#I will never do a military route

[daydreamdoodles]

i am never going to recover from this game.

I simply cannot play MLAATE normally. It must consume my day and I must be unable to think normally after playing it

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Masquerade

historical fiction set in 15th century West Africa

follows a young woman from Timbuktu, recently conquered by the the warrior king of Yorùbáland

her guild of blacksmiths were already shunned as witches, and their conditions worsen under Yorùbá rule - so when she’s kidnapped by the king to be his wife, she decides to accept that it’ll be a better life for her, as long as she can get her mother’s blessing

but as months go by without her mother being found, and political tensions rise, she must decide what she wants

[ceilidhtransing]

The discussions around whether or not to vote for Kamala keep being dominated by very loud voices shouting that anyone who advocates for her “just doesn't care about Palestine!” and “is willing to overlook genocide!” and “has no moral backbone at all!” And while some of these voices will be bots, trolls, psyops - we know that this happens; we know that trying to persuade progressives to split the vote or not vote at all is a strategy employed by hostile actors - of course many of them won't be. But what this rhetoric does is continually force the “you should vote for her” crowd onto the back foot of having to go to great lengths writing entire essays justifying their choice, while the “don't vote/vote third party” crowd is basically never asked to justify their choice. It frames voting for Kamala as a deeply morally compromised position that requires extensive justification while framing not voting or voting third party as the neutral and morally clean stance.

So here's another way of looking at it. How much are you willing to accept in order to feel like you're not compromising your morals on one issue?

Are you willing to accept the 24% rise in maternal deaths - and 39% increase for Black women - that is expected under a federal abortion ban, according to the Centre for American Progress? Those percentages represent real people who are alive now who would die if the folks behind Project 2025 get their way with reproductive healthcare.

Are you willing to accept the massive acceleration of climate change that would result from the scrapping of all climate legislation? We don't have time to fuck around with the environment. A gutting of climate policy and a prioritisation of fossil fuel profits, which is explicitly promised by Trump, would set the entire world back years - years that we don't have.

Are you willing to accept the classification of transgender visibility as inherently “pornographic” and thus the removal of trans people from public life? Are you willing to accept the total elimination of legal routes for gender-affirming care? The people behind the Trump campaign want to drive queer and trans people back underground, back into the closet, back into “criminality”. This will kill people. And it's maddening that caring about this gets called “prioritising white gays over brown people abroad” as if it's not BIPOC queer and trans Americans who will suffer the most from legislative queer- and transphobia, as they always do.

Are you willing to accept the domestic deployment of the military to crack down on protests and enforce racist immigration policy? I'm sure it's going to be very easy to convince huge numbers of normal people to turn up to protests and get involved in political organising when doing so may well involve facing down an army deployed by a hardcore authoritarian operating under the precedent that nothing he does as president can ever be illegal.

Are you willing to accept a president who openly talks about wanting to be a dictator, plans on massively expanding presidential powers, dehumanises his political enemies and wants the DOJ to “go after them”, and assures his supporters they won't have to vote again? If you can't see the danger of this staring you right in the face, I don't know what to tell you. Allowing a wannabe dictator to take control of the most powerful country on earth would be absolutely disastrous for the entire world.

Are you willing to accept an enormous uptick in fascism and far-right authoritarianism worldwide? The far right in America has huge influence over an entire international network of “anti-globalists”, hardcore anti-immigrant xenophobes, transphobic extremists, and straight-up fascists. Success in America aids and emboldens these people everywhere.

Are you willing to accept an enormous number of preventable deaths if America faces a crisis in the next four years: a public health emergency, a natural disaster, an ecological catastrophe? We all saw how Trump handled Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico. We all saw how Trump handled Covid-19. He fanned the flames of disaster with a constant flow of medical misinformation and an unspeakably dangerous undermining of public health experts. It's estimated that 40% of US pandemic deaths could have been avoided if the death rates had corresponded to those in other high-income countries. That amounts to nearly half a million people. One study from January 2021 estimated between around 4,200 and 12,200 preventable deaths attributable purely to Trump's statements about masks. We're highly unlikely to face another global pandemic in the next few years but who knows what crises are coming down the pipeline?

Are you willing to accept the attempted deportation of millions - millions - of undocumented people? This is “rounding people up and throwing them into camps where no one ever hears from them again” territory. That's a blueprint for genocide right there and it's a core tenet of both Trump's personal policy and Project 2025. And of course they wouldn't be going after white people. They most likely wouldn't even restrict their tyranny to people who are actually undocumented. Anyone racially othered as an “immigrant” would be at risk from this.

Are you willing to accept not just the continuation of the current situation in Palestine, but the absolute annihilation of Gaza and the obliteration of any hope for imminent peace? There is no way that Trump and the people behind him would not be catastrophically worse for Gaza than Kamala or even Biden. Only recently he was telling donors behind closed doors that he wanted to “set the [Palestinian] movement back 25 or 30 years” and that “any student that protests, I throw them out of the country”. This is not a man who can be pushed in a direction more conducive to peace and justice. This is a man who listens to his wealthy donors, his Christian nationalist Republican allies, and himself.

Are you willing to accept a much heightened risk of nuclear war? Obviously this is hardly a Trump policy promise. But I can't think of a single president since the Cold War who is more likely to deploy nuclear weapons, given how casually he talks about wanting to use them and how erratic and unstable he can be in his dealings with foreign leaders. To quote Foreign Policy only this year, “Trump told a crowd in January that one of the reasons he needed immunity was so that he couldn’t be indicted for using nuclear weapons on a city.” That's reassuring. I'm not even in the US and I remember four years of constant background low-level terror that Trump would take offence at something some foreign leader said or think that he needs to personally intervene in some military situation to “sort it out” and decide to launch the entire world into nuclear war. No one sane on earth wants the most powerful person on the planet to be as trigger-happy and careless with human life as he is, especially if he's running the White House like a dictator with no one ever telling him no. But depending on what Americans do in November, he may well be inflicted again on all of us, and I guess we'll all just have to hope that he doesn't do the worst thing imaginable.

“But I don't want those things! Stop accusing me of supporting things I don't support!” Yes, of course you don't want those things. None of us does. No one's saying that you actively support them. No one's accusing you of wanting Black women to die from ectopic pregnancies or of wanting to throw Hispanic people in immigrant detention centres or of wanting trans people to be outlawed (unlike, I must point out, the extremely emotive and personal accusations that get thrown around about “wanting Palestinian children to die” if you encourage people to vote for Kamala).

But if you're advocating against voting for Kamala, you are clearly willing to accept them as possible consequences of your actions. That is the deal you're making. If a terrible thing happening is the clear and easily foreseeable outcome of your action (or in the case of not voting, inaction), in a way that could have been prevented by taking a different and just as easy action, you are partly responsible for that consequence. (And no, it's not “a fear campaign” to warn people about things he's said, things he wants to do, and plans drawn up by his close allies. This is not “oooh the Democrats are trying to bully you into voting for them by making him out to be really bad so you'll feel scared and vote for Kamala!” He is really bad, in obvious and documented and irrefutable ways.)

And if you believe that “both parties are the same on Gaza” (which, you know, they really aren't, but let's just pretend that they are) then presumably you accept that the horrors being committed there will continue, in the immediate term anyway, regardless of who wins the presidency. Because there really isn't some third option that will appear and do everything we want. It's going to be one of those two. And we can talk all day about wanting a better system or how unfair it is that every presidential election only ever has two viable candidates and how small the Overton window is and all that but hell, we are less than eighty days out from the election; none of that is going to get fixed between now and November. Electoral reform is a long-term (but important!) goal, not something that can be effected in the span of a couple of months by telling people online to vote third party. There is no “instant ceasefire and peace negotiation” button that we're callously overlooking by encouraging people to vote for Kamala. (My god, if there was, we would all be pressing it.)

If we're suggesting people vote for her, it's not that we “are willing to overlook genocide” or “don't care about sacrificing brown people abroad” or whatever. Nothing is being “overlooked” here. It's that we're simply not willing to accept everything else in this post and more on top of continued atrocities in Gaza. We're not willing to take Trump and his godawful far-right authoritarian agenda as an acceptable consequence of feeling like we have the moral high ground on Palestine. I cannot stress enough that if Kamala doesn't win, we - we all, in the whole world - get Trump. Are you willing to accept that?

And one more point to address: I've seen too many people act frighteningly flippant and naïve about terrible things Trump or his campaign want to do, with the idea that people will simply be able to prevent all these bad things by “organising” and “protesting” and “collective action”. “I'm not willing to accept these things; that's why I'll fight them tooth and nail every day of their administration” - OK but if you're not even willing to cast a vote then I have doubts about your ability to form “the Resistance”, which by the way would have to involve cooperation with people of lots of progressive political stripes in order to have the manpower to be effective, and if you're so committed to political purity that you view temporarily lending your support to Kamala at the ballot box as an untenable betrayal of everything you stand for then forgive me for also doubting your ability to productively cooperate with allies on the ground with whom you don't 100% agree. Plus, if the Trump campaign gets its way, American progressives would be kept so busy trying to put out about twenty different fires at once that you'd be able to accomplish very little. Maybe you get them to soften their stance on trans healthcare but oh shit, the climate policies are still in place. But more importantly, how many people do you think will protest for abortion rights if doing so means staring down a gun? Or organise to protect their neighbours from deportation if doing so means being thrown in prison yourself? And OK, maybe you're sure that you will, but history has shown us time and time again that most people won't. Most people aren't willing to face that kind of personal risk. And a tiny number of lefties willing to risk incarceration or death to protect undocumented people or trans people or whatever other groups are targeted is sadly not enough to prevent the horrors from happening. That is small fry compared to the full might of a determined state. Of course if the worst happens and Trump wins then you should do what you can to mitigate the harm; I'm not saying you shouldn't. But really the time to act is now. You have an opportunity right here to mitigate the harm and it's called “not letting him get elected”. Act now to prevent that kind of horrific authoritarian situation from developing in the first place; don't sit this one out under the naïve belief that “we'll be able to stop it if it happens”. You won't.

[woniwontons]

ZEPHYR | joaquin torres x reader | PART ONE

warnings: mostly angst, gun shot wound, revenge, hearing dark/obsessive voices, this part is mostly to set up the story & most of the juicy bits will be in part two

summary: joaquin never wanted you to get hurt. after failing to protect you from a terrorist targeting him & sam, his behavior grows desperately possessive and controlling to prevent it from ever happening again. but as your relationship suffers and his nightmares increase, he starts to risk losing you instead.

part one approx 1.1K words

PART ONE | PART TWO

⋆⭒˚.⋆

You were never supposed to get hurt.

That was the one condition he set for himself that had been non-negotiable. He could handle the risks, the danger, and the missions that came with being apart of Captain America’s team, but you? You were never supposed to be involved, it was all to stay far away from his life with you.

And yet, he failed.

The memory claws within the caverns his mind, seeing that photo of you in your favorite coffee shop. Taken from afar moments before two bullet ripped through the muscles of your arm. Moments before his heart had nearly stopped, his phone screen displaying your image with a discrete message from that unknown number.

unknown: perhaps we’ll call it even.

He must have watched the CCTV footage over a thousand times. Calculating the trajectory of the bullet, the seconds between the message and the gunshot. The spilled coffee soaking your hair in a dark mixture of espresso and blood. A security camera outside spotting the glare of a sniper rifle in the distance.

By the time he got to you, the ambulance was already mid-route to the hospital. Without updates from your doctors for hours as they worked on your injury.

All he could see was the image burned into his mind of you: being rushed out of the ambulance bay, pale and incapacitated.

Covered in blood.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Two days later, in the bright light of your hospital room, he sat with his hands clasped between his knees. You were asleep in your bed, your arm freshly bandaged, your breathing steady. He should be next to you, holding your hand and reassuring himself that everything would be okay.

But guilt racked him deeply.

That photo could’ve been the last image of you alive that he had ever seen. They had known where you were. They had been watching him, and he led them directly home to you. And he hadn’t been able to stop them.

His fists clenched. His body shook with uncontrollable rage and disappointment with himself.

Sam had attempted to talk him down earlier. Had told him to let the military handle it, that they’d find out which one of their enemies was behind the hit. But Joaquin wasn’t interested in waiting or following the proper channels to bring justice to whoever did this to you.

They wouldn’t do what needs to be done.

He stands abruptly, barely aware of his own movements, his pulse hammering in his skull. His suit is still in the car. His comms are still on the counter. He could be out that door in minutes, tracking them down, making sure no one ever lays a hand on you again—

“Joaquin?”

Fuck.

Your voice is soft, cracked with exhaustion, but it stops him in his tracks.

He turns quickly, his breath skipping full inhalations as he takes your eyes in. You’re leaning against your upright pillow, one arm clutches the bars of the hospital bed while the other lays motionless in stiffly wrapped gauze. There’s concern in your eyes for him.

Something was wrong, you could feel it.

“Where were you going?”

His jaw locks. “I need to go start fixing this —.”

“No.”

It’s quiet, and weak. But it’s not a plea or a request. A command.

Your gaze doesn’t waver as you move the blanket off your body, exposing your hospital gown underneath as you start to move closer to the edge of your bed. “You aren’t going to fix this by hunting them down for revenge.”

“They nearly killed you, cariño.” His voice is hoarse, shaking with the weight of everything he hasn’t told you yet. His hands tried lightly guiding you back to laying down.

They could have taken you from me. It would have been my fault, my mistake, my failure to protect you…

You reach over with your good arm, resisting the light force, and curling your fingers around his palm. “I know.” A shaky breath. “But I need you here, baby. Not a solider, not the vengeance. Just you.”

He exhales sharply, and for a moment he can’t move. The voices in his head battling between his guilt, sadness, and anger. His fingers tighten around yours, his breathing ragged, but his mind is already somewhere else — chasing demons.

You feel it before you see it. The way his body tenses beneath your touch. The way his jaw clenches, muscles flexing like he’s trying to restrain himself from crashing.

My sweet girl, my light, my life, my weakness.

He isn’t calming down. He’s caving in.

“Joaquin,” you whisper, pleading now. “Please stay here with me, you don’t have to do this.”

You look for anything, a crack in his expression. Something that says he’ll listen to you, that he’ll stay instead of seeking out revenge and destroying his own morals.

My responsibility.

But it isn’t there. And his fingers slip from yours, the warmth draining from your hands.

“I can’t sit here.” He shakes his head, looking away as though he might break if he looks into your eyes for too long. “I need to be out there making sure this never happens again.”

You can hear it bleeding into his voice now, the desperation. Guilt. Self-destruction. He isn’t thinking straight.

You try again. “They want you to do this. They want you reckless and vulnerable.”

They wanted you dead.

“I don’t care.”

The sharpness of his tone makes you flinch, and for the first time, Joaquin notices. His expression shifts, something shattered flashing in his eyes, but it’s too late. The damage is done.

He exhales, steps back.

“I’ll be back when this is over,” he says, and it sounds like he isn’t sure of the statement himself.

And then the soldier is gone.

LINK TO PART TWO (coming soon)

comment to be tagged for part two <3

[teenidlegirl]

꣖　 BEAUTY OF THIS MESS 　꣓　 ᤢ♥︎　 CHAPTER　.　12 　!

꒰⠀⠀⟡⠀.⠀military!miguel⠀𝓍⠀fem!neighbor!reader⠀.⠀⟡⠀⠀꒱

♡ྀི⠀⠀·⠀⠀summary⠀⠀ ੭⠀⠀with your world turned upside down, you seek help from a friend. after building up courage, you finally tell miguel about the pregnancy but it doesn’t go well as you think.

♡ྀི⠀⠀·⠀⠀content⠀⠀ ੭⠀⠀angst, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of abortions, mentions of expired birth control, negligence, major emotional distress, swearing, heartbreak

꣖　　previous　　⋅ ꪆৎ ⋅　　masterlist　　⋅ ꪆৎ ⋅　　next　　꣓

you don’t know how much tears you cried, probably broke a personal record. you don’t know how long you’ve been awake. you don’t even know what time it is or if it’s the same day. you’ve been too busy crying.

ever since you found out you’re pregnant, you turn into a fucking mess. cheeks flushed from all the crying. trash cans over-flooded with tissues, stacked up like a mountain. bed still undone, sheets all messed up. food left untouched in the kitchen.

first, you remained sitting on the cool tile floor of your bathroom sobbing and weeping for who knows how long. then finally you move on to your bed, crying into your pillow. thankfully, you weren’t wearing makeup so you pillows didn’t get stained. only small wet patches of your tears on the sheet.

you’re pregnant.

you are actually pregnant. there is a developing baby in your body, an embryo just sitting inside there. an embryo soon to be a baby, a being that will be a combination of you and miguel.

the thought makes you cry harder.

this can’t be happening. the world is collapsing and it’s all because of your irresponsibility.

you don’t want this. you don’t want a baby. you don’t want to become a mother. go through nine months of fucking hell. experience one of the most painful experiences ever just to pop out a small human. endure numerous body changes. crying echoing throughout the apartment because the baby demands milk. sleepless nights and thousands of diapers to change. buy expensive ass items such as strollers, car seats, diapers, baby food and clothes.

all of that is overwhelming, making your anxiety to skyrocket. this isn’t what you want. this isn’t what you dreamed of. this isn’t in the books for you. becoming a mother wasn’t on your bucket list.

however, it’s still possible that you don’t have to. thankfully, you live in a place where abortion and reproductive healthcare is available (fuck that orange mf). you have the opportunity to take that route.

but it’s not an easy decision.

having an abortion is a difficult process. if you wish to have one, you need to build shit load of courage. you have to ask yourself if you’re willing to live with that decision because it will remain with you for the rest of your life. you can’t feel sorry for yourself. if you got the courage, then fucking do it.

but you still have to process this first.

you have to miguel first.

oh miguel… how are you going to tell him?

never have you been so scared. not saying you’re afraid of him, no never because miguel is sweetest man to exist. he’s such a sweetheart, makes you feel happy and safe. you’re just scared of his reaction.

will he be upset?

will he be mad?

will he be happy?

not knowing is the scariest part. no matter how much of a sweetheart he is, you can’t tell what would his reaction be to such a fucked up situation like this.

while you were sobbing and weeping for hours on end, he texted you which you’ve yet to respond.

osito 🐻: hey, didn’t see you come from work. is everything okay? did you jameson let you off early?

osito 🐻: bebé, did something happened? please answer me asap.

oh your heart breaks.

how can you break the news to this sweet man?

luckily those messages were sent an hour ago which gives you time to respond so he wouldn’t worry and head over to your place. that also means it’s still the same day, it’s just been hours.

bebé 🌷: hi, sorry for answering late! yeah, jameson let us out early so i got home a little earlier and took a nap.

a hinge of guilt stand for your heart for lying but you know miguel would want to know why you didn’t show up to meet him as usual and text him back. the man is in the military for god’s sake, he knows when someone is lying. now you feel even more guilty.

you carelessly toss your phone to the side landing on the bed sheets and bury your face in your hands as tears begin prickling in your eyes once again.

not even 5 seconds, your phone dings!

osito 🐻: that’s good, you needed rest for working so hard. are you feeling better? you need me to come over?

shit, he can’t come over at least now. fuck you’re gonna have to lie to him again, no matter how much it breaks your already fragile heart.

bebé 🌷: no, it’s okay! my sister is actually visiting me soon so i can’t have other visitors lol. but i am feeling a little bit better :)

two more total fucking lies. you feel like absolute shit and your sister is not coming over.

osito 🐻: alright but let me know if you need anything, vale? te quiero mucho.

fuck, your heart.

you quickly respond to him saying you love him back with bunch of heart emojis before tossing your phone on the bed once again. more tears trail down your face, quiet sobs fall from your trembling lips.

an irresponsible liar.

not only you’re a liar but a terrible girlfriend.

ever since you found out about the pregnancy, you’ve been avoiding miguel. not answering his texts, missing his calls to answer later and give him a bullshit excuse. since you live in the same complex and are fucking next door neighbors, it’s hard to avoid him since he’s right there.

you know it’s hurting him and it kills you. one minute you two are kissing and cuddling, then suddenly avoiding him as much as possible. you feel so fucking guilty because miguel doesn’t deserve this. recently you finally told you love each other and now there is sudden distance between you two because of your fears. the guilt has been you eating alive.

the pregnancy hormones don’t help, making you more of an emotional mess. the stock of toilet paper has been decreasing due to the excessive amounts you’ve been using for blowing your nose and cleaning up your tears. you’re just a huge mess.

in addition to being a liar and a horrible girlfriend, you call your best friend instead of your boyfriend to talk about the pregnancy.

“oh my god… does miguel know?” mj asks over the phone, you can hear the shock in her voice.

you close your eyes in guilt. “no…”

“fuck… okay, um- have you told anyone else, your parents, siblings, other relatives?”

“no, you’re the first one to know.”

“okay…” you can hear her sigh heavily. “well, i promise to keep this secret because i figured you don’t want anyone else to know yet.”

you thank her, feeling a bit relieved. mj has always been a trusting friend and you’re grateful for that.

“when did the pill expired?” she inquires.

“three weeks ago.”

you hear her cursing under her breath. “have you made an appointment yet?”

“not yet but i’m planning to.”

“okay, that’s good. that’s a good start.” she said supportingly, trying to help you feel a little better.

tears begin prickling in your eyes. “mj, i’m so scared, i fucked up… it’s all my fault…”

“hey, sweetie no, no, no—”

“yes it is!” you cut her off, finally letting out those tears. “it’s my fault because i didn’t check the stupid expiration date! it was my responsibility and i fucked up! now miguel is gonna hate me—”

“he’s not going to hate you. that man loves you more than anything else in the entire universe.” she said. “i know you’re scared to tell him but i’m 100% sure he’ll never hate you. sure, he’ll be shocked but he’s a kindhearted man, i’m sure he’ll understand.”

mj is right, you know she is. miguel is a kindhearted man and you love that about him. his kindness always capture your heart. how sweet and generous he is, it’s plausible he would understand in a way.

but you’re just so scared to tell him, afraid of his reaction regardless how sweet he is. this is because of your irresponsibility. it’s your fault for not checking on your pill and now face the consequences of it. but miguel is in this mess with you. because of your irresponsibility, you dragged him into this mess.

“honey, i know you’re scared and that’s 100% okay.” she said after you didn’t respond back. “but… you’re gonna have to tell him soon because eventually he will find out and that will be even more messier.”

she’s right and you can’t afford that.

this is already bad as it is.

you can’t hide the truth from him forever. miguel has the right to know, no matter how terrified you are to tell him. you have to tell him, tonight possibly.

“tonight…” you take a deep breath to numb down your anxiety. “tonight i’ll tell him.”

“okay…” mj answers softly. “you’re gonna be fine, it’s gonna be fine, i promise.”

you really hope she’s right.

“thanks, mj. i appreciate this so much, thank you.”

“of course, honey. best friends always support each other. if you need anything, do not ever hesitate to ask. me and the girls will always be there for you.”

god, you really have amazing friends. forever grateful to have them in your life.

after saying your goodbyes and mj telling you to call her after you tell miguel, you hang up. sinking back into your bed, you stare up at the ceiling. thinking of infinite possibilities and scenarios of what will happen to tonight when you tell miguel.

fear still consumes you, eating you up. despite how sweet miguel may be, his reaction is still unpredictable. an unplanned pregnancy isn’t something to be calm about.

but you have to face your fears.

bebé 🌷: hey, can you come over tonight please? there’s something i need to talk about.

your thumb hovers over the ‘send’ button, hesitating for a moment. anxiety strikes your heart viciously. no matter how scared you are, you have to face this. with a shaky breath, you send the message.

your anxiety increases when he doesn’t respond right away. he’s probably busy right now, maybe at the boxing gym. you distract yourself by doing laundry and fixing your bed after days of leaving it undone. half an hour later, your phone dings! with a text.

osito 🐻: claro, preciosa. i’ll be there in 30 mins, on my way right now.

now you have to wait, dreadfully.

“you good, o’hara?” flash asks.

miguel blinks after spacing out for a bit, too lost in his thoughts. “yeah, i’m fine.”

flash raises a skeptical brow, doubting. “for a man who’s an expert liar on the field, you’re really shitty when you aren’t. what’s up?”

miguel has been asking that himself for the past few days. something has happened that he isn’t aware of. you’ve been avoiding him. he hasn’t seen you in almost a week. when he waits for you to return from work, you don’t show up. when he knocks on your door, you don’t answer. all he gets are text messages with various excuses. miguel doesn’t buy it one bit.

did he do something?

that’s the question that has been repeating in his mind for these past few days. has he done something wrong? did he hurt you in any way? that’s the last thing miguel wants, he never ever wishes to hurt you. you’re his beautiful girl, the owner of his heart. hurting you would be the end of him.

he’s desperate to know what’s wrong but miguel also doesn’t wish to push you. despite the negative thoughts plunging his mind, he’s still respectful.

but goddamnit he wants to know.

he wants to know so badly it hurts.

all miguel wants is to rush over to your apartment, plead to you on his knees to know what he’s done. he isn’t sure if his heart can’t handle it more.

miguel knows you love him. never doubted for a second, not ever once. the intense love you harbor for each other is unmatched, unbreakable.

“is this about your girl?” flash’s voice makes him snap out of his thoughts once again.

“she’s been… distant.” miguel said solemnly, as if it was painful to admit that.

flash only sighs and fold his arms across his chest, allowing miguel to speak his mind.

“i don’t know what happened… i haven’t seen her in almost week. every time i call her, she doesn’t answer. i knock on her door and she doesn’t answer. no matter what i do or when i try to reach her, she avoids me and i don’t know why.”

miguel truly doesn’t know and it frustrates him. it frustrates him that you aren’t able to talk to him and tell him the truth. all miguel wants is you to be comfortable to tell him anything. he wants to be that safe haven you can come to.

you mean so much to him, you have no clue.

you’re his angel.

“i just feel like… did i do something wrong?” miguel frowns solemnly. “i just don’t know what possible reason… everything was alright.”

a deep sigh escapes him as flash takes a step forward. “i’m not sure either since you two have been so lovely dovely, but i’m sure you didn’t do anything, man. maybe she’s been stressed at work but there’s for sure something going on.” he leaves a light hand on miguel’s shoulder. “don’t stress out, man. when the time is right, she’ll come to you.”

miguel takes in his words, giving him a little bit of relief yet the concern lingers. he gives him a nod, appreciating his supportive words.

as him and the rest of gang continue sipping their beers while watching the football game tonight, miguel receives a notification from his phone.

bebé 🌷: hey, can you come over tonight please? there’s something i need to talk about.

his heart skips a beat in rejoice. the first time you texted him first. perhaps flash was right.

osito 🐻: claro, preciosa. i’ll be there in 30 mins, on my way right now.

he never left the pub so quickly. eager yet a bit nervous to finally see you after what feels like forever. all miguel wants is to see his pretty angel.

heart pounding in your chest. blood pumping with anxiety flowing through your entire body, consuming you whole. you can feel the pulse caught in your throat as you wait for miguel’s arrival.

it’s time, it’s finally time to tell him the truth.

god, you’ve never been so scared in your life.

hands fiddling with each other, palms sweaty and clammy. pacing around the living room. negative thoughts invading your mind like a plague.

it’s gonna be okay, you keep telling yourself as a way to calm down your anxiety. but it isn’t working obviously. those negative thoughts just won’t stop.

miguel is gonna be infuriated. yell at how irresponsible you are and demand for the relationship to end because of you’re lack of responsibility. these thoughts just won’t stop, never-ending.

the knock on the door startles you, making you jump.

fuck, miguel is here.

taking a very deep breath to calm your nerves, you slowly approach the front door. slowly unlocking it, your heart rate skyrockets when you see miguel standing in front of you. his wide eyes meet yours.

“¿bebé, que paso? what’s wrong?” he blurts our questions, his anxiety to blame.

“come in, please…”

you walk away as miguel enters your home and closes the door before taking off his shoes and follows you to the couch. no hug or kiss, miguel takes mental note of that and it worries him more.

miguel hesitates to sit since you refuse to yourself but your pleading eyes convinces him to. he drinks in your anxious state. one hand rubbing your neck, the other over your torso. the pacing back and forth. seeing you this nervous makes him nervous. his elbows rest on his bouncing knees of anxiety, leaned forward as miguel waits for you. he wants to stand up and pull you into his arms than sit on your couch, anxious to hear what you have to tell him.

“please tell me what’s wrong, bebé?”

fuck, by his tone you can tell how worried he is.

you look at him, opening your mouth to say something but immediately closing it. you can’t do this, the anxiety is winning against you. goddamnit you can sense the tears slowly developing. quickly blinking them away, you inhale a deep breath.

“i-i know i’ve been distant and i—” you hiccup. “i’m sorry for hurting you, i never wanted to hurt you. i love you and it killed me to hurt you like this.”

miguel stares at you with big concern eyes and furrowed eyebrows. “bebé, what is this about—”

“please let me finish, miguel.” you plead with sorrowful eyes and he only stares worryingly. “now please believe me when i didn’t mean for any of this and i am forever sorry for putting you in this.”

he feels his heartbeat increase rapidly. never has miguel felt so fucking nervous in his life. what do you mean ‘putting him in this’?

“i’m pregnant.”

the whole fucking world, or the universe, stops. everything just stops, frozen in time. large silence sits unfortunately between you two. you feel your chest tightening, unable to breath, and panic as you notice the all the emotions from miguel’s drops immediately. brown eyes blown wide, color from his face gone, chest begins to heave. he appears as if he’s about to have a heart attack.

“¿qué?…” so quiet yet in disbelief.

you grimace at his reaction, anxiety now skyrocketed. god you want to burst into tears. “i’m so sorry… i’m so sorry, miguel.” those exact tears were coming in. “it’s my fault, i-i wasn’t lying about taking the pill but i—” you choke a sob. “my dumbass didn’t check the expiration date and now—”

while on the verge of tears, you couldn’t read miguel’s expression. he just sat there emotionless other than shocked eyes, it scares you.

“it’s my fault for being so irresponsible and i’m so so so sorry!” you couldn’t back those tears anymore as they slowly trail down your face. “you have every right to be mad. please believe me, i never wanted this and put you through this.” another sob. “i-i’m not even sure if i’ll keep it anyways.”

miguel still doesn’t answer but he isn’t looking at you anymore, instead at his hands in his lap.

“i’m so sorry, miguel!” you sob, hugging yourself thinking he doesn’t want your comfort right now. how could he after what has been revealed?

through your teary eyes, you look at him. still sitting in silence with no emotions. it’s understandable for him to react like this, you throw a bomb on him and flip his entire world upside down. but you secretly wish miguel would say something, a word or noise, just anything because the silence is killing you.

“m-miguel?…” you whisper, sniffling.

the man doesn’t respond.

you repeat his name and still no response. your voice falls deaf upon his ears. instead of answering, miguel silently stands up without eye contact and walks away towards the front door. you observe him putting in his shoes with slightly wide eyes, your anxiety gradually increasing again.

“miguel?…”

with no answer, he opens the door and…

he walks out.

he just walks out.

without saying anything at all.

꣖　𝓣ags. ♡ྀིྀི　꣓⠀⠀@reverieblondie @nina-from-317 @kavimoo @aly29a2001 @marshhbs @lazyjellyfish300 @tojishugetiddies @aphinthestars @novelaaaaaaaa @imamexican @obessgurlll @deputy-videogamer @watertribeissuperior @lovehadlovelost @auiciqa @agoddoesnotplead @saintdiior @whoopwhoppghost @tomalymme @skadiloki @miguelsfavwife @asterrrrose @glossygreene @aefin @youcantseem3 @resident-clown @kutsipie @zuevcs @totorotales-08 @meowgirl1 @sukunash0e @jadeloverxd @sirendyes @leahnicole1219 @lisa-takeshi @yehet-moi-ohorat @slowlyshycomputer @wasitforrevenge @webshoootrz @f1-hoff @chaeriescola @zayai @espressopatronum454 @trocaderoisyummy @scaryplanetdestroyer @totallygyomeiswife

©⠀TEENIDLEGIRL⠀♡⠀don’t plagiarize or repost my work

[aly4khq]

# SIR, YES SIR! 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

➥ SUMMARY: you're the colonel's most troublesome soldier, what will he do with you?

➥ PAIRINGS: colonel!caleb x soldier!reader

➥ WARNINGS: not proofread, spanking (riding crop + hand) , p in v, hair pulling, authority kink, over the desk, light dirty talk.

"Come on, lower. That's not a push up is it, soldier."

Caleb, your Colonel, was one piece of work, he never let anyone get away with anything. He had this tendency to always want to catch you misbehaving or slacking off, it always happened when you were doing them.

His powerful voice can command a whole army and you've seen it multiple times, but when he using that same voice in your ear, it gets irritating.

Yet the main reason you joined the army was because you wanted an escape route from life. Until Caleb was introduced as your colonel, your childhood friend who you ran away from a good decade ago. Now he uses that as an advantage to make you stronger than anyone else.

Caleb was the kind of colonel who is serious and strict for 99% of the time. He doesn't take anyone's bullcrap, and wears that baton that hurts like tazer being shoving in your ear. You, his most troublesome soldier, has become friends with that baton for the last year or two.

"...Yes..." You scoffed, trying to be subtle, going down lower whenever you'd do a push up. A few grunts escaped your mouth whilst you did them, counting them out loud like he ordered you too. "Twenty five...twenty-six, twenty-seven—Ow!"

A sharp, thick hit landed on your back, Caleb's baton landing on your clothed back with no mercy. With a sharp glare, he pushed your head back down with his foot, messing up your bun. "Yes what, soldier?" His head tilted, mocking you whilst you could barely even raise your head. Annoyed and angry grunts came from your mouth as he pressed down harder.

"Yes Colonel—you sick bastard!"

With your face in the ground, it was hard to speak. Your face dirtied with small pebbles of dirt. "That's what I thought, now hurry. We have other things to do." Caleb removed his foot from your head before walking off slowly to examine other people's forms, your sharp eyes following his every move.

Mumbling to yourself, "I hate that man...!"

"Ow!....Ouch!...Damn you—ah!"

Your hands were on his desk, your lower half sticking out as Caleb swat you with his riding crop, the sting spreading once the small leather snapped against your skin. Your leg tensed as your head lowered, "Damn it.."

"Count soldier." Caleb ordered, tapping your ass with the riding crop before raising his hand and swinging at your backside. "Ow! 15...Ah!"

"15 what?"

"15 Colonel...gosh you are a huge sadist—Ow!"

He leaned another sharp hit before letting out a deep scoff, walking closer to you. His thick heavy boots alerting you that he was coming closer, to possibly make everything 10 times worse. His hands rubbed over your military trousers, checking the thickness of the material. His eyes locked on your ass. You let out a small nervous cough, "Um...Colonel?"

He didn't reply, not with words.

In one fell swoop, his leathered hand went to the waistband of your trousers and lowered them—plus your underwear, down to your ankles. You yelped, turning your head with a shocked and embarrassed expression. "Hey! What are you doing?!—"

Caleb stared at you, and for the first time, it wasn't out of anger of strictness. "You really haven't changed...physically and mentally, have you pip-squeak?"

The riding crop landed on your bare, abused flesh, making you gasp and lower down, balancing on your ankles with one hand still holding the desk, the other one rubbing your backside. "Owwughh!! Colonel..."

You whined, watching as he let out a small chuckle and threw the implement onto the drawer beside his desk. His frame towering over your frame, a hand resting on your head, patting you like a dog. "Get up, i'm done with your punishment."

"..Finally," your shaking legs allowed you to get up before he manhandled you down, stomach first onto the desk with your ass hanging on the edge. "Hello? What now?"

His cold hands rubbing over your reddened ass, a feeling of a sort of cream soothing the redness, it was amazing due to the amount of discomfort you were just in but he never did that after discipline. "Colonel?—"

"Caleb," He interrupted, pulling your underwear trousers back over your backside. "Call me Caleb, only when we're alone."

With a small tap on your now covered ass, you got up, rubbing your skin only for him to swat your hands away. "Don't rub it, let the cream do its job. I want you back here at 8pm sharp. Don't cause any trouble in those 10 hours."

"Yes Colonel..."

You turned around and left, not without Caleb tapping your back to remind you to pull your shirt down properly. His eyes staring at your body whilst you strut down the few steps to his desks and leaving through the door. His sigh filled the room, he averted his gaze to his hand, wishing to feel your body like that again.

"...Silly girl."

But of course, staying out of trouble was a task you couldn't achieve. Caleb's just let the complaints or comments about you pile up until it was finally time for you to arrive. And like he said, at 8pm, you knocked on his door.

"Come in," Caleb ordered, his fingers tapping his thigh as he sat by his desk.

"I'm here, what did you want me for?" You entered, shutting the door behind you. Until you felt a presence right behind you, a hand sliding up your waist and inside of your shirt. Caleb's voice sending shivers down your spine, straight to your core. "Lock it."

"What? Wait Col—" "Lock.it."

With a small scoff, you turned back around, locking the door with shaky hands. What is he gonna do now? Hit you again? Or maybe feed you with his dic— No. Stop.

"Now what?" You stated, seeing as he didn't let go of your waist. He dragged you over to his desk before letting go.

"Strip, and hurry with it."

Caleb stared at your body, analysing your curves and how he'll mark you this time. You slowly out your hands in the waistband of your trousers, lowering them to your knees. You stepped out of the fabric, placing the not needed pants aside.

As more clothes went onto the floor, Caleb's smirk grew further and further. His hand tapping the desk whilst his eyes stared at your bare skin. As soon as you finished, he titled his head to the table.

"You want me to...?"

He nodded, "It's about damn time you get an attitude adjustment."

You went over the desk, instantly getting flashbacks to earlier today when he was spanking you, how beautiful it felt to have his mark on your skin, how tasty the sting felt when the riding crop met your flesh.

"Are you okay with this?"

"I'm okay—wait, with what?" "With this."

"Ah!" This time, you felt Caleb's frothed pressed agaisnt your backside, his cock resting on your back, and damn it felt huge. "Caleb...?" He rubbed your back, still seeing the slightly faded red marks all over your brown skin, loving the way your coils travelled down the top of your back. "You're gorgeous, but I think you'd look even better with my kid inside of you."

"What?" Before you knew it, he was meeting your cervix, gifting your deep but slow thrusts. His hands found leverage in your curls, gripping onto your locks. "Damn..."

He rolled his hips as an angle, meeting your g-spot in only seconds, taking his time to just appreciate your body in total. Very slow, may i remind you.

Too slow. "Caleb...faster! Please...!" You begged, thrusting your backside back onto him roughly only to be met with a sharp slap to your skin, Caleb's hand ready to give you another round of swats. "Shut up and take what I give you."

don't plagiarise, translate of copy any of @aly4khq's work even tho they are trash.

date made: 7-9/03/2025

[umikawa]

a/n: me when I mix up four different branches of service together bc it only said stan was a commander of an elite unit but not what branch of military he was in. more unnecessary info on that below lol

Stanley Snyder x gn!reader | no major warnings, flirty/suggestive (barely) 1k-ish words. For ref reader is a higher rank than stan ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

There was something about Stanley Snyder that always seemed to piss you off. 

Maybe it was how he carried himself, oozing confidence with each step, the hypnotizing sway of his hips when he walked past—the one he swears he doesn’t emphasize. Or maybe it was his self-awareness that he was the best and didn’t feel the need to hide it from anyone—never taking the route of humbleness. 

But now that you thought about it, those two things were practically the same. You rub your temple, sighing to yourself. Why were you thinking about him in the first place? For someone you’d supposedly hated, he was the epicenter of a lot of thoughts in your head recently. 

Was there something about his voice that irked you? The low-pitched sound of his humming as he stalked around the base, the heavy pants that left his lips after a workout session, how he sounded when he’d talked to you after a training session had gone wrong?

Heat rises to your face as you think about the gentle tone he spoke to you that day, and you wonder why he’d only been nice to you after you’d been hurt. It was too cliche for you, how he’d acted after news spread that your teammates were in critical while you were walking with nothing more than a few cuts and bruises here and there. 

Maybe he knew the emotional toll it was taking on you, but Stanley wouldn’t dare let you know. He’s supposed to hate you, it was like that from the start. From the moment he met you at the academy to graduation and now. Nothing was going to change the (unnecessary, and honestly, dwindling) rivalry you two had. 

But there was something about you that pissed Stanley off to no end. 

Perhaps it was the way you cared for everyone but yourself. It was parallel to him– he’d care for no one but himself, save for anyone he’s ordered to protect. Then whenever you put yourself first it was always in the worst situations, like who was at fault when a mission went wrong, or who didn’t do this or that. He wonders why the fleet admiral always believed you.

But he figured they didn’t because you’d have been long gone if they believed you did all those things. 

Maybe that’s what he didn’t like. How he thought you were trying to run away from everything, even if it meant being dishonorably discharged. 

“Oi, Captain.” 

You tear your eyes away from the reports you were skimming through, boots squeaking against the floors as you come to a stop. “Yes, Commander?” 

His eyes narrow, a ghost of a smirk crossing his lips as he leans against the wall opposite of you. Something about the way you said his rank… not the time. “Heard you’re the team leader for the next soar mission.” 

“I am. What about it?” 

He rolls his eyes at your quick defense, nodding his head in the direction you were walking, pushing himself off the wall to walk next to you. “Just trying to make small talk.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Stanley.” You try, raising a brow in his direction when he scoffs. “Unless that’s not the point you’re trying to get across?”

He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it in annoyance, just to pause and fix it, remembering he has to look a certain way. “There is no point. I’m trying to make small talk.” 

“Oh. Sorry.” You look down at the papers in your hands, sighing quietly at the summary page. “It’s just odd… for us to be talking like this– casually, I mean.” 

He rests a hand on his hip, and you try not to stare at its emphasized pop, shrugging a shoulder. “You and I know we don’t truly hate each other.” 

“Of course, but it was only natural that the top two in the academy had some sort of rivalry.” You reply, smiling when he cocks his head to the side. “But hey, at least that made us better than we imagined, right?” He hums. “Unless you came out of the womb thinking you were the best.” 

Stanley takes a moment to respond, prolonging his silence while you laugh in disbelief. “I wouldn’t be a commander if I wasn’t a bit egotistical.” 

You shrug, “You could be a captain if you were a bit humble.” Stanley grins at your comeback, relishing in the mischief behind your eyes. “But what do I know?” 

He stops walking, turning in your direction when you stand beside him. “You know how to piss me off, that’s for damn sure.” 

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?” He hums, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at you with a smirk. 

Maybe that’s what pissed him off, the sentences that rolled off your tongue so innocently, spurring him onto the brink of insanity. What kills him is you weren’t even doing it on purpose. It was just within your nature to reply with the first thing you thought of– even if it suggested otherwise.

“Well, I can’t threaten my dear Captain, can I?” He shrugs, rubbing his neck. His eyes shift to yours, gaze toeing the line of challenge and want. “But I suppose we’ll find out the consequences of our rivalry sooner or later.” 

You match his gaze, picking up on the underlying meaning of his words. Though, to anybody passing by, it was obvious what he meant by it. “Right,” you start, looking off to the side when your breath catches in your throat. Stanley grins at the reaction. “I’ll be waiting, commander.” 

“Semper Fi, Captain, " he says quietly, beginning to walk in the opposite direction. A sense of warmth fills him when he sees you smile. 

You return the sentiment just as quietly, focusing on the sound of his steps getting further away before turning to look in his direction. A grin spreads across your face as you look down the hall;

Stanley had already been looking at you. 

a/n: my unnecessary but maybe necessary info is;

they’re meant to be on a carrier (navy) hence fleet admiral

in some branches captain is a higher rank than commander

“soar” is an elite aviation unit of the army that specializes in nighttime helicopter operations

“semper fi” (shortened) means always faithful, it’s the motto of the marine corps

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

41 / 3k / soap soulmate au, part 10

...

Gaz's bullet slides neatly into the target's head, folding into his frontal cortex, his hypothalamus, and lodging to a satisfying stop in his brain stem.

Your job is done.

Ignoring the radio chatter between Gaz and Price, you slip away from the dead man. Your boots grind blood and broken glass into the carpet as you go. You should vanish before Soap's team can catch up to you. You head for the opposite corner of the mansion. They don’t have eyes there.

You slide the ground floor window open and pull Soap's radio collar from your neck. You’re about to remove the earpiece when it crackles in your ear. It's Ghost's voice.

"They got Johnny."

You pause. Your teammates are rough, but they won’t kill Johnny. Right? They won’t kill a soldier.

"Where is he?" Price's voice crackles back.

"Basement lounge," Ghost mutters. The radio catches shouting voices in the background.

"Can you get to him?" Price asks.

Gunshots crackle through the earpiece. Ghost curses. "Negative, sir. Too many mercs and he's agitatin' 'em as it is. Might be able to fish him out, but I'd need a better vantage point.”

“Is he in immediate danger?”

“Don’t think so.”

"Then keep yourself hidden, Lieutenant. Kyle and I are en route."

Your stomach twists. Price doesn't sound like he plans to negotiate. You switch the radio's to KorTac's frequency. "Horangi, what's going on?"

There's a long pause before he replies, and several other voices echo underneath his. "Where the hell are you? SAS is fucking up our whole job. The cargo is gone."

You force yourself to get a grip on your own cover story even as you slip through the window and drop silently to the ground. Snow squeaks under your boots. "How did he know about the cargo?" you ask, your voice careful and even.

"I don't know. Shit, maybe someone fed him information. Military dogs love their rats." There's a pause. Horangi's voice sounds more distant as he speaks away from the mic. "Oy, shitbag. Who gave you the intel?”

You let out a breath of relief. Johnny will have no choice but to give them your name in exchange for his freedom. You'll be far, far away before your teammates know you're gone. KorTac won't bother with trying to track you down. It'd be a waste of money. Even if they did, you've disappeared before. You know how not to be found.

It’ll be a clean break for you both.

Then Johnny's voice crackles into your ear through Horangi's mic.

"No rat," he says. You hear him smirking, but a snarl edges the bravado in his voice. "Your security's piss-poor."

What? No. Bad, that's bad. Johnny’s playing at taking the blame. Of course he is. He thinks he's protecting you. Stubborn idiot.

Horangi chuckles. “You want to die here? That can be arranged.”

Something under your sternum clenches. This is your fault. You stare down at the fresh snow in front of you. You can still leave. Your plan never involved seeing him again, and it certainly didn't involve helping him if he got his ass in trouble. But you're the one who told him where the hostages were. He's only in the basement lounge because of you.

With Price and Gaz in the way, and with Ghost seeking a higher vantage point, sniper in hand, your teammates don’t know how much trouble they’re in, either.

Goddamn him. Why can’t he just rat you out? Why can’t he just be as heartless as you are?

You turn and retrace your trek back to the mansion. You don't know what you're going to do to avoid the confrontation at hand and make a clean escape, but maybe you'll come up with something on the way.

...

You slip into the lounge behind your teammates. Soap is on his knees, hands ziptied behind his back with the barrel of Horangi's rifle to his head.

Every last one of your squadmates is here. With you, that's a dozen mercenaries. You check the upper corners, the catwalks—Ghost is nowhere to be found. Of course. There'd be no way for Ghost alone to snipe enough of your teammates in one go to pull Johnny out of this mess. Nor is there any alarm you can pull, no authority you can leverage to get your soulmate out of the position you put him in.

You switch your radio frequency back to 141's secure channel. "Ghost, don't shoot. I can talk them down."

But it's Price's voice that echoes back. "Stay put, love. We'll get it sorted."

"Listen to me--"

"You in position, Ghost?" Price asks calmly.

"Affirmative, sir."

"Good. Gaz and I will be there shortly. When I signal, you take out as many as you can. We'll clean up the rest. Until then, stay hidden. We don't need a body count of our own."

You ease your finger off the comm, hands shaking. A fucking bloodbath? That's Price's plan? You think back to how he stared across the interrogation table at you, his eyes crinkling in amusement at the barbs you threw back at him. He'd have killed anyone else.

No, focus. You pull the earpiece out and rip the radio unit, cords and all, away from you. It clatters to the ground. A few of your squadmates glance over. You push your way through them until Horangi's eyes fall on you. Johnny’s do, too, but you refuse to look at him.

"He's obviously military,” you say, pinning Horangi with as severe a look as you can summon. “You can't just kill him. You know what would happen."

Horangi scoffs and looks back down at Soap. "He could be impersonating a soldier for all I know. Besides, military mutts bark." He presses the muzzle of his rifle harder into Soap's skull. "So bark, or I shoot."

"If you let me up right now," Soap growls, "I won't rip your goddamn hands off. How about that?" 

Horangi tuts. "You're in no position to be making threats, mutt. Answer me or I'll shut you up permanently. Who gave you the intel?”

"He's not the only one," you interrupt again, talking fast. "He's... His team. They're looking for him."

Horangi’s gaze rises to you again, a strange look in his eye. You've said too much. "Where have you been?" he asks you with a hard stare.

"With the protectee."

"And where is he now?"

Silence swells between you and him. You feel your teammates' eyes on you now. This is your last chance to walk away. If you do, the path ahead of you will be free and clear. And whatever blood is spilled here in service of this stupid mission will be on your hands.

Soap sees the look on your face. "No, hen, don't--"

"I'm the rat," you say. "I fed him the information. The protectee is dead."

Soap curses and tries to lunge to his feet. Horangi pushes him down with the heel of his boot between his shoulder blades. Soap grunts in pain.

"How interesting," Horangi says. "And why would you do that?"

"Don't listen to her," Soap growls. "She's lyin'."

He's still fighting the cuffs around his wrists. His shoulders jerk with every tug, trying in vain to break the plastic tie. A horrible feeling clutches at his chest. He knows what you're doing, and everything in him rebels against the idea. He's so close to finally having you, so close to saving you from yourself.

He never wanted you to come here. He wanted you safe, far away. The thought of something happening to you is far worse than any of the pain he might have endured if you hadn’t come back for him.

You risk a glance at Soap. He looks stricken. You almost wish you could explain, but it wouldn't make a difference. He should know better. You do your job. That's who you are. Even if it means there’ll be hell to pay.

You force your eyes back to Horangi's. "The bastard deserved it," you say simply.

Horangi scoffs. "Obviously. And we deserve our paychecks.” He watches Soap struggle under his boot. "You know him?"

You glance down at Soap, taken off guard. "He's..."

Soap meets your gaze, his eyes still burning with fire despite the situation. “Hen,” he says. “You are makin’ a mistake.”

Horangi leans onto Soap’s shoulder, pinning him flatter. Soap grunts.

Horangi smirks. “He seems to know you. You know, if it were me, I'd just keep my mouth shut and let him take the blame. That's what he wants, isn't it?” He jabs the barrel of his rifle against Soap’s spine.

Soap’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t take his eyes off you.

"In fact," Horangi muses, "I might be more inclined to believe him than you. Not to mention our employer would be very disappointed to know someone on payroll sabotaged a very well-paying job. I don’t think you’d do that unless you had a good reason.”

You hear your teammates murmur behind you. Horangi is giving you an out. Your teammates will know what you did, but KorTac won't. Plausible deniability brings back the possibility of escape. You're shocked Horangi would offer at all, knowing now what you did.

But you steel yourself. You know what you have to do. "Check his left arm," you tell him.

Horangi examines you, but there's no skepticism in his eyes—only intrigue. He gestures to a few of the mercs behind you. Two push past you. They hold Soap down, and Horangi grabs Soap's cuffed wrists and pushes his sleeve up his arm. It's there plain as day—the soulmark bearing your name.

Soap grits his teeth. You're giving yourself up for him. You're going to take the fall in exchange for his freedom. Why can't you just do one goddamn thing he wants you to do? It should be him protecting you.

He tries to catch your eye again, but you look away from his furious glare. Deep down, a part of him understands you. That infuriates him even more. You're doing this out of some sick sense of duty. Just like everything else.

Horangi is impassive. "Ah. Guess that explains it."

A hand comes down hard on your shoulder, and you're pulled back hard as two of your teammates take you by the arms and ziptie you. You don't struggle. One of them kicks out the back of your knee and forces you to kneel. 

Soap snarls as he tries to shake the mercenaries pinning him down. "Get your hands off her!"

Horangi smirks down at Soap. "You really do like each other, eh? Cute."

Soap's blood burns through him. All his systems are haywire. He's angry at you, but he's more furious than he's ever been in his life at the men holding him down. He jerks again, taking one of the mercs by surprise. He manages to get to one knee before they're on him again, joined by two more of your comrades who stream in to help.

They force him to the ground once more. Horangi digs his knee into Soap's back and jabs him with the butt of his rifle. Another merc kicks a boot into his gut. But Soap doesn't stop. He's not going down without a fight. He won't sit there quietly and let anyone walk away with his woman.

Horangi looks down his rifle at Soap and rests his hand on the trigger, his smirk gone. "Careful," he says, voice low. "I still might just shoot you."

"Then you'd better kill me in one shot, because when I get my hands around your fuckin' neck--"

"Johnny, stop," you interject.

"Why?" he growls. "You think I'm just gonna sit here and watch you give yourself up?"

"You don't have a choice."

"The hell I don't."

Horangi pushes his rifle harder against Soap's skull. "Listen to her, mutt."

"Hey," you snap at him. One of your comrades behind you pulls your arms back, and you realize you're unconsciously fighting to get close. "Let him go."

When Soap sees you straining against your binds, trying to reach him, his heart clenches. He lets out a stream of expletives and throws his body weight against the mercs trying to hold him down.

"You care for him that much? Then again, I guess you don't have a choice."

"Horangi—"

“Yes, yes. Relax,” Horangi says to you, keeping his rifle trained on Soap. “I don’t plan to kill him. But we're not uncuffing him. Because we're not fucking idiots," he mutters. He steps off Soap and nods toward the back of the lounge where the bar and kitchen are. "Put him in the walk-in."

The mercs pull him roughly to his feet, jerking his arms behind his back. His gaze flicks to you, and he opens his mouth to say something, but you won't meet his eyes. It's like you're trying to shut him out completely, closing yourself into some emotional void. Just like in that interrogation room. He can’t fucking stand it.

Soap growls in frustration as he's hauled backward. He's torn between anger and desperation, wanting to make you understand how much he needs you. But you're so stubbornly set on building your stupid walls and keeping him out.

"This never would've happened if you'd just let me handle it," he snaps at you. "But you had to go runnin' off by yourself instead of listenin’ to me."

You stare at him in disbelief. He's still arguing this? How headstrong is he? "You're the one who refused to rat me out!” you retort, unable to stop yourself. “I was out the fucking window when you went all heroic and forced me to come back and save your ass!"

Soap's temper flares hotter. "Oh, I'm the one who went all heroic?" He yanks his arm against his captors' grip, but it hardly slows them down. “You’re the bloody martyr, aren’t you? Couldn't just let me handle it. Had to go sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong."

"You with a fucking gun to your head? That was you handling it?"

"I've been in worse situations," Soap shoots back, bristling. "I didn't need your help. And I damn sure don’t want you throwin’ yourself into danger like you've got a death wish."

You swallow. You were right to step in and take the fall for what you did, you realize. As rough-tempered as your soulmate is, he's just trying to protect you. He deserves better than you.

"This is... it's what I deserve," you say finally.

Soap's eyes widen in disbelief, his expression going from anger to shock to cold fury. "What you deserve?" he hisses, his voice low and enraged. "What you deserve is a good smack upside the head. You think you deserved to throw your life away for my sake? That's how little you think of yourself?"

"I betrayed my teammates and ruined our contract. I have to pay for that."

He's so fucking over it. You’re letting yourself be ripped away from him because of—what, a mistake you made? Loyalty to your team? Some misguided sense of penance and responsibility? Empty excuses. None of that should matter. You’re meant to be his.

"I don't give a damn what you think you deserve,” he says. “You're not the one who gets to decide that."

"And you are?"

You're looking at him like you don't believe him. It makes something in him snap loose.

"You still think you're expendable," he says, his voice hard. "As long as everyone else is safe. As long as you've done your bloody duty." He jerks his shoulders, angry and desperate to have you in his sight for a few more seconds. "Whatever you tell yourself, you’d best remember you made your goddamn choice to take what Iwanted most away from me. I swear to you, darlin’, when I get out of these cuffs, I will find you and make sure you never leave my sight again. That’s what I deserve.”

You say nothing. Your heart is in your feet as they wrestle him away.

You’re not worth this. You can't be. You've shown him—all but told him you were ready to abandon him mere minutes ago. He just doesn't care. Regardless of what you think, he keeps deciding you're worth the fucking trouble.

You're just trying to do one thing right by him. One thing. But he has to go and tear your heart in two about it anyway. Bastard.

"Let go of me!" Soap barks, voice echoing behind you as they drag him out of sight.

The sound of the large, industrial steel walk-in freezer banging open echoes through the basement, followed by clattering and Horangi barking orders. Then it slams closed.

That's it, then. The last time you'll see him.

You believe him when he says he'll never stop looking for you. You might be stubborn and set in your ways—he happens to be worse. But you know your employer, and you know what happens to traitors who kill the charges they're paid to protect. Regardless of what seemed right at the time.

You know there are prisons with which the CIA won’t interfere.

You're going to live the rest of your life in a cell. Because of your own damn sense of responsibility for some twisted form of penance for your past.

The moment you hear the lock on the walk-in click, whatever solemn self-assurance you felt turns to ash in your mouth. Penance bears a strong resemblance to empty self-righteousness and self-hatred. Worse—it feels a hell of a lot like you're condemning your stubborn bull of a soulmate to a lifetime of searching for a woman who refuses out of spite to be found.

Horangi and the others return, and the two mercenaries at your sides haul you away. You stumble along with them, numb. They drag you out of the building and push you toward the back of a bulletproof KorTac panel van.

What have you done?

...

← previous part / [part 10] / next part →

more Soap / masterlist

[kudowon]

the thing that i love so much about hospital playlist and resident playbook is that such a permanent fixture and important part of the narrative is that you are never too old to begin again, and that your life is not over just because it didn’t pan out the way you expected it to. yiyoung gave up on her medical career and flunked out of her residency, but her entire arc revolves around starting over and trying again, and slowly shifting her mindset away from constantly wanting to quit and only doing it for the money to doing it because she is a great doctor and she loves what she is doing now, the people she has found there, and how it doesn’t make her any less qualified than the other first-year residents. jaeil used to be an idol and his group disbanded, but instead of treating it like some great personal tragedy, it is simply a part of his life and career that he loves to look back on, still celebrates, and that brings him closer to patients and friends alike. it is never frowned upon that he decided to become a doctor instead of focusing on his music career, while he is simultaneously never treated as stupider than his colleagues just because he comes from a different background. then there is ahn chihong, of course, whose life had been set in stone during his service which then was upended by his sickness, so he decided to pursue medicine instead. he could have given up, he could have stayed in the military in some desk job, but he didn’t; he decided to change his entire life in his twenties and thirties, and now he is a professor of neurosurgery. and then there is jaehak, who is the oldest chief resident at yulje, which, sure, he makes fun of and others do too, but who is so dedicated to his profession and to cardiothoracic surgery, to the people in his department, that it doesn’t matter. he is in his forties while other residents are in their twenties and it makes no difference at large. even seokmin, who was chief resident of neurosurgery, quit his job but was allowed to return. hospital playlist and resident playbook are stories that honor the fact that life is not ideal, that it can take different routes to get you to your desired destination, that even tells you, hey, you might not have wanted to be here, you might wanted to be somewhere entirely else, but this is where you are and it’s okay. you didn’t choose wrong, and it doesn’t matter when you chose. it only matters that you are here now, and that is not a failure. you can always try again. it is never too late to begin.

[writing-mlm]

Something angsty with Abbot

They had something going on in the army (they didn't label it) and it was pretty serious,robby knew about (they were an inseparable trio) and thought they would last forever

Until something happend and the reader didn't leave with them and continued to advace in ranks

They (all 3) meet again in the pitt to find out reader got married and had a child (the reason for the hospital visit ) and treats abbot and robby as just friends like nothing is wrong

You can continue it how you like cause this is getting long

The wounds of our parents (that I refuse to carry over)

Summary: You couldn’t be strong enough for yourself, but you’d be damned if you let your daughter feel the way you did. Pairing: Jack Abbot x Male reader Word Count: 3.4k Tags/warning: reader is married to a woman, sort of implied religious trauma, homophobia, medical talk, sick child, I headcanon Jack was in the Marines, italics is a flashback, wounds physical and emotional, not terribly angsty but still hurt/comfort imo A/n: I changed the prompt a little bc I don’t think Robby was in the military, also. while editing I learned its Abbot not Abbott...

Stolen kisses and secret glances, if that’s how Jack could remember his time in the Marines, he would’ve been a happy man. He’s reminded of you every day, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. 

He remembers you when he ties his laces in the quick way you taught him, he remembers you when the sun warms his face, he remembers you when the silence of his apartment is so loud against his ears he can't think. He can’t breathe and— fuck he can’t even see anything. Then his phone lights up, a call. 

It reminds him of you again. You would sneak out from your barracks to meet him, a flashlight placed on the floor so you could at least see him a little. It was never much, but it was always enough. 

“My arms are killing me,” You grumble, climbing into his bed. He welcomes you, arms outstretched and a lopsided grin. It’s well past any normal guest time in the barracks, but neither of you cared. 

“No one told you to carry everyone’s bags up the hill,” He laughs as you drop into his open embrace. Immediately, he starts massaging your arms, loving the way you relax instantly. Your head drops onto his chest, sure you’re about to be lulled into a nice sleep.

“I was being nice,” You murmur. “And I was showing off,” 

“For who?” He teases. Cracking an eye open, you laugh into his shirt. Leaning forward, you kiss the underside of his jaw. 

“You,” 

His hands trail up from his neck, settling on his ears as he tries to fill the silence. His phone rings again, and he pulls himself from the memory before answering it. It’s Robby. It’s never you. 

—

Abbot’s driving into work, annoyed that he’d accidentally taken the long route, and now he’s fighting the morning traffic. It’s one of those rare occasions when he was needed for the morning shift. And he couldn’t say no. He’s about ten minutes out, waiting at a red light, when the next song starts up. The guitar strings start, and he inhales slowly, his eyes closing. 

The squad was inside of a tent, passing the time until there was something to do. Thankfully, someone had brought along a speaker, and everyone was taking turns playing music. It eventually turned into a lip-syncing competition and you were up. 

It didn’t take long before the song could start up, two of the guys laugh as they know the song, while Jack leans back. You step into the middle of the tent, using a water bottle as a microphone. You rock with the beat, each guitar string pluck is a new rock. 

“I used to think that I wasn’t fine enough, and I used to think that I wasn’t wild enough. But I won’t waste my time tryna figure out why you playing games, what’s this all about?” Everyone catches as your eyes drift to Jack’s. You continue, fake singing your heart out until you look at Jack again. 

“Oh, love! Never knew what I was missing. But I knew once we start kissin’ I found… love!” Your eyes meet, and you point at him before desperately clutching your chest. 

“Abbot’s blushin’!” One of the men laughs, smacking his arm. Jack shakes his head but doesn’t look away from you, still lip-singing. 

A car honks and he opens his eyes, the light is now green. Another honk. Smacking the wheel, he pushes forward, trying to push the memories backwards. 

It was never a relationship, at least in concrete boyfriend-boyfriend terms. But it was. It fucking was. You’d both said I love you, you both had imagined lives together, you were each other's person, and you were his and he was yours. 

And then Abbot got discharged, and you didn’t. You stayed in the Marines, something had scared you. He knows it. He knows it in his bones. He knows it like he knows the human body. 

“Hey, brother!” Robby gives Abbot a high five as he walks into the ED. Abbot blinked, his body moving on autopilot, he hadn’t realized he was at work already. “Thank you so much,” He’s almost desperate, the ED is more packed than usual. Apparently, an entire school grade had come down with random spouts of dizziness, weird vision, and vomiting. 

“Where am I needed?” He asks, glancing around the room. There are a lot of parents talking outside the on-call rooms with doctors. 

“Uh, room eleven.” Abbot nods and gets himself ready, grabbing Mohan on his way to the room. Mohan has the kids' chart and tells him the basics while he nods, still looking around. She has to leave, though— everyone has one patient. There’s not enough doctors to double up today. 

He glances at the patient's chart and stops for a small laugh, pushing into the on-call room. Jackie Maria (L/n). 

“Is your full name Jack or Jackson?” You asked, it’s the first thing you’d ever said to him. First day at boot camp and that’s what his barrack roommates says to him.

“Jack,” He responds and you nod, carefully setting your bag on your bed. 

“That’s crazy, cause I’ve always wanted to name my kid Jackie. What do you think, would he get bullied?” Jack laughs, shaking his head. He’d never been bullied for the name, and he relays as much to you. “That’s good to know.” Your smile reaches your eyes and you scan him up and down. Your heart flutters a bit and you force yourself to look away. 

You stare at him, your hand in a woman's— your wife’s hand while holding your daughter's head. Jackie. Your daughter, Jackie. She’s clutching a bucket that already has bile inside of it. She’s about twelve. Abbot checks the chart and licks the inside of his mouth. Thirteen. 

You’re in civvies, which checks out because you always hated the uniform. Hated the attention it brought when you were off base. He looks down at your wedding band, it’s simple, a thin silver ring nestled on your finger. It’s old and worn, Abbot guesses it’s older than ten years old. You preferred gold, or at least a darker silver than that. And you always wanted something a little different than the basic silver band. 

For a moment, you relax and smile. It’s the first time you’ve seen him since he left the Marines. The first time in fourteen years that you’ve honestly felt at peace. Well, mostly. Jackie throws up again and you move to rub her back. 

“I’m Doctor Abbot,” He stiffly says, closing the door behind him. He needs to be professional, there’s a sick child he needs to attend to. 

“I’m glad it’s you,” You admit, your voice is more mature than the last time he heard it. There’s a bigger bass to it and he just knows if Jackie was in Little League your voice was drowning out the crowds. He wonders if his voice would’ve done the same. 

“He usually doesn’t like doctors,” Your wife says, a little confused, and Jack nods. He knows this. He’s known this long before she was ever in the picture. 

“Jack,” You whimper, clutching his hand as you hold your bleeding leg. “It’s too high for a tourniquet.” There’s a shudder to your voice that he doesn’t like, a sort of finality that puts his stomach through the ringer. Which is odd, considering you’re on an active battlefield and something explodes in the background. 

“I got you, sweetheart,” He grunts, pulling you into a more covered area. “This is gonna hurt but do you trust me?”

“Hmm,” You nod, eyes closed tight and lips tucked into your mouth. “With my fuckin’ life, baby.”

“We were in the Marines together,” You softly explain and she hums. She’s not delighted to hear that, but she doesn’t show any outward distaste in it either. There’s some history behind that, he has a sneaking suspicion he knows what it’s about. 

“Can you give me a rundown of your symptoms, Jackie?” Abbot asks while putting on a pair of gloves on. Jackie just groans, looking for relief and finds it in you. You smile, rubbing her sweat-soaked forehead. 

“She texted me, she was in science class and was feeling lightheaded. You know diabetes runs in my family so I assumed she was starting to show signs. I told her to eat some of the snacks and drink something. She said it didn’t help. Then she said she was having trouble breathing but she felt better after class. I knew she was having a test, so I assumed it was anxiety.” You hurriedly explain, recounting her day. “And then she had lunch, she called me. She was throwing up and seeing spots. Apparently, other kids were, too.” 

“Were these kids in your science class?” 

“Some,” Jackie croaks. Abbot nods, considering most students have a similar experience, it’s probably something in the science room. 

“I want to have your blood sent in for a tox screen. It could possibly be something in the classroom. It’s sounding a bit like the flu, maybe someone was sick and spread it around the school and then maybe some food poisoning. Did you eat the school lunch?” Jackie nods but she looks at you for support. 

“It’s pizza Friday. She loves it,” You add, watching as Jackie throws up again. “Once you’re done, sit up, bud. Dr. Abbot needs you to be steady.” 

“The mess hall is serving us the good food,” You whisper, staring down at your lobster, mac and cheese, and the good mashed potatoes. “We’re getting shipped off, ain’t we?” 

“Sure are,” Jack laughs. The two of you sit side by side, not even a millimeter of space between the two of you. You drop your head, ready to succumb to your inevitable fate. 

“I would’ve preferred pizza as my final meal.”

Abbot finishes drawing Jackie’s blood and leaves the room for a moment. You watch as the doors close and sigh, knowing what’s about to come and just continue to rub the top of your daughter's head. 

“You never mentioned an Abbot before,” Your wife carefully says, messing with her nails. 

“No, Katy. I didn’t.” You agree. “I also never mentioned Tasso, or Navarro, or Dukarea. Or half of my squad before.” 

“You haven’t,” She stresses. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Looking at her, you lace your fingers together before letting your hands hang between your legs. She shrugs and looks at the door. 

“Your mother did.” She said after a beat had passed. 

“Don't bring her up,” You glare over at her. “Not now, Katy.” 

“She said something about an Abbot who was tempting—“ She doesn’t get to finish before you stop her. 

“Jackie is sick. We are not going to talk about whatever she told you, Katherine.” She pauses but eventually nods. You look at Jackie as she looks between the two of you, you hate being tense around him. You hate having fights around her, or even being slightly angry around her. It’s not a part of you that you want her to experience. 

“I’m going for a smoke,” She pushes herself from the wall as the door opens again and Abbot walks inside. 

“Okay,” You reply, not sparing her a glance. She leaves using the opposite doors, snatching her purse from the chair with an exaggerated huff. 

“I’ve sent your blood for testing. We should know within an hour,” Abbot explains and you nod, looking between him and Jackie. Your stomach twists as you imagine that this was your family. The three of you. 

“Is there something she can have for the pain?” You ask, looking between the two of them. “She’s not good with pain and I know this is a ten for her.” Weakly, Jackie nods. 

“Alright, I’m going to give you an ibuprofen. It’ll help with the nausea and the pain. If, after an hour, you’re still in pain, I’ll switch it up. Does that sound good?”

“Mhmm,” Jackie winces and then starts gagging. You help her sit up, wincing as she throws up again. 

“What if she can’t keep the pill down?” You ask, looking up at him with worry clearly written all over your face. His chest tightens, and he inhales, looking between you and Jackie. As much as he’d hate to admit it, his mind runs blank for a moment. 

“An IV drip is always an option.” Abbot explains once he composes himself. “Would you be okay with that, Jackie?” Your daughter nods and Abbot nods in response. “We’ll get that started as soon as possible.”

“Would you be a step-dad?” Robby whispers, pulling Jack to the side. They’re about to do a shift change and this is how Robby is planning on spending their small overlap together. 

“Depends,” Jack responds, crossing his arms. “Is the kid bad? Is there an affair that causes the step-parent-ness?”

“No, and no,” Robby squints. “I didn’t— I wouldn’t help someone cheat. But this woman I’m seeing has a son, we haven’t met but she wants us to. I wanted your opinion,” Jack nods, imagining himself as a step-parent. It’s hard because he keeps placing his partner as you and not some random person. 

“Yeah,” He nods. “See if you can handle that dynamic. Every step family is different,” In turn, Robby nods before leaving in a rush. Apparently soon meant tonight. 

“Has there been an update with the others?” You ask. “Jackie’s friend, Charlie. She’s here too,” 

“I can certainly ask, what’s her last name?” Turning to Jackie, she inhales. It’s shaky and it looks like it hurts her but she still tries. 

“Hunt.” She replies. 

“Charlie Hunt, got it.” He leaves again and it’s just the two of you now. 

“It’s not drugs, right?” You whisper, looking up from the door. Jackie feverishly shakes her head and you nod, trusting her. Looking back at the door, you inhale. 

A part of you hates that out of all the places you could’ve settled after the Marines, you picked the one place Jack lived and then out of all of the hospitals, this is the one your son is being treated at. But another, bigger, part of yourself loves that. Loves that you’re still connected to him after all these years. It’s like a sign. 

The door opens and you see Abbot return with Charlie. Her parents are not there yet, their jobs are hard to leave from what you remember. 

“How you feeling, Char?” You ask, a small smile on your face. 

“Not horrible, Mr. (L/n),” She replies, looking at you before her eyes lock on Jackie. “How’s Jackie?”

“Could be better,” Jackie croaks and Charlie takes the seat you’d been in. She has a small oxygen mask around her neck but it doesn’t seem like she needs it anymore. 

“I’m going to go for a walk,” You tell them to which they nod. Looking Abbot up and down, he calmly follows you into the hallway. 

“A wife,” He whispers. “How long?”

“Um,” Scratching your eyebrow, you shrug. “About fourteen years. Are you… have you gotten married?” For a moment, you look at his hand. Barren, no tan lines to indicate a ring either. 

“No.” He confirms what you already know. “Are you happy?” The pause that follows the silence is all he needs to know. Although he could’ve guessed that already, he’s seen happily married people but you and Katy? That wasn’t a happy marriage. 

“I always said you’d make a great doctor,” 

“You did,” He nods, a breathless chuckle passing by his lips. “I always said you’d be a girl dad.”

“Light of my life,” You smile. “She had a small interest in medicine, which is crazy cause she’s—“ You pause, stopping yourself. Katy walks back in from her smoke break and you blink. “She gets woozy at the sight of blood.” You finish. 

“Has anyone seen Charlie Hunt?”  A doctor calls, standing in front of an empty on-call room. “I have her lab work,”

“She’s in here, Robby!” Abbot calls. “Is (L/n)’s also done?”

“Uh,” He checks his tablet. “Yes- yup,” 

“Alright, let’s go!” That special request to speed up Jackie’s tox screen worked. Which is a first. The four of you head back to the on-call room and Katy enters without knocking. 

“What the fuck?” She shouts and you see Charlie stand up to her full height. Jackie looks between the two of you, shocked, and her heart monitor is beeping faster. She looks at you, and you know, you just know what Katy saw. “Did you know?” She spins to you, finger pointing. But you don’t see her, you don’t hear her. 

You hear the rapid beeping, you see your daughter's fear, and it’s like you’re her. It’s like you’re your father and Katy is your mother and you’re about to repeat a cycle you could never break. 

“Breathe,” Jack forces you out of the rec room and into the dark outside. The party continues inside but you can feel yourself dying. Your life is in the hands of the letter dropped off earlier in the week that you’d refused to open. “What’s wrong?” Your free hand touches the dewy grass as you sit. 

“Sweetheart,” His hand covers yours, blocking the letter from your vision. 

“Someone told my parents,” You manage out. “My mom she’s asking about why her church is whispering about her ‘faggot’ son. They know us-- they know you.” 

“I thought they knew?” 

“No,” Holding both of his hands, you kiss them softly, grounding yourself. “I never told them. That's why I left.”

You never understood why your parents were such a big part of your life, why you let their hate infect you so much. That your fear wasn’t strong enough to stop you from going to the Marines, but it was for telling your parents no. But it’s not stronger than your love for Jackie. 

“Get out,” You tell Katy. 

“Let’s see what your mother has to say about this.” She hums, digging into her purse for her phone. She’s used that line so many times and so many times you’ve given in at the expense of your peace and sanity. 

“Let’s see what Vincent has to say,” She pauses at the door, her eyes filled with pure hatred. She says fine, along with some colorful words and you sigh, joining the now crying Jackie’s side. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” Doctor Robby takes Charlie back to her room while Abbot stands there, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“I didn’t— I’m sorry,” Her cries turn to gagging and you sit her up, letting her vomit into the bowl. 

“Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry for not doing better,” Holding her tight, you shudder, wishing so desperately you’d been your father all those years ago. “Let’s focus on your health first, honey. And then everything else after.” 

“Alright, your tox screen does show levels of carbon monoxide and it is showing signs of food poisoning,” He turns the screen and points to an assortment of letters and numbers that only he understands. 

“Good news is-“ He turns the screen back to him. “It looks like you won’t have any long-term side effects and the nausea should lessen with time. For now, I’m going to start your IV drip and give you an oxygen mask. That’s to help your body filter out the carbon monoxide faster.” She nods, holding your hand tightly. He gently puts the oxygen mask over her and you watch as she takes a deep breath in. 

He nods to the door and you stand up. Jackie reaches for your hand, shaking her hand but you reassure her that you’ll just be outside the door. She lets go and you meet Abbot in the hallway. 

“We have social workers available,” He starts. “If you or Jackie want to talk to someone.”

“I’m definitely getting a therapist for us,” You huff a laugh. “I know divorces can be rough on kids.”

“Divorce?” He asks. 

“That’s who Vincent is. He’s my friend and a divorce lawyer. I can’t let her grow up the way I did,” 

“That’s good,” He smiles an honest smile. 

“I don’t know if you’d be up to it again, but, could I get your number?” You carefully ask. “I know Pittsburgh has that year waiting period but,” You laugh, looking away from him. “It’s been fourteen years and I’ve missed you like a motherfucker.”

[jackactuallywrites]

Hidden Paradise

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (detailed shagging)

Warnings: Unprotected sex and also shower sex which we all know is unsafe

Summary: You walk in on a man in the shower, it takes you seeing him in the skull mask a week later to realise it was Ghost, and he is very intrigued by your reaction

Notes: This absolutely wouldn’t be possible without @xxven my muse and pookie and beta reader who gave me the plot 🤍❤️ (also raven on TikTok for making a hot thirst trap that inspired a whole scene)

Word Count: 4,195 (I am very horny for ghost)

ao3 link

There was very little luxury to be found on a military base; your military fatigues were never soft, your boots were the cheapest given by the contractors, your bed squeaked every time you so much as moved an inch, and there wasn’t so much as a tealight allowed in the barracks.

However, you’d found a quiet sanctuary. Far from the rest of the buildings on the base, there was a small shower block, disused and forgotten about in favour of the newer, more convenient showers. The water pressure wasn’t all that great, and the tiles would probably never return to whatever shade of white they’d started out as, but all that mattered was that it was so wonderfully, blissfully quiet.

Silence was one of the hardest commodities to come across on a military base; there was always something going on, whether it be a training exercise with a hard-edged sergeant screaming at recruits or the grunts trying out whatever shiny new piece of equipment the government had seen fit to waste money on, but out there in the shower block, muffled by a copse of trees, there was nothing. Beautiful, precious, nothing.

Today had been yet another long lesson in tedium, worsened by the fact that your most beloved friends were out in the field, busy repairing the vehicles with whatever they could scavenge from the base. You already felt exhausted at the idea of how much paperwork you’d have to do after they’d torn through the place, and the day proved you right, with you having to go to every single place in the garages to check what stock had been taken as mechanics had an annoying habit of forgetting to write down what they’d used. It was long into the evening by the time you’d finally finished putting in the orders to replace every strange bit of junk the mechanics had used, and all you could think about was the long shower you were going to take.

The route through the forest was one of the only places you could get away with wearing your headphones and listening to music without getting scolded by the sergeant on patrol, and you took advantage of this privilege every time, blasting some classic disco music in your ears as you approached the shower block, blissfully unaware of the world outside. If not, you might have noticed the sound of the shower running.

As such, you walked into the block thinking of nothing but how your new eucalyptus shower steamer would smell, having got fairly good reviews online. You already had a favourite shower at this point, the one on the very end, with the best water pressure that the rusted old pipes could provide, though it had no door to speak of. You walked along the yellowed tile floor, passing by the empty showers until you finally reached your favourite one, only to find that it was very much not empty.

Standing under the sputtering stream of water was a tall, well-built man, his tan back glistening under the hundreds of droplets of water, highlighting the various white scars on his back, some of them small, some of them intimidatingly large. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down, admiring the muscles in his back and perfectly toned legs, as well as a surprisingly sculpted ass. Whoever he was, he was statuesque in his beauty, as though he had been carved out of marble, and as he turned around to face you, showcasing the golden hair that trailed down from his abs, you caught a glimpse of his shaft, thick and long, yet quickly covered by a large hand.

It was that movement that broke the lustful spell you were under, and your eyes finally stopped ogling his body and flicked up to his face. You didn’t recognise him, not his pale green eyes or his crooked nose, but you could absolutely recognise the outrage on his face, and you yanked down your headphones, keeping your eyes firmly above his waist, “I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was in here.” His voice was little more than a snarl, “Get out.” You had absolutely no desire to argue with a man built like that, so you gave a quick nod and hurried back out of the shower block, not willing to spend a single second more in his presence.

~

Since your encounter in the showers, not a single night had gone past where you hadn’t dreamed about the man, his body, his hands, the dark blond hair that led down his navel, and the thick veins on his forearms. It lurked in the back of your mind, eternally present as a lustful little memory to entertain you during the more boring moments of your day.

Yet again, you were in another meeting writing down what items had been used over the week and what needed to be ordered for the next month's exercise. It was made slightly more interesting by the fact that this time, you were working with the SAS, and not just that, but with some of the most feared soldiers there were, including the worst of the worst, Ghost .

You swore you could almost feel the insidious aura coming from the man in the skull mask, as though it was radiating off him in dark waves. When he spoke, his words were sharp and to the point, never expending more energy than was strictly necessary, and rarely directing his attention to you, sitting in silence and taking notes, not that you were complaining. Every time the man spoke, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as though your body was trying to warn you that he was dangerous. It was only toward the end of the meeting that you finally spoke up, standing and reciting everything that you’d written down in your notebook.

It was times like that where you’d have to put on a brave face as if you feared the room of men no more than a pack of kittens, making sure your voice was loud and firm, forcing them to listen to you. None of them seemed particularly interested; after all, you were a perfect, albeit boring professional, yet you remained undeterred, making eye contact with each of them. Even Ghost was looking at you; you could see those pale green eyes watching you from underneath his skull mask with a strange intensity. You remained undeterred, staring back at the man as you read out the various things that were in stock and what would have to be ordered, yet there was something niggling at the back of your head. Those eyes were strangely familiar.

It took you a second to remember, and then the barely buried memory came back: the beautiful man in the shower, his body glistening, his toned muscles, and the dark blond hair that covered his navel. The words in your mouth died on your tongue, and you saw Ghost’s eyebrow raise underneath his mask as if he was intrigued by your reaction to him. You cleared your throat, hoping that the heat you felt in your cheeks wouldn’t show up on your skin as you dropped your eyes back down to your notebook, pointedly ignoring him as you focused back on your task, ensuring that you hadn’t missed anything.

Inexplicably, Ghost spoke up, interrupting your admittedly dull recital of your list, “How soon can we get a restock of the M16 mags?” His question forced you to look over at him, and his pale green eyes seemed as though they were trying to drill right through your head. You refused to back down this time, meeting his gaze no matter how prevalent the image of his naked body was in your mind, even if you did stumble over your words as you flipped through the pages, “Those mags, uh, the ammo for the M16 that is, we ordered those last Tues-Wednesday , so they’ll be in by the end of this week.”

You couldn’t see his expression under his mask, but you could have sworn that it tugged in a way that suggested he was smirking underneath the black fabric, a touch of smugness in his eyes. Was he flirting with you? There was no possible way for you to find out in the middle of a full room, so you decided to put that tantalising idea to the side, wrapping up the last few items on your list and then glancing around the room, “If there’s anything else, please send me an itemised list by the end of the day.”

With that, the meeting was over, every soldier packing up their files, undoubtedly each one as bored as you, and you had little desire to spend any more time with them, especially with the suspiciously intense look Ghost was giving you, so you gave your farewells and left the room as quickly as you could, doing your best to rid your mind of the confusing thoughts whirling around in your mind. Ghost, the supposed ‘psycho’ killer, was flirting with you. Or perhaps threatening you. You weren’t entirely sure which. And yet, you had a strange desire to find out, that small part of you that longed to step into dangerous territory. But how could you? That meeting had been the only time you’d ever interacted with the man; other than your brief encounter in the shower, it didn’t seem like there would ever be another opportunity to be alone with him.

Unless.

Regardless of how outraged he’d been previously, he’d seemed entirely intrigued by you in the meeting, almost amused. You’d seen the direction he was headed; if your mind wasn’t already overtaken with delusional optimism, you could have sworn that he was striding in the direction of the old shower block with what seemed like great determination.

This was one of those deciding moments, a fork in the path where you got to choose what the outcome would be: adherence to your usual routine or something far more thrilling. You could almost feel the clock ticking in your head, your time running short, and for once, you decided to be brave and at least a little bit stupid, heading to your barracks to pick up your things before heading out toward the shower block, adrenaline pounding in your veins as you made your way through the small woods to the brick building.

Even from the outside, you could hear the shuddering of the pipes as they desperately pumped water, your heart beginning to pick up the pace as you pushed open the heavy wooden door, closing it softly behind you, now able to hear the pattering of water on the tile floor and see the black clothing draped over the bench that ran the length of the wall. You walked down the centre of the block, approaching the last stall on the end, and yet, you couldn’t take that final step. Everything below the waist was screaming at you to leap into the shower with the man, yet your brain conjured images of the humiliating HR meeting you’d be in if you had, in fact, entirely misinterpreted what were admittedly very subtle hints. You didn’t dare push over that line with a man so far above you in rank, but you weren’t prepared to entirely give up, so you merely slunk into the stall next to his, stripping off your uniform and hanging it on the backside of the door, pulling it to and surrendering yourself to an unsatisfying shower.

The shower head shuddered as you twisted the knob for water, a few spats of water dripping out, yet nothing more. There was a good reason you stuck to that end stall; almost every other shower there had been neglected to the point of failure. You took this as a sign to give up, turning around to get your things, only to find Ghost standing in the now open doorway.

There was nothing but a towel lazily wrapped around his hips to cover him up, his blond hair already soaked, water leaving little trails down his body, pulling your eyes down. You quickly snapped your attention back to his face, your hands already going to cover your chest and between your legs instinctually. Ghost’s eyes lingered on your body before finally flicking to the broken shower head, then back to your face. You could see that intrigued twinkle in his eyes as he gave you a slightly smug smirk, gesturing toward the other shower stall with his head, “Mine works. We should share.”

You almost couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. The exact situation had been playing out in your mind ever since you’d seen him naked, yet never once had you made the connection between your shower Adonis and Lieutenant Ghost. The two couldn’t be reconciled in your head, but you quickly decided that this was a problem to be solved later, if at all. You turned your non-functioning shower off, though slightly reluctant to use the hand covering your chest to do so, and then walked out of the stall, ducking under Ghost’s arm holding the door open for you, and rounding the corner into the warm stream of the only functional shower, allowing the water to wash away all the important questions that should have been asked, only focusing on the present moment.

Though you���d chosen to face away from him, you could still hear the noise of his towel hitting the wall as he tossed it aside, your entire body tensing up as you felt his presence behind you, the nerves nipping at the back of your mind. You didn’t dare turn to look at him, trying to find something else to focus on to quiet your frenzied brain, your eyes flicking to the one bottle of his on the floor in the shower, trying to figure out what scent ‘original’ was supposed to be, and whether one liquid really could be shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

Your thoughts on his toiletries were brought to an instant halt at the first touch of his hand on your hip, a questioning touch as though he was gauging your interest before moving any further. He might have been feared special forces, yet here, you retained a level of control, of security. You relaxed into his touch, leaning back until you bumped up against his chest, and his arm snaked around your stomach, wrapping tightly around your waist as he stepped forward into the stream from the shower, his head dipping down to rest in the crook of your neck. You could feel his other hand trail a path up your thigh before it, too, wrapped around you, pulling you snug against him in a tight embrace, like a man starved for any sort of touch.

For a moment, the two of you remained in that simple intimacy, your arms resting on top of his, enjoying the sheer pleasure of his embrace. Your hands were the first to move, your fingertips gently trailing over the muscles in his forearms, admiring the strength in them, unable to hold back a smile as you saw the not-so-subtle way he flexed them for you. His hand moved then, and you followed them with your own, one trailing down over your hipbone to the top of your thigh, gently stroking the skin there, the other one shifting up until it was just underneath your breast, pausing right before he touched anywhere interesting.

Clearly, he wasn’t about to touch anywhere without your explicit permission, and you decided to test him, pulling his left hand up until it was settled over your breast. His fingers paused, and you felt the tenseness in his arms, yet after a beat, he stretched out his fingers, tracing a little pattern over the swell of your breast, circling your nipple before his hand covered your boob entirely, gently squeezing it in his hand. You could feel his breathing growing heavier, every exhale blowing air over the skin of your neck, but you had no intention of stopping, relaxing into his touch, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, your eyes closed. The hand on your thigh had grown tight, fingers digging into your flesh, and you began to move his hand further in to where you could feel a growing need for his touch.

The further you moved his hand, the tighter his grip on your chest got, pulling you closer against him until you could finally feel his hardness pressed against the small of your back. His clear excitement emboldened you further, and you pushed his hand firmly between your legs, letting his fingers slightly part your labia to rest on your clit. That action earned you a low growl from him, and he buried his face into your shoulder as he pushed his fingers further down, touching the slick wetness beginning to leak out of your needy pussy. The second he felt your wetness, he drew his fingers back from you, digging them into your hip and pulling you firmly against him, rubbing the bridge of his nose against your neck as though he was trying to ground himself in the moment.

You had no problem allowing him to take his time, focusing on the simple pleasure of the warm water on your skin and the heat emanating from his chest to your back. His hand moved back to your pussy, more determined than before, as he slid his fingers down your slit, gently probing your slick hole with his fingers. As he slowly slid one in, he let out a strangled groan, shifting his face so he could bite down on the flesh of your neck, his other hand massaging your breast as his finger began to easily slip inside you. He stretched his thumb up to rest on your clit as he gently began to pump his finger in and out of you, rubbing in little circles, and you couldn’t help but let out a little moan.

The slightest of noises from you seemed to spur him on, and he pushed another finger inside you, beginning to kiss and suck at your neck as he did so, your body easily accepting his two fingers, and so he followed it with a third, his dick twitching with excitement against your back as all three of his fingers sank inside you without resistance.

Whatever good sense you had left was beginning to dissipate in the haze of your lust, and you reached your hand behind you to wrap around his cock, slowly beginning to stroke him as he gently fucked you with his fingers. He rewarded you with a soft groan in your ear, and so you quickened your pace, beginning to pump his dick in earnest, wanting him to receive the same pleasure as you. Your body was eagerly opening up around him, and the last bit of your intelligence vanished as your desperation for him overpowered you, and you begged for stupidity in two words.

“Fuck me.”

There was no hesitance in Ghost’s touch now as he pulled his fingers out of you, turning you to face him and then bending down to grab your thighs and lift you up, pinning you to the cool, damp wall of the shower stall. You could see the lust in his eyes as he shifted to hold you with only one hand, the other quickly moving to his dick, positioning it at your slick entrance and then slowly beginning to lower you down onto him. There was no comparison to the pleasure you felt, not only from feeling him slide into you, but to watch his face as he did so, his open lips, the desperate look in his eyes, his gaze entirely focused on you as though you were Aphrodite herself. You sunk your teeth into your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud as you felt him stretch out your insides, yet you let your hands dig into his shoulders, your nails raking his skin as you felt every inch of him.

When you finally sunk down to the base of his cock, he leant forwards to rest his head on the wall beside you, clearly struggling to contain his composure, his hand digging into the flesh of your thigh, the other splayed out on the cool tile wall. He took a second to breathe before he began to slowly thrust up into you, his hand shifting from your thigh to your hip to pin you in place. Even in your wetness, you could feel how big he was, filling you up so perfectly, and you arched your back against him, desperate to feel every inch of him inside you. His eyes were on you now, and he moved his hands from the wall to your lips, tugging your bottom lip out from between your teeth and issuing you a singular command, his gaze intense.

“I want to hear you.”

Even in your pleasure, you couldn’t stop yourself from obeying a command from your superior officer, and you let out the moans you’d been holding back, tightening your legs around his waist to pull him into you as much as possible, your fingers raking against his back as he fucked you, his hips beginning to move more forcefully against you. His fingers now moved to your hair, brushing the errant strands out of your face and then shifting down to cup your cheek, lifting your face, his voice soft, “Look at me.”

There was no mistaking the utter lust in his gaze when you looked up at him, yet you could also see quite a great deal of tenderness, of genuine care, which only served to heighten your pleasure, your hands moving from his shoulders to the back of his neck as you clung to him, desperately grinding your hips against him. He picked up his pace further yet still restrained himself from fully slamming into you, his grip like a vice on your thigh. His voice grew hoarser as he caressed your cheek with his thumb, clearly strained, “Touch yourself.”

In another situation, you might have felt insecure, yet you were entirely awash in lustful pleasure, and so you obeyed, reaching down with one hand to begin rubbing circles around your increasingly sensitive clit, feeling that same build of pleasure in your core as Ghost fucked you faster still, his expression growing more desperate by the second. He leant forward to whisper his final command against your lips.

“Come for me.”

Your body seemed honour-bound to obey him as your pussy clenched around his dick, your pleasure building until it finally crescendoed, with Ghost’s lips crashing onto yours as you finished, his hips moving frantically as he desperately fucked you, his thrusts stuttering as he finally shot his load deep inside you, his body crushing yours into the wall in a tight embrace. Your kisses became softer as the both of you came down from your frenzied high, his grip on your body loosening slightly, your death grip around his neck becoming less deadly.

With a satisfied groan, Ghost let himself sink to the floor, pulling you down along with him into his lap, letting his dick remain inside you as you settled more comfortably on top of him, resting against his chest as he lazily wrapped his arms around your lower back, cradling you against him. After such bodily heat, the comparatively cool water of the shower felt heavenly on your skin, washing away your intermingled sweat.

You probably could have slept there, with Ghost still buried inside you, yet he was not so spellbound. With a gentle movement, he pulled his softening length out of you, reaching over to grab the bottle of soapy liquid he’d left on the floor. Then, he repositioned you so you were now sitting in between his legs, his thick thighs boxing you in as he opened the bottle behind you. You weren’t entirely sure what he was doing, nor did you care, still awash in a pleasant afterglow. The touch of his fingers gently massaging the liquid into your hair was a heavenly surprise, and you practically melted into his hands, a human-sized pile of putty perfectly manipulated by him. He ran his fingers through the length of your hair, thoroughly soaping up every strand before he let the cool water wash away the suds.

Then, he got to work on your body. Never had you been so grateful for three-in-one soap as it meant you didn’t have to miss a second of his warm chest against your back as he began to soap up your body, his fingers incredibly gentle against your skin, paying attention to every single part of you, and then letting you lean back against his chest as the water washed everything away, his arms coming to rest around your waist. Every single care of yours seemed to follow the soap down the train as you relaxed into him, enjoying the way he rested his chin on your head as you closed your eyes, finally entirely at ease.

[headcanonfiringrange]

I know that it's a widely accepted fanon that Alex Mercer can flawlessly impersonate anyone he's consumed, but I'm gonna drop a hot take here: he's actually a terrible actor. He can memorize lines just fine, but he can't convincingly deliver anything except for bland military comms like "Roger that, this is squad delta niner-niner, we are currently en route."

The only reason why Alex was able to get away with his terrible acting while infiltrating military bases in Prototype was because he didn't need any acting skills to accomplish his objective. As long as he appeared "in uniform," used the correct military jargon & followed (or pretended to be following) orders, nobody looked any closer.

Alex never even had to affect any kind of persona (other than basic military professionalism), because his own brand of "terse & constantly on edge" fits right in with the miasma of stressed, exhausted masses that are military personnel on the front lines of war.

In the game, there's an escort mission where Alex has to go undercover as helicopter pilot. I failed that mission SO many times, but I'm actually glad I did because on one of my many retries I got to hear the following line of dialogue:

Mercer (psyching himself up before responding to a radio hail): "Okay, okay. You can do this! Just play it cool..."

This man could be absolutely cooked in any espionage setting that requires real, actually convincing acting skills & not just memorizing all the words/phrases used in military comms.

[neerons]

Some of Licht Klein's best quotes

"I suppose being ridiculously earnest could be considered a virtue, but... you should give up on me already. I'm not going to change how I feel—or how I act—no matter what you say."

"I get it... you're radiant."

"Your ears are bright red. (...) I did it on purpose. In case it annoyed you." (—Licht trying to make Emma give up on him by annoying her)

"...Thanks for the sweets. (...) Especially these. They were good." (—Licht appreciating Emma's darioles)

"If you get lost in the crowd, who do you think has to find you?"

"...You're imagining things. (...) I'm the same as I always am." (—Licht being bashful after talking passionately about the theatre troupe)

"My body is covered in scars. You're not used to that sort of thing. I figured it'd bother you. I appreciate the thought, though."

"We're twins, Nokto and I. One of us brings good fortune, and one brings bad. (...) No matter where I go, I cause sorrow to everyone around me. It's clear which sort of fortune I bring. (...) If all I do is cause everyone sorrow... there's no point to me even being alive..."

"I'm begging you... stay away from me."

"This is for you. (...) Your hair clip broke when that cart almost ran you over, didn't it? (...) Anyway... that's why I went into town first thing, before my day started." (—Licht gifting a hair clip to Emma)

"You're going back to the palace, right? I'll walk you partway there."

"...So in other words, you want me to go to this social function with you. (...) I think... ...No."

"Give me back the woman I love." (—Licht to the obsidianite carriage driver who tried to harm Emma)

"After Mama died, Nokto spent less and less time at the palace, and... I discovered what loneliness felt like. We'd spent our lives together, every waking moment, and... it was hard to be without him. It hurt, every single day."

"Just by living, I bring sorrow to everyone around me, and even if I die, I'll still bring sorrow to everyone around me. I don't know what's best, or what's right... I don't know how to atone... I don't know anything..."

"Maybe... I've just been using that old saying... as an excuse to avoid everything. I killed my mother... I ruined Nokto's life... I put you in danger... I don't really believe that I can... make anyone happy."

"I feel kind of pathetic. (...) It's like I'm only ever showing you the worst sides of me."

"When I'm with you... it almost feels like I'm starting to find all the emotions I lost when I was a boy. Pleasure, delight, happiness... A sinner doesn't deserve to feel those things. So I gave them all up. But you always affect me. You mess with my heart. That's why I hate you."

"I wanna hug... Please?"

"Rather than losing myself and aggravating your injury, I'm going to please you even more than usual. I can satisfy you just like this. ...Or do you dislike this kind of service, my lady?"

"You should get some rest. I'll see you back to the palace. There's nothing you can do for him by being here. ...If you're that worried, I'll keep an eye on him." (—Licht reassuring Emma in Rio's route)

"You're so lovely, and so kind, and so warm, and so kind, and so lovely... Hang on..."

"And the seventh is a good-for-nothing womanizer." (—Licht describing Nokto)

"I just remembered how I used to fall asleep when you were explaining military jargon to me. (...) And you never woke me up. You're weirdly nice sometimes." (—Licht to Chevalier)

"I want to become like you. You can dazzle anybody with your strength, and you can see the path to victory in any situation. That's what I need to be, too. I'd never say that to his face, though. That's so embarrassing." (—Licht thinking about Chevalier)

"I punched a whole bunch of Tanzanitian princes. (...) I solved things with my fists." (—Licht talking about his own diplomacy tactics to Nokto)

"Nokto is the only person I can tell something like this to." (—Licht's thoughts)

"I can't believe I'm taking Nokto's advice. Something's got to be wrong with me. But I don't think he was wrong. If I can get her body to be addicted to mine, then her heart won't leave, either." (—Licht's thoughts about Emma)

"I want you to be so obsessed with me that you can't bear to be apart from me ever again." (—Licht's thoughts)

"I want you to adore me so much that you can't think straight." (—Licht's thoughts)

"Keep paying attention to me. Keep adoring me. Keep loving me." (—Licht's thoughts)

"I just don't believe in God's good faith. Besides, my only god is Emma. I believe in her over any Tanzanitian God, even the God incarnate. (...) You don't want to pay the price for manipulating my God, either." (—Licht to Azel)

"You're more normal than people think." (—Licht to Clavis)

"Keep paying attention to me. Keep adoring me. Keep loving me." (—Licht's thoughts)

"I can't help it. I just want to kiss you every time I see you."

"You were super cute."

"Duh." (—Licht's reaction to the soldiers talking about him and Emma being so in love)

"No. No carrots." (—Licht reacting to Yves saying every steak pie needs carrots and peas)

"My goal is to get better at cooking. I want to at least be able to crack an egg without dirtying the wall."

"Ngh... Stop laughing, you... demon." (—Licht to Chevalier mocking him)

"I... I hate women like you."

"I adore you... So much that words aren't enough. Please stay with me forever more."

"I want Emma to see me as a romantic interest. Not as a friend. How do I do that? (...) ...I don't know why I bothered asking you." (—Licht to Nokto)

"When I think about how you never give up, even when things go wrong, and how you're always so optimistic about the future— I'm finally realizing... I've just been running away, all this time. (...) There's nothing more pathetic than the idea of me giving up and running away while everyone else is still fighting."

"Would it be okay if I... visited you sometimes? ...No, it's cruel of me to even ask, isn't it?" (—Licht to Emma once her stay at the palace comes to an end)

"...He was right. They're really nonsensical. But there's one thing that's clear to me from reading them. ...She really did love us." (—Licht talking about his mother's letters)

"I don't know how to find happiness without you."

"...I've never seen one before. (...) To me, you were like that rainbow, even at the start. Always too beautiful, and too bright. (...) Now... this particular light is something I treasure." (—Licht seeing his first rainbow with Emma)

"Don't use Nokto as bait." (—Licht to Chevalier)

"You're so cute it's criminal."

"Feels weird to be called 'cute'. I'm an adult. And engaged."

"I kept trying to figure out how I could have you all to myself, without them interrupting us. And eventually I had an idea. (...) I realized I just had to build a place that's just for us."

"But so long as I have you, nothing's ever rough."

"That night, I had a dream. The start was the same as the dream I knew so well. A figure lay in the middle of that vivid crimson spectacle, and it should have been my mother. I felt suddenly cold and empty. All my calm vanished, and I ran to her side, but the woman lying in the pool of blood had turned into the woman I loved most. The sound that escaped my lips in that moment was strong enough to tear the whole world apart." (—Licht's thoughts)

[roosterr]

what if i said price x reader firewatch au. (psst here it is)

you talk to each other over the radio every day, but you've never seen his face and he's never seen yours. he watches you from his tower as you go about your day, admiring the silhouette of your form in the golden light of the afternoon.

people only take this job if they're running from something, he tells you – including him.

he tells you stories from his time in the military, and insists that you tell him stories about your life as a civilian, despite how much you argue that its all boring in comparison to him. he never agrees. it's not boring to him. you could never be boring.

and then, inevitably, there's a forest fire, and you can do nothing but watch with john the smoke grow closer day after day. the wind takes an unexpected turn and suddenly you don't have an escape route anymore. the only option to save yourself is to hike up to john's tower, and evacuate from there.

he waits for you, because of course he does. despite all the times you tell him to think about himself, to get to safety, that the helicopter will come back for you, but he never listens.

when you finally reach the peak, covered in sweat and soot and smelling of smoke, he's there, waiting, just like he said he would. neither of you say a word as he drags you into his arms, dirtying his own clothes in the process but he can't bring himself to care.

he's waited months to see you, to touch you, to hear your voice untainted by the disturbance of the radio. now he has you, he fully intends on keeping it that way.

both of you took this job to run away from something and, by some string of fate, ended up running straight into each other's arms. do you see my vision.

[my-darling-boy]

Hello Alastair! I hope everything is going well! First of all, Iay I really, really love your name! It is one of the best names I have ever heard. Second, I was would like to s wondering if you might have any book or resource recommendations for someone who would like to know what it was like to be a gay soldier in WWI and WWII. Sorry for this weird ask. Wish you all the best! L

Thanks! And don’t worry, not a weird question at all. While I have broad knowledge, I can really only answer particulars for the British forces as that’s my forte. It’s also difficult to find comprehensive WWI sources on this because being gay in the forces and during the Edwardian era is so poorly documented compared to the 1920s onwards. I thought of these off the top of my head for a broader look:

(WW1 + WW2) Fighting Proud— Stephen Bourne

(WW2) Men at War— Luke Turner

(WW2) Queen and Country—Emma Vickers

(WW2) Coming Out Under Fire— Allan Bérubé (American, there is also a documentary under the same name)

(WW2) My Buddy: World War II laid bare—Dian Hanson (this one also has a LOT of pictures and is apparently kind of expensive or hard to find but it’s a fantastic book if you can get your hands on it)

(WW1) The Sexual History of the War—Magnus Hirschfeld (this one was written over 80 years ago and is both quite clinical and quite a challenging read I think if you’re pretty new to the subject because imo it requires some wider period-relevant knowledge to fully grasp the info but the full text is online if you’re interested)

I think when uni is finally over I’ll do a masterlist type post for way more sources! Because personal exploration and social reception of sexuality is such a complex subject, to have better framework to understand it with the backdrop of the wars (if you haven’t already) I would also recommend looking into:

Civilian life outside of being gay to learn more about the existing social and political landscape, especially class structures (The Age Of Decadence—Simon Heffer, Lost Voices of the Edwardians—Max Arthur)

Being gay in Edwardian life (I weirdly enough cannot think of a comprehensive non-fiction book on this? What exists is usually centred on upper class men whose class afforded them more freedom to be out, comprehensive works on middle and working class perspectives are kind of ignored, which is why there is more documentation of gay officers and not other ranks. I’d probably recommend going down the diaries, memoirs, family historian route here, so probably on E.M. Forster or Siegfried Sassoon and other gay people who lived during the era)

Looking into insular military life and the social and class structures within it, it wasn’t only smelly trenches (Old Soldiers Never Die— Frank Richards, We Called it Passchendaele—Lyn MacDonald, pretty much any collection of diaries or personal memoirs)

“Rough trade” (A Class Apart—Stephen Gardner, probably also The Sins of the City of the Plain—Jack Saul <it’s slightly older that one and is a bit graphic ngl)

Effeminacy/sexuality related cowardice and anti-patriotism accusations (the Eulenburg Affair, court martial cases, homophobic army propaganda)

Social impacts of the Wilde trials on men at the turn of the century (also can’t really think of a good book on this)

[sharkiethrts]

[𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡'𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙗𝙪𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙙𝙖 𝙥𝙤𝙥𝙨]

𝘗𝘙𝘖𝘔𝘗𝘛: 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘫𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘶𝘢𝘯

g/n reader

: both jing yuan and reader are young children here, jing yuan is pining (ineffectively) at the reader

: approximately 465 words (chat gpt said so)

Jing Yuan is late again. At this point, it is a familiar routine: he'd run in with sweat beading up at his forehead- Jingliu would throw a faded hankie at his face, urging him to wipe it off with a glance before nagging at him- "what's your reason this time?" "Did you oversleep?" "Did you go to eat your breakfast at Mr Zhang's store again? The queue is too long there. Go eat at the canteen instead- you children are too whiny about soldier rations."

The truth is, Jing yuan never oversleeps and he always skips breakfast. It isn't a military regime he put himself on at all, no. If Jingliu knew that the brat in front of him was skipping breakfast, she would order the senior guards to eat breakfast with him. He would have to suffer from indigestion for the next few weeks (the senior guards adores picking on the apple-cheeked boy) until Jingliu is finally convinced that the brat will listen.

.

But he won't ever listen because Jing Yuan has a long route to take that he can't afford to miss. Your route. Well, not your route. It's the route through Cloudford. For context: where Jingliu expects him to be at every dawn is miles away. But this lovesick boy remains stubborn, he travels the route to Cloudford with a boyish grin- a blush would bundle up at his round cheeks when he spots you in your familiar attire, your uniform stained with food crumbs from your rush.

"[Name]! Wait up!" And when you do stop, a pretty sight is granted to you- perhaps a morning call from the Eons? There's no way anyone can remain nonchalant and sleepy at the sight of this messy haired, toothpaste decorated face, "Are you heading to class? I heard that your Master brought over some swords he specifically commissioned from the Artisanship Commission! I saw! Let me spoil you in a bit of the fun- one of them is fully jaded, and another-"

He definitely rushed to see you.

"Shouldn't you be going to yours? Miss Jingliu would kill you if she knew that you're all the way at Cloudford right now, Jing Yuan."

His eyes crinkled from the widening of his smile at the call of his name, "She'll survive! Let me walk you there-"

"Jing Yuan. Your cloud knight training?"

Oh eons, did you not hear his plead this morning? Jing Yuan turned slowly, adjusting his attire- trying not to slouch in fear. Getting scolded in front of the other Cloud knights is not as embarrassing and as tear-jerking as it is in front of you. Not to mention, his master knows all the grimy details under his sleeves.

And there she was, in her glory- her sharp eyes piercing his through one strike. He bends over immediately, face apologetic- catching glimpse of your smiling face, clearly amused by the scene taking place in front of you.

"You have toothpaste on your face, boy," Jing Yuan's face flushed red at the newly learned information. Ah crap, did you see that? He glances at your face briefly- yeah, you definitely did. Curse his heart- he was so excited to talk to you he stumbled at basic cleanliness.

"I think it makes him cute, you shouldn't have told him, Miss Jingliu," You hum. You are one of the few unaffected by the intimidation his master poses- your frequent rendezvous with Jing Yuan hyper-exposed you to Jingliu's more reasonable sides.

"[Name], go to class. Your master is waiting for you," Jingliu turns to him, and he immediately regrets not shifting his gaze down at his feet earlier," As for you," she waits for you to go, "Confess soon. I don't want to keep chastising you on your... inconvenient hobbies."

A smile blooms at his face at that.

"Yes Master! Duly noted!"