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#thermal goggles
upsurgecomic · 1 year
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st-hedge · 2 months
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I didn’t want to post about playing mgs3 too much but. ‘The end’ YEAH the end of my fucking sanity!!!! I’m gonna break that old man’s kneecaps and pelt him with rotting frogs ONCE I FUCKING FIND HIM HOLY SHIT
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cinnamontoads · 8 months
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i rarely use the term but the thermal goggles in snake eater are ridiculously OP im ngl i did the fight with that fire guy earlier and i straight up don’t even remember his name because the fight took me under 2 minutes
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keithbutgay · 7 months
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i just noticed something and i wanna point it out so itll bother you too /silly
throughout most of tts in 2 part eps its titled with the normal title, and then "(Part I of II)" or "(Part II of II)" after
except for cassandras revenge and plus est en vous
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the most annoying thing is that the inconsistencies arent even consistent within themselves
like 13 and 14 use roman numerals for the first part but then regular numbers for the rest?? but all the other episodes use only roman numerals
anyway do you remember which episode has the hot cocoa thing its very important and for scientific reasons (m gonna try ta memorize the scene) :P
uhh wait i need an actual question dont i
umm
whats your favorite font?
ASDFKH that will annoy me but there's another fun fact under my belt!!
I actually don't know what episode it is but i can recite so. much. of that entire scene. hang on i'll try to find it
oooh um. i really like handwriting fonts, not sure which one is my favorite specifically. i also love the death note font!!
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meat-loving-meat · 7 months
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Valdemaran mind magic makes directed energy weapons viable send tweet
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I'm just confident enough in my ability to get completely absorbed in a craft project and make it *really quickly* to be convinced I can make a realistic deinonychus puppet in the like 8 days between SVP and halloween
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nightvision4less · 28 days
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AGM Adder TS35-384 3x Thermal 384 12um 35mm (50 Hz) WiFi
The AGM Adder TS35-384 3x Thermal Scope offers superior clarity with its 384 resolution, 12um sensor, and 35mm lens, ensuring precision targeting even in complete darkness. Operating at 50 Hz, it delivers smooth and responsive imaging, while built-in WiFi connectivity allows for seamless streaming and control via your smart device. Ideal for professional and recreational use alike.
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strlingsav · 2 years
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Dark
– Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader
— You're afraid of the dark.
Warnings: Mentions of panic-attacks, hyperventilating. Explicit/potentially triggering content under the cut. Read at your own risk.
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The lantern beside you flickered, a deep buzz plateauing before it shut off completely, enveloping the barren room in darkness. You were already on edge, in the middle of enemy territory, residing in a run-down safe house.
You flipped over on your makeshift bed- a thermal sheet and wool blanket placed over the floorboards. With a quiet sigh of irritation, you reached your arm out, slamming your hand down on the battery-powered light a few times. It flickered again.
"Don't think that'll help," Ghost's monotone voice cut through the silence.
"Better than nothing," You shot back, eyes focused on the lantern.
You watched as the lantern finally decided against working, and shut off completely. Only the dull light of the moon offered some relief.
"Fuck me," You groaned.
"Shut your eyes," Ghost said gruffly.
You peered over your shoulder at the white skull, about an arm's reach away.
"How's that gonna help if we're ambushed?" You asked, finding his nonchalance frustrating.
"You've got your goggles," He argued.
You were quiet for a moment, deciding whether or not to argue. Panic had nearly set in. Your experiences with the dark, over your entire career, hadn't been kind. Every time, you were brought back to the cold, unwelcoming embrace. The screams, the blood. You recalled the horrifying memories with a shaky sigh, hand coming to your forehead in an attempt to grab some semblance of yourself for reassurance.
"Not good enough," You said finally. "Piece of shit." You grabbed the lantern, throwing it across the room. It landed with a crash, surely damaging something in its wake.
"You afraid of the dark or somethin'?"
"No," You tried to be resolute, firm.
"Sounds like you are."
"Piss off," You replied, letting out a huff.
"There are worse things than the dark."
You knew he was right, knew you were overreacting, but the visceral reaction you felt quickly settling into your body made you think otherwise. Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears, jugular pounding in your throat. You could hear your shaky breaths in the quiet of the air, and knew Ghost could too.
You did shut your eyes, only for a moment, pursing your lips while you let out soft exhales. It was a feeble attempt to calm yourself down, before you were driven over the edge of panic. You'd experienced it before- without interference, it could be ugly. Sweat covering your body, quick, heavy breathing, shaking so hard your body ached, nearly shattering your teeth while clenching your jaw.
Disassociation followed close behind- after that, you drowned in the deep end.
You couldn't count how many times you'd talked yourself down on other missions, but it felt different now- harder to ignore. Maybe it was the idea of humiliating yourself in front of your Lieutenant. In front of Ghost; whose body was so far, yet so close. And ordinarily you'd be equipped to run, to avoid his gaze, shrug from beneath the spotlight. But now, you had no choice, all your cards on the table, vulnerable.
"Still got your eyes open?" He asked.
"Yeah."
Your voice barely trembled, which would go unnoticed by most, but not your lieutenant. Not with his fine-tuned observational skills.
"C'mere," He said quietly.
You swore you felt your heart stop. Ghost, beckoning you to move closer, to lie with him as you fell asleep- the warmth in your stomach interrupted your heavy breathing. You wondered if he knew how you felt, how your blood ran cold whenever he looked at you, touched you, spoke to you. Body devoid of all warmth, aside from the heat settling between your thighs. You didn't know whether he offered for his own safety or yours- or something different altogether.
But as your heart resuscitated itself, you couldn't resist the temptation of moving closer. You wanted the physical contact. Anything to remind you of where you were, and in truth, Ghost's offer was even more enticing because it was him.
There was a history of longing stares, fleeting touches on a shoulder or back between the two of you. You couldn't deny the facts. But those were moments of weakness, derived from being without intimacy for so long. Flirtatious encounters between battle buddies; it happened to everyone.
Did it feel like this for everyone?
"I ain't askin' you to marry me, hurry up." His voice interrupted your overthinking, a twinge of impatience in his voice.
You obliged, moving closer, eyes focusing in on the white of his mask. You felt his large hand grip your arm, turning you over. His heavy arm dragged you in, resting over your waist. You let out a sharp exhale when you felt his chest against your back, the warmth shooting goosebumps all over your body.
You didn't take Ghost for a man with much compassion, empathy. You weren't even sure he truly cared for anyone outside of those he had command over. The moments you shared, you knew were insignificant, or at least you'd convinced yourself they were, but as he squeezed you around the middle- once, then twice, for reassurance- you knew that wasn't possible. It made your heart race.
"Feelin' better?" He asked quietly, his voice in your ear.
"Yeah," You breathed.
A little white lie, told to save face. Now pulled back from the brink, you did feel better. You still couldn't breathe, but that was all Ghost's fault. And you'd never admit to the fondness festering for him in the back of your mind.
"Thanks."
"Been there."
"I'm still working on it," You mumbled.
"Takes practice."
You shut your eyes, trying to drown out the feeling of the weight of his arm around you, the pattern of his breathing in your ear, his chest moving softly against your back.
He shifted, letting out a sigh. You took a deep breath, clearing your mind of all sinful thoughts. You moved, trying to get comfortable on the hard floor.
It was nearly impossible.
You stirred again, finding yourself unable to sleep with Ghost's body against you. The undeniable tension was palpable. With a quick stretch, you tried to snuggle back in under the covers, relishing in the warmth that welcomed you back in.
"Stop movin'," Ghost said, a bite in his tone.
"Sorry," You whispered. "Thought you didn't sleep?" You said.
"It ain't my sleep I'm worried about," He replied gruffly.
You didn't reply, but your eyebrows drew together in confusion. Deciding against pushing for answers, you let out a sigh, relaxing your body. You fell in closer to him, your ass flush with his hips. He grunted softly.
Feeling something against you, your eyes flew open. It had to be his pistol- you tried not to allow yourself to think anything else. Mostly, because you didn't know what you'd do if he was aroused. Maybe nothing- but maybe something. The idea alone set your whole body on fire.
Your throat was dry, body rigid as you weighed the pros and cons in your mind. Maybe it was the delusion of your racing heart and frenzied thoughts, but you felt the desperate urge to feel him. Not a new feeling, but stronger now than it had ever been.
You firmly decided you needed to know. Wanted to know. You couldn't ignore the feelings you had for him, regardless of how badly it could end. The bitter taste of hopeless yearning was getting old. Watching from a distance, his hands ghosting your body at every opportunity. You were tired of being left in the dark.
"Did you put the safety on?" You threw your head back, trying to look at him in the dark.
Your question came across as genuine, an innocent tone in your voice. Regardless of how pathetic you felt asking, you were determined.
"What?" He asked, confused.
"Your pistol," You clarified. "It's still in your holster. Did you put the safety on?" You knew better. You knew it wasn't his gun. You just wanted to hear him say it.
"That ain't my pistol. Like I said, stop movin'," He answered, monotone.
Your eyes widened, the shock of him admitting it rendered you speechless.
"Oh," You said, breathing in deeply.
"Can't blame me," He said. "You're practically ridin' me."
"You offered," You shot back.
"Talkin' about you ridin' me makes it worse."
Your heart raced, his low, raspy voice made your stomach flip. Your mind darted to images of Ghost beneath you, gripping your thighs as you dragged your hips against him, burying his cock inside you. You sighed, trying to cleanse your imagination.
"I'll move over," You answered, reluctant to leave his grasp but you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.
His hands trapped your waist, tugging you closer.
"Didn't say I didn't like it. I'm alright if you are."
You felt your cheeks flush, body heating up. His statement shot straight to your abdomen, your stomach in knots. Your eyes darted around in the darkness, searching for what to say next.
"It's fine," You replied.
It was more than fine, actually. You felt your womb ignite, burning with desire. Wetness began to gather in your panties, pussy flinching every so often when you rubbed your thighs together.
"You're movin' again," He said.
"I know," You answered. "Can't help it."
He hummed in response. The hand draped over your waist moved up, fingertips tracing the dip between your ribs and your hips. You shut your eyes, savouring the way his calloused hands felt against the soft skin of your torso. He was moving at a torturously slow pace, fingers seemingly caressing whatever part of you was accessible.
"Ghost," You whispered, voice quiet, laced with pleasure and impatience as you urged him to touch you. You finally had your answer, closure, at last. You weren't going to waste it.
Unexpectedly, his hand drove up your shirt, meeting your bare skin. Surprised, he grunted in approval. His warm hands reached further up, cupping your breasts. His fingers brushed over your nipples, erect from the cold. The smallest bit of relief washed through you at his touch, finally seeing a small glimpse of pleasure. You sighed, his touch rousing the desire in your abdomen. You needed him elsewhere.
You gripped his forearm, pulling it from your shirt before gliding his hand along your stomach, to slip down past your pants waistband. His fingers crawled from your pelvis to your core, feeling the wet patch on the seat of your panties. He groaned softly, almost silently, rubbing your pussy through your panties.
"You're soaked," He said in your ear. "Barely even touched you yet, love."
You didn't answer, only shifting your hips to entice him, begging silently for his fingers to move more.
"Please," You whispered, head turning to meet his gaze.
He let out a soft breath, his middle finger pressing against your clit from over your panties. You breathed out in frustration, body writhing under the light pressure. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough. You wrapped an arm around his neck, pushing your hips into his fingers.
"Bloody fuckin' hell," He grunted, his eye contact unwavering as he watched you ride against his fingers.
He seemed to be motivated by your actions, and gently pulled your panties aside. Running a finger up and down your pussy, he groaned as the wetness spread between your folds. You gasped softly, goosebumps spreading across your body when the pad of his finger hit your clit.
"Fuckin' sight you are, sweetheart," He whispered, lips finding your throat.
You moaned even more now, as he added another finger to run circles over your clit, and kissed the soft skin of your neck.
"Yes, Ghost," You whimpered, the hand around his neck grabbing at his balaclava.
You could hear the wetness between your thighs, vulgar and loud as Ghost worked his fingers against you.
"Take 'em off," He ordered.
Pulling his hand from your panties, he undressed himself while you stripped out of your shirt and pants, panties around one ankle.
Suddenly, the lantern exploded with light, illuminating the small room. You watched Ghost's eyes, trailing over your naked form, half covered with the thin blanket. Your hand between your thighs, the other over your breasts, attempting to cover yourself.
His gaze flipped to your eyes, licking his lips when he found you, cheeks flushed, eyes half-open, hair strewn on the blanket beneath you.
"Christ," He whispered.
You took your time running your eyes over his body; large biceps, abs that flexed every time he moved, his pecs. The muscles that ran down his torso were magnetic, drawing your eyes in. His body glistened with a thin layer of sweat, tattoos highlighted against his skin. You pulled your lip between your teeth, pussy now aching for him.
"Please, touch me," You said, barely above a whisper.
He didn't waste any time, his hand running down your body to the familiar crease of your pussy. Fingers continued where they left off, but shortly after, he slid a finger into you. You arched your back off the ground, turning your head to lock eyes with him. Your lips parted as you panted.
"Pussy is so tight," He said, through strangled breaths. "So fuckin' wet, sweetheart."
His long finger was able to reach the sweet spot inside you, curling them gently to simulate you further. He added a second finger, watching you writhe on his palm. The calloused part of his palm rubbed against your clit, and you couldn't help the airy moans that left your lips.
"Oh God- Ghost," You cried, your abdomen tightening with every movement.
"Say my name sweetheart," He goaded. "My real name. Y'know it," His other hand reached up, lifting his balaclava up past his lips.
He craned his neck to run his tongue over your nipple, taking the soft flesh between his teeth and tugging softly.
"Simon," You said, a whimper in your voice as you began to come undone.
"Cum on my fingers, F/N."
You were riding his palm at this point, calves aching as you flexed them, thighs burning. Your stomach and hips tensed, your body enveloped in a rigid stance before your climax erupted. You let go, your muscles relaxing as you came over his hand. The back of your hand lifted to your lips, biting the skin as you indulged the remaining traces of your orgasm.
"Atta girl," He whispered, lifting his head to press his lips against yours.
You were still panting, but allowed him to run his tongue along yours. You breathed into his lips, nose exhaling against his face. You savoured the warmth his tongue offered, biting at his bottom lip.
Teeth clashed together, your kisses were sloppy, still reeling from your orgasm. Your body was desperate to feel the rest of him. Your hands ran down the back of his neck, then flat over his chest. He groaned with approval, the way your soft hands felt against his body was euphoric.
His fingers left your pussy, and when he lifted them, your face burned. Sticky juices coated his fingers, stringing between his fingers.
"Jesus Christ," He groaned.
He knelt between your thighs, kissing your lips again before he left a trail of soft, wet kisses down to your pelvis, thighs shaking as he parted them. He made himself comfortable, his tongue suddenly pressing against your clit. His first moan, loud, as he tasted you, then his second as your pussy clenched around his tongue diving inside you.
You were still sensitive from your orgasm, unable to sit still as he devoured you. His hands were pressing against your hips bones as he kept you locked under his grip.
He moaned, lifting his gaze to watch you. "Pussy tastes so fuckin' good."
You shivered, shutting your eyes as your hand ran through your hair. Your other hand fondled your breasts, teasingly tugging at your nipples.
"Do that again," He demanded.
You obeyed, gently rolling your nipples between your fingers. He moaned against your pussy, and the vibration lit a fuse up your spine. As he kissed and sucked at your clit, you felt another climax build. You were inconsolable, shivering under his touch as he stimulated your clit. It didn't take long before you came again, thighs clamping around his head, thrusting yourself against his mouth.
You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth, hands roaming your body.
He sat up, kissing your lips softly before he let his hand run up and down his cock. Your eyes shifted to see him, and his impressive length. Your eyes widened when you really took in his size.
"Think you can take it, sweetheart?" He asked, hips jutting into his hand.
"Yes," You nodded, biting down on your lip.
"Turn over," He said, watching you as he massaged his cock.
You obliged, rolling onto your stomach. You crossed your arms under your head, letting your cheek rest on your forearms. Arching your back, you got on your knees.
His hands gripped your ass, roughly grasping the soft, supple flesh in his hands. You could hear his breathing, fast and loud. He spread your pussy, cock pressing against your entrance. He took his time, introducing his cock slowly.
Soon, he was buried inside you, head thrown back as he savoured the way your pussy felt around him; slick, nearly dripping, hugging him tightly. The angle was nearly torture, so deep, so full, it knocked the air from your lungs.
"Shit, Simon," You croaked out, lifting your head to see him.
"You feel so good, love," He said, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder, teeth biting gently into your skin.
Shivering, you moaned into your arms, biting down as he began to move. His hips hit your ass, cock massaging your walls as he ground his pelvis into you. You couldn't help but clench down, desperate to feel him even more. Your breaths became faster, whimpering as his cock filled you, kissing your cervix just enough to make your body twitch.
His hands came down, landing on either side of you. You could feel his pants from above you. You looked up, eyes meeting as he thrusted into you. He nearly broke watching you move with his thrusts, lips parted with pleasure, nails scraping against your own skin.
One of his hands came up to grip your throat, keeping your eyes where they were while he fucked you. He enjoyed watching you, but wanted to make you feel good.
"Ah, shit," He exclaimed, his other hand slapping your ass.
You gasped, letting your hips thrust back.
"That's right sweetheart," He grunted. "So fuckin' good."
You could hardly breathe, his grip on your throat cutting off most of your oxygen. You didn't mind however, as his gaze was locked on yours, unflinching. It turned you on even more, giving you the push you needed.
"Let me ride you," You said, breathless.
His pace slowed, and he pulled out, grabbing your waist as he laid down. Your thighs spread to land on either side of him, catching your breath as you got yourself situated.
You sat up, pushing his cock back. He took himself in his hand, finding your entrance and helping you slide down onto him.
Your head fell back, sitting still on his cock. Your hips moved back and forth, wanting him as deep as he could get.
"So beautiful," He whispered, his hands sitting on your waist.
You hadn't the mind to answer, only beginning to move your hips forward. He tensed, his head falling back on the floor when you rolled your hips. It wasn't enough, however, and you wanted to feel him, stretching you out.
You lifted your ass up, gliding back down on him. You did this over and over again, until your rhythm settled and you found yourself gasping for air.
His hands flew up to your breasts, moving to your waist, fingers landing on your clit as you bounced on his cock.
"God, love, thas' it, ride this fuckin' cock," He said through his clenched jaw.
His large hand enveloped your ass, helping you up and down as his fingers worked back and forth on your clit. You were breathless, moaning shamelessly as you felt another orgasm working it's way through your abdomen.
"Cum on my cock," He groaned. "Wanna feel this pussy cum on my cock."
You gasped, your hands planting on his chest as your thighs and ass flexed, giving you the extra leverage to take him deep inside. You choked back a sob, your orgasm ripping through you, letting out a loud moan as your body continued to ride him.
Your orgasm wasn't quite finished when he sat up, his hands gripping your waist. He thrusted up into you, his eyes watching you as tears gathered in your eyes. Your body betrayed you, and you grasped his shoulders, trying your best to grind your hips against him.
"'M close, sweetheart," He whimpered. "Where do you want it?"
You shivered, feeling nothing but pure desire.
"Inside me," You breathed. "Cum inside me, Simon."
He groaned, leaning forward to press his lips against yours. His hips faltered, and he moaned quietly into the kiss, fingers bruising your waist as he buried his cum deep inside you.
You shivered again, sitting still for a moment while he recovered from his climax.
"Christ," He whispered.
"Yeah," You said back, with a huff.
You didn't notice when the lantern flickered off again, Ghost wrapping his arm around your waist, flush with your body. His large hand engulfed your breasts, and he couldn't possibly be closer if he tried- he liked it that way. And so did you.
Moments passed, finally finding warmth and comfort. You were so close to sleep, your body relaxed against his.
"Dark's not so bad, is it?" He asked, the timbre of his voice stirring you from your drowsy state.
You cracked a smile.
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floofysmallbob · 4 months
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born again from the darkness, a cloak of heroism- I mean, a Tokoyami redesign
the darkness would have shrouded this creation, cloaked where it belonged, but without light, one cannot see the beauty of the dark(translation: I would have used a black background but then you can’t see the actual redesign)
ok I can’t think of more poetic stuff so here you go here’s edgy bird boi:
Jet-Black Hero: Tsukuyomi
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honestly canon design was pretty decent
added knee/elbow/shoulder pads as usual
more avian features
feathered arms and neck(not visible)
taloned gloves
lace up knee high combat boots
the original ones were wayyyy too boring
couldnt figure out how to add any more goth aspects but if I could I would
thermal vision/night vision goggles
got the idea from the class a/b battle training
tried to give him his new haircut(feathercut?) from the latest chapter but failed
dw that’s not a spoiler
yes the arms look a lil funky but shh
all the other designs are faceless but I tried to do that with him and it just looked wrong
WITH CAPE:
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cape folds up, is actually around the same as or slightly longer than canon
easily detachable don’t worry Edna he won’t get caught in any ceiling fans anytime soon
in all seriousness it’s easily detachable that would be such a huge choking hazard and easy for villains to take advantage of
made of the same material as blackout curtains
COLD WEATHER VERSION:
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longer sleeves
thicker fabric
lined boots
yeah no that’s it
COLD WEATHER VERSION WITH CAPE:
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cape is slightly thicker
HOT WEATHER VERSION:
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sleeveless
fingerless gloves
oh yeah he has talons too forgot abt that
he doesn’t even have to paint his nails black they already are
yes his feet are also taloned but I’m not fucking drawing that
he does have custom shoes though
speaking of, shorter boots
lighter(not color wise) fabric
HOT WEATHER VERSION WITH CAPE:
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thinner cape
I like this one, it’s essentially just canon with a few improvements and aesthetic changes, and I’m always a sucker for all black like the alt dumbass I am
as always, tips and advice are appreciated!
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x-reader-theater · 1 year
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Frozen Waste
summary: Taking refuge in a cabin safehouse in the middle of a snowstorm is cold.
pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Male!Reader
category: Gen
word count: 2012
warnings: There are brief mentions of the reader having a more masculine body, but there are no pronouns used. However I made it male reader so those who want gender neutral readers wouldn't feel betrayed.
a/n: i stole this from a bunch of SoapGhost fics.
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"God fucking fuck fuck FUCK!" You should over the roaring of the snowstorm around you. Your arms are wrapped tightly around you in the absolutely freezing weather. 
"Keep it together, Sargeant!" Ghost commands over the chugging of the wind. "We're almost at the safehouse. I can't have you losing it in me now!" 
You shake your head at him and sigh. "Of course not, sir!" You shout back. "How could I go insane with you right here!" 
You can't see it behind the reflective ski goggles he's wearing, but you know Ghost is just rolling his eyes at your terrible attempts to flirt. It's the only way you won't go crazy, though. Some little sense of normalcy in this fucked situation. 
"Like I said, only a little longer to the safehouse! Then I might be able to put some distance between us!" Ghost shoots back quickly, without missing a beat. 
Now it's your turn to roll your eyes as you say, "You'll freeze to death without me to help warm you up!" 
"No innuendoes in the field, [L/N]!" Ghost barks. 
You scoff even though it gets lost in the wind. "Not an innuendo Lieutenant!" you shout back. "Just stating a fact! It's fuckin' cold as balls out here!" 
Ghost doesn't say anything else as the two of you trek your way through the snow covered landscape. 
Eventually, you see the almost completely snowed-in cabin that is the safe house, and you find yourself picking up your footsteps and walking just a little bit faster at the promise of warmth. Ghost seems to keep pace with you and walks quickly up to the cabin. You have to dig out the door a bit but you thank whatever higher power is out there, if there is even one, that the door opens inward. You and Ghost use your full body weights to push the door closed behind you, trying to get as much snow that fell in, back out. 
When the door clicks shut with a finality that would normally worry you, you sag against the door in relief. 
Ghost instantly goes to the small fireplace in the one room cabin, the only other doors being to the extremely tiny bathroom and a backdoor to the cabin. He kneels before the fireplace and throws in a couple of the already stocked fire logs by the fire and gets out his tinderbox while you rush over to the bed to start pulling off as many layers of wet clothing that you have. Your boots, socks, and pants are all taken off, as well as your heavy, waterproof coat, leaving you in your vest and sweatshirt, as well as your thermal layer that covers from your neck to your ankles. 
"Wh-wh-why di-i-i-id Pri-i-ice ins-s-s-sis-s-s-sted on-n-n no wo-o-ol?" You shiver out as you drag your wet and damp layers to the now growing fire and lay them out on the hearth in front of the mesh fire screen. 
Ghost just looks at you, and while you can’t tell what he’s thinking, you can see his muscles trembling in shivers. 
You strip down to your underwear, as even your long johns have been soaked through. You sigh as you finally peel off the last layer, stretching out, but pulling your limbs back into your body as the cold air causes you to shiver once more. You walk over to Ghost with your wet clothes and spread them out by already warm fireplace while Ghost goes and checks around the place. You sigh as you feel some feeling return to your fingers and warmth return to your bones. You glance over to Ghost, who’s looking around the safehouse, making sure it’s not compromised. You can see he’s still shivering. 
You scoff as you stand, saying, “Take off your clothes.”
He freezes and turns his head to look at you, but doesn’t move other than that. “What?” 
“You’re shaking,” you say, gesturing to him. He stops shaking as soon as you point it out. “You’re freezing. If you stay in those wet clothes any longer you’re going to get frostbite.”
You cross your arms and tap your foot, trying to convey a look that brokers no argument. It seems to work, that or Ghost actually knows you’re ultimately right, and he makes his way over to the fireplace. You smile at him and shake out your limbs, before moving towards where the attached bedroom is. There’s only one bed, however there’s no fireplace in there, so it’s pretty useless right now. You go and grab a few blankets from the bed, the extra fluffy comforter and the quilt that’s currently on the bed. For a rarely used safehouse it’s remarkably clean. 
You walk back out of the bedroom and almost drop the blankets you’re carrying. 
Standing in the glowing light of the firelight is Ghost, with almost all his skin on glorious display. He’s pale, which makes sense for a man who spends 90% of his time covered up. What surprises you however is just how many scars litter his skin, and the entire tattoo sleeve that spans his right arm and up to his shoulder. He has a healthy layer of fat over what has to be incredibly strong, corded muscle. He’s not small, you never thought he was, but seeing just how much of Ghost is muscle, how little he actually wears as padding to make himself bigger shocks you. 
You clear your throat and get a better grip on the blankets as Ghost looks up. He still has his balaclava on his head, but other than the very tight boxer briefs he’s wearing, the rest is all laid to bare. You hold out a blanket, your cheeks feeling warm, and you hope Ghost attributes it to the warmth from the fire, but you’re not holding your breath. Ghost doesn't miss anything. 
However, he doesn’t make any indication that he knows as he slowly reaches out and grabs the quilt. You plop yourself in front of the fireplace, wrapping the fleece covered comforter around your shoulders, but you’re still shivering after being away from the fireplace for so long. Ghost joins you, sitting next to you at a respectable distance, but it’s as if Ghost is stealing away all the heat from the fire and leaving none for you. 
Your teeth chatter and you feel yourself shaking. Ghost sighs next to you and opens up his arm. 
“Here,” he says, his voice low and gravely. You look over and see he has his arm out. You look at him shocked, but all he says is, “Bare skin contact can help you heat up faster.”
You nod slowly and push the comforter from around your shoulders. Ghost grabs it and slings it over his back and you crawl over and into his arms. Immediately you feel your chest warm as your back leans against his chest. His arms encircle your waist, and you sigh as you finally feel like you’re warming up. 
You look up at the underside of Ghost’s chin, still covered by the mask. You stare up at Ghost, trying to discern anything from what is showing, but Ghost’s mask is not just the one that covers his face. 
“Eyes forward, Sergeant,” Ghost orders. 
You feel yourself jolt and your cheeks heat up even more, that familiar tingle of embarrassment prickling underneath your skin. “Sorry Sir,” you mutter, twisting your head so you’re facing forward once more, watching the fire crackle in the hearth. You feel your cheeks heat up even more before you say, trying to stop it but failing, “You’re really hot.” 
You stiffen in Ghost’s arms, and you almost think he gets warmer, but you can’ be sure, being surrounded by all the heat. 
“Is it too warm for you?” Ghost says hesitantly after a moment, going to take his arms away from your body, but you grab them, pulling them back to your bare chest. 
“No, no, it’s fine,” you say, still feeling overly flushed. Ghost seems to relax again, as much as he can relax, and you feel yourself shifting slightly into his lap more. You can feel your eyelids and limbs getting heavy, the muscles finally relaxing after an entire day of walking and shooting and yelling and action. 
“Get some sleep, sergeant,” Ghost says. 
You smile sleepily and nod. “Alright. Yes Sir,” you say, your voice trailing off as the warmth seeps into you and you begin to fall asleep. 
When you wake up, it’s slow, and much colder than how you went to sleep. You blink slowly, gritty corners almost painful in the cold, dry air. You wrap the blankets that have been placed around you tighter across your bare back as you sit up from where you were laying on the floor. You look behind you and see it’s empty. The space Ghost occupied is empty now, and the fire on the other side of you has burned down to embers, a reflection of the blaze it once was only a few hours ago. 
As you sit up you start to hear quiet talking in the background as your ears begin to work again become less fuzzy, not filled with the proverbial cotton. You rub your eyes as you look over towards the single, small table in the open space, where you see Ghost, still wearing nothing but his mask and underwear, bent over a small radio in his hands, talking with someone. You watch him as he talks quietly, the sun that now glints through the open window turning his skin from a pale moon to a golden glow, his scars that litter his body almost blinding in the light. 
You watch him for the time it takes him to communicate back and forth a few more times before he sits back in the wooden chair. Your eyes trail up from his thick, muscular thighs and over his slightly protruding belly covered in a small patch of blonde hair that trails beneath the waistband of his underwear. Your eyes gracefully rove upwards towards his scarred chest, protruding collarbones, wide shoulders, over his stretched neck that’s half covered by his balaclava. 
He looks over at you and you feel your face heat up as you look away, clearing your throat. 
“Ah, ahem, who-who was that?” you ask, taking a deep breath and trying to school your expression as you look back at Ghost. Your breath catches in your throat as you see him leaning back, facing you, with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You breathe through your teeth, trying to keep your face cool. 
“That was Price. We need to suit up and meet them at  exfil,” Ghost explains, and you nod. 
You drop the blankets with a shiver and push yourself to standing, stretching out, joints popping and muscles tensing before you relax. You can feel Ghost’s eyes on you until you bend down to grab at your now mostly dry clothes. When you look back behind you, you can see Ghost stand up and walk around you in a way that means his eyes don’t have to be on you. 
You smile and shake your head as you collect the rest of your clothes, and start putting them on again, facing away from Ghost as the both of you suit up in your damp tactical gear, When you’ve both finished, you turn to look at Ghost, who has his rifle in his hands and is standing by the door. You collect your own and walk over to Ghost, and go to open the door to leave when he places a gentle hand on your shoulder to stop you. 
“We’re never talking about what happened here,” Ghost says. 
You nod but something sharp- heartbreak?- lances through you and your smile is strained. “Of course.” 
“Already Sergeant,” Ghost says, clapping you on the shoulder in a stilted, overly friendly manner. “Let’s move out.”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” you respond shortly, saluting before leaving the cabin, and the peace you found together, for the cold, uncaring snow-covered landscape. 
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imabeautifulbutterfly · 4 months
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Heeey it's me again , I have a new idea for a request 💚
Would you please make one with Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood with TechxFreader ? 😊
Thanks a lot 💕
Hello love @griffedeloup,
Thank you for sending another request.
I hope you enjoy this interpretation on 'Sweater Weather'.
Love oo
Sweater Weather
Warnings: Implied coitus, discussion of nakedness, kisses, chance meeting, romance, fluff, snow, helping get dressed, kissing, I'd say about one dot of spiciness. I think that's it, if I miss anything please let me know.
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Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link
You stood by the window looking at the snow that kept piling up, you shivered as you pulled the blanket tighter around your body. In fairness, you probably wouldn’t be so cold, if you had bothered to dress. But… let’s face it you probably wouldn’t have stayed dressed for very long once Tech woke up. 
Yet, it was too cold. You headed to the bathroom, taking a quick shower and getting dressed, putting on the matching thermals Tech had bought the both of you. It wasn’t the most romantic gift, but considering it was Tech, it meant more to you than he possibly realized. 
As you prattled over to the kitchen, you couldn’t help smiling as you saw Tech still lying on the bed passed out. His bare chest and bare legs the only thing visible, as the bed sheet was rumbled around his waist. 
You rested your head against the doorframe, smiling. You were completely head over heels for this man. It had been a random meeting. He’d been focused on his data-pad and not paying attention to his surroundings, you were busy on your comm arranging your next photography client, when you both bumped into each other. 
It was kismet. 
Neither of you could stop looking at each other or smiling. Tech felt so bad, he took you out for dinner, which turned into dessert, then drinks, and dancing, and the rest - - well the rest is history as far as you’re concerned.
You let out a contented sigh as you finished your trip to the kitchen, making yourself some tea. You pulled out some eggs, toast and cream cheese. You decided to make your famous French toast. Wanting to surprise Tech with breakfast either in bed or for when he did wake up. 
Tech started to stir when the most divine heavenly smell filled the room. His stomach growled, reminding him of the calories and energy he expended most of the night. He slowly stood putting on the pyjama pants you had bought him. They were silly, but because you bought them he couldn’t help himself smile as he looked down at the glasses wearing tookas that seemed to be enjoying a variety of activities, from reading to knitting, from sewing to relaxing by a fire. He put his goggles back on after running his hand over his face, and slowly made his way into the kitchen. The coldness hit him, like icy fingers crawling over his skin. He quietly headed over to the fireplace, adding more logs on the fire that had slowly begun to dwindle.
Once the fire was roaring again, he moved slowly over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, as he rested his head on your shoulder. 
“Morning, mesh’la”
The smile that had been on your lips all morning, widened as you felt his warmth encompass your back. 
“Hey, you’re finally up.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, “Well someone decided to keep me up most of the night.”
“Really? That’s so rude. We should definitely talk to that person.”
“Mmmhmm, we really should.” He placed a gentle kiss on your neck, “Why were you up so early?”
You hummed as you rested your head against his, “It’s the mountain air. Always makes me want to wake up bright and early.”
“That’s disappointing, I was missing your warmth.”
“Well, we could always cuddle after breakfast.”
“Speaking of, what are you making? It smells very tempting.”
“My own special French toast, it has cream cheese in the middle.”
“That seems an odd combination.”
“Don’t knock it, till you try it.” You turned in his arms, pressing a kiss to his lips, “Tech aren’t you cold?”
“Slightly.”
“Why not put on a shirt or a sweater?”
“Because that would mean I have to leave your side.”
You lovingly rolled your eyes as you reached over, and grabbed your holey sweater, it was practically a dress on you so it should fit him fine. 
“Arms in”
Tech smirked as he threaded his arms inside, while you helped him put the sweater on. You slid your fingers into the holes decorating the hem of your shirt, worn through with years of use pulling him closer, “Better?”
“Almost”
He pressed his lips to yours, seeking the only kind of warmth he truly wanted all morning. 
Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link
Tag list:
@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal @crosshair-is-the-superior-clone @totallyunidentified @griffedeloup @leotatombs @leotawrites
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Note
72/10 & 74/5 Doesn't have to be pack but would be interesting to see ot8 reacting to reader saying the first half of each prompt. Like reader did something dumb (drank too much or did something dangerous while in a funk) and the guys are mixed emotions. Like some are all baby reader while at least 2 of them decided the cold facts are better.
SKZ PROMPT GAME
Prompts: "I want to get better, I just don't know how...." "That's bullshit."
"How, exactly, is this my fault?" "How is it not?!"
Members: OT8, Platonic BTS Appearance
Relationship: Mafia Boss's Daughter!FemReader x Rival Mafia!OT8
Genre: Angst
Warnings: Dark Themes, Guns, Mafia Shit, Hostages, Whump, Injuries, Torture, Minor Character Death
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"Okay, no more surprises, right?" You ask into your earpiece hopefully, breathing hard, swiping some sweaty hair out of your eyes as you drag the last body into the storage closet and slam the door shut with your foot.
It's a tight fit, but you make it work.
"Yeah, right. Totally." Hoseok's voice echoes in response through the earpiece, and you hear keys clacking frantically somewhere in the background on some piece of equipment.
Something in his voice makes you take pause, and you blow out a huff of breath, leaning against the wall for a moment as you ready yourself to breach the next corner.
"Jung."
"Yeah, yeah. Here's the thing-" He hedges out, voice still bright, even though you're sure he's readying himself to tell you bad news. "-we accounted for all the security in our plans, right? But I'm getting some thermal imaging from the fourth floor that doesn't seem to fit."
You breathe out harshly through your nose.
The tactical gear you wear-dressed in black from head to toe-is making you sweat like a motherfucker, and the mask you wear is starting to itch.
"Fine. We'll deal with it when we get there." You bite out, creeping forward, gun held out cautiously in front of you, as you ready yourself to round the corner. "Just find us a clear path to the roof."
"Roger that."
You motion to the two men behind you to follow close on your trail, and dart around the corner, clearing the area with one discerning sweep of your gaze before you stand up straight and let out the breath you'd been holding.
"Fuck." One of the men behind you swears under his breath at the sight of the empty hallway, almost sounding disappointed. "I was really hoping there'd be more of our old friends waiting for us. I'm itching for a good brawl."
You toss him an unimpressed glance over your shoulder, and you see his eyes light with a grin behind his goggles as he shrugs easily, as if you haven't just finished demolishing almost a dozen men on your trek to this position on the second floor.
The other man elbows him hard in the side, making him yelp, even though you know he couldn't have felt it through the bulletproof vests you all wear.
Your father may be a bastard, but he'd taught you, and these men, how to prepare for a fight, you'd give him that much.
"Shut the fuck up, Tae. Only you would be disappointed we don't have a fight ahead of us."
"Park." You ignore their ribbing, and motion the other man forward to your side. He advances and listens closely as you say, "You and Kim take the north stairwell. I'll take the south. Hopefully Jeon will beat us to the rendesvouz point and back us up for whatever Jung saw on the imaging equipment."
"Got it, boss." Park intones seriously, before grabbing his buddy and dragging him down the hall to the intended stairwell.
You take a moment after they disappear, to catch your breath and quiet your thoughts.
You need to be on full firing mode for this next part.
You're about to face your father, and you can't back down. Not this time.
Not when he holds something so dear captive.
Creeping to the stairwell, you move upward, clearing the floors as you go, moving steadily toward your goal.
When you reach the door to the fourth floor, you pause, hand hovering over the doorknob.
"Jung."
"Yeah. I see you." You hear typing and then he says, "You're all clear from what I can see. Thermal imaging isn't picking anything up anymore."
You consider that, letting your hand drop to the door knob as you check in with the others.
"Kim. Park. You in position?"
"Roger that."
"Yes, ma'am."
You nod and take in a steadying breath, readying the gun in your free hand, ignoring the sweat that is dripping down your forehead and stinging your eyes.
"Min. You have visual of the rooftop?"
"Yeah." Your sniper comes in over the speaker, and you can hear the sneer in his voice when he says, "Bastard has everyone right where we thought he would."
That's good at least.
Your father has never been anything but predictable, and your little band of rebels, and friends, now defectors, used to be under his command, giving you the advantage in this attack.
You all know how he moves by now.
"Kim." You speak to the other hacker now, the one who has been silent all this time. "Make sure all the security feeds are looped still."
His deep, serious voice comes over your earpiece a moment later.
"Affirmative. You're good to move."
Taking that as your signal, you shove open the door to the fourth floor and go through, guns blazing.
No one is there.
"Fuck." You swear under your breath, because there should have been a small detail of your father's security here at least, if the pattern of the previous floors was to be believed, and it's suspicious that the floor is empty and silent.
Park and Kim appear from their respective stairwell at the same time as you, and you all stare each other down across the empty landing for a brief moment of frozen time.
"What the fuck-" Kim starts to say into his mic, glancing around, but is interrupted at the entrance of your fourth and final agent in the building.
"Jeon, what the fuck is going on here?" You demand, stepping toward the younger man, as he holsters his gun and slides a long knife out of a pocket on his tactical pants.
"They fucking all moved to the roof." He replies, slightly breathless, motioning with a jerk of his head to the open door behind him, leading to rooftop access. "They knew we were coming."
"Shit." Park swears vehemently, kicking his boot hard against the wall of the hallway, making a large whole in the flimsy dry wall.
"How did they find out?" Kim hisses at the youngest, who throws his arms in the air helplessly.
"How the fuck am I supposed to know?! How, exactly, is this my fault?"
" How is it not?! You were advance recon!"
"Okay, okay." You cut in sharply, reaching up under your protective goggles to rub at your nose for a moment. "We go on with the plan. He was bound to be one step ahead of us, but we accounted for that, because we all know how the son of a bitch works. We're fine."
The men nod, gathering their composure, pulling out their weapons once more as you turn for the rooftop access.
"Let's go-"
Before you can motion them forward after you, a gun shot rings out and a bullet ricochets sharply against the metal doorframe above Jeon's head, making him swear and duck for cover.
The rest of you don't hesitate, scrabbling behind debris and doorways to avoid the sudden rain of gunfire.
"What the fuck-?" Kim says for the second time in as many minutes, raising his voice over the sound of gunfire, as he leans out around the doorframe and takes down one of the guards rushing from the opposite end of the hall. "We cleared that stairwell!"
"What's going on? We lost video feed!" You hear Jung say through your earpiece in a panicked sort of voice.
"They fucking ambushed us!" You shout back, leaning around your cover to take a shot at an advancing guard.
He goes down with a sharp cry and a bullet in the chest.
"Fuck." Jung swears, and you hear him scraping his chair across to another console. "I'll try to get feeds back up. Hang in there."
"Fucking bastards." Beside you, Park leans around your shoulder to shoot another guard, this time, taking him down with a well aimed shot to the head.
Kim laughs gleefully, a little unhinged, shooting another of your father's detail in the slit between their goggles and helmet, blood spraying like a fine film across the opposing wall as the man goes down.
Jeon slides across the floor to take cover on the opposite side of the hall, taking down another two guards as he does so, a knife lodged in one man's throat, a bullet through the other's skull.
You're suddenly very glad in that moment that they're all on your side.
Another guard goes down on the heap of piled bodies, and suddenly, the hallway is quiet, the ringing in your ears from gunfire pitching upward as the dying men fall silent.
You stand up carefully, gun still at attention, surveying the area, and Jeon stands up with a groan across from you.
"Fuck, you're hit." Park exclaims, and your gaze instantly whips to Jeon as the other man hurries to his side, carefully lifting his arm and expecting the gunshot wound there, blood seeping sluggishly through the dark fabric of his tactical gear.
"It's just a graze, Jiminie." Jeon says with a slight grunt and a half smile in the other man's direction. "Nothing I can't handle."
You let out the breath you've been holding and glance to the stairs that lead to the rooftop, to your father.
"Okay. Let's go."
Behind you, you hear the other three men follow you silently up the steps, then,
"Why didn't you fucking warn us about the move to the roof, hyung?" That's Kim, hissing into the mic.
"I didn't fucking find out in time." Min grates back in response, sounding furious and on edge. "They cut the lights when they cut the feeds."
"Shit." Park mutters. "Another sure sign they know we're coming."
"We're walking right into a trap." Jeon adds, though they don't stop following you up the stairs, not even hesitating as you reach the door at the top.
"I know, but what the fuck else can I do?" You snap back in response, hand already on the doorknob, gun at the ready. "I'm not letting him have this. Or them."
A heavy hand goes on your shoulder, and you glance over into Kim's dark eyes, flashing behind his goggles with determination.
"And he won't." He offers you the hint of a grim smile and motions toward the door with his chin. "Let's give him hell."
You take in a deep breath, glancing around at the other guys, who look just as determined as their brother, and nod.
"Alright. On my count."
"One."
You turn the door knob.
"Two."
All your guns go up, the guys shuffling in to flank you.
"Three."
You slam into the door with your shoulder and all emerge onto the rooftop.
And just like you thought, your father is standing there, surrounded by his most trusted security detail, and at their feet, with guns to all of their heads, is your eight men.
You hold your gun straight, pointed right at your father's chest as you advance, expression hard, the three men right on your heels, though their guns are aimed at members of the security guard that flank your father.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" Your father sneers, smirking smugly as you come to a stop about twenty feet away.
You don't want to risk getting too close and having him shoot one of the men at his feet in retaliation.
"Let them go." You grit out, as your eyes flick quickly over your men, taking stock of them, making sure they're all still in once piece.
Everybody looks okay. Changbin's got a slowly bleeding gash over one eye, and Chan looks like he's been pummeled in the face by the butt of a gun, but they're all alive.
"Where's the fun in that?" Your father holds out his hands, stepping up between Hyunjin and Felix, leaning over to jostle the rope tying Felix's hands behind his back, even as he winces slightly at the movement. "You know that's not how these games are played, my dear daughter."
"Your games are with me and only me." You hiss back, noting the blooming bruise on the side of Jisung's face, anger welling hotly in your stomach at the sight.
Your father tsks disappointedly, and motions to the men at your back.
"You made the game bigger after you sided with those traitors." Your father spits out, spitting on the ground in front of you, and you feel Kim tense beside you, but he holds his position.
He retreats slightly, moving to stand behind Jeongin, twisting his fingers in his hair as he tugs his head back roughly and forces him to meet your gaze. There's drying blood on his lips.
"After you chose them over me."
"It's easy to chose someone, anyone, over a father who never gave a shit about you." You sneer back, smirking now, as anger flashes in the depths of your father's dark eyes.
"I grow tired of this." He remarks coolly, tugging at his expensive suit, as he falls back behind the safety of his men once more. He waves a hand in your direction. "Kill them. But save her for last." He fixes you with a dangerous glare. "I want her to watch while I kill her little boyfriends in front of her."
The guards crack their knuckles, advancing toward you, and you mutter into your earpiece, "Kim. Do it now."
Your father laughs-a cold, unhinged sort of song. "Please." His eyes flick to Kim standing beside you, a haughty look on his face. "He can't get you out of this."
The corner of your mouth tips up, as a tall, dark figure appears on the rooftop behind your father and his men.
"Wrong Kim." You remark triumphantly, watching as your father's eyes widen minutely, before a chain of explosions echo around you and send the rooftop into chaos.
You dive out of the way of some of the debris as shouts ring out, losing sight of the other men as you make your way across the destroyed rooftop toward where you last saw your men.
There is the sound of gunshots to your left, and then you hear someone go down with a scream, but it's not one you recognize, so it must have been some of your father's security.
"Min." You mutter breathlessly, ducking behind a chunk of asphalt, as you shoot and take down another guard wandering in the smoke. "Take the stragglers out."
"Got it."
You jump over a fallen electrical line, sizzling in a puddle near the stairwell door, gun at the ready, and see a familiar form through the lingering ash up ahead.
Chan's gotten loose and is in the process of untying Seungmin, who has a nasty looking black eye, as Minho picks up a fallen guard's gun and covers them from the back.
He catches sight of you at the same time you see them, and before you can stop yourself, you're dropping your guard and running to him, taking his face in your hands and inspecting him, relieved just to have him alive and warm beneath your touch.
"Fuck." You breathe out, taking in the blood trickling slowly from what seems to be a split lip.
"Yeah." Minho remarks, giving you a lopsided smirk and an arched brow, always the one to keep his cool. "Fuck."
Chan finishes up with Seungmin and pushes himself to his feet, taking your chin in his fingers and inspecting your own face behind the tactical gear you wear with worried eyes.
"Fuck, princess. Are you okay?"
You laugh, but it's sorta choked, and nod as he caresses your jaw with his fingers.
"Yeah. I'm okay."
"Thank god." He lets out a harsh breath and glances over his shoulder as the others come to join you, Hyunjin supporting Felix, who is holding his ribs.
You're just glad you're all still alive for this little reunion.
Changbin glares into the smoke, the gash above his eye still sluggishly dripping. "Where the fuck did that bastard go?"
"Hopefully killed in the blast." Jisung remarks, eyes narrowing dangerously, as he takes an offered gun from Minho and scans your immediate surroundings.
You open your mouth to respond, and an arm goes around your throat, dragging you backward from the men before you can react, knocking your weapon out of your hand.
You feel the cold steel of a gun go against your temple and then your father's voice, "Well, isn't this touching."
Chan's expression hardens as he stares your father down. "Don't do anything stupid, Reginald."
Your father laughs, and pulls you tighter against him, your breath choking in your throat, his words hissing hotly against your ear.
"We're far past stupid, aren't we, Mr. Bang? We passed stupid the moment you fucked me over in that little exchange of product and then took my daughter from me."
"We didn't take anything." Minho reasons coldly, expression unreadable, gun still in his hand. "Not the product. Not your daughter."
"Seems people-suppliers and daughters alike-have a habit of leaving you to find something better, hm, Reggie?" Changbin muses easily, though his eyes are hard and gleaming, like steel.
"Shut the fuck up." Your father snarls, wildly digging the gun into the side of your head, finger shaking over the trigger. "Don't push me or you won't like the consequences."
"And you-" He tangles his fingers into your hair roughly and yanks your head back so hard that you whimper slightly. He gives you an unhinged, dangerous grin, gun still aimed at your head. "-you are useless to me now. Soiled and ruined. The Yakuza's heir will want nothing to do with you, a common whore."
You bite down on your lip so hard you taste copper as he yanks your head back even farther, the gun digging into your skin painfully.
"All you had to fucking do was give me an heir, you little bitch, that's all I asked. Give me an heir to the family business, tie us up in the dealings with the Yakuza, but now-"
He laughs wildly, and you can tell, your father is losing control.
"-now you're nothing but their-" He waves the gun maniacally at your men, watching cautiously, not daring to make a move with your life hanging in the balance '-little slut, and I think it's time we end this whole charade."
"No, please." You gasp out, putting on your fakest, weakest, most imploring tone for him, keeping your face pleading even as he yanks on your hair once more. You force tears from the corners of your eyes. "Please don't kill me. I swear, father, I'll come back. I'll make good on my promises-"
His arm tightens around your throat and you choke on your next words, but his gun hand wavers against your temple.
Your father has always loved women who beg on their knees for him. It's his one weakness.
"Please! Please! I beg of you! I'm sorry! I'll do better. I promise! I want to get better, I just don't know how-!"
You swallow hard, trying to get air past his encroaching arm, and your father's lips pull into a sneer as he stares down at you, bold hatred brewing in his eyes.
"That's bullshit." He hisses out between his teeth, and his finger moves to the trigger once more.
You drop the act, glowering up at him.
"Yeah, it is. Get fucked, you son of a bitch."
His face contorts with rage and as his fingers pulls down on the trigger, you bash your head back into his face, his nose crunching beneath the force of your blow as he howls.
The gun goes off, but it misses, and you whirl out of his grip, taking out his legs with one sweep of your own, catching him off guard as he tries to stem the gushing blood from his broken nose.
He goes down hard, and you don't miss a beat as you pick up the dropped gun, standing over him with the barrel pointed right at the center of his head.
Your father glares up at you, hands still over his bleeding nose, and spits bloodstained spittle at your feet.
The front of his expensive suit is dampening quickly with crimson blood.
What a waste. Just like him.
You feel your men congregate at your back, and you hold your gun hand steady, staring down at the man who made your life a living hell, now nothing, groveling at your feet.
"If you beg, I might let you live." You offer in a hard tone, clicking back the hammer of the gun to cock it.
His eyes flash and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, blood dripping from his nose, down his lips.
"She might-" Chan steps up beside you, a hand going down on your shoulder as he stares down with unbridled hatred at the man at your feet. "-but I won't."
You cock your head, studying your father, and tsk slightly, like you're mulling something over. You crouch down, lowering the gun slightly, and stare right into his soulless rage-filled gaze.
"You know." You muse as he glares at you, gun still pointed vaguely to the center of his chest. "I used to dream of this day. Killing you, making you beg me for mercy, just like I begged you all those nights in my bedroom."
"But." You shrug, tossing the gun easily between your hands as you consider him. "My begging fell on deaf ears, and you know what? I think you deserve to know what that feels like. Goodbye, father."
You stand, and without another word, shoot your father in the head.
His body goes limp and blood pools beneath him, staining the already reddening ground a deep burgundy, soaking his expensive Armani suit.
"It's a shame." Hyunjin remarks off handedly, as Kim, Park, and Jeon all emerge on the other side of your father's body, pulling off their tactical masks. "It was a nice suit."
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Text
Day 4 - DBDA Week
Day 4 of Dead Boy Detectives Appreciation Week: 10th-16th June by @dbdcentral
Prompt: Reunion
Relationships: Edwin Payne&Charles Rowland&Crystal Palace&Niko Sasaki
Tags: Post-canon, Paranormal Activities
TW: None
--
“Crystal, we have to tell you something,” Charles started one day out of the blue.
He looked giddy, mischievous, the expression you would find on a kid about to confess that they stole one of your freshly-baked biscuits. And while that in itself wouldn’t be such an unexpected image, what made the entire thing almost unreal - assuming a world like ‘real’ could even be applied to a psychic, living with ghosts, solving supernatural crimes - was that behind him, Edwin was wearing a matching grin.
Crystal raised a questioning brow as a form of reply, she had no idea where the conversation could possibly be going.
“Ok, so, you know we are ghosts, right?” Charles rambled.
Luckily, before Crystal could make a sarcastic remark, or curse at him, Edwin had mercy on them both and took the lead of the conversation:
“We have this little tradition. Every Halloween we go to a Haunted House in the countryside, where people pretend to be detectives of the occult, with useless equipment, and we… Well, there’s no other way to say it, we tease them a little.”
“You- what?” Crystal was having trouble reconciling the image she had of the other two with this new information. It probably struck her for the first time since she met them, that they were just two kids, trying their best in this cruel world they had been ripped out from too soon. Her gaze softened. “Why didn’t I know anything about this?”
“It’s your first Halloween with us, isn’t it?” Charles said, sounding a lot more like his usual, confident self.
“We used to have quite the nice reviews on the newspapers,” Edwin continued. “Then, they stopped writing those, but people still visit the house and they have a lot of fun when something actually happens.”
Crystal fished her phone out of her jacket’s pocket and looked at Maps for a while, searching for ‘haunted houses’ until she found it. 
“Is this the place?” She asked, turning the phone to Edwin so he could watch the screen.
“Yes, it is!” He said. Crystal had never seen him this excited before.
“Wow, this has so many reviews, I wonder why I had never heard about it. They love it.”
Charles preened. “Of course they do, we are professionals.”
Taking the phone back to read some more comments, Crystal had to laugh. It was probably the only self-indulgent thing they had allowed themselves all those years. One well-deserved night of fun without witches, or demons, or Death. She just felt a bit sad that she couldn’t join them.
As if reading her mind, Charles said:
“We were thinking that you could dress up as one of those ‘detectives’, so you could come with us, if you’d like?”
The outfit the three of them had put together was absolutely ridiculous. Crystal had a big yellow jacket with a stylized ghost on one arm, thermal goggles perched on top of her head, and a backpack with something similar to a vacuum cleaner attached to its side.
“Am I supposed to, like, capture the ghosts?” She said, while looking at herself in the mirror.
Edwin snickered. Full-on snickers. “Of course you know that it would be impossible, right?”
“But they like to think they can. You will blend in perfectly,” Charles finished for him. They were still doing that thing where they looked like they shared two halves of the same brain, but in that moment it was less like the usual dead married couple on acid, and more like two twelve-year-olds trying to pull a prank on their parents.
“Ok, I’m ready then,” Crystal nodded, unable to hide the fond smile in time before they could see it.
Crystal found out there was an actual tour bus taking people to the Haunted House and she managed to secure herself a ticket. It was painted in black and decorated with neon green and splashes of fake blood, and it was filled with similarly dressed people, carrying all sorts of weird equipment on them. Some people had laptops, others had devices that looked like small radios, and others that didn’t look like anything she had seen before.
Absolutely none of them had any drop of actual arcane energy.
When the bus started its way up the hill where the house stood, everyone went silent, anxiety and anticipation both equally filled the air. It required an extreme amount of self-control for Crystal not to burst out laughing, knowing that the very ghosts who supposedly haunted the house were riding on that same bus, elbowing one another and giggling, while making a list of what to do this time to scare-but-not-too-much the visitors.
It was a very run-of-the-mill paranormal experience, when compared to the much weirder and scarier things Crystal had already seen in her life. But Charles and Edwin were right, people absolutely loved it. Everyone took their time to set up their equipment and the ghosts patiently waited before starting to open some windows, slam doors, make pieces of paper fly. Crystal would lie if she didn’t admit that it was fun.
Until a second bus arrived, and time stopped. She couldn’t focus on anything else, other than the buzzing sound in her mind, her gaze fixed intently on the people entering the house. Or, more accurately, on the person.
“Niko,” she breathed out, running towards the white-haired girl like her life depended on it.
“Crystal! You’re really here!” Niko said, with tears forming in her eyes as she returned the hug and squeezed Crystal tight.
A few seconds later, she felt four other arms wrap around the two of them, followed by a lot of loud complaints from the people that came with the second bus that the haunting had stopped too soon and they wanted a refund.
When they separated, all four of them had matching glistening eyes.
“I came back to the mortal plane thanks to my sprites,” Niko explained. “I didn’t know how to find you, but then I remembered Edwin mentioning this Halloween tradition. So I thought it was my best chance. I am really glad you are actually here.”
“And she forced us to wear these ridiculous outfits too, which, for the record, should be a crime,” someone said from behind her.
“You tell them, Litty.” 
Crystal looked closely, and she recognized the faces of the two people, except in her memory they were a lot smaller.
“I don’t know what happened to them,” said Niko with a shrug, ignoring the former-sprites comments.
“We’ll start researching The Case Of The Grown Sprites first thing tomorrow,” interjected Edwin, taking Niko’s hand and motioning for the door. “For now, let’s go home, tell us everything.”
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carnivorousmossbeast · 5 months
Text
Layover
no content warnings. but this is long. Sorry!
Summary: Ghost and Soap are waiting for a flight to take them home.
There's a delicious ache crawling through his thighs, his veins, settling into his biceps and shoulders in that very delightfully restricting way that reminds him of the exhaustion after a good workout. His arms are leaden and tired, straining against the knowledge that he will have to lift them again, he will have to shoulder his gun and pack and march on with his head held high once they clear customs and get their shit returned, because somewhere higher up someone messed up and forgot to bring them back home. When they had arrived at the airfield, all that was left was a bedraggled looking civilian charter that brought them to the closest long-distance hub, and the only available flight had been fucking Paris. Soap's personal hell in the making. He's sure there are blisters on his heels and under his toes, there's concrete dust and plant detritus everywhere from his armpits to his arse-crack, it's wearing down his teeth and tickling inside his ear where he can't quite reach. And now he's sitting in the gate lounge under artificially white light, waiting for a plane that should have dropped them off four hours ago and instead hadn't shown turbines nor wings. It's enough to make a civilian rstless, but Soap feels a little off-kilter, a little unstable and he's ready to claw the concrete walls apart until he finds a high-voltage cable to chew on – or strangle one of the more annoying flight guests with. There are about five too many that fit that category for his taste, and he knows the odds are stacked against him while their flight gets delayed and delayed again, and they remain stuck on these plastic seats like brittle, dry gum and rubber sole stains.
"You know..." Ghost wiggles his knee gently, touching it against Soap's own sore ones. The heavy duty straps of his thigh holster creak and the thick fabric of his uniform creases and protests the movement. Sand and plant bits fall from his legs, creating a halo of debris at his feet. A distinct trail of destruction, in the realm of violence where Ghost is the embodiment of lust and insanity. It's a temple where Soap has learned to worship, a voice he's grown to trust for guidance in a twisted perversion of their own blood-soaked spirituality. There is no arguing with Catholic priests on the rights of gay men, and it hasn't proven particularly effective once Ghost confirms he has the target locked.
His eyes perceive the world in shades of blue-ish grey and with black and red crosshair markers overlaying the view. Soap has watched Ghost's trigger finger caress cold metal with a deranged sort of care, like he's chasing the sensation of the warmth he's about to terminate. Soap has watched Ghost watch bodies cool from orange-red to green-blue in the limited, grainy viewfinder of thermal tactical goggles. As if Ghost waits for those forgotten, listless souls to be consumed into his domain, never quite remembered after a nameless, faceless terror pierced their cerebrum and left their lives shattered across the field.
"I know a lot of things, Lt," Soap answers Ghost's question dutifully, like any good sergeant would his lieutenant, and lays his head back against the stiff collar of his coat. The plate carrier pushes it up awkwardly, and normally he hates the way it bunches on his nape, the way it feels all thick and restricts his movement, but right now it's like a more comfortable cervical spine collar, a pillow to rest his weary soul. "Mainly chemistry and gun maintenance." He turns slightly to look at Ghost, breathing through the ache that shoots down his neck and past his shoulder.
"Smart boy, aren't you?"
"Yeah well, army didn't put me through college for nothin'," Soap drawls and puts on his best and broadest smile for his Lt. Puppy love, they call it, hero worship. They call Soap a dumbass for attaching himself to Lieutenant Riley like a feckin' barnacle, but Soap likes that he got to burrow into the hard shell that makes Ghost bullet proof, that he gets these moments where Ghost knocks their knees together and strikes up a conversation.
Well. He throws Soap the promise of a kibble and Soap hunts it like a particularly stupid blood hound, tripping all over himself while chasing for whisps of conversation that he can uphold.
"Army put ye through college too, sir? Ye one of 'em rare smart boys from Manchester?"
"Careful, sergeant," Ghost says, easy and gentle. It's not really a reprimand as much as it is a reply, a request for Soap to continue this conversation in the hell that is the Charles de Gaulle airport, where they rest their tired, weary bones on the shitty plastic seats and keep themselves alert with full bladders and shitty airport coffee cart coffee. Ratty old dishwater that tastes like the watered down dirt of plates left to sit in the sink for far too long – at least it doesn't upset their stomachs the way sucking on an old dishrag would.
"Always careful, sir," Soap falls into their banter, imagines the smirk distorting the lines on his lieutenant's scarred face. "So, what about ye, then?"
"What about me?" Ghost asks. He sounds amused, knocks his knee into Soap's again. "Got any more of that coffee, sergeant?"
"Ye want more?" Soap asks.
"Not really. Could go for some grub but..."
"The French have a thing about their sauces. Hollandaise, béarnaise," Soap trails off, uncertain about any other French cuisine that isn't escargot and grenouille – and he has feelings about those. Multiple, and all solidly on the negative spectrum. It reminds him a little too much of staring at rats and geckos and wondering when the gnawing pains in his abdomen turned despair into reason.
"Can't name the four staple sauces of the French cuisine?" Ghost clicks his tongue, mock annoyance colouring the air like a joke. It still tastes like heavy-duty cleaning agents and old sweat, typical airport manure coating their lungs like tar and diesel, the civilian version of military vehicle exhaust and cigarettes. It's sweeter somehow, more pure, more peaceful – everything they can't have and that they chase regardless. The promise of peace coating the wisps of used-up civilian space air, hot and humid and covered in the exhales of fried chicken, chips and cheap booze. There's a thrill in how mundane they are here, in this liminal space, where they can be just as all the others. Waiting, tired, caught in overlays and transits and with overpriced food that barely takes the edge off.
"Mirepoix and rouge," Soap says.
"Close." Ghost's eyes crinkle when he leans his head back, legs splayed open. One knee knocks into the dividing wall partition, the other into Soap's. Despite everything that is said about Ghost, he is as human as the rest of them, and he craves human contact just like any social creature. Even if his way is considerably more stilted, and littered with landmines of dark sarcasm and bone-grinding cynicism. Ghost is a bit of an arsehole like that, but Soap is reasonably certain that it's just a wall to protect Ghost from heartache. "But no. Béchamel, Espagnol, Tomate, Velouté and Hollandaise."
"How do you know so much about French cuisine? And what is Béarnaise?"
"Mum used to uh. She used to cook. Taught me a bit."
"She teach you the difference on Hollandaise and Béarnaise?" Soap tries tapping his heel, but the sharp pains and aches from the long mission have him stop with a pained hiss. Ghost pauses before digging in his chest pocket to reveal what looks like a single use packet of sugar, but ends up being aspirin.
"Take this. It's mostly the wine and Béarnaise is just Hollandaise made with shallots and tarragon."
"And here I thought they were entirely different things," Soap hums.
"They're not." Ghost hands Soap the small bottle of water to chase the aspirin, and Soap nods, grateful to be able to wash the taste of stale powder and citrus from his tongue. "They're both oil in water emulsions. One just tastes better."
"Oh ye are a rocket," Soap scoffs and knocks his knee back against Ghost's. "First thing to do back on home soil?"
"Steak and Stout pie. Maybe some Scotch Eggs, nothing fancy." Ghost works his jaw beneath the mask. "A pint, maybe. Sleeping Giant has a new cook that's halfway decent."
It's not an invitation.
"That right, Lt?"
"Could join me. Pay fer your own drinks, though. They don't pay me enough to make a Scottish liver swim."
This, on the other hand, is.
And Soap pretends not to see the crinkle under Ghost's eyes, but cherishes it anyway as he turns away, hiding the mirth playing over his face from the world and the airline passengers that sit with them on the god-awful plastic chairs in the gate lounge, while their flight is gallivanting off somewhere.
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xenon-noble · 4 months
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MOV: Agent Truth
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CODENAME:TRUTH. MALE, APPROX 34 YEARS OLD. SPY AND BLACK SITE SUPERVISOR. Truth's genome has been modified with Ysmaen DNA, resulting in his huge stature and impressive strength, as well as enhanced healing abilities. His suit features systems for both cloaking and teleportation, a visor with thermal goggles, as well as gauntlets equipped with a variety of retractable melee and ranged weapons, including small shotguns, a chain whip, two blades, and a rotary saw shield
based on works by this guy
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mitigatedchaos · 2 months
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What if pharmacy companies believe both that they will be capable of using gene therapy to render people artificially dependent on their proprietary products and that they will be allowed to do so? Like, good job, asshole, you bought your kid better stats, now he'll need to take expensive patented medicine every few hours for the rest of his life or his body will shut down
I think one of the big things we learned during 2014-2022 (and there was a lot to learn from observation) is that states are more powerful than corporations. Yes, corporations can influence states with lobbying, but political power can overcome corporate officers just as corporate money can influence state officers.
I don't believe that major governments (US, EU, China, Japan, etc) would allow a corporation to create a life-saving gene therapy that arbitrarily requires a daily drug. For left-wing parties, it would be a great issue to campaign on if someone were to do it (very easy gains), and for right-wing parties, it's much more straightforward to have the recipient of the gene therapy take out a loan for the up-front price of the treatment. Remember, Republicans already signed laws against direct genetic discrimination - it's simply too annoying.
The thing about conventional gene therapy is that it does not require maintenance the way that artificial implants do. The maintenance requirement for "hard tech" implants makes ongoing deals politically more tenable, especially since the company going under can end up requiring expensive (and potentially damaging) removal surgery.
Notes:
The biggest value-adds for "cybernetic implants" are life-saving healthcare and chronic health condition management. You can move faster through the environment, lift heavier objects, and fly, by using vehicles, without the medical-tier reliability requirements and maintenance costs of implantable technology.
Additionally, the ability of law enforcement to confiscate things like forklifts or thermal vision goggles means that they have options to capture and restrain you other than either a titanium cage or a non-consensual implant removal surgery.
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