27potatochips

[27potatochips]

Reblog if it's OK for other artists to draw your OCs

Sometimes I get too timid to send asks to ask. I want to see how many people are ok with artists drawing their OCs!

[27potatochips]

Mer Rehab AU

“So, what’s with that new mer? Sounded concerned there, mate.”

“He’s hurt, he’s terrified. He’s also big and fucking strong. So pardon me for being cautious, Tav.” Gaz lifted his cap and rubbed his forehead. “We had to sedate him just to treat his wounds.”

Soap scrunched up his nose. “That’s not good.”

“Tell me about it,” Gaz groaned.

“What’s he doing when you leave him alone?”

“Nuffin’.” Gaz shrugged. “He found the den furthest from anyone and anything and is hiding from view. Barely touching any food we throw in.”

“Alright.” Soap rubbed both hands over his face. This’d take a while. No wonder Gaz had come to him. “So, what we’re gonna do is: I’ll work around the rehab pool. Just work. I’ll be there, but won’t interact with him. And we’ll see how it goes.”

“That’s my man.” Gaz slapped Soap on the back, grinning brightly. “I knew you’d say that. Already got you the wifi password from the old man. You’re a lifesaver.”

Soap rolled his eyes fondly. This was why he liked popping in on the Station 141 marine wildlife rehabilitation center. It was like coming home. Plus, it helped, seeing the fruits of his work behind the scenes. Those definitely kept him going when he felt particularly despondent, like after trying to teach old fishermen sustainable tactics and ethics, or attending one too many town hall meetings to encourage conservation efforts. Still, thanks to people like Gaz, he’d never regretted going into wildlife management.

He set up on the bench facing the big window. Part of Station 141’s funding came from visitors, so their big rehab tank with its cat flap like connection to an underwater tunnel leading right into the North Sea had a generous window. And a number of benches facing it, mostly used by elderly annual ticket holders. Plus, now, Soap.

The first day, he didn’t even catch a glimpse of the new mer. The second day, he thought he saw a big black tail fin with notches in it once. The third day, just when he was packing up for the night, after closing hours, he felt eyes on him. So he slowed down, going over his journal one last time, re-reading his to-do list for the next day and the week and then the month. When he finally didn’t have anything he could possibly do to stall anymore, he closed the book. Giving a little more warning, he looked up.

There, at the far end of the tank, near one of the most hidden dens, was a pale face. Dark eyes stared at him intently. Gaz had fished some gauze out of the water in the morning, so Soap wasn’t surprised to see barely scabbed, freshly stitched wounds on the face. It didn’t mean he liked it, though. Wondering if he was already overstepping, he pointed to his own face, to the spot where the mer had his worst wound and mouthed “ow?”

The mer tilted his head.

With a sigh, Soap swapped his journal for a first aid kit. He held up a bandage.

The mer swam closer, clearly curious, but still confused.

Soap opened the package. He didn’t have a wound himself, which was too bad. So he scratched his nail down his arm where he was the least hair and held up the arm to show off the red welt. Then, he wrapped the bandage around it, patting it when he was done.

The mer frowned at him. But he did touch his face near the wound. He winced, but the contemplative expression didn’t vanish.

Encouraged, Soap held out a fresh bandage.

The mer gave the tiniest nod. Then, he frowned at the window between them. Neither he nor Soap had noticed him coming this close. The mer touched the glass, then pushed on it. He clearly wasn’t a fan. Soap failed to stifle a laugh.

“One moment,” he called out, gesturing for the mer to wait. He jumped up and hurried to the staff only door that hid the stairs leading up to the pool's edge. He splashed some water around to announce his arrival at the new location. To his surprise, the mer swam straight up to him. But, to meet expectations regardless, he stayed well out of arm’s reach.

Soap dropped three bandages in the tank, then took a couple of steps back. The mer came up, snatched the bandages, and dove down again. Soap looked into the water, but the mer had vanished again. He was just about to turn, when something clattered on the concrete floor behind him. He turned, only to find the mer staring at him from the water and half an oyster shell on the floor. Soap went to pick it up. “Thank you.” He smiled at the mer. He couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t sure if it was the show of teeth or if the mer just had enough, but a moment later, the mer was gone, this time for good.

–

The next day, the mer didn’t show up again, at least not during visiting hours. But as Soap was about to pack up, he heard a knock on the glass behind him. The mer was pressed up close, drawn up to his full, massive size. His frown was slightly undercut by the badly wrapped bandage flapping around his head. He pointed at Soap, then up to the surface. Biting his lips not to laugh, Soap took his restocked first aid kit and went up the stairs.

The mer was already waiting for him by the edge of the pool. Still in the water, though, forcing Soap to kneel so he could reach him. He still hesitated, even if the mer had demanded his attention.

“Do you want me to take it off?” Soap asked, pointing at the bandages and then making a gesture mimicking the removal around his own head. The mer reached up, pulling the bandages off with a huff. The wet mess slapped on the concrete next to Soap. Alright, so no unnecessary touches. Soap took a fresh roll of bandage out of his kit and opened the packaging. Before starting, he held it out to the mer for approval. The mer glared at him, but nodded. As quickly as he could, Soap put all the practice he’d done on Gaz this morning to use. He made sure it was all nice and snug so it wouldn’t shift and chafe. Once he was done, he stepped back again.

The mer was still glaring at him from the water.

“Hungry?” Soap asked. He knew the mer had to be hungry. Gaz had told him the mer was still barely eating. But Soap also knew where they kept the fish. “Wait.” Soap repeated the gesture he’d used the previous day. He went to fetch a couple of fish on a plate. And then breathed a sigh of relief when the mer was still there when he returned. He offered up a fish. The mer sniffed at it, before biting down, glaring at Soap the entire time. Chuckling to himself, Soap pulled a granola bar from his pocket and bit down on it.

For a while, they ate in companionable silence. Then, the mer, quick as lightning, moved forward. Soap’s lizard brain wanted to panic about being pulled into the water and drowned. But the mer had already snatched another fish off the plate and retreated again. Soap let out a breath of relief.

“Plate’s so much nicer than just dropping the food, right?” Soap started to talk. He couldn’t help himself. The silence made him nervous. “Wouldn’t wanna eat it either, if strangers just threw dead fish at me. Especially not when I’m already in a strange place, without anyone looking like me. I’m wondering where the others are. We have a few who keep dropping in, sometimes injured, sometimes just to rest for a while, sometimes because they know they can get medical help of a different kind here. And some come just because. But my favorites are definitely the pregnant couples who trust us enough to let us help when something goes wrong. Those we helped once come back with their pups the next time. Or they bring friends in need. It’s good this center built so much trust with the local population. Which is why I don’t think you’re from around here. The locals know where this place is and that we’re all here to help. Some even speak English or sign it. But you seem too scared, too alert. I wonder where you came from. Gaz said a fisher picked you up, all exhausted and bleeding, definitely unconscious. You’re lucky we’ve good connections to all the locals. Anywhere else, it’d have been a toss up between a zoo and a private auction for you.”

The mer had come and gone again and again while Soap talked, emptying the entire plate. He’d stopped glaring at some point, too. Now, he was lazily floating in the water, looking at Soap with something like curiosity.

“I’m Soap.” Soap pointed at himself, repeating his name. He pointed at the mer. “You?”

The mer made a sound Soap recognized as meaning something like “fuck off” in the language of the mers around Britain. It made Soap grin.

“But you need a name,” he insisted. When the mer rolled his eyes, signaling that he at least understood some English, Soap’s grin widened. “Och, fine. I’ll give you a nickname then. How about…” Pale. Fish half all black, no counter shading or markings. Currently bandaged in several places. “Ghost. ‘S better than mummy, at least.”

The mer huffed.

Soap splashed some water at him. The mer, Ghost, retaliated with a brief upward twitch of the corners of his mouth. Soap was so distracted he got drenched when Ghost splashed water at him for real. He laughed.

“Alright, Ghost.” He brushed his wet hair out of his face. “See you tomorrow for breakfast? I’ll tell Gaz, who's the one actually supposed to take care of you, to put your food on a plate, but I don’t think you’ll be as trusting of him as you are of me. Poor bugger has enough animals to

care for, can’t spend all day sitting by the pool like me.”

Ghost shrugged. But he did motion putting on a cap and said “Gaz?” so he at least knew who Gaz was.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

Ghost mimicked smoking a cigar, then tilted his head.

“That’s Price. The boss.”

Ghost nodded. “Price.”

“And I am?” Soap pointed at himself.

“Annoying,” Ghost replied, with his almost smirk.

“Och, you fucker, just wait and see if I’ll spend another day sitting my arse square on that bloody bench for you.” Despite his outburst, Soap was still laughing.

“Breakfast. Together?” Ghost rasped out. It was clear that he found speaking English hard.

“Aye. We can have breakfast together. In the morning. We both sleep first, yeah?” Soap pushed to his feet. “See you tomorrow, Ghost.”

“Tomorrow, Soap.” With a splash of his tail that drenched Soap once more, Ghost vanished back into the depths. Soap left soon after, stealing a dry sweater from Gaz’ locker on his way out.

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Analogue Bubblebath - Submitted by: fastman27

#CBFFA6 #80ED74 #4AD9B3 #12B9CC #1A90D9

[27potatochips]

All of the above. He needs his human or a category 5 sulking event is going to happen, and nobody wants that

Why is mer!ghost upset today:

it's Soap's day off

fish had too many bones

the lights are bright

there was fresh water in the bucket he stole

it's his human's day off

fish had too little bones

somebody (adult) wanted to interact with him

Gaz gave him an ice cube

somebody (child) didn't want to interact with him

it's soap's day off and those should be illegal

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spider-gaz au with venom!ghost in a more villainous arc

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Graves is unfortunately one of my favorite character so have a little something with him ✌️​

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I'm slamming our braincells together, my bestie, imagine it. His accent would sound so goofy when he's trying to speak mando'a, he is learned it extremely slow because his clan would burst out laughing every time he tried. He's so embarrassed he's glad he has his helmet now.

Also, imagine him being so comfortable in his helmet he keeps forgetting it's on. Just him mashing his granola bars against the face of it and going bright red when he realizes what he just did. He's never going to get anyone's respect now

You're a gift from whatever is holy. I was JUST chewing on several mando au ghoap things and I'm now going to chew on your art and your huge brain you amazing human being

!!!! im glad your brain is rotted like mine- I love drawing the armor so you can expect more mando cod things in the future :) <3 also ghost as a mandalorian just works SO WELL MAN

[27potatochips]

HELL YEAH!!!

Ghost as a mando works so damn well I'm nauseous. My thoughts that I've never really written up is that he was raised on Coruscant in the lower levels, then eventually became a smuggler to make ends meet for his mother and Joseph. He got in hot water with a Hutt and gets buried with the rest of his crew, so he crawls out of his own grave, goes on a murderous rampage, and gets found half dead by a clan of mandalorians who immediately take him in. I'm shaking him like a dog with a chew toy

You're a gift from whatever is holy. I was JUST chewing on several mando au ghoap things and I'm now going to chew on your art and your huge brain you amazing human being

!!!! im glad your brain is rotted like mine- I love drawing the armor so you can expect more mando cod things in the future :) <3 also ghost as a mandalorian just works SO WELL MAN

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Do we know how Price came to his hat?

How about Nik gave it to him shortly after they met, because young Price got horribly sunburned on his face and neck, the translucent (and at that time not yet so freckly) fucker. He kept it every since. It's practical! It's only because it's practical, you see. No other reason.

Nik POV: That's my ha- nevermind, I'll never get it back (insert budding feelings accompanied by possessive pride that Price wears some of his)

Fuuuck, I love this so much. I usually have the cigar habit as something Nik gave him, but this is equally as delicious.

Maybe they were conducting an op in the middle east somewhere. It was a dry heat out in the desert so Price didn't notice it as much. He was used to the clammy, uncomfortable heat we get in the UK. To him, that's heat, the kind that makes you soak through your shirt at the back, under your arms, under your damn tits. The dry desert crept up on him and while he absolutely recognised the importance of maintaining himself properly so that he didn't jeopardise their mission, he had been single-mindedly focused on everyone and everything else besides. He didn't realise he was dehydrated until he started getting dizzy while looking over a map with Mac and Nik.

Mac took one look at him and grunted. "When's the last time ye took a pish?"

Price couldn't fuckin' remember, could he? He looked at his captain stupidly, dry mouth sticky and cloying.

"Fer fuck sake, g'wan back tae the tent, ye dafty. If ah see ye out here before ye've sunk a litre, ah'll skelp ye. Nik, get him outta my sight."

So, Nik walked Price back to the tent they were storing a few crates worth of explosives and sat him down with a Camelbak full of cold water. Once Price started drinking, he couldn't stop, it was possibly the best thing had ever tasted in his bloody life. It didn't matter that half of it sloshed down his stubbled chin onto his shirt.

"Ah, ah, take it easy, lieutenant," Nik said, placing one of his big hands over Price's wrist. "You will make yourself sick." He smiled big, unabashed, and Price looked at himself in those mirrored aviators with a faint scowl. It was unreasonable how good-lookin' Nik was in a backwards khaki patrol cap and sunglasses. Shouldn't Russians burn in the heat? They were fifty percent snow, weren't they?

"'m fine," Price sniffed, always a little defensive around Nikolai, and now feeling extra sensitive after getting bollocked in front of him.

He hated that Nik made him feel his age. Twenty-three was young for a lieutenant but it was never usually a problem. People saw his scores, his records, his medals even now, and they forgot his age. But Nik had a way of reminding Price that, while he was looking up swearwords in the French dictionary at school to try and impress Tracy from class 9B2, Nik was already flying Sukhois and learning fifty ways to kill a man.

Nik nodded and they sat in silence for a while. Price's eyes wandered to the tent flap, and he was returning to the map in his mind when he Nik's fingers, cool from where they had been holding the water bottle, touched his ears. They felt like shards of ice. "Ah, wossat fer, ya muppet?" He grumbled.

Nik's grin grew a little wider. "Your ears have burned, and the back of your neck."

"Fuck sake, I put factor fifty on this mornin'..." Price traced his fingers from his ear down his neck. The burning stopped at the line of his shemagh, which had offered some protection, even soaked in sweat.

"Da, but you are... hmm, svyetlokozshee, uh.." Nik's eyes flicked back and forth as if reading from an internal dictionary, "ah, fair-skinned."

It was damn impressive how he did that. His file had said eight languages. English was number eight. Mac had said something about mensa international having a file on Nik too. Too intelligent to be slumming it in the desert with the SAS, and yet here he was.

The way Nik said fair-skinned sounded far too fond and Price's skin would be blushing if it wasn't already red. He decided not to examine the reaction too closely. Price touched his ears gingerly, and scrunched his nose. "Great."

"You must look after yourself, lieutenant. You are the most valuable asset here." Nik dropped his pack from his shoulder and began rummaging through. He pulled out a roll of khaki and shoved it into Price's hands. When Price unrolled it, he puffed a laugh.

"A boonie hat, you jossin' me?"

Nik looked at him blankly.

"Oh, uh... Takin' the piss, as in, I'm gonna look like a twat if I wear this."

Nik rolled his shoulders in an 'eh' shrug that made Price want to shove the hat in his mouth. "You will look like a twat if you faint in the head and the captain has to carry you out under fire."

Price licked the salt from his lips, fixing Nik with a long stare, hating the fact that he was right more than he hated the boonie hat. "Fair," he said, finally. He unrolled it, flattened out the brim, and shoved it on his head, picking up the water bottle for another long drink.

Nik watched him, eyes invisible behind his aviators, but Price was sure he was... admiring. Just felt it. Nik always looked at him in ways like that. Fuck knows why. "Wot?" Price asked, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist.

"Hm, just... an echo of tomorrow."

"You are bloody odd, Nik."

"Da," Nik conceded, slapping his knees before he rolled to his feet. "I will tell the captain you are almost ready. Two hundred and fifty more millilitres to go, such a good boy."

A shiver of something not entirely unpleasantly ran down Price's spine, and he growled. "Just for that I'm gonna tip it on the floor."

"No, you will not." Nik didn't even look back as he walked out of the tent.

Price scowled, flashed his middle finger at his back, and drank the last quarter of a litre as petulantly as he could muster. "Fuckin' wanker..."

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There are benefits to being a marine biologist

Ghoap, Mer!Soap, Marine Biology PhD student!Ghost

C/W: brief blood and animal death mention (Soap's hungry)

When Simon had rented this small hut on the shores of the northern North sea, he’d done so to be alone. And to write his thesis. He’d needed to do and be both, so when his advisor, Professor Laswell, had asked him if he’d like to study mussels and other molluscs, he’d jumped at the idea. Once a week, he went into the nearby village to get supplies, but aside from the cashier at the little grocery store and a few old residents, he barely saw any people.

It could have been so nice. It had been nice. Right until…

A piercing whistle rang out from the pier.

Simon rubbed his hands over his face. It was cold and windy outside. His bed was warm. But he needed to collect his data. Besides, he’d promised to come out to the pier. Still, he was dragging his feet as he got dressed. His tarpaulin gear had luckily dried overnight, which was a small mercy. His waterproof bag with two journals and a bunch of scraps of papers, as well as some pens, hung on a hook in the door. He picked it up as he went outside.

On the pier sat a young man, waving excitedly at him. Simon rolled his eyes. It would have been weird enough that the young man wasn’t wearing any clothes, his muscular arms and torso on full display. That was just before getting to his lower half. That lower half was all seal. A tail, covered in thick, warm fur.

“Simon!” the mer called out, waving more. It was the first human word he’d learned and still his favorite. “Got more molluscs!”

“Did you now?” Simon’s mouth twitched. So far, about half the things the mer had given him had been living things or parts of them. The other half had been rocks and remains and anything else interesting the mer found in the ocean. Parts of shipwrecks, mostly. “Let’s see them.”

The mer beamed as he raised the bag he’d made out of fishing nets and emptied the contents on the pier. Mussels, shells, stones and a sea urchin rolled over the wood. The rusty hoist clattered to the floor and remained there. A fish struggled. Simon wanted to take pity, but the mer was faster. He looked sheepish as he grabbed it. “Whoops. Lunch.” He bit into the fish. “Well?”

“You only brought this to have me explain what it is, haven’t you, Johnny?” Simon tapped the hoist. “I’ll do that last.”

Mouth smeared with fish blood, Johnny the mer pouted.

“Alright. So. These…” Simon swept the mussels and clams up and dropped them into a bucket full of seawater. “Are molluscs. Where did you find them?”

The mer made a noise Simon recognized as meaning “I don’t know”. A beat later, Johnny pointed north along the battered coastline. “Around there, the shore,” he settled on. “In my territory.”

Simon nodded. That was good enough for him. After months of interaction, he had a good idea of the size of Johnny’s territory. It was close enough that he could study the animals he’d been given. “Stones, again?”

“Pretty,” Johnny purred. He motioned for Simon to hold out his hand. Simon did. He trusted the mer, against his better judgment. Johnny wouldn’t hurt him on purpose. Just as he didn’t hurt him this time. Instead, he dropped a sizable piece of amber in Simon’s hand. “Pretty,” he crooned again. In his own language he added: “I like the color. It’s the same as your…” Simon didn’t know the word but suspected it meant eyes. He repeated the word, pointing at his eye. Johnny nodded, beaming. So Simon wrote the word down on a scrap, to add it to his growing dictionary later.

“Thank you,” Simon said, taking care to pronounce the mer language correctly. It still felt like gargling half the time. “I like it.”

“Look inside!” The mer urged. “It’s special. Like you.”

Simon took a closer look at the amber. His breath caught. Inside, trapped for millions and millions of years, was a small, perfectly preserved snail. He looked at Johnny with awe. “Where… how…?”

“Present for you.” Johnny leaned closer, his smirk growing into a much softer smile. “Searched long time. Perfect. Has to be perfect. Is perfect?”

“It is. It’s the perfect present. I… thank you, Johnny.”

Before Simon could say anything else, before he could even react, Johnny closed the distance between them. His lips were cold against Simon’s and tasted of fish, but he made up for that with passion. A minute later, he pulled back again, though.

“You don’t like it like that,” Johnny concluded, looking dejected.

“I do. It’s just… Christ, Johnny. Warn a man.” Simon rubbed his free hand across his face. The kiss hadn’t been half bad, even if he’d been too surprised to reciprocate. He put his hand on Johnny’s. “I was surprised, is all. Is this a courting gift?”

Johnny squinted at him, puzzling over the question. Probably not the answer. Or at least Simon hoped so. They’d never talked about courtship until now.

“A gift to make me your mate,” Simon clarified.

“A…” Whatever Johnny called it, it had to have the same meaning, because he nodded vigorously.

“Thank you.” Simon closed his hand around the amber. “I accept. It’s mine now.”

Johnny beamed again. He raised both hands, telegraphing his next move. Only at Simon’s minute nod did Johnny take his face in his clammy, webbed hands again. Despite the feeling, Simon melted into the touch. He’d known for a while Johnny was attempting to court him. If he’d disliked the idea, which he briefly considered and dismissed, he’d shut it down. He never had. So he leaned forward, closing the distance between their lips.

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"This is John, my boyfriend," Ghost lies, pushing Soap forward through the front door of his home. Four pairs of eyes are glued to them both. "I met him at work." Not a lie. "He'll be spending our leave here." Also not a lie. Christ on a cracker, why are Ghost's palms so sweaty? Can't anyone else say something now?

As if reading his mind, Soap cracks his brightest, most charming smile. "You must be Mrs Riley. Tommy, Beth, Joseph. Si talked so much about you all."

Ghost is a little stunned Johnny even remembered their names. He brought them up once, sad and drunk because he was missing yet another one of Jo's birthdays. But what had he expected? When he asked Soap to pretend to be his boyfriend so his family would stop asking him to settle down, to meet their friend or their friend's son or their friend's dad, he should have known Johnny would wrap them all around his little finger in seconds. It’s clear from the way Simon's mom already beams at him.

“Are you a soldier, too?” Joseph asks. Always the first to open up to strangers. Simon is so proud of him.

Soap crouches down in front of Joseph, bringing their eyes on the same level. “Yes, I am. Your uncle Si is my lieutenant.”

“Do you kiss?”

Soap laughs. It’s so heartfelt and sweet, Ghost wants to weep. If only this were real. “Of course we do, bud.”

Joseph scrunches up his nose. “His cheeks are scratchy.”

“So are mine. Wanna feel?”

Joseph pets Soap’s cheek. He pulls a face. “More pokey. Less sandpaper,” is the verdict.

Soap laughs again. Ghost wants to drink the sound up directly from the source.

Two minutes later, Soap and Joseph have pulled Beth and Simon’s mom into their conversation as well. They move to the living room, leaving Simon and Tommy alone in the hall. Simon fiddles with the straps of both their duffles. He insisted, out in the car. Wanted to pretend to be the attentive boyfriend Soap deserves. Wants to be the only boyfriend Soap’d ever want no matter how futile the desire.

“He’s a freaking chatterbox,” Tommy huffs. He punches Simon’s arm. “Talks enough for the both of you, huh?”

“Think he’s annoying?”

“Nah.” Tommy smiles. He nudges Simon again. “Can’t believe you pulled such a pretty man.”

“Yeah.” Simon rubs the back of his neck. “Can’t believe it either.”

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mando ghost save me mando ghost

my fic ;)

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someone asked me if mandalorian ghost's helmet from my fic just had a skull stapled to it and i have to clear the air

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trapdoor.

early access + nsfw on patreon monster!AU masterpost

[27potatochips]

A funny prompt: Gaz’ No-Good, Terrible, Very Bad day. In which in the span of 24 hours he walks in on NikPrice, GhostSoap, then AleRudy bumping uglies because those pairs of idiots keep having sex in weird places and Gaz keeps having to bare witness.

How you wanna play it is up to you, but I love the way you write Gaz and I wanted to lean more into the comedic side of sexy times rather than the hot n heavy stuff this once.

Mikey, I love you for this prompt. I actually wrote it all out and then Tumblr shat itself. Serves me right for writing in the app on my phone, eh? I hope this redo is as good. Two of my favourite things: humour and sex.

Gaz has a really bad day.

cw: sexual content.

Really, Gaz should have called it a day when he had decided to have a Rich Tea with his breakfast brew and the fucker had broken off in it because he had gone zero point one second over the optimum dunking threshold. Bad omen. Yeah, pack it all up lads, turn in.

If someone were to ask him precisely when his day had gone to shit, he would definitely say it was then, because if he had to recall the next part he was pretty sure he'd require several sessions of therapy.

It was unusual for the store cupboard to be locked, which was his first warning that something was amiss. But airpods in and his mind on the afternoon's planned exercise with Bravo Company, he didn't think much of it. There were only five people on base with a key, so it was easier to leave the door unlocked. When it came time for inventory at the end of the week, Price was disturbingly effective at nailing anyone with sticky fingers so no one bothered pushing their luck.

As DJ Snake turned down for what and the beat dropped, Gaz tugged his lanyard out of his shirt and jammed the key in the lock. Shouldering the door open, he slapped a hand over the light switch and looked up at the same time, only to be faced with Lieutenant Riley's lily-white arse pounding between two hairy legs directly opposite. "What the fuck?"

Gaz practically slapped himself in the face in his haste to snatch the airpods from his ears and cover his eyes with his palm. He heard rather than saw Tav slide down the wall he'd been pinned to, and the resulting yelp as he hit the concrete floor.

"Did ya ma no' teach ye tae knock?" Tav squawked.

"You're in the store cupboard, Tav! The fucking store cupboard!"

"We locked the door..."

"He has private fucking quarters, which is... literally what they could be used for, fuck my life!"

Ghost cleared his throat and Gaz chanced a look through the slats of his fingers. He regretted it almost immediately when he glimpsed the lieutenant's monster hog, which was somehow three times the size hard as it was soft, according to the sparse glimpses Gaz had snatched in the shower. Professional curiosity, you know. Ghost was completely unfazed, standing there with it all just hanging out. "Uh, sir, if you could..."

"What'd'ye want, Garrick?" Tav growled, pulling his hoodie over his lap to hide whatever gaping devastation the lieutenant had inflicted.

"Camelbak skin. Top shelf on the left."

Gaz heard a box grind over the metal shelf and the split of plastic sellotape. When the rustling stopped, he looked through his fingers again and saw Ghost holding the skin out for him to take. He hadn't even pulled his boxers up, his hard dick still on full display. Gaz sidled over, keeping his face turned away, and took the offered plastic parcel. "Cheers," he murmured awkwardly.

"Welcome," Ghost rumbled back, and if Gaz didn't know him better, he'd say the bastard was laughing at him. Seconds later, he hightailed it out of there as quickly as he could, pinching the bridge of his nose and hoping the image of all that pale skin thrusting away between Tav's hairy stalks wasn't going to haunt his fucking nightmares. Luckily, he had a fitness course to coordinate that afternoon, which would help take his mind off of it.

No such fucking luck, as it transpired.

As Bravo Company were taking a breather after making good time over the course, Gaz snuck off into the woodland for a quick slash before they moved on to first aid training. As he rounded an old oak tree, he caught the sound of hushed voices over the usual bird song and rustle of leaves. Little fuckers had snuck off for a smoke and thought he wouldn't notice.

He did up his fly, put on a stern face and readied his most blood-curdling shout as he stomped in their direction. The 'oi, ya little cunts' sat on the tip of his tongue as he burst through the bushes, only for it to dissolve into a high-pitched little 'ah!' when he came face to face with Rudy, slack-jawed and sweaty.

Colonel Vargas was two knuckles deep in him, Rudy's cock drooling over his superior's wrist, hips twitching. That was all Gaz managed to see before he swung himself round and covered his eyes for good measure. The low voice he had heard must have been some truly filthy Spanish, because Rudy looked about ready to blow.

"Hola, sergeant," Alejandro said calmly. "¿Qué tal? I thought you were not due in the woodlands until tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah, orienteering is... tomorrow, sorry, colonel, I thought you were trainees, I, uh..." Gaz glanced over his shoulder and saw that Alejandro had moved his body to shield Rudy from view. He whispered something softly in Spanish in his lover's ear, because Rudy was hurriedly yanking up his trousers, his belt rattling, looking panicked.

"It is I who must apologise, amigo. I cannot control myself with Rudy, and with all this nature around us, I let my heart lead my head," Alejandro said. "I would be... grateful if this indiscretion did not get to the captain."

"Uh, sure, mate, yeah. Mum's the word... I'm gonna... go this way. As you were, or... not." Gaz hotfooted it back through the bushes, his face on fire, and was relieved to find some troopers slacking off because he had someone to beast. Seriously, this day could fucking do one. It couldn't get any worse.

Famous. Last. Fucking. Words.

First aid training concluded in time for dinner and Gaz sent the troopers to mess. He didn't go himself because he wasn't sure he could look Tav or Ghost in the eye just yet. Instead, he headed to his bunk and snacked on some Pringles as he finished off a report on the week's progress for Price. And yeah, he left out the sheer volume of unnecessary cock he had seen that day.

Last thing on the day's list was to submit the report and he could turn in, hoping that tomorrow had less cock and arse on the agenda for him. He rapped twice on the captain's door and let himself in, missing the sudden scuffle of movement as the hinges creaked. "Hey, sir, got the summary ahead of sched-u-oh, Nik."

Nik was sitting in Price's chair bolt upright, his hands in his lap beneath the desk, shoulders squared. "Gaz, my brother," Nik greeted, but his voice sounded a little... tight. "Kak dyela?"

"Where's... the..." Gaz studied Nik a bit more carefully and began noting a few more oddities. His skin was flushed, eyes blown wide, usually slick hair all ruffled out of place, and he was shifting minutely in his chair, but keeping his feet very, very fucking still. "He's..." Gaz pinched the bridge of his nose, "he's under the desk, isn't he?" Because of course he fucking was.

Nik flashed a mischievous smirk.

Gaz sighed. "Jesus fucking Christ..."

Nik bit his lower lip and then opened his mouth to say something, but Price got there first, his voice low, rough and husky from his hiding place beneath his own desk. Probably from where he had just been gobbing off Nik's--no, no, for Gaz's own sanity he just couldn't finish that thought.

"Leave the report on the desk," Price growled.

"Yup, right, it's on the desk," Gaz replied, getting as close as he could to be able to chuck it on the keyboard without risking seeing Nik's cock next to his captain's face. "Have a, uh... a good..."

"Garrick," Price snapped.

"Right, yeah, going. Going."

Nik waved at him as he left but Gaz could do nothing more than cringe his way back into the corridor. Three for three. Fan-fucking-tastic.

There was no way he was getting any sleep after that. Gaz headed for the mess and a cup of tea. Maybe if he managed to dunk the biscuit properly, the day would stop fucking with him.

He was completely engaged in a thousand yard stare when Tav slid onto the bench opposite. Gaz gave him the side eye. "Surprised you can sit down."

Tav smirked. "Aye, s'taken some practice."

"Nope, no, no more. It's gonna take years of therapy, decades, to get over seeing that man's arse between your legs."

"Dunno what yer whinin' about, ah've got bruises from where the fecker dropped me."

Gaz snorted. "Good."

"Look, ah... ah came tae apologise. It weren't decent, an', uh..."

"Mate," Gaz sighed, slapping his hands on the table as he sat up. "The shit I've seen today, Ghost's pale arse ain't even the half of it." He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "Do you fuck in there a lot?"

"Oh aye, and other places."

"Oh god..."

Gaz's eyes narrowed as Tav turned in his seat and extended a leg. That was an exit manoeuvre. Tav rolled his lips into his mouth, smirked, and then landed the killer blow. "Pretty sure we've done it in yer bunk."

"You cun--oi, c'mere you rat Scottish bastard!"

Tav fled cackling and Gaz followed with full intent to put a few more boot-shaped bruises on his arse. Perfect end to his no-good, terrible, very bad day.

[27potatochips]

A funny prompt: Gaz’ No-Good, Terrible, Very Bad day. In which in the span of 24 hours he walks in on NikPrice, GhostSoap, then AleRudy bumping uglies because those pairs of idiots keep having sex in weird places and Gaz keeps having to bare witness.

How you wanna play it is up to you, but I love the way you write Gaz and I wanted to lean more into the comedic side of sexy times rather than the hot n heavy stuff this once.

Mikey, I love you for this prompt. I actually wrote it all out and then Tumblr shat itself. Serves me right for writing in the app on my phone, eh? I hope this redo is as good. Two of my favourite things: humour and sex.

Gaz has a really bad day.

cw: sexual content.

Really, Gaz should have called it a day when he had decided to have a Rich Tea with his breakfast brew and the fucker had broken off in it because he had gone zero point one second over the optimum dunking threshold. Bad omen. Yeah, pack it all up lads, turn in.

If someone were to ask him precisely when his day had gone to shit, he would definitely say it was then, because if he had to recall the next part he was pretty sure he'd require several sessions of therapy.

It was unusual for the store cupboard to be locked, which was his first warning that something was amiss. But airpods in and his mind on the afternoon's planned exercise with Bravo Company, he didn't think much of it. There were only five people on base with a key, so it was easier to leave the door unlocked. When it came time for inventory at the end of the week, Price was disturbingly effective at nailing anyone with sticky fingers so no one bothered pushing their luck.

As DJ Snake turned down for what and the beat dropped, Gaz tugged his lanyard out of his shirt and jammed the key in the lock. Shouldering the door open, he slapped a hand over the light switch and looked up at the same time, only to be faced with Lieutenant Riley's lily-white arse pounding between two hairy legs directly opposite. "What the fuck?"

Gaz practically slapped himself in the face in his haste to snatch the airpods from his ears and cover his eyes with his palm. He heard rather than saw Tav slide down the wall he'd been pinned to, and the resulting yelp as he hit the concrete floor.

"Did ya ma no' teach ye tae knock?" Tav squawked.

"You're in the store cupboard, Tav! The fucking store cupboard!"

"We locked the door..."

"He has private fucking quarters, which is... literally what they could be used for, fuck my life!"

Ghost cleared his throat and Gaz chanced a look through the slats of his fingers. He regretted it almost immediately when he glimpsed the lieutenant's monster hog, which was somehow three times the size hard as it was soft, according to the sparse glimpses Gaz had snatched in the shower. Professional curiosity, you know. Ghost was completely unfazed, standing there with it all just hanging out. "Uh, sir, if you could..."

"What'd'ye want, Garrick?" Tav growled, pulling his hoodie over his lap to hide whatever gaping devastation the lieutenant had inflicted.

"Camelbak skin. Top shelf on the left."

Gaz heard a box grind over the metal shelf and the split of plastic sellotape. When the rustling stopped, he looked through his fingers again and saw Ghost holding the skin out for him to take. He hadn't even pulled his boxers up, his hard dick still on full display. Gaz sidled over, keeping his face turned away, and took the offered plastic parcel. "Cheers," he murmured awkwardly.

"Welcome," Ghost rumbled back, and if Gaz didn't know him better, he'd say the bastard was laughing at him. Seconds later, he hightailed it out of there as quickly as he could, pinching the bridge of his nose and hoping the image of all that pale skin thrusting away between Tab's hairy stalks wasn't going to haunt his fucking nightmares. Luckily, he had a fitness course to coordinate that afternoon, which would help take his mind off of it.

No such fucking luck, as it transpired.

As Bravo Company were taking a breather after making good time over the course, Gaz snuck off into the woodland for a quick slash before they moved on to first aid training. As he rounded an old oak tree, he caught the sound of hushed voices over the usual bird song and rustle of leaves. Little fuckers had snuck off for a smoke and thought he wouldn't notice.

He did up his fly, put on a stern face and readied his most blood-curdling shout as he stomped in their direction. The 'oi, ya little cunts' sat on the tip of his tongue as he burst through the bushes, only for it to dissolve into a high-pitched little 'ah!' when he came face to face with Rudy, slack-jawed and sweaty.

Colonel Vargas was two knuckles deep in him, Rudy's cock drooling over his superior's wrist, hips twitching. That was all Gaz managed to see before he swung himself round and covered his eyes for good measure. The low voice he had heard must have been some truly filthy Spanish, because Rudy looked about ready to blow.

"Hola, sergeant," Alejandro said calmly. "¿Qué tal? I thought you were not due in the woodlands until tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah, orienteering is... tomorrow, sorry, colonel, I thought you were trainees, I, uh..." Gaz glanced over his shoulder and saw that Alejandro had moved his body to shield Rudy from view. He whispered something softly in Spanish in his lover's ear, because Rudy was hurriedly yanking up his trousers, his belt rattling, looking panicked.

"It is I who must apologise, amigo. I cannot control myself with Rudy, and with all this nature around us, I let my heart lead my head," Alejandro said. "I would be... grateful if this indiscretion did not get to the captain."

"Uh, sure, mate, yeah. Mum's the word... I'm gonna... go this way. As you were, or... not." Gaz hotfooted it back through the bushes, his face on fire, and was relieved to find some troopers slacking off because he had someone to beast. Seriously, this day could fucking do one. It couldn't get any worse.

Famous. Last. Fucking. Words.

First aid training concluded in time for dinner and Gaz sent the troopers to mess. He didn't go himself because he wasn't sure he could look Tav or Ghost in the eye just yet. Instead, he headed to his bunk and snacked on some Pringles as he finished off a report on the week's progress for Price. And yeah, he left out the sheer volume of unnecessary cock he had seen that day.

Last thing on the day's list was to submit the report and he could turn in, hoping that tomorrow had less cock and arse on the agenda for him. He rapped twice on the captain's door and let himself in, missing the sudden scuffle of movement as the hinges creaked. "Hey, sir, got the summary ahead of sched-u-oh, Nik."

Nik was sitting in Price's chair bolt upright, his hands in his lap beneath the desk, shoulders squared. "Gaz, my brother," Nik greeted, but his voice sounded a little... tight. "Kak dyela?"

"Where's... the..." Gaz studied Nik a bit more carefully and began noting a few more oddities. His skin was flushed, eyes blown wide, usually slick hair all ruffled out of place, and he was shifting minutely in his chair, but keeping his feet very, very fucking still. "He's..." Gaz pinched the bridge of his nose, "he's under the desk, isn't he?" Because of course he fucking was.

Nik flashed a mischievous smirk.

Gaz sighed. "Jesus fucking Christ..."

Nik bit his lower lip and then opened his mouth to say something, but Price got there first, his voice low, rough and husky from his hiding place beneath his own desk. Probably from where he had just been gobbing off Nik's--no, no, for Gaz's own sanity he just couldn't finish that thought.

"Leave the report on the desk," Price growled.

"Yup, right, it's on the desk," Gaz replied, getting as close as he could to be able to chuck it on the keyboard without risking seeing Nik's cock next to his captain's face. "Have a, uh... a good..."

"Garrick," Price snapped.

"Right, yeah, going. Going."

Nik waved at him as he left but Gaz could do nothing more than cringe his way back into the corridor. Three for three. Fan-fucking-tastic.

There was no way he was getting any sleep after that. Gaz headed for the mess and a cup of tea. Maybe if he managed to dunk the biscuit properly, the day would stop fucking with him.

He was completely engaged in a thousand yard stare when Tav slid onto the bench opposite. Gaz gave him the side eye. "Surprised you can sit down."

Tav smirked. "Aye, s'taken some practice."

"Nope, no, no more. It's gonna take years of therapy, decades, to get over seeing that man's arse between your legs."

"Dunno what yer whinin' about, ah've got bruises from where the fecker dropped me."

Gaz snorted. "Good."

"Look, ah... ah came tae apologise. It weren't decent, an', uh..."

"Mate," Gaz sighed, slapping his hands on the table as he sat up. "The shit I've seen today, Ghost's white arse ain't even the half of it." He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "Do you fuck in there a lot?"

"Oh aye, and other places."

"Oh god..."

Gaz's eyes narrowed as Tav turned in his seat and extended a leg. That was an exit manoeuvre. Tav rolled his lips into his mouth, smirked, and then landed the killer blow. "Pretty sure we've done it in yer bunk."

"You cun--oi, c'mere you rat Scottish bastard!"

Tav fled cackling and Gaz followed with full intent to put a few more boot-shaped bruises on his arse. Perfect end to his no-good, terrible, very bad day.

[27potatochips]

been thinking of nothing but Simon’s husband dying young and being an organ donor and his heart going to some Scottish punk in the highlands who didn’t even want it, who just wanted to die. but someday the two of them meet and fall in love