#the military after high school

[tallytals]

soon

[sergle]

yall are about to piss me off by not having any PASSING basic knowledge of the way the u.s. military manipulates its recruits into joining by typing up one of your uninformed, unresearched, unempathetic, individualistic, unbelievably annoying posts about how 100% of the people in the military ended up there because they just Love America So Damn Much! they're extremely mature and informed at time of recruitment, they can totally leave anytime they want, they totally had tons of other avenues in life they could've taken, there was no rush at all to get income as fast as possible, and everyone in the military also totally is part of the combat divisions and personally enjoys being IN the military very much, big believers of violence. everyone in the military is shooting guns all day, that's how that works. they LOVE BLOODSHED. also I love the "amewicans haha" twang to this type of shit because you're actually TOTALLY stealing our Thing, which is turning systemic issues into Individual Issues. Instead of talking about the powers that be, it's so Personal Choice up in here. It's, "well you shouldn't have done it then. I totally wouldn't because I know better." you don't wanna talk about the military industrial complex as a whole, and you don't want to talk about recruiters, you just want to pin the blame on Specific Individual People one-by-one, as if they're responsible for the system that they're being ground up in. someone was in the military? bad person, no matter what. it's easier to believe that, I guess, than to acknowledge that Normal People (with high school educations) are manipulated and incentivized into joining a system that is Bad. at like age 18. but yeah no that 18 year old should have just been smarter lol haha anyway here are some screenshots for no particular reason

side note this reply of someone going "umm just get loans and go into a high paying field it's easy XD" as a direct response to someone trying to explain how most americans joining the military are being funneled in that direction out of a need for money.

and another person who Decided that americans join the military just CLENCHING their teeth thinking of other people, and not thinking completely selfishly about their own selves and their own income/housing/healthcare.

[badolmen]

It’s actually kinda insane how inescapable the war machine is. My uncle helped build blackhawks for Sikorsky. My little brother worked at a machining factory that makes the firing pins for almost every major arms manufacturer in the country. GE and BAE have career fair booths for hiring the computer science majors who will write code for their missiles and drones. ROTC has teenagers LARPing as soldiers. This shouldn’t be fucking normal.

[laseratingfist]

damn it i'm thinking about my au where luka is a cheerleader and sampo is a theater kid again. going on dates after school in his pickup truck.... corn maze, ferris wheel at the county fair, going to the nearest city for a concert, horror movie in sampo's basement, getting lunch on the weekends. seele would hate that sampo is luka's boyfriend and so would gepard, for similar reasons (freshman x senior, especially if the senior is sampo, c'mon luka don't be dumb he'll break your heart) they'd probably kiss in the hall between periods. sampo would try to keep luka away from his friendgroup, but mainly sparkle, on the off chance that she tries to fuck up their relationship

[random-iz-stuff]

WAIT A MINUTE MY HEADCANON OF ZIM ALWAYS KNOWING ABOUT HIS DEFECTS HAS A LITTLE PLACE IN CANON!

One of the first things Zim does upon having his PAK calibrated is point out the mistakes. 40 shmillion mistakes. 40 shmillion defects right from birth. And he almost immediately tells the downloading robot what they are, almost revealing his defects before he even learned what defects are.

Right from the start Zim knew something was wrong with him, but didn’t know what to call those mistakes until he was properly in the academy for a few days and was told exactly what defects were.

I can barely imagine the horror that a young Zim would feel in that moment. He’s known that there were mistakes in his PAK for the last week or so of his existence, but now he’s being told that those mistakes (that he’s come very close to telling people about) are:

Actually called defects

Are flaws in his BRAIN instead of just errors in his PAK

Turn otherwise flawless irkens into mistakes that actively go against the empire

Must be handed it to the authorities so the defective Irken can be “fixed” (actually deleted, but that fact is kept as an open secret until the Irken is a few years older and more used to it. It also tricks young defectives like Zim that know they they’re defective into handing themselves and those around them in)

[schizononagesimus]

i get why we do it but i hatehatehate when we have polls that are like. non usamericans vs usamericans. because my brain just goes [tv static of having moved intercontinentally not having english as a first language but forgetting my first language out of disuse having a 1st gen parent getting bullied when i went to US schools for talking funny and spelling things "wrong" but getting bullied when i went to school abroad for talking funny and so on and so forth] like i KNOW most people arent me but being third culture is such a fucking concept dude

[spoofyleaf]

Breaking the generational cycle of not joining the military in any way bc I’m disabled is a wild concept

[cardiac-arresting-sweetheart]

people are often so ungrateful

especially people my age like teenagers... at least i think i notice that more often. wish it were more important to people to be grateful. and respectful as well. it's not that hard...

/nbh

[beaversatemygrandma]

I’m watching an informative thing on the No Child Left Behind Act and whatnot, and I’m now suddenly aware of what exactly those teachers meant when they said that I skewed their test results just enough to save the school from shutting down.

Like, when i was in 3rd grade, i moved from a city with proper school funding to a small farm town in the middle of nowhere with Very Little funding. Like a school with 35 or so kids per grade, and maybe 120 total. Small enough that one kid Could Indeed alter the averages. I passed their standardized tests with flying colors bc most of that 3rd grade stuff was stuff i learned in previous years just now with the addition of multiplication and such. And well, due to the laws related to the No Child Left Behind Act, if the school wasn’t preforming well enough, its funding gets cut and slowly but surely gets to the point where it may have to shut down. (Yes, this is half the reason why schools in the US are awful.) As it turns out, that school was on its last legs and it was getting ready to shut down and transfer all of its kids to the city twenty miles away. Me and two other kids aced the test which skewed the average enough to leave them safe for the next two years. (I got them competitive bc I threatened their top student role tbh, the weird part is I was at most a B-average student when put into a proper school.) 

Anywho. That’s how I kept a town with a population of 800 keep its only elementary school because of an act from the government that was only put in place because America was too low in education averages in comparison to the rest of the world. (It got worse, btw. Shocking I know. /s)

[limethechef]

We’re coming for you Dyson

[ghostsangel]

he might not be your man, but he is the right man

simon “ghost” riley x married!reader (based off this reblog comment i got on my last oneshot)

tags/warnings: mdni, unprotected sex, breeding kink, spitting, infidelity (your marriage sucks), overstimulation, reader is plus-size

Your marriage isn’t the best.

You’ve fallen out of love with your husband—and he is a good man. As good as he can be, anyway. You’re not sure when the neglect from him started, but he hardly touches you anymore. A kiss and a cuddle here and there, but nothing more. It’s been about a year and a half since the two of you have slept together.

To say you are touch deprived is an understatement.

Maybe he didn’t like your body anymore—after three kids, you don’t look the same as you did when you got married. Stretch marks cover your apron belly, a scar on the skin from the c-section when you had your second child. Instead of a sharp jawline, your face is round and soft, the double chin a prominent reminder that you’ll never look how you did six years ago. Your thick thighs hold stretch marks and jiggle when you walk, and your ass—let’s just say it’s a handful.

Despite the weight gain, you like your body. Love is a strong word, but you like it. It housed your three kids for nine months, your kids that you adore with your entire heart.

But something is missing.

Simon is an old friend. Your oldest friend, actually. The two of you have been friends since high school when you skipped classes together to smoke joints in his car. For a while, you had a massive crush on the tall, gruffly Englishman, but it faded when he left for military service right out of school and you met your husband.

Still, the two of you wrote letters when he was away and saw each other every time he came back from deployment. He grew from a lanky kid to a strong adult and all the while never stopped being your friend.

Of course, you invite him to everything. The kids’ birthday parties, New Year’s parties, Halloween, Christmas. Simon doesn’t have a family, so in truth, you became his surrogate family. The kids think of him as an uncle and go into a frenzy every time they see him—“Uncle Simon’s here! D’you think he’d give me a piggyback ride?”

He watches you from afar—not that you notice. He sees the unhappiness in your posture when he’s with you and your husband, the lifeless sort of emptiness hollowed out behind your gaze, but he says nothing. He knows you’ll talk to him about it when you’re ready, as much as it pains him to see his best friend hurting.

However, Simon can’t help but feel like whisking you away from your dumbass husband and showing you what being wanted really feels like. He may not be who you’re with now, but he’s the right guy—the guy you should’ve married instead of your husband.

Tonight, you sat in his living room, the two of you meeting up for a weekly friend’s night. He got back from deployment a few days ago, and this is a ritual the two of you have every time he returned.

You sip on a glass of wine—your drink of choice, dressed in a pair of shorts and a top. When you’re with Simon, you don’t feel as hesitant at showing your body—thick thighs and arms, fabric clinging to your belly. He’s known you for too long to care.

“How’s the husband?” Simon asks, eyes flicking to your face. He never wears the mask around you—and you can see his scars that run along his skin, etched into his features forever.

You shrug, sighing, hesitating. “He’s fine.”

Simon tilts his head to the side, taking a swig of his beer. His eyes scan over your expression before trailing down your body. He shifts on the couch, one hand resting on his thick thigh, legs spread.

“You okay? We’ve been friends for fuckin’ ages, doll. I can tell when you’re hidin’ somethin’.”

Your eyes flick to his, trying to ignore the warm feeling in the bottom of your tummy. It’s stupid—a subtle hint of concern from another human being makes your stomach flip.

“My marriage is sort of…crumbling,” you murmur, one of your thick thighs hitting his as you adjust on the couch.

His brows pull together and he sets his beer down on the coffee table. “Elaborate.” He doesn’t need you to—he knows what you’re going to say.

You drain your wine and grip the stem of the glass. “He just doesn’t…love me anymore, I don’t think. Doesn’t touch me or have sex with me. It’s been almost two years, Simon. I’m going insane.”

“Have you thought of leaving him?” He probes, resisting the urge to reach over and squeeze your plushy thighs and stomach.

“Yeah, but…it’s complicated with the kids.”

“Kids deserve to be raised in a home where there’s love,” Simon simply states.

His words make you look into his eyes, and you can see an underlying emotion there that you’ve never seen before from him. His fingers twitch, and for a moment, you’re certain he’s going to touch you. The thought makes heat flare between your thighs, setting your neglected cunt on fire.

You set the glass down and look back at him, shaking your head. “Pretty sure he’s fucking someone else. Probably that young girl from his work—she’s thin and pretty and—”

Simon’s hand reaches over to grip your thigh, cutting off your sentence. Your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes meet his again. His nostrils are flared, and he grips the fat of your thighs like you’re gonna vanish.

“You’re beautiful, doll. Always have been. A little more meat on your bones doesn’t mean you can’t get someone’s cock hard.”

His words stun you. You don’t think you’ve heard anyone call you beautiful in years—and it makes tears well in your eyes as you look at Simon. His eyes flick to your lips, and then his hand is on the back of your neck, tugging you to him.

Your lips meet his in a hungry kiss, lips moving together and tongues running along one another. He grips your waist and moves you like you weigh nothing, settling you on his wide lap. A fervent moan slips past your lips when his hard cock presses against your aching cunt, already soaked.

His big hand moves from the back of your neck to your ass, squeezing the flesh so hard, you’re sure it’ll bruise. His other hand runs down your side to slip under the hem of your shirt. His fingertips graze your stomach until they get to your chest, furiously working to tug the cups of your bra down.

“Get this off,” he mumbles against your lips, tugging your shirt over your head, his fingertips working at the clasp of your bra as soon as the shirt leaves his grip.

Your face flushes when he tosses the bra away, eyes drinking you in hungrily. His hands squeeze the flesh of your ass, a sharp slap echoing in the otherwise silent room when he spanks you. You whimper, and he chuckles before taking a nipple into his mouth and working it with his tongue.

Your back arches, a moan ripping past your lips as his tongue swirls over the neglected bud. Electricity jolts straight to your pussy, and it’s embarrassing to you that you’re already practically dripping for him and he’s barely touched you.

Your nails dig into his neck and he lets out a groan against your nipple before switching to the other side, tongue flicking quickly against the hardening peak. You hear a ripping sound and realize he’s ripped your shorts and panties clean off of you, and Simon grins against your skin as he tosses them to the floor.

His big hands spread your cheeks apart, one hand drifting between your legs to the apex of your thighs. He releases your nipple with a pop as his fingertips run through your soaked folds, the touch making you weak in the knees.

“So fuckin’ wet for me, love. Bet that shithead of a husband couldn’t get you as wet as me,” he murmurs against your skin, teeth nipping and biting up your chest as he speaks. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll show you how a real man should make you feel.”

His sentence is accentuated by a harsh suck on the skin of your neck, and your eyes roll back as you grind down on his hard cock. You want him so bad, it’s embarrassing, and you can’t help the whine when his tongue runs over the mark he just made and up your neck.

Simon pushes your back to the couch, his hips slotted between your legs as he kisses you again, hungry and needy. He’s dreamt of this for years—and he’s not going to waste his time now that he’s gotten it. The kiss is full of spit and tongues, him swallowing your moans as his fingers work at your clit.

Your legs jolt as he rubs in slow circles, back arching when he presses down a little harder. He smirks down at you, taking in your hooded eyes and open mouth, and he can’t help but use his other hand to grip your jaw. He holds your mouth open, letting his spit drip into your mouth before closing it for you.

Your eyes glaze over at the action, whining as you swallow and open your mouth again, almost like you’re ready for more. The sight alone makes his cock throb, and he slips two fingers into your neglected pussy.

The stretch is intense, but you welcome it as he fingers you, thumb rubbing your clit. His fingers curl and he grins as he feels you clench tightly around him.

“Gonna come already, love? That’s okay, go on. Got some making up to do, don’t I?”

The squelch of your pussy is lewd as he finger fucks you, the coil inside your tummy tightens as he stares into your eyes. His fingertips hold your head in place, making you look at him as he brings you to the edge.

Your back arches when you come, juices gushing from your throbbing cunt and onto Simon’s fingers. You whine nonsense, legs trembling as pleasure runs through you. Before you know what’s happening, your legs are over his shoulders and his fingers are replaced with his tongue.

Your hips jolt and you groan, trying to back away from him, but his large hands hold you in place. “Don’t fuckin’ run, sweetheart. You can take it.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair as his tongue swirls over your throbbing clit, your eyes fluttering shut as the painful pleasure he’s bringing you. He ruts his hips against the couch as he eats you out, one hand on your belly, the other on your hip.

“Simon,” you gasp out as his tongue flicks quick strokes across your clit, legs still trembling as you feel your second orgasm build quickly. “Ple…I can’t…”

“You can,” he mumbles against your clit before diving back in, sucking and licking like a man starved.

He doesn’t stop when you cry out and come the second time, or the third. After the fourth, he kisses up your body, tongue trailing over your sweaty skin. He leaves open-mouthed kisses on your neck before kissing you, gripping your waist and moving you to straddle him again.

His fingers work the zipper on his pants and he pulls his cock free, running his leaky tip along your wet, swollen folds. He breaks the kiss, staring into your eyes as he lines himself up with your pussy.

You slowly sink into his cock and you lean your head forward onto his shoulder, whimpering as he stretches and fills you up. His breathing is already ragged, soft moans filling your ears as you sit on him.

“Fuckin’ hell, love. This cunt was made for me, wasn’t it?” He murmurs against your ear, nipping at your earlobe as he grips your hips.

You don’t have to do any work—he knows you’re tired. All you have to do is lean against him while he fucks into you from below, his thick cock stretching your walls and his tip hitting the spongy spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

His hands spread your asscheeks apart as he ruts into you, the room filled with your moans and his breathy gasps. You never knew sex could feel this fucking good—it’s a new sensation to you.

“God, wanna fuck this pussy everyday,” Simon growls in your ear, one hand moving to your hair to tilt your head back. “Wanna fuck you in every position possible and fill you up till you’re pregnant with our baby.”

The thought makes your head spin, and you feel your breath stutter as your cunt clamps down around him. He grins against your ear, using the grip on your hair to tug your head back and look into your eyes.

“Yeah, you want that? Want me to fuck a baby into you so you can leave that pathetic man and be with me?” He asks, and you can feel his cock twitch inside of you.

You nod, nails digging into his shoulders. “Yes, Simon, f-fuck—”

His smile widens and he thrusts up into you faster, the slap of skin on skin growing louder. “I can do that, doll. Be a good little slut and take it for me, yeah?”

The look in his eyes—feral, protective, hungry—it’s enough to send you over the edge. Your pussy throbs around him and your vision goes white as your body shakes, screaming out Simon’s name as he continues to pound you through your orgasm.

“That’s it, fuck yeah, baby. Feels like heaven when you’re squeezin’ my cock like that,” he grunts out, thrusts becoming sloppier as he nears his orgasm. “Gonna fill this greedy cunt up.”

You gaze into his eyes, your own hooded and fucked out as you nod, whimpering out a “please” at his words. His lips crash into yours as he grunts and moans, hips stilling as he buries his thick cock inside you, throbbing as he spills ropes of cum inside your womb.

Simon pants in your ear, his fingers running up and down your back as he tries to collect himself. He grips your hips, cock still inside you, and you feel him smile.

“Gonna do that till your belly’s swollen with my baby, sweetheart.”

—————————————

see this oneshot’s companion here!

[humanfist]

Dark Academia Gideon

So I was thinking about this again, and was going to say it's true from a certain point of view, as a meme. Then realized that that is literally true.

Pretty basic so far.

But, for some reason I felt compelled to figure out how I would explain the narrator issue if I had to abstract away the speculative fiction elements.

And now I realize that a school setting where dark academia stuff is clearly going on, but we only see the tip of the iceberg because its narrated by a jock who's more concerned with her sports story subsub plot than any of the main plots and just keeps getting dragged into interacting with the dark academia stuff by her childhood rival and her new crush (who's secretly the villain of the dark academia stuff) would actually be pretty lit.

[flowerpotmage]

anyway, since im in financial aid hell with my school rn....

simon riley who really is only an acquaintance to you, some guy you're friendly with because you seem to have a similar routine when it comes to the cafe two blocks from your house and the physical therapist office you both attend.

simon, who's on extended medical leave from a torn rotator cuff surgery and six weeks into twelve of his own physical therapy treatment.

simon who overhears you with a friend in the cafe one morning venting your frustrations with the cost of school and the limits of your own finances. who doesn't mention it until you're both in the waiting room, sitting with one chair between you as usual (he's a big guy, he likes the space to spread his legs. he pretends he hasn't seen your glances).

"going back to school, then?" he asks, quiet and gruff as always.

you wrinkle your nose at the reminder of your current stresses. "yeah," you say, staring down at the carpet. "dunno if i can afford it, though. rent's already so high, and groceries, and then this..." you gesture vaguely, but he knows you mean whatever condition it is you're here for is bleeding you dry.

"shame," he says, and leaves it at that.

"what do you do?" you ask after a long moment of silence. a muscle in his thigh twitches.

"military," he says, meeting your eye when you finally look at him.

you nod, a puzzle piece sliding into place about why he must be here in this office with you. "ah."

"benefits aren't bad," he says, quietly. "medical's paying for all o' this." he nods around the room, a much more leisurely mirror of your earlier hand gesture.

"i should hope so, considering they probably put you where you got whatever it is you're here for." the corner of your mouth lifts in a wry smile.

the conversation stops there when one of you is called in to your appointment. simon doesn't bring it up again, not until something changes.

you run into each other at a bar.

simon's got a beer in hand, something cold and refreshing while he catches up with soap and gaz in the corner. they're on a brief leave and stopped by to visit for an evening before fucking off for a week to wherever it is they have plans to be. simon won't ever say it in as many words, not right now, but he's glad to see them, happy to listen to whatever story they're telling him, until he sees you.

he downs the beer for an excuse to go get another, waving off the two men who offer to go get it when he says "need to stretch my legs," eyes fixed on you the whole time.

"celebratin'?" he asks when he slides into an empty space beside you at the counter, catching the bartender's attention for a refill with a lazy raise of his empty bottle.

"simon," you greet in surprise. he nods at your drink and your slight smile slides away. "not really," you reply to his question. "more like drowning my sorrows. i don't think school's gonna happen this time."

simon frowns, eyes scanning you up and down. your drooped, sad shoulders, the sad, slightly bitter smile that doesn't reach your eyes.

"you know," he says, slowly, as if hesitant. normally wouldn't even dare to think it if he hadn't had just enough to drink. "there's plenty scholarships for military spouses."

it's a wonder he can keep a straight face at the shocked raise of your eyebrows.

[j-psilas]

Will we ever get anything quite like Code Geass again?

I don't think it's possible.

Code Geass is Japanese nationalist propaganda disguised as a global political drama, disguised as a military mecha show, disguised as yaoibait, disguised as a teen melodrama, disguised as a high school romcom, disguised as a Pizza Hut commercial...

...except those layers aren't layers at all, but are instead comingled in a giant snake ball of insanity.

The lead writer, Ichirō Ōkouchi, only ever worked as an episode writer for other shows prior to Code Geass, and never took the helm of an anime series ever again. And it shows. [EDIT: Several people have pointed out his other lead writing credits to me. So I misread Wikipedia—sue me. I maintain that this guy is a better episode writer than he is a lead writer.]

The minute-to-minute pacing is impeccable from a mechanical standpoint, with tension and stakes rising to ever-higher peaks, balanced out by the slow simmers of the b-plot and c-plot. It keeps the viewer on the edge of their seat at all times. Meanwhile, the large-scale plot is the most off-the-wall middle school nonsense I've ever seen, continually surprising the viewer by pulling twists too dumb to have ever have been on their radar—and therefore more effective in terms of raw shock value.

"Greenlight it!" was the mantra of this anime's production. It must have been. It has, in no particular order, all of the following:

Character designs from CLAMP, the foremost yaoi/BL group in Japan at the time—for characters who are only queer insofar as they can bait the audience, and only straight insofar as they can be more misogynist to the female cast.

Speaking of the female cast, hoo boy the fanservice. We've all seen anime girls breast boobily, with many cases more egregious than Code Geass, but there's something special about it happening immediately after—or sometimes in the middle of!—scenes of military conflict and ethnic cleansing.

Pizza Hut product placement everywhere, in every conceivable situation. High-speed chases, light slice-of-life scenes, intimate character moments, all of it. Gotta have Pizza Hut.

The anime-only Pizza Hut mascot, Cheese-kun. He wears a fedora.

The most hilarious approximations of European names—which I would love to see more often, frankly. Names like, I dunno, "Count Schnitzelgrübe zi Blanquezzio."

A depiction of China that is wholly removed from any modern reality, with red-and-gold pagodas, ornamental robes, scheming eunuchs, and a brainwashed child empress. There's a character named General Tsao, like the chicken.

Inappropriate free-form jazz in the soundtrack, intruding at the most unexpected times.

A secret cabal not unlike the Illuminati, run by an immortal shota with magic powers, holding influence all across the world, at the highest levels of government. They matter for approximately three episodes.

An unexpected insert scene of a schoolgirl using the corner of a table to masturbate. She's doing it to thoughts of her crush, the princess Euphemia—because she believes Euphemia to be as racist as she herself is, and that gets her off. This interrupts an unrelated scene of our protagonist faction planning their next move, which then resumes as if uninterrupted.

Said schoolgirl, in a fit of hysteria, threatens to detonate a worse-than-nuclear bomb in the middle of her school. She then goes on to develop an even more destructive version of that bomb, and become a war criminal, in a chain of cause-and-effect stemming from the moment she finds out that Euphemia wasn't actually that racist.

A character called "the Earl of Pudding."

A premise that asks us to believe that the name Lelouch is normal enough that he didn't need to change it when he went into hiding as an ordinary civilian. "No, that's not Prince Strimbleford von Vanquish! That's our classmate, Strimbleford Smith."

The collective unconscious, a la Carl Jung, within which the protagonist fights his villainous father for control over the fate of humankind. After this is over, the anime just keeps going for about ten more episodes.

An episode in which a mech tosses a giant pizza.

A gay yandere sleeper agent who can manipulate the perception of time.

Chess being played very badly, even to the untrained eye. Lelouch frequently checkmates his opponent by moving his king. This goes hand-in-hand with the anime's crock of bad chess symbolism.

A fictional drug that can most succinctly be described as "nostalgia heroin."

Roller-skating mecha in knightly armor, and some of the most sickass mecha fight choreography that I've seen.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture. This anime is what the average Westerner in 2006 thought anime was, and it was made in a confluence of factors that cannot be replicated. I've never had so much fun watching something that I found so... insulting. Repugnant. Ridiculous. Baffling. I love it sincerely.

Catch me cosplaying Lloyd Asplund at a con sometime, or maybe even the big gay loser himself, Lelouch vi Britannia.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Camgirl!Reader X Loser!Konig

This is safe, you think. Getting some losers to jerk off to your body, knowing they would have nothing to find you. Filming from a specifically made background with some dumb anime figures and your pretty pink ring light, never getting any information that people might use to get to you. For fucks sake, you even faked an accent so no one could know where are you from. You're banning any subscriber from an area too close to you - most Europeans are not getting you a lot of money anyway, so as soon as you see an Austrian IP address, you're getting your mods to ban them. Until this one. You stare at the donation in awe. You were popular - but not popular enough to have donation over 1000 Euros for something as silly as calling a name in the video. You were popular, but you were also paranoid and it held your back from growing your account. No video chats before you could gather enough for non-disclosed apartment in a protected area, no face pics until you got enough money to move immediately if something would go wrong. The guy is weird, obviously. He is always so eager to send you money, he already bought all of your photo and video sets, asking for new ones almost every day - and you know rich people, you know people who are saving their last cents to get to their favorite camgirl...and Konig didn't seem like neither. Always having such weird requests too - like you speaking in German and praising him like he is a king from some medieval fantasy. Or talking to him like you're a mean girl from some cheap high school movie, always belittling him. Then apologising with tears, playing into some perverted revenge fantasy. Tying yourself up so he can pretend that he did it, that he could do whatever he wants with you now. Sometimes he wants you to call him daddy or sir - and sometimes he asks you for pictures in that heavy military vest he bought from your Amazon wishlist after you expressed the desire to play into army chick glam. They guys is weird, the guy is obsessed, he will pay for you to insert largest dildo into your soaked pussy and spread ass, and then he would still say that his cock is bigger. Would make you a freaking size queen with the size of the stuff he sends - making you whine and cry for real as you struggle to acomodate, asking your daddy, your commander for help. Begging for him to come - always just a play pretend until someday, he finally showed up on your doorstep. Always a play pretend so he could send you more money, until you suddenly woke up in a dimly lit basement. Maybe you should have banned him a long time ago.

[shotmrmiller]

soulmate au part 1

john price x f!reader

wc: 1.2k

unedited, forgive my mistakes.

since you were born, your world has been grey. you never thought anything of it, until at school, they started teaching you colours. the only ones in the room that could see more than just different shades of grey, apart from the teacher, were identical twins.

weird.

you went home and asked your parents.

"we are born missing half of ourselves. we have a fated one, and when you meet them, your world will look the way it was meant to."

oh. but... "in class, there were twins that could see colour. what about them?"

they look surprised for a second until your dad softly explains. "in rare instances, the soulmate bond will be platonic. which makes sense in this case, because twins grow up with a connection regular people like us will never understand."

you nod and lower your gaze to look at your shoes. you wonder if the person meant for you is interested in junie b. jones books like you are.

-

in high school, you crush on this pretty girl— a cheerleader. her hair is long and beautiful, her face is small and round, and she's so kind. just your type.

but no colour stains your vision, so you burrow your emotions deep and mourn the loss of what could've been.

-

in college, one of your friends ask you if you've met your soulmate yet.

"no, not yet," you lament. what she says after freezes the blood in your veins.

"my mom knew someone whose soulmate was already dead before they had even been born," she comments while stabbing a grape tomato with her fork. "it was really tragic, because she'll never know what it's like to know a love that has no equal."

your heart is in your throat, and you find it hard to swallow the food in your mouth.

what if your soulmate is already dead? oh, god. you might just throw up. your friend doesn't seem to notice the change in your demeanor and continues to babble carelessly about how she knew someone that knew someone who's soulmate had turned out to be a murderer.

oh my fucking god.

you quickly run to the bathroom and throw up your lunch.

how cruel is the universe? to have no control over who is meant to be for you.

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and lean against the stall of the bathroom. you should've known that this soulmate business was too good to be true.

cupping your hands, you rinse the taste of bile out of your mouth before walking back to your friend who stayed in her seat.

"jesus, you look terrible, you alright?" she asks.

running your fingers through your hair, you huff. "i've certainly been better. just got a bit nauseous, nothing serious. maybe it's a stomach bug."

"oooh, you better not be pregnant! what of your dreams of working in the medical field?"

you giggle at her response. "that'd be impossible unless i'm the virgin mary."

she gapes comically then leans in and whispers, "you're lying! don't tell me you haven't dated anyone just because they weren't your soulmate."

you shrug, and keep your eyes fixed on your half-eaten plate of food. "i don't really wanna talk about it, if that's alright with you. besides, you've got bigger things to worry about, like the upcoming exam for mr. richardson."

slapping a hand to her forehead, she exclaims, "oh, shit! i totally forgot! shit!"

you watch her inhale the rest of her salad and toss her trash before waving goodbye and sprinting toward the library.

with a sigh, you look down at your food. grey. lifeless. shaking your head, you pick up your plate and toss it in the bin.

you decide to focus solely on your studies. you have dreams of being a doctor and pining after someone you haven't even met yet would only serve as a distraction.

--

your white coat grazes your calves as you walk toward your new patient. standing outside the room, you pick up the clipboard.

Price, John. 34, Active Military.

he's the head of the task force! god, you've only heard stories of them from the other medics on base who have met them, so to finally come face to face with the man, the myth, the legend? you wipe your clammy hands on the fabric of your scrubs and clear your throat.

be professional, be professional. he's just another patient, it's no big deal.

rapping your knuckles on the door, you wait a second before twisting the knob with a shaky hand. you nervously keep your eyes on the clipboard as you walk in.

"good morning, captain price."

"mornin', doc," he rumbles.

oh, his deep voice just might be the end of you.

"you don't sound all that happy to be here, captain," you tease while flipping through his medical history papers.

he lets out a low chuckle, and you squeeze your thighs together at the sound. delicious.

"nothin' personal, doc. just don't like bein' here, you understand."

lightly laughing at his joke, you finally steel your nerves and look up at him.

only to have your vision bleed in something you don't understand. is that colour? is this what colour looks like?

the clipboard drops, clattering to the floor. john— being the courteous gentleman that he is— quickly kneels to grab it and lifts his head as he hands it to you.

he freezes in place, the clipboard slipping from his hands as he stares at you.

you thickly swallow, and dumbly question, "do you...has your....colour? can you see colour?"

unblinking, john's eyes are fixated on you as he remains silent.

your eyes dart around to take in his features. his brightly-coloured eyes are framed by lines that hint at his age, his strong jaw adorned by a mutton-chop beard. his nose is specked with a beauty mark.

"what colour are your eyes, captain?" you softly ask.

he closes his mouth and takes in a sharp breath. "i've been told they're blue."

"blue," you smile. the eyes of your soulmate are blue.

but then, your delighted smile melts off your face, in horror.

there's a shiny band on his finger. he's married.

john price, your soulmate, is fucking married.

your vision distorts with the tears that threaten to spill and bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling. it feels like there are shards of glass in your lungs, cutting you open with each quivering breath you take. your pain is red-hot, searing under your skin, flowing through your veins like molten lead.

john knows exactly what you're looking at.

"love—" he starts but you cut him off swiftly.

"don't. you don't owe me anything, captain. uhm, but uh... maybe it's best that we switch your doctors, yeah? conflict of interest, and all that."

you all but run away, away from that room, from him.

how terribly unlucky.

you head towards your office, which is down the hall, and slam the door closed. only then, do you cry, and mourn what should've been.