#i have no idea what British uniforms look like

[marathehomosexual]

Ouran Highschool Host Club

do british school uniforms get fetishized like east asian ones

[clumsybriar]

Ghost x Wife! Reader — Love at First Sight

Notes: This was written after My Pretty Girl but is a prequel to it almost like how they met! I am working on more with these two so keep an eye out!

Word count: 5,189

Warnings: none just cute

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(Y/n) looked at the books stacked on a rack still needing to be put back in the location they belonged. She felt like this would take entirely too long to put away, but this was what work was left as she worked the evening shift.

She was the only worker other than one other college student who just checked people out with the books they selected.

It was often quiet with the usuals coming in, but they didn’t have many people in the evening. Everyone was either shopping or going out to eat.

(Y/n)’s stomach growled as she looked up at the tall shelves she would have to use a ladder to reach. She wished right now she could go out and eat at that restaurant down the street that had the best chicken noodle soup that she craved in this fall weather.

She quietly grabbed the ladder pushing it to the far right where she slowly started to climb up with the three books.

She kept herself steady that way she didn’t fall off break a limb or worse.

She slowly put the books away, unaware of the commotion that happened behind her. She was zoned in and had no idea people were being ushered out of the library due to a bomb.

She was just zoned in on her work.

She never heard the loud British voices barking orders to civilians and other soldiers. She never heard the loud boots on the library’s granite flooring. It was as simple as that, she was just zoned in coming back down to grab a few more books.

Her sneakers squeaked on the glossy floors as she turned around grabbing another stack of books. She hummed quietly as she talked her lips trying to remember exactly where the authors she was looking for were located.

“Miss,” a calm British voice pulled her out of her concentration. Her eyes darted to him as she stared at him wide eyed and a bit jumpy since she didn’t expect him to be there at all.

This was a perfect example of a deer in headlights about to get hit. Who was the deer and who was the car was for a later debate.

“Oh my god!” (Y/n) clutched her heart as she looked at the man with a skull mask on his face.

Who was he? Why was he here? Why did he have all this gear and a gun? Was he robbing the library?

All these thoughts just kept going on through her mind as she looked at Simon with a bit of deer and nervousness.

She was just a nervous little thing anyways, with anxiety and the need to hide and paint all day. Seeing a man with a skull balaclava was not in her bingo card for the day.

Seeing her jump, Simon's expression softened even more. A rare flicker of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he said, his voice smooth and gentle.

He approached her, his footsteps slow and measured, as if trying to not further startle her. He extended a hand to her, an invitation to stay put for a moment. "Are you alright?" he asked, genuine concern in his eyes.

“M’okay,” she nodded as she took a deep breath. “Can I help you?” She remembered her hospitality with guests to the library, especially new ones. “Is there something you’re looking for or am I missing something here.” She squeaked out looking at his uniform and gun.

Simon's lips curled into a small, almost boyish smile at her words. He found her politeness endearing, a stark contrast to the usual gruffness he encountered. "You're the helpful type, aren't you?" he said, his voice still gentle and amused.He took another step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm here with my team," he explained, gesturing casually behind him. "We've got a bit of a situation we're dealing with."

“Uhhh,” there it was, her brain shut off as she looked around confused. “Situation? Okay…” she trailed off as she thought for a second. She watched as another soldier, a Scottish one came around the corner pulling the man who was talking to her away for a second.

She looked around confused trying to see if anyone was still in the library.

She looked at the checkout area and found her co-worker missing from the area

“Thanks for telling me there were scary soldiers here, Laney!” (Y/n) thought.

As Soap practically dragged Simon away for a quick discussion, his gaze remained fixed on (Y/n), his eyes lingering on her for a few moments before he had no choice but to turn away. Soap started talking, but it took a moment for Simon's mind to process the words.

"What, Johnny?" he snapped back, realizing Soap was speaking to him.

Soap raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Mate, you're drooling," he teased, noticing how Simon had been staring at (Y/n). “Does the lassie have you droolin’ like a dog, LT?”

“Im not droolin’,” Simon huffed. “Ya’ find the bomb yet you git?”

“Found it alright LT, like me to disarm it as fast as I can?” Soap smirked as he looked back at (Y/n) giving her a wink.

She flushed red and looked away as Ghost gave Soap a sharp stern glare.

“She's cute.” Soap laughed, as he looked at Simon. “Can’t blame a man.”

“I can and I will, back off.” Simon snapped.

“Oh I see,” Soap hummed. “Backing off, LT.” Soap raised his hands in surrender.

“Disarm it,” Ghost snapped, his gaze stern.

Soap chuckled, understanding he had hit a nerve. "Alright, alright, I'll disarm it," Soap quipped, his tone still light-hearted. The sergeant was out of sight back to the bomb as he went to complete his task.

Simon’s soft gaze was back on you as he reached his hand out to you. “Come now, love, you gotta leave the building.”

(Y/n) blinked in surprise as Simon took her hand, his touch gentle but firm, guiding her. The nickname "love" sent a flutter through her, and she couldn't help but look deep into his brown eyes. "I...I have to stay. I'm on shift," she said quietly, her voice soft and hesitant. It was a weak protest at best as she found herself wanting to stay near him.

On top of that she was cursing herself for even saying that, but she had no idea what was going on. She had no clue or no idea that a bomb was in this building willing to blow at any second.

Simon couldn't help the warmth that spread through him as he heard her protest, the way her voice was so hesitant and soft. He tightened his grip on her hand slightly, his gaze never leaving hers.

"I understand, love," he said, the nickname rolling off his tongue with such natural ease. "But trust me, you don't want to be around when we disarm this thing. It could get a bit messy."

“Disarm?” She sputtered out looking at him confused, “a bomb?” She uttered.

Simon's expression sobered as he realized he hadn't fully explained the situation. He gave a small nod, his eyes locking onto hers in earnest. "Yes, a bomb," he confirmed, his tone a mix of seriousness and reassurance. "That's why we're evacuating the area. But don't worry, we'll take care of it. We're trained for this sort of thing."

“I could imagine.” She looked embarrassed. How come it didn’t click in her head earlier they were soldiers and were here for some threat. “I am so sorry, it’s been a long week.” She uttered. A long week of staying up until 4 am trying to paint her final for her still art project. She was struggling to feel anything for that final. Her confusion clearly came from the lack of sleep though and her problem solving skills were lacking too because of the little to no sleep she had. “I feel a little dumb for not registering the situation as to why you might be here.” She rambled embarrassed. Her hand rubbed her forehead as she smiled embarrassed, her eyes looked around darting at different things in the library.

Simon's tough exterior softened as he watched her ramble on, her embarrassment only adding to her charm. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "No need to apologize," he said gently. "Sometimes the obvious can slip right by us when we're too focused on other things."

There was an unspoken understanding between them, a mutual acknowledgment of the connection they were starting to feel.

“How come he’s soft with her and he’s been barking orders at us all day,” Gaz huffed as he watched Simon slowly guide you to the exit. “I don’t feel the love Captain.”

“Kyle, get to work.” Price laughed as he looked at the sergeant. “He’s in love, leave him be.”

“A big ol lovey-dovey of a teddy bear.” Soap interjected as he looked at the bomb studying it.

“I’m tellin’ him you said that.” Gaz smirked.

“I’ll be dead by sundown.” Soap nodded.

Simon knew one thing, he wanted to marry this woman and as fast as he could.The realization hit him hard, like a freight train crashing into his thoughts. He had always prided himself on being focused, on maintaining a certain level of detachment. But she had managed to break through his defenses, knocking down the barriers he so carefully placed around his heart.

In that moment, as he stood with her, holding her hand in his, Simon's mind was made up. He wanted her, wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything else in his life.

For weeks Simon was distressed when he wasn’t able to find her again. He wished he could have gotten her number or asked her on a date but as soon as the bomb was diffused and everything was under control they were called back out to another mission.

But Simon didn't forget about her. In the quiet moments of the night, when the mission and the chaos of life had momentarily subsided, his thoughts would drift back to her. He could still remember the way she looked at him, the way she felt in his grasp, and the soft sound of her voice as she fumbled her words.

Simon was a patient man, but the wait was getting harder each day. He yearned to see her again, to hold her close, and to tell her how much she had unexpectedly changed his life.

He had fallen so helplessly in love with her as if he was just meant for her.

Luck was on his side though he knew that much. Who knew a month later he would find her attending the same wedding.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　�� *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“You want me to walk you down the aisle?” (Y/n) looked at her cousin's soon-to-be-wife surprised.

“Yes,” Farah nodded her head with a sweet smile on her face. “Alex and I have talked, my brother and family are all gone, we want you to be the one to walk me down the aisle and be beside me as we get married.” She hummed. “You’ve accepted me like I’m your own sister and I trust you.”

(Y/N) felt a rush of emotion as Farah spoke. She didn't know if she was worthy of such a role, but she couldn't bring herself to reject Farah's heartfelt request.

"Oh, Farah..." (Y/n) began, her voice filled with an emotional waiver. "If you would like me to walk you down the aisle, then I will gladly.” She sniffled.

“You made her cry.” Alex chuckled.

“Shut up Alex!” (Y/n) huffed. “I’ve always been emotional, you know that.”

Alex sat beside her as he hugged her tightly. “I know, that’s what we love the most about you.” Farah didn’t hold off as she jumped into the hug as well.

When it came to walking her down the aisle (Y/n) looked at Farah and smiled. Her Abaya was so beautiful and her make up was natural.

“Oh Farah, you're so beautiful.” (Y/n) exclaimed as she looked at the beautiful bride.

“You think so.” Farah said, showing a bit of nervousness. Who wouldn’t be? This was such an important day.

“I know so.” (Y/n) smiled, reassuring the woman. “Alex will ball his eyes out and then we can call him emotional later.” (Y/n) teased gently.

“That sounds like a perfect plan.” Farah giggled softly. The two straightened up when the music started playing, leading for (y/n) to open the door as she started to walk Farah down the aisle.

Guests were seated all over the place as they stopped and looked at the two women. They were gaping at the beautiful bride as they should be. Farah was gorgeous. But one person couldn’t keep his eyes off of (Y/n). A month of being tormented by her in his dreams Simon was finally able to lay his eyes on her once again.

Simon's heart skipped a beat as his eyes landed on (y/n), walking down the aisle beside Farah. It was a sight to behold. His breath caught in his throat, his mind racing as he tried to process the wave of emotions crashing over him.

He had been waiting so long to see her again, and here she was, looking even more beautiful than he remembered. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her, his heart pounding against his ribcage. It was a whirlwind of emotions and he couldn’t contain himself as his eyes were set straight on (y/n).

He couldn’t believe his luck, from thinking he would never see (Y/n) again to seeing her a month later at Alex and Farah’s wedding.

Simon had barely been able to contain his excitement as he watched (Y/n) walk down the aisle with Farah. It felt like fate had stepped in and given him a second chance. As he sat in the ceremony, the significance of the moment settled in his mind.

He watched (Y/n), his gaze flickering over her again and again, as if trying to make sure it was really (Y/n) and not just a figment of his imagination. Throughout the ceremony, his eyes remained fixed on her, filled with a mixture of disbelief, excitement, and an undeniable connection.

He knew she wouldn’t recognize him as he was adorned in a mask the first time he met her. He wasn’t sure how to make her recognize him, but he knew he had to do something.

As the wedding progressed and the ceremony began Maria stopped Simon as she fixed his suit and tie.

“Now, lad, put yer’self together, she’s a cutie.” Maria gave him a prep talk like the mother she was. “Don’t be like John and put a little effort into it.”

“I put a lot of effort into it.” John corrected as he looked at his wife. He was a tad bit offended it seemed, but still it was very clearly obvious he loved his wife even with the comments she made about his lack of apparent effort.

“Mr. Price,” Maria looked back at him.

“My wife is correct,” John cleared his throat, backing off.

“She’s been painting for a while.” Soap hummed as he looked at (y/n).

“She’s painting a scene from the wedding.” Maria smiled. “I scoped the area for Simon already,” Maria nodded, “gotta see the lad get married and this little lassie is the one.”

Simon snorted as Maria was already exploring the area. Of course she was, she was a bit nosey too like the others, Gaz and Soap had been trying to get a better peek at her.

“Tell her she’s pretty, and ask her if she’ll dance with you.” Maria patted Simon’s chest as she had him all out together.

He glanced over at (y/n) seeing her giggle with Alex and Farah as the two hovered around her watching her paint.

“Alex.” She gasped as she looked at him. “Don’t touch the paint.” She snorted. “It’s oil, it won’t dry for months sometimes,” she shooed him away. Ghost smiled as he watched the woman stand up to the tall American.

Simon glanced at Maria, his expression torn between gratitude and trepidation. He appreciated her support, but the thought of approaching (y/n) was nerve-wracking. He wasn't used to expressing his feelings, especially in such a vulnerable way.

"You make it sound like it's an easy task," Simon retorted, his voice dripping with his usual stoicism, but there was a hint of uncertainty beneath it.

“It is an easy task, dear.” Maria dusted his shoulders off as she smiled at him nodding. “Just approach and ask for a dance.” She brushed off his worries.

Simon took a deep breath, steeling himself with Maria’s words of encouragement. He knew he was overthinking things, but when it came to you, he found himself second-guessing every move he made.

"Alright, alright," he muttered, straightening his suit. "Just ask her for a dance. How hard can it be, right?"

“Right!” Maria gave him a thumbs up. “Look at that John, our oldest is spreading his wings.”

“We adopted them, didn't we?” John looked at his wife deadpanning. He had three kids of his own, he didn’t need three more, grown adult kids.

“We did,” Maria said so proudly.

“Of course we did.” John hummed. “Course we did.”

He found it impeccably hard. He was fearful to approach, afraid he would muck up something. Each step he took towards (y/n) felt laborious, his body tensed with nerves. With every stride, he mentally practiced what to say, how to say it, and how to navigate the situation. He was acutely aware of the fact that he rarely put himself in such vulnerable positions, and it made his blood thrum with a mix of excitement and fear.

As he approached (y/n), he tried to maintain his usual stoic facade, but there was no hiding the way his heart was drumming against his chest.

But then he walked right past her and grabbed a whisky from the bartender as he looked more afraid than anything else. He was sure he was terrifying to look at with his scars from war and his stoic look that adorned his face.

“Oh how smooth,” he uttered as he grabbed the whisky and downed it in one swig.

She was so pretty and he wanted to make sure it was perfect. It had to be! It had to be perfect!

He scolded himself silently for being so afraid. He had faced battles, enemies, and death, yet here he was, intimidated by the chance to talk to a gorgeous woman.

He turned to the bartender and requested another drink, his gaze flickering over to where (y/n) was sitting, painting a beautiful picture. He downed the second drink even faster than the first one, trying to summon the courage he usually had in abundance.

“Having a tough time with something, Lieutenant.” Farah surprised him as she peered up at the tall man.

Simon almost jumped at the unexpected sound of Farah's voice behind him, his already heightened senses amplified by his current state. He quickly turned, his expression schooled into the usual stoicism, but Farah could see the hint of vulnerability beneath it.

"No need to sneak up on me like that," he replied, a bit gruff, but his words lacked their usual edge.

“My bad, my bad,” she smiled softly. “What’s got a lone wolf like you so flustered?” She smirked as she looked around the wedding venue.

Simon let out a frustrated sigh, knowing Farah could see right through him. He fidgeted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the venue as if hoping for a distraction, but there was none.

"It's nothing," he mumbled, his voice barely above a mutter. But he knew that Farah was persistent and would pry it out of him eventually. He took another sip of his drink, stalling for time.

He had no time when Maria took it into her own hands marching up to (Y/n) with a sweet smile on her face. Simon felt his blood run cold. Farah watched as Alex was pulled from his conversation with his cousin as Maria made her presence known.

“Oh dear god,” Simon groaned. “Put a bullet in my head now Farah.”

Simon's anxiety skyrocketed when he saw Maria approach (y/n), his mind racing with the possible outcomes. He took another swig of his drink, as if it could somehow quell the nerves, but it did little to ease his worries.

"I should never have let her talk me into this," he grumbled, his eyes locked on Maria and the woman as she initiated the conversation. "This is a disaster waiting to happen."

“You have a thing for Alex’s cousin?” Farah hummed. “How do you know her?”

Simon glanced at Farah, his expression betraying a mixture of surprise and resignation. He'd been caught in the act by Farah, and there was no use hiding it now.

"We met before," he muttered, his voice low. "During a situation..." He didn't elaborate, but the memory of that day was still fresh in his mind, the sight of (y/n) etched in his mind like a permanent image.

“Tell me how you met my antisocial cousin-in-law.” Farah giggled. “Alex is always trying to get her away from her college classes and getting her out to meet people.”

Simon chuckled softly at Farah's description of (Y/n) as "antisocial," and it struck a chord in him because he found her shyness endearing. He took a deep breath before recounting the story of meeting her.

"It was during a...bomb threat," he said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "We were called in to evacuate a library and disarm a bomb. She was there, working her shift, and...well, I couldn't take my eyes off her since then."

The memory of meeting (Y/n) was still fresh in his mind, and it played in his head like a film reel. Every glance, every touch, every word she said remained vivid in his memory. He could recall the way she looked, the way she smiled, the way she fidgeted—everything about (Y/n) that had managed to captivate him.

Then (y/n)’s eyes met his as Maria pointed him out. He couldn’t help but bristle at the fear of her hating the way he looked. As it was the last time she had seen him, he was in his mask and clearly doing work.

His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to maintain his composure. He was only failing as the heat rose to his cheeks and his stoic mask faltered. His eyes met (y/n)’s and the connection felt instant.

When her eyes met his, Simon felt a jolt of electricity run through him. The sound of the guests and the buzz of the venue faded into the background, and all he could focus on was the sight of her. "My pretty girl," he murmured to himself. He couldn’t look away. His eyes were locked into hers and she was locked onto him.

For months she had been plagued by the man who helped her at the library, and this man had the same shape as him. As it was she had recognized the sergeant that had talked to him while she was stuck in her daze of confusion. Johnny, was that his name? That’s what she thought it was. She had recognized his blue eyes and Mohawk, but the man with the skull balaclava had been a mystery to her. She often dreamt of his voice. Hearing it constantly in her dreams.

“Mr. Riley, get your arse over here.” Maria called to him as Farah giggled and pushed Simon forward.

Simon let out a resigned sigh as he heard Maria call out to him, knowing that he couldn’t back out of it now. He steeled himself, taking a deep breath as Farah gave him a small nudge forward.

"You're enjoying this a little too much," he grumbled, shooting Farah a sidelong glance, before making his way over to (y/n) and Maria.

Alex stood to the side smirking knowing exactly what Simon was going through.

“He’s as daft as any man, trust me my dear, but he has had his head in the clouds since you walked Mrs. Keller down the aisle.”

(Y/n) was too distracted as Simon looked away bashfully. She felt her heart beat out of her chest. “Mrs. Keller?” She questioned quietly as Alex chuckled.

“We’ve lost her, give her a second to catch up.” Alex hummed knowing how introverted and anxious she was. Her anxiety zoned her out and made her mind a muddled mess. She was currently just that, a muddled mess. Who could blame her, she had Simon standing before her and he was a very attractive man, and most likely the man who saved her that day. His sweet and kind attitude towards her made her heart swell and she couldn’t take him off her mind.

Simon chuckled softly at Alex's remark, his eyes flickering over to (Y/n), taking in her confusion. It was endearing how she was so lost in her thoughts, and he couldn't help but find it adorable.

He stood there, quietly waiting for her to process the situation, his eyes never leaving hers. The sight of her looking so overwhelmed yet so captivating made his heart skip a beat.

“Farah, Mrs. Keller.” (Y/n) came out of her daze . “What was the question?” She gulped.

“Hasn’t been a question yet.” Alex patted her back, “you're too cute.”

“Here’s a question.” Maria smiled as she tugged Simon forward. “Would you dance with him? He’s sweet, and he’s kind, and he’s handsome.”

Alex and Farah clutched to one and another as they waited for your response.

Simon felt his ears grow warm at Maria’s blunt compliment, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly at her words. He looked at (y/n), his expression a mix of anticipation and hope, waiting for her response.

He couldn’t deny that he desperately wanted to dance with her, to hold her close, and to make sure she knew he had been thinking about her since the library.

“Yes.” It was quick but quiet answer (y/n) gave.

Maria kept rambling on. “He saved you at the library, at least that’s what Little Johnny has been saying.” she hummed slightly. “said he couldn’t take his eyes off of you the entire time, Simon isn’t like that, he strives to be concentrated at work, but you my dear distracted him. I’m afraid so…” she paused as she looked at (y/n). “Wait, yes…yes! oh yes!” Maria was ecstatic.

Simon's heart pounded against his chest as he listened to Maria's words. He could feel himself blushing profusely, a rare moment of vulnerability in front of others. He averted his gaze from (y/n), suddenly bashful.

He had been trying to hide his fascination since the library incident, but it seemed like he hadn't done a great job, as Maria was making it abundantly clear.

“Well then,” (y/n) said softly, almost embarrassed. Simon couldn’t make out if she was embarrassed by his fascination or something she had said or was going to say. Needless to say it was the ladder. “I’m glad I wasn’t the only one with the fascination.”

Simon's head turned back sharply at her words, his heart skipping a beat as he processed what she had just said. The room seemed to fall silent for a moment as he let her words sink in, his eyes locked onto hers.

He felt a mix of relief and surprise that she had confessed to also having a fascination with him. It was a revelation he hadn't been prepared for, but it was one that filled him with a sense of hopeful anticipation.

“Well then, we will leave you two…be,” Maria smiled.

“Oh! A secret piece of information,” Alex leaned forward looking at the two. “Just in the garden, there’s a beautiful place to be.” He winked at the two.

“What does that mean?” Simon asked, looking down at (y/n). His eyes softened at her.

“I don’t know,” (y/n) uttered. “I don’t speak his language sometimes.”

“Get away, get away,” Farah laughed as she pushed him away. “I think he meant there is a good secluded place to dance.” She giggled as she took her now husband away from the two.

“Oh,” Simon and (y/n) said in unison. The two looked at each other surprised and then giggled.

“Shall we go dancing then.” Simon hummed. “My love.”

“Yes,” Simon's heart leapt at her soft agreement. He gently took her hand, his rough palm against her soft skin. He led her towards the garden, the crowd around them fading into the background. The music was just loud enough to hear but not enough to take away from the two of their conversations,

As he wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer, he couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness. He had dreamed of this moment for a month now, and to finally have her in his arms was almost unreal.

The romance between the two was just unreal.

Simon and (y/n) moved together effortlessly, every step and movement in perfect synchronization. The world around them seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of them. He held her close as he led the dance, his grip on her waist firm yet gentle.

As the music played, Simon couldn't take his eyes off her. He marveled at the way her eyes sparkled in the soft light, the way her hair framed her face, and the way she fit so perfectly in his arms. It was as if the universe had aligned to bring the both together like this.

“You're absolutely gorgeous, dead pretty my love.” He cooed softly as he dipped her down.

“You're too sweet.” She smiled as she got all bashful on him. “You're handsome as well, have been handsome since I first laid eyes on you.” She hummed remembering the library, now knowing this was the very man that had been so gentle and kind to her. He was the man who made her ooze for affection in her dreams from him and wake up to the harsh reality some mornings that she may never know him again. But somehow in some way, someone was letting their love story be weaved together intertwining their red strings together. The two knew from the start, this wasn’t just typical love, it felt like they had known each other forever, this was a love that lasts and a love that only grew from here on out.

“Glad it’s the same for you as it for me, my pretty girl.”

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I hope you enjoy! 💕

Tagged:

@shecamedowninabubble

[moon-fics]

Pretend-Simon Riley/Ghost

A/n: I found another old fic of mine and decided to post it just to have it back up! I hope you all enjoy it!

Summary: You and Soap are forced to pretend to be a married couple on a mission. Ghost doesn't enjoy this in the slightest.

Warning: Swears, angst, jealous Ghost, bad jokes, Gender neutral reader

You wander the streets hand in hand with Soap, gripping his as tightly as possible. You hate going undercover in situations like this because you’re barely armed. You have a single knife in the purse you were allowed to bring while Soap is unarmed. If things go haywire you’re stuck defending the both of you in an impossible situation. You’re just grateful that Ghost will be watching over you two. 

“This is the market we’re supposed to stake out, see if anything is fishy.” Soap reminds you, pulling you forward. He stops at the first stall where the fruit is being sold, some you’ve never seen before. You have to pretend to be madly in love with Soap and the idea makes you sick, you’d much rather have someone else in his place. Preferable a tall British man, but you can’t swap now.

“Aren’t these beautiful, honey?” You give Soap an adoring glance and he smiles at you. He agrees, picking up an apple from the stall and handing it to you. You pull out your wallet and hand the seller a random amount, and he thanks you gratefully. You assume you gave him way above the price, but you don’t mind. 

“Would you like to look at those wooden sculptures?” Soap offers, pointing to a stall where a woman is carving into wood. Her stall consists of wooden figures of a large variety. Your eyes land on a small skull sculpture and you instantly think of Ghost. “I’ll take the rose-carved one,” Soap speaks up. The woman stops carving and picks up the rose-shaped wood. She gives Soap a wide smile as he hands her money. 

“Of course, he would.” Ghost’s voice cracks through your com and you have to stop yourself from laughing. You’ll enjoy Ghost’s commentary on Soap’s actions, it’ll get you through this awkward mission.

“What a lovely couple!” She hums, handing over the figure. You can hear a grunt in your earpiece that’s hidden by your hair. She congratulates you and your eyes are still on the skull. “Oh, do you want the skull?” She asks, picking it up gently. You nod, digging for your wallet again. She holds up a hand and places the skull into your palm. “No need! It’s a gift for your wedding!”

You walk away from the stall after thanking her, taking Soap’s hand again. You’re about to drag him to another stall near a sketchy alleyway you want to check out. Before you can tell him about it Soap grabs your waist and pulls you against his chest. He places a finger over your lip and plants it on the other side of his thumb. Your lips don’t touch but it would be easy to assume you’re both kissing. You can hear more noise through the coms, but you can’t make out what Ghost is saying over your pulse rising. You aren’t attracted to Soap in any way, but the closeness is intimidating.

You want to ask why he suddenly decided to do this until a group of men in enemy uniforms stomps past you. You realize it was his way of blending into a crowd, because who wants to stare at a couple displaying PDA. He pulls away once he believes it’s safe, wiping his thumb off.

“Rude!” You tease as Soap rolls his eyes playfully. 

--

You’ve scoped out any suspicious activity in the area, to the point where you can name every stall with your eyes closed. Your feet are killing you and the heat of the day is making you too sweaty to be comfortable. You’ve already eaten your apple from that one vendor and yet you’re still starving. You just want to get back to base and eat an actual meal. 

“Are you ready to leave?” You ask, stretching your legs to give them a break from your weight. Soap gives you a mischievous look before grabbing you and picking you up. You don’t know what cogs are turning in his head but you know he’s planning something. 

He pushes his face against your ear where the com is, whispering as sweetly as possible, “I’m so glad you’re finally mine. Marryin’ you was the best day of my life and I’m glad we met.” Your eyes widen at his words. You don’t know where this romance came from and honestly, you’re confused about whether he’s being serious or still playing his part.

“If I knew any better I’d assume you’re whispering sweet nothings to Ghost.” You joke and earn a laugh from both men. Soap begins walking away from the market with you in his arms. 

“Just trying something out.” He explains vaguely and a part of your stomach drops. What does Soap have planned and why did he have to make sure Ghost heard? You’ll probably never get your answer from him.

--

Once you get close enough to the safe house without any risks of being seen, Ghost joins you. His attire stands out from the clothes you and Soap chose for your fake date. His mask is clinging to his face, the skull covering what the rest of the balaclava can’t. He’s looking straightforward, silent as a mouse.

“See anything we should know about?” You ask Ghost, Soap’s interest peaking. Ghost’s eyes look at you through the corners of them, the usual dead look in them. You honestly find his get-up interesting, it’s unique. 

“A few cars slowed down while passing the market.” His voice is monotone and you miss how he’d comment on Soap’s acting. You thought it was hilarious how he’d mock Soap and make quips whenever he spoke to you. Now he’s barely talking and you feel disappointed. If you’re being honest, you imagined Ghost being your date instead of Soap. 

“I invented a new word recently,” Soap speaks up and you just have to hear the word he’s going to drop on you and Ghost. “Plagiarism.” You let out a giggle but Ghost remains cold. You’re worried now, he usually enjoys these types of jokes. 

“I saw a guy spill a bunch of Scrabble letters on the road once,” You start your joke, hoping Ghost will join in after you. “I asked him what the word on the street was.” Soap pats your back with a grin.

“Tha’ was garbage!”

--

You sit on the bed of your room in the safe house. You were lucky the safe house was pretty big, but not a place you’d enjoy staying. It’s an abandoned house filled with cobwebs and rotting wood. Since the sun has set the house is ten times worse. Every shadow looks like a person and right now you really want a snack. Sadly, Soap left his protein bars on the first level of the house. 

You gather your courage to walk down the creek stairs. You feel like a child as you grab your flashlight and a knife. You shouldn’t be scared of the dark, you’ve spent a lot of time in it. But this house is terrifying to you. 

You exit your room, slipping down the hall past the other bedrooms. You get halfway down the stairs when someone clearing their throat startles you. You trip a bit and use the railing to stop yourself from falling down the rest. You spin around to see Ghost standing at the top of the stairs with an amused look in his eyes.

“You need a bell on you!” You hiss and Ghost chuckles. The tension inside you disappears at the sound of his laugh. It’s nice to hear it every once in a while, even though it’s not a full laugh. You’re just pleased to see him in a better mood.

“What are ya doing up this late?” He questions, still not moving from the top of the stairs. You have no idea how late it is, you assumed it was about 10 PM but from the way Ghost phrased his question you’d change your guess to past midnight. 

“I got hungry and Ghost left his snacks in the kitchen.” You answer. You conclude that he won’t bother you anymore and begin down the stairs again. You enter the kitchen and see a small bag that Soap uses for food. You zip it open and pull out three protein bars. You know Soap will complain to you once he realizes you took food from him.

You sit down in one of the rotting chairs, open a bar, and take a bite. The taste is nice but you miss the meals you’d be able to make yourself. You shut your eyes from exhaustion, mindlessly biting into the bar again. You rest your head on your hand, hoping you don’t fall asleep like this.

“You’ll choke if you aren’t careful.” As if he’s a profit you choke on the bite from surprise. You’re getting pretty pissed about how silent he is and you’re genuinely thinking about getting him a bell. You clear your throat and glare at Ghost. He’s no longer wearing camouflage and is instead in a black t-shirt and jeans, the mask still on but the skull is gone. His arms are covered in veins poking out, the moonlight from a window illuminating them perfectly. You can see his tattoos and they’re hard to see from how chaotic the scene on his arm is. You can make out a skull and a soldier, barely able to confirm dog tags. 

You both sit in silence while you finish your second bar, already full. You quietly hand him your extra bar and he stores it in his pocket for later. You stand up and begin heading back to the stairs.

“Do you like him?” His voice stops you. You spin on your heel but he’s not facing you. You’re not sure what he means and he must pick up on that, “Soap.” You wonder what happens if you lie or tell the truth. What are the consequences of your choice? It's not like this is any of Ghost’s business.

“Why does that matter? It’s not like anything will come of it.” You test the waters. You want to see his reaction being answering him. There has to be a reason he’s asking you besides curiosity.

“It doesn’t.” He responds. You’re not satisfied. He can’t just as a personal question after being so closed off and why even ask if it doesn’t matter? You’re upset now and you can’t pinpoint why exactly. Because he asked a personal question or because he doesn’t seem to care about you the way you care about him?

You thought you were close enough to consider yourself a friend of Ghost but now you’re not sure. You’re beginning to doubt if he even likes you or if he’s tolerating you. Have you just been making up answers for yourself this whole time?

“Then why ask, huh? Why are you so interested in my love life? For all you know, I’m madly in love with Soap!” You taunt and you can see his arm muscles tense up. You don’t stop though, “I get that you’re the lieutenant and all but what do my feelings have to do with this mission?” You huff. He abruptly stands up and marches over to you. His eyes are dark even with the moonlight reflecting off them. You stare deep into his eyes, trying to figure out what his issue is. 

“Are you?” There’s a long pause where your breathing can be heard. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly at the position you’ve put yourself in. He’s so close to you, you can feel the heat radiating off him. You want to reach up and touch his face even while angry, but you close your fists instead. “Are you in fucking love with him?”

“No.” You answer right after he finishes his question. You furrow your brows and frown. There’s no change in his eyes and you’re certain he’s going to scold you. You hate how many pauses you’ve taken in this conversation so you speak again, “Someone else.” You bite your tongue at your response, hating how it came out.

He steps away from you and cold air rushes to your skin. His eyes no longer harbor anger, instead, there’s a distance. As if he’s pulling away from you mentally as well. You can’t describe the emotion his eyes are presenting you but it makes your chest ache. You reach out and grab his hand, staring at the connection.

You partially believe he’ll rip his hand from yours and reject you in every way possible. Instead, he adjusts his hands to fit your better. “Me?” He mutters softly. You nod and avoid eye contact with him.

You hear fabric moving and your eyes are swiftly covered by a hand. His hands are rough but you don’t mind it. His other hand lets go of yours and grazes over your lips. You swear you can sense him smirking.

“’m gonna erase his kiss from your mind forever.” His voice is low, dangerously low. You don’t have the heart to tell him Soap faked the kiss, not wanting to ruin the moment. Ghost slams his lips onto yours, and crosses your cheek. He’s rough at first, hungry for anything he can get from you. After a while, he slows down and his kiss is more gentle. His thumb rubs up and down your cheek and your heart skips a beat. He removes his lips from you but his hand remains over your eyes, “You’re mine.”

“Who said I wasn’t?” You tease. 

[huellitaa]

style & school ₊˚⊹♡

for the girls who want to look cute in school even with uniform because school is, in fact, a fashion show ✨🎀

🧸𓂃 ࣪˖ first things first, before we get into anything, take into account your school dress code. things to think about:

♡ skirt lengths

♡ jewelry

♡ shoe types

♡ colours and accessories

♡ makeup restrictions

once we've established these things, then we can figure out a way to decorate ur uniform and make ur school life cuter! ♡

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ sizing and best fit

so this sounds like it should be pretty obvious but nowadays, since school uniform is often bought online, the sizes might not always be the most accurate and may not compliment your body type as well as you'd like.

what i'd say for this is when buying new uniform always always always try and get the exact measurements and try your best to get one that compliments your body type as best you can for maximum comfort and maximum confidence ♡

i personally have my jumper / sweater a little bigger than needed just because it's comfy and it looks cute but go with whatever makes you the most comfortable and suits your style the most ♡

i know a few people who've got their uniform tailored to their size specifically and it helps a lot or they've just made little changes here and there, so i would definitely recommend this as one of the most basic things you'd need to start with.

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ hair and accessories

ur hair is SO important because it can make a world of difference when it comes to accessorising even the most bland, boring outfits, in and out of school. i have a pinterest board of hair ideas and ways to do ur hair for in and out of school, but i'll list some ideas:

♡ hair clips! pearls, ribbons, colours, whatever you'd like! <3 ♡ half up half down is iconic, obviously! bonus points if you do half up half down pigtails, i do these all the time w ribbons in <3 ♡ claw clips! claw clips always they're so iconic and so cute ♡ space buns and braids of any kind are absolutely adorable. twin hairstyles are the cutest ever idc

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ socks and shoes

okay believe me this makes SO much of a difference. i've been wearing black knee high ribbon socks and mary janes since i started high school and i look so bare without them. the impact that the little details can have on bland british school uniform is INSANE. lace, frills, small ribbons, mary janes, boots, any cute shoes that are allowed and fit the dress code will do ♡

i'd also recommend leg warmers if they're allowed! we aren't allowed them here but i've seen uniforms that are and they look absolutely adorable ♡

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ jewelry, jewelry, jewelry!

so at my school we aren't allowed jewelry (but everyone wears it anyway) but i have found a way to improvise. everybody knows jewelry is a gorgeous way to uplift any outfit and make it look fancier and prettier and much more glamorous and it makes no different for school uniform!

if you aren't allowed jewelry then i'd also say if you're good at being sneaky to hide it under long sleeves or collars when around teachers and then just wear it the rest of the time. i do this personally because i've been doing it for years but this is not encouragement to get you into trouble! do not do this if you have a super super strict school and / or can't hide it well!

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ bags n decor

oh my gosh i have this absolutely adorable bag for school ,, my bsf @gy0th-yawnzzn knows 🙏 having a cute bag makes things so much more fun. the amount of times i've had both teachers and students compliment my bag is crazy. ur whole life lives in there throughout the day so naturally ur gonna want it to be cute. keychains, ribbons, pearls, beads, bracelets, photos, charms, anything you can find and anything you like! my personal inspo:

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ handmade things

along with being unique and individual and personal to you, having cute little trinkets and bracelets and handmade things can also make things so much cuter and give you your own kind of flair, as it were. i personally add ribbons to everything and cutify EVERYTHING i own cuz it just makes things way more enjoyable (like our school has special planners given to us and i decorate mine w gems and stickers) and wear bracelets i've made to school too! this is handy for individuality and just the little extra if ur super commited ig ♡

🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ season matching

matching your uniform alterations to the seasons is so cute and effective and makes you feel so much cuter and more in tune to the world around you, and gives you a sort of signature style too.

for example, in the summertime:

♡ short socks with frills or ribbons

♡ girly sunglasses (i have this pair of heart sunglasses and i absolutely adore them, i wear them everywhere)

♡ cute colour coordinated hats to match uniform

♡ shorter skirts, school dresses or shorts

♡ pretty golden or summery jewelry

in the winter time:

♡ hats, scarves, gloves, cute coats are a MUST

♡ long sleeves, vests under shirts to keep u warm, etc

♡ trousers, longer skirts

♡ leg warmers, long socks, tights or leggings

♡ jumpers, sweaters, cardigans, and so on

of course do all of these things depending on restrictions, make sure you aren't getting yourself into trouble ! but looking cute is also just as important to me and so i've tried my best to compile a list tailored to all of the strict school girlies with uniforms and restrictions that will help as many of you as possible. girls support girls to look as cute as we can whenever we can ♡

all my love! 💗🎀💖✨💘

[neylo]

Hello dear history enthusiasts, and especially you, Age of Sail fandom (I know you are there).

So… yeah. I have overcome my moments of depression about my sewing and lack of attractiveness. I can still make nice clothes, despite not being the next Tumblr sexyman.

I’m struggling with this.

James Norrington, I’m looking at you.

I wanted to steal your clothes since I was 12 (yeah, the other kids wanted to be pirates. Well, what can I say, I was always the extra one.) Now, it’s important that the movies are set in 1720s while the first British naval uniforms were designed in 1748. I get it - it would be fairly confusing for the movie if they went for accuracy.

If you don’t remember the movie, this is the outfit he wore for his promotion parade. Nice. Except…. This is the undress uniform given the pattern from 1748.

For this particular occasion I believe he should rather wear the full dress uniform.

Which looks like this

Gorgeous right. I keep forgetting how over the top the 1740s men’s clothing were.

As for his movie undress uniform, Norrington was apparently demoted

This is an undress uniform of a senior captain! Quite a demotion, dear sir!

However, the movies inaccurate choice of patterns is alright except for something they decided to do very accurate instead.

That damn golden lace.

It has a subtle pattern and they apparently kept it for the movies which is great! Love the details!

Except it’s nowhere to be found and purchased.

I really, really wanted to make this uniform and have a historically accurate one I could wear for 18th century events as well as for conventions given the price. It would require a lot of expensive wool.

It is frustrating.

On the other hand, I could make the 1795 full dress admiral uniform. I have references, I have seem it But I have no idea how it would look on me. On the other hand, I could wear it for the grand regency ball in Krakow I’m attending.

Or I can just give up on the British boatmen and just make a civilian court suit. I would love to remain consistent and have a French marshal Grande Tenue but I don’t have the skills nor the patience.

[fryingpan1234567]

listen I knowwww Roach should be British. he was on a British task force. he’s got the flag on his uniforms. but when @fixfoxnox said southerner Roach I just couldn’t not love him okay leave me alone

anyways. southerner Roach shenanigans

(I guess you could call this a Something in the Orange fanfic since he’s besties with Jackson in this scenario as well as dating Ghost and Soap……… but it’s general enough it’s probably fine ANYWAYS)

Roach’s accent, while it normally only lightly flavors a few of his words, gets considerably thicker when he’s visiting home

I mean like he does the thing southerners do where they somehow mash entire sentences into one word and the others are just like “……….what” but Jackson is nodding like he understood

Like. They’re all at dinner together somewhere. Somebody brings up the rodeo at the state fair. The Europeans have no idea what they’re talking about. Roach just goes “y’ain’tneverheardadat??” and Soap nearly has a stroke trying to figure out what he meant but Jackson continues to eat soundly like he didn’t hear anything wrong

COWBOY👏 HAT👏 RULE👏

HELP

No no no they go to some random dive bar for one of their birthdays. It doesn’t matter whose. Jackson and Roach both have cowboy hats because OBVIOUSLY and like. They exchange this look that the others can’t figure out whenever one of their boyfriends steals their hat via flirting

(They tell them later and then can’t stop laughing while Soap and Ghost and Gaz are just sitting there like uh oh)

After that the hat stealing is very much purposeful

Square dancing to fucking Timber by Kesha and Pitbull in said dive bar because that’s just required idk what to tell you

Soap and Ghost seeing Roach ride a horse for the first time and visibly bluescreen

Roach recognizing people from high school in his hometown even tho he hasn’t seen them in like 20 years

He likes Taylor Swift but only her old country-adjacent stuff

Ghost and Soap couldn’t figure out his aversion to any kind of substitute milk until he took them home and they found out it’s because he grew up drinking milk that literally came from the cows he has in his backyard. They own two cows. And a few chickens. Very resourceful

Jackson and Roach dragging the 141 to Roach’s family’s Super Bowl party one year because in the southern states it’s a huge fucking deal

The Europeans being like “………this is quite possibly one of the dumbest things I’ve ever seen in my life” but their boys are having fun so it’s okay

God help the rest of them. Jackson and Roach are rooting for opposite teams.

There’s screaming, there’s wrestling on the living room floor, there’s spilling food and beer everywhere. The amount of rubbing it in after a touchdown lands is fucking crazy, and they’ve shouted about stabbing each other every single time

Eventually, maybe with a bit of googling, the others get into it. Soap hasn’t stopped shoving Mrs. Roach’s buffalo chicken dip in his face since he’d discovered it when they’d arrived, and Ghost was letting the kids use his tattoo like a coloring page while he chatted with Roach’s dad and brothers. Gaz kept getting elbowed in the ribs whenever Roach and Jackson tousled on the couch, and a couple times he was asked to hold Jackson’s beer so “I can kick some sense into this dipshit,” usually followed by Roach’s maniacal cackling. Price was banging around in the kitchen with Mrs. Roach. Nobody knew how he’d gotten dragged into that, but he seemed to be enjoying himself

On the topic of bringing the boys home to the fam oh my GODS thanksgiving

Ghost is not a dessert person. He’s never been a dessert person. But he had four slices of Mr. Roach’s apple pie, so,,,,,,,,, apparently he is actually a dessert person

Obvi Roach is good with all guns, but he was hunting with his dad and brothers by the time he was like six. He knows how to work a shotgun like he breathes

(Ahem being southern is why he’s so fucking stubborn btw if anyone was wondering)

Roach and Jackson both are religious Dolly Parton listeners

“DID U GUYS KNOW SHE WROTE JOLENE AND I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU ON THE SAME DAY—“

Ghost and Soap wake up one night because there’s a weird noise outside. They poke Roach awake like “???? what was that??” and he was just like “oh yeah the woods make noises sometimes. don’t worry about it. if something actually wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t hear it coming” and promptly passed back out

“Yea I’ve seen a skinwalker before” “FYM YOU’VE S E E N O N E ? “ “It was in my backyard?? Relax it just wanted the coyote that always tries to kill our chickens. I didn’t really mind”

Gaz suggests investigating a weird figure he saw in the woods. Roach laughs out loud and Jackson smacks him in the back of the head like “that’s how you fucking die you idiot”

“Y’all’re lucky we’re here to stop you from doing somethin’ stupid. Fuckin’ city slickers” “What did you just call me”

The deafening sounds of crickets and locusts puts Roach to sleep almost instantly every night. Ghost barely sleeps every time they visit.

”IT IS SO FUCKING LOUD IF ONE MORE BLOODY CRICKET—“ “Simon not everyone needs literal dead silence to sleep—“

No matter how many pillows he stacks on top of his head he can’t escape it

Oh. Oh. The Europeans CANNOT do southern heat. They’re passed out on the porch while Jackson and Roach and Roach’s brothers play football in the front yard

Roach makes killer lemonade and iced tea nobody talk to me

He has a rusty blue ancient pickup that he says is his baby. One of the wheels is misshapen and the bed squeaks dangerously every time they hit a pothole, but he won’t get rid of it EVER

Roach introduces Soap and Ghost to catching fireflies in jars with his nieces and nephews. They are. So in love with the concept.

It gets turned into a competition, because of course it does, and it looked like Ghost was going to win— but then the youngest of the participating children silently held up a jar that was too bright to look at and audibly buzzing from the amount of bugs inside of it. They cut their losses and embrace the fact that they’ll never be That Good

Southern👏 sunsets👏 there ain’t nothing like it

Soap has a sketchbook dedicated entirely to doodling Roach doing farm things

Roach had a horse he took care of in high school. Her name was Peaches and he literally cried when he found pictures of her in his room

Ghost LOVES the sweet old border collie Roach’s parents have. That dog has seen many a stampede, and he’s herded just as many. What a man. Ghost does not leave him alone Ever

gods fuck me bro I could literally talk about southern Roach F O R E V E R (idk if you can tell from the long ass post Jesus Christ)

good morning/ night/ 4am lmk if you want more of this

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! 👋

Do you know if there are any soldier or warrion Aziraphale fics around? The concept is he was a soldier prefall due to how in the tv show Aziraphale hints sometimes that he fought in the war.

Possibly ones where nobody knows/hid how powerful and strong he actually is until something happens and he has to reveal it.

The only fic I could find was "Being Gentle" by "Sodium_Azide" but I would like to read more if there are others.

Thanks a bunch! ❤️

Hey! Here are some soldier Aziraphale fics...

Lucky Shot by wyrmy (M)

Crowley makes a few discoveries about Aziraphale's natural physical abilities and starts having ideas about things they might get up to together in the bedroom.

Soldier by lalaland666 (G)

Aziraphale was a soldier. A platoon leader, even. He’d fought in the War, in the Rebellion, and he’d been good at it. Good at fighting. Good at killing. That didn’t mean he had liked it.

Hang up your ensign, let your drums be still by hapax (T)

“I am here,” the Quartermaster said sternly, “about your regimentals.” Aziraphale, regrettably, gaped. “My what?” “Your regimentals, soldier! Or perhaps I should say ex-soldier!” A disgusted sniff. “Deserter, traitor, whatever you like. I’m here to strip you of uniform, rank, insignia, command, any connection whatsoever to the Host of Heaven.” When Heaven restores one of Aziraphale’s repressed memories of the War of the Rebellion, it threatens to destroy the tentative relationship he has begun to forge post-Notpocalypse with his hereditary enemy.

Aim Your Arrow at the Sky by SilverMirror12 (T)

“Aziraphale, they want to kill you!” “Oh good.” Aziraphale turned to look over the horizon Gabriel and Sandalphon had been thrown beyond. “It’s always nice to be on the same page.”

Who Dares, Wins by Santillatron (M)

Aziraphale is an officer in the British Army. He hears about a fellow Brit captured somewhere he shouldn't have been, who is being kept far behind enemy lines and is apparently holding up miraculously well against the German methods of persuasion. He absconds to rescue him accompanied by a small band of men who decide to tag along, and the rest, as they say, is history...

Saunter a Mile in my Shoes by LoveLettersUnsent (T)

In War there are no winners, only losers. It was an eternity ago but Aziraphale and Crowley were shaped by their actions in the First War. They're about to learn first hand what the other did that fateful day - a secret neither has told the other in over 6000 years. Adam was just trying to help, but you know what they say about good intentions... The question is will their friendship survive it? Or will it burn like sulfur for something new to grow in its place? Welcome to the Start times...

And the one you mentioned...

Being Gentle by Sodium_Azide (M)

Principalities are built for war. Only for war. However, as bewildering as it may be, on Earth sometimes peace breaks out. He felt like a siege catapult attempting to skip pebbles on a pond. Aziraphale, a very gentle angel created to defend Eden against all of the horrible might of Hell, does his very best to be soft.

- Mod D

[mimisplayground]

Captain Price, Brat Tamer Extraordinaire

tags: brat taming, spanking, thorough prep, ALL ACTIVELY CONSENTED TO, however.., power imbalance, hinted at poly!141, KINDA a free use kink BUT NOT EXPLICITLY, aftercare at its finest, dumbifcation (dick got you stupid), open to ghost sequel :3, power difference but the hot way, he calls you love and sweetie, you call him sir and his rank while hes fucking you so…

uuuhhhh i just REALLY want that old british man…

—————-

Price was an authortive man. He was firm when he spoke and he didn’t take arguments to his orders.

So when the cute little mouthy cadet glares at him and tells him to fuck off, he almost wants to be mad. He acts mad, his voice booming in your face and blood flowing to his dick when he watches you continue to glare even as tears well in your eyes, your bottom lip quivering as you do what your told. Grumbling under your breath.

This becomes a pattern. You listen well for a few days, longest he’s clocked you behaving was a week. Finally you start to get a bit mouthy and him or one of the others end up having to get loud with you to get you acting right. Though he would never forget the time he watched you roll your eyes at Ghost when he had just yelled at you. And he doesn’t think he could get the look of your face crying while Ghost has a hand wrapped around it with your cheeks smushed together out of his mind either.

Certainly not when it’s the main thing he thinks of recently when he’s got his hand wrapped tight around his own dick.

You were a crybaby. An awfully pretty one. But you were a fucking brat, and it left Price stuck with being incredibly turned on and pissed everytime he had a feeling it was gonna be another day where you wanted to run your mouth.

So he was surprised when one day, walking past the room where the men changed, he heard Soap snickering about how he wished he could fuck you, see how long you kept mouthing back. Not surprised at the statement, Price knew the others wanted to get their hands on you. But surprised at how much he himself seemed to contemplate the idea.

Which was what led to you being led into his office when you had next mouthed off. Months of your attitude had worn on him, and when you had told him to “fuck off and shove it up his own ass”, he had quickly and quietly made it clear that he expected you to follow him to his office. You stood there in front of his desk with your arms crossed, tapping your foot and huffing often.

Price stared you down for a moment. “I’m sick of your attitude.” He had practically snarled out. Watching you shift awkwardly, as if the annoyance was fading into worry. “And I think it’s time we take care of it.” Price finished off calmly. It left you nervous, he could tell. He sat down, and he waved his hand for you to come closer.

“I’m not gonna force you. If you say no it’s fine, and you’ll run 20 laps.” He saw you shudder at that. It was by no means a small track. And he knew you had only ever done 10 at the most. But it was the alternative and equal punishment he had picked for if you declined him now. “If you don’t want to do that, you’ll lay across my lap.” He finished, watching to gauge your reaction.

He saw you contemplate. “I want you to know that neither is the easy way out. Your attitude problem will be fixed when Im done with you, one way or another.” You huffed.

“Gonna spank me like you’re my dad or some shit?” You sassed at him, nodding in consent and yelping when he tugs you down and across his lap. “Yea love, that’s the plan.” He laughs slightly as he yanks your uniform pants down, happy he caught you in a moment where you didn’t have the full uniform on and he didn’t have to worry about the padding and belt. Yanking your underwear down with the pants and staring at your ass for a moment.

“Perv.” You mumbled out, yelping when a harsh, sharp smack landed on your behind. You squirmed, and Price kept a hand firm on your back. His hand raised and dropped down again quickly, 5 more smacks coming in succession.

He had never been known for being light with his hands, and it was showing in the discoloration of your behind. You were squirming around, complaining loudly. “You’re a fucking dick! I hate you, you’re awful!” You had been screaming it out practically, and his anger spiked at the idea that someone could be outside thinking he was allowing you to speak to him like that.

“Enough!” He boomed out, the harshest smack he had delivered so far landing right where your thigh and ass met. You yelped harshly and quieted down quickly. You both sat in silence for a moment, Price trying desperately to will away the blood rushing to his cock.

With another blow he had hit the other side in the exact same spot, eliciting a choked noise. He knew he had hit a sensitive spot. You remained quiet, hoping it would grant you mercy.

“Apologize now, and I’ll consider stopping. Want to hear you beg, sweet thing.” He had demanded, watching you profusely shake your head no at his order. “That’s too bad,” he sighs, rubbing your behind softly before pinching a bruise and hearing your whimper “I would’ve even been nice to you after if you listened the first time.”

His assault quickly picked back up, now focusing on the sensitive back of your thighs. He listens to you ramble out pleas of mercy and sobbing out apologies. After a good ten hits he had stopped again, not before pinching the soft spot he had just spanked raw and bruised and listen to your whimper.

You whine and cry, mumbling out apologies that has him sighing and moving you up so you’re sat gently on his lap as he hugs you and soothes your back as you cry and squirm away from where your ass meets his rough pants. He had hugged you to show comfort, but also to hide how flushed his face had gotten listening to your cries and whines.

He really couldn’t hide the bulge in his pants much though, and he full blown jolted when he heard your cries quiet down and felt your hand brush against the bulge. He leans back in his chair, quirking a brow up at your attempt at puppy eyes with him. “Lemme make it up to you…” you mumble out, fiddling with the waistband of his pants and tugging at his shirt to untuck it.

Price stares at you for a moment, sighing before he picks you up and sets you on his desk, grinning slightly at the groan you let out from the soreness of your bottom. He grins harder when you hears your grumble at the fact that he grinned. He unbuckles his belt quickly and yanks it down, and he can’t help but feel pride swell at the squeak you let out before shuffling away.

“It won’t fit,” you said, with so much resolve that Price was almost inclined to believe you. Instead he let out a loud laugh and grabbed your calf, lifting it up gently and watching you hesitantly lean back to lay on his desk. He massages your leg gently, all the way to your upper thigh before quickly giving the other leg the same gentle treatment. “Promise I’ll be gentle preparing you, we’re through most of the punishment part anyways, love.” He has your leg grasped in his hand, pulling it over and leaving a kiss on your ankle. “If you’re ok with it?”

And god grant you mercy, why did a grown man, your Captain no less, have to be so weirdly cute with the way he tilted his head as he asked the question. You stare at him for a moment, and he grins softly when you nod yes to him. He leans over, arms caging you down and leaving kisses all over your face. One of his hands runs down your body, reaching between your legs and toying with your most sensitive spots.

He plays with you until you’re putty underneath him. Gentle and just firm enough to leave you twitching and teetering the edge of release with your brain reduced practically to goo. He’s so composed as he does it too, an arm keeping you pinned so you can’t buck your hips up and his body blocking you from being able to squirm away. Stuck at his mercy and babbling incoherent nonsense and begs.

The hand finally goes further down and the tears coming from your eyes at this point are from ecstasy. A single finger prods at your entrance, and he wishes he could he felt bad about spitting into his own hand to lube it up to push the first digit inside of you with the mix of your arousal to help. But from the way your shuddering and pushing down on his finger, he would argue that you probably didn’t mind much. He was gentle with adding another finger as well, scissoring you open and listening to your loud groans.

He had gotten to three fingers quickly, stretching and thrusting them before you finally managed to cut through your own incoherency. “Please, Captain, Sir, anything, whatever you wan’ me to call you just please,” he was almost impressed with how you drew out the please into a whine, “put it in. Wan’ you in me, now Sir, please.”

That was really the only coherent thought and sentence you seemed able to string together right now. At least thats what Price would guess from the way you went back to your mumbles and moans. So he sighed and kissed at your tears as he pulled his fingers out and lined himself up, pushing in slow and firmly.

By the time he was all the way in he had to stop and give himself a moment to catch his breath. “So tight love, grippin’ me tight.” He was groaning, lifting your legs over his shoulders and into a mating press. He listened to your begs for him to move, to mess up your insides real nice. After a few moments he listened to those pleas.

He thrusts hard, snapping his hips up and stopping after he hears you squeal “It hurts!” He leans down, kissing your tears again. “Need me to stop? Don’ wan’ to hurt you love,” he kisses your lips as you pout.

It takes everything in you to pull a full thought together and even more to get it out. “Hurts where you spanked me…” you groan out, whining when he laughs and pinches a bit at the spot. “Want me to-“ hes cut off at your quick shaking of your head and a small “don’ stop.”

“Whatever you want love, call it part of the punishment.” He leaves another kiss on your lips and goes back to harsh thrusts that leave you screaming and gasping for air under him. He’s firm and rough, but the absolute perfect pace that leaves you downright shaking.

And when his hand comes down to play with your sensitive spots again as he thrusts, you feel the knot inside of you tighten and snap as your eyes roll back and your body arches up off the table and into Price. He holds onto you tight, continuing his thrusts harshly as you twitch under him, your hands reaching up and petting his hair as if to let him know to continue.

“Wan’ cum inside sweetie, can I? Please love…” he groans as you nod yes into his neck and with a final harsh thrust he feels the knot in his own stomach burst as he cums deep inside of you.

You both lay there for a moment, panting harshly with sweat all of the both of you. You look a mess, tear streaks down your face and drool from your mouth. And Price looks up at you questioningly after you giggling when he leaves a kiss on his shoulder.

“Your mustache tickles.” You say with a small smile, and he smiles back before leaning down to kiss you. He picks you up, opening a door to his private room -and straight to the bathroom- setting you down on the toilet.

You sigh in relief when he picks you up and sinks you both into the bathtub. You squirm a bit at the sting of warm bath water on your sore ass, and he kisses the back of your neck as he gets to work washing the both of you.

Price has you sleep in his room, and finds himself snickering for the next week when he catches you opting to stand when able. And holding back almost full laughter when you’re forced to sit at meetings or in vehicles as you squirm around.

And when he hears that your attitude is getting bad with the others again when you’re so sweet and almost obedient in front of him, Price shrugs and tells them to figure it out.

When he walks past the training room to see you in a headlock by Ghost while he’s clearly whispering something mean in your ear (if your tears are anything to go by), hes got a feeling your attitude will be getting a lot better for all of them soon.

————

left it open for a sequel for da cod hoes

PLS HYPE THIS UP MY OLD MAN DESERVES IT. and guys this was like, almost entirely self indulgent so… sowwy :p (pls ignore any typos guys… i literally have no beta reader its just me, my whims, and my prozac getting us through these fanfics)

again, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! SEND IN ASKS!! I WILL GET TO THEM!! im running out of ideas guys pls send asks and requests…

[amorhedera6]

the bad kids as pixie hollow fairies

psa: i’ve only seen the movies and i haven’t read the books, so if you’re a book person pls bear with me.

gorgug thistlespring - tinker fairy

tinker fairies are known for ingenuity and creation. they make all kinds of tools and contraptions to help their friends lives easier. they mend things, create things, and their signature color is green. it just makes sense.

kristen applebees - light fairy

also fairly obvious. with kristen’s connection to the sun through her family and the moon through tracker, this one was bound to be. light fairies can bend sun or moonlight, keep pixie hollow aglow, and are known to make rainbows. the mechanics of species don’t exactly line up, but i could see a young kristen being a sunlight fairy, devoted to keeping the sun filtering in the direction it was meant to and keeping everything a light. a growing kristen would work instead with the moonlight, training fireflies, and keeping a lantern of moonlight that keeps darkness from being threatening.

fabian seacaster - water fairy

he lives in a boat, people. what else was there? water fairies and manipulate water, shape it, control it, and also are often found seeking boats in the waters. they can create fountains and communicate with water-animals, often assisting fish and tadpoles in learning how to swim. imagine the hangman as a fish. come on.

fig faeth - animal fairy

animal fairies are known to interact with and feel the emotions of any animals in pixie hollow. they are also known to be the most emotional fairy type, as they are feeling others emotions. they help animals reach the mainland and are skilled trackers. fig’s constantly summoning animals (sexy rat, the daymare), comparing herself with animals (the “german shepherd” mode), connecting with animals (giving a dog a bardic at the black pit, the pet oyster that she supposedly carried around for weeks in freshman year) or pretending to be an animal (orangutan at loam farm), and i think that the mask gorgug gifts her for moonar yulenear is an extension of that. fig’s very very caring for all her friends, and i think that would easily extend over to animals.

riz gukgak - fast flying fairy

fast flying fairies have control over winds, can create breezes, go up to triple the speed of a normal fairy. they also carry bigger wings, which might, in turn, make them look smaller. such speed would be incredibly helpful for stealth, when trying to get away from someplace and hide quickly. i think riz would fit will here as someone who’s constantly running around searching clues, not sleeping, doing the most that he can. he needs extra speed to keep up.

adaine abernant - frost fairy

i think adaine being a winter fairy makes a lot of sense, with her family being ambassadors from fallinel. maybe the winter fairies are just british. a forst fairy can create frost from their fingertips, or if they are particularly skilled they can conjure it from anywhere. they can freeze plant life, make icicles, and need to keep cold in order to live. with adaine pulling a wand of frost out of her jacket in freshman year, her personal connection to basrar’s ice cream shop, and her most prominent color being blue (the school uniform of hudol, her denim jacket, her eyes, her sword, her character art even has her magic depicted as blue), i think she makes a perfect frost fairy.

i have no idea what kind of story this would make, but i love it. like a small flock of fairies accidentally getting lost, leaving pixie hollow, and having to find their way back from neverland while accidentally fighting a dragon? idk i just love them thanks

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 2

Masterlist | Chapter 1 |-| Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19

AO3

Summary: Frankie's friendship with the men of the 100th continues to consolidate, even as her work takes its toll

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, language, me having no idea how B-17s work

Word Count: 4k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp

The pub was noisy as ever, a patchwork crowd of blue and green, British and American, filling the low-ceilinged room, the stench of cigarette smoke and stale beer thick in the air. It seemed to Frankie that she only ever managed to get that smell washed out of her uniform in time to come straight back here and acquire it again, but it was the only place they could manage to find some real fun - after all, there were no men and no booze allowed in their Nissen hut. Although both rules had been known to be flouted.

"Stop fiddling with that, you'll make it worse," George tutted, batting at Frankie's arm as she took a sip of her beer. When one of the forts had crashed in a ball of flames earlier that week, she had seared herself helping to clear the debris, a burn mark running across the palm of her right hand. In her moments of absent-mindedness, she often found herself toying with the bandage, which caused the nurses great dismay when the dressings inevitably frayed and needed replacing.

"I can't make it worse, it's already almost healed," She shrugged, plucking a cigarette from her breast pocket. The two women had long since learned that bringing a whole pack led to nothing but strangers begging for a smoke, so they each only ever brought one out with them - besides, a pleasant smile could always swindle a hapless soldier out of another, should the need arise. "Hurt like a bitch, but the nurse lanced all the blisters the other day."

George grimaced, wiping some foam from the corner of her lip. As she let her gaze wander to the next table over, the voices of the men behind them growing more audible by the minute, she sighed. "Oh, here we go."

Craning her neck to have a look, Frankie watched on for a moment, recognising the faces of Egan, Cleven and the others as they chatted with a few RAF airmen in less-than-friendly tones. A crooked grin made its way across her expression, and she wiggled her brow at George as she stood up, taking her pint with her.

"Frank, no," Her companion whispered, tugging at her sleeve.

"Come on," She giggled. The pair burrowed their way through the dense crowds that crammed the pub, breaking free beside the men's table, lingering momentarily behind the three RAF pilots.

"So, let me get this straight," One of them asked. "You're Buck, and he's Bucky?"

"Is there a shortage of nicknames in the 100th?" Another spoke, a smug smirk creasing his cheeks.

Frankie took another sip of her beer and spoke up, the sudden sound drawing the attention of all of the men at the table. "No, but there is a shortage of tossers, I'm sure you could fill the ranks," She said sweetly.

"Wa-hey!" Bucky cheered, a pink tinge on his cheeks indicating that he was already reasonably intoxicated. Wordlessly, he leapt to his feet, scrounging for a pair of extra chairs for the two women.

"Hiya, George," Biddick smiled dreamily, cradling in his in the palm of his hand. "How ya doin'? You look nice."

"I'm doing good, thanks Curt," George smiled, accepting a seat with a quick thanks to Bucky. Frankie let out a snort as she sat down beside her.

"Only thing we're short of is crews, gents," Egan sighed, taking his place between Frankie and Cleven and attempting to drape an arm across the back of her chair before she shoved him off.

"Hm. Pity," One of the RAF men said, condescension dripping in his tone.

"Pity what, exactly?" Frankie urged, getting the distinct feeling that there was a whole argument bubbling under the surface here that she had not been party to.

"Well, they'd have more if they flew their missions at night - as an RAF woman yourself, surely you must know that."

She raised a brow, talking over the rim of her glass as she took another sip of beer. She could feel Bucky tensing beside her. "Yunno, if the RAF paid me a bit more I might feel some loyalty to them, but I'm with the Yanks. You're the prick here, mate." George lifted her glass in a silent toast of agreement, a smirk curling the corner of her lips.

The Englishman's jaw clenched as he peeled his irritated gaze away from her to look at the men. "I think we ought to make some sport of this. Any one of you will do."

"Oh, don't say that, Frankie'll beat your ass," Bucky muttered under his breath, just quiet enough that only she and Cleven could hear, grins spreading across their expressions.

"Sounds like an excellent idea," Cleven rose to his feet to accept the challenge, but before he could, Biddick was up beside him, tugging at his sleeve. He spoke in a low voice, and Frankie couldn't quite make out what he was saying, but she pieced it together when Curt's gaze kept flickering from Cleven to George, who watched on with a frown. He wanted to take the fight - wanted to impress her.

Once it was settled that Curt would be the one to fight, the group moved swiftly outside, half-empty drinks long forgotten at the table as they hurried to watch the spectacle. The alley outside the pub was unlit, the glow from inside casting faint shadows against the cobbles as they formed a tight circle, watching on expectantly. Frankie's cigarette hung from her lips, a cloud of smoke rising in front of her as Curt and the RAF airman began to circle one another, fists raised.

George clung tight to her elbow, grinning in anticipation. The Englishman caught the edge of a wonky paving stone, stumbling slightly, and the two women let out unflattering snorts. Curt winked at them, and Frankie rolled her eyes, although even in the darkness she could tell George was blushing.

"What do I get when I win?" He called over, tearing his gaze from his opponent.

It was George's turn to roll her eyes now. "I'll let you buy me a drink."

His boyish face lit up, and it seemed he had been wholly distracted from the fight. The Englishman lunged forward to take advantage of this, but Biddick didn't miss a beat, knocking him down with a single blow. Frankie let out a raucous cheer of celebration, her friend clapping along as the men whooped and jeered at each other.

"Milady," Curt grinned, holding out his hand to George, who accepted gladly, allowing him to lead her back into the pub for another drink. Frankie let out a huff, smiling as she stomped out her cigarette and watched the other RAF airmen pick their fallen comrade up off the ground. Letting out another laugh, the sound of it erupting into the night air, she began to follow the men of the 100th, finally letting Bucky sling his arm around her shoulders as they wandered back towards the Nissen huts, singing and shouting in celebration of Curt's victory.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was not yet five in the morning as Frankie scrounged to tie her bootlaces in the dark, toothbrush dangling out of her mouth, unbrushed hair tugged back into a messy ponytail. The pilots were taking off shortly after daybreak, and as some of the most senior mechanics at Thorpe Abbotts, the job often fell to her and Lemmons to carry out the last-minute safety checks and refuelling to ensure they'd all make it back in one piece.

None of the other women in her hut were required for duty yet, so Frankie did her best to shuffle about in the darkness as quietly as possible, refusing to turn on her bedside lamp so as not to wake George or any of her other less forgiving bunkmates.

Standing up from the edge of the bed once she'd finished tying her laces, she groped around blindly for her key to the mechanics' hut, accidentally banging her elbow on the corner of her metal bedframe in the process, waves of pain shooting up her arm. Pursing her lips tightly together, her whole body tensed, Frankie managed to find the key, waiting until she'd left the hut so that the cool night air would drown out the sounds of her pain.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She hissed as she scurried for her bike, waving her injured arm around wildly as if the movement could somehow dull the pain. She was so distracted that she'd almost completely forgotten about the burn on her hand - that is, until she clamped the handlebar with her injured palm and let out a yelp.

The sun was already rising as Frankie arrived on the airstrip, breaks squeaking as she wheeled to a stop outside the mechanics' hut, Lemmons already on site as he wrung his palms with one of the dirty rags they used to clean away excess lubricant. "You look like hell," He pointed out as she dismounted her bike, locking it up around the side of the building.

"Thanks, Ken," She replied sarcastically. "Rough wake-up call, beat myself up stumbling around in the dark."

Ken chuckled, handing over her toolkit. The pair had far few hours of sleep between them to chat as they worked, and it was all Frankie could do not to yawn as she checked the fuel tanks and oiled the landing gear. They'd been out for over an hour by the time the flight crews began to show up, the familiar sound of jeep engines pulling up behind her as she declared her job done.

"She ready to roll?" Bucky's voice rang out, and Frankie almost flinched as he clapped her over the shoulder, still reeling from the man's constant lack of volume regulation.

"All good," She confirmed. "Now get her outta my sight, and bring her back in one piece - can you handle that?"

He smirked. "Oh, you know I can."

"The number of wrecks you've given me would say otherwise, dear," Frankie teased, wiping engine grease off of her fingers with a rag as she turned on her heel, heading back towards the mechanics' hut.

"Hey!" Egan called, and she looked back at him. "You ain't gonna watch us take off?"

"The only thing I'm doing now is taking a goddamn nap," She laughed, feeling exhaustion tugging at her eyelids.

"Yeah, fair, you do look like shit," Bucky shrugged, recoiling as her filthy, oily rag smacked him in the shoulder as Frankie lobbed it across the airstrip. "Hey!"

"Respect women, you little bitch," She retorted, raising a middle finger as she wandered off, praying she could make the bike ride back to her bed without dozing off and crashing into a bush somewhere.

Frankie slept through the morning, right past lunch, and would've missed the cacophony of plane engines returning overhead had Lemmons not come to retrieve her, banging on the window above her bed. She peeled her eyes open slowly, waking with a start as she noticed the boyish face staring down at her through the glass.

"What the fuck?!" She asked groggily, voice raised so that he could hear her from outside.

"They're back, come on!"

Letting out a huff, Frankie dragged herself out from under the blankets, running her fingers through the knots in her hair for want of time to properly brush it. Stepping out through the front door as she finished fastening the top few buttons of her coveralls, Ken stood waiting for her, passing his weight impatiently between the balls of his feet.

"How's it lookin'?"

"Uh, all the ones we've got so far look alright. Although..." He trailed off, glancing awkwardly at her as they fetched their bikes.

"Although?"

"Biddick may have... crashed. In, uh... Scotland."

"He what?!"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Once it had been established that Biddick was still, in fact, alive, Frankie had few kind words to say about the pilot's wreckless flying, mourning the loss of a plane and the strings they'd have to pull to find a new one. Fortunately, George had been in an especially persuasive mood that night, and had managed to rope her into attending the party that was being held for the airmen to celebrate the success of their mission.

"Watch what they're calling a success, I'm the one who's gotta figure out how to ship a wrecked plane back from fucking Scotland," Frankie muttered as they approached the building, muffled music coming from inside as she tugged at the shoulders of her jacket, trying to force it to sit comfortably.

"Oh, stop complaining," George scoffed, grabbing her arm and forcing her to stop as she reached up to fix a smudge in her lipstick. "Look on the bright side for once - he didn't die!"

"That's especially good for you with your lovey-dovey eyes, huh? 'Oh hiya George, how ya doin' George, you look real pretty today George'," Frankie teased, putting on an utterly terrible American accent as she attempted to mimick Curt. George punched her in the arm and went inside without a word, a natural pink flush visible through her rouge.

The band was in full swing as Frankie followed her inside, the mingling crowds a mix of uniformed airmen, plainclothed local women, and a few servicewomen she recognised from the neighbouring huts. She was struggling to pretend she had ever wanted to come, nose burrowed in a glass of whiskey as she managed to dodge the flirting of a few slightly intoxicated pilots. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy parties - she just preferred them when there was no mountain of work hanging over her head for the following day. It was just as well she'd slept through lunch, otherwise her mood would've been frightful.

Bucky wanted to sing. He could feel the music running through his body, his toe tapping involuntarily against the polished floor as he sat slumped in a seat beside Buck. His friend had never enjoyed Bucky's singing - and although he pretended not to, he understood why. He couldn't carry a tune to save his life, but dammit if it wasn't fun.

The consensus had been a resounding no. No, he could not sing. But that was no fun - that was no way to celebrate, not in Bucky's book. He had caught Cleven off guard as he bolted from his seat, just quick enough to break away before his friend could grab him by the shoulder and drag him back down again. Approaching the microphone, an excited grin creasing his cheeks, his gaze scanned over the crowd before stopping on an unfamiliar face.

If anything, his performance would only be enhanced by a partner.

Frankie was beginning her second whiskey, lingering by George's shoulder as she made small talk with one of the radar operators from the women's hut next door. Bucky had tried to call her over once, but over the music and the crowd, she hadn't heard. He paused for a moment, wracking his brain for a way to get her attention without giving up the microphone. If he stepped away, he wouldn't have put it past Buck not to have the thing removed so that he couldn't perform.

"Fran!"

She turned to him instantaneously, ears pricked like a hunting dog, expression contorted with the murderous promise to carry out the threat she had issued the last time he'd used the nickname.

"Sing with me," Bucky beamed, holding out his hand. A smirk began to spread across her face, and he could see George patting her shoulder, egging her on. With a grin, Frankie passed her drink to the blonde, crossing the gap between them and meeting him at the mic as he cheered. Cleven's head was in his hands.

"You know the words?" He whispered.

"Well enough," She affirmed.

Never saw the sun shinin' so bright,

Never saw things goin' so right,

His suspicion had been correct. Frankie couldn't carry a tune any better than he could, onlookers grimacing at the complete lack of musical talent the pair possessed. Occasionally the lyrics would collapse into laughter as Bucky noted the way she had to crane her neck to even reach the microphone, but there was not a hint of embarrassment between them.

Watchin' the days hurryin' by,

When you're in love, my how they fly,

She caught his eye for a moment, their grins audible in their voices as they fought to keep up with the quick pace set by the band behind them. Arms outstretched, the curls in her hair bounced with each tap of her foot as she leant into the mic, their cheeks practically pressed together. The whiskey had left her slightly flushed, the tip of her nose blooming pink the way it always did. Anyone looking on probably must have thought there was something deeper between the two - the way they stood so close, their cheeks flushed pink, unable to keep a straight face whenever their eyes met. Frankie loved Bucky, that much was true, but it was the kind of platonic love that veered more into brotherhood than it ever would romance. If he had ever tried to kiss her, she probably would have knocked him out.

Blue days, all of them gone,

Nothin' but blue skies from now on,

He seized her by her shoulders in a fierce bear hug, and she let out a guffaw, so loud and so close to the microphone that it sent a shrill squeak of feedback around the room, the crowd grimacing for a moment before Bucky tugged her away and the terrible sound ceased. George was unable to clap for the glasses she held in both hands, but she whooped and cheered from the side of the room, the only person in the place giving them the true encore they both believed they deserved.

"I think we have a future in the industry," Bucky muttered into her ear, making her laugh again as they swayed side to side, his vice grip refusing to let up until she began pinching the flesh on the backs of his hands.

"Major!" A man called, scurrying up to them. "Major Egan sir, you've got a call."

"Alright, comin'," He nodded, clapping her over the shoulder as he made his way to the bar, where Cleven was already standing with the telephone.

George stepped up once Frankie was alone, returning her half-finished whiskey. "That was really something," She chuckled, voice raised over the music.

"I didn't know I had it in me," Frankie shrugged. "Y'know, that much raw, untapped talent should never go to waste, it's a tragedy." Her friend laughed, but Frankie's gaze had wandered over to the bar again, where the two Majors chatted jovially to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"Is that-?" She muttered to herself, telling George to give her a minute as she marched up to the men, leaning casually against the bar. Flashing a calm smile, she nodded to Cleven as Bucky chatted away on the phone. "Hey, is that Biddick on the line?"

"Sure is, all the way from-"

Cleven never got time to finish his sentence before she had darted in between the two men, wrenching the phone from Egan's hand before he had time to even register her presence. "Wh- hey!"

"Did you crash my fucking plane, Curt?" She snapped, the man on the other end of the line letting out a tiny yelp of surprise.

"Frankie!" Curtis chuckled nervously. "How's Georgie doin', is she well?"

"Answer the question, Biddick, did you - oh, piss off, Bucky," Frankie spoke hurriedly, slapping at Egan's hands as he tried to pry the receiver away from her. "What were you thinking?"

"Y'know," Biddick continued, completely dodging the question yet again. "The Scottish - they don't like you English very much, Frank."

"Historically speaking, that's pretty fair," She sighed, running a hand across her face. "Just... ask whoever's with if they've got a truck that can bring your wreck back from... where is it again?"

"Mostly in the vegetable patch."

"Right. Good to know. Now get your ass back here or I'm gonna set George up on a date with one of the ground crew boys."

She pulled the receiver away from her ear, chuckling at the muffled sound of Curt's protests as she handed the phone back to Bucky, who snatched it from her with a look as if to say 'What the hell?'.

"Yeah," He nodded along to whatever Biddick was now saying. "Yeah, uh-huh, I promise I won't let her. Don't you worry, dear." Bucky shot her a sideways glance and she snorted with laughter, holding her hands up in surrender as she backed away from the bar.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sky lit up a dozen shades of orange, red and blue, the faint thrum of explosions and gunfire rattling overhead as the anti-aircraft guns did their best to destroy the enemy's fight planes, high up through the clouds.

Frankie lingered outside the shelter, watching with her arms folded across her chest. Her pin curls never held for more than a couple of hours, and a halo of frizz encircled her head as a result of the night's commotion, eyes reflecting the stippling of lights above.

One of the airmen hurried past her towards the shelter, brow drawn inwards with anxiety, sweat visible on his brow even in the dark. He glanced at her, and almost went on his way, but back-tracked just as he was about the head down the steps.

"Uh, ma'am?" He urged. "We should really get inside."

"Yeah, in a minute," Frankie waved her hand, doing a double take as she realised the man looked familiar. "Hey, it's, uh - Crosby, right?"

He almost smiled. "Yes, ma'am. You're Ms Bevan, I believe - on the ground crew."

"Right you are. But call me Frankie, everyone else does."

Crosby didn't seem to know what to say to that, and settled for a simple, awkward nod. "We should really get in-"

"It gets a lot less scary when you're - what, three years in?" She paused a long moment before sucking in a breath, tearing her gaze from the sky above as she pointed at Crosby. "Hang on, aren't you the one whose vomit we keep having to clean out?"

Even in the dark, she could see his face turn beet red. "Oh, I am so sorry about it, ma'am, I swear I'm trying not to, it's just-"

Frankie chuckled, and he trailed off, clutching his uniform cap tightly with both hands. "Don't worry about it. I make the boys do it anyway, I don't touch the stuff," She grinned. "I'd probably do the same. I know more about planes than all of your pilots put together, but I've never flown in one before."

Crosby let out a huff at her confession, suddenly more at ease despite the chaos overhead. When he stared at it the way she did, the lights and sounds were almost beautiful. Almost.

"Why don't you head down below," She said. "Your COs will start wondering where you've got to."

He nodded, reaching the top of the steps that led down to the shelter and then holding out a hand, as if offering to help her down them. When Frankie just smiled, not moving an inch from her position, he took the hint, nodding as he began to descend.

"Oh, and Crosby!" She called. He doubled back, head peeking up over the wall. "Try chewing ginger root. Or a mint leaf. I've heard they help with the air sickness."

Crosby nodded again, firmly, as he took a mental note of her advice. "Thank you, ma'am - uh, Frankie."

She grinned. "Any time."

[eowyntheavenger]

Ram’s costumes in RRR, part 1

We NEED to talk about Ram’s costumes in this movie THIS IS MAKING ME CRAZY! The attention to detail is SO good.

There’s the obvious fact that his police uniform ties him to the British Empire and this is how we first see him dressed:

Then in this scene, when he’s been passed over for promotion, he’s taken off half his uniform, perhaps symbolizing how he wants to be free of it. I support that

But he’s not free. Even when he’s not wearing it, he’s in Western clothes—it’s still a sort of uniform.

Even the look of the suspenders is similar to the belt across his chest.

Then, it’s not costumes exactly, but close enough: the first time Ram meets Bheem it’s his idea to tie them together.

THE SYMBOLISM. It literally represents their bond of friendship. Or it’s a bondage thing! Who said that?

This is also the first time we ever see Ram smile!!!!!!!!!

And he has more of a beard than he did before. He’s undergoing a change, at least gradually.

During Dosti, Ram is always wearing Western clothes and suspenders—obviously a major contrast with the way Bheem dresses.

He also starts wearing more color here! And he’s smiling almost constantly (all because of our beloved Bheem). Then it’s back to white and tan shirts and darker colored trousers:

They’re so CUTE OH MY GOD

Ram wears red for the first time here, the first time he tells Bheem anything personal about himself:

His suspenders are down, and his collar is open, perhaps showing that he’s more relaxed. Bheem stop staring at his chest

As the tension in Dosti mounts, he starts wearing darker shirts:

He even wears suspenders during their workout montage—really, it’s like a uniform he can’t take off.

Then in Naatu Naatu, he’s wearing a dark brown suit, a warmer color in contrast to Bheem’s cooler one:

Even their shirts are like that:

The suspenders seem to finally come off when Ram is torturing Lacchu. Down time, but make it evil

But they’re back on here:

Now he’s wearing Bheem’s holy thread and they’re officially married. Others have already done a great job of pointing out the significance of the holy thread. Bheem also tied a bandage on his arm, and it’s the color of fire!

The bandage could symbolize so many things. How Bheem has healed him. How Bheem has a hold on him. How they’re tied together, like when they first met. But he’s completely torn apart here, knowing what he’s about to do.

At the end of the scene, the bandage is still showing under his sleeve. But he’s literally about to cover it up—just like he’s covering up his feelings!!!

When he appears in uniform again, it’s the perfect visual cue for his betrayal. It’s like he’s imprisoned inside it. He looks emotionless, even avoiding Bheem’s eyes when he tries to arrest him. The fire makes the belt across his chest look red.

After their fight, Ram wears this:

More red. For capturing Bheem, he finally receives his promotion, and this is when we see him wear this uniform for the first time. Maybe the red symbolizes his determination to reach his goal. Maybe it symbolizes the more extreme measures he’s willing to use to do so. He’s also shaved off his beard, and has a mustache again.

Then we see him in white, remembering his past. He also appears in white in the flashback, perhaps representing his innocence back then.

But in the present, he feels like he’s losing his way, and we get this shot:

FORESHADOWING. AND ALSO FIRE.

Part 2 here.

[kangoo]

Please let me hear more about your trans Laurence WIP

I went over it a bit here but you know I love to talk your ears off about this guy so :^)

I just. Love the idea of Laurence's rigid code of moral and propriety being something he constructed for himself out of a chivalrous idea of What A Man Is, and that construct becoming a way to protect himself from detection. Necktie perfectly arranged, collar starched, uniform pressed, headfirst into battle and no one to question his manliness

And I think it would become an interesting point of contention between him and the cast: frustration at granby's behavior being tinted with "if I have to do this to be a man so should everyone", female aviators and treason forcing him to confront how so much of his sense of gender is 'soldier' and the ways in which that is wrong, being uncomfortable with anyone with a gender expression that's outside the norm because it feels wrong and dangerous and he's projecting that insecurity on them... The sense of kinship with Tharkay, and being men whose masculinity is denied or overlooked by British society, as well as Temeraire's instant and all encompassing support leading to so many shenanigans

Baby trans Laurence did a stint in the merchant navy, the first ship out of the harbor that didn't look at him to closely, if only for a time before managing to get into the Navy proper – so he gets to teach Granby shanties on long flights and have weird habits and also he, unexpectedly, swears like the sailor he is when truly shocked.

I don't know when Jane would get to learn about his Situation because I feel like he'd be even more guarded here, but I know she takes it in stride and gets him to bed anyway.

[ln4-llingforu]

Hey!! Specific request for you :) meeting Lando at a post Vegas GP party. You message back and forth as he goes to Abu Dhabi, but then he surprises you and flies to your hometown to spend his first week post season. You get to show him around and introduce him to your family and friends, etc?

There's Something So Magic About You

I love this idea!!

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

Your Tiktok had blown up in the past few months, with breaking down and generally commentating on the ongoing of F1 both on and off of the grid. This had led to you getting invited to the brand new Las Vegas grand prix with Ferrari. But it wasn't the boys in red that were catching your eye, it was a certain British boy in his 'papaya-esque' uniform, he'd been growing out his facial hair all season and was now starting to look a lot more mature. Little did you know you'd caught his eye aswell, he'd seen you on tiktok breaking down his great overtakes and massive progress McLaren had made throughout the season.

Sundays race hadn't went amazingly for Ferrari with one driver DNF-ing mid way through the race and the other receiving multiple penalties during qualifying leading to a very difficult start to the race, they had not ended where they had wished, some who did however, was a certain Lando Norris who had came second, his best result all season.

Obviously, with it being Las Vegas, the after party was huge, drivers, friends, mechanics even a few team principals had shown their faces. The drinks were flowing, the music was booming and the whole club was alive, you were simply observing until you felt someone tap you on the shoulder.

"Hi" you heard, shouted over the music by a voice you'd come to know very well, "I'm Lando, its a pleasure to meet you"

"I'm very aware of who you are" you replied, you words slightly slurred after what was maybe one too many drinks.

"So do i get a name? Or am i just gonna have to call you 'the girl that would look 100x better in orange?" He added, a slight of hope in his voice.

"I quite like that actually, it has a bit of a ring to it, guess if you want a name you're gonna have to work for it, papaya boy" you replied, in a half-serious way, as you turned to walk off into the night, he grabbed you by the waist pulling you back in .

"If i can't get a name can i at least get a number??" He was almost starting to sound desperate.

You complied, exchanging numbers and sending a quick text just to make sure they were right. At this point you knew you'd had one too many, you could both tell this as Lando, who had also had a few too many tonight suggested you shared a ride back to the hotel.

When you arrived you parted ways and got in separate elevators. It was then it hit you, not only did he notice you, he wanted you.

The week between Vegas and Abu Dhabi went by in a blur with you and Lando barely leaving each other alone, going from awkward hellos to spilling secrets and learning about one another so quickly it was hard to remember a time before you knew him. Sadly, for both of you, you couldn't attend the finale race of this season, promising Lando that you'd watch every second and call him when he was alone.

The weekend went by, Lando had done well by all means, but he didn't win, he'd made it into P4 which was still amazing, but Lando seemed very upset and you felt horrible that you couldn't be there. You asked if he was doing any celebrating to which he said he had some 'important business' to attend to and honestly, you were too afraid to ask.

And oh, were you glad you didn't, on Monday morning you were woken up by a loud knock at your door, expecting it to just be a package you had ordered, you put very little effort into making yourself look presentable so when you opened the door and saw a smile you had longed for for so long, it took you a minute to even process what was happening.

He almost luged at you hugging you tighter than you'd ever been hugged, you asked what he was doing here to which he replied that he wanted to spend time with his new found favourite person.

You spent the week visiting different places in your hometown, your favourite restaurant, the park where you learned how to ride a bike, he even met some of your friends.

It got to Friday, almost time for him to go, though it was likely you'd go with him at least for a little while. Casually, while you were getting ready to go for your weekly family dinner, which Lando had begged to go to until you asked your mum who was delighted to have him over, he said he wished you two could be more, something serious, you asked why you couldn't, he didn't give you a direct answer, he simply asked if you would be his girlfriend, of course you agreed.

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

I hope this fit what you imagined :))

If you have any other weirdly specific requests please send them :))

Masterlist

[blossom-works]

Home For My Heart: It’s a Family Thing

More of my Mbappe stories can be found here

---

Since you and Kylian are from two different countries and cultures, you love to mess with each other. When you really want to mess with him, you will purposefully call football, “soccer”. Without fail it annoys Kylian and you take great pleasure in it. One time you put on an American Football game and called out to your then boyfriend, “Hey, babe! Let’s watch some football!” Kylian glared at you when he came downstairs. He snatched the remote from you and put on a true football game. 

It is no surprise that the Mbappe family loves football. Heck, all their sons play the sport. It will not be long until the Mbappe family line is full of professional athletes. You have no idea what the family talks about more than football. Whenever his family gets together, Kylian and his brothers will have a 1 v 1 v 1 game. Their father, Wilfriend, will act as the referee. Sometimes they will drag you and Melissa into their game. 

When your nephew found out that you were dating a professional footballer, they did not know how to react. Especially when they met Kylian in person for the first time. Your boys were shy and even shyer when Kylian asked them if they wanted him to teach them how to play “soccer”.  After they warmed up to him, Kylian ended up teaching them a couple of tricks. Your oldest nephew ended up joining his school’s soccer club too. 

You remember going to one of Kylian’s matches as his girlfriend for the first time. It was a game in England against Manchester. Kylian told you to clear your schedule for one week and he flew you to the British country. It was also the first time you met his family. 

---

Landing at Heathrow Airport, you try to navigate your way through the big building. When you eventually reach the bagging area, you feel like you are playing “Marco Polo”. You think you found your bag, but it is someone else’s. Spotting another light gray suitcase, you check the tag and yes! It is your bag! Hauling it out of the luggage carousel, you head to the main exit and find a man holding a sign with your name on it. 

“Mr. Lewis?”

The uniformed man smiles. “May I see an ID ma’am?”

“Sure.” You pull out your wallet from your carry-on backpack and take out your driver’s license. Still smiling at you, the man hands you back the card.

“Allow me, miss.” He takes your suitcase and starts leading you to his car. “Mr. Mbappe has instructed me to take you directly to the hotel. He has also instructed me to tell you that you’ll be having dinner with him and his family. Six I believe.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Man... this feels weird. Never have you had someone take your luggage for you and tell you what your agenda looks like. Not only that, but to have a total stranger chauffeur you around (you are not a fan of Ubers or Lyfts). 

Mr. Lewis opens the door for a Mercedes for you and once closed, puts your luggage into the truck. The vehicle has leather seats and looks brand-new. It even has a parting window in it. You feel like Mia Thermopolis from “The Princess Diaries” when you think about playing with the buttons. 

The ride to the hotel is smooth. Mr. Lewis even starts a conversation with you without getting personal. He tells you that he is from the countryside, but he moved to the city for work. He even met his wife here and they now have three children. When you arrive at the hotel, bellhops open the door and takes your luggage out. Mr. Lewis tells them your name and to your surprise, the bellhops know who you are. Like they have been expecting you. 

‘God what money can do.’

One of the bellhops escorts you to the front desk and before you can thank Mr. Lewis, his car is gone. The receptionist checks you in and hands you a keycard. She informs you that your luggage should already be in your room, and that another employee will bring a refreshment to you soon. When you get to your room, you are amazed at how big it is. Most of your hotel stays consist of Holiday Inns or The Marriott. Kylian did not let the opportunity to impress you slip by. There is even a fresh bouquet of your favorite flowers on the dresser with a note that says, “Welcome to London, bébé”.

You remember Mr. Lewis telling you about the dinner plans and scrambling to get your phone out. You have about five hours until you have to leave your room. Enough time for a three-hour nap. Taking your shoes off, you plop your bodyweight on the comfortable bed. Just when you are about to lose consciousness, someone knocks on your door. Opening it, an employee with a cloche and tray greets you and places the snack on the table. He asks you if there is anything you need and you tell him no. Thanking him, you shut the door and open the cloche. A cup of hummus with fresh pita bread and vegetables is beautifully arranged. As good as the snack looks, sleep is what you really need. You set a timer for three hours and knock the fuck out. 

Thank goodness you decided to put your ringer on full blast or else you would not have heard it. Though, it does make your heart race from the sudden, loud noise. You have to coach yourself to not fall back asleep. Feeling an uncomfortable wetness, you lift your cheek and smell saliva on the pillow. Way to go you...ruining a perfectly good pillow in less than half a day. Shaking your head and wiping your cheek on your shirt, you roll out of bed and open your suitcase. Luckily Kylian told you to pack at least three pairs of nice clothes and maybe a dress or two. Pulling out whatever you think is nice, you set it on the bed and get started with your makeup. You opt to keep your hair simple by just straightening it. You put on some dainty earrings with a matching necklace. Your dress is a modest, black body con dress. From the top compartment of your suitcase, you pull out a pair of Jordans Kylian got you for your birthday. 

As you are checking yourself out in the mirror you realize that you have no idea where you are supposed to go. Fuck! You forgot that you are meeting his family all together! Jumping back, you make sure that your attire is appropriate enough to meet your boyfriend’s family. Is your makeup too much? You like to keep it natural and minimal as possible, but everyone has their own definition of natural. Maybe wearing shoes Kylian got you is a bit much. His family might think that you are showing off Ky’s money. Oh, God, you hope they at least like you. 

Before you can continue playing your own Devil’s Advocate, someone knocks on your room door. On the other side of the door is a nicely dressed woman. 

“Hello, miss. I’m here to escort you to the restaurant.”

‘Oh, thank goodness.’

Thanking her, you make sure you have all you need, not forgetting the key card, and follow the lady to the elevator. She leads you up to the fifteenth floor and makes a sharp right. The restaurant she takes you in has a modern and dark look to it. Instead of leading you to a table, she takes you down a secluded hallway. Opening one of the doors to the left, she motions you to enter. You quietly thank her with a racing heart. 

Kylian is the first to spot you and he smiles. 

“Bébé!” His taller figure appears right in front of you, and he gives you a couple of pecks. 

“How are you doing? How was the flight? I’m sorry I couldn’t get you myself. We had to practice once more before the game.”

“C’est bon.” It feels good to finally see Kylian after being months apart. He plants a final kiss on your temple and moves to the side so he can introduce you to his family. You give them an awkward greeting with a small wave, hoping that you do not look stupid. It’s alright.

His mother, Fayza, gets up and greets you with a hug. His father, Wilfried, is next. He gives you a handshake before hugging you. They both say “Hi” to you in English. Kylian’s brothers give you a wave and Melissa offers you a hug. She tells her kids to say “Hello”, which they obey. It is kind of crazy to see them all grown up. You remember seeing them on Kylian’s Instagram years ago when they were only two or three. Holy crap...Does that make you old? Needless to say, meeting Kylian’s family is a surreal moment for you. 

Kylian’s family asks you about your family life and job in America. You tell them stories of your childhood and they told you Kylian’s in exchange. He tried to stop his mother from showing you a picture of his baby self in the bathtub, but it did not work. She just slaps his hand away and shows you the image in her phone. Wilfried and you talk about your education. What schools you went to and about your internships. You even expose that you are a history nerd. It takes you a while for you and Ethan to get comfortable around each other, but you find some things to talk about. 

Jires and Melissa ask more about your family. You come from a big family. Four older siblings while you are the abby. You and Melissa bond over feminine topics and even your experience with kids. Since your whole dream job deals with children, you ask her about tips you can put to use. All the while you talking to the Mbappe family, Kylian cannot keep his eyes off you. Nor can his smile leave his face. Yeah. You will fit in just fine. 

---

Excited that your package has arrived, you run to the kitchen to open it. Pulling out the product you awe at the craftmanship. You start to get a little emotional over the sentimental value of the product. Getting a mailer box you got a week ago, you jazz it up. Placing the crafted items right on top of the fillers. You close the box and leave it on the wooden table.

You decide to take a walk around the area where you live. Ever since you moved to Europe, you have fallen in love with its architecture. Unlike the US, European cities are more condensed, so people prefer to walk rather than drive. You love that you do not have to drive at least fifteen minutes to a shop, bakery, restaurant, or park. European cities are like a cleaner and less noisy Washington D.C. 

Going to a nearby fresh market, you pick up a few small desserts and fruit. With two bags in hand and a cup of gelato, you head back home. Your apartment building doubles as a hotel. The hotel consists of the bottom three floors and the upper four are apartments. Residents use separate elevators than the hotel guest. Their elevators are right in the front lobby while the resident’s elevators is in a private lobby that is closely monitored. 

When you and Kylian got married, you agreed that you two will wait to buy a house when you have two kids. It is not that your penthouse is small (it is far from that), but you have always wanted to have a backyard. One that your children can run in. You prefer real grass, but faux grass is fine too. As you walk inside your home, you put the desserts and fruits in the fridge. Every now and then on Instagram, you see these moms who buy organizers for their fridges, and you just cannot bother. The same can be said for your pantry. 

You throw your gelato cup in the trash and put on your favorite show. It has been your favorite for a long time, and it never gets old. Kylian does not understand how you can watch something over and over again in a one-week period, and then do the same thing the next week. You get lost in a couple of episodes when the front door opens. 

“Hey, bébé.”

“Hey. I accidentally opened one of your packages. I left it on the kitchen table.”

Kylian is not bothered that you opened something mailed to him, but he is confused because he is not expecting a package to come in. Maybe a company sent him a PR package. Kylian kisses your cheek from behind the couch and sees the white box. Pulling the tabs out and lifting the top. It only takes a couple of seconds for him to register what the “package” is. Jumping in joy, he whips his head to the couch and sees you leaning against the back of it, widely grinning. 

Your husband of just four months takes out the plastic stick and makes large strides to you. 

“Amour! Are you serious!”

“Mm-hmm.” You nod. 

Kylian hugs you by your shoulders. If you could, you would bet that Kylian is happier than when he wins the World Cup. Truthfully, no trophy can top what the “package” contains. Inside the white box is a pair of small crochet cleats, a small crochet football, and a positive pregnancy test. It looks like football really does run in the Mbappe family. 

Two Months Later:

Your pregnancy has been easy to hide since your stomach has not grown a lot. It only looks like you just overate a bit. Kylian has been waiting to tell his family and friends about the exciting news, but you asked him not to. You know and know people that have had a miscarriage early in their first trimester. Plus, doctors say that the first trimester is the most critical because most miscarriages happen during this stage. After your first trimester ended, you and Kylian decided that now is time to tell your family. 

There is no major holiday coming up so you cannot announce the pregnancy in one go. Getting creative, you decided to copy the way you told Kylian. Just a little different. You made a list of all your immediate family members (Kylian’s combined) who have their own residence and made a coordinating number of boxes. Each box contains copies of your latest ultrasound photo and a note that says, “Little Kicker, Coming August 20XX.”

[flagbridge]

Raoul de Chagny uniform inspiration, and general Raoul Navy musings

élève-officier ("elof") at the Borda in Brest, 1880s.

British Sub-Lieutenant (equivalent of an Ensign in the US or French Navies), approximately 1860 (by Ann Mary Newton)

Graduating students and faculty of L'Ecole Navale on board the Boarda, 1891

As some of you know, I love writing Raoul. My next projects after All Vows ends are mostly Raoul-centered, and I'm pretty deep in my research. I’ve tumbled absolutely headlong into researching La Baille (nickname for the French naval academy), and it’s amusing how across time and distance, so much of initial military training is unchanged. Even though I cosplay Christine, Raoul actually ends up being the character who I give most of my own life experience because I am, in fact, a Sailor. When I'm writing Raoul POV about being at sea, I sometimes use my own journal entries from past deployments when I was underway on the USS NEVERSAIL somewhere in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

I get a lot of questions about Raoul's uniform, so I'm sharing some of the above (hello talented artists, could we PLEASE get more Raoul Navy Phanart, I am BEGGING YOU)

élève-officier ("elof") at the Borda in Brest, 1880s.

This is exactly what Raoul's midshipman uniform would have looked like. As you can see from the photo from 1891, the uniform from that time and even a decade later is the same. Naval uniforms, especially dress uniforms change very infrequently. My dress uniform that I wear in 2024 is the same one that was designed by Mainbocher in 1941!

The term "élève-officier" translates literally to "student-officer", although most translate it as "officer candidate", which isn't inaccurate. They were then classified by year, so a first year student would be an élève-officier fourth class. However, the British and American term for a naval cadet is a "midshipman" which is often abbreviated to "mid". So "elof" is basically directly translated to "mid". However, there was an additional naval trainee rank, called "Aspirant". This was assigned to the naval cadets when they embarked for their tour du monde on actual warships. It's a unique rank that's basically a desgination that the individual is a senior at the academy--like a "Midshipman First Class", the term to describe seniors at the US Naval Academy.

2. British Sub-Lieutenant (equivalent of an Ensign in the US or French Navies), approximately 1860 (by Ann Mary Newton)

I couldn't find a good picture of a young/junior officer from this era in the French Navy but FUN FACT! The French Navy underwent a uniform shift in 1883. The officer uniform was largely unchanged, however, that short coat and triangular hat that we often associate with the end of the age of sail was phased out as a dress uniform. So it's possible that Raoul had a dress uniform very much like this around the time of Phantom of the Opera, but it was on its way out. The rank is accurate though! So if Raoul went to the opera in uniform in about 1881? This is what he would have looked like.

3. Graduating students and faculty of L'Ecole Navale on board the Borda, 1891

The uniforms were the same when Raoul would have graduated, and that is the Borda that is mentioned in the book. In my head this is Raoul's senior class photo (even though it's 10 years later), complete with a few guys who have no idea what's going on and aren't looking at the camera.

PotOmer Day 15: HEADCANON/Raoul Navy Uniform Musings

Between April 23 and June 11, I am posting 49 days of POTO content to mark the Omer, except on Shabbat. Previous days below the cut line.

Day 14: GIFSET-Ethan Freeman bows to the monkey.

DAY 13: LEROUX: HAPPY BIRTHDAY GASTON LEROUX (Ethan Freeman Reads Leroux)

Day 12: FANFIC: All Vows Chapter 38: my longfic that will be concluding at the end of May.

Day 11: (no post, Shabbat)

Day 10: FANFIC: All Vows Chapter 10 (Catch Up)

Day 9: ADAPTATION: Ghost of Zariya Hollow

Day 8: HEADCANON: Christine's Swedish Accent

Day 7: COSPLAY Hannibal Slave Girl Bodice Construction

Day 6: GIFSET: Raouls who make choices appreciation post

Day 5: PHIC UPDATE: All Vows Chapter 37! (And a bonus gif of Lily and Jon)

Day 4: (No post, Shabbat)

Day 3: GIFSET: Cape Twirl Comparison, Current West End Phantoms ('23-'24)

Day 2: BRAINWORM: "Ne Me Touchez Pas"

Day 1: GIFSET Robyns/Kerhoas: The Kiss

[alexthefly]

THUNDERPRIDE GIFT EXCHANGE

Happy Pride everybody!!! Hope you've all enjoyed the month's festivities and all the Thunderbirds-y goodness. I've got a bit of reading and art to catch up on, but what I've seen so far has all been amazing - you're all so damn talented! 😊

For the Thunderpride gift exchange I was lucky enough to be matched with the incomporable @emtb319 ! I've taken their prompt of seaside and kinda run with it, but if you look closely and squint a bit, you might just spot hints of their other prompts - stray cat and green - as well.

Also just to say that although this was meant to be pure Earth and Sky fluff, it did get a bit angsty in the middle (when does it not with me? 😅) But I promise it all turns out well in the end.

Hope you like it. Thankyou so much for the prompts, and happy Pride!

Word count: 2365

Also available to read on AO3

Just You

The morning of the annual Pride beach party had broken warm and bright, and now at mid-morning the place was jumping. Right across the crowded seafront, smiling people draped in banners and flags of every kind thronged together in a cacophony of colour and sound. Grilling stations had been set up along the edge of the beach to cater for the hungry revellers and, on the stage at the far end, performers in elaborate costumes kept the mood high with a joyous concoction of music, spectacle and thumping beats.

From his vantage point on the stone steps leading up from the beach, Scott Tracy was surrounded by the sounds, sights, and smells of a damn good time. Entranced, he took a moment and just breathed the jubilant atmosphere in.

It was intoxicating.

After a few minutes, he sensed his brother draw up next to him, a cool oasis of calm in a tumultuous sea of sensation.

“Quite the scene, huh?”

He breathed. “...Yeah.”

A delicious-smelling package was suddenly thrust into his hands.

“Got you some chips,” smiled Virgil knowingly.

Scott’s spirits soared and he tore into the paper cone immediately. Real British chips - distinct from fries and, according to Parker at least, far superior - were a rare treat that were best enjoyed piping hot.

That first bite of salty, crispy fluffiness elicited a moan of pleasure from him that frankly bordered on the obscene. 

Parker might have had a point.

Thankfully the ambient noise from the party spared him most of his blushes, although of course Virgil’s ever-sensitive ear caught it; but he just chuckled, rolled his eyes and turned his attention to his own similar package.

Over on stage the bands were swapping over, with the new one announcing themselves - Cat Distribution Network - before launching into a cover of some old dance track. It was apparently a popular choice; the crowd on the beach cheered, pulsed and tossed in waves to the beat.

“They sound good,” said Virgil, popping one of his own chips into his mouth. “That song works well pitched lower like that. Makes the chorus more robust. And the sax solo in the middle eight is an interesting choice - I’ve not heard that done before.”

Scott had no idea if the changes to the song were any good or not, but he nodded anyway, happy to hear his brother chatting away about something he enjoyed.

“So, you gonna go change?” 

Unlike Virgil, who was already back in his familiar red flannel and jeans, Scott was still sporting his distinctive IR blues from the opening ceremony earlier.

He shoved another morsel of fried goodness in his mouth.

“Food first.”

Virgil smirked. “Alright,” he said, “but I’m not explaining it to Brains if you end up with grease stains down your jacket.”

It was an empty threat - their uniforms were engineered to be way more than stain-resistant - but Scott made a show of wiping his fingers on his brother’s sleeve anyway, just because. Virgil grumbled, but let it slide. He could hardly complain; oil stains were kind of his signature look.

Scott finished off his chips and, crumpling the paper into a ball, pitched it straight into the recycling bin; nothing but net.

“Show-off,” grumbled Virgil, picking his own attempt up off the floor and spiking it in.

“Gotta make a good impression Virg,” replied Scott, just a little smug. “We’re official representatives at this event, after all.”

Technically it was Tracy Industries who were the actual sponsors for this year’s shindig, but it had been agreed all round that an appearance from International Rescue at Pride was just too much good publicity to turn down. It was also for that reason that a certain green sky-whale was currently parked on a specially-built platform just off the main beach, temporarily adorned with about fifty different painted flags of the LGBTQIA+.

There’d been a lot more than just oil on Virgil’s shirt for the last few days.

But unlike his ‘bird - or a certain squid, who even at this moment was sparkling his way somewhere across the packed beach dressed head-to-toe in pink, yellow and blue sequins - Virgil himself had apparently gone the subtle route with his own attire this year, choosing only a small green and blue pin in recognition of his own identity.

It was a very Virgil move.

“So, didn't fancy getting all dressed up, huh?”

Virgil shrugged. “Nah. I wasn't feeling it,” he said, nudging a stray pebble down the steps with his boot.

Virgil hadn't really ever been the type to draw attention to himself. Not shy exactly, at least not the way John was sometimes in a crowd, he preferred to play a background, backup role to bolder, more adventurous (reckless?) brothers. Sure, he’d done all the usual art student-y things in college - hair colour, nose piercing, his infamous goth phase - but none of it had stuck. 

The truth was that Virgil had never really felt the need to shout about who he was. He just…was. Even with his sexuality, there had been no “coming out” as such; somehow they’d all always known he was gay, just as Virgil had always known that they knew.

Still, it was a surprise not to see him with at least a little glitter in his hair today. Pride was a big deal in the Tracy household. Obviously Gordon was the usual driving force for getting the family into the spirit of things, but Virgil had always been right there behind him, ready to make his little brother’s more outlandish plans happen with all the enthusiasm and creativity that a double masters in engineering and art demands.

So why had Scott been left to source his own fairy wings this year?

“Are you okay, Virgil?” He asked, realising the need to tread carefully. “You don't exactly seem…yourself.”

Brown eyes looked up at him from under thick, slightly knitted eyebrows.

“I’m fine, Scott.”

Uh-huh. Nice try.

“Virg…”

He put one hand gently on the shorter man’s shoulder, noting the tension carried through it. Scott squeezed gently, and was happy to feel taut muscles relax just a little.

“Talk to me, Virgil.”

His brother held fast for a moment, but then seemed to wilt.

He sighed.

“I just… Look, I love Pride. Really I do. It's vibrant and joyful and so so important. But…” He swallowed. “I just wonder if… Is it all worth it?”

Scott tilted his head.

Nope, gonna have to run that by me again. 

“If what's worth what?”

Virgil huffed, clearly struggling for the right words. 

“If… If maybe I’m getting too old for all this.”

There was a moment where Scott knew he should be sensitive and simply listen, but he just couldn't hold back the sudden laugh trying to burst the back of his throat.

“Too old? You?!”

He gave in and let it out.

“Virgil, for god’s sake! If you’re over the hill then I must be at death’s door! You’re not even thirty yet! ‘Too old’...”

Glare-powered daggers stabbed at him as he fought for composure.

“It's a young person’s game, Scott. All of this…” He swept his arm across the scene of the party. “I just don't seem to have the energy for it at all.”

Down the beach, as if to illustrate the point, Cat Distribution Network were on their second encore; a loud, clangy, cymbal-fest of noise that sounded to Scott a lot like the last tropical storm they’d had back home.

Okay, maybe he had a point right this second, but…

“Virgil, you don't have to be young to enjoy Pride. It's not just for teenagers and Gordon; it's for everyone, from stroller to walker, every walk of life. It doesn't have to be the parade or this party - there's all kinds of things going on, from the clubs to the local library. Everyone’s welcome at Pride; there's something for everyone.”

He reached across and pulled his brother closer to him, needing more contact.

“And I know you know that. So tell me, what's really going on?”

Virgil said nothing for a moment, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the ground, brow furrowed.

Scott waited.

“I guess… I s’pose it's just that these days it's hard to feel connected to that side of me anymore. Being gay, I mean.”

Virgil shifted and sat down on the step, resigned to spilling his guts, and Scott went with him, refusing to let go.

“I guess with what we all do, how busy we are, it doesn't leave a lot of time for other things - dating and whatnot - and that's fine; I love what we do. It's what I signed up for. But lately it feels like… oh I don't know! Like I should be doing more. Being more gay.”

Scott's brain glitched.

“Being more gay?” 

Virgil nodded. 

“Doing more. Making a show of it. No-one ever looks at me and goes ‘oh yeah, there's a gay guy’. I’m not flashy or flamboyant or camp; I don't go to nightclubs or have… Oh, I don't know, posters of Judy Garland on my wall. I’ve never been that kind of person.”

He put his head in his hands, hiding his face from Scott.

“I guess what I’m saying,” he said quietly, “is that I don't really feel as if I belong here. I see all these people showing off their identities and revelling in them and I… I just don't feel…valid.”

There was a moment of silence as each of them processed what had just been said. Virgil seemed to shrink in on himself, spent from the effort of verbalising it all, but Scott remained motionless, brain churning.

Wow.

Where to begin?

How long had Virgil been feeling like this? Feeling like his own identity didn't belong to him? 

His brother was so sensitive to everyone else’s feelings and moods, but he almost never talked about his own; not without being asked, or using them to offer advice to someone in need of it. He was always so busy playing backup to the rest of them, seeming so comfortable in his skin, self-assured, not needing to perform…

Had Scott really misunderstood his brother so badly?

Virgil was still sitting there, not moving, head still in his hands. Slowly, gently, Scott shifted around until he was right in front of him, then reaching slowly out and gently pried his brother’s hands apart, scooching down to try to catch his eye.

“Virgil, I don't…” 

No, that's not right.

He took a breath and started again. 

“I can't know what it feels like to be gay in this world. It's something I’ve never known; never could know. You have all the knowledge of how that feels. All I can tell you is how I see it from the outside.”

“And what I see… is you.”

Virgil looked up at him, brow furrowed.

“Those things you just listed?” Scott continued, resting one hand on his knee. “They're all only one way to be gay; they're not the blueprint. Stereotypes and archetypes aren't the be all and end all; there's as many ways to be queer as there are stars in the sky, and just as many ways to celebrate that queerness.”

Brown eyes dimmed, full of doubt.

“You don't have to perform it for anyone or put on some costume. You painted the flags on Two. You helped Gordon with his costume. You…” 

He could feel himself flailing. 

“Virgil, you love so completely. You live your life with your whole heart, every single day. You do it your own way; you always have.”

He reached out to put one hand on the back of Virgil’s neck, bringing him in closer until their foreheads touched.

“You are you, and you are gay, so being you is showing your gayness. No ifs, no buts. It just is. You don’t have to prove anything. Those two things are inexorably linked, Judy Garland poster or not.”

He felt a small chuckle rumble through his brother’s chest and breathed an internal sigh of relief.

“Just be, Virgil,” he said. “That's all. Just be you.”

A breath. Two.

“...Thanks Scott.”

And suddenly he needed to be closer than just a forehead. Arms acted on their own accord, wrapping around each other in a fierce hug, each of them desperate to reassure the other that they were there, that it was okay.

It was all going to be okay.

From over his shoulder Scott could hear the party clearly still going on strong. Cheers and noise bounced around the beach as the next band struck up on stage, and as the first chords sounded, the crowd roared their approval.

I am what I am,

I am my own special creation…

Scott and Virgil looked at each other, and dissolved into fits of giggles at the serendipity of it all.

Sometimes it was just like that at Pride.

Eventually they managed to get a hold of themselves again. Virgil extricated himself from his brother’s arms and stood up to brush himself off. 

The song was still going into the second verse, with the crowd singing along to every word in raucous harmony.

“Now this?” he said, inspiration dancing in his eyes, “This is a Pride song worth getting a little dressed up for.”

Grinning, he reached across to Scott’s baldric and nabbed his laser cutter. Then working quickly, he bent down and burned a small tear in each jean leg, before ripping them right across the mid-thigh. He kicked off the remaining tubes of denim, leaving him in a pair of ragged shorts. Then he shrugged his shirt off, whipped off his undershirt (drawing interested looks from more than a few passers-by), and finally pulled his red flannel back on, tying the bottom of it tight across his chest, Daisy Duke style.

The effect was striking.

“How do I look?” he asked, standing proud.

Scott smiled.

“Very you.”

Virgil beamed.

“Dance with me?” he asked, holding out a chivalrous hand to him.

Scott took it with a little curtsy. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, smiling broadly.

And with that the pair of them made their way joyfully down the steps - sand, heels and spirits all kicking high - to join the celebration.