#i can feel the paper screaming at me in agony

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗔 𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗧𝗢 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗚𝗘𝗧

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where, in a day full of downs, Y/N faces a series of challenges at work that culminate in an anxiety attack in the car on the way home, but Matt is by her side to bring her back.

WARNING: Anxiety attack, crying, bad thoughts, bad day.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N sighed as she sat at her office desk, preparing herself for another day of work. The comforting smell of the freshly brewed coffee Matt bought at the Starbucks drive thru on the way to her company surrounded her as she adjusted her chair and turned on her computer.

But what seemed like a smooth start quickly turned into a disaster.

As the girl reached for her mouse, her elbow hit the cup, which surprisingly wasn't closed properly, spilling the scalding liquid onto her keyboard and legs. An involuntary scream escaped her lips as she jumped up from her chair, trying to clean up the mess with her hands, hurting them in the process. Her eyes traveled across her desk, picking up the nearest blank papers - since she didn't have any napking - draping them over her thighs.

"Great, just great." She muttered to herself, feeling the penetrating heat of the drink on her skin and the bitter aroma mixing with the smell of the office.

Embarrassed, she crumpled up the paper, throwing them in the trash beneath her desk before heading over to the tea table, picking up a handful of napkins, her eyes darting around her, feeling gazes burning into her back.

The girl took a deep breath, turning around and returning to her seat. Surreptitiously, she cleaned the keyboard as best she could and tried to dry her legs with what was left of the napkins, but the damage was done.

Feeling discouraged, she tried to focus on her work, but her mind was troubled by the incident.

Hours passed, and Y/N was immersed in an important project when her boss, Mr. Johnson appeared next to her desk.

“Y/N, can you give me the reports from the finance department?” He asked in a serious voice, his eyes running over the small drips of coffee dry on the wooden surface as his nose wrinkled at the strong smell.

Without thinking, Y/N picked up the documents that were in the pile of papers on the right side of her desk and handed them to him with a confident smile. However, her confidence quickly disappeared when she read a small excerpt from the back of the last page, then realizing that she had given him the wrong papers.

A feeling of horror overcame her when she saw the shocked expression on her boss's face as he looked at the contents.

"What is this, Y/N?" His voice was thick with anger as he looked at her disapprovingly. "Those aren't the reports I asked for!"

Y/N felt her face burn with embarrassment as she tried to articulate an apology, but the words seemed to stick in her throat. She helplessly watched her boss throw the papers haphazardly beside her right arm, turning and walking away, muttering irritably about the incompetence of some employees.

Shoulders slumped, Y/N turned forward, fighting back tears of frustration, her blurry vision distorting the entire contents of her computer. She wondered how she could have made such a silly mistake and felt discouraged by her own incompetence.

As she tried to refocus on her work with the onset of a headache and her chest burning in agony, the office light flickered and then went out completely. A collective sigh of frustration echoed through the office as all the employees were plunged into darkness.

Y/N clenched her fists in frustration as she realized she hadn't saved her recent work, the black screen staring back at her. She knew she would have to start from scratch, probably take work home so she could finish the task on time, having already irritated her boss beyond belief, a disheartening thought after such a disastrous day.

In the dark silence of the office, Y/N fought the feeling of defeat that threatened to consume her. She knew she would have to overcome the day's challenges and continue, after all, she was just another employee and couldn't afford to rest her mind before keep going, and at the moment, all she wanted was to escape the turmoil and forget the terrible day she had.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The clock marked the end of the day, and the office was empty. Y/N collected her belongings and headed to the company entrance, ready to meet her boyfriend Matt, along with Nick and Chris, who would pick her up after they finished recording the car video that would be posted the next day.

She waited patiently in front of the front doors, watching the strong wind sway the palm trees around the luxurious entrance. Her thoughts wandered to the disastrous day she had at work, reliving each moment in her mind, wearing herself down with the thoughts of what she could have done better for everything that happened, not happening. The feeling of failure weighed heavily on her shoulders, but she forced herself to maintain a neutral expression, hiding her emotions from the few passersby who passed by.

Time passed, and Matt still hadn't arrived. Y/N checked the time on her phone several times, feeling impatience growing inside her. She knew she should give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, unforeseen events happened, but her anxious mind couldn't help but think about all the things that could have happened.

Then, as if the universe were conspiring against her, the gray clouds above her head broke, and torrential rain began to fall. Y/N looked up, feeling the cold drops wet her face and penetrate her clothes, soiling her pants even more. She wished she had brought an umbrella, but it was too late to regret it now.

As she waited in the rain, Y/N felt flooded with a mix of emotions. The frustration of the day was mixed with concern about Matt being late and the feeling of helplessness in the face of adverse weather. She wanted to burst into tears, to let out all the tension and anguish she had been carrying, but a part of her refused to give in.

Instead, Y/N maintained a mask of calm, keeping her emotions locked inside herself as her mind screamed silently, her arms crossed tightly beneath her breasts, trying to trap as much heat as possible.

Finally, after an endless wait, Y/N saw Matt's car approaching. Her heart leaped in relief as he stopped in front of her, watching Chris rush out the passenger door, leaving it open for her and getting into the backseat next to Nick.

"Sorry I'm late, babe." Matt asked after making sure she was seated and comfortable, a guilty smile decorating his face. "We had some problems with the topics and barely noticed the time passing."

Y/N just nodded, forcing a smile in response. She knew there was no point in complaining or breaking down now.

As the car drove away from the company, leaving chaos and rain behind, Y/N took a deep breath as she leaned her head against the glass, ignoring the discomfort of her clothes sticking against her skin.

In the back seat, Chris and Nick were immersed in a lively conversation about one of the topics discussed in the video as the car moved along the wet road, a topic that Y/N was sure she would've joined on the discussion if she wasn't feeling so bad.

The steady rhythm of the rain beating against the glass provided a relaxing background, but this calm was soon interrupted when Chris decided, out of the blue, that he wanted to connect his phone to the car speaker to put some music.

"Wait, I found a song earlier today that's a very Lil Skies vibe." Chris said with an excited smile, fishing his cell out of the front pocket of his sweatpants.

Before he could select the song, Nick acted quickly, taking the device out of Chris's hand.

"No, wait! Billie released a new song recently." Nick recalled, with a challenging tone of voice. "You always pick the same songs."

Chris frowned, retrieving his phone again, as if it were a tug of war.

"No, today I want to listen to my songs!"

The exchange quickly turned into an argument, with Chris and Nick gradually raising their voices as they argued over who should control the car stereo like two kids, while Matt watched them in the rearview mirror, telling them to shut up from time to time. The friendly atmosphere of the previous moment quickly disappeared, replaced by a palpable tension that filled the interior of the vehicle.

Meanwhile, Y/N huddled tighter on her seat, feeling more and more overwhelmed by the tense atmosphere. She tried to focus on the scenery passing by the window, but the sound of Chris and Nick's loud, gruff voices hit her like an avalanche.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm her nerves. She knew she shouldn't get involved in the brothers' fight, that she had nothing to do with it, and that, unsurprisingly, discussions like that were routine in her life. But despite her efforts to control herself, the pressure of the horrible day she had had weighed on her shoulders like an unbearable burden.

As the argument continued to intensify, Y/N felt a wave of anxiety wash over her, the desperation to scream at them to shut up getting bigger. Her heartbeat accelerated, her breathing became shallow, and her hands began to shake involuntarily.

She knew an anxiety attack was coming, but she fought to contain it, fearing what would happen if she lost control, not wanting to worry the boys, or worse, upset them even more.

However, even with all her determination, Y/N was unable to prevent the inevitable. Chris and Nick's rising voices, mixed with the crushing weight of her own worries, were too much to bear. A sudden sob escaped her throat, tearing the air inside the car, which was soon followed by more sobs, each one more anguished than the last.

Her shoulders began to shake violently, her body contorting under the overwhelming weight of her emotions. She tried to hold back, but the tears came in torrents, blurring her vision and obscuring her world.

Matt looked away from the road to look at her, his expression turning to immediate concern when he saw her condition.

"Y/N, babe, what's going on?" He asked, his voice full of alarm.

Chris and Nick abruptly fell silent, their argument forgotten as they looked at Y/N with expressions of shock and concern.

But Y/N couldn't respond. She was deep in her own mind, fighting the waves of anxiety that consumed her. Her world had narrowed to nothing but pain and despair, her body shaking uncontrollably under the weight of her thoughts.

The interior of the car was immersed in a tense silence. Matt kept a steady hand on the steering wheel, but his attention was entirely focused on Y/N, whose sobs filled the space between them.

"Baby? Hey, petal, look at me." Matt asked softly, his voice flooding with concern as he tried to reach her through the abyss of her anguish.

Y/N reluctantly raised her eyes to meet Matt's, but her vision was blurred by the tears still streaming down her face. She felt a wave of despair as she realized that she couldn't calm down no matter how hard she tried.

Matt took his right hand off the steering wheel, keeping control of the car with his left one, bringing it to Y/N's leg, stroking the wet covered skin with a firm touch, trying to bring her back.

"Breathe with me, baby. C'mon, take a deep breath. That's it, in... then out."

He began counting in a low voice, guiding her through deep, slow breaths. Y/N tried to follow his instructions, focusing on the rhythm of her breathing and the comforting feeling of Matt's touch.

Meanwhile, Chris remained silent in the backseat, his expression a mixture of guilt and concern. He knew that his actions had contributed to Y/N's current state, and that weighed heavily on his conscience.

Beside him, Nick placed a light hand on her shoulder, silently conveying support. He wanted to find the right words to comfort Y/N, but he felt helpless in the face of the situation.

Then, suddenly, Matt turned the steering wheel abruptly, turning the car towards the side of the road, parking it there quickly, knowing that he would get nowhere if he kept trying to help her in a moving vehicle. He unbuckled his own belt, followed by hers before turning fully to his girl, his eyes fixed on hers with gentle determination.

"Sweetheart, listen to me." The brunette ordered, his voice firm, but full of love. "You're safe. I'm here with you, and I'm not going anywhere."

He gently took her face in his hands, caressing the icy skin of her cheeks and leaning over the console to kiss her forehead tenderly. Each gesture was full of care and affection, an attempt to dispel the fog of anxiety that enveloped Y/N.

"You are strong, my beautiful, beautiful girl." Matt continued, his voice soft and comforting. "You'll get through this. I'm here for you no matter what."

With his loving words and gentle touches, Matt began to guide Y/N out of the abyss of her anxiety attack. He wrapped her in his protective arms, almost laying his torso on the console - ignoring the pain the hard surface provided to his skin, holding her tightly as she sobbed into his chest.

Minute by minute, Y/N's shaking lessened, her breathing becoming more regular. Finally, after what looked like an eternity, she pulled away slightly from Matt's arms, looking up at him with gratitude in her moist eyes.

"Thank you." She whispered, her voice breaking, her teeth catching her lower lip momentarily, feeling guilty for making them have to witness such a situation. "I... I'm fine now."

"I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. So, so proud." Matt smiled at her, his eyes brimming with relief as her voice emanated calm. "I love you."

"I love you more."

As the car returned to the road, the storm inside Y/N began to dissipate. Her arms remained crossed around her own torso, trying to convey some sort of comfort to her body as she didn't receive the touch from Matt that she so desperately craved.

"I'm sorry, boys." The girl whispered a few seconds later, turning slightly back, her eyes darting from Chris to Nick and back again.

"Never apologize for situations like this, Y/N. You can't control your body, much less your emotions." Nick quickly stopped her avalanche of negative thoughts, giving her a serious but loving look.

"It's us who should apologize. I imagine something must have happened before, but either way, we're the ones who caused this." Chris looked down at the top of the car's console, scratching the back of his head with his right hand in embarrassment.

"It's okay. It was just a bad day." The girl smiled slightly at the two, her eyes still burning from the intense crying and her body sore from the strong tremors, but her heart could now rest.

Matt looked at her momentarily, smiling big and proud, his blue eyes shining with pure love. His hand, which was still on her thigh, lightly pressed the covered skin, stroking it with his thumb, before turning his gaze forward again.

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[ddejavvu]

hey mei baby i was wondering if you could do something about shy!reader with spencer and she's just so smitten with everything he does and gets flustered really easily and spencer is like ??? like he doesn't get it cause he doesn't see how fucking gorgeous he is

love love love you!

love love love you too!

--

Spencer sits down at the table you'd scouted with a warm smile and a gift bag, and you eye it warily, noting the particular absence of one in return for him.

"I brought you something," He confesses bashfully, and you watch as he pushes it over the table towards you, "But- um, I'm sorry there's no tissue paper in there. I thought I had some, but then I didn't, so I went to the store earlier to find some, but they only had neon pink, and that didn't really go with the orange on the bag, so- just- it's in there." He concludes drearily, "Sorry."

The mere thought of him apologizing for a gift that he's giving you not being perfect makes you want to scream in agony and kiss the apologetic smile right off of his pretty pink lips. But you think that a gentle reassurance would work better, so that's what you give him.

"It's alright, Spencer," You promise, reaching into the bag and wrapping your fingers around what feels like soft paper, "The tissue paper is the least important part of the gift."

It turns out to be a book, and you suppose you shouldn't have expected anything different from Spencer. It's worn, well-loved, with sticky notes in disarray all down the sides and pencil scribbled in the margins. It's a collection of vignettes, from the title, old English tales that you'd find covered in dust at an ancient library.

"My mom used to read these to me when I was younger," Spencer admits, hands toying with each other nervously in his lap, "And I bought myself a copy when I moved out, for- to, like, start my collection," He explains, "And I always found myself going back and annotating it, because I just had so much to say, but- uh, no one to listen."

His cheeks burn pink at the admission, and you physically feel your heart swell to dangerous proportions within the confines of your chest, "So, I thought that- well, if you want to, at least... you could read them too. And- my notes, if you're interested."

He's staring at you with so much raw hope shimmering in his pretty brown eyes that it nearly brings tears to yours. Your brain is filled with static, useless and jittery, and all you can do is drop the book into your lap and slam your face into your arms on the table.

You let out a muffled groan, maybe more of a scream, and when you peek back up at Spencer, he looks mortified.

"I'm sorry! If you don't want it, I can- I can take it back, or get you a different copy, or-"

"Stop! Spencer, stop," You plead, clutching at his hands from across the tiny table, "You're perfect. How are you perfect?"

He looks bewildered, but doesn't pull his hands from yours, "What?"

"You gave me your special book," You whimper, "Actually, you apologized that you only gave me your special book, and you trusted me to care for it and read all of your thoughts and notes about it, and you're-sitting-with-me-in-a-coffee-shop-being-the-man-of-my-dreams! You're perfect!"

He looks heavily flustered now, cheeks burning only brighter red as he grins, "I- I'm glad you like it. Um- I didn't think you'd like it this much."

"I love it," You whine, dragging one of his hands to your mouth to smear a kiss over the back of it, "Spencer, you're perfect."

"Stop saying that," He pleads, but he has to avoid your eyes as he grins into his lap, "You're making me tongue-tied."

"I know," You confess, squeezing his hands, but you show him no mercy as you grin: "But it's only fair, Spence. You just gave me the most heartfelt gift of my life, I'm allowed to make you stutter."

[ms--lobotomy]

Maybe you celebrate Easter. Maybe you celebrate Trans Day of Visibility. Maybe you celebrate both, or neither. I am here to make those holidays infinitely worse or better, depending on how you look at this post. Special thanks to @squishyowl for giving me the parameters to calculate their (hard) schmeat sizes.

Without further adieu, Primarch cock descriptions. and also kind of how they fugg

LION EL'JONSON- 11 inches, 27 cm. Untrimmed and uncut. He shows a godly amount of restraint to you. Behind closed doors, he's much softer than he lets on. As far as girth goes, he's in the middle of the road... for a Primarch. He may not be the most experienced of his brothers, but he's going to do a thorough job anyways.

???- Dick fell off.

FULGRIM- 10 inches, 25 cm. Long and slender. You may expect a piercing, but he does not want to mar his natural appearance (at least before the Heresy.) Shaves religiously. He likes when his partner can't move, when they squirm underneath him, though he'll have a hard time admitting this.

PERTURABO- 7 inches, 18 cm. The smallest cock on the list, but he more than makes up for it while he is using it. He's got a bit of girth to him, but he can still fit in your mouth. Somewhat. His hands engulf your head as he pushes you down on him. Once he's out, tell him how good he feels.

JAGHATAI KHAN- 13 inches, 33 cm. The fastest one out of the Primarchs as far as each thrust goes. It curves up when erect, not unlike a scimitar. Veiny, but not strikingly so. Even though he's exceptionally fast, he likes being ridden. Especially on his bike.

LEMAN RUSS- 14 inches, 35 cm. He's uncut and hairy down there, he's never shaved his bush. He's also girthy. But what's most remarkable about him is his knot. This makes it hard for him not to breed his partners, where applicable. He'll hold you down and lock himself in on you, holding you down on him with his massive hands.

ROGAL DORN- 10 inches, 25 cm. He's circumcised and he keeps a clean shave. He's girthy, but not unbearably so. He enjoys tying up his partner and watching them melt as he goes down on them. Ever stoic, his expression rarely changes as he plows through you. Also a fan of doing it in his office.

KONRAD CURZE- 9 inches, 23 cm. Veiny, almost paper white, and uncut. He's not a gentle lover, especially considering his size. Usually there will be blood involved, and usually it is yours. He doesn't normally just use his cock; if he can reach you, he'll be biting you. And if not, he'll draw blood anyways.

SANGUINIUS- 8 inches, 20 cm. Surprisingly girthy, with low-hanging balls. He's uncut, but his bush is usually trimmed. He doesn't just use his cock, he bites where he can and envelopes you in his wings. He's gentle... for the first five minutes. He'll leave the most marks out of any of the Primarchs, prompting you to cover up the day after.

FERRUS MANUS- 17 inches, 43 cm. Lord have mercy. He is the most well-endowed Primarch, with balls to match. He'll hold you down with his cool silver hands as he pushes himself in. He's gentle, far more than he lets on, but he is still a Primarch. He's become quite the aftercare giver.

???- Penis serious, Penis delirious. Penis in the woods, call that penis mysterious

ANGRON- 9 inches, 23 cm. The arena had not been kind, as he is scarred in several places around it. Fortunately, no blade has ever found its way there. He isn't gentle, not one bit, even if he is chained down. The Nails eat at his head, screaming for bloodshed. He thrusts faster in a vain attempt to block out the agony in his head.

ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN- 8 inches, 20 cm, and girthy. Despite his size being closer to normal for a baseline human, it's harder to fit it in due to his circumference. With some lube and determination, though, you can make it work. He likes putting it in you and watching you try to keep your composure before you inevitably slip up.

MORTARION- 11 inches, 27 cm. It's long and gaunt on him, but it's still massive in your hand. He's one of the more sensitive Primarchs, but he'd prefer if that fact were kept under wraps. Gentle touch gets him going like nothing else. And once he gets going, you'll get to bear firsthand witness to the endurance he's known for.

MAGNUS THE RED- The bastard can change his dick size on a whim. He already knows what size would make you feel best, and he can open up more than one hole at once using the Warp. He doesn't even have to touch you to open you up, turning you into an incomprehensible mess in front of him.

HORUS LUPERCAL- 12 inches, 30 cm. The most striking thing about it is the Prince Albert that adorns it, a simple iron thing with a dull shine. Even if by some miracle you're on top, he'll always be the dominant partner, and if you have the ability you are most definitely bearing his children at some point.

LORGAR AURELIAN- 11 inches, 28 cm. You weren't expecting the second shortest Primarch to pack so much, were you? Golden tattoos come close to it, but he hadn't the will to cover himself there. You'll spend a lot of time with him; he'll use his tongue for hours on end before finally gratifying himself.

VULKAN- 10 inches, 26 cm. He's warm all over, and below the belt is no exception. In the cold reaches of space, he's a great comfort. Even if he's not the biggest of the Primarchs, he likes watching you struggle on him. He's girthy, and he likes to choke you with it too. Gives the best aftercare.

CORVUS CORAX- 11 inches, 27 cm. He's long, slender, and he keeps a close shave. He's a gentle lover when you're properly going at it and not hiding your risque behavior while in public. He'll hold your hands and whisper praises into your ear, even if he has to bend himself at an uncomfortable angle.

ALPHARIUS- 8 inches, 21 cm. He's hairless, circumcised, and his balls are almost unnaturally even. You've seen many an Alpha Legion cock, and they all look similar. He likes to finish in his partner, leaving no trace that he was there except for the slightly odd hobble you have the next day.

[worriedvision]

A taste of your own medicine - Lyney

Gender neutral reader, contains spoilers for the Fontaine archon quest. Unhappy ending.

--

"Do you trust me, my dove?" Lyney asks, you eyeing the suspicious concoction Lyney asked for you to take.

"...Lyney, can you have some with me? It looks kinda...ominous, why am I the only one taking this?" You ask, not reaching for the bottle.

Lyney seemed to think hard about what he was going to do next. Either he would take this medicine and show you it was safe to consume - although it would be painful - or he would have to push you away unless you take the medication.

He couldn't afford to lose his knowledge of the House of Hearth, knowing this was a large part of him. Hell, he was next in line for taking charge.

"If you don't take this medicine, I'm afraid to say I won't trust you." Lyney lies, you grasping the bottle.

Before drinking, however, you open the bottle and sniff it. Taking another look at Lyney, he looks worried. You assume it's the idea of him having to break things off if you don't take the medicine, so you take the concoction.

--

The next few days are absolute agony. No doubt in your mind, it was the medicine. You couldn't figure out how it felt, other than an agonising burn. It was like it was charring you inside out. Lyney had grown distant as well - usually, when you were too poorly to leave the house your boyfriend always ran along to see what was wrong.

Yet, he hadn't shown up.

You did, however, read articles about people's experiences with a mystery concoction, all sharing the same things you were experiencing. You know some of these people, not able to pinpoint where from, and you began to think of why.

It was incredibly painful for you - you wanted to cuddle your boyfriend while you cried through your pain, however he wasn't there. You whittle it down to him being busy, so you try not to worry too much about it.

He told you he would trust you if he took the medicine, so why hasn't he spoken to you afterwards?

He has to love you, you did what he wanted! There wasn't anything to signify a worsening of the relationship, perhaps your hesitancy hurt him?

On the fifth day of your pain, you hear a knock on the door, and your boyfriend had finally showed up.

You cry out and you pull him in, cuddling him as tight as possible as he chuckles nervously. You didn't get why he was so nervous, but he made a serious mistake.

He dropped a document describing the exact medications function, as well as a list of individuals who took the medicine.

It was the same names as what you saw in the papers.

Reading the paper, while still cuddling your boyfriend, you see the medicine was to erase the individuals memory of the Fatui - including people you previously knew.

It all made sense - Lyney was distancing himself from you, he didn't even think of taking the medicine. In hindsight, you should have questioned him on why he was giving you a random medicine in more detail...

You shove your partner away, no longer feeling relief but rather betrayal. Lyney gasps, hitting the ground with a dull this as he looks at you wide-eyed as you begin to bawl.

He scrambled to his feet, doing a crawl as he does so, babbling apologies at you as you back up.

"You came here as the last night to see me before I forget you!" You scream. "You just wanted some reassurance that I didn't hate you for abandoning me for leaving me alone!"

"I realised too late my mistake, and I wanted to-"

"Lyney, you shouldn't have even thought of doing this to me in the first place! It...it hurts! It's been horrible for me, and you thought I wouldn't feel empty suddenly forgetting you!" You huff, Lyney choking up as he looks at you with puppy eyes as he begs for you to hug him.

"I'm sorry I put you through this. I should have known better, I should have explained!" Lyney weeps out, seeing no evidence of you thawing.

"Get out, I hate you!" You yell, grabbing your boyfriend and pushing him out of your place. He turns around, tears streaming down his face as he begins to open his mouth for more meaningless apologies.

Seeing the paper on the ground, you pick it up and flick to your name out of curiosity.

'Although not a member of the Hearth, individual _ has been considered a hindrance from the perspective of a member of the Hearth.

His request for dosage has been approved, however only after taking the medicine has the member realised his regret. We, unfortunately, have no reversal for this medication. Member has been advised to stay away from this person, to allow an easier transition to no knowledge of the House of Hearth.'

You begin to try, the achingly dull feeling as you begin to feel the memories fading. Hearing Lyney knocking again, you grab the paper and give it to him.

"Leave me alone. I'm not your property, and you were never responsible for my life."

[thoughtsafterdark]

The Sun's Lover

Sometimes I gaze at myself in the mirror and my mind bends and buckles against warring thoughts and I wonder if I was meant for more.

Sometimes I feel a breeze in the back of my mind

Sparks of errant electricity

A brief glimpse into something other, something hidden

Something on the tip of my tongue and the edge of my olfactory bulb

Colours I can smell, feelings I can hear, thoughts that have no shape or form. Older than my life, than language, than war. Certainties that tease and caress and seduce but leave me dry and gasping like incubi in my sleep.

That leave my tongue sloppy and lazy like tar black molasses squelching between teeth

Thoughts that taste of longer tongues and darker mouths and sharper teeth on a planet circling twin red dwarves, of methane marshes and hexagonal prism eyes that sparkle like blood red rubies

Words slurring together and thoughts hazy as they come back down to a body that feels paper thin and husky like maple seeds in the wind

I think of the wrath that dances just beneath my skin

The bile that churns and rushes to my face, eyes like daggers, lips fixed in a snarl at the slightest insult

I think of my pride, that squirming bag of worms that lights fires in my blood and how it wars with my desperate craving to belong

I watch them from the safety of my window like a xenoanthropologist. How they love and laugh and touch eachother. How they slide against one another like well oiled gears in a way I have never been able to. I think of the eldritch way in which I care, with a gaping maw and drooling lips, with twirling rings of eyes and 6 pairs of wings, with claws that burrow deeper and squeeze tighter the harder they try to leave me.

And I think to myself, girlhood is not so much different to godhood. A self-satisfres ied sadistic existence hiding a crushing singularity of loneliness, topped with pettiness and boredom.

I wish you would come to me in my waking hours and take me away from this place

Steal and hide me away in palaces of sand and moonstone

I can put up a good fight. I’ll run and scream and beg you to stop, make sure to drag out the thrill of the chase. Isn’t that what pretty nymphs are for?

I see my bitterness reflected in the ozone blue of your eyes, the hardness and cruelty shot through with marble strands of gold

Your skin is a thrumming pool of pure power, an atomic bomb bound in sinew and nucleic acids, ready to turn me to a pillar of salt

Your fingers coax the most bittersweet of melodies, leaping and thrumming from string to string like acrobats. They say the best musicians make the instruments sing, but I’ve seen you make lyres moan and weep

I remember the old stories, of girls turned to laurel trees, of wounded pride and donkeys ears. I remember the blood of the Myrmidon spilled outside the walks of Illium. I know you are a wrathful, self-righteous whore, with greedy fingers that leave bruises  in the dips of hips and a silver tongue to match. Your fathers essence is strong in you, stronger even than it is in him. Nuclear fusion and supernovae to his ion and electron arcs. What is a thunderbolt in the face of the sun’s core?

That is how I know you would understand, I know you would thumb at that gaping festering wound inside my heart and bring me corpses instead of flowers. A plague in just the right place, so they can die slowly, in agony. Nuclear wastelands instead of jewellery. And then afterwards you’d smile that chesire cat smile at me, all satisfaction and faux-inoccence, and we’d wear our best skins and most beautiful masks and dance amongst the stars next to the hunter ripped to ribbons by hounds at your sisters command compose ballads, and study the healing arts and crafts but not so well the grey eyed bitch curses me with eight legs and congratulate ourselves on our own brilliance. Spin lies out of ambrosia and nectar and pretend we are good and just, exactly what the mortals deserve

 Fuck me with your fingers with a fierceness you wouldn’t dare use on your precious lyres, piston into me the way the women in my grandmothers village gut fish (rhythmically, ruthlessly, with the sun beating down on leathery skin and the weight of 6 mouths to feed and the memory of your husbands knuckles shattering teeth), reach up into me and wring the neck of my womb like a newly ripe peach, yank it out of me until it lies pulsing and glittering and full of seed, uterine arteries spewing blood. I want to feel you burrowing upwards until I am impaled on your divinity, until you push upwards into my heart and lungs and your hands are peaking up out of my throat. Turn me inside out and wash me clean until my mortality burns away like a chrysalis and I am reborn in your image.

My ascension is a spectacle that leaves many breathless and many more blinded. “I am the goddess of lost potential” I whisper into the crook of your neck “of promises unkept and grudges nursed. Of doorways and bridges and the space between atoms. Of longing and regret and moments lost.” And then you’d smile that ridiculous smile of yours, like you’d seen me like this always, glowing and thrumming with possibility – and this confirmation is somewhat amusing.

“Pithanotita” you’ll declare against the shell of my neck and the rightness of it reverberates deep deep down, beyond the skeletons of cells that no longer exist and multi corded DNA strands, as if you have struck my very resonant frequency and my de Broglie wavelength sings with the joy of being seen. Not a name but a constant, a universal truth. Phoebus I’ll counter, and I won’t bother using a mouth, though the smirk will be implied. Possibility and Poetry need no lips to speak to one another, we are two sides of the same coin. You’ll laugh out loud then, delighted at my audacity. Only your mother calls you by her mothers name. And I can pretend just for a moment that we might last. The first of our kind to have eternity.  That we won’t end up tearing each other to pieces. The sun and his unlikely lover, regret.

[flowerfreya]

Deathless

Part 3 of Dr.Dad (Masterlist)

Pairing : Simon "Ghost" Riley / Reader

Content : So... yall ever watch grey's anatomy where April get a c section at home getting cut by a kitchen knife?? Yeah this is that if reader went through that.

cw: birth (on paper) , pregnancy, c-section(unmedicated) , body horror

It's storming and your baby is coming. Simon is at the hospital and your baby is coming. You’re at Carrie’s house and your baby is coming. The baby is breached , feet first with the head up, it’s fine when you had your last ultrasound but now your contractions start getting closer together , and the baby is still breeched. The ambulance is called but it’s storming and your baby is not waiting. You call Simon, 

“It’s coming” , you tell him . You're scared but you try to sound brave but he hears the fear in your voice. You know the baby is breached and you know he hasn’t turned because he's been like that all pregnancy, Simon grabs the ob/gyn that he trusts and he’s frantic and the doctor mentions that you are going to have to do the c-section right there,right now. 

You’re trying to put on an era of nonchalance, women have done stuff like this for centuries , this is easy, you can do this. 

~

You can’t do this, “fuck, fuck, fuck”, you're muttering trying to breath through the contractions but you start the feel the urge to push. 

“The ambulance is not coming”, she says. 

You throw your head back against the couch and let out a sob you know what that means, “okay, okay”, you’re trying to hype yourself up but jesus christ. This is going to hurt. 

“Baby, talk to me”, you hear Simon say over the phone. 

“This wasn’t part of the birth plan, you sob, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

“I know baby, I know”, you can hear the agony in his voice. He wants to be there with you. Don’t you dare think that he didn’t think about running there but he wants to be there for you , even if that means it’s over the phone. 

The ob/gyn instructs Carrie the tools she needs to cut your baby out of your stomach, you are kind of going in and out but you do hear a cheese knife. You want to pass out. She coats your stomach with hand sanitizer and begins.

You let out a gut wrenching scream , words of encouragement from both Carrie and Simon but it’s not getting past the sound of blood rushing through your ears. You can feel every skin layer being torn and ripped and then pried apart. You have tears streaming down your face but you can’t seem to stop screaming , a horror movie scream that’s continuous. You know you're delirious , you reach out to Simon , this wasn’t part of your birth plan , you wanted all the drugs , no pain. Easy. Simple. 

“Simon Simon”, you call out, reaching your hand into thin air. He answers you but you’re too far gone. 

You can feel hands inside you , moving the small intestine and your liver to get to the baby. You turn your head to the side and throw up. You scream at her , get out, get out ,get out . You can’t move paralyzed by pain but not getting past the threshold to pass out. You’re stuck. You feel her tug, pressure releases. You feel her pack your stomach with towels from the kitchen.All you can think is that you're going to get an infection., you’re not going to heal , you’re going to die and you won't even know your baby, you know you're about to pass out from blood loss. You welcome it. 

Simon is calling your name frantically. He needs to hear you. All he gets from you is silence and Carrie directing the EMT towards your body. He hears an , Oh god, and then retching. Simon is demanding that someone talk to him, tell him what’s happening, where his baby is? Carrie tells him that they are on the way to the hospital and that the baby is jaundiced and has low oxygen but otherwise okay.  He ask about you, all she says, “it’s bad”.

[aishangotome]

[Gilbert] Choose Your True Love: Part 3

Part 2

♡———♡

A scream filled with all the agony of the world shook the tense air.

Curious, I approached the window, but was immediately pulled away from behind by my waist.

Gilbert: You're quite curious, aren't you?

Emma: ...............

(...What was that...?)

I think I only saw it for a few seconds.

But in those few seconds, there was a scene that burned into my mind.

My body wouldn't stop shaking, and I felt sick.

Emma: What... what was that?

Emma: ...Blood...

Emma: The square... was bright red...

Gilbert: Ah, you saw it?

Gilbert: It's the Emperor's game... Obsidian's famous public execution.

Emma: Execution...?

Gilbert: His methods are messy. Even experienced cleaners get sick sometimes, so it's best you don't watch.

Emma: ...Ah...

Gilbert: There, there, you were scared.

Gilbert held me in his arms and stroked my hair as if soothing a child.

If I had seen that sight alone, I might have screamed.

(...People's heads... were lined up.)

(So many... like a spectacle.)

Emma: In this castle... Do people die so easily, every day?

Gilbert: Yes. Life is cheap, equal to a scrap of paper.

Gilbert: You're normal to think it's abnormal. It's better not to lose that sense.

Gilbert: If you become like me and see that and feel nothing, it's too late for you as a human.

Emma: ...............

(Assassinations, executions...)

(...It's a nightmare.)

If this isn't a dream but a reality of the past, then I understand why Gilbert, who was once a kind boy, had to become a trampling beast.

(This is... He couldn't have survived this without becoming a beast.)

I clung to his cold body, and Gilbert's fingertips tightened.

Gilbert: This is not a place for you to be.

Gilbert: I don't know what the future me was thinking when he brought you to Obsidian, but...

Gilbert: I want to kill the "me" who brought a pure you to this dirty place.

(His voice... He's serious.)

Roderich: Prince Gilbert.

Gilbert: Ah, thank you for your hard work. Have you secured the route?

Roderich: Yes. Since the execution is in progress, now is the time to go.

Gilbert: I see. ...Can you walk?

(...We're leaving this place.)

When I nodded, Gilbert let go of me.

Instead, he took my hand and pulled me gently, as if escorting me.

I stumbled, but managed to move my legs.

Behind me, the death throes were still rising.

Men and women alike--if there is a hell, this place might be it.

-

Gilbert: You look pale. ...Roderich, bring the medicine.

Roderich: Yes.

We left the castle through a deserted area and were led to one of Gilbert's hideouts in the city.

Thankfully, the hellish spectacle wasn't taking place in the city, but what I saw on the way here was different from what I knew.

(Everyone looked depressed and tired, there was no vitality, and the whole city was desolate.)

(...I like the Obsidian of the future, but the Obsidian of the past is very...)

Gilbert: Can you take the medicine?

Emma: ...What kind of medicine is it?

Gilbert: It's a medicine to calm your nerves.

(They have that kind of medicine on hand?)

I was handed a small vial while sitting on a chair.

Judging by the familiar, unique color, it might be something Walter had made.

Next to the vial was a drink that looked like it could be a palate cleanser. It was very thoughtful.

Emma: Thank you...

Gilbert: You're welcome. But be careful, it tastes awful.

(...I know, Gil.)

I accepted his kindness and poured the liquid from the vial down my throat in one gulp.

I masked the peculiar taste that made me feel even worse with the sweet juice.

Gilbert: Now, you said you came from the future, but you don't know how to solve the current situation.

Gilbert: Since we don't know, we need to investigate, and I'll take care of that.

Emma: Huh?

Gilbert: I'm going to have you evacuate to Jade until I find out more.

Gilbert: I'd really like to send you to Rhodolite, but...

Gilbert: The Bloodstained Rose Day, wasn't it? I think that war you were talking about will happen soon.

Emma: ...

Gilbert: I'll report back to you. So, with that said...

Gilbert: Take care, "Little Rabbit."

Gilbert stroked my hair and turned his back.

It seems he's going to return to the castle without resting.

Gilbert: Roderich, you don't have to come back for a while.

Roderich: Will you be alright on your own?

Gilbert: Who are you talking to?

Roderich: ...My apologies.

Gilbert: I'll make sure you get to Jade safely.

Gilbert: If you get even a single scratch, your head will be next, so be careful.

Emma: Wait... please.

I stood up from the chair and grabbed Gilbert's mantle.

Gilbert: What is it?

(Gilbert in the past has been so kind to me.)

(But I... haven't been able to thank him for anything.)

When I thought about what I could do now, the first thing I noticed were the dark circles under Gilbert's eyes.

(...Come to think of it, there were documents piled up in his room too.)

(Maybe he's taking over all the government affairs of the country instead of the Emperor, who neglects domestic affairs.)

In the future, Gilbert seemed to have his own time by training people and delegating tasks, but if that nightmare is happening every day, he might not even have that luxury now.

There's only one thing I can do for Gilbert, who is being targeted and working so hard.

Emma: Would you like to rest for a bit?

Gilbert: Do I look tired?

Emma: ...Yes.

Emma: You don't look "alright."

Gilbert: ...

Gilbert: I see. If you, who are sensitive to people's emotions, say so, then maybe I am?

Gilbert: ...That's a very tempting offer, but...

Gilbert put his hand over his mouth, paused as if in thought, and then lowered the corners of his eyebrows.

Gilbert: But... I'm sorry.

.

.

.

. Part 4 | YouTube SE in JP

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[the---hermit]

New laptop setup to be more comfy while I write my papers and the bookmark I made for my mum (I am obsessed with how good the yellow uni posca looks it's a warm yellow and it's so pretty)

18|05|2024

Anxiety still fuckes me on the daily, but meds are there for me to make things slightly better. But today I conquered my tasks and I managed to finish the first draft of my English lit paper. I only have to reread it a few times to edit it and fix things, but most of the work is done. I will also send it to a friend to ask her opinion and whether she things my writing was clear enough, so that I know how to plan my next study moves. I haven't picked a topic for my history paper yet, so that must happen at the beginning of next week so that I can start working on it. I am feeling a bit overwhelmed about next week like I have so much to organize, and do, and aaaaaaaah I just want to stay in bed for a month and not do anything ugh. I am also missing a book to help me in my desperate need of escapism because I finished both books I was reading and I don't know what to pick next. As for podcasts I also feel quite empty now that I finished monstrous agonies and the mistholme museum is also over. I started listening to travelling light because I need to have H.R. Owen's voice in my life, but I am not fully into it yet, I am intrigued tho. In conclusion just picture me as a screaming possum and you pretty much get a clear picture of me rn.

[veilantares]

Assigned Shard At Emergence ///// RED DREAD AGONY

The Red Dread is me, obviously, in Agony.

Here's something as an expression of a specific mood or feeling, and not quite as an expression of technical ability or my love of patterns. It was important to break out of making this look too good, because there is an intended message here, maybe even only to myself.

I think the message is pretty obvious here. Hate being assigned shard at emergence, compliments about being a good shard feel like an insult to me. I'm literally exploding every moment I'm unseen, bloodboilingly livid. But I don't want to be lashing out at anyone, they don't deserve this. How do I talk about this without pulling the pin in my neck and transforming into a million whirling swords? Is just having the text right there saying it too on point? Is this a conversation or am I just screaming? Silence. These are for me to answer.

A comic would have said this better, but I don't want a dozen panels to lead up to this, it had to be striking and immediate.

For this piece it was pretty important that the figure capture me as I currently actually am, more closely than usual. It's not like the usual me I draw myself as is a lie, but it's certainly quite idealised... though maybe this one still is anyway. In reality someone told me I look like a refridgerator once, which I think is true, and I think this gets that across. That impression is great if you're a shard and want to look strong, but I can't recover from this.

The notes I had while making this were that my eyes are deep set, when I'm not speaking I have an incredible glare, my teeth are viciously sharp, my jaw is like an anvil and I'm as large as an ox. Fairly uncharitable, but somehow still insightful, maybe it helps me be at peace a little that I can put it to "paper".

I was at a loss for a while at what the next piece should be. It feels like this is a breakthrough as far as experiments goes. It's different and the same. Maybe I should stop talking

[opluffys]

Mentor + Mentee-

-second part-

somethin quick, this was posted to my archive first as usual. pls let me know if there are any errors or if it copied weird. enjoy!!! :)

tags- thigh riding, vaginal sex, creampie, rough sex, toxic relationship, fem reader.

3.5k words.

-Ghost x Reader-

-nsfw/smut-

Hanging up and tossing the heavy wired phone onto your desk, you groaned in pure exasperation. The paperwork on your desk seemed endless, the monotonous and drab of black ink on bright white paper burning your irises, enforcing a migraine on you.

You've just gotten off the phone with, whoever the fuck, discussing the possibility of getting an assistant to help you with the excess of paperwork you've been filling out as of late. You were a doctor, your main job consisted of ensuring your patients didn't bleed out under your steady and careful hand. It was already hard enough, and now you had the added stress of the sneering stack of papers mocking you.

You clicked the ballpoint pen, bouncing your leg as the tip of the pen hit the paper, dark ink pooling and bleeding through the thin material. Your grip tightened just then, the bouncing of your leg increasing tenfold as your thoughts ran wild.

And as you continued to think, you remembered a crucial detail.

The Task Force, fuck, they're coming back today. From some mission, and you're sure Gaz told you all about it while you gave him a routine checkup, but for the life of you, you couldn't remember the main gist of it.

You didn't want to face them, face him.

•

Biting back a wail of pain as you removed the intravenous line from Soap's arm, you heard Gaz howl in laughter from the spare cot he rested on. Which had garnered him an angered stare by Soap.

"You're such a baby," Gaz laughed, turning on his side to stare right at both you and Soap.

"Fuck off." Soap gritted, hissing in agony as you continued to stitch up his lesion.

"You gonna make me?" He teased, his stare not faltering on Soap's. He glared at him, about to retaliate with his own quip before you proceeded to wipe his wound clean, the sterile stench of the antiseptic flooding your nostrils. He let out a muted scream, his good arm covering the top half of his face.

"Keep still, Johnny." You huffed, adjusting the surgical mask pulled over your features. Gaz seemed to be having a field-day at watching the scene unfold, a smug smile on his lips.

"Gaz, I can stop the morphine drip, you know." You hummed, a hidden smile of your own forming. He looked at you, a glint of fear striking his honey eyes. You held back the urge to laugh, you enjoyed teasing both of these boys in your office, and you knew the three of you were aware that you'd never do anything to bring them more pain.

"Sorry ma'am."

Now it was Soap's turn to laugh, and you discarded your surgical gloves while hearing the two hurl crude insults at one another. They provided decent white noise, and you'd take that over the deafening silence of your rampant thoughts whilst your pen danced elegantly over the various documents.

The two eventually quieted down, a tranquil silence over them as you watched the pain medication take effect on their bodies. Not even five minutes passed before you heard them snore loudly, all cuddled up into the scratchy hospital blankets.

It'd been a couple of days since the entirety of the Task Force had returned. You've only been treating Gaz and Soap, your full attention on them. Usually, you would treat them all, but you honestly didn't want to face Ghost one on one. So, to take some heat off of you, you asked another medic to tend to both Price and Ghost. Just so he didn't feel like you'd singled him out.

But, your attempts would be in vain.

•

Stretching and hearing your joints and ligaments pop in relief, you slumped over the desk, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as you filed the last group of papers. Both Gaz and Soap had left your office today, thanking you for taking care of them (after raiding your lollipop drawer).

So, you sat alone, the small swooshes of air against your body feeling welcomed, the ceiling fan above creaking with every spin. All you'd have to do now was stamp the final line of the packet, ensuring you've read over the contents carefully, and then you were free. Free to run into the uncomfortable and ill-fitting confines of your bunk.

You were lost in the work, so much so you hadn't even noticed the hulking figure taking up most of the space within your office.

"You're avoidin' me."

You nearly shrieked in terror, almost developing a fatal case of tachycardia as you held your hand over your rapidly beating heart.

"What?" Part of you wasn't really surprised that Ghost had managed to sneak up on you, it was his job, after all.

"You're avoidin' me," He repeated, stepping closer to you in large and fluid strides.

"No, I'm not avoiding you. Don't be ridiculous." Yes, I am.

"Actin' all innocent on me," He was right across from you now, his large hands resting on the cheap and fake wood of your desk, hearing it creak under his weight, "we both know that's not the truth."

"It is." It isn't.

"Get up." He commanded, and you knew that tone, that authoritarian inside of him being twisted and used against you in a way that it shouldn't.

"I'm busy." Liar.

"I won't ask again."

You shuddered lightly, telling yourself that it was just because of the excessive air from the ceiling fan skating across your heated skin. But you knew such a thing was a falsified truth.

"What? What is so important that-"

"Come over here." He hushed you before you could even finish your sentence, seating himself on a sterilised and neatly prepped cot. It was all too familiar, to the point where that same damned familiar throbbing and heat was felt in between your legs.

Your legs shook, hesitating to even take a single step towards Ghost, your mind and body both telling you different things. It was tearing you apart in the most agonising and tortuous way.

Still, you'd made you way towards him, standing idly as you struggled to maintain eye contact with him. A scowl formed on your lips, eyes flickering to his chilled demeanour. You hated how he was always so calm- so tranquil and at ease, like he wasn't feeling the same things you were, maybe because he's not, at least not for you.

"Sit." He spread his massive legs, indicating exactly where he'd wanted you. You listened wordlessly, taking a seat on his muscled thighs, your hands fisting into your scrubs.

"Make it quick," You huffed, now attempting to remove your uniform, "I have a lot to do." You sighed, fingers hooking at your waistband and pulling down, or at least you'd attempted to do so, being stopped by a harsh hand encapsulating both of your wrists.

He held your hip with his lone hand, beginning to slide you over the thick muscle of his thigh, hearing you gasp in shock. His eyes pierced your own, roughly continuing to move you atop him, the material of both your scrubs and panties against your clit overwhelming.

The both of you continued to stare at one another, your breath quickening as you felt that cursed familiarity of your orgasm creeping up on you with silent strides. Your hands were still stuck in Ghost's firm grasp, wanting nothing more than to grab at him, to pull his mask forward and kiss him like you'd perish without it. Without him.

Just thinking of such a scenario had you reeling, your hips jerking as you felt your clit being rubbed just by his thigh alone. The feeling of his as well as your uniform dragging against that sensitive nub making your mind go hazy.

As you felt your release become imminent, he stopped his movements, unshackling your hands from his grip. He hastily tore your uniform, something of which he'd only done when he was particularly angered. With you or his mission, you had no clue.

His cruel stare on you was discomforting, he looked at you like you were a piece of meat- something subhuman. Just a body to warm his cock, and how fitting your thoughts were- because he quickly slipped his own bottoms down, revealing his erect cock for a split second before burying himself inside of you.

Always so rushed, hurried and lacking any control. A crude opposition to him on the field.

You suppressed a high pitched moan, hands itching to touch him, to ground yourself against him and ride him until your thighs would burn akin to hellfire. He let out a deep grunt, his hand slapping the excess flesh at your ass, bouncing you atop him like you had been weightless.

As much as you didn't want to admit it, you were familiar with the fact that you were just Ghost's stress reliever. How he'd prowl into your office during the late hours to bend you over any surface and fuck you until muted screams left your lips.

For a while, you didn't mind it at all.

In actuality, you'd enjoyed such a thing. You felt an odd sense of honour swell in your chest, at the sole fact that he'd chosen you. He chose your body to hold onto, to whisper vile and cruel things in your ear, to grab at your body like that was all you were- a body. Void of a soul, a conscious, anything.

Being his personal fuck-doll had its ups and downs, where he'd make you orgasm more times than you could count, fucking you until you cried. But the polar opposite, of when he'd leave dark purples on your thighs, your hips, neck, fucking everywhere.

Like he was doing now.

You felt his hands roam around your softer body, catching at the fat of your hips, anchoring himself to you and bouncing you atop his thick and girthy cock with fervour. It was as if he didn't know the extent of his raw strength, already biting dark hues of purple into your soft and delicate skin.

Your eyes fluttered shut as your body struggled not to slump forward, flush against his strong chest. You didn't touch him, you swore you wouldn't. He didn't deserve it. A pathetic little thing you told yourself, just so you didn't get attached, because there was nothing more you'd yearned for to hold him like a lover did. To wrap your arms around him and feeling him lovingly piston into you, to kiss your cheek tenderly while your wet insides squeezed him with a vengeful grasp.

It's all too late, anyway.

He stopped, grabbing your chin and watching as your eyes popped open in disillusion.

"Eyes on me," Low, accented tone gravelly as he commanded you.

How dare he, your eyes met his instantaneously. Watching intently as his platinum lashes rested on his zygoma for a millisecond before opening back up to look at you. To look into you, to pick you apart, seemingly, until you turned to nothing. An obedient creature glued to his side, aching knees and jaw being ignored as you served him, like the good little thing you were.

His strained sounds were heard, quiet groans and animalistic sounding grunts as he thrusted upwards, bashing into your womb again and again. It hurt so good and you fucking hated it. You hated how just sole eye contact alone would have you naked and pressed against his clothed chest, fat cock stretching your insides.

Fuck, you loved it.

You absolutely adored it, being stuffed full of him, his mushroom tip pressing flush against your womb. Loved the bruises, the blemishes he's caused. His markings, claiming you as his, his plaything. Like an infants grubby hands over a shiny new toy, slobbering all over it and showing everyone that it was theirs.

No, you'd repeat, whilst being lifted off of him, your hands linked with each other behind your back, before being brought back down to him. Heavy cock twitching inside your tight walls, slick coating his dick, veiny and big, always reaching new spots inside of you. Spots that had searing stars incandescently tug at your vision.

Conflicting emotions, a curse, something that'd have you lay awake at night. Lay in your own cot, or sat next to an ill patient. Thinking about him, wondering, perhaps he was thinking of you, too.

How laughable.

Your eyes wandered, the interminable connection of your irises to his inadmissible. His eyes were always so eloquent, nearly showing what he'd been thinking. You couldn't stand it. You enjoyed the mask, enjoyed not seeing his face, because then, it'd be that much more personal. He wouldn't be Ghost to you anymore, he'd be someone, someone more than just a bed warmer.

Would you, though?

He squeezed your hips, garnering your attention to him once more. His brows furrowed, a thin sheet of sweat encompassing the two of you. He continued to fuck into your slick heat, revelling in how you always took him so well, as he said. Drunk off of you alone, and it was one of those nights.

"Fuckin' made for me,"

Just a slip of the tongue.

But no, you took that and ran with it, lungs burning while your legs continued to sprint. Oh, how you wished that was the case. You were tethered to him for a single purpose, for him to empty himself into you, to lay you across the hospital cot and fuck you from the back, always feeling him so deep. A place where no other man could dare to traverse, could never reach, anyway.

Was it on purpose?

Moulding you to his shape, getting you accustomed (it was always impossible anyways, taking him) to his cock. To spite you when you settled down, found a man who would love you, who would care for you. He wouldn't be enough, because Ghost already left his mark.

You were knocked out of your thoughts, thankfully, when you felt his gloved fingers begin to rub tight circles into your clit. His eyes now studied where the two of you had been joined, watching as your greedy pussy would always desperately pull his girth back in for more, a pathetic beg, don't leave.

You suddenly wailed, your hands grabbing his broad shoulders for purchase as your body shook. Toes curling, back arching as your eyes etched shut, sparkly tears trailing down your heated cheeks. You came hard against him, your essence coating his cock as he fucked you relentlessly, low and deep growls rumbling through his chest. He cursed, feeling your velvety insides continuing to take him deeper inside, he's already giving it all to you but fuck, you want more, you want it all.

"Such a greedy little thing."

He always knew what you were thinking.

"Love when I fuck you like this, don't you?"

Yes, no, yes, no-

"When I fill you up, fuckin' love it, don't you," He groaned, throwing his head back as he buried himself deep within you, nearly invading the inside of your womb as his warm and thick seed filled you. Marking you so that no other man could ever- would ever, do something striking even to him. Such a cruelty, acting like you'd belonged to him. You didn't know what he'd looked like, only aware of his name from medical records.

"Always so good for me."

And you hated how that had been the unvarnished truth.

•

You stared at your hands, ungloved and bare. Soft, skilled, shaking.

Why?

You'd touched him, in a way you swore you wouldn't ever. You'd expected to be thrown off, to be looked at as scum, worse than such a thing.

It was an accident, you didn't mean to. You weren't thinking straight, it was unfeasible with him splitting you open atop his lap. You just needed to ground yourself against him, for fear of falling, pathetic excuses.

A rueful thing you'd been over the next days, your usual adept hands quivering and trembling as you'd treated some of your patients.

You heard the click of a door open, and your posture snapped up, glossy eyes searching for who entered your space.

A breath of relief as it had just been Price.

You snapped a fresh pair of gloves on, bright blue going well with your dark scrubs. You led him to a cleaned cot, asking him just what the problem had been.

"Nothin' much, love." You loathed yourself for how your heart desired him to call you more pet names. To fill in Ghost's shadow and take care of you, as the natural leader he was. You were sure he'd be excellent at doing so.

"Missed your stitches, though." He huffed, relaxing into the bed as you ran an intravenous line for him just in case.

You looked at him, a quizzical glint in your eye. "My medic didn't take good care of you two?" Just you-

"Oh, no, didn't mean it like that." He looked penitent, kind eyes trailing over you before returning back to your stare. "Just meant that you know me better, sweetheart."

It was the truth, you were the Task Force's doctor, after all. It was just an innocent compliment of how good of a physician you'd been. Yet, you felt dizzy, the room a pirouette as you forced yourself to become calm.

"I'll keep that in mind next time, Price." You smiled, motioning for him to lift his shirt to check his lesions and other deep gashes that required attention. Your medic had done a good job, stitching and sterilising his wounds. But, the stitches were beginning to loosen, and you didn't need the wound becoming infected.

Your touches on him were always solicitous on him, more so than the others. Your gloved fingertips gentle on his muscled body, your stare wrongfully looking at his abs, lower and lower to that mesmerising trail of h-

"Gaz and Soap again?" He questioned, his gruff voice shaking you.

You looked at him confused, before he nodded towards the empty jar of sweets. You hadn't even noticed, they must've done so when you were out of the room, those stealthy bastards.

"Had to be," You laughed, making a mental note to restock the jar, "sorry you didn't get one."

"S'alright love." He hummed, his striking blues closing as you redid the stitches over his abdomen, watching as his stomach twitched in response to your careful and airy touch.

You finished quickly, removing your gloves and tossing them in a spare bin. You questioned if he'd wanted the extra fluids and medication, but he'd declined, thanking you for patching him up.

You motioned to clean your station, grabbing the bag of saline fluid before it had popped open, spilling all over your top. You cursed in vexation, more angry at the lost supplies rather than your soiled uniform.

Price quickly was at your side, spare cloth in hand as he attempted to clean the saline from your scrubs. "It's fine," You said, not used to being so close to him. His scent was intoxicating, that hint of smoke already having you feel utterly addicted to his presence alone.

He brushed you off, offering his services as he continued to dry you off. The cloth caught on the neck of the scrubs, pulling the material just below your clavicle, just where that array of purple lay, unperturbed on your skin. He let out a rushed apology, fixing you to look decent, his demeanour so focused on you.

Normally, it was the other way around.

But it felt nice being the one taken care of, for once.

•

Tossing your uniform into the laundry, you felt nice in a new set of clothes. No longer being confined to scrubs, but instead a comfortable cotton outfit against you. You eyed yourself in the mirror, clicking your tongue in distaste. Dark rings of purple running around the underside of your eyes, looking as if you haven't slept in years. Hell, it felt that way, too.

You'd had a long day, full of monotonous paperwork, sobbing soldiers who had flooded your office, crying for their mothers, and the thoughts of both Ghost and Price so tiring. You were giddy to finally be able to curl up into your bunk, drifting off into a dreamless sleep before your day would repeat at dawn.

And that was exactly what you had planned to do, to forget the days contents and reset and rest for the next.

But there Ghost was, at your door and telling you something, his words lost on you as you stared at him, balaclava pulled securely in place. Your eyes were fixed on his shoulders, right where you'd touched.

He beckoned you on to follow after him, and you wanted to plant your feet to the floor. To tell him no, to tell him that you had better things to do than to get fucked by him tonight.

Of course, you didn't do any of that.

Instead, you followed his lead, not asking a single question the entire way.

[gh0st-t0wn3]

Lmk ss edits + headcanons, Part 4 (Jin & Yin, Ao Lie, Tripitaka, Bai He)

- He/Him, He/They

- Pansexual, Bisexual

- They both have chronic separation anxiety, its why they're never apart; Yin tends to go non-verbal and more withdrawn without Jin, and Jin gets really agressive and paranoid without Yin. 

-  Yin can't sleep if he has nerves, Jin can do nothing BUT sleep if he has nerves

- Jin always forgets something at home, Yin reminded him a hundred times before they left

- Yin doodles on the corner of their blueprint papers whenever they're making something new, Jin cuts them out later and glues them into a sketchbook so they don't get lost

- Jin's hips are constantly covered in bruises because he's always bumping into shit (has NO spacial awareness whatsoever)

- Yin listens to rock music, Jin doesn't have a specific genre

- Somehow are simultaneously the most innocent and dirty minded people, you'll never know what you're gonna get at any given moment

- Yin always finds a way to drown in inch deep water (really bad at swimming)

- ^^^Jin laughs at him

- After they found out Mei and MK didn't like eachother as anything more than friends, they tried to trap him in the calabash again but used Redson to try and seduce him instead, MK immediately knew it was them

- Jin was talking really fast cause he was panicking once and called the Demon accountant "Semon accountant" and has still not recovered

- Yin laughed his ass off when it happened and constantly reminds him of it

- Jin likes his pillow warm (he's insane)

- They both occasionally become self aware and wind up having a weird crisis trying to figure out whether their horns are a part of their skull or something else

- Both are cat people, they're terrified of dogs, being trapped in a room with one is one of their worst nightmares

- Neither of them has clean hair, it is a fucking rock you will not be able to comb that shit out

- Jin rants about new ideas, Yin writes/draws them down

- Yin will bite you if you get near him while he's eating, bro's feral

- Jin stubs his toe atleast three times a day and screams in agony every. Single. Time. Eventually Yin just stopped running to check on him, it's happened so many times that he can distinguish what Jin's scream sounds like specifically when he stubs his toe

- Yin spent several months slowly moving everything in their house slightly to the right everyday, Jin cried cause he thought he was going insane

- Jin smells like cinnamon, Yin smells like caramel (I'm delusional, they both reek)

- Jin's love language is words of affirmation, Yin's love language is quality time

- Yin is terrified of cockroaches, Jin keeps some as pets

- Jin tried to dox Mei during one of her streams, Mei showed up at their house instead, it was terrifying

- The Demon accountant has to use a pressure hose to wash them

- They were banned from the arcade but they kept showing up begging to be unbanned, the staff eventually started feeling bad and let them back in

- Yin always throws out his drawings if they don't turn out how he wanted them to, Jin fishes them out of the trash when Yin isn't looking and keeps them in a sketchbook under his bed

- He/Him

- ??? Bisexual, probably

- Favourite animal is a leaf slug, it just feels right

- Mei's number one supporter

- Ate a strawberry once and found a worm inside, never ate strawberries again

- Constantly bothered Zhu Bajie during their Journey to the west, he thought it was funny seeing him get upset

- "I swear to buddha, if you ask me 'why' one more time" " Why?"

- Wukong pulled a bug out of his hair once and he freaked out and made Tripitaka go through his hair for him

- Heaviest sleeper of the group, when he falls asleep he is OUT,

- Has horrible bed head and his hair takes forever to comb out

- Really bad at math

- Wakes Tripitaka up in the middle of the night to ask the dumbest questions

- Refuses to wear shoes, he's in his horse form for most of their Journey anyway so he doesn't see the point in having any at all

- Would absolutely down a container of melatonin gummies if he had the opportunity

- Had to comfort Wukong while he puked after chugging a gallon of salt water once

- Mei gets her ':3' face from him

- Trips over his hair as much as his sleeves, no matter how much of his hair he ties up somehow it always ends up in his face or under his foot and he's down

- Follow up on the last headcanon, he's tried to cut his hair before to stop this from happening, it did not work, his hair grew back really fast

- He's like a cat, if you tell him not to push something over, he'll push it over

- Favourite colour is actually rose gold, but green is a very close second

- DBK let him hold Redson after the Samadhi removal ritual was over and Ao Lie immediately dropped him (DBK caught him before he hit the ground, but Ao Lie was banned from holding him again)

- Can eat an entire buffet and not gain a single pound

- Smells like Mint

- Love language is physical touch

- Chews on his sleeves when he's bored

- Gets along surprisingly well with Nezha despite Nezha's and Ao Bing's history

- Really good at singing

- Since he's a water Demon, he gets overheated really easily in the sun so whenever they come across any kind of water (river, pond, puddle, etc) he'll just flop sideways and lay there for like 20 minutes to cool down

- Actually thought Mei was his sister for a minute until he realized it wasn't her when they first met

- He/Him

- AroAce

- Sometimes gets visons and dreams of his life as the Golden Cicada

- Tripitaka, Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujin can see what their descendants/reincarnations are up to

- He cried on Freenoodles wedding day... it was not of joy, Zhu Bajie also threw up several times

- Once joked about having to shave all of Wukongs fur off now that he's a Monk and Wukong cried

- Absolutely HATES when people enter a room before knocking

- Would probably be scared of popping candy if he ever heard them (bubblegum, pop rocks, etc)

- Hates when people fold the corner of a page as a bookmark

- Constantly corrects people's spelling; "it's 'you're' not 'your' "

- Can't stand the sound of people chewing with their mouths open

- Has naturally long lashes

- Weak ass ankles

- Tried to teach Wukong how to read and gave up in a few hours because he refused to pay attention

- Cries whenever someone brings up his and Zhu Bajie's pregnancy, it's what keeps him up at 3am (if you haven't read JTTW, I'm sorry that this is how you found out)

- Surprisingly has a really good singing voice

- Always writes in cursive and no one can read it

- Understands cicadas

- In JTTW (chapter 39, i think) Tripitaka encountered a demon who impersonated him so well that even with his golden vision Wukong couldn't tell them apart and mistakingly attacked the real one, Tripitaka still gets nightmares about Wukong almost killing him

- Favourite colour is yellow

- Smells like oranges

- Love language is words of affirmation

- Has little freckles

- Extremely texture picky

- Vegetarian

- Has almost lost his hat (???) multiple times due to being kidnapped so often, it's a miracle he hasn't lost it yet

- Loves watching the sunset

- VERY light sleeper

- Smiled at Redson once, who immediately burst into tears (He could see that Tripitaka was the golden cicada and got scared), Tripitaka freaked out and also started crying while trying to calm him down

- She/Her

- Ally

- Has stretch marks as a result of her bones and skin being stretched out while she was possessed by the Lady Bone Demon

- White streaks in her hair from the possession

- Even after being freed from the Lady Bone Demon, her skin was never quite right, always too pale or too cold, with little snowflake markings here and there just barely visible

- Always cold, she has to wear multiple layers of clothing to help deal with it, doesn't matter how hot it is outside, she's always wearing something warm

- Has eyebags because she gets recurring nightmares about the Lady Bone Demon and hardly gets any sleep anymore

- Has very faint freckles

- Definitely believes/believed in those "spells to turn you into a mermaid/fairy/vampire" YouTube videos

- Made potions as a kid (it's windex, food dye, and glitter mixed together)

- Probably collects rocks

- Mei and Macaque taught her how to scam other kids in roblox

- Used to believe that if you ate a seed it'd grow in your stomach and had a meltdown when she accidentally swallowed watermelon seeds

- "Guys, stop swearing!" Whenever someone says "Frick", "Heck", "Dang"

- Cut her own hair once when she was really little, it was a disaster

- Eats whatever anyone gives her

- LOVES kumara

- Always eats lucky charms for breakfast but she'll pick out all the actual cereal so she just has milk and marshmallows

- Her dad is Pigsy's boar rival from across the street

- Loves street food, especially tanghulu and cheese tea

- Chews on her sleeves

- Smells like vanilla

- Love language is quality time

- OBSESSED with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and watches it on repeat (she once compared MK to Donnie because they both fight with staffs)

- Has a charm bracelet with personalized charms she made for everyone she likes/loves

- Loves orbeez and has a heart shaped orbeez lamp that she uses as a night light (I had one as a kid, it was awesome and I miss it very much)

- Dyes the white streaks in her hair pink, but they fade pretty quick so they have to be re-dyed frequently

- Has a tooth gap

- Her favourite flowers are chrysanthemums

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Box

I am in a box. Such is the nature of things, of course. Boxes are a part of life, just like blood and tears and screams into a pillow at 3am.

My box was comfortable, once. I had worn little dents in it, so long I was huddled inside. It was stretched and bent in all the right places, like a snug blanket about my shoulders. It fit me just right, with only my face poking out, for me to see and smell and speak. Even as I grew, it expanded to fit me, stretching as far as it could, ripping and popping at the seams to fit me. I liked that box, old though it was.

But all boxes are doomed to break apart. That, too, is the nature of things. I had grown and elbowed and torn the box apart, emerging from it like an unwilling butterfly. My wings were wet and I could not fly.

So I waited, shivering in the agoraphobic open. I waited for my wings to dry, for me to regain my strength, for a chance to show the world how I had grown. I waited until I could take it no more, and fled. The bitterness was too cold, the misery too wet, the agony too painful to bear.

I came upon a new box. No, that is wrong. I had a box thrust upon me. That was also the nature of things, much like the friction burns on my shoulders and the sores on my thighs and the scabs on my knees.

I do not like this new box. It hurts. Every breath I take makes my chest press against its walls, like a boa constrictor of my own making. Every movement I make scrapes and rubs my skin raw from the box's rough innards, as though I were a chunk of wood to be sanded. Every word I say comes at the cost of my hearing, of my sight, of my dear senses, as I press my lips to the box's tiny opening like I were blowing the world a goodbye kiss.

The box does not bend or dent. No, it is far too strong for that. Instead it crushes my ribs, bending soft flesh until I am the one being molded into its image. My wings cannot dry, in the damp confines of the box, so they grow mold and mildew. I feel them crumple, itching and prickling with rot. I rub my back against the sandpaper of the box, scrubbing my wings away. It is the only acceptable movement I can make, this self-mutilation, so I do it until my wings are bloody stumps and I can never fly again. Still I must move, even as my spine realigns itself to fit the box's interior, even as my legs putrefy and deteriorate from lack of use, as my arms shrivel up and the bones go hollow.

There is not enough room to exist in the box, but still I try.

It is all my fault, of course. Had I not breathed too deep or moved too much, I would not have hurt quite so badly. Had I stayed good and silent and hunched over in my box, I would have been just fine. Had I not worn my previous box to shreds and grown out of it, I would still be happy, back in my old box. I have nobody to blame but myself.

But blame I do, suffocating as I speak, gasping for air and refusing to give up. Words tumble out of my mouth senselessly, knives sharp enough to pierce the walls of my claustrophobic box. They pierce the people who put me into that box, irritating them with little paper-cuts. They pierce the ones I love the most, driving them away. They pierce my own heart, and I accept my fate.

Such is the nature of things, after all.

Taglist under cut:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch @ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @fortunatetragedy, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou (Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[ltash]

Damsel In Distress

"You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear." - Oscar Wilde

Angela, you go ahead, we'll cover you, hermana," Alejandro said.

I ran and jumped over the rocks, feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

"Watch for snipers!" Ghost yelled from behind.

Alejandro, Soap, and Ghost came after me. As I climbed a rock, a sniper bullet whizzed past me, grazing the side of my lower belly where my plated vest didn't cover. It felt like a big paper cut, and a blood-curdling scream escaped my lips as blood started to soak my clothes.

I struggled to keep my eyes open, the edges of my vision darkening. Ghost's arm wrapped around me, providing a steadying presence.

"Angela! Look at me," Ghost commanded, his voice cutting through the haze of pain.

My eyes fluttered open, locking onto his. I tried to speak, but the pain was overwhelming, making it hard to form words. The searing intensity of the sniper bullet's graze was far worse than I had imagined, feeling more like a full gunshot wound.

Ghost's expression softened slightly, a rare glimpse of concern breaking through his stoic exterior. "Stay with me, Angela. You're going to be okay," he said, his voice both a reassurance and a command.

As the convoy started moving, the rhythmic hum of the engine provided a strange comfort.

The whole journey, my constant whimpers and groans of pain filled the confined space of the convoy. Despite my best efforts to stay quiet, the agony was too much to bear. Every bump in the road sent fresh waves of torment through my body.

Ghost's arm remained steady around me, providing both physical and emotional support. He kept his voice low and calm, offering reassurances. "You'll be okay, Angela. Just hang in there."Soap glanced over from his seat, his expression a mix of concern and determination.

"We're almost there, just a bit longer," he said, trying to keep my spirits up. Alejandro occasionally looked back from the front seat, his eyes filled with worry. "Stay with us, hermana. We're not leaving you behind."Despite their words, the pain made it hard to focus. I rested my head against Ghost's shoulder, seeking some semblance of comfort.

We reached the base, and the cars pulled inside. Ghost opened the door. By that time, I was nearly passed out, barely holding on to consciousness. The adrenaline that had kept me going was fading, and the pain and exhaustion were taking over.

"Hey, Angela," Ghost tried waking me up.

I barely opened my eyes, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling me under. Ghost's usually stern voice held a hint of concern.

"We need a medic here, now!" he called out urgently.

Alejandro and Soap rushed over as a couple of medics appeared, quickly assessing my injuries.

"She’s lost a lot of blood," one of the medics said, pressing a bandage against my wound.

"We'll get her stabilized," the other medic assured, starting an IV.

"Hang in there, Angela," Soap said, his voice soft but firm. "You're gonna be okay."

As they lifted me onto a stretcher, Ghost stayed close, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos. I felt a hand squeeze mine, and I knew it was his.

"We're right here with you," he said quietly.

They took me to the infirmary, the urgency in their movements making my head spin. When the medic poured alcohol on my wound, I screamed so loudly that the entire base echoed with my cry.

"Hold still, Angela," one of the medics urged, his voice trying to be soothing but strained with urgency.

Ghost, Alejandro, and Soap stood nearby, their faces etched with worry.

"You’re going to be fine," Ghost reassured me, his voice a rare mix of gentleness and command.

The medics worked quickly, their hands moving with practiced efficiency to clean and bandage my wound. The burning pain seared through my lower back, and I couldn't hold back the tears. "Mommy!" I screamed, crying for my mom as I remembered she always took my pain away.

"You're strong, Angela. Just a little longer," Soap said, giving me an encouraging nod.

It felt like an eternity, but finally, the medics finished dressing the wound and started an IV drip to ease the pain.

"She’ll need to rest and recover," one of the medics informed the team.

"We’ll make sure she gets it," Alejandro replied firmly, his eyes meeting mine. "You did good out there."

Exhaustion began to overtake me, and I let my eyes close, comforted by the presence of my team. I knew I was safe and in good hands.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. Someone was holding my hand.

I blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the light. Ghost sat beside me, his grip firm and reassuring.

"Hey," he said softly, noticing I was awake.

I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in my back made me wince.

"Take it easy," Ghost said. "You're still healing."

I nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and relief. "What happened?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"We made it out," he replied. "You were pretty banged up, but the medics took care of you."

Alejandro and Soap walked in, relief washing over their faces when they saw I was awake.

"How are you feeling?" Alejandro asked.

"Sore," I admitted, "but better."

"You gave us quite a scare," Soap said with a smile. "But you did great out there."

I smiled weakly. "Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you guys."

Ghost squeezed my hand gently. "Rest now. We've got everything under control."

"I am hungry," I said, my voice a bit stronger.

Ghost chuckled softly. "That's a good sign."

Alejandro smiled. "I'll get you something to eat. Any preferences?"

"Anything but those chips," I joked weakly, remembering the incident in the car.

Soap grinned. "I'll see what the mess hall has. Be right back."

As he left, Ghost continued to hold my hand. "You scared us out there, Angela. But you’re tough. You’ll be back on your feet in no time."

"Thanks, Ghost," I said, feeling a wave of gratitude. "For everything."

"We're a team," he replied. "We take care of each other."

A few minutes later, Soap returned with a tray of food. "Here you go. Soup and some bread to start."

I took the bowl, my hands trembling slightly, and began to eat. The warmth of the soup soothed me, and I felt a bit of my strength returning.

"Take your time," Alejandro said. "There's no rush."

"We are going to capture Hassan with the help of Shadow Company," Alejandro said. "Let's see how things turn out. Meanwhile, you rest."

I nodded, feeling a mix of concern and determination. "Be careful out there."

"We will," Ghost assured me. "You just focus on getting better."

As they prepared to leave, Soap gave me a reassuring smile. "We’ll bring him in. Don’t worry."

I watched them go, feeling a surge of pride in my team. They were going to continue the mission, and I had to trust them to succeed.

I settled back into the bed, letting the exhaustion take over. As I drifted off, I found comfort in knowing that, despite everything, we were still moving forward together.

I woke up in the evening to Soap's voice.

"Angela, he's here. We're going to interrogate him. Do you want to come?"

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, feeling a mix of curiosity and hesitation. "Yes," I replied finally, pushing myself to sit up. "I want to be there."

Soap nodded, offering me a hand to help me up. "Let's go then. Just take it easy."

They took Hassan outside. I was feeling much better, so I walked with them. For the first time, I saw Philip Graves.

"You must be Angela, right?" he asked. From his accent, I knew he was American.

"Yes," I replied.

Hassan was sitting on his knees, and they pulled the black cloth from his head. Ghost stood beside the jeep, while Soap and Alejandro positioned themselves behind Hassan.

"You speak Arabic? Farsi?" Hassan asked.

"No," Graves replied.

"Then I'll have to speak in your medieval English, you illiterate street dogs," Hassan sneered.

"I speak Farsi and Arabic," I said, stepping in front.

Everyone's eyes turned to me in shock.

"Then you must not be one of them," Hassan said.

"Salaam! And yes, I am one of them," I replied.

"Anha sanhal Ghobrani raakshand wa man inteqam hama anha ra khuwahim giraft," Hassan spat, his eyes filled with fury. (They killed Ghubrani and I will avenge him.)

"Na shama en kar ra nakhwahid kard," I said firmly. (No, you won't do that.)

Everyone watched in silence, the tension in the air palpable. Hassan glared at me, but I stood my ground, unwavering.

I said, my voice steady. (You cannot win against them, and what will be the difference between you and them if you do the same thing they did?)

Hassan looked at me, a mix of confusion and curiosity in his eyes. "How do you know Farsi and Arabic so well?" he asked.

"Because my mother is from Iran and the UAE," I replied. "But I am American by birth and by blood, and I won't take any shit from you. If you try to do anything stupid, Hassan, I will kill you with my own hands. Payan." (The end.)

Everyone around us was silent, the weight of my words hanging in the air. Hassan stared at me, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Ghost, Soap, and Alejandro watched, ready to back me up.

"You cannot keep me without my will. I am Quds Force major," Hassan shouted, his voice echoing with defiance.

Graves stepped forward, his demeanor cold and threatening. "We'll see about that," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I moved to stand silently beside Ghost, observing the tense exchange.

"Extremely impressive," Ghost said, turning his face towards me.

"I am," I replied confidently, leaving no room for doubt.

Ghost's eyes narrowed at me. "Now I know my choice is good," he said.

"Yes, definitely," I replied, rolling my eyes at him.

Shepherd ordered Hassan's release. Soap intervened, but ultimately, Shepherd was right. We couldn't keep Hassan on mere suspicions. His mobile had already been traced by Laswell, leaving us no choice but to let him go.

After Hassan was released, Soap turned towards me. "Angela, you are so talented."

"Shukran, Habibi!" I replied in Arabic, a playful smile on my face.

"Teach me some languages when you get time," he said.

"Sure! When we are back from this mission, I will."

Ghost walked in silence.

"You are full of surprises, Hermana!" Alejandro said as he walked past us, praising me.

"Gracias Hermano." I replied.

We went back to the base, and Soap showed me to my room, which was conveniently next to Ghost's.

I went straight to the shower, taking care not to mess with my stitches. The warm water was a much-needed relief, washing away the dirt and grime from the river. I got dressed in a tight black t-shirt and sweatpants, feeling slightly more human.

My body felt sore, and I started feeling feverish. By the time I went to bed, the fever had spiked. I had zero energy to move, so I tried to sleep, but it was in vain. The pain and the heat from the fever made it impossible to find any comfort.

Fever and chills made me partially unconscious and unaware of my surroundings. The next morning, I heard loud banging on my door.

"Angela! Open the door, it's already noon." Ghost's voice boomed through the door, realizing I hadn't left the room since last night.

I had no energy left to even leave the bed. I tried to speak, but my voice was barely a whisper.

"Open the door. Bloody fucking hell!" he cursed.

Soap and Alejandro joined him. "What happened, hermano?" Alejandro asked.

"She isn't opening the door. Do you have a spare key?" Ghost asked.

I could hear their muffled voices from afar. "Yes, hermano." Alejandro went and came back with a bunch of keys.

The door flung open.

"Angela!" Ghost rushed to check on me, cupping my face. "She is burning," he said, concern evident in his voice.

He carried me and took me to the hospital. My eyes fluttered open as soldiers watched him carry me, with Soap following closely behind.

The doctors checked my stitches and put me on antibiotics. As they worked, I could feel the fever starting to abate slightly, though I was still weak and exhausted.

"You're going to be okay," Ghost said softly, staying by my side. "Just rest now."

"Who told you to leave the hospital when you weren't feeling well?" Ghost said, his tone sharp.

"It was me. I asked her to come to see Hassan," Soap admitted, looking guilty.

"I'll see you later, Soap," Ghost said, glaring at him.

Soap nodded and left the room, leaving Ghost and me alone. Ghost's expression softened as he turned back to me, his concern evident.

"You need to take care of yourself, Angela," he said quietly.

"I know," I replied weakly. "I'm sorry."

"Just focus on getting better," he said, staying by my side as I drifted back to sleep, feeling reassured by his presence .

The whole day, Ghost stayed by my side. He gave me my medicine on time, checked on me regularly, and made sure I was comfortable. God, he was such husband material.

At lunchtime, he brought me a tray of food. "Eat," he ordered, bringing the spoon to my mouth.

"I don't feel like it," I resisted, feeling like a child.

"You need to eat to get your strength back," he insisted, his eyes firm but caring. "Just a few bites."

Reluctantly, I opened my mouth and took a bite, feeling a bit better with each spoonful.

"Should I bring you crisps?" Ghost chuckled, mentioning the chips again.

I couldn't help but laugh. Despite feeling unwell, his lightheartedness brought a smile to my face. "Maybe later," I replied, feeling grateful for his efforts to keep my spirits up.

"There you are, the happy girl I know," Ghost said, pinching my cheek.

"Ouch! Get your hands off me," I replied, playfully slapping his arm.

My hair was a mess, and Ghost took it upon himself to run his gloved fingers through it, causing it to tousle even more.

"Stop it, Simon!" I scolded him, trying to push his hand away, but secretly enjoying the attention.

As he pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me, I playfully hit his chest. But then he kissed my cheek, his lips warm and tender against my skin. Before I could react, he crashed his lips into mine, igniting a spark of passion between us.

Drawing me closer, he sat on the bed and pulled me onto his lap, his hands running gently over my thigh. "I want to eat you up, luvvie," he said with a playful grin, his eyes filled with affection.

"Get better for me love." He whispered.

I heard the door open, and Soap's voice filled the room. "Hey LT!" he called out, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw me sitting on Ghost's lap.

"What are you doing here, Soap?" I said, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. "At least knock before you enter."

I quickly stood up from Ghost's lap and moved to sit on the bed, trying to compose myself.

"What do you want, Soap?" Ghost's voice was stern as he addressed him.

"Alejandro is calling you to his office," Soap replied, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

I felt sorry for Soap as he left the room, clearly embarrassed by the situation. Ghost stood up, giving me a gentle kiss on the forehead before leaving to attend to Alejandro's call.

[vivalarevolution]

𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓖𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓯

Aegon Targaryen x Niece Reader

Request: „Aegon taking care of his wife when she gets into severe depression after she loses both sons through miscarriage.‟

A/N: A request from anon. Although I'm not the best at writing angst due to my dislike of the genre and lack of skill, I decided to put this request on paper, modifying a few things along the way so that I could write it as best as I can and being comfortable with idea. Nonetheless I hope you will enjoy this work and have a pleasant time reading it in the end.

Blood There was so much blood. On her hands, on her legs, on her dress, which was once white, now turned crimson.

Everything around her seemed muffled. Every sound was like a distant whisper from above the water, every image in front of her eyes blurred within seconds, as if everything ceased to exist.

And how much she wanted it, how much she wanted it to be true. But the brutality of reality hit her like raging waves on the sea, keeping her from rising to the surface, making her drown in despair and pain.

She needed something, someone to pull her out, but she was all alone. And she hated him for it. She needed him, but he had left her in agony.

-Where were you? - she asked in a voice worn out by crying and screaming, exhausted and tired - Where were you?! - she repeated, feeling her fury wrap around her body like an old friend's arms - Where were you, Aegon?!

-I...- he began, but he couldn't finish, he couldn't explain, the guilt was stabbing him like a dagger stuck between the ribs , reminding him every time he breathed.

The woman stood up, leaving scarlet stains on the satin white sheets. Another dose of bitterness filled her veins, making her bewildered with fury.

-I woke up with pain so mercilessly great that a scream was the only thing that could escape from my throat - she whispered coldly, clenching her hands into fists - I cried and begged for it all to end, that it would all just be a nightmare - she said approaching him making him want to step back but his legs wouldn't move - I thought the gods heard me because I was suddenly enveloped in darkness, but when I opened my eyes again I was met with an ocean of blood and the news that my sons had died. And there was no one to take this pain away from me, there was no one to soothe my heart.

Aegon felt as if he couldn't breathe, as if air was not being given to him, as if he had been told to suffocate to punish him.

-I'm sorry - he choked out, feeling his vision blurred by incoming tears - I'm sorry.

Y/n stared at him with hatred burning like wildfire. He had no right to cry, he had no right to mourn, he had no right to apologize, he had no right.

-Your words don't matter - she said so coldly that a shiver ran through the man's body - You weren't here when I needed you. Why uncle? Why are you never here? Why are you the only one who can help me but you're never here? I hate you for this! I hate you!

Woman became hysterical, taking it out on her husband, who with absent eyes allowed every stroke, every word , that hurt him so hard and deep that he felt as if his heart was bleeding.

-I'm sorry - he whispered, wrapping his arms around her struggling body, pressing her against his chest no matter how much she fought to break free from his soothing embrace.

Her crying was the worst sound he had ever heard in his life, he wanted it to end ,he wanted it all to end. But he knew it wasn't over. 

It started with denial.

He had to watch as his beloved stubbornly wore larger dresses. She couldn't accept that her once round belly was now flat. Every rational word on the subject melted in the wind because she wasn't listening, no matter how hard Aegon tried to sober her mind.

Then was anger. 

Aegon still had the scars left by Y/n's long fingernails. He knew she didn't mean to hurt him, he knew it wasn't her real intentions but she had to take it out and he preferred her to do it on him, he thought he deserved it.

Bargaining was like a reflection of a labyrinth, there was no exit , only numerous corridors. 

Every question, every activity, every solution. It was all useless, worthless. It was like a wheel that needed to be broken.

But then depression came , and she was like old friend ,enveloping woman’s body in an embrace of sadness.

This was the moment when Aegon didn't know what to do, staring helplessly at the body of his wife, who was motionless and showed no signs of life. He felt like he was in control of her. He carried her, washed her, sometimes forced her to eat, not knowing himself or her anymore. They became completely different people when in reality life showed them what it really is, how brutal and merciless it can be.

And then the shadow of hope came  , the shadow of acceptance.

Y/n stared at her reflection, her hands resting on her stomach, stroking the fabric of her black dress. Her face was calm, almost expressionless. Her eyes wandered over her body, finally stopping on Targaryen's face, who stood behind her, watching every little move she made.

-What are you doing? - he asked in a tired but equally mature voice that was the opposite of Aegon.

-I'm looking - replied the young woman, not taking her sight off him, her mermaid eyes no longer hiding a shadow of pain or despair.

The man approached her cautiously, almost as if he were approaching a wounded animal. His large hand covered her smaller one, almost instantly taking the cold away from her, offering his warmth to her. His lips involuntarily pressed against her soft curls, kissing the top of her head.

Closing his eyes, he let the scent of lavender and wild rose hit him, so familiar to him , so soothing.

-Now tell me the truth - he whispered, waiting.

Y/n lowered her gaze, but her husband took her chin between his fingers, thus telling her not to run away, and she complied. Finding a feeling of peace in the purple irises she hated and adored so much.

-I wish I could turn back time, gods, I really wish... but I know I can't - she confessed after a long moment, filling the room with tension - They...they won't be back and I can't pretend that will change any longer. I have to move on, this world won't wait for me.

- I'll wait - said the blonde, aligning his eyes with her - I'll wait for you Y/n.

The woman felt how she melted under his gaze, how the walls crumbled and the ice cracked, how her heart began to beat again.

-I have to move forward not only for myself but also for the people who need me -I know I have to - she whispered, snuggling into his torso - For her - she added, almost silently.

Aegon thought he misheard, or it was just a voice in his head, something unreal. But it was very real, yet he couldn't believe it.

-For her? - he asked, no longer believing in what was real and what was an illusion.

-I didn't want to tell you, I didn't want to tell anyone - she replied, again stroking the material covering her body, the body in which life was growing again - I thought that if I kept it a secret, she would be safe, that nothing would happen to her.

-Nothing will happen to her, I promise you that she will be safe - her husband assured her, creating a cage around her with his arms, hiding her from everything that was outside - I promise you that I will not leave you, I will never leave you again.

Y/n believed him, no matter what their past was, she believed him. Because hope was born between them, their hope, their family hope.

And no one will take it from them. Never again.

[imagionationstation]

Do you have any au ideas you’d like to share? Preferably 2012 Donatello centric..

*Bats eyelashes innocently.*

(If not, no problem! I really don’t mind lol)

*stares at you*

*stares are you harder*

I never in my life imagined that I would get this question. I’m the concerning individual who spends my days hunting down Donnie AUs to quench my insatiable thirst for content. What are you doing.

You are not meant to ask me.

BUT SINCE YOU ALREADY DID NO TAKE-BACKS

Okay, so other than this masterpost that I made for everything that exists in some form, I have an AU that’s been on my brain for the last ever but I never started it because What Was Lost was/is already in the works. Activity focusing on two AUs about the same turtle at the same time is unwise.

Though writing What Was Lost and Feral Raphie is no picnic

Introducing: Broken Spectre AU

This AU is a ✨crossover✨ between Rise and 2012. Both shows happen in the exact same pattern up through the Movie and the episode The Power Inside Of Her. The only difference is how April brings Donnie back…

You see, at the same moment that Donnie was popped in the night sky (wow, my own imagery is messed up), another dimension’s Micheal was doing what he was absolutely not allowed to do under any circumstances- practicing his powers without a brother present.

It wasn’t planned or anything. With Leo resting, Raph getting pizzas, and Donnie in his lab- an opportunity presented itself and he took it! Michael’s brothers never let him try the really fun stuff because his magic is still in recovery, and his cracks reamerage when he pushes his powers past mediation. They’re smaller now, healing with time like Draxum promised, but they still scare the shells off his loving, overprotective family.

There’s something so freeing about tapping into the strength whirling in his chest- like waking up fully rested and confident after a good night sleep. He really wasn’t doing anything. Playing around with chains, painting with magic. Nothing insane.

And, just as he’s putting the finishing touches on his canvas of sparkling gold, he feels a tug. An agony. A hurt. Something being ripped apart like a paper, life tossed about like confetti. It vibrates through time and space like nothing ever should, and he knows that, he knows it’s not right. Mikey can feel it, like his brothers standing next to him, touching his ninpo, a soft tap of fluttering life- and when he focuses, he can feel every sensation of their agony, every inch of their panic, every glow of life that fades away, merging back with the universe. It’s dying. It’s scared and it’s alone and it’s dying.

He doesn’t realize his eyes have lit up in a shining yellow. He doesn’t know that a portal is open in front of him, thinner than his portal to the prison dimension, but just as strong. He doesn’t know he’s reaching through, that his ninpo is calling out. He doesn’t know that he takes, blue dots fluttering at his fingers, turning into a ribbon of purple, flowing into his palm. He feels a sudden disruption, an error with his ninpo, like a fence surrounding wild sheep, forcing them into adapt and graze in a smaller land.

His ninpo cuts off, and the light leaves his eyes. He falls to the ground, heart pounding and body flushed with adrenaline, staring at the blank wall, void of the gold that lit up the area. He breathes, shocked and uncertain, before he gets to his feet.

“What-?”

He screams, whirling to face the quiet voice, scrambling back from the specter cloaked in gray. It pulls three reaching fingers back, eyes composed only in black and mouth curved into a frown. It’s brows furrow, a band of light grey around an oval head outlining the action, mouthing opening to reveal a small gap. It’s stands tall, but it’s voice is a whisper formed of thin air, echoing in Mikey’s head.

“Who are you?” It questions, soft and distant. Then, almost as an afterthought, “Who am I?”

The first question is a breeze.

“My name’s Mikey, and, um…”

If only the second is as easy.

-This clip is pending editing to properly analyze Michael’s brainspace and actions in this moment and confirm what should remain and what should change. This is merely an experiment-

NAH SO LIKE HELPFUL KIDNAPPING, IG

I’ve seen a couple Donnie-in-Rise stuff and I think this could be SO ANGSTY. Michael interfered with events and tried to help, but he only ended up stealing away a piece of his soul. So when April brings him back together- he’s not the same. He blanks out on them, confused about the simplest things. He forgets names and things and places. He has trouble retaining new information. His ki is faded and no matter how many times that Leo says that it will heal, it doesn’t. Eventually, they realize that he isn’t simply drained. He’s been sliced, separated, divided. A piece of him is missing.

And without that piece, he’ll only continue to deteriorate.

And that piece is hanging out with Michael. It simply exists, passive and snarky, confused but unable to recall ever not being a spirit. He’s forced to be wherever Michael is. He doesn’t really care. Mikey is the only constant- the only thing that he’s ever sure is true. Michael doesn’t mind the companion. At least, that’s what he tells himself, determined not to reveal to his brothers that he went behind their back to do what he agreed never to do.

The Spectre makes commentary that his brothers can’t hear, nostalgic for things that he can’t remember. Mikey encourages him to talk about it, hoping to learn anything that might tell him who this stranger is. It comes in random spurts through the day. He has brothers. One of them cooks, like Mikey. Another worries, like Raph. Acts braver than he is, like Leo. He has a sister. She’s never around. He has parents. He thinks one of them is dead.

He has a home. He can’t recall anything about it, but it exists. He always becomes small, burdened by what he can’t remember, broken by what he doesn’t know. He hates thinking about it.

“I don’t want to be here, without them,” he says in his ghostly, whispering voice. “I think you should have let me die.”

Mikey tries to pretend that absolutely nothing is wrong, but eventually, his brothers start to catch on to his avoidance. How awkward he is around them. How often he talks to himself. How drained he always seems. And they bring this up to Draxum.

Mikey does his best to avoid any kind of intervention, but against his will, his brothers preform one anyway. They find out the truth, and Draxum discovers that Michael’s ninpo has been invaded. In order to save the piece of a soul, he’s using his own ninpo to keep it alive. Ninpo isn’t meant to be used 24/7. He’s draining his own reserves, and if he keeps it up for too long, he may irreparably damage his ninpo. The only way to solve the problem is to release the spirit.

Something that Mikey absolutely refuses to do.

If the Spectre is a missing piece, then Mikey wants to put him back together. Mikey refuses to let this piece disappear into nothingness when he had the ability to fix it. He doesn’t know how or when, but he’s going to fix this. He messed up by separating him. Even if it’s just bringing the piece back so his spirit can die properly, he’ll do it.

No matter what the cost. Not matter what it takes.

He has a family out there. Mikey has to try.

And, of course, his family has no intention of letting him do it alone.