#but then some of the cruelty really fucking works

[bejeweledmp3]

.

[grison-in-space]

okay so I wanted to show @coffee-mage-sans-caffeine some terrible field Beagle stacks, so that they could see how uncomfortable the dogs look, and therefore I went hunting for field rabbit beagle kennels.

I turned up one pet "rare color" breeder and one that turned out to be a breed-specific article from a fucking content mill. Which: Gross. But the third one actually was a field rabbit-hunting beagle breeder, one who had the most good ol' boy [appreciative] blog description of his goals I've seen in a very long time:

Woodpont Beagles are a pack of dual-purpose (show and field bred) hunting hounds located in Southern Ohio, USA.  Some of our female lines now stretch back as many as 16 generations, spanning nearly 40 years.  Hounds from this kennel have been very successful in the past at field trials and shows, although the primary focus the past 20 years has been on pack work after cottontail rabbit or snowshoe hare. 

[...]

Feel free to contact us if this sounds like the type of hound for you.  Not everyone likes the same kind of beagle.  If your interest is field trials, or showing, you may want to keep looking.  If you want good, honest hounds for pack work or gunning, these just may suit you.  Puppies occasionally available.

Like, you know that is an old white man with the most rural of backgrounds and interests. His philosophy is fantastic, mind you, the dogs themselves are a blend of conformation and working beagle lines with the goal of maintaining the best of both worlds, if I wanted a beagle or to hunt rabbits I'd be on that man's doorstep in a heartbeat. I'm reading his stuff and I'm watching very carefully, and I see a post title and pre-emptively flinch:

Immediately what pops into my head is QAnon and hideous right-wing politics have invaded all kinds of circles over the years, and look I was starting to really like this guy, his opinions about working hounds are kickass, and oh no he's going to take time out of his day to make it clear he thinks people like me are scum--what does it read--oh no, oh no, what is it gonna say--

Things You Will Not See Here

Hounds with No Show Blood

Hounds with No Field Blood

Hounds in above ground kennels (i.e., raised on wire rather than being reared on the ground. always. no stacking kennels or god forbid runs.) ...

Yeah. Okay. I can live with this. It's a website straight out of 2013 (or 2003) rather than 2023. And oh, what a breath of fresh air the blog is!

[bastard-sweet]

The point of A Christmas Carol was not to teach morals by example; it was to teach morals directly. Ebenezer Scrooge was specifically made to be a reader insert. The lessons of A Xmas Carol can mostly be divided into 'you don't want to be this guy (he's suffering)' and 'you don't want to be this guy (he's evil, like ultimately, Biblically, very un-Xtian)', afforded by the third category of Basically Everything In The Book 'you don't want to be this guy anymore (he's deeply relatable to the upper-class Victorians the book is targeted at)'. The fact that he doesn't spend money on himself is not a sign that he needs to care for himself more; it's to show that he's so greedy to the point that it is useless, to show that valuing money this much is bad and senseless. The fact that he were to die if he didn't change for the better is an example of Cosmic punishment. Maybe the story does have a hint of teaching Scrooge to take care of himself, but that's only for the same reason that Scrooge is given a 'workaholic billionaire' backstory. The rich like(d) to see themselves as hard-working, and were the target audience, and Dickens didn't want to insult his target audience while trying to teach them basic human decency. So he also took the opportunity to slot that into the 'you don't want to be this guy (he's suffering)' method of teaching.

[labyrynth]

lowkey tempted to just start spamming the “canon jiang cheng” tag with just like. every single quote in the book that tangentially references him. how’s that for canon huh. just dumping screenshots frame by frame. using the biggest font size to drop single lines one at a time. it’s all canon so you have nothing to complain about.

literally just use the “anti” tag like any other respectful fandom participant and this would be a non-issue

[gideonisms]

Still really upset over 24 hours later so I guess I am going to make some flyers

[timeisacephalopod]

Sometimes I'll be watching an American TV show and there's this idea that if you're treated like dog shit you'll want to win or succeed to "prove them wrong." Like on Glee Finn describes putting up with Sue's abuse as hurtful but mostly it makes him want to win, and idk if this is a uniquely American thing or not but it baffles me.

When I work hard on stuff and people act like it's shit, or don't acknowledge my effort, or some other thing I don't get motivated. I have the opposite reaction especially if I've worked hard on something and that effort ultimately ends up being for nothing- like why would I try HARDER at something that didn't work? That's a waste of time lol I stop putting effort in at all and put the effort I was spending on something that didn't work out into something that might. Do people seriously believe that being treated like shit or otherwise having your hard work dismissed is motivational?? Because that sounds extremely counterintuitive to how I feel like people work unless I'm built different and I don't think I am in this case.

[goobrie]

Theyre actually showing up and participating in life again. In their arms safe and warm.

Sad to say that my ex is still in such vile, vindictive company.

[wyndford-dekarios]

Okay so I don't know my reasoning but I think Pharma from TF: More Than Meets the Eye would love you! He's got that freak mad scientist energy about him and I think he would really enjoy telling you all about the new experiments he's doing

@milks-shake-cafe

oh pharma. i do love him. but this is so funny bc my s/i has personal beef with him

OLD BUT GOOD . AND PERFECTLY DEFINES THEIR RELATIONSHIP

[gremlingottoosilly]

Readed with shitty parents getting into an arranged marriage to Pushover!König

It's like two puppies being set up for breeding. Konig is a colonel, at his young - considerably, he is still in his thirties - age, and a complete and total pushover everywhere except the military. No wife, no girlfriend, not even a pet - maybe your parents took pity on a family friend, looking at how lonely he was with all his wealth sitting in some bank account while he was barely home to spend even a quarter of it. Maybe, your parents just knew some of his weirder tendencies and wanted to push you away into the lion's den - you don't know. Clutching the shitty flower boquet in your hands - not even a proper wedding one, all the preparations were over in a few days before the wedding itself - you don't know if getting out of your parent's house is a mercy or cruelty. Maybe, it's both. Konig wouldn't even kiss you on your wedding - and he seems pissed off through the whole ceremony, this marriage being set up to a failure from the start. You trembled, not sure how to even start talking to your husband - you barely knew who the fuck is he. Barely wanted to know, really. He is, however, soft. In bedroom, although he didn't even ask if you want to start with your marital duties so early, he still brought you to bed. Tried to be gentle as he unwrapped the cheap wedding dress and asked if you want him to be over as soon as possible or if you want something soft. Sweet. You didn't want the pain - so you curled down on the bed, letting him cover your body in kisses and all of his roughness slowly slipping away as you trembled under him. He is weirdly soft for a man of his status, weirdly gentle for a guy who kills people for a living. He put a pillow under your hips so it would be easier for you to take him all in. He is a softie for you - if you ask him to do something, he will do it, even if that means spending the whole day outside of the house, working on a pool because you wanted to swim during summer and didn't want to drive to the nearest lake. If your happiness means him cuddling with you for hours because you're touch starved and want connection, he will let you cling to him like a coala as he does the chores around the house. Konig is trying his best to be a good husband whenever he is at home - and he'd be damned if he won't let his wife have the best possible life.

[inkskinned]

the problem is that being single is seen as the consolidation prize, and not the natural neutral state of being-a-person. at the end of the movie or the book or the poetry, there is a person waiting for you at the altar, and they love you. if the play is a comedy, everyone gets married. the metaphor is about how you are not-whole. the metaphor is about how everyone is going to be happily-ever-after. the metaphor is that romantic love is the most important resource on the planet, not just all-love. all-love is not a thing, that is a disappointment. the treasure is not the friends we made along the way. the treasure is the girl you landed.

the metaphor is that you cannot be alone, that means you are broken. are you getting over someone? that is acceptable, you can be getting over someone, but not for long. you must be single because you would rather not be single. you must be single and looking to not-be-single. you must want to date, eventually.

friendship and community are never seen as being equal-to or even-better than romantic connection. that person is your one! you need to find them. you need to hunt through the sand particles until you can shift out some kind of gem. this is regardless to your own experience of the beach and the sun. you need to be somewhere with someone.

if you are taking this time alone to heal, that is so sad. everyone gives you this little pitying look. the understanding is that you are not actually happier than you were before you were single. it is seen as a sort of pity - oh, you are choosing yourself, making yourself the priority? - that isn't quite right. you must mean that you are making yourself ready for the right person. you are just laying the bed better this time. open up your heart. you'll find them, we promise!

what do you mean you're really-truly genuinely-very happy? you are probably misremembering what it was like to be in a relationship. and besides, once you meet your person, that time will look grey and bland and wasted. your person is the only way for you to see in color. so what if you have taken this time - for the first time in your entire life - to actually-for-real do the fucking work. you can be proud of yourself, sure. but the way we need to know that you got better is that you get a partner. you're healed enough for the next bad part!

people don't choose to be single, they just say they're choosing to be single - they actually mean "nobody wants to date me." it doesn't matter how many people you have gently rejected or how many times you've talked it over carefully in therapy. what matters is that you are single, and by all accounts - that means you are something worth our pity. your successes and life all seem pale in the sunlight. sure, you have done amazing things and finally found your way in life. what matters is that there wasn't a person in the room with you while you did it.

you want to tell them - that's the whole thing. i didn't know how to be alone in the room. i didn't know how to handle the silence. every moment was so sharp, and i kept choosing the wrong way to close the door. i have spent my entire life in the empty well, living in the ricochet of someone else's cruelty. for once i have built myself a ladder. for once everything i taste is all mine, every bite of sunshine and laughter. i have learned how to sleep out in the open with my memories. recently, they have started to purr.

your father rolls his eyes. listen. this isn't about you. i just want a grandchild in my future.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello! I've read your soap and price fics and you are amazing!!!

I had an idea for a fic for Ghost. The reader would be Soaps slightly older sister who isnt like Johnny at all. Im thinking she either picks up soap from base after an op or from the bar. I'll leave alot of this up to you but i just wanna see Soaps Sister meeting Ghost!!

Brother's Coworker

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Soap's Sister!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the dim illumination of the streetlights, Ghost lays eyes on a woman leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp.

WORDCOUNT: 4.2k

WARNINGS: Little bit of angst, but mostly fluff and pre-relationship pining, loads of sibling banter, conflicting emotions, etc.

A/N: Finally able to use my sibling experiences for a fic lmfao, enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The woman was leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp, the custom color a deep forest green along the sides and a cream white coating the upper third. Ghost stared at her as the rest of the men filed out of the bar one after the other—Johnny and Gaz being especially loud. He blinks slowly, hands inside his blackened pockets.

Across the way, your ears perk slowly at the sound of rapturous shouts, but you only continue to look down the sidewalk at the long illuminations of street lamps and the glints of broken bottles on the ground. Over your chest, your hands shift in their hold on your biceps, your thin jacket crinkling. Light dances in your irises.

“Oi, is that who I think it is?!” Familiar Scottish drawl brings a smirk to your face, and you turn slowly to huff, snapping out of your silent thoughts. 

“Who else would it be, ya bloody git,” your voice carries, but it lacks the sheer volume of your brother’s; the great boom that reminds you of the bombs he’d used to make out of your mother’s hair spray bottles. 

Never a dull day in your childhood home, really.

“‘Bout gave me a heart attack, not answerin’ my calls like that!” Johnny laughs loudly, obviously drunk, and stumbles over merrily. You’re taken into a chest-breaking hug in mere moments, leaving you squirming with a deep grunt. “Should have your head, MacTavish.” You manage to squeak out, “Put me the fuck down, you horror. And what in the hell have you done to your hair?!”

“Oh, my dear sister.” Your brother lets you go as the three other men slink over, amused with the scene but some momentarily confused by the sudden introduction. Gaz laughs, and the Captain huffs a chuckle before fixing the position of his beanie on his head. 

Ghost, as always, chooses to watch like a looming shadow above the rest. 

Johnny puts a hand to his chest, the other remaining on your shoulder, “You wound me. Such cruelty stuck in your black soul; I say now, mother was always right—”

You smack the side of his head and Johnny grunts. 

“Ow!” He yells, glaring at you. “What the fuck?!” 

“Open your mouth again and I’ll wring you out, you arse. You know I will.” Grumbling, the Scot rubs the side of his head as you raise a brow at him. The stare-off lasts for a decent bit, and before the rest of the group knows what’s going on, the two of you are embracing each other once more; laughing loudly. 

Ghost’s eyebrows pull in slowly.

“Ah, it’s good to be back!” Johnny chuckles, holding you close as you pat his back.

“Of course, I’d find my kid brother at a damn pub on his first day home.” Taking a step away from the hulk of a boy, you brush down your shirt and jacket with a scoff. Looking up, you come to face the remaining men with an exasperated look. “He’s full of shite half the time, y’know, now. Can’t imagine what he puts you all through.”

“Bloody hell, Soap, you were holding out on us,” Gaz chuckles loudly, sticking out a hand for you to shake while he glances at the mohawked Scot who looks giddy despite being insulted by who’s very obviously his older sister. “Never knew you had siblings, Mate.” You take the man’s hand as he smiles brightly at you. 

“Kyle.” He says, and you beam back, “But Gaz’ll do just fine.”

“A pleasure,” your voice carries to John who you raise a brow at teasingly. “Well, look who the Reaper’s yet to drag down…Good to see you again, Captain.”

Price shakes his head, a smirk peeling his lips as Gaz steps back. 

“Still on that land of yours, then, Love?” The brunette asks gruffly, leaning back on his heels for a moment while you sag your side into Johnny’s arm. Your brother scoffs and loops his limb over the bridge of your shoulders as you nod. 

“You know it. Proper quiet when the neighbors aren’t up to a ruckus racin’ down the streets. Christ, those kids are devils—worse than Johnny and I when we were young.”

“Now that’s hard to believe, eh?” The man beside you laughs through his slurred words and you roll your eyes. 

Chuckling in return, you blink, spying on the intent black figure behind everyone else. Piercing brown eyes dig past flesh like a scalpel while you tilt your head to the side, interest alighting behind your skull. He doesn’t move or even greet you, just looks over you and then turns his attention to the street like a roaming bear would; hell, he certainly could be a bear with how big he was. Bigger than Johnny, even. 

This stranger wears a large brown leather jacket, the hood of his underclothes pulled up to cover most of the pale skin that would otherwise be visible. The long swish of light lashes captures you as you study the way he blinks slowly across the road. On his chin and on the top of his forehead, the fabric of a skeletal-painted balaclava shrouds him. Cargo pants and large black combat boots sit on his feet. 

He stands like a statue. 

“Who’s this then?” You call easily, and those eyes travel back to you even as the head doesn’t. It’s strange the way you seem to brush aside the blatant intimidation he exudes simply by standing.

“Ah,” John grunts, chuckling, before stepping to the side. “Simon, introduce yourself.” 

A low voice lowly wafts after a moment to silence, Manchester accent spearing you in the ears with its rough make-up, “Ghost.” 

You blink over at the Captain, but he just shakes his head and you move on. Johnny chuckles and whispers to you, “Don’t mind ‘em, Lt’s a bit rough around the edges.”

Plastering on a polite smile, your chin moves in a nod, “Pleasure to meet you, Ghost. Good to know the other two who look after Johnny out there.” The man beside you feels his face burn, free hand going to itch at his neck.

Ghost grunts and shrugs off the veiled praise, large muscles stiff.

“You’re actin’ like I’m not the one savin’ their skins half the time,” Gaz interjects on the Scot’s point.

“Is that what you call it?” You share an amused glance at John. 

Though, your eyes always sway back to Ghost, or Simon, depending on who you ask. He listens to the chatter, obviously, but he seems much more content to only stay with his hands inside of his pockets and study the street for...what exactly? The beast wasn’t shy, no, just…silent. If you didn’t know better you’d call him aggressively casual with the way his shoulders sit.

Stance relaxed but the underlying threat was palpable on the wind. Like a wolf rubbing his cheeks on the ancient trees of his territory. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ - it seems his very DNA states that.

Brown eyes suddenly lock with your own as if snapping into place and before you can release a squeak of alarm, you swiftly dart your gaze away back to the arguing Sergeants; face burning.

Christ, how long had you been staring at him?

“Alright, you two, ease off it!” Trying to distract yourself, you wave a hand. “You’re both too drunk to be gettin’ into street fights at this hour. Johnny, into the car ya fool.” 

Your brother slashes you with a grin.

“Fuckin’ finally, a decent bed!” It was tradition to give Johnny the spare room when he was back home—proper meals. 

“You’re callin’ mother, y’know.” You unlock your car and motion to the passenger seat with a frown. “I dinnae care if you’re trapped for hours—give the woman a rest of all her worrying.” 

“You heard the woman, Sergeant,” John forces the gravel out of his throat, rubbing at his beard. Something hits your chest as your brother opens his door as you stand in the cold. You glance at each man in turn; eyebrows pulling in with thought.

“Ah, what the hell,” your voice huffs out. Ghost watches you closely, blinking as he lifts a hand to itch at his neck from under his hood. The leather jacket crumples with tiny shifts of worn-out material. 

“Don’t suppose you boys need any good beds to rest your heads on for the night?” Wiggling your keys, you pat the top of your Hillman as you slide to the driver's side. Johnny slinks inside his own and chuckles as he closes the barrier with a careful thunk. 

“Hospitality finally leakin’ in?”

“Next time I hit ya,” you send him a bland look, “I’ll aim for the neck.” Fake flinching towards him, the man squeaks and snaps quickly back into the car door as you snicker lively. 

“Beast!” Johnny exclaims. You roll your eyes and shimmy down the window behind him, calling out as the rest share glances.

“Get in if you’re comin’ over! If not all the food I made yesterday’ll go to waste!” That seemed to get Gaz into the back, with only Price and Simon left behind. 

Brown meets blue and John’s beard pulls back with a smirk. He clears his throat, “Well, I’m not one to spit in her face.” The Captain walks over and grunts as he bends down. 

Ghost sighs under his breath and follows, impartial as to where this night is going. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, no doubt. The hard and unforgiving beds on base were the only things he could rest on now save the ground. And food? He could go without food for days.

Though, being Johnny’s sister bought you some favor, trust wasn’t something that Simon gave around freely. But the car you drove was nice, and the company of his Task Force was easy to basque in until they shipped out again. 

Simon sits down on the refurbished seat and softly closes the door behind him. Dead-eyed, he stares at Johnny’s headrest as you glance at him from the rearview mirror—seeing his shoulder dig into the glass of the window. 

You shove down a joke and hum. “Good, then, it’ll free my fridge at the very least.” 

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Gaz offers as you start up the engine, “it’s awfully nice of you to do this for us.”

“Ah,” Simon hears you dismiss as he turns to stare out of the window; so often feeling his gaze drawn back to you as a leaf attached to a tree might act. “Don’t worry your head about it. I like the company.” 

“Aye, just how she is,” Johnny says earnestly. “Was always the one to let me over with my pals when the football games were over—’cept we were usually covered in mud.”

“I’m still finding grass in my rugs, Johnny Boy,” you mumble, focusing on the road as a slight squeaking emanates from the front of the car. Simon picks up on it easily, not preoccupied with speaking. He glances at you but mentions nothing beyond a shuffling of his thighs. 

Outside the land slides past in shades of verdant green and gray as the town falls away. 

He was confused, rightly. You’d seen his standoffish nature but had chosen to extend hospitality as the old Greeks did just off a growl of his name. But maybe it was just because he was your brother’s coworker. 

Simon grunts to himself and rubs at his wrist. Throughout the ride, the two of you would glance at each other and try to forget that you had; when the long driveway of a large secluded home expands out above the car, Gaz whistles lowly.

“Bloody hell, Ma’am,” he states and John chuckles. You easily smile and roll your eyes. 

“Trust me, it was more work than it was worth.” Ghost’s attention is slightly peaked.

“You worked on it?” His tone implies he doesn’t care, but his eyes gore into the mirror to lock with your own. Blinking in surprise, even the others seem to be taken aback by the man's lack of venom in his speech. 

Ghost wasn’t afraid to speak his mind when he needed to, but he didn’t do mindless chatter. Your eyes cycle between the driveway and the masked Brit before you clear your throat. Johnny glances at you with a raised brow, slight confusion in his brows. 

“Mostly—left the nasty bits to people more knowledgeable than I am, but I did most of the grunt work, eh?” Simon hums as the car pulls to a stop inside the garage, eyes not leaving the back of your head. 

Your neck bristles at the sensation of unrelenting contact, but the burning that joins it is telltale. Licking your lips you twist the keys out and quickly shuffle out of the door to dispel the electricity in the air. 

“Alright,” you say, “out. All of ya…Johnny, you’ll be helping me with the bedding.” 

A groan is cut by an unimpressed glare. “...Yes, Ma’am.”

You huff and smirk. 

“Trainin’ him well I see,” teasing John as they all file out of the car, he shakes his head at the two of you as Simon scoffs. Gaz openly laughs as Soap’s offended look grows. 

You all enter the house as you direct them to the kitchen after they’ve taken off their boots and hung their jackets. “It’s all in the fridge, heat what you want, and don’t bother fightin’ Johnny if he takes too much. Tell me and I’ll make him sleep in the back near the chickens.” Your voice tells them as you pat your brother on the shoulder. 

Johnny grumbles and kisses the top of your head. “You’re horrible to me,” He jokes but his eyes shimmer with affection. As you leave to get a head start on the rooms, you smile and call out to him.

“That’s my job!” 

Backing out into the hallway, you leave with a deep well of happiness in you. You don’t even realize that the party had only contained three men instead of four until you’re in the linen closet and a shadow suddenly blacks out the light from the bulbs. Jumping slightly, your head swivels as you carry very many sheets and pillowcases in your grip. 

“Oh,” you mumble through cotton, smile growing as the flip in your stomach does, “Ghost! Done eating already?” 

The man is still and silent as he glances from your face to the sheets. Without a word, he halves the load and steals them as your jaw loosens in shock.

“Johnny’s outside callin’ your mum.” Ghost turns and walks out, but waits for you in the hallway to be directed. 

You push down the tightness to your throat and see the man’s feet shift on the hardwood. He looks funny, such a big man carrying bed sheets. His actions make your heart speed up. Brown eyes blink at you like a cat. 

“Well,” you chuckle, “always was one to get out of housework.” Trying a smidge more, you shift past him and turn off the light. “His barracks room dirty?”

“Pigsty.” Simon blandly states, walking slightly behind you. Your pace slows so you can stay beside him. He side-eyes you but says nothing. 

Leaning in slightly, you quip as Ghost tenses, “Can’t say I’m surprised. The man’s used to me bailin’ him out.” Chuckling, you go into the first bedroom and put everything on the bed. 

Simon grabs the pillows and starts to dress them quickly and efficiently. 

“But thank you,” you say, and the Brit pauses to look up at you, something swirling in his murky gaze. Earnestly, you tilt your head with a smile. “Ya can go back and eat more if you want. No need to help—you’re a guest.”

“Not hungry,” is all he answers, and gets back to work. You watch for a moment, perplexed, but not at all about to deny the assistance. A genuine grin twitches your lips. 

“Johnny writes about you, y’know,” your fingers pull at the fabric and you chuckle as Ghost’s incredulous look turns to you—face hidden but confusion is obviously seen. “Says he looks up to you quite a bit; something about Mexico.” 

Your face dips slightly, and Simon’s body stills. Along the pillow, his grip carefully tightens. He can’t find it in himself to walk out of the door and stand outside even if he knows he should. 

“I really can’t imagine what it’s like,” you mutter, shaking your head. Gazing at him, you study his wound muscles and secret flesh like a tapestry—wondering if he hides himself because of the safe anonymity or a sense of numb fear. 

He wouldn’t admit to either, you know. But something about Simon had captured your attention and now you had a face, or just a body really, to put to the written name like a puzzle piece. 

You take a long breath, “But you’ll never know how grateful I am.” 

By the way his chest stops moving and his body goes frozen, you think you hit something inside of him; the minute widening of his eyelids like pedals opening in the light. Simon peers at your expression, his eyes sliding from one point to another. 

Like he can’t really pinpoint what you want. 

Ironic really, because you didn’t want anything. 

“Don’t thank me,” is what he settles on, moving back to the pillow as if your words hadn’t stabbed him. “Johnny knows what he’s doing.”

Your small snort enters the air above the sliding sheets. “There’s no argument there.” A sigh echoes as you finish up, putting your hands on your hips. Across the bed, you two stare as Simon tosses down the pillows. The remainder of the sheets sit on the end of the bed. 

The man’s eyes narrow on you, and he clenches his jaw under his balaclava. 

“The only thing that I do know is that every time my brother comes back he smiles less than he did before.” You side-eye him seriously as you move. “I can only guess what all of it does to the others who don’t have anyone else to go back to.”

Simon’s breath halts in his chest before he finds the means to take down a slow inhale. Brown eyes glare intently, jaw tight, but it’s not the fire that gets to you…it’s the lack thereof.

Ghost doesn’t like this feeling, and your candidness was something he hadn’t expected.

“So,” you drawl, “I’m thanking you for giving him someone to joke around with—a distraction,” a teasing smirk, “no matter how blunt.” 

“I just told you—”

“Well, I don’t bloody care, do I?” Huffing, you smirk and tip your head back before snatching the rest of the sheets. “C’mon, we have three more rooms.” 

Simon watches you leave and tries to fight the rampage in his chest; the merciless slam of his heart to his ribcage. What had you done to him? A hand comes up and rubs into the bridge of his nose, fingers heavy and tight. 

What in the hell was going on? 

Growling under his breath, Ghost stalks out of the room only to see your back disappear into the next. In the hallway, he takes a long inhale and closes his eyes to steady himself. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man grunts. The tension in his shoulders was plainly visible. 

For the remainder of the room, Ghost would send you tight glances as he worked but didn’t utter another peep. You had taken his voice, or what little left of it there was. 

In many ways, you were like your loudmouth brother—your snark and your stubbornness. But you were different too. 

He feels his eyes trail down your form slowly from time to time. Capable; hardy. Simon blinked away and grunted under his breath aggressively. 

When everyone was done with their food and Johnny had come back in from his call to his mother, with a soft smile on his face, you knew it was time for bed. 

“Alright,” you strut into the kitchen with Ghost on your heels—his large arms crossed over his chest as he caught Soap's intense stare. The Lieutenant's brow raises, but Johnny only frowns in conspiracy before he looks over to you and itches at his chin. “Beds are made. You can all thank Simon for that, seein’ as Johnny used our mother as an excuse yet again.”

“And she was very pleased to hear from me!” Your brother points to you.

“She’s our mother,” you deadpan, “It’s her job to be, ya arse-face.” 

The boys all follow you down the halls as you point to the rooms. Gaz shakes your hand again and gives you a tiny hug in thanks while John pats your shoulder and calls a soft, “Goodnight, Sweetheart.” 

Both close their doors and you hear the large sighs through the wood. You have to wonder when they’d had a good bed to sleep on and a good meal. Last was your brother and Ghost, the latter of which kisses your head and hugs you tightly. 

“It’s good to see you, truly. Been missing you, little Hen. Thanks for lettin’ me over all the time when I’m home.” You melt and grip his shirt. 

“You’ll always have a place here, you know that. One call away…Now go to sleep. You smell like a pub.” He lightly chuckles against you. With a bond this tight, the two of you never had to say that you loved each other—it was just known.

Johnny squeezes you one last time before pulling away and slinking into his room, giving an unrecognizable glance to Ghost on his way in before the barrier slips into place with a quiet thunk of wood. The two of you look at and stare for a moment. 

“Lucky you,” your voice is quiet but easy to hear, “you get the room with a view of the field.” 

“Color me surprised,” he mutters, not looking enthusiastic. Against the tone, the look makes your mouth jerk in a laugh, and you cover your lips after a moment. 

Simon’s eyes unconsciously soften. 

You wave a hand, chest light, “Let’s go then, you brute.”

“Brute?” Simon grumbles, “Gettin’ familiar?” 

“Please,” you shake your head and walk to the last door in this section of the house. “You all became familiar the second we met.” 

The man rolls his eyes but has his smirk hidden as you open the door for him. He tilts his head in thanks and strolls inside.

You hum, crossing your arms ahead of you and leaning on the doorframe as he looks around, “Don’t think too much over it… The baseline is, you’ll always have a bed here if you need it.” 

Ghost slips out, “What are you? Bloody boarding house?” The swelling in his chest made his words harsher than intended, but you just smile cheekily at him as eyes lock.

“Hell’s bells, if you want ta’ get me a business card just go ahead and print ‘em off already. I’ve no problem with it.” He stares and you laugh, shrugging. “Makes me feel good.”

Splaying your hands, you back out. 

“I know you probably won’t sleep,” Simon pauses, feeling caught but not showing it. “Libraries down the hall—if you smoke, use the back door. Kitchen is free game.”  

“Why?” He asks and you blink, confused.

“Well, why not?” Simon glares.

“You shouldn’t trust people like that.” A loud laugh echoes and makes the man annoyed with you.

“Simon,” you say, and he finds himself hanging on every word that falls from your lips in the moonlight. “Not everyone is out to get you. If you’re friends of Johnny’s, then you’re friends of mine. That boy can sniff a cheat faster than a hound can find a hare.” Perhaps it was the way his shoulders went back at that, or how his brows loosened, but you finish off with a soft explanation. “You’re safe under this roof.”

You wondered, not for that last time that night, if he’d ever been told that. From how his balaclava moved with a sharp jerk of his jaw, you assumed never. It made your lungs hurt. 

With a few more seconds of quiet gazing you nod and move back. 

“Goodnight, Simon.” You leave him staring at the door as you close it—eyes boring into the grain so harshly they might catch fire. 

Ghost doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but his ears twitch at the echo of running water and soundless footsteps. He should leave, he tells himself; this is dangerous, a voice hisses. It’s not safe here, how could it be? There were no guards—no weapons. If someone were to sneak in there wouldn’t be an alarm. 

A secluded home. Nothing around. 

Then why had your words seeped into him?

“You’re safe under this roof.” Simon closes his eyes harshly.

—

In the morning once everyone’s gone back to the base, you admit you don’t know if you’ll see Simon again; you probably won’t. But you find that you can live with that. The memory of his loosening tension is all you need to feel special in your own right. Those brown eyes that, if but for a moment, had bled so effortlessly feelings of something other than blood and death. 

As you sigh a dreamy chuckle to yourself, you get ready for the day before heading to your Hillman. The silent drive to work joins with the strange mix of weight and levitation to your chest. But halfway into town, it hits you. 

Silent.

There is an obvious lack of squeaking from under the hood of your car as you slide along the countryside. 

The smile doesn’t leave your face for weeks.

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[lacesurgery]

.

[madwomansapologist]

blossoming alone over you

Meet Kind!Druid!Tav | More Weirdos | AO3

synopsis: It doesn't matter what their first impressions of you were, they certainly did not expect you to be so important in their lifes. And as the days passes, each one of your companions need to understand a simple fact: they love you. They all love you.

warnings: it's 31st december. i'm drunk. song "pink on the night" by mitsky for wyll. song "working for the knife" by mitsky for astarion. song "abbey" by mitsky for shadowheart. companions (wyll, astarion, shadowheart) x druid!tav. background cast (karlach, kagha, halsin, lae'zel, gale, cazador). tav is used as a nickname. wyll stuttering. astarion seeing draws of himself because he fucking deserves it. shadowheart falling for a druid that can turn into a wolf.

Trust betrayed, secrets spread, lies disguised as facts. That's how life works. It gives you hope, then crushes it front of your eyes. It let's you reach your goal, just to rip it out from your bare fingers.

The cruelty of life is the ultimate sign that gods do exist. There must be a higher being watching its puppets pathetic attempts of conquering an unreachable happiness. There are other proofs, but that's the easiest to perceive.

And they were used to it. From the renowed Blade of Frontiers to the pale elf hiding in the shadows: they all knew what to expect from life. Dishonest agreements, stolen hearts, the cold embrace of loss. Life is painful, so they shielded themselves from any harm.

But not you.

At first they assumed you were naive. The things Shadowheart thought to herself when you reached for a hand stuck in a portal; or how easily Astarion deceived you when he thought you were a mind flayer; even Wyll judged you from time to time.

You let your guard down easily. Instead of protecting yourself, you were helping others. Instead of using your teeths and claws to get what you wanted, you preserved nature.

But naive you were not. You may have trusted them too easily, but you weren't blind. You knew when a question was a order, when a joke was a threat, when a smile was just sharp teeth showing.

You discovered what Astarion really was and demanded he wouldn't maim anyone that didn't deserved it. You convinced Wyll that the evil he so wanted to tear apart was a victim. Saw right throught Kagha's distorted teachings, don't matter how alluring they sounded.

To turn a foe into a friend was your instinct, but you were not hesitant to solve problems with violence if it was needed. And sometimes you even got pleasure from it.

Wyll will never forget your face after finding out about Kagua's deal with the shadow druids. You didn't even allowed the party to rest. All your party received from you was an order to clean the ivy from their weapons.

"Shouldn't we focus on freeing Halsin? He must understand Kagha better than us," Wyll pointed. "You're a druid, but that doesn't mean the groove sees you as one of them. But they will hear Halsin."

"She can hear me," you slammed your staff on the ground, giving strength to your certainty. It pulsed with energy, and its glow matched the beat of your heart. "Or she can die. I can grant her mercy, but I won't give her time."

Wyll felt his body getting warmer, Shadowheart's impressed whistle reached his ear. "O-Of course," he cleared his throat. "After you."

"We'll purge some rats," you smirked at him. It didn't feel threatening. "Can I count with your blade?"

"Always," Wyll answered you, staring at your back. He could stare at your back all day. And he meant it.

Seeing that you weren't naive, Astarion came to a conclusion about you. Meanwhile the Blade of Frontiers stopped seeing your benevolent acts as a signs of impulsivity, the pale elf saw them as a mask. Something meant to cover what others should be paying attention to instead.

After all, who would suspect that something is rotten when the scent is sweet?

You're beautiful. Astarion admit it. Your laugh reverberates through the forests, your tiredness calls for aid, your eyes attract and soothe. Beautiful faces can make up for dirty minds, soft words can hide the lack of a heart, pretty acts are easier to see than destructive intentions.

You're just like him. Astarion sees it, clear as the sea. Your delicate smiles and his gaze full of lust are just as fake. Your sweet words and his dirty innuendos are both rehearsed. In need of this party, it's not hard to understand why you two would act to ensure they don't ever leave.

When Shadowheart cures you first, Astarion's invisible reflection occupies your eyes. When Lae'zel attacks monsters aiming at you, he's your shadow. When Gale puts more food on your plate, Astarion can see his smile on your face.

He wouldn't be surprised to find out that you both look the same.

One may say that your corrupt intentions are nothing compared to the good you've already done, but Astarion is not so idealistic. Sin stains your good deeds, he can see it. You depict yourself as someone better than them, better than him, but that's just your depraved plan to survive.

And he can't blame you. It's working perfectly.

Astarion may despise you for being as dirty as himself, but he respects that part of you. He trusts your plans, your combat skill, your magic. You're good on what you do. Screaming instructions to help during fights, discovering hidden passages, trading for better weapons.

You're not a good person, but there's a reason for why you survived this far. You're competent. That Astarion can respect. That's why he's constantly trying to get on your good side. You are smart and strong. Maybe strong enough to rip Cazador apart.

And if you haven't realize that Astarion is putting on an act to win your heart, than the shame is on you for not realizing that you both are the exactly same thing.

But you had to show him how wrong he was.

At midnight you approached his tent with your sketchbook. Astarion thought you wanted a distraction, using your drawings just as an excuse to talk a bit. Gods know he was dying of boredom before you appeared.

"I didn't knew you were so talented, darling," he praised you.

Illuminated by candles, Astarion let his guards down. Instead of just saying the right thing at the time, Astarion was really impressed at your skills.

It must be nice. To be able to create things with your bare hands. Sometimes he cry at the start of a good book. He don't know why, but it must be because he too would like to be making things. Astarion thinks that creating is the ultimate sign that you're alive, instead of just surviving.

Maybe one day he can become a poet.

"I can't help but notice that you have a muse," it was clear someone had attracted your gaze. Maybe a dear friend you miss, or perhaps another competitor for your attention. "Should I worry about being replaced?"

Astarion expect you to flush, but all you did was to get... softer? You seemed to shrivel up.

Your mouth dried up. He doesn't even recognize himself. Astarion don't even remember how he looked like.

"That's you, Astarion," you told him. "And that's a gift. You helped a lot these past months and... All I'm trying to say is that I'm grateful."

It was the first time you saw Astarion in silence. Paper by paper, he admired your drawings. Do they look bad? You've spent a lot of time training to be able to create something worthy of his beauty, but you admit they're not perfect.

Or maybe it isn't the quality. It's the fact that you spend so long drawing him. How many hours did you spend on those sketchs? How many hours did you spend glaring at him from your tent? Does he feel ofended? Invaded?

"That's how you see me?" Astarion whispered.

You barely heard his words.

"Yes, Astarion," you licked your lips. "I know some can be..."

His hand on your thigh stopped the rant you were about to go on. His bloody eyes were sharp. Just like the day you first met him, his dagger against your throat. Astarion looked pleased, but not happy.

As if he discovered being right about something he rather not be.

What you gave him... this is a treasure. So many drawings, so many angles, so many poses. How many centuries has it been since he last saw himself? How many since Astarion forgot his own face? Sometimes he touches his face, trying to picture it, but his imagination isn't good.

You gave him something priceless.

And when something is priceless that people discover how sunk in debt they really are.

"And now you want me to pay you back," his husky voice made shivers went down your spine. His nails scratched lightly your skin, drawing shapes on your thigh. "Don't you?"

You jumped from your spot, getting away from him. You were flushed, but not in a good way. "From where I came from," you breathed in. You sounded offended. "Something that puts you in debt isn't a gift."

As you turned over to go to sleep, you felt that if you didn't say what you really thought you would end up exploding. You know you don't have the right to speak about his life, but that didn't stopped you.

"Cazador made you believe that you have to sell yourself to be worth of anything, but he's wrong. He was wrong since the very start. We'll lacerate that monster for what he did to you. And that I promise you: it won't be fair. Cazador don't deserve fair."

You felt your nails digging the skin of your palms. "That was a gift. Get used to it."

Maybe Astarion was wrong about you. And maybe he was wrong about himself.

Merciful, but not weak. Gentle, but not naive. Pleasing, but not manipulable. You were a walking question mark. Whenever they thought they understood what you were, you proved them wrong. Not impulsive. Not manipulative. Not stupid.

Until they came up with a word that described you too perfectly. A word that didn't need any buts or explanations. One that everyone cognize, but that isn't used often. That don't deserve to be used often.

You're kind.

It's in your nature to be considerate. You help others because you can. No. Wrong. And that's something that Shadowheart still don't really understand: you help others because you can, so therefore you should.

She has only one goal in mind. Shadowheart needs to make to Baldur's Gate with the mysterious artifact in safety, and if she does everything right... maybe her Lady will grant her what she truly want.

But you make Shadowheart forget about all that.

She must be discreet, she did that her whole life, and still Shadowheart finds herself talking about her goddess to you. Her mission depends on her going straight towards Baldur's Gate yet there she's, following you as you try to solve everyone's problems.

Shadowheart didn't even noticed. She didn't made a rational choice to open herself to you. She just did it. Almost as if you were fundamental part of her forgotten past and her heart couldn't do nothing but to trust you.

You impervious into her prayers. Invaded her dreams. Burned your mark inside her mind. Your name feels like honey on her tongue. Like a sweet treat that she can never get enough of.

You tempted her, luring her with your determination and grace, and Shadowheart proved herself sinful once again.

If only you had judged Shadowheart for her loyalty to Lady Shar. Asking her what her favorite flower is. Listening to her opinions. Even when she was nothing but distant and cold, you were sweet. Toothaching sweet.

Shadowheart was hungry. She'd been hungry for her whole life. Starving for something easy. Something raw. Something more than a beautiful concepts. Something real. And how could a starving person ignore a banquet?

She can't. Shadowheart couldn't. But she should've. Damn, she should've.

You're testing her faith. Constantly. Every smile, every vulnerable look, every act of protection. It's like you're trying to compete with Lady Shar for the control over her mind. Sometimes it feels like you're winning.

She was admiring the sky without stars when the wolf came. All it took was a sight to paralyze her. Shadowheart had a mace, but the weapon was useless in her trembling hands.

The giant beast, wool pale from the moonlight, foamy drool dripping from its fangs. In a golden glow that being of darkness transformed into something.

Into you.

"It's just me," you whispered to her, eyes wide with worry and blame. "I didn't... You're safe. You're fine."

She forced herself to unclench her jaw. "Don't tell any of them," Shadowheart hissed as soon as she knew she could speak without stuttering. "Let this fear I have stay as a secret."

"As you wish," was what you said. No questions, no jokes, no provocations.

You went back to rummage through lost boxes and barrels in the ruined village. You had goblin's blood staining your face, but it didn't seen to bother you. "I wish I had a bag of holdings," you murmured to yourself.

Shadowheart was grateful. Either you decided to change the subject to cease her embarrassment or you just were this easily distracted, it still meant something. Her flushed cheeks went unnoticed.

She leafed through some damp books, trying to find something useful. "Embrace loss," she murmured to you. Now your attention was back on her. "We'll never let you have one."

You gasped. "Moon, why is that?"

Shadowheart ignored how breath turned into a difficult task when you used that new nickname.

"Face it, Tav," she called you by the nickname Gale created to you. "You are a compulsive hoarder. I've seen you keep a rotten apple in your pocket."

"I thought it could be useful!"

Shadowheart smiled. She did not even realized she was smiling. "I bet you did."

You have a soft spots for battles you can't possible win, protecting people in need and turning foes into friends. And apparently you are their soft spot.

Part 2!

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[the-californicationist]

The Window (5 of 7)

Ch 01 // Ch 02 // Ch 03 // Ch 04 // Ch 05 // Ch 06--- AO3 Link

You couldn’t see anything. You knew you were in the backseat, but you didn’t even know what kind of car you were in. They’d stolen you from your bed. As the road rushed by you, jostling you around, you had no idea where you were headed. The two men on either side of you hadn’t said a word, but when you tried to peek, they reinforced your blindfold, keeping you in the dark. 

“Alright, bonnie,” Soap’s voice was in your left ear, “Ready for your surprise?”

You turned to him, hoping he could see the glare through the cloth, 

“Are we there yet? ‘Cause blindfolding a pregnant woman in a car while she has morning sickness is like a new level of cruelty.”

“Sorry, love,” Gaz took your hand and you felt his lips on your fingers, “Almost there.”

Price was in the driver’s seat, and you felt him pull the car to a long, braking stop.

Gaz took your hand, helping you out of the car, walking you up past the hood, one foot in front of the other. 

“Can I look?”

“Alright, pretty girl. You can look,” John’s voice washed over you, and you took off your mask. 

You were facing a modern-style home. It was the only house around, surrounded by trees, illuminated by bright sunshafts glittering through the leaves of the canopy. 

“Bought it for you, love. Wha’d’ya think?” Simon’s comment barely registered. 

When John had told you things would be different, he hadn’t really been clear. He’d promised to do everything he could to take care of you and the baby, and that he would somehow prove it to you. You had no idea that promise would include a whole damn house.

“Your name’s on the deed, and it’s paid in full. But,” John shifted his weight, treading lightly, “We were hopin’ you’d let us move in with you. We just… we don’t wanna miss a moment, love.”

“What?” Your voice sounded so small, “You… you bought me a house?”

“Aye, with a wee pool and everything! Come see it, bonnie,” Soap grabbed your hand and rushed you in. 

The house was unfurnished except for the appliances, but there were boxes in every room. You opened one to find a bedframe, and one in the kitchen had pots and pans. Had they bought everything new? How did they get the money?

“John,” you found him as Soap was taking you around for the tour, “How did you afford this?”

He smiled, 

“Four single men, all with over ten years of service… let’s just say we had some savings.”

“I can’t afford to pay you back,” you admitted. 

“Don’t need you to. It’s yours. I told you, love,” he pet your cheek, kissing you chastely once, twice, until you relaxed into his touch, “We’re here to stay, but it’ll be on your terms.”

“I don’t know what to say,” you were in shock as you stood in the big, empty living room, gaping up at the high ceilings and black, wooden beams. It was a gorgeous home, and you were speechless. 

“Do you like it, love?” Simon put his arms around your waist and held you, looking down into your face for your appraisal.

You nodded,

“I do. It’s perfect. Thank you for everything. I wasn’t —”

He bent down to kiss you, interrupting you, and he was anything but gentle. Something about seeing you in his home had Simon all worked up, and you were being subjected to its effects. 

His hands lifted you onto the kitchen island with incredible ease, and you spread your legs to accommodate his huge frame as he settled himself against your hips. He wouldn’t stop kissing you, forcing his tongue into your mouth, sucking on your lips, and fondling your tender breasts through your thin tee shirt. 

“You two are gonna start a fire you can’t put out,” Gaz chastised Ghost, sidling up to you and kissing your neck. 

“Join in or fuck off, mate,” Simon’s voice was like a growl, snarling at his sergeant before returning his mouth to your body, sucking on your soft nipple through the fabric of your tee, making the cloth cling to you as he licked and nipped at your peak.

“Easy, Si. We’re gonna unload the bags, and we’ll be back. Get her all warmed up for us,” Gaz’s sinister chuckle hung in the air as he left you at his lieutenant’s mercy, of which there seemed to be very little. 

Ghost was usually so careful with you, but today, in the echoing expanse of the kitchen he’d bought for you, he was messy and needy. You could feel his cock straining against his pants as he rubbed it against you. Wearing nothing more than a pair of bike shorts and a tee shirt, you were able to feel every touch, every warm inch of his dick through your thin clothing, and his repeated thrusting told you exactly how hard he was.

He whined as he kissed you, teasing his head against your covered hole, but sensing where the warm entrance was, prodding it as if he might break through. You comforted him, placing your hand on his cheek as he kissed you. It seemed to bring him back to earth, if just for a moment. 

“You alright, Si?” You asked in a low whisper, watching over Ghost’s enormous shoulder as the other three men brought in bag after bag of supplies and belongings, preparing to move in. They kept stealing hungry glances over at you and your tall blond lover, not jealous per se but feeling ready to be included. 

Simon nodded,

“Yeah, love. ‘M fine.” 

He pulled back a bit to look down at your body. He lifted your tee shirt to stare at your belly. You weren’t showing yet, but he didn’t care. He placed an enormous, tattooed hand over your womb protectively, whispering,

“Can’t believe you’re havin’ my baby. Doesn’t seem real yet.”

“How do you know they’re yours?” You asked him gently, putting your hand over his and tracing comforting circles across his skin.

“Don’t know,” he kissed you again, “Don’t care.”

Simon pulled off your bike shorts, forcing you to lift your hips off the counter, and ripped them off of your feet in one quick swoop. Your shirt disappeared just as fast, and the cool air in the empty kitchen rushed across your body, making your flesh pebble from the shock. But, you melted as soon as you felt Simon’s thick fingers spread your pussy lips apart, reaching for your tight, wet hole. When he found your warmth, you both sighed into each other, relieved and yet ablaze. 

His other hand was still pressed to your belly as if he was keeping you and your baby hidden from the world, holding you both in his palm possessively. The contrast was mesmerizing. His fingers pounded into you, sheathing themselves down to the knuckle, wet and sticky, while his other was gentle and soft, caressing you as sweetly as he could. You felt a strong, rushing orgasm build within you, and as soon as you began to clench around him, he took his fingers away, leaving you teetering on the edge with nothing to grab onto. 

“Ungh! What… Si? Please,” you whined, looking up to him with wide glassy eyes.

His expression was serious, and he leaned in close to taunt you,

“Whose baby are you havin’?”

“I don’t know. We said we would —”

His fingers were back, pressing down cruelly into your walls, making it feel like his fat dick was prodding through your entrance,

“Whose…” His fingers sank into you, making a popping wet noise. “Fuckin’...” He pulled them out of you, painting your wetness on your lips, “Baby…” Back in. “Is…” Back out. “It?” Back in, and this time, a third finger joined them.

“Simon!” You cried out, but you were alone in the room. The others must have been outside dealing with the moving boxes. 

“That’s right,” he brought your face up to his, tangling a fist into your hair, “Tell me it’s mine.”

“It’s too much, Si…” You were shocked by how stretched you felt, and your pussy was soaked, trying to accommodate its intruder, your muscles shaking from being spread apart. 

“Whose —”

“Yours… fuck! Si, you’re gonna make me come!” You felt it break inside of you, bursting through like a firework, crackling through your belly and making you squirt on his hands… and your brand new kitchen tile. 

“Oh, bloody hell. That’s a good girl.”

Just when you thought he would give you his cock, he began to slowly press his hand into you again, fucking you with his three wide fingers still inside of you, stretching you all the way down to his knuckles. 

“Si?” You whimpered, confused, starving for the comforting feeling of his heavy rod. 

“Wha’ is it, love?” He didn’t even look up at you. He was transfixed, focused on your swollen hole. 

“Fuck me… please?” You reached out for him, grasping at his wide forearm, trying to coax him to take the next step. 

In an almost dismissive way, he caught Price before he walked back outside and nodded at him, 

“Oy, mate. Hold her for me, yeah?”

To your shock, John walked over, studied you for a second as you writhed in your predicament, and stood on the other side of the island countertop, behind your head. He chuckled, 

“What have you gotten yourself into, pretty girl?” 

The captain took both of your arms and locked them in his, sticking them up behind your head, watching your tits hang freely, bouncing up and down as Ghost pounded his hand into your sopping pussy. 

You gritted your teeth, feeling your body respond to your capture, ready and eager to come again so soon after its last onslaught. 

“I can’t… I’m…” 

“Gonna come again,” Simon grinned, “Yeah, I can feel it. Needy thing, innit she?”

“She is,” John agreed, pinning your arms just a little tighter, ready for you to try and wriggle away. 

You were breathing heavy, and your muscles kept tightening up on you, freezing you in place as you tried to squirm free. If only you could pull your arms around you, maybe you could hold off the brutal fire building in your chest, burning down your ribs and spinning like a spiral in that impossibly tight coil that he was working with his fingers. 

It was when he bent to suck on your clit that you lost it. You felt the knot that was tangled up inside of you slip, the long rope sliding against its own bite, loose and unwieldy, letting you freefall through the sparkling, black abyss of your impossibly deep pleasure. 

“That’s what I wanna see, love,” your blond beast growled up at you, showing you his white fangs, “Give me that come. Give it to me! Yes! Fuck!”

You heard the wet noises that were coming from you, not understanding where they were coming from or how, but also not caring one bit. All you cared about was riding the relentless wave of pleasure. The more he fucked you on his hand, the more you rolled through the tumbling ebb and flow of your bliss. 

Hot tears cut across your temples, and it was John’s soft mouth that kissed them away, shushing you,

“It’s okay, love. Be good for Simon, yeah? Be our good girl. You can do that, right?”

You nodded weakly, leaning your cheek into his scruffy kisses, letting him nuzzle you, comforting you as Ghost pulled you apart.

John used his warm hands to pet your breasts, plucking gently at your nipples, lingering on their silky skin, 

“Such a pretty little thing, lettin’ Si use that pussy. You look bloody beautiful like this, love.”

His praise made you feel drunk. Now, all you wanted was to be good for them. You wanted more of that lovesick approval. What more could you give them? How could you appease the gods of your pleasure?

You canted your hips, humping Simon’s hand, letting him reach deeper and deeper on each thrust, rocking your body against the hard countertop. 

Ghost made a painful groan inside his throat, obviously pleased with your performance, and he leaned forward to suck on your breasts, biting and licking more than he was kissing, but it was enough to make you keen in high-pitched whines, catching Soap and Gaz’s attention in the other room. 

You didn’t halt your shameless undulation for their benefit. You were far beyond the point of shame. You were only focused on coming again and again and again — as many times as your commander needed you to — built to serve him. Them…

Gaz’s bright smile widened as he came up beside Ghost,

“My, my, my. Makin’ quite a mess, hm, babes?”

“A right gorgeous mess,” Soap added, licking his lips, obviously eager to taste the honey Simon had harvested from you. 

Now that he had his team with him, Simon pulled you off the counter top and put your feet on the ground. He positioned you so that he could fuck you from behind, but he was too tall. So, he simply held you up, easily supporting your weight, his heavy arm underneath your hips. Price, Gaz, and Soap all stood in front of you, their belt buckles in your line of sight, and watched as Ghost fed his solid cock into your wet hole. The captain grabbed you by the hair, forcing your chin up, and with each thrust from Simon, your mouth crashed right into Price’s zipper. 

“Mm,” he sighed, “Perfect height, innit?”

With his free hand, he unbuckled the belt, pulled down his zipper, and let the button free from his pants. Then, you were face to face with his fat dick, as hard as steel and ready to be buried in your throat. 

You opened your mouth, trying to look up at your captain, but it was no use, you couldn’t see him, all you could see was the head of his cock being pressed into your lips, inch after inch of him disappearing into your mouth, making you gag. 

As Simon thrust forward, Price pulled out, and then the reverse. As you felt your pussy empty from its delightful stretch, your throat was invaded by Price’s uncut, drooling monster. You were always full, no matter what, and your brain had no idea how to prioritize your efforts. So, for the most part, you were helpless, hanging limp between the two huge men, being used by them in a cyclic, tantric rhythm, ceaselessly and towards a blinding, white-hot joy. 

Suddenly, you felt two mouths on your hanging breasts, suckling from each nipple as if you would feed them, laving at your skin relentlessly. You knew it was Gaz and Soap from the feeling of their kisses, but you couldn’t see them, so every movement was a surprise. Someone’s hand began to play in your folds, discovering the hard round body of your clit and teasing it as SImon slammed himself into you. 

You came, but it was silent. Price’s cock wouldn’t let any noise escape, but he could feel you screaming. He took a step forward, fully sheathed inside of you now, cutting off your air, making you choke roughly. Your whole body clenched down before you told it to relax, and the sound that came from Simon was a singular delight. It seemed like he was in some kind of heaven. 

“Oh, fuckin’ hell. Tha’s damn good,” Ghost hissed, “Do it again, Cap.”

Price obliged, choking you down on his cock, making your jaw stretch to its limit, burying your nose in his soft curls. You lapped at his base with your tongue, participating in the small way that you could, balancing yourself on his hips. 

“Ungh!” Price groaned, emptying his load into you. 

Simon was coming too, and you could feel the heat from both of them pooling inside of you. 

You weren’t sure whose arms you were in, but someone held you tightly, helping you stand on shaking legs, petting your face, telling you not to swallow. 

“Hm?” You tried to catch your bearings, and Soap held your face in his hands, his thumbs trying to pull your mouth open. 

“C’mon, bonnie. Open up. Show me his come, yeah? Lemme taste it.”

You were out of your mind, but you were pliant and fully drowning in your subspace, eager to obey. You opened your mouth to him, feeling him lick Price’s come out of you, sucking it off of your tongue. Then, he dropped to his knees, licking it back into your cunt, mixing it with Simon’s, eating you out and filling you up at the same time. 

Gaz was still on his knees as well, and you could feel his huge hands pull your ass cheeks apart, the tip of his strong tongue prodding at your asshole, trying to squeeze itself through the tight muscle. 

He found a way in, and you were being eaten from both sides, held upright by Soap’s strong arms. You held onto his mohawk for help, trying to steady yourself. Their mouths were so warm, and yet you shivered, the pleasure overwhelming you. 

A big thumb came and wiped more tears from your cheek, 

“Shh, pretty girl. You can take it, yeah?” 

It was John. He was comforting you, his softening cock still hanging heavy and low outside of his pants, shining from your mouth. He coached you,

“Breathe for me. Gonna come for them, aren’t you? Yeah, tha’s a good girl. Just let it happen. Shh, shh. Pretty little thing…”

“Ahhhngh!” You screamed from deep within your chest, and you knew you had squirted again, all over Soap’s face. You felt it happen. Now that Simon had primed you for it, you nearly had control, but not quite. It was like a button that was too high to press. 

“Fuck, yes, lass. You taste so fuckin’ sweet. Holy shite,” Johnny came up off the ground and held you up so that your legs were straddling him. It didn’t take much for him to stuff himself into your pussy after Simon’s work, and yet he filled you in an entirely different way. At the same time, you felt Gaz behind you, his fingers playing in your asshole, and then, his soft cockhead. 

It took Gaz much longer to get fully settled, but as Johnny fucked his dick up into you, he found a way. You felt Gaz’s wide palm wrap itself around your throat from behind, not to choke you but to hold you upright, keeping you straight even though everything in you wanted to collapse. 

“That’s it, babes. This tight little arse belongs to me, yeah? Tell us who you fuckin’ belong to.”

“You… ungh, I’m… ahhh!” You tried to speak, but it was so much easier to whimper. 

“C’mon, pretty girl,” John was back, fondling your breasts as his men fucked you in both of your holes, “You can do far better than that.”

You met his eyes, and behind the icy blue, there roared a blazing fire. Simon had come to join you on the other side of Johnny, and the same flames lay within him as well. 

“I’m yours,” you promised all four of them at once, “This baby is yours,” you heard them collectively groan at varying levels of excitement and possession, “All yours. Always.”

“Good girl,” Simon praised you before Price could, parting your lips with his fingers, the same ones he had tortured you with, and stuck them in your mouth, “Now, suck.”

You did, keeping your eyes on him as you licked your own come off of his skin, feeling Price’s beard brush against your chest, latching onto the nipple he loved to abuse, biting at it to make it stiffen. 

“Mmff-fuck,” the captain mumbled as he sucked on your skin, “I can’t wait for your milk to come in.”

“Dinnae even start. Gonnae make me come just thinkin’ about it, Cap’n,” Johnny agreed, bending his neck to suck from your other breast, imagining drinking from you. 

Simon pressed his fingers deeper down your throat, and because of Price’s earlier invasion, you took him easily, proud of yourself for not gagging, using your mouth and tongue to take Ghost’s hand as far as he wanted it to go. You could see what your performance was doing to him. His chest was rising and falling, breathing hard from the excitement. 

Gaz’s cock was now pounding into your ass with as much power as you could take, and as he increased his speed, you started to feel yourself come in a new way. The sparks were still there, but they were coming from somewhere dark and mysterious, flowing over you softly, like frothy waves of foam, ethereal and light. 

You reached back and grabbed his neck at the nape, digging your nails into his flesh, spurring him on. 

“Ungh, goddamnit,” he cried out, kissing your throat that he still held in his hand, biting you none too gently. 

“Kyle… please, I need… I need you,” you pulled your mouth away from Ghost and whispered to him, and with whatever strength he had left, he fucked his long shaft into your ass, feeling your beating pulse deep within your body. 

His mouth was right on your ear, and he whispered, 

“I’m coming, baby. I’m coming… I’m — ahngh!”

“Oh, fuck!” Soap lay his forehead on your other shoulder, and began to rut into you without any mercy, the idea of Gaz’s throbbing cock filling you up too much for him to bear. 

They held you between them, frozen in time, letting their cocks erupt inside of your warm belly, filling you with their load. As they pulled away, you heard the wet noise of their spend hitting the tile, pouring out of you in a lurid stream. You hissed from the empty feeling you were left with, and the only thing you could hold onto was the memory of the feeling. 

“You alright, love?” John asked you, petting your cheek. 

“It’s alright, I’ve got her. You lot can finish settin’ up. C’mon, love,” Ghost told them, swinging your limp body up into his arms and carrying you to the bathroom. 

Inside the large bathroom, you saw that they had packed all of your toiletry effects, and they were strewn about, tossed in bags, waiting to be organized. Simon sat you down on the edge of the tub and began to fill it, checking the temperature with his hand before helping you sit inside. 

The water was warm as it began to pool around you, and you had the pleasure of watching Ghost undress, preparing to join you. He was a tall man, but the tub was large, and you were eager to feel his body against yours again. 

In the bright light of the bathroom, his scars were on full display. They didn’t bother you, but they made you feel very protective. As if you had a time machine and could go back and slaughter the bastards who had made them. He caught you staring and teased you for it,

“You lookin’ for round two already, missus?”

You blushed, looking away shyly. 

“Nuh uh,” he chided, sinking into the tub behind you, “Where’s my nasty little slag who squirted for me in my kitchen, hm?”

“Si…” You played coy, snuggling back against him in the water, feeling his flesh slip against yours, just as warm. His furry belly jerked from his silent laughter against your back, and he used his huge hands to rub soap down your arms as he began to clean you. 

“Pretend all you want, love. I know the truth. You love being our filthy girl, innit that right?”

“You got me,” you sighed, letting him clean your body, feeling his hands rub you up and down, lingering on your breasts a little too long. He pulled at your nipples, soft at first and then cruelly, until you made a noise of protest. 

He teased you again, rubbing them in slow, agonizing circles, 

“You gonna let me have a taste, hm?”

“Huh?” You looked up at him over your shoulder, not understanding what he wanted at first. 

“When your milk comes in,” he used both hands to squeeze your tits, making them rise out of the water, pressing them up until they looked huge on your chest, “Bet they’re gonna be so full, so big. I read that book Johnny bought. Says your nipples might get darker. I’m ready to see that.”

“Are you sure? You might not like the way I look,” you said, testing his desire. 

“Bollocks. Dark nipples, huge tits, drippin’ milk, big swollen belly with my fuckin’ baby in it? You’re proper mad if you think that’s not what I want. Fuck, it’s all any of us can think about.”

“What else do you think about?” You asked dreamily, closing your eyes and letting him massage the soap into your breasts, squeezing them in a steady, slow pattern, comforting himself with their heavy softness.

“Think about hearin’ their laugh. About what color eyes they’ll have. Think about comin’ home to you and the lads. Christmas morning. All the wrapping paper torn up all over the floor. Think about crawlin’ into bed with you every damn night. Thinkin’ about holding them for the first time. About how much I love you.”

You opened your eyes then, looking up at him to see the truth, and when you saw how earnest he was, no longer hiding behind his snarky jokes, something in you opened. A door. Some new beginning. 

“I love you, too, Si.”

Idk how many more of these chapters I've got in me. Just submitting to the process, I guess. Do y'all still even want to read these? Who knows.

While you wait for the next installment, please consider checking out my other work. Thank you!

[inklore]

congratulations again, sweetheart! 🤍🤍 you deserve all the recognition you receive and then some! i’m so so excited to send this one in!

prompt: “wait a minute, are you jealous?“ with our beautiful boy eddie munson!

you’ve got me

pairing: eddie munson x (f)reader  warnings: minors dni, literally just fluff, jealousy, established relationship, a tiny touch of angst maybe, mentions of the towns cruelty towards eddie. etc: first off ilysm and let me smooch you, second this boy was made for fluff and softness ok. idc how many smutty things i write for him, he deserves a soft love!!!

The look on his face could kill any enemy, wound any child, make someone walk on the other side of the sidewalk if they saw it—it’s a look you’ve never seen come across his normally soft features. The grumbling that accompanies the look, the “I know they say ignorance is bliss but, seriously? Him?!”

And then it clicks.

“Wait a minute,” you interrupt his continued protests, grab his wrist pulling his attention back over to your table, to you. The deadly scowl gone as he looks at you. Those soft features back. “Are you jealous?” You have to bite back the smile that wants to spread across your face.

“What?” He pulls his wrist from your hold, eyebrows pulling together in a don't-be-ridiculous-glare. “The day I’m jealous of a Hawkins whistleblower will be the same day I get a lobotomy.” He’s making a face as he picks at the food in front of him. There’s a tint of red on his cheeks and you can feel his leg bouncing underneath the table.

He’s totally jealous.

And it was cute, too fucking cute. Because if it was one thing Eddie didn’t have to worry about was someone stealing you away, let alone some jock swaying you to their corner.

You had simply stated that he, the blonde the whole county loved to watch shoot balls into nets, did look better in the new uniforms the school had finally bought. Your eyes had lingered for too long and Eddie had whipped his head around and sent the table a death glare.

The kids sat behind your table cowering at the abrupt mean look and ranting, and raving, that had been almost shouted out across the cafeteria to the aforementioned blonde.

This was the first time you had seen him jealous and you kind of…loved it.

The way his eyes keep flashing up at yours and then back down to his food nervously as he tries his best to put on that mean poker face he uses when he’s playing Dnd—the most unconvincing thing you’ve ever seen, but still the most adorable.

“Eddie,” you say his name so soft, so sweet that you can see the way he melts from it. How his shoulders relax, how his leg stops bouncing. And when you reach over to wrap your arms around his neck, he’s still not smiling, still has that grumpy look on his brows and it makes you smile. “You make jealousy look hot.” You joke, give him your best teasing look.

And that’s what makes him smile. What finally cracks the veil of torture he’s putting himself through mentaly, thinking you’re going to run into the arms of a jock.

You’re leaning closer and placing a kiss to his cheek, “I’m yours, Munson. Men in tights aren’t really my thing.”

Wrong sport, you know. But it makes you laugh when he says, “I could make them work.”

You sigh dreamily, making a show of looking up as if you’re imagining it. “Yeah, just rip some holes in them, muck them up a bit, so sexy.”

Eddie’s laughing against your lips when you press yours to his in a chaste kiss. It had taken him a whole year, and a couple business days, for him to even allow you to hold his hand in public, let alone kiss him. Public displays of affection were something he couldn’t wrap his head around. But constant belittling might do that to you, make you think no one would want to be seen with you.

Which makes this situation—as adorable as it was—bittersweet.

When a whole town tells you you’re a freak and you’re made to feel like one. Undesirable and looked at under a microscope of cruel words because people were ignorant, it was hard to believe when affections were real or just a joke.

But this was real. Your love for Eddie. It always had been and it always would be.

“I love you,” you whisper. Brush hair away from his cheek to place your palm there. “Y’know that right?”

He nods, lips pressed in a tight affectionate smile.

“Gross. Get a room!” Mike is gagging from down the table.

Before you can send the kid a scowl there's a handful of pretzels being thrown at him by Eddie, making the group of you laugh.

[evilminji]

Okay, But, >.> Listen...

So MAYBE, just MAYBE, I am an incureable RoFan Isekai nerd. Shut up about it, maybe. What're you a cop? Mind your business. BUT! And hear me out...

W...What would actually? HAPPEN if Danny went into a Visual Novel? Some Otome game? You know, aside from being vague flustered by and then DEEPLY ALARMED by these walking Red Flag Fruitloops that girls are supposed to find "dreamy" or something?

Like we know how MMOs work for him. And probably OTHER open world games? But a visual novel? Would it be like the Christmas Episode? Would he hear narration? Be stuck in static "scenes"? Or would it be like a cut together "only the interesting parts" movie that he's somehow IN?

Like?? At SOME point his curiosity is gonna get the best of him. He's gonna want to know what different video games are LIKE on the inside? What's Pong like? Tetris? Mario? One of those Mama's cooking games? Etc etc.

He probably hits up a game sale. Buys a box or two. Figures he can always resell um or just give them away for free. Might even use them for parts. Who knows. And?

It's kinda cool!

It's even SCIENCE! See? Tucker's in charge of notes. Sam's in charge of hilarious commentary and pizza. Jazz is keeping them from drinking and doing ghost shit (terrible combination, we never speak of What Happened(tm) again). And the Dr's. Fenton got distracted by making fudge and debating what games should be counted towards which categories.

They've made an afternoon of it.

And NOW? They've reached the bottom of box one. It was "Survive The Villainess! My Rose for You!" Or... judging by Sam's climbing eyebrows and growing scowl? A DEEPLY unpleasant porn game about school girls.

You could not PAY him enough.

Yeah, he DOES realistically kinda want to know what happens.. if.. like? You know... sexy games... like would he? Or does he just WATCH or...? *awkward cough* But! That's NOT for Family Science Night! And DEFINITELY not THAT game, THANKS.

He'll find himself an ETHICALLY SOURCED smutty game full of consensual boning. For PRIVATE TIME. Those test results are gonna show up like MAGIC and we WILL NOT be talking about them! Got it? Good.

Now what the fuck is he look at here?

Jazz is surprisingly knowledgeable. They are not allowed to ask. They respect it. The main character "wakes up" inside the body of a "villainess" and must survive. Turn her terrible reputation around. Avoid "death flags". Preferably romance one of the hot guys?

Uuuuuuuh... you realize Danny's in a committed relationship, right?

Sam and Turker allow it. But they reserve the right to blast his taste in Fantasy Guy's. Chose carefully, for their roasting shall be BRUTAL. Luuuuuv yoooou~♡

He wants a divorce. They're not even MARRIED and he wants a divorce. You see how they mock him, Jazz? The cruelty he suffers? He's taking the Blobs and moving to Frightknight's. They always warned him about you living folks and your fast ways, but he didn't listen! *continued dramatics* *is smacked with a pillow*

But actually going IN? The weirdly, vaguely European over the top EVERYTHING? Giant jewels and ridiculous, fancy dresses? The walking red flag Romantic Archtype Leads? He wants to PUNCH half these guys! This is ABUSE! Are people OKAY!?

Like? I feel like he'd stay way, WAY longer then he needed too? Just out of morbid curiosity? W-where is this plot GOING? It's so dramatic. Why is my dress MORE dramatic now? Why is everything so... Sparkly.

It would be? AMAZING and baffling and I would pay real money to hear their live commentary. "Why not simply judo flip the crown prince off the balcony, then take over the country, sweetie?" "Solid plan, honey! He deserves it!" Beautiful. Flawless. Sage advice really. Too bad Danny can barely walk in his five million bows dress.

It's the BEST Au and I might be a genius. Or deeply sleep deprived. Meh. We'll 50/50 it, six of one, half a dozen of another.

@hdgnj @ailithnight @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter