#also the fact her WRISTS WERE BLEEDING???

[eric-the-bmo]

hi everyone. blake with blowing eyes and pinning down the lady with his claws and biting into her. and leo just. freezing and backing away. and then blake is just vibing later like he didnt just fucking do that

[harveysweakness]

can you do a harvey x reader where he asks her for help with a client and in doing so she gets hurt. she tries to keep it from him but she never shows up to talk to him. idek if this makes sense but thank you ❤️❤️

WARNING: BRUISING, BLOOD, DISCUSSION OF MAN HURTING WOMAN

A/N: I have them just flirty and not yet dating in this fic! Also, there will be a part two because we all deserve to see y/n and Harvey more

“What can I do for you, Harvey?” You asked, heels clicking perfectly with the floor as you strut into his office.

“Joshua Hendricks, you know him?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.

“You mean the most powerful man in the health technology industry, and one of our biggest clients?” You questioned, though you were only stating facts.

“I need you to persuade him to do something,” Harvey said, eyeing you up and down in your tight, yet professional, dress.

“Persuade how?”

————-

Harvey glanced down at his watch, a frown taking over. It was fifteen past eight, and while you were known to occasionally be five minutes late, this simply wasn't you, and Harvey knew it.

Pulling out his phone, he quickly clicked your name and waited for your familiar voice. It never came. His jaw tightened while he switched gears.

"Donna, do you know if Y/N ever left from the office to come to dinner?"

"She never came back after that client meeting."

He tried to ignore the pit in his stomach. He'd asked you to see this client because you were beautiful, a senior partner, and had the willingness to sway a client with flirtation- something he hated as much as he loved. And he was beyond worried that you'd had a little...too much fun with the client.

Shaking his head, he stood and left the restaurant, heading back to the office. He needed something else to occupy his head.

Getting off of the elevator and heading down the darkened hallway, he sighed. Harvey always felt better working after hours with less people to bother him. His office always seemed more welcoming, more serene in the night. Walking in, he turned towards his records on the shelf, heart dropping at the sight.

"Oh my god," he blurted, seeing you sitting on his couch, holding your bruised wrist, a bit of blood on your arms. "What happened?"

"Harvey-"

"Who did this to you?"

"Harvey-"

"I swear, when I find him-"

"Harvey!" you shouted, effectively quieting him. As soon as he met your gaze, you burst into tears.

"Hey, Y/N," he murmured, moving quickly to sit on the table in front of you, taking a deep breath in and out before continuing, "Let me see."

Trying to calm your breathing, you held out your hands to him, letting him get a close look at the bruises encircling your wrist and the scrapes on your other. His jaw was set in a firm line and you could tell he was getting angrier by the second.

"What else hurts?"

You took a shaky breath before pulling the top of your dress slightly to the side, showing a few darkening bruises forming near your collarbone.

"Who? It was Joshua, wasn't it." It wasn't a question, it was an accusation, one you confirmed with fresh tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Harvey whispered, his eyes filling with unshed tears. You shook your head.

"It wasn't your fault."

"I asked you to go, he never would have- I'm so sorry, Y/N." He gently brushed your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. You couldn't stop the tears, no matter how hard you tried, and Harvey just leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

How long you stayed like that, you didn’t know. But you finally sat up, wiping at your tears before accepting the tissue Harvey offered.

“Can I help clean you up?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s dried, it’ll wash off in the shower.”

He didn’t quite know what to say, so he stood and went over to grab you a glass of water.

“I’m sorry, I’m a bit on the defensive and I don’t know why,” you admitted.

“I would be surprised if you weren’t on the defensive.”

It was quiet for a moment, before he spoke again. “What do you want to do?”

“If we lose this client, the firm loses a lot.”

“I don’t give a damn about the firm.”

“Harvey, you and I both know that’s not true. You’re angry, so am I, but-“

“He can’t get away with it.”

“Get away with what?”

You both turned towards the door to see Jessica in the doorway, her bags and coat in hand. As soon as she got a good look at you, her face softened, she set her things down, and moved to sit on the couch next to you.

“Tell me what happened.”

Your eyes flickered to Harvey before settling back to meet her gaze. “The client, Joshua Hendricks, he thought he could get the case settled. I went to speak to him about making a statement and he didn’t like the idea very much.”

“He is no longer our client,” Jessica said simply.

“He brings in nearly a million dollars per week for us,” you responded.

“I don’t care. I will give him a call in the morning.”

“No,” Harvey interrupted. “Let me.”

Jessica looked at him, not even a hint of hesitation on her face while she nodded. “Take care of him.”

You both watched her go.

“What are you going to do to him?” You asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Harvey answered honestly.

“I should go.”

“Let me take you. Please, Y/N.”

You were much too tired and hurt to argue. “Okay.”

———

You’d only been in Harvey’s apartment once before, when you had previously dropped off files while he was working from home after breaking his leg.

He gestured toward one of the counterstools. You took a seat, nodding to his quick ‘Be right back.’

When he came back a moment later with a first aid kit, you tilted your head. “I told you-“

“Please. Just let me take care of you.”

You nodded, feeling more vulnerable than you had in a while. Flirting with Harvey, teasing him- that was one thing. But sitting in front of him, in his apartment, while he cleaned the blood off of you and held ice packs to your wrist- that felt intimate.

He must have felt the same, because you could practically feel the emotions rolling off of him. He wouldn’t say anything, you both knew that, but you could tell he cared. You hadn’t missed the fear in his expression when he saw you sitting hurt on his office couch.

The two of you didn’t exchange a word while he took care of your bruises and blood.

“Keep the ice on,” he murmured, packing up the first aid kid and setting it back on the counter. “Drink?”

“Please. Something strong.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. After he poured you a generous cup of scotch, he handed the glass to you, eyes focused once more on your bruises.

"I'm fine."

He just continued to stare, his jaw set once again.

"Thank you."

That caused him to soften.

"No one's ever-" you paused, gesturing towards the first aid kit- "done this for me before."

"I'm glad I could," he responded, before his brow furrowed. "Why didn't you call me?"

"I knew you'd be back at the office after I missed our dinner."

"How could you have possibly known that?"

"Because I know you, Harvey," you said gently. It was easier saying that, than saying you knew skipping dinner with him would hurt him.

"You know I know you too."

You tilted your head, eyebrows raised.

"The baths filling right now with warm water, with eucalyptus salts and bubbles."

"How did you-"

"Because I know you, Y/N." He'd moved closer, his knee touching yours where you still sat. You seemed to lose yourself in his eyes, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. You hadn't even realized he was closer until his lips were mere centimeters from yours.

"You can stop me, if you want," he whispered. He was being a gentleman, giving you an out. He wouldn't do it unless you specifically gave permission.

You didn't say anything, instead leaning forward to close the gap.

[hpgal]

DC x DP : Those Glowing Green Eyes

CW: Blood, Gunshot Wounds, Violence

TLDR: Danny is on the run from the GIW and ends up in Gotham heavily injured where he gets found by a gun wielding vigilante.

Word Count: 2313

Everything hurts.

But when did it not?

But this time it wasn’t just injury number 67942 causing these aches and pains, though it did contribute to it. The mental anguish of being ran out of my own home and turned away by those I loved. Because I was a ghost. That pain was worse than the wound in my side.

Now the GIW is chasing me across the country and my last scuffle with them left me hurt worse than ever. They’ve been pushing hard this time around, new toys, more numbers. It was ridiculous. Seeing my own family there made me hesitate when they jumped me too. I didn’t react, just stared in horror as my own mother aimed a gun at me and my own father cheered her on.

Despite it all, I am still convinced there is hope. That there was. But when she pulled that trigger, all hope was gone. 

Now, that leads me to the present. Somehow I escaped and now was walking around with a gunshot wound in my side, a bum wrist and I think a head wound in an unknown city. Thank The Ancients for the luck I had with a portal to The Ghost Zone being nearby. I fell through it but had to immediately find another door to the mortal realm when I saw Vlad nearby, who has also been hunting me since this began. 

So here I am, in a dark, dank city. The ectoplasm here is toxic as hell and tastes like multiple smokers' houses smashed together and death. Night was falling and it got cold here fast. That could just be my core or it could be that I am slowly bleeding out. That was unclear at the moment.

Either way, I walked the street looking for shelter, mostly ignored by others or simply stared at. Honestly, I did not mind, I didn’t want the attention. Even with the toxic ectoplasm here I could heal up quickly and bounce back to the Ghost Zone to expel the toxicity of it with the help of the feeder ghosts and be good as new. It was abundant here, not nearly as much as Amity Park but it was a close second. That little fact told me this city reeked of death which meant it was probably also dangerous.

Maybe once this whole my parents and the government trying to murder me passes, I could come back here and purge the toxic ectoplasm as Ghost King. Because that is the only thing left for me to do, become Ghost King since my human life seems to be over. I have no clue what there is left for me to do with everyone I loved and the U.S Government wanting me dead

Too bad I can’t fully exercise that power of King until I come of age next year. I could’ve resolved this and just hid in the Ghost Zone for the rest of my undead life. Vlad wouldn’t be able to touch me then. Curse my stupid half alive and half dead existence, no other ghost would’ve had to wait but the council likes to be a pain in my ass. Probably in spite of Clockwork in all honesty, I half joke to myself.

My mind reels as I think about home, my friends, even Vlad. All of them had turned overnight. Even Jazz, though she showed hesitancy at every turn. Their eyes seemed to have a tinge of red when I saw them attack me for the first time, reminding me of Freakshow and his mind control abilities. That was the only thing I could justify holding out hope. But I didn’t see that in my moms eyes this time when she shot me.

Even Vlad switched from the whole crazed rich fruit-loop routine of trying to make me his son to attempts on my life. By the Ancients, if he were there this last attack and not in the Ghost Zone, I would’ve been dead. I had no doubts about it. It was pure luck that he didn't notice me in the zone.

I grimace as I continue walking, holding my side, warm blood seeping through my white shirt and the bandages I put on it already. My vision and mind feel foggy as I turn a corner, instantly clearing for a moment when my ghost sense activates, sending a shiver down my spine, hair standing on the back of my neck.

Now?

Really?

I nearly groan both in pain and frustration at this change. I look around pissed off only to find a guy in a red helmet across the street. My entire being on edge as I see him. He didn’t look like a ghost but he gave the impression of having an association with ghosts. He had higher ectoplasm in his body than normal. Even more so than most Amity Park citizens. For a second I thought I saw the flicker of a core but just as quickly as I saw it, it goes away. 

Could he possibly be possessed?

The gears turn in my head as everything screams at me that he is bad news regardless. The moment this masked man steps towards me, I muster all the energy I can and start to run, my decision being made. There was no way I could fight in this condition. Every inch of my body, my muscles scream at me for this. My side burns and my vision is blurry at best.

I risk a glance back to see him following and pick up speed. Grateful for my inhuman abilities still being of use despite my injured state. It’d be easy to go ghost or phase through a wall on a normal day but this was not normal, even for me. There are so many ways I could lose this guy but no, I keep running, oblivious to anything except the urge to escape this new, unknown threat.

Him following me all but confirms my suspicions that he is bad news. I mean I saw those guns on his side. They could be loaded with anti-ghost bullets. I’ve been shot once today, I do not plan on doing that again. Ever. He has to be a hired gun by the GIW is the only explanation to this.

At some point in the chase, I look back to see he is managing to keep up with me, which in hindsight made so much sense with my injuries. I turn right only to find this was the wrong choice. Because of course that would be my luck today. I screech to a halt, nearly crashing to meet the dead end head on, a brick wall separating me from escaping. I lean against the wall in frustration before turning to see if he was in the alley yet.

I could just phase- ”Demon brat what have I told you about stepping in my turf?” Damnit.

I am so tired. I am trapped. I am injured. This day just freaking sucks.

I glare at him with as much intensity I can muster. If only I could use my powers, scare him away. Now that he was closer it was clear he was a human who experienced death. Not a ghost. Not a halfa like him, just a human. But if he did that then the GIW would be sure to find me again in no time. And the stranger called me a demon brat. That has to be some sort of slur to ghosts, although I am not familiar with slurs for ghosts. Is that even a thing?

I shake the thought away and focus on him. I look him up and down, taking in his appearance and movements, ready to fight back.

Despite the mask covering his face, I could feel this stranger looking at him up and down despite it being dark. Maybe his mask had some sort of night vision built into it. He was assessing and judging him. And I was doing the same to him between the glares, my superhuman night vision letting me miss nothing in this dark space.

He looked like what I imagined a human vigilante would look like. Except 10 times scarier like he wouldn’t care if he helped civilians or not. Maybe this guy was just here for an adrenaline rush or some other bullshit reason a normal human would act like this. The red mask was intimidating, he was well built and tense, ready to pounce on him like I was on him. Except he wasn’t fighting death itself right now so he for sure would win without me using powers. Maybe he is a hired gun by the GIW with how he is sizing me up.

The vigilante takes a step towards me, “Woah, woah, you're bleeding.” he seems to hesitate but I glare back up to him like a feral animal. This had to be a trick right? The care and concern in his voice wasn’t real.

I backed up against the cool brick wall behind me, sinking into a low stance, ready to jump and fight back. I let the wall support me where it could and where it couldn't, I sucked it up with gritted teeth. I had faced worse before. If I died here I’d probably become a full ghost anyways so I could haunt his ass for the rest of his life, exercising the full power of Ghost King just to be petty for the inconvenience. Serves him right for the scary vigilante routine. Too bad for him, I am scarier and I would not fall for cheap tricks.

I try to make myself as intimidating as possible. Hell, the blood seeping from my head and how ready I was to fight probably made me look like a feral, wounded, animal right now. I mean that is what everyone else thought I was anyways, right? I bare my teeth at him, my canines most definitely unnaturally pointed.

“Seriously, kid? Two can play this game.” The man takes a step closer, I watch, calculating. 

Then his eyes glowed green.

At least that had to be what happened under the mask. I felt the surge of ectoplasm being used when it happened and I snarl at him in response. This would be a harder fight than I thought. How did I miss the ectoplasm tainting him, enhancing him this way? The fact he could willingly do it meant he was trained and well versed in his abilities.

Well shit.

He seems taken aback at my response, not expecting me to not be frightened. Well tough luck buddy. “I can do that too.” I say with venom dripping off my tongue between gritted teeth, not willing to let this guy get the best of me.

I look up at what I presume are his eyes based on his mask and allow my own eyes to flare neon green, brighter than his. A show of power and dominance that some ghosts use to avoid a fight. Maybe I could avoid this fight entirely if he had the innate understanding many liminal beings had when experiencing this with or without knowing what it means. Either way it was clear he knew something.

“I have been hunted, shot, maimed, and tortured by much, much worse.” I threaten. “You do not scare me. And I sure as hell am not going to go down to a nobody like you.” My vision  continues to blur and darken at the edges as the adrenaline from the chase starts to wear down, the rapid heart rate pumping my blood much faster than I need it to be to prevent blood loss as more blood seeps from my wounds. That little trick took more energy from me than I anticipated.

The unknown man looks at me, his body language indicating he was confused and concerned. I nearly wanted to laugh but I needed all the energy in case I had to fight. “Shit.. you’re not Demon Brat. Kid,” he starts, his body relaxing ever so slightly, “you need help, let me help you.”

The man takes another step forward, holstering a pistol. When did he draw that to begin with?

I flash my eyes again, a bit weaker this time as I feel my legs start to buckle under me. No. Not now. I can’t go down now. Panic welling up inside me as I growl at him and try to steady myself against the wall.

“Go away,” I muster, throat dry, “this isn’t your problem.” I manage to say as my last attempts to get him to screw off.

The man takes another step towards him, now in arms reach, “Look, I know a doctor who might be able to help you. She-” I stumble a bit and he reaches out ready to catch me, still keeping from touching me, “Shit- kid. She won’t turn you away. She can help. She doesn’t share the identity of her patients. She treats the Bats. You can trust her if not me”

My body shakes at his words. Or maybe I was shaking the entire time. God it was so cold now. Almost as cold as being dead for real. And man do I have experience with that. My entire body felt so heavy and aches everywhere. It was almost peaceful, in a way. Except I hated how dark my vision had gotten and blurred.

Something about how he speaks and acts, I decide in my haste, wanting to not die a second time to trust him. My body relaxes, no longer ready to fight him. Was it a bad idea? Probably but I did not want to die in an alley this time. My vision darkens and the last thing I remember is falling into his arms as my answer to him.

Please help me, stranger.

--------

A/N: This was a fic I planned on writing but got burnt out after writing the first chapter so I figured I'd post it here, maybe it'll motivate me to continue it.

[eternalnat]

I rarely make tumblr posts, but I am so infuriated by this situation I need to say something about it.

Five Hargreeves, who spent 45 years alone in a post-apocalyptic world, and every single moment of his life since was spent trying to get back to his family. The Five who ran himself dry for 2 weeks straight trying to stop the end of the world, and reunite his family. The Five who slaughtered an entire board of directors just to ensure him family's safety. Who turned back time himself, while bleeding out on the floor, just to save his siblings. You're telling me, that the Five whose entire motivation for living was once saving his family, is the same Five, who in s4 has entirely given up, and in the Subway is the one trying to convince Lila to stop looking after 6 and a half years? The Five who never once stopped trying to return to his family in all 45 years of surviving alone, decides to settle down in a greenhouse and live out a cottagecore life?

Furthermore, the same Five who told Lila that Diego loved her, who reassured his brother that his wife wasn't cheating on him and loved him dearly, the same Five who got on with Lila only due to the fact that they both cared for and loved Diego, the person they had in common, is the same Five who stole his brother's wife, whom he had three children with, just because the writers were excited that Aidan Gallagher was finally legal?

Five who hated authority, who despised when people gave him commands, who wanted nothing more than to retire in s3, is now working for the CIA and willingly calling his boss, 'sir'?

Five who used to be so paranoid and suspicious of everyone and everything, who used to solve problems alone and came to epiphanies that saved the world, who didn't even trust a past version of himself, also didn't realise that his boss of many years had an umbrella tattooed on his wrist?

Everything that once stood out about his character is now gone, as if the writers themselves entirely forgot about his existence until the last moment, and added him in as an afterthought, without thinking of the effect he would have on the story.

[mack-devereaux]

Hiii i wanna ask if ya can write something with Vince? Maybe him getting into a fight (so hot i love it) and hin hurting his wrist are something? And reader taking care of him afterwards. Plleeaassee

Vince Dunn

Omg this is my first request!! I’m so sorry it took so long! Also check out my other fic about Vince. I think they have a similar vibe. But This has no relation to that one. I had so much fun writing this. Just a reminder this is a work of fiction and my imagination, this is not based on true events. Thank you to the anon who requested!

Picture is from Pinterest, no triggers except for cursing and mentions of blood. I think that’s it! Enjoy!

When Vince first moved to Seattle he was excited. This was a brand new team and he had more opportunities to make a name for himself as one of the more aggressive defensemen in the NHL. He had always had a temper on the ice, even in his early days in high school and in the OHL, and he was good at running his mouth. He was always respectful to the medical training staff and the coaching staff, he never took his anger or frustration out on the people who helped him get back on the ice.

Did he cause the fights on purpose? Maybe.

Was he mad about being hauled into the cute medical trainers office to get patched up? Absolutely not. He enjoyed talking with y/n and getting to know her a bit better.

Did he cause fights just to see her? No, he truly has a passion for the sport, he just sometimes got a little too involved with the banter sometimes. However a perk to all this was those few minutes alone with y/n. Although she never really spoke to him much outside of work and was always very quiet he knew how passionate she was about her job. No matter what she was always so attentive to the injury and informative about what she was doing to help said injured player.

Y/n loved the energy of the home games, she typically didn’t get to travel very much with the team, only to close games, but something about the atmosphere of home games had her just buzzing with energy. Most of the time she got to watch the game from the tunnels, it was the perfect spot to see most of the game and it was easy to drag injured players back to the locker room to tend to the injuries. Tonight’s game was a home game against the Colorado Avalanche again, a team known to get the Kraken a little riled up. Just the week prior Vince had gotten himself into quite the scrum and ended up with a cut on his nose while playing against the Avalanche.

*flashback to a week prior*

Y/n was sitting in the medical room at Ball Arena, going through the medical kits organizing some of the supplies. She had heard the roar of the crowd and immediately knew there was a fight that happened. Shortly after that, the third period had ended. Hearing the players stomping down the tunnel shouting and cheering she already knew who was headed her direction.

“Vince..” y/n sighed pulling all her medical supplies back out.

“Don’t act like you aren’t happy to see me” Vince chirped at the girl.

“You’re gonna have some serious damage to your nose if you don’t stop” y/n said as she was washing her hands and throwing her gloves on “I’m surprised you don’t have a permanent scar from how many times I’ve seen it busted”.

“That just means you are doing a great job babe. I’ve got you to thank for keeping me looking good” Vince smiles.

Y/n rolled her eyes and turned around trying to hide her blush. Knowing this was the exact reason as to why she fell for him. He was just so charming. He knew exactly what to say and that’s why she could never date him. That and the fact that she technically worked for the same organization as him. Were they coworkers? No, but surely it was still frowned upon. At least that’s what she told herself anyway. As she was cleaning off the blood from his nose she caught herself admiring him. He truly was one of the most beautiful people she’s ever laid eyes on. Once the bleeding stopped she checked for other injuries, and sent him to be with the rest of the team.

“Promise me you’ll keep out of trouble for at least the next week” she called to him as he walked away.

“For you? Never.” He added with a wink.

*present*

Five minutes left in the third period and y/n had gotten to watch maybe 10 minutes total of the game. Partially because she didn’t like seeing Vince fight much, and because the players definitely kept her busy. This was probably the most bloody noses and knuckles she had tended to in her entire career. Normally the crowd goes crazy and encourages fights, and she definitely enjoyed that. But for some reason she couldn’t stomach seeing Vince getting hurt. I guess she had Cupids arrow to thank for that. After a few more minutes gloves went flying, curse words were being yelled and the crowd went wild. Reluctantly she looked over in front of the players bench and Vince had thrown a Colorado player on his back.

“Oh for fucks sake Vince” she muttered under her breath.

“You got him or do you want me to take care of him this time” the head medical trainer asked y/n chuckling and shaking his head.

Y/n looked across the ice as Vince and the Avalanche player got tossed in their respective sin bins, she sees that Vince has his helmet off and is holding his wrist.

“I think he hurt his wrist, do you see him messing with it?” y/n points to Vince.

“I’ll take a look when we get back there but I’m sure he’s fine. I think you can handle it after that” the trainer says as they walk back to the locker room.

After the game y/n was in her office waiting for Vince, it had been nearly 40 minutes since the game ended. What was taking him so long? She knew Coach had told him to stop by after their after game meetings and interviews. While she was waiting she decided to tidy up and clean a bit. As she was cleaning her desk she found the puck that Vince had signed and gave to her earlier that year.

*flashback to late last season*

Y/n was standing behind the players bench. It was the last home game for the season, then they were headed into playoffs. Looking onto the ice she watched the players warm up and interact with fans. Vince was watching y/n as he was skating in circles, getting a boost of confidence he picked up a puck and signed it with a note. Smirking he passed by and shouted “hey y/n! Catch!”

Panicking y/n shot both of her hands in front of her face as the head medical trainer caught the puck before it smacked her in the face.

“Really Dunn?!” Y/n shouted.

Vince grinned and skated off, shaking her head she looked at the puck she noticed it said “hey pretty girl” with his signature. Blushing she shoved it in her pocket before she could get scolded.

“Oh he’s so got it bad for you” the trainer said.

“Leave the chirping to the players would you” y/n muttered “besides it’s not like I can date him anyway.”

“Technically…”

“Don’t tempt me” y/n sighed “my heart can’t handle the heartbreak that comes with that one.” She continued to watch him skate around and talk to his teammates with a huge smile on his face.

*back to present*

Y/n smiled at the memory. Not knowing she wasn’t alone, because of course Vince would walk in at that very moment. Leaning up against the doorframe Vince coughed snapping her back to reality.

“My God Vince, now you choose to be quiet? You scared me” y/n shoved the puck back into the drawer.

“I’ll make sure to knock next time” he softly smiled. He totally saw that she still had the puck and it definitely boosted his ego.

“Let me see your wrist” y/n said.

“It’s fine” he muttered.

“If it’s fine let me double check then” y/n challenged.

Vince walked over and sat down on the bench in her office, while reluctantly holding his wrist out. He watched her face as she examined his wrist.

“I think if we wrap it for tonight and tomorrow you should be fine, but the swelling needs to go down significantly before you play again. I’ll clear you for practice but you have to be easy on your arm for the next few days” y/n said as she was grabbing the necessary supplies.

“Thank you for taking care of me y/n, I’m sorry for fighting” Vince whispered.

She smiled at him as she sat down and started wrapping his wrist. Knowing full well that he was watching her face closely the entire time.

“I’ll walk you to your car” Vince said.

“I’d appreciate that, thank you” y/n said as she turned back to him after putting the supplies away. With yet another boost of confidence Vince grabbed her by the waist and pulled her face to his and kissed her, she immediately kissed him back. The kiss was short and sweet. Electricity shot through her body and she felt as if she was on fire. After pulling away y/n whispered “we should go.” Neither of them saying anything as they left the arena. Vince was feeling defeated for the first time in a long time, why hadn’t she said anything? Did he over step? Did he make her uncomfortable? A million more discouraging thoughts ran through his head. Him not knowing she was in shock and on cloud nine all at once. Y/n unlocked her car and opened the door. Before she got in she turned to Vince and pulled his face to hers and slammed her lips onto his. Vince cockily smiled into he kiss and pulled her into him as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. After a few minutes they both pulled away, breathing heavy and trying to get as close as possible to each other.

“Thank you for walking me to my car Vince.”

“Let me know when you get home so I know you’re safe.”

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[abiatackerman]

Period Cramps

The environment of your office is peaceful, just like the weather today. It's not too hot or too cold. Comforting. So You are working with great concentration, checking the soldier's reports on their physical health peacefully, humming to yourself.

Until.....

You groan in pain as you suddenly feel the sharp pain in your abandon. The pain that reminded you that you're on your period.

You whimper and move the reports aside and rest your arms on the table and your head on your arms. You sigh and close your eyes, trying to numb the pain.

"It seems someone isn't feeling well."

A familiar voice says softly as they step into the infirmary. It is the one and only, Captain Levi of the survey corps. He came in after hearing you groan in pain and he is now watching you clutching your abdomen.

"I'm really not in any mood to hear your insults right now, cap..... Get out."

You say groaning, still not raising your head.

"I have no intentions of insulting you. In fact, I'm not even surprised that you're having your time of the month."

He says in his usual rough voice as he stepped forward, he leans his body against the table.

"Besides, how are you supposed to defend humanity if you can't even take a period cramp? You're a grown ass woman, not a brat."

"Who said that it's a period cramp? Just because I'm a woman and that I'm clutching my stomach doesn't mean I'm on my period."

You say as you raise your head to look at him.

"I know what period cramps look like."

He says coldly as he stares at you. He stares in a way that's almost as if he sees right through you. Then he pulls his hands out of his pockets and reaches out to grab your wrists.

"Stand!"

"Hey! What are you doing? Move! Don't touch me!"

You say in a shocked voice as he grips your wrists and you try to move your hand away.

"What's the matter? Too weak to even stand for a proper examination? I thought you were stronger than that, brat…"

He says callously as his words pierce you like a dagger. Then he pulls your arm up and he starts to roll up your sleeve.

"What are you doing?"

You ask with a confused tone.

"Do I need to spell it out for you, or do you seriously not get it? I'm going to check if you have a fever, if you're bleeding, and just how unhealthy you are. You look completely pale, so clearly, you aren't fine."

He says as he finishes rolling your sleeve up.

"Calm down now, will you? I'm perfectly fine, Levi. I'm admitting it, ok? I'm admitting that it's just period cramps! Also are you forgetting that I'm the doctor here, not you?"

You say in an annoyed tone though surprised a bit seeing how worried he is for you. Not that his expressions are showing that but his works are.

"That's a complete load of shit."

He says as he starts feeling your arm for a heartbeat and also checks for any other signs of sickness like your skin tone and if your wrist feels unusually warm.

"You're not fine. Your skin tone indicates that you are a little ill and your pulse is irregular."

He says plainly as he continues to check you. And since you're on your period, you suddenly get annoyed instead of getting happy that he's caring for you. And your hormones force you to yell at his face. So you do the unimaginable thing.....

You yell right at his face.

"I'M TELLING YOU IT'S JUST A PERIOD CRAMP! AND I SWEAR YOU WON'T LIKE TO SEE HOW A WOMAN BEHAVES WHEN SHE GETS ANGRY ON HER PERIOD!!!!!!!!!"

There's a long pause. All you could hear was his quiet breathing as he continued to listen to your heart beat. All you could see was his piercing eyes looking you right in the face, unblinking.

"You are such a pain in the ass and I'm gonna punish you for spitting your shit on my face."

He says as he quickly picks you up and throws you over his shoulder and heads towards the door.

"Hey hey hey what are you doing?"

You say panickedly as you keep throwing your legs and arms and try to get down.

"I'm taking you back to the barracks and you'll stay in bed and rest until you fully recover."

He says in a completely calm voice as he continues to carry you over the shoulder. He walks past the soldiers that were shocked and curious of the scene. He was calm as ever, despite your struggling. And when the cadets stare at you two with shock, his face displays absolutely no emotion as he continues to walk forward. Also he's completely oblivious of your embarrassment as he enters the HQ building. He walks through the hallway, down the numerous stairs and doors, carrying you like you weight nothing. It must've been a spectacle, because no one has ever seen Levi act this way, or act this gently, or even touch a woman for that matter. You were completely shocked as well.

He walked into his private room down the hall, set you down on the bed, and shut the door. Then he turns back and he walks over to shut all the curtains. He is completely and utterly calm. But when he comes back over to the bed, he suddenly pins you down and he looks down at you. He stares at you like he sees through your defenses and right down to your soul. There is a silent tension between both parties as he leans closer to you.

You moan softly as his hand slips under your shirt and rests on your abdomen. You close your eyes sighing as his palm presses down on your womb, where the cramping seems to be coming from. He squeezes you firmly but gently.

"This is where it hurts?"

He asks as he continues to make small circles around the area that is cramping. In response, you nod and you speak softly, keeping your eyes closed.

"You're not a person who's supposed to do this. Then why are you comforting me?"

He doesn't say anything as he continues to apply pressure on your stomach. The feeling of his hands is sending chills down your spine and you could feel your body slowly relax the more he pressed on you, his hands working their magic. But even so, his face remains expressionless and his tone is still flat and cold.

"Does this feel better?"

You finally smile and open your eyes. You nod and speak with a cheerful tone.

"Surprisingly yes. Thank you."

"Good."

He says as he continues to make smooth circles of his hand all around the area that’s cramping.

"I'm guessing this is going to be an annoying, filthy, weekly thing while you bleed out-"

He mentions, making a slight snarky comment.

"I didn't tell you to bring me to your room. What if I bleed on your bedsheets?"

You ask, chuckling as you brush his hair away from his forehead. His lips curls up a bit as he continues to massage the cramping area, he can't help but notice how soft you are. It took every fiber of his being to not grab your entire body. You are too cute to ignore. After a moment of silent massaging and no talking, he finally speaks.

"All the shit and mess you left behind yourself.... I'm not oblivious to cleaning them up for you."

You smile, understanding what he is referring to. He's your knight in shining armour at the battlefield, your teacher when it comes to training, your personal bodyguard when anyone or anything tries to hurt you in any way.

He's always there for you.... Removing all obstacles and cleaning your way for you.

"I don't remember shitting on your sheet."

You say, laughing.

"You do have a filthy mouth."

He says, teasing you and as he continues to press down on the cramping area. His hands had moved slightly downward and he was now gently stroking your hip bones.

"Hum... I've learned that from you, definitely."

You reply, smugly as Levi keeps working on your cramps and he doesn't respond. He just stays silent and his hands just do his work. You could feel how his hands were so experienced yet he never had done this before. His palms were so gentle but also strong enough to soothe. He squeezed and flexed his fingers in between your hip bones, pressing his hands even tighter on you, his grip starting to get stronger as he rubbed you.

"Levi.... I might fall asleep, yk..."

You mumble, closing your eyes.

"I'm not sure how your weak body can handle this much touching, so I suppose that's a possibility."

He says sarcastically then looks at you as he continues to massage you. Since you were too tired to reply to his insult, you just hum and let yourself drift to dreamland. His eyes look down at your face, and his expression is slightly different from normal, he almost looks as if he is admiring you. His pupils dilate as he watches your eyes close in a blissful state.

Before you fall completely asleep, you could hear his voice whisper quietly in your ear as he leaned in closer.

"You're mine...you belong to me."

He says as he looks down at you and you feel his lips staying on yours for a while. Then he starts to whisper again........

"The light of my dark life. My one and only doll."

[thatfreshi]

As a prompt - maybe Astarion (or Tav for that matter) going absolutely feral (and i mean really) when someone or something hurts badly the other (or try to) ?

I don't know of it has already been donc by you and if it has sorry, really appreciate your writing though ! Thank you <3

Learning to trust is difficult

tw - themes of death, talk of injuries

"I just don't know how you don't seem to care! It's bad Astarion, really bad, and I'm not going to sit here and watch you hurt."

While you and the vampire were on night watch, you got jumped by some thieves scrounging around in the woods of the Sword Coast. He took the brunt of the fight, taking quite a couple slices to the abdomen.

"We'll wait til morning, like I said. Shadowheart will be rested by then, and we'll all be fine."

"Oh right, so you can bleed out? You think you're such a jester, don't you."

You already dealt with the perpetrators, making sure they were flayed across the grass, any hopes they had of stealing from you shot down from miles away.

"If it were that bad I would wake her Tav, but it's not."

Gods, he's frustrating. Driving you to the point of madness, constantly. For someone who finally has a second chance at life, he can be quite reckless. Instead of trying to argue with him further, you walk over to where he's propped himself against his bedroll, and start undressing his wounds. He almost tries to push you away, but the lightest touch of the cuts makes him lose his strength.

"Tav, stop it."

"No! Because you can wrap these all you want, but if you leave these like this overnight it's going to get nasty, and I know for a fact you can't stitch wounds like this."

"Then it is was it is."

"No, I'm getting her. Stay here."

Astarion grabs at your wrist. There's a dreary silence for a moment, and he refuses your eye contact.

"I've done this by myself, for how long? Do you have any idea what it makes me feel like, having to turn to someone who is practically a stranger, and put my life in their hands? I did that once my love, and I have regretted it ever since."

And you know exactly what he's talking about, that night in the alley, fragmented memories only covered up by digging through six feet of dirt.

"You would've died though."

"Perhaps it would have been best that way."

You know that no selfish reason you have about wanting him around could ever make up for all the things he endured under Cazador, that if he had bled out that night he would at least be at peace.

"This is different though. We're all working together, we all want the same things. Shadowheart isn't going to hold this over you."

"You don't know that. I mean look at me. I planned on seducing you and getting rid of you as soon as I could, all to keep myself safe. We will never truly know what the others want, what their intentions with us are."

"Then why trust me?"

He hesitates as you wrap his abdomen once again.

"I... I don't know... You're just, different."

"Then what's to say Shadowheart isn't also different? Or any of them for that matter?"

You cup his face in your hand.

"It's just easier to risk one of you. To risk loving you, and only you. Because if you betray me? Then I've played myself for a fool, and I can't have two knives in my back."

"You don't have to trust her Aster, but you need her right now. We need her, because I can't lose you either."

Your hand trails to his, and you feel at each other's fingers for a few long moments. He tries to come up with something to say, knowing he will most likely bleed out if you two don't wake the cleric.

"You trust me right? You're making that risk at least, taking that chance? Then trust that I'm trying to make the right choice for you."

Even if he doesn't bleed out, he doesn't deserve to writhe in pain all night, to which you're sure he would say something about how he's done it a million times before. Why, why does he try to be strong for you?

"Alright my love, wake her."

You get up without a word, planting a quick kiss on his forehead before leaving the tent, your feet gliding to where Shadowheart is sleeping.

"Shadowheart, we need you."

She's a light sleeper, like most of you, and wakes with the few simple words you speak.

"What it is?"

The cleric asks as she walks with you.

"Astarion. We had some unwelcome visitors on watch. It's... it's not pretty."

You come back to your tent, gently moving the fabric by the entrance as Shadowheart moves to him, focused on doing what needs to be done. She unwraps the bandages and you come to his side. He's silent.

"Lady of Sorrows, this is horrific Astarion. How long have you let this sit like this?"

It takes him a moment to muster the words, still clearly embarrassed to be receiving her help this late. You've learned though that he hates people speaking for him, so you just wait.

"It's been about half an hour. Tav and I have been arguing about getting your assistance. They insisted we wake you, and I insisted we shouldn't bother."

"Well, you're lucky Tav isn't as stubborn as you are, because this is nasty. While I'm not as familiar with vampire anatomy, this would not have sat well overnight."

She takes a moment to gather herself, before casting healing touch, letting the magic linger a little longer than normal. You watch as his pale skin slowly comes back together, stitching itself up like embroidery thread. Shadowheart takes a moment to admire her work, smirking slightly. Her expression then becomes somber for a moment.

"As much as I'm not the sappy type, please don't hesitate to get me when you need me. Despite how much you all annoy me, I'm still rather fond of you as companions. I would hate to see any of you go too soon, especially over something as simple as this."

Astarion says nothing in return, and soon after the devout Sharran leaves the two of you alone. The two of you lie down, wrapping yourselves up in each other, limbs entangled as if you're scared of being torn apart.

"I know it's hard, but you have to learn to ask for help. If not for yourself, for me. Because I can only do so much my star."

"I know."

"I'm sorry I yelled. It just really scares me, the idea that I could lose you."

He nuzzles into your chest, the movement dampening his voice.

"I don't think anyone's ever been afraid to lose me, except me. And I fear I lost myself far too long ago for it to matter."

You wrap your fingers in his hair, sitting in the sorrow with him.

"All things that are lost can be found. And we'll find you again my love, I promise."

He doesn't thank you, which you don't mind. After all, Astarion isn't used to having anyone to genuinely thank. But the way he lets you hold him, that slowly but surely the walls are coming down, that's his own way of saying it, saying that he's grateful. And as long as he lives to see another day, you'll take whatever he gives you, for as long as both of you live.

[throneofsmut]

Just Breathe

Poly! Manorian x Reader || WC: 1.9k || Warnings: Smut

Summary: Things get heated between Manon and reader and Dorian joins. Based off this request.

****

You were sparring with the training dummy in the training room of the Glass Castle, for hours now. And yet still you showed no sign of stopping or slowing down. 

A gift and a curse from being the most powerful pure-blooded fae female in existence. Regardless if you were still in your early 20s. 

Your cousin Rowan Whitethorn, the King Consort of Terrasen, trained you himself when you were a child. Only he was able to understand what it's like to have such powerful and vast magic thrumming in your veins, because he’s the same. 

He knows how important it is for you to be able to control it instead of letting it control you. Rowan also trained you in weaponry and in combat, in case you couldn’t access your magic. 

But, he also taught you the importance of training because of how powerful you are and the importance of not overwhelming yourself with your magic by letting it out in small bursts. 

By releasing it in small bursts, you can manage it more effectively and avoid potential dangers or unintended consequences. You can still hear his deep voice now, loud and clear in your head, “It's like releasing pressure slowly from a valve to ensure everything stays under control.”

Which is what you were doing now. 

Every blow you landed against the training dummy, powerful, calculated and merciless. Lethal. Had they been a real enemy. While simultaneously letting out small waves of ice-kissed wind around you and into the room.

Then you felt her—your magic always alerting you when she was near. The witch who stole half your heart. Manon Blackbeak the Queen of Witches. 

And if she was here then the one who stole the other half of your heart was close by. Dorian Havilliard the King of Adarlan. 

“I’ll be up soon,” you told her without stopping raining down blows on the training dummy. 

“Don’t bother,” she replied. That made you stop but you still didn’t turn to face her. “It’s almost midday,” she continued, sounding closer this time and you relaxed.

You finally turned to face her and noted that she was already dressed for the day and that she was right. If the sunlight pouring in from the ajar door behind her was any proof. “Huh. . . I guess I lost track of time.” Again, you didn’t have to add, seeing as this happens more often than not. 

“Hmm.” Manon hummed, taking a couple more steps closer before stopping in the middle of the room and taking off her tunic, in the training ring. Her gold eyes never leave your chest watching as it rises and falls steadily while you try to catch your breath. 

Her gaze darkening when she takes in the fact that your white shirt is practically see through from sweat. You can’t help but smirk, “See something you like?”

She shakes her head, smirking back.  “Step into the ring. If you want to keep training, I’ll train with you.” Gold eyes flick down to your hands in a pointed glance. “Unless you want to keep bleeding?” Looking down at your hands, you realize that your knuckles are bruised, cut and bloody. 

Brows furrowing as you look over your shoulder at the training dummy; all the hay that once filled it is on the floor, the fabric in tatters and the wood is splintered from where you kept hitting it. “All right, witchling, do your worst.” You challenge as you prowl onto the fighting mat. 

“With pleasure, faeling.” She grins as she settles into a fighting stance. You mirror her actions and the second you nod at her, she lunges. 

The both of you go back forth for a while trying to pin the other to no avail. “Come on, sweetheart,” you run your tongue on your lips tauntingly, “are you tired already?” You bait her and she takes it, lunging, giving you the opening you need to pin her to the mat. 

Your hips settle directly atop of hers, your hands wrapping around her wrists, keeping them and her pinned to the mat. You lean forward using your weight as leverage so she can’t buck you off. She lifts her head as best she can, her eyes flicking to your lips, “Why don’t you just kiss me already?” 

You know she’s trying to bait you, eyes flicking from her gold ones to her lips and to her heaving chest. “I’ll kiss you if you can pin me.” Her eyes narrow at your words but she smiles—a smile only reserved for you and Dorian. 

Manon tries to buck you off again but you hold firm, chuckling as she struggles, your lips parting to speak but before you can get a word out your magic alerts you of his presence. Dorian. Unconsciously your head turns, to find him looking at you and Manon with amusement.

Giving the witch Queen the opportunity to flip you both so you’re pinned beneath her. She flashes you a wicked smirk, her own eyes glinting and then she’s kissing you. Your lips parting in a moan that she swallows before letting out a moan of her own as you deepen the kiss. 

The both of you pull away at the same time, panting softly when you hear his deep sensual voice, “Done already?” You both open your mouths to respond when invisible hands rove over and in between your bodies, earning breathy whines from you. “Tired?” he questions.

Manon grinds against you, both of you letting out soft moans at the feeling and from the way Dorian’s using his magic on you. An invisible hand roving over both of your tits, palming and squeezing before sliding up, and wrapping around your throat—squeezing. 

Through half lidded eyes you see Manon arch her back and tilt her head back, proving she feels the same thing. “Can you keep going. . . yes or no?” Dorian asks again, his voice low with desire and commanding. 

“Yes.” You both breathe and the hands wrapped around your throats squeezes harder. 

“Good girls,” the King praises. Your head turns towards him when you hear sure and steady footfalls getting closer. He flashes you a lazy grin, vibrant blue eyes flickering over both of your forms before he tuts, shaking his head. “Both of you are wearing too much clothes.” 

His fingers make quick work of removing his own clothes while his magic makes quick work of removing both of yours. “Come here,” he murmurs to the both of you as he stands in the middle of the mat. You both move to stand before him and then he commands you to lay down. 

Once your back is flat against the mat he kneels between your legs and leans over you to kiss you, once. Hungrily—a warning of what’s to come. Then he’s commanding Manon. “Sit on her face, witchling.” Dorian’s lips wrapping around your clit the same time Manon straddles your face. 

You part her folds that were glistening with arousal with a pointed tongue, flicking it against her clit while Dorian sucked yours harshly. “Oh, gods!” Manon cried out as her hips bucked but you clamped your hands around her thighs, keeping her in place. 

Her hips jerking everytime you moaned against her sensitive bundle of nerves from your princeling sucking and swirling his tongue over your clit while fucking you with long deft fingers. The both of you, writhing and moaning messes while nearly falling over the edge. 

Then he curled them inside you, hitting the spot that sent you over the edge everytime and you came with a lewd moan that sent Manon over the edge with you while you sucked her clit. She was still trembling when she rolled off of you. 

Dorian was still working you through your orgasm with his fingers when he sat on his knees between your legs. Invisible fingers pinching and rolling your hardened nipples, others gripping your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze as you come undone beneath his touch. 

You could still hear Manon cry out from pleasure and you had no doubt invisible hands were bringing her pleasure in waves. One orgasm blending into two and two to three. 

Dorian was the image of pure male satisfaction as he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.  His free hand rubbing the head of his cock against your folds, making your hips jerk and then he pushed in inch by inch. Stretching you out. Kissing you, your neck, swirling his tongue over your nipples as you adjusted to him. 

You rolled your hips letting him know he could move and his ring adorned hand wrapped around your throat, “Careful, faeling. I’m fucking you right now. Not the other way around.” You whined at his words as his hips snapped at a brutal pace. 

“F-fuck. . . oh!” you rasped out. “You feel so good!”

He threw his head back in a groan at the praise. But then, his head snapped towards the door, hips never faltering. And that’s when you heard it, heavy footsteps walking by at the end of the corridor. Probably one of the royal guards. Maybe Chaol. 

Your back arching as you let out a sharp moan at the thought of being heard, being caught with your lovers. 

Dorian squeezed harder, “You want them to see you getting fucked? Hmm?” He slapped one of your tits earning another moan. “You want them to see you getting treated like the pretty slut that you are, my little faeling.” You nodded desperately and he chuckled darkly, “then take it.”

His large hands moved to grip your hips and you greedily gulped down air, as he pounded into you mercilessly. He leaned back on his haunches slightly changing the angle and your walls clenched around his cock in response. 

You felt pressure building at the base of your spine and knew you were going to dissolve into pleasure again. Your legs instinctively wrapped around him and his hips began to stutter.

He wrapped a ring adorned hand around your throat again, squeezing until you saw stars and then he leaned down. His warm breath tickling your sensitive pointed ear, “Just breathe,” he taunted then he let go. His words, the last thing you heard as you fell over the edge. 

Moments later you felt his cock twitch inside you and then he was spilling himself into you. Hips jerking as he worked both of you through your orgasm. 

You felt him kiss you and then your forehead and then he pulled out. 

Through your heart pounding in your ears you heard Manon crying out for him and it was all you could do to open your eyes and look at them. Manon was on her hands and knees and Dorian was behind her.

 Fucking her mercilessly. 

The only noises you could hear were obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, Manon’s breathy moans and Dorian’s low raspy groans. Your body was still trembling when Manon wrapped a pale hand around your ankle and pulled you towards her, so your cunt was right in front of her face. 

Still panting from your orgasm when she gave you a feral grin, “Just breathe, sweetheart.” She teased you with the same nickname you had taunted her with earlier and started eating you out. 

You screamed out as your body jolted from the overstimulation but that only spurred her on. Your back arching as she moaned against your clit. You could already feel another orgasm building and from the way they were both moaning and groaning you knew they were too. 

And not even a minute later all three of you came at the same time. Each other’s names on your lips in a plea or prayer you couldn’t tell.

[theredqueenandthebloodwyrm]

I see we’re just reposting things without sources for some reason?? I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it’s because the tweet used the magic word “Zionist” which is taken to be “irredeemably evil and vile person”. For context, the context which that tweet purposely left out (and yeah I’m going to say it’s fucking purposeful) is this article by the NPR. Inside this article the allegedly pro-Palestine posts on social media were fucking videos of the Hamas on October 7th. So, yeah if you’re reposting antisemitic stuff (blatantly antisemitic too), fuck you.

The images that came out of Israel on October 7 were brutal and graphic, and the images coming out of Gaza for months now are constant, also brutal and horrific. All this violence is being shared on social media, and as KQED's Lesley McClurg reports, that's affecting the mental health of Americans with loved ones in Gaza and in Israel. A warning - this story contains descriptions of violence. LESLEY MCCLURG, BYLINE: Some of the footage Shoshana Howard (ph) saw on social media months ago still haunts her. A video appears to show a Hamas fighter pulling an Israeli hostage from the trunk of a jeep. CNN aired a clip of the video. (SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING) UNIDENTIFIED PERSON: Her face is bleeding, and her wrists appear to be cable-tied behind her back. MCCLURG: It looks like blood is seeping through the back of the woman's sweatpants. SHOSHANA HOWARD: And that broke me - and then seeing friends calling it liberation. MCCLURG: Howard, who is Jewish, couldn't believe people she knew were writing comments online that, to her, felt inhumane and anti-Jewish. HOWARD: That's when I started to have night terrors, and I was ending my days going into my closet and just would cry. MCCLURG: She couldn't stop thinking about her cousins living in Israel. As the days passed, it became harder to focus on her life and work in Oakland. HOWARD: Like, I just was so fragile. MCCLURG: And then recently, she felt shamed by a friend who told her her grief doesn't matter when so many Palestinians are suffering.

Is it “making the argument” to point out the hypocrisy of saying the Houthis (a terror organization) are protecting international laws and human rights when there’s documented evidence of Houthis perpetrating slavery, diverting humanitarian aid, and so on? Or you know, is it providing necessary context that readers might want to know?

And the comments below that tweet are awful (with a few exceptions rightfully pointing out accuracy of said community note and how slavery is in fact bad).

Antisemitic Tweet #1: This is what all community notes have become now. Total Zionist propaganda machine.

Antisemitic Tweet #2: There's been an influx of "community notes" that are clearly just people trying to protect the narrative.

Antisemitic Tweet #3: It's like the Israeli Bot accounts that change the community notes to favor Israel.

Already reblogged multiple posts explaining what's wrong with the Houthis with sources attached, so linking those now to save space (rather than adding ten different links).

This? This is what you say on October 7th, 2023?

Shaun: Lot of reaping being condemned by the sowers today. Shaun (cont.): I'm talking about politicians who stridently oppose all options except those which lead to violence and then act shocked violence occurs. Their condemnations of violence are worthless while they ignore their hand in the apartheid causing it.

October 7th was an attack against civilians where hostages were taken, people were murdered, people who advocated for peace were harmed, killed, and so on.

I also noticed a tweet not too far down from that one which said the following:

Lots of people in these comments very mad that Palestinians aren't being victims of occupation in the right and proper way.

No, people are mad about civilians being massacred and taken as hostages by a terrorist organization. The lack of empathy is something.

[skyward-floored]

Different, Yet Similar

I woke up a few days ago with this fic in my head and for some reason I was able to write it out really quick, I don’t know how that happened XD I also decided it was the perfect opportunity to try out a slightly different writing style, and while I don’t think I’ll stick with it, it was an interesting experiment anyways :)

————————————————————

“So... how did you guys all meet your Zeldas?”

Wind is the one to pose the question, said while looking around with curious eyes at the rest of the Links. Most of who now have varying expressions of surprise on their faces, the question unexpected.

“Why do you ask, sailor?” Time asks, his single eye watching him curiously. Wind shrugs, fiddling with one of the power bracelets that has taken permanent residence on his wrists. They’re good for fidgeting with, he’s found.

“I’m just curious if any of us met ours similarly or not.” His mouth turns up into a grin. “I mean, I met Tetra after she got dropped by a giant bird and got stuck in a tree. I’d bet none of you guys met yours quite like that.”

Snickers ring through the camp, though a few of the Links give the sailor mildly concerned looks as well. The nonchalance with which Wind speaks of the antics he and his princess get up to sometimes worries them.

“Was she okay?” Hyrule asks in concern, and Wind nods, waving him off with a small flick of his wrist.

“Totally fine. Tetra’s tough, it would take more than a fall from a giant bird to rattle her.”

“A giant bird?” Sky asks eagerly, perking up a little. Wind doesn’t perk up in return though, rather he cringes at the excitement in Sky’s voice.

This isn’t a giant bird like the kind Sky is used to.

“Not a nice one,” he replies, thinking back to the crimson bird that was Sky’s best friend. “Ganondorf was using the bird to kidnap girls he thought might’ve been Zelda. Tetra had been grabbed, but she got dropped because her pirate crew managed to score a hit on the bird... the Helmarok king. He wasn’t nice,” Wind finishes more quietly, an unusual dark thread of anger in his voice.

Then he sighs, and shakes off the memories, looking around at the other Links in curiosity.

“So? How’d you guys meet your Zeldas?”

“Um... which one?” Hyrule asks hesitantly, scratching his neck. He’s in the rather unique position of knowing two princesses by the name of Zelda, a fact which often confuses his traveling companions. “I kinda have two...”

“Do both,” Wild says from where he’s seated nearby, and Hyrule nods.

“Okay. Well... there’s not really much to tell, honestly. For the first Zelda, I just met her after I defeated Ganon. He’d captured her, and after I defeated him I got her out and took her back to the castle.”

Hyrule laughs a little then, and looks up at the sky, constellations just starting to come into view.

“We were both a mess when I got into the place where he’d been keeping her; I was dirty and bleeding in multiple places, and Zelda had basically been living in a dungeon for a few weeks. It wasn’t exactly polite company,” he chuckles.

The others laugh a little at Hyrule’s story, though some of them wince in sympathy at the mention of his wounds. Fights with Ganon were never easy.

They’re all aware of how powerful their greatest foe is.

“How about your other Zelda? How did you meet her?” Sky asks, and Hyrule suddenly blushes for some reason, fidgeting with his bracers.

“Well um, she’d been cursed into a long sleep by an evil wizard, so when I first saw her she wasn’t even awake,” he admits. “But after I woke her up, that’s when I actually met her.”

“And what happened then?” Legend asks with a teasing smirk, having noticed Hyrule was still blushing.

The traveler’s cheeks darken a little, but he admits to nothing. “She said thank you for waking her up.”

“And how did she say thank you?” Wind asks with a mischievous look in his storm-tossed eyes.

Hyrule blushes even darker, but still admits to nothing— though the face he’s making says an awful lot. The others really don’t need to know about the kiss he received in thanks for waking the second Zelda: he knows he’ll never hear the end of it if they do.

Hyrule manages to meet Wind’s gaze without faltering, crossing his arms with a firm look.

“With her mouth, of course. How else would she say thanks?” he says a bit haughtily, and Time decides to intervene before poor Hyrule’s face turns any redder.

“I met my Zelda in a fairly simple way,” he says, and the other Links turn to look at him, abandoning their pursuit of getting an answer out of Hyrule in favor of listening to what Time has to say. Their unofficial leader rarely gives them details of his adventures, no less his version of the princess they’re all so familiar with. “I was... about nine, I believe, maybe ten.”

He sighs, shaking his head as he thinks back to when so much of his life had abruptly changed.

“I was instructed to go see her, but they didn’t want to let a mere child in at the gate. So I snuck into the castle to talk to her, and succeeded, more than once. The guards hated that a ten-year-old could get past them without being seen,” he says with a chuckle. “They weren’t terribly good at their jobs.”

“That’s a little like how I met my version of the princess,” Twilight says thoughtfully, a hand on his chin. “‘Course I didn’t sneak into the castle, I was trying to sneak out.”

“Why, were you in the dungeon?” Legend scoffs, and Twilight smirks.

“That’s exactly it, actually.”

Legend’s face turns to one of surprise, and more laughter rings out from the Links, especially from Wild.

“I was wondering when you were gonna tell them you’re an escaped convict,” he grins at his mentor, and Twilight swats at him with a look both fond and annoyed.

“I’m not an escaped convict,” he says with an eye roll. “The enemy had overtaken the castle, they’re the ones who threw me in there. I committed no crime.”

“Mmm, I’m pretty sure some of the stuff you’ve done counts as crime,” Wild cuts in again, a grin twitching at his lips. “What about the time you blew up that old—”

“Somebody else’s turn,” Twilight interrupts, putting a hand over Wild’s mouth, much to his annoyance. He’d rather wanted to be the one to tell the others about that particular incident.

“Smithy? How about you? You’re pretty good friends with your Zelda, right?” Twilight asks, ignoring the clamor of the others to elaborate.

Four nods, and a bright smile stretches across his face at the reminder of his closest friend.

“You’re right, I’ve known Zelda as long as I can remember,” Four begins as he sets aside the dagger he’d been sharpening, eyes warm. They suddenly dim a little though, and he clears his throat. “I think the first true memory I have of her was at my... a family member’s funeral.”

The other Links still as the smithy speaks, Twilight relinquishing his hold on Wild so they can both better hear. Four looks down at his hands as he thinks back to that day, but then a bit of a smile returns to his lips.

“She came because the family member knew the crown fairly well. We were the only kids there, so we ended up talking a lot... That’s when I really got to know her, and we’ve been close ever since,” he finishes quietly.

“That was similarly to how I met mine,” Sky says after a moment of silence, his voice soft. Four nods at him to continue, and Sky returns it with a bit of a smile. “I knew Zelda a little before, it was impossible not to on Skyloft. There’s not all that much space... but that was the problem when the sickness went through...”

He trails off, then shakes his head as if to clear it, hair falling in his face as he takes a steadying breath.

The memory of the death of his parents isn’t one he likes to linger on, even if it inadvertently led to him becoming friends with Zelda.

“Anyways,” Sky continues, clearing his throat, “I ended up living in the Knight’s academy before I was old enough to attend, and since Zelda lived there with her father as well, we played together all the time. It was inevitable we’d at least become friends.”

“You became a bit more than just friends though, or so I’ve heard,” Warriors says slyly, and Sky blushes as the laughter returns. The captain’s attempt at lightening the mood has succeeded.

“We... haven’t officially become anything,” Sky says simply, and the rest of them shoot each other knowing looks. It’s no secret that Sky is head-over-heels for his Zelda. It’s only a matter of time before something becomes official.

Sky looks back at Warriors then, the captain still chuckling a little over the reaction to his comment.

“You haven’t told us how you met your Zelda, captain,” he points out, and Warriors’ laughter peters off, a fond look replacing the mirth in his eyes.

“Ah, you caught me. Mine is complicated though,” he says with a slightly distant tone in his voice, and the others settle in to listen again. Warriors has mentioned more of his Zelda than some of the others, but not everything they’ve done or been through.

And while he speaks of her with nothing but professionalism, there’s a fondness in his eyes that a few of the Links have picked up on, one that speaks of a deeper bond.

One that nobody’s called him out on yet, but it’ll only be a matter of time.

“I only sort of met her the first time,” Warriors begins, leaning back on the log where he’s seated. “The war had just started, and things were... complicated, to say the least. Messy. She disguised herself to keep her identity safe, so I didn’t truly meet Zelda for quite some time.”

“But when you did?” Wind asks eagerly, and Warriors chuckles.

“It was worth the wait. But I got to know her while she was disguised, so in a way... I already knew her,” he says with a bit of mystery, and Time smiles from the opposite side of the fire.

Time still remembers the day Sheik shed her disguise and revealed herself to be the princess. Warriors was so shocked he’d said something rather idiotic, and Artemis had laughed at him a bit nervously, and then the two of them had gone off to have a long overdue conversation about her true identitiy.

Time won’t bring it up though. He’ll let Warriors keep a few of his secrets yet.

“That leaves... Wild and Legend left who haven’t said anything,” Wind says after a moment, counting off on his fingers.

The two look up at their nicknames, but Wild has a slightly uncertain look in his eyes, and Legend seems oddly stone-faced. Wind looks between the two, and debates for a moment which one to ask first.

Hyrule beats him to it.

“Champion, do you... remember meeting your Zelda the first time?” Hyrule asks a bit hesitantly. The others quiet at the question, and look as one over at Wild.

They’re all aware of Wild’s memory problems, but nobody except for maybe Twilight is truly aware of the extent they reach their blank grip into the champion’s mind. He still doesn’t remember much of his old life, merely a handful of memories recovered here and there that snatch him out of the life he’s currently living, then return him just as abruptly.

But meeting Princess Zelda is not one of these.

“Nope,” Wild says lightly, somewhat in opposition to the serious mood that has fallen over the heroes. “Not at all. I have no clue how we first met... knowing what she thought of me, I probably accidentally insulted her.”

The heroes chuckle good-naturedly, and Wild waits for the sound of their laughter to fade before continuing.

“No, I don’t remember how we originally met. My first true memory of Zelda isn’t when I met her... whenever that must have been.”

A soft smile parts his lips.

“It... was her voice. Back when I was still asleep. Calling to me, urging me awake once the shrine had finally finished healing me. She guided me when there was nobody else, told me my name, and though I didn’t even remember hers... that was when I first met Zelda.”

Twilight gives his shoulder a squeeze, and Wild lets him, a look full of several conflicting emotions settling on his face.

Warmth is the one that shows itself the most though, and a ghost of a smile flits across Twilight’s face when he sees it.

“How about you, Legend? You’ve been pretty quiet,” Four asks, changing the focus to give Wild some privacy. The prickly veteran tugs his cap tighter over his hair in response, hiding a few more strands of the pink that’s still fading away.

“She called to me too,” he says, voice oddly emotionless. “Woke me up in the dead of night and asked for help, with nothing but her voice.”

Something flickers in his gaze, but it’s gone so quickly nobody can quite catch what it is.

“She guided me to the castle, and I managed to find my way to where she’d been imprisoned in her own dungeon by the forces of darkness. I freed her, and that’s where I met her,” he finishes.

“That’s it?” Wind asks in confusion, a slight tilt to his head, and Legend nods.

“That’s it.”

It’s short and to the point, and while some of the heroes nod, the others that are more aware of how their veteran works pick up on the holes in the story.

The Hero of Legend may seem sharp and fearless, but even he has weak points, moments where he has felt neither like a hero nor strong enough to ever be one. These moments he’s purposefully left out of this story, important though they may be.

These are not moments he shares freely. And especially not during what’s supposed to be a lighthearted answer to the boundless curiosity of the youngest member of their group.

“See sailor? None of us met our Zeldas the same way you did,” Legend says with a smirk, easily changing the subject, and Wind hums, looking around at the heroes as he fidgets with his bracelets again.

“That’s true. But there’s similarities between all of them,” he points out, “and some of them are really similar, like yours and Wild’s.”

“Hyrule’s second one was a bit like Wild’s too,” Twilight points out. “Just reversed.”

“And Twilight’s was kind of like the old man’s,” Hyrule mentions with a bit of wonder to his voice, and that sends the group into a flurry of comparing and contrasting the differences, debating the finer points and wondering if the similarities mean anything.

Four though, hangs back from the conversation, not as willing to discuss things. As he looks around the clearing, he notices he’s not the only one either, and he slips around the fire to where the veteran has retreated, watching the others in silence.

Sky sees him go, but doesn’t comment. He knows what the smithy is doing.

“Hey,” Four greets as he settles down, and Legend doesn’t look at him.

“You need something?” the veteran asks with a sharpness in his voice that threatens to slice Four into pieces. The smithy ignores it, well used to Legend’s prickliness, and continues to sit, watching the others keep on with their loud discussion.

“No. I just didn’t want to keep listening to... all of that,” Four says with a slight smile, watching as Wind lunges across Warriors’ lap to grab at Wild for some reason.

Legend doesn’t reply, face still stony.

Four doesn’t directly look at him, but he watches the veteran from the corner of his eyes, seeing how tightly he’s wound, how his expression is set in a way that seems to be solely for the purpose of keeping it from cracking into something vulnerable.

It’s a familiar look, one that Four’s seen on his own face. There’s a part of him that’s like that, sometimes, but that just means he knows somewhat of how to deal with it... whether Legend wants him to or not.

“It was my mother,” Four says suddenly, breaking the silence.

Legend looks over at him, a flicker of surprise joining the crease on his brow. He appears rather taken aback, and Four waits for his reply.

“What was?” the veteran asks. Four looks up at the sky for what feels like a long, long time before replying, and Legend almost wonders if he’s ever going to speak.

“The funeral where I met Zelda,” Four continues, voice full of a bittersweet pain. “It was my mother’s.”

Legend stares at him a moment, unsure of how to reply.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Four continues, still looking up. His eyes are a reddish color, hints of green and blue peeking through that allude to the emotions he’s keeping a steady control of. “I just wanted you to know... you’re not the only one who didn’t meet Zelda under the... best circumstances.”

Four continues to watch the stars, and Legend swallows, his stony indifference cracking despite his best efforts.

Legend doesn’t like to admit it, but despite how carefully he closes himself off, sometimes he’s just as expressive as Wind— what he doesn’t say actually saying more than anything he admits to. And it looks like Four, dealing with a similar pain, has seen right through him.

The veteran is silent for a long time, listening to the others laugh and carry on, and Four sits beside him in equal silence, waiting for as long as Legend needs.

“My uncle,” he whispers finally, and Four squeezes his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything more. And he doesn’t need to.

[arliedraws]

Drabble: James and Sirius are tortured together

Just a little Saturday whump. A special thank-you to @blacleria and @fiendishfyre for suggesting and supporting the idea of Prongsfoot being tortured together ☺️

Somehow James starts talking about cannibalism, as one does in times of stress, of course.

“Sirius,” James whispered. “Are you awake?”

There was a short grunt. An affirmative. It was a relief to hear it, to know he wasn’t alone, but James also wished Sirius would simply sleep if only to escape their predicament for a few moments. The weight of Sirius’s head dropped heavily onto James’s shoulder.

They had left the gag in Sirius’s mouth and the blindfold on James. It was useful to their tormenters because Sirius couldn’t warn James of what was coming or who was about to receive pain next, forcing him to suffer the anticipation of James’s screams before James realized what was about to happen. James had to applaud the cleverness of something so simple, but he and Sirius were quick to learn a new language. Their hands were tied behind their backs, lashed with cords around their wrists, their fingers growing numb. Sirius would squeeze his hand once if it they were about to hurt James next but twice if they intended to hurt Sirius. When the Death Eaters had gone from the room, one squeeze also meant yes, but two meant no. And then sometimes Sirius pumped three times in a way that held no concrete meaning that James found himself parroting whenever he started to lose hope that they would make it out alive.

The Death Eaters insisted that the point of all of this was to turn one of them, but James knew better. It was Bellatrix Lestrange’s chance to humiliate Sirius before he died. She wanted to show Sirius what a fool he was for abandoning his family, for sullying his blood, for giving it all up for a bloodtraitor like James Potter. She wanted him to repent. But first, he had to suffer, which meant that if anyone were going to die in this place, it was going to be James, and if his instincts were correct, it was going to be bloody. Bellatrix had already cut into James’s torso and his arms to see him bleed—she had swiped her finger through James’s blood and smeared it over Sirius’s lips, urging him to taste what happened when good blood was defiled by a Mudblood.

But the time to die had not come yet. For now, they were alone again, breathing raggedly, their shoulders pressed together. Waiting.

“How’d I taste, then?” James croaked.

Sirius made a sound of confusion in his throat.

“My blood,” he clarified. “Did you like it?” Sirius growled, but James chuckled anyway. “C’mon, it’s funny. Squeeze once if you think it was good, twice if it was too salty.”

Instead, Sirius crushed his fingers. James grinned, resting the back of his skull against Sirius’s shoulder.

“If you were to pair it with a fine wine—”

Through the gag, Sirius snarled at him to shut up.

“What was that, Padfoot? You said a cabernet?” James turned his head and inhaled the smell of Sirius’s hair. “Or maybe a good whisky. Right, so here’s another question for you: would you eat me if I died and you were starving? Hypothetically, of course. Let’s say we were stranded in the middle of nowhere without food and I died before you. Would you eat me?”

James grinned weakly as a string of curses pushed through the wad in Sirius’s mouth. His swears were muffled but he made his fury obvious.

“No, don’t answer right away,” said James. “Remember the story about the Muggles whose airplane crashed on that mountain in South America? They were all friends, right? They promised each other they could eat their bodies so the survivors wouldn’t starve. So there it is, Paddy. You’ve got permission to eat me if you run out of food. In fact,” he added, “if you didn’t eat me, I’d be offended.”

Sirius began to wriggle in earnest, jerking at the bonds that tied their hands together. It was no use—their legs were bound to their chairs, and they had learned long ago that the chairs couldn’t be budged anyway. And even if they managed to untie themselves, the door was locked.

“Sirius, stop,” James snapped. “There’s no point. We’ll figure out another way.”

Blindfolded (which seemed rather unnecessary since his glasses had flown off ages ago), James failed to see that Sirius was crying. He could only feel that Sirius was trying to pull out of the ropes that cinched the two of them together, but now it was obvious that he was holding back sobs.

“Shh, Sirius, it’s all right,” James urged. His chest was tight as he heard Sirius struggling to breathe. “This—this’ll be over soon.”

It didn’t calm Sirius at all. He was saying something, but James didn’t understand.

“Sirius, stop moving. You’re making my fingers numb. Listen, to me,” he demanded, and Sirius stilled. “If you lean your head back and turn your face away, I could try getting the gag off with my teeth. Can you do that?”

Sirius squeezed his hand once. James felt him do as he was told, and James craned his neck as far as it would go, burying his face against soft hair. It felt a bit stupid fumbling around and feeling for the strip of cloth with his nose, but soon, he’d found it and sank his teeth in, wrenching down to get it past Sirius’s ears. Pain radiated around his neck in the awkward position. James grunted and pulled until finally it loosed; he heard Sirius spit out the wad of cloth that had been stuffed in his mouth.

“Fuck you, James,” Sirius rasped. “I’m not…I’m not going to eat you.”

James was sweating from his effort. He laughed, resting back against Sirius. To hear that voice again, desperate and miserable as it was, made him feel safe. He pumped their entwined hands three times, unable to find the words to convey his relief. Sirius signaled back, sighing.

“I suppose you could eat me if it came to it,” Sirius murmured.

“But you wouldn’t eat me. Reckon my blood’s dirty now?”

Sirius snorted. “Mine’s filthier than yours.” Then he huffed and nestled back against James, his breath warm against James’s ear. “Fine, if it’s what you want, I’ll eat you. But only if you swear you’d eat me if I died first.”

“Of course I would. I’m honored you’d let me, Padfoot.”

“Better you than the worms.”

[wistfulforstars]

For What It's Worth - Part 1 Rex x Reader

Summary: You've never been very subtle about your support of clone rights, especially after you started secretly dating Rex. But you never thought a few simple pins would bring you this kind of trouble. All alone, on the mean streets of Coruscant, your life is suddenly in danger and you don't know if you'll be able to make it back to him. Warnings: reader is afab, mugging, attack on the street, general violence, degrading language, clone rights propaganda, physical violence but no noncon/sexual assault, mature sexual content in later chapters, minors: get out

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

The button had been a joke.

Clones Do It Better, emblazoned on a bright red & blue button in obnoxious font and accompanied by a little cartoon helmet, was pinned to your work bag. A gift from a very close friend who knew your habit of decorating every surface you owned with stickers, patches, and yes, pins. 

She also happened to know about your very secret relationship with a certain well-known clone high in the GAR ranks. So it was a particularly cheeky inside joke that you’d happily added to your collection. But it was still, in fact, a joke.

The men who’d pulled you into that alleyway clearly didn’t know that.

To be fair, the other buttons you’d proudly worn on your backpack - Clone Rights NOW, Fight for Those Who Fight For Us, Humanity Beyond the Helmet - were not jokes. You believed every word.

To be even fairer, that didn’t give these bastards permission to shove your face - hard - against a cold metal wall, arm so horribly twisted behind your back that you swore you felt a bone start to give way. 

You cried out, tears springing from the corners of your eyes. They laughed, a cruel, rotten sound that landed like a stone in the pit of your stomach. From the jeers you couldn’t make out - you might be concussed, and was that blood you felt dripping off your brow? - and the shuffling of feet behind you, you thought there were three of them. They sounded young, irrationally angry, and quite drunk.

“...fucking meat droid whore!” Your brain finally began filtering through all the noise.

Ah. So that was it. They saw your backpack as you were leaving work for the night. It wasn’t hard to spot, you were practically a walking pro-clone advertisement. And it wasn’t the first time you’d gotten a dirty look or even a nasty comment because of it. But you never thought, not even in one of the rougher districts, you would find yourself in this position. 

There were very persistent anti-clone movements out there. People who saw every soldier in the GAR as less than human. Why should they care about an expensive vanity project for the senate and the jedi, anyway? The clones were being put through a galactic meat grinder regardless, and certain people decided they didn’t give a shit. And it seems, some of them had found you.

Alentia was going to feel awful when she found out.  

You push yourself away from the wall with your other hand and take stock of your situation. You’re outnumbered, you’re dazed, you’re trapped, and you’re not sure if the blood from your forehead has reached your lip or if your nose is bleeding too.

“Can’t believe she let a bunch of second-hand cells fuck her-”

“Ruined herself on a lab experiment-”

You were still in your medic’s uniform, not much protection there. One of them had you by your hair and arm. Another cut away at the straps on your backpack. 

Great, there was a knife in play somewhere. 

“Maybe she’s so ugly that nat-borns won’t have her-”

But… They didn’t know that you kept your comm hooked to your belt, instead of at your wrist. It was better when you were at work, less external nonsense near your hands. And they didn’t know about the emergency button that your boyfriend had reprogrammed to go to a very specific direct line, just in case.

They didn’t even see you reach down and hit it. The man who had you pinned was too busy yanking your head back by your hair. You bit your lip to keep from crying out.

His friends were slashing your backpack to bits, stomping on the buttons that fell from the scraps.

“Got nothing to say, bitch?”

No, you really didn’t. You didn’t care to explain yourself to a trio of prejudiced little boys with too much booze and cruelty in their blood. You didn’t give a shit as to why they thought what they were doing was justified or noble or right with the world. Spots were forming in front of your eyes and you wanted so very badly to close them.

I’ll be back in three days, cyare, he’d said, late at night when he could finally get away from his men and make a covert call. 

Right. He’d be back. And you’d be waiting.

It would take under ten minutes for someone to answer your emergency distress call. He’d assured you of that when he’d programmed the number in. Someone was coming. They’d be here any second. You had to stall. 

So you could see Rex again.

[samwinchesterswifu]

Exile on Main Street (Dean Winchester x Reader) Angst

Requested: No

Season 6 x Episode 1

Warnings: slow burn, deeply setted angst if youre ready to cry.

Song Inspiration: "Every Rose Has Its Thorns" by Poison, "Faithfully" by Journey

MINORS DNI

A/N: Oofta. This one got me a little emotional.

Word Count: 1386

Summary: Dean returns to ask her back in the game. Broken and destroyed by the memory of him leaving her for Lisa, she's unsure whether or not that would be a good idea, but these Winchester boys are known for their apologizes.

She sighs, entering her apartment late one evening. Kicking off her shoes, she strides over to the kitchen. Turning on the water she begins to handwash the few dishes left over from last nights dinner. Flashbacks replaying in her head of the brothers, of her past lover, of what her life used to be like before Sam jumped in the pit.

She turns over to her radio that sat on the counter, tuning into the classic rock station that Dean had consistently on. ‘Every Rose Has It’s Thorn’ by Poison turns on and she goes back to cleaning the dishes while humming along. A small tear seeps through her eyes thinking about Dean. Before Sammy jumped in the pit, they had gotten into a deep argument that lead to their break up. Dean had disappeared and she assumed it was to be with Lisa.

She always felt second best to Lisa after finding out about her. She just felt like a toy for Dean, something to hold and to have sex if there were no other options. She knew deep down it wasn’t the case, but after leaving her the way he did, that’s all that ran through her brain.

Wrapping up from dishes, she is completely unaware of the fact of someone breaking into her apartment. The last verse of the song begins to play from the radio and she turns up the sound. Grabbing a whisky glass from her cabinet, and the bottle from the counter, pouring herself one extra large shot. As the song ends, she slams the whisky glass onto her counter, accidentally shattering it in the process.

Another sigh left her lips as her hand began to bleed from the smashed glass. Sneering at picking out pieces from her hand she takes a moment to look up at the window. Seeing a shadow of a man behind her. She stops, quickly turning around to find none other than Dean. Her eyes darts between Dean and her gun that was on the table.

Dean holds up his hands and moves towards her, giving her just a split second to dive towards the table. She’s getting to pulling the trigger when suddenly the gun is knocked out of her hand and her arm is twisted behind her back. Looking up she’s met with Sam’s eyes. She tries to wiggle free of Sam’s grip, getting desperate with tears rolling down her face.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Dean speaks up from behind her now.

“It’s us, see?” Dean takes out the demon knife, and slices on his bicep.

Still trying to wiggle free, Dean also looks for salt in her cabinet, doing the whole routine.

Taking a deep breath, she finally calms down enough to warrant Sam letting go of his grip. Rubbing her wrist to ease the pain she looks between both brothers. Utterly confused.

“You wanna explain whats going here before I beat your ass until you see stars Winchester?” She says through gritter teeth looking directly at Dean.

Dean clears his throat and shifted on his shoes.

“Can you give us a minute Sammy?” Dean voice sounding shaky, almost nervous to be in the same room as her.

“Sure, I’ll be in the car.” Sammy says giving her a look that almost said to hear them out.

Sammy leaves her apartment shutting close the door that they lock picked.

“So?” She says, standing in her kitchen with arms crossed over her chest. Sending daggers towards the man she thought she lost forever in the woes of a woman he loved more.

Dean mentions to sit at her table. She shrugs, moving for him to do so. But she felt comfortable standing. Giving her an advantage to move if she still felt like beating his ass. Dean coughs at the awkwardness.

“You got 5 minutes Winchester,” She states sternly.

Dean takes a deep breath and begins to explain everything. How he got poisoned and how Sam saved him, everything happening with Sam and their family. It was a lot to take in, and time seemed to fly by getting later in the night.

“…So we came to see if you wanted to be back in the game.” He asks, eyes looking towards her in the same old puppy dog look he used to give after a bad hunt.

She was about to say something when she realized the radio was still on. ‘Faithfully’ by Journey started to play through the crappy speakers. Tearing at her heart strings as another flashback occurs of when they were younger, dancing to this outside of the impala.

“Why now Dean? What about Lisa? Ben? All that apple pie life? What do you what me to come back?” She says, choking as she tried to hold back tears.

Another deep sigh left Deans lips.

“I miss you, Y/N, what I did was totally wrong and I’m so sorry I never fixed anything after Sam jumped. I abandoned you and I  acknowledge that I made that action,” Dean takes a pause. She turns back towards her cabinets, grabbing a glass to pour another drink of whisky.

Dean studies her from the table and she can feel his eyes burning into the side of her cheek. She pauses for a second, trying to console herself before speaking to him. However, she breaks, tears start streaming down her face. She grips onto the counter, white knuckling, allowing emotions she pushed down to resurface after a year.

She hears the chair Dean was sitting in scraping against the hardwood floor as he stood up. Crying harder, she was engulfed in a large bear hug. She let it all go. All the memories of their times together whether that was romantically, after a good hunt, or a bad one flood her brain. The memories of her doing everything she did to make sure Dean didn’t jump the gun to say Yes to Michael. The love they made after he returned from the trip of the future and finding out she got bit from Croatian virus and he had to kill her. It was too much to keep down anymore.

Dean consoled her with quietly voiced shh’s. Petting her hair while laying his head onto of hers. One arm was still wrapped around her waisted tightly. To afraid to let go.

She finally calms down after a good while. Checking the clock it was way past midnight at this point. Certain that Sam had probably left the two to chat.

They stand in silence for a little while longer. Letting her bask in the feeling of Dean’s body weight against her after all this time. Taking a deep breath, she signals to Dean to let her take a step back. Which he does reluctantly, still holding on to her arms at arm’s length.

“If I come back, what’s gunna happen Dean? Between us?” She asks, voice hoarse from the crying.

“Whatever you want. We can start over, take our time. If you want nothing to do with me, then I would understand.” He takes a moment to pause before continuing.

“I can’t continue on like this. I need you here with me, with Sam. Hunting or figuring out whatever the hell is going on does feel right without you sweetheart.” Dean says, tucking a strand of hair that fell out her ponytail behind her ear.

“Okay.” She whispers.

“Okay?” Dean asks, heart pound against his chest.

She nods, and Dean lets go of the breath he didn’t even realizing he was holding. He leans down to give her a small kiss on her forehead, hovering for just a moment.

“I have so much to take care of before we leave, this apartment, my job, so I can pack up tomorrow.” She says looking around the place she had gotten used to calling home.

“Yep, nope, totally understand, whatever you need Sam’s and I’s help in we will.” Dean says, letting go of her arms.

“Thank you,” She whispers. Receiving a nod in return.

“I’ll uh, text Sam to come get me, I think he may have left.” Dean says looking out the window assuming he’s  trying to find the Impala.

“Stay for tonight,” She asks. Dean looks towards her longingly.

“Okay.” He speaks out. “Whatever you want.”

[gadriezmannsgirl]

Protection Bubble -P.G

Summary: You are clumsy and that makes your boyfriend, Pablo want to put you inside a protection bubble

You were clumsy, everyone who knew you could see that whenever you cut while washing the dishes, trip over your shoelaces, trip over your footing and even trip over air.

You had problems with this mostly with your boyfriend, Pablo. He hated seeing you with you wrist in a cast, band aids on your fingers and that's because he never wanted something bad happening to you, you were his life, his love, his forever and he couldn't bear the fact of losing you over a simple and smallest thing.

Sometimes you liked to think he was extra and overreacted but you loved his protective nature.

While cuddling with him, you felt your stomach asking for a little snack and you went to get up but his strong arms kept you in place

"Where do you think you're going young lady?" He whispered to not disturb your group of friends

"Amor, tengo hambre" You said "I'll get a little snack and be right back"

"Don't take too long, yeah?" You nod smiling "Be careful and bring enough for the two of us" You smiled nodding leaving a peck in his lips

"Going to the kitchen?" Pedri asked you as you nodded "I'll go with you because I'm also hungry" You smiled knowing what that meant, he would get a drink and make you do another thing of whatever you're doing for yourself for him too

You went to the refrigerator and pulled out two avocados, onion, tomato and a bit of cabbage to make a salad and pulled out as well the bread package "Will you do me a favour of washing this please?" You passed him the cabbage as he murmured a sure "You ate two of this, right?"

"Three, you're making that delicious salad and I'm crazy for it" You laugh mentally counting three for Pablo, three for Pedri and two for you.

You cutted the onion, the tomato, the cabbage and was left the avocados. The first one you cut it easily and swiftly. You peeled it and pulled it on a different plate for Pedri.

When you got to the other one, you noticed this one wasn't that ripe, but it was edible. You cut a little triangle first and then tried to go all the way.

But it was very hard, it could not be cut easily, you applied more pressure to the knife and soon you hissed noticing the amount of blood that was coming out of your palm. The avocado had flown away from your grasp making easily the knife cut a long stripe on your hand

"Hijo de-" Pedri cursed

"It's not that bad!" You said quickly putting the hand under the water trying to see how bad it was, you hissed when the water hit your skin

"I'll call Pablo"

"No! He will only worry, this isn't bad, I promise just a little cut"

"Little cut? ¿Estás loca? You're full on bleeding!"

"Ni tanto, my intestines won't come out" You replied

"I'll go and call him, I don't want him mad at me"

"You don't want who being mad at you?" Pablo asked

"No one!" You replied but Pedri gave you a look

"What's wrong?" Pablo furrowed his eyebrows

"Nothing's wrong, bebé"

"What are you doing there, Y/N?" He asked serious slowly walking over

"Nothing, just washing my hands"

"Really? Let me see"

"No!" You exclaimed but it was already late, Pablo had leaned over the sink and saw the blood coming out from your hand

"¡Maldición!" He cursed out grabbing a napkin from the counter, he closed the water and grabbed your hand "Joder, Y/N!" He growled

"It's not that bad, I swear"

"It's not that-?" He cut himself off looking at Pedri but before he could speak Pedri beated him to it

"Don't look at me, I told her to tell you, she refused" Pedri grabbed his plate, three breads and left you both to it, saving himself from any kind of lecture.

Pablo looked back at you and pulled you out of the kitchen "C'mon" He said sternly taking you to your shared bedroom, he sat you down on the bed "Press it hard" He said before disappearing into your bathroom to return a few minutes later with the first aid kit "Let me see" He spoke serious and his eyebrows were furrowed

You didn't like him like that, it was when he was mad

"Sorry" You murmur after a while in silence, you hissed almost retracting your hand away when he pressed a little too hard "I didn't meant to cut myself, you know?" You heard him sigh

"I know" He said softly "I just don't want anything bad happening to you"

"I know that" You said "The avocado wasn't cooperating with me and I'm hungry" Pablo let a small smile appear

"I can never be mad at you" He said looking at you "But I don't like you being this clumsy, I fear everytime I see you good one moment and at the other you have a cast on your ankle or a bruise on your hip because a fall or something... I'm afraid one that those little falls and hits could turn into something horrible, I want you to take care of yourself better"

"I do take care of myself" He pressed a bit hard against your hand as you yelled out a bit "¡Pablo!"

"The cut isn't that deep" He said "But it's extremely long, all of your palm, Y/N" He said sighing looking for the spray "This will sting a little" He warned but still you hissed when the coldness hit your wound "Sorry" He murmured kissing the inside of your wrist and your cut along your palm, he then tralled his kisses along your clothed shoulder, your neck, jaw, cheek and finally lips "I love you" He whispered

"I love you too" You whispered back "I promise I'll take care of myself better" He smiled

"Great because if you don't then I'll have to put you inside one of these big protection bubbles" He made you laugh as he got up looking for a band aid

"Would you be inside it with me?" You asked smiling hard

"Of course I would, I can't live without your touch so it's both of us inside that thing" He pulled out two band aids "Now, Mickey Mouse or Hello Kitty?"

"Mickey Mouse" You replied "And what about your trainings?"

"You'll do training with me?" You fake laughed at that

"¡Mira que jurasssteeee que yo haré eso!" He laughed putting the aid on your palm

"All nice and done" You smiled up at him watching him lean down to kiss it once more

"Ay" You complained pulling out your best hurt face

"What's wrong?"

"My lips are hurting too" You whine "Gimme a kiss?" He smiled but leaned in to kiss you without complaining

"Better?" You hummed

"I think another one will do better" Gavi shook his head kissing you softly until your stomach growled

"Joder" Gavi laughed "Let's finish that delicious salad you made"

"Will you feed me?"

"Of course" He pulled you into his side and kissed your head "You're my baby"

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Tag list: @gaviypedrisbride

[tilvcei]

► 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 PT.2

⭢ In which: you can’t escape ethan’s grasp and find yourself in a tuff situation. sam and tara are trying their best to help you get away from them, but if only you could let ethan go. it’s not that hard, and you know it’s not.

☆ | Warning(s): stalking, obsessive behavior, slight choking, suggestive language,

☆ | note: I’m so glad you guys wanted a part two my loves:) this is a little more longer than the last one. I hope you all enjoy sweethearts ! this is also in a bigger font.

☆ | gender: she/her (reader)

☆ | key: (b/f/n) means bestfriend name ;)

Tagging 🏷: @groovyponypatrollamp @ru99978 @avatricu @ky-nextsblog @stilesandjames @claustrophobicc @suspiciousmuffin @keithdgaf @nessa-styles @aawomenslovelifee @coughdropthings @breesxmulti @snixx2088 @spidersbbg @thicc101q @babywantskith @simpforthesullys @knightinshiningdenim @poranaisionparapio @bordeleau @mslowlife

You regret every 'I love you' you’ve ever said to ethan. if only you could take that back. Quinn and Detective Bailey were dead now thank god. now it was only ethan left. he warned that if Sam and tara were to touch you he’d kill them. then it’d just be you two.

After waking up wide awake, you noticed there was rope tied around your wrists. a pained groan came from your lips, was there anything to get out of these?

"Tara, sam..?" you called out, in hopes of them hearing you. but there was no response. there was nothing for you to do than just sulk and cry.

Tara made her way over to you, seeing you hiss in pain cause of how hard the rope was tied around your wrists.

she made her way over to you and kneeled down, she let out a sigh of relief when she saw you were okay. her hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your head up to see a small bruise on your neck from where ethan pricked you with the needle.

"Hey, hey, I’m here. it’s okay, he’s not gonna hurt you." Tara reassured, placing a hand on your cheek, "No, no. he’s- he’s gonna hurt me." you replied, shaking your head.

"No, look at me. no he’s not. I promise- look at me! he’s not gonna hurt you." Tara stated, a pained cry came from your lips and tears fell from your eyes when blood started to come from your wrists.

Tara noticed this and untied the rope from your wrists, "come on, I’ll help you up." she said, she wrapped her arms around your waist and hauled you up, your side was still bleeding from that fall.

"And just where the hell do you think you’re taking her, tara?" it was ethan. stopping in your tracks you slowly turned around in fear, tara’s eyes locked with Ethan, she threw a hard glare his way.

Ethan felt enraged at the fact tara was touching you. and why would someone think it was a good idea touching his significant other?

"Stay away from her you motherfucker!" yelled tara, tara turned to you, "go, run now!” she told you.

even though your side was hurting badly, it didn’t matter. you had to get out of here

And so, you ran. the more you kept running the easier it was to get to the front door. where was sam? was she okay? you hoped so.

You tried unlocking the front door but it was locked, how the hell did they manage to lock the doors so quickly right before dying?

Meanwhile when trying to open the door you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you, ethan appeared and he looked…

Very, very angry. his hair was extremely messy and if you were able to see his eyes, you would know how angry he looked.

Before you could process anything, a hand wrapped itself around your throat and squeezed, cutting the oxygen from your lungs.

You could feel breathing on your shoulder, you could feel him smirking. your eyes closed in fear of getting hurt by him.

then you felt him come close to your ear.

"Ah, hi there baby. did you think it was going to be that easy to get away from me? you were pretty successful for a second, I’ll admit; you got me good there." Ethan stated.

You tried at least hitting him but he was quick to dodge it, "I’m always ready for a fight. especially if it’s the fun ones!" he giggled.

"My pretty baby.." he whispered in your ear, this caused a shiver to run down your spine. then you felt yourself getting dragged backwards.

"I-…" there was no use in fighting it anymore. there was no use in fighting him. so why did you keep trying? you didn’t know. but at least you tried.

Blood was still falling from the side of your waist, "Tara’s been dealt with, but for now I can’t honestly say if sam’s next. I wanna see her suffer." Ethan spoke.

"What did you do to her?!" you yelled, you looked over at tara — well, she wasn’t dead yet thank god.

Ethan smirked, "it was obvious she liked you. I could see it myself. but I wasn’t going to let her take you away from me. it’s sad, seeing how much she cares for you when she knows you’re mines." He stated.

"I c-called the police. it’s not like you’re gonna get away. they won’t let you-" before you could finish ethan cut you off with a laugh.

"Fuck the police! they hardly do shit anyways. they only arrive when they get called in. But it was a smart move. now, let’s see…I’ll just set this up as tara getting stabbed by her sister and then my sister and dad got caught in the crossfire and I wipe all the DNA off the knifes and put sam’s DNA on it. perfect crime scene." Ethan explained.

He took his mask off and the clothes, ruffling his hair and yawning a bit. he did seem a bit tired, and so were you.

"Ethan, why. why are you doing this? I understand you love me and all..but is this what you really call love?" you questioned.

Ethan turned to you, "yes. it sure is what I call love. and you’ll learn to cherish it like I cherish you. understand? after all of this is over with, we’ll move together and live together. alright? this was what we had to get out the way. we finished our plans. Richie can finally rest." he explained, kneeling down to you and cupping your cheek.

All you did was nod, "ok. I- I trust you." even after everything he did? you trusted him? right, cause you couldn’t just let him go. you needed him.

He smiled, "there’s my good girl, such a good girl f’me." he continued, you felt tears forming in your eyes, why did you submit to him? all this, caused because of him.

Ethan frowned, "Ah, ah. no, no. why are you crying pretty thing?" he asked, you could only sob in reply.

Ethan placed a soft kiss on the top of your head and pulled you close to him. he didn’t want to see you cry, all those precious tears your letting fall is hurting him too.

"Over here!" Ethan yelled, one of the EMT’s went to attended to tara and then you, only now you just noticed the police and ambulance had arrived.

"Okay, mind telling me what the actual hell happened here..?" A female police officer asked, turning to you.

As much as you wanted to say something, nothing could come out of your mouth which made it more difficult for you.

"I really don’t think questions are needed right now, you can see she’s injured." one of the EMT’s said.

All you did was continue to sob, ethan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, brushing some hair out of your face.

"No, no it’s okay. I can- I can tell you wh..what happened." you said, breathing heavily, you felt like you were about to hyperventilate at any moment.

You searched for any comfort from anyone, hoping to feel safe. cause I’m a few hours you know you’d be going through hell.

"Baby, go on, tell them." Ethan said, you looked into his eyes, seeing that reassuring and comforting look in his eyes.

Well shit, you couldn’t tell the truth. what would be the truth? nothing. because sam’s DNA is already on every item in here — ethan made that possible.

"Sam. It was all sam carpenter, she- she hurt her sister almost killing her. and she hurt me. I don’t know what else to tell you since I blacked out right after, but she was psychotic—" you felt bad saying these things about sam when it wasn’t true.

The EMT turned to you, "this is very brave of you, hon. being able to tell us what happened after everything you’ve been through. you and you’re boyfriend are safe now, I promise you. if you want him to accompany you, he can come. if not-" you cut her off.

"I need him. I don’t wanna be alone." You and, and you were honest about that. you didn’t want to say it before, but your saying it now.

And there’s no taking it back.

The EMT’s put you on a stretcher, ethan was by your side the whole time. you’ve always felt safe around him.

But there was one question still lingering — where were you both going after this?

"Holy shit, (Y/n)!" a voice yelled, you were taken outside, you wondered how you were still alive anyways.

(B/f/n)! it was (B/f/n). thank god she was okay, she looked over at ethan suspiciously, looking him up and down.

"So..you aren’t the bad guy? I want to believe if it’s bullshit or not but-okay." (B/f/n) said, ethan only smiled.

He had everyone exactly where he wanted them.

"I’m okay, (B/f/n/n)." that was your nickname for her since, well, forever. she took your hand in hers, "see you at the hospital?" (B/f/n) questioned, you nodded.

"Yeah, I’ll see you there." this was your life now.

You were now in the ambulance, staring up at the ceiling in wonder. what if you hadn’t loved ethan back? would he still have killed you?

Your eyes glanced over at him, "we’re gonna be ok, right?" you asked in a hoarse tone.

Ethan took your hand in his, "I promise, we’ll be alright." he answered, placing a kiss on the back of your hand.

you were going to be alright.

Ah, here’s the long awaited part 2! hope you enjoyed. I might make a part 3, who knows?

[b33zlebubz]

RIGOR MORTIS | CHAPTER SEVEN

SIMON RILEY X AFAB READER | 18+ MDNI | MASTERLIST | AO3 PREV CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER TAGS: reader uses she/her pronouns, fluff angst & eventual smut, blood violence & death, suicidal ideology, slow burn, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, toxic workplace environment, flashbacks “Abandoned in a battlefield with the one person you thought you would never see again; you're forced to come to terms with the ghosts of your past."

WEDNESDAY APRIL 24TH 2024  MEXICO, 0000 HOURS

The pain in your chest is getting worse.

It's hard to sleep that night for many reasons.  One: with all the rain of the other night it's hard to find any wood dry enough for a fire.  Mexico has relatively tame weather compared to what you're used to, but Springtime is a whole different beast, inconsistent and unpredictable.  Nearly ninety degrees in the daytime and then dropping down to the fifties at night, you find yourself sweating all day just to be freezing and damp when the sun sets.  The thin blanket you pull out of the back of a wrecked truck doesn't help much and neither does the fact that you've developed a fever.

Two: you're definitely sure you have at least one broken rib.  The first day after the battle you had the adrenaline to numb the pain, but now that it's faded, it's easier to notice how it takes a great deal of effort just to breathe without your lungs spasming painfully.  Each breath aches, rattling in your chest.  You can't put pressure on your side without seeing stars and the bruises are damn near black across the expanse of your ribs.  Still, you won't rest more than a few hours at a time—knowing that the second you do, you might not be able to get up again.

And that brings you to the last thing; the radio is still dead silent.

You're staring at the ceiling, leaning back against the truck's wall as you listen to it; the static.  The charge has died twice now and both times you've revived it with an emergency battery.  Once that runs out, you plan to charge it with the SUV.  The longer you listen to the buzz of an empty signal paired with the steady sound of Ghost's breathing beside you, the longer you get to thinking about what might happen if nobody comes to find you.  

You think about the first time you put your survival training to use; left for dead in some safe house during your tour in Yemen, left by your squadron in a rushed retreat.  Back then, the pain in your side had been a nasty knife wound to your ribs, but now it was shattered bone and bleeding organs.  The longer you listen to the static the easier it is to recall the coldness of concrete on your skin, the burn of sand-caked sweat and blood in your eyes.  The sputtering static of your comms picking up no signal and the growing panic of being forgotten.  The blood.  The death.  The memory once so far away now felt tangible again; real.

It's funny.  The longer time went on the easier it was to forget about moments where you weren't so strong, but it was also easier to get lost in them whenever they unearthed themselves at the most inconvenient of times.  

Then a warm hand on your shoulder shatters the illusion—and you panic.

Within moments, you're up again.  You grab the unknown enemy by the front of his shirt and force him back against the floor with an audible thunk—causing weapons and gear to swing and the truck’s suspension to bounce.  When the red clears from your vision, your eyes are locked with two tired, brown irises blown wide with surprise as your grip tightens on his wrists against the floor.

Shocked to your core, your body goes rigid.

You lost a lot of your usual muscle mass during your first few weeks in Camp Viking; after Yemen and everything else that happened.  Stress, too much sleep or not enough, and a complete lack of appetite were a fatal combo to all the progress you made after signing your life away—so when Ghost met you, you were the weakest you've been since before joining the military.

Now: your shoulders are broader, arms and legs thicker and crisscrossed with ragged scars.  Skin glistens with the sweat of a fever as you hold him, still bigger than you, pinned to the floor.  

The breath knocked from his lungs; he's panting.  You're close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your face, to see how your own labored breathing stirs the hair laying on his forehead.  Close enough to realize you've only ever seen him out of breath like this one other time—

Christmas Day.

His eyes flash with something familiar and you know he remembers it, too.

You shoot off of him in an instant.  Mind reeling, you turn to leave.  Run.  Do something to quell the fire in your veins and the burn of memories in your delirious mind.

"Angel, wait—"

The nickname falls on deaf ears.  Before he can gather his bearings enough to scramble upright, you've grabbed the radio and disappeared into the night with a burning face and a newfound heat in your bones.

WEDNESDAY APRIL 26TH 2024  MEXICO, 0300 HOURS

"Echo 0-2 to Actual."  

Your voice sounds rough with insomnia whenever you speak into the radio for the hundredth time.

It's been two nights since you've been in the van with Ghost, two nights since you've talked.  You're avoiding him—it's just as clear to you as it is to him—and embarrassment ravages your mind as you continue to keep yourself upright, keep yourself moving.  Now, the stretch of bodies was four lines deep instead of two.  Now, sitting on top of the SUV with ruined boots dangling over the edge and a raggedy blanket on your shoulders; it officially burned like hell to breathe.

Above you, the stars are the brightest you've seen since Camp Viking.  The night is just as quiet.

You close your eyes for a long time, dread settling in your stomach at the thought of staying here much longer; of what might happen if you're not found.  You think about how long the walk from here to the next civilization might be—if, by some miracle, they don't shoot you on sight.

Bandaged, anxious hands hold the radio tight in your lap before pressing the button and bringing it to your face once more.

"Again, this is Echo 0-2 attempting to reach Actual.  I've got a wounded Lieutenant with me…is anyone there?"

Static.

You try again, "Echo 0-2 to Actual.  Watcher.  Anyone."

Again, nothing.  You sigh, batting the side of the small machine against the heel of your hand.  Crickets chirp somewhere far off in the distance as you curse and eventually give up.  Tired eyes fall over the pitch-black landscape before you, getting lost in the quiet.  Your skin prickles against the cold air as your eyes sink shut. Shoulders slump for what feels like the first time in weeks as exhaustion, a gentle but swift current, sweeps you under.

"Nice night."

You jump and whip around, clutching the fabric of the front of your uniform.  

"Fuck," you breathe out.  "Just you."

He stands with what appears to be two of the American MREs you found in hand, his uniform notably cleaner now—having shed his dark, dirt-matted jacket for a dark compression shirt that stretches over thick muscles.  He looks…better.  Able to stand upright, at the very least.  There's more color to his face but that could very well just be the cold.  The fresh bandages you helped him put on the last time you talked don't show any signs of being bled through and he definitely doesn't have a hard time sneaking up on you—a good sign.

"Well…don't sound too excited."

You only huff at his remark, turning back around to look at the radio in your lap as your face burns with embarrassment.  Your hands are still shaking as you take a deep breath to try and steady yourself, and you wait for him to finally mention it—acknowledge it.  Your hands on his wrists.  His heaving chest.  Your breath on his face.  Christmas Day.

He shifts and at first you think he might be leaving now that he knows where you are.  Instead, he appears beside you, sliding down to dangle his legs over the edge and wordlessly hand you one of the MREs.

Your throat constricts at the very thought of food, staring down at the sad, brown package as he tears his open and sets it up to heat.  You squint at the label to read the contents.

Cheese Tortellini in Tomato Sauce.  Well, there are worse things. 

"No luck?"  He asks.

You let out a sigh of relief and mentally thank whatever God above he decided against bringing it up.  Instead, you shake your head wearily as you set the MRE aside, deciding to save it for when you know you'll keep it down.  Hypocritical, you know, but you've only been able to find a handful in the rubble thus far.

"No," you breathe, disheartened.  "Still nothing."

A moment passes, filled only by the sound of crickets and the rustle of plastic packaging.  There's movement in the distance followed by barking.  Coyotes, no doubt.  

You both sit in silence for a while and your thoughts slip back into dark territory.  You rub your chilly arms as you stare out over the hellscape before you—wondering how many more bodies out there you have left to gather.  How many families you're failing; leaving their beloved soldiers in the mud to rot because you're losing the ability to walk straight.

Then, Ghost speaks, ripping you out of the depths of your head.

"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?"

You shoot him an incredulous look.  Then, you shake your head with a scoff.  You know what he's trying to do; lighten the mood, in his own strange way.  For a moment it works, and it's easy to pretend you're somewhere else. A simpler time, maybe, where all you had to worry about was which hallways to take to avoid being seen sneaking around the barracks.

You try not to let his obvious attempt at lifting your spirits work.  So, you only raise an eyebrow at him, "really?"

"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?"  He repeats again, nonchalant as ever, as he pushes his food around the package with his fork.

You stare at him for a while before deciding to humor him with a sigh.  "Too many bananas…or something?"

"'Cause he's dead."

"Hm," you nod your head, pursing your lips into a line.  "That was bad even for you."

He huffs, "too soon?"

"Far too soon." 

"Noted."  He shifts, placing his food to the side to take something out of his pocket.  After all these years, it surprises you that even he's still off-put by the smell of death in the air.  "You got a light on you?"

A stupid question—and he knows it.

"Always.  Why?"

He pulls a full pack of Marlboro Reds out of his pocket, flicking the top open.  The packaging is slightly crumpled but otherwise remains spotless, unlike the rest of him.  He plucks one out and holds it out to you.

You glance at the cigarette, then up at his face—almost shocked he managed to keep them safe while the rest of him is so beat up.  You notice bruises are beginning to show under his eyes from his broken nose and there's a stubble starting to form on his jaw, patchy with scars you never noticed until now.

You take out your lighter.  An orange glow lights up his battered face as you flick it twice, let the flame catch, and then shut it again.  He takes a deep inhale, sitting back on his other hand, before letting the smoke billow out past his chapped lips.

"Fuck," he sighs, already slumping with relief.  "Could always count on you for a light.  Good to know that hasn't changed."

"What can I say," you respond, managing what you can of a small smile.  "I'm an angel."

He chuckles lowly.  "You're anything but, Colonel."

He offers the cigarette to you.  It's tempting, really tempting, but the pain in your lungs is far more annoying than the nagging effects of withdrawal. 

"I'm good," you brush his arm away and attempt to hide the tremor in your hands.  "I quit a few years ago."

"Hm," He seems surprised, or maybe he's humoring your obvious lie, you're unsure.  Nevertheless, he presses the cig to his lips again.  "Good on you, then."

You find yourself relaxing again slowly, anxious thoughts easing as you breathe in the smell of nicotine and look up at the stars above.  It's silent save for the sounds of the desert, and you find yourself thinking about a time where you both sat just like this for hours.  Getting by with nothing but the warmth of a heater, a flickering lantern, and a pack of cigarettes to keep you both company.  You remember laughing until your stomach hurt at his dry humor, once upon a time.

"This place is hell," Ghost says, deadpan as ever, as he exhales another cloud of smoke.

Flashes of cold concrete, rough sand, and nauseating heat flash through your mind again.  You realize, then, you prefer the warmth over the cold any day—no matter what you've gone through. 

"I think I'd rather be in hell," you mutter, rubbing your arms.  "At least it's warm, there."

He chuckles a little, and you wonder if he's reminiscing just as you are.

"That it would, Colonel," he says.  "That it would."

It's quiet again.  Years ago, the silence might've been filled by soft touches—a head against a shoulder or a hand on a back.  Instead, you both just sit there.  His hand is just centimeters away from your own, and you wonder if it would be easier to take it or pull away.  Or just…talk.  You want to speak, want to apologize or something—but the words are stuck in your throat.  You want answers, you want closure, but your hand curls into a fist as you realize that fuck.  You're not strong enough to break the question.

He's staring at you.  You can feel when he does it.  For some reason, you always have.  After a moment, you hear him take a breath.  He leans back on his hand as the other flicks his cigarette and comes up to touch the sore part of his head.  

"You know…"  He begins with a sigh. His mouth opens and shuts again, hesitant.  Suddenly, he looks away.  "I—"

"This is Watcher trying to reach Echo 0-2 and Bravo 0-7," a garbled, female voice interrupts him from the radio.  "We hear you, Angel."

@crazy-phan-girl13