#let the drill sergeant fix him for you

[stereocaster]

"i could fix him" yeah well i could get his ass drafted. you're a man go to war. idk

[buckyalpine]

40s Sergeant Barnes with a nurse and a Sergeant kink (and breeding and house wife kink, virginity loss). This was supposed to be a pure smutty drabble but then I got in my feelings and added some fluff and angst but I promise Bucky is still a dirty, nasty little fuck in this. Just with a sweeter ending. The one he deserves.

Listen just imagine what a cute, sexy menace Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes would be just waking up from an injury when his eyes flutter open to the pretty nurse he’s been eyeing from the day he started. You’re not a shy, dainty little thing, nope. Not at all.

You bark out orders like a drill Sergeant and one glare from you is all it takes to get everyone in line and on task without a second thought. Even his superiors are scared of you, biting their tongue when you stitch them up and send them on their way before running off to your next patient.

Bucky was in love.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he rasps, throwing you a charming smirk while you roll your eyes in response, shaking your head. "How'd I get so lucky, got a my little angel tendin' to me"

“I see your injury hasn’t stopped hurt that mouth of yours Sergeant" You quirk an eyebrow while he playfully huffs as you change the dressing covering a gash on his abdomen. You swab the area clean and he doesn't flinch even though you know it must burn like hell, his muscles tensed while he continues to watch you with heart eyes. "Now you know I'm not your little angel, I got 20 other men to fix up, you better be out of this bed as soon as you're all healed up"

“C’mon sugar, you're breakin' my heart" Bucky gives you a little pout with those perfect lips and you catch the twinkle in his eye as he looks over your form with complete admiration. He loved your sassy, take no shit attitude and it's taking everything in him to calm himself down so he doesn't get a hard on right there in front of you.

"You'd tell that to a cat with three legs if it was in a nurses outfit" You try your best to not give into his flirty comments and puppy eyes, knowing damn well he's a heart breaker but he makes it so difficult when he continues to woo you with his boyish charm.

He can't help but chase after you; catching the way your eyes always dart around with anxiety when his group returns from an operation, relief flooding them when you finally spot him. He loves your indifferent attitude, patting him down to make sure he's uninjured but your furrowed brows and the tiny pout on your lips give away that you're worried.

How can he just let you go. Every time you check over him, he needs you closer.

So much closer.

-

"Ms. y/l/n, Sergeant Barnes is requesting you in his tent, he says it's urgent"

You shake your head looking over at the time, quietly making your way over to the tent he's stationed at, thankful that a number of troops were sleeping so you wouldn't be seen as you quickly slip inside.

“And what hurts now” you sass with your hands on your hips seeing the soldier in perfect health, doing your best to assess him without letting him know.

"Always checkin' over me" Bucky chuckles, seeing what you're doing; his words making your cheeks heat up, "Knew you cared about me sugar"

"Well what am I doin' here" You give him an unconvincing huff, struggling to keep your voice steady, refusing to meet his eyes, keeping your gaze on his silver dog tags instead. It doesn't help that he's handsome as hell with a light dusting of scruff covering his cheeks. Bucky's never seen you flustered before and it evokes something in him, all the blood in his body rushing south seeing your fingers twitch.

All he wanted to do was kiss you but now-

“Help your Sergeant out doll” He whispers, taking another step forward till his chest brushes against yours, his hand coming to tilt your chin up, "Will you?"

You gasp feeling his hardness press against your thigh, your heart fluttering wildly as his thumb traces your lips, any semblance of control you had slipping away feeling the warmth of his skin.

“Y-yes Sergeant Barnes”

His lips press against yours, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the way his body was screaming for him to pick you up and toss you onto his cot.

"Sweet like sugar" He lets his hands fall to your waist, pulling you flush against his body while your arms drape on top of his shoulders. You stand on your toes chasing more of his lips and he chuckles at the needy whine you let out when he pulls away for air.

Now let's say your first night together was actually quite tame. He kisses you again and you swoon when he repeatedly checks in with you before going any further. His hand slips under your skirt, letting his fingers toy with places no on else has touched. With each night, he needs you more and more until he can't hold off any longer and neither can you.

-

You sneak into his tent and this time he doesn't hesitate to undress you completely, not when he needs you bare with nothing separating you both. You feel your heart race as he lies on top of you, draping a thin sheet over himself when you shiver at the chill night air. You feel his body heat instantly warm you up, his heavy cock resting between your soaked folds.

"Are you sure, sugar?" He asks, his hand cupping your cheek and stroking your skin.

"Please Sergeant" You whisper and the way you say his title makes his cock twitch. There's something so different about you when you're in his bed, a sweet little bunny giving herself to him completely. It drives him feral with a need to make you feel good, make you cry for his cock and his cock only, to keep you nice and full of him.

You don't look twice at anyone else and here you are completely naked in his tent with your tight little virgin cunt, your legs spread open so he can put his dick in you; there was no way he was ever going to let you go.

"You tell me if it's too much, alright?" His lips tickle your neck as kisses your skin while rubbing his heavy cock through your folds, coating it in your slick, "Breathe for me"

He slips his tags into your mouth as he starts to press in, the initial sting making you bite down hard onto the metal feeling a mix of pleasure and pain. You whine at the way he stretches you open, your thighs squeezing around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Shhh, that's it love, doin' so good for me so good for your Sergeant, look how you're takin' all of me baby" He looks down to where you're both connected as he continues to slowly push himself in till hes fully sheathed inside you. He gives you time to adjust, slipping his tags out of your lips and letting his tongue lace with yours instead, his balls already throbbing with how tightly you were squeezing his cock.

"Please-Sergeant" your heels press into his ass desperate for him to move, gasping when he starts to slowly roll his hips, barely pulling out.

"I got you love-don't worry" Bucky moves as slowly as he could not wanting to hurt you, taking just as much care of you as you had with him countless of times.

But he can only keep up at that pace for so long. Your muffled whines and moans don't help the way his mind is already spiraling. His pretty little nurse all spread out just for him, taking his raw, bare cock in her soaking pussy, squeezing him so tight, he was only a few strokes from cumming.

If it were up to him he would've proposed on the spot, thinking about making love to you on your wedding night, seeing you all shy and sweet wrapped up in soft white lace. If you were his wife, he'd take you apart every which way, not giving a fuck about traditions, taking you right on the dining room table.

You'd be the prettiest little thing for him to come home to, such a good wife all dirty just for her husband. Only he'd know the way your mouth would slobber all over his cock like your life depended on it. The way you'd moan at the taste of his cum. Bucky's eyes rolled back at the thought of you with nothing but some heels and a string of pearls he'd put around your neck while he stuffed you with cum and emptied his balls in you.

"S-Sergeant-I-oh god" You whimpered feeling his cock grow harder, your pussy pulling him right back in, feeling the coil low in your belly pull tighter and tighter as he hit that spot.

Meanwhile Bucky's jaw clenched as he felt his balls pull tight to his body, the tip leaking steadily in your pussy. His mind spiraled into places he didn't think would exist before he met you, rogue thoughts he only entertained when he had his dick in his hand. The harder he fucked you the more he thought about how gorgeous you'd look with a swollen belly.

Fuck, imagine if he got you pregnant right then and there. That nurses uniform would no longer fit you. Everyone would know he knocked you up, your perfectly round tummy carrying Sergeant James Barnes' baby, breasts heavy with milk, God, he wasn't going to last-

“Gonna let your Sergeant pump you full of cum?” He pants, letting his hands grip onto your hips like his life depends on it, the wiry hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit.

“Yes!!” You sob, biting down onto his shoulder to keep your cries down while he continues to fuck you into oblivion. You don't understand how such filth can spew from that pink, pouty little mouth of his. "Please-please-need-youI-I'm gonna-"

"M'yours sweet girl, m'all yours, go on, cum for me love, cum on my cock, it's all yours" He gazed into your eyes, cooing at your parted lips and sweat slicked skin. It didn't take long for you to shatter around him his lips smashing against yours to swallow your moans.

"Want your cum Sergeant" You beg , desperate to have him claim you from the inside.

"Oh fuck baby, y-you can't say that, m-gonna, oh fuckkk" Your words throw Bucky right off the edge as he lets out a deep groan stilling his hips and shooting endless ropes of his spend into you. You both lay in comfortable silence, your fingers playing with his hair; his usual kempt brown locks now disheveled .

“Y’know m’gonna marry you” his scruffy cheek nuzzles into your neck as he continues to stay deep inside you as his cock softens, “after all this is over. Gonna put a ring on that finger”

His words send a different wave of emotions over you, feeling more safe than ever, clinging onto him as tightly as possible. You let a whimper slip out and he pulls away from your neck with an expression of concern.

“What is it love” Bucky coos, wiping away the tears that slip you, stroking your cheek while you bite back a sniffle.

“Do you mean it? After this is all over?” You weren't sure what Bucky would want-there was still a war going on. Anything could happen. Perhaps this was just to keep his bed warm. Something to keep him calm, you were just someone to-

"Of course sugar" Bucky presses a firm kiss to your forehead, silencing the thoughts that tried to run wild. "You're mine"

-

And of course he gets his happy ending. Because when it's all over, he gets the ring for the girl he loves. He's on one knee, proposing to you with the sweetest words. He treats you like a princess on your wedding night, making love all night long until the sun is up.

There isn't a surface in the house he's left untouched. Nothing makes him more feral than moaning for his pretty wife, constantly taking her hand and wrapping it around his cock, watching that diamond glint with each stroke.

It doesn't take long for you to feel a little squeamish, knowing all the tell tale signs.

The day you tell him he's going to be a dad is one of the happiest days of his life. There isn't a single night that goes by where he isn't nuzzling his face into your tummy, talking to your little one.

Everything was perfecttt.

[weepingtalecowboy]

Hyrule Warriors strategy lol

Fanfic prompt: A thing I absolutely love about Hyrule warriors is how the game needs strategy and how said strategy evolves

You go from

“Please go there I will carry you there but please don’t run off”

Too

“GET OVER HERE RIGHT THIS SECOND OR ELSE…!,!”

like you end up barking orders like a literal drill sergeant

You have absolutely no faith that anyone would go where they need to

I spent more time in the menu barking orders than I did actually holding and taking over zones

Even funnier is how replaying the game absolutely makes a difference

Where in games like windwaker or twilight princess you are forced to progress slowly through the game

No matter how good you get at them you still need to wait for bosses to enter second and third phase

Or more specifically need to either tear down the barrier (or skip it but that’s hard) or turn into a hylian in both games

The only thing that changes is that you can play the game better and more reliably than before

In Hyrule warriors the learning curve makes replaying the game hilarious

Because the second you genuinely understand the strategy for the game you play it completely differently

Fighting Volga the first time is literally more about precisely mashing buttons and aiming at him every single time than anything else

I beat him in like ten seconds flat

Like from a time travel fix it perspective Hyrule warriors let’s you do everything immediately

Like imagine warriors getting sent back in time to the first ever fight in Hyrule warriors and literally the second he gets promoted he goes full drill sergeant mode on people

Where first time you learn the usefulness of dragging people to do stuff rather late

You also eventually don’t trust anyone to do stuff if you aren’t outright controlling them immediately

This time around warriors got the confidence to scream at people right after he got the promotion lol

It probably looks so funny when a near new recruit gets the audacity to threaten everyone the second he gets promoted

And then out drill sergeants a higher up and finishes missions in like half an hour the most (respect speed run )

But only because he scared everyone into obedience (like npcs run like they would die if they don’t get to the ordered position right this second)

And kept tabs on all the zones that need to be held

While also ignoring literally every enemy except the generals , redeads and other special forces (honestly redeads make NPCs a new level of ineffective… way to slow)

Only doing side missions for two seconds and then doing the main ones exclusively

And boosting moral like crazy (because of how fast you get side missions done)

You legitimately become a tank at some point in Hyrule warriors and not even replaying the entire game would balance it out

Tune and mask probably feared the captain when he went drill sergeant (and you go drill sergeant way too often in this game)

We need more drill sergeant warriors in the fandom

Because in the game nobody disobeys your orders and runs like their lives depend on it

The chain needs to experience drill sergeant warriors when fighting a boss (maybe dink)

No honor for the evil … you trap them in a corner and keep beating them into submission and don’t stop until they disintegrate

Cia didn’t even have a chance lol

We need more time travel where the character simply immediately becomes their best possible form because they simply had a growing as a person arc they could skip this time around

Arguing with that guy about stuff involving missions is probably not recommended

Time and wind just sit back and watch as warriors get into drill sergeant mode and wait till one of the links gets to do pushups

You have better luck with literally any other type of discussion but not military or mission related lol

[hatsheep]

CALL OF DUTY ; TASKFORCE 141 and DAD TIKTOK TRENDS

Note. these aren’t meant to be serious!! this is gn reader (with only one mention of daughter) and meant to be silly. this also isn’t my writing acc but if u guys have a request for platonic tf 141 content go shoot.

CAPTAIN john price

- you sent him many tiktoks and reels, which he always begrudgingly watched during his deployment (mostly because he did miss you)

- he always sends back questions since he dosent understand some slang

- “yap???” “i’m sorry, what does cap mean?”

- when hes home, he was happy to help video you when you were out or when you wanted to do a trend

- but making HIM do a trend?

- it took you forever to convince your dad to do so…but it was worth it

- he would do trends like the “dad lore trend” with him being videoed in x2 speed as he pretended to talk

- “pov: your dad drops the craziest lore on a random tuesday” because he really genuinely does

- or the home depot one…

- “my dad when he sees someone fixing an airplane when we’re about to board our flight” and it’s just him with his hands behind his back or crossed while he watches the repairmen.

- in the end, he enjoys doing these trends with you. but god, if you keep on trying to prank him, he’s actually going to go crazy.

- everyone thinks he’s hot by the way. you have like 50 single/divorced moms in your comment section commenting about him every tiktok he’s in. sometimes people your age.

- “honey, what does beekeeping age mean?”

LIEUTENANT simon “ghost” riley

- you send him many tiktoks that contain silly puns. he on the other hand, only uses reels. either way, he sends you the dumb ones

- or the ones that are like

- “when your teenager is driving and narrowly avoids a tragic accident” or “me i ask my teenager who they’re going out with and it’s still the same group of people since middle school”

- as a dad, he’s honestly very protective over you, but he’s loosened up a bit over the years. he dosent want to be too strict, nor does he want to be too lax.

- he was terrified of becoming like his father.

- either way, if you thought you had to beg price to let you make tiktoks, you’d have to beg hard for your dad to

- simon won’t let you take tiktoks with his face in it, so he’s always his chest and below….or a mask, sunglasses, and a cap.

- surprisingly sentimental! the one tiktok he agreed to was

- “do i always have to kill spiders in your room?” “ofcourse you do, you’re my dad!”

- he teared up a bit

SERGEANT john “soap” mactavish

- boy, he loves doing tiktoks with you

- he loves sending them too!! a nice way for you guys to bond while he’s away is him sending you the really stupid tiktoks that the people of your generation would more commonly send

- he DOES now some slang! he….does NOT know some others though, skibidi toilet confuses him slightly

- he took the sigma male thing seriously for a bit because he thought it was a positive thing. he loves protecting his family and being strong

- sadly stopped when you broke the news to him that it was in fact, maybe not the best thing in real life.

- either way, such a good dad to do tiktoks with

- you can do those really silly ones with the tiktoks audios

- “when my dad finds out i get offended when people say i have my dads accent” with the regina george soundtrack

- “regina wait i didnt mean for that to happen!!” “do you know what everyone says about you?!?!”

- he loves doing them with you, he wouldn’t trade quality time with you for the world

- “be honest, do you really not like the accent????”

SERGEANT kyle “gaz” garrick

- more of a calm dad, but like simon, surprisingly sentimental

- he’s the one from the 141 who’s has the most morality issues, especially doing his job, so he always felt it was best to teach you important values

- he’s drilled into you to never change your ideals for others

- …which leads to him sending motivational quotes or those hopecore videos

- either way, he actually can be pretty silly and he’s the type of dad to get you watermelon every other day for the rest of your life if you say you like it once

- he can be a little blunt with you sometimes though, bless him

- “pov: my dad if he didn’t have me” (i’ll put my helipad over there…my olympic sized swimming pool, OVER THERE!!)

- you do these tiktoks with him (disregard gender because no matter what, he’d make you help)

- this is how poc parents be, pls understand

- you sent him this reel while he was on deployment and he couldn’t stop smiling

- “love you too, pumpkin. remember to take out the dishes”

- “did u have to remind me”

[blu3-ja3]

Please note, I'm white passing as fuck! I have never experienced the same form of racism as a more visible POC has. If I've messed up and don't do this justice please let me know, I'm more than happy to receive advice and criticism regarding how better to write a person of color. If a majority of you feel I should not have written this at all please let me know and I'll rewrite. I want to write something for people to enjoy. That being said I also know that it would be a disservice to pretend that Gaz would not face discrimination in the military. Idk what it's like in the UK but I know in America it's very much a prevalent problem even if it's swept under the rug.

!TRIGGER WARNING! Racism, Grief, Blood, Semi Graphic Depictions of Violence

1) Listen Well

I noticed it happens when no one's around. Gaz would tell a lower ranking (most often white) officer to do something, the soldier would back talk, question him, make rude and sometimes down right racist remarks before Gaz would just leave. If I'm ever around and I hear it I make myself well known afterwards. It got to the point that on the field if Gaz was the CO of a unit their results were the poorest.

I had enough, I pulled Price aside and asked for Gaz to meet me outside on the field the next morning. I told every officer who was lower ranking than that of Sergeant Major to be outside at 0400 on the dot. Soap and Roach were the first alongside Gaz, all three sergeants were quiet as they approached me. Gaz moved to stand in front of me in formation with Soap and Roach. As more lower ranks began to trickle in so too does the rain. Once everyone is there I pull out my short list.

"These names I call move forward and stand behind me!" There's not many, of 45+ men and women standing in front of me only 15 move to stand behind me. Soap, Roach and Gaz are among them.

"Those of you who are behind me and are not a part of the 141 with myself and Captain Price you are dismissed go find Lieutenant Riley in the weight room, enjoy your dry workout!" I hear someone groan in front of me. Noted.

"The rest of you!" I yell turning back towards the 30 or so men. "You all have multiple write ups in regards to insubordination from me. Specifically, you refuse to listen to Sergeant Major Kyle Garrick. Why?"

It's quiet for a moment before some loud mouth pipes up. "He's a right tosser and is shaggin' the captain, why should we listen to his ass?"

"Ah! Does this lad speak for all of you?" Again silent, "Explain to me what makes my Sergeant Major a tosser and these two not?" I ask gesturing to Soap and Roach.

"He's got his nose up his own ass ma'am!" Multiple heads nod in agreement

"Don't you think that's for a good reason? Listen to this, DESPITE! His teams repeated failures and his lower ranks never taking proper orders, Sergeant Gaz has had the fewest casualties on field. Alongside with the lowest numbers of injuries appearing in my office. Now if I had that achievement on my record and I'm only a sergeant I'd be a little pissed, maybe even a right bitch. But not this sergeant, instead he's still rather nice to all you arses!" I gesture to Gaz to step forwards towards me.

"Now it seems my punishments aren't getting through any of your eejits skulls, so I've had an idea!"

"Sergeant Major Kyle Garrick will be instructing you all today, I will tell him when to stop but until then you will listen to everything he says to you. If you disobey I've given Lieutenant Riley the task of punishing you... Do I make myself clear?" A chorus of yes ma'ams.

I turn towards Gaz and pull out an umbrella large enough for both of us to stand under, I hand one to Roach so he and Soap can also have some shelter.

"Listen up boys, I'm tired of this shite and I'm hoping this fixes it. Gaz?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"Do not be nice, I want you to run them ragged. This is a punishment, this isn't a morning drill. None of you will be participating in this, you two are here to be a second pair of eyes and ears. They don't view you two as anything more than buddies, use that. If you hear or see anything out of line, hold up two fingers. I'll write them down. I'm tired of this gobshite, it ends today." I step back and inform Soap and Roach where to go as Gaz begins. We'll stop once for lunch but this isn't a day of fun for these men

It's still raining hard as I give Gaz the go ahead to stop at 1800. At least once for everyone Roach or Soap raised their hands with two fingers up. I kept tally next to everyone's name. Ghost had showed up only a few hours ago stating he had nothing better to do than watch the same with Price.

"Have you boys learned your lesson? Because if you have not this will happen again. Now Lieutenant Riley has a list of names and a number next to it. The Lieutenant is being kind and only making you run laps equal to the numbers. These numbers are how many times you thought you were being slick, doing something you aren't supposed to do. Lieutenant?"

He nods to me as I hand him the clip board and my umbrella stepping inside with Gaz, Roach, and Soap.

"Was that really necessary?"

"Yes. You're the CO, if they can't listen to you then they aren't fit to be here. They can do that somewhere else I will not have that shite here."

Gaz nods before we all disperse to shower and eat. The number of insubordination toward Gaz lowers, some are forced to leave due to their inability to take Gaz's orders but most get it through their skulls.

2) None From Me

I'm flung backwards against an outside wall, not very hard so I'm quick to recover. I radio to Gaz letting him know I'm okay. I hear a cry for help and move before thinking, I see a woman holding her lower leg, there's a large gash across her calf. I don't have all my usual equipment, I'm trying to get to it right now so I'll have to improvise. I grab my right sleeve and rip it off, taking my knife I do my best to cut it into one continuous piece of fabric. I wrap the wound tightly and grab another civilian's attention. Once they're both out of harm I continue moving towards my destination.

I catch some unwanted attention while running and take multiple gun shots, most are just grazes but my right arm has a deep cut below the shoulder from me trying to get away. I can feel the warm thick blood moving down my arm and back, my shirt is tacky and sticking to me. But I don't stop till I've met back up with Gaz. Once we're safe and waiting for extraction Gaz pipes up.

"You need that cleaned Doc, get your shirt off I'll help."

I hesitate, knowing this will be the first time Gaz has seen the scar in full.

"Captain? Come on it needs to be cleaned I'm not taking no for an answer."

I look up towards him from where I'm sitting, I'm sure it's written all over my face. His dark eyes soften and he has a reassuring smile spread across his face.

"You'll get none from me Captain, I promise you that. I just want to make sure you don't get an infection."

I swallow my heart in my throat and nod. I pull my shirt off and hold it next to me as Gaz begins to work. I hiss at the disinfectant burns my wound and cleans it. Gaz mumbles about me possibly needing stitches and I tell him where to find a needle and thread in my kit. Once he's finished he hands me a different shirt from my bag.

"Thanks Cig"

"I really don't understand why you call me that... It makes no sense to me."

"It makes plenty to me which I why I call you that. But if you don't like it I'll come up with another name."

"I don't mind it, I'm just curious why not call us by our current nicknames?"

I shrug my shoulders before wincing at the pain. I get a hardy chuckle from Gaz for my troubles so I call it a win. We sit and wait for word from Price about what happens next. Chatting idly while we wait.

3) Give What Is Earned

"John! Laswell has found more, at this point I think it was on purpose! Look at this, if these records were properly filed and cataloged Garrick would be a Lieutenant by now not Sergeant Major! We have to fix this, he deserves as much!"

"I know he deserves it but I don't want the boys to think I'm playing favorites..."

"Then don't, look they won't think you're playing favorites especially if we show them all these reports. Plus if Garrick is promoted to second lieutenant that gives us enough room to promote Roach as well as Soap. Gaz will get a much needed promotion to Lieutenant and Roach will be Sargent Major alongside Soap."

"What about Ghost?"

"What about me Captain?" I whirl around to see the tall brit appear from the shadowy doorway into Price's office.

"We're talking about promotions, some information has come to light and Gaz is supposed to be a Lieutenant but nothing was ever properly filed."

"Gaz as my second lieutenant? It's not bad he's good for it." Ghost nods seemingly happy with the idea.

"I say we do it! It'll take a bit for the paperwork to be properly filed and processed so it'll give us enough time to explain to them what's going on."

Price looks to Ghost before saying "You won't be getting a promotion... I can't pull enough strings..."

Ghost eyes widen a little before chuckling to himself. "I don't want one anyway, I'm perfectly fine being a lieutenant. Captain seems like a lot of work that I don't want none of." Price chuckles as I nod.

Eventually we hold a little meeting amongst the 141 and share the new information regarding ranks and promotions. The three younger men seem happy with the news. Roach and Soap immediately start teasing Gaz calling him LT2. It isn't until Ghost calls Gaz his second lieutenant that it dawns on the young man, he beams bright at Price all teeth and closed eyes.

4) Oct 25th

It's been a rough day, I knew it was going to be hard but it still doesn't prepare me. Two years, I feel the tears well up as my vision blurs. I continue my walk and wrap my arms around myself in a sort of mock hug. It's late out, plenty of stars and a full moon. It's cold too, I can see my breath with every exhale. I let my feet wander as well as my mind.

I stop as a figure appears in front of me, they also seem to freeze. I move before thinking and walk over towards the figure. I can't make out a face due to their hood being up but I can make out the name in the back of the hoodie 'Garrick'. I step up beside him and turn to look at him.

"Hey Doc, been a day huh?" I nodded

"How you holding up Lad?"

"Had better days... Been itching to go flying but couldn't get the request in on time."

"Tend to fly often?"

"Hmm yeah, helps get my mind away from everything... I was up there last year during October, I couldn't handle the idea of just staying on base... Price dragged me to the air field and sat me down behind the wheel. We flew the entire day and only touched down when it got dark, it helped a lot." I smiled softly as another tear welled up into my eye.

"Will was in training to be a pilot, he said the same thing as you did. About it being a free experience to fly through air. He was supposed to take me up when I was given leave. Never got to that next leave, Piccadilly, then the funeral, was immediately back in the field after that. Just threw myself at my work..." I took a shuddering breath rubbing my right arm.

"Then the accident and I was on medical for a bit before Price came to visit me... I always told myself I'd go up there and fly. Take him on one last flight," I reached up and grabbed my clover charm with William's ashes.

"I could always take you up there sometime, help with his last wish." I hugged Gaz.

We continued to chat about what it's like for him to fly, how it takes his stress away. His love life with Price was going, what brought him into service. Eventually Price came out, looking for Gaz. Eventually we all move back inside and then split into our different rooms.

5) Bare No Blame

I was in my office working on medical paperwork and twirling my butterfly, it's been peaceful today. My door slammed open as Price dragged in Gaz. The younger man seemed to be reluctant to be here but John wasn't having any of it. Ghost stood in the doorway with Soap and Roach stood behind him.

"Can I ask why my office is now the room for everything? I'm a bit busy here lads."

"Gaz decide to punch a wall and break his hand... Isn't that right?"

"It wasn't his fault Doc some private was trying to rile everyone up. He couldnt get to Gaz so he decided to start to slag off about Piccadilly!"

"To his credit the 2nd Lieutenant didn't punch the bastard in face."

I stood from my work and moved to where Garrick is sat. I shoo the rest of the men out and away telling them to go deal with the bad mouthing private. After checking and confirming that he didn't break anything I began to clean Gaz's knuckles.

"He's right though. If I just pushed my old captain harder, it would have never happened. We had the information, we knew where to find them. We could have stopped everything..." I held my tongue and let him give out.

"I could have stopped everything but I didn't push hard enough. None of it would have happened if I just said more, if he'd just listen to me. I should have gone over him as soon as he dismissed me. But I sat back and just let it happen... I'm respons-"

"Don't you finish that sentence... Kyle you did everything in your power to stop it. If you did anything they would have made a fierce fuss to get you out." I wrap his knuckles tight.

"There's always going to be the question of what if? What if I told William to come home? What if I stayed on the phone with him? What if I stayed with Oliver? What if I called Oliver again and nagged? It'll drive you crazy, that guilt will eat you alive if you let it... So you have to not blame yourself." I start putting away everything.

"We both know that's easier said than done captain... So what do we do? Cause I can't keep punching walls and you can't stay up late." I nodded and moved back towards him.

"Then we go to our team and tell them the truth. We've gotta talked to a shrink. We've both been a bit neglectful in that regard." Gaz nods as we both walk towards the rec room.

After a long conversation with Price it was agreed that Gaz would go to a shrink for a bit. He's not getting a write up because he didn't actually hit the private. The private in question is being moved to another squad immediately. It took some time for me to get used to the idea of talking about Will with a stranger but eventually I got to a comfortable point. Gaz also made progress it's slow but everything that's worth doing is.

COD Master List

[mychoombatheroomba]

Proper Introductions

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 2

You're feeling a lot of regret for your performance in the training yard yesterday. For lots of reasons.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

You had almost forgotten what it was to be a fuckup. You had never been a perfect soldier, by any means, but lately you had been feeling like a competent one again. STRATCOM was kicking the living shit out of you, but you had felt like you were finally cresting the mountain, getting it to a manageable level of daily pain. 

Should have known better than to let yourself get too comfortable. Krauser always noticed when any of you got comfortable.

Your shame and the memory of steel against your side weighed on you the rest of the day, through the training and meals and even into your hour of personal time. An hour that you dedicated to running the drills that Krauser had taught you, trying to clear your head before lights out. 

It only partially worked, and the night was too long and too short all at the same time. When you finally got to sleep, you dreamed of snow and blood, and when you woke the next morning, you felt brittle. Breakable. The dog tags around your neck felt heavy, and you fought the urge to take them off. 

It pissed you off something fierce, so as the day’s training began, you pushed yourself hard, turning that shame into gasoline, letting it burn in your chest. Every shot you fired at the range, every extra millisecond it took to disassemble your weapon was another spark to the blaze. It burned and burned, until lunch time came, and you glimpsed another reason to regret your performance yesterday. 

“Looks like Krauser kicked the shit out of Pretty Boy.” One of your fellows, Valeria, snickered. Her eyes were fixed across the tables, her voice loud enough to carry just as far. Those who cared for gossip looked at who she spoke of, and with the heaviness in your gut, you couldn’t help but join them. 

He’d bruised. That ridiculous haircut of his fell on the wrong side of his face to hide the shiner that was forming across the rookie’s cheek, creeping up to just beneath his eye. Right where your fist had connected the day before. Seeing it made you feel, quite simply, like a piece of shit. It wasn’t the first time you’d given someone a mark in training. Wouldn’t be the last. Still, when he felt all those eyes on him and looked up, you couldn’t help but feel that you’d kicked a puppy. He couldn’t have been that much younger than you, but there was just something about those ocean eyes that deepened the pit of regret in your stomach. That only got worse when your own eyes met his. You thought he’d look away quickly. 

Instead, you found yourself surprised as the bruised cadet held your gaze, just the way he had when his guard had been up yesterday, before you’d knocked him to the ground.

“Wasn’t the Major,” Alejandro, another of your peers, corrected Valeria. Then, you felt the energy around the tables shift and you took your eyes off the kid you’d injured and looked instead at the man speaking. “Way I heard it,” he gave you a wolf grin, lifting a cup of water towards you in a toast, “it was our Sergeant, over here.” 

Murmurs swept around you, and you did your best to hide your grimace.

“Beating up babies now, huh?” Someone jabbed. You almost struck back. He put up more of a fight than you ever have was right at the tip of your tongue. A few years ago, you would have hurled the insult with abandon. Pull the pin and toss. Now . . . well, with the shit sleep you had and the general less-than-ideal way you felt, you just went back to eating your meal. If the scop they served could be called that. 

The rest of the recruits had their fun - as much of it as could be had before they realized you weren’t giving them anything to work with. You, in the meantime, just sank back into your own spiral of thoughts. 

You shouldn’t have hit him like that. Krauser was right, you shouldn’t have been tagged in the first place, but you didn’t make things better for yourself with a cheap shot. 

You’d just felt that knife against you and . . . and then you’d fucked up. You’d brought your own shit into the fight, made it someone else’s problem. Let yourself get scared by a fucking practice knife. It was stupid. 

It was stupid, and you wanted to put it behind you.

You finished your food quickly. Wasn’t anything to savor, anyway. Then, you stood, bringing your empty tray with you as you marched towards him. He was sitting by himself, and you were grateful that no one would be directly privy to this conversation. He had stopped looking at you, but your movement drew some quick glances from him. Even in those glimpses, he met you with a sharpness. That only grew as you approached, and more of his attention turned to you. Inquisitorial came to mind, one of those damn SAT words that you remembered, god knows why. He looked like he was trying to figure you out. 

He had grit, you had to give him that. 

Made you wonder what his life was like before this. Made you wonder about a lot of things. Mostly, though, you wondered-

“What’s your name?”

He looked surprised that you were asking. His expression said 'What the hell are you doing?'

You wanted to ask yourself the same thing. 

Instead, you waited that second or two before he answered. 

“Uh, Kennedy.” 

“I know. Krauser said that yesterday. I meant your first name.” 

Another pause, and you saw the gears turning in his head. “. . . Leon.” 

You nodded. Pointed to his cheek. “Sorry about that, Leon. You got me. Shouldn’t have been such a dick about it.” 

The recruit - Leon - blinked. His blue eyes moved away from you for a moment. Considering what to say. Then, he shook his head. “No, it’s . . .” if he said fine, you already knew that it would be a lie. He’d been pissed yesterday when you did it, and you couldn’t blame him. “It’s fine.” 

There it was. Liar. A polite liar. 

“No, it’s not. I was an asshole. Shouldn’t have happened.” 

He looked at you, confused, and you understood it well enough. Then, that sharpness about him turned to something a little brighter. Cautiously optimistic. “You said it, not me.” 

“I did.” Again, you nodded. There. Apology delivered, time for you to move on. 

You made it a step before Leon spoke again. “Thank you. For the apology.” 

Oh, he was not the sort of person you would expect to be here. 

Everyone you had trained with so far had been hardened bastards, most of them old and grizzled vets or arrogant hotshots. They needed the best. People who were going to get the job done. They were here to do a job, same as you. You’d come to expect no great affection. 

Even so, looking back at Leon, you found someone who looked genuinely, truly grateful. It took no special insight to imagine why. The training for the US Strategic Command was not and never would be the hardest thing you’d done in life, but it ground you down. It was a pressure cooker, and everyone felt it every second of every day. Krauser was a good teacher, but he was the sort who would push you to your breaking point. Beat you down so you never forgot when and how you showed a weakness. He had long warned that there would be no mercy in the real world, so he trained you without it. So, you knew that when Leon looked at you like that, it was because any kindness shown here was a rarity.

“Don’t mention it,” you said back. Here, in the midst of training for the worst of scenarios, on this most shitty of days, it felt nice to be not only forgiven, but maybe even appreciated. That little feeling stopped you from leaving so quickly, and you stepped towards the recruit once more. “And also: smaller arm movements.”

“What?”

“In our fight,” you clarified, “that’s how I could tell where you were going to go. You were telegraphing everything.” 

Leon almost smiled. It looked good on him. “Krauser told me the same thing yesterday. After.” 

“Well, he’s right.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind.” 

“Good.” 

The interaction was awkward, and you, for one, never wanted to do it again. Still, that was a better feeling to focus on than the crushing guilt you’d been stuck under all morning. You readily embraced it as you went into afternoon drills, glad you could at least make good on one of your mistakes. 

As for the others . . . well, those were the ones you clung to as you and Valeria circled each other later, knives flashing in the midday sun.

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Chapter Index

[cpt-winters]

Hostage / Kidnapping Whump - Part 4/4 (Part One, Part Two, Part Three)

Whumpee strained against the manacles, getting no closer to freedom as Whumper dragged the knife, his knife, across Leader's chest, trailing crimson behind the split the skin.

The mercenary paused, blood dripping from the blade's fine edge. "Tell me what I want to know and I'll stop."

"I'll kill you-" Whumpee snarled. "I'll fucking kill you!" He twisted at the bindings, growling as only his skin loosened. The metal squeaked in mockery, sturdily locked in place. 

"Whumpee," Leader half-whispered, bloodied chest heaving up and down at the effort. "Stop. Please.."

Whumpee tore his gaze away, locking his jaw as the drill whirred up, focusing on anything else but the metal squelching into flesh. He bit back a wince, the corner of his eye stinging as his sergeant's screams melded with the screeching drill.

Whumper froze, the drill dying down as alarms blared outside the corridor. The mercenary took a step back, widened eyes flicking toward the barred door. He staggered back, releasing Whumpee's restraints as the door swung open.

Whumpee clawed at his captor's forearm as the other pulled his gun, dragging him to the wall.

"Put him down!" Teammate One warned, weapon trained on the pair.

Whumpee let out a shaky breath, head inching back as the mercenary jammed the gun under his chin. They came. They really came.

"Not one step closer."

No. No, Whumper wasn't going to use him to hurt his team. Not again.

Whumpee swatted the gun's barrel away, heat searing his palm as a bullet thudded into the ceiling. Whumper let out a yelp, wrist twisting as Whumpee turned, wrestling him for the weapon.

"Whumpee-!"

A second shot rang out, then a third.

Whumper's eyes widened as he toppled, scarlet pooling around him. Whumpee's gaze fell with him, glued to the other.

"Shit- shit! Are you okay?" Teammate Two rushed to his side, hand impossibly gentle as they placed it on his shoulder.

He nodded, darkness dancing into his vision as it remained fixed on Whumper. "Jus' get Leader."

Whumpee lifted a hand to his chest as the footsteps receded, world swaying before his knees buckled under him. Muffled voices and rushed footsteps morphed into the same incomprehensible haze in his ears, his face stinging against the rough cement.

"...ee? Whumpee?"

A muted whimper escaped him as a set of hands turned him over, battered body crying out in protest.

"Come on- Stay with me," his sergeant pleaded, blood swiftly seeping through his fingers as he pressed them to Whumpee's chest. "Don't you dare die on me!"

"S-sorry boss..."

"No, no no- Whumpee!

...Whumpee?"

Tagslist - @dutifullykrispyland @gala1981 @jinxquickfoot @hostagesituations

[rythmicjea]

Archie's Dream 5x04

Should I be finishing up my chapter for Narwals? Yes. Am I? No. Instead, I can't get Archie's dream out of my head. Season 5 is considered to be "the worst" season. That's because the majority of people don't understand it. There are so many layers to this season. It's like a 14 hour long episode of the X-Files. If you take episodes 1-3 to really be the end of season 4 (and we all should) it's the shortest season out of all of them.

The show needed to get everyone back together in Riverdale. That's how shows like this work. The impetus is Archie's dream. On the surface it's a warning that Riverdale is in trouble. The soul of Riverdale is on the verge of collapse. And yes, that is true. Get closer though, and you start to see the shadows underneath.

The dream opens in the boys locker room of Riverdale High. Archie Andrews is giving his team a pep talk before the game. His voice is darker, deeper, it's that of a drill sergeant. He prepares them saying it's not going to be easy. That they have never faced anything like it but they cannot be afraid. He barks, "Do you know why?" And they answer "Because we're Bulldogs!"

The camera lingers on Reggie. Why Reggie? Here's the thing most people don't recognize about Mantle the Magnificent. He may not like you, but if you go to Riverdale, you're a Bulldog. And he will defend any Bulldog for any reason. That's why he's so offended and incensed that Jughead wears his Serpent's jacket. Because to him, Jughead is spitting in Riverdale's face. Jughead is one of Riverdale's sons and that should mean more.

We see the General tell them that their mission is to save their fallen brother. The next shot is of a football field as No Man's Land (the stretch of land between two trenches in war). There are football players in the background running plays. There are bombs going off and artillery fire whizzing by. I am an avid football fan. I grew up on Ohio State football. A football game is often referred to as a "battle". You'll hear phrases like "Battle on the Grid Iron". Each game is life or death for the players and the fans. But this is more than just a football game. This is actual life or death.

Reggie goes down. Shot in the chest from enemy fire. This is representative of how Reggie is on the "wrong" side in the season. He's aligned himself with Hiram. He doesn't care for the town and the school that he once loved so deeply.

Archie is then flown into the air by a bomb. He doesn't want to go further. He doesn't think he can. You would think that he would look at his target. Instead, he sees Cheryl. She's in her Vixens uniform. And while you can hear the squad cheering, Cheryl isn't speaking. She smiles at him, with tears in her eyes, nodding at him to go forward. Why is she here? They weren't particularly close. Why would she care about his mission? Because Cheryl has lost a brother. She knows that pain of not being able to help and the guilt that comes with surviving. She can't let Archie go through that.

Then we see the fallen soldier. We don't know his identity until Archie gets to him. It's Jughead. A chest wound pouring out blood. His heart was broken by his first love and his best friend. Jughead only says one line and it is "I just need a little help". We come to learn in the season that Jughead has become an alcoholic. His line is one that many addicts say. It's so simple to believe that with just a little help they can overcome their affliction. A lot of times it's said to get a fix. Just a tiny one to help get through the withdrawal.

On the sidelines is everyone who loves Jughead. The Serpents, Betty, Veronica, and Pop. They're all cheering for Archie to do what needs to be done. And at the last moment we see Hiram standing with a gun pointed at Archie. In the first four seasons it was always about Archie vs Hiram. But everyone forgets that the actual thorn in Hiram's side was Jughead. It's Jughead that exposes him. It's Jughead that picks up the pieces of his parental duties for Veronica. It's Jughead who is willing to risk everything to see Hiram exposed for all of his corruption and evil deeds. And Hiram knows it. But Hiram can't do anything to Jughead without exposing himself. That's why he willingly lets Jughead take himself to the slaughter against the ghoulies. Hiram was behind riot night. And that gunshot wound in Jughead's chest? Who's to say it wasn't Hiram who pulled the trigger?

Archie's dream tells the story of season 5. There's many reasons for him to come home. He declares that Riverdale is "dying" and they need to save it. But it's not Riverdale that he has to save, it's Jughead. He hasn't spoken to Jughead in seven years. When he calls his three friends, Betty and Veronica drop what they are doing immediately to answer. Jughead is the only one who hesitates. We never see him answer. Jughead is the most reluctant to stay.

NO ONE on the show knows how to handle an addiction. Not even Jughead. He knows how to take care of his father but it was never his responsibility to save his father. And FP? FP gets sober cold turkey. He falls off the wagon at his retirement party. He is magically able to handle alcohol responsibly. That's not how addiction works.

Archie offers Jughead a place to stay and a teaching position at the school. Archie lets him go when he needs to go back to New York without any questions asked. Archie is the subliminal support system that was taken from Jughead at the end of high school. He doesn't know what to do exactly (and he has his own issues - PTSD) but he can do the passive things to help his brother.

After seven years of silence, Archie has a dream that tells him his best friend and brother is in danger and he's the only one who can help. And if that's being an invitation back to a safe place and a warm bed then he does it without hesitation. To many Archie IS Riverdale. He is the heart of the town. But, Jughead put Riverdale on the map. Jughead is the town's conscience. To Archie, Jughead is Riverdale.

[lambourngb]

wip wednesday

from "you and i were almost nothing" - a soulmate story based on this prompt: Soulbonds Identity Porn - Soulmate Goes By A Different Name Than The One on Soulmate's Skin

To give Carole credit she at least waited until Goose had drifted away to the diner’s beat-up piano to begin her interrogation. “All right, something is up with you. Tell me everything.”

Short and to the point, Mav wasn’t sure if Carole even knew how to beat around the bush. He nudged the french fries closer to Bradley, it was what passed for a vegetable on a plate full of chicken nuggets and bought himself a few seconds of a reprieve. “Nothing is up with me, unless you’re talking about our chances for the Top Gun trophy.”

Carole gave him the look again, and then, as if in sync, Goose started up with the slow tune that Maverick instantly recognized from his faded memories of his childhood. They were working together against him, using their mysterious Soulmates connection apparently to outnumber him. Mav held firm, until Goose tipped his head back to look at them with a saucy wink, “These… arms… of … miiiinnne-”

“Carole.”

“Mav.”

“Carole, stop him-”

She held up her hands in a faux show of powerlessness, “I don’t have any control over him, Goosey is his own man. I mean, just look at that mustache and shirt, do you think I’m involved in that decision makin’ process?”  She smiled wider as Mav glared across the table at her. Like it wasn’t a planned ambush.

In the meantime, Goose kept singing to the nearly empty dinner with a gusto, “These arms of miiiiinnnnne, they are yearning, yearning for wannnnting you-” From the front counter, their waitress was smiling at the display and everyone knew, Goose needed no encouragement to continue his ridiculous act.

Traitors, both of them. Mav realized he should have never shared his childhood connection to Otis Redding with them, and caved. “Okay, fine, there’s this guy-”

“You found him!?” Carole cut him off with joy and excitement.

“No,” he answered firmly. For as maddening as Tom Kazansky was, he wasn’t Avnotom. “Nothing like that. He’s in our class and he just pisses me off.”  

“Keep eating, baby,” Carole said gently to Bradley, nudging him away from playing with the nuggets on his plate, and then fixed an eye on Mav, like a drill sergeant during inspection. “And you, keep talking, you’ve dealt with assholes before, what makes this guy different?”

“Nothing.” Maverick winced at the frankly blistering look Carole sent him, and amended it, “It’s a competition, of course, guys are going to be into it,” another look, even more narrowed, “Okay, I’m into it, I know I push things to the limit but the safety of my aircraft and crew comes first. I might have been a little too aggressive chasing down the CO, but I apologized to Goose about it. But this asshole, Kazansky, had the nerve to imply that I was in it for personal glory, that I only care about myself, that I don’t know what side I’m on out there-”

“And you’re mad because he’s wrong?”

“I’m mad because-” Mav broke off, unable to finish the sentence to its conclusion. He was mad because Kazansky had taken something he had learned in a vulnerable moment and had broadcast it to the whole class. He was mad because he had thought they had reached a new understanding after that volleyball game and he was apparently wrong. He was mad because he wasn’t mad at all, he was hurt instead- 

After leaving his aunt’s house as an adult, he had made a vow to never let someone hurt him again like that, and Kazansky had just brushed right past that wall. His words had cut deeper than Viper’s after that failed hop.

“I’m mad because he doesn’t seem to get it.”

[homicidalfantrolls]

Come Back to Me

The months old question is finally answered. (Though it’s not what you think.)

collab with @trollcafe that’s been forever in the making. please enjoy!!!

Part 1

Part 2

doc

It doesn’t take long for Paenit to find Jodiah on the dance floor. Even in a room as crowded as this, overflowing with more trolls than the pilot had seen in sweeps, his limeblooded siren stood out like a signal flare. Spinning in his iridescent dress, his new mask, his boots that didn’t match his outfit in a truly Jodiah manner; it all made Paenit’s heart throb painfully in his chest. He had seen a lifetime of stars, of swirling galaxies, experienced supernovas up close and personal, saw every wonderful and fascinating thing the universe had to offer- but none of that shone as bright as Dia did that night.

Paenit’s eyes follow as Dia spins with his kismesis. Seeing how Mondes was dressed made him feel slightly better about what he had originally intended to come in. At least he wasn’t the only one who was without much of a fashion sense. Though it was difficult to look good when standing next to someone as radiant as Dia.

It took every ounce of courage the cusp’s body contained not to turn tail and run. The beauty of the scene and how completely out of his league he was made everything overwhelming. Commander Almiss didn’t exactly consider himself cowardly—his track record of military operations would prove such. But this was no battlefield. He had traded the safety of gunfire for the hostility of social cues and the danger of a dancefloor. His leather gloves grew uncomfortable as his palms grew sweaty. For the second time that night, he was thankful for the cape draped over his shoulders, successfully hiding how bad he thought he was shaking. With one deep breath, he finally made his way over to Mondes and Dia.

The smaller of the two seemed to stiffen as the highblood approached, but across the floor Dia pulled him aside to mumble something into his ear. This seems to ease the olive’s anxiety ever so slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on Pae the entire time, even as he finally steps up to the kismesises.

Paenit turned to look at Mondes. The latter’s gaze scans the fleet troll up and down like he was searching for some sort of red flag only he could see. The two locked eyes under their masks, passing some unspoken understanding between them. Regardless of whether Mondes found a red flag or not, he steps aside and motions for his kismesis to get on with it. Be it the demonstration of respect, his kismet’s words, or the audacity of interrupting, something convinced Mondes to allow a strange highblood to sweep his kismesis away.

Paenit offers his hand to Jodiah.

Wordlessly, the limeblood takes it.

As gracefully as a man who had never really danced before the week began, Paenit swept him into a dance he couldn’t recall the name of. A waltz? A swing? He wracked his brain for the name, anything to avoid acknowledging just how out of his depth he was. Nostalgia plucked at his pusherstrings. Fondly recalling the time in basic training one of his drill sergeants made the recruits learn the basics of ballroom dancing. To help with grace and fluidity in a fight, that had been the reasoning at the time. If only he had known how he’d use those skills.

Jodiah speaks suddenly and interrupts his nostalgic train of thought.

“You took your time,” the lime scoffs, letting the masked stranger lead him. Despite Dia’s love of dancing he could hardly chastise the other’s skills in it. Or lack thereof. It wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. He pondered over the stranger’s strong hand in the small of his back, the other one holding his in a feather light touch. A gentle hand like that was hard to find. Not a possessive grip, but a confident one. Dia could flop over entirely limp and he was confident this stranger would catch him. It wasn’t every day he met a highblood who treated him so daintily. Dia bit back the initial annoyance that follows—he didn’t let just anyone get away with treating him so tenderly, especially not a purpleblood. But because he was playing nice, repaying the kind stranger for the drinks he swindled from him, he was content allowing such tenderness. For now.

The stranger’s mask prevented Dia from seeing where he was looking, but so did his own. The lime was studying every inch of him that could be seen, drinking in the details like he had the champagne had earlier that Mondes was currently keeping warm for Dia’s return. Sure, he had a decent look at the bar, but he had more time now. His dance partner was tall, but not too tall. Well built, standard for a purpleblood, but worth mentioning. Broad shoulders—oh, how Dia loved a man with broad shoulders—but he wasn’t imposing with his size. His posture was remarkably passive for a highblood dancing with a neon lime.

Their bodies swayed to the music, close enough to share heat, moving in perfect sync. To an outsider, it’d be easy to think they had done this plenty of times prior. Being so close, Dia recognized the cologne now—it was popular amongst highbloods in the Fleet, notably seadwellers. A musky, powerful, oceanic scent—he ever remembered the name of it. Megamare, a stupid name if you asked him. Just about any seadwelling commander had it somewhere in their quarters. Expensive enough to be high end, but not too advanced of a scent to be hoity-toity. It had been applied just right. It was a strong scent, one that could easily choke a person out. The stranger wore it lightly. Just enough to entice, enough to draw Dia in closer. His curiosity only increased at the unique choices.

Seadweller cologne on a purpleblood. A mute, overwhelmingly gentle purpleblood, who picked the masked anon out of a sea of possible dance partners.

“Usually I’m not the patient type. But what can I say, I like dogs,” Jodiah purrs, playfully hooking a finger in the shirt collar of his dance partner. His playful tone did a wonderful job of disguising his curious intentions.

The sudden claw against Paenit’s neck almost makes him trip. It’s a miracle he doesn't—perhaps that drill sergeant’s hard work paid off. He has to bite his tongue to keep from squeaking like the mouse he felt like. For not the first time this evening, Paenit was grateful for the face covering he wore. Though it still hid the identity of its wearer, it had the secondary purpose of hiding his flushed blue-purple face. Paenit was quite confident that even without the heavy cloak he had on, he would still feel unbearably warm. His heart was doing its best to break out of the constraining rib cage; the pilot’s throat seemingly experiencing anaphylaxis for the first time. He wondered if he had somehow been allergic to the whiskey Khirti had bought him. Or if, perhaps, she poisoned it. It wasn’t the thought of the impossibility of her getting the chance to do so that comforted him, but the unlikeliness of Khirti not just stabbing him then and there if she truly desired his end.

While Paenit’s mind raced with paranoid thoughts and panic, Jodiah yearned for knowledge. He studied the silent mask closely, looking for any hint of recognition, any sign or emotion. Some strange piece of him was daydreaming of a Hallmark movie moment. The realistic part of him knew this wasn’t the case.

“Still not much of a talker, hm?” Dia dropped the flirty tone. It clearly wasn’t getting him anywhere. His curiosity had yet to be sated, which only served to annoy him. While flirting got him nowhere, the change in his tone did have an effect of some kind: his dance partner tensing the smallest bit. Dia’s head tilted ever so slightly as he studied the mask once more. Finally, he relaxes, letting the troll take his hand once more, “That’s fine. We can just dance.”

His mind explored grandeurs of romance as they swayed to the beat. Specifically, Dia was thinking about Paenit. He hadn’t the slightest clue who he was dancing with—only that they hadn’t said a word, they wore Fleet cologne, and that a foolish, childish part of him wanted so badly for it to be Paenit. He wanted to tear that mask off and see who truly lies beneath it. He wanted to be twirled around in some grand romantic gesture, to be held lovingly and safely in the arms he missed so badly it hurt. However—Paenit hadn’t spoken to him since the day he left with Mondes. That same childish part of Dia’s pusher ached with hurt at the same time. Hurt and betrayal.

Dia knew his previous commanding officer well enough to know he never showcased himself as a purple blood, and never in his wildest dreams would Paenit Almiss show up to the Yule Ball wearing an outfit this grand.

But he had to know.

God, he just had to know.

Yanking off a strange purpleblood’s mask was a surefire way to get executed the second he left this safe zone. The masked stranger had yet to say a word to him, who’s to say he would respond to a name? Dia had to be smart about this. After what felt like an eternity of swaying in a thick silence, Jodiah sighed softly, wistfully, and rested his cheek on the stranger’s shoulder.

Angled in just the right spot to see the stranger’s chin. To see the scar that decorated his skin.

Not unlike a scar he knew. One he stroked with his thumb as he held his CO’s face. One he kissed often, one he asked about several times and received a different origin story each time, all jovial and light spirited and none likely the real cause. A scar perfectly placed, perfectly colored, going under his chin and stopping right at his neck. He had spent a handful of days wondering how a scar like that must’ve hurt, how the scar’s owner was lucky it didn’t go further.

Now it was Dia’s turn to swallow his pusher back down into his chest. He looked down quickly, deciding it simply didn’t exist if he didn’t look at it. His own heart was racing so fast it was easy to ignore the stranger’s heartbeat. His chest ached with need and overexertion. The rush made him dizzy. The level-headed facade he put on for his kismesis quickly cracked. He wanted the scar to be more than a coincidence. He wanted the scar to mean nothing. He wanted his everyday mask, yearning for the way it drew out excess electricity from his body to reduce the strain of intense emotions on his heart.

They swayed in silence for a few moments yet. He would’ve been content to let that moment play out forever if the burden of knowledge didn’t weigh so heavily on him. Without another word, Dia lifted his head, and slipped the leather glove off the hand he was holding. His stranger missteps—probably from confusion—but in the end it doesn’t matter. Dia stopped the dance altogether. Almost obediently, the stranger stops as well.

There they stood, in the middle of the dance floor. Dia pulled away from the purpleblood to study his hand. The troll didn’t pull away. If anything, he seemed to relax slightly as Dia followed the trail of scars. Scars he knew all too well. Scars like a map to the troll he missed most.

He took the other hand in his, and removed that glove too. He turned his hand over.

There it was. In the space between his thumb and forefinger, was a small heart-shaped oil scar. Followed by a straight line scar crossing each knuckle, and the telltale scars of someone’s fist busting on teeth. The world seemed to close in on the two of them, music fading into the background. Bodies of blur swirled around them as if they didn’t exist. Dia traced over the scars silently, his fingertips dancing over the ragged and calloused skin with a feather-light touch.

Finally, he looked back up, eyes boring through the not-so stranger’s mask, “…You came back.”

Paenit froze. Even if the two of them had long stopped dancing at this point. It was amazing how his blood could run so hot while he was frozen stiff in his boots. Slowly, he curled his hand around Dia’s. They began to move again, stepping across the dance floor. Whether it was an attempt to rid himself of the nervous energy building or to resume a facade of normalcy wasn’t clear. Dia was content to let Paenit take the lead once more, allowing the highblood to guide him as they swayed.

“I had to answer your question, right?” While there had been hope for a suave, confident tone to his voice, Paenit’s response came out as rough and as full of cracks as old runway pavement. Yet another thing that did not line up with his plan. Truly, laying things out in advance was far from his strong suit.

Dia’s demeanor flipped

“So…is it a no?” Dia asked, frowning ever so slightly beneath his mask. Even with his face hidden, Paenit could sense the disappointment. He could perfectly picture the way the lime’s brow furrowed, how his eyes would darken when he didn’t get his way. Just imagining it made him dizzy with yearning.

“I-what? Wh-why would you think it’s a no?” Paenit stammered, almost tripping over himself and sending the both of them toppling over. Quick reflexes once again saved the dance from ending in catastrophe. This time, it’s Dia who encourages them to keep moving.

“Well, you showed up here.”

“I-I know it’s weird but—“

“And I don’t see her with you.”

Paenit sighed. Then he chuckled.

“This…isn’t really her scene.”

—

As Dia folded and put away clothes (not all of which were strictly his) into a surprisingly ragged suitcase, he was as stone faced as ever. No words were shared as he made sure to gather up all the things he had moved into his commanding officer’s block, knowing that nothing of his was left in the one off of his medbay. Paenit had helped Jodiah move things bit by bit until the medbay looked like it had before he moved in. Empty. Sterilized. Cold. Part of Paenit hoped that Dia would want to check, return there just to make sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything.

But he knew he wouldn’t.

“I want Ship Cat.”

For a second, he was sure that Dia had scratched one of the records in the corner of the block. When his eyes shifted up from a pair of pants he was folding and he saw Dia in the exact spot he had been, eyes locked right back on him, he knew he was mistaken.

Paenit can’t help but laugh. Not a laugh he was used to, not one he had done since the days of Dia stepping on his sunglasses and rigging his coffee maker to explode. Sheepish. Unsure.

“You—You want Ship Cat?”

“I want to take her back to Alternia. She deserves to retire too. There’s plenty of kittens that could take her place.”

Paenit’s pusher sinks. He had never been good at saying no to Dia. Never skilled at looking into the flawless green gems that were his eyes and telling him that he couldn’t do what he wanted. He knew in his chest it was not a skill that he would ever develop.

“Dia—“

“Not now,” he interjects, placing the last pair of stolen pants in his suitcase and closing it. “You can bring her to me as your answer when you retire, and become my matesprit.”

Warmth encompasses Paenit’s body so immediately, so intensely, he wonders if the ship was on fire. If smoke and ash were creeping into the ventilation systems, slowly suffocating him and showing him all the dreams of a future he could never have. A future where he could fly planes again, help people instead of hurt them. A future of happiness, green grass and trees and the eyes of his matesprit, Jodiah Monark. A future where he could be happy, where he didn’t have to worry about being taken away to hurt people for a military whose only goal was causing more and more despair. Where they could be together, happy.

It was impossible to say when Dia took his mask off or when he began to approach Paenit. Like a dog drooling for his food at the sound of a bell, the clicking of Dia taking off his mask forced Pae’s eyes to close in anticipation of his kiss.

As their lips connect and Paenit’s arms wrap around Jodiah to hold him close, he could feel an ache wrap itself tightly around his chest like a constrictor killing its prey. It spreads into the admiral’s fingertips, his legs, up to the base of his skull. It screams to him.

Don’t let go.

Don’t let go.

Paenit lets him go.

Dia steps back, the sound of his mask clicking letting Paenit’s eyes know it was okay to open, okay to see him once more. To see him with the shroud returned over him, blocking out his light from view.

“Don’t take too long.”

Dia rested his hand on Paenit’s face one last time. Then, he was gone.

————

“Where is she, then? Don’t tell me you left her on your ship all by herself.”

“She’s not by herself—“

"So she's still up there? On that damn ship?" Jodiah’s tone is sharp, tinged with annoyance, but hardly as hostile as it could be. As hostile as it would've been had he been dancing with anyone other than Paenit. "You came all the way here, dressed to the goddamned nines, and you didn't even bring me my fucking cat?"

Anxiety prickled at Paenit’s chest, his ears laying flat against his head. Had he a tail, it would be tucked firmly between his legs in a sign of submission. Dia was still dancing, though his footfalls seemed heavier with his annoyance.

“I-I couldn’t take her just for leave—I didn’t—“ Paenit swallowed, avoiding the intimidating eyes of his dance partner. “Didn’t know if you would still…be around.”

"Still be around?" the lime parrots in a voice positively dripping with annoyance, though hushed in tone to keep the other dancers from being concerned about the fight. "Where else would I be? All you had to do was call me, send a text, video message, fuck—email works in space, too! Then you wouldn't have to wonder if I was ‘around’ or not."

“I-I didn’t—I tried!“ Paenit sputtered, tone desperate, “Calls and texts wouldn’t go through and the fleet reads all my emails—I’m not allowed to have a personal account, you know that—I didn’t want them to try to bring you back after—“ he frowns, voice quieting before resuming, ”—after you went through all that to get out.”

He elected not to mention Annihilation’s recent bout of trouble and how it could have possibly affected Dia staying away from fleet custody. It wouldn’t help.

Under his mask, Jodiah’s expression softens. Knowing Paenit made an effort was enough to make him feel like crying. He shakes that feeling off without a word. He wasn’t a crier— he’d had enough of that emotional nonsense to last him a lifetime. Even his dance partner could tell he was still unsettled, though silence fell between them. He wasn’t yet satisfied with the answer he had been given.

When Dia finally spoke, his voice felt small and soft in his chest. Raw and uncertain, showing the hurt and distress his mask usually hid well, "...Well, you should've tried harder." He pulled his hand from Paenit’s to lightly hit his chest, taking out his frustration for something neither of them could control.

Guilt fell over the highblood like a shroud, his ears falling ever further down in his body’s subconscious effort to make him look smaller. The vulnerability in Dia’s voice felt like salt in a fresh wound, making his already aching heart pang miserably.

“…I’m sorry,” Paenit apologizes, even if the both of them knew there was nothing more he could have done. Still, he can’t help chuckle as Dia’s fist lands on his chest, much lighter than expected. He supposed the lime wasn’t as mad as he wanted Paenit to believe.

“I’ll steal a shuttle next time,” Paenit joked sheepishly in an attempt to add some levity.

"You don't even have to steal it- you're a fucking commander. You—Y-You can just—take it,” Jodiah countered, clearly not appreciating the humor. His words are broken up by a soft, sad laughter, as he continued his attempts to bite back tears. "A-A letter would've worked—or j-just, ask my dad to pass on a message? I..." He swallowed hard, throat aching with the threat of closing up entirely, "...I-It's been months, Paenit."

A knife to the chest would have been less painful than hearing Jodiah so broken up. Having experienced at least one knife in the chest before, that was something Paenit could attest to with confidence. His hands traveled to hold the lime’s face, his thumbs pushing under Dia’s mask to rub over his cheeks. Whether or not the other would electrocute him wasn’t the concern at the forefront of his mind. The sudden warmth of calloused hands passing the barrier of his mask forced Jodiah to freeze like a deer in the headlights. Once again, the pair had stopped moving.

“I couldn’t, Dia,” Paenit started softly, “I’m an admiral with no second in command. I can’t leave my ship even when I want to. The only…the only reason they let me come here is because they think I’m recruiting. They think I’m here in a fancy uniform telling everyone how great the Fleet is. I’ve been trying. I never stopped trying to reach you but…I couldn’t.”

He didn’t dare mention to Dia that it was most likely by design. Punishment for letting him go on leave, for letting him stay away so long when his sister went missing. For not finding a way to force him to stay under Pae’s employment. Nor does he—no, can he—mention why talking to Annihilation wasn’t an option. For so many different reasons. Reasons he was not confident Dia could understand, reasons Paenit couldn’t share, reasons Dia may not even care about.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” the admiral murmurs at last, resting his masked forehead to the limeblood’s. Dia relaxed slightly, having accepted that explanation. The certainty of his dance partner’s words, knowing the lengths he went to, knowing he at the very least made an effort- that was enough to make tears well back up. Words caught in his throat before they could be free. Forgiveness, hurt that remained, anger at the fucked situation, expressions of relief and love and sorrow, none of which could escape lest he stutter through his words like a stalled engine in front of his matesprit.

Matesprit.

Now, that was a lovely thought.

He was at the Yule Ball, and he was going to dance with his fucking matesprit.

Dia pulled away suddenly, grasping Paenit’s hand once more. He pulls the purple so suddenly, he nearly trips them both. He grasps Pae’s hand once more, pulling him back into the dance. The motion catches Paenit so off guard, he nearly stumbles and trips them both.

"You can get back to recruiting later—I deserve a dance with my matesprit first."

“Your…matesprit?” Paenit’s voice is barely audible from under his mask. His lungs fail to work and ache with need, his heart seems to have stopped pumping altogether, caught in the momentary excitement as Dia swings them both slowly.

Dia cocks his head expectantly, "Yes?" Paenit could picture his partner’s quirked brow and peeved expression perfectly, annoyed that his thought process needed to be explained at all. It was so easy to bury all those negative feelings, all the hurt and upset that still lingered, far under the surface with the promise of dancing. "You didn't bring my cat. But...you showed up. So I'm taking that as a confirmation."

“Y-Yeah…I-I did show up,” Paenit all but squeaked, as if reassuring himself he did such things. Confidence grew with his grin, wide and vibrant, under his mask. Pae springs to life with a giddy laugh, arms snaking around the smaller troll. He lifts Jodiah into the air to spin him around. Surprisingly, the lime lets him, going so far as to hug him back. His matesprit’s excitement proved contagious: Dia’s laughter joined Paenit’s in a bubbly harmony, holding onto the purpleblood for dear life while being swung around.

Matesprit. That was his matesprit.

Dia’s laugh was more beautiful than any song the band had played that night. Melodic and bright, it erased the weight Paenit had been carrying on his shoulders since he’d stepped inside the massive hall of the ballroom. The anxiety of how the evening would go, how Dia would respond to seeing him again, how absolutely fucked he would be.

Instead, the two were dancing in what felt like perfect sync. Perhaps not skilled, perhaps not enough to win awards or even gain the attention of any of the other couples scattered about the floor. Not that either of them noticed. No, they had stepped into a different world entirely. Where everyone else had faded into the scenery, turning into nothing more distinct than the dozens of windows looking over the sea. The only music was the sound of each other’s breaths, the beat of their hearts drowning out anything else.

Paenit’s hand drifted down Jodiah’s back, resting in the curve of his spine. Dia’s hand pushed into the slicked back hair of Paenit’s. If anyone had remained on the dance floor, they wouldn’t have noticed. They were too busy getting lost in each other.

Panting softly from all the excitement, foreheads pressed together, they stared into each other's eyes from under their masks. Until finally the edge became too hard to balance on.

Paenit’s hand brushed past the beads of Dia’s mask, cupping the lime’s face gently. His thumb danced over Dia’s soft and scruffy skin.

Dia knew what was wanted—hell, he wanted the same. For as much as he wanted to, he simply couldn’t in the middle of the dance floor, so publicly visible. Desire gnawed at his bones desperately. He could practically see his matesprit’s confidence waning.

With a sudden burst of energy, the limeblood took hold of Paenit’s cape and pulled him off the dancefloor. They spun as they went, putting up the illusion of dancing. For all his confusion, Paenit just went along with it, however clumsily. Dia pulled Paenit into him as they turned a corner. Pae’s hands went to the wall to prevent him from crushing the limeblood. The two stood there a moment longer, the heat of the previous moment returning tenfold.

Paenit’s size and cape proved to be the perfect shield. Dia felt safe under him, confident that Paenit wouldn’t let anyone see what lay under his mask. Without a word, Dia’s hands went under the wolfish face blocking his matesprit’s own, slowly removing it. Unveiling the truth he yearned for. His own mask follows suit. Both fall to the ground unceremoniously.

For the briefest moment, they could look at each other’s faces for the first time in months. Bare. Real. Full of flesh and life. Scars, freckles, mismatched blue eyes and blinding lime ones. More than just words and promises, more than a phone call or a text message or even a letter. Flushed cheeks and parted lips and eyes burning with desire. It was easy to forget Dia had a reason to keep his face hidden.

They closed the space between them at the same time. Dia’s hands tangled in Paenit’s hair, Paenit’s kept one hand firmly planted on the wall to shield the two despite his desire to hold his matesprit with both, the other pulling Dia’s small frame against his own. For the first time in months, the couple kissed. They kissed, and they kissed, and they kissed, until they were out of breath and dizzy. They kissed to make up for lost time, to apologize for things unsaid, to prepare for the time they’d lose until they could kiss again.

Eventually, Jodiah would leave. For as much as he loved Paenit, he made a promise and wouldn’t break it. He would return to his kismesis and get a proper scolding for running off and leaving Mondes alone. Paenit would have to return to his ship, to his crew, to his empty block. Painful memories didn’t sting as much, but the loneliness still ached deep within his bones.

They would leave each other once again, with a newly rekindled yearning. It may be weeks, months, sweeps before they saw each other again. But they were both confident. He would come always back.

In the end, the distance wouldn’t matter. As long as they could be together.

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: At Ease (Short, pre-Eragon, on the way to the Varden with Fäolin for the first time)

Arya checked Fäolin’s posture with a critical eye, hands clasped loosely behind her back.

Finding nothing wrong with his Parade Rest, she nodded and barked a sharp, “Attention!”

Fäolin snapped to, heart skittering in his chest. He’d never tire of any part of her, but the shift from her usual easygoing tone to a commanding, battle hardened voice always ran a thrill down his spine.

“Not bad.” Glenwing swallowed a scoop of oatmeal. The medic was sat on a long fallen tree with his elbows braced on his knees, a foil packet of warm gruel cupped in his hands. 

“He’s getting there.” Arya agreed. Her mate kept his mouth shut, eyes straight ahead. He had already done an almost disgusting amount of suspended sit-ups for quipping out of turn. “And look! He’s learned not to get mouthy. I’m proud of you.” Despite the smile in her voice, Arya never changed her deadpan expression. That took some getting used to. She could present an entirely different persona when focused on different tasks. “At Ease.”

Fäolin popped his feet apart and settled, hands finding their place behind his back right at his belt.

Again, Arya trailed her gaze over him.

For the first time, she frowned slightly. “At Ease, Marksman.”

He shuffled his feet. Were they too far apart?

“At Ease!”

“Isn’t this At Ease?” Fäolin snapped back, more confused than anything. “Feet at shoulder width, shoulders squared, hands behind back. I’m in the right stance!”

His heart jumped to his throat. A small, sly smile was spreading across Arya’s face, eyebrow rising just the barest bit. “Oh, I’m not talking to you.”

She pointedly lingered on his face before, with exaggerated slowness, she dragged her emerald eyes down his body. 

“I’m talking to you.”

“Wha-”

Glenwing choked on his oatmeal and let out a strangled cackle as Arya suddenly leaned forward and addressed the region just below Fäolin’s belt buckle and barked in a commanding voice any drill sergeant would be proud of, “AT EASE, SOLDIER!”

Fäolin’s face flared bright red.

Standing at attention, indeed.

“I uh…” he cleared his throat. Arya refused to straighten, glaring daggers at his illegally pitched, out-of-regulation tent. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that.”

“Oh, we noticed.” Glen wiped oatmeal from his shirt, an absolute shiteating grin splitting his face. “I knew you liked it when she told you to do things in bed, but damn!”

“At Ease, wankstain.” Arya growled, a hiss of disdain and fury in her tone. “You better stow that shit, Junior, or you’ll be running tour for the rest of deployment. At EASE!”

“Be nice!” Fäolin retorted. “It doesn’t work like that and you know it!” He sniffed, his ego bruised despite knowing she was practically a whole other person when she was filling her role as an Officer. “And don’t call it ‘Junior,’ you know it’s–”

“I gave you an order, soldier.” 

Okay, she was actually scaring h–

Fäolin stared, absolutely flabbergasted, and somehow still maybe just a little mentally turned on, as Arya straightened, looking mighty pleased with herself. 

While not entirely ‘at ease,’ he sure wasn’t ‘at attention’ anymore.

“H…how did you do that?”

Arya just grinned at him, eyes flashing dangerously. 

“Fäolin, I hate to break it to you,” Glen chucked his empty breakfast pocket into his pack. He, too, was still grinning. “But you’re not the first new recruit to pop one up when Arya’s around for drill, and you’re certainly not going to be the last. She’s found ways.”

Fäolin fixed his mate with a deadpan stare of his own. “I love you, and you scare me sometimes.”

“Love you too, babe.” And she gave him a kiss on his still-red cheek. “Another two hundred for getting excited. One hundred more for speaking out of turn. Get back up on that branch, Marksman.”

It was going to be a long day.

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ So!! I needed a bit of fluff and humour after THAT EPISODE !! and after seeing their adorable lil faces in the bts pics with the medals this little ... cold open esque prologue? to 7x09 came to me in a lunch break :P enjoy!

note: contains a multitude of weewooified details about lafd and the military, for dramatic and humourous effect, plz don't @ me

Firefam. No spoilers outside of trailers. (~1600wd). Humour, but with angst bc I can’t stop myself putting these guys in Situations

bait and switch

The seats in the hallway are typical of any waiting room: plastic arms, kind of sticky, and weirdly cheap and tacky considering the significance of the life events about to occur in their occupants. The walls are a burnt-orange red. Fitting, if ominous.

The clock on the wall ticks on.

“Evan's been in there a long time,” Tommy observes.

“Too long,” Hen agrees.

“He's probably gone out the other way,” Chimney speculates grimly. ”Doesn't want us to see the broken shell of a man Gerrard's turned him into.”

Eddie sits a few seats away, with his eyes closed, envisioning himself as a puddle of jello. Well, he was. Well. He was trying to. He cracks an eye open.

“Thanks for the pep talk, Chim.”

“You're welcome.” Chimney huffs. He wishes he had his phone. Maybe he could text Maddie to call him away with some emergency. Sure he'd only be delaying the inevitable, but he'd take any respite at this point.

Eddie laughs. “Come on. He can't be that bad.”

Hen, Chim and Tommy fix him with a glare that tells him he knows not of what he speaks.

“Easy for you to say,” Chimney challenges. “We can't all have interrogation training.”

“What is it you think I actually did over there?”

Chim's been reading too much Zero Dark Thirty. Eddie rolls his eyes. But maybe there's something to having his military days at the top of his mind, because when the doors swing open he all but jumps to his feet, back ramrod straight. He wonders all of a sudden if he's somehow put his badges on backwards or something and it's all he can do not to fret with his collar and sleeves. He's heard the stories. He might have lucked out with Bobby as his Captain, but he's had drill sergeants like this Gerrard guy, and the performance anxiety is real.

“Firefighter Diaz.”

“Yessir.”

“Please come through.”

“Yessir.”

He follows obediently, his hands clasped behind his back in some kind of attention pose he isn't even deliberately aware of knowing how to do. The rest of them will take the piss out of him later, he's sure.

The doors close behind him.

The waiting resumes.

Chimney bounces a knee.

“They're doing this on purpose, you know,” he mutters, not quite to himself. “To make us sweat. I'm playing right into their hands.”

“I don't get it,” Hen muses, turning their situation over in her head. “I thought we were in the clear. No credit, no crime, right?”

Tommy shrugs. “You know how it is. Sometimes the brass likes to have their cake and eat it to.”

“I guess.” Hen sighs. “I'm sorry, guys. Let me talk to them. I meant it when I said I didn't want any of this to blow back on you – especially you, Tommy.”

“Hey.” He shakes his head, and waves her off. “I throw in, I'm all in.”

“Yeah,” Chim agrees. “We're in this together. Spartacuses. Spartaci? Although... I'd like to state for the record that per to the Geneva Convention I can't be held responsible for anything I may or may not say under duress.”

Hen all but rolls her eyes at him. Geneva Convention or no – and she's almost certain that particular one is a no - she's been locked up with the man and forced to watch him flatline repeatedly and he still figured out how to help save them both. There's not a force in this world that would make him throw her under the bus.

“It's gonna be okay, Chim,” she promises. Even squeezes his hand, for good measure.

But this time, the door opens too quickly. Maybe Gerrard is doing it just to mess with them after all. Still no Buck. No Eddie.

“Firefighter Han,” the bailiff-type beckons.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and mutters quickly as he stands-

“Tell Maddie I love her, show Jee Yun pictures of my face!”

Then, with a dull BOOM!, the doors are closed again.

And then there are two.

Hen hangs her head. Lets out a breath.

Tommy lets his fall back against the wall.

After a while, they switch.

Tommy's head drops forward, resting on his hands resting on his elbows resting on his knees. He rubs circles on his own knuckles. Hen stretches her feet out in front of her, tips her head back and closes her eyes. She even tries Eddie's jello thing. She's never really been much of a jello person though, honestly, so instead, she copes by breaking the silence.

“What about you then, Kinard? Ever been court martialled?”

“No,” he says. “Although, I did get a summary once.”

“What for?”

“Conduct unbecoming.”

He looks up, and there's a glint of mischief in his eye that tells her exactly what kind of conduct. Hen's jaw slackens.

“No way. Team Jacob, huh?”

“Taylor Lautner? Please. I'm only a man.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Honestly, I didn't think much of it at the time. I mean, I got scared straight for sure - Got a slap on the wrist, a lot of hoo ha about an other than honourable discharge, so I pulled my head in. But I also figured, plenty of straight guys have 'experiences' on tour. Took me a while to put the pieces together.”

“How'd you figure it out? I mean without a hot pilot boyfriend of your own to sweep you off your feet.” “Ha, ha.” He fixes her with a meaningful gaze, and smiles. “Actually, I got yelled at by this really brave black lesbian firefighter. You could say she inspired me to do some introspection.”

“Yeah, well. We do have that effect on people.”

She is definitely not blushing and even more definitely not thinking about that time she cried in front of him. It's the last thing she needs, when the doors open again and he nods and disappears and then she's alone.

Then again, she thinks, maybe it's not the worst thing she could be thinking about. Gerrard used to have so much power over her. Over her mood. Over how she spent her day. What is she doing, giving him another day of her life? Sure, part of her is terrified and drenched in guilt that she's very possibly single-handedly ended the careers of most of her closest friends. But the other part of her – the bigger part, and only growing as she gives voice to it – knows she hasn't single-handedly done a thing, and that she would have just as soon thrown her lot in with any of them if they'd asked, or even if they hadn't. She's abseiled a collapsing bridge with them; been shot at; been kidnapped; put her life, her wife's life in their hands; held theirs in hers. She's sung in front of most of them; subjected them to her cooking; they've born witness to her tears and to her happy dances more times than she can count. At the end of the day, she has no regrets. So she's feeling a lot stronger by the time those doors open for her.

She takes a deep breath and strides forward, and notices straight away that the air in here is – weird.

It's not just Gerrard, there's several officials and even the Fire Chief. Bobby isn't here. He probably isn't allowed to be, as both the subject of the illicit rescue and Captain of the accused, so it's not surprising, but the absence of his steady presence rooting for her stings. These guys? It feels like they're all laughing at her. Like they're in on something she doesn't know – like maybe how delicious Gerrard is finding it that he gets to deliver the final blow. He was the one who gave her her badge after all, albeit reluctantly. It's weirdly fitting that he be the one to take it away. Although. She'd expected him to look a lot happier about it.

“Firefighter Wilson.”

“Captain Gerrard.”

“Is it true that on the evening of April 6 2024 to the morning of April 7 2024 you aided and abetted the appropriation of city resources including but not limited to rostered firefighters, radar technology, and an LAFD helicopter to conduct an unauthorised rescue operation on the cruise ship Ocean Joy?”

“Yes.”

“Your friends tell me you masterminded the operation.”

Deep breaths, Wilson. You knew this was coming.

“It was my idea. The others, they were just helping me follow a hunch. I take full responsibility.”

Gerrard gives a loud, pointed sigh. She can't figure out if he's impressed or thinks she's bullshitting him. Maybe both.

“Some hunch,” he says.

She clenches her jaw as she watches the man come down from the tribunal table. He takes his time on his way to her and she tries to keep looking straight ahead, like it doesn't matter to her what intention is glistening behind those beady shark eyes. He's getting so close now that he could just about rip the badge straight off her chest. Is that what's about to happen? To nearly twenty years of her life? She braces herself. Holds her breath. Mustn't let him see her cry.

He holds out a piece of paper. She blinks down at it.

“What's this?”

Her knees are numb but hold her up somehow nonetheless as she takes the paper and unfolds it.

PROUD TO PRESENT – HENRIETTA WILSON – with the MEDAL OF VALOUR

“I...”

Am I dreaming?

She blinks. Stammers. Looks around.

“What??”

[kanerallels]

#33, 47, 74, and 99 for the 501st follower celebration?

I shall FINALLY answer this one, in honor of the Ahsoka show coming out in LESS THAN TWO HOURS I'M TOTALLY NORMAL AND STABLE (lie)

33: Hera & Lucy are famous singers and Tim, Jackson, and Kanan are their bodyguards Au. The title says it all. Plus also Nolan is their agent. Have a little snippet below:

“I still can’t believe Nolan got us BODYGUARDS,” Lucy complained, pacing as best she could in the enclosed space of Hera’s trailer. The other woman gave her a patiently amused look.

“In his defense, Lucy, we’ve both received plenty of death threats.”

“Yeah, well, this is invasive,” Lucy grumbled, flopping down onto the couch. “That Bradford guy is already the grumpiest drill sergeant of a guy I’ve ever met.”

“I didn’t think he was that bad.”

Scoffing, Lucy said, “How would you know? You were too busy flirting with your bodyguard with the ponytail.”

“I was not!” Shooting her an offended look, Hera said, “All I’m saying is that we should make the best of the situation.”

“You do that.” Frowning thoughtfully, Lucy said, “I, on the other hand, am going to try and get rid of them. Especially Bradford.”

“This should end well,” Hera sighed.

47: Frank gets Snapped. Also pretty self explanatory!

“So let me get this straight,” Frank said slowly, trying to wrap his mind around what he was being told. He was used to a world where things were, if not straightforward, at the very least no magic was involved. “This alien guy—”

“Thanos,” Amy provided as she poured them both a cup of coffee.

“Right, him. He snapped his fingers and erased half of humanity?”

Nodding, Amy said, “Pretty much. Well, it helped that he had these magic gems called Infinity Stones that controlled key aspects of the universe—”

Holding up a hand, Frank said, “Too much.”

“Right. Sorry.” Sliding him his coffee cup, she said, “Anyways, long story short, now you guys are back… after five years.”

Frank cursed under his breath, running a hand over his forehead. “Five years. What— who else? Besides me?”

He knew the first name that leapt to mind, but reluctantly pushed it aside to ask, “Curtis?”

“He was fine,” Amy assured him. “He was the first— well, second person I called when everything went down.” They both knew who the first person was. “He and I teamed up to look for some of the others. That’s how I met your friend David Lieberman.”

Frank’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. He was really helpful in finding everyone. He, uh— his wife got snapped. But both of his kids were fine.”

Wincing at the memory of Sarah— the kind woman who’d offered him that fancy wine— Frank said, “Got it. What about, ah, Madani?”

“She made it,” Amy assured him. “Mahoney didn’t, though.”

Nodding slowly, Frank said, “Right. And you found some of the others?”

“Yeah, David’s hacking skills made him pretty helpful. Other people hired him for it, too.” Amy half-grinned. “We thought we found you alive, one time. This guy hunting down crime lords. But Curtis figured you weren’t the sword type, and this guy, apparently, “didn’t move like you”, whatever that means.”

“Sword, huh?” Frank took a sip of his coffee. “Seems inefficient.”

“See, you say that, but he managed to kill a whole crap ton of guys. Major assassin skills going on there.”

“Huh. Not bad.” Frank took another long sip, playing for time before he asked the question. He was already scared of the answer. “What about, uh—”

“Karen made it,” Amy told him before he could force the words out. “She didn’t think you were sword guy either– although we were all a little disappointed. Her lawyer buddies didn’t make it, though.”

Frank grimaced at the thought— Karen alone, without Red or the shorter guy who’d been scared at the sight of him, but still stubborn and smart. She’d been alone for five whole years. She hadn’t known where he was for five whole years.

Time to fix that. Downing the rest of his coffee, he rose to his feet. “I gotta go.”

Smirking, Amy said, “I figured. Let me get my stuff— New York is a long drive.”

74: The Wraiths being trained by Vostress. I've posted this one before, but I have another snippet for you, as a treat!!

99: B99 Au. Believe it or not I actually have multiple Brooklyn 99 inspired aus. This one is set in the Star Wars universe and is MUCH chaos, very fun.

“So let me get this straight,” Fox said, staring at Kanan. “Not only did you lose the criminal Dark O’Reilly again—”

“Less lose and more he slipped out of our clutches,” Kanan offered.

“—but you spent part of the time that you should have used trying to thwart him to sing karaoke with him?”

Shrugging, Kanan said, “What can I say? He does an excellent “Don’t Stop Believin’.”

Fox let out a sigh, rubbing his forehead with a grimace. “How is someone as intelligent as Syndulla in love with you?”

Grinning, Kanan said, “I ask myself that question every day, Captain. Honestly, I’m so lucky to have her. She’s incredibly beautiful and smart and—”

“Get out of this office.”

“Absolutely.”

[flatbstanley]

From the personal website of Taylor Santoro (taylorgrace.com)

I am SO excited to be kicking off a new photography project: Thursday Evenings. Each month, we'll follow a different family as they go about their routine on an ordinary Thursday. I know that many moms spend their evenings just powering through all the things that need to be done—I’m guilty as charged! But the goal of this project is to show us the beauty that we can miss in these little moments.

I'm thrilled to be partnering with Schmapple for this series. Their appliances are a lifesaver when you're trying to get a quick and healthy dinner on the table. Be sure to use code TAYLOR at schmapple.com for 5% off your next order!

I took most of the photos in this series myself, but I wanted to start off by sharing a Thursday evening at my own house. These photos were taken by my immensely talented friend Ayla Newbury. Check out more of her work @.inkspirations.

For me, a smooth evening starts with the right preparation during the day. With five kids and three bathrooms, things can get a bit tight, so if the little ones need a bath, I try to do it while the older kids are in school. I typically prep dinner during their early afternoon naptime, but on this day, I had prepped the night before, so I got to enjoy an extra long and snuggly nap with Leo.

Gia and Ambrose have their music lessons after school on Thursdays, but Max got home right at 3. His classmate Lucas Munch came over to play, which kept him occupied until dinnertime.

With our varied schedules, family dinners are hard for us during the week. Leo and Zelie get an early meal, and the older kids eat between 5 and 6. (My sweet friend Kelly drives Gia and Ambrose home from music lessons, and they arrived at around 5:15.) Chickpea mac n' cheese is always a favorite with my kiddos!

Justin gets home from work around 7. He's pretty wiped out after a long day, so he usually eats in front of the TV while I oversee homework time and put Leo to bed. Ayla did get this sweet picture of him snuggling with Gia, though!

Justin is in charge of Zelie's bedtime story, but most nights she’s so sleepy that she'll just crawl into bed on her own. That was just as well for this night, since Justin was busy fixing a leak in one of our showers. It is such a blessing to have an engineer in the house—we never have to call a repairman!

All of our kids are in bed by 9, and that's when I enjoy some time to myself. After a late dinner (caprese—easy and healthy!), I like to do a little yoga to wind down. Justin spends this time in our garage/studio working on his podcast.

I absolutely loved seeing my kiddos' faces in these photos. Sometimes I feel like a drill sergeant rushing them from one part of the evening to another, but in so many of these photos I see pure joy. I am a little ashamed, though, that there was no prayer in any of these photos, which was something that Justin pointed out. He would like for us to pray at least a decade of the rosary each evening, preferably the whole thing. That's a goal we'll work towards!

Let me know what you thought of these photos! And check back next month for a Thursday evening with another family!

(A/N: Justin, if you want your family to pray the rosary so much, you could always do it yourself instead of watching TV and neglecting your kids...)

[brcbvnner]

"You know, you can still not do the whole wedding thing," Bruce teased as he approached the blond. The entire lead-up to the wedding has been nothing but stress-inducing with their wedding planner running from one place to the other, commanding everyone around like a drill sergeant. Which Bruce was fine with, as long as it wasn't directed at him, so he just did whatever she told him to do. Which was why he was now actually getting ready for the big day. "Here, let me fix that for you," he playfully swatted Johnny's hands away from his tie and started straightening it. "You're shaking like a mouse. And I'm the one supposed to be super stressed out," he teased. @j-stcrm

[prismaticfaery]

Secrets

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

Description: Soap had a feeling that you and Ghost were a thing. TW: Pregnancy!!

Rating: Everyone

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for like two weeks now, be gentle with me because I’ve never posted any of my writings online before. Let me know if you like it and I may write more Ghost x Reader! I have a whole slew of ideas for “Reader”!

(BG/N)= baby girl name/(BG/MN)= baby girl middle name

You had grown used to the smell of antiseptic and latex gloves, the nonstop wandering around the sterile and white hallways, the metallic smell of blood from wounds being stitched and gunshot wounds being treated. Sometimes there were even babies coming into the world, the jingle of a lullaby being played over the loudspeakers. Such was the life of a military hospital doctor.

Heaving a sigh, you pulled your cardigan around you and lifted yourself from your seated position behind your desk. Your last patient’s notes were finished and now it gave you a small moment to catch your breath and finally eat your lunch, until a knock on your door pulled you from your reprieve.

“Hey, your next patient is here, he needs clearance to go back to PT after the gunshot wound to the leg,” the blonde nurse poked her head through the crack of the door.

“Thank you, I’ll be there in a moment,” you sigh, grabbing your white coat from its position on your desk chair.

Fixing your hair after putting your coat on, you grabbed a pen from your desk and placed it into your coat pocket. Making your way down the hallway, you grab the clipboard from the blonde nurse, giving a quick knock on the door before entering. You stiffened when your eyes caught the attention of none other than John MacTavish— Soap, and Ghost, whose dark eyes watched your movement, his face obscured by his skull balaclava.

“Yeah I know, he can be pretty scary,” Soap heaved a breath as he relaxed on his hands and hunched his back on the examination table.

“Okay MacTavish, you know the drill, lift your pant leg,” you let out a breathy laugh, pulling on a small pair of sterile latex gloves.

Almost instantly, the pant leg of the brawny male was lifted up, revealing a neatly covered gunshot wound. Gingerly peeling the adhesive that framed the gauze, you could hear quiet hisses from the man as his leg hairs were being yanked. Once the gauze was off, you gave an audible noise, impressed at how well the wound was healing.

“It looks great, continue what you’re doing Sergeant. I’m approving you for your PT, but no missions quite yet, I would like to keep monitoring you weekly,” you looked over at Ghost, quickly handing him the signed paperwork for Soap’s PT approval, in which he nodded in thanks.

That gunshot wound had been a nasty one, nearly touching bone, but he was lucky enough that it hadn’t. A nasty infection could have landed him in much worse of a position.

As Soap placed the gauze back on his leg, pressing down on the adhesives, he grunted a thank you. As he straightened his back, he took a quick look down at you as your eyes scanned the clipboard, and then entered any notes or data into the computer that stood on the other side of the room.

“You’re about to pop, aren’t you, Doc?” Soap nodded to your swollen belly.

Ghost clearly stiffened at the question, seeming uncomfortable in his little corner of the room.

“Oh. Yeah, not much longer now,” you looked down, hardly able to see your feet as they were completely covered by your belly.

“A little girl, right?” You nodded, a shy smile creeping onto your face.

As the two soldiers started filing out of the room, you noticed that Ghost stopped at the door, waiting for you to come out before he left. How courteous, you thought as you neatly stacked your paperwork and files and held them to your chest. Ghost towered over you by well over a foot and his aura was dark and intimidating. His gloved hand reached out, palm resting on your cheek, and his thumb brushing against your temple. However, as soon as he felt your eyes settle on him, his cold glare became soft.

“Have you eaten yet?” His question was simple, but your breath caught in your throat, scared to answer with anything but a “yes”.

“I will once I’m done with Soap’s paperwork,” you can hear a sigh heaving from behind his balaclava.

“Please, as soon as you’re done. How are you feeling?” Ghost dropped his hand to his side, his eyes looking you up and down, your hand reaching out to grab his.

“Simon, I’m fine. Save for the sore feet and feeling like this baby is about to fall out at any given moment,” you give him a very assuring smile.

“L.T., you comin’?” The thick Scottish accent of Soap could be heard from the nurse’s station at the front.

Quickly releasing your hand from Ghost’s, you turn to make your way down to your office, stealing a glance to the side of you only to meet Soap’s confused and almost questioning gaze.

You and Simon were private with your home lives, and given Simon’s anonymity when you first met, you wanted to continue that for the sake of him. You two had chosen to never marry in order to keep prying eyes away. Even though Soap was trustworthy and had even seen Simon’s face, there were things you had decided to keep in the dark even with Simon’s growing friendship with Soap. Maybe even uttering a word of the baby’s gender in the past was too much and it had you biting your tongue now.

***

Soap had a suspicion about the doctor and Ghost for a while now. There were mornings that Ghost had to show up late due to unforeseen circumstances, and he’d never be in the mess hall for any of his meals, given that he had a residence on the base. Was it due to his relationship with the doctor? Of course he’d want to be a part of anything that had to do with the baby so that could be why he was late some mornings and here lately, it was once a week: doctor’s appointments to check on the baby. Yeah, it seemed logical.

But what really set off the alarms in his head, was when you had been out on maternity leave to finally have the baby. It was only hours after his appointment with you that your water had broken according to Captain Price, who had let Soap know that his next check up would be with a different doctor. Ghost stopped showing up to PT for nearly two weeks.

***

About a month later, your presence graced the office. Soap had shown his face again with fresh wounds that needed to be checked on. As he waited in the exam room, he could hear the nurse inform you of your “next patient”, to which you chuckle. Knocking and entering the room, you shut the door quietly and began pulling a pair of gloves on.

“MacTavish, aren’t you sick of this place yet?”

“Nah, I could never be. Looking good, by the way. You lose weight?” MacTavish motioned his arms to make a fake belly, a goofy smile forming on his face.

“A whole six pound baby,” you laugh as you begin examining the gash on the man’s eyebrow, “this is going to need stitches.”

After calling a nurse in to stitch up Soap, you began entering notes on the computer. It was mind blowing how many visit notes you had to scroll past in order to fill in this visit’s notes for the bulky male. Completely accident prone, this one. As you wrapped everything up and the nurse cleaned up and made her way out, you handed a care sheet on stitches to the injured male, who in turn folded it up and stuck it in his cargo pants. You pulled a pen from your white coat, clicking it and writing down on a prescription pad. Soap probably didn’t need painkillers but after the lidocaine shot around the stitches wore off, he would definitely be sore.

You didn’t realize that as you pulled the pen from your pocket, a picture of your newborn baby girl had dropped to the floor. Of course Soap noticed this, but you had already left the room. As he got up and bent down to pick the picture up, he smiled. Your tiny newborn was bundled up in a swaddle blanket, with a pink knitted hat on her head while she soundly snoozed inside a hospital bassinet. There was a small black announcement board with the date of the baby’s birth, her height, and weight. In pretty script on the top of the board was the baby’s name:

(BG/N) (BG/MN) Riley.