#back when we were a proper country...

[azhdarchidae]

i rlly do not think white global northerners understand how fucking bad the anti sinovac psyop was in context of the philippines and other targeted countries being from the global south, with a history of economic and military intervention and destabilization by the usa specifically.

i live in the philippines and sinovac was the only available vaccine for MONTHS of the pandemic. people were fucking dying and we had no pfizer, no j&j, no astrazeneca, no moderna. sinovac was the ONLY vaccine supply we had. and the supply wasnt even enough for even my small city. we do not have the infrastructure to manufacture our own vaccines and tests. we were entirely reliant on imports from other countries who Did have the capacity to manufacture such things

i got up early for several days straight to go to a pop up walk in vaccination site (were talking there by 7:30am) set up in a fucking public basketball court because it was the only way to get vaccinated, and 3 times i had to go back empty handed so to speak after exposing myself to this massive opportunity for transmission because they fucking ran out of shots and prioritized the elderly and disabled and i didnt have my legal pwd (person with disability) card yet. i had to go to a different barangay (local unit of government) to get my shot MONTHS LATER and only got mine because one of my family was in the local govt and reserved some shots for us.

many filipinos use facebook which is where some of the psyop was conducted because you can use it for free on your phone and it is often where news is disseminated. i know we have that joke about People Believing Anything They See On Facebook but i cannot stress enough that people here get local news from fb the same way you (used to) get news from twitter about shit like localized emergencies and whatnot.

because we are third world, you know that the state of our education system is nothing compared to the states. media and news literacy here is dangerously low and the population is sensitive to mis/disinformation, as can be seen during the 2022 presidential elections where the usa Also interfered lol. i cannot stress enough how much of the population was susceptible to this psyop, especially those in poverty who couldnt afford proper education. hell, even educated people fell for this shit. do you think jhunjhun who didnt finish grade 6 would be able to identify disguised foreign intervention that was in his own language?

we were already recovering from public scrutiny of a different vaccine, a dengue vaccine, which lowered public trust in inoculation. and then the usa goes and does THIS??? i cannot emphasize enough that they are directly responsible for the tens and thousands of unvaccinated covid deaths. they are responsible for my friends having to bury their unvaxxed parents and grandparents at the age of 19. they are responsible for mass death and disability.

but were just a country in the periphery. so who cares about us? our lives are worthless to the usa, which is why they admitted that they did this when they would otherwise "never" to their own population. third worlders arent real people to your government. we are merely statistics and a petri dish for experimentation. so who cares if we die? the real important thing isnt our lives, its that the usa has more control over us than china.

[cassidyandonlycassidy]

tornadoes aren't more important than you

tyler owens (twisters) x reader

words: 1.5k

warnings: pregnant!reader, married!reader, established relationship

“be careful, yeah?” you place your hands on tylers cheeks, tilting his head down to look you in the eye.

“i wish you could come with me.” tyler sighs, leaning in and pressing his forehead against yours, his cowboy hat tipping upwards and off his head, clattering onto the hardwood.

“i know.” you miss it. the excitement, the fear, the anticipation of storm chasing. “but i don't think the baby would like me getting whipped around.”

tyler chuckles and presses his hands to your stomach, fully showing now that you've reached six months.

“im gonna be safe and im gonna be back home to you real soon.” tyler kisses you deeply, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you in close.

“uh, not to interrupt-” 

“you are interrupting, boone.” tyler looks up at him as he stands in the open doorway, trucks filling the driveway.

“we were just finishing saying goodbye.” you raise to your tiptoes and give tyler one more peck. 

“i love you.” you whisper against your husbands lips.

“i love you, baby.”

“ew.” boones nose scrunches up, still somehow not used to seeing you kiss despite being married for a year now.

“you stay safe too boone.” you point at him, watching as they head out the door and pile in the trucks.

you wave goodbye to everyone, tyler getting in last as he tips his hat he grabbed off the floor towards you, a silent promise to come back home.

you sigh as you watch them pull away, hand stroking over your belly as the trucks disappear in a cloud of dirt. “it's okay.” you whisper to the baby, but it's mostly for yourself. “daddy will be back.”

--

“hey.” you answer the phone with a smile on your face. “i watched the live stream.”

“pretty fucking cool huh?” 

“pretty cool that you let boone drive the rig.” you chuckle, knowing tyler did that specifically for you, to show you that he can let others take the lead, let them be the one to drive into the tornado.

“how's my baby doing?” tyler asks, ignoring your teasing.

“which one?” you giggle, laying a hand on your stomach. “im good, baby is kicking a lot though.”

“put me on speaker.” tyler requests. you roll your eyes but still turn the volume up and hold the speaker up to your belly.

“it's daddy.” tylers voice is half strict and half high baby voice. “you better stop giving your mama grief when im not there to help her. behave for just a bit longer, buddy.”

“i hope he listens to you.” you shake your head, bringing the phone back up. “how's the storms looking for tomorrow?”

“tracking a couple cells.” tyler confirms. “im coming home friday no matter what they look like over the weekend.”

“mhm, sure.” you roll your eyes, although you don't doubt it. now that you're pregnant, tyler is even more protective over you. he knows you can handle anything, but that doesn't mean he's going to force you to do it all on your own.

“i will. already miss that pretty face baby.” his country twang is music to your ears as you hum out.

“i miss you too. miss kissing your lips.”

“you're killing me, sugar.” tyler groans. you hear dani shouting something in the background.

“i-”

“you gotta go. i know. love you.”

“love you more, darling.”

--

you have tylers livestream on in the background as you clean the house, feeling the urge to nest and get everything prepared before you're too pregnant to do anything, and tyler certainly wouldn't let you lift a finger when hes home.

you always dreamt of a beautiful old farmhouse like this all your life, but before you could move in tyler insisted on building a proper storm shelter to keep you safe.

you unpack some of the boxes of things you bought for the baby's room, sticking to yellows and oranges to keep everything brightly colored and cohesive, in contrast to the darkening sky.

you're not right in the path of tornados, but they have been known to swing up and hit the closest town every couple years.

you know the cloudy sky is just a result of all the activity further to the west where your husband currently is.

you look back to your phone, watching for a moment as his handsome face turns to look out the window. you can see the reflection of the twister in his eyes, a mix of awe struck and fear that any man within his right mind would feel.

“god-” you look up to the ceiling. you're not the biggest believer, but growing up in the south has you always reverting to whispering a prayer. “keep my husband safe.”

--

you let out a yawn as you adjust, not knowing for sure the sound that woke you up until you hear it again, your cellphone vibrating on the nightstand.

“hello?” your voice is groggy as you answer. you didn't bother to look at the contact name, there's only one person who would be calling you at this hour. “tyler?”

“baby, get to the storm shelter right now.”

“what?” the words have you instantly awake, hopping to your feet and looking out the window of your second story bedroom. “it looks fine.”

“im- just trust me! are you going?” you can hear the nerves in tyler's voice as well as the roaring of his truck no doubt speeding down the road.

“yes.” you confirm, grabbing one of tylers sweatshirts and slipping it over your head before finding a pair of shoes. “im going down the stairs right now.”

the second you step outside, you can feel the shift in the air.

“im tracking it on the data. we reported it but they said it's not on their maps as if our equipment isn't ten years newer.”

you listen to tylers rant as you round the house to pull open the storm shelter doors. it's not a glamorous area, small and tight but completely concrete and filled with a couple boxes of supplies.

“im in the shelter, ty.” you reassure him as you close the latch. “im safe. the babys safe.”

“it's building.” tyler says, no doubt looking at the radar or getting reports fed to him from boone. “im coming home to you, ill be there in two hours. fuck it, make it an hour and a half.”

“it's wednesday.” you state, although its just after midnight so technically thursday. “you said you weren't coming home until friday.”

“that was before a torando was gonna hit you. baby, i don't want you to go through this alone when you're pregnant.”

“ill be fine.” you reassure tyler. “but if you want to come back and make sure, you're more than welcome. like i said, i miss your lips.”

“gonna give you lots of kisses to make up for being gone.”

“i won't argue with that.” your phone beeps and you pull it away from your ear to realize you're losing service. “i think we are going to disconnect soon.”

“stay on as long as you possibly can.”

you try, but your phone beeps again and the call drops out.

sitting alone in the darkness heightens your other senses, feeling the cold air sneaking in through every available crack as your ears pick up the sound of the wind roaring.

you close your eyes and press your hands against your stomach, softly singing a nursery rhyme that your mother sung to you when you were a baby, your eyes sliding closed as you fall back asleep.

--

you're startled awake suddenly as the door rips open, only for tyler to quickly enter.

“is it over?” you ask, standing up and wobbling slightly. tyler grabs your hips, holding you up and looking at you up and down, his eyes examining you. you watch the stress and fear and anxiety melt away to be replaced with softness and love.

“it's over.” he confirms, tugging you in close. 

“the house?”

“a busted window and a downed tree blocking the driveway. that's all.” tyler presses his nose into your hair, inhaling the scent.

“wasn't bad then.” you wrap your arms around his waist, enjoying the warm embrace.

“no, but i got so fucking scared knowing you were here all alone.” tyler pulls away only to help you up the stairs, hating seeing you confined to the shelter even if it is to keep you safe.

“i just… i can't do this while you're pregnant. i can't leave you here, or anywhere, alone knowing something could happen to you.”

tyler pulls his phone out of his pocket and navigates to his youtube channel, going live and waiting for a couple users to join.

he holds the camera up so he can see himself and you, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulders.

“as you folks know, my lovely wife here is pregnant with our first child. as much as i love tornado wrangling, i love my girl more. for the next six months im going to be taking a step back, but don't unsubscribe, boone is taking over to keep the excitement coming.”

he doesn't even say goodbye, simply ending the livestream, knowing one of his followers surely recorded it to spread the news around.

“ty, you didn't have to do that.”

“yes, i did.” tyler bends down to lift you up, carrying you across the threshold of your house just like he did the day you got married. “im gonna be with you throughout everything. tornados aren't more important than you.”

[c4llezz]

IF WE EVER MEET AGAIN

synopsis: first was an accident, second a coincidence, but meeting a third time? that had to be fate.

TW: none

genre: fluff

pairing: idol!sophia x f!reader

word count: 1.7k

sophia loved walking by herself. she liked to explore every country she traveled to. so when she arrived to la to start t&d, she had to walk around the city she was going to live for a long time.

la was known for its cultural diversity, and she knew she could encounter any kind of situation there. what she didn’t expect was for a girl on a skateboard to crash right in front of her.

sophia looked at the figure on the floor with wide eyes. the girl on the floor groaned from the pain and sat slowly. “fuck”

“are you okay?” she asked worriedly.

you looked up, squinting your eyes because of the sun “i must have died, because i’m seeing an angel”

the filipina rolled her eyes, unimpressed by the lame pickup line. then she noticed blood coming out of your left brow and quickly crouched down, looking for tissues in her purse.

after that you spent all day together, visiting different shops and exchanging some past anecdotes. at the end of the day you even walked her to the house she was sharing with the other girls. “there’s a lot of people in there” you observed.

“it’s a little crowded. but it’s fun” she said “today was fun too.”

you nodded, a little distracted by the girls who were looking at both of you through the window trying to be subtle, but failing miserably. “i think they are waiting for you”

sophia chuckled, turning around to see all the girls hiding “i guess i’ll see you another day?” she asked. when she didn’t receive an answer she turned back to you, but you had disappeared, along with her wallet.

dream academy was a nightmare, but sophia made it.

now the katseye members were traveling to colombia, to film the music video for their debut song. that meant a new place for sophia to explore and discover.

sophia wandered around the streets of medellín, the weather was so nice and the city had so many green trees everywhere that taking pictures of the city and its people was so easy.

she also noticed lots of walls were painted with beautiful drawings and graffiti. one in particular caught her attention.

it was still in progress, the person painting was probably taking a break because she could see brushes and cans of paint on the floor. but something about it called out to her.

“you like it?” the sudden voice startled her, and she quickly put distance between her and the other person.

she recognized you instantly, even if your hair was now longer and dyed.

“you!” she yelled “what are you doing here?”

confused, you said “i live here?”

“oh really? with the money you stole from me?”

“i didn’t steal anything.” you raised your hands at her accusation

she raised her eyebrows “then where is my wallet? i had ten bucks there, you need to pay them back.”

“that was like two years ago.”

she shrugged, “i need ten bucks for my uber, i could’ve used the ones you took right now.”

“first of all, like i’ve said, i didn’t take any wallet. second, if you walked here, you can walk back.”

“i’m not walking back alone at this hour“

“i’ll go with you then” you offered

she looked at you suspiciously “so you can disappear and leave me talking alone again?”

you sighed, she clearly held a grudge for what happened the first time you met “i’m sorry. for leaving like that. it was my last day in la and my flight was early in the morning, but i should have said a proper goodbye.”

“i guess i forgive you for that. not for my wallet tho.”

you rolled your eyes, not even bothering to defend yourself anymore “you know what, it’s decided, i’ll drive you to your hotel.”

she pursed her lips, thinking about your proposal “fine. but i want to explore the city a little more.”

“then let me show you my city.”

with raised eyebrows she said “your city? i don’t see your name on it.”

“it’s there, you just have to look for it.”

after taking sophia to some hidden gems that not many tourists knew about and treating her to a nice dinner that definitely cost more than 10 dollars, you drove her to where she was staying.

you parked your motorcycle a few blocks away from the hotel, because the girl said she couldn’t be seen arriving on something so reckless (whatever that meant).

“thanks for showing me your city” she joked after taking off her helmet.

you bowed “it was my pleasure, your highness.”

you walked her to the entrance and she called the elevator. while waiting for it to arrive, she turned around “it was nice seeing you again… wait, i don’t know your name” the sudden realization of never asking for it hit her. she didn’t ask the first time you met in los angeles even when you talked so much about your past, and even after joking about not seeing your name anywhere in the city of the eternal spring, she didn’t realize she didn’t know it.

your lips turned up slightly, amused by the situation “i was waiting for you to find out about that. but i don’t know yours either so we are even.”

her eyes widened, she hadn’t told you her name either “oh! my name is-“

“wait” you stopped her “don’t tell me. if we find each other again, we’ll do things right.” the elevator’s door opened and she stepped in nodding at your words “and it will be an opportunity to return this” you lifted your hand, showing her new wallet.

the last thing you saw before the doors closed was the girl’s mouth on the floor, eyes wide. you laughed quietly, you really were looking forward to your next meeting, whenever that would be.

the girls have been working hard. they had traveled to korea to film the mv for their new song and they finally had a chance to get some rest.

which meant sophia was walking around seoul, even though she had been there a few times, she still enjoyed walking around the city and its streets.

she went on a shopping spree with the card that you had not stolen!

when sophia saw her wallet in your hand, she panicked. she tried to stop the elevator but it was too late. she looked around her tote bag to confirm her wallet was missing but she found everything that was inside of it still with her. how did you do all that without her noticing? she was going to get her answer, along with your name, the next time you met.

she smiled at the memory of last year. she had to admit that every time she went to a different country she hoped she’ll find you there, but alas, matching with someone you didn’t even know the name of three times was definitely not the most possible thing.

sophia found you intriguing. an artist who drives a bike and knows how to skate. typical bad boy in a movie. but you weren’t a boy, and you were not bad, not the person she had met twice at least (yes, you had taken her wallet, but you didn’t steal anything)

she hadn’t thought about you lately but today felt nostalgic, wandering around a city alone, enjoying the vibe the tourists and citizens had, looking for someone in the crowd of people. she had grown to appreciate moments like this, even if at the end of the night the thing she hoped for didn’t happen.

she turned onto a small street in hongdae, coming across a small tteokbokki place. the smell of food called out to her, but the sight outside of it called out more.

against the wall was a ladder a girl standing on it with a brush on her hand, hair up so it couldn’t obstruct the view. the jacket around her waist looked like the one you had been wearing the night she encountered you in medellín. could it be you?

an old woman came out of the shop and called out a name sophia didn’t catch, but the girl turned around, her face now visible. the woman said something in korean, sophia only understood the word food, if she wasn’t so distracted maybe she could’ve understood more, but she was still looking at the girl.

the same girl she met in los angeles when she had just started training. the girl she met later on, when her dream had finally come true in colombia. and now the girl she met when things were starting to look promising in the future of the group.

you went down the ladder and that’s when you finally saw her. you blinked once and then again just to confirm that you weren’t dreaming. “no way” you said, a smile forming on your face.

sophia came closer and tilted her head “you live here too?”

“i think i live wherever you show up.”

the filipina smiled. something about your comment made her feel warm inside. “i think it’s time for proper introductions, miss thief.”

so you invited her into the shop. it turned out the owner was friends with your mom and she had asked you to paint something for her, so you made a quick trip to korea meant to last less than two weeks.

you talked about everything. she finally told you about her job, and you finally learned each other’s names.

at the end of the night, you walked her to her place. it had become some sort of tradition.

“so what now?” she asked when you stopped at her door.

“the mural is almost finished, i’m leaving in a few days.” you said “unless you ask me to stay longer.”

she bit her lip, suppressing her smile “what if i don’t?”

you shrugged “i guess we’ll have to meet in another country.”

“france?”

“i prefer italy”

“italy it is” she said then turned around to get inside. she stopped when you lightly grabbed her wrist.

“what if i want to see you sooner?”

she came closer to your ear and whispered, “come find me in los angeles.” then she winked and disappeared behind the door, leaving you without your wallet, but with a place to go back to.

part 2

[banj0possum]

A Purrfect Team

Big Cat Hybrids x GN! Cat Hybrid! Reader

wi wi wi we we wi u ya ya is this basically zootopia? nuh uh no its not

🐾 You never thought you would ever see yourself, a little cat hybrid, working at a big firm like Apex. Being a mild-mannered kitty from the country, city life wasn't really something that you thought of often.

🐾 That was until you got a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get a job that offered a lot of pay. Your family's fishing business needed some help so you decided to take it.

🐾 You packed your things, bid goodbye to your family, and headed off.

🐾 The subway ride to the office building was a long and stressful one, but eventually you made it !

🐾 Inside was bustling with all sorts of hybrids walking and flying about doing whatever business they were dealing with. Coming up to the front desk, you ask the Secretary Bird hybrid sitting on the other side about your first day.

🐾 She looks up from her ledger and back down to blink at the little thing wearing what seems to be a flannel instead of a proper dress shirt.

🐾 "Ohhh, you're that kid from outta town. Just sign here then take a seat over there while I call someone to show you around." She chirps, picking up one of the many landlines and punches in some numbers.

🐾 After a bit of waiting, a snow leopard hybrid sauntered over to where you were sitting, holding a clipboard that seemed miniscule in his paw

🐾 "So you're our new assistant, huh?" He looks at you with piercing blue eyes. He looked at you up and down like he was considering whether or not he'd eat you or something.

🐾 He bids you to follow him in a tired, gravelly voice. Now and again you'd see him take glances at you as you waddle after him trying to match his speed. He was a big guy with big strides !

🐾 "You're going to be working with me and my colleagues up at upper management, so I expect you to be settled as soon as possible, understood?" He rumbles, going into an elevator as you nod, quickly heading in as well.

🐾 As the elevator went up, employees went in and out on your way to the top. You tried to ignore the fluffy tail that curved around your legs softly as if protectively shielding you against the people piling into the small area.

🐾 Eventually, the two of you arrived at your designated floor and entered one of the doors in the sleep hallway. A lion, black panther, and a tiger hybrid perk up and look at you, hearing the door open.

🐾 Big cats..this will be interesting ...

🐾 "Shigara! Who's this little thing beside you?" The black panther greets cheerfully, looking at you with green eyes that widen with interest.

🐾 "Awee, didn't know our new assistant would be such a cutie~!" The tiger purred out, swishing his tail.

🐾 "Hush Nikolai, you'll scare them away.." The lion mewls, but with his deep voice it wasn't as comforting as it should be..

🐾 "Enough, let's get him accustomed." The snow leopard grunted behind you, his arms crossed impatiently.

🐾 Getting used to your new life was pretty easy. Your three big bosses were scary but you saw they meant well, so it didn't take long for you to get used to office work.

🐾 Shigara the snow leopard hybrid was always the one to "supervise" you.

🐾 He always had this begrudging look on his face as he watched you type away at your computer with his arms crossed.

🐾 Most of the time he was just silently watching you but now and again he'd growl out some random reminders

🐾 "You haven't had water in 30 minutes."

🐾 "15 minute break. Now."

🐾 "You're sitting too close to the screen, move back."

🐾 As stern as he sounds, he's quite gentle when he has to make you follow his little requests to take care of yourself.

🐾 Give him a thank you, or a little compliment and you he gets shy, flattening his ears as he looks away.

🐾 "Think nothing of it. I won't have our assistant ignore their health while they work..."

🐾 Farrel the black panther always showed up to talk to you during your breaks, often bringing snacks or sweet treats for you to try.

🐾 He is somewhat obsessed with how small you are compared to him. He'd ask you permission to hold your hand in his large one.

🐾 He mewls giddily when your claws come out after he presses your palm, they're so small !!!

🐾 You have a sneaking suspicion he's been putting important files on the higher shelves so he can watch you struggle to reach them and eventually ask someone to help you.

🐾 He asks for your favorite foods so he can buy them for you, but gets frustrated when you say you're fine with anything. LET HIM PAMPER YOU !!

🐾 He will buy you yarn or anything that dangles just to see if you would play with it.

🐾 Almost went into cardiac arrest when he walked by your little office and caught you toying with one of his gifts while working.

🐾 Took photos, shared it to the boys' group chat, everyone liked and saved it.

🐾 "I got this from the new bakery downtown! I saved this strawberry one just for you~!"

🐾 Nikolai the tiger is a pain, a real pain.

🐾 Pesters you when he sees Shigara isn't around to scold him for ignoring his work. He already finished everything for today! He can do the rest later..

🐾 Love love loves teasing you, even if you're just eating your lunch or reading through files.

🐾 Sits beside you then brushes his tail against your tail and sides to make you laugh.

🐾 If you still ignore him, he covers your face with his big fluffy tail, and it's really heavy so it takes quite some time to pry it off of you.

🐾 He helps Farrel with putting your files on high shelves.

🐾 Just like Farrel, he loves how small you are, but in a sense that he's much much stronger and bigger than you.

🐾 While sitting next to you, he'd stretch and show off his muscles.

🐾 Or he'd take off his coat with some excuse that it's just you in the room so he doesn't have to stay in that stuffy thing while he's spending time with you.

🐾 Ignore him too much though, and you get a grumpy, whiny kitten who just wants you to look at him.

🐾 "C'mon kit! I'm just playin' around! Look at me please.."

🐾 Abasi the lion is more of less the leader amongst everyone.

🐾 Your first impression of him was that he would be some nonchalant, leaderly, responsible type, and he is, at least while he's working.

🐾 He's usually busy with all the work he has so you don't see him much, But when he does come, he's all mush.

🐾 He pulls up a chair and leans oh you with a roarish yawn, his surprisingly silky mane brushing your eats, making them twitch.

🐾 That's how he always spends his breaks, resting somewhere near or on you while you both watch some videos on the internet to wind down before going back to work.

🐾 It's like he was born to be lazy and mellow, but sadly, duty calls. At least he can indulge in his true nature with you as his personal pillow.

🐾 He regularly asks how you're doing and if you need any help with work, just to make sure his assistant is getting the appropriate workload of course.

🐾 "Your help is much appreciated by everyone in this team..*yawn* keep up...*yawn* ...the good work..zzzz"

🐾 They have one professional group chat with you in it for work, and another which is only the 4 of them and it's called "(Y/N) Fan CLubb !1!" by Ferral.

🐾 The chat is almost always active.

ARGARAGARG i like this ! no i like this fic ! it took me months but im back making more shit ! im sorryr for being gone so long my papoopoos you must be starving !!!

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (IV)

Happy Holidays! Remember your plans to visit friends and family back in your home country? Scratch that. The Yakuza men have other ideas for you in this cozy Christmas special. And you finally get to meet their fearsome Boss, who has a request for you.

Content: female reader, fluff

[Part 3] | [Part 5] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

You stare at your phone in disbelief, rereading each line and hoping you've misunderstood the kanji. Daitou and Kazuya are quietly frowning behind you, unsure how to help in such a situation. Their lack of response only confirms it.

The brief paragraph is written in bold, red font: Due to weather conditions, all flights are cancelled until further notice. Passengers have been refunded and will need to repurchase their tickets at first convenience.

One glimpse at the last-minute prices and you're certain of it: you won't be going home for Christmas. You slouch and sigh, somewhat at peace with the idea. What else can you do? You might as well get yourself a KFC bucket and stare at the holiday lights in the city center. You and the couples taking cheesy Christmas selfies, who will later wonder about the gloomy loner behind them philosophically crunching on spicy wings.

"Don't look so defeated, (Y/N). You can just spend that time with us instead. We're not such terrible company, are we?" Kazuya jokes, trying to cheer you up.

"We could even go on a trip around New Year."

Your eyes light up in anticipation, the sadness vanishing almost instantly. 

"Can we go to one of those hot spring inns? I've always wanted to visit an onsen." You put your hands together pleadingly. 

"Whoa! Take me out to dinner first if you're that eager to see me naked." The blonde man winks at you smugly. 

"How would I see you naked? The baths are separated, aren't they?" You inquire. 

"We can't go to the regular ones." Daitou pulls his collar slightly downwards, revealing a fragment of his traditional tattoos. True. A yakuza would never be allowed among the civilians. "We'd have to book a private bath, so there wouldn't be anyone else."

You blush at the prospect of being alone with the two men. Kazuya notices your nervousness and is about to continue his teasing, but Daitou speaks before him, unbothered and oblivious:

"Besides, you've already seen me naked. I can tell you Kazuya doesn't look much different. There's nothing to be shy about."

The blonde man can only gawk, taken aback, and you shove Daitou in a flustered panic, fumbling to find an excuse or a change of subject.

He didn't have to make your business public like that, or he could've at least announced it without you being present. Judging by the blonde's speechless reaction, you're guessing he hasn't been told about your sneaky office smooching that led to the occasional sleepover. If you think about it, there's nothing shameful about being intimate with your boyfriend, but...It's not something you're fully accustomed to yet.

As promised, after the coworker incident you were soon greeted with a job offer in the neighborhood. When you went to your old office to discuss the mandatory year contract, the managers nervously handed you an approval for resignation and refused to discuss any details. You were free to go, no penalty or obligation. They had a fearful demeanor and you hoped Daitou didn't dismember anyone involved. Regardless of his means, you were now at the liberty to pursue other careers.

On the other hand, you were rather anxious about your new workplace. You had flashing visions of drug cartels and gambling parlors, with thugs rattling their drinks at you and demanding proper service. Windows breaking and masked men rolling onto the floor, armed to the brim. Ginza hostesses scurrying behind you and asking for help against an angered client. The night before your first day, you restlessly shuffled in your bed, plagued by second thoughts. What could you possibly do for the yakuza? What ghoulish demands would they prepare for you?

Daitou was the one to accompany you in the morning. He showed you to your desk, and you could discern the blurred frames of people angrily discussing matters in the opposing meeting room, separated by a large window. You gulped.

"They're building a new apartment complex two streets down." Your boyfriend mentioned casually, helping you settle with your belongings. 

"Huh?"

"Oh, sorry, I thought you were curious about their talk."

"I mean, I am, but...Is that it?" You gazed at him incredulously. 

"What else? This is a real estate office. Upstairs is the stock investments."

"Oh...Oh...I thought..." You were a little embarrassed. The imaginary scenarios of bloody battles and crimes that kept you awake felt quite ridiculous now.

Daitou seemed to have picked up on your assumptions, because he chuckled and ruffled your hair, following with an explanation. 

"Boss is very strict with our Ninkyo-Do. If you're caught with drugs or petty theft, you're excommunicated. We used to have a bunch of gambling casinos as main income, but nowadays there's too much pressure from the police, ya know? Half of our members aren't even officially registered with the Yakuza, so they can't be tracked. We mostly do stocks and real estate. That's where the cash is. 

Heh. Kinda boring, ain't it? I'm afraid you showed up way after the golden times. Even I'm too young for it. If ya want, I can ask one of the retired seniors to tell you about it. He has a lot of great stories."

You held your tongue from bringing up his frequent killing sprees and just nodded, amused by the fact that his code of conduct didn't register human casualties as wrong. The Yakuza have strict rules of ethics that set them apart from regular mafia. Depending on the Oyabun, or Head of the Family, this chivalrous way of living is reinforced to all members or conveniently swept under the rug. Daitou's Boss seemed to fit in the former category. 

Therefore your "office job" turned out to be an actual office job without the quotes. Although you were often reminded the people passing by weren't your regular salarymen. Many of them were entirely transparent with you, striking up conversations about their latest arrest, or complaining about the poor quality of their pinky finger prosthetic they'd ordered from the Philippines. 

But this isn't the time to reminisce. The prolonged silence is unbearable and one could fry eggs on your hot, burning cheeks. Kazuya is the one to break the awkwardness. 

"Oh, yeah...You coming to the Christmas thing this evening?"

"We'll be there." Daitou smiles innocently, unaware of the discomfort he just caused.

Kazuya raises his eyebrows in surprise and looks at you.

"Did you...?"

"Yup. It's all fine." The dark haired man nods reassuringly. 

"Then I'll see you at dinner, little (Y/N). Don't catch a fever with all that steam blowing out of you." He laughs at your still baffled expression and places his large hand on your head, departing.

Daitou holds the door open for you and you hurry inside. As you both walk down the hallway of the luxurious restaurant, you can't help the nagging feeling that he's once again omitted some vital information. 

"Can you tell me again who else is coming? Just Kazuya?"

"Oh no, it's a Family meeting. So Boss and the rest of the Seniors, too."

You gasp in horror, but before you can scold him, you find yourself behind the canvas screen divider, facing a table of older men in suits, holding their drinks and eyeing you suspiciously. 

"Oi, who the fuck is this, Daitou?" one of them growls. 

"I already told you before, (Y/N). My girlfriend."

"Huh? Did you seriously just bring a civvy to our meeting? I knew you got a loose screw, boy, but this tops it all."

Daitou frowns and steps in front of you, visibly annoyed. 

"If ya got a problem with my woman being here, I can settle it for you, old man. When was the last time you fought someone?"

"'s that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've gotten too comfortable sitting up there and barking orders. Let me remind you why they leave the killings to me."

The thick tension in the air is quickly dispersed by a loud, relaxed laugh. At the end of the table, a heavily scarred man with grey hair is clapping his hands in delight, seemingly amused by the events unfolding. He glances at you and pats a cushioned seat to his right. 

"There you are! Come join us, miss (Y/N). Ignore those rusty grumps, they ain't seen a woman outside a host club." He throws the instigator a brief glare. "Is that any way to talk to my guest, Oota?"

The man swallows dryly and mutters an apology. He goes back to his drink, preoccupied, and the rest follow suit. 

You hesitantly kneel down to your designated place, sheepishly peeking at the mysterious figure. Could it be? As if reading your mind, Daitou places an encouraging hand on your waist and lowers his head to your ear, swiftly whispering "that's Boss" before going to greet the others at the table. 

"I-it's a pleasure meeting you, Sir." You mumble nervously.

"No no, pleasure is all mine. I'm Eiji Ijichi, 8th Head of our Family." 

His introduction is unexpectedly warm and his easygoing way of speaking reminds you a lot of Daitou. The faintest grin threatens to appear, but you cover your mouth. With enough imagination, this could be the equivalent of meeting your in-laws. This is Daitou's family, after all. A criminally scary one, but nonetheless you've been welcomed with open arms.

"Do you drink?" The older man asks you, raising his porcelain cup.

"Naturally." You exclaim and lift your own cup enthusiastically. 

"Attagirl!"

As the night progresses, the men at the table are loosening up under the influence of expensive alcohol. Kazuya seems to be caught in a terribly involved conversation with Daitou and one of their Captains, gesturing dramatically and occasionally raising his tone. You notice your glass has once again been filled by the waitress and take another sip, satisfied with observing their fun from the sidelines. Boss has a similar approach, gazing nostalgically over the rowdy group of thugs.

He reaches for his pack of smokes and you scramble to pick up the lighter, politely bowing as you light up his cigarette. He smiles at your gesture. 

"I see Daitou's trained you already."

He ponders for a moment, gently blowing a cloud of smoke upwards. 

"You'll make a good wife."

"Excuse me?" You question, startled by his sudden remark. 

"It's hard to tell, but I'm getting pretty old myself." He snickers at his self made compliment. "Soon it'll be time to pick my successor. I have no children, unless you count that rascal I picked from the streets." He says as he tilts his chin towards Daitou. 

"I love him like my own kid, but I'm sure you noticed he's a little off. Everyone is terrified of him. You can't have a leader if everyone runs away from him, ya know? I was starting to get worried I'd work myself through retirement. Kazuya can only do so much!

Then he comes up to me grinning like an idiot. I thought, 'There it is. He finally lost it', but instead he asks me if I want to see a photo of his girlfriend. Girlfriend?! I was ready to witness some crusty body pillow, my hand was on the phone to call our Family doctor. He shows me a cute foreigner standing next to him. Now I'm pretty sure he's not smart enough to fake photos like that, so it must be the real deal. 'How the Devil did ya pull this one?' I asked him. Cause listen, I was rather handsome back in my day and I still wouldn't have been this lucky.

And would ya look at that, it's the miss that moved into our apartments! How's the living conditions, by the way? Everything going fine?"

You nod energetically.

"Good, good."

He crosses his arms and nods himself, satisfied. He turns to gaze at you intently, with a face you can't quite read.

"You gotta excuse a drunk old man for rambling so much. What I'm trying to say...well...

Take care of him when he becomes the 9th, will ya? If he has you, I'm sure he'll manage. But don't tell him I said that! You gotta keep them humble. See, that's a lesson for you too. If there's one person the Head of the Family bows to, that's his wife! But I doubt he'd let the power get to his head."

You both turn to Daitou. He just finished pouring more sake to his superior and notices your stare. He blushes slightly and waves, unsure why he's suddenly being observed. 

"I think so, too." You respond, waving back. 

How would that look on a CV? Ane-san of a Yakuza family. 

[bunny-jpeg]

a side of fries

toto wolff

tags: smut/fluff, food (mcdonalds), age gap (26/52), pregnancy, pregnant!reader, gentle sex, sweet & spicy fic, cowgirl position, domestic

it was ten at night on a friday. and most women your age were probably at a bar or some club, they were dancing the night away in uncomfortable heels and short dresses. the loud thump of the bass and the endless drinks.

you could even hear them walking and chatting past your apartment in monaco. but you weren't a club go-er, not since your met toto. and not since you got pregnant.

you were half of toto's age almost to a t, twenty six while he was fifty-two. you both made quite the pair, but you loved him so deeply. you loved in a way that you never felt for anyone else. he was unlike any other man you had ever met.

you actually were the girlfriend of a young engineer and at a race in your home country, you ran into and met toto. while it was an honour to meet someone like him. it wouldn't come till after you and your boyfriend broke up that toto would come back into your life.

"you don't have to." you played with the bracelet around your wrist as you stood outside the expensive restaurant in monaco. he flew you out for the weekend, he told you that he wanted you to go on a real date.

he simply held your lower back and smiled down at you, "i want to, you are not making me do anything i don't want to do, meine prinzessin." then leaned in a little, "may i kiss you?" and that was when you knew that you were in love with toto.

and in turn he loved you more than the stars that dotted the sky.

it was ten at night, toto had been busy in the home office with work for the next leg of the season. he only had a month with you before he was back in different parts of the world. thankfully, you were able to join him for the dutch and italian grand prix.

he was comfortable being on the couch next to you, you tucked into his side. you wore one of his quarter zip sweaters that was loose enough on you to be comfortable. toto had an arm around you while you watched a movie on the television. it wasn't anything too difficult, toto had mentioned earlier that day that he had never seen those "animated spiderman movies" when he caught you looking at baby onesies online. you had your eye on a little spiderman one.

now you were snuggled up as you watched spider-man: into the spider-verse. and while you loved the movie, there was something else on your mind. you leaned up and kissed your lover on the jaw.

"toto." you said softly.

"yes, liebste." he asked as he pulled you a little closer to kiss the top of your head. he then looked at your face and asked, "what are you thinking about?"

"i'm hungry." you rested your chin up against him. you looked at him, "i want mcdonalds."

toto made a slight face before he ran his fingers through your hair, "darling." he said, "you know that isn't healthy for you or the baby." you only pouted further.

"but me and the peanut want it."

toto chuckled, affected by your puppy-dog eyes. he was glad that he married his weak spot. he moved his hand to your middle and rubbed it, the rounded belly you had. he said, "my sweetheart, please. we have food at home."

you pouted, "please... please!"

before toto knew it, he had a pair of proper pants on and a cleaner t-shirt. you were in maternity shorts and one of his t-shirts. he had sneakers on while you were wearing flip flops. toto thought you were beautiful. you were his weakness, he hoped that you didn't make a habit of weaponizing your puppy-dog eyes to get junk food.

you both went down to the car and soon were headed towards the fast-food place. it was odd, in a city with so much food and culture. you wanted greasy fast food. his hand was on your thigh as he rubbed the partially exposed skin.

toto entered the restaurant with you, his hand on your lower back. you went to the self ordering station and he stayed close to you. you looked at him and asked, "do you want anything?"

he raised his eyebrows at you and you tilted your head towards the screen.

he chuckled, "i don't think it'll agree with my stomach at this age... and if you're getting a soft drink, please get something with no sugar. i don't need the doctor giving you or me a hard time because of your sweet tooth."

you ordered a cheeseburger, a large (diet) coke, and a side of fries. you could already taste the grease on your tongue. toto thought it was adorable, how excited you were. how excited you were.

he remained close to you, a protective hand at your waist as you both waited for your food. he looked down at you and asked, "are you alright, liebste?"

you nodded and replied in what little german you knew, "mir geht es großartig." you stumbled over the last part a little and toto beamed at you. obviously the child you were having together was going to be multi-lingual but you didn't want to miss out on their conversations in german. so you've been trying to learn.

he rubbed your back a little bit and you had a hand at your swollen middle. your number was soon called and you got closer to the counter with toto close behind like a shadow.

the employee looked at you and then toto. she looked a bit confused and you just sheepishly smiled as you took the meal. you thanked her before you shuffled out of the restaurant.

when you got in the car and put the straw in your diet coke, before you took a sip you said, "she thought we were father and daughter."

toto made a face as he got into the driver's suit. he reached over and rubbed your middle, "and here i thought that getting you pregnant would solve that problem." he leaned over and kissed you, the sharp taste of coke on his lips before he buckled himself and drove off.

back at the apartment, you happily ate your greasy food while toto played with your hair. he was impressed with you in everything you did, you were the perfect wife for him.

"happy?"

you nodded, with half of a fry sticking out of your mouth. toto leaned in and ate the other half before he kissed you. by the time you finished your meal and got rid of the garbage. he was hungry for something else. as you were partially bent over to throw out the wrappers. he draped an arm over your belly and pressed his chest up against your back.

eventually he rubbed your middle and sighed happily, "you look divine." he pressed you closer to him and kissed the side of your neck, "you carry my child so well. you're going to be an amazing mother."

just as toto couldn't deny you, you couldn't deny him. you giggled a little and turned in his grasp. you kissed him on the lips, the taste of grease still stained them. you shuddered with warmth.

when he pulled away he simply suggested, "why don't we go to bed, you must be tired." he cupped your face with his large hand and smiled.

you ended up on the bed with toto slowly pulling the shirt over your body, exposing your pregnant body to him. he placed a hand on your rounded middle and leaned down to kiss you on the forehead, you could hear him say he loved you against your skin. sex was slowly becoming a little more difficult thanks to the bump. but you'd always find ways to make do. your husband stripped you free of your clothes like a present. his hungry gaze on your swollen breasts. even giving the tender flash a kiss when he got you out of the sports bra.

your body had changed so much these last few months. all because of him, it was quite the boost to his ego. that as his age he could still father a child with such a beautiful, lovely woman. he pulled back while you sat on the bed and admired you. he licked his lips at the sight of you and felt warmth pool through his body.

you sat there naked, it was only fair that he did the same. you admired him, licked your lips hungrily as he joined in you in bed. naked as well. he was still fit for a man his age, he took care of himself. he still had enough stamina left in him to make sure his wife was taken care of. he wrapped his arms around you as he laid in bed. with you still seated upwards, it was the perfect angle for him to kiss you bare bump.

"you're such a good wife, good mother." he said lowly as his hand dipped further down until he was between your legs. his long fingers toyed with your pussy as he kissed at your swell, "from the moment i laid eyes on you, i knew you had to be mine. no one that beautiful should go without. and in return you gave me the most precious gift ever."

he pressed you closer for a moment, his nose squished against your belly. he exhaled deeply. that was why he spoiled you, as a thank you. you were giving him a child. when he pulled away, he had a hand on your hip and watched you move on top of him.

due to the pregnancy, you had to switch up the positions. and while toto loved classic missionary, having you in his lap wasn't too bad either. his hands on your belly as he eyed at you, his dark eyes pulled you in. he licked his lips as you shifted yourself on his lap. then sank down on his cock.

you whimpered a little and it was music to his ears. he loved how you sounded and it only spurred him on further to touch you. to love you. to give his wife all the affection she yearned for. you were all his, and he'd give you the world.

"how are you feeling? sick at all from the food?" he asked. during your pregnancy he wanted to make sure that you were eating well and taking care of yourself. he worried about you, work made it hard for him to be around often. but regardless, he was still weak to your puppy dog eyes.

he held your hips as you moved against him. he wanted to steady you as you pleasured the both of you. so pregnant yet working so hard. toto was a lucky man. he admired you as the pleasure coursed through his body. he asked you once more, "is the movements hurting you?" concern in his voice where the edges were tinged with lust.

"no, no, it's perfect. it's fine. nothing hurts, not even my hips." you said with pleasure seeped deep into your voice as you moved against him even more. you felt the crawl of want through your core and your cunt clenched around his achy cock. you exhaled deeply, "toto, this feels amazing." you chuckled lightly, "even better than the mcdonalds."

toto took a firmer grasp of your ass and said, "that's good to know. that my cock is better than fast food. i'd say that it doesn't add pounds on you, but.." he eyed your swollen belly, "i fear that's not the case." he relaxed a little bit as you continued to move up and down his cock.

you moaned as you held onto his short dark hair and gazed into his dark eyes. he can see the lust heavy in your gaze as you moved up and down his cock. you arched your back a little more and he placed both hands on your swollen middle.

"my wife." he groaned, "i got you all nice and pregnant. spoiled you, made you all mine. a yet you've only become more beautiful. stunning in a ways that keep me hooked to you. i need you, my darling. every inch i can have you." he panted against your warm chest, "i got you pregnant, i made you mine."

his words made your stomach flip as you continued to pleasure him. the feeling was immense, his words were like hot coals against your already heated skin. and it made your head swim with euphoric want. only toto wolff could make you feel revered and adored, but also like a slut. a whore for him to play with. even though he spoiled you in every aspect he could.

it was a duality that made you shudder as you felt the pleasure continue to mount in your core. he kissed at your chest and it made you clutch onto his hair tightly. the thumping in your chest felt faster with each buck of your hips. you were beyond excited, pleasure dripped from your core as you took his entire length.

you felt a haze in your system as you rode him. he happily let his sweet wife keep the pace. let you get to climax first. he cupped your swollen belly, the feeling of the skin under his hands made his cock twitch. even at his age he could knock up someone as beautiful as you. it didn't take much either, just a weekend in the swiss alps... or maybe it was the hotel in monza.... or the back of a cab at an after party a week later. regardless, he got your pregnant.

you tensed up around him, your cunt tightened around his cock as you held on tighter. you came around his length and continued your hot, quick movements.

you near sang his praises as you came, tensed up around him and he pulled you down for a searing kiss. he picked up the pace of his movements and fucked you feverishly till he reached his own climax. the feeling flooded his head and left little room for coherent thought. almost like a primal need to fuck you until a base part of his was satified. so he continued to move his hips once he finished inside of you.

when the clarity hit, he stopped and held your face to pepper your heated skin with kisses. he rested against you and panted heavily, "alright, alright, my treasure. my love." he held your back more tenderly before he guided you fully onto the bed and laid a protective hand at your waist.

"i love you."

"i love you too. now don't think you can always get your way by giving me sex." he playfully scolded you. he shifted himself close to your pregnant form. how warm you felt even from a small gap between you two.

you just smiled at your beloved toto and said, "oh don't worry. i'll use my powers for good." as if you hadn't been using your child to be a very spoiled mrs. wolff. <3

[ditzydoe444]

farmer! jason x porsta!reader

MDNI 18+

she looks like a star, but only on camera ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა

farmer! jason x pornstar! reader

jason todd smut

“you look gorgeous sweetheart,” jason cooed as he continued to prepare the camera. the moment you told him about your career, he was more than happy to help you film your content, and even happier to be a part of it.

you’ve always been a little prissy princess growing up as a city girl, you were spoiled by your parents as a kid and expected everything to go your way. as a result, you decided to go into the country for a change, instead, you got fucked dumb every night by a farmer you met.

jason was no boy, god he was a man in every possible way. the way his skin was sunkissed by the hours he worked under the sun looking after the farm, the way his muscles moved when tending the animals and god his thighs. they were huge and muscular, and the jeans he wore did nothing to conceal it.

in your line of work, you never really collaborated with anyone, only filming yourself, and in the city the men were different. jason easily put them to shame, they weren’t even men, just like prissy boys with high egos who could never make you come.

the only time you’ve ever been with a real man was with jason, and god you were never going back to the city. you were happy just lounging around on the farm baking sweet goods for him whilst he worked around the farm. he was a real man, a man who did all the work and did not complain if you laid in bed all day.

jason placed the camera on the wooden bedside table before he removed his shirt, revealing his tanned broad chest. his body put greek gods to shame. “all set up and ready sweetheart,” he whispered before softly kissing your neck, his slight stubble tickling you.

“now, show me how you put on a show yeah?” he grinned before unbuckling his belt, the heavy leather material hitting the wooden floorboards of the room with a soft thud.

you were already naked on the bed, you were too eager and as a result, you were lying down on the shared bed bare with the camera waiting for jason to return from work. “so pretty sweetheart,” he cooed softly as he filmed you, making sure the camera captured every inch of your body.

he didn’t care about what you did online, god he wanted to show you off to the whole damn world. “you look, gorgeous sweetheart,” he praised as he gently kissed your body, not missing a single spot.

though a man like jason could only handle so much sugar before he came slamming into you. the sounds of his balls hitting your ass echoed through the room, paired with your needy whines. “show them how much you love my cock, sweetheart,” he grunted in your ear, his thrusts deep and hard.

“bet those pretty little city boys can’t fuck you like this huh?” no, no they couldn’t. they could never have you pinned down making you whine and dribble as they pound into you like jason, they could never make you see stars like he did.

“city girl is dribbling over my cock huh?” jason grinned at your messy state, he loved how he could fuck you out of your prim and proper state. “didn’t know we had a filthy whore under the whole spoiled city girl exterior.”

he was so deep inside you, his bulge visible through your stomach and was hitting so goddamn deep, you were convinced he was going to put a baby in you. “such a pretty girl, taking me so well,” jason praised as one of his hands went to your neck, squeezing it slightly.

jason grabbed the camera that was perched on the bedside table filming you, putting it on top of your face. “show the camera how pretty you look sweetheart,” he cooed softly, “give em your best smile.”

and so you did, you couldn’t even see the camera properly, and your vision was blurry with your tears whilst you were convinced you were anything but a pretty sight. “there’s my pretty girl,” jason loved seeing you all fucked out, hair sticking to your forehead and saliva dribbling down your chin was his favourite sight.

jason was a workaholic, always stuck on the farm resulted in years of pent-up sexual frustration, hence the moment he had an opportunity to fuck you, god he washed no second. your folds were puffy and swollen he was gripping onto him like you wanted more, and god, you did.

“squeezing me so damn tight,” he groaned as he watched his cock disappear into your slick folds. “i ain’t going anywhere sweetheart, i know where home is.” home is where he could shove his dick into your tight cunt, calling you the most pathetic names and then kissing your tears away and giving you the best aftercare of your life.

“your viewers are gonna love this new content, and i am too,” he hissed as how tight you were. “bet they would love to watch you fucked dumb?” you whined at the sensation, gripping onto his hard biceps as he continued. “j-jay ‘m close.” you whined before your head fell back to the pillow. you were completely limp.

“gon come for me sweetheart? you wanna show the camera how pretty you look?”, you already knew the answer, the moment jason flipped you over making you straddle him.

“ride me sweetheart, bounce on my cock like a whore.”

and god you did. you decided to put on a show, your head tilting back as you moaned loudly, your bounces hard and eager as your hands gripped onto his chest. “guess that city girl is all gone huh?” oh she was gone the moment he fucked you.

“c-close jay,” you whined as you continued despite the burns on your thighs and legs. “i know sweetheart, i'm gon’ get it on camera alright?” you nodded, a pathetic whine left your mouth the moment he started to bounce you simply just by his hips. one of his hands gripping your hip allowing him to thrust and another holding the camera.

the moment your orgasm came you fell on top of his chest, earning a low chuckle from him. “give ‘em a smile sweetheart, i want to see the smile i like so much.”

despite how tired you were, you were pretty sure if you didn’t smile jason would’ve fucked you until you did, slowly you have a tired smile, and your eyes closed. “next time you’ll let me paint your pretty face on camera sweetheart?”

[oaksgrove]

Welcome Gift

Pairing: König x Reader

Synopsis: After moving to Austria to live with König, you find yourself overwhelmed by the unfamiliarity of a new country. From navigating the bustling streets to adjusting to the rhythm of life in a different culture, your nerves are stretched thin. But König, ever thoughtful and patient, is determined to make you feel loved and at home in every way possible. 

Warnings: none?

word count: 985

Salzburg streets bustled with a quiet charm, the winter air crisp as you and König walked hand in hand. Snow dusted the cobblestones, and warm lights glowed from shop windows, painting the city in hues of gold and white. It was picturesque, but your nerves were a jumble. Moving to Austria to live with König had been a leap of faith, and while you loved him deeply, adjusting to life here was proving to be a challenge.

You found yourself clutching König’s hand a little tighter than usual as you walked. Everything felt so new—unfamiliar faces, different languages, even the way people carried themselves. There was a rhythm to the city, it wasn’t unfriendly, just one you hadn’t quite learned yet, and while it was beautiful, it also left you feeling adrift in an ocean of the unknown.

“You’re quiet,” König said softly, glancing down at you. His Austrian accent, once a novelty when you first met, had become a comforting melody in your life.

“Just… taking it all in,” you murmured, giving him a small smile.

König slowed to a stop, turning to face you fully. His height meant he had to dip his head to meet your gaze, and his piercing blue eyes held a wealth of affection. “If it’s too much, we can take it slow,” he said, his large hand brushing softly against yours. “You’ve already done so much by coming here.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but his warm smile and the steady reassurance in his gaze stopped you. He leaned down slightly, his forehead almost brushing yours. “Let me spoil you today, ja?”

Before you could respond, König guided you toward a shop nestled between two taller buildings. Its display window glittered with jewelry—delicate chains, rings, and gemstones arranged with care. You blinked up at him, your brow furrowing.

“What are we doing here?”

“I told you,” he said, holding the door open for you. “A proper welcoming gift. Something beautiful to match you.”

You blinked, cheeks flushed at his words, your mouth opening and closing as you searched for a response. A welcoming gift? You’d thought the flowers he brought home every day were already more than enough, but König clearly had other ideas.

The interior of the shop was even more charming than the display outside—polished wood counters, velvet-lined cases, and a faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. A kindly older woman greeted König, her tone familiar and warm as she spoke in German. He responded easily, his voice dipping into the fluid rhythms of his native tongue.

You caught most of the exchange—your German was decent, though far from fluent—but nuances still slipped through your grasp. König noticed your tentative expression and gave you a soft smile. “This shop,” he explained, switching back to English, “is special. My mother, my sisters, even my grandmother—they’ve all come here over the years. It’s where my family buys things for… important moments.”

Your heart skipped at the significance of that statement. “König, that’s—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, his grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Now, let’s find something for you.”

He took his time examining the displays, occasionally asking the shopkeeper questions. Eventually, his gaze landed on a pair of earrings— a delicate silver design, teardrop-shaped with a subtle shimmer that wasn’t too flashy. Beside them was a matching necklace, simple yet elegant, with a single pendant that mirrored the earrings’ design. 

Turning to you, he gestured to them. “These. Do you like them?”

“They’re beautiful,” you murmured, your cheeks flushing. “But König, I can’t—”

“You can,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I want you to have something from here. So that when you wear it, you’ll remember how much it means to me that you’re here.”

The sincerity in his words left you speechless, and before you knew it, you were leaving the shop with a small, carefully wrapped box in your hands, almost too much to bear. You turned to König, your voice tentative. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You already have,” he said simply, taking your hand in his as he led you back into the bustling streets.

Later that day, the scent of fresh coffee and pastries filled the apartment as König emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate. On it was your favorite pastry, carefully chosen from a bakery he’d insisted on visiting earlier. He set it down in front of you along with a cup of coffee and a small stack of German vocabulary cards, each one handwritten with neat, blocky letters.

“I know your German is good,” he said, almost shyly, his towering form seeming a little smaller in the soft light of the kitchen. “But I thought these might help with the little things.”

You picked up one of the cards, your eyes skimming over his careful handwriting. “You made these?”

He nodded. “I want you to feel comfortable. To feel… like this is home.”

Your chest tightened at the depth of his thoughtfulness. “König,” you said softly, setting the card down to reach for his hand. “You’re spoiling me.”

He chuckled, crouching beside you so that you were eye level, his large hands cradling yours gently. “Maybe,” he admitted, his smile warm. “But I don’t mind. I want you to know how much you mean to me. You’ve made my life so much better just by being in it. Now that you’re here, I want to make sure you feel loved and safe every day.”

Your breath hitched, and you bit your lip, unable to find the words to express how much his actions meant to you. Instead, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was a quiet reassurance that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

König smiled against your lips, his hands tightening around yours. “Welcome home, meine Liebe,” he murmured.

[sissa-arrows]

Seeing articles and videos about “Israel” arming settlers reminds me of the stories my great grandpa told me about May 8th 1945. How France armed the settlers so they would help the colonial authorities kill Algerians. 45000 Algerians were killed in just a couple days and many more were jailed without proper trial.

The general who organized the massacre said to France “I got you 10 years of peace. But things need to change in Algeria, they failed only because the protests were not simultaneous. The calm is back only in surface, the gap between the two communities deepened. You cannot keep on using violence if you want to keep Algeria and your methods need to change.”

He was right (still a peace of shit cause dude organized the massacre of 45000 Algerians). France didn’t listen to him and 9 years and a half later on November 1st 1954 the Algerian war of liberation started with simultaneous attacks all over the North of Algeria. It started with 1000 men only and 8 years later Algeria was free of French colonial rule.

That’s why I’m convinced that Palestine will be free because Israel is repeating the same mistakes France did. My grandpa keeps telling me that he trust Palestinians to take back their land because that’s the natural order of things and because “Israel” reminds him so much of France. The methods, the lies, the propaganda. And just like Algerian women managed to show to the world what was truly happening and switched the public opinion, Palestinian journalists are showing to the world what’s happening. It cannot be ignored.

Pro Israel aholes reached the point where they have to disguise their protests as protest against antisemitism in order to gather any form of support from the public. Western medias already lost all credibility to the point where they are backtracking a bit. Politicians are backtracking slowly too. Because they are realizing that if they keep up the unconditional support they will fall with Israel (tbh I think they are all falling with Israel either way because whenever the Global South rise the West fall cause the West is unable to thrive without looting and oppressing the Global South.).

Palestine will be free in our lifetime Inch’Allah and we will all share pictures and videos of the liberation. Palestinians are going to rebuild their country and thrive. If Algeria kicked out colonizers after 132 years Palestine can do it because it’s a country of braves. Because nobody can stop a people who fight for liberation when the people are united.

[verricherri]

Diet Pepsi (NSFW///MDNI)

A/N: as promised for 150 followers — MAMA I’M DRAGGING Y’ALL TO HELL 🔥 SKRT SKRT WE GOIN STRAIGHT TO HELL TOGETHER no brakes. no regrets. Warnings: STRAIGHT. SIN - bonus points if you catch the references Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated  ☀️

The movie was over, but neither of you moved.

Old western credits rolled on the screen in black and white, flickering like ghosts. Static buzzed low from the truck radio, half-tuned to a country station. The night air was thick with July heat and leftover popcorn grease. You sat cross-legged in the truck bed, your back resting against the cab, eyes on the stars. Rhett sat beside you, arms resting on his knees, hat pulled low, profile carved by moonlight.

You tossed a popcorn kernel at his boot. Missed.

“Don’t go broody on me now,” you murmured. “That movie wasn’t that sad.”

Rhett didn’t answer at first. Just exhaled slow through his nose, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the horizon like something out there owed him an apology.

“You always get like this after a long week,” you said softer. He didn’t look at you. Just grunted. “And how’s that?” “Quiet. Feral. Like a wolf tryna behave.”

That earned the tiniest smirk. He didn’t argue. Which meant you were right.

You shifted a little closer, knees brushing. “What happened?” He was silent for a second. Then: “Bull bucked harder than expected. Tractor fan belt snapped. Amy’s teacher called. And Royal’s been ridin’ my ass ‘cause Perry won’t show up on time.” You blinked. “Damn. Want me to fight someone for you?” Another smirk. “No need. I can handle it.” “Sure you can.” You leaned in, bumped your shoulder into his. “But still. That’s a hell of a week.” “Hell of a life.”

That made you pause.

The cicadas buzzed louder for a moment. The distant sounds of other cars pulling away from the lot faded into the background, like the whole world was slowing down around just the two of you.

“You ever think about leaving?” you asked quietly. His hat tipped back a little, just enough for moonlight to catch the edge of his jaw. “Every damn day.” And then, after a breath: “But I never do.”

That settled heavy in your chest. Like you’d both admitted something neither of you had the guts to say out loud until now.

You dropped your head to his shoulder for a second. Just a beat.

He didn’t flinch. Just let you rest there, warm and still, the silence between you saying more than anything else.

Eventually, when the screen went black and the static started to sputter, you yawned and stretched. “Come on, cowboy. Let’s get outta here.”

He followed wordlessly, helping you down from the truck bed like you might break. His hand lingered at your waist a little longer than it needed to.

When you finally climbed back into the cab, the bench seat groaned beneath you. You grabbed your half-melted Pepsi from the cupholder, straw bent from chewing. Rhett stayed outside a moment longer, tossing the empty snack tray into a rusted barrel. Then the driver’s door creaked open and he slid in beside you, the cab immediately shrinking with his presence.

He looked tired. More than tired. Like the whole week had sat on his shoulders and wouldn’t get off.

“Long day?” you asked, sipping the soda. He grunted. “Long year.”

The soda hissed as you sucked at the bottom. Loud. Obnoxious. You didn’t mean it to be.

But then Rhett looked at you — and there it was.

That flash of something behind his eyes. Hunger. Regret. Need. Your thighs pressed together instinctively.

“You keep suckin’ on that straw like that…”

His voice was low, scratchy, like gravel and smoke.

“…I’m not gonna make it to touchin’ you proper.”

You blinked. Feigned innocence. Sipped again, lips wrapping slow around the plastic.

“It’s just soda, cowboy.”

His jaw flexed. His knuckles turned white on the wheel.

You kept sipping.

And he kept watching.

That silence stretched — not awkward, not stiff, just charged. Like a wire pulled too tight. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, eyes dropping to where your fingers toyed with the straw.

“You know what you’re doin’?” he asked. “What am I doin’, Rhett?” “Pushin’ your luck.”

You leaned back against the door, the leather hot against your skin. One leg tucked under you, the other pressed close to the gearshift, brushing his knee every now and then. A slow smile curled your lips as you popped the lid off the cup and tipped it toward your mouth, catching a few melting cubes with your tongue.

Rhett’s breath caught.

“Jesus,” he muttered, low. “Don’t do that unless you’re ready to follow through.”

You tilted your head. Set the cup back in the holder, real slow.

“Maybe I’m not the one who needs convincing.”

That was it. The crack in his control.

He turned to face you fully — knees wide, hand braced on the back of your seat, jaw tight.

“Darlin’, I’ve had a week from hell. Every time I close my eyes, it’s your voice in my head. You walk around that ranch like you don’t know what you do to me.”

Your breath caught.

“So tell me,” you whispered. “What do I do to you?”

—

He stared. Long and hard. Then reached between you, took the Pepsi cup — and dropped it to the floorboard with a sharp thud.

“Make me forget how to be decent,” he said.

Then he kissed you.

Not soft. Not hesitant. It was teeth and tongue and a week’s worth of frustration poured into your mouth. You gasped, fingers tangling in the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer as he gripped your hip like it anchored him to earth.

“Been thinkin’ about you like this all week,” he rasped against your lips. “Your voice. Your hands. That pretty mouth wrapped around a straw and me wonderin’ what else it’d feel good on.”

Your hips rolled without thinking. His belt buckle scraped your thigh. His hand slid under your shirt.

“You wanna help me?” he asked, already breathless. “With what?” “Relievin’ the kind of tension only you ever seem to cause.”

His hands were everywhere — not rushing, but searching, like he’d been dreaming about this moment and wanted to map every inch to memory.

Your shirt rode up. His palm found bare skin. Rough fingertips skated your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“You’re real,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw. “You’re really here.” “I’m here, Rhett,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

He groaned — low and deep in his throat, like it physically pained him to want you this bad.

His fingers dipped beneath your waistband, thumb sweeping dangerously low, but he didn’t dive in. No — he paused, dragging his mouth across your neck instead, slow and heavy and frustrating as hell.

“You know what I thought about all week?” “Mmm?” “You. On this seat. Lookin’ at me like that. Legs open. Beggin’.”

You tugged at his belt. Impatient. Breathing shallow.

“So do something about it.”

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

“You got me strung up, girl,” he said, voice hoarse. “Like a horse with no reins. You show up in my head when I’m fixin’ fences. When I’m shovelin’ shit. I swear to God I even got hard in the tractor last Thursday just thinkin’ about your laugh.”

You bit your lip. A shaky laugh tumbled out.

“Didn’t know I had that effect on you.” “You don’t even try,” he hissed. “That’s the worst part.”

Your hand finally got his buckle open, jeans shoved low enough to expose what he’d been aching to give you. He hissed when your palm wrapped around him — hot, thick, needy. His head thudded back against the headrest.

“Fuck, that’s good—don’t stop.”

You didn’t. But your eyes flicked to the floor.

To the Pepsi cup.

You grinned, wicked and slow.

“Still want that release, cowboy?”

He opened his eyes — wild and wrecked — and followed your gaze.

“You wouldn’t.” “Oh, I would.”

Rhett stared at you like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss you harder or crawl out the window and repent.

“You gonna finish what you started,” you said, eyes glinting, “or you want me to get creative?”

He looked like he wanted to say something smart — something about how “you’re trouble,” how “this ain’t how good girls act,” — but all that came out was a rough gasp when you tightened your grip around him again.

The cab was steaming. His shirt was half-off, clinging to his back, skin flushed red all the way down to his collarbones.

And you?

You reached down to the floorboard, plucked the forgotten Pepsi cup, and turned to face him again — bold. Unbothered.

Dead serious.

“Think you can fill it?” you asked, just above a whisper. “Darlin’,” he breathed, “you keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll do it in ten seconds.”

He twitched in your palm, already close, already falling apart.

You kissed his neck. Then slid down between the seats, nestled in the tight space — eyes locked with his the whole damn time. The cup in your hand. His thighs tense on either side of you.

“Just relax,” you said sweetly. “Let me take care of it.”

And then you did.

Your hand moved in tight strokes, wrist flicking with every rise. He was already panting, head back, whispering your name like a prayer he didn’t know he believed in.

“That’s it, baby,” you coaxed. “Give it to me.”

His jaw clenched. He looked down at you, eyes glazed and desperate.

“God—fuck, you’re evil,” he choked out.

You brought the cup up just as his body seized, hips bucking forward, teeth gritted, and he came hard — into the goddamn Pepsi cup.

You held it steady. Like it was sacred.

The silence afterward was broken only by his ragged breathing and the faint slosh of melted ice.

You pulled back, glanced at the cup.

“Guess it’s not diet anymore,” you said, smirking.

He groaned. Covered his face with both hands.

“You are going to hell.” “So are you,” you said, crawling back into his lap. “Might as well ride there together.” “Jesus Christ.” “He’s not in this truck tonight, sweetheart.”

—

You were still straddling him in the driver’s seat, your thighs resting over his jeans, your cheek pressed to his damp collarbone. The air inside the truck had gone still — quiet but charged. Your breath synced up with his, shallow at first, then slow.

The Pepsi cup sat abandoned in the holder again, this time full of sins no amount of holy water could rinse away.

Rhett’s hands were on your lower back. Barely moving. Just holding. As if now that he had you close, he wasn’t entirely sure how to let go.

You brushed sweaty strands of hair off his forehead, your touch featherlight. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just let out a breath — not sharp, not amused, just tired. Bone-deep.

“I’m gonna need a minute,” he rasped, voice gravel-thick. “That was…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Didn’t need to.

His arms tightened around your waist instead, pulling you impossibly closer, like he could hide you in his chest if he just held you hard enough.

You rested your temple against his and let the silence stretch. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t shift.

“Rhett…” you began gently. “Let me talk, darlin’,” he cut in. Not harsh. Just… raw. “Let me just say it.”

You nodded.

He looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming.

“I don’t want this to be just a thing that happened once. Not just ‘cause I had a bad week. Not just some dirty secret we laugh about later.”

You blinked. Sat up slightly. Watched him.

His eyes were red around the edges. Not from tears — from being exhausted and too tightly wound for too damn long.

“I know I’m not the easiest man to be around,” he said. “I keep shit bottled up. I act like I don’t care. But I do. About you. More than I should’ve let happen.”

You reached up, cupped his jaw, thumb grazing the soft stubble along his cheek.

“I care too,” you said. Quiet. No pressure, just truth. “I wasn’t kiddin’. I was already plannin’ on doin’ this again next Friday.”

That cracked something loose in him.

A laugh. Small. Disbelieving. He leaned back slightly, enough to see your face properly, then shook his head with a lopsided smile.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” “Yeah. You love it.” “I really fuckin’ do.”

You kissed him again — slow this time, like you weren’t trying to devour him, just savour him. His lips were warm. Gentle. Less like a wildfire, more like a hearth.

“I meant it,” you murmured against his mouth. “I don’t wanna pretend this didn’t happen.” “Neither do I.”

You shifted in his lap, stretching your legs a little, but didn’t move away. His arms didn’t loosen either. His thumb moved in slow circles against your hip, grounding himself.

He exhaled again, then said, almost too softly:

“Sometimes I think… maybe I wasn’t meant for all this ranch bullshit. Maybe I’m not like Perry, or Royal. I break too easy. I feel too much.”

You stilled.

Because you knew how hard that was for him to admit.

“I like that you feel too much,” you whispered. He glanced at you, brows pinched. “You do?” “Yeah,” you nodded. “It means you care. It means you love hard. It means when you say shit like this…” — your hand ghosted over his chest — “…I believe it.”

Rhett’s throat worked around something thick. You could see it. Feel it.

“Goddamn,” he muttered. “You always talk like that? Or just when I’ve got no blood left in my brain?”

You smiled. Soft and full.

“Only when it’s the truth.”

He leaned back, head resting against the seat, looking at you like you were the only damn thing keeping him tethered.

The radio buzzed softly. A half-song played — something slow and crooning, too low to name, but warm all the same.

“You want me to drop you home?” he asked eventually, voice a little steadier now. “It’s late.” You smirked, teasing again. “Why? You got church in the morning?” “After what we did with a Pepsi cup?”

He snorted. Full-out, shoulders-shaking laughter this time.

You pressed your lips to his jaw. “You’re not drivin’ anywhere yet, cowboy. You need a minute. And maybe a damn shower.” “Oh, I’m aware,” he groaned. “I feel like I just ran twenty laps.”

You chuckled and curled back into him, letting the summer heat cling to your skin like honey.

Outside, the drive-in screen had gone black. The other cars had cleared out. But inside the truck — it still felt full.

Of tension. Of release. Of something new blooming soft between you.

Not just lust.

Something warmer. Messier.

Real.

—

Eventually, you slid back into the passenger seat.

Rhett took his time — redoing his jeans, wiping sweat from his brow, straightening the mess of his hair as best he could. He muttered something under his breath about “never lookin’ at Pepsi the same way again,” and you snorted loud enough to fog the window.

The drive home was quiet.

Not awkward. Not heavy.

Just… settled.

Like the storm had passed and left the air sweeter somehow.

The windows were down. The heat hadn’t lifted much, but the breeze was kind. You reached over once, thumb brushing the back of Rhett’s hand where it rested on the gearshift. He turned his palm over without a word, let your fingers slip between his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When he pulled up in front of your place, he didn’t kill the engine right away.

The porch light buzzed faintly. Moths hovered near the screen door. Crickets chirped loud in the stillness.

You unbuckled, but neither of you moved to say goodbye.

Not yet.

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

The flush had faded from his chest, but his hair still curled damp at the ends. His mouth was a little red. His shirt was wrinkled beyond saving.

But his eyes?

His eyes were calm.

That wild, bottled-up tension was gone. Replaced with something steadier. Something… soft.

“I meant what I said,” you told him. “This ain’t just a one-time thing.” He nodded once. “I know.”

You hesitated.

Then asked, real quiet: “You gonna kiss me goodnight, or you just gonna sit there lookin’ like a man who’s seen God?”

That got a crooked grin out of him.

“I don’t think I saw Him,” he murmured. “But I sure as hell felt forgiven.”

You leaned over the console and kissed him — slow, sure, nothing hurried. Just lips and breath and the silent promise that whatever this was? It wasn’t over.

Not even close.

When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” he whispered, “but I wanna find out.” “You will.”

You squeezed his hand once more, then reached for the handle.

As your door creaked open, he caught your wrist.

“Wait.”

You turned.

He nodded toward the cupholder.

“Please throw that out before you go,” he said, deadpan.

You burst out laughing — full belly, head-thrown-back laughing — and grabbed the cup with dramatic flair.

“Pepsi regrets this collaboration,” you said, bowing. “I regret not wearin’ my goddamn seatbelt,” Rhett muttered. “You nearly killed me.”

You stepped out into the night, walked to the porch with the cup in hand, and flung it into the trash bin by the side gate — sins and all.

When you turned around, Rhett was still watching.

His hand rested on the wheel.

But his smile?

That thing could've lit up the whole county.

You lifted two fingers in a lazy salute.

“Next Friday,” you said.

He nodded.

“You bring the soda,” he replied.

[occamstfs]

Change Your Tune: Alvaro

Calvin and Eric are thrilled to visit the CYT Music Festival to see their favorite band reunite. After losing each other in the crowd, Calvin's mysteriously drawn to a Latin artist he's never heard of. With each step closer it’s clear there's no turning back.

An exciting collab with Misc TFs! Check out Eric's journey towards country music fandom Here ! For my part, hope you enjoy my first RC/cultural change in a while! Tossed a brief punk TF in this bad boy too ;) Hasta luego! -Occam

One could not ask for a better day to visit a music festival. Calvin isn’t exactly the type of person to attend something as hectic and high-traffic as the Change Your Tune Festival, but when his friend, Eric, heard that North Side was reuniting he knew they had to go. It had been their favorite band back in high school and there was no way they’d miss this one-time reunion performance.

Neither man was quite expecting just how massive the event would be however. They were so focused on their once-favorite band’s reunion that they paid little attention at all to the other artists taking part and were shocked to find out how eclectic the lineup was. From dozens of disparate sections it seems about any genre under the sun could be found. It was a wonder the fairground even had space for all these main stages. 

For a second Calvin is lost as he stares out across the sea of bodies, melodies from every set apart stage demanding his attention. Metal screams, EDM pulses, and R&B beats clash in the air, leaving Calvin wondering what a bizarre experience they’re going to endure until North Side’s set is set to start. Not as enthralled by the din of contrasting music, Eric bumps Calvin’s arm and shouts to be heard over the crowd, “You wanna head to North Side’s stage right now and sit through whatever’s there to make sure we get in the pit?”

Calvin nods and the pair take their first steps into the fairground proper before realizing they have no idea which stage North Side is actually set to perform at. Cogs turning in their minds, both men decide on different courses of action to find it. Nerves at missing the band superseding common sense, they head off in different directions in search of answers. Calvin wanders over to a map while Eric sees a crowd of festival-goers clearly dressed for North Side and approaches.

Only when he makes it to the map standee does he turn around to see if Eric’s still with him. Calvin finds nothing but the crowd. “Shit.” Looking from cowboy hats to mohawks he adds finding his friend to the to do list before turning to easily find the stage on the map. Mystery one solved with more than enough time to spare, he then sets to finding Eric.Checking his phone he finds that his phone has absolutely no service from the sheer volume of people at the festival.

Gritting his teeth he guesses he’ll just find Eric the old fashioned way and wades into the crowd. Assuming they went in completely opposite directions he feels confident that he can stumble across his friend fairly easily, and if not he’s sure they’ll bump into each other in the crowd for North Side. There’s certainly no real danger here as there seems to be a surplus of security wandering around, he thinks about asking one of the burly men if they could help find Eric though he promptly reconsiders as the sheer presence of the men spooks him away.

No he’ll just brute force it. Worming his way through the crowd, he notices that as he nears one of the stages that the crowds are far more homogenous than in the thoroughfares, perhaps unsurprising given fans are likely to congregate near their chosen bands, but something about it seems odd. Given the CYT Festival’s whole multi-genre vibe you’d think there would be some crossover. Thinking on that matter for a few moments as he pauses his search he realizes that he’s overthinking as immediately in front of him there’s a punk who seems to be quite taken with some real squeaky-clean indie pop.

Calvin almost laughs seeing the man’s liberty spikes sticking out above the crowd of bleached lengthy shags and shoddy perms. Swaying with the crowd, Calvin pauses to appreciate the idea of finding something you enjoy where you’d never expect it. Suddenly he’s bumped from behind by another presumed punk, far more nervous than his smiling cohort enjoying the sanitized tunes. The leather jacketed man clutches Calvin’s shoulders, “Hey! You- Have you seen my friend?” 

At first Calvin stares at him with a dumb look knowing how easy it is to see the punk in the crowd, “Sure dude? He’s right over, uhm?” Upon turning back to point, Calvin hesitates as he sees where the liberty spikes were once held high is an inconspicuous brown flop of hair, bobbing to the music. Stumbling over his words he turns back to the man who has now let go of his arms where he sees something even stranger. The man who was seconds ago possessed with anxiety at losing his friend is staring blankly ahead, Calvin would’ve sworn his shaky eyes were brown. 

Put off by the strange punk, Calvin awkwardly smiles and walks away, unaware as the man’s leather jacket shifts into a half-opened beachy button up as its sleeves fall off. Exposed to the open air his thin body begins packing on weight as his mohawk droops before cascading down his shoulders into a breezy curtain, as unassuming as every other aspect of his new personality.

 Uncomfortable in the strange crowd of this droll artist, Calvin spills back into the walkway and hopes Eric did not have the misfortune of talking with those bleary eyed, must-be stoned pop fans. Fingers crossed his friend is at the next venue, Calvin begins to scan the flow of festival goers once more before he’s distracted by a song he’s never heard calling for him over the throng, wholly demanding his attention.

Everything in the world suddenly feels muted besides this far off melody. His waking mind attempts to steer him back on track, to try and get him to return to the task of finding Eric so they can get to their concert, but suddenly that seems a distraction from discovering whatever delightful melody is pulling at him. He stumbles forward, the crowd almost totally parting to allow him to drift onward. In no time at all he finds himself outside the stage for some Reggaeton artist, Alvaro Altuve.

The young man shakes off the surreal pull the music has on him as he realizes he has never heard of the artist. While not the most worldly man, Calvin is incredibly online and prides himself on having at least a passing knowledge of just about anything he can scroll across. 

On top of that, he has friends who are absolutely into the genre and yet he’s somehow never even seen the name before. Clearly everyone around him has] as a large swath of the crowd behind him begins filing towards his stage. All the while, as Calvin continues to wonder how he’s not heard of this man, even pulling out his phone to frustratingly fail to search him, does his music continue to worm its way into and through his head.

Eventually he’s accidentally pushed by the surge of apparent Alvaro fans and stumbles with them, closer to the stage. Irritated at being manhandled, Calvin huffs to himself before letting curiosity get the better of him and opts to go with the flow. Arriving, he finds the stage empty, the Alvaro in question apparently isn’t set to take the stage for about half an hour, and yet the crowd is ecstatic for the instrumental recording blaring from the stage. Calvin tells himself he doesn’t get the hype, he tells himself he isn’t really enjoying the beat pumping through him. And yet-

He dances, he slams and grinds into the people nearby, he is moving like he never has done before. With speed and strength he shouldn’t be able to summon. Seconds lost to the unsung melodies trail into minutes as he experiences ecstasy from the looping track of an artist he doesn’t know a single thing about. The only thing breaking him out of the ecstasy is when he realizes the tunes begin to feel familiar. When he finally notices that his mind is slowly adding the lyrics. Starting like the buzz of a mosquito, soon enough his mind fills in lyrics in a language he can scarcely understand.

As real as the beats bumping in his chest, Calvir’s mind begins to ache as líricas begin to flow freely through him. He has to concentrate to still his lips from mouthing along. Words that fit perfectly with the ebb and flow, with the drumming pumping bass that lights his chest on fire. His vision flickers with the beat as he clutches at his chest, worried he’s experiencing some form of psychosis. There he finds that it’s not in his mind, something has begun to change. His outfit is entirely different.

Calvir feels bare sweaty skin where his flannel once hung, where it should still be. His hands grasp at a chest like they’ve never been able to before, bouncing with the increasingly familiar beats his body has begun to grow and new pecs are not left out. He feels the scratch of curls pricking against his palm as he tries to tune out his mind’s automatic addition of lyrics.

His mind returns to the two punks he saw not long ago, pupils flickering to the crowd around him; he can’t help but recall how concern left the man’s eyes as he too began to listen to that swill. Looking back he remembers an eyebrow piercing falling away as notched eyebrows filled in. How he could see the man's hair begin to restyle itself. Looking down at his own new chest he sees how around each of the new hairs lancing out of his heavier chest his skin almost looks patchy. As if it were splattered with a light brown paint.

Empowered by a new rising fear, Calvir fights back and begins to push his way out of the crowd. Gritting his teeth he’s unaware that his face has begun its own metamorphosis. His paltry blonde excuse for facial hair that has long been cut back to hide his inability to truly grow a beard returns with a vengeance. His upper lip twitches as the few thin hairs decorating it begin to lengthen, darken, and multiply. With each ambling step towards the edge of the crowd a new mustache thickens before it is similarly joined by a small goatee poking out of his chin. 

In no time at all his jaw and mouth are decorated with a facial hair combo that he has long admired. Wiping sweat from his face he feels them scratch against his arm and is stunned as he realizes he has continued to change even after blocking out the music that had him in its grasp. Looking at his arms it’s clear that the changes haven’t slowed in the slightest. 

The patchy spots of tanned skin have continued to expand, his arms too are similarly being enveloped as they join his chest in bulking larger. His hands shake as he sees veins trailing down biceps bulging heavy with muscle, he feels sweat drip down the side of his chest as his garden of pit hair spreads and thickens into an onyx dark jungle of curls.

Finally escaping the horde of Alvaro fans, Calvar stumbles over the barrier and stands to his feet. Grasping at the flimsy barricade he takes stock of his changed body, how muscle moves under his tight brown skin with the slightest movement. He rubs a scratch on his waist from the fall and feels his rough pubes crest into a treasure trail launching upwards towards his powerful chest. He doesn’t need to see his reflection to know his hair has likewise changed. 

“Qwhat es-” Calvar clutches at his thicker throat as he hears a deeper voice rumble from his chest. Eyes wide with fear, he tries again, hoping against anything that it was a fluke, a frog in his throat, “No, I’m not- No soy-” His eyes flicker across the crowd to find that, just like himself, they have begun to change. Their clothes and bodies continue to morph into whatever the music commands, the perfect audience for Alvaro Altuve to perform for. 

Something in Calvar’s chest flutters as the idea is more than alluring to him. He feels himself longing to give into the music once more as it rises in volume. Beyond that, he feels a burning desire to perform. When his subconscious begins to populate the beat with words once more his mouth can’t help but vocalize. It just feels right. He feels a burning urge to move, not the aimless ecstatic ambling dance of a fan however. No, he feels choreography ingrained into his bones yearning to burst free. 

Calvaro can scarcely stop himself as his legs and arms move to enact it. With an iron grip still on the stage’s barricade however he manages to stay strong. “I have- Teng- ohhh” Tanned hands fly to his face as in his mind the line between languages blurs, while still fluent in English quickly his native tongue is usurped, replaced by español.

As each thought twists and alters into his new tongue, so too does the content begin to shift. Fingers scratch down his face as his hands fall in confusion, rushing past thick dark eyebrows before rubbing a jaw sharper and increasingly covered by stubble as his goatee expands to cover his whole face rapidly connecting with sideburns inching down from his newly black hair.

“¿Tenía que- I had to find? Encontrarlo?” Try as he might, as the hair on his chest thickens and expands to cover his built chest, glistening under the sun. Blearily looking around as he tries to remember who or what he was looking for as his back cracks taller, Calvaro is distracted by the swell of the crowd. He feels the bass of the speakers bumping through their bodies, pulsing through his skill. Pushing its way to the front of his mind as his figure continues filling out is the realization that they are all cheering for him. They are all waiting for him.

His lips twist into a smile and he whispers to himself in his sultry, rough new voice, “para mí…” Suddenly members of the crowd begin pointing in his direction and their shouts begin to rise even higher. Alavarooo- Clicking his tongue his shy smile turns into a smirk as he watches the fans, his adoring fans lose their minds at nothing more than his sheer presence. 

Using his wide hand, he sensually rubs down the whole of his body with a wink and watches them shudder. Suddenly feeling a bulky mic in his back pocket, Alvaro knows what he must do. Memories of Eric totally fall to the wayside, buried deep alongside every other memory of being Calvin Dalton. No. There’s only one reason he’s here, and that’s to give his fans the performance de sus vidas.

He sprints alongside the barrier running to the stage, longer legs carrying his star-powered self to the stage. He shouts into the microphone and even then it’s difficult to be heard over the adoring cheers of the crowd, “Ayay- ¿Todos listos, mis all stars?” the little pet name is accented, as all his English is despite his fluency, though he knows that only makes him all the more alluring to his audience estadounidense. 

And with that he stands on stage, allowing the cheering of the crowd propel him into his final form, who he is, who he has always been. Suddenly joined by his banda and a crew of dancers, Alvaro Altuve begins his performance. With each new song his identity is sealed. With each flex and provocative, thrusting move the crowds wail and fuel his transformation even more. Even his time at the festival this very day is wiped away, replaced by warming up in his dressing room, flirting with other performers at this festival to end all festivals.

On the way to this very performance he passed some American band arguing. Dressed in some early 2000’s get up, something at the edge of his mind cried out to go get an autograph but he couldn’t say what. Why would he after all, he’s not in any state to ask for an autograph from some emos gringos. He’s Alvaro Altuve, and he’s got a show to put on.

Epilogue written with Misc TFs:

Rick sighed as he walked up to the bar, quickly ordering another shot of whisky and a beer. He glanced over at the group of good ol’ boys he’d been shooting the shit with all night - Jeb, Cletus, and Earl. They were all decked out in checkered shirts, faded jeans, and ball caps. Just like him now. It still felt so natural, even if some part of him couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly seemed…off about the whole situation.

“Why do I feel like I’m just actin’ a part?" he wondered to himself, frowning slightly, "Like I’m wearing someone else’s skin." 

Shaking his head, he tried to push the strange thoughts aside. Where were these thoughts coming from? Where else would he want to be? He was just a good ol’ boy enjoying a cold one with the boys after a kick-ass country concert. His thoughts were interrupted as a new song started playing in the bar. Rick knew this song… knew this band… a small smile gracing his lips.

"North Side.” He muttered, his foot tapping to the beat of the music, “Well I’ll be…”

He felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him- a yearning for something he couldn’t quite understand in his slower mind. And as the music continued to strum at some past memory, the redneck couldn’t help but notice the striking Latino man with soulful eyes and a captivating smile, clearly enjoying the song as much as he was. 

“Well, would ya look at that." Rick muttered under his breath, "Seems like that fella’s got good taste in tunes, at least.”

Compelled by a force he couldn’t explain, Rick walked over to the man. His thoughts, once focused on music, instead shifted as he drank in the sight of the handsome Latino. The way he smiled, the way his dark hair was styled, the way his shirt hugged his muscles. Rick felt his dick stir.

“Howdy there, friend," Rick drawled, tipping his hat politely, "Name’s Rick. Can’t help but notice you seem mighty fond of this here tune, same as me.”

Alvaro looks up at the man, “Buenas noches. The name’s Alvaro.”

Rick’s eyes flash with recognition, “You mean the Alvaro? Like Alvaro Altuve? I reckon I recognized you from somewhere!”

Alvaro grinned, “Always happy to meet a fan.”

Rick paused for a second, captivated by the singer’s smile. The two stared at one another before Alvaro beckoned him to take a seat at the bar. Rick happily accepted the two chatting it up, their conversation flowing naturally- like two old friends. Their knowledge about North Side and their interest in the band not fitting with their outward appearance.

“I would’ve never expected you to like North Side.” Alvaro laughed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He chuckled, throwing an arm around the man’s shoulder. They both blushed at the mere touch, and Rick pulled his arm away, “Well, I reckon I was always a fan, I think.” Rick shrugged and Alvaro grinned.

“Makes sense! You were the one who introduced me to them after all.” Those words hung in the air, the two became silent and stared at one another- their expressions shifting, their eyes conveying a faint recognition.

Rick, Alvaro knows Rick. He doesn’t know how he does but something deep within him pangs with familiarity or deja vu. Judging by the expression on the cowboy’s face it seems as if there’s some pang of memory behind his eyes as well. Alvaro stares at the fan wondering if he just saw the man at his concert or something but knows that dressed like he is, that cannot be the case, and then he sees his lips struggle to say, “C- Calv- Calvin?”

At once both men flash back. They were having lunch together, as they have done countless times throughout the years. Eric sees his friend who could scarcely put two Spanish words together, Calvin sees his bestie that would never be caught dead in a cowboy hat. They’re just talking shit as friends do when Eric gasps at a notification on his phone, “Dude- North Side is back!”

Before they left the table, the pair had bought tickets to the CYT festival and had begun planning what they were going to wear. Not for a moment wondering what else they’d care to see at the festival, why should they? They were going to see their favorite band of all time and they were going to do so together. 

Together. 

Back in the present as they look at each other in their new forms. Alvaro sees the sweaty, hairy chest of the good old southern man in front of him. Rick sees the effortlessly alluring manicured body of a latin rock star staring back at him. Together has a different spot in both their minds as they hear a grindr notification go off somewhere in the distance. Might as well see what their new bodies can do.

As quick as their feet can travel they’re in Alvaro’s trailer. Attempts to trawl out memories from who they were are fruitless or painful, so instead they delight in the present. The artist cannot believe how enticed he is by the smell of cheap whiskey and cheaper beer on the man’s breath. Rick is less discerning as he hungrily delights in the sweaty musk of the man who was on stage not all that long ago. 

Rick’s rough beard scratches against Alvaro’s neck as he takes a deep breath, he hears a deep whisper from the performer, “volve loco, vaquero.” He growls and his arms shake as he sees no reason to not obey man. Music playing in the background rapidly shifts from Alvaro’s own album, to the b-sides of the Blue Sky Dreamers, to the music that brought them into these new lives, North Side. Before fading altogether and leaving them alone with the sound of their bodies.

With each passing moment in the heady enjoyment of their new selves they feel their identities cemented. Rick’s clean-pressed closet wiped away for life on a farm, his pen-pushing 9-to-5 is nothing compared to the outdoor lifestyle he far prefers. Alvaro’s whole country of origin irrevocably changed, while he loves the life he’s found in the states they will never be where he’s from.

With each thrust they bury their past lives. Rick is and always has been a rough and tumble, rugged man. The rockstar life may be new to Alvaro, but he has always been a musician, even when he was just a small-town artist playing in cantinas. Despite their pasts being erased and their new lives becoming the only reality they know, they remain together. 

Sweatily making out in a trailer as Alvaro struggles to stop the cowboy from leaving cum stains on his stage outfit, when they are together something just feels right. While everything in the world around them may point otherwise, when they are in each other’s arms, everything just seems to make more sense. Even after they’re done having their fun, something remains between them, pulling them together. 

Sheepishly eying the cowboy as he pulls up his Levi’s, Alvaro doesn’t want to let him go, “Oi, vaquero?” The cowboy looks up thankfully, he’d never say as much but even life on the ranch doesn’t hold a match to the past hour with Alvaro, “Queiro- Do you wanna have lunch?” 

“Thought chu’d never ask-”

Neither would’ve guessed what their relationship would evolve into. Initially, it was the talk of the town. The Latin heartthrob and the rough-and-tumble country boy seemed like a totally unlikely couple. Some called it a publicity stunt, others whispered that it would never last. But through it all, Alvaro and Rick stood strong, their bond growing deeper with each passing day.

Alvaro strummed a guitar softly, while Rick leaned back in his chair, a contented smile on his face. The radio playing softly in the background- the familiar beat of North Side’s music playing.

“Ya know," Rick said, breaking the comfortable silence, "I still can’t believe we went from two strangers at a bar to…”

“To this," Alvaro finished, setting down his guitar and taking Rick’s hand in his own, "And I wouldn’t have it any other way, mi amor.”

The two held each other closely, while North Side continued to play in the background.

Find Eric’s side of the story here !

[tiredandoptimistic]

I've seen the take floating around that Henry's death at the end of season three was unnecessary, so now I'm feeling the need to ramble a bit about why it had to happen that way.

We all know that the vibes of MASH gradually shift over the run of the show, and that the first three seasons are a lot more lighthearted overall than the later ones. More Requiem for a Lightweight, less Death Takes a Holiday. While the show is never exactly "hijinks at the front" and does have some early episodes that lean into darker themes (such as, famously, Sometimes You Hear the Bullet), it's still more comedic than dramatic in the early years.

Because of this tone, the audience is set up to expect things to be a little angsty here and there but still turn out alright overall. Sure, soldiers die all the time (even named ones like Tommy), but all the main characters were supposed to get out okay. From a Doylist perspective, they need to survive because they're leads on a show and they're getting paid to come back regularly. Not Henry though. McLean Stevenson chose to leave after season three, and the writers had to give Henry a proper sendoff.

I'm not feeling the need to go on a tangent right now about how great Henry is, but rest assured that I love his character. The show makes it clear that he's the one with the most waiting for him back home. Sure, Trapper and Frank have wives and kids too, but Henry gets multiple episodes about how much he loves Lorraine and even home videos of his happy domestic life. Plus, he's got a baby son born while he was overseas, someone he desperately wants to meet. Out of all the characters, he's got the most American dream and apple pie life waiting for him across the ocean.

All of that makes Henry a great person to send home, and it's why he could never make it there.

Once Stevenson decided to leave MASH, Henry was fated to leave as well. He got the discharge letter and the celebrations; everything all the characters had been dreaming off since their deployment. It would have been so easy to just let him return to his family. He's off the show either way, why couldn't the writers let him be happy? Because it's a fucking war, and even a plane home doesn't guarantee anyone's safety. The show needed to kill Henry off to remind the audience that they are watching a tragedy dragged across dozens of countries and millions of people. The closer they let him get to home, the more pointless his death was in the grand scheme of things; the more important it became.

Killing Henry is how MASH fully lived up to it's own expectations. The show is full of little tragedies and people with rich lives who never returned to live them, but we never really felt that loss as more than a concept. Sure, Tommy is instantly likeable and his death his deeply impactful, but we the audience only get the implication of Hawkeye's deep friendship with him. Henry is someone we've come to love on our own. All these deaths are pointless and cruel, none of them had to happen. Because we've spent three seasons getting to know and care for Henry (and are aware that the writers could have easily let him live), we finally feel that pointlessness.

Going forward after Henry's death, nothing is quite the same. Death is suddenly a true option, and no one is entirely safe from needless tragedy. When Trapper goes home and Hawkeye doesn't get to say goodbye it isn't just sad because he can't throw his friend a party or give him a hug, it's heartbreaking because he doesn't know that Trapper will even make it back to Boston.

Going home will always be the ultimate goal of all the characters, but it can never be a simple "get out of trauma free" card. The war will always follow them.

[shizuturnspages]

They say that capitano isn't actually dead his soul if just resting and is just a matter of time until he returns. Bro imagine when the reader leaves and they're probably in another part of snezhnaya or another country and one day while day were just enjoying life they see capitano... At first they thought they were hallucinating until he spoke

Ding-Dong, The Tin Can’s Back

You were living your best life.

Ever since Capitano’s glorious sacrifice, you had been thriving. No more ridiculous training drills at sunrise. No more stern lectures about “discipline” and “proper behaviour.” And most importantly? No more Capitano.

You had escaped the Fatui stronghold and were finally free.

So, there you were, sitting outside a quaint little café in Fontaine, sipping on a ridiculously overpriced tea, minding your damn business.

Then—

A massive shadow loomed over you.

You froze.

A deep, familiar voice rumbled, “… You seem well.”

Your tea cup slipped from your fingers and shattered on the ground.

Slowly, painfully slowly, you turned your head.

And there. Standing in front of you. Clad in that shiny-ass armour. A presence so unmistakable that it sent a shiver down your spine—

CAPITANO.

ALIVE.

Or—undead? A ghost? A hallucination?!

Your brain completely short-circuited. You squinted. Blinked once. Twice.

“… Nope.” You turned back around. “Nope. Not real. I refuse. My life is good. My life is peaceful. My life does NOT include my legally dead war criminal babysitter.”

Capitano did not disappear.

“… Are you ignoring me?” he asked.

You picked up a spoon and stared into the reflection like a lunatic. “I am hallucinating due to prolonged exposure to childhood trauma. It’s not real if I don’t acknowledge it.”

Capitano sighed. That deep, exasperated sigh you thought you’d never have to hear again.

“I see you have not changed.”

Your eye twitched.

Very, very slowly, you turned back toward him and stared.

This was not happening. This was not happening.

Your eye twitched so hard you nearly pulled a muscle.

This had to be a prank. Or a fever dream. Or maybe, just maybe, hell was real, and you were being punished for every time you’d cussed him out.

You grabbed a random bystander. “EXCUSE ME, DO YOU SEE THE SEVEN-FOOT-TALL MURDER MACHINE IN FRONT OF ME?”

The terrified Fontainian nodded furiously.

“Oh, shit.”

"You thought you could escape?"

"I FUCKING DID!"

"You thought I was dead?"

"YOU FUCKING WERE!"

"… Incorrect," he rumbled, stepping closer, "here I am."

You took one deep breath. And then:

"WHY CAN’T YOU JUST STAY DEAD?!"

Capitano said nothing. He just tilted his head.

"Because I have unfinished business."

You pointed aggressively. "YEAH, WELL, FINISH IT SOMEWHERE ELSE!"

But he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

You threw a baguette at his head.

It bounced off his helmet with a sad little ‘bonk.’

Capitano did not react.

Silence.

Then, very calmly, he asked, “… Was that supposed to do something?”

You stood up so fast, your chair fell over. “I—NO—HOW—WHY—”

Your entire body short-circuited. You were 99% sure you were having a stroke.

And then, Capitano delivered the final blow.

“I assume you still remember your combat training. I expect you back at the stronghold by dawn.”

Your soul physically left your body.

You grabbed your bag, turned around, and sprinted into the Fontaine harbour.

Capitano watched as you dove straight into the ocean, disappearing beneath the waves without hesitation.

A Fatui agent hesitantly approached him. “… Sir, should we—?”

“No,” Capitano said. “They will return.”

The agent frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

Capitano tilted his head.

“… They left their wallet.”

And that was the day you became Fontaine’s first-ever international drowning attempt survivor.

[parkersbliss]

Wait! I have a request! Would thou spare a mere mortal a moment?? 😭🤚

So like, it’s canon that Keegan is quiet and reserved. And it’s very likely that Keegan has never had a proper romantic relationship, considering he was 16 during Operation Sand Viper. Which means he joined the military when he was like 14-15 something (I kinda hc that he came from a rough home, so he joined the army to get away from it, very similar to Simon “Ghost” Riley). Not to mention that their world is borderline apocalyptic after the ODIN strikes

We all know that, so! How would Keegan act if he fell in love with teammate!reader?? Like would he realize it immediately? Would it take a while for him to realize that this warm buzzing feeling is love? How would he act? What he be like when in love? And how would he act when he realizes that he actually is in love?

I shall spare you the rest of my life, anon. THIS is all I want for keegan. my baby with a knife :') hopefully you like it!! and yes all your ideas are canon idc

SYMPATHOMIMETIC

PAIRING: Keegan Russ x F!teammate!Reader WARNINGS: mentions of blood, angsty but happy ending!! sad keegan backstory A/N: not sure how this is both fluff and angst guys but I love him

Masterlist | Taglist | Requesting (open for cod!)

Keegan considered himself to be an intelligent guy. He felt like the years he’d spent being hardened in the military, learning lessons the public wouldn’t give him an advantage. A different perspective on life and the decisions you make. He also just happened to think very highly of himself. He wouldn’t brag about himself. He just had self-confidence. 

Keegan knew he was good at his job. He took pride in that. 

So why was it then when you came around, his brain fell out of his skull? 

His shots were a little slower, his aim off by a few millimeters and sweat dripping from his brow. 

It was only you. His teammate, comrade, brother in war, co-worker even. Yet somehow, you had a sympathomimetic effect on him. 

His heart beat faster, pupils dilated, and skin flushed from the peripheral vasodilation of his arteries. He was glad he was dressed head to toe, with only his eyes peeking out from the rough fabric of his mask. That way, you didn’t see what a fool you made of him. 

He found it annoying, really. 

He never intended to fall in love, but he wasn’t opposed to the idea either. It was a concept that had existed in his mind,but something he never truly sought after. 

Then again, how could he when most of his life was in the Marines, and then half the population was wiped off the country? 

Keegan’s concerns lay elsewhere than finding a partner. 

When you joined the team, it became more… relevant to him. Again, there was no active pursuit of you. He spent most of his time shoving down the warm, buzzing feeling. Missions required precision, and he always delivered.

He wasn’t rude at all. In fact, you would say that Keegan was your favorite Ghost member. (You wouldn’t actually say it so you don’t offend the Walker brothers.) To you, he was the best companion to have when the world was falling apart. You can see the familiar glint of his scope on the building across from you. It’s unmoving, a steady gleam in your sight. 

“Any activity?” His voice crackles through your earpiece. 

“Negative,” You said with a sigh, eyes focused on the floors of the building ahead of you. He doesn’t say anything else. You know he won’t. That was Keegan. He was just quiet. A conversation with him required your prompting first. You don't mind. 

“You know what I miss?” You asked. 

He hums back in response, the hint of a questioning tone at the end of the tone. 

“The movies. The temporary escape from this shit reality.” 

“You got one in mind?” 

“Juno.” 

There’s a scoff. “Juno?” Keegan repeats, that light teasing tone you know means he’s smiling. 

“Have you seen it?”

“Negative. Educate me.” 

He wasn’t a flirt. Not really. He spends a few months getting to know you. What you like, what you don’t, your beliefs, your dreams. He does it unknowingly. Keegan was genuinely interested in everything about you. 

When you invited him into a conversation, he’d find a way to make it about you. Then, when he found himself in an old Blockbuster store, searching for a movie called Juno, it hit him. 

Keegan was in love with you. That was a fact. He would search old record stores for your favorite artist on vinyl, department stores for a sweater you’d love, and an old carnival for the biggest stuffed toy. All to see the smile on your face because he knew your real dream was beyond his powers. You wanted the world back to normal. A piece of chalk in your hand, drawing flowers on your parent's driveway in the middle of summer. A life that was never coming back to either of you. 

So he resorted to the small things.  

Then there was the constant fretting over you on missions. The hand on your waist as his cerulean eyes chased your body for any sign of damage. They’d trace back up to meet yours as you grabbed his arm, assuring him you were okay. 

Keegan knew it was obvious he was in love. If any consolation from Hesh or Merrick was enough. They would howl with laughter, claiming he might as well tattoo his love for you on his forehead. 

To which he replied, “You still wouldn’t see it.”

Truthfully, Keegan didn’t care about it being “obvious.” The only thing he cared about was you. A smile on your face, the warmth of your body, the chime of your laughter at something he said. 

So yeah, it was obvious he was in love. How could he not be? You were proof that maybe when everything is said and done, there was a future with the sun beating down on his back as he mowed the lawn. A cliche dream, but his, nonetheless. 

He’d finally tell you that when your hand didn’t grip his to tell him you were okay. Instead, it was soaked in bright red blood as you coughed more up.

He felt like a kid again, growing up in a home where he couldn’t do anything to help his parents. When he was forced to watch the love seep out of them. The fighting, screaming, missed baseball practices, and award shows. The neglect forced his older brother to leave him only in a broken house. 

Everything was falling apart, and he didn’t know what to do.

“Establish bilateral ACs, hang a liter of fluids…” The medics shout, scrambling over one another as Keegan stands there stupidly. 

As stupid as the first time he saw you. 

You reach for him, eyes wide and scared. And in a second, he’s there. He’s gripping your hand, barely registering the medic’s order to not disturb the IV. 

“I love you,” he says.

He watches the way your lips turn up, eyes crinkling. “Am I dreaming?” 

“No. I love you,” He repeats a little more forcefully. 

That damn smile, a spark still in your eyes as the monitor stops beeping. 

“BP coming up! 98/72.” 

“I love you too.” 

When you finally recover, Keegan’s sitting next to you in the med bay. He’s stripped of his mask, his uniform. He’snothing more than the boy who joined the military at 16. 

“Did we win?” You asked, turning to look at him. 

He brushes the tangled hair out of your face. “We won.” 

“Now what?” 

Keegan grins, grabbing something from his pocket. It blinks at you, twinkling under the fluorescent lights of the hospital room. 

“Do I even need to ask?” He teases lightly. 

You laugh, extending a hand to him as he slips the ring on. “You already know the answer.” 

“Will you marry me?” 

“Yes.” 

Your daughter tells you all the time his proposal was cheesy. Keegan just smiles, ruffling her hair as she pretends to drive the John Deere down the expanding green of your lawn. 

Read more, HERE. Never wanna miss a fic? Join HERE.

Keegan Taglist: @trxpslxt @galactict3a @engie115

[rottenpumpkin13]

Someone pissed off Genesis so badly that he dropped the act and reverted to Banora country twang. What happened?

*Angeal and Sephiroth spot Zack and Kunsel crouched behind an office plant, poorly stifling their laughter. It's the kind of laughter that means they've done something stupid*

Angeal: What did you do?

Zack: Okay, okay, so you know how Genesis made us run extra drills yesterday, full speed up the plate's maintenance stairs because "true warriors conquer their own limits"? We figured we'd get back at him.

Sephiroth: What did you do?

Kunsel: We let a muddy hog loose in his office. That pig is in there right now, tearing things up. Good luck to Genesis trying to maintain his delicate, prim and proper aesthetic now!

*A loud crash echoes down the hallway, followed by the angry squeals of a pig fighting for its life*

*Genesis walks by, covered in mud, hair wild, his entire coat ruined, with the hog in his arms, perfectly calm and limp*

Genesis: Whoever thought they could unnerve me with a bit of livestock clearly failed to account for the fact that Iwas raised on an apple orchard. You think a 'lil mud bothers me? I spent my childhood shoveling compost 'fore breakfast. I been kicked square in the ribs by an angry chocobo and walked it off. I fell from a twenty-foot ladder tryin' to pick the perfect apple. The pigs we raised were the size of motorcycles and could smell fear. When it rained a little too hard we lost power and made do with lanterns. I done wrestled geese that carried generational hatred for mankind. You think a 'lil piglet's gonna offend me? This is the most fun I've had all week.

*He hoists the pig higher—it snorts happily, like it has found its true home—and walks off*

Zack:

Kunsel:

Sephiroth: Can I have a pig?

Angeal: NO.

[xneens]

golf lesson

you distract rafe during a golf lesson.

"How important is winning this bet with your brother for you?" Rafe asked, watching as you hit the ball right into the lake, the ball nearly hitting a duck.

You glance at him, biting your lip. "Am I that bad?"

He turned to look back at the holes on the grass where you had hit your club, the iron kicking up the freshly mown grass rather than the ball on the tee. The blond bites back his smile, turning back at you, shrugging. "No, you're doing great, baby."

Groaning, you lean against your golf club, annoyed and frustrated. "Ugh, how am I so bad at a game old men play? This is humiliating."

Rafe had spent the whole afternoon trying to teach you how to golf after making a bet with your brother you could win a round with him. The prize: a few weeks in Greece that your parents would fully fund. And you wanted to play your Mamma Mia fantasies this summer, even if you had to listen to your boyfriend teach you all the mechanics of the most boring sport ever.

However, it did have some pros, one of them watching how Rafe's arms flexed when he swung the club, the way his white polo shirt fit him, the way he drove the golf club. It was a wonder how you were able to focus on his presence so close to you.

Rafe chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist. He presses a kiss on your shoulder, his chin resting on it. "It's a stupid sport, don't get discouraged. And with me as a coach, you'll be the best."

You turn to glare at him, annoyed at how he babied you, knowing full well there was little to no hope with your golf skills. "You're mocking me."

"No, no, I would never." he smiles softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "We just need to practice a little more. You're good at everything, I'm sure you'll be good at this, too."

Rolling your eyes, you huff, thinking about all the balls you had lost in the past hour alone. Rafe had to go back to the country club multiple times to grab another pack of golf balls, a smirk slapped on his face every time he came back with a new pack.

"This is hopeless." you groaned dramatically, throwing Rafe another glare as he laughed.

He wraps his arms around you, setting you up for another swing. "Here, let me teach you the proper technique and posture so you hit the ball where you want it to go, yeah?"

"Fine," you grumbled, biting back a smirk as Rafe's hands traveled down your body, hands gripping your waist.

"Make sure your body is turned to face the ball." Rafe murmurs in your ear, positioning your hips. His fingers trail softly up your body, your tennis dress riding up slightly at the movement. "Yeah, just like that."

You giggle softly as arch your back, shifting your legs slightly to grind your ass up against Rafe's crotch, smug at how quickly he froze. "Am I doing it right, Rafey?"

Despite how you hated the stupid nickname, you'd use it whenever you wanted something from him, something he couldn't help give you every time you asked. You'd also use it when you teased him with it, almost like a secret word to hint you wanted him without others knowing.

"Yeah, yeah. Doing great, baby. Grip the club here and here." Rafe cleared his throat. He positions your hands on the club, fingers brushing briefly against the Darry ring he had gotten you for your first week anniversary.

"Hmm, this feels right." you grin smugly, feeling his cock hardening against your ass. Gripping the club, you do a little swing, twisting your hips. "Does that look good?"

"Fuck." Rafe groans, hands tightening against your hips, pulling you up against him, his cock pressed up against your cock. His fingers play with the hem of your dress, his chin resting on your shoulder. "You always look so goddamn good."

You giggle, eyes drifting towards the group of old men a hole away from you, near enough for them to see you and Rafe, but far enough to not see how you were grinding against him. "Help me hit the ball?"

"Of course," replied Rafe, hands engulfing your own. He leads you through the motion of a swing before guiding you to hit the golf ball. With a straight swing, the club hit the ball, flying in the air for a few seconds before rolling towards the flagged hole. "Good job, baby."

With a victorious smile, you turn to look at him, dropping the club on the ground. You wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you so much, Rafey. You're such a good coach."

"If I was a good coach, I wouldn't have spent half an hour searching the lake for the balls you hit in there." he teased, an arm encircling your waist. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "But I'll take the compliment."

You give him a pout, puckering up your glossed lips. "You're so mean to me, always teasing me."

"I'm sorry, baby." Rafe smirks, not sorry at all. Blue yes filled with mirth, he tilts your chin up with a finger. "Let me make up for it."

He brings his lips to yours, tongue-seeking entrance as you kiss him back. Teasingly, you bit his bottom lip gently, drawing out a soft gasp from the blond. Smiling against his lips, your hand drifts down his chest, down towards his hardening cock.

"Someone's excited." you kiss along his jaw, drawing out another small gasp from your boyfriend. Despite dating for a year, he still had the same reaction to your kisses, almost as if he was surprised you wanted to kiss him.

You squeeze his cock through his shorts, pressing your body against his, hiding the action from every golfer near you. Fingers trailing up and down the length of his cock, in a stroking motion, you bring your lips back to his, allowing Rafe's hand to grab your ass.

Rafe's hands wandered up beneath your dress and you pulled away, laughing as he dramatically groaned. You give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "No more kisses for you. I know you bet against me, fucker."