#i feel like they try to make him funny and shit and sound like a good dude in hopes

[silaslich]

The heat of imposition

John “Soap” Mactavish x f!reader x Simon “Ghost” Riley

Summary - Rugby AU. While watching a rugby match with Kyle you happen to catch the attention of not one, but two of the players. Neither of them like the fact that the other wants you too. [part 1/3]

Wc - 4.8k

An - I know fuck all about rugby so ignore any inaccuracies, we’re here for sex not rugby

It isn’t by chance that you find yourself at the pitch.

Your arm had been twisted- hands tied. You’d lie and say you had no choice, but the truth is that you simply have nothing better to do on a random rainy Saturday in October.

Kyle hadn’t given you much of an alternative when it came to making plans; his idea of fun might be sitting in the cold as he nurses a cheap beer and ogles a cluster of beefed-up middle aged men while they run around tackling each other- but you? It wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when he’d texted you and asked if you were free to hang out.

You know him well enough to know that he’s called you in to be his wingman; someone to keep the beers coming to feed his already brimful confidence, someone that will push him if the chance for him to chat someone up arises. It’s what usually happens when the two of you meet for a drink or for dinner, his eyes wander and his intuition carries him toward the closest thing to a decent lay.

You’ll wave him off with a smile and mouth at him to call you when it’s convenient- usually to update you on how incredible or lacklustre the sex he’d abandoned you for was. You’re not bitter about it, not really, you have to give it to him. At least one of you is getting something. You suppose it’s for lack of trying, what with work and a sheltered nightlife- you can’t exactly say you’re putting yourself out there.

Kyle has tried time after time, sliding folded pieces of paper with your number scrawled on it to punters as they sit at the bar waiting for their drinks or pulling you with him as he ventures to the dance floor- accidentally bumping you into strangers, drawing their eyes and their attention. You appreciate his efforts, but you’re not exactly looking, it’s all the same to you. You’d slept around abit at uni and enjoyed it to a point, chasing that high and filling the endless void of assignments and work placements- you need something more now.

Settling is a scary thought. You’re not sure that’s what you’re after, but you don’t want a meaningless one-night stand either. You haven’t found that happy-healthy medium yet, you can’t be sure it exists. At least not to the men in this town, everyone knows everyone- it’s hard to get away from that.

You grit your teeth hard, feeling the way the cold ebbs its way into your bones. Even the beer isn’t keeping you warm, and that usually does the trick.

“Is it nearly over yet?” Your teeth chatter around the words, Kyle tuts at you.

“You can’t be serious” he turns to look at you, noting that you are in fact very serious. He frowns slightly. “It’s not even halftime yet”.

The sound that’s choked out of your throat makes him quirk a brow. Yet, Kyle’s attention is drawn back to the pitch by the sound of a whistle, some kind of swap between players has stilted the gameplay.

You’re not that well versed in rugby. Have kept up with it here and there, mainly because of Kyle and your boss because it’s all they talk about at work. They put it on every telly in the pub when their favourite team is on and they start to become idle when it comes down to the last few minutes of gameplay- stood there like toddlers that are transfixed by dancing fruits on a screen.

It’s quite funny really, watching Kyle as he barely tries to make it look as though he’s still working- rubbing a dry cloth over an already cleaned down table.

“Oh shit” Kyle’s breath carries on the breeze, drifting across your face as he speaks. It’s just that cold.

“What’s happening?” You mimic Kyle in the way he leans forward in his seat, watching carefully at what’s unfolding on the pitch.

Kyle doesn’t answer, instead watching as the away team’s players crowd together, meanwhile the home team congregates closer to their benches- they’re swapping someone on.

You see a wide smile crack across his face from out the corner of your eye, it pulls you to look at him fully. Seeing his wide-expectant eyes and gaped mouth, you grimace, slightly put off by just how much he’s enjoying watching on- you think you’d rather watch paint dry.

“When do they start brawling, ay? This is boring” you smack your lips together and take a heavy swig of your beer. It warms your throat, barely. Kyle turns to look at you, smiling like an idiot.

“Funny you should say that” he raises his brows and jerks his head in the direction of the players they’re swapping- you follow his gaze, it doesn’t enlighten you in the slightest.

You open your mouth to question him but Kyle beats you to it, already preempting your confusion and overall lack of culture for his favourite sport and his favourite team.

“They’re putting their main prop on, Riley” Kyle’s eyes watch the player in question and so do you, observing his team mates as they pump their fists and clap him on the back- following on as he moves further onto the pitch.

“He fight often?” You ask, eyeing the dark ink that stretches across both of his arms and retreats under the sleeves of his jersey.

There’s skulls and bones and snakes and gnashing teeth that make up a portrait of something that might be a dog. It’s hard to tell from all the way up in the stands; you’re sat within hearing distance of their shouts as the players go over strategy- but your eyes can’t quite focus enough to read the letters that brand his knuckles and the blocks of black ink that cover the backs of his hands. Shame.

Kyle laughs, something deliberate and knowing. “Yeah, you could say that”. His smile is hiding something, you just know it. You raise a wry brow.

“That why he was benched?” The look on Kyle’s face alone tells you all that you need to know, he nods as you shake your head with an unamused sigh.

“He’s been benched the last few games, close to being banned altogether from what I hear” Kyle observes Riley as he speaks, they’re about to restart play with a scrum.

You continue watching the game, noting another player that’s almost as big as Riley is. The back of his jersey reads Mactavish. He has a sharp smile on him, even with his mouth guard, you can’t closely see the rest of his features all that well, apart from his grown out mohawk- you didn’t realise this was the 70s.

Mactavish is quick to be on Riley, jumping high and wrapping his arms around the bigger man’s neck, hanging off him like a scarf. Their mouth-guard-smiles are wide and Riley swats at Mactavish, manhandling him until he’s got him hoisted off the ground entirely- that’s when he pushes him away and kicks his legs out from underneath him. Sending him skidding across the grass.

It’s rough housing. Simple play fighting. Kyle tells you it’s common practice for these two in particular, spending half their time butting heads and charging at each other like rhinos. Much to the dismay of their coach by the sounds of it. A whistle blows and it’s shrill in your ears.

“Pack it in bellends! Head in the game!” There’s a gruff looking man shouting from the side lines, he’s tall and broad with a beanie that’s pulled tight over his head- there’s specks of salt and pepper hairs in his mutton chops.

The two men snap their necks toward the coach and do as their told, trying to kick each others legs out from one another as they run toward where the rest of their team is forming up to restart play.

It’s starting to get interesting, because they’re not half bad to look at, these two, not half bad at all. Mactavish especially, bar the haircut. Riley on the other hand, he’s got that unconventional attractiveness about him; with his wonky nose and ashen blonde hair, hooded eyes that contrast heavily- they’re as dark as his tattoos. Perhaps it’s the way he carries himself too- his wide shoulders and thick chest, strong and solid and unbothered by the way the other men move out of his way when he passes the opposite team.

You don’t realise you’re gawping until Kyle waves his hand in front of your face, making you blink. He laughs to himself.

“Like what you see?” He asks, amused, watching as your cheeks flare. You bristle.

“Fuck off” you hate being caught out, especially after giving Kyle gripe this whole time about how boring all of this is. You stand abruptly, “I’m off to get something to eat, you want something?” Kyle eyes you, a smirk creeping up his face.

“Something salty if you don’t mind” he wags his brows and you smother your palm into his face as you squeeze past his legs to retreat down the steps toward the food kiosks. You hear his laugh follow you as you reach the bottom of the steps.

You keep an eye on the game as you walk, flitting your eyes from the pitch to the ground so you don’t slip on the steps. As you steal another glance over toward the home team, you find a pair of bright blue eyes looking right back at you. So blue they practically glow, burning right through you. As blue as celestite, something shines in them when he looks at you- but you’re quick to look away and scurry down the steps. Cheeks heating once again, for reasons even you’re not sure of.

It’s without your knowledge that Mactavish’s eyes follow you the entire time as you retreat. His stare trained on you. Distracted completely. Riley is quick to bring him back to earth, watching Mactavish watch you, he grunts as he steps toward the Scotsman, yanking out his mouth guard with a wet shlack sound.

“You ‘aven’t got a chance, now move your arse” Riley smacks the back of Mactavish’s head when he doesn’t move, watching you right up until the point you disappear out of his view. The Scot smiles wildly around his mouth guard, then spits it into his hand.

“Wanna bet?” he turns to Riley and Riley has seen that look before, many times, and it’s never ended well. Yet, he raises a brow as he looks down at the Scot, matching that same look himself.

After paying extortionate prices for a portion of chips and a burger to split you forego another beer each and go for water instead. It’s blatant daylight robbery.

You make a point not to look out onto the pitch as you make your way back to Kyle, save yourself from embarrassment and ending up falling on your arse. Kyle moves his knees to allow you past and you slump down into the seat, offering up the food to him so you can take a swig of water.

“You okay? You look flush, was it a long walk?” He picks up a few chips at a time as he shoves them into his mouth, chewing quickly and blowing air through his mouth from how piping hot they still are. You throw him a look, an unimpressed look.

“I’m freezing my tits off Kyle and I’m hungry, allow it” it’s a whine that leaves your mouth and Kyle soothes you mockingly, offering you some chips- you take them gladly.

Halftime comes and goes. The food has sated you, if only a little bit, but it saves Kyle from any more of your complaining. You find it easier to follow now, a belly full of food and the rest of Kyle’s beer that he didn’t want to finish- it makes you more palpable, makes you sit a little less stiff in your horribly uncomfortable plastic seat. Kyle appreciates it.

Mactavish and Riley don’t escape your eyes, not for the remainder of the game. It’s easier to gawp at them from up here, if they glanced over they wouldn’t exactly know that your eyes are fixed on them specifically, all they’d see is a pair of eyes looking in their general direction- obviously just following the ball as it passes hands. Little do you know, that they are indeed glancing over, as fixed on you as you are them, they’re just better at being sly with it. Only moving their eyes and not their heads and necks, not making it obvious. Not until Mactavish ups the ante.

It’s as you’re distracted for a second, turning your attention to your phone- your boss, Nik, asking if you can come in tonight. You text back quickly, letting him know you’ll see him at six. Looks like Kyle isn’t getting away from me at all today. That’s when you feel Kyle’s elbow in your ribs.

“Ow” you make a point to overemphasise, nudging his arm away from you like his touch burns.

“Look” his hand pats down repeatedly on your thigh as his opposite hand points towards the pitch, your eyes follow the point of his finger and your face pales.

It’s Mactavish. Waving both arms to get your attention, and when he has it his face beams- it makes you sink down into your seat, beyond blushed and embarrassed. He continues to wave as he rejoins the play, you watch the teams come back his way and then he winks at you, moving to turn fully to flank a teammate.

“Lucky bitch” Kyle’s mouth hangs open in shock, looking from you to Mactavish as he darts across the pitch. You groan.

“You have him then” Kyle laughs but you don’t, as nice as the player is to look at, you’re not in the mood for games.

“He wasn’t waving at me, love” he wags his brows and grabs your arm, flailing it around as he giggles like an idiot, far more excited for this than you are. You sit stock still and ignore Kyle, hoping he’ll pack it in. He does- eventually.

Before long, the game finishes and it’s the home team who are victorious. They jump and shout and knock into one another, again pulling each other into embraces and slapping each other’s backs with closed fists. It’s all well and good, you stand and pull Kyle with you- you’ve had enough of Rugby for one day.

Kyle lets himself be pulled along, filtering out amongst the thinning crowd. You’ve both got a few hours before you’re due to go into work, a quick nap wouldn’t go amiss, you guess it depends how fast Kyle can drive.

You’re walking in step with Kyle, careful of the slippy stairs, you clutch the sleeve of his jacket for stability and then there’s a voice that rings out. Thick with a Scottish accent and with an abundance of audacity to go with it.

“Oi! She yer lass or wha’?” It’s Mactavish, and he’s looking directly at Kyle, jogging over toward the stands.

Kyle stiffens and you glance at his face, he looks startled. Or would it be star struck? These players are celebrities to Kyle, you imagine this isn’t how he would want his first interaction with them to go. You watch Mactavish as he vaults over the first set of barriers, coming closer to where Kyle is now frozen to the spot- you’re stuck alongside him.

The stands are completely separate to the pitch and are raised up off of the ground instead of starting right at the pitch side, so Mactavish can’t actually get that close to talk. He instead has to settle for standing about ten foot beneath where you and Kyle are stood, craning his neck to grin up at the two of you. From this improved distance you can see him a lot clearer. There’s a prominent scar that cuts through his right eyebrow and reaches down his cheek and there’s the slight growth of stubble coming through on his cheeks and chin. He’s more handsome close up, you’ll give him that, it goes with the brashness he exudes. He knows he’s pretty.

He’s out of breath as he stands there, hands on his hips and so sweat slicked that you can see the way it drips down from his chin to his chest. It’s his eyes, still, they’re hardly natural. So bright and pale and beautiful to look at, you could fall right into them.

“Well?” The Scot wants an answer, you’re sure he won’t move until he’s got one.

Kyle wets his lips to speak but you cut him off.

“I’m no one’s lass, mate” there’s certain ways to hit on women, and coming right up to them and asking whoever they happen to be with if they’re single or not isn’t the best way- not in your humble opinion at least.

“Good news f’me then” his smirk cracks across his face, impossibly wide, your face doesn’t change at all. Still not impressed.

“What makes you think that?” It’s a honest question for him, does he think that because he plays a sport (sometimes)professionally that you’ll let him get in your pants? Does he seriously think that?

The man dips his chin as he stands there, shaking his head, it messes up the sweat-soaked length of his mohawk, when he looks back up at you again it’s messier then it had been. His smile is just as wide as before, his eyes crinkle from the autumnal sun as it beams from behind you. He flattens a palm to his chest and taps against it.

“Names Johnny” you raise a brow at him but it doesn’t deter him, not even in the slightest.

You’re not giving him clear indicators that you’re completely uninterested, more so that you don’t appreciate how he’s gone about the whole thing. Again, you must admit, he’s very lovely to look at.

It’s quick when you walk away, a game of chase, he can suffer for his pig-headedness. Kyle stands there, a little more than dumbfounded, while he wants to follow you- he also wants to speak with Mactavish, he’s been a fan for a long time. When he turns to look at the Scot down below, he finds him still smiling up at him, there’s a look of mischief in his eyes.

Only a few feet behind him stands another, it’s Riley, and he’d heard every word of your conversation with Johnny. He guesses the game is set now they know for sure that you’re single, but let’s be honest, they would have both been game even if you weren’t.

______________________________________

“Hold on a second, say that again?” Your jaw is locked tight, molars grinding, he can’t be serious.

Kyle scratches at the back of his head, sheepishly, there’s worry lines that are creasing his forehead as he looks between you and Nik. Good, he should be worried where you’re concerned. He fucked up.

“Look I said I’m sorry, alright? What was I supposed to say to him?” Kyle sits on a stool at the bar, opposite to where you and Nik stand side by side on the other side of it.

Nik throws you a glance and you shake your head at him, he’s just as unimpressed as you are, you both know that Kyle is smarter then this- at least, he is most of the time.

“How about not telling him where I work? Thats a start. May as well tell him where I live, Kyle” your tone drifts, while Kyle is your friend, he clearly hadn’t thought before he’d spoken. Thinking more about impressing his rugby idols than the safety of his best mate, these guys could be any breed of weirdo for all you know.

“I agree with her Kyle, you need to think before you say things like that” Nik folds his arms over his chest, thick brows furrowed as he stares at Kyle, who is scratching a single finger against the polished wood of the bar top.

You aren’t trying to gang up on him, he knows he shouldn’t have told Mactavish anything, but he still did- that wouldn’t change just because he suddenly felt bad. He’s got some grovelling to do, to say the least.

“Do you want to head home? I’m sure we can find a way to manage, doll” Nik’s eyes find yours, he’s always been a softie, always looking out for you like you’re the kid he never had. Your brows furrow.

“Absolutely not, I’m not about to be bullied out of work by a bunch of thick skulled ball chasers. Let ‘em try something Nik, they’ll soon find out” you leave the conversation at that, following the repeated wails of the glasswasher in the back as it lets you know it’s ready to be emptied.

—————————————————————————

For the most part, the night is typical. It’s a busy Saturday night in a louder part of town and there’s everyone from regulars to students to tourists. It’s an easier night for you thanks to Kyle, his want to get back in your good books means he’s doing all of the shit jobs. Cleaning the bogs and serving tables. Clearing the glasses away and scrubbing the sticky tables. All while you’re tucked behind the bar pulling pints and making drinks, it’s something you could get used to, Kyle should piss you off more often if this is the treatment you get.

You watch the clock out of habit and notice it’s almost half nine, only an hour and half before you close, not long before you can go home and wash the day away and sleep all of this off. You just have to get through another hour and a half unscathed, that’s it.

Mactavish dashes those plans.

Before you see them, you hear them. It looks like the whole team might be here, they pile in through the door and already look as if they’re half Irish. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, knowing you’re in full view of not just them but other customers too.

Mactavish squeezes through the bodies as they linger around the booths and seats, not all able to fit comfortably, Mactavish sings your name.

“Fancy seein’ you here, bonnie” he grins wide, no longer obstructed by the mouth guard.

Compared to earlier when he was covered in grass stains and sweat, you hate to admit that he scrubs up well. Dressed casually with a shirt that’s close to matching his eyes, he doesn’t seem like the type if you’re honest.

“Oh yes, what a coincidence” the sarcasm reaches, you watch it in his eyes, the way his jaw flexes. He smiles and shakes his head.

“Tough nut to crack, ain’t ya?” He’s unapologetic with the way his eyes wander, the music thumps loudly in your ears but you can still hear the heaviness the alcohol adds to his tongue.

“What makes you think I wanna be cracked?” You make a point to busy your hands, to do anything to distract you from his eyes, there’s lemons in front of you that need slicing- they’ll suffice.

He raises a brow at that. Sliding his elbows onto the bar, bringing his height down to yours, eye to eye, if you’d just look at him.

“Saw the way you were lookin’ at me bonnie” he drops his tone, practically husks the words, he’s teasing. You laugh.

“Bein’ pretty bold to say I’ve got a knife in my hand” you hammer the point in, bringing the knife down heavier then before against the chopping board only to raise it up to slide your finger across it to catch the juice. He watches you carefully.

“You know how to use it?” He asks, again teasing, seeing how much he can get away with. He wants to soften you up. It’ll take more than that.

“D’you wanna find out?” It’s an open question, depending on how he behaves he could very well lose a finger, you’d deal with any charges he might want to press tomorrow. He just grins at you stupidly.

“I wanna take you out” he leans forward, reaching an arm over the bar to swipe a lemon slice, you watch as he sucks it into his mouth. Never breaking his eyes from yours, he’s got you.

“I want a lot of things, doesn’t mean I can have ‘em” you haven’t clocked him yet, not completely, he seems pretty harmless. But don’t they all?

He hums, sliding the lemon out of his mouth between his fingers, considering you. “Could give ‘em to you” his eyes meet yours but you’re quick to look away, returning to the lemons.

You scoff. “If I agree to a date will you go away? I’m working” just because you agree to something doesn’t mean you’re obliged, you’ll think on it more clearly when you’re not at work- being stared at by those burning blue eyes.

“Pretty rubbish conditions if ye ask me” he slurps at the lemon obnoxiously, you see the flash of a tongue piercing.

“Well forget it then-“ he interjects.

“Chill yerself bonnie, I’m goin’” he holds his hands up in surrender as he stands back to his full height, the lemon slice is replaced back between his teeth- for a brief moment.

He moves to step away but he’s quick to turn on his heel, chewing the lemon down till it slots inside his cheek. “Be back for yer number to arrange that date” he wags a finger in your general direction as he speaks, quickly turning back toward the booth where his teammates are all squashed in together.

—————————————————————————

Half an hour. Just half an hour and you can start to close up. It’s the light at the end of the tunnel.

Mactavish had behaved since leaving you at the bar, hardly looking in your direction, which you appreciated. You didn’t need him and his stupid blue eyes knocking you off of your concentration, not when you’re handling this much glass. You steal a glance over at his table from time to time, hearing his roaring laugh and watching the way he interacts with his mates. They all look close. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, making them soft, sitting on each other’s thighs with arms slung around each others necks. You imagine it’s normal that they’re all so close, they must spend hours and hours and hours together just training let alone at matches.

It’s quietening down now as a whole, some tables still linger to chatter, like the rugby lot. Most have gone now, moving onto the better clubs, this is just a pit stop usually- somewhere to line their stomachs before they get so paralytic that they’re soon laid in the streets laughing their heads off or spewing their guts up.

It’s an opportune time to start clearing glasses, now that the bar is quiet if not ready to close. Gaz is in the cellar doing whatever it is that he does down there, you hate it down there. So you’ll take the better job of clearing glasses and shoving them in the washer, fully prepared to forget about them until you’re back tomorrow.

This is usually the case, balancing a dozen glasses on one tray because you’re too lazy to make two trips. You’re so close to the bar, almost within reaching distance, and then someone from the rugby table throws his hands up and throws you off balance.

You close your eyes as you feel yourself tumbling, you’ve had too many shards of glass blasted out of your eyes by Nik and his saline bottle of doom, so you squeeze them shut tightly. There’s suddenly a warm pressure that coils around your waist but you’re too distracted by the sound of the glasses smashing to think about it. You dare to crack your eyes open, gaze immediately falling to the ground and seeing the mess that you’ve made. For fucks sake. Your eyes skate from the broken glass on the floor to the hand at your waist, gripping you tight, flush with something solid.

From up close you can see now that the tattoos on his left knuckles read soul.

Riley’s breathing is heavy against your spine and you don’t move, you daren’t move, and it seems Riley is much the same. Not until you hear a whistle from across the rugby table.

“Looks real cosy, Simon” that accent, it’s Johnny.

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Catching the fox." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

(Not my gif!)

Jesus only caused problems since you, Daryl and Rick met him during a run, but that doesn’t prevent you all from having a little fun. (Even if you come home empty-handed)

A/N: Based on what is probably the funniest episode of "The Walking Dead" to me. I wrote this a while ago but I'm posting it for my friend, who actually finds this funny hehe Sorry if this is long and boring :c Spoiler alert: Jealous Daryl is my favorite Daryl! I hope you like it!

“So… hunky-dunky. Uh?”

In front of you all, an empty, silent road is always pleasant. Nature wasn’t lost after the apocalypse, not completely, and although the green color of the grass disappeared slowly with the passage of time, Mother Nature still retained her place in the world. Sitting by the window in that big truck full of food, the wind pushes some strands of your hair as you breathe in the fresh air. And, sitting in the middle as Rick drives, Daryl glances at you as he checks Denise’s list.

“Don’t…” He says, warning you, making you chuckle. It was the word that Eugene used when he gave Daryl his map, always using fancy ones. At his side as he drives the truck down the hill, Rick chuckles, too. “Why ya never gave me a list?”

You watch the list in his hand and then, you look back at him.

“I think it's impossible to get a high definition TV with surround sound system so I can watch the games again like in those old days. You know, the ones that were on TV before the world went to hell.”

Both men look at you with a funny look, and you look back at the window as the truck approaches that abandoned gas station on the left side of the road. There are papers and trash everywhere, and Rick parks near the gasoline pumps. All of you get out, but since the silent street is free of any walker, you walk around while Rick goes ahead to check the store door.

“We had that shit in our apartment? That round sound thing.”

You chuckle before turning around towards him, smiling innocently.

“Surround sound system, love, and no, we didn’t. We were always fooling around so we never really had time to watch the games. Remember?”

Your words catch him off guard, and his innocent eyes look at you until he understands what they mean. A second later, the boldness shines in his blue eyes and he closes the distance of a few steps between you two. Daryl encircles your waist with his right arm and pulls you gently towards him, his forehead resting against yours.

“Are ya makin’ fun of me, sunshine?”

You shake your head, softly.

“No, but why?” You whisper. “Does that turn you on?”

“Really?” Rick complains, suddenly, closer than you thought he was. “Now?”

You chuckle pulling away from your husband.

“Sorry, bro.” Says Daryl, taking his arm off of you.

Rick looks at you two with a sarcastic expression and raises an eyebrow.

“I regret coming with you two.”

But he is joking and lets it go quickly.

On the back of the place, Daryl walks over to the black machine lying in the middle, noticing it was a vending machine turning upside down. Although Denise said it wasn’t of the utmost importance, he wants to go back to Alexandria with a gift for Tara, just because Daryl understood the feeling of trying to do something nice for another person. So, minutes later, Rick rolls over the machine with a chain attached to the truck, and as he gets out and walks towards you two, the glass shows that the interior is full.

“It’s soda and Candy.” Rick says while Daryl removes one of the chains. “Why the trouble?”

“It ain’t a trouble.”

But suddenly, out of nowhere, a man turns around the corner and pushes Rick on his way out, raising his hands in the air as Daryl and Rick take their guns to aim at the stranger, your own hand holding your weapon hidden behind your waist, as a reflex in the face of danger.

The bandana that covers half of his face shows only his pretty eyes.

“Hi.” He is agitated, as if he has run for a long time. “I was just running from the dead.”

“How many?” Daryl asks while Rick steps back to look at the corner of the lonely place, searching for any walkers close by.

“10. Maybe more. I’m not risking it. Once it gets to double digits, I start running.”

Daryl doesn’t trust him, and he keeps pointing at him with his gun.

“Where?”

“About a half a mile back. They’re headed this way. You probably have about…” He wiggles his head, looking for the right number. “11 minutes.”

The distrust doesn’t go away, but Rick is the first and the only one who lowers his weapon.

“Okay, thanks for letting us know.”

“Yes.” The man breathes through his bandana. “There’s more of them than us. Right? Gotta stick together.” He looks at Daryl, due to his gun still pointing at him. “Right?”

Although that stranger appeared from nowhere, he finally lowers his gun, too.

“You have a camp?” The man asks.

Maintaining the safety of Alexandria was the main thing, and being selective with the new people you all let in was the first rule until you all knew they could be trusted.

“No.” Daryl says.

“Do you?” Rick asks.

The man thinks about it for a second.

“No.” He finally says, and then, he looks at you standing next to them. “It’s just you two, with a woman?”

Before you realize what he meant, Daryl raises his weapon quickly, his hand tightening around it in anger.

“Ya want me to shoot ya, asshole? She’s ma wife and yer gonna say yer sorry.”

The man breathes in and Rick looks at him.

“You better say it now before he shoots you.”

Before looking at you, the man looks at Daryl who was still aiming him with his gun, so the new one does it. You don’t think what he said was an insult, but it was better to follow the situation calmly before Daryl shoots him for real.

“I’m really sorry, madam. I didn’t mean to offend you.” You move your hand in the air to minimize the misunderstanding, telling him it was okay. “Well… sorry for running into you. I’m gonna go now.” He turns around and starts walking, talking over his shoulder. “This is the next world; I hope it’s good to you, guys.”

Daryl and you share a confused look as Rick watches the man walk away.

“I’m Rick, these are (y/n) and Daryl. What’s your name?”

The man turns around again and pulls his bandana down.

“Paul Rovia. But my friends use to call me Jesus…” He extends his arms out, casually. “You pick.”

“You said you didn’t have a camp.” Rick answers back. “You are on your own?”

“Yeah.” He looks at you all with a sudden confidence. “But still, best not to try anything.”

However, Daryl doesn’t seem impressed, or intimidated.

“Best not to make threats ya can’t keep, either.”

“Exactly.” And the man starts running out of there.

“How many walkers–” Rick tries to ask, but Daryl cut him off.

“No. Not this guy.”

However, Rick makes his question anyways.

“How many walkers have you killed?”

“Sorry! Gotta run. You should too.”

And he disappears around the corner.

Running into new people was still strange, but that situation was a new kind of strange, and hard to understand too.

“What the hell was that?” Daryl asks.

“Yeah. He was clean.” Rick nods. “His beard, it was trimmed.”

“And he was way too confident to be just by himself.” You say.

Rick nods again, because if the man is strange to you both, then that is more than just a coincidence: something else is happening.

“He didn’t have a gun, either.” Daryl frowns, looking down the path Jesus took.

“We could track him.” Rick put away his gun. “Watch him for a while. Get to know him more. See if he’s really alone. Maybe bring him back.”

“No.” Daryl complains, his voice always low and husky. “That guy calls himself Jesus.”

But then, a noise from the front of the place attracts everyone’s attention, the thunderous sound of tires against the pavement.

“Shit.” Daryl says when he realizes the truth. “He swiped yer keys. Didn’t he?”

The moment you all get there; the place is still empty, with the truck full of food moving away up the hill.

“Sorry!” Jesus yells as he drives away, taking the vending machine with him, too.

The three of you stop in the middle of the road, watching with frustration as the truck goes away under your eyes.

“Shit.” Rick says.

The vending machine leaves a path on the middle of the road, like breadcrumbs to track down the thief, until you find it halfway on the way. Daryl opens the case to secure Denise’s sodas for Tara while Rick and you catch your breaths after running up there. The strands of your hair stick to your forehead, while the beads of sweat begin to fall on theirs.

“This is a special request from the doctor.” Daryl says, showing Rick the soda can, opening one to give it to you.

“Hey…” Rick breaths and takes the broken one Daryl gives him. “Whatever she wants. She saved Carl’s life. We didn’t know her, and she turned out to be all right. And If there’s still people out here, and they’re still people, we should bring them in.”

“What? Like this guy?” Daryl points to the road Jesus left.

“No, fuck that guy.” Rick shakes his head and looks inside the machine for something.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, your mind full of thoughts about what had just happened, but without saying anything, at least until you can formulate a coherent opinion.

“What’s on your mind, (y/n)?” Rick asks when he sees you looking at the ground.

“Well, I just think that…” You doubt if you should share with them what you are thinking, but it is a waste of time while the truck is still moving. “It’s nothing. We should keep going.”

You try to take a few steps but Daryl stops you reaching out his arm.

“Hey.” He says softly to you. “S’okay, jus’ say it.”

You are not naive; you know how that world works now. Not only were the alive against the dead ones. That life was a battle against other people as well. However, not everything was black and white. Or it was?

“I don’t say that what he did is right, but no one steals for pleasure these days, so maybe he did it because he needs it, too.”

Rick wiggles his head slowly, half of him giving you the reason because that is true although nothing apologized what that man did.

“So what?” Daryl frowns, his temper rising again. “Would ya jus’ let him go with our stuff?”

His personality is like a roller coaster, full of constant ups and downs, but luckily, you know how to handle it.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Dixon, and it was you who said I could share my opinion. But I am not saying we should let him go just like that. Hell, no.”

Daryl gives a step back, confused by your sudden change of mood, just like his own.

“So?”

You frown back.

“The truck is ours. And, if in this world the strongest wins, that will be us. So, we will get it back.”

The force in your eyes and the way you look at him catches him completely. But Daryl is no longer shy, and although he likes your privacy as a marriage, he can’t help but tangle his hand in your hair, softly.

“Since when ya are this ballsy, woman?”

Playing, you push his hand away.

“Fuck you, Dixon. I was like this long before I met your ass.”

“I really hate you both.” Rick says, making Daryl chuckle.

“Sorry, bro. S’jus’… she looks so hot right now.”

You chuckled as Rick raises an eyebrow.

“It’s because we ran until we got here. Now, we should get going.”

At first, you try to be understanding to the request of both men asking you to wait behind the bushes while they surprise the stranger, who just finished fixing the tire of the truck parked in the middle of the road, away from the danger posed by Paul, or Jesus, or whatever he chose to call himself, but you can’t help but compare him to a fox, somewhat elusive, almost slippery as he managed to dodge the blows of Rick and Daryl, who were hit in the stomach and pushed against the truck, respectively.

So, when Jesus turns around, he stops dead with your gun pointed at his face, his hands in the air.

“You would really shoot me in the face just for a truck?”

You tilt your head, taking the safety off the gun your dad gave you for protection before dying.

“No. Not in the face, but maybe in the legs just below the knees so you stop being so slippery.”

He takes a deep breath.

“You wouldn’t do that.”

Behind him, Rick and Daryl raise their own weapons, making you lower your own.

“Oh, trust me, pretty boy, I totally would.”

But suddenly, before you can say more, a walker comes out of the bushes, grunting at you all.

“Do you even have any ammo?” Jesus asks, but Daryl and Rick are already tired of him, and both shoot the walker at the same time. “Okay, again, are you gonna shoot me over a truck?”

“There’s a lot of foot on that truck.” Rick says. “The keys. Now.”

In the end, Jesus gives them the keys and Rick ties his hands and feet up to leave him there, on a side of the road.

“The knots aren’t that tight.” Rick says to him. “You should be able to get free… after we’re long gone.”

For his part, Daryl growls when he sees that some of the soda cans had crushed during the fight, with all the content dripping from his backpack.

“Maybe we should talk now.” Jesus smiles when Rick walks away.

“Nah.” Daryl walks pass him by and makes you walk with him to the passenger seat. But first, he stops to shake a can and throws it at Jesus. “Here. In case ya gets thirsty.”

When you two get to the passenger seat, Daryl goes up first, and though he has to move to let you go up, too, he takes you by the waist to help you go up to sit between his legs. You are a little surprise by his action, but he just closes the truck door and chuckles as Rick moves the keys around his finger.

“You were right, (y/n).” He smiles at you as he starts the truck. “We are the strongest ones.”

As the truck begins to move, Daryl leans back against the seat and shows his middle finger out the window.

“So long, ya prick!” He yells at Jesus.

The loud music in the truck accompanies you all the way. As you lean your arm against the window frame, the wind makes your tied hair move back, in a soothing and peaceful way. Daryl’s right hand continues to rest against your waist beneath your t-shirt, holding you against him while everything around is still fine.

“He ain’t that pretty, y’know?” Daryl says quietly over the music, after a long moment of silence.

You frown, turning slightly to look at him.

"Are you kidding with me? Jesus...” But you laugh when Daryl frowns, even though you just said the name of the son of God, not that stranger. "That's not what I meant!"

He snorts, But before he can answer back, Rick talks first.

“Hey, look at that.” He says, pointing something on the road in front.

A barn. When you get close, the even path changes for an unstable one as you all enter the barn’s lawn, but, out of nowhere, there is a blow that comes from the roof, getting your attention before theirs.

“You hear that?” You ask as Daryl lowers all the volume of the music.

“I think that son of a bitch is on the roof.”

And then, Rick is really tired of that fox.

“Hold on.” Rick steps on the brake and the truck stops abruptly, throwing Jesus through the air until he falls in front of you all.

But then, he just gets up on his feet, and runs away. It is ridiculous. It is almost comical the way Rick drives to chase him down the field, but in the end, it is Daryl who has enough of him.

“Motherfu-” Daryl stops himself to take you by the waist, and he moves from under you. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Before you react or before Rick could stop the car, Daryl opens the door and gets out of the truck to chase after Jesus on foot.

Rick drives near them as you sigh.

“Sometimes I can’t believe I’m married to that man.”

Rick laughs and tries to move the truck to block Jesus, but that elusive fox is more agile, so Rick steps back the truck as Daryl and Jesus swing from side to side in the middle of the field, waiting for one of them to take the first step.

“We should clear the way for them.” Rick says when some walkers around the place start to move too close to them.

You open the truck door, moving away from it, pulling the knife from the sheath of your waist.

“We came to a conclusion, asshole!” Daryl yells at Jesus, still in the middle of the place when he runs away, so Daryl looks at you two before start chasing him, again. “I got him.”

Some walkers were tied up with around another truck, and you and Rick make them fall when they manage to break the rope free.

Back in the truck, Jesus opens the driver’s door and tries to get in, but Daryl grabs him from his jacket and tries to pull him out.

“Come ‘ere, ya little shit.”

No one sees it coming, no one pays any attention, but a walker comes up to Daryl from behind, walking dangerously until it enters Jesus’s view. So he raises a gun, watching Daryl without moving.

“Duck.” He says.

Daryl understands it at once and crouches. The bullet flies over him and enters directly into the walker’s head causing it to fall. Daryl looks back and studies the body on the ground before turning back to look at Jesus.

“Thanks.” Daryl breathes out and punches him on the face. “That’s ma gun! Come ‘ere.”

The shot pierces your ears and Rick’s, causing to both of you to look at the truck in the distance, and you two run to them. Daryl tries to pull Jesus out of the truck, but Jesus knocks it into neutral, and the vehicle starts rolling into a pond behind. Daryl jumps out of the truck and Jesus followed him, but his head gets hit with the door and he passes out. When Rick and you finally reach the place, you watch Daryl moving Jesus with his boot as the truck sinks.

You sigh heavily when you all see the last of that truck before it disappears forever before everyone’s sight.

The new car you all get is old, ironically, but Rick keeps driving through the silent road in the middle of those huge trees. From the backseat, Daryl pushes Jesus who was still pretty unconscious, but his body continues to fall back on Daryl’s shoulder.

“Is he your new best friend?” You tease him, making Daryl groan. “I’m getting jealous, actually.”

“Be quiet, woman.”

“I told you I could go in the back with him.”

“Yeah?” He says. “Over ma dead body.”

Just to annoy him even more, Rick moves the car so that way Jesus’ body would fall back on Daryl. He growls again, pushing Jesus far from him as Rick drives back to Alexandria.

That same night, Daryl and Rick walk down Alexandria Street back to their homes after leaving Jesus in the basement. He was fine despite the hit, and by now they just had to wait for him to wake up in the morning.

As they arrive at Rick’s house first, it is time to say goodbye.

“It is pretty stupid of us to go out there. Isn’t?” Rick asks as he goes up the stairs of his porch.

“Yep.” Daryl says walking away. “Do it again tomorrow?”

“Yep.” Rick answers watching him go. “Tell (y/n) to come.”

“Hu-uh.” Daryl waves his hand to him.

Two houses away, Daryl goes up the steps to the porch and opens the door to his house. The only light comes from a lamp on the table in the living room, shining with an amber color. Daryl closes the door behind him and watches you come out of the kitchen.

“There’s a couple of sandwiches in case you’re hungry.”

But he just walks towards you while you stop in front of the stairs. You are tired but it had been a funny day in spite of everything, and you laugh when Daryl wraps his arms around your waist to lift you up.

You hold yourself with your hands on his shoulders, your legs around his waist.

“Nah. Jus’ want some time alone with ma wife.”

[a-whispering-echo]

Dust wasn’t expecting this.

Sure, he’d had a lot of strange shit happen to him in his life. But getting hit by a car? That wasn’t on his bingo card. It wasn’t even on the fucking board.

Lying on the cold asphalt, the world feels like a thousand broken pieces scattered across a canvas, all melting and bleeding into one another. The sky is upside down, a swirl of violet, green, and black, and his mind - his oh-so-broken mind - is trying to make sense of it. But it doesn’t make sense. The shapes behind his eyes are bouncing around like fireworks in a bottle, red and blue, dancing like little ghosts he started to see after the first hundred resets.

He giggles.

It’s not a laugh, not really. It’s a fractured sound, escaping from a place inside him that doesn’t care about the pain in his ribs, or the sharpness in his neck. It feels funny - the way his thoughts don’t quite line up, the way the world is bending at strange angles. Like a Salvador Dalí painting, all melting clocks and twisted perspectives.

People are screaming. They’re calling his name, but it feels distant. Far away, like a forgotten echo in an empty room. Dust.

Is that his name? Yeah, it is. Right?

He should answer, he should be more responsible, he should tell them he’s fine - tell them he’s just… giggling at the shapes. That everything is going to be fine, it always is, because it always is, right? But his tongue is like dead weight in his mouth, and his neck? Oh, his neck. It hurts. He tries to turn his head, but it’s as if someone put a metal vice around it. It’s odd, he thinks, and then he giggles again, louder this time, at how strange it all is.

Somewhere above him, Cross’s voice breaks through the noise. “Dust! Dust, can you hear me?”

It’s that high-pitched, worried tone. The kind Cross only used when he was too scared for his friends teammates - when the anxiety got the better of him. Normally, that tone of voice would have Killer or himself giggling at the poor monster like hyaenas, just to take comfort in the fac that someone cared enough about them to make that tone of voice at them. But Dust can’t feel the usual comfort of that voice right now. Instead, it sends a little pang of guilt through his chest.

I should answer him, Dust thinks.

Another voice, low and controlled, a bit calmer but no less urgent, joins in. “Dust, don’t move. Stay still. We’ve got you.”

The sound of shoes scraping across pavement. Hands, tentative but firm, wrapping around his shoulders. Horror. Dust can tell even without seeing his face - Horror’s got that quiet strength, the kind that’s always been there, holding them all together. Dust can feel his presence, even with his mind slipping and sliding away from him.

“Dustbin, hey, stay with me,” Killer’s voice cuts through next, that familiar playful edge still hanging in his tone, but it’s tinged with concern. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging, yeah? You gotta be alright. Don’t make me come down there and drag you back to reality.”

It’s so loud now, the cacophony of voices, and Dust can’t focus, can’t make sense of what’s happening, except that everyone sounds so damn worried, like he’s some fragile thing that might break at any moment.

Oh, right. He’s broken, isn’t he? Broken inside and out. The pieces of his mind are always scattered, like the pieces of this world that are spinning in front of him. There’s something comforting about it, though.

The pain. The shapes. The people calling his name.

He wants to laugh again, but the sounds inside his head are louder now. The world spins faster, and he has to blink hard to keep from losing it entirely.

Then, Cross’s voice, more desperate this time, seeping through the cracks of his scrambled brain: “Dust, please. Please, open your eyes. We need you.”

Something about that - something in the way Cross says please - makes his soul flutter, makes the world slow down for a second. It makes Dust want to answer. He really does. He wants to tell them he’s fine, he wants to tell them he’s used to this, that it’s just another one of those fucked up days.

But instead, Dust just squeezes his eyes shut tighter, trying to keep the world from floating away completely.

It’s too loud. Too much. Too -

His neck hurts.

No, no, no. He’s fine. His body isn’t moving, but his mind is, slipping away into the dreamspace. His body’s gone numb, and he can’t tell if he’s awake or asleep. He tries to hold on to that part of himself that’s still Dust - the part that’s real - but it feels so far away now.

But they’re here.

They’re all here. Even though they’re shouting at him, even though they’re pulling at him, even though they’re worried that he’s slipping, they’re here.

So maybe he can let go. Just for a second. Let the shapes take him wherever they want. Let the voices be muffled.

He’ll be fine. He always is.

Dust lets out another breathless chuckle, his chest fluttering as the world blurs.

It’s not the end. Not yet. Not today.

At least, he hopes not.

[triglycercule]

killer eating food in front of horror as a way to taunt him. duuuude do you see this delectable parfait he has in his hands right now. he just put a spoonful in his mouth. horror is scratching at his own arms right now (trying not to jump this bitchass). killer can't even taste it LMAOOO another bite ‼️ imagine not being able to eat food 🤣🤣🤣 killer can't even taste it and enjoy the food but horror can't even EAT food

then horror grabs the parfait glass out of his hands and oh killer you should probably teleport away before horror does to you what undyne did to his eye

[dykedvonte]

I dislike takes that Danse would be just as conservative in modernized aus when it's clearly shown his staunch views of things come from his time in the Brotherhood and his deep-rooted desire to belong to something with a greater purpose.

Not to mention lines that show much more open-mindedness that get overlooked for his harsher sentiments when you first meet him. Like the oppurtunity to be a part of something is why Danse fell so far into Brotherhood dogma and it doesn't negate the offense things he does but I feel like it's just lazy to be like "hmmm he'd def be racist" just so it aligns to his BoS beliefs.

[charmac]

hey seth! i'm just a random guy that's been really into sunny for the past year, and i always love your tweets. you, loren, and anna have been on my fyp a lot the past weekend, and i know a lot of people are being assholes about it, but it's genuinely so heartwarming to see. you three definitely deserve it and are the best kind of people for this to happen to. you always come off as respectful of rcg. hope you can pass the message along to them both too! have a great day

Thank you for the kind message, I really really appreciate it and so do Anna and Loren! Glad you got into the show :)

Honestly I get people are lashing out/shit talking because it does seem kinda weird to witness through a screen how much we’ve been able to interact with them and the interactions we’ve had. I know people are jealous, too (as in have told me they are, and I was certainly jealous last year when Rob didn’t do any events in NYC bc he was sick but did them in Philly a few days later) and I totally get that. Whatever the reason for people being assholes is, I don’t really take it personally. They don’t know the full story of literally anything that happened, they’re just watching through a screen and making their own assumptions of before, after, and in between all these clips they’re seeing, and trying to find something to justify how they feel. The claims that I’ve been ‘stalking’ them or ‘overstepping boundaries’ are genuinely just funny to me when every place we’ve met them has been an event that was publicly posted to Instagram/Facebook well in advance.

(And I’m not gonna talk on Twitter about certain details of this, but I feel like I can probably disclose here that the Four Walls people approached me to tell me/give me things and not the other way around. Their socials dmed me, followed me, Rob followed me, etc. I had literally no sway in them choosing to do those things or introducing themselves to me in person and organically engaging in conversations with me.)

We want to share our interactions with RCG on social media because we think most people appreciate and enjoy their interactions with fans (and also the small amounts of Sunny info we got), and that’s it. I don’t need to share or brag about anything. I would be perfectly content keeping everything that happened this weekend to myself (I very much avoid otherwise sharing my face or voice on social media, so I genuinely have to overcome that insecurity to even be able to share these things), but we know the majority of fans like to see this stuff and that’s why we have been posting everything.

Your message (and others i’ve received) means a lot. I’m glad the majority of people are enjoying our interactions with them and I really appreciate the time you spend to send this ask, really! And I’ll be back to posting regularly scheduled actual Sunny content very shortly :)

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

If there is at least one thing I can credit FE for doing better than Tales in localization, it's not trying to actively go out of their way for an entire game to avoid subtext or direct text between two men that is romantic or implied romantic. Funny when it's so present that the attempt doesn't even work; infuriating that it was attempted to begin with.

So as much as I often have issues with some of FE's localizations, at least they have a leg up on loc Tales for that.

[6mayhem]

anyway i need to hang out with my brother again he is the one person who i am pretty sure knows literally everything about me so he's the only person i trust that i can absolutely not disappoint. nothing i can do could be worse than the sum of everything i've been doing to that poor man (and him to me) the past 19 years

[seilon]

pro: ran into a coworker at a bar last night who I don’t really talk to usually (he works upstairs, I work downstairs) and we talked and im pretty sure we were highkey flirting and he bought me a drink and the bar merch shirt i was interested in and thanks to the power of alcohol i guess i asked for his number and he gladly gave it to me and. yeah

con: i have the second worst hangover i have ever had and have been fighting for my fucking life just to eat saltines

[huntershowl-moving]

verse drop: bnha !!

general info.

name: persephone aisa alias (villain): hellhound allegiance: the unseen (organized crime) quirk: voidsmoke. persephone's hair dissolves into plumes of inky black smoke that she can directly manipulate. the smoke darkens any patch of shadow that it enters, allowing her to obscure her body in dim light and darkness. additionally, as their quirk evolves, they become able to manipulate its solidity, size and shape, which allows her to temporarily create small objects from the smoke (bullets, knives) & spread it outwards to fill an entire space with pitch-darkness. all created objects must eventually return to shadow; she can only make/maintain a few at a time before they start disintegrating. additionally, there is an upper limit to how large of a space she can turn pitch-black. (this limit can be trained, though, as can the amount/size/complexity of existing objects!) additionally, it is much more taxing to create darkness in a brightly-lit area than a dimly-lit one. enhancements: advanced prosthetic arms, upper-body skeletal reinforcement preferred gear: sniper rifle, several knives, brass knuckles, climbing shoes, grappling-hook arm attachment, reinforced clothing

two versions of this verse are described under the cut:

main ( villain, age/timeline-agnostic ) — inside your head the sound of glass.

UA ( student, early seasons ) — snake in the garden.

main ( villain, age/timeline-agnostic ) — inside your head the sound of glass.

the villain HELLHOUND has only been terrorizing the world for one year. for the first several months of that year, they only plagued the U.S. with their murders. japan was unfortunate enough to become their next target one month ago, but even in that short time they have already made quite the stir.

the strange thing about her — well. one of many, lol. — is that not only does she go after civilians and heroes, but other villains as well. it seems hellhound is indiscriminate in the moral alignment of those she eviscerates in the streets. additionally, sources are inconsistent and conflicting about what her quirk actually is. most are in agreement that it has to do with their hair, which melts into shadowy smoke at the ends, but those in the U.S. who endured her presence longer insist that it is some kind of lycanthropic transformation quirk. a beast-form, a giant wolf made of shadow and rage. as time goes on, more and more of japan's populace have begun to subscribe to this belief as well.

this verse can take place after the UA student verse or independent of it, depending on how sad we want to be. if it takes place afterwards, seph was pulled out of japan at some point in the timeline and sent to the US by her employer in THE UNSEEN. she completely vanishes, going zero-contact with everyone (including her brother), and comes back two years later as a villain — a monstrous shell of her former self.

UA ( student, early seasons ) — snake in the garden.

in this verse, persephone is sent by the unseen to infiltrate class 1-A and feed back information about the next wave of pro heroes. she has not yet experienced the events that lead to her becoming hellhound, but regrettably, that doesn't make her THAT much less aggressive. sorry to add to the angy energy bakugou brings to the class, but. whooops.

as a student, persephone is a little punk. she struggles to work with others and reacts to even the smallest provocation with anger. she doesn’t go out of her way to bully anyone, unless they do it to her first, but she is known for being prickly and very solitary. they are incredibly easy to rile and often get into fights. the only person they treat with kindness is their twin brother orion, who is in the support class.

that being said, she is still much easier to get along with — and importantly, quite a bit more trusting — than she is in hellhound verses. there are certainly things she likes, for instance (wild i know): being a delinquent, alternative metal music, raspberry sweets, cool knives!

unlike the other alleged UA mole, persephone's operation as a spy does not directly threaten the other students in any way. the unseen is a criminal organization that operates primarily for profit. its leader ( amari fletch, an ex-pro hero ) is perfectly fine letting the world run the way it runs, so long as the global leaders in their pocket continue to turn a blind eye to their highly illegal operations around the world. if someone goes against them, they are violently made an example of.

all of that being said, persephone is still a trained killer. she slips away from school often, as does orion, without any explanation to where she's gone — occasionally for days at a time. she is always diligent with make-up training and assignments, however, and her grades are solid despite the distractions.

when the war starts, the unseen's allegiance is to no one. (though this is subject to change, of course. an attractive enough offer could sway them.) this allows one of two branches to take place:

either the unseen allies with all for one and sends persephone to work with him & the league,

or they remain neutral and allow her to work with her peers against all for one.

[dmclemblems]

It's weird that Claude’s the fave kid of his dad when a LOT of people in the fandom speculated El being her dad's favorite given her Goddess Tower event and how Ionius only mentions failing her (and not his 10 other kids who died during torture) during her coronation. Dragged by a horse for being bratty (or, "better," tied to a horse's saddle)... yeah that's how you treat your favored child. Right.

Just another thing from El that gets weirdly shoved onto Claude.

See, when it comes to Edelgard, I can definitely see the potential bias toward her. I don't think he didn't love his other children, and I don't think he was a good ruler by any means (there are a lot of analysis posts out there about his rule and how terrible he was so I won't go over that here lol), but he definitely seemed like a pretty decent father to me, at the least? Like, when Edelgard gets crowned he laments not being able to help her more and how her feelings are also his feelings, etc.

During that scene I really felt like he was genuinely affected by what happened to his daughter and I did feel like he was angry by his own powerlessness and not being able to save her when she needed him most. Regarding the other children, I think he just didn't mention failing them because he wasn't speaking to them directly, and I think it may have felt useless for him to mention the other kids because they're already gone, but Edelgard is right there in front of him. In that situation I can understand not wanting to bring up even worse feelings about all his other kids.

In contrast there's Claude, where we're outright told in Hopes that he's the "favorite", versus the speculation about Edelgard (which even if she's not the favorite I do think Ionius does love her and wants the best for her). The difference is that what we're shown from Ionius is an anger toward what happened to his daughter and what seems to be a very close bond. Claude basically says in his support with Byleth that he had to fend for himself as far as safety went. He even says "lucky me" sarcastically when he says he grew up to the very person his parents always wanted him to be, so he's obviously not happy about their hands off treatment.

If Claude is actually seriously the favorite child, it doesn't surprise me that the other siblings were trying to kill him, because I mean... if he did those things to Claude, which were practically torture (and shocked Hilda when Claude brought them up to her), I can only imagine how badly he treated his other children. It makes sense that his father would be more hands off as an Almyran, since they seem to appreciate strength and want their people to grow up being the strongest they can be, but there should really be a line with that where he gets involved, such as, you know, his child being targeted for assassination. Repeatedly. Regularly.

I can only imagine Claude grew up bratty because his parents were so hands off. They obviously didn't teach him all that much, weren't there for him that often, and he probably sought attention from them. It's honestly really sad to think about, that he was always trying to survive and knew his parents didn't want him to die and were the only people who truly loved him, but even those people wouldn't really pay attention to him the way a child of that age would desire. Children are often bratty and misbehave when they seek attention, even if it's negative attention. Even if it was basically torture, Claude probably just wanted his parents to pay attention to him.

It's not to say that he's definitely not the favorite, because he could still be... but to me that just reeks of terrible parenting. For all the bullshit people say about Faerghus' parents, they're much more loving toward their children than Claude's parents, and one of his parents is from Fodlan on top of that. Gilbert may have left his family, but it was out of shame as a knight and he didn't believe he deserved them. It was never out of disdain for them, to the point he wrote loads of letters to them that he never sent, and always made dolls out of habit because he used to do that for Annette when she was a little girl. Even post timeskip, he still makes dolls out of habit and even gave her one. To me, that isn't bad parenting. That's love for his child, even if he thinks he doesn't deserve her. Claude's parents? They probably didn't ever make him anything by hand! That's depressing to think about.

Based on Claude's supports with Byleth, Hilda and Marianne, it honestly sounds like he holds some kind of lowkey resentment for his parents' treatment of him. While I wouldn't say he outright hates his parents, I can only imagine that after coming to Fodlan and seeing the parents there that he felt pretty awful about how he was raised. Like, sure, he probably doesn't feel too fond of Erwin... but he also probably saw the bond between Erwin and Lorenz and how Erwin was planning to proudly pass his inheritance to Lorenz. He also met Lysithea, who is very close to her parents and even plans to renounce her nobility to live a happy, quiet life with them when the war is over. After losing all her siblings, she and her parents are very tight knit and just want to live together in peace.

Tbh if this was a real life situation, it'd be pretty horrifying to hear about. Just the idea that the only attention Claude could really get from his parents was punishment is just pretty gross. :/ Like, they won't give him the time of day so he acts up, and because he acted up because they won't pay attention to him, he gets punished for his actions that are likely based on them not being good parents.

My sister used to work at daycares and I can tell you with certainty from her stories that most children who act up are doing it because they don't get enough love and attention at home. First of all, they're at daycare, so they spend a good chunk of five days a week without their family with a bunch of strangers as a very young child. Some parents do have legitimate need of daycare, but my sister has also expressed that several times, she's seen parents who show up late to pick their kid(s) up and that those parents seem to also be the ones who don't show much interest in their kids and would probably drop them off on weekends too if they could. Unsurprisingly? Those are most often the kids who act up during the day.

Unfortunately this really sounds like the same thing Claude experienced. What little attention he could get was horrible, but he was so desperate for it that he did whatever he knew would get a reaction.

Also it's worth noting how different Dimitri and Claude's situations were with similar experiences. Dimitri mentions things like training in the mountains, and in Hopes he even mentions training underwater with full armor and seems to not want to talk about it (implying he doesn't like the memories associated with that training and that it still bothers him). Overall his training sounds harsh to begin with, forget knowing that it was done in a snowy land that was very cold, and sometimes extremely freezing in the winter. It wasn't always Lambert who sent him out on that kind of training, and other people such as Gilbert were allowed to put him through harsh training like that, but generally the reason Lambert would've allowed that is because it's just commonplace training in Faerghus.

In other words, Faerghus is used to harsh training and it's a part of their lifestyle. They go through similar things Claude went through, just in a snowy and cold land, but it's never done out of hatred for the people who get put through that training. It's very unfortunate that children in Faerghus go through that, but it's expected that they'll need to learn to survive the harshest conditions - especially nobility who may need to one day fight to defend their home in such harsh conditions. It's very sucky training, but it's understandable why they do it and it's not just a punishment. I'm sure they have similar punishments, but it's not specifically done as such. Since it's something most if not all the nobility goes through, it was never done to Dimitri as a punishment by Lambert.

Then you have Claude, who is going through this shit as a punishment and not even for training, as a child. It wasn't because he needed to be trained and ready for the harsh climate. It wasn't because he was a noble/royal who needed to be ready for the absolute worst potential of the climate. It wasn't done to make him strong. It was specifically done to punish his "bratty" behavior, which again... was almost definitely because he just wanted mom and dad to pick him up and tell him they loved him and maybe personally cook him his favorite dinner.

I know Hopes tried to be all like lolzies about the King of Almyra being half asleep when he signed the agreement, but I can't help really wanting to not like him. Tiana, too, has a fair share of responsibility for not stopping the treatment and/or engaging in it. For being from Fodlan, it doesn't sound like she ever behaved anything like any of Fodlan's parents. Again, even if some of the Fodlan parents are a bit misguided, most of them do love their child(ren). Even if they suck at showing it, there's no attempt at cruel punishments. Even if they're not a stand up person, they still love their child(ren).

For example, Ludwig is one of the worst leaders in Fodlan, but Ferdinand loves him. He idolized his father when he was growing up, and even though he knew the kind of man his father became as a leader, he was still very upset when his father was killed in Houses in Ferdinand's paralogue. Regardless of how awful Ludwig could be, as far as being a father was concerned, he was obviously a pretty decent parent to Ferdinand, because otherwise Ferdinand wouldn't have given a fuck that his cruel father was killed. Ferdinand knew he deserved it and was still upset by the loss, so obviously there was a familial connection there.

On the other hand, the only person who seems completely disconnected from his parents in every way is Claude. Ashe had an adoptive father who was wiling to kill him for his revenge for his biological son, and yet... we do know that previously he'd been a good father and man to Ashe and Ashe's siblings. We know Ashe adored and idolized him. There was still something there. Claude? His parents are still alive, he was the favorite child, they tried to "help" him survive by letting him fight his own battles... and he ran away. Without a word to his father who "favored" him. I'm not sure if Nader actually knew where he was at first or if he contacted him after the fact, but Nader was far more of a parent figure to Claude than either of his actual parents were.

Judith was close to Tiana and it seems like Claude at some point told his mother where he was going so that she could vouch for his identity and get him Judith's support, but I don't feel like he would've told her immediately before he actually left Almyra. I feel like he would've run away first, contacted her after and gave some indication for proof that it was actually him, and got her support in taking over for Riegan territory. Still though, the king didn't have any idea where he went, so whatever he told his mother, she also kept it a secret from the king.

While I don't feel like Tiana is anywhere near as bad as the king and while I do think she loved Claude to at least some degree, she definitely isn't good at parenting and probably didn't want to go against Almyran culture. Really though if that were me I would've taken my child and gone back to Fodlan if I saw the kid's father treating him like that. o.o

Still though, the king was a terrible parent and for being the favorite child, it doesn't even feel like the man loved his kid. If that is how he handled Claude, I can only guess how he treated his other kids if he even paid attention to them in the smallest fraction. Like, you ever wonder why Shahid ended up so terrible? Probably not hard to figure out lol. Dad sucks and mom probably wasn't much better if she liked that man enough to have a kid with him.

Tl;dr Claude sounds like he just wanted to experience affection and love from his parents, didn't get it, and grew up distanced from people and emotions because he knew nothing but people hating him and trying to kill him and his own parents wouldn't do much about it. Whenever he recalls his childhood he does not sound happy or fond of any bit of it.

[todayisafridaynight]

why is there only 5 masadai fics on ao3

why IS there only 5 masadai fics on ao3....

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki is and forever will be a massive baby.

and it’s all your damn fault, so he says.

you hadn’t even said anything bad. all you'd said was that he looked even more handsome today then he usually did. and he'd looked at you like you grew an extra head, and now he's like this.

you don't even really know what did it, but then again it could've been anything with katsuki. too much eye contact, too long eye contact. your hands lingering a little too long on his face or your fingers rubbing at the crease of his eyebrows.

you don't know what it is but he won't remove his head from your neck now, grumbling about how stupid you are.

"katsukii.."

"shut up." he hisses through gritted teeth like he's angry, and he is. look at what you do to him ! it drives him crazy. you drive him crazy.

yet you giggle, rubbing softly at his hair and he shoves his head into you harder, the angle he's forcing your neck at is awkward but you don't mind, you'll let him have his little tantrum as you stroke his blonde messy tufts of hair tickling your chin.

"all i said was that-"

"i heard you. the first time. shut the fuck up." his grip on your hips tightens to the point you think he'll make indents in your skin. hands practically steaming and boiling hot to show you the embarrassment he refuses to let show on his face. your smirk grows wider, god you love messing with your boyfriend.

"i don't get why you're so angry, baby." you coo sweetly and he growls from the deepest part of his throat. he squeezes at your waist, clearly wanting you to just stop talking. but of course. you don't.

"it's cus you—you fuckin'—" he splutters and cuts himself off, not finding a proper way to convey how much you make his skin burn and prickle and itch. how you have his heart buzz and beat so loud against his ribcage he's sure you can hear it. and how much he fucking hates it. (he doesn't)

so he does the next best thing.

"ouch !"

he bites you. the asshole.

you're such an asshat !" you whine, pushing at his shoulders, and he grumbles when he pulls away. he lightly nuzzles against the mark he's left into your skin as a sort of apology, you don't deserve a kiss right now. (he'll give you one later) then he pulls away to look at you.

"s'your own fault," he huffs, cheeks less bright then they first were when you'd made the irreparable mistake of complimenting him (in his eyes, you regret nothing) but still with a nasty scowl on his face.

"ya keep sayin' dumb shit so now you deal with the consequences," he presses his nose against your pulse point as he huffs hard into your neck to annoy you and it works because you grumble, you feel him smirk proudly.

two could play that game.

"what dumb shit ? the fact that you're handso-" you cut yourself off with a giggled squeal as katsuki drops you backwards onto his bed with a snarl. you snort and giggle when he blows raspberries and softly bites into your neck, helplessly trying to push him away with your limp arms.

"you just can't help yourself, can ya.." he tuts, grabbing your arms and pushing them against his bed, barely suppressed smirk on his face as he sees your eyes prick with tears, leaning back in to blow into your neck "think you’re funny ? hah ?!"

he ignores your giggled plea's and bites at your fingers when he leans back enough for you to push at his face.

"yuck ! you're gross !" you wheeze, still giggling as you see the lopsided smile on his face. he huffs at the exertion of keeping you still, he really isn't trying hard to convince you he isn't handsome when he looked like that.

"yeah ? i'm gross, huh ? right back at you," he leans in close to you again, smirk still playing on his face "saying mushy shit like that."

"yeah well, i'll keep sayin' it !" you retort, sticking your tongue out at him. he rolls his eyes and drops onto you, causing you to grunt out an 'oof !' sound. he's stays quiet until he presses a soft kiss onto your skin, right where he'd bitten you. unbeknownst to you, his expression softens as he tries to repress a smile. he scoffs.

"you're so damn weird." he utters affectionately.

[sweetnans]

Katsuki always paid attention to little details even when you were only a number in his mind. You ended number seven on the charts after the tests for UA application. He memorized the first ten and then recognized each one of you on the first day of class.

Your ID photo that appeared beside your score wasn't nothing alike like you were in person.

He completely flipped.

He pushed the feeling aside because he had no time to waste on stupid things, and he succeeded for a long, long time. Bakugo ignored you, pretended that you didn't exist and the fact that you were part of Midoriya's group the first months made it easy for him to keep you far away but that also made it hard to watch.

Why were you laughing at what shitty Deku had said? That fucker wasn't that funny.

Why was your hand on Deku's hair ruffling and combing it with your fingers?

He was fuming on the inside.

When Mina started to hang out with you, he was relieved that he won't have to see you with Deku again.

But then, you started to hang out with his group, and everyone loved you instantly. Kirishima always wanted to sparr with you, Kaminari always asked for your help on math and Sero, fucking Sero always inviting you to dance with him.

After he saw the behavior of his friends when it came to you, he almost preferred you hanging out with Deku.

He noticed that you smiled brightly every time Kirishima told you one of his dumbs jokes while having you pinned down on the floor mat after a sparr, but you never laughed.

He noticed your leg trembling under the table when you studied with Kaminari in the common room. He could bet that the bastard used every chance he got to flirt with you in the most hideous way.

He also noticed your pink tinted cheeks every time Sero gave you his hand for a quick dance around the kitchen.

Almost like you were uncomfortable with their demeanor.

You were pretty. He understood that they were making their moves to you, but you were just too shy and good to say anything to them, like you weren't interested at all for example.

One night, he couldn't sleep and went straight to the kitchen of the dorms to grab a glass of water. He never expected seeing you there scrolling in your phone leaning by the sink, waiting for the toaster to pop your bread out.

"You shouldn't be eating carbohydrates this late"

He startled you. He literally appeared from the shadows of the dining room dragging his feet, making no sound at all.

"Jeez, you should wear a bell or something," you giggled when he gave you a puzzled look. "Like a cat? So next time I know that you're coming?"

"I know what you meant." he walked to you and grabbed a glass from the rack.

He felt your presence in his bones like a static pulse vibrating under his skin. Maybe it was just your quirk trying to reach for him.

"What are you doing here this late?" You asked clearing your throat while he gulped his water in one go.

"What does it seem like I'm doing?" He pourred another glass. He wasn't that thirsty. He just wanted to be there in silence with you for minutes, without his obnoxious friends.

Your toast popped out of the toaster, and you grabbed it, burning your fingers in the process.

"Shit, shit," you exclaimed, blowing some air at your fingers to ease the pain.

"C'mere shithead," he grabbed your hand and put it under the sink, letting the cold water flow.

"It's fucking freezing" you tried to pull your hand back but his grip tightened.

"What did you expect? You just burned your fucking fingers doing the dumbest shit I've ever seen"

You didn't know if it was the serious tone on his voice or the way that he was struggling with you stopping you from taking your hand out of the water, but something about the scene made you let out a laugh, a big one. He had never seen you laugh like that before.

"Are you laughing at me?"

That question only made it worse. You were absolutely parting yourself from laughter. He turned off the water and watched you wipe your tears.

"I'm sorry, you're not that funny," you said, returning to your normal state. He grinned.

You passed by his side fetching your toast and poured some jam.

"Do you want some jammie toast with that water of yours?" You asked, offering a half eaten toast.

"Sure." he took the toast, and in return, he gave you his half glass of water.

After that encounter, he noticed that every time his friends were around you, you always tried to find him, looking for exchange glances, giving him a subtle smile.

He started to show up at your study sessions with Kaminari, and he noticed that your legs stopped trembling because his presence was enough for Kaminari to keep his mouth shut.

He also began sparring with you on training sessions switching partner with Kirishima leaving him with Sato.

And everytime Sero tried to dance with you in front of everybody he grabbed your arm and guided you to the kitchen or his room with a lame excuse to get you out of the situation.

Fortunately, his friend read the room pretty well. The three of them enjoyed more watching him play his cards with you than putting themselves on a constant shame.

[ghouljams]

Ok nobody extrapolate anything about me from this...

The first time you cry in front of the 141:

The first time you cry in front of Ghost it's because you can't fucking take it anymore. All the little things, all the comments you know he didn't mean to hurt, all the conversations you ignored because you didn't want to make him feel like the bad guy, it all comes to a head. You don't even mean it to happen, and you feel like shooting yourself on the spot as soon as the tears start flowing. It feels manipulative. It feels disingenuous. You feel like a piece of shit having him awkwardly bundle you in his arms as you break down sobbing over a topic that normally would mean nothing to you. And it all comes out. All the worries and slights you ignored, all the fears and doubts, all the things that made you question if you could ever even start to bring up with him. Like throwing up, once it starts you can't stop it.

He looks like you've hit him when you finally escape his bear hug. You barely get the chance to take it in before you're thrust back into sobbing hysterics, blubbering out apologies, how you feel like you're manipulating him, how you're a bad partner, how you're sure he's going to realize he doesn't want you and leave. You barely hear the rough "Jesus Christ" over your own hiccuping.

Ghost shuffles the two of you over to grab you a t-shirt to blow your nose in while you're sniffling and wiping at your eyes. You feel pathetic having him hold the fabric to your face and telling you to blow.

"Didn't know ya made this much snot love," he jokes.

"You're dot funny," you whine, nose still clogged with wattery mucus as your tears finally start calming down.

"I know," he grumps.

"You're mad at me," you sniffle.

"I'm not," he sounds mad, "mad at myself. Shoulda seen ya keepin' things to yourself, I'm glad ya finally told me." His scarred mouth screws to one side. "Just gotta work on makin' sure we don't get to this point again."

-

The first time you cry in front of Soap it's because you're so fucking mad at him. He's arguing with you over nothing, the same way he always does when he's in a bad mood. Finding little things that dig at you and twisting just enough to make it not his fault when you snap. Back and forth with your barbs until you got to bed angry.

You can feel the tears burning at your waterline before they spill and you know your hot cheeks don't bode any better. You're not yelling but you almost wish you were, at least of you were yelling at each other it might make you feel better about the sudden waterworks. You hate when this happens. Too big an emotion in the body, it has to come out somewhere, you suppose this is just the quickest avenue. The way Soap's face drops from anger to concern pisses you off though.

"Hen, are ya-"

"I'm so fucking mad right now," you assure him, "don't look at me, don't even acknowledge them."

"Ah dinnae ken," His voice is getting softer, it only makes you more upset, "Oh my bonnie, ahm sorry ah didnae think this would hurt ya so bad."

"Fuck off," you try to push past him to lock yourself in the bathroom and he catches your arm to pull you against him. "Fuck off!" You shriek, pushing at him.

"No," he holds you a little tighter, "my mam would 'ave my heid hearin' ah let ya walk away from me like this, yer stayin' 'ere."

"I will fucking skin you Mactavish," you struggle harder.

"Aye anno, now shut up an' quit yer kickin'."

You do neither of those things.

-

The first time Gaz sees you cry it's because no one's ever seen you before. Even in your best relationships, your closest friendships, no one sees you like Gaz. No one picks you up from work with flowers and takes you by your favorite bakery just so you can have a slice of cake when you watch your comfort show. You're not even through the title music, Gaz sorting through your takeout options after he'd gotten you a "fancy plate" and a small fork to eat with, when you break down in sobs. He's on you immediately, hushing you as he gathers you into his arms. He's so attentive it hurts.

"It's OK baby," he hums, "don't have to talk about it, you just let it out."

God even that gets you crying. You don't have to get your words right or find a way to explain what you're feeling, you can just feel it. You try to think of a way to put it into words but it all lines up wrong, sounds too juvenile, doesn't make any sense even to you. There's no need to say anything though, Gaz just sits there with you, holds you through it as you wet his shoulder with your tears.

You don't even know why you're crying by the end of it, you just kept coming up with other reasons to cry. Jesus you don't think you ever got over your last grandparent dying, or losing that one friend, that's something to unpack later. You feel drained. Literally dehydrated drained. Gaz's shirt is soaked, but he doesn't day anything when you pull back.

He cups your cheek at wipes at the wet stains on your cheek with his thumb, eyes searching yours before he gives you a tight smile.

"Why don't you go take a hot shower, yeah?" He offers, you give him a watery nod, he smiles and pats your knee. "Alright, off you go. I'll be in, in a second."

The second time you cry in front of Gaz it's before he's got you pinned to the shower wall.

-

The first time Price sees you cry it's because you're tired. You're tired of giving everything to this relationship and seeing him leave right when things seem to be falling into place. His phone buzzes in the middle of the night and you don't stop the downpour when he grumbles out a swear and turns on the light. You glare at the ceiling and let the tears flow. It hurts. Tight in your chest. This feeling like you'll never be enough, like he'll always have something more important than you, it kills you. So why can't you leave him?

Are the good times really good enough to make up for the bad?

It makes him stop what he was doing when he sees the resolute grimace and the flow of tears over your cheeks. You shudder in a breath when he sits on the side of the bed. You refuse to look at him.

How could he do this to you?

"Sweetheart," he starts, his voice low, gentling, "I'm sorry."

"You're not." You correct him, "Otherwise you wouldn't keep doing it."

"You want me to choose between you and the world, you know what I'll say." He always sounds so sharp, ready to guilt you into giving up what he wants.

"I'm asking you to choose between me and paperwork," you bite back.

"You don't know-"

"You get phone calls when you're being deployed." You remind him, "You get reminders when papers are due." You turn to glare at him. The look on his face twists like a knife in your chest. You're dead on the money, and it's killing him. "So can this really not wait until the morning, are you really that eager to be rid of me?"

"I'm sorry," he tries again, toeing off his shoes, "you're right, I hadn't noticed." You turn over as he climbs under the duvet again. You fold your legs up as his arm drapes over you hip and he curls around you. His lips touch your shoulder, a silent plea for forgiveness. "Let me make it up to you, no more running into red tape I promise."

You don't bother agreeing to empty promises, but the next day he's had the paperwork sent from the base. The same the next day. Price always told you working from home didn't suit him. Waking you up with a cuppa on the other hand and walking you to the station does though.

He makes good on his promise, he doesn't run off until the next call comes in.

[ghostedeabha]

imagine like simon goes into some sort of surgery and has to be put under anesthesia, and when he gets out hes like still high asf on it 💀 and hes being a lil silly goose

okay this is such a cute idea omg, this is 100% based off that tiktok audio where it's like "my wife wouldn't like you touching me like that" "i AM your wife."

thank you so much for the request nonnie, a forehead kiss for you MWAH MWAH

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

wc: 563

warnings: none really, lots and lots of that good ol fluff, mentions of surgery, goofy simon, maybe a little ooc simon (he's high so it's fine)

a/n: i hope this is okay, i'm feeling a bit rusty with my writing but i've finally got back some motivation and energy to do so after the past two months of low energy and bad mental health. if you guys want to know a bit more about it and my mental health (i don't see why anyone would but lmao) let me know, i don't mind making a post about it if you guys want an explanation of some sort or whatever. anywho, sorry this is so short but i hope you still like it!! <3

a/n 2.0: i recently applied for a part time job at a bookstore so y'all pray for me that i get this job because i want it so bad. i am just gonna decide that i WILL get this job, because why wouldn't i?

simon had been out of surgery for just over an hour now, being a soldier you 'd think perhaps he was going under surgery for some kind of wound he had inflicted upon him on the battlefield but no, he was just getting his tonsils removed after a bad bout of tonsillitis ended up with him developing really bad tonsil stones.

so here you were, waiting by his bedside for him to wake up. the doctor and nurses reminded you just as he had gotten out that he may still be a little, well loopy, off of the meds depending on how quickly he woke up. you waited in a chair at his bedside, reading a book when you heard the blankets of the bed rustling just a little.

looking up from your book you see simon starting to wake up and you reach out to grasp his hand, only for him to rip it away from you when his eyes were fully opened.

"uh, si? you okay, hon?" you ask gently, maybe he just wasn't feeling too well after waking up, or perhaps he wasn't wanting physical touch, that happened quite often and you always respected that space he may want when he wanted it.

"don't call me that." simon said, voice hoarse and scratchy from the surgery, he sounded a little angry.

"what?" you questioned, this wasn't like simon, you couldn't understand why he wouldn't want you speaking like this to him.

"i'm taken."

"i know." you replied with a short laugh.

"you should be touching me like that then."

it hit you then, he was woozy from the meds and didn't recognize you. the realization made you laugh a little more. you decided to have a bit of fun with this high version of your boyfriend.

"sorry about that simon. wanna tell me about your partner?"

"oh, (name)? they're amazing, you know they're so pretty. and they're funny too. they always know how to make me feel better, i miss them." simon replies, ranting and raving on and on to you about his partner, about you.

"you love them a lot, don't you?" you ask him with a smile, it felt so nice to hear all these lovely things about yourself, your boyfriend clearly unfiltered by the effects of the anesthesia he was under.

sure he definitely said sweet things to your face, but something about hearing it when he was basically high as shit made your heart pound a little more.

"i love them with my whole heart." simon replies, a goofy little smile on his face.

you can't help but reach out to gently caress his face at those words, body filling up with some much adoration for the soldier in front of you.

"hey! what did i say about touching me. i have a partner!" simon scolds, trying to dodge your touch.

"simon, love... i am your partner. it's me, (name)." you reply with a laugh.

simon takes a good long look at you when you tell him this, he stares at you, looks you up and down before letting out a soft and quiet "oh."

you begin to hear the beeping of his heart rate monitor speed up, his cheeks turning slightly pink as he stares up at you.

you couldn't help but laugh a little more at this. what a sweet idiot. your sweet idiot.