#i could talk about how his insistence that he's more capable than his peers and constant fight to prove that fact stems from his background

[longdeadking]

i would have so much to say about hlvrai gordon if i liked him

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (i)

SUMMARY: Despite appearances, you’d learnt Soldier Boy was, actually, capable of being a good man. Somehow, you’d wormed yourself into his good books, and had the rarest privilege of seeing him without the suit, the drugs, the ego, the everything. Just as things were going good, his heart somehow getting even warmer for you, the world separates you in the cruelest way.

PAIRING: Soldier Boy x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3573

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Sexism (set in the 1980’s), typical Soldier Boy behaviour, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, questionable morals (peer pressuring drug use), sexual content, eludes to smut, Soldier Boy may be a bit OOC at times, gore.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Becoming a world famous supe was never something you’d ever wanted. Sure, you’d grown up with their photos on your bedroom walls, your father telling you stories of when the first ever supe came to be, insisting he fought alongside the Soldier Boy in the war

The people around you seemed to idolise them. These… mostly regular people in tight suits, pretending to be better than everyone else.

You knew better. You knew enough. Enough to know supes were dirty, and corrupt, and definitely not the heroes they presented themselves to be. That their hands were more blood than they were skin anymore.

And, frankly, you wanted nothing to do with Vought or Payback — or whatever the fuck those shitty, useless superhero teams were called. (Seriously, what did they actually do? Except sit in their pretty tower and take the peoples’ taxes?)

Your father, however, had different ideas.

So, at 18, you woke up in the hospital, after an ugly head collision, with superpowers you’d never had before. A miracle, the doctors called it, a supe whose extraordinary powers had been hidden for her whole life. When you got home, you forced the truth out of your father. Compound V, he called it, a new chemical made by Vought.

No one was born a supe, he admitted, it all came from a liquid in a vial. The truth hurt you, as much as it didn’t really surprise you. Chosen by God, my ass.

This wasn’t supposed to be your life.

But it’s certainly what it turned out to be.

Payback were as shitty, if not more, than you’d originally thought. Each of them had… many flaws. Soldier Boy, obviously, was the worst. If the Devil reincarnated himself, he’d look and act like Soldier Boy.

Simply talking to the man made you want to shoot yourself.

Well… it did at one point.

Two years down the line, things had changed. Soldier Boy was still insufferable, sexist, arrogant, and a major asshole. But… he wasn’t so much a dick directly to you, as he used to be. In fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was actually somewhat nice to you. As much as his macho heart could manage, anyway.

You noticed it the first time when he saved your life on a mission. He’d grabbed your waist when a grenade clinked at your feet, whirling you around and to the ground, squashing you against his firm chest, using his shield to protect you both from the hot blast. He’d shrugged it off as nothing; as something any leader would do for his team. Then you watched him hit Gunpowder about for not following his order to a T, and realised… maybe he did treat you different.

It was undeniable these days.

You were the only person on Payback that Soldier Boy could remotely tolerate.

“You need’a be more careful.” Despite the hard look on his face, Soldier Boy was staring down at you, as a Vought doctor wrapped clean bandages tightly around your midsection. It was a bullet to the wound; which, with being a supe, wouldn’t be too bad, but you didn’t heal inhumanely fast like he did. “You’re fuckin’ useless when you’re hurt.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for your concern, Soldier Boy.”

His eyes narrowed into a harsh glare. “Ben.” He corrected you, for what was probably the 50th time. Each time he did, he got more annoyed with you. “How many times do I have to say it? Is there a brain in that pretty head’a’yours?“

You grunted, spinning on the bed and hanging your legs off the side of it. “Thanks for the compliment.” Ben rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, not offering a hand as you groaned in discomfort and got to your feet. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be healed up by the time we set off for Nicaragua, if that’s what you’re worried ‘bout.”

Ben just grunted, displeased. “Ain’t happenin’.” He immediately shot that idea down. “We leave for Nicaragua in two weeks. You ain’t comin’. Sit this one out.”

You stared, expecting a joke. Clearly, he wasn’t. “Seriously?” You groaned, unhappy. What was it with this guy? “I’ll be fine. It’s a silly little bullet.”

“I was holdin’ your fuckin’ guts in your body.” He walked away, reminding you of just how bad your injury actually had been. He had, indeed, practically been keeping your guts inside of you as you bled out. “You ain’t going. You’re stayin’ here.” You chased after him, pulling your shirt on as you left the infirmary.

“Ben—“

He whirled around to face you. “I said, you’re fucking staying.” He growled, glaring down at you. God, were you glad you were on his side. This man was terrifying. Six feet of pure muscle, strength and violence. “You’re better off here, using that face of yours to get some PR.”

“And, what? The others will back you up?” You scoffed, grabbing his wrist as he went to walk away again. His expression went cold at your touch, but you didn’t flinch. As much as he tried to scare you, Ben wouldn’t raise a hand at you… probably. You had faith in the man. “They can’t fight for shit, Ben. Gunpowder hasn’t even discovered his own dick yet. You think you’re gonna have your back covered out there?”

He ripped his wrist away harshly. “I don’t need my back covered.”

“Everyone needs their back covered.” You argued. “Even you.”

He chuckled, sarcastic and dry. “You worried ‘bout me, princess?” You gave him a ‘seriously?’ look, as he took a step closer, mouth curled into that ever-infuriating smirk. “I’d perform better if you sent me off with a taste of that—“

“Ben.” You interrupted him, unimpressed. You rolled his eyes at his predictable behaviour. “I’m not gonna fuck morale into you.”

“Shame.” His eyes flicked up and down, tracing the curves of your body. “Bet you’d be a firecracker.” He walked away again, and you threw your hands up, groaning. Ben chuckled as he turned the corner. “Think it over, sweetheart.”

“You’ve got a hand.” You called back to him. “Use it!”

Conversations like that were very common with Ben.

It’d be a normal conversation (as normal as it gets with him) — and then he’d start talking about fucking you against the nearest surface, and all pleasantries went down the drain. Seriously, he thought 80% with his dick, and 20% with his actual brain.

And that was being kind.

But, beneath all of his macho assholery, was his genuine worry. You knew he wasn’t letting you accompany the rest of the team to Nicaragua because of your injury, despite how minor it was, and that he was worried you’d injure yourself further.

You’d never slept with Ben, despite how much he’d tried to charm you into his bed. Your relationship was strange. He flirted, you flirted — there were lingering touches. And, sure, he’d never put his dick in you, but his fingers were a different question. And… oh, boy, could that man use his hands.

It was like being in a relationship, just without the sex. Which was odd, as it was Soldier Boy. But, the way he smiled at you and treated you, it made you feel different to the other women.

He was just… shit it showing it.

Poor bastard wouldn’t know emotion if it slapped him in the face.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

“I am not wearing this.”

Okay… scratch all of that. Maybe Ben was just a dickhead.

He lounged back in his chair, grinning lazily, legs spread like he owned the place. He probably thought he did. “Why not?” He took a sip of his whiskey, ice clinking against the sides, eyes never leaving you from over the rim of the glass.

You held up the fabric. “Seriously?”

It was basically a scrap of fabric, with how much it covered up. You didn’t shy away from showing skin. You quite liked short skirts and pushing the line. Because, as a supe, there was a line. Vought liked it when you showed skin — apparently it made your ratings go up with the male fans, no shocker. But, too much skin on display, the male fans started calling you a whore, and the ratings shot back down.

It was a bit like a balancing game, trying to find the perfect amount of skin to make the boys ogle but also respect you. An impossible feat, truthfully.

And this? This was definitely classed as too much.

“I don’t see the issue.” His smirk said otherwise.

“My tits are not gonna stay in this, Ben!”

His smirk just grew. “Again, I don’t see the issue.”

You groaned and put the dress down. “No. I’ll get my own dress. I am not wearing that.” You tell him, arms folding across your chest. You didn’t miss the way he checked out your tits, and the way the placement of your arms accentuated them.

He rolled his eyes, obviously not happy with your decision. Leaning towards, elbows on his knees, Ben’s eyes took you in. “Why?” His head cocked to the side. “You’d look hot. It’d make your ass look great.”

“That’s not a compliment.” You grumbled, pushing a hand through your hair. Ben made a small grunt of disagreement, but didn’t say anything otherwise. “Listen, there’s a certain line. Alright? If I wear that, every guy out there will be callin’ me a whore. Okay? Imma find something else.”

He hummed and sat back. “I think you should wear that one.” Sighing heavily, you just rolled your eyes at his persistence. “All those assholes will be blowin’ their pants just lookin’ at you, sweetheart.”

“Again, not a compliment.”

Ben stared at you, and silently took another sip of his whiskey. He always seemed to think these crude, rather sexist and inappropriate remarks were compliments. Like commenting on your body. Or saying you’d be a freak in bed. Which were obviously not actually compliments.

You rolled your eyes, rubbing your forehead. “I’ll find another dress, Ben.” You told him, definitive. There was no way he was going to convince you to wear that dress.

“What a disappointment.” He grinned, lopsided. “I was lookin’ forward to seein’ you in that dress.”

“Again,” you deadpanned as he checked you out once more, “you have a hand… use it.”

Ben just smirked, and sipped his whiskey again.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You wore the fucking dress.

The asshole always won. Always.

He looked so fucking pleased, as you walked into his after-party, wearing the dress he’d picked out for you. His smugness was clear, brushing through the crowd with ease to come to you.

Ben hummed, eyes dilating as he stared you down. His eyes lingered on your tits, as they always did. “You look…” he hesitated, trying to think of a compliment that wasn’t degrading, and failed, “fuckin’ hot. If you weren’t such a bitch, I’d bend you over right here.”

Your face pulled together in disgust, looking at him with your lips pressed together “… gross.”

He chuckled. “Drink?” He offered. “I got your favourite.”

And there he goes again.

Being nice.

It did your damn head in.

Accepting his offer, you shivered as his large hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. They all seemed to part like the Red Sea as he came through, a fact that amused you greatly.

Seriously. These women looked at him like he was Jesus reincarnated, when he’d totally call them in a whore in bed.

Ben silently reached out for your favourite alcoholic drink, pouring it into a glass. His eyes scanned over the room, smirking at a few of the women ogling, sending them rushing to their friends and squealing. He merely chuckled and handed you the full glass.

“Thanks.” You murmured, taking it from him. Your eyes stared up at him for a moment, curious, before looking away again.

What was it with him? How could be such an egotistical one minute, and then be nice and respectful the next? It was like a guessing game, trying to figure out what mood he was in.

He grabbed your wrist, his grip firm, but not enough to hurt you. “Come with me.” He guided you through the crowd once again, to the doors in the back. As he pushed through into the room, he flashed you a cocky grin over his shoulder. Dickhead.

This room was far quieter. You noticed, immediately, the only people present were supes and celebrities, not the random civilians that’d been granted a pity invite — or the women Ben thought were hot. This was the main party. There were drugs covering every table, with various big names passed out on the chairs, blazed.

Ben lead you to the corner, where he’d obviously already been busy, if the half-snorted lines of cocaine proved anything.

Silently, he offered you a line, which you gratefully accepted.

You didn’t do drugs before you joined Payback. In fact, you’d avoided them, promising yourself you’d never become that type of person. But it was the norm within Vought. Every supe spent their nights filling their bodies to the brim with various drugs, poisoning themselves. So, you started smoking weed to fit in.

Then Ben found out you only did weed, and decided it wasn’t enough. With enough pressure, he’d gotten you onto any other substance he could convince you to try.

It made you more attractive, in his eyes, as you spiralled into addiction like him.

In fact, it got him rock hard, to snort lines or share a joint with you. It was so fucking hot, watching your eyes glass over as you got higher with every hit, with every line. God, it turned him on so bad.

You snorted your third line of the night, when Ben suddenly pushed you back into your chair. Bewildered, you stared at him, as he snatched up a baggie of the white powder. Your heart leapt to your throat, the moment he moved aside the slit in your dress, revealing the bare skin of your thigh. All breath left your lungs, watching him pour some of the powder onto your thigh.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

He was about to do a line off you.

He glanced at you through his lashes, smirking at the shocked and flushed expression you wore. He used his pocket knife to cut the lines, mindful of the sharp blade against your soft skin.

God, this was hot. He found it hot. You found it hot. It’d be a damn miracle if you ended the night with your clothes on at this point.

Your skin tingled as he sniffed up the first line, of his hands roughly gripping the top of your thigh to steady you, his other holding a rolled up $100 bill. He groaned in pleasure, body physically shuddering, head shaking, as the drug made his body run hot.

He did the next line, the grip on your thigh becoming tighter as his pupils began to blow up.

Was it getting hot in here? Or was it just you?

Maybe it was the cocaine in your systems, maybe it was the fact Ben was just… so damn hot, but you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing his hair and forcing his head up as he snorted the final line off your thigh.

He looked up at you, pupils blown, lips parted. Holy shit. This man was sculpted like a fucking God. Your body shivered. “You finally takin’ my offer, sweetheart?” He chuckled, shaking off the immediate effects of the cocaine, raising himself up to your level.

“Fuck me.” You whispered, breathless, practically begging him.

His eyes went dark, almost black, with lust. The smirk on his lips made you squeeze your legs together. “Don’t need to ask me twice.”

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You now understood the hype. You understood why women bent their knees the moment Ben uttered a word to them.

Holy shit, did this man have talent.

Your legs were still twitching, the space in between your legs throbbing and tingling with how many times you’d come on his fingers, his tongue and cock. You’d counted four, before your vision had gone white.

Jesus, he had stamina. A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed it’d been just over five hours since you’d first fell into Ben’s bed. That super strength was better for more than just fighting, after all. This man should be advertised for his abilities. No shocker he was an American sex symbol.

He’d just fucked your brains out.

And now, he was staring at you with admiration, laid on his side, in the same bed he’d just railed you in. “You feelin’ okay?” He murmured, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah.” You rolled over to face him, a jolt of discomfort and pain in your hips and thighs. You might have to hold back on… doing anything for the next few days, however. “You didn’t break anything.” You joked, soft and breathy.

He chuckled quietly, hand sliding around your waist and dragging you closer to him. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to do that.” He whispered, uncharacteristically soft and gentle.

“To fuck me senseless?”

He smirked. “Mm, I have dreamt of that.” Your eyes narrowed in mild disgust at the image of him having wet dreams about you, swatting his chest. He grinned and caught your hand. “No… I meant how long I’ve waited to have you. You’re fuckin’ perfect. Not just your body. Everything about you is so sexy.”

Your brows furrowed, squeezing his hand, and then worming your fingers out of his. “What do you mean?” You asked softly.

He seemed to struggle for a moment. He wet his tongue with his lips, making your body tingle again. Jesus. “Let’s get dinner.”

What.

“Me and you.” Ben smiled, tracing the curves of your body with a featherlight touch. “Real fancy. I’ll pay.” Was he… asking you on a date right now? The Soldier Boy, asking you on a date? Instead of fucking you and tossing you out?

“You’re serious?” You asked softly, surprised. When he nodded, you grinned, biting your lip to contain it. “Okay, Ben. Let’s get dinner.”

His eyes lit up. Ducking his head down, his lips touched yours, gentle and affectionate. His kiss spoke so many words; his hands gently cradling your body, as he kissed you like you were made of glass. The touch was intimate and loving, widely different to the one he’d used when he’d been on top of you.

No, this was completely different. This was him being vulnerable. This was him showing you just how he felt, without the words.

He smiled against your lips and pulled back, just enough to speak, but his words were still brushing yours. “Yeah?” He whispered, in response to your agreement.

“Yeah.” You stared at him with big eyes.

He grinned, almost boyish in its nature. He stared at you in adoration, seeming to be collecting the words on the tip of his tongue.

You giggled under his stare. You sat up, pulling him with you, grabbing the blanket that he had draped over his headboard. It was fluffy and warm, and smelt like his cologne, and you didn’t hesitate to wrap it around your shoulders, cocooning yourself.

If possible, his gaze softened even more. “You’re adorable.”

Quietly, you laughed. “You sure you wanna do this, Ben?” You stared back at him. Ben was nothing if not a womaniser. Settling down was nothing like him. “Get serious with me, I mean.”

“You’re the only one I’d ever want to.”

Your brows pulled together, confused. “Why?”

Ben soothed a hand through your hair, green eyes drinking in the perfections and imperfections on your face. “You’re the only one I trust.” His voice was gravelly, still heavy with the effects of your recent endeavours. His hand travelled through your hair, and then came down to cup your cheek.

Wrapped up in his fluffy blanket, your head rested on the wooden headboard. “I trust you, too.” You whispered, tilting your head into his palm. His skin was rough, painted with callouses and scars. Every scar on his body had a story. And you’d spend the rest of your life learning every single one.

Despite himself, he smiled at you, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “I’d kill for you. You know that?” His words made you shiver. Ben killing people wasn’t exactly new… or surprising. But doing it for you? God, it made your stomach heat up — and other parts. “These assholes don’t hold a candle to you, doll. Countess? That whore is— is repulsive compared to you.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes affectionately. “Ben.” You scolded quietly, though not with an ounce of anger.

The supe just smirked, chuckling deep in his throat. “You want me to drop that bullshit PR relationship I have with her? I’ll do it. In a fucking heartbeat. I’ll be with you, publicly, if you want me.”

“You’d ruin your reputation for me?” Now that — that meant something. Ben could say anything and everything; he was a master manipulator. He could get anything he wanted with that smile and his suave words. But, if there was one thing he would always prioritise, it was his reputation. He’d do anything to be the alpha male. Anything.

“I’d do anything for you.” He grabbed your hand within his much larger one, guiding it to his chest. He pressed your palm over his heart, allowing you to feel his heartbeat. “I’ll do anything for you, to be with you.” You felt the steady rhythm of his heart. He wasn’t lying. That, or he was a great fucking liar. “I’m never leaving your side. I’m yours.”

Your eyes searched deep within his. “Always?”

Ben smiled. “Always.” He leant forward, gently pressing his lips against yours in a tender kiss.

Three months later, Soldier Boy died in a nuclear meltdown.

A/N: jesus christ this took me so long to write 😭 but i’m so happy with how this first chap turned out. it’s gonna get so much more fun to write we get to the action 👀 pls lmk if there’s any mistakes, as i will go back n fix them !!! hope you enjoyed <3

banners by @cafekitsune

TAGLIST: @onlyangel-444 @deans-spinster-witch @fumolemon @anundyingfidelity

[porcelainseashore]

Coffee & Secrets (3)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Rookie Cop! Leon x Barista! Fem! Reader

Summary: As a cozy coffee shop owner in Raccoon City, you’re no stranger to visitors seeking comfort, quiet, and warmth. When a rookie officer named Leon finds a kindred spirit in you, it sets in motion a chain of events that forever changes the course of your lives. An alternate universe set in Resident Evil 2 Remake and inspired by the game Coffee Talk.

Content & Warnings: Canon divergence, coffee shops, romance, slow burn, strangers to lovers, idiots in love, fluff, slice of life, swearing

AO3 Link

Chapter 3: Venture

As the days flew by, quickly turning into weeks and the weeks culminating in months, Leon grew busier, taking on additional responsibilities from his colleagues. Just as you had predicted, he was more than qualified and capable of handling his own in the role of a police officer. Despite that, he always found the time to visit your shop, even if it was for a quick coffee break during a night shift. No matter how grueling it was, he would be there. Sometimes, he would even get yelled at by his patrol partner for taking too long, though they were often placated by a free pick-me-up you doled out, which Leon insisted on footing the bill without fail.

One of these nights, he strolled in with Lieutenant Branagh, chatting jovially as they grabbed the usual front row seats.

“How’s my favorite barista doing?” Marvin greeted you, unclasping his arms as he brought you in for a quick hug over the counter.

“Not too shabby, how about you? How’s the girls?”

Leon eyed the two of you curiously; the familiarity with which you interacted with each other catching him slightly off-guard.

“They’re doing great, growing up so fast. My eldest might surpass her old man in a year’s time—just you wait,” he chortled, settling himself in.

“Remember her?” He passed you a recent photo of his daughter from his wallet.

“No way,” you guffawed, feeling the glossy paper nestle itself between your fingers. “She’s changed so much!”

“She’s a fine, young lady now, with a good head over her shoulders,” he responded, his eyes brimming with pride. “Just like yourself.”

“Thanks Marv,” you said, your response heartfelt as you returned the photo to him. “So, the usual?”

Rapping his fingers rhythmically on the table, he confirmed, “The usual.”

“Hey.” It was soft, unassuming, and so unapologetically Leon. 

A subtle smile broke out across his lips as he nodded at you. No hug—maybe it was too soon for hugs and he was not comfortable enough.

“Hey,” you acknowledged, nodding back with a faint smile of your own.

“I wish I could say ‘the usual’, but I don’t have one yet,” he admitted. “By the way, I’m getting this round.” He turned and peered over at Marvin who stood up halfway to protest.

“Naw, come on, put your money away, boy,” the older man commanded.

But Leon was not having any of it. “I insist, Lieutenant.” Holding his hand up before Marvin, he continued, “These few months, you’ve gone out of the way to mentor and support me. It’s the least I could do.”

At this, Marvin raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, then I’ll accept your offer graciously, rookie.”

You saw Leon scoff lightly at the nickname as he turned his attention towards you, his features mellowing. “I’ll take whatever you brew for me tonight,” he decided.

Just as you spun around to complete the order, he murmured, the lilt of his voice carried across by the wind, “It’s so good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Leon,” you whispered back, noticing the crinkle in his eyes, the way he subconsciously puffed out his chest, and the fleeting glimpse of happiness that washed over his face.

Marvin glanced between the two of you as a knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he said nothing, trusting in the passage of time to make its intentions clear.

When you served their drinks, Marvin slurped his down voraciously. “Ooh, the kick is still there. De-licious!” he exclaimed.

“What’s that?” Leon quizzed.

“Kopi Jahe—coffee and ginger,” Marvin clarified. “It’s Indonesian, if I’m not wrong. Perfect for my lactose-intolerant stomach.” He patted his belly to emphasize his point.

“Whatcha get?” he asked in return.

The younger officer blushed as he looked at you. “Guess I’ll have to taste it to find out.”

As always, he sniffed it before taking a tentative sip from the cup. “Mmm…” His eyes squeezed shut while he focused on the flavors. “Hmm…”

“Mint?” His bright blues greeted you again.

“Coffee, mint and honey,” you affirmed, flourishing it with a name, “Fire and Ice.”

Before he had a chance to respond, the door chime rang, and your eyes darted to your next customer of the night.

Ben. Good ol’ Ben Bertolucci.

“A Triple Espresso, please,” he called out, already striding towards his usual sitting corner, while simultaneously giving the two policemen a long, hard look. 

“Evening, officers,” he said curtly, giving them a sharp nod. They tipped their hats back, paying no mind to his soured mood as they dived into another conversation of their own.

Firing up the coffee machine, you ground the beans into a fine powder and let the pressurized hot water seep through the puck. The richly aromatic smell of a dark roast filled the air as the concentrated, viscous liquid dripped into the awaiting demitasse.

During this intermediary period, you unwittingly eavesdropped on the friendly chat between the officers.

“How do you know her again, Lieutenant?”

“Oh, I’ve been here a good number of times back in the day. Times when I really needed it. Times when all I wanted was a comforting drink and a space to sort out my mess. I happened to stumble across this shop—”

“Me too.”

“Hmpf, guess it’s that kinda place… let’s count ourselves lucky then. Anyway, enough about me. What about you?”

“Uh, what about me, sir?”

“You got any plans for your future, son? Pretty sure you didn’t just end up in Raccoon City with those perfect grades.”

“Oh, um, yeah. I guess. Now that you put it that way, uh, I’ve always wanted to investigate the Arklay Murders.”

“The Arklay Murders, huh? Shooting for the detective route?”

“You could say that.”

“Well, have you ever considered applying for S.T.A.R.S.?”

“Wh-what? Um, no, sir. Didn’t think I would qualify for something like that yet.”

“I’ve seen how you work. You're a fast learner, diligent, and competent. I know talent when I see it. You just need to work on your confidence a little, rookie. Keep this up and you’ll have my letter of recommendation on your desk by next year.”

“Wow, th-thanks, Lieutenant… I’m just not sure—”

“Look, you don’t have to make a decision now. All I’m asking is for you to think about it, alright?”

Reluctantly tearing yourself away from the rest of the discussion, you picked up the demitasse, which seemed to weigh like stone as you trudged over to Ben, setting it down on his makeshift desk. Heaps of documents were strewn across its surface in a haphazard manner as he scribbled furiously on his notepad, circling items in a red marker.

“Oh, hey, thanks,” he mumbled, still absorbed in his writing. “Hope you don’t mind, but it’s gonna be a long night.”

“Not at all, Ben,” you said, frowning at the grainy images of what appeared to be the Chief of Police, Brian Irons, in the background.

When he saw you peeking at his work, he shuffled apprehensively in his seat, attempting to use his arm to block your view. “Sorry, but this is top secret stuff.”

“I understand,” you replied empathetically. “Don’t worry, it’s safe with me.”

He snorted at your remark, but eased up, absentmindedly stroking his beard as he spoke, “Appreciate it. Don’t wanna rub people the wrong way, like those folks over there.” He jutted his chin out in Leon and Marvin’s direction.

“Seems like the RPD has taken a liking to this place,” he added with a hint of disdain.

You shook your head and laughed. “Not all of my customers are police officers, Ben.”

Narrowing his eyes at the two, he piped up, “Just watch yourself, that’s my advice. In my world, they’re pigs—the whole lot of ’em. Probably why the term ‘ACAB’ exists, eh?” He wagged his finger. “Food for thought.”

“You’ve probably seen a lot of abuse in your line of work,” you speculated, figuring that his poor experience with the force had shaped his current opinion.

“No shit,” he huffed before composing himself. “Well, as far as I can tell, Branagh’s… tolerable. Dull, but tolerable. The kid over there though, I don’t trust him, seems a bit green.”

You glanced over at Leon briefly. Almost as if he sensed your presence, his eyes shifted away from Marvin, colliding with yours, and a smile tinged with uncertainty unfolded on his face.

He’ll come into his own, you thought, smiling back reassuringly.

“So…” 

Ben’s gruff voice snapped you out of your reverie as you faced him again, but you didn’t miss a beat. “So, you’re obviously swamped. Ever imagined hiring an intern?”

“Why? Having second thoughts about your business?” he smirked in amusement.

“Nah, just a suggestion,” you replied blithely as you clutched the tray across your chest and tottered back to the counter. “You should put a call out. I’m sure a bunch of people would be interested in the work you do.”

Back at the other table, Marvin rose to leave, slapping Leon’s back encouragingly. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, but if I don’t head home in the next five minutes, I’ll end up on the sofa tonight.”

After you said your goodbyes, Leon leaned against the side of the counter, adjusting the hem of his uniform as he looked between the door and you, seemingly debating whether he should call it a night too. However, he decided otherwise.

“Um, you don’t mind if I stay a little longer, do you?”

“Not at all.” You indicated towards the typically vacant chairs in the room. “Take all the time you need.”

He did not sit down, hanging around you in silence for a few minutes before he said what was on his mind. “Did you always want to be a barista when you grew up?”

That stumped you. It was not very often that you received personal questions or interest in what you were doing. Maybe some even felt bad to ask. You were far more used to listening to people, and not the other way around.

“No, not really,” you answered truthfully. “To be frank, I don’t think I ever knew.”

“So, what made you decide?”

You hummed, tapping your chin as you pondered his question. “It was something I kinda just fell into,” you explained. “I saw an opportunity and took my chance. I guess I’ve always been idealistic and wanting to help people…”

“I’ve always wanted that too…” he chimed in gently as his fingers inadvertently brushed against yours. He jerked his hand away as soon as he realized, as if he had received an electric shock.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, he continued, “I became who I am because, when I was young, I saw someone do this very same job. He helped others, ordinary people, including me.”

“The man saved my life,” he stressed, pausing as if recalling a distant memory, before he divulged, “I told everyone, ‘That’s who I want to be when I grow up!’ Helping civilians, doing the little things that change their lives.”

“Now it feels like I’m only getting further away from it,” he sighed despondently. “Solving mystery cases like Scooby-Doo and joining an elite team…”

Your fingertips grazed his knuckles. “Nothing’s stopping you.”

“What?” He looked at you, startled.

“Nothing’s stopping you from helping others, just because you end up doing something else,” you answered plainly.

It took a while for your words to sink in before he could react to them. “You’re— I don’t know how you do it,” he chuckled in disbelief to himself. “You make me want to tell you everything. That’s your superpower.”

“I’m just me,” you shrugged. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And that’s exactly how I like you.”

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[starwarsmum]

Last day 🥹 and my last fic posting of 2024! Prompt is Broken Promises and is the conclusion to A Visit to Paris

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

@maribat-calendar-events

Marinette was pacing back and forth at the top of the Eiffel Tower, waiting for Damian and his family. She couldn't believe she had ended up dating another hero. It did answer a bunch of questions about his capability and how efficiently he had ended the fight when she had been concussed.

She was more nervous than annoyed by the appearance of the Batfamily. Damian had promised that he wouldn't alert the vigilante team to what was happening in Paris, and had seemed to understand why she wanted them to stay away. 

It also stung that he hadn't trusted her enough to tell her about his own alter ego. The logical part of her understood, but the part that had been so caught up in her feelings for Damian felt betrayed. He had known her own secret almost as soon as they'd met, how could he not trust her to keep his?

She was caught up enough in her own thoughts that she flinched when someone landed behind her. She lashed out automatically only for her fist to be caught in a much larger, gloved hand. She took in the sight of Gotham's youngest vigilante, Robin, and felt the ugly emotions swell.

“You lied to me,” she hissed, checking to see if his family were close enough to see them. His mouth turned down in a frown but he didn't deny it. She felt the tears spill over and swiped at his other hand when he made to brush them away.

“I'm sorry,” he said in a low voice. He pulled her into the shadows, effectively hiding them from view. He pressed closely to her, but released her hand. “I couldn't tell you everything, they aren't only my secrets. I didn't anticipate Hood spilling everything before I had a chance to talk to you about it because I didn't realise he was aware. I handled this badly and I'm so sorry, Ladybug.”

“Was dating me a way to get more information about Hawkmoth? The Miraculous? Was any of it real, or did you manufacture everything so you could come in and take over?”

“Of course it was real,” he said, his voice soft with hurt. “You have every right to be angry with me for hiding things from you. And if…if you no longer wish to date me, I would…understand. But I don't want you to think I would let you go because I don't care. My feelings for you are true, please believe me.”

“Then why did you bring them? I told you how scared I was of having to fight people who are better trained than me. And now I have three unknowns walking around my city. What am I supposed to do if one of them gets akumatised?”

“They found out about Hawkmoth and insisted on coming. It has been torturous, trying to keep promises to my family and be open with you. I swear to you I didn't say anything to them about you or Hawkmoth.”

“You didn't tell them you had a girlfriend?” He had told her he was a private person but this…it certainly didn't help his case that he really cared about her. 

“It's complicated,” he said hesitantly. She couldn't even look him in the eye because his mask covered them. Her heart sank and she looked away, hugging herself. “Ladybug-”

“Yo, Robin, we know you're already here, can you come group up so we can wait for LB?” Red Hood shouted from below them. Robin tensed, not moving. “Aw hell, what if he snuck off to see the pixie girl instead?”

“Robin knows how important talking to Ladybug is,” Batman said gruffly and Marinette's eyes flicked back to Robin. “He wouldn't jeopardise a mission just to see a girl he's only known for two weeks.”

“Nah, you didn't see him when he picked her up from school today,” Hood chuckled. Robin swore softly, and Marinette peered through the gaps in the floor to watch the vigilantes. Hood pulled his phone out and seemed to be finding a photo. “Little bro is absolutely smitten, I've never seen him smile so much. Plus, I've read their messages.”

Another curse slid out from Robin's teeth and Marinette placed a comforting hand on his arm without thinking. It broke the tension between them and he hugged her as tightly as he had when she had thrown herself down the stairs outside of her school.

“I swear, I won't keep any more secrets,” he whispered into her hair. He let her pull away and she saw a flash of devastation in the way his lips parted but she closed the distance between them. Their balance was off and the kiss was cut short when he stepped back heavily, a clang reverberating loudly.

Silence followed from below, all three masked men turning to look at where the noise had come from. Marinette blushed as she untangled her arms from around him and stepped back. 

“We should go down and start this meeting,” she whispered, inspecting her hands. Robin took hold of her hand briefly but released it again before they went to join the group. “Hi everyone, thanks for agreeing to meet me on such short notice.”

“No problem,” Red Hood said after a significant pause. His helmet was turned towards Robin but whatever he was thinking was kept safely tucked in his brain. Robin, to his credit, didn't address the elephant in the room as to why he had been caught having a whispered conversation with Ladybug instead of his girlfriend.

“So, I don't think I quite understand why you're all here,” she began, carefully not looking at Robin for too long. “I'll be up front with you and say that a supposed civilian recently took up my mantle as Ladybug, for one fight only, but it was agreed that he wouldn't be trying to contact you in regards to this.”

“What civilian is this?” Batman said immediately, eyes slicing towards Robin. 

“That's not relevant. Secret identities are important around here and if I should ever need to call on him again I'd rather not have a bunch of people running around that know who he is. But the point is that you weren't supposed to know about Hawkmoth because my current battles are against untrained individuals, for the most part. I don't really like my chances of beating someone with all of your experience.”

“That's my fault,” Hood piped up, sounding slightly amused. “Like I said earlier, I found out Robin here has a girlfriend. Surprising because he's not really the most tolerable person on a good day, but their messages looked genuine. But they were talking about something called an ‘akuma’ and then I found the Ladyblog and here we are.”

“You invaded my privacy,” Robin snarled, hand on his sword. “Your insufferable need to pry into my life has caused me problems and put unneeded stress on Ladybug.”

“Oh, like you can talk,” Hood scoffed. “You knew we were coming to Paris and said nothing about your girlfriend to any of us.”

“Because none of this family understands the meaning of the word boundaries!” Robin half shouted, exasperation plain on his face. “And if I had known you were aware of her, I would have been able to handle things differently.”

“I think that's more than I need to know,” Marinette said abruptly, cheeks red again. Chances were that she was going to have to admit who she was to the Batfamily, if only to have a relationship with Robin on both sides of their masks. “But I really am worried about Hawkmoth sinking his claws into you. Perhaps it would be better if you all went home?”

“But surely you could use our expertise in tracking down your villain?” Red Robin said, leaning on his bo staff. Marinette chewed her lip, thinking hard.

“How good are you all at handling your emotions?”

_ _ _

The following day, Damian didn't bother trying to hide what he was doing, snarling that if he was followed there would be hell to pay. He made his way to the bakery, heart hammering as he opened the door and stepped inside.

“Damian! It's good to see you again, Marinette's just upstairs,” Sabine said from behind the till. He gave her a subdued greeting before heading straight up to the apartment above. 

He ventured into her room only when it became clear that she wasn't anywhere else in the apartment. And he knocked as he did so, not wanting to intrude when he wasn't sure where they stood. His eyes swept the room and he didn't hide the smile that spread when he found her slumped at her conspiracy board desk.

“Marinette, are you alright?” He asked, shaking her shoulder gently. She blinked, groaned, and stretched before looking up at him blearily. “Did you ever go to bed last night?”

“Morning Dami,” she yawned, pulling herself up with his help. He blinked as she smiled up at him, her rumpled hair and sleepy eyes giving him the urge to run his hands over her. Apparently it made her feel affectionate too, because she kissed him sweetly. He melted into her, his hands on her waist pulling her close. She pulled away after several minutes, eyes much brighter. “Mmmmm, did I mention how nice it is to have you back in Paris?”

“Likewise, I much prefer being with you than apart,” he murmured, running his nose along her jaw. He enjoyed the shiver that ran through her and let himself indulge in his desire to touch her. She gave a breathy giggle and lost her fingers in his hair.

“We should probably talk about how we're going to explain things to your family,” she said a while later when they had relocated to her chaise. She had maneuvered him to rest his head in her lap so she could keep playing with his hair. “And don't think I'm not still a little mad at you.”

“I'm aware that I have yet to re-earn your trust,” he said, eyes closed as she continued her ministrations. It was relaxing and he smiled gently when she laughed. “I will gladly suffer any punishment you deem necessary if it means I can stay with you.”

“You're way too cute sometimes,” she mused. “But I'll put some thought into it.”

It was half an hour later when they finally moved and it wasn't really by choice. Marinette's phone lit up with an akuma alert and she groaned before perking up a little. 

“You know, I think I know how you can redeem yourself…”

_ _ _

When Jason appeared on the scene of the latest akuma, he was surprised to see a new Miraculous holder on the scene. Ladybug was jumping around, concentrating on keeping the akuma contained. Chat Noir was already knocked back, caged by something living and he was shouting and making catcalls.

But standing on a building slightly to the left was a hero dressed in red, gold and black. He had dark hair and a sword, a hood thrown back from his head. After several minutes of observation, the new hero spoke into a comm before summoning his power.

Water in the shape of a dragon crashed into the akuma, smothering it. Ladybug used her lucky charm - a snorkel - to dive in after it, but didn't attach it to her mouth. Instead, she did a complicated maneuver that ended with her ripping something from the akuma before the new hero called off the water.

Ladybug called for her cure and jumped to the new hero while it was working. Jason raised his eyebrows as she landed in the hero's arms and kissed him fiercely. Chat seemed dumbfounded, staring up at the pair. Jason strolled over to him to try and strike up a conversation.

“Ladybug has a boyfriend, huh?” The catboy swung to look at him, a growl coming from him. “Hey, I was just curious! Wow, they really like each other.”

Ladybug had finally pulled back from the other hero and Jason was impressed by the adoration that was obvious in the boy's face. He laughed at something Ladybug said and she grabbed his hand to pull him along behind her. They landed in front of Jason and Chat Noir, still grinning.

“Hey Chaton! Man, that one was wild,” Ladybug said cheerfully, still holding hands with the other hero. “This is…wait, did you choose a name? Or is this another nameless thing? Hey Hood.”

“I don't see why I should come up with a name, this is a one-time occurrence-”

“Um, maybe because I'm asking you to?” Ladybug pouted and Jason could see him caving. He sighed and thought for a moment.

“Fine, you may call me Taniyn,” he said eventually and Ladybug giggled before turning back to Chat and Jason. 

“Hood, do you think I could borrow you for a bit? There's some things I need to discuss with the Bats. Chat, you can join if you want.”

The catboy was off kilter but declined, saying he had somewhere to be right then. Jason followed the pair into a secluded alley where Taniyn dropped his transformation to reveal Damian. Jason yelped without meaning to and almost had a heart attack when Ladybug dropped hers to reveal Damian's girlfriend.

“Tt, Hood, you should show some level of professionalism,” Damian admonished with a smirk. He had snaked an arm around Marinette's waist and pulled her closer, making the girl blush. “You should head back to our rooms, we shall meet you there for a debrief.”

Jason headed back in a daze, moving swiftly. He stripped out of his gear in his room before hollering to the others that they needed to gather for a post-akuma conversation. He wasn't entirely surprised when Damian strolled in a little later, towing his adorable, not-so-ordinary girlfriend behind him.

There was an awkward silence as Bruce and Tim both eyed the girl curiously, neither wanting to mention the possessive way Damian clung to her hand. Jason gave a sigh and slumped onto a sofa.

“Father, Drake, I would like you to meet Marinette, my girlfriend,” Damian said after a pause, glaring at both of them in warning. “As Todd made it clear that she is no longer a secret, I thought it best to be open about it.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tim said distractedly, pulling out his phone. 

“Nice to meet you too,” the little pixie chirped, smiling wide. “I look forward to working with you, to bring Hawkmoth to Justice.”

The room went silent as Tim and Bruce stared at her, uncomprehending, and Jason gave another sigh. It was going to be a long afternoon and he knew that Bruce and Tim were going to freak out about Ladybug.

But, he thought as he watched his baby brother gazing lovingly at his girlfriend, maybe it would have its moments.

[deargravity]

kind of obsessed with "what if" scenarios that are ultimately fruitless because the outcome will probably never change.

can't stop thinking about the conversation the other miracles had about akashi's captaincy right after he was promoted. midorima's fierce belief in his friend's ability to pull the team together. kuroko's concern that it might be too much to take. did they ever talk about it? did akashi ever know midorima thought this highly of him or that kuroko cared so deeply for him? would it have changed anything if he'd known his friends trusted him but also wanted the best for him?

midorima's comment about akashi bringing the team together breaks me, in hindsight and i wonder if it broke midorima's heart too, in a way, when he realised his faith in akashi's capabilities backfired so terribly. that he'd unintentionally ended up abandoning his friend by framing the situation so that everyone relied on akashi without considering he might be able to rely on them too. (it's not mido's fault though, because akashi was already raised to always stand differently and ahead of his peers by his father but i still think the sentiment might have damaged him differently when coming from his friends.) midorima's capacity to focus on performing his personal best because he has fierce trust in his teammates but his initial difficulty warming up to shutoku because he was afraid he'd do it all wrong again? still thinking about that... i don't know... there is something so complicated about everything because midorima had so much faith in akashi, maybe to their own detriment, but it was at the point where nothing anyone could have said would have changed what was already happening. any one of them could have cared or not cared and it wouldn't have mattered because the pivotal moment was akashi's promotion to captain. they were kind of at the point of no return, you know what i mean?

and such early captaincy itself was another burden to shoulder for akashi especially at such an early stage of his formal basketball career where he'd barely begun to explore camaraderie through equal footing with his teammates before being relegated to captain, which inevitably changed the power dynamics again, separating akashi's role from the rest of the team. do you understand, do you understand, am i making sense? i think it can essentially be understood as akashi once again being given responsibilities before he's ready for them, before he's even gotten to enjoy what he's doing the same way his father increasingly enlists him in extracurriculars and enrichment classes at the first sign of competence in one or the other, and akashi's life just becomes a string of one next big thing after the other. he hasn't taken a real breath in a while. how long has he been holding his breath? how long has he been holding up the sky?

the worst part is that it is literally no one's fault except the coach and school administration that insisted on spreading these kids too thin. nijimura wouldn't have felt pressured to step down so soon if he hadn't felt like he had to choose between being a captain or a son, in the first place, which is a messed up choice to be forced to make. the whole situation upsets me because it's always the "trusted adults" in question causing all the problems in the first place.

i think about that scene with nijimura and akashi too much - the "are you uncertain?" "no, i'm worried about you." and i think about it probably more than i should. in a different context it could have been an exchange between akashi and kuroko respectively if kuroko had expressed his concerns sooner. the entire scene felt kind of despondent, too, and not just because of nijimura's news. it didn't feel celebratory at all and i guess that's just a testament to the trend of akashi gaining responsibilities faster than he's capable of shouldering them but having to carry them with grace anyway because there's no other option. because he loves his captain, he loves basketball and he loves this team that believes so absolutely in him that he has to be absolute in his strength as well.

there's just so many ifs but none of those could have changed what was about to happen. idk...

[sleepingdeath-light]

caring oracle head s/o hcs ; darius deamonne

requested by ; anonymous (27/07/22)

fandom(s) ; the owl house

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; darius deamonne

outline ; “Hi! Firstly, I absolutely adore your work! <3 You truly are the best headcanon writer out there, mwuah!

With that being said, could you perhaps write headcanons for Darius falling for a reader who's really sweet/caring and the new head of the Oracle Coven? No force as always, all the support!”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

the two of you had first met back when you were officially named as the new head of your coven, his face a familiar one amongst the crowd of officials and one you’d naturally sought out after your public ceremony was over — exchanging pleasantries and asking him for any advice he might have (as you had your predecessor before their formal retirement)

it was refreshing, talking to someone who wasn’t completely full of themselves and ready to kiss the emperor’s feet, so darius engaged with you far longer than he otherwise would have — until he was already on his third glass of apple blood and most of the guests had started to file out of the doors (even though to the two of you it was like no time had passed at all)

you weren’t selfish, weren’t focused on climbing up the ranks, weren’t mindlessly loyal to belos — you were compassionate and sweet, a breath of fresh air that only got the position you were in because of how compassionate you were

so unlike every other coven head

and it was that difference that led to him opening up to you, approaching you more often, and even became the basis of your eventual romantic relationship as the day of unity approached

a relationship that became his haven before catts was formed, with you being one of the few people with whom he could truly be himself — be angry, be playful, be honest, be vulnerable, be open about his thoughts and opinions and history (about the last golden guard and everything that followed his death)

and where you always accepted him with open arms and a warm smile and a knowing glint in your eyes — like you’d already foreseen each break, each conversation, each date, long in advance (but you’d never admit to it if asked, and he never even tried because he appreciated the thought behind each glimpse)

he doesn’t ask about his future often, if ever, and insists that he already knows the answer without any sort of divination needed — that no matter what happens he’ll always be by your side (that you’re his present and future all in one, a natural flirt that refuses to let up no matter how long you’ve been together)

he discusses his worries for hunter’s well-being and future often, which you frequently reassure him about — vague but honest, as how are you to describe the family you would have without breaking your promise to not tell him his future?

eberwolf and raine both tease him relentlessly for being so disgustingly in love with you and how soft he gets with you (lovingly, of course) — but make no mistake, they both adore you endlessly and happily spend time with you, equally as endeared by your enduring kindness and empathy as your now fiancé is (especially after everything you all went through after the day of unity)

he’s incredibly protective of you and is wary of you being taken advantage of by other witches (be they your peers or otherwise) because of how sweet you are — and no matter how capable you are at keeping yourself safe he’s always going to be fretting over you when you’re apart (even sending raine to go check on you at times when he’s too busy to do so himself or otherwise unable to send an abomination to scout out your location in his stead)

[houseofbrat]

I’m shaking my head at “royal” fans who still insist charles should do something about harry and meghan before the coronation. The coronation is what will engrave in everyone’s mind that he actually is now the king. Even though everyone knows he is king, i’m pretty sure global general public is still more familiar with late queen, so they unconsciously still sees him as her son, prince of wales. And to be totally honest, prince of wales doesn’t have the big impact that king does, especially when other prince is known as late queen’s favorite and princess royal is general public’s favorite. It’s better to deal with harry and meghan when global general public sees it as king doing his best to protect his kingdom rather than father dealing with his son. I notice how most people focus more on father son relationship than king prince status when talking about them together. Just like harry and meghan want them to see it as.

The people who are complaining most vehemently are the ones who a) dislike Charles a LOT, b) believe William is the destined savior of the BRF, c) don't know much about decades-old discussions about modernizing/slimming the British monarchy, e.g. The Way Ahead Group, and d) just want the Sussexes punished via letters patent.

A) The root cause of all the vehemence is that Charles has the temerity to live and stop William from being crowned king this May. The vast majority is rooted in the belief that Charles is allowing the Sussexes to walk all over him. Never mind that Charles is the survivor of one of the worst pr wars in modern history.

Never mind that the person who actually could have prevented the Sussex children from having titles at all was Charles' mother, Queen Elizabeth II. Somehow, she escapes all scorn.

QEII--who conveniently "remembered" Paul Burrell told her he was keeping some of Diana's things after his trial began--had a major problem with direct confrontation. The woman whose ostrich syndrome caused MPs to register their anger over the situation because the government had wasted money on a public trial. All because she was too reluctant to come forward after weeks of public scandal & spectacle.

Are there MPs complaining in parliament about this title situation? Nope. Will they? Nope. There are actual issues of relevance to the general population that they need to focus on these days. Titles for the Sussex kids for a few months aren't the end of the fucking world, and most people know it.

B) For some reason, William is the person who automatically would solve all problems instantaneously, even though he doesn't do much work. This is because the UK tabs have published numerous articles about William's "anger" over each and every Sussex infringement. Never does it cross people's minds that Charles could be angry too. Conveniently, certain people suck up every single story where Wills is angry at Harry; they never believe the stories from this past winter where William was actually worried about Harry. Somehow, William is only capable of one emotion when it comes to Harry: anger. Never worry. It's always how Harry is victimizing William through the press. It's such a one-sided story that if it was a in a movie, no one would find it plausible because the William in these tabloid stories is a straight-up, cartoonishly one-note dude.

William is the one-note savior in this story who will vanquish the terrible Sussexes. It's so fucking cliché.

C) ALL the people complaining about unissued letters patent and titles seem to have no understanding of the discussions that took place in the 1990s, aka The Way Ahead Group, regarding modernizing the monarchy. If you know about it, then you understand why James & Louise aren't referred to as HRHs or Prince/ss. They were styled as the son and daughter of a peer due to the decisions made in The Way Ahead Group. Decisions that should have been put to letters patent by QEII twenty-plus years ago; however, that would mean that she would have had to not indulge her family. She was never not going to do that. Prime example of her indulgences: Andrew.

D) People just want the Sussexes punished via letters patent. Understandable. However, people are acting as if it's the most important job of the monarch. As if Charles should have made it his first priority the instant he became king. Screw the red boxes, mourning his mother, and visiting the four countries of the United Kingdom. He failed at being king because he wasn't the pettiest bitch ever and didn't sign a prewritten letters patent in between his bouts of mourning and all the other events that were pre-planned over ten days. Isn't that the most insensitive attitude directed at someone genuinely grieving!

Most of the people I've seen complaining most vehemently aren't asking for Beatrice & Eugenie to lose their titles & styles. There are also people who think Louise & James should suddenly style themselves HRH Prince/ss James/Louis of Edinburgh. Never do they realize that all four are going to lose their titles & styles.

When Charles issues his letters patent, it's going to be a big deal. It's a major cultural change for the UK. Due to that, it needs to be announced in a way that allows for people in the UK to absorb that the monarchy is changing. Significantly.

A knee jerk letters patent isn't going to happen just to deny the Sussex kids titles. That's not the purpose of the upcoming letters patent. The purpose is to modernize the monarchy.

The Sussexes know this. That's why Harry's wife whined to Oprah about the change in their infamous interview. No one was promoting the Sussex kids' titles except the Sussexes. The palace is in the process of making their changes behind the scenes. The Sussexes--technically Harry's wife if you think about it--insisted publicly that they wanted their kids to be known with prince/ss titles. The palace was not inclined to list them with those titles until they publicly insisted on it.

The reason for that is that they were attempting to prevent any embarrassment for the kids due to losing a short-term title. That's why the palace "respects their wishes." The palace "respects" the Sussex attempts to be famewhores and not realize the embarrassment they'll encounter after the letters patent announcement is released. They "respect their wishes" just as many people "respect other people's differences."

Still too hard for the Charles haters to understand though.

[naoyaslut]

pairings: naoya x fem reader

warnings: a little fluff, soft naoya, some scheming from toji

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

On your 18th birthday, Naoya traveled three days and three nights with an entourage to greet you. On this day, the day you became a woman, you were promised to him, and he was eager as ever to bring you home, to marry you, and have you as his wife. 

His mother had told him of how beautiful you had grown and made a point to drill into his thick skull that he was your knight in shining armor. He was destined to wed you and protect the family that the two of you would have. 

This marriage will end all the suffering and nonsense between the Zenin and L/N families, you must cherish her and protect her for the sake of us all Naoya... do you understand?  

His mother had been putting all of this in his head since your first meeting when you were nothing but a child. Naoya wondered if your family had done the same. 

He declined the company of his father Naobito, because he was more than capable of escorting you back on his own. Without his drunken conduct. 

The gates to the L/N estate opened slowly in response to the Zenin’s clan arrival, greeted by the head of the clan himself.  

“Naoya-sama, it’s good to see you once again, please follow me, we have much to discuss,”  

Naoya reciprocated a slight nod as he was led onto the property, his entourage following behind him closely.  

Once inside, Naoya was escorted into an oversized room, his peers left outside the door so that he and the chief could speak in private. 

Something about the whole experience didn’t sit right with Naoya. He did not need to speak to this man, he was only here to claim his wife and take her back to the Zenin estate where she belonged. 

“These courtesies are very unnecessary, as I do not intend to stay long,” Naoya watched as the head of the clan, Y/N’s father Hiroshi, sat at a large wooden table, pouring himself a glass of wine.  

He seemingly ignored what Naoya had said altogether, his eyes rolling over his stiff appearance instead. 

“You look different than the last time I saw you,” Hiroshi mumbled, bringing his glass to his lips to draw some of the wine in his mouth. “The blonde hair suits you,” 

“I’m here to retrieve my wife,” Naoya insisted, taking a step forward so that he stood beside the table. He didn’t sit, instead those icy grey eyes of his nearly burned into Hiroshi’s being. “The small talk isn’t needed, Hiroshi,” 

Hiroshi sat his glass down on the table and leaned against the backrest of his chair. He stroked his greying beard in thought before turning back to Naoya. 

“I would have thought that you had no interest in marrying a l/n, you seemed so above it at the initial proposal,”  

Hiroshi was right. When he saw how young you were, he had no interest in marrying a child, but things had changed. You were his future; his mother saw it in her dreams. Her premonitions were always right. 

Now it was Naoya’s time to ignore Hiroshi’s words. He was growing frustrated with the idle chit-chat. The trip home was long, and he wished to depart before the sunset. 

“I’m here to retrieve, my wife ,” Naoya reiterated, his jaw setting in a hard line. 

“Naoya-sama, there has been a change in the proposal, Naoya-sama,” 

- 

Your stomach turned uncomfortably as you stood in the full-length mirror. Xiah, your lady-in-waiting smoothed over your kimono and finished the last-minute touches on your hair. It was a newer kimono, not too extravagant but elegant enough to be formal.  

Today was the day that you were supposed to meet Naoya. You’d been waiting all day and you wondered when your father would be coming to fetch you.  

You were nervous. It had been years since you had met Naoya, but you remembered exactly what he looked like.  

“You look beautiful, I’m sure the young lord will be pleased,” Xiah smiled while she continued to adjust your kimono. 

The door to your bedroom opening drew both yours and Xiah’s attention, you both watched in surprise as Sanosuke entered the room with a questionable smile on his face. 

“Oh, well don’t you look dashing, what’s the occasion?” Sanosuke asked as if he didn’t know that you were supposed to meet Naoya Zenin today. 

Your face reddened in embarrassment while you tried not to become frazzled at what you supposed was his way of teasing you. 

“I’m supposed to see Naoya Zenin today, of course,” The words were shaky, you turned your eyes back to your reflection in agitation at your brother’s carefree attitude. 

You heard him gasp in response and he crossed the room to stand beside you in the full-length mirror. Swiping stray hair away from your face, his brows rose in unison a look of sympathy on his handsome features. 

“Did father not tell you, sister?”  

You felt your heart drop into your stomach at his mocking tone. It feigned sadness and was obviously insincere.  

“Tell me what?” you asked, feeling your mouth go dry in anticipation of his answer. 

“The engagement is off, you’re not marrying Naoya Zenin,” 

There was a long pause before you began to breathe again and the only thing you could hear was the sound of your heart beating heavily in your chest. Sanosuke was still talking but you couldn’t make out any of his words through your surprise.  

From that day forward, your would-be marriage was never spoken of again. Life went on as if you weren’t promised the Zenin family’s only son so many years ago. At first, the decision weighed on your mind heavily. You were curious as to why suddenly, the marriage was off. Had he changed his mind? Or did it have something to do with your mother’s recent passing? 

You never got the courage to ask your father and you never brought it up again... after all, it didn’t matter. You couldn’t even remember what Naoya looked like. You met him once five years ago and the only thing you could recall was his kindness. 

It took about a week for the storm to finally blow over. The temperatures were still cold, but the snow began to melt making traveling more likely for vendors, the help, and other Zenin members throughout the estate. 

This was the first time in a long while that you had ventured down to the other wing of the estate. The place where both you and Naoya stayed before the whole Emi fiasco occurred. Lianne had dressed you warmly in a luxurious lavender gown, lined with wool underneath. It was as comfortable as it was warm, the long-sleeved silk embroidered in gold around the cuffs and collar. 

It unnerved you deeply that you were in the presence of the others in the estate. Naobito, Ougi, Jinichi, and Toji were all present, seated around the large table. You felt as if you didn’t belong here, as if there were some kind of meeting that was about to take place, but instead, it was only a family dinner. 

Naoya escorted you to the table pulling a chair out for you with his free hand, urging you to sit with a gentle nudge at the small of your back.  

You inhaled shakily, unwrapping your left arm from his forearm with it joining your right hand that rested atop the small, rounded protrusion about your abdomen as if you were shielding yourself from prying eyes.  

Naobito as per usual had a wine glass in hand that was filled to the brim with a light sake. He brought his glass to his lips greedily drinking down half of the liquid while he eyed the bulge on your belly. Sitting the wine glass down on the table he was the first to speak, diverting his eyes to Naoya. 

“So, she is pregnant perhaps she’s not so broken,” he mentioned offhandedly. 

The help began to enter the dining room and like clockwork began sitting out dishes of all sorts on the table. Though the room remained deathly quiet aside from the clatter of glass and metal cutlery Naoya swiftly came to your defense. 

“Father, I won’t condone you disrespecting my wife. We’re here for dinner, simply because you requested it. The dinner table is not the place for the discussion of her condition,” Naoya nearly commanded.  

You watched Naoya from the corner of your eye and could see that he was already growing irate. His jaw clenched in frustration once he heard Naobito begin to speak once again. 

“I wouldn’t have to bring it up at the dinner table if you’d communicate with me like an adult,” His wine glass graced his lips once more as he took another messy gulp. “But I will respect your wishes,” 

You were grateful that this was the end of that conversation. Everything went on for a bit like a normal dinner. All the Zenin men had their fill of wine and food during the evening, Toji the first one to finish and excuse himself rather abruptly. 

Naoya was next, he turned to you to inquire about how you were feeling. You were sated, instead of wine you drank tea, and you had your fill of the large spread in front of you.  

“Retiring so early son? Don’t you wish to spend the evening with the men of the family?” Naobito held up his glass beckoning a woman standing off in the corner to come fill his glass. 

She moved hurriedly, tipping the bottle of wine over so that his glass was filled to the brim, close to overflowing. She bowed after and took a step back away from the table, not quite retreating just yet. 

Naobito continued to speak before Naoya had a chance to respond motioning towards the woman who was dressed in a delicate plain kimono. Her hair was dense and dark brown, her eyes wide in concern while Naoya helped you stand. 

“I can’t believe you were going to have this one killed, there plenty of uses for her about the estate,” 

Naoya became rigid once he turned to glance in his father’s direction. The woman he was referring to was Emi. She was supposed to be in the dungeons, dead and frozen by now. But here she was at his father’s side dressed modestly. She almost looked innocent; her expression slightly troubled. 

You were surprised. Though it pleased you that Emi was alive and well, Naoya seemed absolutely livid at the notion. His irritation only seemed to be escalating. Perhaps he did intend on having her killed.  

“What in the hell is the traitor doing out of shackles?” Naoya barked. His gaze wandered from Emi over to Naobito, who was lounging nonchalantly in his seat. 

“I’d rather have her warming my bed than rotting down in the crypt,” Naobito retorted easily. 

Scoffing in irritation Naoya glared in his father’s direction.  

“Careful the wench doesn’t poison you in your sleep,” Naoya turned without another word guiding you toward the dining room exit. He was now determined to get you back to your quarters, so that you could rest comfortably. 

Naoya hastily grabbed your hand and the two of you left the dining room without another word. Naoya’s pace was brisk as if he were trying to get as far away as possible from this part of the estate. He was moving so quickly that you were having a hard time keeping up, even so with his hand clutched around your forearm.  

“Naoya, w-wait,” you begged, stumbling into his arms when he came to an abrupt stop. “You’re going too fast...”  

You sighed in relief once he had stopped trying to catch a long breath and calm your rising heart rate. Naoya apologized profusely while resting a hand on your lower back. 

“I’m sorry, are you hurt?” he asked. 

“No, I’m fi-” 

“Naoya-sama!” 

The two of you were interrupted by Emi who came barreling from around the corridor slightly out of breath. She dropped to her knees in front of Naoya pushing her nose into the tile of the floor underneath. 

You could feel Naoya’s body get tense under your fingertips as she spoke... his body temperature seemed to rise as he began to fume. He kept his eyes on you, unwilling to grace Emi with any of his attention.  

It was obvious to you that he was struggling with his temper. He was pissed. And he began to tremble slightly, his fingers winding tightly in the skirts of your gown. 

He didn’t respond, but you turned your eyes on Emi who was still kneeling a few feet away from both of you. Clearing your throat, you waited for Emi to rise sitting back on her haunches as she did. 

She folded both hands into one another, her fingers interlaced while she bowed her head once again. 

“Naoya-sama... Lady Zenin. Please accept my sincere apology... I swear I never meant to cause any harm-”  

Emi’s voice trembled as she spoke, and you could see the tears she had in her eyes moments earlier dip down onto the tile below into a small puddle.  

“Shut your filthy mouth,” Naoya spat. His hands remained tangled in your dress, but those grey eyes of his now cold and piercing burned into Emi. “The only reason you’re not already dead is because my wife wanted me to spare you. If you approach me or lady Zenin again, I’ll kill you myself,” 

With that, he turned away from Emi to reach down to lift your legs cradling you in his arms, as if you were a brand-new bride stalking in the direction of your shared bedroom. 

Emi was left in the corridor alone, her eyes wide, red, and brimming with tears. Naoya absolutely despised her. Toji told her that there was only one way that Naoya would forgive her. She had to do it as quickly as possible. 

The rest of the evening had passed rather quietly. After a bath and a cup of hot tea to settle your nerves, Naoya took it upon himself to tend to you personally, rather than have Lianne do it tonight. 

Groaning in content, your head lolled off to the side lazily as Naoya’s large hands kneaded into the tense muscles of your neck and back. 

“How is this?” he asked, thick digits digging into your lower back to alleviate the stiffness.  

“It’s good,” you drawled, leaning your head back to rest on his bare shoulder. 

He had been dutifully tending to you for about an hour or so, first starting with your legs and your back, and then gently massaging your neck and shoulders. It was obvious that he was tense and shamefully aroused, for you could feel the firmness of his manhood pressing against your backside. But he remained on task doing his best to keep you comfortable.  

Your eyes felt shut for a moment a jolt of electricity shooting up your spine upon feeling Naoya’s lips graze the column of your throat. 

“Tired?” he asked, the hands that were resting on your shoulders drifting down to settle at your abdomen.  

You were tired. Exhausted. But it was impossible to ignore the heat and want that exuded from your husband behind you. He had been so careful with you since finding out about your pregnancy, that you weren’t even sure the last time he had tried to touch you. 

Avoiding his question, you placed your hands over his instead of adjusting in his lap. The silk chemise you were wearing almost bunched up around your hips. 

“Naoya, you’re poking me,” you mumbled. 

“I know, I’m sorry... let's get you to bed,” Naoya suggested. 

He tried to remove his hands from your belly, but instead, you interlocked your fingers with his to keep them in place.  

“No... not yet,” With your hand still interlaced over his, you guided his hand so that it rested in between the heat of your thighs. “Touch me please,” Your voice trembled as his fingertips grazed over that sensitive nub that was now pulsing with need.  

Naoya took over without any hesitation dipping his index and middle fingers into the moistness of your slit. He sucked in a ragged breath listening to you whine in complaint, his fingers coaxing that sweet little hole of yours to open up for them. You weren’t wearing any undergarments. 

“Is this what you want?” his voice had grown ragged, while he teased you amazed at how wet you already were. 

“Y-yes, please,” you mewled while your thighs trembled in anticipation.  

The next few moments were lost... you didn’t notice when you had been shifted onto all fours, didn’t notice when Naoya had placed the pillows on the bed so that they rested under your belly to keep you comfortable. 

The only thing that registered in that foggy mind of yours was the searing heat of him sinking into you slowly from behind. It sent a ferocious tingle up your spine, your walls coiling snugly against him once he was inside. 

And although he was gentle with you throughout the night, his powerful, slow thrusts seemed to send you over the edge much sooner than you had ever gone before. 

You didn’t remember anything after he sent you toppling over the edge of the earth. Just his warmth and the darkness of your dreams guiding you into the dawn of the next day. 

[hopeandduty]

Day 16: Third Rate

“Are you really as old as they say?”

It is not an unexpected question, but to hear it now, begs the question of what its poser truly wished to ask.  

It is not difficult to see that Erenville is troubled. Themis has never noted him as particularly talkative even during moments of levity amidst the group, but his silence now weighs as heavily as his heart and Themis would not have made for much of an Emissary if he unable to recognize it. The source is no question, of course. Despite the gentle golden glow of this Living Memory, as it has been named, Erenville carries the weight of the dead.

“While I do not know what precisely has been said, I have lived for far longer than even the eldest of your kind.” Themis offers in answer. He wonders if even he could estimate the exact number of years it has been. He has long lost track. “However, if you wish to know of the ancient past, I fear my memory is ill-suited to such a query. Hades would be the better person to ask. Yet something tells me you are not suddenly taken with curiosity over ancient fauna.”

The lengthy pause is its own answer. Erenville wrangles with his question, unable to tame it as easily as he does the creatures around him. Themis permits him the time to try and pin it down, letting the brief attempts he makes with a parting of lips and a lack of words to go unacknowledged until he finds it. 

“What… defines a person? What makes them… who they are?” He finally asks, his gaze a distant thing. “Is it their memories? Their soul? I’ve heard that you were once capable of creating constructs of those lost in the past. I thought perhaps you might know.”

Granting it voice places the weight of the question in the air between them, and even the glittering lights of Yesterland cannot temper it. 

“You ask about your mother.” Obvious though it may be, better that all be placed in the open where it may not wholly crush him. 

Erenville’s frame seizes, his shoulders curl inward. “I want to speak with her, there is much I would ask, that I should tell her and yet… I am plagued by doubt. Do I insult her memory by playing games with some third rate imitation of her? Am I only trying to make myself feel better? Get rid of my own guilt. I… I just wish to know if it is really her.”

Themis lets out a long and slow breath. “Would that I could offer you an answer, but in truth I do not know, nor do I think we ever did even in the ancient past. Soul and memory couple within physical bodies to grant life to the people we know. Yet once man was capable of ignoring the barriers of the physical body, had power to peer into the soul of another. As Ascians did we often take the bodies of others for our own, thus one could deduce that the physical vessel bears little influence on one’s identity.”

“But what about the mind? The soul?” 

“It is… difficult to say. I may be yet another example. Though you may not be aware, I am not truly Themis.” 

“You’re… not?”

Themis shakes his head. “The one known as Themis in the ancient world surrendered his life, his soul and will, to give birth to Zodiark and I was the heart born of this process. Though I have inherited his soul I am not truly the same being as he. Can I, who carries his soul and only some of his memories, truly claim to be ‘Themis’? I do not know. Also once were my memories grafted onto an empty soul in the Aetherial Sea, giving birth to a ‘Themis’ as well. Were they, who held his memories more fully but did not possess his soul, more worthy to call themselves Themis than I?”

“Forgive me, I was… unaware.”

“There is no need for apologies,” Themis insists. “It is simply the truth of my existence, and one I hoped may offer you some insight. I cannot control how others perceive me; whether they think of me as Themis in their hearts or as someone else entirely, one who has inherited his legacy.”

Erenville already has his answer; Themis can tell by the way his eyes cast downwards to the crowd of Endless children playing below. It is accepting it that he struggles with.   

“These Endless are constructs of memory, emptied of the souls they once possessed,” Themis continues. “Yet they remain as perfect mirrors of the person they were when this separation occurred. This is what we can say for certain. Whether they truly are the people they once were, whether interacting with them has meaning is not an answer that they possess. The only person who can assign that meaning is you.” 

“I… want it to be her. I want it to be her so badly.” Erenville’s voice carries the same tremor as his shoulders. “There is so much I wished to say to her, but– but am I only doing it to make myself feel better? Because I cannot accept that she has died?” 

“Even if that were true, would it matter?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Even if it is born in part from denial, even if it is only to ease the weight on your heart, is your desire to speak with her wrong? Is the act of it? Would your mother be angry with you for indulging in a memory of her?” Themis knows that his understanding of family, of parents differs fundamentally from that of the sundered, so he cannot truly offer an answer. But he can pose the question that Erenville might realize he already knows. 

“She would grow angry with me if I didn’t…” Erenville shakes his head, a sorrowful smile twistign at his lips. “She would scold me for holding back so. I would never hear the end of it.” 

“Then let that be your answer.” 

“Perhaps… it will have to be. There are only three terminals left.” 

“Then be certain in that time that you will have no regrets.” 

Erenville nods quietly to himself, his budding resolve slowly taking root. He steps back from the rail and motions to leave, pausing only a few steps away. 

“For what it is worth, I did not know the Themis of the past, but I am grateful to have known you.” 

A smile curls quietly at his lips. 

“Likewise, my friend.”

[sissytobitch10seconds]

A Duo of Three

Fandom: Free Guy Summary: He's always been insecure, but he didn't think that he would feel that way towards the first healthy relationship that he's ever been in. Warnings: Insecurity, jealousy, and miscommunication Word Count: 3,485 Ship(s): Millie Rusk/Mouser/Walter "Keys" McKey

Archive link!

A/N: I have finally written a oneshot for every single member of this polycule! I'm not going to put them into a series because I don't think they're connected for that but you can go looking for them if you're interested in reading the Millie or Keys one. Stay sissy and bitchy everyone &lt;3

Mouser had always been somewhat insecure. It came with the territory of being the youngest out of three kids. He was never enough for his parents because he had way too much to live up to, and his siblings had always resented him because they believed that he didn’t have to work as hard to get the approval that they wanted. When he went to school, he began to flourish as a gifted kid, but that was quickly crushed when he moved to college and was around actual peers. 

He thought that he would have been over it by now, but it seems like the universe is always dedicated to proving him wrong. He thought that working for one of the best tech companies in the world (at the time, because it quickly crashed and burned once it could no longer exploit people) and then with the most popular game of their day and age would have given him the confidence that he needed.

Yet, he found himself wallowing in the feeling again, years after he had thought that it would pass. It was like a great black maw had opened up in his belly so that it could suck in every tiny bit of joy that he would have gotten had it been a normal day. In return for the light and warmth that the stomach-sized black hole took from him, it replaced those feelings with a chill and darkness that Mouser wasn’t quite sure how to deal with.

Those feelings felt like they were exploding out of him. They had long since moved out of the tiny apartment that Millie had been renting when they all got together, into a little house in the suburbs where they wouldn’t be flocked with people. It was in a gated community too, so there was a very slim chance of any paparazzi getting past the armed guards at the gate to come and harass them.

He had never seen his life going in that direction when he was younger, even if he had dreamed about being a keynote speaker at some gaming conference or interviewed on late night talk shows. Realistically, there was always something in the back of his mind that told him that would never actually happen. It was something that every kid dreamed of but very few kids actually got to entertain.

Arguably, the only thing that he should be capable of feeling at this stage in his life is grateful for what he had. He grew up watching his parents struggle against the systemic oppression of their country and he had been able to give them a comfortable retirement home and whatever else it was that they had wanted. He had been given the chance to rise on the privilege of others so that he broke a ceiling for other kids like him. He had a comfortable house, a working car, all the food that he liked stocked in his fridge and pantry, friends, a dog that was polite and kind, and two wonderful partners.

But instead of being grateful that he had been given that, he was just nervous that he was going to lose it all. The time when he was twenty and staying in the same apartment as the two developers he was rapidly falling in love with had long since passed. Now they were pushing their mid thirties and they were more successful than he could have ever dreamed.

Their home was comfortable, their friends were kind, they were able to choose to eat out every night if Millie would stop insisting that it was unhealthy. And yet he was still worried that he was inadequate. 

It was something stupid that had brought the massive wave that he was wading his way through currently, something that could easily be cleared up with a tiny bit of communication. It wasn’t the first time that he had felt like that in his relationship and he was sure that it wasn’t going to be the last, but that didn’t make the situation any easier to navigate.

So instead of talking to them about it like the reasonable adult that he was sure was rattling around in his brain somewhere, he woke up early the morning that he could no longer stand feeling like that and walked out to their backyard.

He went out there whenever he was feeling nervous about something because it was grounding. He had lived in one of the biggest cities in America for as long as he could remember, so grass had been a luxury even at the playground of his school. He loved being able to have a very reasonable patch of it in his backyard, though it was mostly reserved for their dog. The rest of the space was supposed to be clover but Keys had never actually gotten around to ordering it from their landscaping company like he always promised to.

The smell of the coffee in the mug he had grabbed before coming out was enough to wake him up, but the burn of it in the back of his mouth was just as grounding as the sun and the grass. It was a beautiful summer day with just enough of an early-morning breeze that he could hear Millie’s lilac tree rustling in the wind. Keys’ fruit trees lined their back fence but hadn’t begun to produce anything yet, instead laden with little green buds.

He hadn’t chosen to put anything in their back garden because he didn’t know what kind of things rich people like them were supposed to grow. Both of his partners had laughed and kissed him on the cheek before they had begun the great rush to get ready for work.

Mouser let out a low breath as he tried to beat back the feelings that had been overwhelming him again. The point of coming outside was to think until Rover woke them, not to wallow.

They had recently cleaned up their little patch of grass, so he was able to sit down on the corner closest to the trees without having to worry about dog debris. He tilted his head up towards the early morning Summer sun so that it was casting the warm beams down directly onto his face. It soothed the ache in his heart at least a little bit and he was reminded of the lecture that Millie had gone on the other day concerning vitamin D and what she had dubbed ‘lizard time’.

He let out a low breath and then tilted his head down towards the cup clutched in his hands. He had to think about everything practically or he was never going to get it out of his head and it would plague him forever. His thoughts felt like a jumbled mess of code that someone had come in and changed without leaving any notes. He was struggling to read it but was also unable to figure out the why and how everything was working.

Two months after Keys and Millie had gotten together, a while after they had gotten the rights to their game back, Mouser had admitted his feelings for the duo and then been brought into their relationship as a third. It was one of the best things that had ever happened to him and he wouldn’t give it up for anything. Something had always bothered him, though, and it wasn’t something that he had discussed with either of his partners up to that point.

Mouser had thought that he had gotten up and slipped out of the house early enough that he would have had at least an hour to himself, but the sliding glass door that led out onto their patio opened and revealed the very people that he was thinking about. Rover darted out of the house and down towards his owner, barking loudly.

“Hey puppy,” Mouser chuckled as he ran his hand over the soft golden hair on the top of his head. They had made an impulse decision when they had adopted a senior pet, but he had immediately gotten the energy of a puppy when he was in a house that actually cared for him and gave him the attention that he needed.

He got a lick to his face for his troubles before Rover ran off to do whatever it was that he did when they let him outside in the morning. Carefully, Mouser tilted his head up so that he could see his partners and take in what they were doing. Millie was dressed in a pair of baggy blue sweatpants that had the heels walked off and a large sleep shirt that Mouser was half sure was his. Keys was wearing a pair of tartan flannel sleep shorts that they had gotten him as a gag gift for his birthday and nothing else.

They looked towards each other as they stepped out onto the deck, saying something that Mouser wasn’t able to make out because of how far away he was. He was kind of relieved about it, even though he usually liked being in the know about everything that was going on around him. He wasn’t sure that his already fragile mind was going to be able to handle them rejecting him or realizing how much they loved each other over him.

The moment that thought popped into his head, he wasn’t able to resist the cringe that forced its way over his features. The entire point of him getting up and going outside was to find out what was bothering him so much about what had happened yesterday and why. He hadn’t thought that it would come to him when he saw the very people that had caused the emotion, however.

Jealousy wasn’t something that had a place in polyamorous relationships. Of course, it was a human emotion and thus it was likely to crop up every now and again. The difference between polyamorous and monogamous relationships was that jealousy was supposed to be addressed as soon as the person feeling it realized what was happening to avoid situations that blew up and shattered the whole dynamic into pieces. 

He wasn’t sure that what he was feeling was actually jealousy, however. It had a lot of the hallmarks, like the tight stomach and sour feeling in his heart, but it was also different. He felt a fluttering in his ears like his heart was beating too hard and his throat felt tight with anxiety. He was nervous and insecure, he realized with a start.

Mouser had been so wrapped up in his own head that he hadn’t even noticed the duo making their way down the steps of the deck and carefully over the stone path that led through the untouched dirt and woodchips to their patch of grass. They settled down beside him, both of them facing towards him while half of their body was pressed against the other. It made the anxiety he had already been experiencing increase tenfold.

“What are you doing up so early?” Millie asked, rubbing her eye awkwardly. She reached out and took his coffee cup like it was the most natural thing in the world. Given how much of the stuff that they consumed and the fact that they were often too busy to make more than a single mug, it was. It always had been, even before they had gotten together. 

Some of the insecurity that had been brewing inside of him settled when he saw her realization that he had made it according to his tastes and not hers. She made a face so that her mouth was a tight line and her nose was wrinkled cutely. Keys took his coffee black, Millie took hers with cream and two sugars, and Mouser took his with french vanilla syrup or blueberry cobbler creamer. 

“I just came out here to think,” he answered after a second, offering them both a small shrug.

“What’s on your mind, then?” Keys asked. He took the coffee cup from Millie and took a sip, making the same face that she had before it finished the circle and ended up back in Mouser’s waiting hands.

He didn’t answer them right away, instead turning his head so that he could watch their golden retriever digging through the remnants of the flowerbed meant for him. He really should have taken them up on the offer to plant something there so that the outside of the house looked just as much like he owned it as it did for them. He didn’t really know why he hadn’t, his mother would have loved to give him advice about the best types of flowers and what they meant.

Millie reached out and then knocked her foot against his leg. It made his attention snap back to her in a second, like he wasn’t always thinking about her. She was cutest when she had just woken up, that was something that he had decided a long time ago. She had her hair back in a ponytail that was partially falling loose around her face and the hickies they had left on her the week prior were peaking out over the massive shirt that she was wearing. She kept having to stifle her yawns and her eyes would droop before she blinked.

“What?” he asked, forgetting the question that she had just asked.

Keys and Millie shared a look with each other, which was also something that they did whenever they were being interviewed about their company. That insecure feeling broke through Mouser’s walls again and wrapped its fist around his stomach so that he actually felt sick. 

“Come on, kitten, don’t make us crack in your code like you’re a glitching AI in our game,” Keys chuckled.

The nickname made his cheeks flame to life. It was supposed to be a joke about the nickname that he used in place of the one that he was given by his parents. They had tried to call him ‘Keyboard’ and a number of other computer related parts in the beginning of their relationship as they tried to find something that they could keep just for them, but they found that it was too confusing given what they worked with every day. He was okay with it, especially since they hadn’t gone with the dog breeds that were specifically bred to hunt mice.

He let out a small sigh and then drained the rest of his coffee. The sugar and caffeine worked together as they hit his system so that he felt more awake and able to actually articulate his feelings. “I’m thinking about the proposal.”

“What about it?” Millie asked. She shuffled forward on the grass so that they both had their legs folded and she was able to take his hand. Keys stayed where he was, watching them both with careful eyes so that he could see where he fit in. Mouser related to that a lot, he felt as though he had been doing that every second that he had been in the relationship instead of just physically like his boyfriend was doing now.

“I just…” he paused and had to clear his throat. The words were sticking in his mouth like toffee, uncomfortable and coating his teeth with a taste he wasn’t fond of. It was so hard to be vulnerable and real with them in the way that this kind of conversation required, but he was trying to force it out of where it was stuck. Mouser decided to stare down at where Millie was holding his hand so that he didn’t have to meet those beautiful, sleepy eyes of hers as he admitted, “I’m kind of wondering where I’m going to fit in when the two of you are married and I’m not.”

Millie jerked back very suddenly and it made Mouser raise his head from where he had bowed it so that he could see what was going on. Her bright blue eyes were now wide open and she looked like she had just consumed a whole bag of espresso beans. She whirled around so that she was facing their partner and then said, “Keys!”

“Shit, I mean, fuck,” he began patting his pockets like he was searching for something.

“Why would you have it on you right now? We just got out of bed!” Millie screeched. She was moving on her hands and knees as she made her way over to him so that she could smack his shoulder. “You made him worry for nothing, go and get it right now!”

Mouser didn’t think that he had ever been as confused as he currently was. His boyfriend and girlfriend were always like that with each other, which showed just how long they had known the other, but they very rarely got that upset about anything. He also had no idea why his admission would be making them act like that, but he supposed that there was a chance he was so unimportant that they hadn’t even been actually listening to what he said.

Keys scrambled to his feet as he said, “Yes, okay, yeah.”

He had only just disappeared into the house when Millie turned around. “I’m so sorry that you were feeling like this and we didn’t figure it out. We just got so wrapped up in the announcements that I guess it slipped Keys’ mind. If I had been in charge of it then I wouldn’t have forgotten at all.”

He still wasn’t completely aware of what she was talking about, but he knew that was true. Keys and Millie were the heads of their company and Mouser was under them as their head manager since he had no knowledge about how to run a company and really wasn’t interested in it. Millie was the one that remembered all of their meetings and everything that they had said. Mouser was half convinced that Keys would be walking into doors and getting lost in server rooms if she wasn’t there to direct him towards where he was meant to be going.

The aforementioned man came running back to where his partners were sitting down and then flopped beside them. “So you already know about the ring that I got for Millie when I proposed to her but what you don’t know and were supposed to find out about last night before I promptly forgot after all the interview requests that we started getting,” he began before anyone else could speak. Usually that fact would put their partner out of sorts, but this time she just stared at him with a fond smile on her face.

He pulled a velvet box similar to the one that had been on top of his dresser for the last two months, the one that Mouser had assumed he had presented to Millie during their date. “I was already planning on proposing to Millie after talking to you about it when we went on that nice date at the arcade, but when I went into the jewelry shop so that I could pick something out for her, the only thing that I could think about was you. So I picked this up and figured that I could propose to you and we could get married in the eyes of our friends and family or just Rover even if we can’t get married legally,” he rambled.

Mouser didn’t say anything as he reached out and took the box from his partner. He opened it up and saw that there was a hardy silver band engraved with little slashes where gemstones might have gone if the buyer had wanted it. It was practical but still weighty enough that he would always remember it was there when he had it on.

The thought came to him so quickly he hadn’t even realized that he was having it. He glanced up at Keys with wide eyes just as the other man asked, “So what do you say?”

“What do I say?” he snorted, raising both of his eyebrows. “I told you that I was feeling insecure in our relationship and you fucking proposed to me. That’s the most us shit ever, Keys.”

Keys let his shoulders fall as he laughed eagerly. “I was so worried that you were going to say no because I forgot.”

“You forget everything,” Millie teased with their shared fiance nodding alongside her. 

Their conversation continued even after they were joined by their rambunctious dog. Mouser made an internal note that he should contact his therapist about better ways to handle those kinds of feelings and then settled into the love that came with being around his partners. This was a problem that wasn’t going to go away for a while, maybe ever, but for now the demons had been forced back by the heavy metal weight on his ring finger.

[sapientiiae]

@guideoftime asked: [ rescue ] sender carries receiver to safety inu spams meg's inbox continuation of x

The way Sheik moved with such speed and precision was something Zelda had never imagined — and she had occasionally witnessed the way Impa had trained him simply because there was nothing else to do with her in the palace when she was not busy with her studies. He was fearless, eliminating one monster after the other while she was perched safely from the tree he’d left her in.

She’d asked if he’d ever been afraid, but watching him now — after he’d jumped from the tree and put his life on the line for her safety — she firmly believed the answer was no. The man had served under Ganondorf so he could relay secret intel to her and Impa, guided Link and witnessed more than enough horrors along the way, and yet he still put up a fight without a second thought. Fighting and protecting seemed all but ingrained in him, a well-crafted blade after years of sharpening.

It had been difficult to follow his orders while he’d faced each of the beasts alone, but seeing him now, unharmed and peering up at her from the base of the tree, provided just as much relief as she’d felt when Ganondorf was finally defeated.

Sheik was okay, and he was waiting expectantly. Smiling softly down at him, she’d been about to climb down from the tree when he’d called out to her, and immediately she froze.

“Jump. This time I will catch you, Zelda.”

Immediately she knows what he is talking about, the words spinning on repeat in her head and throwing her heart for a loop — having gone from a panicked trot to a normal (and relieved) pace and now an irregular gallop as she was flooded with the memory. She’d been a handful as a child, always creating problems for Sheik (something she now regretted as an adult), and there was a wave of guilt now knowing she’d been the reason he’d broken his arm when he was ten, especially when she’d been too absorbed in her own scraped up knees to notice how hurt he’d been. 

Yet here he was, beckoning her to jump from the tree, promising to catch her.

And with a deep breath, she closes her eyes and makes the leap, ready for him to catch her — knowing that he would. Because Sheik would never make a promise he didn’t intend to keep, and he’d caught her so many times since then, even if he hadn’t realized it.

As expected, she’d landed safely in his arms, the feel of them around her comforting as he’d cradled her against his chest to keep from dropping her. Slowly her eyes open, met with a carmine gaze that peered down at her, her lips curling into a smile. He’d caught her, just as she knew he would. A mistake of their past righted.

Thanking him, Zelda unwound her arms from his neck, ready to be set back on her feet so they could continue their journey. Instead, his grip on her only tightens, cradling her close and refusing to let her down. 

Given their run in with the monsters just now, he didn’t seem comfortable with letting her out of his grasp, as if more might appear and bring her harm the moment her feet hit the grass. And for once, she would make it easy; the Princess of Hyrule didn’t argue or insist that she was capable of walking herself because he already knew that. Her being able to walk wasn’t the issue. 

And she was content with being carried — content to just be in his arms as long as he would have her.

[teconkaals]

Walking With A Ghost Chapter 2

After the mission in Chicago, Ghost begins to think about Soap and why he's so insistent on being his friend.

AO3 Chapter link: Chapter 2: One More Heartbeat

Fanfic Masterlist: Here

Previous chapter: Chapter 1 - Not So Cold

Next Chapter: Chapter 3 -  Back Home

Wordcount: 6352

Rating: Mature

Tags of the fanfic (some of them): hurt/comfort, taking care of each other, blood and violence, happy ending, non explicit sex

I don’t give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform (I’m publishing on my Ao3 account both English and Spanish).

The missile had exploded before landing on Washington thanks to Soap, so half the mission was done. He didn’t know how, but the Scottish had found the controls and, with Laswell’s help, managed to sabotage it. Now they just had to find Hassan. Although the priority was to catch him, they had authorization to eliminate him, so he didn’t care too much if he made it out alive or not. On the other hand…

He snorted.

At that time, the terrorist was not his priority. Someone else had passed by and, in a way, he hated himself a little for giving in to it. He could see the flashes of the shots on the different floors, but the building was huge. More than sixty floors. Too many.

And that idiot could be anywhere, he thought with a mixture of anger and concern. And unarmed. Again.

He couldn’t explain how someone could lose their weapon so easily. In all his years as a soldier, he had only lost it when it had been torn from his hands. Still, he knew Soap wasn’t like him and, in a way, it took a load off his shoulders.

But he sure is shaking with fear.

Of course, his partner would never admit it. He was the kind of person who pretended everything was fine.

He snorted again.

“Good job, Johnny,” he whispered into the comm channel. “Now comes the hard part.”

“That was hard, Lt.”

Ghost closed his eyes for a second when he heard the tired tone that his words had. Just as he thought, he was not in the same mood as in Las Almas. And he understood it. They had barely had time to rest since they left there, even he was exhausted, but they couldn’t let it get to them. They had to make one last effort.

“We’ll see. You’ve to stay alive,” he replied neutrally, although internally he was begging him. “Take out the guards and kill Hassan.”

His partner snorted.

“With a glass pick? I don’t think it’s easy.”

He was surprised to see someone as positive as Soap say such demoralizing words. No, he wasn’t going to let him fall apart.

“It’ll help you to stab one of them. You can steal his weapon and face them. Remember what you learned in Las Almas.”

Soap chuckled bitterly.

“I’ve several things, but I don’t think it’s enough.”

Ghost peered through the rifle scope, trying to locate it. He could see Hassan’s men patrolling a few plants, but no sign of the Scotsman. He hoped that meant he was well hidden. Although he would like to say that everything would be fine, that he remained calm and that this was the same as in Mexico, he didn’t feel capable. He wasn’t that kind of person. Besides, he was convinced that Soap would be more nervous if he told him that. He internally cursed himself for not being a loquacious person, for not having the facility to fill in the silences, because he knew that Soap would relax when he listened to him. Price was kind enough to tell him about it after getting them out of Las Almas.

“Apparently, you’ve a voice that calms the nerves,” he’d said with a half smile. “Soap told me,” added, seeing Ghost look at him. “That he was able to meet with you because you’re talking to him.”

He hadn’t stopped thinking about it ever since. He’d always considered his voice too deep, too raspy for anyone to relax with. On the contrary, he believed that it was what truly terrified his enemies. Maybe it was some kind of kink? No, he didn’t think so. Soap seemed like the type of person who exuded the same purity as a golden retriever puppy.

Then, why…?

His thought was interrupted when his mate grunted in pain.

“Damn glass…!”

“What happened?” He asked, feeling his heart race a little as he heard a burst of gunshots followed by a curse in Scots. “Johnny?”

He forced himself to take a deep breath to relax. Soap didn’t answer and the silence in his ear began to weigh more and more.

“Johnny, are you there?” He asked again, this time without hiding the concern he felt.

He cocked his head at the noise and knew that the channel had been left open. Simon heard a low moan that he identified as his mate’s and, furthermore, something being dragged.

Damn, they got him.

He put the rifle on better and searched, desperately, on the different floors. Ghost saw no one but his own partners, searching the lower floors. At some point, while he was rambling, Soap had managed to finish off the remaining Al-Qatala men. And that was making it difficult for him to locate him.

“I told you that your nation would burn,” a voice said then.

Ghost recognized it as Hassan’s and gripped the rifle a little tighter.

“Do you really think you can stop me?” Hassan added.

“Ghost…”

Soap’s voice, barely a hoarse pained whisper, made him release the breath he’d been holding.

“Johnny…” He whispered, half relieved, half anguished. Soap was still in danger, however, knowing he’s alive took a weight off his mind. “Where…?”

“Watch out for the windows!” Whispered his partner, interrupting him.

Suddenly, one of the windows on the thirty-seventh floor exploded and Ghost fixed his attention there. He shouldered the rifle again and searched inside the building. There. Hassan dropped the gun to the ground and grabbed Soap by his vest, lifting him up and punching him. Ghost caressed the trigger, fighting the anger building inside him, the nervousness that weighed on his stomach. If he failed, his friend died. Either because of the bullet or because of the fall.

He forced himself to focus. Hassan was saying something that he didn’t pay attention to as he struggled with Soap. He just had to find an opening to shoot.

Got you.

He pulled the trigger and the bullet went clean through Hassan’s head. Both he and Soap fell to the ground, though the Scotsman raised himself a little, landing on one knee. He turned to the window for a moment and Ghost listened to how he sighed.

“A perfect shot, Lt.”

Ghost took a deep breath and looked away from the scope. Soap was alive. He’d saved the life of his stupid mate again and that eased the weight in his stomach.

He snapped back to reality when someone taped him on the shoulder. He sat up at once and looked around. Soap was next to him, holding two bottles of beer with that big smile on his face. The one that illuminated any dark corner of the world.

“What’s wrong, Lt.?” He asked, placing one of the bottles in front of him and sitting in the chair on the other side of the table. “You fell asleep while I went to get supplies?”

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY - TF 141 ONE MORE HEARTBEAT CHICAGO, USA NOVEMBER 4, 2022, 05:30

Ghost looked at the beer in front of him and raised an eyebrow. He turned it around to see the label and snorted. It wasn’t his favorite, too soft, but he wasn’t going to complain either. Soap didn’t know which type he liked.

He lifted his mask a little, just enough to expose his mouth.

“I was thinking, nothing more,” Simon simply answered, taking a sip of the drink.

“Thinking,” Soap repeated, still smiling. “Sure. And what were you thinking, Lt.?”

“How close you’ve come to dying again.”

John’s smile dimmed a bit and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. Ghost cursed himself for saying it out loud. Although he wasn’t drunk, he sure had drunk more than he should have and now he was paying the consequences.

They had gathered there with Laswell, Price and Gaz to celebrate Hassan’s downfall. As usual, it hadn’t all been good news: Makarov’s name appeared on the table again. However, Price brushed the matter off and told them to rest for a couple days before going back to work. Then they withdrew, leaving him alone. Or so he thought. Although Soap had risen from the table with them, he hadn’t left the bar; he’d gone over to the bar to order another couple of beers while he’d lost himself in reminiscing about the mission.

“Well… it’s not like I’m doing it on purpose.”

His partner's voice brought him back to reality again. Simon fixed his gaze on him as he noticed a bitter tone in his words. Soap's attention was focused on the bottle of beer, as if it were the most important thing in the world, and he was turning it between his fingers, distracted.

No, he’s not distracted.

“I guess I’m just unlucky,” he added with a half smile and a shrug.

There it was. Downplaying a serious topic was something he did often. And Ghost didn't like it. Keeping things to oneself, and pretending that everything was fine, was counterproductive. He bit back a bitter laugh. He wasn't the one to talk. Since childhood he had kept his mouth shut about his troubles, always keeping silent as he wore a mask of cold indifference. That had helped him with many things, yes, and it had also left him with a lot of unresolved traumas.

But this isn't about me, he reminded himself.

“Don’t do that,” Ghost replied softly. John looked at him blankly. “What happened in Las Almas, and in that building, is chasing you even if you want to hide it.”

Soap opened his mouth to say something, though he seemed to change his mind when he closed it. He sighed and shook his head, drinking some of the beer.

“I guess it’s easy for you.” His voice sounded a little lower. “How do you do it?” He asked, looking into his eyes. “How do you manage to always be so… imperturbable?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

John was silent for a few seconds and shook his head.

“Dunno. I just want to stop thinking about it. Not having… nightmares.”

Ghost felt how something broke inside him seeing Soap so dejected and he tried to manage it by drinking from the bottle. He snorted. It wasn't strong enough.

“You’ve to learn to deal with it. I know it’s not easy, but you can’t let that experience shut you down either. You’ve done a good job.”

“You were there to give me a hand,” John replied bitterly.

“The first time,” he pointed out. “The second you did it yourself. Don’t compare to anyone because it’s not about being the best, it’s about surviving. You said it: we’re a team. And you’re not alone, Johnny.”

“Said the one who brags about working alone,” John replied, drinking from the beer.

Simon stared at him for a few seconds, feeling a pang of pain at the comment. It was true, he had always worked alone because he felt like a grim reaper on Earth, taking lives without remorse. Taking care of others was one thing he wasn't good at. Well, he really wasn't good at any kind of social relationship.

He looked away from John at his own beer.

“I think you've had too much to drink,” he commented, deflecting the subject when he saw that his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright.

Soap snorted.

“Your ability to change the subject is incredible,” he growled, finishing his drink in a gulp. “And also you think we don't realize it.”

Ghost fell silent and John clicked his tongue.

“I don't even know why I bother,” he added in a bitter tone.

He made a move to get up, however, Simon held him back when he spoke.

“I… I don't like people.” John looked at him, surprised, and Ghost focused again on the bottle in front of him. It was empty, but it was the best option to distract himself. “Physical contact, banal conversations, the presence of people... are things that usually make me uncomfortable. Sometimes they even irritate me.”

John sat back down and looked at him carefully.

“Well, it doesn't look like it,” he commented, and Ghost looked at him, raising an eyebrow even though he knew his partner wouldn't be able to see it. “I mean, yes, you're aloof with everyone,” he waved his hand vaguely, “but…you also care about those around you. In your own way, of course.”

Simon looked back at the bottle and took a deep breath. He knew that Soap was right, that he was looking out for the well-being of others. Even though he tried to fool himself by acting like a dry, silent lone wolf, he had let a small group of people stay close to him. He sometimes wondered if that was okay, if being around people was good. His experience with people had made it clear that they always ended up hurting him. That's why he didn't trust anyone.

Have I lowered my guard?

“I think we should go back to the hotel,” Soap said then. Ghost looked at him and he smiled. “Although I talk too much, I know how to understand silences. Come on, the fresh air will do us both good.”

Simon sighed and got up. His partner imitated him and they both went outside. He pulled his hood closer as a draft swept across the street. Although winter hadn't yet arrived in Chicago, it was quite cold, and for a moment, he longed for a jacket. Luckily for them, the hotel was nearby and they wouldn't have time to catch a cold on the way.

He let Soap lead the way, watching that he didn't fall off. He was the one who had drunk more of the two and had already stumbled a couple of times. The Scotsman had laughed and kept walking casually, hugging a lamppost and talking to it until Ghost pulled him away. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but smile. His chest warmed a little, and this time, he wasn't surprised to feel it.

Even so…

He was glad to get to the hotel. He wasn't sure how to handle all of this and all he was thinking about was getting on the bed and sleeping. He wanted to forget those feelings, that nice warm sensation and feel the usual cold. He felt like a fish out of water, like a lion with its fangs and claws removed. He felt vulnerable.

And he hated it.

“Do you want to have the last drink?”

He snapped back to reality when Soap spoke. They were in front of his room and the Scotsman had the key card in his hand, smiling. He didn't know if it was because he was drunk, but he thought the expression on his face was affectionate.

“It's not bourbon, but I have whiskey. Scottish, of course,” he added, widening his smile.

“You're drunk, Johnny,” he pointed out.

“What?” Soap asked indignantly. “No, no fucking way!”

“You tried to flirt with a streetlight less than ten minutes ago.”

John blinked and frowned.

“Was it a lamppost?” he asked and clicked his tongue, swearing in Scots. “It already seemed to me that I was less bulky than you.”

Ghost's skin crawled hearing it. Had he flirted with a streetlight thinking it was him? No, impossible. It had to be the alcohol, John had had too much drink that night and he didn't know what he was saying.

Or maybe yes?

“Doesn’t matter. Wanna pass or not?”

Simon looked at his partner for a moment. Did he fancy that drink? Not really; but deep down he was afraid that Soap would fall on the floor and fall asleep there. He nodded and John smirked; he entered the room and left the door open for him. Ghost closed it softly and took a look around the place.

The room was similar to his own: a large bed, a toilet, and a table with a couple of chairs. There was a television hanging from the ceiling and the windows faced the street, although the curtains were drawn. The only difference between his rooms was the mess of his mate. There were clothes on the floor, scattered haphazardly, and a couple of books on the nightstand. Simon cocked his head. He didn't know that he liked to read.

“What I don't have is ice,” John commented, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Nevermind.”

The Scotsman filled the glasses and dropped into one of the chairs. He gestured for him to take the other and Ghost complied, picking up the remaining glass on the table and peering at it.

“You can take off your mask if you want.” Soap took a sip. “The curtains are drawn and no one will be able to see you. Except for me, of course, but I've already seen your face,” he smiled again.

Simon looked at him for several long seconds, evaluating his words. He was so used to wearing a head covering that it hadn't even occurred to him to remove it. Few people had seen his face and they were all trustworthy, at least enough to know that they would not go around telling it. He hoped to intimidate them enough to keep their mouths shut. Ghost took a deep breath and put his hand to the back of his neck, tugging at the edge of his balaclava to remove it.

John smiled a little more and drank without taking his eye off him.

“That's better.” He put the glass down on the table. “I’ve to admit that you were right, Lt.”

“About what?” Ghost asked, raising the glass to his lips and taking a long drink. He was going to need it.

“What you told me in Las Almas.” Soap shrugged and shifted his chair so that he could lean his back against the wall, facing the other side of the room. “You’re not ugly.”

Ghost felt him blush and reached for the balaclava, however, his partner was faster and took it off.

“Have you turned red?” He asked in a mocking tone, playing with the garment.

“Of course. I've had too much to drink. Like you.”

John laughed and shook his head.

“Sure, Lieutenant. It's an alcohol thing.”

Simon took another swallow of the whiskey and considered reaching for the bottle directly. This had been a bad idea. Really bad. He thought that Soap would fall on the floor and he would have to drag him to the bed, nothing more. He didn't think he was so… lucid despite having almost more alcohol than blood in his body.

“I should get out now.”

He finished his whiskey and got up. Soap looked at him, raising his eyebrows. He glanced at the table, then at him.

“You're leaving now?” he asked. There was no trace of mockery or joy in his voice.

“It's late and we should both rest. Especially you.”

John clicked his tongue.

“I'm fine.”

“No, you're not, Johnny. Today you have been under a lot of stress, your body needs to rest.”

“My body needs something else, Lt.,” he replied, smiling.

Simon snorted and picked up the bottle of whiskey, taking it back to the small fridge in the room. He walked over to his partner and held out his hand.

“My mask.”

John's smile widened and he stood up.

“I think I'm going to keep it as a souvenir,” he said, moving away from the table and away from him. “Maybe I'll start wearing it,” he added, eyeing the garment with interest. “Do you think it will fit me…?”

He didn't finish the sentence because he tripped over his own feet and fell to the ground. He blinked in surprise, before laughing. Then sighed.

“Okay, I think I’m drunk.”

Ghost walked over to him in time to see him yawn. He shook his head and offered her his hand. Soap took it and pulled himself up with his help, stumbling again and leaning against him. Simon said nothing, holding him tight and guiding him to the bed, where he forced him to sit.

“Are you going to sleep with me, Lt.?” asked Soap mockingly.

“No.”

Soap snorted.

“Killjoy,” he protested, leaning over to remove his boots.

He nearly fell over as he lost his balance and Ghost caught him again, shoving him hard onto the bed to get him to lie down. He dropped to one knee and took a deep breath as he untied his partner's boots. Suddenly, he felt that he had returned to his brother Tommy's house and that he was helping his nephew put on her sneakers. He felt his heart sink as he remembered that none of them were alive, and his gaze unfocused.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He looked up and saw Soap sitting across from him. The worried expression on his face told him that he had externalized his thoughts too much. He nodded wordlessly and finished untying the boot, pulling it off easily.

“Hey, if you need…”

“I don't need to talk about anything,” he cut in more abruptly than he intended.

“Ok, I'm sorry.”

Ghost felt guilty as soon as he heard John's apology and forced himself to take a deep breath. He quickly untied the other boot.

“It's… complicated.”

“You don’t have to explain to me. I know you haven't opened up to anyone, so it's normal for you to have a little trouble talking about your things.”

He looked at him and John smiled kindly.

“You're also much more expressive than I thought,” he added, and Ghost yanked on the boot, making him laugh. “And you don't take compliments well.”

“Next time, I won't let you drink so much,” Simon growled, getting up and shoving Soap back onto the bed.

“That sounds good.” He yawned. “It means you haven't gotten tired of me.”

“We’re partners, I have no choice but to put up with you.”

It wasn't what he wanted to say, but it would have to do. He had assumed that there was friendship between them, but calling it by its name was something else. He wasn't ready for it. Too soon.

John laughed again.

“Come on, Lt.,” he smiled and looked at him with eyes half closed from sleep, “don't beat around the bush. The word you are looking for is friends.”

Simon couldn't help but crack a half smile, and Soap's widened.

“Is that a smile?” he asked, cocking his head. “So you know how to smile, Lt.”

Ghost snatched the balaclava from him and snorted.

“Try to rest, Sergeant.”

“You look so much prettier when you smile.”

“Good night, Johnny.” He covered his head and turned off the lights, leaving the room.

Before closing the door he noticed the key card resting in the card holder. He sighed, picked it up and put it in his pants pocket before heading to his room. He knew John would be sleeping in late and, knowing him, he wouldn't have anything for a hangover.

“He's a fucking disaster.”

He went into his room and closed the door softly. He glanced inside, checking that he was alone, and took off his balaclava again. He went into the bathroom, took a shower, and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked more tired than usual, he supposed due to the stress of the last few days; he also noticed that he had the darkest circles under his eyes. Despite the fact that the paint with which he covered his eyes hid them, he was used to seeing them; however, it had been a long time since he had them like this.

You look so much prettier when you smile.

He clicked his tongue at the memory of Soap's comment and left the bathroom. He toweled off and got into bed. He looked at the ceiling for a few seconds, set the alarms, and turned off the light. He hoped he wouldn't remember anything the next day.

Unfortunately, when he woke up, the memories returned without asking permission. Ghost sighed with resignation and got up from the bed, rummaged through the small first-aid kit that he carried in his backpack and took out a painkiller. He went into the bath and took it with some water. He checked his watch as he got out of the shower and did a mental calculation as he dressed. He put on his balaclava as he left the room and pulled the hood up as he stepped out into the street.

There was a coffee shop nearby and he needed a strong coffee. And a walk. He was starting to get tired of all that situation that he had not asked for. From the awakening of feelings that he neither wanted nor needed.

If I had not given him a conversation in Las Almas…

Ghost adjusted his hood and sighed resignedly.

He didn't know who he was trying to fool with that, but certainly not himself. All that situation came from before, from when they met three years ago when they entered the Task Force. While the rest of his mates spoke fairly to him, Soap insisted on treating him as an equal. It hadn't mattered that Ghost had made it clear that he didn't want friends, that he just wanted to work and be left alone; John had kept on insisting until, finally, he had broken down the last barrier of his fortress. Simon had let his guard down during the escape in Mexico, giving him conversation to distract him, to make it clear that he wasn't alone here.

And he felt like an asshole for doing it.

“Damn,” he growled, tossing the coffee cup into the trash. The pain reliever was taking effect, however, he still needed another coffee, so he stopped by another coffee shop and ordered one. After hesitating for a few seconds, he ordered another one and returned to the hotel. He made a stop in his room to get a couple of painkillers and headed towards Soap's room. It was a more than adequate hour for his partner to wake up.

He entered quietly and set the second coffee on the table, with the painkillers beside it, and went over to the bed to check that John was still sleeping. He clicked his tongue softly when he saw that he had uncovered himself and gave the blanket a gentle tug to cover him. Walking away to draw the curtains, he noticed one of the books resting on the table and picked it up curiously. He read the synopsis without much interest and sat down in one of the chairs, raised his mask a little and took a sip of coffee before starting to read.

“What…? Have you slept in the chair?”

He looked up from the book at the sound of Soap's sleepy voice. He had sat up in bed and was rubbing his face to drive away the sleepiness. Ghost looked at his watch and saw that an hour had passed.

No wonder the coffee is cold.

“Despite your invitation, no,” he replied, leaving the book on the table. “I brought you coffee and some painkillers.”

Soap blinked blankly until he put his hand to his head, groaning. He took a deep breath and stood up, growling something in Scots. He walked over to the table and dropped into the chair. Saying nothing, he popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them with coffee.

“You and I did...?” He asked, half asleep. “The last thing I remember is you tucking me into bed.”

Ghost felt him blush and was thankful he hadn't taken off his balaclava.

“No,” he answered shortly.

“Ah... okay.”

Simon thought he heard a note of sorrow in his voice and cocked his head a little. Did he really want something to have happened between them? Even if it had, Soap was drunk and he didn't sleep with people whose capacities were impaired by alcohol. Well, by any kind of substance.

He forced herself to take a deep breath as an image of the two of them flashed through his mind.

Great, he thought sourly. Just what I needed.

He tried to think of less risqué things and focused on his partner when he spoke. He had raised an eyebrow and a mocking smile.

“So you know how I like my coffee,” he commented. “I didn't expect it.”

“You're the only one who adds two hundred grams of sugar. It's easy to remember.”

“Surely you ask for it without sugar and well loaded. Just as bitter as your temper,” John sneered, leaning across the table to pick up Ghost's coffee. He gave a triumphant laugh as he drank from it. “I knew it.”

“If my character is so bitter, I don't understand why you insist on getting along with me,” he growled, retrieving the coffee from him.

Soap didn't respond at once.

“I thought that was made clear.”

Ghost looked at him. John's face was serious, there was not a trace of his typical smirk, nor a mockery in his voice.

So he's serious.

“You have peculiar taste in choosing friends, Sergeant.”

“And you have an enviable ability to divert the subject, Lt.”

They looked at each other for a few long seconds until Ghost sighed. He finished his coffee and put his mask back on, getting up from his chair.

“There's nothing to talk about,” he said.

“So you think?” Soap asked, also getting up. “Because I'm waiting for you to pronounce yourself. It's not that difficult, this is black or white. Why do you doubt? What are you afraid of?”

A series of memories flooded Ghost's mind and blinded him for a few seconds. Memories in which he relived the moment in which he found his entire family tortured and murdered, including little Joseph. All from trusting the wrong people.

He turned to Soap and grabbed him by the shirt, shoving him roughly against the wall. His mate grunted at the impact, but didn't move. Ghost held him there and brought his face close to his, trying to maintain control.

“Fear, you say?” He hissed with suppressed anger. “What do you know about fear?”

John met his eyes, unperturbed. He opened his mouth to say something, but he seemed to change his mind. He swallowed before speaking.

“I'm not going to hurt you, Simon,” he managed to say.

“That's something you can't promise,” he replied, softening his grip.

“I know. You trusted someone and they betrayed you and that's why you keep your distance with people” Ghost looked away. “I'm not stupid enough not to read between the lines and connect the dots.” He sighed. “But enough to put more pressure on you. I'm sorry.”

Simon looked into his eyes and could see that he was sorry. Despite everything, despite wanting to deny it, he knew it, and he knew John wouldn't do anything to hurt other people. He hadn't even made a move to defend himself when he pushed him against the wall. Because, unlike him, he was good.

He nodded as he released him. Simon took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. There were too many emotions for such a short period of time.

“If you need to talk,” Soap began, “or just company, I'll be here. As you said yesterday: ‘you are not alone’”.

Ghost didn't answer. He held his gaze as the familiar sensation of warmth filled his chest again. However, he did not push it away from him, on the contrary: he allowed himself to be embraced by it. That damned Scotsman had turned his life upside down without even asking. And he had let him in. Over time, he had learned to appreciate his company, his comments, his gestures and his smiles. All that repertoire of gestures that managed to illuminate any dark place. Including his mind.

He snorted as he realized there was no going back. At that moment, he was also aware that he had been in front of Soap for too long, separated by just a few centimeters. He knew that he should take a couple of steps back, that he should give him space, but he didn't want to. From that distance he could feel the heat emanating from his partner's body, he could see that the blue of his eyes was darker in the center. He could see how his lips curved into a curious smile. He could…

“Damn,” he growled, removing his mask with one hand and holding Soap's face with the other.

“What…?”

It was all he could say before Ghost pushed him against the wall to kiss him. The Scotsman took a few seconds to react and stuck to him, pulling his belt. He placed his other hand on the back of Simon's neck and Ghost grabbed him around the waist. They looked at each other as they parted for air and Soap composed a smirk.

“I didn't expect this when I asked you to pronounce.”

Ghost snorted and John laughed, kissing him on the corner of his mouth. Simon turned his face a little to bite gently on his lower lip and felt Soap's smile widen a little more. John moved his hands and gently pushed him onto the bed, and he didn't resist. For once, Simon felt that he didn't have to give the orders himself, that he just had to let himself go. And realizing it was a relief.

He smiled helplessly and his partner cocked his head at him. For a moment he thought he would ask him what was wrong, however, he surprised him by not saying anything. Soap just smiled back at him as he slipped a hand into his pants. Ghost closed his eyes and sighed.

It had been a long time since the last time anyone had touched him. So much so that he didn't remember what it was like to be with another person. The heat on the skin, the frantic pulse in the ears, the chills from the caresses. The weight of the other person on him… For a fleeting moment, Ghost cursed himself for driving people away. It was only for a moment, as the thought was gone as quickly as it came.

No, he hadn't been wrong to keep his distance. The only problem was that he hadn't found anyone he was worth cutting them for. Someone that would make him rethink lowering the walls he had built around his heart. And that terrified him. Despite being a cold and unchanging person, Ghost was afraid of being hurt, of being betrayed. Again.

“All good?” Soap whispered in his ear.

Though he suppressed his shudder, his skin prickled and John laughed. He had a cheerful expression that did not reach her eyes. His gaze was tinged with concern, and Ghost managed a reassuring half-smile. He nodded to strengthen his smile and he could see the concern fade from his face. He gasped as John placed a light bite on his neck.

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure,” he replied. “I don't want to do anything you don't want to, so stop me if I go overboard.”

“It's all good,” Ghost growled.

As always, caring about others so as not to hurt. A good person. Simon felt safe, and lucky, to be there with him and it was something too new. He had had a life of shit, with a childhood hell and in which his family had died. That it would give him a break like that made Ghost suspicious because he was sure that it would take revenge on him, that it would give him a blow so hard that it would take him years to recover.

This is not the best time, he reminded himself as he felt Soap kiss his jaw to his lips.

After a hesitation, he reached up to touch John's cheek, and he cocked his head in surprise. He closed his eyes before kissing his palm and Simon's heart skipped a beat. That simple gesture had filled his chest with another emotion that he didn't think he'd feel again either. Tenderness. And affection. Two more to add to the list.

He was distracted when he felt Soap's hands under his shirt and Simon leaned up a little to help him take it off. He did the same to him, sliding his fingers along the Scotsman's clavicle. He stroked his chest gently, down to his belly and beyond. John chuckled as he looked up at the bulge in his pants. Ghost smiled with him, a knowing smile that widened Soap's.

“Do you like what you see, Lt.?” The mocking tone in his voice almost made her laugh.

“And you?”

John laughed and kissed him, this time enthusiastically. He moved his hand to tuck it back under his pants and Simon gasped between his lips. He stroked his chest again until he reached the belt. In one deft move, he undid it and yanked Soap's pants off. He took a deep breath and rested his head on Ghost's, who looked at him curiously.

“What's up?” he asked.

“Is... do you prefer... I don't know how to ask…”

Simon pulled back a little and knew what he had in mind. Even for that he was an open book. He composed a half smile and kissed him.

“Surprise me, Johnny,” he whispered.

Soap blinked before laughing. At that moment, Ghost realized that he was laughing a lot and that he didn't care because he liked to listen to it. On the other hand, he was very tired of always having to give the orders. Delegating decision-making to someone else wasn't something he could always do, so letting Soap take the lead was a breath of fresh air. A nice change in the routine.

Despite his experience in life, he knew he didn't have to worry about trusting him. John wouldn't intentionally hurt him, he'd shoot himself in the foot first, and Simon felt lucky again to have him here with him.

For the first time in many, many years, he didn't have to worry about trusting another person.

[fixielixie]

people throw around the word arrogant a lot when talking about wei wuxian post war which i think is funny because it implies that wwx had an exaggerated sense of self, like he thought himself better than his peers and the rest of the cultivation world. similar to how su she thinks lan wangji is arrogant. but like… most of wwxs arrogance from that time was a performance so no one could question why couldn’t do anything a typical spiritual cultivator could do, which was be even more noticeable for someone who had been as powerful as wwx. ALSO wwx really was that powerful, he wasn’t exaggerating his own talents or abilities, he could back them up (ie phoenix mountain and the blindfolded archery) wwx is incredibly confident in himself and knows exactly what he’s capable of.

i see people using the scene where wwx interrupts othe jin sect banquet while looking for the wen remnants as an example of his “arrogance” a lot when… that’s a poor way of reading this scene.

wwx first asks jin zixun to talk alone and when he makes it very clear he’s not even gonna humour wwx, wwx starts to get angry. jin guangshan adds fuel to the fire when he realised that jzx is making a fool out of himself and wwx is perfectly respectable when talking to him, even letting him know that he owes those wens a life debt, hence why he wants to help them. jgs continues to insist that wwx join the banquet and put aside the matter. when wwx declines and once again asks for him to resolve the issue jgs instead tries to blackmail wwx into giving up by mentioning the yin tiger tally and wwx finally runs out of patience.

and even after All of that wwx doesn’t truly snap until he points out the hypocrisy of the cultivation sects because they have allowed renegade clans from qishan who surrendered during the war to attend the banquet they’re all at while also preaching that anyone with the surname wen is guilty. it’s only then that he begins to threaten them and it’s clear he only does it bc he realises that debating will get him no where, that they’re shameless in their preconceived ideas of righteousness and wwx can’t afford to waste time fighting with them on logistics.

i just think labelling this scene as “wwx being an arrogant asshole who thinks he can do whatever he wants” is literally the Opposite of how you’re supposed to read it. like mdzs is a critique on mob mentality and people really think siding with the Mob during scenes like this is the correct interpretation

[slippinmickeys]

The Mesas of Deuteronilus Mensae (21/?)

“God, who packed this thing?” Mulder muttered into his helmet as he shifted the next case of weather balloons to the front. They were loaded in such a way that every time he pulled another one out, it made the next one more difficult to retrieve. It was normally a thing he would have kept to himself, but since they had deployed on their extended EVA, he and Scully had taken to just leaving their comms channel open all the time. Occasionally he could hear her talking to herself from the small lab in the back section of the Rover, a quirk he found charming and sweet.

“I know,” agreed Scully, responding to him through the hissing speaker of the comm. “The medical supplies they sent with us are not oldest to newest, as per protocol. Everything is in there, but I can tell just by looking at the lot numbers that they didn’t pack what was slotted to come.”

“Next time we go out on EVA, please make sure Powers is restored to full duty, will you?” he said, joking with her. “This substitute payload specialist shit is for the birds.”

He could sense her smile on the other end of the comm.

He turned to the horizon behind them, the vast vista, marred only by the tread marks from their tires. They were several weeks out from the HAB and well into the fan-shaped route that had been laid out to deploy the weather devices. It was relatively easy, mindless work; drive several hours, stop, pull out a weather balloon (which was more of a lightweight solar operated drone than what you might picture in your head), deploy, and move on. Scully had insisted on stopping along the way to collect soil and water samples, but they were still on schedule—and when one or both of them wasn’t out of the rover on mission, they were in the two seats up front, driving, listening to music, snacking, talking.

It was like being on a road trip with a new girlfriend, Mulder thought, with all the excitement of infatuation and adventure, knowing that when the sun went down, they would find each other in the dark. He’d never had so much sex in his life. In fact, he’d suggested more than once that Scully really ought to begin a study on the refractory period of a middle aged human male in low gravity, as there was something otherworldly—if she’d pardon the expression—about how often and intense their couplings were. She’d advised him that she was in fact recording statistics, but more informally, and in such a way that wouldn’t pass muster under peer review. He shook his head, smiling.

“Ready to deploy WBD-156,” he said into his comm-link.

“WBD-156, check,” came Scully’s officious-sounding response. “Location recorded, device pinging and responsive. You are go to deploy.”

Mulder switched on the device’s motor and gave its small solar panels one more hit with compressed air, then launched it up into Mars’ prevailing wind. “One-Five-Six deployed,” he reported, watching the little machine go shooting off into the salmon-colored sky.

“And that’s One-Five-Six logged with Base Base,” she said a moment later. “You’re done for the day, Mulder.”

“Copy.” Mulder secured the remaining weather balloons to the pallet of the trailer Rover 2 was pulling and made his way back along the side of the rover to the airlock.

The Rover was set up with its full complement of accessories for their journey. For short EVAs or for tooling around the mesas near the HAB, it was a single compartment with three wheels on each side, a small airlock that could only fit one astronaut at a time, and two captain’s chairs with full driving capability on either the starboard or port. Behind the ‘driver’s seats’ was a small galley, even smaller lavatory, and a collapsible Murphy-style table and benches with two beds on either side.

Decked out as it was now, it had—in addition to the open-air pallet trailer holding the weather balloons—a full second rigid section, linked to the driving compartment by an articulated pivoting joint enclosed by protective bellows. It looked rather remarkably like an articulated bus used in public transportation, only instead of more seating in the second compartment, it was fully outfitted with a traveling laboratory, small medical bay, and two more collapsible Murphy beds.

Mulder and Scully had taken to eating in the galley up front and sleeping in the beds in the rear when the sun went down. During the day, as they traversed their mission path, Mulder tended to drive while Scully rode shotgun or worked on samples in the lab. Perhaps they were falling into predictable gender roles, but neither seemed to mind.

Mulder approached the airlock and looked to the sun as he waited for the green light to enter. They probably had another hour or two of daylight left, and he hoped they could get back on the road, as it were, and use up the remaining daylight to knock a few more clicks off of their trek. They were making good time, but you never knew what could happen when out on EVA, and as they approached the apex of their journey—when they would be the absolute furthest from the safety and backup of the other Nerio crew members—Mulder got nervous.

In front of him, the light on the airlock turned green and he entered, pushing the button that initiated the pressurization. Like the one in the HAB, the rover’s smaller, one-man airlock had an automated vacuuming system in its floor that pulled the dust and other buildup off of the astronauts hardsuits. Though Mars had so far proven to be a totally sterile world, NASA would not risk any of the astronauts or colonists being infected with an alien microbe or bacteria should they ever pick one up on the sole of their boot, and so once you went through the airlock, a thirty second vacuuming process was required before you could pass into the rover or HAB.

Once the process was complete, the light kicked to clear and Mulder removed his helmet, stepping into the tiny ready-area of the HAB.

“Hey,” Scully said, stepping forward from where she’d been seated in the port side driver’s seat. She was wearing a gray jumpsuit that she’d taken her arms out of and tied around her waist, approaching him in a plain white tank top. The rovers were set to an automated heating system, pumping out more in the late afternoons in anticipation of the sun going down as a way to try to stay ahead of the frigidly cold temperatures of the Martian night. It was normally quite comfortable, but had a tendency to run a few degrees hotter than necessary this time of day.

“You want some help getting out of your suit?”

Mulder resisted the urge to make a sexual joke and merely threw her an appreciative smile. “Please.”

Despite the vacuuming process, the boots of their hardsuits were both beginning to take on a rusty stain that crept up the hard shell of the suit and approached the forest green stripes that looped around Mulder’s legs. The suits were also starting to give off a regolith-esque odor redolent of rotten eggs. Mars, it turned out, did not smell great.

“Might be time to Febreze the suits,” Scully said, unlocking the lower half of Mulder’s hardsuit from the top and gingerly raising it up so that he could step out of it without scraping his skin along the edges. NASA had sent along a liquid compound that combated the mephitic odor, but it could be cloying, especially in the cramped space of the rover.

“Oof,” Mulder said. “If you must. But let’s wait until after we stop for the night and we can retreat to the rear compartment.”

She slid several parts of his suit into the storage locker that housed them. “You want to keep going today?”

“If you don’t mind,” he said, glancing out toward the windshield of the rover. “Would love to get a few more miles behind us.

“Fine by me,” she said, giving him a smile. “I’ve got some things I can do in the lab if you want to drive.” With that she rubbed her hand up and down his arm once and made her way to the rear section lab.

Mulder pulled on the slippers he liked to wear in the rover and made his way to the starboard side driver’s seat.

“Oh,” called Scully from the back as he was running a systems check. “There was a system dump of correspondence about thirty minutes ago. I got a whole load of emails from home. Might be worth checking yours.”

“Will do,” Mulder called back, firing up the rover and putting it in gear, creeping forward until he got the engine up to full. He checked his nav screen, slightly adjusted his trajectory, and settled in for the drive.

The landscape in the area they were currently traveling was flat, a broad expanse of pale orange without many obstacles they’d need to navigate, which was good considering that Scully was on her feet in the back of the lab. It was technically against protocol to not be strapped in when the rover was in motion, but the vehicle had a second-to-none balance system of shocks and struts, and even when the terrain was rough, the drive had proved to be pretty smooth.

And the terrain here, Mulder observed, was about as flat as they were ever going to get. A good place for distracted driving. He double checked his path out the windshield and then turned to the computer screen just to the left of the nav system and pulled up his email. There wasn’t much—a couple of non-urgent updates from Mission Control, and a video file from Frohike that he’d look at later—but the last email in the list grabbed his attention. It was from Commander Ehrlich and was marked Confidential.

Mulder checked his route again and then glanced back to make sure Scully was still in the back before clicking open the correspondence.

“Mulder,” the email began. “Regarding our discussion from several weeks ago, I decided to take your advice and work the problem. Fairly certain the mission isn’t cursed (that was the stress talking), but as I sit at night and think about some of the issues we’ve been having, I’m more and more convinced sabotage may be the order of the day. I had every intention of reaching out to you so that you could talk me out of it, but then I found the attached in the mess this morning. I’m passing along to you before I reach out to Mission Control. Please advise.”

A low feeling of unease blossomed in his belly as he opened the attachment.

It was a picture of a note scrawled on a mission notepad, the writing sloppy and unkempt, the words twisting off to run down the side of the page as it ran out of room. The note simply read: “It is not fair. It is not FAIR. IT IS NOT FAIR .”

Immediately, Mulder felt an adrenaline dump. The nature of the handwriting itself spoke to a mind that was unbalanced, and the tone of the words pointed to an anger that had probably been festering for some time.

He stared at the picture of the note, trying to figure out what he would do about it.

“Everything okay?” Mulder jumped in his seat and turned to find Scully standing behind him, looking at him with calm expectancy. “News from home?”

“Uh,” he said, reaching forward to log out of his email. “Not exactly.”

Scully cocked her head at him and he was about to launch into an explanation—she was medical staff after all, and he thought it was probably time to loop her in—when the rover lurched to the starboard side and slammed to a stop with an almighty crack. Mulder, who was strapped into the seat, was shoved against the restraints, but Scully, who had been standing at his shoulder, had been catapulted forward and was now half on the floor of the rover, wedged in between the two seats.

“Scully!” Mulder shouted. He killed the engine and turned to Scully who was trying to sit up, flipping off the seat belt as he scrambled to help her. She hissed in pain and brought a hand to her temple, where a small gash blossomed with fresh blood.

“I’m okay,” she said, wincing, and Mulder worked an arm under her elbow to help her up.

She stumbled a bit as she tried to regain her feet, and Mulder realized that the rover was listing forward and to the right slightly, the floor uneven, as if it had been a car that found an enormous pothole. Finally, he lowered her into the opposite seat and reached up to pull her hand away from where she had it clamped to her forehead.

She hissed again as Mulder probed the skin around the small cut with his thumb, but let him fuss over her. After a moment, she knocked his hand gently away and reached up to touch the cut. When she pulled her hand down to look, there was a small spot of blood that was already beginning to congeal. “What happened?” she asked.

Mulder turned to look out the windshield at the land in front of them, now tilted unnaturally. The sun was closing in on the horizon, and he could feel a chill pushing in from the reinforced glass.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not sure if I hit something, or…”

“You didn’t see anything?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

“No, I…” He glanced down at the screen where the email from Ehrlich had been up not a moment before.

“We’d better go check it out,” Scully said, licking her lips. “It’s going to be too cold to go outside soon, and if we’re going to need rescuing, we’re going to need to get word to the HAB right away.” She didn’t need to explain that while they were equipped with more than enough supplies (they had twelve weeks worth of supplies for an estimated six week mission), it would still take another rover weeks to get to their location, and probably longer for them all to get back.

“Yeah,” Mulder said, standing to rise and trying to focus. “I’ll go. Do you want me to patch you up first?”

“I can do it,” she said, then nodded at the setting sun. “Sollight’s fading.”

He nodded and wasted no more time, pulling on his hardsuit while Scully shuffled to the back to attend to her injury.

Before he even stepped out of the airlock, the cold hit him. Despite the warmers in his suit blasting full, the bone-chilling temperatures of the red planet pushed at his suit from all sides. He would need to make this quick. Protocol dictated that no astronaut was allowed outside after the sun went down, and with good reason. Their hardsuits, despite being the absolute peak and standard of human ingenuity and technology, pulled too much power from the suit batteries at low temperatures—at the expense of the life support systems—and were no match for the nighttime cold on Mars.

“You doing okay, Scully?” he checked in as he stepped out onto the hard packed earth. She answered him with a crisp affirmative. He looked out at the horizon—the sky was getting dimmer. He glanced once at his suit’s heads up display and moved forward.

As he approached the right hand side of the rover’s front, he saw the issue immediately. The right front wheel of the rover must have fallen into some sort of hole, and the frame of the rover itself was resting on the hole’s lip. As he got closer, he was thinking that he could probably goose the engine to get the other wheels to compensate, but they would then run into the hole as well.

But then, something about the way the ground looked wasn’t right. He shook his head, thinking maybe the darkening conditions could account for what he was seeing, but that didn’t seem quite…

“Scully,” he began saying. “I think you might need to—”

And he suddenly pitched forward before he could finish his thought, swallowed by an all encompassing blackness.

[rodricksfilipinagf]

Rodrick x Reader: Worth Giving A Chance

       I crouch behind a white van that says Loded Diper on it in crude lettering. My friends are in a car down the street and dared me to crash their band practice and kiss Rodrick, whoever that was.

        “You’ll know who he is- he’s so hot and he plays drums but he’s such an asshole.”

        “You want me to kiss an asshole?” I demanded.

        “I hear he’s such a good kisser,” my friend sighed.

        I round the front of the van when I bump smack into a guy. He had messy dark hair and his fitted shirt was partially tucked in to a pair of tight jeans. His eyes were the most beautiful, mesmerizing shade of brown. “Whoa,” he says, and steadies me with a surprisingly strong grip. “You okay?” he asks with an easy smile.

        “Yeah, I guess,” I say. I peer at the house. “Are you in…” I peer at the van. “Loded Diper?”

        He grins. “Yeah, actually, I’m the leader of the band. I started it.”

        “Cool,” I say. “Do you know Rodrick?”

        “Ummm,” he says, pressing his lips together.

        I let out a sigh. “Is he that much of a douchebag? My friends said he was awful but I thought they were exaggerating.”

        “What did they say?” he asks curiously.

        “Just that he’s an asshole and he plays drums, and he’s like…hot or whatever.”

        He looks slightly amused by this.

        “Look, I know it’s silly, but ever since I got dumped, they’ve been trying to get me together with guys, but Rodrick doesn’t sound like my type. What if he laughs at me in front of everyone or does some other dickhead thing?”

        He puts a hand on my shoulder. “You really have nothing to worry about. I’ve known him for years.”

        “And he’s not an asshole?” I ask.

        He doesn’t directly answer this. “Well…”

        “Fuck, and I have to kiss him?”

        His eyes pop. “What?”

        “My friends dared me to crash his band rehearsal and kiss him.”

        “Shit. That’s…I get why you’re so nervous now. I really don’t think he’ll laugh at you though. Between you and me, he’s been wanting a girlfriend too. It’d be the best day of his life.”

        “Ughhh. He sounds…” I gag.

        “Look, if it makes you feel any better, you can kiss me for practice, so you won’t be nervous.”

        “Seriously? That’s so sweet. I wish I was dared to kiss you instead.”

        He smiles. “Really?”

        “After I kiss Rodrick for my dare I might actually want to go out with you.”

        He looks so happy. “I can definitely make that happen.”

        Suddenly one of the bandmates makes his way across the lawn. “Rodrick, there’s only so much guitar stuff we can do without our drummer.”

        The blood drains from my face. “But….wait, you said you were….I thought you LED this band.”

        “And play the drums,” he says. “I just didn’t say that part. Band practice is over,” he calls out. He turns to me with a knowing smirk. “Now let’s talk about how you like me.”

        “Wh- no, I don’t,” I say. I was talking to RODRICK the whole time?

        “You just said you did,” Rodrick points out.

        “That was before,” I insist. “You were lying to me the whole time. I bet you’re not…no, I know you’re not even a nice guy. I liked who I thought you were. Turns out you were laughing at me and being a dick the entire time.” I start to walk away but Rodrick grabs hold of my hand.

        “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t want to make you any more nervous or scared than you were. I thought if you saw I wasn’t that bad then…I don’t know, you’d give me a chance?”

        “I don’t think I want to do that,” I say.

        “Your dare was to kiss me. Could you at least try it and see how you feel? If you don’t like it, we don’t have to see each other anymore.”

        “Fine,” I say.

        “But I think you’ll like it,” Rodrick says cockily. That should have been exactly why I didn’t want him, but I don’t find myself entirely disliking his vibe…or him.

        “Whatever,” I say, and as soon as our lips touch his hands make their way all around my hair and back. He smells amazing and I can’t get enough of him or bring myself to tear myself away. Maybe this overconfident asshole is worth giving a chance after all, if only so that I could kiss him again. Maybe he is capable of being sweet and it wasn’t all just an act.

        When I finally have to extricate my lips from his, I can’t hide how much I enjoyed it. Especially since I took a long time before pulling away.

        “So when are we going out?” Rodrick asks me triumphantly.

        He really is something else. “Saturday night,” I say. Rodrick Heffley is an all-consuming experience, and I need the whole day to prepare myself. “The date better be good.”

        “Oh, it will,” he assures me before giving me a second, mind altering kiss.

[stansethandpaul]

Jealousy Jealousy (rewrite)

Angst -> Fluff: Embry Call x GN!reader

Summary: Embry gives y/n a slap in the face about reality after they constantly sulk about Bella.

A/N: I'm much more content with this one and I actually might end up deleting the other one, sorry about that. I actually took a lot more time editing this and didn't write this when I was burnt out compared to the other one! I'm just overall way happier with the other one because I knew that the other one wasn't my true capability.

warnings: angst (that's all I could really think of tell me if you see anything else!)

Masterlist

Ding!

Ding!

Ding!

Constant notifications vibrated Jacob's phone as we sat on his couch together watching the movie on the screen. I shot him a look of annoyance, signaling him to check his phone which he did swiftly. His eyes shot open in surprise before he shot up from the couch and throwing on a shirt and shoes, hopping out the door as he attempted to put the last shoe on.

"Sorry y/n! Bella just told me she was free, you know what it's been like for her!" He hastily shouted out before sprinting down the gravel driveway.

"Bye!" I shouted back, trying to hide my disappointment.

I grimaced at the situation. On one hand, I knew how the sudden disappearance of the Cullens devastated her, especially Edward's sudden abandonment but this happened way too many times. But on the other, Jacob was like her puppy dog now, it was like I wasn't even his friend anymore, it was like our friendship meant nothing.

Knowing that Jacob wouldn't be back anytime soon, I got my stuff and locked the door behind me before driving over to Emily's place to surround myself in the livelier company.

"Sup y/n! Missed me didn't ya!" Jared boomed as I opened the door to which I replied with a "you wish". I chuckled at his dramatic pain as he pretended to hold his heart, eyes shut and face contorting.

"Know where Embry is?" Questioning the dramatic boy as I peered around the room to see if I could find any trace of the lanky boy, no luck.

"Finding your loverboy huh? With the deepest of regrets, I must inform you that he was put on patrol today." He said, mocking my curiosity over Embry's whereabouts. I stuck my tongue out at him to tease him before flipping him off and leaving to the porch to await Embry.

"Knock it off Paul, it's not what you think"

"yeah sure, and if it wasn't what I HEARD THROUGH THE MINDLINK then I don't know what else it could have been"

Their voices permeated through the thick fog as their silhouettes came into view, Paul's muscly tall physique was seen locking an arm around Embry's tall lanky but lean body.

"Aw buzz off Paul," Embry said as he struggled to get Paul's arm off of his neck. He laughed at his struggle before letting go as he noticed me, shooting Embry a smirk to which a slight blush came onto his face, only noticeable as they got closer. Odd.

"Sup Paul," I smirked at him before turning my attention over to Embry.

"And hello to you too wolf boy," teasing him to which he shot a glare at me before attempting to stifle his laughs.

Paul said a prompt bye before jogging into the house to fill up his appetite whilst Embry sat down next to me, his body warmth radiating. The cold air nipped at my skin, pushing me to get closer to the much warmer boy as I swung my legs into his lap and resting my head on his shoulder.

"Jacob left again?"

A sigh left my mouth at his obvious question.

Closing my eyes promptly, I answered with a short nod. A response that showed my true feelings after all these times of being blown off by Jacob.

We sat in silence, my eyes closed as I felt his shoulders move up and down in a rhythmic motion, lulling me to sleep almost. The deafening quiet seemed to almost suffocate us before I decided to talk.

"I don't know what to do anymore Embry, I'm always there for him when he needs me but, he runs to her at the drop of a hat or more like a single text message," I grumbled, reminiscing about the times Jacob's left me in the dust for Bella, excuses sprouting up.

"Why does everyone in this town seem to be so infatuated with her," expecting no response I kept going.

"Is it because she's Charlie's daughter? Hell if I was his child Jacob would be all over me too right? I'd be the hot topic of town too, people staring at me wherever I go, being suddenly accepted by the Cullen family and Jacob. I'd really have the best of both worlds wouldn't I?" Scowling at my own questions, I turned to Embry for answers.

"Am I not right?"

Silence.

"Helloooooooo, Earth to Embry?" I said, poking his cheeks with my finger. His brows seemed to be furrowed together, eyes lost in thought, his attention elsewhere.

There seemed to be no response from him to which I huffed and turned back to stare at the fog rolling in.

Closing my eyes to embrace the serenity once more, his lulling voice startled me.

“I don’t think it’s true.”

I turned my head towards him, curiosity piqued by his response.

“Let’s be real Embry, I’d have the best time of my life if I was Bella fucking Swan. Every guy would love me, all the attention would be on me and I wouldn’t be a second option again. Hell, I’d even be able to actually confess to my crush without fearing rejection.” Bitterness laced the last sentence as I satirically spoke my mind. Looking at Embry’s hands and wishing they were embracing mine, the sudden gesture of his fist clenching as his knuckles turned white shocked me, he was mad.

“God y/n, why the hell do you always need to compare yourself to Bella? She hasn’t even done anything to you. It’s always Bella this Bella that if I was her blah blah blah. Get over yourself, you’re not her and you won’t ever be. Learn how to appreciate yourself and live YOUR life and stop moping around. So what Jacob runs to Bella each time, you have Jared, Emily, Paul, and everyone else.”

A long silence suspended in the air.

“You have me and you come running, you never see the other people around you cause you’re too busy complaining. You can’t even see how much I love you cause you’re so stuck up about being Bella and being Jacob’s priority aren’t you?” Finishing his sentence, he proceeded to get up before walking away. Stopping before reaching the woods, his back faced to me, he spoke simply.

“Find me when you can learn to be y/n and not Bella.”

His form morphed before running into the woods on all fours, leaving me stunned. After a brief moment, tears flooded my eyes. I never got to tell him that I do like him, I never got to tell him that I just want his attention, I just wanted him.

Thoughts spiraled in my head, I was jealous of Bella for sure but I was jealous because of the attention she was given. I just wanted Embry to treat me like she was treated, I wanted to be special to him.

I ran home, I ran because I was scared. I was scared I wouldn't be able to look at him properly.

Weeks passed as we ceased to talk, and I ceased to exist in the small town of Forks. Or so I thought.

I groaned as heavy knocks assaulted my front door, I picked up the phone looking at the time. Who the hell shows up at someone's house at 4am?

Throwing on a sweater and sweats, I dragged myself to the front door, the cold hardwood floor seemingly repelling me from ever making any progress. I swung the door open, grumbling as my eyes were half open wondering who it was.

Jacob Black.

Mentally sighing, I invited him inside from the pouring rain, he seemed devastated.

He sat down after he changed as I made him some hot chocolate to comfort him.

"She chose him y/n, he came back and she chose him over me. She drove to Italy for that stupid bloodsucker." His cracking voice was more than enough for me to grasp his frustration and devastation.

"I dropped everything for her, I did everything for her y/n. And she still chose the guy that skipped town huh?" Laughing bitterly at the situation, I stared at his cup before handing it to him.

"Maybe if I was better than Edward I would've won this stupid fucking battle," his words escaping his clenched teeth. He was like me, we were jealous of someone, someone that seemed to win everything, someone that we were not. The words spoken to me by Embry were words I carried with me even as I was moping over the whole situation.

"Stop comparing yourself to him, Jacob. You're not Edward and you won't ever be him. You're so insistent on being better than Edward or being Edward that you can't even see what's in front of you. I was always here for you Jake, I was always here but you treated me like I was a second option. You left me in a heartbeat for her but you never had time to spend with me, not even five minutes, when you were with her," I too chuckled bitterly at the ironic situation, me and Jacob were similar in many ways.

"Learn to live your life, don't live it for her or because of her, learn how to live it like you want." Those words seemed to resonate deep within both of us. After finally speaking those words, I realized that I was ready to live my life as y/n, a citizen of the small city of Forks, and not vying to be Bella, the new girl to forks.

I stood up, putting on shoes hastily before grabbing the handle. I could sense Jacob's attempt to stop me and apologize for his treatment but I knew better.

"It's ok, I know you're gonna apologize. I'm not going to accept, I want the Jake that will care and treat everyone with the same importance that you had for Bella. Come to me when you're ready, but until then I hope you grow and learn how to live your life."

I paused again, one foot out of the door.

"I have someone important to apologize to, someone that didn't leave me in the blink of an eye."

I hurriedly shut the door behind me before running to the woods, my lungs burning and legs aching as I forced myself to my limit. I ran and ran, visions of the houses slowly turned to trees, the crunching leaves under my feet reminded me of the days we would all run through the woods.

My breathing became labored as I was reaching my breaking point but it was close, our place was close. Then, in my distant vision, I could see it. That one pine tree, seemingly normal to many, but to me, it held our memories. The initials only reassured my assumption as I knew that he would be here waiting. As I got closer to the tree, my legs gave out under me, sending me tumbling to the ground whilst tree branches scratched my arms and ripped a hole in my pants.

"EMBRY! EMBRY I'M HERE PLEASE!" I shouted into the dark forest, eyes tearing up once more as I pleaded.

"I LOVE YOU EMBRY CALL AND I'M SORRY I WAS TOO BLIND TO REALIZE IT!" I shouted once more before crumpling closer to the ground, my tears now fully flowing and hitting the dead leaves below.

Maybe I took too long, maybe he moved on, maybe I was too jealous of someone to even realize his love.

As sobs continued throughout my body, the hope of him ever coming was diminishing.

I was too late.

Suddenly, I felt a pair of strong but warm arms wrap around my waist and pulling me up.

"Shhh, it's ok I'm here now."

That voice, I looked up to see Embry's face which held a dorky grin. I threw my arms around him as sobs still left my body, the emotional rollercoaster was far too much for me to handle.

"I-i'm s-s-so sorry Embry, I was too focused on trying to be Bella that I-"

"I know, I know, I heard it all," shushing me as he rubbed circles on my back consoling me. After what felt like hours in his embrace, I finally calmed down and only tear stains remained.

I finally lifted my head to meet his eyes properly this time, he stared back with tender eyes.

"You finally learned how to live for you huh?" He asked, not expecting an answer to which I was oblivious.

Before I could respond, he pressed his lips to mine. I didn't try and fight it and melted into it instead.

I was blind to be jealous of Bella when I already had something that she fought to keep.

Smiling mentally, I wrapped my arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.

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