#headfirst into going to places you shouldn’t

[callmetippytumbles]

BUT YOU DO, AMALA!

[fangirlwriting-stories]

What's Almost Familiar

Summary: “It’s not quite that simple,” Ford says, turning to look back at his drink. “If the portal is turned back on, it could give Bill a path through to whatever world it’s turned on in. It’s not as easy as turning it on and you get to go home. It’s the needs of the many versus the needs of the few. He has to keep the world safe from Bill. I can understand why he has to leave you here.”

He winces a little as soon as he says the last part, and braces himself. He expects a glare, or for Stan to snap at him, or anything similar. Something that shows he doesn’t understand the sacrifice part of all this. But instead, Stan laughs, a strange mix of fond and sad, and takes another swig of his beer.

“God, Poindexter,” he says. “You’ve been out here almost thirty years and you still haven’t learned a damn thing, have you?”

Author's Note: No of course I didn't read the Book of Bill lately like everyone else what are you talking about

I also blame this post with all the amazing inspiring art btw

...

In retrospect, Ford probably shouldn’t have run when the fashion police from the last dimension had started chasing him.  But while he doesn’t know anything about how to look fashionable, he does know that based on the suits and dresses of that dimension, he wouldn’t stand a chance in court.  He hadn’t even known someone could wear that much glitter.

He hadn’t even meant to go to the stupid dimension in the first place.  He’d been aiming for the one over, but his dimension-hopping gun had been buggy for weeks now, and the parts still aren’t ready to fix it.  The dimension he was aiming for was supposed to give him an opportunity for a short rest, somewhere he could stay just long enough until the jerry-rigged screen on his gun would go off and tell him the parts are ready.

But surprise surprise, the malfunctioning gun still has a tendency to malfunction, and he’d wound up in a dimension that took his proclivity for comfort personally.

He hadn’t really had a dimension in mind when he fired up the gun again, just somewhere he could hide for a bit, but unfortunately the fashion police followed him right through the portal, meaning Ford is still running, with them hot on his heels and shouting about the tears in his coat.

Okay, okay, he can do this.  He’s been on the run enough times to figure this out.  He needs to lose them, find a place to hide, and get his dimension gun working long enough to find a place they can’t follow him.

Ford looks ahead and sees a corner to his left, and dives around it.  What meets him is a straightway of crumbling abandoned buildings.  Well, he’s hidden in worse places.  But as he starts running down the street, aiming for another alleyway to duck down in a hope of losing the officers behind him, someone sprints out of an alley on his other side, and runs headfirst into him, knocking them both to the ground.

“Hey, watch where you’re going you knucklehead!” Ford snaps, but when he turns to glare at the person as he tries to pull himself to his feet, he’s met with… himself?

No, that’s impossible.  If this was an alternate version of himself, both of them and the entire dimension would now be starting to fade from existence.  But it sure looks like him, which only leaves the option of—

Ford’s eyes widen.  “Stanley?”

Stanley stares back at him, looking equally as stunned as Ford feels, but before either of them can say anything, from behind Stan comes “You won’t get away with it this time!” and Stan whirls back to look towards it.

“Uh, we should probably get out of here,” he says.  He stands and pulls Ford to his feet, and starts pushing them both back the way Ford came.

“Uh, no,” Ford says, pushing back.  “Bad idea.”

Before Stan can ask why, the fashion police run around the corner, and Stan looks at them.  His expression turns baffled, which is fair, Ford hasn’t encountered cops who wear that much perfume before tonight either.

“Get back here, you filthy criminal!” one of them yells.  “The detective themed party was last week!”

“O-kay, we’re running now,” Stan says.  He grabs Ford’s hand and pulls them both down the street, away from both sets of cops.

“Buy me some time,” Ford says, yanking out his dimension gun.  “If I can get this damn thing to work I can get us out of here!”

Stan turns over his shoulder, and there’s the sound of a gun of some kind going off, which is strange, because he hadn’t thought Stan had one.  But judging by the pained cry and the “No, not blood on my suit!”, Stan definitely hit the fashion police with something.  Another cry comes from behind them, and Ford manages to get the gun settled on one dimension.

He hits the button on his gun, and a portal opens in front of them both.  He grabs Stanley’s arm and pulls them both through it, then points the gun over his shoulder and zaps the portal closed.

They’re in a dimension that’s clearly experienced an apocalypse recently, just a flat, gray, dead expanse of land.  And while whatever happened is bound to be depressing if they take the time to figure it out, for now the both of them just use it as an excuse to stop and catch their breath.  Ford leans forward and puts his hands on his knees, and lets out a large sigh of relief.

After a moment of heavy breathing, Stanley laughs.  “Well, that’s the last time I ever bring that much fake money into a casino,” he says.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Ford mutters.

Then realization strikes him, and he stands back up.  “Wait, Stanley,” he says.  “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Stan asks incredulously.  “You weren’t supposed to jump in after me, Poindexter.  What the hell were you thinking?”

“After you?” Ford asks, baffled.  “You mean you…” he pauses as the obvious option occurs to him.  It seems to occur to Stan at the same time.

“We’re… not from the same place, are we?” Stan asks, his face falling ever so slightly, despite the way he was just yelling at Ford about coming in after him.

“It seems not,” Ford says, giving a sympathetic smile.  “But hey, thanks for the save back there.  How did you do that, anyway?”

Stan shrugs, and hoists up his right arm.  Now that they’re not running from the cops, it’s easier to see that the arm looks suspiciously metal, which is confirmed a second later, when Stan points it firmly away from both of them and turns all of the fingers into what look like miniature guns.

For a second, all Ford can do is stare at it.

“Lost the real one a decade and a half ago,” Stan says.  “Figured if I was gonna get an upgrade it might as be an upgrade, y’know?”

Ford swallows, still looking at his arm.  “Six fingers?” he asks quietly.

Stan’s eyes widen slightly and he immediately hides the arm behind his back.  “Yeah well uh, you know, the guy who made it doesn’t get too many humans and wasn’t super sure what he was doing.  Plus uh, more bullets.”

Ford raises an eyebrow.  “Why not get seven fingers, then?”

Stan sighs, and drops his arm back to his side, then rubs the back of his neck with his other one.  “Don’t make a thing of it.”

“Never,” Ford says, smiling a little despite himself.  And despite the fact that he really can’t afford to waste time finding parts for his quantum destabilizer, he can’t help the next thing that comes out of his mouth.

“Hey,” he says.  “I know a good human bar a couple dimensions over.  I can probably get this thing working long enough to get us there,” he says, lifting up his dimension gun.  “Do you want to get a drink?”

Stan grins.

…

This version of Stan who got sucked into the portal is everything Ford would have thought to expect from a version of Stan who got sucked into the portal.  He’s loud and brash and boastful, with plenty of tricks he can pull off with his prosthetic arm and plenty of stories about space heists he’s pulled off.  Ford is fairly certain they’re not all true, but he wants to hear every one anyway.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed Stanley.  His feelings about his actual brother from his own dimension are so tangled up with betrayal and anger and a million other things that it’s hard to even know what he’d do if he saw him.  But in talking to a version of Stanley that carries none of the emotional baggage, Ford almost feels like he’s eighteen again, before everything went so horribly wrong between them.

“Listen, I’m telling you, that one was the law’s fault,” Stan says, setting his mug of beer down.  “Laws shouldn’t be stupid if they don’t want to be broken.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how that works,” Ford says, though the large smile on his face is definitely giving away how little he’s bothered by it.

“Hey, I wasn’t the only one running from the cops tonight,” Stan points out with a bright grin.  “Guess I’m not the only criminal in the family anymore.”

“Laws broken in the name of science and survival don’t count,” Ford says, picking up his own beer and taking a drink.

“Great, so that means I can write off everything I did in the ten years after dad kicked me out, good to know,” Stan asks, sounding amused.

Ford startles a little, surprised at the casual way that Stan says that.  He doesn’t often think about what life was like for Stan during those ten years, but if he’s talking about writing off broken laws, Ford really doubts he means it in the name of science.

Either way, Stan seems totally content to move on, instead grinning back at Ford.  “And what was tonight, survival or science?” he asks.

Ford wrinkles his nose.  “Fashion.”

Stan laughs, loud and delighted in the way Ford hasn’t heard in decades.

“I’m sorry, didn’t you say something about bringing fake money into a casino?” Ford says, shoving Stan in the shoulder rather than acknowledging the ache in his chest.

“Yeah, but you expect that of me.  Next time you want to break the law, put some actual malice behind it.  It’s way more fun.”

Ford just rolls his eyes and takes another drink of his beer.  “Please, I bet I could outshine you with multiverse law-breaking stories.”

“I’m sorry, have you been listening to all my space heists?”

“And how many run-ins have you had with monsters and dream demons?  Have you ever even met Bill Cipher?”

“Bill Cipher?  What is he, like a secret code nerd you lost a boxing match to?”

“Oh, now I know that wasn’t a dig at my boxing skills.”

“Well, if the glove fits.”

“I’ve been traveling the multiverse and fighting monsters for almost thirty years, my boxing skills are a little better than they were in high school.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Ford glares over at Stan.  “Are you trying to get me to start a brawl in the middle of a bar?”

Stan just takes another drink of his beer, though Ford can see the smile behind it.  He can’t help but smile back a little as he shakes his head and takes a drink from his own mug.

Stan sets his drink down after another second, and turns to face Ford again.  And while Ford is expecting another joke or the start to a story to try and one-up all of Ford’s options, instead Stan surprises him.

“So uh, your portal incident,” he says.  Ford turns and faces him.  He wasn’t expecting Stan to go there.  But then Stan says, “where’d you end up after going through?  Because like, if we didn’t run into each other until now, but everything else seems mostly the same, does that mean we started in different places?”

Ford gives an “ah” of understanding.

“Well, I ended up in the nightmare realm with Bill,” Ford says.  “Had to run for my life pretty fast, but I made it out.  I mean, obviously.  Where were you?”

“A giant empty void of some kind,” Stan says.  He rubs the back of his neck and gives a sour smile.  “Thought Ford was mocking me.”

Ford narrows his eyes in confusion.  “Huh?”

“Oh, my Ford, obviously,” Stan says with a wave of his hand, as if that clears it up.  “Not you.”

“No, I— what do you mean, you thought he was mocking you?”

“Well, after he shoved me in,” Stan says, and something about the way he says it makes Ford’s chest go cold.

“But… why would that mean he was mocking you?” he asks, hoping he’s misunderstanding.  “It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

Stan turns and gives him a confused look.  “What?  No.  What are you talking about?”

“Well, I wouldn’t— you’re not saying he shoved you in on purpose, are you?”

“Hey,” Stan holds up his hands.  “Different worlds, different Fords.  It doesn’t say anything about you.”

Ford tries not to let his obvious discomfort show.  “I suppose,” he says.  But still, he can’t imagine any scenario where he’d shove Stanley into the portal on purpose.  He might have been angry at Stan, but he never wanted him in danger.  And shoving him through the portal would have guaranteed that.  He shut it down because it was dangerous, and he didn’t want anything like what happened to Fiddleford to happen to anyone else.

“You’re really bothered by that, huh,” Stan says after a second, because he’s far too similar to the brother Ford knows, which means he can read him like an open book.

“I just don’t understand,” Ford admits, shaking his head.  “I mean, you are so similar to how I remember my version of Stanley.  Why would I be so different?”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, he was actin’ different too,” Stan says.  “My brother, I mean.  Real weird.”

Ford looks curiously back at Stan.  “Weird how?”

“Like, real giggly and manic.  At one point I kicked him hard into the wall and he just started laughing.  He said something about how hilarious it was.  Honestly, I think he was on something.”

Ford can’t breathe.  His mind is starting to paint him a horrifying picture.

“He— Stanley,” he says.  “Did he fall unconscious at any point that you were down there?”

Stan looks at him in confusion.  “How’d you know that?”

Ford runs a hand through his hair.  “That— god.  Stanley, that wasn’t your brother.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That— remember when I mentioned Bill Cipher?”

“The secret code nerd?” Stan asks, smirking.

“He’s not a secret code nerd, he’s a demon,” Ford says, turning to face Stan directly, trying to get across the importance of what he’s saying, because if Stanley meant it when he said he never met Bill, that means he’s spent the whole time here thinking his brother pushed him through the portal on purpose, and Ford can’t let that go on.

“Stanley, he’s a demon that I met, and that your brother must have met too.  I suppose I can’t say that things went exactly the same, but from what you said…” he takes a breath and folds his hands together.  He doesn’t make a habit of telling people his history with Bill, but this is important.

“I met him when I was young and idealistic and stupid,” he says plainly.  “And before I realized how malicious and dangerous he was, I made a deal with him, and let him possess me whenever he wanted.  He can’t anymore,” Ford knocks on the metal plate in his head.  “But back then, he could anytime that I fell asleep.  And that whole thing, about pain being hilarious?  He said that all the time.  He probably thought that you were too dangerous to him, or that you’d get in the way, so when your brother fell unconscious, he… well.  I can’t imagine why he’d lead with the fact that it wasn’t your brother in control anymore.”

Stan looks at him for a long moment after he finishes, and to Ford’s surprise, he can’t read his face.  Finally, Stan just says, “Huh.”  He turns and takes a drink of his beer.

Ford blinks at him.  “Huh?” he repeats.

Stan looks back at him.  “Do you want me to say something else?”

“Something— do you believe me?” Ford asks, a little incredulous.

“I mean, I’ve seen enough crazy shit out here that it can’t exactly be off the table,” Stan says.  “You also have no reason to lie to me, so… yeah, sure.”  He shrugs.

Ford looks at him for another minute.  “I’ll admit, I was expecting a bigger reaction,” he says.

“I mean, it doesn’t change that much,” Stan says.  “I’m still here, aren’t I?  Come on, we both know how smart you are.  If my brother wanted me back he’s had thirty years to do something about it.  Even if he wasn’t responsible for the first part, it’s on him now.  It’s fine.  I made my peace with it a long time ago.”

Oh.  Ford gets it now.  Stan wants something he can’t have.

“It’s not quite that simple,” Ford says, turning to look back at his drink.  “If the portal is turned back on, it could give Bill a path through to whatever world it’s turned on in.  It’s not as easy as turning it on and you get to go home.  It’s the needs of the many versus the needs of the few.  He has to keep the world safe from Bill.  I can understand why he has to leave you here.”

He winces a little as soon as he says the last part, and braces himself.  He expects a glare, or for Stan to snap at him, or anything similar.  Something that shows he doesn’t understand the sacrifice part of all this.  But instead, Stan laughs, a strange mix of fond and sad, and takes another swig of his beer.

“God, Poindexter,” he says.  “You’ve been out here almost thirty years and you still haven’t learned a damn thing, have you?”

“I— what?  I’ve learned plenty,” Ford says, feeling a little offended.  “I’ve learned so much about the multiverse, and about Bill, and—”

“About yourself, knucklehead,” Stan says, smirking at him.  “Have you just been passing through from one place to another for thirty years?”

“I— there aren’t a ton of other options,” Ford says.  “I can’t stay in a parallel Earth, I could run into a version of myself.  There’s too many dimensions that can’t sustain a life form like me, and I still have Bill to worry about.  It’s not like I can just leave him to do whatever he wants.”

“Sure you can,” Stan says.  “Someone else will take care of him.”

“Someone else will what?  Stanley—”

“It’s not all on you, Ford,” Stan says, looking back at him.  “If there’s a version of me here, there have to be other versions of you.  Let one of them take that risk.”

“I can’t just count on that!  What if that’s what we all think?”

Stan snorts, like that’s somehow funny.

“Stanley—”

“And then what?” Stan cuts him off, turning and raising an eyebrow at him.  “After you defeat Bill.  What do you do then?”

“I— there’s bound to be something else that—”

“What stuff do you do because you want to, Ford?  What out here makes you happy?”

“Well— discovering new dimensions and how they work,” Ford says.  “Their laws of physics, their food and cultures, their—”

“You got any friends?”

“What does that matter?”

“How much of the stuff you learned was pure observation?  Did you go up and talk to anyone, ask them questions about how things work?”

“Right, because everyone in every dimension speaks English.”

Stan raises an eyebrow.  “You’re telling me you’ve been here almost thirty years and you’ve never gotten your hands on a dimensional translator?”

“I— I have, but that’s not—”

“Ford, listen.  We have to live here, right?  I’m never going home, and it doesn’t sound like you think you are either.”

“I’m not,” Ford says.  “What’s your point?”

“So this is all we got,” Stan says.  “You’re never going home, so you have to do something else.”

“Obviously, what are you getting at?”

Stan grins at him.  “You want to come check out my place?”

Ford stares at him.  “You have a house?”

“Of sorts.”  Stan pulls out a small box that looks vaguely like a treasure chest.  “I’ve got a dimensional lock on her.”

“I…” Ford says, and trails off, not quite sure what to say.

Stan smiles at him, and then waves over at the bartender.  “Thanks for the drinks!” he calls.  He slams a couple bills down on the counter and turns back to Ford.

“Are those bills real?”

“Shh.  Let’s go.”  Stan hits a button on his dimensional lock, and the world bends and twists around them, pulling them back to whatever Stan’s put the other lock on.  When they stop, Ford looks around, and—

“Why am I not surprised?” he asks, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, she’s a beauty, ain’t she?” Stan says, grinning at him.  “Welcome to the Stan-O-War II.”

They’re standing on a houseboat in what looks like a fairly typical human ocean, if you ignore the fact that a stretch of it rises into the air and twists upside down into the sky not too far up ahead.

They’re sailing right towards the lift into the air, but Stan seems completely unphased by this.  He walks up a set of stairs to a steering wheel, and pulls a lever on the side.  The entire boat starts glowing gold, and as they reach the shift in gravity, the boat turns into it with no issue, and Ford doesn’t feel his own center of gravity shift at all.

“You would not believe how much I had to steal to get that part working,” Stan says.

“Stanley—”

“Alright, I lied.  I worked odd jobs until I could afford it.  Easier that way.  There’s so many police checks on these kinds of dohickeys, it’s ridiculous.”

The boat sails with the curve until they’re upside down, and Ford can look around him to see stars and planets around them, though not any that he recognizes.

“Remarkable,” he breathes, because he can’t help but be a little blown away by it.

Stanley walks back down the steps and over to stand next to Ford, smiling at the stars around them too.

“I picked this dimension as a home base,” Stan says.  “I think you can guess why.”

Ford just nods.

Stan walks forward and leans over the side of the boat to look down at the water.  After a second, Ford joins him.  From the— sea? sky?— below, fish leap up and eat the stars out of the air.  As soon as they land back in the water, one of the stars still in the air splits in half, and the number of stars in the sky remains unchanged.

“Some of the planets,” Stan says, pointing at one with his finger and following it as the bot sails past it.  “Can support life.  So when the fish eat the stars, the stars split so nothing on the planet dies.  The brief moments of darkness are the planet’s solar eclipses.”

“Planet-wide solar eclipses?” Ford asks, amazed.  “Is the star gone for too short of a time to make a difference in the temperature?”

“Nah.  The folks on the planet just evolved to get used to it.”

“How do you know?” Ford asks, looking back at him.

“I shrunk myself down and went to ask ‘em.  Had to time it right, though.  I’m sure not evolved to survive an eldritch fish eating the sun.”

“Stanley, that’s… incredibly dangerous,” Ford says.  But for a moment, he can’t help but feel impossibly jealous.

“Worth it though.  I’m apparently well known to everyone on pretty much every planet.  They kind of view me as a god.  Hell of an ego boost that was.”

“Oh lord,” Ford mutters.  “I don’t want to think about that.”

Stan laughs.  He turns and leans back against the side of the boat, then gazes up at the sea, back on the… well, Earth, of sorts, now above them.

“When I said I made my peace with it,” Stan says, without looking at Ford, “I meant it.  I know my brother.  I know how his head works.  I know he’s probably doin’ alright without me, and I’m okay with that.  Way I see it, my two options were either let everything fester and grow into an angry, bitter old man, or let it go.”  Stan spreads his hands.  “I like where the second option has let me end up.”

Ford looks at Stan, and finds he doesn’t know what to say.  It’s an unusual feeling.  He’s not sure he likes it.

It looks like they’ll be sailing along the sky for a while, judging by what’s ahead of them, so Ford leans back next to Stan and looks at the sky below them and the sea above them.

“But…” Ford says finally, because he has to say something.  “What’s your goal, here?  What are you trying to do?”

Stan turns to him, raises an eyebrow.  “Goal?”

“What do you want to do, with your life?” Ford asks.  “It— it can’t just be— this.”

Stan smiles, just a little.  “And why not?”

“Well— because…” Ford trails off, lost.

Neither of them say much for a while.

Finally, Ford’s dimension gun beeps at him.  He glances down at the screen and lets out a sigh of relief.

“My parts to fix my gun are ready,” he says to Stan.  “I’ve gotta get going.  But… thanks, I guess.  It was nice to meet you, and have a drink, and…” he looks around, and his words are stolen for another moment.  Eventually, he just finishes “…this.”

Stan gives him a long look, then just nods.

Ford moves the gun’s settings carefully, and when he fires it, it shows him the right dimension.

It’s just as he’s about to step through that Stan speaks again.

“You could come with me, you know,” he says.  “We could hunt for treasure and adventure, like we always said we would.  Even if we’re not technically the ones we said it to.”

This, Ford has been expecting, and he responds instantly and with ease.  “I can’t,” he says, turning to give Stan one last look.  “I have to try and defeat Bill.  I have to save the world.”

But rather than get angry, or sad, or doing anything that makes sense, Stan just sighs.  “Yeah,” he says.  “You always do, huh.”  He turns and starts back up the stairs towards the wheel, and Ford watches him go.  Stan gives no argument, doesn’t keep trying to convince Ford to come.

Ford doesn’t know what to say.  It’s the third time it’s happened, and that’s enough that he’s decided, he’s not a fan.  He would say it’s foolish to expect to know how a Stan from an alternate dimension would act, but so much about this version of his brother has been familiar enough to make Ford’s chest ache.  And yet, when it comes to the big things, the set-in-stone things, like the Stan-O-War, and Bill, and getting shoved into the multiverse for thirty years by someone Stan freely admits he thought put him here on purpose; when it comes to the conversations that Ford should absolutely know the path of, Stan reacts in the complete opposite way he expects, and it leaves Ford feeling lost and unsteady.

“I…” he says, reaching for something normal.  He fails.  “I don’t understand.”

Stan turns to face him.  There is so much sudden warmth and love in his gaze that it takes Ford’s breath away.

“That’s okay, Sixer,” Stan says.  “Just go try and save the world.  Come find me if you fail, okay?  I’ll still be here.”

Ford doesn’t know what to say to that either.  After a second, he just turns and walks through to the other dimension, to get the parts he needs.

He turns one last time and watches Stan as the portal between them closes.  Stan smiles as it does, and then he’s gone.  He leaves Ford with a lump in his throat, an ache in his chest, and the feeling that he’s missed something important.

[poppy-metal]

the day after, you woke up to an empty bed. the sheets were still warm, so you searched the entire suite looking for patrick, but he was nowhere to be seen. panic started to flood your body, had he left you too? you received a text from him, telling you that he had to reschedule the meeting that he missed the day before, and it had to take place that morning. you slowly got ready to meet your divorce lawyer and head to what was going to be the first step toward your new life. after a draining three hour appointment in which you signed your divorce papers, all you wanted, all you needed, was patrick. you called him, but he wouldn’t pick up. when you would text him, he would respond curtly. the guilt was weighing heavy on your shoulders – he must’ve known you watched him stroke his cock while sniffing your panties. he probably thought you were a disgusting pervert! but wait, those were YOUR panties…HE was the disgusting pervert! you sent him a message, asking to talk, but he didn’t respond for hours, despite having read it. hours turned to days, days turned to weeks. you had never been so heartbroken.

patrick felt and looked like shit. he had fallen headfirst in love with you, and was scared. he needed you in his life, and it scared him to the core. how could he have you when you just left your husband? how could he tell you that being with you warms the heart he never knew he had? how could he tell you that you were the most perfect person alive to him? how could he tell you that every night, before he went to sleep, he would think about kissing your neck, while hearing you sigh in pleasure? how could he tell you he wanted to tease you until your pussy was a mess, tonguing up and down your folds, pushing his tongue into your hole, spitting on your cunt, touching everywhere but your clit, so you don’t cum? how could he tell you that thinking about you, looking up at him, your face contorted in pleasure with your legs on his shoulders, his pelvis pressed against the back of your thighs, fucking into you hard and fast while his balls slap against your ass, made him cum so fast, he felt like it was the first time he jerked off all over again. how could he tell you that he tried fucking people from his roster, but he couldn’t go through with it, because he felt like he was cheating on you?

time passed and you tried to move on, but he was constantly on your mind. were you in love with him? you had started working on your beauty brand and it was going well. during the product release party, your assistant told you there were a few celebrities – potentially brand ambassadors –whom you should meet. all of them seemed vain and superficial. after your third conversation about how great you’re doing after your divorce, you were drained. you were headed to the bathrooms, where you could hide away – until you bumped into a wall. turns out it was only a man’s hard muscular chest. you apologized. after that he asked you why you were running in the first place. something about his eyes made you feel like you could trust him. something that reminded you of someone, but who? you giggled, responding "shouldn’t i know you name first, before i tell you my deepest darkest secrets?". to which he wiped his hand on his pants and replied "oh pardon me, where are my manners? art donaldson."

- alien anon

WHAT THE FUCK

[cherry-flavoured-thot]

Acacia - a hidden relationship

Sharena knows something weird is going on between you and Alfonse, but she can’t quite put her finger on it. As she stands in Anna's office, she can't help but feel the need to voice her pondering.

“Hey Commander, have you noticed how much time Alfonse and Summoner have been spending together lately?” Of course, she could just brush it off as the two of you both throwing yourselves headfirst into work. After recent events, it wouldn’t be strange for you both to be extra diligent in both defense and offense alike. But still… there’s more to it, she just knows it. Based on how Anna’s expression turns from one of contemplation to something downright impish. It’s safe to say, she also has her own suspicions.

“You know, now that you mention it, I did ask Alfonse if there was anything he needed to tell me.” Anna had asked the question as the Commander; it shouldn’t fall to just the two of you take on the problems of several realms. She had asked the question with a great deal of concern and sincerity, only to become perplexed when Alfonse seemed to be at a loss for words. “He started to panic, and I guess at the time I didn’t really think about it, because I just thought he was really stressed.” And in fairness to Anna, he was stressed, going through event after event in his life with little reprieve is in fact quite damaging to the psyche. Alfonse, scrambled through his brain to decide on a response to her. She had followed up with expressing her concerns that he and Summoner might be overworking themselves too greatly.

“And what did he say?” Sharena is leaning forward in anticipation, goading the Commander to continue on with her retelling.

“Well, he assured me that they weren’t overworking themselves and he promised if there was anything I could do to help that he’d ask. And off he went.” In fact, he almost ran out of the room. The two women place their hands on their chins, contemplating the strange behaviour. Sharena is the first to speak, with a cheeky grin.

“Do you think they’re together?” Before Anna even has a chance to share her thoughts, there’s a knock on the door, followed by the door opening. You enter holding against your chest a bundle of papers.

“Hey Anna, hey Sharena, look I just needed-“ neither can contain their looks of suspicion as you close the door behind you. “Why are you both looking at me like that?” You’re perplexed, even more so when Sharena starts to grin.

“You know Summoner you sure have been spending a lot of time with my brother.” There’s no visible reaction from you. Your brows are still furrowed as you try to understand what you’ve wandered into.

“I value his advice and counsel.” Your answer is curt, and almost disappointing from how little it gives away. But the two press on, ever determined.

“So that’s why you spend every chance you get together?” Sharena questions.

“It’s important for us to be on the same page.”

“Even late at night when you’re sneaking into his room?” Anna thinks she’s got you there, as you visibly freeze on the spot. You are quick to rectify this momentary pause by outright brushing off heir accusations.

“Somethings can’t wait until morning. While we sleep our enemies move.” The two almost want to sigh about how little you gave them to work with.  You press the papers you were cradling onto the desk. “Speaking of our enemies, I wanted you both to just give me your opinion on this new training regimen. Alfonse and I have been in talks with some of the more knowledge heroes about…” you’ve dismissed anymore queries from either of them completely, jumping into the conversation about training.

For a moment neither of the two women are sure if it’s intentional to dodge any further questioning, or you really have thrown yourself so deep into your responsibilities that you haven’t even given it a second thought how improper things might appear to others.

Although… you do seem to be more focused more on objects in the room then the inquisitive stare from either of them. And that enough is to continue their suspicions further.

“Alright, thank you both for your time. I’ll let some of the Heroes know we are changing some of their training accordingly.” You’re about to take your leave when you notice Anna’s facial expression change to a smirk.

“And let me guess you’re going straight to Alfonse?”

“If there’s something you need to know you should just ask outright.”

“Come on Summoner are you Alfonse together? Can you please tell us?” Sharena whines, and now it’s your turn to grin at the pair.

“Oh yes, we spend a great deal of time together. It’s the best way to get work done.” The two exchange a look, you use it as an excuse to beeline straight to the door. By the time they object to your sudden exit, you’re practically out the door.

“Hey, wait that doesn’t answer the question!”

“Sorry guys but I really have to go, bye!” The door slams shut, and your footsteps quickly dart down the hall until they disappear. Sharena frowns, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

“There is no way they’re not together. They just don’t want to tell us!” Anna nods. That would explain so much about the sudden strange behaviour, not to mention the strange staring contests between you and Alfonse during the War Council meetings.

“Yeah, I agree. But why haven’t they told us?” The two make verbal noises of contemplation, trying to rack their brains about why you both would be keeping it a secret. Of course, there are very reasonable explanations, but Sharena can’t help but latch on to a particular train of thought the second it appears in her brain.

“Maybe Alfonse is waiting to propose first?” Both are visibly excited at the idea. Sharena, at the thought of you officially becoming part of her family and the never-ending jokes she can make to her brother about him scolding her about not befriending the Heroes as they’d need to go back to their own worlds. Anna can hear dollar signs in her mind as someone is going to need plan the wedding and arrange the venue. Who better than your dear Commander? For a reasonable fee of course!

Meanwhile, as you’re walking away from Anna’s office, you run into Alfonse along the way who was heading to see Anna and Sharena for a different matter. “Unless you’d like to be interrogated about our relationship status I wouldn’t go there right now.” He raises a brow, only to then follow it up with a defeated sigh.

“Are we really that bad at keeping secrets?”

“Anna made a comment about me sneaking into your room late at night.” His cheeks visibly flush at that. He brings a closed fist up to his mouth and lets out a cough to regain some composure.

“Perhaps I’ll speak with them at a later time.”

“Good idea.” You nod continuing in your direction further away from Anna’s office. It doesn’t help the rumours that he instead trails back beside you, his hand hovering over yours begging to be held.

You really are awful at keeping secrets. Given how you don’t even hesitate to take his hand in yours.

[http-paprika]

GOLD RUSH / ALEX KELLER

oh shit, I haven't written in ages. apparently all I needed was the be reminded that the golden (no pun intended) american boy exists, a Taylor swift song and suddenly i'm out of the biggest writing slump i've had in a while. well, enjoy this rambling shit and enjoy the introduction of my new call of duty oc, Beau. xoxo, paprika

alex keller x original female character / 512 words / sexual implications, but never actually expanded on

HOW could she not fondly watch him, the way his skin stretches over his broad shoulders, the marks, scars, and tattoos that tell their own story? It didn’t matter that Beau had emails to respond to or deadlines to reach, and a conference call with foreign allies in an hour, the sight of his tan line that peeps out from his waistband caught her eye every time. Encroaching in on her decisions and logistics, terrorizing her in the longest minute to ever exist. 

The moment breaks, Alex runs his hand through his dirty blond hair and down to his neck before turning to look at her as she collects herself from the trance. God forbid anyone see that Beau wasn’t the cool girl she pretended to be. 

“I’m going to shower and hit the road. Hate to keep you from all your important, top-secret work.” Alex tells her, the early sunlight gleaming in his blue eyes. He had places to be, she told herself, work to do, and other women to charm. It wasn’t personal, just his way of living that she didn’t have the courage to disturb. If Beau asked him to stay, would he oblige and waste another day by her side? Would he leave his Eagles shirt hanging from her bathroom door knob again? 

“Okay.” She nods, making herself look back down at her laptop that’s perched on her lap, with an unfinished email drafted to Laswell waiting for her to press send. It was so unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but Beau was determined to make it seem like it meant the world to her at that moment. Anything to keep her from asking for more. 

“Okay.” He repeats the statement, standing and searching the room for where he’d discarded his jeans the night before. Boxers snug around his waist when Alex bends over to pick up the pants and throw them over his shoulder. His eyes never look back over at her, an air of disappointment plaguing her as Alex grabs the old t-shirt from the bathroom door knob. 

Somehow navigating hostage situations, convincing militant leaders to agree to terms, and diving headfirst into warzones is less intimidating than this. A feeling of anxiety knotting up her bowels as he hums to himself the song Beau had played in her car the night before. It shouldn’t be this serious, shouldn’t cause her to stumble and falter. But his easygoing laugh and infuriating charm have hooked onto her, the line pulling her into a place she hasn’t been in a long time. 

“Hey, why don’t I make some coffee for the road?” Beau finally offers, the words spilling out of her mouth quicker than she can stop. It’s said in a rush, often synonymous when having a crush. But she’d never tell him that, Alex didn’t need to know every part of it. 

“I thought you’d never offer.” The look he gives her is golden, etched inside of her mind like her favorite song. Suddenly she understands the envy and desperation of the California Gold Rush. 

[thespiritssaidso]

You Shouldn't Be Here

Summary: Lassiter chases Shawn into a research facility under the guise of the scientists inside performing human testing, and he ends up getting more than he bargained for. 

Notes: brain worms took over and now this exists. Enjoy <3

—————

Lassiter grumbled under his breath as he jogged down the corridor, Shawn’s footsteps already fading. 

Neither of them should’ve even been there. It was a very prestigious lab, known best for their exceptional development in searching the stars for cures to human ailments. Lassiter had always found it to be a bunch of bull, but lately the Life Foundation had been pulling discovery after discovery. And apparently it was ‘setting off’ Shawn’s ‘psychic vibes’. Something Lassiter knew was yet another load of crock. 

But that wasn’t why they shouldn’t be there. It was the simple fact that they didn’t have a warrant that kept them from being able to come in legally. A warrant that Lassiter still had yet to file for. 

That didn’t stop Shawn from running headfirst into the door he’d somehow known the PIN number to. 

Speaking of the psychic…

Where did he go?

His footsteps had faded out completely, lost in the labyrinth of the laboratory (try saying that ten times fast). And now Lassiter found himself at a crossroads. He could see all the way down the hall in front of him, so that wasn’t the one Shawn had disappeared down. The other two hallways snaked in different directions, the left slanting downwards and continuously curving left, the right abruptly ending in a stairwell leading to the second floor. 

Picking a direction at random — left, because Spencer was never right — Lassiter wandered down the hallway. It was a few minutes of walking before it finally leveled out and straightened once more. 

It was a bit tight, roughly five feet of space between the walls on his side. 

Doors lined the hallway, all of them clear glass. The rooms the doors led to must have been maybe 25 square feet each, no bigger than an average closet. Each one had a chair, not unlike one normally found in a dentist's office. Except these ones were lined with thick restraints. They hung loosely from the arms and leg rest and head rest, dangling limply and swaying gently. 

Lassiter felt a chill go down his spine. It didn’t happen often, but right now he was put on edge. The whole… vibe of the place was just off. He didn’t like it, didn’t like how it made him feel. 

He gulped as he passed one of the rooms. It had the usual chair and restraints, except everything was covered in deep red splotches, staining the otherwise pristine room. A massive glob of… something lay on the floor, the same shade of maroon as the stains surrounding it. 

What the hell…

The next room was empty, but the one across wasn’t. The same scene greeted him: messy room, stained walls and floors, strange glob oozing over the footrest of the chair. This one, however, was more gray in color. 

It was the room right after that made him freeze. 

The defining detail in this one that made it different from the rest was the presence sitting in the chair. Not another glob, no. A person. 

The constraints on this one had finally been put to use, thick black straps covering nearly the entire body of what Lassiter recognized as a woman. She was small, probably Asian in descent. It was hard to tell, the glass on the door cloudier than the others. 

And she wasn’t moving. No rise and fall of the chest to indicate breathing. 

Without even hesitating, Lassiter kicked at the door, over and over until finally it shattered, stepping over the broken glass and into the tiny closet-sized room. 

Oddly enough, no alarms went off. 

The woman in the chair hadn’t stirred at the sound. 

He fumbled with the straps that held her down. “Dammit!” he exclaimed when a particularly stubborn latch wouldn’t open. 

But with enough persistence he managed to free the woman from the restraints the chair provided. Quickly, he slid her off and over his shoulder. He would’ve set her on the floor, but there were still pieces of glass scattered everywhere. He’d have to move her out into the hall. 

Getting back out was harder than getting in. He could feel the remaining shards that still clung to the doorframe scrape against his clothes as he carefully made sure the woman slung over his shoulder wasn’t hurt by the exposed glass. 

Finally, he was able to settle her on the floor. She didn’t look well. Face pale, lips chapped, tiny dried rivulets of blood streaking from her eyes. Putting two fingers against the carotid artery in her neck told Lassiter that she had no pulse.

Not wasting a moment, he immediately began CPR. He knew the odds of it working were slim to none, it was common sense. But that didn’t matter to him. This was a key witness to all the horrors that were being performed in this godforsaken lab. 

However, the moment he began the chest compressions, her eyes inexplicably blew wide open. 

What?!

Before Lassiter could move, her hand shot up and grabbed him by the throat with impossible strength. 

He choked under her grip as she looked at him with pitch black eyes, tilting her head as if contemplating a thought. 

What happened next almost made him want to throw up the nonexistent food he’d eaten. 

Dark slime oozed out of her mouth, her ears, her nose, her eyes. It crawled — crawled — up her arm as it pooled out and slithered towards her hand. 

The hand that was currently holding Lassiter in a chokehold.

For the first time in his life, since maybe his first day on the force, Lassiter was scared. Real, genuine, bona fide terror ran through his veins as he struggled harder against the hand that held him, clawing desperately at the iron grip. 

And then it touched him. 

It was extremely uncomfortable, like someone had poured cold slime onto his face. And he could feel it spreading all over him, slowly covering his chin, then his cheeks, finally crawling into his gasping mouth. 

It was disgusting. He retched at the taste. It was as if the smell of burning tarmac had a flavor. 

The woman had long since gone limp, her hand falling from Lassiter’s neck. But he didn’t register it, too busy gagging and trying to pull out the slime from his mouth. 

It was pointless. It continued to ooze in anyway, filling not only his mouth but plugging up his ears and his nose. For every bit he pulled out, more seemed to flow into a different hole. 

Eventually the viscous fluid had completely disappeared inside of him, but it didn’t stop Lassiter from desperately clawing at his skin, scraping his tongue, shaking his head, frantic in his efforts to rid his body of the disgusting inky gunk. 

Of course, it was all to no avail. It was inside of him, and oh god, he could feel it. He could feel it moving around inside, through his stomach and his muscles and his bones. 

Now he was really going to be sick. He could vaguely feel himself standing up, stumbling on uncooperative legs. Bile rose, acid burning his esophagus, but was just as quickly shoved back down into his stomach. 

‘Hmmmm, interesting…’ a deep voice rumbled. 

Lassiter whipped his head around, looking for the owner of the voice. There was no one in sight, save for the body of the woman at his feet.

His chest rose and fell, hyperventilating as he raised his arms and stared at shaky hands. The visible once-blue veins in his wrist pulsed a faint black. 

It was inside him it was inside him get it out get it out get it out get it out-

“Lassie? Lassie! Hey, Lass!” 

Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder, jolting him out of his own head, and letting him take a look at his surroundings. 

Somehow he was no longer in that hallway of glass doors anymore, having moved from his spot in the hallway and into a different hallway, this one wider but still just as unsettling. Lassiter hadn’t even noticed he was moving… 

Frantically, he looked himself over. No marks. 

He felt over his throat, sure that there had to at least be some kind of indentation from when the woman nearly broke his trachea- 

Nothing. Just smooth skin. 

“You don’t look really good, man. Did you see a ghost or something?”

Right. Spencer. 

Lassiter took a deep breath. “We need to leave. Right now.” 

“What?!” Shawn pulled away from him. “Lassie, I’ve barely scraped any… psychic vibes from here! We can’t just-”

“Spencer, we are leaving. I will handcuff and force you out if I have to.” The more he spoke, the more he began to slowly feel like himself, and the more he could somewhat convince himself that the last… however much time had all been a hallucination. It was the only explanation. Dark syrupy liquid that had a mind of its own? No, that wasn’t possible. 

But one thing was for certain. The fact he and Shawn were still in the building meant that he was breaking at least a few laws. Something that Lassiter was eager to remedy. 

Shawn clicked his tongue. “Fine.” 

Before the psychic could walk off in what Lassiter hoped was the direction of the exit, he grabbed him by the arm. “We were never here. Understood?” 

A stunned look crossed Shawn’s face. Lassiter couldn’t blame him. What he just asked of him wasn’t exactly the most in-character thing he’d ever said. Nonetheless, he nodded. “Yeah, yeah man. Sure.”

—————

ao3 link

[demxters]

✩ for the blurb requests; ace talking about her parents with Jake for the first time ever, scared he'll judge her for how they are pls

—I STILL GOT LOVE FOR YOU

frat!jake seresin x f!reader

wc: 653

warning(s): 18+, fem!reader, no y/n (reader goes by nickname ace), non explicit descriptions of familial issues and parental neglect

catch up with jake and ace here!

a/n: idk why but i’m not satisfied with how i wrote this one but it’s okay :)

»»————- ♠︎ ————-««

Jake holds your hand gently in his. With his thumb stroking your skin softly, he brings your intertwined hands to his lips. A silent reassurance that you didn’t have to open up if you didn’t want to. 

He knows he shouldn’t have pried, especially when it came to your parents. Jake remembered that night you opened up to him, unknowingly, about your relationship with your parents. Maybe he should have brought it up sooner. Maybe he should have told you what you confessed to him that night when you didn’t remember what you did. But he was scared and worried that you would only pull away from him even more. 

He saw it in the way you shrunk into yourself and became less attached. The look in your eyes was almost like a cry for help when he dismissed the issue altogether. Jake could tell that you wanted to tell him something, but you were afraid. 

So he did what he does best, soothes you and makes sure that you feel safe and comforted in his company. That you know he is your safe place and that he is ready to listen when you’re ready. Jake feels you pull away from him and his mind jumps to the worst possible outcome. This was it. This was the part where you tell him you don’t trust him enough to tell him. That he overstepped and you were leaving him. 

The blow never comes. Instead, it comes in your softs sobs as you turn away from him. Jake’s heart breaks at the sight of his sweet girl crying in front of him. 

“Hey,” he whispers softly, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have rushed into things.” 

You shake your head as the tears continue to fall. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Jake. It’s not you, I swear. It’s not you. It’s me.” 

“What are you talking about, sweetheart?” He asks, concern flooding his features. 

You sniffle. “It’s just… everything is going so well right now between us, you know? And I don’t want that to change.” 

Jake frowns, holding you tighter against him. “Nothing you say will change the way I feel about you, Ace. You know that.” 

You scoff, clearly doubtful of his statement. “I’ve got a lot of baggage, Jake.” 

“Then let me help you carry it, baby.” 

That’s all it takes to make the floodgates open. You could feel it in his touch, just how much he meant it. So with your hand in his, you took the leap, jumping headfirst into the abyss. 

With every word that left your lips, Jake found himself getting more torn apart. How could someone, let alone your own parents, not see how incredibly lucky they were to have you in their life? How could they disregard you? Make you believe that you were a burden? He couldn’t believe it. 

You pause, pulling Jake from the red hot anger towards your parents that begin to course through his veins. 

There’s so much he wants to say, but he knows that right now, words aren’t what you need. So he holds you close, peppering soft kisses to the side of your neck and your cheeks. He wipes away your tears and lets you cry out all your hurt and frustrations. Finally, he lays you down and wraps you in his arms, cocooning you in nothing but all the love he has to give you. 

In that moment, Jake promises, he will never let you feel like you aren’t worthy of love again. He swore he would take the pain your parents laid on your shoulders and replace it with his neverending devotion to you. Jake was going to prove that everything your parents ever told you and made you feel was wrong. 

He was going to start by making sure you never felt unloved ever again.

tgm taglist: @joaquinwhorres @harrycherrylove @smoothdogsgirl @t-nd-rfoot @dempy @ollyoxenfrees @potato-girl99981 @averyhotchner @2guysonascooter @loveforaugust @blue-aconite @fandom-life-12 @stiles-banshees @iamdannyday @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @breezemood @eli2447 @angelbabyange @finelytaylored @pono-pura-vida @hecate-steps-on-me @blueoorchid @aviatorobsessed @blackwidownat2814 @hallecarey1 @averagereader35 @laneylovesglen @atarmychick007 @kajjaka @urfavelocagirl @clancycumber230 @memeorydotcom @kmc1989 @percysaidnever @thestarspangledcaptain @wkndwlff

[mari-writes]

🦉❤️

Keiji is so nervous, visiting the Bokuto family for the first time as Koutarou’s boyfriend.

He’s met them before, of course. In high school he’d follow Koutarou home under the guise of helping him study—which technically he did do, but they’d usually end up just hanging out. And Keiji almost always stayed for dinner.

So Koutarou’s parents know him well. He knows they’re fond of him. And apparently the Bokuto sisters absolutely adore him, if what Koutarou relays to him is true.

And Keiji likes them, too. A lot. They are perhaps the kindest and most welcoming people he’s ever met. Never has he known a family so eager to embrace each other and others.

Still, he’s on edge. He wonders how it will feel, walking through that familiar front door, now as Koutarou’s partner. Significant other. boyfriend. Will he act weird? Will they treat him differently?

He and Koutarou arrive at the house on an otherwise normal Saturday evening. They enter the genkan, kick off their shoes, slip out of their jackets. Keiji can hear laughing and shouting, music and the clanging of pots of pans in the distance.

Koutarou takes his hand and leads him through the large house to the kitchen. “We’re here!” He announces, loudly so as to be heard over the cacophony. (Keiji had learned, on his first visit, that Koutarou’s boisterous nature was in part due to being the baby of a very loud, lively family.)

“Koutarou!”

“Get over here and help me with dinner, young man!”

“Ah, Keiji-kun! Welcome!”

“Wait, Kou, pour your boyfriend a drink first!”

Keiji tumbles headfirst into the madness. He’s torn from Koutarou, and suddenly, four sets of hands are on him: hugging, patting him on the back, ruffling his hair.

“Keiji-kun, get down here, love.” Strong fingers grip his forearms and pull. He obliges, bending so that Koutarou’s mother can plant a quick kiss on his cheek. 

“Good evening, Bokuto-san.”

“Oh no, we can’t have that.” She tuts, reaching to grab the sides of his face. “Not anymore. You must call me Amane now.”

Keiji blinks. “Oh. I mean, I shouldn’t …”

“I insist.” Amane gives him a serious look. The woman’s eyes, so similar to Koutarou’s, are soft yet firm. “After all, you’re part of this family now.”

She smiles warmly before heading back to prepare dinner. Keiji watches her go, reeling at the implications of her behest.

The Bokutos accept him. They want him here. Not only as Koutarou’s teammate, or school friend. But as a part of their unit.

Keiji feels like he might cry.

“Here ya go, babe!” Koutarou passes him a glass of sake, winking cheekily and then hurrying over to help his mother. 

For a few moments Keiji just observes. Koutarou’s father is washing and wiping dishes as his wife and son cook. The eldest sibling is setting the table as her sister, holding a tall can of Asahi in one hand, cycles through different playlists on her phone.

Everything is fine, he realizes. And why wouldn’t it be?

“Keiji! Come over here and help me choose tonight’s soundtrack!”

Keiji nods, wandering over as a strange, warm feeling washes over him.

He had no reason to worry. Of course he didn’t. 

It all feels so familiar, yet so new at the same time. As if his current place in this beautiful family was inevitable. Destined.

How lucky he is, to have found his way here.

//

I hc that Keiji’s parents, though well-meaning, aren’t very supportive or openly affectionate. So being accepted into such a big, warm family means the world to him. Thanks for reading! Please comment/share if you enjoyed! 🙏❤️

[summertimemusician]

Linktober Day 5

Race

Unfortunately this is short and late but at least it's out XD, both the sixth entry for Linktober Shadow and following this one should be regularly posted if I'm not too sleep deprived because I am having way too much fun writing them.

Shout out to the Four fans because they are extremely based, and a small love letter to the Minish Cap, I adore the Minish to death and they're really neat, shame we don't talk about them more.

Can be read as platonic or romantic and in or outside a LU context.

If you had to say anything about the Smithy’s Hyrule, is that it was heartbreakingly charming.

It wasn’t as vast as any of the others, not quite the reclaimed and untamed nature of Sky’s anymore but not yet the most concrete form to the rigid Hyrule that stood on it’s own feet by Warriors’ time for as long as it could with the unyieldingness of granite, that didn’t mean you didn’t adore it to death, with it’s growing oaks and flourishing May lilacs and cerise autumn shades that came dancing in with all it’s cicada laughing whimsy and kindness with the raw and unapologetic stubbornness of a hunting Lynel, inviting and goading and jeering you into exploring every little crack you could until there wasn’t anymore left to see. Fitting for Four, the Hero as kind as he is stubborn and arguably the most clever and rational of the Chain (well, as rational as any of your boys ever were, can’t be the Hero of Courage without being some mix of crazy, genius, a bit of na oblivious fool or all three) on sheer account of the way he looked that challenge right in the face and decided to double down and apply it to his life in general, it was charming and you all adored him for it.

“-Alright, so you stick close to me ok? The other’s can’t see you but as soon as they’re asleep-“

... Which was why you were rightfully worried when you seemingly walked in on him talking to himself when going to get him from a water fetching run, the line between insanity and genius was really fine and something in you just knew Four would be the type to stumble headfirst into shenanigans caused by his own hubris and then not tell anyone about it unless under threat of death because prying anything out of him was like trying to pull a lynel’s teeth out.

“Link?”, he jumped, frantically hiding his hands behind his back and looking so incredibly suspicious you couldn’t help but look around already, “Look, I’m not judging or anything. But I’d like some forewarning if I have to hide a body because I didn’t bring a shovel.“

He chokes, startling into a laugh, it’s warm and startled, you think you spot verdant and crimson in his gaze and can’t help your own smile, “Wha- Why would that be the first jump you made?!”

You gestured to him, skipping closer to his personal space, not too close, you knew that he could be like a feral cat about his boundaries, but enough that he wouldn’t be able to run away, “I mean you are looking suspicious and talking to yourself. Pardon me making some leaps in logic with the information I have at hand.”

He gives you a look, a small ‘Hah’ escaping him, deadpan, before he leans back a bit, looking away, “You’re ridiculous, I was just... Practing some acting? For the upcoming Picoto Festival?”

Now it was your turn to give him a blank look, raising an eyebrow for good measure.

He winces, shaking his head, shifting onto his feet and pointedly not looking at you, “... In hindsight that’s not my best one.”

“Not by far, but I’ll let it slide.”, you place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and he relaxes into the touch with a sigh, some times he’s glad you can see through him, other times he’s not sure he shouldn’t be a bit concerned, “Now, what’s bothering you? How can I help you?”

After a second, he looks at you, considering amethyst warring with the prism of his gaze, studying, analyzing like he would a weapon, before finally speaking, “Can I trust you not to say anything? And to not think I’m crazy?”

“Really not helping with my running theory you killed someone and need help disposing of the body.” You snipe back drily, but nodding anyway, “But you can, promise.”

He nods, then finally draws his hand from behind is back, reaching into his hood with a quiet, soothing murmur of ‘it’s alright’, you swear you hear a small sound, somewhere between a high pitched squeak and a chirp.

You gasp softly, the little being’s tail swishes, squeaking up at you, Four smiles a bit crookedly. Slumping shoulders betraying his relief, “I’ll take it you can see them?”

You nod, gently waving to the small, ivory colored mice like creature, “Mhm, hello. What’s a Minish doing here all alone?”

Four tilts his head, ears twitching as the Minish squeaks up at you, waving back, feathery tail swishing as they gesture animatedly, their leaf cloak swaying with the movement, “You know of them? And they got stranded here after it rained, I was going to help them get back to the village since we’re close by and well...” He trails off.

“I do, never thought I’d be able to see one though. And you didn’t think anyone else could either.” You smile apologetically at the Minish, “Sorry buddy, I can’t understand you.”

They squeak, ears going down, then perk up gesturing to their head as Four chuckles, “They ended up losing their hat, wanna help me look for a new one before we set off?”

You grin back, nodding, “Of course! Do you mind translating? I’d love to know more about them if you're up for sharing and they're okay with talking.”

“It’s a bit of a long story, are you sure?” Four asked hesitantly, placing the Minish on their shoulders, they squeak from their new perch, giving you a little nod.

“Well, it’s a good thing we have time.” You smile, locking your arm with his.

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

Happy birthday, @mandaloriandragontrainer!!! I know you were as crazy for both this comic and the famous stargazing clip as I was, so I figured I’d combine the two for you in this little fic.

Rayla fell asleep very slowly. Callum felt her shoulder rising and falling against his in time with her breaths, a very, very little bit slower each time, until after the better part of an hour, it evened out into a steady rhythm. Almost in spite of himself, he found himself smiling as he gazed at her closed eyes, her soft expression. They both knew she was never meant to be an assassin, and that was never more plain than when she was asleep. 

But though she wasn’t a killer, she was a fighter, and he didn’t like the idea of her going to sleep without her bow in reach when there were unknown threats lurking in the trees. He couldn’t believe she’d dropped off without it nearby. 

It’s almost like she was more focused on being with you than being armed, the hopeful voice of fourteen-year-old Callum whispered in his mind, and he swallowed hard.

Very, very carefully, he moved her off of his shoulder and propped her up against the rock behind them. He was about seventy percent sure it would wake her up, but she slept on. Evidently being half-alert at all times could wear out even the staunchest of warriors. Callum slid out of his bedroll and crept around her to where she’d left the bow on the other side of the rock. But just as his fingers brushed it, his foot caught something, and then he was diving headfirst at the ground, and the only thing to break his fall was the weapon in his hands, and this was how he was going to die, wasn’t it, and Rayla was going to be laughing too hard to mourn him— 

But instead of cracking against the ground, his head fell into something that was almost like a cushion. Had Rayla kicked his bedroll over? No— it was much too rough…

He lifted his head to meet Bait’s deadpan stare. “Whew,” he gasped. “Thanks, buddy.”

Bait gave an exasperated croak and hopped off to rejoin Stella.

Callum glanced down to to ascertain the object that had almost led to his demise: Rayla’s bag, knocked over on the ground, spilling provisions and… were those pieces of parchment?

Callum crawled over, taking in the white sheets scattered across the grass. A dozen at least. Curiosity burned behind his eyes, but the thought of someone going through his sketchbook without him knowing and the immediate rush of mortification that followed fortified his determination to gather up the scrolls without looking at him. He took a fistful of them and stuffed them into the pack, glancing down to see if there were any he’d missed. Five more were still scattered, and as he reached for the nearest one, his eyes fell on two words at the top. Dear Callum.

Rayla’s handwriting.

A rush of cold swept through him, and he scrambled back instinctively, as though he could shield himself from the words and the biting, visceral terror of the memory they evoked. Another letter? Was that what this was about? Had she been stargazing with him, cozying up to him, to give him a last good memory of her? If he had gone to sleep first, would he have woken up with a cold space beside him and a piece of paper in her place? His resolve forgotten, he unfolded the paper—

Dear Callum,

I’m sorry. I guess I should lead with that.

The sentence that followed was scribbled out, illegible, and the rest of the parchment was blank.

Brows furrowing, Callum picked up the parchment beside it. 

Dear Callum,

If you’re reading this, that means you’re safe. That, more than anything else, was what I wanted when I left, so I don’t have the right to be anything but glad. And I am. But I’m also in so much pain, because Callum, I know I never should have left. I shouldn’t have left you alone.

There was another scratched-out sentence, and then nothing, but it was still enough to make Callum’s breath hitch. He stared at the parchment, ran his fingers over the ink, unable to believe it was real. Then his hands were scrambling across the ground, reaching for the next letter.

Dear Callum, 

You haven’t heard from me since I wrote you to say goodbye, but I never stopped writing to you. Every single day in the last two years, I’ve seen or felt or experienced something I wanted to tell you about. Until, last night, I realized how stupid it was to put them into letters when I could just go tell you myself. I hope you’ve been waiting for me, but I know I have no right to ask that. I’m sorry.

Dear Callum,

I love you. Those are the words I used to end our goodbye, and those are the words I want to begin our hello. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Dear Callum,

I’ve written twelve of these now, and none of them have been right. None of them have been long. None of them have been finished. I thought that maybe this one would, because I began it so honestly, but the others have been the truth, too. I guess maybe my problem this whole time is that I’ve been so much of a coward I can only talk to you through paper and not face-to-face. So I’ll just say this: I’m coming to you tomorrow. I’ll take these letters with me, and hopefully by the time I reach you, I will have pieced them together into the right thing to say in person. 

Love,

Rayla

Callum’s cheeks were wet when he finally pulled his eyes away, but he couldn’t remember when he started crying. Carefully, gingerly, he tucked the letters back into Rayla’s bag with all the care they’d been written with. He sucked in a deep, shaky breath, and raised his eyes to her sleeping form. 

She had felt it, just as deeply as him, all this time. She hadn’t written him another goodbye— she’d written him the opposite.

Those are the words I want to begin our hello. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Very, very slowly, he moved. Placed the bow next to her against the rock. Slid into his bedroll beside her. Moved her head to rest against his once more. Kissed her forehead. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he whispered.

Again he expected it to wake her, and again she slept on. But that didn’t matter. As soon as her eyes opened, he would tell her for real. 

[fukuokanodivision]

Mai’s Thoughts On Third Members

Saburo Yamada

“Saburo, We’re similar in some way. Always teasing our teammates whether they like it or not, Stating the complete obvious and just being the best version of ourselves, I guess~! He’s a nice guy to be around, Actually. Who would the Buster Bros!!! be without the youngest and sassiest brother? I wish he had some friends to give him belonging though…That sounds just as I was when I was little… I’ll be staying by Saburo’s side, Maybe I can act as a support system? Who knows, I’ll still be his friend, Of course.”

Rio Mason Busujima

“Shoukan Rio? Yeah, I respect him. Despite M.T.C being all Onii-sans forte, Rio-san I atleast can understand. We’ve both been in hard places, Give and receive respect from others and act as somewhat of a backbone to our own teams, A nice balance if I do say so myself. However, He like many others didn’t deserve to go through some things. Losing his commander and mentor to those ‘ladies’ at Chuohku just to keep him safe… Maybe M.T.C isn’t my go-to, But there’s just something about Rio-san. So, I’ll stay on rather mutual terms with him.”

Dice Arisugawa

“Dice…His name ‘suits’ him. I’m not wrong, Aren’t I? He’s a gambler who just keeps gambling anyway. Regardless of that, He’s a solid rapper. Maybe the full Posse is strong, But Dice is a good asset. Always plunging in headfirst and ready for anything, All you want in a team member, Right? We’ve never battled them face to face, Although I’ve seen the Posse get their hands dirty and became the 2nd DRB’s champions. So, I guess I’ll get my own hands dirty with them sometime soon, It’ll be fun!”

Doppo Kannonzaka

”Haah, Doppo-chin…I’m concerned, Who shouldn’t be at this point. Unlike Jakurai-san or Moteru-chin, Doppo-chin is a mixture of the 2, Usually calm and polite at work, Although being out of character for informal moments unintentionally. Aside from that, I just want to give him a hug and take him somewhere fun, Try and cheer him up a little…Maybe I’ve said this a ton of times, However I’ll continue to be on Doppo-chin’s side as well. Even if I’m not enough, I’ll atleast be some support to him…”

Rei Amayado

“The dreaded Buster Dad, Great…He’s not a threat to us, However he’s still not positive in my book. It wasn’t right for him to leave the bros alone and Ichiro-san is still looking after them. He’s literally 19 for crying out loud!!! Haah, I just don’t know what else to say on him. He’s good at conning people and a member of Dosuituare Hompo…That’s all I can muster here…Makes sense when he’s all two faced and what not, You can never truly tell what he’ll do and when he’ll do it. That’s the scary part about con artists.”

Hitoya Amaguni

“Amaguni…Oh, The supposed ‘lawyer’ from Bad Ass Temple. Once again, I may have tiraded on this team too much, They aren’t bad people is what I meant. Other than that, I don’t know much really about him. Yes, I knew he and Jakurai-san were friends in high school, Although that’s it. I’ve listened to some of his and BAT’s songs and his voice isn’t as bad as his appearance, Maybe way better even? I’ll have to get more information on him, Just having this currently with no leads won’t get me anywhere. I’ll just ask Jakurai-san if he knows more about him~.”

[bigskydreaming]

An under-appreciated facet of (unapologetically petty) Roberto Da Costa’s character is that everybody assuming he’d grow up to become a villain is literally his hero origin story.

Back during the original New Mutants, everyone from Xavier to Magneto to Cable to Gideon were all convinced that he was this hothead with too much pride, bravado and ego and he was inevitably going to grow up to sell out or turn on his friends or betray any ideals he might have in the name of self interest....

And Roberto was one hundred percent aware of this from day one. Partly because none of them were subtle about assuming the worst of him and partly because as he’s the first to tell everyone, Roberto Da Costa is a frickin’ genius.

But the thing I absolutely love about his character was rather than dwelling in his bitterness about this - which he did feel, with extreme validity - he spitefully doubled down on being everything they never gave him credit for being. A genuinely good person invested in his friends, his people, the world at large.

Here’s the specific angle of all this that I LOVE though. Because proving everyone wrong about him isn’t the SOURCE of Roberto being a hero.

To say that would be to give all these people credit for his choices, his very fundamental inner nobility and goodness.

Nah, the distinction that I LOVE is that Roberto was always going to be a hero, IMO. But what all the vaunted leaders of mutantkind’s lack of faith in him DID result in....

Was HOW Roberto went about being a hero as he grew older.

His heroics aren’t because of them - rubbing everyone’s faces in his heroics though....THAT’S where the pettiness and spite comes in. That’s the part they earned with their lack of faith in him...and keep earning, as they keep doubting him all over again every single time he does something - DELIBERATELY does something - that seems to validate their NEED to insist they were right to be wary of him all along.

Like.....Roberto’s pattern is he dives headfirst into plans and agendas that on a surface level, at first glance, even upon deeper scrutiny - SEEM like a fall to the dark side, a betrayal of some kind....UNLESS you actually have faith in him and his intentions and abilities.

He did it when he joined with Gideon, seemingly confirming all his teachers’ doubts about him....and then betrayed Gideon to of course side with all his friends.

He did it when he joined the Hellfire Club, taking his father’s old position and rising through the ranks to become the Lord Imperial, seemingly confirming Xavier and others’ fears that he would grow up to be exactly like his father....except he only joined the Hellfire Club to sabotage, undermine and dismantle them from the inside while funneling all their assets and resources into the X-Teams. Like he literally joined the bad guys just to embezzle from them before bouncing.

He did it when he took over AIM and installed himself in just the right place and position to perfectly oppose and thwart Evil Captain America when he tried to use AIM and similar organizations to take over the world.

And now he’s doing it again with his shadow games against Brand and SWORD as a member of the Night Table who neither needs nor wants to loop anyone in on his plans because he shouldn’t HAVE to, he’s NEVER been the threat or bad guy or self-interested asshole people keep writing him off as or assuming he’ll someday inevitably expose himself to be....

And he’s not doing all of this BECAUSE nobody believed he could grow up to be a hero. Nah, he was going to do that already. He’s just doing it this specific way as his fuck you to all the people who claimed to want to teach him and help him grow while expecting to have to take him down at some future point.

He’s like HOW MANY TIMES DO WE HAVE TO TEACH YOU THIS LESSON, OLD MAN (Xavier)....

Because if they would just fucking BELIEVE in him every time he does the same shit he’s done a million times before, without ever actually being vulnerable to being corrupted or succumbing to the dark side, because he knows who he is and wants to be, what he believes in, and no matter how flippant he is these aspects of him and his goals, values, beliefs....they’ve NEVER actually been shaky or easily influenced or coopted by others...

Well then, Roberto keeps pointing out to everyone with his actions, his schemes - and his victories - then maybe they wouldn’t all keep looking so fucking dumb every time his latest dark side turn just turns out to yet again be one more long con on behalf of the good guys.

Roberto Da Costa is like, I’m going to take every single character trait you all pointed at as reasons to be wary of me when I was just a kid who deserved adults who believed in me, and these are the very tools I’m gonna use to single-handedly save the world so many times you’re going to look stupid lmfaaaaaaaaaao.

[chidoroki]

Heavenly Delusion EP8

aka: FUCKING SPEECHLESS

I get falling headfirst off people’s shoulders onto the pavement could really hurt, but I dunno if the Liviuman leader would really die from that.. I’m sure this guy is only telling the group that so they get emotional and retaliate against Immortal Order.

Sure they show Dr. Usami tending to some of his followers but I still think he’s kind of sketchy.

Oh, he wanted Maru to kill the person who asked to die last episode. Ngl the “let me die” audio still creeps me out even now.

“They are former humans who died from a disease that turns them into monsters.” Oh my god.. the illness that’s going around at the facility, are all those kids gonna become man-eaters? Or did that already happen and every monster we’ve seen so far is one of the kids we know?? Oohhhhh boy, I’m freaking myself out.

The chat screen on the tablet is named “Hoshio” but I’m not sure if we know anyone named that?

“I want to see the sky one last time.” Not entirely sure how you’re gonna fulfill that wish with all the machines hooked up to her like this.. unless ya blast a hole through the ceiling or something.

“That hurts! You idiot!” Pfft I shouldn’t be laughing that tug on one of the wires hurt her but I just wasn’t expect her to react like that and so quickly.

Yeah I don’t trust these two Liviuman people at all..

I’ll be damned, they actually moved her successfully so she could see the sky.

Quite an emotional fatal dive. And I really hope that was no one was actually know.

“Thank you for letting me die as a human.” Aww.

“Thank you for giving me your eye.” OH so that’s why Usami has the eyepatch? Okay. Okay, maybe he’s not all bad but still.

“Thank you for everything. I love you.” He’s breaking down in tears after that.

Yeah I knew that one dude from Liviuman was scheming.

Ah shit, a small man-eater was hiding under a car in the basement.

The people know Robin as Dr. Inazaki? At least we know he’s still alive somewhere.

Um, that button Usami is holding has the bird logo on it..

Oof, love that match cut from Hoshio’s fake eye to Usami’s real one.

Oh.. so that’s what the gun was for. His own headshot. Oh dear.

“I’m the total opposite of Usami and Robin. My hands bring only death.” Well.. sorta true, but don’t be so hard in yourself Maru.

I do love this acoustic version of the ending song though.

I was gonna question if we were gonna go another whole episode without seeing the kids, but here’s Mimihime… underground somewhere?

WAIT JUST A GODDAMN MINUTE!! Her eyelashes! They’re the same as Hoshio’s! Which means Usami might have been Shiro because we know he at least has feelings for her!!

Usami and Shiro do have similar eyes too.. and in the regular ending and even in ep2 he’s shown to have a handful of machines in his room..

Please tell me I’m wrong please tell me I’m wrong aaaahh oh my god.. if true then these deaths hurt SO MUCH MORE!

WHICH ALSO MEANS the facility place definitely takes places in the past if they’re were both grown up! And Maru could very well be Tokio & Maru’s secret love child OH GOD.

[ugakiknight]

who cares what’s “right” ???

I tell myself to slow down, to breathe, to think. I should know better by now, right? How many times have I watched things fall apart because I jumped in too fast? The warning signs are there, the same ones I’ve always ignored before. They flash like bright neon in the back of my mind: Don’t get too close, don’t lose yourself in someone else. But that’s the problem. I already have. Every time I try to be rational, try to set boundaries, she walks into the room, and suddenly, every carefully laid plan crumbles. It’s like gravity shifts around her. I can feel it, that pull—like I’m not even in control of my own body, let alone my thoughts. I tell myself to be smart, to protect my heart, but when she smiles at me like that, like I’m the only thing she sees, how am I supposed to resist? My mind says, "Take it slow. You know better. Don’t rush." But my heart? My heart is reckless. It’s already sprinting toward her, ignoring every single warning. She has this way of getting under my skin, like she’s always been there, like she belongs there. It’s in the way she laughs—God, that laugh. The way she looks at me, her eyes locking on mine like she knows exactly what she’s doing. And I think maybe she does. Maybe she knows how weak I am when it comes to her. She’s not pushy, not demanding—but there’s this quiet confidence about her, this magnetic pull that makes me want to dive in headfirst, despite everything telling me to wait. And that’s where the war begins. There’s the part of me that knows how these things can go, how they usually go. You rush in, you lose yourself, and by the time it all falls apart, you’re left picking up the pieces of something you never should’ve started so fast in the first place. That part of me is terrified. It’s screaming to put on the brakes, to protect myself before it’s too late. But there’s another part—stronger, louder—that’s craving her. Needing her. I need her in a way that I can’t explain, in a way that doesn’t make sense. It’s not rational, it’s not logical, but it’s real. It’s this constant pull, like no matter what I’m doing, no matter where I am, part of me is always leaning toward her. I think about her when she’s not around, and when she’s with me, it’s like nothing else matters. Like the world outside fades, and all I need is her voice, her touch, her presence. I shouldn’t rush this—I know that—but it’s hard to listen to reason when every cell in your body is screaming for more. It’s like being caught in a storm—on one hand, I want to find shelter, take cover, wait until it passes. But on the other? The storm is beautiful. It’s electric, exhilarating, and I want to be right in the middle of it, no matter what it might do to me. I know I should pull back. I know it’s too soon, that we need time, space to figure out what this is. But then she’s there, and all of that fades, replaced by the undeniable truth: I can’t resist her. And maybe… I don’t want to.

[cavefilllingcorporation]

Sigma's Failure

Vismark was walking down the hallway of his ship. He was… tense. Not in the sense like anything could happen by now, he knew that realistically it shouldn’t. He had taken down the satellite, and the Chaosdivers were none the wiser. And yet, he had this gut feeling, like he should be expecting something to go wrong.

But why was he feeling this way? Maybe it was the pressure of getting this deal through. After all, the Corporation needed a win before the end of the financial quarter. The Anti-Project Plan was taking way too long, and while many side projects were completed, they really couldn’t say they really were completed until they had collected their rewards and listed the DPD indexes. No, that wasn’t quite it. It was something else… but what?

That was when he got an alert.

“Sir. Simga’s base is being breached. Party is a group of two divers, and they appear hostile.”

“WHAT?”

That was all Vismark could really say. The Chaosdivers did nothing for a week, and now they are going to attack their place? What, did an intern see the satellite and decided to put matters into his own hands? Whatever, it shouldn’t matter that much.

“Inform Agent Sigma of the situation, make sure that he stays far away from the base. And see if you can’t brick the computers remotely. If we’re lucky, then they won’t be able to get into the base before they shut down. Worst case scenario, they find out all the data we’ve received.”

Unfortunately for Vismark, he was swamped with more responses as updates rushed in like a flood.

“Sigma is in the base. Repeat, Sigma is trapped in the base with an active minefield.”

“The turrets have been taken out. We’re not dealing with average divers.”

“More hellpods have dropped near the area. We’re seeing about a half-dozen divers near the location.”

Vismark was overwhelmed and shocked. That… that IDIOT! He gave explicit orders NOT to make his place of residence in the same secure area where the equipment was. Just because he found a cave and had some defenses didn’t mean he was protected! Before he could respond to any of the other calls, he received one more.

“Sir, we’re receiving a message from Sigma himself.”

“Patch it through.”

That was a mistake, as his ears were swamped by desperate screaming: “THIS IS SIGMA! I NEED HELP. I'VE BEEN DISCOVERED!”

The man was screaming like a little girl. He knew the man was pathetic, but… Didn’t matter now, if he was breached, he might go ahead and do something rash. Then yet again, the only thing he could do was…

“This is Sigma to the Cyber core. Prepare the simulated communications room and prepare for the Commander Protocol activation. I’m heading to the room right now.”

Vismark then rushed down the hallways, towards the simulation room. He could just use his powers to get there quicker, but he didn’t want to waste his energy, not when his day just got a whole lot more complicated. Besides, there was something slightly soothing towards running headfirst into your problems instead of cheapening your way out.

Eventually, he reached the room, and entered inside, just in time for the Commander Protocol to be activated. The room, which was a dark room with screens and deactivated holographic displays suddenly lit up to light, as the room became filled with lights as it simulated Simga’s base. This was thanks to an onsite drone, driving around on the floor while displaying himself in holographic from to the rest of the group.

He looked around and got a glimpse of his surroundings. There was equipment strewn all over the cave that was the base. There were also ration pack tins, communications device, instruction manuals, and… were those magazines… yep, those were the disgusting kind alright. If he caught Sigma having one of those, he would have personally burned them to ash and make Sigma watch.

Eventually, his gaze turned towards the man himself, on the ground, trying to clutch his knees, which were smashed in with a large hammer. Vismark would normally be very, very angry at this. The Corporation doesn’t tolerate employees being hurt in this way… but in this case, the man probably deserved it.

He then addressed the self-proclaimed Sigma male: “Sigma, what did I say about antagonizing them?”

Sigma gave no real response, other than whimpers. Yeesh, if he had known that Sigma was such a baby, he would have never authorized him for this mission.

“And for that matter.” Vismark said as he turned around to get a look at the intruders, “Who are you lot? Are you with the Chaosdivers by any chance?”

At the very least, Sigma’s blunder resulted in Vismark gaining an audience with the Chaosdivers. If he plays his cards right… this might not be such a disaster after all…

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Home Pt. 7 || cbf! Simon "Ghost" Riley

Rating: M Words: 1.9K CW: vomitting. thoughts of hurting someone. Tags: you/your pronouns, time skip, heartbreak. a/n: not proofread. also, I lied. It's a triple-chapter sort of day.

[← Previous] || [Next →] || [MY MASTERLIST]

Maybe it’s the heartbreak over you. 

Or the lack of distractions in the shape of your countless 3, 4, 5-page letters, like you used to send during Basic and ITT.

But the fact of the matter is that Lance Corporal Riley dived headfirst into the job, taking out enemies with an efficiency and bravery many of his COs have never seen before.

Something about Simon Riley makes him too good at his job. 

The type of good that his COs can’t part with, and therefore made them circumvent rules to keep him in the field, instead of sending him on leave.

The type of good that means he’s progressing up the ranks scarily fast, getting commendations left and right.

The type of good that attracts attention from all sorts of people in all sorts of high places.

Six months turned to twelve, turned to eighteen, turned to twenty-four…

In a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, by the time Corporal Simon Riley notices, he’s twenty-five, and passing selection for the 22nd Regiment of the SAS.

He throws punches in the training room, the other newcomer he’s fighting with narrowly dodging them. His aggression is coming out more than usual, almost like he’s having trouble keeping a lid on the boiling pot that are his inner thoughts.

He needs to let out frustration. He needs to hurt someone.

That’s all he’s been able to think of since he woke up this morning and saw the date on his calendar.

The calendar is a funny thing. The days keep going past, coming and going, another page, another month… Time moves and he feels he’s standing still.

Sure, he got bumped up the ranks, he got accepted into the SAS, he went back to Manc for the holidays, celebrated his birthday, his wins… 

But that didn’t stop his heart from aching as the calendar showed the anniversary of your first kiss, the anniversary of your first time, your birthday and his…

Today is October 5th. The 13-year anniversary of the day you two met. 

And you are all he can think of.

He was nineteen, you were eighteen.

He had just gotten himself out of base and took a bus to the train station. Eight months. Eight months he had spent in Afghanistan. 

He had gotten nothing from you, not once hearing “Lance Corporal Riley, phone!” as he got brought into the tent to pick up a phone call from you… And much less a letter of yours dropped at the foot of his bunk in the few times he had enough downtime to sleep.

He had time to think. Nothing else but time, he felt like. Time to realize that, maybe, he was wrong in the way he left. Maybe he shouldn’t have said the things he did. Even if he still thought you needed to hear them.

He missed you. Point blank.

He got himself to the station early, over an hour left for his train to Manc to leave. 

He found himself meandering in the streets nearby, killing time. A bergen pack on his shoulders, hands in his pockets, muscular arms on display in a t-shirt that clung a bit too tight to his body. A few fresh scars on his arms and hands from the recent service.

His brown eyes were drawn to a shop window, a jeweler’s. He told himself it was just because the items on display are shiny. 

He went inside. He told himself it was just because he had time to kill. 

The jeweler, a kind old man, spotted the fatigues he was wearing, and showed him the engagement rings without even being asked. He looked at them all, going back and forth between all the designs. He told himself it was just to amuse the elderly man.

But as he disembarked the train in Manchester hours later and walked toward the cabbies across the street from the station, his hand tapped at the little ring box in the top right pocket of his cargo pants.

When he got home, his dad’s car was gone. Good. It meant you were still driving around with it. He forced himself to go inside, to greet Tommy and mum, dad not being home when he got there, thank God.

Once they were both asleep, he took mum’s car out. It was a shitty little Vauxhall Vectra. He made a mental note to buy her a new one once he had enough money as he drove out to the viewpoint he knew you spent your nights in. 

But you weren’t there.

He drove back down to Wythenshawe and took the car in a slow drive-by past your house. The car wasn’t there either.

So, he drove to your local, the spot you both spent so many nights with your mutual friends at. It wasn’t there either. In fact, no one’s car was there. Not even your old mates… Even though it was a Friday night.

As a last resort, he drove to Olly’s house. The lights were on. His dad’s car wasn’t there, but Olly’s was. So, he parked the car and went up the steps, knocking on the door.

A very weary-eyed Olly opened the door, wearing a dirty undershirt, as he seemed to have just gotten home from work. “Riley?! Oi, bruv!” He greeted Simon with a half-hug and pat on the back, which Simon returned. “How you been?”

“Can’t complain.” Simon replied. “Just shipped back from deployment.” He added, stepping inside the house. “How’ve you been?” He returned the question, even if he didn’t care.

He felt stiff inside Olly’s house, even if he was the one mate of his that Simon was closest to, other than you. He felt like he didn’t belong there.

“Been alright. Workin’ construction now. You know how it is.” He remarked as he offered Simon a beer from the fridge. But he didn’t take it. The brand was the same cheap shite your father used to drink. He didn’t need it.

“I need to see your cousin. Just been by her house but she wasn’t there.” He added as he watched Olly drop himself onto an armchair in the sitting room. Simon remained standing, arms crossed over his chest.

Oliver’s face immediately turned to look at Simon, eyebrows raising in surprise. “Oh, bloody hell, you didn’t know, did you?” He asked.

“Didn’t know what?” He asked and cocked a brow, moving his arms a bit as his blouson jacket scrunched under the strain of his crossed bulky arms.

“Y/N vanished. Packed up and left a few months ago. Didn’t tell anyone where she was going. Drove her mum and mine up the bloody wall panicking that she was gone.” Olly explained, his voice a bit more solemn.

Simon’s blood ran cold as he heard what Olly said. “Wha-” He choked on his own breath and coughed a bit as Olly kept going, saying something or other about how you didn’t even pick up your last paycheck from the little job you were working. How you had only scheduled a letter be sent from the post office to your mum to promise her that you were alive and safe, and were going to find someplace better for yourself.

The blond lad didn’t even dignify your cousin with another word. He simply turned and marched out of the house, slamming the door behind him as he returned to his mum’s car.

It felt like the engagement ring he had bought you suddenly weighed a ton, and like it was burning a hole through his pocket and onto his stomach, searing hot, mocking him.

He leaned his hands against the top of the car and leaned his hand down, feeling like he was going to throw up.

What did he expect? That you’d still be around, waiting for him with open arms? That you’d stay after the way he treated you? That was pathetic of him. Hell, you might have been immature and naive, but you weren’t a bloody pushover, that much he knew. 

“Riley!” A voice calls out to him, but it’s just far enough that he can tune it out and keep fighting.

The other cadet is winded, stumbling back when Simon throws a harsh elbow to his nose and then sweeps his legs out from under him, landing the other man on the mat.

“RILEY!” The voice is louder and Simon suddenly stops in his tracks, shoulders rising and falling.

He looks back at the source of the voice, Lieutenant Jonathan Price, his C.O.. “My office.” He demands. Simon grunts under his breath and his shoulders drop. He looks back down at the recruit he’s sent sprawling onto the floor. He’s bleeding, cupping his nose with his hand.

He huffs and reaches a hand down, helping the other one to his feet and mumbling a few half-hearted apologies. “Didn’t think you’d be that weak.” He says in banter, trying not to seem so angry, the other guy laughing it off despite the unmistakeable soreness in his back and blood all over his uniform.

Then, Simon rushes off, taking off his black grappling gloves and slipping his body under the ropes of the ring, following after Lieutenant Price.

He enters the office after a brief knock and goes inside, noticing Lieutenant Price on the other side, sitting at his desk, arms crossed. “You wanna explain to me why you’re throwing the other recruits around like ragdolls?” He nods his head out the door.

Corporal Simon Riley, now an SAS Cadet, takes a breath and closes the door behind himself and slowly sits in front of Price. 

He has a lot of respect for his Lieutenant, having been handpicked by him specifically to join his Bravo Six squadron. He’d even say he gets along with the man.

“Nuthin’ boss.” Simon replies as he looks away from the harsh blue eyes of the man in front of him.

“Right. Nuthin’.” Price says sarcastically. “Well, whatever that nuthin’ is, you better fix it.” He adds.

If only it was that easy, Simon wants to tell him. But he doesn’t. Instead nods his head sharply. Not much he could do either way. He agrees with Price. He knows he was in the wrong minutes ago. He’s normally so good at keeping a lid on it…

“It’s just a bad day.” Simon replies. “‘ll be back to normal tomorrow.” 

“I don’t care if it’s a bad day, a bad week or a bad life.” He adds bluntly, display his authority. “I can’t have a tickin’ time bomb in my ranks, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Simon replies and nods again and looks down at his legs, spread open in the armchair across from Price’s desk, his eyes locked on the black training trousers with the SAS logo stamped on the left leg.

“We gotta rely on each other, Riley,” Price starts to tell him, which causes Simon’s brown eyes to flit upward abruptly, locking onto Price’s blue ones.

“Stop bloody relyin’ on me.”

“If you’re so fuckin’ unhappy and ungrateful of what I’m doin’ for us both…”

“Then grow up and leave. Get yourself out.”

“...so, redirect that aggression.” Price finishes his explanation. “Let it out in the firing range or the field. Not against your own team.” He advises. 

“Yes, sir.” Simon adds and gulps a bit, pushing himself up off his chair. He makes for the door in quick, silent steps, without having to be dismissed.

He closes the door behind him and rushes down the hall and out a side door.

Once he’s around the back of the building, he keels over and vomits over his boots.

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