#brekkie thoughts

[brekkie-e]

Lots of posts about who Felassan is in the Masked Empire out there these days. All factual. All important. All leaving out his most defining trait.

Felassan is a fucking weirdo. He's so over everything. He says the most insane shit. When asked about it he pulls "idk, I'm Dalish?" out of his ass and doesn't even have the decency to make it sound true.

He eats bark, kids. All you Solavellan girlies out there need to know a couple of centuries of putting up with your man's bullshit leaves you chewing random pieces of bark and teaching stray lesbians to murder like it's a social experiment.

[brekkie-e]

Here are some of mine!

1. Wyll’s story seeming a little more complex. His scene at the party where Mizzora tormented him was so interesting. I’m okay with changing it so his mortal enemy is not a level 3 goblin, but I also miss the goblins at the temple playing a game of “how you’d kill the Blade” and letting Wyll join.

2. The possibility! There were so many narratives that seemed so interesting. Astarion saying Gandrel likely didn’t know he was working for Cazador because of how politically powerful he was. I was convinced there would be so much drama, politics, and intrigue involved in taking him down. Witnessing more of his vast network of goons. Or the Hags! Finding all the extra letters between Ethel and her sisters! I was looking forward to meeting more of them and seeing that turn into it’s own side quest. Or further consequences with the Shadow Druids down the line.

3. The options to physically defend yourself against Astarion during the bite night without killing him. I remember being able to elbow him in the face, and briefly being able to kick him in the nuts. I would like to play a character who is a lot more firm with him about his antics, but I don’t want to automatically kick him from the party for it.

So what's a thing that y'all miss from Early Access?

The ones that come to mind for me are

1. how often the characters would comment on stuff you actually did in the world (like, killing Gandrel, rip Astarions "Who needs morals when you have good hair?") Also specifically miss being able to talk to everyone in camp the night you think you'll transform, instead of just getting the cutscene with Lae'zel trying to kill you.

2. the way that the tadpole powers worked. I liked the whole "who do you dream of" bit, how the tadpole was so clearly trying to seduce you to use its powers, how using ur Ilithid powers had actual consequences, especially in dialogues.

3. might be controversial, but I also liked it better when Gale's Arcane Hunger needed actually powerful magical items (like the Necromancy of Thay, the Idol of Silvanus or the Iron Flask). With how ppl have been complaining about him eating ur magical items, you'd think that's still the case, but the items he does absorb in my playthrough are all basically useless, which makes the whole "I'm so sorry, I know this is a lot to ask" thing feel very........... flat

[divinebunnii]

disheveled pup just woke up and licks peanut butter off paw ~ more at noon

// tip me // // shirt shop //

[newvision]

it’s so sunnyyyyy I can do my creative writing for uni in the garden with my sunglasses on & smelling like sun screen!!!!!!!!!! I spent yesterday evening with my friends and we talked so much I got home by three in the morning!!!!!!!!!! I didn’t feel the need to drink a sip of alcohol!!!!!!!!! I love wearing tank tops again and I’m not embarrassed by my body!!!!!!! My relationship with my mum has improved drastically over the past five months!!!!!!!!! Whoever made me think my twenties would be horrible????????? we're so back baby

[duck-n-clover]

Can I rant about something so specific to me only. Yes that's what this blog is for I guess but. Aughh. Here we come tags

[kiefbowl]

here's some more unsolicited adult advice as someone in her 30s who knows there are a lot of twenty somethings and teens that follow her: if you're trying to build a new habit you really want, and are struggling, you have to break it down to the smallest building block possible. If you're failing, you haven't thought small enough. I know it's possible to hear stories of people who just snapped into new life mode one day by "just deciding", but truly what's happening there is a confluence of events and experiences that force the brain into some sort of epiphany. You cannot will an epiphany. It'll never work. For most times of your life, you will need to build habits intentionally, and that means not working against yourself and to set micro goals. like laughably tiny goals. because once that easy tiny goal is met, you can build off it, tiny goal after tiny goal until you reach your big goal.

so for example, if you want to be a morning person that gets up at ass crack dawn so that you can work out, eat brekkie, shower, and get to work at a leisurely pace, and you're not that person because you will hit your snooze button 800 times, you have to get the big picture goal out of your head. think smaller. "I want to get up 15 minutes earlier than I normally do." If you can't do that, make it 5 minutes. "I want to cook breakfast every day" hell no too big. "I want to eat something, anything, before I leave the house" hell yeah, fantastic. When you go to the grocery store to make sure there are things in the house for breakfast, if you keep buying bagels and microwave sandwiches that you ignore, you gotta think smaller. SMALLER. What's something so easy to eat that you'll never say no to. Is it a yogurt? Is it a handful of grapes? Is it a hostess ho ho? is it hot cheetos? FORGET the big picture of the fantasy put-together woman preparing a full nutritious meal that you'd be proud to admit to. Think only of the smallest goal you can achieve. If you know you can't say no to an ice cream sandwich, put a ton of ice cream sandwiches in your freezer and have one for breakfast every day until it's so instilled in you that you gotta get up to eat something you can start diversifying.

It sounds like, from the lack of habit place, that must take forever. But really it doesn't take too long to form the habit once the discipline kicks in. the trick is that you have to give your brain something easy to become disciplined to. If it's too hard, think easier and smaller. No one has to know. Literally no one in the gd world has to know that for 4 weeks when you were 22 you had an ice cream sandwich for breakfast every day. who cares. If it gets you eating oatmeal with fresh fruit in a few months who cares. you did it, yay. smaller, easier. if you can't do it, think smaller and easier. smaller!! EASIER!!! You are not thinking smaller and easier enough. break your brain thinking how small and easy you can go. SMALLER. EVEN SMALLER, SIS.

[brekkie-e]

In my heart, when Solas and Elgar'nan are having their spill the tea bitch sesh during the Blood of Arlathan quest, and Solas tells him that Mythal only joined him to keep him at bay- Elgar'nan gives the best villian laugh in the series and says with so much false pity in his voice "Is that what she told you?"

[kafka-shores]

ja pierdole

[amomohthefairy]

Scrumptious Brekkie🍳

[naenaex0xx]

the grandfest lobby really reminded me of how much I love splatoon... but playing in the splat battles reminds me why I stopped playing splatoon :')

[majinbangus]

more of big simon, little simon, and mama

He's drinking his morning tea when there's a knock on his door. Unlike last time, it's a simple rap of three knocks. A patient sound. He's not expecting anyone, but he has a feeling who it might be.

Simon finishes sipping his drink, the warmth of the tea spreading down his chest, sending a pleasant buzz throughout his body. He tilts his head back as he drinks the last of it, letting out a sated groan. It's been awhile since he's had tea this good.

Another three knocks sound off again, this time more enthusiastic. Simon quirks a brow. More than likely, those three thumps were from his little name twin, knowing the impatience of a child.

He places his mug in the sink and walks over to open the door, unsurprised when he sees you and your boy. Not an unwelcomed sight, but certainly a curious one. Last time he saw you was the morning after the night he watched over you, staying for a quick, slightly awkward breakfast when little Simon insisted, and when big Simon took one look at you, sickly and lightheaded, and thought it best he made something for your small family lest you faint and scare your boy again.

"Simon!" The lad greets with that toothy grin of his. Mostly toothy. Your boy is missing one of his top incisors. "Good morning!"

"Morning." Simon nods back and drawls, "What do I owe the pleasure?"

The rambunctious child practically bounces in place, tugging your hand cheerfully, addressing both you and Simon. "Me and Mama want you to come with us for breakfast."

"Brekkie?" Simon squints down at the lad, tilting his head. "Why?"

"Mama says it's a thank you for when she was sick, and I wanted to spend time with you!" Little Simon says with a gleeful smile.

"Is that so?" Simon murmurs under his breath. You got yourself a sweet lad. So free and honest, unafraid to share his emotions with the world. The childlike happiness being something he hasn't seen in a long time. A kind of innocence that needs to be protected and cultivated. Something Simon never really got for himself.

Maybe he could do that for you and your boy.

"Simon?"

He blinks and focuses on the lad. "Yeah, mate?"

His name twin gives a hopeful look. "Please say you're coming! Me and mama really want you to come!"

"You and your mum, huh?" Simon huffs a little, amused. "Is that what she said?"

He turns his gaze to you, and instantly, all thoughts of breakfast fade out of his mind, a smirk spreading across his lips. You look as if you haven't heard a word he and your boy exchanged. Probably his fault from the looks of things. He didn't bother changing out of his sleep clothes when he got up- a rare, indulgent, lazy day for him- and opened the door as is. Shirtless. Shameless. In nothing but a worn pair of fading plaid sweatpants.

You're staring. At his chest, at his abdomen. Over his arms and down his tattoo. Eyes brazen as they rove over all of his perfections and imperfections. His muscles... his scars... his happy trail.

You carefully avoid looking down any further.

Cute.

"Ahem." Simon casually leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. Perhaps flexing a smidge. There's no one here that would call him out on it, though. He cocks his head when you continue to stare. He clears his throat more clearly. "Ahem."

No response except for your mouth dropping slightly open when he flexed his arms. Hah. He swears you'll start drooling soon. When was the last time you saw a shirtless man? Was it when you were still with your ex? The man must have been something unremarkable if this is your reaction to seeing Simon scruffy and shirtless.

What would your reaction be if you saw more of him? In a different setting, if it were just you and him? What would you do? What would you say? What then?

Dangerous territory to be thinking about. He should probably stop. He doesn't want to.

"Mama!"

Little Simon notices the staring.

That gets you out of your daze. And big Simon out of his.

"Huh? What?" You blink and finally tear your gaze away, squeezing the smaller hand in yours. Unfortunate. He quite liked your ogling. "What is it, Simon?"

It's a hilarious sight. You, the mother, looking like a child who's hand got caught in the cookie jar (the cookie jar being big Simon), and your son looking like the reprimanding parent placing his hands on his hips.

"You were staring!" Fucking, hell. It even sounds like your son is scolding you. "You told me it was rude to stare!"

You sputter, "I- I wasn't!"

"You were," Simon cuts in, ruthless and smirking when you look back at him, an embarrassed tension puckering your lips. If he wasn't so chuffed, maybe he would take mercy on you. But he is, so he won't. Simon rolls his shoulders, stretching his muscles- maybe flexing a little more- watching your eyes dart from his face to his body and back to his face again before he turns to your boy. "Wasn't she, mate?"

"Yeah," Little Simon agrees, oblivious to your turmoil. "Now you have to say sorry, Mama!"

Big Simon, on the other hand, is a cruel bastard for taking pleasure from your floundering.

"But I didn't mean-"

"Try again. You heard your lad." Simon pushes off the doorframe and purposefully stands to his full height, making himself bigger as he leans toward you. "You wanna make a good example, yeah?"

It's adorable the way you struggle to maintain eye contact, biting your lip. "Y... yeah..."

Simon raises an expectant brow, and you gulp. "Uh. I... I'm sorry."

"What for?" Simon asks just to make things difficult for you and you squint at him. He smirks. Fine. He'll allow you some breathing space and back up.

You give an audible sigh of relief when he leans against the doorframe again. "I'm sorry for... for staring at you."

It's fun watching you squirm, eyes gleaming widely and silently pleading for mercy. Should take a picture so it would last longer. He holds in a chuckle. What an interesting thought.

But he's made you suffer enough. Simon looks at your boy. "What do you say, lad? Think that was an adequate apology?"

The boy puts a finger on his chin. "What does 'adequate' mean?"

"Means it's good enough, or acceptable."

"Then yes! Mama made an adequate apology." The lad proudly shows off his newly acquired vocabulary.

Simon huffs with amusement before turning back to you. "Suppose I can forgive you then."

You stare, as if you can't quite believe the interaction he had with your son, and Simon's almost tempted to make a comment ("we just went over this, love"), but then you bow your head and laugh lightly under your breath, mumbling, "Wow."

He cracks a little smirk.

"So will you go with us, Simon?" The kid asks when it's clear the adults aren't going to say anything else. He adds on a sweet, "Please?"

How could he say no to that?

"Alright." Simon stands up straight, preparing to walk back into his flat. "I'll come grab some brekkie with you."

"You will?" Your boy flashes an eager grin. "You'll come with us?"

Simon pats the lad's head, nodding. "Yeah, kid, just lemme change first."

"Alright!"

"I'll meet you on the first floor." He moves to close his door, but then pauses, eyes finding yours with a teasing glint. "Or you could wait in here-"

"We'll meet you on the first floor!" You blurt out, avoiding his gaze, and grab your boy's hand, quickly tugging him along. "See you, Simon!"

"See you, Simon!" The lad echoes and waves a hand, unconcerned by your rushing. You disappear with your child soon after, and Simon chuckles, shutting the door.

He looks towards the kitchen, debating. He can do the dishes when he gets back. They can wait. You and your boy are probably hungry. He won't keep you guys waiting, and even though Simon already ate breakfast, he doesn't mind going out. But he doesn't need to tell you that. Simon still has room to eat, and he won't mind spending a bit more time with you and little Simon.

-

Big Simon totally wears a compression shirt to make your brain short circuit. Meanwhile, little Simon is wondering why Mama is tripping every two seconds.

[one4theoverlypassionate]

need to marry a trans guy from the maritimes for a visa and to meet somebody who understands the gender affirming power of the word bud

[nerdygirlramblings]

Ren wants her story told, y'all 😂 She keeps feeding me ideas.

previous

The pounding on your door wakes you. "Need to get scran 'fore the mess closes!" Johnny bellows.

You disentangle yourself from the covers and roll out of bed, shaking off the remains of sleep. Captain Price had you training on the rubble last night at 2300 hours. He wanted to be sure things were dark enough. He sent you in alone or with one of the others practicing with the night vision goggles, a first for you, and following directions blind. He also had you with him, being Soap's or Ghost's or Gaz's eyes. "Never know who's gunna be where when shit goes sideways. Need to know you can follow the path even if ya can't see it. An' tha' ya can get the others ta safety."

Well not as physically demanding as the training had been, the night had been grueling nonetheless. The green glare of the night vision goggles through you off more than you expected, and despite listening well, you still ended up covered in bruises from when you accidentally walked into a wall or other debris. By the end of the night though, you were proud to say that you'd gotten a sense of distance without a visual and how it differed man to man so when Ghost told you, "Take 10 steps then turn right," you knew to account for his stride and took 15 to avoid collisions.

Giving directions was the hardest for that same reason. Your stride and your frame so much smaller than that of the men on the team that you were constantly correcting your own calculations. You knew it would take a little bit of time, but you hated the thought that you were holding them up.

"Nae worry," Johnny said when he overshot the opening you were trying to get him through. Thankfully, he knew the terrain well enough not to go galavanting off and was able to backtrack to where he needed to be.

It was on one of the stretches where you were practicing your instructions to better fit the task force that you realized how cold you were despite the jumper you wore. Sometime after half two, Gaz tapped your shoulder and held out a plain grey ASDA fleece blanket.

You'd somehow missed the small stack of them on the back seat of the golf buggy, but you recognized the ASDA tag on the blanket at the bottom and took what was in Gaz's hand gratefully. Though thin, the blanket somehow held all the warmth of home. You wrapped it around your shoulders anytime you we're in the buggy with Price, making a note to yourself about triple checking the weather before your next training and to speak to Adam about top layers in your size.

Now the blanket, along with the borrowed jersey and overly large top layers, lay piled on the top of your bed. Since he'd pulled the jersey from what you assumed was a communal footlocker, you felt you had to bring it back to the barracks once clean. From how Price talked about them, you don't think the top layers need to be returned. The blanket you planned to keep because it was so warm and so easily replaceable.

You crack open the door and see Johnny's smiling face in the hallway. He leans against the jam as you turn to get ready. He looks avidly around your room, but you don't invite him in, and he respects the sanctity of your space. "C'mon, lass, brekkie ends soon. Ye doan wan' tae miss a meal when we'll be trainin' 'gain later."

You refrain from groaning but had hoped Price was only kidding when he said you'd be back out at the training facilities again in the afternoon. Instead you ask, "Do I have time to get cleaned up?"

He makes a big show of looking at the time on his phone. "Aye, Ah guess." You grab clean clothes and hoist your shower tote as he says, "Meet us in the mess in 10, yeah?" He heads off towards the mess as you dart into the bathroom.

As you quickly clean up, Soap heads to the mess to grab a tray of food for you in case the mess lines close before you get there. He quickly piles two plates full. He's watched you at meals and knows how much you gravitate to fruits and vegetables, so he dumps a double portion on your plate. He adds a bowl of yogurt and granola so you have protein for the day. His plate is covered with rashers and eggs.

He finds the team and puts both plates down. At Price's raised eyebrow, Johnny comments, "Ren was still sleepin' when Ah went tae find 'er. Told 'er to be here in ten. Ah think trainin' is wearin' 'er down."

Price hums. "Maybe we can find a way for a break soon."

Ghost hasn't taken his eyes off Soap since the Scot sat down. "What else, mutt?" He leveles a glare at the man. "Ya look like yer schemin'."

Soap smiles wide at his pack, leaning over the table to draw the others close. What he has to share isn't for others to hear. "All yoor things are on 'er bed." He pauses, long and pointed, before delivering the news he is giddiest to share. "Almost looks like she's makin' a nest."

next

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

taglist: @sirbonesly @z-wantstowrite @thriving-n-jiving @cecelia97 @theycallmevalen @boogeysmoth @cryingpages @riley13 @luxylucylou @lucienofthelakes @ilyztwo @chaosundcoffee @lostintransist @thegreyjoyed

[brekkie-e]

Veilgaurd exists in such a weird spot on the morality circuit to me. It's so clear that they've got overt inclusivity messaging all over the place. To the point of ludicrousy at times (looking at you Lords of Fortune i.e. Jake and the Neverland Pirates.) When they're trying to make a point about what is morally good and the correct point of view™️ they hit you over the head with it. Thinking about Taash's dialogues about the Lords not stealing anything "cultural, you know- important" and their codex entry about gender. It's not that any of these messages or sentiments are wrong. But the way they are handled in the story is so at odds with a piece of media rated for mature audiences.

And then. And then the game turns around and makes the Antaam the most egregiously racist depiction of the Qunari in the series to date. The fact they managed that is kind of amazing in and of itself because I think the goal was to minimize the Qunari dilemma. By saying "not all Qunari! Just the Antaam!" It's similar to what they're aiming for with the Venatori and Tevinter.

The problem is though, now they've backed in to a corner where the warring Qunari faction is under the umbrella of "ridiculous disney villian that we don't explore further than that." And in doing so paint almost every Qunari that follows the Qun as a mindless brute that wears next to nothing and spends most of the game growling. Which is just. Deeply unsettling to see in a game that is trying so hard to be woke you feel like youre watching them pat themselves on the back as you play.

Like how do you double down so so hard on the inclusivity in so many aspects, and then turn around and do that?

I mean how did Dragon Age 2, a game that came out in 2011, portray the Qunari characters as so much more nuanced and intelligent than the 2024 Inclusivity Champion? Not to mention Kirkwall as a whole actually explores Tevinter's slavery problem on a much deeper level than Minrathous does? The narration Varric gives about the Gallows and the slave trade in the span of 30 seconds discusses more about the Tevinter Empire's relationship with slavery than Veilgaurd does in the entire game. That's without even mentioning Fenris.

Now I'm not claiming any of the previous titles were without their own mis-steps here. Im just a little irritated by how much this game reeks of hypocrisy at points.

[guangshi-091305]

Its insane people actually believed he turned evil like… why would he?? i wonder if that bullcrap was started so people wouldnt look at the actual wolves disguised as sheep. make them look forward so they dont look back and are exposed to your attacks without realizing. make them waste their time and energy defending themselves from something that doesnt exist so they dont notice what youre doing in the background sort?? Because i am pretty sure that bullshit idea of him being bad originated from Jin Clan aka Jin Guangshan the power whore's clan. The same power whore that attacked and backed the 'evil man' into the corner to steal his 'very evil weapons' and no one batted an eye. Its so funny because...if he truly was that evil do you think he couldve been cornered by such worthless scum?? He's evil and unbeatable and has no loyalties right?? then how come youre able to get to him??

every time people in the jianghu point their fingers at wwx and scream DemONNNNNNN HERETIC POWERS, I'm there like: dude did u think wwx wanted to go down this path?? :)))

homeboy just wanted to see the people closest to him safe, drink good alcohol, protect the weak, duel for fun, fly on his sword, catch chicken and fish, train disciples, travel around on night hunts

every time they ask why he doesn't carry his sword anymore, I just wonder how much he is actually hurting on the inside. the fact that he probably would have largely stayed the way he was as a student at cloud recesses if the war never happened also hurts a lot

[parkersbliss]

I just read your story with American!reader and I loved it. It made me want to see the all the 141 boys maybe reacting to Reader saying “I wish British people were real” as a joke they saw on TikTok. I love your writing💗💗

you anons that request stuff are on something bc your ideas are so good??? thank you I love YOU

pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x American!reader 

warnings: gaz and ghost is mildy suggestive, um price asking if you're dumb, that's it I think

a/n: life would be so much better if British people were real man

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for call of duty!

—

Ghost:

Simon was painfully British. That much was obvious to anyone who met and got a word out of him. His accent was thick, intertwined with every word that essentially screamed “I am British�� in your face. You would be a liar if you said it wasn’t part of the initial attraction to him. The deep grave voice, mixed with a foreign accent. Yeah, you were easy like that. 

And Simon, despite his thick accent, wasn’t a patriotic man. Sure, he cheered for his sports team, measured in metrics, wore the flag patch during combat, etc. but he wasn’t in your face about his nationality. None of that “My country is better than yours” toxic patriotism. Still, that didn’t mean there weren’t things you poked fun at him for. The tea obsession, the way he said certain words, the lack of flavor in some of the food. 

You had your grievances against Britain. So when Simon was watching the news with you on the couch, the news reporter accent heavy across the room, you get an idea. 

With a sigh, you lean back. “Man, I wish British people were real.” 

Simon turns to face you, quirking a brow. “What?”

“I wish British people were real,” You repeated, pointing at the Newscaster. “It’s obviously a fake accent.” 

“What the bloody hell are you on about?” 

You suppress a laugh as you give him a blank stare. “They’re so funny, the accents. I wish they were real, that’s all.” 

Simon narrows his eyes at you, fingers brushing across your shoulder from the arm slung across the back of the couch. “I wish Americans were real.” 

“Me too,” You agree as Simon rolls his eyes. 

“You think you’re funny, hm?” 

“I think I’m hilarious,” You corrected him as he shifted you to sit in his lap. 

“‘M gonna start calling you an American bimbo if you keep spewing such bullshit.” 

You tap your chin in fake thought. “I bet you’d be into that.” 

Simon scoffs, hands moving to your hips. “Glorified idiocy? I think not.” 

You put on a valley girl accent, twirling your hair as you blink rapidly at him. “Oh, my god! You are so hot.” 

“Stop.” 

“Like totally bangable.” 

Simon’s face is turning red as you laugh manically. “You’re done,” he said, lips meeting yours to shut you up. 

“I knew you were into it.”

“Shut. Up.”

Gaz: 

You sat with your back to Kyle’s chest, his chin resting on your shoulder as his hands rested under your shirt. You’re idly scrolling on Tiktok, letting him watch because, really, he was a girl at heart too. Grocery hauls? Organizing my makeup? Day in my life? He was sat. He presses feather-light kisses to your neck occasionally as your thumb swipes across the screen. 

It’s another of many influences doing a grocery haul, and you both pause to watch it. Her accent is light, but still obviousas she pronounces words like blueberries, brekkie, and other British slang. 

You had gotten mostly familiar with it living with Kyle in London, but the accents here were much lighter compared to up north. 

You frown at the video. “I wish British people were real. They’re so funny.” 

“Excuse me?” Kyle asked, pulling his chin off your shoulder to look at you. 

“The accent? The slang? The Chinese food?” You list out. “It’s such a good running joke. Such a shame they’re not real.” 

Kyle’s lips pulled into their signature scowl. “What the fuck am I then?” 

“An ongoing joke?”

Kyle snorts at that. “What the hell, love? You’re taking the piss, right?” 

You shake your head. “See. I know your secret. I don’t get why you insist on still using such British phrases.” 

“I am British,” Kyle said slowly. 

“And I’m George Washington,” You counter. “No point in hiding it.” 

“Love,” he starts gently. That was the best thing about Kyle. He was always so kind and gentle with you. His hands move up and down your sides. “British people are real.”

“I don’t think so.” 

“So what was the American Revolution?” 

“Staged.” You’re testing his patience, wondering exactly when he would either give up or pull up the evidence that Britain was real. 

“Please tell me you’re kidding.” 

His tone of voice strained, and his brown eyes pleading with you. You feel a little bad, stressing him out, so you relent. “I am, baby.” 

He exhales in relief, head falling back to the crook of your neck. “Jesus Christ.”

“Do you think I’m that stupid?” You ask, leaning into him a bit more. 

“Well—” 

“If you wanna get laid tonight think about your answer.” 

“I think if you thought British people weren’t real, it’s a common misconception.” 

You giggle, turning to face him and kissing him gently as he pushes you to the bed. “Good answer.”  

Soap: 

Johnny was a passionate man. He is passionate about his work, his hair, his partner, and his country — as in Scotland.Great Britain was fine too, but he didn’t like being looped in with the British. He made an exception for work though, wearing the flag patch with pride. And occasionally tolerating his British brothers. However, back at home, your front porch has the Scotland flag hanging from it, and he had plenty of blankets of it and sports teams hanging around in the house. Yes, Johnny was a passionate man. And if you gave him the chance to poke some fun at the British, oh, he’d take it. 

“You know, it’s really cool you’re able to find someone who sells all this Scottish merch.” You’re pretending to look at the mug in your hand with some Scottish phrase on it that’s white and blue.

Johnny turns to face you, spatula in hand. “I got it from the coffee shop down the street.”

You nod. “Yeah, that’s really cool they sell this stuff.” 

His brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

You set the mug down on the table, crossing your arms on the counter. “Well, you know, because Scotland isn’t real, but they still—” 

“What did you just say?” 

“Scotland isn’t real?” 

He drops the spatula turning to you with crossed arms. “Yes, it is.” 

“But like the national animal is a unicorn, and unicorns aren’t real…” 

“The national animal is a unicorn because it represents how Scotland is unyielding and remains unconquered.” 

“But I didn’t learn about it in geography.”

“You’re American,” Your boyfriend deadpans. “You only learn the states and the other world powers.” 

You sigh, cupping your chin in your hands. “It would just be nice that Scottish people are real with their silly little accents.”

Johnny drags a hand down his face. “How are we having this conversation? The Kingdom of Scotland emerged in the 9th century, and in 1707 they joined to form Great Britain…” 

That’s how you ended up with a history lesson about Scotland as Soap continues cooking dinner for you both. And you weren’t complaining, after all, with how passionate he was about reciting the history of his home, cooked in a kiss-the-chef apron in your Scotland theme house, what was there to complain about? 

Especially when he sets the plate of food down in front of you, kisses you softly, and says he loves you. Oh yeah, you believed in Scotland. 

Price:

Your husband was a straightforward man, something you had always admired about him. If he didn’t like something (or did) he would tell you. It’s part of what makes him a great captain, that ability to give it you how it is.

Of course, when it came to you, he did turn it down just a bit. If the meat you cooked was a little burnt, that’s okay, he’lleat it. If you prank him by trying some soup with a secret spoonful of salt, his face will give it away despite the “mmm SO good” he attempted to utter. Yes, John tried very hard to not hurt your feelings. It was the next best quality you loved about him. But like anyone else, he has his limits. 

So when you’re both laying in bed, John reading a book as you watch your favorite cooking show, you get an idea. 

They were going over the best way to cook a beef Wellington, a British classic, but not one you particularly cared for. 

“Honey?” You ask. 

Your husband closes his book, moving his reading glasses up. “Yes?” 

“Do you ever wish British people were real?”

There’s a moment of silence before your husband sighs deeply, opening his book once more. 

“It was a genuine question,” You continue.

“Here’s a genuine answer: are you stupid?” He glances at you over the top of his book and sees the smile breaking across your face. 

You can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips. “No.”

“Why do you find such joy in tormenting your husband? Gonna give me a heart attack one day.” 

“Stress is good for the body,” You reply. “I’m just making sure you’re healthy. Gotta keep you on your toes.” 

Your husband drops his book once more, gathering you in his arms. “You’re doing a wonderful job, dear.” 

You lean your head on his chest, hearing the deep rumble in his chest as his arm wraps around you. He’s warm as always, like a furnace radiating heat deep in the winter, just in the form of a personified grizzly bear. 

“Soap would like that joke,” Your husband muses. 

“Think I should try it on him?”

John brushes a piece of hair out of your face as you look up at him. “Without a doubt.” 

– END –

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