#wheel chair friendly

[fantasy-frog]

To anybody who might see this, July in the states is disability pride month. As someone who’s past decade plus has been a journey towards understanding, accepting, and advocating for my psychological and physical disabilities and my whole life, aiding disabled family members, I want make it known that: the way many of us feel you can help us the most, is not by “pretending” we’re abled, like we’re just like everyone else, because we’re *not*

When disabilities are ignored, or treated as just “uniquely abled”, it falls on the disabled to maintain abled people’s comfort; to make our disabilities small, to not advocate for equity and the bettering of our lives in a supposedly equal society.

Equality is not equity.

Differences must be acknowledged, understood, and worked around *by abled people* for any true progress to be made.

Most people think this is government related. I know abled people as individuals can’t change that there’s little to no wheel chair access in their bustling city, that the sidewalks are cracked and filled with lips. An abled person can’t make public schools treat autistic kids with humanity, or children with memory-relates disabilities able to always have notes for their exams. They can’t make the employers stop firing us, or the government give us our right to marriage when living under SSI.

What I’m asking for is Empathy. True empathy. The kind that informs your beliefs, and actions. Talk to disabled people. Get to know them. I promise you, you have a disabled person in your family or social circle. Really be inquisitive about their experiences, struggles, and frustrations.

Acknowledge your privilege. Your ease of access to the world. Really sit in it. Absorb it. Your empathy will only grow. And when enough abled people do even just this, the world for us becomes less hostile. It becomes more livable. We become no longer burdens, but cherished by our communities, our families and friends. And trust me, even though the world is not built for me, and I have to consistently jump through 10,000 hoops to achieve even the smallest of victories for an abled person, and my body hurts and breaks down, so I get in a chair on wheels, or get out my cane, or put on my noise cancelling headphones, and just come across obstacle after obstacle -

The majority of the pain comes from the stares. The glances. The questioning. The points when you see the patience leave the eyes of the one who you thought loved you unconditionally, and you remember your place in our collective culture. And fuck man. You recall how workable all the bureaucracy and hurdles felt, how manageable it was to push forward (it’s what you always do) … before you were reminded of where you sit on the totem poll, and how conditional worth is in our society.

Disabled people are worthy. We are valuable. But we need you to believe it, or nothing will ever change.

[consider-your-potatoes-mashed]

I really really wish New York City was more accessible

I’m currently in NYC and because of the repurposing of buildings rather than building new ones in many parts of the city they end up being inaccessible.

I understand wanting to save and repurpose buildings rather than tearing them down and rebuilding but there has to be a better way to repurpose that can include being accessible.

Yesterday I went to a CVS that was in an old bank building and guess what no automatic doors and the only way in was a flight of stairs.

Today I went to the Chelsea market and sure getting in was fine enough except the lack of automatic doors and cobbled crosswalks/streets (my enemy) outside but even inside the floor is so bumpy and uneven that I constantly feel like I’m going to fall and have to be hyper aware of where I’m putting my feet and cane.

There has to be a way we can do better as a society and as people.

Also the amount of doors people have let shut in my face when they see me coming on my crutches is ridiculous when they were just holding it open for someone else like sure I can do it and I will but it would be nice if you’d at least keep it open long enough for me to grab it with my foot or crutch or something

On the good side though I have seen a ton of wheelchair accessible taxis and that makes me really really happy. I’ve seen more of those than of regular taxis actually.

Edit: in the comments on this post I have been let know that the taxis that I mentioned are not in fact as accessible as they appear and are rather unsafe for those who are in wheel chairs so I guess that’s just one more shit thing. Go look at the comments to find more explanation/lived experience with this

[slowlivinggirlie]

So most of my life my disabilities have been invisible. But now that I can’t walk that long I need a wheelchair. And like omg being visibly disabled is a nightmare. Like I’m not going to get on about how un wheelchair friendly the city is. But so far everyone has fit into two categories.

There’s the people who openly stare and act like they’re never seen a disabled person before. They are just shocked that I exist or that I dare go in public.

Then there’s the overly friendly/helpful people. Like the way they talk to me is weird. Like I’m not just a regular person. They give me special treatment for things and it’s just weird. I am just a woman. Like just tell me where the elevators are and don’t be weird about it. For example when I went to get my badge a volunteer followed me to the disabled line. He was “showing me” but you can just tell me dude. It was literally a straight shot. With a big ass sign.

Ugh this sucks. I want to continue to go to conventions but Jesus Christ this is miserable. I truly was privileged when my disabilities were invisible.

[the-triggered-lizard]

Pro tip: don't play just dance while making dinner for the household. Your knees will do a 360 no scope.

[chloepleasestopdying]

A sweet kiss from me to anyone that draws / writes Chloe in a wheelchair. I’m sad that it’s not more of a thing in the fandom.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

speaking of your coming of age movie that never happens & your narrative non-narratives, shoutout to the arcs that’d be supposedly “worse” lmfao like posts about people-pleasers being like “i’m in my villain era” when it’s just consciously prioritizing themselves at all / noting when boundaries for their own wellbeing are being trampled, and the like. wherein i’m like, well i like talking to people i suppose, i can do the hours of monologue at a wall for one mode, got chatterbox mode, funny guy theatrical mode, etc, but in actuality also, i do not like talking to people lmao. the “yeah, that’s me” movie ending with another voiceover while upbeat music plays & you’re cheerfully walking along in 0.75x speed through some picturesque arena filled with socializing people like =) putting on headphones, turning up the volume, ignoring everyone, dodging people according to the berth one wants to maintain,

[andromedasummer]

me 🤝 the person at the cafe counter 🤝 the person behind me = auditory processing disorder

[luveline]

Hi there! I hope your day’s been going well :)

Could you maybe write something with Spencer where Reader faints? Feel free to ignore this if you’re not up for it!!

thank u for ur request! fem!reader, 1.6k

"It's so hot," you say, startled. The lobby of the hotel had been blissfully air-conditioned. The difference hits you immediately. 

"Don't worry about blazers or professional attire," Hotch says, though he quickly amends, "within reason."

You take off your jacket and follow the herd of the BAU into the black SUVs. The SUVs are even hotter than the outdoors, blistering ovens of heat that have you feeling nauseous instantaneously. Spencer rubs your arm with the back of his hand swiftly —it's a friendly touch to say he's here, but it's quick to prevent any unnecessary added heat. 

It's August in Texas, 107 degrees Fahrenheit. Emily smells distinctly of sunscreen from the front passenger seat. Derek, behind the wheel, looks hot around the collar. Spencer looks as though he wishes he'd had a haircut before he came, chin length curls tucked tight behind his ears. 

Despite this, none of them complain beyond the general whine every now and then. You try very hard to shut up and focus on the case with them, but as the day goes on, bumping you from hot car to hot crime scene (with all inclusive smells of gore!), you feel wobbly on your feet. 

"Spence?" you ask, sitting in a hard-backed chair in the police precinct. 

"Yeah?" He doesn't look away from the geographical profile he's building. You're supposed to be helping, but your notes are half-hearted, likely useless. "What?" 

"Do you have any water?" 

He pushes a pin into the left of the map and grabs a ruler. "No, sorry. There's a staff room by the bullpen, the secretary said to help ourselves. Actually, she said to 'go ham.'"

"Okay. I'll be right back. And I'll be more helpful." 

"You're plenty helpful," he murmurs, leaning down to follow the line of his rules with a pencil. 

You don't feel helpful, you feel awful. Head heavy, eyes aching, every step sends a jolt through your teeth and jaw, your skull like a mashed potato. You know you're a poor sight with sweat wetting your hair and a crawling sensation between your legs and the fabric of your pants. 

Letting yourself into the staff room, you're unsurprised to find a bone dry water cooler and a crate of water bottles with only one remaining. Spencer needs a drink too, and he has a thing about germs. You frown at the water bottle as though that might duplicate it, but when it doesn't, you're forced to take it and put it under your arm. You look around for a mug to at least have some tap water no matter how ill-advised that may be. They're all dirtied in the sink and on tables. Fuck. 

Spencer is super, super lovely to you. You wonder sometimes if he might ask you out, or at least want to, but most of the time you're sure it's just a little extra friendliness because he knows how it feels to be the youngest on the team, how patronised or lonely it gets. And the weight of trying to prove yourself every mission, it's almost as heavy as your head. 

"Hey," Spencer says as you open the conference room door. "I think I've worked something out. Could you call Garcia for me? I've got dry-erase marker on my hands." 

"Got this for you," you say, offering him the bottle. He takes it without looking. 

"Thanks. Are you feeling any better? I know you can be sensitive to the heat." 

"Maybe we can get portable fans on the FBI budget next year," you say wistfully, pushing a chair in at the table. You lean on it to grab the phone in the middle of a sea of papers and cases and jackets, black spots popping up in your vision. "My head's rushing." 

"Hey, guys," Emily says, sounding strangely chipper as she and Hotch trudge in. Her hair is in a tight ponytail away from her face. 

You try to greet them and end up hanging your head. 

"Y/N," Spencer chokes, alarmed.

You slump forward over the chair, desperate to keep your footing and failing. Your shin knocks into the chair and your hands grasp at the top of it, but you can't hold yourself up any longer, knocking your face into the chair as you collapse. A cheap tent in a strong breeze, you fall with little more than a weak sigh. 

You're hurting a lot when you come to, blinking like your lashes have been brushed with glue. The lights have been turned off, and a blissful chill soaks your hairline. Someone presses a water bottle to your lips and lifts your head. You drink half the contents in three gulps and get laid down again with the utmost care. 

"She's coming around," Hotch says. 

Your neck aches propped over a leg. Two deft hands hold your head still. 

"Don't move too much," Spencer says, his voice odd. You blink as his face moves into view upside down. "An EMT is on the way, okay? You passed out." 

You can't find your voice. Spencer strokes your cheek with his thumb, says, "Hey, can you hear me? Let's hear your voice. Talk to me." 

"You don't sound like yourself," you say hoarsely, each word tenuous. You wince at the bruising heat that radiates from your nose with each word. 

"I'm worried about you," Spencer admits. "It makes it hard to stay objective." 

"No, you sound funny." 

"I'm worried," he repeats. His smile is strained. 

"She's okay," Hotch says. 

You realise Emily's got your hand in hers when she squeezes it. "Have you had anything to drink today?" she asks you, fondly incredulous. 

"No, she hasn't, and I didn't say anything about it. I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry, Y/N," Spencer says. 

"Y/N's responsible for her own preservation, Reid. And it's been a tough case, with the heat. Let's not blame anyone for anything." You press your chin to your chest to see Hotch's anxious frown. "We will be having a discussion about this later." 

You turn your face into Spencer's thigh. "Oh." 

"Don't close your eyes," Hotch says. He employs a firm, boss-like tone that has you rushing to follow orders. "You hit your head." 

"I don't feel well," you complain, wanting to close your eyes.

"Considering your behaviour," Spencer says, one of his hands trailing down your face, neck, and collar, where he rests it genially, "you likely have a mild to moderate concussion. And you're dehydrated, so you'll be feeling the effects more severely."

"Why haven't you been drinking?" Emily asks. 

"I just…" You blink sluggishly. "I don't know… We don't take anything that isn't coffee with us places and…" You lean your cheek into Spencer's hand, not quite connecting that it's his hand, or that you're laying on the precinct floor. "They only had one bottle in the staff room." 

"Why didn't you drink it?" Spencer asks softly. 

"I knew you hadn't had anything to drink, either." 

"We could've shared," he says, sounding genuinely confused. 

"You don't like sharing stuff like that. Germs." 

Spencer's voice is barely above a whisper, "I wouldn't care about your germs, Y/N. They're your germs." 

You don't have time to ask him what he means, but you've ample time to think about it on loop when the EMT arrives. He props you up, checking you over thoroughly, shining a light in your eyes and deeming you concussed.

"You don't have to see a doctor," the EMT advises. "But we're happy to take you to the hospital if that's what you want." 

"Yes," Spencer says, as you say, "No." 

Spencer puts a hand on your shoulder blade. It is an extremely forward move on his part, so unlike him that you recognise how odd it is despite your foggy mind. "She should go." 

"She fainted, Spencer," Emily says. 

"Exactly! So she should go to the hospital and–"

"I didn't break anything," you say, waving a shaky hand at the small but concerned crowd of people you've attracted. 

"Luckily," the EMT says. "Drink plenty of water and take it easy. Don't be afraid to call again if you feel worse." 

Hotch walks the EMT out, needing to take a phone call. Emily goes with him, promising to return with a dry shirt for you to wear now that yours has been soaked at the collar by the water they'd been cooling you down with while you were unconscious. 

Spencer settles practically knee to knee with you in two of the uncomfortable chairs, his assessing gaze frankly perturbing. 

"You'd share germs with me?" you ask. 

Spencer's hand leaps across the gap to yours where it rests on your knee. His eyes, brown and sweet, have all the light of a blinding smile as his lips quirk into something more sheepish. "If it stopped you from fainting, yeah. And even if it didn't, I'd be stupid to care about germs when I…" 

You breathe out slowly. "When you what?" 

"Well," he says, looking down at your hands. "I guess I just wouldn't mind your germs, that's all." 

If he's saying what you think he's saying, he's doing it in the most Spencer Reid way possible. Concussed, your charisma fails you. You've no wit to tease him with. 

You fold your hand around his. "Thanks for catching me," you say gently. 

He squeezes your fingers clumsily. "You're welcome. But it was actually mostly Emily." 

[deadghosy]

I didn't know we could request readers getting hurt. In that case can I request the hotels cast reaction to dogday reader getting the game dogday treatment as an exterminator cuts them in half. Like game dogday they're still alive but ouchy

TW: GORE AND BLOOD MENTIONS (not detailed but it’s there)

HAZBIN HOTEL X DOGDAY! READER

prompt: during the fight against the Angels, you let your guard down at the wrong moment…..

You used your 8ft frame and to slap and crush the angels as Angel dust shoots the angel from your shoulder as husk throw explosive dice and sharp spade cards around you three. It was a good them effort as you had his stomped out an Angel with your huge paw. You were helping the hotel defend against the angels as you never saw this actually coming.

You heard a whimper seeing one of the egg boiz be chased by an angel as you ran over and crushed the angel’s head in your paw that had angelic metal in it. The egg boi immediately cuddled up to you as you picked it up.

You must have been so worried that you didn’t noticed an angel behind you and the egg. But it was too late as the egg boi’s eyes widen seeing an exterminator behind the two of you.

You felt a stab in your abdomen as you looked down to see an angelic spear stab you. You felt blood trickle down your mouth as it burned inside of you.

A piercing scream rang out the battle field as you felt you lose the strength seeing blood pour out. Your friends perk up at that knowing scream of yours. Charlie looks down from the roof with her father to see what was going on. She gasped covering her mouth lookin at you. The angel takes the spear out of you as she slashes your body in half.

Your upper and lower body collided to the ground and blood spill from your mouth hearing foot steps and an evil laughter as you heard someone’s voice. “DONT WORRY! WE’RE COMING SUNNY!” It was all muffled due to the blood loss as you couldn’t hear who it even was.

Blood filled your nose, screams, the feeling of blood loss, and the sounds of bombs blowing up. It all rang in your ears as the last thing you see is the angel who cut you being shot. Before you passed out.

You wake up seeing the crew look down relieved but some had a disturbed face as you tried to move your “legs”…..

Your legs….wait….

You look down to see your bottom half to be gone only to se a bandaged half. Your eyes widen shaking as the white pupils of your eyes disappear. You sob painfully looking down as your dog ears over your face. Charlie covers her mouth seeing your sadness at the lost of your legs as she hugs you .

Angel and husk joins as well as the other as they all crowed you trying to show that they are here for you. You felt loved, but what will you do now…….

Months has passed and you are in a wheel chair. At the loss of your legs, it’s like you became a new person who doesn’t smile much but still grant a smile towards a friend who needs one. You have the slight scent of vanilla but mixed with blood due to the blood in your body at times. Your voice also had changed as the scream you let out ruined your normal vocal cord. So now you sound a little depressed.

But still Charlie helps you to walk with you using your arms. You got the hang of it quickly but you’re use to the wheelchair since it doesn’t take your energy away.

Angel helps you move around in your wheel chair as he makes joke with you as you smile or with either grumble jokingly at his dirty jokes.

Lucifer, he’s trying to find a way to heal you as he feels like he failed to protect you. One of his own people. Even his own friend that he felt like you were as you always was friendly to other and him.

Alastor lets you sleep in your wheel chair as he plays soft jazz in your room or if you want to listen to his radio broadcast

Husk still snuggles again you but not like a cat in your lap type snuggle. Nah he just lays down with you on the couch as you snore while he purrs.

Niffty decorated your wheel chair to your liking as she smiles seeing your grateful smile as she hugs your fluffy arm.

[theweasleytwinsownmyjuicyass]

I’ll save you a seat | L.N.

Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando Norris is just that kind of guy who would save you a seat <3

Warnings: fluff<3

Word count: ~1K

You're the new face at McLaren, a bit of an outsider in a world of high-speed machines and the intense camaraderie that comes with it. Shyness becomes your loyal companion as you navigate the bustling Formula 1 scene, trying to find your footing on this elite team.

Whenever there's a function, a meeting, or a casual gathering where the whole McLaren team needs to sit down and talk something out, you often find yourself standing next to the door. It's the one place where you feel most comfortable, the place that allows you to maintain a safe distance from the boisterous conversations and the daunting glances of your new colleagues.

You watch from the shadows, trying to absorb as much as you can while hoping not to draw too much attention to yourself.

But, unknown to you, someone has been watching you closely, someone who's intrigued by your quiet presence. Lando Norris, the talented and charismatic driver, has taken note of the newcomer who always seems to be on the periphery. He's decided that he wants to change that.

One day, as you enter the conference room and lean on the wall next to the door, Lando is there, making eye contact with you. You're caught off guard, and your heart races as you wonder why he's looking at you. Maybe he's not actually looking at you, so you quickly glance around, seeking the source of his attention.

"Y/n, come here, there's a free seat," Lando calls out, breaking your self-imposed isolation. His voice is friendly and inviting, and you're not sure how to react. Your heart flutters as you slowly make your way towards the empty chair beside him. Sitting down, you're enveloped in a whirlwind of emotions as the meeting begins, Lando's presence beside you comforting and disconcerting in equal measure.

And so, the cycle begins. You walk to lunch with your teammates, the bustling cafeteria filled with lively chatter and the clinking of utensils. But amid the noise, your eyes always find a pair of familiar blue ones on you, the ones belonging to Lando Norris. He spots you, gives a friendly wave to join him, and you can't help but smile.

The seat next to him is always saved for you, a silent promise of friendship and inclusion in a world that was once daunting. You exchange small talk and laughter during those moments, gradually growing closer through the little conversations you share sitting beside one another. As time goes by, you begin to feel more at ease within the McLaren family, thanks to Lando's warm gestures and kind heart.

Late one evening, after a particularly lengthy conference at the McLaren headquarters, Lando offers to drive you back home. It's a kind and unexpected gesture that catches you by surprise. As you both sit in his car, you work up the courage to ask him something that has been eating at your heart recently.

"Why do you always do that?" you inquire, your voice tinged with curiosity.

Lando glances at you, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Do what?"

"You always save me a seat," you explain, your eyes searching his for an answer. "I don't know... just because."

"Just because what?" you presses, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

"So you wouldn't stand alone next to the door, and... yeah that" Lando hesitates to tell you the second part.

"And?" you urge, voice barely above a whisper.

His heart pounds, and he take a deep breath before continuing, "And because I like having you close to me."

"Aww, that's cute," you say with a soft, genuine smile, "I like having you close too."

Lando can't help but smile back, his feelings now exposed. He's been hoping that you'd pick up on his intentions, and your response reassures him that you feel the same way. Before you know it, you've arrived outside your house.

You're parked outside your house, the dim streetlights casting a warm glow on the two of you. Lando turns to you, his eyes filled with sincerity, your last words echoing in his mind still urges his question, "Really?"

You meet his gaze with a loving smile and a heart full of affection. "Really," you affirm, placing tender kiss on his lips, a silent promise of the love and happiness that lies ahead. After the kiss, you exit the car, your heart feeling lighter than ever, and Lando watches you with a contented smile as you walk toward your home, knowing that your relationship has just taken a wonderful new turn.

"Y/n," Lando calls out as he exits the car.

"Yes, Lando?" you respond, a sense of anticipation in your voice.

You barely have time to react before he softly pushes you against the door and kisses you passionately. It's a moment of raw emotion, the culmination of the time spent growing closer and the unspoken feelings between you.

"Will you be my girlfriend when I ask you?" Lando finally manages to say between breaths, his eyes filled with hope.

"Aren't you asking right now?" you reply with a playful smirk.

"I did not spend two months devising a plan on how to get close to you," Lando chuckles, "just to ask you to be my girlfriend at your apartment door."

You tease him, "Does this mean I'll have to wait another two months for you to come up with another brilliant plan of how to ask me to be your girlfriend?"

Lando grins and leans in, "Sweetie, you best believe I've already picked out the flowers for our wedding day. You won't wait long, I promise."

With that, he seals his promise with another sweet, heartfelt kiss, and you know that this is just the beginning of a beautiful journey together.

^^

A.N. very much inspired by the line from "Lover" by Taylor Swift, which reads "And at every table, I'll save you a seat".

P.s. Lando's race yesterday was so good! I was crying, laughing and rolling on the floor by the end of it! Glad to see him doing so well<3

[horrorartsworld]

Hi. Here a thought experimen. I'm not sure if this can be considered a request or a prompt or something. Just wondering what do you think about an Overlord reader who is insulted by Velvet's 'blatant vulgar display' at the overlords letting and wants to put the Vees in their place. And for start she would like to the get THE VALENTINO to rent him. To show him that he may be a pimp now but he was not always so high and mighty. This has been in my head for days now. It's a dark femmdom idea just rotting my brain. Giving old moth boy a taste of his own Poison.

i think this is juicy asf 🤭 AND I PURPOSELY MADE SURE TO HAVE THIS DONE BY VALENTINE’s DAy! ! so you sexy bitches eat up, mwah!

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺

RENT-A-PIMP

valentino/overlord dom f!reader

warnings: 18+ nsfw, valentino getting domed FINALLY, cum denial, pussy drunk/eating

Scowling from your seat next to Zestial, your eyes never stopped following her every move…

The most incompetent, egotistical, annoying back-bone of the Vee’s, Velvette, was stomping around the table top in front of you spouting about some nonsense of fighting against the exorcists.

Making your blood boil at the site of someone with the same status as you having her way amongst some of the most powerful overlords in all of Hell, that were basically just gawking at her disrespectful behavior without lifting a single finger.

Your nails make a loud screeching noise while digging into the wood surface of the table with your frustration in which Zestial takes notice and nudges you to snap out of it. His glowing green eyes instantly calming with just a friendly look.

Huffing annoyed you slump in your chair as the little brat finishes up her last few pointless words and then finally exits throwing a middle finger up to the whole room with the door slamming behind her not shortly after.

There’s a moment of silence amongst the group as they all look over at Carmilla at the head of the table, who had already called for the meeting to be adjourned during her argument with Velvet, but everyone still sat waiting for proper direction. Until the silence was finally broken by the infamous radio demon stating in a rather chipper tone, “What a productive meeting!”

You attempt at holding in a laugh at this while everyone else finally takes that as a cue to disperse or mingle amongst the other overlords for a moment.

Stretching from your slump in your chair you can’t help but look over at Carmilla who had a somewhat pissed yet worried look on her face. “You alright Carmilla?” you ask softly tilting your head as she looks up at you with a small smile creeping on her lips.

“Yeah Y/n i’m fine…those Vee’s are just always looking for trouble..” she sighs shaking her head in disappointment.

“I’ll never understand why we don’t put them in their place…and why we even keep inviting them to shit when they don’t give a fuck about it.” you grumble with furrowed brows, Carmilla chuckles seeing how serious you looked when you spoke of revenge.

“It would make this whole empire crumble if we went after the Vee’s right now with the state we’re in…besides I would’ve already if I could..i don’t advise you to though..” her chuckles dying down as she gives you a more warning look, not wanting you to go after them yourself, but it was already too late.

The wheels in your mind were turning with a plan. “Oh noooooo i would never! Anywho i gotta go take care of something’s, cya!” you quickly replied, lying straight through your teeth as you scooted out of the room.

Carmilla watched you leave but she knew you all too well, she just hoped you knew what you were doing.

————————————

Valentino was immersed in the party life at the moment.

Iridescent lights flashing, deafening music blaring, sitting in his king pin like booth with two demon women at his side. Nursing on his usual intoxicating cigarette, the red smoke clouding above him while one of the females tugged on his coat with needy eyes.

“What is it doll?” he says with a sickening sweet draw, she then leans in close whispering a few naughty suggestions in the moth man’s ear, a pleased smirk forming on his face as he then picks her up in his arms about to take her somewhere private until he’s stopped mid stride.

“FUCK kitty…kind of trying to do something here..” he says with an impatient squeak, watching his little robo fizz stand in his way with that same toothy smile it always has, then it gestures eagerly for Valentino to follow it.

Valentino grumbles rolling his eyes, he roughly sets the demon girl down on the booth causing a yelp to escape her lips. “This better be good…” he stocks off following Kitty absentmindedly to his office.

Once there the door is already open, Val looks down suspiciously at the bot before entering. A sense of a different aura lingered in the air as the door suddenly shuts and locks behind him.

“Kitty, what the fuck! Open this damn door..” he seethes slamming his fist against it, only stopping when he hears a low seductive voice beckon him from behind, “There’s no need for that Valentino~”

The moth man’s wings twitch turning to investigate where that voice was coming from, which he then noticed out of the dark corner of the room a nice pair of legs sitting crossed on one of his plush pink arm chairs, delicious stockings working up to the upper thigh and adorned with laced up boots.

He scoffs with an eyebrow raised though he was slightly turned on by the sight. “Who the hell are you?”

“Not important..now come sit~” you say softly with a hint of demand behind it, gesturing towards a chair beside you that was waiting for him.

He scoffs crossing his arms over his chest, unmoving, “Oh yes it is…i’m not going to sit until you tell me who you are and what the fuck your doing in my office.”

You snicker seeing him become more sassy towards you, shaking your head as a bright purple chain appears in your grasp, lighting up bits of your face in the process. His red eyes widening behind his heart framed sunglasses at the realization of what was going on, you suddenly tug it forward with a giggle causing Valentino’s tall build to stumble toward you and fall to the ground with a loud thud.

You walk over to him, heels clicking threateningly amongst the floor until you stop where his face had planted, taking a clawed finger under his chin lifting it up to make his eyes meet your seductive yet powerful ones. “I own you for the next 24 hours mothy baby, which means you’ll have to do anything and everything I say~” a contract for a rental then appears in your opposite hand with his signature somehow on it. He looks at it baffled at how that possibly could’ve happened, not knowing you had one of those women in his booth from earlier trick him into signing it without realizing, leading him right to where he is now.

A wordless mess at your feet with his sunglasses now crooked on his face. You almost felt bad for him but you weren’t gonna feel bad for what you were about to do.

————————

Before Valentino could wrap his mind around anything he was already drunk off your pussy…You had stood over top of him while he held your hips in place, long pointed tongue plunging in and out of your hole. You kept your moans to a dull roar as you began to hear his pitiful whines against your now seeping cunt.

Wanting so badly to be tended to with his cock like he was to you, to the point he was so riled up that it was hurting .

“Shhh don’t be too loud baby…” you coo down at him, seeing how much of a mess he was making with your juices and his red salvia dripping down his chin.

“You don’t want the rest of the Vee’s or your workers realizing that their pimp daddy is just a bitch boy in heat, hmm?” you chuckle throwing your head back when his tongue finally brought you to your release, thighs squeezing against his face with your cum spilling into his mouth.

“Good boy…” you purr as he quiets down a bit while cleaning you up.

You stand up properly looking down at his dazed expression, eyes racking down to see his hard-on straining against his pants, snickering you part his legs settling yourself between them where he sat on the floor, unbuckling his big heart belt, setting his cock free. Val then lets out a hopeful sigh that was quickly replaced with a moan that sounded more like a wounded animal once you squeezed his cock in your fist playfully, his head throwing back as the sudden pressure overwhelmed him.

“T-too sensitive-” he musters through shaky breaths, you only give him a half pout smearing his pre over the tip slowly, letting your thumb linger over his slit.

“Awww when did you start caring about sensitivity?” you couldn’t help but jab at him as you were loving this a little too much. He glares at you for a moment that didn’t go unnoticed making you start jerking him with a rather quickened pace.

“W-Wait! Wait! Wait!” he squeaks loudly with his legs thrashing next to you. You didn’t listen waiting till you hear his breathing get faster and cock twitch in your hand till you halted your motions right before he was about to cum.

Valentino looks down at his cock confused, seeing it was now a dark purple leaking with pre droplets.

Crying not shortly after figuring out your ulterior motivates, bucking his hips into nothing as he practically threw a tantrum, cock bouncing with his weakened thrusts as he babbled on about why he needed to cum. Tears streaking his face.

You waited patiently watching this all unfold, until the whining turned into small sniffles and his bucking slowed down, looking at you with the most glossy eyes you’ve ever seen on a moth. If only you had a camera right now to video this.

“Are you done now you big baby?” he nods, while you hesitate for a moment seeing if he was truly done before you went at it once more only to deny his release again and again.

Until it comes to one point, when he can't seem to take it anymore. His orgasm hits before you can even notice it, and his cum squirts out of his cock in thick, heavy streams. Some getting on your face and the rest on his nice dress pants. He sobs finally feeling euphoric though he begged you to let him cum again, this time inside you.

You lick off the cum on your face before you hover over him once more.

“I should punish you for that you know…”

Valentino pouts about to plea for forgiveness until you sink down onto him. His mind going crazed with the feeling of you enveloping him with your warm insides.

“Just shut the fuck up and let me fuck you”

In which he did just that surprisingly enough.

A pimp who wasn’t so tough anymore, now mere mush in your hands.

The one thing you couldn’t wait for is to see the looks on the other two’s faces when they find that one of their Vee’s have flown way too close to the lamp light.

And got his shit ROCKED.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗪𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡? - part one max verstappen x reader (fluff) “. . . when he wants to be normal, he can count on you, stranger.”

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( next )

One of the things Max Verstappen despises about being Max Verstappen is being Max Verstappen. Three time world champion, youngest race winner, mad max, f1 dominator, all the fame and media and people following him around. It's very hard to get a moment of peace or be treated normally. When people hear his name they either put on big smiles or ugly frowns. He hates the special treatment.

He misses when he could have a conversation without people recording or judging him. Without people whispering about him, or fake being his friend for whatever fame. When people would just spend time with him for the sake of spending time, or having a conversation for the sake of friendly socialization and conversation. Luckily though for the Dutch, in this day and age, Max could just enter a spare email in Discord and make a second lowkey account.

The pfp was a random photo of Max, a meme. Lowkey enough, Max decided after staring at the profile long enough before opening DiscoBoard. After scrolling and searching, he was dawned upon with a relatively small server with only 280 people online, surrounding sim racing. After he followed instructions on the welcome page like verifying he's not a robot and picking roles, he got his first ping. 

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Max met you in August of 2022. The way you talked and messed around with him got him constantly checking his phone for notifications over the next months. The way you befriended him and were relaxed around him once the two of you got to know each other, it kept him sane. And although Max didn't really reveal a lot about himself except that his work required a lot of traveling and effort, you trusted him enough to share about your own life up in France, ranting about your weird encounters as an employee at Cisco.

The blonde’s favorite part about getting home was plopping in his gaming chair and switching his Discord accounts. Pulling his headphones on and navigating through the server, he joined the active voice chat. It was as if he was switching lives, turning off Max Verstappen to be an irrelevant 26 year old.

“A millioooon.” you sang like you always did, a nickname you’d given him since amilian sounded like a million. 

“Laaaaa.” Max sang back with a chuckle before greeting the other acquaintances present on the call. 

“How was your weekend?” You hummed. 

“Same as always. Maybe a bit shittier this time.” He sighed, seeing you were on Gran Turismo from your shared screen. 

“I’d love to beat up someone for you.” You always offer when he’s down. The blonde would laugh and shake his head even though you can’t see. You never cease to bring him a smile with your tone and jokes and hearty aura, despite being kilometers up north. "We're waiting for Josh to take a few rounds around spa, you wanna join?" 

"Oh, yes please." friendly racing with no consequences, points or championship? just friends messing around and enjoying themselves? Yes please.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You see the new verstappen photos that just dropped, Mr. Max Verstappen nerd?" Max looked up from his phone, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at your dm chat where the two of you decided to move the call once everyone else put down the steering wheel for the night.

"This one is from Bahrain I think . . . you know, I'm starting to take a liking to him." Max rolled his eyes playfully at your words. "To be honest, I was kind of disappointed this weekend." Max rubbed his eyes, looking up at your profile picture. 

"Why what happened?" He asked even though he probably knew all too well the events of the Australian grand prix.

"Max DNFed on the third or fifth lap." You sighed. 

"Oh yeah?" Max hummed, pursing his lips, not wanting to recall the memories. "What's so bad about that? I thought you were a die hard Charles fan?" he asked. 

"Excuse you, I'm a die hard Fernando fan." You joked in a sassy tone which pulled a chuckle from him.

"What is it about Max DNFing that is bothering you then?" Max himself asked, putting his phone down to concentrate on your voice. 

"I just don't—" you sighed deeply. On your end of the call you rolled back in your chair, getting up and flopping on your bed with your phone in hand.

When you did answer his question, all Max heard was mumbles because your voice was muffled by your pillow. "Can't hear you, La. Aren't you happy about the Carlando podium? You were so happy about it last year." 

"I am happy, I am. But Max . . . well Max . . . i don't know." you grumbled frustrated. "He's such a good driver, and deserves a lot— he works really really hard."

Max never thought he'd hear you talking about him like that. He'd usually hear other people on the server dissing him and cursing him. And although you were always mostly neutral with the drivers, the way you spoke about Max tonight melted his heart. It also felt very wrong.

While you turned and laid on your back, staring up at the ceiling of your room, venting your feelings about a driver who you thought didn't know you existed, said driver folded his arms on his desk and leaned forward, resting his chin on his arms listening to you vent about how much you were amazed and proud even though you don't know him personally or him not being your favorite driver.

Max glanced up at his monitor as you sighed to gather your thoughts. "Sometimes when i look at him, he reminds me of myself. I never really got to go past karting, but for some reason I see a little bit of y/n in him." 

"—Y/n?" He sat up hearing the name. 

"I—" You face palmed upon the realization.

 "Is that your name?" Max asked. You nodded briefly with a sigh but he couldn't see.

"Unfortunately." You sighed. "Weird name, I know—" 

"I like it." He reassured. "It's not like Amilian is any better." he tried to lighten the mood, working slightly. 

"A million." you giggled making him chuckle back. 

"A million, " he repeated quieter, a small smile on his face as he leaned his chin back down on his arm.

Such a foolish thing to do, taking a liking to a woman you've never met.

Voice notes . . . ( my brain is like a zoo rn, starting projects and not being able to track anything while working on everything at the same time )Word count - ( 1, 165 ) credits for proof reading -> @classiclitfreak (check out their blog!!)

[lunarw0rks]

Angst Drabble where task 141 thinks reader was KIA but they just being held captive and was probably tortured until reader escaped?

☾𓂃❛🍰❜┊ we buried you

warning(s): platonic!141, canon-typical violence, torture mention, blood/injury, medical procedures, hurt/comfort, gn!reader ♡ masterlist // requests // ask box

you already looked dead and felt it even more. bloodied, beaten, and deprived of proper food and water for weeks. but you had your chance to escape; one chance, a slim one.

your captors' facility had been raided — before they could restrict you to a chair again. the man who was in charge had been dropped through one of the windows, and the commotion in the prison's corridors was too chaotic for anyone to hear the faint gunshot.

the ringing, and feeling of water trapped in your ears — it was a blessing given all the overstimulating chaos. no one was looking for you, not while they were defending their compound.

you lifted your head from your blank stare in your lap once you heard the heavy thump of his body. you crawled to the warden's corpse, fingering the speak button on his radio, but your vision was too doubled to focus. on top of it, you weren't sure you could speak. you gave up on that the second day into imprisonment. no words resulted in punishment, but so did the use of them. it was a double-edged sword of anguish.

it was now or never; any longer and you would catch an infection or bleed out from your injuries.

to find his gun, you would have to roll the weight of a grown man onto his stomach. maybe last week, before you sustained a broken rib you would've. but now? you could do nothing except stagger through the empty corridors with his keycard, deadened eyes doing little to observe a threat.

the luminance of the afternoon sun nearly knocked you down, an achy forearm raised to block the sheer brightness of the star. your best course of action was to keep moving towards the sounds of friendlies; now was not the time to be the hero you were trained to be.

it was a desert area, only adding to the dryness in your throat and eyes. the distant voices of soldiers, British ones grew louder as you advanced down the valley, eventually seeing a tank in view. what sounded like an officer or general, his shouts were interrupted by the downright grisly sight you were. a military undershirt matching his and your undergarments — crimson stains in the fabric, your skin, the cuts and gashes, bruises big and tiny, sunken and hopeless features.

❝don't move an inch!❞ he bellows despite you already stopped in your tracks, bare feet blistering against the torrid sand. it was only fair in a land full of terrorism — assuming anyone could be an enemy. his men raised their rifles as the officer approached steadily, the force of his squad as backup.

the keycard smears with your bloody fingertips fell to the sand before you turned your arm to him, flashing your only chance at getting back to your men; an insignia for the 141 across that traveled down your forearm.

his gaze softened as he gripped the tender flesh of your arm, inspecting the ink tattered by injury. he gives it a harsh rub with a wetted finger — but the tattoo is very real.

your legs buckled beneath you once you knew you were safe as if your broken body could only stay upright for minutes under the sizzling sun. you crumpled against the sand, eyes droopy and about to clench shut.

the last of the commotion you heard was the officer speaking frantically into his comms — and most notable, a familiar name. captain price.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

❝bleeding christ...❞ price muttered as you wheeled past him limp on a gurney. you were supposed to be KIA, buried and dead for months now. your comms had been lost, and everyone else in that transport didn't make it. but you were here, and barely breathing.

how you managed to stand, let alone remain lucid enough to identify yourself to British forces, he couldn't comprehend it. however, your captain wasn't surprised — you were tough as nails.

the medics worked tirelessly; wrapping you in cooling blankets, inserting a central line, IVs pumping fluid, and a feeding tube to slow feed you until your gut could handle nutrients again.

for hours; they induced your slumber, some much-needed shuteye as the lines and medications did their work on you. though you hadn't been moving much, your attempts at speaking and panicked looks around the medbay were inhibiting your ability to rest. but right now, your shallow breaths were like a living miracle.

you survived and made your escape out of sheer willpower — no one would forget this.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

soap was the first to sit with you, reading from a sports magazine. his logic? if you're up and bickering with him again, that means you're alright. your eyes would flutter open for seconds at a time, a small frown pointed at your chatty visitor, then they would shut again for hours. anything was better than nothing.

gaz and ghost only visited through the window into the medbay, a few minutes of observing your bruised body before they forced themselves to move along. or the captain did. the world couldn't stop for you, as much as he wanted them all to be there for you when you were lucid.

it was captain price that was. he gave the other three a light assignment, something that would keep the trio occupied for a few hours.

after what seemed like two days of medicated slumber, your eyes finally opened fully. you stared down at the stitches all over you, the soft cast around your wrist. most of all, the achy feeling is still ever-persistent despite the sedatives.

❝captain?❞ you croaked in a weak and emotional tone. you weren't in that prison, you were in the 'comfort' of a medbay. perhaps it was the drugs or the hell you had been through, but you were near tears.

his hand outstretched, a palm resting on one of the few uninjured bits of flesh on your arms. ❝you did it, kid. you... made it.❞ price's tone was soothing and low, like that of a parent consoling their maimed child.

what you had been through, he didn't need to know. he didn't ever want to picture it. what mattered most was that you were here and that you had proved yourself in the most heartbreaking sense.

he finds his pocket, pulling out his cell. ❝i have make a call to laswell. i can ask the others to visit if you'd like?❞ price asks softly, eyes remaining on you as he dials the number.

whether you wanted to see the rest of them right now or not, that was your decision. you earned it.

[ickadori]

“Wow, that looks really good.”

“I’m not giving you any.”

“I don’t—I wasn’t going to ask for any! I was just paying you a compliment, Kento, geez.” You grumble, and he’d feel bad if he didn’t know this game play-by-play.

He’d eat at his desk, as always, and not even a second after his bento quietly clinked against the metallic desk you were wheeling your chair over to his cubicle, trying and failing to be quiet as the squeaky wheels gave you away. You’d hover for a few moments, ooh’ing and ahh’ing when he removed the lid, and then you’d throw out a compliment.

“That smells amazing, Kento!”

“God, you’re such an amazing cook! Did you, like, go to culinary school or something?”

“You should start a food blog or something, really. I think it’d really take off - I can set it up for you, actually!”

“Aw, you made a little face on the rice ball! I didn’t know you were artistic, Kento!”

And then a comedically timed stomach growl would sound, followed with a ‘I forgot my lunchbox on the counter again’ and a pleading look that could rival the beggars littering the corners - and Nanami was a nice enough man, so he’d usually split his bento in half, sometimes giving you a larger portion than his, but your begging was getting out of hand.

“I actually brought my own lunch today.” You proudly state, your hand thrusting forward to show off your lunch bag. It’s…childish, but with you being the youngest, and newest, hire in the office, he can’t say he’s all too surprised. “This is a new lunch bag, too, do you like it? I got it half off on clearance at the convenience store down the street. I had no idea they even sold them! It was hidden all the way in the back near the…”

You’re a chatterbox, and usually Nanami doesn’t like those, even goes out of his way to make himself scarce when the usual office gossips enter his vicinity, but he doesn’t mind you…too much.

“…what I brought today! I think you’re gonna be really jealous.” You snicker, and he’s forced to scoot his chair over as you plop your bag down on the desk next to his bento box and roll your chair forward. “But don’t worry, I’ll let you have some. It’s only fair, after all.” You practically rip the zipper in your haste to get it open, and the both of you blink at what’s found inside.

There’s a large thermos on its side, the contents that had been in it, a soup that did smell rather appetizing, floating around in the bottom of the bag. There’s a plastic ziplock bag in there as well that houses your crackers, although the hot soup had melted through the plastic and turned the crackers into a gooey mess. There’s a small container of chopped up fruit that wasn’t spared, the lid not having been shut correctly, and your plastic spoon is also a melted mess as well.

“…it said it was spill-proof.” You give him a pitiful look, and Nanami sighs through his nose as his knuckles rap against his desk.

“Did you put the top on right?”

“I thought I did.” You poke at the soup, yelping when you find out that it’s still hot, and you pop the singed digit into your mouth as you whine. “And I was so excited for you to taste it, too. It was my mom’s recipe.” You look dejected, sunny disposition nowhere to be found, and Nanami frowns at the restlessness that creeps up to settle in the pit of his stomach.

You close the lunchbox with a forlorn sigh, lips jutted out in a pout, and Nanami puts himself out there in a way that had grown foreign to him over the years.

“Do you have enough ingredients to make another batch?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, not at all. I kinda used up everything trying to make it taste right.” You flash him a sheepish smile. “This was the sixth batch I made—and it was really good, too!”

“If you’re not busy after work,” he feels a tad nervous, and his fingers itch to loosen the tie around his neck. “We could stop by the market and buy what you need. That way you could make it again tonight and just bring it in tomorrow.” A friendly, professional trip to the market, a small show of thanks for your failed attempt.

“Hm,” you tap your nails against his desk as you hum, and Nanami wonders for a second if he’s crossed some invisible boundary and will be called into HR in the morning. “I don’t think I trust myself with the thermos, to be completely honest. It would probably just end up spilled again…” Your eyes lock onto his as you smile, lashes batting and chair twirling back and forth. “How about you just come over to mine instead? That way you can get it nice, hot, and fresh? It’s best that way, y’know.”

Nanami wants to retreat, go back into his shell and keep the relationship professional, informal, safe, but then you’re twisting again, and your knee is brushing up against his, and he likes the contact a bit too much.

“Is it?” He questions.

“Mhm,” you nod. “I’ll even make sure to give you something sweet for dessert.”

“I’m not a big fan of sweets.”

“You will be after tonight.”

“..”

“Please email me your address at your earliest convenience.”

[diaryofanidiot]

The Experiments

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader

Chapter list: Prologue, 1, 2, <3> , 4, 5

Cw: Swearing; torture; blood; medical experiments; panic attacks; malnourishment

Summary: For over a year, Y/N was held in a soviet experimentation facility. Forced to fight and claw her way to live, she managed to stay alive. When the 141 rescues her, they get way more intel than bargained for.

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Chapter Three

Sweat made the hospital gown irritatingly stick to my skin as I tried to get comfortable in the cot. They had left me restrained during the night, making it harder to sleep as I looked restlessly around the medical bay.

The occasional night shift nurse or guard would pass by, but other than that, I received no reprive from the torment that was my own mind.

Ghost was no longer nearby on what I assumed had been a guard duty of sorts. He must've left during the measly few hours of sleep that I had managed. With a huff, I tapped my finger to the call button and waited.

Within the minute, a nurse appeared with a friendly smile. For the night shift, she still certainly kept her bedside manner in check.

She brought over a chart with various illustrations of what I could possibly need, and I pointed to the bathroom. The kind nurse smiled with an "of course." and went to retrieve a guard to undo my restraints and help me into my wheelchair.

I don't know when I began scheming. All I knew was that if I didn't get out of this confined space and into some fresh air, I might actually snap. Sure, Soap or maybe even Gaz, if he had truly forgiven me for the hand incident, might be kind enough to take me for some in the morning.

Despite that fact that slipped my brain, my entire extended time of washing my hands was filled with thoughts of escape.

As the guard wheeled me back, I managed to slip my hand into his jacket pocket and nab the key undetected. I don't think he expected it with the friendly smile I had sacrificed to him.

Once I was back in my cot and the guard fastened my restraints, I feigned soreness in my dominant wrist.

"Too tight?" He asked me. I gave him a pitiful look before I saw the gears crank in his brain. "I suppose keeping this one loose won't do any harm. Just don't snitch. If you even can." He snickered and put a playful finger to his lips as he allowed me more wiggle room with that arm. He was kind. I hated to pull the wool over his eyes.

Once I was left alone to rest once more, I couldn't help the slight smirk on my face despite the nerves in my stomach as I maneuvered the key to the lock. It took a while of fumbling, but soon it went in, and I was able to nudge it until it clicked open.

My eyes shot up and looked around, checking my surroundings before unlocking my other hand and then my ankles. I leaned over on my cot to pull my wheelchair next to the bed. Now for the difficult part.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed while using my arms to keep balance as I lowered myself into the chair. It was excruciating on my body, but I had already decided that the ends justified the means.

Once I was seated comfortable, I glanced at the IV in my arm. There was no way I could take the bulky stand holding the drip bag with me, so I did what any not so sane person would've done and removed the needle on my own. I already had multiple infected wounds. What was the risk of one more?

Determination flooded my bones as I peered around to make sure the coast was clear. Despite my inner fire I couldn't help but jump at every sound while I maneuvered the unfamiliar place.

When I finally reached the steel door entrance of the medical building, I released a breath I didn't realize I was holding and struggled to open the door; while simultaneously fitting my wheel chair through.

It didn't matter in the end as the door opened by a force not of my own. My gaze shot upward to see an all too familiar mask staring down at me, the night sky not even providing enough light to see his eyes through the skull.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He understood my motives. I didn't know why at this exact moment. Yet, here we were. He matched my pace as he allowed me to wheel my way around the compound and revel in the fresh air.

I occasionally peeked a glance at him. He seemed so stoic but the kindness in the action showed me he was a bit more than that.

"Don't do that." He broke the silence. "I can see the damn gratitude in your face. You're still getting reprimanded when we're done here."

I broke my eyes away suddenly. He could try to play the mean guy all he wanted, but this was the biggest act of kindness I had received in so long. He would get my gratitude whether he liked it or not.

The moon was a small crescent tonight, and a cool breeze blew past occasionally. Crickets chirped, and the occasional glow of a firefly caught my attention. Just the sight if it made everything that I went through. No. That I survived feel worth it.

I had been advised to wait to speak during my physical therapy sessions but I had to communicate. Even just a little.

"You-" I coughed as I got too eager to speak. His eyes were on me now as we paused our stroll. "Saved me." I managed. He handed me a water and I sipped it gratefully.

"Didn't even know you were there. Was just doing my job." He insisted matter-of-factly. "You're welcome, though. If that's what you really want. Nothing is owed."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes once he looked away and continued our walk. Didn't he realize I owed everything to him and his team? Eventually, his hand grabbed the back of my wheelchair, halting my movements.

"We need to get you back where you belong. Cmon." He looked at me expectantly. I got the feeling that if i didn't wheel myself back that he would do it for me. With a look of dejection, I let him walk me back to that horrible place known as the medbay.

"Don't look so sad. I was told you'll only be there for a few weeks." He looked forward as he spoke. "After that, you'll only need to go in for a few checkups."

I had more questions but no way to speak them. It was frustrating, to say the least, but I couldn't help myself from trusting him.

Ghost was right. After the first two weeks, many of my injuries had healed substantially. The infections were now gone, and the sores on my neck were toward the end stages of healing.

The time spent there was agonizing, switching between physical therapy, speech therapy, and the constant check-in from the doctors and nurses.

Soap visited when Ghost couldn't watch over me. His company was nice enough to help pass the time. He was more chatty than the latter which I appreciated. Even Gaz began to visit again. He had truly forgiven me, which I couldn't lie that I had my doubts of, and his hand had healed up.

There was the occasional day or two when none of the trio would visit me. I had been told they were still cleaning up messes near the place I was rescued. Part of me wondered if they were searching for others like me. Other bioengineered weapons that is.

But my favorite time of day was the pre "lights out" walks that Ghost would occasionally take me on before retiring for the night. While he didn't speak much, he seemed to understand that they helped substantially. I liked to think that he enjoyed them as well. He certainly at least seemed less tense.

That is, until my voice began to come back to me. It was scratchy at first and hurt my throat for a bit, but soon, something phenomenal happened. I recognized it. I finally had my own voice back.

I might've abused the happiness it gave me by never shutting up...

"You really like the sound of your own voice, don't ya?" Gaz interrupted. I paused before realizing I was rambling to him.

"...am I really talking that much?"

"Well," He smiled in amusement. "I just spent the last Twenty minutes sitting here listening to you go on about the things you've observed during your stay in the medbay."

I looked away, apologizing. He laughed and shook his head.

"Nah, you're getting discharged today. You have a right to be excited."

"Just glad you guys got back in time." I smiled. The rest of the 141 walked in shortly after.

"(Y/n)!" Soap called, a giant grin on his face. Ghost and Price trailed close behind. "How ya feeling, lass?"

He placed his hand on my head, ruffling my hair. "You ready to go?"

"Yes. Please." I said, my tone filled with relief. Gaz handed me my crutches, which I had upgraded to a few days ago.

Once I was discharged and the proper paperwork was filed, I was led to a new building. One with proper rooms and facilities.

"You understand, (y/n), now that your voice is back, We are going to need you to answer some questions?" Price asked. I wasn't as close to him as I was to the other's, considering he didn't visit nearly as often. He was kind to me, though.

I nodded. "I'll do what I can. If there are others like me out there... I want to do what I can to help."

The Captain smiled at me with a hint of admiration. "Atta girl. Here you are."

They had led me to a room. It was mostly bare aside from some essential furniture. Like an actual bed, a desk, a dresser, and a trunk.

It mightve been bare... but oh how I missed privacy.

"There's some clothes in the dresser. May not be your style, but it's what's on hand." Soap spoke, pointing toward it before facing me. "Better than that hospital gown, I assume?"

I nodded eagerly before feeling a firm hand pat my back. Ghost.

"Get settled in. I'll come get you in a short while and you can give us some answers."

I watched as they took their leave, closing the door behind them. I was practically giddy at the newfound freedom as I limped over to the dresser and opened it. Plain black shirts and cargo pants were folded military style.

Part of me wondered who prepped it for me. No matter. Getting dressed on my own was an entirely new hurdle that my physical therapist hadn't addressed yet, but with the help of the bed to sit on, I managed.

I set my crutches aside and flopped back onto the mattress. Finally, my ears were greeted with... nothing. No beeping monitors, no footsteps that raised my anxiety, not the mumbled voices of nurses and doctors. My nose was given the same reprive. No smell of hand sanitizer or cleaning products. Surprisingly, less sterile smelled... better.

I don't know how long I had stayed there with my eyes closed. It felt good not to be so overwhelmed.

All good things must come to an end.

A knock at my door and the clicking of the latch made my eyes open. Ghost, despite being so large, moved quietly. I never heard him approaching.

"Ready to give us some answers?"

A/n: Once again, thank you all for the love this fic has received. All your comments and reviews have done nothing but make me smile <3 I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm gonna be making a separate post for taglist add requests soon. I'll link it to the fic once it's up as it's getting a bit chaotic 😅 if I missed you, then feel free to ask again. I've gotten a lot of replies asking to be added

Taglist: @warenai @linoskitten11 @jamesrifftapes @justmare @hk-4ever @thriving-n-jiving @katelouis98 @tayaisback @josieguts @btszn @lemmyyy0606 @msecho19 @cory-viv @cybercl0ne @randomhumans-blog @vinithechocolatevampire @embermdk @itsryuken @neothewitch @undercover-smutlover @noeltako @y2cade @ghostindeath @soundsfunbutno @untoldshortsofthefandoms @emily-roberts @x4vern1a @theimaginaryheir @bitchoftoji @stunkbiggu @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @theredviolets @v1naco @berryjuicyy @serenitysmind @mundane-frogola @sushiumex @thorninspaceandtime @tooruen @hotchlover

[prismatic-bell]

HEY TUMBLR!!

Guess who you know who fucked up xir paycheck math like never before!!

This particular brouhaha involves me buying concert tickets without realizing a different payment hadn’t yet come out, and I don’t feel comfortable being like “hey y’all, just give me money for my leisure.” BUT. I do have wares, if you have coin, to help me sew up the hole in my pocket.

Please allow me to introduce the CROSS-MY-HEART.

(Don’t mind my facial expression, I was staring almost directly into the sun in a couple of these.)

I first saw one of these in one of my mom’s crochet magazines in the early 90s, and have never seen one since. “Cross my heart” might have even been the name of the pattern, not the item, and this is merely an attempt to reverse-engineer it. But as you can see, this particular heavy shawl does in fact cross the heart, and buttons from the inside in order to adjust wherever you like. (You can also wear it inside out if you want to, but there aren’t two buttons, so it’s not as adjustable in that direction, and also the pattern will look slightly different.)

The cross-my-heart is ideal for times of year when a sweater or blanket is too damn hot and shirtsleeves or bare arms are too damn cold, and is spacious enough for free arm movement. I don’t have access to a wheelchair, but experiments with a kitchen chair show it should also be an ideal length to keep your upper half warm without getting caught in your wheels, if that’s a consideration for you.

The Pumpkin Spice Cross-My-Heart is made of allergen-free acrylic in a smoke-free, dog-free, cat-friendly home, and is available for $120 + shipping (provide an address for shipping calculations). Tips are accepted and appreciated, but not expected.

This particular cross-my-heart was a test pattern due to the whole “had to reverse engineer from something I saw when I was like five” thing, and as such will be entirely unique as I worked out row sizes and, uh, took so long that the entire colorway was discontinued. (Okay, Caron.) In light of this, rather than the usual 12” of extra yarn I normally provide in case of cigarette burns, teething puppies, sharp corners, etc., the Pumpkin Spice Cross-My-Heart will include 24” of spare yarn. I stand behind my work as quality, but also recognize accidents happen.

The cross-my-heart is machine-washable on the delicates cycle. DO NOT WASH WITH ITEMS THAT HAVE HOOK AND EYE CLOSURES, as the item features decorative barrel stitches.

Interested? DM me! Not interested but want to help me fix my mathematical screw-up? Reblog, and keep an eye out later this week for further items!