#lieutenant-shine

[utterhomestucktrash]

Fuck, marry, kill: waterbed, shag carpet, conversation pit

Scared of water beds !! What if I drown or I fall in the plastic and suffocate !

[sentiadrien]

Ok request, the second half of our double date outfit swaps and swap juleka’s and marinette’s looks

Outfit swap for Marinette and Juleka !! They are so dramatically different 😭😭😭

[temporalteardrop]

"Why are people calling you hot on tumblr" Maybe it's cause you're HOT? Dunebugs get a grip fr Also licherally call rose a genius like everyday, I can't be the only one.

fight fight fight @dunebugs

[shining-seal]

💖✨😌💫

[fooltomery]

android?

[tereox]

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Original Clone Trooper Character(s) & Original Clone Trooper Character(s) (Star Wars), Shine & Tob, Biscuit & Shade Characters: Clone Trooper Shade, Clone Lieutenant Shine, Clone Sergeant Tob, Clone Medic Biscuit, Clone CMO Dan, Clone Sergeant Flicker, Original Clone Trooper Character(s) (Star Wars) Additional Tags: Blood and Injury, Semi-graphic depiction of violence, Panic Attacks, Flashbacks, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, cause I need it, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nonbinary Clone Troopers (Star Wars), Depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Selectively Mute Character, Triggers, Anxiety, Betrayal, Bonding, Clone Troopers as Brothers (Star Wars), Clone Troopers Deserve Better (Star Wars), Clone Trooper-centric (Star Wars) Summary:

Shade drifts. Bad days should be reported to the medbay, but it wasn't like they had reported the last couple bad days. Surely it wouldn't be too big of a problem. And if it was? It wasn't like they really cared either way.

[readwritealldayallnight]

(part of the ‘Wife at First Sight Series’)

For the first time in a long time, Simon feels as if he’s walking on eggshells

He’s 6’4”, easily over 200 pounds of bulking muscle, strikes fear into the heart of each and every enemy he comes across (should they live to tell the tale that is), and yet he feels as though he’s tiptoeing, practically dancing around the issue he refuses to address

Yet you make him feel this way

It’s been months now, of this dance you still haven’t realized you’re apart of, shining on centre stage under the constant spotlight of Simon Riley’s attention, rather than one of the background performers as you seem to believe

He feels as though he’s done everything he can to get the point across to you, other than literally getting down on one knee and asking you those four special words he can’t seem to get himself to speak out loud

As easy as it is to pretend you two truly are husband and wife ‘til death do you part, he’s instead having to watch you leave base in exchange for your lonely flat each night, reminded of the fact that he’s not ballsy enough to just come out and say it to you

You make the Lieutenant nervous for fucks sake, something he hasn’t truly felt in so long he’s grasping for straws, searching for a life raft in these uncharted waters to help him stay afloat

That’s part of why he’s so confused when Gaz finally joins him and Soap in the gun range, landing a friendly smack across the taller man’s broad shoulders, saying something about how he’s ‘really happy for you LT, finally properly asked her, aye?’

“What are you goin’ on about?” Ghost practically grunts out, readjusting the weapon against his shoulder as he glances through the scope of his gun, only partly interested in what the Sergeants answer is, that is until he hears him mention your name

“Just saw her at her desk, talkin’ about how she has a wedding this weekend-” Gaz has barely finished his sentence before Ghost is whipping his skull clad head around, shoving his weapon into Soap’s arms, and beelining out of the armoury towards you, leaving a pair of chuckling Sergeants behind him

They’ve never seen their Lieutenant so whipped before. And the fact that you don’t even know you have this beast of a man wrapped around your dainty little finger makes it all the more entertaining for them

They totally haven’t taken bets on how long it takes for him to break and finally confess his feelings, and Price definitely didn’t put money down on it either

Ghost may as well float into the room on a cloud he’s feeling so overjoyed at the idea of finding you sat at your desk all pretty, chit chatting away with colleagues about the wedding you’ve finally realized he intends to give you, taking all the pressure off of him

Instead, he rounds the corner and overhears the last tidbits of your conversation, pretending as though his stomach doesn’t drop out of him and onto the floor when he realizes you’re telling your desk mate about your sisters wedding this weekend

He should’ve know better, it wouldn’t be that easy

“-not that I’m embarrassed to go without someone. That I don’t care so much about.” He hears you explain, failing to have noticed him behind you quite yet. “God knows it’s been ages since I’ve gone on an actual date anyways. But this is the first time I’m a bridesmaid, and my sister keeps saying I’m apparently the only bridesmaid without a date-”

“Well aren’t you going to bring your husband?” Your colleague asks, cutting you off. Just like everyone else on base, she knows thinks you are in fact Mrs Riley, for all intents and purposes. You open your mouth to correct her and tell her you don’t have a husband, when a deep voice comes up behind you and speaks first.

“‘Course she is.” Ghost replies for you, coming to stand behind you in your chair, sneaking a gloved hand onto your shoulder to offer a slight squeeze of acknowledgment. You lean your head back to glance up at him, offering a soft smile that melts his heart more and more each time he’s lucky enough to see it, to be the reason for it. Sensing she’s now the odd one out, your coworker quietly excuses herself and goes to find someone else to talk water cooler gossip with.

“Oh Ghost! Hi!” You say, reaching your own hand up to squeeze his in return, smile widening when you notice the crinkles next to his eyes that you hope mean he’s smiling as well under the mask. “Oh, you really don’t have to. I mean- I wouldn’t want you to waste a day off just to sit through a stranger’s wedding for who knows how many hours. I barely want to go.”

You try to joke about it, but this really has been causing you unnecessary stress. Your sister apparently doesn’t have enough wedding planning on her plate as it is, seeing as she has enough time to constantly pester you about whether you’ve secured a date yet or not, despite your answer always being no. She knows it’s been forever since you’ve dated anyone seriously, and that finding a date will be more of a chore than showing up without one and enduring your relative comments and questions.

Each time you told her no though, your mind wandered to the tall, dark, muscular man who liked to call himself your husband, imagining the looks on your family’s face if you were to show up with Ghost on your arm. But you never bothered to ask him, not wanting to force him into extending his kindness and charade of a happily married couple outside of work hours.

“I’d be with you for those ‘who knows how many hours?’” Ghost asks, quoting you, watching as you offer him a simple nod in return. “Then that’s the farthest thing from a waste o’ time in my books, love.”

As simple as that, the plan was set. Ghost would be your date to the wedding that weekend.

Now, Ghost was used to not having very much to look forward to in life. He could look forward to a hot shower occasionally, look forward to good pub food instead of mess hall dinners, look forward to a chance to sleep in a little later, simpler things of the sort.

But when you came into his life, he was suddenly looking forward to equally simple, but different things. He looked forward to reading your cute replies to his good morning and good night texts (he still never misses a single one, all these months later), looked forward to seeing your sweet smile greeting him when you arrived to work, looked forward to hearing your pleased hum when you took your first sip of whatever drink he prepared you that day. Essentially, he looked forward to seeing you.

Now though, he feels as if this weekend cannot come soon enough, finding himself practically giddy he’s looking forward to spending more time with you off base so much, feeling like a kid who’s itching to get their hands on their new Christmas gifts.

When he arrives at your flat almost a half hour too early (he just couldn’t wait anymore lovie, you can’t blame the poor man), and you open the door to greet him, he doesn’t think it’s fair to compare this to a gift under the Christmas tree.

No. It’s more like he’s won the goddamn lottery.

Standing before him, is the most beautiful, breathtaking vision he’s ever laid eyes upon in all his years. He half wonders if his knees are legitimately beginning to wobble where he stands, he feels so weak in the knees as he gazes upon you in your doorway. It’s still just you, the same woman he’s been seeing every day and dreaming of each night.

But you don’t look like you have every day these past months. Your hair is styled differently, your make up is a little more done up, and the thing that’s really got his mind reeling, is that instead of your regular work attire, you’re wearing a dress so stunning he half wonders whether or not you are the bride this evening. There’s no possible way someone so beautiful is expected to stand on the sidelines tonight, expected to be anyone apart from the star of the show, the centre of his the world.

You don’t take much notice of the way Ghost fails to greet you properly, standing outside your door and practically gawking at you, seeing as you’re preoccupied doing the same to him. His usual fatigues and black everything have been swapped out for black dress pants, a white button up shirt (your eyes definitely do not linger on the top three buttons being left undone, nope, not at all) and a black blazer, matching black surgical mask in exchange for the typical skeleton mask.

You two blushing, bumbling idiots in secret love manage to pull yourselves together enough to make the drive up to the venue, the car ride filled with laughter, stories, and too many stolen glances to count, each of you wishing you could pull the car over somewhere and jump each others bones instead.

At the venue, you go through the obligatory introductions with your family, simply so they couldn’t say you didn’t say hello at least once throughout the busy night, only partially intent on ignoring them later on. They’re left understandably stunned at the mention that the man beside you is your husband, and when your family members begin unloading question after question, the two of you manage to find a quick excuse each time to dash off, giggling and holding onto the other as you weave the growing crowd of guests, all too proud of your little inside joke.

You regretfully tell him that you’ll have to leave him to sit alone throughout the ceremony, though he insists you shouldn’t worry about it, lifting your spirits momentarily when he jokes that you should focus more on not tripping during your walk down the aisle, before the both of you are left bright red in the face at hearing him talking about you walking down an aisle, as if you don’t pretend to be married every day to begin with.

He truly doesn’t mind having to sit on the tiny foldable chairs that make up the seating for the ceremony, it’s only a small portion of the evening after all. And besides, his eyes certainly aren’t on the couple reciting their vows up at the altar. No, his gaze is on one person and one person only. From the moment the music kicked in and pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen stepped out to walk the aisle in their matching attire and matching smiles, his eyes have been locked on you, just as yours have been locked on his.

His size certainly helped you pick him out of the crowd with more ease, finding him amongst the familiar and unfamiliar faces instantly, as though gravity was pulling your gaze in his direction alone. Later on, neither of you could even correctly point out amongst the groomsmen whose arm you were holding on to as you walked, attention only focused on each other.

Even as you stood up front, listening to your sister and new brother in law profess their love for the other, you tried your best to appear as though you were paying them your full attention, considering you were standing up at the front and all. But it was as though you could literally feel Ghost’s eyes on you the entire ceremony, unable to stop your eyes from straying towards him more times than was surely appropriate, feeling the heat of a blush creep over your cheeks every time you saw how devastatingly handsome he was today.

By the time the newlyweds are marching back down the aisle past their cheering loved ones, wedding party in tow, your eyes are no longer pretending to look anywhere other than at him. And Simon is looking back at you, but his mind is growing preoccupied, thinking of how he can finally ensure you’ll let him walk you down the aisle now.

Because in the glove compartment of the very car he drove you up here in, only inches away from your knees the entire drive, he’s tucked away a small little box, containing the exact ring you chose from the jeweller all those weeks ago. He carries it with him everywhere, eager for the moment, the opportunity to be lucky enough to truly call himself your husband and slip the band over your finger as his wife.

And he’s decided that tonight is the night he tells you.

The night he tells you this has never been a joke to him, never been anything apart from what he really wants to be true from the moment he saw you.

To call you his wife.

[konigsblog]

Older-boyfriend!Simon Riley who loves to train his younger girlfriend.

Simon has a lot of experience beneath his belt, especially in comparison to you. It's in his nature as a lieutenant to be authoritative, to train his recruits to become the best version of themselves. He'll teach you how to suck him off properly, in a pleasing and satisfying way. He'll throat train you prior, with one large hand pressing down on your neck, feeling as he bulges out of your tight throat. He adores the sound of your laborious breathing and the desperation in your gasps, the way you drool around his girthy, wide length and slobber all over his full, heavy balls when you drag your warm and slick tongue down the underside of his hung cock.

He'll guide your head, showing you the perfect rhythm and pace, and what to do with your hands while sucking him off. He'll teach you to fondle his tight balls, massaging them as his drooling dick twitches and pulsates against your tongue at your skilled actions. He'll intrude down your throat, pushing you past your limit while looking deep into your shining eyes. He gently bucks his well-built hips skyward into your mouth, toying with your gag reflex to then praise you for managing another inch.

“That’s it– you listen so fuckin’ well, don’t‘cha? My good girl, too eager.”

Simon will teach you how to take him fully without any struggle. He'll push your head into the softness of the plush, cushioned mattress while tenderly rutting against your coated folds, teasing your tight and spongy entrance with the creamy head of his large cock. His dick swells inside of your velvety walls, painting them with his pearly white release. His hands reside on the small of your back and waist, fingernails leaving indents along your soft, supple skin as he pushes his meaty cock deeper into your hole with each hard thrust.

He'll train you to become the perfect cock sleeve, rewarding you for each achievement by eating you out.

[miserycanary]

DEFINITELY NUTS ᡣ𐭩 ⤷ next

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & model!fem!reader

synopsis: Ghost mentions you but 141 doesn't believe that he got a wife

tags: crack (well, attempted), fluff

Ghost’s strict rules for privacy are something the 141 has known for years now. He’s not the type of person to blab about his personal life and often chooses just to keep quiet. So, imagine their surprise when he suddenly says that he’s going to take a day off because his wife asked him to watch a play. 

“Price, ‘am not gonna be here tomorrow. Got a date with my missus.”

All eyes are on him, everyone stills. “WIFE? Since when?!” Soap exclaimed, finally breaking the silence. His eyes were almost bulging out his eyes. “Never told you about her?” Ghost hums, unamused by the Scottish’s exclaim. “Johnny here does have a reasonable reaction. You never tell us anything ‘bout you, mate,” Price joined, chuckling and pulling out a cigar. The man just contemplates before brushing it off and bidding farewell, leaving the group confused. 

“Ain’t no way he’s telling us the truth. That man ain’t got no bone in his body to bag someone,” Soap voiced out, looking for anyone to support his disbelief. “I mean..” Gaz whistles out, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head as if he’s agreeing to some extent. That’s when, unbeknownst to Ghost, he got the reputation of being delusional and a liar. 

Soap, still doubtful days later, watches the lieutenant with a vision like a hawk. “Hey, lieutenant.” Ghost snaps his head up, looking at him. “How was the date with your wife?” Immediately, everyone else stopped what they were doing, silently listening. It was obvious he was baiting Ghost, emphasizing the wife as if putting on quotes. They weren’t as nosy as Soap but each one of them still held a bit of doubtness that the brick wall of the team managed to get a girl, and even marry her.

“It was okay. The missus had fun,” Ghost chuckles, fondly remembering how you were beaming on the way, rambling about the plot of the play. “Can we see pictures?” Soap smirked thinking he finally got the lieutenant but was taken aback when Ghost only shrugged and pulled out his phone before freezing. “Ah, we didn’t take pictures yesterday. Said she wanted to live in the moment.” 

Soap whipped his head to signal to Gaz, seemingly saying ‘See? He’s definitely lying! How convenient he has no pictures.” 

“How about just a picture of your wife?” Kyle suggested, now invested while Price seemed to be shaking his head in the corner. “I have none with me but..” With a few clicks, Ghost holds up his phone for everyone to see. Like birds, everyone flocked around him, curious to see. For a while, everyone was surprised and sure the man was lying. I mean, he just showed them a picture of a drop-dead gorgeous model from a magazine! 

‘He's definitely lost it’ everyone seemed to think, offering pity glances at the man who had this prideful shine in his eyes. Walking up to his superior, Soap patted him on the back. “It’s fine, mate… we understand how difficult it must be.” ‘not having a lady at all’

Thinking Johnny meant about your hectic schedule, he agreed. “It’s quite tough but we make it work,” he chuckled which made everyone wince.

‘Definitely nuts!’

Weeks passed after that and the topic never got brought up, until Ghost came in with a bento in hand covered with a handkerchief with frilly ends. When asked about it, he replied, “Ah, wife’s testing out recipes for an upcoming TV show. ‘S been practicing and asked me to bring one.” Once again, he was given pity glances and even heard a defeated sigh from Soap. 

‘He’s too far gone’

“How’s work?” you ask, dazedly paying attention to the movie you guys put, more invested in burying your face in Simon’s chest while he drapes both arms on your waist, completely engulfing your torso under his muscles. “Been getting a few weird stares,” he mumbles, playing with your hair and pressing kisses on your forehead. “Why?” you peer up, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I don’ know, princess.”

Meanwhile…

“Should we just… finally set the lieutenant on a date? I feel bad. I mean, he even lied about his “wife” making him lunch,” Johnny sighed.

“Probably the best idea,” Kyle nodded.

Now Price… he knows the truth. He met you before when you dropped by, asking for Ghost— which ended horribly— but he’ll lying if he said he’s not getting a kick out of this.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: probably won't be posting for a while :] Did you guys notice the hint to my previous work? Please do. 😔

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[ghouljams]

That AU where Princess Reader kills herself because of her broken heart then gets reincarnated many many years later and gets to see her Ghost but now he’s a Lieutenant in the SAS and Reader is probably someone wealthy and in need of having a bodyguard.

Dreamily sighhhhhhhhhhhhhhs

The cycle continues, except this time Reader will not lose her Ghost again.

(I’m a sucker for reincarnation where only one remembers. The angst Ghost would feel if he was the one that remembered would be top tier too ughhhhhhhh I need to start writing againnnnnnnn)

Ghost sees you across the bar and knows you're meant for more than this. Meant for stone floors and sconces, for ivory towers and colorful banners, for satin slippers and floor length gowns, a crown on your head and tears staining your face. You shine like a beacon in the dimly lit pub, your smile like sunshine pulling at a long inescapable darkness, drawing him in like a moth to a flame before he can take a moment to stop himself. Something about the way your eyes find his makes him feel... unworthy.

You don't drink. The knowledge comes to him unbidden and true, despite the tall glass in your hand.

Your skirt is short, and there's a strange guilt that eats at him when his eyes drag over the bare skin of your thighs. Something else twists in his stomach, aches in his fingertips to touch such unfamiliar territory, to feel the softness of your skin just once.

A subtle sparkle against your chest, delicate jewelry that betrays your wealth to no one but Ghost. The kind of girl he could never hope to sink his teeth into, and yet all he wants to do is bury his face between your tits and lick the diamonds off them.

You blink up at him as suddenly as he finds himself in front of you, your lips parted around the end of an unfinished sentence. Your hair halos you just like he remembers, and suddenly a hundred faces flutter through his mind, gentle as the wings of butterflies and all of them you. Always you.

"Buy ya a drink." Simon offers.

"Oh," You glance at your glass, "it's just sparkling water and lime." You look back at him and he wants nothing more than to sweep you up and kiss you like you deserve, "I don't drink."

I know, Simon wants to say, I know you in every small way that doesn't matter, that's never mattered, and I've loved you in all the big ways that never came to pass.

"Dinner then," He asks instead.

"Alright," You agree with a smile.

This time. This time he'll get it right.

[lostintransist]

Secrets Are For Grown Ups

I am demanding my smooches now.

@beloveds-embrace @cherrycosmos392 @mxtallymarks @love-kha1

CW: Asshole Simon and Johnny using you for sex instead of each other. Calling out someone else's name during sex. Pregnancy mentioned. Death of a spouse mentioned.

Simon slipped. Well. Simon slipped first. Johnny slipped up too. They ruined you, tugging you between them instead of reaching out for the other. You couldn’t fathom them caring. Even now.

If they cared about you they wouldn’t have touched you. You had been twenty-four and still so young. God, you were thirty now and still felt like you didn’t have a handle on life. Johnny had been twenty-nine and Simon thirty-three. Old enough to know better. At least to know better than you.

A series of coincidences led you to a one-year work visa and as an American transfer under the 141 task force. You handled paperwork mostly, and whatever didn’t involve paperwork meant dealing with your counterparts back in DC. You keep slightly funny hours to stay working on Washington time but that wasn’t unusual for anyone else who shared your building. The lights stayed at a low dim all day and night because three pm and three am felt a lot alike when rolling in off a job.

You were a nodding professional with Captain Price, Lieutenant Sanderson, and Sergeant Garrick. Sergeant MacTavish flirted with you. You accepted it with a wary eye and a cool confirmation of what he meant each time. Lieutenant Riley watched. He never spoke to you unless he needed something until the night in the bar. Six months had elapsed on your visa when Gaz, as he had asked you to call him, invited you to the bar with everyone. Seeing no reason to not say yes you had gone.

Off base and with a little buzz in your veins you let Johnny flirt. He insisted on his first name as he sidled up close to you halfway through your first drink. You’d always been wary of Johnny’s flirting. He’s attractive with all the muscles he maintains for work, the air of danger that lingers around him like cologne, and that barely visible scar near his lip. Problem is he knows it. Or at least he knows people react to him with pretty privilege. He makes you laugh. You don’t know why it surprises you, of course, he had to have a good sense of humor to deal with his job.

Lieutenant Riley was watching again. The prickling of your senses that tells you a predator is watching is what gave it away. Staying at the bar smiling at Johnny seemed safer until you had to pee. Passing your cup to the bartender with a quick ‘I’m done with this’ you excuse yourself from the bar and wend your way around the nearly touching tables to find the bathroom.

The narrow wood-paneled hallway had a single bulb shining down on you from a sconce high on the wall. Taking the time to dry your hands completely you pause when you see that the hallway has gone dark. Diffusing light from the main room reaches only so far into the darkness. Scanning you see nothing out of the ordinary and let the crack of light from the bathroom disappear as the door settles closed.

Running the tips of your fingers over the wall, the bumps telling the tales of so many decades of drunken bathroom trips, you touch something that is made of steel and flesh. Jumping back with a squeak you search with your gaze for anything.

“Why does Johnny like you?”

Riley. You let out the breath you had been holding. It’s Lieutenant Riley, not someone who would hurt you.

“You know sir I have no idea. Do you know?” You aimed your voice up.

“I might have an idea.” He surprises you with a touch to your neck. Trailing up to your jaw before dry lips brush against yours.

Stepping back you gave a startled exclamation.

“Ah…uh..Excuse me, Lieutenant, I think I need to go home.”

Skirting around him you flee like a hare that caught the sense of a hawk in the sky. When you retrieve your purse from the chair next to Johnny you find a beautiful woman draped across it talking him up.

“Sorry, I just need my bag,” you said drawing both of their attention to you.

“Ah, bonnie,” Johnny started sadly, “Heading out so soon?”

“Yeah um,” you scratch the back of your head, low near your hairline. “I need to head home.”

Standing he ignored the woman flirting with him entirely.

“Let me walk you home?” He steps too close to you but the body in a chair directly behind your ass keeps you from moving for more space.

Glancing to the storm brewing in the woman’s face you try and redirect him.

“I mean you looked like you were having such a good conversation I’m gonna go wait for a cab. Thank you for the offer though. I will see you at the office tomorrow.” With that you scooted past, unsure how you felt about the full body contact required.

Okay, well your lady bits knew exactly how they felt about it but you as a person? You were unsure. It felt like you had been dropped into a game that you didn’t know the rules of. It continued on like that, them pushing you and breaking your boundaries down one touch at a time until Simon pounded into you from behind in a supply closet. You crept closer to that temporary oblivion when Simon slipped.

A guttural moan washed over your back, Simon’s fingers tightening down on your hips.

“Johnny, oh Johnny!” He came then with Johnny’s name on his lips.

Any chance of an orgasm on your end dried up like a puddle on concrete in direct sun. Simon didn’t notice, pulling out and cleaning up the mess he had made of you before pulling you up and then your underwear. He gave your ass a light tap and planted a kiss at your temple before leaving you to the scent of cleaning supplies.

You worked the day in the eye of a storm. Mentally reaching out to touch your emotions you found only a torrent of fast-moving thoughts and feelings. You made it to your flat before the pressure of the eye wall faulted, crushing you under its weight. The next week you had a hard time eating, focusing, and doing anything outside of work really. Work had you hyper-vigilant always on watch for the spooky silent lieutenant that might try to pull you into a dark room. You didn’t think you could survive another encounter with Johnny’s name on his lips.

Oddly enough Johnny noticed the distress you seemed to be under and took to feeding you. He dropped off a snack at your desk every day and chatted with/at you until you ate it all before disappearing into the bowels of the building again. Three weeks after the Simon incident as you had taken to calling it in your head Johnny had pulled the same shit.

Flat on your back, knees nearly touching your ears he rammed into you. Pleasure crested for you as he could no longer hold on.

“Simon,” the breathy whisper betrayed him. He must have thought you to far gone in your orgasm to hear him.

They had to be fucking kidding you.

Would it hurt less if they were kidding you?

How the hell were you supposed to deal with this happening to you twice?

Johnny pulled out and flopped face down on his bed beside you.

Sitting up slowly you lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna use the hall bathroom to go pee. I’ll probably be a minute.”

He grunts his acknowledgment and you set your exit strategy into action. Johnny knew you preferred to put your clothes back on for cuddles if you left the bed for any reason. Grabbing up all of your items you stepped from his bedroom hugging your clothes so tight the zipper of your jeans bit into the side of your breast. Peeing and washing your hands you dressed.

Stepping from the bathroom you called down the hall to Johnny.

“Do you have any cheese or nuts?”

“In the cabinet or the fridge,” came his return call.

Good. He wouldn’t think some odd sounds coming from this direction odd then. Tying your shoes on you open and shut a couple of cupboards and the fridge before rattling the dishes in the dishwasher grabbing your purse and leaving his flat.

Johnny didn’t come after you if he noticed your absence. Arriving home you noted the time. It was four pm on a Friday, Captain Price would still be at the office doing paperwork.

You called him as you started packing.

“Price.”

“Hi, Captain. I am just calling to let you know there has been a family emergency back home and I will be hopping on a plane tonight. I don’t know when this will be resolved. Can you send me any paperwork that I will need to complete so my work visa will close out as it should?”

“I’m sorry to hear about the family emergency, you let me know if you need anything. Your contract will run its course, including the agreed-upon pay, and conclude the day before your visa expires. The only thing you will need to worry about is talking to an accountant out here to figure out your share of taxes to be paid.”

Captain Price had always been like that with you, straightforward and honest. Unlike his men.

“That sounds reasonable and doable. If you have a recommendation of a firm I can reach out to that would be immensely helpful,” you stare at your shoe options, deciding which ones to leave behind since your bag was getting too full with the haphazard way you filled it.

“I don’t have one off the top of my head but I will ask around. Will this number still work?”

“No, this is a UK number that will probably stop working somewhere over the Atlantic. Can you send the info to my work email? I will be able to access that until my visa expires right?”

“That is correct. I will send it there. Safe travels and thank you for all of your hard work with us.”

“Of course, and thank you for being a good captain and a good man to work with.” You ended the call before he could think to question the sentence.

A call to the cab company came next. With the car ordered you left a voicemail for your landlord telling him the same information, family emergency feel free to rent the flat out now. It was a furnished option so nothing here that held an emotional attachment would fit in your suitcase.

The only thing you left behind was a framed photo of you standing with all the guys at a party face down on the table. Anything else you weren’t taking got bagged and sent to the bins.

You cried at the airport, and on the plane, and waiting for your sibling to come and save you from the airport. Telling someone that you had been coming would have been smart, but the only goal was to escape. When they arrived Ash gave you the biggest hug which started your crying all over again. You stayed with them and their partner as you tried to piece your life back together.

Taking the month you still received pay from England you walked the trails of the mountains you called home. They brought you so much peace, like hiding in the skirts of a trusted mother. When you reestablished care with your midwives you found out that your arm implant birth control needed changing, it was overdue. Standard procedure for a well-woman check included peeing in a cup.

“Are you aware that you are pregnant?”

The thin nurse midwife with wrinkles, a long dusty brown braid, and beaded necklaces ringing her neck looked at you from the computer. You must have gone white as a sheet because she reacted by having you lay on the floor, elevating your feet, and calling for assistance. Your uterus had been achy. That’s why you scheduled the appointment.

Pregnant? You weren’t nauseous or overly emotional, only a little tired and achy. This was nothing like being pregnant on TV.

Fuck. That meant Johnny or Simon had to be the father.

Did you even want to keep this pregnancy?

Another nurse with a kind face joined you and your nurse in the room, dragging in a portable ultrasound machine.

“Hi dear, this is a bit of standard procedure. There are a few reasons that a pregnancy test can pop positive. We want to rule out some of the harder-to-care-for options. Do you think we can help you stand and get on the bed?”

At your nod the nice nurses helped you to your feet and held on as you climbed onto the bed, laying back. They had you move your shirt and your pants and undies until the top of your pubes were visible. A grainy image appeared on the screen as the nurse glided the probe to and fro in the slimy gel.

“Alright, this here,” she pointed to a roundish object, “is your left ovary. That looks good. This will help me find your uterus.”

She slid down pressing slightly harder into you.

“Here is your uterus and there looks like one, two little embryos.” She pointed with her finger at each little dot.

“Twins?” you whisper, shocked and aghast.

“That’s what it looks like but things this early can change.” She slid the wand further, “Since we are here I am going to check out your right ovary as well and then we will get you cleaned up and discuss your options.”

The options included waiting, keeping, or a self-managed abortion which included a few prescriptions. They gave you a page of information for each option and sent you on your way with a follow-up appointment scheduled for a few weeks.

In shock, you called your best friend first. Larsen had become your best friend in the second grade and you two had stuck it out through thick and thin.

You told him everything. The entire story. No one else knew everything that had happened. Now Larsen did.

He offered to marry you.

You knew he was good for it. Larsen had never fallen in love, found the idea repulsive. The love you and he held for each other was deep and special, but not romantic. Marriage to Larsen would provide safety and stability, and the ability to change your name before Johnny or Simon could think to look for you. Even if you lost the pregnancy Larsen would be the best roommate and friend you could think of sharing this journey with.

“Yes, but let’s talk this over at dinner.”

The wedding had been a week later in front of a judge, with Ash as your witness and his mother as his.

Larsen never pressured you to make a decision about your pregnancy, simply talked through each option with you again and again until you decided you wanted to keep this gift. Simon and Johnny might have treated you as if they were evil but at least you stole something good from them in the process.

You had two boys growing inside you. To the growing delight of the specialty pregnancy team, you were a rare case of two separate fertilization babies. Distinct sacks and placentas meant two independent babies. Baby A was three weeks further in growth and development than baby B. This idea was confirmed when both boys arrived and looked nothing alike even covered in vernix.

Larsen had chuckled and chided the nurses in the halls for the odd looks you and the boys got. You had five amazing years with Larsen before he died of an aneurysm at work. He left you with a boatload of life insurance and two four-year-old boys who had just lost the only father they had ever known.

The boys knew Larsen didn’t help create them but they were so small it didn’t matter. He was their dad. The first thing you did after picking yourself up off the hospital chair was call and set up therapy for yourself and the boys. You would all need it.

Another two years passed, the boys started kindergarten and you started a cake decorating business from the house Larsen had bought you. You had paid it off with a portion of his death benefits. Everything was looking up. Despite the boys sometimes looking exactly like their genetic fathers, they were the most amazing thing in your life. Life was looking up until the house the bus stopped at went up for sale. Your neighbors mentioned an attractive-looking gay couple bought it and wouldn’t you know they had the best accents? One rang of rainy England and the other of Scotland. They were retired military and were excited for the change of pace this life would bring.

Nope, had to be a coincidence. Couldn’t be them. Why would they move to the States? Why your state of all places? No. Couldn’t be Simon and Johnny, you were still safe from their reach.

Except you weren’t.

They followed the boys home one day from the bus, shocked at seeing a child who looked so much like themselves. When you opened the door, royal icing dried to your cheek, you blanched and slammed the door shut slamming the deadbolt home.

The men that haunted your therapy sessions and the aches of your heart had found you. You and their boys.

Part 2

Masterlist | Secrets Masterlist

[utterhomestucktrash]

What would you say if I capitalized on your homestuck nostalgia and asked for more scene homestuck gurlz?

Go ahead!! Which ones ? (Not vriska) Hehe

[sweetheartbitesb4ck]

this is part one || part two || part three || part four || part five

Simon 'Ghost' Riley, who always kept such a stoic, emotionless facade, couldn't help but feel drawn in when he walked past your house.

Your windows were wide open, so the loud music crept out into the street as you danced around the kitchen, belting out lyrics along to the song. Simon paused as he noticed, a huff of laughter escaping from him as a smile crept over his masked face.

Stepping forward slightly, the Lieutenant craned his neck to peer through the window, his eyebrows furrowing with amusement as you jig around to the song, your singing muffled as you bend down to put a tray in the oven.

"Not too bad," Simon mutters to himself, referring to your singing. After a moment, he snaps out of his intrigued gaze, realising how creepy he probably looked, also realising, despite these unfamiliar feelings, how different he was to this person he'd never even spoken too, like a slab of concreate being best friends with a rainbow.

He carries on walking, shaking his head as if to shake the 'sense' back into himself, however he just couldn't get rid of that slightly fluttery feeling in the base of his belly. Ghost was used to being able to walk through life not feeling anything for anyone, partly because of his rough childhood and mostly because of the mannerisms gained from his line of work. Yeah, you hadn't had a great experience growing up either, but you were so open. Simon almost found it... refreshing?

Even at work he couldn't get rid of that lingering feeling. In the mess room, it was obvious. Simon was always... grumpy, to say the least, but today he wasn't even getting angry at MacTavish when he was being annoying, which was a clear indicator something was off.

Soap stops messing around, his grin shrinking to some degree. "Alright, LT?" he inquires, tilting his head slightly. Ghost grunts, scowling through his mask. Gaz looks over, nodding in agreement at Johnny. "Yeah, to be fair you seem off Simon."

Simon turns to Soap, then Kyle, his eyes dark. "Stop fucking pestering." He says bluntly, voice deep and gravelly.

Later, (in the pub, obviously) Simon was still quiet, sulking over his drink.

"I say we buy him some more booze and get him to spill," Soap whispers to Kyle, eyebrows raised smugly like some evil genius devising a master plan. "Yeah he's being weird." Garrick responds a little to loudly, and Ghost's neck pretty much snaps round. He looks the two up and down before returning to his drink. "Aye the blokes very crabbit." MacTavish mutters, rolling his eyes.

After Kyle and John had made poor Simon tipsy from countlessly thrusting more and more drinks before him, they started to question him. "Why so silent?" Garrick's eyes flick to Johnnies, as if to ask for approval for the question. Soap grins and nods, watching as Simon slams down down his fists on the table, leaning backwards in his chair.

"There's this girl," He mutters, shaking his head as both Gaz and Soap sit up, leaning in. "A lass, aye?" MacTavish squints, smirking at Simon. "Where'd you meet?"

"We haven't- I mean, I saw her through her window..." Simon grumbles, adjusting his skull mask. "Oh?" Kyle's mouth opens in a confused O shape. "Bit pervy. Maybe talk to her?"

"No... it'd be like a bag of skittles.. and I dunno, a boring old rock shagging." Ghost pouts through the mask, eyebrows contorted slightly.

"So... yer different from each other?" Johnny frowns, evidently bewildered. "I think he went and fell in love with this window lassie," He turns to Gaz, his expression contagious.

"That's the fucking problem!" Yells Simon, his eyes shining with unironic yet comical sadness. He slams his large, gloved hands into his face, tipping back on the chair.

"Show us window girl then," Garrick chuckles, obviously not convinced. The three man stand up, Soap shoving a few notes onto the table and thumping Simon's back gently as they walk out into the dark.

"She lives like..." The lieutenant trails off, pointing randomly around before stomping off down the road. After about 10 minutes of walking, he stops abruptly in front of your small house. The downstairs lights were all on, shining cosily from inside. The three stand there for a moment before Soap nudges Simon. "You gonnae talk to her or not?" Kyle steps back slightly as Ghost groans like some enamoured softy. "Maybe not..." Gaz murmurs.

"Oh you and your sensibleness can fuck right off." Johnny says as he starts to shoves Ghost up the pathway to your house, knocking on the door before darting away and leaving the bewildered man just standing there. Simon registers what's happening as the lock starts to click. It was too late for him to walk away. His breath hitches as you open the door and open your mouth, confused. "Hi?" You say, voice slightly unsure.

His eyes widen and he grins sheepishly, taking in your beauty close up and blinking as he starts to speak. "Hello Miss," You shift around slightly, grip tight on the door. Who the fuck is this guy? You think to yourself, looking the masked figure up and down.

You step backwards slightly as you notice another two men walking up the path, one grinning and the other rather reluctant. The one with strange looking mohawk places a firm hand on the masked mans shoulder and the other one just cowers behind mohawk man.

"My friend Simon here would like your number," Soap smiles, Scottish accent loud in the crisp night air. Simon nods enthusiastically. "You're pretty," He slurs, sticking up his thumb and grinning with his eyes. You nod, trying not to burst out laughing.

"Oh, well... thanks," You smile briefly, leaning backwards into the house to grab a pen. You weren't sure why you were doing this... giving some random man your number, but something had you hooked. Maybe it was the fact you could see how toned and muscly he was, even through his hoodie, or just because of how blatantly bizarre the encounter was. "Here," You tug up masked mans sleave, scribbling your number on the inside of his wrist. "Yay," He mumbles, turning around and tripping down the path, his two buddies in close pursuit.

You can't help but notice him drunkenly punch the air as he stumbles down the path, and as you click the door shut you can't ignore the smile plastered on your face and the flush creeping over your cheeks.

should I make a part 2 ?

sorry for any mistakes I'm tired af again heh... anyway, any reblogs / support is appreciated!! hope you enjoyed !

[temporalteardrop]

There's a lot I wanna pick but top three are maroon, cinnamon, chartreuse

omg thanks bestie <3

[ltwilliammowett]

Old naval slang

A small collection of terms from the 18th - early 20th century that were and probably still are known among sailors.

Admiralty Ham - Royal Navy canned fish Batten your hatch - shut up Beachcomber - a good-for-nothing Cape Horn Fever - feigned illness Cheeseparer - a cheat Claw off - to avoid an embarrassing question or argument Cockbilled - drunk Cumshaw - small craft - Chinese version of scrimshaw Dead Marine - empty liquor bottle Donkey's Breakfast - mattress filled with straw Dunnage - personal equipment of a sailor Flying Fish sailor - sailor stationed in Asian waters Galley yarn - rumour, story Hog yoke- sextant Holy Joe - ship's chaplain Irish hurricane- dead calm Irish pennant - frayed line or piece of clothing Jamaican discipline - unruly behaviour Knock galley west - to knock a person out Leatherneck - a marine Limey - a British sailor Liverpool pennant - a piece of string used to replace a lost button Loaded to the guards - drunk Old Man - captain of the ship One and only - the sailor's best girl On the beach - ashore without a berth Pale Ale - drinking water Quarterdeck voice - the voice of authority Railroad Pants - uniform trousers with braid on the outer leg seam Railway tracks - badge of a first lieutenant Round bottomed chest - sea bag Schooner on the rocks - roast beef and roast potatoes Show a leg - rise and shine Sling it over - pass it to me Slip his cable - die Sundowner - unreasonable tough officer Swallow the anchor - retire Sweat the glass - shake the hour glass to make the time on watch pass quickly - strictly forbidden ! Tops'l buster - strong gale Trim the dish - balance the ship so that it sails on an even keel Turnpike sailor - beggar ashore, a landlubber claiming to be an old sailor in distress Water bewitched - weak tea White rat - sailor who curries favor with the officers

Sailors' Language, by W. Clark Russell, 1883 Soldier and Sailor Words and Phrases. Edward Fraser and John Gibbons, 1925 Sea Slang, by Frank C. Bowen, 1929 Royal Navalese, by Commander John Irving, 1946 Sea Slang of the 20th century, by Wilfried Granville, 1949 The Sailor's Word Book, by Admiral W.H. Smyth, 1967

[karlachismylife]

So, we all know Simon is covered in freckles, beautiful constellations blooming on his pale skin, nature marking the perfect paths for kisses along his collarbones, down the dip of his spine, scattered on his arms.

And his face, of course, little spots on his nose and cheeks, sneaky ones all the way up to his eyes. Hidden from everyone, full attire, a mask and smear black providing cover for the shy stars, like clouds do on windy, humid autumn nights. Cold and detached wrap to keep this weird sign of life on a living dead body from overly curious eyes.

But not from his Captain. Price knows these freckles, he's seen them young and bright, he's seen them dull and almost invisible on a half translucent skin.

He's seen them disappear, long, cruel winter and the mask almost grown into Ghost's skull wiping everything besides uneven scars and black ingrained into his skin. He's seen the summer taken out of his boy, replaced with the dead sleep of the winter, white and icy like Simon's eyelashes.

And, frankly, he won't have that.

If there's not enough sun for those little specks of life to shine, be it London fog half of the year or excruciating cold of the northern polar night they're stuck in on an op, Captain Price is giving his Lieutenant a personal sunshine. One that will melt polar caps if you let it shine in full brightness, hot, unpredictable in its flares, relentlessly glowing and cutting it's radiation through any barier.

Deadly as a burning globe of gas can be. Sergeant MacTavish.

Johnny doesn't have a problem with disregarding laws of physics. If this sole, dark, barren planet of ice refuses to circle him like everyone else does, Soap flips all those heliocentric theories over and instead makes a satellite to Ghost out of himself. Simon's joints stop aching when the shared space heats up, air few degrees away from rippling around Soap's broad form like it's boiling overhead a fire pit. His breath appears visible again, contrast to the almost non-existent fog that was leaking out of his mouth, making everyone who knew (not many of them) wonder, if Simon Riley actually ever left his grave.

One day, Simon's knuckles turn white and hurt. One day, Simon's frosty lashes flutter and not a single cloud of steam exits his mouth. One day, he feels frozen in place despite being basked in molten sunlight of Johnny's gaze, because Sergeant's restless hands found a makeup pen and are swiftly covering Simon's flushed cheeks in freckles.

Crowded constellations, all little sister stars from the MacTavish clan, clinging to Simon in semi-permanent kisses.

Price walks in on them, Simon sitting with his hands clenched tight and his breath held, Johnny with his tongue stuck between his front teeth as he keeps bringing spring out of its long dormant state on Simon's once again alive face.

Just like a sun should. Just like Captain Price expected.