#engineers without borders
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doctorweebmd · 4 months ago
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accidentally* brainstormed a very complete outline for chapters 4-8 for eih, which should theoretically take us through Part 1. which is. you know. a godsend or whatever.
*accidentally meaning i was just eating delicious pancakes and the thoughts happened. usually its me crying screaming and shitting myself in front of an empty word document where ideas manifest. this is notably much more pleasant.
#that alone makes this weekend a good one#i also bought (leased) a new car yesterday!!!#which is exciting for me because i've been driving my first car for 16 years#even though its a base model its still SO much more advanced#hello how did i live without a backup camera of this long#also like. carplay. and auto windshield wipers. and keyless entry/start. and adjustable steering wheel#AND its electric! kinda. (a plug-in hybrid so has both engines but can run on only electric)#i've finally joined the 21st century#although tbh i thought my first car of my adult life may be something bougie. a BMW or some shit#alas i grew up to be too practical. so i bought a prius. because of course.#listen i live in california and wanted to go electric for forever#alas elon shat the bed by being elon so a tesla was an absolute no go#its funny like... you know that most of your customers for these cars were well-off environment-conscious liberals right#i've seen a tesla with a bumper that says 'i bought this before i knew elon was crazy'#which. like. yeah. fair#other fun events from last week. there was a fire super close to our house and we were in the evacuation zone#which is like. wow. i know its been dry and windy but i never thought it would actually happen HERE#everything is okay and we're safe and it was put out really fast#but definitely gave us a pause and made us think about whats important (our cat. everything else is replaceable.)#but another reason this weekend is good: it RAINED. last night and today.#listen i've been... extremely extremely extremely sad the past week#because of everything. because of 'allowance' of ice agents hospitals and thinking about what i would do and risk because FUCK THEM#suffering isn't moral and doesn't help anyone. just trying to find a way to help my community#and three nice things happening AND just hearing the border fire is under control...#its going to be okay. it really is.#anyway this post is about FANFICTIOn#fun fact i started looking into numerology that has to do with ying-yang#which is helping me decide on how many chapters per 'part'#its clever and unnecessary but makes me happy so whatever#chapter 4 of eih is ~2k works now as a mostly-outline
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senadimell · 1 year ago
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ranoshfamily · 9 months ago
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🚨Emergency🚨
Help Rana’s family toleave Gaza before it too late
Hello humanities 🤗🤗
Please read this as if I'm a member of your family . maybe your sister, daughter or a friend and as if my family who's under death now is yours.
"I am a computer Engineer and Mom for 3 children from Gaza , Rana Hassan Alabsi, with a strong ambition and perseverance. Over the past 10 years, I've worked tirelessly, I've dedicated myself to my family, working hard, planning, building my career. Despite facing challenges, I became a well-known professional engineer in Gaza.
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Unfortunately, my life has been upside down since Oct ,Since that particular day, thousands of innocent lives have been lost in Gaza, many of innocent people lost their works and the only source of income like me.
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Me and my childrens 1 of them, he is10 years old with downsyndrom and need a safer place and health care to still a live, left our home under the continuous bombardment and artillery strikes, on foot, without carrying with us our personal supplies, clothes, or Even our money, heading from Gaza to Deir al-Balah. There in Deir al-Balah we lived the most difficult days of our lives in a shelter with scarce resources, sleeping on the ground.
Without covers, without drinking a healthy water, then we moved to Khan Yunis after the intensification of the strikes and bombing, Then we moved to Rafah in the hope that we would find safety there or find a way out of Gaza to a safe place that we dream of for the future of our children,Let us live a happy, safe life for us and our children, and keep them away from all this pain, destruction, and siege, and spare them from the miserable future that will await them if the situation continues as it is in Gaza.
I come to you with a heavy heart and an urgent call for help. My family are currently caught in the war in Gaza, facing the harsh reality of an escalating crisis. The situation is dire, and I am reaching out for your support to facilitate their safe passage to Egypt. In this moment of desperation, I share the situation where it has taken a toll on their well-being.
This urgent plea is not only for their safety but also for the health of my son, who is facing serious conditions that demand immediate attention.
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My family is trapped in an environment where access to necessary medical care is severely limited. The escalating crisis compounds the urgency, especially considering my son's health conditions. Time is of the essence, and we are in a race against it to get him the vital medication and care he desperately needs.
My loved childrens are in a situation beyond their control. The fear in their eyes and the desperation in their hearts are indescribable. I implore you to be a beacon of hope for them, to be the force that guides them to safety. To be honest, the journey to safety comes with a significant financial burden.
We need the money to cover practical costs of transportation, documentation, a place to stay and shelter in and other essentials required for a safe crossing to Egypt. And so that they can take care of other needs once they cross safely. As of late April the evacuation fee ranges between $8,000 and $10,000 per person, before processing and transport fees, and we will pay the higher end of the range since Hayde doesn't have passport. Me and my family asking for 50,000$ based on the following breakdown: an evacuation fee at the Egyptian border of $8,000 - $10,000 per person , $4500 - $5000 per children as each day there is a different price for evacuation fee at the Egyptian border, plus a processing fee of $2,000 per person, $2,000 for transportation, and a 2.9% commission fee.
Any amount raised beyond the total will be used to supplement me & my family lives as refugees in Egypt. Your donation, no matter how small, will make an impact. You will be contributing to getting my family to safety. The funds will be used transparently and every dollar will go towards securing our evacuation.
Please share this campaign widely to help us reach our goal and bring my family to safety. Your support means more than you can imagine and I am incredibly grateful for any assistance you can provide during this challenging time. Thank you for your compassion and generosity. Together, we can make change and help my family find the safety and security they need".
instagram account : @help_my2024
My sweaty home before 7th oct
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After 7th Oct
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youtube
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Vetted by:
Thank you very much 🌸🌸
@importantt-reblogs , see the Vetted Link
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suguae · 1 year ago
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tell me....will we still fuck ?
જsynopsis after huge argument you and sukuna decided to make up, only under one condition.
જpairings Ryomen Sukuna x F. Reader
જcontent MDNI! fucking.
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"Are you even fucking listening!" You asked, raising your voice as Sukuna just sat back with a beer in hand and scrolling on his phone with his other hand. Not a single care about what you had been complaining about now, "Ryomen Sukuna!" You crossed your arm strutting closer to him.
Sukuna’s eyes flicked up from his phone lazily, a smirk playing on his lips as he took another sip of his beer. "Oh, I'm listening," he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. "Just not sure if what you're saying is worth my attention."
Your jaw dropped at his audacity. "You're fucking ridiculous," you exclaimed, unable to believe his attitude. "Listen to me when I'm fucking talking to you!"
Sukuna raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered by your outburst, "Throwing a tantrum won't get you anywhere." Your fists clenched at his nonchalant demeanor. "This isn't a tantrum, Sukuna. This is me demanding the respect I deserve."
He set his beer down with a sigh, his expression hardening. "Respect is a two-way street," he said coolly. "You want me to listen? Fine. But don’t expect me to bow down to your every demand."
Your anger flared at the thought, and you couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "And what the fuck do you know about respect! Leaving drooling emojis on another bitch's post is not fucking respect!"
Sukuna's expression hardened, but he didn't look away. "It's just a joke, Y/N. You're blowing it out of proportion."
"A joke?" you repeated, disbelief coloring your voice. "You think disrespecting me like that is a fucking joke?" He shrugged, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I don't see why you're so upset. It's not like I'm actually cheating on you.”
The tension in the room was palpable as you grabbed the keys to your car, your hands trembling slightly with a mixture of anger and hurt. "Okay," you muttered, your voice strained. "Okay, Ryomen Sukuna, whatever you say."
Sukuna's eyes widened as you made your way to the front door. "Where the fuck are you going?" he demanded, his tone bordering on desperation as he stood up quickly.
"Out," you replied tersely, your voice cold as you swung the front door open and stormed out, the slam echoing through the room behind you.
You froze in your tracks as Sukuna's voice cut through the night air, "If you fucking get in that car, dressed like that... it's over, Y/N," he demanded, his voice laced with anger and frustration.
You looked down at yourself, the short, skin-tight dress hugging your curves, your breasts threatening to spill out. You knew you looked good, maybe too good for just a night out. 
With a surge of boldness, you turned to Sukuna before slamming the car door shut, meeting his stunned gaze head-on. "Eat my pussy," you said defiantly.Then, without waiting for a response, you started the car and drove off into the night, leaving Sukuna standing there, speechless and stunned.
Sukuna's whispered curse hung heavy in the air as he watched you drive away, his frustration and anger evident in the set of his jaw. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed back into the house, his mind already calculating his next move.
Grabbing his helmet and keys, he made a beeline for his motorcycle, his movements swift and purposeful. He knew he had to find you.
With a quick glance at his phone to track your location, Sukuna revved up the engine and tore out of the driveway, the roar of the motorcycle echoing through the night as he sped off into the darkness, determined to catch up to you. 
As Sukuna raced through the night, his mind buzzed with a mixture of emotions. He knew he had been mean, perhaps even cruel at times, but he had never seen you unleash your anger with such intensity before. It was unexpected, raw, and strangely exhilarating.
Despite the gravity of the situation, a smirk tugged at the corners of Sukuna's lips as he thought about the fire he had ignited within you. He had always been drawn to your passion, your intensity, but seeing it directed at him in such a fierce way stirred something primal within him.
Sukuna pushed his way through the crowded nightclub, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of you. The music thumped loudly, the air thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol, making it difficult to navigate through the throng of people."Of course she would," he muttered to himself, a hint of annoyance in his voice. 
Sukuna's eyes landed on you amidst the chaos of the nightclub, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background. He couldn't deny the rush of attraction he felt as he took in your appearance, the way the dress hugged your curves in all the right places.
His eyes narrowed as he watched the scene unfold before him. A man approached you with a smirk, holding two shots in his hands. He expected you to turn down the drinks, as you usually did when strangers approach you at the club. But to his surprise, you didn't.
Without hesitation, you took the drink from the man's hand and quickly chugged the shot, a playful grin on your face as you slammed the glass back down on the bar. Sukuna's jaw clenched at the sight, a mixture of jealousy and anger bubbling up inside him.
Sukuna's steps were purposeful as he closed the distance between himself, you, and the stranger who dared to encroach upon his territory. His jaw was set, eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and possessiveness as he reached out and pushed the man away from you.
"Back the fuck up," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "She's with me."
The stranger's smirk faltered for a moment before he recovered, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he cocked his head to the side. "What, I can't offer a pretty girl a drink? Besides, what are you gonna do about it?"
Sukuna's fists clenched at his sides, his patience wearing thin. "Fuck around and find out," he shot back, his voice a low rumble.
Sukuna's demand was firm as he insisted, "Let's go." But you merely rolled your eyes in response, seemingly unfazed by his authoritative tone.
"This is not a fucking joke, let's go," he barked, his frustration bubbling to the surface.
You couldn't help but smirk at his sudden change in demeanor. "Oh, now it's not a joke, huh?" you retorted, a hint of amusement in your voice.
Sukuna's jaw clenched at your remark, his eyes narrowing slightly as he fought to keep his temper in check. "You know what I mean," he muttered, his voice low.
But you remained defiant, refusing to back down. "Do I?" you teased, enjoying the way you had rattled him.
With a frustrated sigh, Sukuna reached out and grabbed your hand, his grip firm as he pulled you away from the bar. "Let's go," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
As you followed him out of the nightclub, a smirk played at the corners of your lips. Despite the tension between you, there was an undeniable thrill in pushing Sukuna's buttons, in seeing the raw, unfiltered emotions he tried so hard to conceal. 
As you entered the house, a heavy sigh escaped your lips, the weight of the night's events pressing down on you like a ton of bricks. "Baby..." Sukuna began, his voice soft with concern.
But you cut him off with a scoff, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "Don't fucking baby me, Ryomen," you snapped, refusing to use his first name. The use of his full name was a clear indicator of your irritation.
Sukuna's eyebrows lifted in surprise at your tone, but he wisely chose to remain silent, sensing that now was not the time to push your buttons further.
Your heels clicked against the floor as you stormed away, heading towards the bedroom you two shared. Sukuna watched you go, a knot forming in his stomach as he realized the extent of the damage he had caused.
As you began to undress, Sukuna watched you quietly, the weight of his earlier actions heavy on his mind. He could see the tension in your shoulders, the guarded expression on your face, and it only served to deepen the knot of guilt in his stomach.
"Come here," he said softly, his voice gentler than usual, as he settled on the corner of the bed.
You paused, hesitating for a moment before you replied, your voice tinged with skepticism, "Ryomen..."
"Y/n, just stop being so damn stubborn and come here," he insisted, his tone firm but laced with a vulnerability you rarely heard from him.
"What?" you sighed, feeling a mixture of surprise and disbelief as you stood in front of him.
Without hesitation, Sukuna reached out, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you onto his lap. As he held you close, he reached for his phone, his movements deliberate as he began deleting every social media app from his device.
"You can even take my phone away, if that helps bring back my sweet girl," he mumbled against your neck, his lips trailing soft kisses along your skin.
You couldn't help but roll your eyes at Sukuna's attempt to make amends, even though a part of you appreciated the gesture. Grabbing his phone, you tossed it onto the bed with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Yeah, okay," you said, your voice tinged with sarcasm as you let out a sigh.
"Let me make it up to you, in bed," he whispered, his voice husky with longing.
Sukuna's smile was like a wolf's grin as he gently guided you towards the bed, his touch sending tingles of anticipation through your body. "Lay that pretty body of yours on the bed, hmm?" he murmured, his voice sending a rush of heat through you.
"Sukuna, I'm not letting this go that easily, you know..." you said, your voice trailing off with a hint of mischief.
Sukuna's eyebrows raised in surprise as your legs wrapped around his torso, effectively pinning him down as you hovered over him. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, a mixture of amusement and arousal dancing in his eyes as he met your gaze.
“You pissed me off today more than you can imagine.” You huffed as you traced your finger down his chest, tracing over the black ink of his tattoos. “We can have sex.” You smiled, “The catch is, you can look…but you can’t touch.”
His brows furrow, “No…” 
“Hmm yes.” You leaned down whispering into his ear, leaving a soft coat of warm air on his ear, “If you don’t want to do that, then we can just simply stop. I’m tired anyway.” You backed up faking a yawn. 
“How long.” He says, closing his eyes, 
“Whenever I say.” Now he was up for a challenge, a hard one. He opened his eyes, getting a good look at you. Your breast now fully in view as you unhooked your bra, that was the first thing he wanted to grab.
Another hard thing for Sukuna was that you being dominant was rare, really rare. If he were in charge tonight, he’d have you face down and ass up, pressing against your asshole as he thrusted deep inside you, but that wasn’t gonna be the case tonight. 
With a sultry gaze, you press your breast against each other, causing a whispered moan to grace the air. You bite down on your lips as Sukuna’s entrancing eyes meet yours, a fire flickering within them as you tease your nipples into hardened peaks.
Your hands slip down to your covered center, where you gently massage your sensitive clit through the fabric of your delicate undergarment. “ngghhh.” A soft whimper escapes you as you feel Sukuna’s body respond beneath you, his cock growing rigid with a hunger only you can satisfy. 
Your hands move stealthily to the waistband of Sukuna’s pants, his breathing getting heavier and heavier at each delicate touch. Carefully you unbuttoned them, sliding them down. In an instant his massive, girthy cock springs free, eager for your attention. “ride me like you mean it, yeah?” He huffs as you just watched him basically squirming under you. 
“how about you shut your damn mouth.” You blurted out audaciously. Gracefully you descend down Sukuna’s body, arching your back with your ass in the air teasing him as you approach his throbbing cherry-red tip, savoring the taste of precum as it drips onto your waiting tongue.
 The tender kitty licks of your tongue against Sukuna’s tip causes him to squirm, “st–stop fuckin’ teasin.” He groaned, as he was fighting his primal urge to grab that pretty little face of yours and force you down his girthy cock. “Tell me how bad you want it, kuna.” You batted your eyelashes as you wrapped your soft hands on his length. 
He closed his eyes in frustration, never had he ever wanted to submit to you, “I want you, to fuckin suck me good.” He groaned, bringing his hands up to his face, trying his best to resist the urge. Your soft hands take control, slowly and sensually gelding along Sukuna’s throbbing veiny cock as you continue to tease him with your sultry, “mmm look at my good boy.”
“oh shut–ahh.” Sukuna couldn’t help but softly moan as your plush mouth expertly descends, enveloping his entire cock in warmth and wetness as you suck him gracefully. “mmm” You moaned, sending vibrations down his dick. His fat tip constantly coming in contact with the back of your throat, “jus’ like that baby.” He huffs taking in the euphoric feeling running through his body.
Meanwhile your hand cruises down your clothed cunt, sliding your hand into your undergarments with a lew glint in your eyes you begin rubbing your clit in time with your sucking motion, the growing warmth in your cunt building as you take his throbbing cock more and more. 
You throw your head back, letting the drool run down your mouth. “look at my pretty girl.” He whispered as his hands rested behind his back, and his face plastered with a smirk. You crawled back up, leaning closer to his face. You plant wet kisses all over Sukuna’s lips, a few stray saliva mixing with his as you two moan together softly, tongues intertwining with passion and lust. 
“You’re driving me crazy,” He murmurs breaking the kiss, “I want to fuck you so hard right now.” he sighs leaning his head back as you sit up. Your knees sinking into the soft cushion as you slowly slide yourself onto his cock. With each passing inch, you feel yourself getting stretched out and filled to the brim, a soft moan escaping your lips, “ahhh fuck…s–so big kuna’”
He winces in the pleasure, bucking his hips, “come on baby, fucki–ah fucking faster.” With each downward thrust, your ass rhythmically bounces atop Sukuna’s cock, the sensation driving him wild with pleasure, “jus’ like fu–like tha’ doll.” Your breast bouncing and swaying with every movement, “please ba–baby let me touch.”
Too deep in trance, you throw your head back lost in the pleasure. “nnnghh kuna’” you whimper, feeling his tip pulsating inside you. “Fuck this.” He muttered gently, grabbing your face, guiding you to meet his gaze. "Stop looking away," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I want to see your pretty face while you ride me so well." you continued to move, each movement bringing you both closer to the edge of ecstasy. Sukuna's grip on your face softened, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek as he watched you with a mixture of desire and admiration. 
“nn-no m’ tired.” you whine, as you moved slower and slower, trying to catch your breath, Sukuna's eyes remained locked on yours. 
"let me do it then, okay?" Sukuna huffed out, his voice strained with a mix of desire and concern as he watched your exhausted, limp body. You nodded slowly, trusting him completely.
With a gentle but firm touch, he helped you off of him, guiding you onto the pillow beneath you. Your body responded instinctively, positioning yourself with your ass up, ready for him to take you in. 
He couldn't help but smirk as you quickly gave in, a knowing glint in his eyes. Sukuna had anticipated that your dominant streak wouldn't last, and seeing you surrender so completely only fueled his desire further.
"turn around for me, doll," Sukuna murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I want to look at your beautiful face while I fuck you so nice."
You complied, shifting your position to face him. His eyes drank in the sight of you, filled with both raw need and a deep-seated admiration. With a gentle touch he positioned himself over you.
“kuna’” you moaned, each thrust was deliberate,the pleasure for both of you. Sukuna's expression was a mixture of concentration and passion, the sight of you beneath him driving him wild.
"that's it," he breathed, his words barely audible over the sound of your shared breaths. "jus like that." He moaned as your arms wrapped around his neck, “mmnn, gon’ cum kuna..” 
“let it all out baby,”
"That's the last time you ever take charge," he teased, a playful glint in his eyes. "You couldn't even last." You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. Your legs intertwined with his. "Maybe," you replied, your voice soft and filled with affection. 
He sighed, "Baby, I'm sorry for today..." His voice was soft, filled with a rare vulnerability. You gently caressed his cheek, your touch tender and reassuring.
This softer side of Sukuna was fleeting, you knew that well. But in this moment, you cherished it, soaking in the warmth and sincerity he offered.
"It's okay," you whispered, your fingers tracing gentle patterns on his skin.
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jangillman · 18 days ago
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“Tom Homan didn’t debate — he delivered a televised autopsy on the Democratic machine.
This wasn’t a slip-up.
It was a blueprint.
Flood the border with 10.5 million.
Overwhelm the courts.
Delay justice for years.
By the time anyone gets a hearing, they’re voting, marching, and reshaping the electoral map.
This isn’t immigration reform — it’s voter fabrication.
The plan?
Collapse the system under the weight of manufactured chaos, then harvest the crisis for political gain.
Weaponize compassion.
Call it equity.
Hide the agenda under humanitarian slogans while rewriting the electorate without consent.
They weren’t building a nation — they were engineering a permanent majority.
But now the lights are on.
The veil is lifting.
And the reckoning is here.
The silent invasion just got loud — and America is finally listening.”
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ckret2 · 6 months ago
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The second dimension has burned, all its neighbors are burning, Bill's mutated Dimension Zero into some sort of non-euclidean horror land where he's setting up a ghoulish undead kingdom and pretending that he's fine, and every five minutes the Axolotl sees something new he's gonna have nightmares about for the next billion years.
Naturally, the gods of the multiverse have got to do something:
Make sure the non-euclidean horror land complies with local construction codes.
Here, have a fic. 
This is part 4 of a series about the Axolotl—and various local gods—trying to figure out how to deal with the aftermath of what will one day be called the Euclidean Massacre. Here are parts one, two, and three.
####
As the Time Giant inspected Dimension Zero, she took a dizzying array of measurements and performed several tests on the unstable cosmic foam that seemingly made up the dimension. To the Axolotl's untrained eye, the tests looked more like alchemy than engineering. She even momentarily popped out to a point in her timeline when she was in her office to pick up some more specialized equipment.
Dimension Zero operated like an omnidirectional treadmill, the Axolotl discovered; if you flew far enough to the left, you ended up looping around to the right, far enough up and you ended up down, far enough forward and you ended up in the back. The distances were vast, certainly, but finite. Which meant that finding the "edge" of Dimension Zero to escape it was near impossible—it had no edges. The Axolotl was amazed at his luck in having successfully found an exit the last time he was in here. Locating the border of this impossible dimension was like navigating a four-dimensional labyrinth.
But apparently the Time Giant was very good at navigating labyrinths, because again and again she effortlessly located Dimension Zero's border. It was like a thin layer of incorporeal cellophane you could move straight through without leaving Dimension Zero; but if you looked at it just right, from just the right time and place, it became real, and you saw through it into the neighboring dimensions. She spent a long time grimly examining the burning first and second dimensions "above" Dimension Zero—and a long time inspecting the places where the neighboring dimensions had already been incinerated completely, and Dimension Zero bloated out toward the third dimensions like an overfilled trash bag. 
And meanwhile, the "Magister Mentium," de facto ruler of this grotesque domain, decided that while he was waiting for news, the most magisterial thing he could do was returned to his party.
To the Axolotl's amazement, the triangle did actually seem to be dancing with his people. There was still some intelligence in some of the living and the dying-but-never-dead shapes.
Some of them knew a dance that involve interlacing their fingers, right hands to right hands, and whirling together around their joined grip, then switching to lace their left hands together and twirl the other way; and the triangle couldn't be puppeting them—not all of them, not all the time—because sometimes his dance partners were the ones who got the steps right while he fumbled the timing. The Axolotl watched as he missed grabbing a line's hand because he'd somehow gotten slightly skewed into the third dimension and his hand went over hers instead; she teasingly jabbed him in the side with her point, and in retaliation he knocked into her with one of his lower corners and snapped her in half; with a wave of his hand she was repaired and bewildered. In his shock, the Axolotl hadn't seen it the last time he'd been here—but the triangle's eternal dance party was both the horror of a root system digging deep into rotting flesh, and the hope of a flower blooming from an unmarked grave. How many of the dancers were voluntarily dancing forever? 
He didn't have an opportunity to find out. When the Time Giant had finished her inspection, she waved over the triangle again. (Not that she needed to; in spite of being back at the party, he'd also somehow remained at the Time Giant's elbow the whole time, watching what she did without blinking.) "All right, I've got the verdict on your dimension. Do you wanna start with the bad news, the worse news, or the ugly news?"
"Ease me into it," the triangle said. "So what's the matter with my dream realm?"
"The matter."
"That's what I'm asking."
"The matter's what's the matter with it."
"What?"
"Every reading I've taken indicates there's a dimension's worth of matter in here. The mass is here for it, all right. I'm picking it up no problem. I just can't find your matter." She gestured out at the infinite dance party, the swirling colors, the twinkling faraway lights, "Everything visible adds up to so little matter that I didn't even bring any tools sensitive enough to register it. It doesn't account for all the mass I'm measuring."
He surveyed the view warily. "So you're saying my place's mass is... what, invisible?"
"Invisible, stuck in pocket dimensions...  Y'all said any rubble left over from Dimension 2 Delta would've fallen in here, right? You got it hidden away somewhere?"
His eye lit up. "Oh! Are you looking for this?" He pulled a tall black hat out from seemingly nowhere and reached his arm all the way down into it to pull out a speck of dust: radiating blinding light in every direction, but so dark that staring into it made the Axolotl feel like his eyes were being sucked out of his skull into a black hole. "This is 2Δ's matter."
"Is that all that's left?"
"The whole shebang!"
"Then nah, that's not it. If that had all the matter of a dimension, and it was that small. it'd be the nuke of nukes. The seed of a Big Bang. All it'd take is a dimension's worth of energy to thaw that turkey, and pfft! You've got a baby dimension on your hands." She gestured dismissively at the speck, "No way a mortal could handle an object like that without its gravity crushing you—never mind have the energy to move it."
The triangle stared down at his little pearl of matter. "Huh." It was an oddly intense stare for just a fleck of dust.
"If you don't know where all the hidden matter is, then ten to one odds, you've got a dark matter problem," the Time Giant said. "Nasty stuff. It'll exponentially speed up the heat death of your dimension. You'll have to get a specialist in here to see if there's anything you can do about that dark matter. You want referrals?"
He was silent for a moment, still not looking up; then he said, "No, no—I don't need them." He stuffed the speck back into his hat, tossed aside the party hat he'd been wearing, and put on the black one. "I'm a DIY kind of triangle! I'll figure out what dark matter is."
The Time Giant snorted. "Suit yourself. Problem two: this dimension's a singularity. A really big, spread out singularity, which by the definition of a singularity is impossible—"
"We like impossible around here!"
"Uh huh, I can tell. But it means things that should be separate things are crushed together into one thing—including the landscape and the mindscape. Dreams and reality are occurring on the same level of existence. There's no clear distinction between facts and fiction."
"Okay," he said. "So, is that a problem, or...?"
"For starters," she jerked a thumb toward the distant-and-yet-somehow-ever-present dance party, "it means that the dead and the living are on the same plane. Can't separate life from an afterlife here. And it means anything could happen just by imagining it too hard. Some traumatized vet gets war flashbacks? The war's actually happening again. Have a nightmare about your wife dying? Your wife's dead. If everyone stops thinking about a building for a moment, it could stop existing. Contracts are useless—what you think you remembered them saying becomes what they actually said."
"So, is that a problem, orrr...?"
She paused. "Shoot, it's your universe. If you're fine with it, whatever."
"I call it the dream realm for a reason!"
"Issue three's the ugly one: this dimension's completely unstable," the Time Giant said.
"Yeah, I know," the triangle sighed. "The electromagnetism..."
"The electromagnetism ain't the half of it. I mean it is really unstable. I don't know how it's lasted as long as it has. I can see half a dozen ways the dimension could completely collapse on itself in the next ten minutes."
"What! Where?!"
She pointed. "For one thing, a whole pillar of spacetime right there is about to implode and form a wormhole."
He zoomed over to the pillar, multiplying into a dozen copies to examine it from every angle. (He looked the same small size as always, but the Axolotl realized that with the distance the pillar was at, he must be lightyears across to be visible from here—either that, or somehow he hadn't gotten any further away. The triangle shouldn't even visible when the light from his position shouldn't reach them for thousands of years. A realm that operated on dream logic.)
While he inspected the unstable structure, the Time Giant said, "Nothing about the structure of this place is self-sustaining. It should've collapsed back into a singularity as soon as 2Δ fell in. I got no idea how it just keeps propping itself back up..."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it," the triangle snapped.
The Time Giant paused. "What?"
"I'm working on it! I'd be working on it right now if you hadn't dragged me away from the party!" The nearest iteration of the triangle groaned, dragging his eyelid down with his hands. "I've been spending ages trying to keep this stupid leaky balloon inflated, and now look at this!" He gestured in exasperation at the pillar preparing to wormhole itself. "I have to start again! Do you know how many times I've tried to fold the... the dumb... the plane?" He tried to pantomime the act of folding something with his hands; as he did, apparently without noticing what he was doing, he folded himself up, like a triangular origami paper. "Fold it in a way that'll get it to stay put? And it just won't! It keeps flopping over! It's driving me nuts!"
"The 'plane'?" 
He unfolded himself with a sharp snap. "You know what I'm talking about! The plane! The plane that everything's made out of! The..." Frustrated, the triangle grabbed a wad of existence itself and shook it in the Time Giant's and Axolotl's faces. "This stuff!"
"The fabric of reality?" the Time Giant asked, flummoxed. "You can detect the fabric of reality? You can interactwith it?"
"Is that what it is?" He flung it down in disgust. "Well, it won't stay put when I fold it!"
"Yeah, fabric tends not to do that."
"Right. Right." Grimly, the triangle said, "I need the starch of reality."
"Don't starch reality."
He flung up his hands in defeat. "Well, I've tried everything else!"
Softly, the Time Giant said, "Huh." As if she'd just figured out the answer to a question she hadn't even had a chance to ask.
On the other hand, the Axolotl just had more questions. He may not know very much about the fabric of reality, but... well, that was just the thing. He didn't know much about the fabric of reality. Sure, if he ran into a fraying timeline he could tie up the loose ends and snip off the damaged threads; he could summon up his pocket afterlife at any time, opening a liminal space into his tank from anywhere in the multiverse; but that was the most complex thing he could manage by himself. He certainly didn't know enough to do anything as complicated as keep an unstable dimension from imploding on itself.
But he did know that he didn't know nearly enough for it to be safe for him to even try... and he at least knew what the fabric of reality was. For someone even more ignorant than him to try it...
The Time Giant asked, "Didn'cha... say you're a mortal?"
"Yeah?" the triangle said defensively. He didn't even waste time looking at them; his full focus was back on the pillar, which was beginning to twist around itself. "Last I checked? And?"
She held up her hands. "S'fine. Nothing wrong with that."
Just before the pillar could fully transform into a wormhole, the triangle muttered irritably to himself and snapped his fingers. The pillar inverted like a flower bud turning inside-out. There was an infinitely vast creaking groan—but nevertheless, this immediately solved the pending wormhole issue. And also promptly caused four more things to go catastrophically wrong.
The triangle let out a strangled scream of frustration as half the firmament inverted colors and the stars glowed black. "No no no no no—!" He skidded across existence to the reversed sky, a thousand hands trying to twist the stars back on before the damage spread; another copy of him was knitting closed a rapidly unraveling corner of reality with his own arms as the thread; and the Axolotl wasn't sure what the other dozen shining yellow triangles he saw whizzing by were doing, but a ringing sound he hadn't previously noticed suddenly stopped.
Throughout Dimension Zero, there was a grinding, rumbling noise that filled all of existence. The Axolotl and Time Giant both flinched at a couple of great, splintering cracking noises, so deep that they were felt rather than heard. From every direction, the Axolotl could see soot and souls rain into the dimension. The Time Giant watched the grisly rain, jaw slack in amazement.
The Axolotl saw black hands catch the souls as they fell.
In a moment the triangle was back, looking a little worse for the wear: twitchy, dazed, eye dilated too wide, clearly even more distracted than he'd been a minute ago. He didn't look exhausted, per se—the Axolotl thought he should look exhausted—but it uncomfortably dawned on him that, if the triangle was powerful enough to knit the fabric of reality back together despite not even knowing what the fabric of reality was... maybe he was too powerful to get exhausted.
Where had a mortal gotten that power?
The triangle let out a heavy sigh. "Okay—"
And then a nearby star immediately collapsed into a black hole and started slurping down the raw fabric of reality rather than any of the regular matter hovering just outside its event horizon.
He froze a moment, eye squeezed shut in an expression of pure agony; and then he was zipping across the dimension again to fix one more crisis.
All this time, the Axolotl had thought the triangle was inebriated. He wasn't inebriated at all. It was pain. He had to be near delirious with pain, struggling to control everything without a moment's rest. Weaving back and forth and popping here and there across the dimension as he tweaked and fixed small crises before they became large ones, trying to convince himself that he was at a party as he danced frenziedly with his ever-dying people even as he simultaneously knit and taped and stapled existence back together with his own body. Every time they'd spoken to him, he'd been distracted. They were distracting him from keeping his entire reality from falling apart.
The Time Giant watched him zoom around with her thumbs hooked in her belt and a grin across her face. "Man. I wanna set you loose in an infinite hardware store and see what you do with it."
The triangle gave her an unamused, dead-eyed look. (And somewhere else, he was also picking up the black hole, eyeing it tiredly, and finally just punting it in a random direction. Existence rumbled again.)  "Hey, if you know a hardware store that's got whatever it'll take to keep this place from falling to pieces, and you think you can babysit the dream realm until I'm back...
Her smile faded. "Don't think that's gonna work."
He was immediately on his guard. "Oh?"
"That's what I was trying to explain: it's not just your dimension that's unstable; it's destabilizing all the dimensions around it, too."
He flung up his hands exasperatedly. Pale blue flames ignited around his hands. "Yeah, I know!" He hastily shook out the flames on his fingers as he said, "Tell the neighbors to keep their stupid pants on, I'm working on getting this place stable—" (The Axolotl stared at his hands long after the flames were gone.)
"No, you don't get it," she said. "Trying to stabilize it is what's destabilizing the other dimensions."
He paused. "What are you talking about."
"This 'dream realm' is supposed to be a singularity in an empty void at the bottom of everything. The dimensions above are designed to support the higher dimensions weighing down on them without collapsing. They're not structured to take pressure pushing up on them from below." The Time Giant gestured around at Dimension Zero, "And that's what we've got now! Your renovations have filled up the void. That's where that grinding when you 'move' is coming from: every time you try to prop up this dimension, it crashes against all the neighbors—and they push back and destabilize you again. Just based on what little I saw when I was checking the place out, the other second dimensions must be taking heavy damage. We're talking planes fracturing apart, physics destabilizing, wormholes, temperature fluctuations from absolute zero to near Big Bang-level heat—"
"And fires," the Axolotl said in realization, remembering the ashes he'd seen raining into Dimension Zero when the triangle had fixed the wormhole. "The dimensions that were around 2Δ are burning. Nobody could figure out why we couldn't get them under control. It was you."
All of Dimension Zero fell several degrees colder.
The music faltered. The distant dancers that could stop did, shaken out of their trances to look around for their magister. For a moment, the Axolotl could hear the dimension's hissing background radiation almost clearly enough to understand what it was saying—whispers, they were whispers, the Axolotl hadn't been imagining that they sounded like voices. They really were.
He thought he could hear screams in the whispers.
The triangle stared at them, eye wide and empty.
The Time Giant gave him a moment. "You good?"
"No, I— Yes, of course I'm good! I'm great!" He squeezed his eye shut and rubbed it harshly between his thumb and forefinger. He did not look great. "I'm not destroying any dimensions, that's insane! You're insane!" His voice was rising toward a shriek. "Nothing's on fire! I don't know what you're talking about! How would you know?! I heard you out there early, the rest of you are—what, what are you doing, arguing about whose district the ashes are in?! Trying to shift the blame to each other instead of doing anything? And meanwhile I've been here all this time! I'm the only one fixing anything! I'm the one who's been liberating my people from their stupid flat little dimensions before the apocalypse can reach them, so—what do you know about anything here!"
"'Liberating'?" the Time Giant said. "What in the multiverse are you talking about?" The Axolotl's stomach sank.
"You think I can't see out of this place?" He drew them closer and closer as Dimension Zero moved around them and grew larger and larger as he spoke, forcing them to look up at him. "You think I haven't noticed my people out there dying while you big shot so-called 'gods' stand around and watch?! I can see through all their eyes! I see everything! I feel it when they die! I've been the only one saving them!"
As clear as if it were real, the Axolotl saw his memory of Dimension 2 Epsilon burning. (The Time Giant sucked in a breath—the way the mindscape worked here, could she see his memory too? Could the triangle?) The shapes spontaneously combusting and plummeting into Dimension Zero. Reality seeming to twist around them, grasp them, crush them. He saw a frightened green triangle—except for the color, a triangle so like the Magister Mentium as he'd been on the day he met the "eclipse," young and small and terrified of the cosmic forces around him—crushed and burned in the folds of the fabric of reality. Only the shapes were taken—none of the creatures around them. The triangle's people. "You're not saving anyone! You're the one killing them!"
The triangle blazed red in rage.
Everything ignited. Searing, white-hot pain. The fire was on the Axolotl's skin, in his eyes, in his gills, inside his body. He felt the voices in the cosmic radiation screaming.
Everything unignited. The Axolotl was unharmed. (Was it a hallucination? A dream? Had it been too brief to leave damage?)
The Time Giant was holding the Axolotl in front of her chest like a big plushie shield.
The triangle was small and black and still. White light traced his edges like the halo around a black hole. He didn't say anything.
He was staring at the Axolotl's memory. And the Axolotl could see the triangle's memory: from above, the plane of Dimension 2 Epsilon melted and folded around a small frightened green triangle, crushing and burning it within the fabric of reality; from below the plane, a trembling black hand reached up, stretching into the fabric of 2Ε like it was a glove, trying so hard, so carefully to catch and cradle the other triangle before it fell, confused when the fingers opened and once again all that was left in the palm was ashes.
Both memories burned up and vanished.
The Axolotl shook himself free of the Time Giant's grip and cautiously swam closer to the triangle. "Magister...?"
The universe quietly moved, carrying the Axolotl and the Time Giant away and rotating around the triangle so they were placed behind him. Okay, fine. He'd wait.
When the triangle finally spoke again, his voice was hoarse and flat. "I can't just stop fixing the dream realm. It'll collapse on us." He turned slowly to face the Time Giant. His color was starting to come back. "You've got some kind of... divine home renovation crew that can repair everything?"
She shook her head. "Sorry. I still had some hope for this place when I thought it was banging against the neighbors when it was collapsing. But if fixing it is what's breaking everything... There's nothing we can do."
"Some god," the triangle muttered ruefully. "So... what are we supposed to do."
"Honestly? This void was never built to support a dimension. Best idea is to leave and set up your dancing hippie colony somewhere else," the Time Giant said. "The third dimension next to where 2Δ used to be is swarming with refugee services; if I were you, I'd talk to the guy with the planets to set you up somewhere until you can move into another dimension."
That snapped him out of his funk. "Are you kidding? I'd rather keep fixing this place for an eternity! We sacrificed everything to reach our paradise. We're not about to ditch it now!"
The Time Giant took in the wretched floating dance party huddled together in a lonely, landless, kaleidoscopic void, and silently mouthed, paradise. She shook her head and moved on. "Well, you can't keep this place even if you wanna. It's impossible to get this place up to cosmic construction code."
"Who cares about the code!" He zipped up to her face, hands outstretched to her beseechingly. "Can't you let it slide? I am willing to bribe you. Just tell me what it'll take!"
"Buddy." Her voice took on a steely edge. "The cosmic construction code defines how every dimension in the multiverse has to be built. It exists because any dimension that doesn't meet the code could destroy all of existence." (His eye widened.) "Your 'paradise' doesn't fit in the crawlspace beneath dimensions. One of two things will happen: eventually, you fail to stabilize it, it collapses in on itself, and everyone in here ceases to exist... or, you do stabilize it, and it destabilizes every dimension built above it, and the entire multiverse collapses in on itself—including your 'dream realm.' You like either of those options?"
The triangle's hands drooped helplessly. "I... But th... After all w... I can't..."
He fell silent. His light sank back toward black.
This triangle had made himself the leader of these people, he couldn't abandon them now. The Axolotl wasn't about to watch him lose himself in despair.
"Would you let your people die like that?" He circled behind the triangle, forcing him to turn to face the Axolotl—and face his people at the same time. "You said you liberated them." As misguided as he had been—and even if few of them, maybe none of them, were actually his people—it had to be an act of love, didn't it? He had to care about them, didn't he? "After everything you did to save them, do you want to lose them now?"
The triangle glanced at the shapes, and quickly looked away. "I..."
"Look at them," the Axolotl commanded. 
He looked at them.
Slowly, he floated over his eternal dance party. To the Axolotl's surprise, several of the clear-headed ones who had stopped dancing—the haggard, the ever-bleeding, the newer arrivals that were ever-burning—stretched their hands up toward him.
The triangle flinched, ever so slightly—just a twitch in his hands—and then he reached down to them in return. The line that the Axolotl had seen dancing with the triangle earlier brushed his fingertips; he stopped to squeeze her hand as he passed.
The Axolotl could see the guilt radiating out of the triangle.
He didn't know how he knew it was guilt. He didn't even know how he could see it—it had no color, no shape. Nevertheless, he saw it. The guilt spread out like ink in water, poisoning Dimension Zero, clinging to every surface. The Axolotl's skin was unusually sensitive to toxins; the guilt made him queasy.
One of the shapes asked the triangle something; the Axolotl couldn't hear the question, just the triangle's quiet answer: "Nah, don't worry about those losers. A few higher-dimensional beings got mad we liberated ourselves. They hate to see the second dimension winning. It's fine, I can kick their bases if they try to make any trouble."
(The Time Giant snorted. The Axolotl wasn't sure it was an empty threat.)
"Now why isn't everyone dancing! C'mon, chop chop, this is a celebration! I wanna see everyone shaking their sides! Talking to you, Graham!" The triangle raised a hand, threateningly preparing to snap his fingers; before he had to, all the shapes were dancing again, as enthusiastically/fearfully as ever.
He watched his people for a moment longer.
And then turned to the Time Giant and the Axolotl. "Okay," he said. "I'll talk to the guy with the planets."
####
(Thanks for reading!! If the art lured you in and this is the first chapter you read, this is part 4 of a 7-or-8 part fic that keeps getting more parts, about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting one chapter a week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna watch the Axolotl slowly discover just how much of a monster that silly triangle he likes really is.
It's ALSO chapter 64 of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.
If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: the great thing about this plot is that almost every chapter has a new terrible reveal about what Bill's up to! Looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts on this latest bunch of revelations. Depending on how I split things up, next week might be another more low-key chapter to set up further horrors.
Nobody asked but the line Bill was dancing with is named Lynn Segment, and the Graham he spoke to is a quadrilateral with two older siblings: Perry, Lilo, & Graham. What's the point of making geometric shape characters if you aren't giving them pun names.)
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kayawolfhorse · 5 months ago
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He sticks around for a while after the disappointment of his failed trap. There’s no one left to sue him over it.
The blood is just starting to crust over where it clings to Joel’s scabbard, and it flakes upon his skin. His clothing is still filthy, but it hardly matters—the grime is of this server, and will remain with it when he leaves.
Sunset blankets the world in fiery oranges and brilliant pinks, dripping darkness like spilled ink across cliff sides and into pocket-marked craters. In its wake, without the chaos of the wild cards, in the absence of any living thing, the silence is near-deafening. Joel sighs once, loudly, just to fill the space, and does it again when he thinks about how it’d annoy Jimmy if he were still here.
The bridge to the base is remarkably intact, and the planks creak beneath Joel’s steps. He spares Gem’s empty cobbled barn a fleeting glance and reminds himself that he’ll see her soon as he marches up to his car and sets about ridding his inventory of unnecessary junk in the grass next to it.
He can practically hear Grian’s insistence that he get on with it already, but one of them is dead, and the other has a car to fix, so Joel effectively banishes the thought and pokes his tongue out in the vague direction of the sky above him.
Joel works through the night. Exploded as it had been, just about every part of the car needs repairing. The exterior comes easily enough, and it’s by torchlight that he reconstructs the engine, using up the last stores of his and Gem’s iron before raiding Etho’s waterlogged chests to finish the job.
Just before dawn is about to break, Joel slides into the driver’s seat and gives the keys a turn. The engine sputters for a moment before roaring to life. Joel grins.
It’s a bumpy ride through the center of the map, and Joel doesn’t want to talk about the times he had to rapidly construct a bridge across the rivers to get across. Once the ruined bases are confined to his rearview mirror and all that stretches before him is unmarred terrain, he floors it, giving a whoop in delight as the speedometer climbs higher and higher.
The blue shimmer of the world border overtakes the frame of the windshield. The pale morning sun has just started its ascent. Joel pushes forwards, hands tight against the wheel, teeth clenched firmly together. Thirty blocks, twenty blocks, five blocks away—
Joel slams through the border to the sound of shattering glass, and his vision goes black all at once.
—☾—
“For the record, that should not have worked,” Grian says. “And did you really have to bring that here?”
Joel’s not entirely sure where here is. Grian looks mostly corporeal, though his edges waver like the illusion of water against hot pavement, and Joel himself feels pretty solid, but all around them is vast nothingness. Pearl and Scott are bright flashes of red and blue somewhere behind Grian, and Joel can just barely make out Martyn and Scar further back.
It’s a little dizzying, honestly, and Joel quickly resolves to not look down. Despite the nausea that threatens to bubble up his throat, he makes no move to stop the smirk that spreads across his face. He gives the car’s hood at his side an affectionate pat, and is smug as he says, “Much like family, the car is forever, Grian.”
Grian buries his face in his hands.
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riverbends · 13 days ago
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BLUEBIRD
(andrew ���pope” cody x f!reader)
part two: flight | mdni | part 1 | MASTERLIST
—For someone who appears so tremendously stoic, you are mystified by the pained shudder in his breath.
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tags: angst, stalking, pain kink, mentions of pope's suicidal tendencies, unwanted proximity bordering on assault (not with pope), heavy yearning, canon-typical mommy issues wc: 5.1k cat says: yeah i'm posting this a few hours earlier YES idk why i bother tagging 'angst', i feel like it's an inherent part of anything involving pope cody
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This, he tries to tell himself, is better.
Because at least he is contained and resolute outside your house. At least he is here and not in that blinding suburban hell. At least he isn’t parked up on someone else’s street, waiting—desperately hoping—for her to come running back.
No, instead, he placates the memory of that child by watching you from his pickup truck, here and there, throughout the day. Not every day, just some odd ones. Sits opposite your humble one-storey abode and memorises the yard and the low, red brick border and the porch and the font of the street number on your mailbox and the way you sit on your front steps in the morning as you nurse a mug in both hands. Sometimes joined by your daughter, who entertains you like she was born to make you break out into laughter. Sam, he remembers. Of course he does. He remembers exactly what you were wearing the first and second time he saw you. Remembers the charms clinking against your car keys and the press of your hand on his wrist as you tried to shoo his money away last week.
He doesn’t know how you like to make your coffee on the mornings you sit outside. Doesn’t know if you’re even drinking coffee. Not at all privy to the finer details.
But he studies you like he’s planning a job.
There is a day where he finds you at a park around the corner from your house. It seems to be a routine between you and Sam—not every day, just some odd ones. He’s not sure how he manages to keep himself composed at the familiarity of it. A swing set and a girl and something…akin to penance? To a fleeting pardon? He is aware of how foolish it was to think that the love of a child could grant him absolution; could clean him.
This is the picture of innocence, though. With a wide smile splitting your mouth, you pull Sam’s seat as far back as you can while she squeals in the delight of anticipation. You count down, gathering momentum. Harnessing wind. A big push, and your baby takes flight. He is convinced, for a fraction of a second, that Lena is the one suspended in air, her hair blowing out around her like wings. But you’re cheering Sam on as she settles back down with slow, declining kicks.
Pope is gone before he can let himself unspool like an old cassette tape. Like something nobody wants anymore—something everybody has moved past.
You should really pay attention to your surroundings. He thinks you’re too easy to find, too easy to see without being seen himself (or he’s just disturbingly perceptive and he doesn’t like to think about the fact). But he has to remember your life and his are not one and the same. You have absolutely no reason to be as paranoid, as perceptive, as he is. You are not conditioned, he presumes, to go in with all teeth the moment you’ve been found out.
He knows that you pick up double shifts at the diner so your daughter doesn’t go hungry. He knows you sit in your car, before and after work, with your hands gripping the steering wheel as you press your forehead to the curve of the gap between them. What else is he to do with all of this time on his hands? If he’s not on a job, if he’s not in the fighting cage, if he’s not sitting in Lena’s old room, what more is there?
That’s what it is—a life without. He was built to saunter through battlefields in blood-stained stupor, not to live. His brothers might do this for the bountiful rewards that a good, well-structured job would bring. But this is way he was engineered. A steel-bodied machine; a soldier. The wolf in the black of night.
For as long as he can remember, ‘living’ is a hollow promise. ‘Living’ is the last thing Smurf raised him to do. He’s been on decades-long orders to traipse the darkness, eyes peeled and unblinking, watching for the threat of movement since childhood. He doesn’t know that, sometimes, he is the mirror of his long-dead father. Bogged down in the same paranoid craze that Colin wrestled with before Pope and Julia were nestled in Smurf’s womb—the sodden mire that seems to keep expanding. How strange it is to perfectly reflect a man and his hysteria without ever having known him. To inherit his father’s ghosts like warm heirlooms and spend his life wondering why he is the way he is.
No old photographs, no worn-out clothes, no well-loved car to be passed down to him. Just the name of a hockey player his father liked—Feels like a boy to me. Hey, Andrew, come on out and prove me right, you hear me?—and, of course, the loose screw. The thing in the cavity of his brain that ticks away like a faulty fire alarm. So, no, he can’t say that he ‘lives’ as much as he is haunted.
—yeah, after Andy Bathgate. Greatest hockey player of all time. You don’t like it? “Andy” for short.
Andrew David Cody, growing in a belly beside his sister as their father speaks only with him (Smurf has always held the belief that Andy would’ve softened him. In a good way. Had Colin lived long enough to give their son the nickname he wanted).
The haunting is why Pope doesn’t fight his habits. On the contrary, he clings to them like he’s hanging from the chin of a cliff, clawing for permanence so hard that his nails are scraped raw and bloody down to bone. He is intimate with this—latching onto pain. It saves him every time, and it pools on his tongue like blood medicine.
Won’t change a thing about Lena’s room in the Cody house. Won’t stop chipping into the fund he’s built for her. Won’t stop buying the food she used to eat and letting it go stale and mould-green because he obviously isn’t purchasing that shit to eat it. He is nourished by memory. Remembrance feeds him full.  
It draws him back to the stupid grocer’s a week after seeing you. Though, he is here on a different day and a different time, hoping you’re not around. He can’t stomach that. Can’t force himself to remain poised and pretend the thought of you alone doesn’t make his head spin. It always did back then. With somebody else. That beach house and that little girl and that woman who stopped seeing him the way she used to as soon as he was thrown in a cell. Couldn’t even look at him when he got out. What is he left with now? His ghosts? His father’s ghosts?
Everything festers—
Six different brands of amber-brown maple syrup stare back at him from their shelves, and it’s torture. She should be here. She would tell him which one to get. Try her best to strain her little legs and reach up high for a bottle until he has to pluck it down for her. She would probably pout about it—I almost got it. He would nod—I know. Pope wonders if her brand new parents and her brand new sister take her out to get brand new maple syrup for their brand new pancakes and he feels his fists stiffen into stone weights at his side.
And then something tumbles into the side of his leg and lands on the floor with a thump and a small yelp that soon turns into sore snivelling. He frowns at the syrup before looking down to his left where he finds Sam all curled up, snotty-nosed and weeping as she firmly presses her hands over her right knee. When she meets his gaze, she’s suddenly sobbing in a way that chokes her words. He wonders if the fresh evidence of his recent cage fight has frightened her. The little white butterfly stitch. The colours blemishing his skin are rich and ugly after all—plum purple and screaming red. Her eyes dart all over his bruised face as if her collision alone was turbulent enough to hurt him in such a way.
“I’m sorry, mister, I’m really sorry,” she hiccups. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m sorry.” Apologies keep stringing from between her chattering teeth while he watches her fuss over her knee.
Pope lifts his chin and surveys the surrounding aisle in search of you before looking down again. He can’t really leave her—not that he would do such a thing anyway. He knows how helpless children can be. For him, driving a pocketknife into someone’s jugular vein is an easier feat than abandoning a lost child.
“Where’s your mom?” he asks. Sam blinks away her tears and drags her free hand under her leaky nose.
“I dunno,” she mumbles, bottom lip wobbling. “She told me to get a jar of honey and- and wait for her.”
He looks around once more, waiting for you to show up. Part hope, part dread. It doesn’t really occur to him that he might look uncaring or indifferent to the observing eye. He’s too caught up in the familiarity of this. Transported back to a time where he would’ve caught Lena to steady her with one hand before she could even hit the floor. Gravity was secondary to his caution for that girl. Light and physics be damned. Had Lena fallen like this, he wouldn’t think twice before scooping her up in his arms.
“We’re gonna look for her,” is all he says before leaning down, leather jacket creasing around his shoulders as he hauls Sam up by her underarms. The moment he hitches her on his hip, he has to anchor himself before his world tips over. It was instinct—the lift, the motion, the hold. Muscle memory. Just someone else’s daughter this time. Yours.
“Is your knee okay?” he asks, carrying her down the aisle like she’s weightless; eyes searching as he turns a corner. Sam nods before her arms loop around his neck and it feels like they’re locking. Feels like he’ll never be able to get out again.
Lena used to cling to him just as tight when he carried her, as if mere air would rip her away from him if she didn’t hold on with her life (but he never really let that happen, remember? Gravity? Light and physics? Laws that bent to his will. Logic that yielded to his love. Until he looked away for only a moment and everything slipped—). She’d get tired and rest her head on his shoulder, little nose tickling the crook of his neck. Craig once joked that Lena always latched onto Pope like a baby spider monkey.
“Yeah, she’s got the eyes too,” his brother laughed.
Pope shrugged, “Well, spider monkeys nurse on their mothers for at least three years.”
“Right, so they grow up like any normal kid,” Craig scoffed and flicked Deran a look, who only shook his head and minded his beer. The frown pulling Pope’s brows weighed deeper then.
“The mothers take their young everywhere,” he said, some faraway look blooming in his eyes. Remembered he had to pick her up from school soon. “Y’know, a lot of female monkeys tend to stick with their mothers long after they’ve grown up. It’s not uncommon in primate families.” Craig and Deran listened without absorbing anything, but he was elsewhere. Thinking about attachment, and the sheer force of it; the endurance. How, at the time, it felt like nothing in the world could tear through it—through him and his child. A fool’s dream. “Severance is harrowing,” he murmured, “for the both of them.”
Aisle after aisle, he walks across the far end of the store with his head stiffened to his right, pace picking up as he scans through the gaps until he freezes. A man towers over you in the middle of the drinks aisle, locking his hand around your wrist and gritting harsh whispers against your temple. You’re shaking your head, trying to claw at the man’s forearm with your free hand. A scene of proximity so clearly unwanted that you’re squirming against him the way a joint-locked animal twitches under pressure with little fight left in it. Pope feels his body load up like a gun. Safety off.
Electric heat charges through his legs, ready to storm forward with purpose, but then the heel of your palm cracks against the man’s cheek and the sound of it is sharp. Cuts through the low buzz of the radio hits from the store’s speakers.
Sam stirs in the warm crib of leather-clad arms, “Mommy?”
You fight whiplash at the speed of your own split of attention, head snapping to your left where you find your daughter wrapped around the torso of your friend who is not your friend because you’ve only met him twice before. Your friend who wears vivid contusions like he was kissed all over the face. The touch of bursting knuckles instead of your a soft mouth.
Andrew.
The sight of him holding your daughter at the end of the aisle has you ripping yourself away from your foe with a strength you thought you had misplaced until hearing her voice. Pope watches you rush toward him, hands reaching for Sam’s face like lungs stretching for air. But his eyes creep back to the man you’ve left behind, who contests Pope’s undaunted glare. He’s taller than Pope, but lean. Hair sweeps over his forehead, spine hunches slightly with a carelessness. Could snap the bastard in seconds.
“Hey, baby, hey,” you smile weakly, stroking a thumb over Sam’s chin before combing your fingers through her hair. Pope is roped back in. Can’t focus on anything but your gentle fretting and fussing. “Didn’t I tell you to get me some honey?” You ask and Sam nods, eyes downcast like she’s about to apologise. Again.
“I ran too fast,” she whispers.
It’s clear to you now—how he’s holding her. As if he has held her like this since before she could walk. You feel his eyes on you as yours drop to find a pale blotch of red flushing through the skin of her knee, bent leg tucked beneath the crook of his elbow.
The man behind you gnashes your name in his teeth. Pope is near ready to pounce again.
“You move on fast, don’t you?” He laughs bitterly, burrowing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Sam peels her arms away from Pope’s shoulders and he takes it as a sign to let the girl regain her footing. She’s encircling your thighs with the tight lock of her hands as soon as he eases her down. Your fingers trace over her shoulders as she hides her face.
Pope steps closer and lowers his head to look into your eyes like he thinks it’ll give you no other choice but to meet his gaze. Like he’s quite confident you’ll let him in that way. His voice is only for your ears when you do. “You want me to handle him?”
Maybe this is the first time you really start to consider using the word ‘strange’ to describe him. His generosity seems to know no bounds and it just confounds you. The chocolate pretzels, the cash, bringing Sam back to you. Strange. A complete stranger. You’ve never met someone with such a reclusive disposition who’d still give the shirt off their back to…you. Of course, it makes you feel sceptical. Of course, you’re going wonder if he’s trying to get something in return.
But those bruises suggest he has many means of getting what he wants. His face, his knuckles. Not just today, not just last week, but even the first time you met him, though the marks were the least visible at the time. It’s gotten consecutively worse over the three instances where you’ve run into each other. You can put two and two together. Must be a pastime of some sort, and a strange one at that. Strange. If he has some other agenda, you’d wager he’d have already taken it by force. He must pity you, then? Thinks you can’t take care of yourself so he has to do it for you?
(Unbeknownst to you, he is so inexplicably drawn in. It’s been too long since he’s allowed himself to dive head-first into this kind of naivety. You seem to nurse the promise of oasis and, of this, Pope is almost certain).
“I’m okay, trust me,” you nod once but his frown only deepens with doubt. He has never been this close before. Not uncomfortably close, but close enough that you think you can see the broken capillaries of the skin of his purple under-eyes. The thin adhesive strip closing the wine-red wound of his cheekbone. A part of you wants to press on a small welt. See if it hurts. See if he’s just stone.
He keeps searching your eyes, unrelenting. It takes the soft pressure of your palm on his sternum and a whispered please to disarm him. You see it, too.
The shift in his face reminds you of the fierce thoroughbreds you grew up watching. Creatures of majesty, condemned to the never-ending racetracks where their victories were gambled on. Raised to fill the pockets of insatiable betters and disposed in meat trucks when they no longer served their purpose. But you remember visiting these gentle giants in their stalls, sneaking a sugar cube or two in your little hands. The way their ears perked forward at something sweet. Nostrils flaring, head lowering. Trusting you enough to guide them to the reward in your hand.
He looks at you with the same keen interest and that rapt hunger you could only ever find in the eyes of an animal—this formidable racehorse leaning into your open palm. Mighty Orphnaeus surrenders.
Neither of you notice the man’s absence until Sam coughs into your leg. Pope still feels the phantom shape of your hand on his chest after you’ve stepped away to look over your shoulder. Paralysed, he watches the angular muscle flex in your neck as you turn. He’s itching to get out; escape. Thick, sinewy arm choking between iron bars as he searches for the lock to his own cell.
He can’t figure out if you make him feel twice as caged or closer to freedom than he’s ever been. Either way, Libertad brands the skin you touched through his shirt. Any closer to the left, and he’s confident you could’ve torn his heart out with its caustic chambers and rotten valves, leaving shreds of flesh and clotted blood dribbling down your wrist. Any closer, and he’s terrified you could’ve discovered that he was never in possession of anything resembling a heart to begin with. Though this wretched organ batters his ribs with persistence, the absence of it would not surprise him in the slightest.
“Where was she?” you ask. Pope blinks back into his senses. Has to wet his tongue like a sponge just to speak.
“She ran into me in the,” he struggles to remember now, “breakfast aisle. I think she hurt her leg.”
You gently tip Sam’s head back and tuck your chin to your chest to make eye contact, “Now, what’ve I told you about running in places we shouldn’t be running?” You wear some faux pout of sympathy as her brain tries to download an explanation. “Did you apologise to Mr. Andrew?”
Sam nods her head vigorously before craning her neck around to ramble another string of I’m sorry’s.
“I’ll be alright,” he says, voice tight.
Momentarily, you’re crouching to take a look at the bruise on her knee—a fresh but fading blotch the size of a quarter. It could be a longing for childhood or a longing for the child he lost, but when she balances a hand on your shoulder as you pull up the bend of her knee to kiss it better, he aches something fierce. There were times, of course, before Smurf’s love turned acrid; perverse. Times when his only sibling was Julia, times when innocence was preserved. When a kiss on a bruise was the only aid he needed, no strings attached.
“Thank you, I’m sorry she’s—” you push yourself up from the floor, “—a bit unaware of her surroundings sometimes.”
“They tend to be,” he agrees.
“You got kids?”
It’s a harmless question in your head, but you can’t say the same for him. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think a bullet just narrowly missed his ear and fucked with all the gears in his brain. Cogs bursting apart.
“Uh, she fell off her ATV thingy. Got a few scrapes.”
“Where’s Baz?”
“I don’t know, man.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Put her on the phone.”
“Okay.” A beat, and distantly: “It’s- it’s Uncle Pope.”
“Hi.” Relief, then. Waves of it, rivalling the crashing shore in front of him. Roaring at him with foam and ferocity in the cool of this night. Like it was God who saw him draw the gun to his head and knew only her voice would lift his finger off the trigger.
“Hey,” he breathed. “Are you alright?”
“He tackled me.” She had been crying.
“What? Who- who tackled you?”
“A man. So I wouldn’t get hit by the car.”
The parties always bothered him, but he was never really driven to shut them down like he did now. Grabbing the shotgun from the fireplace and pulling the cords from the speakers. The sea was his oracle that night—the child, his saviour.
“No,” Pope answers flatly. You’re perceptive enough to recognise that the pause before might be an indication of something he’s chosen not to share. So, you nod.
“Well, can you let me repay you?” Your hands rest on your hips. “For last time, at least, because that was absurd,” you laugh.
“It wasn’t a loan.”
“What were you shopping for?” You ask, ignoring his rejection to your offer. He narrows his eyes like he’s caught on to a game you’re playing.
“Nothing. Just maple syrup,” he says. “I don’t need it.”
You roll your lips into a line, trying to force back a smile. For many reasons beyond you, the enigmas he has presented over time don’t necessarily scare you away like they probably should. Shadow, retrospectively speaking, has never been good for you. Furtive men who show you mere glimpses of the skeletons in their closet before tightening the padlock. They give you a thirst you can’t slake. You’re always left to jam your way in, and what you find has you staggering back. Isn’t that how one of your exes ended up cornering you in this aisle? Isn’t that why you sent Sam to find something you didn’t need? Isn’t that how your thoroughbred brought her back to you?
But he is so singular in his ways. Remarkably giving. Stuck between deciding if he should glue his eyes to yours or look at everything in existence but your face. You haven’t forgotten the way his shoulders had tensed at your closeness before resting upon touch—like he was bracing for impact. Like you have the power to tear his very soul asunder. For someone who appears so tremendously stoic, you are mystified by the pained shudder in his breath.
His body seems to translate what he refuses to confess. He betrays himself.
“Then why do you look for it?”
He thinks on it—“Habit.” No matter how little sense it makes to you, that is all he knows. Habit. Repetition. Return. Chases his own tail like a blind mutt most of the time.
In the suspension of sound, he says—doesn’t ask—he’ll walk you and Sam out to your car. He almost pays for your groceries, but he’s afraid it might frustrate you the second time around. You’re doing all the talking at the self-checkout while he quietly passes items for you to scan, ears keen for the stories you recount about Sam as a toddler. At one point, you draw the faintest ghost of a laugh from his chest and it fills you with this ludicrously enormous sense of accomplishment. You yearn to hear the sound of it once more—to actually see it grace his face, too.
He learns that Sam is actually ‘Samantha’, and that you named her after a friend with whom you no longer speak. Not for any tragic reason, just time, you tell him. A high school friendship that ran its course. He wonders, then, if you’ll somehow keep him in your life for longer than these passing grocery run-ins (longer than his frequent observations from his pickup outside of your house—outside of your knowledge).
Sam skips ahead of you as Pope, who had silently collected the bags of food against your objections, walks by your side like he’s holding feathers. The leather of his jacket catches on your arm sometimes.
“Can I ask about the bruises?” You ask out of nowhere, keeping an eye on Sam as you all walk the crossing. “Don’t tell me I should see the other guy.” A breath, just short of another laugh, leaves his throat.
“Maybe you should,” he says, adjusting his hold on the bags. He won’t say anything about the other bruises he’s hiding under his jacket, and how it hurts a little to carry the weight of the food. “Sort of a hobby. Hole-and-corner cage fights and the usual betting.”
—formidable racehorse.
“And how does one get into cage fighting?” You look at him, brows raised with astonishment.
He locks his gaze ahead, looking around for your sedan. “My…mother puts me in. For catharsis, I guess.”
“And is it?” you press. “Cathartic?”
The three of you settle by the trunk of your car. Sam crouches in front of a tyre to trace over the bolts while you wait for Pope to give you an answer. You wait until it’s clear to him that you’re expecting something. Truth.
“Sometimes, yeah,” he shrugs. “It doesn’t require much thought and I s’pose I’m good enough at it.”
“And the bruises?” You finally move to pop the trunk, prompting Sam to jerk a door open and hop into the backseat out of boredom.
Pope bends at the waist to lower the bags into the empty compartment before stepping back and shutting the rear for you. “I don’t really mind them.” He would’ve called them reminders. Or punishment. Or penance. Only if he was sure you wouldn’t ask why.
“Maybe you should,” you playfully echo his words from earlier and he rests his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The corner of his mouth creases at your quip, and it might rival the feeling you get when a glass of wine plunges you in a heady buzz. Blurring the world around you with a dull kind of bliss. He dizzies you with a fucking quarter of a smile and you open your mouth before you can give yourself a chance to think. “Can I do something?”
He is wordless again. Searching. Again. Narrows his eyes like he did in the store, like he’s trying to feel around in the dark despite seeing your pleading face shining before him in broad daylight. Then, a nod. Then, stillness. Your hearts leap into a synchronised crescendo of beating as you let yourself approach him, slow as the sun breaking out of its horizon. There is not a single moment where his eyes aren’t locked on yours, even when your hand finds the side of his neck and he feels your thumb barely graze a welt on the corner of his jaw.
Pain is nothing to him here. Pain is almost sublime when you softly press your lips to the tender skin near his butterfly stitch. Ghosting the scar that aches most. He shudders the same way he did when your palm was on his chest in the drinks aisle. A kaleidoscope of light deluges his vision and all he can do is close his eyes to absorb the heat from your mouth as it permeates the skin of his cheekbone. All he can do is clench his fists in his pockets and pray that you’ll move the pressure up to the stitch. Kiss him where it really hurts. Kiss him better.
He’s not sure he can remain standing any longer when your warm mouth and your soft palm leave him untouched again.
You don’t know what possessed you, but you can’t pretend it hadn’t been on your mind for a while. You can’t pretend the bruise isn’t calling you back to make contact again. To cradle his jaw, to caress his wounds in a way that impels his hands to tear out of his pockets and search for purchase of your hips in a desperate attempt to steady himself under your touch.
His eyes peel open to find you again, only a breath away.
Courage embraces you once more. “Give me your phone.”
He is so stunned, he can’t compute the image of you adding your number to his contacts but that’s exactly what you’re doing as he struggles to make fucking sense of what you just did.
“Invite me to a fight,” you say, short of breath as you return his phone. “Or whatever you want. Or don’t, it’s up to you.”
Pope barely nods, too distracted by his phone displaying the standard digits of your number and the print of your name above it. Mouth, too dry to give you words. He’s still lingering by the trunk when you climb into the driver’s seat.
Once you click in your seatbelt, you can really feel the sheer velocity of your heart, like it’s darting all over your body. Electrifying you.
Sam kicks your seat, eager to go home.
“Okay, baby, I know,” you calm her down as you adjust the rearview mirror to find…nothing. Just the utter absence of him. Maybe you really should’ve kissed him; pressed your mouth against his properly. Maybe he wouldn’t have liked that. Would he? He’s still a stranger in most ways—in every way that’s supposed to make you keep your distance.
You toss and turn in bed with grating regret over how forward you were in the parking lot. If anything, you must’ve looked vain. So arrogantly sure of yourself that you’re convinced you can peck someone on the cheek and order them to give you their phone so you can insert yourself into their life before they have the chance to object.
But once the tail of sleep curls itself around you, your phone lights up, vibrating on your bedside table as it bears a foreign number on its screen.
—this formidable racehorse leaning into your open palm. Mighty Orphnaeus surrenders.
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emchante · 7 months ago
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kinktober | pinned to perfection - d.r.
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day 2 - against a wall | kinktober masterlist
summary: after a long, stressful day, daniel’s tension is palpable. when the both of you are finally alone with no distractions, you find yourself pushed up against a wall with daniel pinning you as he takes charge.
WARNINGS: 18+ content, wall sex, rough sex, desperate sex, dom! daniel, teasing, thigh riding.
w.c: 1.7k
a/n: day 2! i had fun working on this one, it's quite the contrast to day 1. let me know your thoughts via reblog, comment or ask, i love hearing from you guys. and i'll see you next week for week 2.
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you should have seen it coming. in fact, you sort of had. daniel’s race had ended with yet another dnf– this time through no fault of his own– they said it was an engine failure. you’d watched as the cameras panned to him back in the garage, helmet still on to hide his expression. his shoulders were rigid, his posture tight. even through the screen, you could feel the frustration, the tension. so when you were shoved against the hotel room wall the moment you entered, it didn’t shock you. your hands were firmly pinned against the cold paint, the contrast of its chill and the warmth of daniel’s larger hands was hard to ignore. his right knee slipped between your legs, grazing your clothed cunt in a way that made you shudder– not unexpected, but no less intense.
daniel’s breath was heavy, each exhale brushing against your skin. his eyes looked darker, the usual spark that twinkled in them no longer visible. for a moment, he didn’t move, keeping you pinned against the door. his grip tightened, then loosened, then tightened again, as if he was fighting something within him. he moved his forehead to rest against your own, his dark eyes boring into you. he licked his lips, running his teeth along his bottom lip before speaking up. “i tried,” he muttered, his voice strained. “i tried to hold it together,” he told you, before squeezing his eyes shut. his knee pushed itself up to rub against your core, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips. his grip on your hands tightened, pushing them further against the wall as he exhaled heavily through his nose. “i need this,” he murmured, opening his eyes to see your reaction. you meekly nodded, though you knew it wasn’t really asking for permission. he knew what he needed, and he was going to get his outlet. without warning, daniel’s lips found yours and took you in for an feverish kiss. his mouth moved against yours with raw intensity, as though words weren’t enough to express his frustrations. his breath came out raggedy through the messy kisses, mingling with yours as he pressed harder, deeper into you. he put all his passion into his actions as words couldn’t describe his current feelings. his left hand released your own from it’s grip, moving to cradle your face. his touch was rough, though slightly trembling as his thumb brushed over your cheekbone, trying to ground himself in your softness. his other fingers wound their way into your hair, pulling you closer to him. he was touching you with such urgency, it was bordering ferality.
his other hand moved to your waist as he pulled you further onto his leg, his thigh pressing more firmly between your legs. you could feel the pressure– hot and insistent– rubbing right against your core. you pulled away from the kiss to whine at the feeling, looking to daniel with a pleading glance. he let out a harsh breath as his grip on you tightened.  “come on then,” he murmured, his voice low. “use it.” it wasn’t an offer, it was a demand, and who were you to say no? not that you had much of a choice anyways. daniel slowly began to rock you against his thigh, setting a slow pace. the friction sent waves of pleasure through you, and a soft whimper escaped your lips. your head moved to rest on daniel’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as you moved with daniel’s guide, doing just as he said. it felt so good, but it was tortuous. the pace was so slow, and you just wanted to speed it up. daniel didn’t give you room to stop, keeping your hips moving whether you wanted to co-operate or not. his lips moved against your ear, and you heard the moan he swallowed before whispering, “just like that..”
each grind against his firm thigh sent sparks of pleasure through your body, and you felt yourself growing more desperate as you got more into it. daniel was feeling the same. the muffled whines and whimpers that escaped you each time you rutted against him went right to his cock, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold off for much longer.
he let out another deep sigh, before you felt his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “you’re doing so well,” he praised lowly, allowing his hand to grip tighter on your waist. he pushed you further into his thigh, forcing you to take in every bit of friction he was able to provide. his voice went higher, a teasing tone mixed in with his murmured “but..” and he let the word hang for a moment. you could feel him smirking against you, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “you want more, don’t you?” you eagerly nodded against his shoulder in response, a shiver running through you at the dark chuckle daniel let out in return. you dug your nails into his back, whining out a small “please.” you were aching for something faster, something harder. and daniel felt it– the way your body was straining against his hold, the way you wanted to take control, to push things forward. he wanted to tease you in return, drag this out just to torture you. but he couldn’t. he needed this more than anyone, and your sweet noises were enough to spur him on. he moved his hand to your head, fingers tangling with your hair as he pulled your head away from his shoulder. his eyes were dark still, to no surprise. but they were filled with something primal.. something fierce. “don’t worry sweetheart,” he breathed out, running his tongue across his lips. “i’m going to give you exactly what you need.”
daniel’s words hung heavy in the air, his breath fanning across your face as he held you there a little longer, your body still pinned between him and the wall. the need in his eyes was more prominent than before, and you could feel the tension radiating between your bodies. without breaking eye contact, daniel’s free hand slid down your body, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your thigh.
in one swift motion, he hooked your leg around his waist and positioned himself in between your thighs. you could feel his clothed cock, straining against the confines of his clothes. the contact with your core elicited a moan from your lips, breath starting to become shakier as you were getting closer to what you wanted.
with a low growl he smashed his lips onto yours again, taking you in for a heated kiss. your teeth were clashing with his, your breathing was hot and heavy, and your tongues were in a battle for dominance. while your mouths fought with one another, both of daniel’s hands has made their way to the waistband of your bottoms. hooking his fingers in, he pulled the clothing with determined tugs until the bottom half of your body was bare.
you whined as your sensitive clit made contact with his still clothed erection, making daniel pull back from the kiss. his lips curled into a smirk at the reaction, grinding against you just once. he winked afterwards when you groaned at his teasing, huffing at him.
he told you to just wait as he quickly undone his fly, his trousers falling to pool around his ankles as his boxers joined shortly after. his hands returned to your waist, his touch firm as he pressed you harder into the wall. the cool surface against your back was the opposite of what yout front was feeling– the strong heat radiating from daniel’s body. you couldn’t help the way your hips shifted in anticipation, rubbing lightly against daniel.
a low growl escaped daniel as he guided himself to your entrance, teasing your slick folds with the tip of his cock. it was frustrating, having him so close to you, but still so far from what you needed. your breath caught in your throat, a groan escaping you which let daniel know just how desperate you were getting.
as if he read your mind, daniel thrusted into you with one movement, filling you completely. a cry tore from your hips, your head falling back against the wall as the sudden stretch and fullness overwhelmed you.
a deep groan rumbled from daniel’s chest, savouring the feeling of being buried inside you. his grip on you tightened, fingers digging into your skin as he began to move. his pace was steady yet relentless, and each thrust was pushing you further into the wall with every motion.
the sound of yours and daniel’s laboured breathing filled the room, mingling with the strangled moans and wet slap of skin against skin as daniel’s pace increased. his lips made their way to your neck, kissing and sucking on the sensitive skin to leave it red and blotchy. however, his 5 o’clock shadow also contributed to that, as it rubbed against the skin through his kisses.
“fuck..” daniel mumbled against your skin, voice thick with lust. “you feel so good, so tight around me.” his words only spurred you on, your body responding instinctively to the relentless rhythm he set, hips bucking against him as you chased your release.
one of his hands stayed firm on your hip to keep you in place as he fucked you faster, but it didn’t stop the other from trailing its way up your front. he gripped your breast tightly, his thumb brushing over the hardened nipple before pushing into it. he felt you clench around him due to his actions, and he continued to play with your peaked nipple, stimulating it for a while before he switched to your other breast to give it the same treatment.
“come on, sweetheart,” daniel murmured, moving his lips to your ear as he placed a soft kiss on the skin below it. “i can feel how close you are.. let go f’me.”
his words were the final push that you needed, and with one last thrust the tension inside you finally snapped. a high-pitched cry escaped your lips as your orgasm crashed over you. your body was trembling in his arms as you let yourself go, allowing the waves of pleasure to overtake you. daniel wasn’t far behind either, his grip on you tightening as he buried himself deep into you one last time, a guttural moan escaping you as he spilled inside you.
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thatrandomsarahchick · 1 year ago
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DC x DP short
I'm picturing Danny moving to Gotham once he's an adult. He came out to his parents, and it went fine. More than fine. They listened to how he was struggling at school because he kept having to chase down the ghosts they let out by leaving the portal open. Jack was super proud of his son for being a ghost hunter even as a ghost, but Maddie understood his concern and set up some new protocols for the portal.
It now automatically closes after two minutes unless a specific command is put in by Danny to keep it open while he is in the Zone, and the shielding around it actually works to stop ghosts coming trig without hurting them now.
The shine of the mortal world has worn off for most of his regulars now, and those that come through have figured out compromises so they can still fulfil their obsessions without hurting others. The meta-protection act officially disbands the GIW, and Red Huntress is given a very thorough speaking to about personal bias and vendettas. She's not allowed back in the field until she comes to the realisation that ghosts are people too, and that she been the bad guy by hunting them the way she did. Phantom is officially recognised as a Hero, but he turns down working for any teams or joining the Big Leagues. He agrees to act as a back up though, in case of any world ending event.
By the time senior year rolls around, Danny has gotten his grades up enough that he can go to a pretty decent university if he wants to. He chooses Gotham University for his engineering degree because they're a feeder school for Wayne Enterprises, who in turn are a feeder company for working for the Justice League as a civilian engineer. Tucker also chooses GU for their tech program, while Sam elects not to go to university straight away.
Tucker and Danny move into an apartment right on the borders of Crime Alley and The Narrows. Tucker manages an impressive 4 months as a local hacker before Oracle notices him, but Danny only manages 3 weeks before he's spotted by a Bat.
He's lying down a foot above his building's roof, looking at the stars. It's a very rare cloudless night, and the power is out in his area. Poison Ivy had launched an attack earlier in the day that had taken cut the power lines, with her mutant plants feeding on the smog and pollution to get stronger.
Duke was up late, finishing the day shift by a quick loop of The Narrows, when he noticed a slightly glowing teenager(?) floating on one of the roofs. He takes note that the man isn't causing any harm and is just peacefully stargazing, before calling it in to Jason. He was technically supposed to be off the clock an hour ago, and besides, the building was on the Crime Alley side of this street. It's Jason's problem now.
Jason, on the other hand, is exhausted and just wants to have a quiet patrol before collapsing in bed. He hadn't been hit by Ivy's plants, but had taken a couple of tumbles while dodging them. He heads over to the address Duke gave him, to find the guy still floating there staring at the sky. He gets it, he does, he would float above the grime that coats Gotham rooftops if he could, but it's dangerous for a meta to be so unawares of his surroundings like this while obviously displaying his powers.
Danny, meanwhile, had clocked both of the vigilantes coming near him, but was really hoping that they would leave him alone. It had been a very long day for him. He'd finally managed to get to campus for his class, only to find that the place was covered in overgrown plants. He'd had to freeze a few to get into the building, and had then spent most of the afternoon in the library due to his class being cancelled. Unfortunately for him, his nearly finished assignment that he'd spent the day working on was eaten by one of the giant flowers on his way home. He'd been 'saved' by the stabby Robin, which had caused him to then also lose his laptop as they crashed to the rooftop a few streets over.
Thankfully, he had an amazing best friend in Tucker, who was doing his best to recover as much data as possible. On the downside, though, Tucker was mad at him for now having saved a backup of his files since they left Amity. He'd fled to the roof to escape his wrath, plans of bribes in the form of food running through his mind, when he'd caught sight of the Stars. Holy shit. It was so clear tonight!
He didn't even realise he'd begun to glow and float, too caught up in naming all of the stars and constellations he could see. His Obsession was feeling very satisfied tonight. Usually he had to invisibly fly above the cloud cover to see such a sight. Sure, the light pollution was still bad, but his mind was able to fill in the blanks across the sky.
The moment Jason landed on his roof, Danny heaved a great sigh. Damnit. The fun police were here. He wrenched his eyes from the sky, only to notice that - oh, shit - he was floating again. He fell to the roof with a light thump.
"Heeeyyy stranger, come here often?" Danny asked, as he rolled over to his side, propping his head up on his hand.
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sematarygirls · 2 months ago
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       ꪆ୧     ׅ    ⬫  A͟L͟L͟ AMERICAN ! READER ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ᰍ 
‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ✶ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ FIX HER UP‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ :  Looks like you’ve gotten yourself ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎   into a bit of trouble, sweetheart.
‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎  ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ♯┆WARNINGS.ㅤ─── suggestive
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‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ “i dug my key into the si—” Chug-chug-chug—CLUNK. The sound of your cheerful singing died out as your red pickup truck, Dolly, came to a halt. “Oh, no, no, girl, not today,” you pleaded, turning the key in the ignition over and over to no avail. Poor Dolly had been on her last legs for awhile now, but you didn't have the money to get her all fixed up, and you'd rather die than even think of cheating on her with some other rust bucket.
You let out a frustrated huff, hitting the steering wheel. You looked up at your cracked rear view mirror, finding the road around you completely deserted—just your luck.
Reaching over into the passenger's seat, you grabbed your cellphone from your purse and begrudgingly dialed the number for Big Al's Autobody Shop, knowing full well that Al would try to hit on you and then overcharge you for the tow when you turned him down, which you can do when the Sheriff is your brother-in-law.
“Big Al's Autobody, how can I help you today?” Al's nasally voice came through the speaker. He was a bigger man with a beer belly and a big, ungroomed beard that took up half his face.
“Hiya, Al,” you said, your sweet-as-honey voice falling from your lips. “It's Y/N, I seem to have broken down out on Hickory Creek on my way home from Magnolia's,” you informed him, biting your lip nervously. “I desperately need a tow or somethin'.”
“Well, well, if it ain’t my favorite customer,” Al replied, his voice containing an element of flirtation, bordering on creepiness, that sent a chill down your spine. You could practically hear him grinning on the other end of the line, imagining his yellowing teeth and leering stare. “Hickory Creek, huh? That’s a mighty fine stretch of road for a truck to give out on. Don’t worry, sugar, we’ll get you fixed up. I’ll send someone right out.”
“Thanks, Al,” you replied politely, thankful that he wasn't coming himself but still on edge about the kind of men he probably employs.
“No problem, doll,” you cringed at the nickname, quickly hanging up the phone and stepping out of the car, your worn cowboy boots thudding against the pavement. The A.C. had crapped out on you months ago, and without the luxury of the wind whipping into your windows as you went 60, the hunk of metal was sweltering in the summer heat, even as the sun began to set.
You adjusted your bra uncomfortably as you leaned against the side of your truck, sweat gathering in the swells of your breasts as well as about every crevice you had. You shifted your legs, feeling the sticky sweat between them as you groaned. You just wanted to be back home in the cool air of your bedroom, but alas, here you were, waiting for some hillbilly to come get your car.
Your hair stuck to your forehead, dampened from the heat and the rushing around at the diner that you'd done all day, waiting on tables. You brushed the sweat from your brow, watching the sky and waiting around for awhile before the sound of a car engine coming up drew your attention.
You turned, leaning your shoulder against Dolly and crossing your arms as you watched the tow truck approach, getting ready to deal with whatever overweight, sleazy guy Al had sent your way, but you were surprised when a tall, muscular figure stepped out in a white wife-beater with grease stains, a pair of old blue jeans, and boots.
“Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble, sweetheart,” he drawled, flashing you that all-too-familiar smirk as he adjusted his backward hat on his head, giving you a view of his tousled, sweaty hair for a moment before he put the hat back on.
“Poor girl just gave out on me,” you sighed, watching him intently as he grabbed some tools from the passenger's side of his truck. His arms, coated in a thin sheen of sweat and smudges of grease, flexed as he moved, giving you ample view of his built form.
Rafe Cameron had a habit of coming into Magnolia's Diner every morning to order a black coffee and flirt with you everytime you stopped by his table, flashing that arrogant smirk that had your knees weak, but you knew your daddy wouldn't approve of him, so you tried not to daydream about him too much, but my was he just the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on.
“Please tell me you can fix her,” you spoke up again, knowing it was quite the ask, especially since the sun was quickly setting. You were hoping maybe she just needed a jump or something quick to get you back on the road.
“Don't you worry your pretty little head, darlin',” he winked, walking toward you with his toolbox in hand. "I'll have her purring like a kitten in no time." He said it with such confidence, without even knowing what was wrong, that it calmed your worries about Dolly but made your heart beat a little faster in your chest.
You knew this wasn't standard practice. Most mechanics would've taken the car and left you stranded, but Rafe was determined to fix her up right on the side of the road, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It had between your thighs getting sticky for an entirely different reason.
He set down his toolbox with a thud, opening up Dolly's rusty hood and peering inside with pure confidence in his movements and actions. “Shit, darlin', this piece of junk needs a hell of a lot more than a quick fix.”
“Don't call Dolly a piece of junk,” you defended, your cheeks immediately heating up as you realized how silly you sounded defending the feelings of an inanimate object, but she was more than that to you. She was your mama's prized possession before she passed, leaving it to you. She was family.
Rafe chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet evening air. “I ain't mean to offend,” he said, glancing over at you with a mischievous grin. “But she’s seen better days, hasn’t she?” He reached down, tugging at a rusted piece under the hood, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles shifted beneath the tight fabric of his shirt.
“So, you can't fix her tonight, but... you can fix her, right?" you asked, taking a few steps toward him, your brows furrowed and your bottom lip worried between your teeth.
He looked up at you, noticing the look of concern on your face that you couldn't have hid even if you wanted to. He had a soft spot for you—the sweetest girl he'd ever met. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice smooth and teasing. “I can fix her. Might take a couple of days—maybe even longer if we’re talking parts—but I’ve got no problem putting in the time.”
You breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Rafe,” you said softly, looking up at him, now that you two were considerably closer—and he wasn't sitting down in a diner booth—you noticed how tall he was.
His pants tightened at the way you said his name in that soft, breathy tone of yours. He could have busted in his pants at that alone, but that mixed with the way you were looking at him had him damn near dizzy. “Ain't no problem at all.”
“Next time you come into the diner, it's coffee and a slice of pie on me,” you insisted, flashing him one of those sweeter-than-sugar smiles that had him resisting the urge to grab you by the waist and kiss you senseless. He could imagine all the things he wanted those pretty little lips to do—but he was supposed to be a gentleman.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of your phone going off rang out, a startling contrast to the peaceful sound of crickets chirping.
“That's probably my daddy wonderin' where I am,” you laughed nervously, pulling the driver's door open and retrieving your ringing phone. “Hi, daddy,” you answered, pressing it to your ear and turning your back to Rafe, like that granted some semblance of privacy. “No, I'm fine. Dolly broke down, but I'm getting 'er towed to Big Al's,” you explained. “Uh huh, okay, yeah, thank you, daddy. I'll see you soon.”
You hung up, blushing as you turned back around and saw Rafe staring at you intently. “He's—uh—He's coming to pick me up," you told him.
He nodded but looked disappointed. He had wanted to offer you a ride home, get some more time alone with you. “I'll take her back to the shop and get a better look at 'er,” he told you, closing the hood and wiping his hands on his jeans. “I'll update you on her condition and recovery time tomorrow mornin',” he winked, making you smile shyly.
“Thanks again,” you said sincerely. It made your heart skip a beat that he cared so much. “It means a lot to me.”
“Don't mention it," he waved you off, picking up his tools and getting ready to hook your car up to the tow truck. As you watched him, you had the feeling that maybe Dolly breaking down wasn't the worst thing to happen.
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tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @lovemesailor / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @bradshawed / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif / @fakedhearts / @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 /
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moody-alcoholic · 3 months ago
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Cross My Heart
Part 13 - Meet Me In Volgograd
Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic. CW: +18 content MDNI, Sex, PiV sex, threesome (MMF, voyeurism, fingering, oral (M receiving), mastabation. AN: OMG IT’S HAPPENING. I was going to post this tomorrow. I just got too excited
Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3
Enjoy <3
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Johnny wakes you after what feels like only a few minutes of sleep. When he’s shaking you awake in the uncomfortable bed it finally hits you how tired you are. You haven’t had a proper sleep since leaving the safehouse the second time. 
“So who’s Nikoli?” You ask as you drag yourself out the bed. You don’t really care but you’ll do anything to keep yourself awake, even asking dumb questions. 
“Old friend of John’s.” 
“John?” You ask pulling your clothes on.
“Price.” You frown at him. 
“You’re both called John? Doesn’t that get confusing?” You ask pulling your boots on. 
“Na, not really. Most of the time people call John; Price, Cap or dickhead.” 
“Really?” You say raising an eyebrow. He shakes his head chuckling.
“C’mon wanna get some breakfast?” You shake your head sighing. 
“I want to get a few hours rest on the plane, it feels like I haven’t slept in days.” You say pulling your jacket on. He nods throwing a bag over his shoulder and picking up the AR standing in the corner of the room. 
“Alright, let's go then.” He stops at the door without opening it. He turns to you, you can see colour rushing to his cheeks.
“Are you- I mean last night.” He grips the barrel of his weapon tighter. “Are you, you know… safe?” 
“Christ. Are you this awkward with every girl you sleep with?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. 
“I have the injection thing.” You say pointing at your arm. Now he frowns.
“Do you have a boyfriend or something?” You shake your head. 
“Me and Ivan, we had a business arrangement. It wouldn’t exactly be good for anyone if the smuggler got pregnant with the handler. He made sure it wouldn’t happen.” Johnny looks a little taken aback by the admission. He nods and turns back to the door opening it.
You sleep almost the whole journey to Russia. Nikoli seems nice, you just didn’t have the energy to be friendly with him. Russian, that you expected, you’re surprised Price had allies in Russia, maybe he’s the type of person who has allies everywhere. Johnny shakes you awake again handing you a headset.
“We’re touching down a few kilometres outside of Volgograd. They’ve sent us coordinates of the place they’re hiding out in.” Johnny shouts over the sound of the tiny plane's engine. 
“Are they in the town?” You shout back. 
“Yeah, it should take us a few hours to reach them. They’re keeping tabs on Makarov.” 
“Do they know where he is?” You ask back. 
“Maybe, there’s a Konni stronghold just outside the city. Price thinks that’s where we can get some answers.” Johnny says. You nod looking out the window at the ground below, fields upon fields of Russian countryside.
“Volgograd is pretty, and close to the border. Good Place for Konni to set up shop.” Nikoli says. You can't see him from the chair you picked and Johnny is blocking the door to the cockpit.
“Ever been?” Johnny asks, turning back to look at him. 
“No, it’s a big place, you should try their local cheese.” Nikolai says. Johnny smiles, you yawn and turn to look back out the window. You can see a massive lake come into view. 
You landed in a field. Nikoli handed you a massive duffle bag of supplies Price had requested then said his goodbyes. You ran across to a crooked fence surrounding the field as Nikoli took off again. The sun was high in the sky but it’s still cold.
“What are we going to do? Steal a car again?” You ask as you watch Nikoli fly off.
“Na, let’s just walk. We could use the exercise.” He says winking at you.
“What didn't you get enough last night?” You tease him. The thought of a 5 kilometer walk was not exactly on your list of things you wanted to do today. Johnny seems enthusiastic about it even with his wounded arm. 
It looks better, it’s wrapped in compression bandages but with the cream and anti-inflammatory medication the doctors had him taking he doesn’t complain. Your stomach wound on the other hand has been giving you nothing but trouble and last night’s antics just meant you’d pulled on the stitches and now it’s irritated. Nothing a good fistful of painkillers can’t keep on top of. 
The walk turned out to be not as bad as you thought. Johnny talked the whole way, talking about missions they’ve done in Russia, more about why they’re after Makarov. You’re glad he’s talking again, yesterday he was too quiet, it was weird. When you make it to the town it already feels like it’s getting dark, clouds have moved in making the whole place feel moody. 
The town is busy even as you make your way into the outskirts. You’re both dressed in civilian clothes but with the massive duffle bags you have thrown over your shoulders people's eyes still follow you. They know you’re outsiders here, at least you can speak Russian. 
It doesn’t take you long to find the place based on the info Price sent to Johnny. When you make it to the townhouse you feel even more out of place than ever, down the street there is an old woman with no teeth drilling her eyes into you. The quicker you can get inside the better, you already feel like you’ve drawn enough attention to yourself. 
It’s Ghost who opens the door, dressed all in black with that skull mask he wears all the time. It makes goosebumps rise on your body. 
“Privet.” Johnny says with a little salute before Ghost moves to the side letting you both come in. The building is worn out, it looks abandoned. The stairs up to the second floor are bowing in and the windows are boarded up, although from the outside it just looked like the curtains were drawn.
You follow Ghost into what would have been a dining room although now the place is just a table with some chairs, the kitchen is in a similar state of disrepair. You dump the bag down at the foot of the table. 
“Survived the flight with Nikoli then?” Gaz asks, coming over. He places his hand on your back smiling before reaching down and unzipping it. You see it crammed full of gear, weapons and some electronics. 
“I slept the whole way.” You say. You move over to the table sitting down on one of the chairs looking at the papers on the table. Some are maps, with markers.
“Joh- Soap said you think there's a place nearby where Makarov is hiding?” You say swallowing hard, you’ll have to get used to calling him Soap again. At least while you’re around the others.
“Konni compound, we don’t know if Makarov will be there but we will be able to find answers.” Price says. 
“We’ve seen Al Qatala and Konni moving in and out the building.” Gaz says putting the laptop on the table. Price pulls it over to him and sits down. 
“No Makarov?” Soap asks as he comes over with a bottle of water in his hand. 
“Not yet.” Ghost says coming over to the table and crossing his arms.
“But we know he’s here, Laswell has been keeping track of him.” Gaz says.
“Sorry to be the sceptic here but are you sure you haven’t missed him?” You say raising an eyebrow. 
“There’s a chance, that's why if he's gone we know we will find intel in the building as to where he is.” Price says.
“Okay, when do we get moving?” Soap asks. 
“Few hours, as soon as it’s dark and the day shift has left. It’ll leave us with only Al Qatala in the building.” Price says. You nod, getting up out of the chair. 
“I’m going to take a nap then.” You say stretching and looking over at Soap. He smiles at you. “Bedrooms are upstairs I assume?” 
“Yeah, help yourself.” Gaz says and you walk out the dining room and up the creaking steps. As soon as you see a bed you make a b-line for it, closing the door behind you, kicking your boots off and flopping down. You don’t get a chance to close your eyes before there’s a knock at the door. You look over huffing and sitting up in bed.
“Yeah?” You call, a few seconds later Soap opens the door. He steps in closing the door behind him. 
“You okay?” He asks coming over to the bed. You move your legs so he can sit down. He hums his hand coming up to your face. You’re already leaning in to kiss him, it’s automatic at this point. His kiss is nice, familiar. So deep it leaves you breathless. 
“I wanna try something.” He says breaking from the kiss. “Do you trust me?”
You nod not sure what to say or what he’s planning. You suddenly don’t want to sleep, your heart hammering in your chest. He gets up heading back to the door.
“I’ll be right back.” He says smiling. You do trust him, you remember last night how different it felt, how good it feels. You want to believe it's more than just a fling, more than just a transaction. Sex has always felt like that to you, something you have to give to get something in return. It didn’t feel like that with Johnny. 
At least not yet. You pull your shirt off over your head flinging it to the side, the thought of having sex again makes the exhaustion fall away. You shuffle your pants off too, kicking them out of the end of the bed. 
There’s another knock at the door, you frown not expecting it but call Johnny in anyway. Only it’s not Johnny who enters the room, it's Ghost. You immediately reach down pulling the blanket over your exposed top. 
“Ghost!” You shout, turning away feeling heat rush to your cheeks. You feel embarrassed, stupid. You should never have trusted Johnny. You threw your shirt in the middle of the room. 
“Is this what you’ve been up to Johnny?” Ghost asks, you hear the door close. Johnny comes back over to the bed, his hand lands on your back.
“Sorry, I didn’t think you would be, you know. So eager.” You turn to look at him. 
“Could have fucking warned me.” You spit at him. He smiles, leaning forward and kissing you. It relaxes you, you forget Ghost is in the room. When he’s finished his hand comes up to cup your chin. “You look cute when you get flustered.”  
Him saying that just makes you blush more. You look over at Ghost stood by the door, Johnny’s hand lands on yours gripping the blanket. It’s reassuring, it’s what you need. 
“I can ask him to leave.” Johnny says. You sigh looking back at him, you do trust him. 
“I guess you really weren't joking when you said you were close.” You sigh. He smiles getting up off the bed and going over to Ghost. He wraps his arm around his waist, his other hand pushing up under his shirt. 
“I know you’ve been looking, you all have.” Johnny says. Ghost’s eyes look dark, the mask makes him look like such an intimidating person too. He’s big, broad shoulders, definitely the tallest out of all of them. It doesn’t help making him feel any less intimidating. You watch as Johnny presses up against him, his face just reaches his neck, he presses his face into it.
Suddenly the embarrassment fades and you swing your legs out the side of the bed. You flick your eyes between Ghost and Johnny. 
“Let me tell you, she’s as good as you think she is.” Johnny is whispering, or at least trying to. You feel yourself blushing again as Johnny turns his body, his hand slips out from Ghost’s shirt to the front of his pants. Ghost turns to look at Johnny and you let the blanket drop from your chest. 
“You’re playing a dangerous game, MacTavish.” Ghost says, his voice low, rumbling in the room. 
“Maybe, but I know you want to play it too.” Johnny says reaching up to grip the bottom of Ghost’s mask pulling it up to reveal his lips. He steps up on his toes to kiss him. It does something to you, the sight of them both attacking each other's lips. Johnny slips his hand down into Ghost’s pants, you watch as he turns to face Johnny better, his hands running up to grip his arms.
You wet your lips, you press your thighs together feeling a throb travel through you. Your mouth fills with saliva as you watch Johnny fiddle with the front of Ghost's pants, unclipping his belt and reaching in to pull out his cock. He's bigger than Johnny, you can tell that already. You watch as Ghost breaks from the kiss pulling his gloves off and flinging them to the side before gripping Johnny’s face pulling him back into a kiss. 
Your hand wanders down your body, finding your already soaked pussy and coating your fingers in slick. You hear Johnny moan his hand pumping Ghost’s cock in his fist. You bite the inside of your cheek as you move your hand to rub your clit. 
You watch as Ghost breaks from the kiss, his hands dropping down Johnny’s arms. He turns to look at you, you freeze. Johnny pulls his hand away walking over to you pulling his shirt over his head. When he reaches you he hums, smiling before pulling the blanket off you to reveal your hand rubbing yourself. 
He reaches down, picking up your hand bringing it to his mouth. He presses his lips to your soaked fingers, taking them in his mouth and licking them clean. 
“Johnny.” You breathe, he chuckles, pulling your hand out and turning to Ghost. 
“C’mon Simon, let's show her how great you are.” You look past Johnny to hear Ghost coming towards you. Simon, that's his name, he comes over to you, his mask resting on his nose. He leans down and kisses you. 
His kiss is rougher than Johnny, his lips not as soft, he presses his tongue into your mouth and you crane your neck up so he doesn’t have to lean down as much. Johnny’s hands have made their way over to your breasts. His fingers brush over your nipples, cupping them as his face presses into your neck. 
“Christ, didn’t tell me she had pretty lips.” Simon says his thumb coming up to brush your cheek. 
“Didn’t tell you a lot of things.” Johnny says smiling. 
“Simon.” You say looking up at him. He has brown eyes, dark eyes, but they don’t look as scary now. You’re seeing them in a different light, it’s like he’s a different person. 
“I had my fun last night, it’s your turn now LT.” Johnny reaches over, pulling your chin to look at him. “Isn’t that right love, you're going to show Simon how good you are.” You nod looking up at him, he leans over and kisses you. 
You let them move you, their hands running over the different parts of your body. You end up laid flat on your back with a naked Johnny kneeling down by your head. You look up to the end of the bed seeing Simon getting into position between your legs. He kicked his boots off to take his trousers off but left the shirt and mask. 
Maybe he’s not ready for you to see his face, maybe he doesn’t trust you yet. He’s about to fuck you though, his thick cock laid on your stomach while he hooks his arms under your knees. You look over at Johnny stroking himself right by your face. Before he even needs to ask you, you open your mouth. 
He winks at you before pressing the tip of his cock to your lips. You let him press into your mouth, you smile as you watch his head tip back. You can’t move your head to look at Simon but you can feel him, using one of his hands pushing fingers in before replacing them with his cock. 
He’s thicker than Johnny too causing you to moan round Johnny, it just makes him push into you harder hitting the back of your throat and making your eyes water. 
“Holy shit, perfect sweetheart.” Johnny says his hand, coming to brush through your hair. 
“You’re making her look so pretty over there Johnny.” You hear Simon say as he thrusts into you. 
“Yeah, you should hear her when she moans. Got a pretty little mouth on her too.” Johnny says as he pulls his cock out your mouth. “Go on love, show him how pretty you sound.” 
You can’t help it moaning as Simon drives into you harder, pinning your legs out the way with his massive hands. 
“Simon.” You call looking over at him, his mouth is tipped open, his eyes almost glowing in the dim light of the room. You turn your head to look back over at Johnny who smiles down at you and winks. You turn your head opening your mouth again. 
“Christ love, I can’t tell what's better, your mouth or that pretty pussy of yours.” Johnny says as his hand reaches down to play with one of your breasts. 
“You don’t have to pick Johnny.” You hear Simon pant. You smile up at Johnny, your eyes being blurred by the tears streaming down your face. One of Simon’s hands drops your leg so his thumb can rub your clit. You end up moaning around Johnny again which makes him twitch in your mouth. 
Johnny brushes your tears away with his free hand. You close your eyes letting yourself get lost in the pleasure of Simon pumping into you like it’s the first cunt he’s had in years and Johnny hitting the back of your throat with each thrust. 
You moan again, you’re getting close, the stretch of Simon’s cock feels too good, he’s moaning now too, his moans are just as pretty as Johnny’s. You open your eyes again, Johnny’s fingers pinch your nipple playing with your breast making vibrations pulse down to your pussy. 
“Don’t stop Johnny. She’s clenching around me so tight.” Simon says as his thumb pressing down on your clit causing you to squirm under him. You close your eyes again, your body tensing as you cum. Johnny cums too, you barely react trying not to bite down on his cock. All you feel is his hot seed hitting the back of your throat. 
“Fuck love, fuck me.” Johnny pants pulling out of your mouth letting you breathe. Simon pulls out of you when he cums thick ropes squirting over your chest. You look over at him, his eyes closed, hand wrapped round his cock. 
“Look at you.” Johnny coos, his fingers brushing over your chest scooping up some of the cum leaking down to your stomach. He presses the fingers into his mouth, Simon hums and you feel him step off the bed. 
He walks over to your head and Johnny steps back. Simon looks down at you as you prop yourself up on your elbows. He bends down to kiss you. A second later he breaks away pressing his nose against yours. 
“Riley.” He whispers. You open your eyes as he stands back up pulling his mask down. You watch him reach down to pick his clothes up and Johnny bends down by your head. 
Simon Riley. You smile at Johnny. 
“Not as scary as he seems right?” Johnny says stroking your face. 
“I was never scared of him.” You smile. 
“Good.” Johnny says. 
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reality-detective · 8 months ago
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ALERT! Bill Gates’s Secret Lab Experiments: Deadly Viruses Engineered for Mass Extinction – Devastating Bio-Weapons
The stark reality we face today delves into the darkest depths of human capability. At the center stands Bill Gates, a figure whose immense wealth is being used not for innovation, but to conduct experiments that push us to the brink of catastrophe. These Gates-funded labs at University of Wisconsin-Madison are not about pandemic prevention—they are about unleashing biological weapons capable of mass extinction.
Behind the guise of vaccine development, Gates’s billions fund genetic manipulation and viral enhancements, working with Yoshihiro Kawaoka, a name that should make your blood run cold. The real goal isn’t better vaccines—it’s to weaponize viruses like H5N1, a lethal pathogen, and make it transmissible between humans on a massive scale. Every experiment brings us closer to a man-made supervirus, impossible for natural immunity to fight, that could wipe out entire populations.
COVID-19 already showed us how pandemics can shift power, tighten control, and enforce compliance. Now imagine a deadlier virus, one deliberately unleashed to lock us into a future of surveillance, fear, and submission. This is the nightmare scenario that Gates and his cohorts are building, where control of a virus means control over humanity.
The media won’t talk about it—they’re too busy taking Gates’s money—but the truth is starting to leak. These labs, cloaked in secrecy, are building a future where bioengineered viruses can be blamed on “natural” outbreaks while being used to reshape global control. The strategy is clear: create fear, offer a solution, and tighten their grip on the world.
The rapid development of vaccines is part of the plan. While sold as protection, it shows how quickly the global elite can mobilize to protect themselves while manipulating us into compliance. This research is a double-edged sword—one side for a cure, the other for catastrophe.
We are on the edge of a future where biological weapons are not a distant threat, but a reality, manipulated by elites like Gates to wage wars without borders. This is no longer about safety—this is about control, domination, and the potential destruction of life as we know it.
We must wake up and resist before it’s too late. A storm is coming, and the global elite are at the helm, toying with the power to annihilate us all. The time to act is now.
I WILL NOT COMPLY 🤔
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SEMI-FINALS MATCH 2
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Karlach propaganda:
“Sweetest girl ever. She could throw you across a room. She can burn down a house. But she just wants a hug and to be cared about and to live her life.” 
“Definitively overused phrase but she's a golden retriever she's so cute!”
“She's the perfect woman!!! She's so nice and cute and silly and strong and wow I love girls”
"Karlach is the champion slave of one of the Devils in a layer of hell, and was sold to her by someone she trusted, and on TOP of that she is an experiment with an engine for a heart and she knows she’s going to die and is in fairly constant pain but DESPITE that she is relentlessly positive and outgoing and silly because her spirit cannot be fucking crushed no matter WHAT"
Claude Propaganda:
"To say Claude has trust issues is an understatement—you have to spend half the game earning his. (Claude isn't even his real name!) Once you have it, though, he's absolutely ride or die for you until the stars go out. He is so full of heart and ambition: He wants both sides of his heritage to get along, he wants to open borders and eliminate xenophobia and promote equality between commonfolk, and deep down, I think he craves a partner to stand with him at that new dawn, or an equal who sees his vision for the future and will fight for it just as hard. Nobody believed in him when he was a kid, but if you put your faith in him, he'll return it tenfold. Some people don't like that he's calculating, or has to leave the player character at the end of the game to go back to his homeland, but both are necessary elements for his goals to change things. He will always come back, and everyone who bets against him and his love for his companions is wrong with a big fat W. #KhalidForMostDatablePrez"
"Claude is a fun little onion of facades. He calls himself the embodiment of distrust, he acts like he's carefree and without worries, an unscrupulous schemer--and so many in universe buy into that hook line and sinker. He's used to others viewing him with suspicion and uses it as armor to obscure his not-so-dark truth: that he cares immensely, that he values minimizing the loss of life, and that above all he has so much hope that people will fundamentally choose to do better given the choice.
His front guards a center that his conflict filled world would be happy to tear apart. As the child of people from two nations in constant conflict--one of which is explicitly isolationist and dehumanizes those outside its church's reach--he hasn't really had a place where he can be without his facade. As a child he thought he could run, but when confronted with the fact that this hatred existed no matter where he ran, he chose to instead try to create a more just and kind world.
His inability to let others in beyond his facade at first may lead to a sense of distance, but isn't it then all the more satisfying when you're allowed in? All he wants is a little trust, a little faith, and--like what he wants to give everyone--a chance to be better.
And like that you got a charming young lad with a fun personality that your grandma would be thrilled to have stay forever."
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woradat · 11 days ago
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Throne and fall #1
PT1 (here) -> next
NOTE - based on scenario: throne and fall
SUMMARY - An unlikely political alliance: a labor protest leader like Megatron and a sly senator like you who offered him an apple - maybe he knew it was poisonous but still chose to take it because the poison was not fatal (pre-war, au-ish)
PAIRING - megatron x reader, various char x reader
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He didn’t know why he had come
Some ancient instinct buried deep within his spark—older than rebellion, older even than obedience—had murmured you shouldn’t. This was a mistake. A trap, carefully lacquered in the civility of the elite and polished to a shine so brilliant it blinded those foolish enough to look directly
The room, if it could be called such, did not appear on any schematic. It had no designation, no records, no function. It was not meant to exist. And precisely because of that, it did
Cradled in the unseen arteries between Senate foundations and the planet’s industrial underbelly, it hovered like a secret. Not quite above, not quite below. Suspended in power’s blind spot
And tonight, he stood at its center
The scuff of metal across the floor marked his presence—ungilded, unapologetic. The scent of oil and oxidized labor clung to him with all the intimacy of a second skin. There were no sigils, no ceremonial trims, no apologetic polish. Only the brutal honesty of his frame: battered, unsanded, engraved by hardship and carbon soot
He was an eyesore. He was a statement
And then you arrived—two minutes late, not by accident but by design
Of course you did
You stepped into the room as though it belonged to you, which it might as well have, moved like someone accustomed to being watched. But you only performed for an audience when you wished to
Tonight, you performed for him
armor was so meticulously sculpted it bordered on artistry, your plating so finely burnished it seemed a crime to breathe near it. Every panel caught the light with curated indifference, daring anyone to look—and reminding them why they shouldn’t
You were not beautiful
You were engineered
Elegance draped across you like a verdict. The subtle gestures, the ornamental excess, the glinting details no one needed—they all whispered of wealth, of legacy, of a world where extravagance had long since divorced itself from utility. You were not built to survive. You were built to command
And he? He was built to break things
You sat without waiting. Of course. A minor act of rebellion dressed as poise
Your voice slipped into the room like high-grade energon poured into crystal. Cold, clear, and far too expensive.
“You look… better than I expected” you drawled, tasting the words like they were laced with mild poison—palatable, but only just
“Crude, yes. Rough about the edges. But sometimes, raw ore holds more potential than the trinkets forged from it”
He stared. That frown came not from insult, but from disbelief. How could contempt be spoken so sweetly? How could condescension sound like courtship?
It was almost impressive
He did not return your smile
“How kind” he replied, his voice like gravel “What do you want?”
You reclined slightly—just enough to imply boredom, just enough to suggest danger
“Because I was tired” you replied airily “Of everything. The speeches. The processions. The hollow hymns to a system long since embalmed in corruption and paraded about like a sacred relic. Tired of pretense. Of preening Senators who couldn't differentiate virtue from vanity even if it were welded to their foreheads”
You gestured, idly, like flicking away dust that didn’t dare settle on you
“I’m weary of watching power drip like stale lubricant through the cracks of a world pretending it isn’t dying. But most of all..”
And here, your gaze fixed on him
“–I’m unspeakably bored of living in a world where voices like yours are only heard when they shatter glass ceilings”
A pause. Heavy. Deliberate
“And I wonder, my dear anarchist-” you whispered, almost intimately
“Megatron of Kaon, tell me.. how loud are you willing to become?”
Megatron stood still, though confusion crackled at the edge of his thoughts. This high-caste bot—this senator cloaked in influence both within and outside the chambers—spoke as if they hated the same world he did. But he dared not believe it
Was this an invitation… or bait?
“You speak as if you understand me,” he said, voice low “But have you ever stood in a mine, even for a single day?”
“Never” you replied, tone as cool and crystalline as high-grade energon “And I never will. But I know enough to say that your labor fattens the bellies of Senators so full they could roll from one committee meeting to the next”
“And out of the goodness of my spark…” You stepped around the table, slow, deliberate, until you stood beside him—then stepped closer still “I wish for you to learn”
You moved like you were sculpted for movement—graceful in a way that wasn’t learned but engineered. Even from a distance, you looked untouchable. Up close, you were impossible
He could smell the delicate trace of luxury-grade oil, could see the etched gold lining your frame—filigree and flourish designed not for function but for the sheer audacity of having more than anyone else. Things bots like him only ever dreamed of owning. If the world were different, he might have felt ashamed to be standing beside you
But not tonight
And he could see it now—clear as a burn mark. That look in your optics, the way your field brushed against his, cold and precise. This was not interest. Not in the way others might dream of it. This was selection. Evaluation
You weren’t here to join him
You were here to use him
Measuring him
And for a fleeting moment, he surprised himself by not resenting it
“What exactly do you expect me to learn?” he asked carefully. The miner choosing his words like stepping across a tightrope—one strung between you and something he couldn’t yet see. He didn’t know whether you’d be waiting at the end… or set the rope alight and let him drop
And you wouldn’t warn him if you did
“You have power” you said, so softly it almost sounded like admiration “I heard your words echo through the below. You speak like someone who has never tasted true authority”
“Words that stir the masses” you continued
“if left without aim, without art, without the elegance of control… are nothing but grenades with no target”
He didn’t speak—not because he misunderstood, but because no one had ever spoken to him like that. Foremen had called him trouble, fellow laborers called him a dreamer but you—you—said he had power
And you dared to stand beside him and mean it
He glanced at you, optics unreadable. But a flicker of something uncertain crossed beneath their steel
You leaned in, voice a whisper spun from steel threads and fine silk
“In my world, a ‘promise’ means nothing unless it comes with collateral. But for you…” you purred, “I’m willing to make an exception. Once”
You smiled
There was nothing kind in it
“And if you fall” you said sweetly “I’ll cut the rope myself—before your fall trips me into the chasm with you”
The words rang truer than anything he’d heard all day. More honest than any leader he’d ever met. Crueler than any vow he’d ever been offered
And he liked it
Not because it offered hope—but because it offered truth
He still wasn’t sure if you stood beside him… or if you were carving him into a weapon to be shattered on command
But he was beginning to understand: The system he fought wasn’t just built from steel
It was built from people like you
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coco-loco-nut · 1 year ago
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Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?
Pairing: None
Summary: Being a woman in F1 has it's challenges, especially when you are constantly seen as a threat
A/n: McLaren history revision, actually, a lot of it might not make complete logical sense, just ignore that. i’m not great at angst
requests open masterlist ttpd masterlist
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You've scared everyone in the F1 world since you started driving in 2014 for McLaren, more dominant than Max Verstappen, the only driver other than Lewis Hamilton to challenge you. Your aggressive driving style and ability to get the most out of your car has lead you to three championships. Men don’t like that.
You are in a bit of a slump this year after moving to Mercedes, not having won one of the first three races, but you are poised for attack, ready to take your place at the top.
“Daddy, who’s that?” you hear a little girl ask as you walk to the paddock.
“Y/n L/n, we don’t like her,” his fragile masculinity practically yells the comment into your ears. With a smirk you look at the pair, walking over and bending to the little girls level.
“What’s your name?” you ask, your voice bordering on being sickly sweet.
“Sarah,” she squeaks, eyes wide with fascination. You remove your team hat and pull out a sharpie from your pocket, signing your hat.
“Don’t let any man tell you you can’t be better than the boys. You can do anything, you’re a girl,” you smile, putting the hat on her head. You wave over your assistant. “Get her sizes and buy her some team gear, charge it to me,” you tell the assistant, who eagerly nods. Of course, the F1 social team caught the incident and posted it.
“Y/n! How does it feel to be in a slump, as some are calling it? Some fans are even calling you washed. Quite sad isn’t it,” one reporter asks.
“You guys keep saying I am in a slump, or I’m being replaced by younger drivers. My bare hands paved their paths, you don’t get to tell me about sad. If you wanted my career to be dead so bad, you should’ve just said so,” you roll your eyes. Nothing makes you feel more alive than driving, but annoying the media is a close second.
“What about your move to Mercedes next year? Why switch?” another reporter asks. Couldn’t you just get to your motorhome without being hounded by reporters for once?
“It was a mutual decision, it was time for us to part,” you walk away, reflecting on the last few months.
You hadn’t planned your exit from McLaren to Mercedes, the scandal regarding your exit being contained by NDAs. You had punched one of the engineers who made a sexist joke at your expense. You promptly decided you didn’t want to be there anymore, especially when they didn’t fire the engineer.
“I feel bad that this is how it has to happen,” Zak said at the end of last season.
“You don’t get to tell me you feel bad, if you actually did he would’ve been fired and I wouldn’t have to leave,” You told him, visibly upset.
“It was one joke and he was reprimanded. You don’t have to leave,” Zak says, you sharply inhale.
“It wasn’t one joke. It had been ongoing for years, it’s a wonder it took me this long to break. What did you want me to do? Laugh until I cry?” you asked Zak, who seemed shocked.
“Then I truly am sorry, I’ll launch an investigation to see why it wasn’t reported to me before. You will have always have a friend here,” Zak tells you, a small comfort.
“Thank you,” you give him a small smile. You spend the whole offseason steeling yourself and working to be the best driver you can be. You stayed longer at the gym and sent more time on the sim.
“Y/n, are you okay?” Daniel asked one day over a glass of wine, he’s known you since you both were karting, and he’s watched you spiral the past few years. Daniel is your best, and one your few friends.
“It’s so hard being a woman in F1. I am a completely different person than I was before I joined,” Daniel doesn’t comment, he knows you felt like a caged animal so you acted like one.
“Why did you leave McLaren?” Daniel asks, knowing you wouldn’t leave unless there was a good reason.
“I signed an NDA, so you can’t share any of this. After I started at McLaren, an engineer was hired who would say sexist remarks all the time. Over time I stopped being nice and just got mean back, and I finally snapped. I gave him a nice right hook to his face,” you sip the wine, giving the shortened version. “Zak didn’t know, no one had reported the engineers behavior, so we signed NDAs and I left.”
“I’m sorry, That plus the media circus of being a woman in F1 can’t be easy,” Daniel sympathizes.
“That’s why I forced myself to be like this. If I can make myself seem untouchable, it doesn’t hurt as much. Being the villain is easier,” you tell him.
“So how will you approach Mercedes?” Daniel keeps you talking, knowing you need a good trauma dump.
“Lay low for the first couple weeks, let the drivers think they took out my claws, hung me to dry. It won’t be enough to ruin my season, but enough to catch them off guard. During the fourth or fifth race, I’ll leap from my gallows and crash their party, exposing the sexism within Formula One,” you smirk.
“The old ‘who’s afraid of little old me’ tactic,” he smiles, enjoying your plan.
“They should be afraid,” you say, explaining your interview with Suzie that is going to break the internet, after all, the NDA only kept you from talking about the punch.
Just like you predicted, the media and fans were divided. Some called for a public apology from McLaren and the FIA for the treatment of female drivers, most called you over dramatic, and said you only wanted to attention to distract from your poor performance and waning stardom. They said not everything is about you and the people who hurt you didn’t do it to hurt you.
You wanted nothing more than to argue back and show the media and fans just how disturbed they had made you, but Toto told you to let your driving do the talking. That race you said one thing to the media, “you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.”
“Chills, your interview was phenomenal. Thanks for citing me as one of your biggest supporters by the way. Scooch over, let’s see what insecure men are tweeting,” Daniel hands you a glass of wine and sits beside you on your couch, air playing his phone screen.
“I like that one, I’m always drunk on my own tears,” you laugh. Daniel logged into his spam account, letting himself reply to the haters.
“I like this one. Y/n L/n is the kind of person to sue you for stepping on her lawn,” Daniel laughs.
“The reply is better: she’s fearsome, wretched, and most importantly, wrong,” you both think of a funny reply.
You show up to the track and win, and win, and win, until you are holding the trophy for your fourth world championship.
In your post-championship interview with the F1 media team, you make what may be your biggest announcement yet.
“In the wake of people calling me crazy after sharing my experiences as a woman in motorsport, I’d like to make a very special announcement. I am who I am because you trained me to be like this, so to make sure no other girl has to go through what I did, I will be sponsoring two F1 Academy drivers with added mentorship and sponsorship opportunities. I’ve seen the work that Susie Wolff has done, and I cannot wait to help grow the presence of women in motorsport,” you say, sitting beside Susie.
“We will make sure she doesn’t terrorize the girls too much,” she jokes at your request.
“Who’s afraid of little old me?”
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