#language tag: scots

[haveyouheardthisfolksong]

Note: I am including the link that the submitter provided, but for some reason, it is age restricted. You may have to find the song on youtube.

[ebenelephant]

reclaiming my national roots by saying 'yous' instead of 'y'all' because i'm not a cowboy that's just the spirit of american entertainment speaking through me

[espers-n-espurrs]

sorry if this is rude (I genuinely don't mean for it to be I'm curious) but I've got two questions:

1.) how come you type out his accent?

2.) is it possible for you to type in brackets a plaintext version of what he's saying? its really messing with my screen reader

thats because hes speaking another language. its not an accent that is another language that is close enough to galarian that most galarian speakers can understand it.

he said he could just start speaking in standard galarian if its being an issue. thats a him choice though i cant stop him if he does but. hm.

[readwritealldayallnight]

Home

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 1.6k words

warnings/tags: fluff, kinda barely angst

Soap has to bite his lip to keep himself contained, absolutely itching to make another comment, take another jab at the Lieutenant sitting next to him who couldn’t seem to sit still. Ultimately he decides he’s rather fond of keeping his nose intact, and refrains from teasing Ghost further, for the sake of not being punched with a little over an hour to go until they reach base, if nothing else.

As excitable as the Scot usually is in any circumstance, he does have a point though, even Price has never seen Ghost so antsy to return from a mission before. The skull faced man keeps checking his watch every other minute as though it would motivate the seconds to tick by faster, he can’t seem to stop bouncing his leg in impatience, casting quick glances out the window every so often. He wants, no, needs this jet to land back at base already.

“Somewhere you need to be LT?” Soap feigns ignorance, a smirk across his face, apparently having refrained himself long enough since the last joke all of ten minute ago.

“Don’t ask me to take you to the medics when we land, mate.” Gaz comments casually, not bothering to look up from where he’s fiddling with a deck of cards in his hands, equally trying to pass the time. “You’re askin’ him for it.”

“Ach, I’m just curious to know wha’s got the big man in such a haste to leave his dear ol’ mates behind, ya ken? Almos’ as if he has somethin’ waitin’ for him back at home.” The blue eyed sergeant replies, casting a mischievous sideways glance towards the man in question.

“Reckon it’s more about who’s waitin’ for him.” The Captain pitches in himself, sending his own knowing glance at the Lieutenant.

Ghost can’t be bothered to acknowledge any of the conversation happening around or about him, checking his watch again. Not when he’s on his way home after being deployed for three months. Not when this is the longest he’s had to be away from you yet. Not when it feels as if a piece of his beating heart was ripped out from between his ribs and had made a home for itself in the fissure tearing through yours, leaving him feeling as though he was wholly and irrevocably missing a piece of himself.

Simon thinks he could spend the rest of his life learning every language that’s ever been spoken my mankind, and never have the proper words to explain how much your absence has shaken him to his core, how much he’s missed you. Utterly and simply, missed you.

The first month apart, he found himself missing the more obvious things. He missed your smile, your laugh, making you laugh. He missed your voice, hearing you hum in the shower, sing in the car, recount your day, talk in your sleep (you refuse to believe him when he tells you this, but he swears it’s true). He missed holding you, you holding him. Missed your touch, your kisses, your body. Missed the way you feel, the way you make him feel. Missed falling asleep to you and waking up to you.

The second month, he found that he was really starting to miss the little things. He missed the smell of your hair fresh out of the shower. He missed the way you always ask him to crack the eggs when baking because you insist he’s just better at it than you are, gets less shell in it. He missed you teasing him about his driving, holding your hand over the console, opening the door for you to watch you smile and roll your eyes every time.

As the mission dragged into its last month, Simon found he just missed you. Simply you. He missed watching you get ready for the day, getting dressed, going about your routine. He missed existing in the same space as you, hearing you move throughout the flat, always there even if he can’t always see you. He missed seeing traces of you, finding strands of your hair everywhere, tripping over shoes left in the doorway, seeing both your mugs together on the drying rack. Evidence of a life lived, together.

The nature of the 141’s work meant that things had to be kept extremely tight-lipped and on the strictest need to know basis, especially in ensuring the men’s safety. This meant never being able to know where Simon was going or was at any given moment. It meant not being able to speak on the phone, because even with the very best protection and programming, phone calls can be tapped, and traced. And while that one isn’t a precaution that everyone strictly follows, taking the occasional quick phone call to a loved one on a secured line, but Simon has been through too much, seen too much to every put you at risk, no matter how minuscule the risk may be. He simply won’t take it. Not with you.

And so you take up the next best thing, a tried and true method through time. You write him letters. You tell him that you don’t expect him to write back, you understand that he won’t want to write down an address someone could track you to, you haven’t put down a return address either, adding that you’re not even sure when and if he’ll be able to read or receive them.

You love this man with every fibre of your being, but you really do know next to nothing about this part of his life that takes up so much of his time. It feels like they’re stealing your time when they call him away, stealing time spent with him. The no contact was especially difficult for you in the beginning of your relationship. It had been the cause of your first fight with him.

You’d told him the time apart (a month, the longest you’d gone through back then) was too much, you missed him too much. Seeing you hurt, and hurting himself, equally as tense about the periods of long distance, Simon had angrily lashed out. He wasn’t used to this, someone caring about him this much, caring about you more just as much. Not only was the intensity of these feelings foreign, but you were wanting to talk about them now.

He’d asked you if you wanted him to leave you then, not wanting to go on hurting you if it really was too much, to which you replied that no, the solution to you being too sad when he’s gone isn’t to leave you permanently. Neither of you knew how to actually navigate this, and Simon was still harbouring deep, slowly healing wounds that made navigating this uncharted territory an endeavour that left him feeling vulnerable, exposed. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to leave you, but the thought of hurting you was equally as bothersome.

You two idiots in love had your first proper fight, had your first proper makeup, and eventually came up with a sort of placeholder solution. It wasn’t perfect, nothing about Simon being gone was ideal really, but for the two of you, it worked. While he’s away from home you write him a letter, not every day though, per his request (‘So that I don’t start to feel more like homework, yeah?’), only when something worth writing comes to mind. It winds up being about a letter every other day, anyway.

You mail them to their permanent base, and he either gets to read them when they’re delivered, or he’s rewarded with the sight of the envelope atop his desk upon returning from wherever else they may have been temporarily based for the time. He reads them, every single one. Over, and over, and over. He has them essentially memorized, as numerous as they are. Every squiggle of your pen, each little doodle you add in on occasion, depending on the story you might be telling. You usually try to keep them lighthearted, happy, something that can brighten his mood and reassure him you’re doing okay. But sometimes you’re honest, you admit when days are hard and his absence is especially difficult.

In turn, Simon writes his own letters. His process is a little different than yours is. While you’re writing yours as the days of his absence pass, he often arrives back on base to discover multiple envelopes piled atop one another, a sight akin to Christmas morning in his eyes. Still, he always diligently reads through each letter of yours, and for every one you write him, he takes his own pen to paper to write his response to each and every line you draft for him. He adds in comments, witty remarks, the occasional joke or fun fact, sprinkles in stories if he has any that fit. He tells you how he misses you too, wishes he could put these letters in your hands himself.

He will soon enough though.

He has his letters, papers that might seem so insignificant to anyone else on this jet, tucked in between a pair of extra clothes in his pack, in hopes of keeping them as safe as he can. The majority of your letters are carefully stuffed in there as well. The most special ones however, the ones you’ve written for him with your penmanship etched upon page after page of writing, with your lipstick stained kisses across them, with your perfume sprayed on them, those he has neatly folded and tucked under his vest, just above his heart.

Soon as his feet are back on solid ground and he’s dismissed, he’ll be making his way back to you. Where he’ll take out each and every one of those letters he’s written in response to you, and he’ll read them to you as he holds you in his arms, feeling your hearts beating against each others again, where they belong, and that’s how he’ll know he’s home.

[nerdygirlramblings]

Sis! First of all, hope you are healthy, happy and doing just fine

And sorry for my selfishnes but could you write something for comfort please? Yesterday someone poisoned another one of my dogs, a farm dog, she was the sweetest, clingiest fluffiest thing, and they poisoned two times, she recuperated for the first but not the second TToTT what would the team do if reader did try all to save one of the local dogs in a military camp and this happened? Would they comfort them? Would they search and stop the one doing the poisoning? After all dogs even local dogs end up alerting for strangers.

And just to see how really sensitive pets are, one of my dobermans is staying clingy to me and making a half hug all day since the other one died.

Sorry for the ramble and feel free to ignore

Thank you so much

Oh @boogeysmoth ! I am so sorry 😭 that is terrible 💔

I did my best for this request. Your sweet farm dog deserved better 💔💔

tw: animal death

Price found you, sobbing, next to what he first thought was a pile of sandy rags. You'd been stuck at the desert base for a month now and the damn sand got everywhere, and he couldn't tell what was so heartbreaking about the tags until he got closer and saw what it really was you were crying over.

The dog.

The local mutt you'd been feeding for four weeks. The animal he was sure you'd be begging him to find transport for when you were finally shipped back home.

You'd called him Vaheh. Said it meant 'oasis' in the local language. Told the dog he was your little spot of paradise in all this sand.

And now it was dead.

Price sat next to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. You leaned your head against his and, with hiccuping sobs said, "I think someone poisoned him."

Price grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. You both knew how dangerous a non-military dog could be, especially when it was local. Just like you both knew how most bases took care of those kinds of security issues. Hell, before you'd joined them, it's likely he would have sent Ghost to do this very thing on day one.

But you had joined them. You and your big heart. Heart big enough to hold them all close. Heart big enough to worry about the world. Heart so big you showed them there was a different way. Couldn't use it on your targets, but on this, on an animal that would have otherwise been collateral damage? Your big heart showed them how far love could get you.

And Vaheh was proof. He'd stopped barking that first day when you'd left the chicken from your MRE out for him. By day three he didn't growl at you and your offering of slightly overdone roast beef. By the end of the week, he'd come trotting over when he heard the rip of the packaging. You happily gave him your food. And despite their protests, over the last two weeks, you'd periodically convinced Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz to donate their protein to Vaheh too.

Yeah, Price knew you were planning to bring the dog back home before you could even ask. He couldn't fathom who would have done this or why. "C'mon," he said, pulling you closer, "Vaheh deserves more 'an this." He stood and pulled you up after him. "You wait here and think 'a all the things ya liked about 'im."

Price went to find the others and a shovel to bury the dog. He knew a grave would have to be deep, and a bit further from the base, so he snagged a set of humvee keys from base transportation. Shovel and keys in hand, he found Gaz first. It took him a moment to explain why he had a shovel, but the younger man needed no convincing to take it from him and go find you. Soap was coming out of the mess when Price spotted him. A brief word about where you were and why and the Scot was off at a trot to grab an old blanket before heading your way. Price found Ghost in the armory. The lieutenant audibly growled when he heard someone poisoned your dog. Price only just kept him from tearing through the base to find the person responsible. It wouldn't be what you wanted, and it wouldn't bring Vaheh back either.

By the time the Ghost was with you, you'd stopped crying. Soap had lain the blanket over Vaheh's body, and Gaz was about to start digging when an engine rumbled louder and louder. Price commandeered a vehicle which you all poured into, Ghost riding shotgun, the sergeants in the middle, and you with Vaheh's body in the very back. Price didn't drive far, just away enough from the base to keep your activity private.

He helped you lower Vaheh out of the truck then set Gaz and Soap to digging a deep hole. While they dug, Price had you talk to him and Ghost about the dog. It was painful, especially since he'd only been in your life for such a short time, but it felt good too. You knew what happened would have happened sooner if not for you, and it gave you comfort to know you'd made Vaheh's last few weeks better.

Two weeks after you got home, Price knocked on your barracks door and dropped a large envelope unceremoniously into your hands when you opened it. "Fer the dog," he said gruffly before walking away. You hadn't forgotten Vaheh or the sadness of his death, so you opened the envelope with shaking hands. In it was paperwork work for a star. A star with your name. The sticky note on it said it's coordinates put it directly over Vaheh's gravesite, "So you can watch over him all the time."

The tears you shed were bittersweet but made your heart feel lighter.

[ranunculussy]

enigma | part 08.

ꕥ part 01. | part 02. | part 03. | part 04. | part 05.| part 06. | part 07. | part 09. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, kinda graphic description of the crime, swearing, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, moderately jealous Spencer, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, if there are other warnings or tags i should add let me know ꕥ word count: ~2.5k ꕥ small author's note: hiiii guys! i know that i said my next published fic will be a sapphic Emily Prentiss one (and that is still coming, i promise), however, things happened and i'm back in my Bucky Barnes obsession era. so i posted a fanfic with him. feel free to check it out if you'd like to, i hope you'll enjoy it ^-^ ꕥ small author's note 2: i also created a small navigation post for my page/works to make it a bit easier for everyone :3 ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]

wednesday

“So, bear with me please guys.” you murmured while you typed in what you were looking for. “There is a chance that my theory is off- “

“Well, with you there is always a chance of that.” chimed in who else, if not the residential asshole. Annoying little prick.

“I’d heavily advise you to reconsider who you’re messing with when you cannot even use your damn chopsticks properly, doctor.” with your narrowed eyes, you pointed at his pretty hands while he clumsily tried to work some miracle with his Chinese takeout. This seemed to be working, since Reid pressed his lips together and remained silent.

“As I said, there is a chance that my theory is off, still, I’d like to share it with you, in case it helps the investigation.” You said, anxiety slightly building up in you. One of the most hated parts of this job for you was presenting, whether in front of the team or a whole precinct. However, professionality quickly came over you, as if it was switched on. “Selkies are creatures of Nordic and Celtic mythology. The origin of the word comes from Scots, meaning seal, and they’re often associated with the Northern Isles of Scotland. It is said that they live freely in the seas as seals but occasionally come to land where they shed their animal skin to bask in the warmth and light, then, when they decide that it’s time to head back to the sea, they put their seal skin back on and disappear into the waves. In folklore, they’re often depicted as beautiful and charming women, and if a human man finds the skin of a selkie while they’re on the shores and steal it, they can force the selkie into marrying them, causing the selkie to be resentful and unhappy, because they’ll always long for the sea. If they’re lucky, they can steal back their skin and make a run for it.”

“I’m not saying that this is unrelated but how exactly did you connect the dots?” after a few silent seconds, your boss cleared his throat and leaned forward on his seat.

Warmness spread across your cheeks and ears as you realised you only told half of what you wanted originally. “Ah yes, sorry I left that out. So, at first, I only had an inkling. Even as a child, I loved mythology from all over the world, and I spent a lot of time learning about the different creatures and their stories. When we got introduced to the case, the selkie was the first thing that came into my mind, but I found it a bit silly, so I didn’t say anything. However, I couldn’t shake this weird feeling and asked Garcia to investigate the victim’s marital backgrounds, looking for anything that’d indicate problems.”

“And?” Emily curiously raised her eyebrows while silently calculating which sushi should be left as the last, most fulfilling bite.

“The second victim was in marriage counselling a few years ago but they stopped showing up according to the reports. The first victim was seeing a private therapist, which could mean anything, of course, but there might be a connection.”

After some thinking, Hotch decided to split the unit into three. JJ, and Morgan will investigate this as if they’re looking for an extreme animal rights or a climate change activist who’s trying to make a statement, Rossi, Emily and he will remain in the station and take the statements of the husbands and relatives of the victims, and finally, you and Reid will start investigating your selkie theory. Before anyone asks, Reid volunteered to be on your team. According to him, he wants to see you set yourself up for failure. To be honest, you didn’t quite understand this. If he wanted to prove you wrong and take the win for this case when the team eventually solves it, he should be on the opposite, investigating and proving the activist theory, not yours. This way, he had significantly less chance of taking the point for this in your imaginary ‘solved case race’.

Now, you were sitting next to him, finally relaxed enough to eat your reheated noodles. The others headed out a few minutes ago, it was just the two of you. He couldn’t eat as fast as the others since he wasn’t as skilled with the chopsticks and refused to back down, but it was obvious that he became more and more frustrated. As always, when he couldn’t exactly figure something out, it bothered him. You glanced at his long, slender fingers and mentally let out a sigh before opening your mouth.

“Khm… Would you like some help?”

“Help?” he looked up at you, his brows slightly furrowed, to which you just pointed at the wooden sticks between his unsteady fingers. “Ah, no. I’m okay.”

“Mmm, I can see. There is nothing wrong with admitting that you’re not good at something. You can always try getting better.” There was no use in denying how much you enjoyed this. With his free hand, Spencer moved a straying wavy lock out of his face, which was one of his stalling tactics, you noticed this early on.

To be honest, he was quite pissed at himself for still not being able to eat with those damned utensils. He made a fool of himself in his rookie days when Gideon was still in the team, and they celebrated a closed case in that dimly lit Chinese restaurant. It was childish but he got so mad at the inanimate objects that he avoided using them ever since. Today was an unfortunate day

“Fine, help me.” he murmured. It was barely audible, but you definitely heard it, and while he was looking anywhere but at you, a winner grin spread across your face.

“Okay, follow my instructions, doc.” you clapped your hands together excitedly and scooted a bit closer to him. Cute, thought Spencer. “So, there are many ways to use chopsticks but the easiest, in my honest opinion is…”

While you explained to him the way you first figured out how to eat with the utensils, he could’ve sworn your eyes were sparkling. This was such a mundane thing, but you were definitely in your element, which looked good on you. Before he noticed it, your enthusiasm made him smile and he got swept up in the moment. His eyes gently explored your face, starting from your eyebrows to your eyes, your nose, your lips, where he stopped for a few seconds and instinctively licked his own, then lifted his gaze back to your eyes. This came so naturally, so involuntarily, as if he never had any problem with maintaining eye contact.

“Now you try it.”

Oof, he might have fucked things up a bit by getting distracted, he realized. This was one of those rare moments when he knew, he didn’t really have the upper hand and had no idea how to smoothly recover. This wasn’t the first time when he went dumb in your company, and he knew he’ll have to do something about it, possibly in the near future.

“Uhm…” his confused look almost made you chuckle.

“Can I?” you pointed at his hands. It was one thing that recently he became bolder with physical contact, still, you wanted to make sure he was comfortable with touching. After he nodded, you reached forward, ignoring your heart that was beating like a war drum in your chest. This was a perfectly normal thing to do with your co-worker. If there was literally any other member in that goddamned chair instead of Reid, you would’ve been fine. You had to do something about your inability to function on 110% when you were in his company, and you had to do it quickly.

Your gentle touch and overall proximity caused his breath to hitch for a short moment, but you were too deep in your head to notice it, to his luck. You carefully moved his fingers, placed the chopsticks in their places and explained once again how to move them.

He caught himself getting distracted by your smell, your voice, your looks, by you again. He had to stop this, stop himself or this will turn awkward really quick. So, he practically forced himself to listen and learn, as he should’ve done a few minutes ago.

A few hours later you and Spencer were walking towards the black SUV in the garage of the modern, quite possibly overprized medical centre. You decided to start your investigation at the private therapist of Ruby, the first victim, with little to no success.

“The next person that says HIPAA today will get their asses beaten, I’m being so fucking serious right now.” to this, the man on left let out a soft chuckle. Before you could’ve said anything else, the genius’s phone rang.

“Hey Garcia,” he greeted the person at the other end of the line. “Got it, we’ll head there right now.”

“What is it?” you asked as you got into the characteristically FBI vehicle.

“Sarah Moore’s husband didn’t show up at the precinct and there is no way of contacting him.”

After circa fifteen minutes, you pulled up to the Moore family’s driveway. Both of you got your badges ready but didn’t pull your guns out just yet. You didn’t want to scare or agitate the man.

“Jeremy Moore, FBI!” Reid’s loud, confident, demanding tone sent shivers down your spine. He looked so hot like this. “FBI, open up!”

The absence of any reaction meant you had to do this the hard way. Where is Derek when you need him? Since the entrance door had little decorative windows on the side, Spencer took down his suit, wrapped around his right fist and smashed the glass. What was in that damn Chinese takeout that suddenly made him so… woah. Better yet, what was in your Chinese takeout that suddenly made you notice every little thing he did.

Now, with your firearms in your hands, you entered the silent house. After securing the whole place, which was entirely empty, it was time for investigating. The power was cut, covering the rooms in darkness so you had to use your flashlights, which always annoyed you a bit, you felt restricted in a way.

While you went through the Moore’s stuffs in the living room, Spencer decided to uncover any possible secrets the kitchen might have held. What you first noticed was there weren’t any family photos. The room felt artificial. By what you were able to tell in the dim light, it looked like those fake photos on the covers of home decoration magazines. Fireplace in the middle of the left wall, piano in the upper right corner, huge beige couches and armchairs, a fluffy rug, a huge television and some decorative bookshelves. But nowhere anything personal.

“Y/N,” Spencer called your name, to which you peaked out from the living room. With his fingers, he gestured, calling you closer. When you walked up to his side, he pointed at the kitchen sink. “Look.”

There, in the silver, modern sink was a built-in garbage disposal unit, which was surrounded by dried blood and pieces of torn skin and flesh.

“What the…” you murmured and raised your flashlight, looking for any other signs of violence. Other than what you’ve found, everything else looked perfectly intact. “I’ll call Hotch, don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would I…?”

Half an hour later the property was filled with members of the FBI, CSI and the local police force. So much so that even the infamous Chief Miller decided to grace you with his time. Awesome. You could tell by Hotch’s and Emily’s face how annoyed they were already. You were guessing that the freshly appointed man didn’t make their jobs easier back at the precinct.

“Chief Miller, these are my agents, SSA Y/N L/N and Doctor Spencer Reid.” You got introduced by your boss while Emily and Rossi decided to join the CSI guys. The man in front of you was tall, obviously well-built, with a very authoritative presence. His wavy black hair had some straying grey in it, and you had to admit it, it complimented his tanned skin and deep brown, almost black irises.

“Nice to meet you.” you nodded but refrained from shaking hands, just like the man on your right.

“How are we discovering this just now?” asked Miller without greeting, which was already a bad start for you.

“Because we just got here? Moore didn’t show up to give his statement, so we came here to check in as soon as we got informed about it.” you answered, not taking his accusative tone well.

“This should’ve been the first thing you do after discovering the body.”

“With all due respect, sir, we weren’t even on the case when the victim was discovered. If anything, it should’ve been your men’s responsibility to contact the husband as quick as possible.” Seems like Spencer didn’t appreciate his tone either. Fake, polite smiles sat on your lip while you were trying to behave. Maybe you were more defensive because you knew beforehand that Miller will be a pain in your ass and in your mind, you already saw him as a threat or an obstacle. But it was surprising how fast Reid snapped back.

Around here, you decided that it’d be for the best if you excused yourself and joined up with the others. At times like this, you were glad that you weren’t in a leading position. Your sense of justice and slight problem with authority would make you unemployed faster than an affair scandal.

Prentiss and Dave were squatting in front of the cabinet with the sink and were working on disassembling the outlet to check if there are any human remains left in it.

“I can tell he doesn’t really believe in what we do.” said Emily.

“Oh wow, if I had a fucking penny for each time we were invited in on a case where the local police force thought this, I could retire.” you groaned and rolled your eyes.

When Rossi took the components apart, thickened blood and clumps of remains filled the empty bucked placed under the pipe. You didn’t notice, but from the other side of the room, Reid silently kept his eyes you. When your only reaction was a quiet hum and slightly raised eyebrows, he got reminded of the fact that he still was nowhere near close figuring you out.

A few minutes later another crime scene was discovered, this time in the storm shelter that was hidden away at the far end of the property, that’s why you and Spencer haven’t discovered it when you secured the place. The small, underground room looked like as if it was painted red by the amount of blood that got spilled there. You were more than sure that you found where Sarah Moore spent the excruciating end of her life.

thank you again for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! i hope it isn't a problem that this fic is getting longer, i'm just taking slow burn seriously (only thing i can do lmao) taglist: @halfbloodwriter @starrystormwritings @kspencer34 @maisyyyyyy @theseerbetweenus @throwaway-things @pleasantwitchgarden divider from @cafekitsune gif from @reidgif

[thegnomelord]

A Little Bit Of Heaven

CW: NSFW, FTM subbot Gaz, domtop Male Reader, oral, scar kissing, soft fluffy sex, body worship, lingerie, fem language, reader is whipped for Gaz

PS: This is inspired by @ramvur 's art piece of Gaz, @el-chonkus you wanted to be tagged so here you go :D

The last few months have been Hell on both of you; mission after mission, drill after drill, chasing away exhaustion and sleep deprivation with copious amounts of caffeine in an attempt to put a dent in the stacks of paperwork you've been given. Despite spending most of your time together, be it training recruits or as battle buddies on missions, it feels like you and Kyle never have time for each other, the only time you two have to be intimate being when Kyle sleeps on your shoulder during the long plane rides.

So when Price tells you you two are cleared for a week of military leave, you jump at the chance to have a proper vacation. Once you get the tickets you put it in an envelope, going out to find Gaz.

You find him in your shared bunk room, peacefully snoring with a book splayed over his chest. Even in his sleep he's on edge, fingers twitching occasionally as if pulling the trigger of a gun. You're quiet as a mouse as you walk to his bed, kneeling to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

Kyle's eyelids flutter open, your familiar outline in his blurry vision calms him before military grade instincts can kick in, having to blink a few times to focus on you. "Mhm, what'ime isit?" He slurs as he sits up, the few minutes of sleep doing nothing to lessen the bags under his pretty brown eyes.

"Still early." You say, keeping your voice low. "I'm sorry for waking you,"

"Is fine," He waves away your apology, reaching out to wrap a loose arm around your neck, pulling you closer. "Did you need something?" Kyle's still groggy as he nuzzles your cheeks together, aiming for your lips but winding up kissing your nose.

"Yeah," You take a moment to relish the intimacy, not that Kyle minds, breathing in your scent with a happy sigh; God knows how long you'd spent in an intimacy deficit. "Guess what I did." You say with a humorous tone.

That sobers him up enough to lean back and give you a critical eye. "If you hid Price's cigars again I'm not hiding you." He warns, but there's obvious amusement in his voice.

"No, no," You snort, holding out the envelope for him. "It's something better."

"Do I even want to know?" Kyle raises an eyebrow but takes the envelope, opening it. Inside he finds two plane tickets to Greece, along with an invoice for a rented villa. "Are these. . .?" His voice dies down as he looks at you with wide eyes.

"You did say you wanted to go somewhere warm." You shrug a shoulder, trying not to show how much you hope he'll be pleased by this seeing as you two hadn't planned anything for your leave.

"Oh, mate," You can't describe the wide smile that graces his features, bright like the sun, one you'd happily let blind you. "Come here you-" He pulls you so close your foreheads bonk together, you can feel his grin as he kisses you. "-beautiful bastard." He sighs as your lips part but you don't, breathing in the same air.

"You're the beautiful one." Your comment has him giggling like a child; Kyle's laugh feels like silk on your ears, so infectious you find yourself giggling too. "Do you like them?"

"Do you even need to ask?" He teases, pulling you into another kiss.

. . .

Gaz is very smug on the day you're supposed to leave, cheeky as he gushes to Soap of all the things you two have got planned for your vacation, which of course has the Scot whining to Ghost about 'stepping up'. But it's all in good fun and you're sent off with a few demands to bring souvenirs.

Despite how tired you two are, the entire plane ride to Greece is spent learning about the local town near the villa you'd rented and all the tourist attractions there, learning a few sayings as well as how not to get scammed.

He's like a kid on Christmas when you finally get to the villa, exploring every room and the grounds around it; It's as pretty as it is old, spiderwebs of ivy and roses wrapping around the columns and sides of it, built on a cliff overlooking the ocean, but far bigger than what you two are used to, Kyle's animated assessment of every little detail in the frescos, evaporating the eeriness of the empty rooms.

And of course, the first thing you do when you get there is sleep a solid 24 hours, your exhaustion catching up to you two. You wake up the next day to Kyle still snoring next to you, much more relaxed and clutching you like a koala. He doesn't even stir when you get out of bed to make him and you a very late breakfast, receiving loving kisses on the cheek when Kyle finally stumbles out of dream land.

You spend your vacation doing all the typical couple things, thousands of photos filling Gaz's phone — you two dinning out or attempting to make some local dishes, several of you two donkey riding across the mountains (and one that he'd favored of a donkey trying to eat your clothes), silly photos of you two interacting with the statues in a nearby garde (you especially love the one of him imitating one), pictures of sunsets and sunrises and a dozen more of him coming out of the water, some selfies of Gaz with you haggling with a merchant in the background as well as your triumphant smirk as you hold a pearl necklace to Kyle's neck from behind.

Kyle likes to look at the photos when he wakes up before you, your body warm and pressed against his from behind while you sleep with your arms around him, his chest light as a feather from how intimate you two had been able to be, how lovely you'd been to him, a true gentleman and every bit the man he fell in love with.

And Kyle decides he wants to do something for you. And for him. A nice gift for the both of you.

He has to shove his pillow into your arms otherwise you wouldn't let go of him, a small giggle leaving his lips at how you nuzzle and hug the pillow like a koala. He tries to stay quiet as he goes to the dresser to pick up the small special suitcase he'd brought just for this vacation, picking out the clothes he'd wanted to wear just for you and him, but never got the time.

He watches himself in the mirror as he puts on the stockings, the material soft against his skin, the kitten heels fitting him perfectly. Kyle struggles with the bralette for a few minutes, but it's worth it when it frames his pecs in such a pleasing way, perking them up and hiding the top scars that run beneath them. Finally comes the long feathered robe, dragging behind him when he twirls in front of the mirror.

Kyle can feel giddy bubbling in his chest, heart beating just a bit faster. Back on base he would have felt ashamed at wearing something so frivolous and impractical, he was a soldier god damn it, but here, with you, he's just Kyle.

Gaz glances to your still sleeping form as he sits by the vanity to do his makeup, lipstick and mascara and a light blush, taking care of the small amount of facial he's managed to grow. He can't wait to see how you'll react when you see him like this. . .

A little mischievous smirk crosses his features and Gaz silently comes to your side of the bed, leaning down to kiss your face, leaving red lipstick marks all across your skin before leaving you to wake up to his surprise.

. . .

You wake from sunlight filtering through the curtains, the soft sound of Kyle humming rousing you from your dreams. You attempt to cuddle closer but soon enough figure out it's a pillow you're hugging. You grumble and sit up, your brain stuttering when you see yourself in the mirror. Bright lipstick marks dot a side of your face, from your forehead down all the way down to your jaw.

Kyle's work, no doubt, but you can't bring yourself to wipe his marks on you — a type of stigmata you'd happily wear. You don't bother with clothes, yawning as you follow the soft sound of his humming to the balcony.

You nearly swallow your tongue when you see him; wreathed in the soft morning light, his skin glowing like the golden bracelets on his arms, the pink roses blending in with his robe making him look like he's sitting on a cloud, soft feathers accentuating the robe like pearly sea foam he'd formed from. Your eyes roam from his red heels up the toned thighs, the sunlight softening the harsh scars decorating his stomach, the sheer material of the bralette both leaving nothing to the imagination and making you want to pull it off, his red lips like the red skin of an apple Eve had been tempted with.

If you were a Trojan prince, you wouldn't have looked at any goddess had Kyle been there, someone the sculptors of old times would have clamored to have as a muse.

If he told you he was a god, you'd take it as gospel, gift Kyle all your devotion just like the pearl necklace he's appraising.

"Holy hell." You mumble, scared to distract him, unwilling to pull him out of his own little world where his face isn't tense with unease and exhaustion, where his shoulders are relaxed and his instincts are blissfully sleeping, where he can just be.

But Kyle hears you, his warm brown eyes shifting to you, a bit of surprise flashing in his face before smiling. "I was wondering when you'd wake up." Kyle chuckled, a flush of heat spreading across his face at the way you look at him — eyes smoldering like coals with desire, a lovesick puppy just for him.

"You could have just woken me up if you were lonely." You hummed as you slowly approached him, brushing your fingers against his cheek. "You know I'd never say no to you."

"I know, I know." He huffs, pretty dark lashes fluttering as he pats your hand before pulling you into a kiss. You can taste wine on his lips, soft and plush against your own. He pulls back, holding up the pearls pearls. "Help me with these yeah?"

"Sure," You say, watching him shift so his back is facing you. You clip the pearl necklace around his neck easily, kissing the back of his neck just to feel him shiver. "There you go, handsome man."

"Trying to seduce me are you?" Gaz grins and quickly turns to you, pecking your forehead but pulling back when you attempt to kiss him.

"Can you blame me?" You nuzzle his neck, laying gentle kisses across his neck, your heart fluttering when he tilts his head back to give you more room. "You're absolutely gorgeous."

"Oh you," You can just about catch the way a blush darkens his face to a rich mahogany, his skin warming under your lips as you nibble on his collarbones. "charming bastard." He chuckles, holding the back of your neck as you go further down to trace the outline of his sternum with your lips.

"Just for you," Your hands rise up to cup his pecs over the bralette, lightly groping without attempting to take it off just yet. "Do you want to. . .?" You ask, rubbing your thumb over his pebbled nipple and god, if the soft silk pressing against his sensitive skin doesn't turn him on, nothing will.

"Fuck yes." Gaz whines so sweetly, holding your head close to his chest as you pull one nipple into your mouth, wetting the silk and making him shiver. You pull off to do the same to the other nipple, your hands roaming over his torse, tracing the harsh scars before going back up to push the bralette enough for you to be able to trace the top scars with your tongue. "Oh shit." He grunts as you kiss along the sensitive skin from one side of his chest to the other. "Love." He whines, embarrassed by his own eagerness, but if you don't touch him more he swears he's going to die.

You pull back and settle on your knees; Gods may be worshiped in blood and wine, but your devotion is all he needs. And you'll give it to him.

Your revenant fingers grope the muscle and fat of his thigh, slowly pulling down the pink stocking and following after it with your lips. Tracing the imprint the stocking had left at his mid thigh, pecking the bony part of his knee, kissing the small scars dotting his shin down to his ankle as you finally pull his heel and stocking off him.

Gaz swears he can feel his heart beating in his throat as he watches you repeat the process on his other leg, warmth lingering long after your lips have moved on. "Christ alive," He mumbles, the moment you peel off his remaining stocking he's spreading his legs for you, cheeks growing warm as your eyes settle on his cunt. A damp spot has grown on the feathered robe where his slick had trickled down, curly dark hair slick with his arousal, his dick starting to peek beneath it's hood. "Don't tease me now love." He whines out the last word, buzzing nerves threatening to force his thighs to close, but his need for you outweighs the embarrassment of exposing himself like this.

You're between his legs in a second, hiking his thighs on your shoulders and feeling the hard earned muscles tense around your ears. "Alright, alright." Is the last words you say before starting to really worship him, his hand brushing your hair as you press your face against his cunt.

Your tongue circling his hole and lapping up the slick dripping from it births a relieved and pleased sigh from Kyle's chest. The slow movement of your tongue exploring his pussy lips has his muscles relaxing, forcing him to recline on the bench, the railing of the balcony providing needed support as you slowly circle his hardening dick. You flatten your tongue to give his dick something to rub against, moving your tongue up and down as Kyle's hips twitch to meet your movements, lazily following after the pleasure.

You have no need to rush, listening to his pleased sighs and small little whimpers as you let him set the pace. Kyle can barely see you from how blurry his eyes are, soft sounds leaving his lips as you search out all his pleasure spots like you don't know where they are, like you're doing this for the first and last time; He has to bite his lip to give his thoughts something to latch on to lest his mind drown in the pleasure, embarrassment curling in the spaces of is belly not overtaken with heat at the thought of cumming so fast.

But you can feel how he comes closer and closer to an orgasm by the way his chest heaves, the way more slick continues to trickle from his cunt, staining your chin despite your best efforts to swallow his ichor down. His hand on the back of your hand keys you in to go faster, and without further ado you focus solely on his dick, swirling your tongue around it like it's a lollypop, dipping to lap beneath the hood.

His thighs tense like vices around your ears, threatening to crack your skull— what a wonderful death —is all your mind can think as oxygen slowly depletes, your sole objective to pleasure him. Distantly you can hear him chant your name, thighs shaking and hips twitching to grind his dick against your tongue.

Suddenly you wrap your lips around his length and suck.

His orgasm crashes over Kyle like a wave, pulling him down to drown in the depths of mind-numbing pleasure, sea foam popping in his belly as heat burns in his bones. You mouth opens to swallow all the slick gushing from his cunt and down your jaw, wet hair tickling your face as his shaking thighs clench around your head.

You don't pull away when Kyle's orgasm winds down and his thighs relax. "Sh-ah- shite!" Kyle moans when your tongue returns, feather light flicks against his pulsating walls collecting his slick like you've been in a desert for months. Your name falls from his lips, both a prayer and a curse, his thighs shaking as static dances across his nerves, his hand on his mouth trying to uselessly silence his moans as you lap up his arousal.

He finally manages to gather enough strength to pull your head back, both of you struck dumb by the other. You— by how ruined he looks, lines of mascara down his cheeks from where tears had laid a path, chest heaving and skin turned rich mahogany from ears to collarbones; Kyle — by how debauched you look, the lipstick marks he'd left earlier smudged all across your face, jaw and throat shining with his slick.

Fuck, he's aroused again.

He whimpers your name, tugging your head. "Need you." He whispers, eyes hooded.

In one smooth move you rise to your feet and pick him up, his legs and arms wrapping around you as he pulls you into a kiss, uncaring of his own taste on your tongue. You have just enough sense in your head to make your way to a laying couch close by, putting him down, your heart fluttering at how the feathered robe spreads out around him like a cloud.

"Hurry up," Kyle grumbles, a blush burning his cheeks even more as he splays his legs open for you, cunt clenching around nothing and dick hard as a rock, his arms still firmly wrapped around your neck to keep your mouths close.

You chuckle, the tip of your achingly hard cock kissing his cunt just as you do to his lips, "Breathe in and relax." You grip your dick in one hand to position yourself.

"'m not a bloody virgin." Kyle complains, his entire body so relaxed and pussy so slick that his cunt doesn't offer even a smidgeon of resistance as you push in, both of you groaning as your cock spreads his warm walls open.

"Let me treat you like one." You snort and distract any discomfort he might feel with a kiss, slowly sinking deeper and deeper until your balls rest against his ass, cock throbbing inside his clenching cunt. You stop, resting your forehead against his as you wait him to adjust.

Kyle breathes out a small grumble, "Only if you move." His leg wraps around your waist, heel digging into your back to force your hips to shift.

You grin and kiss him again, swallowing his moans when you pull back a bit and push your cock back in, his cunt greedily swallowing you back in and clenching around you like it doesn't want to let you go. But Kyle shifts his hips to meet your thrusts half way, his nails clawing scratches into your back when you start moving quicker.

"Oh, fuck- yes!- like that, just-" Kyle pants into your mouth, eyes hooded and unfocused, pleasure gnawing on his nerves as every deep thrust nails a pleasure spot inside him, the veins of your cock scrapping his sensitive walls, his slick wetting both of your pubes. He jumps the second you reach down to stroke his dick between two of your fingers, timing it to stroke down every time you bottom out inside him, the air around you filled with the scent of sex and Kyle's sweet moans and chants of your name.

"Fuck, I'm close." You warn as you increase your pace, your entire body buzzing with pleasure. "Do you want it inside?" You ask, biting your lips and trying to stave off your orgasm.

"Shite- yes, yes, yes-" Kyle throws his back as his orgasm sneaks up on him for the second time, slick warm walls clamping down on your flesh like vices as he cums. You follow suit soon after, bottoming out as you cum inside him.

You're both breathless and sweaty as you shift him around so you're not crushing him when you lay down, your head resting on his chest. Your eyes close as you listen to his breathing, and you swear you could fall asleep if his hands didn't brush your hair, scratching the back of your neck until you force your eyes open.

His smiling face greets you, soft and warm like the sun, "Thank you love." He grins, tugging you into a quick and soft kiss.

"Thank you." You hum, making him laugh a little. You lay there just enjoying the sound of the sea and the chirping birds for a bit. Then you feel him shift, grinding his hips back onto your soft cock still inside him. "Kyle?" You ask, your cock hardening slowly despite the pain of overstimulation.

"Think you can go again?" There's an impish smirk on his handsome face as he grinds his hips again, every bit a demanding god as he pulls you back into a hungry kiss, all tongue and teeth.

And you wouldn't dare refuse him. . .

[agendabymooner]

twentieth sommer of love ! toto w. x ofc (supermodel!ofc)

summary: by celebrating the couple’s twentieth anniversary, fans recalled the time supermodel irish sommer announced that she got married to her boyfriend of one month toto wolff— who coincidentally was ‘the man that could have been’ all those years ago back when they were still some youngsters in vienna. OR there’s a reason why irish sommer dubbed herself ‘the bitch of the runway.’

content warning: (childhood?) friends to lovers trope, mentions of previous marriages, 4 year age difference, use of explicit language, mentions a lot about toto’s younger days (canonically he was spicy), brief introduction to ofc (irish)

note: i’m not fully back!!! but i’ve got this little thing in mind so enjoy xx

ALSO check out the newest alphabetical masterlists!!!

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

WHY IRISH SOMMER CALLS HERSELF THE BITCH OF THE RUNWAY by mercgirlie ellie

tagged anselwolff, irishsommer

liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63, mercedesamgf1

user1 smash, smash, smash…

user2 if they can make it to twenty years i bet we can last for thirty 🤩

user3 ALFIE DROP YOUR DAD’S CC NUMBER FOR THE FUNNY!!

user4 alfie what’s your dad’s social insurance number 🤭🤭

user5 since you have an extensive digital footprint do you wanna add your dad’s finances into that too?? 😳

user6 what if we like- 👉👈 go drink the most expensive champagne with your dad’s card on the tab?

mercedesamgf1 mom and dad! 🥰🤩 liked by alfietorger

tagged alfietorger, irishsommer

liked by mickschumacher, lewishamilton

❣ anselwolff don’t ask me what my dad’s card number is 🤧

user1 drop your mom’s number please 🙌

user2 give us your mom’s card info instead

user3 is your mom single

user4 can your dad fight?

user5 tell your dad to pull up at the parking lot i want to fight him

user6 i love your mom. does your dad love her?

user7 y’all need to touch grass 😭 liked by anselwolff

irishsommer happy to have you boys celebrate with us and your siblings ❤️ liked by anselwolff

alfietorger thats cool and all, ma, but if we see either scot or august not following the dress code again it’s actually on sight this time 🙄 liked by anselwolff

anselwolff yeah dad literally said to wear something for the restaurant but the other two got to wear a casual outfit??? 🫠 favouritism if i see it

mercedesamgf1 if i only cared that much 🤭 -gus wolff

user8 bro is sassy toto 2.0 😭😭

anselwolff i’m legitimately going to fight you the next time i go to a race, gus.

mercedesamgf1 is- is that allowed? 🤕

bonus !!!

the wolff kids

alfred 'alfie' torger wolff

ansel christian wolff

augustus 'gus' cameron wolff

scot elisabeth wolff

[official-wales]

Croeso i Gymru Swyddogol (Welcome to Official Wales)

One of the four countries of the United Kingdom, and the one with the best flag. (Shout-out to Bhutan. Dragon solidarity. 🇧🇹🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿)

Bringing you the best in singing, mountains, sheep, cawl, leeks, daffodils, the Welsh language, Michael Sheen, dragons, King Arthur, rugby, rain, mud, Cardiff City, the coal industry, and the most castles per square metre in the world (true fact!).

My brothers in arms include @wales-official, @the-official-wales and @official-ottawa. Together, we will make every tumblr user have Yma o Hyd stuck in their heads for eternity.

Feel free to submit Welsh-themed posts. The criteria is that it must be connected to our glorious nation, or about defeating the English in battle/football.

CURRENT SCOTS OUT THERE TONIGHT COUNT:

4

Tag Translations

anifeiliaid anwes - pets

argymhelliad - submission

bwyd - food

caerdydd - cardiff

castellau - castles

celf - art

cerddoriaeth - music

chwaraeon - sport

cwestiynau - questions

cymraeg - welsh

cymru (am byth) - wales (forever)

ffilmiau - films

hanes - history

ieithoedd celtaidd - celtic languages

iaith - language

lhdtc+ - lgbtq+

postio cymru - wales posting (come get your gossip)

prydain fawr - great britain

rygbi - rugby

teledu - television

y ddraig goch - the red dragon (our national animal)

yr alban - scotland

Diolch yn fawr! (Thank you very much!)

dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics, @animatedglittergraphics-n-more, @saradika-graphics

[phoenixtakaramono]

“No Context Monday” Tuesday

Thank you for the tag, @kosmochlor!

Instead of one, I’m going to cheat and share three no context snippets from Truce ch3 🤭 because I’ve been sharing sneak peeks only on Twitter lately so I’ll share something here for my darlings that I haven’t shared yet on either platforms to make up for it

——————————

SNIPPET I:

“I didn’t have long to live. My brain was turning into soup and leaking out of me ears. I had three to six months left, at best.” Despite sharing with Homelander about how close he came to death, Billy’s demeanor remained casual. He shrugged. “When a man is on his deathbed, you start reflecting on things. You start looking back on everything that's happened.”

Both of Billy’s palms were outspread, his body language kept open and forthcoming. Deliberate. “I had a wakeup call. To be frank, I’d wasted my life plotting all the various intricate ways I could hurt you—all with little to no effect. I was developing white hairs every time you managed to run away”—he pretended he didn’t hear Homelander’s snort—“scot-free with only a love tap on the wrist. It’s absolutely appalling. Despite all the evidence I can find to put you behind bars, Vought finds a way to make you ‘uncancelable.’ It’s maddening. Everyone’s apparently too pussy to force you to take accountability.”

The fine lines near those blue eyes deepened. Judging by the way Homelander’s lips had lifted and his loose body language, he seemed to be deriving some twisted enjoyment from Billy’s frustration, as though he’d considered his complaints against him a badge of honor….

Billy tried to avoid giving him any indication that he’d noticed. Without changing his expression, he concluded mildly, “Then I’d realized the one thing that would probably upset you the most isn’t ‘exposing’ you or destroying your reputation. Or attempts on your life.” A middle finger went up. “I’d reckoned, nah. For you, you’d find being subjected to constant minor inconveniences much more hateful.”

Homelander watched him. “So your malicious compliance with me is the new game? …Your pettiness knows no bounds.”

Billy aimed a crooked, roguish smirk. “If a big bloodsucking mosquito kept buzzing around you, wouldn’t it drive you up the wall if you couldn’t swat it to death no matter how hard you try?”

——————————

SNIPPET II:

Three sharp whistles. Billy pressed his thumb to two fingers together and waved them twice. “No, Terror. Go back to bed, little rascal.” When Terror did as he was told, he praised warmly, “There’s me good boy.”

A sudden spike in heart rate.

Billy glanced over. “Something the matter?”

Homelander was the picture of innocence, his hands clasped behind him.

——————————

SNIPPET III:

He squinted his eyes slightly, and he looked over at Billy from under his fine eyelashes.

“I know how much you’ve suffered, William. There’s so much…rage and darkness in you. I know.” His smile was self-deprecating. “I also noticed how, despite your need for destruction, you never lost hope and came to me.”

Billy stiffened when Homelander pushed their foreheads together, nose to nose. Warm puffs of air were breathed against his lips.

“And I’m so glad you found me in this life.”

——————————

I tag (no pressure) @fuckingpajamas, @himelander, @deliciouskeys, @officially-tilly, @maypbe and anyone else who wants to do this! Feel free! Apologies if you were already tagged by someone else; the list of moots who I remember are also writers is sadly very small so I just went down my notifications tl🙂‍↕️.

[lunarmothim]

nevermore - simon riley x reader

part i: grief is a funny thing - in the wake of devastating loss, nothing looks the same.

word count: 1.2k tags/warnings: mention of major character death, brief description of gore, heavy angst, grief, suicidal thoughts, language. implied ghoap.

notes: and here it is! this labor of love (and many tears) has given me grief for the last two weeks. i decided to start off on this blog with a bang and make the boys suffer :) i have this thing plotted to the last chapter and i'm already preparing a preemptive apology. welcome to hell, population us, i hope you enjoy :)

141 SAFEHOUSE 23 NOV 2023, 10:00 HRS SOMEWHERE IN THE UK

Grief is a funny thing. 

With all the loss in his life, Simon would have thought he'd be used to it by now- the hollow ache in his chest, the empty spaces in his life no amount of alcohol can fill. Some days are easier than others, the pain reduced to a dull, manageable throb. Others it's like a knife between his ribs, pressure building with nowhere to go as the blood pools in his chest cavity. Either way it's familiar. He should be used to it.

But something about this one feels different, hurts more.

Maybe it's that this one is still fresh, the image of his fallen sergeant still burned into the backs of his eyelids like a macabre tattoo. 

Maybe it's that he'd been there for the end, had watched Johnny go down in a spray of blood and brain matter, had pressed trembling fingertips to his neck in search of a pulse he'd already known he wouldn't find. 

Or maybe it's that the infuriating Scot had gotten so deep under his skin that Simon couldn't dig him out if he tried, planting the tentative seed of something better, something kind, something he didn't deserve.

Whatever it is, it keeps him curled up in a too-small bed in a dingy safehouse as many kilometers away from London as he could get on half a tank of gas, staring blankly at the wall with a hangover that feels like a pleasant tickle compared to the agony that winds through every crack and crevice Johnny had carved into his armor, filling the spaces between his ribs until it's pressing against his lungs and he can't breathe under the weight of it.

He can't remember grief hurting this much. He doesn't know what to do with it, how to ease the pressure. 

Well. He knows one way. Cold steel taunting him from a bedside table drawer, always loaded. Always ready. 

Always tempting. 

He reaches for it now, one arm stretching out to slide open the drawer. He doesn't pick it up, just running his fingers over the barrel. It would be easy. Pick it up, feel its weight in his palm. A kiss of metal against his temple. A single squeeze of his finger. He considers it. Has been considering it for the last two days, since he'd stood outside the service entrance to the channel tunnel and watched the bodybag zip closed.

Two days. It feels like no time at all has passed. It feels like it's been decades. 

Some pieces of Johnny are already fading. Simon can't remember their last interaction, the last thing they said to each other. If he'd smiled, what he smelled like beneath the haze of cigarette smoke that clung to him after tailing the hacker. They'd shared a fist bump in the back of a military vehicle as they approached the tunnel, maybe, a silent see you on the other side that had become ritual over the years. Something instinctual, gravitational, a minute offering of something steady before everything went to shit as it often did.

Fuck. His hand retreats from the gun and slams the drawer shut before scrubbing down his face, the rough fabric of his balaclava scratching at his skin. He remembers a different hand, much gentler, following the same path in the opposite direction to yank it off his head. He drops his hand like he's been burned.

He's so wrapped up in the mess in his head that he almost misses the faint footsteps outside.

The sharp snap of a twig is what cuts through the white noise like static in his ears. It's like a switch flips in him at the sound- in the split second between breaths Simon becomes Ghost, the gun in his hand a familiar weight as he snatches it from the drawer. He rolls off the bed, hitting the floor just as the door is blasted clean off its hinges.

Assess the situation. Heavy footsteps. Boots, multiple. At least six, spreading out around the room. The familiar sound of a grip adjusting on a rifle.

"Know you're there, Ghost." That voice. That fucking voice, that lazy southern drawl that drags him back to that night in Las Almas, Johnny bleeding on the ground- "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

"The fuck are you doing here, Graves?" His own voice is rougher than usual, hoarse and scratchy, throat still raw from yelling orders in the chunnel. From yelling for Johnny. Focus. He doesn't rise from the floor just yet, straining his ears. No movement, just the sound of tense breathing. 

"Got orders to bring you in," Graves answers like it's the simplest thing in the world, and Ghost's eyes narrow. "Alive, they said, but you know how accidents happen."

"Who's orders?"

"Army, CIA, Interpol. Take your pick." The finality in Graves' tone says he isn't interested in answering anymore questions. A shame, really, because Ghost has a lot of them and he'd love to beat the answers out of the smarmy asshole. "Now drop your weapon and come out with your hands up. I won't ask again."

Ghost thinks about it for far too long of a second- putting up a fight he likely won't win. Sure, he's brought a knife to a gunfight against Graves and his Shadows before, he'd stand even more of a chance with a pistol, but his mind is stuck on who'd given the orders. Army, CIA, Interpol. He hasn't done anything illegal- lately- that he remembers, certainly nothing that would put him on Interpol's radar, so he makes a choice.

A shit choice, but if the CIA's involved he's sure Laswell is too. Maybe if he cooperates he can get some answers.

Mind made up, Ghost tosses the gun up onto the mattress. It's not the response Graves wants judging by the way he tuts, but he holds out his hand in a stand down motion to his Shadows anyway when Ghost slowly rises to his feet, fingers splayed wide and hands out to his sides to show them empty. You know how accidents happen. There's no doubt in Ghost's mind Graves would shoot him if he so much as twitched in a way he didn't like.

"That wasn't so hard now, was it? Let's go." Graves taunts, nodding to the Shadow closest to Ghost's side of the room. He doesn't fight it when the soldier zip cuffs him with trembling hands, though he could easily take the kid out before any of the others could react and both he and Graves know it- it's why Graves hadn't come over here to do it himself, keeping what he thinks is a safe distance.

It's not. No distance from Ghost is safe enough for Graves, not when he's part of the reason Johnny's dead.

Makarov may have pulled the trigger, but Graves and Shepherd's egos had made it possible.

Five minutes to confirm a kill, and maybe Johnny would still be here.

He stamps out the spark of pain igniting again along the edges of his frayed psyche, shrugging off the hand guiding him to the door. Despite the zip cuffs that speak to the contrary he walks out of his own volition, ducking his head to slide into the backseat of the SUV on the curb when the door's yanked open for him. He doesn't bother to hide his distaste when Graves slides in next to him, keeping his gun trained on him like he's expecting Ghost to do something stupid.

He won't... for now. Not until he knows what's going on. 

Laswell better have a good fucking explanation for this.

part one - masterlist - part two

please like/reblog if you enjoyed! :) dividers by: @/gildui

[ebenelephant]

I think there's very much an issue in many fandoms – and in writing in general – of people mistaking the phonetic sounds of words for being actual words in the dialect. This effects non-English speakers in English speaking fandoms the worst ofc (I, too, was a Hamilton girly) but with Scots there's this particular strangeness of the fact that many of these phonetic words do actually have generalised spellings? It's like if someone called a child character a 'wayne' and I knew they meant 'wean'. There's some wiggle room here, of course – what about northern dialects who pronounce 'I' (the singular) like 'ah'? I've seem some people do that integrated with other mild dialect markers to great effect, compared to me a few years ago who I know did it fairly poorly. Dialects are hard :')

Sorry to ramble on at you a bit there, I'm just interested in the subject!

okay Takin' Over The Asylum peeps, how do we feel about a tota fic written with scots dialect in the prose?

to clarify, this would not be a scots language fic but rather the scots dialectical english which is spoken in the show and by the majority of scots in real life. many of the words would be fairly intelligible to their english counterparts - eg dog vs dug or wis vs was or otherwise easily understood given context. i'm not about to throw a tattiebogle at you apropos of nothing, but campbell might make a joke about somebodies geks in the obvious context of their glasses, yeah?

browsing through the tota tag on ao3, i suddenly became aware that a number of fics have very little scots in them even when they're in campbell's pov, or otherwise have him speaking scots dialect but the prose doesn't support this, and I was thinking a lot about how this in a way alienates the language of the characters in their own stories – especially as I began a wip with this approach. I suppose I was just wondering if non-Scots would persevere?

[cookiesupplier]

Every Rose Has Its Thorns - Part Forty-Six

pairing: Ricky Olson x ofc x Chris 'Motionless' Cerulli

warnings/tropes: slow burn, soulmates, strangers to enemies to lovers, betrayal, angst, fluff, smut, language, online bullying, panic attacks, stalking, mental health issues, conspiracy theories.

summary: In a world where soulmates inexplicably receive a tattoo that will match that of their soulmate the moment they turn eighteen years old, being famous and covered in very visible tattoos can make finding your true soulmate a questionable fate. For everyone involved.

author’s note: Unbeta'd as usual, enjoy!

To read from the beginning, check out the Masterlist Here!

If you would like to be added to this tag list please see THIS FORM

tags: @faceless-mirror @missduffsblog @tamtam-elizabeth @witchyweeb34 @tearfallpixie

@wild-child-7747 @shilohrosechicken @lacktoesandtoddlerants @blackveilomens @valiantroeagleangel

@bngurngheart @dominuslunae @collapsedglasshouses @embracethereaper42 @emmmm127

@sunsshinesunny @spicywhenspeaking @dontdiganothergravetoday @chick-from-nz @latenightmusiclover

Even though Ricky had told her to get on the bed, Talia wasn’t going to let Chris get away scot-free here, he was coming along with her. She smiled up at him before she stood up, pulling down his boxers, and pants the rest of the way from his legs and pushing them down so he could kick them off. Licking at his cock again to get him as clean as she could, even though she could feel some of his sticky cum dripping down her chin. Then, as she stood up from the floor, hearing Chris groan at the sight of her, her hands sliding up from his thighs, over his skin along his body to his bare chest. The rest of his clothes, including  his shirt, already gone before she’d made it into the room before. He pulled her into a kiss, she couldn’t help moaning at the thought that he’d taste himself on her tongue, and he’d known that even before he’d done it. Fuck, Chris, her whole body was alight..

“Help her onto the bed, Chris, go on.”

Hearing Ricky behind her, and she was gasping against Chris’ lips now as she felt his firm hands running down her back. They were so sure in his movements, so heated on her skin as she climbed onto the bed with Chris. He was naked now, even if she was still in her lacy underwear.. Ricky’s hands on her body were divine as they settled onto knees between Chris thighs, what was he going to do..

“Daddy, please..”

Ricky smirked as Chris looked over her shoulder to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Daddy, oh, oh, I like that, but who is Daddy here, Sweetheart?”

The whimper that escaped her as she leaned against Chris bare chest, it was utter perfection, and oh how he wanted more. There was no doubt he was enjoying seeing them together, but he wanted an answer out of her to that question, Daddy, so he lightly smacked the side of her thigh, slightly, looking to her expectantly.

“Yes?”

Watching as she gasped, seeing how she twisted to try to get a better look at him, her lips parting as she licked them quickly, eyes so wide, he was loving every second of the pleading look before she answered.

“Can’t you both be Daddy?”

Ricky raised an eyebrow at that, looking at Chris curiously, what did he think, receiving the slightest shrug and a bit of a smirk that came from his best friend. His choice then.

“Okay, Sweetheart, time to be good for Daddy.. both of us. Turn over, I want to see you, all of you.”

Chris helped her twist over, pressing a kiss to Talia’s shoulder as she leaned back against his chest now. Smiling over to Ricky as his hands were running up her sides, 

“Would you just look at her, Chris, all laid out like this.”

He groaned as his hands palmed over her still lacy bra covered breasts, squeezing his large hands over them before he tweaked her nipples through the material as she writhed against him. 

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, Baby?”

Smiling as Talia whimpered, nipping at her earlobe with the rough whisper. Looking down her body in from of him, Chris watched as Ricky was hooking his fingers into the sides of her underwear and starting to slide them down the sides of her thighs. Immediately joining in the effort to remove the rest of her clothing, and reaching behind her for the clasp of her bra, and discarded it aside on the bed, all his attention on Talia and Ricky instead. 

Now that she was naked, Ricky truly had all of her like he wanted, and Chris was watching him, seeing the way he was looking her over. 

“Gorgeous, right Rick?”

Chris didn’t need to see to know, he might not have seen her yet himself, but he saw it in Ricky’s face, he knew it just from knowing Talia, that was all he needed, JellyBean was fucking gorgeous. 

“Go on, Ricky, have a taste.”

“Oh, I’m going to, Babe.”

Rick grinning and slid down between her legs, Talia leaning back more against Chris with a moan. His hands ran over her body, feeling over her curves, enjoying the way she was arching both into his touch, and grinned against her shoulder at the way her lifted from the bed when Rick’s mouth moved to her cunt. The moaned the escaped her, was perfection, and Chris hands slid up her body back to her breasts, fingers toying with her nipples, 

“Be a good girl and stay still, Baby.”

They were both going to kill her, not really, but they had her an utter mess, she was ready to fall apart already, and they’d barely even started. Talia felt like she couldn’t string two words together right now, with Chris behind her and playing with her nipples and Ricky’s head between her thighs. Both of them had awoken so much inside of her in the weeks gone by, whether it was because of the tattoo or not it didn’t matter, the fire inside of her swept through her like a blaze. The moment they got their hands on her, no, the moment either of them had even looked at her tonight and she had been gone.

“Daddies, please.”

There, two words, they got two words out of her, that was something, wasn’t it? Arching back against Chris, her head against his shoulder as she almost cried out, grasping behind her at his thighs as she felt Ricky pressing fingers inside of her. His tongue was swirling over her clit now, and she couldn’t help the way her hips were rolling up a little against his mouth.

“Ah ah ah, now, now-” Suddenly the hands at her breast disappeared, and she felt Chris’ hands move down to her thighs, holding her hips down, and her legs open for Ricky.. Whimpering, Talia bit her lip, lifting her head slightly from Chris shoulder to look down at Rick, his brilliant blue eyes flickering up to both of them. Talia moaned at the sight of him between her legs as Chris held her down. 

“Be a good girl and hold still while Ricky get you ready for me, Baby.” Talia could feel the grin against the side of her neck from the singer as she moaned.. And Ricky just smirked up at her. The thought of Chris fucking her had her licking her lips..

“Are you going to cum for me, Sweetheart?”

He didn’t want to just get her nice and relaxed, and stretched for Chris, he wanted to have her seeing stars on his fingers, his tongue. His eyes flickered up to her when she moaned, the way she gasped out his name at his question, his fingers curled inside of her, rubbing against her sweet spot.

“Ricky.”

Hearing her moan out his name as he felt her start to tighten around his fingers, his tongue swirled over her clit before he doubled down and sucked harder, wanting to feel her completely unravel. The way her thighs were tensing under Chris’ hands, he could tell from her was starting to arch a little from the bed, and he had to hold her. He grinned and kept pumping his digits inside of her as he continued to suck at her clit. With a swirl of his tongue and a nip of his teeth, he relished the way she cried out as she gave in to the crest of her pleasure. Not stopping as she rode it out, not until she was whimpering, only then did he pulled back a little.

“So good for us, Sweetheart.”

Smiling up at her, she was so beautiful as he licked his lips, wiping his chin slightly, Ricky’s eyes flicking however to Chris behind her. His hungry eyes looking down at him were mesmerising.

“Think you can take a little more?”

Or not so little, because Chris, well, he wasn’t, but what Ricky had in mind, Chris was going to be taking a lot more than, and he smirked to her. He had a feeling she was going to be the one enjoying watching Chris come undone this time. His grin slowly widened, the small smile he got back from her as there was a spark through their tattoos, she either trusted him and was excited, or had a similar idea about toying with Chris as he was.

“Good Girl.”

It didn’t take much to have Chris on his back. He was so distracted by Talia, the way she was pressed against him, a few whispered words, and she knew what how he needed her to get him. Soon enough, she had turned them around, with Chris facing her, not paying attention as Ricky shifted with his knees leaning against the edge of the bed. Talia was climbing over Chris, lifting herself over him and lowering herself down his cock. The moan the Chris let out was almost feral as his fingers grasped her gorgeous hips, she bucked, rolling her hips just as he filled her completely.

“Fuck, Talia, so perfect.”

“Now, Sweetheart.”

Ricky had finished stripping the rest of his clothes and was stroking his cock just as Talia was pushing as Chris chest, so he was down on his back until she was riding him. Chris, laying back as he was, was now looking back and up at Ricky as he tapped his cock against his cheek.

“Be a good Baby Boy and open up, I’m going to fuck that pretty mouth.”

Oh. My. God. Looking up at Ricky, after Talia had pushed him down, and he groaned, completely wanton, and helpless to stop it, his mouth opening. It had been how long since he’d had Ricky’s dick in his mouth? Okay, so maybe he’d been thinking about it quite a bit lately, not just that, but all of him. Ricky, whether using him but in every which way like his words were making his stomach flip like that. Just like he used to.. Soon as his mouth was falling open for his best friend and now soulmate, Ricky was already pressing the head of his cock pushed past his lips and into his mouth. And Chris moaned at the taste of him.

In this position, unless he wanted to reach above his head, groaning, he couldn’t touch Ricky, Talia took his hands squeezing his finders as she rode him.. Fuck.. oh he was being used like a toy by both of them, and he was loving every second of it. Between Talia riding him with every roll of her hips, slamming herself down on his cock and drawing out wanton moans as Ricky thrust right down to his throat as he fucked his face.. Chris was just gone. 

He was practically a fucking mess. Whimpering and moaning, squeezing Talia’s hands, he didn’t even know much longer he was going to last, he could already feel himself twitching so close to the edge inside of her.. He knew she could to when one of her hands slipped from his to move between her legs to rub at her clit, he fetl her fingers with each grind of her hips, he wasn’t obtuse.

Swallowing around Ricky’s cock as best he could, please, please, Ricky, choking a little, spit smearing across his cheek before he was holding himself right down to the back of his throat and cumming, just like he used to. It had been a long time for Chris, he was out of practice. He didn’t spend time with a lot of men, he was particular any of the people he was with if he was honest, he needed a connection with them. Didn’t stop him from spluttering and taking Ricky down as much as he could. He was a drooling mess for everything else, but Ricky quickly pulled out so he could breathe.

“Fuck, that was perfect.”

If Chris could talk right now, he would agree, but his throat was wrecked, in absolutely the best possible way.

Talia had had the choice to go home, she could have, but why would she have wanted to? It would have felt, wrong, to end the date like that. Yes, they had that mind-blowing sex, but, wham bamn, thank you ma’am, I’m going to leave, bye?

No way was she ever going to do that, to either of them. Not even to Ricky. Now, a more vindictive person might think he would deserve a little payback after the things he’d done to her before, but she wasn’t that person, she didn’t see it that way. As far as Talia was concerned, this, all of this, was a blank slate, they were all starting again. Chris didn’t have to worry about his past with his fiancé, his stalker, not with her, not with Ricky. Ricky didn’t have to worry about Grace, not with Chris, not with her, and she wasn’t going to hold anything Ricky did against him. It was in the past. Everything was in the past. 

She wanted to stay the night with her soulmates.

After they cleaned up, Talia found herself wrapped up with both of them, in Chris’ bed, wrapped up in their arms, cuddled between them. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

Red Flag

by Jazza1020

When a horror crash brought Violet Lanes’ short-lived professional career to a screeching halt, she’d done everything in her power to forget the woman who’d caused it.

None other than Caitlyn Kiramman, who had walked away unharmed and scot-free, straight into a Driver’s Championship Title in her rookie year.

But she's back in London for the Summer break. With a job offer for the upcoming season Vi really can’t refuse, as much as she knows she should.

————

Or: After being gravely injured halfway into her inaugural season, Vi retires from professional racing and turns to the streets to make a living. But when the reason she quit in the first place offers to take her on tour as her physiotherapist, Vi must battle her personal grievances with an ancient rivalry and her quickly developing feelings.

Words: 1712, Chapters: 1/23, Language: English

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021), League of Legends

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends), Jinx (League of Legends), Ekko (League of Legends), Vander (League of Legends), Ambessa Medarda, Mel Medarda, Jayce (League of Legends), Sevika (Arcane: League of Legends), Silco (Arcane: League of Legends), Katarina Du Couteau

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends), Caitlyn & Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Car Racing, Street Racing, Car Culture, lovers to enemies to friends to lovers, It's complicated gang, Exes, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Car Sex, lots and lots of car sex, Badass Caitlyn (League of Legends), Mercedes Driver Caitlyn Kiramman, Street Racer Vi, Personal Trainer Vi

Read on A03. from AO3 works tagged ‘Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)’

[languageswithhomer]

❀𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒚𝒃𝒍𝒓 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐❀

Hi there! My name is Phi, I’m from the UK and I’m currently studying a Linguistics and Languages degree. My dream is to become a Speech Therapist (also an author, translator and language teacher on the side - I have a lot of dreams, and most of them are about words!) ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

why have I made this blog?

Since I am a distance-learning student, it can sometimes be difficult to find the motivation to study so I really hope this blog will hold me accountable and keep me productive.

I also really admire the studyblr & langblr communities and hope to make some friends who are similarly passionate about all things languages! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

what languages will I post about?

Languages I speak/ am currently learning:

♡ English (Native/ C2)

Posts will be tagged #English and/or #english resources

♡ Castilian Spanish (intermediate to advanced/ B2 -> C1)

Posts will be tagged #castellano and/or #recursos castellano

Please note: I refer to the language as Castilian/ castellano instead of Spanish/ español out of respect for the co-official languages of Spain and also to recognise the language’s divergence from its Latin American variants

♡ German (Beginner/ A2)

Posts will be tagged #Deutsch and/or #deutsche Ressourcen

♡ Modern Greek (Beginner/ A1)

Posts will be tagged #Ελληνικά , #Ελληνικοί πόροι , #greek and/or #greek resources (this is to make navigation easier for those without a Greek keyboard enabled

♡ Welsh (Beginner/ A1)

Posts will be tagged #Cymraeg and/or #adnoddau Cymraeg

⭒ I will make posts expanding on my background with each language soon ⭒

Languages I hope to start studying soon:

♡ Russian

My friend and I are going to begin buddy learning Russian in July 2025 and I can’t wait!

♡ Catalan

I’m so excited to learn Catalan but, given its similarities with Spanish, I don’t want to confuse myself. So I intend to start learning it when I have finished my degree in May 2027!

⭒ If you have any questions or advice for me based on these languages, please don’t hesitate to drop me an ask or a message ⭒

Other languages I’m interested in (warning: there’s a lot):

♡ Irish, Scottish Gaelic, Scots, Cornish, Manx, Danish, Finnish, Norwegian, Swedish, Icelandic, Dutch, Italian (especially Sicilian), Cherokee, Navajo, Guarani, Xhosa, Afrikaans, Korean, Yiddish, Hebrew, Bengali, Basque, French, Monegasque, Portuguese, Arabic, Ladino, Old/ Middle English, Hawaiian, Cantonese

What are my other passions?

♡ Books and poetry (I have a book blog @phireads if you’re interested)

♡ Writing

♡ Fibre arts (mainly knitting, crochet and sewing - though I really want to try embroidery and beading)

♡ Baking

♡ Reading

♡ Language conservation

♡ Wildlife (especially British, especially birds)

♡ Period Dramas

♡ History (with a focus on fashion history)

♡ Classics (as in Greco-Roman, my study buddy is a marble bust of the Greek poet, Homer, who is the namesake of this blog)

⭒ That’s all for now, I’ll be regularly posting study content at the end of September with the start of the academic year. So excited to meet you all! ⭒

[snootlestheangel]

Cheers to the Unknown Pt.3

Monster/cryptid au ft. Just A Dude!Ghost; canon-divergent, alternate universe. More details here (parts are not a coherent story necessarily just scenarios as they come to me !subject to change!;all tagged under "cheers to the unknown") TW: some body horror (ie eating things you should NOT eat); language

More of Ghost interacting with Lightning Nymph!Soap for the first time

The first time Ghost ever felt any fear when interacting or being in the presence of a monster was with Soap, only a few days after they had met. They had just gotten back from blowing the oil rig, and the way the Scot kept fidgeting had started to make Ghost nervous. He first tried to brush it off as some inhuman creature trait he didn't understand, but he never could be certain. After all, he had never been told what exactly Soap is.

Ghost is confident that if he had known what Soap is sooner, he would not have been afraid.

It had all happened so fast.

First, the vehicles were stopped. Alejandro seemed rather annoyed, but with a small sniff, he recognized the anxiety welling up in Soap. Ghost knew Alejandro to be a werewolf before they had even landed in Las Almas, and he was vaguely aware of their ability to smell more complicated things like emotions.

Ghost didn't miss the way Soap's fingers crackled as he rubbed them together.

They filed out of the truck, only to be confronted by Graves. Tension quickly filled the humid air as Alejandro and Graves argued. Every hair on Ghost's body stood on end as Soap stepped forward to snap at the American. The tingling sensation that accompanied didn't go unnoticed by anyone present, and it left a nauseating knot in Ghost's stomach. He looked at Soap, hoping the man could give him some sign that he doesn't need to be afraid, that he shouldn't be afraid. But he doesn't get that.

He instead got a glimpse of bright shocks running through Soap's mohawk before all hell broke loose. A gun had been fired, and before Ghost knew it, he was looking over to see Soap on the ground, the pain on his face giving away that he had been the one shot. Ghost assumed he had blacked out a bit as the need to survive took over.

He doesn't remember much after that.

Ghost couldn't help the shaky breath that left him after hearing the deep rumble of Soap's voice crackle through his earpiece. Even now, Ghost is afraid. No longer because of Soap, but for Soap.

Johnny can get hurt.

Ghost's new mantra. There was something so intimidating about the sergeant, something so ethereal it made Ghost believe he was the furthest thing from human to ever exist. But, he was clearly wrong. If Johnny can bleed, can be hurt, then he can be killed. And if he can be killed, then that blood is on Ghost's hands.

Ghost kept himself alive, kept himself moving forward, closer to Johnny. It seemed every step was agony. Luckily, the banter he found himself engaging in with Soap helped ground him. There were definitely times where Ghost could tell that Soap was injured. The way he'd drift off towards the end of a sentence, the times he'd take a second too long before answering, the occasional heaving breaths; all signs he was injured.

But then there were the times Soap seemed to be just fine, perfectly healthy and a bit manic.

Ghost never wanted to acknowledge how those moments always occurred after bright, showy flashes of lightning.

Then they were back together, racing away in a stolen truck. The ride to the safehouse started out loud; gunshots ringing all around them as Ghost frantically tried to get them the hell out of there. Eventually, they were no longer being pursued, and Soap was able to turn and sit in the seat properly. Ghost glanced at him as he let out a wince, his left arm darting up to his right.

"We'll get your arm looked at soon, Johnny." Ghost said quietly, and Soap hummed in response. Ghost swore he could feel the vibrations of the hum, but shrugged it off as adrenaline. They rode quietly until they made it to the safehouse, and Ghost allowed Soap to take the lead when heading inside.

"Something's here." Soap had whispered to him after brushing his fingers against the fuse box outside, but Ghost kept his concerns to himself. He especially didn't like the use of 'something', as it implied that whatever was inside was not human and posed a higher threat to the pair.

After giving each other heart attacks, Rudy explained how he got out of the Vaquero compound safely. He and Ghost exchanged pieces of information while Soap wandered off to the side of the room, clearly looking for something. Ghost hadn't realized the sergeant was acting oddly until Rudy leaned slightly to frown at him, and Ghost followed his gaze. Soap was currently prying a hole into the wall, albeit struggling due to his injury.

"You okay, hermano?" Rudy asked, but Soap didn't respond. He finished his supposed task, letting out a sigh of relief as he grabbed a few wires from inside the wall and pulled on them. Neither Rudy nor Ghost were prepared for him to strip the rubber cover off and bite down hard onto the copper inside. Loud sparking shot through the room and through them, leaving Ghost shaking just slightly. A nearby lamp, despite being off, blew its bulb.

"Soap, what the fuck?" Ghost snapped, not aware of how shaky his voice was. Soap looked over at them, the wires still in his mouth, barely muffling the crackles of energy. Rudy stared at him with a slightly agape mouth, clearly disturbed even despite knowing Soap is a fellow inhuman. Soap doesn't say anything, just stares at them as if he hadn't understood what Ghost had said.

"Um, Soap? Are you okay?" Rudy asked, and the Scot slightly cocked his head before his expression darkened and he looked back to Ghost. If Ghost hadn't just survived the horrors of being hunted by Shadow Company with him, he would have been convinced that Soap was ready to kill him.

"'Mere." Is all Soap said, gesturing vaguely at Ghost. Traitors. Ghost snapped at himself as his legs shook and he unsteadily made his way over. Soap watched him, blue eyes literally glowing in the darkness. His expression wasn't the usual peace and energy Ghost had grown fond off, but rather sour and filled with rage. Ghost anxiously sat beside Soap at his direction, and once again was overwhelmed with the feeling of being too close to a lightning strike for it to be safe.

"Fucker poisoned me." Soap snarled around the wires still in his mouth, and Ghost finally noticed he had been sucking on them like they were straws. He looked down at Soap as he turned, and soon the problem was evident. Soap's right arm, close to his shoulder, bore a gunshot wound, and the wound was surrounded by black bruising that dripped away like veins. Ghost swallowed past the metallic taste building in the back of his throat, past the tightness in his chest, as he reached out towards Soap with shaky hands.

Soap watched him from the corner of his eye, intense blue nearly blinding to look at, judging him as he quietly worked on getting the pieces of bullet out of his arm. Rudy took the first and largest chunk after Ghost set it down, sniffing it slightly after cleaning it of blood.

"Fiberglass is your weakness?" Rudy asked, and Soap grunted again. For a moment, it seemed Soap didn't recognize the word, or at least needed to connect it to something else to remember what fiberglass was.

"'S nae a conductor." Soap grumbled, and Ghost let out a breath as he removed the final piece. Soap looked at him again, this time a bit brighter than before. Ghost instantly knew Soap could sense his fear, sense the pounding of his heart, and wanted to do his best to assure Ghost he's not a threat.

"Thanks, Lt. Ah'll be back to mahself soon, dinnae worry." Soap muttered, clearly forcing a smile onto his face in hopes of calming Ghost. Ghost nodded softly, standing perhaps a bit too quick as he busied himself with cleaning up after the emergency procedure.

"So, you are acting weird because fiberglass isn't a conductor?" Rudy asked, clearly still just as confused about the sergeant's odd behavior.

"Aye. It's an insulator. I'm pure energy. No' a good match." Soap snapped back, and suddenly everything made a lot more sense. Ghost had even compared standing by him like the sensation one would get before getting struck by lightning. It was fitting, as the truth often can be. His usual personality had been tainted by an insulator, and it made sense, Ghost supposed. Something that would limit or damage Ghost's natural functioning like blood flow is certain to do the same, maybe not quite as drastic, but alas he is only human. He's learned that monsters and such tend to be a lot more dramatic about pain and injury. He guessed it's because they often cannot be harmed like humans can.

"I'm bloody steamin' over the fact that he knew. Graves knows mah weakness, but he shouldn't. He's a blabbering eejit an' he's nae supposed teh have access to information like that." Soap broke the silence rather suddenly. Ghost turned to look at him, and the fear he had felt earlier slowly slipped away as he took in the look on Soap's face. It was a mixture of rage and hurt, but somewhere deep in it all, there was a level of fear one would expect to see from a little child. Ghost took a deep breath as he watched Soap wrap his arms around his legs.

He was terrified.

"Soap, what are you?" Ghost asked, and the Scot snapped his head up to stare at him. He said something, a word Ghost never heard and wouldn't recognize. Rudy was equally confused, and so Soap cleared his throat and tried again.

"Lightning Nymph. What I said is the real word, but I forgot no one knows it anymore." Soap drifted off at the end of his sentence, brow furrowing in thought.

"You've been around a while, haven't you, Johnny?" Ghost asked, and Soap nodded, still keeping his eyes on the floor this time.

"Mah parents finally agreed to getting out into the world a bit more. My kind aren't exactly easy teh find these days. Much less one like me." It hurt Ghost to hear how quiet Soap spoke, but he also understood something. He understood what it was like to be different, cast out and regarded with trepidation.

Simon Riley may be human, but Ghost isn't assumed to be the same.

"One like you?" Rudy asked and Soap once again nodded.

"Aye, being of lightning was already rare. Ahm sure ahm the only one left." Soap seemingly disappeared into himself as he sank further against the wall, still occasionally drawing more energy from the wires he had exposed. Now, Ghost understood why he saw so much fear in Soap's eyes: he's new to the modern world, a rarity in every sense of the word. His fear is rooted deep, from a time long before Ghost, long before Simon Riley.

"So, how would Graves know that information? About what you are and how to hurt you?" Rudy asked, and Soap shook his head.

"Ah dinnae ken. Ah've never had somethin' like tha' happen before." Soap whispered, and Ghost found himself next to the nymph without realizing it.

"We've got your back, Johnny. Don't you worry." He muttered, and Soap's expression softened as he stared back, almost reading into Ghost's very being.

"Thanks, Lt." He whispered back, punctuating his statement with a gentle punch to Ghost's shoulder.

"FUCK!" Ghost shouted as a rather painful shock coursed through him at the contact. Soap immediately erupted into laughter, falling over away from Ghost as his shoulders shook.

"Oh, ahm sorry! I dinnae do it on purpose, I swear!" Soap exclaimed between bouts of laughter as Ghost kicked at him.

"Glad to have you back, Johnny." He mumbled once Soap calmed.

"Glad to be back."

Taglist (want added?): @tacticaltaxonomist @cthulhusstepmom @cathnoneofyourbusiness @thorougly-melted-brains @sp4z-4tt4ck @49saltpeppershakers @bluebrryice