#he's scottish and no one can tell me otherwise

[sonicsquid3000]

Broken Wings: Broken Spirit

Broken Wings AU is back! This is part two to "Broken Wings: Broken Mind" Not much of an introduction this time around just the classic fanfic warning. This is non canon and things can and will be inaccurate. This AU and fanfic will also use my MC, Belle Thompson. And as always, there will be grammatical errors. Lastly, if you really like this fanfic, please feel free to repost! it would mean a lot. With that being, It's fanfic time! TW: Violence, blood, and death (a bit descriptive)

Part 1 (thank you @ithseem for teaching me how to link)

*Three years later*

"No! Please! Spare me! I beg you!" The man cried. The air was filled with a stiff, deafening silence that was only broken periodic clicking of William's boots as he walked towards the poor man. "Tell me Andrew, is that what the children said as you forced them to over work in unsafe conditions?" The froze and shuddered in fear from Williams line of question. His eyes darted ever so slightly in panic. "I-I-" "Did You listen to their pleas?" William asked, his words filled with a hint of venom. "Please! I can change! I'll be better! I'll-" "I'm afraid it's too late for that Andrew. I've already made my verdict. I find you...." William walked up close to the groveling man and leaned up close to his ear. "..... guilty." He moved back to look down upon him. The man looked up in pure horror as he saw William. He gave a cruel, wicked smile that would make even the devil shudder. "No! Please!" the man begged. William gave the man a knife. "Slit your throat. Slowly." With that command, no matter how hard the man struggled and tried to free himself, he could not stop himself. The knife pressed into his skin until it pierced through. With one, slow motion of the blade, he began to make a messy, agonizingly long cut along his throat. With each inch of skin being sliced open, blood pooled out from him, falling to the ground and covering his body in it. The man tried desperately to scream for help, but was unable to as he choked and gargled until the he finally fell limp and lied in a pool of his own blood.

William smiled in satisfaction of his work. He called forth his men to clean up the crime scene and walked away to reach his coach. As the man stepped outside, he stopped as he noticed it was beginning to rain. He smiled bitter sweetly. He had always loved the rain, but it now he didn't feel the same amount of joy or freedom he felt in it as he used to. It never did feel the same. Not since his little robin flew away. He returned back to reality and stepped inside the coach as it drove off to the castle. As they proceeded to approach closer to the castle, Williams curiosity began to grow. Victor said that when everyone was done with their respective missions, he had a very important announcement. For what, he was unsure. He did seem to be very excited about it though. When the coach finally made it the entrance of the castle, William stepped out and went straight away to the dinning room where their meetings typically take place. Everyone except Victor was present, impatiently waiting.

"Ugh! Whens the old man gonna get here?! He had the nerve to call for a meeting and doesn't even show up!" Jude growled. Liam sighed. "I have to agree with Jude on this. It's beginning to get quite boring." Elbert then yawned "I'm beginning to grow a bit tired of waiting" "Me too. I wonder what had gotten Victor so excited about?" Ellis questioned. "Well, what ever it is, I say if he's not here in the next ten minutes, we leave" Harrison suggested. "Now, now. Let's not be so impatient here." William reasoned. "Ha! easy for you to say. Ya just got here." Jude scoffed. "Well then, Roger, can you tell us if Victor is on his way here?" William asked. "Hm, I don't think so. It sounds like he's talking to someone, though he hasn't said much and I can't hear the other person speak." Roger said. "He might be talking to one of the maids then." Ellis suggested. "He's wasting all of our time just to talk to some maid?! That's it! I'm leaving!" Jude said as he was about to get up. "Wait!" said Roger. "I hear him coming this way." "Tch, it's about time." Jude scowled.

"Ah! I'm so glad to see my darling cursed boys here today!" Victor cheered. "Ugh! Save yer cheerin' and tell us why we're here?" Jude grumbled. "Oh my! Someone's very impatient. Well, I won't keep you all waiting for long. I have an important announcement to make!" Victor said. "Oh, and what is that?" Liam perked up. "We have new member joining Crown today!" Everyone was who was once tired was now very intrigued. "Allow me to introduce you to Raven!" Victor stepped aside to reveal a person dressed in all black, covered with various holsters along their legs, arms, and chest. They were dressed in simple finery with a black hood that looked very capable of combat. But what really set this stranger apart from everyone was their mask. They wore a black plague mask that hid their features. Despite the strangers short height, there was something about them that unsettled the group. Especially William. He didn't like how he couldn't see their face, read their expression, make some sense of them. For the first time, he met some who was a closed book and he couldn't read it.

"They will be officially starting their position tomorrow after noon." Victor said. Liam bounced off his seat and walked up to greet the stranger. "Oh my. Raven was it? Tell me, What your curse." Liam preened. Raven just there stood there, staring at the cat like man. Liam leaned away from them, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "I'm afraid Raven doesn't really talk to anyone. To answer your question my dear Liam, they don't have a curse." Victor answered. Jude scoffed "So yer tellin' us this pipsqueak is deaf but also doesn't have a cur-" Jude was interrupted by a knife that by uncomfortable close to his face. Raven's hands began to move. "I can hear just fine. And I don't need a curse to kill." they signed in sign language. "Raven here is a remarkable assassin and is quite stealthy. I believe they'll make a remarkable addition to crown." Victor smiled as he rested a hand on Raven's shoulder. "But Victor, isn't the whole point of Crown that we're all cursed people with some sort of unnatural ability?" Harrison asked, tilting his head. "Very true Harrison, but I believe we can make an exception here. Besides, our mission is to fight evil with evil. And after seeing Ravens capabilities, I think they're a perfect fit for crown. After all, we can never bee to short of assassins." Victor smiled. Everyone at the table was very confused.

William however got up and walked to Raven. "Well, curse or no curse, I would like to humbly welcome you to Crown Raven." William outstretched his hand to raven. They just simply stared at him and his out stretched hand. "I'm going to retire for the night" Raven signed. "Ah! Splendid idea Raven. I think we should all get some sleep for an exciting day tomorrow. I will take Raven to their quarters. You all gets some sleep for tomorrow." Victor smiled. With that, everyone was dismissed. As everyone made their way out of the dinning room, William looked back at the mysterious person. There was something about them that just off about them, but he could place his finger on it.

***

Victor took Raven to the highest point of the castle that rarely anyone went up to. This was to be they're new "quarters" of sorts. "Are you sure all of this is alright? You won't feel uncomfortable here?" Victor signed as they signed the rest of their conversation. "Victor, you're worrying too much again." signed Raven. "I know. I'm just worried if you'll be alright with keeping this secret for so long. Besides, last time you saw someone murdered you-" Raven stopped Victors hands. "Victor, it's been three years. A lot has happened. I can take care of myself." Raven reassured him. They lowered their hood and took of their mask. "Some things have changed after all these years." Victor smiled sadly at the response. "I know." He sign. As he was about to leave the room, he turned back to the old friend. "Good night Belle. Sweet dreams" With that, Victor left her to be in her new room.

[loveindefinitely]

01 — 𝘎𝘖 𝘈𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘋 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘊𝘙𝘠, 𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘓𝘌 𝘎𝘐𝘙𝘓

༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, virgin reader, corruption kink, slight power imbalance, praise, degradation, light dom/sub, slight daddy kink, oral, vaginal sex, your father's a dick, very minor soapghost, aftercare

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

Stay in your room, your father had said. Don't bother us tonight, your father had said. They are dangerous men that do dangerous things, your father had said.

Yet, here you were, standing at the bottom step of the stairwell, hiding behind the wall adjoined to the living room, listening in to the men on the other side.

You were bored out of your brains. It was a Friday night, and like hell was your over-protective father going to let you go out or party. And the fact that he wouldn't even introduce you to his only friends? Or let you leave your fucking room?

It had left you pissed off to no end, so.

Here you were.

"Bloody close," you hear a voice grunt, deep and gravelly. It sends heat to your stomach immediately, and it's almost embarrassing.

You hear the sound of a hand slapping a shoulder, and the bark of a laugh. "Aye, still got the cash you're gonna owe me?" This voice has a -- Irish? Scottish, maybe? -- lilt to it, humour and kindness embedded into its layers.

"He'll find a way outta paying," a third voice chimes, laughter in its tone.

Someone else clears their throat. "You're all gonna get yourselves indebted to each other at this rate," a fourth voice says, sounding almost resigned.

"You all need to shut the fuck up before she sticks her nose down 'ere."

Your spine straightens, and fury simmers in your blood. Did he have to be such an asshole? Why was your father so... so anti your existence? Why was he so ashamed of you, yet so overbeating?

"She's not a kid anymore, you really oughtta to lay off," the man with the scottish accent says, slightly stern in his delivery.

"If you met her, you'd understand how fuckin' annoying she is. Always wants me to deal with her emotions, as if they're my fuckin' problem," your father replies venomously. Your stomach has dropped to your feet, you're sure of it.

There's a low whistle in response, and a silence settles behind the wall. An unsettling one, full of animosity. The fact that you can tell that from behind the wall says a lot.

"I'm gonna go out and get some drinks. Maybe some dinner. Needa get out of this fuckin' house for a bit," your father says with a grunt, sounding like he's gotten up from the couch. "Call if you lot need anythin' while I'm out."

A few grunts of agreement, and after a few seconds, the front door opens and slams shut.

You let out a small breath of tense relief, eyes fluttering shut as you deeply exhale. The immediate relief of having your father out of the house is immense.

"I feel bad for her," you hear the third man speak, voice quiet and low. "You hear how he speaks about her -- what's he like with her?"

"Gaz, whatever you're thinkin', drop it," the first speaker grits out, impatient and tight.

"He's right," the scottish one says with a huff, "Poor kid. She's legal and he isn't letting her out on a Friday night? 'Nd he fuckin' wonders why she's upset."

"He must have his... reasons," the fatherly voice of the fourth speaker says, although his tone says otherwise.

You swallow, slowly creeping off of the bottom step and onto the wooden floors. Front pressed to the wall, you move just the slightest bit, to allow yourself a small peak into the loungeroom.

There are four men, like you'd expected, and they're...

They're big. There's no other word that comes to mind, except for big. Tall, broad, packed with muscle. Military-grade men.

Your mouth is suddenly parched of any moisture, and your brain turns to putty.

Selfishly, stupidly, you spend another dangerous moment to admire the four. The couch curves, the four of them seated on it, facing the TV hung on the wall. They're backs are to you.

Or.

One second, they're all blissfully turned the other way, and in the next, one's head turns, and deep brown eyes meet yours.

Your eyes go wide, and you immediately dart for the stairs, heart in your throat.

Rushing up, trying to stay quiet but still hurrying, you make it to your room in record time. You shut the door behind you, chest tight and breaths harried as your back presses to the wood.

Stupid, stupid girl, you think.

They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.

That's what your father had said, wasn't it? So what were you thinking, risking a look? For what purpose?

Then, there's a knock on your door.

Your eyes go impossibly wide, and your lips purse together as you slowly move away from the door. With one breath, you train your face into a pleasant, kind smile as you slowly open the door, only allowing a bit of your room to be shown.

"You're his daughter, ain't ya?"

You have to crane your neck, eyes going up, and up, and up, until you meet the man's eyes.

The skull balaclava shouldn't cause your face to heat, or your breaths to quicken, but they do.

"I -- um, yes, I'm really sorry for eavesdropping," you mumble, eyes flitting to the floor and hand squeezing the door in an anxious gesture.

A hand grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to meet the man's chocolate eyes once more. They're imploring, impossibly so, and your thighs squeeze together against your better judgement.

"Come watch the game with us," he says, and although the sentence isn't a demand, it feels like one.

So, like the good girl you are, you nod, his grip loosening as you do.

You forget that you're in your tiniest sleep shorts and your thinnest tank top as you follow him down the stairs, his large hand resting on your lower back.

This was the most touch you'd ever felt from a man that wasn't in a familial way, and your nerve-endings feel like they've been electrocuted.

Whatever conversation that was happening silences as soon as the two of you walk into the lounge room, your hands squeezing each other painfully tight.

Your anxiety was warranted in this situation, wasn't it? Surely, it was okay to be scared of four men whom you'd never met.

Four sets of eyes are trained to your body, and there's a slight tremble in your hands as you sit in the spot balaclava had gestured towards.

It seats you in the middle of the four of them, and your heart beats impossibly faster as you settle into the leather, feeling so small in comparison to the men surrounding you.

It's a new, albeit not entirely terrible, feeling.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" The man furthest to your left asks, and when you meet his eyes, they're warm and kind. His lower face is mostly covered in a beard, and he's wearing a light brown hat.

You bite at your inner cheek, gaze flicking back to your thighs as you weakly say your name.

Their gazes burn your skin, like a living force, and your hands form nervous fists in your lap. The warm yellow light of the living room lamp creates a warm, safe ambience that doesn't exactly fit the emotions swirling inside of you.

You flinch only slightly when a warm hand moves to rest on your knee, the thumb rubbing comforting circles on it that ease your tight muscles slightly.

When you look to the owner of the hand, it's to see a warm grin and a faux mohawk.

"You're so tense, lass," he says, his mouth quirking into a knowing smirk. "We don't bite."

"Don't speak for all of us, Soap," the man sitting on your close left says with a charming grin, his eyes meeting yours when you turn to him. "I'll ask nicely, love, don't worry."

You nod, slowly, in some sort of trance. This entire situation doesn't feel entirely real, more like a figment of your deepest desires.

Ones you've never let yourself think about, except for the darkest of nights and the dirtiest of feelings.

"Don't scare the girl," the man with the balaclava says, eyes narrowing on the two men beside you.

"Says the one with the fuckin' mask, ya weirdo," the scottish one says with a scoff of a chuckle. Your mouth pulls into a soft grin without you realising, and the hand on your knee tightens ever so slightly.

"I'm Price," the man who you've deemed the most sensible of the group says with a warm smile. His head gestures to each of the other three men respectively. "That's Gaz, Soap, and Ghost."

You can't say that you're all too familiar with the names, nor how...different they are, but you nod nonetheless, reserving the names in your memory.

"Father dearest never talked about us?" Gaz asks, eyebrows softly furrowing in question.

You shake your head, almost apologetic in the movement. "He doesn't like to tell me much, he's, ah... private."

There's a few returning grunts of understanding, and they settle your nerves just a little bit more. For men of their size, they were surprisingly good at keeping you feeling safe and comfortable.

"What're you doin' all alone on a Friday night? Pretty young thing like you, 'nd you're not at a club? A date?" Soap asks, and if you notice that he's moved just the slightest bit closer to you, you don't say a word.

You feel your face heat, and you murmur out your reply. "Never been to either," you admit, pulling at a thread in your sleep shorts with nervous jerks.

Ghost settles further into his chair, legs spread in an almost dominant way. "Surely you've at least had your first kiss?"

If you could get anymore embarrassed, you're sure you'll combust on the spot.

You softly shake your head.

"Aw, love, you're adorable," Gaz says, a hint of a smirk on his features. His dark eyes glimmer in the light, and you lick your bottom lip to wet it.

Price's arms rest on his knees, and his eyes seem trained on you, debating some sort of inner conflict, before they firm with some kind of resolution. "Y'know, we've been training rookies lately," he states, but with a knowing undertone that everyone in the room seems to pick up on except for you.

"That we have," Ghost says, his voice sending shivers down your spine as he nods in agreement with Price.

"How about we train you, bonnie?" Soap asks, his hand moving just the slightest bit higher on your thigh.

You swallow, mouth dry.

"Um. Like, train me... how?" You ask, although there's some part of your brain that knows all too well what area they're thinking of.

Gaz's hand moves to sit at the nape of your neck, stroking in soothing movements that leave your eyes half-closed and glassy. "How about I show you how to kiss, love?"

Your stomach hollows, and your chest rises and falls in heavy beats. Nervously looking around the room, you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod shortly.

Soap's hand tightens around your thigh, a barely hidden warning. "Words, baby, or you're goin' back to your room."

The threat instantly has words flying out of your mouth. "Yes. Please. Just... be gentle?"

All four men seem to huff a laugh at that, but Gaz nods, dimples showing as his smirk deepens. "I can do that."

He pulls you in, and your eyes flutter shut as his lips meet yours.

The feeling leaves you entirely dazed, your nervous system alighting with signals as your thoughts seem to pause, if only for a second. It's nothing like you'd expected, and butterflies erupt in your lower stomach.

He pulls away, not having breached your mouth, and you must look as out of it as you feel because he laughs.

"That good, love?" He asks, teasing and entirely prideful.

You nod, a bit too fast and enthusiastic, before his hand pulls away from your nape. The loss is mourned, briefly, before your attention pulls away from Gaz and instead to Soap.

"Gotta learn from all of us," is all he says, before his lips crush against your own. Where Gaz was tentative and soft, Soap is all energy and desperation.

His hand squeezes your thigh, and when it had moved from your knee to pushing against your tiny shorts, you haven't an idea.

You can't find it in yourself to care, with his relentless attack on your mouth, your lips, your mind.

When he pulls away, you realise it's because Ghost's moved to stand, and his hand is in a tight fist in Soap's hair, pulling his face away from yours.

"Actin' like a fuckin' mutt," Ghost mutters, tone laced with vitriol. It's degrading, and yet Soap doesn't seem phased in the slightest.

You're about to inquire about that when your attention's caught by Price, his knees spread and patting his thigh. "C'mere, sweetheart," he says, and like a dog on a leash, you do.

His unbelievably large hands grab your hips as he seats you in his lap, and with how he's got his legs spread, it forces you to sit over his groin.

It's a compromising position, and the heat that rushes to your core is an entirely unknown feeling.

He doesn't move his hands from your body as his eyes devour it, before they meet your gaze with a warmth to them that has you shivering.

"Show me what the boys have taught you, hm?" He says, and with shut eyes and a stiff movement, you press your lips to his.

He groans, pleased, his thumbs rubbing circles where your skin's been revealed by your tank top. No one's ever touched you there, not in this way, and it has your pussy wet.

When he pulls away, he licks at his lips, as if he's devouring your taste.

"You're so pretty, sweetheart, mm? No wonder your father's got you all locked up," he says, and the reminder of the source of your anger has you wanting to do entirely too reckless things.

Like kissing the four men he warned you about.

Like doing more, maybe.

...Maybe.

His hands force your hips down, and you let out a small whimper when your clit presses against his belt buckle, the action sending pleasure shooting up your spine.

He raises a brow, catching the change in expression and your small sound. "What's wrong, pretty?"

And then, he pulls you down again, deeper this time, and the movement has your breath hitching, core burning with need.

"Oh, you naughty little girl," he says, and the words have your mind turning into some sort of mouldable clay, entirely able to be controlled by whatever these men wanted to make of it. "So needy, ain't ya?"

Someone presses against you from behind, and a belt buckle presses against your lower back.

"My turn to feel those lips, innit?" Ghost says from behind, leaning down to whisper his next words next to your ear. "See what all the fuss 's about."

The idea that you're being passed around, like you're some kind of... of whore has you entirely speechless in the most positive of ways.

You feel filthy, and you love it.

Leaning your head back, you manage to make eye contact with the large man, before his lips press to yours, upside down.

He devours, all encompassing, his tongue slipping into yours without any hesitance. You're clumsy, unsure, but he makes up for it with experience and dominance. The entire act has you woozy, needy for more of them, more of their touch.

You don't expect for Price to start forcibly rotating your hips, forcing you to grind against his lap, but it forces a moan from your mouth, the sound getting devoured by Ghost's overpowering tongue.

"Who knew she'd be such a desperate slut?" Gaz asks, as if you're not there, as if you're just something to be observed. It causes another moan to leave your mouth, and Ghost detaches himself from you with a grunt of his own.

"Think she liked that," Soap says, amused and proud, in a strange sort of way. "Wanna be used, baby? Taken by men nearly twice your age?"

"Yes," you say, on a groan as Price's motions speed up, the pleasure so new and different and good.

Then, he stops, and a whine comes out of you before you can stop it.

Price makes a condescending noise in response. "Poor babygirl needs all the attention, hey? Needs her little pussy played with?"

"She looks like a goddamn mess, cap," Gaz says, his hand coming up to rest on your head. He gives comforting pats, not unlike one would with an obedient puppy.

Ghost's hands come around your waist, and before you even process what he's doing, he rips your sleep shorts in half, leaving you completely bare.

"Didn't think to wear panties, dumb girl?" Ghost asks with an appreciative groan, his large hand cupping your now exposed pussy.

With a whimper, you shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut at the embarrassment and nudity. No one had ever seen it before, and now, four of your father's friends were getting an eyeful.

"Lemme see if she's nice 'n wet for us," Soap murmurs, picking you up from Price's lap in a princess carry.

It doesn't even last two seconds before he's splaying you over the now empty couch, your hands pathetically covering your most private of areas.

"None of that, sweetheart," Price says with a 'tsk', grabbing both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them to the couch above your head, leaving you effectively defenceless to the men.

Soap's hand moves down your stomach, before he pauses for just a moment. "This okay, baby?"

You nod, because yes, this is most definitely okay.

Gaz gives you a stern look, so you quickly fix your mistake. "I -- yes, sir, it's okay."

There's a surrounding sound of approval, and Soap smirks from where he stands beside your hips. "Sir, aye? Like the sound of that."

With that, his finger slides down your pussy, and your eyes shut with a soft moan. His hands are rough, scarred, calloused from years of work on the field, and they're so much larger than your own.

"Think she likes it, sir," Ghost says, taunting Soap, whose eyes are completely transfixed on your glistening pussy.

"Not the only one," Price says with an approving murmur, his hand tightening around your wrists. The sense of powerlessness has you aching with desire.

Soap's finger continues to rub against your slit, not breaching your entrance, instead continuing to tease and amplify his touch. Your eyes are shut, too embarrassed to look at the mess you're likely causing on the fabric, and too nervous to see the expression on the men's faces.

"Do you play with your lil cunt often, princess?" Ghost says, voice darkened with lust.

Your face feels like it's burning, but you nod. "Sometimes. I -- ah," you break off with a moan as Soap's thumb presses against your swollen clit.

"Be a good girl and answer when spoken to, love," Gaz says with a sound of disappointment that has you aching to amend your mistake.

"I'm sorry, sir, I, yes. Sometimes 'm just needing to, um, y'know..." You trail off, trying to preserve any amounts of dignity you had left. You were aware that masturbation was normal, but you'd never discussed it with a single soul, and talking about it felt like laying your soul bare.

Price's other hand moves to gently brush your hair from your face, the gesture so at odds with Soap's sensual movements.

You're about to say something, what, you aren't exactly sure, when Soap's finger roughly enters your soaked pussy. A loud whimper escapes your lips at the sudden intrusion, and the sheer size difference of his finger compared to your own.

"Aww, baby, it's alright," Soap coos, and it's so fucking condescending. It's cruel, almost, as if you're so dumb that you can't even form your own thoughts.

Which is, honestly, more true than you're willing to admit.

"'Atta girl," Ghost groans when your whimpers only increase with every thrust of Soap's finger.

Gaz's hand moves down to replace Soap's thumb on your clit, using the pads of his fingers to roughly circle around it. That sensation, mixed with Soap's intrusion, has your back arching slightly from the couch.

"Think she's close, Cap," Gaz says, conversationally, again treating you like you're not entirely capable of voicing your own feelings or thoughts.

"Mm, that right, sweetheart? Close already?" Price echoes, the hand not around your wrists going to squish your cheeks together, causing your lips to pucker. "What a pathetic girl, hm?"

Those words, those demeaning, humiliating words, only stoke the fire in your stomach, and your eyes burn with unshed tears as you shakily nod.

As soon as you do, however, Gaz pulls away, and Soap's finger leaves your pussy entirely. You groan, eyes opening slightly to see what could've possibly caused them to stop.

"You look so upset, baby," Soap laughs, and his smile is no longer the jovial one it had been mere minutes before -- no, it's been replaced with something much more predatory, something much more dangerous.

Dangerous men.

Ghost moves, then, moving your legs with much more care than you'd expected from the large man, before moving to kneel at the end of the couch where your legs had been. Hooking your knees over his shoulder, he effectively folds you in half.

"W-what are you doing?" You ask, almost frantic, utterly confused at your current state.

He leans down, hooking his balaclava over the tip of his nose, before there's searing wet heat at your core, causing you to throw your head back with a loud moan.

Gaz chuckles, "So dirty, love. Like having the big bad Ghost with his head between your legs, huh? Like having the attention of men with blood on their hands?"

Oh, and the confirmation -- the proper, hard proof, that they killed, that they truly were as dangerous as your father had said --

"Yes, fuck, please, oh my god," you ramble, almost incoherent with your words as you body trembles with the feeling of a mouth at your pussy. "Jesus, don't stop."

You can hear laughter around you, some words being passed between the men, but your focus is entirely on the tongue dipping into your folds, licking at your essence like a man starved. Like you're his only salvation.

Soap's hand is in Ghost's hair, a complete parallel to the kiss the two of you had shared, and he's pushing Ghost further against you, manhandling him like a toy for you to grind against, for you to take advantage of.

"I'm gonna, oh, please, I'm close," you cry out, eyes squeezed shut yet again as Ghost's ministrations only double in enthusiasm.

"Yeah, sweetheart? Gonna cum all over his face? Go on, ride it, there we go," Price eggs you on, his hand patting down your hair, massaging at your scalp as you lose yourself to the pleasure of it all.

You cum with a desperate keen, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you ride out the high, embracing this moment for the beauty it is.

It doesn't hit you, not at first, the full extent of your actions.

Ghost pulls away after your whimpers turn into ones of overstimulation, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, your twitching pussy, and then your inner knee as he carefully sets your legs back down on the couch.

"Such a good girl, aye?" Soap asks, rubbing at your tense calves with expert strokes and pressure. "Did so well for us, darlin'."

Your head feels like it's been filled with cotton, and your mouth is in a similar state as you nod dazedly.

You're not sure when, but at some point, Price gently moves you to lay your back against the cushion of the couch. "Need you to drink something for us, sweetheart, okay?"

Gods, this part? Them treating you like a princess, like you're something worthy of taking care of, it's almost as good as the orgasm they'd given you.

Gaz comes into view with a glass of water, and when he gently moves your chin to open your mouth, you let him pour it down your throat.

It feels almost like you're entirely too weak to do anything by yourself, like your ability to function has been completely removed by these men. It's intoxicating, the kind of feeling that could be as addictive as the most threatening of drugs.

The water slides down your throat, and it's as if it cools you from the inside out, your heartbeat slowly coming down from the quickened pace it was previously at.

Price picks you up, cradling your head to his chest as he sits down, the other three settling down on the couch as well. Gaz, sitting beside Price, moves your legs to sit over his lap, your feet in Soap's. Ghost sits to Soap's left, his eyes focused on you as you get comfortable, burrowing your head closer to Price.

If you could stay in this moment forever, you think that you'll be a very happy woman.

Closing your eyes, you drift into a space between sleep and awareness, and when they flutter open again, you realise that your previously exposed pussy and legs are now hidden by your sweatpants that had been laid on your bed, ready to be put away.

Price's hand is in your hair, softly playing with the strands. His hand encompasses your entire scalp, almost, and if you weren't completely exhausted, that fact alone would have you ready to get on your knees.

"What're we gonna do?" Gaz whispers, and you realise with a start that they must all think you're still dozing. "I mean, we seriously fucked this up."

"Not yet we haven't," Ghost interrupts, voice still gravelly and low, but with a hint of warmth. "This doesn't change anything."

"This changes everything!" Soap hisses back, incredulous, his hands stilling from where they were rubbing into your feet with practiced movements. Were they all trained masseuses, or something?

No. Trained killers, your mind unhelpfully supplies, and a chill runs down your spine.

Oh god. Oh god. What had you done? Seriously, what the actual fuck had you done? You just.

You just lost your virginity to four of your father's very lethal, very dangerous friends. Friends who are nearly twice your age, at that.

Oh. God.

"Laswell will be expecting correspondence by three," Price mutters in a voice akin to a whisper. "You boys know what we have to do."

What? What were they talking about? Who was Laswell? What did they have to do by three?

Your mind whirrs, like a hamster in a wheel, before the sound of keys jingling on the other side of your front door has your entire body freezing.

Oh god.

Oh. God.

"Shit," Gaz grumbles, and between one thought and the next, you've been bundled up into a warm chest, the movement fluid and shockingly quick. A hand at the base of skull softly pushes your head against a warm neck, and your legs hang over a muscled arm. "I'll take her upstairs. Be quiet and quick."

There's murmurs too quiet between the other three as you're taken up the stairs, two steps at a time, by the man whose fingers had been on your pussy, at most, only an hour ago.

You're aware that you've been taken to your room when the door clicks behind you, the familiar path to it engrained in your memory, even with your eyes closed and in someone else's arms.

The smell of vanilla and caramel is a comforting and familiar one, and you realise that you'd left your candle burning all night.

It's really the least of your worries, but that thought manages to snag at your conscious like an annoying fly.

"I'm so sorry, kid," Gaz whispers, gently laying you down underneath your bedsheets, before pulling them up and over your lazed form. "I'll try my best to talk some sense into 'em."

You're not sure what he could possible mean -- what the fuck was even happening, what your life was even becoming, but his words are nothing if not sincere.

His tone is almost... apologetic, in a way, and you reserve that thought for later. When you're not pretending to be awake, when you're still not slightly out of it from your first orgasm caused by someone else, when you're not in the middle of the worst moral conflict of your life.

Your window's slightly open, allowing a soft breeze to brush over your still slightly heated skin as Gaz presses a soft kiss to your forehead, brushing your hair back.

"Get off me!"

Your father. That's your father's voice, and it sounds panicked, angry -- not unusual, but still, the cause of it was nearly always you.

And those specific words, what --

"Y'know, Laswell found out somethin' pretty interestin' the other day," a voice that you recognise as Ghost's says, tone mocking interest.

Gaz moves away from you, before going to the window and looking out at whatever scene is happening down there. Somehow, he hasn't realised you're not asleep -- you'd kept your breathing pattern the same as it usually was when you're asleep, some youtube video you'd watched months ago finally coming in handy.

You can hear them all clear as day through the small opening of the window, and Gaz can too.

"Aye. Somethin' 'bout some info bein' leaked," Soap continues Ghost's train of thought, and you're so lost it's almost pathetic.

But, you continue to listen, desperate for any source of understanding for whatever the fuck was happening down there.

"You can't possibly think it was me!" Your father yells, his voice full of venom and rage. To have it not be directed at you is a rare moment, and you allow yourself a small breath of reprieve.

"We know it was you," Price says, before sighing loud enough for it to be heard from your room. "The way you spoke about that kid of yours was enough to cement the idea."

"She's a fuckin' waste of space, and where do you get off on caring how I treat my kid? Has nothin' to do with the job!"

Those words hurt. Like an actual, physical wound, almost.

Gaz swears under his breath, and you can feel the tension ooze out of him like a wave. It's... oddly comforting.

There's the sound of a fist hitting a jaw, and it takes everything in you not to race to the window and look at what's going on yourself.

"Jesus fucking christ!" Your father hisses, and you put two and two together. One of the three men down there had punched him -- if you had to take a guess, it was Ghost.

"You've never been one of us, and you'll never be one of us. You sellin' us out was the last straw, mate," Soap snarls. You can hear him spit on the ground, before another sound of fists flying makes your heart race.

There's a moment of silence, until two things happen in the span of five seconds.

First, your father screams, "Please! Don't --"

And then...

A bullet.

The sound of a trigger being pulled.

The sound of a bullet ringing through the air.

The sound of a final breath.

Your eyes fly wide, and you immediately stumble out of bed.

Gaz's gaze meets yours, and there's nothing but apology in them. No guilt, just apology.

He doesn't stop you from looking out the window, where your father's body lays in the grass, blood leaking from the wound now sitting between his eyes.

And when you turn to him, he doesn't stop you as you land a punch to his jaw.

a/n. CROSS-POSTED TO AO3 ummm so did i PLAN for this to become an actual fic? no. not in the slightest. but i was writing the fingering bit and was like. what if her dad died? and there's an actual plot? so uhhh here we are! anyways hope yall enjoyedddd if u guys know me u know polyamory is my SHIT so there will very likely be more poly!tf141 x reader to come. ty for reading mwah mwah mwah

[shmalk]

Part 3 for immortal!reader? Can be last chapter, just wanna see Ghost and Soap reaction. Price just explaining or still laughing his off or Gaz just passing out from too much shock.

"sorry for getting shot guys"

"how- what- huh?" Soap stammering.

Ghost still has his hands around Price's collar, Price was still chuckling, cigar on the floor, never belly-laughing this hard before.

Gaz staring at the reader, face paling before his does the cartoon faint, his legs going in the air while his hat flipped before falling.

Reader just staring like it was the norm (probably because it was for her/him)

no one reacts. its quiet, you can't help but awkwardly swallow and rub your throat slightly.

you can hear price sighing, obviously he knew you weren't going to stay dead, but it was still something you weren't overly fond of experiencing.

you felt some pain- but it was mostly none, after all, it wasn't as though you didn't die, you just didn't stay dead.

gaz swallows before his eyes roll into the back of his head, falling backwards and landing on his back, staring up at the sun. you give him a worried glance, but your muscles are still stiff, so you opt for just slightly calling out to him.

you don't get to, however, as someone's gloved hands grasp your face in their hands. you can hear soap as he slams price against the post once more, but your attention is taken away by ghost.

"what the fuck was that," he all but growls, his voice low and gravely, sending still shocks through your chest. "you didn't think to tell us about yer' little fuckin' stunt, huh?"

you swallow, reaching up to grab his wrist. soap moves from wherever he's standing and you vaguely see a figure attending to gaz. "look at me."

ghost isn't happy, the bile that threatened to rise out of his throat had setteld, but now theres steam practically flowing from his ears, theres a ringing he can't shake and his heart is pounding so hard he wonders if you could hear it.

"lighten up, lieutenant." price speaks as ghost loosens his grip on your head, letting out a puff of air through his nose. "they were given strict orders not to reveal anything until told otherwise, or during an emergency."

"captain, i don't think being upset with me counts as an emergency-"

"when i make a decision, you're supposed to trust that i'm making the right one," price isn't mad, but you're not interested in listening to him after he basically tried to kill you.

"Ye cannae ask us tae trust ye when ye've jist shot someone in the heid, cap'n."

"i'll ask whatever i bloody please, soap." price fixes his vest before turning away, not storming, but definitely walking somewhere with slightly more anger than usual.

"yer aight, pet?" soap gives you a once over, not able to look you in the eyes, before he gets shiver up his spine and has to walk away to cool himself down.

gaz - in the middle of the commotion - had been picked up and taken to the infirmary, leaving you.

and ghost.

h u h ?? im so sorry for the horrible scottish accent soap has I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO WRITE IT VERY WELL.

do we like? do we not like?? what will ghost do?? HMM??

[sgiandubh]

The door faces North

This has been, by far, one of the most complex investigations I have ever done in this fandom, and I am truly sorry for the long wait I had to inflict on many of you & for the uncharacteristic radio silence in DMs and comments. During this peculiar journey, I checked, double-checked and cross-checked as many details as I could and I carefully considered at least two different theories, of which I still think they do not exclude each other. I am now confident enough to make not only an educated guess, but also a daring bet on SRH's next whisky move.

Also, sorry for the length of this post. Truly sorry - think of the completely pulverized night sleep I had to give up, in order to bring this to you.

But first, a word on Marple's obvious PR tip on the Hopetoun Estate refurbishment and distillery old/new project. I am fair game enough to tell you the obvious: her overall recounting of the principals is roughly correct, spare perhaps one or two minor details. Correct, but dry - she limits herself to the technical documentation submitted by Golden Decanters and The Hopetoun Estates Trust to the West Lothian Council for approval. She correctly points out that S is not a visible part of the deal, at this point in time and she does a decent summing up of a very, very, VERY plethoric amount of bureaucratic information. She concludes, and I think she is partially right, that he might be interested in becoming an investor (I am taking things a bit further, though). But in doing so, she focuses on the development phase of the project only: the possible connections with SRH and his own spirits business are less, if at all, obvious.

I am going to give you my view of all this charade and, if I am going to mention (and probably repeat) some things already found by her, I am going to focus on the people: this is where the whole story starts to become remarkably interesting, at least to me. After all, I remember promising you some more clarity. Here's an honest, fair play take.

Little did I know, when I started to write about that (now defunct) company, Midhope Castle Distillery, Ltd (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/748597198794670080/the-info-provided-above-is-correct-but-outdated?source=share), that my investigation would turn to this:

... for it was to be just an almost random layer of a juggernaut matryoshka of defunct or still active companies, featuring roughly the same people and no less than 6 different name combinations centered around Midhope, Hopetoun, etc.

The following pics will give you an idea - feel free to open them in a separate tab, for clarity . I preferred this synthetic approach, because otherwise you will curse the shite out of me. But it had to be done, with or without Depon, Advil's Greek cousin (and before you ask a graphologist, this is my handwriting, and nobody else's 🙃):

The only explanation for the whole almost frantic Midhope/Hopetoun crisscross/hopscotch (LOL) combos I can think of is two people trying to secure one (several?) credit lines or to attract significant investors for their project and ultimately failing to do so. But I might be wrong (although I doubt that, thank you). Out of this entire maze ( I swear I now have a migraine), there are only two active companies remaining: Golden Decanters Ltd (renamed GD Spirits Ltd, in April 2022) and Midhope Ltd (renamed Skosk Ltd, in July 2023). It is on them I am going to focus my gaze.

GD Spirits Ltd was incorporated in Berwick-upon-Tweed, England (just across the Scottish border), probably for tax reasons, on March 11, 2015, the nature of its business being listed as 'wholesale of wine, beer, spirits, etc.'. It started with a team of two women: Julia Mackenzie-Gillanders and Ann Medlock, whose names we are going to see over and over again in all the eight corporate avatars. Later down the timeline (LOL for three decades and a half), on January 30, 2018, they were briefly (until July 19, 2018) joined by two very interesting professionals: Mrs. Margaret Boswell, an attorney at the very prestigious international law firm Gide Loyrette Nouel (Paris and London offices)...

...and Ken Robertson, former Corporate Affairs Director at Diageo Whisky, a subsidiary of the international Diageo group, one of the major players on the world spirits' market:

The second company, Skosk Ltd, was incorporated in August 2021, in Perth, Scotland, its nature of business being listed as 'distilling, rectifying and blending of spirits', with the clear intention to align with the exacting criteria prescribed by the 2009 Scotch Whisky Regulations:

[ Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scotch_whisky - sorry, I don't have time to wax lyrical on this, and neither do you]

This time, we only meet again the two distillerettes, Gillanders and Medwick. Up until now, at least, nobody else (attorney, former sales executive, whisky expert) has joined the platoon - TBC? I would not speculate and leave all options open.

There is little to 0 transparency on Skosk's financial situation, at the moment and to be honest, it looks very much like S's co-star (hehe)'s Irish business venture...

... but I was a bit more lucky, and the numbers more chatty, as far as GD Spirits was concerned:

Paging all shipper chartered accountants out there, but to me, it doesn't look great, at the moment. Cash is ridiculous, the net worth is hemorrhaging and the current assets are negligible, compared to 2020, when I think they managed to secure one or two credit lines, but not nearly enough for what they needed. Just enough to pay themselves and their external consultants and cover the operating costs, if you ask me.

The revised Planning Statement, of 8 February 2024, posted first by Marple, echoes my initial guess (COVID blew it up, see link to the first post) and the above assessment:

Mark this: 'Discussions are now proceeding with investors and there is a realistic prospect that work will begin in the near future (2024/2025) to implement the permission.' Given that they will start with the road and parking rehabilitation and upgrading, probably overlapping with the distillery building, it would make sense to begin this autumn at the earliest, with the most urgent: access to the site itself.

The initial Planning Statement, dated 9 July 2020 and re-posted on March 21st, 2024, tells a more detailed story. This is part and parcel of the current project as well, since the revision is just pointing out the changes operated, not the entire rest, which remains unchanged. You be the judge:

Also keep in mind this tiny, tiny thing: the Business Plan is 'submitted (...) under Private and Confidential Cover'. See where I am looking?

The initial plan was (and still is) for GD Spirits to produce their own booze, using Midhope's own barley (this is very important for the rest of my theory!). They even offer an overview of the real impact of their project on the local economy:

20 to 38 initial new job creations for a £ 15 to 30 million investment is not 'huge', madam Marple. Cumbernauld is huge. This? This is rather modest, if you ask me. But hey, what do I know about the labor market, right?

That initial Statement tells also the story they want to tell about the genesis of their idea, the scouting for the right location and a couple of other interesting details:

So they are telling us they started to look for the perfect location in 2018 and oh, hello, they found the Hopetoun Estate rather quickly, already starting the pre-planning application consultations as early as July 2019 (don't get me started, please):

If so, then why did they incorporate not one, but two different companies clearly linking them to the Estate (Hopetoun Estate Distillery Ltd and Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd) the same day and as early as May 23rd 2017 (and both dissolved in December 2022), as my above penciled timeline (LOOOOOL) shows? Who is really behind this project and why this entire ballet? It's like me pre-emptively looking for rental properties in (let's randomly guess) Lisbon, when it's just wishful thinking, heavily projecting and with 0 guarantees I will be posted there, right? I mean, I adore and deeply know Lisbon and I would be thrilled to go there. But I am not currently looking for any rental property, just like that, because that would be a #silly, rookie mistake. In their case, I think there's a different situation - again, you be the judge.

A first answer, as to who is really behind that project, was given by the UK media, back in 2020:

How odd, when we know that both Mrs. Boswell, the well-traveled attorney and Mr. Robertson resigned from GD Spirits in July 2018. Do they still say hi to the two distillerettes? Do they quietly keep an eye on the project? Are they silent partners? Business angels? Shareholders? Time to remind you that under UK law, there is 0 visibility on the shareholder's structure of a company. You just see the officers (Director, Secretary, etc), on the Company House website. On an umpteenth, last- second cross-check, it became apparent that Mr. Robertson remained involved in another company of the distillerettes, Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd (yes, the one mentioned above), until its voluntary strike-off, in December 2022.

Their best laid plans do mention OL, and how could it be otherwise? But all this £ 15 to 30 million hullaballoo for 20.000 people only (who counted them and how?), on a seasonal basis?

High-end restaurant, luxury B&B, event spaces, you name it. Interesting, to say the least.

And, for the people in the back, who still think SRH has a 100 years lease at Midhope (Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, the stupidity!):

This is why he commented as a 'member of the public'. At face value, there is no public involvement into that project. Yet. But it is my belief there is a vested interest in all this, justifying the comment, the visit, those papers rolled in his fist, etc. At first, I thought that was a visit to Lallybroch by the Exec Producer of OL's Season 8, to discuss technicalities - and shared that privately with a wonderful friend only. I mean, why not and still perfectly possible. But then, as I could not sleep tonight and felt guilty to have you all waiting, I started to connect some tiny dots.

Like this one, for a start:

Yes, I know, Marple told you that FIRST, I would not dare say otherwise, because if I did there would be a transcontinental screech. That trademark application was filed at the US Patent and Trade Office in September 2023 and I thought (and still partially do) it was a potential rebranding solution to The Sassenach's EUIPO nightmare (much exaggerated by the fandom's toothbrush experts):

But you also know I am an idiot and I always check people's CVs, when I follow a thread. This morning, the one Distillerette I am particularly interested in is Mrs. Julia Hall-Mackenzie-Gillanders (née Scales) and not like *urv would be.

Her LinkedIn profile is exceptionally talkative, too:

... and a BA (with Honors) in Fashion Design, class of 2005, at the Northumbria University.

The Financial Times article 'From packing boxes to wine deals worth millions', you can read on her LinkedIn page, tells a very interesting story. It is the story of a shy underdog (lots of temple bells clinging, at the moment), who made it by sheer persistence. It starts like this:

'When a painfully shy young woman contacted a fine wine merchant and said ' I have no qualifications- can I help?', she got the job and today is signing deals worth millions of pounds.'

It obviously did ring a bell and if SRH knows she exists (she is married, *urv!), and I dare to speculate he does, it must have struck a deep chord. Would I do business with her? I wouldn't speculate, although I am not very sure. Would he? He'd probably listen very carefully to what she has to pitch, for a start.

And what she has to pitch is also very interesting, in his world. A brief look at the Golden Decanters' website shows a first high-end single malt sourced collection of 4 exceptional expressions already sold out:

And when they mean high-end, they mean gold leaf labelling and all the tralala:

And, some last minute news, too:

Remind me, because I am an old woman, after this white night: wasn't The Sassenach (no comment, we agree to disagree and I am very skeptical), a blend?

We have these dots, then:

Bold Underdog ->spirits business->high-end collection of single malts sold out->business partnership with owners of Midhope Castle, fictional Lallybroch in OL, including a distillery and whisky production with Midhope/Lallybroch barley -> visit by the male lead and spirits entrepreneur (also the fictional Lallybroch laird) to Midhope/Lallybroch and vested interest in the estate's most recent business project....

What if The Sassenach would be included, for a start, in that new Blended Collection? And could it really be fanfic to imagine a future high-end, limited edition, Lallybroch whisky produced at Midhope, with Midhope/Lallybroch barley? It wouldn't be the first time, would it: after all, they did it with that limited tequila batch.

As I said, because I am (remember Someone? LOL) a 'silly cow', I was hoping he wouldn't do it. But my guess is he might very well do exactly that, with those people and under that label.

It's half past eight AM, local time and I need a strong, black coffee.

I rest my case (and I am bracing myself for the screeching). I will answer Anons later, after I come back from the hairdresser's. Appointments must be kept at all costs. Thank you all for your patience.

[batwritings]

I thought of this a couple days ago, and I CANNOT stop thinking about it. I saw people making fanfictions about a COD werewolf au.. and it got me thinking about Soap in particular.

Hear me out. Soap’s a werewolf, and the afab-gn! reader is his longtime best friend. Soap hasn’t had anyone to help him with his rut for YEARS, but eventually, his fellow soldier and best friend gets tired of seeing him so overwhelmed, and agrees to help him. Bonus points if they have secret feelings for each other.

Eventually, Soap’s got the reader pinned down, and he’s just taking all of his sexual frustration out on them. He means well- but he fails to notice the fact that they’re a whiny mess, struggling to take his knot and handle his roughness. After thoroughly ruining his darling reader, he feels bad, and makes up for it by cuddling them and giving them legendary aftercare <3

I 100% understand if you don’t want to do this btw, no pressure!

-Hybrid

*cracks knuckles* One Scottish werewolf, coming up! Enjoy!~

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

You'd known Johnny since primary school, the two of you becoming rather fast friends. A shared interest over sports truly built the foundation of your solid bond. Finding out he was a werewolf didn't even put a damper on things; if anything, it made him all that more cool to you.

It was really you that followed him around like a puppy, even going as far as to follow him into the military. Everyone in your squad loved to poke fun at how much of a dog you acted compared to the literal werewolf, how much it had to be puppy love. You vehemently fought off the accusations; Johnny was your best friend! There was no way in hell you were interested in him romantically!

And that’s what you told yourself all up until this big bad wolf of a best friend of yours took a bullet for you. You gasped as he howled in pain, eyes immediately turning on the enemy as he lunged for them. You’d never been more worried and turned-on in your life.

So when Soap’s next rut came, your heart strings were tugging so hard you thought they might snap. He’d told you in detail what it felt like to not have a proper mate to go through those cycles was like, so when you found him in his bunk, halfway to full wolf form, sweating like he’d just run miles around the track, you couldn’t just stand idly by. You were going to help your friend whether he liked it or not.

“Johnny,” you called, voice quiet and calm. Bright baby blues that had turned a vibrant golden locked onto you. You knelt beside the bed onto the cold unforgiving cement and stroked his cheek softly.

Immediately the man leaned into your touch. “Your touch is like a cool drink Y/N,” he whined. Somewhere in his mind, you were sure he thought he sounded smooth, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. Your thumb stroked over his stubbly cheeks with a fondness only reserved for him. “How to Know You’re Getting in too Deep With Your Bestie”, a memoir by Y/N.

“You’re suffering Soap,” you told him, gently helping him onto his back so you could straddle his hips. Eyes like the full moon never left you, tracking your every movement. You were only in a regulation shirt and your boyshorts. The feel of his hard length, knot and all didn’t go unnoticed as your pussy twitched eagerly. “Quit pushing me away and let me help.”

The next round of movements were a blur to you, but you knew for certain at least how you ended up face down into the mattress. You heard the shredding of fabric as your underwear was torn with the flick of a claw. You jump a bit when you feel the cold nuzzle of his nose against your slick cunt and you can tell how he revels at your moan when he warm tongue laps some of it up.

A low growl resounds in your ear next sending a shiver down your spine. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this leannan,” comes Soap’s rough voice right against the shell of your ear, earning him a whimper of excitement. You can feel where his cock lines up with your entrance and the slight burn as you’re stretched in one quick thrust. It rips a scream of pleasure from your throat that seems to only egg him on more.

Between the hot panting of the wolf in your ear and the exponentially thick cock ramming into you over and over, it was no surprise that you came first. Your wet hot walls contracted around your best friend’s member over and over, as if milking it. The werewolf above you growled in pleasure, head thrown back as he could finally mate. 

So many years he had been on the brink of asking you to let him mate you, to breed you, even if just once. The sensation of actually being able to do it was better than he could have ever dreamed. And you yourself certainly weren’t complaining. 

It had the both of you in a fog of pleasure, your minds obscured by the haze of sex. Even in the moments you were begging, pleading for him to stop, he never slowed, orgasm after orgasm wracking your body. You were in a state of lustful bliss, simply letting your best friend take out the years of pent up sexual tension on you.

The knot catching on your inner walls caught your attention. Somewhere in the back of your mind you knew you shouldn’t be able to make that fit. You tried to babble out pleas for Soap to slow, to stop, to give you a minute to breathe. But the pleasure was bubbling in the pit of your stomach again and you knew there was nothing you could do to stop it. You felt teeth nipping at your shoulder as the wolf finally slammed his knot inside you, howling loudly as he came. 

Your own orgasm, how many this was by now you couldn’t recall, was ripped from you in the form of a scratchy voiced cry. You tried in vain to link your hand with that of your best friend, only to have him gingerly help you. That wet tongue was back again, this time lapping softly at your shoulder where he’s presumable nipped a bit too hard.

You were in and out of consciousness, as to be expected of someone who was just thoroughly fucked by a werewolf for the first time. So when you truly came to again, bundled up in the lap of your best friend, it was a little surprising. Your stirring caught Soap’s attention and bright golden eyes looked down to you fondly. 

“Finally awake are you?” He asks with a soft chuckle. You reach up and ruffle the little mohawk that somehow manages to show up on his fur at the top of his head. You could faintly feel the hardness of his member poking against your thigh. 

“Need a hand with that soldier?” you ask, voice raspy as if you’d been shouting at recruits all day. You’re handed a glass of water before you’re given an answer which you happily sip on. The cool liquid soothes the ache in your throat.

“Later leannan,” Soap tells you. “I’m sated for now.”

“You keep calling me that Johnny,” you say with a soft laugh, voice a little clearer now. You offer him a quiet thanks when he helps you sit up and sets a bowl of stew in your lap. You hadn’t realized before you’d seen the food, just how hungry you are, how much energy you’d exerted. “What does it mean?” Your best friend huffs his own little laugh as he watches you start to eat.

“Sweetheart.”

[waffles-art-writing]

Water Logged - Task Force 141!Platonic x F!Reader - JOKER

Summary: PART 2 of One Hell Of A First Mission. You end up crammed in the back seat between your team mates. You become aware that both you and your Scottish Teammate find the funny side to most things, you find out having to swim with a balaclava is like breathing through a wet sponge.

Proofread: NOPE

Pairing: Task Force 141!Platonic x F!Reader

WordCount: 4.2k ish

Age Rating: 16+

Codename: JOKER

KEY: Y/N - Your Name, L/N - Last Name.

Warning/Info: COD Violence, Swearing, description of injuries, Weapons, fighting, fluff and angst if you squint. A lot of time skips sorry. Sorry if its not identical to the game… ENJOY! Oh and Graves… he’s just a warning within himself.

Please go read the previous parts here MASTERLIST

If you want more please comment! Reblogs are appreciated!

Also sorry if it’s not any good, I’m going through a huge writers block…

Taglist: @studywithrosie01 (idk if you still wanna be tagged so I’ll tag you till you tell me otherwise if that’s okay?) IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED PLEASE COMMENT!

——————————

You sit crammed in the back seat of the vehicle. Ignoring how uncomfortable you are squished up against Soap and Ghost. Your arms crossed, legs crossed, practically twisted like a pretzel. Graves is in the front seat while Alejandro is driving, happy as Larry they are compared to you and your squished team mates, that could be compared to a can of sardines. You bite your tongue when the vehicle hits a pothole, Soap groans lightly and Ghost just tightens his grip on the seat. “Fuck this” you spit out, pushing yourself to stand, slipping over the back of the seat into the free space in the back.

“What the fuck” Soap states, looking over you, who looks a lot more comfortable than before. “I hate being crammed between two men who smell like shit” you chuckle, leaning onto your arms that are folded over your knees. “I don’t stink..” Soap growls, huffing as he turns back around to face the front. Ghost glances at you, you just shrug as you smile under the joker smile on your balaclava.

An hour passes of you sitting in the back, almost falling asleep in the darkness of the night and the few street lights that you pass by. You snap awake when you feel a hand shaking your shoulder, your mind groggy from the light slumber your brain was dancing with just moments ago. You groan lightly as you sit up, stretching out. You go to lean against the door that would open for you to be able to access the back from the outside, however your back doesn’t touch anything, you tumble out of the back. Going head over heels out of the vehicle, your gun clanging to the ground as you squeeze your eyes tight, bracing for the impact of the ground. Nothing comes, your body doesn’t hit the ground, warmth is raiding off two spots on your upper back.

You crack open your eyes to come face to face with Alejandro, his smile wide with a light chuckle. “You alright there Joker?” He asks, you just nod as he helps you up. “Yeah… thanks Alejandro.” You chuckle lightly, rubbing the imaginary kink out of your neck as you stand there looking down at your boots. “Any time.” He states as he pats your shoulder, you smile lightly, your mask shifting.

A deep voice sounds out from your left, you look over to see Ghost holding your rifle. “Oh… thanks Lieutenant'' You state, taking the gun from the taller man with a cold gaze. He just hums as he turns away, walking towards the large building you’re all supposed to be on top of. You strap the rifle to your back as you approach the building, following the rest of the team in, to your annoyance Graves is behind you.

He attempts some small talk but you shoot it down quickly with a “Shut up yank.” This caused the rest of the team to look over their shoulders down at you, Soap almost tripping up the stairs, Ghost almost getting whiplash with how quickly he looked at you. Along with nearly causing Alejandro to have a coughing fit when He coughs into his hand to hide his smile, you just keep your eyes forward passing the others on the way to the roof.

You perch yourself on one of the air condition units, looking at the fancy mansion in the distance, Ghost is a few paces in front of you, just off to the right. Alejandro, Graves and Soap all stand at the edge using binoculars to look at the mansion. Your mind focused on the heavy foot patrol around the compound, wondering how on earth you guys are gonna get in without a problem.

“Las casa de Sin Nombre?” Soap asks, which makes you look at him with a raised brow. ‘When did he learn that?’ You question, even Ghost glances at the Scotsman then to you. Alejandro sighs lightly before speaking “No. One of his Lugartenientes” you stand from your spot, walking up to stand next to Ghost. “The Cartel’s Lieutenant” you mumble to yourself, even though Soap states it louder. Alejandro states ‘Nice, brother. You’re learning’ in Spanish. Ghost looks over at you to see if you're gonna translate quietly again, you glance up at him briefly. “He praised him,” you shrug, looking back at the others.

“My sources tell me all the VIPs in Las Almas will be there tonight.” Alejandro continues “Some are invited, others are, umm….” Graves speaks up this time, his accent strong “Volun-told…?” “Yes,” Alejandro confirms.

“What’s the meet about?” Graves asks, looking over at Alejandro, who in turns says ‘Us’ in Spanish which you just whisper a quiet ‘us’ while motioning to everyone for Ghost. “Las Almas is burning, and they want to know who lit the fire.” Alejandro states, Ghost looks over at the Mexican “Sin Nombre will be there, yeah?” His accent is not helping his pronunciation of the Spanish words. “No guarantees but this is our best shot” Alejandro states while he turns to Ghost, walking a few paces closer.

Graves and Soap have done the same, Philip Graves taking the talking again with “Then we take it.” Which causes your skin to crawl,“I got enough Shadows here to take over the whole damn country.” “I’d prefer if you didn’t.” Alejandro protests, you take a step forward to defend Alejandro when Graves speaks up again.

Your actions fall short when Soap and Ghost give you a slight shake of their heads, you just let out a quiet huff as you back down. “Just saying … one house shouldn’t be a problem” Graves states, “We need Sin Nombre alive.” Ghost growls, Graves just lets out a small half chuckle of a huff, looking from Ghost over to the compound.

“Well…” he pauses. “Then we need to meet him.” He turns to look back at the group before looking at Soap who questions how. Your stomach sinks at the next statement that comes from the Shadow Company leader “Give ‘em what they want… Intel.” You glance at Soap then to Ghost “They wanna know who’s here. Let’s tell ‘em.” Both you and Alejandro ask “In person-?” You shift in your spot, uneasy with where this is going.

“Correcto… Get one of us inside, find the boss… roll him up” he states, looking around the group then to Alejandro properly.

There’s a brief pause before both you and Soap step forward with a “I’ll do it.” You both look at eachother, both not willing to back down. “Joker no, you gotta stay out here. You’re too…” Graves starts, his excuse fading quickly when you look at him. “Because I’m weaker? A girl? So fucking what Philip, you don’t get to say what I do.” You growl, he steps up to you, nose to nose at this point. “You ain’t going in there, we need you out here with Ghost.” He sneers. “You don’t give me orders mate, Ghost or Soap can but you can’t. SO, get off your high horse and realise I am as skilled as the rest of this team.” Graves backs down when he looks you in the eye, knowing how stubborn you are from previous encounters with you. “Lass, you stay out here with Ghost. Be my eyes for me on the outside.” Soap states, trying to level with you on you not going. You stare at the blue eyed Scotsman, brows furrowed under your mask. “You’re with me Joker, I need you with me while Graves goes and gets the Shadows” Ghost states, an order. You look to Alejandro to gauge his opinion, he just looks at you and Soap. “You go in there, and they’ll kill you.” He shakes his head lightly at you. “We need your eyes out here.” You just huff and back down, stepping out of the circle as the rest of them continue their conversation.

You follow Ghost to the spot he will be situated to be eyes for Soap and Alejandro, you’re there to watch his back as well as signal spot anything that Ghost doesn’t spot. You think its stupid in reality, this man is a bloody Lieutenant, he didn’t get to this point because of luck. He got his title because of skill, he knows how to keep himself concealed when sniping, he knows he’s vulnerable when he’s laying on his stomach and looking through the scope. You’re mere six feet away from him, knowing he likes his space just by the aura that radiates off him.

You haven’t talked much with your Lieutenant, you translated some words for him when he cocks his head to the side, or just doesn’t reply to a question. You have been his shadow for most of this mission, except for when you got separated and had to be by yourself for brief moments of time. You and Soap grew close quickly though, but you never talk much unless you’re spoken to, so right now you're a little anxious for Soap who is now being escorted into the large building.

You don’t talk over the comms, Ghost taking that role pretty well in all honesty. But once Soap is allowed to walk around the building, by means of Alejandro helping after getting inside and getting a disguise. You pipe up to tell him there’s a large trellis for him to be able to climb to help get to the balcony . “What now?” Soap asks, his voice crackling to life in your ear. “Y’know those plant thingys for them to grow up a wall…” you can see him shrug lightly through your scope. “For fucks sakes… a plant ladder Soap… that black thing with leaves” you hear a long “Oh” before you see him climb it with slightly difficulty before jumping the rest of the way to latch onto Balcony rails.

“Thanks Lass.” He states, you just hum in response. Moments pass as you quietly watch the building with baited breath. Your heart sinks when shots ring out, chaos ensues quickly onto Soap and Alejandro. You don’t have eyes on them, they are still inside the building. They just broke into the room with Sin Nombre in it, which turns out to be the woman that Soap got the displeasure of meeting down stairs in the makeshift interrogation room.

You go to push yourself from the ground, to run and help your team but a hand quickly catches your wrist when you go to get off the ground. “Don’t do anything stupid, kid.” That’s all that Ghost says before letting you go and nodding to you, that’s all you need before you’re bolting towards the compound. You’re just over a few hundred metres away from the fire fight, you can easily get there in a quick minute.

You sprint through the small forest that sits at the bottom internet he hill, jumping over and dodging low hanging branches. You see that the guards are scrambling to get to Alejandro and Soap, you take advantage of the distracted guards. Sliding up behind them one by one, taking them down like it was nothing, slicing their necks, kicking their legs out from under them. A quick bullet to each of their heads before moving to the next part.

“They’re on the roof, Joker, get yer ass there now!” You hear Ghost growl in your ear, your heart skips a beat when you realise how high the roof is from your position in the ground. You shake off the icy feel of dread, quickly scaling the same trellis that Soap used. You know it will take too long to find stairs to the roof, the next best thing is using the window sills to grab the gutter of the lower roof.

You shimmy across the small outcrop of stone, grabbing the edge of the roof as soon as it came into reach. The tiles creak under your weight, threatening to slip out from under you as you push yourself up to stand. A bullet flies overhead as you peek out to see where your team is. “Fuckin hell” you curse, throwing yourself over the small wall and into the flat surface of the roof you find yourself pinned to your hiding spot.

You hear a yell from a woman, you realise it’s the woman from earlier. The one you need, the one you need to detain as quickly as possible. “Put your hands where I can see them!” You yell, your rifle aimed at the woman’s back, right where her heart would be. Both Soap and Alejandro come sprinting around the corner, coming to a screeching halt when they see you aiming at the woman. Your breathing is heavy as you keep your eyes on the target, not batting an eye when you realise Shadow Company have arrived and are just hovering off the roof in a chopper.

You’re not even registering that anyone is talking to you, or to anyone for that matter. You’re solely focused on not letting this woman who you don’t even know the name of, out of your sight before she’s cuffed and taken to the base. Moments pass before Alejandro is cuffing her and dragging her away, you lower your gun as you let out a S breath you didn’t even realise you were holding. “Lass?” You whip around to see Soap, a small smirk on his lips as he looks at you.

You probably look like shit, you haven’t slept in days, haven’t been able to actually make yourself look presentable. “Hey…” you state quietly, barely audible over the sounds of the chopper, Soap approaches you when you adjust the balaclava slightly. “Thanks… to be honest we thought she was gonna be gone” he states, his hand clasping your shoulder with affection and gratitude.

You nod as you place a hand over his, he sees that you were worried, his grip tightens. “C’mere” his voice soft as he pulls you into his side, resting his chin on the crown of your head. “Let’s go kick some cartel arse, aye?” You just nod with a small chuckle as you pull away from the side hug, your eyes crinkle under your mask as you look up at the Scotsman.

——— Time Skip ——-

You’re beyond exhausted, you successfully got the missiles disarmed from the oil rigs and the large container ship. You despised being on the ship, the slippery deck and rocking of the ship on the stormy sea wasn’t helping you. The motion made you feel sick. The rain pelting down didn't help with the thunderous sound of the waves and cracking of lighting overhead, especially when the smaller containers started sliding across the ship.

You were almost crushed by one before you were dragged out of the way by Soap. Now you're in the back of one of the vehicles of the convoy, Alejandro in the front passenger seat, one of his men driving. You’re crammed in the back with Soap and Ghost again, your head lulling back with your eyes locked on the ceiling, your wet clothes now damp still sticking to your skin. Soap is man spreading, Ghost doing the same as you're crammed between the two. The sound of the rain hitting the windows and roof almost sends you to sleep, but you sit up when you feel the vehicle slow to a stop outside of the compound. Alejandro’s compound.

You lean forward, intrigued by the sudden stop. Alejandro gets out and approaches Graves, they both seem tense. The rain continues to pound against the metal of the vehicles. You can barely hear Alejandro and Graves talking, Ghost and Soap step out of the vehicle now standing in the rain. You go to follow the Ghost but he stops you, his body in the way. “Hold your tongue okay?” You just nod as he moves away, you stand next to him, slightly behind and furthest away from the others.

You can barely make out the conversation, your heart starting to pound in your ears as the rain slides down the back of your shirt, you left your jacket in the back seat. Your mask is drenched and sticking to your face uncomfortably. “Are you threatening us?” Ghost growls out, stepping forward. You look over to Graves, your eyes narrowing. You scan from the American over to Alejandro then to Soap, you want to say something, but you follow Ghost’s order.

You can’t hear a word that is being said, you're too preoccupied with watching all the Shadows slowly moving into defensive positions around you. There’s one behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck are standing on end. Suddenly Alejandro lunges at Graves, chaos erupts. You snatch the knife from your thigh holster, taking a large step backwards and lunging low, whipping around and slicing through the heavy military issued pants, digging deep into the Shadows knee.

Slicing through the tendons causing him to stumble, missing his shot. His body slumps to the ground when you hear a sickening wet thunk, one of Ghost’s knives embedded deep in the shadow. You see Johnny on the other side of the car, the brake lights bright in your eyes as you go to help him.

A hand grabs the back of your vest, dragging you backwards. “Get out of here now!” Ghost yells over the rain, shoving you towards the dark forest. “But-!” “JUST GO! GET OUT OF HERE KID! BOTH OF YOU! GET OUT OF HERE JOHNNY!” Ghost growls, his eyes filled with a swirling storm of anger, concern and desperation.

You nod as you grab hold of Soap’s vest, dragging him towards the concrete barrier. He manages to get to his feet, sending himself over the low wall. Soap slides down the slope, firing back at whoever is shooting at him. You didn't quite make it over the barrier in the same spot as Soap, you had to dash a few metres away from him. You flung yourself over the low wall, sending you into a tumbling mess down the slope, narrowly missing the trees and rocks.

Coughing as you push yourself to your feet, your legs feeling like jelly as you stumble through the thick bushes.

“Fuckin’ hell” you curse, you look up to see the light pollution form the nearby town. Branches and twigs snap back in your face as you push your way through the bushes, eventually stumbling into someone's backyard. Your arms are scraped and sliced to shit by the trees, your leg feels like someone kicked you with steel caps. You limp your way to the back door of the house, no lights are on. “Please no one be home” you mumble as you try the door, no luck. You crouch down, hissing when your leg protests against the movement. Ripping a small blade from your ankle holster, you smirk, thankful you didn't lose it in the tumble down the hill.

The house was practically empty, very few helpful items were scattered around. You managed to find bandages, which came in handy to do a half ass job of wrapping your knee. “Joker… this is Ghost. How copy?” Your earpiece crackles to life, you tried your comms before, just after entering the house to no avail.

“Alive… surprisingly” you mumble. “Good to hear from ya lass” Soap’s voice comes through, you smile gently. Happy to know your team is alive and well… maybe the well bit can be disregarded for you. “Good. Are you hurt? Ain’t bleedin’ out like Johnny are ya?” Ghost asks, you shake your head as an answer, even though he can’t see you. “I wouldn’t say bleeding out… but I don’t have as much blood in me as I had at the start of this god forsaken mission.” You state, falling quiet when you make your way down a dark alleyway between two houses.

You hear a small chuckle from Soap and a quiet sigh from Ghost. “I ain’t gonna drop dead if that’s what yer worried about L.T” you quickly add. Pushing your way through a door into a small corner store. “Good, cause I don’t wanna come back and hunt for yer body” Soap jokes, his accent thick over the comms. “We aren’t gonna do any hunting for anyone’s bodies, so keep your eyes peeled and ears open.” “Yes sir” both you and Soap reply.

What feels like an hour is more like ten minutes, you drop down from a balcony, your leg giving way immediately when you land. On your hands and knees you suck in a sharp breath as you lean back onto your heels, you have all agreed to meet at the church in the middle of the town. You’ve made a lot of distance from the very outskirts of town to nearly the middle quickly, light footwork on the tin and tiled rooftops made it easy.

Yet when you decided you needed to go by ground, you had to drop from a significant height.

You whip your head to the side when you hear a low voice talking, shuffling backwards on your ass. Crawling down a few stairs and sticking close to the wall you end up half submerged in a flowing river, a river that’s going through a tunnel. You are pretty sure it used to be a walking tunnel or driving one by the sight of nearly submerged cars.

You can hear Soap talking through the comms, replying to one of Ghost’s shitty jokes. Yet it sounds like Soap’s voice is echoing, like you can hear him talking before it comes through the comms. The next thing you hear is boots hitting the ground and a quiet groan, you peek over the edge of the wall, your hand gripping a pistol you snatched from a Shadow you killed. The dead man's rifle strapped to your back.

You stand quickly with the pistol raised, your eyes locking onto sky blue ones. “Soap?!” You question, lowering the gun as you hobble up the few stairs, drenched from the waist down. “Lass?” The Scotsman asks, his eyes widen as he realises it's you. “I’m assuming you found each other?” Ghost asks through the comms. “Yeah, found her swimming with the fishes” Soap jokes, placing a hand on your shoulder and bringing you into a small side hug.

“What…?” Ghost questions.

“I was hiding in the water cause I didn’t know it was Soap… it was gross” you chuckle, stepping away from Soap with a limp. “What’s wrong with you?” You shrug to the man's question, looking down at your knee.

“I think It got dislocated… but somehow popped it back into place?” You cringe when you lean into it more. “All I know is that it hurts like hell, and I just want to get out of here…” you growl out, moving to walk back down the stairs. “I second that.” Soap states as he follows you.

You’re soaked through, you feel like you swallowed more water than humanly possible. You ended up underwater, sneakily taking out some shadows yet one was able to get the upper hand on you. You ended up back to the ground under the water, desperately holding onto what little air you had left in your lungs before Soap shot the man point blank in the head. Your throat hurts, lungs burning like someone lit a fire in them. The urge to rip the fabric off your head to be able to breathe is strong, yet you flex your fists when Soap looks over his shoulder at you, you’re both holed up in the back of a small store now, trying to figure out where all the Shadows are located.

Ghost is saying something over the comms, you’re honestly not listening to his growling tone. “Joker? You good Lass?” You look at Soap like he’s crazy, in this situation he might as well be. “I feel like I'm breathing through a wet sponge, so I’m just peachy” the sass in your voice causes the Scotsman to chuckle. Suddenly Ghost’s rushed voice breaks through the silence and multiple gun shots ring through the air and the comms. You don’t hear everything as it feels like there’s water lodge in your ears, next thing you know is your sprinting through the open, firing at anything that moves and screams out nonsense.

Ghost is quick to climb the gate, landing with a thump next to you. Soap and Ghost talk as you watch as multiple shadows flood into the area, you hear something about needing a getaway vehicle. “I saw a pickup just across the way when we were running, looked like it still had life” you comment, which sets the plan into stone. Get to the pick up, get the fuck outta here without being shot dead.

You duck and weave through vehicles and tables, shooting and throwing whatever projectiles you had at the Shadows who were not being as effective as General Shepherd expected them to be.

You reach the pick up first, ripping the door open and cramming yourself into the middle, Soap close behind and Ghost throwing himself into the driver’s seat. You can’t do much other than duck down, allowing Soap to shoot and Ghost to drive. You slam into the dash when Ghost slams on the gas in reverse and hits one of the Shadows “I HOPE YOU CAN DRIVE MANUAL!” You yell over the chaos. “FUCK OFF” Ghost sneers as he jams the stick shift into first.

You chuckle quietly as you stay low, preparing for a shitty ride to wherever you are heading.

[oneluckygoose]

Guys I’m actually so close to breaking and writing a full fledged Marauders era fic. Like I’m talking 1st year to 1981

I have so many ideas about it, I’ll put a list of things under the cut but it’ll be your classic Wolfstar, Dorlene, and Rosekiller, while also being weird and doing a HEALTHY Jegulus with endgame Jily. There’s just a lot of things about the Marauders era that is so inconsistent that I feel like I physically need to write it down COHERENTLY in a way that makes a modicum of sense to me.

Things it’ll probably include

Scottish and Desi James; Welsh Lily, Remus, and Severus; French/English Blacks; IRISH Peter; SCOTTISH Marlene; Dutch Dorcas; French Mary; British Rosiers; and British Barty (ive missed some but those’ll be my main characters I focus on)

Jegulus, personally I think Jegulus is a very important thing for James’ growth and for Regulus’ to distance himself from his family’s ideals but I also don’t think it could ever last. Probably would be a 6th year arc and they break up after Regulus gets the Mark beginning of 7th

Endgame Jily, because their story is one of my favorites and if I do make it a canon compliment then I would need to write it with natural progression, also I just love Jily

I’m on the fence about making it a canon compliment because I choose to be HAPPY, but I don’t need to make that decision now and so I won’t (also I like the idea that Peter is good, screw me)

Aroace Peter, my little boy loves his friends and doesn’t understand why he doesn’t love like they do. A dating spree probably in 5th year but he just cannot figure out how to do the romance thing

No sex, sorry guys we’re keeping this M rated. I’m asexual and do not feel comfortable writing that in the slightest, it would all be fade to black

Asexual Lily, to whoever HCed that, can I marry you? I love ace Lily and I think it just adds an arc to her story that is normally extremely sexualized. My girl will punch you in the face if you look even a tiny bit lower than her eyes.

How much character growth can I fit into James Potter? ALL OF IT. He was a DICK, that is non negotiable, he was not a dick eventually (ahem he had to grow up after the prank)

The Prank will be essential to everyone’s character.

Sirius is at his lowest in 5th year because his parents are trying to get him to marry Pandora and he is rebelling so hard and they are punishing him like a madman and he’s hurt and in pain and lashes out and it’s a mess and it breaks that summer and he runs away. (Then things get better)

Remus’s arc will probably be very similar to what it normally is, I think he’ll have Hope and Lyall, at least for a while and his home life won’t be the worst. If that’ll change I’m not quite sure.

Remus is SMALL and then he gets REALLY BIG, I’m talking 5’1- 5’10 over one summer (3rd year to 4th year) then he keeps growing. 6’3 by the end of it.

James isn’t short, he has a normal growth though, lands steady at 6’

Sirius and Peter are short kings: Sirius-5’8, Peter-5’6

Marlene is probably the most Gryfindor person on the planet, and Dorcas is a Slytherin who HATES her peers

Dorcas is a halfblood with a single Muggle father (her mother left when she was 5) They both have the best dreads on the earth and you can’t tell me otherwise

Marylily is kinda a thing?? In the early years but it fades and they agree they’re better friends.

Pandora and Evan are twins, their family are pureblood fucks

Pandora and Regulus are best friends, they would both destroy the world for each other

Remus starts to like Sirius in 3rd year, he dates someone (probably Marlene because her and Sirius and just gender swapped copies of one another but they both hate it and Marlene is the first person who knows about Remus’ crush, Remus is the first person to know about Marlene's when that becomes a thing 5th year)

Sirius starts to like Remus in 4th year but doesn’t realize it at first and when he does dates around in complete denial until he runs tf away from his family. Peter, the king he is, is surprisingly the first one to figure it out in 5th year.

James is the most hardcore Wolfstar shipper when he finds out about both of them, and he has to be painfully silent about it until they get their shit together

They fully get together at the end of 6th year. How? I'll figure it out.

The Skittles are less present the first half, but they would probably be more and more there, especially as Reg and Sirius' relationship strains

Regulus' relationship with Orion and Walburga is that of a child who has watched their older sibling be abused for rebellion and is fucking terrified of that happening to him. He hates them, but he has to please them to save his own skin.

Also, all the Skittles are in slytherin for being ambitious, cunning, and calculating. Not because they are evil.

Not all slytherins are pure blood fucks who toss around slurs and unforgivable curses while chanting "praise the dark lord", some of them are good/some of them don't deserve treatment as if they were. Understanding this is essential to James' character development.

Not Snape though, he is exactly what it says on the surface. Sure he loves a muggle born but he also is obsessed with her, manipulated her, called her slurs, and hurt the people she loved. He has no such qualms with being as horrible as possible to anyone else. Not saying James and Sirius were good, but Snape wasn't a fuckin' hero either. "Always." BITCH THAT"S CREEPY NOT ROMANTIC.

How long does it take Lily to realize Snape is the worst person on the planet earth? TOO LONG. He calls her mudblood and that is the last straw.

Also fuck JKR's timeline, I don't even understand how the prank could happen before Snape's Worst Memory or after 5th year so the cannon fuckery is going to happen mainly in 5th year

Marlene is extremely important to me. She has the thickest Scottish accent and she thrives off of it. She does not take SHIT. She listens to rock exclusively once she figures out electric guitar makes brain go happy. She and Sirius have a very interesting relationship I would be so excited to explore.

Nothing will be glossed over. I see a lot of vagueness about the Cruciatus curse, and just, no. People need to see in detail what shapes the characters and why they are the way they are, especially Regulus and Sirius. I'll do CWs before every chapter, but I'm not holding back. It'll be graphic, it'll be skin crawling, but maybe that's the point. Remus goes through torture every month, that needs to be known. Sirius and Regulus are broken by their parents, that needs to be known. Mary was assaulted by blood purists, that needs to be known. Things won't be pretty, they never have been with the Marauders. But maybe that's the most beautiful thing about them. Things aren't pretty, but they find a way to love despite that. (James Potter tends to have a large hand in that, too)

This was my shpeal. I have so many ideas and so many ways I could go with this that I'm actually so stressed over it. Um... if anyone has advice on how to get actually started because that's the part tripping me up I would love it. I don't know if I can bring anything particularly special about their story to the table but I would love to see where my story goes. My biggest fear about this is starting it and never being able to finish it. I've been told I'm a pretty good writer, I might post more of my unfinished stuff just to gauge if people actually want to read it, but I hope I can do them justice.

The name though? I have a few Ideas and all of them would lead to a different way that I wrote the story.

Chronicles of Messrs; A song title from either queen or aerosmith; House of the Rising Suns; Dear Minerva; The Graceless

[prismuffin]

Hey!! Can I request a top male reader x Price. Reader is new to the 141 team, Laswell recruited him for the team. Little does the team know Price and reader are married, they do know that Price is married tho. The team finds out when they catch a shirtless, pants-undone Male Reader literally on top of Price, who is shirtless, only in boxers, and covered in hickeys (They were being a little too loud).

A/n: KSKSJFHSKFJHSJ YESSSS ugh he has no right to be that hot idk- also the gif>>>>

“PRICE?!”

John Price x top!male!reader

( summary: after hearing their captain's groans of pain throughout base they rush to his room only to see him underneath you, definitely not in pain )

warnings?: light swearing, light smut but it's not directly talked about

C/n means code name!

!-!more under the cut!-!

The team waited patiently as Laswell left to go grab who was supposed to be their newest recruit. She seemed to be almost laughing to herself as she described your skills and explained why you'll be a great asset to the team. For once, Price was actually unsure about who this new recruit could be, but they seemed to be well trained and very skilled from what he can gather. The door opened again, and their attention snapped to it as Laswell walked in with their newest recruit. "Boys, meet Y/n L/n, otherwise known as C/n." Price almost audibly gasped at the sight of you. His husband. Is that why Laswell was laughing? Cause she knew the whole time? "C/n? How'd you get that name?" Soap's Scottish accent cut through the room and you chuckled, "You don't wanna know." A smirk found it's way to your face as your eyes scanned over the team before landing on Price. You stared at him as Laswell introduced everyone, telling you their names and ranks, though you didn't seem to care about anyone but Price, which the team noticed. They decided not to think much of it, and some really didn't care at all (I'm looking at you Ghost).

After the meeting, Price was assigned to show you around, and by that I mean he volunteered. "I just can't believe you didn't tell me you were switching!" He whisper yelled to you as you walked together. There was a hint of amusement in his voice though he did seem to be at least a little mad at you. "What can I say? I just wanted to spend more time with my husband." You stopped walking, grabbing his waist slowly while smirking. He was quick to swat your hands away and you pouted, "What? You didn't miss me at all?" You faked a hurt expression but smiled when John rolled his eyes playfully. "Of course I miss you, I just wish I'd have gotten a bit of a bloody warnin eh?" You crossed your arms and shrugged, "Laswell thought it'd be funny." He scoffed muttering an "unbelievable," as he began walking again. You chuckled and smirked as you caught up to him, slapping his ass. He gasped and hit your arm which hurt more than you'd like to admit. You said sorry even though you clearly weren't and attempted to grab his hand only to get slapped away. You attempted again and he denied once more, that didn't stop you from trying the entire rest of the time you guys walked around base, he settled with holding your pinkie whenever no one else was in sight.

It's been about a week since you join 141 and you've mostly made friends with everyone. You'd heard a lot about Gaz from your husband so it was easy to click with him when you brought up stuff you knew he'd relate to. Soap was just easy to get along with in general and that Ghost guy is someone you're still working on. Either way currently the team had just gotten back from a small mission, they’d left both you and Price back at base for recon. After the mission was done they’d said their goodbyes over comms and took their short flight back to base. Walking in from the hanger, they all chatted - though it was mostly Gaz and Soap, Ghost didn’t mind listening in. “Aw man you should’ve seen that guys face when he realized he was out of bullets!” Gaz laughed with Soap, even Ghost let out a silent nose laugh at the two. “Yo y’alright lad?” Soap asked as he noticed that gaz had stopped laughing. “Did you hear that?” He asked and Soap slowly shook his head. “Lt?” Soap questioned and Ghost also shook his head. “Maybe you’re hearing things mate-“ Soap stopped talking abruptly as what sounded like a groan rang through the halls. “See there it is again!” “Ohhh yeah I heard that one! Ey LT, wanna check it out?” Soap shot Ghost a grin and he huffed.

“Ahh, shit-“ “Sounds like Price-“ Ghost said only to be cut off by Gaz. “You think he’s hurt?” “Doubt he’s hurt, sounds more like-“ Gaz hurried off causing Soap to laugh as Ghost sighed, following the two as they speed walk through the halls. Their captains groans only got louder the closer they got, curses being added in sometimes here and there. As they neared the shut door to Price’s room Gaz began walking a bit faster, obviously worried for his father friend. A “MmmphFuck- Y/n~” stopped Soap in his tracks, “wait that doesn’t sound like-“ Gaz busted the door open, his jaw dropping as he took in the sight before him. Price was stripped down to nothing but his boxers, his neck and chest and the inner bits of his thighs were covered in purple bruises. You hovered on top of him, pants unbuttoned, staring at the three new guests that entered the room. “Ahh shit I thought I locked the door..” they heard you mumble, all three of their eyes wide in shock.

“PRICE?!”

Gaz yelling seemingly knocked everyone (but you) out of their shocked trances. “Christ!” John shot up, bumping into your form, causing you to stumble back, gripping at the bed as to not fall. “Oh. Ohohoho-“ Soap started as he looked between the both of you. Soon after, he busted out laughing and unlike before he was the only one doing so. “Respectfully Sir, what the actual hell did I just walk in on?” Ghost spoke over Soaps loud laughter and Price could do nothing but stutter out useless excuses. “Aren’t you married?!” Gaz yelled and Soap immediately stopped laughing at that. “Ohhhhh Captain, cheating on your spouse? Not cool,” Soap looked shocked and you smirked, looking between both parties. “I’m not cheating on my-“ “Not cheating?! You’re practically naked and being fondled by this- this- new guy!” Gaz almost looked betrayed as he held his arm out towards your figure to emphasize his point. You failed to stifle a laugh and Price shot you an unimpressed look. “Gaz, calm down im not cheating on my Husband, he is my husband.” You nodded and both Soap and Gaz looked between each other. “Huh??” “Yup, it’s true I married this old guy.” You crossed your arms and jumped, feeling Price pinch you teasingly for your choice of words. “Wait so- your husband joined the team and you two didn’t say anything?!” Soap asked and you laughed, “I thought it’d be funny.” Price sighed, “It wasn’t relevant information at the time.” You shot him a false betrayed look as Gaz and Soap went silent. A deep chuckle from behind the two caught everyone attention. Simon “Ghost” Riley stood there, shoulders bouncing in what appeared to be silent laughter. “Fucking ‘ell, you lot really are something else.” He muttered and Soap’s face broke out into a grin as he started to laugh again. “I can’t believe I didn’t know.” Gaz spoke and you scoffed with a roll of your eyes. “Yeah yeah, this is all very funny but if you’ll excuse me I’d like to go back to what I was doing.” You motioned your head towards Price with a wide smirk as his face started turning red. Gaz looked borderline mortified and was quick to leave, Ghost and Soap following shortly after, though not without Soap throwing you a wink from over his shoulder.

Price groaned after the door shut, flopping backwards onto the bed with his face placed in his hands. You grabbed one, pulling it off of his face before planting a soft kiss to his cheek with a chuckle. "Sorry love, I could've sworn I locked the door." He sighed, "It's fine, s'not entirely your fault I was kind of being loud..." He mumbled and you laughed, placing a kiss to the corner of his lips. "Do you want to continue?" You asked, not so subtly grinding your hips down to resume the previous friction. He let out a breathy moan at the feeling before staring into your eyes and nodding slowly. Your face broke out into a grin as you leaned up a bit more, pulling his other hand away from his face and planting a proper kiss to his lips. That night, Price had tried to keep it down though with practically everyone already knowing what you both were up to there was really no point.

----!----

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Masterlist

[soapels]

flash

john “soap” mactavish x female reader

your good friend soap’s been actin’ a lil weird lately… but as long as you keep pretending otherwise, it’ll be okay. right…?

tw: nsfw/smut, reader has this thing where she playfully calls him soapy, friends to lovers sort of, comrades to lovers, alcohol use, emotional?? mentions of and allusions to mental illness

notes: yall this one took a while to cook up, ngl. but soap doesnt get as much love as he should!! so please accept this tender lil fic and enjoy 😖 and tell me if u enjoyed lol i’d be over the moon ♡ once again, readmore is bugging so…. Sorry 🥲

all hearts, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated!

There’s not much in this world that can ease the trauma that war leaves behind.

You’ve been a part of the team for a while, long enough to walk in on things you shouldn’t have- conversations meant for the higher-ups, things your ears weren’t supposed to hear. And you’ve shut your mouth, zipped it up tight and threw the key to the bottom of the sea by silently walking away from it all.

Sometimes you stumble upon things that aren’t inherently wrong, either- like Ghost winding down one night to a bottle of whiskey, a glimpse of his brown, doleful eyes- but it somehow feels out of place, too.

Nothing ever feels right, around here.

But you don’t want to leave, exactly, truthfully you think a big part of you will always be stuck here with the military and blood and gunpowder, like some dirty stain you can never quite scrub away completely.

And even stranger- you don’t think you’d have it any other way.

You dropped the hypothetical shit a while ago, no more dreams of living at the edge of a city in New York or owning a cozy little cafe like that one Simon particularly liked. Stopped wishing over shooting stars and leaning on pipe dreams of your life after the war’s done.

Because the war’s never really done, and that’s why you can’t go. To suddenly walk away from it all, emerge from a cloud of orange smoke to the suburbs- that’d feel worse than suicide, because you never finished shit, you let it finish you.

You’re not gonna leave first, you decided on your fourth mission, at least not on your own volition. Either you go down with the chaos, or you’re lucky enough and don’t.

And… You walk in on things you’re not always supposed to.

Like Soap hunched over by his bunk one quiet evening, the horizon a burning mess of red and deep tangerine outside the small window, curtains billowing ever so softly in the breeze.

…Doin’ something you still can’t find it in you to say.

And you wanted to do something, upon the door creaking open- pull a lighthearted scare on him like he does you sometimes, but more importantly, tell him that your Lieutenant told you to tell him that he’s on cleaning duty tonight. (He never likes cleaning much, Johnny, but he’s damn good at it- fast, too, probably under the incentive of a good night’s sleep.)

But there’s something in the air- must be- because your knees lock up and you gape at the back of his head, one large hand bracing against the bar of the bed, the other… wrapped around his front, jerking jerking jerking.

Confusion kicks in, for a solid moment as you piece it all together- the lack of a lamp light in the sunset-bathed room, the odd quietness and the precaution stitched in the stiff muscles of his back, shirtless and slightly sweating- and then comes the slow realization.

Common sense strikes you next.

You shut your mouth, turn on your heel, eyes bulging and all, nearly trip over your laces-

“Ah-“

And as the door quietly closes, your petrified gaze meeting Soap’s hazy blue one through the diminishing slit, you know you’ve fucked up.

You hear him call your name just before you go, his voice thick and heady, his Scottish accent just a rasping breath as you blink away the mad blush and counter it back with a frail call over your shoulder.

“Uhm- sorry! Ghost- um- h-he said you’re on cleaning duty!!”

Fuck.

♡♡♡

“All water under the bridge, Soapy.”

You tell him confidently after a whole week of awkwardly skirting around him, pretending he was nonexistent sitting across of you in the truck or plane. Truthfully, you were too embarrassed of your mishap to do much otherwise.

But none of that has to be known, so if he spots the nerves in your eyes, he doesn’t comment on it, and you’d like to think your little grin is convincing enough.

“Y’sure, lass?” He says uncertainly, rubbing the back of his neck as his oceanic hues flit between you and the wall behind you. You nod, sparing a cautionary glance over his shoulder to your comrades swaying around with every bump of the gravel road, bodies knocking together, shoulders brushing and—

“Lass…?”

“Oh,” you blink owlishly, mentally returning back to the male before you, “sorry, guess my mind wasn’t all there.”

“All on good things, I hope?” He offers a half-embarrassed little chuckle there, and when the sentiment clicks, you huff fondly and look away.

“Good things,” you confirm, ever bashful.

And there’s a stretch of peaceful silence; the muted crunch of gravel beneath the big tires, some mild chatter and exchanged banter between your Captain and Gaz (albeit, it comes mostly from Price), and the light rustle of bodies brushing together.

Your mind wanders away in that wordless reprieve, and though you vaguely register Soap’s presence still there- those blue, inquisitive eyes hovering over you- he’s no more than an afterthought as you slowly zone out.

Far. Away.

The glint of the steely rafters overhead. The ripped fabric of the seats. Camo and black and bleakness, everywhere, all the time, no color. You can’t feel your body.

Gunfire. Chaos. Your ears ring, a perpetual bell of terror in your head as adrenaline courses through your veins, fear making its daily rounds within you.

No escape, no red exits or arrows to an end- just you and the field of sand, endless and dry, swarmed with enemies that you can’t find it in you to leave behind for another.

It’s over, something weak and brittle-boned screams inside you, wailing, in the high-pitched voice of a child hiding under the bed. It’s over It’s over It’s over.

It’s over again.

…But he’s there, in all your trembling, concerned sapphire and a boyish sort of gentleness, a gloved hand reaching for you.

(Gunfire, gunfire, gunfire. Something’s nicked your leg, maybe.)

“…You good?”

You gasp inaudibly. Wide, deer-in-headlights gaze meeting a vaguely worried one.

His hand, idly sliding over the length of his gun, almost jitters as he quietly searches you for a sign of response, for a familiar smile or a pleasant little laugh that serves as a salve to his soul.

And for a fleeting, terrifying moment, Soap looks earnestly for life in those e/c hues, and finds grains of sand in his boots.

Your lips curl, ever so slightly, and that curse is broken.

“Yes,” you breathe, lashes fluttering down to the gun in your own arms— much too big for you, heavy, full of bullets named home (because you can’t feel safe without them)— and then your eyes fall to your legs, the camo hiding the healing mass of bandages there.

Soap wrapped most of them.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

When his cheeks dust over an unsuspecting red, you realize you’ve fucked up for the second time this week.

Because nobody calls him Johnny. Nobody but your headstrong Lieutenant.

…Jerking your chin away, wordless and tense in the direction of the vehicle’s driver, Soap can tell you’re sorry.

And he sighs then, exasperated- just as you- yet soft, too. His eyes follow yours, equipment jostling quietly in the droning lull of the long trip ahead.

“…No harm done there, lass.”

There’s a trace of a smile on his lips. Exhausted. True.

♡♡♡

Bruises, cuts, heavy fists and evil intent— literal bullets to the skin- you’ve taken it all, yet none of that seems to matter now, every bad memory bleeding into the swirl of your glass, ice tinkling together as you slowly relax into Soap’s sofa.

It smells of him, you think. Something woodsy and unexplainably Johnny- perhaps a trace of minty aftershave…

You feel nice, slumped back into the cushions in a haze- happy, even. Or perhaps not happy, exactly, but dazed and dumb and good. The sweet-tanged concoction too dizzying to think.

You can’t think; good, it must be.

Soap’s sat next to you, clad in faded denim jeans and a white top that clings loosely to his built muscles. His legs are spread somewhat, long made himself comfortable, thighs thick and strong through the rugged-blue material.

His condition’s not far off from yours, sporting a glass of his own, approaching his fifth of the night, though you suspect he holds his alcohol much better, because you hardly ever drink, and you’re already feeling tipsy after the second shot. Meanwhile, he’s still managing to articulate a sentence, a dopey grin occasionally showing on his face.

Sat at the armchair across the coffee table, Ghost is a stoic wreck of fatigue and relief, steadily nursing a bourbon as Soap babbles on about some old highschool story of his.

It’s probably something funny, something the sober you wouldn’t want to miss, something you’d tuck away in your brain for later to poke harmless fun at your pal with. But you’re so tired and lost and intoxicatedly stupid right now, and for the life of you, you can’t convince yourself to turn over and hear him out.

Later, the hopeful part of you whispers, when you’re less fucked up and leaden. (Later never comes.)

Ghost’s brown eyes are glossy beneath his balaclava, a sort of look kin to post-nut clarity glinting in them as he witnesses the two of you slowly. Processing, processing, processing. As if he’s looking through a pane of glass, not really there, but he feels every crippling sensation all the same and his mouth feels awkward, he’s drunk and his tongue is heavy.

He shouldn’t take another sip. He does anyway.

Maybe he’s not listening to Johnny half-coherently list off fables from his youth, maybe he’s simply existing and basking in the otherwise quiet moment-the temporary peace. And maybe Soap knows his Lieutenant zoned off a while ago, that now no ears in the whole entire world are listening to him spill the humorous side of his heart.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. None of it.

…There comes a point, though, where Soap looks over to you.

Those eyes, a murky, inscrutable sapphire, drag over you. Slowly. There’s something on his mind, something heavy and wild and that he can’t control, yet he doesn’t tell a word of it, and for the life of you, you can’t figure out why.

(You’re drunk anyway, you’re done and over with for the night. So what’s it matter anyway?)

(But it’s Soap, so you want to know.)

Finally, those hazy blues settle on your empty glass, clasped loosely in your fingers.

“…Pour y’another?”

You snort halfheartedly, mustering up a joke. (‘Cept, it’s not really funny, and your words are slurring. You sound stupid, you can’t feel your body. Pop pop pop, gunfire in the distance, playing like a broken vinyl cd in the crook of your head…)

“Soap… I don’t think I can take another…”

His chest rumbles low at that.

“S’pose yer right.”

He’s reaching forward, leaning into the coffee table, snatching a bottle and gesturing to your mug anyway.

You’re smiling like a plastered, exhausted bimbo when you obediently proffer it out to him and watch him fill it up. Slowly, but his strong arm’s a little uncoordinated as he pours it, and he almost spills some.

It’s more than you can ever hope to drink right now, you realize as he sets the whiskey back down, pressing the glass back to you. You think with enough ambition and torturous silence, though, you’ll be able to find way to swallow it all.

(The lot of you are good at that.)

It’s when you take your second sip that Ghost rises from the couch.

“I’m done-in for the night.”

He’s fucked up too, bad, you can tell. But he hides it well, always has, hardly a stumble to his step as he spares you a tired, mutual nod and turns in the direction of the hall.

“Sure, Lt,” Soap calls after him, the two of you watching Simon disappear into the dim glow of the hallway. “There’s blankets in the hall closet if y’get too cold.”

And it’s when you hear the soft click of a door, a bed promptly groaning under a foreign weight, that an unprecedented sense of drunken boldness takes over and you rise.

“Lass-?”

(He’s already poised to reach for you, prepared to follow right behind you should you say the word, if something’s wrong.)

Pop pop pop.

You tip your head back, gulping down the liquid- an evident bit of spice that sears your throat, a complimentary vanilla, too- ‘til you’re staring at an empty bottom.

Turnin’ back to Soap.

Jaw slack, eyes a glossy mess of intoxication and confusion- maybe even worry- Soap looks up at you with knitted brows. Ready to sit you back down, perhaps noticing the quiet war behind your dopey blinks- eager to convince you there’s nothing to be afraid of- he shouldn’t have poured you another, it’s time to hit the hay, maybe—

“Johnny,” you say, and it knocks the very breath out of him, “More.”

…More it is.

He belatedly takes your emptied mug in his hands, almost trembling as he snuffs out all of his internal turmoil and brims your glass with more of that addictive substance.

Pours himself another, too. (Figures he’ll need it to sleep tonight. Though, it’ll hurt like hell in the morning- that’s when he’ll truly pay for it.)

Settling back into the sofa (admittedly not in best shape, leather worn-in, a few scratches), he watches you tap in and out of your beverage, and when your hips start to sway- thin fabric of your nightgown shifting along your thighs- a good piece of him (the last of his rationality) burns with the whiskey at the back of his throat.

Oh, you want to butcher him tonight, don’t you?

There’s no sound, just the pleasant backdrop of rain dripping off the apartment’s roof and the occasional car whistling down the city streets, yet you move like it’s your favorite song.

Lazy, loosely-controlled, like every sentiment flows through you like a conduit.

Brokenness there, Johnny finds snapped twigs and bullet shells and the screams that catch deep in your lungs after another close call. But he discovers hope there too, a courageous peace and a beam of your forgiving moon…

Wants to swim in your waters.

(But you don’t bleed the same chaos he’s realized he can. You reek of immovable innocence; he’s beheaded men and liked it- he’s imagined you outside of your hellish job and shimmied out of those thick fatigues- pictured you naked and happy on his cock. And that lovely gown you’re in now makes you so fuckin’ precious in his eyes…)

(It frames you like an angel. You are, Soap knows. You are. And he deserves no part of it.)

Your body ebbs like a tide.

A gentle, hypnotic lullaby that Soap thinks is awfully inviting, jaw stiff at the way your perky ass tempts him beneath the pale silk, jeans growing a touch tighter as the seconds tick by. (Has he been watching you for forever? Have you been swaying for only a moment? He doesn’t know, but—)

It’s enough.

He rises too, then, large hands meeting the curve of your hips, settling there like he’s belonged for some time, eyes hooded as they sweep over the expanse of your neck and collarbones, point of his nose scraping against the column of your throat.

“Want t’kill me tonight, d’you, lass?”

You almost pause for a moment at his touch, he can feel it in the way you stiffen, the faint shiver of your spine. But you don’t let his presence stop you, and for that he’s ever thankful.

“No,” you breathe, and it’s just as soft as it is drunk.

Slurred, and falling apart, still you’re a sight for sore eyes, the callous pads of his fingers slowly riding down the plush of your thigh… “Never, Soapy.”

Soapy. What a fucking nickname. Probably one of the stranger things he’s gotten hard at- not that he’s complaining, because though for anyone else it wouldn’t slide, it sounds so sweet leaving your lips.. makes warmth furl out in his chest…

Hands roaming, roaming, and roaming some more.

Stopping midway, where the frilly hem of that tantalizing gown lies…

Testing your waters, though he wants nothing more than to pull the fabric off you and dive right in.

“Gorgeous thing,” he murmurs back, this time into the side of your jaw, his lips smushing into your cheek as he insinuates himself behind you. Wonderin’ if you fully realize the persistent bulge at your rear-side and if you do, whether or not you like it.

(D’you want him, too? Oh, fuck, he hopes you want him, too. Don’t know what he’ll do otherwise…)

When his thumb grazes against the smooth skin of your belly and you offer no rebuttal, he relaxes some behind you, blood roaring through his ears (down south, too). Hoping you’ll be impossibly generous with him, even if just for tonight, even if you’ll both forget it all by the morning and this little daydream of his will be swept under the rug ‘til he stumbles again and needs to revisit it.

“Fuckin’ hell, lass…” he sort of groans. “Sway those hips s’more for me, yeah…?”

You’re too good, he thinks as you lean back into him and give him just what he asked for, you’re too good and now he’s hot and needy for you. Only you. (Why’s it only ever you?)

The alcohol’s getting to his head, his mouth feels fuzzy and his throat is cotton but he likes it- the embers licking at the pit of his belly doing no favors for his intoxication.

M’ drunk off you, lass. He wants to say, or at least something of the sort. But his lips are sealed, and the patters of rain stay steady outside. And not a word comes out.

Not until his hips start grinding against yours, hands hungrily groping up to the mounds of your tits, and you mewl. You fucking mewl. A soft whine, hardly a breath, really- but it’s somehow satisfied and greedy all at once and Soap knows right then that you need him just as he needs you.

(You need him.)

“Fuck, Y/n,” he grunts, voice thick with arousal, low with remnants of exhaustion. “Let me take ya to m’ room… Please?”

And you do, obedient as he flips you around, carefully hoisting you up, palms cupping the unders of your thighs as he heads off in the direction of the hallway.

He wants to kiss you, to twirl his tongue with yours and taste the sweeter option of liquor you let him pour you tonight, he wants to do everything he’s ever wanted to with you- but he doesn’t.

Sex is one thing- to fuck you is already worse enough but at least he could chalk it up to just blowing off some steam. But kissing... That crossed a whole different line and leapt over into something far more personal.

You two will be in big trouble should Ghost suddenly emerge from the guest room and find you- you’re certain this isn’t allowed, but Soap’s arms are setting you down on his bed and his mouth is suckling at your neck and you like it.

But—

“Johnny,” you whine breathlessly. He somehow, amidst the inebriation and the heady poke of your breasts against his chest- the sin of his name on your tongue- recognizes the hesitance there and finds it in him to pause.

“What?” Voice all raspy and fucked-up. Impatient, slightly harsh.

(But his heart is running so fast it echoes in his brain.)

“This is-…” you swallow. “This is wrong.”

Johnny sighs. “Lass,” the backs of his knuckles brush over your cheek, up along your jaw ‘til his fingers are stroking back your hair, and his eyes are a tsunami, roaring waves folding over a gentle tide as he peers at you.

(Fuck, he sees you. He totally, fully sees you.)

Pupils a blown-out mess of adoration and tenderness and something deeper you can’t quite place.

“M’fraid it all is.”

His lips ghost over yours- for a moment he almost sinks his teeth into the softness there, but at the last second they shift gears and descend upon you, placing a flurry of pecks on your tummy. Down down down, ‘til he’s rucking up your gown and the tip of his nose is burrowing into the dip of your panties- the wetness there exacerbating his raging hard-on.

You shiver violently at his touch, lazily propped up on your elbows as you gape down at him. Your fingers find his head, tangling into his mohawk, grazing against the shaved hair. His eyes glow like a beast, large palms dragging your hips in, bracing into your thighs.

His eyes roll back some at your touch. The gentleness you regard him with in those shimmery eyes of yours- you’ve had him on a tight leash for a while now. He hopes you know, and wonders if you’d loosen his chains a little, just to free him some. (Does he even want to be free?)

“Johnny, I…” (The intensity in his gaze so heady and endless you can’t muster up a proper sentence.)

“…Can make y’happy,” he huffs out, then, his hot breath melding against your clothed pussy- needy and aching for your usually-cheery comrade. “Can make ya cum on my tongue, if that’s what y’want.”

The moon slivers in through the still curtains. His words are slurred. Johnny is so drunk. You are, too. You’ll regret this tomorrow morning if you remember. And you will, of course you will, because you remember everything. (Least, all the things you shouldn’t…)

Johnny, though- cheeks a ruddy mess of infatuation and tender, overwhelming arousal- is worth all of it.

“I jus’ want you,” you breathe incoherently after a belated beat of silence.

There’s a split second of nothingness- where Soap has to piece together your sloppy (yet no less sincere) whisper-

And then there’s a broken little whimper on his end. His fingers hooking into the hem of your panties and tugging ‘em down- vicious, almost. No more waiting. You asked too nicely for him to turn you down anyway.

“You’ll get me.” He whispers coarsely. He hikes your legs up over his shoulders, fumbling flat onto his tummy- still, somehow careful of the bandages around your knee- and doesn’t waste any time.

Diving in, placing a preparatory kiss to to your clit before nuzzling into your folds—

Your head immediately thrashes into his pillows, jaw gaping as you stifle a desperate moan, eyes pinned to the ceiling.

“Oh, Johnny,” you whine, and your voice is so thin- skin so glassy in the flicker of the moon- that he’s sure one wrong touch will break you entirely.

(And he wants to break you, maybe. If only to put your pieces back together, bring you to beautiful ruin on his cock and tongue and fingers and soul, just so he can recombine you after all is said and done. Be the one to kiss away your tears, pocket them like souvenirs- whenever he feels particularly awful he can pull them out and remember how they made your eyes shine like magic 8balls. And for a moment, all the wrong will fade.)

“That’s it, pretty gal,” his palms hold your quivering thighs apart, keeping you mostly steady beneath him. But when he shifts, teases his index finger at the core of you and sinks it in- so deep- so much longer than yours- you let out a shivering moan that the back of your hand can’t hold.

He hushes you, briefly pulling away from your pussy, and you think you hear something close to love there. “Hush, lass,” he whispers. “Much as I want t’hear ya, word gets out to Shepherd and we’re done for.”

Soap gets a shaky, long exhale in return, and from where he lies between your legs, he watches your tummy stutter with every breath, breasts torturing him with every jostle.

“I don’t think I can take it.” You confess.

(Fuck, he has to ruin you.)

He sighs deeply. “You will…”

You beg him a lot; small fingers fisted in his stripe of hair, unwittingly tugging and whining as quiet as you could, that he’d save you the hell and give his cock to you already. But it’s only after you’ve come undone on his tongue that he finally indulges you- though he’s more than willing, fumbling for his slacks as he settles you back down, nose brushing against yours as he lines himself up.

“Tell me you still want it…”

“I want you,” you breathe.

He’s kissing you, cock pushing in with a feral little growl that rocks the both of you, muffled in the swirl of your tongue as his hips meet the underside of your thighs. He pushes ‘em to your chest.

“Fuck, lass, wanted to do this for a while,” he confesses in a breathy sort of whine, and when you whimper confusedly back he pulls away some, gives you a shaky nod. His balls are tight already, belly flipping with arousal and lust and the pure need to fill you up.

“Mhm,” he hums, all reassurance, gentle, uncoordinated fingers smoothing back your hair as he drinks in the sight of you. Perfect beneath him, eyes hardly meeting his, lashes dewy with pleasure- all given by him- breasts jostling like a treat as he drives himself into your warmth.

As tender as he can make it, as good as he can hold back.

“Thought about this for too long. Was so afraid that evening you walked in on me— ah— but… suppose you wanted it too, yeah?”

He’s kissing you again. Why’s he kissing you again-?

“I want ye,” he murmurs against you, and you’re trying so hard not to make a peep, gnawing on your love-swollen lips when Soap finally pulls away for oxygen- but perhaps something inside him snaps, looking down at you, ruined by his hand, because the next thing he says—

“Fuckin’ hell- don’t hold back, lass, don’t care who hears anymore,” he near begs, low voice rubbed raw with alcohol and, well, the sight of you, raising a pitch.

“Y’sound so pretty, so fuckin’ good, just let me hear you…”

And the pathetic part is- he’s already getting close, already feels that niggling, simmering sensation clutching in the pit of his belly as he rams his length in and out of you, watching your pretty face contort with pleasure— all given by him— and—

And when you finally unhook your bottom lip from your teeth and loose a whimpering, wanton moan for him, he comes on the spot.

Witnessing the twisted, cloying expression he makes as he lets out a long, feral groan, you think you come, too.

(Sure felt like it anyway- on Soap’s end, too. Fuck.)

But he just collapses over you, letting your sweaty skin fold against his as he burrows into the crook of your neck, suckles little red and pink marks that’ll linger tomorrow, and the next day, and the next…

“Yr’gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning away some to look you in the eyes.

His glitter with warmth- you suspect he might’ve hidden a tear in the juncture of your neck- and they harbor this unmistakeable, eddying flash of love.

“You know that, yeah? …How gorgeous y’are?”

His pupils are blown wide, swallowing up a ring of baby blue. His calloused palms hold you close. So close. You can’t leave, you think, can’t squirm away even if you wanted to— not in Johnny’s grasp.

You muster up the sweetest, most fatigued little smile, and send it his way. “I-I know, Johnny.”

He shifts one final time, grinning tiredly (still, he’s won a medal, tonight, the best he could’ve ever aspired for) as he makes himself comfortable behind you- still tucked inside you- and wraps his strong arms ‘round your torso.

The bed creaks once more- loud, may you add, because Johnny stopped—

“Bloody hell! Go to sleep, will ya?!”

[meret118]

First thoughts on The Diplomat season 2

Wow! It's terrific! I think it would have been even better with a normal length season, but it was still great. Totally worth the binge watch! :) Spoilers below.

Poor Ronnie! I figured if an american was going to die it would be the most minor character, but it's still sad. I'm very glad the impact of their death on the other characters wasn't downplayed.

So many great scenes! The Wyler's argument in the bedroom and the shoes. Stuart chewing Kate out. The fireworks and the aftermath.

Eidra is my new favorite. I hope she and Stuart don't get back together though. He asks her not to go to Cairo, even though that would be a promotion, asks her to go public with their relation, even though he knows he may be going back to DC very soon, ambushes her with personal shit at work multiple times, refuses to believe they're over, and then says she's the problem. She deserves way better.

I hope we see more Dennison next season. I can't help but wonder if a lot of his scenes were cut for time. I would have liked him to tell Kate why he's supporting Trowbridge and wants nothing to do with her anymore for example, and what he thinks about how she's handled the whole thing. They primarily focused on the plot and the Wyler's relationship this season.

The story of Debora Cahn only doing six episodes when Netflix wanted eight because she was tired seems odd to me. If she needed more time or help why not ask them for it? They love the show, and renewed season three before this one even dropped. It just feels . . . odd to me.

I still loved the new season, except for one thing - I was shocked that Kate didn't push back on burying what really happened in the meeting with the PM etc. That seems totally OOC to me. It's practically the only time she's kept her mouth closed the whole show! Later, she even tells the VP what they know about her instead of lying or just saying orders from Billie and playing dumb. Keeping quiet is not in her nature, and burying it doesn't seem like advice she would give either, at least not right then.

Allison Janney rocks! She was manipulating Trowbridge of course, and Kate too. Until Billie reacted the way she did I wondered for a second if Hal lied so Kate would take the job. Shouldn't they tell Eidra about what Roylin told Hal?

Why is Kate so easily manipulated by Penn? Is it just because she's a woman too? The only other one who was able to do it, other than Hal, was Roylin in season one after all. Penn speaks, and it's like Kate completely changes her opinion to whatever Penn says every time. I hope we learn something to explain it. It just feels like bad writing in an otherwise brilliant show at the moment to me. Maybe the explanation was cut for time this season? (When she finally does stand up to Penn, it bites her in the ass of course.)

Hal just can't take the win. He has to go behind Kate's back. Again.

WOW! That ending!!!! I did not see that coming at all!

Favorite Lines:

1."Did you fuck him?"

"No!

". . ."

"I didn't."

"Were you planning to?"

"Yeah." (Said very matter of factly.)

2. "I didn't do this to you when you, when you kept things in the vault."

"Why did you never ask me?"

"Because I trusted you."

"I don't trust you. I don't. Do you trust you?"

"Is this the part of the conversation where you get mean because you're not getting what you want?"

"It's not mean. I love you, but this is based on something other than trust. That can't be news to you?"

"I need to eat something. You're making my head hurt."

So he has food sent up so she'll eat off his plate and drop it. Plus it's not his head that's hurting. Even though he's the one that has lied repeatedly their whole marriage. Yet in this case he's actually trying to protect her. . . . And so he can get his foot in the WH too. So many layers! :)

3. (About Scottish Independence) "They're nice, sweet people. They are cold all the time. Let them make their own decisions."

[halfadoginatank]

Simon and his father take a trip to the Scottish highlands for the summer, he knows only one of them will leave.

Johnny is a boy obsessed with filming explosions from fireworks he's not supposed to have.

Los Vaqueros are a group of Mexican teens derailed from their field trip waiting for teachers that might not come back.

Huge lore and plot dump below.

Mild tw for Simons father

Simons father has always taken him on hunting trips, sometimes he hated them, some times he liked them. But he'd never taken him this far from manchester. There are weapons in the cabin they rent, his father is eerily sober, one of them is going to die out here. Simon can only hope that Tommy won't be next.

Johnny meets him when he strays too far from his father. Part of it on purpose, he would never be on equal footing, more so when his father had the rifle and not him. He's in the tree's, at first simon thinks its prey, but there's a camera lense staring right at his scope.

Los Vaqueros come later, the leader arguing with a girl with choppy hair, Valeria and Alejandro trade glares while Rodolfo tries to mediate. Their bus broke down, leaving them stuck in town desperately renting a cabin near but far from the one simon is in.

It's the most interesting thing thats happened to johnny, and in the makeshift bonfire Valeria corners him and Simon. Her gaze is snakelike and a ring clinks on the bottle she's holding

"You say that he's an asshole yes? Your padre. Mine was the same, en mi opinión? It is kill or be killed."

Valeria nods at Alejandro, she tells them of a faceless force where she's from. The person sponsoring the trip for them, 'good will'. The five of them band together, the rest of the Vaqueros utterly ignorant.

Simon will save his family, Alejandro will get them home, and johnny? He's going to make the best home video.

-

Yeah so thats the whole plot, originally it was just going to be ghoap but somehow the Vaqueros fell into place. It kind of made more sense to have Valeria give them the idea? She doesnt have a whole bunch of canon lore so I figured she'd have an in with the cartel via her father, who was awful. And when Valeria killed him the nameless helped her cover it up and she got her own little spot.

Alejandro broke off their relationship after that, it's why they're on bad terms. He formed the Vaqueros as a funny joke that he started to take seriously when kids around Las Almas genuinely needed help that wasnt someway connected to the cartel, adults had that with rudys mother, so Ale and his childhood friend Rudy decided to help people their age in a way that doesn't rely on adults too much.

Everyone here is about 16-18. Soap is 17, ghost is as well but a few months older. Rudy Alejandro and Valeria are 18. And the youngest cowboy is 16.

Im trying to fit Gaz and Alex in? Im thinking that they both live in Texas, Gazs parents had a falling out since mum was from Texas hes there. Their school is on the same trip in the same bus a sort of cross trip to help the shitty american public school get a better name, as well as the cartels big PR move with having a class from one of Las Almas' schools.

Johnny is a bit weird here, but his motivation is he's suffering from extreme middle kid issues. Loves his family but since he's almost invisible is able to just kinda run off as long as hes back home eventually. He has a camera he uses to film any of his mishaps with, its essentially just jackass. As well as a video diary. Dont be fooled, its also an excuse for me to write some of it in script like format.

Simon is almost exactly the same as he is in the 09 comics, obviously a bit different. But childhood is the same.

I wanted farah to be here so bad but her childhood is literally a warzone and theres no way I can get her and her brother in Scotland. Because im trying so hard to make this somewhat believable, like yes its is a summer mystery horror au. But god I just really need things to make a little sense otherwise I cant do it. Same with Price Nik and Laswell. Like I could group Laswell in with Alex and gaz, and maybe I could pair her with Valeria for funsies. However Nikolai is in russia so... oopsie, and price? Like... how do you turn price into a teenager, he'd be what 19 or 20? Theres no reason he'd be in school, I dont think he'd be held back.

Also you may wonder, why is graves not here? Uh.... because I dont care, he wouldn't have a place here. The antagonist is Simons father, and honestly man? I just dont care that much for his character.

Man theres... theres so much I have here dude, I want to throw roach in there, and I THINK I could squeeze him in as one of ghosts school mates but the point is the first act has Simon completely isolated.

Anyway thats it. Bye.

[leonenjoyer69]

It has been demanded of me to drop everything I had made for an unshared BMC x TGS AU I thought up back in March :3 I honestly don't remember much of it, but I apparently wrote a shit ton, so here's that straight from my drafts and writing app--

First! The original Tumblr draft!:

Guys guys, hear me out, TGS "Be More Chill" AU thingy.

Hyde is Jekylls SQUIP, and boy is he defective. Self loathing is of course still in order, but also he's constantly telling Jekyll to do really impulsive things. Oh, this guys being an asshole? PUNCH HIS ASS JEKYLL! holy shit, hot theatre boy Lanyon? Kiss him kiss him ASK HIM OUT YOU WUSS-

Hyde SQUIP doesn't want complete world control via SQUIPs tho bc all the other ones are too "boring", he just kinda wants to do whatever and "fix" this really nerdy Scottish boy.

And then, what I had in my writing app (which was a lot jfc):

TGS au that is vaguely inspired by BMC >:3

Henry and Robert share a dorm room at this university (Henry is big gay for Lanyon ofc). At this University, Jekyll has created this science club, Students for Arcane Science (of course there's also all sorts of mythical curiosities in this world, so it's still got all the ghosts and creatures and werewolves) with the help of Dr Maijabi (who's a teacher in this mayhaps, otherwise itd be Mrs Frankenstein). This club is just to bring people who are very passionate about their scientific fields together to talk and share experiments and things, and to perhaps do experiments together. One day, someone in passing (perhaps Pennebrygg) mentions this odd new Japanese technology to Jekyll, since he's so enraptured by chemistry and matters of the mind and soul, and Jekylls nerd ass immediately wants to know more about it. So, being the science-driven guy he is, he immediately sets out to get his hands on one to try, because hey, maybe this cool little pill will give him the confidence to actually ask out Lanyon and to make other people like him more. Too bad he gets a defective one. He doesn't know that though! So, of course his first course of action is to absolutely grill this SQUIP thing-- who so quickly insisted that he was to be called Hyde (what an odd name for this oddly dressed lad)-- on how he worked (I like to think Jekylls Scottish accent slips out more when he gets enthusiastic or when he's rushing, Lanyon has to remind him a lot to "speak English"). Hyde doesn't really care to answer most of these questions, but he relents on one condition, that Jekyll shuts the fuck up long enough for him to make it home so he's not caught talking to himself like a maniac in public. So, cue a montage of Jekyll barely containing his wonder and excitement as this brash little creature walking beside him (Hyde doesn't like being locked away in the mind, so hes persistent about keeping a physical manifestation of himself if able) explains how he was created (well, to the extent hes allowed to). Eventually though, he gets kinda bored and just begins poking fun at Jekyll and the people they come across, running around doing silly things that he knows only Jekyll can see, and Jekyll kinda gets a kick out of it. Eventually they make it back to Jekylls dorm, where Lanyons just lazing around. (Im unsure if Jekyll  should reveal that he got the SQUIP to Lanyon or if it should be kept a secret from him, since he wants to use it to get with him and all). Hyde probably makes some quip about Jekyll having good taste or something, studying Lanyon super closely. Jekyll gets super flustered and kinda runs off to somewhere where he can talk to Hyde one on one. When talking, Jekyll reveals what he wants help with: 1. Getting with Lanyon, and 2. Just being able to fit in more and get people to actually like him. Hyde agrees (of course, he doesn't have much else of a choice considering he's bound to this nerd now) and starts coming up with increasingly wild and morally questionable plans.

Hyde's whole thing is that he's defective- not in a "I wanna take over this place/the world", but in more of a way where he wants to live vicariously through Henry. He can't live his own life because of what he is, and for some reason, despite how he was supposed to be created, he's less "calm, calculated computer" and more "impulsive spit fire". He feels things that he's probably not supposed to, but hey, that's not for him to dwell on. (It'd be really cool if at some point Henry tried giving Hyde his own body, mayhaps either with Mr Tanis, Pennebrygg, or Frankensteins help) so, Hyde let's this impulsivity guide him through "helping" Henry, which makes Henry's control and ability to ignore the increasingly wild things Hyde tells him to say or do (for example, telling him to punch a fellow student for looking at him snide, or to tell Lanyon that his smile is beautiful)

____

Yeah, clearly more inspired by BMC than like, a straight kinda insert AU, but idk thinking on it now it could definitely be changed a decent bit to fit BMC more. But!!! There's that, to the people that were curious lmao

[hannahhook7744]

tell me about Artie and Morgie's relationship ?

Tulip is optional for this!

Morgie meets Artie when the younger boy is fourteen years old and he, himself, is around fifty (though he, like Hades, Uliana, and Maleficent, looks good for his age due to his fae genes and he doesn't feel it either) after the barrier is brought down.

This is to say that Morgie is somewhat more mature that he was in Rise of Red, and, is smarter (though I doubt he was ever truly dumb given he may have ADHD and modern English, as pointed out by @leftbehindtorot and @isleofdarkness , probably isn't his first language).

Which means that Artie's reckless little ass stresses him out to the point that he wishes he was thirty-six years younger so that he could smack some sense into the idiot (though, as his friends like to point out, if he was thirty-six years younger, he would actually join in on the shenanigans).

Morgie has somehow become the go-to babysitter of Artie and his friends because for some reason he's the only one the kids even remotely listen to and he can heal or outright prevent any injuries the kids would otherwise get due to their recklessness (something Merlin is absolutely not even the slightest bit salty about).

His friends all find this funny—even lizard Maleficent laughs at him when she eventually makes her way to him during one of her escapes.

Artie was not pleased when he realized that Exacilabar was in Merlin's office even when Morgie was in school and threw the fit of a life time (something he hadn't done since he was a little kid).

Artie's friend and Merlin's son, Dragonet, was somehow even less pleased than Artie was to find that out.

Of course, once those two found out, all of their friends found out—and since all of Artie's friends like Morgie...well, it wasn't a fun day for Merlin. Or the Merlin Academy staff, for that matter (luckily for the Auradon Prep staff, Sir Kay's daughter, Kelemon, had graduated by that point).

Merlin looked to Arthur and the round table for help but found enough.

Artie loves Morgie's snake tattoo and his magical tattoo, and even wants one of his own when he's older (much to Arthur/Wart's horror).

Morgie gets along well enough with Arthur/Wart and Hazel/Guinevere.

Merlin walks in on Morgie trying to teach Dragonet, Artie, and the rest of the kids magic and has a heart attack. An actual heart attack. He lives (Morgie privately thinks he's dramatic and his friends all agree, even lizard Maleficent).

Morgie's full name is actually Morgar Yvain le Fay and Artie's full name is actually Artorius Gaius Pendragon. Both of them find their nicknames, Morgie and Artie, more appealing coincidentally (Merlin is sweating about their similarities).

Artie looks up to Morgie a lot.

Morgie is actually older than Arthur thanks to the great big magical mishap that was the timeline mashup that led to Auradon's existence (yes, it gives them a headache too).

Also, because of the various myths that exist in modern name, neither Morgie or Arthur are actually sure who they're related/not related to, other than themselves and Artie. Something everyone likes to joke about.

Morgie jokingly calls Artie a copycat because the blonde copies little behaviors of his.

Merlin and Morgie have been caught glaring at one another when Artie wasn't looking several times.

Merlin is extremely suspicious of Morgie and is convinced him spending time with Artie and the others is some kind of evil ploy (and, if you count Morgie being amused by the stress it causes Merlin, it kind of it. But not at the same time).

Artie steals Morgie's scarves when he's bored because he thinks it's funny.

Artie and his girlfriend, Tulip, and their friend, Dragonet, taught Morgie how to make a Jack O'Lantern.

Artie has picked up bits of Ancient Greek, Atlantean, French, Fey Speak, hiss speak, and Scottish Gaelic from Morgie.

Morgie once told Artie of the time he and his friends set fire to their school and got away with it (and immediately regretted it because Artie then tried it. Which no one knows about because Tulip and Dragonet snitched to Morgie before it spread). His friends all thought it was very funny. Morgie did not.

Both Artie and Morgie, if presented with an intergalactic portal, would enter it without question.

Artie stole a lollipop at a fair when he was five and still feels guilty about it, which Morgie finds hilarious.

Morgie regularly uses his magic to pick Artie up by the scruff of his shirt to stop him from doing reckless things.

One time when Morgie was teaching the kids magic, they accidentally turned him into a snake and he was like that for a week before they figured out how to turn him back (which they had to track down Uliana to do).

Morgie is very clumsy yet still does parkour: he's even taught Artie some moves.

[sgiandubh]

Through the rabbit hole

Long, lazy Sunday: I am late with the Persian analysis and I apologize to those who were waiting for it. However, I do have an excellent excuse: I found myself unexpectedly engrossed in - hallelujah! can I say hallelujah? - Drums of Autumn, once I finally managed to be done with the very laborious first two chapters.

I continue to find the modern timeline slightly better written than most of the French shenanigans, for reasons I have already explained (yes, it is fiction, but the underuse of that particular trope left me hungry and not in a good way). The 1969 Boston episode (Moon landing included) can easily and will probably be among my favorites: it is short, lively and she does not go overboard with pedantry. Also, to my great surprise (or maybe also because the SS&RR tandem is so cataclysmic in the series), Brianna & Roger are (possibly) way better sketched and, overall, more interesting and endearing in the books. Fun fact: in my mind, they don't even look like the Painful Duo. But J&C look as S&C and whoever tells you otherwise did not watch the series and/or lies.

Unpopular opinion and I will probably get strong reactions to this: book Claire is, at times, insufferable to me. There are (mercifully) fleeting moments when I hear and almost see a poor travesty of Herself in her. If there is one person in this Universe who was ever able to masterfully round those edges and elevate Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall Fraser to legend, well: that is (and I suspect it could only be) C.

Conversely, I once read on a Mordor blog something as idiotically enormous as "Jamie Fraser is, we all know it, a brute and Claire is the only person making him look human". This is Hate 101, transferred from the guy you spew on all day long to the character that guy decisively shaped and gave a destiny to, on screen. Writing such inanities lacks culture, taste and empathy. Jamie Fraser is a brute because he protects his family, whatever the costs? Is he a brute with a deep appreciation for the Greek and Roman Classics? Is he a brute just because he happens to be imagined and given life to in the 18th century Scottish Highlands, a place and time you obviously have no familiarity with, spare these books? And what about the other feminine influences in Jamie's life, that shape his unique sensitivity and understanding of the emotional needs of a 20th century woman, such as Claire? What about Ellen, Jenny, hey even the tiny (blink and you'll miss her) Annalise (dreadful name, Herself) de Marillac? I really pity you, woman. Really do.

All in all, I have no idea about what happened in LAX, other than the kilt apotheosis and the subsequent drooling, fainting and yelling that accompanied it. I still saw many young women in that crowd and I am cautiously betting for less drama, this time. But I do wonder why *urv never shows up at any event in the area, when the effort would be, for her, minimal. Things that make you go hmmm, once again.

A new (hectic) week just started. Onwards.

[feral-witch-hat]

So just found out recently that Joker from Persona 5 and The Conductor from A Hat In Time both share the same voice actor, Xander Mobus.

And that finding just gave me the stupidest idea for a P5 AU.

P5, but everything is exactly the same, except Joker has a deep Scottish accent and no one can understand him when he speaks and he also scares people when he does speak.

Like, can you imagine-

Warning: Swears below.

"I'LL TELL YA FOCKEN WHAT, KAMOSHIDA, I'LL TEAR YER DAMN ARMS OFF AND SHOVE EM SO FAR UP YER ARSE, YE'LL BE TASTIN YER OWN SHITE COVERED HANDS FER WEEKS!"

"OOOH, BIG SCARY MADERAME! THE ONLY THING SCARY 'BOUT YE IS THE FOCKEN QUALITY OF YER SHITE ARSE PRISSY ARSE PAINTINGS!"

"AKECHI, YA DAFT CONT." But also-

"Ay, nae bother, lass, I'm glad I got ta help, but I cannae stay long, otherwise Sojiro will wring up me arse!"

Meanwhile Ann's just like: ???

"That's treasure Demon's gone walkies, lads!"

Other thieves: ???

These are the only ones I can think of, but if you have any ideas, let me know!

[smashing-teacups]

A Breath of Snow and Christmas, Chapter Two

A/N: Only a bit delayed, now that it’s, you know, February... 😅

“No she did not!”

“Aye, she did.” Even in the dim lighting of the bar, I could see Jamie blush straight to the tips of his ears. Shaking his head, he brought his tumbler to his lips and took a healthy swallow. “Fair certain the whole campus saw ‘fore I got wind of it.”

Despite the dire warnings from Google that the holiday might impact business hours, it had been surprisingly easy to find a pub that was open at 9:30 PM on Christmas Eve. Even more surprisingly, we found that the place was packed by the time we arrived: middle-aged couples dressed in their finery, out for a nightcap after the symphony or ballet; clusters of raucous university students clutching pint glasses as they chatted and laughed; a handful of lone patrons hunched over their cups.

Willing to take whatever space was available, we’d gratefully accepted a pair of stools at the far end of the counter, huddled quite close together by virtue of necessity. Given our unorthodox day back at the hospital, though, what might otherwise have been an awkward proximity for a first date felt surprisingly comfortable — natural, even — between the two of us. And with the addition of alcohol, the last of my social inhibitions had all but dissolved, my head pleasantly light, my belly warm with whisky, and my knee tucked intimately between Jamie’s.

He was a born storyteller, and I found myself completely enraptured as he spoke about his childhood in the Scottish Highlands, his embarrassing trials and tribulations at uni (I simply couldn’t get over the fact that he’d been a frat boy, and had teased him until he finally relented and told me about it), and his bumbling romances all throughout. I couldn’t help my initial skepticism when he mentioned that he hadn’t been in many relationships — one look at him, and I thought he must have slept with half of Massachusetts. But the more he talked, the more apparent it became that he actually found his appearance to be a hindrance; he was frustratingly noticeable, always drawing the wrong sort of attention at the wrong time. He’d just finished telling me about a girl at uni who’d printed out his pictures from Facebook and pasted them over the faces of naked men in a Hot Scot calendar, then pinned it up on the community board with a sticky note that said You’re welcome, ladies!  

“I hope you got a bloody restraining order!” I fumed.

“Nah.” His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “She was only a lass, a freshman. Didna mean any harm by it, jes’ thought she was bein’ funny.” He tipped his tumbler back, draining the dregs, then spun the empty glass between his hands for a moment before shrugging dismissively. “But that was, uh… that was the end of my love life at uni. Most everyone thought I was the one who’d put it up, and ye can imagine what sort of impression that left on the women I was interested in.”

I nodded slowly, well aware of what I would have thought — assumed — had I been in school with him. “I’m so sorry.”

At long last, he raised his lashes to look at me, and not for the first time, I was struck by how kind his eyes were, how soulful. “I’m not,” he said softly, setting his glass down on the bartop with a dull clink. “Probably better that way, in hindsight. Meant that I was able tae put all my focus into my studies. Dinna ken that I would have ever gotten into nursing school otherwise.”

I smiled, watching him over the rim of my glass as I took a long, pleasantly burning sip of my own whisky. Following the segue onto common ground, I asked after I’d swallowed, “So what made you decide to go into nursing?”

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