#but then last year was my a level year and around that time I was having a lot of tests

[myclovernew]

player 333 (myung-gi) x fem!reader

⟢ pairing: myung-gi x fem!reader (basically replacing junhee as player 222 sorry jo yuri my queen)

⟢ fluff but a little steamy near the end...

⟢ word count: 4k

⟢ a/n: hai everyone this is my first ever fic here on tumblr and i haven't written anything in over four years so i apologize if the writing is terrible LOL

the annoyingly cheerful music blaring at what felt like 7 in the morning woke me up. the last thing i could remember before falling asleep was getting into a white semi-van driven by a man in a red hoodie whose face i couldn't quite make out. so where in the hell was i now?

blinking a couple times before rubbing one eye, i slowly slid up to the point where i could feel the cold, metal backboard of the bed you were in through the thin polyester jacket i had on. that's when i realized i was in a completely different outfit than the one i had on the night before. looking around, i noticed others slowly waking, everyone in the same outfit as mine with only a slight difference. you were all numbered, and my number was 222.

a guy who was in the bed directly in front of mine started waking up at that moment, mumbling something incoherent to himself and then letting out a huge sigh. the number on the back of his jacket was 333. only when he turned slightly to his left is when i realized; i'd recognize that side profile anywhere.

"lee my-" before i could even finish calling out his name, the speaker sent out feedback indicating the start of something unknown. everyone was awake at this point, walking towards the center pool of people.

that's when an alarm went off, and an automatic door let in a group of eerily mysterious people dressed in pink jumpsuits, their faces covered by black masks with either squares or circles painted on them in white.

"i would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you," one of the square guards started. i was watching from the foot of my bed, trying to scan the crowd to navigate that piece of shit. i can't believe that asshole is here too, i thought to myself while half paying attention to whatever the square guy is saying.

"everyone here will participate in six different games over six days." games? what are we in, grade school? "those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize."

now that's what i wanted to hear. when that salesman looking guy approached me a week ago, he had me play a game of ddakji, which i was a natural at. so of course i beat him on the first round. he gave me 100,000 won as a prize and a rustic brown business card with only a number on the back. i debated on calling the ominous number for days on end, but the final straw was having all 58 of my calls to that asshole myung-gi ignored. he had "borrowed" 500,000 won from me to kickstart a stock he was investing in and just never paid me back. a couple of weeks after was when i found out his dumbass had led a bunch of his stream viewers to invest in the wrong coin, causing a lot of not-so-happy, middle aged men struggling to make ends meet to go after him.

anyway, i was determined to make him pay.

a couple of people from the huge crowd started yelling out remarks, demanding for answers.

"what happened to my clothes?" "did you kidnap us?" "why are you wearing a mask?" "show your face!"

then one person started asking for their phone, insisting that they had to check the crypto market.

"player 333, lee myung-gi," the square guard had declared. my head immediately snapped up, eyes glued to the screen that had just turned on. a video of myung-gi started playing and it was him being embarrassingly bad at the same game of ddakji i had played with the salesman. i couldn't help but laugh to myself as hundreds of people watched him get slapped, how humiliating.

"current debt levels, 1.8 billion won." oh you had to be joking.

that made the measly 500,000 won he owed me look like nothing. no wonder he was ignoring my calls, the loser had absolutely no means of paying me back, let alone getting rid of his own debt.

i lost sight of myung-gi when the guards had us line up and sign what looked like a consent form to play the games. it seemed a bit excessive, but i guess they had to keep it all professional. we then had our photos taken before being led up multiple flights of pink, maze-like stairs.

all at once, three giant doors opened up to a large, sand-filled area. the guards instructed us to go in and stand behind the red line drawn on the ground. at the very end of the field was an enlarged cartoonish doll. what could we possibly be doing here?

i looked around for myung-gi again, hoping to catch him by surprise when he saw my face afters months of ignoring me.

"the first game is red light, green light," a woman's voice iterated through the speakers. red light, green light? i hadn't played that since i was a kid. "cross the finish line before the five minutes are up. if you do, you pass."

this honestly felt like a joke. why were we getting paid to play children's games?

"everyone!" i squinted my eyes to see a middle-aged man, his number being 456, run to the middle of the crowd. "everyone, pay attention!" he was waving his arms like a mad man to try and get everyone to listen to him.

"this is not just a game!" what?

"if you lose, you die!" there's no way that was true. did he mean get eliminated? they wouldn't really kill us, would they? i looked around to watch everyone else's expressions. some started visibly shaking, others shaking their heads in pure disbelief.

at that moment, the robotic doll turned around and put her hand up to her eyes.

"let the game begin."

the first "red light, green light" was said and everyone began to move. as soon as the doll stopped to look around, i stayed as still as possible. the man from earlier was still yelling at everyone to freeze, and something in me started to believe in what he was saying about the game. as i froze in place, i scanned the people around me. 239, 009, 176, 028, and 333. found you.

the next "red light, green light" played and i ran towards myung-gi. he might've been a crypto bro who practically lived at the pc cafe, but damn he was a fast runner. the next couple of "red light, green light's" went off and i was just about a feet behind him now. that's when a loud "bang" echoed throughout the hall. a gun shot. more gun shots sounded, followed by ear-piercing screams. stay still, stay still, i thought to myself.

then it went silent. everyone who was still alive was frozen in their places, not even moving when the doll said "red light, green light." my eyes focused on myung-gi. he was breathing so heavily i could hear him.

"red light, green light." the man from earlier, player 456, was the only one to move as he ran past all of us. "red light, green light." he moved a bit further, with his back facing us.

"the doll detects motion," he yelled out as he had one hand behind his back, moving it around to prove what he was saying was true. so as long as the doll couldn't physically see me moving, i would be fine.

"we're running out of time. we have to move!" shit.

"red light, green light." everyone moved then, finding someone bigger than them to hide behind. i was still behind myung-gi, who i admit was shorter than most guys here, but then again so was i. we were almost by the finish line, with a little less than a minute left.

"red light, green light." we moved again in a synced matter. but just as the doll was about to turn her head, myung-gi tripped on someone's foot. he's going to die, i thought. without thinking, i put out my arm, and grasped onto the back of his jacket.

"don't. move," i whisper-yelled, my teeth gritting against each other. myung-gi didn't make a sound.

"red light, green light," i let go and he regained his balance, the two of us crossing the finish line. i bent over, my hands resting on my knees as i tried to breathe normally again.

"y/n?" myung-gi questioned. i looked back up to him, scanning his face. as much as he was confused as to why i was here, he also looked relieved to see a familiar face.

"aren't you going to thank me?" i retorted. i did just save his life.

"oh, yeah," he said, his hand reaching the back of his head, "thank you. seriously." i sighed and gave him a slight nod. frankly, i was too exhausted and too desperate to get out of this place to even demand for my money back from him right now. he opened his mouth again, like he had something to say, but got quickly distracted by the ceiling of the arena slowly closing in. the game was over.

the guards had us all walk back into the room we woke up in. it was eerily quiet; people were scared for their lives. i just wanted to go home. i didn't even care about the money anymore. why would any of this even matter if i didn't make it out alive?

everyone made it back inside as the guards followed behind the last couple of players, stopping in front of the door they first walked out of. some of the players ran down to the middle of the floor and started kneeling to the ground, rubbing their hands profusely, begging to be saved.

"we are not trying to hurt you. we are only presenting you with an opportunity," the square guard declared.

"clause three of the consent form!" i turned around to look at the player that yelled this out. it was the same man that was helping everyone in the last game, player 456. "the games may be terminated upon a majority vote. correct?"

oh thank god. we actually had a chance at getting out of here before they had us all killed.

that's when the room went dim, and a golden piggy bank was slowly let down from the ceiling. even i was mesmerized, my eyes glued to the stacks of money falling into it. the guard then explained there was a sum of 9.1 billion won in the bank, and if we all wanted to leave now, it would be split by all current players. murmurs erupted, some people wanting to stay and play more games for the sum to rise, while others still wanted to leave.

"now, let's begin the vote."

the guards started calling out player numbers, starting from the last number, 456. the first vote was an X. each player received a tag with either an X or an O, indicating what they had voted for.

"player 333." i watched as myung-gi emerged from the crowd, and walked towards the buttons. i swear to god.

the sound of the button went off and so did a flash of blue light. he picked O.

he barely even made it through the first game without my help, yet he wanted to stay and continue playing? i scoffed to myself, he really did only care about himself.

"player 222." it was finally my turn. i walked up to the voting stand, confident in my answer. i hit the X button and received my tag. walking back to the group of other X voters, i looked over at myung-gi standing on the opposite side who was also watching me from afar. i narrowed my eyes and made a face full of utter disgust and disappointment, then looked away. in that moment, i regretted saving him at all.

the voting ended shortly, the O's winning by one point. we really had to stay and play another game. it was absurd to me, all these people being blinded by the money after seeing firsthand how one wrong move could literally get you killed.

food service happened after the voting and each person was given a meal. i walked back to my bed and opened up the metal box to find a layer of white rice, topped with an egg, sausage, and picked radish. it honestly wasn't bad at all. i was eating peacefully before myung-gi walked up, holding out his box of food and resting his arms on the foot of my bed.

"you want the radish? i know it's your favorite," i looked up at him, mid-chew of a mouthful of rice and egg. the radish was my favorite, but i was surprised he remembered that at all. without saying anything back, because i was still mad at him, i took the pieces of radish out of his box and put it in mine.

"are you mad at me?" i looked up from my food again. he could not be serious. we were making eye contact now, but the purple-ish, blue ring forming around his left eye caught my attention.

"what happened to your eye?" i asked, ignoring his initial question. i don't even know why i brought it up, i could care less about this asshole.

"don't worry about it." say less! i went back to eating my food, myung-gi still hovering, waiting for the answer to his question. i gave him a "what?" look with a shoulder shrug and seems like he took that for an answer because he turned back around and started walking away without saying another word.

i looked toward his direction ever so often after finishing up my meal. he really was a loser and didn't have anyone else here, not even someone to team up with. he sat straight up on his bed, poking at the rice with his spoon. a couple of hours passed by, and it was soon bedtime. the lights in the room dimmed and everyone was in their beds by this point. i pulled the thin cotton blanket over me and readjusted my pillow so it was leaning a bit against the bed board. i lay there on my back with my hands intertwined across my chest, closed my eyes and desperately tried to fall asleep. but it was one of those nights where your eyes were sleeping, and your body wasn't. hours passed and i was still awake. i tried turning to my side, readjusting my pillow again, but nothing worked. at a loss, i just kept my eyes open and stared at the bottom of the bed above mine.

the older gentleman to my right was snoring like there was no tomorrow, and a woman in her mid-20s to my left kept turning around every 5 minutes. even if i did manage to fall asleep, i probably would've woken up because of one or the other. that's when i heard someone nearby talking, or it was more of a loud whisper. i sat right up on my bed to figure out where the noise was coming from, only to see the source was right in front of me.

myung-gi was talking... but to himself? i slowly peeled the blanket off of myself and threw both legs over the edge of my bed. i stepped on my shoes without properly putting them on, and walked towards his bed, making sure not to make anymore noise that could wake up anyone else. i watched as myung-gi continued to blurt out sentences and random words in his sleep, but i couldn't quite make out what he was actually saying. his eyes were fully closed, but his eyebrows were at a slight furrow with sweat beading on his forehead. he looked like he was burning up. without even realizing, i reached my hand out to his forehead, hovering just an inch above it. i didn't even need to make contact with his skin to know he had a fever. i retracted my hand and bent down to my feet to fully put on my shoes before walking over to the door that led to the restroom. a guard was standing by the door and it took me a good 10 minutes for him to let me use the restroom, finally convincing him by saying it was that time of the month.

i grabbed a long piece of a paper towel, folded it, and let it run under the cold water for a bit. i walked back out the door without the guard noticing the paper towel in my hand and made it back to myung-gi, who was thankfully still asleep. i reached out my arms to place the towel on his forehead, but before i could take them back, myung-gi's hand wrapped around my left wrist. his eyes were slightly open, but i couldn't quite tell if he was actually awake or not.

"stay," he croaked, his voice coming out raspy. i stood there unsure what to do and his grasp still on my arm. "please."

well it's not like i could fall asleep anyway. i used my feet to take off my shoes and climbed into his bed, using his arm as a pillow. i cautiously turned to slightly face him, but myung-gi looked like he had already fallen back asleep. i turned back around, closed my eyes, and without even knowing it, fell asleep right then.

i felt warmer than usual as i started waking up to the same music that played when i first got here. eyes still closed, i turned over to my right side and felt even warmer. it was a nice feeling and i wanted to stay here just for a couple more minutes.

the chatter from the people around me woke me up. vision still blurry, i blinked profusely to make sure i wasn't hallucinating. i was looking straight at myung-gi, our faces almost an inch apart. his eyes were still closed and i could even hear his heartbeat; we were that close. we were also under the same blanket now, not knowing how i even got to that position considering he was hogging the thing when i first laid down.

i didn't know what to do. i didn't want to move now because then he'd wake up and i'd have to confront him. i just kept looking at his face, focusing on the bruise from yesterday, which was now a little darker in color. he didn't look like he still had a fever, but something in me wanted to check anyway. i freed my left arm from my own grip and slowly raised it up to his forehead, but before i could even check, myung-gi opened his eyes. i quickly dropped my hand and closed my eyes, pretending like i had never even woken.

fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit, shit.

then i heard him starting to laugh, myung-gi was laughing at me. i peeked one eye open and he started to laugh even harder. now i felt myself heating up. guards please take me now, just take me now. as i was about to say something, myung-gi used the blanket to cover me entirely and pulled me in even closer.

"what the fuck are you do-" i tried to get out, but my voice got muffled by the blanket as he brought me in even closer. oh my god i thought i was going to explode.

"you hiding something under that blanket?" a voice questioned from outside. i took that as my queue to stay as silent as possible.

"no, why would i be?" myung-gi answered back.

"don't talk back to me, fucker. unless you want a matching black eye." oh, so this must've been the person that beat the shit out of myung-gi yesterday. myung-gi didn't respond this time, but i could feel his arm around me loosen as the footsteps got further away. i reached for the rim of the blanket and pulled it back down enough for my face to show. that was a bad idea, because i was just about touching his chest now.

"if you wanted a hug you could've just said so," he said sarcastically, a one-sided grin forming on his face as he looked down at me.

"in your dreams," i said, all flustered. i quickly pushed myself away before he could pull anything else and practically stumbled out of the bed. i didn't even look back as i put on my shoes and walked out to regroup with the rest of the players.

they had us get into groups of five for the second game, making it a game based on team effort. i teamed up with four older guys, one of them being player 456 from earlier. i was glad i didn't end up with myung-gi this game, because honestly i didn't know how to face him after last night. but i still found myself glancing over at him throughout the game to make sure he was still alive.

we both got through the second game, but it was still silence between us. i didn't go up to him and neither did he try and talk to me. i couldn't fall asleep that night either, but i didn't dare get out of my bed.

the next game came around quickly. i stuck with the group i had made during the previous game, and we quickly got the hang of this new game. we were placed onto a merry-go-round like platform and spun around until the music stopped. the speaker would blurt out a number and the same amount of people would need to run and find a room to stay in. if the room had more or less people than the number that was said, you would die. as a group of 5, we got through teams of 3 and 6 pretty easily. but then the speaker called out 2. i looked up as everyone paired up, and i had no one. my mind went fuzzy, everyone was running around screaming and looking for their friends. i felt like i was going to faint until i felt someone grab onto my wrist and started to drag me off the platform. i picked up on the pace and ran like my life depended on it, because it did.

we ran into a purple room and shut the door. my back was pinned to the wall as myung-gi still held onto my wrist. we were both trying to catch our breath, but then he leaned in closer. my body froze and we were only inches apart again. i was looking into his eyes, then panned down to his lips, just to trace back up to his eyes again. the door clicked shut and we were stuck in here. together.

in that moment, i felt his lips touch mine. i closed my eyes as i let myself melt into the kiss. he let go of my wrist and positioned one hand at my waist while the other creeped up the back of my neck. i could feel my shirt fleeting as his fingertips made contact with my skin ever so lightly. my hands made their way up his chest as i gripped onto his shirt and pulled him in even closer, deepening the kiss and eliciting a whiny moan from him. i wanted this to go on forever.

the door made another clicking sound, letting us know we could go back out. i loosened my grip before myung-gi could get his hand up any higher under my shirt.

"we have to," i let out, mid-kiss, "go." we both came to a stop then, realizing we had to go back out onto the platform. i quickly straightened up my shirt with my hands and reached up to myung-gi's hair which was looking all disheveled now to smooth it back out into his natural middle part.

"we're not done yet," he whispered into my ear as we walked out the door, parting ways once again.

that's when i knew i'd be getting a good night's sleep tonight.

[weaselle]

i have a dog client (just one, starting a new business is hard) and she's a two-ish year old husky who was rescued only a couple months ago. I've been working with her for a couple weeks now and she just decided she could trust me yesterday. And i think the reasons why are interesting

So huskies can be sort of aloof, it's easy for a husky to decide they don't really care about you unless you are doing the exact thing that holds their attention. But it was more than that with this dog (she's named after a cheese, let's call her Gouda because she's [mario voice] a good-a dog) I think her experience in life thus far has been a bit traumatic

(this doesn't mean she was beaten or anything, everyone always jumps to that conclusion, but dogs are sensitive social creatures, and just being an orphan in a system that controls you so completely and never knowing who you can form a close bond with could be real trauma... i was given up at a young age by my own parents and it fucked me up pretty good even though i was adopted by my aunt, so i can only imagine what it might be like for a dog to be passed around for two years)

Anyway, she is very withdrawn (tho loving with her new family) and also tends to raise hackles and stiffen up when meeting dogs. For this reason i've been walking and running her alone because i walk some other dogs (not clients, it's part of my customer acquisition technique to be seen out with a pack of dogs) and a couple of those dogs are ... also not the friendliest. So i wanted to set her up for success by giving her time to get comfortable around me and the new activity before i introduced a possible stressful situation of other (grumpy) dogs.

At the meeting there was a growling and snapping situation and I had to use my Big Dog voice (just a big deep "hey" with my full diaphragm) and get between them and shut it down. Then they settled and we went on the walk, during which time there was an additional teeth and snarl moment from the other grumpy dog that i shut down immediately. The rest of the walk they were fine - during the second half i transitioned away from walking between the two, and ended with them walking next to each other close enough to bump and they did great.

Anyway, when i went to drop off Gouda at home, for the first time she really responded to my goodbye, licking my face and nuzzling my ear and bumping her head into my chest, whereas before she wouldn't even walk back over to me for goodbye petting once she was home.

I'm pretty sure it was the interactions with the other dog that did it. Specifically three things

A: for the first time she saw me defend her against another dog, so she knew she could count on me to back her up so she could relax

B: she saw that i was maintaining order and discipline and wouldn't allow dogs to be in altercations so she could relax

C: this is the more nebulous one but one i think is the most interesting: I believe the situation with the other dogs helped her to see me at a high level of disapproval, yet remain within behavior parameters that allow her to feel safe. In other words, she saw me in a situation where dogs were breaking the rules in a pretty big way - a semi fight situation where theoretically i would be at my most threatening or angry - and my response was not scary, i didn't get physical or punish or hold a grudge etc.

I think that last one really cemented it for her, because now Gouda knows if she gets something wrong and makes me "angry" it's going to be okay. So she can relax.

Taken all together, her experience yesterday was that i will defend her against other dogs, i can and will maintain order in the pack, and, importantly, even if she gets something really wrong or i'm in an "angry" situation, i'm safe to be around.

and now we're good friends.

[jittersbitters]

I had to break out my final paper for this because this is my favorite part of Biology.

It's is called the Mitochondrial Theory. The DNA of a Mitochondria is purely maternal and, therefore can only be traced back through your mother's side. It is self-replicating, independent of the other organelle replication during the S stage (Synthesize) of the cell life right before division (mitosis/meiosis). It copies itself continuously to keep the cell's power and water levels balanced (isotonic). Plants have a secondary version of mitochondria called a chloroplast.

I'm calling it a secondary version because how it became a part of our cells to evolve into us one day is the same as mitochondria. The only difference is that chloroplasts uniquely perform photosynthesis (and its GREEN) Plants have both chloroplasts and mitochondria because of their simple energy sources (water, sunlight, fertile soil).

Hazard Symbols were right when they said they were their own domain, but to me, that only scratches the surface of our cells and their evolution from pre-Cambrian history (creation of our solar system).

I'll use these paragraphs from my paper to explain:

After balancing earth's atmosphere and perfecting the ATP production of proto-bacteria, one day an archaea cell, most similar to Aagard Achaea, 'consumed' its bacterial cousin, alphaproteobacteria, and enslaved it for future generation for its efficient ATP production. The first merger of the two Domains was with a with aerobic mitochondria, creating animal simple cells as we know them today, while the second merger added chloroplasts, creating the green plants. From this, came the next expansion of life as the Eukarya domain was made and the first primitive Eukaryotic cells started to populate earth. These basic cells populated the thermally heated ground around underwater vents slowly from the glaciation and the Great Oxidation event during the Neoarchean (last Archaen Era) - Paleoproterozoic (First Era of the Proterozoic Eon) boundary.  

This first multi-cellular life that originated on this earth is the still debated 'Francevillian biota', a collection of 2.1-billion-year-old Palaeoproterozoic macroscopic structures. After this new life was also the expansion into the creation of fungi. Fungi diverged from other life around 1.5 billion years ago, with the glomaleans branching from the "higher fungi" at ~570 million years ago. This took up the Mesoproterozoic - Neoproterozoic era conjunction and most of the ending periods the Proterozoic Eon. These ending periods both were the catalyst and backbone for the Cryogenian period (1), which in turn set off the Cambrian Expansion (2).

(1) The Cryogenian is a geologic period that lasted from 720 to 635 million years ago. It is the second of the three periods of the Neoproterozoic era, preceded by the Tonian and followed by the Ediacaran. The Cryogenian was a time of drastic climate changes. After the long environmental stability/stagnation, this glaciation froze the entire planet in a state of severe icehouse climate known as a snowball Earth. After 70 million years it ended, but was quickly followed by another global ice age, the Marinoan glaciation. There is controversy over whether these glaciations indeed covered the entire planet, or whether a band of open sea survived near the equator (i.e. "slushball Earth"), but the extreme climates with massive expanse of ice sheets blocking off sunlight would nevertheless have significantly hindered primary production in the shallow seas and caused major mass extinctions and biosphere turnovers. 

(2) The Cambrian explosion  is an interval of time beginning approximately 538.8 million years ago in the Cambrian period of the early Paleozoic, when a sudden radiation of complex life occurred and practically all major animal phyla started appearing in the fossil record. It lasted for about 13 to 25 million years and resulted in the divergence of most modern metazoan phyla. B 

If you want more information, check out my paper:

Chaos and Order - Copy.docx

[lavenderprose]

Also, on a hornier note, please tell me more about the Mary Shelly thing? 😉

Assuming you're asking about the Emmrook version of events floating around my head and not the actual story about Mary Shelley losing her virginity on her mother's grave (This is a story I heard a long time ago and might be an urban legend/exaggeration of history. God I hope it's not it's the gothest thing I've ever heard. Either way, cannot be assed to check) Here's how it goes:

After a few nice garden picnics with Emmrich, during which Rook always takes a moment to pay her respects to Emmrich's parents--because she's a Mourn Watcher through and through, and when your in-laws aren't alive to have Family Sundays with, you make due by putting flowers on their grave and politely NOT bonking their son within eyesight of their headstones--the subject of Rook's origin story comes up. Maybe organically, maybe Emmrich's curious about her last name but he's been too polite up til now. Maybe the curiosity has been burning a visible fucking hole in his chest and Rook finally sighs and braces herself and says, "Go ahead and ask," and Emmrich, despite himself, launches into Twenty Questions Mode.

Either way.

"I know almost nothing about myself," is what Rook tells him, and she's made her peace with it long ago, but the sight of his sad eyes makes the old, stale heartache attempt to rise in her again. "No, don't do that. Don't pity me. I don't really care who I started life out as. What matters is who I am now."

"Rook," he says, and it's a statement. He's so intuitive that way. Yes, she's Rook, and that's who she chooses to be every day when she wakes up in the morning. If she tires of it, she'll tell him and they'll go from there. They've probably had this conversation before. Then he says, "I'm curious, dearest--"

"I'm shocked," she teases, and he tuts.

"Curious about the name," Emmrich sighs, and shifts into something she likes to call lecture mode, though it looks a bit ridiculous when he's sitting there on his own boot heels, hands folded in his lap like an eager and precocious boy. "The name Ingellvar is classic Navarran, of noble origin, though the family line has been extinct for over a century. Foundlings aren't uncommon in the Necropolis, and the naming conventions are rather specific. I was wondering--"

"Do you want to see it?" she asks, and leans herself onto his lap. He, as always, simpers to find himself full of her. "I know where it is. Been there a few times over the years. I'll show you the grave where they found me."

"I would quite like that," says Emmrich, so she takes him there.

The upper levels of the Necropolis are sometimes oppulent and sometimes just as dusty and ominous as their lower counterparts. They tend not to shift around as much, but there's no guarantee that anything in the Necropolis will stay in one place forever. Rook keeps track of this particular row of Sarcophagi, for obvious reasons. Several of the most important Nevarrans of the Blessed Age are interred here. Accordingly, it is beautiful and well-lit. The stones under their feet are neatly cobbled and the air is floral.

"They found me there," Rook says, pointing to a particular grave. A low, flat sarcophagus. The epitaph, huge and vaguely glowing even all these years after the initial enchantment:

HERE IS LAID TO REST WILHEM INGELLVAR COUNT OF RUNDEL. GREAT-GRANDSON OF KING BERTRAND PENTAGHAST. HUSBAND AND FATHER. HIS BONES WILL SERVE AS HE DID IN LIFE AS HIS SPIRIT WALKS BY THE MAKER'S SIDE.

It continues in that vein all down the sarcophagus, Nevarran patriotism and Andraste. Rook could recite it all from memory.

"Why this grave, I wonder," Emmrich mumbles.

"No idea," Rook says, which is true, and then, "Haven't really thought about it," which is the biggest, fattest lie she's ever told him.

Emmrich knows it too, because he looks at her and raises his eyebrow.

"Anyway." She slides herself onto the surface of the sarcophagus, which is polished to an almost reflective sheen. "Here's where they found me. Screaming, crying, wah-wah-feed-me." She falls onto her back, legs curled up towards her chest in a mockery of an infant. She wiggles her feet and her eyebrows in his direction. "I was smaller then."

"Evidently," Emmrich says, dryly, and sits down on the end of the sarcophagus. He glances around and, almost to himself, muses, "This chamber is quite busy, comparatively. It's popular for tourists, and close enough to the surface to be part of the Mortalitasi's regular rounds. Whomever put you here must have intended for you to be found."

"Whatever," Rook sighs, and drapes her legs over his lap. "I screamed and screamed until they found me. And the rest is history." She toes off one of her boots. "I have a fun story to tell you."

Emmrich visibly chooses not to address the flippancy with which she thinks of her own origin. Someday, maybe in a few years, she'll wake up in the middle of the night. She'll stumble like one of the dead into another bedroom in their top-level Necropolis townhouse and cling their newborn son to her body. When Emmrich finds her after waking to a cold bed, she'll look at him and with a voice like her own throat is haunted say, "Did she hate me enough to get rid of me? Or love me enough to let me go?" And he'll know she's talking about her own mother. And they'll start looking.

Here, on this day, she isn't yet a mother unless you count fire-slinging skeleton sons. Here, on this day, she plants her socked heel against Emmrich's crotch and curls her toes and says, "Once upon a time, there was a woman, and she was in love with a very beautiful and spooky man, and one time that very beautiful and spooky man fucked her in a sarcophagus and now she can't look at one without--"

"Darling," Emmrich gasps, and wraps his hand around her ankle and very decidedly does not move it. He'd put bangles there, and a chain that disappears into her sock and connects one of the bangles to a thin band that lives underneath the knuckle of her largest toe, and when he did so he looked at her with dark eyes and then did something with his mouth that she still thinks about at least once a day. "This isn't...very respectful of the noble dead."

God, she loves him.

"You've fucked me worse places. Besides, this guy," Rook slaps the surface of the sarcophagus, "was a huge monarchist asshole who's probably been spinning in his grave for the past thirty years because of the little elf girl running around with his last name tacked onto her. Maybe one of these days he'll stop spinning because I'll have a different last name." She's only a little amused that that's what makes Emmrich's cock jump against the sole of her foot.

"Dearest," he says, still consciously sitting still for what her foot is doing, "This really is a very highly trafficked area."

"Good," she says, low and slow.

"Oh," he sighs, and he sounds almost annoyed, like ink has dripped onto his favorite shirt, but he's moving to kneel between her thighs now, pressing her back into the relative concealment of the large flower bushes flanking the sarcophagus. A bit of privacy, such as it is.

"Whatever shall I do with you?" Emmrich asks, even as he shoves clothing aside. He takes off his coat and pillows her head with it, then pulls his shirttails out as some weird attempt at modesty, and she laughs until she feels him inside her.

"You'll figure something out," she tells him.

Emmrich Volkarin, the latest in a long line of esteemed Mortalitasi to be presented with a strange foundling discovered on a long-deceased noble's grave, smiles and makes love to her.

[purple-haired-faerie]

Family pt 1

Azriel x reader

Future fic, Family fic, established relationship

Word Count: 800

You had thought this time would be easier. You were only given birth to one Illyrian babe this time, rather than two. However your daughter seemed to have other plans. According to Madja, the babe had was at an angle they shouldn’t be at, and a wing had gotten caught. Madja was confident that you’d be fine, as long as she was carful and got the babe out soon. Azriel had been in such a state when Madja had initially broken the news, that it had taken both Rhysand and Cassian to drag him out the room, realising he wasn’t actually helping the situation. They had taken him to look after your teenage sons, saying that they needed their father whilst their mother was bringing their baby sister into the world. Feyre had promised to stay with you and assist Madja.

I have no idea how long my labour lasted after that point, or entirely what happened after Azriel left. I knew pain, I had fought in the war against Hybern, and had delivered twin Illyrian babes before but having a babes wing rip me from the inside out was on another level, and I was loosing a lot of blood. But then a cry broke out, a cry that wasn’t mine. It was a babies cry and Feyre was placing my daughter in my arms. Madja checked me over, and gave me some medicine to help with the injuries, and Feyre cleaned me up before quietly, Madja following her out, supplies all packed up. They were replaced with Azriel, and our sons where hot on his heels. Axel and Elias immediately came over, cooing over their baby sister.

As soon as Azriel and I had told them I was pregnant, they had become even more protective of me, taking after their father in that regards. It was sweet, but having three overbearing Illyrian males playing mother hen could get a lot at times. I shouldn’t complain, it wasn’t a guarantee that teenage males would want to spend time with their Mum but Axel and Elias had proven that notion wrong. They had gotten worse when they had found out I was having a girl, becoming even more protective of me and telling me how they were going to protect their baby sister. I’d spent a lot of time with Feyre, who understood all too well what it was like to be a boy mum and pregnant. She’d has Selene five years ago and had to content with a seventeen year old Nyx and Rhys following her around all over the place.

“I’m sorry I freaked. You were the one in labour and yet I was the one who couldn’t handle it. If anything happened to you…” Azriel’s babbling brought me out of my thoughts. It wasn’t often the Shadowsinger of the Night caught babbled, but when he got spooked in regards to his family, the babbling started. I gave him a reassuring smile saying “you were exactly where I needed you, with the boys. And anyway it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Rhys lost his cool when Feyre had Selene and need I remind you what Cassian was like when Nesta had Clarissa? I’m okay Az. And so is our little Esther”. We’d decided on the name Esther as it meant star, and I had found out I was pregnant on Starfall. I could tell Azriel wasn’t convinced but decided that now wasn’t the time to have that conversation. Instead, he asked “so who wants to be the first to hold their baby sister?” which only caused squabbling between the two brothers.

Despite being twins, the boys were non-identical. Admittedly they had inherited all the Illyrian features from their father, but there were differences. Axel had more green in his eyes and had a slight height advantage over his bother (they were still 6 foot tall at fifteen and still growing) and had inherited Azriel’s shadowsinging abilities. Unlike his father, he was an extrovert and had the ability to make friends with everyone. Elias had inherited my healing abilities, and was more introverted. He had a slight stammer and hated talking to people he didn’t know, terrified they would bully him, mocking him for his ‘inability to speak properly’. Azriel and I had always told him it was nothing to be ashamed of, and Axel pointed out that he and Nyx would always sort out anyone who was mean to him.

Somehow they came to an agreement and Axel was cuddling Esther, and Azriel had me cuddled into his side. I couldn’t help the smile that formed on my face. After all the pain and trauma we had all been through, the reward of being married to my mate, and having three beautiful, healthy children whilst living in Velaris.

Tags; @romantasyreader28 @suppppp97

[universitypenguin]

Chapter 30

The Princess & the Lawyer

Summary: Princess makes slow progress in her recovery. Meanwhile, Lloyd’s hunt for answers leads him into a trap.

Word Count: 1,550

Warnings: Adult content, cannon level violence, coarse language, 18+ readers only. 

Masterlist 

Chapter 30: The Spy in Apartment Five

Lloyd’s footsteps echoed off the cement walls of the stairwell as he climbed toward Princess’ apartment. The cinder block walls smelled faintly of mildew, and the chill of the metal railing under his palm hinted at how sharply the temperature had dropped. Gale-force winds had eased into spitting snow, and for once, Lloyd found the snow preferable.

Three-quarters up the third flight of stairs, his phone buzzed. Pausing, he glanced at the caller ID before answering.

“Phillip,” he said, wedging the phone against his ear.

“Hello, Mr. Hansen. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“It’s as good as any.”

“I’ve found the perfect item for you. It checks all your boxes—expensive, elegant, timeless. One of a kind. The pearls are perfectly matched, and the craftsmanship—”

“What did it appraise for?” Lloyd cut in.

“Just over $400,000.”

“And the value ten years ago?”

“It was last sold five years ago for $319,000. The craftsmanship is exquisite.” 

“I’ll take it. Have a courier bring it over around three.”

“Are you sure? Perhaps you’d like to see pictures. I can email them…”

“No. Just bill my account.” 

Lloyd ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket. He climbed the last steps, reaching the fourth floor. Moving quickly down the hall, he stopped at the fifth door on the right. Princess’ apartment.

He inserted his copy of the key, unlocked the door, and pushed it open with deliberate care. A faint mechanical click halted him. His breath caught and the familiar sound raised the hair on the back of his neck. Freezing, he peered through the narrow gap. A device sat perched on the edge of the foyer table, a fishing line running from its trigger to the door.

Lloyd’s gaze tracked the wire. A Claymore mine. A few more inches, and it would’ve been the end of him—and likely anyone within thirty meters.

He unhooked the wire from the door, keeping the tension steady, and eased inside. Wrapping the wire around his hands, he edged toward the mine, eyes glued to the pressure plate trigger. Finally, he was close enough to disengage the pins in the trigger device. After securing the wire and disarming the bomb, he rolled his shoulders out, breathing deeply as relief washed over him.

He crouched down and inspected the device. “M18 Claymore… half a pound of C4…” Lloyd shook his head. “Fucking over kill.” 

The destructive power would’ve leveled the room and thrown enough shrapnel into the surrounding apartments to kill any unfortunate occupants. Grimacing, he reassembled the trap exactly as he’d found it. The element of surprise mattered more than his personal distaste for the task and he promised himself that it was only a temporary measure.

Lloyd moved down the short hallway and stepped over a second tripwire, spotting another Claymore. “Asshole,” he grumbled, sneering at the booby trap. 

In the living room, he settled on the sofa. His eyes narrowed on a leather tote bag resting on the armchair. Princess’ work bag. The one missing since the car accident. On the coffee table, a file lay open. Lloyd leaned forward, reading the label. He scowled, sighed, rubbed his aching temples, and sat back to wait.

It didn’t take long.

The sound of the front door opening was followed by the quiet disarming of the first Claymore. Instead of coming down the hallway, the footsteps turned and went into the kitchen. Rustling takeout bags and the clang of a drawer signaled activity on the other side of the wall. 

Lloyd steepled his fingers and waited, staying perfectly still.

A man emerged from the kitchen holding a container of curry that smelled of fragrant spices. At the sight of Lloyd in the living room, he froze.

“Hello, Courtland.”

“Lloyd.”

“Nice setup with the Claymore. Overkill, but more contained than Prague.”

“Prague wasn’t me,” Court said, setting the box of curry on the coffee table.

“Cahill?”

Court nodded.

“Impressive.” Lloyd crossed his legs. “Go ahead, sit down. Your lunch is getting cold.”

“How did you find me?”

“Simple deduction. You needed a place to lay low, and Princess’ apartment was convenient.”

“How is she?”

“Awake. Mostly alert,” Lloyd said. “Her coordination and fine motor skills are off and her words don’t come easily, but she’s doing better.”

Court’s expression hardened, guilt flickering beneath the surface. Lloyd tried to enjoy it but found satisfaction elusive. He watched as Court took a few bites and then asked, “How much does she remember?”

“Bits and pieces. The doctors say that’s normal. Their long-term prognosis is optimistic, but it’ll take months of rehab to get her back to normal.”

Court studied him. “You don’t sound optimistic.”

“Looking at her now, it’s hard to see recovery as possible. It takes faith… more than I have.”

Court tilted his head. “You’ve never seen someone you love in pain before, have you?”

“No. Not like this.”

“Are you going to stick around for her? Or are you going to fall apart?”

“She doesn’t need me. I’ve done enough damage by dragging her into this.”

Court snorted. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Mind your own business, Gentry.”

Lloyd’s gaze shifted to Princess’ notebook on the table. “You always rifle through women’s things when you trespass in their apartments?”

“I’m a spy. So were you.”

“Touché.”

Court picked up a water bottle. “She left it in your office. I brought it here to keep it out of evidence lockup.”

“Reading it was part of keeping it safe?”

Court smirked. “Hey, I solved my mystery. You’re still chasing your own tail.”

“Nguyen was officially charged this morning.”

“He’s not the guy.  You’re overlooking the hospital staff. Anyone who worked there between 1999 and 2002 should’ve been investigated. Especially after you identified Li Wei Chapman. Look for a connection to those first victims and the hospital employees in the right time frame and you’ll find your killer.” 

“You killed Tafferty, didn’t you?”

“If I hadn’t the NSA or China would’ve.”

“Interesting that your definition of solving a mystery includes committing a murder of your own,” Lloyd said. 

Court rolled his eyes. “If I hadn’t, you would have, and then you’d be cooling your heels in prison. I did you a favor. The least you could say is thank you.” 

Lloyd curled his lips over his teeth. Fixing his eyes on a point over Court’s right ear, he spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable. “Thank you.”

“Mmhh. You’re welcome. Is that why you came here? To ask about Westin?”

“No. I’m here with a message. Don’t ever contact Princess again or it’ll be your corpse in an alley. You understand? Don’t drag her into your investigations or whatever little drama you kick up in the future. Stay very, very, far away from her. Forever. Are we clear?” 

Court nodded. “Yes.”

Lloyd stood up. He grabbed Princess’ bag and the file, shoved the folder into the bag and slung it over his shoulder. 

“Stay here if you must, but clean up before you go. Princess doesn’t need to know you were ever here. And she never finds out about the Claymore you rigged to her door. You know you could kill everyone in a thirty meter radius with that thing.”

“Unlikely. It only has half a pound of C4,” Court said.

Lloyd sighed. “Awesome. That’s just… wonderful. Make sure to lock up when you leave.”

Outside, snow flurries danced in the air as Lloyd headed to his car. Traffic was light and he made it back to Bishop & Howard in record time. He paced in his office, flipping through Princess’ notebook and comparing her notes to his own. There were plenty of clues, but the facts refused to align. At 2:57, a knock on the doorframe broke his focus. A courier handed him a velvet case. Lloyd opened it briefly, inspecting the necklace, and checked an item off his to-do list before filing the jewelry box away in his bottom desk drawer.

Court’s comment about the hospital staff lingered in his mind, refusing to let up. It felt like a long shot, but there were no other moves left on the board. Not with Shun Nguyen stuck in prison, refusing visits from investigators, and even from Peter Shaw. He wouldn’t give an account of his actions or offer up an alibi. It was like 2002 all over again. Lloyd set aside his pride and dialed Annabeth Greene’s number from memory.

“Dr. Greene’s office. Laura speaking.”

“Hello Laura. This is Lloyd Hansen. Can you pass along a message for me? I need a crosscheck for any link between Li Wei or Zoe Chapman and Forest View Hospital staff from 1998 to 2003. I’ve emailed Dr. Greene a list of names.”

“I’ll let her know.”

Hanging up, Lloyd swiveled his desk chair around to face the window. Snow was falling in steady sheets, though it was only the fourth of October. He watched the flurries dance in the air, and for the first time in weeks, his mind felt still. Answers were coming. They had to come because Lloyd was certain of one thing: Shun Nguyen had not kidnapped Laine Cruz. Whoever had done so was still out there, a free man.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Coming Soon - XXXI

Masterlist

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[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Maybe [Soap x Fem!OC]

Summary: Soap finds a kindred spirit during a trying time

Author’s Notes: This is a little of a long intro, feel free to skip it! I’ve been reading fanfiction for years, and I’ve started dozens of fics. This is the first one I’ve ever finished. (11.8K words!!!) It started off with me wanting Soap to get some medical care for his unaddressed injuries after Alone, and just exploded from there. I wanted to really highlight the bond he and Ghost formed, and then I wanted to give him love (because he deserves it!). I know it’s a bit sparse on the Price and Gaz side of things, but I feel like their bonds with Soap are sort of assumed going into this game. This game, to me, is about Soap learning that sometimes the right thing to do isn’t always so obvious, and Ghost learning to work with a team, thanks to Soap. I loved this campaign dearly, so I have a lot of dialogue carried over from scenes I really wanted to set. That being said, I changed some stuff to better incorporate my OC, Daniela. Writing reader-insert fics is a skill I just do not possess. If you’re reading, I hope you enjoy it!

And to my dear @uselsshuman, who is the furthest thing from useless, thank you so much for your encouragement to write this. Your writing and support really inspired me to get this done. This one’s for you. ❤

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Modern Warfare

Warnings: language, canon-typical violence, suggestive content

Soap tucked himself behind a door, braced his back against the wall, and did his level best to breathe as silently as possible. He could hear the Shadows’ footsteps and radio chatter nearby.

He pulled back the hammer on the desert eagle he’d found in the café safe and held his breath. He didn’t want to get into a gunfight, not here. Not with them. He had decent cover, but his arm throbbed where a bullet was lodged, his ribs stung where his plates had kept him from another, his whole body ached from his jumps and falls in the city, and he was almost certain he’d damaged something in his left hip the day before. 

That particular injury came from running along cliff faces to escape the cartel, which was bad enough. Adding the Shadows to that? That was terrible.

As the footsteps faded, Soap let out a slow, low breath and slumped to the ground. He let his eyes drift shut, just for a moment, taking stock of his ability to get across the plaza to the church. To Ghost. As if he knew that he was being thought about, Ghost’s voice crackled through the comms.

“Soap?“ he asked softly.

“Ghost,” whispered Soap.

“You alright?”

Soap opened his eyes and took a deep breath, peeked around the door, and answered “Think I found a way through, LT.”

“Shadows are everywhere. I’ll hold ‘em off until we RV in front of the church and secure a vehicle for exfil.”

“Roger that.” Soap crept up through the shop, taking care to stay low and move quietly.

“Give ‘em hell, Johnny. We’re almost there,” rumbled Ghost. After a moment’s pause, he added “Listen, I picked up an ally. Should help us get out of here a little easier. You’ve just got to us and we’ll get to a vehicle.”

Soap’s eyes narrowed. Ally? In Mexico? Only two people came to mind, and they were both “detained”.

“Is it Price?” he asked after a moment’s thought.

“No, one of Alejandro's Vaqueros. Wasn’t on base when Graves moved in. Showed up, realized something was wrong. We found each other killing Shadows, decided to team up.”

Soap chanced raising his head to peer out of the shop window. Seeing no Shadows, he moved for the door. “And you trust ‘im?”

“Enough, at least for now.”

“Copy that, LT. I’m on my way.”

He wiggled the door handle, but of course, nothing could be so easy. It was locked. So he pulled out the last of his makeshift pry tools, braced it in the door jamb, and pulled.

Lots of things happened all at once, then.

The door swung open. Soap yelled “Fuck!” while the Shadow said “what the- GET DOWN!”, and hit Soap with the butt of his rifle. The Shadow called his position, Soap heard “kill him!”, and then the Shadow dropped to the ground. Soap scrambled back, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye and groaning. His vision swam and his ears rang and he couldn’t get his bearings. Two more Shadows, running for the building, dropped to the sharp report of silenced sniper fire.

“Holy hell. Ghost, was that you?” Soap asked.

“Who else?” snapped Ghost’s rough voice. “Now go!”

He scrambled to his feet. And ran.

He ran as fast as his bruised body would let him, ducking behind cars and spraying with an SMG he’d picked up. He heard gunfire coming from ahead of him and cursed, grabbing for his radio.

“Ghost, how copy?”

“Johnny, got company in the church and they are not here for forgiveness. Get to the steps, we’ll be there!”

In the last few meters, Soap saw Ghost come careening out of the church doors, followed closely by a much smaller figure dressed all in black. They both turned to shoot at their followers as Soap and Ghost called out to each other. Ghost vaulted over the wrought iron fence, followed by their ally, and the three ran back the way Soap had come.

“We need a vehicle. On me!” Ghost barked. “Stay sharp. They know we’re here and they know it’s us. They’ll send more.”

Minutes that felt like hours later, after a brief firefight, the three piled into a pickup, panting and on high alert. 

“Alright, Johnny! You made it.”

“We made it, LT.” 

After ramming two Shadows with their stolen pickup, and nearly losing Ghost to another, they peeled off down an alley. Soap sagged against the seat, closing his eyes again. His heart and head were pounding.

“How’s that arm, Johnny?” asked Ghost.

Soap raised his head. “I’ll live,” he answered. He shivered violently, once, and Ghost cast a concerned glance in his direction.

“You sure it’s not infected?”

“Of course I’m not sure,” snapped Soap. Softening his voice, he added “But I think it’s just the cold. Between the tunnels and the rain, LT? Feels like I’m back home.”

Ghost nodded slowly. For a long moment, the two just basked in each others’ presence, grateful to have made it back together. Then, Ghost said “Daniela, would you take a look at the Sergeant’s arm? Can’t have him dying on us.”

Soap’s head snapped around to lock eyes with the ally he’d forgotten. Later, he’d remember this moment as an indication of his quickly deteriorating state. In the moment, though, he couldn’t wrap his head around anything but the woman in front of him.

Sometime between their getting into the truck and down the street, the black balaclava and hood had come off. The woman staring back at him had light olive skin and a mass of shiny black curls plastered to her head by rain. A thin, jagged, silvery scar ran from her cheekbone to her jaw, and her full lips were pursed in a barely-there smile. Soap thought he saw scarred flesh at the collar of her jacket. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from hers. They were the bluest blue he’d ever seen- dark like the ocean, clear like the sky on a cloudless night, and as sharp as glass. Familiar, somehow.

He hadn’t necessarily had expectations of how this ally would look, but this was as far from expectation as possible. He had pictured a man, but even the fact that she was a woman wasn’t most shocking of all. It was her beauty.

He flinched when her hand landed lightly on his right shoulder, pulling gently.

“No, we can’t,” she said. Her voice was soft, musical, lightly accented. The lilt of just those three words had Soap’s head spinning for, at least he thought, completely different reasons than it had been spinning earlier. He adjusted his body so that rather than leaning with his left arm over the seat, his right arm hung over. The woman looked straight to the wound, gently prodding the flesh around the bullet wound, and Soap bit his tongue to keep from hissing in pain.

“Does that hurt?” she asked.

Soap tried to be nonchalant. He shrugged and said “Not so much.”

Ghost snorted. Soap didn’t blame him. The words sounded strained even to his own ears. And based on the older man’s jokes about not watching the cartel’s videos of his death “more than once”, this seemed like just the kind of thing he might find amusing. The thought made Soap smirk. The woman rolled her eyes, setting them on his again.

“What’s your name, hen?”

“I am Daniela. You are Soap, yes?” Soap nodded. Daniela nodded as well, focusing back on his arm. “Your Ghost, he told you that I am with Los Vaqueros?”

Soap and Ghost exchanged a look at “your Ghost”. Now Soap really was smirking, and he imagined that Ghost was grimacing under his mask.

“Aye, that he did,” he replied. He watched as Daniela unzipped her tactical vest and tore a strip of fabric from the bottom of her shirt. She began winding it around his bicep, grimacing slightly at the wheeze of pain he couldn’t hold back.

“Well we have a safehouse. We’ll get there, stock up, get you patched up a little better, and come up with a plan.” After carefully tying a knot in the makeshift bandage, she raised her eyes to Soap’s again. “It’s the best I can do right now.”

“I appreciate it,” he replied. He held her gaze for a moment before turning to face Ghost. “Alright, Ghost?”

Ghost glanced at him again. Even behind the mask, Soap could see his expression soften. “Alright, Johnny. You did well back there.” Soap grinned, and could tell by the crinkling around his eyes that Ghost was grinning, too.

“All thanks to you, LT.”

The rest of the ride was filled with soft chatter about Alejandro, Los Vaqueros, Graves, and the safehouse… and Soap trying, and failing, not to feel Daniela’s burning stare on the back of his neck.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Soap thought he was done for when Ghost shouted for him not to move. His feet had just touched the safehouse floor and Ghost was perched in the window. Before Soap even had time to react, a throwing knife flew past his head, embedding itself in the column just a meter away. Then he recognized Rodolfo’s voice. 

“Quién está ahí?”

“Rodolfo!”

Rodolfo rounded the corner. “Soap, Ghost! You’re alive!” Soap could see the moment Daniela mounted the window. Rodolfo’s face crumbled, his whole body seeming to sag with relief. “Daniela!”

“Rodolfo!” She leapt from the windowsill, surging forward to wrap her arms around Rodolfo’s waist. His own arms came around her shoulders and the two rocked back and forth, holding each other, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish that Soap had no hope of understanding. Rodolfo kissed the side of Daniela’s head, holding her to him tightly. Soap looked away. His eyes met Ghost’s and the two shared a slight shrug.

While Rodolfo and Daniela chattered away, Ghost stepped toward Soap.

“Daniela should be able to fix up that arm,” he said. “She’s not a formally trained medic, but she has lots of field training and experience. She told me she’s been patching up Los Vaqueros for years.”

“Aye. How’d you say you found her? Fighting Shadows?”

Ghost looked her way, nodding. “Just a few minutes before I got you on comms, I heard a scuffle. Thought it might be you, so I went in to assist. Lo and behold, I find that one slicing up a Shadow. ‘Nother pair showed up, though, and one got her in a choke-hold. Would’ve carried her off to who knows where if I hadn’t shown up.”

Soap nodded slowly. He didn’t need any more explanation. He knew the implications of what Ghost was saying and it made his blood boil.

Ghost shrugged. “She trusted me enough since I’d just saved her life, and I trusted her enough since she was fighting them and didn’t raise her gun at me. Plus, I think she’s as dedicated to the cause as Alejandro and Rodolfo.”

“Why’s that?” asked Soap. But before Ghost could answer, Rodolfo cut in.

“Where were you guys?”

“On the run,” answered Ghost.

“I was on the run,” corrected Soap. “Ghost waited for me.”

Rodolfo nodded. “Of course, no?”

Dread sank in Soap’s stomach. “No-” he began. But Ghost cut him off.

“Yes,” he said firmly, locking eyes with Soap again. “We’re a team. All of us.”

That stunned Soap into silence. He’d known they’d bonded trying to escape Las Almas with their lives, but for all of his teasing about Ghost taking a shine to him, he hadn’t actually believed that Ghost would say the same thing.

He was touched.

Maybe even more touched by the fact that the legendary lone-wolf Ghost considered him part of his team. It was likely the highest compliment he would ever get from him.

So while Rodolfo and Ghost started in on their plan to get into the prison, Soap settled down against the safehouse wall with an MRE from Alejandro’s supplies. The adrenaline shot he’d managed to get his hands on in Las Almas was waning, and he could feel every sore muscle, the bullet in his arm, and his likely sprained hip sharply. He tried to tune in to the conversation, but his attention was immediately lost when Daniela approached him with a med kit.

She grinned a bit wryly at him. “Mind if I take a better look at that arm?” Soap nodded and braced himself to stand, but Daniela jumped forward, holding out a hand. “No, don’t get up,” she said. Soap settled back to the ground as she crouched by him, reaching for her makeshift bandage from earlier.

Soap studied her as she worked. Her hair had dried and now sat at least a few centimeters higher on her head, tight ringlets falling to her shoulders. Her eyebrows furrowed just a bit as she carefully removed the bloodied fabric. Her movements were calculated, washing the wound and looking at it closely.

“How did you join Los Vaqueros?” Soap asked. For a moment, Daniela didn’t acknowledge him. Then she raised her gaze to his.

Instead of answering his question, she said “I need to get the bullet out. It’s going to hurt. Think you can handle it?”

Soap nodded once, sharply. Her gaze softened. “I don’t have any painkillers. This isn’t going to be some… little pain. It’s going to hurt a lot.”

Soap cocked a wry grin back at her. “Just so long as my screaming doesn’t bother you,” he teased. A wicked spark lit in her eyes at that.

“It won’t bother me. Maybe I’d like to hear you scream.”

Soap’s jaw dropped. It was exactly the type of thing he’d say, but having it said to him was dumbfounding. Who was this woman?

Her smile only grew as she watched him try to compose himself. He was grateful when her gaze dropped back to the task at hand, sterilizing a pair of forceps. He was sure his face was flaming red.

“Los Vaqueros saved my life when I was sixteen,” she said softly. “My village leader refused the cartel’s demands, so El Sin Nombre set to burning the village down. I was one of three survivors.” That explained Ghost’s certainty of her dedication.

She moved to his right side, between his leg and outstretched arm, and gripped his bicep below the bullet wound.

“My whole family died that day.”

She set the forceps at the wound’s entry. Soap took a deep breath.

“I have burns all over my body from our house burning down.” That explained the scarring at her neck.

Soap lurched forward, gasping, when she dug the forceps in. The pain was so blinding that he nearly missed Daniela cursing softly in Spanish before sitting on his right leg, leaning her body against his to keep him from moving. Nearly missed. But didn’t. 

“Lo ciento,” she whispered, sparing him a concerned glance. He grit his teeth and leaned his head back against the wall, chest heaving as he took deep breaths through his nose. 

“I’m sorry,” he gritted out. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.”

Daniela shrugged. “Alejandro pulled me out of that fire,” she continued. Her tone was light, but seemed forced. Soap wasn’t sure whether it was her attempt to calm him or to pretend her story didn’t bother her.

He felt the moment that the forceps grasped the bullet. Took a deep breath. Steeled himself. Nothing prepared him for the feeling. He’d been shot before, multiple times. Bullet removal wasn’t a walk in the park, but he hadn’t realized just how much the painkillers mattered.

Soap was not proud of the whimper he let out when Daniela yanked the bullet out in one clean motion. She dropped the forceps onto a medical tray and lightly patted his cheek before inspecting the wound closely, muttering about infection and pointedly not meeting his gaze. She poured antiseptic over the wound and reached for a bottle of pills. 

“Here, take these. Antibiotics,” she said. After watching Soap swallow the pills, she picked a needle and thread up out of the med kit and continued. “Rodolfo threw a wet blanket over me. They put ointment on my burns and fed me. They offered me a home. They taught me to fight. They’ve been my family ever since.” 

Soap felt a pang of kinship at her words. He flinched slightly when the needle pierced his skin, but the pain died to a dull burn as Daniela kept stitching.

“Now that, I do understand,” he said. 

“You have no family?”

“No. Just the 141.”

After a few more strokes, she tied off the thread and laid a hand on his chest.

“They are my brothers. We must get Alejandro back.”

Soap reached up to cover her hand, belatedly hoping she wouldn’t be able to feel his heart pounding when she met his gaze. “We will, hermana.”

The smile she gave him was small, but her eyes were warm. It lasted for a brief moment before she arched an eyebrow. 

“Hermana?” She leaned forward until her mouth brushed Soap’s ear and he was sure that she could feel his heartbeat stutter. “I certainly hope not.”

With that, she picked up her medical kit and sauntered away, leaving Soap to stare after her in shock.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Getting into the prison compound was easy enough. 

“Trash bin on your right, time to take out the trash.”

“Shut up, Soap, fucking hell.”

A giggle from Daniela.

“Shoot him.”

“No, got something else in mind.”

“Fucking beautiful, sir!”

Impressed mumbling from Rodolfo.

“Cut and paste him, Ghost.”

Soap and Ghost’s banter amused Daniela to no end, even though Soap was sure he’d never been so anxious in his life. Having Ghost’s life almost solely in his hands was a responsibility he never wanted to feel again. But working with Rodolfo again helped to ease his mind.

Nearly being killed by Alejandro was less than ideal, but made worth it to watch him reunite with Rodolfo and Daniela.

“Alejandro! Al- it’s me, hermano!”

“Coronel, relájese somos nosotros!”

“Soap, Rudy, Ghost! Daniela!”

“Didn’t think we’d leave you, did ya?”

“What took you so long, pendejos?”

Getting out wasn’t quite as easy. 

“Exfil vehicles are set. Ghost planted charges to help us get out.”

“With Johnny’s help.”

“Eh, I can’t call Soap ‘Johnny’.”

“Don’t. Only Ghost can pull that off.”

“Aww, really? Only your Ghost? What about me?”

“Yes, Johnny, what about Daniela?”

“Can it, LT.”

But between Los Vaqueros and the 141, they made it. Soap couldn’t put into words how much relief he felt upon seeing Gaz and hearing the old man’s voice. After being hoisted to the top, he and Daniela ended up shoulder to shoulder, her covering him while he detonated the Shadows vehicles.

“Have you been with the 141 long?” she shouted over the sounds of gunfire.

“The 141 hasn’t been around all that long,” he shouted back. “But yeah, I’ve been with ‘em since the start.” He raised his rifle, picking off three snipers with three shots.

Daniela raised an impressed eyebrow. “I can see why!”

Soap grinned wide, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as he raised the detonator. “Would you be impressed if I told you I rigged the explosives for these things, too?”

Daniela returned his grin full force. “I would be.”

Soap’s grin only widened before he pressed the button, eyes locked with Daniela’s. He lowered his voice and said “Ka-freaking-boom, baby.” She’d giggled when he said it earlier, and as the APC exploded, she let out another delighted squeal.

“Handsome and clever? This is a good combination, Johnny,” she said. Soap was grateful that shooting was such second nature to him because in that moment, all coherent thoughts ceased to exist. When he managed to look back to Daniela, she was smiling slyly. She picked off a sniper from across the yard and Soap shook his head. Witty, intelligent, beautiful, and a good shot. 

When the door to their right crashed open, Soap threw himself in front of Daniela to cover her as they each shot one of the men inside. Ghost barked at Soap about weapons, and he came back to the wall with a grenade launcher. He released several grenades before the last of Alejandro’s men mounted the wall top, and then made sure that Daniela went down the other side before him.

When he stumbled getting to their transport out, he chalked it up to battle fatigue, which he told both Ghost and Daniela when they asked whether he was okay. Neither looked convinced, but neither questioned him. They did sit on either side of him for the ride back to the safehouse, though.

Daniela leaned close to him. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“Never better,” he lied. His whole body throbbed in varying levels of discomfort and pain. At least his head had stopped throbbing. Daniela leveled her gaze at him, and he returned a wide grin. She rolled her eyes and dropped it. Instead, she said “Thank you for covering me. You didn’t have to do that.”

Soap’s grin softened. “I know,” he said.

Back at the safe house, lively music played softly in the garage as Los Vaqueros cleaned weapons, loaded vehicles, and fed themselves. Soap felt slightly out of place, like he and the rest of the 141 were walking into someone’s home. Everyone either had something to say or shook hands with Daniela and Rodolfo as they passed, and they both smiled warmly at their friends.

Soap and Ghost made their way to an unoccupied pair of cots in the corner, observing their newfound comrades. Price had disappeared with Alejandro to formulate a plan, ordering the two to sleep. But exhausted as he was, Soap wasn’t sure he’d be able to.

He couldn’t get comfortable. No matter which way he turned, something ached or stung. He tried relaxing his muscles. He tried breathing deeply. He tried counting sheep. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the fire and the blood from the streets of Las Almas. He could hear the screaming and the pleading and the gunfire. He tried covering his eyes, and his ears. Eventually, he rolled to his side, facing Ghost. He was startled to meet the Lieutenant’s eyes. 

“Simon?” Soap asked softly. 

“Johnny,” said Ghost, equally as softly. 

Soap chewed his lip. “Do you ever forget?”

Ghost held his stare, unflinching. “No. You don’t.” Soap hadn’t realized before, but Ghost’s eyes were bloodshot. He looked tired. He’d learned quickly that he slept infrequently, and for short periods of time. It made a lot more sense, now. Ghost rolled over, huffing out a soft breath. “But eventually, you’ll learn to sleep anyway.”

Soap stared at his back, wondering if he would. Wondering if Ghost ever had. He didn’t know how long he stared at his teammate, but it felt like hours later that someone sat gently on the end of his cot. He flew up, grabbing for the bowie knife he kept in his tactical vest. 

Daniela raised her hands, offering a tired smile. “Mind if I take a look at that arm?”

“Sure.” Soap swung his legs off of the cot, resting his hands on the edge. Daniela turned toward him, reaching out and carefully pulling off the dressing she’d applied that early morning. 

“How does it feel? Any sharp pains or itching? Any dizziness, fever?” As soon as she said fever, Soap realized he’d been sweating more than usual. He’d absolutely been feeling dizzy since that harrowing night on the run, but it seemed to have died down throughout the day. And now that he actually paid attention long enough, it was quite itchy.

“No,” he lied. Once again, those ocean eyes seemed to pierce his very soul, challenging him. She knew. But she didn’t say anything, simply reached into the med kit for the same bottle of antibiotics and handed him two. Soap took them gratefully. The team couldn’t afford to be without him, and Ghost would surely order him to stay back if he thought the Sergeant was at all compromised.

Again, she washed the wound with antiseptic, then applied a fresh coat of salve before covering it with a fresh bandage.

“Why are you awake, anyway?” she asked suddenly. Soap’s head snapped up, eyes flying to hers. She looked nearly as exhausted as Ghost, all bloodshot eyes and frazzled hair and sagging shoulders. Still gorgeous.

Soap shrugged uncomfortably. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

She shrugged back, offering a small smile. “Couldn’t sleep either. It makes sense, though. You’ve been through a lot the last few days.” The last few days? When Soap cocked an eyebrow at her, she fidgeted a bit. “I, uh… I was there in the cartel house. When Valeria interrogated you.”

Several things clicked into place for Soap very suddenly. Alejandro had taken him to the elevator once he got into the cartel house, and another guard had escorted him out and down to the basement. Small, with ocean-blue eyes. Then at the oil rig, Alejandro had sent one man with Soap and Graves to the ship. Dani.

“You’re strong for your size,” said Soap in awe. Daniela had shoved him repeatedly through the hallway, even tapping the side of his face with the butt of her gun when he had begun to look over his shoulder.

She smiled wryly. “Sorry about that. We had to make it real, and we couldn’t risk any more comms than we had.”

“No, no, it’s okay. You did good,” said Soap. “Why can’t you sleep?”

Daniela shifted again. “I don’t do so well the night before big missions. I usually bunk next to Alelandro or Rodolfo, but they’re both… occupied. So, I came over here instead. To you.”

Soap’s heart melted. He was so drawn to this woman, and to know that she felt even a fraction of that bond made his heart swell with gratitude. “You can bunk with us,” he said quickly. Then, glancing around, he realized that there didn’t seem to be any available cots. “Take my cot. I can sleep in a chair.”

Daniela’s face had washed with relief when he spoke, but some tension returned as she looked down at her hands. “Don’t be silly,” she mumbled. “I’m not putting you out of your cot after the week you’ve had.”

“Well then, you’ll just have to share it with me,” teased Soap. He held his breath when Daniela’s head snapped up. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to say anything so bold, but he’d taken it and run with it. “There’s plenty of space for both of us.”

“If I sleep on top of you, maybe,” snorted Daniela. Soap wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Daniela giggled.

Soap softened his voice, speaking more seriously. “I really don’t mind sharing.”

She contemplated for a moment, sighed, and then rolled her eyes. “Fine. Just don’t complain if I crush you.”

Now it was Soap’s turn to snort. He lay down carefully, his back to Ghost’s cot, and raised his right arm. Daniela lay down beside him, turning onto her side and tucking herself under his chin. A perfect fit. Soap gently let his arm come down over her waist, laying his hand on the cot rail.

“This okay?” he whispered. She nodded. Soap nodded, too. His heart was pounding. He hadn’t been close to someone like this in… well, a long time.

The 141 was his whole life. There was always work to be done, and without a family to go home to, there was no real reason to take leave. On the rare occasion he did, he just ended up in his home town in Scotland. He’d flirt, constantly, but he seldom brought anyone home. He longed for something deeper, and sex alone could never fill that void. Plus, no one wanted to commit to someone who could be gone for months at a time.

But this? To be close to someone? This was filling the void just fine. Soap had to fight the urge to pull her further back against him as her breathing evened out, her body naturally leaning more on his own. As he dozed, he was proud of himself for staying still. He drifted in and out of sleep, dreaming empty dreams and feeling her shift against him.

As he finally woke up the next morning, he felt his hip aching fiercely. He started to shift to take some pressure off of it, and froze. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw Daniela’s wild hair. He groggily remembered that they’d shared a cot the night before. All of his pride at his self-control dissolved instantly when he realized that his arm was around her waist, holding her tightly to his chest. She must have turned over in her sleep, because her leg was thrown over his hip, pulling their bodies flush together. 

He could already feel a problem, and this was not the time or place. He had to get out of this cot without waking her up. He shifted back, then froze as Daniela’s hand ran up to the back of his head to tangle her fingers in his mohawk. Her eyelids fluttered, her fingers pulled lightly at his hair, and her leg tightened around his hips. Soap’s eyes fluttered shut as he swallowed a groan. Fuck. When he opened his eyes again, she was smiling at him sleepily.

“That’s the best sleep I’ve gotten in months,” she whispered. Soap nodded, desperately trying to get his body under control before she woke up any more. To his dismay, she nuzzled closer to him, nose rubbing under his jaw and hips shifting back and forth for a moment. Her eyes snapped open, eyebrows arching. “Feels like you slept pretty well, too, eh big boy?” Hells bells, this woman. Soap barely suppressed a full body shudder as she beamed at him.

“I didn’t, I’m not, I-” he stuttered. But Daniela placed her fingers over his lips, silencing him. Her eyes were full of mirth.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” she teased. Then she languidly stretched, pressing against him as much as humanly possible before climbing out of the cot and sashaying away, tossing a wicked grin over her shoulder at him. Soap turned to Ghost’s cot, which was blessedly empty, and then pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, still fighting for his body to cooperate. Hells fucking bells.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Alejandro called his men, all sound stopped. The place became a real base in that moment. Los Vaqueros and the 141 gathered around a makeshift operations table, listening intently as Price spoke.

“This is a fight against our own. We are not 141 and Los Vaqueros on this. We’re a team. Ghost team.”

Soap’s eyebrows shot up when the Captain dumped out a bucket of masks, then his eyes snapped up to Ghost. Ghost was staring at him, and Soap was almost certain he was steeling himself. Their silent conversation lasted only a moment before Ghost reached up, pulling off his mask, pausing before reaching for one from the table. Price reached a hand up to his shoulder.

“Good to see you again, Simon,” he said.

Soap carefully schooled his features in an attempt to soothe Ghost’s nerves, but he felt a distinct surge of pride in being one of the few to be allowed to know the Lieutenant. As the older man adjusted the mask over his face, the two shared another weighted look. Soap quirked up one corner of his mouth, shaking his head. Quite the opposite, indeed.

Alejandro laid out the plan to get into the Los Vaqueros facility. “We’ll infiltrate the base with two Ghost teams. Team one is Captain Price, Gaz, me, and one pilot. Team two is Ghost, Soap, Rudy, Dani, and Los Vaqueros.”

Ghost and Soap looked to each other and nodded. Then Soap turned to Daniela, raising an eyebrow. He mouthed “Dani?” 

She smirked, mouthing back “Johnny?”

Soap grinned. He looked to Ghost, who was shaking his head. But his eyes were crinkled with mirth.

“While Gaz and me locate and secure Valeria, Ghost team 2 will find Graves… and kill him.”

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ghost team 2 fought their way through the base to the HQ building, then fought their way through that. Soap and Ghost moved together like they’d fought together for years, and Daniela and Rodolfo effortlessly slotted themselves into their dynamic. Between the three of them, no Shadows made it more than a few steps into the open.

Watching Price’s helo go down had Soap’s stomach sinking. “Steamin’ hell!” Soap shouted. He and Ghost shared a heavy look while Daniela and Rodolfo cursed softly. Rodolfo quickly recovered, clambering up the wall with Soap’s help. Daniela followed after, lightly stepping into Soap’s linked hands before joining Rodolfo in straddling the wall. The two of them pulled Soap up quickly, who turned to Ghost.

“Ghost, you comin’?” he asked.

“No. Price and the pilot need help. You three finish this.”

Soap’s head whipped back and forth between Ghost and the other side of the wall until he saw something that made his stomach drop even more. “Look!” he shouted.

“That’s not ours!” shouted Rodolfo.

“Holy shite. Graves brought a fuckin’ tank!” growled Soap, dropping to the ground. He glanced at Rodolfo and Daniela. “You ready for this?”

“Hell yeah!” answered Rodolfo. Daniela nodded curtly. Soap motioned for the three to split up.

“Looks like the hunters are getting hunted now, huh?” came Graves’ sneering voice. “Ain’t that a kick in the ass?”

“Can’t wait to bake this bastard,” grumbled Soap. He, Daniela, and Rodolfo had run into different buildings. Rodolfo tried to call out C4 stashes, Daniela threw grenades as she could, and Soap gestured for both of them to stay down and inside. Then he ran for his life.

“You and your mexicano friends fucked with the wrong hombre, MacTavish!” yelled Graves.

“Come on out and let’s talk about it,” quipped Soap. Daniela snorted, and despite the severity of the situation, Soap found himself smiling.

Graves seemed altogether less pleased. “You think this is a fucking game out here? You wanna play war? Let’s play some fucking war, chicos! One of you dipshits needs to die last. Who’s it gonna be?”

“Go fuck yourself, Graves.” Soap threw a brick of C4 straight into the tank’s path, silently congratulating himself when it blew.

“You got a healthy disrespect for authority, Soap. I like that about you!”

“You’re Shepherd’s lap dog. You get paid to break the rules.”

“There’s only two rules here, boys. Walk away… or win. Guess which one I choose?” Soap vaulted through a window. It wasn’t high, but the landing still made his hip throb in protest. He grunted softly. “Shoulda gone home when you had the chance, Soap- you and that asshole with the mask, hiding behind that uniform.”

Soap’s temper instantly flared. “You wore that uniform,” he ground out. He was crouched by another C4 stash, trying to judge Graves’ location.

“That uniform was a limitation!” shouted Graves. “I shed that skin!”

“Like a fuckin’ snake,” Soap hissed.

“Like a fuckin’ soldier, son.”

“You had to make your own little army ‘cause you couldn’t hack it in the real one.” This time, Soap managed to stick the side of the tank with C4 as it passed. He ran, detonated, and silently cheered again when he heard the second explosion.

Soap managed to tune out most of the rest of what Graves said, until he turned his attention to Rodolfo. His Spanish wasn’t great, but he picked up the general idea that Graves was saying the 141 were no friends to Los Vaqueros.

“Oye, pendejo!” Daniela’s voice suddenly cut through the radio. Most of what she said was lost to Soap, but she sounded furious. He picked out the words “friends”, “assholes like you”, “good people”, and “brothers”, and “death”. Hermanos hasta la muerte.

Graves must have understood more than Soap, because his driving became erratic and he shouted back to Daniela in what Soap did recognize as poorly pronounced Spanish. 

Her distraction gave him enough time to sneak up behind the tank and lay one last brick of C4 between the tank’s body and tread. But just as he started to back off, the gun began to swing in his direction. Soap braced himself to run, and then froze. 

“Graves!” Daniela shouted. She had leapt up to stand in the window of the building directly ahead of Soap. As the tank's gun swung back in her direction, Soap scrambled to his feet, racing forward. 

“Pinche tu madre,” she sneered. 

Soap could hear the tank’s gun spinning up.

“No!” He shouted. Daniela’s head snapped in his direction. Her face fell when they locked stares, eyes flashing with anxiety. She took half a step toward him, but Soap launched himself through the window. In one smooth motion, he wrapped his arm around Daniela’s waist, yanked her against himself, and pulled them to the ground. He landed hard on his shoulder as he heard the tank fire and rolled her under him as fast as he could, tucking his head against hers and shielding them both with his arms. The building crumbled under the impact, sheetrock and dust raining down on them. Several chunks of sheetrock landed across Soap’s back. That’ll be a few new bruises.

As it began to settle, Soap raised his head just enough to look down at Daniela. They were nose to nose when she opened her eyes, hands coming up to run over his covered head. 

“Y’alright?” Soap whispered. She nodded frantically. 

“You?” He nodded. As he shifted his shoulders, bits of rubble fell off and cracked against the ground. He winced. 

He looked up and around. Graves’ tank was rotating, looking for them. He glanced to the stairs, then looked back down at Daniela. 

“Hold onto me,” he whispered. Daniela cocked an eyebrow, but wrapped her arms around his neck. Soap grabbed one of her legs behind the knee, wrapping it around his waist, and she smirked before wrapping her other leg around his back as well. As serious as the situation was, their position wasn’t lost on Soap. Twice in one day? He swallowed hard. C’mon, MacTavish.

As quickly as he dared, he crawled for the stairwell. He could see Graves’ tank through the doorway on the opposite wall, facing away. In the last meter, he leapt to his feet and ran up several steps, stopping midway to lean against the wall. Daniela slid down his body, resting her hands on his chest. Soap shivered. They were both panting slightly. Her eyes shone as she looked up at him. 

“Gracías, guapo,” she said softly. Then her hand snapped up to her earpiece. She started down for a moment, then looked back up at Soap. “Rodolfo moved to Los Vaqueros private channel. He says there should be an RPG downstairs,” she said. 

Soap nodded, clicking through channels until he could hear Rudy’s voice. “I’ll get it,” he said.

Daniela grabbed his arm as he moved, stopping him in his tracks. “Be careful,” she said. He nodded, clasping her arm. 

“I will.”

He crept down the stairs, peeking around the wall to where he’d last seen Graves’ tank. It wasn’t there. Staying low, he rounded the corner, eyes searching frantically for the RPG.

“Check under the counter, hermano,” whispered Rodolfo. When Soap glanced up, he could barely see the other man peeking around a doorframe across the yard. He crept to the bar counter, slid open the door as quietly as possible, and grabbed the RPG inside.

“Siiick,” said Soap, raising the RPG to his shoulder. With his back to the wall, he slowly made his way to an opening, searching for Graves. Not seeing him, he stayed. And breathed. And waited.

He could hear the thing driving around outside, searching for him or the others. He just hoped they were well hidden.

His radio crackled. “He’s heading your way, Soap,” said Daniela quietly.

“Rog’,” he replied. “Stay down.”

Carefully, he crouched and turned, ready to fire as soon as the tank came into view. He didn’t have to wait long. With a deep breath, he stood, pulled the trigger, and dove behind the cabinet again. The explosion from the tank seemed to rock the very ground. He realized that he’d never detonated the last brick of C4. Double trouble, then.

Slowly, Soap stood and leaned around the corner. Graves’ tank was a ball of fire, smoke and flames billowing into the sky. He heard Daniela step down the stairs, then felt her small hand on his shoulder blade. Rudy peeked around the corner of a doorway, looking around before stepping outside. Soap and Daniela did the same, cautiously walking forward.

“You did it, Soap,” said Rodolfo softly.

“You two and me, hermano,” said Soap.

“Brought a gun to a tank fight.”

Soap chuckled, smiling under his mask. “Yeah we did!” He reached for his radio, clicking back to the main channel. “Soap to Ghost- I’m with Rudy. Graves is KIA. How’s Price?”“Angry. Lost a good cigar in the crash. Pilot’s okay, too. Out.”

Rodolfo relayed the message to Alejandro. They all took a moment to breathe. And then they moved out to meet Ghost Team 1.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Soap’s head was spinning. They had all known Valeria was a wildcard, but he didn’t think any of them had expected her to drop the bomb of information that a missile was in Chicago. Not even Alejandro. Price handed her off to Los Vaqueros almost immediately, the threat in his voice clear. Soap wasn’t surprised, and he didn’t expect to ever see her alive again.

He was surprised when he had to lift Daniela up and out of the container after she lunged for Valeria. He dragged her out kicking and screaming in Spanish, all curses and threats. Rudy followed them out first, trying to calm her down, but there was nothing for it. The other woman was single-handedly responsible for the deaths of all of her family and friends. Soap couldn’t fault her rage.

Gaz came out next, raising his eyebrows at Soap in a silent question. Soap nodded, affirming that he was alright. Daniela had stopped thrashing, but her chest still rose and fell quickly against his arms. He’d had to lean back against the wall, lifting her feet off the ground to keep her from beelining to the container. Now she stood, back against his chest, hands gripping his tactical harness where it crossed his thighs.

“I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling,” Gaz began softly. He paced slowly back and forth in front of them. “But I do know that she’s not worth throwing your life away.”

“She stole my life!” hissed Daniela. “She took my family. She took everything from me! And now she’s doing it all again! More people will lose their lives, lose their families, if she isn’t stopped!”

“But she gave you a purpose,” said Gaz firmly. He’d stopped pacing, staring directly at Daniela now. “You’ll never let that happen to anyone ever again. We are going to stop her. And I know it’s not the same thing, but she gave you a family, too. Hell, she gave you two families. You, Alejandro, Rodolfo? Los Vaqueros? You’ll always have a family with the 141, now.”

Soap squeezed her just a bit tighter at that, his own silent affirmation. After a moment, Daniela’s hands released his harness and lay flat against his legs. She seemed to sag back against him. Her voice shook slightly when she spoke.

“Gracias, hermano.”

Gaz simply nodded before returning to the container. For several minutes, Soap and Daniela said nothing. Then, very softly, she said “You can let me go.”

“Aye? You won’t kick me in the shins and run off to kill her anyway?”

Daniela snorted at that. “No.” With one final squeeze, Soap let her go. As he did, Alejandro came storming out of the container, followed closely by Rodolfo. He moved straight for Daniela, gripping her shoulders.

“We’re going to be hunted men, Dani,” he said. “I’m not letting her get away with this. Rodolfo and I will handle her, and we’ll handle the cartel. But you…” He looked up at Soap, then back at Daniela. He pointed to Soap with one finger. “You need to go with them. I don’t want you to be a part of this.”

“Alejandro, no, soy-”

“No,” he growled. He tilted his head back to look at the ceiling, and Soap realized when he looked at Daniela again that he was tearing up. He lowered his head to her level, staring at her intently. “What did I tell you the night we found you?”

Rodolfo had turned his head away, shoulders stiff. Soap couldn’t see her face, but he could hear in her voice that Daniela was tearing up, too. “You told me you would always protect me,” she whimpered.

Alejandro shook her gently. “This is me protecting you, hermana.” He pointed to Soap. “That man will protect you with his life. You told me so yourself. Rodolfo told me.” He glanced back to Soap, who nodded, stunned. “And I can see it when I look at him, and the way he looks at you. You have to go with them. You have to get that missile, and you have to stay out of Mexico until this dies down. And then you know we’ll welcome you back with open arms.”

Rodolfo turned, reaching out a hand to hold Daniela’s. “This has always been our fight, mijá,” he whispered. “It doesn’t have to be yours. And I know you chose it, but this time… just let us do this for you. Sabes que te amamos.”

Price and Gaz had come out of the container again, Price holding Valeria. They both nodded to Soap, who nodded to Daniela when she looked over to him. Her gaze dropped, and then she looked back to her men.

“Yo sé que tú,” she whispered.

Alejandro moved to Soap while Rodolfo hugged Daniela.

“Go. You have work to do,” he said. Then he pulled Soap closer, and softly said “Take care of her.”“You know I will,” whispered Soap. He backed toward their plane. “Keep fighting the good fight, hermano!” he called.“To the bitter end, my brother!” said Alejandro.

“Good luck, amigos,” said Rodolfo.

Price shoved Valeria into the backseat of Alejandro and Rodolfo’s vehicle while Soap, Ghost, and Daniela moved to board the aircraft Gaz had already started up.

“Ghost!” called Alejandro. Ghost turned back, cocking his head slightly. “No te pierdas, hermano!”

Whatever Ghost said back, Soap didn’t understand. But Daniela smiled, blowing a kiss with two fingers that Alejandro caught out of midair and held to his heart. Then they turned, boarded the plane, and were away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Soap had long since abandoned his fear of heights. Walking down a 60-story building didn’t make him nervous, but the hostage situation did. Ghost’s calm helped him keep his cool, though, and soon enough, Daniela was getting hostages out of the building while Soap and Price moved on Hassan. They cleared entire floors of the building in record times.

“And that’s why they call him Soap,” mumbled Ghost. Daniela’s answering giggle warmed Soap’s heart. Upon hearing this, Ghost added “Did you know he’s the youngest one of us? Got in with the SAS at sixteen.”

“Sixteen? Soap, you get more and more impressive the more I learn about you!”

Soap’s face flamed.

Despite the hostages, the mission was going smoothly. Too smoothly. Then, Laswell announced that Hassan had the controls. Ghost confirmed visual on floor 46, and back out they went.

“Soap, we find those controls, it’s up to you to disarm that missile.”

“Copy that… done it once before.”

The RPG could have ruined the whole plan, but Soap and Price were both lucky that it missed them. They moved into the building as quickly as possible, clearing yet another room in record time with Ghost’s sniper support.

When Gaz called that they had the target cornered, Soap and Price raced in his direction. Then came Laswell saying that the missile was launching. Everyone was speaking at once.

“No, no, no!” screamed Price. 

“Fecking hell,” growled Soap.

“Watcher, where’s the target?” yelled Price.

“Unknown, we’re working on it.”

“Copy. We’re going for Hassan. This way Sergeant!” he yelled to Soap. Then, “Gaz, where’s Hassan?”

Price and Soap were rounding the corner when Gaz answered. “End of the hall! Hassan’s holed up behind those doors.”

Price’s response was furious. “Let’s clear this out and bag him, then.”

When they got the snake cam under the door, the whole thing went to shit. 

The door blew. Soap and Price flew back and Gaz collapsed like a bag of rocks. Soap’s ears were ringing, he was bleeding, and he could hardly breathe. Only Gaz’s quick recovery saved his life. He was dragged into cover before Price took a bullet and Gaz went back for him, too.

Everything after was a blur. One moment, Soap was leaping down a falling elevator shaft. The next, he was running from the man he stole the laptop from. Then hiding. Then detonating the missile with Laswell’s help. Then, running for his life, again. 

“Nicely done, Johnny. Now for the hard part,” said Ghost.

“That was the fuckin’ hard part, LT.”

“Let’s find out. You need to stay alive, take out the guards, and kill Hassan.”

Soap looked around frantically. “I just need a weapon,” he said.

“Make one,” Ghost replied. He sounded so nonchalant. It made Soap huff out a laugh.

“Aye. Like old times, huh LT?”

Ghost’s voice was fond when he said “Seems like yesterday.”

Soap replied with equal fondness. “It was yesterday.”

He hid. He ran. With Ghost’s help, he fashioned some makeshift weapons. Then he ran headlong into Hassan. Before he could react, his world went dark.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Soap came to, he was being dragged by his foot. At first, he wasn’t sure where he was. Then he recognized the office he’d been chasing Hassan through.

Hassan. It was Hassan dragging him along.

Sluggishly, his mind went through his team. Ghost. Overwatch. Price. Holed up trying to recover. Gaz. Unknown. Daniela.

Daniela.

Alejandro had sent her with him and he didn’t even know where she was, whether she was safe. His heart twinged painfully. He didn’t have time to think, though. Hassan was yelling about fire and thinking they could stop him. Soap couldn’t focus on it.

Ghost.

“Ghost,” he whispered into his throat mic.

“Soap!”

“Watch… the window,” he managed.

Something exploded.

Hassan dragged him to his feet. Still going on about invading, not attacking.

He thrust Soap in front of him, pushing him toward the window. Soap desperately tried to keep his footing.

“Soap,” said Ghost. Soap vaguely recognized panic in his voice. “Soap, I see him, but I can’t-”

“Take the shot, LT,” mumbled Soap.

“What was that? What are you saying?” Hassan had him by his vest now, shaking him violently. 

“Soap, I can’t get a clear-”

“Take. The shot.” Soap’s jaw was clenched. It took all of his power to hold onto Hassan’s wrists enough not to fall back. Hassan was still pushing forward, shouting, and Soap was fighting a losing battle. Hassan was going to push him out of the window.

And he couldn’t stop it.

“I’m sorry,” said Ghost.

Then, just as Soap’s heels touched the ledge, searing pain shot through his chest. He lurched forward with the impact, falling into Hassan.

Hassan’s eyes were wide. Soap thought he saw blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His rattled brain couldn’t make sense of it as they both fell to the ground.

“Johnny, MOVE!” roared Ghost. With the last of his energy, Soap shoved as hard as he could, rolling off of Hassan’s body. Another piercing shot rang out and Hassan’s head cracked backward against the ground. 

Soap blinked at Hassan’s body. Ghost was shouting for him through his earpiece. Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place.

“You shot me,” he said dumbly to Ghost.

“Oh thank God,” muttered Ghost. He could hear Daniela shrieking in the background, too.

“You saved me,” he said. The whole room seemed colorful and soft. Spinning. Like a carousel.

Soap smiled, head lolling down.

He could vaguely hear Ghost and Daniela and Gaz yelling, but he was too tired to listen. Just a wee nap. That’s all I need.

Footsteps pounded nearby. With great effort, Soap turned his head. It didn’t hold where he wanted it to, just flopped onto the ground on the other side. He watched a small black pair of boots race across the floor toward him.

“No no no no, hijo de puta. Por favor, Dios, no.” Suddenly, Soap’s head and shoulders were being lifted. Then he was dragged back against something soft. He looked up. Daniela was running her hands over his head, his chest, clawing at his tactical vest. “Por favor, Dios, no,” she repeated. Her voice shook as badly as her hands and tears streamed down her face.

“Hey,” Soap said. He grinned up at her. “Whassa matter? Why’re you crying?”

He reached a hand up to her, wiping her cheek with his thumb. He couldn’t keep it raised and it flopped back to his side.

“John Soap MacTavish, you’d better not die on me,” she muttered. She had gotten his vest loose and was pulling his shirt up roughly. 

“Hey, bonnie, at least buy me dinner first,” he slurred. He chuckled. It was silly. It was all so silly. He could hear Ghost yelling faintly, but he wasn’t sure why. Daniela was leaning heavily on his chest, and he wasn’t sure about that either.

Suddenly, he felt as though he’d been sat out in snow for a good few hours. “Hey, are you cold?” he asked Daniela.

“Hey,” Daniela said sharply. She gripped his chin between her fingers. “Look at me.”

Clarity hit Soap like a ton of bricks. He’d been shot. He was bleeding. Cold from shock. That’s why Daniela was crying and Ghost was yelling. He’d been knocked out. Likely had a concussion. He looked up at her solemnly, grabbing her wrist with his hand. Don’t die on me, she’d said. He was dying.

They’d talked quite a bit over their few days together. Talked about their hopes and dreams, and how those fit into their dangerous lives. Talked about their dedication to their teams, their values, their futures. Talked about growing up, their families, how they’d gotten there. 

She’d asked him if he’d ever been in love.

He’d said he hadn’t. But he wasn’t so sure that was true, any more.

When he’d asked her, she’d said “maybe” with a sly smile his direction, all twinkling eyes and rosy cheeks.

He blinked, hard. He wanted to know what that meant.

“What did you mean… when you said maybe?” he panted out.

For a moment, Daniela just blinked at him. Then her eyes softened, tears slipping down her cheeks as she understood his question. “I meant I might be,” she whispered. “I’m not quite sure yet. You’ll have to give me some time to figure it out.”

Soap hummed, eyes drifting shut. “I’m pretty sure,” he breathed. Daniela gasped, but he reached up to touch her cheek before she could say anything. “You,” he began, voice a whisper. “You are the most… the most beautiful, intelligent, amazing woman that… that I’ve ever-”

Daniela didn’t let him finish. Her lips were on his before he knew it. He was kissing her before even registering that she’d leaned down. Her lips were soft, just like he’d imagined. She tasted like strawberries and mint and salt. Tears. She kissed him desperately, and he kissed her desperately back. His hand slid back to tangle in her curls. So unbelievably soft.  He could hardly move his head, but she tilted her own to deepen the kiss. She ran her tongue along the seam of his lips and he moaned, low in his chest. He weakly tried to pull her closer. No point hiding it now. Besides, if he was going to die, what better way to go? More footsteps pounded in the door. He could vaguely make out Gaz and Price’s voices.

And then, above them all, nearly a full octave up in his panic, Ghost. “Johnny!”

Daniela’s teeth lightly grazed his lip. Soap sighed, then everything went black.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Soap woke to a gentle beeping. His head and mouth felt like they were stuffed with cotton. His body felt like one big bruise, but with shards of glass sprinkled throughout it. He couldn’t open his eyes. There was light pressure against his right hip.

He breathed deeply. Ouch.

Slowly, his eyes cracked open. The room was dark, but moonlight streamed in through a window out of the corner of his eye. He could see that the ceiling was bright white.

“Johnny?”

Slowly, he turned his head toward the familiar voice. As he did, Ghost rose to his feet from his chair, taking two quick steps to the bedside.

Soap opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Ghost scrambled to pour a cup of water, then gently helped Soap lift his head to drink. As he did, Soap realized what the pressure on his hip was. Daniela.

Her head lay at the junction of his torso and legs, black curls shining in the moonlight. The bags under her eyes were nearly as dark as Ghost’s grease paint. Her right hand gripped his thigh, and her left hand held his. She didn’t stir.

Soap swallowed several times. “What happened?” he finally asked.

Ghost’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Do you want the short or long story?” he asked. His voice sounded exhausted.

“How about the short one, for now?”

“I shot you,” said Ghost. For a moment, Soap thought he wouldn’t elaborate. Then, Ghost looked up to meet his eyes. “I shot you, Johnny. Because you told me to. Because you’re the best of us, and you’re clever.”

Soap nodded, eyes drifting shut, not processing Ghost’s words.

“You’re lucky I’m such a good shot,” Ghost added, grumbling.

Soap chuckled softly, wincing as he did. “That I am,” he said. “Hassan?”

“I shot him, too. Twice, actually.”

“Through me the first time, eh LT?”

Ghost looked unamused. But when Soap grinned at him, his eyes softened. “That’s right, Johnny.”

“Perfect shot, LT.”“You called it, Sargeant.”

“The best of us, huh LT?”

“Can it, Sergeant.”

For a moment, the two shared a companionable silence. Then, Ghost spoke so softly that Soap thought he may have imagined it. “I almost didn’t take it.”

“The shot? Why not?”

“There was no shot. He had you directly in front of him, and he would have thrown you out that window before I had time to move.”

“You still got him, LT. I’ll call that a win.”“We got him, Johnny.”

“I’m starting to think you really have taken a shine to me, Simon.”

Ghost hung his head before looking back up. “Maybe I have.” He turned, picking up his chair, and sat it right by the bed as quietly as he could. “That one has, for sure.” He nodded to Daniela.

Soap looked down at her. “How long have you both been here?”

“Since you got here,” Ghost mumbled. Soap’s head snapped back to him.

“And when was that?”

Ghost shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Four days, give or take.” Soap stared at him. Finally, he threw up his hands. “You, Sergeant, should have died.”

He lifted one gloved hand, ticking off fingers as he spoke. “You have a field-treated gunshot wound to your right arm, which was in fact infected. Thank your lucky stars that Daniela saw through your idiocy.” That explained a lot of little things he’d missed. Like a passenger in a getaway vehicle. “A bruised bone in your hip. Three cracked ribs. A grade four concussion. Multiple hairline fractures in your legs. And a shredded left pec from a 50 caliber bullet. Might I add that last one only missed your heart by centimeters?”

Soap snorted. “Well, that explains a lot about how I feel. Hell, how I’ve been feeling.”

Ghost just shook his head. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Thought we lost ya. Again.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, LT.”

“Good,” grumbled Ghost. He looked toward Daniela. “I had to pry her off of you,” he said softly. 

Soap looked down at her again. She looked younger than before, peaceful in her slumber. But he could see the exhaustion plainly on her face. “Yeah?” he asked. 

“Mhmm,” murmured Ghost. “Could hardly get her across the hall to shower.”

Soap let his eyes drift shut, exhaustion washing over him all over again. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Amsterdam. Laswell has friends here. We’re in a private hospital.”

“Price? And Gaz?”

“They’re trying to find a lead on Shepherd.”

Soap nodded sleepily, relieved that their squad was still intact. “She kissed me,” he murmured. 

“Doctors say she saved your life with that.”

Soap hummed, cracking one eye open to peer at Ghost. He shrugged. 

“Something about the adrenaline helping to push off the shock.”

Soap hummed again, letting his eyes slide shut.

“Sleep, Johnny.”

He did. 

When he woke again, sunlight was streaming through the window. He shifted slightly, and felt Daniela spring up when he did. 

When he opened his eyes, she was staring at him anxiously. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” Soap murmured. 

Tears sprang instantly to her eyes. She squeezed his thigh, standing and reaching her hand up to cup his face.

“Oh, Johnny,” she whispered.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” he said. He reached up a hand to hold hers against his cheek. “I’m right here.”

She shifted a leg up onto the bed, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m right here,” he whispered again. “Ghost said you saved my life.”

She made a strangled sound, half laugh and half sob. “I couldn’t let you go like that.”

Soap shifted his hand to her face, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well,” he said. “If you remember, I was a bit out of my mind.” He tilted her chin up gently, whispering “Care to give me another taste of those lifesaving powers of yours?��

Daniela lunged forward, sealing her lips to his. Soap eyes slid shut as he grinned, pulling her closer. Her mouth opened against his, and he ran his tongue against hers. When she whimpered into his mouth, the primal need to have her close overcame him. He leaned up as far as he could, cursing the sling on his left shoulder, chasing her mouth. His hand moved to the back of her neck, holding her against him. She straddled him carefully, elbows coming to rest above his shoulders. 

Her whole body shuddered when his hand came to rest on her hip.

His eyes snapped open. “I’m sorry-”

“No,” she cut him off, panting. She reached one hand up, threading her fingers through his mohawk. “There’s no reason.” Soap groaned when her nails lightly scratched his scalp.

“Woman, the things I would do to you if I wasn’t stuck in this bed…”

She shuddered again before she leaned down and kissed the place that his jaw and neck met. His whole body involuntarily arched off the bed, hand moving from her hip to the small of her back to pull her against him. She gasped at the contact. However light she was, her weight on his hip hurt. But he was too far gone to care. He leaned up again, gently sucking her lip between his as she sighed into his mouth.

His mind was clouded with the desire for intimacy with her. He wanted all of her. First in their single shared night, and now in their kiss, Soap saw waking up to her every morning, cooking together, trips to the stormy Scottish coast and the sunny Caribbean. He’d been drawn to her from the moment he saw her, and he knew from the way she looked at him that she’d been drawn to him just as much. He’d tried so hard to remain professional. To keep distance. To be a gentleman. To pretend he hadn’t fallen in love with her the moment he heard her speak.

Then she’d slept in his cot and he’d had to know what it was like to have her in his arms. Having tasted her once, there was no going back to professional and distant. Having tasted her twice? She owned him. There was no pretending, now.

His train of thought was interrupted by a sharp cough from the doorway. Daniela sprang up, scrambling off the bed with one hand covering her mouth. Soap’s head whipped toward the door. Ghost was there, finding something very interesting to look at in the ceiling, along with a pretty nurse who was smiling widely.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better, Sergeant,” she quipped. Soap grinned wryly first at her, then at Daniela. “My name’s Cat, I’m a friend of Kate’s. Mind if I take a look at you?”

Soap nodded, Daniela sat herself in the corner, and Ghost continued to pay close attention to the ceiling and walls. Soap narrowed his eyes, watching the Lieutenant closely. 

Cat turned to Daniela and Ghost. “Would you two-”

“They can stay,” Soap cut her off. Cat turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. He smiled. “Nothing they haven’t seen already.” When she helped him sit up and lift his gown off, Soap got his first real look at the damage. At Los Vaqueros safe house, and then later at their base, he’d been too rushed and too tired to really look at himself.

Purple bruises so dark they nearly looked black covered his ribs. Just above his boxers, he could see more bruising on his hip that was nearly green now. Scrapes and cuts covered his knees, his arms, his sides. The bullet wound in his right arm was healing nicely, but the skin around it was still pink and tender. He was grateful that his chest was wrapped tightly so he couldn’t see the damage from Ghost’s sniper.

Soap looked away.

“So Cat,” he asked. “How did you meet Laswell?”

“Oh, she and I met probably fifteen years ago. She was still on the field, back then. I was still in training, working in a field hospital. I patched her and John up after a rough mission. I guess she decided she liked me, because as soon as I graduated, she snapped me right up.” She turned to Ghost, who had finally looked her way, and smiled. “Good thing, too. I’ve fixed this one up more times than I can count, and Kate tells me he won’t let anyone else touch him.”

Ghost looked away again so quickly that he missed Soap’s gleeful expression. “Oh, is that so?” teased Soap. Ghost shot him a warning glare. Something to ask about later.

“I trust her,” muttered Ghost.

Cat beamed at him. She looked back to Soap, smiling conspiratorially. “Quite the compliment, eh?”

“That it is,” he answered smugly. Ghost held his stare, unamused. Soap looked back toward Daniela, eyes softening. She smiled back at him, looking tired but content. Cat was wrapping up her check, talking about physical therapy and taking it easy. Soap couldn’t wait to have a moment with Daniela again.

“Alright, well I’ll be back tonight to check in with you again. Simon, would you walk me out?” Soap’s eyes shot back to Ghost at that, but Ghost refused to meet his gaze. Definitely something to ask about later.

When Cat and Ghost had gone, Daniela came back to Soap’s side, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. She gently took his left hand, careful not to lift it or otherwise disturb the bandages.

“Take all the time you need,” Soap said softly. Daniela lifted her eyes from their joined hands, cocking her head. He held her gaze. “You said I’d have to give you some time to figure it out. Take all the time you need.” Now it was Soap’s turn to look down at their hands. He grinned, lopsided. “I’ll be here.”

Daniela reached out, lifting his chin with her fingertips. Her dark eyes watered slightly around the edges. “I’m pretty sure,” she whispered.

“Oh, now that sounds familiar,” chuckled Soap. He leaned toward her, eyes flitting down to her lips. “C’mere, you.”

Their first kiss had been desperate. Their second quickly turned heated. This one was soft, slow, gentle. Exploratory and sweet. Soap stroked her cheek, looking up at her from under hooded eyes. “Tell me you feel it, too,” he whispered.

Daniela nodded, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. “I feel it.”

“Yeah? Not just ‘maybe’?”

Daniela smiled wide, smacking his shoulder lightly. Soap laughed, loud and full, and immediately regretted it. Wincing, he smiled back at her. 

He was anxious to hear from Price and Gaz, and nervous about what would happen when Alejandro and Rodolfo called Daniela back. They’d have to go after Shepherd, and she might have to go back to Mexico. Maybe nothing would ever truly have a chance to start with them. Maybe they’d die. But maybe not. Maybe everything would be alright.

[bimboficationblues]

2024 was a mixed bag. I spent a lot of it malding about my job, but fortunately I am no longer there and have a new one (family lawyer for DV survivors). Idk if I want to keep being a lawyer long term but rn I am making more money, doing more interesting (but potentially taxing) work, and hopefully it will level out to something either tolerable or useful.

long distance with my love is still sad, and we found that polyamory did not really alleviate those pressures, but we have taken some good steps towards a different approach, starting with a monogamy trial run. I found dating around mostly unpleasant despite some exciting possibilities throughout the year - very few people seem to really know what they want and act accordingly. ultimately poly started to feel like I was chasing after an ideal, and I do believe I’d enjoy that ideal. but when the process of pursuing it is so exhausting and unfun and crazy-making it just doesn’t seem worth it. the lesbian connections I found frequently ended because the other person started acting like an avoidant abject meow meow and I simply don’t have the patience.

as far as bringing the long distance to a close, I'm not sure how that’s gonna happen - I love Chicago and I don't want to leave my people. for the first time since maybe high school I do not feel fundamentally lonely and I think that's a feeling worth taking seriously. I've been really overjoyed by my various friendships, both near and far. but I miss my gf dearly. she has my heart. I don’t feel like I’ve ever loved or been loved like this. It’s a difficult situation.

I did get to travel a lot which was nice - this year in addition to regular Washington visits, including one to Olympic National Park, I also went to Barcelona, Toronto, Montreal, Cleveland, and Philadelphia. I am visiting my love's hometown currently and while I was kind of dreading it a bit it's turned out to be overall very pleasant and comforting and nice to see where she came from. Plus I did some visits to the family in SC.

speaking of which, I am feeling generally at ease with my parents. I feel like I've been able to accept that they are limited people, but not to such a degree that it makes being around them impossible, and they have also generally gotten cooler about a lot of things. we have a lot in common and it is generally fun to spend time with them despite their foibles. being able to do drugs together also helps. my dad turned 60 this year and my mom has been having health issues, which I do think has made entropy be on my mind a lot more to a troubling degree. dunno how I’ll handle that when it becomes a more pressing consideration but I guess that’s a problem for the future.

last January I made a conscious effort to approach my passions and hobbies more intentionally by making a daily schedule that roughly looked like this:

MONDAY - fiction reading; TUESDAY - history studies; WEDNESDAY - philosophy/political theory studies/writing; THURSDAY - working on music; FRIDAY - watching movies.

I also tried to get some daily activities going on top of all these - listening to at least one full album a day, regular walks, practicing guitar, yoga. keeping to this was inconsistent - sometimes I was locked in and sometimes I'd get derailed by other priorities (spending time with the love, seeing my lovely friends, getting stoned, travel). sometimes certain activities are just easier (reading comics is always fun and also minimally demanding of my energy, social media and doomscrolling is a tempting time-sink). I might try and revise this approach in some ways - I might want to take a harder tack with how much time I want to spend on each activity - but I do think that even just being deliberate and structured about how I spend my time made my mental state significantly stronger. so that is a positive development.

artistically I've made progress on the album, but I never feel like I have enough time to dedicate to it with work and everything else. but I also think my approach of trying to write all the songs first before recording them was the wrong one. so instead I think I'm going to start trying to get what I've roughly finished into a recorded form and in the process a stronger vision of the project will emerge which will help with future songs. this will require me to learn some new skills - I've always worked with a producer before - but that's not a bad thing. my friends and I are also doing a writing workshop so that will be nice to get feedback from people I love and trust.

social media has been real bad for me this past year in a kind of emotionally masochistic way - I found myself hatereading a lot more, which is bad. I’m hoping I can adjust that this year and stop getting brain damage from pissing myself off.

part of the reason for the above is that the political situation domestically and globally is dire and basically I just see cope or rationalization everywhere which, considering the urgency and scope and existential weight of what’s happening, is really infuriating to me. I feel like after a year of some of the most depraved inhuman butchery imaginable, as the ruling class takes refuge in obvious bad faith that is “all the more odious because it is less and less likely to deceive,” and with Hitleritis running rampant through civil society, we need a sober reflection on the challenge ahead of us as socialists. I do not want the ruling class to annihilate the rest of us with them or for capital to find new, intensified, and more insidious methods of shifting crisis around. this is partly why anti-intellectual, regressive forms of Marxism have been stuck in my craw lately, because it feels like psychological palliatives masquerading as politics. I’m not sure what the move is to really turn the tides of the war we are in, but doing away with self-deceiving political impulses seems like a start.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Hi!

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️

⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️ &

🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓

thank you!!

Hi!

I finished the last two but here are the rest :)

51 for ⚡️:

---

“I’m fine, really. Just some adjustments to make, going forward. But it came at a decent time.” 

“A decent time?” Eddie echoes. 

“We’re losing a Battalion Chief,” Bobby says. “He’s going on long term disability. I’ve been asked to replace him.”

“Wow,” Eddie says. “I mean, wow. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Bobby nods.

“Buck’s still going to have an aneurysm,” Eddie says. “But I’m glad it’s good news.”

“Well, he may have another thing to freak out about,” Bobby says. 

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks.

“I’d like you to come with me,” Bobby says. “To Emergency Operations.”

Eddie coughs. “What? I… To do what?”

Bobby smiles patiently. “One of the initiatives the brass is talking about is training more specialized Incident Commanders. People who have experience with specific levels of disaster. Especially with the rise in environmental emergencies. Your name has been brought up as someone to start in this new training program.”

“My name?” Eddie asks.

“Yes,” Bobby nods. “Captain Yardley is on the task force responsible for the project. He’s taken a liking to you. Asked me what I thought. I said I thought you were an excellent choice.”

Eddie doesn’t know how to feel about it. He doesn’t even know what it entails. But to be chosen for something new and big and helpful… That’s a very cool feeling. 

“I… Thank you,” Eddie says. “Thank you, Bobby.”

Bobby nods. “On top of that, I think it would be a good move for you, Eddie.”

“It’s a great career opportunity,” Eddie says, nodding.

“Not just that,” Bobby says. 

Eddie looks at him, waiting for whatever additional reasoning he has.

“You’re not happy here anymore,” Bobby says. 

Eddie winces. “Is it that obvious?”

Bobby nods. “Unfortunately, yes. But… But I think I was confused about why at first.”

---

51 for ⚖️:

---

“Eddie, uh, is that a good idea?” Buck asks.

“She’s been lying to me!"

“Okay, I know. I agree. But if Chris hears you…”

He stops, trailing off. He remembers the fight that he saw. The one Christopher will overhear. Oh. That’s this. That has to be this. Which means Buck can’t stop it. Which means he probably doesn’t want to stop it. Not if it’s part of Chris coming home. 

“Nevermind,” Buck says. “You’re right. You deserve the truth."

He feels sick, giving him advice he believes is wrong. Damaging even. But there’s an end goal to consider.  

⚖️

It’s bad. 

Buck knew it would be bad. Had seen it would be bad. But he’s still surprised at how bad it is. 

The thing is, if you ask Buck, Eddie is someone gentle and steady. Calm. Less prone to overreaction than himself. He forgets, sometimes, the way Eddie holds so much inside, that when he’s pushed to an edge, he explodes. And when Eddie accuses his mother of misleading him, only to have her hurl accusations back, everyone sort of explodes. 

Buck is no stranger to fighting with parents. And honestly? He’s not even a stranger to this style of it. Parents ganging up, lobbing insults, holding years and years of mistakes over their son’s head. Hmmm. The Buckleys and the Diazes are never allowed to meet. 

Honestly, Buck is even prepared to fight with Eddie. Ride or die. He knows how to piss parents off. He can stand beside Eddie and join the fray. 

Only, a few minutes into the shouting, and Buck notices what the others don’t. Because Buck has already seen it.  

Christopher, poking his head around the hallway corner, eavesdropping.

Well, is it really eavesdropping if everyone is being so loud? It’s just ensuring he hears clearly. 

No one, not even Eddie, seems to notice Buck stepping away from the argument to walk down the hall towards Christopher. Chris steps back around the wall, like he can pretend he wasn’t spying. But Buck isn’t going to get him in trouble.

[olldtimerbuckley]

Hi Buckley! Hope you’re having a good day!

I don’t know how this works but here I go.

 4

A

꒰ 𓅫 ꒱ “we’re gonna need to talk about some things after this, aren’t we?”

I was thinking of (young adult) Ellie working at Joel’s furniture company, she’s his apprentice, and oddly they’re good friends, but lately they are secretly pining for the each other hard. One day Joel has to pick up some light work stuff from a far storage, and takes Ellie with him for help. But oh no! they ended up trapped inside because the lock malfunctioned, and in the meantime they wait for Tommy to release them, they also release some spicy tension…

Ps. I picked thigh because Joel is enamored with Ellie’s.

Yeah I think that’s all :D thank you!

I know this has been in my inbox forever and took so many liberties with this prompt, but it's already shaping up to be the lightest, tropiest, most unserious thing I've ever written. I'll post it to AO3 after I polish it up (I wrote half of it in a fever-induced haze) and have a little more written. Early estimate is 3 chapters.

@jammingjoellie I hope you like it so far!!!

Head Over Hardwood Part 1

Minors & Antis DNI

Joel x Ellie

Warnings: Age gap, inappropriate workplace romance, no smut (yet) just a lot of UST

Length: 4.9k

“God fucking shitdick. Where the hell is it?”

Joel smiles as he watches Ellie from his workbench, something he's been doing a lot lately. Smiling, of course. Not watching her. Because shamelessly leering at his nineteen-year-old shop apprentice would be extremely inappropriate, and while he might, occasionally, skirt the bounds of their workplace relationship, he's not fool enough to believe she's seriously interested in him.

What they do isn't even flirting, it's just… teasing. Harmless teasing.

So, there Joel sits with his chin resting on his fist, watching (not leering) as Ellie aggressively pats herself down like an overzealous TSA agent, a constant current of profanities pouring out of her carmine mouth. When she bends at the waist and shoves her hands into the lower pockets of her work pants, he snaps his gaze away from her so fast his neck cracks.

The last thing he needs right now is to get caught staring at the cute little curve of her ass. Still, the image of her bent over burns behind his retinas.

Holy Hell.

As if seeing her sucking on that creamsicle earlier wasn't enough to whittle down his self-control. The length of it disappearing past her lips before her cheeks hollowed, her tongue working around the stick and lapping at her sticky fingers, the sloppy, suckling noises she made…

His cock starts thickening in his jeans.

That's just fuckin’ great. Fifty-six years old and he's poppin’ a woody at work.

Joel shifts in his seat, his tired eyes darting over to the bathroom door. As unprofessional as it is, it certainly wouldn't be the first time he's taken care of himself at work since this spitfire of a girl slammed into his life like a wrecking ball whose sole purpose was to test his patience and raise his blood pressure.

A soft snarl draws his attention back to Ellie. Or rather, down to Ellie; crawling around on her hands and knees, her face is almost pressed to the floor.

I guess it's time to act like an adult. One of us has to.

Joel sneakily adjusts himself before standing and leaning back against the table, both hands gripping the edge. “Are you lookin’ for somethin’?” he asks, trying to keep the amusement he feels bubbling in his chest from reaching his voice.

Huffing and puffing, Ellie shoots a glare up at him, her eyebrows pinched tight in aggravation. “My favorite drafting pencil. I swear I just fucking had it,” she mutters, slumping back onto her knees.

As he takes a few strides closer, she lifts her chin to keep holding his gaze, her lips parting and neck arching until he's standing directly in front of her. God, her open mouth is almost level with his crotch. If he was in this position with any other beautiful woman, in any other context, the things he would do…

Joel swallows down his filthy thoughts and clears his suddenly dry throat. Focus. “What's it look like?”

Flailing her hands around, Ellie launches into an animated description, “It's light blue stainless steel with a white foam grippy thing that's perfectly molded to my fingers. The label is too worn down to make out, but it looks–”

“Kind of like this?” he interrupts her tirade, plucking a pencil that bears a striking resemblance to the one she’s yapping about out from behind her ear and holding it in front of her face.

She blinks. Her eyes widen. Then the pink coloring her cheeks darkens, steadily creeping over her nose and up to her hairline. “No?” she squeaks, wincing at the sound of her own voice.

Joel clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Riiight.”

Letting out a drawn-out sigh, Ellie rises to her feet, brushing off the sawdust shavings peppering her thighs on the way up. When she grabs the pencil, her warm fingertips brush over his knuckles. The contact is featherlight, but it lingers on his skin, tingling up his arm like a pulse of electricity.

“Thanks, man,” she says softly, moving a piece of hair behind her ear. Her mossy green eyes are downcast at her hands as she fiddles with the pencil, rolling it back and forth between her fidgety fingers. “It's, uh, been a long day.”

“You're damn right about that.” Joel crosses his arms. “The sales floor closed an hour ago. What the hell are you still doin’ here?”

“I thought I'd take those measurements Tommy brought in and start drawing up the blueprints for that job on Sugar Hill Drive,” Ellie explains briskly. Turning away from him on her Converse heel, she prances over to her desk and begins leafing through various work orders and number sheets.

May is the tail end of Spring – and tax season – meaning Against The Grain’s normally steady trickle of business is booming with bored housewives redesigning their kitchens and equally bored husbands commissioning custom billiard tables for their man caves. Joel would rather work on his own projects and sell them in the showroom, but scheduled jobs keep the lights on. Plus, this year he has a lovely mentee to offload some of his more boring work onto.

Although, she appears to be just as enthused as he is at the prospect.

Even from clear across the room, he can see Ellie's supple lips curl into a frown. “Jesus, is there anything on the docket besides French country cabinets?” she grouses, separating the sheet she needs from the rest.

“Let's see…” He snags the discarded papers from her desk – making sure to avoid knocking over her growing collection of succulents – and wets his thumb before flicking through them. “That hipster bar in Austin put in a custom order for a live edge bar top. Maria says we should upcharge ‘em since they're commercial and don't know their asses from a hole in the ground.”

That wrings a smile out of her. “I knew I liked that woman,” she sighs wistfully. Folding one leg underneath her, Ellie plops into her chair, her favorite pencil gripped safely in hand.

“Let me grab you a calculator–”

“Pfft,” she scoffs. “I don't need a calculator.”

Joel lets out a low whistle. “Well, aren't you a regular Albert Einstein.”

Her neck rolls along with her eyes as she skewers him with a sardonic sideways glance. “Why yes, I have tits and I can do math,” she states snappishly. “Stop the presses!”

“Woah, now. You know that's not what I meant.” He casually hitches his thumbs into the band of his jeans and cocks his knee to the side, shifting his weight onto one leg. “I'm perfectly aware that pretty girls like you can do math.”

Ellie tuts at him chidingly, but she's still wearing that crooked grin of hers. “Careful there, buddy. I could report you to our nonexistent HR department for that kind of talk.”

“Report me? You're the one who was just talking about your…” Warmth crawls up from his collar, heating his face. He makes an awkward gesture to his torso. Please don't make me say it.

She grins like a cat that's got a mouse by its tail. “My what?” she asks coyly.

Looking past her, he stares out of the window he keeps cracked to balance out the varnish fumes and heavy scent of sawdust floating around their workspace. Outside rolling gray clouds are piling one over the other, prematurely canceling out the sun.

“Well?” she presses impatiently.

“... tits,” Joel finally hisses the obscenity through gritted teeth.

Slapping a hand flat on the desk, Ellie throws her head back and barks out a laugh that's closer to a cackle. “Dude! I can't believe you just said that!” Her voice is distorted by several more maniacal giggles. Any embarrassment he feels is quickly overwhelmed by the look of sheer glee she's aiming at him.

The traitorous smile that tugs at his lips pulls at dormant muscles. “You said it first!” he retorts defensively. Good God, could he sound any more childish?

This girl.

This fucking girl.

“Yeah but you're you,” she counters glibly, like the meaning behind her cryptic words is somehow obvious. Then she smirks, twirling her pencil around idly. “Besides, I'm just stating a fact. I objectively have tits.”

“And you're objectively pretty too,” Joel volleys back in a low drawl without missing a beat.

The twirling stops. “That's not… I-I don't–” Ellie sputters for a witty comeback before landing on a flustered, “Shut up.” Bowing her head to excuse herself from their conversation, the tips of her hair dust over her bare shoulder where one sleeve of the open flannel shirt she's wearing has slipped down her arm.

His flannel shirt.

The one he gave her on one of Texas’s rare cold nights last winter, wordlessly tucking it around her little body after catching her shivering. He hasn't asked for it back, and she hasn't offered. Not that he minds; it looks better hanging off of her small frame anyway.

Quietly, Joel studies the seashell curve of her spine that is almost guaranteed to put a crick in her neck. The chaotic contortion of her body, twisted like a pretzel with one slim leg dangling like a fishing line, contrasts with the still lake of her face; smooth as a windowpane, only her fox-like eyes move, following the rapid strokes of her pencil across the page. Watching her work is mesmerizing. He could stare at her, uninterrupted, for hours.

As if on cue, a harsh cough from behind his back reminds Joel that they're, unfortunately, not alone. In the doorway, Tommy stands with his hands on his hips, and judging by his raised eyebrows and knowing smile, he's been there for a good while.

Joel can feel his own smile wilt as he lumbers over to his smug-as-shit-looking little brother. By the time he's within spitting distance, his face is creased with its usual scowl. He drops his voice to a low growl, “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to feel like I need a post-sex cigarette.” Tommy elbows Joel in the arm affably and adds, “I mean, Good Lord.”

“Don't start,” Joel warns. “We're just… friends.” He can taste the dishonesty of the word as it leaves his mouth.

But what’s the alternative? There’s not a singular term in the English language to accurately define the odd, flirtatious, and sometimes combative relationship between him and the decades-younger woman whom he spends at least five days a week with. And even when not basking in the vibrant warmth of her presence, most of his waking (and sleeping) hours are consumed by thoughts of how soft her skin would feel under his fingers. What her lips would taste like. The kinds of noises she’d make if he—

“Friends?” Tommy snorts. “Man, you bring her to every family dinner.”

“I couldn't let her keep livin’ on takeout and pizza,” Joel protests feebly. He still remembers the moan she made around her first bite of meatloaf, like it was the first decent meal she'd had in her entire life. “And your wife is the one who started invitin’ her in the first place.”

Tommy's expression is incredulous. “Last week you drove twenty minutes to her apartment in the middle of the night to fix her water heater.”

“Her super is a real dirtbag,” Joel says matter-of-factly. “Who knows how long it would have taken him to get to it.”

“Brother,” Tommy grabs his shoulder, looking him directly in the eyes with his are-you-actually-this-fucking-dense stare. It's a look Joel is well-acquainted with because he's usually the one giving it. “You cosigned a loan on her car. Are you really tellin’ me that's just some good ‘ole southern hospitality?”

He's got a point… not that Joel's ready to surrender it. “As her employer, I think it's important that she has reliable transportation.”

Tommy shakes his head slowly. “You know, as much as you bust my balls for bein’ pussy-whipped, at least I'm gettin’ some.”

Smacking his hand off his shoulder, Joel makes a throaty noise of disgust. “Gross.”

While it's true that he's not getting that, he is getting something; her smile, her gratitude, her time. Plus, he genuinely likes doing things for Ellie. Likes making her life easier, even in small, arbitrary ways. It's been so long since he's felt useful to anyone outside of his job. 

“Seriously, why the hell haven't you asked her out yet?” Tommy asks, bringing the count of how many times they’ve had this exact conversation up from a million to a million and one. “You've been pining over her for months now. It's not cute anymore. If anything, it's getting sad.”

Joel takes a deep breath and tries to pretend that the pity in Tommy’s eyes doesn’t sting. “Besides the thirty-seven years worth of reasons between us that say it's a bad idea, there's also the legal and ethical concerns on account of me bein’ her boss and teacher. She'd feel like she has to say yes just to keep her job.” He looks over at her and feels a staggering, confusing mix of want and loss lodge itself in his throat. “I can't …” His voice is thick. “I won't put her in that position. It ain't fair.”

It also ain't true.

Joel's seen her working alongside Tommy's crew on construction sites enough times to know that she doesn't take shit from anybody – and he means anybody. He's watched all fiery five and a half feet of her come toe to toe with a man twice her age and size before stepping in to prevent the situation from turning ugly. Then subsequently having to deal with her snarking at him all the way home about how “she can handle herself and doesn't need some prehistoric cowboy coming to her rescue like a white fucking knight…”

It was frighteningly adorable and he'd spent the better part of her tongue-lashing trying to stave off a smile. Not that he'd ever admit that to her, of course. He does (at least slightly) value his life.

All of this is to say that Ellie is perfectly capable of standing her ground and saying no. A no he could handle. A no would almost be a relief. If he's honest, what he's really afraid of — terrified of — is that she'd say yes. That she'd pry open the door to his empty, misanthropic existence and make herself at home in his heart, giving him something new to lose. He can't take another loss. Not after—

Even the hint of her name in his mind tightens the knot of grief in his throat, choking off his air supply.

Just as Tommy opens his mouth to call out Joel on his bullshit, Maria pops up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Hello, you,” she says softly, pressing up on her toes to graze his cheek with a kiss before turning her icy blue gaze on Joel. “Joel,” she adds as an afterthought.

“Maria,” he greets her warmly, uncharacteristically grateful for his sister-in-law's timely interruption.

Maria wedges herself between the two men and into the crowded doorway. “Hey, Els!” she shouts.

Without pausing from her draft, Ellie bites back a belligerent, “What!?”

Over the sounds of Tommy and Joel’s muffled snickers, Maria heaves out a loud, exhausted exhale. “I see you've picked up Joel’s good manners,” she says curtly, but her smile remains bright and intact.

Finally breaking from her work, Ellie spins in her chair with a flourish and nods at Joel, her eyes light with amusement. “Don’t give this guy all the credit. I like to believe I came out of the womb with this sunshiney attitude,” she declares, matching Maria’s wry sarcasm.

“Cute,” Maria deadpans. “Well, now that I have your attention: will you be attending Teddy's birthday party tomorrow?”

“Depends…” Ellie crosses her legs and shoots Maria a look full of suspicion above her steepled fingers. “Will there be cake?” she asks the question in a slow and serious tone, arching her scarred eyebrow.

Maria hums an affirmative. “Chocolate cupcakes with ganache frosting.”

“I don't know what the hell ganache is, but it sounds delicious.” Ellie claps her hands together. “I'll be there.”

“Fantastic. We'll see you then.” Maria tucks her hand through the crook of Tommy’s arm.

“Make sure you guys head out soon! There's a storm rollin’ in and this guy needs his beauty sleep,” Tommy adds, pinching Joel's cheek and ignoring his attempts to swat away his hand.

Ellie treats them to a winning smile. “I'll make sure to tuck him in nice and gentle tonight,” she purrs, giving Joel a cheeky wink before whipping back around and leaving his heart beating a quick staccato rhythm against his ribs.

Teasing, he reminds himself. It’s just teasing.

Linked arm in arm, the couple begins to leave, giving Tommy one last chance to mouth “Make a move already” to Joel behind Ellie’s turned back. In retaliation, Joel snaps a lacquer-stained rag at Tommy's departing backside. As their indistinct chatter about birthday plans for their son fades into the distance, Joel picks up on the gentle pitter-patter of rainfall.

On his way to shut the window, he clicks on Ellie's desk lamp to give her eyes a break from the encroaching darkness. Once closed, it's just him, Ellie, and the warm glow of light flooding her corner of the room. The soft sounds of her tuneless humming blends with the howling of the wind. It feels like they're the only two people left in the whole world. It’s a thought that should be alarming, but all he feels is peace.

After making sure all the windows are secure, Joel returns from the kitchenette with two steaming mugs. “Don't worry, it's decaf,” he says as he places the cup of tea that's mostly a cream and sugar concoction on her desk.

Truth to be told, this has become his favorite part of the day: when they linger just a little too long, hovering just a little too close.

Tilting back in her chair, Ellie props her feet up on the desk and grabs her mug, clutching it with both hands. She sends him a bemused little smile. “So, what are your big Friday night plans? Is it JAG reruns? Or M*A*S*H reruns?” she asks, her voice teasing and sweet. Her raised legs are almost close enough to brush his waist, and Joel thinks about how easy it would be to close his hand around her ankle and pull her closer. To pluck that cup out of her hands, lean down, and kiss her.

Instead, he grips his mug tighter. “I actually might switch it up and watch a movie tonight.” He takes a sip of his coffee and savors the bitterness on his tongue before swallowing. “What about you?”

“Ohhhh. I have some big, big plans.” She ticks off each one with a slender finger, “First, I'm going to microwave Ramen, then I'm going to crawl into bed and scroll on my phone until I pass out, and then I'm going to wake up with the imprint of it on my face.”

Joel frowns. “I thought Fridays were designated game nights with you and your friends.”

Ellie's lips part in surprise, like she didn't expect him to have her schedule memorized. Like where she is and who she's with isn't constantly on his mind when they're apart. After a quick recovery, she clears her throat. “Jesse's band has an out of town gig tomorrow. They're staying at a motel this weekend — leaving me all on my lonesome,” she emphasizes the last part with a sigh, dramatically tossing her hand over her forehead.

His frown deepens at the thought of her going home to an empty apartment. “You didn't go with them? I thought you went to every show.”

“And miss out on your nephew's birthday party? I could never.” She nudges him in the side with her shoe and smiles. “I'm the only one who can keep up with the little guy.”

“Shit, that reminds me; I need to take his present out of the storage unit and put it in my trunk.” A one-of-a-kind piece of craftsmanship, Joel had carefully carved the children's rocking horse from wood ash to resemble a dragon. Then, unsatisfied with his vision to simply stain it, Ellie had painted finer details along the face, tail, and saddle. “I'll only be gone a minute.”

Ellie jumps to her feet. “I'll go with you!”

“Are you sure? It's lookin’ a little…” Joel trails off, grimacing at the window. Rain is pelting like bullets against the glass, but she's already brushing past him and skipping towards the backdoor, unbothered.

“Dude, don't be such a pussy. It's just a little drizzle,” she says dismissively. As she goes to leave, a gust of wind catches on the storm door, slamming it wide open and drenching them both in cool air and unrelenting rain.

A bolt of lightning fractures the apocalyptic-looking sky.

“Just a little drizzle my ass,” he mumbles under his breath. “Get to the unit. I'll deal with this. The garage code is–”

“Your birthday!” Ellie cuts him off as she jogs ahead, having to yell above the thundering rain. “Yeah, I got it.”

The door is rolled halfway up by the time Joel makes it to the small steel building. A small hand shoots out and grabs the sleeve of his shirt. “Get the hell in here!” Ellie whisper-yells urgently. His head narrowly misses smacking against the corrugated metal as she pulls him inside. Without wasting another second, she flicks the lightswitch and hits the garage door button in two hasty motions.

“God, I'm fucking soaked,” Ellie groans. It shouldn't, but the strained, breathy sound of her voice goes straight to his cock. He turns to look at her, only making the growing situation in his jeans worse; her high neck, rain-soaked tank top is suctioned to her skin, revealing every slick curve.

Suddenly enthralled by the dimly lit maze of junk and back stock, Joel starts making his way to the back where he stashed Teddy's gift. He can feel her following him, her squeaky feet shuffling close behind. “How did you know the passcode was my birthday?” he asks curiously.

“Uh, because it's your password to literally everything,” she answers flatly. “You're not nearly as mysterious as you think you are.”

Joel ignores her comment as he comes to a standstill in front of a lumpy package. “Ah, here it is."

Saddling up next to him, Ellie crosses her arms and stares down blankly at the nondescript brown wrapping paper and messily tied twine string. Then she glances up at him. Then back down. This occurs four more times. Finally she fixes him with a hard look and asks him outright, “Are you kidding me?”

He lifts his hands defensively. “Hey, it's what's on the inside that counts.”

“Joel,” she breathes his name, and even with her voice’s patronizing inflection of annoyance, the way she says his name makes his knees a little weak. He wouldn’t mind her moaning it. “This is for a five-year-old’s birthday party. I expected better from a man who's so detail-oriented.”

Joel can't keep the stupid grin off his face. “Was that a compliment from the Ellie Williams?” He smacks his lips. “I never thought I'd see the day.”

“Well you are a master of your craft, Mr. Miller,” Ellie simpers, batting her eyelashes up at him coquettishly.

He nods. “Keep talkin’. I'd like to hear more of this.”

“And ceaselessly humble, too.” Her buttery smile softens the sarcastic dig, and Joel notices the faded freckles on her lips for the first time.

Only then does he realize just how close their faces are.

Have they ever been this close before? They must have been. He's guided her hands, adjusted her grip, and positioned her shoulders during the early days of her training. But he's always gone out of his way not to actually look at her this closely – only from a safe distance – because he's worried that once he starts, he won't be able to look away. That the plumpness of her lips and vivid green of her eyes will pull him in like a slow tide until he's stranded in the middle of an ocean, drowning in the beauty of her face.

Now that he's here, it's nothing like drowning. There's no struggle. No panic. He's simply falling, falling, falling.

Seconds pass. Her lips part, but she doesn't say anything. Wait, is she leaning in? Is she–

BOOM. An unearthly loud crack of thunder sends them leaping away from each other.

“I'm going to take a look through the Christmas stuff Maria stores in the back!” Ellie blurts loudly, speed-walking away from him, her spine stiff as a board. “There has to be a big red bow or something sparkly to spice up your shitty wrapping job.”

Worried he's made her uncomfortable, Joel hangs back at the end of an aisle of storage racks and runs a hand through his hair, mentally chastising himself for letting his self-control slip so easily. All she did was smile at him for Christsakes. Maybe Tommy’s right. Maybe he should just ask her out. No matter what the answer is, at least it would put an end to this unbearable tension.

The very familiar sound of Ellie cursing disrupts his thoughts. When he follows it, he finds her reaching for a bin on a top shelf labeled “Christmas” in sharpie on an old piece of tape, her body fully extended as she bounces unsteadily on her toes.

A pair of Dickie's has no business sclupting a pair of thighs like that, he thinks as he approaches her from behind.

“Here, I can—”

“I almost have it,” she mutters, her fingers scrabbling to pull the box closer to the edge.

Joel snorts. “Clearly.” Instead of waiting for her to bring the box down on her head, he tries to bypass her and take it down himself.

The cheeky little brat shoulder-checks him out of the way. “I said, I almost have it!” Ellie insists stubbornly.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“You're gonna knock over the whole damn shelf!”

“No, I'm not–hey!” Ellie exclaims as he circles her hips with his hands, thumbs resting above the swell of her ass. If he looks, it's only for safety reasons before bending his knees and boosting her up to compensate for her lack of height. “Did you… did you just lift me up off the floor?” Thankfully she sounds more awed than indignant.

“Yeah,” Joel grunts, his forearms straining, “and you're getting heavier by the second, so if you could hurry–”

Just then the light cuts out and Ellie jerks in his arms, throwing him off balance. After a few failed attempts to regain his footing, Joel loses his grip on her and they both go down onto the cold concrete floor. It's too dark to see, but he can feel her elbow dig into his ribcage, her skull knock against his superplexus, and her ass land snugly against his groin.

For several disorienting moments they lay there in an awkward tangle of splayed limbs heavy breathing.

“I think the power went out,” Ellie states.

A chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, kid.”

Joel can practically hear her eye roll in the pitch black silence.

“Are you okay?” he asks, the playfulness in his voice replaced with genuine concern. His body may have cushioned her fall, but it was still a hard landing.

She wiggles against him, and he inhales sharply through his nose. Christ, she smells like strawberries and cream, and he wants to bury his nose in her hair and taste her throat. “Yeah,” she answers. “You?”

“Yeah. But could you…” Get off of me before you can feel my hard-on stabbing you in the back. Being pinned beneath her on the ground is a dangerous, exciting position to be in, and if she doesn't move away soon, she's definitely going to notice.

“Oh, right.” Her hand presses into his kidney as they begin the uncomfortable process of disentangling their bodies. “I think Mission Make Joel's Wrapping Job Look Less Pathetic might be a failure.”

“Ya think?” he quips.

She sighs. “I'll borrow some crafting ribbon from Dina tomorrow. Just please tell me you have your phone so we can get the fuck out of here without killing ourselves in this death trap. I left mine charging inside.”

Joel extracts his phone from his back pocket. Luckily unharmed by the fall, the battery sits at a concerningly low 17%, filling him with a new sense of urgency. After swiping down and turning on the flashlight (a handy trick Ellie taught him), he holds it up to see her already turning the corner, feeling her way with her hand.

The bright light shines over her shadowy figure as she nails the garage button with her tiny fist. It clicks. Then… nothing. She hits it again. Still nothing. After grabbing onto the door itself and giving it a couple of rough tugs, she finally huffs defeatedly and turns to him. “Damn thing won't open. You have the keys though, right?”

The screen in his hand flashes with a warning: “battery power 15%”.

“Right!?” Ellie repeats, louder. Panicked.

Joel's stomach sinks. This. This is the throat closing, lungs filling, drowning sensation he was expecting earlier. He shoves his hands into his pockets to confirm what he already knows: they're empty.

Shit.

[batwynn]

I hate that I’m here… again. I’m so sorry that I’m here again. But once again I’ve been trapped in a difficult situation that I’ve tried literally every way to avoid, prepare for, and roll-up-my-sleeves and do it myself. But at every turn we’ve been ignored, let down by professionals, etc. until I’ve been forced to go into debt just to heat my home because others can’t seem to take any responsibility for things that they’re responsible for. This is genuinely my last ditch effort to find even a little help. I can not go through this again. I’m exhausted, sick, and trying my best to scrape together some commission work while dealing with a really bad flare up of my autoimmune disease. (Hooray) I’m coming up short no matter what I do, and I’m desperate.

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[scarletspider2the2ndpower]

Chasm: Curse of Kaine (Vol. 1/2024), #1.

Writer: Steve Foxe; Penciler and Inker: Andrea Broccardo; Colorist: Brian Reber; Letterer: Joe Caramagna

[july-19th-club]

forced myself to finish this book even though by the last hundred pages or so all i was doing was picking apart the post-catholicism of it all. bc i feel like it's important to read shit you don't gel with . just because. even though the whole way through i was like they HAVE to prove it's not real. they HAVE to. so not the point of any of it but i was desperate for them to Find The Body etc. and of course instead they have mystical time travel experiences and all that because that is the kind of book the actual star is but i was desperate for them to realize that the star you see is the actual star. and then it wasn't

[thedreadvampy]

The thing is I am definitely not happy or chill in the Immediate Sense lately but I am, big picture, so fucking happy with the person I am.

It's like. My brain was made by and for consistent trauma and since that trauma stopped about 5-7 years ago, it is incredible what the amount of resilience and cleverness and flexibility and thoughtfulness I developed to survive can do when it's not being all spent on surviving. like I had a hundred ton weight on me so I had to get REALLY STRONG to stay in the same place and not get 100% crushed, and when that weight came off I found I can use the strength it used to take to stand up and I can leap tall buildings in a single bound.

I was talking to my mum the other day and she said, "you've got the 'fuck it' energy at 30 that most women don't find until their fifties at least" and I'm like yeah man. Imagine how unstoppable I'll be in 20 years.

[sydmarch]

no interest in any of my hobbies next to no concerts going on all summer feeling abandoned by the majority of the few irls I still have no idea where to meet new people to replace them now that I'm not part of the highly social hard partying sales culture I spent basically all of my post college life in anymore literally what reason is there to keep trying

[opens-up-4-nobody]

The way that the sun hits leaves and clouds. I feel like I could watch the colors change forever. If I could slow down for that long.