#Shin Logistics

[shinlogistics]

Overcoming International Shipping Challenges

Website: shinlogistics.com

International freight shipping is a vital aspect of global trade and commerce, involving the movement of goods and raw materials across borders. However, the industry faces numerous challenges, including a complex regulatory landscape, infrastructure limitations, security threats, environmental concerns, and fuel price volatility. To overcome these challenges, shippers must invest in robust logistics and compliance management systems, collaborate with public and private entities, and invest in advanced technologies and data analytics to optimize shipping routes.

Security and piracy are also significant challenges in international freight shipping. To address these, shipping companies should transition towards alternative fuels, adopt fuel hedging strategies, invest in modern container handling equipment, and implement digital documentation and communication systems. Containerization has revolutionized international freight shipping, but it also brings challenges related to cargo handling. Investing in modern container handling equipment and training personnel in proper cargo handling techniques can improve efficiency and reduce the risk of cargo damage.

Political and geopolitical risks can also impact international freight shipping, leading to disruptions in shipping routes and delays in cargo movements. To mitigate risks, shipping companies should diversify shipping routes, stay updated on geopolitical developments, and adopt a phased approach to technology implementation. By embracing technology, sustainable practices, and international cooperation, the freight shipping industry can thrive in the ever-evolving landscape of international trade. Read Challenges in International Shipping and How to Overcome Them, to learn more about.

[sad-emo-dip-dye]

HOW DID THIS GET GAYER OH MY GOD?!

[projectcatzo]

Why did they keep the same typeface and typography between Tokyo Mirage Sessions and Shin Megami Tensei V, it's soooooo fucking ugly and cheap-looking

[malum-forev]

Dr. Bee

Summary: Bucky has quite the reputation but all it takes for him to want to change is an hour with an outspoken little Bee.

Bucky x Nurse!Mom!Reader

Bucky Barnes has many names. James Buchanan Barnes, Buck, The Winter Soldier, Sergeant. 

But on compound grounds, and in hushed tones, he’s usually called an asshole. 

He’s developed quite the reputation. Being difficult is his natural state of being. 

Bucky is constantly late to meetings, doesn’t show up for media days and is always going rogue in missions.

He doesn’t know why he does it, Dr. Raynor says it’s a coping mechanism, but that doesn’t make Bucky want to change one bit. He stays away from people and makes it everyone’s problem when someone decides to talk in his vicinity. 

Sam has tried to talk to him but, as per usual whatever the Falcon says, Bucky does the opposite. Sam’s even tried to convince everyone that Bucky’s like an untrained dog, he needs some kind of exposure therapy. Having people stand up to him and flat out call him what he is, that’s what he needs. 

Sadly for everyone who works with Bucky Barnes, no one has the balls to do it. 

But, everything changed one day. 

Everyone scurried away once the quinjet landed at the Avengers compound. They’d gotten word from someone in Logistics that the mission had gone terribly and the agents had barely come out alive. 

Bucky stormed into the med bay, his heels digging into the floor with such force you’d think it break, only to find it desolate. 

He huffed twice, looking around for anyone who could help with a deep cut on his right arm. 

“Hello?!” He yelled out, his temples throbbing and his left eye twitching. 

Bucky Barnes waited for no one. 

“May I help you?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed at the meek voice coming from behind the nurse’s station. His confusion only grew deeper when he didn’t find anyone there. 

A few seconds later a tiny hand popped up, wiggling its chubby fingers at him. 

“I said,” The little voice drew out the last word, annoyed. “May I help you?”

Bucky leaned forward and peeked behind the large desk to find a little girl.

Standing with her hands on her hips, the little girl with pigtails looked up at him with raised eyebrows. 

Her expression turned to one of concern.

“Are you hard of hearing?” The girl spoke slowly and loudly.

Bucky almost had to cover his ears from the shrill and very high tone of the girl. 

“I am not hard of hearing.” Bucky finally responded. 

“Then why didn’t you respond?” Little miss pigtails crosses her arms over her chest. “I asked you: may I help you?” 

His right eye accompanied his left one in twitching.

After he didn’t respond, the little girl scribbled something down on a paper in front of her. 

“What are you writing?” Bucky said through gritted teeth, how can a person so small get on his nerves so quickly?

“I can’t tell you.” She said in a singsong tone. 

“Why not?”

“You’re not my patient.” She shrugs, rounding the nurse’s bay holding a pink unicorn lunch box, coming face to face with The Winter Soldier. Actually it was more like coming face to knee height. “Can’t talk to people who aren’t my patients. Doctor patient villigage.”

Bucky bit his bottom lip to conceal a smile. “I think you mean doctor patient privilege.” 

“How would you know? You’re not my patient.” The little girl swung her lunchbox, skipping all the way to the waiting room. 

He was equally shocked and impressed. This little girl had more balls than most of the agents he worked with. 

Bucky looked around the med bay for anyone who knew the girl. Mom, dad, cousin, hell he’d even settle for a dog. 

With a groan, he followed behind her. Sure, he was a dickhead but he couldn’t let a kid wander around the Avengers med bay all by herself. 

She sat down, opening the lunch box and taking the contents out.

Bucky couldn’t help but think it was cute how her feet didn’t reach the floor. As he came closer, her swinging feet hit him in the shins. 

He let out an obviously fake and over the top groan, throwing himself on the floor. 

The little girl covered her mouth but her giggles bubbled around the room. 

“Aren’t you going to apologize?” Bucky asked from his position on the ground. “That really hurt.”

“No it didn’t!” She laughed harder. 

“Yes it did!” 

“I know nothing can hurt you!” She said as her giggles died down. “I know who you are.”

“You do, huh?” Bucky sat next to her.

“Mhm.” She said proudly, taking a bite out of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “But my mommy says I can’t repeat the names she calls you.”

Bucky suddenly felt embarrassed. Dickhead, motherfucker, bastard, asshole had a whole different meaning now that he knew the little girl thought they were synonymous to Bucky.

“Well then,” Bucky cleared his throat. “I should reintroduce myself. My name is James Buchanan Barnes but people usually call me Bucky.”

The little girl placed her tiny hand in his and shook it. “I’m not supposed to tell strangers my name so, you can call me Bee.”

Bucky nodded his head once, he almost didn’t notice the peanut butter she’d smeared on his hand. “Well Bee, does you mommy or daddy work here?”

Bee shrugs her shoulders. “Can’t tell you.”

He takes a deep breath in. “Can you tell me how you got here?”

“Nope.” She takes another bite of her sandwich. 

“Can you tell me how long you’ve been here?”

“Nuh uh.”

Bucky runs a hand over his face. “Is this because of the doctor patient privilege?” 

“Yep.” Bee smiles up at him and this time Bucky can’t help but smile back. A blooming feeling erupted in his chest. 

Bucky looked down at his hand, trying to find his most surface level wound. Something that wouldn’t traumatize the girl who’s no more than seven years old. 

“Dr. Bee, I need your help. Do you have anything for this cut?” Bucky points to the small cut on his knuckle. She didn’t have to know how it came to be, or who’s cheekbone had caused it.

“Thertainly Mr. Bucky.” Bee’s missing front teeth were responsible for her lisp. She jumped off of the chair and hurried behind the nurse’s station.

She swiftly wrapped his knuckles in gauze. 

“Do you need me to look over your other arm?” Bee asked sincerely.

“I don’t think you can help with this one.” Bucky chuckled, knocking on the vibranium. “Unless you have anti rust spray.”

Bee threw her head back with laughter but the cute sound was cut short by a door slamming open. 

His mind went blank the second he saw her. Bucky couldn’t peel his eyes off of her, even his jaw went slack. He tried to memorize every single detail of her. Her hair, her eyes, her body, the blue scrubs she wore. 

“Bee!” She gasped, taking the little girl in her arms. “You almost gave me a heart attack, I told you to stay in the common room!”

“Don’t worry mommy!” She smiles up at the woman who’s taken Bucky’s mind hostage. “I’ve been with Bucky!”

The woman finally looks over at Bucky and he’s sure the world has stopped. 

But reality comes crashing down when her eyes lose some of their light. 

“Mr. Barnes.” She gasps, pulling Bee to stand behind her body. “I’m so terribly sorry about her, she wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Bucky gulps down the nervous feeling in his throat. He can’t help but feel like the biggest idiot in this universe. 

All he’s done for the past few years is be cold, and rude, and now the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, who’s got the cutest most outspoken daughter in the tri state area, is apologizing. 

His brain runs out of words and he just stands there. 

Bucky keeps quiet as the woman sutures up the wound on his arm, he’d completely forgotten about it. 

“Bee’s your daughter?” He manages to speak up after a few minutes. 

The woman nods with a smile, keeping her eyes on his wound but Bucky begs the cosmos she looks up at him, even if it’s just for a second. He wouldn’t care if she messes up, if it means their eyes could meet.

Bucky’s kept himself away from feelings for years. He convinced himself he doesn’t need them. But in a quick thirty minutes, Bee and her amazingly beautiful mother have stirred up more emotions than he’s had in the last two decades. 

“She-“ Bucky clears his throat. “She mentioned you’ve got a wide array of names for me.” 

Her cheeks burned red. “Bee must be mistaken, she’s got a crazy imagination. Always coming up with the strangest things-“

Bucky bit his bottom lip. “I’m used to it.”

The woman gulped, finally looking up at him. 

“I’m really sorry about the names.” She whispers. 

“It’s okay, darling.” Bucky’s eyes travel from hers to her lips. “But for next time, ‘Bucky’ is just fine.”

She nods, looking back to his wound. 

“And you are-“

“(Y/n).” She says. 

Bucky’s sure he’s never heard someone with a name as beautiful as hers. 

“You’re all patched up.” (Y/n) takes a step away from Bucky. “I’ll finish your report, I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do.”

Bucky stumbles on his feet as he stands up. Embarrassed, he walks straight to the door but stops before leaving the medbay. 

“(Y/n)?” He turns on his heel. “Would you please tell Dr. Bee I appreciated her help?”

The light in (Y/n)’s eyes returned as she nodded. 

Bucky left the med bay feeling lighter than ever before and he couldn’t help but think a certain little bee had everything to do with it. 

Comments and feedback is greatly appreciated!!

[kooldewd123]

let's talk about this image for a moment

i mean just really process it. because the logistics of this bedroom just keep getting worse the longer i look at it.

that bed is not touching any walls. the shelf is blocking the back wall and there is clearly room to push it to the right.

the bed is only half-blocking the shelf, leaving an awkward gap behind the baseboard.

because the bed is so unnecessarily close to the bureau, he can't open the lower drawer without banging his shin.

the fact that the bureau is so close to the window makes it look like the bureau is also pulled away from the wall, although i'm willing to give tobias the benefit of the doubt on that one and say he just has a really narrow room because his family doesn't love him.

he's definitely banged his elbow trying to open that window with how cramped it is back there.

the position of the blanket implies tobias was sleeping with his feet towards the wall (possibly lying on the bed backwards if that's the baseboard we're seeing, although it might just be a big footboard).

as an added bonus, the model was clearly sitting with his hand resting on a ledge and they did not properly align it with the bed when they photoshopped him into this clusterfuck of a bedroom.

[neyafromfrance95]

ur brain is actually so big for sexy secretary sauron x feral bratty knight galadriel. sauron saw her scheming on that raft and went “oh thank fuck something to fix” and started planning out their next 1000 yrs. i just know he’s thought about investing in a backpack leash

yes, exactly! it was never "she could fix me", it was "i could fix her by making her into the girlboss she desires to be."

his maiar secretary ass started giving her advices about how to successfully present herself as an authority in numenor after he realized her hot temper and impatience could get them drowned by the numenoreans, lmao!

gal confessed that sauron's darkness rubbed off on her and no one supported her great knightly ambitions, and suddenly he discovered empathy and went "omg sorry 🥺 fine, i will help u with ur knightly adventure." then he liked making her into a glorious hero a little too much. if he bound himself to her to make her into his new boss, that would heal her and he would be forgiven for all his sins! *the masterplan*.

this reads like an enthusiastic secretary saying how he could be a queen-maker gray cardinal of her dreams:

he will take care of all the logistics and planning, she can relish in being the shinning jewel on the throne wearing cool crown and armor (that he made. this control freak is responsible for making her clothes and styling her hair too. he is happy to be an overworked secretary if the boss is of his choosing.)

[vesuvianhermitcrabs]

SNUGGLING THE FAMILIARS

(A/N: i'm going through a rut and i absolutely hate everything i write at the moment so i ended up making some fluff for y'all)

Faust – Faust will wriggle up your arm and squeeze your whole entire being until your soul comes out your ears. she knows that technically you can't squeeze her back very well, but she would still like you to try. sometimes when you're with Asra she doesn't know who to hug (she'll settle for binding your arms together)

Malak – logistically it's a little hard to snuggle a bird this size. however he still tries to show affection by nuzzling you with his head at random; and if he sees Julian do it often enough he'll try to hug you. the hugs are just Malak wrapping his wings around your ankles or face (depending on what's most accessible)

Chandra – unfortunately, Chandra doesn't really do cuddles. if you really want to, you can try to hug her, but she would much prefer some head scritches or perching on your limbs. although, she might nuzzle up to you if she's feeling really affectionate

Inanna – an extremely large wolf who believes she's small after years of living with a very big man. she lays on you and crushes all the air out of your lungs like a soda can. Inanna snuggles are super comfy, as a whole lot of doggo means a whole lot of fluff. you might get poked with some of the twigs stuck in her fur when she performs some happy wriggles though

Pepi – cat cuddles!!!! she sits on your chest and naps, making you unable to move for hours at a time. Portia gazes upon you in pity when she sees this (she's laughing her ass off). when Pepi awakes it's to make biscuits on your belly (OW.) very soft and little, honestly the cutest being to ever exist

Mercedes and Melchior – sandwich. all you can see is white fur and there are tails wagging against your shins. you are trapped in a pile of dog and there is no escape. i'm sorry if you had hopes and dreams, but you will never move again. until one of them spots a bird or a squirrel or Lucio or anything even remotely distracting. then you're free again

[kleftiko]

hey i have a request! could you do pining!hawks x reader with trust issues? maybe kind of like a slow burn? you don’t have to do nsfw if you’re not comfortable with it!

❦ SORRY

cw: mature, mdni!, gn!reader, a bit of angst (okay a lot of angst is from your reactions😭)

PART 2

i can’t really do a slow burn in one sitting :/ but i do love me some pining hawks :)

if he were a puppy, his tail would be wagging every time he saw you. keigo was an innocent lover. maybe his desires weren’t innocent, but he grew up within the hero commission, he never had the chance to love and lose or have a broken heart.

when his eyes first landed on you, he finally got to experience all those feelings he never got a chance to.

and you were patient with him.

you might have been the same age as him but you were mature. you had relationships (wether romantic, platonic, or other) that gave you knots, tears, and bruises.

his crush was endearing, and you were patient with him. smiling when he said something sweet, telling him off when he overstepped a boundary, but you would never accept his propositions to go for drinks, or dinner. happy go lucky was never absolute. and though he called himself an optimist, there will always come a time when he puts you down. when he’ll leave you for someone else.

you truly believed that his crush was just that—a crush. if you gave in, he’d eventually tire and dispose of you.

but he was relentless.

the sweet flowers ‘anonymously’ arranged on your desk of yellow and red to match his colour palette. and chocolates for white day even though you didn’t get him anything the month before.

then there was the fact that whenever you spoke, his entire body turned to face you, sharp eyes glued to you. or when he would zoom in front of you just to hold open the door.

he was breaking you down.

actually, if you took the time to step back and look at the bigger picture, you would see that he already broke down your walls. otherwise, you would have found another job. boy, were you stubborn.

“you’re right, you’re right, we need move the event.” hawks sighed and crossed his arms before he flashed you his boyish grin. “how ‘bout we talk logistics over dinner?”

“can’t, i have a date with my instant ramen.” you didn’t bother to keep eye contact as you filed away things.

“i like ramen!” he said as you stood up, his feet padded behind you as you moved down the hall. “i actually make some pretty good shin, i top it with eggs and everything. i’m not asking you on a date—you know—you told me you’re not looking to go out. so i thought we could just hang out, like, friends, y’know? so i can come over, or you can come to mine—or if you wanna be fancy we can go out and get ramen—”

you shook your head at him and turned around to walk backwards.

“keigo, you’re adorable—“ but you overestimated your coordination, the heel of your foot catching the rise in the carpet as you began to fall back.

that would never happen with the no. 2 hero, though, who swiftly grasped your hips, pulling against the momentum of gravity and into his chest. a small ‘oof’ slipped out of your lips at the contact, and you looked up at him.

his eyes and smile were bright. “i’m adorable?”

you were trapped by his eyes. those stupid, optimistic, yellow eyes that drew you closer and closer until, before you knew it, your lips were on his.

your fingers perched softly on his chest. his hands froze, then moved about your body in awkward motions before relaxing and pulling you close. it was clear you took him by surprise, but he wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity.

his lips were soft and comforting, and if you could, you would spend the day kissing him, instead you subconsciously pressed your body into his, feeling keigo’s excited between his legs pressing against you. you wanted to just give in, have him explore your body like he always showed you how eager he was. you wanted to melt into his embrace and feel his skin on yours.

after that, though, he’d get bored with you. the excitement would wear out, and he’d go looking elsewhere.

that thought pulled you out of the trance.

you stepped out of his hold, breaths coming out a little too quickly. and your wrist harshly swiped at your lips, almost as if wiping off his kiss. you missed the hurt and broken expression on keigo’s face.

“sorry.” your voice was hard.

you didn’t give him another look at you walked away.

[avonne-writes]

More subspace!Gale alert: Do you have any thoughts on Gale being blindfolded? I loved that in your fic you had him giving oral to John, but John was so sweet and gentle with him - I agree with the whole dynamic that John only needs to hold his head still to show him he wants Gale to go down deeper etc. rather than be rough in his demands. And I think Gale enjoys it's because it's a goal or task that John is giving him that he feels he can earn John's praise (although the bar is low and John would never berate him if there was something he couldn't do or was too overwhelmed for). I was trying to think of what other scenes would scratch a similar itch and was thinking perhaps Gale would like being blindfolded as a request/"task"? It might be quite a bit further on in their relationship (the soldier instincts to always be aware of surroundings and the heightened vulnerability could take a while to overcome) but when Gale truly takes being in subspace with John as inherently safe and he can trust without abandon, I think perhaps being blindfolded could be calming for him? Perhaps would fit in with his slight OCD/over-sensitisation tendencies you've described and let him switch his brain off to just following John and being looked after? Also being blindfolded might make him feel less self-conscious. Would love to hear any and all of your thoughts, or any other ideas of "scenes" you'd see them doing when Gale is submitting...

The Art of Letting Go

Great question! I'm happy to talk about subspace!Gale. I went a little overboard with the headcanons but I had a lot of ideas:

Blindfolds: Yes, blindfolds work well for Gale - if he’s blindfolded, he goes down into subspace faster. You can see in the fic that he struggles to keep his eyes open in subspace anyway, so a blindfold just speeds up the process of focusing on all the other sensory stimuli he feels.

Sensual tactile play: While we're at sensory things, Bucky can do a great scene by telling him not to move and then drawing slow, light touches up along the lines of his naked body. For example, brushing his skin with a light piece of fabric like a tie, up from his shins, over his thighs, hips and stomach to his chest, circling around his nipples, teasing his neck... Or he might trail his mouth over the same path, nipping him sometimes or sighing against the hills of his body to mix up the sensations. Gale always breaks out in goosebumps at first and his breathing speeds up until he’s tipped over that edge of surrender, and then he doesn’t even think of squirming anymore.

Mirror play: mostly as foreplay because of the logistics of it, but if Bucky orders Gale to watch it in the mirror as he enjoys Gale's body and showers it in love, Gale is going to shiver in pleasure. This is often how they start a scene if they get into the mood in the bathroom - Bucky plasters himself to Gale's back and mouths at his neck, undresses him slowly or runs his palms all over him if Gale is already naked. He holds Gale’s eyes in the mirror as he rubs himself against Gale's ass, and if Gale looks away from the view out of lingering shyness, Bucky grabs his jaw gently and turns his face back towards the mirror.

Orgasm control: having to wait for permission isn’t Gale's favourite because he feels so weak and out of his own control in subspace that holding back is a huge effort. But in the middle of a scene, when he’s still more alert, it works pretty well, and can push him deeper. The other side of orgasm control, multiple orgasms, is something he likes much more. This one is more difficult for Bucky though because he has to judge how to do it without painful overstimulation, because that will pull Gale out of it. Gale doesn’t take pain well.

Non-sexual dominance: you can see in the fic too that Gale really really enjoys the simplest of commands too. Like staying in place, folding his clothes, letting Bucky undress him. This can be extended for a longer scene, like Bucky can literally push him into the first moments of subspace just by telling him how to undress or how to take Bucky's clothes off and then praising him. It's such a strong positive reinforcement. It makes Gale feel like he’s good, that he satisfies Bucky and makes him happy.

Verbal reassurance: this is essential, of course, but it's a tool by itself - if Bucky verbally emphasizes that he’s the one calling the shots and that Gale doesn’t have to think about anything, it feels really good and helps Gale relax. It can also be nice if Bucky gives Gale rhetorical questions like "do you want to be good for me?" while Gale is still verbal.

Oral play: this is quite specific but Gale definitely enjoys having things in his mouth. It can be as simple as Bucky brushing his thumb over his lips and then pushing the tip of it in, or putting a piece of chocolate in his mouth, or fingers in his mouth while he bottoms. But it could also be the kind of oral we see in the fic.

[eretzyisrael]

Palestinian fighters from the armed wing of Hamas take part in a military parade to mark the anniversary of the 2014 war with Israel, near the border in the central Gaza Strip, July 19, 2023. REUTERS/Ibraheem Abu Mustafa

Israeli fighter jets struck a Hamas command center embedded in a school in Gaza run by the UN agency responsible for Palestinian refugees, the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) said on Tuesday.

“The strike was carefully planned and carried out using precise munitions while avoiding harming civilians as much as possible,” the military said in a statement, adding that the operation came about due to “accurate intelligence” provided by the Shin Bet security agency and Military Intelligence Directorate.

The IDF and Shin Bet said the war room was used by Hamas, the Palestinian terrorist group that rules the Gaza Strip, to plan attacks against Israeli troops operating in central Gaza.

More than 15 terrorist operatives, including 10 Hamas fighters, were killed in the strike, according to the IDF. The death toll included members of Hamas’ elite Nukhba force who participated in the terrorist group’s Oct. 7 massacre across southern Israel, the military noted.

As a core part of their military strategy, Hamas terrorists embed themselves within Gaza’s civilian population and commandeer civilian facilities like hospitals, schools, and mosques to run operations and direct attacks against Israel.

The IDF also revealed on Tuesday that in the southern Gaza city of Rafah on Saturday, terrorists were identified in UNRWA’s central logistics compound alongside UN vehicles.

In the footage, several terrorists and gunfire can be seen near UN vehicles and in the area of UNRWA’s logistics warehouse compound.

[itwillbelonelywontit]

epilogue near and young mello has me in a violent chokehold. you think near treats him more gently like this? with a little more emotion, a little more care, because he’s lived the last two decades without him? and maybe that tenderness both discomfits and enrages mello, who patently doesn’t understand, because this version of near is just like the apathetic kid he bullies but also not,,,,,,

picturing near with his hair in a messy ponytail while he’s working late on a case and mello walks up behind him and goes. hey. why don’t you smoke them out with [impulsive, violent, straightforward mello plan that is nevertheless clever] and near is like. silent. and then he smiles and he’s like. yeah why not okay. and it works and near maybe remembers that mello’s dynamism made them an unstoppable pair.

and near won’t tell him how he died but mello is sure that he is dead, because this near looks at him with a strange attachment in his eyes that feels like pity yet isn’t.

mello pulls on his hair out of habit and near takes the bullying with a long suffering nostalgia that makes mello escalate until he’s climbing on near’s body in the middle of the night and oh, poor boy doesn’t know what he’s getting into. I’m sure you can imagine :)

GRRRRR YOU. YOU GET IT. YOU UNDERSTAND MY VISION. I dont want to get too caught up in unnecessary logistics bc thats really not what this is about, but I imagine it's like a sort of. second chance at life but with a catch and the catch is mello comes back as a. checks notes. 13 or 14 year old with only the memories up to that point while the world has moved on. I dont think near would ever actually tell him that he died, and mello can't find any evidence of his own death in the news from the past 20 years, but he knows he died, because theres no other explanation for the way near looks at him like he simultaneously has already lost him but is surprised by his presence.

and GOD I LOVE THIS IMAGE. near kind of forgets how uniquely brilliant mello was, even as a hotheaded teenage. that boy can pull off plans that anyone else would immediately call ridiculous.

I think truly what makes this so crunchy, other than the given age gap power dynamic, is the fact that near is above mello's bullying. sure, near has always been apathetic towards it, but apathy is so much better than whatever sad almost-smile he gives mello every time he yanks on his ponytail or pushes him from his chair. so mello just tries harder. he ridicules every aspect of near's being, he kicks his shins and shoves him at every opportunity, but its even less gratifying than when near was his age (which to him, feels like just yesterday). somehow mello is the one feeling mocked and belittled every time. so of course he eventually attempts to resort to sexual violence... smiles. god. how do I even start thinking about this. because I just know its SO good.

[joelletwo]

in my mind. takazura genders slightly attuned to each other. handwaving away the preshoukason and probably kyuubei-like logistics that would be necessary for canon compliant trans man takasugi. katsura and shouyou that buddy system takasugi to ye olde informed consent clinic for blockers and then t. sweet little pre-gintoki gay-straight childhood romance confused by but not complicated by takasugi gender but he does make lots of mean little YOURE more girly than i am comments.

wartime strategic genderplay (multifold. maybe [its always morally correct to kill off chars dads in ur hcs] sugis parents die as a war consequence and they take advantage of this to fudge takasugi's gender marker records IN the comedy of errors that leads them to getting for real legally married as part of an undercover thing where katsura is in drag. this awakens nothing in katsura for ten more years but takasugi does like being the husband and everybody does like teasing zura about it)

10 yr separation from everyone (??? what is going on in zura's mind in the absence of the normal influences.) takasugi gets back alley top surgery by sword from a rando

so funny to me to have to work transphobic early-series katsura into things. ig he has his egg cracked after working for mama saigou. but he does still go on e early early. hes diying hormones. unrelatedly concurrent-and-post-benizakura katsura sliding his conception of himself to the beleagured wife who has to keep her wayward husband in line made easier by the fact that she has always been caretaking takasugi.

ignoring ss for the purposes of this but farewell shins-onwards zura second puberty rereckoning with herself (tags on this post post-me seeing amanto war nostalgia cosplay takazura in SS) real. still. zura keeping them divorced by being #fullmasc zuramp during twitter assassination. real i guess. zura also gets top and bottom removal surgery somewhere in here. maybe when she's on a government salary. anything else about their open-ended development during and post SS. not thought about yet

BUT. all this to say. if put into bfy world and if given decades to grow in a gintoki-less world. i think zura goes evil ojou-san laugh and takasugi finds himself gravitating back towards womanhood in various senses to interface with zura (and to fill the tae hole in the narrative). i think they orient themselves by each other. my beautiful little two-faced coin wives that never stop mirroring each other even when they swap positions.

[rays-animorphs]

Rachel and Cassie

So, I haven't been reading or posting about animorphs recently, but I have been reading the Scholomance trilogy, twice, and I think observing El and Liesel's dynamic has given me some insight into Rachel and Cassie's friendship.

My initial impression of their friendship was...I didn't buy it. I identify with Cassie a lot -- I've never worn shit-stained overalls to school, but my middle school aesthetic was noticeably closer to Cassie than Rachel. And personality too -- I cared deeply (still do) about concepts like peace and justice and compassion and making he world a better place. I was subscribed to Zoobooks and read them all. When I was in fifth grade, I tried to talk a friend and two of her friends that I thought might also be my friends into doing a class presentation on environmental issues. It didn't work, but I tell you this to illustrate where my head was around that age.

(Plus I very much had Cassie's conflict avoidance. Why can't we all just get along?)

And...my experiences with people who dressed like Rachel or had the interests Rachel has, were not positive ones. They ranged from being lightly pressured into things I did not want to do at best, and getting my shins kicked in the hallways between classes at worst.

So. It's hard for me to picture two people like Rachel and Cassie, at the age that they are, actually getting along.

But...it's possible my middle school perspective was distorted by my considerable lack of social skills -- if my Rachel-like peers were interested in things other than makeovers and playing truth or dare, I didn't know how to draw that out of them.

And Liesel. Liesel Scholomance. Drive, ambition, a terrifying intellect, and ruthless efficiency. And she puts effort into her looks -- as a part of that drive, ambition, terrifying intellect, and ruthless efficiency. I think Liesel and Rachel might have a lot on common -- not everything, I think Rachel is substantially better at having regular human interactions that are about something other than a 30 year vengeance plan, like I don't know, desiring connection or whatever. And Rachel does not have Liesel's gift for managing logistics.

But I think their approach to fashion etc might be about the same: that Rachel might hunt for sales at the mall largely as a way of feeling competent, because she knows she's good at it and doing things you are good at feels good. Having classy, put together outfits is a thing she knows the rules for.

And...maybe when she criticizes Cassie's clothing choices, maybe it's coming from that sort of place, the knowledge that she has a skillset that Cassie does not, that as a friend this is something she can help Cassie with, because at some point Cassie is going to need to give a speech at a fundraiser for the wildlife clinic or a medical school interview, and she'll be more successful at that if she has nice clothes. That fit. And do not have animal poop on them.

Maybe it's not judgement or rejection so much as just -- and Rachel says in her own narrative voice that she respects Cassie, Cassie's work ethic and her values and her intelligence -- maybe it's just, well, we're all human beings with different strengths and weaknesses, and maybe when you recognize that you're good at filing taxes and your friend isn't you offer to help your friend file their taxes, and if they need to move and can't get everything on their own but you're good at lifting and carrying things maybe you help with that, and maybe sometimes you're good at putting together the right look and your friend just isn't but it's an important thing to do in order to get what you want, so it's a thing you can help your friend with. When she needs that.

Maybe.

[wishingforatypewriter]

Here are some Shady Shin headcanons because I feel like I've neglected him in my triad lore.

Shin's mom is from Agna Qel'a in the north and his dad is from Wolf Cove in the south, but he's always identified more with Southern Water Tribe culture and considers himself a southern waterbender. He finds the northern side of his family overly traditional and a little stuck up.

The nickname "Shady" was actually inherited from his father, who sold counterfeit luxury goods in his shop to make extra money. It was originally an insult thrown at him by classmates whose parents felt they got ripped off, but he reclaimed it when he started working for the Triple Threats.

Shin is a decent waterbender, but his real strength in the triad is logistics and organization. He thinks on a systems level and makes sure the triad's various operations are always running smoothly. This talent makes him pretty much indispensable to the leaders of the organization, which is why he was kept around even after he lost his bending. (He gets his bending back eventually, but nobody really noticed that it was gone)

He's still a little bitter that Zolt promoted Viper to second-in-command over him. Shin was clearly smarter and a lot more loyal, but in the end it didn't matter.

Shin absolutely cannot stand Viper, who he sees as arrogant, underhanded, and entitled. They're pretty close in age, and Shin has watched this man get advantage after unearned advantage because of who his father (who was a big shot in the Red Monsoons) and his brothers (who were founding members of the Triple Threats) happened to be.

He's actually kind of friends with Bolin now, even though he was pretty hard on him and Mako when they were kids. They meet for noodles and gossip.

[soaps-hoe-141]

Back Together

The rewrite has begun, I hope yall enjoy this new start. Been hella stressed out lately bout going back to university next week so thank you for being patient with me. Hope yall enjoy

Part 1

Pairing: Soap x Ghost

WC: 7.7k

Summary: Dropping some OC lore, starting earlier than the original Back Together because I had ideas. Got some pining from a distance. I hope yall enjoy. Fair warning no actual Ghost sightings in this one just Soap's gay thots. That man is fighting for his life for real

Warnings: Lil bit of violence

A chill ran down his spine as every muscle pulled taut and his fingers dug into the warm flesh of a thin shoulder, his other balling the sheets up into his fist. Azure hues were shut tight, darting about behind his eyelids as he fought some internal war that the other person laying in front of him couldn't quite understand. His partner hadn't been there, he hadn't seen the things he had and he hadn't been there when everything had gone to shit. How could either of them ever truly understand one another when they hadn't experienced the same things. It had been fight after fight after fight since Soap had gotten back from Chicago and this certainly wasn’t the first night that he’d woken the other up with his shaking and hastily muttered words. However, it was the first time he’d been woken up trapped in the Scot’s grip.

The blonde had never known a moment of peace where Soap’s mouth was in consideration. He’s always talked in his sleep but after Chicago it wasn’t the light hearted whispers he was so used to. It wasn’t warm arms pulling him closer with a soft smile on his face, not anymore. Instead there were fingers digging into his shoulder hard enough to leave bruises, the other’s hands shook even where they held fast, and sweat was covering every inch of skin on his muscled body. His forehead was soaked enough that even the short hairs of his mohawk were stuck to it.

Gray eyes shined where the moonlight struck them at just the right angle. The man was no stranger to violence or the nightmares that it could cause. This though, this scared him, more than that truthfully, it terrified him. The way Soap was holding onto him, he’d never done anything like this before. Sure he’d been waking up most nights since he’d come back but he had yet to get physical. Mostly it was an errant toss of an arm over the bed, or the typical shakes, it was never accompanied by the pain that was blossoming on his upper arm though.

A flash of something passed over his typically smiling features, something that made the wiry blonde flinch and the flat of his palms fly up to the strong chest in front of him. The moment he moved though, the moment his hands touched Soap’s bare skin the flash of azure made him go still. He hadn’t meant to wake the other up, it had been an instinctive reaction, just a quick reflex to protect himself. It didn’t seem that the dark-haired man in front of him would agree with that though, not with the way his eyes went wide and the grip on his shoulder got impossibly tighter.

And then what Thomas had been most afraid and had least expected happened. The hand he’d balled into the sheets flew towards the thin throat. Wrapping around it in an iron grip that had his gray eyes widening even as he stayed dangerously still. Fighting him would only make things worse. It would only trigger that fight or flight response that drove men like him. Thomas was no stranger to war himself but he didn’t fight, not like Soap did. He handled numbers, logistics, supplies…Not this.

Gray eyes stayed locked with azure as the two remained in a deadlock. The pale face before his eyes began to go red in a few seconds, the hands on his chest retreating up his forearms to grasp at the wrists. Thomas couldn’t help it when his foot thudded against a shin, fear pulsing through his mind even more steady than the pain there. His mouth gaped as his lungs begged for air even as Soap refused to give it to him. The long fingers around his wrists began to loosen their grip as the other tried to keep his eyes open, and still he didn’t fight back. Why wasn’t he fighting back?

Blonde hair caught the light of the moon, shining a pale white in the darkness. Light gray eyes were turned into the same shade as the shaft of moonlight that ran down his face before disappearing behind the cloud cover once more, both almost completely white and translucent. They were as far from the bastard who’d drug him towards that open window as they could get. Not Hassan. It had been a dream. This was not the man who had tried to kill him. That had been a nightmare, this was real, bloody hell this was real.

“Thomas…” He whispered quietly as azure eyes widened in surprise and his gaze swept over those familiar pale features with an unsure look. They weren’t pale anymore though, they were red and turning purple the longer he watched. And yet still the man in front of him didn’t move, he stayed shockingly still even while his short, blunt nails dug crescents into the inside of his wrist. Slowly his eyes turned down until he saw where the pain was beginning to blossom on his skin and where strong fingers were wrapped around the long, skinny neck. His fingers.

It was him killing, it was always Soap dealing death like cards in a poker game. It took a long second for his hand to respond to the command to release but when it did the gasp he both heard and saw made guilt settle in his stomach instantly. The hands latched onto his wrists released just as quickly, flying to where Soap’s had been a moment before as if to assure himself his windpipe hadn’t completely collapsed. He was fighting to catch his breath as he rolled to his back taking in gulps of air as he rolled away. Soap pushed himself up with one hand, his eyes dry as he blinked the sleep out of them and tried to follow. His mouth opened in shock as he tried to soothe the innocent man he’d very nearly killed, “Shite, I’m sorry. It’s okay, Tom. Aye yer fine.” He was reassuring the other just as much as he was reassuring himself.

The apologies flowed from his mouth in a steady stream as he tried to ease the guilt settling like murky depths in his thoughts and stomach alike. Thomas though was actively refusing to look at him, keeping his back to the younger man even as Soap reached out a hand towards his thin shoulder. A choked, “No,” escaped past his lips the moment he felt the warm touch of his hand. Blonde hair shifted atop his head as he jerked to look towards it and slapped the typically soothing gesture away. Pain was radiating from where his other hand was covering the sensitive area of his trachea, shying away from the touch he typically leaned into. Shifting even closer to the edge of the bed he ducked his head, rubbing at the place where hands had nearly killed him moments before.

Fear had been what had kept him still in the face of what would have been certain death had he fought back against the killer he’d chosen to share his nights with. Even still he nearly met his untimely demise at the hands of the man who he’d never thought would have laid a finger on him, not in a bad way anyway. This was the man he thought he’d loved. Now fear ruled every action and response as the blonde scrambled off of the bed. Soap watched with a furrowed brow, beginning to start towards him until the tall man backed himself against the desk and pushed his back against the edge of it. Still avoiding his gaze as if meeting it would scald the both of them.

Thomas was still struggling for air, swallowing hard as something caught in his throat painfully and he let out a shallow cough in response in hopes of dislodging it. The pit in Soap’s stomach continued to gape like an open wound, his worried gaze locked on the pale form as the urge to help, to do something continued to pound in his thoughts. Despite what had happened he still wanted to protect the other from what he’d done, from the pain he’d just caused without even really meaning to. Thomas’ breaths were barely making it through even after the strong hands had released him, his heart still racing as the adrenaline in his veins coursed through him. 

They were both hard pressed to see in the darkness that had prevailed in the minutes between Soap’s waking up and now. Even the moonlight from before was shrouded behind a thick cover of clouds, the pale face of the sun’s lover no longer providing its much needed light. The tall blonde couldn’t see the regret and guilt already evident on Soap’s face but the tension and fear was palpable in the room. They both knew what the other felt without needing to see one another to deduce it. And it was Soap’s fault, he’d done this. He needed to make it better, fix it if he could but how? “Are ye ok, Thomas?” His question was barely above a whisper, just audible in the close quarters of his room and the only thing he could think of to say now. 

At first there was no response and a cold sweat beaded up along his brow, it took only another moment of silence for a feeling like ice dripping down his back to accompany it. His skin dotted with goosebumps as the chill of the room began to settle into his bones. There was a quiet sound a couple feet in front of him, the clearing of a throat that he recognized after the tall man did it again.

Finally he received a whispered answer, “I’m ok, John. I just…” His voice trailed off and the Scot shifted on the bed again, trying to maneuver closer only to hear a picture frame on the desk fall backwards as Thomas stumbled into it. Soap could imagine the other man’s wiry form as he tried to put distance between them only to find there was no more room to scramble backwards. A hole opened in his heart at the thought even as the strangled voice spoke again, “I need a second, ok?” There was fear there even as the other man tried to hide it behind a thin veil of strength that Soap couldn’t believe.

Moments of silence passed between the two as the seconds began to tick by. When the ragged breathing finally started to even out along with his rapid heartbeat Soap was sitting at the edge of the bed, watching the pale form in the darkness with concern written plainly over his face. Finally the tall man spoke again after taking a deep, settling breath, “John I know you didn’t mean it but…” His words trailed off again into the darkness of the thin-walled apartment.

The pit in the other man’s stomach felt like a massive sinkhole now. His chest was hurting more than any bullet or knife he’d ever taken. It wasn’t often things stuck with him, especially not like this last mission had. It wasn’t even the danger that had him so hung up on it. Yet he still couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was that had him so worked up. Death had come knocking at his door on more than one occasion, Hassan hadn’t been the first and he certainly hadn’t been the worst so why was the entirety of that mission burned into his mind like a brand? Tattooed across the inside of his eyelids like some sick and twisted movie.

“Tom I’m sorry, I wasn’t tryin tae hurt ye. Ye believe me, right?” The gray eyes barely caught a shaft of moonlight but it was enough to cause another wrenching tear at his heart. He pushed himself up slowly from the bed, reaching a hand out towards the pale figure that was just barely visible in the darkness. “Lay down. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.” When his fingers brushed against smooth skin he felt a flinch away from him and he was quick to pull his own hand back. Of course the man didn’t want to be touched, he’d nearly killed him.

Thomas didn’t move though, not until Soap side stepped him in the narrow space between his desk and the bed. It was then that the tall, wiry man stepped forward to settle down on the edge where he’d been sitting only a few moments before. Pale fingers running over the warmth of the dark sheets that Soap had left behind before his face turned back to find him. He couldn’t see the others' gaze but he could feel it on him, quiet and cautious in the darkness of the night as the Scotsman turned his back to investigate the barely visible desk.

A light wooden frame had been knocked over and he was quick to pick it up, but he felt the way it seemed to wobble in his hand. Soap was barely holding on now as his hands shook and his jaw tightened after he realized it had been broken in the other’s haste to get away. No need for Thomas to know that though, it would only make this whole situation ten times worse if he thought he’d messed something up too.

Soap was quick to grab the sketchbook off the desk as well, forgetting momentarily that there were others hidden inside the drawers of the desk as he made his way out of the room. “I’ll see ye in the mornin’. Get some rest, Thomas,” there was a quiet huff of agreement from the other man as Soap hung his head a bit and shut the door of the bedroom behind him.

The dark hallway had his eyes narrowing as he tried to make his way through it back to where the small combination living room and kitchen area were. Darkness surrounded him, seeming to cut off every other sense just as much as his sight. As close to a sensory deprivation tank as he’d been since they’d thrown him in one for a training session years ago. He’d long forgotten about it before he was standing there knowing the couch was somewhere to his left and counter to his right but having no idea just how far they truly were. It wasn’t like he knew this apartment like the back of his hand, he rarely spent time here, it was more Thomas’ than it was his.

Even with his one hand reaching out in search of fabric he failed to find it until his thigh slammed into it and he let out a strained noise that he did his best to suppress. Last thing he needed was to wake Thomas up for a second time, the first time had already been bad enough after all. His fingers finally found the back of the couch after a moment of blind fumbling before his hand slid along the back of the couch and he rounded it, laying the picture frame and the sketchbook down on the side table. Then he took a step towards the wall and slid his hand along it in search of the light switch. His partner needed sleep, but when it came to himself he had no intention of doing any such thing. Not tonight anyway. There was no telling what he’d do to Thomas the next time he let himself sleep.

As his hand hit the switch and the light overhead flashed on he flinched, eyes shutting tight as they tried to adjust to the sudden intake of visual stimuli. Sparks flashed behind his lids for a moment before he managed to crack one open and make his way back towards the couch and took a seat with a loud huff of air. Exhaustion was still settled heavily in every limb, gravity was taking its toll near tenfold as Soap tilted his head back against the couch cushions. His mind was now whirling with thoughts as he tried to put the pieces of his psyche back together into a seemingly whole piece.

Every breath turned into a weight on his chest, making his ribs ache with the pressure despite the fact that nothing was there to make it so. The fear in those pale gray eyes continued to flash in his mind like a ghost and a warning all in one. Just the fact that he knew that it was him who had caused it only made him hurt even more. His finger picked absently at the corner of the sketchbook while his teeth chewed at his bottom lip in time with one another.

Ghost had saved him, he hadn’t let him go out that window. So why did it feel like he was still standing on the precipice, dangling over the edge like he was in a movie and these were those seven seconds he got before he died? It was like he was stuck in the moment and waiting for the shot to come from somewhere behind him…But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He was back in the United Kingdom and he was safe. Well relatively speaking anyway, so why was this hitting him so hard? Ghost had been there, he hadn’t died, he’d made it back home, he had Thomas beside him, it had been a good night before…The corner of his mouth turned up in a bit of a smirk as he thought to himself, ‘A very good night.’

And yet every time it seemed to be going well with Thomas ever since he got back he always ended up back in that little circle of Dante’s Inferno with Ghost and he was just merely trying to survive. Running on adrenaline and fumes to get himself out of the raging fire that he’d been tossed into with only the Lieutenant’s witty commentary and amazingly terrible jokes to get him through it. It was almost like he couldn’t get the man himself out of his head rather than the entirety of the mission itself. He never replayed that godawful tank fight in his head with Rudolfo. It was only ever the moments in time where Ghost was involved. Like that man was the epicenter of every single thing that had happened there rather than the mission objectives themselves. What the hell was wrong with him?

A low sigh left him as he pulled the sketchbook open to flip through it with pursed lips. It wasn’t likely he’d be going back to sleep tonight anyway, might as well occupy his mind with something that wasn’t just disappointment and shame for the way he’d been conducting himself of late. Stupid little drawings littered the pages, animals of all sorts, landscapes, patterns that stuck in his mind like the lyrics to a catchy song. Never people though.

There was no real reason behind it. He’d just never had the itch to draw another person before. Well…Not until recently anyway. Every time he woke up from those nightmares he was greeted with the desire to create. A want to capture more than just the likeness of a landscape was floating around in his mind now. Patterns accompanied it, but unlike those that he usually drew that were geometric with no real discerning objective, these were part of a larger scheme. They danced around in his thoughts as his finger tapped against the blank page that stared back at him just aching to be filled.

His teeth worked harder at his bottom lip then, his fingers beginning to itch with a desire to doodle over the paper despite knowing it was a bad idea. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d capture a likeness he wasn’t really meaning to. A burning impulse was stuck in his mind and he was trying desperately to ignore it as his foot tapped against the hardwood floors. But then again, when had Soap ever been known for his impulse control? Never. Before he even really knew what he was doing he had pulled the pencil out of the spiral binding and had it in his hand as he set himself to work. 

Even his mind worked seemingly without thought, honestly when did it ever work with it? Before he knew it an outline of a pair of shoulders were taking shape. Anatomy had never been something he was good at, it was one of the many reasons he always hated the way people looked when he drew them. They always just looked…wrong.

These shoulders though. A flash of heat found his cheeks that he barely even registered as he drew them. They were broad and angled a bit weird but still Soap pressed on through it, wanting to see what else his mind could put onto the paper. It wasn’t even a fight anymore to ignore every warning bell that was telling him not to continue. He’d been fighting the urge to put pencil to paper for weeks now because he knew if he did this would be the only thing he’d be able to think about. Now though the urge was too strong. It was an impulse he couldn’t control and if he were being completely honest he didn’t really want to control it anyway.

Hips took shape next, not much thinner than the shoulders even though he knew somewhere in his knowledge of anatomy they should have been. Not here though, they were meant to be broad. An errant comment from his mind fell out of his lips as he smirked down at the page and whispered, “Bastart is broad everywhere.” Similarly the legs were beginning to appear on the page amongst the many lighter strokes of the pencil. Hell, even the figure's neck was thick, and the hands surely would have been as well if they weren’t hidden inside of something at the place where the figure’s stomach would have been.

It started out rough, like he’d been etching something into a piece of wood rather than outlining on a piece of paper. As his mind formed the figure with more surety though he began to clean the lines up, losing even the errant thoughts that had been floating around as he lost himself to the bursting flow of creativity. He’d locked it down so long it was an inevitable rushing forth of the tide that was his artistic side, and for the first time since he’d gotten back he felt happy, content, excited even. Or at least that’s what he was telling himself.

When he'd started he hadn't really had an idea who it even was he was drawing. Another lie he was repeating in his mind to keep that painful bite of guilt at bay. In truth every thought since he'd come home had been dominated by a single face and name, and it wasn't the man that should have been occupying his every thought. As much as he denied it, and made excuses to himself he was infatuated by him. In awe of his reputation and awestruck by the attention the other paid him without really even seeming to think about it. Every time he heard his name come out of the other's mouth he felt a giddy sort of excitement. An unexplainable tingling of nerves in every limb and down his spine that had him tensing up and somehow simultaneously relaxing around him.

This should not have been a feeling that he got when talking to his Lieutenant, that much he knew and it somehow only made him want to feel it even more. He was not only his superior but also a man who was not his fucking boyfriend. The man he’d been living with for a month and that he'd been with for ten months now. It should have been the pale, skinny blonde he was infatuated with. Not the tall, broad, scarred halfway to hell dirty blonde with hazel eyes who gave him orders nearly every day.

But it was. Ghost had captivated every ounce of his attention and he couldn't seem to stop his hand from drawing the form he could only dream of underneath those clothes, and Christ almighty had he dreamed of it. There was yet another reason to feel guilty for something it felt like he couldn't even control. Of course he hadn't outright cheated on Thomas but every time he even thought about hazel eyes or the ink scrawled along his thick forearm it felt like he was. 

And just as the thought of it crossed his mind it appeared on the paper seemingly of its own volition. Darker lines etched in a pattern that had been eating away at his psyche one day at a time since he’d first seen it driving in the busted up truck they’d driven out of Las Almas in. He wasn't even sure he was the one drawing this anymore to be completely honest. Something had to have possessed his hand, just taken hold and refused to release him until it was finished.

It wasn't until he started to add the features of the face that he felt a hint of control returning. Steering himself unconsciously away from drawing the features he remembered, only barely, that were hidden beneath the mask and instead drawing the mask itself. The barrier between Ghost and the rest of the world. His hands were hidden in the pockets of his jacket and the hood was pulled up around his head covering dirty blonde hair he knew was hidden beneath. The hazel eyes he couldn't seem to forget were darkened by shadows but it didn't take a genius to figure out who the person in the drawing was. 

Whether Soap thought it was a good likeness or not, whether he found the lines to be wrong and some things to not look just right, there was no doubt it was the Lieutenant who stood in the middle of that page. With the fabric clinging a bit too tight to his shoulders and he wasn’t sure if that was because he’d drawn the man’s shoulder’s so large and out of proportion or if he’d done it on purpose. Maybe a bit of both? Probably a bit of both. After all no one ever drew someone as hot as this by accident, even if he wanted to believe he had done it because he’d been compelled to it didn’t matter. He knew somewhere deep in his gut it wasn’t true.

A sigh fell out of his mouth as he ran a finger over the figure, smudging the lines slightly as he did. Caressing what his imagination had created and creating shadows over the figure’s front at the same time. The dark graphite clung to his index finger as he lifted it to take a quick look, rubbing his thumb over it a few times as he continued to contemplate the drawing and every detail he found himself undoubtedly hating and simultaneously enjoying it all at the same time.

It was wrong, he shouldn’t have drawn this man, and yet just the sight of the terrible little sketch made his lips twitch in an attempt to smile that he suppressed nearly immediately. Because it was wrong. This whole thing was wrong, he never should have let himself draw it. If he was going to fantasize about other men then he shouldn’t even be with Thomas. Christ.

His hand flew to the remote on the table beside him, pressing the power button a few times until the TV on the wall finally flickered on. It was the middle of some shite movie, probably went straight to DVD considering how late it was playing. Some American movie about partying and college life or whatever the fuck they did over there rather than studying. He made an attempt to relax back into the couch cushions before his leg began to bounce once more and his mind wandered from the late night movie and back to the face he couldn’t seem to get out of his head.

“Fuckin hell,” he growled to himself as he tossed the remote down onto the couch along with the sketchbook and stood up with a huff of air like he’d made a decision. He had. Hungry. That’s what he was. Nothing else. Well hungry and thirsty. Yeah, he was just hungry and thirsty. He stepped around the end table and made for the kitchen in search of something to sate the hunger he imagined was gnawing at his stomach now.

It didn’t take long for him to fish around inside the cabinets of the kitchen and pull out a bag of crisps from their hiding place before he looked it over in a rush. When had Thomas bought tomato ketchup crisps? He hadn’t had these things in years and it was just nostalgic enough it was all he wanted right now. That man was too good for him and that was a fact. Why was he so bad for him then?

He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard something moving inside his room through the thin walls. ‘Be quiet John, fucks sake,’ he thought to himself before the movement in the other room quieted finally. A light sigh left him before he opened the bag and set them down on the counter next to him. The fingers on his freehand tapped in a steady rhythm on the counter next to him as his eyes turned up to the TV to watch the movie despite his better judgment.

Graphite smudged on the counter tops, turning small spots of the light material into a smattering of his fingerprints that would give a forensic specialist a hard-on. His attention was far from any movie, food, or the countertop he was beginning to stain now though. Even as he shoved a few crisps into his face he couldn’t stop thinking. For one moment could he just let Ghost fade away? The man was god knows where in the world right now and he wasn’t his problem. Thomas was a room away and he had problems far greater than a fantasy he was drawing up about the Lieutenant he couldn’t get out of his head. He needed to focus on the immediate world around him for once, Christ’s sake.

“He’s probably hunting wolves or some stupid shite,” Soap mumbled to himself before he realized that he had said that aloud and glanced around a bit nervously as if expecting to hear a voice asking, ‘Who is out hunting?’ However, it didn’t come. He was alone at least as far as the kitchen and living room were concerned, and there was no way Thomas heard him mumbling through the walls. At least he hoped there wasn’t.

It didn’t take him long before he was drifting towards the cabinets once more and pulling out a bottle of Bacardi before heading back to the couch with the rest of the crisps and his newly acquired bottle of liquor. Cheap and fast. Chase those thoughts away as fast as possible cause otherwise his head was going to fucking explode.

He sat with his feet up on the couch and one arm behind his head to prop himself up while he watched the TV. His other hand was busy unscrewing the cap of the bottle. He didn’t bother to really look at it while his attention stayed on the screen mounted to the wall. Soap had been drinking for a long time now, and yet he’d somehow kept it from being a crutch for his mental stability. Yet for tonight he’d let it win, that little voice that told him to just drown it all because bloody hell all this anxiety was just getting him wound up too tight. Like a rubberband ready to pop under the stress.

The sketchbook mocked him every second he laid there from the other end of the couch. His fingers fidgeted on the neck of the bottle and the edges of the bag as he tried to put his mind somewhere else despite the hazel eyes that continued to flash in his mind like an ill omen. His defeat was near and it was that big cunt that was going to assure it. A long drink pushed the face back from his immediate forethought as he sighed and tried to settle into the couch cushions even as they made his neck and back ache.

Poor Thomas shouldn’t have to deal with him, with any of this shit really. He deserved better. Hell the man had been working his ass off for the past two years, ever since he joined the military. The last thing he needed was a partner who was thinking about other men and tried to kill him in his sleep. And even as he tried to hate himself for it, tried to be disgusted with himself, he couldn’t quite manage it.

How was someone so callous they couldn’t even feel bad about not only fantasizing about another man, but also fantasizing about a man who had never even asked for it? It was disgusting. He was disgusting. Sure Ghost had given as good as he’d gotten, but it was Ghost. The man had the social IQ of a fuckin donut, had the fucker even known what he was doing when he’d flirted back so easily? Probably not.

He rolled over on the couch to his side, trying to put the sketchbook as far into the back of his mind as he could manage. Taking a series of deep breaths he focused solely, or so he tried, on the movie that was playing. Wasn’t easy though when he’d already missed half of the damn thing and it wasn’t exactly interesting to begin with.

“Christ,” he huffed under his breath before he lifted his freehand to his eyes and rubbed at them. They felt dryness and gritty but after a few seconds of rubbing it finally started to ease. And then he was back to drowning the thoughts once more in the bottle of rum. Anything but the thoughts of those broad shoulders, the scarred skin that sat beneath the mask, and hazel eyes that he was slowly but surely turning into a slave for.

~~~~~~(Morning)~~~~~~

“What the fuck, John!?” A loud voice cut through the pounding in his skull. It jolted him awake just as something that was meant to be soft but that the speaker had turned into something that was almost rock solid slammed viciously into his face. “I said, what the fuck, John,” the voice reiterated much louder this time. The pillow from his bed fell off his face and into the floor as he sat up as quickly as he could manage and his eyes shut against the sudden brightness of the living room lights. 

Only a groan came from the Scotsman as he tried to gather his thoughts from the night before. The last thing he remembered was eating those chips and then…A movie maybe? Rum. Definitely rum. Rum always hit him hard, not as hard as tequila shots but it wasn’t that much further off. Tentatively he cracked open an eye as he turned just in time to catch Thomas leaning down to grab the empty bottle of said rum off the ground.

Fuckin hell. He’d drank the whole damned bottle? Why hadn’t he thrown that shite away? Oh christ he was gonna regret th- “Why the bloody hell were you drinking last night?” Gray eyes shot across the open space between them as Soap fought to pull words from the depths of his thoughts. Must have been a rhetorical question though because the moment that he raised a finger to stop the other for just a moment Thomas pushed onward with his endless interrogation, “Were you drinking before you came to bed last night, John?”

The azure eyes widened a bit at the accusation as the memories of last night resurfaced and he shook his head. A flash of pain flared behind his eyes both emotional and physical as he shifted towards the edge of the couch, “No, Tom, I wasn’t fuckin drinking. Well not before, ye know, what happened- What I did, I mean…” It seemed that the taller man wasn’t taking the answer either way though. Not with the way his thin lips pursed in barely contained frustration at him.

“We’ve talked about this, John. Alot. You can’t just shove it all down and drink your cares away. It isn’t healthy, my love.” It was clear that worry was driving him. A prick of fear that maybe Soap had finally given in to those urges after so long fighting them down. Even in the frustration of finding him hungover on the couch at 6:00am the man was still more worried about him rather than the purple bruises that had already appeared on his thin neck.

Thomas stepped closer to the couch as Soap continued to fight an internal struggle in regards to his infatuation. The bottle was still in the Brits’ hand as he began inspecting the other items cluttered about that he must have forgotten getting out in his drunken haze the night before. His voice, still marred by frustration, was now tinged with worry as well, “If your head wasn’t feeling right you should have come and talked to me, it isn’t like I slept much last night anyway. You need to start talking to me more, John. That was the whole reason I moved in with you. We weren’t seeing each other enough, remember? The communication wasn’t there. And we were doing so much better before you left on whatever the hell that was,” the pale blonde hair shimmered in the light as he shook his head and sighed, trying not to push too hard so early in the morning.

This was a conversation they’d had before, of course. Not a bit of it was new to either of them, in fact it was all becoming so tiresome now especially with how much his skull was beginning to pound and how early it was. Neither man was in the particular mood to hash this out but hash it they would if that’s what Thomas wanted. Even if part of him just wished that the Brit would stop fucking asking about all of the shite that had happened while he was away. He couldn’t say anything about it whether he wanted to or not.

Words continued to pour from the pale, blonde’s mouth like a torrential river. Fast and unrelenting in its current. Saying things that Soap couldn’t bother to listen to anymore while he tried to nurse his hangover by tuning out the main source of his growing headache. Well he couldn’t be bothered until he saw a hand reaching for the things piled at the end of the couch. Before he could remember just why that was worrying him though the hands had already grabbed the opened sketchbook. Thomas didn’t even react at first as his eyes stared in what seemed akin to confusion before the pale hues darted to look towards the Scot and then back down.

“Who is this?” Who? Who the fuck was who? Soap’s head lifted a bit, the fingers he’d been using to massage the bridge of his nose stopping for a moment while he looked up at the blonde. When his shoulders shrugged in a noncommittal answer along with a subtle shake of his head the other man set his jaw in annoyance, now that was a look the Scot was coming to recognize well. It reminded him of when he’d been scolded as a child, or when his parents had shamed him for something he’d done wrong. A mental punishment in contrast to the more physical skelpt arse he usually received.

When he didn’t answer though it only seemed to spur the other’s emotions on, it wasn’t hard after a sleepless night though, “I asked you who the bloody hell this is, Soap.” Sure he’d asked that, but it was beginning to sound like less and less of a question and more and more like a demand. Pushing himself to his feet the Scot took a step closer, holding out his hand for the sketchbook, only for Thomas to purse his lips a bit more at the action. Rather than handing it over he merely turned the book around to show him before demanding again, “Tell me who this is.”

A spark of rebellion flared in his mind at the command. Nay the order that Thomas was leveling at him. His teeth dug into the meat of his cheek, quite literally biting back a hasty retort that he could feel itching the tip of his tongue. After a night of drinking and no sleep it seemed the both of them were on the edge of their sanity when it came to one another.

Soap tried to come up with as calm of an answer as he could with the growing headache and hard-to-answer questions being thrown about the living room so early in the morning. “It’s just a person Tom. Someone I thought it might be interesting to draw, you know?” Soap’s eyes flicked down to the face in front of him, a bit of shame rising in him as he saw the figure of Ghost staring back at him. Not just the figure though, hazel eyes were currently holding him hostage with their intensity just like they did whenever he saw him in real life.

When the fuck had he drawn Ghost’s face? Hell when did he have the time to color that face!? His breath was stuck in his throat as Thomas withdrew the proffered sketchbook and started flipping through the pages with narrowed and critical eyes. It was like he was looking for something else to get angry about now. Christ he probably was with how he’d been demanding to know who the figure he’d drawn even was. Thomas had always been a jealous one and it was no different now, the man didn’t even have a real person to question him about and yet he was still pissy. About a fucking drawing.

“John I’m not a bloody idiot, you don’t draw people. You never have. And here you are drawing this guy repeatedly. Why?” A sense of stubbornness kept him silent now as the other tried to force an explanation out of him. No doubt his anxieties were driving him up the walls, but Soap’s own were no less shy about making their appearance in this early morning hangover haze. “Is this who you were with in Chicago?” The question slammed into him so hard that part of him wished it had been an actual truck rather than words.

A smattering of syllables fell from his mouth as he tried to form a coherent thought to answer, yet none found him. The only thing he could manage was a look of shock and surprise as if Soap was questioning the absolute audacity that the tall, blonde had to even ask that. Thomas wasn’t even supposed to know he was in Chicago and here he was accusing him of…something. He wasn’t quite sure what it was yet, but there was definitely an accusation being leveled at him right now.

Before he even had a chance to answer him though the Brit sighed and tossed the sketchbook down with a shake of his head, “I’ll take that as a yes and your famous, ‘I cannae tell ye that Tom.’” The other man mocked his accent as he pushed by him with a hard slam from one shoulder to another. He probably deserved that but that didn’t mean Thomas should have done it.

Another wild round of words fell out of his mouth then as Soap started after him with a hasty explanation, “Aye, I cannae tell ye, but just because I can’t doesn’t mean what yer thinking it means, Tom.” The blonde busied himself at the kitchen counter as he grabbed his keys and kept his back facing the Scot with the petulance of a child who was ignoring their crush because they’d said something they didn’t like. “Would ye stop for a second? He’s no one Thomas. No one that mat- He’s just no one. He saved my life and that’s all I can tell ye, okay?” There was a pleading tone in Soap’s voice now, near begging for the other to drop it and just accept what he could tell him which sadly wasn’t all that much.

In a moment Thomas whirled on him, his pale face turning red with frustration and a building sense of anger now. “He’s no one? He’s bloody no one! If he saved your life he’s not no one, John. He’s someone. And if you’re drawing him, he’s more than just someone. Do not fucking lie to me, I don’t appreciate lies and you know that.” Soap groaned a bit as he stepped back, resting his backside against the couch with his hands braced against it. Fingers dug into the fabric of the couch as Thomas grabbed his bag off the ground next to the door.

He tried to take a step forward again as he pleaded, “Thomas Wade would ye just hear me-”

“No!” He stopped with his keys in one hand and the other on the door handle before he took a breath and shook his head, “I’m done hearing you, John. I’ve been hearing you out since you came back last month. I’ve been patient and I’ve been understanding, but you have hurt me in more ways than just one. And last night was not the first time,” he barely managed to get the last words out as Soap sighed and his teeth bit into his bottom lip, chewing at it as he took the verbalized anger that the other was throwing at him. “You won’t even say that you love me, you call me Tom like we’re just mates or some shite, so right now I’m leaving. And you can figure your shite out on your own time, I’m done.” The door swung in on its hinges as Thomas pulled it open and started out before reiterating, “I’m fucking done, John.”