#but yea finally articulating it
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thinking abt dean's iconic line in the pilot "dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days" and how this is him trying to covertly signal to sam what he's talking abt without explicitly stating it in front of jess, right, we know this. BUT the thing that's the fabrication, the thing that he's saying to just sound normal is the "he hasn't been home in a few days." because as far as jess knows (and dean knows sam, can tell sam hasn't told her a thing abt the hunting world) she thinks there IS a winchester home somewhere out there, a home for john to be away from and come back to. but there is no home and dean was off working his own case separate from john. dean probably hasn't actually seen john in a while. but the thing that's concerning is john being out of touch and specifically john's last strange phone call to dean. there was never any home to be gone from, it wasn't about john not coming "home" to dean in time. and like it feels obvious but sometimes i'll see things like "oh dean hadn't seen john in a few weeks and that's what got him concerned." when really, dean probably has gone long long stretches without seeing john, maybe even without hearing from him too. none of that is what got him searching for john. and so what he says to sam about john not being home for in a few days, is completely a cover. there's no home, it's not about john actually being gone for so long, he only says that bit for jess' benefit. the thing that actually tipped dean off that something happened is the voicemail dean gets from john. but the part that sam's supposed to get is he's on a hunting trip. and something clearly happened because i'm here now so can we please go talk somewhere else so i can give you the real details.
#spn 1x01#vics spn rewatch#putting it in the rewatch tag bc it is something i like fully realized on this rewatch#like it's always been a nebulous thought in my mind like 'yea of course it wasn't abt him not coming 'home' to dean in time'#but yea finally articulating it
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hi hello an intro post
this is me, a miki's, creative endeavors blog
i reblog/follow off of @sword-swordswordsknife (i do not talk much there tbh ASFADA)
things to expect probably eventually:
○ ISAT (main focus atm tbh LMAO)
◦ Reverse Entry AU [Modern Office / Reverse-Isekai Loop]
◦ (i will put a masterpost link here eventually,,,)
○ Doodled Friend Stream Bits :]
○ Personal Projects / OCs
○ MC Build Screenshots
◦ listen i have been playing MC for 12 long years
◦ i do not think it is possible to unlink MC from me anymore
◦ plus i am helping with a fun project with friends ASFASDA
sometimes (basically all the time) i will also ramble in tags in just about anything i post. mainly tangentially related commentary! i think it's fun to do + helps me remember what i was thinking when creating ASDFASDA
uhh. yea thats it!!
#pinned#finally intro posts that link my main and this proper ASFADA#uhh i will prob edit this to be nicer later but for now this is fine ASFASDA#also i do not say this enough ever normally anywhere but tags because im shyyyyyy but like#all of the support i have recieved on the stuff i have posted is sososososo appreciated!!!!!#i appreciate everyone so much!!!!! thank you!!! for everything!!!#everyone is so kind and cool and awesome!!!!!!#makes me go “wah!!!” in a positive manner!!!!#its just most of the time i do not have words to articulate thoughts of appreciation properly#and generally just end up doing vague positive hand gestures when i see nice things tbh ASFASDA#but pleasepleaseplease know the appreciation is there!!!!!#yea!!!
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The duality of Man, or triality? quadrality?
Alien to Human about New Human: Correct me if I'm wrong, but they appear abnormally large for your species?
H: Yea, he's a biggun alright, even without the EV suit I'd say... 7'3'', 310 pounds, bet he power lifts.
A: Umm... not to be rude, but, uhh... he seems, well... how should I put this...
H: Intimidating? Terrifying? Evil? Yea, if this station didn't have high screening standards I'd be totally pissing myself if he started walking towards me. The mohawk and eye tat totally make me believe he could snap me in two with a single glare.
A: I feel ashamed that my instincts are telling me to flee. I wish nature were easier to change.
H (shouting at NH): Hey buddy! Could you come over here for a minute please? You look awesome by the way!
A (whispering nervously): what are you doing?!?
H: Gotta overcome those fears somehow, I believe the best way is a direct confrontation.
NH approaches, somewhat slowly, looking around at all the other aliens in the station that are chatting, waiting around, or doing some work. He finally approaches A and H, and in a very deep and husky voice says: Um, hi, hello. T-thanks for the compliment, I, uh, was a little worried I would stand out too much here.
H: Oh you totally do, my friend over here is practically about to pass out from how much like a gothic viking of death metal you look.
NH: Oh no, I'm so sorry, I-I just grew up in Sweden-Delta and both my parents were huge into classic local music, so I just, uh... it's complicated. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare anyone.
H: Hey, relax pal, we're all good people here. Anyway, what you here to do? I'm planning on starting a bakery, still testing out what kind of flour most species here can actually stomach. My friend here is on the team working on Moon theft preventative measures.
NH: Oh, that's cool. I'm here as an exchange student with the department of applied astrophysics. If all goes well, I can finish my Bachelors degree remotely and stay here as an intern with the head researcher.
H: Oooh, that's cool. (so cool yea that you're apparently half my age but oh well guess I'm a big fat time waster like my father before me and oh god change the subject before I get depressed in front of strangers) That's a real big bag you got there, carrying some super secret science things, eh?
NH: Oh, that... uhh... guess it can't hurt to tell, security vetted it already anyway.
NH proceeds to unzip the bag and hold up a large white piece of clothing with light blue rings and accents, alongside a strange white cap with what looked like small fins, and a curious little backpack.
NH: It's uhh... um... my... Ika... musume... cosplay.... (oh gods I can't believe I said it out loud again)
After a moment of awkward silence, NH slowly puts on the backpack and presses a button on it's strap, and suddenly numerous light blue colored tentacle-like appendages sprout out from the backpack and move in line with NH's movements.
NH: I, uh..., got my engineering friend to make them articulate and interface with my contacts. I can make them do all sorts of things, like make various shapes and animals with them, though works best as a shadow theater.
H:...
NH:...
A now frozen out of confusion than fear:...
H: That's so
NH: (oh I know it's so lame, but I love that show)-
H: COOL! I don't know what a ika musume is, but those things look amazing. You said articulate? How precise can they be? I'd love to have something like that instead of my useless assistant. Poor lad can't make a piece of toast if his life depended on it...
NH: Y-you like it?
H: I LOVE those things. My daughter does cosplay too sometimes, but she makes her Dreadnought suits herself from scraps. One time the military came to our house and installed a limiter on the gauss cannon she found in a crash site, said it would otherwise start to generate small doses of radiation if used too frequently. But she replaced it with a handmade rail gun before the next convention. Do you go to those? Did you see a 7 meter tall hulking metal monstrosity with a bunch of candles all over? That was her.
NH: Oh, I think I've seen video of that, but no, not in person, I go to smaller events. I don't really like big crowds.
H: Oh yea, I get ya, you do seem a bit on the shy side now that we've been talking for a bit. Hey, no worries, like I said, we're all good people here.
NH: T-thanks, but I think I should be going now, the teacher is calling me over.
H: Oh yea, go ahead, didn't mean to take up so much of your time. Have a fun stay and I'm sure you'll ace that paper or theory? Or whatever astrophysicists do, you seem like a solid kid.
NH: Oh, uh, thanks. Good luck with your bakery. And you with stopping those weird people from stealing more moons. Bye.
H: Bye bye, come visit, don't be a stranger now, I'm set up just a short bit from the main lift on floor 14.
NH: R-right, I'll, uh, be sure to stop by soon.
A is finally able to process what they just heard and says: What was all that just now?
H: What? Just a friendly chat with what is apparently basically a kid. Man, this kid's got so much going on, while I'm almost 50 and I have an oven. Life, man, it can go in so many ways. Anyway, let's go grab a drink, I'm parched.
#humans are space australians#humans are space orcs#humans are space oddities#humans are deathworlders#humanity fuck yeah#carionto#story#I intended to quickly write some silly dialogue again#and yet#somehow words kept happening again and now we have a#long post#and it's 1:30 at night#oh well#words won't write themselves#at least not well#I bet an AI couldn't make my kind of nonsense#AI isn't as chaotic as my brain#and it wants to generally follow existing best practices and common formats#well I say fuck that#I'm just a means to transfer what my brain spits out into reality
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it's sooo funny (sad) to me how ppl won't start considering how fucked up it is to have (or want to have) cosmetic procedures done, or even to "just" spend hundreds of dollars on skincare products to prevent aging, especially at a young age, until a young conventionally attractive person talks abt it and denounces it. like you can be a doctor, a famous writer who's been talking about the objectification of women since the 60s, anyone who's able to thoughtfully articulate the problem with plastic surgery, cosmetic procedures and this anti-aging obsession.. and yet you won't be taken seriously and ppl will just dismiss your points because you aren't "aging well", you aren't conventionally attractive. a young attractive person on tiktok can just say "i think anti-aging products are bullshit" and ppl will be like "yea say that!". and it's fine it's good that some ppl are finally realising that, but at the same time i think it's ironic how you have to be a beautiful young person to be taken seriously when talking abt how our society is so obsessed with looks.......
#or when ppl compare before and after pictures of ppl who got plastic surgery and comment with 'they were much more good looking before!!'#idk..... maybe we're missing the point here.........#ele.txt
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For my falling-asleep scenario I was thinking about Hale/Reader last night. And since I'm a sucker for angst, it was about their first real fight. Idk what your hc are, but I think Hale is someone who says hurtful things he quickly regrets, especially when he feels cornered / attacked. And I feel like she's someone who runs away. And when they argue while at his place, and she tries to leave, he snaps out of it a little and tries to calm the situation down, so she'll at least stay so they can talk about it the next morning. They go to bed grumpy and silently... especially because he can't bounce back so quickly. But they'll figure it out after their first cup of coffee in the morning.
So I think it would take something very hard to rile Hale when it comes to her as I feel they balance each other out. I think she's the more emotional one and he's the stabilty.
However the one thing that is like an ice pick in his brain is Jax Teller. He would lose all rationality if he saw the two of you together esp if he detected a trace of intimacy. He would stew on it the entire day, right up until you stepped through the door. Then he'd be quiet, so quiet. You'd just be chatting about your day like normal when he finally comes out with it and then it esculates.
I think it comes more from a place of worry than anything else, he knows what happens to the women who get tangled up with the Sons, they end up collateral damage.
Donna, accidently killed because Clay thought Opie had turned rat.
Gemma, raped by white supremeists.
Evelyn, Chib's partner, brutalised by Galen, an Irish King.
Suzie Q, Tig's girl, almost killed in an internal beef with Clay.
And that's the women he actually gives knows, that doesn't count the sugarbutts or croweaters that have got caught in the crossfire over the years. He can not stand the idea of something like that happening to you. He doesn't articulate this well, you misread it as jealousy and you lose your shit. It turns into a fight, you end up storming out. He breaks a couple of things out of frustration.
The next day he comes by your place with coffee, you both haven't slept. You both end up sitting on the back porch, sharing a cigarette, you in a robe and him in his uniform.
"I don't want you hurt or dead." He tells you frankly. "And that's where all roads lead with Jax Teller."
"I'm not fucking him."
"I know." he says. "But that doesn't matter to anyone who's gunning for him if you're in his proximity."
He isn't wrong because the thing you've seen that devastation up close and personal, heard it talked about behind closed doors. You were lucky to get out when you did.
"I'm not climbing back into his orbit." You tell him.
"But he wanted you to." David remarks as he blows out a stream of smoke before he passes you the cigarette.
"Yea." You say honestly as you take it from his hands. "He did."
Refs to Chibs & Tigs storylines
#david hale#david hale x reader#sons of anarchy imagine#sons of anarchy#deputy chief hale#soa#deputy hale
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brave enough 𐀔 k
genre : fluff ⋆ warnings : alcohol consumption ⋆ wc : 1018
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« hello? » you say as you pick up the phone, squinting at the time on your alarm clock. 1:35 a.m. who dared to call you at such a late hour?
« y/n? i'm sorry, did i wake you up? » on the other side of the phone, you could recognize euijoo's soft voice, one of your best friend's friends. a sigh left your lips as you sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes, « yea, but it's okay. what's happening? »
a loud crash in the background of the call made you open your eyes wide, until you heard someone swear, followed by a long sigh of exasperation from the boy on the phone. « uhh.. well, the 4 of us went out to have a drink, and it was planned that we would all sleep at nico's, but yudai categorically refuses to sleep if he's not at your place so.. »
pinching the bridge of your nose, a long, long sigh left your lips. sometimes you really hated that your best friend loved you that much. « alright.. give me 20 minutes and i'll be there. » — after a short chat, you dropped your phone and hurried to put on a sweatshirt and sneakers, grabbing your car keys before you hit the road.
after a quarter of an hour's driving, you finally arrive at the door of nicholas' apartment, behind which you could clearly hear someone singing — or rather screaming in agony. knocking a few times against the door, you wait no more than 2 seconds before coming face to face with nico's panicked gaze. « i can't tell you how happy i am to see you. » a scoff left your lips as you entered the room, waiting patiently for yudai to come. and in less time than it takes to say it, he appears right in front of you, literally falling into your arms with a silly smile on his lips.
« oh my lovely y/n, you're here ! » you could tell by the tone of his voice that he was completely drunk, which made you sigh even more, euijoo's desolate eyes finding yours across the room. « how many bottles did he drink to end up in this state? » you asked, hooking your arm around his waist to hold him close. fuma slid in beside you to support your best friend's nearly asleep body, guiding him with you to your car, before seating him on the passenger side.
« we lost him at some point, he got mixed up with other people... i think he must have consumed more than he should have during that time. » he explained as he closed the door. you nodded at fuma's words as you walked around the car to get behind the wheel, waving to the three boys who waved back at you.
resting your forehead against the top of your steering wheel with a sigh, you looked up at yudai's face, who seemed to be dozing. leaning over him, you grabbed the belt and hung it up, « what am i going to do with you? » you said in a whisper that you were sure he hadn't heard. after making sure he was safe, you started the car and drove back home.
once parked, you unbuckled your seatbelt before turning towards yudai. in a fit of annoyance, you punched him in the shoulder, waking him up slightly, his eyes moving from right to left in a lost way. « little bugger. » you drop as you got out of the vehicle, slamming your door before finding yourself on his side of the car.
now facing him, his eyes explored your face as you frowned. « what? » you say almost aggressively, rising on tiptoe to unhook his belt. « you're cute, » he tried to articulate, playing with a lock of your hair, « and a bit blurry. but definitely always so cute. » — rolling your eyes, you shook your head negatively, ready to flick him on the forehead, but remembering his condition, you suddenly felt sorry for him and decided to simply help him to find his way to bed.
pulling him out of the car, you helped him as best you could to reach your building's elevator, tapping on number three and waiting desperately for it to reach your floor. « i'm seeing you twice. » he said suddenly, losing his balance slightly.
« yes. you're drunk. » you sighed, grabbing his waist with both of your arms. his chin rested on the top of your head, and his long fingers clung to your sweater. and you could swear you weren't ready to hear the words that left his mouth right afterwards.
« yes. and hopelessly in love with you. »
gently raising your face to his, you didn't have time to lose yourself in his deep brown eyes, as the elevator door opened. shaking your head as if to regain your composure, you grabbed him gently and pulled him towards your door, unlocking it in the blink of an eye. « come on, let's get you to bed. » you whispered, helping him off with his shoes, before leading him to the bedroom.
yudai instantly dropped onto your mattress, as you stripped him of his jacket, helping him to wrap himself in your sheets. « okay, g'night. » you say suddenly, ready to get up and leave the room, but his hand grips your wrist. « y/n, » he whispered, straightening up to reach your ear, « don't tell my sober me that i told you i love you. it was a secret. »
a gentle smile took place on your lips, before nodding, watching him fall back onto the mattress, closing his eyes for a well-deserved night's sleep. « okay, i'll keep it a secret until you're brave enough to tell me sober. » and with one last kiss planted on yudai's temple, you left the room for your sofa and spent the night thinking and imagining scenarios in front of the television.
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reblogs & feedbacks are highly appreciated !
#&team imagines#k imagines#&team k imagines#&team drabbles#&team k#k#koga yudai#&team yudai#&team scenarios#&team x reader#&team fluff#&team timestamps#&team reactions#&team#yudai imagines#yudai scenarios#yudai drabbles#yudai timestamps#k drabbles#k scenarios#k timestamps#&team k scenarios#&team k drabbles#&team k timestamps#andteam#andteam k#&team angst
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epistemic status: i wish this weren’t true but can’t see how it isn’t, more emotive than analytic
The western response to Putin’s annexation speech is fucking with me simply bc, afaict, setting aside the topic of the annexation itself, the speech is 95% true and pertinent and damning and the press (and others I would expect better from) is reacting to it like it’s a bunch of borderline psychotic word salad or a form of verbal terrorism or both at once
You have the guardian describing it as the rambling screed of an angry taxi driver, but idk, having read the actual text I think it has a pretty clear and straightforwardly argued thesis: US military and financial hegemony is just the latest phase in a continuous 500yr-long history of western international subjugation and terror and vassalage, which western elites look upon as their very life and will fight to the last of their subjects to preserve, while Russia will refuse to be cowed. And the core claim here about western hegemony is absolutely correct! He’s just right! Right, and damning
I mean, yes! I, too, would like to see some of these rules! I think these are some reasonable points! (“Well, but he’s a hypocrite! He started the war!” Ok, who is whatabouting now?)
No two moments of the speech have attracted more attention than the “barely concealed nuclear threat” and the concluding batshit remarks about gender and sexuality. Let’s look at those in turn shall we?
Putin does, indeed, state outright that the US has set a nuclear precedent, but look at the context:
Is there some whataboutism going on here? Sure. Does it carry some implication of willingness to escalate? Yea ig. But what could any hs students scoring above the 50th centile on the reading comprehension portion of the ACT divine as the clear overall message being argued here? That the US abd its allies since WWII have demonstrated a total unrenounced and gratuitous disregard for innocent human life in the course of subjugating their enemies and lording over their “friends.” And it’s fucking true!! Mass murder has been the calling card of US interventionism for the last sixty some years, and all in the service of a network of vassal states it cynically presents to the world as its peers and allies! Any threat of aggression here is secondary to the correct and utterly pertinent analysis of American global rule being decried!
And finally he does end the speech by dredging up homophobic panic about the end of traditional families and gender roles that could have well been copypasted from one of the more articulate screeds on /pol/. Ofc this is stupid. But what, to be even-handed, is the unspoken claim of the media reports harping on this globohomo fearmongering despite its occupying a tiny overall fraction of the text itself? What is the obvious implication of fixating on putins nationalist fag-hatred in the midst of characterising his speech denouncing American world domination as the conspiratorial ravings of a lunatic? That the evil he is castigating, the international system of unilateral military and economic terror on the part of Washington and her friends, is the true guarantor of queer liberation. And if putins bigotry is revolting this cynical pinkwashed apologia in return has to come close
None of this, ofc, excuses the annexations or legitimises the phony electoral veneer, let alone the invasion itself. But my God! Truly this makes me understand where the tankies are coming from!! It’s one thing to decry the act, another to suggest this speech is anything worse than a litany of truths in the service of a lie! But these swine, these vampires, these bloodthirsty warmongering brutes are so totally accustomed to the presupposition of their own common sensicality and so inured to criticism they cannot perceive a list of fair charges against them for what anyone with eyes to see can readily acknowledge it in fact is
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Just judged a local speech & debate tournament and fuck me that took a lot out of me. Like I'm glad I did it cause I was invited and had a blast but fuck man I was there from 7:40am to fucking 7:25pm and literally judged 6 full fuckin rounds like man I was there all fuckin day and I'm tired. Thing is I completed when I was in high school (and placed at state every year to boot) and I know a thing or two about judging and what to be ranking these kids on, but I'm also a pretty easy judge to please. Idc about the content of your piece or little shit I can chalk up to you bein a fucking high schooler. Make sure your blocking is clean, your characters distinct and your speech articulate, and you're gonna get the 1 from me. It's really that simple. Where it gets hard on my end is where I judge a finals in Humorous interp and one girl's piece is just not funny at all but her blocking is amazing and she's super polished, and another guy towards the end if the round has great comedic timing but super needs to work on keeping his characterizations clean and more controlled. Like, it's The Funny event, but I gotta give more points to the girl who's clearly put more work into polishing her presentation over someone who's chosen piece just so happens to be funnier. But yea I'm glad i got invited and got to impart some genuine critique and encouragement since the circuit has been pretty lacking in terms of old talent teaching the new kids as of late. Like holy fuck there were so many kids that just didn't have the basic formatting, and I didnt wanna be that asshole judge who just writes "learn the basics. 7th" like I wanna be encouraging but you kids gotta get with your coach and make sure you know what you're doing, and GET THE FUCK OFF OF YOUR PHONE WHILE YOUR FELLOW COMPETITORS ARE PERFORMING
#speech#speech and debate#had fun though#also there was this trans kid who was super fuckin talented and almost perfect; i gave them i higher ranking and some reccomendations on#blocking so they could use more of the space between dialogue; but the room got stuck with this old ass guy as one of the fellow judges; and#he ranked them down HARD cause the piece's topic was on gay stuff; and they were trans. like fuck man your fucking ballots say to be#open minded and not let biases affect your judging. dude literally told me after the round#“yea i didnt like that gay stuff so i ranked 'him' down a bit” like fuck man#anywhozers. judge your local tournaments so kids like them dont end up with shit judges in finals.
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hm
[image id: a screenshot of a post against a white background that reads:
"have deleted that post despite mostly standing by the position expressed for a few reasons:
people in the notes were calling Black people who disagreed with me psyops (which fucking sucks. don't do that.)
criticism of the glib phrasing i used was fair--it was poorly thought out and uncalled for.
i've seen better-articulated and more nuanced takes on the topic that are a lot more sympathetic and compelling than the tweet which i was vagueposting about
i still think that the implication that trans people are 'stealing' or 'profiting from' the slogan is ridiculous and transphobic--but i recognise that's not the implication everyone is making, and i shouldn't be engaging everyone talking about the topic on those terms.
#tattletxt #and i am a marxist and i believe that all liberation movements are built on each other--all history is built on what has come before #and i can't be convinced that's a bad thing"
/END id]
yea the thing is the people calling black ppl psyops in the notes INCLUDE YOU! you were agreeing with people who were calling the black ppl who are talking about this "twitter weirdos"
and its always "well i dont care about the tweets or the short posts/responses from black people i only care when you mention communism and marxism and the "tone" isn't mean (e.g the addition that got them to "understand" why black people are upset explains that there is a long disgusting history of those piggybacking off the backs of black women) when. its so egregious that you dismiss black people who are rightfully upset at something in favour of the impersonal response you finally got
and this is what i was talking about when i say you guys imply that the black people who never stated it was "stealing" are suddenly transphobes who don't understand what the fight is for, cant be trans or could never understand transphobic hate crimes.
and yea you still dont really understand why people are saying this is anti black do you? you "understand the criticism" and you deleted the post not because you don't "agree" but because you don't want to look bad! you still trying to convince everyone that its just white 4chan members and reactionaries trying to talk about this isn't you doing anything but saving your own ass from more self pity you are going to feel.
[image id: a screenshot of a tumblr ask answer against a white back ground that reads:
"ultimately i understand the criticism and i do regret my original post--not because i don't agree with the stance i took in it but because i do think i came across as dismissive of reasonable stances held for ultimately good reasons because i generalized a particularly egregious take to the entire discourse. mb.
#ask #Sad! well there's other bloggers"
/END id]
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Beth
JITTERSVERSE
AO3
A/N: Merry Christmas.
“I can continue this for as long as needed.” The man stated- Ghost would simply refer to him as Goon.
The one behind him?
That was Twit.
The third was Lopez, sauntering into the room with a disinterested, maybe annoyed look on his face as he approached. His boots were white, with gold stitched detailing, stiff pants, and a suit jacket on top of his button-up. He shuffled the jacket off of his shoulders, Twit quickly scampering over to him to take the coat and tuck the fabric away somewhere safe.
Soap’s hands were bound, all he could do from his position was hold his head up and stare at Ghost, the men in front of him trying to save his energy. Keep his senses alert. It was a lot harder to escape when you were unconscious.
Lopez’s presence lingered, taking small but articulated steps closer and closer to Ghost. From this angle, he couldn’t exactly tell what the man was looking at. At one point or another, they’d drug a chair in, the two men fighting against the trashes of Ghost’s body until they were able to secure him to the metal chair scraping against the cold concrete floors.
He was used to having the hard shell of the mask in front of him. A safety net in a way- or a shield. The plastic shields him, creating a dark visage that would strike fear into the poor sods who have been graced with the misfortune of being in his warpath.
It is what made him the Ghost.
A feared creature.
You can not lose a Ghost.
You can not kill a Ghost.
You can not find a Ghost.
But without the mask?
Maybe, that just means he is just a man.
This wasn’t his first hostage situation, where he landed up in a situation like this, far from it. But there was something different that stunk, rancid, in his nose as he tensed his muscles in anticipation of a strike to the body from the Goon.
He was betrayed.
But it wasn’t like Graves.
Yea, Graves had worked with them, become bonded with them to some degree- forming some layers of trust.
“Jitters was the rat. She escaped, MIA.”
Maybe he was dead, this was just some twisted form of Hell he would endure, maybe a nightmare. But it couldn’t be a nightmare, he knew that. The feeling of his blood pounding in his ears, the scar on the lower left of his abdomen right above his hip ached like it did when it was humid outside- ready to rain. The ache in the joints of his fingers, and the pain. Oh, the pain. The pain that blossomed all around him, the hunger. The gnawing feeling of his gut as he tried to keep his wits.
He’d been hurt worse.
He’d survived worse.
Hungrier,
More deprived of sleep.
But this?
He’d sworn to steel himself from any potential harm, not let anyone close enough to drive a spike through his hard as if he were some kind of vampire. His only weakness- to be struck through the heart.
Maybe it was true.
It was a feeling, he’d been told. To know when you would die. Your body would accept it before your brain did- sometimes the other way around. But your body would communicate, and your brain would scream. Soul aching in longing of potential to finally move on to find some kind of solace in whatever afterlife there may or may not be.
Standing in front of himself,
Simon Riley.
He was but a man, was he not? Clutched in his hand he would look down, holding the hard, damaged plastic of the mask before glancing back up to stare at himself. Only not to find it, to find a void- the cold, emptiness of longing of something.
But too long for something to come is better than to mourn for the loss of something you’d once had.
Instead of a void, he was now sat in a dingy little flat. Nothing on the walls, a single chair tucked up next to a weak-legged table in the kitchen. Everything was neat and orderly, the corners of cabinets worn with the exact location he would open them from. No plants, no decor, no photos.
No Mirrors.
To look into the mirror sometimes he would look directly into the eyes of what he’d mourned long, long ago.
But then that warmth came.
A pestering, irritating warmth.
His name was John MacTavish.
At first? He snuffed out the spark, refusing to allow the potential of any harm to come to him. A long, drawn-out battle as if he were defending his safe space from a wildfire, the air full of propane. Any spark coming nearby would be a certain death sentence.
It took time.
Patience.
More than he knew a human could have within them.
Anger, and a lot of it.
But soon enough he found himself holding a box with a small little flame, the flame burning strong and bright, even if it were small. A strong base under the fire that gave it the foundation to prosper.
And he protected it as if it were his only goal in life. Even if it meant isolating himself in that little dingy flat, cowering in a corner while holding the flame to his chest in hopes of feeling the heat radiate into his chest. Sometimes, he would even throw the flame back, fearing the potential of relying on its heat, horrified of the potential he would freeze without its warmth. A punishment, in a way. To of once lived in the cold, too worked like a dog to tend the fire, bring in the wood, stoke it, care for it, only for it to be snuffed out too soon. Left in the cold once more.
To toil again, would it mean to result in the same fate as Sisyphus? To always fight to reach the top, only to end once again at the bottom in pain?
But then there was that ember, almost suffocated out that drifted into his peripheral one day. Not one to sit idle on potential threats, no matter how small he inspected the ember. Deeming it no threat. But as he remained in close proximity the ember burned its surroundings, spreading across the landscape and erupting into a fire of its own. Without any tending- without any toil. So he approached it, silently, as if to sneak up on it. Exchanging a hand and placing fuel on the fire and watching what would happen.
God, the heat that it created was beautiful.
And it scared him.
As if he were a little boy again.
But his little flat was warm already- the heat comforting. He’d ignore the fire, hoping it would die out on its own. So he protected in in the best way he could, building up walls around it and refusing to allow it to spread.
It didn’t.
Maybe it was all a guise of luring the man into a sense of safety, to not fear the cold.
But he blinked-
And it was gone.
There was no fire, at least not anymore.
He saw it, with the cold look in her eyes as he stared at her that day.
“Why? Or you’ll have me benched?” She spat back, the volume of her voice rising.
“You an I both know that you couldn’t handle it out there.” His hisses out, body going surprisingly stiff.
“Maybe it’s because you fucking killed children?” She laughs, throwing her hands up and hopping off of the couch. “Last I remember I was the stable one.”
“You do not belong on the field.” He states again.
“And maybe you don’t either, remember, in the room, oh who was it? Was it Be-”
The cold look in her eyes.
The fire was gone.
And his heart ached and brain screamed because the worst of it all was he wasn’t ready to go back into the cold.
When you leave the heater running in your flat, and the entire space- the bathroom even behind shut doors becomes too hot you’ll cut off the source of the heat.
Doesn’t mean the heat leaves immediately.
He was sitting in that dingy little flat clinging to any remnants of heat while it still drifted through the air.
The feeling of Lopez’s boot kicking him in the chest, sending him tilting backwards and gliding with the floor. His head rolled to the side, staring at the white boots in front of him. The shiny white leather tainted with a smear of blood across the toe.
The two men picked the chair up again, as he was questioned more and more.
His refusal to speak was consistent.
“I know who you are.” Lopez laughs. “Thinking you could catch me, detain me, stop me? Do you know who I am? I am the fucking king!”
Silence.
“Tell me…” He voice droned. He stared.
He didn’t care to listen primarily because he knew he would keep his mouth shut.
A strike lashed out, coming into contact with that soft spot where the highest part of his ribs gave way to meet with his abdomen. Ghost’s chest heaved, trying to keep up with his body’s demand for oxygen.
Just keep breathing.
Just keep breathing.
“If you don’t want to talk then I will fucking blow you’re friends brains out.” He hisses, grabbing Soap by his hair and lifting his limp body up, stuffing the barrel of the gun into his mouth.
He would not speak.
This would no be in vein.
He squeezed his eyes shoot, hands clenching as he refused to even look at the pitiful way Soap’s eyes flashed open, looking at him in agreement to not speak. They would not break, they would die here regardless. It would not be for nothing.
The crackle of the radio on his hip broke his train of thought.
“Hello, Mister Lopez.”
Jitters?
Ghost’s eyes trailed up, watching as Lopez’s body stiffened before looking to the two men who fed him a confused look in response. He stepped back, dropping Soap onto the ground as he strode back a foot or so before pulling he radio off of his hip and lifting it to his mouth.
Soap’s lead lolled over, looking up at him as if questioning the integrity of what they both heard. As if it had been a hallucination, it couldn’t of been. Was she here?
She sold them out?
“Who the fuck is this?” He snarled into the radio.
“You know.” The radio paused, the sound of the audio crackling as the feed was cut off. “It’s rather rude to blow off a meeting.”
Meeting?
She was meeting with him?
“I have no meeting with you.” He said. He lowered his hand, yelling to the two men behind him who were scrambling to grab there weapons and stand at attention.
“You do, and your fifteen minutes late actually.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are talking too? Huh? Do you not know who I am?”
“Your name is Farhad Lopez. You primarily make your money from drug operations but have decided to branch out into the realm of the internet to spread you influences of sex trafficing. You’re also an incredibly dull man who enjoys the subtle pleasures of large gaudy ash trays. You’re wearing a pair of hideous boots with slacks, taking off that cute little coat jacket of yours really emphasises the weight you carry.”
Lopez’s body language falters for a moment, looking around and yelling something in Spanish. The men begin charging for the door.
“Those two men need to stay put, or there will be consequences.” Jitters spoke calmly into the radio.
“Where are you!” He yells, not into the radio.
“Everywhere.” The radio crackles.
Lopez’s eyes are wide, and he circles the room, looking to the doorways and back to the men before lunging and kicking Soap with all of his might. “You knew about this! Huh? Think your friends can save you? You’re as good as dead!”
“I’m still waiting on my meeting, Lopez.” She speaks into the radio.
“I have no meeting with you.”
“Ah, I’m filling in for Antonio.”
“Where is my boy?”
There was a pause.
“Dead. He’s right next to me, actually.”
“I am going to gut you, hang you from the power lines and watch you rot.” He spits into the radio.
“I think we should have a conversation.” She replies. “I have some information that would be very useful to you about the two men in front of you right now, actually.”
His head snaps towards Ghost. “And what kind of information would that be?”
“That if they are harmed from this point on in any way. Any chance of that information is useless.”
“Where are you?”
“Where am I? I am at our meeting, in your office.”
He waves his hand at the two men, who then charge out of the door towards his office. He follows shortly after, allowing the door to slam shut leaving them alone.
Ghosts eyes dared to glance down to meet Soaps. Muscles in his shoulders straining as his chest continued to heave trying to keep the panic flooding through his senses at bay. She was here. Betraying them- actively. In front of his eyes. He didn’t want to think that it was possible- that this could ever happen.
“That if they are harmed from this point on in any way. Any chance of that information is useless.”
What?
Her eyes felt heavy, standing in front of the window staring down at the busy hands of the workers below her. Her hand clutched onto the radio as if it were a lifeline. She was sure that if she was bigger, stronger, that the detah grip she had on the little black plastic would shatter into tiny little bits.
She was alone in a room, with two corpses.
She was alone in a room, pondering her life choices.
Could she maintain the facade?
Her stomach growled.
Her body ached.
She didn’t dare keep her eyes closed for anything longer than a moment because she knew that she would fall asleep.
But she needed to do this.
To save them.
Or at least try.
Insert herself to be a hero of a story that she was never meant to be in. To be discarded and tosses aside, picked up by the wind and to be thrown right back into the bowels of the lines. To be a hero would mean to be brave.
She couldn’t say she felt brave.
She couldn’t say she felt anything at all really.
It was all just a dull throb.
Two frantic knocks on the bolted door behind her caught her attention, in one hand, she held a radio, in the other hand she held a gun. Walking over slowy, she unlocked the door to stare down the two men in front of her, nodding, they turned and quickly ushered into the room, one grabbing her and reaching the gun stuffing it into his own waistband and shoving her back. She lifted her hands up as she moved back over by the window waiting for Lopez to grace her with his presence.
“You.” He paused for a moment, stalking forward and grabbing her by her shirt. “You know them. You were there.”
She glanced down at his hand on her shirt, decicing not to dwell on it too much for the time being. “I was.”
“I should kill you.”
“You could try.”
He pulled the gun, pushing it up against her temple. The contact of the cold metal against her skin made her eyes close, almost shattering the thin layer of strength she had left.
“You are a walking corpse.” he stated.
“With information you seem to want.” She replied.
He let go of her, removing the gun from her temple and pushing her back. Nearly faltering for a moment before laughing- hearty enough to pinch his eyes shut as he stepped over to his chair behind the desk to take a seat. “You are insane.” He states, waving his hands lightly before kicking his feet up on his desk and lighting a cigarette. “So. You wanted a meeting? Let’s have a meeting.”
“Are you aware of what a Deadmans Switch is?”
The cigarette lingered in his mouth just a moment longer than what would’ve been that of confident body language. His hand gripped the little white paper, pulling it from his lips and immediately ashed the cig, lowering his legs from the table and glint of his eyes shifting in a way that she knew that she had his attention.
“Yes.”
“Good.” She nods, glancing at the two guards. One stood a few feet away from her, other posted up by the door. She no longer had a gun on her person- nor a knife. The knife burried in the throat of the corpse splayed ut on the floor. Blood long sense pooled and straining into the rug beneath the table.
“Antonio knew what a Deadmans switch was, willing to die to make sure that what I knew wasn’t released.”
“So.” His hands folded together. “What do you know?”
“Ah. That’s the thing, you don’t get to know that. Not yet at least.”
“Listen-”
“Antia.” She stated simply, watching as his eyes widened focusing on her.
“That means nothing.”
“All detained hostages will cease any forms of interrogation from this point forward. Starting now.”
“Is that all you want?”
“For right now.” She nods.
He reaches over, grabbing the radio and speaking into it in Spanish.
“Tell me how you’re connected to Russia.”
“No.”
“Jose.” She states, watching him falter once more.
“I can’t tell you.”
“I’m sure you can, really. Farhad Lopez, Jr.”
“They will kill us all!” He yells.
“Rose.” She states. “Thats the list, is it not?”
“I will not!” He slams his fist down on the table.
A few things vibrated- jolted even with the collision of his fist into his desk. To find out, from the source the involvement of him tangled up in bed to Russia. Right from the tap. For him to betray that, to provide an assured death sentance to his status- his notariety in the criminal word he would need more than a list of names of his children.
Maybe he didn’t truly understand the gravity of the situation.
A man who was used to being in control.
Maybe he needed to be shown just how out of control he was in this situation.
“Kill them.” She states.
The guard next to her stiffens, head glancing over to Lopez at his desk eyeballing her as if she just barked and chased her tail.
“Who?”
“Them.” She nods her head over to the guards. “If you’d like to have a real conversation, you and I both know they already know too much.”
He stood up, trying to get up in her face. “I am done playing games, little girl.”
“I was never playing a game.” She replied. “Shoot them.”
He pulled the gun from his waistband, pushing it forward and pressing it against her chest. “I can kill you right now.”
“But you won’t.”
“That is a wager, do you not value your own life?”
“I think you and I both know that this is not a wager I will loose.”
There it was. The shift of tension. The slight tremble in his hand when he relaizes the gravity of the situation. That everything led up to this single day- this failure. The corpses- the stench of blood filling the stuffy office. She’s sure it wasn’t always stuffy, but it seemed that the flow of hot blood would fill a room with the stench of iron and make it a little stuffy. It was a little intoxicating, in a way.
To see the fear.
Of a grown man.
A man who was regarded in power.
She took a step forward, grabbing the barrel of the gun and using a finger to point it away from her, pointing it at the guard across from her.
“One thousand, three hundred sixty seven. Mangrove way. San Franciso.” She said, softly. So softly. As if she was brushing her hand against the cheek of a baby- a little bundle of fragility and innocence. She looked from her finger, to the barrel of the gun now pointed across the room to the guard. To his trembling hand, the color paling from his face.
You try to keep the things that are close to you as far from harms way as possible. Your wife-
Your children.
“See?” She asked, ever so softly. Fighting against the urge to offer him a soft smile, smugness creeping into her voice as she spoke. “Now you have to kill them. They heard me say it. Now they know it.”
No one should know it, really.
They were innocent.
Slightly.
Maybe they had never felt the blood drip into their hands, splatter against their face and heard the wails of agony that scratched and bounced off of the cement walls Lopez haunted. But they’d survived off of the blood money. They’d lived their quaint little normal life. Gone about their days as if the man of the family wasn’t committing acts of atrocity- he couldn’t have. He was a good man, taking care of them filling her belly with children and heirs to his empire.
So he kept them safe.
Hidden away.
Maybe it wasn’t safe enough.
Or maybe she was a demon lurking in the shadows of this story. Clinging onto the biggest fears around her-
Betrayal.
Loss.
Defeat.
A deadmans trigger.
He knew what it was for now. He wasn’t desne.
If he killed her, she would kill his family.
“So.” She spoke again, rattling him from his thoughts. “Do what I told you to do.”
He pulled the trigger, shotting the guard closest to him and stepping forward. The guard at the door scrambled, reaching behind to grab hold of the door and try to throw it open, bring himself to safety. Lopez shot him in the back three times, blood splattering out and painting the door in front of him before he slowly slid down the wall, crumpling almost as if to make a new doormat.
“I knew you’d make the right decision.” She praised him, watching as he stared at the corpse of one of his men- one of his right hands blood splattered against the wall.
It was like the saying things fall apart.
He was watching it fall apart.
Crumble into his hands.
He was normally the one who would cause the chaos. And it always hits the ones who inflict the most paint the hardest. To relaize once again that you were human- that you could be harmed. This egotistical godhood created around you visage of power and money was worthless with the right strings pulled, the right incentives dangled over your head.
“You’re going to tell me about the Russians now.”
“I won’t!” He yelled, pointing the gun back at her.
She stared at the barrel, a dull, distant expression crossing her face as she stared at the gun metal.
“I’ll auction off the information, to the highest bidder.” She explains. “Before you have time to even contact her- in the dead of night they will be captured. Maybe if they are feeling kind they would kill them all in their sleep. Mutilate their corpses and display how they killed Commander Lopez’s family.” She paces, moving out of the line of gunfire.
“The other option, personally my favorite. Is that you kill me. The deadman is initiated and a predetermined list of your top competitors are given all of that lovely information. Fuck, even some of the local gangs there in San Fransico will get that information just to throw them a bone. They’ll turn it into a warzone, and it will be long, painful, confusing, and all your fault. It will get media attention- unable to be bribed and covered up. And I know that the Russians don’t like it when anything gets media attention. Shit, they don’t like any of their partners having weaknesses, or at least ones they arent able to control. That’ll leave you, Mister Lopez, in the worst situation of them all. You’ll probably try to flee, escape somewhere. But they will catch up to you, find you. And you know what happens when they catch you, don’t you?”
…
It was morning.
Price sat at his desk- cup of stale coffee at his desk as he read what was displayed on the screen in front of him.
-HELLO
-JITTERS
-I DON’T HAVE A LOT OF TIME
-JITTERS WHERE ARE YOU
-THE GENERAL IS BEING BLACKMAILED. WHOEVER BROKE LOPEZ OUT IS AFFILIATED WITH RUSSIANS AND HE IS COMPROMISING MISSION DATA
-JITTERS ARE YOU ALRIGHT WHY DON’T YOU COME BACK
-HE’S PUT A SHOOT ON SIGHT ORDER ON ME LASWELL *UNKOWN* I DIDN’T GIVE HIM WHAT HE WANTED. THEY THINK I’M A TRAITOR. A RAT I CAN’T GO BACK THEY’LL KILL ME
-YOU NEED TO COME BACK
-HE SENT ME TO A A DRONE IN A TREE. A DATA DROP *UNKNOWN* IT HAS ALL OF THE DATA HES GONNA BURN ME I’M A LOOSE END
-YOU’RE NOT A LOOSE END YOU NEED TO COME BACK SO WE CAN SORT THIS OUT
-SO THEY CAN KILL ME I AM NOT A TRAITOR AND I AM TIRED OF BEING TREATED LIKE ONE
__________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________
CALL ENDED
He didn’t know how many times he had read that log over and over.
Each times his eyes would graze across the screen trying to find what he was missing. Laswell was unable to get to the General, but it had been confirmed he was in the states dealing with something with a much larger priority than a rogue PMC.
Whoever broke Lopez out.
His eyes narrowed.
Did he do something wrong? What had led to this point of her not being able to ask for help? Laswell was alreayd doing her best, digging up any potential leads on connections to Russia from any angle that would be relevant in this situation.
“What the hell is going on here?”
She stopped, glancing over to see Price walking in through the doorway, face plastered with a thoroughly irritated expression.
“I don’t know, Captain .” She replies bitterly.
“The hell has gotten into you?” Price asks, hand reaching out to grab her shoulder.
“Maybe the fact that you all don’t fucking trust me- and think I’m some kind of helpless, traitorous rat!” She yells, slapping his hand away.
Ghost stood still, rigid watching her movements.
“Calm down.” Price said evenly.
“No, I’m not going to calm down. You all are treating me like im mental-”
“I am ordering you to stand down.” He speaks again.
To have the weight of lives on your shoulders. To be their leader. It carried guilt, a strange breed of it. One that mixed with anger, sorrow, envy. He’d remain strong, never waver his strong facade of leader.
The coffee was stale, not that it mattered. He wasn’t drinking it for the taste, can’t remember the last time he had the ability to savor a consumption of caffeine out of anything other than desperation to get back to work.
“Sir?” A voice at the door caused his eyes to snap up, seeing Miles standing in the doorway, a frantic look in his eyes.
“What is it?”
“We have an issue.”
“Spit it the fuck out, what kind of issue?” He snapped.
“Jitters has hacked our network and left us a message.”
Miles scuttled over, all but tossing his laptop onto his desk and showing the message displayed on his screen.
_____________________________-
_______ MESSAGE_
__FROM: J1tt3r5
987654ftfr6789098___________________
CORD. XXXXXXX.XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX.XXXXXXX
DL
REQUEST IMMEDIATE MEDICAL EVAC, HOSTAGE
END INPUT_________________
____________________
“Where did you find this?” He asked.
“She put it… Basically everywhere. I ran the coordinates it is a warehouse fourty miles from here.”
“Send me those coordinates now.” He ordered, pushing past him and running out in the hallways dispatching a team immediately calling for air support and medical.
It wouldn’t be wrong.
"There was this one time- you can't tell anyone." She lowered her voice.
"I'm listening." He responded, blinking a few times as Price pierced his skin with the needle.
"I went fishing."
"Where?"
"On a lake, and I caught a fish."
"What kind?"
"I think it was a bass."
"Love me a bass." Price commented, Jitters shot him a look.
"This is a secret Price, you aren't in this conversation." She laughed out lightly. He shrugged in response, continuing his work.
"So I caught the bass, and I tried to kill it, because I didn't want it to suffer. I tried bopping the fuckin' thing like three times. Didn't die." She starts laughing nervously.
"You couldn't kill a fish?" Gaz asked.
"Not the point."
"That's the point I'm getting."
"So I threw it back in the water-"
"After you beat it?"
"Yes, after I beat it."
"That's rather cruel."
"No- what was cruel was when I tossed it back in the lake it didn't swim away. It just kind of fell over on its side and started to float." She started laughing again. "And while it was floating, I kept trying to splash water on it to get it to swim away- but it wouldn't. And then this fucking bird flew down and ripped it out of the water."
Gaz snorted. "Sounds like I shouldn't take you as my fishing partner."
"Yea. I'm good never fishing again." Jitters agrees.
He wouldn’t let this one go.
……..
To be in power. The kind of power where the money is flush and the vices are plenty. The kind of power you can taste. The kind of power that is earned through blood.
That is what it seemed like everything ended with these days.
Blood.
“And you’d kill children?” He sneers.
“Don’t look at me as if you haven’t destroyed families- killed the innocent for no reason other than to see the look of despair as you stroked some kind of ego with your power. You have no stones to cast from your glass house!” She yells. “You were sloppy. You’re paying the price for it now.”
“I will never pay the price.” He spits, voice dripping with venom as he grabbed the gun.
“Not even maggots will touch your corpse.” She replies.
“I will not die.”
“Maybe you won’t.”
The sound of an explosion was heard in the building. His head quickly jerking to the side to see a swarm of black- special forces charging into the building and shutting the whole of his operations down. Rifles raised, mowing down anyone who dared to turn a weapon upon them and face their rage.
“Why are they here!” He screams, waving the gun at the window. “You are a traitor! A rat! Why would you help them!”
She pondered.
Why?
Why was she helping them?
“I want to watch you fuckin’ burn.” She replied. “You took it all. All I had left.”
He laughs. Dry. Strained.
“If I burn, I will take you with me.”
“Fine by me.”
She lunges to he side as he fires, bullet grazing her side. Both of her hands slap onto the table grabbing hold of the large glass ash tray sat stop the table as she twists, swinging it and cracking the patterned glass against his head. His hand twitches, pulling the trigger and sending a bullet directly into her core.
It was like a beautiful dance, choreographed in slow motion.
Ghost heard the commotion, arms struggling against his ties when he saw Gaz leading a team of men into their room rushing towards him. Soap was unconscious, but Ghost had managed to listen to the sound of his breathing and at least the sound of his shallow shuddery breaths was enough to give him peace he was alive. Once Gaz got hold of his arms, getting the ties off of his body he was pushing up.
The scream of pain made him want to vomit- but the surge of adrenaline muted the screams of his nerves.
“Ghost!” Gaz said, grabbing for his arm as he pushed pst men.
“She’s here.” He said, storming out of the door.
He ran.
It was the adrenaline, the sound of blood pumpking through his ears as he rounded the corner into the main processing flat of the warehouse. The look of Special Forces cuffing down workers and gunning down guards bringing him some kind of solace.
Where is she?
Jitters?
Jitters where have you gone?
The sound of crashing glass alerted his eyes upward, staring as the glass framed by black metal broke out, a corpse falling through the air back first. A display of limbs, his hands holding onto the gun as he continued to shoot up at the ceiling in rage as he pulled the trigger. Body falling, life fleeting.
Until he came into collision witht he ground. The sound of a skull coming into contact with concrete from such a heigh creates a sickening crack. Not that he had any time to thing of the wet soun of brains splattering against the floor, relishing in the feeling of seeing the prick who caused so much pain dead on the pavement and wishing that he had been the one to do it himself. To be the one watched as his life drained from his eyes and to be the one who would inevitable meet him once again in Hell.
His eyes drifted upwards, narrowing on the office space the glass came from. His legs were moving before his brain could fully compute it, lungs expanding and contracting his his muscles burned- screamed, giving it all that he had left. He needed to find her.
He didn’t even know what he would do if he found her.
Kill her?
That seemed to be on the table.
Legs screaming as he ran up the stairs, arms reaching out to the door and pushing as hard as he could- resistance meeting the door but it being no match the his body weight slammed up against the door. The corpse sliding to the side as he pushed into the room, his eyes frantically scanning the various corpses in the room until it fell upon her.
Fallen backwards, deep red blood gushing from her middle pooling over her coat and onto the floor.
She was alone in the room, with four corpses.
She watches had his body slid backwards, lifting as he became airborne with the strike. She registered the feeling of falling backwards befor ethe could register the feeling of pain coming from her middle. And it didn’t hurt. It was just like everything else-
Dull.
She watched as the glass broke beneath his body weight, sending him hurdling towards the inevitable meeting with the cement below him.
That’s when her hand reached down, spreading out over the expanse of the warmth now dripping out of her and seeping into her clothes. She fell, slowly. Knees bucking underneath her as she came into contact with the ground.
She hoped they were safe.
She hopes Price got her warning.
She didn’t want it to be in vain.
They were here.
Maybe she’d die before they’d get to her.
Maybe that would be the best possible option in this scenario.
For her to die like this.
Like some kind of faux hero.
Maybe they wouldn’t even recognise her struggles, the effort to protect a family that had cast her aside.
She tried to push herself up, tried to really move anything-
It was cold.
She didn’t hear the sound of boots stomping against the ground but suddenly she could feel hands wrap around her, pulling her body up into a chest that she knew was too familiar.
“Ghost…” She smiled, looking up to see his eyes glimmering- some expression she couldn’t be bothered to read at the moment. It was a struggle- it took so much effort. To lift her hand, lift it off of the wound and to press a single finger against his nose. “You’re missing your face.” She sighed out happily. “You’re alive.”
She couldn’t hear him yelling.
She couldn’t hear him begging.
“Hey… Can you make dinner tonight? I’m so hungry.”
“Jitters. Look at me. Keep your eyes open!” He yelled. “Medic! Medic!” His voice was strained- it was almost unfamiliar to him to hear the emotion in his voice as her cradled her body up to his chest.
“I’m so tired Ghost…” She all but whispered.
“Keep your fucking eyes open!” He yelled. “Please! Fuck- Don’t you want to know who Beth is?” He asked, the desperation in his voice evident- maybe not to the two of them, but to the heavens above. The fates watching the scene unfold before them.
“...Beth?” Her eyes opened, slowly, trying to focus up on his face.
“My Sister- Sister in law. She came into my family- she gave me a nephew. Made my family so happy. Just stay awake and I will tell you anything you need to know.” He begged.
“Where… Where is she?” She asked.
The tears welled up in his eyes, pouring over the grease paint and down onto his mask. “She isn’t here. She isn’t here right now but I will take you to meet her. Just keep your eyes open.”
Her eyes closed.
“Open your eyes! Medic!” He screamed.
“I did it.” She smiled.
“What? What did you do?”
“I left. I’m sorry I left.”
“It’s ok… I’ll meet her.” She said, hand reaching up and clutching onto his torso. “I’m so tired…”
“Don’t. Go. To sleep. Please.”
Please
Is this not what she wanted?
She did it.
She did something about it.
She finally, finally stood up for herself.
But was it all worth it in the end?
To feel the fear of man. To feel the power in that moment- to redeem yourself, prove a point with bloodshed.
"Only the good die young." He adds.
"That's not comforting." She sighs. "I want to be good."
"And the maggots that eat my flesh will eat yours too! But they won't eat until I'm good and fucking ready- because I can't even say I'm good anymore!"
“Now you have to kill them. They heard me say it. Now they know it.”
Please
Was it all worth it?
Would she do it again?
Jayme sat, fingernails digging into her palms as her wrists rubbed against the metal handcuffs anchored to the table in front of her.
“But I ask one thing.”
Laswell looked up, closing the folder and tucking it into the bag that sat at her side.
“You aren’t in a position to negotiate.”
“It’s a request.”
“Then ask.”
“That all of that.” She nods her head towards the table, the folder. The secrets contained inside. “All of it. Stays a secret. I don’t want to be Jayme when I’m there.”
“Then what- who do you want to be?”
“One thousand, three hundred sixty seven. Mangrove way. San Franciso.”
“I want to be the one they fear.”
#Jitters Au#john price#cod mwii#gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#simon riley x oc#john mactavish#cod#task force 141#modern warfare
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Pleased to meet you, chapter 9
Summary: Saturday in the orange bedroom with Frankie is all filth and games until you start feeling... feelings.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x French fem!Reader.
Rating: very Explicit 🔞
A/N: alright, let me break down this chapter for you: we have 2% plot, 15% feelings, and 97% filth. No, it doesn’t add up, and no, I refuse to take responsibility for it. I can’t control those kids.
Word Count: 4.5k
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Chapter 9: The Way Young Lovers Do
“Why orange?”
His fingers pause for the briefest moment on your arm before they resume their lazy caress, raising small shivers in their wake.
Lying naked, side by side on the bed, you’ve let the heat claim your limbs, sated and tired. The midday city bustle a distant rumour, seeping in through the half-opened window. Earlier, the light played across the bare walls as the sun rose. The darkness recessed in midnight blue to cyan, cotton candy pink, a soft shade of amber and suddenly, the room was ablaze in a chromatic eruption. Orange light ignited through orange shades. You watched intently, in silence, long forgotten sensations of a distant past convoked by the familiar tone, anchored to the moment by the softness of Frankie’s touch.
“It was her favourite colour,” he finally says.
“Was?���
“Yea. Big C.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means.” You raise yourself on your elbow to take a better look at his face. You’ve struck a nerve, you can tell, and usually you’d step back and let go. But not here, not with him. For once you care. For once, you want to know.
“Breast cancer. She died when I was eighteen,” he answers flatly.
Your heart sinks at what he’s trying to withhold.
“Oh, Frankie I’m so sorry,” you whisper, so he doesn’t hear the tremor in your voice.
“It’s fine, really.”
A crease forms between his brows, clouding over his face. You smooth your thumb over it once, twice, three times, hoping to convey that you know it isn’t, that it doesn't have to be, until he takes hold of your wrist and kisses your palm.
You fall backward as he sits up, still holding your hand, the soft thud louder than all the street noises, and he leans over you, pinning you under his calm gaze, peering into your eyes. He’s not pouring this into you. He will not burden you with his losses, plural, the shadow of everlasting melancholy hanging about you steadily withdrawing from your eyes, kiss after kiss, stroke after stroke, high after high, he will chase it away completely before you have to part.
And so the crease briefly lingers before you see him recompose his features, before he broadens a smile, before the dimple appears, a soft hollow in the steep landscape of his face.
“I wanna hear that sound again. The one you make when you come.”
“Jesus, Frankie!”
You try to bury your laughter in the crook of your elbow, but he doesn’t let you, he never lets you hide, and he pulls your arm away, diving in your neck, kissing and sucking your smooth skin, your entire body shuddering in the heat.
He had you again less than two hours ago, or so you think, you’ve long lost track of time, only leaving your embrace long enough to change his condom. His strokes slow and measured, working you selflessly, you could tell he was mindful not to make you take too much. Your orgasm grew lazily, until you felt a piercing lightning under your navel that radiated through your limbs and painted your vision in searing gold.
So naturally, you assume he’s only aiming to distract you from the current subject, and you bashfully try to push him away, but there’s no fighting his strength.
“You can’t possibly–” you try to articulate in between giggles.
“What?”
“I don’t know… you know… want me again?”
“What do you think?” he answers cockily, taking your hand to place it on his hard length, with a charming albeit mischievous smirk. The small gasp you let out is delicious, how can you doubt his hunger for you? And now, now that he has felt you come around him, the sensation better than anything he could have anticipated, he can’t imagine ever being satiated.
“I can stop, though, if you prefer,” he says, sitting up straight in a fast motion, the face of innocence.
“Oh no you don’t!”
He lets you take over, lets you have the upper hand and it’s you, now, who push him into the soft bed, playfully straddling him, your hands braced against his chest, then changing your mind, caging his lean torso with your hands and his narrow hips with your knees, like you know what you’re doing, like you’re trying to decide which slope to climb to conquer a mountain.
He likes this new smile, this attempt at confidence, he lies still and awaits, curious about what you’ll come out with, what you’ll dare try, and yes, about how long he’ll last before he needs to be inside you again.
Your face hovering over him, you don’t know where to start. Every part of him makes your mouth water. You can still feel him between your legs from earlier, yet your arousal is already pooling down your core, your cunt practically making room for him again.
You love the curve of his nose, but you’ll begin with his jaw, you decide, strong and sharp, and you peck a shy kiss, when he places his broad hands on your thighs and squeezes and fuck timidity, you want this man so bad you’re burning inside.
His groan vibrates between your lips when you bite harder, you too love his sounds. You make your way down his neck, his lean, strong neck, you could stay there forever, you think, lapping the salty sweat off his skin. Gripping your thighs harder, he tips back his head, and oh God, you might die at the pretty sight of him, and when you reach the hollow between his collarbone, you don’t know how to hold back, you want to devour him whole.
Frankie bucks his hips upward seeking your heat, seeking some friction, but you pin him down on the bed, your hands pressing on his chest again, you’ve been wanting to do this since the fire escape, you realise, explore his body with your mouth and your tongue and your teeth.
You keep tasting your way around his shoulders, down his chest, and circle back up to his neck, his broad hands running ceaselessly over your skin, until they reach your ass, gripping and spreading your cheeks.
Frankie hears your soaked folds part, Jesus fuck, everything about you is continually testing his restraint. Skating around your soft flesh down the cleft of your ass, he presses a finger to your tight ring and pushes in.
You jolt forward with a shriek and stare at him in surprise, suddenly still. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, had he thought this through, he probably wouldn't have done it, he has no idea what he’s doing, anyway, except that he just wants to fuck your everything. Slowly, that smug smile stretches his lips, the one he’s been quick to figure compels you to let him get away with pretty much anything.
“You wanna try this?” he asks, his low voice like gravel.
You’ve never, ever done anything like this. You close your eyes, just for a bit, just long enough to find out you’re more aroused than scared. When you reopen them, it’s to straighten up and position your hips over his, the curled hair of your mound brushing against his balls and the base of his cock that’s resting heavy on his belly. He pushes in deeper and your mouth falls open around a silent “O”.
His breath catches at the sight of you, offered, trustful, exposed, he’s never been with anyone so beautiful.
“Gimme your hand,” he commands in a hushed tone.
You raise your right hand from his chest, your movement slow and drowsy, cautious, maybe, and he brings it to his mouth, wrapping his lips around your two middle fingers, swirling his tongue sloppily, coating them in his saliva, and your cunt clenches around nothing.
When he releases your hand, he tells you, “Touch yourself for me.”
“Oh God, Frankie… Frankie,” you moan in a feeble plea, shutting your eyes again.
“We can stop, if you want,” he replies softly. He’s no longer teasing you, he won’t ask you to follow him anywhere you don’t want to go.
You swallow thickly, and your eyes still closed, start rubbing small, shy circles over your clit.
“Look at me,” he pleads, “look at me, lemme see your eyes.”
You give him that, you’ll give him everything, despite the apprehension, so you do what you do when you're scared, and you move boldly. Taking his hand in yours, you bring it to your mouth and run your tongue over his palm.
“Touch yourself for me, Frankie?” you shakily whisper.
His pupils dilated at the sight of you, so gorgeous, so fucking filthy, he takes his cock in his hand, your hand still resting on his wrist, and starts working himself up and down, rotating his wrist, his rhythm matching that of your fingers, your soft pants covered by his gruffer groans.
You move in tandem, steadily increasing the pace of your strokes, an intimate dance none of you ever practiced, a lewd sway both of you instinctively perform, entranced by each other’s hooded gaze.
When you arch back into his hand, his eyes grow wide, alight with a lustful spark, his movements become frantic and so do yours, and he pushes harder, deeper inside you, going knuckle deep. Your sudden orgasm surprises you, sweeping over you from your core, white-hot pleasure clouding your vision, your entire body seizing up, until you collapse on his chest, his skin scalding hot against yours.
Your limp body presses down on him but he doesn’t stop, instead planting his feet firmly onto the bed and pushing upward, rocking his hips against you, fucking his fist under your belly. And then you hear it, you hear him, licking the finger he just withdrew from you with a groan, and the absolute filthiness turns your inside out. Your mind gives in, you want more, much more, you curl up into him, nails sunk into his flesh.
“Frankie come on my skin,” your rasp inaudibly into his chest, and Frankie has to crush his throbbing cock into his palm not to spill instantly at your words.
“You sure?” he asks hurriedly, and when you dig in your nails harder, he hisses a long “fuuuuuck”.
Hanging on by the last thread of his enduring control, he rolls your limp body onto the bed and cages you between his thighs.
“Where do you want it?” he asks urgently, “fuck, I’m gonna come on your tits, shit—“ the word drags as thick ropes of pearly white come hit your skin, as you arch into it, Frankie’s head tipping back with a loud, hoarse grunt, before he crumbles by your side on his back, hitting your shoulder with his.
It’s a hot minute before your breathing evens out. Staring into space, you feel his chest heaving next to yours. His spend has cooled down on your breasts, and over your peaked nipples, and Frankie doesn’t dare to look at you yet, but he’s wondering if he could rub it into your skin, soak it in completely, if you’d let him, how your eyes would glimmer, as you’d look at him brand you with his essence.
He has to calm the fuck down. A hard swallow, and he tells you ruefully, “I’m gonna clean you up. Hang on.”
“No Frankie, wait!” you hold his arm.
“What?” Shit that’s it. He’s gone too far.
“Just wait. Stay here with me. Just a moment.”
—
“I wanna hear that sound again.”
You laugh quietly, your shoulders shaking in silence, bone-tired and happy. The heat is crushing, you’ve no idea of the time but the sun is high in the sky and the orange curtains certainly do not help. There’s no breeze circulating through the room and the stagnant air bears the metallic, coppery smell of sex.
“C’mere, come sit on my face,” he asks playfully.
“Frankie, I’m… how do you say in English, aching? I’m sore? I need a moment.”
“I won’t hurt you. Do you trust me?”
He’s asking you if you trust him… You don’t think you’ve ever spent so much time naked. You don’t think you’ve ever been less self-conscious about it. Only leaving the safe-haven of the bed to get water from the kitchen, or use the bathroom. He watched you as you gathered the clothes scattered on the floor across the two rooms and folded them neatly on the chair near the emptied closet, surrounded by columns of books rising from the carpeted floor, making a mental note to go through them later. His touch never far. His hunger never sated.
You’ve kissed the breath out of each other's lungs, until your lips were swollen. You’ve relentlessly touched and explored.
You’ve discovered a new place where to display your desire, in the V shape of his hair at the back of his neck. You've run your fingers through it, nuzzled it, tugged at it. You’ve kissed the freckle below his left ear, where you uncovered another little tattoo. You’ve kissed and licked and rubbed the one on his left hand, too.
Saturday’s passing by without you, and you’re too eager to sleep, too greedy to care.
His head next to yours on the pillow, he gently slides his right arm around your waist, and you pliantly comply as he takes hold of your hips and draws you above his face, while you brace your arms on top of the wooden headboard.
“Would you say I come in English or in French?” you muse pensively.
“Oh shit, you can’t speak to me in French, I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk again, I swear,” he warns in earnest as you laugh, before delicately spreading your folds with his thumb and index, and fastening his lips around your oversensitive bundle of nerves, and you exclaim, “Oh!”
Tenderly suckling your clit, Frankie slightly tilts his head back, so he can look up at you, at the expanse of your skin, the underside of your breasts, they’re his now, aren’t they? You’ve given him your trust, you’ve let him lay his claim, he’s perceived what it meant to you, he’ll never be the same again.
And there’s the line of your throat as you roll back your head, fuck, he’s loving the view, he’s painfully hard again.
Testing your sensitiveness, he flicks his tongue softly and you respond immediately, swirling your hips into his mouth. He kept thinking about that in the subway, Friday night, staring into your sweet wide eyes. About you riding his face.
His cock’s leaking against his abdomen, and he’s rutting into the air, groaning into your mound, your soft hair tickling his skin, his hands splayed in a bruising grip around your hips, pulling you down harder, closer.
Your knuckles have gone white in your grip of the headboard, sweat dripping down your back as your body tenses up, you can’t believe he’s gonna make you come again, and embarrassingly fast, too, the echoes of his grunts pulsating through your nerves. Pressing your damp forehead to the cool wall, wrinkling your brow in pleasure, you pant heavily, desperately trying to stall, slick dribbling down your inner thighs, but he starts suckling again and oh! it’s on you already, and you hear it before you feel it, with how intensely you cry out, twisting in his hold, jerking up at the over stimulation.
He releases his grip reluctantly and you fall back heavily on the bed, your whines nearly plaintive, your dampened hair a halo around your face, strands glued to your shoulders, to your forehead.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he says hoarsely, the mattress dipping under his weight as he shifts on it and sits up between your legs, spreading them wider with his shoulders, “let me lick it clean, please,” but he’s already diving in and you can’t see his face, his blown-out pupils, pitch-dark with hunger, you’re staring blindly at the white ceiling, and you say breathlessly, at the first flat, wide drag of his tongue, “Fuck me again, Frankie.”
Frankie’s head shoots up almost comically from between your spread thighs, a different kind of crease between his frowned brow.
“You sure?”
Tomorrow he won’t ask anymore. He won’t have to.
—
He loves to eat you out, he’s definitely hooked on your taste, richer, muskier every time he swipes his tongue through your folds, but he's quickly finding out that it’s not what he prefers. No, what Frankie likes best is to feel you come around him. He likes to feel you bear down on him, to feel your cunt grip him tightly and pull him in deeper, flutter along his cock like a trapped bird, he likes to see your belly taut, your neck thrown back, he likes the way you chase his skin with yours, the way your hands tug at his hair, he likes the biting sting of your nails into his shoulders and his back as you try to anchor yourself to his body, he loves when your wide eyes turn glazed before you squeeze them shut, the soft mewling of his name falling from your lips before your mouth goes slack, he loves your face when it’s finally void of all thoughts but pleasure, he loves watching you break open and come undone but above all, he loves being the one who gives you that.
—
“Shit, I gave you a hickey.”
“A what?”
He smiles affectionately as he sweeps a lock of hair from the crook of your neck with the back of his hand. Yesterday, your subtle accent made his cock twitch. Today, it makes his heart swell.
The two of you are sitting up straight, for once, although still on the bed, and still very much naked, basking in the soft late afternoon glow. Seated between his opened legs, your folds resting against his sleeping length, ankles linked behind each other’s back, his arm wrapped around your waist, your hands caressing his shoulders.
“I left a mark, here”, he rubs his thumb over the mottled fleck on your pulse point, “earlier, I think I was too rough. I’m sorry,” he adds, kissing the purple spot on your neck.
Lowering his hand, he lets his knuckles brush against the swell of your breast, following his movement with a dreamy gaze, before cupping it, savouring the feel of it in his large hand, his thumb playing over the darker circle of your nipple. You lightly lean into it, and his nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, his tongue imperceptibly licking his lush bottom lip.
His warm brown eyes flutter back up to your face, and you smile softly, relishing the sweet sight of puppy-eyes Frankie, before kissing the side of his nose. Your next words catch in your throat, although you must admit it’s getting easier, now.
“You can leave other marks. You can leave all the marks.”
I’ll take them with me. I’ll carry them forever.
—
The dying sun plays across your back, your shoulder blades rolling as you move slowly, tiredly, and this is another sight, another side of you he’s loving.
Straddling him as he lies flat on his back, stretched across the rumpled sheets, you’re facing away, your hair swaying on your shoulders with every pendulum movement, and he can’t look away, how could he, with the way you're fucking yourself on his cock? Your cunt hugging him so snugly, skin catching along the heft of him, your cheeks spread wide for him, fuck, he’s only sorry he can’t see your face from here. Small beads of sweat glimmer at the base of your spine, across the two dimples above your ass, these are the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.
“Look at you, fuck, look at you,” his breathless tone speaks his amazement.
You’re dripping on his length, slick dampening the dark curls at his base. Reaching out, he gathers it with his thumb, pushing lightly at your tight ring.
You let him fuck your ass earlier, greedily agreeing to it without a second’s hesitation, just like you had to everything he asked.
But ultimately, he’d been the one to prove reluctant, hating the thought of hurting you, of taking too much.
He had worked you up thoroughly, patiently, methodically, lavishing you with open-mouthed kisses, fucking you on his fingers, bringing you repeatedly to the brink of your release until you’d been delirious with want and with need. At last, he’d breached you there, for the second time, just a couple of slow, cautious, shallow thrusts, and even like that it’d been quickly too much for you, so he tried telling you he was going to stop, his entire frame shaking under his restraint, but you told him he was the first, the only one, strained moans spilling feebly into the sheets, cursing the condom he was wearing, telling him how you wished he’d come inside you there, and that tipped him over the edge, he succumbed helplessly. Standing still, he stroked the part of his dick you couldn’t take in, and spurted inside that fucking latex as you whined his name.
The way you openly want him triggers something unprecedented in Frankie. Cracking the lid faster and deeper than anything else he’s ever experienced, ever fought against. He knows he should be scared.
You arch back with a plaintive moan, and you plead, “Frankie Frankie Frankie please.” When was the last time you slept? You’re beyond exhausted, and you can’t work him in, not as deeply as you want him, you need him to take over, pound you into the bed without mercy and then perhaps sleep, finally, sleep, curled up against his chest, because now you do believe he will let you stay.
But Frankie’s not answering, lost in the sight of your languid swirls above him, so you sink your nails in the tensed muscles of his thighs and you dig, until he snaps out of it.
“Yea,” he finally answers, getting a hold of your hips and lifting you from his length, “I got you.”
He’s handling you gently, but you feel like a rag doll between his large hands, pliant, limp limbs and heavy head, when he doesn’t seem to have lost any of his strength. If he’s tired too, it doesn’t show.
An arm braced under your breasts, standing on his knees, he holds your back flush against his chest. Just a moment, a brief moment, and he’ll give it to you, but he wants a taste of your neck, and he nuzzles there, biting softly and kissing the taut line of your throat. He doesn’t kiss your skin nearly enough, he thinks. He sucks on it a bit harder, where your neck meets your shoulder, you said he could leave a mark, and there’s that moan again.
Your consciousness is slipping, your head is spinning, you have never felt this good. He brings two of his fingers to your lips and his low voice in your ear makes your spine tingle and your skin shiver when he instructs you to “open up for me, please,” hot breath fanning over your throat. You wrap your lips around the digits and lick docilely, sloppily, as his cock presses in the cleft of your ass, grinding against you, almost absentmindedly, until he decides that it’s good.
He lowers his fingers to your clit and starts drawing lazy circles and you all but melt in his hold with a dragged out whine, feeling him smile against your neck.
“You can come like that, right? Again? For me?”
You don’t have enough strength to nod, clinging onto his left arm across your chest to keep yourself upright.
“The things I wanna do to you, all the things I wanna do to you… you drive me crazy,” he presses the last words into your flesh and bites a little harder on your throat.
Your voice little more than an inarticulate whisper, you groggily beg, “please, please fuck me now, fuck me hard.”
“Yea, I'm gonna give it to you.”
With deft movements, he delicately lowers your shoulders onto the mattress, until your forehead is resting on the soft bedsheet. His left hand gently pressed between your shoulders, he pushes your legs open with his, humming appreciatively at the explicit sound of your wet pussy opening for him. With a soft but firm hold of your hip, he raises your ass higher up. His voice is low and husky as he asks you if “You ready?”
You nod with the energy of despair, concerned for a fleeting second that you might smear mascara all over the white pillow case, the thought irrelevant, but you can’t think for too long. He drags his length between your folds, gathering your slick, and lines himself up, and you hardly have time to register the round tip of him at your entrance before he drives into you in one smooth thrust, going in easily with how soaked you are.
His moves are slow but thorough, burying himself inside you to the hilt and pulling all the way out in a steady, commanding pace. You want to fuck him right back, but the drag of his cock along your walls kills your strength. You stretch out your arms blindly, your fingers scrabbling on the sheets, until your hands find the headboard and you brace yourself against it.
It’s not lost on him, and fuck, he doesn’t want to hurt you but he’ll give you just what you need. Bringing his legs closer to yours, angling down his hips, he fucks up into you, reaching a spot deep within you that you didn’t even know existed, pushing further still once he’s all the way in.
You clench your eyes shut, your bottom lip catching on the linen as he picks up the pace and rocks you into the pillow. He’s fucking the air out of your lungs and all thoughts out of your brain and your consciousness fades, you cease to be, you only exist around the length of him, under the bruising grasp of his fingers on your hip, under the palm of his hand on your back.
His voice low and hoarse as he chants incoherently, “you feel so good you’re so fucking good feel so fucking sweet so fucking good for me”, you can’t hear him, you’re split open, your orgasm breaking from your core and crashing along your body, you’re a million scattered pieces, save for the places where he touches you, you’re pulled under, swept away.
Your heart burns through your rib cage and panic rushes through you like flooding waters, what if you can’t come back from this, you call out for him in a weak mewl, that gets drowned into the soft cushion, he’ll never hear you under the roar of the crashing waves.
His chest collides with your back, his skin burning your skin, his weight anchoring you underneath him, he reaches out for your hands and twines his fingers with yours, and in your ear he whispers,
“I’m here, baby.”
****
Additional note: Thank you for reading this far! I've already started working on the next chapter but it will be ✨eventful✨ and I'm buried under a shitload of work, so it might take me a bit longer than usual to post. In the meantime, if there's anything you'd like to know, don't be shy and drop me an ask! Thank you again for reading my silly little story 💕
Taglist (Thank you 💕): @nicolethered @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @littleone65
#francisco catfish morales#the pilot™️#Frankie Morales#triple frontier fic#frankie morales x fem!reader#frankie morales x you#ben miller#pedro pascal#Francisco Catfish Morales#The Pilot™️#benny miller#santiago pope garcia#will miller#william ironhead miller#triple frontier#garret hedlund#oscar isaac#charlie hunnam#the husband one#the one and only#Frankie#feral frankie friday#Frankie morales x fem!reader#frankie morales x ofc#frankie morales/fem!reader#frankie morales/you#frankie morales/ofc
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after stewing in my thoughts for a bit on the end of Fiona and Cake I finally have them somewhat in order now. spoilers under the read more.
Idk man I didn't like it to much. It felt both rushed and very slow at the same time which is weird for a finale.
Though my one big gripe is that, I thought Simons character arc was about resolving his own insecurities about himself and being ice king? The whole show is leading up to him realizing he has worth as a person and then it just, doesn't? Another big part of his arc was him realizing all that Betty has done for him yes, but it feels like they never resolve the whole "oh wow all these worlds that we've been to have been severely damaged by me either not being around or being evil", and then he just kinda throws the crown away at the end without acknowledging it.
Now the Betty part also feels weird because it did not feel like two people who love each other realizing they have to move separate ways it felt like they barely knew each other when we know they were together for at least a few years. I also hate how it took away all of Bettys agency and made Simon spell it out to us, Betty didn't even get to articulate her own feelings besides in a memory. also I generally dont like all the telling without showing this episode did but I've heard a lot of people say this already.
I just felt like the stuff with Simon learning how much Betty did for him happened in episode 8, but I guess not since Beth had to go explicitly state it to Simon who for some reason can't put it together on his own. The Shermy and Beth stuff was cute but it felt like it shouldn't have? I have no idea how Golb has the power to do that, since we've never seen it do that before.
now to the good stuff! I actually really liked Betty killing the Lich, it felt like a major raise in the stakes I just wish she kept up with that and was more threatening. I like Fiona world remaining normal with magical elements. I like the "oh no he's hot" joke. I think Fionas arc was actually very good and resolved pretty well by the end. I also like Simon and Fiona being able to keep in contact with each other.
So yea, I really wanna hear what ya'll think since I'm still trying to get my thoughts in order.
#fiona and cake#adventure time#roswell rambles#at spoilers#maybe my feelings will change but right now this feels like all my criticisms
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Geronimo!
Space suits have come a long way - near 1 to 1 articulation and haptic feedback, intuitive zero-g booster based movement, nano-clamps for spiderman-like grip in low/no gravity, and of course dozens of micro layers of protection against all know space radiation and other hazards. Plus a centimeter thick composite armor against sentient threats, with a "cocoon" mode to fully cover all joints and other normally more exposed parts, that renders the Human inside near impervious to most small arms, and even some heavier impacts.
To fully test the limits of protection you don't actually need to have a person inside, just plenty of sensors and a good understanding Human physiology and anatomy. The military, of course, does things a bit differently, as their suits are even tougher. They do have this half-half mode where you are mostly armor, but can still move, but more like the Terminator. Given it also boasts a powered exoskeleton between the armor and hazardous protection layers, soldiers can wield weapons other militaries typically mount on vehicles, so the metaphor is almost just a straight factual comparison.
Some, however, are still not satisfied, and are always seeking to extend the durability of their suits to beyond the extremes.
____________________________
Hilda Lavre was standing on the edge of the ship in low orbit. One hand gripping an outer handle while engaged in final diagnostics.
"Alright, Hilda, everything looks green on our end, how 'bout you?"
"Same green green. I'm good."
"Whenever you're ready then. There's some clouds in the way of the predicted path, might slow you down a bit. Wanna wait?"
"Nah, nah. I'll wing it."
After a seconds pause, Hilda let go of the handle and gently kicked off the side of the ship. She was now on a direct collision course with the Atlantic Ocean.
.
.
.
(Thermals should start going up soon. I'm gonna turn on the external mic just a tad. There's just something about how the heat sounds scraping against the metal.
Oh, there it goes. Yellow, slowly getting to orange. Good.
Yea, that's a nice screech - burn that paint!
Halfway to red, altitude check. Already this close? Guess it'll be just shy of 80% tolerance.
Hehehehe, that means we can go for a bit faster next time. Cool.
Eh... wind without the heat just doesn't sound right, I'll turn it down to just barely audible. Something to keep me company.
Aaaand three.
Two.
One.)
SPLASH
.
.
.
(It's dark. But I guess it was dark before...
before what though?
Well, that's okay.
This feels like a new kind of dark though.
There's the dark when you're alone in your room at night, all the lights are out.
Another kind is when you decide to get inside your brothers closet to scare him when he comes back from the kitchen. That's a fun kind of dark. (it's getting cold)
There's also the dark of being in an underground bunker during a storm. Then the power gets cut and all the exits are sealed. That's a... lonely kind of dark.
One time I was wandering the woods, and before I knew it, it was the middle of a moonless night, overcast too. Hiding out in an abandoned shed, without even the wind or animal sounds to let you know anything is out there. I didn't like that kind of dark at all. (It's really cold)
This dark though... I dunno. It's like I'm hiding out in my own closet. My shoulder is up against my winter jacket, feet are grazing those old sandals I swore to throw out two summers ago. But also, it's not my room. Or even my house. Why am I in my closet? How did it get here? Where even is here?
I feel sleepy.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
"Hey, hey! Hilda! Wake up!"
*grunting* "Ugh... shut, shut up Barry..."
"Gods, don't freak us out like that. You okay?"
"Depends. How high did it go go?"
*laughter* "Okay, [She's fine everyone] yeah, you're fine. 87 meters, new record."
"Hmm, I was aiming to to break 90."
"Well, those clouds nudged you a little off, you hit it at a 83 degree angle. Still, those other readings are nice. I'm pretty sure we can do a boosted fall next time."
"Yeah, I I think so too. I feel a little little cold, did something break on hit hit?"
"Not break, but the impact did jolt the subsystems a bit. Activated one of the sedative shots. I manually made your suit give you a wake up shot right as I noticed. You should be feeling the effects right about now."
"Mmhhmmm, oh yea. I'm feeling the kick kick now. We need to improve the kinetic tic dampeners. No good if if it puts you to sleep upon any hard enough nough impact."
"Yup. We're suspending any other jumps for the week until we get that fixed and implement some minor tweaks based on your jump once we analyze the telemetry further.
Okay, everyone! Good job today! Let's meet up next weekend and test these bad boys out. Let's aim for a 100 meter splash by the end of the year!"
*cheers and yeahs as Barry opens a mini fridge and everyone cracks open a cold one*
#humans are space orcs#humans are space australians#humans are space oddities#humans are deathworlders#humanity fuck yeah#carionto#sky diving#more like space diving#but whatever#also#don't know how I feel about giving her that... stutter?#I just randomly felt like trying out a speech impediment#hope I don't offend anyone with the way I presented it#I don't think I've seen how a stuttering character talks in text format#well#trying out new things
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OKAY. RWRB MOVIE REVIEW.
(Disclaimer that these are all only my opinions)
I imagined Philip as looking more like Philza Minecraft, to be completely honest. So tell me why they made him kinda..???
THEY FUCKED UP HIS CHARACTERIZATION (imo). In the book, he’s just a victim of what he was born into as well. He’s rigid & kinda a dick because it was what he was taught to be to survive, the movie completely took that away, giving him literally two scenes.
AND THEN THEY GIVE GOOD GRACE TO THE KING? Bro. No. Stop it.
I feel as though they were afraid to criticize the British monarchy too hard, which is why they gave the king the good grace they did (plus other changes done, I don’t think they included the cliticization of the British Museum stealing all those artifacts either)
Frothing at the mouth over the fact they not only took away Luna, but completely got rid of the fucking sex abuse scandal in favor of a jealousy plot. Explodes you with my mind.
Going back to my point above that one, I feel they might not have wanted to add that seeing how many Richards are out there. Can’t fan too many flames, huh?
They also gave Bea way less screen time, & took away the whole “Powder Princess” thing, I think the way they talked about their dad passing & how it effects the family was kind of cheap.
AND they fucked up Henry’s moms characterization. She just straight up wasn’t in it, only mentioned, & in a negative light. Again, they really didn’t give the dad passing the attention it deserved.
The beginning went by pretty damn fast. But in all fairness for that & I suppose a lot of points, the movies already two hours long with all that missing, so I suppose I can give some leniency on some of these points.
June obviously wasn’t there either, but it at least doesn’t feel like anybody’s missing. I guess they managed the Nora & June merge well. THEY DID NOT MANAGE THE LIAM & LUNA MERGE WELL.
Seriously fuck them for taking away Luna & subsequently his character arc
THEY UN-DIVORCED ELLEN & OSCAR. I UNDERSTAND IT WOULD HAVE ADDED A LOT OF SCREEN TIME THEY DIDN’T HAVE BUT COME ON.
Do love all the terms of endearment Henry uses, honestly don’t remember if that’s in the book or not.
Can we circle back around to how attractive Philip is. Sorry who said that.
I like the way they handled the cake scene better, definitely feels more realistic.
Admittedly also kinda happy the Henry magazine photo thing wasn’t added, kind of made me cringe reading about it lmao
OH YEA THEY TOOK OUT THE SCENE WHERE ALEX CALLS HENRY TO VENT ABOUT HIS PARENTS(?), IT WAS SUCH AN IMPORTANT MOMENT FOR THEIR RELATIONSHIP BOO
Is there a copy right reason they couldn’t include Henry being a Star Wars fan? If they just simply choose not to then I am Disappointed.
Really liked how they did the phone calls, with them appearing in front & them as though they’re in the same room, together. Great touch.
Edit to add this bullet point because it’s really important to me. Alex says he’s bisexual, Henry says he’s gay. Ellen asks if Alex is gay, fluid, bi, pan. Ellen references transgender people. They talk about the LGBT+ community. They say all these words, they don’t whisper them, or talk around them. They say them loud & clear as day. Idk, this just makes me really happy because of how often you’ll see people talk around these words like they’re bad or dirty words (yes I’m aware this is a movie where they have gay sex multiple times on screen but it’s still important to me shut up)
FINAL THOUGHTS.
It was alright. I don’t regret watching it. It was entertaining, but admittedly not the type of movie I’d usually watch, so I think other people could enjoy it way more then I did. But I definitely still enjoyed it despite all my criticisms.
Definitely not as good as the book, but not bad at all. I’d say it’s absolutely worth the watch.
I’m sure you can also find posts that can better articulate why this movie is so groundbreaking & important as well, which is something I didn’t particularly touch on in this post.
#LUNAAA#COME BACK TO ME#& FIX PHILIPS CHARACTERIZATION WHILE YOU’RE AT AT#IT#movie review#rwrb on prime#rwrb spoilers#rwrb#rwrb alex#rwrb film#rwrb movie#prince henry rwrb#prince philip rwrb#red white and royal blue film#red white and royal blue#sap thoughts
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My Fem Presenting Aki model is honestly so good right now, I'm so happy with it. I'm gonna just kinda Go Off about it so I'm sorry but...
LOOK HOW CUTE THEY ARE!
Some things I love about this model right out the gate:
They finally have actual high entia wings, which has been a design point of Aki for literally MULTIPLE YEARS now.
I've put in a ton of references to shit I enjoy, like how the Four Directions tattoo I usually wear on my cheek is now the tattoo from XC3 or how one of their eyes literally has the Ouroboros while the other has Aki's original constellations.
Aki now has a mechanical arm, a gift from an old friend.
It also bears the insignia of Aki's old colleague and other half (literally), Cryptid. along with a decal of The Zohar (can you tell I like the entire Xeno-Series?)
As an avid pin collector I also jumped at the chance to throw these on them:
I currently have two main outfits for them. The first being inspired greatly by the look I first drew them in, just very heavily revised.
I still love the original look don't get me wrong, but I've been wanting to experiment with merging Aki's two (masc/fem) on screen appearances with my real life appearance, or at least things I enjoy about it. So I wanted to give Aki something closer to my own hair for once with the darker center part. I'll absolutely give them at least one outfit with a cute messy bob cut though, and yea I'll absolutely bring back their brown hair because brown/black hair goes underappreciated. I also wanted to add in the head wings because I feel like that's the single most glaring aspect of Aki that no one has ever got right and it's one of the main things I love about Aki's design. However I'm really happy with this look as simple as it is.
A minor detail I actually like a lot and could easily "fix" with some quick bone work but kinda refuse to because I think it adds a lot; is that their mechanical hand doesn't articulate in the fingers.
While I could easily just move some bones around in the hands I honestly really like this more as a feature than a bug. Just because I figure someone out there is gonna go "okay but is this just because you don't know how to fix it"
No. It's an intentional feature. I might "fix" it later, but I think it adds a lot of character and makes it feel like a mechanical hand and not just a reskin of an arm.
The second outfit is geared more towards my need to over-design everything I see ever, and it's where most of the stuff shown above is seen.
I basically kit-bashed 3 outfits together and I'm absolutely in love with this absolute mess of an outfit.
I gave them the slight smug expression because I need to be able to be a smug bastard sometimes.
The hair on this outfit is a bit of a nod to an older OC design I have that I do not have any good pictures of but here ya go:
Funny callback haircut to my old Fem-Sona.
I find it kind of ironic that people have gone from He/Him'ing me non-stop to referring to this Aki almost exclusively as "She/Her" and I'm just sitting here like "oh my god it goes both ways" because I accidentally caught myself doing it too, but I digress.
It's very hard for me with how masc presenting I am, to often depict myself in a feminine manner at all and associate it with "me" I typically look at it and go "yea that's a Girl™." So it's been really nice/cool to see Aki like this and kinda point excitedly like "THAT'S ME FUCKER! THAT'S ME!"
I'm just having a very "HER PRONOUNS ARE THEY/THEM" moment lol.
I really do look at this avatar and go "I Think I Hauve Covid" it's so nice. They're so cute and I love existing in this digital flesh.
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Transformers
The Movie
Studio Series 86
08
Deluxe class
Gnaw
by Hasbro (2021)
I found this at Target on 09-28-21
The Sharkticons were the robo-monster executioners of the vile Quintessons. The worked best in swarms as they devoured their victims.
Anyway, that’s enough of the dramatics.
The Sharkticon was given the Studio Series 86 treatment back in 2021, and of course I had to gobble one up...or two...maybe three of them...
Beast Mode:
The beast mode is a terrifying primordial piranha-bot with massive layered teeth with legs and vestigial arms. It’s really a sight to be seen...and doesn’t exactly fir the definition of a shark...
Yea, it definitely looks like it did in the 1986 animated movie, and I’m really digging it.
For a beast mode it’s decently articulated, you get the universal hip joints, opening and closing jaw, and rotating shoulders, however limited by the beast mode, and elbows.
The robot head is visible within the mouth, and depending on how you look at it, it’s pretty unavoidable, but I’m not sure what else can really be done about it.
This is a really nicely sculpted beast mode with lots of detail. You see the segmented back with the paneling, the tail is articulated; it’s really nice.
I’m not a fan of the beast mode from the side because I think the legs are just too far back on the body. It just looks off balance, yet it stands...I think it’s just aesthetically I don’t like it.
Gnaw does have weapon storage for the gun, it ports in on the side.
Transformation:
Transformation was pretty easy to do.
Robot Mode:
So we get this fearsome fish monster to...Danny DiVito? Yea, kinda.
I actually like this figure a little better than I do the beast mode.
It’s got this short, pudgy, heavily armored soldier wearing shark parts.
He stands well, and poses pretty too in spite of his proportions.
He can pull off the one-foot pose, but that doesn’t really surprise me considering the size of his feet.
Comparing him with ‘Titans Return’ and ‘Cyberverse’ Gnaws. He’s bigger, and has more detail, and it overall the superior version.
Accessories:
Gnaws accessories are as follows:
-tail flail (attaches to the hind quarters of the sharkticon and a hand held weapon.
-blaster (sadly is NOT blast effect compatible)
-Shark fin (attaches to the back of the beast mode but has a 5mm peg to be ported anywhere.)
Back drop:
The backdrop is the Sharkticon pit from the 1986 movie.
Final Thoughts:
I really like the Studio Series 86 Sharkticon (Gnaw). Visually it looks stunning, it’s fun to transform, and it’s just overall a joy to fiddle with.
I have quite the Sharkticon army going on.
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