#through the rising signs

[ironinkpen]

My favorite thing in the world about Rise Leo is that he acts Like That but then at any given moment he's almost always doing something that's like. so fucking clever.

Like in the episode "The Ancient Art of Ninja Hide and Seek," the guys are sneaking around Big Mama's hotel to steal something from her guard dog Gus's collar. Raph's idea of stealth is uhhh holding a frond over his head, and Mikey and Donnie spend most of their time scooting a food cart up the stairs. Gus sniffs them all out and they all have to be rescued by Splinter.

And then Leo does this

And it seems so stupid, but like? it's actually not?? there's a strategy here???

The other guys get caught bc Gus is an incredible tracker w a great sense of hearing and smell—which Leo knows from their last run-in with him. So what does Leo do? He eliminates the problem by purposefully sneaking up on Gus in a crowded, noisy, distracting room so Gus won't be able to hear or smell him. And it WORKS—Gus doesn't notice him even when he's right under his nose! He just gets unlucky that the Evil Sports match ends right when he gets his hands on the collar.

It's just. so endlessly funny to me that Leo's the one who gets the closest to actually completing the mission without needing Splinter to bail him out, and no one notices bc he does so with the air of a court jester. A little clown boy. He truly radiates the vibe of someone constantly flying by the seat of his booty shorts, meaning no one realizes until Shredder that he's secretly the only one on the team who regularly uses ANY problem-solving or planning skills lmao

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

whatever you do, don't think about how lana saw herself in edgeworth, ok? don't think about how she wanted to distance herself from him the moment they met because he could possibly see through the sl-9 plan and ruin everything, but she couldn't because he was kind, if not a little awkward, to her terrified sister in a case where everyone else's only concern was securing a conviction. don't think about how she brought ema to the prosecutor's office (because she damn well wasn't going to let her sister face this alone) with her hackles raised and her defences bolstered because she'd heard about the "demon prosecutor" and his ways just to realise he's nothing but a young man, trying his best to survive under the weight of his mentor's shadow and ensure justice is served by whatever means he can. don't think about how she felt later, when she was under gant's thumb and knew for a fact that all those rumours surrounding von karma's perfect record were, in fact, true and that he was using edgeworth's faith in him to fulfill his own goals. don't think about how she felt when she had to begin doing the same. or what must have gone through her head when she entered her office one morning to find a case approval form waiting for her on her desk: the state v. miles edgeworth. don't think about how she knew, once she saw the name of the prosecutor assigned to his case, that she was signing his death warrant. don't imagine what she rehearsed saying to his sister or her realisation, after his miraculous survival, why he had been so understanding of her own. don't wonder, as she did, ineffectually, if it was his competence or her fondness for him that led to his car and knife being chosen to cover goodman's murder — a second attempt at his permanent removal — and whether it was affection or guilt that made her stand by the corpse, waiting readily to be caught in his stead. don't think about how she finds out, eventually, that he is gone, in a jail cell so far from remorse, gratitude and closure that she can only sit and turn in her head distorted thoughts about luck and fortuitous third chances. don't.

[cherubchoirs]

What if the Ferryman warms up to V1 quicker than they forgive Gabe so when the two have to fight something/someone the Ferryman's idols priortitise V1 for the blessing instead of Gabe. He would be so upset! Maybe they try to teach V1 to carve it's own idols (out of wood, they don't trust it with the real stuff)

How would the Ferryman warm up to V1 in the first place? Did they just want to figure out why Gabe fell for it in both senses of the word?

(reference to this!)

ANON YOUR MIND....i can absolutely see this being the case because the ferryman is in a very difficult and unique position with regards to these two. i went into detail in that previous ask on their issues with gabriel after his fall, but with v1, initially all they see is the machine that corrupted him. in some ways, they want to shift the blame entirely so they can preserve something of gabriel's image in their mind, but they come to know v1 for the exact reasons you say - they want to understand what happened. gabriel was a paragon, a luminous angel fully dedicated to god. how did v1, in a matter of hours, change his entire perspective, how did it not only turn him blasphemous but capture his love and affection as well? the ferryman by turns is insulted, angry, jealous, and the only way they can deal with that is to get to know and possibly understand v1 even if all they can feel for it at first is disgust.

the ferryman is guarded in approaching v1, a bit concerned for their own faith if it was able to so thoroughly shake gabriel's, but v1 is difficult to engage initially. it shows a mild curiosity before ignoring all of the ferryman's attempts at conversation, stark expression giving nothing away before it leaves to find better stimulation. of course. it's not made to be social, it doesn't seek out companionship nor prioritizes it in any fashion as a war machine. and while the ferryman can observe it, can begin to see behaviors they never expected to find in its curiosity and playfulness, it does nothing to answer their questions nor lessen their frustration with it. they have to engage with it on its terms, how gabriel must have when they met and when it changed him...and honestly the ferryman's anger has mounted long enough despite their uncanny ability to bottle their emotions. their challenge to v1 is the first time they see it respond fully to them, instantly drawing its weapons without moving to a more proper setting or even waiting for the word "go". it's not a complete surprise though, and the ferryman braces against it as they know implicitly that this machine must have defeated gabriel since that's the only way it would be standing now.

and as this is v1's true language, the ferryman finds themselves astounded by what it says: there is true art in its movements, boundless creativity guiding its whole body, a fervor that before they could only understand as religious but now put into battle. this is what gabriel saw, what he felt. so small but lightning fast, learning every second of the battle and adjusting, adjusting, tailoring all its movements, weapon choices, strategies to its opponent and its opponent alone. special-made, a battle just for two. how odd, feeling like you're the only one in the world when it locks onto you. and for v1, its interest in the ferryman takes hold when it sees how they fight, the strength and precision they manage despite appearing so frail and retiring. why didn't they show it this first? why waste time trying to talk? they can spark its need for physicality, a partner in battle that can hold its attention and make it work for its victory. v1 does end up battering the ferryman perhaps too much, but it stops when they fully yield and thank it for showing them just what they needed to see. they take the time to patch themselves up and think on what it showed them, wondering if that was enough to steal gabriel from heaven.

however...now they've attracted its attention lol v1 begins to investigate the ferryman, reversing their previous roles - they keep catching it out of the corner of their eye, scuttling around behind them, watching them with its brightly glowing optic that somehow looks much more inquisitive now. they start talking to it again to bring it closer, explaining the maintenance of their ship or singing low songs to it which it sometimes gives responses to with little electronic chirps. and despite knowing what it did to humanity, to hell, to gabriel, the ferryman was human once and well...there's an undeniable, deeply human pull toward a curious little robot. they begin to show it their artwork, how they paint and sculpt, absolutely handing over the tools to v1 at some point to watch it roughly carve the most rudimentary little figures of things its seen, people it knows. slowly it grows on the ferryman, watching the passion it approaches everything with, how it's impatient but how it delights in novel experiences, how brightly intelligent it is, far beyond the ferryman's capabilities in many things...despite everything about it that should be to the contrary, it's charming in its own ways. made by humanity, but not human, not fair to condemn by the same measures. the ferryman, religious as they are, does not believe that it can necessarily be held accountable with how it is removed from god - sinful men made this, and it had no say in its purpose.

this moral reasoning is what breaks down the barrier between them and ultimately leads to the idol problem. while gabriel knows by then that v1 has taken an interest in the ferryman, he doesn't understand how it's reciprocated until v1 is blessed by an idol to both of their shock. v1 adjusts quickly to it - invincible, unstoppable!!!! it can perform all the most ridiculous tricks, the ones it's only simulated (to poor results) because nothing can touch it!!! it cleans up the rest of the battle single-handedly as gabriel stays rooted to the spot, only moved when he's rudely checked by an enemy as if only to remind him he doesn't have the privileges v1 currently does. and i think this is point at which gabriel comes to really understand how hurt he is by the ferryman's rejection, how he felt so secured and entitled to their devotion that he believed the ferryman would totally forgive him if given enough time...but this shows how badly wounded their relationship is, how terribly hurt the ferryman has been in a way gabriel should have known. his natural emotionality wants to lash out but he knows he must control it, the feeling selfish and unfair to the ferryman or to v1 - instead he needs some time to self-reflect, to deconstruct even more of that angelic self-righteousness he still carries, and find it in him to truly be humble if he wants to mend this rift (which he has time for, as v1 is arguing with the terminal that THOSE POINTS COUNT. GIVE ME MY POINTS!!!!! and the terminal REFUSES to cash out bc v1 essentially used cheat codes)

[moved-2-coyotejone-s]

i think it would be fun if cj was a clone of cassandra.

[sabrirene]

guys if there is anything u ever take from my astrology posting please let it be reading horoscopes for ur rising sign im begging

[ameliafuckinjones]

France being a Libra sun, Sagittarius moon and Scorpio rising is a trvth nvke.

[magentagalaxies]

y'know i didn't expect to explain the entire history of riverdale and also who dan and phil are to paul bellini this weekend but now he is aware of these things because of me. you're welcome i guess?

[megumiyudaina]

having scorpio placements be like:

[chemicalpink]

Ahhh i really can’t wait to get to all of your messages on my inbox 🥹

I’ll make sure to schedule some time aside for it as soon as I’m able to squeeze personal time into ✨duty calls ✨

[mswild1]

Rising Through the Storm

Jonah sat at her kitchen table, staring at a stack of bills and unanswered letters. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. It was the fifth notice this month, each more threatening than the last. Every word seemed to scream at her: Pay up, or lose everything. She was used to fighting battles she hadn’t started. The lawsuit from her ex-business partners, the…

[psyxophagos]

Actually very interesting that there's this big uprise these days especially online of people viewing and calling cheating not only immoral and evil, but also "a wake up call" for those with cheating or potentially cheating partners (whatever the fuck that's supposed to be) to locate "extreme abuse in their relationship".

And it's interesting because. I do remember a time when quite a lot of people were not like that at all imo, and cheating was way less demonized to not demonized at all and definitely was viewed more as a casual part of dating life. Mostly as comedic stories, generally never inside the concept of evilness or inherent abuse, or as relationship drama at worst. It's insane how so many people nowadays are trying to frame cheating as the ultimate red flag, abuse, proof of immorality etc. It quite says a lot about how fascist everything is becoming when it comes to interpersonal relationships and dating culture.

[collaboratiiveanarchy]

**tags prt 1

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Tfw you became so desperate to get John Silver's Disney Lorcana card you just got him on Ebay.

[shotmrmiller]

it turned to smut in seconds, i cannot control my own hands, ok. 18+ (implication of breeding kink or something and simon's a jealous boy)

ex-husband simon who signed the divorce papers without a fight. it'd stung, you're not gonna lie, but it needed to be done and the fact that he didn't make a big fuss about it made things easier for you physically. (emotionally you were in shambles because did he not even want to try and fight for you?)

he comes over only on the weekends when he's on leave.

he's a good father to his boys. he takes them to their softball games when he can, buys them the ice cream and takes them toy shopping.

and then there's a sharp knock at your door on a wednesday afternoon.

"simon?"

he walks in like he owns the place, which technically he does- even pays the mortgage because there's no way you would be able to afford living here with your own measly income.

"what's this the boys are tellin' me 'bout a man bein' in here?" his voice is calm, steady. but you know simon better than you know yourself, and he's furious.

"i- i'm not sure-" he swipes his hand in the air and your mouth clicks shut.

"don't lie t'me, poppet, or i'll be findin' him myself an' you really don't want tha'."

what man? there hasn't been any since the divorce! you're digging through your memories, scrambling to find what the hell he's talking about when-

"oh! it's the plumber!" you take steadying breath. "i called a plumber on sunday. i needed the kitchen sink fixed."

his dark eyes are piercing, so sharp they could cut. simon's always been a walking lie detector, and it's unnerving to be on the opposite end of that analyzing stare.

he nods imperceptibly, then flicks his gaze to behind you, over your head. "show me."

you scoff indignantly. "show you what? the bloody sink?"

simon wordlessly heads to the kitchen and his knees pop as he kneels-

he's actually checking the fucking sink.

with a grunt, he leans his head into the cabinet and twist awkwardly which is no doubt causing a familiar pain to flare up in his lower back. you can't help but wince in sympathy.

lo and behold, there's a shiny, white elbow in the middle of the rest of the dirty, scratched pipe.

he hums, and rises to his feet, closing the cabinet with his leg.

simon approaches you slowly, fingertips touching the kitchen island as he rounds it. "palms flat on the counter, sweetheart."

oh. oh you know exactly what that means, and your pussy throbs almost in reflex. months without his touch and your body still responds the same.

your protest already at the tip of your tongue, almost involuntarily because principles, but he sees right through you, as he's always done.

"jus' a reward for all o' your hard work. takin' care o' the boys is a stressful job all on its own." his worn hand cups the underside of your jaw tenderly. "aren't i always good t'ya?"

your exhales are weak, just like your resolve. "okay."

simon's eyes glint with satisfaction as he lifts his hand, index pointing upwards and twirls it in a slow, deliberate motion.

your palms are flat on the counter when he curls his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and knickers, tugging them downward.

they're flat on the counter when he lowers himself to his knees and taps the inside of your foot, indicating you to widen your stance.

they're curled into fists when his breath puffs against your slick cunt and his warm tongue slides through your folds, drawing lazy circles around your bud. a tingle of arousal shoots up your spine, his mouth sparking a fire right under your navel.

they're reaching for simon, nails sinking into the delicate skin of his wrist as your back bows when you come on his tongue, vision spotted with black, blurry dots and white hot ecstasy coursing through your veins.

your hands are now crossed at the base of your spine, your cheek pressing into the cool kitchen counter as he bends you over it.

"15 minutes before the boys are home from school. tha's plenty o'time, yeah?"

a rhetorical, if you've ever heard one.

your knuckles stain white as you clench your fists at the heavy, hot weight of his manhood stretching your walls to take him in, a sweet burn that you've always loved. he's gentle but sure, bottoming out in one smooth stroke that pushes the air out of your lungs. the sibilant hiss simon lets out is never fails to elicit a whimper out of you.

"fuck," he groans. "i could stay inside this pretty pussy forever."

and the dirty talk. how much you've missed it.

"would you like tha', pet? be inside of ya til you don't know where i end and you begin?"

a garbled mhm slips past your lips. your head already empty at just the sensation of being so unbearably full that it feels like you're tearing at the seams.

"another time, then, since the kids'll be home soon."

he begins to move, shallow but firm thrusts that drag his cock along your nerves deliciously- a sure fire way of getting you to climax around him in minutes.

your walls begin to squeeze down as the knot in your stomach tightens, and he lets go of your wrists, looping an arm around your waist and straightens you- his broad chest to your much smaller back.

his clever fingers wind downwards, and rub precise, little circles on your slippery clit, and it's all too much, you're hurtling toward the precipice at neck break speed- "god, simon, please-"

his pace never falters, not his hips nor his fingers as your moans begin to rise in pitch. "i'll get ya there, love."

he does, he gets you to your highest peak- blindingly intense- one that chokes the very breath out of you and slackens your knees. "i've got ya."

there's no strength left in you to brace for the spine-jarring thrusts he gives after, the only thing keeping you from sprawling forward is the arm that's looped around you as he pulls you to him.

"on anything?" he rumbles.

your ears ring at that because he can't possibly- your head shakes unbidden.

"good."

the last four thrusts are heavy, backed by his weight, and he smothers a loud groan into the junction of your shoulder as he finishes inside of you- thick, viscous cum filling you until it begins to drip and fall to the floor with an audible plop.

he presses tender little kisses to your sweaty shoulder and nips the side of your neck. "just in time."

the clock on the stove says 5 minutes before the bus gets there.

he helps you redress, chuckling under his breath when you won't look him in the eye. "i'll get the kids, go get cleaned up."

the knot in your chest loosens when you hear the boys' laughter at seeing their father on the driveway. it loosens when simon picks both of them up, one in each arm, and glances up at you as you look down at them from the window.

heat licks up your cheeks when he gives you a smarmy little grin.

idiot.

[gloomwitchwrites]

There was this tiktok trend where kids and their mums would pull a prank on their dads by telling their mums to shut up...141 with a teenage son who tries it?

Anon, I am very aware of this prank. If mom is in on it, I consider it all in good fun, but omg, these guys would be absolutely stressed if they heard their teenage son tell mom to "shut up." Heads would absolutely roll over that!

Price is certainly old enough to have a teenage son on the older side. I would even say the same for Ghost. Gaz is old enough for a younger teenage son. With Soap's age...that's stretching it. BUT SUSPEND DISBELIEF Y'ALL. I'm aging Gaz and Soap up a bit for this one.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Presented in two double drabbles and two triple drabbles.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader (w/ children)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, pranks, domestic, dad!141, brief suggestive themes, marriage

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Ugh. Shut up, Mum.”

There is a brief pause between mum and when the television remote hurtles across the room. Your son doesn’t duck in time, the hard plastic hitting his shoulder before bouncing onto the kitchen island with a loud clack.

Before your son turns, Kyle’s baseball cap with the Union Jack, soars through the air like a frisbee. This one your son manages to avoid, but it’s quickly followed by a slipper. It flies past his head, and you catch it out of the air before it makes contact with the front of the microwave.

You and your eldest son turn in Kyle’s direction as he manifests in the kitchen entryway, the other slipper in hand, poised to launch it at the first sign of any movement.

“Wanna repeat yourself, mate?” Kyle appears calm and poised, but you notice the subtle tension in his jaw.

“It was a joke, Dad! Promise!”

Kyle’s arm holding the slipper starts to rise.

“Kyle,” you say. His gaze flicks to you. “Just a joke. No harm. I was in on it.”

His shoulders immediately sag. Kyle shakes his head. Rolls his eyes. Heading for the fridge, he opens it up, grabbing a can of his favorite beer.

Kyle sets the beer down on the island, pointing the slipper at you and then his son. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No words come out, just an exasperated huff.

Kyle snatches up the television remote and sticks it into the pocket of his grey sweatpants. Keeping hold of the shoe in one hand, and his beer in the other, he gives the two of you his back, heading into the living room.

“No one bother me until the game is over,” he says over his shoulder. “And someone bring me my bloody slipper!”

John Price

"Fucking hell, Mum. Shut it."

John is up and out of his seat so fast you hardly see him move. He strides over to his son, yanking him off the stool by the scruff of his shirt.

"John! It's a prank!" you say quickly, reaching for his arm.

The boy is dangling in the air, toes just shy of touching the ground. "A prank?" asks John skeptically.

"Mum is in on it. Promise."

John sighs heavily and slowly lowers his son to the ground. The moment his feet touch ground, he tries to step away, but John holds firm, keeping his eldest child immobile. He leans forward a bit. Lowers his voice.

"Prank or no, you never talk to your mother, your sisters, or any woman in that manner again. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy." John releases his son. "The lawn needs trimmed."

"Yes, sir."

Your son scurries away. It isn't until the door to the garage opens and shuts that John moves toward you. His arm drapes over your waist, hand landing firmly on your ass, squeezing hard.

"You're coming with me."

"To do what?"

He presses his lips to your ear. "For a different sort of punishment."

John "Soap" MacTavish

"You’re off your head, lad.”

With Johnny’s cold tone comes a tension to your son’s shoulders. He becomes rigid, sliding down into his chair like he can escape from his father by cowering underneath the table. Johnny comes around the corner, a bit of sweat on his brow. He's been building furniture all day for the nursery.

"Want to repeat that for me?" asks Johnny.

Your son’s voice cracks. "It was just a prank, Dad."

"It was what?" Johnny strides forward.

"It's a prank. I'm in on it. Promise," you say, attempting to soothe Johnny’s anger.

Johnny crosses his arms over your chest. "Is it?" He glances between the two of you and sighs, muttering, “Am pure done in.”

He disappears down the hall, returning with a stack of instructional manuals, dropping them into his son’s lap. "You're building furniture."

"But I—"

“You right scunner. C’mon.” Johnny yanks his son out of the chair, the stack of instructional manuals goes flying. Your son reaches for them all, desperately clasping them against his chest.

“Johnny," you call out, walking around the counter to intervene.

He glances over his shoulder, frown gown, sly smirk on his face. “Deal with you later."

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Oi, Mum. Shut it.”

Your son is a wonderful actor. You’ll give him that. Even you almost believe him. Not that he would—he’d never—but his delivery reminds you of a completely pissed football fan ready to throw a punch at a member of the rival team.

He should consider theater.

Simon, your husband, is watching a rugby match in the living room. The television is on but at a low volume.

Within seconds of the words leaving your son’s mouth, Simon appears like a phantom guardian in the entryway. In one he holds the remote like a weapon. The other arm cradles his infant daughter. She looks like a small bean. Slightly curved as she snuggles closer against Simon’s chest as she sleeps.

He's not looking at you. He's staring at his son, gaze intense and full of fire.

You’ve seen that look before.

Mission abort.

"He's joking, Simon. It's just a prank,” you soothe, knowing you need to get ahead of this.

Not that Simon would hurt you or his son, but he rarely takes any shit. This prank was a gamble, and you’re completely regretting it.

"Don't mean it, Dad."

Simon just stares for a long minute. His daughter squirms and that is when he glances down, severing the connection. Observing her must change something in him, because his gaze returns to the two of you, and there is a calmness now.

Sighing heavily, Simon shakes his head, completely exasperated. The eye roll is so apparent it’s like a shout.

In the moment he was pissed—livid. But now he’s over it, more annoyed and unamused than actually mad.

Turning on his heel, daughter still cradled in one arm, Simon returns to his recliner, settling back into the soft cushions to finish watching his rugby match.

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