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#because like. how do you give up years of relative safety with people who do care about you they just won't like you anymore if you're *you

halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

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To Be Alive In Summer

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Betrayal had never been in your cards, and you definitely didn't see yourself being the one responsible for the act. When having to go undercover, first comes the problem of staging your death.

WORDCOUNT: 8.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, betrayal, intense gore, violence, death, allusions to intimacy, weapons, vulgar language, recovery, torture, happy ending, etc.

A/N: The final request is finished, hope you enjoy it @l-inkage! Onto the AUs next.

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

You didn’t want to do it, but in this job, comfort was always an option and never a guarantee. It needed to be done. And that meant sacrifices had to be made to the dark altar of your contract with One-Four-One.

But this one just might break you in the process.

“Are you sure that,” you pause and think over the instructions that Price had just given you—straight from the top of the line. “Are you sure that this is the best way, Sir?”

The man’s lips are flat, eyes narrowed, he doesn’t like this either—especially if you don’t. John’s a Captain, he tallies out orders and expects people to listen without hesitation; doesn’t express his worry about their safety because that isn’t what this is about at the end of the day. It’s about keeping the good people outside of bases like these alive and breathing.

And right now that hinged on you being dead.

“Berto needs mercenaries,” Price grunts, “and any record of you needs to be wiped before we send you in.”

Vito Berto—head of a crime family that had been picking up traction in recent years, so much so that One-Four-One had to be put on it for covert reconnaissance before any more people ended up dead.

You would be sent in under the cover of an experienced mercenary; one among the ranks that Berto would need for a hostile takeover planned in three months on the Palace of Westminster in London. The House of Parliament.

Vito was one cocky son of a bitch if he expected no one to get word of this.

Your job was to uncover the exact date, time, and the mission plan before getting out as quickly as possible. In order to do that, the soldier holding your name needed to be dead so nothing could be traced back to you, your task force, or your loved ones.

And people needed to believe it.

“Can’t the records just be forged, Sir?” You ask, the meeting room dark and pulsing with the cold air from the vents. “What about Gaz and Soap?” Your throat closes for a moment and you speak slightly lower. “Simon?”

Price sighs and crosses his arms, fixing the stance of his feet.

“They’ll deal with it.” Inside of your pockets, your hands twitch.

He won't. Not inwardly.

“I…” your jaw clenched.

Your relationship with Ghost was…strange. You’d both had your fun, of course, and you had a casual air about that sort of thing—it had happened, but nothing more could ever come of it. There was a modicum of soft care with you two; an acknowledgment of partnership in the field and out of it.

You didn’t have to explain to people that Ghost was closer to you than others. You’d seen his face; that says enough.

“It needs to look real,” Price explains, tilting his head down to you. “Not only for Laswell's state of mind but yours. I won’t be putting you in without giving you the best chance.”

“You can’t tell them?”

“Negative. Security measure.” You frown, biting at your lip.

John closes his eyes and shakes his head. A second later a hand is set on your shoulder and the man leans in slightly to reassure you like a relative. You look up into your Captain’s gruff face, seeing the small amount of care he levels into his cerulean irises for you.

He squeezes your flesh, watching hard.

“We need you for this, Trick.” The nickname was exactly why you were the only one who could do this.

You were the first choice. No one was better at undercover work.

“How long would I be gone, Price?” Shifting out of the hold, you cross your arms and level him with a dead stare. “How long do they have to live with this lie?”

John grunts. “Less than three months, yeah? But all of it’s up to how long it takes to gather intel. Full black.”

“Exfil point?”

“Town five miles from Berto’s estate. Cafe with a red door near the bookstore. Woman inside’ll be your handler.” You turn away to glare at the far wall, hesitant even when you know you shouldn't be. This was your job.

Brown eyes keep flashing behind your eyes—a skeletal mask that stares with stained glistening blood, blood you yourself feel reflected on your own visage. A shared damning of two people who would never see those great halls of the afterlife. Neither of you are good.

Simon had to understand.

The Captain sees the shift in your expression.

“You in?” He asks you with a blank look.

You take a deep breath, chest heavy and heart hurting. “I don’t like it,” your voice is low, monotone. “But, yeah, Sir, I’m in.”

“Good,” the man nods, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “It’ll happen in three days. Be ready.”

You watch him walk out of the room, patting you on the shoulder one last time before the door shuts behind him with a click of finality that pierces your lungs. You clear your throat and swallow down saliva, turning your face away as if ashamed.

It’s the quiet that gets to you in that moment—the encompassing nothingness. So often you would have moments like these with Simon. Just sitting; not taking. But this silence was so different.

This was betrayal.

After you steady the slight tremor in your hands, you scoff and shake your head backing up a step before leaving the room; turning off the lights.

You walk down the long hallway, feet heavy as your mind runs, and overhead the lights buzz like flies. Eyes stuck to the floor, your shoulders are hunched in with thought and your lids half-closed in a display of obvious inner turmoil.

The shadow that waits for you, leaning against the wall, you walk past entirely—missing it and not hearing the confused call of your name behind you because of it.

“Trick!” Your hand comes up to itch at your chin, fingers pushing into your flesh. The aggressive Manchester accent slides off of you until large fingers curl into the back collar of your vest rig.

You breathe in sharply, blinking in surprise as your feet get pulled back a step or two, pace halting as Ghost curls around your body, staring down at you. His brows are narrowed, that mask still on and the bottom fabric twisted in the obvious downward press of his lips.

“Bloody hell is wrong with you, then?”

Sighing, you scowl and shake him off of you, moving back to allow yourself some air. Did he really have to show up now? Why was he even here, you had to ask yourself. Was he…waiting for you?

“Nothing,” you don’t look at him, speaking low. “Distracted, is all.”

Ghost crosses his arms slowly, his brows flinching briefly as he makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Meeting go well?”

“Fine.” He can tell something’s wrong; you know he can—he’s the best at interrogations for a reason. Ghost knows when someone is lying to him.

You glance at his chest before you begin to open your mouth.

What could telling him hurt? Just a hint. He’d get it—I know he would. Berto had the nickname ‘The Tanner,’ given to him by his men. When he found out anyone had double-crossed him, he’d take a large breaking knife and separate the thin layers of skin from his victims. Intel suggests he keeps them awake for all of it, stopping when they pass out only to start again when they wake back up.

If there was any leak in this base…any at all…you wouldn’t be coming back.

You wouldn’t be coming back to him.

Simon’s thighs shift.

“Talk to me.” He always speaks like he doesn’t care about the answer, but you’d be a fool this far into your… relationship? To believe that he didn’t. You’d seen Simon panic over your injured body before—it told you enough.

The easy moments and the side-eyed looks when he thought you didn’t notice or weren’t doing the same to him.

Your fingers twitch, forcing a smirk that didn’t convince even you. Your heart was telling you to explain it to him, but your brain was firmly set behind iron doors; tongue held back by iron tongs.

“Personal matters, Simon. Nothing you need to worry about, Big Guy.” He doesn’t look away from your eyes. Brows set in a line and that mask jeering at you; almost mocking.

The Lieutenant doesn’t answer and your heart is visible from under your gear.

“J-just,” you stutter, face getting hot as you look away. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s…”

Trailing off, you rub at the back of your head in a self-soothing motion.

Simon blinks slowly and you hear a large chest-rattling sigh. He shrugs in that way only he can—a fast jerk of shoulders that looks more like he’s trying to push off a bug than simply trying to move past what you’re saying to him.

“Doesn’t make a difference,” it does. “Garrick and MacTavish are waitin’ down at the firing range. Best get down there ‘fore one comes looking like a kicked dog.” You can still feel him digging into you. Knives and the suspicion in his tone.

You don’t want to do this to him. Not after all that you’ve gone through together.

“Right.” Your feet are moving before he is, planted into the floor and pushing off through the small pinches of electricity in the nerves. Pushing out a hard laugh, you try to send him a light smile. “Did you tell them to be ready to get their arses beat?”

Simon looks down at you as he walks beside your form in large steps; arms swinging. “Haven’t seen ‘em yet. Waiting for you.”

If it were possible to shrivel up from guilt, you’d be nothing but bones.

“O-oh,” you huff, but it sounds like all of the air has been expelled from your lungs. “You didn’t have to do that, y’know.”

Simon grunts, accent grating as he stares ahead. “Wanted to.”

“Good. That’s nice.” You feel like screaming. “Thank you.”

It’s nearly instantaneous how fast his eyes go dark with concern. “You sure that head of yours is on straight, Trick?”

You push open the doors outside and wonder if you even have the ability to answer him; out of everyone, you can’t lie to Simon.

“No,” your lips admit quietly, self-degrading in its own right.

A hand grabs you by the wrist and before you can slip out, you’re being pulled back into the building and pushed into a side room.

“Hey!” You shout, eyes flashing as the door is shut behind you. You’re released and the light is immediately turned on. “Simon, what the hell are you doing?”

“Enough,” he levels, and your arms are clasped so you’re facing his chest, looking up into his serious and hard gaze. “Fuckin’ speak to me.”

You’re surprised at how insistent he is about this.

“I’m not telling you anything,” you speak through stutters and he growls in his throat. His hands are like motel lava even under his gloves and above your skin—burning like a brand.

“What happened in that meeting room, Trick?”

“It’s classified,” you say, harder than intended, spitting the words with a hint of desperation. If not for your own safety, then for his, but you know that if he keeps asking then you’ll tell him the truth.

They were going to stage your death, and they won’t be making it pretty.

“Fuck classified,” he leans in closer, curling over you. “You’re acting like someone’s bloody taking you hostage.”

“Simon! It’s not—”

“Cut the bullshit!” You growl and try to shove away from him, struggling with glaring eyes that go sharp with the onset of tears. “Somethings got you worried and I wanna know what it is.”

Simon wasn’t the greatest at articulation, but neither were you.

You knew he was trying to tell you he was concerned. The man was holding you tight, but not hurting you; his face close and his shoulders wide. Along your face his eyes were darting, as if he could peel back your skin and make you explain what Price had told you.

The Captain had given the Lieutenant a look as he’d seen him waiting for you but had said nothing. That alone had tipped Ghost off to something being wrong.

But you weren’t having it.

Yanking out of Simon’s hands, you shake your head and put on your worst glare—meeting muddy brown and huffing.

“Mind your own business, Riley. It’s for your own good.” The man blinks in mute shock, fingers in the air twitching before they fall to his sides.

You speed-walk out of the room before he can speak, lips slightly parted at your strange behavior.

For his own good? What in the hell did that mean?

Simon’s jaw clenches, a grunt in his chest as he aggressively rolls his wrist. He turns to follow after. The both of you don’t talk for the rest of the day.

—

Your body shakes along with the helo as it takes off, carrying you away from the scene of gunfire down below. In your earpiece, you hear the loud calls and yelling from your friends. Gaz is calling out to Price to give him permission to move up; the Captain too busy grappling Soap to the ground.

Ghost is taking cover behind a wall, but he’s not quiet.

“Trick’s in the damn building!”

No, I’m not, you want to flick on the line and tell him. Over the three days before this operation you'd barely spoken—in fact, you’d been avoiding all of them fervently by the mass amount of guilt in your stomach.

In the nights, you hadn’t even slept, and now you’re sure it’ll take even longer too.

Their forms become tinier, and you grasp the roof’s handle as the helo rises farther and farther.

“Price!” Simon barks. “We have to get her—”

“There’s no time!” John responds, grunting and forcing Johnny down as he spits curses and tries to call your name over the comms. You flinch violently, looking away for a moment. “We’re surrounded!”

“I can get through!” Bullets wiz through the comms, and you can nearly imagine you are down there—trapped in the house down the way after being shot and injured by hosties. But you’d never been in that house. Never been alone down the way for recon.

You’d been at the second exfil point. Price knew it. Laswell knew it.

But Simon had not.

“Negative, Ghost! Keep where you are, we can get to her later. We need to—” The building you were supposed to be in explodes in a fiery wreck; a great bloom cloud going into the air as the helo shakes from the after-blast.

You have to turn your face away, shielding your eyes. The pilot calls to see if you’re alright, but you don’t answer. All you can hear is the screams.

“Trick!”

“Simon, get back into bloody cover!”

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!” It gets too much—the bareness of his panic for you. The panting breath; the running stomp of feet.

You rip the connection from the radio on your vest and place a hand over your mouth, breathing as if you had really been in an inferno like a piece of fodder.

Simon had already been through so much in his life, and doing this to him as well as the task force was the definition of betrayal of the loyalty you’d cultivated.

Of the love.

Because you did love him—even if you’d never say it to each other. If he found out about what you did, which he would eventually, in one way or another, he’d hate you for the rest of his life. So perhaps you were mourning, as you stare below as the helicopter takes you higher and higher up. Farther away from him. You were mourning what you had, because you knew it would never be the same.

Simon Riley would never trust you again, and all you had to blame was yourself.

The tiny tears dribble out of you and fall all the way down to the ground, where the man still screams for you to answer him; John barks orders with a sheen of panic in his eyes from the bare-bones ferality of the Lieutenant. Brown eyes blazed and cities burned in his pupils.

John had underestimated the bond that the two of you shared.

And he just might pay the price for it.

—

Getting through selection was far easier than getting through SAS training, Vito Berto seemed to only want mercenaries that had the faintest hint of the ability to hold a smuggled weapon. It made sense because if the people he was planning to send in were well-trained, it would be easier to trace to him—ability equaled a higher level of intelligence. Planning. Resources.

To fit in, you made sure to miss a few of your shots, even if it made your instinctual perfectionism rise. John would have torn you a new one if you’d missed this many during your selection all those years back. Probably would have asked how a Muppet like you had gotten this far with shite aim like that.

But Berto ate it up like Sunday dinner. Gave you the nickname Cross, actually. Like the crosshair of a scope.

It was safe to say you despised him.

But the days grew longer and the nights short with all of your running around. You’d found out that your Captain’s timeline was incorrect—the attack wasn’t in three months, it was in two. And while Berto was cocky, he wasn’t reckless.

He somehow knew there was a breach in the ranks; you could see it by how he looked over the squads in the underground bunker, all of you hidden under rock and stone like prisoners. The man would sneer, eyes filtering back and forth from the perch.

Sometimes you had to stop yourself from simply taking the shot presented in front of you and deal with the consequences afterward.

Price had been clear: all of the people gathered here needed to be taken care of quickly and quietly—if you snapped, the rest would disappear like roaches. Alive and biding time.

During those two months, the thoughts of Simon wouldn’t leave you.

Moments that seeped in behind closed eyelids after you’d slunk back into bed, the USBs full of vital intel stashed into the lining of your uniform in a small hidden pocket. His twitching smile and those deep scars along his face; the ones that would never go away.

In those moments you wondered what it would be like if you had told him how much you cared for his quiet company or his dark humor. The way he would level a hand on the small of your back off duty at the bars as a way to silently shield you from the stares from patrons.

You’d never be able to tell him now.

Vito “The Tanner” Berto knew of a leak, and when you came back to the bunker after sending out the multiple USB sticks, the physical files, and the first-hand accounts of what was going on—eager for just a little more to make this betrayal worth it…he was waiting.

You could only fight off so many others, no matter how subpar the training on their part, before sheer mass overtook ability. Like a house of cards with a bowling ball, you were shoved to the ground surrounded by multiple dead bodies of those you’d taken down with you—writhing and hissing as if a feral animal.

Restraints were leveled with your wrists; your head pulled back so your nose faced the ceiling. You only stopped struggling when the chilled barrel of a pistol was set under your chin.

Breath stilling, it was hard to understand how, even then, all that was in the front of your mind was Simon. Simon and his brown eyes. Simon and his screams when that building went up in fire and smoke.

“Trick!”

You could still hear the exact pitch and rhythm like it was yesterday.

“Cross,” Berto mutters, gun heavy as it digs into your flesh. Men pant and grapple to keep you back as you sneer and jerk your arms. “I should have known it would be you.”

“Well,” you growl, teeth bared, “obviously you didn’t.”

A slow smirk runs on his lips.

“No, but I’ll have to rectify this. I can’t have you getting in the way.” You can only hope that the intel gets out before the end of the second month—if not, then all of this was for nothing.

Why couldn’t you have left when you had the chance?

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!”

He was why.

Simon—the source of all of your problems and the only person who could fix them besides yourself. It’s a sick joke really.

Vito grabs your chin and you huff out a swift breath, heart skipping beats as he burrows his digits tightly into your skin; hard enough to leave marks. He sighs and clicks his tongue and you have to keep back a whimper as his nails create crescents along your jaw.

“You won’t tell me anything, will you, then?”

“Negative,” you spit, heated.

He scoffs. “Of course.”

Berto throws your head back as you try to snap out and bite at his hand, rabid, but the man’s already gone and the mercenaries behind you yank you back like a dog on a leash. Your knees slide along the floor and you rage trying to turn around before the others are forced to shove your face into the ground. There is a distinctive snapping in your nose bridge as the concrete comes up to meet you; the tears come instinctually after—unable to be stopped as you yell in pain.

Blood floods your nostrils and mouth, making you cough as Vito’s voice echoes in your ringing ears.

“Let me get my knives.”

—

They had you chained in some damp back room, the corners riddled with mold spores and the air heavy with condensation. You were tied to the ceiling—feet dangling uselessly below you and the tips of your boots dragging across the floor with a quiet scrape and a creak of metal.

Above you, on the hook, the chains were tied so ruthlessly that you’d lost circulation to your arms entirely, nothing but an electric buzzing far inside of your bones. Akin to the static of a TV screen in between connections. Your clothes had been shredded by blades—long sections of your flesh underneath, cut away.

Blood stains most, if not all, of the floor. It drips from your nose; it falls like rain to pool at your feet in rippling crimson.

Simon had been your partner during required interrogation training and he was far better at it than you. The man could go for hours through the mental strain that was leveled out by other soldiers on him; stoic and silent. It was the way his eyes would blank that told you he could live through far worse—that he already had. You’d had your fair share as well, but never before had you felt as hopeless as this.

There was a slim chance that anyone would come for you here. Laswell and Price would carry the guilt of it, but you didn’t want them to.

The blood slips over your lips, and the taste of copper makes you gag; spitting out saliva from your lips.

It was half your choice, after all.

You try to slip into a happy memory as the lights fade in and out, the footsteps and mutterings outside the door of little interest anymore.

ironic, that the man with the mask of a dead person brought you comfort when so little could.

You never got to tell him how much you loved him. A thin smile comes across your lips.

“Shouldn’t be out here this late,” the man utters as you lay out in the field, arms and legs splayed and twitching when the long grass brushes against them. “Past curfew.”

“Like you aren't out here with me?” You raise an eyebrow, looking up at the stars now that the large base lights have been dimmed. The air is cold, and the breeze makes you shudder through a chill. But you don’t wipe that smile from your lips. “Bit hypocritical, Simon.”

You hear a low grunt.

“Out ‘ere because you weren’t answering your damn door.” A shadow slips to your side, and the man settles down with a huff on his lips. Simon retired his combat mask for a simple balaclava instead, and he sighed long as he settled his arm on the bent form of his right leg.

You blink over at him, raising a brow.

“Looking for me, Ghosty?”

“Bloody hell, Trick.” You chuckle, shifting your arms to rest on your chest as you look back at the stars far above.

“Oh, it’s alright, Big Guy.” The man shakes his head. “I won’t tell anyone you’re going soft for me.”

“I’m not.”

“You definitely are.”

“Trick, I’m tellin’ you to—”

“Shh!” You wave a hand in his direction, silencing him and making him blink at you in deep annoyance and confusion. Ghost’s eyes were narrowed, the black of his face paint gone and smelling like standard issue body wash.

He must have gotten out of the shower and come to see if you were still awake before making his way outside when you never answered the door. Funny how he knew where you would be.

“Fucking what, then?” He growls, shoulders wide.

You place a finger to your ear, shifting so you’re sitting up on one elbow and facing Simon. On your face, a wide smile lingers, but on his, the dark brows narrow with knowledge of a deceitful event incoming. “Listen.”

A silence falls, Simon’s ears twitching for something in the long grass or across the field. Nothing. Nothing but the breeze and the way your face glowed as you watched him, eyes glinting with amusement.

After a long minute or two, he looks at you with utter bewilderment. You lean in closer, poking a finger into his bicep.

“Can you hear it, Simon?” You’re one of the few he lets call him that, though never in public.

He glares. “No.”

You flutter your digits in the air, giggles trapped in your mouth. A whisper hits the Lieutenant’s ears. “Silence.”

“Bugger off,” he hisses as you reel back and belt out laughter, holding your sides and lightly curling into yourself. “You’re worse than Johnny. Jesus.”

“Aww, c’mon!” You let your laughter die down to chuckles, sanctity of night broken, but not so between the two individuals who look at each other with brimming affection none will name.

“You’re the one that came to find me, remember?” Your tease makes Ghost roll his eyes, looking away across the open area with its wave-like grasses.

“You’re right, then, I did,” Simon grunts, his hand coming up to rub his neck. “Mistake on my part.”

“Jerk,” a soft slap is leveled to his arm and he chuckles deeply. “But you can’t fool me, Ghosty. I know you’ll always come lookin’ for me—I’m too important to you to lose.”

“Keep kiddin’ yourself, Trickster.” He doesn’t say how he would agree with the statement, it was true after all. “I won’t be dragged into your bloody messes.”

He wouldn’t leave you behind to drown in them, even if it was as simple as you sneaking out of your bunk to watch the stars.

You’d both known each other too long for that.

You smile over at him as he sighs before slipping off his mask, itching at his stubble with hard fingers. The air settles. No comment about it entering in on the see-through waves—there didn’t need to be one.

“Mhm,” you hum, beaming. “You keep thinking that, Big Guy.”

“Trick!” Your memory shifts, and you sit up immediately. You’d thought you’d just heard…

Eyes dart out over the field, jumping back and forth rapidly. You look to the side, but Simon is gone entirely.

“Simon?” Heart beating, you stand fully up and turn in a fast circle, confusion and fear infecting your mind.

“Trick!” Pain sparks in your body, and you hiss and grab at your clothes. You blink so fast that you half-believe the world is ending.

“S-Simon?!” What was happening? What was hurting so bad? Where did Simon go?

“Trick, fucking wake up!”

Your eyes snap open and you instantaneously feel the burning pain inside of your ribs.

The ground is underneath you, hard and wet from your own blood as you yowl and cough, air entering your lungs in quick bursts.

Hands encase your cheeks, shaking your head—keeping you present.

A skeletal mask littered with droplets of human fluid stares down at you, and behind it, panicked brown eyes slash through your psyche in the small moment between agony and confusion.

Simon?

“Holy hell.” It’s that same Manchester accent. The same scrape of vocal cords. “Alright, Sweetheart. Keep those eyes open—keep ‘em on me, yeah?”

What was going on? You try to open your mouth to say something but all of it is lead. Were your ribs broken? How? And why was Simon’s bottom covering pushed up to his nose; his lips stained with blood?

The man frantically goes to press into his radio.

“This is Bravo 0-7,” he breathes, and you whimper as your throat gets clogged with congealed saliva and blood. You cough violently, gagging, and Ghost quickly turns you on your side to help you expel it. His hand is hard on your shoulder.

“I say again, this is Bravo 0-7!” Those browns never leave you, shocked and serious. “Price, I’ve got ‘er. It’s not good; had to revive but I don’t know how long she’s got.”

Revive? You’re spacing in and out, limp, and trying to breathe.

Simon tears open his medical pouch and begins wrapping tourniquets—packing the wounds with gauze until you can get proper medical treatment on the helo back to base.

“Bloody…” he trails, Price barking an order over the connection to bring you out; the firefight was moving to the East to give him an opening to sneak back out. “C’mon, Trick.”

Everything swims; you want to go back to that field—those stars.

Simon was here? Truly? The thought was hard to understand in your state.

“S-Sim—” Your voice gurgles, and you can’t feel your legs. You had to tell him. Tell him the good and the bad; all of it.

“Don’t talk,” he growls, moving you as your body seizes in a state of static shock. “I’m getting you out of ‘ere.” You’re lifted up in one grand movement, Simon grunting as he shifts you carefully into a bridal hold. “Then you’re going to explain this to me when you’re squared. Won’t take no for an answer.”

You could feel the anger sizzling off of him even half-conscious. The mixing emotions that convulsed into a mess of adrenaline and desperation. Forcing your eyes to stay open, you blink up at him as he glances down at you at the same time, just before he exits the door he had broken down.

The visible skin of his lips and chin tighten; going down with the twitch of with a serious frown. Something flutters behind his eyes as he stares before glancing away and clearing his throat.

“Eyes on me, Trickster. Don’t you dare close ‘em.” You grimace as he begins jogging, heavy boots echoing along the empty corridor as the sounds of gunfire and pandemonium sound off from the other side of the bunker.

It was hard to push back the black at the sides of your vision; already it was seeping back in. Ghost holds you tight, unwilling to even let you slip an inch from his grip as the lights above swirl, brightening and dimming.

“Oi!” You’re jostled, and you snap back to it, tensing as your wounds flex and pull. Simon glares. “What’d I just say?”

Your weakly poisoned grimace makes his lips twitch up.

“Good.”

There’s the sudden flick of a safety being clicked off, and the Lieutenant halts in a jerking of feet and a ruffle of canvas.

“I’ve heard about a Ghost making his rounds, hm?” Berto stands at the end of the hall, pistol held in front of him. “I saw an apparition disappearing to find one of its own. No worries. She’ll be a ghost, too, soon enough. Perhaps I’ll have to put you both to rest together.”

The voice makes you go panicked, remembering the tear of flesh and the sharp blades slicing your skin away, chunks that peeled, and the long stripes of flexible tendons. Your lungs fight for breath, your head weakly slapping into Simon’s neck after an attempt to move your body. Limbs shake and battle nerves; the fabric of your brain.

Your blood stains the man’s gear all the way down the front. It’s dripping to the floor, down his arms and off his elbows. You’re bathing him in it—a full-body baptism of betrayal.

“Berto,” Ghost says, accent casual despite the gun leveled at him. The name is drawn out. “Apologies, but I’m taking back what’s mine.” He tilts his head. “Scratch that, I’m not apologizing for getting back on a Bastard like you, eh? Pity I can’t hang you up like a hog, I’m proper good with a blade too, but as you can see, I’m on a crunch.”

Vito’s face goes confused, skin scrunching. “What—”

The bang of a bullet being discharged echoes down the way. The clatter of a great expulsion of air from lungs. Stumbling. Gargles.

The slam of a body to the ground.

Smoke spreads up from under the clutch of your knees, where Ghost holds the abyssal body of an M19 forward, his finger lightly on the trigger before he shifts it back in well-practiced discipline.

“Slag,” he spits.

Simon hikes you farther into him, lending over his available body heat as you shiver. He presses his face into the top of your head, sighing in relief before starting his pace again. The man’s lips brush your flesh as your lids flutter.

“Still with me?” You whine into his neck, fingers twitching. “I know it hurts, Love. I know. Easy with it.”

It didn’t just hurt, it burned. Buried like the nine layers of Hell.

He keeps whispering to you, slinking around corners and stepping into shadows. By the time he makes it outside with you, the chill of the air on the bottom of his face he didn’t even bother to re-cover, you’re tapering on the edge of oblivion again.

Teetering like a porcelain doll on the end of the high shelf.

“Bravo 0-6, leaving the bunker now, I need that MedEvac prepped and ready to go,” Simon speaks quickly, not wasting a single instant.

John’s voice wafts through. “Copy, 0-7. Helo is comin’ in, be ready it’s going to get hot!”

“Affirm. Keep it frosty down ‘ere.” There’s a low chuckle and the swift wizz of bullets.

“Get our Trickster back in one piece, Ghost.” Simon hears the buzzing of helicopter blades in the night, a slick form descending from the dark clouds not moments later. He turns away from the flurry of air, walking hurriedly backward so the air doesn’t aggravate you.

“Trick,” Ghost calls to you above the noise, hearing the hurried feet of medics coming out to take you from him. Your face is scrunched and you burrow into him. “I’m handing you over!”

You try to open your eyes enough to convey your unease at that. You have to tell him. You have to explain why you had to do it. The guilt is eating you; gnawing with red teeth and gripping with devil’s claws. You have to explain that you love him even if he hates you now.

Medics grapple you away, and you are in pain, lips peeling back to gasp sharply, thrashing.

No!

“Fuck,” Ghost growls, pulling you away from the men as they ask him what in the bloody hell he’s doing. He doesn’t even know—all he knows is that he’s pissed at you for what you did, but never in a million years did that mean he wanted to see you in pain.

Simon can’t lie, when he was told you were alive, the universe had held its breath. A miracle. A ruse. But alive. Alive and trapped.

“Stop it!” He yells, caging you into him. “I’m here! I’m right here, Trickster!”

You’re already too gone for it, not recognizing the metal of the helo as you’re settled on your back, the loud slam of the door. Fingers pull and prob as you hiss and snap, suffocating.

Ghost holds down your shoulders, his eyes right above yours—but you’re not looking. The helo takes off

“Bloody hell,” Simon yells. “Look at me!”

You don’t know what compels you to do so, but your eyes open just the slightest bit wider. Brown melts into your pupils, taking you in and reminding you of chilled summer nights. Simon. You pant but stop struggling.

The medics jump into action, ripping away the remains of your shirt and pants so they can get to the wounds; assess the damage done.

“That’s it,” Simon sighs long, swallowing. “That’s a girl. There we go, Sunshine.”

You blink, face peeled as everything swirls far more aggressively this time.

“Listen to me, Trick. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, you understand. You said I’d always find you, yeah?” Hands grab your cheeks. “Well, I fucking did, eh? I found you. We’re gonna fix you up, Sweetheart. It’ll all be gone by morning.” You stutter down a breath, ragged throat stretching.

“Let ‘em fix you up—”

“I love you.”

It all fades to black, but all you remember is the sweep of horror that spreads behind the man’s eyes.

—

“You went back,” Price’s arms are crossed, and he stares at you as your fingers play with the sheets of the hospital bed. “Why?”

You sigh and rub at your face.

“Trick.”

“I felt like I needed to,” you give away, twitching your fingers out in an expression of nonchalantness. “I felt…” Your voice trailed off into a growl. “Bad.”

“Feelings aren’t a part of this, Trickster, you bloody know that,” John hisses, leaning his head closer as you glare silently. “If you’d left when you could, none of this would have fucking happened.”

“I feel bad, Price!” You break, snapping. “I fucking know! But I-I thought if I just got a bit more intel, then this would have been worth it.” Taking a deep breath you shake your head and rub at your face, all of the bandages and stitches pulling tight. “It’s eating at me. I can’t…I can’t just act like what I lied about can be forgotten.”

You shrug as the man listens silently, monitors beeping and the small buzz of the overhead lights.

“Soap barely looks at me—Gaz gave me that fucking pity smile and it makes me want to scream.”

“They’ll get over it.” The Captain repeats what he said months prior firmly. “They know the Op was top priority, they’ll grow up and be back to fucking around in days.”

You scoff, muttering in a dejected tone. “He won’t.”

John is still, fixing his feet from under him as he rolls his nose and looks away slowly.

Simon hadn’t come to visit once in the time you’d been here in the ward—four days. That fact alone makes you restless. You don’t remember what you said to him, if you said anything. But you knew that he wasn’t going to be going out of his way to be near you anymore.

You’d taken a grenade to the relationship you’d built. Toy building blocks are scattered.

“Simon’s…Simon,” Price ends on. You groan and itch at the IV in your hand. “He cares about you more than anyone, yeah? He just needs time. Wasn’t himself after the set-up.”

“I’ve been told,” Gaz had informed you about the Lieutenant's self-isolation after your ‘death’. The snappy orders—deathly glares. He’d gone back to the ruthless man he was in the field and instead of being directed at his enemies, it was directed at them.

Kyle explained how he’d argued with Price about how he could have gotten to you, before abruptly falling silent and stalking away as if a flip had been switched. Snake eyes and clenched fists.

They’d heard him in the gym late at night, reaming on the punching bags. They didn’t think he slept more than three hours per day if the red lines in his eyes were anything to go by.

And then they were told that you were alive but captured, and he’d gotten worse.

You’d nearly started sobbing when the Sergeant had told you all of that.

“I betrayed his trust, Price,” you level. “I…I never wanted to do that to him. Ever. Not Simon.”

A shadow passes by the door just as the Captain grunts. “That’s the job.”

“That’s not the job I signed up for when I got into this. We don’t lie to our own.”

“‘We get dirty, the world—’” You cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘stays clean’.” Your eyes level with his. “I can do the dirty work, John, you know that. Infiltration and undercover work is what I’m good at.” The man nods slightly. “But if you ask me to betray One-Four-One’s trust again, I’m out.”

Blue eyes blink in shock, but you don’t let him speak.

“Find someone else to get fake blown up in a building. I can’t get his fucking screams out of my head.” John watches you silently, eyes narrowed.

You meet that gaze head-on, not backing down from this.

The Captain shakes his head a minute later. “Bloody made for each other,” he mutters under his breath, grunting. Another shadow slips past going the opposite direction, probably a nurse.

Without another word John turns and exits the room, tossing a hand behind his head casually in a way to say goodbye.

You huff and roll your eyes, heat on your cheeks.

The day wains, and you let the nurses come in to do their checkups and replace the IV. As the curtains are pulled back into place, supper sits heavy in your stomach.

You wanted to see Simon.

You knew it wouldn’t go well, and wouldn’t be the goody-goody outcome you prayed for…but you felt wrong without apologizing in person. It went against your morals, and already those were incredibly skewed. Maybe he’d yell, or even ignore you as if you weren’t there.

Simon wasn’t above not speaking to people he didn’t like.

You had to try.

When all was dark, you shuffled out of the hospital bed and fought the weakness of your legs. Shaking like a leaf, you walked around with only your tied gown, unapologetic of the slit down the back showing flashes of your bra and underwear.

It wouldn’t be anything the Lieutenant hadn’t seen before.

Walking through the silence, you sigh and stand outside of his door; dread in your heart and seeping from the pulled stitches of your wounds. Your bare feet on the tile make you shiver.

Lifting up a fist, you hesitate.

Your hand hovers over the wood, sliding forward before you pull it back to you. Closing your eyes tight, you clench your jaw once and take a deep breath.

Knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock.

The sequence was your call sign. If you knocked like that, he would know it was you—whereas Simon's own was just a single slam of the side of his fist.

The only real problem now was that he wasn’t answering.

You stare dumbly at the barrier, blinking like a fool. It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to understand the realization that he wasn’t ignoring you—he just wasn’t in his room.

Taking a step back, you rub the back of your neck in exasperation and hurry to the nearest exit.

“Of course,” you breathe. You know exactly where he is at a time like this.

The field holds a standing shadow, a ghost of issued fatigues with a thick jacket against the chill that leaves you shivering. Simon stares out over the training grounds with his hands in his pockets, balaclava pulled all the way down to hide him from you.

You come to a slow halt behind him and stare.

It’s not long before the man gunts, turning his head back from over his shoulder to look at you blankly. He knew you were there.

The eye contact stays for a long, long while—until you’re hypnotized in the shades of brown and amber and the large build that seems to broaden because of your appearance.

“I’m here to apologize.” You say it breathlessly. “I’m not asking you to hear me out, but I have to let you know I regret doing it. Price said that it was time-sensitive and I—”

Stopping yourself, you look away. It sounded too much like an excuse, you hissed to yourself. At the end of the day, it was still your acceptance that pushed the pawn forward.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you breathe. “I betrayed your trust.”

His eyes are piercing you, but you still can’t look at him. The man slightly turns your way. His voice was monotone and grunting out like a dog.

“You think I couldn’t handle it?” Your heart starts, and you’re shaking your head instantly.

“No.” You explain quickly—honestly. “It’s that…I didn’t want you to.”

You hear his lips take in a quiet breath. Simon rolls his shoulders before looking away from you. Nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“You said you loved me.” Your body freezes, jaw going slack as your face drops. You don’t speak, mute as if the air in your lungs has been stolen.

You had done…what?

All of your tricks couldn’t get you out of this one.

“I,” you force a fake laugh, hands beginning to shake. “I, what? No, I’m sure that’s not what I said. A-are you sure it wasn’t, like, an ‘I appreciate you’ or maybe a…a,” your voice catches. “A whole ‘I’m fond of you’ sort of thing…? Hm?”

Simon takes a step forward and you take one back. This was worse than torture, you decided. The pain in your pulling stitches and re-set nose was welcome here.

“Trick,” Ghost utters, and you stare hard at his neck, humming. “Stop talking.”

“Copy,” you whisper quickly, shoulders falling.

He’s so close you can feel his body heat melting into you, and you want nothing more than to touch him. Simon’s hand comes up to your chin, and he angles it up as you stop breathing, lips parted.

“I heard you in the med ward talkin’ to Price. Was outside the door the ‘ole time.” The shadow.

He tilts your head to the side to stare at the medical tape over the slashes in your skin. The scars won’t bother you—you had plenty of others to show as well. But Simon was…studying you. Assessing.

His eyes blink slowly with those long pale lashes, and they slide up to you as he leans in close to your ear. Still, you stand comatose.

“You put me through a fucking heap ‘o hurt, Love.” You stare over his shoulder, not speaking, not moving.

Simon leans back and lets go of your chin, brushing a finger over your nose and the puffy skin there.

“Never do that again.” It’s final, how he says it. But the layers of depth are plain to hear. Simon speaks low and even—gaze trapping yours like a curse.

You know he won’t talk about the things you’ve heard. The aggression or the late-night gym trips. You’ve known him for years, and know his brain like the back of your hand.

Shivering, you nod once, content with not answering verbally to break the sanctity of the moment. Seeing Simon like this made you ease your fears. You clear your throat to push back the stuffiness.

“Thought you held grudges, Big Guy?” Nearly not heard, you mutter and pick at where the IV needle is supposed to be.

A hand catches yours and stops you from making it bleed.

“Do,” Ghost grumbles, turning your hand over and moving his face closer until you feel his breath. “Just not with my Bird.”

His balaclava is suddenly up to his nose, and those lips that had been covered in your blood previously situated themselves perfectly to yours.

You gasp, arm outstretched beside you in shock.

You’d kissed him before, but this felt different. More intimate. Simon’s arms slip around your waist, and you retaliate by locking your shaking arms behind his back, feeling the gentle passes of his lips.

Mouth to mouth, you breathe each other in as if grasping for the other’s soul in desperation. A desperation that tells you how much the beast of a man around you was terrified of your death and the body he had to carry into the helo—of the lengths he would go to stave death from touching your tender flesh.

No, only he was allowed to do that, and he was a reaper in his own right.

A small death that infected you at every breath puffing into your mouth, every whine and whimper he could draw like water to swallow down as ambrosia. Nectar of the Gods, and it was right there in his arms. Back. Alive.

To be alive in the summer field of this old military base was to accept that death, and into it, hope that the few moments you had together truly made a difference.

Simon would hold you there—and when that was done, wrap you in his jacket and carry your battered body back inside; watching your swollen lips and the wide eyes as they gaze back at him.

Because he could hate you all he wanted for this, for the lies, for the way you made him care…but the both of you would still be alive to do so.

He guessed that was all that mattered.

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homunculus-argument · 1 year

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I was born and raised American, but with everything that's happened over the past few years I've been considering moving to another country. but I don't know if this is just "the grass is greener". Not sure if this really fits with your blog, but as someone from Europe what's your attitude towards living in the US?

I've visited there a handful of times and most of my thoughts are "damn bitch, y'all really live like this?" People in Finland like to complain about the climate, the taxes, and how stingy the welfare systems are (if you currently rely on them) or how costly they are (if you're currently not relying on them), but honestly most of the time that's because people are used to having it so good, or don't really have a perspective of how bad everyone would be doing without the infrastructure that everything runs on.

Sure, nowhere is perfect, and there's always room for improvement, but honestly the people I've met in the US only really seem to think that their system is good because they've never been anywhere else and don't know any better.

Mostly it's stuff that you'd never think about if you hadn't been to both places, like being able to trust that tap water is drinkable or that you can safely walk/bike to wherever you need to go. The US really doesn't have the kind of ability to just hang out in public places, just walking to the town and sitting on benches. Having public parks and libraries isn't really the same if you can't just walk there, and you genuinely need a car to go anywhere.

I moan and lament a lot about how the winters here are hard to endure - at the darkest time of the year the sun rises at 9 and sets before 5 pm - but I wouldn't move from here just because of that, mainly because of how reliably everything is structured here. Sure, it's all run with funds from relatively high taxes, but that is a self-feeding loop on its own. The tax-paying workforce isn't a disposable resource that's wrung dry once and tossed out when it's broken, but even when you're just another cog in the machine, you're one that's maintained, not replaced if broken.

I had a lot of breakdowns when I was younger, largely due to depression and other mental issues I had due to the undiagnosed ADHD. When I started breaking down at work in my old factory job, they couldn't just fire me on the spot because of the workers' union fought tooth and nail to make sure that you can't throw people out for getting sick, and mental illness is treated no different from other health issues. I was allowed to take two years off work in order to study into a career I thought would fit me better. That didn't turn out well either, but I was still allowed to bounce back and forth between odd jobs, sick leave, and studying - all on government pensions during the spots when I wasn't working a wage - until I found the right diagnosis, the right medications, and the right job.

It's not a hyperbole to say that I owe my life to the ample and studry social welfare systems that Finland has in place. Sure, you're just another brick in the wall, a cog in the machine, but if you keep breaking down, it takes a long time until they completely give up on you if you can somehow make them believe that you're trying, because it's cheaper for the tax system to figure out how to make you fit into the machine than just toss you out. A human being is an expensive investment and if getting you to the right job, education, diagnosis, medication or even arranged housing is what it takes to get your ass back into the workforce, they'll at least try.

I'm perfectly happy to pay the taxes here to fund the system that helped me onto my feet when I was in no condition to function, and to support the people who never do recover, find their place, or be able to support themselves on their own. And I can live with the peace of mind that even if I fall apart again, that safety net is still there. It's brutal, pragmatic, and regards your health and welfare as a means to an end - to get you working and paying taxes again - but they still do prioritise your welfare. Cogs are cheaper to maintain than replace.

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helsensm · 2 months

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Can’t remember what was the premise for this and I’m too lazy to make a decent comic out of it, so just have this poorly digitalized railao doodle I found in my sketchbook, y’all can add any context you want~

I posted some Kung Lao and mk1 Kung Jin headcanons earlier, so now I think I’ll drop railao thoughts too. Nothing too crazy - I prefer to read/hear about other’s hc more than to think about them myself afgHjHh

- Raiden fell first, but Kung Lao fell harder.

- Lao did confess first tho. After the mk1 events and some chill time together they both realized that they can't stand being separated and stressed about the other’s safety.

- They used to have these red-string “lucky bracelets” when they were kids but stopped wearing them in middle school (prob lost them or because it wasn’t “cool” anymore hah). Later, after mk1 when they officially started dating, they got a pair of matching ones, as a substitute for the wedding rings. 😊 (now go find all of them on my railao art 👀)

- Right now (mk1 and right after) Raiden’s hair is longer than Lao’s, but Lao is growing his hair out so in the future he’ll be rocking that one long-ass braid we all love. 🥰 Also he has no idea how to style hair besides the ponytail and a simple braid, so sometimes Raiden will do his hair for him as soon as it grows long enough.

- Since childhood Raiden collects cool rocks he found around the village and sometimes he gives them to Lao. I suspect that Raiden is a penguin.

- When Lao noticed that the flower petals have a strange tendency to follow him everywhere, he began collecting them and leaving in various places, including Raiden’s home and school desk. After they got together, the petals would follow Raiden on their own volition every time the two are separated. 🌸

- Lao began to pierce his ears right after the school graduation and Raiden thinks he looks cool, but he did only one piercing per ear for himself much later. Although I'm starting to dig Novice’s idea that he can’t wear them because of his lightning powers. 🤔

- Raiden calls Kung Lao just “Lao” or “my Lao” (but not in a “professional setting”, like on missions or in front of people who are not considered their friends). Kung Lao loves giving Raiden cheesy nicknames.

- Lao is so passionate in his affection, he’s borderline aggressive, he kisses and hugs like it’s their last time. Raiden is more sensual and a fan of prolonged physical touch, like holding hands for the whole day.

- Kung Lao is a professional shit talker and yapper, Raiden just nods and listens. He remembers everything tho, even if it’s something ridiculous that Lao himself will forget after five minutes.

- Lao actually can cook at a reasonable level. I also think he’s very creative and resourceful and can make a decent meal from a limited number of ingredients.

- A relatively new follow-up hc inspired by this tt and personal experience discussion with D3rpy: Kung Lao eats like a vacuum cleaner and can’t stand people wasting food because when he was a kid his family had a rough few years when they could barely afford enough food. And although things have changed for the better, it’s a habit now, he’s like a stray animal - you can’t waste food when you don’t know when you’ll eat next. Also this is when he got closer to Raiden’s family, hanging out in his house more often.

#sorry for typos and errors - wrote this while being ✨drunк✨#raiden #mk raiden #kung lao #railao #mortal kombat #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #helsensm art

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enavstars · 1 year

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Time for Aus :D

(Poster/ desings are not final)

Details:

Eclipse:

Takes place after crystallized, the ninja have recovered their powers and got back to the status quo.

Rumors start spreading on the Internet that Kai is actually useless because he's never defeated a supervillain on his own. Kai gets insecure about his worth to the rest of the team, acting more and more rashly out of the need to prove himself. However, everyone else thinks he's overreacting for attention, so in a mission with Lloyd and Nya, after trying too hard and messing up, they snap at him, thinking he just wants to regain his popularity disregarding people's safety.

Much later, Kai is injured on a solo mission and is saved by a mysterious woman (the villain) who secretly aims to manipulate him to turn against the ninja and Ninjago as a whole, taking advantage on his past hardships as a child and his current mixed feelings towards them. She uses dark magic (sort of like Clause) to take and amplify what little is left of the corruption from Chen's elements staff into a mask, to slowly make his own thoughts turn against them all, eroding him from inside out.

At first she convinces him to become a kind of vigilante, killing criminals who might have used him in the past under said mask as Akatora ("Red Tiger"), steadily growing more corrupted.

Once the ninja discover Akatora's true identity, they believe he's being forced to betray them and try to "save" him, which only angers Kai further for not realizing how badly they've treated him.

But when they realize that they're at fault, the team splits in two: Cole, Jay and Pixal can't see a way of saving Kai on time before he self-destructs and takes the entire city down with him; while Lloyd, Nya and Zane try to get him back at all costs.

At first, the villain didn't care which elemental master to use to get the ninja to destroy the city. But upon finding out more about Kai's past, she decides the Ninja are no good for him and wants to "save" him, to get him out of that toxic environment. She even confronts them more than once after taking him under her wing. However, later on she changes her mind...

I have many more details but this is all I'll say for now. I want to make it a realistic and morally grey season where neither the ninja nor Kai are the villain, because the ninja do love Kai, they just have to show it. Also Kai's corruption is going to be slow where you don't really know how of it is Kai's true intentions.

On the road:

This AU is set years after Kai and Nya's parent's disappearence. Despite still living at the blacksmith off Kai's odd jobs, the siblings are fairly neglected by the townspeople of Ignacia. After getting seriously beat up in a fight with some kids who had been passive-agressively bullying Kai for years, they go a little too far by almost killing him and threatening to do the same to Nya. Kai is forced to abandon the hope of their parents ever returning and leaves for Ninjago City with Nya, hoping for a better life.

After travelling for a while they stumble across Ronin. They somehow convince him to take them in for a while in his rudimentary shed and to teach Kai how to hunt and be more self-sufficient for the journey. In the meantime, Nya shows off her handiwork, making toys off scraps for Ronin to sell as thanks. When they decide to part ways, Ronin gives them a map, setting them on the right direction (he's no babysitter, but hey, he actually cared).

Days later, Nya finds a hungry and weary Lloyd along the way, lost after escaping Darkleys and looking for his uncle Wu. After some convincing from Nya, they agree to take him in and start travelling together, eventually bonding and becoming a found family.

The Au is mostly about their (fun) little adventures and Kai being an overstressed mom trying to keep their younger siblings alive and relatively out of trouble (but don't worry, he's actually enjoying it).

In the end, after having taken their shot in Ninjago, they find Wu and are taken in at the monastery. Yes, Wu is actually a good uncle here. They deserve it. Especially Kai.

Kai is 13, Nya 11 and Lloyd 9 (older than canon, no tomorrow's tea)

Feel free to ask any questions about the aus.

#ninjago #ninjago kai #kai smith #kai jiang #ninjago nya #nya smith #nya jiang #ninjago lloyd #lloyd garmadon #I love the contrast between the 2 #one is super angsty #and the other one is fluff #(there's going to be a bit of angst in the second one too tho)#rgb siblings #ninjago eclipse au #ninjago on the road au

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ayeforscotland · 2 months

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You talk often about how changes that are being made are bad but I rarely see you offering what you consider to be viable alternatives. The internet safety bill won't protect kids in your pinion, so what's the alternative? We can't vote for Labour, the only real opposing party to the Tories in a FPTP system, so what's the alternative? It's fear mongering and finger pointing like this that divides people and gives room to the tories and bigots to push their agendas through. People already feel helpless and you have a platform here that you could use to better inform people, instead of just shaming.

When I criticise the online safety bill - a policy being proposed as a misdirected reaction to a trans girl being murdered - and say political parties should be condemning transphobia within their ranks and in the public sphere, I don’t know how I can be clearer.

We don’t need spyware on children’s phones. We need our politicians to show some social responsibility and stop inflaming the debates with increasing polarising rhetoric. Stop giving the right wing everything they desire.

I challenge the idea that Labour are an opposition to the Tories. They are the same party with a different colour scheme. Calling Labour out for what they are is me using my relatively small platform to get people to engage and think critically about the policies of another party. I’m not issuing instructions, I’m trying to get people to arrive at their own conclusions, and sometimes that’s pointing out that a choice is actually bad. That’s not fear-mongering.

I don’t know how many times I and others have had to clarify that England and the UK in general is not a two party system, even with First Past the Post. I’d rather encourage people to organise with their local Green/LibDem branch and fight an election hard rather than choose to vote labour and change the colour of the curtains.

Because in 5-10 years whenever labour fucks up and the Tories regain political advantage, voters will just wave them back in. Handing this election to labour without making them fight for it gives them carte blanche to do all manners of corrupt shit that they’ve just pulled with the Gaza ceasefire vote.

So I completely reject that calling Labour, who from a policy perspective are lock-step with the Tories, a shit party that people shouldn’t vote for is fear-mongering. It’s calling a spade a spade.

And look if you’ve been here for a while and noticed a change in tone then I get it. You might not like me being more combative, but as I’ve said previously, I’m angrier than I’ve ever been in my political life, and I’m tired of people pretending that Labour will sweep in and reverse 10 years of Tory rule. They will simply choose to continue it.

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tanadrin · 5 months

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Is it plausible that children are most often abused by people that they know (rather than strangers) because we've steadily and consistently reduced the capacity for children to interact with strangers in potentially abusive situations? I'm pretty sure that's not the case, but you've frequently discussed the topic and it seems like you'd know if there was anything to back up the idea.

I think children are most often abused and exploited by people they know because children spend most of their time around people they know, and children have a marked lack of autonomy in our society. In the past (and, sadly, too often in the present still) there has been a marked taboo around discussing these issues, a refusal to educate children in age-appropriate ways about sex (meaning they often don't even have the language to explain what has happened to them), and a reluctance to believe victims of abuse. In fact, I think the real incidence of CSA has probably gone down markedly in the last 75 years, but it's hard to get clear numbers on this bc for so long we refused to admit the problem even existed. A problem people refuse to acknowledge exists will of course seem to have a much lower rate of occurrence than one people openly acknowledge.

Stranger danger has never been the primary risk to children. The primary risk to children is parents, relatives, teachers, pastors, and other figures of authority in their lives. That's true for CSA, and for physical abuse, and for emotional abuse. And it makes sense; if you were the kind of person to abuse or terrorize or sexually exploit a child, the easiest children for you to target are children in your community, where your reputation and authority can protect you, where nobody could possibly believe such an awful thing, but you know, poor Bobby has always been troubled, etc., etc.

There is no clean solution to this problem. I think most parents, and most people who spend a lot of time around children by choice, do so because they genuinely like and want good things for them! I think the best protection against child abuse and exploitation is being open and communicative with children, educating them in age-appropriate ways, giving them the tools to defend their autonomy, and making sure that when they have problems they are heard.

And incidentally, I think a similar approach is also the best tool for online safety for kids. It's a lot harder for strangers with bad intentions (who do exist, though they are not the primary risk to children) to target kids with a stable, loving home life, who aren't ashamed to talk to their parents or to other adults in their lives about what's going on, and whose feelings and autonomy are respected by those adults. We cannot arrest and punish our way to a world that is safe for children! This is an authoritarian lie we tell ourselves, because the truth--that there is no escape from the hard work of actually caring for and about each individual child--implicates how we think about children in uncomfortable ways.

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lingering-42-long · 7 months

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True self

König x f!reader

Apart of a new series I will be doing with all of the characters on this. Tell me witch one I should do next! Enjoy!

I named König, Alexander Herzog because I liked it. Another person had given him this name and I really like it.

Warnings: none, fluff

Horangi noticed his friend huddled in the meeting room, cradling his phone to his ear as he spoke quietly and in German to whoever was on the opposite end. It was not abnormal to see the feared mercenary Colonel making phone calls, but the way he was speaking was definitely different, unlike his usual manner in borderline yelling and cussing, with thrown German insults for flavor. König sounded like he was talking to someone dear to him. A relative perhaps? Horangi knew though. He and König were close friends, working together for many years.

König hung up the phone and slipped it into his pocket with a sigh. The big man seemed small at this point, as if the weight of everything was crushing him. After a few seconds, the man composed himself and noticed Horangi standing there. “Ja?” He asked forgetting to switch over to English, but Horangi knew what he ment. “Nothing sir, how’s the misses?” He looked at him behind his balaclava.

“She’s well.” He stated simply. Horangi nodded “Thats good.” He moved from where he was standing. “Come on there’s some inspections that need to be done on the humvees.” König nodded and followed the smaller man out to the grounds were the vehicles we’re getting checked on safety.

Everyone knew König as the infamous leader of Kortek, a proud Commander who sought out respect from his troops. He made sure to handpick every individual with the raw talent that could be tapped in. Everyone knew he was a beast on the battlefield, he had no care whatsoever when it came to methods of killing, some more gruesome than others. Many of the newer recruits feared him both in an awestruck and terrifying way. They were so grateful that they were on his side, because if they were not, it would not end well for anyone.

He could be borderline mean and menacing as well, mostly it was directed towards his captors or the unfortunate rookie who pissed him off one too many times. König has a long fuse but it could go 0-60 before you even knew what was going on. For those who did not know him well, they would think he was a controlling dictator with arrogance thrown in there, and a monstrous way of killing.

König never wanted this. He always wanted to be liked by people not be feared by them. He wanted people to be able to trust him and he with them, but after years of being betrayed and beaten, kicked, and tortured both on the playground at school and on the battlefield, he realized that no matter what, he would be seen just at face value. He did make a few friends in his career and those that have proven themselves were held at his highest value. Horangi was one of them. The South Korean man who had a gambling addiction. The two became like brothers and enjoyed one another’s company. König was happy that he had a friend that he could trust on.

König wanted his dream life, a sniper, with loving friends and a family he could call his own. When he got rejected for being a sniper, he was pissed, and crushed. His mind still loathing to this day on him proving to everyone that he was once again, not useful. Mainly because of his hight and his inability to stay still. He always hated his hight, but he did enjoy it when it did come to be useful. No one challenges a 6’10 Austrian man. He liked it that way.

Going back to the present, he was helping som of the new recruits with the inspections. It was boring and tedious. He hated this type of thing. He craved for action on the battlefield. He got to let his anger out and not give a dam.

After the day was done he would trudge up to his quarters and lay on his creaky old bed. He missed home. He missed you. Yes, the fights helped him forget and the meetings and mountains of paperwork were also great distractions, albeit not wanted, he, at the end of the day, still missed you. You brought familiarity and comfort to his overworked self. You brought stability when he had non. All it took was a simple touch, and the Colonel of a mercenary unit would be wrapped around your finger. He was a gentle soul deep down. He loved you and cared for you like no other. He worshiped the ground you walked on and basked in your presence. Somehow you were his achilles heel, but he could not care less. Right now all he wanted was you to cuddle up next to. To read to you and watch your beautiful tired eyes close as you drifted off to sleep. He lived for those simple moments. All he had now was a cold hard bed and no one to help him rewind for the night. With a frustrated sigh, he closed his eyes and tryed to sleep.

A few weeks had past now everyone was going home. It had been a long and rough mission that took a toll on everyone. A young scout had almost had his face blown off if it wasn’t for König to save them and get them and the others to safety. It was a miracle that he did not receive any major injuries.

König was at the airport now, looking around and seeing if he could find what he was looking for. He was tall so he stood out of the sea of people like a sore thumb. “Alexander!” A female voice called out. The giant man swiveled around to the sound and saw his beautiful wife running towards him. The biggest grin spread across his face as he made his way to you and picked you up as if you weighed nothing. “Ah mein Engel! I have missed you so so so much you have no idea.” He started to kiss you all over your face, ending it with your lips. “I don’t want to ever be separated from you ever again.” He was desperate for you. The man that everyone feared, was a big teddy bear to you.

“Hey big guy. I missed you too.” Your voice was music to his ears. “Come on let’s go get your things.” You stroked his chest as he carefully let you down but not letting go of your hand. The two of you walked towards baggage claim and he was asking so many questions about how you were, and what was going on in your friend group and how were your parents. He wanted to know everything that was going on in your life while you two were separated. By the time you two made it to the car, you could tell that the tiredness was starting to kick in now that the adrenaline and dopamine rush was leaving him. It wouldn’t be long before he would be passing out.

You try to get him to talk as much as possible so that he wouldn’t fall asleep. Once he was out, he would be out for quite some time anywhere between a day to three days of sleep. The bare minimum of what he actually needed. You were finally able to get him inside, and in some comfortable warm PJs before he slipped under the covers and passed out, happy to be back home with you, cuddling next to his spooning frame, protecting you even in his sleep. You were happy to have your gentle giant back as well, your husband always brought a smile to your face whenever he was acting himself, and now you too were also falling into dreamworld with your Alexander.

#cod x reader #cod x you #x reader #fluff #cod #könig modern warfare #könig x you #könig #könig x reader #könig x y/n #könig fluff #könig mw2 #könig fanfiction #könig cod #könig call of duty

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macgyvermedical · 17 days

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So, in PA there is a bill in the senate called the Patient Safety Act that mandates nurse:patient ratios. Obviously, I am a big fan of this bill as it would ease pressure on nurses and improve patient safety outcomes. It is also very bipartisan, with both republicans and democrats being for and against it in similar ratios. The big criticism of the act as it stands is that there are little to no considerations for small, rural hospitals who would find it difficult to meet those ratios without going under (don't have enough nurses, will have to close beds/hospitals). I thought the solution to this was to obviously increase protections for rural hospitals (like making the ratios for them say 1:6 instead of 1:5 for example.) But this has the unintended consequence of making it more difficult for rural hospitals to entice nurses to work for them (who wants to work in a rural hospital with worse ratios when you can make more money with better conditions somewhere else?) It's already difficult for rural hospitals to find staff. Do you have any ideas on solutions to the problem? I was surprised to find out how nuanced this situation really is, and how it isn't just "put in ratios plz" and everything would be fixed.

You're right in that this situation is extremely nuanced, especially when it comes to the fact that we are (as usual*) in a nursing shortage nation wide.

Staffing ratios only work when there are enough nurses to meet demand. A lot of times the goal of staffing ratios is to incentivize hospitals to hire more nurses, but if there are no nurses to hire that doesn't work. So you have to then consider alternatives, like you mentioned- either closing hospitals, or closing beds.

Consider, though, that if hospitals go the route of closing beds to maintain ratios, the acuity (care difficulty/complexity) of those patients the nurses are caring for goes up because lower acuity patients get triaged out.

The "sweet spot" of acuity to number of patients then relies on the number of nurses available to serve a population. That means that populations with a smaller number of nurses have either a higher number of patients per nurse, or a higher acuity patient load than a population with a relatively large number of nurses.

And pretty much everywhere right now, rural areas specifically, there are just too few nurses to make staffing ratios possible at scale.

So. How do you go about providing a high standard of care for patients when there are fundamentally too many patients and too few nurses? The system needs to change. I present a few possibilities below:

Bring LPNs back to the bedside in hospitals: While I don't mind Magnet as an entity and think they do some good things, IMO they royally screwed the pooch by mandating RNs (particularly BSN prepared RNs) only on hospital floors. You can make LPNs a lot faster and cheaper (10-18months, $20,000) than you can make RNs (3 years, $40,000), or BSN-RNs (4-5 years, $80,000). And while you still need an RN license to do things like push IV meds and interpret assessment findings, just about everything else can be done by an LPN. So we need to be using that resource to make more nurses fast.

Institute Team Nursing: You know how you use LPNs efficiently? It's not by giving them a group of patients and having them run around to find an RN every time they need to push an IV med. It's either by having them as a dedicated tasker (doing the time-consuming skilled tasks like wound care, catheter placement, IV placement, etc... for many RNs) or incorporating them into a team. With team nursing, you have an RN, an LPN, and an STNA/Tech all caring for 12-15 patients instead of an RN and an LPN caring for 5 each with a tech helping. The RN does the tasks only an RN can do (assessments, IV meds, plans of care) and communicates with the doctors, the LPN does most of the med pass and skilled tasks, and the STNA does the basic patient care. Since there's 3 people working together instead of separately, it's easier to find someone to help with 2-person tasks like boosting a patient in bed. You would not believe how much time this saves and how much more patient care can actually get done.

Institute Advance Practice Providers (or at least universal contact methods): I'm not saying we have a ton of these either, but you only need about one per floor. See, I can't tell you how much time I used to spend just trying to figure out who to contact about a problem, and how they wanted to be contacted. Because God forbid you text Doctor A instead of paging or page Doctor C instead of calling. Now I work on a floor with an APP and you can just go straight to them and they can either write the order you need themselves or contact the doc who can. Probably a good 15% of my time is back and I'm not even exaggerating.

Change culture around nursing duties: this is a controversial one, but as nurses are spread more thinly than ever and medical acuity has gotten so much higher, the basic care is genuinely getting worse. I have seen this happen over the last 8 years I've been in my job. So. Re-teach families how to care for loved ones in the hospital. Make it culture that if you have a family member in the hospital someone is with them. And when I say with them, I don't mean just visiting. I mean actively caring for the family member. Helping them to the bathroom, helping them dress and eat and clean themselves. Helping them do basics. Entertaining them, distracting them, comforting them. Things we used to be able to do when our patients weren't actively trying to die at all times.

*technically, we have been in a nursing shortage since WWII. But a lot of factors, COVID-19 specifically and a shortage of student slots in RN-level nursing schools, have made things particularly bad in recent years.

#nursing #politics #nurblr #medical #hospital life

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 8 months

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AITA for basically being my cousins' 2nd/3rd parent and actually doing my aunts/uncles job for them

I (19 ???), have six young cousins on my mom's side who i see pretty often given everyone's schedules. Im really close with 4 of them, having grown up almost like siblings mainly with the two oldest. The two youngest dont care for me especially since one is only like 4 months old

Ive always been the reliable older brother/sisterish figure to them even when i was younger, it just came naturally. But in recent years ive had to pick up the slack in alot of things related to raising my cousins in a way. A goodish example is with the oldest, she's 16 and a few years ago I had to give her the sex and period talk cuz her school barely did anything about it (long story short they literally just gave out a basic (outdated) packet that basically just said "dont have sex, girl bleed once a month" in a horrible shameful way), and her parents just said "we'll explain when you're 18".

Ive done everything from teaching them internet safety to cooking to explain topics such as the sex talk because my aunts and uncles just dont do those things.

But enough context heres the main things,

One of my cousins called me dad in front of our relatives while we were all on vacation which caused a scene to say the least. It ended with me absolutely tearing into my aunts and uncles, which i admit wasnt the best choice but still, i basically tore into them about intentionally or not have almost completely abandoned their roles as parents. (Also one got tore into for basically forgetting their oldest in favor for their youngest so much so the oldest didnt get new clothes for two years)

The fight ended with me and my cousins storming back to the room we claimed and locking the door. We basically camped out there for the last two days if the trip, only leaving for food a night (had a bathroom connected to the room thankfully) we only really spoke to my mom and our grand uncle and aunt during that time

Its been about a month since it happened and things have atleast superficially calmed, still receiving the stray vague call out on social media and getting called an selfish asshole in a polite socially acceptable way. The only people on my side are my grand aunt and uncle, my mother, my cousins, and my friends

Im torn, because on one hand i care for my cousins and dont regret finally standing up for them all including myself.

But on the other its not completely my business on how my relatives raise their kids. I didnt have to do all that i do/did. I choose to do all those things and im still choosing to do them

I would speak to a professional or something but my last therapist dropped me cuz of stories bout my family (no joke she literally said "you're family is fucked up i have no hope in helping you, you're a lost cause") so tumblr what's your thoughts this probably out if yalls pay grade but still

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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honey-minded-hivemind · 26 days

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OH I really like the idea of reader with an animalistic mutation! It could be something monster/werewolf-like, or possibly a different animal like a BEAR or some kind of big cat.

They'd have to be scared out of their wits, not able to rely on their powers and their enhanced senses doing nothing to help them out of this mess, because the pain they're in is blinding. Besides that they're caught up in freaking out at how their alive, despite all the gore and the wounds they're too scared to look at, they aren't dead, which makes no sense, and they want explanations that no one can give them.

On related note, If the kids did manage to slip away, somehow hiding under the radar for a few days even, I picture some sort of emergency forcing them to seek better refuge or certain supplies, and that's when their parents would catch up with them.

Lamb Anon

Ooooooo, that's good, thats good! I'm liking these asks, 🐑 Anon! I myself am always partial to a animal/feral mutation for Reader. And to top this situation off for you, and for everyone else? Imagine if Reader actually IS the blood child or relative of one the adults platonic yans. Maybe Reader was a child they gave up who only later wander back into their lives, only to later be ripped away by what had happened. Perhaps Reader was a mystery child they knew nothing about until after the event, and the guilt eats at them for never knowing their kid really WAS their kid by blood, too. Either way, it would only add fuel to the already massive fire that is the train wreck the kids are in. On a separate note, yes, the kids are also handling their own trauma due to dying? or almost dying, only to end up back in a world that they can't explain the changes of, but it's going rather poorly, not to mention they now have this to add to their growing trauma. It shouldn't be different, right, they couldn't have been down for long, the >,">#÷,/ only just happened, it's been at best maybe a day since what was done-

It hasn't been a day. It's not even the same year.

And they have no explanation why.

On a separate separate note, if the teens did escape the first encounter with their older, more grim and harrowing friends and family... They know they aren't out of the blue, not even close. They're dealing with people who know what they know, every plan and preparation and procedure for what to do if something goes wrong, how to track people, how to survive, places that are safe-

It's endless, how much they're out of their depth. They weren't sure they'd planned for this. That this was even a possibility. Sure, sure, they'd made a few safety precautions incase one or two of the teams' members went off the deep end or was mind controlled or possessed. They had never accounted for everyone being turned against them. And while yes, the four of them have powers and know how to use them, their powers (except possibly Reader's) aren't offensive. One of them can run really fast, faster than light if they want; one of them can walk through walls, doors, floors, anything; one of them can teleport anywhere within reason and within a two mile radius; and one of them has something that isn't any of that. Except they're all wounded, hurting, and traumatized. Fast guy can't run, phaser can't phase, teleporter can't teleport, and even though they could possibly afford to use their powers once or twice before complete collapse... they can't do so without leaving the others behind. And they don't want to leave anyone behind. So all they can do is stick together and hold out until they can make a better move. If only they have enough time to do so...

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #platonic yandere marvel x reader #platonic yandere xmen evolution #platonic yandere xmen evolution au #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #🖤dark au

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yellowhollyhock · 3 months

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Fun fact when I wrote my first Dongel story I didn’t really ship them yet.

I was just writing about my experience as an aspec lesbian. Ninja turtles was an easy way to do that because y’know… I mean you guys know. Feeling like a freak, trying to protect people who would hate you if they knew, being real careful about who you get close to not just for your own safety but for theirs. Watching Star Trek. Anyway. I was really writing it for myself, just an experiment to think through some things I was dealing with. So for plot reasons I had to come up with someone for Donnie to have a crush on.

There are a few options: Leatherhead? Age unclear, also just didn’t really click for me. They’re close friends but it seems so… almost formal? To me? Leatherhead isn’t unhinged enough for Donnie. Also thinking about it is part of what led me to my personal headcanon that Donnie is not bi and definitely likes girls.

J’hanna? Obvious choice, crush is practically canon. But it didn’t work for this story because he knows her for a very short time. It’s heartbreaking for sure, but it isn’t the same type of heartbreak I needed for this. I wanted the devastation of falling for someone you know well and care deeply about and, most of all, have to keep living with and feel like you can’t say anything because of what you’d be asking them to sacrifice.

Sydney could’ve worked. Easily even. I almost chose Sydney. I imagined them staying in touch. To him it would be so thrilling to text his human friend. When they met they were both ‘monsters.’ But thinking about what she went through, and how relatively short her time with the turtles was compared to the whole experience of being underground… idk I’m sure she��s grateful to them. But I just really couldn’t see her staying in touch. I think it’s fair if she wants to leave that part of her life behind, or at least if it takes a few years before she’s ready to really process. Besides, she didn’t have that much of a bond with Donnie. And again this story wasn’t even for shipping, it just had to be a believable crush. But for me, Sydney wasn’t.

Renet really could’ve worked. I thought of Renet and Angel kind of at the same time. And for similar reasons. He has more of a casual friendship with both of them. Perfect for turning into a crush that he doesn’t want to pursue because waht in the heck is a ninja turt supposed to do once is in a relationship. And if not is going to be in one than why lead on someone he cares about. Ya know? Anyway I picked Angel because 1) Renet is hard to write about, speech pattern and personality and 2) Angel is the one out of them who has a regular human life that Donnie wouldn’t want to get in the way of.

Anyway then I liked the way the story turned out so I decided to share it. And then the thought was in my head and ended up being more fun to think about than I anticipated. And then I realized Donnie is fictional and I can give him everything he wants forever if I decide. So now Angel likes him back and ever since I’ve been obsessed with them.

#tmnt #tmnt 2003 #2003 donnie #tmnt angel #donnie x angel #dongel #personal #do I. talk about myself too much #I mean this is my own blog so I can do that right?? anyway #was scrolling through my dongel tag and got emotional about it

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just-antithings · 1 year

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I found this rant in my notes from, like June of 2021. I have no idea what it was in response to, but I thought y'all might appreciate it, so here goes:

So, the anti-shipping movement is closely entwined with--although not identical to--the anti-kink movement. (Both are subsidiaries of the radfem poison that's been creeping through society and fandom as of late, but that's a discussion for another time.) For the uninitiated, anti-kinksters oppose basically any "unconventional" sexual activities such as BDSM, DDLG, furry stuff, and all sorts of other shit consenting adults do in their bedrooms (or sex dungeons).

Now, these fuckers are just wild to me. I think anti-shipping is bonkers, but I at least get the idea behind it: Namely, that people can be bullied out of--publicly, at least--shipping certain things. Making ship fic/art is a relatively niche hobby, and fandoms are ephemeral. So if you can make it socially unacceptable to write about Ship A for, say, five years, you may have eliminated that ship altogether. You don't need to keep doing it forever because a fandom's popularity will eventually wane.

Kink does not work this way. Sexual fetishes have existed for all of human history. Many of them are, if not innate, formed in early childhood. You can't keep people from being kinky. Even if the human race started over tomorrow with no memory of anything that came before, people would immediately start trying to find newer and weirder ways to fuck, because that's just sort of what people do.

So... what the fuck do anti-kinksters want, exactly? You can't stop people from having these desires. Do they want people to stop acting on these desires with other consenting adults? What possible good could that do anyone? How would you decide what counts as kink? How could you ever enforce that? Sure, there's always shame, but a) there's already a good deal of shame associated with many kinks b) if there's one thing I've learned from true crime podcasts, it's that somebody who's shamed for their sexual interests is one head injury away from being a serial killer.

Do they just want kinksters to stop making porn? I reiterate: Fucking why? You're an adult, you can hit the back button if you see something you don't like. I do it every single day. It's easy, I promise.

Of course, antis of every variety like to whinge about "the children." It will traumatize the children or make them vulnerable to pedophiles or whatever (which, holy shit, way to blame the victim). To which I say: Why the fuck are your kids in any position to see porn of any kind, and how is this anybody else's problem? Complaining that your kid saw porn on the internet is like complaining that you gave your kid enough money for a ticket, dropped them off at the theater alone, and returned to find out they'd watched an R-rated movie. Like, no shit, Sherlock, what did you think was going to happen?

Nobody made you give your kid internet access. Nobody made you fail to supervise them. Nobody made you be too lazy to set up parental controls, or forget to teach them basic internet safety protocols, or avoid giving them the talk and just hope their school would take care of it. That shit's on you. Maybe, depending on the circumstances, the platform your kid was using is at fault for not having good filtering, or the content creators were at fault for failing to tag stuff properly. At no point in the equation is it the fault of some random dude who just happens to be into balloons or raw pizza dough or whatever.

So... this was a very long rant about anti-kinksters that may not even belong here. In conclusion, parent your fucking kids.

#submission #this will not be allowed moving forward #< from gatito

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swervenation · 1 year

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Swerve x Human Liaison Reader

THIS was supposed to be a short list of headcanons to repay noted Swerve Enjoyer @i-starcreamed for all their writing. But. Um. This is actually part 1 of at least 3, and it’s already at ... 1,500 words. So, uh, below the readmore, my take on Swerve with a human liaison who starts out as distant and quiet.

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / ?

Here’s a song that reminds me of this chapter, because I’m cringe and made a playlist :3

I've seen stories where the liaison is just kind of rescued and then given a job title to justify their presence on the ship, and while I love that, the "distant and quiet" part of this request is making me think of someone who sought out this position and takes it very seriously. You lay diplomatic groundwork with other organic species the Lost Light is expected to encounter on such-and-such pit stop before contact. On occasions when some organics are rescued, you're in charge of hospitality. Even though you're vastly different from those species biologically, you're a great help facilitating communication between them and the bots. It's not a very flashy job, but they're very grateful to have you on board. Rodimus knows their noble rescue efforts would be meaningless if you weren't around to ensure that his charges didn't die from neglect of some perplexing biological need, such as thirst or sleep. Magnus is certainly appreciative of your professionalism - a trait he hopes rubs off on the rest of the crew.

But you haven't really connected with any of the crew outside of your job. That's how you view this: as a job. It's a fantastic opportunity - you finally have the chance to study these fascinating life forms up close after years of reading and academic research. The last thing you would want to do is ruin that opportunity by unknowingly committing a social faux pas or becoming entangled in some drama. This isn't to say you don't desperately want to befriend them. You plan on doing so. One day. Once you've learned how to navigate these social situations perfectly, you'll finally talk with some of your crewmates.

However, you can almost always be found at Swerve's in the evening. There's an out of the way nook with a wide view of the place that you've claimed. There, you alternate between people-watching, working, and relaxing in the pleasant buzzing atmosphere of the bar. At first, some bots were curious about you, and would try to start up conversations. While you were certainly polite, you never really let such chat evolve into anything beyond small talk. Again - one day you'd make connections with them. Once you figured it all out. It didn't take long for everyone to forget about your presence - you just became part of the scenery.

Swerve himself helped set you up with this perfect spot. The first night, you sat on a seat built for Cybertronians. Not only was it ridiculously big, but you were almost accidentally crushed by Whirl within a minute of arriving. Swerve got you to safety before your brush with death even registered with you. One second, he was behind the bar, the next, he had swiped you out of the way of Whirl's lethally pointy aft. (Suddenly finding yourself held like a football (American) in the crook of his arm distracted you from noticing the spilt engex and shattered glasses he left in his wake when he leapt, to the best of his ability, over the bar at the first hint of danger. Even though you would have found his reckless concern for you moving, he would be very relieved to know that you didn't see any of that.) Before even giving you his name, he quickly escorted you to a quieter corner of the room and motioned towards a well-lit recess in the wall relatively close to the bar. It had a nice view of the whole establishment, and was positioned a few feet above the average bot's height - your view wasn't blocked, and being above eye-level, you were out-of-sight out-of-mind for most bargoers. For your people-watching purposes, it was perfect. There was already a table and two chairs there already.

"The organic suite," he explained. "Some of your guests stop by here from time to time - I set it up for those of them whose idea of a good night out doesn't involve being crushed to death."

You thanked him with a beaming smile and introduced yourself as the human liaison.

"I know," he remarked casually, forgetting for a moment how such an exchange was supposed to go. "I mean - it's very nice to meet you, y/n. I'm Swerve! Welcome to, uh, Swerve's." He held out a servo for you to shake, which you did, gratefully. Such human gestures were uncommon on this ship. As soon as you wrapped your hand around two of his digits, and his knuckles carefully cupped your palm, a small jolt of static electricity ran up your arm, causing you to flinch slightly. This wasn't unnoted by your host, whose concerned reaction, to your estimation, suggested that such a startle was a misstep. When you gave his metal hand two business-like pumps, it moved responded in the most limp-fish handshake way a robot possibly could, as though he feared he might damage you with the slightest move.

You thanked him again and he had Ten lift you up to your booth. Not only was the "organic suite" practical, but it was surprisingly clean and well lit. You got to jotting down your notes for today and unexpectedly, Ten returned a few minutes later with some water and the dish that, out of the limited fare available to you on the Lost Light, had always been your favorite. In all the excitement, you had completely forgotten about dinner - you assumed it must have been sent here instead of your room when you weren't found there. It would arrive at the same time every night from then on out.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the bargoers, you took a deep interest in the social life unfolding around you. You intended to learn Cybertronian culture, manners, and friendships inside and out before attempting to actually engage with them. You had been kicking yourself this whole time about your shocked reaction to a twinge of electricity when you shook Swerve's hand earlier. They're robots for God's sake! That's like being shocked that a human's hand was warm! You couldn't let yourself blunder like that again until you were positive nothing would surprise you. In the meantime, you delighted in the gossip you overheard from your nook. You developed one-sided attachments to some of its key players, as though they were characters in a book.

The most reliable source of gossip is, of course, your bartender. You had barely spoken to him since that first encounter - you would just smile and nod at each other when you arrived like clockwork at the same time each night and ascended the spiral staircase Ten fashioned for you. Nonetheless, you found yourself gravitating towards him. He was loud enough that you could hear him clearly from your spot in the bar (even when he was speaking on more confidential matters), and his voice was distinct enough that you could always pick it out. That voice was quicker and a little higher-pitched than the others, but what stood out most was its delivery. He had a way of punctuating a joke, weaving in suspense, describing even his most mundane observations so colorfully that it took effort to shift your focus elsewhere once he caught your ear.

As time went on, you found that you cared a lot more about what the other bots were doing when you heard it from his mouth. It was like he was getting better and better at storytelling every night, and he never ran out of material. Even his bartending improved - he mixed drinks with a confident smoothness and the increasingly common flourish. As he spoke, he would flip glasses, bottles, etc. around in his hand, and would sometimes toss a shaker behind his back while mixing. It was like a new glow had started to settle on his face. You would try to research what the new slight blue tint to his face meant, but couldn't find any certain answers in your reference materials.

You didn't notice how much of your attention he captured until one night, your eye thoughtlessly drifted from your favorite bot down the bar. You jumped in your seat when you found Cyclonus's supicious red eyes trained on you - one of his brows was raised, as though he were trying to parse at whom and why you'd been staring for so long. You broke eye contact quickly and mentally started kicking yourself. What must he be thinking? That your silent observation implied scheming, or that it was simply very weird? This made you consider your own motives and choices. It did seem rather creepy - and your quick, guilty reaction certainly didn't prove your innocence. It finally hit you how strange your behavior was. What were you thinking? Instead of reflecting on your motives, you decided it would be best to spend some time away from Swerve's.

#mtmte #x reader #swerve #swerve x reader #??? how do i tag this umm #my stuff #tf x reader #mtmte x reader #lost light x reader #????#transformers x reader

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butwhatifidothis · 10 months

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If you don't mind explaining, why are all of the Ashen Wolves in the "Ew" tier, save for Constance?

i saw your fe3h tierlist and i’m super curious to know why you don’t vibe w/ yuri/hapi/balthus lol

I've actually already explained why I don't like Balthus or Hapi a few times by now lmao, but finding those posts is annoying soooo yeah I'll just say it again it here:

got long and character hate under the cut it goes

Balthus' character starting point of "gambling moocher with a kind heart beneath it all" annoys the ever loving shit out of me off rip, so he already has a bad leg in the race for me. The main thing that makes me hate him though is his shitty fuckin' supports with Claude. He comes off as a major creep here, blackmailing a teenager with sensitive information that could literally get him killed if the wrong person finds it and which Claude is visibly shown to be uncomfortable with Balthus knowing and visibly shown to not trust Balthus in knowing even after five years of him revealing that he knows it (long enough to, y'know, show that he can be trusted with this information by now)... all to try to fuck this kid's mom. Who he saw only a few times, by his own admission. And nearly 20 fuckin' years ago.

And then Balthus shows that he really shouldn't be trusted with this information, because the only reason he keeps it is because he's under the belief that Claude will, in fact, meet him up with Tiana. If Claude finds that idea, well, fuckin' creepy and weird and doesn't want to go through with it, well, tough shit I guess! It's laughed off by the end of the chain but god it's just so fuckin' scummy and weird and creepy dude.

And sad thing is, there's a part in the A support where Claude goes to Balthus for some advice and Balthus gives some that genuinely helps Claude out some - where the fuck is this for the rest of the chain? It comes out of nowhere and is then buried by the aforementioned "don't worry I won't tell anyone your secrets since you will meet me up with your mom, right?" shit. If the support had more of that or built up to it better I'd be more than happy, but as is? Just makes me bench Balthus lmao.

Hapi is just. Annoying. Supremely annoying. Her characters makes sense to be the way it is in most ways, but hearing her go on about how much she hates the Church (to the point of cheering on Lonato, mind you, despite his shit killing innocent people) becomes grating very quickly.

Okay so like. I was under the impression that she was thrown in some dungeons before she was moved to the Abyss, but like. Rechecking her supports to make sure, she literally says that she was moved to Abyss? And... nothing else? And that's why she hates the Church? Like she mentions nothing about any dungeon the Church threw her in. Which means she compares being trapped and chained and tortured by Cornelia, alone, in who-know-where... to living in a underground mini-society, with guaranteed food and relative safety (enough for her sigh problem to be able to be dealt with should it cause trouble). So like. Yeah no she just got worse lol.

But either way her attitude is just. Very annoying lmao. To be clear, there are things that happen that make it make sense why she's like this (like her A support with Ashe) - she's a fine enough character. Just doesn't help her for me personally.

Yuri is... kinda specific as to why I just don't like him. He's this guy who literally didn't exist before DLC paid him into reality, but he walks in and

he's lived on the streets

he's lived as a noble

he's a gang lord

he's been a spy for the Church

he's been an assassin

he's a great tactician

and oh yeah he's

FUCKING

WHEN YOU FIRST MEET HIM.

I don't mean to call him a Gary Stu or anything - because I don't think he is one - but I do mean to say that he comes in with waaaaaay too much shit in his kit when he first walks up on the block for me. He's just done everything off jump, and those kind of characters are a huge pet peeve of mine.

Not helped with the joyful fandom experience as a Claude fan to have to hear about this bozo being Better Claude Better Claude Better Claude, about how he should have been a lord and not Claude since he's actually smart unlike Claude. That was fun! And unfortunately tanked his already middling stance for me a looooooot.

The only reason Constance is saved is because holy shit, is this girly hilarious. The sheer degree of her melodrama/arrogance in her day and night phases get me cackling. She's a character I don't really take seriously at all and just laugh along the ride she brings, which is a rare thing for me to want do with a character in 3H lmao

#ask #anon #character hate #B/althus is a creep. H/api annoys me. Y/uri is overloaded. C/onstance is my court jester and thus has immunity to execution #for a TLDR lmao

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lesbianrobin · 10 months

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I know it was a while ago and that tumblr ate your post about it, but why do you think cal uses his real name?

hii sorry it took me a minute to reply ANYWAY.

cal spent five years hiding on bracca without really knowing how many jedi survived or if any did at all. as far as he knew, he could have been the literal only one left in the entire galaxy. he knew that revealing himself meant near certain death. but when prauf fell, he used the force, because above all cal is the kind of person who is incapable of watching something when he could be Doing something. he cares about people and he's never gonna actively choose his own wellbeing over helping others, especially the ones he loves. so he saves prauf at his own risk.

then trilla shows up asking about the jedi. as he has for the past five years, cal stays quiet, and his friend is killed because of it. of course there probably wasn't much of anything cal could have done in that moment, but all the same he learned the lesson that keeping his head down can only go so far, and that he'd rather go down fighting than sit back and watch injustice.

as soon as he meets cere and realizes that he's not alone, he joins her cause almost immediately with few reservations. he and cere explicitly Say that they're done hiding at the start of fallen order, and as survivor shows, while cere has reconsidered things a few years on, cal has stuck steadfast to that philosophy. i think that cal introduces himself with his real name and doesn't try hiding that he's a jedi because, for essentially all of his adolescence, he was alone. he couldn't be honest with anybody about who he was. he didn't know if there were any jedi left. by making himself the empire's most wanted and making no effort to hide his identity or the fact that he's a jedi, cal is doing what he can to let others know that they aren't alone, that people are still fighting, that all is not lost. they don't need to give up and accept their fate. i think cal has decided that the relative safety that comes with laying low or trying to stay incognito just isn't worth the risk that somebody in need may not know that he can help them, or the emotional pain that comes with hiding himself.

on a more personal and subconscious level, i also think that cal needs to be recognized as Cal Kestis Jedi Terrorist because he isn't sure who he is outside of that identity. this is a guy who spent his childhood years as a soldier, his adolescence as a nameless scrapper, and the remainder of his life as a terrorist on the run. all of these distinct phases drilled a need for efficiency into him, because indulgence and slacking off mean death. he clearly has interests in things like machinery and gardening, but he has no real personal goals or desires. he needs to take down the empire. that's all. in survivor, he's driven to compromising his own morals and dipping into the dark side because of bode's betrayal, and i don't think that's even like. because of the betrayal necessarily. so much as the fact that cal has built his whole life around rebellion against the empire, and seeing a fellow jedi who chose to cooperate with the empire breaks something in him. he has this rigid good vs evil dichotomy set up in his head, and everything with dagan and bode and cere in survivor is making him question the path he's chosen in his own life. i think cal was convinced that he's just been Doing What He Must As A Jedi and seeing people take these other paths makes him angry because he feels like. everybody is abandoning him. why is he fighting in the name of the jedi if the jedi keep on letting him down? if the jedi are imperfect? if everyone who hunts him, hurts him, and kills the ones he love used to call themselves jedi, too?

idk sorry i'm going so off topic i just think that cal being a kid during order 66 is So interesting and it places him in such a fascinating relationship with Being A Jedi and like his perspective on the world. i could go on and on about him forever i think dnckdchdn sorry. also this is all my own opinion yknow obviously everyone's interpretations differ <3

TL;DR i think cal made the choice that he would stop hiding at age like seventeen or whatever and never looked back because he's got a fucked up little head from years of psychological trauma and he regrets not stepping up before trilla killed prauf.

#asks #jedi survivor #jedi fallen order #cal kestis #star wars

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