A Soldiers x Reader for the upcoming movie called Onslaught.
A/N: Yes, i am aware how i look to those watching. I don't know either.
Cross-posted on Ao3
okay but imagine (link is to context. Watch the trailer for Onslaught pls and thx)
being somewhere, traveling, if i had to guess, had you made a stop. maybe you were alone, maybe you were going somewhere with friends. doesn't matter. anyway, you are in the bathroom, doing your business. that's when the first scream, distant, outside the gas station, rings out,
before being cut off with a gunshot.
then many more ring out, closer now. inside the station. you freeze, thinking. thinking. you flick the light off. don't draw attention. you've been in the states long enough (either your whole life or just a few days. its infamous for shootings.) to know what to do.
you hope.
you press against the darkest corner of the bathroom stall in the corner. surely they wont see you even, if they come back here
the gunshots last no more than 30 seconds, quiet by the time you press yourself into the piss soaked corner. you'll deal with later.
hopefully.
at first, its dead silent, no screams no shots, but you do hear footsteps, several, stepping on debris if you had to guess.
until they stop at the door. you hear one door slam open, the other bathroom probably, but no shots.
empty. okay maybe—
a scream, cut off by a quick burst of shots. you press both hands to your mouth.
well, you're fucked.
it takes you biting into your hands, to keep from screaming as the door to yours is kicked open. you cant see the shooters, hidden by the dividers, but you can see one enter into the bathroom, not bothering with the lights, boots heavily walking to the first stall, its door slammed open.
then the second.
third
fourth
yours is next.
you didn't even get a chance to scream with how quickly the door to yours open.
you still yourself as much as possible for you swear the masked mans eyes like were glowing in the dark, but that wouldn't make sense, right? its barely a half second before a shrill whistle catches his attention, turning away.
holy shit, he didn't see, you think. the door swings shut as hes distracted and…
a beat
a second,
his boots move, moving quickly like…
hes leaving.
holy shit, hes leaving.
you wait.
and wait.
wait.
until you think its been long enough for them to do what they need and leave.
you brave leaving the restroom, and
holy shit, the fucking carnage
you don't glance at the bodies, not wanting to see if there were faces you know, face down in the blood.
you make your way outside, and sure enough, its just as bad.
you do your best to ignore the fact some were running away and were shot in the back.
you run to your friends car, praying. praying.
holy shit, the keys were right there on the seat. too good to be true. you go for the door and…
its locked.
oh yeah, didn't he cuss about dropping his keys as he got out.
before putting them in his pocket.
you stiffen, and the sound of gravel crunching under a foot is just behind you as you do.
Fuck.
you feel a large hand on your shoulder for a split second before you're flipped, back against the car door.
the masked man is fucking HUGE, as you swallow. his balaclava covering most of his face excepting his eyes.
holy shit, they are glowing. "w-what the fuck?" you let out quietly, not trying to brave. the man doesn't respond, only stepping a bit closer.
hey, you had a good run.
except… its still going. despite him, welding a fucking rifle, and slaughtering a gas station full of people,
he's… not make a move right now. just staring intensely down into your eyes. breathing heavy, but not winded.
who was he?
another whistle sounds off, and you spot two others, similarly dressed and with weapons of their own, standing a few feet away from a semi. they seems to be watching, waiting for this ones moves.
he straightens slowly, eyes not leaving yours. his hand moves up your shoulder, to the back of your neck, scruffing you like a street cat. he pushes you to walk, towards the others and the semi. you stumble to keep up with the pace he sets. one of the others pulls something that clinks out of his pocket, still not saying a damn word, quickly handing to the one holding you hostage now.
its embarrassing, despite your efforts, how quickly he manages to cuff you, and pushes you into the sleeper cab of them semi, placing you on the floor of the cab.
the one who had the cuffs climbed into the drivers, the other in shotgun.
as the truck pulled out from the scene, into the dark of the highway, the man who had grabbed you, sat quietly fiddling with his gun, his eyes never leaving yours.
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making the radical claim "11 year old children should be taught how to make extremely simple food" has resulted in people making arguments like "I wasnt allowed to plug in electronics until I was 16 and I think this is super normal actually" and "children dont know what ratios are so its unfair to expect them to be able to comprehend the idea of adding equal amounts rice and water to a rice cooker" and I gotta say originally I thought maybe I was being too judgy but now I feel very secure in my opinion because what the fuck
Children might not know what ratios are in the sense of 1:1 notation, but they are more than capable of understanding 'you have to use the same amount of water and rice otherwise it goes wrong'.
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I am going to have a fucking stroke the fuck are you on about
Oh, yeah, let's compare overly elaborate skincare routines that women choose for themselves (albeit under the influence of advertising that, in aggregate, has a very negative effect on perception of women and their bodies) and pay for with their own money with the fucking tradwives who actively promote submitting yourself to a sexist man. Surely spending way too much on skincare is the same thing as devoting your entire life to an extremely unequal relationship and actively eshewing all forms of independence, financial, social or emotional.
We owe so many apologies to choice feminism holy fuck
-Sincerely, a fat hairy queer you claim to speak for
You’re not reading closely - it is root and branch and pipeline. Choice Feminism, of which I am a personal advocate, only works if you’re making an INFORMED choice, if you know WHY you’re doing what you’re doing and what the ramifications of your decisions are. Choice Feminism requires constant critical thinking and a lot of people aren’t doing it.
These skincare routines, the ones that the OP is referencing specifically, the ones that are eight steps a session and want you to use red light therapy and dermal fillers and microneedling - why are you doing this for yourself? Okay, it makes you feel good. Why? Is it that you are taking the time to care for yourself because you’re lacking care in another are of your life? It’s anti-aging; okay. Are you using anti aging products for a health reason, because you have a family history of skin issues, or because you fear aging? If you fear aging, then why do you fear it? If it’s for your self-image, why are you comparing yourself to others?
Yeah, it’s a lot, asking why why why why like a toddler. It’s soooooo much easier to sit back and not be critical and just go “it makes me feel good” and let someone else do the thinking for you.
And that’s the pipeline, right there; if you outsource your critical thinking skills, you outsource your agency.
Hollywood has gone backwards in size inclusivity too. Seeing all these emaciated women crying in interviews because they’re malnourished on Ozempic and loosing their ability to regulate their emotions is so hard. It reminds me of all those stories about Judy garland living on coffee, bone broth, cigarettes, and diet pills while they were filming Wizard of Oz.
I think back to all the old misogynistic stereotypes about women being week and over-emotional and wonder how many of our great-grandmothers were starving themselves to try and keep their husbands from straying because there was no life outside of marriage and their reputation and wellbeing was dependent on their attractiveness.
okay but imagine (link is to context. Watch the trailer for Onslaught pls and thx)
being somewhere, traveling, if i had to guess, had you made a stop. maybe you were alone, maybe you were going somewhere with friends.
doesn't matter. anyway, you are in the bathroom, doing your business. that's when the first scream, distant, outside the gas station, rings out,
before being cut off with a gunshot.
then many more ring out, closer now. inside the station. you freeze, thinking. thinking.
you flick the light off. don't draw attention. you've been in the states long enough (either your whole life or just a few days. its infamous for shootings.) to know what to do.
you hope.
you press against the darkest corner of the bathroom stall in the corner. surely they wont see you even, if they come back here
the gunshots last no more than 30 seconds, quiet by the time you press yourself into the piss soaked corner. you'll deal with later.
hopefully.
at first, its dead silent, no screams no shots, but you do hear footsteps, several, stepping on debris if you had to guess.
until they stop at the door. you hear one door slam open, the other bathroom probably, but no shots.
empty. okay maybe—
a scream, cut off by a quick burst of shots. you press both hands to your mouth.
well, you're fucked.
it takes you biting into your hands, to keep from screaming as the door to yours is kicked open. you cant see the shooters, hidden by the dividers, but you can see one enter into the bathroom, not bothering with the lights, boots heavily walking to the first stall, its door slammed open.
then the second.
third
fourth
yours is next.
you didn't even get a chance to scream with how quickly the door to yours open.
you still yourself as much as possible for you swear the masked mans eyes like were glowing in the dark, but that wouldn't make sense, right? its barely a half second before a shrill whistle catches his attention, turning away.
holy shit, he didn't see, you think. the door swings shut as hes distracted and…
a beat
a second,
his boots move, moving quickly like…
hes leaving.
holy shit, hes leaving.
you wait.
and wait.
wait.
until you think its been long enough for them to do what they need and leave.
you brave leaving the restroom, and
holy shit, the fucking carnage
you don't glance at the bodies, not wanting to see if there were faces you know, face down in the blood.
you make your way outside, and sure enough, its just as bad.
you do your best to ignore the fact some were running away and were shot in the back.
you run to your friends car, praying. praying.
holy shit, the keys were right there on the seat. too good to be true. you go for the door and…
its locked.
oh yeah, didn't he cuss about dropping his keys as he got out.
before putting them in his pocket.
you stiffen, and the sound of gravel crunching under a foot is just behind you as you do.
Fuck.
you feel a large hand on your shoulder for a split second before you're flipped, back against the car door.
the masked man is fucking HUGE, as you swallow. his balaclava covering most of his face excepting his eyes.
holy shit, they are glowing. "w-what the fuck?" you let out quietly, not trying to brave. the man doesn't respond, only stepping a bit closer.
hey, you had a good run.
except… its still going. despite him, welding a fucking rifle, and slaughtering a gas station full of people,
he's… not make a move right now. just staring intensely down into your eyes. breathing heavy, but not winded.
who was he?
another whistle sounds off, and you spot two others, similarly dressed and with weapons of their own, standing a few feet away from a semi. they seems to be watching, waiting for this ones moves.
he straightens slowly, eyes not leaving yours. his hand moves up your shoulder, to the back of your neck, scruffing you like a street cat. he pushes you to walk, towards the others and the semi. you stumble to keep up with the pace he sets. one of the others pulls something that clinks out of his pocket, still not saying a damn word, quickly handing to the one holding you hostage now.
its embarrassing, despite your efforts, how quickly he manages to cuff you, and pushes you into the sleeper cab of them semi, placing you on the floor of the cab.
the one who had the cuffs climbed into the drivers, the other in shotgun.
as the truck pulled out from the scene, into the dark of the highway, the man who had grabbed you, sat quietly fiddling with his gun, his eyes never leaving yours.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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The idea that “natural breasts” even in children are something to be protected at all costs is extremely weird and incredibly sexist.
For cis folks that would mean discouraging breast enlargement by calling someone a whore or saying their boobs will be “ruined” because they are “fake”. This mentality exists with breast reduction for women by saying they will not be as sexually desirable and that having big breasts is a gift.
For trans and nonbinary folks, we see crap from lawmakers fearmongering, spewing shit like how children are “mutilating healthy breast tissue” and from other people “top surgery scars are ugly” and “but those could feed a baby one day!”
Even from other trans folks, simple comments like “why would you ever want to get rid of those?” Can be the dam that makes someone scared or guilty of seeking breast augmentation and just not do so.
It is not up to you what a person does to their breasts. All breasts are beautiful, and the person with them gets to decide their value, not you.
Nine inch nails did a few tours in the 90’s with a guitar pick that said “THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS FAKE TITS” and I think there have never been truer words written on a piece of plastic shit.
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Anya is LIVE right now
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kiss your screen every time you see a typo or grammatical error in my fics because it means it's home grown and not some ai bullshit and im dead serious about this
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