How could I resist? Itâs not the exact angle, but my nerve cells are dead anyway
occasionally subtle
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@teumessianfox
How could I resist? Itâs not the exact angle, but my nerve cells are dead anyway
"Without strength, you can't protect anything.... I know that."
Sketch
Nerođ
Best twiinnss
MEOWWWWWW
My husbands đ
Crédits to Likoi on X !!
Archiving stuff here bc I wont post them elsewhere
You really think sheâs your girl. My brother in Christ sheâs up in here every night twirling her hair and kicking her feet to the raunchiest âx readerâ COD smut on the planet.
Nap Time <3
going to the bar with your friends who all eventually get asked to dance or share a drink with other men, leaving you to your own devices while leaving their bags with you, obviously asking you to be the DD for whoever needs to be driven home. your used to this, and what sucks even more was you were actually interested in one of the boys who bought you a drink, only to start dancing with your other best friend as he dances close to her. and it sucks because you are more softer then others, yes you have a stomach, yes you arenât everyoneâs first choice, and it hurts a lot more then you let on but youâve learn to become numb with it. your lost in your thoughts until a pretty drink is place in front of you, looking up in shock to the bartender, he says itâs freshly made for the pretty lady sitting in the black booth. and looking around and your eyes lock with a pair of soft blue ones, a warm bearded smile on his face, wearing a soft sweater and beanie, the epitome of warmth as he raises his glass of whiskey up to you and you think to yourself, maybe all is not lost
jesus fucking christ gnawing at the bars of my enclosure WTF WHY IS HE SO HOT
Lost and Found Masterlist
Simon finds things. He cares for them. He collects lost things, shunned things, he feeds them and they don't leave. Well, at least you make good pasta, honey.
(Asks are open for this story! Please ask me things)
i. roll call and rainy nights
the distribution system strikes again
ii. tall grass and honey
you make pasta, and a list
iii. grocers and grabby hands
your determination gets you marshmallows. simon is in desperate need of some lemonade.
iv. creekwater eggshells
dinner is a process. you need a nap.
v. dinner de novo
you cook for friends, and make a few others
Tidbits and Asks
Break In
someone decides to break into your cottage. and no one hurts your home and gets away with it.
yeah i've been laughing at it for 30 min
Your lieutenant is a bit weird sometimes.
âSergeant go and take that makeup off as well no exceptions.â
âI'm not wearing any sir.â
âDon't li..â he starts then squints at your features. He takes three steps in and towers right over you, too close, focused frown between his brows as his eyes skim through every bit of skin.
âWhat so that's just like your face?â He sounds frustrated.
âYes?â
âYour lashes?â
âNatural sir.â
Lieutenant Riley's eyes just keep roaming around your features, looking haunted and he finally drifts away without another word.
âŠokay.
Your lieutenant is very weird sometimes.*
STOP DOING THIS IN INJURY FICS!!
Bleeding:
Blood is warm. if blood is cold, youâre really fucking feverish or the person is dead. itâs only sticky after it coagulates.
It smells! like iron, obv, but very metallic. heavy blood loss has a really potent smell, someone will notice.
Unless in a state of shock or fight-flight mode, a character will know theyâre bleeding. stop with the âi didnât even feel itâ yeah you did. drowsiness, confusion, pale complexion, nausea, clumsiness, and memory loss are symptoms to include.
blood flow ebbs. sometimes itâs really gushinâ, other times itâs a trickle. could be the same wound at different points.
itâs slow. use this to your advantage! more sad writer times hehehe.
Stab wounds:
I have been mildly impaled with rebar on an occasion, so let me explain from experience. being stabbed is bizarre af. your body is soft. you can squish it, feel it jiggle when you move. whatever just stabbed you? not jiggly. it feels stiff and numb after the pain fades. often, stab wounds lead to nerve damage. hands, arms, feet, neck, all have more motor nerve clusters than the torso. fingers may go numb or useless if a tendon is nicked.
also, bleeding takes FOREVER to stop, as mentioned above.
if the wound has an exit wound, like a bullet clean through or a spear through the whole limb, DONT REMOVE THE OBJECT. character will die. leave it, bandage around it. could be a good opportunity for some touchy touchy :)
whump writers - good opportunity for caretaker angst and fluff w/ trying to manhandle whumpee into a good position to access both sites
Concussion:
despite the amnesia and confusion, people ainât that articulate. even if theyâre mumbling about how much they love (person) - if thatâs ur trope - or a secret, itâs gonna make no sense. garbled nonsense, no full sentences, just a coupla words here and there.
if the concussion is mild, theyâre gonna feel fine. untilâŠ.bam! out like a light. kinda funny to witness, but also a good time for some caretaking fluff.
Fever:
you die at 110F. no 'oh no his fever is 120F!! ahhh!â no his fever is 0F because heâs fucking dead. you lose consciousness around 103, sometimes less if itâs a child. brain damage occurs at over 104.
ACTUAL SYMPTOMS:
sluggishness
seizures (severe)
inability to speak clearly
feeling chilly/shivering
nausea
pain
delirium
symptoms increase as fever rises. slow build that secret sickness! feverish people can be irritable, maybe a bit of sass followed by some hurt/comfort. never hurt anybody.
ALSO about fevers - they absolutely can cause hallucinations. Sometimes these alter memory and future memory processing. they're scary shit guys.
fevers are a big deal! bad shit can happen! milk that till its dry (chill out) and get some good hurt/comfort whumpee shit.
keep writing u sadistic nerds xox love you
ALSO I FORGOT LEMME ADD ON:
YOU DIE AT 85F
sorry I forgot. at that point for a sustained period of time you're too cold to survive.
pt 2
REBLOG FOR REFERENCE.
Poly141! x fat!reader
tw: self fat shaming, social anxiety, drinking, mention of male appendages at the end
This late Friday night found you where it always did. Alone after watching all of your pretty, skinny friends filter out into the crowd. The plush of your ass settled over the edges of the stool and you're grateful the bar is pretty dark, easier to hide. A glass of whiskey is being nursed in your hands while your eyes take in the crowd, effectively also checking on your friends.
As your eyes rove over, they settle on the back table, tucked into the corner and surrounded by four larger than normal men.
The one with the mohawk is the loudest by far, his boisterous Scottish brogue filtering over the sounds of the crowd. He's got a hand wrapped around a half finished bottle of beer while he loudly recounts a story that makes all of them groan like they've heard it a million times.
The dark skinned one had to be the prettiest man you'd ever seen. His long fingers danced along the side of a glass of what looked to be rum and coke. His chuckle made his shoulders shake, shaking his head at his comrade.
The one with the thick mustache was laughing along with the Scot's story, butting in with his own interjections when he had something to add. His meaty paw held a glass of bourbon while the other gestured a bit wildly with a lit cigar.
The one with the mask though. He had an almost full glass of whiskey in front of him, arms crossed over his chest as he scoffed at the Scot's story. He had been there and he knew that wasn't quite how it went. His eyes trailed from his buddies at the table, doing another sweep of the room. The fifth one you've watched him do tonight.
This time is different. His eyes meet your and you duck your head, avoiding the eye contact. You'd known (the way someone with social anxiety knows) that people would think you weird, making eye contact with strangers. It immediately signals your fight or flight response, settling on flight even though you weren't in any danger.
When you glanced back up, he was looking back at his friends, but you didn't know he'd smiled softly and was now bringing the rest of his tables' attention to you.
In your new panic, you paid your tab and headed out the door. So when Ghost finally got the others to look your way, your seat was empty and the bell was chiming over the door.
"You sure she was there, LT?" Soap asked, clapping the other man on the shoulder.
"Was right there, on the end. Prettiest bird I ever saw," Ghost grunted, his mask wrinkling with his nose.
"Thass m'friend yer talkin bout," a pretty blond slurred at them as she hung on to a frat boy type that was more interested in running his hands all over her body. "Come 'ere e'ry Friday, woo!" She was herded off by her cohort, giggling as they headed for the door. "Guess we'll be here next Friday too then."
You walked home in the chilly night, anger and resentment flooding through your veins. They'd never give you a chance, not with all the pretty girls that were in that bar. You'd always been looked over for girls more beautiful or thinner than you. What was the line they always fed you? 'I love your personality, but you're just not...my type.'
Suffice it to say, the four men would head back to their shared flat, fisting their cocks to just Ghost's description of you and fiending for the next Friday to come.
I promise I'm working on the Touch Fivesome. There's a lot of details and functionality that I'm trying to figure out.
I couldn't get this out of my head. Inspired by another post along a similar vein. I can't remember who it was now, but it's been festering.