red-velvetrevolver - Tumblr blog

[red-velvetrevolver]

Going on Tiktok then seeing all the bitches simp over this ugly pice of shit

AN UGLY SACK OF RACIST POC OF SHIT THAT BRUTALLY KILLED TWO INNOCENT WOMEN

So here is a psa.....

DO NOT FOLLOW ME IF YOU THINK IS UGLY DISGUSTING TRASH MONSTER IS HOT, IF YOU ARE SIMPING OVER HIM! IF YOU THINK HE IS DADDY OR THAT HE IS INNOCENT.

THIS BASTARD LEFT A LITTLE BOY AN ORPHAN, HIS FATHER CALLED HIM A MONSTER.

THIS JACKASS DID NOT HAVE A BAD CHILDHOOD, HE IS SINGLE HANDLY A FUCKING POS

UNFOLLOW ME AND BLOCK ME

[red-velvetrevolver]

to the beautiful writers that might see this, ao3 is currently being scrapped by an AI company called RIVD. this isn't your usual AI text scrapping, they are specifically targeting ao3 to feed their own AI / "tech-orientes" fanfiction site

their "takedown form" demands that you give them your full legal name and address. they do not say what they're doing with your personal details. there's no proof that this form works

until ao3 comes out with a proper statement or manages to lock their scrapped, just lock your fics for registered users

[red-velvetrevolver]

Sometimes, tumblr tags are fucking golden

[red-velvetrevolver]

the cod fandom has a serious issue w saneism

I'm genuinely not joking. so many of you fuckers are guilty of being absolutely abhorrent towards people with personality, schizospec, psychotic, dissociative and trauma disorders and you need to stop before you genuinely harm someone. no, you're not "cute" for it - you're an ableist, nasty little cunt for it.

so, let's go through it a bit; I'm not gonna go in-depth, bc ik some of you lot won't take criticism w/o treating it as a personal attack, and ik a LOT of you don't actually give a shit abt hurting people either. but I'm gonna quickly cover some things that need addressing.

First and foremost: "delulu".

"delulu" is a term that's been shortened from "delusional" to essentially mean "I have a thought/opinion that few others have".

which isn't the correct way to actually use this term whatsoever; according to the correct definition, a delusion is stated to be "A delusion is a strongly-held or fixed false belief that conflicts with reality.", and an example of that would be (for example) if someone believed that their behaviour, thoughts and emotions were being controlled by the government or aliens. THAT is a delusion.

"Soap isn't dead uwu" is not. by using the word "delusion" colloquially and by using "delulu", you are minimising and misusing a term used solely meant for usage within the mental health field. it's not that hard to say "I have the opinion that-" or "I think that-", because what you're experiencing isn't a delusion. it's an opinion.

Secondly: "psychopath/sociopath".

"psychopath" and "sociopath" are widely misused and derogatory terms used often towards people with ASPD to portray them as violent, evil, etc. and within the cod fandom is often used as a derogatory term for villains like Makarov and Shepherd and Graves.

the terms themselves are wildly outdated and no longer used within the mental health field due to their derogatory and untrue definitions; "psychopath" and "sociopath" can ONLY be used by people with ASPD and other such disorders, otherwise, it does count as a slur.

if you cannot reclaim it, you cannot use it.

otherwise, you're only pushing and furthering stigmatisation and stereotypes that render it HARDER for people to seek help and support for their mental health.

Third: "schizo".

"schizo" is a fucking slur. end of. it is a slur against people with schizospec disorders. it's a slur, stop using it.

it's not cute and it isn't funny; the word is a slur, and if you cannot reclaim it then why are you using it if not to treat schizospec people as a fucking joke?

why is our mental health a joke to you when you would kick off if someone did the same to anxiety, or depression?

why is it okay to treat one disorder as a joke, why is it okay to treat schizospec people as if we're second class citizens?

Fourth: "psycho".

the same as above, "psycho" is a fucking slur. stop using it.

the word has a long, long history of being used in a derogatory, offensive and bigoted manner in order to portray someone as being violent, evil or otherwise terrible - "he's such a psycho!", "she's acting psycho!" - and yet, the cod fandom throws it around as if it means nothing despite the fact that one quick look will show that "psycho" is a slur and is as bad as calling someone a "faggot" as a slur.

Fifth: the treatment of Nikto

in recent weeks, Nikto has become sort of the "new" König - he's an object of desire and attraction, which... Sure, whatever.

but Nikto canonically has dissociative identity disorder, a mental health issue that is largely misunderstood and mistreated massively.

the fandom treats Nikto two ways: either his mental illness boils down to "uwu soft baby" disease, or it doesn't exist at all.

that is NOT how dissociative identity disorder works; by treating Nikto as if he's some completely innocent, infantilised, glamourised depiction of dissociative identity disorder, you are further perpetuating that it is NOT a serious disorder and it is NOT something to take seriously.

furthermore, by acting as if his mental health disorder doesn't exist AT ALL, you are also furthering that a character CANNOT be desirable, loved and attractive if he has any kind of mental health disorder.

how would you like it if someone treated anxiety or depression that way?

how would you feel if someone erased depression to make you an object of desire, instead of treating it with respect and decency?

it's not nice, is it?

so why do it at all?

conclusion

the cod fandom has a massive, massive issue with saneism and ableism, and it needs to stop because all you're doing is being shitty and bigoted towards marginalised people to the point where even something that's supposed to be FUN can't even be that anymore because people with these disorders have to CONSTANTLY be on guard and CONSTANTLY have to deal with stigmatisation and demonisation to the point where no one can be trusted outside of ourselves.

so stop it, have some fucking courtesy for your fellow man and have some respect and decency for once in your lives.

yes, you can reblog, but don't fucking derail.

[red-velvetrevolver]

drabble on the small acts the 141 likes to do with you

nsfw warning, gn!reader, small font

Price likes to have you close, on his lap, on his boots, on his back, so long as he can feel you squirming under his ministration, hands teasingly trailing along your sensitive skin, chuckling breathlessly when you whines and demand him to do anything

"always so eager to please me"

His favorite is having you sitting on his lap with you facing him, flexing his thigh and feeling you tighten your muscles around him, if he's generous enough, he might even pull your hips along, or slip his hand between your thighs, guiding you as you pant, but he much rather watch you use him to come

He likes to give you a small moment of control, watching your hands grabbing anything of his, pestering kisses and marks all over him, hearing you whine and stare at him with those pleading eyes, before he takes over and remind you why he's the one that has the authority, even in the bedroom

"My turn now, hm?"

Ghost likes to make you feel small under him, sprinkle in with a lil bit of power imbalance if you will, towering or looming over you, big hands palming over your chest and tummy, squeezing it softly as he huffs

"come 'ere"

every one of his touches feels possessive, like there is a strong sense of need and protectiveness that leaves a hot trail on your skin.

His favorite is making out with you, teeth clashing, lips pulling, hungry with want, and before you know it, he'll grab you by the hips or anywhere convenient, pulling you off the ground as he continue the kiss, smiling into it as he watch you scramble to hold onto him to have some semblance of balance

If you were on his lap, he likes to lean into the kiss, tipping you on your back

bit

by

bit

until you feel like you were going to fall off, but that'll never happen on his watch, his hand always on your back, the other on your leg, locking you with him.

He likes seeing that lil jolt of panic running through your eyes, knowing how much you'll depend on him.

"easy there, pup, I got you"

Soap likes to have his hands on you, everywhere and anywhere, on your neck, on your arms, on your back, on your belly, on your thighs, if any of your skin is exposed best believed he's putting his hand on you.

He likes seeing you so pliable and soft under him, his to touch, his to take.

He's greedy about it and he doesn't hide it, it comes in growls and huffs as his hands dig into those meaty thighs of yours.

"I need you"

He's insatiable, not only needing to feel you under him, he wants everyone else to know just who you belong to, biting and nibbling away on your skin, his mind chanting "mine, mine, mine" as he spend hours littering your skin with bite marks and hickies.

His favorite is leaving them on the back of your neck, your collarbone and your inner thigh, grinning side to side as you complains about it.

Gaz likes getting spoil by you, coming home and nuzzling into your neck, slumping his weight on you as he smiles lazily. He enjoys it when you bring him close, shutting off his mind by your soft touches and reasssurance.

He lives for the praises, and love pulling it from you as he pounds you hard from behind, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you, a sense of pride washing over him as he smiles oh so innocently.

"yeah? you like it when I do this? no one makes you feel the same way as I do, isn't it? come on, say it, lemme hear you say it baby"

His favorite is hearing you mumble strings of incoherent babbles, ranging from "yes" "please" "harder" "faster" and more, because that's all he ever wanted, to make you feel good.

[red-velvetrevolver]

If you are going to write triggering shit then you need to TAG it! The tags are there for a reason.

I do not want to see my favorite comfort characters written as disgusting degenerates.

“We shouldn’t shame people for what they write, it’s fiction! They write to cope with their trauma!”

Ok cool but what about my trauma? Is mine not important? These are serious topics and many of us are here to escape them and y’all are bringing them here like it’s nothing. You can write all you want but TAG. YOUR. SHIT!

[red-velvetrevolver]

I really think that it’s important to remember @staff are trying to phase out custom blogs! Literally the most fun and interesting part of Tumblr and a very awesome selling point of Tumblr’s entire model.

That’s part of their whole ‘Tumblr’s not easy to use’ bullshit. They’ve been working at it for months now, you can’t even access someone’s custom blog from mobile anymore and like not even on the mobile website.

So yeah that theme and those pages you worked so hard to make unique and interesting? The webcomic hosted on Tumblr in such a way that it basically has it’s own website? The ARCHIVE of your blog that you can pretty much only access from a button on your custom blog? It’ll all go down the gutter if we don’t yell until our voices go hoarse.

This is a BLOGGING website the point of the website is THE BLOGS! I didn’t work hard to maintain my blog and keep the pages on it looking pretty for some hack at RND to decide it needs to go to make way for their ‘definitely not-Twitter’ ideal website. I swear to god the loss of our custom blogs will be the exact last straw for me and I WILL leave.

[red-velvetrevolver]

⚠️ this blog does not support works created by AI software ⚠️

[red-velvetrevolver]

Sopranos Sunday: A Call To Action

Are you feeling morose about the end of HBO’s Succession? Does the current state of television, vaguely defined by binging shows in a week and mostly forgetting them, make you sad? Have you always wanted to watch The Sopranos, considered by many to be the greatest show of all time, but you just haven’t gotten around to it? Well, I’m like you, and I have an idea for you, inspired by this tweet I saw yesterday:

This struck me as a good idea for tumblr, because it would involve many things tumblr loves, namely:

Prestige TV (See, Succession)

Serialized Narratives (See, Dracula Daily)

Mobsters (See, Goncharov)

Doing things collectively (See, Dracula Daily and Goncharov)

And commitment to the bit (See, this whole website)

So. Let’s do it. This Sunday, June 11th, let’s start a journey back to turn of the millennium New Jersey. That evening, around 8-10 PM (prestige tv timeslot) go to HBO Max or an… illicit… website, and turn on episode 1 of The Sopranos. Blog about it. Speculate about what might happen in future episodes (it’s more fun if you don’t spoil yourself). The next Sunday, watch episode 2. And so on, and so on. This will be a Commitment (The Sopranos has 86 episodes, so at a pace of one a week that’s nearly two years) but I believe in the tenacity of tumblr users. And I think we’re ready for the odd Breaking Bad memes but about The Sopranos now.

If you feel moved to join me, spread the word! Post any liveblogging etc in the “sopranos sunday” tag! And if you’ve already seen the show, maybe this would be a good time to rewatch? Anyway, have fun! I hope to see you all this Sunday night!

[red-velvetrevolver]

So, could you do task force 141 + König and whomever you’d like, how they would react to you kissing their cheeks as a dare or something? Idk my brain just thought of this

I love this it’s so cute 😭❤️

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

He short circuits honestly

He’s sitting there stuck in place, processing what happened

In the short second your lips made contact with the fabric of his mask, everything in his brain went silent

All the chaos, all the worries, all the voices, everything went silent like coming into the eye of a hurricane, there was peace for a moment

On the outside though? He’s deadpanned 😶

You almost feel like you’re in trouble but then he finally blinks and looks at you, you couldn’t detect any anger or resentment so you beamed at him and went about your merry way

As he’s watching you walk away, that kiss is all he’s thinking about. He’s wondering what it would’ve felt like if he didn’t have the stupid mask on, how soft your lips must be, if it was a little wet or not, he knows the feeling of your lips would be seared there for the rest of his life

He’s thinking about that moment of quiet, that moment of peace, and he’s suddenly questioning himself, almost talking himself up to give it a try, to pursue that peace that you gave him, that peace that he could have with you

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

Don’t think you’re getting away lightly

As soon as your lips made contact with his cheek, his face went red hot and his eyes were glimmering

He looked up at you with a huge grin going from ear to ear

“What’s that for?” He laughed, when you shrugged with a cheeky smile, he melted,

“Dare you to do it again.” He winked,

You stepped in to meet his challenge but before you could even get close, he kissed your cheek instead

Now it’s your turn to be a blushing mess, and Johnny finds that the look suits you quite well

John Price:

He’s been hearing about the date floating around for a while now and brushed it off

At least until you came into his office under the guise of turning in paperwork, when he heard stifled laughter coming from the hallway

You handed him your papers and leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek, your lips were so soft as they made contact with his skin, it sent lightning up his spine

He looked at you with disapproval and you felt the cold sweat bead on your forehead

He motions for you to come in close and you do as you’re told, leaning in, bent at the waist, waiting for him to speak. His face was close to your ear, the hairs on his cheek tickling your skin as he leaned in,

“Next time you feel like doing that, don’t hide behind a dare, love.” He sat back with a knowing glint in his eyes, “That’ll be all, sergeant.”

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

Oof sweetheart, he already knows about the dare that’s been circulating on base, he’s been waiting

And then he sees you walking towards him like the cat that got the cream

He already knows and he’s a little smug about it smh

What isn’t prepared for is how his brain fires on all cylinders the moment your lips pressed against his cheek

It was like a jolt of electricity shot straight through him, like something in him came alive

He’s not one to be rendered speechless too often but he’s dumbstruck

He had a plan of pulling you back in so he could return the kiss but he was stuck in place, slack-jawed with his hand slowly coming to rest on the spot you kissed

He’ll get you back eventually, right now he just needs to process what just happened

König:

Error 404. König not found

He appreciated that you didn’t lift his hood so you could kiss him but in that moment he wished it wasn’t there

He felt the warmth of your skin through the fabric and he mourned not feeling the soft skin of your lips against his cheek

It felt like going outside and feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin, breathing the fresh spring air and sitting on a blanket in the park

He started imagining you there, sitting in the park among the flowers, your eyes closed in bliss as you take in the warmth of the sun and breathing the freshness of the air

He wasn’t on an army base in god knows where, he was sitting there in that park with you, mesmerized by your smile, holding your hand in his

He was snapped back to reality when you waved your hand in his face, apologies pouring from your lips

He can barely process the words as he leans in and repeats the action, pressing his clothed lips against your cheek

He can’t help the satisfaction when he sees you short circuiting as much as he was

[red-velvetrevolver]

Honestly just thinking about fucking any of the COD men deep missionary.

Chest to chest with them pounding you, wrapping your arms around them and clawing at their neck and back as they ruin you, the louder you moan the harder they fuck. Having them hold you by the sides of your head as they hammer their hips into yours, coaxing you to cum for them. Nose to nose. Having your legs wrapped around their waist, not wanting to let go but the harder they fuck, the harder it is to keep your legs around them. I can just imagine wrapping your arms around each other so tight and feeling their warm breath in the crook of your neck and on your face as they start to pant, getting closer to their highs. And how tight they’ll squeeze you into their chest when they do finally cum, growling and groaning all while holding onto you so tight.

I’m down bad y’all.

[red-velvetrevolver]

A/n: Yessss more Cal, I love him.

Five years….five long years since you’ve seen your favorite red headed Jedi.

You missed Cal, missed his jokes, his smile. The poncho you managed to swipe before you two went your separate ways was started to lose his scent though you couldn’t help but cringed at that thought.

“God I feel like a creep.”

Shaking your head you tugged at the poncho, your head snapping to Mirrian. You weren’t quite sure you should trust the woman’s smile. “Is something wrong?”

Shrugging her shoulders she then turned her back to you. “Cere wants to see you.”

Dropping your shoulders, you bit back a groan. “I was hoping to take a nap.”

“Trust me, you’ll want to be awake for this.”

Shaking your head you tried to wonder what the hell that meant then again you could never tell with Mirrian.

Rolling your shoulders you glanced around the room spotting Cere talking to some guy you didn’t know but your heart nearly stopped seeing who was talking to Greez.

“Cal?”

Hearing his name, Cal’s eyes went wide for a moment before he started to rush towards you and soon you were being lifted off the ground, his arms wrapped tightly around you in for a crushing embrace. “I can’t believe you’re here.” He whispered in your ear.

He was trembling as he held you, he thought he would never see you again. He did his best to look you up but you just vanished and he was to scared to ask the others.

Cal honestly thought you would hate him, maybe you did hate him. Should he even be hugging you?Wincing he then let you down as he stepped back rubbing his neck. “Sorry…..I uh got excited.”

BD-1’s beeps seeming to agree as the little robot jumped at your feet. Shaking your head you laughed for a moment stepping close. “I see you haven’t changed Cal” titling your head you then placed your hand on his cheek, him leaning into your palm.

“Well not all of you are the same, I like the beard and the hair is a nice touch.” You teased.

Letting out the breath he was holding in Cal returned your smile though it turned to confusion once it finally hit him. You were wearing his poncho, one he thought he lost. “Is that…Is that my poncho?”

Feeling warmth creep up your neck you adverted your eyes. “Maybe…it’s been helping me….I can give it-”

Shaking his head, Cal quickly grabbed hold of your hands. “You don’t…You don’t need to give it back, I want you to keep it…it looks good on you.”

It was cute, seeing the red envelope the man’s cheeks though you did see his eyes darken. You’re all to familiar with that look.

Biting your lip you took a step closer, your chest needy touching his. “Can I show you the Archives?”

“I’d like that.”

Grabbing Cal’s hand, you tugged the man towards one of the rooms ignoring Greez shouting at you both.

“Where the hell are they going?! Don’t we-.”

Mirrian hummed Placing her hand on the pilots shoulder, she gave him a smile only glancing to where you two walked off, happy to see her two close friends finally reunited again. “Let them be, they’ll be fine and they’ll be much happier when they return.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean.”

Cere sighed as het shoulder’s slumped. “I just pray they stay far away from our work.”

“Is anyone gonna clue me in on what you two are talkin-.” Seeing the look on Cere and Mirrian’s face Greez’s eyes went wide before he let out a laugh, BD-1 jumping on Mirrian’s shoulder. “Well as long as it’s ain’t the Mantis then I’m happy.”

Though it was Mirrian’s turn to let out a bark of laughter.

“Why are you laughing, why is she laughing Cere.”

Cere shrugged turning away. “I am not getting in on this, let me know when they’ve returned.”

“I just find it funny that you think they haven’t fucked on the ship.”

“Wait! What! You must be lyin! Come on Mirrian! Tell me you’re lyin? Stop walking away Mirrian.”

[red-velvetrevolver]

The Midas Touch

Gif credit to @collinnmckinley

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

This little fic is an extension of a Soap headcanon I did recently about Soap being sensitive to touch. Never judge a book by its cover. And if you ever want to get into Johnny's, it's easy. Touch him.

Warnings: Just a little bit of angst amongst an absolute heep of fluff. And ALL the feels!

Word Count 2.8k

If there were a more eloquent word to describe the afternoon before you, it was in a foreign tongue. Nestled into the cushions of your couch and surrounded by pillows and blankets, it was nothing short of blissful perfection. 

The soft ticking of the clock in the foreground like a rhythmic heartbeat of the day, accompanied by the echoing calls of birds outside your window, it combined into a soothing scene of comfort and tranquility. Even the dull sounds of the television seemed to add an extra layer of soft buffering to the world around you. 

It was all in the background as your focus was on the book in your hands; a twisted tale of romance and espionage that pulled at your heartstrings and made your body ache for more. Lost within the lines of dialogue your mind pushed out nearly all distractions as your mind flooded with imagery the endless words created. All except one.

That one distraction was him. Johnny. Soap. To be more specific it was his breathing. The longer you listened the more distinctive it became. Every inhale was labored. Every exhale drawn out to its last molecule, expelling whatever burrowing demon he had brought back from his last mission. He had barely said a word since coming home overnight, and even as he sat motionless next to you, his body language spoke volumes. 

Without taking your eyes off the pages, your hand instinctually traveled to the back of his neck, the sudden connection causing a hitch in his breath. Cupping your hand into the crook of his neck, your fingers danced across his flesh as he pulled his head back, begging for more connection. Your eyes withdrew from the pages and turned towards him as the tips of your fingers felt the tension beneath them almost immediately. 

“Jesus, Soap. You’re stiff as a board.” Your abundantly honest quip hit a silent nerve within him. 

“Aye. Sorry, hen. Jus’ tired. Las’ one did me in, yeah.”

Soap’s voice was quiet, somber, and riddled with silent regret wrapped within his usual jovial disposition. He slowly turned his head to face you. His distinctive bright blue eyes were dim, faded with a grayish hue encroaching from the softened edges. And you could see within the visible lines of his face he was broken. 

This had become your routine. Soap would leave you on a mission whole and come back in fragmented mental pieces of a Johnny you almost didn’t recognize. Some more so than others. This time was no different. He could never tell you the details of his deployments, and you preferred it that way. The less you knew the better, you had told him over and over again. You were his lover, and you knew your obligation to him through and through. Solace.

Softly you caressed the hairline on the back of his skull with your thumb, while simultaneously adding more pressure to the fingers along the length of his neck. A light squeeze to his flesh was all it took for a soft moan to escape his lips. 

His eyelids fluttered closed as he melded into the cusp of your hand, and with every breath you began to feel his muscles loosen beneath your delicate touch. There was progress here, but more needed to be done. 

Through years of deployments and countless trial and error endeavors, you had found the sequential breakthrough to get to Johnny within the reinforced walls that was ‘Soap in the field’. It took time, patience, and the delicate workings of your skilled hands to untether him from within the tight bindings of his tormented mind. 

Like the intricate workings of a corset, you began with the silken thread tied at the base of his skull; light pressure of your fingertips descending into the crook of his neck, a soft ripple of release flowed within their wake as your hands traversed their way up along the same path. The perpetual ebb and flow permeated beneath his taut skin and within a matter of moments the barriers of Soap began to crumble, and within their darkened crevices the bright light of Johnny slowly began to bleed through.

“Fuckin hell, bonnie.” His weathered voice was barely above a whisper.

“C’mon Soap. You know the drill.”

At the trailing of your words you released him from your soothing embrace, moving to face him within the corner of the couch and relaxing into an Indian sitting position. A whispered moan escaped his lips at the sudden detachment of your fingers, the soft sound reverberated within your chest and lit the fiery need to give him the relief he so desperately craved. Placing one of the many pillows that surrounded you into the gap between your legs you gave it a light tap before beckoning him to lay and relax beneath you. 

“C’mon now. Get comfy.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

There it was; your first tendril of Johnny had made its way through the concrete fortress. Those two words were the safety net to bring him back into the light and send Soap into the realm of protected hibernation. As he twisted his tophalf to face away and shuffle back, your hand shot up to quickly halt him in his progression.

“Wait, Soap. Shirt. Take it off.”

“What?” He asked in a baffled tone. 

“Just take your damn shirt off, Soap.” You were breaking from the usual narrative, and Soap was all but lost in your divergent undertaking.

As he turned his head you were met with a perplexed look with a questioning furrowed brow. You reciprocated with a tilt of your head and deliberate ‘go on’ gesture of your hand. Being the good soldier he was he followed your order without question, lifting his shirt over the crest of his head in one fluid motion. 

“What’ya got in mind, hen?”

“The usual, Soap. Just changing it up a bit. Now c’mon.” 

“Okay, okay. Donnae got t’be so bossy, hen.”

“Shut it. And toss me that blanket by your feet.” 

You were blunt, yet held an undertone of tenderness embedded within your words. It was an elegantly choreographed repartee that you used to counteract Soap’s use of humor as a smokescreen. There was a silent tremble in his skin as he passed the blanket and immediately you opened it up, laying it upon him as he shifted back towards you.

As his body descended into the softness of the couch, your hands moved to cradle the curvature of his neck and gracefully guided his head down into the plushness of the pillow. He tilted his chin slightly upward to meet your gaze, his crested head divoting deeper into the fabric of the pillow. And those cerulean orbs flashed a momentary brightness as more of Soap dissipated into the foreground of his mind.

“Hiya, bonnie.” 

“Hey there, Johnny.”

The bindings had come undone. The tight grip of Soap released. He laid before you open and exposed, a vulnerability you had earned and would never take for granted. 

“Close your eyes, Johnny. Just relax for me.” 

As much as you hated to part with his baby blues, you knew he had to close off certain senses to remain open to you. Touch was paramount to Johnny; as important as it was for him to his partner, it was just as influential to his own well-being. 

At the closing of his eyes he shifted himself further into the comfort of the couch, leveling his shoulders onto the length of your calves. Once you felt him begin to relax and deepen into your grasp your fingers gracefully began to outstretch over the circumference of his neck.

“You good, Johnny?”

“Aye.”

“Good. Now, focus on your breathing.”

You watched as his chest rose, he held the breath deep within his lungs before slowly expelling it through his slightly parted lips. It was a cleansing breath, you could feel it within the tips of your fingers as his skin loosened and muscles began to unwind beneath the veil of his flesh. Focusing on where you had left off, you applied light pressure to the back of his skull and in a languid motion moved up and down the curvature of his neck. 

Each pass up mirrored his inhalation. As he held the air within his chest you pressed firmly into his skin, gradually making slow concentric circular movements that melted away the tension beneath your fingertips. At the first sign of his exhalation you released the pressure and gracefully flowed down and followed your previous upward path. 

Like the constant rhythmic motion of the tide you worked out the vice-like grip of his muscles along his upper spine. Each steady pass removing layers upon layers of war-torn cemented sediment, and as the tenseness within him eroded your grip along his skin slowly began to relax.

“That’s it, Johnny. Loosen up for me.” You whispered, the quiet approval eliciting a soft moan from within his chest. 

Johnny’s neck was always the most difficult portion for you to work out. It was the reinforced base to the levee of his psyche. Yet within your skilled workings once there was even the slightest crack within it, he would begin to crumble within the palms of your hands. And just as expected as you chiseled your way through to his inner turbulent sea, the waves of regret and remorse seeped through before ultimately breaking into a deluge of comforting relief.

You read the waves of his release like braille underneath the pads of your fingertips, following within its wake as it traversed down into the curve of his neck before bellowing over the flesh of his broad shoulders. A cascade of goosebumps erupted over his bare skin, the change in tactile texture sending a satisfying surge of triumph coursing through your veins. 

“C’mon, Johnny. Come back to me.” You tried to quell the quiet desperation in your voice as you beckoned him, but it was of no use. 

It was nearly impossible not to react to Johnny’s progressive mitigation. The energy of the room began to shift, the very air itself lifted like a welcoming breeze following a summer rainstorm. 

Fresh. Clean. Rejuvenated.

Yet still held the sparks of electrical charge within its flowing currents of air.

You understood the transition, comprehended its meaning through years of study with him. This was his breakthrough. Figuratively and literally you forced your way into him, bending over as you delved your hands beneath the weight of his shoulders towards the muscular curve of his mid spine. Clenching your fingers your knuckles pressed into his flesh and with measured tenderness followed its path back up towards his shoulders. 

“Fuuckin hell, bonnie” He hissed through clenched teeth, turning his head towards you. His forehead becoming flush with the flesh of your right cheek, the tips of his mohawk caressing the soft skin of the back of your neck. 

You remained in your crouched position, cradling his head within the nook of your shoulder. Words were meaningless to you now. You spoke to him through the intimate connection of your combined skins. Coaxing. Pleading. Liberating.

As the tight coil within him began to unwind, your fists slowly relaxed. Opening and spreading over the curves of his supple flesh. The heat within them radiating, melting, smoothing out the muscular rigidity that densely wrapped around him. You studied him, watched for those tell tale signs to Soap’s restful disintegration. 

Your eyes paid close attention to the movements of his chest. The soft tremble within its descent, the silent quiver wrapped around his audible exhale. And as your focus shifted upward, you recognized the softening lines beginning to flow across his face. Clenched eyelids relaxing, jaw loosening from its tightly hinged junction, and a soft red hue forming within the apple of his cheeks.

This was your cue. The last hurdle towards Johnny’s final threshold.

“Come on, Johnny. Up ya get.” 

You moved quickly to resting on your knees as he reared himself into a sitting position. An audible moan of relief rumbled within him, followed by disdain at the loss of your delicate touch. Moving forward you cradled his shoulders within the realm of your chest, letting his head once more softly connect with yours as your hands traced down his spine to rest within the small of his back. 

As your fingers lightly caressed at the sensitive flesh, he turned his head and began to nudge his forehead into the flat of your temple. His soft lips grazed over the curve of your cheek, warm air quivering down your neck as he gently coaxed you to face him. 

He was searching. Desperately. He craved that final connection; to willingly fall apart within your arms and come undone to the soothing consolation of your welcoming lips.

“Bonnie.”

“I got ya, Johnny. Come back to me.” The tremor in his voice made your heart ache, and you reciprocated it with a loving verbal embrace. 

While his neck and shoulders were his levees that you so exquisitely chiseled away at, your nimble fingers on his lower back were the swinging wrecking ball that would ultimately set him free. And as they worked their final magic within the depths of his flesh, your lips at last touched his for the first time in months. 

“Open your eyes, Johnny.”

Solace. Deliverance within the blaze of a cerulean flame. 

Your hands immediately flew to cup the curves of his jaw, supporting him as his arms wrapped tightly around your midsection. The connection of your lips was nothing short of explosive. A supernova of passionate energy flowed between you as your bodies molded together. 

You broke the kiss only to scrutinize his face, validating that your subsequent labor had been accomplished.

The exultant smile that danced across your face was thankfully returned within the brightness of his eyes. Their color unmatched and without explanation in a world of need and understanding. 

“Hiya, Johnny.” 

He didn’t answer immediately, choosing to take in the details of your face as though he hadn’t seen it within a milenia.

“How ya do it, bonnie? How ya get me outta my own head like that?” The tremble in his voice had all but disappeared. He was calm. Confident. Steadfast.  

“You were lost, Johnny. Sometimes you gotta be lost if you wanna be found.” Your quiet response brought a tranquil smile to his face, his eyes continuing to soften as they gazed upon you.

“Aye. And tha’ Midas touch a yers. Donnae think I’ll ever get tired a that.”

You couldn’t restrain the chuckle that left your chest. Never had anyone ever referred to your touch in such a manner.

“Midas touch, eh? How long til I turn you to gold, huh?” You were confident enough in him to begin your usual banter. Soap had all but disappeared into the nether regions of his mind, and your Johnny had returned with full force. 

“Bonnie, in yer hands I’ll turn hard as a diamond.” His playful quip went straight to the core of your lower belly. You knew he needed time, he could be playful in mind but his body required more to regain its usual strength. 

“We’ll test that out later, Johnny. C’mere.” 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him down as you laid back into your cushioned palace. He buried his face into the valley of your chest, and never one to miss an impromptu moment he had to give his approval to the comfort they always granted.  

“Steamin Jesus, bonnie. Even th’finest Glasgowian pillows can’t compare ta this”

“Shut up, Johnny.”

His arms wrapped around you once more, his body relaxing against the radiating heat of your own. Your hands moved to the crested hawk atop his scalp and gracefully began to comb through its thickened mane. A quiet rumble of relaxation bellowed within his chest, signaling the last remnant being expelled from your freeing conquest. 

Effortlessly he closed his eyes and you slowly began to focus on the dull sounds that echoed around you; the rhythmic ticking of the clock, the quiet song of the birds outside, even the soft hum of the television was a welcoming reprieve. They all began to move into the background as your mind tried to recall the book you held in your hands earlier. But you were distracted once more by him. Johnny. Your Johnny. More specifically it was his breathing. Soft. Measured. Peaceful. You decided the book could stay lost for now, you had found your new twisted romance. And it was unlike anything you could find at any bookstore. It was your own.

 

@deadbranch

@sofasoap

@punishmepunisher

@d3athtr4psworld

[red-velvetrevolver]

This is what I’m fucking talking about… If this post had said “depression” instead of schizophrenia I’m positive this person wouldn’t have perceived it as threatening. Psychotic people are not dangerous. Being around psychotic people is not a threat to your safety. This is why we face so much mistreatment by medical professionals and social alienation. Because people see us as an inherent threat, you people seriously have to fucking read a book. What an absolutely pointless and rude thing to add to a post about awareness for a severe disorder.

[red-velvetrevolver]

I Just Think You're Pretty

(The Knight - Tarhos Kovács x Gender Neutral Reader)

•─────────✦❀✦─────────•

A little something inspired by @bisexualkylecrane's lovely artwork of Tarhos (and Vittorio)! The title isn't the best, but it works! Thanks for allowing me to describe him based on your design! <33 Link to their art: here!

Also includes my little hc that his eyes are glowy, hehe.

•─────────✦❀✦─────────•

The Entity’s bell tolled, her otherworldly presence descending to claim yet another fragment as your fellow teammate rose to the sky in front of you. You sucked in a breath, muttering a haste apology as their body disappeared between the mangled claws of black and orange. The Entity gave an eerie hum of gratification, pleased that yet another sacrifice was fed to her. Her presence soon disappeared, the sky returning to its murky greenish-black as silence fell upon the realm. You remained glued to your spot, your eyes transfixed on the sky until the thud of the hook hitting the ground brought you back to your senses. Blinking, you looked around, your expression turning apologetic as you backed away from the hook.

With a heavy breath, you inhaled, your mind running rampant with any possible excuse that could save you from the arguments and grudges to come once you returned to the campfire. Exhaling, you shook your head, placing the thoughts to the side as you walked towards the main building. Your shoes trudged through the dead soil as the events from earlier replayed in your mind. The Entity was kind enough to throw you in a trial against the Knight; the two of you agreed to, not necessarily break the rules of the “game,” but assisting the killer and betraying your allies was considered “illegal” in the so-called survivor handbook. Intrigued, the vile deity sent you to the Decimated Borgo, a purposeful coincidence. The two of you formed a plan: you, lead him to his prey, and he, sacrifices everyone and allows you to remain, allowing for you both to bask in each other's company without the disturbance of the survivors, killers, or even the Entity herself. It sounded silly, hearing your words and his replay in your head. Foolish even, to betray the people you’ve formed bonds with during your eternal stay here, just to chase after the attention of the one you felt bonded with more. You could have sworn the Entity snickered in your ear, the wind whispering mockingly as you reached the building. 

Halting, you looked around for the man of the hour, your eyes scanning the dead area as you searched for him. Nothing. With a sigh, you leaned lazily against the building’s battered structure as you admired the depressing yet somehow captivating realm.

“I didn’t betray my friends for you to leave me here waiting alone,” you called out. When no reply came, you sighed again before moving to seat yourself on the ground. “Idiot.” 

“I don’t take well to being insulted,” came a voice some minutes later. You looked up to see the Knight standing tall a short distance before you, his sword held lazily in his hands as he peered down at you.

“And I don’t take well to hosts having their guests sit here on their ass and wait. Be considerate.”

“I, was considerate enough to let you live,” he countered.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Whatever.”

Tarhos hummed in amusement as he stalked closer. He planted his sword in the dirt, his hands moving to rest on the guard as he stood there. You scoffed again in an attempt to hide your smile.

“What the hell are you, a statue on display? Sit your butt down!” You patted the space beside you with a grin.

It was Tarhos’ turn to scoff now, his voice low and raspy as he muttered something. Stepping away from his sword, it took painfully long for him to sit beside you with all that armor, but he was able to succeed. You snickered and Tarhos turned to stare at you, his masked face meant to look intimidating, but it resulted in you laughing more.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said plainly, looking away to stare elsewhere. 

“You’re silly!”

Tarhos said nothing more as he remained unmoving. The only indication that he was still there was his low, relaxed breaths, his chest subtly rising and falling through the thick armor. Your smile faltered as you turned to look in the direction he was staring, gazing out into the far distance as you squinted at the forever-burning windmills and houses. Tarhos had mentioned something about “awe” before, describing how he felt some sort of attachment or connection to such grim sights. You never understood what he meant—nor did you try to understand, in all honesty—but now, you assumed the condition of his realm calmed him. It was strange, he was strange, but perhaps it was the only option of peace left for him… 

You moved your hand, searching around until you felt his. You gave a light squeeze, uncaring for the gauntlets as you rested your hand on top of his. Tarhos turned to face you, his peculiar helm dipping down to look at your hand before he grunted. A grunt of annoyance or approval, you couldn’t tell, but he didn’t snatch his hand away or brush yours off. You smiled, giving another squeeze.

“What’s bothering you, Sir Knight?”

Tarhos looked away without saying a word. You hummed, expecting this. After a few moments, he responded, his voice lower than usual.

“…Nothing to worry about.”

“I shall worry, thank you very much. Surely you did not agree to see me just to doom and gloom.” He huffed, a quiet snort escaping him as he choose not to respond again.

Mildly irritated, you sighed and released your hold on his hand. Turning, you crawled into his lap, avoiding the spikey bits of his armor as you got yourself comfortable. Tarhos made no effort to stop you, his arms remaining limp at his sides as he kept completely still. Soon enough, you were comfortable, your legs wrapped around his waist as your hands rested on his pauldrons. You sat patiently, waiting for any sort of reaction, any fidget of discomfort, any irked groan or angered growl. Nothing. Just your breaths and his syncing into a pleasant melody. Puzzled, yet remaining confident, your hands rose to touch his helm, your fingers gently brushing at the cold metal. You blinked, your eyes straining to search for any indication of emotion through the eye holes, but his locks of hair blocked your view. Sucking in a shaky breath, you closed your eyes, your hands moving as you slowly removed the helm. 

It was heavy in your hands, cold and slightly icky due to the grime. You placed it to the side then scooted closer in Tarhos’ lap, your hands searching for his face. Once your fingertips felt skin—soft, warm, and mildly hairy—did your eyes flutter open, blinking as your eyes readjusted to the dim lighting. The sight before you was enough to make you gasp dramatically, your jaw hanging open slightly as your eyes widened in pure astonishment. A string of stutters and incoherent noises escaped your lips as you admired the face before you. His face.

He was far different from the version you imagined, far more beautiful than the image conjured in your head you created on a whim. Fair skin and a nicely defined jawline; the thickest of eyebrows with the right side being slitted, which was quite attractive. His hair now free from his helm’s prison flowed through the gentle breeze, his long, messy locks a curly dark brown as you moved to touch them. They were slightly greasy, dirtied from all the blood and dirt that made themselves comfortable there, but you weren’t disgusted in the slightest, far too awestruck as you admired the rest of his features. Your fingers moved to trace the scars lining the side of his face, drawing invisible patterns along the slightly bruised skin. ‘Obtained from a battle or two,’ you thought.

Tarhos eyes followed your every movement, his breaths steady as he remained calm. He wasn’t angered, wasn’t shocked; to be completely honest, he enjoyed this. Never did he plan to reveal himself to you, as he found no purpose in doing so. But, given your stubborn and overly curious nature, he expected this to happen. Your fingers stopped moving, your eyes moving to stare into his. They were ghostly, much like his power; a striking green glow coloring the sclera with a darker green as his pupil. They were dangerously pretty, such a venomous gaze that glowed softly as his pupils moved to stare at you. He blinked at you, his long eyelashes fluttering. You giggled at this and he gave the faintest of smiles in return. Your eyes trailed down to his lips, finally noticing his beard and the scar slicing through. It was jagged and partially open, slightly revealing his gums and teeth. Intrigued, you moved your thumb to gently touch the scar, tracing another set of invisible patterns. Tarhos hummed, his voice rumbling as it caused a light vibration in your hand. You looked up to stare at his eyes, noticing the evident playfulness in his gaze. Mildly embarrassed, a light tint dusted your cheeks as you pulled your hand away.

“Sorry,” you whispered, adverting your gaze. You twisted around, hoping to exit his lap, but Tarhos hands moved to hold your hips securely in place. 

“No, no. This is… quite nice.”

“O-Oh, um. Still, I’m very sorry for uh, y’know, doing this without permission and all… hah.”

Your cheeks were darkening now, butterflies forming in your stomach as you nibbled at your lip nervously. Tarhos gave a low chuckle as he brought you closer in his embrace, his clawed thumb lazily creating circles on your hip. You inhaled sharply, closing your eyes shut to avoid his mischievous glowing gaze.

“I just think you’re pretty,” you mumbled, ignoring his touch. “T-That’s it.”

“Hmm… I thank you for your compliment.”

“Y-Yeah… Um, anyways, we should probably start heading out soon. Don’t want the um, the Entity to start getting impatient and bored now.”

Tarhos noticed your obvious attempt to switch topics; it was poor, but he congratulated you for your effort regardless. Huffing, he lifted you in his arms and stood, adjusting you in his grip as he carried you bridal style. You squeaked, searching for anything to hold on to as your arms wrapped around his neck and clutched his pauldrons. You stared up at him with a confused expression, and he looked down at you with another faint smile. 

“I can walk on my—”

“Hush. Let’s find the hatch as you insisted, _______.”

[red-velvetrevolver]

The Blues Brothers (1980)

[red-velvetrevolver]