it. That being said - comment on the fic you're reading now, just do it, if you're 'shy' and that's why you don't comment the more you comment the better you'll get at it. Just do it.

8.) Remove unrealistic daily word count goals from your routine. I've seen people stress 1500 - 2000 words a day and if they don't reach that they feel like a failure and they get discouraged. This is ridiculous. Write when you can, but remove absurd goals. My average is 500 words a day in combination with a 40 hour a week job and I have written over 200k words from 2022-2023.

9.) There are dozens of ways to do an outline from precise analytical deconstruction that goes scene by scene to the minimalist bullet point list - it doesn't matter which one you use just have some sort of direction. A partial outline is better than no outline.

10.) Write for yourself, not for others. Write the fic you know no one is going to read. Write the fic that sounds ridiculous. You will be so happy you put it out in the world and there will be people who will be glad it exists.

#writing tips #writing advice #writing tools #writing help #writing resources

[quotesfrommyreading]

When I’m out with Deaf friends, I put my hearing aid in my purse. It removes any ability to hear, but far more importantly, it removes the ambiguity that often haunts me.

In a restaurant, we point to the menu and gesture with the wait staff. The servers taking the order respond with gestures too. They pantomime “drinks?” and tell us they learned a bit of signs in kindergarten. Looking a little embarrassed, they sign “Rain, rain, go away, come again another day” in the middle of asking our salad dressing choice. We smile and gently redirect them to the menu. My friends are pros at this routine and ordering is easy ― delightful even. The contrast with how it feels to be out with my hearing husband is stunning.

Once my friends and I have ordered, we sign up a storm, talking about everything and shy about nothing. What would be the point? People are staring anyway. Our language is lavish, our faces alive. My friends discuss the food, but for me, the food is unimportant. I’m feasting on the smorgasbord of communication ― the luxury of chatting in a language that I not only understand 100% but that is a pleasure in and of itself. Taking nothing for granted, I bask in it all, and everything goes swimmingly.

Until I accidentally say the word “soup” out loud.

Pointing at the menu, I let the word slip out to the server. And our delightful meal goes straight downhill. Suddenly, the wait staff’s mouths start flapping; the beautiful, reaching, visual parts of their brains go dead, as if switched off.

“Whadda payu dictorom danu?” the server’s mouth seems to say. “Buddica taluca mariney?”

“No, I’m Deaf,” I say. A friend taps the server and, pointing to her coffee, pantomimes milking a cow. But the damage is done. The server has moved to stand next to me and, with laser-focus, looks only at me. Her pen at the ready, her mouth moves like a fish. With stunning speed, the beauty of the previous interactions ― the pantomiming, the pointing, the cooperative taking of our order ― has disappeared. “Duwanaa disser wida coffee anmik? Or widabeeaw fayuh-mow?”

Austin “Awti” Andrews (who’s a child of Deaf adults, often written as CODA) describes a similar situation.

“Everything was going so well,” he says. “The waiter was gesturing, it was terrific. And then I just said one word, and pow!! It’s like a bullet of stupidity shot straight into the waiter’s head,” he explains by signing a bullet in slow motion, zipping through the air and hitting the waiter’s forehead. Powwwww.

Hearing people might be shocked by this, but Deaf people laugh uproariously, cathartically.

“Damn! All I did was say one word!” I say to my friends. “But why do you do that?” they ask, looking at me with consternation and pity. “Why don’t you just turn your voice off, for once and for all?” they say.

Hearing people would probably think I’m the lucky one ― the success story ― because I can talk. But I agree with my friends.

  —  I'm Deaf And I Have 'Perfect' Speech. Here's Why It's Actually A Nightmare.

#rachel zemach #austin andrews #disability #ableism #deafness #sign language #speech #asl #american sign language

[bi-writes]

thinking about being a new lieutenant working with laswell and getting to meet her a-team, tf141, and immediately clashing with your equivalent. that other lieutenant that wears a fucking costume and glares whenever he sees you, simon fucking riley. (kinda dark, 18+)

you hate him. you hate how good he does in the field. it sickens you when you see how every knife he throws hits its target with disgustingly perfect accuracy. you sneer when he aims his rifle, each bullet going exactly where he wants it to go because he's that fucking good, look at him, big man with a big fucking head and a big--

god, it's so frustrating to be out here for so long. on a cot, so far away from everything, reporting back to laswell and then spending time with a task force who is so intelligent on the field but shares one fucking brain cell off of it.

and it's so lonely. it's so lonely, and you feel so far away, and when you show up in front of ghost's room that evening, you don't even exchange words as he steps aside, letting you slink into the dark of it. you don't speak as he crowds you against the door, as he pushes you up against it, when he reveals the lower half of his face so he can kiss you and taste you in every way he's wanted to since he met you. you're so fucking annoying, you crawl under his skin, and when he tastes you, he sucks, his tongue tracing the inside of your mouth as he tugs his cargo pants just under his cock and hoists you up around his waist.

it's just stress relief, you tell yourself as he fucks you against the rattling door. i just need a little relief, is what you say to yourself as he mumbles against yours lips, gripping the fat of your hips in his big hands and putting his cock to good use. he's not gentle, but you don't want him to be. he's too good at what he does, you were hoping he would have fault in one fucking area of his life, but even like this, he shows you just how well he fucks and just how big he really is, everywhere.

please, please, please--! you beg. he snickers, and it's mean, and he's sucking a warm bruise into your neck when he mutters, "tha'sit, swee'eart. we both know who's really in charge, eh? yeah--yeah, good girl--y'r such a good girl--"

and you are. cum soaked thighs, your mouth still on his when he finally comes, grunting as he fills you so full, it's dripping onto your thighs, onto his, dampening the clothes neither of you bothered to take off. and when you leave, you tell yourself this will never happen again, that ghost will keep this a secret because he hates you just as much, that ghost is discreet and quiet and values his privacy, and if you don't speak of this again, neither will he. it suddenly comforts you how closed off he is.

so it does surprise you when the next morning comes, and you go to sit with your team to eat, that ghost snarls when you try and take a seat beside him. you expect this to be a rude gesture, but you squeak when he grips you around the waist and forces you into his lap. you stiffen, but his sergeants barely bat an eye. the braid of your hair is yanked backwards, and you gasp when you feel his breath against your ear, even through the mask.

"the casual shaggin' sort of deal? not m'thing, luvvie. now eat y'r breckie, swee'eart, 'm fuckin' hungry, and 'm not very patient."

he used to think having one of his sergeant's underneath him was the kind of power-play that got him right off.

wrong.

nothing like fucking a pretty little lieutenant good enough she can't fucking remember how to speak.

#i wrote twice today lmao #idk where this came from i just #get thoughts sometimes and i have to write them #sigh #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!simon #simon thoughts

[sasha-psychedelia]

The Provably Worst Gun for Home Defense

What is provably the WORST gun for home defense? A .22 single shot rifle is at least small and quick to point. A Barrett M82 is at least going to instantly stop whatever it hits. Even a good old fashioned musket is going to do good damage and won't hurt your ears. No, I wanted to know what the undisputable worst home defense gun in the world is; and I have found it.

This is the .950 JDJ Fat Mac. It is a 100 pound, 5 foot long rifle that shoots a one pound solid brass bullet at 2200 FPS. It is a non-NFA item only because the ATF gave it a sporting exemption as a joke as if anybody is going to hunt with this. This round would be overkill for hunting blue whales.

I would like to paint a picture for you. It's 2AM and you hear a window break in your living room. This is the worst day this could happen, as every single one of your guns was lost in a tragic boating accident this morning. All were lost except for one. You look across your room in dread at your anti-kaiju rifle. You know what you have to do, but you don't know if you have the strength to do it, both literally and figuratively.

Heaving the rifle into your arms, you load a .950 cartridge and begin to waddle towards the door. Your feet make a loud "thud" as you take each 6" step. You know the intruders hear you. You hope they do, for perhaps they will run and spare the world the suffering that is about to befall it.

You try to set the rifle down, but end up clipping your bedroom door and it is immediately knocked off its hinges by this battering ram in your hands. You attempt to round the corner, bonking the muzzle against the doorframe and adjacent wall across the hall at least 4 times.

To your horror, two invaders stand there at the end of the hall.

With a heavy heart, you raise the rifle to your shoulder while making inhuman grunting noises from the strain of attempting some semblance of a shooting position. The burglars simply stare in disbelief, unable to process the situation they are witnessing, as if in a dream.

You cannot aim the rifle, as the last time you fired the gun, it turned your $3000 Leopuld into a kaleidoscope. You simply hold it at an angle that appears correct and fire.

You are immediately knocked to the floor as if hit by a semi truck going 20 MPH. The shot connected with one of the criminals and it erased him from existence. Even the memories of him have been destroyed and you're wondering why you just shot into an empty hallway. The shot continues to travel through at least 4 houses, a car, and a 10 ton boulder before lodging itself 20 feet into a nearby hill, never to be seen again.

It is at this point, you realize you cannot hear.

The surviving burglar can't hear either but he's also on fire from the muzzle blast and is currently vacating your home. You don't care. Your shoulder is dislocated and there is a hole in your brand new AR500 refrigerator.

You're crying now.

The police arrive and, upon seeing the scene, start laughing. You start crying harder.

#196 #copypasta #sps69 #big guns

[eternityofend]

BOOTHILL HEADCANONS

> Reminder that this is not canon/accurate to his personality

+ contains nsfw (Is labeled)

( Art credit: @ Luvmybabygirl0 )

SFW

I'd like to imagine, that this man just does a hair flip every time he's offended at what you said.

Ex.

"My Love, I know you're jealous but it's just a cat.."

Boothill looks at you for five solid seconds, and then hair flips to let you know he's really offended. "Tell the cat to move then, that's my place."

Does not skip leg day, would probably kabedon you using his LEG or if he does work out he'd probably want to use you as weight, like letting you sit on him while he does push-ups.

Loves going on little trips with you using horses, if you don't have your own horse he'd definitely let you ride his horse but you're in front of him.

Bonus points if you're shorter than him cause he'd put his chin on top of your head while his hands go around your waist to grab the rein.

Would flex to everyone about you, like- he's in a fight with someone? "You weak cutie(bitch), my lover hits harder than you."

Would call you petnames like "Sugar", "Honey", "Darling" , "Babe/Baby" , "Sweetheart" , "Love" , "Love bug" , "Sunshine" , "Pretty (boy/girl/thing)"

Listens to Lady Gaga, I'm sure of this, he would so rock it out on the dance floor and get you to dance with him.

Has eaten a bullet in front of you and was incredibly confused at your reaction that was just like 😰, until you tell him that you were surprised he ate a bullet he'd just be like 🤨 but if you did tell him straight away, he'd cackle at you.

Sometimes forgets he was originally a human so he does the craziest things knowing he can get fixed up anyway (he once jumped off a 13 foot building to chase after an enemy)

Loves to cuddle you, he wants to feel your warmth while he sleeps or relaxes.

Lets you braid his hair or comb it if you want to, once he gets used to you combing or braiding his hair he'd just walk up to you at random times with a brush in hand and let you do what you want with his hair.

Really reckless and causes a lot of trouble sometimes but there are days where he's really calm and all he wants to do is spend time with you, like he just acts like a cute little kitten who just woke up when he's calm.

If JoJo existed in their world, he would be a big fan of it.

Would let you name his gun or horse, does not complain at all even if you name it "princess twilight sparkle cookie crumble" he'd just laugh, completely accepting the name.

Even says the name during fights, he'd say "Your time's out, time to die by my princess twilight sparkle cookie crumble." 😭😭

Looks at his reflection in the mirror a lot while practicing poses, even getting you to watch from the bed or couch while showing you a new pose he likes.

Kisses you a lot, even in public he's really affectionate and touchy, cause no way is he letting other people look at you and think you're single.

You're hot and he knows you're hot so he's trying his best to make everyone know you're already taken.

If someone TRIES to flirt with you in front of him, he's already got you by the waist, against the wall, making out while he flips off the one who tried to flirt with you.

Would let you pick his earrings, always excited when you say you bought a new earring for him.

Looks good in an apron, like, really good. Househusband material frfr.

Plays with your hair a lot, twirling it, and even kissing some strands while he looks at you in the eye.

Easy to get flustered but it always leads to him making you more flustered, he takes everything like a challenge but he does love it every time you sass him back or flirt with him.

Causes a lot of trouble for you and with you, if its for you it's going to be super romantic however it'll some people irritated, but if he's causing trouble with you, its more chaotic and a LOT of people will 100% get pissed.

Cannot sleep without you in his arms, he'll walk over to your room (if you guys aren't sharing one), hair all messy from tossing and turning because you weren't in bed with him. He'll just plop into your bed, it doesn't matter if you're even awake or not he just wants to hold you while he sleeps.

NSFW

Definitely takes off his hat and puts it on you BUT only when he's letting you ride, if you're having normal sex he'd probably just keep it on or let you bite on it while he fucks you from behind.

Probably says something weird during sex which I would love to imagine would just be "Yeehaw" because he can't curse.

Probably into roleplay where you're a criminal and he's a cowboy who successfully hunted you down or the opposite, has a bunch of handcuffs just to use it for roleplay.

I feel like he'd just be the type of person to use sex toys, not dildos though cause he wants to be the only dick inside you, something like collars, leashes, handcuffs, whips, ropes,

He'd be into gags, bondage, dirty talk, lactation, blindfold sex, spit, both praise and degrading kink, spanking, anal, lap-dances, fingering (he'd be conflicted about receiving), oral (receiving and giving), sensory deprivation, and gun play!

If he doesn't have a dick, he'll probably have a bunch of straps, he's good at giving oral but would still prefer fucking you with a dick than fingering or eating you out. (Unless he's the one getting fucked)

I feel like he's a switch but more on the dominant side, he's super open to submission as long as his partner can pleasure him real good.

This man walks around technically naked all the time, so he's got to have imagined having public sex here and there, but most likely in bars where everyone's busy and doing their own thing. Like it'd turn him on if you were just on his lap humping his erection while you both are in a bar but everyone else is just too drunk to notice at all.

Super vocal, grunting, moaning, sometimes even whining and whimpering, you got it all, bonus points because he does it all straight into your ear.

Uses his sharp teeth to mark you all over your body and then sucks on it to leave hickeys, would likely be a little menace and leave his marks somewhere visible even if you're wearing clothes so people would know your his

Wants you to pull on his hair while fucking, he wants to be able to know how good he's making you feel and hair pulling would be his goal to make sure you're getting actual pleasure.

When he kisses you or makes out with you, it'd always involve tongue, has a little hand that sneaks over to your waist stopping at your hip or your ass.

Slaps your ass loud, especially in public, he just smacks it while you're in mid-conversation and the sound just ECHOES, it doesn't hurt it just sounds like it does, he just stands there smirking while you stare at him.

He's an ass guy, boobs are nice to him cause he can suck on the nipples but definitely an ass guy, you cannot tell me he doesn't fuck you from behind solely to see your ass jiggle with every thrust he does.

Flat? Nuh uh, he's making that shit bounce no matter what.

Likes playing with you using his gun, frequently flicks the handle of his gun over your nipples or dick/pussy, sometimes he shoves a little bit of his gun in and if you get your cum on the muzzle, he'd lick it right in front of you.

Likes praising you and getting degraded, is into getting whipped too, he secretly wants to be on his knees begging for you, worshipping you, while you're standing over him with a whip in your hands. (The whip doesn't actually do any damage)

Does not care what gender you are, sometimes he'd misgender you on purpose and call your ass a pussy or if you're a girl, he'd probably call you "pretty boy" just to get you riled up.

His favorite positions when bottoming would be cowgirl, and his favorite position if he's on top would be Doggystyle.

(Edit: I just realized how much of a power bottom he is, but it's up to you, the reader whether you want to fuck him or be fucked by him 😇)

Please do remember everything is just a headcanon and is not actually linked or accurate to what Boothill's like in canon.

( Art credit

1st: Kradebii on Danbooru

2nd: Tei (@2hwe1) on twt

3rd: 2월14일 (Valentine_DD_) on twt )

Please tell me if I got the artists wrong!

#boothill x reader #boothill #headcanon #smut #boothill hsr #boothill hsr x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #xreader #reader #female reader #male reader #gender neutral reader #imagine #honkai star rail #boothill headcanon

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hiiiii can you do a jealous Alastor but not of anyone but his own shadows bc his wifey takes a liking on one of his shadows.

Oooh! I like this quite a lot! It’s very interesting and unique! Once again, beloved hubby Alastor! Another one I want to explore hubby of is Blitz. I think Blitz would make a good hubby

Alastor- Picking Favourites

Alastor’s furious, steaming from his deer-like ears so hot that it’s basically boiling him… did somebody hurt his ego? No. Did Angel Dust sexually advance on him again? No. Did his breakfast get interrupted by the Hotel Manager? NO. Nothing has inconvenienced him but something awful has been happening, day by day, that he can barely keep his composure

Hitting your laughter directed at something else feels like a hit that would form a bruise, but knowing your laughter is directed at his mere sentient shadow basically gutted him in the stomach with a sharp butcher knife. You’re his wife, his lady, his realm, the woman he has been fawning over for so long and you’re hitting it up with his sentient silent shadow, and not him?!

Of course, Alastor’s fascinating lively shadow is just being nice to it’s master’s recently wedded wife, and is trying to get you accustom to being around so much Voodoo magic and the weirdness that is Alastor himself so it’s being all caring and leading you around, showing you items and reaching you Alastor’s favourite foods

But that doesn’t mean Alastor isn’t jealous… because he is, he’s really jealous

Whilst he reads through a interesting crime fiction novel, Alastor’s tall fluffy deer-like ears flick up at the sound of your voice. He can’t sense his voodoo-magic induced shadow, meaning that it’s wondered off to you and as he suspected, you enter your husband’s soothingly silent fireplace-warmed accompanied by Alastor’s sentient shadow. It cant really talk but it makes all kinds of humming and echoey noises. It almost seems like you understand it…

Alastor’s patience, throughout every time he hears this, has finally shattered to pieces as his claws dig into the book in his hand, snapping his fingers. The shadow directly mirroring your husband’s look, fades away into thin air as if it was a big fire and a bucket of water was dumped on the top of it, rising up into streams of smoke. It’s gone and you’re confused on why it disappeared

“Darling. Why are you getting so handsy with my friend?”

Alastor almost growls out with his deep scowl… this is possibly the first ever time you and Hell will ever see Alastor frown and frown so deeply he is… it’s kinda unnatural to look at but when Alastor willingly frowns and can’t pull himself to smile, it means he is more than pissed off… you didn’t think just being polite and going along with your husband’s voodoo magic shadow being would ever cause a problem

It’s just that Alastor’s love for you is so strong that it causes jealousy to concur and even jealousy over just some magic creating a shadowy being. Something that is sentient but mainly tied to it’s owner, to Alastor and he is jealous of his own creation

Approaching your beloved husband, the Radio Demon, you lean over, pushing back his somewhat messy crimson red bangs and kisses directly over the pale red almost bullet-sized ‘x’ on the flesh of his forehead. That ‘x’ is the biggest weak spot on Alastor, a symbol of his shame and where his pride can be hurt the most but he doesn’t mind showing off all his weaknesses and vulnerabilities to you… he had already told you about his human life

What’s one little kiss on that ‘x’ going to do?

Pulling back. It’s almost like the single kiss had melted away all his anger and Alastor is now just a soft innocent fluffy little fawn with his crimson red eyes almost sparkling at the affection. He didn’t suspect that, he suspected this’d turn into some big fight but you’re not going to argue, you’re going to explain yourself

“Alastor… Al, my love. I wasn’t replacing you with your shadow buddy. He was just trying to help me get accustom to being your wife. I’ve never been married before and being married to the Radio Demon… it’s. It requires a lot of adjusting so he was just trying to help”

Alastor couldn’t help but feel a bit bad about his half temper tantrum. Of course, why would his shadow even care about having a spouse of its own? It doesn’t, it cares about you being the best wife for its master so it’s trying to help and get you more comfortable. Yes, he is still jealous that you didn’t come to him and go to a shadow… but he does really appreciate all the effort and the wish to not rely on him in order to impress him

After taking a deep breath whilst placing his bigger clawed hand on the smaller clawed hand of yours over his cheek, gently fondling the soft skin over his face. Alastor rhythmically brushes his own fingers over the smooth skin of your hand briefly. Controlling himself, controlling his emotions and then finally saying whilst opening his eyes again to meet yours

Just… such beautiful eyes

“My dear… I appreciate the efforts but please, don’t think you can’t come to me to learn. We’re husband and wife, we work together. You don’t need to go to my friends for that advice”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel characters #vivziepop hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin imagines #romantic alastor #alastor short story #alastor x reader #alastor #radio demon x reader #hazbin radio demon #the radio demon #radio demon #husband alastor #husbando #vivziepop #husband alastor x reader #romantic short story #romantic alastor x reader #comfort short story #comfort #married couple go brrrrr