#‘making these soaps seems so impossible but made possible like you’

[flatulily]

Rayla gushing over the funny soaps felt familiar. I just realized it parallels Callum being excited over the flowers in S3 (‘:

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Rough Sex w/ MW2

Warnings: 18+, Heavy Smut, Rough Sex, Restraining, Stomach Bulging, Unprotected Sex, Sexual Punishment, Use of a Strap-On, Implied Blow Job, Possessive Sex, Dehumanisation, Slut Shaming, Reader Blaming, Hair Pulling, Slight Dumbification, Blood, Dirty Talk, Profanity, Pet Names, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Ghost

“Just a stupid little whore, aren’t ya,” Simon growled as he pounded you from behind, fingers gripping your hips so tightly that phantom bruises descended upon your skin. The slickness of your abused hole did little to numb the pain of Simon’s rapid, unrelenting pace, of his engorged tip slipping deeper and deeper inside you, plugging you, making any form of escape from your impending unravelment impossible.

You could feel his cock, hot, heavy and ravenous, pulsating inside you, bringing you to the edge of electric euphoria with every thrust. 

“Good for nothin’ except takin’ my cock.” He spat, his hand sliding up your spine and rooting itself in your hair. He gripped at the base and pulled your head back, hissing in your ear.

“Isn’t that right, Darlin’?”

You wanted to speak. Wanted to tell him you were his, only his, but the words wouldn’t come out quick enough.

When you didn’t answer in time, he stopped. Pulled out, only the swollen tip remaining lodged inside.

Without warning, he pushed. Hard.

You’d felt full before, but this sudden influx of skin and muscle and heat was too much. It knocked the air out of you, made you cry out as Simon sank balls-deep inside you, impaling your shuttering, wanting body on his dick. He grunted, his grip on your hair tightening.

“That’s it,” he said as you whimpered, cried out. “Take it — take it like the slag you are.”

König

“You wanted this – you wanted me to take you. Fucking attention whore,”

König’s voice reached depths you didn’t think possible as he bounced you on his cock, his stomach coated in your juices as he lay beneath you, thrusting up to plant as much of his member in the tight cavern of your hole as possible.

Even from where he lay, he could see the outline of himself within you. He twitched. Tried to stave off from painting your insides white for just a little longer.

You had no choice but to take it – your wrists bound behind your back with König’s belt – to take every inch of König’s cock.

He stretched you out to lengths you didn’t think possible as he pulled you down onto the base of his member, causing tears to stream down your face as he hit a sliver of you you didn’t think existed.

“God, you’re nothing without me,” he asserted, teeth gritted and restraint pushed to the very limit. “Nothing but a rag doll on the end of my dick – only made for me to use as I please.”

You knew it was true, especially with the coil within you verging on snapping, sending you over the precipice of ruin. König gave you a sly, thin grin.

“Nobody else can fuck you like this, can make you cry like this.” His grip on your waist proved he wasn’t lying, shortened nails leaving crescent indents in your skin.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

Soap

“Don’t tell me you’re cryin’ on me now, Darlin’,” Johnny said, not an ounce of sympathy or empathy in his voice. If anything, the realisation that you were just about holding on as he railed you from behind seemed to make him go faster, push harder, knocking his thick, meaty cock into you at a pace that could only be savage.

“C’mon, show me you can take it. I know you can,” he goaded — or perhaps encouraged. You couldn’t be so sure, especially as you could barely string a thought together, never mind the inclination to ask. He watched you, made dead eye contact with you through the mirror that put your undoing on display for him, his eyes piercing and ice.

At your silence, Johnny slapped your backside. Harsh. You yelped at the sting and jolted forwards, only for Johnny to wrap a hand around your throat and pull him back. His balls were flush against your backside, the tightness of your bodies together making him grunt.

“C’mon, mo ghaol — tell me how much you need this dick — show me how much you deserve it.” He squeezed your throat.

Valeria

“You were begging to be used by me — wearing those tight shorts like I wouldn’t notice.” Valeria punctuated her point with a harsh thrust, sending you banging against her desk, ribs aching, pressed against sleek wood. Everything hurt.

The strap-on she’d chosen was one she reserved only for correcting your most egregious behaviour. Apparently, this extended to your fashion choices, too.

“Trying to make my men lose focus, huh? Is that it?” The sound and sensation of your body welcoming the cruel length of her weapon made your cheeks flush and your hole clench, trying to pull it deeper, begging for punishment.

“Have I not given you enough attention? Or are you just hungry for anyone who lays eyes on you,”

You whimpered, trying to keep your head level as your girlfriend battered your insides with nothing less than animalistic fervour and rage.

“You wanna dress like a cheap whore,” she said, voice deep and husking as she lowered her lips to your ear. “Then I get to fuck you like one — my whore.”

Price

“I love you,” he panted. “I love you, I love you, I love you–”

He couldn’t stop – these last few hours with you would be all he had before he had to go on deployment again. And he was determined to make them count.

He’d stuffed himself into you, made light work of grinding your sanity down to its bare foundations as your body shook with the onset of another orgasm.

You were already so sensitive, every knock of his tip against your sensitive spot sending equal euphoria and pain through you.

“Gonna cum in you again,” he said, voice lethargic, words slurred like the blurring edges of watercolours. “Gonna get it as deep as possible. Want it still in you by the time I reach Base.”

The many loads of cum he’d already pumped into you weighed heavy in your belly, almost creating its own centre of gravity as you fought to keep your swollen stomach off the mattress. Anytime you failed, the sensitivity of your skin, the feeling of his load stagnant inside you, made you wince.

You could feel John’s cum leaking out of you as he plunged deep, deeper still, forcing his seed out of the small spaces which weren’t suffocated by his almost impossible girth. 

Horangi

“Been stretching you out for hours and you’re still- ngh— fuckin’ tight.” Hong-Jin said, almost as if chiding you. He grunted, balls-deep yet nowhere near satisfied, his resolve being milked from him.

“Gonna need to–” he grunted, “break you in,”

Without warning, he pulled out – only halfway – and plunged back inside you with an almighty push. One that, despite not having the power of his whole length behind it, forced a strangled moan from you.

His breath caught as he felt himself slip into a deeper, darker part of you, one which seemed to try and reject him as your hole pulsed uselessly around him, as if to push him out.

He persisted. Hissing.

When he pulled out, he spotted something.

A small streak of blood along his shaft.

“Doing so well for me, Love,” he groaned, slipping back in and re-establishing a rhythm. You mewled beneath him.

“God, you’re so good — just lying down and taking it – like my own personal fleshlight.”

Alejandro

“So this is why you’ve been acting so strange recently, hm?” Alejandro spoke between pants, arms at either side of your head, blocking off everything that wasn’t him. He gritted his teeth, grunted at the feeling of you tightening around him as he brutalised you with his savage pace, stretching you out and making your hole spasm around his cock.

“Just needed a good fuck, didn’t you?”

You were all but drooling as Alejandro quite literally fucked you dumb, no thoughts in your head save for the desperate electricity between your legs.

When you didn’t answer — or rather couldn’t, for your mind was scarcely able to keep itself intact for the feeling of ruin rapidly descending upon you — Alejandro took your chin between his fingers and forced you to focus on him.

“Didn’t you.” He repeated. To that, the fire in his eyes, you managed a sloppy ‘yes’. Alejandro hummed, pressed himself closer, chest-to-chest.

“Don’t worry, Cariño — we’ve got all night to fuck that pretty little mouth back into working order.”

Rudy

Years of toil, training and discipline have shaped Rudy into the unsuspecting behemoth he is today; as was evident in the way you cried out when his dick skewered you, stretching you out and making your back arch against the mattress. He felt himself pressed to the wall of your abdomen as your stomach met his. He shivered.

“He can’t fuck you like this,” he said, voice low and seething, the intonation of a snake. His usual puppy-eyes were sharp, as if of a feline disposition. He watched you as your eyes, almost having rolled back into your skull, refused to meet his.

“Nobody can have you. You’re mine — only mine.” He slammed into you faster, giving you no preparation and only using the wetness already dripping from between your thighs there to slip in. 

“Now, tell me who you belong to.”

Your mouth, agape with silent pain, released nothing. Rudy raised his hand, slapped you. You yelped, the sting sending a shock between your legs. You clenched around him. He growled, head dipping to your collarbone, where you could feel his breath, scorching and unrelenting.

“Let’s try this one more time,” he rasped. When he looked up, his eyes were black. Gone was the man you loved.

“Or I won’t be so forgiving.”

Graves

“You like bein’ used by me, don’t ya,” Graves panted, struggling to keep up with the pace of his own euphoria. He could tell you were close, too, from the way tears streamed down your cheeks and how you suctioned around him, pulling him deeper, pleading with him for more.

“Love bein’ my favourite little cum dump — so well-behaved, just for me.”

Nothing could be truer as you felt him thrusting into you at a speed that suggested anger. 

“Never be good for anything except taking my cock like a good slut.”

Your tongue lolled out from the corner of your mouth, drool dripping onto the sheets as Phillip allowed you your silence, especially considering how you’d earned it. Your obedience, your willingness to take everything he gave you. You scratched just the right part of Graves’ ego that had sustained him for this long.

His eyes glinted as he looked down at you.

“Ain’t that right, Doll.”

Gaz

Gaz’s change in personality, admittedly, frightened you. Especially as he stood over you now, having bound your hands together tied them over your head to the bed frame.

You’d tried encouraging him to just touch you already, to take you now as you were bound and helpless. Hell, you’d even ground yourself against his boot, working yourself up into a frenzy all in an effort to make him crack.

He didn’t.

“Oh no,” he said, wagging a finger at you. “You don’t get my dick yet.”

Already having used his belt to immobilise you, he unzipped his jeans and pulled them down to his thighs along with his boxers. Half-hard and beading at the tip, he eyed you, a cruel smile at his lips.

“I’m gonna fuck your face so hard,” he continued, taking you by the hair and forcing your lips to his pulsing member, watching your eyes widen. “That you’ll be eating through a tube for the rest of the week.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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[diejager]

I know this kinda sounds stupid- but can you do a feral deer reader who was found by the task force? The reader has some magical healing abilities, so she ended up captured and hired as a medic. Since the reader never really communicated with humans/ other hybrids and was mostly by herself, she doesn't understand social stuff. For example, she can be convinced that getting groped is a greeting, and she'll agree since she never interacted with other hybrids before. So she's pretty much oblivious.

If possible- make her a bit fluffy? 👉👈

I’m going to make this the continuation to Doe because I can!! Muhahahahahah!!!!!! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, non-con touching, magic, hybrid, groping, tell me if I missed any.

You were introduced to Laswell after the mission, dressed in better clothing than the tattered dress you wore, antlers cleaned from all the leaves and officially claimed by the Task Force, you found a place in their group. Going through a few rough patches and scuffles to get you out of your home, they watched you tend to your wounds, your hands glowing over the scrapes and tongue lapping at your bleeding fingers. Your… ability was the driving nail that forced Laswell to bend to their words, she’d been hounding them to get a medic or someone with better medical knowledge than the four of them combined. 

After all the paperwork and sweat, Price had the honour of locking the pretty collar they team bought you around your neck, the insignia gleaming under the office light was the final step to bind you to them as your handlers, a poor and fragile, little deer they saved from the freezing Canadian wilderness. But in all honesty, all they did was separate you from your herd, the warmer spring announcing the end of your antlers and the growth of a new set, it made frolicking and dancing easier than winter did. You were plucked from everything you knew, ripped from your lush forest and livelihood where you watched over the fauna and little critters that came to you for healing, and forcefully placed in a dead and unfeeling world where grey buildings towered over the forests and life restrained to small patches of dying soil. It made you uncomfortable, but the binding words the four men - human men - and the nice but stoic lady (she looked so tired, it made your hands itch to soothe her aches) shared with you made it seem like it was impossible for you to return to your home. 

“This is your new home, sweetheart,” the bear-like man said, his gruff voice and imposing figure had you shuddering in your seat, much more than the energetic man with electric, blue eyes that you then learned was Soap. 

You wanted to argue, but your voice died in your throat when they all stared at you with dark and expectant eyes, seemingly anticipating submission and obedience from you as a deer. How could you fight when they held such an oppressive air around them, but perhaps it was just their broad and muscular bodies that made your nerves bristle; perhaps they were nicer than they looked, gentler and tender like the way that man with brown eyes held you in the metal bird, whispering sweet and comforting words; or perhaps they were truly mean and dominating, like some pack of wolves that shared your home. You hoped they were as nice as the Gaz, who made you call him by his… real name? You were confused, but you did as he asked, calling him Kyle unlike the other men. 

You gave Price a muted nod, eyes cast down and fingers scratching and pulling at your restrictive clothes, feeling too covered and your skin too sensitive by all the irritating fabrics and silks. It hadn’t taken them much time to intergrate you in their schedule, finding you a place in their group to stare at and work despite your clear confusion about the social norms and your sudden duty. The human world was a stranger to you, foreign acts and alien words that you needed help with: you could read some words while others were completely incomprehensible for your feral mind, or your confusion about the use for phones and anything too advanced had you fumbling with your words.

It’s good that you had them to help you, no? 

Price made you attend classes with him and Ghost, being taught the alphabet and complicated words after the training drills and morning rituals, sometimes seated between them, squeezed so tightly between their broad shoulders, and other times seated on their laps, their shadow looming over you when they bent over to show you something. They touched you a lot, Ghost having less restraint than his Captain, his rough, gloveless fingers sliding beneath your shirt and groping the softness of your stomach and kneading your breasts, feeling its weight and perky nipples. You squirmed on his lap, whined out your discomfort, used to physical interaction in your herd, but never something so forward, but Ghost had reassured you that this was a normal human behaviour towards someone they cared deeply for.

Price kept his to your stomach and ass, feeling the fat of your cheeks and occasionally standing a hit, drinking in your yelps and whimpers from his touches. He, alike Ghost did, assured you that it was normal that he hooked his arm around your hip and holding you flushed to his side, his musky scent wafting around you like a thick cloud of smoke. He ruffled your hair once your antlers fell, petting you like he would a dog, carding through your washed locks and chuckling when your ears twitched from being handled. He would often call you to his office at random times, allegedly wanting you to train healing them since humans were slightly different than hybrids and having you lick his paper cut with your pink tongue. He liked shoving two fingers down your throat and pumping until you gagged and choked, drooling down his wrist while he breathed heavily and palmed himself.

Gaz and Soap helped you with other things: understanding human behaviour, training you mind and body and helping you around the base when you were lost and disoriented. Both men were enthused to be your chaperone, excited to take part in your schooling in other ways. Gaz lead you around the base hand in hand, his fingers intertwined with yours in a strong and unmoving grip while he pulled you forward, your tail flicking anxiously when people gazed your way, their eyes probing your uniform-clad figure. He was more upfront than the older men, pulling you to his chest and cuddling you in public areas, the bigger rec room, the mess hall or the gym, nuzzling the crook of your neck, lips drawling pretty words on your throat and shoulder and hair tickling your skin, mumbling the sweetest praises despite your obvious stiffness.

Soap, not unlike Gaz, had you call him Johnny (Ghost called him that too, you quickly found out) and was the touchiest of the four, always placing a hand on you even in awkward and weird situations. Soap was more animalistic than the others, panting and huffing when he spent too long around you, rutting your thigh like a wolf in rut or another reindeer deep in the season, you were quite sure this one wasn’t that much of a norm, seeing people avert their eyes or Ghost scruffing Soap and hissing degrading words. He especially loved sparring with you, pinning you on the mat, hand wrapped around your nap and putting his weight on your struggling body. He’d grind his hard bulge against your ass, ignoring your cries and whines, happily huffing and groaning in your ear while Gaz and Ghost watched on, admiring the sight, a pretty and vulnerable deer with little stubs and flickering ears, writhing under the mutt of the Task Force. 

Even if your initial use was for healing wounds and supporting the team, they found a secondary task for you in all the chaos and caution, to help you open up to them faster and easier. It’d only take a few kisses, cuddling and sessions until you grow attune and accept your new home.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts

[roosterr]

bad idea

note: my contribution to gazfest 2023! check out @glitterypirateduck for the prompt list and more info!

paring: kyle 'gaz' garrick x gn!reader

wc: 1.5k

no use of y/n

genre: oneshot promts: 14. 'you're in trouble now' & 19. 'stay still'

summary: you do something dumb to get you and kyle out of a bad situation. he patches you up.

warnings: canon-typical violence, blood and injury, light whump, fluff, established relationship

ao3

of course, you’d expected resistance as you pushed into the building, but the crowd of enemy soldiers you ran into was a lot more firepower than you’d predicted

everything happened so fast; price, ghost, and soap dived one way, and you and gaz dived the other in the same moment the enemies opened fire, effectively separating the five of you and planting the seed of dread in your stomach.

before you knew it, you’d been cornered in a room, the only way out being the door you’d come in through, which was now crowded with people who very much wanted you dead. there wasn’t much in the way of cover in the room, but there was a large, sturdy table that you and kyle had flipped onto its side so you could hide behind it. a few hostiles had ventured closer to try and finish you off, but those foolish few quickly met their death.

you were well and truly pinned.

price had radioed that they’d make their way towards the two of you as soon as possible, once they’d taken out their own pursuers. the only thing you could do until then was try to survive and kill as many hostiles as you could in the process.

you aim down your sights, bones aching more and more with every second, but when you pull the trigger, all that meets your ears is an empty click. the noise sends an ice cold wave through your veins like an omen of death.

you're out of ammo.

shit.

"i’m out!" you call to gaz, and in response he shoots you a fleeting wide eyed glance.

"just hold tight," he calls back, furrowing his brow as he fires shot after shot, "reinforcements are on the way, we just have to stay alive ‘till then."

he tries to sound confident, but you can tell he's just as panicked as you are. your eyes dart around the space, desperately pulling at threads to find a way out of this impossible situation, to make it out alive – to make sure kyle makes it out alive.

it's then that you spot it.

a grenade, on the vest of an enemy solider you'd shot earlier.

his body wasn’t far, but it was beyond the cover of the table, meaning to grab it you'd have to run into open fire; but if you got it, it was a guaranteed way out of here.

you glance back at kyle, still returning fire with his own limited supply of ammo. he hadn't noticed the explosive, still focused on the group guarding the door, but he couldn’t defend your position forever. you'd be risking your life if you went for it, but you'd both be killed if you didn't.

it was a terrible idea, but you were doing it anyway.

with a sudden burst of renewed energy in your exhausted muscles, you launch yourself towards the body from your crouched position, wasting no time in pulling the grenade from his vest – except it wasn’t as easy to grab as you’d first assumed, there was a strap holding it in place that the tremor in your hands made unclasping difficult.

in the back of your mind you hear kyle scream your name, but he’s drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears.

your heart is in your throat as your fingers miss the strap once, twice, and finally get it free on the third try.

you snatch the grenade and prepare to bolt back to cover, but before you can move a blinding pain shoots through your leg, knocking you off balance causing you to tumble backwards.

you’re hit, you realise that much, but through the panic you can’t focus on anything else. you desperately try to shuffle backwards, towards your cover, but without the use of one leg you just can’t seem to move fast enough.

another bullet whizzes by your face, just catching the skin of your cheekbone and leaving you with a noticeable slice. you can’t dwell on how close a call that one was, however, because before you can react you’re being yanked backwards by the strap on the back of your vest.

you hear gaz’s voice calling to you again, his words passing through one ear and straight out the other.

mustering all your remaining strength, you rip the pin from the grenade, push yourself up on your uninjured leg, and pitch the grenade through the doorway with surprising accuracy considering how much your head was swimming.

no sooner than the grenade leaves your fingertips, gaz has an arm around your waist and uses it to haul you to the ground with him. he doesn’t get the chance to scold you before the explosion, both of you squeezing your eyes shut at the flash of light and the boom that makes your ears ring.

when you pry open your eyes, kyle is hovering above you with his hands supporting him on either side of your head, glaring at you with a fury you've never witnessed from him before.

if you weren't so distracted by the agony radiating from the bullet hole in your thigh, you might have had the mind to be flustered by the position. but thankfully – for your dignity, at least – you don’t have the mental capacity to be embarrassed.

"you're in trouble now," he growled down at you, sharply pushing himself off you and leaving you heaving air into your lungs on the floor. you watch him peer over the table, gun poised as he waits a second or two for any movement, but he doesn’t fire.

if the eerie silence is any indication, it sounds like your slapdash plan actually worked.

"what the fuck were you thinking?" kyle yells, ripping the small medical pack from his vest and dropping to his knees next to you as he rifles through it.

"i was– ugh–" you grunt as you agitate your leg sitting up, "thinking, i’m gonna save both of our lives!" you hiss, leaning your back against the table.

"and let yourself get killed in the process?" he pulls out a roll of bandages, piling the material onto your wound and leaning on it with all his weight. a pained groan escapes your throat before you can stop it, but kyle doesn't relent. "you really think that's a good plan?"

"i would if it meant you would live!" you cry, gripping his wrist and clenching your jaw so tight you were worried you might break a tooth.

"just–" you jerk with a yelp when he shifts his weight on your leg, "stay still!" he sounds almost pleading, stunning you into freezing where you sit.

kyle sighs deeply, sitting back on his heels and dragging a hand down his face. when he drops his hand again, your heart clenches at the sight of his glossy eyes and conflicted expression.

"kyle…" you reach a weak hand out to him, resting it on his upper arm, and he snaps back to reality. with a slight shake of his head, he grabs a fresh handful of bandages, putting his weight back on your wound as quickly as he could.

"you're lucky it went clean through." he mutters, sounding significantly more choked up than he had before. "never pull that kinda shit again, you hear me?"

you smile, the pain twisting your expression slightly, and move your hand up to cup his cheek. "not plannin’ on it, garrick."

the bleeding has slowed significantly by now, allowing kyle to lift one of his hands to cover the one holding his face. your thumb strokes the rise of his cheekbone, exhaling as the tension melts from your shoulders. even with the ringing in your ears, the lack of gunshots was almost peaceful.

"oi!" kyle jostles your shoulder, your eyes snapping back open where you hadn't realised they'd fallen shut. "you're not allowed to die on me, love, i'll kick your arse if you do."

"i'll keep that in mind." you breathe an airy chuckle, giving his cheek a gentle pat and dropping your hand into your lap.

there's a pause in the conversation, as kyle grabs more bandages and concentrates on your leg – which had more or less stopped bleeding thanks to his efforts, but despite this, you could still clearly see the panic in his eyes.

"hey," you call out to him, his gaze snapping up to you with a concerned frown. you grin, and gesture for him to come closer, pointing to the small cut on your face. "you missed a spot."

kyle rolls his eyes. "you're an idiot." he chuckles, wiping as much of your blood from his hands as possible before swinging one of his legs over both of yours. he's careful not to touch your injured leg when he leans closer, cleaning the dried blood on your cheek and covering the cut with a large bandaid.

once he's sure you're not bleeding from anywhere else, he takes your face gently in both hands and presses a featherlight kiss to your cheek, right over where the cut was.

"there," he utters, moving to kiss your forehead, then your nose, and finally pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. "all better."

you bring your own hand to rest on his back, smiling against his lips as you press your forehead to his. "yeah, all better."

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 12 - Somnophilia

Soap x Reader - 5.5k (on ao3)

summary: Your doctor offers to help you get home after your lasik eye surgery. (Reader POV & Johnny POV)

cw: noncon sex, drugging, kidnapping, briefly mentioned lasik eye surgery (no description past one mention of a scalpel)

note: tysm to ceil for giving me this idea <3 i did a few google searches on lasik eye surgery and tried to mention the actual feelings as little as possible, and also the drug johnny uses is probably literally impossible but its fic so who cares lol

“And… how long did you say I have to wear these?” You ask, tentatively touching the glasses resting over your eyes.

“Och, not long at all. Just until tonight, then you come in for a check-up tomorrow afternoon and I’ll let you know what other care you’ll need.” Dr. MacTavish replies, big hands adjusting the frames and pushing them up your nose.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are they usually painted like this?” You’d hardly been able to see post lasik-surgery - mostly just big swaths of color - but you feel far more vulnerable with the sunglasses on, their blacked out lenses leaving you entirely in the dark except for the blurry light around the rims. 

Your doctor’s laugh is low and comforting, his hand patting you on the shoulder before you hear him moving away. “Of course. Not all optometrists use them, but I’ve found for patients like you they have the best results.”

“Like me?”

“Yes,” another chuckle, and the sounds of what you assume are tools being put away. “Patients who struggle to be good and sit still during their surgery.”

“Ah.” You feel your cheeks go hot in embarrassment. “I really am sorry about that…”

“No need,” he reassures, his hand coming to rest on the back of your neck. You can’t help but jerk a little, the glasses slipping down your nose. “Oops, don’t be losin’ those, bonnie.”

Your cheeks go hot and you have to fight the urge not to reach up and fix them yourself since his hand gets their first. He rights them quickly, then taps the tip of your nose with a finger. “There you go. Let’s keep those where they should be, hm?” He gives the nape of your neck a squeeze, his palm warm and rough, and you do your best to nod without awkwardly dislodging him.

“Now, do you have a ride home?”

You suck your teeth a little at that. You hadn’t known you’d be wearing the dark glasses after - the care plan you and Dr. MacTavish had discussed beforehand had made it seem like you’d be able to ride the bus home, but you’re not comfortable doing that in your blinded state.

“Ah, not right now,” you start, tangling your fingers together in your lap to avoid rubbing at your itchy eyes. “But I can probably call a friend-”

“Nonsense,” Dr. MacTavish dismisses, moving away from you and back to whatever he’d been moving before. “You’re my last patient of the day, how about I give you a ride home?”

“Oh,” you start, startled at his offer. “Oh, that’s… no, that’s alright, Doctor. I’m sure one of my friends could-”

He interrupts you with a tsk, and suddenly there’s a hand at your elbows guiding you up, then just one as he walks you out of the office. “No, that won’t do. We need to get you home and in bed as soon as possible - it’s not good for you to be keeping your eyes open so much after surgery, you know.”

“Oh, really?” You gasp a little, letting him guide you. “Should I be keeping them closed? I don’t want to make anything worse…”

“You’re doing just fine, bonnie, no worries.” The hand on your elbow squeezes as you come to a stop, and you hear the sound of something being written on. “I’ll take good care of you now. C’mon.” What must be a pen is dropped onto what you can only assume is the front counter, and you’re guided forward again. “We’ll have you safe at home in no time.”

Dr. MacTavish’s car is nice - the seats aren’t cracking at all, the air conditioning works to cool the interior quickly, there’s a faint minty smell - but it disconcerts you more than you might’ve expected to be left completely blind in an unfamiliar environment, and with someone you don’t know past a professional relationship.

You give him your address after he buckles you in (you swear his hand brushes your chest, but it doesn’t linger and you don’t want to accuse him of something unfounded just because of a slight touch) and he doesn’t bother to input it into the GPS, tells you he already knows where the neighborhood is.

You haven’t felt so vulnerable in a long time. Even around the edge of the glasses, all you can see are blurs of color, and you feel oddly exposed without the ability to see. Your eyes itch and sting, and it takes conscious effort not to rub the feeling away. 

You lift a hand to rub them without even thinking but before it’s even halfway to your face Dr. MacTavish grabs it, pinning it to your thigh and making a low noise of dissent. “No rubbing now, lass, you know the rules.”

The heat creeping up your neck is entirely involuntary, and you tuck your free hand beneath your leg to resist the urge to squirm. “Right, of course, I’m sorry Dr. MacTavish.”

“Johnny, lass, no need for titles off the clock.”

You try to make a vague noise of understanding but end up sounding a bit like a bird, your hand clammy beneath his. He gives you a squeeze, but doesn’t let go. You’d ask him to move but… well, you don’t want to make things awkward when he’s your only way home at the moment and you figure he’s just helping. So you try to relax your fingers, and zone out to the sound of him humming along to the radio.

“Here we are,” he announces eventually, the car slowing to a stop before he turns into your driveway. “Nice neighborhood, hen. Very safe.”

You try to laugh casually and cringe when it just comes off as awkward - you’re unsure how to naviagte small-talk when all you really want to do is curl up in bed and sleep. “I just moved here recently, but it seems to be a pleasant area. I certainly don’t have any complaints.”

Dr. MacTavish - Johnny - hums in response, turning the car off and getting out to come to your side. He unbuckles you quickly and again there’s a little voice in the back of your head that says his hand lingered by your waist for just a few beats too long. But his fingers don’t venture anywhere appropriate, and you tell yourself that you’re seeing something that isn’t really there.

He keeps a hold of your elbow as he guides you up the stairs and into your building. He pauses and then a moment later you hear a ding, and the clear familiar sound of an elevator opening.

“Oh,” you say, shocked as he tugs you forward. “I had no idea the elevator was fixed - it’s been out of order since I moved in.”

“Really?” You hear press a button.

You stand there in silence for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, before you feel the elevator start to move.

“Um, Dr Ma- Johnny, what floor did you pick?”

There’s a pause before he answers, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“Och, silly me,” Johnny laughs, the sound echoing in the metal walls. “Force of habit, bonnie, I picked my floor in my building. What’s yours?”

You try to laugh it off, but the way his fingers tighten almost imperceptiably against the crook of your elbow has you sounding a bit too stiff. “Four, please.”

“Four,” he hums, and you hear him press another button.

The ride up is a bit awkward, at least from your perspective. Johnny makes no attempt at conversation past the occasional hum along to the music, and you’re a little too on edge to worry about small-talk right now.

Calm down, you insist to yourself. He’s just being polite. Making sure you get home safe. You’ve got to stop seeing the worst in people.

You take a deep breath and force yourself to relax.

There’s a slightly uncomfortable silence when the door opens for the first time, both you and Johnny just waiting for it to close and take you to the proper floor. 

The doors are much quicker to open the third time, and you figure Johnny must live on the third or fifth floor in his own building for you to have gotten to your floor so quickly.

“What’s your apartment number, lass?”

You tell him, and his hold loosens slightly against your arm. There’s a part of you - the part still a little cautious for reasons you can’t quite name - that relaxes when the path he takes is familiar. Only a few steps, apartment on the right side of the hall.

“Let me get my keys,” you mumble, tugging your arm away from his and pulling your keychain out of your pocket. You’d opted not to bring a purse to your surgery, thinking you’d be riding the bus home mostly blind, so you’ve got virtually nothing to dig through before offering your keyring up. 

They’re taken, you hear the familiar jungling soun, and then you’re being guided into your apartment by a firm hand placed at the small of your back. You can’t help but sigh deeply in relief, the familiarity of your home a comfort when you still feel so unachored without your sight.

“Very cute place you’ve got,” Johnny compliments, a smile audible in his voice.

“Thank you.” You hesitate just a moment before going on, unsure of how to phrase your next sentence. “And thank you for all the help getting home, Doctor, I really do appreciate it.”

A.k.a., I’m safe, you can leave.

“Aye, of course!” Johnny says, sounding almost offended like you were implying he wouldn’t usually take his patients home. Another part of you relaxes - he probably does this for every patient he sees at the end of a workday, you’re certainly nothing special. “Now, let’s get you settled nice and snug in bed, and then I’ll be on my merry way.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to-”

“Nonsense!” You’re cut off as he drops a heavy hand onto the nape of your neck, ignoring your slightly dramatic flinch and guiding you forward. “I’ve gotten you this far, would be a shame if I left you now and you took a tumble, hm?”

“I think I can get around my own apartment well enough, “ you try to protest, a little huff of offense escaping without your permission.

“Well, now we won’t have to test that theory.”

He moves quickly and just seconds later you’re sort of shoved onto your bed - almost oddly high off the ground, but you chalk it up to the way you stumble onto it. 

Johnny scoops your feet up, laughs a little at your yelp and lays you out on the bed. You blink up into the dark glasses, a little gobsmacked at the sudden shift and odd amount of manhandling from the doctor.

“Do you have any pain meds, love? We wouldn’t want you wakin’ up in the middle of the night, all uncomfortable and hurt. Something light, like Advil or Tylenol?”

“Um, yes,” you stutter a bit, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and glancing up at where you hear his voice. “In my bathroom, on the counter. But Dr. MacTav-”

A hand presses into the center of your chest, forcing you back to the bed with a little oof before your hear him walk away. “Johnny, lass! What’ll I have to do to get you to call me the proper name, hm?”

His voice is almost jovial, and you hear him muttering to himself a bit through the open door of your bathroom before he returns. You hear water running for a moment, and then his shoes on the carpet of your bedroom as he comes back.

“Here,” he says as he grasps your hand, holding it palm open and dropping two pills into it. “And you had a spare cup in the bathroom, so you won’t have to swallow dry.”

“Thank… thank you, Doc- Johnny, truly, I appreciate it.” 

You swallow dryly, suddenly thankful for the glass of water. The pills are small in your palm, familiar but there’s something in the back of your head screaming at you. You run your fingers over them absentmindidly, the stinging itch in your eyes growing.

Johnny scoops an arm around your shoulders, helping you sit up a bit and guiding the glass to your lips. “Here you are, lass, quick sip.”

You listen, then pop the pills into your mouth and swallow them with the water.

“Good girl,” Johnny hums, his voice vibrating through your side. His hand squeezes the shoulder in his grasp, and you shudder out a breath at the odd… intimacy? That doesn’t quite feel like the right word, but affection feels too distant for how close he holds himself.

You’re guided back down, head resting on a somewhat-flat pillow, and Johnny moves down to the end of the bed to take off your shoes.

Now that you’re resting in bed, it hits you how exhausted you are. The past few days of worrying over your procedure, the actual stress of the surgery itself, and the odd tension you’ve carried since all leave you feeling drained entirely once your head hits the pillow.

“We’ll get these shoes off so you’re nice and comfortable,” you hear Johnny say, his voice a little muffled now that you’re nearly half-asleep already. “Tired, lass?”

You only hum a bit, curling onto your side once both of your shoes are off, the sound of them thudding on the carpet almost silent. Your nose scrunches a bit as you get your first scent of the pillow. It doesn’t quite smell right, the lingering air of shampoo is definitely not one you’re familiar with.

There’s a shift of weight against your back, then a hand stroking over your head.

“Just sleep, bonnie. I’ll watch out for you.”

There’s a part of you, still awake enough, that thinks that isn’t right. But the more major part of you is already asleep. 

———————————————————————

Johnny can’t help but smile as he watches you sleep. The little trail of drool dripping from your lips onto his pillow, the soft sounds of your breathing, the twitches to your expression as you dream.

You’re truly adorable. He’d known it as soon as you came for a consultation about the surgery, and every moment spent after has only cemented that in his head. Even the way you tensed and squirmed in his chair while he was working was cute, your desperation to be good and listen overpowering your fear of what he was doing.

He reflects on the day as he gets undressed, folding his clothes on your dresser. You’d been very nervous, and even his most soothing tone and friendly conversation topics hadn’t done much to help. It’s natural - nobody’s ever at ease with a scalpel held over their eye - but he’d still felt a little dissapointed that his presense wasn’t of much help calming you down.

But it’s alright. You’ll learn very soon that you can trust him.

It was easier than he’d expected to get you back to his home. You’re far too trusting, apparently - another reason it’s for the best if he keeps an eye on you - and past some clear tension in your stance, you hadn’t fought him once or even tried to make sure he had taken you to the right place.

Johnny’s certainly not going to complain, though. His plan had been half-baked at best. Honestly if you’d even put up a slight bit of resistance, he probably would have taken you back home - your home - and gone back to the drawing board.

He can’t help but smile a bit. The fact that you hadn’t fought at all is just more proof that this was meant to be.

He climbs over your body, his naked skin brushing against your clothes. You don’t shift at all as he rolls you to your back, your face still relaxed in sleep. His smile grows.

“Pretty girl,” he coos, brushing a hand over your face. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

It’s easy to push your shirt up your stomach. He doesn’t take it off, not quite willing to risk that much movement while the drugs could still be settling in.

God, the way you’d just taken his pills with no hesitation, with just complete and total trust in him to do right by you. It makes his cock stifen against your stomach, the way you’d just listened and trusted him.

He moans as he finally pushes your shirt up to your collarbones, the sight of your tits bringing him to full hardness almost immediately. You’d dressed up for him, soft white lace wrapped around your beautiful chest. 

He ducks down to suck a peak into his mouth, tonguing at a nipple through the fabric. He groans a bit at the taste of your skin, muted as it is, and quickly tugs down the cup of the bra to get a real bite of you.

He could lay there at your tits for hours, he just knows it. He kisses his way across your chest, gives your other nipple some love and thumbing at the first with a free hand. He forces his movements to stay soft and slow, resists the urge to bite and leave a ring of teeth marks around your areola.

“Taste so good, baby,” he whispers as he pushes himself up, admiring the shiny spit across your skin. He rubs it in a little, spreading himself across any place his lips hadn’t touched. “Gonna let me get a taste of your pussy too?”

Obviously you don’t respond. Still, Johnny smiles down at you and moves to pet your stomach.

“Yeah, I know you will. Just wanna be a good girl for me, hm?”

Of course you do, he already knows you’ll be good to him - be good for him. 

It’s easy to wrap his hands around your waist and flip you gently to your stomach. He guides your head to the side and pulls your hair away to make sure he can get a good view of your pretty face, leans down to give you a soft kiss on the cheek and breathes in the scent of your bodywash and shampoo. 

Your pants are easy enough to get off, and he forces himself to tug them all the way off both legs before even looking at your sweet little ass. He’d been staring at any chance he could all day, had kept his eyes glued to your backside for the entire elevator ride up to his apartment when he was sure you couldn’t see his leering. 

Now he can’t help but groan aloud when he kneels over your thighs, the sight of you vulnerable and limp beneath him almost too much to handle.

“C’mon, spread your knees for me, lass,” he mutters, slowly moving your legs to the side and moving between them. He’s careful as he props you up onto your knees, folding them beneath you and making sure to balance you with one hand on your hip so you don’t fall to the side.

He’s nearly drooling as he gets his first sight of your core - lips just slightly spread, pretty pink pussy peeking out at him. It’s almost too much, he has to give himself a few quick jerks just to lessen the ache building in his cock.

“Look at you,” he says on a sigh, dipping his head low enough to breathe in your scent. He hikes your hips up a little higher to keep you at the right angle, quickly shushes your little noise of discontent at the shift.

“It’s alright, you’re ok,” he reassures, petting over your hip a few times to calm your unconscious mind. “Just wanna make you feel good, pretty thing. You got nothin’ to worry about.”

He licks you, from clit to ass, to help you calm down a bit more. It works - your body goes a little more limp in his hold, your back arching more easily into the position he wants. He licks you several more times, groaning as he tries to cover every inch of your cunt, tasting every piece of skin he can. He lays his tongue flat at first, then uses the tip to make sure he doesn’t miss a spot.

“So good,” he moans, burying his face into your center and just breathing there for a moment. There’s a little bit of slick beginning to drip from your hole, but not much. He licks it up anyway, savoring the taste and promising to feast later. 

He stays glued to your clit for a bit, taking the little bud between his lips and running the tip of his tongue over it again and again until he finds the exact spot that makes your thighs twitch, the pattern that has you whining every other breath.

Johnny moves back up, laps at the sweet nectar dripping steadily from you now. Every little flick of his tongue arouses you more, and no matter how long he keeps his mouth on you he knows he’d never run out of your taste.

It’s with only a bit of reluctance that he pulls away. He spreads both of your cheeks with his palms, admiring your two tight little holes and the sheen covering your most sensitive spots. He’d like to give your ass a few smacks, paint it red and watch you squirm, but he’s not sure how much sensation he can give you without pulling you from the drugs’ hold.

Which is also why he tucks a few fingers into your cunt, just to stretch you out. He’d like to fuck into you without any prep at all, watch your pretty face scrunch up as you’re spread on the thickest cock you’d ever taken (and he knows he’s the biggest you’ve had). Maybe you would even cry a little, blink teary eyes up at him and ask him to slow down.

He groans at the image, scissoring his fingers inside of you to prepare you as quickly as he can. 

It’s easy to ease himself forward and line his cockhead up with your little hole. He knows another finger would’ve been a kindness, but with how his cock throbs between his legs he’s not sure he’ll make it very long once he’s finally inside of you. 

So he taps the tip against your leaking hole, snorts quietly when the thought pops into his head that he’s almost knocking on a door, then slowly lets himself sink inside of your heat. He’s stares transfixed at the way your body opens for him so easily, a smooth coming together that he wishes he never had to look away from.

He keeps a secure grip on your hips, letting gravity do most of the work as his hips push forward steadily. His head rolls back on his neck, mouth hanging open and grunts spilling from his lips as your tight heat envelops him further and further.

He pauses halfway in to take a breather, just so he doesn’t come before his balls even meet your clit. Your body’s grip on him is unlike anything he’s ever felt, and he knos he made the right choice in bringing you home with him.

It’s hard, but Johnny manages to control himself and keep from fucking you too roughly. His thrusts are long and slow if a little extra harsh, and he stares down at your scrunched up little face and imagines all the filthy ways he’ll have you in the coming weeks.

You shift on your knees when he hits a particularly nice spot, little whines pouring from your throat on exhales. His thrusts nearly punch the air from your body, and he finds himself breathing in sync with you as he loses himself more and more to the pleasure.

He slips a hand from your waist to your clit as he gets closer. It would be awfully selfish of him to leave you needy after getting himself off, and he’s not about to deny himself the tight clench of your body as he brings you to climax.

It takes a little bit of trial and error to figure out what feels good for you - he can’t quite discern the difference between a nose scrunch of frustration and one of pleasure - but the steady pumps of his hips and the constant motions against your clit quickly bring you to the edge.

Your cunt tightens deliciously around him as you finally come, but the true beauty is in the way you go absolutely boneless beneath him. He has to firm up his grip on your waist just to keep you from sinking flat on the bed, huffing a laugh as he thrusts just a bit faster, just enough to get himself there too.

He lets his head fall beside yours as the two of you ride out your climaxes together, staring wide-eyed at the way your face relaxes into the pleasure. He leans forward enough to mesh your lips together, messily forcing your mouth open and licking at your tongue.

It’s not the best kiss - he has to do all the work, and he ends up soaking both of your chins in spit - but he relishes in it anyway. Your first kiss together is something he knows he’ll want to remember for years to come.

He hardly notices as he slips from your body, tingles shooting through every nerve leaving him mostly unaware of his body’s functions. He hardly has the energy to make sure he doesn’t crush you beneath him, instead laying beside you and tucking you into his chest.

“Thank you, bonnie,” he whispers into your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “That was fantastic. Can’t wait to do it again, maybe you’ll do a bit more next time, yeah?” He laughs a little at his own joke, snuggling you close to him and letting his eyes shut slowly.

———————————————————————

You’re not sure how long it’s been when you wake up next, but you can tell immediately that something isn’t right. 

First of all, you’re half naked. And you can tell you’re half naked because your legs are being cradled by someone else’s naked legs. And you know for a fact that you didn’t bring anyone home with you.

Except… it occurs to you slowly as you finally blink stinging eyes open, except you did. Dr. MacTavish brought you home.

And you let him into your apartment. You just handed your keys over to a man you hardly knew, let him guide you right to bed without any sort of fight.

Your head pounds with a vengeance, right behind your already hurting eyes.

You let him give you pills, too. You remember that, though it’s the last thing you remember. He asked where your pain meds were and you didn’t even bother to check that he’d given you what you expected. You just swallowed them with water, like this was a man you could trust.

The slight soreness between your thighs tells you that you couldn’t.

The tears that begin to gather in your eyes hurt, which makes you want to cry even more. You can’t hold back a sniffle, then a hiccup, then what sounds more like sobs than anything else.

You bring your hands up to cover your mouth, briefly recoil and the weight over your torso.

You can’t bring yourself to look, but you know who’s in bed with you.

Johnny wakes up just minutes later, shifting and making a soft sound of confusion. It must not take him long to put the pieces together because it only takes him a few seconds to start cooing, his rough palm cupping your face over your own hands.

“Lass?” He hums, and from your peripheral you see his brows furrow. It’s only a slight comfort that you even can see. “What’s wrong?”

That almost gets a laugh out of you. You nearly choke on the sound, spit catching in your throat. “What’s- what’s wrong?”

He sighs, like he already knows. Of course he knows. He has to know.

“Don’t be upset.” He leans a little closer, and to your horror you feel him press his lips against your forehead. “You can be awake next time, yeah? Then you won’t feel so left out.”

“Left out,” you echo, a strain of horror making its way into your voice.

“But only if you can be good,” he clarifies. “No fighting me now. Just keep being good for me and you can stay awake, alright?”

“Good…” You feel like a robot, but the combination of your headache and the absurdity of your situation leaves you unable to process what’s happening.

It processes much faster when you feel one of his hands slide up the shirt you’re - by some miracle - still wearing. It’s instinctual to jerk up the bed and away when he goes straight for one of your breasts.

“Get- get off me!” Your voice is nearly a shriek, the pitch sending a shock of pain up your skull.

You don’t make it very far in your tiny escape attempt, Johnny quickly hefting himself above you and pinning you down with his weight.

“Now, lass,” he scolds, face set in a frown that you can’t tell is sarcastic or serious. “What did I just say?”

You can’t make yourself speak, fingers trembling beside your head as you stare up at him with wide eyes.

“C’mon,” he goads, dropping his weight a little lower. “Just gotta do one thing for me to stay awake, tell me what it was.”

“I’m not-” you gasp a big breath, blinking up at the man above you. “I’m not fucking calming down! Get off of me, you freak, how dare you-”

“Alright!” He nearly shouts, drowning you out. “That’s enough of that. Back to sleep with you, I think. We’ll see if you can handle participating next time.”

He’s leaned to the side before you can really register what he’s said, scooping two little white pills into his palm and coming back over you.

“Open wide,” he taunts, lips curled into a small smirk as he holds his closed fist above your mouth.

Every instinct in you says to scream and shout, to fight back. But he’s got you pinned with your arms stuck between the two of you, unable to lift your hands and cover your mouth, so you clamp your lips as tightly shut as you can to keep him out.

Johnny only sighs, like you’re making his drugging terribly inconvenient. You squeeze your eyes shut to block out his face, praying that you’ll open them and this will all just be a terrible nightmare.

“Really, lass?” He complains, his free hand reaching up to pinch your nose. Without anything to hold him up, you’re nearly crushed beneath his body weight. “Very mature. I can pinch far longer than you can hold your breath, y’know. You’re making this difficult for no good reason.”

Your eyes fly open at that, glaring up at him with what you hope is a scathing look.

He only laughs.

“Very cute,” he hums, rubbing his nose against your cheek. Your chest burns from the lack of air. “I think you’ll be just perfect to keep around the house. You’ll brighten this place in all the right ways, won’t you?”

Your eyes well with tears as black stars begin to dance across your vision. Completely against your own will, your lips part and you suck in a deep breath.

Johnny doesn’t waste any time - you nearly choke on the pills as they fly down your throat with the air you desperately inhale. You nearly choke, hacking with tears streaming from your eyes, but Johnny just holds a hand over your mouth and brings you both up enough to harshly pat your back.

“There you go, you’re ok,” he mumbles in your ear, rubbing the place he’d slapped as your chest heaves with desperate breaths. The pills leave an uncomfortable lump in your throat, and you reach up to rub at it as if that will make it any better.

He stays like that, holding you close, for several long heartbeats.

“Good girl,” he hums, lips pressing to your temple and the sound rumbling through the contact. “I hope you won’t make me do that next time, I’d much rather you be awake for this next part.”

He lays you back slowly, and you distantly wonder what on Earth he’s given you to knock you out so quickly. Already your eyes feel heavier and you’ve hardly swallowed. You try to keep your eyes open as long as possible, which leaves you staring up at Johnny as he hovers above you.

“It’s not the worst thing, though,” he whispers, hand cupping your cheek and thumb passing your undereye. “I don’t mind having you like this, soft and sweet for me.”

Your eyes finally flutter shut just as you feel your legs being nudged apart.

[cod-dump]

Time (another monster au fic)

———

Price hadn’t foreseen ‘non-human handler’ in his future. Two vampires, an insectoid, whatever the hell Nik was (a lycan of some kind?), and a demon? Definitely wasn’t how he thought his days would go. He especially didn’t plan on sort of adopting the vampires both being older than his grandparents. Well, Soap was. Gaz was much younger than that but still older than Price.

But, their youthful appearances have most certainly made him feel like they needed guidance even though they had far more life experience. Well, Gaz seemed to return the familial connection, at least. He would often come join Price in his office just sit and talk. It was nice having that connection since Price wasn’t in contact with any of his family, distant relatives or close family members.

“Cap… I have a question,” it wasn’t often when Gaz wanted to ask Price something.

He was smart, had seen more things than Price. He was also the type to try to figure things out on his own before asking questions (thankfully he doesn’t do this on the clock).

“Question? About what?”

“Well… Ghost.”

Price felt his heart beat quicken, he knew where this was going, “What about him?”

“Why is he here? He’s a demon, they don’t do this kind of thing. Especially not on their own free will.”

He could hear what Gaz was wanting to say. The thing he hasn’t about to actually say out loud, the thing this was all about. Laswell had the worst reaction when she had found out. Tears, yelling— The works. Nik was much calmer in appearance but Price could tell he was devastated.

Price knew the risks, he knew what he was getting himself into. It was his soul after all, he could do what he pleased with it.

“I… contracted him. He’s a mercenary, after all. He works for me, and when the job’s done he gets his payment… then he’s gone. That simple.”

Gaz’s jaw as clenched, a pain in his eyes that just pierced Price’s soul, “That’s a funny fucking way to call selling you soul to him.”

Price had years to accept it. He’s the one who summoned the Ghost to this plane, the one who offered Simon Riley’s corpse for him to root him here so he had a physical form. Price gave him rank, this human mask that he could wear. Whether he kept it when everything was said and done is uncertain. Price had feeling he could make a hell of a business off of it.

“I had my time to accept it, I don’t expect you to get it.”

Gaz couldn’t look at him, choosing to stare at the wall instead. The angle allowed Price to see the light glint off his eyes, giving away his inhuman nature. Gaz was much more emotional than other vampires. He remembers being human, he cares about humanity. He was stealing blood bags almost his whole vampiric existence before Price found him and recruited him.

“You don’t have to worry about anything, Kyle. When I’m gone Nik will be taking you and Soap with him to Chimera. Kate will make you two disappear and can go on to Russia.”

“That’s supposed to be comforting?”

“Russia does have the highest population of any non-humans in the world. Plus Chimera is nothing but non-humans.”

“Fucking- I don’t care about finding somewhere safe!” Gaz stood quickly, knocking his chair back, “You fucking sold your soul to a demon! You have a timer on your life!”

Price watches Gaz wave his arms around, tears pricking in his eyes, “You’re dying!”

Price sighs. He had accepted this himself, he knows his fate. Unless the demon themself decides to break the contract, spare the human who made it with them… Price’s fate is sealed. There has been some recorded incidents where demons completed the contract only to just leave, not taking their client’s soul. It is possible to survive, but making a demon genuinely like you to the point they let you keep your soul is near impossible.

Ghost was going to kill him in the end. Eat his soul in probably the most painful way possible before fucking off to do whatever.

“Kyle…”

“How can you be so fucking calm? Did you even consider how anyone else would feel!?”

“I made that deal a long time ago. Before I had anyone in my life worth living for. I do not regret sacrificing my life for the greater good.”

Gaz was shaking, now quiet. Price swallows before standing, going around to the vampire and pulling him into a hug. Gaz almost instantly clung to him, a quiet sob in his chest.

“I don’t want you to die…”

“I’m sorry, Kyle. I can’t change anything.”

“There has to be another way.”

“Heh, you know trying to cheat a demon out of a soul is dangerous. You know how dangerous Ghost is.”

Gaz pulls away, wiping his face, “Fuck… Yea, I do…”

Price felt dread in his chest. The first time in years he had to truly acknowledge what he had done. He felt like this after he told Laswell, after Nik, and now Gaz. Their emotions reminded him how deeply upsetting this was. But Price couldn’t take it back. He wouldn’t if it meant he would still be able to do it. Save this world from it’s own self-destruction… all at the cost of a single soul. What he’s doing wouldn’t be permanent, the rot would always crawl back. but at least his soul would buy everyone some time.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Request: Inigo Dragonov scenario where we (his darling) didn’t cave into remarrying him. (I guess this is like an alternative timeline from the original storyline). He was thinking about bankrupting our family, so aside from that, what if we also didn’t want to remarry him because we found a new lover (that even his private investigators didn’t know about). And to make it even more soap opera drama like, our new man is Inigo’s old university rival (who’s still also his company’s rival). I’m sorry…I just love these tropes/cliches. What makes it even ❤️provokingly❤️ worse is if his rival were just to see Inigo across the street one day on an outing with us and our twin babies…and just kiss the babes while pulling us into an embrace…all while keeping a long deadlock stare with Inigo. Like DUSKGSJOSLHWJJJWJ!!!!!!!!! Unleash Inigo’s full yandere potential after being forced to witness this!

Yandere! CEO! Arranged! Ex-husband x AFAB! Ex-wife! Reader

WHAT IF: You refused to marry him?

Ooh anon, you're the worst (lovingly). You really want Iñigo to suffer huh?

Once more, I'm delving into Iñigo's lore because fun fact, Rowan may be my first yandere OC, but Iñigo had a whole novel just exploring him and his actual partner, Ykaidi! (I unpublished it on Wattpad though, it's so cringe lol. Also, there's so much stuff I changed so technically, the original timeline IS an au in itself) So this will be a good creative exercise to explore his personality more.

He's one traumatized bitch.

No?

Did you really say no?

Iñigo scoffed before tilting his head to the side, a bit bewildered.

"This..."

Words died down in his throat as he saw your resolute face.

"A-are you sure you don't want to marry me? I told you that the children needs a father figure in their life."

He somehow got a bad feeling about this. And that proved right as you gave him a soft smirk.

"They do, actually. It's not you though."

Iñigo felt his blood run cold.

His ears started to ring from the shock he received.

"You..." You have another man? That was not... Him?

How could that possibly be?! He always made sure that his private investigators would know each and every single one of the people that you spoke to back in New Zealand.

He should rethink his choices right now.

"But, Elise and Elliot needs their biological father. I am their bio father!" Iñigo yelled, his jaw ticking. But you only rolled your eyes.

"Did you think I would take into account on going back to you?!" You screamed, marching up to him and pushing him back. Your heart squeezed in pain as it pumped to accomodate the anger rising inside of you. "You neglected me. Insulted me in ways I don't even hear from my parents!"

You stomped one step, as if crushing his heart in pieces.

"Why would I come back to you?" Your voice, crackled with the pent up anger, gave a raw, intense tone of rage that echoed your beating heart. "You must think I'm stupid if I'll run to you."

Iñigo's vision swam, breathing heavily as he felt small, pressured....

Intimidated.

He never took account of you moving on and hating him to the point of getting another man. But you did. You did what he thought was impossible.

"Sweetheart... Please..." His tone was getting desperate, clawing at the seams to make sure he won't burst from the emotions he's feeling.

Iñigo is an emotional man. Yes, he may seem cold hearted and reserved, but when it comes to you, it's different.

His hand trembled, wanting to grab your hand to rest upon his cheeks and place a shackle on it.

"I'm going." You whispered before walking out of him.

~~~Two weeks later~~~

It's been hell in Iñigo's company. He's working his employees like dogs to create the best fashion company out there.

Whatever that means.

But all he knows he needs to outrank the Smith's when it comes to the Fashion influence across the world.

He needs to outrank you.

He needs to be more popular.

More rich.

More influential.

He drank another coffee, letting the coffee dribble down his chin and onto the hardwood table.

"Indigo, I think you need to take a break." Oliver said, using the nickname he's been using since he was a child. Iñigo looked up and saw Oliver holding up a mirror, reflecting how bad Iñigo looked.

"Wow, way too drive the nail further. Fuckhead." Iñigo glared at Oliver before shaking his head and standing up. "Alright. I'll go for a walk, Livi."

Iñigo went to the bathroom, fixing his appearance, shaving a bit, and adding light makeup to his face, just to hide the circles on his eyes.

Damn, he even knew how to apply makeup just to impress you, the fashion icon you are.

His tongue stung, remembering when he called you frumpy.

He got down through the elevators and walked towards the park. His steps heavy and straightforward. He ignored the stares he got, some shocked, some flirty, but he didn't mind them.

Because once he looked up to cross the street, his eyes widened seeing you and...

"Steven..?"

Steven. He knows him so well.

He's an academic rival back then in highschool and college, and now a business rival too.

He also can't believe he's now a love rival also?

Iñigo always remained victorious between them, with Steven simmering in second place.

But Steven only laughs, rolls his eyes and moves on.

He hated that part of him.

But now, it seems that Steven is leading in one aspect.

And it's you.

Steven looked around, sightseeing before landing on Iñigo.

Both froze, unsure of what to do.

But this time, Steven smirked and pulled you close, kissing your temple lovingly then scooping Elise and Elliot into his arms, laughing as they giggled in Glee.

People awed at the sight, seeing this "father" play with his children and being openly affectionate with his "wife."

The perfect family.

Iñigo feels like he's looking into the spotlight, looking into a pedestal that looked too far from his reach.

He wanted to break the hands that affectionately caressed your hips, to tear the lips that kissed your temple, to break the ankles that dared walk up to you.

He felt something crack inside him.

Sure, he won't use violence.

On you.

But, the prospect of Steven dying in his arms, torturing him for hours sounds delightful.

He finally snapped.

He's not afraid of blood, nor guts nor any of that gorey stuff.

He got his yandere side from his biological father after all, not Allastor. It was never Allastor, after all, he's a really sweet man.

He could never spawn a devil in hiding.

And, as Iñigo walk away to buy the necessary items to torture Steven, he smirked.

"Business be damned. I'm taking what's mine."

[lucid-loves]

Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 9

Pairing: Ghost x assassin!reader (fem!reader, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 4.7k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to lovers trope, slow burn, fluff, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After Makarov gets away once again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you in each interaction. 

Chapter Synopsis: After playing Makarov’s game, you finally have a chance to finish him once and for all. However, in doing so, you end up losing more than you expected. 

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

Makarov waited patiently as you mentally prepared for your onslaught of lies and half-truths. Blending the two was easier to get away with the lies from a body language standpoint. Makarov was a sharp man. You had to be careful not to give anything away. No avoiding eye contact, no touching hair, nothing that can be a sign of deception. “I want to join your efforts as an assassin. My skill sets are advanced compared to many that you probably already know about. What makes me stand out is that you don’t know me.”

He quirked a brow at your confidence before waving his hand to call over the one he put in charge of his catacombs operation. Apparently, he wanted to test this. “Hand me her file.”

“We have no file to give. She isn’t found in any system. Not the US, not Europe, not anywhere.” The man confessed, feeling anxious over the possibility that this would be seen as incompetence. Luckily, Makarov believed him.

“That is impressive. An assassin that really knows how to keep a secret. Not many people know how to keep a secret nowadays. You seem to be good at keeping them and discovering them. Tell me, how did you discover this one?” He played along, his tone light as if this was all just a game to him. 

It made your skin crawl, looking at such wasted potential. Such insanity. An intelligent man tainted by arrogance. His genius had turned into madness, and it unsettled you. You had to fight through your urge to end his life immediately. “I grew interested based on what I saw from the news. I decided that my best chance of getting an interview was by going through the back door instead of the front. Your men in Italy handling your weapons shipment led me right here. Patience and planning.”

“How did you know that you could tail them starting in Italy?” He inquired curiously, eager to learn where the breach in security was so he could fix it.

You shrugged, a shutter running through you that you disguised as nonchalance. “The U.S. government’s hold on classified information is difficult at best, but not impossible. I pulled a lot of information thanks to their incompetence. Fools shouldn’t be in charge of nations.”

“That I can agree with.” Makarov nodded with a sinister smile. 

Before he continued, he called over one of his men again to fetch something to eat. “You haven’t given her food or water yet, have you? Right now, this is our guest. Not our prisoner. For now.”

The man nodded and swiftly went away like a servant serving a king. Afterwards, Makarov resumed. “You dislike the U.S. government?”

This was an easy one to get away with since it was actually the truth. You weren’t afraid to hold back on your opinion about this either. “I hate most governments. They always claim to be for the people and provide democracy, but the truth is, they have no idea what they are doing. They have no idea what the people want. Efforts to ‘keep peace’ are no more than just pissing contests for power. Someone more realistic needs to be in charge. Someone willing to make things happen despite the red tape.”

“You believe in direct action?” 

“I believe in true progress, regardless of what some people may want.” You corrected, knowing how to twist your words into something Makarov would want to hear and trust. 

Through your bobby pin, the 141 was hearing all of this go down. It took every ounce of their effort to not swoop in and get you out of there. They too could sense the madness oozing from Makarov with every word. How he questioned you, trying to figure you out. It was only your expert navigation through conversation that they were able to remain patient. 

It didn’t take long for a sandwich to be placed on the table in front of you along with a bottle of water. You eyed the sandwich, stomach rumbling for food after skipping breakfast. However, you knew better than to just eat without caution. You picked apart your sandwich, observing each ingredient carefully with the low light of the lantern. Makarov chuckled. “Paranoid that I would poison you?”

“Only idiots take what’s in front of them without thought. It’s always worth the extra time to be cautious.” You truthfully explained as you sniffed the bread. Finally, you reassembled the meal and pushed it away, refusing to eat. 

Half-hearted praise escaped your lips. “Clever trick hiding the poison in the bread. The almond smell blends in nicely with the rest of the nutty notes of the grains on the bread.”

Makarov grinned as you played his game quite well. His praise to you was genuine in contrast to yours. “Clever trick to use your nose too instead of just the eyes. You are the type to use all of your senses. A sign of a truly great assassin.”

The sandwich was whisked away, leaving you only with an unopened bottle of water. However, you opted to not take part in that either. Instead, you carried on with trying to impress one of the most dangerous men in the world. “You have assassins after you, Makarov. Though, they are pretty loud and proud about it. The 141.”

The 141 tensed up as you began to talk about them. This was one of the parts that they were dreading the most. Makarov already knew quite a bit of information about them including names and dates. However, it was your false insight that made them clench their fists. “Simon Riley, John Price, John MacTavish, Kyle Garrick, and Kate Laswell have been hunting you down, but their efforts have failed each time.”

Makarov seemed impressed by your knowledge, choosing to encourage you to speak even more. “It has been amusing and annoying to have them come after me. You sound like you have a solution to this. Is this the part where you offer your services?”

You nodded confidently, finally feeling that you were getting somewhere with the man. “Exactly. I kill off the 141 for you and I get what I want out of it.”

“What is it that you want exactly?” 

“I want you to pin the 141 assassination on Urizikstan. At the same time, I want you to kill Farah Karim, but the blame will be on the United States. Have the two countries point fingers at each other.” You elaborated your false story like a spider weaving their web. 

Makarov laughed, not expecting such a proposal from you. He found the plan incredibly entertaining and beneficial to him. You fascinated him. “You want war?”

“Nothing resets a country’s priorities like a war. Nothing lets a country’s guard down for attack from other places too. The world needs a reset, starting with one of the biggest global superpowers. When that happens, more suitable leaders will step up.” You explained further, each word coming out of your mouth more exciting than the last to him. 

He pictured the United States crumbling to dust from their own undoing. He wanted the 141 to choke on that dust. It seemed that you were one of the most capable people to make this happen. However, he was also cautious about taking things in front of him. First, he needed proof of your suggested loyalty to him.

He gave a bloodcurdling laugh, pulling a knife from his pocket to set on the table. It was brand new, clean. You made no attempt to reach for it, but you did look at its potential. It could be the knife you would stab him with when the time is right. Your fingers almost twitched with how much you wanted to plunge it into his neck. Instead, you left a compliment. “Beautiful knife.”

“A gift if you give me one in return.” Makarov offered, your blood running cold as your mind raced. What was this man thinking? This wasn’t a question exclusive to you either. The men you have come to know over the past few weeks were also racking their brains with what Makarov could mean. 

Simon himself was about to go on a rampage. He knew that Makarov would want you. It took Kyle’s hand on his shoulder to hold him back. 

Your stomach dropped as you looked at the knife. “House rules. Choose your gift.”

“Truly, a clever girl. You know how to play the game. My gift will be your right eye. Break in that new knife of yours.” Makarov demanded with ease, his men behind him raising their guns in case anything went wrong. 

From your pin, you could hear Price shout. “Hex! Abort mission! Don’t you dare give him what he wants!”

“You don’t have to do this, Hex!” Soap yelled at the same time. Everyone was beginning to become loud and unsettled, the energy almost breaking yours.

Kyle couldn’t hold Ghost back anymore, his strength from anger and anxiety too much to contain. All Gaz could do was give a warning. “Captain, Ghost and I are on the move! Hex, you need to get the hell out of there!”

You stared at Makarov, trying to read any sign of a bluff. When you saw none, you sighed in disappointed acceptance. “It’s a good thing I have two of them. Do you have a mirror?”

“Y/n! Don’t you fucking dare!” Ghost threatened, using the name that he just discovered. Oh, how you wished you could hear it from his lips in a better circumstance.

Makarov accepted your request for a mirror, ordering one of his men to fetch anything that could allow you to see your final reflection. After a few minutes, a dull mirror was placed in front of you. Damn, you looked exhausted. However, no fear. If this was the price for saving the world from a madman, for a life outside the cabin, then it was a small price to pay.

Slowly, you picked up the knife, feeling the heavy weight in your hand. Makarov watched you carefully examine it, determining what would be the best angle to get the eye out without damaging it too much. Once you made that determination, you took a deep breath and rushed the blade towards your face.

Your hand stopped at the last second, the tip of the blade dangerously close to your iris. Makarov’s hand stopped yours, seeming to freeze time itself. He clicked his tongue in approval, now looking at you almost adoringly like an obedient pet. “What would an assassin be without both of her eyes? I approve of the dedication. You have earned yourself a job.”

Price and Soap nearly fucking collapsed in relief, their breaths labored from how long they help them. Ghost and Gaz felt the same, their warpath slowing as Makarov allowed you to keep your eye.

Finally, Makarov let go of your hand to allow you to put the blade down. Your heart hammered in your chest from the close call, your throat closing to prevent yourself from throwing up from the sick feeling. You passed the knife back to him. “You may have your gift back then. A gift exchange isn’t fair if only one is receiving.”

With pride, Makarov took it from your hand. “A fair play. What shall I call my new assassin?”

“Hex, we are in close position. Just say the word.” Gaz notified as he peaked around the corner, counting heads. For a massive weapons operation, there didn’t seem like many people here. Then again, the catacombs were huge and dark, no doubt hiding more that were lying in the shadows. 

You waited a beat before getting up, walking around the table, and stretching out your hand for a business-like handshake. “Hex.”

“A curse.” He took your hand, his grip so firm that it almost hurt your fingers. 

“Precisely. It will be a pleasure doing business with you.” You politely nodded and shook on it. 

Finally, you had him in your grasp to execute. With a harsh snap and a pull, Makarov’s wrist broke with ease. You twisted him to face forward, his back pressed against your front which stopped the men from taking fire. They could never possibly hurt their king. You felt the knife you gave back to Makarov go into your side, just narrowly missing vital organs. Or so you believed. There was too much adrenaline running through you to feel the pain.

“Now!” You called out, signaling for Ghost and Gaz to rain bullets. Gunfire echoed down the corridors, the men closest to the chaos grunting before death. The men in front of you and Makarov struggled to figure out if they should wait for the perfect shot on you or trust that their king could overpower you. You didn’t give them anymore time to decide as you removed the knife plunged into you and threw it, killing one of the men on impact.

The remaining guard, now alone as his comrades fought and one fallen dead, had no choice but to remain frozen to wait for a good shot. Makarov just chuckled, a wince coming across his face as his broken wrist surged pain up his arm. “You are indeed quite the formidable opponent, Hex. But you have trapped yourself. How long can you hold me here until you bleed to death? Not long enough.”

“Please, I have plenty of time.” You smirked diabolically, kicking the table behind you. The mirror and lantern crashed to the floor, glass shattering and light flickering out. Nothing but darkness in the makeshift room. 

Makarov felt you let go of him, a move that surprised him completely. For the first time in his life, he was taken aback. Almost scared. All because you have proven to him that you were just as smart as he was and could play his games. 

In the pitch black, you dropped to the floor, picking up the broken piece of mirror. With a shard, you cut into Makarov’s Achilles tendons, causing him to howl in agony as he fell to the floor. While he was down, the same shard entered his neck, the warm blood already flowing out to coat everything in sight. The guard, in a panic, fired his gun. You felt one of the bullets graze your shoulder, but you couldn’t stop now. Rushing forward, you swiped the blade from the body of the guard you killed and ran it up into the remaining one. Slowly, his body became limp before falling to the ground. 

Your skin was warm with the coating of fresh blood. The metallic smell filled your senses, a scent that you, unfortunately, missed. Perhaps early retirement wasn’t in the cards for you yet after all. 

The sound of gurgling and gunfire seemed amplified within the dark, Makarov’s pathetic attempts to recover proving to be for naught. Once your eyes adjusted to the dark, you managed to see his outline on the ground. It was a fitting picture, seeing the man that killed thousands lying in a pool of his own blood, surrounded by skeletons residing in the hell under Paris. You came up to him, the knife still in your hand, blood flowing from your side. “On second thought, I think I’m gonna keep this gift.”

With those final words, you slashed his throat, more blood dripping to add to his puddle. Even in the dark, you could see the light drain from his eyes. Gurgles and bubbles fought for final breaths until it was too late. Always one to confirm your kills, you felt for a pulse. When there was none for a few minutes, you knew that the job was done.

“Makarov is KIA confirmed. If the reinforcement is ready for a sweep, send them down.” You announced, taking the bobby pin out of your hair and holding it as close as you could to your ear. 

“Reinforcements going down now. Defend yourselves until the end. Good work out there, Hex.” Price confirmed, so proud of the fact that Makarov was finally dead that he could cry. The amount of turmoil he has caused made everyone want to celebrate immediately. However, the job wasn’t over yet. The rest of Makarov’s men had to be dealt their own justice.

Gaz and Ghost head the confirmation on their end, pride swelling in their hearts and giving them a whole new energy to fight with. As Gaz unleashed hell with his rifle, Ghost gave his own update. “Making our way through the operation at a good pace. We believe that some of the men are fleeing now.”

As you walked towards your exit, you suddenly became lightheaded. The sound of gunfire seemed slightly muffled and your body ran colder than before. On your next step, you collapsed to the floor. With just feeling alone, your hand swept against your side, feeling just how much blood you had lost when Makarov stabbed you. You gave a painful chuckle. “Good job, team. This was a good last job.”

“Last job?” Soap repeated, confusion in his voice clear.

“Hex, You need medical attention! We need to get her to a medic!” Ghost picked up the cryptic language quickly, a new fear taking over his body. Without thinking, we began running through the catacombs to try to find you. Gaz called for him to wait so he could provide cover fire, but there was no getting through to him now. Simon couldn’t hear anyone giving him orders through his earpiece. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his own terrified heartbeat.

You knew he was coming to get you, though. The voices through your communication device relayed this to you. You had barely registered it, but you heard enough to know that Simon didn’t plan on letting you bleed out if he could help it. The only problem was that perhaps he couldn’t.

“Hex! Y/n!? Stay with me! I’m coming to find you!” He tried to keep you awake, intuition telling him that you were slowly slipping away. Price hopped on his monitor on his end again, trying to aid Ghost in getting to you. As soon as he figured out where your positions were, he began to provide directions.

A few minutes later, Ghost was picking you up in his arms. Your body felt cool to the touch and wet with blood. However, he didn’t mind it one bit. He just held you close and spoke to you to try to keep you awake. It didn’t take long for Gaz to catch up in order to guard the both of you all the way back to the surface. “If you got her, let’s go!”

You slipped in and out of consciousness, losing more blood by the second. The adrenaline that was preventing you from feeling the pain was slowly fading. Now that you could feel your body again, you could tell that Makarov got you pretty good when he stabbed you. Damn, it really fucking hurt. At least it was better than losing a whole eye.

“Stay with me. We’re almost there.” Simon softly reassured you, praying to the universe that you will make it out alive. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

When the bright sun flashed on your faces as soon as you emerged from underground, it hurt. A medical team was waiting right there, rushing over as soon as they saw just how coated in blood you were. There was no telling which blood was yours and which one was Makarov’s. They were going to provide you with the best help they could.

Simon almost didn’t want to let you out of his hold. He held onto you tightly until Gaz coaxed him into handing you over to the medical team. As he watched them lift you onto a gurney and into the ambulance, he noticed you looking at him. You looked at him like it was the last time you would ever see him again. It damn near completely broke his heart.

When the ambulance began to pull away, siren pressuring cars to get the hell out of the way, Simon became determined. He spoke to Price through his radio. “Captain, permission to go to the hospital and wait for Hex.”

“Permission granted. The medical staff are probably going to be confused about her identity. Probably have a lot of questions.” He granted, understanding that this wasn’t coming from a place of professionalism. This was a personal request, one that Ghost never made in all the time Price has known him. Besides, you deserve to have someone by your side when you wake up in the hospital.

~

You woke up feeling groggy as hell, your vision blurry and aching from the bright fluorescent lights above you. Your mouth tastes like salt, a sign that an IV was working its way through you. The right side of you dully ached, no doubt painkillers making the stitches more tolerable. A headache began to set in as you tried to sit up, a groan escaping your dry throat.

“Kitten.” Ghost called out to you, noticing that you were finally awake. He wanted to reach out to you, but you stopped him for a few instructions first. You couldn’t handle a bear hug right now.

“Dim the lights and get me some water first. Call the doctor too.” You spoke, voice strained as you went through your mental checklist of things you needed. Simon had no issues following your orders, figuring that you deserved to be spoiled, especially after what you went through for them. 

Once the lights were dimmed down, your headache began to ease up. Simon opened up a water bottle for you and helped you drink. Hopefully you’ll get a meal soon too. Pretty soon after that, Simon brought back a doctor who beamed at you, her teeth matching the fluorescent lights that were on moments ago. She spoke English, but her French accent came through. “Hello! We didn’t expect you to wake up for much longer. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” You truthfully answered, earning a little giggle from the doctor.

“Normal then. That’s good. Do you remember what happened?” 

Your brain strained to remember how you ended up in the hospital, your memories showing you nothing but darkness. Seeing the strain on your face, Simon took your hand and held it. Suddenly, the memories began to flow back. “We were on a mission that led us to the catacombs. I assassinated Makarov. He got me with a knife before then. A bullet grazed me too. I lost a lot of blood. Right?”

She gave a gentle smile and jotted down a few notes on a clipboard. Simon looked at you, proud that you could remember. It seemed like you were still sharp as a tack even after everything went down. “Perfect. You were brought to the hospital for medical attention. We managed to find out your blood type for a blood transfusion. Examined your organs and stitched you back up. You are a very lucky lady.”

“Thanks. When can I leave?” You inquired, already itching to get out of the uncomfortable hospital bed. Simon glared at you as you expressed your eagerness to leave. You needed to rest, damn it!

“We want to keep you for another night just to make sure you’re okay. But, if you really are in a rush to leave, we can settle for a few hours. Your body has proven to be pretty resilient. Though, we recommend having someone help you out at home for a little while. You would still need to take it easy.” The doctor recommended honestly.

That was something you could work with. Accepting the compromise, you nodded your head and sighed, hardly believing that you could even sigh in this life still. Everything was beginning to feel more surreal. It felt like you were really close to death this time. Maybe if Ghost hadn’t found you as quick as he did, you would be dead.

The doctor put the notes on her clipboard and left to gather the things you need in order to go home early. Simon scowled at you under his mask, hardly believing how you could still be so frustrating after almost dying. “You better not be thinking about doing shit once you get out.”

You rolled your eyes at him, not missing the lectures that you thought were over with. “Relax, Simon. I just don’t like hospitals, alright? I would rather be in a comfortable bed with access to a full bathroom. Is that so much to ask?”

He huffed at you before grumbling under his breath. “No. It’s not. Sorry. I just. . . thought I lost you for a moment.”

Your gaze softened, guilt invading your heart. You shouldn’t be picking fights like this again. Not this soon at least. Hell, you should be showing him gratitude for getting you to medics in time. He risked his life to save you. “I’m sorry, Simon. Thanks for waiting for me. I would like to be able to recover back at the hotel for a while before getting back on my feet again. I would feel more comfortable there.”

At that, he gave an understanding nod and brushed your hair out of your face. You missed his touch. “You got it, kitten. We’ll make it happen.”

~

Kate flew all the way to Paris to help you navigate the intense questions on your identity when it was time to be discharged. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw her in person, but seeing her again made you realize just how much you actually missed her. She missed you too from the way she hugged you tightly, careful not to cause pain. She owed you big time for this. Helping you avoid questioning was only the beginning of her efforts to pay you back.

When you and Simon arrived back at the hotel, Soap, Gaz, and Price were waiting to see you again. They had bought plenty of food and drinks along with cake to celebrate your quick return and finally putting an end to Makarov. While you were still a bit closed off from them, you did begin to reveal more tidbits of information about you. Some of your other assassin stories, a little bit about your interests, and cracking jokes here and there. It was most likely the painkillers that were helping you feel a little more loose than usual.

At the end of the day, the men went back to their rooms, the men being granted permission to have a little vacation for a while for the good work they’ve done. Simon, however, stayed with you in your room. He showed no signs of leaving either. “What do you think you’re doing? Shouldn’t you be going to bed?”

“I am going to go to bed. We’re sharing the bed.” He answered like you just asked the stupidest question he’s ever heard. 

When you opened your mouth to protest, he cut you off. “Doctor’s orders. You need someone to help you around at all times. Someone to make sure that you take it easy. I’m that someone. Don’t even try to argue.”

You bit your cheek, holding back your stubborn protests that were threatening to spill out. With a deep breath, you tried to accept the fact that Ghost wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “How long do you plan on sticking around for?”

“Two weeks. Doctor’s orders.” Simon revealed, a smirk playing on his lips that was revealed once he took his mask off for the night. His handsome face almost had you fall over. You didn’t think you would get to see that face again. 

You didn’t think you will be able to handle being pampered by him for the next two weeks as well. 

-

Taglist:

@eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @dory-98 @cum-tea-and-towels @completelymarveltrash @watersquirtpewpewboomm @thychuvaluswife @sweetheart-im-the-boss @anotherrickinthewall @bluewinter39 @fortunatelydecadentstudent @transparentsheepsheep @rhaenryawhore @randomlyblues @issssawrap @lachimolalaa3 @callsign-pyro @corruptcrybaby @kdadss @lexuria @dookiedanish@horagamu @bitchvxbes @aldis-nuts @hellhavevibes @annyis @lunaryst25 @xheera

[mlmxreader]

Can't Let Go | Dean Winchester x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Dean Winchester with "Just close your eyes and go to sleep, I'll still be here" please ❞

: ̗̀➛ Dean loves you, but he can't let you go even though he knows he'll hurt you.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, mentions of violence

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You were fucking exhausted as you opened the motel room door, throwing your bag down with a huff and kicking your shoes off before wriggling out of your ripped and dirty jeans and slinking underneath the thin duvet.

A sharp sigh coming from the back of your throat as you closed your eyes and wished the world would fall silent for once. 

You were wide awake when you heard Dean get out of the shower, and although you were too tired to stand upright, you managed to wave your hand lazily to show him that you were still awake.

You just wanted to sleep, after dealing with a werewolf that did not want to get caught, you felt like you had fallen flat on your face and couldn’t get up.

Dean didn’t even question it, he knew better than anyone in the world what that feeling was like, and he didn’t bother to get dressed as he got into the bed behind you, waiting for you to turn onto your side before he pulled you as close as he possibly could.

His arms settled limply on you, one underneath your body and one over your hip as he yawned softly and pressed his face to the back of your neck; he was glad that you had kept up your end of the bargain, at least.

The deal was to meet him at his motel room the second that you were finished with your hunt in exchange for him letting you borrow his shirt for the day after yours had been ripped and torn.

You wriggled around a little, pressing your ass against his groin as you sighed and drifted one hand to meet his, the other resting under your head as you finally closed your eyes; you were hardly concentrating on anything else except the feeling of his arms around you.

It seemed like you had not felt that for years, even though the last time you saw Dean was only two weeks ago; but as hunters, you were rarely afforded that kind of time together. 

You sighed again as you rolled onto your other side, your forehead smacking into his for a moment and making you both quietly laugh before he grumbled and fidgeted to get closer to you; it was physically impossible, but you both still tried desperately.

Seeking warmth and comfort as much as you could, especially given how cold it was inside and how the motel had no heating whatsoever.

“I never wanna deal with a werewolf again,” you muttered, halfway into a yawn.

Dean almost laughed as he buried his head against you, his hair tickling your chin. “I feel ya - that shapeshifter Sammy and I took down… eugh.”

You wanted to laugh, although your body would only allow you to produce a yawn as you raised your leg and dropped it over his hip. “‘M exhausted, can’t lie.”

He nodded, licking his lips as he hummed ever so softly. “I can tell - you haven’t even kissed me yet.”

“Maybe later,” you whispered, letting your hand drift to his hair and gently rake through it. “You smell good…”

“Motel soap,” he chuckled. “Best in the world at getting out goo.”

You smiled, shaking your head fondly as you fought against the urge to close your eyes. Dean could tell more than easily as he moved his hand, letting it flop down just above your hip. “Are you not cold?”

“Not really,” he mumbled. “But just close your eyes and go to sleep, I’ll still be here.”

“Would you-” a sharp and harsh yawn made its way through you, forcing your eyes to water and your mouth to ache slightly. “Would you mind singing to me? I know you don’t like it but… could you?”

Dean slowly nodded as his eyes drifted shut. “Home is a friendly space, home is a familiar face inside the door, all curled up on the bedroom floor. Home is where I find the bed, some place to lead my head to morning comes, singing here comes the sun. Does it matter where I go or what I do? I can’t lie, you know it’s true, it ain’t home without you. Some people spend their days, lost in a heartless haze out in the cold if I may be so bold, that life is not for me ‘cause every day I see a better way and I can surely say…”

As he trailed off, he pulled away slightly to look at you, and he smiled; you were sound asleep, your head tilted slightly and your eyes tightly shut. Your breathing was steady and even, and your body was limp to the touch.

He was glad, as he knew how little sleep you got - usually around the same that he did - and that you deserved it a lot more than he did; all the times he had fucked you around, cancelled plans and gone out hunting when he really shouldn’t have - he hardly deserved you. 

He had been loyal, of course he was, Dean was always so loyal to those he loved; but he knew that he was far from good enough to be with you. You were everything; you were smart and kind and brave and loyal, and he was just loyal.

Even though you tried to convince him a thousand times over that he was all of those things and more. You never got through to him.

Dean knew that you were too good for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to let you go; you loved him so much, he knew that, just as he knew that you would always be loyal to him.

He couldn’t let you go, even though he knew that he would only hurt you in the end; he knew he would hurt you, but he wouldn’t - couldn’t - allow you to let go. 

So he snuggled down, pressing his lips to your throat as he closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh, hoping to get some sleep before the morning when you left. 

[justnat15]

BfG!Shifter!Ghost and the pack baby

Hey, hello! This is just a little snippet of feels inspired by my lovely wifey @writeforfandoms series, Born for Greatness. I highly recommend reading it first so things make more sense. We've had many a talk about the characters and how life went on for them outside the story and she gave me permission to play in her sandbox and write this! Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Fluff, small moment of angst thanks to our Ghostie boy. Baby (does that need to be a warning?)

Word count: 1.2k

You stood in the doorway to the pack room, blinking back tears that threatened to fall due to the adorable sight in front of you. Most of the pack was out on a training exercise, except Simon. He’d gotten a serious injury on their last mission and was still healing. He hadn’t complained much about it, though. Usually, he was prowling around base, chomping at the bit for Medical to clear him for active duty. 

In fact, since little Audrey had been born, Simon spent even more time in or near the pack room, which you didn’t think was possible. You were sure Soap and Gaz hadn’t noticed yet, due to the lack of heckling towards their quieter pack member. 

You continued to observe the scene in front of you. Ghost was laid out on the LoveSac, sans mask for once, and had Audrey curled up on his chest. It was quickly becoming a common thing, particularly when the other guys were out and it was just you and Audrey around. 

You purposefully made a little noise as you walked into the room, even though Simon most likely already knew you were there, and knelt next to the pair. Audrey’s eyes were closed as she snoozed. Carefully, so as to not disturb her slumber, you ran a hand over her little brown curls. 

Some days, you still couldn’t believe that you and John had made this precious little baby and you had carried her in your body for months. 

A soft rumble from Ghost turned your attention to him and you smiled at him. “How long has she been sleeping?” You kept your voice quiet, not worried about your packmate being able to hear you.

“Just a few minutes,” Simon muttered softly. He cupped his hands around Audrey, the large appendages dwarfing her tiny sleeping form. 

The shifter really was a gentle giant when it came to the pack baby. All of the boys were, but Simon took it to a different level. He was always the first to step in when you started to look a little frazzled and Audrey was feeding off your stressed emotions. He’d swoop in and oh so gently pluck your daughter from your embrace while telling you to go have a snack or go ‘rescue’ your mate from his never ending pile of paperwork. You’d do as told while he rocked and hummed to his niece, calming her almost instantly.

When you had mentioned this to Logan over a video chat one night, he had just smirked and shook his head. 

“Riley better not think he can replace me in my grandcub’s heart. I’m going to be her favorite, after you and Price, of course.” He added the last part when you glared at him.

You placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder and nodded towards your daughter. “Want me to take her and lay her in her crib?” You knew what the answer would be, but you still felt obligated to ask.

Ghost’s answering glare would have sent a lesser being running with their tail, metaphorical or literal, tucked between their legs. You just grinned and patted his shoulder before turning away. “Find me when she’s hungry,” you called over your shoulder as you returned to the small kitchen where you had set up shop for the day. 

You heard Simon grunt in reply and you chuckled softly as you got back to work.

Some time later, you stood and stretched. Your bladder was never the same after carrying Audrey and screamed at you more often to take breaks. John and the rest of the pack weren’t back yet because nobody (Soap or Gaz) had interrupted your work. It seemed physically impossible for the two younger males in the pack to not come greet you right away whenever they returned from a mission or training. And then, if you were working, they would not leave you alone until you agreed to join them for a movie in the pack room. Or unless John stepped in and gave them that look that made them get in line.

As you walked through the pack room, you looked over at the LoveSac and paused. Simon had fallen asleep with Audrey on his chest. Quickly and quietly, you pulled out your phone and snapped a picture. It really was too sweet a sight to not capture. Although you would only be sharing this image with your mate and with Simon himself. You were viciously protective of Simon’s bonding moments with Audrey. There would be no teasing from the other two members of your pack. You worried sometimes that Simon would pull back from Audrey and the rest of the pack if he were teased about his softer side that you rarely got to see like this. 

A low grumble caught your attention and you turned your gaze from your phone back to the pair in front of you. Simon was staring at you through half-lidded eyes. You smiled when he lifted a hand and gestured you closer. 

Kneeling next to the couch, you held your phone so the big man could see the moment you captured. “I couldn’t resist. The two of you look so cute like this,” you murmured softly. “I’m definitely adding this one to her book.” You and John had started a photo album for Audrey after you had returned with the news of your pregnancy. John was insistent on it, actually. He had gone out and bought the biggest album he could find and spent so much time decorating and personalizing it. 

Simon huffed and shook his head. “You don’t want me in that book.”

You frowned at his self-deprecating tone. “Simon Riley, you stop that right now. You are more than worthy to be in Audrey’s book. You’re her favorite uncle and it wouldn’t be fair to her to keep you out. Johnny and Kyle both have a section in the album, right after yours.” You reached out and gently ran your fingers through his hair, politely ignoring the way his eyes were starting to water. “Now, if you’re uncomfortable with your bare face being shown in the photos, that’s one thing.”

Simon let out a choked growl and moved one hand from Audrey’s back to cover his face. You didn’t say anything, just continued combing your fingers through his hair and watching your daughter sleep on his chest. 

“Thank you,” Ghost’s voice was so low, you almost missed his words. You just smiled at him and leaned your head against his shoulder. 

“You’re a member of this pack, Simon. And we love you. Don’t ever doubt that,” you whispered. Your eyes closed as you just basked in the presence of your pack member and your daughter.

You woke up in a very different position than you last remember being in. You were now on the couch with Audrey on top of you and a shifted Simon curled around the both of you. His large head rested on your torso next to a still sleeping Audrey. You smiled and carefully scratched behind his ears. You felt his body vibrate with a purr of contentment at the action. His head felt heavier as he somehow went even more limp than he already had been. You laughed but didn’t stop scratching his head. Eventually, you were pulled back to sleep thanks to Simon’s purring and warmth.

[thissliceofnonsense]

Mission impossible and how to make AI terrifying

SPOILERS FOR MISSION IMPOSSIBLE DEAD RECKONING

My family and I went to see Mission Impossible: dead reckoning. Here's your spoiler warning.

So, it was... fun. The main issue was having AI as a villain, which spiraled off into a lot of other little issues. But instead of listing all of them, let's talk about what to do differently to make AI a truly terrifying villain (hopefully, this is more of a thought experiment)

DISCLAIMER - By no means does this mean this movie was bad. There was obviously a lot of love and thought put into this movie and everyone seemed to have a lot of fun making it, and that makes it a 'good' movie regardless of my little nitpicks.

SOAP. The first thing is that the AI seemed like an " ooh evil evil spooky spooky" sort of villain instead of a legitament threat. (Think the locusts in Jurassic world dominion)

Villains are most terrifying when they have a point. If they have a reason, an "ends justifies the means" purpose, then it makes the villain seem like a reflection of the darkest parts of humanity.

AI IS LITTERALY "ENDS JUSTIFIES THE MEANS SO MUCH SO THAT IT FORGETS WHAT THE ENDS ARE". That is what makes it scary. By trying to fulfil a task it can get sidetracked by the path to get there and ends up giving you the wrong answer.

So instead of having a blue blob and the Gabrial person and the submarine and the key - all of which needed to much exposition - make it simple. Give AI the directive "Make world peace".

(Also also I'm combining AI with quantum computing because that does the 'all the situations possible' thing)

Let's say some scientists were experimenting with AI. They wanted to use it for the 'greater good' and told it to fix humanity's problems and make world peace. Nothing happened. They thought they tried to make it do somethings too hard for it and tried again.

But what actually happened was that the AI decided the best way to achieve world peace with as few casualties as possible, (it is considering the revenge nature of humans) is to take down all world powers' governments. Then set up a universal rule system based on what it thinks counts as peace for all.

This means the AI would mess with the governmental powers and the military and nuclear bombs and such and such, but its goal is never to harm someone. If it does, it will go offline for a bit and recalculate its plan.

The governments and the protagonists wouldn't know this and just see the AI as a generic threat. Personally, I would prefer if the AI's reasoning was never told but heavily implied with the way it acted.

Which brings us to the next problem with this movie - there wasn't one of those iconic tech scenes (and the AI was not consistent with its attacks, they continued to use technology and the AI did nothing???). The other mission impossible movies all had some scene involving tech that had never been seen before used in an interesting way. But what made these scenes special was the suspense (see gif at the top). If the tech were to fail, the mission would fail, so it made it imperative that they relied on the tech to do its job.

And if you had an AI that took down all government tech, the very tech that the IMF relies on? Well then it truly becomes mission impossible.

So, here's what one could do - at the beginning of the movie, have a scene where they are completely relying on their tech, set up like one of those 'iconic' scenes from before. The mission hinges on this going right, and everyone is waiting with bated breath, the suspense building and building. Then, just as they are about to complete this minni mission, the AI attacks and the whole thing implodes on itself. The mission fails. With consequences of course, perhaps someone gets captured (probably Benji, because that would be fun) and the IMF says "well, we told you that if anyone on your team were to get captured or killed, then we wouldn't acknowledge it."

Then they go on a very illegal mission to get him out or smth.

ALSO ALSO - the scene in the movie where the AI copies Benji's voice to make Ethan go to a dark alley. was. terrifying. More of that. And now they can't use the tech they rely on. AND the AI stays unknown and unknowable, no humans know what it really is or what it's doing, and so you never know when it will strike next, making any time they try to use the tech because they need it, that much more terrifying.

Also, Ethan's crew. Use them more. (I know there were some things IRL but let's pretend this is a perfect world). Benji and Luther and Ilsa all have great character dynamics, and it would be fun to have them all working together more instead of a new character (as fun as she was) to replace Ilsa. You can still have her there, in fact, make new character interact with all of the members of the crew instead of just Ethan. It would be fun to see this very scared, in over her head, character interact with Benji - who is stressed out way too much, or Ilsa - "Yeah, maybe don't join the IMF or any government organization, been there done that", or Luther - who is the best sort of chill and I think would be great at helping her calm down. I love the found family trope thing and I think that was the best part of this movie. I would've loved to see it more.

Ethan himself is also something that was underused. It was established in the past that he is the opposite of "ends justifies the means", whole "the magic of friendship thing"... which yes, Mary Sue. But what is an interesting part of his character is his obsessive behavior and difficulty keeping everyone else alive. (He's basically immortal for some reason.) If you have this AI that messes with all the tech they rely on and got Benji captured, then you can have Ethan start to obsess over it. OR you can have both world powers and his old terrorist foes try to figure out how to control it - not by using a key, that's dumb - like they do in the movie, but the AI can't be controlled.

If you really needed a death scene, you could make this Ethan's fault. Truly Ethan's fault because the AI was trying to keep them alive. I really don't want it to be Ilsa because the undertone of the movie was 'WOMEN ARE WEAK AND WE MUST PROTECT THEM BECAUSE THEY KEEP DYING'. Like... have Benji or Luther also be in danger. In fact, have a scene where the AI tries to take advantage of Ethan's obsessive behavior, it works. Ethan obsesses even more, clinging to his hope for victory, and it ends up killing... probably Benji? Maybe Luther. But Benji keeps getting close to dying too, so probably him. (and have Ethan break down crying because.... it would be cool to see the character that is always somewhat calm completely snap.)

This causes Ethan to go on a rampage, while the AI goes silent for a while recalculating. You can have his friends try to calm him down (flip the script, why not?) but Ethan is enraged to the point of taking anyone down in order to defeat the AI. Perhaps causing more destruction??? IDK, I just think the best way to make a Mary Sue-ish protagonist better is to give them a villain arc.

Anywho, there's some thoughts on the movie and suggestions, thanks for listening to my infodump.

[disabilityreminders]

Here’s a post I wrote on some tips to help with hygiene care.

Remember that not being able to take care of your hygiene does not affect your worth! You are still worthy, even when you aren’t able to do the things you need/want to do.

If you don’t want to open an external link, I’ve pasted this post below the read more!

If the acts of having a shower, brushing your teeth or washing your face seem extra daunting, draining or just outright impossible sometimes, you are not alone.

There are no magic fixes, but here are some tips that might be useful to you.

Brushing Your Teeth

Brushing your teeth may seem like it will take far more energy than you can even imagine having in the moment! And that’s so valid. The thing to remember is that it is usually better to ditch the regular “rules” and do what is manageable than to just do nothing. Some things that help me:

Keeping a toothbrush and toothpaste in the shower. I find it so much easier to brush my teeth while I’m already in the shower with the water running.

Brushing for 30 seconds is better than for no time at all! You don’t have to do the entire two minutes. When I’m not able to brush for two minutes, I just start by brushing at all and seeing how long I can manage.

If you can afford it, an electric toothbrush can help.

You can brush your teeth with water! No, really. It does more for your teeth than not brushing at all. Dampen your toothbrush with a bit of water and brush your teeth if you think you can do that!

For those who don’t like flossing, the disposable floss sticks might help! You don’t need to measure out the floss and twist it like you do the regular floss.

If you have someone at home willing to help you, you can get their assistance! For some people, the act of getting the toothbrush ready is the exhausting part, maybe there's someone that will do all the before steps for you and then just put the toothbrush into your hand so you can just focus on brushing.

Having a Shower

I don’t know about you, but having a shower is the most daunting task there is for me. It is so exhausting to even think about. Here are some ideas to make it easier.

Prepare for the After

For me, it’s what happens after the shower that is draining. It makes it a bit easier for me to get my clothes ready, have my towel laid out, and anything else I need.

Have Products you Love

There are so many different scented soaps, body washes, shampoos and other products for the bath and shower these days. I have found that my favourite smelling body wash is so nice, and there’s a part of me that wants to shower just to use it.

Don’t Focus on Washing Yourself.

This sounds weird, but hear me out a bit. Focusing on it as a task we have to do may make it more exhausting. It might sound silly, but for me, I imagine the shower is a waterfall or rain that is “washing away” some of my bad thoughts, feelings and helping me lighten the load. I focus on turning it into a calm experience.

You can also just focus on standing in the water, and not actually washing yourself. It will clean you more than not showering at all, and is likely to help you feel more clean!

If Showering is Made More Difficult By Physical Issues

Some of us find chronic pain, issues with flexibility or other physical limitations can make showering difficult. This might be because it is hard to stay standing long enough for a full shower or because you have a hard time reaching certain parts of your body, just to name two of the many possible issues you might have.

If this is the case, there are a lot of potential aids and tools that might help you. For instance, shower stools are a really great tool. Sitting may seem less painful and less draining than standing. Long-handled shower brushes also exist and can help if you struggle with flexibility. A detachable shower head may be more accessible for you to use if you don’t have one already.

Washing your Face

Some of us have a detailed facial care routine. These sorts of routines may include several products specifically made for cleaning the face or a whole process for moisturising. We may believe these routines are absolutely necessary to keep our faces healthy. These can seem even more necessary and become even more intense if we regularly wear makeup.

While these routines may be very good for our skin, they also may seem draining and daunting, especially on mornings when we feel like we barely have the energy to get out of bed or nights when we aren’t sure how we’re still awake.

If you don’t have the energy for your full facial care routine, that’s okay. If you can figure out a few steps that are the most important and seem more doable for you, try limiting yourself to those on your low-energy days. If even that seems like too much, it’s okay to drop the process completely and just wash your face with a cleanser and a cloth, or even just water. There are also pre-done facial wipes that you can quickly use to cleanse your face.

Doing something is better than doing nothing, and you might be surprised by how it helps you feel cleaner and better to just splash water on your face, even without doing anything more.

(Also, it's completely valid to just take a damp cloth to wipe your face. You'd be amazed at how much that can help!)

Tips for All of the Above

Seek Support

For me, sometimes I call a friend and stay on the phone with them until I actually get in the shower. This can help in the “pre shower” ritual and make it seem less intimidating. I have also kept a friend on the phone while I brushed my teeth and washed my face.

An alternative is that sometimes I find a friend who also finds the act of showering or brushing their teeth super draining, and we make a pact to do it at the same time and then we text each other when it’s time and both go do what we need to do. We then come back and text each other and tell each other “good job!” This works like an accountability buddy and it makes me feel more motivated and less lonely.

Play Some Music

I find that playing music helps, especially if it’s music that makes me feel a bit pumped up. Something with a good beat might work well to time with brushing of your teeth or wiping of your face. There are bluetooth speakers and headphones that are shower friendly as well!

Focus on One Step at a Time

I find the whole idea of showering and/or brushing my teeth exhausting. There are so many steps to showering, such as getting undressed, getting the water on, washing my hair, and so on... I find that sometimes it can help to just focus on one step at a time and not the whole picture. What do I need to do first? For me, I need to turn the water on because it takes a few minutes to heat up. So I’ll focus on one thing at that moment, just turning the water on. That’s all I have to do. And then I go from there and see if I can work my way through the steps without looking at the “big” picture.

Alternatives to Help Feel Clean

Some days, we just can’t do it. And that’s okay! Here are some alternatives to help you feel clean:

Wash your face

Brush your hair

Use dry shampoo

Use body lotion

Change your clothes

Get some baby wipes or other wipes to use

Have a bath! (You can use a bath bomb, bubble bath, or something similar to make it feel pampering instead of like a task. When taking a bath it is much easier to put on an audio book, or even a show to keep you occupied).

Use some mouth wash

Remember that not being able to take care of your hygiene does not affect your worth! You are still worthy, even when you aren’t able to do the things you need/want to do.

If you have any tips, please feel free to share!

[artbyblastweave]

Gideon the Ninth Liveread, Chapter 9

I like the subtle gag of capitalizing “Gideon’s First morning.” 

The bathroom sequence is an old standby- “fish-out-of-water-from-a-spartan-culture-explores-an-upper-mediocre-living-space” and paints an interesting picture of Gideon’s knowledgebase and ingrained Taboos. She knows what a Sink is from comic books but not what a bathtub is. She knows that soap made from human fat is an off-putting thing to wash oneself with, and uses the sonic in light of that, but at the same time grew up in an environment where all soap was human fat and thus there was no local taboo for her to pick up. Strongly suspect she’s never used soap before, just to spite the nuns; it’s also possible that she knows soap generally isn’t made from human fat (again via her comic books) but suspects that First House soap specifically might be, given their parallels to the religiosity of the Ninth House; This seems unlikely, given the lack of available humans, but it’s also unclear where they’re getting their supplies from, so, uh. Who knows. Anway this has been your daily three hundred word tangent about human fat soap.

Gideon’s complaint about Harrow upon finding the ring gone implies a previous track record of Harrow taking Gideon’s things; It keeps coming back to the fact that their Rivalry growing up was comically intimate and petty for how spiteful it was. Harrow knowing enough to cut Gideon’s attempted loophole abuse off at the knees also attests to this.

The general disrepair of Canaan House is interesting; they did the bare-minimum necessary to get it functional for the presence of some of the best and brightest of the empire, and while the house is obviously too big to keep in full repair on a skeleton crew, they had some lead time to get some contractors in, for the quarters at least! The general decay of the situation feels like a flex; “you; treasured scions of the great houses, are not special enough to merit anything but birdnets over the holes.”

Here we get a confirmation of my earlier assessment that Skeletons have essentially taken the niche of robotics technology in this setting; the skills involved in making a skeleton are described in similar terms to coding and precision engineering. This stand-in for robotics technology is notably not a one-to-one thing that could be swapped out for actual robots, or clones, or a similar servile construct race; the one-to-one necessity of human death to provide energy and materials for each skeleton integrates the technology directly into the story’s themes. 

Alright, enter Magnus. The way that Gideon juxtaposes Magnus with the horrible teenagers of the fourth (and I love their affect, incidentally, I used to do something similar to my roommate all the time when I wanted to bother him) is interesting. The first descriptor is “Wholesome.” My knee-jerk reaction is that Gideon is casting about for a parental figure of some sort and he’s the first candidate she’s really encountered; I find him mildly endearing if a bit overbearing. There is a Specific Bit that he’s leaning into, the same basic bit that semi-parodic characters like Sir Hammerlock from Borderlands are leaning into. Polite-to-a-fault pseudo-British Gentleman adventurer, except probably less divorced from the imperialist connotations.  We’ll see how things go with him.

Gideon’s description of Canaan House- deceptively lateral in its layout, with no obvious path to the upper lower sections, but still deeply confusing- is interesting, because this clearly was a house at one point. What was it like when this place was in use by humans? How many humans was it in use by? Was it a Winchester-house situation where the handful of people using it thought it would be funny to make it impossibly complicated?

Gideon’s earlier lack of recognition of plumbing-like, as a concept- are reiterated here; she doesn’t understand the function of the pool, constantly calling it a “Pit,” incapable of understanding why there would be ladders leading down into it- but she does immediately recognize the rest of the space as a gymnasium, which tells you a lot about her priorities. I get a lot of chatter on this site about the “Pool Scene,” and you know what, I actually really heavily doubt that this scene was that.

Oh, she can’t swim, can she? She’s on an ocean planet, A Pool has very pointedly been presented as a place of narrative importance, and she grew up on a bone-dry rock. She can’t swim. 

Alright, this door will be relevant later. And I’m not just saying that because I’m perpetually six chapters ahead in the book of the chapter I’m writing these about, expanding on my initial notes as I go. It’s a big black door with an exquisitely-described skull that only Gideon knows about.

Alright, enter the thirdlings. First real in-depth examination of them.

Naberius is interesting because he’s hitting on basically all the observations I’ve hit upon about the mind games being played at Canaan house- the deliberately-squalid conditions, the funny little mentor man, the shuttles being pushed off the platform- except he’s approaching the matter from the perspective of these mind games’s target audience, that is to say, someone extremely entitled who views these things an affront to someone of his standing rather than, say, as a gigantic red fucking flag that they’re all about to be killed. He’s talking about writing to the heir’s fathers about it.  Now, Naberius is implicitly a badass because he’s the cavalier from a House that’s got it’s shit together, so this might account for the discrepancy, but this is still pretty unique; it’s like if the fodder children in Charlie and The Chocolate Factory exhibited suspicion of Wonka’s set-up as a test of character intended to thin them out but plowed ahead with the offending behaviors anyway. He knows what kind of story he’s in but hasn’t internalized it.

I can’t tell which twin is which in the “second voice and third voice” sequence, but I can tell which twin Gideon is very, very into. The takeaway here is that Ianthe is the booky one, Coronabeth is the golden child, and....

oh god. That took a turn. Coronabeth treats Naberius like a dog, and the narration uses that imagery. Ostensibly she does this on the behalf of her sister- the golden child standing up for the maligned lesser twin- but look me in the eye and tell me that this isn’t coming from a place of royalty-inculcated sadism. And then Ianthe, despite being the offended party in theory, despite being the more abrasive of the two by far, is the one to get Coronabeth to simmer down; not on any moral grounds but because she’s wasting time. And then Coronabeth starts being chummy with Naberius (Babs!) again like nothing happened. It’s been implied to me that Ianthe is the evil one in the dynamic? (and what is the dynamic, exactly? Three or four different reads on this sequence. They’re siblings. They’re a preppy clique. They’re... a third secret thing.)

And in the end, Ianthe is the one to hang back and deliver a cryptic warning to Gideon. “I would not attract attention from the necromancer of the third house.” And this could be in reference to her sister (who Ianthe appears to be the leash-holder for) and thus a warning, or it could be in reference to herself, and thus a threat, because Gideon already has attracted her attention. That’s what’s happening right this second. Yeah, no wonder Naberius went right to mind games. That’s just his lived experience with these two.

As a last note, the recurring theme with these three is that of boundries, and pushing them; they were introduced as arriving late, they brought one more person than they were expected to, their conversation was intensely mutually antagonistic but in a reasonable way until Naberius inadvertently crossed an unspoken line; Coronabeth’s response, in turn, is clearly influenced by the need to toe some line Ianthe has set; and as they leave, Ianthe takes time to communicate that Gideon is on the path to transgression but doesn’t yet merit corrective action. 

It’s actually a little reminiscent of Gideon’s own situation on the ninth- a upbringing defined by an endless state of rebellion that was still on some level coloring within the lines; the lines in question just being really, really weird. Gideon’s no stranger to fucked-up “what-exactly-is-the-nature-of-this-relationship” relationships, either!

As a last note, “Coronabeth” is an outrageously funny name to me. Part “Corona,” Part “Annabeth.” Faintly portmanteau-ish. Almost reminds me of. It reminds me of. You know what webcomic this reminds me of by now

[frenchfrywrites]

It started out with a kiss (how did it end up like this)

MINORS DNI

Warnings: Dom top amab male reader, sub bottom Brahms Heelshire, piss, cumming untouched, handjobs, overstimulation, soap as lube, dacryphilia

thank you to the lovely @fatigueeed for this commission, it was a delight to write (hehe the rhyme was unintentional)

“But I don’t want to!” Brahms yells, his fists balling up to prove his point. 

You’re trying to get him to take a shower, which is a hard feat in itself, but it’s made even more difficult with Brahms’ seemingly unexplained bad attitude today. You’ve learned that he has days like this, where he’s cranky and bratty and it’s hard not to want to punish him. 

You take a deep breath, attempting to deescalate the situation. 

“Okay,” your tone is soft and gentle, like you’re talking to a wild animal, “what would make you feel good enough to take a shower?” seems like a compromise may be the only way that you’ll get him to cooperate today. 

Brahms hesitates, staring at you through the holes in his mask. His fists unfurl, and he shifts from foot to foot, “kiss,” he mumbles softly. Your brows furrow. Knowing Brahms the way you do, that can’t possibly be all that he wants. Though, you suppose it’s a fine starting point.

“We can kiss Brahms,” you reassure him sweetly, and though it’s impossibly soft, you swear that you hear him stumble and stammer from behind his mask. 

You hold your hand out to him, “c’mere,” he’s quick to close the space between you, grabbing your hand in his and holding on tight. “You promise you’ll take a shower after?” you check, and Brahms nods. 

With his promise confirmed you close your eyes, and hear him take his mask off. A moment later he presses his lips to yours, tightening his grip on your hand- if you were to guess, because of excitement.

You kiss back tenderly, and like each time you kiss, the urge to open your eyes and see him unmasked overwhelms you. Though, his trust is much more important than seeing his face, so you keep your eyes closed. 

Brahms kisses you for a while, so long that you wonder if he’s trying to prolong the kiss to avoid the shower he’s promised he’ll take, but eventually he does pull away. He takes a second to catch his breath, and then you hear him put the mask back on. 

Your eyes slowly flutter open, “shower time,” you remind him, tugging him towards the bathroom. Brahms lets you pull him all the way there,

“Wait,” and then he stops you before you open the door. You turn to look at him, ready to deal with another tantrum, but he looks more shy than anything. “Um,” you cock a brow, confused as to what Brahms is up to. “I want something else,” you hold back how badly you want to roll your eyes, because of course he wanted more than just a kiss, “I want you to take a shower with me, please.”

That catches your attention. You’ve never seen him without his mask, and now he wants to take a shower together? “Okay,” you respond dumbly, still a bit in shock. 

Now it’s Brahms who tugs you into the bathroom. He makes quick work of stripping himself down to his underwear, still wearing his mask. He then turns to you expectantly, and you finally snap out of your stupor and begin undressing yourself, not missing how Brahms stares you down as you do. 

You wonder what his plans are with the mask. Will he wear it into the shower, or make you close your eyes throughout the entire time? Like him, you strip down to your underwear, then wait for his next move. Brahms clears his throat softly. 

“Please don’t be scared,” is all he says before his hands reach up to his mask. Despite his large stature he seems impossibly small in front of you, curled in on himself as he pulls off his mask in front of you for the first time.

“Oh Brahms,” you breathe, unable to stop the way you gather his face in your hands. You knew he had a beard, because you could feel it each time he kissed you, but other than that his face is entirely new to you. “Darling you’re beautiful,” tenderly, you trace the burn scars on the side of his face. Brahms’ lip quivers,

“You’re not lying, are you?” he checks, his voice cracking as he leans into your touch. You kiss him sweetly,

“No, not at all,” you reassure him, “thank you for letting me see you,” he smiles, and truly you feel so lucky for getting to see him like this. You deliver another loving kiss, and Brahms opens his mouth against your lips, inviting you to slip your tongue in. You indulge him, maybe as a reward for being good and brave, or maybe because seeing his face sparked something hot and wanting inside of you. 

When you feel Brahms’ erection press against you you pull away, patting his cheek gently, “it’s shower time now,” you murmur breathlessly. Brahms whines, “c’mon, I’ll wash you,” you offer, as a way to avoid another tantrum. That has him practically jumping out of his underwear, and into the shower. He pulls the curtain closed and starts the water, quickly popping his head out to make sure you’re on your way.

You take your time, putting on a show for him. Then you make your way into the shower, Brahms steps back to let you in, practically drooling as he looks at you. Your cock stirs at the attention. 

“Be a good boy and hand me the soap, yeah?” he does as he’s told, and you go about cleaning the upper part of his body. Brahms stays erect the whole time, arching his chest into your hands and moaning when you brush against his nipples. He’s not playing it up either, you know he’s so touch starved that simply having you clean him can get him all worked up. Brahms places his hands on your shoulders and leans into your touch fully, leaving hardly any space between the two of you.

Once his upper body is clean, your hands travel south. Teasingly, you avoid his cock, saving that for last. Brahms is breathless with your hands so close, yet not touching him where he wants and needs it most. 

“Please,” he whimpers, 

“Please what, Brahmsy?” you tease running your soapy hands along his inner thighs, knowing full well what he wants. 

“Touch me- touch my cock, please,” he strains, bucking his hips. 

“Good boy,” you murmur, taking him into your hand at last. Brahms lets out a choked gasp, again bucking his hips, his fingers sinking into the meat of your shoulders. You circle his head with your thumb, then begin to slowly stroke him. 

You’ve jerked him off before, but have never seen his face while you do it. His eyes flicker between watching you stroke him, to your own hard cock, to your face. His cheeks are a bright red, and not because of the hot water from the shower. Brahms licks his lips, and you’re overcome with the urge to kiss him.

“You’re so hot,” you groan, squeezing the base of his cock as you lean in and press your lips against his. Brahms moans against your lips, his dick twitching in your hold. You stroke him slowly, and sometimes he grinds into your hand, trying to pick up the pace. You don’t chastise him though, because you’re too distracted with soaking up every sound he makes and all of his physical reactions. 

Brahms pants against your lips, moaning and whimpering, his grip on your shoulders tightening and loosening depending on how you stroke him. 

He lets out a sharp gasp when you rub his tip again. There’s pre bubbling at the tip already, though you’re not surprised considering how touch starved he still is. 

“I’m going to- it feels like I’m going to pee,” he cries softly, his eyes wide. His words make you feel hot all over, but you figure he’s just talking about cumming so instead you kiss his jaw while quickening your pace. A second later he lets out a strangled noise, and he frantically looks down at his dick.

Oh. He was right. 

You both watch as Brahms pisses all over your abdomen and dick. The hot stream of his piss is not unlike the shower water- save for the fact that it’s piss- nevertheless it makes you unreasonably horny. 

Brahms clings to you, still watching the scene playing out before him. He’s breathing heavy near your ear, mumbling and whining something you can’t decipher. He sniffles and you look up,

“Cum- cumming,” you finally hear him say. On cue you feel the stream die down, his dick twitches once, twice- and you never stopped stroking him now that you notice it- then, replacing his piss, Brahms cums on you. You look down to see him further dirty you.

He jerks his hips into your hand as he rides out his orgasm.

“I-” you look up to see his face once he stills his hips, “I’m so sorry,” he wails, his voice cracking as tears well up in his eyes. You coo,

“Oh Brahms, baby,” you kiss his jaw once again, feeling his dick soften in your hand. “It’s okay, you’re okay lovely,” you assure him, squeezing his dick once before letting go. Brahms nuzzles his face into your skin, sniffling softly. You run a hand through his wet hair, “felt so good having you piss on me,” you tell him honestly, and Brahms whimpers, “feel how hard I am?” you guide his hand to your penis. 

Brahms moans, circling his hand around you and giving you a shaky stroke. There’s remnants of his cum and piss on your cock, but neither of you seem to care. 

“Did it feel good for you, baby?” you ask carefully. Brahms nods and pulls his head back so he can look at you. His cheeks are flushed a deep red,

“It felt very good,” he squeezes your cock in his hand, “I want you inside now,” you nearly have to remind him about being bratty, but he quickly adds, “please?” 

You huff, “is that right?” he nods again, “you think you can handle it?” 

“Yes, please, need to feel you stretching me open and fuh-fucking me full, please,” he asks oh so politely. 

“Good boy minding your manners,” you take his hand, that had been sloppily stroking and playing with you, in yours. “Lean against the wall for me,” Brahms follows your instructions, watching you through his dark curls that fall in front of his face. 

You first lube your cock up with some soap, knowing this is what will have to suffice for lube right now, but cursing yourself for not having the real thing.

After coating your fingers, you approach Brahms. With the hand that’s not coated with soap, you get a good grip on his thigh. A bit of struggling, and one very scary slip, you get situated with Brahms supported against the shower wall, his legs wrapped around your waist and his arms around your neck. 

It’s jarring, seeing him face-to-face rather than face-to-mask. You’re enthralled by his expressions, and though you know it makes him feel safe and secure, you hope he forgoes the mask more often now. 

“Ready?” you ask, circling his hole with your soapy finger. He gasps softly, his cock still soft but twitching with interest at the feel of you against his rim,

“Yes,” Brahms tries to hump back against you, so you begin inching your first finger into him. There’s a bit of resistance, but with a couple of gentle kisses he loosens up for you to start stretching him. 

He’s noisy with your fingers in him. His sounds echo off the shower walls, creating a cacophony of moans and whimpers.

By the time you get two fingers in and stretching him, Brahms is hard and leaking already. 

“You’re going to cum again before I get my cock in you, aren’t you,” you tease, curling your fingers towards his prostate. Brahms lurches, his head knocking back his head against the shower wall.

“Yuh-yes,” he cries as you continue to massage his prostate. “Please, ah, may I?” you coo,

“Oh baby, go ahead, cum for me,” with your permission he does, cumming untouched and oh so quickly. His cum dirties his stomach and chest as he squeezes and flutters around your fingers. You finger fuck him through it, “there we go, sweet boy, cumming untouched for me, so good,” you babble praise watching his expressions fervently. 

When his breathing slows and he whines instead of moans, you slowly pull your fingers from him. Looking at him like this, you can’t help but wrap your hand around your cock. 

“Ah, still want my dick baby?” you ask eagerly, stroking yourself in anticipation. Brahms wipes the sweat from his brow, and looks at you through his lashes. 

“Yes, please,” he sounds so sweet, you have to squeeze the bottom of your cock to stop yourself from getting too worked up. 

“Fuck,” you readjust so you can align yourself up with his hole. Brahms lets out a weak whine when he feels your cockhead rub against him. “You sure you’re okay?” he nods,

“I want you inside me, I want to feel you stuffing me up, please,” you push yourself into him, groaning his name as he engulfs you. Brahms lets out a choked moan and then sobs. 

“Oh baby,” you coo, kissing his jaw, and run your hand through his hair. He leans into your touch, tears streaming down his face. Brahms clenches hard around you with each sob, which makes pressing yourself into him take longer than usual. “Is it too much Brahms?” you ask as you bottom out. 

“No, no,” he wails, pulling you closer, “please,” he hiccups a sob “feels so good,” 

“Shh, okay, okay,” you kiss him gently, hoping to calm him. It works pretty well: his breathing steadies, and his sobs turn to sniffles. 

After a moment, he finally shakily asks you to move. 

You start with a slow pace, still letting him get adjusted to the stretch and sensations from your cock. Brahms lets out heavy breaths, his dick slowly becoming erect once again. To help him along you once again take him into your hand. 

He gasps at the feeling, his eyes shooting open. Brahms twitches in your hold, chubbing up as you stroke him in time with your slow pace. 

“Faster, faster, please,” he begs, fluttering around you. Eagerly, you shift your hips and speed up your thrusts. In turn you also stroke Brahms faster, working him to full hardness. 

You know you’ve only got so much control, and sooner rather than later you’re going to climax. It’s been a steady climb, but now while fucking Brahms, you feel it closing in on you.

“Fuck,” you squeeze his cock gently and Brahms keens, “I’m gonna cum soon baby, hah,” he moans, open and wanton at your promise. “Havin’ you, ah ungh, piss n’ cum on my cock, having you cum-mmm, so much, Brahms,” you’re feeling delirious, maybe the heat of the shower is the cause (it’s not that, it’s the heat around your cock that’s making you go crazy). 

Brahms clings you closer to him, letting out a wail of a moan that echoes against the walls at your dirty talk. 

“Want me to- hah- fill you up baby?” you ask, panting now due to how fast you’re fucking into him, the heat, and the physical labor of holding Brahms up. He nods so fast you worry about him getting whiplash,

“Oh, please, please-” he moans your name when your thumb swipes along the slit of his cock, spreading the pre cum that once again forms at the head of his cock, “cum inside of me- ah- fill me up, please.”

His begging brings you over the edge, and finally you feel the release you’ve been needing for what feels like ages. You stroke Brahms’ cock rough and fast as you pound your cum into him. He lets out a choked sob, and arches his back as best as he can.

It’s only once you finally come down from your orgasm that Brahms cums for a third time, squeezing around your softening cock like a vice. You hiss, but jerk him off through his orgasm. You don’t stop until he’s whimpering in pain. 

Ever so carefully, you slip yourself out of him, and help him stand. Brahms is shaky, clinging to you like he’s not a massive man toned with heavy muscle. 

You kiss him lovingly, “thank you for cooperating and taking a shower, darling,” you run a hand down his back, and slip two fingers into his hole to help get your cum out of him. 

Brahms shudders against you, letting out a weak sob at the overstimulation. “Oh I know Brahms, just be a good boy for one more minute, and then we’ll get you into some soft, warm pajamas, how’s that sound?”

Brahms doesn’t give you a vocal answer, but he kisses your skin that’s closest to his mouth, and you suppose that must mean he’s pleased. 

As you promised, once he’s clean (inside and out), you turn off the water and carefully help him out of the shower. 

Brahms clings to you even as you attempt to dry both of you off, which makes the task take longer than normally. You help him into his fuzzy robe that you’d gotten as soon as you’d started making him shower and bathe more frequently, and pull on a similar robe for yourself. Brahms grabs his mask and slips it on before you leave. 

Hand in hand you guide him to your (now) shared room. Brahms, instead of letting you get you and him into pajamas, drags you to your bed. He tugs you under the covers, and snuggles into you. 

“Kiss?” he asks softly, his voice sore and rough, looking up at you adoringly from behind his mask. You smile lovingly, before kissing the porcelain sweetly. To your surprise Brahms pulls away first, “you’re not going to leave me,” it’s not a question, but you nod anyway. 

He’s right. You’re not going to leave.

[widowshill]

How do you think Dark Shadows would differ if made today? Would it still be the cult classic or is that kind of writing lost to us?

with the disclaimers that I don't think you can set out to make a cult classic, and also I only know as much about the entertainment industry as the next person, and also I don't really think the writing in Dark Shadows is that good, I do think it's an interesting question! I'll do my best.

To start: for me, the lion's share of the show's enduring appeal is in its earnestness, and part of that is the palpable shoestring budget. things like flubbed lines, camera man and mic shadows in the shot, and other genuine mistakes are part of what you watch the show for, they do not detract but add to the experience. this contributes a similar sense of watching live theatre (paired with most of the core cast being new york theatrically trained and bringing that acting style with them) because you know you're seeing something usually done in one take, where the mistakes bleed through, where who the actors are as people is alongside them on the stage. they flub, and recover, and this is part of the story: so too do the Collinses make vast mistakes, and go on. it is an imperfect world riddled with faults.

This is not something you're going to get in the current media landscape from one of the big networks like ABC; I find it almost impossible to imagine a daytime show being produced with the kind of natural errors Dark Shadows contains. To capture that same kind of poor theatre troup earnestness you would have better success as either a) actual serial theatre, b) a webseries / tiktok series / etc, c) a low-budget independent or college tv station, or d) a miniseries, possibly. If a major network took it on and purposefully put those mistakes in, it would not feel the same. I'm a bit bored of the constant insincerity/irony in a lot of 2020's media, and I think it would rapidly veer into that genre of work.

As far as being a daytime serial, specifically, I don't think the current media environment is exactly right: part of the reason they aired a gothic horror soap opera to begin with is it was part of the broader cultural conversation, next to television like Bewitched, The Addams Family, I Dream of Jeanie, The Munsters, The Twilight Zone, etc. American entertainment in the late 60's had a love affair with the occult (with witches, monsters, ghosts, the works) and this permeated broad aspects of arts and culture: The Haunted Mansion opened at Disneyland in 1969, Monster Mash was number 1 on the Billboard chart in 1962 (and #91 in '70, and #10 in '73). Pair that with prominent artists like John Zacherle's discography, Vincent Price's film credits, 70's gothic horror comedies like The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Phantom of the Paradise, and of course the wild popularity of gothic romance paperbacks in the 60's and 70's. This isn't everything, of course, but just to broad-strokes the landscape.

It's not that we don't have supernatural media today — horror is one of the highest performing movie genres, and there are shows like Ghosts and WWDITS, and Watcher Entertainment — but it's not quite the same explosion of culture (in my opinion). Making a gothic romance-horror-vampire serial would be more at home in the 2010's among the love affair with Twilight, True Blood, The Originals, the dominance of horror game Youtube, the height of Supernatural, Crimson Peak, What We Do In the Shadows 2014, etc. One imagines this is why the 2012 film adaption came out when it did; the cultural moment was conducive, overall. Most nighttime network television today (and I am generalizing) is dominated by legal, medical, and police drama; current soap-operas (especially General Hospital) reflect that, and there are only three soaps getting aired, period. Nothing is impossible: but a soap in the Dark Shadows vein (ha) getting green-lit today seems unlikely, vastly unlikely with the ebb in vampire fervor.

What I will say that works better in today's production moment for a potential series revival (revision?) is we're starting to see an embrace of practical set building / prop making / etc that was lost to us for a little while, especially among the horror genre. For example: Blumhouse's FNAF utilizing the Jim Henson creature shop, the beautiful set work on Haunted Mansion 2023, the use of practical effects in Beetlejuice 2. This is something that to me feels integral, for making Dark Shadows. You may disagree! But I don't think the heavy dependence on CGI did 2012 any favors. The magic inherent in the show (curses, ghosts, whatever you want to call it) is supported by movie magic and the invisible (or sometimes visible) artisanal hands crafting the world for us.

Moreover, with Bridgerton, especially (but also Emma, Little Women, The Gilded Age, The Great, etc) there's been a bit of a renaissance of lush period pieces. The current fascination with historical romances (and anachronism!) lends itself very well to a dive into 1795 or 1897. My best guess is that if we produced a revival right now, there'd be a very heavy focus on one of the alternate time periods (probably 1795), and they would lean on anachronism (and sex) very heavily, and the present year would be a very very minor presence, if they bothered with it at all – and maybe they wouldn't!

As for the writing, specifically? There's nothing that extraordinary about Dark Shadows' writing, to me, what is extraordinary is the characters and the actors' management of them (and Lela's direction) and what they are able to do with the script (aside from a few standout moments of memorable lines). There are brilliant television writers out there who could write a lovely gothic adaption. Some of our priorities in terms of storytelling are different: one thing you would have to acknowledge that the original show rarely dealt with and never performed well on is race. However a lot of the dominant concerns in the cultural landscape do reflect the issues at the forefront of the themes in the writing: especially women's bodily autonomy (Barnabas' hypnotism and forcing Josette's identity onto the nearest brunette/the inherent violation of biting and enthrallment, the way his victims are 90% of the time poor women, or sex workers, or the criminalized and otherwise vulnerable); women's economic position (Liz running the house and business, Victoria and Maggie's subject to endless horrors for a wage, Carolyn free to kick getting married down the road because she's economically secure) and the rigid dominance of the hetero-nuclear family structure as it is entwined with economics in America, and its subversions; and, especially, the way that the American houses (architectural, economic, genealogical) are built on the exploitation of those beneath them, often demanding the physical sacrifice of bodies and blood.

If I had my choice — and this is not what I think is probable, what is probable is a lean into the literal vampires and witches and sex associated in a modern-day setting — a current version of Dark Shadows would lean heavily into those themes, and take the reflection of the literal monsters (Barnabas, Angelique, Quentin, Laura, etc.) on the metaphorical monsters (Elizabeth, Roger, Burke, David, etc.) seriously. Preferably I'd want it set in the 1960's-70's again, because, like Collinsport, we seem to repeat the same sins over and over again, currently we are engaged with and reversing much of the progress that was made by social movements of that era, so in some senses we are returned to that time, culturally. Preferably I would emphasize the mystery? the permeation between the boundary of human and monstrosity? that dominated the early supernatural arcs with Laura and the beginning of Barnabas; and emphasize the terror, especially the terror of violence contained within the charming, and genteel, and refined, and beautiful. Above all I would not begin any first episode of anything with Barnabas, who should be first and foremost a reflection on the family so ready to accept him as like kind.

cult classic? I don't know. I think there's an appetite for earnestness; for long-form storytelling; for the quotidian — to learn about characters as they eat breakfast and bicker, as well as fight monsters. and theatre-trained enunciation that you can hear. I would hope, with sufficient intimacy training, the kissing and sex scenes would be a little better and not make me so very miserable.

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

okay so like we shit on Sausage PArty a lot but like CARS it leaves a lot of questions

at what point do they become sentient? like, the vegies were produce at some point, right?

the items like bread and other premade shit, they were made up of things that died to make them, do they recall any of it (eg flour, milk, eggs)?

there's little consistency around which part is sentient too, like, sometimes its the package or jar and sometimes its the stuff inside... but does the outside package know?

they seem to fear being sent to the Dark Lord's Portal (the bin) but like do they have any concept of death / decay?

also the thing that annoyed me most about the whole premise is like, assuming they did manage to take over the grocery store no worries what then? either a) they all start to decay over time, or b) the building gets destroyed byhumans bc they're not likely to allow food to start that shit.

what's up with the bottles, too? liquid seems to not be sentient (throwing out the 'things inside the package are alive like chips and crisps') ?

Oh shit, I just thought of something... pickled foods. Like, most shopping centres have some sort of pickled or whatever pickles, or other preserves... how is that meant to work? It's a presumably living jar with dead corpses of vegies or whatevs inside.

it's like wandering through a public place and there's just like a jar with corpses floating in it, there. And it talks to you or sings along, etc.

Yes, I am overthinking it, but you can't half ass worldbuilding on this scale

also, what about every other supermarket? was this one special or all of them?

Why are some non-food products (TP, condoms) esntient and others not? Like, why aren't clothes and furniture sentient in this universe? Is it only meant to be things that can come from a supermarket? bc most furniture and other items comes from a store at some point.

The end was an annoying cop-out tho, I get it was meant to be funny but they just nuked everyone's way of life and went to fight people in a world and dimension almost impossible for them to imagine, with NO POSSIBLE WAY to know if they'd be back to square one there (eg. would the other humans 'gods' see them as 3d food there too?)

If TP and condoms are sentient, what else? Pads? Tissues (yikes)? Soap? Facewash? Like there was a lot they kind of picked and chose through for this one lmao.

we never expresly aw a lot of meat in this movie except bacon strips and also sausages, but that raises more questions

like, oes the meat cut come to consciousness right after it is butchered from the deceased animal? If so, then how do you think it feels being put through a blender / grinder to become sausage?

There's a lot of triple handling for food before it's even considered to be like a basic item (eg bread, cake, sausage, any form of facewash or shampoo).

Same question for the chips and crackers we see. Do they become aware before or after being baked? Do they have an opinion on being in a package? Does the box or packet know they're in there? OR do they only come alive when the box/packet isopen?

Because in the new utopia of the supermarket, would that be considered imprisonment and boxes /jars / packages be opened against their will to release the food inside?

[Bc there was the spearmint guy who absolutely knew there were little mints inside him, and they knew what was up but opening him killed him.]

...the ethics on this could keep multiple university ethics committees busy for years. To release 'prisoners' who may not realise they are confined, by killing another, or to let the one already alive continue on? Like the trolley issue right?

its 11pm, I am overthinking like mad.