#dark! Lt Assistent

[cardansriddle]

Sugar - (tom riddle x fem!muggle!reader)

Summary: Perhaps it was an accident. Or perhaps the fates were mocking him. He had not meant to venture into the little coffee shop and he had most definitely not meant to return. But he kept coming back and the waitress kept putting sugar packets near his coffee every damn time.

Warnings: Tom gets possessive halfway through so it's pretty tame for him. not proofread. oh also self-indulgent crime & punishment debate (got a lil carried away).

A/N: 5.5k words but it's kinda mehh. to the person who requested this, i hope you enjoy it at least a little <3

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom felt as if he was a solitary figure in a world hushed by the winter's harsh embrace. With each step he took away from the desolate building of grey against the pristine canvas of winter, he felt lighter. He did not cast a look back towards the orphanage looming behind him, instead focused on the sound of the snow crunching beneath his feet as they led him further into the dark street cloaked in a thick layer of snow.

The wizard knew if he spent another moment in that cursed place he would have lashed out and killed someone, so he had hastily thrown his coat and emerald scarf around himself before slamming the door shut behind him. 

Two more years. He thought to himself. Then he would be out and would never be obligated to return again. Perhaps he would even burn the place to the ground if his plans worked out in his favour. 

The air was crisp, and his breath materialized in front of him with each exhale. His eyes quickly scanned the narrow empty alley for a suitable quiet place where he could pass his time. There was nothing interesting, except for the tiny bookstore nestled in the corner of the street that emitted a warm, golden light through its window. Tom quickly decided it would do, and he strode towards the place with purpose. A small bell chimed as he entered the place, which he quickly realised was a bookstore with a cosy coffee shop tucked inside. 

He inhaled the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the scent of weathered books. Before he could lose himself entirely in the intoxicating symphony of scents, a sudden, loud thud echoed from behind the counter, jolting him from his reverie.

"Blimey!" someone cursed, their voice slicing through the tranquillity. Tom found himself rooted to the spot, curiosity piqued, as a figure suddenly emerged from underneath the counter.

It was a girl. Unabashedly, his eyes traced the lines of her features, noting the delicate curve of her jaw and the cascade of hair that framed her face. He assumed she was around his age if not younger and he stared at the girl as she rubbed her head, wincing when she hit a particularly soft spot before she realised that she was not alone in the shop. She froze like a deer caught in the headlights and he watched as her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. 

Tom, still an observer, saw more than just the blush; he discerned the subtleties of her response, the way her eyes momentarily widened before seeking refuge elsewhere, fingers fidgeting with the edges of her knitted cardigan.

She attempted to compose herself and met his eyes. "Oh! Sorry, sir. How may I assist you?" She asked cheerfully, resisting the urge to duck her head down to avoid his intense stare.

He crossed the small distance to the counter. "I'd like a coffee. Black."

"No sugar?" she inquired, to which Tom raised a single brow. Her blush deepened as she quickly averted her eyes from his face.

"Right, of course. You may take a seat while I prepare this for you." With a nod, she hurried to fulfil his request, leaving Tom alone with the lingering scent of coffee and old books that were now intertwined with a pleasant smell of vanilla and sweet— 

It was her perfume, he realised with a start.

He hastily removed his coat and scarf before plopping down on the nearest armchair. His gaze remained fixed on the girl, absorbed in the rhythm of her practised motions as she prepared his drink, her movements seemingly both effortless and comforting. There was an almost lazy grace to her actions and he continued to watch as she sang under her breath so softly if he had not been staring so intensely, he would not have picked up on it. 

He wondered how he had never noticed this place before. He had been passing through this little street for as long as he could remember but for some reason, he had only stumbled upon it today. His sharp eyes darted around, instinctively searching for traces of magic, half-expecting the discovery of a hidden passage to the wizarding world but he quickly realised the place was undeniably, disappointingly muggle. 

Muggle.

He tore his gaze away from the girl at the mental reminder of what she was. He fished out a book from his bag and opened it to occupy his mind. 

The subtle shuffle of her approaching steps drew his attention back to the present, and he met her gaze as she placed the steaming cup of coffee before him. A sugar packet sat innocently beside it. His eyes lingered on the packet for a moment before lifting coldly to meet hers.

She, however, was undeterred by the intensity of his glare. “In case you change your mind.” She smiled at him softly before turning on her heel and walking back.

His gaze lingered on her retreating figure, and then, almost involuntarily, it dropped to the innocuous sugar packet.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom did not know why he had returned. Truthfully, he had not even noticed his feet had led him here until he was in front of the familiar wooden door that led into the coffee shop. Perhaps he had thought more than he should’ve about the disgustingly soft smile of that girl for the last five months. She was an insolent muggle, yet here he was, walking into the place as if he had never left. 

The seasons had blurred since he had last been here. Winter had long surrendered to the warmth of summer. He had to spend at least a month in the orphanage, and he was hoping Malfoy would invite him over for the rest of the summer. 

The place was just as he remembered it. The only difference was the lack of Christmas decorations. He faltered only slightly when he took notice of the girl behind the counter, already staring at him. She had not changed much. Her face was the same, less pale perhaps, but the same, nonetheless. The oversized knitted sweater that once enveloped her had been replaced by a little white sundress, and his gaze involuntarily lingered on the exposed smooth skin.

“Welcome back!” She greeted him cheerfully, and he was not surprised she remembered him. “What can I get you?”

“Black coffee,” he replied curtly

She nodded as if she was expecting it. "Coming right up." Gently shutting her book, she gracefully moved towards the coffee machine. Tom's eyes couldn't help but trail to the volume she had been reading, and to his pleasant surprise, it was Dostoyevsky. He had not pegged her as someone who would enjoy Russian literature, with its weighty and morally morbid themes. In his mind, she seemed more likely to be a Jane Austen enthusiast, with her intricately written romances and flowery prose.

“It’s 'Crime and Punishment'." He suddenly heard her soft voice declare, and he looked away from the book to give his attention to the girl. Then feeling as if she had said something silly, she blushed and looked away quickly. "Though I'm sure you figured that. I just wondered why you look so surprised." 

He replied before he could tell himself not to. "I did not imagine you as someone who would enjoy this." 

Emboldened at his words, she turned to face him, a hand casually resting on her hip as she sported a cheeky smile. "Am I to presume you imagine me often?"

His sharp inhale was audible as he absorbed the unexpected shift in her demeanour. He had not expected this shy, timid girl to tease him so boldly. She was a little vixen.

But he did not give her the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. A lazy raise of his brow was the extent of his acknowledgement before his gaze wandered towards the rows of bookshelves, feigning indifference. "Do you have another copy? Perhaps I shall like to reread this evening."

She frowned, walking over towards the table he had occupied last time to set his coffee down. He grimly took notice of the sugar packet placed near it. "I'm afraid not. But you can have mine." 

"No, that is quite alri—" He began to decline but she had already crossed the small distance between them and was holding out the thick book. He hesitated for a moment before his fingers closed around the object, careful to avoid touching hers. 

The girl smiled and walked away before he could even say thanks. Not like he was going to. 

Settling back into the soft armchair, he opened the book only to freeze at the sight of a name scribbled on the front page and he knew it belonged to her. The wizard rolled the name around in his mind and determined that it suited her. He stared at her name for a minute longer before turning the page and delving into the content of the book. 

He had been so immersed in the story that he had not noticed how the time had passed. The gradual hush of the coffee shop's ambient sounds finally penetrated his concentration, and he distinctly heard the girl approaching him. 

"I'm sorry to disturb you but we're closing in five minutes." She looked at the book in his hands. "You may return it once you're done." 

He hummed and looked down at where he had stopped. 

"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."

He wondered if the universe was trying to tell him something. 

Tom found himself caught in the silent narrative of this stranger's presence.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He returned the next day.

She looked up to see him enter, the sleeves of his button-up shirt rolled up. 

Tom placed the book on the counter. 

"You finished it in one day?"

He shrugged. "I'm a fast reader." 

She gave him a small smile, turning to make his black coffee before he could ask for it. "Every time I reread it it takes me a few days." She paused for a moment, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "The usual?"

He nodded. "The usual." He debated whether or not to voice his next question, and decided one conversation with the girl would not hurt.

"Why do you read it so often?"

"Each time I find new details that make Raskolnikov's character more complex. Each time I discover these small little things I missed the last time I read it becomes so much better. Plus I enjoy his moral dilemma."

He hummed, his curiosity piqued. He took his usual seat and watched as she brought his coffee and set it down in front of him. "Enlighten me." He gestured towards the seat in front of him. She hesitated only for a second before taking a seat. 

"Raskolnikov is obviously a complex character. His actions are driven by a desire for power and superiority, a belief that he is exempt from conventional morality. However, one could argue that his internal struggles and eventual remorse suggest a more nuanced exploration of morality." 

Tom furrowed his brows. "I see him as a product of his environment, a desperate man driven to extremes by the harsh circumstances he faced. His morality shifts to the other side of the spectrum." 

She cocked her head to the side, and he could see her getting slightly frustrated. "But morality is not just a spectrum; it's a complex interplay of values, societal norms, and personal convictions. Raskolnikov's guilt stems from the clash between his actions and the intrinsic moral compass within him. It's the consequence of recognizing the weight of one's choices."

He scoffed before he could stop himself. "Morality is subjective. What is right for one may not be right for another. Raskolnikov was weak and he was an idiot. Guilt is a useless emotion and it is for the weak."

Her expression remained unwavering. "But perhaps it's that recognition of guilt that separates the morally discerning from those who lack empathy. The fact that you can't comprehend his guilt doesn't make it foolish. It makes it human."

Tom's eyes narrowed a glint of impatience in his gaze. "Human or not, guilt is a hindrance. It's a sentiment for those too feeble to rise above their actions. If I were to make a difficult choice, I would do it without hesitation, without remorse." 

He only realised the slip of his tongue after the words left his mouth. He stilled, gauging her reaction yet her response was measured but firm. "Raskolnikov's guilt is a testament to his humanity, his ability to grapple with the consequences of his choices. It's what sets him apart from those who operate without remorse." 

"But—"

"So what you're saying is you would kill and feel no remorse?" She cut him off.

Yes.

"You do not understand." He did not intend his tone to be so harsh, yet the words left his mouth coldly. She visibly withdrew and nodded stiffly. "Right. Enjoy your coffee."

He opened his mouth to say something but realised for the first time in his life he did not know what to say. 

He was left staring at the cursed sugar packet she had left near his coffee again.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He did not return the next day. Nor the day after. Or after.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Two weeks passed with no sign of him.

And then she saw him step into the coffee shop. He walked in with determination. He walked up to the counter, meeting her gaze with an intensity that mirrored the unspoken tension between them. "I'd like a black coffee," he said, his tone even, though a hint of something lingered beneath the surface. 

She nodded, her expression composed but guarded. As she prepared the coffee, the air seemed charged with unspoken words. Her usual cheerful smile was notably absent. The absence struck him, and he realised he had enjoyed her smiles.

When she placed the coffee in front of him, there was a palpable pause. He glanced at the sugar packet, a subtle acknowledgement of the lingering disagreement. Without a word, he took it, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he poured the sugar into his coffee. 

She looked at him, her gaze unwavering, before a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

He returned the next day. And the day after that. And for the rest of summer.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

The next time he stepped into the familiar place, winter had covered the city with a snowy blanket once again. It had been a year since he first discovered this little place. And he had not seen his little waiter since he left for Hogwarts in September. 

When he walked in, her eyes lit up visibly. "Hi!" She waved at him with a bright grin. 

"Hello." He greeted as he unwrapped his scarf and settled in his usual seat. In a matter of minutes, she was bringing him his usual order. She was back to wearing her warm knitted sweaters. "How did you enjoy the book?"

"Oscar Wilde never disappoints," he said. She hummed in agreement, pleased at his words. He watched as her hands dropped to fidget with the bottom of her sweater. "You wish to ask me something." He stated. "Ask."

"Do you study in a boarding school?"

Tom hesitated only for a moment before replying. "Yes."

"Oh. Well, that explains the months of not showing up."

"Were you expecting me?" He teased her with an amused smirk, taking delight in the way her cheeks reddened. 

"I was just wondering that is all," she admitted, a hint of curiosity peeking through. Tom observed her, noting the return of the timid, shy girl from their first encounter. It amused him how a few teasing remarks could momentarily whisk away her fiery boldness. He couldn't help but wonder what it would take to awaken it once again.

"And do you wonder about me often, little vixen?" he added, a playful glint in his eyes.

She blushed harder at the nickname but then as if a thought had struck her, she straightened and Tom watched as she visibly mustered up her courage. "I actually was wondering your name."

He bristled, but she must have not noticed because she continued. "I suppose I have not given you mine either." She mused out loud and announced her name to him. "But I thought it bizarre that considering all the time we've talked we never got around to that. Friends who do not each other's names." The girl laughed at the last notion and only then she realised that Tom had remained unnervingly quiet throughout the exchange. She raised her eyes from the frayed edges of her sweater, and the sight almost made her take a step back. His eyes had darkened, and she could have sworn she saw them flash red. There was no warmth, no familiarity in his gaze. 

"Are you alright?"

Suddenly, he rose from his seat, an ominous tension permeating the air as he advanced towards her with every word. "We are not friends. You dare to think I would be friends with the likes of you?" His words were sharper than the keenest of blades, cutting into her with merciless precision. "Foolish, little girl," He spat out before grabbing his things and storming out of the place. As the door closed behind him, the little coffee shop seemed to exhale, the echoes of his harsh words lingering in the hushed aftermath.

She stood frozen in her place, helpless against the storm of emotions and the tears that began to veil her vision. 

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

Tom fumed for months after their last encounter. How dare the ignorant muggle insinuate that they were friends? He scarcely considered his Knights of Walpurgis as his friends, and she thought she would just appoint herself the title? Who did she think she was?

"Mate, you alright? You've been unresponsive for a while." Malfoy nudged him slightly, attempting to draw his attention back to the present.

Tom made a noise of acknowledgement before mentally shaking the image of his little waiter— no, not his, he berated himself— from his mind. 

But no matter how he tried, he could not. He could not just banish her from his thoughts. He knew a part of him, a rather embarrassingly large part of him enjoyed her company, her passion, her conversations— just her. 

And there, tucked away in the recesses of his trunk, lay her damned book— a taunting reminder of her. The temptation to burn it, to obliterate any remnants of her from his life, danced on the edge of his thoughts. He had shoved away, out of sight if only just to save himself the fury, the anger, (the longing).

He wondered if she was going through the same turmoil as him. He hoped she was. She had no right to make him feel this way and get away with it unscathed. 

But she was too enticing to give up. He did not know what it was about her. She was a muggle, an ordinary, plain girl working at a forgotten little cafe. Sure, she liked books, but so did a lot of other people. Yes, she was pretty, but so were a lot of other girls. But none could even come close to stirring his emotions as she did.

Perhaps it was the ease with which she conversed with him. Or the entirely too cheery smiles. Or her endearing knitted sweaters— though he secretly favoured the sundresses.

He, of course, knew what it was. He had tried to deny the idea to himself, but there was no escaping it. Tom had never been able to be unequivocally authentic with another individual before. From his early childhood, he refused to allow anyone close to him. He never lowered his walls and rejected anything that would yield a genuine connection. It was refreshing with her. He had no cause to uphold a curated facade.

Had she not been a muggle, he would entertain the thought of her bewitching him. He would have been convinced the girl put some spell on him or slipped a potion into his drink. 

It was maddening. 

She was maddening.

He sighed upon realising that he had spiralled again thinking of her. He needed to return the book, and maybe that would ease his mind. Perhaps once he was rid of her possession, she would not haunt him anymore. (Though he knew he was only trying to reassure himself with the last thought.)

As summer loomed around the corner, it felt both too distant and too imminent, mirroring the paradox of his tangled emotions.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

The sound of her laugh rang out before he could even close the door behind him. His head snapped up so fast it was a wonder he did not get whiplash. But there she was, his little waiter, chuckling delightfully as some boy spoke lowly from behind the counter. Chuckles escaped her lips, and she bit down on her lip in a futile attempt to stifle the laughter, her hands deftly at work preparing a drink. Despite her efforts, laughter bubbled forth once more, forcing her to set the cup down to avoid any potential spills.

An immediate surge of anger coursed through him. Who was this boy? What business did have with her? What right did he have to elicit such genuine laughter from her? (Most importantly, how dare she replace him?)

Tom swallowed the lump in his throat, attempting to gather himself into some semblance of a composed, unaffected man that he most definitely was not at that moment. With a loud, purposeful cough, he sought to catch her attention.

She spun around, the practised smile reserved for customers settling onto her face as she readied herself to serve him. However, the smile swiftly vanished the moment her doe-like eyes locked onto him. She looked like a deer caught in headlights as she stared at him, wide eyes roving over his face as if to confirm that he was really standing there, in front of her, and was not a figment of her imagination. 

Because despite their last encounter, despite the anger, and the hurt she had felt, she kept hoping he would return. She kept imagining him standing there, with his ridiculously fancy scarf as he spewed out an apology. She had delved so deep into her fantasies involving him that now that he was actually there, she did not what to do or to say. Her tongue was tied, and her brain was fogged. What was she supposed to say?

It seemed he decided to grant her mercy and be the first to break the tense silence.

“Hello.” 

“Hi.”

He shuffled closer, though his steps were unsure, unlike his usual confident strides that she was used to seeing. “I wished to return your book.” He declared yet made no move to reach into his bag for the said book. He allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of her, her eyes that always seemed to glisten, her hands that were always fidgeting, her little sundress that he was afraid would drive him to insanity, (and her lips that he wished he could press against his own just so he could find out what they felt like, tasted like.) He shoved the last one into a drawer in his mind and locked it away. He could not fantasise about her. She was a muggle. He could not stoop so low as to hold affections for a muggle girl.

“Did you enjoy it?” The girl asked tentatively as if afraid one wrong word would set him off, have him spitting more harsh words that would dig deep into her skin and remain there. 

“As always.” He replied. Because every book she gave him held another meaning. She was a clever girl, choosing the ones that she knew would have him coming back with a strong debate prepared in his mind. They always seemed to stand on opposite sides of every argument that the books posed, ensuring that their discussion would get heated, exciting, and thrilling. 

While Tom vehemently disagreed with her views, he found pleasure in the way her mind worked. He admired her quick-wittedness, her ability to counter every argument he posed. No one else had engaged him in such stimulating conversations. She was a breath of fresh air, a captivating force he wanted to inhale and never release. He yearned to suffocate in the essence of her being, to be consumed and to consume in return. He wanted to own her— that irrational desire to keep her for himself was always there in the deeper parts of his mind that he was scared to venture into.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She responded but he could detect the subtle undercurrent of uncertainty in her voice.

He hesitated. “May I have one black coffee?” He was extending an olive branch, and while it was not an outright apology, coming from Tom, it was a whole declaration. 

“It’s five minutes until closing time.” 

She would not be swayed so easily then. 

Fine. Tom thought. He would make her come to her senses. 

The boy who he had forgotten was still there suddenly came to stand next to him. Tom eyed him with disdain, his features curling into an unimpressed sneer, raising a lazy brow.

“I’ll help her close up, mate. You can leave now.” 

“Daniel, that is not necessary.” She muttered, glancing between the two men nervously. Daniel? Tom clenched his jaw, enraged. In his absence, it seemed she had gotten on first-name basis with a boy. His mouth soured with the taste of betrayal at her blatant ignorance. How could she discard him so easily? Had she not suffered all these months at the mere thought of him? Had he been alone in his suffering?

“No,” Tom stated flatly. “You will leave.” He told the boy then turned to face his waiter. “We will talk.” 

“Tom, I do not think—”

He cut her off with a hiss. “It was not a request.”

Daniel seemed wholly displeased. He opened his mouth to argue, but his girl beat him to it. “It’s okay, Daniel. I will see you some other time.”

“Whatever he has to tell you, surely he can say in front of me.”

She shook her head gently, trying to dissuade him. “It’s a matter between him and I. I would rather talk privately.” 

Tom looked smug as he faced Daniel again, struggling to contain his smirk. He could see the indignation clear on the boy’s face as his eyes flickered dubiously between her and Tom. He knew the wizard was no ordinary acquaintance of her, he could feel the palpable tension in the air like a wolf. 

Tom, of course, wished to push his buttons further, just to have the last word. “You heard her. Leave.” 

Daniel scoffed. “I will see you tomorrow then.” He muttered and with one last long look, he squared his shoulders and left the café with as much dignity as his wounded pride could muster. 

As the door shut with a final thud, they were left in pregnant silence, both unsure of the dynamics at play between them. The air in the café hung heavy with unspoken tension as if the silence itself had taken on a weight, pressing down on them both. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed louder than usual, each second echoing in the quiet space.

She was the first to cave. "Well? You wished to talk." Gesturing towards him with a hand expectantly. "Talk." 

Tom inhaled sharply, and for the first time in his life, he did not quite know what to say. How to proceed. 

"Who is he?" The question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it. 

She raised a brow. "Seriously? After how you walked out of here last time I would think your choice of words would be different."

"Different? I hardly think the question was unfair."

She huffed impatiently, discarding her apron as she turned from him to put everything away for the night. "Of course. How foolish of me to assume that you have no business inquiring about my life when we are not even friends." She chuckled bitterly. "You made the notion quite appalling if memory serves me right. You wish to know who is Daniel? For all you know, he could be my fiancee. Would it matter? No. Because you and I are hardly acquaintances." 

An unfamiliar feeling began coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he suddenly felt sick. She briefly turned to fix him with a pointed glare and froze at the look on his face. The dancing flames of the candles seemed to mirror the flickering emotions in Tom's eyes—flames of irritation, discontent, and an unexpected pang of jealousy.

Tom could scarcely believe his fate. How was it that he— the most powerful wizard of his generation— had succumbed to the pathetic disease of— what was it? Desire? Lust? Infatuation? Such mundane urges were beneath him, he had no wish to pursue anyone or anything that was not remotely related to his quest for power. Yet there she was. In her infuriating fucking dress and those innocent eyes. Did she even know what sort of turmoil she had caused him?

All of a sudden he felt exhausted, defeated. His shoulders sunk visibly as he ran a hand through his hair. He would use a hundred of her sugar packets in his coffee if it meant she would just grace him with her bubbly smile again and just— just what? Leave him be? He did not want that. Treat him as if nothing had happened? Maybe. Release him from whatever enchantment she put him under? Yes.

"What do you want from me?" He asked at last, frustration clear in his voice.

She regarded him with disbelief as she rounded the counter to stand directly in front of him. "What do I want from you?" She repeated incredulously. "I want an apology! I want an explanation! I want—" she sighed, cutting herself off before she could finish the thought. "You cannot just show up here demanding things and ordering people around after how you treated me last time. If you wish to continue this conversation, you will apologise to me."

"You want me to say sorry?" He took a step towards her.

"Yes!"

"Fuck your apology." 

Before she could register what was happening, Tom closed the minute distance between them and caved into his desire. He grabbed her face, fingers threading through her hair, and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was not gentle; it was a collision of pent-up tension and bottled-up desires.

Tom's lips moved fervently against hers, pouring his frustration into the act. It was a silent declaration that transcended the boundaries of his complicated inner turmoil. Tom knew that. But he could not pull away from her— not after having tasted how her lips feel like. 

Her hands, which had hovered hesitantly in the space between them, found their way to his shoulders, fingers gripping the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer. 

She felt—tasted like God's favourite nectar, sweet and addictive and he knew he would never get enough of it. She might not have been a witch, but he was bewitched by her. 

As they broke apart, breathless, the air between them hung heavy with the residue of their shared kiss. He dared not to ease his hold on her, only stared at her with darkened eyes, taking delight in the way her lips were bruised, and puffy, all because of him. But it was not enough. He needed to mark her for all to see. 

He dove into the tender skin of her throat like a man starved, teeth sinking into her flesh with no warning, and a sick sort of satisfaction washed over him at the muffled moan that escaped her mouth. He sucked on the skin until he was sure there would be a purple mark blooming on the spot before running his tongue over the flesh to soothe the sting. He did not waste any second before moving to mark another spot.

"I do not even know your name." She managed to choke out in between her whimpers, hands moving of their own accord to tangle in his hair, and a particular tug had him growling deep in his throat. 

"Tom." He whispered, pulling away from her neck only to return his lips to hers. "Say it. Say my name." He murmured in between the kisses, pushing her back until her back was pressed against the counter. He easily picked her up to place her on the surface, his fingers trailing along her thighs to her knees to nudge them apart so he could stand in between them. 

"Tom." She breathed out in a daze, and he smirked in delight. 

She was his. He had already branded her, and he would do much more to ensure she knew it was him she belonged to. 

He leaned to brush his lips against the shell of her ear. "I hope you know there is no going back from this. From me." He whispered, fingers slipping under the strap of her dress and dragging it down her shoulder slowly. "You are my dirty little secret now. Mine."

She shuddered under the weight of his words but he was already snaking his hand around her throat as his lips found home on her own once again.

No going back.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ 

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[chaosandmarigolds]

pięć 🚑

Of EMS AU Thingy!

summary: Simon Riley finds himself utterly and completely in love with the newest medic on base, the only issue is that he has the social skills of a toddler.

“Mary I promise, I’m not incompetent-“

“never said you were!!” She counteracts, rummaging through the kit, stating she had a blood pressure cuff in there, “Just…you’re a baby.”

You frown, “I’ve been a paramedic for five years, hardly-“

“Gunshot wound to the upper anterior leg, what do you do?” The question was lifeless, as if she had been planning this for a long while. She leaned on the counter as she watched the color drain from your face for a moment, of course she knew that you were capable, yet she also knew you were a dear in a headlights, “Knife to the lumbar spine, what do you do? Solider is 35 year old male, 260 pounds of pure muscle plus gear and you do not have a lift assist.”

“I-“

“oh you’re also in an active warzone so you falter you get shot, stitch.”

you gulp, you had been in New York as a paramedic for years, you had seen some horrible things but…you were also aware you were walking into murky waters, “Mary, I-“

She frowned to your words and turns back to her bag, “The team as a EMS refresher at 0700, tourniquets, packing, and anything else they have in their itty bitty first aid kit. I’ll be on a plane, you take care of it.”

with a huff you run your hands down your face as you move to grab your kit, the large backpack fit easily weighing upward to fifty pounds. You end up standing in your spot for a long moment, trying to figure out what to say next. However, you no longer cared on if Mary thought you stupid or not, you cared much more on the refresher course.

“Who…do we have a dummy?”

She scoffs, “No. You’re the patient, layer up.”

…oh.

—

Kyle Garrick was arguably one of the nicer (looking) personalities on base, he seemed genuine in his actions- or so you thought, as did he. If not a bit overbearing, thought he did not mean to, so when he saw you walking down the corridor with arms full, he offered to take some, simply because he wanted to be kind-nothing else.

“How are ya finding it?”

You let out a breathy laugh as you wait for the door to open, “Do you want an honest answer or one that makes me seem better?”

he feigns thoughtfulness and hums, “I’d say…honest.”

“Overwhelmed. But hey!” You were mainly rambling to the poor man, and when you get to the gym you drop the obscure items onto the table, where he followed- to where you were speaking face to face, “It could be a lot worse right?”

Kyle shrugs to your words, a smile on his features and he pats your shoulder, “You seem capable. The trainee fore you slept through an OP so..you’re doing good.”

great, you’re better than someone who slept through a mission that seemed like the lowest form of compliment but you would take it. “Awesome, well thank you, um…where is the Captain, Lieutenant and sergeant?”

“Well you’re looking at a Sergeant.”

a smile tugged at your lips and you look down, “I mean MacTavish, though I do suppose I have one accounted for.”

Kyle then motioned to the other side of the gym, which you hadn’t bothered to turn on the full lights as of yet, “LT is over there.”

that was one of the oddest sentences you had heard, so you frown and move to turn on the light, and sure enough you find the lieutenant casually sitting in the darkness, a book neatly folded on his lap. To the sight you furrow your eyebrows, “Should I ask, Lieutenant?”

He shook his head, standing up as he spoke, “No, probably not. Scare ya lil’ medic heart.” (He got there ten minutes before you and the lights were motion activated)

You laughed to that, not a real one though, more of petrified squeak, “Okay! Anyway! Where’s MacTa-“ just as you were speaking the door buzzed open and the very people you were speaking about came in, looking somewhat exhausted and barely awaken begrudgingly they grab the fold out chairs from the closet and sit down, and you would admit it was somewhat funny to see Johnny so…quiet. As you turn just double check everything was neat you didn’t see the slight fight, more like nudges between Johnny the Lieutenant, until he was tire of it and pulled the chair back and replaced it with his own. So when you turned around you saw a straight line of chairs, but for Johnny, who was now behind the Lieutenant, who was now directly in front of you.

You’ve been patient before, during paramedic school you wanted to be the patient. it was fun, now however you had a genuine worry if their tourniquet would just snap your leg off.

This will be fun.

(all I got! Comments and all that jazz mean so much to me, toodles!)

[wraithdance]

Good Boy [Part 2/?]

CW: Mentions of canon childhood trauma & abuse, ptsd depictions, awkwardness, Afab!Reader, I’m a dirty liar there will be more parts of this so enjoy the calm before the storm or whatever. This is apart of the Stray Dogs series

Simon is put on leave.

He’d received a nasty hairline break in his wrist after a fall out of a moving car during a recent op. (He’d been pushed out really but semantics didn't matter in the end because he'd gutted the man that had done it.) Price had nearly come to blows with him when he threatened the medic who signed off on his medical leave. Simon had been escorted off the property with strict orders to not return until he was cleared.

The cast is uncomfortable, the sensation of his bare fingers out while in public sends the talons of anxiety coursing through his body. So, he stays in his bare flat. The silence is loud and suffocating, not even the occasional echoes of his neighbors or the drone of a forgotten Manchester United game helps against the heavy weight of isolation.

After a week he’s spiraling in the dark of his own home. Stray lights bounce off the walls from between the cracks of his blinds, sending him into wide eyed paranoia. He had begun seeing things that weren’t there. Shadows moving to embrace him like a burial shroud, movement from the corner of his eyes. Nothing there when he points his pistol at the corners. He can’t sleep for long before the sound of the dull thunk of dirt on a coffin locks his body into paralysis.

When Johnny calls to check in Simon’s teeth are chattering uncontrollably from the chills that wrack his body. He manages to get through the call by grunting and humming when necessary. Johnny takes it as Simon still being upset about the forced medical leave.

‘No good to anyone wit’ yer hand like that LT.’ MacTavish says with sympathy. Simon is silent on the other end of the line.

No good to anyone without a gun in his hand because a dog that can’t be sicced, is not a dog.

He hangs up the phone when Johnny jokes that he thought Simon was invincible, an immortal surpassing the fragility of man.

“Fuck.”

Simon's eyes meet the business card in the mirror as he wipes sick from his mouth. It takes him more than once for his fingers to unclench at his will. The indents from his nails sting as blood rushes back to the digits. He stares at the card for too long before he brushes past the string of texts from Johnny and dials your number.

One ring, two and a third. He hangs up when the call connects. You’re calling back seconds later, he lets it go to voicemail. He’s watching his own eyes dilate in the mirror when you call again.

This time he picks up.

You’re silent and he listens to your breathing. There's a shuffle and he thinks he can make out the sounds of sheets shifting.

“Um? Hi… is this the guy from the pub?”

Simon grunts. “Don't give out your number a lot?”

You laugh despite his flat tone. “Nah, I don’t have anyone who calls me. Just my mum and dad really.” You’re hesitant, he can feel it through the phone like a tangible thing.

“Wasn’ gonna call.”

This makes you laugh again, he realizes you laugh a lot at things that weren’t funny.

“I figured you weren’t after the first week. I’m glad you did though, I still meant what I said.”

There's another lapse in silence before you must realize he won’t assist in driving the conversation.

“Listen, let me show you what I’m working on okay? I’m going to send you an address to a coffee shop and you can show up when you want. I won’t hound you if you don’t.”

“Didn’t give me a time.”

“Oh Yeah! I dog walk in the mornings before the shop opens. I’m there pretty much everyday stealing the free wifi and working on my manuscript, so you can show up anytime and I’ll probably be there.” You laugh again in self deprecation.

His fingers twitch around the phone. Simon thinks you’re too free with your joy. There's a part of him that wants to pluck the mirth from your throat and pocket it inside his own chest for warmth.

He doesn’t promise you anything but you still thank him profusely when he gruffly tells you he’s hanging up.

Your soft good night rings inside his ears for the rest of the evening, it’s louder than the endless quiet or the memories of being buried alive. In the morning when he wakes he squints at the bright light of his phone, clicking on the text thread of your unsaved number. An address and a reminder of your name followed by a smiling emoji.

You’re the fourth contact he saves to his phone.

He shows up after two days. He’d looked at your text for the umpteenth time and pocketed his keys into his jacket, commuting to the building on autopilot. It’s more of an outdoor food court that serves coffee than the coffee shop you described. Simon makes eye contact with you from the entrance of the outdoor patio. Your smile is dampened like you're afraid of scaring him off with your excitement. He’s nearly to the bench you sit on when you suddenly shoot up and throw your hands out to stop him.

“Wait!”

He stops in his tracks. The space in his mind where Ghost exists takes over him like a thick fog as he searches for a threat. His good hand spasms against the fabric of his jeans-covered thigh.

You must realize your error because you grimace.

“I’m so sorry I have a client's dog with me. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t scared or allergic before you saw him.”

Simon is taken aback. His knee jerk instinct is to lash out, ask you if you were an idiot or something else needlessly vitriolic, but he can’t bring himself to with the genuine worry you emote.

The fact that you were concerned enough to check in is an oddity. He’s unfamiliar with being on the other side of care from a woman that wasn’t related to him by marriage or water of the womb. It guts him how easily he wants to lean into it, desperate for the small connection not severed by death.

“Not ‘fraid of dogs,” He rolls his shoulders back, eyes taking in everything but your smile. “I don’ drink coffee either.”

That makes you laugh loudly, you smack a hand over your mouth to cover the giggles that escape. Simon stares down the flickering dance of your irises. You’re unbothered by his leering and instead offer him another grin.

“O-kay! Just let me introduce you to him and I’ll grab you whatever you want okay?” You’re moving before he can say anything.

Despite his objection to being afraid, he still braces himself to be met with a four legged behemoth. The long forgotten dog bite on his right calf sings with phantom pain like he’d received it yesterday and not twenty years ago. His father had let his drunken friends dangle Simon in front of his illegal Japanese Tosa. An eight year old Simon had kicked out in fear and had been mauled by the dog in return. Simon’s mother had sobbed inconsolably at the sight of the deep wounds.

You turn around after a moment of shuffling and he can’t help but to blurt, “Wot the steaming hell is that?”

You’re pouting and holding your free hand over the ear of the pint sized rodent trembling in your embrace. The small elderly chihuahua looked ready to leap from your arms in pursuit of the sweet relief of death.

“This is Sprinkles, he’s my neighbor's dog! Mr. Allens is in the hospital for a bit so I’ll just be taking care of Sprinkles for a few days in the meantime. Do you wanna say hello?”

He grunts, giving you a side eye as you inch closer, “Rather not.”

You huff turning to the mangy mutt with a sad smile. “It’s okay, he just doesn’t understand you like I do.” You tell Simon to sit down while you grab some tea. He’s thankful that you bring Sprinkles with you, uncomfortable with the imagery of the dog meeting its much needed end on his watch.

When you return you hand him his steaming cup of Earl Grey tea and launch into your pitch. Simon makes no plans to drink the beverage instead tapping the digits not in the cast on the paper cup. Sprinkles sits in your lap trembling in his tiny sweater.

Fockin’ hell.

Simon interrupts you mid sentence.

“You want me to pose for a bloody romance?”

You blink “Yep, that is what I’m writing so essentially that's the idea.”

Simon cuts you a look not liking the sass but you return it with a cheeky grin. “I know it's unconventional but when I saw you in the pub I couldn’t help but think you looked like a character of mine. I had to see if you’d be willing to model for me.”

“‘Haven’t even seen my face.” He huffs in disbelief.

Cocking your head you look at him in consideration, taking in the black balaclava and stroking Sprinkles as you do. “Yeah, I figured you were sensitive about it since you’re covered from head to toe. Technically you wouldn’t need to take anything off. I was more so interested in capturing your overall aura.”

Simon doesn’t say anything for a while. Just watches you with narrow eyes. You’re mid sip when he asks you to read the manuscript for himself.

“Ack!”

He’s mildly impressed that you manage not to sputter tea all over the dog. Your eyes burn with tears from the effort to not choke to death. “W-why would you want to read it?!” you’re squeaking with wide eyes.

He gives a half shrug, warmth pattering at his chest. “‘Didn’ hear you say anything about payment so thought I might see what’s the fuss. Got a reputation and all so I can’t just agree to anything.”

The look you give him is unimpressed. “Are you being funny? I can’t really tell and I’d rather you just say no rather than tease me.”

He leans back, raising his arm to rest near you on the top of the bench. You glance at the closeness of his gloved hand but he ignores the pointed look.

“Serious as a heart attack. I wanna read it before I give you an answer.”

There's a moment where he thinks you’ll say no, he’s expecting it, but you set your shoulders back and tip your chin up at him. “Fine. You can read it, I don’t mind whatsoever.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” you pop the ‘p’ in the word. “Absolutely fine with it. I encourage it actually, fair is fair and all.”

He snorts out a dark chuckle. “Right.”

You ask for his email address and Simon gives you an encrypted email containing a string of numbers. You make a joke about him secretly being a spy that he doesn’t laugh at. It doesn’t bother you any, you continue chuckling to yourself as you press send.

Simon watches you pause in hesitation as you gather the half dead dog and your belongings. You’re chewing on your bottom lip in thought stroking Sprinkles whose eyes are half lidded in your arms.

“Wot?” He asks gruffly, startling you.

“Sorry,” you smile sheepishly. “I was just wondering… can I sign your cast?”

Simon’s eye twitches.

“Why would you wanna do that?”

At his tone you squint your eyes at him. “Because that’s what friends do?”

Simon wants to say something snarky around the lump in his throat. Condemn you for assuming they were friends after meeting only once prior. The urge fizzles out when you give him a startled expression.

“Has no one ever signed your cast before?”

No.

He’d broken many bones in his life starting from the age of childhood. Tommy had tried to sign his leg cast once when they were teenagers, he’d earned a broken nose from their father before he’d been able to finish scrawling out the second ‘m’ in his name. He’d never been close enough to anyone else to be asked.

In his reverie you’ve rifled through the tote back at your arm, shifting sprinkles on your hip. You procure a sharpie and hold it up like a trophy.

You approach him cautiously waiting for his objection.

When you’re standing toe to toe with his army grade boots you flick your eyes to the cast and his covered face. “So… Can I sign?”

Simon shifts on the bench, neck tensed. After several beats he looks away and lets out a gruff ‘fine.’ You don’t give him a chance to change his mind.

When you’re finished you pop up with a satisfied smile, slipping the cap on to the marker. “There, all done!”

Simon says nothing. He lumbers to a stand that causes you to stumble back. He watches your flickering eyes and the waver of your smile.

“Okayyyy… I have to get this one home now so just let me know when you want to meet?”

You wave enthusiastically at him and walk away. You only get a few feet before you stop and turn around. Simon watched as you take Sprinkles or in hand and wave it as well. “Say bye to Sprinkles!”

He cuts his eyes at you. “I’m not sayin’ goodbye to the bloody dog.”

You pout and shrug, whispering something to the dog as you go. Simon stands in place for several minutes watching you retreat.

Bloody Hell.

At home on his couch he pops open a can of ale with one hand taking a long gulps. Simon opens the email attachment you sent him, momentarily distracted by your blocky letters on his cast and the lopsided smiley face drawn in sharpie. He squints at the pages before him in his lap trying to make sense of what he was reading.

His eyebrows twitch when he reaches fifty pages in and realizes you’d sent him written porn.

“Wot the bloody hell.”

[celenawrites]

Note - This scenario contains dark content and NSFW parts.

Minors DNI.

Warning - Dark Content, Dubious Content, Stalker!Ghost and Stalker!Soap, Therapist!Reader, Nanny cams, Stalking, NSFW content,Voyeurism, Polyamory, characters may appear to be OOC (and I am sorry about that but I couldn't really resist this idea) etc.

Thinking about Simon Riley being discharged from the military after getting injured in action, and Soap taking leave in order to take care of him.

Johnny buys groceries, cooks for him, and drives him to his physical therapy sessions. Soap helps him stretch and care for his fractures, and he pretends that it's normal for his Lt. to wrap his arms around his waist as they sleep in the same bed. (Ghost's apartment is sparse at best, and Soap is lucky that he even has a bed to sleep on. If it were up to Simon, he'd probably sleep while on his legs - even when they're fractured.)

Soap who wakes up in the middle of the night to his Lieutenant reliving his mistakes on the field over and over again, the nightmare making him shake and sweat in his bed. Soap, who has to carefully wake him up and make him a hot cup of tea, knowing that after such a rough night, Riley won't be sleeping anytime soon.

Simon, who has a hard time expressing his gratitude to his Sergeant, but he can show it in more 'unconventional' ways. Simon, who needs to feel Johnny close to him in bed, in order to have a good night's sleep. Simon, who cannot help but imagine what a life with Soap would be like, if he were to retire from the military altogether. Simon, who feels his mouth dry a little, whenever he glances at even a sliver of Soap's exposed skin from his too-loose tank tops. (Summer has been brutal this time around, for some reason and Soap has been killing him with his tempting body, to be frank.)

Simon who's instructed by Price to go to therapy/get a psych eval before he re-joins the task force. Simon, who along with Soap, is forced to look through newspapers and online articles and reviews until he stumbles upon a therapist who specializes in veterans and is covered by his insurance, thank fuck.

Soap drives Simon to the therapist and even stays in the reception hall while Simon goes through a session, but by God is he distracted by how pretty his therapist is. You're just the most beautiful woman he had probably laid his eyes on in years, and he's pretty sure the filthy thoughts he has for you are totally inappropriate and only reserved for you and Soap. Simon has his dark eyes flutter shut and move around the room, trying his best not to ogle you but failing anyway as he notices your cleavage in your tight white blouse. He's aloof, and curt - if only to save you from the depravity that has consumed his brain.

He wonders how you'd react if he were to bend you over that office table of yours and fuck your brains out. You always look so stressed, you seem like you need it - need someone to take care of you the way you seem to be trying to 'take care' of him.

You're frustrated. You know that someone like Simon clearly has gone through hell, and you want to help him, but you're out of your depth regarding how to assist him. You almost refer him to a more experienced therapist, that is until Simon decides to show you a glimpse or two into his life - telling you about his mother and about Tommy, rarely would he be amenable to talking about his late father though. And you wouldn't force him to talk about things he doesn't wish to touch upon either.

He would sometimes talk about Johnny - 'a dear friend' of his who is helping him out during his recovery. He would sometimes get this almost fond look in his eyes, and you'd wonder how long it takes for Simon to realize that Johnny is more than a friend to him.

Simon talks briefly about his time in the military, almost all names and, places, and information are hidden for your safety. The first time he musters up the courage to talk about his father, he couldn't stop tapping his foot against the marble floor, his hands trembling as he recalls memories of his terrible childhood. Seeing the behemoth of a man

Simon, who finds himself falling deeper in love with Soap, and yet feels shame surrounding him at the prospect of his obsession with his sweet little therapist and her caring attitude. Simon, who wants to be happy just this once, and have the family that he so desperately craves and deserves after the shitty life he had to suffer through, decides to finally plan how to bring you and Johnny closer to him - creating a safe haven for all three of you.

You don't know that he has your phone tapped and that he has been able to track out your address (thanks to military connections). You barely pay attention to the stuffed toy on your vanity table, unaware of the nanny cam inside of it that allows Simon to spy on your every move. He's a gentleman, still. So he doesn't necessarily spy on you when you change into your clothes, or get out of the shower - wet and dripping, your soft body wrapped up in a towel. He definitely tries his best to ignore the hard boner he pops even at the slightest show of your skin.

Soap gets increasingly worried at the prospect of Simon regularly going to the therapist, and then disappearing into his study room for hours on end - barely speaking a word to him ever since he started taking therapy seriously.

On one such day, when Simon leaves for therapy on his own, he insists that Soap stays home and rests - he's been working so hard and clearly deserves to have a day to himself. In his hurry to meet you, the lieutenant leaves his study room unlocked and unguarded - and Johnny lets his curiosity get the best of him. 

Johnny spots the still-open laptop, and surfs through it all - his mind feeling a concoction of disgust, envy, and even awe as he notices how thorough Simon had been when it came to not only vetting you but also keeping eyes on you constantly through secretive means. The device has probably hundreds of hours of footage of you and to be honest, the more he snoops around, the more he can see why Ghost would go out of his way to do it. 

"She's perfect, ain't she?" Simon grumbles from behind him, and Johnny feels his heart fall to his stomach. He realizes that leaving the room unlocked was not a mistake, but rather an intentional move on his partner's behalf. 

The masked man claps his shoulder with his firm hand, egging him on to watch you relax in your office - leaning back into your leather armchair, your chest heaving as you close your eyes and relax before your next patient arrives. 

"Made for both of us", Simon goads him, and Johnny cannot find it in himself to disagree. 

Note -

I legitimately started typing this out while in class, got sick and stayed at home and finished it while I was supposed to be resting. Some of these ideas are too tempting to be left as just ideas, so I would probably try to give this one a chance. (I say this with every little blurb I pump out on my blog lol. Someone should stop me.)

[dragonnarrative-writes]

super curious about your wip ‘honeybee’ if no one’s asked already? 👀

For the WIP Ask Game!

You know how I lament, constantly, that I can't just write smut? That there's always gotta be a long setup? Well Honeybee is/was a story where I tried to cut that down as much as possible by doing a brief intro and then jumping into smut. I was unsuccessful, but mostly because I was still trying to figure out what I wanted to write. I don't know if I'll ever come back to this concept, but please enjoy the little bit I have.

CW: Discussions of sex, established GhostSoap, established PriceGaz, barracks bunny oc, no smut!

The 141 on leave and a couple of drinks in is probably Soap’s favorite version of the team. The captain always buys the first two rounds before settling down with two fingers of whiskey for the rest of the night, grinning around his cigar. Gaz likes to get fancy beers and ciders, keeps track of what he likes on an app, but three drinks in, he’s just a happy guy, leaning in being generally tactile. Even Ghost lets loose a little bit, hood up but face unmasked as he sips at his beer, then straight bourbon. But tonight, his third drink is a cocktail, of all things.

“Since when do you drink cocktails, LT,” Gaz asks before Soap can. He’s grinning, gives a Ghost a slap on the arm that he normally wouldn’t dare.

“I’m a man of many tastes,” Ghost says before sipping his blackberry bourbon smash with the tiniest of straws. “But I like blackberries. Reminds me of a girl.”

Soap can’t stop himself from making a questioning noise, “You got a girl in Manchester, then?”

Ghost snorts, “If I had this girl in Manchester, you think I’d be here with you fuckers? Nah, this was years ago.”

Soap gulps his drink to drown the reflexive hurt he feels at the declaration. What he and Ghost have is new-ish, but it’s certainly not exclusive. What happens on base and what happen on leave are two different worlds. He must not be as subtle as he thinks he is, though, because Ghost sways in to knock shoulders with him and squeezes his knee.

“Well go on, tell us about her,” Gaz pushes.

Ghost thinks about it for a moment before speaking. “American, contractor. Don’t really remember what we was workin’ on, but she showed up on base one day to assist in medical. Fit as fuck. Brown skin, dark eyes, curves like you wouldn’t believe. Great tits. Could pick her up by the waist easy, but I would’ve needed an extra pair of hands for her arse. Called her Honeybee.”

“Wait,” Price cuts in, pointing at Ghost around his cigar, “Honeybee with the tattoo?”

Ghost smirks, “Oh, so you’ve met her.”

Price huffs a laugh and wipes a hand down his face, “Mary and Joseph, that woman…”

Soap grins, jealousy completely washed away. He’d leave Ghost on base for a weekend with a woman that makes Price sound like that. “A barrack’s bunny?”

Price rubs his face, “I wouldn’t call her that. More like a hurricane.”

Ghost laughs and takes an actual sip of his drink. “Think that was the first time I woke up sore two days in a row from sex. Slowest run time of my life the next morning.”

“Two man job,” Price said around his cigar, “at least.”

Soap knows the stars in Gaz’s eyes are mirrored in his own. He’s never heard the captain talk about his exploits, let alone Ghost. Soldiers brag, of course, he’s done his share of big talk to impress his squad. But this is Price and Simon, cream of the crop, best of the best and the backbones of the 141.

“Sounds like it was,” Ghost snickered. “Saw her every other night for two weeks, pretty sure she was just trading between our rooms the whole job.”

Gaz makes a skeptical sound, “Two weeks with the both of you didn’t wear her out?”

“Oi, yeah,” Soap says. “Yuptae that she needs two tadgers?”

“Some day,” Ghost says, putting a gentle hand on Soap’s shoulder. “I’m going to send you to school to learn English.”

“Fuck off,” Soap laughs.

“He asked why she’d need both of you,” Gaz says gamely. “And I know how Price fucks, and I’ve heard Ghost fuck, so it’s a damn good question.”

“Ghost has a type,” Price says with a chuckle. “Energy for days. Could barely slow her down. But she was a lot of fun.”

“More fun that me?” Gaz asks, face stricken and voice full of mischief.

“No one’s more fun than you, sweet boy,” Price assures him.

“Gross,” Soap declares. “Tell me more about Honeybee.”

[motherofdogs1010]

Laurel Sickness II (Dark!Sonny Carisi x Reader)

Summary: It's been a few months since Sonny Carisi decided that she was his new objection of desire and it seems more apparent that she'll never be rid of him, no matter how hard she tries.

Warnings: dark!fic, 18+ only, NSFW, yandere behavior, vulgar language, yandere!Sonny, dark!Sonny, stalking, attempted blackmail, eventual kidnapping, eventual NONCON

Dividers @firefly-graphics Banner @vase-of-lilies

Y/N felt fear and anxiety each time she opened her dorm apartment door, each day she found new 'gifts' from Maddie's uncle that she always felt terrified over.

Flowers one day, a poem another, but now they were reaching into the level of lingerie and other items that she was horrified at. And for her credit, Maddie had been horrified to find it was her uncle sending such things, having even confronted the man on her behalf but to no avail, Y/N still received gifts.

She still found him following her, calling her, texting, etc. It had been months of this and Y/N was terrified to go to the police, who would believe her if she said that the assistant ADA was stalking her? She would be laughed at!

Nevertheless, Maddie had insisted on keeping the cards and screenshots as evidence.

And that brings her to today as Y/N rubbed her temples as she could feel the older man's gaze on her as she grocery shopped, her hands gripping the cart as she tried to not make it obvious.

She carried pepper spray, those loud ass alarms and even a taser now because of the obsessed older man. It terrified her just how far he was pushing to get near her and Y/N wondered just where Maddie had wandered off to.

Y/N could practically feel the man's breath down her neck as she quickened her pace, trying to remember everything that they taught in self-defense class when a hand grabbed the cart and her eyes widen.

"You're in such a rush, doll", Sonny said with a crazed look. "I just wanna talk."

"Get away from me", she spat, "I've told you 'no', you sick fuck."

"Now, now that not a nice thing to say", he said, "I just wanna talk to you, maybe take you out."

"I said 'no'", she hissed, using the cart to hit his shins.

He stumbled back just as Maddie rounded the corner and her friend rushed over to her.

"Uncle Sonny, get away from her", Maddie hissed, pushing the man away.

"Oh Maddie", Sonny said, "I haven't seen you in awhile,"

"Something going on here, ladies?" a large security guard walked up and Y/N felt relief at the man's bulky appearance. "This man bothering you?"

"I really think we should report him", Maddie said with a sympathetic look in her eyes. "It's going too far."

They were back home now, a few days had now passed and Y/N felt conflicted as she sat in the living room on their couch. Her legs curled up under her as she tried to focus on the Netflix documentary playing in front of her, but it wasn't working as Y/N practically chewed on her bottom lip.

"He's your uncle", Y/N said, "I don't want to cause problems for you with your family."

Maddie shook her head, "even my parents are saying he's crazy! We're going down first thing tomorrow."

🚓

Olivia Benson had seen a lot in her line of work over the last nearly thirty or so years. She had seen just about everything and yet she still got shaken up by a case or two.

She wasn't exactly sure what she expected to happen that day when she clocked in for the day, but it certainly wasn't this.

"Hello Lt. Benson, my name is Maddie Carisi and this is my friend, F/N. We're here to report my uncle Sonny for stalking and harassment."

Yeah, she certainly wasn't expecting this.

[dollwritesarchive]

𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 — 𝐠𝐮𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐫

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), dark fic, fem!alien!reader, reader’s dad is definitely an intergalactic criminal, noncon, interrogation, size kink, age gap, mild threats against reader, guy plays bad cop ( and starts to like it ), degradation, humiliation, choking, oral sex ( m!receiving ), fear kink, daddy kink, all characters featured are 18+ 

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ requested by anonymous. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3

what was he doing here? 

the Green Lantern Corps wasn’t supposed to be allowed on this planet; that was exactly why your father sent you here. 

and yet, here he was. he wasn’t in uniform, and before you’d bolted, you hadn’t seen the ring gleaming on his finger, so you assumed he was here without the guardians or his fellow corps members knowing, but that only made it worse for you. he’d been scanning the crowded bar room, and when you’d made the mistake of locking eyes, he recognized you instantly. 

luckily, you were faster than him at first, and the patrons assisted in obstructing him long enough for you to duck out of the back and into the alleyway. 

but you had no idea Guy Gardner of the Lantern Corps could lay down a circle of armed men in a matter of seconds without his power ring, and before you could call for help, his massive frame busted through the back door and he snatched you up. 

you screamed and fought, flinging your body back against his, but only to find that he was completely solid and unyielding. “Easy, sweetheart!” he barked, grasping your hand as it comes up, blindly, a glowing blade in your hand. his vice tightens around your wrist, and you yelp, before he twists your arm up and pins it to your lower back. “Now, that is a big knife for a little thing like you. Daddy buy that for ya?” he’d dug his chin against your shoulder, walking you, kicking and screaming, closer to the wall on the opposite side of the alleyway. his free hand grasps the handle and wrenches it from your fist with what little resistance you could muster. “Ya gonna cut me up with that? Huh?” 

“You can’t be here!” you hissed, shoving your shoulders back to try and jab him in the chest. you were met with only solid muscle. “This planet is out of your jurisdiction!” 

“Why do you think I ditched the uniform, honey?” Guy crooned, throwing the weapon to the ground. it clatters, the glow dimming, and his hand grabs at the collar around your neck. you knew he must be feeling the inscription, and even without his ring to translate, he must know what it says.

“If you don’t let go of me I swear I’ll—” 

 “I don’t think you wanna go and do that. I know where I’m at. Do you? Daddy dearest sent his little princess to a planet fulla’ the nastiest criminals this side of the universe with a dinner bell ‘round her neck.” 

you scoff, “They wouldn’t dare!” 

“Wouldn’t they?” Guy mutters in your ear, instilling the inkling of doubt in your mind, “You think any of these space thugs would think twice about bending you over this dumpster? If you’re really that confident, go ahead and call for them. Let’s see what they’d do if they saw you all tangled up and helpless. My money’s on nothin’ good.” 

your eyes widen. you hate that he might be right. but you say nothing, pursing your lips into a loathsome pout. 

“Don’t sull up on me,” he growls, his hand careening up from the collar to grasp your face, digging his thumb and forefinger into your cheeks. the pressure pushes your lips out further. “You should be thanking me. Because I got to you before any of these monsters caught you alone.” 

“What do you want?” you snap, trying to shake your head to force his hand from your face. his grip only tightened. “You can’t arrest me. Not here.” 

“I just came here to ask you some questions, sweetheart. You can be a good girl and answer them truthfully,” Guy pauses, pressing your torso against the brick wall, but he guides your head back to rest against his clavicle so you’re looking up at him. “…or your night can get a lot harder.” 

you already knew what the question would be before he said it. 

“Where’s daddy hiding?” 

your eyes narrow, and you glare up at him, but make no attempt to answer. 

Guy tilts his head. “Nothing? Not a peep?” the ghost of a smirk dances across his lips, “I was hoping you’d pick the hard way.” 

knots tied in your belly and you bite down hard on your lip. you want to ask him what he’s going to do to you, but you don’t have the time before he’s pressing his weight against you, pinning you to the wall so he can reach the gem embedded in your temple. 

“Why don’t we just give him a call?” 

he’s rough when he presses into it, and you cry out, your eyes lighting up along with the jewel itself. if the communication connecting hadn't always stunned you, you would’ve reached up and clawed at his wrist. “S—stop!” 

your name echoes around you, your father’s voice, asking what was going on. after all, you rarely called him this way. it hurt too much. 

Guy chuckles, and taps it a couple of times, as if he were knocking on a door, and you whimper each time, mouth hanging open and illuminated eyes turned up towards the dark atmosphere. “So this little trick does work. And here I thought Hal was just pullin’ my leg. Z, buddy, it’s been a while. Remember me?” 

“…. Green Lantern Guy Gardner.” 

“Bingo! And I got your little Princess here with me. Go ‘head, sweetheart, say hi to daddy.” 

you shudder when he nudges your ear with his lips, hissing low in your ear, but you mumble slowly. “He… won’t let me go…” 

your dad sounded completely nonchalant, if not annoyed. “You’re safe. He can’t arrest you there, remember?”  

“So y’all keep sayin’.” Guy scoffs, and one arm slinks around your midriff. “But I haven’t tried to drag her to a sciencell. It’s you I’m after, Z.” 

a sigh echoed around the two of you. 

“D—daddy…“ you wanted to beg him for his help. however, Guy was right there. 

“Hear that, pal? That’s your daughter calling for you. If ya just show your ugly mug, I’ll let her go nice and easy.” 

“What will you do with her if I don’t comply with these terms?” 

blinking, you stare, incredulous. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. would he really not come to save you? “Daddy—” 

“Sh, baby girl, the grown ups are talking.” Guy crooned, clapping a hand over your mouth and squeezing it tight. “You’re one evil bastard for even considerin’ not coming to get her, Z. If you don’t make your grand appearance, well hell, I might just have to be her new daddy.” Guy plants a fleeting kiss on your cheek since he’s leaned in close enough to whisper to the jewel. “Me and her are gonna have some fun.” 

there’s a moment’s silence— one that you can’t even believe happens. why isn’t your father screaming? why isn’t he throwing out threats and demanding you be released this instant? 

“Make your choice, Z. Ya gonna let the little thing become my new sex doll or are ya gonna turn yourself in?” there’s an edge to his voice, as if the silence is also frustrating him. he must’ve been expecting the same thing you were; maybe he didn’t really like the idea of using you as a hostage, either. 

more silence. 

you whined from behind Guy’s palm, tasting the saline sweat and the roughness of the healing callouses against his fingers. 

“Princess, you know I love you,” your dad started and your heart sank. with wide eyes you screamed into Gardner’s hand, “but sometimes, we all must make sacrifices…” 

Guy scoffed in disbelief, taking a subtle step back, “You gotta be shittin’ me,” he murmured more to himself, and spun you around so your back was against the bricks. then, the hand that was previously keeping you quiet slid down to grasp at your throat. with a pathetic croak, you reach up to dig your nails into his hand from either side. “Hey, Z. I’m about to shove my cock in your little girl’s throat so I’m gonna have to cut this call short, aight buddy? I just want you to hear one thing.” 

“Green Lantern…” your father sounded impatient, as if he was desperate to get off the line before he could feel even an ounce of humiliation, but Guy ignores it. he leans in close to you again, breathing hot air against your lips as his grip tightens. 

“Who’s your daddy now, sweetheart?” 

you didn’t want to answer him. you gurgle for air, eyes big and glaring up at him, but when you realize he won’t ease up until he gets the answer he’s looking for, you mutter, begrudgingly, “Y—you are—“ 

“What’s that? I didn’t hear you.” Guy gives you a little shake by your throat, his thumb pressing hard against your windpipe and his olive eyes lock on to yours. “Who’s your daddy now?” 

there’s a twinkle in his gaze when you whimper, your own flooding with fearsome subservience, and you croak out, “Y—you’re my daddy!” 

did he like how scared you were?

“Damn straight.” 

you felt the connection to your father cut, as if he’d finally had enough, and your eyes dimmed, before finally returning to their normal hue. he hadn’t wanted to hear anymore, obviously. 

Guy uses the grip on your throat to drag you down the side of the brick wall until you’re slamming your knees against the rocky ground and wincing, staring up at him. “He— he’s going to show up,” you attempt to assure him, but he’s already reaching with one hand to unbuckle his belt. “He’s coming to save me, and if you do anything to hurt me, he’ll—“ 

“He’s not comin’, Princess.” he growls, cutting you off. he grips your face and tilts it up, running a rough thumb pad over your trembling lower lip. “You not hear him? He’s givin’ you to me so he don’t rot in a sciencell. I was even gonna let you go before, but now…” Guy trails off, dragging his thumb over your lip before pushing it into your mouth. you whimper, your tongue pushing back, and you try to shake your head, but he hooks it against the inside of your cheek, pushing your head back against the wall. “You had to go and look so cute when you were callin’ me daddy.” 

“P—please…” you slur around his finger. “Please… just let me go… I won’t tell—“ 

“Shh,” Guy replaces his thumb with his first, two fingers, prodding deep to the back of your throat until you gag, helplessly blinking at tears welling in your eyes. “Daddy’s thinking.” his fingers pump in and out of your open mouth, forcing you to cluck and gargle, costing them in spit, as he watches. “Daddy’s thinking about how he’s gonna fit his big, thick cock in this pretty, little mouth of yours.” Guy’s free hand flees to his belt, unbuckling it skillful and quick, before focusing on his zipper. “Hell, I bet you’ve never had to suck cock a day in your spoiled life. You’d choke the whole time. You’re gonna need some serious training before I can play with you the way I really want to.” 

Guy worms his leather boot in between your knees, pushing it flush against the crotch of your panties underneath your skirt so you’re sitting on his foot, and you mewl, squinting. you didn’t want to be, but the light rubbing of coarse leather against the thin lingerie had you dampening them in no time. 

“You want daddy to be nice to you this time? Take it easy?” 

there’s no way to escape him, and even if you tried, you knew he’d just catch you again. besides, you feared what the alternative to his niceties could be. so you nod, allowing your eyelashes, stuck together with tears, to flutter. 

Guy groans, staring down at you, and pushes his fingers as deep as he could, dipping the tips into the back of your throat, staring down at you. you were drooling and crying, helpless. and he was so powerful, in complete control. “Ask me, real sweet.” 

“P—pleas—“ it was difficult, to say the least, to sound out each word around his fingers, and simultaneously keep from gagging on them. “Please be nice— to me— daddy—!” you could feel saliva leaking out around his knuckles, dribbling down your chin, and you were humiliated. you’d never felt so dirty in your life. 

Guy shimmies his jeans and underwear to his ankles, grabbing his monstrous cock at it’s girthy base to show you just how big he was. even his herculean fist, that he could wrap all the way around your neck, looked to be normal as he held on to the massive tool. he saw your eyes widen, gluing themselves to his cock, and he whistles. “I know, baby girl, it’s big, ain’t it?” pulling his other hand from your mouth, he slathers the already strong erection in the spit you’ve coated his hand in, before rubbing the length across your face. sputtering for air, you try to shy away from it, but Guy takes your hair at the roots and holds you in place, so he can smack the angry, red tip against your cheek, hard enough to leave you wincing and whimpering for him to stop. “I wanna see you struggle to suck me,” he murmurs, tugging your hair, “I bet even just the tip is bigger than you can comfortably handle. Open wide.” 

you shook your head, trying to seal your lips together tight, but the power behind his pushing as he prods your reluctant mouth finally forces you to comply. you reach up, about to press against his thighs when the thick head stretches your mouth open and slips inside, but he takes both of them at the wrist and tucks them behind your back. “Don’t need these.” he snorts, gruffly, “Keep ‘em outta my way. If that’s all you can take, then you better start suckin’.” 

you garbled your way through an incoherent thought, your hands balling into fists but you kept them behind your back, as obedient as you could be. at least he wasn’t trying to shove the whole thing in your mouth; the more your eyes tried to stare at the several inches protruding from your face, the dizzier you felt. the head was inside, just barely, and your lips were already stretched into a tight O, your tongue pinned to the floor of your mouth, and his thickness threatened to bulge your cheeks. trying your best to clamp your tiers into as tight a seal as you could, you suck in your cheeks and slurp. it’s beyond embarrassing, the sloppy sounds you made trying to suck Guy’s cock. you whined and mewled and squinted, bobbing your head to simply appease the beast of a man before you. 

“Uhhuh,” he grunted, releasing your hair. one hand splayed against the wall to support himself, and he dipped his chin into his bolstered, rising chest to watch you, “that’s it, sweetheart. Keep doing it, just like that.” 

you were staring up at his pleasured face, and you hoped he could feel every ounce of hate for the way his cock fit in your mouth you poured into your gaze, but you had a feeling he didn’t care. your brows knit together, and you moaned when he ground the toe of his shoe into your panties. 

“That hot, little mouth sure is somethin’, you’re gonna fuck around and make me cum,” he hummed between ragged breaths, “I can’t wait to see how the rest of your holes feel stretched around me.” 

Guy’s hips were twitching, but thankfully he didn’t use them to rock against your face and try to stuff you beyond your limit, but he did allow his hand to rest on the top of your head, keeping it in place while you sucked. “Use your tongue, little girl.” he hisses, closing his eyes, “Show me how bad you wanna swallow my load.” 

you didn’t, that was the problem. 

the last thing you wanted was for him to cum in your mouth; you didn’t want to taste the desire he held for forcing himself on you, but you couldn’t fight back. so, with all the strength you could muster, you push the tip of your tongue to tickle the sensitive underside of the twitching tip, until he howls in pure, sordid delight and comes undone. 

regardless of whether or not you wanted it, he shot spurt after hot spurt directly into your mouth. you gagged when the warmth drizzled down into your throat, but it was clear when he murmured, “Swallow it.” that he wouldn’t be pulling out until you did. 

obedient, albeit disgusted, you swallow, blinking fresh tears away, and your nails digging miniature crescents into your palms. “Nnn… Nnn…” 

“There’s daddy’s good whore.” he purrs, catching his breath, and finally, pulls himself free of your mouth. there’s a flood of spit and cum that didn’t make it down your throat that oozes over your lips once he’s pried himself out, and you pant, sitting back on your butt against the rough ground. coughing, you consider forcing yourself to throw up, just so his damned warmth is out of your system. however, the strong hand that grabs your face and forces it up towards him again stops you. you find Guy squatting down to be as close to eye level as he could get with you. “As long as you play by the rules, I promise you’re gonna learn to like daddy’s games.” 

[jay-brooks-hugger]

My Favorite Jeffrey Combs characters

Ok ya'll, I had to give in and share my favorite Jeffrey Combs characters and why I love them. I decided not to add Herbert West since he's an easy pick, plus my love for Re animator died like back in 2019 ); . Anyways, here are my favorite Jeffrey Combs characters!

Character Description: So we're starting off with Crawford. Crawford is one of the main protagonists in the 1986 adaptation of HP Lovecrafts From Beyond, " From Beyond". He is the assistant of Dr Edward Pretorius. He starts off as an ambitious assistant to Pretorius but after witnessing the power of the Resonator he slowly starts to lose himself throughout the movie.

Why I love him: It's pretty simple, he's so silly. For real though, it's cool to see how he and the others slowly start to lose themselves. I really like his style, it really reflects the fashion of the late 80's. Not only that but he seems like a really cool person to hang around, I would 100% be friends with him.

Character Description: Next we have John. John is the main protagonist in the 1995 horror movie Castle Freak. He and his family inherits an old italian Castle. Throughout the story we figure out that this Castle holds a dark secret, not only that but we learn more about the Reilly family's tragic past.

Why I love him: He's such a complex character. I love that we get to see why him and Katherine's relationship is so strained. Even though he is the cause of his sons death and his daughter being blind, you can't help but feel bad for him. He might be very flawed but the man still loves and cares for his family. It does suck he cheats on Katherine though. What's even sadder is that he dies before he can ever redeem himself. Really his story is tragic all around. He's one of those characters I wanna give a deep hug too.

Character Descrption: Next up we have Lt. Dan Margolies in the 2000 adaptation of the comic series Faust, "Faust". He is a minor character in the story. We see him figure out the truth behind the occult organization ' The Hand ' and eventually turns around and joins the main villain M into capturing Jade and John Jaspers.

Why I love him: While this movie is heavily flawed, Jeffrey Combs and Andrew Divoff definitely made the movie 10x better for me. *side note: I should 100% make a favorite Andrew Divoff characters next, since he's up there with one of my favorite character actors* Anyways, Dan is a really cool character. While he may be your typical hard boiled cop, he has his own little Combs twist to him. I like the scene in the beginning where we see him tryna rizz up Jade, that part was so funny to me. I really wished we got more scenes with him. If I'd ever became a cop, I would love to have him as my Lt.

Character Description: For my next entry, I decided to pick H.P. Lovecraft from the 1993 adaptation of Necronomicon, " Necronomicon: Book of the Dead ". He is the character that guides us/ introduces us to the stories featured into the movie.

Why I love him: While the real H.P. Lovecraft wasn't really a good person himself, Jeffrey Combs portrayal of him in this movie is awesome. It's so cool seeing him in this role. I will say though, Jeffrey Combs looks really uncanny with the nose makeup to me for some reason. Other then that I enjoyed his portrayal of H.P. Lovecraft.

Character Description: For my next contestant, I picked Jay Brooks from the 1998 horror movie I Still Know What You Did Last Summer. Jay is the hotel manager the main 4 meets when they first make it to the Bahamas. He is very incompetent to the 4 and dismissive.

Why I love him: While Jay is a very small character in the story ( He only has 2 scenes in total ) he was such an interesting character to me. I don't know why I like him when he isn't really that important to the story. I guess it's because it's cool to see Jeffrey Combs in that haircut ( someone said he looks like Joe Pantoliano ( another one of my favorite actors ) and I can see the resemblance ). Plus his night fit was so cool and weirdly attractive to me. Anyways I would 100% try to have small talk with him and try to make him open up more to me.

Character Description: Next up we got Shepard Lambrick from the 2013 horror movie Would You Rather. He is our main antagonist in the story. He is a very wealthy man, and we see him use this wealth by hosting a deadly twist on the game ' Would You Rather '.

Why I love him: Shepard is such a interesting villain to me. While he's your typical evil rich man, he's still enjoyable to watch. I really wanna steal a suit out of his closet, his suit looks really cool to me. It does suck that we don't see him get his comeuppance, the man is pure evil and it sucks to think he's still hosting that same game of ' Would You Rather '.

Character Description: Ok for my 2nd favorite Jeffrey Combs character, we have Dinosaur Bob from the 1994 crime and romance movie Love and a .45. Bob is one of the minor characters in the movie. He is part of a local mob and throughout the movie we see him try to pursue our 2 leads.

Why I love him: 3 reasons, the man is flamboyant, he has a really cool mustache and the mans can dress. I swear Bob is one of those characters I'm real down bad for. He is so fun to watch. The scene where him and Creepy Cody bust through the tattoo parlor and starts to mess around with one dude is so iconic. That chair sit and dance lives rent free in my head. I would 100% be the Bonnie to his Clyde.

Character Description: Now for my Number 1 pick I of course chose Milton Dammers from the 1996 horror comedy Frighteners. He is a minor villain in the movie. He is an FBI agent that specializes in cases that have something to do with the occult. Throughout the film we see him try to pursue and capture our lead Frank Bannister.

Why I love him: YOUR VIOLATING MY TERRITORIAL BUBBLE!! Anyways, this mans is the definition of goofy, silly, crazy, and weirdo. Every scene he's in is so captivating. I swear I can never get enough of Milton. Jeffrey for real went all out in this role, and I love that. While bro is insane, I can't help but to feel bad for him. You can tell all those cases he took in the past really did do damage to his head. And the fact bro has many damaging scars on his body, the mans for sure went through so much trauma.

There ya'll go! Those are my favorite Jeffrey Combs characters of all time. I do plan on seeing more of his work, as there is some I haven't touched yet. I've been a fan of his for awhile, he's definitely one of my favorite character actors of all time. He's one of those actors you can never get enough of. It's so easy to fall in love with his work since the man is so talented. While I don't expect this post to get any attention, I wanted to post this anyways for the Jeffrey Combs fans. Anyways, ya'll have a good day!

[usafphantom2]

23rd August 1944: The Freckleton Air Disaster. At 10:30am, two newly-refurbished B-24 Liberators took off for an air test from the USAAF Base Air Depot 2 at Warton, near Preston in Lancashire. Just a few minutes later, a violent thunderstorm was reported to be approaching and the aircraft were ordered to land immediately. But by the time the B-24s returned, visibility was already extremely poor as the area was plunged into darkness. Gusty, unpredictable winds were accompanied by lightning, thunder and heavy rain.

The pilot of one of the Liberators opted to fly out of the storm and wait until it had passed; he landed safely shortly afterwards. The other B-24, ‘Classy Chassis II’, was under the command of 1st Lt John Bloemendal. He aborted his landing, though it’s unclear exactly what happened to his aircraft next as he only issued two short radio transmissions and the Liberator wasn’t visible from the airfield. Warton control tower now sent a heading to both aircraft to clear the weather, but it came too late.

The village of Freckleton lies immediately next to the airfield at Warton. Witnesses there reported seeing the B-24 flying extremely low, its wings near vertical. One wingtip took the top off a tree and clipped a building before ripping through a hedge. The remainder of the bomber then began to break up, ploughing through three houses, fuel tanks igniting as it did so. Debris hit the Sad Sack Snack Bar, a cafe set up by locals to welcome US servicemen. There were a number of people inside, sheltering from the storm; most were killed or injured.

Across Lytham Road stood the Holy Trinity School, where teachers were trying to take the minds of their pupils off the severe thunderstorm. Wreckage ploughed into the infants wing of the building, accompanied by burning fuel, killing many children and staff instantly. Older children from other parts of the building fled in panic, being helped over the high wall at the rear of the school.

The first rescuers and firefighters on the scene came from the base at Warton, arriving within minutes; they were assisted by shocked locals and crews from the National Fire Service arrived soon afterwards. Despite initial confusion, efforts were soon co-ordinated and continued until all hope of finding further survivors was lost. Some of those pulled from the rubble later succumbed to their injuries, the last early the following month.

38 children from the infants wing of the school, almost all aged 5 or under, were killed along with two of their teachers. 7 civilians, 7 USAAF and 4 RAF personnel died in the Sad Sack Snack Bar, along with the three crewmen on the B-24. Most of the civilian victims of the disaster were buried in a communal grave in Holy Trinity Churchyard on 26th August, the two ceremonies that day being paid for by the American military. With 61 killed, this is believed to be the worst air accident to occur in Britain during the Second World War.

The official report into the crash concluded that the exact cause was unknown, since the aircraft was completely destroyed and couldn’t be examined. It was suggested that Lt. Bloemendal had not fully recognised the danger until attempting to land, by which time the violent downdraughts from the thunderstorm, combined with low altitude and lack of airspeed, prevented his escape from the area. It was reported that some American airmen had insufficient respect for storms encountered over Britain, believing them to be less severe than those in the United States.

Pictured:

1) B-24 Classy Chassis II, pictured in March 1944 with its operational crew before being sent to Warton for refurbishment.

📷©️American Air Museum UPL 40683

2) Sad Sack Snack Bar in Freckleton before the B-24 crash.

📷 blogpreston.co.uk

3) Rescuers searching through the rubble after the impact.

📷 independent.co.uk

4) Communal grave and memorial in Holy Trinity churchyard, Freckleton.

📷 freckleton.lancs.sch.uk

@JamieMctrusty via X

[aristocratic-otter]

Howdy all!

I've not posted in forever, but I want you to know I am writing. I've just hit a wall with Saving Simon Snow and The Heart in the Well, so I'm rereading those to figure out where I'm going. But I've made significant progress on my other three, just not enough to post a chapter. I think a chapter of Snow Fox will be up in a week. I don't want too many WIPs on the archive, so I'll wait till one is finished to start posting Stars, Flowers and Children, which I've already got ten chapters done on.

Thank you to these folks for continuing to tag me even when I go silent: @larkral, @blackberrysummerblog, @bookish-bogwitch, @nausikaaa, @artsyunderstudy, @nightimedreamersghost, @prettygoododds, @rimeswithpurple, @ic3-que3n, @j-nipper-95 and @shrekgogurt

From: Stars, Flowers, and Children:

One moment Simon’s staring, open-mouthed at Davy’s corpse, and the next he’s folded himself into my chest, sobbing. “I killed him,” he whispers, between sobs. “Baz…I killed him.”

I want to argue with Simon, tell him that he couldn’t have known his shove would kill the man, that Davy’s own drunkenness made him so clumsy he couldn’t break his own fall, that Davy’s madness forced Simon to take action…but none of those things will help. So I just wrap my arms around him and hold him to me and let him cry. 

I want to tell him it’s alright. But it’s not. 

We’re thirteen years old, and we’re all alone in the world. 

From: Snow Fox

“I wish I were there with you. I wish I could be more help,” he frets. 

“You’re where I need you,” I remind him. “You’re of invaluable assistance to our effort. Baz, nobody can do what you do for the rebellion.”  I reach up and cup his face between my two palms. “And,” I whisper, “knowing you are here, safe? It’s the only thing that keeps me going, some days, darling.”

Baz’s eyes soften. Then I can’t see his eyes anymore because his lips are on mine and my own eyes have slammed shut. He kisses me fiercely, hungrily. Then he pulls away abruptly. “I’ll stay safe for you, for as long as I can,” he whispers.

“I know,” I whisper. “And I’ll do the same for you.”

And a longish sample from Tiktok dancer--Baz is finally in the story!

“We’re young, we’re hot, and we’re freeeeeee!” Dev shouts, and then follows his boast up with a raucous wolf howl. 

“You’re making a scene!” I hiss at him. 

Dev flips me off, before skipping ahead of Niall and I to the baggage carousel. I refuse to look around to see if Dev’s behavior is drawing attention. Of course it is; he lives to embarrass me. 

Niall laughs at my expression and then throws an arm over my shoulders. “C’mon, Baz. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner you can cool your blushes.” 

I scowl at him. “I’m not blushing,” I lie. I can feel the heat in my cheeks, but hopefully my skin is too dark for him to tell. 

He releases me with a pat on the shoulder and a laugh. “Dev’s just having fun. And he’s right, you know. This is our hot singles tour, and we get to do it in hot people paradise. Isn’t that great?”

“I thought Hawaii was paradise,” I snark. 

Niall rolls his eyes. “Your virginity is showing, Baz. C’mon, California? The home of the hottest girls on the planet?”  

Now I roll my eyes. “And I should care about that, why?” We’ve reached the baggage carousel now. Dev has pulled all of our suitcases off of the conveyer and is waiting impatiently for us. He was close enough, apparently to hear the last part of our conversation. He snickers. 

“You care because you want your best friends in the world to get laid by the hottest women. You’re just nice that way.” 

“Besides,” Niall grunts, as he hefts our suitcases onto a baggage cart. “I’m sure the guys are just as hot. You’ll find someone to fuck, Baz. Probably several someones.” 

Tagging (and blowing y'all a big kiss for the New Year): @angelsfalling16, @bazzybelle, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @erzbethluna, @fatalfangirl< @facewithoutheart, @hushed-chorus, @letraspal, @frjsti, @messofthejess, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, @onepintobean, @raenestee, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @theearlgreymage, @tea-brigade, @cutestkilla, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

[heyidkyay]

I guess I'll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Twelve

A/n: This is a lot shorter than the last few but I had to leave it here so I'm sorry about that, hope you like it though! Already working on the next part!!<3

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Warnings: Lots of angst, pls dont hate me x

Masterlist

--

My eyes met his straight on. There was no worming our way out of this.

“The night you finished with me. I want to know what really happened.”

...

George just laughed me off. “You know what happened. Why do you want to rehash things now?”

He was acting like none of it mattered. Like he didn’t care that he’d gone and broke my heart. That I’d never felt so lost whilst looking at him.

“Because I need to.” I told him honestly. 

I tried to catch his eye then but he was already moving again, standing from his seat and walking straight past me. I watched him open the window, watched him fiddle with a cigarette he’d pulled from the packet he kept there on the side, watched his hand tremble ever so slightly when he lit it.

“I need to know, George. Please. It’s been eating me up inside.”

He inhaled deeply and his eyes fell shut on instinct. I sat there in the silence. Wallowing. Hoping. Thinking over everything I could possibly say to him.

I was shaky when I climbed to my feet, using the edge of the coffee table for assistance. I tried to stay level-headed, keeping the stilted distance even as I rounded on him, using the window to divide us. Him on one end, me on the other.

“Why?” I repeated.

Why won’t you answer me? Why won’t you tell me what went wrong? Why won’t you just look at me?

That word always seemed to be on repeat. The instrumental to my life, I supposed.

George simply shook his head, tapping some ash out onto the window ledge outside. It was dark. The moon was high in the sky, the streetlights had been on for a couple hours, and there wasn’t another soul in sight.

I decided to play a different angle.

“Never pictured you in a place like this.” I breathed, eyes drawn to the quiet street below. To it’s perfectly paved pavement. “In a big empty house.”

I was being spiteful. I knew that but I couldn’t quite seem to help it. To stop myself. I knew what wounds to poke at. Where to hit where it hurt. I knew how to get him to bite back. 

“Figured it’d remind you too much of home.” I shrugged, feigning my obliviousness to the way every muscle in his neck was now tensing. “You always hated it when they were away. When you were left on your own. This feels similar.”

“Yeah, well things change. People change.” George snipped back, I could just make out the faint reflection of his face in the glass, his expression hard and unblinking. He took another long drag.

“I know that much. Suppose you did, didn’t you? Right in front of my eyes, without me even realising.” I replied, voice barely above a whisper. “How is your mum, by the way? Did you tell her about me?”

“She’s fine.” He answered the first, but not the second. “Just drop it, would you?”

But I couldn’t. Not when I was finally getting somewhere with him.

“How did she take the news?” I prodded further, fingers toying with the floral netting he had hung. “Was she as surprised as I was?”

“I said leave it.” George snapped, tossing the cigarette he'd almost finished out of the open window before he turned to me. “You never know when to just stop.”

“I want answers.” I told him with a jerky shrug, chest rising and falling at a new found rate when he stepped closer. “I’ll get them one way or another.”

“The fuck you will.”

He was angry now.

Stood before me, so close I only needed to let go of the curtains I was clinging to to touch him. His nostrils were flared and his eyes were just as glossy as mine felt when I watched him rake his gaze over my pitiful expression. I stood my ground even though he towered above me.

“Or what?” I snarked right back, my whole body heaving. The feeling you’d only ever get when toeing so close to the very edge. Never knowing how far you'll fall. “You wanna scare me? Make out you don’t care so you can push me away, is that it?”

His jaw locked and his hands clenched by his sides, but I didn’t dare move an inch. George was a thousand things, but violent was not one of them. I could see beneath the stoney expression he’d long perfected, he was just as hurt as I was. He had to be. Because he had to have a reason for keeping me at arms length. For keeping me away for so long. For lying to me again and again.

“Come on, George!” I shouted at him, arms thrown out wide in my irritated exasperation as I waited for an answer. An in. “Is that all you’ve got to say to me? Or-” I scoffed, unable to help my painful chuckle as I stared up at him, “Haven’t got to say, I ‘spose would be a better fit. ‘Cause that’s all you given me since the day you left! Isn’t it? You’ve given me nothing, nothing but lies. When all I’ve ever asked from you is the truth.”

George took a giant step away from me, hand pinching at his nose whilst he squeezed his eyes tightly closed. He laughed defeatedly to himself when his arm finally fell away, releasing a heavy harsh breath along with it. 

He was shaking his head next, at me or himself, I wasn’t sure. But his gaze was fixed firmly on the floor. “Why can’t you just leave this the fuck alone?”

“Because it’s been keeping me up at night!” I all but screamed at him, hoping he’d somehow hear the plea behind my words. “It’s made me question everything I am, everything you’ve ever taught me! You were my best mate before anything. I always thought that meant something to you at least.”

“You’re talking shit now.” George bit back, an attempt at belittling me. He rolled his eyes. “Fucking grow up.”

“You know what? You’re a joke.” I scoffed. I was flat out crying now. I could feel the tears as they stained my face, catching on the bow of my lips and falling aimlessly down my cheeks. I wondered whether or not he actually cared. If it hurt him to see me like this, in the same way it tore me apart having to watch him act like this, to me of all people. He’d never felt so far out of reach. 

“What’s that meant to mean?” His eyes were on me now, narrowed and flitting back and forth between my own. I just wanted him to hear me. To stop and see how much he was hurting the both of us. 

“You, George!” I shot back, “You! You’re a paradox! You want to be happy but you only ever focus on the things that make you sad. You say you don’t care, when really you care so much it hurts. Love is something you crave but whenever things get too real, or when stuff starts to change, you reject it and push it away. Push me away! You’re a walking contradiction, and a fucking complicated one at that. If you cant figure yourself out, George, how the hell am I meant to?”

I was crumbling, falling apart under his cold stare. He hadn't moved an inch.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Is it?” I questioned with a tilt of my head. But he was already on the defence.

“And I never once asked you to work me out either.” George added mostly for the sake of it, his voice so harsh and unfamiliar. We were toe to toe now, only the coffee table there to separate us. “So, who cares if you do or if you don’t? Who the fuck cares if I’m everything you say I am? We’re not together anymore! You’re not mine. I’m not yours. Why can’t you get that through your head?”

He was right. 

I slumped at his words. At the very thought. All the fight I’d been building up practically slipped away from me in that moment. I felt it untangle in my chest, drifting through my veins, up my arms and then down my legs until it was just gone.

But even at my lowest, I still couldn't turn away from him.

I had one more thing to ask. For my own peace of mind. 

“Then what have the last few days been for?”

He stared back at me. Mute. Gone was the sheen in his eyes, the tick of his jaw. All I was met with was a blank gaze. It was like he wasn’t even there at all. 

I closed my eyes for a moment, dipping my head once. Well and truly done. I didn’t say another word to him as I made my way out of the room, or down the stairs. Even when my mind silently begged and pleaded for him to follow.

I put my shoes on one by one, I grabbed my coat. And then I waited a second. Then two.

For something.

Anything.

I realised after the third second that followed I would have to open the door, that he was just going to let me leave.

I wondered if he saw the irony in it all. In me being the one who was giving it all up. Who was walking out on us.

And as the door closed quietly behind me, I felt the rattle of it shake the hinges, shake my bones. It echoed in my ears and danced out into the empty night. My fingers trailed across its wood as I dragged my hand away. Realising then that it appeared to be raining now too.

I guess somewhere during the time we’d spent arguing, the skies had opened up. I found myself wishing I’d worn a thicker coat, or at least had the forethought to grab a hoodie on my way out that morning. 

I kept my head down as I made my way down the garden path and back through the iron gate, arms crossed firmly over my chest in hopes that they would somehow hold me together. I wouldn’t let myself look up to that upstairs window where I hoped he might be. I wouldn’t do it to myself. I couldn’t. So I continued on, head down sheltering my face from the on pour, putting one foot in front of the other.

The rain was really coming down now. Lashing as the evening wind howled around me. I figured I’d catch a cab at the end of the street, or order an Uber a bit away. Somewhere where I wouldn’t be tempted to turn back. To try with him once more.

I dropped down off the curb, water cascading down the slope of the road and under my boots. My feet splashed against its current, splattering the hem of my trousers. I found I didn’t much care, my mind focused on just getting home.

It was in that next moment I heard his voice call out for me. My head shot up at the sound, hope rising in my chest, and I meant to turn back towards the house, towards him. I really had. But then there were lights. They were so bright they stunned me. Froze me in place. I put my hands up to cover my face, confused. And then I couldn’t see a thing.

Only hear the heavy fall of rain, then a screech I couldn’t quite make out, and George’s voice calling my name.

Part thirteen>

[whyiseverynametakenpls]

Teacher

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

Genre : I'm not rlly sure...

Tw : none

Pairing : Hex Haywire x teacher!reader (platonic)

Characters : Hex, you, Doppio (but his name isn't mentioned)

Story : are you proud of me teacher?

Info : (✧) is a timeskip, while (☆) is a change of pov

The road was dimly lit, the lights flickering as you walked with gloved hands tucked into your coat pockets, shielding yourself from the cold. Little did you know, this simple stroll would alter the course of your life.

A hum escaped your lips, echoing the melody of a recent song. Your voice gradually faded, replaced by the faint sound of a small sniffle. "Ah, it's probably someone's kid crying," you thought to yourself, your indifference reflected in your unwavering expression.

As you proceeded, the cries grew louder, testing your patience. With a sigh, you turned back, retracing your steps toward the origin of the sound. Peeking into the dark alleyway, you asked, "You okay, kid?"

The trembling child, red-eyed from crying, stopped and looked at you. His tears ceased, but uncertainty lingered. Scanning for clues, you noticed the absence of a coat on him. Without hesitation, you removed your coat and tossed it to the child, its size engulfing him. Squirming, he seemed unsure.

Sighing again, you approached and crouched to his height. "You do it like this," you mumbled as you assisted him into the coat. His gaze locked onto you, and in that moment, you finally realized how pretty this child looked. Humming softly, you questioned, "Why are you here in the middle of the night?"

Silence persisted for two minutes before you sighed, standing up and lifting the child with your gloved hands. "What's your name, kid?" you asked as you walked towards home.

"Hex," a mumble caught your attention. "Hex, huh? Nice name."

-----------------✧------------------

"Teacher, does my power work on animals too?" the young child in front of you asked, gripping the edge of your shirt with one hand while holding up his ice cream with the other.

"Hm? Animals, huh?" You pondered his question, realizing that both of you possessed different powers. "I don't know... maybe? Do you want to try?" Curiosity flickered in your eyes as you turned to the child.

"I guess," he stated, his words carrying a hint of uncertainty. "You don't have to, but if you do, I can help," you mumbled.

"Mhm, yeah," the child nodded.

-----------------✧------------------

"You know I won't be here forever, right? You can't keep depending on me," you mumbled, your chin resting on your palm as your other hand continued to write on a piece of paper.

"I know," came the response from the child beside you. Turning your head to look at him, you realize that he looked noticeably older upon closer inspection.

Noticing the sadness in his expression after your words, you reassured him, "But don't worry. As long as I'm still here, I'll always be here for you." You affectionately ruffled his head, and he allowed it without complaint.

"I'm just worried for you, kid. You gotta go out there and make some friends! If you don't, I might just go and haunt you when I die."

"So, if I don't get friends, I'll keep meeting you?" he looked at you, his expression catching you off guard. Your eyes softened, and a chuckle escaped your throat.

"How about this: if you're good and get some friends, I'll think about haunting you, okay?" A smile crept up on your face. "... Okay," he mumbled in response.

-----------------☆-----------------

Hex smiled as he reflected on the memory. "Are you proud of me now, teacher? I've found some pretty nice friends," he mumbled, gazing up at the sky.

"Hex! Come on! We'll miss the show!" a male voice shouted to him. Hex turned his head to face the speaker. "Yeah," he replied with a smile.

"Teacher will be proud of me."

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

<;- MASTERLIST

-> I went back and watched hex's lore vid, and this was the first thing I thought of... Sooo 😇😇

-> How do i get ideas help im dying 💀💀

[tnc-n3cl]

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 🎨 ⇢ link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it 🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

Thanks for the ask @unmaskedcardinal !

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?

Well, I've been a huge Trekkie since like '93 or so and actually wrote a few stories in high school that were deep into my Trek fanfic idea (I'll explain more in a moment). So these were your typical short stories, and I edited them a lot over the years and worked on the lore stuff. Then 2005 rolls around and Star Trek: Enterprise got canceled, and I read a few script based "virtual series".

These were basically a group of fans writing and editing stories and making some art (and even a few videos with some of them) in script format and trying to release one episode every week as if they were doing a TV show. So I got it in my head to try that and started working on my Star Trek fic.

I had this plan for a long saga: Frontlines (10 years after VOY, "mini-series" lasting roughly a year), New Frontiers (12 years after Frontlines, another "mini-series"), Dark Frontiers (picks up right after New Frontiers), First Line & An unnamed series (full length series running concurrently, like 30 years or so after Dark Frontiers, don't have the exact date on hand) and finally Redemption to wrap everything up.

Those stories I wrote in high school were set during First Line, the first one actually intended for use as a season finale. Frontlines revolved around a galaxy wide conflict against the Borg, each episode focusing on two different fleets (after a couple episodes that bounce around a LOT). For example, "Battle Has Begun" focuses on the U.S.S. Archer (an Akira-class ship) assisting the Xindi in repelling the Borg (said ship's tactical officer is one Lt. Comm. Jack Archer while the XO is Comm. Tuvok) as the A Plot, while the B Plot revolves around a new Klingon ship (with Ambassador Worf aboard) helping out a Nebula-class U.S.S. Einstein who eventually aid Picard aboard the Enterprise who's working with a Romulan taskforce lead by Sela.

More or less this conflict with the Borg is to get most of the major powers of the Milky Way working together. The Borg were receiving help from Borg from an alternate quantum reality (not the Mirror Universe). Blowing up the Borg Transuniversal Gateway leads to the formation of an anomaly that Lenara Kahn does science on to form a stable wormhole to another galaxy. This is where New Frontiers picks up.

Jack Archer's captain of the Enterprise-F now and heads to this new Galaxy (the Mura Galaxy) and gets an assignment to find out what happened to a Klingon survey team, which leads to an encounter with a race that get named the Dinozons who are velociraptors that were moved off Earth by some mysterious race for mysterious reasons. Their evolution was tampered with via self-replicating nanomachines that are passed down from parent to child and effectively deactivate the humanoid program from TNG's "The Chase".

So they still look like velociraptors, and things just get weirder from there cause there were dolphin aliens, wolf aliens, and raptor (bird) aliens all fitting this mold. Oh, and they all know they're originally from Earth. They were all in this big alliance 1,000 years ago until this big galaxy wide war ripped apart the Mura Galaxy and they all drifted apart in the aftermath. Archer gets ordered to make first contact with them all, conspiracies happen, the bad guys from the war 1,000 years ago return and seal the wormhole stranding the Milky Way people in the Mura Galaxy.

That's where Dark Frontiers comes in, dealing with that whole mess. So by First Line, the Federation, Klingon, Romulan, etc. survivors had all formed an Alliance with the weird aliens and one of these Alliance ships (Excalibur) was the hero ship for the stories that I wrote in high school.

Then I drew a Stargate ship that lead to me writing Stargate: Crusade, then LoZ brain weasels started burrowing and now I've got The Realm Walker...

TL;DR I got into writing fanfiction as a coping mechanism of sorts for the cancellation of ENT. Or at the very least that's what made me really buckle down and write down the ideas that had been floating around in my brain for a decade or so.

🎨 ⇢ link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it

I have to pick a favorite?! Oh man... Um... *spins wheel* How bout this BotW themed Midna?

Well first off I love Midna so anything with her is more or less guarantied to be a fave. Love the blue glow of the Ancient Sheikah tech added to the Fused Shadow. In general I really love this artist's style (check out this kinda scary Kass or this Teba).

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

Hmm... I guess an untagged kink I'm not into? Or maybe a really bad take on a character?

Writer Truth & Dare Ask Game

[cumikering]

Nick Reyes x reader

1.3k | whump, fluff The Stars Listened: How Infinite Warfare should have ended (bc my heart can’t handle it)

Five. Mere five survived out of the 767 men and women that day.

That's less than 7%, which was about the same chances of recovery of the sort of coma Nick was in. In the empty hospital hall, you didn't hear the doctor too well as the world fell silent and your vision blurred.

On May 8th, Nick and his valiant crew assaulted the SDF shipyard in Mars’ orbit. Lt. Nora Salter fired on his position on his command and the breach pulled him out of the control centre. He tried reaching his crew, but shrapnel cracked his helmet. In the piercing silent, his oxygen dissipated. As fast as he could, Kloos reached and pulled him aboard just before space took him.

You stayed at the hospital where Salter, Kloos, Boats and Brooks did too for observation. You’d only met Salter, and getting to know the other three allowed you a miniscule relief from your cruel mind. You brought them their favourite foods, retrieved their comfort items and assisted them how you could – anything to stop you from crying endlessly.

You could only imagine how much their souls tore to lose hundreds of their brothers and sisters-in-arms. Yet they were beyond kind to you about your bereavement as if the sea of suffering didn’t threaten to pull them under too. For that, you couldn’t thank them enough.

But one by one they were discharged, yet Nick laid still, his scruff grew heavier - the sight unfamiliar as he preferred clean shaven. You enjoyed assisting him in maintaining the look, like you often did on Sundays after a breakfast of pancakes – his favourite.

For days on end, the TV droned on and on about the victory, about the 767 heroes of the Earth, about Nick Reyes the commander of the UNSA Retribution. Reasonably, it was all the people cared about. The world might at last be at peace, but it didn’t mean much to you without him.

Outside the hospital, the sky darkened, dull and starless. The air hung heavy, looming, suffocating. Time stood its ground, expanding infinitely and May 8th felt far further behind than it was. Your thoughts ate at you, your mind whirring relentlessly as his chances dissolved with each hour. The ticking of the clock echoed like a premonition.

Nick Reyes had always been a wonderer. A devotee of the unknown, of the distant darkness - loved the moons, planets and constellations. He told you to look up to the sky when you missed him and promised he’d always be there somewhere among the glimmering stars even if your eyes didn’t meet. Each time he came home, he brought a photo of the radiant star he spoke to about you, keeping him company. It made him less lonely in the vacuum.

You turned to your lover. You traced the lines of his face, the healing scars and the fading ones. There wasn’t much colour in his chapped lips. He looked older, and you wondered if he’d get the chance to be.

That day even that he was next to you, he’d never been more unreachable. He was more tubes than man regardless how many hours you sat by him, no matter how many cards and flowers and wishes people of Geneva brought him. You couldn’t be prouder of how widely he was loved, yet the weight didn’t budge. It all meant nothing without him to see it.

You reached for him, resting your forehead against your joint hands as you breathed out a shaky sigh. Another tear.

Perhaps you’d said your goodbyes and didn’t even know it, but you would have done anything to tell him again how much he meant to you, just one last time.

Nick woke on the fifth day. It was a finger at first, a twitch of an eyebrow, then his toes. Medical personnel crowded him as he took in his surroundings. Your tears of joy poured when you met his weak smile. His eyes twinkled all the same despite the fatigued gaze.

You could finally breathe. Colour crept back, the chains around your chest gave away. He was there. He was back. The stars listened.

Days later, the late afternoon glow poured through the large windows of your home. You led Nick to the couch, fabric warm from the sunlight. He winced as he lifted his hoodie off. You pulled it over his head, his shirt under rode up to reveal the fading evidence of his injuries.

"Stay," he said, tugging you to sit by him. He carefully laid his head on your lap, avoiding his bruises. He sighed. "Finally some alone time with you. I've missed you so much.”

You caressed his face, drinking him in - the way his lips curved, his bright, gentle eyes. “I missed you too, Nick. It’s not home without you.”

"Do you remember our first date? I was on your lap like this too, looking up to the prettiest smile ever. You made me fall so fast.”

You chuckled. “Of course I remember. You’ve always been so smooth.”

“Only for you, my little star.”

Already, life slipped back to the good days. Just the two of you, gazing at each other, safe in your own little sphere.

“You know, when I told Salter to fire, I had you in mind. I was ready to die, but I didn’t. I watched the shots, like fireworks in the darkest sky. I thought about my parents, my crew. Gibson, Mac, Gator, Griff… My heart was so full, so proud of what we did, thinking of coming home to you.

“When my helmet broke, I wondered what you’d feel when you finally read my farewell letter, when my death is not just a worry but a weight to carry. Then my memory played backwards. I remembered your laugh, our last dinner, our anniversary, first trip, first date... My chest burnt, but I wanted to see you again more than I wanted to breathe.” He cupped your face. “You were all I could think about,” he said breathlessly.

You didn't realise you were crying until a tear fell on his cheek. You brushed it away.

“I love you, Nick. I haven’t said it enough,” you croaked.

“I think I heard you. You said it wasn’t my time yet, said you love me a million times. I’ll never get tired of hearing it.” He smiled, wiping your tears away. “Thanks for staying with me.”

You leaned into his touch, eyes shut. “It’s nothing you ever need to thank me for.”

“With how much we destroyed, SDF won’t be a threat for at least decades. It’s what I’ve always wanted when I volunteered, but more than that, I want this with you. This is for you, for us.”

“Do you think if we wish hard enough, we’ll have a forever?” you whispered.

“We can try, but I’m already beyond grateful of this sliver of time with you, from now to whenever it is. It might just be a speck in the infinity of the universe, but it’s the entirety of my soul in ours.” His voice shook as he brought your hand to his lips. “I love you, always. No matter where I go.”

You looked out the window at kids running down the street, wind danced in their hair, giggling like the war in the skies was but a distant nightmare. Maybe there would be a generation that couldn’t imagine it, untouched by the horrors of loss. Maybe even one or two of your own.

“Want to help me shave?”

You turned to him. His eyes were the brightest oceans in the summer, gleaming under the mighty sun. Another tear stained his cheek. You let it be.

It didn’t hurt to smile. “It is Sunday.”

@sofasoap @b1rds3ye

[enkisstories]

Night fell and the castaways in their draughty shelter gathered for a meal. Sergeant Corra Arrel had never before dined with commissioned officers, let alone the Supreme Leader of the First Order. 

Much to her surprise Kylo Ren turned out the most approachable between himself, General Hux, Captain Phasma and Lt. Agnon. The dark side adept probably was so removed from regular people, Corra thought, that the difference between everyone who was beneath him simply didn’t matter. If anybody got the short stick of Kylo’s foul mood, then that weren’t the regular grunts, but General Hux.

Before she knew, Corra found herself pulled into smalltalk...

Corra: “So you all basically live in space, hardly ever staying on a planet?”

Hux: “Well, I used to have a space station where I spent much time before the rebels sneaked in right under someone’s I could name nose.”

Phasma: "Starkiller wasn't a space station, though?"

Hux: "Was, too! It was in space."

Kylo: "It was an outpost built into a fucking PLANET! Where else would it be than in space?"

Hux: "Since when are you an expert on planets, your majesty?”

Kylo: “Just admit your slip of tongue.”

Hux: “That would be the day, wouldn’t it?”

Phasma: "But if Starkiller counts as one, then what in the galaxy is NOT a space station?"

Hux: "Hm... Summa-verminoth!"

Hux: "Change of topic, where did you guys make our beds? I'm tired."

SILENCE

Kylo: "Guys...?"

AWKWARD SILENCE

Kylo: "You... did... not... think of preparing sleeping arrangements, right?"

EMBARASSED SILENCE

Corra and Phasma still had their fully closed flightsuit respectively armor, so they took turns standing watch over the fire.

The others tried to find the least icy spot inside the ruin, but with every room having at least one gaping hole it was a futile exercise.

Kylo: "Worst shipwreck ever."

Hux: "You say that as if it happened to us on a regular basis."

Kylo: "Well, it kinda does. Shipwreck buddies forever, you and I."

And so the castaways curled up on the metal floor without so much as a blanket. Agnon and Hux eventually grudgingly shared body heat.

Kylo: "Nightie-night. Me and my soon to come cold will see you tomorrow."

Hux: “As our leader you shouldn’t sell yourself this low. Aim for pneumonia!”

Kylo: “You know, I can introduce you to a force-assisted respiratory ailment right now...” *falls asleep*

[tieflingkisser]

[26 Jan 2023] Ron DeSantis accused of illegal acts of torture against Guantanamo detainees when he was a Navy JAG officer

Before he was governor, before he was a congressman, Ron DeSantis was a Lt. Commander and JAG lawyer in the U.S. Navy, serving at the Guantanamo Bay terrorist detention camp in Cuba and Fallujah during the Iraq War.

[...]

Forty-two pages of heavily censored U.S. Navy records released to the Florida Phoenix during DeSantis’s 2018 gubernatorial campaign say his naval duties included things like assistant urinalysis coordinator. At Guantanamo, where hundreds of people scooped up in the George W. Bush administration’s post 9/11 War on Terror were held indefinitely without trial and amid multiple allegations of torture by the International Committee of the Red Cross and others, the Phoenix reported the records showed that from March 2006 through early January 2007 “DeSantis’s primary duty was a trial counsel – meaning a prosecutor. The record also showed that DeSantis was described as a ‘JTF-GTMO [Joint Task Force Guantanamo] scheduler/administrative officer.’” No further details were released. The Tampa Bay Times reported the same year that several retired naval officers who served at the detention camp at the same time as DeSantis, including some who worked with him, said his role with the Judge Advocate General (JAG) corps of military lawyers “was to advocate for the fair and humane treatment of the detainees to ensure the U.S. military complied with the law.”

DESANTIS’S ALLEGEDLY DARK ROLE AT GUANTANAMO

Now, however, an ex-Guantanamo detainee has come forward to allege that DeSantis actually had a much darker role at Gitmo. And his disturbing accusations about DeSantis have yet to be reported by any national or Florida-based news outlet despite the governor’s well-known presidential ambitions. Mansoor Adayfi, formerly detainee #441 and also known as Abdul Rahman Ahmed, says JAG Officer Ron DeSantis observed, allowed and participated in illegal acts of torture to help put down a hunger strike in 2006 by dozens of detainees protesting their detention. DeSantis also covered up the torture, Adayfi says. The Yemen-born Adayfi, held for 14 years without charges, was released in 2016 and flown to Serbia to start a new life after a review board determined he was not a threat to the U.S. He made his allegations about DeSantis in a Nov. 18 [2022] interview podcast of Eyes Left, hosted by U.S. Army veteran and anti-war activist Michael Prysner, a graduate of Florida Atlantic University.

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Adayfi, now 44, said DeSantis watched with amusement as he and other detainees were repeatedly force-fed Ensure, a “meal replacement” shake, through a nasal feeding tube pushed down their throats.

‘I THREW UP ON HIS FACE’

“Ron DeSantis was there and watching us. We were crying, screaming. We were tied to the feeding chair and that guy; he was watching that. He was laughing basically when they used to feed us, because…our stomach cannot hold this amount of Ensure. They used to pour Ensure, one can after another, one can after another. So, when he approached me, I said this is the way we are treated. He said, ‘You should start to eat.’ …I threw up on his face. Literally on his face.”