#even lower than the fucking brits????

[fukever]

I only stumbled upon this yesterday so idk maybe everybody has already seen it but this is amazing

[writingoddess1125]

Is That English?

Team 141 + Alejandro reacting to a American with a HEAVY Texan accent

Your Codename: Gigs aka Giggles

Watching a TV show and got the idea 💡

If you can guess the show I got the idea from you get a cookie 🍪

Support me on Ko-Fi! Helps me make more stories

"This is dangerous" Price muttered, even for him this was a heavy mission. Especially if it ment going after Graves- Kate nodded in agreement, the debrief had been a tough one and it didn't look very positive either..

"You're right- but it seems like this is possible with one hell of a pilot" Kate said with a knowing smirk, Price chuckling at this as the rest of the team listened in.

"I take it you have someone in mind?" Kate smiled, looking at her watch.

"Should be here in a few minutes. Let's head out" She said, The 5 men following closely behind her as they could see a chopper heading their way already.

"Best Pilot I've ever meet- Despite some quirks, is a seasoned one who can defend not only themsleves but the entire team" Kate said with a smirk, Ghost raising a brow at this.

Price took a puff of his cigar with a raised a knowing look at the wording. "Quirks?"

Kate didn't say more than that, instead waving down the chopper that was approaching the group.

The group of men standing there to see this mystery pilot that was so highly praised. The chopper lowered and some light shouting could be heard as their pilot made their appearance.

Stepping out and all the boys couldnt help but stare in surprise- walking toward them with a bright Kool-Aid smile was a young women, pretty as the day was long and like Aphrodite had taken a mighty fine time sculpting her too. Price blinked in surprise, such a chipper young women who looked as fresh faced as a new born baby was their seasoned dangerous pilot?

"Fuckin hell" Ghost muttered, clearly not impressed or amused- it was hard to tell.

Once she approached Price held out his hand, ever the gentleman.

"Good meeting ya lass, Captian Price" He said as he held his hand out, once again another surprise of the strong grip and the firm shake.

"How y'all doin, Pi'lot (Y/N)- But Igo' by Gigs sir" Ghost this time coughed as he turned away, most likely the closest he got to a laugh as there was a blink from Price and his face scrunched.

"Wanna run that by me again Lass?"

She laughed at his bewildered face and lack of understanding.

"Gigs Sir, For Giggles. I'm ya Pi'lot sir"

"I got absolute'y no idea what the fuck she's saying- What magical language is th's?.." Gaz said, clearly speaking what the others were thinking as Soap just blinked trying to wrap his head around what was being said.

(Y/N) gave them a deadpan look- "Fuckin' Brit" She grumbled.

"Now that I understood" Soap laughed, Grinning from ear to ear at the pretty lady.

"No that right here is a Texan- Know them well" Alejandro said with a chuckle, stepping forward.

"Alejandro, I take it your from Texas Señora?" He said and she grinned widely, roughly patting his shoulder in affection.

"Damn straight"

"Texas? This we hearin now is a texas accent? Youre speaking English" Ghost mused, defiently never meeting someone with such a thick one. Gigs grinning at him and nodding.

"Thats right skully, red blooded engl'sh and all" She said with a wink at him making Gaz choke a laugh.

"Now Boys. We got us some baddi's to catch! No dilly dal!" She said with a laugh, clapping her hands in excitement as she ran off to load up the chopper to get the boys to their next mission.

Soap chuckled at this as he watched her walk away, staring at the sway of her ass, Only in America is seemed. Looking up at Ghost and the rest as he held his hands up-

"Ah think a'm into it"

[silverstonesainz]

stuck with me

─── the one where you’re people watching with lando frat!lando x reader (est. relationship)  1k words prompt: holding them in your lap (even if there's plenty of space/seats) + "you know you're stuck with me, right?" "thank god i am…"

d rambles. . . this was a whole lot of nothing. sorry about it.

friday night on greek row was always chaotic. the streets are a bit busier than normal with sorority women running house to house, scoping out the party with the most booze and the best music. and while not every fraternity is hosting tonight, phi gamma theta is.

the house is packed, which comes as no surprise to you. everyone loves phi gam. 

you squeeze past sweaty body, pushing against people who were trying to get into the kitchen. you just managed to grab yourself a drink after waiting ages for one. it’s the first party of the semester, so the amount of people at the house in the first hour of the night is a bit overwhelming. everyone was more than ready to get drunk at the expense of privileged boys living in the house— yourself included. 

you finally make it back to your boyfriend, who is on the couch in the living room talking to mick about god only knows what. you smile at the people seated around, waving and yelling quick hellos over the loud music. mick begins to move over to the other end of the couch, make a bit of space for you but lando stops him. 

“don’t worry mate, she’s got a perfectly good seat right here.” the boy pats his lap, to which both you and mick grimace. 

“gross,” the german boy mumbles. 

lando laughs as he reaches out for your hand, pulling you down onto his lap. you blush red, a little embarrassed but nonetheless you stay seated against him. you lean on the arm of the couch as opposed to your boyfriend’s chest, leaving yourself open to being part of the conversation in the group. it’s hard to converse over the loud blare of some edm mix, losing a bit of the pieces of mick’s first week and some girl’s stupid lab. you get bits and pieces of the puzzle before the blonde beside you grunts. he pushes himself off the couch. 

“i’ll be back, see who the fuck is in charge of the music.” 

mick saunters off, disappears in a mess of bodies. you turn a bit so that you can slide your arm around lando’s shoulder.  

“feeling alright?” lando says into your ear. you nod and smile as you feel his lips against your cheek. “wanna dance?”

“in a bit.” 

he nods, arm slipping around your waist as you both return to the conversation moving between the couches. the music shifts, all thanks to mick’s doing, but it’s still a bit hard to hear. the music might’ve changed but somehow the volume is still much too loud. it’s only a matter of minutes before the conversation fizzles away and people begin to melt into the chaos. some leave to dance, others to take their place at the pong table, and some into each other. 

you climb off lando’s lap, pulling him up with you. “c’mon. we’re getting me another drink.” 

he nods with a smile, lacing his fingers into yours and pulling you with him. moving about the house is easier with lando, people seem to always make a bit more room for him. you make it to the bar with ease, push past drunk brothers and girls you’ve never seen because it’s lando. the brit leans over the bar to speak to oscar, yells your drink for the younger member to mix. you can’t help the smile when you hear it, the flutter in your chest. tequila orange.

you watch oscar move about he bar, pulling at cups and bottles. lando stops him, grabs his wrist as he leans in. “not the cheap shit. use the one under the bar.” 

oscar nods without missing a beat, returning the half empty bottle of tequila to it’s original spot before lowering himself below the bar. you watch the way he and logan move about the small space with ease. how the other boy swipes the bottle to make a drink for someone else. it’s only a couple of seconds before oscar pops up and hands lando the new red cup for you. they have a brief conversation drowned out by the music before lando waves him off and is dragging you through the house. 

you find yourself stuck to lando, against his chest as he leans against the wall. you hum, sipping your drink as he leans down to point out people and faces unknown to you. he tells stories, like how pierre has been trying to get with some girl he’s currently dancing with for weeks. and how daniel is in denial over how hung up he is over the girl he claims not to be seeing. you giggle along, following along as the story changes from person to person, brother to brother. 

you make a face, nose scrunched as you catch sight of charles and some girl in the corner, lips locked and hands eager. you lean into lando, “who's that?” 

lando follows your gaze, stifling laughter as he shrugs. “never seen her before.” 

“what happened to….” you blank, lips stretching downwards, “… i forgot her name.” 

lando shrugs, “dunno. guess they’re done.” 

and then carlos passes by with his fingers laced with a blonde, and you almost ask lando but he’s quick to answer. “they’re on a break. she needed space so in carlos’s words… it’s fair game.” 

you nod, finishing off the rest of your drink. you look around the house, at the familiar and unfamiliar. you could almost laugh at the shift, the change and yet also the stagnancy of it all. faces, people, they come and go but the habits never seem to change. 

except you and lando. that won’t change.

you turn in lando’s arms, wrapping yours around his neck and he smiles down at you. “what?” 

you shake your head, stepping up onto the tips of your toes with a smile, “nothing its just… you know you’re stuck with me right?”

“thank god. i wouldn’t have it any other way.” lando grins and presses a kiss onto your lips.

“good. otherwise, i’d have to kill you.” 

he laughs, nodding as he presses another kiss to your lips. “noted.”

come to the house party!!

[aforestescape]

simon 'ghost' riley and johnny 'soap' mctavish - where benefits start

content includes: gay sex, pet names, safe sex is great, oh and some plot

this is a prelude to them meeting you. basically background to how they met each other before x.

johnny and simon met a few years before they meet you. back when simon used to work at the door of some low level pub in the city. before simon decides to dye his hair blonde and grow out the length more. just a brown close shaved buzz that accentuates the sharp angles of his face.

johnny heads into the city for a short trip to meet up with an old buddy from college. his friend taking him to his favorite pub, decent beers and always has a game on the telly, where he meets ghost for the first time. he takes one look at the older man standing gruffly at the door, thick forearms covered in tattoos and scars and swoons.

john doesn’t waste any time in flirting. hitting on the brit shamelessly like there isn’t a small queue of people behind him waiting to get inside. he spends more nights of his trip just showing up to the pub and chatting up ghost. not even bothering to go in for a pint unless he threatens him for loitering.

on his last night there ghost isn’t working the door and johnny cant help but feel just a bit of dispair at missing such a hot piece of ass. until he enters the bar to find simon grabbing a drink inside. something simon never does, not liking to piss where he eats.

they spend less than an hour there. johnny recommending shots that lead to them fucking in the alley way. johnny groaning out in pleasure from simons rough thrusts into his ass. large scarred over hands keeping a firm grip on his waist as leverage. simon leans down to whisper in his ear, deep voicing ringing.

“you been real fuckin’ needy, haven’t you? this what you wanted? my cock up your ass to behave.”

johnny moaning and clenching around the length of simons cock, his own laying neglected against his stomach. leaking and an angry shade as it begs to be touched. his hands trying to find purchase in the concrete wall of the building across from the pub while simon fucks into him.

simon pulls out all the way, the fat head of his cock brushing johnnys rim before slamming back in. the brush of piercings along the bottom of simons length adding delicious stimulation as he fully sheathes himself.

“fuck,” johnny moans at out, head tossing back into simons shoulder.

“i asked you a question, mutt.”

johnny whines and clenches around him again. a panting mess over simons cock as he moans out a thick, “aye, needed this!”

simon rewards him by moving one hand from johns hips to his cock. using the mess of precum and smearing it for lube as he pumps his hand in time with his thrusts. simon moves his head to johnnys neck, taking a ragged breath that turns to a moan.

“that wasn’t so hard was it? keep being a good boy for me, yeah?”

if johnny was in a different state of mind he might be slightly embarrassed by the loud whine that rips through his throat. by how easily the roughness of simons voice, the delicious ache of simons thick cock in his ass, and the grip on his cock make him cum. a shudder wracking through his body as he spurts thick streams over simons hand, his lower abdomen and the wall in front of him.

moaning out expletives as simon keeps pounding away into him. moving his hand from his cock to johnnys mouth. and johnny being the good pet he is opens up for him so easily. sucking his cum off thick digits while he loses his mind to the bliss. it only takes a few more thrusts of simons hips, his head in the peak of johnnys neck as he lets out his own moans before cuming into the condom.

they stand like that for a bit, just panting and basking in the post orgasm bliss. simon pressing a kiss to johns neck and ear, murmuring soft praise. after slipping out of him and fixing their clothes johnny offers his number to simon.

they spend months between work and hanging out with friends getting to know each other. johnny taking the drive into the city or simon taking the train to the countryside where johnny lives. says he likes it better because it reminds him of his family. of where he grew up back in the thick of scotland.

meeting up and falling into a pattern that morphs arousal and desire into something deeper. months of time spent in a friends with benefits situation that only changes when johnny tells si over the phone that he’s taking a job in the city and looking for a flat.

help, i’ve no clue what to the name this series:/ i hope you enjoyed, this is basically one of my first times writing smut (or at least a coherent/complete piece) so be gentle with me

[camillathe6th]

OC SPEECH MANNERISMS - Una & Nadeem

THANK YOU for thinking of me @glitchy-npc ♡♡♡ I love these. I think I did it once for Una, but I'll try it again for Una-outside-of-FHR, since obviously she has less training than if she were a regene -- and because it's a good character exercise I'm enclosing Nadeem's too under the cut though nobody asked. I'm sorry. Blorbo-body-language and actual-language consume my brain.

ANYWAY please feel free to ignore and skip my bullshit but if you're into it, I'll tag @punkranger, @the-rebel-archivist, @detectiveneve, @euelios, and @fialine. (Punk I'm begging for Angler I'm not going to lie to you).

Una Moore (not as Sidestep)

NO. OF SPOKEN LANGUAGES: 1 / 2 / 3+ note: 2 and a half: English, Spanish, ASL (the two latters with mid proficiency)

TONE OF VOICE: high / average / deep

ACCENT: Yes / No

DEMEANOUR: confident / shy / approachable / hostile / other note: one rubber-band snap away from going apeshit, and visibly so.

POSTURE: slumped / straight / stiff / relaxed note: bunched, tensed, mobile on her feet--assessing terrain.

HABITS: head tilting / swaying / fidgeting / stuttering / gesturing / arm crossing / strokes chin / er, um, or other interjections / plays with hair or clothing / hands at hips / inconsistent eye contact / maintains eye contact / frequent pausing / stands close / stands at a distance note: stands at a distance UNLESS to threaten -- too close, entering space, finally maintaining that fucking eye contact.

COMPLEXITY

VOCABULARY: ⬤⬤⬤〇〇

EMOTION: ⬤⬤⬤〇〇 note: the emotion is there, but it's painstakingly capped: boiling under the surface.

SENTENCE STRUCTURE: ⬤⬤⬤〇〇 note: when she chooses to. Otherwise, clipped.

PROFANITY

FREQUENCY: ⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤

CREATIVITY (in regards to profanity): ⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤

BOLD ALL THAT APPLY: arse. ass. asshole. bastard. bitch. bloody. bugger. bollocks. chicken shit. crap. cunt. dick. frick. fuck. horseshit. motherfucker. piss. prick. screw. shit. shitass. son of a bitch. twat. wanker. pussy. note: every and every profanity under the sun, except she's not a brit, basically.

IMPORTANT QUESTIONS

DO PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME HEARING OR UNDERSTANDING YOUR CHARACTER? - almost always / frequently / rarely / never

DOES YOUR CHARACTER'S INTENDED POINT COME ACROSS EASILY WHEN THEY SPEAK? - almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never.

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER INITIATE CONVERSATIONS? - almost always / frequently / sometimes / never.

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE THE ONE TO END CONVERSATIONS? - almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never.

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE 'WHOM' IN A SENTENCE? - yes / no / only ironically

YOUR CHARACTER WANTS TO MAKE A COUNTERPOINT. WHAT WORD DO THEY USE? - but / though / although / however / perhaps / mayhaps note: None of these. She uses "fuck you" and "shut up", that's how you start a debate.

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER END CONVERSATIONS? - walk away / ask if that's everything / say that's everything / give a proper goodbye / tell their company they're done here / remain quiet / they don't.

WHAT SOCIAL CLASS WOULD OTHERS ASSUME YOUR CHARACTER BELONGS TO, HEARING THEM SPEAK? - upper / middle / lower.

IN WHAT WAYS DOES THE WAY YOUR CHARACTER SPEAK STAND OUT TO OTHERS? - accent / vocabulary / tone / level / politeness / brusqueness / it doesn't. note: extreme engagement - banter, interruption, easy dispute, verbal joust, focus on YOUR vocabulary use, either to trap you or to point it out and put you on the spot -- a very frustrating, if challenging, conversation companion. Then again she wouldn't even talk to you if she wasn't invested, so. Yay?

BONUS

Nadeem Mani

NO. OF SPOKEN LANGUAGES: 1 / 2 / 3+ note: English, Urdu, ASL, bit of Spanish.

TONE OF VOICE: high / average / deep note: low in pitch more than deep in tone.

ACCENT: Yes / No

DEMEANOUR: confident / shy / approachable / hostile / other note: so terribly smily. Smiling for free and shit.

POSTURE: slumped / straight / stiff / relaxed note: not actually relaxed, but very good at appearing so. More actually relaxed (and more forbidding / aggressive looking) when his cochlear is turned off.

HABITS: head tilting / swaying / fidgeting / stuttering / gesturing / arm crossing / strokes chin / er, um, or other interjections / plays with hair or clothing / hands at hips / inconsistent eye contact / maintains eye contact / frequent pausing / stands close / stands at a distance note: VERY reliant on hands and what you can evoke with them, even when not using ASL; also touch-heavy by extent.

COMPLEXITY

VOCABULARY: ⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤

EMOTION: ⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤ note: his face moves a lot and is very moving: whether the expressiveness on there is true or not remains to be seen.

SENTENCE STRUCTURE: ⬤⬤⬤⬤〇 note: loves good syntactical subordination and a complex monologue. Not immune to the panache of Shakespeare, if that says anything. I wonder if someone ever told him about Hamlet's mommy issues... I need Una to point this out.

PROFANITY

FREQUENCY: ⬤〇〇〇〇 note: please. He was raised right.

CREATIVITY (in regards to profanity): ⬤〇〇〇〇 note: if you push him enough that he DOES use profanity, creativity just became the least of your problem.

BOLD ALL THAT APPLY: arse. ass. asshole. bastard. bitch. bloody. bugger. bollocks. chicken shit. crap. cunt. dick. frick. fuck. horseshit. motherfucker. piss. prick. screw. shit. shitass. son of a bitch. twat. wanker. pussy.

IMPORTANT QUESTIONS

DO PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME HEARING OR UNDERSTANDING YOUR CHARACTER? - almost always / frequently / rarely / never note: and when that happens, that's on them one way or another.

DOES YOUR CHARACTER'S INTENDED POINT COME ACROSS EASILY WHEN THEY SPEAK? - almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never.

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER INITIATE CONVERSATIONS? - almost always / frequently / sometimes / never.

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE THE ONE TO END CONVERSATIONS? - almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never.

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE 'WHOM' IN A SENTENCE? - yes / no / only ironically

YOUR CHARACTER WANTS TO MAKE A COUNTERPOINT. WHAT WORD DO THEY USE? - but / though / although / however / perhaps / mayhaps

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER END CONVERSATIONS? - walk away / ask if that's everything / say that's everything / give a proper goodbye / tell their company they're done here / remain quiet / they don't. note: oh no, you're breaking before that conversation ends.

WHAT SOCIAL CLASS WOULD OTHERS ASSUME YOUR CHARACTER BELONGS TO, HEARING THEM SPEAK? - upper / middle / lower.

IN WHAT WAYS DOES THE WAY YOUR CHARACTER SPEAK STAND OUT TO OTHERS? - accent / vocabulary / tone / level / politeness / brusqueness / it doesn't. note: again, depends on whether his cochlear's on or off--he stops working on voice control if he's annoyed or comfortable enough to turn his implant off, and his voice and articulation stand out more (higher, looser) as a result. With the implant on, he works on not standing out and speaks lower than most. Bit of an Urdu-lilt to his English, especially in the w/v.

[nicoscheer]

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Do you want to discover what bands @mileskane listens to while ironing his shirts? Then listen to this episode of the music podcast @kendedital with the nicest and funniest guy in the music business!

We had a blast! 🫶🏽

-

"I'm willing to play anywhere. Even now, if I were offered a gig at the pub across the street, l'd take it. I simply love playing. If you asked, I'd play right this moment. I just love playing, I'm not arsed. It's what it's all about." X

-

Miles when being asked about AM’s new sound:

mk: "you gotta respect it, you know, like, that's me bro, i'm always gonna have his back, you know what i mean? yeah and i respect for a big band to follow their gut. that's what al does and you gotta respect it whether you like it or not. it's kind of what all great artists do."

interviewer: "like it's cool that you kinda... you want to fucking do it so you do

mk: "yeah, man, that's me boy. if he wants to sing french or sing nigerian, i'm gonna have his back, you know what i mean?"

-

🫶🏽🫶🏽🥹🥹🥺my boys

Like I hate it that he’s always asked bout AM and TLSP cause he’s promotion his solo tour but this is 😘

So you’re telling me they are literally promoting Miles and Liam djing with a Tlsp pic 😭😭🫠🥺

Imagine if Alex were you just casually show up behind that DJ booth

with his bosom friend Alex Turner

At Crammerock we saw him strolling backstage. We decided to put on our naughty shoes and ask him. He turned out to be very amable and he was immediately enthusiastic about our concept,

So, you set out on your own

You shut up shop, you're leavin' home

You feel no need to settle down

In the crippled crook of your earth bound town

And you've been down this road before

Which is not to say you're bored

Or that you shouldn't want for more

It's just your expectations should be lower

There must be somethin' more than this

More than ideal homes or domestic bliss

What is there left for you to do

'Cause you've seen the future and it's nothin' new

And you've been down this road before

Which is not to say you're bored

Or that you shouldn't want for more

It's just your expectations should be lower, should be lower

And you've been down this road before

Which is not to say you're bored

Or that you shouldn't want for more

It's just your expectations should be lower, should be lower

Apparently wasn’t happy with the text placement so had to repost it 🤣🤣🥹

His eyebrow slit and bear looking fucking clean

Also I hate everybody who lives close to Gent or Sheffield

Miles last night with chef Tom brown and Jay Forrester at the opening of Tom’s new oyster bar (pearly queen shoreditch/ where Tom and friends repeatedly posted that the logo outside is the new bat signal 🤨y’know like miles guitarist said that the mirrorball is their bat signal) (also the fact that Tom reposted the pic of them via puppetspaces ig)

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The pictures of Miles with Tom and Jay

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So proud of him selling out within less than two hours

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Miles helping Tom with taste testing

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I love that as soon Chef Tom Brown is involved everybody starts using Miles’ music; here a custom knife made for TB using troubled son

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A nice recap of the opening night, the way Miles disappears in that hug with Tom is 🥹🥹🥹

[helyiios]

WAIT NO Benthan + “you really are extraordinary” instead

One thing about Benji Dunn is that he likes to talk. No, not even talk, he likes to speak.

Which, honestly, isn't his fault, not entirely : he's been brought up in a rather distant environment, and none of his achievements got his parents' saying more than a 'good job,' or getting him a handshake. A handshake !

So yes, to make up for this crippling need of approval, Benji Dunn likes to speak, to say anything and everything, and hopefully then someone would like what he has to say. Maybe.

Which leads him to now, walking in the middle of Paris with a bleeding Ethan who had a concussion, resting on his shoulder and his unrelenting need to fill in the silence.

"And then I was like, hum. Well, okay I don't exactly remember what I said, but it was not nice, and the guy looked at me really meanly, and I—"

"Benj," his friend softly interrupts, barely conscious, "someone's walking up to us."

"Huh ? Oh, shit. Avert your eyes."

"Don't think I can even keep them open."

"L'est pété ton pote ?" (Is your friend drunk ?) one of the guys who was walking towards them asks, something like mockery in his tone, "ça fait toujours la teuf, à votre âge ?" (Still partying at your old age ?)

"Don't look at them, don't look at them..."

Ethan's bodyweight is affecting him a little more than he'd like to admit, and he's doing his utmost best not to collapse. The mission had him getting a nasty cut on his left arm.

"HÉ OH, J'TE CAUSE !" (HEY, I'M TALKING TO YOU !)

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Thing is, he knows Ethan can speak French, because he's read his file and he's heard him do it before. And it was really attractive. But right now, Ethan isn't in any shape to do anything else but fight for his survival, so it was up to him to manage.

"Vous savez comment c'est, Pigalle..." (You know how it is, Pigalle...) he blurts out with a gulp, the small trace of an English accent in his voice. Maybe those intensive courses in Oxford did find their usefulness. "On a peut-être trop bu." (Maybe we had too much to drink.)

"L'a l'air en bien mauvais état ton poto," (your buddy looks in bad shape,) another man adds, eyeing him from head to toe. "Si j'te disais de vider tes poches là, tu f'rais quoi ?" (If I told you to empty your pockets, what would you do ?)

Okay, this was getting really fucking ridiculous. They were NOT getting mugged right after a shitty mission. He did not have time for that.

"J'sais pas," (I dunno,) Benji carefully replies. "Non, je pense." (No, I think.)

"Tu penses ? Il se prend pour qui, le rosbif ?!" (You think ? Who does the Brit think he is ?!)

"Allez mon reuf, fais c'qu'on te dit," (c'mon bro, do what we're telling you,) the first man grins, taking a small pocket knife out of his puffy jacket. "Sinon..." (Or else...)

"Benj ? We need to go," Ethan is mumbling against him, and the blood is still pouring and coating his hair. "What..."

"Allez, file ta thune !" (C'mon, give us your money !)

"Non, j'ai pas envie," (no, I don't wanna,) Benji replies with a loud sigh, clearly irritated. "Dégagez." (Get lost.)

"FILS DE—" (SON OF A—)

Suddenly there's a gun in the agent's hand (his own, actually,) and he's brandishing it annoyedly at the three men in front of him.

"Non, sérieux. Dégagez." (Nah, for real. Get lost.)

"Les gars—" (Guys—)

"J'ai passé une soirée de merde," (I just had a shit night,) Benji continues, and Ethan's looking at him with stars in his eyes, "alors sérieux, barrez-vous." (So seriously, get the fuck out.)

There's a few seconds where the men seem to gauge him, but then their apparent leader just turns on his heels, taking off in the darkness, the two others right behind him. He lowers his weapon.

"Okay, we really need to get you to the van," he mumbles as he puts it back in his pants, "you're going to lose all your blood at this pace."

"I didn't know you could speak French," Ethan simply notes, completely dazed. "You really are extraordinary."

"Sure, mister-I-speak-15-languages."

"You sound hot when you speak French," his friend grins, his smile slightly loopy. "Very attractive, you should do it more often..."

"Je prends note," (I'm noting that down) Benji snorts before making him rest against him more comfortably. "Learnt it at uni, with Russian and Italian. I wanted to sound cool."

"Well, I like discovering new things about you."

[xydamcg]

Prisoner of 141

Ghost x fcharacter!

Cw: death, blood, alienation, no real emotion yet, desensitized

Summary: a prisoner of war? Ha what war? More like a prisoner of 141.

The gunfire had rained on for seemingly hours, the room she was in held no windows or clock so she never knew what time it was or even if it was night or day. She listened and waited and listened some more as the last bullet was fired, her ears ringing from the loud projectiles that whizzed ghostly through the hall outside the room. It would be over soon was all she could think. But her inner thoughts were screaming this was all far from over.

Her head tilted as she heard movement outside the door, there was a hushed conversation of several heavy voices signaling men were coming inside. She had no recollection of the voices, they were far more calmer than she was use to which meant they were a threat. Taking a steady breath as she felt her fight or flight kick in she slowly pressed her back to the wall, taking a hold of the extended chain that held her hands bond. Her pupils dilated instantly as her eyes took in the fluorescent that poured in from the hallway, before she could even make it to her feet guns were shoved in her face.

“Hands up, don’t move a fuckin’ muscle.” Before her stood three men, all far for strategic than the man who put her on her. Slowly raising her hands, she placed the chain behind her head hating when it dangled in tight. It reminded her that she wasn’t as free as she wanted to be and that she could only go as far as they wanted her to go. “Hope you’re here to take me home..be great to take a hot shower.” She spoke, her voice low and raspy as she hadn’t used it except to scream for god knows how long. She doesn’t remember the last time she had be further than the cafeteria in this place. “On your feet. Now.” A thick Scottish accent ordered, her dead auburn eyes flickered to her left seeing a pretty blue eyed, mohawked solider. “Could of been a bit nicer.” She mumbled as she slowly pushed up onto shaky legs, before rocking onto her feet. “Shut your mouth and walk.” Another growled, this one was taller had such a cute little scowl. The girl’s eyes dropped to the flag patch on his vest and she smirked before catching his eyes. “Fucking brits..”

“Move it!” The third snapped from behind her pushing the point of his gun into her spine. She sighed before moving forward out of her cell, her eyes taking in the gore of the hall before her. Bodies of all kinds littered the hall in thick coats of red, she could only imagine what it looked like from inside the cell but now up close and actually present she was thankful she was locked away. “Go right.” An order came as she slowly lowered her arms the chain brushing against the skin on the back of her knees irritably, why was she still chained? Stumbling to the right as she was nudged in her spine she avoided as many puddle of red she could, her bare feet screaming as they came close to giving up on her. The walk was quiet, the scottish Solider from earlier making himself lead as he guided them through the prison. It was strange to see it so abandoned and quiet? The blaring alarm had stopped only seconds after it began and that was moments before the rain of gunfire. Time seemed to pass slow as she followed behind the solider, surprised when they started to make their way to the doors at the opposite end of the cafeteria. She had never been past these doors, she didn’t know what laid on the other side, it had been too late to verbalize her discomfort as her feet were now in autopilot marching in step with the soldiers.

So many turns and doors they continued to push through until they finally stopped at the main security checkpoint before being out. She never thought she would see the outside again..it almost terrified her but she was far more excited than scared. “We’re going to take this off don’t try anything funny.” The ball capped solider announced as she looked over his shoulder at the door to the outside. A word wasn’t said as she subconsciously stuck out her hands to be released, her wrists tired from the weight of the shackles. The soft click of the lock and the heavy thud of the chains at her feet made her bring her attention to the importance of what was before her. Her eyes dropped to her wrists, she wore those chains for so long they were like a part of her. The brownish red skin ached with a mix of relief and annoyance, grimacing as she rubbed the skin gently. They wouldn’t heal properly, just like all the rest of the scars she owned. “Move.” She was pushed again, her feet falling into like again.

It was raining when she stepped outside, the feeling of the droplets hitting her skin was something she couldn’t describe after all this time of being deprived of such a good thing— it nearly made her cry. The water tingles on her skin, goosebumps rising on her arms in legs at how amazing it felt to feel the rain. Her head tilted back as she allowed herself to be showered in the cool wetness of it all. The men that surrounded her watched the moment, none of them wanting to take such a surreal moment from the prisoner but had no choice. “Let’s go!” The Scottish man shouted over a rumble of thunder, the rain coming down harder. The woman had no idea where she was being taken and she knew not to ask..to simply listen and wait.

————————-

“You wanna explain to me why your brought back a prisoner?! What was not understood about invade and destroy!” A gruff older man shouted from the head of the table. He looked like if he turned any more red, he’d pass out. He had been grilling the men that found her plus two more that had joined there departure to the base. The woman was confused about why he was so angry and why she was still in their custody and not being let go. She had done nothing wrong..nothing more wrong than them anyways. “General if I may..” a softer voice came, a woman? “While she is was a prisoner she is an asset to us. She knows a great deal of information about the Hutu than we do, her skill set from the files they have on her is nothing short of a trained killer. We need her rather you’d like to admit it or not sir.” The female counterpart explained. The tension in the room wasn’t as suffocating before it still made her shift slightly. The general let out a heavy disapproving sigh before looking at her, she couldn’t help but stare. The lady was right, they needed her. “Fine but she is too be watched around the clock, she’s not to be left alone for anything at all—not to piss eat or sleep without one of you idiots watching her like a hawk. Can’t believe y’all managed to fuck up the one mission you get assigned alone on.” General announced making the group deflate, so she was still a prisoner?

Was she not getting a say in any of this? “Get out of my sight.” He dismissed making them all rise, she took heed as well being led out by the Scott that she learned to be named Soap, odd call sign but she’s heard worse. “I fuckin’ told you he was going to be pissed Gaz.” Soap grumbled to his buddy with the baseball cap. “Wait toll Price and Ghost hear about this.” Gaz rebutted leaving Soap frustrated and pouty. The door to the debrief room they were in currently clicked as the lady who vouched for her stepped out. “Gaz, Soap you’re off the hook for now go rest and prepare for the debrief later I’ll take care of her for now.” She instructed, she was much softer and calmer than general meathead in the room. “Laswell—“ Soap began but she denied nodding her head. “Go.” Soap departed with a irked sigh, Gaz following after him with a quiet thanks.

“Now you must be exhausted and hungry. You probably have a lot of questions which will be answered in due time but first let’s get you settled. I’m Kate Laswell, you can call me either or. You must be Tatali, right?” Kate asked motioning her to follow her down the opposite hall. Tatali watched Kate closely, was that her name? She hadn’t been called by that name is years..what year was it actually? The men at the prison just called her girl. “I don’t know is that my name? I haven’t been heard anyone refer to me as that.” She said honestly causing Kate to frown. “Yes that is your name, Tatali Rumos, you’re 26 and your birthday is the 21st of July…it’s 2022.” Kate notified as she pushed through a set of double doors before another set revealing a locker room and what was presumably showers around the corner. “You have some catching up to do..showers are around that corner. The locker at the end 548 is your own, you’ll find fresh clothing and things in there. I’ll be here if you need anything.” Kate mused pointing to a locker closest to the showers, she placed herself on the bench near the doors before pulling out her phone.

Tatali nodded silently before making her way to the locker. She carefully yanked it open finding towels, a shower bag and clothing neatly set inside. Tatali took a towel and shower bag before disappearing into the shower room, there she picked the shower furtherest from the entryway preferring the privacy. Tatali turned on the water, turning the dial to the left wanting hot water. As the water got hot she stripped of her tattered clothing in the trash near by before rummaging through the shower bag. It had a lot of necessities Tatali forget a woman even needed, a razor, body wash, shampoo, conditioner, tweezers, a nail clip, tampons, pads, deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, chapstick, even a pair of scissors. She felt alienated like the items before her were so otherworldly it stunned her. Tatali had been snatched off the grid and hidden away for longer than she could remember it saddened her actually.

“You alright in there?” Kate called from her place outside the showers. Tatali slowly removed the items she needed for her shower before stepping under the now scorching water. “Fine.” She said back but she didn’t think she was loud enough for hate to her, but Kate of course heard. Kate got comfortable knowing full well, this was going to be a bit of a wait.

[currentlyfckingurmom]

Her Song part 4

"Do you think I should've kept her home from school?" I nervously ask Ash as we're seated behind the cafe counter, waiting for any customers.

"No, Y/N. The kid had a migraine, not an aneurysm. She felt fine last night and this morning, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there you go. You can't protect her from everything. Just relax and enjoy Blondie singing about being 22 and getting hammered," Ash concludes.

"The song means so much more than that, you know. I thought I taught you better than this," I scold her.

"I know, but that's not the point. When's the last time you even went out?"

"I 'went out' plenty when I was dancing in a thong to afford the mountain of bills that comes with a newborn baby," I remind her bitterly.

"Right, sorry. But, c'mon, it can be fun if you're with the right people. Or person. As in a single woman, maybe blonde...British..." she trails off with a suggestive smirk.

"Stop. Literally stop, Ash. You're freakin' weird. I've met her like twice. Besides, she's like a totally amazing, famous actress and I'm...well, I'm me."

"Shut the fuck up. Stop acting like you aren't amazing," she snaps.

"I'm twenty-one and I have a kid, Ash. Not many people are gonna wanna take that on. Especially not people my age."

"So go for a MILF. Simple. Hey, maybe the Brit will introduce you to Scarlett Johansson," she suggests with a proud smile as if she just unmasked Jack the Ripper and provided a solution to everything.

"Oh god. Please stop."

"Never. You need to have some fun."

"According to my hometown, I've already have plenty of fun," I joke.

"That's not funny, Y/N. Those fuckers are dumb for ever believing him over you," Ash states seriously.

Whatever smart remark I was about to make was cut off by the door opening, and in walked the very woman that had plagued my mind ever since she walked in that rainy day. She quickly catches my eye and begins to walk toward us with a sweet, handsomely crooked smile.

"Good morning, Florence. How are you today?" I greet her.

"I'm doing well. How are you?"

"Oh, she's doing a lot better now," Ash butts in from beside me. I deliver a swift kick to her lower leg in retaliation and confusion blossoms across Florence's face at Ash's wince.

"Sorry, she's, um, I'm- tea?" I stammer, feeling my face heat up to my ears.

Laughing, she nods and says, "Yes, please. That would be lovely."

"For here?" I ask, to which she nods. "Coming right up, then."

I work silently, ducking my head to avoid eye contact as Ash and Florence make small talk. I hear Florence ask, "You all seem pretty young to be working here alone. Is this shop locally owned?"

"Um yeah, actually, I own it," I interject timidly.

"Oh, no way! That's so cool! How old are you lot, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Ash and I are both 21, and David is 24," I tell her as I set her tea down in front of her.

"That's amazing. There aren't enough young entrepreneurs in the world. I mean, everybody just thinks they have to take this set-in-stone path and I love how our generation just decided that societal norms needed a change-up," she gushes adorably.

"I couldn't agree more," I chuckle. "Do you work around here?"

"I live in apartment a few blocks up the road and I work a few blocks further down. Which is why I'm always walking by and stopping in. I promise I'm not a stalker or anything."

"Hm, are you sure you're not a stalker? I could totally see you being a stalker. Maybe even add a sprinkle of psychopathy in the mix," I tease with faux seriousness.

"Oh, is that what you think of me?" she kids with a smirk.

"Wow, I'm really starting to feel like a third wheel. Bosslady, if you're gonna keep flirting, can I take my break?" Ash interjects.

Just like that, the vibrant blush returns to my cheeks. "Sure, go ahead."

She wiggles her eyebrows at me as she makes her escape, and I'm very tempted to throw a bag of coffee grounds at her head.

Florence's phone dings and she checks the message before saying, "That's my work. I've got to go. Thank you for the tea, Y/N."

"Anytime, Florence."

She stands up and just before she reaches the door, I get the feeling that I forgot something. "Hey, wait!" I call. "Have you listened to Red (Taylor's Version)? It just dropped," I ask, gesturing to the speakers currently playing "Holy Ground" in the shop.

"Yes, I have. One of my friends is obsessed with Taylor Swift," she replies, laughing.

"Oh, well, have you heard "Enchanted" off of Speak Now?"

"No, I don't believe I have."

"Well, uh, I think you should. Listen to it, I mean. I really like it," I tell her as I fiddle with the corner of a napkin. And I was enchanted to meet you, I think to myself.

"I will definitely give it a listen. I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N."

"See you tomorrow, Florence," I say as she leaves the shop. "Wait, tomorrow? Does that mean she's coming back tomorrow?" I ask myself out loud.

"Yes, you clueless idiot," Ash says as she emerges from the backroom, scaring the shit out of me.

Recovering from my mini heart attack, I glare at her. "People really need to stop scaring me like that. At this rate, my heart's not gonna make it to 25."

"Then stop being such an easy target."

"You're very annoying today, Ashlynn."

"Mhm, sure, whatever. That whole situation with Florence, by the way, kinda gay. Just sayin'."

"Don't you have some jackass of a dude to call or something?"

"Jeez, no need for the attitude."

[stars-trash-18]

141 meets White Lightning

141 was enjoying a couple of drinks at one of their safe houses to celebrate a major successful mission

Even Ghost had a bourbon in hand and his mask pulled up

You however had a mason jar with your grandfather’s familiar scrawl on the lid

It was cherry cobbler moonshine, homebrewed with love from Appalachia in your grandfather’s (illegal) still

Naturally the Brits (and one Scot) were curious at your choice of drink, even Price

You gave the short version of Appalachians and moonshines significance to your culture 

How the good stuff is illegally made and its name derives from the fact it had to be made at night back in prohibition. 

Soap actually clinked your glasses together over the fact most Appalachians were Scots and others trying to get the hell away from British oppression.

“I’d do the same to get away from those ugly mugs”

Price just gave a disgruntled sigh at the fact you had illegal, homebrewed alcohol shipped to you like it was nothing. (grandpa was no fool, he fought in Nam and knew how to get things to you discretely) 

You let everyone have a sip of shine and they seemed to like it well enough, even though they all flinched (except Ghost man never flinches)

They laughed however when you said this was a lower proof than the white lighting you had just gotten. The shine you had was labeled 100 proof, how much higher can it go?

Then you brought out the white lightning and they saw 180 proof written on the lid. 

To no one’s surprise Soap volunteered first to drink it

This man’s nose hairs curled and his eyes watered

“Can’t handle it MacTavish?” Ghost quipped

But Soap took a sip and didn’t feel a damn thing, like it evaporated the second it touched his tongue. But still coughed from the fumes alone

Soon everyone had a small glass and you screwed the lid back on it, sitting back to watch the show. 

Soap and Gaz are passed the fuck out cuddling on the floor with half empty glasses

Price’s face is red but he’s holding out alright, just leaning a little too heavy on the counter

The most surprising reaction is the one that made you take a picture

It was Ghost sitting flat on his ass on the ground, face red, and mumbling nonsense

The man drank his share of shine and sat on the ground because, “the bloody room is spinning”

You however were still standing and sharing a look with Price over everyone’s antics before deciding to call it a night

You decided to leave Soap and Gaz on the floor with a blanket and one last photo for blackmail’s sake

You somehow managed to get Ghost off the ground and carry his unnecessarily tall ass to his room

But as you dumped him onto his bed, his arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you down with him

He held you tightly and nuzzled into you as he fell asleep

You were in utter shock but seeing as you’re only option was to be choked and never get another opportunity to lay in the man's arms (at least in your mind) you stayed

The next morning would be eventful

[formula1fanfiction]

George Russell / Charles Leclerc

Title: Jealousy

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / George Russell

Characters: Charles Leclerc, George Russell, Pierre Gasly

Prompt: Leclerc mad about what happened the that plane between Russell and Gasly (rough!top Leclerc)

rating: 18+

Charles doesn't even bother to knock, just pushes open the door of George's driver room and steps inside. George stands up as soon as he seems him. "What are you doing? You could have knocked mate." George laughs somewhat uncomfortably, Charles has an unreadable expression on his face.

"Pierre  told me about it you know." Charles takes a step closer to George. "That you fucked him on the plane." George bites back a smile, Charles is jealous that's what this is. "Mate, you were the one who told me about the mile high club." Charles takes another step, they are almost touching now. "That didn't mean you had the right to fuck him."

The kiss takes George completely by surprise, Charles kisses him so hard he's sure he can taste blood, George surrenders instantly and wraps his arms around Charles' strong neck. George moans into Charles mouth at the feeling of fingers in his hair. Charles doesn't waste any time pressing his tongue against George's mouth until the Brit parts his lips.

George can't help but moan into the kiss, it's a bit embarrassing really, Charles' tongue is practically fucking his mouth and sending him crazy, sending him dizzy from the lack of oxygen. Charles explores every inch of George's mouth as he lowers his hand over George's thighs, hand hovering just above his cock.   

"He's mine George." George wants to ask Charles why he's here kissing George then but his thoughts are interrupted when Charles grabs his cock through his jeans. "You're hard George, do you want me?"  George does but at the same time, he feels almost embarrassed.

"You are very quiet George, you can kick me out." George kisses Charles again, this time it's softer their lips just brushing against each others. "No, I want to." Charles smiles, almost shark like and produces condom and lube from his pocket. The bastard planned this.

George sucks in a breath when Charles unpops the button on his jeans and eases them down with his boxer shorts, George's very hard cock springs free and slaps against his stomach. 

"Bend over." George does instantly, feeling exposed but turned on more than ever. Charles places a light slap onto the exposed ass cheek, not hard enough to leave a mark. Another shiver goes down his spine once he hears the lube cap opening.  

Charles wastes little time and he's far from gentle roughly pushing the first finger inside. George is moaning loudly from the brutal finger fucking. "Shut up George, Lewis is right next door." Charles covers Georges mouth with his hand and continues with the rough stretching until he's easily slamming four fingers in and out of the Brits hole! To say George is a withering mess would be an understatement.

Charles lets his fingers slide out and quickly puts on condom and takes George by the hips. George moans into Charles hand, the  Monegasque wastes no time and starts to furiously fuck him. George isn't sure if he's ever been fucked so rough and he'd never expect it from Charles but it's fucking amazing, he feels high through pure pleasure.

"Did you have Pierre moaning like this George?" George wants to make a cocky remark, how could he in an aeroplane bathroom? but Charles chooses that moment to slam into his prostate. Pure pleasure erupts over George's body as Charles hits it over and over again.

Charles grips him impossibly harder and slams into with all his might, George's prostate is taking a continuous battering, the pleasure is becoming too much and George can't hold on any longer. George screams into Charles' hand, seeing stars as his orgasm hits him hard and he's spilling his load over himself and the floor. Charles is growling as George's muscles contract tightly around his cock, practically forcing the orgasm from him. It's Charles that's too loud this time he moans loudly as he fills the condom inside of George.   

George falls to the floor boneless once Charles releases his hips. The Monegasque pulls up his pants and boxers and takes a step closer to the Brit. "Are you okay George?"

George forces himself up onto the shaky legs and pulls his own jeans and boxers up. "Yeah, better than ever." Charles smiles at him, softer this time. "I'm sorry George,  I don't know what got into me there, I just felt so jealous." The Brit just smiles back and shrugs his shoulders.

"If you ever feel jealous like that again, you know where to find me."   

[kitty-mactabbysh]

If Rain is What You Want

It's movie night and it's raining... should've been the perfect date. Except for one little detail: Ghost let all their popcorn burn.

Word Count: 979 (yayyyy)

And the song for the title being way too melancholic for the story itself but Idc, it's a bit of a writer's block exercise ^^"

The rain outside was soft, but it could still be heard as it hit the tiles of their shared home. Soap was comfortably snuggling up against Ghost, a blanket draped over them as they watched a random movie showing on the TV.

They didn’t even bother with picking something specific, as the point of the evening was, rather than entertainment, spending some time together. 

Ghost rarely enjoyed his leaves of absence, but whenever the Sergeant was with him, he didn’t even see the time pass. Before he knew it, to his own disappointment, they were back on active duty, the nights spent together all but a fond memory they would reminisce over dinner, or when they were alone.

“It’s fine, Simon.” Soap said for the third time since they sat down, a bowl of charred popcorn resting by his side, and he would, from time to time, take a careful fistful of the burnt food. “It’s just popcorn.”

The scowl on the blonde’s face deepened slightly, but he said nothing. It was his turn to make the popcorn for their movie night, and he got so distracted by Johnny, with reason, that he completely forgot all about it.

He remembered his eyes widening, clumsily getting himself off of Soap, speeding towards the kitchen while the Scot couldn’t stop laughing. They were lucky the smoke didn’t trigger the fire detector, which would have undoubtedly ruined their evening.

“Si.” Soap spoke again, his voice still carrying the same note of amusement it had ever since the incident happened. He lifted his head up, Ghost’s frown was still there. The Sergeant tried not to laugh at this, shifting on his seat so he could give his boyfriend a kiss on the cheek. “Simon, it was not your fault.”

“I know this, Johnny. Just let me pay attention to the fucking movie.” The sour comeback was expected. Ghost hated when he committed mistakes of any kind, especially the ones that would, in his head, make a fool out of him in front of the people he cared about. Soap had told him many times that it didn’t matter, but it didn’t erase the fact that he messed up.

Soap wasn’t worried, though. Simon’s tough act did not bother or scare him one bit. Undeterred by his boyfriend’s all consuming scowl, he kissed the Lieutenant again, on the lips this time.

He simply sighed, but said nothing.

Realizing that stealing kisses like this wouldn’t work as well as he hoped, Soap rolled his eyes, moving to adjust himself on the taller man’s lap, careful not to let the blanket fall on the floor.

“Bloody hell, Johnny!” Ghost finally said something, but didn’t stop the Scot from wrapping his arms around his neck, a small, tricky smile on his lips.

“Told you to stop fretting over this, Si.” He replied, his voice barely a whisper. “If you don’t, I will make you.”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, some amusement finally showing on his face.

“Really, now?” Ghost's tone lowered down to a more seductive one, a sweet defiance Soap knew and loved. “And how do you plan on doing that, exactly?”

Instead of replying like the good brat he was, the Scot pulled Ghost closer, who did not protest, and gave him a long, passionate kiss. He closed his eyes, drinking in the feeling of his boyfriend so close, the heat of his body, the big, surprisingly gentle hands on his waist, pulling him closer, craving his company… craving him, with just as much need as he craved the other.

Never in his life had John MacTavish dreamt of being so loved. Never had he cared so much about another person than he did Simon… who never truly had anyone he could say with confidence that he cared for.

“You know why it doesn't matter what you do, yeah?” He smiled, kissing the Brit again. “It's because I'm so in love with you… I don't care about anything else.”

Ghost chuckled softly, as he always did when he heard his boyfriend's declarations. Was he even worthy of so much love?

He leaned down slowly, kissing his boyfriend again and deeper this time around, pulling him closer before parting, a very serious look on his face.

“You wouldn't be saying this if the fire detector triggered.”

His lips curled up at the end of the sentence, completely breaking character and making Soap realize he was no longer mad about the whole situation.

The brunette clicked his tongue, but didn't argue. Chances were, if that happened, they would lose some furniture but he'd be laughing for weeks.

Poor Simon.

“Well, that would've been the fuck-up of the year if it happened.” He stated, fingers gently caressing the blonde's face. “I wouldn't tell anyone.”

“You'd tell Gaz.”

“Just him.”

Ghost laughed, resting his forehead against Soap's.

“Alright, I'd let that one slide. But if the rookies ever found out, there would be hell to pay for both of you.”

It was Soap's turn to laugh, head shaking a little in disbelief.

“Like I would expect anything different, love.”

He closed his eyes, resting his head on Ghost's chest.

The rain continued to pour outside, and the night would be a cold one, by the looks of it.

At base or inside a random safe house, that would’ve been a problem. But on leave, together like that? The weather was the least of their worries.

Johnny didn't even realize he fell asleep, body resting comfortably against Simon's, the movie they began watching became nothing more than background noise.

As for Simon himself, his eyelids were heavy with sleep, the rhythmic sound of Johnny's breathing became a soothing lullaby. And soon, forgotten by the world and away from all their worries, they could finally rest.

Together, as it was always meant to be, from the moment they first saw each other.

[dragonmuse]

hoookay, so like I said, still going to do I May Be Bad prompts, but here's how I envision the ending. Probably riddled with errors cause I'm half asleep.

CW: violence, blood, death

“Am I going to die?”

“Only if I die first.

Jim kept their promise. Even if it would be only by a matter of minutes. As Lucius cradled them close and laid a kiss on their forehead, he thanked them for it. 

“To the end, coyote,” he whispered, his breath starting to rasp in his chest. Fuck, he was tired. 

“Boss? Boss. Boss! LUCIUS!” Charlie’s voice was hot in his ear. “I’ve got back up on the way. Just stay put. FUCK! Luc! Please, please say something.” 

“The desk,” Lucius pressed his forehead to Jim’s. Was he crying? His eyes burned like might be. Then again everything felt like it was on fire. “In your office.” 

“My desk? You’ve got to stay with us, okay? Extraction is five minutes.” 

“Listen!” Lucius barked. Charlie fell quiet and Lucius drew in a shaky breath. “The right side drawer on the bottom. Your fingerprint will open it.” 

“What?” 

“It’s hard to see, but I trust you to find it.” His eyes closed against his will. Things were starting to get hard to grasp. "Last instructions."

“Lucius, you’re not dying,” Charlie said desperately. “Jim is going to pull through. They always do." 

“Not this time.” 

“Lucius...come on. Think about Izzy.” 

“Oh, I am. Tell him he was my last thought,” Lucius smiled fractionally. “Tell him....tell him that he’s finally free.” 

One Hour Earlier 

“Flip a coin?” Lucius leaned against the car. Jim was sitting on the hood. 

“For what?” 

“Which one of us stays behind.” 

“If you go in, I’ll follow you. If I go in, you’ll follow me,” Jim snorted. “What’s the point?” 

“It’s a trap.” 

“I know.” 

They stared up at the office building. For years, they had been apex predators. Lucius had forgotten how to feel afraid, so he didn’t now. What he felt instead, was annoyed. There should be a way to avoid all this. 

The facts of the matter were that a rival thieving group had moved in and for a long time, they had managed a tentative accord. The British Invasion, as Lucius liked to call them (the first leader, Alexander, had been from Liverpool, but the rest of them were a worldly group. The name just stuck), were a retired group of mercenaries. Mostly they'd been respectful of Lucius and Jim's territory, apparently uninterested. Or so they had said. It wasn’t that Jim and Lucius hadn’t kept an eye on them, but that over time there were so many places to put those very few eyes. 

It turned out being at the top of the food chain meant too many hands trying to pry you down. And the Brits had grown. And grown. 

Last week the Feds had shown up. For the first time in twenty years of expert jobs, whisper quiet and on no one’s radar,  they were being tailed day and night. They’d shut down nearly all their uncompleted jobs to get as boring as possible. 

“Far as I can tell,  Ludlow is feeding them intel,” Charlie reported miserably. 

“Our implant at the British Invasion?” Lucius had lowered his notebook. Jim had fingered the hilt of their knife. “He’s one of our best.” 

“What are they giving him?” Jim demanded. "How'd they turn him?"

“Just...more,” Charlie frowned at his papers. “More than we could afford to bribe one man with.” 

“More than we could?” Lucius asked incredulously. 

“I’ve only got a partial view on their financials, but it’s a real hoard and they’re not afraid to spend it to push out rivals.”  

“How?” Jim wove the knife through their fingers. 

“They’re international. They hid it well, but they’ve been laundering through a few countries. And they’ve got a strong leadership, no rivalry.” Charlie lowered his papers. “What do we do?” 

“Eat them from the inside out,” Lucius said, looking to Jim.  “Right?” 

“They turned Ludlow. How many people do we sink into them? How do we know they haven’t made all of ours?” Jim pointed out. “And the Feds are out there. Watching.” 

There were clever little plans. Ploys. Things that drew on years of expertise and evasion. Then there were negotiations. For the first time, Jim and Lucius ceded bits of their power. Just little things, but each one stung. 

Even with Ludlow cut out, leaks just kept springing and survelliance intensified. It got so they couldn't move with the Feds to the left, Brits to the right. 

“Listen,” the head of the Brits, some asshole named Nigel of all things, called them one night, Lucius and Jim crowded around a speaker. “We like how you run things. You’re smart. You come work for us, we make the Feds go away. You keep your offices.” 

“What’s the price?” Jim asked and Lucius had to turn his back away from the look on their face. 

“We get thirty percent of every job. Your staff is our staff, we move them around a little, make us all a big family.” 

They’d lose everything. Autonomy. Charlie. Read. Blue Toby. Allie.  People that remembered when they were snot-nosed teenagers and stuck by them.

And it was that or the Feds. 

“We need to discuss it,” Lucius rumbled. 

“Of course.” 

Jim hung up with a vicious jab. “So we run, right?” 

“To where?” Lucius had to turn back. Had to look them in the eye. “Where do we go?” 

“They want the business, so we give it to them.” 

“And then the Feds chase us. So we hole up in some non-extradition treaty place for the rest of our lives?” 

“So?” They challenged. “We’ll be alive.” 

“Fine. If you want to run, we run.” 

Easier said than done. Jim’s hatred of facial recognition software was proven correct. 

“Your faces are flagged,” Charlie had to explain. “Not me and Read, not yet. Not Izzy or Oluwande, but you two? No forgery is getting by that. I could down the software, roll the dice, but if it doesn’t work...” 

“Flagged for what? No one’s arrested us.” Jim paced the office. 

“They want to get us in public. With cash in hand,” Lucius groaned. “They want us to run so they can nail us with the most evidence on us. They’d get us right at Homeland Security.” 

“So they slow us down. We don’t bring anything with us, that’s what offshore banking is for,” Jim threw up their hands. 

“They’ve already got us,” Lucius stared blankly into space. “There’s something they’re confident about. They just want more when they nail us. Either they arrest us there for what they can prove, or they get some bonus material from what we try to leave with.” 

“So we go out another way.” 

But the ways were shut. The Brits had sealed the doors. All their contacts suddenly knew nothing. Worse, some of them quietly told them that they had been paid extra to collect information if they did show. The fact that they didn't was just a last gesture of fading respect. 

Two nights ago, Izzy had made lasagna and poured Lucius a second glass of whiskey. Lucius never drank more than one with dinner. He downed it, waited, and Izzy did ask, 

“What’s going on?” 

Lucius set the glass down carefully and didn’t answer. 

“Okay,” Izzy exhaled. “Okay. What’s the plan?” 

“Burn them to the ground.” 

"How?"

"I think you should go away for the weekend. Go camping," Lucius suggested. "You haven't been ages."

"Luc..." Izzy watched him helplessly.

"I've got it," Lucius leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Not to worry, darling. Just want to think of you out there doing your thing while I put in the hard work."

And Izzy, to Lucius' chagrin, had just listened and gone away. What could Lucius say to that? Perfect obedience and belief was what Lucius had asked of him.

For a brief, treacherous moment, Lucius had wished for the man he'd met all those years ago instead of the one that packed up a bag and held still for a goodbye kiss with a soft smile.

Jim and Lucius arranged the meet to begin their assimilation into the Brits. Glutted and pleased, the Brits had invited them into their inner sanctum with all their head leadership. 

So now here were Lucius and Jim, standing before the glass building. All they had was Charlie in their ears and Read as close as she could come on her bike without alerting sentries. At least an eight minute drive away. 

“I love you,” Lucius said to Jim. 

“Love you too,” they kept their eyes ahead of them. “Let’s fuck ‘em up.” 

At the door, they made no fuss about surrendering their guns and knives. Jim even pulled out the ankle holster helpfully. After a few test flicks, the meatheads let Jim keep their ancient lighter. 

“Sometimes I’m just dying for a smoke,” they said wryly. 

“I hear you,” the meathead nodded. 

The office was grand. Most of the head honchos were there to gloat. Lucius smiled at the meathead, who had walked him in, and gave him a friendly pat on the arm. 

“Very nice bunch you’ve got here,” he purred. “I’m sure we’ll work very very well together.” 

“I’m glad you’ve come around.” 

Lucius put his arm around Jim’s waist, gave them a quick half-hug. “We just want to do what’s best for everyone in the long run.” 

Paperwork came out like they were really going to write up this contract.  They got up close and personal. 

“What about this line?” Lucius tapped it. “You want us to run every decision we make by you? We’re not newbies, come on.” 

“But you’re impulsive. The body count, Spriggs,” Nigel clicked his tongue. “It’s embarrassing.” 

Jim clicked the pen and drew a little ‘X’ next to that line.  

“You can amend-” 

“No,” Jim sniffed. “I just like to have a place to aim.” 

Plastics made it through metal protectors and meatheads who liked to mash at a chest wouldn’t know shit about top surgery. The bomb landed on the ‘x’.  The gun Lucius had lifted for them was raised and pointed straight at it. 

“You’re going to let us back out of here or I will shoot that thing.” 

“Now now,”Nigel held up his hands. “This is what I mean by impulsive. If you hit that thing, you’ll be just as hurt. And you know the only way out of here is through walls of our people.” 

“You’re assuming we give a shit about out living you,” Jim bared their teeth. 

The other gun which Lucius had just casually hooked back out of their ridiculously flimsy lock boxes appeared in his hands. 

“Why would you blow yourselves up?” Nigel sniffed. “People like you will do anything to survive.” 

“Huh,” Lucius and Jim got back to back, making their way towards the door. “Jim, did you think about that when you wired the C4 around the building with a timer?” 

“I may have left enough time for us to get out. Can’t remember!” 

“Perimeter check!” Nigel screeched, scrambling for a radio. 

They got  to the door. Jim pulled the trigger. The bomb on the desk shattered outwards, but not before they made it the door. It had been a long time since they’d had to shoot their way out of a building. They were still good. Maybe even still great. But the odds had always been long. Jim took a shot to their right shoulder, switching to their less accurate hand. Lucius took one to thigh, grunting with the effort to walk after that. 

Inch by inch, body by body, they made it towards the front door. Already the fireworks show of explosions was going off. They didn’t have enough to bring down the building, but they would take out swaths of their people. It would gut their operations in this country, leave them sputtered and trying to catch a breath. 

If it had gone to plan, always a long shot, Jim and Lucius would’ve walked right out the front door. Charlie would call in a tip to the Feds, turning the explosion into evidence of terrorist planning on the part of British Invasion. It would’ve been a good smokescreen, given them just enough time to turn back a few contacts and at least get out. Take all their people and run. 

But it had always been a long shot. 

The British had a lot of loyal people with a lot of guns. Even falling debris and screaming wouldn’t deter them. 

It was with grim satisfaction that Lucius shot the man that got Jim in the head. Even grimmer that Jim got the man who shot Lucius despite being barely conscious. Grimmest pleasure of all that in the end, as they both crumpled down, there was no one left attacking them.  

“They won’t win,” Lucius told Jim as they bled out. “Everyone'll be safe. I kept my promise.” 

And Jim had kept theirs. They were gone.

By the time Read got there with the last of their loyal people, Lucius was beyond recognizing her.  He only knew the familiar flesh under his fingers  and deep down, a vast ocean of cold relief. He was tired, he realized, and it would be very nice to sleep. 

Three Months Later  

A cemetery on a nice day was like a park in sheep's clothing, Charlie thought inanely as he walked down the dirt path. Memory, carried him where he needed to be. He’d been here on the day of the internment. The only one there not digging the grave by very strict directions. He’d clung to those instructions like a lifeline. Still was clinging. But they ran out today. 

He wanted to walk slowly, but he was already late. Too many minutes spent sobbing in his car. It was the car Lucius had bought him for his thirtieth birthday and insisted he drive. Charlie never told him why he was afraid of driving and he wasn’t sure Lucius would’ve cared. Lucius word was law, so Charlie had gotten over it, eased by the pleasure of a beautiful machine. Now it had given him the luxury of a private place to weep.

At least having red-rimmed eyes was a normal look for a cemetery, even on a bright sunny day with the trees and grass all trying to out green each other. The directions carried him away from the main road, past countless plots At the end of a row, practically buried into the bordering treeline, there were two graves marked with a single low statue. A coyote with it's head resting on the neck of a hyena, curled beside each other in eternal sleep. 

Squatting down beside them. Charlie put a hand on each marble head. The stone held no warmth. No words.  The gravel crunched a few minutes later and he had to force himself upwards, to try to look normal. 

“You choose the statues?” Read asked, stepping beside him. 

“No. It was all laid out. Pre-paid too.” 

She nodded, eyes glued to the unusual memorial. “I still think it’s a trick sometimes.” 

“Me too,” Charlie barked a mirthless laugh. “Sometimes I wake up and I think I’ve heard him. Coming into my room, calling my name. Or I’ll see someone on the street from behind with that haircut and I’m sure it’s them.” 

“It could still be, couldn’t it?” She dropped into a whisper. “They were both so good at tricks.” 

“You can’t trick bullets,” Charlie tried to put on a smile. “You touched them. You saw.” 

“I know.” 

They waited silently after that. Oluwande arrived, dressed in teal instead of black. 

“It was their favorite color,” he said before Charlie could say a word. 

“Have you been doing all right?” Read asked. 

“No. You?” 

“No,” Read confirmed. “The memorial service at the bar was nice.” 

“You weren’t supposed to-” Charlie started. 

“I didn’t,” Read cut him off. “They live-streamed it for people that couldn’t get in, so I watched at home.” 

Though he couldn't bring himself to say it, Charlie had too. It was so odd. All those people turning up to remember people they’d never really known. Alma had presided over it and recited a poem about loss. Tears had been shed for a bartender and a drag king, who had existed in the same way puppets existed when hands played on their spines. They were mourning felt and styrofoam.

Still. It was a funeral in some way and Charlie had needed that. He’d gotten very drunk after though. 

“Thanks, we did our best. Hard to explain why there was no funeral for either of them. Everyone believed the car crash shit though,” Oluwande sighed. “Seems...trite.” 

“It was easy to make,” Read reminded him. “Not a hard story to keep straight either.” 

They kept chatting at each other and for a long string of horrible minutes, it occurred to Charlie that he might not show. He would. Of course he would...but what if he didn't? Panic started to spiral through him.

But at last a shadow detached from the treeline not far from the graves. His posture was still ramrod straight and he moved at a good clip. It had only been months, but Charlie could see how that short time had already aged him. Grief could do that. Charlie watched him hungrily. He wanted to run to him. Instead he stood his ground as Izzy, all in black, came to a stop at Charlie’s side. 

“Hi,” Charlie said quietly. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” Izzy had his eyes on the stones. He went down to his knees like Charlie had, but slower and stiffer. “Hello, husband.” 

Read made a distressed sound under her breath. She reached for Charlie’s hand and he took it, not willing to deny either of them the small comfort. Izzy bent his head and whispered something then very carefully got back to his feet. 

“All right. Tell us.” 

Charlie didn’t need to pull out paper or look at notes. He’d followed directions, including memorization. He closed his eyes and recited the letter, 

“Darling, you know by now I love to have the last word. To the crudest things first: you already know about the money. You can live out the rest of your life comfortably and never touch a dime of it, don’t think I never knew about all your little stashes. I hope you will touch it though. When you spend it, think of me giving you those luxuries.  

Before I say more to you, yes, Oluwande, I agreed to leave the bar and its building to you. Jim was quite insistent though I think Alma has put in the time at this point. I would recommend a partnership. But then again, I always will. They’ll have made their own provisions for goodbye, so I will say only:  Thank you for your friendship. It meant more to me than you might suspect. 

What a strange thing, death. It’s been on my mind lately though things are going very well.  It’s summer, gorgeous on the rooftop in full sun as I write this. We are stronger, more powerful than we’ve ever been. Maybe that’s why I want to do this now. To secure things for the day when we might feel the teeth in our neck.  I hope you all think of me like this instead of however things wound up if you’re hearing this. I hope you think of Jim in the sun too. 

We agreed to leave the business to Charlie and Read. They’re coming into themselves. They make a good team. 

Darling, my last request of you, is to mentor them some before you go. They could use some steadying words of wisdom. 

How do you end such a thing? I think I won’t. If death is goodbye, then I refuse to say it.” 

Charlie's throat ached, closing around the last words. 

“The business?” Read clutched his hand.  

“Yeah,” he said roughly. 

“I don’t want to know more,” Oluwande decided. “I’m going.” 

“But-” Read started then stopped. 

“Don’t come back to the bar,” he said, even as he hugged her. “Not any of you. All of this...I can’t anymore. I want to go back.” 

“There’s no turning back,” Izzy said quietly. “But fuck if I don’t want you to try.” 

“Thanks,” Oluwande gave him a hug too. Izzy even gave it back. “I already started talking with Alma about a partnership. Maybe we’ll change the name.” 

“To what?” Charlie watched him warily. 

“The Coyote,” Oluwande turned on his heels with one last wave. 

The three of the waited until he was out of sight. Then almost as one, Read and Charlie turned to Izzy. 

“Yeah, what?” he smiled faintly at the two of them. “What do you want?” 

“There were other letters in there. Things I mailed to Read. To Oluwande.” 

“To you?” Read guessed. 

“Yeah,” Charlie nodded. “One for me. Yours was the only one I had to read out loud here. Today.” 

“He guessed the Feds would give up by now and he was right. Haven't seen a van in days.” Izzy’s eyes weren’t red-rimmed. He wasn’t choked up. 

The gag order had descended as soon as the comms had gone quiet. Charlie had opened the drawer, hoping it had some amazing escape plan in it. Instead it was orders for silence, to scatter and lay low. To mail the letters (designed to look like boring insurance statements) and talk to no one. 

Three months of not seeing Izzy, of not having Lucius or Jim. Not even Read. He’d had to tell Alma to stop calling, that he needed to be alone to grieve. Through it all, Charlie had contented himself that at least Izzy might be equally devastated and lonely. Maybe when they met, they could grieve together at last. Maybe Charlie could even comfort him.  

“Are you even upset?” Charlie choked, then winced. “I’m sorry. That was a horrible-” 

“It’s fine,” Izzy reached for him, “sweetheart, it’s fine.” 

Charlie collapsed against him sobbing all over again while Izzy held him tight. Vaguely he was aware that Read was rubbing his back, and she had her own quiet tears, coming out in wet snuffling noises. 

“I’ll make them proud,” he vowed. “I’ll do whatever it takes to rebuild it. We will.” 

Izzy drew back, grasping Charlie’s arm. “Do you really want it?” 

“I-” Charlie started and stopped. He looked at Read, who frowned, equally confused. “It’s the business.” 

“Yeah,” Izzy lifted his eyebrows. “It’s just a fucking business. What do you need? Money? Power?” 

“It’s what he asked of us,” Charlie said blankly. “He gave me instructions.” 

“Me too,” Read agreed. “Very clear ones.” 

“I will love that man until the day I die too,” Izzy caught Read’s gaze, then Charlie’s, “but he’s not here now. And I fucking refuse to mentor you two.” 

“Why?” Read sounded crushed. “Don’t you think we can do it?” 

“Do what?” Izzy shook his head. “Do you want to be what they were in the end?” 

“You loved him,” Charlie insisted. “You always did.” 

“You can love someone and hate them at the same time, did you know that?” Izzy glanced down at the hyena. “You can spend hours thinking about that. How you would do anything they’d ask because you worship them, but you’d also tear the heart of them if it wouldn’t stop yours from beating too.” 

“Iz,” Read stared at him. “How long did you feel that way?” 

“Decades,” he smiled faintly at her. “Not all the time. Not even most of the time. But there were moments. And now he’s left me before I could do anything about it.” 

“Would you have?” Charlie’s world, already in rubble, crumbled further around him. 

“No. Maybe,” Izzy considered. “No. Probably. But the chance was always there. So all I have now is to finally say no to him. I won’t stand around while he makes you further in his image from beyond the fucking grave. Enough. No more, Lucius.” 

The last he said to the statue as if it could hear him. 

“What will you do?” Read asked, childlike. 

“I’m going to find some place warm and quiet. Live out the rest of my days looking at the ocean.” 

“Oh.” 

“But I keep thinking,” Izzy went on, “that the house could be big. There could be extra chairs on the beach.” 

“You want us to go with you,” Charlie realized. “To just...leave?” 

“What about Anne?” Read asked. 

“You can’t be serious!” Charlie turned to her. “That’s what you’re asking?” 

“Yeah, Charlie, that’s what I’m asking,” she smiled faintly at him. “I’ll never want for anything again with what they left me. Anne either. So if the choice is stay here, build up a business that I never even really understood, looking over my shoulder in case someone starts to pay attention again or just...not. I’m gonna go with not.” 

“Of course Anne can come, if she’s willing to cut ties,” Izzy assured her. 

The business could be run with one person. There were options if he wanted to bring in someone else even. He could cut away the most dangerous parts. Go back to the start and run simple jobs that just needed his con man smile and quick fingers. 

Lucius would love that, in his own way: Charlie as his perfect apprentice slowly assuming the role of the master. Maybe he could get it right this time and ride it all the way to the end. 

Or maybe....maybe Lucius had thought of this too.  After all, the letter had been written years ago.

Tell him that he’s finally free. 

Not just for Izzy, maybe. 

One day, Charlie would have to tell Izzy what Lucius had said at the end. Not the horrible, fractured inane sentences about thirst and cold that had stuttered out in the long minutes before Read got there. Just those last smirking words, the ones clearly meant to be the last. 

“Charlie?” Read nudged him. 

“Okay,” he nodded slowly. “Yeah, fuck it. Okay.....we’re free. We’re in the fucking wind.” 

Two minutes later, there was no sign anyone had visited the graves at all, except for a single yellow fruit. The lemon rested at the feet of the hyena, just under the coyote’s peaceful smile.

[danepopfrippery]

I cant get over a reply to my take that Stede’s sweetness to Ed isnt patronizing, its meant to be besties sharing soft things with each other. The person said Stede treated Ed and his crew as an asshole colonizer specifically teaching Ed fine dining. Like brah if thats your take block me now cuz I cant even.

I can disagree w ppl on silly shit (steddyhands say) but when you weaponize a whole major set of plot points as whypipo when thats clearly not what it is, just go back to twitter. I think almost every script had at least one poc contributing to it. They never seem to know that. (And yes holy fuck would a colonizer be common irl and irl stede bonnet was an asshole and slave owner no argument).

As for the fine dining lessons: Ed ASKED for uppercrust lessons! Ed, mr ‘skin him with the snail fork’ sat there and genuinely wanted to learn. Ppl who think about skinning w snail forks dont generally stand for patronizing shit.

In fact Ed wanted to go to the French party cuz fine things and it was a chance to work on what Stede had taught him (and remember it wasnt one sided, Ed was teaching him shit too) and Stede didnt want to go!!! But he went! Cuz Ed wanted to! And when they insulted Ed be burned them to the ground.

As for the crew on face value id agree he was patronizing. But thats as lazy as the yummy soap take. It has been said by Rhys and others Stede saw this as a chance to play w friends he basically paid to spend time w him. They were all free to go.

And what stands out to me is several times we are shown Stede thinks of them as equals. When Lucius says only the two of them can read hes shocked by that. Never dawned on him most of them would be illiterate. Yes hes dumb (illiteracy was extremely common back then) but that says to me he never thought of these ppl are lower class than me.

He pays them, he feeds them, he added a bunch of rooms just to spoil them (u cant tell me the jam room was for his kids when the harpsichord is in his cabin). He plans little activities to keep them happy and doesnt MAKE them do anything (or punish them if they dont). He tried to talk Black Pete into sewing but never forced him. Instead of picking a fav flag he hung all of them cuz he cares about them (who else would do that cmon?!)

They only decide not to kill him cuz he can do the voices in the stories right. They love bedtime stories! Again its not forced or punished if not. Same for pickleball etc.

But the biggest one to me is what ppl grab onto just on the surface. We know racism, slavery and homophobia do all exist in this universe and we whiff it right away in ep 1. Yes the poc staff is relegated to playing servants but we werent shown who decided that (id bet frenchie cuz he knows rich assholes and u dont want to piss off the british navy).

Stede only went for that ship to make his crew like him, and only brought Badminton and co onboard to save everyone from the british navy. He immediately takes everyone into his room and dishes out outfits and fake names/backstories. This includes everyone poc and white.

How the fuck do u reckon that man had an outfit that fit not only Oluwande but Wee John?! Perfectly might i add. Its never shown what happens after only Olu still being in costume after they send the lone survivor back. Im making a leap ill agree but me thinks he had that shit custom made for his crew esp cuz a few of them had complimentary pieces. And there is no good reason that man would have something for someone as tall and large as Wee John.

The Brits dont start being shitty tip after Stede and the captain leave. At which point Jim, Black Pete and several others attack. They have no time for that shit and Stede never argues about it later. In fact he had a plan to send the beheaded bodies and lone survivor back.

And then theres the fact later Stede has a matching set of tailored suits for him, Lucius and his fuckin prisoner!!! I mean it was his idea to do that, and he had the clothes. When he meets Ed properly he doesnt even hesitate to show him his pretty clothes or share them. They stay in each others clothes all night.

In fact i looked this up and ur average wealthy man had 4 sets of clothes in this time period. Stede is obviously obsessed w clothing. Your average person was lucky to have two sets if even. Those outfits had to cost an insane amount of money even for a wealthy man.

If u were truly a classist, colonist asshole u wouldnt be doling out thousand dollar outfits like candy.

I could go on but i think what makes fake Stede endearing as a character is he is genuinely happy to make friends. And he never seems to view them lesser whether it be race or class. I just cant agree.

[loveforpreserumsteve]

A Whole New Ballfield: "ALN" Story (Pre-Serum Omega!Steve and Alpha!Bucky Modern Domestic AU)

Twenty-Five:

Ding-dong!

Being on the other side of things for this bris, Steve worried that he potentially just woke his son and grandson. He really hoped that he didn't though. Especially since they deserved to get as much rest as possible. Even more so when he knew how – what's the word – mean – yeah, that works – his son could get mean when sleep deprived. And that was the last thing he wanted to happen today.

Waiting, Steve listened closely to see if there was any movement inside of the townhouse. He couldn't tell, and he hesitated to ring the doorbell again. After all, he also didn't hear a baby crying. And he really didn't want to wake Rory up.

"What's the holdup?" Bucky asked, joining him on the porch, carrying the oatmeal bake that Steve made for the brit milah brunch.

"Should I ring the doorbell again?" Steve asked, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

"Unless you wanna use the emergency key," Bucky offered, reaching for the keys in his pocket.

"No, it's for emergencies," Steve dismissed, reaching out to ring the doorbell again. Hoping that it wouldn't wake Roo.

Ding-dong!

This time, Steve could hear footsteps approaching the front door. As the deadlock was unlocked and the chain lock was undone, Steve fixed a grin on his face. And when Rhodey pulled the door open, the sleep deprived alpha seemed relieved to find his fathers-in-law.

"Rough night?" Bucky joked, taking in the younger man's disheveled appearance.

Elbowing his husband, Steve asked, "Did we wake you?"

"Yes and no," Rhodey shrugged, moving to the side so the older couple could enter his home. "I set an alarm, but slept through it."

Steve nodded, understanding. As he and Bucky slipped and shrugged out of their outerwear, Steve insisted, "Well, go get some more sleep. I'm just going to pop this in the oven."

"I don't know," Rhodey yawned, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck.

"You need me to tuck you in?" Bucky half-joked. Offering, "I could even read you a story."

Much louder than he probably intended, Rhodey barked out a laugh. Steve couldn't help but smile. Until he heard the shrill cry of his grandson cut through the silence that followed the baby's father's laughter.

"Fuck," Rhodey muttered, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Admitting, "He just got to sleep."

"Oh, no," Steve sympathized, having been there and having done that.

Then, a sour note in Ollie's scent announced his presence. Rushing downstairs towards the entryway, he held a crying Rory while crying, himself. It caused that protectiveness rooted deep in Steve's very being to spark with new life.

"Oh, squirt," Bucky consoled, marking his broad shoulder before marking over Rory's back.

"I jus–" Ollie hiccupped "–ust can't."

While Rhodey held out his arms to take his son from his husband, Steve knew that both of them deserved a few more minutes of sleep. So, Steve suggested, "Why don't you give Rory to pappy? You know he's the baby whisperer."

"That's true," Bucky agreed, handing the oatmeal bake to Steve so he could extend his arms towards the still-crying baby.

Weakly, Oliver joked, "You are boring enough to put someone to sleep."

"I'm gonna let that slide," Bucky teased, situating Rory in his arms so he'd be more comfortable.

Setting the bris dish down on the bench, Steve herded his son and his son-in-law back upstairs. Instructing the pair, "Take a shower. Sleep for a little bit. Dad and I will take care of everything until it's time for you to get ready. You don't have to worry about a thing."

"Pops, you don't gotta do that," Rhodey argued, but yawned again.

"It's fine," Steve assured the alpha. Guiding him to the king size bed. Being careful of the nest that had been created there. When Rhodey laid down, he yawned once again and his eyelids fluttered closed, Steve pulled a comforter over him. And Steve was glad that his son-in-law didn't fight him off, but now he had to deal with his headstrong, stubborn son.

"C'mon," Steve led the omega towards the ensuite. "All you need is a nice shower. Or a bath. I could run one for you. How does that sound, squirt?"

More tears fell from Oliver's puffy, tired eyes. When the cries turned into sobs, Ollie covered his now-blotchy face and just stood in the middle of the master bathroom.

"Oh, c'mon now," Steve comfortingly rubbed Ollie's back, marking him occasionally.

"I don't know if I can do this," Ollie sobbed. "All he's been doing is crying."

Steve wiped the younger omega's tears from his freckled face as he assured, "That's what babies do. He's going to cry. And he's going to cry a lot."

"But it fe-els like he's cry-crying bec-because of me-e," Oliver continued.

There were tears building in his own eyes, but that didn't stop him from heading for the tub. Leaning over so he could start the bath, Steve let his son cry because sometimes adults needed to cry too.

"I mean, am I doing something wrong?" Ollie questioned, trying his best not to hiccup. "He never wants to fall asleep for me. And he only seems to like me when he's eating. And I –"

"Sweetie," Steve rubbed over his arms as though he was trying to warm his shivering body, "He loves you. You're his papa. Besides, that's how I felt with you at this age, and you love me, don't you?"

Weakly, Ollie nodded, "Yeah, of course, I do."

"See," Steve assured, retrieving the lavender bubble bath. "Just because he's being a newborn doesn't mean that he doesn't love you. Because he does. He loves you so much!"

"You promise?" Oliver sniffled, looking extra sad with the dark circles under his red and puffy eyes.

Cradling Ollie's face in his hands, Steve leaned forward to kiss his son's forehead, "I promise."

With fresh tears in his eyes, Ollie wrapped Steve in a tight embrace while the younger man scented him. Steve could feel his own tears rising to the surface because he understood what his son was going through. Postpartum was no joke, with or without depression added to it. And it didn't seem that long ago since Steve had gone through this, himself.

Pulling back, Steve wiped Oliver's tears once more and instructed, "Now, you take some Me Time, and dad and I will take care of everything downstairs. Okay?"

Ollie nodded and started to relax, "Thanks, pops."

"Of course, squirt," Steve smiled. Standing on his tiptoes once more so he could kiss his son's forehead.

As he exited the master bathroom, Steve made sure to exit the bedroom as quietly and as quickly as possible, not wanting to disturb his snoring son-in-law. When he at last made it to the first story of the house, Steve was relieved to find the oatmeal bake in the oven and his husband cuddled on the couch with their grandson.

Joining the pair on the sofa, Steve was transported to his memories. Especially when Bucky leaned over to give him a sweet, tender kiss, all while the baby snoozed comfortably against his strong, broad chest. And when Bruce headbutted Steve's hand, he couldn't help giving some love to the cat. All the while, feeling like the thirty year old he used to be.

[rotting-creation]

friendly reminder that not only did communism and socialism not work, but it is also INCREDIBLY insensitive to many people in countries that are/were communist and had to ESCAPE, not emigrate but ESCAPE the country so that they had better lives.

sure, capitalism is also shit and I wish that we could live in a society where everyone was equal and no one was filthy rich.

and not the 1% btw, the one percent isnt actually fully rich. 1% of people is still in the millions to ten millions, these are usually higher middle class/working class people. for context, according to this, 0.5% of adults in the united states identify as trans, while 1.4% of young people identify as trans. And we know, as a society, that there are MILLIONS of trans people, so if trans people are only in the lower percentages, then maybe the one percent isnt as small as you'd think. The real, filthy rich people are in the 0.0001% of the population. and that number is so small it's often harder to tax. The problem is that these people earn more than the entire rest of the population.

The problem with communism and socialism? you are putting everything into the hands of the government. Communism is a dictatorship. And in most countries with dictatorships, they're not only never truly evenly spreading money, rather distributing most to a select few and leaving almost all of the rest poor; but as it's a dictatorship, most of the time (if not all) they ban things like religion - ALL religions, not just judaism, islam, sikhism, paganism or other religions, but also religions like catholicism, and all versions of christianism. not to mention homosexuality, being trans, alternative, as well as A LOT of media censorship. People in countries like that often get KILLED for saying anything against the government. Communism isn't your gay little perfect society fantasy that you want it to be, it's just as much if not even more of a dystopian hellscape.

please PLEASE look into what happens/happened in countries that are/were communist. And please, consider why so many people in these countries struggle/struggled, why so many die/died, why so many starve/starved. There is a reason it doesn't work. Be considerate of the survivors and sufferers. The people that push this want you to believe that it'd be a perfect little life, nothing ot worry about because it's what everyone wants. Everyone wants a perfect little life to enjoy. That is propaganda, do not listen. Any time someone says they have something to make society 'perfect' they are usually wrong, there will always be problems in society. We can only do our best to make these problems less prevalent, but problems can never be fully eliminated.

I am not, however, saying that we should go into a fully capitalist society either. We can also very clearly see how that's going wrong, with the lack of healthcare in the USA and things like that.

(Side note from a brit, wtf USA? everytime we hear about how you guys have it and how normal it is i just think like wtf, that's normal? like sure the NHS is being fucked over, but at least we have some form of healthcare. you guys are really living in a dystopian nightmare, not just healthcare but everything else as well.)

in my opinion, the true solution is a mix of the two, mix the parts that work to eliminate the parts that don't. Tax the mega rich more. Bezos and musk and all those people do NOT deserve as much money as they have. take those taxes and give the poor free healthcare, housing and basic necessities, better and cheaper education for everyone. Sure in these societies you'll still have the rich, but the rich will be less rich and the poor less poor. You have a more even playing field, which helps to also break the cycle of poverty. Just look a bit at germany or even the UK, yes we have our own societal problems, but the USA is just SO much worse in comparison. I am also fully willing to civilly discuss these opinions, also if anything isn't clear or you want me to go more into depth, I am also very willing to/

(side note, your opinions should ALWAYS be changing, they're formed by facts. Learning new facts should make you either just add another building block to the building, or if it doesn't really fit, maybe re-evaluate your building and find a new place for the block to go. Or just throw it in there and acknowledge that your building has it's faults and problems. You can't just chuck a block to the side and claim that your foundations are the sturdiest when they are so obsolete that they are almost crumbling to dust.)

But when you're living in a society where if you're puking your guts out, you just deal with it and hope you don't die because the hospital bills are gonna leave you in eternal debt; a country where just getting an education puts you in life debt, i'm not too surprised that people are craving radical change. That they look for any way out.

also fun fact, finland was just GIVING the homeless houses, and guess what? when people don't have to worry about their next meal, if they're gonna live through the winter, they can finally start worrying about working and build a happier and better life. SUCH a big shock /s