#so I just went with a fuckin gun lmao

[thespiritssaidso]

Psych incorrect quotes: a series (cont.😘👕🔫) (warning: there will be Shassie)

—————

Shawn: *says something flirty as part of their usual banter*

Lassiter: Don't tease, Spencer.

Shawn, still joking around: It's only a tease if you have feelings, Lassiekins.

Lassiter, really not having a good day: ...Don't tease, Spencer.

———

Shawn: At least wear the matching t-shirts with personalized catchphrases I made for everybody.

Lassiter: I don't have a catchphrase.

Shawn: *throws him a t-shirt that has "I don't have a catchphrase" printed on it*

Juliet: Ooh, he’s good.

———

Madeline: Do you have a preference for men or women?

Lassiter: I have a preference for justice.

[unexpectedbrickattack]

Hiding the rest of this HUGE comic behind a readmore for ur sanity

Hes got the keenest eye for these things!

Now that this is hiding behind a readmore i can justify writing an essay in here. Nothing big tho i am just very chatty :)!

Postgame where Peppino still gets visits every now and again from the bosses of the tower. I already drew one for the noise (lmao) but i wanted to draw each of the main four interacting with him in some way.

Pepperman is a refined and well renowned artist. His art is highly sought after and his advice is not taken lightly. He has many MANY fortunes to pull from to make his visions a reality and to influence anyone to do anything. Except for Peppino.

From the very first fight, Pepperman is immediately, overwhelmingly obsessed with this stout little brawler. He is much much more than what meets the eyes. He is initially extremely offput and annoyed that a human so boldly decided to waltz into his domain, and he expects to be able to steamroll and bully this…beast…out of his place of work. He is refined when he wants to be, but he is quick to use his brute strength to get what he wants if only bc he knows he can do it

And so when he decides to fully charge and thrash this little trembling human, expecting him to skitter away the second he gets struck, he is completely unprepared for when he gets launched to the other end of this room. The human looks so incredibly PISSED, like a bull seeing red, and suddenly this little altercation suddenly became a real actual ‘knock your teeth out’ brawl. This human is only like half his height, but his punches and bashes fucking knock the wind out of him.

And like ! To add insult to injury!!! After he wins the fight! He visibly deflates, the adrenaline seemingly wearing off. Hes just this trembling fuckin whelp again !!! Whimpering as he fucking runs back out through the portal to do god knows what. And Pepperman could not be any more fucking intrigued. Like this no name came in, whooped his fuckin ass, and went about his day. Its unreal

While Peppino is running around climbing the tower, Pepperman is in his room losing his mind. Hes obsessed. No one has challenged him in this way. No one has fought him and WON. He is ALWAYS able to bully people into submission either through brute force or with money, and he got his ass handed to him !! He needs to know more. Its quite literally consuming him.

Cut to the final fight, set up for a rematch; and he knows he is going to get steamrolled again but it is SO exhilarating to get another chance to see this humans form up close again. This time he can try to commit everything to memory. Its all such a blur though, and in a quarter of the time it took to end their first fight, its over. He gets to watch the human fight the gunslinger with his bare hands, no gun necessary, and he doesnt even bat an eye at what looks to be a clone of himself. He is a force of nature tearing through every single defense, and when Pepperman watches the actual final fight with the bizarre little pizza man, its like hes caught in a movie. The rain, the storm, the atmosphere. He wishes he could burn the entire scene into his mind.

So when everything returns to normal, he takes the time to travel for days to come and find this little human named Peppino. The memory is still strong and vivid but eventually, details will start to slip his mind. He needs to find this human, convince him to sit and do some still life sessions with him to help cement the humans appearance in his head. He hasnt had to resort to…asking for permission for anything in a loooong time…he bullies people into doing what he wants but Peppino is not your average person, and if he wants something from this man, he’ll have to meet him at his level.

He...can make an exception for Peppino...he supposes.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

can you do a ghost version of the Memories of Youth fic you did for price please?

Harvest Storms

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Daughter!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, emotionally distant father/Simon, injuries, arguments, mentions of Simon's past, hurt/comfort, fluff near the end, etc.

A/N: I know this might be controversial but I really don't see Simon wanting kids so I tried to keep this realistic but also cute, lmao. Enjoy!

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

Simon admitted that having a kid was never on his to-do list, and it wasn’t only his job that caused that. In fact, at any point in his life, the thought alone terrified him.

His icy eyes spaced out as the man unstrapped his combat vest in the on-base armory, hucking it over his head with a tiny grunt. Muscles ached; wounds burned. 

He’d known having that one-night stand wasn’t right—he should have just stuck to his perfected solitude of dark rooms and middle-of-the-night workouts. But there was only so much you could do before instinct overcame any sort of common sense; add a few drinks into the mix and the concoction had glazed over his mind like a honey-laced dream. 

And then nine months later a single text. A photo attachment. 

“She’s yours.” His child. His daughter. Simon had a daughter. 

It had taken weeks of self-isolation to figure out what to do. There were moments of very real panic—bone-deep worry and hatred. He couldn’t be a father and still be the Ghost that he was now, but there wasn’t a way to reverse his already damaged psyche. Home in Manchester didn’t feel like a real place anymore; home was a gun in his hands and his mask over his face. Slumping bodies and adrenaline-blown pupils. The high he got out of killing could never be topped by the joys of having a family he didn’t want. 

But then he remembered his own father and the guilt that had struck him at that moment left Simon physically sick. Head pounding and bile lacing his tongue as he retched over a toilet. It would have been easier to just promise money, and give over some of what he earned to give you a future. He could distance himself but still be a shadow on the wall if it all went south.

Yes, it could have been easy. 

Until your mother up and disappeared; leaving you all alone. There was no way in hell he could leave you in foster care. The stories he’d heard…

Simon’s gloved hands flex, joints cracking, before he checks the watch on his wrist with slow-blinking eyes. He needed to be home in two hours.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” A groan escapes, rolling his shoulders twice before grasping at his thigh holster—slipping out the X12 to place it down with a small thump of black metal. 

These movements were entirely routine and soon there was a neat line of multiple knives, the pistol, an automatic rifle, frag grenades, med pack, rope, and anything else that Ghost could have even the slightest possibility of needing in a tight spot. Through it all, the mask stayed; icy eyes behind the spread of black face paint numb. 

It’s one hour later that he’s done cleaning and putting everything away with tired fingers. Feet shuffle before he’s exiting the armory all together, snatching the large duffle bag near the double doors; a small grunt plays out of his chest. The strap is dragged over his head when Soap passes him in the base’s hallway.

All Simon could do is hold back a groan as a headache already begins to form.

“Lt.” The Scot calls, smile pulling his lips up, “off to go hide in back-alleys, then?”

“Jesus, Johnny, shut the fuck up already.” Ghost grumbles out, hands slipping into his pockets as he continues off down the hallway. Behind him, the mohawked Sergeant belts out a laugh before disappearing into the armory Simon had just vacated. 

“Copy and check, Sir!” Sarcasm bleeds out and makes icy eyes fall half-closed with subdued annoyance.

The large phantom continues on until he exits the base and digs his keys out of his pockets—finding his car in the underground parking garage exactly where he had left it two months prior. As if on autopilot, he shuffles open the door and tosses his bag in the back before sitting in the front seat and twisting the ignition. 

Reaching into the glove compartment, Simon pulls out a clean balaclava and holds it loosely—his opposite hand slipping up to the skeletal mask of his head and feeling the fibers on his fingertips. Replacing it swiftly, the clean fabric slips over his face with a stiff movement of his arm. Seconds later, his foot presses into the gas.

There are no words spoken, no comments under breath, just a silence that seems to stem from some underlying anxiety completely foreign to Simon on the field. Going home always made him nervous. A soul-digging kind of hesitation.

It takes him the rest of that last hour to drive home—a tiny little country house far removed from Manchester though still leaving it well guarded by local law-enforcement patrols. A perfect mix of safety and distance that had been the driving force in Simon’s initial purchase of it. But it wasn’t his only properly, not by a long shot. 

Like a rat, the holes of his paranoia ran deep into the earth.

He pulls the car into the dirt driveway and kills the vehicle. Outside in the darkening sky, his eyes slide to watch over the top of the garden wall; seeing tree branches sway in a subdued breeze. Sitting there for a few moments, the man just ends up shaking his head and shoving open the door with his shoulder. 

Veins tighten under his flesh.

“Kid!” Simon raps on the front door with his knuckles when his boots take him over and up the steps, voice gravelly. A house key slips into the lock, turning over before the barrier opens. Ghost stomps in and immediately knows the entire home is completely empty. 

He blinks in confusion, looking over the still air and dull noises. The AC unit whirls; the fridge shakes. No feet on the floor—no groan or sly comment.

You were a teenager now, but the absence of your aura was harsh to him. You were supposed to be here. The Manchester man’s lips thin.

“Christ, don’t go and tell me she’s fuckin’ gone again…” Simon kicks the door shut and lets his bag fall from his fingers, feeling his chest tighten slowly. He beelines to the kitchen where, sure enough, a note from the far-off neighbor who keeps an eye on you when he’s gone was sitting with its delicate font.

Fast fingers snatch it like a snake, jaw clenched and tight grip creasing the paper. He reads with a growing disappointment.

“She got into a fight out of school again—black eye and bruised knuckles. I’m sorry, Mr. Riley, but I couldn’t get a hold of you to tell you about it. I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father. When you read this, I’ll have tried to make her come back inside but I was unsuccessful. I left supper at the base of the hill and a blanket. I’m sorry. I’ll be at my home if you need me.”

Simon places the note down and runs a hand up and down his face, a deep sigh exiting his lips as his fingers cover his jaw and chin. Like the definition of fatigue, his body lightly bows forward. Slouched shoulders.

This would make the fifth fight this year. 

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

After a minute of mute irritation, the man drops his hands and goes to the freezer, taking out an ice pack with a small glint of further emotion stinted in his gaze. There are so many things that Simon feels for you—some of which he would never be able to properly express. 

He’s not a good man. Not someone to look up to or place on a pedestal. He’s in the 141 because he can do a job; a job that not many others can do simply for the fact that something in him was broken. Shattered beyond repair. 

Simon was never meant for this.

The blond placed the ice pack into a rag from the drawer and exited through the back door of the house. Grunt stuck in his throat at the thought of the delinquent activities you seemed to always get up to when he was gone which, admittingly, was more often than not.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

But wasn’t he doing a good thing by staying away? He took you in—provided food, water, shelter, and anything else you could need. What was he doing wrong? 

Simon’s brows tighten as the chilled air hits him as a winder wind would. By now the sun had fully set and the darkness was becoming more black than blue by the second; dim twinklings from stars dancing in the pupils of his eyes. His feet take him off the back porch and easily finds a small trail that leads through the barren garden all the way to a hill in the distance.

Icy blue easily finds the tiny hunched being at the very top. His hand tightens over the ice pack. 

Ghost was unable to understand, of course, he hadn’t had the kind of childhood people would want—was never around kids in general. No friends with little brats running around, obviously. Was this a normal kind of thing kids did? Start fights? 

He’d heard some things about teenagers. 

Closing his tired eyes for a moment, Simon silently walks past the plate of food at the foot of the hill but snatches the fluffy blanket that had been beside it. If you don’t want to eat he won't force you, but it was getting cold out quickly. 

Simon wasn’t letting you catch a bug.

He huffs as he ascends the slope, all the aches and pains finally making themself more known in his thighs and abdomen. 

You hear him coming when he’s three-fourths of the way there. 

Your red eyes widen in shock, hands that had been trapping your legs to your chest rising to wipe the tears on your cheeks away aggressively; frantic. Three seconds later a heavy fabric hits your head and you tense, widely looking up into the dead eyes of your father. 

The blanket thumps to the ground beside you in a heap. 

“Put it on,” he grunts from behind his balaclava and your surprised expression slowly sours. 

You turn away with a growl. “Don’t want to.”

“Bloody ‘ell, just put it on,” there’s no acidity behind the words, but the annoyance is clear. “Asking to get fuckin’ sick at this rate, are you? I’m not cleanin’ up your vomit from the floor when you're hunched over like a mutt on drugs.” 

Not a stranger to his humor, but with a venom-laced look, you grab the blanket as Simon sits next to you and end up throwing it over your shoulders. Your face hurt too much to talk for long periods—right eye swollen and radiating heat; hands weren't that much better, the knuckles puffy and blood-flooded under the skin. It made you flinch when you had to clench your fingers. 

You’re acutely aware of your father’s presence. How he sits with his spine bent with one hand behind him; legs laying out flat. You should be happy he’s back safe in one piece, but in reality, there would be little change if he never showed back up at all. 

The house was always silent anyways. Dead. Simon was as much a stranger to you as he was to everyone else. 

“What did I tell you when I went away, eh?” The man asks you lowly when you’ve settled, and you grit your teeth and look out over the landscape, long grass swaying in the wind. “Kid.”

“Don’t get into any more fights.” Words are stiff, reflective of both of your muscles and hearts. 

“Affirmative. You want to explain to me what you did?”

“Got into another fight.” An icepack is tossed near you, bouncing in the grass. You scoff but take it, softly applying it to your face with a concealed flinch. Shame permeates in your ribs, a desperate need to prove yourself. “I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s not an excuse.” Simon glares at you from the side of his eye, utterly serious. “When I tell you something, you listen, yeah?”

“...Yeah,” you grit your teeth and clench your hands, a bitter huff leaving your lips. “Sure.” 

A tense silence keeps you in its clutches, the kind of silence that stems from two people who really have no idea how to speak or understand one another.

“No more fighting,” Simon grits out, “now show me.” 

“It’s not that bad—”

“Show me it.” Your face burns as you slip the ice pack away and turn your face his way, meeting your father’s gaze head-on and seeing his lids slightly pull back. You spy his hand clenching in the grass, ripping strands out like hair from a head. 

“Happy?” You sarcastically ask, turning back forward and putting the ice pack back into your socket. 

It’s a long while before he speaks to you again, and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face when he does. Your heart rampages at the deathly slow and tiny voice.

“Why?” The question makes your body flair with anger and you grip the pack tighter, feeling the ice shift in your grip as you clench it violently. You feel your fingers twitch when you answer, unconsciously closing into fists.

“Why?” You glare at him, “Why the hell do you care?” 

Simon’s eyes go blank, brows going up his head. Gazes lock and you’re suddenly standing to your feet, chucking the ice pack right into his chest. It only makes you madder when he catches it easily, glancing down at the object before slowly shifting his numb eyes back to you.

“You’re never fucking here, what’s the point in telling you anything about me?” Your father’s face is covered, but the mask is more than just physical—it’s a part of him in every sense. You don’t know what he is, but you see his lungs going still in his ribs. You splay your hands around you as the blanket hits the ground at your feet. “It wouldn’t even make a difference if you never came back! Even when you’re here it barely even matters beyond who’s dishes are in the sink.”

Bitter tears spring to your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, a tight itch in your skin. Slight guilt hits you when you shove out such harsh words, but you don’t care enough right now to think about what you’re saying. Everything just hits a breaking point. Shaking your head you scoff again, weaker this time. “You don’t even know the first things about me and you want me to try and explain why I do the things I do?” 

Simon watches and listens, stone still. It’s as if he doesn’t even breathe; his pulse doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. If you would have been able to see it, you’d have noticed the way the large man’s lips were slightly parted. 

He wasn’t averse to arguments, he yelled on Ops and cursed aggressively on duty, but he had made a stark promise to himself to never yell at you. If there was one thing that reminded him of his father—it was that. Explosive fights that only ended one way. 

What you were saying was everything he knew to be true. This came to him in a slow and silent realization of growing pain. Simon didn’t know your favorite color or what food you loved. Your interests or your goals. 

He knew how much you spent on snacks at the store, but didn’t know what you bought. 

Ghost clenches his jaw and watches your resolve deteriorate with a heavy heart. What was he supposed to do? He was your father, sure, but…he didn’t know the first things that went with anything beyond giving you items and objects.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

How could he be a father to you?

Simon clears his throat, for once in his life completely unable to pull on any sort of skill to rectify this situation. You take his silence as blatant disregard. 

With a burning face, you sniffle and twist on your heel, speed-walking down the hill back into the house. Your brain is pounding in your head, just as fast as your heart when you finally stomp through the garden and shove open the back door. 

Simon doesn’t tell you to stop. 

Left on that hill, he watches your back disappear into the house and gets a rabid pain in his stone heart. You were his daughter. You were hurt; neglected. He’d never felt like this before.

Simon had failed the only job that he knew was far more important than any other. Blue darkens into a color reminiscent of storm clouds.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Standing, he snatches at the ice pack and the blanket, lightly jogging down the mound of earth. In no time he’s standing in the house again, having completely forgotten about the plate of food outside. It’s the tense set of his shoulders that really give away how unprepared he feels. How out of his expertise. 

Give Simon a gun and he’d be able to take it apart and reassemble it in one minute; a knife and he’d have it sharp in seconds. 

Simon Riley has no idea how to be a good father and he’s suddenly very aware of how fast the window is closing to try. You were his blood and his responsibility. He can’t end up like his own father.

The thought almost makes him sick again, stomach rolling with anxiety.

Inside the house, he tosses the items in his grip onto the couch and whispers past into the hallway to your room. Fingers twitching, he grabs at his balaclava before ripping it from his head; stuffing it into his pants pocket. Stopping in front of your room, Simon raises a hand. 

Just as he’s about to shove open the door, he instantaneously stops himself with a sharp thought.

Daughter, not soldier. Home, not barracks.

Hand lowering, he takes a long and deep breath and waits a moment; gathering himself. He still didn’t know what to say…but…

God, your words hurt, but he needed to hear them because they were true.

Simon’s knuckles rasp on the wood, a series of three dull thumps that echo over the stale air. There’s a shuffling of sheets and a dull, “God, just go away!” 

Cursing quietly under his breath, Simon runs his fingers through his hair tense-like; pushing back blond strands. 

“Open up for me, yeah?” He tries, awkward as his hips shift weight. “Need ‘ta talk to you.”

A cruel laugh exits from under the bottom of the door. “You? Talk?”

Simon keeps his mouth shut and closes his eyes, pulling from the deep pit of patience he holds for on-duty missions and not mastered yet for disagreements and verbal talks. He calms down and rolls his shoulders slightly. 

“Please.” A pin could drop. 

It’s a long, hot-air moment before there's the padding of feet over the floor and the slight shift of the door handle. The metal jiggles before it’s twisted back with a firm hand. 

Your face comes into view through the tiny crack of the door, injured eye on full display in all its swollen glory. A young face is laced with surprise at seeing your father’s bare visage—only the black face paint stuck to his skin—but even more so at his plea. There were only a few times you’d actually seen him and even fewer when you’d hear something like that. Simon stops himself from getting angry at the sight of your wound, staring down at you as his gaze softens just a fraction of a sliver. 

He recalls the moment he had first held your form when he had picked you up at hospital years ago. You were so small, squirming in his foreign grip. The nurse had to tell him how to hold you properly—what to do and what not to do. 

It had been the first time that Simon could really say he’d been terrified down to his marrow; sweating and lips pulled tight. This being so small it couldn’t do anything by itself had rendered him frozen with unease like he had been stabbed in the heart. Your eyes had looked up at him with trust and love. You hadn’t cried or screamed at his hidden face, even if he thought you should have…you’d done something worse.

You had reached up to his face and placed your little fingers on his brow, slapping his flesh with no strength or hatred. Simon’s gaze never left you for hours after you’d done that, uncharacteristically warm and rendered mute to all else. 

Tiny. Weak. Innocent.

How could anybody ever leave you? Hurt you? But the man had been petrified; utterly fearful to the point he would begin shaking when you’d begin crying for a bottle. 

In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from. 

“What?” Your crestfallen voice brings him back and he blinks, expression going blank once more. But he tries. 

“Can I come in?” 

“I don’t know—are you going to give a lecture?” You ask, eyes red and other hand still holding the door handle. Simon breathes out a grunted sigh.

“Negative, Moppet, no lecture.” He relaxes his posture, eye bags plainly visible. He was so tired his fingers had gone numb. “Jus’ need ‘ta…” Words fail him. What did he need to do? 

Simon clears his throat, looking off down the hallway before his eyes drift back to you.

“You land a hit, then?” You blink in silent shock at the graveled question, a hitch in your lungs giving way to confusion.

“I…” your feet shuffle, face burning, “what?”

One of your father’s large hands goes up to rub the back of his neck, fingers creating red lines across his flesh as his chest rises and falls. You could immediately tell he had no idea what he was doing. 

But…he was trying.

“A hit,” he vaguely gestures to your eye, staring intensely. “Did you get ‘em back?” 

It’s a vague few moments before you respond, oddly touched by the question. Your door opens the slightest bit wider.

“More than one person,” you admit hesitantly. Your father’s gaze darkens but you quickly continue. “T-they look worse than me right now.”

Simon nods stiffly, hands going to slide into his pockets. “That’ll do,” a pause, “...‘cause I can’t beat up teenagers without getting into a fuckin’ heap ‘o shit.” 

Your heart lurches with amusement and a small smile grows on your face. You stare, still just a tiny bit confused at the sudden shift, but unable to stop the chuckle you let out. He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling in his chest when his ears twitch at the sound of your humor, yet Simon pulls a smirk to his lips. It made him…content, you could say.

“Who said they were teenagers?” you smirk, tinting your head, and your father immediately frowns, unamused. Brows pull in. 

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“No, it isn’t. Shut your bloody trap.” The air lightens to a degree you hadn’t experienced before. A silence settles before you break it, vision darting down to spy on the dog tags Simon wears. 

“...How long are you staying?” The man hums, licking his lips. 

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

“I’m off as long as it takes to get you to stop picking fights, yeah?” Your fingers flinch and you stare into eyes that are always like ice, except now try to melt themselves into a chilled puddle. 

“Change of heart?” You ask, voice subdued. A bitter hope builds in your veins. 

Simon motions with his chin for you to open the door to your room and you do, elbowing it to the side before backing up—letting your father’s large frame enter. 

He looks around for a moment at the posters and the bits of personality, glaring internally at himself because he didn’t know what you liked at all. He seems disappointed with his own negligence.

He’d really fucked up.

“C’mere,” Simon goes and snatches your desk chair before he whirls it around, “lemme take a proper look at it.” His hand pats the top of the wood and you listen, going to it and sitting down softly. 

Your father kneels in front of you, bones cracking, and he delicately grabs hold of your chin to tilt your head to the side with practiced ease. You avoid his eyes, hands in your lap held tight together in this silence that brews from shared thorns. 

Simon has to take a deep breath to get his head out of his rage at the sight of your damaged skin; instinctual reaction to guard you rearing its head even more so now that he can see the injury in the dim light of your desk lamp. His thumb caresses the side of the swelling with intense care.

“Won’t die,” is all he can say, voice hard and strained. “Lucky you, eh?” You scoff and his hands leave—there wasn’t much he could do. “Moppet.”

Eyes slide up to his and his grip finds your bicep, squeezing once. You’re momentarily locked at the sight of real concern in his glinting orbs; a once in a blue moon occurrence. 

“Give me your word.” Simon levels firmly, feet shifting. “No more of this. You’re gonna end up gettin’ hurt—badly—you got that?” 

“They were calling soldiers cannon fodder.” You glare at your hands in your lap, mumbling out the truth with a burning face mixed with shame and honesty. Your father goes silent. “That they weren’t even good enough for bullets.” 

Jaw clenching, you rotate your wrist and feel the flare of pain from the joints. A deep sigh exits from Simon and with a hesitant clench of his jaw, his hand travels to the back of your head. He presses firmly, and your face finds the junction of his neck and shoulder with little fight. Tense in the beginning, you slowly breathe in sweat and tarmac with a gradual loosening feeling in your muscles. 

Eyes wide, you slowly begin to return the strange embrace. Your father flinches lightly when your fingers slip along his waist, hands grabbing into his shirt. But like you, time makes him calm—the side of his face connects with the side of your scalp, lashes fluttering closed tightly. 

It was you. His daughter. Innocent.

The emotions are so foreign to you that it brings a burning behind your eyes as the minutes lengthen. 

Simon can’t even begin to process it, it just felt natural to do such things for you. If there was one thing he did know—it was that he didn’t want to see you in pain or suffering; hurt or eyes filled with pain. His hands slip to bring you up into his arms like you were a baby again, carrying you easily as your nose sniffles with restrained tears. You’re placed in your bed with a delicate plop, icy eyes darting over you until it seems a decision is made with a quick nod.

You watch him leave and return seconds later with a pile of manilla folders in his hands. Your father grunts softly, “Go to sleep. It’s late out,” and drops the items to your desk, sitting down with a huff and a squeal from your chair. The air is warm and you sit in it a moment longer.

Eyes blink at the silhouette before a small smile builds on your lips—genuine and warm like a weighted blanket. 

“How long are you gonna be there?” You ask your father, grasping the covers and slipping under as your head hits the pillow; making sure to stay on the uninjured side.

He doesn’t turn around. 

“All night. Need ‘ta get this shite done for my boss.” You don’t know why, but you feel like he’s lying. Simon looks over his shoulder with a tone dipping to a whisper. “Sleep, Kid. We’ll get those knuckles sorted in the morning.” 

Of course, he’d noticed that, too. 

“Dad?” You ask and his spine straightens instantly at the title. It’s a long time before he answers and when he does his emotion is the softest you’ve ever heard him; gravel so deep you almost miss the words entirely. 

“What is it?” 

“Goodnight.” Simon’s hands shake as they open the first folder in the small stack, small tremors that are both horrible and endearing. He doesn’t say anything until you’re fast asleep behind him—when he stands up and walks over, pressing a kiss to your forehead and pulling the covers farther up to your chin. 

Into your skin, he whispers, “...Goodnight, my little Moppet.”

Simon wonders if his daughter likes eggs for breakfast as his pen slides over the first report, one eye forever staying on your slumbering body to watch the rise and fall of your lungs.

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@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[drabbles-mc]

Never Been Us

Angel Reyes x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, angst, mentions of character death

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: the way i've been so blocked up and unable to finish fics and somehow i finished 2 in the last 2 days. no idea where it came from but I'm not questioning it. i started and finished this tonight. throwing it out there before i can second-guess myself lmao

When Angel rolled into your driveway and saw your front door open, the first thing that went through him was panic. You’d never been the type that was stupid or reckless enough to leave your front door open. And with the way that things had been going in Santo Padre, what with the club and the cartels and Border Patrol moving in, you were less likely than ever to leave yourself so vulnerable. Hell, lately whenever Angel showed up your door had not only been closed, but also locked.

Putting the stand down on his bike, he left his helmet hanging off the handlebar and started making his way towards your front door. He’d pulled his gun from his kutte before he even had one foot on your front step. He kept his breath trapped in the back of his throat as he clutched his gun tight. He kept it pointed down towards the ground for now, but he was ready for that to change.

He stepped through the threshold, one boot hitting the paper-thin throw rug just inside your door. It hardly muffled the sound. Before he could bring the other half of his body into your house, though, you popped up, quickly coming around the corner.

The sudden nature of both your appearances had you both cursing in surprise. You hugged the box in your hands tighter to your chest as your half-yell turned into a sigh of relief mixed with exhaustion. All of the emotions that just shot through you were evident as ever as you said, “What the fuck, Angel?”

His eyebrows were still practically in his hairline as he tucked his gun back away again. “The fuck you got your door open for? Had me thinkin’ someone fuckin’ broke—” He cut his own sentence off as he really took in the sight of you, the box in your hands that was hastily labeled BEDROOM. “What…?”

The confusion on his face made you unable to keep meeting his eyes. Your gaze dropped to the box you were holding, the seams of cardboard and tape suddenly more interesting than you would’ve ever imagined they’d be.  Even though you weren’t looking directly at him, you heard the way he was shifting in the doorway, looking back at your pickup truck. You knew he’d see the other boxes you’d already stacked in the bed of it. You weren’t quite done loading up yet, but you were getting there.

He waited for you to look at him again before asking, “What’s going on?”

There was only one answer to his question, and it was an obvious one. But you knew that if the shoe was on the other foot you’d be doing the same thing—you’d need to hear him say it. Clearing your throat, you gave a shrug that accomplished nothing in terms of softening the blow of, “I’m leaving.”

His frown deepened, confusion transforming into hurt that almost had you rethinking your decision to get the hell out of Santo Padre. “L-leaving? You can’t…you can’t just leave.”

“Angel—”

“Nah,” he shook his head, “nah you don’t get to do that. You can’t just leave. You didn’t even—were you even gonna tell me?”

The lump in the back of your throat felt like it was on the brink of choking you. “Yeah.”

“Before you crossed fuckin’ county lines?”

Tears stung your eyes. “Angel, please.”

He backpedaled out your doorway and back onto your front step. “Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that, like I fuckin’ matter to you.”

“You do—”

“You’re leaving me. You can’t stand there with your shit all boxed up,” he gestured to you and the bed of your truck, “and try to tell me I fuckin’ matter to you.”

There was no getting out of this argument now. It was an argument you’d been planning to have over the phone, an argument you were hoping would happen when there were more than a few area codes between you. You didn’t want it to be like this—not because he didn’t matter, but because he mattered too much. And you knew that if you had to look into those sad, puppy-dog eyes and tell him that you were leaving, and if you had to tell him why, you just might hang it all up and not leave at all. You couldn’t afford that.

There was no avoiding the argument but you didn’t want to do it while standing there holding a box that had books and trinkets from your bookshelf packed inside it.  You slipped past him without a word and walked down to your truck. Angel didn’t follow, hanging back and watching as you set the box on the tailgate and gave it a strong push to send it sliding and landing right alongside the others.

When you walked back past him and into your house, that was when he decided to follow you. He shut the door behind the two of you, following you through your now essentially empty home. It was strange for him to walk through your living room and not see all of your picture frames and plants, the art prints that had covered your walls. You stopped in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and facing him. You watched him look around, take in the fridge that was no longer covered in magnets and photographs and takeout menus. No more dishes in the sink or drainboard, no more succulents on the windowsill. Seeing it all empty made him remember that you were just renting this place anyway, that you could pack up and leave whenever you wanted. And now you were. Then the hurt and anger swelled up in his chest again.

“Why?” he asked.

You let out a hollow laugh, raking your fingernails along your scalp before letting your arms fall back to your sides again. “You’re really asking me that? This…this town is fucked, Angel. You know that. I know you’ve been waist-deep in your shit with the club but…but that’s the exact type of shit I’m talking about.”

“This town’s always been fucked, querida,” he tried to argue, tried to pepper in a pet name like it would change anything. “What’s so different now?”

The answer to that question made bile creep up your throat. You didn’t think that you could say it to him. Not the real answer, the raw unedited cut of it. “Everything,” you answered, a shake to your voice that was never there when you talked to him.

“C’mon,” he said, tone softer than it had been this entire time as he stepped in towards you. “Don’t leave me like this. Don’t do this to me.”

“This isn’t just about you.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. He put his hands on your hips, pulling himself closer to you. His voice dropped to something just above a whisper. “After all the shit we—”

“We?” you cut him off, not yelling but your tone cutting nonetheless. “We? You’re choosing now to start throwing that word around?”

His brows came together, offended and confused. “What’re you talkin’ about? It’s always been us.”

You laughed, a cruel sound as tears prickled along your waterline again. “Oh, has it? It’s always been us?”

“Yeah, what’re you—”

“It’s never been us, Angel. Never. It’s been you, chasing around every girl who stumbles into that clubhouse and then running back to me when you get bored of them. It’s been you going out being reckless with the club and then coming to me when you need someone to patch you up, someone to tell you that you’re right and they’re all wrong. It’s been you coming to me whenever it’s fucking convenient for you.” You pushed him away, a half-hearted shove. “And it’s been me fucking letting you.”

“I—”

“And I would’ve been fine still doing that. You know that? Fucking sad, but I would’ve done it. Would’ve just kept right on pretending that it was enough, or that it was going to change. But then—” you stopped short, still not able to spit the words out. “I just can’t do it anymore, Angel.”

Despite Angel’s lack of ability to really commit, to really let himself be with you in the way that you really wanted, he’d always done his best with what little he had for you. Over the years he’d been your shoulder to cry on, his flannels becoming tissues for you. He’d set you loose in the scrapyard when your anger bubbled up so much that you needed to break something because it was the only alternative you had to hurting yourself or someone else—even gave you the gloves and safety glasses to do it the right way. He’d kept the other side of your bed warm when you were both feeling lonely, making the lines defining what you two were really start to blur.

He’d been there with you through all of that and yet he hadn’t ever seen the emotion saturating your expression now. He’d never seen you so afraid. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, fists clenched as tightly as you could manage. Your leg bounced no matter how much you tried to will it to stop. He’d never seen you like this. How had it gotten so bad?

He stepped in close to you again. Placing his hands on the outsides of your arms, he gave you a light, reassuring squeeze. “What’s got you so scared?”

You shook your head, staring down at the floor because you couldn’t make yourself look at him. “I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t stay here. I can’t be comfortable here. I’m not…I’m not safe here.”

He brought one hand up to cup the side of your face. His thumb traced gently along your cheek in a way that made your bottom lip tremble. “I’ll always keep you safe, querida. You know that.”

He sounded so earnest but you knew too much now to be able to believe it. You’d tried. God, you had tried so hard to buy into that the last few weeks but you just couldn’t fool yourself. “I don’t.”

“What the fuck happened?”

Tears finally made their way to your cheeks, racing along the lines of Angel’s hand as it remained holding your face. You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t even want to think about it, but it’s all that was playing through your mind. Truthfully, it was the thing that had been playing through your mind every day since it had happened.

You could still hear it so vividly, the sound of him pounding on the door to your house. It hadn’t been his bike engine that woke you up, it was his aggressively frantic knocking on your front door. Looking back you were surprised that he hadn’t slammed it clean off its hinges. You were also surprised that you hadn’t tripped and fallen half a dozen times on your way to the front door from your bedroom because your eyes weren’t fully open and you weren’t anywhere close to fully awake.

“Alright, alright!” you half-shouted from your side of the door. You dumbly fiddled with the locks until they came undone.

Angel practically threw himself through the door. He was haphazardly grabbing for you, leaving for you to try and untangle yourself from his long limbs just to be able to close and lock the door again. You’d hardly heard the click of the lock and he was pulling you tight to him. He had his arms wrapped around you in such a way that you couldn’t even effectively hug him back. You just pressed your cheek against his hoodie, helpless to do anything else.

“Talk to me,” you said, managing to free one of your arms so that you could do your best to return his embrace.

He mumbled something into your shoulder, words that you couldn’t make out. He finally pulled back away from you, far enough so that you could see his face, the smears of blood that disappeared into the coarse hairs of his beard.

“It’s all my fault,” the words fell from his lips, raspy and choked as he repeated the sentence over and over again. “It’s all my fault. I, it’s all my fuckin’ fault.”

“What’s your fault, Angel?”

The sound of you saying his name got him to look at you, tears in his eyes and worry creasing his brow deeper than you thought was possible. His stare was so sad, so intense it had you pinned to the spot. Even when he pulled away from you, you felt like you couldn’t step in close to him again, feet glued to the floor. That was when you saw it, though, all the blood standing his palms and fingers.

You swallowed hard, what little exhaustion had still been clinging to you completely froze away. “Angel, talk to me. What happened?”

He looked down at his hands and then back at you. he knew what you were seeing, could only imagine what you were thinking. “I didn’t—it wasn’t supposed to go down like that. I tried to save her but I couldn’t…”

You finally forced yourself to move. You collapsed the distance he’d put between you. “Who?”

“Gaby,” he forced out, shaking his head in disbelief as he did.

Fear shot down your spine. “What?”

“It’s all my fault,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have—I tried to—fuck,” his voice cracked and he gave up on trying to say anything else.

You had wanted more answers in the moment, but back then you hadn’t been able to ask for them. Instead you cleaned him up. You threw his clothes in the wash. You let him slip underneath the covers next to you and keep you wrapped up so tightly for what little was left of the night that you couldn’t even fall back to sleep. The next morning he was still there, eyes hollow as he made a pot of coffee in your kitchen. That morning he was standing almost exactly where he was standing right in front of you now.

Forcing yourself to stay in the present, you finally said, “You know what happened.”

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Everyone’s fuckin’ dying, Angel. I, I don’t wanna be next.”

“Hey, come on now. You know I’d never let that shit happen to you.”

You scoffed, more tears spilling down your cheeks. “I’m sure that’s what EZ told Gaby, too.”

Angel flinched at that, immediately deflating. You had never brought it up again after that night. Neither did he. Weeks went by and the two of you seemingly went back to normal, like that entire night had never happened. But it did happen. Gaby was dead—that part you knew. What you didn’t know, what Angel hadn’t told you, was that EZ was the one who had killed her. Angel blamed himself, especially after EZ had told him what his final conversation with Gaby had been, why he had decided it was the only thing to do. Angel was carrying around all that guilt but he hadn’t been the one who pulled the trigger. That was all EZ. That was all the guy who had promised to keep Gaby safe.

His voice was a whisper as he spoke, like he didn’t even fully believe himself. “This ain’t like that, though.”

“But it is,” you said, voice shaking. “Or it will be. That’s what this town, this world,” you rested your hand on the flash stitched into his kutte as you said it, “does. I can’t keep feeling like I’m on borrowed time.”

He sniffled, trying to stuff his emotions back down where he used to keep them so comfortably. “So you’re just gonna leave, then? Run away?”

You knew he wanted an argument. Being angry was so fucking easy. You didn’t want to give into it. “If it keeps me alive, then yes. I lo—” you stopped and switched course, “I care about you, Angel. But I’m not looking to die for anyone. I’m not…I’m not made for this.”

He was holding your face with both hands now, palms that just a few weeks before had been coated with blood. “Don’t leave me like this. Please.”

“Come with me.” It was your final offer, one you hadn’t planned on extending until the words were tumbling out.

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

“Come with me.” You rested your hands on top of his. “Get out and away from all this shit. We’ll start over.”

“It ain’t that simple.”

You threaded your fingers with his. “It is. Pack up your shit and throw it in my truck. And we’ll leave. That simple.”

He pulled his hands away from yours, stepping back from you again. Shaking his head, he brushed his hand quickly across his eyes—erasing any hint of tears and emotion that had been there until then. “I’m not running just ‘cause you are.”

“Maybe you should. Or maybe,” you shrugged helplessly, “maybe it was never about me—not for you, anyway.”

That gave him pause. He tried to get his expression to harden, give that tough, neutral gaze, but he couldn’t get it quite right. “I shouldn’t’a come here.” He shook his head. “Should’a let you run off with no goodbye the way you wanted.”

“Angel—”

He took another step back, getting himself closer and closer to your front door one stride at a time. “Go ahead, then. Get the fuck out—away from this town, away from me. Fuckin’…fuckin’ go.”

He turned on his heel and kept walking. It took a few seconds to will your feet to move, to go after him. Even with his long strides you were able to catch up before he reached the door.

“Angel.” You stepped in front of him. “Stop.”

You saw the mist in his eyes. Still, he tried to keep his voice sharp. “You’re leaving. No point in me staying here to watch you pack up the rest of your shit.”

You opened your mouth to try and say something else, try to conjure up something that would get him to change his mind. He didn’t let you. Pushing past you, he ripped open your door and stormed out of the house. Maybe it was just as well—it wasn’t as though you were going to come up with a magical string of words to get him to leave with you. Still, the impact of his shoulder slamming against yours hurt far more on an emotional level than it did on a physical one.

Turning, you went out onto the step. Your lip began to quiver as you watched him throw his leg over his bike and get ready to peel off. The sound of the engine seemed deafening, and you wonder how it hadn’t woken you on that night weeks ago. Then it got quieter the farther he rode. Then it was silent again. And all you could do was walk back inside to get the next box, leaving the door open behind you.

Angel Reyes Taglist (If you want to be added to any of my taglits, please let me know!): @withmyteeth @garbinge @darqchilddaydreamz @narcolini @justreblogginfics

@winchestershiresauce @rosieposie0624 @kelpies-shed @beardburnsupersoldiers @proceduralpassion

@artemiseamoon @fanfic-n-tabulous @justazzi @danzer8705 @camelia35

@cositapreciosa @choochoo284 @crowfootwrites

[babybratzmaraj]

What The Fuck.

Three Men, Two Minds, One Outcome, how will Tommy ever think straight after this? atfer lal ihs nicous is a awlyer…

Not actual face claim, just need a nigga with a gun. LMAO

this fic contains: Element of thriller, gun violence, foul language, murder, if you are not okay with any of those warnings please read one of my other babies, you will see a softer variant of this soon♥️

taglist: @megamindsecretlair @thecapodomme @planetblaque (these are ppl i think give a fuck😭😭😭

What. The. fuck.

It’s Blood… blood is everywhere… He, He did this shit. And now, He’s holding his chest, crying and growing weaker, his desperate attempts to reach for the phone, his arm trembling…

“Ayo! Tommy!” Bruce shouted to wake him out of his trance. “I told you to stop calling me that fuckin name,”

Bruce kissed his teeth, rolling his eyes at the attitude he sensed from him. “Nigga loosen the fuck up! We finna go in this store, get some shit for the party, hopefully, condoms witcho ‘Can’t keep a bitch’ ass.” Tommy laughed at that last part, It wasn't his fault that a sexy chocolate nigga like him couldn’t keep a chick, the chicks didn’t want to be kept and he wasn’t in the business for that shit.

“Man get the fuck out the car.” He said, ducking out the car with his phone in his hand, “And you paying this time you larky body ass nigga.” he shot back before going into the store, hearing a car door slam and footsteps shuffling before a Bruce popped in his peripheral. “You just mad bitches want this larky nigga dick!”

The two laughed as they stepped into the store air smacking his nostrils, the crisp clean air with the faint scent of Windex mixing well. Bruce darted straight for the candy aisle as Tommy went for the drinks, He had cotton mouth like a mu’fucka, a nice Ohana fruit punch could quench a nigga thirst.

He opened the door and swiftly grabbed the Ohana that he had been having a taste for a smooth 3 weeks, he hurriedly opened it and took a few sips of it, the flavor with the burst of sweetness layering on his taste buds made him be set at ease, but the commotion he heard up front broke him from that trance.

“This nigga, I swear!” Tommy regretted coming out of the car with Bruce's ass, he is a crashout as many people would say, but he just a dumbass.

Tommy twisted the cap on the bottle tightly before rounding the corner to see Bruce in a commotion with the cashier. Tommy deeply exhaled before approaching the counter to hear the actual conversation.

“You thought shit was finna be sweet? I told you next time I see you, I’m fuckin you up.” Bruce boomed, his voice rising with anger and hatred.

“Your beef ain't with me, it’s with my knuckle-headed ass brother. Like I told you before, What he does, I have no say over.” The man sternly voiced his opinion, It seemed like he was over this whole fiasco as if this wasn’t the first time of its occurrence.

“You heard me say, I do not care, That’s your blood, you stick with gang through and through right?”

“Right.”

“So what if I blow yo shit back? Would you brother come looking for me then?” Bruce threatened, his voice smooth and unfazed as he nonchalantly pulled out his weapon, his eyes blankly set on him. Tommy at this point was stuck, his heart was not where it should be as his heart was in his ass, beating 200 miles per millisecond.

“Yo-” Tommy set down his drink to have his hands, slowly approaching where Bruce stood, his eyes followed the gun which kept moving, unbeknownst to him, The dude came from around his corner to face Bruce, Man to man, not one bone of fear or anxiety attacking his muscles or mental. “What? You gone shoot the wrong nigga? Face it, you ain’t a man my nigga, you a punk ass nigga who hides behind a gun, that don’t have no bullets in it! If you so man enough shoot me.”

“No!” Tommy screeched, his voice cracking from trembling. “It ain't no need for that, Nigga lets go!” But his pleas went unheard, he saw Bruce's knuckles turning white, the gun shaking, the words of his sinking into his skin like lotion, moisturizing his blood cells with heat, his mind running but stuck on one thing, this nigga gotta go

Tommy couldn’t think as his ears suddenly started to hurt, a piercing screech echoed throughout the small store, shaking his head violently to erase the pain from his head. Once the ringing died down a few notches, giving him the okay to investigate the source.

And there. It. Was.

“What. The. fuck.” was all he could say, couldn’t even speak above a whisper as he saw a slumped man on the floor, falling backwards onto the junk food that was behind him. “What the fuck…”

He was stunned that he was still alive, fighting for his right to live, his right to survive, and the privilege to breathe in air, but he was losing his battle. “I’m shot.”

Tommy anchored himself onto the shelf behind him, dragging himself to his feet, glancing up to see Bruce frantically grabbing money out of the cash register and anything that he saw value in. “Help…” His voice trailed off, his light dimmer more and more, his tears mixing with the blood that involuntarily covered his face.

But Tommy couldn’t move, he could barely move, he just got on his feet for Christ sake’s! Just then, a bell dinged, stopping everyone in their tracks.

A lady, somewhat familiar walked into the store, not knowing the horror that she would soon deem the most horrid night of her life.

She laid eyes on the figure crawling on the ground while Bruce laid eyes on her. Shuffling out of his spot his adrenaline raced through his body as he made a dash to the door.

“Run… Don’t look back, that's how niggas die in movies, keep your head straight, don’t be seen, keep your eyes on the road. Don’t. Die. Now.”

Thoughts raced through, the time, a corner! He dashed through an alleyway, Grabbing his phone to make a quick call, and thank god the other person answered…

Find out what happens soon…

[wyst3r1a]

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley/Reader (18+) AFAB

Warnings: Cockwarming, Simon is kinda mean, a little degrading

Summary: This is just a ramble I wrote in maybe twenty minutes, I just had an idea and wanted to post sm other than Graves lmao. No actual sex, I just wrote until I get bored or hit a natural stopping point, I will write a full fuck scene for someone eventually (watch it be a character I’m not interested in)

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“Simon-“

“Sh.”

A defeated, needy whimper sounds into the silence of the room as you fidget. The material of his cargos rubbing friction burns into the bottom of your thighs, the harnesses strapped across the thick meat of his own thighs digging into you uncomfortably. He doesn’t seem at all bothered as you squeeze around him, dripping wetness into his lap, barely able to sit still. Just keeps his masked face propped on your shoulder as he types out his field report.

It was your own fault, really. You’d come to him, lonely, wanting, burning with the need for attention, and he’d said he was too busy to give it to you. So, you offered a compromise. Offered to sit pretty on his lap, cockwarm him until he was through with his work.

“I’ll be good,” you’d promised, “it’ll be like I’m not even here.”

Obviously, that’s not how it went. Hunger had flashed in his dark brown eyes at your proposal, and when he accepted it, you thought you’d be playing the game for a few minutes, tops, before he’d give in and give you what you both wanted.

Simon Riley, however, is a man of principle and duty. And he sticks to his guns.

Five minutes turned into fifteen, fifteen into twenty five, twenty five into over half a fucking hour, and you were still simply sat with him achingly hard inside you. Filling you up, stretching you out, giving you nothing but a little taste of the pleasure you were familiar with. Every attempt at rocking your hips for just a little bit of movement was met with a nasty swat at your thigh, or a grip at your waist that anchored you down and forced you to be still. It was fucking torture, almost agonising enough to make you regret ever offering.

Another sound as your pussy gives an involuntary pulse around his cock, and static zips up your spine as his deep timber of a voice snarls into your ear, “you said you’d be’ave. Sit still.”

“I-I didn’t think-“

“Didn’t think what? That I’d actually make you wait for it? Think you’d just get your way, ay? Fuckin’ spoiled princess, you are.”

The sound that comes out of you at his mocking is just short of a sob, bleary eyes misting up until the painfully boring laptop screen you’d been forced to watch was a blur. And yet, despite his bullying (or maybe even because of it) you flutter around him again, squirm and babble out a stupid little, “you’re being mean, Simon!”

“Oh? Am bein’ mean, am I?”

You try not to shriek as the man underneath you stands all of a sudden, catching your hips in both hands and shoving you forward so you’re forced to bend at the waist over his desk. His dick doesn’t leave you once.

“I’ll show you fuckin’ mean, princess.”

[beemers-hell]

you did doc hcs....and tricky hcs...how about Jeb (not biased)

this is perfect actually bc like a week or so ago I was asked by Another particular Jeb enjoyer to spill my hcs about him (hi walnut lmao)

anyway:

Jeb HCs!

Around 65~70ish

Trans Man, doesn't care enough about relationship stuff to pick a specific orientation label

Around ~7'04"

South West Asian

Autistic As Fuck, generally very anti social and self isolating but people can get into his good graces and he'll try to show a bit more for them

Due to the fact his body has literally fuckin blown up + he's been in possession of the keystone fragment for so long (and I imagine wielding the KF is gonna fuck you up in the long run) he deals with a whole host of body aches and pains and afflictions, and also arthritis bc that dudes pushing 70 ofc lol

His savior complex thing is a direct result of him having the "I have to fight tooth n nail for what I think is right" brand of autism, compounded with just the insanity of everything in Nevada of course. His initial plan to end Project Nexus was gonna be it for him for his "I need to do whats right" mission, but the keystone fragment kinda drove him fucking nuts, so the "i must purge Nevada of all sinners Period" thing happened as a result

Yeah him n hofnarr had a thing going on, he was a bit too closed off to be fully open n honest about it at the time and now that hofnarr is tricky and he's the way that he is, he regrets how shut in he was. he's too stubborn to give up on tricky entirely which is why I have them still working together to do shit in general, esp in dad au stuff cause boxxy right, but he's not tryna like, figure out how to revert tricky back to hofnarr, he's just tryna maintain a connection with him in general despite the insanely different routes they went down

Jeb is incredibly selfish and Will do whatever the hell he wants if he thinks it serves his mission to do good by Nevada, however he isn't an evil morally bankrupt mf, like doc he's just an asshole, and he's tunnel visioning his way through his crusade. You won't catch him harming people for no reason, and this esp applies to like, kids n shit, but he's not above putting a mf through hell if it means his goals are accomplished

could argue everyone loves guns n shit but Jeb LOVES loves his guns, lil weirdo autistic special interest in firearms (and religion in general but this is about weapons lol)

masks like 24/7 this dude is not comfortable at ALL being ND. He's reserved for the most part but when he speaks oh boy is he bringing out that fuckin thesaurus!

he tries his best to look kept together bc "Savior of Nevada" and all that but dude struggles fuckin bad with executive dysfunction, like his hair is greasy as hell </3

[heartbreak-sandwich]

Marmalade Stream of Consciousness

Well, I typed up random thoughts and quotes and moments while watching Marmalade for the first time, so here's this, I guess lmao. Spoilers below the cut

STREAM OF CONCH, HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOOOO

"you scared the chickens out of me." OKAY, BARON, YOU LITTLE ABSOLUTE SWEETIE.

"escapes, beeeeitch." OTIS OMFG. I LOVE OTIS.

"I swear...on my hair." Baron is the best. But just when you think you know his capacity, he surprises you. he might seem simple, but there's definitely more to him.

CROCHET, not CROQUE lmfao.

Awwww the moon pies...watching Baron take care of his mom squeezed my sad heart.

Listening to him describe his town to Marmalade when he first met her was just the cutest, most earnest thing. "It's the only place I ever knowed." He's just so fucking SWEET, it makes me want to cry.

FROM THE BEGINNING, Marmalade sketches me out. She talks about how "some sleazebag" gave her Big Bertha (her car). Even Baron questions her like "he just gave it to you??" and I bet there's a story there. Has to be.

And the way Baron talks about his dad....couldn't some see him because he was too busy building a rocket and then he blew up in space? Oh, honey....the dude needs a hug.

Marmalade is obviously striking the manic pixie dreamgirl chord immediately. There's something fun and magnetic about her, but also obviously red flag central. I'm excited to learn more about her. The way she just immediately inserts herself into Baron's life is so unsettling.

"You can borrow my nose. They smell beautiful, just like you." OKAY BARON, YOU LITTLE BABY SWEETHEART LMAO

DAY TWO, SHE'S LIKE "Let's rob a fuckin' bank." HELLO?!?!?!?

Enter Otis, once again, being the most normal person in this entire movie lmfao.

Baron hesitates on the bank idea, and Marmalade is immediately like "I LIKE U" kisses his face....I see what ur doing here, girl. I see u.

I honestly cannot tell if she's being genuine, but my money is on probably not.

Hearing Mama Eda's coughing in the background of their lovely moments makes my heart sink. Wow.

"Shoot the camera with what?" Oh, Baron. Oh, honey lamb...

The way she CACKLES when Baron gets scared by the gun, oh my god.

(I'm really not a fan of the nickname "Puppet." Shit makes me cringe for him - more foreshadowing imo so far)

HIS MAMA MARMALADE JAR TATTOO OMFG.

"GOT ME OVER HERE FEELIN' SHIT. I'M INSPIRED, MOTHERFUCKER." Otis is the realest lol.

THE WAY HE ALMOST FORGOT MAMA EDA'S MOON PIES OH MY GOD NO. She's distracting him from his mom while she needs him, I'm gonna cry for real....

OH GOD THE SCARE. THE SCARE. I was going to LOSE MY MIND if she had died right there. And he noticed something's up with the pills.....and Marmalade's all passed out? Hmmmmmmm.

Damn...when Baron pressures Marmalade to tell him about her life... you know she's been through some shit. And she's running from more than she lets on.

Oh, God. Her story breaks my heart... and Baron does his best to comfort her. Bless him...

THE ABSOLUTE TERROR ON BARON'S FACE AS MARMALADE ROBS THE PEOPLE AT THE ANTIQUE SHOP?! Poor boy. Oh my god....

"I was just playin" oh my god.

And he starts to try to back out. He wants to. And she comes back with "She's gonna fuckin' die." this POOR BOY. SOMEONE HELP HIM.

AND WHEN HE WANTS TO GO CHECK ON HIS MOM.. and Marmalade says "I can do it." I don't trust that. I do not trust that at all....I gotta know what's going on there.

BARON'S LITTLE ASTRONOT ON HIS CEILING, I can't... crying.

AND NOW SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH MAMA EDA. Conveniently as soon as Marmalade went to go see her?!

AND SHE DIED?!?! WHAT THE FUCK. NO. NO NO NO NO NO. Fuck this.

Oh, Otis..... my heart. :( I just want to give him a hug. Also bless him for looking out for Baron.

"Clench your buttcheeks" lmfao. Good advice, Otis.

"I think you got somethin' in your braid." BARON NO.

Aaaaaand now they're fighting.

OTIS OH NO. He was just trying to protect Baron :( poor Otis.

OH MY GOD SPECIAL AGENT OTIS??!?!?!?!??! HELLO WHAT?!

SAME DRESS, SAME MISSPELLINGS, SAME WRITING, BABY DOLL BANDIT?! Okay. She's on some real shit. I need to know more.

Aaaaaand Baron calls her. Rule Number One, all jail phone calls are recorded unless you're calling a secure attorney line. The End. Never, ever, ever do what he just did.

He doesn't need to rob the bank oh my god..... AND HERE SHE GOES AGAIN WITH HER BULLSHIT. And she's PREGNANT?! THAT WAS FUCKIN FAST?! Oh, Baron, no, no, no, no, no.

And she's such an asshole to him about being the driver.

Ngl, I think he outfit is so cute tho. Courtney Love vibes.

Okay, I love the dance number lmfao. Please tell me that's actually them dancing. I need to know. AND THE SEQUINS.

Marmalade squeals with delight. Baron screams in terror. My feels.

"Somethin' doesn't smell right." YOU BET, BABY. TELL HER WHAT'S UP. Poor baby is so uncomfortable.

"How come you know so much?" HE'S NOT STUPID. DON'T UNDERESTIMATE BARON.

"I might've done this once before." YOU DON'T SAY, MARMALADE. YOU DON'T SAY.

"Did you just fart?" ->->->->-> "I thought you can't smell." HE'S ONTO YOU, MARMALADE.

I just know the baby's fake. I just know it. I know it in my heart.

AND HE FINDS MAMA EDA'S PILLS IN MARMALADE'S CAR.

Oh, he has the gun on her. Oh, boy. Oh, baby.

Poor Baron. He's just unraveling, poor baby.

"It was just Mama Eda's time." Kinda wanna punch her, ngl.

Oh now the police are here and BARON... "We gotta go outside and apologize." THIS POOR BOY IS TOO GOOD.

God, I STILL cannot tell if she's ever being genuine. And I almost think she held Baron up for just a SECOND longer so he'd get caught and she could run.

RUN BABY RUN PLEASE OH NO. Oh no. He's too good. Baron's just too good.

OKAY. But he's for real pushing him out there.

Oh, they're tracking him. And Ted with his Shakespeare quotes lol.

Awww....Baron goes to visit Mama Eda first thing... sweet boy. I just want to hug him. :(

THE POOR DUDE IN THE CAR, he was so terrified. Of course the car was ditched. Of course.

The fuck is he pulling out of that chimney? Newspaper clippings?

OKAY WAIT. WHAT'S THE JAR OF MARMALADE ON MAMA EDA'S GRAVE FOR. WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING NOW.

Baron......BARON?!?!?!?

WAS SHE FAKE THIS WHOLE TIME?!

HE'S CUTTING HIS HAIR?!

He ain't no dummy. Baron is NOT stupid. QUITE the opposite, I think, at this point.

Oh. My god. WHAT is happening.

Joe Keery dressed as a mystery woman. All right.

"Take care now" WHAT IS HAPPENING. OH MY GOD. The way he takes that wig off and how fucking stoked he is lmao.

"There is no girl." WHAT.

OKAY SEXY JOE KEERY IS BACK WASSUP.

L-A-M-R-A-M. Huh. Pharmaceuticals. I am so confused.

OH BUT THE LOOK IN HIS EYES.

I am SO FUCKING AS;DFJSA;ODIFHSD; WHAT IS HAPPENING.

This dude's money. Who is this dude. Have I missed something. Oh, Don Frankels, CEO -- BARON PHARMACEUTICALS?!??!?!?!?

OH MAN, HE WAS NEVER NO SIMPLETON. THIS IS BIG BUSINESS.

Oh, but he has a white cane......

OH. OH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, I don't like Don. We don't like him at all.

JAR OF MARMALADE. HE WAS THERE.

Okay but WHO IS HE AND WHAT IS GOING ON. I NEED TO KNOW MORE. NEED.

"What's real, what's fake?" MY QUESTION, TOO, TED.

OKAY THE FUCK?! What's in the envelope.......

"Sorry for your loss." ->->->->-> "My what?" WHAT THE FUCK.

"I'm taking care of my mother. I hope you'll do the same," AND A TICKET TO JAMAICA. HE KNEW THE WHOLE TIME?!?!??!!?!?!?

HE KNEW. THE WHOLE TIME.

IS HIS MOM ALIVE?!?!?!?! IS SHE?!?!?!?!

I'm crying. For real, I'm crying.

He's just delivering meds to all these boxes....?

AND EDA. THE MOON PIES. HIS MOM. OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!

AHHHHHH IT WAS SO GOOD. SO FUCKING GOOD. I LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!! Ugh, I could not have prepared myself. SO fucking good. Will watch again and again.

[mykneeshurt]

Hey I saw you are taking requests, so I wanted to ask how task force 141 would deal with a female or gn reader whos just a crazy psychopath, and is always covered in blood after a mission, but has a soft spot for the team. Love ur writings btw 🚬💋

Nah low key love this character, may have to use them again. I like writing dark stuff. Kept it GN but again please tell me if something needs changing. It’s short cause I had to reign myself in from turning this smutty lmao I have a problem.

Don’t fear the Reaper, a popular saying about the inevitability of death. However, you were feared amongst many. You’d been within 141 for a while now and earnt your call sign ‘Reaper’, due to your extremely violent tendencies. There was nothing you loved more than watching the life drain from a persons eyes. The warmth of their blood on your skin. In fact you revelled in it.

On base those who didn’t know you gave you a wide berth. They felt uneasy. And honestly? You loved it. You loved making people feel uneasy, on edge. You kept to yourself mostly, preferring to observe and listen to your surroundings.

In the field you were first one in, last one out. Much to your Lieutenants annoyance. ‘Gonna get yourself killed’ he’d make a point of saying. Every time. ‘Can’t kill what’s already dead Lt’ you’d reply offering a wink. He knew you were damn good at your job, a fine solider. The best he’d ever worked with. ‘That you admitting you’d miss me?’ You teased. ‘Maybe’ he said duly. Smiling, you push him playfully ‘I knew there was a heart in there. I’d miss you too.’

After one particular messy mission, which went tits up, of course, you finally managed to get back to exfil. Jumping onto the helicopter you were covered in blood, dark drips of crimson covered your face, your hair slicked back with blood. ‘Creepin Jesus Reaper. You takin baths in their blood now?’ Soap asked, you two were close, but he was low key scared of you. Though he’d never admit that. Ruffling his hair you smiled down at him ‘killin’s messy work Johnny. I ain as clean as you.’

Sitting in the helo you lit a cigarette, the orange glow of the lighter illuminated your blood stained face. ‘Giving Ghost a run for his money lookin like that’ Gaz laughed. Smiling you inhaled the cigarette, the nicotine filling your lungs. Nothing like a cigarette after a mission, well, apart from driving a knife into tender flesh that is. ‘Nothing like some friendly competition’ Ghost chuckled. ‘Nah sir, I think I’m winning this one. Sure they’re scared when they see you, but they never see me. People are more scared of what they can’t see, fear of the unknown yanno? I am the unknown.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘They got you there Lt’ Gaz snorted. You loved your team, the banter, the camaraderie, you were close knit, could answer each others questions with only a look. They were your boys.

Price was always happy when you returned ‘so, dodged death again then I see?’ It was a running joke between you all, you rarely showed emotion, often jokes you heart was colder than Ghosts. But Price cared about you and you cherished that. They had tried to rein you in the first few months you were with them, but to no avail.

It’s like something switched inside you, from a calm and reserved person, to … well, a rabid animal. You were quicker than lightening with your knives, more often than not choosing your blades over guns. Blades were more personal, you could look them in the eye as their life faded. You thrived off the power you felt from this. The first time they saw you in action they had to consciously try to remember the mission.

‘Fuckin hell, remind me never to get on your bad side’ Soap had said. You cupped his face ‘as if I could ever hurt you Johnny. My little Scottish flapjack.’ He smiled at the pet name. ‘You’re my boys, I’d do anything to protect you.’

[the-cult-of-russo]

Just Beneath The Flames (Part 1)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Warnings: cursing, smut at some point probably lmao, zombie shit, typical canon violence. You know the drill.

A/N: Soooo, I wanted to do a zombie AU for a long ass time. What can I say? I wrote for the walking dead fandom for yeeears lmao. Anyway, the first scene came to me and I just started writing. No idea where it's going or if it's gonna be good, but I guess we'll see lol

I told myself I wouldn’t post this until it was finished but as I’m writing this author note, I’m just starting chapter 7 and I have no idea how far this will go and I’ve been dying to post this lmao. I figured I’d start posting it and see what happens but after these 6 chapters are posted that I’ve already written up (I’ll post one a day), there might be some delays and stuff. I can’t promise chapters after that will be consistently everyday as I’ll be writing it. I’ll do my best. I posted Poetic Tragedy as I went too and all the kind words people left really encouraged me and inspired me to keep going.

Name of this one is from the song of the same name by Digital Daggers.

We were kings and queens of bedlam

We were happy to exist,

In discomfort we’d created

Though we dreamed of more than this

We had embers in our bloodlines

Iron lungs beneath our skin

Though our hearts were barely beating

We were bleeding out within

We’re at a stalemate,

Begging for the earth to shake,

Wondering if the winds will change

And blow us all away,

We are in the dark age

Tell me it was worth the pain,

Will the wild winds sing again

And blow us all away?

Or will we stay

Everything the same?

Oooh, stay,

Just beneath the flames

Just beneath the flames

We were wary of the future

How the days drew on and on,

With our eyes so widely open,

Tried to see where we’d gone wrong.

We were bold and we were brazen

But grew timid over time,

In our fear we lost direction,

And our dreams left us behind,

We’re at a stalemate,

Begging for the earth to shake,

Wondering if the winds will change

And blow us all away

We are in the dark age

Tell me it was worth the pain,

Will the wild winds sing again

And blow us all away?

Or will we stay

Everything the same?

Oooh, stay,

Waiting for a change,

Oooh stay,

Just beneath the flames

Just beneath the flames

—------

You crouched low, hiding in the shadows as you darted from one tree to another. The forest was bathed in darkness, the only light coming from the campfire that was calling you like a moth to the flame. Either these people were stupid or they were really sure of themselves. You'd never declare your whereabouts like this. You were hiding behind a tree, eyeing up the campsite. There were two women quietly talking among themselves, two children asleep next to them. There was a stocky man with short hair poking at the fire, a man with longer and messier hair beside him as he spoke in a hushed tone. There was a man with a darker complexion asleep not too far from the women and he had two guys next to him. One also had longer hair and he was slightly bigger than the more slender man next to him. The slender man's eyes never seemed to land on anything as he smiled and spoke to the other man. You wondered if he was blind but you couldn't be sure. You weren't too bothered with the people though. What drew your attention, what brought you here to begin with, were the crates of tins and other various foods. Your stomach growled like one of the dead as you stared at your prize, trying to figure out the best way of going about this without getting caught. They didn't just have food, they had weapons too. You wondered what was also in the black van parked on the road just outside the treeline. That was the first sign people were here and then you'd seen the light of the fire. 

You adjusted your scarf and was just about to move when you felt something feeling suspiciously like a gun being pressed to the back of your head.

"Don't fuckin' move," a voice growled and you felt your heart stutter. You'd sworn to yourself you wouldn't rob people again after the last time but you'd been desperate. Your hand inched ever so slowly to the knife strapped to your thigh but then the gun pressed even harder against your head.

"Don't even think about it," he hissed.

"You really gonna use that thing? It's just ringing the dinner bell for the dead," you muttered plainly, your body tense as your eyes darted around. You weren't sure how you were getting out of this one and memories swarmed your mind at a rapid rate. 

"We'd be long gone by then, but your body will still be warm enough for 'em to wanna bite," the man murmured darkly as he grabbed your arm and yanked you to your feet. He whistled sharply then and you jumped slightly, body tensing even more when the group looked over, some of them coming to see what was going on. The stocky man who had been poking the fire came right over to you, his face hard and cold as he drew his own gun. 

"Who the fuck are you?" He asked harshly.

"That's really none of your business now, is it?" You snapped. You couldn't help it, not when you were backed into a corner like this. Not when you had guns on you. The man from behind you moved around you then, moving to stand with the other man, his gun still trained on you. He was tall, his dark hair somehow neat and slicked back. But his eyes were almost black and the fire in them made you turn away from him.

"Why are you here?" The stocky man asked, glaring at you so hard you were surprised you didn't burst into flames. You shifted where you stood, uncomfortable under this scrutiny and unsure of your fate.

"I was gonna rob some food," you muttered honestly.

"I call bullshit," the man with the dark eyes scoffed.

"Where's your group?" The other man pressed, narrowing his eyes. 

"I don't have one," you bit out.

"You really expect us to believe that? That you're out here all on your own and doin' just fine?" The dark-eyed man laughed incredulously.

"I wouldn't say fine, but I'm still breathing if that counts," you glowered at him.

"Nah, I don't believe this bullshit," the man huffed, turning to a blonde woman who was hovering near the other man.

"Go get Matt, get him to do his heartbeat thing," he instructed, making her nod and scurry back off to the camp.

"The heartbeat thing?" You asked slowly. He turned back to you then with a dark smirk.

"Let's just say we got a human lie detector," he grinned patronizingly.

"Great, then he can tell you that you're an asshole who's wrong," you smiled back, just as patronizingly. His eyes narrowed to slits as he rolled his shoulder. The blonde came back then with a man, the one you suspected was blind. You were even more sure with your observation at the way he didn't quite look at you as he stood with the other men.

"We need you to do your thing, Red. See if she's lyin'," the stocky man muttered, his untrusting eyes going from the man back to you. 

"You're scared," the maybe blind man stated, tilting his head a little. You guessed he was using whatever mojo he had to listen to your heart beat like a hummingbird's wings. 

"She should be," the dark-eyed man scoffed, earning a small smack to the stomach from the stocky man who gave him a look. 

"I have guns pointed at me, I'd be stupid not to be scared," you pointed out sardonically. 

You watched as the stocky man and the blind one looked at each other, or at least seemed to before the blind one nodded. 

"Why are you here?" The stocky man asked once again. You rolled your eyes, shifting where you stood.

"I haven't eaten in four days and I saw your van on the road. I followed the light of your fire and saw you had food. I was going to take some," you explained monotonously. The blind man's head was tilted and then he 'glanced' at the stocky man.

"She's telling the truth," he said quietly.

"Do you have a group?" The stocky man asked, looking at you a little more curious than hostile and you wondered if he was starting to realize you weren't a threat. 

"No," you muttered, feeling a wave of pain hit you in the chest. 

"She's being honest," the blind man murmured with a nod. The stocky man nodded thoughtfully and you shot a condescending smirk to the dark-eyed man who just glared at you. 

"You rob groups like this often?" The stocky man asked you and you shook your head with a frown. 

"I only do it if I'm desperate, the last time was three months ago but after that… " you trailed off, the urge to touch your throat stinging you but your hands stayed at your side since the guns were still pointed your way.

"Are they the ones that left the scar?" The blind man asked softly, his voice sounding apologetic. Your head whipped to him, shock coloring your face. You blinked at him slowly and he shot you an almost sheepish smile as he looked down. 

"Look, I wasn't gonna hurt anyone, okay? I was just hungry and desperate and you looked like you had more than enough. Just let me leave," you muttered with a frown. The stocky man lowered his gun but the dark-eyed man didn't until he got another firm look from the other man. You started to wonder if the stocky man was the leader here. The blonde woman who had been hovering once again then rushed over to the crates of food and started rummaging. 

"Karen… what the fuck are you doin'?" The dark-eyed man asked roughly.

"You heard what she said, Billy. She hasn't eaten in four days, we can at least give her something," the woman huffed, giving him a sour look as she plucked a couple of cans from the crate and a bottle of water. She rushed back over to you then with a warm smile and it made your chest ache. You really hadn't expected this. 

"Here, I hope this helps," she murmured. Your mouth floundered for a moment, unsure how to respond. It had been a long time since you'd experienced kindness from anyone, especially a stranger. 

"Uh… thanks," you muttered, slipping your backpack off your shoulders before stuffing the cans and water inside. You were starving but you'd eat once you left. You didn't really want to stick around in case they changed their mind. You slipped your backpack back on, eyes darting around the group. While yes, they'd just been pointing guns at you and interrogating you, it was understandable in this new world. But now they were letting you go and giving you some of their supplies. You didn't like feeling in debt to anyone.

"I um… since you helped me, I can give you some info to help you too," you started hesitantly. They two men were still watching you like you were a bomb about to go off. 

"What is it?" The stocky man asked warily. You licked your chapped lower lip, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jacket. 

"There's a group around these parts and they aren't good news. You know how some people are… the living can be worse than the dead out here," you frowned. 

"They the ones that hurt you?" The stocky man asked, his tone a little softer although his body seemed more tense and on alert at your words. You nodded jerkily, trying to push the memories away. 

"I came across them a few months ago and I was starving, I needed food. They caught me trying to rob them," you muttered.

"What happened?" The stocky man asked carefully.  You sniffled, cracking your neck a little.

"These guys… they're real assholes. And I'm talking about the ‘take what you want and kill anyone in your way’ kind of assholes. There's ten or eleven of them, all armed to the teeth with guns and a shit tonne of knives. They didn't take too kindly to me trying to take what was theirs. They… they slit my throat and left me for dead," your hands clenched into fists in your pockets as a barrage of memories hit you. 

"They slit your throat?" The dark-eyed man scoffed incredulously, an amused smirk on his face like he didn't believe you. You tugged your scarf down a little, revealing the jagged scar along your throat as you quirked a brow at him and he looked away. 

"Wha- How did you survive?" The blonde gasped, blinking at you with wide eyes. 

"Let's just say the guy that did this wasn't very good with a knife," you snorted mirthlessly.

"And you were able to just walk away, stitch it back up yourself and you're fine?" The dark-eyed man asked skeptically.

"I didn't stitch it up myself, I had help," you muttered tensely.

"Thought you didn't have a group," he glowered, eyes narrowing at you.

"I don't, not anymore," you bit out and the man's mouth clamped shut. 

"Andy… he was the last in our group, we were the only ones left. He was a doctor before all this and he stitched me up the best he could," your voice was laced in pain as you hastily fixed your scarf back in place. 

"What happened to him?" The stocky man asked quietly. 

"He got bit, asked me to put him down," you swallowed thickly. You were sure the sound of that gunshot would haunt you until your dying day. 

There was a tense silence that overtook you all then and you decided it was time to duck out. Before you could leave though, the stocky man piped up again. 

"This group, any idea where they are?" He asked, a dark look in his eyes. 

"Last I saw them, they were down by the creek just east of here. They move around a lot but I keep tabs on them so I know where to avoid," you shrugged. He nodded looking deep in thought for a moment. 

"Could you show me where?" He asked after a long moment. An inelegant snort left your lips as you looked at him like he'd grown another head. 

"Didn't you hear anything I just said? These guys are kill on sight and the last time I saw them, they tried to kill me. They think I'm dead and I'd like to keep it that way," you huffed incredulously.

"I get that… I get that you're scared, but if you show me where they are, they won't be a problem for you anymore," the stocky man said as he raised a brow at you. 

"What, are you gonna take them all out? You're outnumbered and outgunned, how the hell are you gonna manage that?" You asked derisively. 

"They might have more guns and more men but we got more skill," the dark-eyed man smirked coldly. 

"So you guys wanna go on some suicide mission and just have me tag along for the fun of it?" You scoffed as you shook your head. The stocky man shared a look with the blonde woman before he took a slow step towards you. 

"How about a deal? You show us where they are and you can come with us when we're done, join the group," he offered softly. 

"Seriously, Frank?" The dark-eyed man asked hotly but he got ignored. 

"No offense, but I don't wanna join your group," you muttered. 

"Why wouldn't you? You're alone out here and struggling. You could be with us and you wouldn't have to worry," a different man frowned at you. You hadn't even noticed him come over. It was the man who had been sitting with the blind man.

"I've tried being in a group and I had to watch each person I care about get ripped apart by the dead, get murdered or slowly die from illnesses. I'm better off on my own," you said firmly, making the man look away with a frown. The stocky man moved towards you a little more, getting your attention. 

"Alright, you don't wanna join us, that's fine. How about you help us with this and you get first picks from their shit after we're done?" He offered. You mulled it around in your head for a moment. You knew those assholes had a tonne of gear and food. 

"Throw in that bow and we have a deal," you smirked, gesturing with your head to a bow you'd been admiring in the camp. It was a Mathews V3X 29/33. The dark-eyed man barked out a laugh as he shook his head. 

"Is that a joke? She's not takin' my fuckin' bow, Frank," he scoffed. He managed to look incredulous, amused and offended all at the same time. 

"There's that hunting store not too far from here, I'm sure you can get another," the blonde muttered to him in a hushed tone. He squinted at her like he was trying to set her ablaze with his mind. 

"You have any idea what kinda bow that is? They won't have this kinda thing in a shitty little hunting store," he huffed. 

"Fine, you can keep your bow. But you take me to the hunting store so I can get one," you relented, quirking your brow at the stocky man since he seemed to be the one in charge. 

"Done," he smirked. It was easier than you thought. 

You didn't really relish the thought of seeing those assholes again but you had no plans on actually participating in the fight. You'd stay well out of the way and hopefully go unnoticed, you'd get some food and some weapons out of it so you'd go along with it. You'd been due a break and maybe you were finally getting one. Being alone out here was hard but even with the offer of joining the group, you knew you had no desire to. It was just asking for bad news and getting attached to people just meant hurting when you lost them. And you always lost them because this new world was cruel. It was relieving though to know you didn't have to deal with another group of unhinged lunatics, especially since you were staying in the same area. You wondered about the possibility of trading with them. You didn't want to join them even if they did seem nice enough, but it would be good to have some sort of relationship with other people. Maybe if you needed food you could offer them something. Building relationships like this was the only way to survive this. Your old group had trading relationships with other groups until slowly the numbers dwindled to nothing. You often wondered just why you survived all the bullshit, why out of everyone, you were the last one standing. It didn't make sense yet here you were. No matter how dark things got and how morbid your thoughts turned, you always tried to push on and deal with it. You promised Andy you would before you put a bullet in his head and you owed him that at least. 

You stood around awkwardly as the two men got ready with weapons and food for the trip. The one with dark eyes had a sniper rifle with what looked to be a silencer on it. You weren't too good with guns, you didn't really like them. The blonde woman walked back over to you as the men got ready and she handed you a protein bar. 

"For the trip," she smiled. You took it gratefully with a hesitant smile of your own, still feeling a little out of place and just wanting this whole thing over with. You didn't wait to eat it though, ripping the wrapper off instantly before munching on it hungrily. You were glad for some sustenance. The cans felt like they were burning a hole through your bag but you'd wait until you had a moment alone to open them. You could never seem to get the hang of using your knife to open it, you really needed to keep your eye out for a can opener. 

"I'm Karen, by the way," the woman added. You'd almost forgotten she was there in your euphoria over finally getting some food. 

"Y/N," you supplied, earning a smile from her. She walked over to the men then who seemed like they had all their stuff ready. You were still standing at a distance from the camp as the others who were awake spoke to the men, probably murmuring their goodbyes. You watched curiously as the blonde, Karen, toyed with the stocky man's vest, which looked a lot like a bullet proof vest that you were sure he wasn't wearing before. He said something you couldn't hear to her before she leaned up and kissed him softly. You felt for them. One of them was going to die and the other would be doomed to live with that pain. It's just how things were now. 

You blew out a sigh as you waited, anxious to get going so you could leave and get on with things. You were also looking forward to going to the hunting store. You really needed a bow after you'd had to abandon your last one after your camp got overrun with the dead. The men finally walked over to you and you grabbed the straps of your backpack, adjusting it a little.

"Ready?" The stocky man asked. You nodded and the three of you set off. It was strange how well you'd learnt the lay of the land here. You weren't from St Lawrence County in New York, you'd been from the city. But when all hell broke loose, you knew being in an overpopulated city was the worst place to be. It would be the quickest way to die, or worse, get bit and turned into one of the dead. So you'd made a mad dash for your brother's apartment and the two of you took off. You’d looked at the map and tried to pick an area that was less populated, more rural. And that was how you ended up here. You’d met people along the way and slowly formed a group. But now you were the only one left. Your younger brother Sam had been the third to die. It wasn't even the dead that got him. He had a heart condition and it had been getting harder and harder to find the medication he needed. Eventually, there wasn’t any left. You swallowed thickly and tried not to think about it. Focusing on those you lost wouldn't do you any good, you always had to move on, keep pushing forward. 

It was still dark outside as the three of you moved through the trees carefully, always keeping an ear out whether that was for other people or for the dead. You had no idea how this would all play out. 

“So, you guys really think you can take all these dudes on?” you asked curiously. It had been a long time since you’d had to make conversation with anyone. You’d missed it and not missed it all at the same time. It was easy to find comfort in your loneliness, easier to look after yourself than have the burden of taking care of others too. To feel that crushing weight bear down on you when you couldn't help them and they wound up dead. But at the same time, it was hard. Being by yourself for such a long time had worn you down. You felt like you were in a vacuum. The dark-eyed man scoffed as he glanced at you.

“We don’t think it, we know it,” he wore a cocky smirk on his face but it didn't fill you with confidence. For all you knew, you were about to witness them being murdered. You wondered to yourself what you’d do if that happened. Would you go back to their group and let them know? Or would you just flee, leaving them never knowing what happened?

“Right…” you muttered, clearly sounding not very impressed. 

“We know what we’re doin’. Former Marines, Spec Ops. Not our first rodeo,” the stocky man said. While he didn’t seem cocky, he did seem confident. You nodded thoughtfully, they looked the type. The type of guys who had seen some shit and probably had to do some shit. Then again, the same could probably be said about you at this point. You didn't think there was a person walking the earth that hadn’t been through hell at this point. It was a war of a different kind. The silence came back then as you led them through the forest, making you feel slightly on edge. The stocky man also seemed not to like the silence as he broke it abruptly after a while.

“I’m Frank and this is Billy,” he muttered, looking at you and then glancing to the dark-eyed man who was apparently Billy before back at you.

“Y/N,” you replied, much like you had with Karen. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Frank said with a wry smile and you snorted lightly. 

“These assholes… they seem like they know how to handle their weapons?” Frank asked curiously. You didn't blame him, he obviously wanted as much information about the guys before he got there. 

“Well, I mean they tried to kill me and failed pretty badly, so I’m gonna guess no on that one,” you huffed, rolling your eyes a little.

“Bunch of little boys playin’ with guns and knives, thinkin’ they’re big men,” Billy growled as he shook his head.

“Basically,” you shrugged. It didn't make you feel any better though. Maybe they weren’t as skilled as the men either side of you with their weapons, but they still had more numbers and more weapons. If they fired enough times, surely a shot would land. You kept glancing at Frank as you all walked, something itching in the back of your brain before the puzzle pieces all clicked together in place.

“What?” he asked warily after you just blinked at him for a moment.

“Nothing, I just… I knew I recognized you from somewhere but I’ve only just figured it out. You're the Punisher, right?” you asked carefully. You remembered bits and pieces on the news about him. You felt sorry for him, for what happened to his family and you couldn't quite blame him for the rampage he went on. He chuckled, looking away awkwardly as he nodded.

“Yeah… that’s me,” he muttered. You started to wonder if maybe they did have a chance after all. And maybe forging some kind of trading relationship wouldn't be too bad. The Punisher was definitely someone you wanted on your side and if you ever got into trouble with another group, and you had no doubt there would be others in the future because there was always more, maybe he’d be able to help you. 

You carried on walking for a little under an hour before you slowed your pace a little, the surroundings feeling familiar as the hair on the back of your neck prickled up. The walk had been littered with small talk, mostly from Frank as his counterpart remained silent and brooding, on high alert at all times. Frank had told you the names of the people in his group, told you a little about how they all left the city. Much like you, they knew the city wasn't a good place to be and the man with shaggy hair who had been at the fire with Frank, Micro, had suggested here. 

“We close?” Billy piped up for the first time, noticing your slowing pace.

“Yeah, it's not too far,” you murmured. You tried not to let the fear creep in, your throat burning like it was cut all over again and you tugged at the scarf you wore with a frown, readjusting it. You all heard them before you saw them. You had no idea how these assholes even survived for this long as they all laughed and hollered like they were having a party. You could see a faint glow from a campfire behind the trees on the other side of the creek.

“Alright, you stay here, out of sight,” Frank said, giving you a stern look as if you even needed to be told. You weren't going any further than this. You nodded, crouching behind a tree as you watched Frank ready his gun. Billy took the sniper from his back, getting on the floor on his stomach as he set it up behind a bush for cover. Frank walked further away, crossing the creek at enough distance not to be noticed. You took a shaky breath, now behind the tree and unable to see what was going on. It made you nervous. Your eyes drifted to Billy then, his sniper at the ready, his eyes laser focused across the creek.  You weren't quite sure of their plan or how they were supposed to communicate to be in sync with one another but it didn't seem to matter. After a few beats of nothingness, the only noise coming from the assholes across the creek, Billy fired three shots in quick succession. You didn't see if they landed but the men all started yelling, no doubt scrambling for their weapons. The silencer hadn't made the shot completely soundless, it wasn't like the movies. But it was significantly quieter, enough to confuse the men about where the shots were coming from. You heard a few loud shots fired in the direction you and Billy were and you curled in on yourself, hoping the tree would protect you. But then you heard even more shots and you could only hope that Frank had joined the fray. Billy took some more shots and you covered your ears at each loud boom coming from across the creek, your eyes darting around rapidly as if waiting for the dead to descend on you all at the noise. When the shooting stopped, you hesitantly moved your hands from your ears and you heard a sharp whistle, much like the one Billy had done when he'd found you. Billy stood at the whistle, shouldering his sniper rifle. You stood on shaky legs, holding the tree for support as you looked over to Billy. He watched you with an unreadable expression for a second before gesturing with his head. He didn't spare you a word as he set off moving to cross the creek and you hurried to keep up with his long strides. You didn't care about getting wet and this part of the creek was fairly shallow, coming only to your mid-calf. 

When you got to the camp the men had been staying at, the place was littered with bodies, Frank standing among them as he waited for you both. 

"Goddamn, Frankie," Billy grinned, shaking his head as he took in the carnage rather gleefully. 

"Told you we'd get it done," Frank smirked at you. 

"You definitely did," you muttered wryly, glancing at all the bodies. You didn't feel bad for them one bit after what they'd done to you, what you knew they'd probably done to countless others. Death didn't bother you like it had in the old world, not when you were surrounded with it constantly. You spied something on the floor next to one of the men and crouched, seeing a pocket knife. You swiped it off the muddy floor, checking it quickly and grinning to yourself when you saw a can opener. You stood up, quickly stuffing it into your jeans pocket and catching Frank's slightly amused look at you.

"Well, a deal's a deal. You helped us out here so you get first pick of all this shit," he murmured and you gave him a nod. You didn't waste time, knowing the dead would be ambling their way towards you pretty soon after all the noise. You dug through bags, picking out some cans and other bits and pieces, shoving them into your backpack. You wanted to take as much as you could but you couldn't overburden yourself. You still needed to get around easily. You shoved about 10 cereal bars into your bag and a few bottles of water too. It would last you for a little bit and it was more than what you currently had which was close to nothing. You grabbed one last can of tomato soup before you moved to sit on a log near the campfire that was still burning. 

"Go nuts," you said dismissively, grabbing your new pocket knife as you opened the can. Frank and Billy got to work, grabbing some of the men's bags, emptying them out before filling them back up themselves. You took some greedy gulps of the cold soup, watching them shoulder the large backpacks of food before grabbing some duffles and starting to gather up some of the weapons and ammo. 

It was as you just finished your soup that you heard the telltale groans of the dead floating through the forest. You stood up quickly, throwing on your backpack and seeing the men thinking the same as they grabbed the duffle bags. You all quickly walked back through the creek to the other side before you set off back to their camp. You didn't need to worry about the dead on your heels, knowing they'd be distracted by the meals you'd left them. With each step you took, you felt a little lighter. Ever since you'd run into those assholes months ago and they'd left you for dead, you'd been feeling like a skittish animal. The reason why you'd been so starving was because the stores in the area were getting scarcer off food and when you went the last time, the gang of men had been there. Not feeling like having your throat slit again, you'd avoided it like the plague. You didn't have to worry about them anymore, didn't have to sneak around and keep tabs on them so you could always stay one step ahead. But you knew the relief would be short-lived because there would always be another group to take their place. You'd quickly learnt that nothing brought out the worst in humanity as much as the downfall of civilization. There was the added threat of the dead ones walking around but after living this life for so long, you worried far less about the dead ones than the living. The dead were like animals, operating on pure base primal instinct and the drive for food. They were predictable. The living however were far worse. They were unpredictable, selfish, greedy, desperate and deadly. There were worse things than death in this life. Getting taken out by one of the dead was one of the easiest ways to go now, but you'd just take some respite from the harsh reality of the new world while you had it. Whatever came for you next, you'd deal with it when it came to it. 

Taglist: (if you’ve been asked to be tagged and aren’t here, it wouldn’t let me tag some people.)

@firexfate

@blanchedelioncourt

@ariesbutalibra

@sunshinedaisies-anddeath

@snowkestrel

@music-indie-tv

@idaofinfinity

@sweetserendipity65

@ramadiiiisme

@k-marzolf

@celestialams

@woowwwee

[thedeviljudges]

so today was super fun 🤡 i went out apartment hunting bc my friend wants to move and for the most part it was great.

until lmao until we get to this one place where the leasing person told us she's not usually at this property but she can try to show us some units.

so we go outside and she can't find it. then she thinks she finds it and starts trying to unlock it, and me and my friend notice the doormat and the ring camera. someone says something over ring and it's then the woman realizes it's occupied. so then we head back to the leasing office and figure out the units that are open are in the section across the street.

in that time, the renter comes out and we started apologizing and explaining and it was all good, lmao.

so we drive over to the units across the street, and it's kinda like a square, so you have to go through one gate and can only get out of the other. so we have to drive around the entire place to find one unit, and guess what... the key doesn't unlock the unit, lmao. so then we're like okay well let's try the other unit which was just a building over. so we drive down there and park and realize the leasing woman is driving past us for the exit gate, and we're like???

so for some reason the gate isn't working and the maintenance dude is opening it (this will make sense later) to let this woman out. so we watch her drive back through the other gate bc i guess she thought that's the way we went.

so we're debating on bailing, and i'm like yeah, think we should at this point.

AND THEN in follows 3 police SUVs. and now we're like what the fuck. so again, that gate we're next to won't open, so we realize we're going to have to drive back through the complex to get out through the other gate.

so we're going and then we happen upon a two police trucks we hadn't seen come in, and as we get closer, there's a police dude with his gun drawn. we round the corner, and there's the SUVs, two police in raid gear (one with a riffle, might i add) and like four more scouting.

so we're freaking out a bit bc we don't know if we can drive past them, but they make no move to stop us so we book it past them, and in the process, pass the leasing woman, who we tried to flag but it was clear she wasn't paying attention.

so then we just bailed, and then got a call 15 min later from the woman apologizing talking about how this wasn't a good first impression and hopes we'd come back at a later date so they can make up for this. idk if she was also including the police situation, but lmaoooooo if u fr think we're coming back.

anyway, the other gate wasn't working bc they didn't want whoever they were trying to snatch to be able to book it.

we got it all on dashcam too, and we spent the rest of the afternoon rewatching it bc in hindsight our commentary is fuckin funny.

[fyodior]

Okay so I also agree with you that fyodor's breakdown might have been partially genuine bc yeah I also doubt asagiri would show that entire scene (which was kinda long too) only for fyodor at the end to be like "lmao it was all a trick I deceived you". Imo when fyodor read that note in russian smth did happen inside of him and the start of his breakdown might have been somewhat genuine. But then there's that scene where he stops screaming and goes "...", I think in that moment he might have gone back to normal and may have realized "wait sigma is still there with the gun pointed at me, I have no other way to protect myself, I could probably keep up this act, make up some lie and trick him to drop the gun" so then he probably made up that whole story of the double personality and the magic sword to kill him

OR there's the possibility that what he said about the double personality and the magic sword are at least somewhat true as well in some way, but then he switched back to his regular self and went "yeah I was totally lying, I totally do not have a double personality, it was all just a story I made up trust me bro" to confuse sigma (and us readers) even more

The fun thing about this is that we have no idea which of these scenarios is the correct one and that there's a possibility that neither of them are right and there's actually a secret third option we might find out in the future

This is not the first time fyodor keeps up an act like this to get out of a situation. He used that same technique with ace when he pretended the entire time to have an ability that trapped people inside his mind. But I also agree with you that we've never seen fyodor act so distressed/ooc (the most we got was that 😳 face he made when dazai showed up at the café he was in). So basically what I'm trying to say is, this man has an iron grip on my brain and my puthy and I need him to step on me

- 💍

rambling under the cut bc it got long LMAO

yeah like it'd be insane to dedicate 75% of a chapter to an interaction that had no meaning and like all the shit he made up about that dagger??? i don't think we have all the pieces yet to actually make an accurate hypothesis but im thinking less and less that it was just him lying like that's too surface level. we also still have no fucking idea what that "help me" note was???? and maybe it was his "other self" trying to communicate to him ??? my god this is so complicated

and yes this isnt the first time he's fabricated an entire situation to get out of something but he's alwayyysss stayed calm and collected bc to him having control over the situation or at least pretending to is the most important thing. if he's having a meltdown 1) that's incredibly uncharacteristic 2) he's lost control over the situation and that just isn't what he does.

but the other thing is he just didn't need to go to that extreme to get sigma to put the gun down??? like sigma is just. so naive (to no fault of his own he's literally 3 years old) and is so easily swayed in his opinion bc he never knows what to believe. fyodor is incredibly good at manipulation and absolutely could've just manipulated him into lowering the gun, at least for just long enough to kick it out of his hand or whatever. and like i said before this motherfucker has a gun pointed at him every other fuckin day he's not a stranger to having to sweet talk himself out of that.

in short i think we have no fucking clue what happened and we probably won't for a while but there's no way its just "he lied for funsies".

[autobot-ratchet]

MTMTE 1-3

MTMTE 1

“You've earned the right to see the universe without a gun in your hand” is still so good, love that Drift is the one who wrote that line. This is immediately turning into the Drift Retrospective lmfAO sorry but he's my favey and he's integral to this story getting started, I'll talk about everyone else in due time

like right now for instance, aaahhgfsghdfjdk seeing Ratchet talk about how he's joining the Lost Light to find a successor so he can retire has got me feeling things lmAO you find so much more, buddy, you find a whole entire husband and a family and aaaaaagfdshahgkadsjk

Cyclonus is making me feel things too, he's all talking about how Rodimus made promises to him out of moral obligation since he helped out during the last ordeal, he doesn't even know he's gonna kiss that guy in the last issue he's gonna end up your friend, your TRUE friend

God, Prowl referring to Rewind as Chromedome's “best friend” is still so fuckin funny. I know it was because James Roberts wasn't sure if he was gonna be allowed to make them canon husbands yet but it still works in retrospect because it makes Prowl seem like he either doesn't know they're married or does know and is being a dick about it, which are both hilarious options

Oh, sweet Tailgate. The reason I started reading this comic in the first place lmAO Straight up I just saw this cute-ass robot all over my dashboard and was like “I need to know your story” and just went for it, like just based off looks alone. Tailgate is literally so cute that he changed the course of my life for the next fuckin decade

What a fuckin way for Whirl and Cyclonus to meet. *turns to the camera and points with my thumb, smirking knowingly* They don't even know they're gonna be besties

None of these fuckin losers know how happy they're gonna make each other ha ha idiots get friendshipped and romanced

fuck I forgot these idiots have an in-universe wiki on themselves lmfAO

Swerve really did just slap his Autobot badge right on the crotch huh

*turns to the camera again, pointing with my thumb and smirking knowingly at Rung* He doesn't know he's God

Chromedome just casually being ableist at his husband for exposition reasons

extremely funny that Tailgate's first interaction with Whirl involves him nearly vaporizing him by complete accident

damn the Lost Light's journey really does start with the ship just fucking exploding huh

awww the message the crew leaves to their past selves god I can't wait to re-read this comic lmAO I'm already sitting here like “ooh that's foreshadowing for this arc, and THAT'S foreshadowing for THIS arc and THAT'S

MTMTE 2

SKIIIIIIIIDS HEY BUDDY omg *turns to the camera, points, smirks etc* he doesn't know most things

God. I'm still so mad about the foreshadowing that Rung is Primus being present from the very beginning. It was his hat, Mr. Krabs, hE WAS NUMBER ONE. AND ALSO HE AUTO HEALS

him saying that Ratchet's hands are as gentle as sunlight on snow is very adorable though, love that Ratchet immediately takes a fucking hammer to said hands right after he says this

giggles and kicks my gay little feet at Ratchet bitching about Drift, you loooove hiiiiiiiim, yOU LOOOOVE HIIIIIMMMM

they really just let Swerve shatter Tailgate's entire world for laughs huh lmAO

“I'm going to kill you,” he says, “don't think you'll see it coming,” he says, fucking LOL *points at the panel of Cyclonus crying on Whirl's shoulder in Lost Light* LMAOOOOOOOO

Tailgate saw the opportunity to write his own backstory and jumped on that shit immediately, honestly I respect it

three people died just from starting the ship lmfAO god just frame one with the tragedies

and then there's a fucking sparkeater lmfAO it truly just is just nonstop

MTMTE 3

Rodimus when the ship explodes: no one's dying on my watch, we're gonna do our best to save everyone and fix them and make sure they're safe Rodimus when he's told there's a sparkeater on the ship: cool

ohoho, it begins, Tailgate has made first contact with Cyclonus

I do like how even though Swerve very much did kind of force friendship upon Skids, Skids is still hanging out with him. He does think “Skids and Swerve” sounds cool, awwwuhgufghgusdj ❤️❤️❤️

Skids pulling Rung up into the ceilingjhdfskdlghd........ THINKS ABOUT CERTAIN PARTS OF LOST LIGHT........

poor Tailgate got told about the war from the one person on the ship who's a decepticon apologist. To be fair he probably should've gotten more than exactly one (1) perspective before choosing a side but still

[okamiwind]

writing meme

stolen from my best buddy @lilcrickee

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason.

First ever published: you're the prize (i wish i'd won) EXO, kyungsoo/jongin lord almighty, it's almost been six years! how surreal is that. yeah, i had this idea for an enemies to lovers fic while watching parks and recreation. i dont know. it was one of those things that just absolutely compelled me. it's kaisoo bc i was reading a lot of kaisoo before jumping into the fandom. i look back on this one fondly, but i dont think i'm confident enough to reread it. might hurt my feelings lmao

Last fic published: i aim to be your eyes EXO, sehun/junmyeon my fuckin baby!!! still ongoing. probably will finish sometime in 2024. well. Crossing my fingers anyway. it's long and silly, but i love writing it. once i start reading over some part of it, i immediately feel like i need to add more to it. i love writing all the little characters and reading how people think things will end up. i still have yet to decide on the ending, but who knows, maybe i'll sopranos it.

Fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once: the million roads that lead to you MDZS, lan zhan/wei ying wrote this before even watching the live action. definitely not sure how it holds up. will almost certainly never write another fic for this fandom, but it was fun to write regardless!

Favorite fic you wrote in a fandom/ship that has the most works: in the blood haikyuu, keishin/ittetsu had no idea that haikyuu had more fics than any of my other fandoms. so it goes. it was interesting to see that nct has surpassed exo too. cwazy daisies. anyway, i love this fic, i think its kinda my masterpiece for haikyuu. i sometimes want to return to this pairing, but the lack of engagement sours my mood abt it a bit. i love writing it, but i feel like the more i shove it in people's faces, the less likely they are to read lol

Fic you wish more people read: lawyers, guns, and money EXO, sehun/baekhyun i thought this was a great little fic (she says, looking at the novel length word count) and i was really shocked that it didnt get more love. i mean, its fun, it's spacey, it's found family. i still really like a lot of the passages, i think they're very pretty. maybe i'll reread it myself since NO ONE ELSE WILL!

Fic you agonized over the most: chronos-826 EXO, sehun/junmyeon i can hardly remember the way this fest was run, but lord, i remember being irked. like there was noooo communication if you weren't on the discord, and i was like jeez, i know it said you could join but i didnt know it would be MANDATORY if you wanted information about the event lol. but yeah. despite all that, i really enjoyed writing this. and by enjoyed, i mean went insane. literally i felt like i was going crazy throughout the majority of it, and while the finished product is a lot different from what i had envisioned (something more along the lines of House of Leaves with that element of interactivity.... sigh) im still proud of what i managed to produce

Fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort: pilgrimage EXO, sehun/baekhyun yeah this fic was just so weird and like. Fantastical. it felt like it was dropped from god's hands into my brain. like i sat there and wrote the first 10k almost in a Flow state, didn't touch it for months, and then just banged out the rest like it was nothing. i doubt anything will ever come so easily to me ever again, but yeah. what a time to be alive!

Work you are proud of—for whatever reason: i write to you from the road and the red king's consort BOTW/TOTK, sidon/link i just think these are some really nice examples of my writing. idk. like i think they accomplish what they seek to accomplish, i think they're stylish and pretty, i think they have a lot of earned emotional weight to them. Just some nice fics by me imo. anyway. that's it.

anyone who follows me is free to follow in my meme-ing footsteps but i would like to tag @fff777 and @deepbutdazzlingdarkness to see their answers as well :3

[arcplaysgames]

["Everything Hits At Once" by Spoon plays muffled in the distance]

Took out Fuckface McGee with my sister so I've almost wrapped up Sojiro's social link. Some social workers came to look into the uncle's claims of abuse, but Reverie and Futaba stood by their dad, and then Sojiro cried because YOU ARE MY DAAAAD, YOURE MY DAD BOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE

so happy for the Sakuras, esp Reverie Vantas-Sakura.

hahahha I fucking knew it.

I mean not that it was cleverly hidden but Futaba went back over the data and basically confirmed everythiiiiing. After Kaneshiro, someone hacked the Phansite and inflated the approval rating and rigged the rankings. It was all a ploy to put the Thieves into position to be the fall guys with Okumura.

So as I was saying: Everything is Mishima's fault. How the fuck does the site admin not recognize sloppily hacked-together code that's making changes to the key features? Like, oh my god. Mishima, you're such a fuckup and everything is your fault.

l m a o i do love this moment. No dialogue, just Ryuji realizing he's been fucking played. All the excitement and fame and his insistence that they had to go after Okumura because of the rankings, all of it falls like scales from Ryuji's eyes right here.

ya done fucked up, son

The SIU Director is like. diabolically evil lmao. They don't even try to make him anything but. He's moustache-twirly. I keep rolling my goddamn eyes.

goddamn maruki can you be a little more subtle, like just a big. just a nudge. "YANNO it's okay if your memories are lies so long as they make you happy! 8D!" bruh

Anyway, it's the school festival and the school votes on who they want to be the guest speaker (is that a thing?) and the school overwhelmingly votes for Akechi.

goddamn, the ghost of you fuckin lingers, huh

are you reverie's wife now? wait, no, that's wrong. is reverie your wife now? there, that's better.

So Shido is the big bad, right? Like, he's the guy who framed Reverie in the first place, the symmetry of fiction demands he be the final dude Reverie goes up against (until Maruki finds a way to fucketh everything up). Okumura was going into politics, by removing him, did we remove the only hurdle standing between Shido and being the new PM and he's Super Evil?

What I find slightly frustrating at this point, structurally, is that I have zero idea or indication what the baddies actually want out of this. They are killing people and presumably want to use the Metaverse to control the population, but do they have, like, a guiding philosophy or something? Or is it just power for power's sake, because that's boring.

NO IDEA. We know fuck all!

Is that a lie?

lmao what am i saying, nothing Akechi says is an absolute truth, is it?

It's funny because Akechi is..... extremely good at what he does? Not the detective thing, frankly we've had zero indication of his actual intellectual acumen in that arena. But as a double agent, he could be an Ocelot, frankly.

OH MAN THAT'S WHAT HE REMINDS ME OF, HOLY SHIT. Young Revolver Ocelot, Adamska. Oh yeah that's the vibe. Except with worse fashion and much worse hair. About as homosexual though.

ANYWAY AT THE SCHOOL FESTIVAL, THE GANG IS HANGING OUT ALONE AND AKECHI ROLLS UP AND SAYS THIS

"EVERYONE'S ALL HERE"???? lmao he knows and he isn't even being subtle about it anymore

omg and futaba fucking notices it too LMAO THAT'S GREAT i'm so happy it was intentional phrasing, hahaha that's amazing

Anyway, at the guest speaker panel, Makoto is moderating, and uses the opportunity to press Akechi for info about the case.

omg he's just gonna come out and say it

oh my god yes bitch do it, light the rag and chuck that molotov right into this whole trash fire, it can burn so much faster

THIS FUCKING BITCH

he's not as good as Adachi but I gotta say he's pretty fucking good lmao. Every time there's a Beige Alert, you know things are going to be interesting at least.

But also this is the equivalent to putting a gun to the Thieves' head. Love it.

Never play a player, Makoto.

Anyway with that obviously faked phone call, Akechi calls a 10 minute break and asks to see everyone in a private room where he will humbly serve everyone a helping of their own ass, I assume.

[mscribbles]

We may have went on a recruiting mission and managed to fit 10 of us Dunks fans in the trench coat. Our 3rd joiner Mak(only the first 3 letters) would love to know your Dunks opinions and/or headcanons

BAHAHA oh I love the account name its super fun!!

and ahaa I’m sorry I’m not good at coming up with this kinda stuff on the spot but uh. I’ll take a stab at it, I feel like it might disappoint some of you guys but I gotta stick to my guns on how I view their characters 😭

(SPM SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT)

On one hand I love the comedy of it and I think it’s got a lot of potential. It’s the “weakest” character (ochunks) paired up with the “strongest” (Dimentio). The “smartest” character (Dimentio) paired with the “dumbest” (ochunks). These are the stereotypes fandom (and the characters in the game) tend to assign them though, but are they really true? Taking a deeper look, you sort of begin to see they tend to contradict these stereotypes. For example O’chunks is quite observant and caring, he’s SO much more than a dumb meathead. and don’t get me into some of the downright silly impulsive and dumb stuff Dimentio does in the game 😭 They complement each other in weird ways, so I wanted to explore them more. They’re both foils, in a sense!

then the other hand I’m a big fan of angsty headcanons and exploring their relationship in canon.

To me Dimentios got a lil crush but he has no idea how to deal with it so he messes with ochunks a lot. He sees no need to be genuine and thinks he ignores his feelings (cause uh. Evil plans and all) but it just comes off as him acting REALLY fuckin weird to ochunks. Sorta like unconscious flirting but in Dimentios own weird way. To me the FUNNIEST part of their dynamic is that he thinks he’s just galaxy braining and entertaining himself by manipulating ochunks or whatever he tells himself but Dimentios definitely the one who has it bad. But him thinking he’s above things like that all comes to bite his ass in the end, putting genuine friendships and relationships below his self-centered plans. Tragic! Does that make any sense? Dimentio is hard for me to verbalize how I think he thinks. Ochunks on the other hand, is definitely confused/flustered by Dimentio (he canonically calls him a weirdo but do not let me get into their ch 5 interactions it’s too interesting) I also think ironically enough he’s the one who’s the most suspicious of Dimentio. However he also wants to protect everyone on Bleck’s team and that includes Dimentio. Bro would do a LOT for his comrades/friends. Ochunks being the observant/caring guy he is, I think he does pick up when Dimentio accidentally lets his facade slip, and Dimentio’s (very rare and lmao) positive traits are genuinely endearing to Ochunks. I wanna explore that more

I don’t write it as unrequited but Dimentio being…. Well. Dimentio. I think really keeps them from getting officially “together” to me (in canon only, I think aus and canon divergent stuff could be great opportunities) it’s got that unresolved yearning to it that interests me. Anyways that’s all delicious delicious drama to me but probably not what you might wanna hear cause it is, unfortunately, not the happiest of endings 😭

like I said I’d love to see someone do a fluffy take on dunks though