#〈 ˟ I AM A GHOST OF MY COUNTRY.﹥ photos. 〉

[preciouslandmermaid]

cold heart, warm hands (simon “ghost” riley x f!reader) - part 1/2 

First off, I haven’t played a Call of Duty game in years. But, I remember crushing on Ghost back in idk?? 2010? Anyway, glad to see he’s getting the white boy of the month treatment. Glad we’re all totally NORMAL about him. Feedback is definitely encouraged and appreciated :) 

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader!Assassin  

Rating: Mature/Explicit (18+)

Fic warnings: angst, injury/bodily harm to reader + some hypothermia, graphic depictions of violence, blood, cursing/explicit language, knives as metaphors for sexual tension, reader is lowkey feral (I am channeling my inner Princess Monoke), slowburn, the inherent eroticism of catching feelings while running for your life, touchstarved!ghost, bonding, (there will be smut/porn in part 2) i needed a light plot because I cannot function without it, all the names of politicians are fake/do not relate to any living or deceased person.

No use of Y/N. Reader is described as muscular/toned with scars from active combat/torture, though no other descriptors are used. Author isn’t well-versed in other languages, they’re just a sucker for Slavic mythology. Reader’s undercover code-name is “volchitsa” which translates to she-wolf (or bitch-wolf) in Russian. 

Summary: Lt. Ghost is tasked with the extreme mission to extract code name “volchista” from her undercover mission in St. Petersburg. They briefed him on what little they knew of you, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the reality. 

READ ON AO3 || 🔪🔪🔪

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is how it begins. You are a girl made of snow. You carve a pretty smile from the ice. You flatter the diplomats. You trick them. They believe you can be melted and molded. You impress the headmistress of the school. You trick her, too. A man from America comes. They replace your ballet with ballistics. You suspect they offer money to your family, your school. They roll your tongue until you can call upon any accent and shape around any language. When you’ve impressed them or pleased them, they give you tasks, and you carry them out with little question of who at the top of the pyramid pulls the strings. You are better with bullets than you ever were at ballet. 

You thaw, in pieces, until the girl from the snow is a shadow, a puddle, a glistening drip of an icicle from the rooftop. They give you a name. A point of contact. A promise of extraction once intel is gathered. You don’t merely go “undercover.” You go underground. You enmesh yourself. They call you a wolf and release you among the pretty, bronze-polished sheep. After all, this is what your training was for. 

Only now it’s finally time to go home. 

~~~~~~~~~~

“Three years undercover?” Ghost says, reviewing your file, “you sure we can trust her?” He glances at your old photo. Pretty thing. He suspects that’s why they assigned you to rub elbows with high-ranking military officials and defense contractors. Three years is a hell of a long time to be someone else. 

Price says, “I know you’ll make the right call if you think she’s compromised.”

“Naturally.” Ghost replies gruffly. He checks the intel for your rendezvous spot. A cemetery at the edge of the Vyborgsky District. At the stroke of midnight. How morosely dramatic. He’ll be a ghost in a graveyard. Is this Price’s attempt at humor? He considers asking Price why he’s not sending someone else out. Someone who shows their face in case some nosy do-gooder comes up asking questions. He shakes the thought from his head. It’s a stupid question that he already has the answer to. 

Price selected him because the target, codename volchista, is one of the most dangerous operatives in the country. If anyone can take you down–if things get nasty–it’s him. 

“You’ll be going in dark on this one until you reach the border,” says Price.

“Not a problem.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s gray everywhere you look. Storm clouds loom over St. Petersburg and block the starlight. Gray and dark gray tombstones. The barren trees appear like black skeletons in the night, like echoes of lightning. Your breath mists gray in front of your lips. A family of gray moths dance around the ground-level lamps. The air tastes like impending snowfall, brisk and sharp on your tongue. 

You check your watch. Three minutes until midnight. There is no one here but you. You are alone, with the gray ghosts, and the gray tombstones, and your gray, foggy breath. 

The hair at the nape of your neck prickles. 

Your knife flashes silver in the gray. Your blood roars in your ears. And you pivot like a dancer, like an acrobat, lethal and light on your feet. The resounding clang of your knife meeting another reverberates through the silent, empty cemetery. You lurch your body forward. You assume your cover is blown and they’ve sent this masked man to kill you. He matches your momentum and avoids your strike. You snarl. He is big but not as clumsy as you hoped. 

A gloved, strong hand grabs your wrist, “steady on, volchista.” Their accent deepens their voice to a rough and pleasant burr. It’s like drinking whiskey. You stare at him. Only your contacts know your code name.

You say, “Lev sent you.” You pause. “You’re early.”

“If I'd known you’d try to skewer me, I’d have been punctual.” He slowly releases your wrist, though what little you can see of his gaze is dark and wary. Lev told you nothing beyond the meeting spot and where he stashed your equipment. It was safer (or so he said). He could’ve at least mentioned your point of contact would be wearing a costume so you wouldn’t assume it was an assassination attempt. Your eyes scan the graveyard, unable to shake the sense of paranoia that slithers around your spine. Whenever something felt too easy, you got anxious.  

“Sorry.” You respond without expression. “Let’s go.”

You’ve walked these pathways hundreds of times. You know them in the dark, you would know them blindfolded. None of Petrovich’s men bothered you when you went to the cemetery. Though, they were never far. You incline your head faintly toward the familiar tombstones, to the names you’ve memorized as a game to keep yourself sane during these past three years of espionage.

You shoot a glance over your shoulder. Skull-man is walking eerily quietly behind you despite the bulk of body armor you can tell he’s wearing beneath his white, camo coat. His hood is drawn up over his head. Probably to hide the mask. 

“What do I call you?” You ask once you’re close to the church.

“Ghost.”

You laugh softly. Although you will never see Lev again, you wish you could. You wanted to praise him for such a stupid, funny joke - setting up your extraction in a cemetery with a man named Ghost. You come to the church door where Lev has stashed your supplies. He’s left the key for you beneath a snow-capped rock. You kiss its cold, metal teeth in farewell before sliding it into the lock. The old, oak door creaks beneath your palm. 

Ghost watches your back, checking behind you before you both go inside. The air smells of incense and candle smoke. The effigies on the altar glow with ethereal, flickering light. You crouch onto the ground and start tapping your knuckles to find the hollow floorboard. Lev said it would be about ten paces from the entrance. 

Rap, rap, rap, rap. A flurry of snowflakes drifts across the mosaic, stained glass windows. You knew you tasted snow in the air. You idly wonder if the snow will feel different once you’re home again. You wonder if everything will be different considering the intel you gathered about Petrovich and all his followers. 

Ghost asks, “why’d they give you the name she-wolf?”

Your smile is a knife. 

You say while looking up at him; “I used to bite a lot during my training.”

Your knuckles find their treasured spot. You jam your knife into the edge of the floorboard, wiggling it, and it gives underneath your pressure. You tug on the backpack, holster your pistol and knife and hide your face in a scarf. You pull the rest of Ghosts' equipment out with a small gruff. The keys to the snowmobile parked in the shed outside bite into the soft flesh of your palm. You and Ghost will ride to the next point. And God willing, you’d make it over the border before anyone noticed you were gone. 

Ghost, silent beside you, stiffens.

“Shit.” You hiss. You duck sideways, throwing yourself into the space between the worship pews. Ghost crouches into the one next to yours. The door to the church swings open. There is a burst of cold air and snowflakes and bright, roaming flashlights. With your back pressed against the hardwood and knife in hand, you glance across the aisle to Ghost and wait for his lead. 

He signals the number three with his fingers. You nod. You track the lights as they move through the church, elongating shadows, and bouncing from the pews and pillars. Two have moved to the side of the church. A single target is walking down the main aisle. They’re trying to pincher you. Could it be Petrovich? Or were you betrayed internally? Or were they police officers? You hadn’t gotten a good look before hiding. Ghost’s entire body is taught like a loaded weapon. You feel it in your own spine and shoulders. The familiar, tense coiling. The single and narrow simplicity of setting a task and then completing it. You are going home. And nothing and no one will stop you. 

A voice calls out in Russian. “Petrovich is looking for you. It’s too late for prayer. It’s time to come home.” It sounds close to the doorway. You roll onto your stomach and signal to Ghost: ‘Enemy’. Perhaps it’s presumptuous to assume he doesn’t know Russian after being assigned to a Russian-Evac Mission. You make a mental note to ask him what he knows (if you both survive). He tells you to ambush right, then signals the go-ahead. 

You wiggle beneath the pews, getting behind your target, and crouch-walk toward him. You stay low and silent. From this vantage point, you can see they’re Petrovich’s bodyguards. They aren’t wearing tactical gear or body armor. They’ve got flashlights and pistols holstered at their hips. They aren’t expecting any sort of fight. You almost feel bad for them. Almost. 

You are a deadly viper hidden in the grass, a wolf stalking her prey, an arrow finding its mark. Your knuckles tighten around the grip of your knife. The church is dark, save for the flickering candlelight, and the blue-white shine of their flashlights. You slam your boot into the back of your target’s knee, causing him to crumple. He grunts, in surprise and pain, and that is the last sound he creates because your knife lodges into his carotid artery. A warm gush of blood covers your glove, and it arcs upward, splattering and spraying onto the fine stonework when you dislodge the weapon. You kick the rolling flashlight aside and run on quick, crouched feet toward the door. You don’t even bother to check if Ghost is alright. You assume he is. If not…well…you’ll claw your way out of Russia yourself. There is no returning to this place. 

The man at the doorway is panicking. He wildly waves his flashlight around the church while holding his cellphone to his ear. You snatch his wrist in a bruising grip and drag him toward you. He shouts. Your forehead smashes into his nose. His cellphone clatters to the ground. Your knife finds purchase through the thick fabric of his turtleneck. The gray sweater blooms deep, dark crimson–nearly black in the low light. He moans, you shove him aside and pick up his phone. He’s calling Petrovich, but the line hasn’t connected yet.

Ghost is suddenly before you. You meet his eyes. There’s a splatter of blood on his white camo hood. Your chest heaves with exertion, and the adrenaline of combat floods your senses until you are woven within it. If you don’t shake off Petrovich, then your extraction becomes thousand times more difficult. 

You grab the bodyguard by the root of his hair, jerking his head back, and snarl into his face. “Tell Petrovich you’ve found me. Tell him I’m coming home.” You say in Russian.

“Traitor.” He spits blood at you. You haven’t removed your knife from the juncture of his shoulder and neck. You twist the blade a little. He grits his jaw from screaming. Prideful to the end. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the dark, hulking shape of Ghost with his knife in his hand. 

“Last chance.” You warn. “I will feed you to the wolves.”

“I am dead either way.” His eyes flick to Ghost behind you. “He will kill you.”

You are uncertain if he is talking about Ghost, Petrovich, or someone else. You don’t care to ask. You click the bright red ‘end’ button on the call screen before it connects. Wordlessly, coldly, you yank your knife from his shoulder and spear him below his jaw. A torrent of blood gushes over his sweater, and your wrist and hand, and onto the shiny wood. He slumps, on his knees like a man in prayer, and you shut your eyes briefly. You take no pleasure in the killing. It was either them or you. Wolf versus sheep. It was survival. A singular question tightened around your neck like a noose. Who betrayed you?

Ghosts’ voice is low from somewhere over your shoulder. “What’d he say?” 

“That I’m a dead woman.”

He shrugs his massive, bulky shoulders. You can’t ascertain how much of it is him and how much is his gear. 

You sheath your knife. “Petrovich will come looking for me.” You nudge the fallen bodyguard with your boot. “No use hiding them. We need to leave. Now.”

He extends his hand, “keys.”

“Who said you were driving?” You scoff.

“I’m the one taking point.” He says. “You’re the escort. I drive.”

You drop the keys into his waiting palm. You simply don’t have the time to argue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You get an impression of his true size when you’re perched behind him on the snowmobile. Your arms encircle him (as best you can), your cheek is pressed against his broad and muscled back, and the cold wind cuts through your scarf and bites your ears and nose. It’s dangerous to drive in the dark, but you have no choice. No alternative. You must take a risk with the dark forest full of birch trees and lonely pines to avoid the checkpoints at the borders. 

Ghost is, at the very least, efficient. Your stomach swoops each time the snowmobile crests over a small hill and the vibration of the motor purrs beneath your legs. The world is a blur of grayish-white. Snowflakes and branches whip past your field of vision. You force your eyes to remain open, as snowflakes crystalize on your eyelashes, and try to keep watch of your surroundings. 

You release a soft “oof,” when the snowmobile jolts over a hill and freshly fallen snow crashes over you and Ghost like a wave. The trees start to thin. Your fingers tingle inside your gloves from your lack of circulation due to how tightly you're holding onto him and the overall icy chill in the air. You suspect you’re about an hour from the second point. Possibly less, you hope, with how fast Ghost is driving. 

A whirring sound, like a beast waking from its slumber, rises above the rushing wind. You twist your spine to look behind you.

You yell above the engine and the wind, “fuck me.” Above the treetops, a helicopter is risking the storm, its searchlight roaming through the forest. Only one man is hunting you. Only one man is desperate enough to send a helicopter in the middle of the night with little visibility.

“Ghost! We’ve got company.” You shout.

“That was quick.”

The snowmobile banks with a hard left turn. You bury your face in his shoulder blades to protect yourself from the sharp wind. You recall the map Lev showed you. You memorized the route to the second point. Something tugged at the corner of your mind. The helicopter’s searchlight scanned the thick, snowy landscape. It will catch up to you soon. Ghost weaves through the trees, but they provide  little cover. 

It’s dark. It’s snowing. The helicopter is faster than you. These are the facts.

If you stop, you risk Petrivoch’s men finding you. He sent a helicopter; you have no doubt in your mind that he also sent out snowmobiles and ATVs. The darkness is your best cover. 

If you continue, you risk Petrivoch’s men finding the safe house. The only silver lining is that Petrovich doesn’t know who you work for. He doesn’t know you have help. He might assume you’ve been kidnapped. But, what if Petrovich thought you were dead? He wouldn’t chase after a dead woman. 

You say, “Ghost, I have an idea. But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

He grunts.

“We need to crash the snowmobile.”

“You’re mad.” Is it the wind filling your ears, or does he sound a little…impressed? 

You squeeze your fingers around your wrist when Ghost takes another sharp turn. You suspect he’s double-backing and confusing your trail while avoiding the oncoming helicopter. 

“My other plan involved a sniper rifle and blowing out the searchlight. However, seeing as we don’t have a sniper, I’m going to plan B.”

“Crashing our only means of transportation sounds more like Plan-fucking-Z to me.”

“You have a better idea?!” You snap.

You continue, impassioned, “the storm will cover our tracks. We can walk the rest of the way. Petrivoch’s men won’t follow us if they think I’m dead.”

He mutters something under his breath. It’s too quiet for you to hear. 

“Find a good place to stop with tree coverage and I’ll do the rest.”

“Jesus.” He grumbles. 

You wait for the inevitable argument. The discussion about how the snowmobile could outrun the helicopter and whoever else might be pursuing you. You brace yourself, drawing counterarguments inside your head, preparing yourself as you have your whole life. The pine trees thicken, and the snowmobile gradually slows. His back is tense. You wiggle your tingly fingers inside your gloves. You slide your arms away from his solid, firm midsection and scoot to the edge of the seat when the snowmobile finally stops. 

Ghost twists around, looking at you, his eyes fathomless beneath the mask.

“Your plan. What is it?”

You tell him. It involves tipping over (or crashing) the snowmobile, lighting it on fire, ripping pieces of your clothing and burning other remnants to imply that whatever was left was eaten by wildlife.

You peel off your bloodied gloves, “it’s not a perfect plan.”

“It’s bloody insane is what it is.”

You shrug, “and yet you agreed.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the picture of mental stability, now am I?” He tears one of your shirts between his hands. You work quickly and silently in tandem. The helicopter is searching the less forested areas. It’s loud enough to hear, though you can’t see it or its spotlight through the thick evergreens. You tie together several pieces of fabric and shove them into the gas tank. After it detonates, although the helicopter won’t be able to land nearby, Petrivoch’s men will likely find the remains before dawn. 

You reach under your shirt, toward your collar, and your fingers encircle the charm on your necklace. You tug. The thin golden chain snaps. It was your first gift from Petrovich. A symbol of your loyalty - false as it was. You hold it aloft and the tiny eagle charm glitters above the flickering flame of your lighter.

“I hope I am there the day they burn you.” You whisper with the trees, and the cold snow, and your silent Ghostly companion as your witness. You drop the broken necklace. You light the edge of the fabric. The smoke singes your nostrils and your eyes water. You run toward the trees and don’t look back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Ghost put as much distance between yourself and the snowmobile before its explosion. Your muscles strain, your skin glistens with sweat, and you are hot and stuffy beneath your warm clothes. The pace he sets is brutal. You push yourself to keep up, never complaining, though your mouth tastes of copper from how many times you’ve bitten your lower lip. The storm rages and covers your tracks. 

“The storm’s getting worse.” You say. You’ve never endured in silence for this long before. Not since your youth, you think. The howling wind cuts between you and him, dragging snowflakes in their wake. 

Ghost barely glances at you. “Hadn’t noticed.” 

If you squint, he blends into the world. A white-and-gray Grim Reaper here to collect your soul.

“Were you going to kill me in the church?” You ask. You remember how he approached you and the bodyguard. His cold lethality. The silence that shrouds him. His eyes were dark, too far to discern what emotion lay within. He doesn’t answer, but he does look over at you. You are mirrors of another. His face is covered by his strange, macabre mask. Your face is covered, in a heavy scarf, your eyes visible through the slit in the fabric. You speak through your eyes. Nonverbal. Expressive. Weighted.  

You tilt your head slightly to the side as if to say ‘well?’ 

You wonder if he smiles beneath the mask. You wonder if he smiles at all. He turns away and checks his compass. For several minutes only your crunching footsteps and the wind screaming through the branches keeps you company. You don’t think Ghost (and by proxy the US government has betrayed you) but you aren't certain. Not until you have some type of proof or motive. The only people who knew about your meeting location were Lev, yourself, and Ghost. You know you didn’t slip up. And you’ve been in this field for too long to chalk Petrivoch’s appearance to coincidence and dumb luck. Someone is compromised. 

You glance sidelong at Ghost through your snow-covered lashes. He’s big, he’s strong and efficient. You’re not a person who doubts their abilities and you’re not an idiot. You know a losing fight when you see one. In close-quarter combat, his reach is longer, and if he pins you then it’s over. If you plan to incapacitate him–it’ll need to be an ambush. It’ll need to be quick. You store the thought away for later. You’re not going to ambush him in the storm.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The snowstorm starts to ease, and he’s forced to admit that your plan to torch the snowmobile might’ve saved them. There’s a chance that the weather made it impossible for the helicopter to keep pursuing. However, he won’t know until sunrise. Either he’ll have Petrivoch’s men on his ass or it’ll be smooth from the safe house to the border. He prepares himself for the worst. Petrovich isn’t a man who gives up easily. Price’s file on him was stacked. Although most of the intel you gathered undercover was on a need-to-know basis, he knew the man was powerful, controlling, and deranged. A dangerous cocktail. It gives him all the more reason to wonder if you’ve been broken and brainwashed by Petrovich. But the thought holds little water. Your behavior has been motivated by survival. You handled yourself with extreme grace and brutality in the church. Price said you were good. He didn’t realize you were that good. The takedown of your target was effortless and clean. A thing of beauty, really. You function well under pressure. And you smile often for a woman trained to be a covert assassin. You’re nothing like he expected. 

He announces, “we’ll take a break here.”

He watches you drink from your canteen. Your face glistens with sweat before you wrap yourself back up in your scarf and hat. You pack your canteen with snow and store it away, but he notices your hand flinch near your knife, the brief tenseness of your shoulders. He scans the darkness for threats. He meets your eyes with an unspoken question. 

Your breath fogs in front of your mouth, hazy, obscuring your gaze from his for a moment. When the mist passes, your eyes are cold and narrowed, and you look like you want to skin him alive.

“I didn’t give Lev everything.”

His brow furrows, “what’re you telling me for? I’m not your superior officer.”

Your gaze softens imperceptibly. 

“Someone ought to know in case Petrovich is still hunting me.”

“You don’t need to bargain your worth to me, she-wolf.” He says plainly. “I’ve got my orders.” He’s not sure what game you’re playing. And he doesn’t rightly care. Once you’re across the border, you’re someone else’s problem. Whatever intel you have, or don’t have, it doesn’t concern him. His only concern is making it out of this tundra with you alive. You adjust the straps on your backpack and nod, signaling with your hand that you’re ready to move.

The blue-black sky lightens, and stars fade from view. Tiny, blackbirds flit through the air. The terrain flattens. He recognizes this location from the map. The safe house is over the hill. It was a less straightforward route than if he had the snowmobile, but at least you’ve made it. He keeps checking your six–part of his job–and scanning the open sky for threats. The snow crunches underfoot.

He says, “we’re almost there. Come on.”  He jogs ahead. 

Something cracks under his foot. He spins, looking for you, and discovers you’re a few paces behind. Your arms and legs are spread akimbo and when you meet his eyes, there is controlled panic, and he can practically hear the gears turning within your mind.

“We’re on the lake.” You exclaim like it’s a brilliant revelation. “I remember seeing it on the map!” 

The storm must’ve covered it. Fucking hell!  

“There’s a USB in here.” You strip your backpack from your body and slide it easily across the hidden ice. “It’s more important than I am.”

Another crack reverberates beneath him. He’s hyper-aware of his size and the dangerous risk of getting wet at this temperature.

“What’re you doing?” He beckons with his hand while lowering his body, “this way!”

“Yeah, yeah, working on it.” You take a tentative step forward. Despite the logical distance, it feels like a chasm has split you from him. 

“You need to get low.” He’s on his stomach on the ice and the next crack vibrates beneath his gut. “Spread out your weight.”

You nod. You start to crouch, but lady luck isn’t on your side. The ice ruptures. The crash, your yelp of alarm, and the splash of cold water are like a pike driving through his eardrums. He army-crawls toward your flailing arms. Your gloves scramble for purchase on the flat, slick ice as your head disappears underwater. Ghost unintentionally shouts your name. 

He grabs you, pulling you up. You sputter and gasp, water saturating your scarf that’s peeled partially away from your face, and revealing your wild, stricken eyes. 

“I’ve got ya.” He says, “I’ve got you.”

You cling to him and kick your legs underwater while he lifts you out of the ice trap. Your shivering body crawls across the ice alongside him, though he tracks your sluggish movements and rapid breath. He needs to get you to shelter immediately. The second you’re clear of the lake, he crowds you into his arms and lifts you in a fireman's carry.

You protest weakly through chattering teeth, “I can walk.”

“This is faster.”

He trudges up the short, small hill while carrying you and both backpacks. The sight of the safe house is like fucking salvation. It’s a squat, modest little wooden cabin. He can spot a chimney sticking up from the roof. If it doesn’t have wood, then he’ll start burning furniture. He needs to get you warm before you drop into severe hypothermia. The cold wind cuts across the air like a cruel cosmic joke. Draped across his shoulders, he can practically feel your desperate, galloping heart against his back. 

“Stay awake.” He commands, voice brusque and sharp.

“Aye, sir.” You mumble.

“That doesn’t sound awake to me.”

“Fuck you.” You say this time, with more emphasis, more feeling.

He grumbles. “Atta girl.”

He shoves open the front door with his shoulder, kicking it closed, and deposits you in front of the cold, empty fireplace. You’re trembling worse than earlier, but you’re lucid. You tug your wet scarf off of your face and struggle to unlace your boots. Unfortunately, there are no logs beside the fireplace. He huffs. Plan B then. The cabin is a single, large room with the kitchen and sitting area sharing the space and a door that presumably leads to the bedroom or bathroom. 

Ghost grabs one of the wooden stools and uses his tactical knife to hack a small divot in the wood so he can snap it with his foot. He breaks the stool into pieces, shoves them into the mouth of the fireplace, and starts the fire with his emergency fire starter kit. He shoots a glance over his shoulder to you. You’ve managed to get your boots and socks off, though the rest of your clothing appears to be a challenge.

Ghost shoves your trembling hands out of the way. He yanks your zipper down.

“O-oy!” You shout with surprise and indignation.

He says, “arms.” 

You relax your shoulders, and he tugs the heavy coat off your body. Wordlessly, you lift your shaking arms, and he pulls the drenched mess of your sweater over your head. Your shirt and tank top comes next, then your sports bra, until you're naked from the waist up in front of him.

Your toned stomach muscles clench. A mapping of scars decorates your skin like battle trophies. If this was any other moment–he might’ve taken a second to appreciate the solidness of your form, the shape of your tits, the honed lethality of your biceps and forearms and stomach. There’s nothing waifish or delicate about you. You’re a weapon of flesh and muscle and hot blood. Your eyes focus on some spot behind him, and the firelight reflects and shifts in the depths of your dark pupils. 

You lift your hips and (with his help) drag your soaked pants and underwear off your body. He does not think about your thighs or your calves. He removes a blanket from his bag and drapes it across your legs. The key to overcoming hypothermia is gradually warming the body. He strips himself of everything but his mask and underwear and sits behind you–bracing his knees around your legs and caging you with his body heat. He shucks his gloves off and gently rubs his palms along your freezing arms. The fire crackles before you. The knobs of your spine and the curve of your shoulder blades press lightly into the planes of his naked, muscled chest. You’re weirdly quiet. 

“No cheeky comment?” says Ghost.

You blurt, “Lev’s the traitor.”

Ghost blinks. 

“Enlighten me.”

“You saved me, not the USB.”

“USB means fuck-all to me. I don’t want you dead, she-wolf.”

You laugh weakly. A full-body tremor wrecks through you. He can feel it across his entire chest and straight to his groin with how he’s got you melded into him. His hands slow. He can feel each individual ridge of the scars on your arms. He can feel the fine, thin hair along your forearms. Your wrist bones and knuckles are the only fine-boned, delicate piece of you that he can touch. He glances down at the sleek musculature of where your neck meets your shoulder. 

Unless he chops more furniture, the fire isn’t going to last long, but it should be enough to get you stable. That’s all that matters.

~~~~~~~

Between the fire raging in front of you and Ghosts’ solid heat at your back–your skin tingles as it regulates temperature and your circulation returns. Your eyes drink in the muscles of his thick thighs, braced on each side of you, and the peek you get of his black-and-white tattoo when his arms move. He hasn’t stopped touching you. His hands travel up and down your arms, to your wrists, and shoulders. How come you never noticed how big his hands were? A flush of warmth burns at the nape of your neck. You feel like you’re being surrounded by a large, jungle cat. And it’s tempting to close your eyes and melt into his warmth. You’re at the safe house. You’re almost home. It wouldn’t be so terrible to sleep, would it? Ghost would keep watch. He’d look out for you.

“Talk.” Ghost orders. “You’ve gotta stay awake.”

“About what?”

“I don’t care.” He huffs. His voice is warmer, as close as you are, and it drips like honey and vibrates across your back.

“I memorized names in the graveyard to keep sane.” You say, surprising yourself with the confession, your secret little game. “I can recite those.”

“Do it then.”

You stare into the flames until your eyes start to water and repeat their names. They were your first ghosts before you met this one. You numbly scratch at one of your scars. You repeat the names again. Ghost isn’t rubbing your arms, but he’s still touching you. His large, calloused palms have settled. One is on your hip, the other is clutching your shoulder and that arm squishes into your breasts. Your back is snug against the hard, muscled planes of his chest. He’s holding you?! You’re not sure why this realization comes as such a surprise. He’s sharing his body heat. There’s nothing tender or romantic about it. You’re his mission. Yet, this is the first time in three years that you’ve allowed non-transactional physical contact. Usually, if someone touched you, it was because they wanted something (or you were manipulating them to get what you wanted). Ghost’s motive isn’t ulterior. It’s transparent. He wants your continued survival. That’s it. 

“You got quiet again, she-wolf.” He says with a breathy edge to his tone. “Better not have fallen asleep on me.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m awake.” 

To add to your point, you wiggle your toes beneath the blanket. At least, you no longer feel like an ice popsicle, but you selfishly want to stay here–in the warmth, muscled solidness of Ghosts’ body. You close your eyes momentarily and try to absorb this moment into the fibers of your being, your essence, and your bloodstream so you can remember it on the cold, lonely nights ahead. Ghost’s breathing deepens. You only notice because of the proximity of his ribs to yours. His thumb glides along the raised bumpy edge of a scar near the end of your clavicle bone.

You say slowly, “that one was from Petrovich.” 

If he wasn’t wearing the mask, you would feel his breath on your skin. His touch withdraws. He rests his palm on your forehead, checking your temperature before his hand glides below your jaw and registers your pulse with two fingers. Everything he’s doing is clinical and tied to survival. Yet, that doesn’t explain the slowness of his movements. It doesn’t explain why his touch lingers below your chin. Your pulse jolts and your breath hitches. His chest rumbles against your back in a low, deep hum. 

“We need to change our route.” You say with Ghost’s thumb and two forefingers loosely wrapped around your throat. “Lev betrayed me. And he knows my exit plan. We need to find an alternative to the border.”

Ghost says, “then we better move before we waste any more daylight.”

His hand recedes from your jaw, and you are bereft of its soft pressure and warmth. Ghost stands up. And you twist your spine, drawing the blanket over your chest, and allow yourself the very selfish and human privilege to see him half-naked. As expected, he’s a fucking massive specimen of virility. You bite the inside of your cheek at the sight of his broad muscled chest, his strong biceps, veiny forearms, and capable hands, the cut of his v-line into his waistband, and the trail of dark hair that travels down from his belly button. Your eyebrows lift in surprise and appreciation. You don’t mind the mask hiding his face because his body is fucking spectacular.

He pulls his shirt over his head. You watch unashamedly at the play of muscles as they ripple across his chest and flex. The low-burning fire snaps loudly and sends a flurry of sparks up the chimney.

“Careful,” His eyes spark behind the mask, “you’ll drool on my nice blanket.” His tone brightens with gentle teasing. Somehow, the sound of his voice like that, deep and teasing, is hotter than the sight of his abs. 

You smirk. “See, I thought you were cute until you got cocky about it.”

He scoffs. “Cute?”

Ohh, you found a little nerve. How delicious. 

“Cute.” You affirm and say no more. You dig through your backpack and procure your last set of clothes. There’s no room for shyness or modesty in an active combat situation. Sure, no one is shooting at you. But that reality can change real fast. You shimmy your underwear and pants over your hips and quickly pull your bra over your head like the house is on fire. You feel Ghosts’ gaze on you. And it blazes like a hot brand across your skin. Forget the fire, the shared body heat, the blanket, all you need is a few seconds of Ghosts’ undivided attention, and you are burning up.

“Here, take this.” You underhand toss the USB to Ghost. He catches it effortlessly.

“Why?”

“In case you fail your mission, I don’t want to fail mine.” You open the closet door and pull a mothball, musty-smelling coat from the hanger. Your clothes drying in front of the fire need a few more hours before they’re wearable. Those are hours you don’t have.

“Lost faith in me already, have you?” says Ghost. 

It’s your turn to scoff. “Hardly.” You level him with a serious gaze, “I’m trusting you with it, Ghost.” 

He says, “Riley.”

“What?”

“My name. Simon Riley.”

Your heart stutters inside your chest. You weren’t expecting him to give you anything in return, let alone his name.

“Okay, Simon.” You smile tentatively, “let’s get the hell out of here, yeah?”

<Part Two>

[irisintheafterglow]

Rock and Roll, Buckaroo! (Bakusquad x you)

summary: you go on a ghost tour with the bakusquad - 1.3k words

cw: so much yelling, cliche paranormal activity (flickering lights, footsteps, etc), lots of profanity thanks bakugo, the bakusquad shares a single brain cell and most of the time you have it

note: so i wrote this instead of working on stuff for hawks and gojo but don't worry they're on their way i promise <3 i offer you this halloween in july fic instead inspired by buzzfeed unsolved and my visit to the whaley house a few months back.

likes/reblogs/feedback is always appreciated!!!

“I’ll be honest, Mina, I don’t think Doja is the vibe for rolling up to a haunted house.” 

“Passenger seat gets AUX, Sero, so you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

“Why the fuck does the driver not get AUX–”

“Because your music has an even worse vibe than Mina’s, Bakubro.” 

“Tch, whatever. Just be glad I’m driving your dumbasses or else you’d be stuck with Denki’s passive ass in the driver’s seat.” 

“I am a safe driver! Safer than Bakugo at least…” 

“OI–” The car erupts into chaos as Bakugo tries to blast Denki, who was sitting directly behind the driver’s seat while Mina throws herself over the wheel to avoid veering into oncoming traffic. Denki screams in terror, reaching across Jiro for Kirishima, who was trying to push back Bakugo’s sparking hand. You put your head in your hands as Sero starts viciously kicking Denki’s seat from the third row. Why Sero thought it would be a good idea to send a TikTok about the most haunted places in the country to the group chat suggesting a visit to one right outside the city, you had no idea. What perplexes you, even more, is that Bakugo had been the first one to agree, followed by you and Kirishima, then Mina and Jiro, and finally a reluctant Denki. 

“Bakugo! The parking lot!” Jiro screams from the middle row. In between his pleas for Bakugo’s mercy, Denki yells out final directions. 

“You have to turn right now!” Bakugo throws the wheel to the side and swerves a violent right turn, hurtling Sero into your shoulder. Sero rights himself and takes in the surrounding modern-looking office complex with confusion. 

“That was the wrong exit!”  

“No fucking shit! Denki, you said to turn right!” 

“I meant left right at that moment, dude!” 

“YOU-” 

“Bakubro, remember your morals!”  

Ten minutes later, after several more attempts at homicide by Bakugo’s hands, you were standing at the steps of the ancient-looking house as the tour guide introduced the history of the hauntings to your group and others unfortunate enough to have booked a tour at the same time. 

“You guys scared?” Mina whispers to you, linking her elbow to yours with a smile. 

Jiro scoffed from your other side, and you shook your head in agreement. “As if,” you reply, straining to listen to the guide’s instructions. 

“Take care, dear visitors, for certain things may go BUMP,” he says, stamping his cane on the porch and making Denki yelp. “And beware of the spirits of the family that are determined to make visitors acknowledge them, skeptical or not.” The guide points his cane at Kirishima, who runs a hand through his hair, chuckling nervously. The guide stares into Kirishima’s eyes for a few moments more and then abruptly turns around to open the doors, causing snickers among your friends. 

“Enter, dear visitors, if you dare.” 

The guide leads the group through the foyer, the kitchen, the living area, and the upstairs bedrooms. The house was filled with beautifully ornate furniture and well-preserved artifacts from centuries past caked with layers of dust. 

Not that your friends cared about all that.

Sero had his phone out, recording from the moment you had stepped through the entryway and insistent upon catching paranormal activity. You took photos of Mina and Jiro posing next to the portraits of the Ladies of the House, their eyebrows drawn together and eyelids droopy to match the paintings’ solemn expressions. Bakugo, surprisingly, was fascinated by the grim history of the house and would shush your group if they started getting too loud that he couldn’t hear the guide. Kirishima stuck close to Bakugo and Denki, jokingly commenting on whether the actions of the men in the house were manly or not to hide his unease. 

The tour ended at the head of the house’s office before exiting out the backyard gate, and your friends lingered to take a photo in an antique full-body mirror. The temperature seemed to have dropped significantly, and Sero’s phone battery drained immediately after taking the mirror photo. 

“Man… I swear this thing had, like, 80% power when we got here.” He knocked his hand a few times against the edge of the phone to no avail, the no-battery symbol flashing mockingly at him. 

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you were recording unnecessary shit this entire time. Coulda just asked me for a fuckin’ summary afterward.”

You laughed at Bakugo’s commitment to the tour. “You’re just grumpy that we dragged you into a group mirror photo, Kats.” 

“Alright, now that my hands are free, do you think that if I drew a pentagram on the floor that I’d summon a demon?” Sero waggled his eyebrows and Jiro scoffed at his casual reference to getting possessed. 

“Maybe if you sat on it. Or laid on it, like that tall guy on YouTube.” 

“Nah, man, I don’t mess around with that shit. Don’t be trying that stuff if I’m near you.” 

“Do you actually believe in ghosts? That’s why you’re scared of them?”

“Not scared… just not interested in getting my body taken over. It’d suck big time.” 

“Mina, what the fuck are you looking at that’s so funny?” The pink-haired hero was pointing to a small, faded image of one of the family’s sons that had died of some disease. 

“Ha, look at this guy that looks like Bakugo, Jiro. Jiro?” Mina’s voice trails off, looking back at Jiro, who was tensely staring at the ceiling of the house. Her eyes track the perimeter of where the office walls meet the ceiling, face taut with concentration. The others don’t notice until she quietly sticks one of her earphone jacks into the ceiling and gasps, a hand flying up to cover her mouth. 

Bakugo’s focus shoots to Jiro, immediately on alert. “Yo, Ears, are you good?”

“There are… footsteps. Upstairs. Sounds like two people walking around.”

Kirishima loses a little bit of color on his face. “That could be just another tour, right?”

“No, no, no. The guide said we were on the last tour of the night.” Mina’s eyes are wide with concern and she puts out her hands as if to calm down the escalating fear of the group. “What if it’s the guy that I said looked like Katsuki?” Bakugo snarls, on the verge of biting Mina’s pointing finger off. 

“Okay, no, it’s probably cleaning people.” Kirishima glances at the exit door leading to the outside, but you all seem to be frozen where you stand.  

Sero’s eyes sparkle from behind his dead phone camera. “Yeah, ghost cleaning people.” Chills run down your spine, and you shiver at the dropping temperature. Kirishima opens his mouth to counter Sero’s suggestion but is cut off by Bakugo’s harsh tone. 

“Stop it, Denki,” he suddenly snaps. 

Denki’s face twists in confusion. “My bad?”

“Dude, I said stop it.” 

“I’m not doing anything!” 

Scowling at Denki, Bakugo points aggressively to the ceiling light that had started flickering after Jiro’s gasp. 

“That’s…not me…”

“Guys? You see that, right?” 

You turn towards Kirishima, who has moved to the doorway of the office that leads to the rest of the house. His eyes are the size of pool balls and his face is completely devoid of color. As you carefully gather around the doorway of the office to see what he’s looking at, pure horror courses through your entire body as you take in two pairs of eyes peering back at your friends from the top of the stairs. They were undeniably eyes, and you stare at them until one of them blinks and they both start to descend the stairs.

Right towards your friends.   

Your group explodes into unbelievably loud shrieks of horror and shouted expletives as you high-tail it out the door, Kirishima having just enough sense to knock down Bakugo’s hand before he fires a shot at the stairs and gets you all sued for property damage. 

Days later, Sero frames a copy of the mirror photo you all had taken in the office, and upon closer inspection of the photo, you discover two figures standing in the doorway behind you and your smiling friends.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[ragingbookdragon]

And I'll Be An Old Troubadour, When I'm Gone

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1K Warnings: None

Author's Note: Dis my favorite GS song <3 fits my OC perfectly <3 -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Ghost doesn’t typically get out of the country if he can help it when he’s on leave. Rarely does he even get to Scotland to see Soap’s family. That’s about it, but somehow, Troubadour convinces him to fly out to the States and down south to see him for the month they’ve been given. It does take quite a bit of convincing, and even a great home cooked dinner and somehow wining and dining Ghost’s pants off, but he does.

Troubadour has a fun time showing him around the town he grew up in, and even takes him to the high school he played football in. He grins widely as he sees his trophy in the case and a cheering team photo behind it. He tells him stories about getting drunk by a bonfire and almost burning all the little hair he had on his chest when he decided to jump over it and almost fell face first instead. Tells him about how he managed to whoop a rival school’s tail in a street fight in a parking lot when he was a senior. Talks on and on about how he used to spend every summer on a tube floating down the river with a fishing pole in one hand, a beer in the other, and a can of bait between his knees. Ghost’s eyes don’t give it away, but his smile is evident beneath the black face mask he wears around the town.

He drives Ghost around town, takes him to the local diner and shows him what a real country fried steak tastes like, and by the time they’re done with apple pie and coffee, Ghost is literally bursting at the seams and ready to fall over in the booth while Troubadour laughs at him. He looks good when he laughs. Like he isn’t trying to look out for everyone like Price always is. Troubadour’s good like that; the big brother they never had, the one they can go to for anything, no matter how foolish or big. He sometimes thinks Troubadour should retire and do something better with his life. Something less risky. But he knows that Troubadour is a good man, wants to do the right thing, even if he gets his hands dirty. He wants to make a difference. Wants to be the man he deserved to look up to as a young man instead of the shit father he did have. Sometimes Ghost wishes he could be a good man like Troubadour.

Troubadour tells him the cabin he’s rented is about two and a half hours out of the town and Ghost settles into the passenger seat of the 2021 Dodge RAM 1500, comfortable and content to close his eyes for a couple hours. He watches the end of the sun fall behind the mountains and watches the stars come out above the truck. So deep in his own mind that he doesn’t realize Troubadour’s hand is on his thigh until he feels his lover’s fingers gently pressing and thumbing against the roughness of his jeans. Troubadour likes to touch. He’s always holding Ghost’s hand, his thigh, his chin on the soldier’s shoulder, toes brushing his calf under the covers.

He looks over inconspicuously, taking in the side profile of the man he’s come to love so deeply, of something that came from such an admiration and respect. Ghost often wonders if Simon Riley would be the man Troubadour was if he hadn’t let his past warp him so greatly. The man’s hands are strong, firm, steady, the wheel gripped in one as he silently and masterfully turns the wheel around a winding curve when the radio plays the next song and he sees the corner of Troubadour’s mouth turn up and he starts to hum the cords of the beginning, and Ghost is almost shocked at the smooth voice that comes out of the man, like bourbon running in his veins as he sings.

Sometimes I feel like Jesse James, still tryin’ to make a name. Knowing nothing’s gonna change what I am. I was a young troubadour, when I rode in on a song. I’ll be an old troubadour, when I’m gone.

It makes something in Simon’s chest tighten painfully. Their lives are lived in an hourglass that’s running out of sand fast. Every moment is never guaranteed, no tomorrow ever promised, but the longer he spends with Troubadour, the more he hears the life he wants to be living instead. He wants to wake up at five AM for god knows whatever reason, and sit on the porch in matching rocking chairs drinking their coffee. He wants to sit on the back porch in the swing and drink bourbon as they watch the fireflies in the summer and talk about the change in football and wonder if the season will be better than last year’s. He wants to spend every Sunday going to a café where they complain about the same breakfast they always get but still eat it and can’t wait for the next time. He wants to sit on the steps of their home in the early winter months, and watch Troubadour chop wood and bitch that he could chip in instead of ogling him like a pervert but still take his sweaty shirt off anyway.

Simon begins to admit the one thing he’s always been afraid of, and that’s the fact that he actually wants to live long enough to die an old man next to the old man he’s come to love.

He doesn’t even realize his eyes have begun to sting until he blinks rapidly and takes a deep breath, looking over at Troubadour as the man simply sings away without a care in the world other than the fact one of his biggest bragging rights is, “George Strait wrote a song about me. I mean, it’s obviously about me.”

Simon feels the world collide with everything he’s ever felt and known when Troubadour looks over as if called out to him and gives him a pearly white smile.

I was a young troubadour, when I rode in on a song, and I’ll be an old troubadour when I’m gone.

Troubadour picks up his hand, kisses the back of Simon’s, an ever-present and firm promise to love him for all he’s worth for as long as he has and even into the next life and all eternity.

I’ll be an old troubadour, when I’m gone.

[bethanydelleman]

do you have any book recommendations beyond classic lit + Jane Austen? Love your blog by the way!

Thanks! I read/have read a ton of books. My favourite genre as a child was fantasy, but I read almost everything except true crime*, thrillers, murder mysteries, self-help, and biography. But I do sometimes read those, my favourite thriller is Sometimes I Lie by Alice Feeney. I'm going to start with children's books because honestly, I find so much imagination in that genre.

Children's/YA Books: Gail Carson Levine, specifically The Princess Tales 1 & 2, and Ella Enchanted, among others Jean Little/Kit Pearson - these authors have the same vibe to me. Willow and Twig is a favourite from the first one, The Guests of War trilogy and Awake and Dreaming from the other. They both write coming of age novels for girls, both Canadian. Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs - I loved the whole trilogy (haven't watched the movie). The story being based around real antique trick photos is my favourite part The Echorium Sequence by Katherine Roberts - a trilogy of books about magical singers with blue hair and their interactions with half-human magical creatures Margaret Peterson Haddix, specifically Running Out of Time, the Shadow Children series, and Double Identity. Margaret Buffie, who writes stories about teenage girls and ghosts. Also Canadian, which I guess isn't that surprising. The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins. Re-read it last summer and it's as good as I remembered. Roald Dahl, I really loved Matilda as a child, it's been fun to read some of these novels with my kids. Sideways Stories from Wayside School by Louis Sachar - and it's sequels. Amazingly quirky and funny stories about a class of students in a weird school

Fantasy: Mercedes Lackey, specifically the Five Hundred Kingdoms series and The Obsidian universe. I also loved the Elvenbane series, but due to the death of Andre Norton it may never be finished. I would advise caution if sexual assault is triggering for you, the ones I like are mostly free of it but that can come up in her other works. Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien - obviously. Also loved The Hobbit, have not read further The Broken Earth trilogy by N.K. Jemisin - the book opens with the triggering of an apocalypse. The world contains people who can control earthquakes A Baroque Fable by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - this book is so hilarious but I don't know if anyone has heard about it Once Upon a Winter's Night by Dennis L. McKiernan - and it's sequels. This is a romance retold fairy tale series

Science Fiction: Michael Crichton - who spans a bunch of genres but I'll put him here. I've read everything he's written and I recommend most of it. State of Fear has not aged well. His books are very fast-paced and Timeline has one of the best enemies to lovers. Orson Scott Card - I am aware, but Ender's Game is a masterpiece. He also has this single novel called Magic Street that is a sequel to A Midsummer Night's Dream. I also loved Memories of Earth but it's been a while since I read it. I, Robot by Issac Asimov - short stories about artificial intelligence and how it might go weird

Graphic novels: Astro City by Kurt Busiek - superhero, but more focused on how living in that world would affect normal people Y: The Last Man by Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guerra - every male on earth dies, except for one, and his monkey Fables by Bill Willlingham - after being attacked by an army of wooden soldiers, fairy tale characters and creatures seek refuge in a non-magical world (ours) Nimona by ND Stevenson - a villain gains a shape-shifting sidekick, but she is not what she seems Scurry by Mac Smith - post-apocalyptic earth, the main characters are all surviving mice. Best artwork I've ever seen in a graphic novel American Vampire by Scott Snyder- vampires have different traits depending on their home country, this is about the new, American species. Asterix and Obelix by René Goscinny and Albert Uderzo - a small group of powerful Gauls defend themselves against the Romans using a magical potion

Non Fiction: Stephan Pinker, I've read both of his trilogies on language and the brain. Trying to get through his huge book about violence The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat by Oliver Sacks - writen by a neurologist, fascinating book Doing Harm: The Truth About How Bad Medicine and Lazy Science Leave Women Dismissed, Misdiagnosed, and Sick by Maya Dusenbery - what it says on the tin

Toddler/Young Child Books: The Monster at the End of This Book by Jon Stone - I give you a 100% guarantee that if you read this book aloud, the kids will be fascinated. It is literally always a hit Robert Munsch - most of his books are amazing, but if you don't want to cry, DO NOT read the backstory of Love You Forever. The Paper Bag Princess was one of my favourites as a child. Little Critter - only the older ones, the new ones are religious for some reason. Just for You and I Was So Mad were favourites for my kids. Early lesson in unreliable narrators. Phoebe Gilman - Something From Nothing, the Jillian Jiggs series, The Balloon Tree... so many good ones! Really good illustrations too Little Pea by Amy Krouse Rosenthal - a book about a pea who hates eating candy. This book is fun to read and my kids loved it (I have the box set) The Book with No Pictures by B.J. Novak - kids love when adults have to do weird things I Want My Hat Back by Jon Klassen - perfect opportunity to do a lot of funny voices The Mitten by Jan Brett - a whole bunch of animals squeeze into a mitten. That's the whole thing. It's great. The Very Cranky Bear by Nick Bland - and the rest of the series. These are fun to read because they rhyme. Jonathan Stutzman - my kids LOVE Tiny T. Rex and the Llama series. We haven't read the others An Elephant & Piggie by Mo Willems - we have this entire series, they are a delight. An elephant and pig are very silly friends. Good drawings Dr. Seuss - be careful with him though, his books are quite long and can be hard to read, so I recommend waiting until your kids are a bit older. But The Lorax slaps and my personal favourite as a kid was The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins

Other: Still Alice by Lisa Genova - or any of her books really. She is a neuroscientist and her books are really interesting explorations of different disorders. Book is better than the movie Warm Bodies by Issac Marion - zombie Romeo and Juliet Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder - a novel that is also an intro to philosophy course Calvin and Hobbes - I own all of them, so excited for when my kids can understand them. I also love The Far Side, Zits, and the earlier Dilbert comics The Women in Black by Madeleine St. John - this book is absolutely charming. I saw the Netflix movie and then bought it right away.

*I avoid true crime because I have heard that the genre causes harassment to victim's families

General Note: I am aware that some of these authors are now considered controversial, some for more serious reasons than others. Sometimes flawed people make really good art. I mean, flawed people make all art because nobody on earth is perfect.

[gryficowa]

Boycott!

I'm coming back from vacation this week (Friday, but well, in other countries it may be a different day, mainly due to time zones)

But when I get home, I won't have to run to the socket and back to the table (Laptops…), and I will be able to connect it before it runs out of charge (So, consequently, I will also return to digital and my number of entries with collections may be larger)

I mean, I will have to charge the battery (Social and such), but well, it is necessary to make a greater contribution to supporting Palestine, Sudan and Congo (Also Haiti, Ukraine and Syria), unfortunately, my internal battery also has its limits, although during the holidays I started using the post options more often (You know, text, photo, link…) which makes it easier to share collections (because, unfortunately, they often get lost among other posts)

So yes, I may be away from Tumblr for 10 hours (Because I'm near the mountains and I'm Kashubian)

So yes, I have this to share

Now that I have your attention:

[funniestpersonalivefr]

HELLO im terrible with request ideas but can u do a claire x jill phone sex?

thinking of you.

boy oh boy i am excited for this one. very little plot, main smut so mdni. nsfw under the cut. not proofread. bottom claire and top jill bc ive got an agenda to push. credit to image owner i found it on pinterest. twas a little rushed sorry. anyways hope you enjoy!

jill and claire had been apart for what felt like forever. this came with their work though, missions lasting for months. they'd often spend time in completely different countries, calling whenever they could.

claire was at home and she was so needy, so desperate to just hear jill's voice instructing her on how to touch herself. she had spent the day sending jill pictures of her in revealing clothing and compromising positions. these were accompanied by teasing texts, she knew jill was busy but she needed her girlfriend.

as jill got to her hotel room she felt like she was going to explode from claire's teasing. claire's phone screen lit up, her thighs rubbing together at the sight of jill's contact photo. she wasted no time answering the call.

"hello? jill? baby?"

jill hums into the phone.

"you sure are missing me right now huh? aren't you claire?" her tone was teasing, claire felt herself get wetter.

"what were you thinking? sending me those pictures?" jill continued, "while i was at work too? god you must be needy right now."

claire at this point was laying in their bed, feeling herself up over her clothes.

"just thinking about you, thinking about all the things you'd do to me," claire answered, moaning softly when her hand slides over her cunt.

jill hums as she leans back on her hotel bed, she pushes her shirt up over her bra before she pulls her boobs out. her fingers ghost over her nipples.

"and what did you want me to do exactly? c'mon baby use your words. let me know what you want so i can give it to you when i get home," jill says as she rolls her nipple between her fingers.

"i want you to kiss me," there's a brief silence before claire continues. "i want you to kiss my neck, then kiss my tits. only when you have me completely desperate for you, you finally kiss my aching cunt."

jill moans out loud as she slips her hand into her pants, under her panties. her fingers are quick to work on her clit as she rubs circular motions on it.

"god, i'd love to see your pretty face right now," jill says. "your perfect fucking body and how it reacts to every little touch."

claire's fingers are already knuckle deep in her pussy, jill can hear the familiar sound of it as she plunges her fingers in and out. both are left moaning messes, fingers inside them as they continue to lament about how much they miss the other.

"god i'm gonna cum, jill," claire moans out.

"cum for baby, please cum for me," jill responds as both chase their orgasms.

claire cums first, her vision going white as she moans out loudly. jill can picture it perfectly, her favorite sight. claire's face is flushed, her pupils are dilated, and her lips are parted as she falls apart.

jill is not far behind her, her orgasm is not too different from her girlfriend's. she swears with a groan, her head being thrown back in the pillow. her legs are clamped around her hand as she begins the ride out her high. her hair sticks to her forehead with sweat.

the call is silent except for the sound of both of the women catching their breaths.

"god you're fucking amazing, i love you so much," jill says, her tone is sincere. claire's heart does the familiar flutter that never has left over the course of their relationship.

"i love you too, jill." claire says before clearing her throat and continuing. "i know you hate to hear it but please be safe and try to get home soon."

jill sighs, "of course, now tell me about your day. i wanna hear your voice."

[hunterbunter3000]

Krueger being a seat sniffer isn’t shocking tbh 💀 that man def already picked out the names of his and Sweetheart’s future kids and wedding plans detailed in a binder (is he manifesting or delusional; who knows lol!).

He also def has a shrine dedicated to Sweetheart openly in his room, atleast the other boys have the decency to hide their shrines in their closet 😤😂

LMAOOO STOP THATS SO HIM (AND FUCKING EVERYONE ELSE)

He has like- three binders and two notebooks he has for Sweetheart and his future with her. Like it's just FILLED with where they would live, how many kids they would have, tHEIR NAMES, the colleges they would go to, the house he wants to get when they get married, THE WEDDING

MANS IS EVEN PLANNING FOR THEIR RETIREMENT LIKE-- KRUEGER??? he's delulu and manifesting for this to happen!! Let's cheer him on! ✨️🙏 PFFTT-

And yes. He has a shrine of Sweetheart. OBVIOUSLY. THE MOMENT YOU WALK IN its right there in your face. It's sitting on a small table-like stand and it's FILLED with framed pictures of Sweetheart and heart shaped candles around them. There's a long frame with gold on it, and inside of it is a nail set he got her his first time ever (that was three years ago 💀) She told him it was coming off, and she was so sad because he got it for her (he fell in love with her more because of that) so he helped her get them off, and he told her that he'll throw them away.

S I K E

once she left he threw them in his pocket so fast and ran off to his room 💀💀 and then there's a pedestal on the table, and it has a small, marble bust of Sweetheart he paid someone to do on etsy (HE LOVES ETSY IM NOT CHANGING MY MIND) and what's crazy is that all of its glued down to the table, and there's a button behind it, so he presses that button when Sweetheart comes around and the table top flips, being empty and he places magazines on the clean top 🧍‍♀️ THE MAN HAS A SECRET CONTRAPTION FOR HIS SHRINE

(You can't deny the fact that he prays to it as well. You CANT)

He's down horrifically bad. He wants her sO BADLY

well get tf in line BIG BOY CAUSE SO DOES EVERYONE ELSE

They don't really have shrines like Krueger (because he's delusional) but everyone does have a picture of Sweetheart or some sort of gift she's made them somewhere in their room. Or on them.

Like Alejandro has a small gold locket of Sweetheart he wears around his neck and NEVER TAKES IT OFF-- and when he's about to go on a mission, he kisses the locket, says a small prayer and puts it under his shirt, so he knows that he's protected and has someone to go back to (why am I making myself cry)

Rudy has a picture of Sweetheart framed with a letter she sent him on his desk with the little things she's made him. He reads the letter every time he misses her (WHY AM I DOING THIS TO MYSELF)

Ghost wears a braided friendship bracelet Sweetheart made him. (Its black and blue with lil skulls) He hides it on his left wrist with his glove, but he still wears it. When he's not around Sweetheart, he plays with the ties and smiles

Soap has like a little collage of pictures of Sweetheart and him on a corkboard. They take pictures when they're in a new country or state and collect weeds of flowers and give it to each other (SO CUTE I LOVE SOAP) and his sketchbook is FILLED of Sweetheart-- like he remembers what she looks like so much he sketches her from memory. And he uses a separate sketchbook for her, he calls it "Sweet's Looks".

Gaz only has one picture of her, and it's on his phone. It's Sweetheart cuddled up on his side, hand on his chest while watching a movie. It's obviously his home screen wallpaper (not his lock screen he can't handle that) he also has a little basket of different rocks Sweetheart has given him because she has a little basket of rocks he has given her as well (they're birds I tell ya)

Price has a photo of her in his hat. That's why he never lets anyone touch it, and his heart beats a little quicker when Sweetheart wears is hat cause he's nervous she's gonna see the picture (she has, and it's her and Brutus together and she squeals everytime in her mind)

Roach has a picture of Sweetheart taped to a bear. 🧍‍♀️ don't really wanna go into that one--

Alex has like- one of those photo booth type of pictures. Yk the ones that come in threes or fours. They went to a mall and Sweetheart HAD to get some. Alex uses his as a bookmark.

Now Horangi is like Krueger. He DOES have a shrine but it's in his closet. You will NEVER SEE IT.

König would have a shrine in his closet as well, but it's SMALL. Like two pictures and a good luck letter she wrote to him when he was on a mission. He's so soft for her good lord.

Graves has like.... I don't know a paperclip? That Sweetheart gave him? Think he still has that pen that Sweetheart forgot to take back. Still counts.

[pernillemagda]

The reactions to the kiss photo were a turning point

Pernille Harder and Magdalena Eriksson are the dream couple of women's football. A kiss made both of them world famous. Now they play for FC Bayern. And see themselves on a special mission for the LGBTIQ+ community.

 It's a day at the FC Bayern Campus in the north of Munich, a training center for the record champions' youth and women's teams: The currently injured Pernille Harder, 30, and Magdalena Eriksson, 30, come to talk to WELT AM SONNTAG in sportswear.

The dream couple of women's football moved from Chelsea to Munich in the summer. Since then, the two have received numerous media inquiries, but rarely give interviews together. This Saturday (5:55 p.m., ARD/Magentasport/DAZN) their team will play for the first time in the Bundesliga in the men's stadium in Munich, against Eintracht Frankfurt.

WELT AM SONNTAG: They had breakfast together today, drove to the training facility together, had a team meeting, and now did the interview together. Do you sometimes get tired of each other?

Magdalena Eriksson: (laughs) When we met, we also played for the same team, in Sweden. We are now used to being together all the time. And want it that way. Or? (Looks at Pernille Harder with a laugh)

Pernille Harder: Absolutely (laughs). But we don't walk around hand in hand all the time. Here on campus, we are at work – and very focused. While we eat, we sit with other players and talk to them. This is important. At home, it's nice when your partner knows what you've experienced during the day. You can exchange ideas and empathize differently. Especially when it comes to pressure and emotions.

Eriksson: Right. Parents, family and friends cannot understand this, no matter how good the relationship with them is. Because they are not professional footballers. Pernille and I can help each other very well. When she's at a low point, I build her up - and vice versa.

WELT AM SONNTAG: How long have you been together?

Harder: For nine and a half years.

WELT AM SONNTAG: At that time, could you imagine playing together for FC Bayern one day?

Harder: Many players have a dream club as a child that they really want to play for one day. I didn't have that. But I always wanted to play in Germany. I dreamed of this as a girl.

WELT AM SUNDAY: Why?

Harder: I was born in 1992. During my childhood and youth, German football was very strong, and the men's Bundesliga was very good. In 2017 I moved to VfL Wolfsburg - and was part of German football for the first time.

Eriksson: This is my first time playing for a German club. This is something very special for me. In my home country of Sweden, the Germans in football are called – loosely translated – the ghosts.

WELT AM SONNTAG: Why?

Eriksson: Because they always threw us Swedes out of big tournaments and scared us (laughs). Germany has always been very successful, so I have always been interested in the clubs here. And wanted to know why the Germans were so successful.

WELT AM SONNTAG: Were you able to reveal the German secret to success in your first few weeks in Munich?

Eriksson: (laughs) I'm still figuring it out. Germany has a lot of talented players who expect a lot from themselves. The quality of German women's football is very high.

Harder: Fatmire Bajramaj was an idol for me, she was incredible. A machine. Germany still has physically strong players, but now also very creative players. You need them, football has developed.

WELT AM SONNTAG: Ms. Eriksson, when you left Chelsea FC in the summer after six years, you cried.

Eriksson: Because it wasn't an easy decision. Timing plays an important role in life. And now that was perfect. Because we feel that our team at FC Bayern is currently developing enormously. And has enormous potential.

Harder: Some of our team consists of young players who are far from reaching their peak. We see great opportunities. The team is on a journey. We want to be part of the development.

WELT AM SONNTAG: Your coach Alexander Straus expects you to lead the team. What defines good leadership in football for you?

Eriksson: Be yourself! There are so many different leaders, quiet ones and loud ones. It's so individual. For me, communication is at the top. From my position in defense, I can see and direct a lot. This comes naturally. Some people say I'm louder on the pitch than in life off the pitch.

Harder: For me, leadership primarily means setting an example. If I give 100 percent, the younger players who might look up to me will do the same. Lead by example – this sentence still applies. It's about not just thinking about yourself, but about the entire team.

WELT AM SONNTAG: You also moved forward off the field when you kissed at the 2019 European Championships. You, Ms. Eriksson, had just won the quarterfinals with Sweden and went to the stands where your friend was cheering in the Sweden jersey. The kiss photo went around the world.

Harder: As a homosexual couple, we didn't hide beforehand, but we also didn't consciously show ourselves publicly for cameras. This moment was completely natural. We didn't even realize we were being photographed. It was only in the evening that we realized that something was happening: we received a lot of positive news. Before the photo, we never thought about the fact that we could be role models beyond sports. The reaction to the photo – that was a turning point. We realized that we were doing something for the LGBTIQ+ community, that we could do a lot of positive things for people with the little bit of our private life. This still feels incredible.

Eriksson: Until the photo, we didn't realize what influence we could have. Since then, we wanted to do more. Our goal is to make people's lives a little easier. We have therefore joined the Common Goal organization.

WELT AM SONNTAG: You donate one percent of your salary to this charitable organization, like the German national players Mats Hummels and Serge Gnabry .

Harder: Every player can choose which area the money should go to. We chose “Play Proud.” An organization committed to making stadiums safe spaces for the LGBTIQ+ community. And imparts the necessary knowledge.

WELT AM SONNTAG: What do you want to stand for?

Harder: Maybe we can change the attitude of people who send hate, for example on social media. It is important that everyone has the opportunity to live peacefully. No matter who he or she loves or where you come from.

Eriksson: We want to show members of the LGBTIQ+ community that they are no different than others, that they are not alone.

Harder: You don't see same-sex relationships in professional men's football. There are very few role models in football for young people in this regard. If we can be that we're happy to be that. That's probably why our kiss was so special for many people: because it happened in a football context. It's nice that we can play a part in making football more open.

Eriksson: When I was younger, I knew some players who were gay. But they weren't really proud of it, at least that's how it seemed to me. They were hiding a bit. When Pernille and I act normally, it sends the message: Be proud of who and how you are!

WELT AM SONNTAG: What did you think when, after the final of the Women's World Cup, you saw the then Spanish association president Luis Rubiales kissing the Spanish player Jennifer Hermoso on the mouth?

Harder: I was surprised and shocked that this could happen. That a man doesn't understand that it's wrong to do this - and on the biggest stage in women's football. It was completely over the limit. That's why it was important that the Spanish players made this clear.

Eriksson: I felt sorry for the Spanish players. They had just achieved the biggest title of their careers to date - and hardly anyone talked about it, everything revolved around the kiss. But there is something positive in this negative event: namely the global solidarity of women. The players around Jennifer Hermoso stuck together. I found that inspiring. They sent a message: standing together can make the difference. I hope that the players will look back in a few years and be very proud.

WELT AM SONNTAG: How do you rate the development of women's football in general? Where can it go?

Harder: I played for the Danish national team for the first time when I was 16 years old. An incredible amount has happened in our sport since then. He wasn't really accepted back then. Now you can see the potential. Women's football has a bright future ahead of it.

Eriksson: I'm very excited to see where the sport is going. When you became an international player, Chelsea didn't even have a women's team. And the English women's league didn't exist yet. Now there are so many options for girls and women. That's why we both want to stay in women's football after our careers as players and continue to drive this development forward.

WELT AM SONNTAG: Do you want to become a trainer?

Eriksson: During our time at Chelsea, we got our UEFA B coaching license and trained the U14s there at times. Maybe we'll get the A license.

WELT AM SONNTAG: Does it help or is it annoying that women's football is repeatedly compared to men's football ?

Eriksson: It's good to compare until we reach a standard in women's football that is acceptable to everyone. Our sport is not yet where it should be in every country and in every respect. Some players don't get enough money and don't have professional conditions everywhere. We have to fight for that. Once we have achieved that, the comparisons may well subside. Because women's football has a lot that makes it unique: such as the peaceful atmosphere in the stadiums, the great fans, and the family-friendly atmosphere in general.

Harder: When it comes to infrastructure, women's football can even use the eternal comparison with men's football - to learn. The women should have the same set-up as the men. There should be some kind of minimum wage for the respective leagues. You can't expect a player to train intensively twice a day and then take care of her body and the team without being able to make a living from it. When it comes to the peaceful atmosphere in the stadiums, I'm entirely with Magdalena - here men's football can learn from women's football. Riots and hostility that unfortunately occur from time to time in men's football do not exist in women's football. The fans in our sport are exemplary.

WELT AM SONNTAG: You recently played together for Chelsea for three years. How does women's football in Germany differ from that in England?

Harder: A lot has changed since I left the Bundesliga in 2020.

WELT AM SONNTAG: What specifically?

Harder: Above all, the interest of the audience. Over 13,000 spectators came to our first game away from home against SC Freiburg , and our stadium here on campus is almost always full for home games. Thousands of people even came to pre-season friendly games.

WELT AM SONNTAG: How many spectators came to Chelsea?

Eriksson: Usually between 3,000 and 4,000 spectators.

WELT AM SONNTAG: What else does England have ahead of Germany?

Harder: The English are extremely good when it comes to branding and marketing the clubs and the league.

Eriksson: The quality of the Bundesliga is enormous. Every team can take points from you. It's a pretty balanced league. Alex, our coach, relies on dominant football with a lot of ball control. In England, it was a bit more goal-to-goal. This is a very interesting challenge. I'm already 30 years old, but I feel that I can learn and develop here.

WELT AM SONNTAG: What soccer skills would you like your partner to have?

Harder: (looks at Eriksson) Your left foot. And your unwillingness to compromise in duels.

Eriksson: (looks at Harder) You’re dribbling at high speed. And your calmness when making decisions in the last third of the game. I always get nervous when I get close to the opponent's goal (laughs). You, on the other hand, are totally cool. And you know exactly when to pass and when to shoot.

Harder: I'm a striker. That's my job (laughs).

WELT AM SONNTAG: Are you interested in football 24/7?

Harder: Luckily not. It's also about coffee (laughs). And eat. We love good coffee and good food.

Eriksson: Travel and family are also important to us. I just became an aunt, my sister had a child. And Pernille has two nephews. It's important to know that there's more to life than football. We used to be different. When we got together, it was mostly football for us.

Harder: We were very young. We still want to achieve a lot, but we take some things more calmly.

[trashland-llamas]

Howdy

synopsis; 3 separate meet-cutes involving fem! reader + soap, ghost, & gaz

they/them pronouns used for reader; fem reader

f/a/d-favorite alcoholic drink; can switch it out for soda or water if you don't drink

Before He Cheats - Soap

Catches y/n in the act of slashing their ex's tires after finding out their partner was cheating on them with one of the other regulars

'You do realize insurance will most likely cover that if you slash all of 'em right?' Unable to hide his amusement at the 'deer-in-the-headlight' stare they gave him. 'Stop while I'm ahead, got it.'

'Not that it's any of my business but what's the story behind all this?' This being the smashed headlight, and carved leather seats. Smart enough not to sign their work. A discarded Louisville slugger.

'My boyfriend always told me he was watching the game with his buddies, turns out he's been seeing someone on the side.' Noting the shock in their voice, surprised at their ex's audacity. Accent more prominent.

'He's one stupid man, losing someone like you. Name's Soap, in case we meet again.' He didn't know when his next deployment would be, but he hoped the fates would make them cross paths again before then.

'Y/n, if I don't end up in prison first.' Not caring enough at the moment to ask what kind of name is Soap. Especially when the person looked so ruggedly handsome. Y/n started picking up all their stuff, finding a phone number scrawled on the bat.

'Call me when you get a chance jailbird.'

Die A Happy Man - Ghost

Price had tried setting Ghost up on a blind date, being a regular at y/n's shop, he had overheard them moping about how single they were. With their permission, he gave Ghost their number. 'Simon, you deserve love as much as the rest of us. Plus if it weren't for Gaz and Soap, you'd be a literal caveman. Think about it, okay?'

Ghost randomly texts them one night when he gets back from a mission, just wanting someone to talk to. 'Price gave me this number.' is his blunt opening line. 'And who am I speaking to?' Glad he had type it in correctly. 'Simon.'

It's only until a week later of semi-consistent back and forth messages that Simon asks them out. 'I'll pick you up at 7pm, wear something nice.' Breathing out a laugh at their response. 'At least send me a photo so I know who to look for.'

'Charming.' He sent a masked selfie, holding up his driver's license.

Ghost forgets out to breath when y/n's walking out the door to meet him, a red dress hugging all their curves. 'You're gonna catch flies, Simon.' Hearing how his name rolls off y/n's tongue doesn't help.

'You don't look too bad yourself.' y/n compliments Ghost as they buckle up. A navy blue button up with some black jeans. A chain holding dog tags showing from the few buttons left undone at the top.

Simon ends up having a panic attack on their second date when y/n shows up in a little black dress. It turns into a funny story as y/n was scared shitless, not knowing what to do.

Party in the USA - Gaz

'Oh my god, I'm so sorry!' Gaz had barely budged from the force. He appreciated the apology despite how little he cared for the shirt. Opening his shirt to reveal a v-neck shirt underneath. 'No fuss. Can I buy you a replacement drink?'

Nodding, they told him that is was a f/a/d. Buying a shot for himself, he looked y/n up and down. 'I'm guessing you didn't get the memo?' His tone lighthearted, a teasing quality to it. Gaz was referring to how out of place they looked, no name brands in sight. It was rather refreshing if he was honest. 'What gave it away?' 

'Oh, I don't know, maybe the boots. Or the country bumpkin vibes plus the attractive accent.' His response making y/n wonder if it was the liquid courage or if he was always this lofty. 'You think my accent's hot?' Hook, line, and sinker. 'Oh, I think it's divine. Name's Kyle.' Y/n being the forward one now, invited Gaz to the dance floor.

Laughing when Britney Spear's 'If U Seek Amy' played over the speakers, them poorly singing along. Off in their own world that Gaz was the only one privy to see. Unsure if he could call their movements dancing. Not that he was any better as he was glad to have a partner.

Scoring some point in the gentleman category, Gaz offered to drive y/n home, when they were hit with butterflies in their stomach. Grabbing his phone, Gaz watched as they type in their phone number. 'So you can text me that you got home okay.' Unable to deny how his heart softened. 'Awfully kind of you, but I will.' Trying his best to reassure them, not wanting to instill any worry.

'Home safe and in one piece.' Finally seeing their name, whispers to himself, 'y/n, a pretty name for a pretty gal.'

Refuses to call them anything other than 'country bumpkin,' to the point even his colleagues know them as that. 

[plausible-fabulist]

The Ghost and the Golem (my 450,000-word Jewish historical fantasy interactive fiction game) launches tomorrow, and I am frenziedly testing & tweaking in the dilapidated "summer kitchen" of the French country house where the Swiss extended family has gathered...

(photo credit: Jonas Bieri)

[monstersinthecosmos]

thank you to @birdblacksocialclub for tagging! <3

Are you named after anyone? I am named after an 80's soap opera character but I cannot say more because my real name is a Tumblr secret.

When was the last time you cried? omfg I can't remember which was last but this week I cried over a BTS clip I watched of the Curb Your Enthusiasm finale and also my GOT rewatch when Dany has to lock the dragons up 😭

Do you have kids? no lmao

Do you use sarcasm a lot? I THINK I USE IT MEDIUM for humor but I don't use it often in actual conversation because I don't want to be mean and I think it doesn't really come across over text.

What sports do you play? I HULA HOOP AND LIFT WEIGHTS IDK IF THAT COUNTS thats it that's the extent of my athletic pursuits

What’s the first thing you notice about people? in person probably their clothes, online probably THE STUFF THEY SHIP and then the tone with which they write meta 🤣

What’s your eye colour? Blue but I have partial heterochromia in my right eye so it's also brown.

Scary movies or happy endings? MANY SCARY MOVIES HAVE HAPPY ENDINGS WHAT DO YOU MEAN but scary movies

Any special talents? I can write I guess lol.

Where were you born? Long Island

What are your hobbies? fanfic writing, arts & crafts!, VERMICOMPOSTING, gardening!

Do you have any pets? I HAVE 2 THEY ARE VERY CUTE they are cat siblings named Ghost Pepper and Scrambles and they are about 21 months old!

How tall are you? 5'8

Favourite subject in school? dude idk I dropped out, I was miserable all day. When I went to college I had a lot of fun in Film Lit and the weirder photo electives.

Dream job? If I could make consistent money off photography and have it be my only job that would be so nice but the way it is now I find the business side of it so stressful that I prefer the setup I have now in which I have a cushy corporate admin job that pays the bills and allows me the freedom to have creative hobbies that I can do for fun without them being my job. I would love it if I could get into social work fields and do like community building and advocacy but they don't pay enough and/or I'd have to get more college and I can't afford it so !? Idk all I really want is something that pays me enough and lets me have hobbies but if it was something I felt good about doing that would be ideal. The company I work for now is morally acceptable for me because it helps people navigate the health insurance disaster in this country but I would also love to do work that would FIX the health insurance disaster in the first place, you know?

ANYWAY this was fun thanks!

tagging @apoptoses @rugbertgoeshome @ihaventcomeupwthanameforaheroyet @uncivilcivilservice @baba-o-riledup @defamink

[fromthedeskofthecaptain]

Things I must know about by the end of series 5, otherwise I might just jolly well explode, Captain and Kitty edition.

1. How did the Captain die?

It better not be anything undignified, Willbond. Not when we’ve loved him for so long. If I don’t cry every time I think of it for the next six months I want my license fee back.

2. What did he do before the war?

His uniformed photo on Mike’s Ghost Board has been identified as pre-WW2 by someone here BUT Ben has suggested in an interview that his life was disrupted by serving, i.e, not a career soldier. I always imagined him as someone who needed the war, emotionally speaking, to give existential meaning to his life. All the more so because he was a reserved man who couldn’t have his own conjugal family. (I have read accounts of people who found their war service a boon to their mental health, friendship circle, social skills and even sexual liberation, quite apart from it being a just cause in itself.)

What exactly were they doing at Button House?

What was Cap in charge of? Weapons development? If so, why him? How did he end up doing that, of all the options for a Royal Artillery Captain?

3. How did Havers feel, dammit!

We MUST KNOW. (Unless it’s not what I want to hear, in which case *LALALA.. I AM THE VERY MODEL OF A MODERN MAJOR GENERAL🎶… can’t hear you Ben). It’s ridiculous how much I need to know whether Cap was the object of romantic love during his lifetime, even if he didn’t know it. If not, then the I demand the Idiots don’t let him move on at the end of the series (not saying The Phrase because I hate it). Let him stay at Button House so a future handsome dead person can sweep him off his feet.

Interestingly, I seem to think that ascending/ moving on means completely ceasing to exist, rather than going to Heaven, etc, otherwise I wouldn’t have that need. Bummer to be an atheist.

Kitty

4. Why did Kitty’s sister hate her so much? Is there a story about parentage and race?

(I suspect Lolly was just colour blind casting, but I have a mental backstory about her being adopted and her ethnicity being important.) What happened to her birth parents? Was she born in England or brought here? Could she have been the child of a member of the family and someone from a colonial country where he was stationed in the Navy or went as a diplomat or adventurer.) Was there a scandal, other than the mixed race situation? What separated her from her birth mother? Was it forced, or death, or her mother thinking she’d have a better life with her white relatives? Did her father want that? Is the man she calls her father in the flashback actually her father, or someone who adopted her?

5. Did her sister kill her? If so, how and was it deliberate or a cruel prank that wasn’t intended to go that far? (Locking her out and she got hypothermia? Playing hide and seek and shutting her in somewhere so she suffocated?) Was it to do with any of the conjecture above? What did Kitty understand about her difference? How curious was she? What was she told about it?

Also, I would like them to hug and talk openly about being like a father / daughter to each other.

[kithtaehyung]

OK I needed to share that I got ghosted by a guy I was really into (not to go into great details but I kinda traveled across the country so we can, you know, meet) and when I realized and tried to process what had happened I thought 3TAN YOONGI WOULD HAVE TREATED ME RIGHT. and that helped me with getting over it (jk I am throwing darts at that guy's photo in my bedroom every night until at least new year's)

WTFFF SCREW THAT GUY ATHINA 3TAN YOONGI WOULD HAVE TREATED YOU DAMN RIGHT😩

god. this sucks. i am angry for you but i am glad you’re not gonna be completely in the dumps about it bc fuuuuc that pos. he doesn’t deserve your sadness. if anything, this yoongi would say you dodged a bullet and he wasn’t gonna be worth any of your time anyway🚶‍♀️

[vibinginthedreamlands]

I just now got a hold of Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom, let's see about this.

Zelda getting to be a historian Nerd? Slay Queen, good for you.

So like, the Ganon slime from around Hyrule isn't gone? It stuck around and made people sick? I'm gonna riot.

I love the Skyward sword info dumping.

The visuals on this game are beautiful.

Damn super secret glowy cave.

This game is so spooky. The Demon King? Wth. Get him away. Oh damn he just fell into a hole and launched me into the sky, taking my girlfriend/queen with him, Help.

But like, the Demon King was the original villain right? That's why he recognized them? He wasn't thinking it was *them* he was asking after the original versions of them from way back in the reincarnation cycle oh my gosh.

I'm once again clotheless? Can a man not catch a break? At least I have this cool ass arm. Oh heck my cool ass arm only exists because I lost my other one what da hell.

Who's this super secret voice?

MY FUCKING SWORD. MY FUCKING SWORD. WHAT DID HE DO TO MY FUCKING SWORD. I know I watched it snap, but to show me the corpse 😭

Having to maze way out of this cave.

If my country relied on my ability to throw myself off a waterfall three stories up, well. Skip my country, I'm dying in this cave instead. Couldn't be me.

OH FUCK

I'VE SEEN THE GAME VISUALS BEFORE.

BUT THAT REVEAL OF WALKING OUT TO LOOK UPON AN ALTERED WORLD.

Guys. Guys. Why is the game telling me to throw myself off of this island? Y'all? Please? This is not three stories anymore.

I appreciate video games for what they allow me to do. Such as skydiving, when I know for a fact I'd have a cardiac explosion should I get within five miles of an irl landing zone.

I am so lost, I wandered away from the path help.

I'm back!

There's something ahead, I'm going in with caution. I'm not certain it's friend shaped.

NOT FRIEND SHAPED

Oh wait yes friend shaped.

She seems nice. Finally there's a robotic in a zelda game not trying to kill me.

There's another fucking robot trying kill me.

THE TEMPLE OF TIME

WHO IS THIS. WHO IS THIS GHOST GUY? OH HE'S SO COOL.

OH GOD I STOLE HIS ARM.

It's a cool ass arm man, thanks.

THE SHRINES, THEY'E BACK. And also rocks. Good for them.

Yo. Y'all. I'm a Master Builder. This is so cool.

I DROPPED THE BRIDGE OFF THE ISLAND 😭😭😭😭

Moving on in shame, I gotta get off this island.

Ope, man's telling me how to use my own Purah Pad. I'm a master of using my Fantasy, photo taking Switch thank you very much.

WAS I SUPPOSED TO LEAVE FRICK

All good, ghost man is here.

Also. I love that this game is literally just the first one with new visuals.

Plateau = Floating Island

Missing Queen stolen by an ancient evil and trapped in a tower

Robots from an ancient civilization trying to kill me

Waking up naked in a cave

NO SWORD

Wandering lost in the woods

Ghost guide with some personal tie to me and my quest

Finding three shrines around this island

Just all the stuff

[ha-e-l]

Eclipse - Chapter 1 [Cod MW2 x OC]

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Here it goes! No idea when I’ll be posting more, but hopefully semi-regularly. Enjoy! CW: Cannon typical violence near the end

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To say that I was nervous about this team-up would be a severe under exaggeration. I am fucking terrified.

Joining teams like this could lead to so many different outcomes. Of course the hopeful one is that everyone gets along and works together to successfully complete the mission, but that isn’t a guarantee. 

It is no secret that being in special forces you have to work to prove yourself, no matter which country you’re fighting for. So joining a brand new team, who had no idea what my skillset is, meant that I will have to start the process all over again. My only saving grace is that I have one ally coming with me. 

König and I have been working together for about 5 years, and I can say, without a doubt that I trust him with my life. Standing at 6’10”, with broad shoulders to match, and the constant presence of his mask, people tend to find him intimidating. They avoid deeper connections with the man out of fear, and intimidation. But under that dark mask, he truly is just a big softy. 

In the grips of battle, he is confident, and task-focused; willing to do whatever it takes to finish the mission and come home with his team. Out of the line of fire, however, that confidence bleeds away, revealing the anxious mess of a man below. And god could I relate to that. 

           It’s so easy to be brave when any minute could be your last, but in the quiet domestic moments, that bravery is nowhere to be found. Moments where ordering a drink in a busy café felt harder than being confronted with the barrel of your enemy’s gun. 

And maybe that’s why we bonded so well, we could understand each other's mindset. Understand the hardships that we encountered without judging each other for it. And it does help to have someone there who understands what’s happening, it chips away at the fear until it’s no longer an all-consuming entity, and instead something small that can be tucked away for later. 

But this was a rare occasion where that fear couldn’t be tucked away. I was facing it head-on, and at any minute it would reach its crescendo, and the new team would walk through the door in front of me. 

König was joining us later, as he had a meeting with our director to inform him we had made it safely to the base. I, for whatever reason however, am on greeting duty, and König gets to push it back until later. I’m not sure which one I would hate more. At least this way the bandaid was being ripped off for me. König has to dwell over his late entrance. 

“Sheiße.” (Shit) My leg won’t stop shaking, and I look to the ground, resting my arms across the top of my thighs as I fold my hands together, fighting the urge to fiddle with my knives. My heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest, shaking my entire being with it as I wait for my merry group of men that I will be teaming up with. I take deep breaths, attempting to calm myself, and when that dosen’t work, I curl even farther into myself and hold my breath. 

I release my breath quickly when the door to the room I was in opens, and four men walk in. My reaction is slowed by the lack of usable oxygen flowing to my brain, but as all four men come to a stop next to the table, I rise from my seat, shaking my hands out as I make my way toward the group, scanning them over as I near. 

I had memorized their information when we were assigned this team, and I am now putting information to faces. Or in the case of one man, information to mask. The white skull was glaring against the black balaclava that he wears, and there is no question in my mind that this is Ghost. The man who never had a photo taken of him. But who was I to judge? I had spent the last 5 years partnered with a man, and I had never once seen his face. Everyone had their reasons for their quirks, and I’m sure it’s no different with this man. 

“Good to finally meet you, Sergeant. I hope you had a nice ride over?” Captain Price steps forward, extending his hand for me to shake, which I do.

“Good to meet you as well Captain, and yes, it was a good old military transport.” I smile slightly, trying to convey that I’m making fun of the transport that we were all used to, and I am relieved when the Captain gives a short laugh before turning to the others behind him. 

“Sergeant, this is Gaz, Soap, and Lieutenant Ghost. Gentlemen, this is Sergeant Eclipse.” I give a nod to the men and receive two in response. It’s weird to hear my code name in English after so long, and I’m was hoping my discomfort is hidden well enough. “Our other new addition will be joining us shortly, but until then, I have new intel for you all to look over.” He produces five manila folders and sets them down on the table, taking a step back as the four of us move to pick one up and begin reading. 

The silence that filled the space was neither awkward nor comfortable, just present, and it was beginning to make my shoulders pull tight. The manila folder is light in my hand as I look over the information. Mostly blueprints, some numbers for personnel, and any background we had on them. My hip is cocked to the side, my other leg pointed away from my body. My back is curved as my shoulders hunch in around myself, blocking my neck from sudden attack as I stand prone in the small room.

About 5 minutes later, there is a soft knock on the door that causes all of us to look up and spot the hulking frame of my partner as he ducks through the doorway. He shakes hands with Captain Price and is handed his folder before they turn to face the rest of us.

“Fellas, this here is König, our second transfer.” I cringe slightly at his pronunciation of König’s name and feel my eyebrows draw slightly together as I wonder why he translated my name and not his. With a pat to the back, König is stepping toward me, and comes to a stop at my side, looking down at me. It’s only when he stands this close that I realized he looks taller than usual, and I straighten my posture, standing to full height next to the man. 

“So Klein.” (So small) He raises his hand, ruffling my hair. And while I may not be able to see his face, I know damn well that is a smile in his eyes. I push his hand away, glaring playfully at him as I give him a good punch to the side. His shoulders shake with a silent laugh as he turns to his folder, and I return to mine, re-reading the entire thing. 

Five minutes later, everyone is done processing the new intel, and we all gather around the table again. My hands rest in the arm holes of my vest as I wait next to König to hear what we are to do next. 

“We have roughly three days before we ship out, so use this time to get yourselves in order, whatever that means for you. But you better be ready when we leave.” We all nod, and Price leaves the room, Gaz following after him. Soap turns and makes his way toward König and I, stopping in front of us. He isn’t short by any means, but just about anyone looks short in comparison to my quiet friend. 

“What’re they feedin’ you back t’ere” Soap’s accent was thick, but not to the point of misunderstanding. Ghost steps up behind the man, and I can see the wheels turning in his head as he sizes König up. I can also feel the brush of König’s arm as he tenses behind me. 

“Potatoes mostly,” I say, letting my arms fall to my sides, looking between the two men. 

“That so?” Soap asks, a small smile on his face. I let one claim my face as well, and nod. “We were about to head back to the barracks if you wanted to tag along?” He tilts his head to one side, and I am reminded of the dogs we had back on base. 

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” My accent is thick to my own ears, and I wonder if he is having the same thoughts about my accent as I am about his. He gives a nod, smile still on his face as he moves toward the door. I follow, König behind me, and Ghost behind him. 

Once we are out in the open, we switch to walking side by side, creating a line as we walk toward what I could only assume is the barracks building.  Soap chatters as we walk, explaining where the mess hall is, but that they have a small communal kitchen space where we were free to make food if we felt inclined. He also explained that there are communal showers, but that the showers in the gym were single stalls. I smile at that, glad to hear that I could have some privacy while on base. 

The doors to the barrack building are heavy steel, guarded with a passcode lock, that Soap quickly tells us the code to. 

Once we are in the main hallway, I see the small communal space that Soap had mentioned and spot Gaz leaning into the fridge there as we walk past. Soap points out the door to the gym as we pass it, then pushes the door to our barracks open. Inside there are six single cots, all with the same dull green blankets and white sheets. Next to each bed is a small nightstand with a lamp, and at the foot of each bed, there are metal boxes for storage. It’s simple, but it’s familiar. 

With three beds on each side of the room, the space feels symmetrical, and it is a welcome view. The beds on the far end of the right-hand side of the room contain our bags, and I’m not sure how to feel about getting the bed closest to the corner, and farthest from the door. But, these are the cards I was dealt, and by god I’m going to play them. 

“Thank you Soap, your tour has been very helpful.” I try to give a small smile, but Soap just looks confused. 

“Are you bein’ serious? Or ‘re ya messin' with me?” He asks looking me over as König moves to his bed to dig through his belongings. 

“I assure you, Finsternis(Eclipse) is being sincere,” König says, back turned toward the three of us that are in the room with him. I smile as he looks over his shoulder at us, eyes catching the light and shining through the slits in his mask.  Soap smiles back at us, and makes his way toward his own bed, directly across from König. 

The day proceeds smoothly, and soon I am wearing a white shirt and black shorts as I pull my blanket up to my chest and turn to face my partner in the bed next to me. 

“Schlaf gut, mein Freund.” (Sleep well my friend) I say, smiling slightly at the large man attempting to fit into the bed. 

“Schlaff gut.” (Sleep well) He responds, and we both click our lights off. 

Soap and Gaz are already in their beds, and working on turning their lights off as well. Price is puttering around the foot of his bed, moving things around, but he is dressed in his night clothes, so I expected it won’t be long until he too is in his bed. Ghost, however, is nowhere to be seen. His bed is the one directly across from mine, so as I lay there, waiting for sleep to engulf me, I have nowhere to look but at that empty bed. He keeps his corner very tidy; so tidy that I wonder if he sleeps somewhere else, and avoids this space altogether. 

Eventually, when my brain begins creating different scenarios of what he could be doing instead of sleeping, I decide to close my eyes, turning so my back is to the gap between the wall and my bed, and I can open my eyes and see over König and Gaz and watch the entrance to the room. With my eyes closed, sleep comes easier, and I fell deep into the darkness, the sounds of Price’s piddling fading away.

Pain. All I could feel was pain. Radiating from every point of contact with the men surrounding me. The knife sticking out of my thigh wobbled slightly as one man flicked its handle, and I groaned at the pain, biting my lip to try and cover it. 

“Still nothing?” The man asked, leaning over me. I collected the spit in my mouth, tainted with blood, and spit it directly into the man’s face, watching as the pinkish liquid slid down his cheek. 

“I’ll never tell you anything,” I said, staring up at him. But his smile curled on his face again as he waved another man over. 

“We’ll see about that.” The man that came over held a car battery, and two jumper cables, and I could feel my skin prickle with the anticipation of the electrical current I knew was about to flow through me.

“You can stop this, just tell me what I want to know.” The man said, grabbing the cables and touching them together to create sparks. But I stayed silent, watching as the cables moved closer and closer to my chest, which was exposed except for the tank top I usually wore under my shirts. When the cables finally made contact, the pain was searing, and my silence broke as I screamed out in pain.

[purringfayestudio]

Future Commissions

I get the occasional question/comment about commissions, so I wanted to lay out my plans.

Timing

Probably second half of 2023.

Frequency will depend on how the first opening goes.

Openings

Announcements will go up on all my social media sites and I'll accept requests for 1-2 weeks. (I will post more info beforehand to give people time to prep though.)

Quotes will be open only during that time. I'll have a page that lists examples and prices available beforehand.

I'll post a Google Form (or equivalent) for you to fill out to submit your request, attach reference photos, etc.

Base prices will be listed but there will be a spot to enter higher offers; no guarantee but it might give your submission a higher chance of being selected if I have several that I really want to make.

No IP or licensed work. Only real animals or original characters/species you own.

Unfortunately I will probably only open within the US at first due to international shipping headaches. But I will still consider some countries on a case-by-case basis. (I'm only a part-time artist; my full-time job eats my brain so not much is left for international law nonsense.)

Selections

From the submitted requests, I'll choose 1-3 requests that use patterns I've already designed that I am interested in making. (All available designs will be listed on the Google Form for reference.)

I may take 1 request for a new pattern which will have a much longer turn-around time and higher price. FYI I probably won't take original species or unique character builds unless the offer is high since I won't have much (if any) other use for that pattern.

I'll email those I've selected and confirm design and price.

Payments

Via PayPal invoice.

Generic animals or non-OC designs can be paid after it's made. Earlier payment accepted of course. If you have to back out I can still easily refund and sell it as a premade.

OCs/OS's: must be paid in full up front, no returns or refunds once completed and only partial refunds once work has started unless we agree on reasonable design modifications for public sale (NOT guaranteed).

Payment plans accepted, but shipping (for generic) or work (originals) is held until full payment is complete. No longer than 90 days.

Communications/Updates

All communications will go through email. It must be the email connected to your PayPal. Social media isn't reliable and things get easily buried, so no DMs.

Commissions will be added to my Trello. I love updating it so it'll be an easy place to check on status.

Because art is a part-time thing after my full-time job, progress will be slow. While I plan to punch out commissions in a row, it still may take a few months to get through all of them. I'll send out email updates every couple weeks, and more often once I begin work on your commission.

Progress will also be posted to my social media sites. You can choose whether you want to be tagged or anonymous.

Ghosting for over a set number of days (such as 7 days for selection confirmation/questions/approvals, or 30 for invoicing, etc.) will have the commission dropped and refunds issued as described above. (Unless pre-warned, like if you're going on vacation or something.)

All of this will be posted again before my openings. I'll also post the full terms and policies closer to opening. I just wanted to give a general idea of what to expect since I've been getting some inquiries.

There will also be premades available through various means (shop, auction, etc.) which I'll share once closer.