#coming to ao3 later

[littleacebee]

Day 2 + Day 3 of Podcast Girls Week: This too is yuri... + WIP Wednesday

(It was supposed to be for Day 2, then Day 3, but I finally finished it today, so let's pretend it's definitely not late)

Gwen anxiously waits for Dai’s and Perry return, then Morgan breaks the news to her and they face them together | Camlann (1,184 words) Read on AO3

Gwen fiddled with the yarn in her hands and looked up at the clock for the third time in the last five minutes.

They should come back by now, she thought, or at least call us. 

It’s been almost an hour since Dai and Perry left. Perry called once on walkie talkie to say they’re okay but have to get closer and they will call then. For the last forty five minutes it was complete radio silence and to say Gwen was starting to worry would be a slight understatement. 

At first she had Gwaine to look after. He would taunt and yell at knights left outside their cabin but after some time they stopped responding unless he went far outside the safe bubble and Gwen managed to convince him that he shouldn’t put himself in more danger. She took a look at his injuries but thankfully he had only few bruises and some scratches on his hand so taking care of them didn’t take long. Then she went to check on Morgan who was holding the walkie talkie in her hands like her life depended on it. Gwen checked her bandages and said that Dai and Perry can take care of themselves and are definitely okay. Morgan seemed calmed a little by her words but she didn’t loosen her grip on the walkie talkie.

Since then Gwen made everyone some tea and sandwiches, washed the dishes, added wood into the fire, took a walk along the shield barrier to check if it is still working and changed water in Galert’s bowl. Now she was sitting in the kitchen with half made sweater and ball of yarn on her lap. She managed to do whole three stitches before the nerves got to her and she started fiddling with the yarn instead of knitting. 

They are okay, she reminded herself. They are okay, Perry took their spear, Dai isn’t defenceless either, they are okay.

Of course, unless something happened to them, Arthur and knights captured them or the fire was actually a trap, said something in the back of her mind but she tried hard to ignore it.

Gwen straighten the yarn she tied around her finger. She wanted the most to go to Morgan, check all her bandages one more time and then sit next to her bed and calm herself down by looking at woman’s rising and falling chest. But she couldn’t do it. Her anxiety would only pass onto Morgan and she should be resting. So Gwen was left to fiddle with her yarn in the kitchen and to look up at the clock and then outside the window and back at the clock and so on.

And then she heard the scream. It wasn’t loud and sounded distorted but she definitely heard something. She immediately jumped on her feet and run upstairs. The door to Morgan’s room were left open and Gwen stopped at the entrance breathing heavily. 

“Everything’s all right?” she choked out looking at Morgan. She was sitting in her bed, holding the walkie talkie close to her. “Did they call?”

Morgan was looking at the device in her hands, her mouth hang slightly open. She looked up at her with shining eyes. She moved her lips as if she wanted to say something but there was no sound.

“Morgan?” Gwen walked up to her concerned. Morgan seemed fine, blood didn’t seeped through bandages, there was no fresh wounds she could see. The only reason she could think of that might have caused woman’s distress was call on the walkie talkie and her heart stopped in her chest at the mere thought of what could have happened. She kneeled next to the bed, gently reached out towards Morgan and held her hands. She looked straight into her eyes and from so close Gwen could see a smile forming on her lips. 

A smile.

“There are people, Gwen.” She whispered as if she was sharing secret of the universe. “There are people out there!”

Her smile grew, her eyes shone with joy. She threw her head back and laughed with relief Gwen never seen in her before. She would do anything to see Morgan like that everyday, to hear her laugh more often. It suited her so well. She deserved to laugh so freely.

“There are survivors! There are people! It’s not just us and them, there are other people!” Morgan voice raised and raised, laughter still audible in it. “It wasn’t one fire, there are hundreds of them!”

She started to repeat everything that Dai told her. Her smile didn’t get smaller even for a second. One of her hands let go of the walkie talkie, only to grab Gwen’s hand tightly. Gwen didn’t mind. Strong hold on her palm finally made Morgan’s words burst through fog of anxiety and shock and their meaning hit her with full force. They were not alone. There were people out there. 

She thought about all the people she lost. Her friends that died in front of her. People she met during Cataclysm that were also killed one by one leaving her alone in new wilderness. All her relatives an ocean away that she had no idea what happened to them and which she probably will never see again. Her dad that she mourned and hoped he was still alive. 

Despite all this loss and death there were still people out there. There was hope shining on the horizon. Her family might be alive somewhere. She haven’t killed everyone and maybe wasn’t doomed to kill Morgan, Dai, Perry and Gwaine. Maybe she will not be left alone again.

„There are people out there…” She murmured and locked her eyes with Morgan’s gaze. Woman smiled at her widely nodding frantically. „There are people alive.”

Broken laugh escaped her mouth. Then another and another and another until she was fully laughing alongside Morgan. Her laughter sounded a little wrong, like she needed to remember how to laugh with her full chest, without a worry some monster was waiting around the corner to snatch every bit of happiness she had. She laughed openly for all the people she lost, for ones that she might never see again but now there was actual chance they were alive. She laughed for herself - hiding in a forest or an abandoned building, with blood of yet another person she couldn’t save on her hands, alone, alone, so awfully alone.

They laughed together, uneven and broken, but together nevertheless. At some point Gwen moved forward and embraced Morgan with her free arm. Woman leaned on her putting her face in the crook of her neck, their laugh slowly ceasing. 

“We are not alone, Gwen.” She said quietly and hesitantly moved her hand still holding the walkie talkie around Gwen. 

“We are not.” She repeated feeling Morgan’s hand on her back. She hid her face in woman’s hair and closed her eyes. 

They were not alone. There were people out there, there were survivors. There was hope. They weren’t doomed from beginning. Despite everything there was hope for all of them. 

[umblrspectrum]

"smaller mass" you say

[s0fter-sin]

thinking about the way ghost doesn't hesitate to start killing shadows when graves betrays them but soap only takes one hostage

you can almost hear the voice in his head telling him it doesn't have to be this way; they can still talk it out

"i'm calling shepherd"

his first instinct when confronted with betrayal is to play it by the books: to go up the chain. that goes against everything we've seen him do. he bucks authority at every chance except for the one time he's confronted with the barrels of his allies' guns

he wants a peaceful resolution; for the first time we've ever seen, he doesn't want violence to be the answer. there has to be another fix, a solution that doesn't end with him killing the same men he's been working with; his friends

nothing's happened yet

it doesn't have to go this way

but ghost has been betrayed before. he knows the way this ends; either with him six feet under or his enemy

he doesn't hesitate

it's only when they knock alejandro out that soap shoots; when they spill the first blood and cross a line they can never come back from

only when ghost orders him to run and he has to cover his retreat

and somewhere along the line, between civilians’ screams and taunting voices, between his shaking breath and ghost steady in his ear, that naivety is stripped away; his trust turned to teeth that he uses to sink into throats of men he'd have given his life for

"be careful who you trust, sergeant; people you know can hurt you the most"

he's learned the price of trust

just like ghost did

but unlike ghost, he has someone to guide him through the aftermath

"good advice, It"

[starlightvld]

Allowances

For @baohanhanesel - happy holidays! Have a little hurt/comfort, MacTavish family Christmas vibes, and Simon beginning to find his place among them (and a bit of sappy romance at the end).

(Also on AO3!)

---

"Dinnae fash, Simon. They're gonna love ye."

Ghost stands perfectly still beside the car as Johnny rounds the boot to step up beside him. They make a pair, with Johnny in a new bright red cable-knit sweater, jeans, and a navy blue knit cap that brings out the blue in his eyes, while Ghost is dressed down in his usual black shirt, black hoodie, and a black medical mask. His faded blue jeans are the only spark of color, as old and worn as Johnny's are crisp and new.

If he were a better person—a better partner—he would've worn something nicer. As it is, he's a split second away from turning around and disappearing into the Scottish twilight. The only thing keeping him rooted in place is—

A warm hand slips into his hoodie pocket and curls around his balled up fist. Ghost sucks in a deep, slow breath, and as he exhales, he releases the fist to clasp Johnny's hand palm to palm.

It terrifies him, the comfort a single touch can give. He knows how easily comfort can turn into soul-wrecking pain. Yet he clings to Johnny's hand with the kind of desperation Price would no doubt find concerning for a whole host of reasons.

"We dinnae have tae go inside," Johnny murmurs. "I can call mam from here and—"

"'M not gonna melt, Johnny. Just... gimme a minute."

He's already ruined Johnny's Christmas enough by bowing out of the actual holiday. But the aching despair of the anniversary always winnows him down to his basest self. Even three days later, he feels hollowed out and cold, his sole point of warmth the callused palm and strong fingers clinging to his as they huddle closer against the chill winter air.

Johnny doesn't know the sordid details, but he knows enough about special ops life to fill in the blanks. Every operator has their demons. Simon Riley's are just a little more harrowing than most.

At least the MacTavishes like to celebrate the winter season all the way through New Year's. Or so Johnny says. Ghost suspects the post-holiday get-together might be an allowance made specially for him, but he's certainly not going to ask about it. So here they are, standing in front of Johnny's childhood home outside of Glasgow, store-bought biscuits in hand, while a multi-colored glow spills through the frost-edged glass into the rapidly darkening outside world. It beckons them inside with the promise of warmth and joy and all the other things those trite holiday cards claim for the winter season.

Ghost doesn't move.

The blinking Christmas lights taunt him through the front window. Memories loom from the dark corners of his mind and threaten to upend the one thing he desperately wants to give Johnny—time with his family.

He takes another deep breath, taking care not to let the exhale shudder on the way out.

He's only met Emma and Grant MacTavish twice in passing at Johnny's medal ceremonies for Las Almas and then for the Chunnel op. The latter medal, a Victoria Cross, was officially for exceptional heroism in the line of duty and unofficially for assisting in the dismantling of a major bomb threat and taking down Makarov with a well-aimed stab. He and Johnny weren't in a relationship then, and even if they had been, it would've been inappropriate to mention it on base. Even so, he remembers the overflow of unearned gratitude in Emma's blue eyes—exactly like Johnny's—as she wrapped both of her warm hands around his and thanked him for keeping her boy alive.

The words still ring hollow as he thinks about Johnny collapsing on the cold concrete after clipping that final wire with Price.

He almost died in Ghost's arms that day, and Ghost hasn't been the same since. For one, he kissed his subordinate in the hospital the instant he thought Johnny was coherent enough to remember it and hasn't stopped kissing him since.

Completely unprofessional.

And utterly worth it.

With a final deep inhale and slow exhale, he straightens his shoulders. He can do this. Even if it makes his stomach cramp and his palms sweat with anxiety and the Christmas decorations seem to taunt him with memories of a family forever lost to him.

For Johnny, he can do this.

"Alright," Ghost murmurs—more to himself than to Johnny—as he slides their clasped hands from his hoodie pocket and pulls him toward the door.

It opens before they can knock, flinging brilliant light, excited conversation, and upbeat music into the night air. Emma MacTavish greets her son with a wordless exclamation of joy as she throws her arms around him in a tight hug. Somehow, Johnny manages to return the hug and answer rapid-fire questions about their journey all without letting go of Ghost's hand. Cold air pricks at the exposed skin around his medical mask, but Ghost is too focused on processing and cataloging every detail to acknowledge the physical discomfort.

Johnny looks more like Emma than he does Grant, sharing those bright blue eyes, dark hair, and a brilliant smile that could melt a glacier. Peas in a pod and, according to Soap, often partners in pranking crimes. All Ghost can see is warmth and light—pouring from her, from Johnny, from the home that was never riddled with suffering and people whose lives were never cut short by an evil too insidious to anticipate.

When Emma pulls back from Johnny, she keeps her hand curled around his bicep as she turns the full power of her warm gaze on Ghost.

"And Simon—may I call ye Simon?" Emma asks.

"Yeah," Ghost replies before clearing his throat and adding, "Hello, Mrs. MacTavish."

The smile she gives him sends a shock of pain through his chest even as a flood of comfort flows in behind to sooth the ache.

It's kind. Compassionate.

Motherly.

And it's directed at him.

It gets worse—or better?—when she reaches out to gently clasp his bicep too, connecting the three of them in a circle of touch. As if he's somehow a part of this world. As if he deserves a second chance at family despite dooming his own. The connection is both suffocating and freeing, as if he's taking his first breath of fresh air in years all while a boulder crushes his chest.

She squeezes his arm, and her smile widens into something familiar. Maybe a bit teasing, too.

"Call me Emma, love. I'm so glad yer here. Both of ye. Now, come in out of the cold, will ye? My bones are already aching."

Ghost flounders as the onslaught of pain and comfort slices straight through the layers of armor he's built up through the years, exposing his soft insides.

He wants to fall into the touch.

He wants to run away.

He meets Johnny's gaze, and the softness and understanding he finds there is a balm to his spiraling emotions. Despite everything inside screaming at him to shut down, to not let anyone else into that secret part of him that Johnny breached with the ease of a demolitions expert, Ghost is helpless to do anything but follow Emma inside.

For the first time since he lost his family, he dares to let himself hope.

-

Hours later, Johnny pulls Ghost into bed with a gentle hum, guiding his head to rest on his chest. The heavy thud under Ghost's ear is like scissors to a puppet's strings, snipping the tension away and leaving him boneless and overwhelmed.

"Alright?" Johnny murmurs in his ear before pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his head.

"Not made of glass," Ghost grumbles.

Johnny knows him too well to take him seriously, even now. "Nae, yer made of sterner stuff. Gunpowder, madness, and pure spite."

"Spite can be motivatin'. Just ask any of the rookies who've had me for drills."

Johnny hums a laugh, and Ghost presses his ear harder into Johnny's chest to catch every vibration. Fingers trail through his hair, and he sighs.

"How shite was that, scale of one to ten?"

"What?" Johnny mumbles, his lips once again pressed to the side of Ghost's head.

"How bad an impression did I make?"

A hand grasps his hair to gently tip his head up. Their eyes meet, and the genuine confusion in Johnny's expression gives Ghost hope.

That he didn't fuck everything up. That Johnny's family won't try to convince him to stay away from Ghost.

"Mam was absolutely charmed, Ghost. I think she'd adopt ye on the spot if she could."

Ghost blinks. He replays the evening in his head—from the homemade dinner to the impromptu after-dinner sing-along between Johnny and his niblings to the softer conversation between the adults once the children had crashed. He can't think of anything he did to warrant such a reaction. In fact he barely talked at all, content to let Johnny answer questions for both of them and only interjecting when someone spoke to him directly, which happened rarely enough that Ghost was positive Johnny had asked them to make allowances for him. He both hated and loved it—hated that it made him feel weak, like he couldn't handle himself or his emotions, but loved that Johnny was clearly thinking about him and ensuring he would be as comfortable as possible.

He doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve Johnny at all if he's being honest with himself. The man is too good—all righteous fire and burning passion. But with that honesty comes the acknowledgment that he's far too selfish to ever give Johnny up.

At this thought, a faint memory surfaces of Emma's soft look when Ghost wrapped his arm around Johnny's shoulders as they settled on the couch. It's how they always sit when on leave because they can't risk it on base. Ghost loves the feeling of their bodies melding together, a line of heat at his side and Johnny close enough for Ghost to mumble inappropriate comments, bad jokes, and blush-inducing innuendo into Johnny's ear.

Apparently Emma MacTavish thinks it's a good thing, too.

"Well. Good then?"

Johnny hums another laugh, making Ghost's cheek buzz. "It is good, love. Very good." He tightens his arm around Ghost's shoulders. "Thank ye for coming with me."

Ghost swallows. Despite their solid relationship status, they haven't exchanged more than joking admissions of their mutual attraction. He feels the lack all the more as the worst of his holiday malaise falls away in the face of so much care and affection. Something wiggles loose in his chest, a sensation of free falling as his lips form words he hasn't said since before Roba took his family from him.

"Thought you woulda figured out by now that you've got me wrapped around that trigger finger of yours." He swallows. Takes a shaking breath. "You're the only thing alive in this world that I love."

Johnny stills under him. Even his chest is unmoving, breaths locked up with a quick inhale.

And then it all comes out in a rush.

"Simon... d'ye mean tha'?"

And though it means losing the comforting thud of Johnny's heart in his ear, Ghost answers by leaning up, gripping Johnny's chin with his fingers, and pressing a soft kiss to slack lips. When he pulls back, Johnny is staring at him, tears welling in his blue eyes and a wide grin replacing his shocked expression.

"Love ye, too, ye big bastart," Johnny whispers before diving in for another kiss.

And maybe it's not perfect in an objective sense. Maybe he still misses his family and what could have been. But in this moment—with this man and his gracious family who went out of their way to make him feel welcome—it's the closest to perfection he's ever been.

[moeblob]

cute? D: (thank you so much!)

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part two

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: implied sexual content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 2.5k

You weren’t sure what woke you at first but when you opened your eyes, you found the brilliant, early morning light that streamed through a crack in the curtains. Groaning, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, not missing the unmistakable rustling of clothes somewhere at the foot of the bed. 

Peeking over the sheets to the source of the sound, you found Ale working to put her pants back on, her bare back to you. You propped yourself against the headboard as you watched on, biting your lip at how Ale’s tattoos deliciously shifted over her rippling muscles. She picked something up from the floor before she turned towards the bed and you caught sight of the darkening marks on her neck and chest. When she saw you looking at her, she smiled, a little bashful, which you returned in kind.

“What time is it?” You cringed at how you croaked out the words.

“Early. You should go back to sleep.” Ale said, putting her bra on as she kept your gaze.

You hummed. “I could say the same for you.”

Ignoring what she said you sat up on the bed, allowing the sheets to slide down and settle by your waist as you stretched. Ale’s eyes wandered to your chest which, you supposed, bore the same marks you could see on hers, and you relished the attention. Once she found your eyes again, you sent her a knowing smirk before you left the bed, headed to the closet where you grabbed the nearest fresh shirt you had, and tossed it to Ale. 

Without even looking at the shirt, she caught it with ease. You raised your brow, both in question and in wonder. In response, Ale just smiled innocently at you. Ale pulled the shirt over her head, hiding the marks from view, then she moved towards you, her eyes dark and shining with intent.

Your body remembered last night’s endeavours before you did: every nerve in your skin lit up in anticipation for Ale’s touch, a fuse waiting for a spark. She laced an arm around your waist and pulled you flush to her front with a strength that left you breathless, her clothed body firm against your bare flesh. Without your heels she almost towered over you that you had to stand on your toes to wrap your arms around her neck. You closed your eyes when you felt the words she spoke against your temple.

“As much as I’d love to stay, I have to go.”

You sighed, unable to hide your disappointment. But what did you expect? You knew what you were getting into last night–you knew this was meant to only be a one-time thing. Besides, you were never one for relationships anyway; all your dalliances were brief and fleeting, ending before they ever got serious. Still, something about Ale pulled you to her, a force that compelled a desire to get to know her. The logical part of you already accepted the fact that you’d probably never see her again after this, but a small part of you wanted to rebel and resist that fate. 

Unsurprisingly, logic won out.

“I shouldn’t keep you, then,” you whispered against her collarbone. Ale shivered and that made you smile: it’s good to know you weren’t the only one still feeling the effects from the previous night.

“You’re not making this easy,” she whined and you laughed. 

“Alright, alright. I guess it’s time for me to let you go.”

There was a moment of silence but not an uncomfortable one. You looked at her, soaked in how her features caught the morning light, how her fair hazel eyes almost appeared like twin golden suns. You were tempted to kiss her lips then but you settled for a chaste one on her cheek instead. “Keep the shirt, to remember me by and… a thank you for last night. It was wonderful.”

“I had a good time, too,” she hummed, a small smile on her lips. 

You returned her smile, and then you gently pushed her away as you took a step back. “Go, Ale.”

Ale stood there for a moment more, took one last look at you, gave you one last smile and she was out of the bedroom. When you heard the front door shut, you sighed again as something akin to regret settled in your bones. Maybe you should’ve at least asked for her number…

“So… did you have fun?” A deep voice filtered through the speaker before you saw the familiar mop of blonde hair and blue eyes on your screen. You rolled your eyes at his dry tone but you smiled nonetheless.

“Oh hi, Derek, I’m doing fine! Thank you for asking!”

Derek gave you an unimpressed look. “Come on. I need details cause that club was exclusive for a reason. So, did you hook up with someone?”

“Dude, stop! That’s so–” you shook your head, a palm over your face. You swore if he wasn’t family you would’ve… you breathed through your nose. “Thank you for the pass and everything but I’m not obligated to tell you shit.”

“Fine, I see how it is. Just ‘cause I’m not there you’re keeping secrets from me now, huh?” He raised an exaggerated eyebrow. 

“Then maybe you should’ve come here with me,” you retorted with faux annoyance. “What’s the point of you owning a house in Barcelona if you’re not going to use it? It’s literally rotting here! The fact that you haven’t even put any personal things in here is criminal!”

“And let this agency burn down to the ground while both of us are away? Pfft, yeah, right!” Derek scoffed. “You know it’s either you or me who can keep watch around here. Besides, the house can wait and you’re using it now, right? So, a win-win in my book.”

He was right but you weren’t about to tell him that so you opted to change the topic. “How are things on your end anyway?”

“Chaotic, as usual. And it doesn’t help we’re now down two–actually, three including you–of our best in the Spot News department.”

At that, you sat up from the couch, alarm and dread filled your body and you brought the phone closer to you. “Oh my god, did something happen?” 

Derek sighed heavily, his demeanour clouded over as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was Jones and Gilda–they’re stable, don’t worry!–they got caught in a flash flood on the way to the base at their area. Sick with some minor injuries, Jones more so than Gilda, but thankfully they’re both okay.”

At that, you breathed out in relief. You were well acquainted with the dangers that came with your job but you could never get used to how quickly a situation could get from bad to worse. The mere thought was enough to turn your hands cold. 

“When did this happen?”

“Early morning today in our timezone.”

“Oh, fuck. Derek, why didn’t you call me?!”

“Dude, you’re on leave. And it’s not that I didn’t want to let you know, I just wasn’t about to wake you up in the middle of the night to give you this headache. I’m just about done with the paperworks anyway.” A moment silence, then Derek sighed. “You really chose the worst time to go on leave. You know, I had to send Jersey to start covering Spot.”

“Not my fault you authorised it. I was happy to wait another month, remember? Wait, so if Jersey is doing Spot, who’s doing Sports?”

“I know, I know, don’t remind me ‘cause I’m already regretting it. And no one’s doing it. Spot coverage is more important but–”

“–we get a decent sum from Sports, too,” you finished for him. You did some quick estimation in your head: a month or two without Sports could prove costly, too great of a sum to let go. You hummed, rubbing your chin, but it didn’t take you long to realise that you could help out, your mind immediately fleeted to your conversation with Ale and her suggestion.

“I’ll cover it, Derek.”

“No. You’re supposed to be enjoying your leave–”

“Derek.” You fixed a stern gaze at him, the one you knew that he knew meant your mind was made up. Then you proceeded to reassure him that it was fine, and then you told him about your plan. “Alright, then, I’ll leave the press passes to you.”

“I’ll e-mail them to you once I get ‘em, most likely by tonight your time. I–” 

“Derek, you got to see–” Another voice filtered through the speaker while you watched as Derek turned his head to the side and held his hand up to whoever it was before returning his focus back to you.

“Okay, as much as I’d love to keep talking to you, Robert just brought me a huge stack of paper so I’m going to bail.” 

“Alright. Have fun, you. Talk to you later.”

“Ha ha, very funny. But seriously, thank you.”

“No worries. Kiss Mom for me when you see her.”

“I will. Love you, sis.”

“I love you, too.”

After calling Jones and Gilda to ask about their condition and to send them your well wishes, you decided to spend the rest of your day at the nearby square and the beach. A day as good as this wasn’t meant to be wasted by staying inside so you grabbed several rolls of film and your beloved Leica camera before heading out. 

It was already late afternoon when you found yourself trudging along the shoreline of one of Barcelona’s beaches, appreciating the orange-tinged skies and how the gulls called from above. When you looked to the horizon, you found a mother and her little daughter paddle-boarding just a hundred meters from the shore. You could see almost no details in the shadows of their silhouette but the large setting sun framed them in such a way that you felt to take a shot of the moment. So you adjusted your aperture accordingly, pressed the viewfinder against your brow, lined up your shot, and pressed the shutter.

“I thought you looked familiar… And I was right.”

Your thumb froze over the advance lever when you heard someone speak from somewhere behind you. That voice… could it be?

You whipped your head over your shoulder and found none other than Ale standing there. She was wearing a pair of jean shorts, a white opened blouse that put her toned abs and Nike sports bra on display, loose hair slightly damp, with a leash in one hand that lead to a small, fluffy dog. She also had on a pair of black wraparound sunglasses that she moved to the top of her head, revealing her hazel eyes that captivated your gaze immediately.

You could hardly believe your eyes and your luck; you already accepted her fleeting presence in your life but to meet her again in a city as big as Barcelona without any means of contact… that surely was nothing short of a miracle.

“Ale, hi! I–I never thought I’d see you again,” you said after you finally found your voice but as soon as the words left your mouth, your cheeks warmed. What were you supposed to say to a one night stand in this situation, especially when you clearly wanted it to happen again?

“Me neither. I should thank Nala for dragging me out here.” Ale grinned as she glanced down at her dog by her feet. You crooned as you bent down, then you offered your hand first and only after Nala licked your knuckles did you proceed to pet her.

“Thank you, Nala, for taking your owner for a walk.” At that, a hearty laugh came from Ale which caused Nala, who seemed to be overjoyed by the sound of her owner’s delight, to yip and wag her tail. And just as quickly as she had, she seemed to get bored and began to bound forward, urging Ale to move as well so you stood up, brushed the sand from your palms, and fell in step with her. 

For a moment, the space between you was filled by the sound of the waves, the sound of the shifting sand beneath your feet, and the ever-bustling noise from the city. Then you recalled your conversation with Derek this morning.

“I thought about what you said, about covering women’s football. I’m going to be given a press pass for a match, not sure which one they’ll give me, though. But do you know of any big matches coming up?”

“Really? That’s great! Do you have any particular team in mind or…?”

“Research is still on my to-do list so no, not really. I’m all ears for suggestions, though.”

“I see. Well, there is this match coming up: Real Madrid and Barcelona. Since you don’t know, there’s rivalry between the two teams so any match between them tends to get crowded. You should come watch.” 

“That sounds like a good one. I hope that’s what they’ll get me into. Will you be there?”

“I hope so, too. And yes, I’ll be there.” As she said this, her eyes shone with a glint not dissimilar to what you saw in them the night you met. Her lips tilted to the side, closed but quirked at the corners like she was holding in a laugh. If it weren’t already clear that night, it was now–you were definitely missing something here.

“What?” You asked, confused. What was she not telling you? But at the question, Ale only let out a small giggle, grinning as she did so.

“Nothing, nothing,” she said, shaking her head. You didn’t believe her but you let it slide one more time and the fact that she looked so distracting didn’t help either.

She had her head turned to you, her loose hair framed her face and strands fluttered in the cool, ocean breeze. You had to tilt your head up slightly to meet her eyes and, without any bidding, memories from that night and the morning after filtered through your mind: the way she held you against her, the way you wanted her to stay… maybe you should ask her if she was free tonight.

“–what do you have in mind?”

You blinked. “What?”

Ale threw her head back, letting out another hearty laugh before she looked at you and you saw amusement swimming in her eyes. Then, she continued with a smirk, “you asked if I was free tonight. I said yes. Or… was I not meant to hear that?”

Your ears and cheeks burnt while you internally cursed your slippery tongue.  That was smooth. Real smooth. “Ummm…”

You woke the next morning with a delicious soreness between your thighs, a pleasant reminder of the way Ale ravished you last night. Similar to the first morning after, you heard the rustling of clothes being put on. But before you could fully open your eyes, warmth from Ale’s lips branded the skin on your shoulder. 

“I have to go. See you next time?” Ale murmured softly. You shifted slightly to the side and you saw how the sunlight behind her gilded her hair with an amber halo and made her eyes appear like molten gold. 

Brushing a loose strand behind her ear, you hummed in confirmation and pressed your forehead sleepily against the sharp line of her jaw, closing your eyes as you did so and you whispered, “you know where to find me.”

[cfffrk]

[erinwantstowrite]

On the Jason as Uncle Ben variant—you’re response, you can’t do this to me! It’s making me more insane! After the Grey Ghost bit in LoF I thought of a crackpot theory of Uncle Ben being Bruce. And I was like no, Peter would recognize him(but the time is shifted and would he recognize that version?; probably, whatever). But his ages could line up(but what about the name change that’s inconsistent; handwave that). And your answer is throwing fuel on that fire I want to suppress

teehee :3 i might maybe have a plan and a reason for that... there are some variants that are not the *exact* same as the other. (Biggie and Benny, for example...) they don't look the exact same and they don't have the same stories, but fundamentally they are the same person. i played around with the multiverse. Even Peter looks different from a lot of Peter Parker variants. Sort of like how the three Peter Parkers in the one Holland movie are Peter, but all look different. I took some liberties to spice the story up (￣y▽,￣)╭

[padawansuggest]

Obi-Wan: Cody. Oh sweet sweet, good man Cody. I just don’t think we could be together.

Cody: Oh. Um. Is it because I’m a clone?

Obi-Wan: *trying not to admit that he would literally go insane and either try and steal the whole army, or kill the chancellor if he admitted to his feelings* Well. It’s… a conflict of interests.

Cody: *well versed in Kenobi speak, which is why he knows that doesn’t add up* What?

Anakin: *taking out his headphones ten feet away* He said you guys have conflicting mental illnesses.

Cody: That’s not-

Obi-Wan: No no, that fits the situation pretty well, actually.

[sinspirefly]

Cherik is so special to me. Writing their kiss in my fic was a daunting task. I kept thinking it was going to happen, but the moment never felt right for the characters—their slow burn was always going to be long. They couldn't kiss until they were emotionally on the same page, or it wouldn't be earned. What matters more than their physical expressions of love are their mental ones.

Erik wasn't going to kiss Charles until he was absolutely sure Charles wouldn't reject him. Charles wasn't going to kiss Erik until he trusted Erik again.

The moment fell into place. A callback to their previous kiss before Cuba in 1962. If you read those scenes together, they form a whole.

Charles is only able to experience the full pleasure of the kiss in 1962 in the moment he realized he would kiss Erik again, knowing that this time, he'd be able to have him.

Just some thoughts.

Link to my fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33086503/chapters/82134211

[mamawasatesttube]

ooooo timkon w “Can you just hold me?” or “You look like you need a hug." for the ficlet thing :3

Kon's hair is a frizzy mess.

That's the first red flag. Kon is ridiculously vain when he wants to be, with a whole hair care shower routine, silken pillowcases, and an array of curl creams and whatnot that he had to explain to Tim twice before any of it stuck in his head properly. Tim teases him for it now and then, but he knows it's because Kon doesn't like people seeing him at anything but his best. Kon got too used to being picked apart on camera for that.

So the fact that his hair is unkempt and mussed as he lets himself in from the balcony is... concerning.

Even more concerning is the way he barely even looks at Tim before he throws himself at the bed, flopping face-down with an oof. The balcony door closes itself behind him like an afterthought, and he heaves a huge, melancholy sigh.

"Kon?" Tim pushes away from his desk, trotting over to the bedside. Kon's legs are sticking off, and Tim shakes his head fondly as he reaches down to tug Kon's boots off. "Long day, huh?"

The first boot comes off in his hands; the second follows almost instantaneously. Kon lifts his head from the duvet to give him a slightly sheepish look over his shoulder, apologetic, before he drops his face back down with a thump.

"I'm tired," he mumbles. And he sounds like it. There isn't even a hint of a smile in his voice.

Tim crawls onto the bed next to him, rests his hand comfortingly at the small of his back. "What happened?"

Kon hisses out another sigh into the duvet. "Someone tried to—and don't get your knickers in a twist, I'm fine—but someone tried to dissect me today. Again."

Alarm jolts through Tim's whole body; his hands immediately start roaming Kon's torso, probing for wounds. "What?! Are you hurt—"

"I just said, I'm fine, Rob." Kon sounds a little wry as he rolls onto his back. "Jeez. What happened to your listening skills?"

He catches one of Tim's wrists and holds it to his chest, over his heart; Tim can see the sliver of an incision, cut right into the center of the S-shield emblazoned on his chest. He can't tell if it cut the skin beneath or not, but at least he doesn't see any blood.

The tiny smile on Kon's face fades, and Tim softens, studying him. Now that he can look properly, he can see the telltale signs that Kon cried, earlier; his cheeks are a little blotchy, his eyes slightly reddened. An eyelash is stuck to the delicate skin just below his eye.

"Some... ugh. They were some, like, Cadmus-wannabes. Total bozos, though. They had a red sun lamp, but no metagene suppressant, so." Kon shrugs, discontented. "They didn't even use the energy restraints like that time with Amanda Spence, like—c'mon, at least do your basic research if you're gonna try to vivisect a guy, right?" He snorts humorlessly. "I got out fine, took it down, called the S.C.U., it's whatever. I'm just... I'm so tired, Tim," and his voice cracks on Tim's name.

"Kon," he murmurs, leaning down. He presses their foreheads together, his chest aching. He'll have to check the news, find out from reports who exactly was behind this, because... it shouldn't matter, since it's already taken care of, but something inside him burns at the thought that anyone, anywhere, could put such a bone-deep sorrow into Kon's eyes.

"I'm so tired of people acting like I'm—like I'm not a person just 'cuz I hatched outta some stupid tube in a lab." Kon's eyes are too bright. He squeezes them shut and takes a shaky breath. "Like—what do I gotta do, y'know? How do you just—how do you even get through to people who're so convinced clones aren't people? I'm a person, too! I just... I..."

Tim very briefly debates the ethics of breaking into Stryker's just so he can hit someone with his staff. Or his car.

"I'm... really sorry you had to deal with that," he says instead, lamely. It's cold comfort, and awkward, and—

And it makes Kon laugh, watery but real. He blinks his teary-bright eyes up at Tim, brushes a gloved hand to his cheek. "You're mad as hell right now, aren't you?"

Tim smiles ruefully and presses his lips to Kon's jaw. "You caught me." Another kiss, to the corner of Kon's mouth. "I just—I hate that I can't do anything to fix this kinda thing for you. You don't deserve it."

"Mm." Kon takes a second to collect himself, swallows hard, and breathes out slowly. "You do more than you realize, I think. Can you just—can you just hold me? For a little while?"

Tim flops down on top of him immediately, wraps his arms around his head and neck, and smushes his face into Kon's hair. It would probably be more comfortable if they were side-by-side and facing each other, but the advantage of this position is that—

Kon laughs again, soft and fond. His voice is still a little thick, but he's smiling now. "Is that comfy for you...?"

"Kinda." Tim kisses his temple, too. "You smell like smoke."

"Mmf, sorry." Kon sighs again. "And I got it all over the bed now, too, huh..."

"S'okay. We can just grab a different blanket later." Tim scrunches his fingers through Kon's hair until they hit a tangle. "...Want me to wash your hair for you?"

Kon's arms tighten around him, and suddenly he seems like he needs a moment before he can respond. Tim doesn't rush him.

"Yeah," Kon croaks out after a moment, his voice suspiciously wet. "Yeah, Robbie. I'd like that a lot."

[i-am-an-omniscient-snail]

Comment on fanfics!!!!!

You don't have to do it because it makes the authors days better, you can do it because it makes your day better.

I just opened my inbox on to ao3 (for the first time in months tbh) to find authors replying to my comments and it was amazing. People telling me they couldn't stop smiling or they were glad I liked the fic??? Best. Feeling. Ever.

Even a sentence tells the creator you liked the work!!!

[remarcely]

Non-Human Tim Drake Prompt

The Drakes were unable to bear a child, so they made one.

They used clay from their dig sites, having come across grounds so imbued with magic that it was pouring out of the material in waves, and shaped a child- a little boy. He had Janet's smile, Jacks eyes, and a chunk of ruby, chipped off from an artifact the couple had found years ago, in place of a heart. They'd dried the clay child for thirty days and thirty nights, carefully checking him for cracks and crumbling patches. On the morning of the thirty-first day he opened his eyes and Timothy Drake was ‘born’.

He had once asked what power created him. Tim had heard of the tales of a puppet boy, so loved by his father that a fairy bestowed him with life, and asked his mother if the same fairy had blessed him. Janet had laughed, not taking him seriously, and patted his cheek.

“Oh, my darling, you weren’t made for no reason. You are the heir to the Drake name, a perfect little creation.” She stood from where she’d been crouched and began to leave the room, not bothering to look over her shoulder “Fairies are not real, Timothy, and neither is ‘true love’. There is only us and our requisites. You will placate our plans in a way flesh and blood never could.”

Tim understands the words his mother isn’t saying. That Love had nothing to do with it, only necessity for a child to keep something so arbitrary as a family name alive.

He wasn’t their son, he was a vessel, and if he wanted to remain a Drake then he’d need to serve his purpose;

Perfection.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

genuinely still shocked that merasai is so unpopular.. when i first watched saiki k years ago, i was immediately into that ship and i just assumed they would be one of the most popular because they have the most casual chemistry ever.. like they would be the most arospec dgaf go at their own pace couple ever and i love them...

[dark-elf-writes]

A Hot for Teacher drabble? In this economy? More likely than you think.

I was reading through HFT and found a post about genma finding naru lost in the grocery store and it possessed me

Genma Shiranui was pretty sure the brightly colored package in his hand wasn’t actually food despite its many claims otherwise.

A glance through the ingredient list found nothing recognizable as something that came from nature, and he had major doubts that anything in that shade of orange the “food” was depicted as on the front was truly edible. He tossed it in the basket with his stack of instant ramen and energy drinks and swore to Guy’s ghost (not that he was dead, but speaking to his friend’s metaphorical spirit was far less exhausting than the enthusiastic lecture on nutrition he would get in person) that he would at least grab a premade salad before he left. He had just moved down to the next probably inedible and brightly colored package of junk food screaming for his attention when he heard the sniffle.

Genma frowned, looking at the package his hand was hovering over for a heartbeat too long before realizing the sound had come from below him. 

(He was still getting used to the whole “friends with single dads” thing. A part of him still wanted to look around for a responsible adult for himself, so the idea of being the responsible adult for someone else was a special kind of horrifying. That said, Genma showed up every time Guy or Kakashi needed a sitter even if the first time he had to look up how the hell he was supposed to change a diaper.)

The sight of familiar blue eyes, if bloodshot and rimmed with red from the tears that were pouring down the poor kid’s cheeks, was all Genma registered before a little body hit him with the force of a truck. His bad arm flew back to catch himself on the shelf, sending a painful twinge through his shoulder, while his good arm pulled his basket out of the way before a little head could slam into it.

“Naruto?” He managed through the pain as his brain finally caught up with who exactly the tiny bowling ball attached to his legs was. “Hey, buddy, what’s wrong? Where’s your dad?” That was, apparently, the wrong thing to ask as Naruto immediately burst into loud, body-shaking sobs.

Genma was an ex-soldier. He had stood calm under fire. He had taken a bullet and still dragged his battle buddy to safety before passing out from blood loss. 

He had a full two second panic when faced with a crying toddler.

Wrenching his panicking thoughts under control with an iron grip, Genma shifted the two of them until he was kneeling in front of Naruto, abandoning his basket to pet wild blond hair and whispering soft assurances as the poor kid cried. It took a couple minutes and a few repetitions to understand the word Naruto gasped out between sobs, but Genma eventually got the gist of it by the time Naruto had calmed enough that his sobs were more hiccups. 

Naruto had said he was too big for the cart, so Kakashi had allowed him to walk next to him while they shopped. Only Naruto had seen something that sparked his interest and wandered off, and by the time he remembered he had broken his promise to stay by his dad he didn’t know where in the store he was. Naruto had been looking for his dad when he had seen Genma and knew he would help.

Genma smiled and ruffled Naruto’s hair. “I’m glad you found me, kiddo. Now the two of us can find your dad, yeah?”

Fat little fists rubbed at those teary blue eyes so hard that Genma gently pulled them away for fear the kid would do some damage. “What if he’s mad?”

“Mad?” Genma asked, running gentle fingers under Naruto’s eyes to wipe away more stray tears before Naruto could start rubbing again. “Nah, he’s not gonna be mad. He’s too much of a worry wart for that.”

Naruto sniffed, and Genma mentally cursed himself for not carrying tissues as the kid ripped his nose on his orange sleeve. Some Uncle he was. “Promise?”

“I swear it, kiddo. Now c’mon, let’s find your dad.”

Genma shifted his basket to his bad arm before lifting Naruto up, settling him on his hip as he straightened from his crouch. Any discomfort from the weight on his arm was well worth it when Naruto rested his head on his shoulder. Even the thought of the toddler snot that was certainly getting wiped off on him didn’t bother him when Naruto let out a sniffly little giggle when Genma bounced him up into a more comfortable position.

It wasn’t the most comfortable carrying a still upset child in one arm while the other screamed in protest under the weight of the pitiful collection of junk that was Genma’s groceries, but Genma had been in far more uncomfortable situations. Being shot had a way of forcing perspective like that. 

In the end it wasn’t hard to find Kakashi. He was tearing up the main aisle like a madman head whipping left and right as he scanned the aisles. It probably would have been funny if he couldn’t see the near panic in his friend’s eye.

“Yo! Kash!”

Kakashi’s head snapped to him so fast Genma felt a twinge of sympathy in his own neck. He barely had the time to see one dark eye widen in recognition before his friend was there, abandoned cart slamming into a shelf hard enough to make the entire thing shutter at the force in his desperation, all but snatching Naruto from his arms and burying his face in wild blond hair. Naruto, whose tears had restarted the moment he caught sight of his dad, clung to Kakashi’s shirt and wailed into the dark fabric. 

The sound had attracted the eyes of the few people shopping at this hour, but a flash of a smile that was anything but friendly and a few pointed glares from Genma convinced their audience to suddenly find the nutritional facts of whatever was in their hand very interesting for the conceivable future. It was a bit harder wrangling Kakashi and Naruto down one of the side aisles, but Genma managed it. Saving the abandoned cart was far easier and had the added benefit of letting Genma put his own basket down as he steered with one hand. 

Once he had all three of them tucked into the most private space he could manage in the store he turned to his friend, frowning when he caught the rapid rise and fall of Kakashi’s shoulders and white-knuckled grip he had on Naruto’s jacket.

“Hey man,” Genma paused a few feet away when he saw Kakashi’s arms tighten. Right. Grounding first and comfort later. “You’re good. The kid is good too. He’s super smart, you know. Went straight to a safe adult and asked for help. Nearly scared me half to death when I saw him there, but he was real brave. I promised him as much junk food as he wanted before bedtime, so that’s probably not the best but I would argue that’s my right as honorary favorite uncle.”

Kakashi’s snort was more than a little harsh (and wet. Ugh, Genma didn't want to think what that was like with the mask) but his death grip on Naruto’s jacket loosened a little and he managed to pull back enough to glance up at Genma through his silver bangs. 

“Guy’s his favorite uncle.”

“Bullshi- cra- poop. Bull poop. Lee is his favorite cousin, and Guy is the person that makes Lee appear, that’s all.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hey! Little ears or some shit! Wait, fuck. I mean–!”

Kakashi’s huffed laugh was a welcome sound. Naruto’s muffled little giggle was even more so. Genma was batting a thousand here. “So, anyway, Favorite Uncle Genma declares that tonight is movie night complete with all the junk food we can eat without barfing. Don’t even try to argue. I know damn well you don't have anything planned for tomorrow, so all three of us are staying up past bedtime and bonding.” 

It was surprisingly easy to corral Kakashi and Naruto out of the store. Kakashi hadn’t even protested when Genma had paid for all the groceries himself, which might have been because he was far too busy glaring at anyone who looked at Naruto too long like an overgrown guard dog. He also didn’t argue when Genma snagged his keys and shoved him into the passenger side after buckling Naruto into his car seat which was a mercy considering lifting Naruto up into his seat and transferring the groceries into the back had done Genma’s shoulder no favors. He’d make Kakashi drive him back to his car in the morning… or text Hayate and bribe him into using the spare key to get it home.

Thankfully, Genma was around enough that Kakashi’s pack didn’t jump him immediately after he shouldered through the door with both sets of groceries hanging off his good arm. Even better Genma actually remembered where Kakashi kept the laminated paper with all of the dogs’ dinner needs so he managed to get all eight of them fed and watered correctly without having to break up the tangled mass that was Kakashi and Naruto on the couch. 

Eventually all three of them were situated on Kakashi’s singular couch (god he and Guy needed to see about getting the poor bastard more furniture that wasn't child-sized or a dog bed) with varying bowls and packages of candies, cookies, and the mystery orange monstrosity Genma had picked up at the store that Naruto loudly claimed as his favorite spread around them. There was even an age-appropriate movie droning on in the background that they all paid half attention to while hunting for their preferred snack. Sure, the amount of sugar and god knew what else all three of them were eating could hardly be considered a balanced dinner, but Genma was content in the knowledge that all three of them were fed without bloodshed or any more tears. 

He was killing this whole Uncle thing.

Naruto had dropped into sleep, snoring away from his spot sprawled across both of them, when Kakashi reached one arm behind the couch and flicked something light and flat over Genma’s head. It took some shifting to free his good arm enough to peel what turned out to be a heating pad off of his face.

“You fucked up your arm,” Kakashi accused.

“A bullet fucked up my arm. I just irritated it.”

That earned him a rude gesture which was rather merciful considering Kakashi’s usual gruff sort of love. Maybe Genma should let himself be a kid mattress more often. “Well you’re damn good at it, bastard.”

Genma laughed, stilling when Naruto shifted on top of him. When he was sure his living blanket was still out he shot Kakashi a smirk. “I’m good at a lot of things, I’ll have you know.”

Kakashi’s face did something complicated. “You are. Better than me.”

Suddenly Genma wasn’t so sure they were talking about being annoying anymore. He nudged Kakashi with his socked toes and narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re a good dad, Kash. I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.”

“Even me?��� Kakashi asked with a pointed look at Genma’s bad shoulder.

“I never said that I’d win the fight.” That earned him a snort, which Genma took as a win. “Seriously, Kakashi, what you’re doing is fucking hard. I can barely manage to take care of myself most days, much less a living breathing human being. Even if it wasn’t just you it would be hard. Everyone talks about how hard it is, that’s why they have those mommy groups and shit so you can drink wine and talk about how hard it is.”

“Actually they’re more–”

“See? You know! You give a fuck about your kid enough to know! This doesn’t make you a bad dad. Fuck, my old man forgot me at the store twice when I was Naruto’s age. Shit happens, and you’re the kind of smart that will figure out the leash the first time instead of the second.”

Kakashi’s kick was far gentler than it would have normally been either because the cold blooded bastard had finally grown a heart or because of the toddler still using Genma as a futon… probably the toddler. “Make all the dog jokes about me you want, but leave the kid out of it.”

Genma blinked. “I wasn’t!”

“Leash?” Kakashi pointed out with an unimpressed eyebrow.

“I was serious, asshole! They make like backpacks with fucking leashes or some shit. Better than the bracelet I had to–” Genma broke off as a thought occurred to him. Wait, hold on, you mean I was a leash kid, and Hatake ‘Dog Food Isn’t That Bad’ Kakashi wasn’t?”

Despite being friends with Kakashi for years, Genma still wasn’t entirely sure how the bastard managed to smirk with the mask hiding his mouth. What he was sure about was that it was fucking annoying to have aimed at him.

(Genma ignored the slight feeling of relief in his chest that Kakashi was back to his usual bastard self.)

“That explains so much about you.”

“Fuck off, you didn’t even know leash kids were a thing before now!”

“And yet so many burning questions about Shiranui Genma have been answered in one fell swoop!”

The renewed ache in Genma’s arm was well worth the sight of the orange monstrosity of a snack he had picked up at the store bouncing off of the skin between Kakashi’s eyes, and onto the floor. At least it was until the two of them scrambled to get out from under Naruto and to the mystery snack before one of the dogs could snatch it. 

(A few days later Genma showed up at Kakashi’s door proudly showing off the orange fox harness backpack much to Naruto’s delight, firmly solidifying himself in the position of favorite uncle.)

[itzzaira]

Apparently ao3 is down again</3

Like- just when I finally found my will to write dammit</3

So have this small drable for a future one-shot

Anyone want some sick, asthmatic 2012 Mikey?✨️