#gardening machete

[ley-med]

It never ceases to amaze me that my family trusts me to cut people open but they draw the line at giving me sharp objects at home so they will periodically take big knives and axes and saws and the whatnot out of my hands

Anyway yesterday my husband must have hit his head because he accidentally willingly bought me a scythe. A small one, but a scythe nonetheless

Guess who put it in their bed and forgot about it

[ralphmartindale]

Top Ralph Martindale Matchets / Machetes Manufacturer in Ghana and Thailand

Top Ralph Martindale Matchets / Machetes Manufacturer in Ghana, UK, Nigeria and Thailand. Our Ralph Martindale Matchets / Machetes are manufactured using unique in-house production techniques that have been perfected over 140 years. They are manufactured from high-quality carbon steel and are tapered to optimise the cutting characteristics and weight. Each blade is individually tested to ensure the hardened and tempered blade conforms to stringent quality control parameters prior to dispatch. Our premium hardwood handles, once assembled, create matchets that sets the global benchmark.

[the-super-fox]

The Barebones machete features a robust, sharp blade that makes it simple to cut through branches and bushes since it is composed of high-quality materials.

[pissvortex]

“Springfield residents say Haitians are mowing their lawns with machetes” Yeah no shit man did you think machetes were sold in gardening supply stores for Jason Vorhees

[loveroffictionalmen]

hey! i just came over from tiktok, could you possibly do a gally x reader where he tries to act tough around all of the guys but (y/n) starts teasing about how sweet he actually is and he has to try and defend himself but gets all flustered over it, but can’t get mad at (y/n) cause he’s got that fat crush on her? (fem pronouns possibly please?)

Not So Tough

Pairing: Gally x fem!reader

Description: Gally has a hard exterior, but secretly melts when y/n is around.

Warnings: smooching, glade slang, idk just a lot of fluff, gally being a bit of a jerk

Words: 651

Prompt: Grumpy x Sunshine Trope

A/N: It lowkey ends kinda abruptly but OH WELL HERE YA GO

“Gally, would you please stop yelling at the rest of the builders and actually start building?” Newt called from the gardens.

“No can do, I gotta make sure everyone stays in line, that’s why you put me in charge of the builders, remember?” Gally called back, yelping soon after when one of the newer gladers dropped a piece of wood on his head. “You shank! Look what you’ve done! Dropping klunk all over the place, you should be sent to the slammer!”

“Gally, is that really any way to talk to the new guy?” Y/n jogged up to Gally from the med-jack hut where she was just supervising Clint and Jeff. Y/n was somewhat of a floater when it came to jobs. When they were testing what jobs she was good at, she was nearly good at every single one. Well, except for the slicers. Poor Winston nearly scared the girl half to death when he first came out with a machete.

“I uh- Well he dripped- I mean dropped that shucking piece of wood on me an-” Gally stammered.

“Gally, c’mon give the guy a break, he’s only been here a week,” Y/n said with a soft smile.

“Look, I’m just trying to do my job, gotta make sure everything gets done, right?” Gally said, seeming to regain his composure.

“And it will get done, you can just be a little nicer about it through,” Y/n said, placing a hand on Gally’s arm and running her fingers down his bicep.

Gally blushed. Y/n was playing him like a fiddle and she knew damn well what she was doing.

“I’ll see you at supper?” Y/n said.

“You know you’re the only one that calls it that, right? It’s dinner,” Gally snorted.

“Oh shut it, you know you love me,” Y/n said before turning over her shoulder and walking away, not before giving Gally one last smile. Gally stood there for a moment, not sure what to do with himself.

“Oi, Gally, what were you saying about making sure things get done?” Newt called, snickering to Alby.

“Oh slim it,” Gally growled. “No- you can’t hammer that in, there’s not a screw to hold it together!” He turned his attention to the Greenie.

___

“Hey big guy, not interested in tackling anyone to the ground tonight?” Y/n’s voice came from above Gally.

“No, not tonight, gonna try to go to sleep early,” Gally said, getting up and trying his best to avoid y/n. But before he could leave, y/n grabbed his wrist.

“Wait- did today really bother you?” She asked, furrowing her brow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gally broke away from her grip and tried to escape again, but she was too quick for him. She grabbed his arm again.

“You know what I’m talking about. I didn’t think it would bother you, I thought you would actually like it, y’know considering I was flirting with you.” Gally’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

“Oh my god,” Y/n laughed. “Wasn’t it obvious?”

“Kinda hard to pay attention to that when things need to get done,” Gally cleared his throat, trying his hardest to hide the smile that was forming on his face.

“Oh don’t act like you weren’t blushing the whole time you- oh my god you’re even blushing right now!” She laughed.

“Shh, no I’m not,” Gally smiled back at her, the blush returning to his cheeks.

“You are! Gally’s blushing! Gally’s blu-” Y/n called when she was cut off.

Gally’s lips crashed into hers as his hand moved to her cheeks. Y/n closed her eyes and sunk into the kiss, bringing her arms around his neck. When Gally pulled away first, y/n smiled.

“What was that for?” She breathed.

“To shut you up,” Gally smiled. He looked to her lips and back to her eyes. “And also because I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

[foxbirdy]

I did a group q&a for my crew yesterday while we had an Americorps rep doing a field visit for us, & truly 90% of the career advice I can give to anyone trying to work in natural resources is to do cowboy shit. Be a linecook at the Grand Canyon, because that will let you take that job running snowcat runs in Yellowstone for the winter. Then you can find a raft company that will train you to guide for free. Then throw your name in to be an aurora borealis tour guide in the Arctic Circle. Work as a gardener in a national forest nursery. Be a deckhand on a charter sailboat. Be a backpacking trip leader. Get on a trail crew. Be that guy that gets paid to look for woodpecker nests in forest disturbed by a hurricane. Be a ski lift operator. Be that guy who drives a Carolina skiff down the Everglades to find baby alligators. Cut down invasive trees with a machete in the jungle. Be that guy who drives up and down 101, hiking into the old growth to plant microphones that listen for spotted owl calls. Be a backcountry ranger. Live in a tent on a desert island looking for invasive crazy ants. Most of these jobs allow you to "live for free," gaining experience and a modest paycheck while having housing provided for you. It compiles and compiles and compiles until you know how to do a little bit of everything, and know where you want to take that. And you get to do cowboy shit!

[ghostboneswrites2]

A Mess || Part 8

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring everything here starting with this series since it was the most popular!

A/N: this is not the last part I promise

Summary: You finally make it to the town you set out for all those days ago. Feelings get shared when you find a place to stay for the night.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: profanity, suggestive

        "Can't believe we left the map." Daryl shook his head as he drove. He finally got one of the cars working, though it had a strong gasoline smell as he drove it. 

        "You were in charge of it." You pointed out.

        "Don;t need it anyhow." He defended. Men and their pride when it came to directions never ceased to amuse you. "Should be 'bout thirty minutes up this road. We can load up some while we're there, get gas, hole up of the night, and loot s'more before we head back tomorrow."

        "Sounds great." You agreed. "If I have to go one more day without a shower I'm gonna kill someone."       

        "Can barely fight a walker off of ya. Who you gonna kill?" He teased.

        "I was distracted." You defended.

        "With what? The view?" He retorted. Well, yes, but you couldn't tell him that.

        "Whatever." You grumbled, crossing your arms and turning your attention out of the window.

        It wasn't long before the town you two originally set out for rolled into view. You spent an hour looting an old thrift store for some clothes and random things you thought the prison could use. Board games, soaps, hairbrushes, plates and bowls, you name it. If they had it, you took it. Next was the pawnshop for guns and ammo, which were pretty sparse but they did have some good knives and machetes. You also found an old DVD player and some movies that you thought might be nice for Carl or something. Daryl focused more on equipment. Golf clubs, tools, lawn equipment for when everyone started working on the garden.

        On your way out of the pawnshop with your load of treasure, you noticed a flyer on the window. 'MONTHLY FOOD DRIVE - DELIVER ALL GOODS TO 227 PINEBLUFF CT DR'

        "Hey, check this out." You called Daryl over. He squinted as he read it.

        "C'mon. Town's small. Can't be too hard to find."

----

        It wasn't hard to find. It was a church, of course. Wasn't hard to clear the place out, either. Just the pastor and a few ladies stumbling around. They had a bunch of canned goods stored in an office, which you and Daryl happily loaded up in the car.

        "Think this is a good spot to crash for the night?" You asked him. 

        "Nah. Windows are all busted. We'll find a little house or somethin." He said.

        So, when you guys were done with the church, you drove around for a little while, siphoning gas from random vehicles and searching for a house suitable for the night. He settled on a little blue house, with a fenced in front and back yard. He reasoned the fencing was good added protection.  Plus, the windows looked to be in tact and overall the place looked untouched.

        There weren't any walkers inside, but there also wasn't any food. There was, however, running water. Whoever these people were, they ran their house off filtered rain water. 

        While Daryl was working on blocking all the exits off with furniture and nailing blankets over the windows so nothing could see inside, you opted for a shower. It wasn't hot since the house had no power, but damn was it nice to feel clean. Well, as clean as you could get with no soap, anyways. The towels were all dusty, so you drip dried when you got out. When you were dry enough you slid into the extra outfit you packed, and found your way back out to Daryl. He had the house as safe as he could get it by then.

        "All yours." You told him.

        "Nah." He shrugged.

        "Uh, you smell like a biohazard." You insisted. He glared.

        "Yeah, shoulda smelled yourself. By day two in that tree house you were chokin' flies." He shot back.

        "And, would ya look at that, I showered!" You sneered. He huffed a little breathy laugh and shook his head as he grabbed his bag and disappeared to the shower.

        You were hungry, so you decided to light the gas stove and heat up a can of Campbell's chunky beef stew for the two of you to share. By the time it was done, he was out, so the two of you ate in silence before tossing the emtpy can and borrowed spoon in the sink.

        "It's not even dark yet." You commented.

        "Yeah. Best to get to bed early. We can head out first thing, make it back home by tomorrow night." He reasoned.

        "Guess so." You agreed.

        "Guess? You don't wanna get back?" He questioned.

        "And give up our quality bonding time?" You joked. He scoffed and shook his head. Damn, you were a smartass. 

        "'S that what ya call it?"

        "Yup. What else would it be?"

        "Thought we were stranded on an island." He recalled.

        "Oh, that. No, I was just hungry." You shrugged. "Never take me seriously when I'm hungry. I become a different person, really."

        He rolled his eyes a little. "Still wanna play that game?" He asked.

        "What game?"

        "Twenty questions."

    ��   "Twenty-one questions, Dixon." You corrected. "And sure. You go first."

        "Alright." He nodded, pondering for a moment. He had a million questions he could ask, but somehow they felt too personal. Did you miss Shane? Were you ready to move on? Did you like him, or were you just a tease? Why did you always pick on him? Was it the same reason he always picked at you and gave you shit? "How ya like the shoes?"

        "They're good." You nodded. "I love them. Thanks again. Uh.." You thought for a second. "How long do you wanna grow your hair out?"

        "I dunno." He shrugged. "What'd ya like to do before the world went to shit?"

        "Hmm... Paint, listen to music, go go out and eat my weight in food from little hole in the wall restaurants." You recalled. "What kind of music do you like?"

        "Whatever was on the radio." He said. "You plan on movin' on?"

        That was an okay question to ask, right? He broke the ice pretty well, he thought, with the rapid fire Q&A flying between the two of you. He realized maybe not, though, because you seemed to really take your time with that one.

        "Don't see why not." You finally said. "I mean, he would, right? As long as I thought I found someone who would treat me right... Are you seeing anyone right now?"

        You asked the question so casually but it choked him up. He felt so naked, like a chicken with all its feathers plucked off one by one.

        "No." He cleared his throat. "Nah."

        Uncomfortable silence blanketed over the two of you.

        "Your turn." You reminded him.

        "Oh. Are you?"

        "Am I..?"

        "Seein' anyone." He clarified. You giggled a little.

        "No. But I have met someone. Real nice guy, actually. He gets me gifts and teases the hell out of me,  but I think he'd do just about anything for me." You smiled to yourself. He had to know you were talking about him, right? Wrong. He was clueless. Right over his head. He admittedly felt sad to hear it. Who was this guy? He kind of sounded like everything Daryl tried to be for you. "Do you like anyone?" You asked, taking him out of his swirling thoughts.

        "Nah." He shrugged. A lie, but everything he had tried to work up to was washed away when you said you met someone.

        "Oh." You said, slight sadness hinting in your voice. "Your turn." You reminded him again.

        "Who's the guy?" He asked.

        "Oh, you don't know him." You waved him off. If you could slap yourself, your would. What kind of lie was that? He knew everyone. There were literally less than ten of you if you didn't count the baby. 

        "Oh? Some kind o' pen or somethin'?" He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Then it hit him; you were talking about him. That's why it sounded like everything Daryl tried to be for you, because it was him. "Oh." He blurted quietly.

        Your face felt like it drained of blood completely. Well, way to completely humiliate yourself around the only real friend you had, huh?

        "You okay?" He asked.

        "Yeah." You nodded, forcing a smile, but your voice was sort of meek and squeaky. You shook it off, reminding yourself that you were, in fact, not the type to falter under pressure. This would be no different. So what if you liked him and he didn't feel the same? You could get past that. It was nothing--

        "(Y/N)." He snapped you out of your thoughts. 

        "Hmm?"

        "You asked if I like someone..." He trailed as he shifted uncomfortably.

        "Yeah?"

        "It's just -- I do, but... How do I know she likes me too?" 

        He didn't make eye contact as he asked. In fact, he looked quite literally everywhere except at you.

        "You just... ask. And if you don't wanna ask... Make your move." You shrugged.

        "Right." He nodded.

        Well, that conversation had gotten awkward enough for you, so you figured that was a good place to end it. You cleared your throat and stood up.

        "I'm gonna go choose a bed." You announced.

        You went to walk past where he sat on the couch but he stood up abruptly and cut you off.

        You looked up at him with confusion. What did he want? Your nerves were eating away at you and you were honestly pretty tired. You shifted your weight anxiously.

        "Daryl--" You went to complain about it but he had other plans. He gripped your arms firmly and smashed his face into yours. Like, actually smashed. It hurt. "Ow." You mumbled as you rubbed over your mouth. He gulped. It was supposed to be a kiss. Was he always so clumsy?

        "Sorry, I--"

        "Were you trying to kiss me?" You asked. He just stared at you. "'Cause, I gotta tell ya,you could really work on your technique." You smirked. 

        When he remained frozen, you began to feel bad for teasing him. He clearly had no idea what to do now. His hands were even still rested on your arms.

        "Here, let me show you." You whispered. You reached up for his face, his hands sliding softly off of your arms. When your palms found his checks,you tippy-toed up a couple of inches, and slowly leaned in, placing your lips softly on his. It wasn't a long, rhythmic kind of kiss. It was just simple and soft, and it lasted just a few seconds longer than a quick peck-and-go.

        His eyes were still closed when you pulled back, a tiny smile slowly spreading over your lips. When his eyes opened,he looked disappointed, like he was waiting for more. 

        He leaned down slowly, a little unsure. He was waiting for you to stop him, but you didn't. You pushed yourself back up on your toes o close the gap and snaked your arms around his neck. This time, it was deeper. You slowly moved your lips, allowing him to find the rhythm and synchronise. When he felt a little more confident, his hands gripped your hips and he quickened the pace.

        Slowly, he eased you down onto the couch. You gladly followed his lead. When you were comfortably seated, his lips peeled away and his kisses found their way down from your cheek to your neck to your collarbone. Oh, this was going to get good.

A/N: next part will be spicy ;)

Masterlist || Taglist

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader

((I didn't use the tags in all the one shots I just transferred cause I didn't wanna hit you guys with like 348827502720 notifications in one day))

[anonymous-dentist]

Cellbit has officially been forced back to the island by the Watcher and he’s going to force himself to kill all his friends because the Watcher says he has to (and the Watcher is never wrong.) And then he meets a lonely little child sitting in Cellbit’s husband’s garden.

He raises his machete, but he falters when he sees the too-big gas mask slung around the kid’s neck. Cellbit recognizes that mask, it’s Roier’s. From Purgatory. He and Cellbit decorated theirs, and this mask has his goofy little smile drawn on the back strap in permanent marker.

The kid doesn’t flinch as Cellbit approaches.

In high-pitched Spanish, the kid remarks, wide-eyed, “You’re a REALLY big Pepito!”

The kid has to crane their head back to look at Cellbit. They smile, gap-toothed, and they wave.

“Wanna sit with Pepito?” they ask.

The Watcher’s presence tickles at the back of Cellbit’s mind, as does the bloodlust.

He sits, anyway, and he places his machete (bloody already, sorry Tina) on the grass next to him. He criss-crosses his legs, and the kid mimics him.

“Where are your parents?” Cellbit asks, definitely not so he can kill said parents.

The kid shrugs. “Apa has been gone for a really long time, but Abuela says that he’s super pendejo, so he’s fine. So Pepito is waiting.”

Something rotten curls in Cellbit’s gut.

“Is your apa Roier?” he asks.

At the kid’s nod and succeeding rant about how cool their Apa Roier is and how he’s probably doing cool superhero things right now, Cellbit feels the rage inside of him spark into something other than self-hatred for the first time in over a month.

“How long has he been missing?” Cellbit asks.

The kid ponders for a moment before holding up both hands with fingers splayed. They close their hands into fists, and then they open them again. 20.

“This many!” they declare. “Probably. Pepito isn’t good at math yet.”

Twenty days. At least. And…

Cellbit sucks in a shuddery breath. “Has anyone been looking for him?”

The kid shakes his head with a shrug. “Pepito looked, but now Pepito is taking a Pepito Break.”

Assuming the kid is Pepito, that means. God.

The Watcher’s claws scratch at Cellbit’s brain, but he ignores Him for the moment. There’s something he needs to take care of before he can continue His war.

“Well, I’ll help you look,” Cellbit says. “Your apa is a good friend of mine.”

Pepito nods sagely. “You’re Pepito’s other dad, uh-huh.”

Cellbit would wonder how Pepito knows who he is considering the fact that Roier has probably already moved on from him, but, well, they’ve probably been hanging around Richarlyson.

(Richarlyson…)

“So you know that I’m going to find him,” Cellbit tells Pepito.

Pepito nods. “Dad Cellbit is a very strong Pepito.”

“And so are you,” Cellbit says.

He reaches out and pulls Pepito’s gas mask up so that he’s holding it over Pepito’s face; it’s too big for them, but if Cellbit adjusts the straps like so…

“There!” he announces, dropping his hands. “Fits perfectly!”

Pepito’s mask is still way too big, but at least it’s on their face now.

Through one of the eye holes, Cellbit can see Pepito’s smile. It makes his heart twist into a sad little knot.

But he won’t get attached, he knows that for sure. He’s going to help find Roier, and then he’ll slip out during the reunion.

He won’t be missed at all once Roier’s family is back together.

[saphushia]

YOU. CITIZEN. tell me more about that zombie apocalypse au where etho is called ladders. is your intention romantic ethubs or are they bros. does bdubs have any important skills or is he just sorta sad and pathetic. do they travel together? I'm aware you probably don't intend to develop this au but this is a formal invitation to do so

ok so you're right i have absolutely no plan to develop it really or turn it into an actual thing BUT. if i were to.

no one knows what etho and bdubs have going on. neither of them care to work out what it is either. it just is. everyone IS placing bets on it though

bdubs is GREAT at fortifying buildings and setting up base camps. everyone is awed by how he can make a shoddy little hovel feel like home. great at making the most of meager supplies

bdubs also is the master of camouflage. bro is covered in leaves n whatever stuff he picked up off the ground. etho says this is stupid ("we're in a city, what are you blending in with") but bdubs insists his camouflage mastery is an undefeated survival tactic

they stay in the city (at least mostly) bc etho refuses to leave the safety of his ladders and bdubs refuses to go out at night

they don't spend all their time together but they keep in touch with radios. they have separate base camps but both of them are welcome to crash at eachother's places

and bonus info u didn't ask for but i'm adding anyways

bdubs uses a machete, and whatever he can grab to either throw or whack with

bdubs learned how to improvise small explosives from tango. he is not as good at it as tango.

etho uses an axe

etho was previously sleeping on the floor till bdubs got offended at his state of living and dragged etho along on a mission to locate a mattress and haul it up to his place (etho still sleeps on the floor sometimes. for fun.)

etho got his eye poked out n wears one of those white medical eye patches bc having an open hole in his face is not good for avoiding contamination

doc is partially infected. he's called doc bc he's the go to guy for cutting off limbs. he learned by amputating his own arm 👍

doc is also constantly preaching the dangers of scurvy. everyone teases him for having the medical knowledge of a 1600s sailor but they still some crawling back to him begging for some of the tomatoes from his roof garden so who's the real winner here

[canisalbus]

I think Machete should be allowed to dig a hole. For enrichment reasons.

Just stick his snout in a hole and woo woo the anxiety away

I received this ask after posting art of the dogs in their four legged forms, but imagine if we were talking of him in anthro mode. Just digging holes in the Vatican gardens, sticking his face in them and screaming.

[ogradyfilm]

Recently Viewed: The Zone of Interest

The Zone of Interest is a horror film.

That isn’t a “genre” classification, by the way; the movie lacks the “traditional” tropes and conventions commonly associated with the most narrow, stringent application of that (often reductive) label, which tends to conjure images of ghosts, ghouls, and machete-wielding maniacs. Still, the intent of the story is to terrify the audience—it simply accomplishes this goal through subtler means than, say, Friday the 13th or The Evil Dead. There is, for example, little explicit bloodshed; the atrocities occur almost entirely offscreen. Yet “implication” doesn’t dull the impact of the violence; on the contrary, it somehow feels more confrontational (albeit less exploitative) than outright showing mass graves and gallons of gore.

The narrative revolves around a series of chilling juxtapositions. Seemingly ordinary family meals and joyful birthday celebrations, for instance, are lent a sinister tone by virtue of the fact that the patriarch wears the uniform of a high-ranking SS officer. The mother, meanwhile, tends her garden, taking great pride in the colorful, fragrant flowers and bountiful vegetables; she then casually mentions that she hopes her plants and crops will eventually obscure the drab, dreary concrete wall at the rear of the property—a barrier that borders Auschwitz. Indeed, the protagonists literally live in the shadow of the notorious death camp. They dress themselves in clothing and jewelry confiscated from the Jewish prisoners; the eldest son has even made a hobby of collecting discarded gold teeth and dental plates. At night, the father stands on the back porch, enjoying a cigar as he watches the black smoke billowing above the crematorium chimneys—the perverse epitome of a professional admiring a “job well done.” The household servants—local girls hired from the nearby village—dutifully clear the silverware, scrub the floors, and polish the master’s boots, constantly tormented by the knowledge that their very survival depends upon the “benevolence” of their employers.

Director Jonathan Glazer observes the action with an unnervingly cold detachment. The predominantly static camera and rigidly symmetrical framing are reminiscent of the works of Roy Andersson and Chantal Akerman. This deliberately mundane, undramatic visual style emphasizes the inherent humanity of the subjects: they’re Nazis, yes, but they’re also people—a somewhat clichéd theme that nevertheless remains relevant and resonant. Anybody, after all, is capable of choosing evil; we must therefore be vigilant, lest we become history’s next monster.

Thus, The Zone of Interest is objective in its presentation, but not nonjudgmental. And that is a vital distinction.

[biophonies]

dropped a new t-shirt w rawpaw for their "dreams" challenge & the dream is LANDBACK WORLDWIDE 🖤

I present to you this sigil against capitalist realism (AKA the worst idea in human history: that an earth under capitalism is the only way for humanity to function.)

a different world is not only possible - it’s hundreds of years overdue. shirt can be found HERE. 100% cotton, screenprinted in texas <3 grateful for any shares w folks you think may fw it.

decolonial symbolism breakdown & image description is below the cut~

a multipanel white illustration against a black background.

TOP L: a night flying moth with the words "LANDBACK" - reps change, fluidity, & adaptation (read up on the evolution of the peppered moth - so cool!)

TOP R: a shining blade with the words "WORLDWIDE" - a tool of farmers everywhere (the machete, Indian aruval, Filipino bolo, Afro-Caribbean panga) & global symbol of decolonialism

CENTER: a huge baobab tree with people dancing & gathering fruit underneath. its roots crush military weapons long buried underground - a tree of great spiritual significance across continental Africa & Australia, long used as gathering places, sites of shelter, abundance, and resilience in difficult climates.

BOTTOM L: flowers grow from tear gas grenades - based on Subhiyah Abu Rahma's garden, in memory of her son Bassem, unalived in 2009 when an IOF soldier launched one into his chest. bc “less than lethal” weap0ns will always be lethal in the hands of fasc1sts

BOTTOM RIGHT: a panther pushes out from a lush forest, gazing at the viewer - represents the human rights past generations have fought for, a reminder to not let down one’s guard, to never forget past struggles even if we live in relative comfort, and to never settle for anything less than total liberation. & lastly

BOTTOM CENTER: an orca sinking a yacht - because... well, I trust you get it by now.

[emo-nova]

Update time for some good ol' Teen Wolf, ig? i'm on episode 7 of season 2, and now I am definitely seeing some clips that i saw that was making me interested in the show as well as aspects within the fandom spaces.

Never understood the whole idea of Pack mom Stiles thing until I saw Stiles basically be the first to clock that 1, she is in seizure, 2, she may have an issue with the kanima venom (more than others) and 3, to be able to help her he needs to go to Derek cause Scott defo doesn't know. I didn't see it in the beginning, but I can see what people are seeing in it.

Another aspect, Stiles predicting Matt as the villain was such a rewarding scene. Mainly because I have been spoiled, I don't mind them, sometimes I actively look for them to see how the writers handle certain characters plus a summary isn't always true to what actually happened depending on interpretations.

You know what wasn't? Stiles' dad not being told. Or Melissa. Can these two be in on it now? Please? I'm mildly done with the charades on both ends mainly because the friction between two parties is simply miscommunication, plus it would be interesting to have Stiles' be open to this now so that we can see more of a struggle for the Stilinski family when the Sheriff *carries on* heading into danger when he knows. Same with Melissa, I think it would help create more stakes, but it will needed to be handled with care, that she can notice when a patient might have been involved with the supernatural which she can tell the sheriff. It'll make a good feedback loop for the adults, me thinks.

Onto Scott and Alison, I am noticing the writers are now ramping up a more heaviness to their relationship. This is no longer about puppy love but genuine wanting to carry on together, on both ends. And the touch with Jackson being used as the mouthpiece of the writers to foreshadow something more sinister lurking within Alison's future and her decisions. I honestly can not wait for Alison's either degression or progression as a character, as an aspiring writer who likes to study stories of any kind, I would have her digress to create a more nuance version of her character especially with her and Scott creating friction between each other. The friction I'm talking about is Alison's fear of being truly hopeless, unable to actually help herself out of a situation, this could be due to her being raised to be independent and to be a leader within the Argents. Scott on the other hand has a total Hero Complex, wanting to save as many people as possible, yada yada (mild affection now, he's grown on me), wants to be there for Alison *always* which contradicts Alison's want of independence.

Derek, so far, has been following a characterisation I would do for him (after that abysmal training set) cautious and careful with his betas, almost paranoid about their safety with mild disregard for his own in time of the full moon. I would like to see more Boyd though, you have an entire episode on him, and he doesn't get to appear in that scene??? BS, I want Boyd, Erica and Isaac have a moment of annoyance at Derek for being so careful with them. Would I have Derek explain to them why he's so cautious? Not fully, no, I would have Derek explain simply "I am your leader, I look after you and train you. And I need to look after you by ensuring you don't get caught between the Kamina and the Hunters."

Let Derek be a vague, paranoidly responsible Alpha that noticed that his first method didn't help for shit and changing the curriculum for these three because Scott's training was a *mess* and not some fucking dictator alpha guy. But knowing the writing team they most likely will mishandle Derek's character like a child given a machete in the garden which is disappointing.

That's all I got so far, but enjoy my ranting about what happened so far.

Also thank you to the kind soul that told me the timeline of season 1 and 2, I didn't realise that it was such short periods of time! Thank you again :)

[slickchickchocolatier]

₵Ⱨ₳₱₮ɆⱤ ₴ɆVɆ₦ : The Cannibal

Series: The Otherside

Warnings: gore, mentions of butchering human bodies, hints of cannibalism, survive and escape vibes, blood, dub-con vibes, this is not for the light hearted.

“Fuck this shit I’m out!”

Like clockwork, each member fleds; they spread out, ditching their pitiful gardening tools. You hear the commotion as you wiggle within the chained restraint, how odd that a whole group would rather flee than to gain up and tackle one man; surely they would win if they did.

The chains remain unbreakable as you attempt to feed your hands out of the metal cuffs, only able to free one hand in the process. You managed to lean your body over as the chained belt pinches your waistline. You finger the other cuff, desperately trying to pry it open so you could have both hands to work on the elongated piece that belted you to the stone platform. Suddenly a small poke causes you to yelp as the sharp sensation is pressed against your throat. You lay wide eyed as you stare Jessica dead in the eye. Her measly weapon of opportunity was hardly to be afraid of, yet with you forced into a stagnant position, you feared for your life as you saw desperation in her expression. “Don’t you dare move, I swear—“

Blood splatters across your face and you fall into a moment of shock. For about three seconds, your mind was an optical illusion until you snapped back into the reality of the situation—which was your co-worker stumbling to pieces as a large machete blade was fed through her stomach. The projection of the throw, along with the precision, was strong enough to slash through bone and cartilage. Your lips quiver out of fear as you watch her eyes roll back. Down she goes.

You couldn’t stop shaking. The amount of horror within you was enough to shrivel your spine, yet somehow you had enough courage—or curiosity, to turn your head. What you feared most was the expectation of this gifted killer to come at you next, now that everyone was gone. Your peripherals caught sight of numerous bodies laying lifeless by his feet, no wonder the remaining members chose to escape. The man was silent in his actions, you weren’t aware that he chopped down more than the leader of the group.

He stalks his way over in your direction. You shook more vigorously as you made out his body type. He was tall, with a boxy frame; mostly slender with subtle bulky muscle that graced his arms. The veins travel along them like rivers in the Amazon. He comes closer, and closer.

“Well shit.”

His voice was as deep as his brows. He tilts his head as he sighed, it was one that expressed the burden of a heavy weight—you.

“P-please…d-don’t—“ it was all you could stutter as you refused to take your eye off him. It was a defensive trait as you feared turning away would place you in a vulnerable spot, until you realized that you were without a weapon and chained up.

He squints his eyes and licks the top row of his offensive teeth. What was he going to do? The others had it coming, even with the intention of leaving this grave sight without killing anyone, that moral compass went south the moment he was spotted digging up fresh graves. He never liked hurting people, but became so good at it due to the amount of times he’s been forced to. Not to mention, all the times he’s had to hunt for food with Heeseung. Under normal circumstances, it was usually his sadistic friend who would do the deed. All his victims were ones who collected victims themselves; the sick and demented that were gifted in return by society due to their families expanded wealth. But ever since a pretty dainty thing named h/n inadvertently caught his eye, Heeseung had been more preoccupied in taming his new pet, leaving for Sunghoon to resort to this old nightly trend. A trend that was meant to end peacefully and inconspicuously, has now produced a conundrum.

‘What the hell do I do now? Do I call Heeseung and Jake?’

He was certain that his friends would come to aid him, there was no question about it. It was the sense of burdening them to do so, especially when Heeseung had recently claimed how much more work than he expected to clip his little birdies' wings. As for Jake, it had been a solid week since either one of them had heard from the Aussie stud.

The silence early killed you itself. You couldn’t bear it anymore as you anticipated the worst of the man’s actions. With his grip tightening on the remaining blade, his pupils shift from side to side as he ponders on what exactly the best course of action to take. Finishing you off was out of the question. You weren’t presenting a threat—at least not yet. While the others provided reasons to die by his hand, it was obvious by your current condition that you were dragged into this matter against your own will. A frail little thing, presented as an offering for their false belief. In a way, he felt sorry for you.

He notices your free hand, which then triggers him to make his next move. Tossing you a black sash, he directs the aim of it to your face. “Cover your eyes.”

His voice was low. You hysterically sob as you come to the conclusion that the man was going to execute you blindfolded. As if he read your mind, he sits on the stone platform beside you and leans in. “I’m not going to hurt you. Okay? Just put it on and we’ll get out of here. No screaming or crying, otherwise I will have to shut you up.”

His words sounded sincere. Maybe that was due to how his fingers came up to sweep the stands away from your cheek. You had no choice, so you obliged. Seeing you struggle to place the tie the sash nearly made him chuckle. It was somewhat cute with the way you were trying to obey, so much that you did everything you could to hold it in place when you weren’t able to tie it properly. He raises his hands and with a gentle, feathered touch, he ties the dash for you. Your breath paused during the entire time as you felt the long fingernails gently feeding through your hair. “Don’t move.”

You barely process his words when suddenly you felt the weight of metal shambles relieve you. You couldn’t see how he did it, but from what you could gather helping your ears, the man was skilled with those blades of his and managed to cut the chains at an angle, immediately snapping it and breaking the length of it. “I’ll remove this later.” His voice calmly states as you felt his finger hook under the cuff, between your skin and the metal. Breaking the other chains, you felt the lightweight of freedom. It felt like you were floating.

He drags you for God knows how long. Finally the car stabilizes to park mode as you feel the riddling engine shut off and the seat beneath you stops vibrating. The door closest to you opens and you feel his hands lift you from the back seating row. He was gentle, but so strong. You hindered each breath as you try to guess where he has taken you, but the blindfold proves to be an adequate obstruction in blocking your vision. He sits you down in what you guessed was a couch, after bringing you in and aiding you up a series of stairs after sitting in an elevator for a lengthy ride. At least you think it was an elevator. Your ankles binder by rope as are your wrists. He broke the chains but kept you bonded to ensure his cover and identity was not released through your venturous escape. When all was said and done, you feel him gently untying the blindfold and lifting it from your eyes. You looked around and was amazed to find yourself at the center of a well furnished bedroom. Seated on the edge of the large bed, you looked around to see the modern art pieces and the small sculptures that decorated the space. He stood before you with blood staining his hands and flight suit.

“Make yourself comfortable. You’ll be staying here for a while.”

You slightly shook your head. “I-I can’t—“

“It’s either you stay, or you die.” He cuts you off while still keeping a calm demeanor. “You saw what I did. I can’t risk you going out and getting the police involved. For now on, you stay here.”

At first you couldn’t lie, a piece of you didn’t seem to have any objections considering his rather luxurious apartment, the man obviously came from money and luck. However, you couldn’t possibly stay with a strange man, especially when a significant factor that had slipped your mind back at the grave sight, it came back up as if to specifically impede in your decision…except you didn’t really have one.

Your eyes widened in absolute horror as you watched from up the staircase. Through the front door, he brought in one body bag after another. Oh God…

Now you remember why he was there in the first place. Overhearing the confused gasps of the cult allowed you to piece together the sickness this man was infected with. You panicked. You had to figure out how to get out of these ropes, there’s no way you could stay here. This man—this monster, was he intending to keep you so he could butcher you for his future meals? It becomes harder to breathe as you wiggled and squirmed, doing your best to break free. You hear him dragging one of the bodies into the bathroom, no doubt getting ready to section it off, piece by piece.

Finally, shifting your wrists loosened up the rope. You were able to use your teeth to pull it completely out of place, undoing the knot completely. You freed your ankles and removed your shoes to avoid making any noise against the magnificently marbled tile. Tip toeing through the hall, you took each step down the staircase as gently and carefully as possible. You heard him working the corpse from the crack in the door, it was the most sickening sound you ever heard. You weren’t sure what was worse, nearly being killed for a sickening ritual or being saved by a man who was the sickest.

The knob is within your grasp, you hold on and gently turn it. The door clicks open, which fortunately occurred during a large chop through what you guessed was a limb or joint. Opening the front door allowed you to view the entire private corridor, leading to a dead end. There, you saw it. A single elevator stationed off to the side. Freedom.

You quickly make your way over, but despair hits you in finding out that the keypad to the side required a passcode in order to operate it. It would so appear the entire floor was a private residence, as well as this elevator. How you wished you had peeled from beneath the blind fold to see the code entered. How were you supposed to get out of here now?

Taking the chance to guess the code, you start puncturing numbers at random. The keypad flashes red and makes a subtle beep to reflect the error. You continued to enter a compilation of numbers when a sudden sight caused you to scream. A bloodied hand reaching over your shoulder, plastered over the keypad. You jolt back and lea against the wall, the man was coated with more blood than before. It was a hellish sight, one that you could never forget.

“Running?” His voice came off almost facetiously as he taunts you with a small toothy grin. His look was somewhat different from before. It was a look of bold hunger, a contrast from the seemingly shy-quiet boy appeal he had before. It was almost as if the smell and sight of blood triggered him, the same way it happens with a lone shark in deep waters.

“Please…I-i won’t tell anyone. Just let me leave. I didn’t ask to be here…I didn’t ask for any of this. I just want to forget about all of this. I promise I won’t—“

He takes a step towards your direction, inadvertently shutting you up. Seeing you in this light, this specific version of you, it was eye opening to him. He’s never seen someone so wide eyed and pure, so clean and sheltered from the toxicity of evil and gore. To him, you were Persephone, in need of her Hades. He raises a hand with the intention of caressing your cheek, but the glistening shine of the red stain causes you to squint and yelp in fear. Of course it would. How clumsy of him to forget that the essence of your purity shouldn’t be stained. He lowers his hand, flicking his two fingers, bidding you to come hither his way. “Come here. Come and stay with me.”

You shook your head vigorously. There was no way. Not after knowing his darkest secret. “I can’t! Please let me go!”

He smiles and gives a small chuckle. “Go upstairs, and clean up. Top drawer to the right, you’ll find my collared button shirts. Put one on and get some sleep.” It was almost as if he didn’t even hear you. Maybe he did, he just refused to listen or honor your words. You shook your head in gloom as you found yourself trapped and forced to abide by his command. You sob silently as you start to walk back to the front door, his arm shelters your shoulders as he cradles you under the strength of his limb.

“Shh…good little girl.”

Taglist: @nshmrarki , @lprww , @baekxo07 , @m7omo@nikstrange@heeshees@moonmoongi@heesitation@heeseung-min @nctsslut @heeseung-min @addictedtohobi @strxwbloody

[poppuppink]

Unripe Apples

Pairing: Enel x reader

(Enel is still a baddie, but I just wanted to add someone who keeps giving this big bitch food because there's no damn way anything will fill his stomach up, besides filling mine with his thunder rod)

Warnings: ENEL, Enel being an egotistical bitch, Reader is AFAB, but I'm planning to change it maybe

Words: 2.5k words

Was there ever a time when a god kneeled? Zeus refused to bow to his father and no god would ever need to look up to their follower's eyes. How special are you to the proclaimed god in front of you, to be on his knees, begging.

Enel was no man nor was he an angel, he held no mercy and not even those who look down on humans refuse to fight him in battle. His staff and gold jewelry clink as he walks on the clouds. Even with his large frame over the people with wings, his presence comes as quick and quietly as lightning.

He was god, in those who follow him and in your own vision. Yet, his own eyes were on you, glinting with curiosity and interest. He'd occasionally hold out his hand out for yours and you'd respond with giving him your family's offering. His body stills, as his outstretched hand only reaches for your hand holding the embellished gift. You only learn to shake for your fate, but all he does is to stroke the freckles on your arm. The servants on his side pry their way to you two, their vicious and jealous presence wanting to get you as far away as they can from their god. The god glares and they fall to their knees in retaliation. He gently takes your offering in one hand as his other strokes your fingertips. The entrancing small sparks pump your heart faster, but your gaze still never meets his. He lets out the smallest huff and proceeds to take the offerings of others quickly with his staff, the aura turning silent instead of egotistical.

Your eyes were always by your feet, your mother and father taught you to keep your spine stiff and to swim swiftly. They gave you a small pouch of kept meat blood, to lure or bait predators in case you were launched far by their god.

"If you ever look up to see unfamiliar rays shining, remember the sun will be your last sight." warned your father

"Learn to starve yourself when the light is brighter than usual, all that you've caught will be offered to him, none will be left to keep you afloat." advised your mother

You were prepared to say the least, using what you had to live accordingly. Even when you can avoid the large jaws hidden in the clouds, eyes still loom over your figure through the jungle. It was not a predator of sharp teeth and claws, it was a god that was looking right at you. You never knew it was the god, but you've learned to ignore it in every task you did with the help of your parents. Your family has soon realized that the gaze is different from what you've experienced, as a matter of fact, the sense of the gaze was only rough when anyone was in your vicinity.

This led to some of your friends to always being cautious around you, their body always on edge as if the world would eat them whole with one wrong move. They soon avoid you on most chances, leading to you tending the garden for comfort. As your field of food comes to fruition, you have encountered the pests that crawls by the fence. The fence wasn't useless, rather, the pest were stronger. They crawled their way through the overlapping branches on the other side, dropping from the leaves onto your crops.

You've decided to hack some of the branches, none of the main ones, but just those that come too close over the fence. With your machete in hand you walked around the fence to climb the tree. It wasn't difficult climbing, rather, it was harder to climb down. The tree was what an average sapling would look like to god, the size was significant in terms of height and thickness.

When you reached the top, your feet were sore from the climb. You finally reached the main branch that pestered your garden. It was not an easy task to cut the wood off, your arm going slack slowly after minutes of labor. It did however fall, the branch creaks with heavy anticipation and a loud resonating thump. You shook along with the tree, your body starved of energy. Sitting on the branch your foot was holding your body with, you let out a large sigh as your back gets accustomed to the bark.

Only your breathing could be heard, the leaves scratching along with the wind. It was only for a few moments, but you were able to catch it. The sound of crunching leaves on the ground closing on your position. You perch yourself off the tree to look down, your eyes searching for the perpetrator. You glance at your machete in one hand as the crunching continues.

Then silence

You can't hear the leaves nor do you think 'it' stayed on the ground. It was in front of you

Before your eyes was the god with thumping drums and a lazy gaze. He was crossing his legs with his staff in one hand and the other holding his chin. You gaped and immediately kneeled as best as you could against the branch. Your gaze facing the ground up above, your body stilling along with your breath.

"What an honor to meet you, my god"

His eyes loom over you as you hold your position as best as you can. It was silent until you heard the jingle of his jewelry and an exaggerated sigh that you tried to barely peak at him

"Tell me, girl, what are you doing up here above the grounds?"

You gave a curt reply in hopes that his interest in you will dwindle and leave you be

"I am cutting down the branches of this tree, my God. The insects use the branch as a means of transport onto our crops."

"Hmm, are you good at farm work, then? Or do you do this for leisure?"

His question only fills you with dread. No question that he wishes to use you for labor and maybe even use you dry for other work. But you were trained to comply with his whims, because who'd be crazy to defy a God who could have you dead at any time?

"I do it in my free time, God. I help with my family's crops and gardening."

"Then can you care for apple trees, girl?"

He got right to the point and you just want to evaporate away from his overbearing sight

"Yes, my God."

"Good then."

He claps his hands together as the golden embellishments clink with one another. In a blink of an eye, the both of you were on the ground as your forehead pressed onto the dead leaves.

You look up in surprise, the sudden transport rushes your heart and sweats you out. In your state of confusion, your eyes finally met with the God's. Instead of the cold gaze, his eyes looked at you like it was watching something of interest. With a stature like his, your neck ached with the other fear symptoms crawling throughout your body.

He looked back at the trees with their branches sticking forth above your garden, realization striking you that your task at hand was never finished.

He sighs through his nose and switches his staff to his other hand, pointing its tip in the direction of the trees you were climbing. Using the staff, he strikes it, letting the sound resonate gently, as quickly as you can blink a white flash comes down.

You freeze in place and the smell of burnt wood fills your nostrils. The slight smoke came from the distinct cuts on where the branches were accompanied by the slight thuds of fallen logs.

Gulping away your fear for even just a second, you bow again to God. Thanking him quietly and meekly.

You can feel his gaze shift from your form and onto your garden, his eyes scanning the growing crops with little interest.

"Girl, offer me something to chew."

As soon as his request left his lips, you rushed towards your crops and quickly chose the basket of apples you plucked earlier before climbing the fence. Using your hands, you carried the basket to god, who has sat on the ledge of one of your garden's crop slots. He was picking at his ear as his large frame looked laughable compared to your garden.

Huffing as you placed the apples before god, you bowed again and waited for his command. Farmers weren't always pressured by god, nor were they enslaved in comparison to the soldiers the god would enlist for fun. In fact, the farmers would sometimes be grateful if they were chosen to serve since the village would be on good terms with god to not cause chaos to the people.

This has happened to your family a few times, but each time becomes more demanding as time goes by. God would only recognize your family nowadays, which in the eyes of others plagued jealousy and anger each time. Soon the village has isolated your family from the rest as your neighbors built their fences higher to hide their scorching gazes on your backs. With this factor, your family felt more enslaved than others under your god. As the village dehumanizes you, you've learned to hate your work to please god.

Crunch

The bite of one of the apples startles you. He continued to eat it as you stayed bowed.

"Girl."

You perk at his voice and find the bit apple in front of your face. He held it out for you, a sign to take it. With hesitant hands, you slowly took it from him in silent confusion. His large fingers are what you touch more as it engulfs the entirety of the apple and you shiver at how his hands are cold as ice compared to yours.

"This apple is fresh, is it not? But there are far better apples I have eaten." He states with a slight tilt of his head

"Yes, my god." You reply quickly as you feel the pricks of his comment change his already narcissistic attitude to that of a scumbag.

"It's good you recognize your place then, this apple is not fit for a God with its taste unappealing to the core."

His hand shoves the apple in your hand to your mouth,

"Eat."

The shock on your face leaves quickly as you take a small bite, your body freezing as his hand still holds yours to ensure him you're following his command

"How does it taste?" Enel asks with bored eyes observing your expression.

You weren't quite sure how to answer his question. He stated how the apple was good, but not enough for a god's standard. So if you appealed to him, you would be in his good graces.

But

The god, Enel, did not like the obsequious people at all. Ironically, he hated them, thinking they were not worthy of a personality that made them appear above others by using methods a spineless coward would use to survive.

There should be no reason for his distaste for these type of people since they fit so well with his demands as a god, but the disclosed eyes of his army and Enel's say otherwise.

"It tastes fresh and that of an average fruit, my god."

Your response acknowledged both the appeal of pride in your family's work fit to please anyone else but a god who deserves something above average was what you thought.

His eyes didn't seem to change in demeanor when he heard you, but the slight shift in his posture to lean forward made you break out a sparse cold sweat.

"But it can be better, it will be."

He said in a chilling voice, insinuating a plan only he knows about, something you know that possibly involves you.

You can only meekly reply with a yes and stand firmly in place. His hand that helped hold the apple to your mouth took it and threw it to the side.

" Girl, be merry, for I will task you to care for this god's harvest and nutrition." He stands with pride and ego, his jewelry jingling in delight as your face pales in comparison.

This wasn't your first time being chosen to provide their crops as offerings to god, but it was the first time god approached you himself. There was usually a messenger, a man clad in white and small gold accessories, approaching your home with his leery smile.

"You have been chosen for ___'s banquet today, our god only deserves the best, so make haste for his holiness' tongue!"

He jeered and left with such grace that you almost mistaken his presence to be a man of goodness.

But why you and why now?

Your god has already insulted the taste of your harvested fruit and even had you confirm it nonetheless. He did say 'it could be better', but how can a fruit be better if this was the best offer you had worked on?

So you rebutted on eggshells

"My god, an honor is it to serve you in harvest work and nutrition, but I am not the best suited candidate for that task."

Your eyes rose to meet his and as if in that moment, you saw why your parents told you the sun would be the last thing you'll see.

Enel's eyes held no emotion, but his stature held animosity to your words, as if he's daring you to continue.

You dare not to and hold your tongue

As quickly as your words held in your mouth, the god's stare slowly but surely went to boredom. The gears turned in his head, as if finding reason to use your statement to offend himself and punish you even when it held no hostility to his position to begin with.

"Nonsense, you have been serving your god's banquets for the past 3 months now, your god knows his word is absolute."

Just as he lectures you, you hear the backdoor of your home swing open.

"Dear?" your mother called out, "You've been working too hard, you can-"

Your mother drops the glass of juice and bows

"My god, what an honor to meet you." She forces as she shakes in place

God doesn't turn his head to acknowledge your mother but continues to stare down at you, never breaking eye contact.

"Woman" he calls to your mom as his eyes keep you in place.

"Yes, my god?" Your mother looks up to meet his request but passes quick glances at you in worry.

"She will serve during this month's banquet. Prepare her in 2 hours and I will get her by then."

The horror on both of your faces doesn't even register as anything but shocked delight in god's eyes. He rises to his full height and disappears without a trace

Just as fast, your legs give up on you as your mother holds you with your father returning home to see his wife and child sobbing.

[avocado-writing]

love drunk (tangerine’s path)

tangerine x f!reader tags: sex pollen; dub-con (bc sex pollen); love confessions; oral (f receiving); p in v sex

2k~ words

rated E minors dni

pt1

Tangerine shoves you out of the way, acting just fast enough to disarm the attacker by punching him in the gut with his knuckledusters. The machete skids across the floor but the man doesn’t stop. Instead he barrels into Tangerine and the two of them go crashing into one of the chemical setups behind them; there’s an almighty smashing of glass and the mystery powder is billowed up into the air. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing a disposable mask out of your back pocket and quickly pulling it on. You do not want whatever the fuck this stuff is getting inside of your lungs. You hear Lemon taking out the last couple of assailants as you rush to check Tangerine, putting a bullet in the skull of his attacker before he can get back up. 

“Tan, you alright?”

Tangerine seems… groggy. He blinks, slowly, as if the world is only just coming back into focus. His fancy suit is covered with whatever they’ve been making here - that’s a biohazard nightmare for sure. You pull Tan to his feet, careful to avoid making contact with the powder. 

“Yeah…” he mutters, dazed. You hear the sound of his brother approaching, and you and Lemon look at each other.  

“This ain’t good,” you surmise, looking at the way Tangerine sways on his feet. Lemon sucks breath in through his teeth. 

“Get him home. I’ll finish up.”

You raise an eyebrow. 

“You sure?” ‘Finishing up’ means spilling gasoline and torching the place. Though, judging by the relative newness of the operation, doesn’t seem like any backup will be coming soon. 

“Yeah. Look at him, he’s off his face,” Lemon states. This is true. With a sigh, you turn to Tangerine. 

“Come on, sunshine, let's get you out of here.”

Tangerine would usually snip back about you babying him, and the fact he doesn’t means this thing is bad. He just wanders behind you, pliant, unaffected by the cold London air outside. When you open the side door for him, he simply… sits down without complaint. 

This is most unlike him. 

You’re kissing the wrong side of the speed limit as you drive him back home, occasionally glancing over to see how your passenger fares. A light sheen of sweat has broken out on his skin and he’s getting flushed. By the time you pull into his driveway, you can hear how loud he’s breathing. 

“Tan?”

“Mm,” he replies. You reach over to place the back of your hand on his forehead and check for a fever, and he slaps you away hard. 

“Ow! What the fu-”

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

He practically spits it out, and you’re taken aback. Tan doesn’t talk to you like that. Not seriously. Sometimes there’s a bit of banter between the two of you, but never real venom. 

You look at him for a long moment, studying his face, his body, down to his lap —

Oh. 

Oh. You see the cause for the panic. 

Tangerine has the biggest hard-on you’ve ever seen. 

He’s straining against the fabric of his trousers, his hips twitching minutely, as if he doesn’t realise it. You meet the blown pupils of his blue eyes. 

“Tan - ”

But by then he seems to come to terms with the fact he just snapped at you, and more than that he’s sitting in your car while fully fucking erect, and he looks guilty for a fraction of a second before seeming to lose himself again. He doesn’t say anything but leaves the car and stumbles down his front garden path, where he manages to unlock his front door and disappear into his house. 

He leaves it ajar, which you take as an invitation to follow. You’re not going to leave him here like this. He could need medical attention, so it’s probably best to keep an eye. 

Although it seems what this drug was… was some sort of fucking aphrodisiac. 

You send Lemon a text confirming you’re staying with his brother, and get one back telling you that he’s about to start the blaze. With everything seemingly alright on his end you follow Tangerine. 

You hear the door you know to be his bedroom one slam above you. Carefully you shut the entrance behind you before walking over to his kitchen and grabbing a cold glass of water. 

Ascending the stairs you can’t help but feel trouble is on the horizon. 

“Tan?” You knock on his door, and hear a moan from behind it. You furrow your brow. 

“Alright, look, I’m coming in - ”

Too late do you hear the cry of, “no, don’t!” and you’re met with… quite a sight. 

Tan’s thrown off his shirt and waistcoat, his bare chest sweaty and heaving. He’s beautiful. His trousers and boxers are halfway down his legs and he has his cock in his hand, ruddy red and leaking from the tip. Again that look of guilt crosses his face, but it doesn’t stop him from working his shaft again in one long stroke. 

“Tan…” it feels like your throat has gone dry. You find the strength to out the water down before you drop it. 

“I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry,” he manages, torn between touching himself and the shame of having you see it, “that drug… it did something to me…”

“Yeah, I can see that, love.”

“Don’t call me ‘love’,” he practically moans, his hips undulating gorgeously against his hand. “Sorry - fuck - look, just… just get out of here, you don’t need to see this...”

But you don’t get out of there. Instead you take a tentative step towards him. He eyes you warily, like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“I could… help,” you state, simply. Your eyes inadvertently drop to his lovely cock again and you lick your lips. “It looks like you’re suffering and I could offer some relief.”

“I…” Tan is torn. He’s clearly desperate to say yes, but seems worried about taking advantage of your kindness. But hey, you’re the one offering. 

“I mean, what are friends for, right?”

Tangerine groans, and steps forward to embrace you. 

You don’t expect the kiss. It’s messy and needy, his mouth open as he slides his tongue against your own. You hum at the taste of it, revelling in how hot and eager he is. It's always wonderful to have an enthusiastic participant in a kiss. You trace your fingers down his rock-hard ab muscles, grinning beneath his lips as he makes a little noise of happiness. Your touch meets his pelvis, then his cock -

And he comes all over himself. 

You’re so surprised you break the kiss to look down. Tangerine keels against you as thick spurts jet out the top of his head, covering the both of you. He remains heavy and hard in your palm. 

“You…”

“I’m not done,” he groans. You nod. Okay, yeah, understandable. This drug seems pretty wild. You let your head fall forward onto his shoulder as you continue your strokes, long languid movements to caress him. You don’t want to admit it but you’re enjoying hearing the little sounds Tangerine is breathing out into your ear. The way he rocks his hips to greet you is sweet, he seems to be restraining himself… but you really don’t mind if he’s a little rough.  

You feel the warm plain of his hand come to rest over your pelvis. 

“Fuck, ah, can I… can I touch you?”

Your breath hitches. 

“Yeah.”

He works at the buttons of your trousers, his work shaky from overstimulation, but his hand finds you wet. He groans lowly as he presses two fingers against your cunt, gathering the slick that’s formed there. 

“Fuck, you’re…”

“I know.”

He huffs out something that, despite everything, seems to be a laugh; and slips two fingers inside of you. You gasp at the easy intrusion and it turns into a moan when he crooks them against that sweet spot inside. 

“Do you like that, darling?” he growls out, “You look fucking gorgeous on my fingers.”

His voice is gravelly but he still manages to be so filthy. He pulls his hand back, and for a moment you’re disappointed, but it's only so he can suck the flavour of you from himself. His eyes roll back as his tongue slides lazily around his knuckles. 

“Christ. Please, let me eat your pussy. I need to know how you taste. Properly,” he chokes. His pupils, impossibly, widen further. His breathing is so heavy his nostrils flare. There’s something predatory about it, yet so vulnerable. 

You sit down on his bed and only manage to kick one trouser leg off before he gets on his knees before you, planting his face into your core. 

“Oh, fuck - !” 

He uses so much force it pushes you up the mattress, only stopping when his body hits the side of the bedframe. His mouth covers your dripping cunt and he licks a solid stripe up you, feasting on what you offer him. He moans as if you’re trying to drive him mad. 

“Perfect little cunt,” he mutters. Each hand comes down to clamp over your thighs and keep them apart - not that you were attempting to close them. His fingers press so hard you see divots on your skin. When he sucks on your clit you release on his tongue, and he keeps fucking you through it as he slides his cock up between the bedsheets and his stomach; coming in spurts for a second time over his stomach. You reach forward, blindly, tangling your hand in his already wild chestnut locks. 

“Oh god Tan,” you choke, “this was - ah! - this was meant to be for you.”

“Don’t care,” he replies between kisses, caressing your cunt with his attentive mouth, “fuck, I’ve wanted this for ages. I’ve been in love with you since Moscow.”

Oh. That changes things a bit. 

You use your purchase in his hair to yank his head back a bit. He looks annoyed, of all things. 

“But… Moscow was two years ago, Tan.”

He nods. There’s a sincerity on his face you’re not used to seeing, and you’re unsure if it’s aided or not by your wetness in his mustache. 

“I know. I’m sorry. Fuck, please, I feel like I’m on fire, let me fuck you properly.”

All you can do is nod, fuck-drunk. Tangerine grabs his cum-coated cock, rubs it against you a couple of times and pushes home. You both groan, delighted. He doubles his grip on your legs, sliding it up to your knees to make you allow room for his body to slot against yours, and he begins to pound into you relentlessly. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. I love you, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry - ”

“Tan - oh shit - ” his cock hit your g-spot there - “Tan, you don’t need to be sorry. I love you too.”

He pauses for a second, before rocking his hips into you hard, sheathing himself up to the hilt. 

“Wait, you do?”

“Yeah. So stop apologising.”

It’s something you’ve been fighting with for ages but well, it’s true. He’s perfect. He’s a hothead and a bastard and he’s got a mouth like a sailor but… yeah. At some point along the road you fell in love with him right back. 

Tan smiles, a real genuine smile, before he reaches down to kiss you along with his next thrust. This kiss isn’t as urgent as the one before. It’s real and passionate and true. You taste yourself on his tongue and sigh as he reaches up to caress your face, a calloused thumb stroking your cheek. 

“I love you,” he sighs, a couple more erratic thrusts making him come for the third time in quick succession. At last you feel his cock start to soften. 

“I love you too,” you reply, as fatigue begins to take over. Tangerine has the good grace to roll over before he collapses, meaning he doesn’t land on top of you. You can see the way his body shakes from exertion but it seems, at least, the drug has worn off. 

You grab the glass of water which you originally brought up for him and get him to drink. Now he’s back to himself he grunts a bit at being coddled, but obliges when you fix him with a look. His hand comes to rest on your hip and he holds you tight. 

You’ll have to do jobs like these more often, you think, as you settle into Tangerine’s side. 

tags from master taglist: @honestlywtfisgoingon​ @white-wolf-buckaroo @felhomaly @venusthepirate @lunarpansexual @wanderedaway​​ @georgiee-riviere @mushywutty​​ @apieceoffabulousshit @4ng3l-0n-34rth @minjaz @starl1g4t @earth-elemental18 @luhvbot @underratedboogeyman @july-is-summer @vocalvixen20cp @northerngalxy @tangerinesgf @chaoticroaddreamerpastaerpasta @rxcently @skrrten @nightmarefeast @lost-lila @hardcore-flower @kalli0pe @insanitia  @tvngerinescoat @assmaster37 @zuzusoosoo @oldyellowbricks2 @cockete @spidervee