#I can’t remember what the military operation is called

[magpiesvscanaries]

Gertrude is head of the SSRI don’t fight me on this

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.

MASTERLIST | Next ->

“I don’t like this.” 

“Believe me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and I’ve pushed back as much as I can. They’re convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.” 

He wants to protest, but he’s been protesting this idea for three months. “What more can you tell me about her?” 

“Not much that isn’t already in her file.” Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but that’s not a conversation to be held over the phone. “She’s quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.” 

That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago. 

He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. She’s cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. She’s young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink. 

He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. She’s been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didn’t care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her. 

“Christ.” He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting. 

As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, now he’s going to have an omega under his care. 

He hasn’t considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long. 

His team didn’t need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic. 

Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not. 

He can’t help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omega’s photo. They’d be here in a week. She’d be flying with Laswell to London where she’d be given a few days to adjust before they’d fly in here and she’ll be left with her new pack. 

Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week. 

You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. They’re all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you don’t understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you can’t convert meters to feet in your head. 

You’re tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath. 

“I know.” Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. “You’re going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-” 

“Classified?” You finish for her. 

Kate smiles. “Exactly. It’s mostly for your safety. The less you know...” 

The less there is to make you a target. 

You’d been given that speech before you left D.C. You’d been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the director’s office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadn’t been any different than the other interviews you’d done before, except that you were chosen this time. 

What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadn’t really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going. 

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though.” Kate continues, something you’ve been told over and over again during your briefings. “They’re all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle them.” 

You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasn’t an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasn’t unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal. 

That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military. 

That, and the excuse for violence. 

Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, omegas weren’t allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldn’t have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented. 

In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you. 

“How do you feel?” Kate asks, looking you over. You’ve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks you’ve spent together. 

“Tired.” You run a hand across your face. 

“The time difference will do that to you.” Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Not to mention everything else.” Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. “I have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way back.” 

You look nervous. 

He can’t blame you. He’d felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as he’d finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesn’t often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly. 

This is different, though. This isn’t a soldier he’s greeting, this is an omega. 

His omega. 

As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark you’d wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. You’re not another member of his team, you’re not even a soldier. You’re just a poor civilian that’s been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy. 

“Captain Price.” Laswell greets him, shaking his hand. 

He greets her back, but he can’t help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. You’re small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly. 

He doesn’t even want to think about that. 

Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadn’t had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You say, shaking his hand. It’s small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy. 

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, releasing your hand. 

You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a moment’s notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. You’re on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed. 

“I’ll show you around and let you get settled.” He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. “You and I have some things to discuss.” 

You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141’s home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gaz’s, with Soap and Ghost on the other side. 

He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. There’s four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that they’d slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents. 

“The lads are still running a simulation, but they’ll be done within the hour.” He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. “We’ll let you get settled in and I’ll come get you when they’re ready.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You say.

Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. You’d likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months you’ll have bonded with her just a bit. 

Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. He’d left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about. 

“So.” Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. “What can you really tell me about her?” 

Laswell gives him a knowing look. “The CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isn’t how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.” 

Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went. 

“They had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.” Laswell continues. “But, you know omegas aren’t cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.” 

“What sort of hesitations?” He asks. 

“You saw those scores, John. She’s a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.” 

Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right. 

Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. “She’d get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.” There’s something hidden in Laswell’s words, his mind filing that away for later. “I need someone I can trust with her. She’s smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that won’t take advantage of her.” 

“It sounds like you’ve grown rather fond of her.” He says, flipping open the first page of the file. It’s the CIA’s data on her, everything they’d done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega. 

“Like I said, I’m the one that picked her for your team.” Laswell leans forward against his desk. “She knows what she’s in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. She’ll let you mark her, no questions asked because that’s what she’s been told to do. She’s obedient, John, almost to a fault.”

“That could be dangerous.” Price says. 

“Yes, it could.” Laswell says. “I’m leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.” 

Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswell’s words aren’t lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.

“Take care of her, John.” Laswell says. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.” 

He hasn’t failed her yet. 

Your body is tingling. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or something else. You haven’t been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. He’s a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked. 

The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. There’s extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. There’s four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.

You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. They’re all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldn’t have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags. 

Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment. 

You’re breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Price’s. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Price’s. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You can’t pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent. 

You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Price’s. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. There’s something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you can’t pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk. 

One more to go. 

You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk. 

This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity. 

He’s going to be a problem. 

You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. There’s a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible. 

Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasn’t hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane. 

“Coming, Si?” 

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment you’re afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard it’s pounding. Steps recede from your door and you don’t breathe until they’ve disappeared. 

You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You don’t have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You don’t even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. There’s towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. They’re all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute. 

Nothing that could dampen your natural scent. 

You almost don’t hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasn’t Price? What if it wasn’t anyone from your new pack? 

“Just me.” Price’s voice comes through the door. 

Of course he would notice your hesitation. He’s a trained soldier, he’s always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly. 

Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that you’re attune to it. “They’re ready, if you are.” He says. 

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t like you had much of a choice to say no. 

You slip out the door, closing it behind you. You’d ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. You’re not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back. 

“I thought we’d do it in a meeting room.” Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. “Somewhere neutral.” 

It’s smart, it’ll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression. 

Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. “Ready?” 

Not really, but you wouldn’t dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. “Yes, sir.” 

Price opens the door, stepping in first. You’re glad for the few moments you’re hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it. 

You can hold power over them. 

The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. “The Powerful Omega”, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to. 

You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but you’re not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.

Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. He’s tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile. 

Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. “Good to meet ya, lass.” He greets you, giving you a charming smile. He’s going to push your boundaries, you can tell. 

You’re beginning to see the dynamics already. 

“And Ghost.” Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place you’ve been avoiding since you walked in. 

All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. You’re not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha. 

Price’s hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. “Come on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.”  

Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if they’d read your file. There’s not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs. 

“What about your family?” Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. “Do you still talk to them?” 

You shake your head. “Not for a few years. Institutes don’t really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.” 

“Your father was a Marine, correct?” Price, even though they already know the answer. 

You nod. “Yes, sir.” 

“You lived on base?” He asks. 

You nod again. “Yes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.” 

“When did you get sent to the Institute?” He asks, almost regretting answering it. 

It’s a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. “The day after I presented.” You say. 

The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gaz’s eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well. 

“My father was a traditionalist alpha.” You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. “It was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.” You explain. “It was my dad’s status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.” 

“What was it like, in the institute?” Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent. 

You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. “Not unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.” 

“Your test scores were high.” Price remarks. 

You shrug. “I’m a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I don’t really have to think much about it.” 

“Did you really kneel for two hours straight?” Gaz asks. 

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I don’t know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldn’t handle the pain. Three even passed out.” 

“How did you manage it?” Gaz asks. 

Price wasn’t a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance. 

“To be honest, I don’t remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.” You shrug.

“We won’t make you kneel for two hours.” Price says. “And definitely not without a pillow.” 

You smile softly. “Thank you, sir.” 

Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. You’ve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and you’ve stopped picking at your nails. 

Ghost has remained silent the entire time you’ve spoken, eyes glued on you. You’ve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze. 

He’s going to be a problem. 

“There’s some rules we need to go over before anything else.” Price says. “You have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until you’ve been marked. There’s other alphas on this base and I don’t want them getting any ideas.” 

You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You don’t want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that won’t stop some. You’re not even sure a mark will stop them either. 

“I want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if we’re gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.” You’re beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. “We have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I won’t lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and there’s an Omega Specialist that’s been brought in for you. You’ll meet her later, I’m sure she wants to do a full workup.” 

You’ve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting. 

“I’m starving, let’s get the scenting over with.” Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach. 

His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. You’d seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like it’s not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you don’t like the way they smell? 

What if they don’t like the way you smell? 

“If you’re alright with it?” Price says, looking at you. 

You’re taken aback by the offer for consent. You weren’t expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You won’t say no, because you’ll have to do it eventually, and at least this way you’ll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier. 

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m okay with it.” 

All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you don’t stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible. 

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Soap says as they gather around you. “We won’t bite.” He winks at you playfully. 

Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasn’t unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what you’ve seen of Ghost, you’re not sure that’s going to happen. 

He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack. 

You tense as Price’s hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so you’re seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. They’re all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs. 

“Ready?” 

You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin. 

He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. There’s another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland. 

His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others. 

“Good girl.” He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. “Ghost.” He says, stepping back from you. 

You’re snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours. 

He’s testing you. 

You won’t satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. You’re enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl. 

He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. There’s something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and you’re sure your knees would have given out if you hadn’t been sitting. 

Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphas’ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Price’s scent hadn’t reached. 

You let out a quiet whine as he’s pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghost’s place. 

“How ya doing?” Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. “Hanging in there?” 

You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head. 

“You’re halfway there.” He says, leaning in closer. “Got through the hard part.” 

His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland. 

You’re drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. You’re clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you. 

“Easy.” He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. “Still with us?” He asks, meeting your gaze. 

“Yeah.” You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this. 

“Almost done, hen.” Soap says, taking Gaz’s place in front of you. “Lucky there’s only four of us.”

He’s right, you think as you bear your throat for him. You’re not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like you’re floating, enveloped in so many scents you’re not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghost’s. The look in them has changed, his body poised like he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice. 

Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him. 

You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat. 

You’re trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. It’s subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, it’s likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper. 

“There she is.” The low grumble of Price’s voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek. 

You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. He’s older than you, they’re all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze. 

You’re vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, they’re all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. You’d be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. You’d be entirely helpless against them. 

They could if they wanted to. 

It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldn’t stop them, and no one would help you. 

“You hungry, pup?” 

Price’s voice cuts through your fearful daze. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. It’s a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. You’ve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work. 

Pup. Price called you Pup. 

You haven’t been called “pup” since you were a pup. It’s a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but it’s more commonly used affectionately. He’s trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you. 

The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment. 

“Alright?” Price asks as your gaze meets his again. 

You nod, still leaning into his touch. “Yeah, ‘s a lot.” 

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.” 

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasn’t unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. You’re sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out. 

“Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesn’t even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not entirely one of fear. 

His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. They’re less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes. 

Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, it’s almost second nature. You’re sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear. 

The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what he’s doing. 

He’s proving his ability as a provider. 

In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. He’s proving his capabilities in the way he can. 

You’re also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. It’s not entirely indiscernible, though, and you’re sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, you’re happy to let Price do it for you. 

He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement don’t feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks. 

A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost. 

Then there’s you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow you’ll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you can’t help but feel like you’re only going to make things more difficult. 

NEXT ->

I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...

[deadsetobsessions]

REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPT BY @out-of-jams

TOO MANY BEDS

DCXDP, GEN

——

The Wayne foundation was a giant in the corporate world. What made it impressive was that their company was based in Gotham where, despite or perhaps in spite of the frequent rogue attacks and general hostile environment, the Waynes managed to run a tight and efficient ship. Their operations run extremely smoothly.

However, that was not to say there were no mistakes. There were. Wayne Enterprises usually had enough-more than enough- budget to cover such mistakes.

The employees, after all, were humans (though their new CEO, Timothy Drake, might have been a vampire considering how pale he was) and were prone to make mistakes.

Thus, due to the nature of human mistakes, the visiting senior class of Amity Park’s Casper High found themselves in a rather baffling situation.

“Well, we can’t say there’s not enough beds.” Their chaperone-teacher, Mr. Lancer rubbed the back of his bald head.

Before them laid not ten, not twenty, but fifty five twin beds arranged in neat rows in Gotham Academy’s auditorium.

“What is this, the military?” Their other chaperone-teacher, Mr. Falluca, grumbled.

“It’s not like we haven’t slept in worse places.” Sam grimaced. The class collective shuddered as they remembered the junior camping trip from hell.

“Ugh, my hair is going to get frizzy if we sleep here.” Paulina muttered.

“I thought we were getting called here for cheer or something.” Star frowned. Her boyfriend of four years, Kwan, slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to comfort her.

The doors open as a harried Wayne Industries employee ran in.

“I am so, so sorry! This isn’t where we were supposed to have you stay but WE mistook the donation request and sent in beds instead of paying for hotel rooms!” They blurted out, looking panicked. “Your hosting class - we’ll have you meet them outside, maybe?”

“It’s fine, right guys?” Danny spoke up, arms crossed. Tucker hummed at his side, tapping quickly at his

“Yeah, whatever Fentina says,” Dash grumbled. After the reveal of Danny’s identity as Phantom, his hostility and bullying died a quick death. Though, Dash kept the nicknames as they were a hard habit to kick and there weren’t any malicious intent behind it. In fact, Dash quickly became one of Danny’s biggest supporters, hidden behind scowls and general posturing.

“We could just meet in here. Get rid of the bedframes and just have a giant sleepover while you guys get everything sorted out.” Valerie volunteered.

“That’s a great idea!”

The class, coordinated from years of ghost attacks, quickly assembled the giant floor mattress. Gotham Academy’s senior class filed in ten minutes later, gaping at the giant floor mattress(es) before whooping and joining Casper High’s seniors in tumbling around.

——

Danny threw an empty plastic water bottle at Kwan’s head.

“Hey! No PDA on the giant mattress!”

“Yeah, get that love shit out of here!” Someone else hollered.

“There might technically be only one bed, now, but it’s still multiple mattresses!” Stephanie Brown, one of Gotham Academy’s seniors heckled.

“Hey, Danny, it’s your turn for truth or dare!” Tim said.

“Truth.” Danny returned.

“Lameeee.”

“C’mon Fenturd, too chicken to do dare?”

“Danny, that’s so boring,” Sam smirked.

Danny scowled. “Hey, whose side are you on?”

Sam and Tucker grinned and said in unison, “The winning side, duh.”

Tim cut in. “So, what’s the worst thing that’s happened to you?”

Danny groaned. “Camping trip, no contest.”

“Camping trip?”

——

[ozzgin]

Yandere! CoD Headcanons: König x Reader x Ghost (II)

“Sharing is caring” is likely familiar to most, though the nuances of it may sometimes differ beyond the classic expectations. You’re trapped between two jealous, possessive and feverishly infatuated men with no escape in your sight. That implies, of course, you’ve been looking for a way out of this bizarre partnership. Have you? Be honest…

TW: NSFW, obsessive behavior, size kink, violence

Tags: @223princess

[Part I]

Yet another classic rule that comes with your job is to always be ready to deal with the unexpected. Plan as well as you may, the battleground is not as generous as to stick to your schedule. Yet the same principle applies out of combat, too. It’s just…you had’t really imagined such an outcome to be possible. Your extensive training covered most scenarios, from raids, to ambushes, natural disasters, everything except, well, this. You wonder if the code of conduct might include a paragraph about work romance, specifically your teammates taking turns to fuck you shamelessly at any hour of the day.

You gaze at your reflection in the slightly fogged mirror and quickly look away, embarrassed. You can’t bear to see the markings that are peppered all over your body, betraying the depraved activities you’ve indulged in for the past weeks. How did it even come to this? You sit on the edge of the bed, drying your hair, and hesitantly replay the event in your head. Your helpless form crouched on the storage floor, looking up at the two large men gripping at each other’s throats. Behind their masks you could sense their ferocious intent to kill. How would you explain it to your superiors? You gathered up your remaining confidence and barked at them to stop at once. They were indeed taken aback by your sudden yell that could’ve put any drill sergeant to shame. You wanted to get to the bottom of the conflict and put all this bullshit behind as soon as possible. Until they offered you the honest cause of their hostile rivalry. You could only stare in disbelief.

Your first instinct was to wonder if this was some sort of elaborate prank. What the hell, were they a bunch of high schoolers learning to handle their first crush or fucking grown adults in the middle of a military operation? You were never oblivious to it: mixed gender missions always came with a lot of casual hookups to blow off steam. Not your thing, but there’s plenty of other people down to it. Your suggestion was met with angry, vehement refusal. Both Ghost and König were outraged at the insinuation they’d put their dicks in some rando, as if that’s all there was to it. As if anyone else would do. Ironically this is where they found their common ground. König had lifted you nonchalantly by the collar of your uniform and asked you if you’re playing dumb. You could only shrug, even more confused. Ghost joined him and explained, casually and matter-of-fact, that you can call it a hookup as long as you remember it’s a lifelong arrangement. You were to walk out that door with the knowledge you belong to them and they would take any necessary steps to ensure your compliance. The hunting knife that was meant to plunge into his rival was now propped under your chin, dangerously close to your throbbing artery.

Now this should’ve been your sign to nod obediently, pack your suitcase at the earliest convenience and get the hell out. And that was your honest intent, initially. You could almost visualize the documents granting your absence from duty. Then you felt your buttons pop from their seams, forcefully ripped apart by König’s large hand. It occurred to you that you were propped against the wall by two men twice your size. You could hear their now labored breaths, muffled by their masks. The Austrian man roughly readjusted your posture, having you rest against his hips and throwing your legs around his waist. You gasped quietly once you sensed a bulge pressing into you. He fumbled with his zipper, but Ghost interrupted him with an irritated scolding. “You can’t just ram it in, you fucking dumbass.” You didn’t take long to understand the meaning and shivered at the thought. Without a warning, Ghost slid his hand into your now unbuckled pants. Two fingers begun pressing circles over your underwear and an unconscious whine escaped your lips. Satisfied by your reaction, he brought himself closer and increased the pace until he felt the moisture pooling in the fabric, which was enough encouragement to gently slip his way inside of you. In an attempt to help, König lowered his head over your breasts, fondling your now sensitive nipples with his tongue. His mask draped over your skin, adding a mild tickle to the overwhelming buildup. You suddenly remembered the storage no longer had a door after König kicked it out of its hinges, so you tried to push the muscular man away. “W-what if someone comes in?” Against your will and to your surprise, the question rolled out like a prolonged moan and you blushed awkwardly. “They won’t, if you shut up.” Ghost responded curtly. He considered it for a moment, and added smugly: “Don’t worry, that pretty mouth of yours will be real busy soon.” You closed your eyes tightly and prayed you wouldn’t be caught.

And you weren’t. You got away with it. That time, and the other time, and all the other times. At this point you question whether your other teammates truly haven’t noticed or have since learned to look away. Another possibility is that the psychotic duo has threatened the others into silence. Given their cocky attitude whenever you protest about the openness or risky timing, it wouldn’t surprise you at all. Even worse, their libido seems to be increasing exponentially as a consequence to their incessant competition of owning you. They seem to be plagued by a delirious need to have you at all times, and you’re rather afraid to admit that your desire to flee is slowly being replaced by a similar addiction. Rabid dogs in heat. That’s the only analogy that comes to mind.

Last time you didn’t even get the chance to return to the base. The soldiers had exited the truck, cheering their success and marching towards the gate. König had been quiet the entire ride, not even bothering to hide his ardent stare, his eyes hooded with lust. You were about to hop off yourself when you felt his burning grip on your wrist, pulling you back in and onto his lap. Oh, how he loves fucking you like this. His toned legs are sprawled out dominantly and his calloused hands guide you over his erection. No matter how many times you do it, the start is always painful. He’s just that big. But that’s his favorite part. Seeing you wince and tear up, holding your stomach as if shielding it from the foreign object assaulting the walls of your frail body. Then the thrusts become smoother and your movements break into an erratic pleading for more. He wants to witness it all. God, you turn him into a wild animal. His fingers dig into your skin and towards the end you’re a whimpering mess, shamelessly drooling over his uniform in a daze. As you coat him with your slick cum, he grunts and barely manages to speak. “Fuck, I’m gonna lose my mind for good one of these days.” His voice is deep and reverberates against your heaving chest.

Scratch that. Last time you didn’t even make it to the truck. You were laying behind a boulder, wiping the sweat and dirt off your face. You’d just finished taking out your targets and announced your return in the headset. Ghost approaches you with a hidden smirk and squats before you, extending a hand towards you. “Need help?” You nod with gratitude and take off your helmet. You reach for his hand, hoping he’d pull you up, but instead his fingers claw around your throat and push you against the ground. “Good, I have the perfect thing for a little slut like you.” He climbs over you without letting go of your neck and undoes your jacket with ease. Hell, he’s been doing it so often he could manage even blindfolded. With the free hand he shoves one of your legs away to make space. Truth be told, he’s very much biased towards this particular arrangement. He can already feel the unbearable pressure of his member waiting to be freed. He adores being able to take all of you in. Your expression, your small body trapped under his massive frame. He can fuck you as he pleases, until you turn into a rag doll, and there’s no way out. You grit your teeth in anticipation and hold onto his arm that’s choking you once he goes in. You must’ve been molded just for him. There’s no other explanation for his feral clinginess, scratching and biting and pulling in desperate, agonizing pleasure. After the deed has been done he can admire his masterful work, gazing lovingly at your flustered, disheveled form, gasping for air and dripping with his seed.

Your shake your head and try to chase away these perverted memories. You’re still damp from the shower and continue massaging your scalp with the towel, when you hear a knock on your door. Oh, no. No. “Busy!” is all you manage to shout. The door opens nonetheless and Ghost and König waltz in, entirely indifferent to your refusal. “Can’t I have one moment to myself?” You groan, frustrated. König leans against the wall and Ghost kneels in front of you. There’s a hint of cheekiness in his voice. “Sure. Tell us to go away and we will.” You blink and ponder his words. Remembering all the past encounters has gotten you a little bit eager, that’s true, but… “Say it.” He repeats himself. You squirm and look away, a deep red spreading across your face. Your lips are pursed. König lets out a soft laugh and closes the door, then faces you. “Since you wanted to be a brat, you have to beg for it now.”

What have you gotten yourself into?

[caffedrine]

Chevalier Michel - I fell in love with you that day – Choose your true love - Event Summary

This is mostly a summary for me - I make no promises on the accuracy of what’s happening. I’m not nearly fluent enough to get half the jokes/innuendo much less accurate plot points.

When Emma wakes up, she is in a pitch-black forest, which is weird since the last thing she remembers is waiting for Chevalier in his library.

There’s a unique smell to the forest, iron and something burning. As far as dreams go, this one is very vivid, and Emma trembles as the smell triggers memories of the last time she participated in a war. Thankfully, she cant hear any sounds of fighting around her, so she’s safe for now.

Her heart pounding, Emma forces her legs to carry her forward, until she enters a clearing with a large lake reflecting the moonlight. And on the edge of the lake, wearing a dark cloak is a familiar figure.

Emma calls out to Chevalier as she hurries towards him, the smell of blood and battle growing stronger as she nears him. She can see that Chevalier’s clothes are covered in something red, and he kneels down to scoop up water to wash himself.

Drawing close to him, Emma asks what happened and reaches out to touch him.

Chevalier recoils from her, unsheathing his sword and resting the tip just at her throat. He demands to know who she is. Very carefully, Emma tells him her name.

(Actually, this is just how he says 'hello')

Not helpful. Chevalier does not recognize the name nor the person.

Is this really Chevalier in front of her? His eyes are so cold that Emma can feel her blood freeze, and the traces of warmth she is used to is gone. She remembers back when she first met Chevalier, the ruthless bestial gaze, but this might be even worse. She can feel the hostility radiate from him, and it’s intense enough that she can’t breathe.

Chevalier tells her to run away, unless she wants to be killed. The tip of his sword is just touching the skin at her neck. The murderous intent half-convinces Emma that if she moves at all, he will chop of her head.

Emma mentally calms herself down, taking one deep breath after another. She needs to figure out what is going on.

Feeling better, Emma looks into Chevalier’s murderous gaze and asks him what is going on. She explains that she was reading back at the castle and suddenly she was here. It looks like he’s covered in blood, and it looks like a war is going on, so she’s understandably confused.

Chevalier doesn’t answer her.

But the hositilty has decreased, so he lowers his sword.

Chevalier sheathes his sword, turns, and walks away. Unlike usual, there is no ‘come with me’ look, but Emma decides to follow him. She doesn’t want to be alone in this place, even if it means being with a Chevalier who does not know her.

Upon returning to the forest, two people intercept Chevalier. His younger brother, Clavis, and the traitor knight, Sir Flandres. It’s the later that puts things into place for Emma, Flandres was a knight of the foreign policy faction 10 years ago

Both Clavis and Flandres were too agitated to even notice her and focused on Chevalier. Flandres begs Chevalier to reconsider, his family is among the 1,000 hostages captured by Obsidian. He asks if Chevalier really intends to abandon all those he has sworn to protect? If they mobilize the knights, then maybe they can save them.

Chevalier refuses to change his decision, even though Clavis argues that they could still win. Chevalier reminds them that Obsidian has firearms, and if they walk into the obvious trap, the 1,000 citizens will die along with the knights. Flandres asks if they could do a more covert operation to save them, but Chevalier refuses to waste the military power on this.

Clavis reminds him that he is consigning 1,000 people to death. Chevalier reminds Clavis that they are at war, people are going to die, but if they don’t win, then the entire country will be wiped off the map. He is getting tired of saying the exact same thing over and over again. Chevalier pushes past the two, as they stare at his speechless.

Somehow Emma was transported to 10 years in the past, when Rhodolite was invaded by Obsidian and all 7 princes went to the battlefield.

She is at the day when Chevalier let 1,000 hostages die, the Blood-Stained Rose Day.

Emma has no explanation of why she is here and how she went back in time, but this is too real to be just a dream.

She sits near Chevalier in the command tent as soldiers bring in reports. And each report is dire – with them losing land and Chevalier making decisions to abandon one battle and send more troops to another.

One of the scouts reports the Supreme Commander of the Obsidian Army was briefly spotted, and Chevalier asks if they have spotted Ever-Victorious Marshal. Nope, Gilbert is suspiciously absent. Chevalier muses that if they manage to kill the emperor, the fighting will be over. A soldier points out that the Supreme Commander, the Emperor of Obsidian, is the best fighter on the continent, no one can kill him.

Chevalier tells them to send for him the moment they pinpoint the Emperor’s position, he will fight him himself. He warns them not to engage the Emperor.

As the soldier leaves to spread Chevalier’s orders regarding the Emperor, another scout comes with more reports.

So far, with everyone focused on Chevalier, no one has noticed her. Or maybe they have, they just have other things to worry about. Instead, Emma is left by herself to listen to Chevalier give out order after order, and she is quickly overwhelmed by the cruelty of the war. As the night breaks into day, Emma feels a little safer, but it is impossible to relax.

Lucian, a face Emma can recognize, comes forward with an urgent report. Chevalier doesn’t even need to hear it to know, his stupid brother went and did it, right? Lucian asks if Chevalier was expecting it, and Chevalier admits that he wishes he wasn’t.

The other side now has Clavis and is demanding hostage negotiations. How would Chevalier like to handle this?

Chevalier tells Lucian to ignore the demand, if his stupid brother got himself into this situation, he can get himself out. Chevalier has made it clear that he does not intend to negotiate.

Even Emma is chilled by his disregard, and she has the advantage of knowing exactly how it will turn out.

One of the nearby soldiers objects and asks if Chevalier is sure. Chevalier reminds him that Clavis entered the enemy camp on his own, and he asks how many people should he sacrifice to rescue Clavis? The soldier backs down, and Chevalier tells the soldier not to think about unnecessary things and focus on their roles.

Emma muses that even though Clavis is his brother, Chevalier has no doubt in his decision to abandon him. She understands that if Chevalier makes the wrong choice, Rhodolite will be overrun by Obsidian troops and lose the war. He accepts the responsibility of making the ultimate judgments on the battlefield, right or wrong.

As Emma thinks about what Chevalier and the others are going through, Lucien abruptly looks at Emma and asks who she is.

Chevalier shrugs, he has no idea either. She just started following him and didn’t run away.

Eventually, the reports stop, and Chevalier calls for Lucien. He’s going to go for a walk. Lucien asks if he should come with him, but Chevalier tells him not to. Lucien then tells Chevalier to be careful.

Emma decides to join Chevalier, she doesn’t want to stay behind without him.

Chevalier makes a beeline into the forest, and judging from the way he’s moving, he seems to have a destination in mind. This isn’t the casual break she was expecting. As she frantically follows him, Chevalier abruptly stops. He warns her that if she continues to follow him, he won’t guarantee she’ll live. Emma assures him that she’s not worried, and unless he really can’t have her with him, she would still like to accompany him. She wants to know what happened during the Blood-Stained Rose Day. Chevalier is visibly confused, and Emma realizes that this war doesn’t even have a name yet. Chevalier calls her strange, snorts, and continues forward.

Under the cover of darkness, Chevalier hides in the shadows. There are multiple tents pitched nearby, all bearing the Obsidian Crest.

Emma is shocked at how easily Chevalier is approaching enemy territory, but he seems to be handling the situation. Looking at the tents, Emma is surprised at how few soldiers she can see.

Just as Emma begins to second guess herself, Chevalier unsheathes his sword and boldly walks into the enemy camp. The soldiers all shout in alarm and recognize Chevalier as the enemy commander. The soldiers at the front aim their firearms at Chevalier, but he is too fast and swings his sword before they can fire. For the first time in a while, Emma sees people die in front of her. Only a few soldiers have firearms, and the rest attack with melee weapons, but are struck down in turn.

Emma is shaking from the sight, but with no signs of reinforcements coming, she steels her legs and watches Chevalier. Finished with the soldiers, Chevalier enters the largest tent in the camp, only to quickly emerge, dragging a man with him by the hair.

The man is wearing a commander’s uniform, and he is shouting at Chevalier to release him and threatening him. Chevalier ignores him, throws him to the ground, and stabs the man through the shoulder with his sword. The man threatens that if Chevalier won’t stop, he won’t rescind the order to burn alive all those prisoners of war. Chevalier stabs him through his other shoulder, pointing out that the execution is already happening right this moment. He notes that since this commander and his subordinates are here, that means they didn’t have the stomach to see their execution orders carried through.

Thanks to that cowardice, it made it easier for Chevalier to find and dispose of them.

Chevalier stabs the commander in the shoulder again, and then in the legs, and the commander screams. This is the first time that Emma ever saw Chevalier purposefully torture someone. He’s angry, very angry.

Chevalier explains that he has just sacrificed 1,000 people to kill him, one of the army commanders. But what is the point in just killing him?

Chevalier throws the commander into a nearby tent, grabs a torch, and sets the tent on fire. The commander starts screaming, and Emma realizes that some of the wounds Chevalier inflicted on him made him unable to use his legs.

Emma realizes that Chevalier always knew what would happen when he allowed those hostages to die, and used their sacrifice to kill one of the enemy generals. With the gift of hindsight, Emma knows that this was instrumental to him saving Rhodolite.

Chevalier, framed by the blazing tent fire, looked calm, but Emma knew that his insides were boiling with rage. She can feel the palpable anger at the loss of all those people and knows that this decision will nearly bring about a civil war in the future. Everyone said Chevalier was a merciless beast that left those people to die, but the truth is that Chevalier didn’t want them to die in the first place. He had just decided to shoulder the burden of all those deaths in exchange for a future for Rhodolite.

Eventually the sound of the commander’s screams stops, and Chevalier sheathes his sword, checking the flames. Satisfied, he turns to leave, passing by Emma who is still hiding in the shadows. She struggles to chase after him.

Chevalier abruptly stops and asks how long she intends to follow him. Emma assures him that she won’t bother him, and to please allow her to stay near.

For the first time, Chevalier turns to face her. He is caked with dirt, sweat, and blood, but somehow remains noble and pure. He notes that there are few women who can see all of this and remain normal. But Emma has barely started crying. She’s not a soldier, but she seems used to the battlefield.

No, that’s not right.

Emma is used to Chevalier.

Who is she?

Chevalier roughly grabs her and her wedding ring shines faintly in the moonlight. Chevalier has figured out that Emma is in love with him, but why?

With Chevalier looking down at her, stinking of blood instead of roses, Emma looks into his eyes and asks how he knew.

Chevalier can tell from her courage, as well as her attitude. Besides, she seems to already know the outcome of the war. This is insane and impossible, but she doesn’t seem from this time.

Even ten years ago, Chevalier was able to deduct accurate conclusions from a small amount of information. Leaving him only with the question of why she loves him.

Emma looks into the eyes of this blood-soaked beast, and though her hand is trembling, she refuses to look away. She wouldn’t be the person she is if she could look away from Chevalier like this.

She admits that there are many reasons why she loves him, but the most important is that he is capable of more love than anyone else.

Chevalier asks if she’s serious.

Emma tells him that she knows he will shoulder the burden of those 1,000 people lost, as well as everyone else who sacrificed themselves in this war. No matter who hate him, he will do what it takes to save as many people as possible. She loves his strong will and sense of responsibility, and the fact that he is human.

Like anyone else, Chevalier feels sadness and anger, proving that he’s not some beast but a human. No matter what, Emma wants to stand next to and support him.

The wind blows, stinking of ash and blood. Emma still feels numb from the scene she’s just seen, but she pushes forward. Chevalier isn’t cruel and heartless, it is this war that makes him seem so. She wants to do everything possible to stop another tragedy like this from repeating.

Emma is still inexperienced and knows too little things, but it is important that she was able to see the Blood-Stained Rose Day up close like this.

She tells Chevalier that she is his fiancé, and she will never let him turn himself into a beast.

After a long moment of silence, Chevalier releases her hand. He knows nothing about her, but if she thinks all that is true, he is interested to see how far she goes.

Chevalier snorts turns, and walks away.

Emma thinks that she’s been chasing his back for a long time now. Now, in the future, she will always chase after him.

When Emma wakes up in the present, the dream lingers and she tells Chevalier about it. He pauses his work, considering it. It is a very strange dream.

Chevalier never told anyone about attacking the commander, and there are no records about it that anyone could have read. He also has no memory of anyone following him to the enemy camp.

Chevalier muses that if it was more than a dream, or just a dream, either way it doesn’t sound pleasant for her. Emma agrees, but she thinks it worthwhile to have occurred.

Awkwardly, Chevalier reaches out and caresses her cheek. Emma thinks he looks a little paler than usual. She feels the warmth of his hand, the warmth of a human. This same hand has been stained with blood so often that Chevalier fears he might be a beast. Even she, who knows him the best, cannot always suppress her fear.

Even though his hand is so gentle with her.

Ten years ago, after their commander was slain, the Obsidian troops lost their morale and withdrew from the villages they had occupied, and the war had been won by Rhodolite. The Emperor had never before been defeated in battle, and the withdraw was unexpectedly thorough.

Rhodolite had lost a lot to this war, but the fact that a small country was able to drive off Obsidian was significant on the global scale. Until that battle, Rhodolite was considered a weak small country, ignored on the global political scale. But, thanks to that victory, Rhodolite is heralded as a beacon of hope to all countries threatened by Obsidian.

Thanks to the sacrifice of all those who died on the battlefield.

Emma agrees that they are where they are today only because of everyone working so hard to protect the country. But the war shouldn’t have happened to begin with. No matter what they say about Rhodolite becoming prominent in victory, Emma cannot bring herself to glorify war.

Chevalier agrees with her sentiment.

Emma doesn’t want to lament her helplessness to stop anything, and she wants to work with Chevalier to build a world where no one needs to become a beast to win a war. She doesn’t want blood to get on Chevalier’s hands ever again.

Chevalier is interested to see how far she will go.

Emma remarks that dream-Chevalier said the same thing to her in the end. Chevalier muses that he must not have changed from who he was back then.

Chevalier pulls Emma’s hand close to him and kisses her fingertips, as if he was swearing a sacred oath. He has no intention of staining her hands with blood either.

Chevalier is someone who will wage a war if he thinks it is necessary. Currently, he’s thinking positively and continues to be a human. As long as the love between them exists, Emma is sure Chevalier will retain his humanity.

She looks at him, at his smile, and thinks about how warm it is.

[snk-smartpass]

TEXT Vol. 23 Mikasa’s Recipe

The “new Squad Levi” had made a remote home into their base of operations. There they hid Eren and the highly important Historia from a society that had been thrown into chaos as they feared the Titans who appeared within the

Walls, preparing to make their next move.

[Potatoes, carrots, meat, milk, flour, butter.]

[Wash vegetables well and cut into equal-sized pieces]

[Start simmering the toughest vegetables first…]

“Hm? Is this yours, Mikasa?”

“What…?”

As Mikasa performed ab exercises despite the injuries she’d sustained in the earlier battle, Sasha noticed a scrap of paper that had fallen out of her belongings and picked it up.

••••••

Mikasa trained atop the bed where she was supposed to be resting her wounds. Having realized that she had dropped something, she went to pick it up.

“Was that a scrap of paper from your notebook? It looked to me like something that had to do with cooking…”

Just as the ever-hungry Sasha said, it was a note that Mikasa had written carefully about ingredients and instructions for a recipe. She’d kept it in her military notebook, but it must have fallen out as she organized her belongings in order to live life undercover in civilian clothing.

“I don’t want to forget it, so…”

“I didn’t think you’d need to take notes to remember how to cook in the barracks. You had such good grades in our classes.”

“This dish… doesn’t have to do with training…”

On the inside, Mikasa was glad she’d found the note. She put it back in her belongings and recalled the time she learned to cook.

••••••

“Listen, Mikasa. You need to be careful when using a knife. Especially with meat… Yes, very good.”

Mikasa was still young that day. She’d joined Eren’s family for a short while after her parents had been taken from her, and there she lived in peace and quiet.

“What about this flour…?”

“You dissolve it into the butter and milk to thicken the broth. Be careful not to let it burn. Once the vegetables and meat are simmered, you mix it all together.”

Carla, Eren’s mother, was even kind to Mikasa, being every bit the mother to her as she was to Eren. When Mikasa asked to help her in the kitchen, she even taught the girl her specialty.

“This used to be popular at the store I worked at, too. The trick is to stay calm and mix well.”

“…Okay.”

As Mikasa awkwardly did her best to follow directions, the rest of the family gathered around.

“I’m home! Hey, something smells good!”

“Call your father over before you start stealing any bites, Eren.”

“Okay,” said the energetic voice, followed by footsteps running toward the underground office.

The young Mikasa wrote the recipe down when it became impossible for her to ever return to this home again, keeping the memories of her second mother alive .

••••••

Though Mikasa had been reminiscing all on her own, Sasha, who was sharp-eyed only when it came to food, seemed to figure out that when she said the memories had “nothing to do with training,” she meant they were from before the Walls came down.

“Yeah, some of those ingredients are really valuable now. It couldn’t be a recipe you learned in the military.”

“You read it…?”

“Just what I got a glimpse of!”

There was no particular problem in it being read, but it did seem somehow embarrassing. Like Sasha had pointed out, Mikasa understood most things after being told them once, so this seemed unlike her. Regardless of Mikasa’s expectations, though, Sasha smiled.

“There are a ton of recipes that I used to be able to make before the Walls were destroyed that I can’t eat now… Seeing that took me back.”

Sasha’s hometown would have thrown away their traditions because of the Titan invasion. As hunters, they must have had unique dishes.

“It’d be nice if you got to make that sometime. I bet it tastes great if you thought it’s worth writing down.”

“I… don’t know if I could make it well. But… when the person who taught me it made this… it was so…”

“You’re still in here?! The meeting’s about to start.”

“Oh! We’ll be right over!”

Though she was interrupted by Armin, who had come to call them over, she wasn’t bothered. Sasha was right. It would be a joyful thing if the day came when she could make the recipe again and serve it to someone else.

For now, though, it was still a distant dream. Mikasa made sure that her body felt alright before carefully leaving her bed behind.

••••••

SOURCE: Attack on Titan: Short Stories 3

TRANSLATION: Ko Ransom

[rebeliz7]

AUGUST - DRABBLE #10

10. Wanda and Natasha

…

The mission is not a complicated one, you’re to infiltrate a military base, hack into a computer, copy the drive and go back home. 

Wanda isn’t worried, no one really is, you’re a specialist and working on your own is what you do best. Still, she’s in the room on coms next to your girlfriend as you infiltrate the base just so she can keep an eye on you. 

You’re in, you have the drive and you’re on your way out when you go radio silent. 

Daisy frantically hacks into the systems again but Wanda---Wanda leaves the Compound immediately. 

…

Later, when it’s all said and done, she can’t stop shaking as the doctors take you away on a gurney. She’s terrified.

Rhodey is facing martial court for keeping an open line with the Avengers, and Ross is hellbent on gaining the upper hand, and it’s all because Wanda destroyed a military base in search of you. 

She found you unconscious, two bullet wounds on your body and she lost it. No, she didn’t kill anyone but she could have--she certainly wanted to. 

Her hands are shaking, even as Natasha drags her away and gets her to gently enter the shower in their room. Blood and water mix together on the white marble floor of the shower and her hands shake harder. There was so much blood---you were bleeding so much. 

…

She sits outside of your room in the Medbay after you come out of surgery for the rest of the night. Natasha, Steve and Tony are gone, trying to contain the mess she made but she can barely think about any of that. 

You could have died. 

You could have died before she found you, and you could have died on that operating table. 

You could have died, and she can’t even fathom a universe where you don’t exist. 

She has to watch Daisy lay beside you through the large glass window, but she swallows down that pain because she’s aware of the pain she could be feeling right now and how much worse it’d be. 

You wake up around eleven am the next morning, and Wanda can finally breathe. She retreats to her bedroom and finally cries, although she refuses to truly let it all out. 

Tears roll down her cheeks as she pases back and forth, while flashbacks of you in this same room keep swirling through her mind. 

…

Natasha gets back after midnight, feeling exhausted and uncertain still. She’s not sure if they managed to appease Ross, but a ceasefire was called and they were let go. 

Logically she knows that someone’s head will roll for the destruction of that military base, and Ross will not rest until it’s done, but she’ll destroy him before letting him touch a hair on Wanda’s head.  

She stops by your room first, talks to Daisy about your progress and even sits with you for a little while. You’re sleeping, the white sheets somehow swallowing your battered body and she feels her shoulders tensing. 

You shouldn’t be on this bed, that mission was not supposed to put you on this bed. You were set up, which means Sam’s informant was followed, and she’ll have to tie a lot more loose ends than she anticipated. 

…

Wanda is sitting on the couch when Natasha walks inside their bedroom. The large glass of red wine and the glistening eyes on her wife’s face tell Natasha everything she needs to know. 

“Can I have one of those?” Natasha asks as she takes off her jacket, and Wanda moves to grab the almost empty bottle from the center table. 

“Yes.” She drunkenly smiles as she stands up to retrieve another glass and bottle, as Natasha sits down in the loveseat. 

Wanda is only wearing an oversized military green hoodie that isn’t hers, her hair is down and her face tells the story of a woman who’s been in agony for the last several hours. 

“Here.” Wanda offers her a glass with a smile, that only accentuates the pain she’s feeling. 

Natasha tries to swallow the heartbreak with a sip of wine, but the task is impossible. Wanda looks like she’s about to burst into tears, and Natasha finally remembers where she’s seen that hoodie before. 

The hoodie is yours, you usually wore it when it was particularly cold, but she hasn’t seen you wear it since August. 

“How did it go?” Wanda asks, her voice breaking at the end of her question and Natasha downs the rest of her wine before taking a deep breath.

“Ross was a pain, but we’ll get it settled. We always do.” She clears her throat when Wanda turns to look at her. 

They’ve always shared this silent connection, and Natasha’s loved it until this very moment. The dam is broken, and the waves that take it down drown Natasha along with it. 

“Are we finally gonna talk about this?” Wanda asks, her chin trembling and tears softly sliding down her pale cheeks. 

The pain hits Natasha in the stomach first, and she can’t help but compare it to an actual punch, since the similarity is uncanny. But the pain slowly travels upwards to her chest and throat---she looks away. 

Her eyes fall on their bed, the same bed that you probably became very familiarized with during August. She looks back at her wife, and reaches for the bottle on the table to fill her glass one more time. 

“Where did you keep the hoodie?” She asks and Wanda lets out a little laugh, that resembles a howl of pain and that hits Natasha with the intensity of a second punch to the gut. 

“I went and got it earlier---from the cottage.” Wanda says, and Natasha nods in understanding. She suspected, but the cottage was a sacred place for their marriage, and a part of her didn’t want to believe it if she’s being honest. 

She downs the rest of her wine again, and sets the glass down. Wanda’s tears continue to silently roll down her face, but she sets her glass down as well. They look at each other, and Natasha knows that this is not the end. 

“Do you want a divorce?” She still asks, and Wanda gives her a look that Nat knows well. 

“Never.” Wanda says. 

“Do you need space?” She asks next, and Wanda shakes her head. 

“Not from you.” Wanda says, her chin continues to tremble---she’s scared. 

Natasha knows where the fear is coming from, and she’s scared too. Wanda’s powers are still a mystery to her, but Wanda’s always learning, growing and that’s not a mystery either. 

“What do you want then?” She asks gently, and Wanda takes in a deep breath that seems to break her. 

A beat passes and then another, they don’t break eye contact and the silence stretches, embracing them in it until time itself seems to come to a halt. 

“You know.” Wanda breaks the spell, and Natasha limits herself to nod her head once. 

The sound of silence is now replaced by Wanda’s elaborate breathing, and Natasha welcomes the rare pressure on the back of her skull with a grimace. She’s not a stranger to headaches, but she’s been hurting for quite some time now, what’s a headache on top of it all?

Still, Wanda’s tears are gone and something else has settled on her shoulders--something that Natasha can’t quite define. 

“Remember the day I asked you to marry me?” Natasha asks, her eyes still on Wanda and the nervous way in which she keeps playing with the glass in her hands. 

“Yes.” Wanda clears her throat, decisively swallowing down more tears and refusing to break eye contact, stubborn as always. 

“I knew we were doomed from the start,” Natasha says and this time Wanda’s interest becomes more real. “Not because love was running out, no, lack of love has never been our problem. I can safely admit that I love you now with the same intensity that I loved you back then, and it wouldn’t be a lie.”

“I wasn’t aware that we had problems.” Wanda says and Natasha allows  herself to smile, however sardonic it might seem. 

“Before August, you mean.” She says it softly, voice low and tranquil. The blow is not gentle though and it doesn’t lessen the hurt, hurt that reflects in Wanda’s expression without an ounce of regret. 

“Are we gonna do this?.” Wanda frowns, the tone of her voice becoming hostile and Natasha doubts for a moment. 

Does she want to humor her wife, and enter an argument that will definitely break her? The answer is no, the answer is a howling no. 

“I don’t want to fight.” She deflates slightly, which only spurs Wanda into action. 

Natasha observes her in silence and with a sinking feeling on the pit of her stomach, but Wanda stands from the couch, and begins pacing their bedroom like a caged animal in a rage. 

Hands in her hair, on her waist, anger lacing every expression of her face that does nothing to hide the pain that is so obvious and that pokes at Natasha’s heart just as cruelly. 

“Wanda.” Natasha calls her, still holding onto the hope that this won’t escalate. 

“I can do anything I want. Anything!” Wanda’s voice echoes in Natasha’s ears, but Wanda’s pain stabs her mercilessly. 

“And what do you want?” Natasha asks, her question hangs in the air for a few very tense seconds before Wanda turns to look at her. 

That look on her face is devastatingly obvious but Natasha’s never been one to shy away from pain, not even when the pain is new. 

You--your name is everything she can hear although neither one of them speaks it. 

“Well, you can’t have that.” Natasha says, perhaps coldly but she’s only human, and she’s already taken more than she should have. 

“I could.” Wanda says, stubborn as always, doubtful as always. Natasha almost recognizes the girl she married years ago in those scared, terrified eyes.

She’s always known, perhaps since the first time they met, that Wanda resembles a ticking bomb. Perhaps that’s what Natasha fell in love with in the first place.   

“You could.” She concedes, because it’s the truth. Wanda could have you back just as easily as she erased herself from your memory. She knows it and Natasha knows it, but she’s learnt more than the proper way to throw a punch in the Compound as well. 

“I won’t.” She shakes her head, a little taken aback from her own head, her own thoughts. Natasha knows her, she’s not scared.  “You’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m pissed.” Natasha admits, as a raw and unpleasant feeling washes over her. “The thought that you would throw away years of our marriage and betray me like you have, is sickening.”

Her words bring Wanda to a stop, the night becomes darker and Natasha stands up too, she’s not done.

“The thought that you, my wife, would seek out the person I care for the most, the person I protected as if they were my family---”

Running out of breath and hands trembling, Natasha stops for a moment and Wanda can do nothing but wait. 

“I’ve thought about what I’d say and what I’d do,” Natasha continues. “When we finally talk about it, but now that we’re here all that comes to my mind is the fact that I don’t really know you. Not completely, and not like you had me believe that I do.” 

“I didn’t plan for this to happen.” Wanda says, and it might be the weakness of the excuse that makes Natasha’s anger die down. 

“But you did it anyway.” Natasha concludes as tears begin to roll down her cheeks, finally unable to contain them like she has for the last several months. 

“I’m sorry.” Wanda says, but it doesn’t take much for Natasha to realize that she’s not exactly apologizing for the right reasons. 

When Wanda kisses her, it takes Natasha by surprise. There are lines that they haven’t crossed and Natasha respects those lines, lives by them. Wanda kissing her into silence is a clear sign that she no longer cares for those lines. 

Wanda kneeling on the ground, taking down Natasha’s pants and underwear along with her means that she’d do anything, anything to leave those lines behind. 

Later, as she lays on her bed with her wife cuddling up next to her, Natasha can’t sleep. She doesn’t know what’s worse, that she let Wanda take her to bed after months of no sex or that she’s willing to play along. 

…

[whxre4hange]

attack on titan characters playing league headcanons

guys im in my final year of my undergrad and i have exams and this is what im doing w my time LMAO

eren (ultimate rage quitter)

eren is the ultimate tryhard. bro mains riven and screams into the group call "i will carry!" he charges into fights like he’s fighting titans, only to get instantly melted. after dying for the fifth time, you can hear him scream into the mike, “i’m not mad, i’m just... passionate! WE GOT THIS GUYS DONT GIVE UP” while furiously typing “ff 15” in chat.

mikasa the overprotective bodyguard

mikasa is the ultimate support, but she’s less about healing and more about throwing daggers at anyone who dares touch eren. if someone tries to gank him, she’ll sprint across the map like a ninja, yelling, “no one touches my eren!” while simultaneously saving him from certain doom… and then getting herself killed in the process.

armin the strategist (and coward)

armin is the brains of the operation, but he spends half the game hiding in a bush, whispering strategies to himself. when he finally decides to engage, he shouts, “guys! let’s flank them!” only for everyone to be dead by the time he finishes his sentence. he’s basically a walking “how not to play” guide.

sasha the snack master

sasha is the adc, but her real focus is on her snack stash. she’s munching on chips while trying to farm minions and will often say things like, “just one more potato chip before i go back!” she ends up feeding because she can’t resist grabbing a snack during team fights. “i’m just… multitasking!”

connie the confused support

connie thinks he’s playing support, but he keeps accidentally stealing kills with his abilities. when everyone yells at him, he responds with a confused, “but i thought we were playing catch!” he’s just trying to help, bless his little heart.

jean's leadership failures

jean wants to be team captain (literally no one cares) and constantly tries to direct everyone like he’s leading a military operation. “okay, guys! we need a five-man engage!” but when eren charges in solo again, jean just facepalms and mutters, “why do i even try?”

marco the cheerleader

marco is the wholesome cheerleader of the group. he’s always encouraging everyone with phrases like, “good job, team! you can do it!” unfortunately, he gets so distracted by his own positivity that he forgets to ward properly and walks straight into a bush full of enemies. “oops! my bad!”

reiner's tanking fail

reiner plays tank but thinks he’s invincible. he charges into fights yelling, “i’m here to save you!” only to get one-shot by an enemy assassin. his teammates are left screaming, “we needed you alive for that!”

ymir's sneaky shenanigans

ymir plays an assassin and loves sneaking around for picks. she’ll shout things like, “i’m going in!” but then accidentally reveals her position by stepping on a ward. when historia asks her what happened, she just shrugs and says, “it was tactical misdirection!”

annie’s solo queue dominance

annie is a solo queue legend who plays mid-lane like it’s her personal arena. she rolls her eyes at her teammates’ antics and mutters things like, “if you all just let me carry…” she has zero patience for anyone who doesn’t understand how to play properly—and she’ll mute them faster than you can say “teamwork.”

bertolt's unexpected support skills

birthcontrol is surprisingly good at support, using his size as an accidental shield for his teammates. when someone asks how he does it, he just says softly, “i’m just… really good at standing still.” and somehow that works....

erwin's confusing speeches

erwin gives motivational speeches before every match that leave everyone more confused than inspired. “remember: victory is not just about winning; it’s about… uh… being brave?” anywyas by the end of it, everyone is just staring blankly at him while eren types in chat: “can we just play already?”

hange's chaotic jungle adventures

hange plays jungle with chaotic energy that keeps everyone on their toes. they dive into fights yelling, “let’s go! science rules!” but often end up accidentally initiating fights they can’t win. then they die spectacularly the end

levi's silent judgment

levi lurks in the background, silently judging everyone while occasionally throwing out sarcastic comments like, “great job feeding.” when asked why he doesn’t play more often, he simply replies with a deadpan stare: "because i don’t want to ruin my kda." and yet somehow still manages to carry every game when he does play

[sideeve]

why r you such a good writer wtf i love your work 😭😭 i was wondering if you wrote for graves? if so, i was wondering if you could please write smth about the reader being higher military (like a colonel/ssg or something) and is KIA but the actually faked it so they waltz in when graves is grieving?

→ ⋆ title ୨୧ ;; HEROES NEVER DIE

→ ⋆ synopsis ୨୧ ;; graves has yet to figure out your abrupt disappearance after a mission. → ⋆ notes ୨୧ ;; faked death, angst with a full ending, colonel!reader, forgive me . i don’t know shit about the military but my dad’s in it if it counts😭 , i wrote this at 5 am so bear with me , the reader’s race , ethnicity, hair , or looks are not specified

“you know i like that shit!” you exclaim, proud of your soldiers. the shadow company and phoenix force had orders to come together for a save-and-rescue mission in bangkok. a new terrorist organization had disturbed the peacefulness of the residents of their home country

during the multiple operations for the shadow company and phoenix force coming together, graves took a liking to you. it was hard for him to crack your code. you were a woman of morals. work was the most important thing to you.

and falling in love in a work area? not ideal. but, it was graves. he always got what he wanted.

“uh, ya know you got that from me, right?” phillip struts over to you, a hand on his hip. “that just means i hang out with you too much.” you smile, popping a hip out. “c’mere, colonel.” phillip pulls you by one of your loose hooks on your vest, kissing you.

before he could see it, a red dot centered right on your forehead. “mo—”

pang

blood splattered all over graves. he was…confused. what just happened? why can’t he move? why is he breathing so hard right now?

he scrambled to your body, staring at the large bullet hole in your forehead. whoever it was had it out for you.

“no, no, no!” he wiped the blood spilling from your lips. “you can’t. you can’t die.” this was the first time you would see him vulnerable. and the moment wouldn’t even last long.

you weakly lift your arm, caressing his cheek. “it’ll all make sense one day.”

those were the last words you spoke to him. they didn’t make sense. he’d understand? wha—where you supposed to die? was this planned before? where you in on it?

6 years had passed. you were assumed dead by many. you haven’t been seen by anyone. all anybody knew that you were KIA. graves refused to give details during debrief. he didn’t want to remember his lover dying in his arms.

he shook his head at the thought, turning back to his computer. general shepard had sent him some files and forms to look at. he wished to be at his house, laying in his bed and staring at the ceiling. like he’s been doing for years now. but duty calls.

“knock knock, commander.”

he sighed, not wanting to be bothered for the day. maybe even the rest of his career. “it’s open.” he groaned. “well, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?” you chuckle.

his head snapped towards you. he couldn’t believe it. did the government clone you? is this real right now?

he could care less. he missed you like hell and he finally has you in front of him. “you’re fucking alive!” he pushes his chair back, running around his desk to hug you. “jesus, you’re alive.” he sobs, pulling you closer. he puts his hand in your hair, squeezing it to make sure this is real and not a dream.

“phillip, i’m—” “i don’t care what happened,” he sniffles, “i’m just glad you’re alive.”

his tears soak the top part of your tee. but you didn’t mind. you knew how much graves was hurting inside. if it were up to you, you would’ve never faked your death.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, graves. i didn’t want to.” you explained. the last thing you wanted was for him to hate you. “i know, honey. i know.” his voice cracks. “don’t leave me again. swear you won’t.” he pulls a few pieces of your hair behind your ear.

“i promise.”

[justalittlesolarpunk]

do you think the upcoming election is going to be okay? i’m sorry for asking a negative question, but i’m a scared teenager in america who is trans, queer, and a climate activist. i don’t really know what to do.

Hello my love, I’m so sorry you’re feeling so afraid. It’s a completely natural reaction to a situation that is unbelievably unfair and shit, and it makes me indescribably angry that you have to endure this.

I’m not in the USA, so I don’t have a full grasp of what the cultural discourse is like at the moment or what sort of conversations are happening, so do bear that in mind. That said, I’d like to tell you that I’m 100% confident that Trump won’t win, but I’m not, so I can’t. Lying to you isn’t going to make any of this easier. But I want you to take heart. No matter what the outcome of this election, there will be people of all ages and backgrounds willing to work together for mutual aid, ecological justice, queer liberation, landback and many other worthy causes. They are doing that work now despite repression even from a Democrat government. I know it’s not much comfort in the face of a potential administration that wants to outlaw your existence, but remember that the Biden administration is approving fossil fuels, arming vicious militaries and crushing student protest. American progressives have always had to operate without state help regardless of who is in the White House.

All this to say, you will be ok. It will be scary and unfair and hugely dangerous if Trump gets back in, but there are networks of support you can key into now. There are adults who can stand up for and support and protect you. There are ways you can learn to protect yourself. We can’t wait for the government, we have to start building a better world piece by piece, every day, from the ground up, and there are a myriad ways of getting involved in that. Whether the Republicans like it or not, the age of fossil fuels is coming to an end, trans people exist and the vast majority of younger generations wholeheartedly accept and celebrate them.

I still deeply hope that Trump loses, and I still think he could. There are things you can do to help push for that goal, like helping to register voters and more, but when certain things are beyond our control we have to focus on what we can control. When the dominant system threatens only evil we have to construct alternative realities. You have the power to do that. So once you’ve taken some time to rage about how messed up it all is, why not start looking into ways to make the world better without and in spite of the so-called ‘leaders’ who profit from making it worse.

[spineless-lobster]

Alright so I was reading the wikipedia article for the limpet mine because I am Very Normal™ about the antics my favourite characters get up to, and I went down a rabbit hole about this guy who I believe to have somewhat inspired the character of the Captain. (long post warning, TL;DR at the end)

I present to you, Cecil Vandepeer Clarke, the man who helped develop the limpet mine. (the last name Clarke might ring a bell to those who have read There’s A War Going On by Glowinggreeneyes)

Born in 1897, (which could’ve been the Captain’s birth year) he first served in WWI as a second lieutenant. He did quite a few things but the main thing that I want to focus on was his achievements. He was rewarded the Military Cross medal for his part in the battle of Vittorio Veneto in Italy in 1918. If you’ve seen my other infodump post you know that in the Captain’s pilot design, he had the Military Cross (underlined in red) and the Italy Star (underlined in blue) as medals (which later changed). Now, the Italy Star was specifically for WWII but I feel like we can excuse that because of creative licensing and all that. I just think the link between Italy is interesting. The France and Germany Star and the War Medal are part of his canon design, so which ever part of his story that relates to that must’ve made it through the cut which is 👀

Clarke married Dorothy Aileen Kendrick and had three children, which isn’t that important but my brain won’t let go of “a friend of Dorothy” so there’s that.

Clarke developed the limpet mine during WWII with his friend Stuart Macrae. They had to think of a detonation technique (remember, they had to attach the mine to the hull of the ship. You can’t have your frogmen blowing up) they found that an aniseed ball (a type of candy that resembles a gobstopper, only smaller) left by Clarke’s children in his office disintegrated at the perfect rate in water in order to detonate the mine.

While they were testing the limpet mine, they had to make sure it didn’t get damp in any way lest the aniseed ball starts dissolving. So naturally they wrapped it in a condom while not in use.

I initially made this post because the thought of the Captain being all flustered next to Havers while handling a detonator wrapped in a condom was sending me into hysterics but uhhh I got a bit carried away.

The Captain mentions that the limpet mine used suckers to attach to the side of the hull. But in reality they used magnets to attach them to the ship, which was the idea from the start. So tbh I have no idea what he’s going on about.

Now here’s something interesting; Clarke worked on improvements with the limpet mine in a country house called Aston House, which was acquired by the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) in 1939. The mine was being manufactured by the Special Operations Executive (SOE) and the house was handed over to them by the SIS where it was known as Station XII (hm, oddly close to Button House XI don’t you think?) Clarke also developed many other weapons at the house. Aston House is in Stevenage, Hertfordshire which means literally nothing to me but it might mean something to someone else.

While developing the limpet mine Clarke had come up with the idea of an underground tank (which sounds cool as hell) and proposed his idea twice, the first time to the Ministry of Supply (which was rejected) and the second time directly to Churchill himself (who essentially said “that’s great, but we’re making one of those already”). Although he was put in charge of the “trenching machine” as he was made assistant director in the Naval Land Section, he grew to hate his job and was called for military service shortly after he left. (Hm, who else absolutely despises the navy? Perhaps our favourite little army man?)

Clarke was later promoted to captain (but acted as a major) and was stationed at Brickendonbury Manor (Station XVII) where he trained SOE agents. There he suffered a bone fracture due to a rough landing during parachute training. The wiki article doesn’t mention where the fracture was but if it was in his knees I might punch a wall.

Clarke was released from the army in November of 1945. He returned to Bedford where he joined the Territorial Army as a captain and served there for six years before being transferred to the Intelligence Corps. Later he ran as like a counsellor or something and was part of the Labour/Liberal Party, but I don’t think that’s very relevant. He retired as a major at the age of 60 and died in 1961. The wiki article doesn’t mention a cause of death (which is just poetic irony at this point) but it does mention that he had a non fatal heart attack. But non fatal means he didn’t die from it so ?????

TL;DR:

- Possibly same birth year?

- Similar(ish) medals

- Developed the limpet mine with a close friend

- Stationed at a country house (twice in the case of Clarke) during WWII

- Hate the navy (though that seems to be common amongst soldiers)

- Fucked up bones

- Worked in intelligence and weapons development

- Prominently known as a captain

- Died under mysterious circumstances apparently

I am leaving out A LOT of other information so there might be more connections that I’m missing. If you wanna learn more about Clarke and the limpet mine I found this article which delves further into the development and it was a very fun read.

I… I need to lie down

[matan4il]

To the Nonnie who said you're trying to

"understand the position i have seen from israelis and jews and others that say "conceding" to a ceasefire would be equal to destroying the whole of the jewish people, here and now, because it would be giving hamas time to regroup"...

I've actually already addressed why allowing Hamas to rebuild, when they openly say they will continue to do everything they can to continue massacring Israeli Jews, is asking Israel to agree to the inevitable killing of more of its civilians.

But since I got this question again, I will add something that might shed even more light on this.

In 2014, a chain of events led Israel to conduct a ground operation in Gaza to destroy Hamas' terror tunnels. It was the most intense fighting between Israel and Hamas up to that point. Israelis paid a price for it (5 civilians and 70 soldiers killed), and so did the Palestinians (reportedly 2,203 people killed, of which at least 1,408 were terrorists).

What I personally remember the most is that there were Hamas terror tunnels that were found leading to kindergartens and schools. It was evident that Hamas meant to use these tunnels to kidnap and kill specifically kids.

Many Israelis realized at that point that Hamas is never going to stop trying to kill innocent Israeli civilians, just because they're Jewish. A lot of people called for the operation to continue, and for Hamas to be taken down. Israel was already in Gaza, Hamas was so much weaker due to the fighting, and losing a lot of its terrorists, why not use this opportunity, finish this organization off, and make sure it can't rebuild and execute its horrifying plans?

But like I said, this was considered the most intense fight between Israel and Hamas yet, and as the number of reported fatalities grew, so did international pressure on Israel to reach a ceasefire. It did.

And here's the thing: Hamas WAS so much weaker at that point. It had less weapons, it was endangering less civilians, it had less training and funding, less military experience, less terror tunnels... less of everything that makes it lethal to both Israelis and Palestinians. The cost in human life to both sides at that point, if Israel had resisted a ceasefire, if it had insisted that this genocidal, terrorist organization has to be taken down, would have been so much smaller than the price we're all paying for the fighting now, not to mention the victims of the massacre (or the many Israelis and Palestinians who died due to Hamas between Aug 27, 2014 and Oct 6, 2023).

I personally do not wanna find out how many more innocent Israelis AND Palestinians would die because of Hamas, if we repeat the same mistake, and agree to a ceasefire, while that fanatic and brutal terrorist organization is still in control of Gaza. I don't wanna know how many more Israelis and Palestinians would die if we have to fight again in the future to finally take down Hamas, but more than that, I shatter to think what Hamas would do to Israeli civilians next time, in order to convince Israel that this organization must be dismantled. The price for making the mistake of leaving it in power the first time was so much worse than anything that I could have imagined, so I do not wanna know what else they're capable of doing.

Do you?

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[helpinghanikan]

Domestic Bliss

Konig x reader, John (Soap) MacTavish x Simon (Ghost) Riley

Sum:

Sometimes operators take a quick break during a mission. So, why not spend that break at your house? You and Konig get to be a happy couple, so why not Johnny and Simon?

This isn’t the first time a campaign has failed. It happens, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying. Especially when you can’t go home immediately after.

“We can’t get them every time,” Laswell said when Ghost, Konig, and Soap returned to base. “But we have his tail and he’s on the run. I’m going to need you all to stay close until we got him in our sights again.”

“How long are we thinking?” Soap asks, more out of curiosity than a want to go home.

For Ghost and Soap home was wherever the other was. So long as they kept it out of paperwork and didn’t outright maul each other during a mission neither Price nor Laswell cared about their relationship. It wasn’t the first-time love was found on the battlefield, a ring on Laswell’s finger was proof of that.

Konig, on the other hand, had somewhere to be.

“I can’t say. It’s going to be at least a few days. I’ll see about getting some barracks set up for you two. Showers should be open up already.” She said, conversation over with the turning of her back.

Ghost didn’t think much about Konig hanging back in Laswell’s office. A quick swat to his backside told him that no one was around and that Soap would see him later. Another action that he didn’t think much about. The only thing that matters now is the showers and clean underwear. Maybe a bed softer than the ground but that might be asking for too much.

There was nothing really special about the target they were after. Just another cartel “boss” that was destined to be arrested by authorities or killed by the actual boss. It was only through a sudden wave of brutality that the 141 was brought in. Followed a trail through several countries until they barely nipped at the target’s heels. At least they torched the makeshift compound he left behind.

Under lukewarm water Ghost let himself become bare. It’s easier to wash off someone else’s blood when not wearing a mask. It’s now that he can remove the image of the Ghost. He can be Simon, even if it’s while hiding under a subpar shower.

“Simon, you in?” Johnny’s voice calls through the bathroom.

Simon makes a hmm noise loud enough to be heard. He didn’t need to invite Johnny in, zippers were already being pulled down and clothing was getting removed rather quickly.

“There he is,” Johnny says, moving the curtain and stepping into the cubicle.

It took time and patients before Simon was comfortable with Johnny stepping in so casually. Even longer before Johnny could just press against Simon’s back without him tensing up. Now look at them; practically spooning in the shower.

“Nothing more romantic than a military bath,” Johnny says, having to practically stand on his toes to get some water over his head.

“Doubt the motel’s going to be any better,” Simon replied, eyes still closed.

“Not to worry about that, Babe. Königs’ got us covered.” Johnny places an open mouth kiss on the back of Simon’s neck. But that didn’t stop Simon from practically wheeling around.

“What do you mean?” Simon asked, black from his leftover face paint running down his cheeks like poorly applied makeup.

“König and the misses have a house not too far from here. He figured we’d prefer his guestroom over whatever motel Price considers ‘suitable’.” Soap says with air quotes over the word suitable. It’s only then that Johnny seems to remember Simon was a part of this. “Sorry, I should have gotten your input first. How’d feel about stopping by?”

Simon turns back towards the water as if it’s no big deal.

“Plans are already made, it seems. Let’s see how the giant lives.” Simon says, rubbing away the last of his face paint.

It’s almost funny how different Simon and Johnny were in their civilian lives. Simon had long ago given up on the idea of being a civilian. He was the Ghost, a lieutenant, and a badass when on the field. When off the field he was a lone wolf, the quiet guy in the superstore, and the big man you cross the street to avoid walking past.

Johnny, on the other hand, could make a friend in an empty room. The favorite uncle to his nieces and nephews. He’s that nice man who can grab things from the shelf at the store. Few social events are complete until John McTavish makes an appearance. It should be no surprise that Johnny became König’s friend, it was more of a surprise that it took so long to be invited for dinner.

-

You have to strain to hear the Jeep pulling into your driveway. There was no need to take a peek out of the window. Your shared home was a good ten-minute drive from the highway. Through trees and past farms no one pulls into your driveway on accident.

Your name is called out when the front door opens. Followed shortly by the thumping of shoes and soft talking of your guests.

“Nice place, König. Pretty far out from anything, though.” Comments an Irish accent.

“Not everyone wants to live ass to ass with their neighbors. It’s a pretty good location.” Adds in a British accent.

It wasn’t like König to invite “co-workers” home for the weekend. With Kortac you only got to meet Horangi, and that was probably so you’d have someone to call if something happened. This was likely a similar scenario.

“Darling,” König says when you round the corner to the front room.

He must have changed before leaving the base. It wasn’t like König could go about civilian life while wearing a sniper’s hood. Instead, he wears a mask or balaclava when he feels it’s necessary. This is almost exclusively when he heads into the city or has to stop by more populated areas. In his line of work being recognized could result in something awful. The likely hood of being recognized countries away from enemies is rare but not impossible.

You don’t care or worry about the guests still standing in the doorway. Not when your man is coming towards you with a smile that lights up his eyes. König removes his mask in a simple motion as he walks towards you. Leaning down for a kiss that you plant on him gently, but still insist on putting your arms around his neck.

König’s always been a mountain of ice when he gets home. König liked his AC and it was usually blasting throughout the car and house wherever he was. Supposedly it helps keep him awake when driving or doing paperwork. More likely than not he just wanted an excuse to drag you in for a cuddle.

You’re too focused on your own man to hear the small conversation happening at the door.

“Why don’t you kiss me like that?” The Irish man asked.

“Shut up.” Whispered the Brit, although no malicious could be heard in his voice.

The is never as long as you want it to be. But, it has to end, and you are refocused on your still-waiting guests.

“I’m so sorry, it’s nice to meet you.” You say to the two men, reaching out a hand towards them and giving your name.

“Likewise, Ma’am.” The Irish man says, taking your hand. “I’m John McTavish, and this is Simon. We work with König at the 141, he’s a good man.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.” You say, nodding towards Simon who reciprocates. “I take it you’re both operators, too. Königs’ told me a few things. It’s nice to meet the people watching his back.”

You instruct both John and Simon to make themselves at home. Directing towards the living room and bar that’s hardly used for company. “It’s stocked, so help yourselves.” You said, following your man when he disappeared into the kitchen.

“Is everyone you hang out with so damn tall?” You can’t help but ask.

“No, it’s just luck. I seem to attract them.” König says, putting his head through his apron’s top.

“You don’t have to cook,” You say, but have already walked around him to tie up the back. “I was just going to order in.”

Ordering in and grabbing food as you’re going to whenever König was away. He did most of the cooking in your household. Recipes passed down from his mother and father kept you fed through most of the year. This isn’t to say you couldn’t handle yourself but, who would choose cooking over someone doing that for you? “It’s a tradition, don’t take this from me,” König explains. “Does spaghetti sound good? I don’t have time to do anything too complicated.”

“Do your thing, babe. Whatever it is I’m looking forward to it.” You reply, swatting his backside while heading out from the kitchen.

König was not the kind of guy you can cook alongside. More than once you’ve asked if there was anything you could do to help. And, more than once, König was hypercritical of your culinary skills. Mainly micromanaging how to cut vegetables.

That was the closest you’ve ever come to stabbing him.

Back in the living room John and Simon sat side by side on the couch. Simon leaning against the couch’s arm. His own arm rested over the back and, if he wanted, he could easily wrap it around John’s shoulders. John sat with a casual hand on Simon’s thigh. Both of the men holding glasses of dark liquid.

“So, what’re we drinking?” You ask, already at the bar.

“Bourbon,” Simon said raising his glass in an almost toast.

“Scotch for me. But I won’t judge you too harshly if you go with the whiskey.” John explains.

You went with neither. Picking your own preferred brand from the bottom of the bar. Far enough down that König wouldn’t accidentally clean out your alcohol.

“How long have you and König been married?” John asks.

“It’s barely been a year, but we’ve lived together before. I had to make sure the relationship would survive your line of work.” You explained.

Of course, it was quite a bit more complicated than that. You didn’t mention how it took months before König came clean about his job. That you didn’t believe him at first. And you certainly didn’t talk about how König was more scared of a relationship than anyone with a gun could ever make him.

The truth was it hurt every time your husband had to leave. It didn’t matter whether you had a day’s notice or a month’s notice. You held him close on those mornings and tried your hardest to convince him to stay. Of course he couldn’t but at least you had tried.

It wasn’t as if you were always available, either. Your own work, relationships, and life made this entire marriage feel a bit like an afterthought. More than once you’ve come home to König asleep on the couch. His feet hanging off the end and one of your pets sleeping on his chest.

“How long have you two been together?” You ask with a casual drink.

Johnny and Simon have a few seconds of interaction in the time it takes you to drink. Johnny squeezing Simon’s thigh and getting no reaction made the answer to your question.

“Not too long, either. But being too open about it makes work more than a little complicated. Anyway, you know about our work, what do you do? I can’t see you as a ‘oh, when will my husband come home,’ type of gal.” Johnny asks, leaning forward to emphasize who was expected to talk next.

It’s not often you find a real people person working in the military-industrial complex. Johnny was a rare case, even in the 141. True, he didn’t have the humor like Gaz or the unquestionable charm like Price. Even Simon had the tall, dark, and handsome vibe to him. All that was nothing compared to Johnny’s ability to simply be nice and know when to change the subject.

König was as skilled in the kitchen as in the field. Simple spices and meats added to store-bought sauce has an amazing effect on spaghetti. Even more so when the popping of a bottle rings through the house and you have to comment; “He has this special brand his mother got us. It’s so special that he keeps it on the highest shelf when I need to stand on the counter to reach it. Marriage isn’t always perfect, you know?”

Simon could understand that sentiment. Truth was he and Johnny were barely past the two-year anniversary of their relationship. But fighting alongside your partner in life-or-death situations can make that time feel so much faster. In Simon’s mind they were already an old married couple, only difference being his ass was still firm.

Dinner is served family style at the table. König setting out plates and bread as you came in to help him. Grabbing napkins and utensils without being asked or really thinking about it.

“Why don’t you cook for me?” Simon whispered to Johnny while they walked into the dinning room.

“For the same reason you don’t kiss me.” Johnny retorted, happy that Simon seemed to have relaxed somewhat.

It wasn’t as if Simon was some feral dog Johnny decided to adopt one day. Simon was a grown man who understood at least basic social expectations, but time and trauma had made him somewhat rusty. It made him quiet when around anyone but friends or colleges. What answers you were going to get out of him were short and sharp, wanting to reach the point as quickly as possible.

Anyone could sense this want of solitude coming off of Simon. It’s why most of the conversation took place between Johnny and yourself. König sometimes adding in but letting you handle a majority of the conversation. Content to simply eat the spaghetti and listen to the people around him.

“-So he’s holding my shirt and walking me backwards real slow. He’s not that much bigger than me but the size matters with that sort of thing.” Johnny tells his story with enthusiasm. Holding onto the front of his shirt for emphasis. “But, before we get too close to the edge, the cunt gets taken out by none other than the Ghost.”

It’s hard to see Simon’s face from where you sit at the table. The vase of flowers König had got you not too long ago blocked a clear view of Simon. The veteran operator likely sat there specifically to block your view.

You could imagine that he was smiling though. Johnny reaches his arm over Simon’s shoulders and gives him a squeeze. Had they been in private it’s not hard to imagine that the squeeze might also include a kiss.

“Sounds like you’re a pretty good sniper, Simon.” You say, speaking directly to Simon for the first time that night. “Unfortunately, I know for a fact that my König here is the better shot. Sniping or otherwise.”

“Oh no, Darling. Please don’t involve me in this.” König says with his hands up as if to surrender.

“We’ll test each other later, don’t you worry about that,” Simon says, his fort spinning over his plate.

It’s downright domestic how Johnny volunteered to help you with the dishes. König made a move to help instead but was practically glared back to his seat. If you let him he’d do everything around the house. Guilt from his work has that effect on him.

“How is Simon doing?” You asked Johnny, hoping that the wall and running sink were enough to hide your voice.

“He’s Simon, there’s no need to worry about him. Trust me, if he had a problem with you, he’d let you know.” Johnny replies. “How are you doing? I know that we pretty much barged into your house without warning.”

“König called me before you showed up, so not completely unannounced. It really is nice to see who has my husband’s back. It makes being without him a lot easier, I might even be able to relax next time.” You explain.

“You worry about him too much?” Johnny asks, glancing out the door towards your partners.

“I wouldn’t say too much, just a healthy amount. It’s not enough to stop me from doing things, but don’t tell König. All he’ll hear is that I’m worried and we don’t need that.” You say, being sure to stay close to the running sink while saying this.

“He won’t hear anything from me,” Johnny promises.

Johnny, Simon, and König resided in a world that you simply couldn’t understand. At most, you could get a few peaks in through the complaints or stories they choose to tell. Unlike you, they didn’t make too much of a habit of thinking about the future. For König he only felt safe thinking about the present and how he can best get back to you. Simon never saw himself with a real future, at no point in his life did he have a goal besides survival.

Johnny was different as he actually thought about the future. At first, it was just to be the best soldier in the field and as high ranked as he could get. Then Johnny met Simon and his goals turned into a heart-shaped plan. One that involved buying a house and maybe a dog that Simon would approve of. Knowing Simon it would be a German Shepard or two.

Johnny’s life plan shifted ever so slightly throughout the night. It glowed pink as he watched you and König share a drink. He looks out to Simon, smoking his cigarette on the back porch, and can see the one and only future he wants. One where Simon is safe and on Johnny’s lap as much as possible.

“I need to call my mother before it gets too late.” König practically declared around the nine pm mark. He leans over the chair and says; “I promise not to be too long.” He then looks up to Simon and Johnny. “The spare room is down the hall. I doubt sharing will be a problem for you.”

“I’ll show you,” You say while standing.

The guest room was the last thing decorated in the house. After taking your time to decorate the house most of your creativity went into the other rooms. Leaving the guest room looking almost bare. A King-sized bed with blue sheets and curtains to match. Two side tables and an armoire were the only things that could be considered decorations.

Johnny interrupts before you can apologize for the drab decorations.

“It could have stuffed ponies and this room would be better than some motel,” Johnny said.

“Or a motel,” Added Simon already opening his overnight bag.

“Glad to hear it, but I’ll see if I can find some stuffed ponies for you. Have a good night, gentlemen.” You say, making an almost show of closing the door behind you.

-

Simon was past the point in his life where sex seemed more important than it was. Able to pull out his pajamas, brush his teeth, and let Soap do the same before making a move.

“Hold on, hold on,” Johnny moaned after his face was grabbed.

Simon restrained himself enough for Johnny to lock the door. Turning back to Simon and this time leaning into the kiss that demanded so much more.

Simon still had some of his tricks from his barracks bunny days. Knowing that men like Johnny loved to plow their partners but only with said partner’s enthusiastic consent. Moaning out his wants and begging for more was never Simon’s forte. He was the ordering type, a real power bottom, that gave orders as easy as he would in the field.

“Lay down,” He ordered, walking Johnny back until gravity takes control.

Shirtless, straddling Johnny’s waist, Simon held Johnny’s jaw with a grip. His strength was only matched by the hold Johnny had on Simon’s ass.

“Mmm, just like that.” Simon moans, leaning forward so they are chest-to-chest. “Perfect. Bloody perfect right now.”

Johnny smiled when he hears this. Simon was one of, if not the, most selfless man you could ever meet. Even with the prickly exterior, Simon would be the first one running into the firefight. Ready with a plan and the voice to give orders and save the entire mission. If anyone deserved a perfect moment, it was Simon. He deserved more than just a moment; he deserved a lifetime.

“You-you ever think of making it permeant?” Johnny asks, hands sliding from Simon’s ass to his back.

Simon stills a bit but doesn’t pull away just yet. “What are you thinking about?”

“Retirement would look good on you, Babe. Pension alone would keep us both in steak and bourbon for years. There’s no need for both of us to stay, you know? Betcha Price would agree with me.” John says, digging gently into Simon’s back.

Simon sits all the way up. “That better be the alcohol talking.”

Johnny knew this was going to be a delicate topic to bring up. Johnny didn’t know Simon before the 141. He had only heard the stories from Simon or from the rest of the task force. At best the stories were violent, at worst they were simply sad.

That didn’t stop Johnny from wanting though. Johnny, like Simon, wasn’t about to back down just because the conversation got awkward.

“You never think about it?.” Johnny presses forward.

It’s obvious that Simon has never thought about it. He blinks down at Johnny as if trying to understand what he had just said.

“No, I haven’t,” Simon says, moving off of Johnny to sit facing away.

There was more Simon wanted to say. He wanted to be angry about the suggestion. He wanted to yell and demand to know why Johnny would suggest the idea. Did Johnny honestly expect Simon to become some kind of Stepford wife? It was a stupid thought and a stupid suggestion.

At the same time, Simon didn’t want to think about it. If he weren’t in the field as Ghost then he’d have to be in the civilian world as Simon. A part of himself that hasn’t been allowed to grow for years.

Finally, Simon was just a bit grateful. Johnny would be the only one to make this suggestion. He’d also be the only one that Simon would ever retire for. But a partner in arms and a husband at home were two very different things.

“I have,” Johnny almost whispers, reaching a hand out to gently run his knuckles over Simon’s back. “but I don’t want to lose you for a fantasy. I won’t bring it up. Not until you want, at least.”

Simon didn’t verbally respond. Only laying back down on the bed, still facing away from the one man he wants more than anything.

“Can we cuddle, at least?” Johnny asks after a few minutes of silence between them.

Again, Simon says nothing, Instead he gestures for Johnny to come closer. Which he gratefully does.

-

There’s a game you and König like to play sometimes. It’s where you pretend that König’s cock isn’t the only thing on your mind. Where you smile at his compliments and don’t lead him into the bedroom right away. König plays the same game by pretending he didn’t want you bent over. He stills himself against your hand on his backside. Pretends that he doesn’t see how your mouth touches the rim of your glass. Neither of you outright says; “I want to fuck”, it would ruin the magic of the tease.

The sexual tension builds until it breaks. This night you were the one to crack first.

König never spent more than an hour speaking to his parents. Enough time for you to make it back upstairs. Having that moment of panic where you try to decide whether sexy or comfy would fit the mood tonight.

In the end, it doesn’t matter what you wear, or if you choose to wear anything. König will look at you, just like he does every time, with large eyes and an almost surprised look on his face. It doesn’t matter how many times you wait for him. It’s always the same adoration.

“Hello,” König says, stepping up to the side of the bed. Close enough to cup your face but not enough to actually make contact.

“So beautiful…” He murmurs while holding your face. His head tilts while he looks as if you were some painting in a museum.

He doesn’t move when you reach up to his face. Gently sliding your thumbs under his mask and sliding it up. As often as possible you were the one to remove his mask when he gets home. It’s an intimate moment you get to keep special. Showing that he was home, and you were right in front of him.

Part of the reason he kept the mask/helmet combo was to keep his hair in one place. Light brown hair down to his shoulders didn’t make him the shaggiest in the world. It was certainly longer than most military personnel. The same being said for his facial hair; not quite a beard but it would get there soon enough.

He leans against your hand. Blinking slowly before leaning in for a kiss.

His weight presses into your body. Being pushed back until you were flat across the bed. König’s weight presses you in the bed.

“I missed you,” You whispered into his mouth, grinding your hips upwards.

“I missed you more,” König countered, his open mouth pressing into your throat.

He’s a firm mountain of a man that was all yours to do whatever you wanted. Whether it be to verbally ask him to turn you around or simply move your hips and hands in such a way that he rolls over. You really don’t need to do much to get what you wanted from him. He was always ready to please you in whatever way was needed.

He swears in German when he penetrates. His hips moved slowly but with enough purpose that there was no stopping the jolt throughout. He quickly starts moving to match that first thrust. Moving your body back and forth with each thrust he makes. Slowly, so slowly, quickening his pace.

It’s always a bit surprising that König, or any military operator, could be so soft in bed. He holds you close, kisses you sweetly, and never wants to let go.

-

It doesn’t matter that Johnny wasn’t on a mission. He liked his workout routine. So, just after 6 am, Johnny stirs awake against a body made of warmth and muscle.

Simon doesn’t give any indication of being awake. Not even when Johnny steps out of bed.

Seeing Simon’s thick body lying there peacefully was a nice view. Johnny was too much of a gentleman to interrupt his partner’s sleep. He pulls the top sheet up and over his sleeping partner, making sure that nothing indecent was exposed before getting dressed.

König had a similar routine in the mornings.

He tended to wake up earlier than necessary. Your wall of warmth slowly moves back from your body. Out of instinct, you grab his forearm before he can get all the way up.

“It’s just for a jog.” König whispers, a soft kiss on your mouth. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” You whisper although not nearly awake enough to know what was going on.

You don’t hear him getting dressed. Or feel the dip in the bed as he leans over. Nor do you notice when he puts another kiss on your cheek. What you do finally notice is the moving around your kitchen.

It’s still early in the morning, just a bit after seven. So you’ll be forgiven for being confused about the random blonde man in your kitchen.

“Morning,” Simon from the kitchen counter.

He’s wearing a black mask, no different from the kind you’d wear during the pandemic. It makes his dark blonde hair visible. It’s short, no surprise, but just long enough that he might be thinking about a haircut in the near future.

You also get a better look at some of his face. You can see that he has a scar running from his forehead to his neck. A few other little scars here and there that hint at battles long past. Dark blonde hair creates a shadow over the parts of his neck that you can see. If you didn’t know any better he could have been just any guy you’d pass on the street.

“Good morning, You guys sleep well? Sorry, I couldn’t find those stuffed animals for you.” You say, going for the fridge like you would any morning.

“We made do,” Simon says, not willing to go any further.

You silently accepted that. Too focused on making breakfast more complicated than a bowl of cereal to try and force a conversation. Simon moved away from the counter to the island stool, his phone out and in his hand.

It was awkward, to say the least, but nothing could be gained by trying to force a conversation. You could probably get away with offering him some eggs, but even that might be too far. On the one hand, you didn’t want to be rude to your houseguest. On the other hand, Simon didn’t give off the friendly vibes that Johnny did so easily.

Neither of you was willing to try and keep a conversation going. Because of this only the clinking and clanking of your cooking makes noise.

Until the kitchen window explodes.

It’s a mess of glass and panic that fills the entire room. It doesn’t matter what training you did or didn’t have. When someone shoots through a window most people start moving, whether it’s to duck down and hide or if it’s run from the room. At that moment, you were in the latter category. Leaving the oven on, leaving Simon, and escaping the kitchen before the intruder knew you were even there.

If Simon was anything like König then there was no point in trying to help. Uniformed men were like that; protectors who would be insulted if their families or loved ones tried to help in a dangerous situation. Was it a stupid mentality? Absolutely, but that didn’t change the fact that it is what it is.

From the other side of the wall, you can hear the struggle. No words were spoken but grunts and anger followed by hitting and crashing. The smart thing to do would be to leave the house. Simon was a trained and seasoned operator. There’s no reason he shouldn’t be able to handle one intruder by himself.

Simon shouts out in anger, and that keeps you from leaving as you should.

Braving to peek your head around the corner and take a look. You don’t know the intruder that stands over Simon. Dressed in dark jeans and a jacket he could have been any guy off the street. The only difference was the gun in his hand and the blood on the floor around him.

“Way too easy to find your dumbasses.” The man said, hatred in his voice. “It’s like you want everyone to die, I swear. Glare at me all you want, it ain’t gonna stop anything.”

Simon doesn’t say anything back, he simply glares. Even keeping his mouth shut when the man squats down in front of him. Only saying anything when the man grabs Simon’s mast, ripping it off his face non-too-gently.

“FUCKER!” Simon yells when his face is revealed.

It feels wrong but you dare a glance at Simon’s face. Allowing yourself to look for only a second. Long enough to see where his scars meet across a strong nose. You don’t look for long enough to see the details.

“When you die I want you to die knowing your family is next. Your mum, dad, kids, fucking wife…All of them are gonna be dead.” The intruder continues with his monologue. Pointing his gun toward Simon’s temple and pressing in.

It’s impossible to say what pushed you forward into the kitchen. It certainly wasn’t your own sense of self-preservation, that had left the room a hot minute ago. Maybe you could blame it on your own need to be a hero. What better way to show off your courage than to save someone from a gunman?

If only you had the skills to match your bravery. All you really did was run forward fast and slam hard. Pushing the intruder into Simon with all your weight.

Simon met your courage with some of his own. An arm around the intruder’s neck, dragging him close and refusing to let go.

Hand to hand Simon is comparable only to a mountain lion. He’s baring teeth and moving limbs trying to get and destroy anything close by. The intruder’s throat is bared and red from Simon biting down on the closest bit of skin he could reach.

With Simon grappling with the intruder you were left with little room to work. The only thing you could grab was the intruder’s gun holding hand. Just like running into this fight, you didn’t really have a plan. Only the inescapable need to do something.

In an instant, everything becomes too much. The intruder is yelling too loudly. The floor is too hard on your knees. You can smell the blood and feel the spit splattering over yourself and the kitchen. Someone is running around and banging through your living room. Simon starts shouting and you can’t understand him.

It’s no surprise that you didn’t hear the gun go off.

Without a life to control the hand, you were now in possession of the intruder’s gun. Although your ears are ringing, and the floor is still too hard, you can’t help but notice that the gun is cold. It wasn’t the one that fired and took away the threat.

That bullet came from Johnny’s gun.

There was no way you could have heard Johnny or König come back. They didn’t know what was going on either. Only that their designated partners were in trouble.

“Got you, I got you.” Is whispered over your head, and the gun is gently pulled from your hand.

König, big and strong, he’s pulling you close. Practically dragging you onto his lap, tucking your head into his shoulder.

“He’s dead?” You ask, although it comes out more as a statement.

König looks over to Johnny and Simon. They were in a similar position as you two were. Johnny is holding his man closely. It almost seems that Simon is trying to hide by pressing his face into Johnny’s neck, slowly being rocked by the same man who holds him so safely.

“He’s dead,” König whispers into your hair.

You don’t need to say anything else. Later Laswell would make sure everything gets cleaned up. Get you some accommodations and let König have a week off from missions. For now, though. You’re stuck with a body in your kitchen. A reminder tot eh world what could happen is someone tried anything.

[bubbytheliverstealingskeleton]

Yooo I can show you guys Carol and Annabelle

They’re both Coomers ex wives

Uhh lore/the ramblings under the cut

Carol loree:

She’s a trans lesbian

She and Coomer got married because their parents were pressuring them to get married, they divorced after they got to black mesa and remained friends even if Coomer doesn’t agree with her being military

After the divorce she did get taken by the military

She just she finally got into boot camp around that time is all

She’s the one who’s on the radio where the airstrikes puzzles is and fun fact, in opposing force you can see the soldier who’s on the other side of that radio I choose to believe that’s her in every universe

She and Coomer have known eachother from like the beginning of highschool and Coomer helped her to figure out she likes women

Uhhh so what else so there’s all the stuff on her drawing that I can list here

She adopted Forzen

She worked as black mesa security for a short while until she got into boot camp

And she’s the marines designated radio operator because she says things fairly clearly and people trust her to not fuck around on the radio when it’s actually important stuff

Oh uh also black mesa was supposed to be her last mission before she retired but then it’s black mesa and fucked up

Also another fun fact did you know that the soldiers going into black mesa didn’t know why they were until they got there Yeah

Anyways Annabelle lore:

She’s cis Demi ace and she thinks she’s het for a long ass time it’s not until like her 60s that she realizes that she’s Akoiromantic, and she likes the idea of being in a romantic relationship but whenever she actually gets into one all her feelings kinda go away

Coomer and her met in collage and started dating probably within 2 years of knowing eachother

She’s the ex wife who convinced Coomer to leave boxing and change his major so that they could both go into different fields of science

She does like medical science stuff so she works in the medical area of black mesa which I can’t remember what it’s called but it’s in opposing force

She ends of graduating before Coomer and is accepted into Black Mesa before him so they stop dating and don’t see eachother for a few years

Probably around 6 or so years after Coomer starts working at black mesa they finally meet again when Coomer loses his arm, they start seeing eachother again shortly after that and get married also shortly after that for like health benefits and general benefits from black mesa

They last for a long while but she is a bit of a bitch in like the way that her parents were an older couple- so tangent here you know how some older couples and such and fucked up and mean to eachother and but they still claim to love eachother- that’s basically her only viewpoint of what romance is and what it’s supposed to be like, it’s actually pretty similar with Coomers parents too which is why they stayed together for as long as they did

After around 10 year (I think I don’t care to go and check my doc) she divorces Coomer and leaves black mesa to go become a doctor at an actual hospital

Also she did work as a millitary doctor for a very short while but didn’t like the environment so she went back to black mesa

Also random fun fact about her name:

Shes named after my Mrs. Afton headcannon name

Also congrats you read my rambling here’s what I’m currently drawing while making this post

Bub(me) fun fact: Carol and Annabelle’s designs are 2 of the reasons that make me constantly question if I’m a lesbian

[ironwoman18]

Rather Be - Part 9

Chapter 9: A night to remember

That week after mother's day, Loid made at less one thousand plans for his date with Yor but some of his ideas weren't satisfying enough for him.

He was really considering asking other females at work to know what they could suggest to him but of course he wouldn't ask Nightfall. She had been showing an unhealthy interest in replacing Yor and he was happy with her as his partner as the mother of the Forger family.

Besides, he noticed the butterflies he felt in his stomach everytime she kissed his cheek or when they held hands or when he kissed her cheek, in other words, every time they touched.

He never felt something like this in his life. He had been with many women before but none of them made him feel like this. 

He called Mrs. Norris, one of the elderly nurses.

“Doctor Forger, is everything okay?” she asked in a kind tone and warm smile.

“Well... Last Sunday, I gave my wife a beautiful dress and she made me promise to take her on a date so she can use it, but...” He said blushing.

“But you have no idea where to take her right?” He nodded and she laughed “one of the smartest doctors but when it comes to his wife you are a dummy” she said with a kind smile.

“I want to take her to a nice place, but I'm not sure where. Last time we watched a movie and had dinner but I don't want to repeat myself or over do things”

“I see...” She said then she checked in her pocket and handed it to him “there will be a special night at the botanic garden. They brought a collection of flowers that bloom at night” she sighed “If only my dear Argus was still alive I would take him too”

“This seems amazing and very interesting” he looked at her and dared to ask “What happened? If you don’t mind”

“He was a stubborn man and hated doctors so it was too late when they discovered he had cancer. He died last year. He was a brave man and he fought in that terrible war... I was one of the lucky women and also our son and daughter who had her husband and their father back”

Loid looked down sad “Yeah you definitely were lucky. I lost my mother and father because the military dropped bombs where I lived...” he said in a cold tone.

“War is terrible. Young people don’t understand how terrible and how much you can lose in war” she said looking down remembering what she heard that morning on the radio. There are still people wishing to fight in a war.

“Sad but true” he said looking at her, remembering also those college kids he faced who were trying to send bomb dogs to his first ministry.

“I’m sorry I killed the good mood. You were planning a date and I started to talk about sad things...”

“Don’t worry Mrs. Norris, I don’t mind. It’s a touchy subject but if we forget about it, our young people will forget about it and won’t let future generations actually smile and be happy... like my daughter”

She smiled and patted his shoulder “You are a good father and husband, a little distracted but a good one” he blushed softly “See you later Doctor” she left his office and Loid smiled watching her leaving then looked back to the paper she handed him. 

This was perfect and it said it will have a buffet after the exhibition is over. He smiled and looked at the door and there was Nightfall.

“What can I do for you Ms. Frost?” he asked, looking at her.

“I have the file of a new patient Doctor Forger” he walked to her and grabbed the file, it said he had a new mission on... no way... “I can’t take it... I’m sorry. I have something planned for Operation Strix”

“Like...?” she said it, even colder than usual.

“I have a date with Yor” he said matter of factly “Part of this mission is to keep my partner happy and so we look like an actual married couple”

Fiona Frost looked at him, not believing he was just doing this for the mission or to keep Yor Brier happy, in her heart she could notice how her dear Twilight was falling for that woman, and she knew it had been her if she was free when he found out he needed a wife.

“There are no other agents available for it” she lied, she was free but she wanted to focus him back on his role as a spy.

“I will have to talk to the Handler so she can look for another agent. They all know my operation is a top priority” he said.

She cursed under her breath “Fine... I will do it, but don’t get attached to those two. You aren’t like that...” she said, turning around with tears in her eyes but her voice remained calm then she left without another word.

“There’s nothing else I can do or say” she thought “he has feelings for her...”

After that Loid made sure to rent a car for them to take them to the botanic garden and back home. At six he went back home.

“I’m home” he said as Anya and Bond ran to him.

“Daddy!! Today I had a good answer to a math problem!” 

“Oh really?” he picked her up and hugged her “I guess the classes with Grandpa Sig are working” she nodded smiling.

 “Yes, they are. I think Anya is already understanding it” said Yor from the kitchen “just like I’m doing with the cooking classes” she said smiling.

“Yes, I agree” he smiled back, then he hung his coat and his hat, then went to help Yor with some of the seasoning or to peel a potato, a task she still seems to struggle with.

When dinner was done, the three of them sat down and ate while talking about their day. 

When they finished dinner and their dessert, Loid sent Anya to brush her teeth while he washed the dishes then he would read her a story.

The little girl did it while he was in the kitchen. After finishing, Loid went to her bedroom and read to his daughter one of her favorite stories, doing voices as she liked until the little girl fell asleep.

And when she did Loid went to the living were Yor was reading. He sat next to her.

“Story with voices?” She asked, looking at him from the corner of her eye.

“Yes, she knows I'm good at that since I changed my voice for a dwarf in one of the stories, now she wants me to do it with each character” Yor laughed “hey! Don't laugh, it's hard to do voices” she laughed more and he followed her laugh.

After a full minute laughing they were taking deep breaths trying to calm themselves “it's really sweet of you to make those voices for her and some are kind of cute”

“I never imagined myself doing it but I guess that's a great way to make a little kid happy, right?” the black haired woman nodded “and I was wondering if you would like to go on a date with me this Saturday?” He asked, blushing a little.

“I would love to,” she answered blushing.

When Saturday arrived Loid was lucky because Anya was invited to go to Becky’s house again so he and Yor won't be worried about the time or dealing with Franky’s annoyed face.

They took Anya to the Blackwell's car then both parents went to their apartment and had calm morning doing some cleaning then a little bit later each took a shower and went to get dressed and as promised Yor wore her new dress with her heels and she applied a little makeup then she walked out to find Loid wearing a black jacket and pants with a white shirt black tie.

He looked as handsome as ever, she realized he matched her dress with his own black suit. 

On the other hand, Loid was in awe watching her, she looked really beautiful in that dress. The women at the tailor's shop knew exactly how to make a dress that fixed her body like a glove.

She noticed his blue eyes were watching her from head to toe and she blushed harder.

“Are we done?” She asked.

“Yes, we are” he offered his arm to him “I think you will enjoy what I prepared for you”

He led her to the door and opened it for her then they walked downstairs and by the time they reached the street a car appeared in front of them.

Then a man opened the door for them “Sir, madam” he bowed softly then watched as Yor got in, then Loid got in the seat in front of her.

The driver got in and drove to the botanical garden putting some soft music on the radio as he drove.

Loid and Yor chatted as he explained his plans. They will have lunch at the plaza and at four they will go to the garden to each ten flowers they brought that only bloom at night.

Yor was excited because she loved the flowers and having a whole exhibition of them will be amazing.

Loid also told her how he got the idea. She felt sad when he mentioned the story about Mrs. Norris’ husband but at least she moved on and lives at peace now with the absence of her husband.

When they arrived the driver once again opened the door for them and promised he would be there at eleven. Anya will have a sleepover so they were relaxed about their daughter’s sleep time.

He led her to a nice restaurant close by and had a seat outside. They ordered and continued to talk.

Yor truly loved when they were all together but for some reason today she was more happy about having Loid all by herself because she wanted to understand this feeling she has when he touches her hand or when she catches him looking at her when he thinks she doesn't notice it and what is this feeling she has when she looked at him, something she never felt for other men.

They ate and enjoyed each other's company. It was fun and relaxing. Loid was looking at her from time to time trying to read her expressions but as it happens to Anya, he was unable to do it. They were the only people he had never been able to read. And in a way he liked it. He liked the challenges and this one was one.

After eating and paying they left for the botanical garden “have you ever heard of the flowers that bloom at night?” She asked.

“Yes I did but never watched one, so this will be my first time” he smiles at her “and you?”

“I heard of them but never watched them” he smiled after what she said.

“Then this will be our first time watching flowers at night” he said and she smiled nodding at him.

Loid paid for his ticket, this gave them full access to the exhibition and the buffet at the end of the tour. 

“Welcome everyone to the first day of our exhibition of night flowers. This collection of flowers are from all over the world and they are all beautiful and we are sure you will love them. Most of them bloom at night but some will bloom early like at twilight or at four or five” all the people nodded.

They gave them a brochure and at four, they stood in front of it and the guide said “Here we have the Four O'Clock Alba, true to its name, this flower starts unfolding its petals in the late afternoon and remains on display through the night. This airy, bushy perennial—which features large white blossoms against deep green foliage—also unleashes a light citrusy scent that fills the evening air”

“Wow... They are beautiful” said Yor watching how the flowers bloom before her eyes and their smell hit her nose “and the smell is just like the guide said''

“Most definitely, they are amazing,” added Loid, smiling.

The guide was next to an expert checking their watches and the flowers to call the people to check them out. And at six they called the people and the guide said “Next in our tour we have the Evening Primrose, which begins its show just as the sun starts to set and continues through the late evening. It's a perennial that blooms from spring through late summer and has an interesting appearance with rosette-like flowers that bloom atop a tall stem covered in soft hairs”

"They begin to open up before the twilight hours in the most delicate pink-and-white colors," added Hedwig Winston, their botanical expert "I love primrose for their ease of care. They are a very hardy plant and look wonderful in most gardens.”

They all stayed there watching in awe the beautiful flowers. Some new people were arriving watching each flower group and taking photos. Loid decided to bring his camera and take beautiful photos.

At night the rest of the flowers started to bloom so the guide led them to each one. 

“Here we have the Moonflower, which is the nighttime sister to the beautiful morning glory, only it comes alive under the evening stars” 

"These creamy white blooms open in the evening and only stay in bloom at night," said Gabe Sanders, an expert of the botanical garden, he continues saying "I'm partial to any morning glory because of their delicate shape and how they drape around a garden. They are just so stunning, and I think the uniqueness of this one only adds to their allure.” 

All the people took photos of the flowers. Loid was making sure Yor was in each photo he was taking of the flowers, he asked another couple to take a photo of them. He did it by the twilight flower, since they shared that moment of the day.

After some more photos, the guide took them to the next flower “now this is the Night Phlox is a captivating flowering plant that's native to South Africa” 

"Its blooms resemble small daisies and release a sweet and honey-like fragrance after the sun goes down," said Eric Garden, another expert, and owner of some of the flowers, then he added "The leaves form a dense, low-growing clump that looks lush and green." 

“If you want to have them in your own garden, this is an ideal choice for borders, rock gardens, and containers”

They continued the tour around the botanical garden watching flowers like the Gardenia or the Night Blooming Jasmine, they also watched the Mock Orange.

“This the Casa Blanca Lily, for a magnificent flower that blooms at night, look no further than the Casa Blanca lily. As its name suggests, this perennial produces large white blooms with red-brown anthers, dazzling passersby all summer long. These blossoms sit atop a tall, rigid, and leafy stem. Like other lilies, its flowers are toxic to pets, so make sure, if you want to have them at home, to keep them out of reach of your furry friends”

“It's so sad Bond couldn't have a nice look of them, I know he's smart but he wouldn't know this before flower could be lethal for him”

“Yes but I don't plan on having a garden in our small apartment,” he said, half joking and half serious. Yor laughed and nodded.

“I'm agree, as much as I love flowers, they belong to a beautiful place like this one or a big garden”

“Now there is the Queen of the Night Cactus, a flowering variety native to North America's Sonoran Desert. Their white or yellow blossoms are large and trumpet-shaped and sit in stark contrast to the tough, prickly cactus exterior” 

"Chances are, you've seen this cactus and had no idea its real beauty was best seen at night," said Garden, the expert. "For anyone in the Southwest, this is a great, low-maintenance choice to give variety to a garden or landscape."

And he was right, one of Twilight's missions took him to North America and he ended up in a desertic zone and he witnessed those cacti at night but it looked so boring and not as pretty as it looks right now.

“I will take some pictures and show them to Dawn, the agent who was with me, back then” he thought, smiling softly.

“The last flower in our tour is the Nocturnum Orchid. Those living in a wet, tropical climate can enjoy the beauty of the aptly named Nocturnum orchid. It produces long, dark green foliage and otherworldly white blossoms that take on a peculiar shape. What's also remarkable about this night-blooming flower is its intoxicating fragrance. It's been described as a fruity flower akin to strawberry or raspberry”

The nice smell of that flower hit Yor and Loid and they were fascinated by it. They took some more photos and smiled as a nice man accepted to take a picture of them “You should kiss” suggested the man “Because I believed you are married” they blushed softly but Yor, who was always to one with the less courage did something unexpected and kissed his cheek but way too close to his lips that tricked the angel to look like a real kiss on the lips. They blushed deeply and the guy, happy with his photo, left them.

“This has been a beautiful evening. Surrounded by  beautiful and breathtaking flowers” said Yor blushing a little and smiling big at her husband “thank you for this beautiful night”

He blushed softly “I'm so happy that you liked this. I was looking for the perfect evening for us” he smiled at her “and the last part of the date will a buffet at the end of the exhibition” 

“Oh! Sounds great” she laughed and he led her to the restaurant in the garden. It had a couple of people in there so they took a tail and they got what they wanted and went to a table.

They ate and talked about the tour and how interesting it was. Loid could tell she was into the theme of flowers, but somehow he doubted she could keep them alive, you could call it a gut feeling.

He picked dessert for them and the place started to get crowded so they were happy to be there earlier and be able to eat first.

“This place is beautiful and I would love to bring Anya, maybe not to see this particular exhibition because it's too late for her but other exhibitions could be nice for her, and maybe ask the Blackbell’s to let Becky comes too”

“That's a great idea” he smiled “I will ask them, I wrote their number down” Yor clapped excited and smiled big at him.

At eleven they left the building after buying something at the gift shop for Anya and Bond and some decoration for their house. They headed to the plaza and she held his hand as they walked, this action felt so right to both of them and they were comfortable by that action.

They arrived just in time and opened the door for his passengers and this time Yor talked to him really animated about everything they watched there. She sounded so happy that Loid thought about Mrs. Norris and how he would give her one of the gifts they brought at the store to thank her.

They got home and after getting out Loid and Yor walked in and went to their rooms with a big smile on their face and Loid was expecting the next day to reveal the photos they took that day.

OOooOOooOO

I hope you like this. I would like to add that I got the information about the flowers using the Martha Stewart website.

[babygirllinds]

WIP Masterlist

kitten - Icemav

Mav wears the collar Ice bought him to get what he wants in order to cure the feeling of emptiness he woke up with.

Very smutty (remember that self-indulgent fic I said I was writing a couple weeks back? Yeah, this is it)

Includes: dom/sub, cockwarming, slight daddy kink (I might indulge in this one more, but idk yet), dumbification/degradation, and I guess you could say petplay because Mav wears a collar and Ice calls him kitten/kitty, but Mav does not act like a cat

cowboy like me - Icemav

Song/lyric fic. Ice tries really hard to ignore the temptation of danger that is Maverick. He worked really hard to get where he was and his feelings for Mav could crumble that in seconds. Maverick is just in love and wants Ice to see that loving him might be worth the risk.

Smut/angst fic

This fic deals with Ice’s internalized homophobia and how he’s trying hard to ignore his feelings because it feels wrong, but also so, so right.

you’re my favorite secret - Icemav

Rear Admiral Tom Kazansky spent his whole life fighting to get to where he was. He’s the best of the best; entirely focused on his career and climbing through the ranks. That is until he meets a young lieutenant by the name of Pete Mitchell. He risks everything just to get a taste of life with Maverick in it.

Smut fic

Power imbalance relationship with a higher ranking military official. Obvious older man/younger man relationship with an age difference of 20 years (Ice will be in his 40s & Mav in his 20s)

stay in my arms - Icemav

Ice and Mav’s leave time lines up after months of not seeing each other and Mav invites Ice on a last minute road trip to go see Carole and Bradley. No matter how aloof Ice acts, he’s excited to be spending his time off with the man he’s in love with.

Smut fic that will most likely be turnt into a multi-chapter

Includes lots of mutual pining and only one bed trope!!!

words aren’t enough - Icemav

Sarah brings by a box of letters Ice had accumulated over the years, all addressed to one Pete Mitchell. Never sent and never seen, but holding all of the words he wasn’t brave enough to say. Maverick mourns a new loss in his life after already mourning the physical loss of Ice.

This is not smut! Surprise! I’d say it’s more T rated because of cussing and descriptions of homophobia, but it’s relatively tame for the most part, but lots of angst!!!

Descriptions of anxiety attacks and Maverick’s own internalized homophobia. Mentions of Ice’s death and how Maverick is navigating it.

the babysitter - Icemav

Pete is babysitting for the perfect family for extra money while in college. He adores the kids and the parents are absolutely gorgeous. He can’t help his budding feelings for the dad when he starts working from home rather than being out all the time for his job. He doesn’t plan on doing anything about his feelings, but then Tom Kazansky makes things difficult when he makes the first move.

Smut fic

Another power imbalance fic bc why not??? Obvious age gap relationship, but everyone is of age (Maverick is in his early 20s and Ice is in his late 30s)!!! Ice has a wife and kids in this one, folks, so cheating will happen

smooth operator - Icemav

Pete is straight… or so he thinks. He can’t stop thinking about Tom Kazansky — asshole extraordinare. He calls a phone sex line to help find where he stands on his sexuality. He asks for a man and winds up with someone named Ice. Ice is nice and comforting and he makes him feel good. He soon finds out that his true identity is someone he knows all too well…

Smut fic (I’m planning on making this a two-parter from both of their perspectives, but I only have some of Mav’s pov written at the moment)

AU!!! Frenemies to lovers type beat. Baby gay Mav trying to navigate his feelings for men (specifically Ice)

Let me Teach you a Lesson or Two - Icemav

Chapter 7: Tom decides it’s time to address his missing book but also rewards Pete for taking his pills consistently along with getting good marks on his recent exam.

Smut fic

Slips further into dom/sub relationship dynamics & soft dom!Tom really comes out to play (Pete finds out the wonders of being a rope bunny)

I saw him first - Slicemav

Chapter 2: Slider finds an opening when he catches Maverick alone in the locker room. Ice stumbles upon the two of them while looking for his RIO. The door ends up locked and Maverick finds himself being propositioned by both men. He’s shocked to say the least, but he’s not entirely opposed to the situation at hand.

Smut fic

Locker room sex because why not?

obey the motto - Slimav

Slider lives by the motto: flying comes first, loyalty comes second, and short pretty brunettes come last. Slider loves the feeling of being in the air, so he ensures he’ll do whatever it takes to keep that. Enter Iceman who becomes his pilot and makes sure they stay at the top by the way he flies. Then comes Maverick, the prettiest short brunet he’s met in a while. Then he witnesses the way Ice stares at Maverick and suddenly he’s reminded of his loyalty because without it, he’s not in the air being the best of the best.

Smut/angst fic

Lots of pining and unrequited love in here (between literally everybody). There will be lots of angst for Ice because Slimav is endgame in this

sweet on you - Slimav

Slider’s public distaste for Maverick to others is far from the truth. He finds himself with a soft spot for Maverick and enjoys the way they interact. It’s never-ending taunts and jokes that Maverick matches head on and makes Slider feel like he can be himself. Now he can’t stop picturing him in his bed and seeing how sweet on him he really was.

Smut fic

Friends to lovers and lots of pining

could this be more? - Slimav

Maverick keeps finding himself in someone else’s bed and then sneaking out in the middle of the night, but this time he finds himself sneaking out of bed with someone he knows personally. Slider proposes a solution.

Smut fic, possibly a multi-chapter fic

Friends with benefits to lovers!!! I’ve never done a FWB fic before so this is new, but I absolutely love the idea with Slimav

hungry for you - Slimav

Slider is face to face with temptation. Temptation’s name just so happens to be Pete “Maverick” Mitchell. Slider takes the leap and Maverick pulls him in further instead of pushing him away, much to Slider’s surprise.

Smut fic

Based on this post

you’ll always be taken care of - Goosemav/Icemav

Goose had always taken care of Mav — loved him with his whole heart. Then he dies. Goose watches Mav fall into a deep depression without being able to help. He aches to find a way to make Mav feel better again, but he can’t hear or see him. He then enlists the help of the one person who happens to hear him — Ice.

Starting out as an angst/fluff fic, but will most likely diverge into smut later on (if I decide to make this a multi-chapter)

Includes notes of depression & mentions of Goose’s death

shoulder to cry on - Icemav/Slimav

Slider is there for Maverick through his grief over losing Ice. Slider is hurting just as much at losing his best friend, but right now he’s just worried about making sure Ice’s husband is taken care of per his final request. Maverick knew that Ice was his soulmate, but somewhere along the way, Slider carves a spot into his heart.

Angst fic that will most likely diverge into a smut fic bc I can’t help myself

Everyone is hurting, then some pining happens