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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Note

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

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

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually.

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body.

You pretended to be dead.

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky.

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly.

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands.

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it.

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.”

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up.

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening.

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest.

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort.

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.”

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character.

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it.

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up.

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood.

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?”

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull.

Missions were rarely a failure.

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.”

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?”

“None. Just us.”

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.”

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway.

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it.

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it.

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation.

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room.

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly.

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off.

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin.

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction.

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.”

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue.

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight.

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends.

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore.

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him. “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh.

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why.

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden.

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions.

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them.

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too.

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue.

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch.

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined.

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you.

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like.

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse.

This couldn’t continue.

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side.

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.”

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air.

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met.

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires.

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?”

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?”

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up.

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.”

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth.

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas.

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless.

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds.

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up.

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though.

On the second week, it got easier.

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area.

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over.

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table.

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally.

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails.

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind.

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you.

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces.

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair.

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse.

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up...

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring.

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!”

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp.

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor.

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers.

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated.

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug.

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly.

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air.

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure.

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly.

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward.

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game.

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching.

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet.

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table.

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?”

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.”

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you.

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss.

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.”

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it.

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking.

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second.

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos.

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint.

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat.

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages.

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out.

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.”

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?”

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room.

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out.

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently.

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.”

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation.

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back.

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat.

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney.

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly.

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful.

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand.

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing.

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.”

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair.

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back.

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine.

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts.

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high.

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river.

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask.

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare.

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it.

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh.

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already.

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk.

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…”

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be.

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.”

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip.

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able.

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second.

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table.

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion.

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?”

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer.

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix.

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob.

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.”

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality.

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer.

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.”

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own.

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies.

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep.

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.”

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though.

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect.

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt.

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you.

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back.

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw.

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms.

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile.

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.”

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting.

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial.

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action.

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot.

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad.

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you.

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute.

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

@emerald-valkyrie , @anna-banana27 , @blueoorchid , @cryingnotcrying , @writeforfandoms , @homicidal-slvt , @jade-jax , @frazie99 , @elmoees , @littlemisstrouble , @alpineswinter , @phoenixhalliwell , @idocarealot , @lavalleon , @facelessmemories , @h-leigh, @20forty9 , @glitter-anon-asks , @emily-who-killed-a-man , @neelehksttr, @aeneanc , @escapefromrealitysm , @i-d-1-0-t , @pparcxysm , @hawkscanendme , @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney , @sanfransolomitatm , @maelstrom007 , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet , @pheobees , @glitterypirateduck , @uselsshuman , @fan-of-encouragement , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger , @kopatych11 , @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop , @knightofsexyness , @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons , @330bpm-whiplash , @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu , @tiredmetalenthusiast

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kimpossibly · 1 year

Note

🪐 ; planet: send me this emoji + a character on my writing list + any word of your choosing and i'll write you a ficlet using the word as a prompt!

cats + wednesday addams !

WEDNESDAY ADDAMS + CATS

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi hi hi this is so cute!! I'm not a cat person in the slightest (I'm one hundo percent a dog person tbh) but I can soooo imagine Wednesday having a black cat. I didn't know if you wanted me to add romance into it so I just tried to keep it plain simple, just using the prompts! I'm so sorry this took me so long to get to, I had some family emergencies come up really recently and so I haven't had much time to really sit down and work on anything other than school or family stuff. Hope you enjoy and thank you my love for the ask!

PAIRING: wednesday addams x gn!reader WARNINGS: cats (?? idk if that's a needed warning but I figured I'd list it anyway haha)

Wednesday didn't take in strays. She was usually too busy with her own endeavors to really have time for them — you were the exception of course. But she liked having you around, and that made all the distance. So when the black cat appeared on her doorstep, staring up at her with big green eyes, she didn't need to think twice.

"Shoo. Go," she said monotonously, staring at the creature with disdain. When it refused to move, she made a shooing motion with her hands. "I said leave."

You appeared around the corner, your face twisted in a frown. "Who are you talking to?"

Wednesday stepped aside to reveal the cat on your doorstep and, to her surprise, you broke out into a massive grin. "Aw, look at the little guy!" you swooned, running over to pet the cat. It appeared friendly, nuzzling into your palm. "I wonder if he's lost?"

You searched for a collar, but none was found. "He might've run away," you suggested.

And Wednesday, who saw a new problem arising, was quick to shut you down. "He can find his way home. Leave him be."

A sudden crack of thunder rattled the window panes as the first drizzle of rain began to dot the sidewalk outside. The cat looked around at the worsening weather, then back at you, its wide eyes frightened. You looked up at Wednesday with a matching expression, your own eyes pleading her to let the cat stay. She let out an almost imperceptible sigh, then nodded for you to bring the cat in.

You smiled at her as you scooped the cat up, bringing him inside. Within a few hours the cat had been bathed, fed, and given a place to sleep. All the while you'd led him around the house, giving him a tour (as Wednesday watched, fuming, from the side). You'd murmur "Here, kitty," you coax him to room after room, speaking to him like he could understand you perfectly.

After a while you walked about the house, holding the cat in your arms like it was a baby. It seemed to enjoy this time of treatment as it pawed at your hair and clothes and nuzzled its head into the crook of your neck.

"I feel like we should give him a name in the meantime," you mused aloud, "so that we don't have to keep calling him kitty. I get the sense that he doesn't like it."

"Perhaps we should let it go, then." Wednesday said, suddenly appearing in the doorway. "Wouldn't want to wound its pride."

You ignored her, suddenly having a bright idea. "Why don't you give him a name, Wednesday? Just one that we can use before we go out and find his owners tomorrow."

Wednesday kept her stoic glare forward, causing you to pout. "Come on, look at this little face!" you said, turning the cat toward her and squishing its small cheeks. "This is the face of a cat that wants to be properly addressed."

Wednesday did not want pets. But she couldn't resist you.

"Poe," Wednesday said finally. "After Edgar Allen Poe."

You grinned at her. "I think it suits him."

You floated away then, Poe in hand, to introduce him to Thing. The two did not get along at first, with Thing being slightly afraid, slightly jealous. But, within minutes, Poe was chasing him around, playing a lighthearted game of tag. Wednesday watched as you sat on the floor, playing referee to the game, smiling all the while. She crossed her arms over her chest, determined not to enjoy the sight, but even she had to admit — the cat was kind of cute. Or maybe it was how much you liked the cat that was cute.

The next day, you went out about the neighborhood, knocking on doors, asking around, and putting up flyers that Thing had helped you make. No one claimed the cat, and no one rang your line to claim him. You had to negotiate with Wednesday to let Poe stay another day. Then another, and then another. No one asked after the cat.

Four days later you were on the couch, reading and drinking coffee, the cat curled into your side. Wednesday came and sat next to you, eyeing the cat carefully. "They've been known to eat their owners after they die," she said.

"That's only if they're starving," you replied without a beat. "Dogs could do the same thing. Or humans."

"Don't get so morbid with me — I'm not in the mood for romance." she said.

Poe suddenly stood, crawling away from his perch next to you and found his next interest in Wednesday, brushing his cheek against her black sweater. She looked down at him with disdain. "This won't work out for you."

You just chuckled to yourself. "You're communicating with him. It's the first step."

Wednesday looked up, alarmed. "First step to what?"

You just got up to refill your coffee mug, humming as you did so.

The days dragged on and Poe became a fixture in yours and Wednesday's house. More than once you had woken up to find him curled at the foot of your bed, purring softly as he slept.

And Wednesday was, against her own will, warming up to Poe. You'd catch her mindlessly petting his head when she thought you weren't looking. She'd even slip him treats secretly just to gain his favor.

Within a week, you were nearly convinced that Wednesday loved Poe just as much as you did. So you had to put it to the test.

One day you walked into the living room, where Wednesday was sat writing her novel, Poe curled at her feet. You sighed sadly. "Wednesday, I've been thinking, and you're right — we can't take care of a pet. I think it's time we take Poe to a shelter, don't you think?"

Wednesday turned, eyes wide. You blinked. "Do you disagree?"

Wordlessly, Wednesday bent down and scooped Poe up, holding him tightly to her chest. "He stays."

You just smiled in satisfaction, nodding once. You sat down next to her, petting Poe softly. "How could I have seen that coming?"

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams fanfiction #wednesday addams fic #wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday netflix

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thatthirdtriplet · 2 months

Text

Relationship:

Tim Drake & Damian Wayne

Characters:

Tim Drake Damian Wayne Bruce Wayne duke Thomas Dick Grayson Alfred Pennyworth Cassandra Cain

Additional Tags:

Mad Scientist Tim he deserves to be skater Tim Drake omg thats a tag Autistic Damian Wayne Autistic Tim Drake its not relevent I just think you need to know Artist Damian Wayne Damian Wayne is Robin Tim Drake is Not Robin Tim Drake-centric Damian Wayne-centric no beta we die like bart allen for the second time skateboarding graffiti brotherly bonding via skateboarding Tim "tony hawk stan first vigilante second" drake Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent Tim Drake is a Good Brother Damian Wayne is a good brother

Summary:

“Timothy, if this is revenge for me trying to kill you, I need you to know I’m not sorry.” Damian’s eyes were clamped shut, hands fisting Tim’s hoodie so tightly that if Tim tried moving, he simply wouldn't be able to.

“I’m not trying to get revenge. And open your eyes, you can’t ride a skateboard with them closed.” Tim patronized, prying Damian’s hands off him, you know, like someone evil who didn’t care for the wellbeing of his younger brother.

The one where skater Tim takes his artist younger brother graffiti painting.

#tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #duke thomas #cassandra cain #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #MICE ON VENUS

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ofallthelostdogs · 1 year

Text

Lost and Found

i think it feels appropriate that the first chapter posted on here introduces a new (and slightly old) character. with lots of fun backstory.

word count: 5,835

TW: female whumper (briefly there, does no actual harm while there), running away, interrogation (kind of), memory loss, past whump, uhh. i think that’s it!

tldr its not really whumpy, a sweet boy runs away from his owner and finds an azure shelter to help him. tagging @spookyboywhump bc naturally. also shoutout to allen for helping write this bc my brain is MUSH. mush i tell you. i havent posted a writing in so fucking long uh. eenjoy.

-edwin

~~~

The plan was solid, if he didn't mess it up. He had counted the minutes second by second, every day until he was certain he would get it right.

She got up, showered and made coffee. He waited patiently for her to collect him, to bring him downstairs and make breakfast. He helped cook like always, and laughed quietly along to her chit-chat. His heart raced in his chest, his throat tight with anxiety.

"Will you collect the mail for me, sweetness?" She asked. Lost smiled gently and stood up, nodding his head. It was almost over. Finally, it was almost over.

He fetched the mail quickly, hurrying back to her side so as not to arouse suspicion. She wouldn't notice a thing for hours, if everything went according to plan. She was going to leave for work after breakfast and reading the news. It took her an hour to get to and from work on a good day, and about a half hour more if the traffic was bad, which it always was on a Monday. He wanted as much time as he could get.

His owner kissed him goodbye as she left, grabbing her purse and her coat and leaving a bright red stain on his forehead. She waved as she closed the door, and locked it behind her like always.

As if he hadn't learned how to unlock it.

Once she was gone it was time. Lost hurriedly made his way to the bathroom, rubbing the lipstick off of his face as quickly as he could and tossing the wipe into the bin.

He needed something to hide his collar, which took the form of one of his owner's scarves, wrapped around his neck with the hopes of it covering his face enough to bypass anyone recognizing him. It was soft, and as he stared into the mirror he stroked the fabric and paused.

Was he really making the right choice? What if she was angry, oh and she would be. She could have someone track him down, he could be dragged back kicking and screaming and she would hurt him, punish him for his disobedience, because how dare he leave her like that?

Well, wasn't that the point? She had told him his mother was cruel, that she rescued him but… he couldn't remember anything before her. His whole life was just… blank. Every memory erased. Nothing came before her, not in his memory, or in his life. There had to be an after. He needed there to be.

She wouldn't have heard him anyways, but Lost always found himself creeping down the stairs as if every little creak of the wood was going to summon her, and she would see him and know he was going to leave. His stomach turned at the thought, making him nauseous. It would take at least an hour before she was home even if she found out, that was why he chose today. He had even checked her bag the night before to ensure she wouldn't forget anything, and hidden a twenty dollar bill from her wallet in his favourite pair of shoes.

Lost wasn't sure how long he stared at the door, willing himself to build the courage to unlock it. Once he made it past the driveway he was set, he could get anywhere he needed to. He had even written down the directions to the nearest Azure shelter, a name he recognized from her scorn of the company's mission.

How dare people want to be free.

He barely recognized his own hands as he reached in front of him, pressing numbers into a keypad and hoping she hadn't changed the passcode. She got notifications on her phone if he pressed the wrong number, and he knew that she would never let him forget his mistake if she caught him.

1-2-0-8

The keypad lit up green, and a high pitched chime signaled as the lock clicked open. Lost blinked, almost unbelieving. It was working.

He was going to get out.

It chimed again as he shut the door behind him, and he flinched. All he had to do was punch the code back in, and she wouldn't know he had left until she was inside after work and it was far too late to find him again. One two oh eight.

One two oh eight.

1-2-0-8

It beeeped at him when it locked shut, and he smiled slightly. He was almost free, for real. No more false promises.

Lost turned on his heel and began to walk down the driveway, cutting over the front lawn and slipping through a break in the fence that he had found months prior. Conveniently hidden by hedges and his owner's precious flower bushes.

He looked at the house for a moment as he walked away and pondered. Anxiety sat like lead in his stomach, still unsure of whether or not he was making the right choice. He had to be, right? None of his fears could be as bad as she was. He could be a person, on his own, if he wanted to. He just needed to learn.

He just needed the chance.

***

It took him longer than he had expected.

By the time Lost made it to the shelter the sun was much higher in the sky than when he began, and his mouth and throat were dryer than he could ever remember. His legs felt weak and his head felt light, making him dizzy. He imagined the scarf wasn't helping, as the sun beat down on him he was sweating hard enough to soak the front of his shirt.

He promised himself it would be worth it.

The shelter was at the end of a very inconspicuous block, and the only things marking it as anything besides an ordinary apartment complex were the security measures and small Azure logo above the door. Lost faltered as he saw two large men standing outside, the bravery he had built up wilting and cowering at the sight, at the idea of what they could do to him. One of them took notice and watched him backtrack for a moment, before calling out.

"Do you need help?"

Lost stood in place. Yes, he wanted to cry. Yes, yes please, please help me. Save me. I need help. His hands shook, along with his legs. He had walked too far to turn back, too far to hide and run back to his owner with his tail between his legs like a dog.

He stepped forward and nodded. The man quietly acknowledged his hesitation, crouching down slightly when he spoke again.

"Did someone hurt you?" Another nod.

The man smiled sympathetically at him, and Lost noticed a collar similar to his around his throat, with a shiny silver plate that said Zander at the front.

"We can help you, you don't have to rush but… when you're ready, we can go inside and I can get you help. You came to the right place." Zander said.

Lost nodded, slowly coming closer. "I- I, I don't… I don't wanna be owned any muh-more…

He collapsed just a few steps away from Zander, who caught him and held him close, feeling how violently he shook. "You're gonna be okay," He murmured. "I promise, nobody is gonna hurt you again."

Zander adjusted his hold on the boy and stood up, lifting him easily. The security guard he had been talking to opened the door for them and shot him a sad smile, familiar with the fragile state of many rescued and escaped victims.

"Thanks." Zander acknowledged. He scanned a card that unlocked a more secure, interior door and pulled it open, hitching the small boy in his arms up to not drop him.

Alondra noticed him coming back in immediately and rushed to his side, standing on her toes to get a look at the boy he carried.

“He just showed up.” Zander explained to her, and she nodded, understanding right away.

“He looks exhausted,” She said, looking at Lost sympathetically, “here, come with me.” She told him, and Zander followed her as she led them back to a more private room. Zander was able to sit Lost down in a chair but he didn’t seem quite ready to leave his side, hesitant to do so at first when Alondra instructed him to go grab the boy something to drink.

He did so after a moment regardless, and Alondra looked at Lost worriedly, asking him, “Would you be okay with removing your scarf? You must be really hot…” She spoke softly and gently, not wanting to pressure him into anything.

Lost nodded slowly, reaching up slowly to unwrap it. "I… d-didn't want… anyone t-to notice… it…" He mumbled, gesturing at the collar around his throat when he pulled his owner's scarf away. He wanted to hold it, despite all of his sense telling him not to. It was her's, not his, and he didn't want it.

He tossed it across the room to dispel his desire to cling to it, to his life as a pet. He wanted out. "C-can you help me t-take it off? I- I don't, I can't, it, it's locked…"

“Of course.” She told him, getting closer to get a better look at the lock. “It might take us a little bit to get it off but we’ll find a way, I promise.” She assured him.

Zander came back shortly after, bringing Lost a nice cold water bottle which he handed to him right away.

“I called Eli while I was out there.” He told Alondra.

“That’s good, he should be able to help us get this collar off him.” She said.

Lost watched the two of them tiredly, holding the bottle in his hands. It was so cold, it felt nice. He held it to his forehead instead of opening it, breathing slowly. "Uh, um. Um, excuse me," He spoke up. "Wuh- what t-time is it?"

Zander looked down at his phone. "It's uh… just about twelve." Lost sighed with relief. His owner wouldn't be home for hours yet.

"Th-thank you…" He said, smiling politely. Finally he opened his bottle of water, having cooled off enough to feel present again. The cold water was a welcome relief, soothing his parched throat. The poor boy was so small his feet barely touched the ground, and he kicked them slightly and shut his eyes happily as he drank.

They gave him time to cool down, knowing he must be tired. They still had to wait for Elias to get there before they could even attempt to get that collar off of him. Alondra let him drink, waiting until he had finished before trying to make him speak again.

"So, can you tell us what we should call you?” She asked. Though she could easily check the collar around his neck, she didn’t want to assume that was the name he’d choose to answer to.

The boy looked at her with wide eyes, seeming to mull it over for a second before answering.

"Muh- my name is, um, my n-name is Lost…" He said quietly. He looked down at his feet as he said it, almost ashamed to admit that he had been so far gone as to be named by his owner. He wrung his hands together nervously, hoping with all his might that these two would continue this level of kindness, that his many shortcomings weren't going to earn him lashings, or the silent treatment for days. Worse still was his owner saying she was disappointed in him, sitting him down to tell him all the ways he's failed her in the past… well, however long it had been since she did it last.

However neither of them seemed shaken by his response, and he let out a sigh of relief. It wasn't his fault that his name was Lost, or that his real name had really been lost to time. He was Lost, or sweetness, although the latter made his skin crawl. He shivered slightly.

“Alright, Lost,” She said with a smile, “my name is Alondra, and you’ve met Zander.” She said, gesturing to him. “Once our friend gets here they’ll probably have some questions for you, but you don’t need to feel like you have to answer anything you’re not ready to, they’ll understand.”

He nodded. These people seemed nice enough, and although he was in an unfamiliar place he was already feeling better about his decision than earlier that morning. It was smart of him to leave early, the kind of thought that would have gone unappreciated by his owner, and her constant efforts to keep him feeling and behaving like a child.

After some time passed there was a knock on the door, and Zander commented on how that must be Eli before telling him to come in. Elias opened the door, taking a step inside but he seemed to pause in the doorway, looking directly at Lost. He almost looked a little bit confused, his head tilted to the side just slightly, but he caught himself and smiled at him, trying his best to appear friendly.

“Hello there.” He said to him, closing the door behind him. “Zander told me you came here looking for help?” He asked, trying to get a good understanding of the situation.

Lost nodded. He was quiet, and hadn't said a word since telling them his name. When he did speak, his voice was soft. He almost seemed afraid to speak above a whisper. "I- I wanna… I wanna be, um, I…"

He stumbled over his words for a minute, getting frustrated with himself the more he stuttered, and the frustration seemed to make it worse. Eventually he gave up, puffing his cheeks out and sighing and settling for another nod.

“It’s alright.” Alondra said to him softly, trying to be reassuring, before she looked to Eli. “He needs help with this collar, it’s locked.” Alondra told him.

“I thought that might be an issue.” Eli said as he stepped closer, stopping before he actually got close enough to touch the collar. “Is it alright if I touch you?” He asked Lost. “I should be able to get this off, I haven’t found a lock I couldn’t figure out yet, I just need to take a look at it first.”

"P-please… please g-get it off of me…" Lost whimpered, lowering his head. "I… I don't, I don't want it… please t-take it off."

“Don’t worry, I’ll try to do this as quickly as I can.” Eli told him, still being very careful as he checked the lock. He’d come prepared for this scenario, as this wasn’t the first time somebody needed to be freed from a locked collar.

The collar was simple, leather stained a light purple collar with thick blue stitching. The lock hung off the back, with a little heart shaped tag on the front that read Sweetness. Lost had never seen the other side of the tag, but he had been told that it said his owner's name, in case he managed to escape her and was found by some well meaning individual.

And just like Elias had promised, he was able to get it off rather quickly, and immediately handed the collar over to Zander to take a look at the tag. “We can get rid of that for you, you won’t have to worry about it anymore.” Eli assured him.

Lost's hands shot up to his throat, touching the skin that had been covered for years now. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape. He looked up at Elias and his eyes shone, the hint of a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you…" He mumbled, his hands gently placed against his throat. He could barely believe the feeling, the freedom of having his throat unbarred and unhidden. The last restraint, the one constant reminder of his ownership, of his place. Finally gone. And so quickly, he barely had the time to process it before it was taken away from him, before he would never see it again.

For a moment, he regretted tossing the scarf away from him.

He almost hoped that his owner had been lying about putting her name and address on his collar, and that they wouldn't be able to find her. He almost didn't want her to know that he was gone at all, and wished he could somehow leave without really doing so. A part of him knew deep down, that there was something wrong with how he had been treated, that he was not a pet, or a child, or anyone's property.

He didn't watch what Zander did with his collar, and put his head back down, pulling his knees to his chest with the hope that curling in on himself would protect him.

He couldn't imagine finding someone in his state and returning them to the name listed on their collar. He could imagine a thousand scenarios, but all of them ended the same way; with that person as far away from any "owner" as they could possibly get.

Now that the collar was dealt with, Elias pulled up one of the chairs so he could sit across from Lost, so he wouldn’t be standing over him anymore. He didn’t try to make him look at him, but he was closer to being on his level and he spoke to him kindly, being very careful with what he said.

“I know you’re probably tired, and we’ll let you rest as soon as we can, but we would like to ask you some questions if that’s okay?” Eli asked him. “We’d appreciate anything you’d be willing to tell us.”

Lost looked up at him through his eyelashes and nodded slightly. "Uhuh," He whimpered, and sat up a little straighter. He focused on Elias' freckles, the scar on his face, anything to avoid looking him directly in the eye. "I- I can."

“If you’re comfortable with it, what can you tell us about the person who did this to you?” Eli asked him gently.

“We’ll look into the name on the collar, but if there’s anything else you can tell us that you think would help, that would be good.” Zander added.

"I…" Lost began, looking immediately anxious. "I, I don't… know. She, she's my owner… um, wuh- what do you wanna… know?"

“I guess we should start with how she got you in that situation to begin with. Did you know her before or was she just a stranger?” Eli asked him.

"Um…" He scrunched up his face uncomfortably. "I… don't… remember. I- I'm sorry."

“That’s alright,” Eli said, “Even if you can’t remember now, if you do remember anything later you can always tell somebody then, everything helps. Is there anything at all you can remember from before you were with her? Any family or friends? We’ll try our best to contact them for you.”

Lost's expression grew more frustrated, puffing out his cheeks again. For years now it had been the more he focused on it, the less he was able to recall. He could remember a terrifying, filthy cell and his hands restrained above him. He remembered being beaten, and screaming for help, and then… nothing. Nothing before, and nothing after until waking up on his owner's carpet; terrified and shivering only to be brought into her arms.

He could remember her petting his hair, holding him and comforting him. He remembered her giving him the name of her sweet little lost pet. But nothing else. Nothing but her.

"I… I remember my… my Miss, I…" Lost placed his hands on the back of his neck and whined quietly, starting to rock back and forth. "I remember Miss. I- I don't… know about… before her. I j-just, I just don't… it's not… there."

“Hey, it’s okay.” Eli said gently. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stress you out. We can stop or take a break if you’d like, we only have to keep going if you want to.”

Lost whined again, putting his head between his knees. "I, I… just, I just rem'mber g-getting… hurt… I… rem'mber waking up… 'nd she was there, Miss wuh, was there 'nd… and… and I don't… have anything… before. Just, just her."

“It’s alright,” Elias said softly, leaning forward in his seat just slightly. “You don’t need to force yourself, I understand. We can talk about anything else, we can leave this alone.” He told him, trying his best to stay calm and calm him down as well at the same time, he couldn’t stand seeing him so distressed. “We don’t need to worry about before until later, right now and how you’re doing is much more important.”

Lost sniffled, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. "I," He stammered, eyes welling up with tears. "I don't wuh, wanna be useless… I, I'm sorry… I just… I just wanna go home…"

Eli's heart panged. It wasn't going to be easy to get any actual information out of him, least of all because he seemed to not know any. The poor boy was already so distraught, it was almost a wonder how he had gotten all the way here on his own.

"I shouldn't hah, have left…" He mumbled, shaking his head.

“That’s not true, it’s good that you’re here, we’ll keep you safe.” Eli told him. “We don’t need to rush anything.” He looked around worriedly, but it wasn’t uncommon for new rescues to be emotional, and Alondra had already grabbed a box of tissues and offered it to Lost.

“Here, it’s okay to take a break if you need to.” She assured him gently. “No matter what you can or can’t tell them, you’re still going to be safe here.”

He took the tissues with a soft little "thank you," and began wiping his face, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down. It took him a few minutes, sitting in silence and wiping at his face occasionally.

"M-miss is, um, she…" Lost began carefully. "She's… pretty. Um, she hah, has light hair, l-like, real light. And, and blue eyes like, like mine. She… she isn't muh, much bigger than me. She… she wears pretty dr-dresses, and shoes that make her t-taller. Her friends are… scary…"

He paused for a minute and squeezed his eyes shut, balling his hands into fists and slowing down his breathing.

"Her friends… do b-big, big bad work. Th-that… that's where I think… I came from. They… all have… pets…" He lowered his voice, as if the word itself was dirty, tainted by these people and their actions. "One of them h-hated me… I, I dunno why."

“Hated you?” Elias asked, his eyebrows raised. He briefly glanced at Zander, wondering if he was thinking the same thing he was, the other man seemed just as intrigued by this. The thought that had been at the back of his head since the second he saw Lost was bothering him more now, he took his phone from his pocket and only searched for a minute to find the picture, almost hesitant to show it to him. “I’m sorry, you said her friends did bad work, do you… do you recognize this man…?” He asked him, showing him a picture of Nicholas Fairfax.

Lost's face dropped, the courage he had just built up leaving him in an instant. He pushed himself back in his chair, his breathing kicking up into quick, panicked breaths. He whined loudly, pulling his hands up to his chest protectively.

"Uhuh," He whimpered, nodding. "I, I, I h-hate him, I hate him, he's, he's so mean. He doesn't, he doesn't t-tell the truth!" Lost buried his face in his hands, shaking his head and whimpering. "He's a buh, bully! And his pet is t-too…"

“I was worried you would say that…” Eli scowled, quickly putting his phone away so that Lost wouldn’t have to see the image again. “I’m so sorry that they treated you that way, but you won’t have to worry about him or his pet anymore. The fact you knew who he was is helpful on its own, so thank you for telling me.” He had to remind himself to stay calm, he could be upset later, right now he just needed to focus on Lost and trying to keep him comfortable.

"He… he's m-mister Fairfax. I… I'm not allowed to c-call him by his um, his first name." Lost said quietly. "Good boys um, d-don't." He added, almost as an afterthought.

“Did you… have to spend a lot of time with him?” Eli asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer to that.

"Not… at first." Lost chose his words carefully. "I… I wasn't… allowed to. For, for a while. I… I d-disobeyed. And, and I th-thought… he would be nice to, to me. When, when I was wrong… miss didn't care anymore. Cus, cus it was… it was m-my fault." He wrung his hands nervously, looking at Elias. He didn't trust them, not yet, all that he had heard about the company from his owner's angry ranting was that they took pets away, away from where they belonged. He didn't have any idea what was done with them afterwards.

"She j-just kept, kept leaving me wuh, with him. All the t-time. Cus I earned it and, and she had, had places to g-go."

“I’m… I’m sorry… that wasn’t your fault, you never deserved any of that…” He told him. He tried to be careful about what he said, he didn’t always know what would or wouldn’t upset somebody in this situation, but he hated to think he believed he’d earned or deserved any of what happened. It sounded like pretty standard behaviour from Nicholas, but he didn’t want to comment on that to him either.

"Miss t-told me I did," Lost said, as if that made it fact. "She said I'm b-bad, and, and he said so t-too. They, they're… smarter than m-me."

“Well… I don’t think you’re bad… and neither of them are going to bother you here, we’ll make sure of that.” Eli said. He wanted to tell him that they were wrong, he was never bad no matter what they said, they weren’t smarter just because they acted like it, but he didn’t want to overwhelm him, no matter how angry he was that they made him think that way.

"They're mean," Lost replied. "They… th-they suck! I, I don't l-like them." He had finally settled on sitting with his knees up, his arms crossed and his chin resting on them. He pushed his face into his arms, covering his eyes and sighing heavily.

Really, he wasn't sure how he felt. His mind felt strangely blank, although his heart raced and his eyes watered. He wasn't… upset, but he wasn't happy about it, either. Everything seemed so overwhelming. He wanted the questions to end, his head hurt and he was so tired, and hungry, the more he focused the more he realized just how much of a mess he was. He was exhausted, and covered in sweat, his feet, legs and back ached so badly, and his scars burned. He wanted to lay down on the floor and let it swallow him, but the effort of moving even that far made him want to cry. He hurt.

"I… I don't wanna do th-this anymore puh, please…" Lost whimpered, burying his face further in his arms. "I'm so tired…"

“That’s okay, you don’t have to.” Eli quickly assured him. “Alondra can go make sure a space is ready for you, and we can let you get cleaned up and bring you some new clothes and then you can relax.” He told him. “You can take all the time you need to rest, we don’t need to rush anything.”

Lost nodded, too tired to do much else. All of the exhaustion he was feeling before seemed to have doubled, and he barely stopped himself from falling asleep in his chair.

Alondra headed off to set up a room, while Elias left with the promise to return with clean clothes and towels. Zander stood awkwardly in the corner of the room, having not been given a task he seemed to remain stationary, his hands in his jacket pockets and his eyes fixed on the floor. Occasionally he would rock on the balls of his feet, scanning the room while Lost stayed in place.

He was far too tired to move. Presumably, he was going to be offered a shower but the thought only exhausted him more, if only partially because he wasn't used to bathing himself anymore. After four years of being babied and doted on for every little thing, he wasn't quite sure where to begin taking care of himself.

Alondra returned fairly quickly, the same gentle, yet friendly smile on her face that she had offered while he struggled to answer Elias' questions.

"I've got a room with a bed for you, if you want to come with me," She said softly. Lost whined. "You don't have to shut the door if you don't want to, we won't lock you in. And you aren't sharing with anyone, it's just for you."

Lost continued to whine, rubbing his eyes against his arms. He produced an array of colourful explosions behind heavy eyelids, trying with all his might to keep himself awake. He shook his head, grunting in disagreement as he found that words simply refused to obey him.

"Do you want me to carry you again?" Zander spoke up, taking a step out of the corner. Lost mulled it over for a moment. Fresh clothes and a bed did sound better than curling up in his current state, on that chair no less. He groaned something resembling a yes and looked up tiredly, eyes red and puffy. He reached out to Zander with both arms, and Zander picked him up easily. The boy weighed next to nothing, clearly his owner and Nicholas hadn't been doing a great job of keeping him fed, which wasn't uncommon.

Zander followed Alondra down the hallway, up a flight of stairs and around a corner to a hall with many rooms coming off of it, each one having either a blank tag beside the door, or the occupied ones with names hastily scribbled in.

They arrived at a door recently labeled with his name, in a curly, swirling text that he could only assume was Alondra's. Inside was a bed, a table and chair, and a small dresser. Lost noticed a closet around the corner when Zander put him down on the bed, with empty hangers ready to be filled.

His own room.

The most his owner had given him was a kennel.

Elias came back quickly, carrying the items he had promised as well as a small stuffed shark, which he handed to Lost with a shy smile.

"You don't have to want it, or like it, but… I always find hugging them helps me calm down. I thought you might like one."

Lost stared at the small blue plush, with its embroidered black eyes and sharp white teeth. It smiled at him, and he found himself smiling back a little. He tucked it into the bed beside his pillows and smiled at Elias, his eyes shut with sleepiness.

Eli smiled back, and placed the towels and clothes on the bed bedside Lost.

"I got you some sweatpants and a tee shirt as well, um, there wasn't a lot of options so they're blue and gray. I hope that's okay. The showers are just down the hall to your right, there's signs in case you get mixed up too." He explained, gesturing to the general direction of the showers.

"Th-thank you…" Lost mumbled, stifling a yawn. "I… I think 'm too… sleepy… though… um…"

"Oh, that's okay!" Eli exclaimed, not wanting Lost to feel pressured. "You can do whatever you'd like."

"I…" Lost continued. "I wanna… um… new… n-new clothes… and… and… slee… sleepy…" He paused for a minute, looking down at his feet nervously. After a moment he looked at Elias again, big blue puppy eyes pouting up at him from the bed. "Wuh, will you… st-stay with… me? I… I don't… want m-miss to… to find me… please…"

“Oh- of course, if that’s what you’d like.” Eli told him. He was almost surprised he wanted him to do it but he didn’t mind helping, anything to make him feel better. “I can step out so you can get changed but I’ll come back in when you’re ready. I’ll make sure everything is okay while you sleep, you don’t have to worry about her.” He assured him.

Lost smiled. He mumbled another thank you and resisted the instinct to refer to Elias as sir. Eli left the room for a moment, and Lost made sure he kept the door at least an inch ajar, and that he wasn't trapped before hauling himself off of the bed and into his new closet to change his clothes. Lost liked small spaces, and he could imagine setting up a little den of sorts in there to recharge himself.

Changing went quickly despite his exhaustion, and he meekly called for Elias to open the door again as he dragged himself back to bed.

"I… am so t-tired." He stated flatly as he pulled the covers back. The bed was warm, and clean, and the room outside was cool and comfortable. It was a gracious relief after walking so far, and he almost began to feel like he deserved it. After all, he was only human. Lost grabbed the plush that Elias had given him, and held it to his chest before laying down and tucking himself in. He had always preferred to go to sleep with something to hold.

"Thank you," He called again, looking up at Eli with sleepy eyes. "Um, um… th-thank you. 'M, I… I… am… sleepy. Good… goodnight."

“Of course.” Eli smiled at him. “I hope you sleep well, goodnight.” He told him, taking a seat in the chair in the room so he could stay with him. He hoped he’d feel better once he’d had some time to rest, he couldn’t imagine just how exhausted he must’ve been.

It only took a few minutes for Lost to fall asleep. He curled up around his plush, hugging it close to his chest and laying almost fetal. When he closed his eyes the darkness embraced him kindly, wrapping him up and taking over easily. Lost let himself be lulled into sleep by the sound of people working outside his door, knowing that if anyone wanted to come in; they would have to answer to Eli first.

#wren #zander #alondra #lost #uhh #rescue whump #recovery whump #pet whump #ummmmmmmmmmmm #edwin posts #of all the lost dogs #tbh 3am may be a bad time to post this for engagement but i donut care.

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hanniluvi · 1 year

Text

HYPE BOY. — SIM JAEYUN SMAU

PROFILE TWO : GAMERZZ 🥶💯

JAKE : tbh nobody knows what jake is doing half of the time… he practically tweets his whole life story on twt.

JAY : jakes best friend 💪💪 hes always suffering—either from school or from his own friends. is willing to sell sunghoon on the black market !

SUNGHOON : loves annoying the hell out of jay 🫶🏻 he doesnt know why he does it, its just funny to him.

JEONGHAN : mingyus personal headache 🫶🏻 he always feels the need to let everyone know whats going on in his life. dont be surprised if mingyu ends up with dark eye bags because of him.

MINGYU : hes abt to have a migraine everyday bc of jeonghan. this man gets loads of compliments from people and he lives for it !!

HEESEUNG : probably the only one in the friend group with actual game ?? (maybe). with all this game yet he cant find someone he likes 🤕🤕🤕

ALLEN : taeyoungs soulmate tbh 🤗 hes always active on twt so he probably stalks everyones acc from time to time. dont be surprised if he retweets a tweet from 2020.

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TAGLIST . . OPENED ! 👾

- ask / dm to be tagged in hype boy!

( @son4taa ) - ( @yenqa ) - ( @makiswrld ) - ( @ktttwwn ) - ( @lvepsh ) - ( @urszn ) - ( @nenojaems ) - ( @ahnneyong ) - ( @l1lac-reader ) - ( @ihrtadri ) - ( @wonioml ) - ( @viagumi ) - ( @roseidol )

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alatus-world · 2 years

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Why can't I just say I Love You?

Part 1

Relationship: Zenon x Reader

Tag: @bowandcurtsey [ I'm sorry if this take a really long time...at first i want to make this as a one-shot but this is way to long so please do wait for part 2]

Type: Angst(Hanahaki)

Summary: You loved him. You wish you didn't but at the same time you're glad you did.

You loved Zenon, you really did. But... You just couldn't bring yourself to tell him that, why? Scared that it would ruin your friendship. Your were there for him even when his best friend Allen died, you were there for him for everything and had comforted him but yet...

How long has it been since you've been crushing on him? Is it a year? Three? Four? You don't know, you really don't know since when you've been crushing on him, you don't even know when and how this warm and comforting feelings manage to sneaks it's way onto your heart.

You continue to hide this feelings, you wish you could just tell him that you love him everytime you met him. Everytime you see him your heart, your chest feels like its blooming like a flower, blooming full of colors, blooming with pride. You're heart raced everytime you see the sight of him. You feel your cheeks heats up whenever you're thinking of him or whenever you two are alone.

You don't lie when you say you were reckless, so reckless that you yourself brought your own end by your own selfish choise. But is it selfish? Selfish that you don't want to confess to him? To the man that you loved with your whole entire heart better than your own life?

Slowly it keeps getting a bit harder for you to breath everyday , you don't know the reason why... It feels like as if a thorn in scratching and ripping your throat open.

You walk carefully to your bathroom, you looked at your messy reflection on the miror.

Suddenly-

You started to cough petals...

As the coughing gradually becomes worse you smilled and thought 'how tragic the man i loved with my whole heart is the reason why I'm dying' as you lightly scoffed to yourself how pitiful your life is.

You carefully leaned your back against the bathroom wall and sigh why are you so scared to confess to him? Scared? Scared of being rejected? Scared of losing your friendship? Scared by the fact that he doesn't like you back?

3 months later

Time really does flows fast huh? The petals that you cough slowly little by little turn into a full bloom flower. The first full bloom flowers that you cough out really looks beautiful, beautiful but yet deadly.

"Y/N, just what are you doing?" Zenon said, giving you his usual icy gaze.

"Oh? Me nothing i just found this flower and petals they look lonely... and decide to burry them so they'll bloom and won't feel lonely anymore... It's quite stupid isn't it?" you quietly say at the end and trying to cover the bloodied flower.

"There's no use, they won't survive the cold." with that he walks away.

"yeah you're right..." You say while looking at the bloodied flowers and petals.

...

You don't know what happened but all of a sudden the coughing became worse than before you keep vomiting flowers...

"You're taking quite a long time there." He glace at you with stoic face.

"You think so...?" You chuckle lightly. You feel a familiar pain, your throat feels like its burning you felt your gets stuck in your throat trying not to cough in front of him.

Think fast! You're trying to find an excuse to leave before he sees your vomiting flowers "I'm a little...busy so I'm gonna go first. See you later." with that saying you dashed to an alleyway and cough 'My fate is quite cruel isn't it Zenon?' you let out a shaky but full of sorrow sigh

You try to visit the doctor only to realize that the roots has spread all over your lungs and there's no other way other than gaining his love or dying... It was an impossible choice to make... You really don't want to die but at the same time you can't gain his love you.

#zenon x reader #zenon zogratis #zenon zogratis x reader #black clover #black clover x reader #black clover imagines #black clover headcanon #black clover zenon

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panstardalia · 1 year

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After the Summer #1: Belongings

Masterlist: here!

Content: pet whumpee, multiple caretakers, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization (mentioned). Not much to tag, here, just a former pet being taken care of by their family.

“Hey, Noelle. May we come in?” Rat - Noelle. They found it rather difficult to remember their name was Noelle, not Rat like their old master stated - raised their head from their task to see Miss Lily by the doorstep. Behind her were the other four people who helped Miss Lily take care of them. Their friends. “Of course” said Noelle, not only because they were still getting used to being allowed to say no.

The five got into the room and Noelle noticed that Allen - their favorite caretaker, but they would never say it out loud - had a box full of nick-nacks. Their first impulse was to fear its contents, but they soon remembered that those people were their friends, their family. So curiosity got the better of Noelle and they stretched their neck to try to see.

“It’s been a week since we rescued you, right?” Allen carefully sat beside Noelle. Every movement of his were like this, almost calculated, like he was afraid that Noelle would break if he did anything wrong. It made Noelle feel bad for him, as they already liked him a lot. Oliver said once that they used to be really close before the kidnapping. Noelle wished they could remember those times. “We figured it was the right time to return your belongings.” Allen put the box down and reached for a smaller box, handing it to Noelle. “But you’ll need this first.”

Noelle’s eyes went from the two boxes to Allen and the boxes again. Belongings? So they... owned something? A week ago, when Noelle was still Filthy Rat, they would never dare to imagine owning anything. Everything was Master’s, even themself. Now there was an entire box full of stuff that belonged to them.

Noelle took the little box and opened it cautiously, revealing glasses. It took them a moment to realize it was theirs. Of course Noelle knew they could not see well, but they had no memories of wearing glasses, as Master never allowed them to. They hesitated, but put the glasses on and felt their eyes go wide.

“Oh.” they said in a shocked whisper and looked at their friends. “I can see you.”

“We should have given it back to you sooner.” Des gave them an apologetic smile. “It suits you so well, Noelle. You look so good!”

Noelle took their time looking at their friends one by one, registering the features they had not noticed clearly before: Victor’s blue eyes, Oliver’s facetious smile, the few blond locks in Des’ pink hair, the softness of Miss Lily’s white skin and... how beautiful Allen’s eyes were. How those eyes sparkled at them like the stars. They decided they wanted to keep the glasses on their face forever.

“I’m glad you’re happy, but don’t forget to see the rest!” Oliver said with a wide smile. Miss Lily would normally scold him for being loud, but she was also lively waiting for Noelle to inspect the box, and Noelle really wanted to make them happy. And truth be told, Noelle also wanted to do so. Because now they owned stuff, and now they were allowed to want. So they took the first thing that got their attention: a big plushie frog, so soft that Noelle couldn’t help but hug it slowly.

They remembered that sensation, they must have hugged that plushie before. Noelle felt their chest warm and again took their time processing this feeling before reaching for the next thing in the box: a heavy book. Noelle noticed other three similar books in the box and raised their eyes to Allen. “Those were not in Master’s private library, but... I read them.”

“Multiple times.” Allen agreed, a little smile shining on his face. “You read them when you were maybe eleven... then again when you were fourteen, and then again when we met. I couldn’t read English well enough, so... you led me through all those pages.” He hesitaded, but then completed “I could return the favor, if you’d like. We could read it together again.

Noelle focused on the books a little while longer and then smiled at Allen. “I would like that very much.”

The next things also felt so familiar. A hoodie with a non-human character (Victor said it was from their favorite movie and promised to let Noelle watch it again), a very weird pocket watch that Oliver swore he made it himself as a gift for Noelle’s birthday, hair ornaments, japanese mangas, lots of colorful socks and a strange wooden object that made Noelle forget everything else for a moment as they carefully held it with both hands.

A musical instrument, they tought. It had to be. Noelle knew the others were watching expectantly as they slowly used their thumbs to touch the little metal parts. A sweet sound brought back a memory: Noelle saw themself sat on a branch of a tree, far from the ground. It was night time and a beautiful melody could be heard. Beside them, Allen had his eyes closed while listening to the song Noelle played. This moment was one among many similars, but Noelle remembered their heart beating fast and their cheeks burning the whole night after that.

“It’s a kalimba. I used to play this at night.” Noelle whispered. “I don’t... I don’t remember how... but I’m allowed to want things now, and I want to relearn.”

“That’s the spirit!!” Des smiled, happy for Noelle being able to remind themself about what they were allowed to do. But her smile dropped soon after that. “It’s just... none of us know how to play this thing, so... unless Allen learned.”

“I did.” He quickly stated. “A little. Noelle tried to teach me.” He then looked at Noelle and gave them a warm smile. “But you don’t have to worry... you learned how to play lots of instruments on your own. You can do this again even faster now with muscular memory, I suppose. I will help you.”

The only instrument Noelle remembered playing was the piano, as Master liked to hear they play. Only classics, though. Noelle could never play what they wanted to when they were Rat. Now they were Noelle and had their own kalimba. They didn’t feel like approaching a piano again so soon, but... they loved the kalimba.

So Noelle smiled. The others felt the world get a little more brighter as they saw Noelle’s eyes lightening. Noelle held the kalimba close to their chest and said “Thank you. Truly. If those are really mine and I can keep it...” “You do.” Oliver interupted, feeling the need to reassure Noelle, that continued. “So I will keep it with all my heart. I will take care of those things and make sure I remember all the memories attatched to them. I will make you all happy.”

“Don’t rush, dear.” Miss Lily’s sweet voice made Noelle feel safe, as always. “You don’t have to force yourself. Your memories will return slowly, but we can always create new ones. We are family, right? We’ll be together. And we will keep you safe to make sure you can recover the best way possible.”

Once again Noelle felt like home. Miss Lily’s house always felt like home, just like Oliver’s loud laughter, Victor’s silent presence or the feeling of Des brushing Noelle’s hair. Just like Allen’s arms felt like home. So they put everything except for the glasses back in the box and took a deep breath to take courage as they decided to make a request.

“Thank you. So... May I ask for one more thing?” They asked as the others readly said yes. “I want... a hug. From all of you. A group hug with me in the center. Would that... be possible?”

Noelle had little to no time to prepare as everyone gathered around them. They were careful about Noelle’s healing bruises, but eventually they found a comfortable position. Noelle closed their eyes, leaning against Allen’s chest, and allowed themself to relax. They had their own belongings now, and they were so greatful for it... but what they felt really greatful for was the feeling of belonging not to a master, but to a loving family.

#pet whump #whumpblr #pet whumpee #multiple caretakers #whumpee #former pet #whump #Noelle Keyland #After the Summer

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gilly-moon · 1 year

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[5 Characters & 5 Tags]

Tagged by @harleyshahas (thank you ♡!!!!)

Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts) - KH is the game that got me into video games, and inspired me all the way to getting my current job in game dev, and Riku is at the heart of why I love the games so much. But I had to put Sora too, because one without the other just doesn't work. Without Riku, Sora couldn't have his arc of "I want to be better than Riku" to "I want to be better with Riku". And for Riku, his transition from dark & edgy to chosen keyblade weilder all ties back to how he looked down on Sora, then tried to make up for his mistakes, and finally trusted and loved Sora completely. They complete each other and challenge each other to grow and become better at every turn. Also their reunion in 2 absolutely ruins me every time. Sora crying on his knees will be burned in my brain forever.

Zack Fair (FFVII) - Crisis Core was at one point the only game that would work on my PSP lol. But I didn't need any other games because Zack the puppy was everything to me. Watching him struggle with the morality of being a SOLDIER, all while desperately trying to protect his friends and failing at every turn...that shit hurts, and yet he keeps his smile and honor right up til the end. He is THE sunshine boy of sunshine boys and I could gush about him all day long. His scenes in Advent Children destroy me.

Oikawa Tooru (Haikyuu) - the real blorbo of my heart, the bitch I latched onto and will love to the end of my days. His ability to take even a team of strangers and lead them flawlessly within just a few minutes is so admirable. He knows exactly how to bring out the best in everyone on the court. It hurts me to this day that he never got to wreck Shiratorizawa before he graduated (also that moment where he falls and slips in season 2 uggghhhhh) but jokes on them because he's the one who got an honorable position on an irl team!! I get some people call him an insufferable asshole but thats exactly why I like him! Let characters be insufferable!!!!! Its fun!!!!! And besides, when it comes down to it, he's genuinely a good person who wants everyone on his team to be involved and be their best. Love of my life. No Oikawa haters allowed on my blog.

Pitch Black/Kozmotis Pitchiner (RoTG) - basically since the movie came out I have been ready with a "Pitch did nothing wrong" speech at all times. I feel like I don't even really have to explain this one, I mean....yall get it. You know why we're all still here, loving him and the Guardians to the end of our days. I will say, though - idc if it's book version or movie version, my love for this asshole remains the same.

Nico di Angelo (Percy Jackson) - ah, the original blorbo. The queer awakening for so many people even before he was out in the books. This is another "I love him because he's kinda rude" character. His hatred towards other characters is always warranted tbh, because they ostracize him for?? No good reason at all???? No one wants to or tries to be his friend in heros of olympus for the first four books (except Hazel, who practically has to force others to talk to him) and it pisses me off to no end. Percy spent battle of the labyrinth hunting him down, but would he have been so dedicated if he wasn't getting the iris messages??? Doubt it. Anyway. I adore Nico, he deserved better, and I'm so glad he's got a wonderful bf and his own book now. I will never get tired of him and I really hope the tv series goes well so he can finally come to life in live action ♡

Honorable Mentions: Ronan Lynch, Cloud Strife, Roxas, Hiccup Haddock, Sasuke Uchiha, Portgas D. Ace, Killua Zoldyck, Allen Walker, Vlad Masters

I don't rlly talk to many people on here so...if one of my picks was also yours, consider yourself tagged!

#i could write full essays on all of these characters #including the honorable mentions #thnx again for tagging me!!!!

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blueeyeswhitegarden · 1 year

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As much as I enjoyed the Shun roaming event in Duel Links, I am annoyed at how it unsurprisingly led to people complaining more about Arc V’s ending or saying things like it fixed the ending. To be clear, I’m not saying that people can’t be happy about Yuto and Shun reuniting in Duel Links or that they’re wrong for disliking the ending. People are entitled to dislike the ending just as much as I am entitled to like it. I am saying that I’m tired of seeing the same complaints about the ending year after year. To a degree, I get it because an ending can make or break a series if you really dislike it or find it disappointing. But since I like the ending, seeing people still complain about the ending in the tags nearly six years since it aired is quite annoying and upsetting.

It also doesn’t help that I’ve never really bought into the notion that the counterparts are dead or that Shun was sad and alone forever after the finale. I understand the former take more since they don’t have their own bodies and I think that interpretation among fans really stuck after what happened with Yuto, but merging wasn’t really treated like death, especially compared to carding which was definitely a stand-in for death. The idea of Shun being sad and alone after Yuto and Ruri were permanently merged with Yuya and Yuto never made sense to me though. My takeaway from his duel with Yuya was that he finally had hope. He was lashing out because he thought that they were gone forever, but after feeling Yuto’s presence in Yuya during their duel, he knew that both Yuto and Ruri were still alive. After being fueled by anger for most of the series, he finally could have hope for a better future where he would see them again and he did in the finale. It may not be the most ideal reunion, but he knew that they weren’t gone forever like Leo had mentioned earlier in that episode. It was less like Shun was perfectly okay with their “deaths” and more like he finally could have some hope for the future, something he never really had despite fighting against Academia for so long. Even putting that aside, he still had friends like Kaito, Allen, Sayaka, Crow and Yuya, so the idea that he’d be heartbroken and alone forever without Yuto or Ruri never made sense to me.

I still enjoyed the dialogue between Yuto and Shun. They had some sweet moments and I’m sure that there will be more when Shun gets unlocked next month. I just find it annoying for people to use these events to complain about the Arc V ending or that it fixes or negates the canon ending. The latter is especially strange given Duel Links lore itself. How “real” any of these characters are in Duel Links is pretty debatable considering that multiple characters who are actually dead are playable and there are multiple different continuities between the various worlds. It’s also annoying that people treat this as a way to fix the series when I haven’t seen that kind of response for any of the other worlds, although maybe VR fans see the VR world as an official continuation of the anime to make up for its ending too. I noticed this a bit during Yuto’s events, but it was more apparent this time around where I just wanted to vent about it.

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dhampiravidi · 10 months

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hot take: I relate to Carmy Berzatto in S2 of The Bear

putting this under a read more bc of the topic (mentioned in tags):

so The Bear wasn't my favorite in S1, but S2 is very well-written, especially when it comes to its portrayal of mental illness(es). I want to start by saying that ofc not everyone experiences the same mental illness the same way. But I really relate to Carmy, so much that it hurts. I realized that I related to him when it's the focus group scene--he says something akin to, "I try to act like there won't be another shoe to drop, but there always is." Then, there's the whole X-Mas episode. And finally, the day the restaurant opens.

I have generalized anxiety, clinical depression & mild C-PTSD. Here's how I viewed the aforementioned scenes:

Focus Group: let me start by saying I've never been to group therapy (& I don't think I will; I just prefer 1-on-1). Still, I talk to myself a lot, which allows me to confront most of my inner feelings/thoughts. Anyway, it was a sad thing to realize that, over the years, I, too, have stopped believing that I have time to enjoy good moments...because there's always some new shit, some new problem to deal with.

X-Mas: if I had to be in a real-life situation similar to that episode, I'd definitely have an anxiety issue (I say "issue" to differentiate from a panic/anxiety attack). I'm a perfectionist who cares about pleasing people, even if I dislike said people. So to see Carmy in such a stressful place where nowhere is quiet enough to relax...that was hard. I desperately wanted the mom to get some mental help while someone else ordered in. I wanted Bob Odenkirk/Uncle Lee to shut up because to me, Jon Bernthal/Michael seemed to be both depressed and developing anger issues. I wanted to tell Abby Elliot/Natalie that she doesn't need to worry about her mom. & then the whole time I'm hoping that Carmy doesn't have some kind of a breakdown or anxiety issue, because then everyone will fuss over him to the point of starting a fight.

Opening Day: I knew the moment Claire was introduced that she was going to be the third point in a Claire-Carmy-Syd love triangle, one where Carmy ultimately has to choose between taking time off to cultivate his own happiness (something he doesn't do) & making sure that the restaurant is a success. I was glad that, overall, the opening night was awesome. But 1) I was scared for Carmy because apparently you can die within a couple of hours in a walk-in if you aren't careful, and 2) they had Claire be the one to hear his self-destructive rant. I'm not mad at him for ranting. He's a mentally ill/depressed person who works in an unforgiving industry. Despite the customers' happiness, he didn't have a great night. His brother, who was also in the food business, is dead (which I think adds onto Carmy's desire to be successful). Keep all that in mind. Carmy gave Claire the wrong number because he (in my opinion) didn't think he could juggle his commitment to the restaurant with a romantic commitment...& he doesn't think he deserves to be loved/happy (which he admitted in the fridge). If he doesn't end up with Syd by the end of S2, I think the writers will let him be with Claire because nothing he said was actually blaming her for anything. Depressed people love blaming ourselves.

Anyway, kudos to the writers of the show & to Jeremy Allen White.

#tw: mental illness #mental illness tw #tw: mental health #mental health tw #admin #the bear season 2 #carmy berzatto #jeremy allen white #hot take

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hostilecityshowdown · 2 years

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PWI 1994 Rookie of the Year: 911 “The question asked most when a fan sees the mighty 911 for the first time is: “Where did they find this guy?” [...] 911 is not only big, he can wrestle. His finishing maneuver is a deadly chokeslam, in which he grabs his opponent by the throat, lifts him into the air, and drives him straight down to the mat. Considering 911 is 6′7″, with full arm extension the hapless opponent falls approximately nine feet before hitting the canvas! “Yeah, its scary,” explained Donn E. Allen, who should be earning frequent-flyer mileage for the number of times he has been victimized by the maneuver. “This is going to sound strange, but when I’m up there, I can’t wait till he actually drives me into the mat. It’s so terrifying just being up there in the air like that, let alone by your throat.””

Runners-Up Bob “Spark Plugg” Holly “Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines! Bob “Spark Plugg” Holly entered the WWF in early-1994 and immediately proved he can hold his own amongst top-level competition. He has already given many veterans stiff competition in the wrestling ring. Constantly improving with every match he wrestlers, we expect him to get off to a fast start in 1995.″

Abbudah Singh “This madman from Singapore set the independent scene on fire this year-literally! Singh set out to destroy every opponent he faced, including Abdullah the Butcher, whom he sent to the hospital with severe burns after a WWA match in New Jersey. Singh wants to take the Butcher’s place as the most sadistic man in wrestling. Yikes!”

Mikey Whipwreck “For the love of the underdog in all of us, Mikey Whipwreck to the rescue! The 187-pound, 18-year-old Buffalo native held the ECW TV title earlier this year and, until recently, was a co-holder of the ECW tag team title with Cactus Jack. He may be undersized and lacking in talent, but he always gives his all, and he’s everybody’s sentimental favorite.”

Votes for Others “Some of the top vote-getters who did not capture a runner-up spot include: Bryant Anderson, Frank Andersson, Chavo Guerrero Jr., Jesse Hennig, Moadib, and “Jungle” Jim Steele.”

#long post #please. i love 911 so much. also mikey. also spark e plug using ten variations of the same name #[ colour commentary ]#911 #mikey whipwreck #abbudah singh #thurman.#bob spark plugg holly #spark e plugg #pwi #pro wrestling illustrated #such good photos of 911.

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crispn-n · 9 days

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February 🎁💙💛

hey! I might start to write a monthly post where i post a recap of comms/freebies/whatever i got where people draw or write for my ocs!!! Not gonna include all of them, probably just some highlights with selected themes or topic.

I need to yap my thoughts somewhere and hopefully could appeal to you considering to support the creators if u like their work🥰

====

It was valentine month.... it was supposed to be a month full of LOVE!! (of my otp)

Let's make this post adorable fureren comms I got/send around that month that fits the occassion back then 🥺💗

[ Artist, from left to right : Arutaego, Yachichan, Chokore_4 ]

────── {⋆ Talk corner 1 ⋆} ──────

The last one was requested on february, but only got finished around April. It was a very worthy wait for furerenchwan summer-flavoured full course meal!!!!!!! AAH working with Reci is always a pleasant experience ;; v ;;

On this opportunity I tried to propose an idea "fureren sociolla date" for the sketchpage !! 💅💄 I have been wanting to draw a date inspired by the viral sociolla date videos. It fits them well, Frey is totally a boyfriend who will tag along inside the shop with Allen--Willingly learn and observe like a gentleman he is! (Pluus, also stepping in to stop her shopping haul lol)

Here're some sketches that is related to my sociolla date delulu. I hope to draw them out too myself in the future! hehe

During the progress; Reci suggested an idea where Frey is (sloppily) trying to apply a liptint on Allen for the first time ever. And I immediately agree with the idea!!!!! I like that in this piece, it seems Frey trying his best to get into Allen's interests as well.

By the way, while we're at it, I also want to show you this complete set of decorated icons comms from Reci as well. I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!! look at thems!!!!!

I'm thinking of getting another of these with my other ocs... maybe darlene and george...?🥺🥺? o-or wouldn't the whole six PABear family be great addition as well🧸..?! Gosh seeing the customized decoration around the character that resemble their character and personality ...!! Its so addicting....the artist always so good making them and put their own spin to the color palette!

Will reci accept this workload however... TT v TT let's just see in the future..!

────── {⋆ Talk corner 2 ⋆} ──────

For the 2nd picture : When I received the sketch for the first time I literally jumped and very normal about it like WAH!!!!!!!! kak yachi's art is always so rich in expression and i love it!!! first thing i think when i saw frey on each picture is like, oh my god... they are so silly.... stupid... and in love.......(????) i LOVE it, they depicted their personalities perfectly. Allen's super cheerful and Frey.... frey's silliness beneath his serious composure is so real......

Additionally ; it is super amazing to be able commissioning yachi to draw fureren again.

The left one was comm'ed around 2021. When i haven't really started shipping them and yet working on their lore. CAN YOU EVEN BELIEVE IT.... (note that it also consist allen's old design) When Yachi drew them like that, i was awakened.......Oh... i really like seeing frey and allen having this kind of interaction......

So this piece meant so much to me. Its great that in 2024 I could have them draw these two again with new designs (And i appreciate kak yachi heartwarmingly remembers them and said they enjoyed drawing fureren ; v ;! Its a honor ...!)

Oh oh oh! Additionally, since February also Frey's month. I managed to commission a frey-birthday-ish fic from Matheo (a writer). It was SO GREAT Q Q I havent got time to publish it on my toyhouse bc i want to draw a thing or a two thats related to the fic. maybe i will just publish it next year on his birthday bc i tend to share my fic stock like much very much later

oop and the first picture was a lovely cookie box commission! I fell in love at the first sight, i really hope i could find more interesting and cute ych like that~!!

Anyways, thats all for this post!

#fureren #oc #treassure box #GIF Warning #crisp rambles

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k-pepp · 4 months

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The other day @themarsbar and @sillylittleflower and I were talking about reaction videos and our love of certain reactors. I’ve gone down the reaction rabbit hole and watched pretty much every reactor I could find. Because there are so many, I ended up making a list of who I liked and who I didn’t so I’d remember by the time S3 came out. I’m gonna put out some of my favorites in case anyone hasn’t seen some of them, or has recommendations not on the list, or just wants to scream in the notes section with me about certain videos.

Note: I’m only going to list some my favorite ones and not get into who I didn’t like as much because I’m not super comfy putting that stuff on main… Feel free to slide into my DMs though 😅

Brad Evans - Anyone who already watches reactions has probably already seen Brad. But if you haven’t, I highly recommend. Once you start watching different reaction videos you realize a lot of them don’t pull you in as much because half the time you’re just watching someone watch tv. But Brad’s are always entertaining. He puts in a lot of meme edits and adds his own funny commentary. He also likes the show. Which seems basic, but you’d be surprised. You can tell some reactors just watch YR for the content and some reactors are actually into it. I just remember Brad crying at the end of S1 (weren’t we all) and during the the last 10 minutes of S2 he had to get up and stand behind his couch because he was freaking out (weren’t we all).

Brad freaking out behind his couch

Harry Allen - Love Harry. He doesn’t do editing or silly jokes, but he is very, very thoughtful. At least a handful of times each episode he’ll stop to do an analysis of the character / plot or to go on a rant about something. He always apologizes for stopping the episode to talk and its like “never apologize, Harry! This is what make your videos the best!” His thoughts are very articulate and very fair. Even if he doesn’t like what the character is doing, he still tries to understand from their point of view. You can tell he’s actually invested. Top recommendation, honestly.

A Story Worth Telling - Josh and Alex are the best. They also don’t do any crazy edits, but they’re both very witty. They play off of each other well and it makes you feel like your watching the show with friends. It’s nice to watch them have conversations about what’s going on instead of just one person’s random comments every few minutes. I also appreciate that they play devil’s advocate for each other. Sometimes one of them will have a take I don’t necessarily agree with, but then the other person is quick to say “ok, but maybe it’s also…” So it feels like their thoughts on shows are well rounded. And just like with my other top reactors, you can tell they actually care about the show. They’re just very fun and lovely to watch.

Them in their crowns watching the finale

EverybodyLovesRae- Rachel only had S2 reactions on her channel, but I still recommend her videos. She does the same type of meme edits as Brad and gets super passionate about the show (especially Wilmon). She doesn’t do too much analysis, but the commentary she gives feels just like the commentary you’d see in the Tumblr tags. It feels like a friend sitting on the couch with you getting excited or mad or anxious watching each scene. Very genuine and sweet.

Rachel freaking out at the finale

Jay Per View - When I first went down the rabbit hole, I saw quite a few people recommend him. And I’ll be honest, when I first started his videos, it took me a minute. He can give off “bro” vibes and he reacts to Young Royals exactly the same way someone reacts to watching a sports game. You’ll get something like “oh he’s doing it! Alright!!” *loud clapping* “LET’S GOOO!!” But it becomes endearing. He’s just super passionate about what he watches and his enthusiasm becomes kind of infectious. Plus he’s low key funny. Out of no where he’ll pull out some random one-liner that has me cackling.

Jay cheering on the ending lol

Ricky Reviews - Ricky is very, very sweet. Like a lovely friend you’re watching the show with. He gets super excited during scenes and even cried during both season finales (didn’t we all). You can tell the general theme of my “favorites” list is a reactor who seems like an actual fan of the show. Definitely Ricky.

Ricky living his best life during the finale

Abnormally Adam - Another reactor that took me a minute to get used to. He can be a bit over the top and talks a mile a minute, but you can tell he is genuinely invested and passionate about the show, especially Wilmon. I appreciate that he replayed the “I love you” scene multiple times and just kept reacting to it lol

ChachiSays (previously Joshing Joshua) - He doesn’t do edits or heavy analysis, but I still enjoyed his reviews. He was passionate during each episode and, just like with Ricky Reviews, teared up during both finales (didn’t we all). Very sweet.

The Cornerverse - Georgia is a lot more reserved and soft spoken than most of the other reactors on my list, but she’s very sweet and has some good thoughtful commentary. I just remember during Wille’s speech she had to stop the video to process what he said because she was freaking out so much (weren’t we all). She’s very lovely.

Jackie-Ross Lavender - Jackie is a lovely man. He can be a little intense and dramatic (as shown by his thumbnails in which every single one is a picture of his head in his hands lol), but he genuinely loves the show and loves Wilmon. I joined his Patreon and he has reactions to Edvin and Omar interviews as well.

Jackie being very intense and dramatic lol

Alex Chris - up front I’m gonna warn that he only puts the first episodes of S1 and S2 on YouTube and everything else is on his Patreon. I wish he didn’t do that because I really enjoy his reactions and this cuts it off from people who don’t want to pay. But if you do want to check out his stuff, he has thoughtful commentary (kind of reminds me of Harry Allen) and he’s funny. Not in a jokey way, but he’s kind of goofy and his goofiness makes him endearing.

FictionalDarling - she does each season’s reaction as one hour long video (2 videos total). So the upside is that they’re very easy to binge, but the downside is a lot of the scenes get reduced or skipped to have 6 episodes fit into one video. I would still recommend them though. She adorable and has funny comments and overall entertaining commentary.

Niall No Chill - he reminds me a bit of Brad. He does similar meme edits and also has enthusiastic funny commentary. He’s entertaining to watch along with. He also makes some very good guesses. He figured out how Felice was going to be able to catch August in S1. I was impressed.

David vs Film - the most recent reactor that I’ve watched. I enjoyed him. He doesn’t do any edits or heavy analysis, but he’s genuinely invested and he was also entertaining to watch. He also had some funny little one liners. He kept calling the music teacher Older Anne Hathaway and now I can’t unsee it 😂

#Reaction videos make me happy because I know there will still be months of content even after S3 comes out #Months to relive the show over and over #young royals #young royals reactions

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dang-dood · 10 months

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my thoughts on doctor who characters and their opinions on barbie (my mental illness has reached its peak)

rose went to see barbie and she wore full pink and for sure cried because that disconnect in mothers she has had w/ jackie (mickey tagged along but like found himself in ken and so rose got grossed out and left him there and he went to see oppenheimer after) (jackie cried)

nine watched barbie but because rose made me, he actually liked it but did NOT wear pink. he went to watch oppenheimer after and threw popcorn when it was wrong

martha watched barbie and LOVED it she wore a pink top and expected it to be camp but cried (mother issues </3) and she kinda found similarities in ken and the doctor and she avoided analyzing that too deeply

donna wore so much pink for barbie and she fucking loved it she for sure cried (mother issues 3.0) she couldn’t stop talking about it for a week she loved the soundtrack and has at least one song on repeat. she almost punched the doctor when he said he was watching oppenheimer

jack would want to see oppenheimer but ianto wanted to see barbie so they went to barbie with gwen, tosh, and owen and tbh they had a group cry after and it’s all they talked about for the following week.

ten wanted to watch oppenheimer for the incorrect trivia but every one of his companions kidnapped him and so he watch barbie and he loved it but the way martha looked at him after left him shaking in his boots

amy wanted to watch oppenheimer but rory wanted to watch barbie (they went to see oppenheimer because rory would do anything for amy) they enjoyed it and after watched barbie because amy felt bad and tbh she liked it more but she wouldn’t admit it (mother issues 4.0)

river went to see indiana jones but also barbie and oppenheimer (over the course of a week or in one day vortex manipulator) she LOVED barbie indiana jones opened her up to phoebe waller bridge and she found fleabag… let’s just say “it’ll pass” left her thinking of the doctor…

eleven went to see indiana jones because it reminded him of river but after he went to oppenheimer and actually he got so mad at the incorrect things (it could’ve been one item and he would’ve still done this) he went back and talked to nolan himself eleven also watched barbie and he wore a pink bow tie and cried, he left feeling depressed because he over thought (also during oppenheimer he got bored so he for sure left in the middle of the movie) (also for barbie if he didn’t go on his own clara would’ve dragged him)

vastra and jenny both watched barbie and jenny loved it more but vastra loved it cause of how much jenny loved it

clara went to see barbie and LOVED it she wore a pink floral shirt (or skirt, i could see either one) and cried (mother issues what is this now 5?) but i also know she loved making her barbie’s kiss other barbie’s but also kens (me too) she also loved allen but because he looked goofy

bill went to see barbie and loved it SHE WORE A FULL PINK OUTFIT she loved it so much she begged the doctor to let her see it twice she wanted to fight ken and i know she would argue with anyone who had a shit opinion on the movie (she considered oppenheimer for florence pugh) [she also cried bc of mother issues]

twelve wanted to see none of them but got dragged to barbie by both bill and clara and he will NEVER admit it but he cried (he didn’t wear pink which almost got him smacked) he thought about that movie for weeks and even went back in time to be on set

yaz went to see barbie and cried (mother issues how many more can we get) and she definitely wore a pink outfit. she was so excited for this movie she made the doctor bring her to the future to see it (she went again with her sister and they cried together)

ryan went to see barbie and wore a pink shirt OR dressed as ken (cried mommy issues AGAIN) he really enjoyed it and i know he thought about what his ken would be like after the movie

graham went with ryan and yaz after yaz begged for them to go and he liked the film (he wore a pink hat idk why) and he is VOCAL about his opinions but like not in a bad way, he listens to feedback for different opinions and he has the mentality of “it wasn’t meant for me was it”

thirteen watched barbie with yaz on a date and loved it, she watched barbie grow up when visiting earth and was always fascinated by them, she has a few barbie’s somewhere in the tardis and even went back and bought a few after watch the movie (she bought allen and she also bought yaz a very limited barbie… well i say bought…)

simms!master watched oppenheimer because barbie was too bright in his opinion, he laughed during oppenheimer.

missy watched both oppenheimer and barbie, season eight missy would’ve liked oppenheimer more because it gave her ideas. season ten missy? she LOVED barbie the depth in character + finding your own purpose resonated so well with her and she cried even if she would never admit it

dhawan!master loved barbie IDCC look he made oppenheimer for thirteen like he didn’t need a 2for1 deal. he resonated so hard with barbie and the mother issues (but it’s the older timelord shunning him for the problem they caused) like yeah he was frothing at the mouth holding back tears. the whole “what is my purpose” feeling pre-blowing up galifrey probably would’ve left his ass question if he was making a bad decision. he considered seeing oppenheimer but heard it’s as three hours and got mad so he just read the wiki to it and still got bored

#doctor who #mine #barbie #idk why i did this #if you disagree please be kind LMAOO #this has been in my drafts for awhile

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devenhologram · 1 year

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SCOWL

(for Jay S.)

By Deven Hologram

I saw the best minds of my generation, a generation destroyed by media; bloated; irrational - dolled up. Promenading people through the cinema streets at rush hour - looking for reverb. Cookie-cutter hipsters craving capital consideration to the star-making machine of corporate connections.

Who spoiled and fleeting; and eye-lined and spun, sat up snorting in the LED brightness of flat screens flashing on the walls of buildings; contemplating graffiti; hip hop; and blood. Who had tweeted their sins on Facebook under pseudonyms and saw Mohammedan prophets soaring into rooftops illuminated by ash and soot.

Who were ushered through community colleges with dead cold stares envisioning Orwellian confiscations and angry prayers to the end of the world. Who were booted from schools for breaking formalities and public property when publishing fanzines to icons no longer seen - heard singing songs no longer sung - or for shooting their professors and fellows point blank to the heads; and costing cleanup dollars, and an increase to liabilities. Who with windows on iPhones have seen secret places on Mars.

Whose bungalows decked with cards; shaven pristine or bearded and hip; proudly spout genderless menstruation, squared in silence in private rooms; finger-painting pieces of glass, sending the universe surrounding - the intergalactic montage of litter on Titan, while the whole world watches toilets flush cash; kitties; and the coming month’s issue; to spew their orgasm of concentrated corporate lust - “hey that’s my brand”.

Who saw the latest models in pose number blank turn to capture a neighbor’s climax between arguments and movements; conversations. And who then in between morning TV and commercials - the apocalyptic scenes of global pandemics and war, foretold of lesbianism as the solve, while remote arrest by drones devoid of sex, misfired finality on a sextet of street toughs playing dice in the waterhole, looking for pussy and pot. And the camera on the signpost saw his face and so mails the ticket instead to he who wiggled in metal cuffs; as policemen distorted by benzos and tina, cocaine and PTSD of sadistic delusion and happy families - the redundancy of normalcy driving them mad - beats a man for lack of medical care in the hospital and we see him later in the night blocks away near the Chinese restaurant, in a state of Thorazine, lithium, and methadone; with a stab wound in his gut and aching to jump back into it and get filthy.

Who drank Mad Dog and two gallons of Gallo; later the off-putting scum of the gentlemen in the alleys of Hollywood; conceptualizing scenarios of fantastical movies about liberty of body taught not to attend; while it was his cock that drove it there behind dumpsters and in gateways to backdoors and theaters where gay pornography played out in style, and the tag team in the second-floor bathroom was the waiting line to use the toilet; amidst the tweakers and freakers, and high hairdos with the best of products; conjoined in sexual funk.

Who high and electric on Commonwealth Avenue turned left looking for Boylston and ended up coming out somewhere close to Mulholland Drive; then down on Crescent zooming up the Valley, lost in the curve too carsick to vomit, then to Queen Mary’s - where sometimes Kassandra and sometimes - Mark Allen.

Who have passed dark widening streets of absolute emptiness in the center of the giant dark and empty, then back to the center of Fairfax and its golden icon to the time before we found our own selves thrown in the river with the cars and the skulls. Who was present to dispose of the nights spending in dispensaries set up by local merchants; while sign language was used in frank attempts to ensure transactions took place; the smell of hot meats in the streets of the drunken night; and from the times before fear became a way of process, not pain.

Whose steaming sense on the air drew closer while fearing someone was watching and thinking ill of the animal enjoyment and forbidden fruit - the phallic and hot in the middle of the night, and waiting for the sale rack all wrapped up with bacon. Those winter chills from the summers of Brooklyn, over trashcan fires in Downtown under bridges - where crazy talk piles up faster than the shit on the shores washing waves of foamy frothy, and where lights of one’s mind chain to shopping cart trains from grocery stores; missing wheels and full of empty cans; that no-one but no-one would actually eat from; piled high in the last seat of the public bus; riding til the sun comes up (or until they kick it out into Pershing Square - off the side of Broadway and behind the 7/Eleven with the $8 pizzas where we stocked up on ephedrine and stayed up all night in hotels where bodies rot in tubs of water, drained down through our faucet in a macabre puckering; drained down in the night levels above the wilds of the street; in the dreary halls of former brilliance; in the place where they book the hookers).

Who sank in the vinyl nightlife of Canter’s Deli. Inebriated - and knish - and waiting to star fuck in the flatland of rye toast and turkey sandwiches under the glass ceiling brilliant with autumn leaves; watching rockers wrinkle faces upon custom gefilte fish and yellow mustard.

Who talked on speed continuously for almost seventy-five minutes without one breath to tell of the nuance of life on the streets - all the while tapping fingers on the wall between himself and Sunset Blvd. Who tapping fingers on walls of Pasadena and of Silver Lake over the San Fernando Bridge; a lost chance at a million conversations in between the pace of voice to step; to astound at air raid sirens haunting neighborhoods; as markers of former invasion, standing tall above us and waiting to scream. Explosive sick with factoid and anecdotes and antisocialism and assholes; rolling eyeballs and clenched jaws; the scary state programs and the jail time and all the lost chances to learn in institutions of clout, while battling society surrounding and impeding - and enabling - with talk of NYC once and of that nine one one; and of European sweets from out the Mexican crank, and of cartel brokers in the hallways outside the unfurnished rooms with shared bathrooms in the halls and dead bodies getting flushed down the toilets.

Whose wandering until his teeth chipped in the mid-afternoon and who ate cat food and smoked stale cigarettes; found and dried out in the sun after the rains came; waiting in a box on the side of the 101, where waiting for nothing in particular, save a candyman in brown slinging melting plastics and hellos, and hugs, and tending to the moment; while cursing the whole day it all went away.

Who stayed solitary under the lights of the lamp on the corner of Sixth and Central Kohler’s sex den. Exquisite queers - talking of ancient deities and conjuring concepts of time and space, and of other worlds; while getting anally fucked; speaking in tongues upon a naked bottom, the cock sucked searing of one’s brand and kind into the annals of reality - without pitiful explanation or sense of lengthy necessity.

Who yearned once for this and twice for that, but which never came to fruition in the long line at the grocery store down on Third and Vermont; where the only draw was the bank outlet with the attractive Asian males in ties and with fingers, and later with black men and illegal immigrants on the street behind the subway entrance. Down in the tunnel where the train runs daily in the piss-soaked corridors of slippery whatsit and the sweet honey scent of a seriously homeless person. Riding the train in silence, with songs coming in from all angles, and eyes looking fiercely forward - without compassion or sense of unity - sought the gangster piles of spray paint: mountainous upon billboards up and down Venice, where the roller skating guru blessed us twice and the dragon lady herbalist read us once.

Who rode back and forth on bikes once rented; to play real and one day. Upon it we rode free with nothing but the sea to see us. Who then back to the house where Halloween awaited ghoulies and ghosts haunting us - from people we barely knew in the long scope of it. Who craved the very death they brought upon themselves under gin and juniper and backstage passes. Who lingered bright yellow when his time came to leave this plane; and whose parched lips curled back revealing death fangs; and the soured scent of blood, his eyes staring straight and happy even then, to know it was finally over.

Whose parameters were up and down but never side to side in the long lanes of hungry mouths and eyes and sweat-soaked shirts made from the scorched fires of the angel on the corner near a Santeria Store. The chanting of Krishna on the beach, with papier mache and saltpeter and vegan cuisine made to slop - for the ringing of bells delights us; and the smell of incense invokes us - in the parade of color and brightness; and in crowds of the nameless hairless, we danced until we sunburned and came away red and blistered; scorched dizzy for cups of coffee beans and bottles of glitter thrown into the air and caught up in our eyes; seeding tears that slice.

Whose egoist pandering - seating high and mighty - looked down from above and erased concepts that came before with digitized mastery of cloud-making majesty and the want to partake in a thing that has been canonized as better and first. Whose wants of inclusion eradicated the identity of those prior into corrals of tightrope mimicry and substitutionary implementation as the most practical fix to long-known issues, and who no longer accepted disgrace with disclaimers.

Who sought out the former makers of words and verses; to rid themselves of the chains of burden; to stay true to anything but oneself in the dank and funky late-night dives and damp sofas - surrounded in the smoke of opium and marijuana and chocked full of pills - to make the world spin all the faster and to make the sex all the stranger and the music all the more glorious. Age of Aquarius and Nibiru.

Whose Children of Atlantean failures and mistaken courses, whose Three Days of Intercourse to music to beget; be it Woodstock or Lallapaloozan fucking; to the smokey serum of corporate cling - wrapping our naked bodies in plastics - finely woven by hands in other places. Dirt-entrenched beings of little greater worth; save that which accustoms us to our style of consumerist taking. Whose very nature of life is created and maintained by that which practices here with us and in us. Our novelty and our Babylonian prizes swept into seas of swirling phthalates and Roundup for the future to behold as our stamp upon this time-space.

Whose life left lingering leaves little but deceit to destruction - as we usher in our sixth extinction and boycott various brands of vodka; menswear, and celebrities. Whose only voice is that of disdain of the sweeping loss of identity into that which is - and always will be - greater than anyone within it. The terrific chaotic chorus to intelligent life elsewhere; in over one billion years from now.

el fin

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