#price has definitely been through a divorce

[monsterslikemango]

How I headcannon the cod characters would dress off duty

John Price

Granola Dad aesthetic

Carhartt & Patagonia 

Baseball hats & beanies heaven

mostly wears boots and hiking shoes but has a pair of Birkenstocks Gaz bought him.

Wears a very nice tactical watch 

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Rich London private school

I headcannon Gaz was raised in a wealthy family — old money yet his dad had a good job to which only added to it. (Probably a judge — would explain where he got his very strong sense of justice from)

Really is just a pretty boy

Old money style, new money shoes

Definitely smells super good! Think Vanilla Sex or Tobacco Vanille by Tom Ford

Gold jewelry — usually small chain and gold watch

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Let me get this out of the way — he still dresses like he’s in high school just a little bit more organized now

Loves to be comfortable — baggy jeans, jackets, hoodies.

Lots of white t-shirts basically wears them with everything, same with white shoes but he can’t keep the shoes clean to save his life

Bought a pair of air forces, they were dirty in a week

Wears a fair amount of jewelry — silver

Never leaves the house with out his cross or medal of Saint Gabriel (he grew up Catholic)

Simon “Ghost” Riley

The girls know what’s coming

Biker

Definitely can dress nice if he tries but is more than likely wearing a black t-shirt, black jeans, and a hat

Keeps his head down — tends to always wear a hat in public but avoids masks as not to draw attention to him self — doesn’t matter cause he’s probably wearing his helmet anyway

Spends most of his off time in the gym — grey sweats and a black tee

Not really a jewelry person

Belts <3

Phillip Graves

Country boy through and through

Nothing else to say here

Definitely smells good though — think Dior Homme

[beloveds-embrace]

Noona please I beg of you, I need more men grovelling and regretting their actions; please give us more of the angsty version of the dukedom au it’s so good, it’s so cathartic please. What happens when the boys realize they fucked up? Who wants to fight Konig upon realizing reader is definitely getting her back blown out by him? Imagine if reader ended up having his baby, or placing divorce papers on Price’s desk, god the ANGST of it all

Here’s my dog as a banana as payment

Original post

THE DOG PICCC TELL YOUR DOG I SAID THEY ARE GOODEST BOY/GIRL EVERRRR ID DIE FOR THEMMM

also thank you to everyone for all the suggestions! I couldn’t add all of them so I’m super sorry for that 😭 and also a thank you to @darkangel4121 for your replies!!

The shift in the household’s demeanor comes slowly, as if the wind has changed direction. At first, it’s little things- a hesitant glance from John, a lingering pause before he leaves a room. Kyle- as you've come to finally learn his first name despite not asking- places your breakfast tray before you with newfound care and no disdainful silence, and Johnny’s meals are cooked to perfection, also a new name you've just so recently been told of. Even Duke Riley himself begins to nod in your direction when he visits, acknowledging your presence in ways he never did before.

But it all feels hollow.

These gestures, once craved, now barely touch you. You are polite, civil, offering faint smiles that do not reach your eyes, acknowledging the changes without truly engaging. Your heart no longer waits at the threshold of their approval; it has found its sanctuary elsewhere, firmly cradled in the hands of a man who has always seen you. Your knight. Your shadow. König.

You walk through the estate, thinking of John’s efforts with a detached air. He invites you to dinners now rather than leave you alone for entire days and nights, his voice gentler, eyes searching for cracks in the walls he helped build. He asks about your day, and you respond with the measured politeness your parents taught you. The warmth he offers now is too late, a sun long set. The flicker of hope in his eyes fades each time you excuse yourself early, your presence like a ghost haunting rooms that no longer feel like home.

König waits for you just beyond the hallways, his presence like a balm to a wound. He falls in step beside you without a word, the weight of his loyalty comforting in a way no amount of decorum could be. He is everything you need- unwavering, fiercely protective, and yours.

In the gardens, beneath a gnarled oak tree, you find moments of peace with him that you could never find within the walls of the estate. You sit together in companionable silence, your shawl and his cape wrapped tightly around you against the evening chill. When you lean against him, pressing your forehead to the cool metal of his armor, you feel his breath hitch. His hand comes to rest at your back, gentle despite the strength he wields.

“I missed you today,” you whisper, your fingers tracing idle patterns over the fabric of his sleeve. It is an admission you would have once swallowed down, but with König, you have no need to hide.

His grip tightens briefly. “I am always here, mylady,” he replies, his voice soft only for you. “You need only call for me.”

“I know.” You close your eyes, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. It beats for you, and that knowledge fills the spaces that loneliness once carved. “You are all I need.”

He shifts then, kneeling before you as he often does, his hands enveloping yours. His gaze is intense, pale eyes searching your face for signs of hesitation, but there are none. “I would give you the world if I could, mylady,” he says, voice low. “But all I have is myself.”

“You are enough,” you say simply, and you mean it. “More than enough. All I could ever want.”

König bows his head, a soft exhale escaping him. “Then I will stay by your side, always.”

The men of the estate still try, fumbling in their newfound efforts to mend what they broke.

John brings you flowers, freshly cut and arranged with care, so you can decorate your drawing room where you occasionally play the harp. You accept them with a polite nod, but they are forgotten in moments, and you go back to asking Konig his opinion on the melody you are playing. Kyle offers to escort you on walks, but you refuse, choosing instead the quiet solace of the garden paths shared with König. Simon’s attempts at conversation are met with cool civility, and Johnny's food largely goes untouched. You allow none of them closer than courtesy demands.

And the gifts received from John and Duke Simon are left untouched. They aren’t much of your style anyways.

But with König, you are different. Soft. Open. You share your thoughts, your fears, the dreams you had long given up on. He listens, always.

One evening, in the safe privacy of your rooms, he rests his head in your lap, a rare moment of vulnerability. You cradle his masked face, tracing the edges of the fabric. You are unafraid of being interrupted; your new maids were quiet and nervous, likely not wanting to be dismissed after the last batch were. You still have no idea how Konig managed to do it, but he spoke to John personally and had them all removed; despite that, you don’t care for their dubious help.

You had made sure to show Konig your appreciation quite thoroughly. Even days later, you swore you could feel how big his hands on your thighs were, keeping you nice and open for his tongue. He'd kept you in that position even when a knock had sounded and someone had entered, but the knowledge of what was going on only sent a sharp thrill of excitement through you.

Still, pettily, you hoped it'd been John who had seen you in the throes of pleasure.

Not right now, Duchess. Not right now.

“Are you tired, my love?” you ask gently, the term of endearment slipping out so naturally it catches even you by surprise, earlier thoughts pushed aside. Still, you have no desire to take it back.

He stills, breath caught. “Say it again. Please.”

“My love.” You smile, leaning closer to press your forehead against his. “You are my love.”

His hands tighten around yours, trembling. “I have always been yours.”

And you believe him. In the warmth of his embrace, you find what the others could now never give- a place where you are cherished, where you are enough. The rest of the estate watches you drift further away, their regret too heavy to shift the chasm that now lies between you. You are beyond their reach, ensconced in a love that was never born out of duty but out of genuine care.

In one of those quiet moments beneath the moonlit sky, after a tiring day of going between appointments and lawyers, you ask him, “Will you take me far from here one day, König? Somewhere far away, where I am free?”

“When you are ready, Liebling,” he promises without hesitation, pale eyes earnest. “I will take you wherever you wish to go.”

The world around you may continue its attempts to pull you back in, but it is too late. Your heart belongs only to the man who has always been your refuge, your shadow, your light. And with him, you finally feel free. König, König, König- and no one else.

dukedom au masterlist

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

The sounds around him were different from what he was used to—no gunfire or heavy footsteps, no shoutings from Price about night ambushes, no Johnny’s loud snoring. Simon peered through heavy eyelids, finding out it’s just the bloody annoying birds chirping outside. Groaning, he turned his aching body and reached his arms out.

Only to find the other side of the bed empty of his wife’s presence. Simon furrowed his brows, frowning. God, he’s such a grumpy old bastard, isn’t he?

Simon jerked upright, alerted by the clattering sound coming from outside the bedroom—the old dog instincts in him kicked in, only to be quickly quelled by his more recently acquired instincts shaped by the realities of the last seven years. He got up from the bed, trying not to be too agitated, making his way to investigate.

Upon entering the kitchen, his shoulders sagged with relief as he laid his eyes on the sole culprit—crouching on the floor, attempting to tidy up a mess of spilled milk and cereal with a torn kitchen towel. No doubt the source of the noise.

Walking over slowly so as not to scare her, he then asked, “What’s goin’ on ‘ere then?”

Gianna whipped around in a flash like a criminal caught in the act, her big brown eyes gleaming with a touch of guilt but not a trace of fear. "I dropped my cereal," she confessed succinctly, mirroring a trait she had unquestionably inherited from her father.

He crouched down next to her. “’Ere, let me help you with that,” then reached out, taking the paper towel from her tiny hands and started cleaning up.

Gianna just watched him until she finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

“’S alright, darlin’. Accidents ‘appen.” Simon stated, rising to his feet and tossing the used tissues into the trash can. He then turned his attention back to his daughter. “But you could’ve woke me up. I’d ‘ave helped you clean it up straight away.”

“I know, but you were sleeping. An’ mum says you sleep like a… like a… clog?”

At that, he couldn't help but chuckle. “I think you mean a log, love.” He corrected.

“Oh right!” The little girl exclaims, nodding her head. “Tha’s the word. You sleep like a log.”

“Yeah, alright, whatever yer mum says.” He glanced at the box of cereal still sitting on the kitchen counter, then decided to keep himself and his daughter away from it. “So cereal is no option then. What d’you want for breakfast instead?”

Without missing a beat, Gianna chirps, “Ice cream!”

Simon snorts, shaking his head. “Can’t ‘ave ice cream for breakfast, darlin’.”

Gianna tilts her head to the side, eyes looking up at him questioningly. "Why not?" she asked. “Mummy 'as coffee for breakfast, alllll the time!” she spreads her arms out for dramatic effect—he chuckles at that. Definitely got it from mommy.

“Yeah, don’t be like yer mum, alright?”

The girl frowns slightly. “But why not? Mummy’s pretty, an’ she cooks good food.”

Something he couldn’t disagree with. He nodded, reaching out to ruffle her blonde hair. “That she does, darlin’. But we still don’t want you havin’ coffee or ice cream for breakfast, alright?”

"Okay, then can we go to Uncle John's house?" she asked.

“An’ why’s that?”

Gianna bounced on her toes, her arms swinging. “I miss Buddy an’ Daisy!”

Simon groaned inwardly. Should’ve known she’d bring that up. Ever since that one time he brought her to Price’s place and she met his dogs, Gianna has been begging to go back. Every time after school—“Can we go to Uncle John’s house?” Every weekend—“Can we go to Uncle John’s house?” And the thing is, the bloody mutts aren’t even there anymore, not since Price and his missus divorced.

“The dogs ain't there anymore, love.” He watched her face fall.

"Why not?" she asked, eyes wide in confusion.

Simon shrugged. “Cause,” he trailed off, not really wanting to explain the whole messy divorce situation to a five-year-old. “Nevermind that. What d’you want for breakfast?”

Instead of answering, Gianna crossed her arms while frowning. “I don’t want breakfast. I want Buddy an’ Daisy!

A sigh escaped Simon as the results of his parenting bit him in the ass. Bloody hell, he had to stop surrendering to her big eyes and pouting lips—just like her mum. She had learned from the best, hadn’t she? Got him wrapped around her tiny finger. There was only one trick up his sleeve to get her to cooperate.

“If you don’t eat breakfast, then then we won’t be able to go an’ watch yer mum later.”

And sure enough, Gianna’s whole expression lit up, renewed. She gasped, hands flying up to cover her mouth in an exaggerated gesture. Seems like he got himself a drama queen.

“We’re gonna watch Mum?!” she asked, full of hope.

Simon nodded, trying to maintain a serious expression but always failing because of her antics. “As long as you behave an’ eat breakfast.”

The five-year-old was cheering, jumping, and doing her little dances in unbridled energy—just like her mum. He guessed it was true what Garrick said that day the lads visited the two of you at the hospital after Gianna was born—“She’s a perfect blend of the both of you.”

“Pancakes! I want pancakes!” Gianna squeals, scampering to the cabinet where the flour is stored. “Come on, Daddy! Let's eat breakfast so we can go an' watch Mummy!"

When the evening draws near, Gianna is already in the bathroom. Lately, she's been insisting on bathing herself, saying she's a “big girl” now. But he guessed it's more because she wants to play with her Barbie doll in the water, using up all the soap in the process.

“Don't take too long, alright? We've gotta be out the door by five.” He says.

"Okay!" Gianna chirps back, not really listening to him, too busy splashing around and chatting to her plastic friend.

Keeping the door open to ensure her safety, Simon stepped out to attend to his own tasks. Seems like it was yesterday when she was just a little baby, lying in the bath support, her tiny legs kicking every time you would rinse the soap off her soft skin. Time indeed flies so fast; one moment, she is just a baby who struggles to stand on her wobbly legs, and the next, she insists on doing everything independently.

Simon let out a heavy sigh, turning to your shared bedroom to pull on a fresh button up. As he’s closing the dresser drawer, the sound of his phone ringing caught his attention. He read the caller ID before accepting it and lifting it to his ear.

“’Ello?”

“Hey, are you on your way yet?” Your familiar voice comes through the line.

Glancing over to the half-open bathroom door, where he could hear the faint sounds of Gianna splashing and talking to herself, he then said, “The kid's in the bath.”

“Okay, okay,” You said, he could hear some shifting on the other side. “Make sure you bring her coat—the brown one. It's so cold today, I don't want her to get—”

“I got it, love.” He cuts you off gently, assuring you easily. “Just focus on yer ballet. I'll make sure she's all bundled up, alright?”

A chuckle from you—one that brought a smile to his own lips. Always the overthinker, his wife. He walked over to grab Gianna's towel and placed it atop a small chair near the bathtub, then held up five fingers, communicating the remaining time she had left before she had to get out.

“I’m on a break right now,” you tell him, voice soft, whispering. “I… I miss you, and Gianna too.”

He can’t help the smile spreading at that. “That so?”

“Yes,” you admit, he imagines you clutching the phone tightly against your ear like he’s seen you do so often. “Being here, rehearsing for the show, you two are all I can think about. I want to get this over with and go home.”

“Think she misses you too,” he murmurs.

“Really?”

“Yeah, she's been jumpin’ about when I mentioned we're gonna watch you.”

“That’s nice,” he could hear the smile in your voice. Then, a small pause between you before you asked again, “Um, do you… Do you miss me too?”

A low, amused chuckle escaped him at your shy question, and he compares it to a schoolgirl trying to gauge her chances with her crush. This is your husband you are talking to. He couldn't help but find the conversation amusing—and yet, he couldn't deny the warmth that rose to color his cheeks.

“What you actin’ all shy an’ coy for, eh?” he teased, “We’ve been married for seven bloody years now, ain’t we? Course I miss you, sweetheart.”

Simon could hear you take a deep breath. “Well, I just… Well, you just got home from deployment, and we haven't really had time together before I got to do rehearsals, so I feel kind of…”

“Ah, I see,” Simon murmurs, voice dropping to a low, rumbling tone. He glanced to the bathroom to make sure Gianna was still out of earshot before continuing, “Feelin' a bit starved for attention, are we, love? Maybe we should call up Johnny, see if 'e can come 'n babysit the mite for a night. Give us a chance to… reconnect, eh?”

You suck in a sharp breath at his words, heat rising to your cheeks and somewhere else from his implication. For a moment, you are silent; another minute passes, and Simon almost thinks the call has been cut off until your soft, discreet whisper finally cuts through.

“… Do you think the phone company records calls like this?”

At that, he laughed. “Why? You plannin' on sayin' somethin' naughty?”

“No! No, not at all!” You stammered; he can almost feel your embarrassment through the phone. “I-I was just… curious, that's all.”

It was amusing. How easily he could make you all worked up and flustered, even after nearly ten years of being together—dating, marriage, and even a kid thrown in the mix. He heard you take another deep breath, trying to regain your composure.

“Don't forget the special pass, okay? They won't let you in the theater without it.” You reminded him.

“I’ll find another way in if I ‘ave to.”

“Simon, I'm serious,” you say, voice firm. “You can't just sneak in. They'll never let you—"

You pause for a moment; Simon assumes you're focused on whatever's going on in the background. He catches the sound of a voice calling your name, saying something about returning to the stage. Then, you sigh into the phone.

“I gotta go. Stage check,” you explain, almost apologetically. “But don't forget the coat and the pass, okay? I need you there, Simon. Both of you.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Love ya. See you soon.”

“I love you too.”

With that, Simon ended the call. He pivoted back to the bathroom; the gentle sound of splashing water reached his ears. “Alright, darlin’, time's up," he called out. "Let's get you dried off an' ready to go.”

“Okay!”

A short while later, the two Rileys found themselves inside Gianna's pistachio-colored room—the little girl still wrapped up in her towel like a burrito—both standing in front of the dresser. The sound of her damp feet tapping the floor filled the air as Simon swept his eyes over the colorful options in the closet.

“Alright, then,” he said, looking down at her. “What do you want to wear today?”

Gianna scrunches up her face in deep concentration, brows furrowed, lips pouting in consideration before finally pointing to a rather… mismatched combo of clothes. A bright pink tutu, a neon green t-shirt, and a pair of polka-dot stockings.

“That one!” she declared, looking up at him with a proud grin.

Wrinkles formed on his forehead as Simon gave a look of disapproval. "That?" He questions, tone laced with doubt. “You sure about that? I don't think that's gonna look very good.”

Gianna’s smile faltered, and Simon immediately felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Bloody hell. Clearing his throat, he quickly backtracked. “I mean, it’s a bit… unique, isn’t it?” he said, trying to sound more encouraging—as if he hadn't just said it would look ugly. “But if that’s what you wanna wear, then tha’s what we’ll do.”

“Yay!” she squeals, bouncing, clapping her hands as her lips stretch into a toothy grin.

Reaching into the dresser, he pulls out the bright pink tutu, the neon green t-shirt, and the polka-dot stockings and lays them on her bed.

“You can do it by yourself, right?”

Gianna nods eagerly. “Yep!” she chirps, already reaching for the shirt.

“Alright, then. Daddy’ll be waitin’ downstairs, a’ight?”

“Okay!”

With one last glance, he turns and heads out of her room, making his way downstairs to ensure he has all the important things. Wipes, tissues, a few snacks, and a spare set of clothes just in case. He shoved it all into the bag that you usually bring whenever you're out with Gianna.

Zipping the bag, he then reached into his jeans pocket to feel for his wallet. He takes it out, flicks it open, and verifies that the special pass is safely tucked inside. His gaze drifts to the brown coat you had specified, draped over the arms of the couch—another item checked off his mental list.

Glancing up at the grandfather clock, he lets out a soft curse under his breath. Shouldering the bag and grabbing the coat, he walks into the living room and calls out Gianna’s name.

The car ride is a bit of a quiet affair, save for the sound of raindrops pattering against the windscreen. Simon glances at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Gianna in her car seat. She’s kicking her legs back and forth, a slightly bored expression on her face as she stares out the window—at least she’s not uncomfortable. He turns his attention back to the road.

The red light turned green; the car engine hummed as Simon accelerated. Suddenly, a small voice came from the backseat.

“Daddy, I want my song,” Gianna said.

Not understanding what she meant, Simon furrows his brows, shooting a puzzled glance at her reflection in the mirror. “Your song?” he asks, confused. “What song’s that, then?"

A dramatic sigh escapes her. The girl rolls her eyes in a way that is almost comically exaggerated for a five-year-old. “My song!” she exclaims, as if it were common knowledge. “The wheels on the bus, Daddy! The wheels on the bus go round and round!”

“Right, right,” he said, one finger reaching out to fiddle with nearly every button on the radio. “The wheels on the bus. Should’ve known that, shouldn’t I?”

Soon enough, the radio sprung to life, starting the tune of her favorite song. Gianna’s face lit up, and she began happily singing along. The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round… Bloody hell, this is worse than the songs you'd had on repeat for a week. But he held his tongue from protesting, observing his little princess doing her small dance instead.

The torture was cut short when the car came to a stop at their destination. The grand neoclassical building of the Metropolitan Opera loomed before them, its mighty and majestic pillars illuminated by the lights. He closed the door, rounding the vehicle to get to Gianna’s side.

Reaching in, he unbuckled the car seat, the girl waiting patiently as he did so.

“Are we gonna see Mum?” she asked, brown eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Soon, princess.”

Gently, Simon pulled her out of the car seat, setting her down on the ground. Locking the car, he took her tiny hand in his before the two of them made their way to the entrance, where a steady stream of well-dressed onlookers was beginning to file into the building.

Panic began to kick in when Gianna’s tiny hand slipped from his. Before he could protest, however, she pointed in a direction. “Look! That’s Mum!”

Following where her little finger pointed, his brown eyes landed on the large billboard on the side of the opera house. There, illuminated by the warm glow of a spotlight, was you, posed elegantly in your ballet attire, with the bold letters of “The Nutcracker” plastered above you. He couldn’t help the proud smile from tugging at the corners of his lips.

The sound of Gianna's hurried footsteps pulled him back to the present, her small form already darting towards the huge display. Quickly, he pulled out his updated mobile (the only reason he bought it was so he could take pictures of you and Gianna) and snapped a quick picture of his daughter standing next to the billboard.

Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he then strides over to Gianna. “C’mon, don’t wanna be late for Mum, do we?” he says, reaching down to scoop her into his arms. Simon tucks Gianna’s head under his chin.

Fishing out the special pass out of his wallet, he hands it to the person in charge of ticketing. They wave him through, and he steps into the foyer. Footsteps and chatter echo around him as he climbs the steps and through the towering doors of the grand opera hall.

After finding their seats, Simon leaned back comfortably in the velvet chair. But Gianna? The girl sat on the edge of her seat, her blonde head turning from side to side as she took in the sights of people filling their designated spots. She darted her eyes from one end of the room to the other, like she was searching for something—or rather, someone.

“Where’s Mum?” She asked, turning to him with a slight frown.

Simon was still leaning back in his chair. “She’ll be out soon, love,” he assured her.

“When?” she pressed, growing impatient.

Reaching over, he gently pinched her chubby cheek, eliciting a small giggle from Gianna. “Soon, princess,” he repeated, this time really hoping it will soothe her little heart. “Just sit back and relax, alright?”

“Okay, but are we gonna watch Mummy?”

“’Course, that’s why we’re here, right?”

Finally convinced, Gianna leans back, her tiny body relaxing as the lights begin to dim. The orchestra conductor ascends the podium, lifting his baton high. Gradually, the music comes to life. Simon glances over at Gianna to find her swaying her head to the melodies.

“Look, Daddy! Snow!” she exclaims, pointing at the delicate flakes of ‘snow’ falling as the opening scene of the Nutcracker unfolds.

It was easy enough to make Gianna enamored. She was mesmerized by the ‘snow’ coming down from above, letting out a soft gasp of awe when she saw the towering Christmas tree on stage. When the audience applauded, she joined in excitedly, trying to clap even louder.

But nothing, nothing compares to the moment she spots her mum.

The second you glide onto the stage, Gianna lets out a loud gasp, launching off the chair. She glues her gaze to your every step, jaw hanging open as her eyes radiate pure adoration. With her tiny index finger pointed, she jumps up and down.

“That’s Mummy, Daddy! That’s Mummy!”

His heart had never been this full. He chuckled, reaching out to gently tug her back down into her seat. “Aye, that's her, love.” He said, following where she pointed, to his wife.

“Tha’s Mummy, Daddy! Woah, woah! She’s so pretty!”

And she’s right—you’re absolutely enchanting, every movement imbued with elegance and poise. The fluid extension of your legs, the exquisite way the spotlight caresses your form. He watches you dance with your co-star in perfect synchronization, flawlessly executing those ballerina moves he can never recall the names of but loves all the same.

“She’s the best, Daddy! Look at ‘er go! Woaahh!”

“Aye, bloody brilliant, she is.”

Gianna nods in agreement. “Yeah, bloody brilliant!”

Simon snorts when she steals his lines, echoing like a loyal follower. As you continue your performance, Gianna’s oohs and awws fill the air around them. She makes little cheers, more praises, more clapping. “Didja see that jump?!” here, “She’s sooo pretty!” there.

Miraculously, Gianna still had a tank of energy even after the show was over. The second the girl saw you, she ran over and threw her arms around you. You quickly leaned down, sweeping Gianna into your arms. She giggled as you peppered her cheeks, nose, and forehead with kisses.

“Here’s my pretty girl!” you said, giving her chubby cheeks another peck.

Swelling with pride, Simon smiled at the sight of his two favorite people together. Walking over to his girls, he held out the bouquet of flowers he had just taken from the trunk of his car, offering them to you.

“Well done, love.”

You accept the flowers as Simon takes Gianna from you. “Oh, babe, they’re beautiful.” You breathe, lips curving into a radiant smile.

Without a second thought, you rise onto your tiptoes, bridging the height difference between you, before pressing your lips to his in a slow, prolonged kiss. Gianna makes a disgusted sound—Simon can feel the corners of your mouth curving into a smile. You can feel the warmth of his body as he pulls you close; the familiar scent of his cologne and something of him intoxicating you.

But the moment is interrupted when Gianna tugs on Simon's cheek.

“That’s gross, Daddy! Get off Mum!”

Simon pressed one last, gentle kiss to your lips before pulling away completely. “She’s my wife too, kid.” He reminded his daughter.

You giggle at Gianna's reaction. Reaching up, you cup Simon's stubbled jaw, your thumb gently caressing the short, prickly hair over his chin. Then, turning back to your pouting daughter, you lean closer to place a soft, affectionate kiss upon her cheek.

“I need to go change, and then we can all go home, okay?”

Soon enough, the three of you were in the car, with the soft hum of the engine and the faint sound of “The Wheels on the Bus” playing on the radio. In the back seat, Gianna was still full of energy, even more enthusiastic after the ballet show.

As Simon makes another turn, Gianna suddenly pipes up. “I want to be like Mummy when I grow up!” she declared.

You twist your body in the passenger seat to face her. “Really? You wanna be a ballerina like me?”

Watching Gianna in the rearview mirror, Simon joined in the conversation with his question. “Yeah? What happened to wanting to be a soldier?”

It's not like he would actually allow her if it ended up being more than a silly childhood dream. The mere idea of Gianna putting herself in danger, surrounded by self-entitled men in their star-encrusted uniforms, facing the same horrors he had seen, filled his stomach with unease. If any of her aspirations were to see fruition, he would much rather she shine in the spotlight, where she could display her poise and elegance, just like you.

But Gianna took her time in answering, as if she was considering it carefully. “‘Course I want that too! I'll just be a ballerina an’ a soldier!”

Both you and Simon laughed at that. Always gotta have it all, your little girl.

[itsclydebitches]

There are a lot of Tedependent fics where Ted needs to first realize that he's bi/interested in Trent before the love confession can occur (which are GREAT) but recently my mind has been laughing about the opposite. That is, an out, proud, fully confident, divorced, not-as-much-of-a-mess-as-he-used-to-be Ted who is remarkably chill about potentially starting a relationship. God he loves Trent so much why wouldn't he ask him out?? What's he got to lose? Dating Trent? He's already not doing that!

Now pair that with a Classic Angst Trent who is 100% convinced of every fandom trope under the sun. Ted Lasso is definitely straight. He's definitely still in love with his wife. Even if he were open to men he definitely would never be interested in him. The idea of them dating is so absurd that Trent is thinking of writing the Oxford English Dictionary to get their picture set next to the definition. He's writing sappy poetry about the unrequited love story of the century. He's keeping every workplace interaction capital 'p' Platonic in deference to white straight male sensibilities. He's thinking of asking Beard to set up a new identity for when Ted realizes The Lasso Way is just a wordy love letter.

This boy is in D E N I A L.

Thus begins the intense comedy of errors when unstoppable force Ted meets immovable object Trent. How far do we take it? Well, what's your preferred amount of crack?

Ted takes him to a super romantic, candlelit dinner? Ted is so unbelievably nice to everyone. This would be amazing if it were a date :(

Ted says "I love you"? Trent's so proud of the culture of love and support Ted has brought to Richmond, but FUCK does hearing those words do things to him. If only he meant it in the way Trent wanted.

Ted wants him to move in? Well, Trent supposes he does need a roommate to keep up with London prices now that he's a single parent, but did the universe have to throw him together with his crush?

Both of them, seconds after Ted has proposed and Trent stuttered through a yes:

Ted: Hot damn I'm gonna marry the love of my life!! :D

Trent: Ted's temporary visa must be running out. This is torture, but I'd do anything for him while feeling like an absolute villain for taking advantage of his vulnerable state for my own emotional gratification 😭

Meanwhile:

Roy: When the fuck do we tell him?

Beard: Right before he walks down the aisle. I dropped that bombshell about Ted's mustache right before he married Michelle. Trent deserves one too.

[leprosycock]

what would you say are *thee* jlud streams. the definition jlud streams. the criterion collection if you will

- name your price + jrma’s hey donna episode double feature [insanely horny, chock full of extremely meta references to the narrative and condition of their relationship and the way they view each other, jrma is needlessly homosexual, they’re very touchy and flirty, “it’s always been me and you babe”, and qt is relentlessly jealous and possessive over lud throughout the entire hey donna episode in a way that she never is on any ordinary stream of hers. this double feature feels like it was written into an indie movie or something because of how tightly and perfectly it’s wound within their narrative and it’s insane]

- beerio kart [shakespearian. words can’t describe the utter yearning, longing, desperation, and desire displayed on screen.]

- juiced [one of the most sexually charged streams they’ve ever done together. tons and tons of physical contact, a ridiculous amount of tension, and a near breaking point that has to be seen to be believed. they choke each other’s own little world out in this stream.]

- dollhouse [you can’t beat the classics. it’s raw. it’s real. it’s the birth of summer love. the intricacies of it and how they both hide it behind layers and layers of fiction as they dance around each other for the very first time is foundational for them and their relationship. never forget that Iudwig stole holly’s choker and wore it for two days of shooting, making it integral to his costume.]

- bro vs bro [they have an insane amount of fun together, j is constantly writhing in embarrassing and the prison of his own self-awareness and insecurity, they play teacher/student, lud is a wrathful sick little freak, j writes fanfiction in his own head about how he was supposed to show up to lud’s house in a milk maid outfit. it’s nonstop thrills]

- chessboxing [AAAA. AAAAAAAAAAA WHAT THE FUCK]

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

- the streamer awards 2022 [this was pretty painful to watch but their interactions were so valuable that it’s necessary to remark upon]

- risk [it’s spread out and pretty underrated but there are some really really good moments in this. jrma is mean and i don’t know why but it’s awesome]

- shufflemania [there is so much bullshit you have to fast forward through but the moments between the two of them are. like. Holy fuck it’s insane. this was during the divorce arc and they clearly wanted each other back so badly]

- the replacement stream [watching this feels like gargling a bucket of thumbtacks but it’s so unbelievably fascinating and it’s exhilarating to watch lud’s jealousy and resentment and possessiveness in action]

- battleship [soooooo cute so so so cute… watching them begin to fall in love with each other makes my heart ache :((((]

- first house flipper tournament [not nearly as insane as a lot of other streams but i go crazy for lud being a jealous crybaby piece of shit and begging for j’s attention and this is like candy in that regard]

[sentientcave]

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Read on AO3

Chapter 2 - A Spoonful of Sugar

<Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

After a bad breakup with a mediocre ex, Rory decides to move back home-- Sort of. Rather than settle back into her mom's flat in London, she accepts her dad's invitation to move to his house out in the country. But unfortunate circumstance has John's former protege, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick moving in as well, after finalizing a divorce. It wouldn't be so bad, if he wasn't stupidly handsome and extremely annoying about it. But she can learn to live with him, can't she?

Contains: OC x Gaz, Lorelai "Rory" "Scout" Blackmoore-Price, Age gap romance (Scout is roughly 25), Annoying old men, Schemes and Plots, Mentions of John Price's many divorces, Poor decisions, Guns, Inadvisable Flirting

~6.7k - 18+ Only - MDNI

Billie was still free, and agreed to meet for coffee in about an hour, so Rory grabbed her bag, shoving her laptop in it in case she got there first (She hadn’t done the walk into town yet, and wasn’t certain how long it would take to get there), and headed out without a word.

It was a nice afternoon for a walk anyway, through the pleasant countryside that surrounded Hereford. It was one of the things she was beginning to like best about living there, that country and town basically butted up against each other. London was grey streets as far as the eye could see, and she’d never minded that, but there was something so unbelievably pleasant about a walk through fields, with birds and insects singing in the brush.

She got to the coffee shop about a half-hour ahead of time, so she ordered a coffee and a big ginger cookie, and set up in a corner where she could keep an eye on the door. She got a little writing done, before someone approached. She glanced up, frowning at an earnest, freckled face. “Can I help you?” she asked, before he could say anything.

“Um. Yeah. I just saw you and— Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bother you.” Whatever introduction he’d planned, she’d set him on the back foot and scrambled him. “I just— You’re, um—”

“I’m Rory. I’m waiting for a friend, but if you give me your number, I’ll consider texting you later.”

“Yeah? I’m Ro— Gary. Gary Sanderson.”

“Hm, do I detect a military callsign?” she asked. On second glance, he was definitely military. There were scars on his knuckles and up his forearms, and a silver chain around his neck. He had a trim, muscular physique, broad shoulders filling out his t-shirt, and thick legs. Cute too, freckled and and brown eyed, with a long, angular face.

He blushed. “Yeah. I’m used to— Are you military? I’ve seen you on base, haven’t I?”

“I’ve been there a few times to see my dad. I’m not— I’m a civilian. Definitely not in the service. I’m not quite nuts enough.”

He laughed. It was a pleasant sound, quiet and throaty. “Yeah, you have to be a bit crazy. I used to be gung-ho myself, but you know, you start realizing what you’re missing after a while. Everyone I know kind of… Got ahead of me.” His blush deepened, the colour sweeping up to his strawberry blond hairline. “Sorry. Yeah. Do you still want my number? Or did I just fuck this all up big time?”

“You’re fine. Here.” She scribbled down her number in the corner of her notebook and tore it out. “Can’t promise I’m looking for anything serious, but if you want to spend any time getting unserious, you know how to reach me.”

Gary’s grin was lopsided, but definitely charming. “Yeah? Cool. Uh. Yeah. I’ll get out of your hair. And I’ll text you!”

“You do that,” Rory said. “My friend’s here anyway.” She leaned to the side and waved to Billie, who had stepped into line. “See you around, soldier.”

Billie wiggled her eyebrows from across the room, indicating that she thought Gary was pretty cute. Rory had to agree, especially when he walked away. Military men had a lot of flaws, but they were rarely physical ones. And Rory could appreciate the work that went into the lean taper from his shoulders to his narrow hips, and she even better appreciated the thick thighs and nice ass as he disappeared through the doors.

Billie made her way over, holding some sugary, whip-cream topped confection with a straw poking out of it, a big smile on her face. “He was cute,” she said, taking the seat across from Rory. “Someone you know?”

“No, he just came up. He seemed nice. I gave him my number, anyway.” Rory broke off a peice of her cookie and chewed it thoughtfully. “You want him? I can give you his number whenever he texts me.”

Billie’s smile turned sheepish, and she glanced through the windows, brown eyes finding the soldier again. “Oh no, I don’t want to— He approached you.”

“Kind of got the impression he’s looking for more serious than he’s gonna get from me. I was just interested in a ride or two.” Rory shrugged. “If you think he’s cute, I’m one hundred percent fine giving him up. You don’t know me that well yet, Bill, but I’m kind of a, hmm, free spirit, and there are plenty of hot guys in this town. And they don’t have to be nice if I’m planning on keeping their mouths busy.”

Billie giggled, the bundle of tight curls on top of her head vibrating slightly with the movement. “Well, you can have the first ride, and just let me know if he’s worth it, alright? I’m not quite ready to dip my toes back into the dating pool.”

“Roger that.” Rory hummed. “Thought you and Gaz had been separated a while though.”

“Well, we have. But I guess I’m still hoping for a grand romantic gesture. We had a good thing going. Seven years together. It wasn’t perfect, but I don’t know. All the problems seemed to fade into the background when he was home.”

“Hm.” Rory nodded sagely. “Because of the fucking.”

“Is that what it was?” Billie asked faintly, pressing her hand to the side of her face, her expression indicating that she hadn’t thought of it that way before. “Holy shit. That’s exactly what it was.”

“I watched my dad fumble four marriages, I guarantee that Gaz pulled from his toolbox of relationship prolonging tricks.” Rory calmly ate another bite of cookie while Billie went through a minor crisis across the table, replaying sequences from her relationship with Gaz through a new lens. “If you do want him back, you’d better hold out for more than a grand romantic gesture. I’m sure he’s used those before. Like meaningful change. A commitment to couples counselling. Taking a bit of accountability.”

Billie nodded. “Honestly, I kind of thought you were going to talk him up. Being Price’s kid, I figured— I’m glad you’re not though. I think I needed to hear that. A lot of my friends don’t really get why I went through with the divorce. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure.”

“Well Gaz is pretty charming. If you don’t have to spend that much time with him I’m sure he seems just about perfect. But he’s not. He’s kind of a jerk. Self-centred.”

“Yeah. I like you, Rory. We should have started being friends ages ago. Where have you been this whole time?”

“London. Liverpool. Didn’t like my dad’s last wife, so I didn’t come around much for a while there. No one ever listens to me until it’s all over.” Rory closed her laptop and stuck it back into her bag, and picked up her pen, tapping it idly on the notebook cover. “I mean, I’m just as blind to shit when it’s about me. I was with a guy for a couple years there and I didn’t figure out he was a jerk until it was ending either.”

“Guess we all have our weak spots.”

They chatted for a long while, until Rory saw John’s truck pull into the parking lot. She winced, pulling out her phone. She’d set it on silent after Brandon had tried calling a few more times on the walk over, and had missed quite a few calls and messages from John. “Aw shit. I’d better go. I didn’t tell dad I was leaving, and he’s the worrying type.”

“How’d he—”

“Oh, he definitely has a tracker on me. I’d roast him about his invasion of privacy, but it wouldn’t change his behaviour. I just got complacent about checking.” She shrugged, packing up her things. “Let’s do this again soon. I’ve got a big deadline coming up, but I can still make some time. I’ve been told it’s a good idea to get out of the house once in a while.” Rory stood up and gave Billie a quick hug. “Thanks for making time for me.”

“Thanks for the reality check. I’ll see you around, Rory.”

Rory bought another cookie on her way out, figuring she could probably sweeten his mood with a baked good. She made her way over to her dad’s truck, smiling tightly in response to his stern glare. “Hi dad,” she said blithely. “Sorry, I turned my phone to silent because Brandon keeps calling me. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

John huffed. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Oh please, you knew where I was the whole time.” She climbed into the passenger seat and set her bag between her feet.

His jaw tightened and loosened again. “Yeah. Suppose I did.”

“So what’s the big deal?”

“You didn’t tell me where you were going, or answer any of my messages.”

“I’m a grown woman. You didn’t know where I was going or what I was up to when I was in London. We went months without speaking before. Why are you suddenly so worried about my safety?”

“Because you’re under my supervision now. Your mother would never forgive me if something happened to you under my watch. And there’s always enemies popping out of the woodwork. If someone targeted you because of me…”

“Why not just tell me that?”

His knuckles tightened on the wheel. “Guess I should’ve.”

“Of course you should’ve. You’re so cagey about work stuff, dad. You have to communicate. If I need to be more careful, I need to know that. You can’t just follow me around or track me or have your dogs babysit me all day long. I’m not going to be able to stand long term exposure to them.”

“No? Don’t get along with the lads?” The disappointment in his voice was clear.

“They’re fine. We just don’t exactly have a lot in common.”

“They like you.”

Rory huffed. They might’ve liked her a little too much. “Of course they do. I’m damn delightful.”

He chuckled, some of the tension loosening from his jaw and shoulders. “Maybe you could come to the base with me more often. It would set my mind at ease if you took a job there.”

“Oh come on, dad. I’ll be fine. I’ll be more careful to keep you updated. I’ll come to the base if you get concrete intel on some big bad looking for revenge, alright?”

“Scout…”

“Dad.”

He sighed, remembering that his daughter was at least as stubborn as he was. “I’ll get you a gun.”

“Thank you.”

They pulled back into the farmhouse driveway. Soap’s blue sports car was gone, and likely so were Ghost and Soap. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?” he asked. “Could use a distraction.”

“Nah. We could play Song of Valour though. Been a while since I kicked your ass in a video game.”

“Don’t recall you ever kicking my ass, but sure, sounds like a plan.”

The sun peeked over the horizon, spilling gold over the fields, streaming through the mist that rose from the shadows and burned away in the thin, pale light. Rory pulled in steady breaths, feet striking the ground evenly, sweat trickling down her back. This was the best part of living out here, the utter serenity of the morning run. It was quiet in the city around dawn too, but there was an ever-present hum of traffic, no matter the hour, and the air always smelled slightly of petrol and rot. Out here, the air was sweet, and the world was quiet, everything shrunk down to her body, the rush of blood in her ears, the inhale and exhale, the crunch of gravel. Smooth and perfect.

It had been a few weeks since their talk— Rory had mostly busied herself double and triple checking her formatting and spelling and making last minute edits on her latest book, but she had gone to the base with John a few times as well. With both Gaz and Soap gone at once, he was stuck running drills, and he’d brought Rory in a few times to brush up on her own skills. Just in case, he’d said, but Rory suspected that the real reason was so that he didn’t personally have to throw recruits around. In all fairness, she was more than happy to do it for him. It was good to get the practice in. And range time too, brushing up on her rifle skills.

She suspected nothing would come of John’s worries. She’d kept herself alert when out in town, and she had spotted Ghost following her a few times (and probably missed several more), but nothing else out of the ordinary.

Gary had texted her a few times, before explaining that he’d be out of country for a bit. She’d sent him a few cute selfies to come home to, hoping to escalate from polite getting to know each other texts to something a bit less polite and a lot more fun.

She’d ended up texting Ghost a lot too, over the weeks. Mostly one word messages and the thumbs up emoji, along with pictures of any dogs they happened to see. She’d also sent him one of her cute selfies by accident (Gary and Ghost were too close together in her contact list), and when she’d told him to ignore it, he’d sent a very unclear No in response. She still wasn’t sure if he had been responding to the picture or the message after. She’d started sending him pictures of him when she caught him following her, which had opened up to him sending her pictures of her out in public. She had to admit, the old man was still good. There were pictures of her that she had no idea how he’d taken. And a few surprisingly nice ones that she stuck on her tinder profile to break up the selfies.

She made it back to the house just as John was stepping outside, coffee in one hand, cigar in the other. “Mornin’ Scout,” he said cheerfully. “How was your run?”

“Not bad. I’m still trying to get that six minute mile consistently. Can’t keep up the pace over the long haul, but I’ve been keeping the ten mile below an hour and a quarter, even with a quick rest at the half point, so, all in all, not bad. I’ll keep working on it.” She dropped down to the grass to stretch, taking a minute to just breathe first.

“Pretty good, Scout. Should get you on the track to run laps around my soldiers one of these days.”

“What, they can’t fight, they can’t run, they can’t shoot? Aren’t these supposed to be your elite soldiers?”

John laughed. “You can outdo the recruits, Scout. You want a tougher fight, I’ll put you up against Soap. You’ll feel a little less cocky after that.”

"Dad, if you're going to have a dog chew on me, I'd rather it be Yardstick than Soap."

"Don't be silly, Scout. Soap hardly ever bites anymore."

Rory laughed, sitting up to run through her stretches. "Hardly ever is too far away from never, in my opinion."

John laughed too. "Probably right about that. We'll get you sparring with the kids. Nitro still bites, mind. And you'll have to put Roach on his ass a few times before he fights back properly."

"Sounds fun. Been a while since I had a good mixed discipline spar."

“It’s what you get for not signin’ up.”

“Don’t think I’m that big a fan of getting shot a.”

“Could still get you a job on base. There’s civilian work. Don’t have to be a soldier.”

“I know, dad. Mum offered to get me into the London base or as some kind of parliamentary aide when I said I was leaving Liverpool. I don’t want work I didn’t earn.”

He scoffed. “You’re bein’ ridiculous. It’s about the only way to get decent work these days.”

“And that doesn’t strike you as fucked up?”

“Course it is. But you’d do good work, no matter how you got the job. You always rise to the occasion, Scout.”

“Well, either way, I’ve got my own projects cooking.”

John’s sipped his coffee idly. “You ever gonna share what you’re working on?”

“Absolutely not. Are you home for dinner tonight? I’ve got one of my projects wrapping up today, so I’m ordering celebratory takeout.” Scout hopped to her feet.

“Should’ve told me ahead of time. Got a date tonight.”

“Oh, did— oh shoot, Carrie, right? From base accounting. You mentioned her. Am I not expecting you home at all then?”

John laughed. “Maybe. You gonna be alright on your own? I can have Ghost drop by.”

Rory snorted, clapping her dad on the shoulder as she moved past him into the house. “No, dad. I do not need your weird old man friends to babysit me.”

Her book had gone up at midnight the previous night— Setting it up for nighttime releases helped quell some of the anxiety she felt every time she put a new work out there— and had planned an Ask Me Anything session online from the afternoon to evening. Her plan was to run some errands during the morning, and then answer questions while she took a long, hot bath, watched a favourite movie (The Princess Bride, most likely) and ordered take-out, in that order.

The AMA went great— She was surprised at how many questions she'd gotten, and shuffled her plans slightly to accommodate. Takeout while she worked on questions, then Princess Bride while she was in the tub.

A few accounts had messaged her privately as well, including some guy who mentioned how much he liked the Scot Cameron MacGregor in her last book, saying that the character reminded him of his husband. Rory was struck by the possibility that he was Ghost, since the character in question had been just slightly based on Soap, and the straightforward, clipped sentences seemed awfully familiar.

She snapped a picture of the tub full of bubbles and candles and the laptop with her movie playing, and sent it to Ghost.

Scout: Selfcare Sunday

Ghost: Isn’t it Friday?

Scout: Probably. I’m an unemployed layabout so I don’t know.

Scout: What are you up to, old man?

Ghost: Reading. Author I like has a new book out.

Vindication.

Scout: Oh yeah? Who?

Ghost sent her a picture in response, of his ereader leaning against his knee in the bathtub, with her book cover displayed on the screen. He was very clearly too big for the tub.

Scout: Did you get in the tub just to send that or were you already in there?

Ghost: Wouldn’t you like to know

It was very easy to imagine the smirk on his face. He could be so annoying.

Ghost: You read any Avery Ackerman? Might like her. Does the self-pub thing, like you’re doing.

Scout: Yeah I’ve heard of her. Didn’t know you were a romantasy guy.

Ghost: Romantasy? Being a writer’s no excuse to make up words

Scout: Shut up, you’re just old. That’s the genre.

She heard a thump downstairs. Her blood turned to ice despite the warm bath. John’s paranoia was rubbing off on her.

Scout: Shit, I think someone’s in the house. I gotta get my gun.

Ghost: I’m coming over. Don’t do anythin stupid

Well, at least the cavalry was coming. Ghost was a one man army. Rory quickly got out of the tub, trying not to splash around too much, setting her laptop on the lid of the toilet. She scrubbed herself as dry as she could and wrapped a robe around herself before quietly dashing into her room to grab the handgun from it’s spot in the desk drawer, slapping a magazine in and tucking a second one into the belt of the robe. She quickly swept the upstairs, just to secure it, and crept downstairs, listening hard. The only sound was coming from the kitchen, so she peeked around the doorway, heart hammering. One man, combat boots, fatigues, gun on his hip, gun on his vest, holding her tub of double chocolate brownie ice cream with a spoon stuck out of it. Blue hat, familiar smirk.

Just Gaz. She let out a breath and came around the corner properly. “Jesus, Gaz, you scared the shit out of me.”

He raised an eyebrow at the gun in her hand and her state of undress. “Quite the homecoming.”

“Oh shut up. You’re eating my ice cream too.” Rory took the ammo out of the gun and set both on the counter. “Give that back.”

Gaz shook his head. “No.” He dug out a spoonful and popped it in his mouth, making an exaggerated sound of enjoyment. “Don’t think I will. Might share, if you ask nicely.”

“It’s my ice cream!” Rory protested, trying to grab it out of his hands. He held it up out of her reach, his annoyingly superior smirk turning into a grin. “Don’t be an ass.”

“That’s not asking nicely, is it, Scout?” he asked, tone patronizing. “Would you like to try again?”

“No I would not!”

It was a low blow, certainly, but he was annoying, and she was still a bit amped up from the interruption and the threat of a possible intruder, so she hooked her foot behind his knee and pulled him off balance, grabbing the tub of ice cream from his hands. He snatched it back, putting a hand on her shoulder to hold her at bay.

“Now listen,” he said sternly. “I’ve had a long couple of weeks in the bloody desert, and I’m hungry. You got anything else for me to eat?” His thumb brushed over her exposed collarbone, although his eyes didn’t drift from hers.

“It’s not my job to feed you!” Rory knocked his hand to the side and feinted for the ice cream, switching direction to snatch his hat off his head instead, leaping back out of reach. “Give me the ice cream or the hat gets it.”

“Terrorist,” he grumbled. “That’s my lucky hat.”

“We can solve this with no further bloodshed,” Rory said loftily, holding her other, empty, hand out. “Give it to me, and order yourself a fucking pizza.”

He handed over the tub of ice cream with a sigh. He’d made a good dent in the little container. It was what she got for buying expensive stuff, but she’d thought that she wouldn’t have to worry too much, since John wasn’t home. She hadn’t thought Gaz would be back so soon either. “Fine. You win this round, Scout.”

She set the hat on her head, and made a dash for the door.

She got about two steps away before he grabbed her arm and pushed her down over the counter, wrestling one arm behind her back and kicking her legs apart so she couldn’t muster any real force to kick him, and grabbed her other arm for good measure, twisting it up beside the first. “Brat,” he grumbled, flicking open one of his pockets. A moment later Rory felt a zip tie bind her wrists together.

“Hey! What the hell?”

“You reneged on our deal. That means you’re going to sit here, and you’re going to watch me eat all your damn ice cream.” He righted the container, yanked her upright, turned her around and picked her up to set her on the counter.

Scout snapped her legs together the moment he stepped back, trying not to think about how little she was wearing, or the way Gaz’s rough handling nearly had her purring like a cat. It wasn’t the sort of thing she would tell him, not in a thousand years, so she hoped the angry front she held up worked. He had no reason to question it— And as far as she was aware his primary concern was getting back together with Billie. Flirting outside the bar had just been a fluke. Not that she had been flirting.

Definitely not.

She didn’t even think he was that handsome. Sure, he had pretty brown eyes fringed by long lashes, and maybe he had a bright, perfect smile that lit up his whole face, and the flecks of silver brushed through his black hair gave him a distinguished air, but he was definitely too pretty to be Rory’s type. The way his plush lips closed around the spoon didn’t effect her in the least.

“You’re an asshole,” she said. “I have things to do, you know.”

“No you don’t. If you did you wouldn’t be home on a Friday night.”

“The only friends I have in this town are Ghost and your ex-wife, I’m not exactly swimming in social plans,” Rory snapped. She wanted to rub his nose in it, that she was friends with Billie, although she couldn’t really explain why. She just felt like being mean. He deserved it, after all, since he’d zip-tied her fucking hands together.

It gave him pause. “You’re friends with Billie now?”

“Yeah. She’s nice. Too good for you, in my opinion.”

“Probably. Did she ask about me?” He dug another spoonful of ice cream out, making eye contact with her while he ate.

Rory hummed, pretending to think about it, trying really hard not to let her eyes drift down when he licked the spoon. “No, not really.”

“Aw, come on, Scout. I’ll share if you tell me.”

“Something like, the sex was so good that she didn’t realize there were serious problems until you stopped having it, and that she wouldn’t get back with you for less than a strong commitment to individual and couples counselling.” Rory shrugged, wincing when the shoulder of her robe slipped down. “Which I doubt you’d do. And honestly, you should let her find someone else. You had a good run. You’re still at least outwardly tolerable, so I’m sure you’ll find someone out there.”

Gaz nodded thoughtfully, ignoring the latter half of what she’d said. “I suppose that’s fair. Counselling would be a good start. Maybe I’ll talk to her next week. You should tell her I’m back in town. She’ll be expecting me to show up, so if I don’t, she’ll think that’s me respecting her space.” He held up a spoonful of ice cream. “That’s very helpful, Scout. You’ve earned this.”

“God, do you hear yourself? Why don’t you start by actually respecting her space? And not scheming about getting her back with you.”

He offered her the spoon, smirking again. If she’d had her hands free, Rory might have popped him just for being a prick. “If I’m doing the right things, does it really count as scheming? Now open up, before this starts melting.”

“I’m not going to let you feed me, you asshole, let me have my hands back!”

“No. I’ll let you go when I’m done. I have more questions.”

“This is the worst fucking interroga—” Rory squeaked as Gaz slid the spoon into her mouth, cutting her off.

“Sorry, what was that?” he asked, pulling the spoon back slowly.

Rory glared at him. “I’m going to kill you.”

“You are not making me want to let you go any sooner. Now, when I talk to her, what do you think will go over better? A text? I’d usually call, but she might find that more intrusive, and I want to show I’m committed to change.”

“But you’re not!” Rory protested. “You’re not committed to change, you’re trying to put your marriage back in the box it was in before, because it was convenient for you! Don’t be an asshole, Gaz, let her go.”

“She’s my wife. I’m not just going to let her go. But I could wait longer. Let her go on some lack-lustre dates with civvies that can’t even make her come.” He offered another bite of ice cream to Rory, running his tongue over his teeth as he thought it over. “Maybe I should see someone else. Get her jealous.”

Rory flinched as a glob of melting ice cream landed on her thigh, and opened her mouth to keep more from dripping all over her. The spoon clicked against her teeth as Gaz pulled it back again. “You’re so immature. You’re nearly forty, and you’re using jealousy as a tool to get your wife back?” she asked. There was a weird energy in the room, a counter to the acid way she spoke to him.

Gaz absently used his thumb to wipe the drop of ice cream off her thigh, and popped it into his mouth. “I’m considering it.”

“Listen, Gaz, I don’t think you’re a bad guy, but you really need to listen to what you’re saying right now.” Rory leaned to the side slightly to avoid the next offered scoop of ice cream. “She’s a person, and she has wants and needs that you can’t fulfill. Why do you need to draw it out? Why not think about it for more than a second before committing yourself to chasing her down? Like, what do you want? It’s probably not even the same things.” She huffed as more melting ice cream dripping down onto her shoulder. “Now will you stop that? You’re getting chocolate all over me.”

“What? Oh.” Gaz’s eyes dropped, following a drip that slowly travelled down her collarbone. He stuck the spoon back into the container and caught the drip before it reached her robe, just above her breast. Rory couldn’t help the way her breath caught, and he seemed to be having a similar moment as he licked the spot of chocolate off of his thumb and eyed the rest of the sticky sweet mess he’d made, inexplicable heat sparking in the air between them. “Let me just get that for you.”

Instead of getting a cloth like a sane person would, he leaned in and licked up the droplets, his hands settling on Rory’s waist to hold her still. He made a deep, contented sound when she gasped, the combination of warm tongue and cold confectionery turning her brain to mush. She didn’t even try to squirm away, only leaned her head to the side to give him access to her neck, where he started sucking slightly sticky kisses onto delicate skin, slotting his body between her thighs, hands sliding down to her hips to pull her closer to the edge of the counter.

“Gaz, what are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You— ahhh— You can’t— I’m not—” He kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear, scrambling what remained of her thoughts, his teeth dragging over her earlobe. She made a pathetic, whimpering sound, trying to keep her eyes open and fighting for the return of rational thinking. This was obviously a bad idea. A terrible idea.

An insanely hot idea.

“Oi,” a gruff voice behind her said. The accompanying click from a gun’s safety switch brought Rory back to cold clarity in an instant. “Step away from the bird.”

“Ghost, wait, it’s just Gaz!” Rory twisted, panic blessedly pulling her back to reality, where she knew that what had just happened was messed up. “Don’t shoot him.”

The safety clicked back on. “Gaz, get your fuckin’ ‘ands off Scout,” Ghost growled. He didn’t wait for Gaz to comply, just gripped the back of his tac vest and pulled him back a step. “Wot the ‘ell’s goin’ on ‘ere?” He was wearing the Ghost mask, not just the usual plain black surgical one he usually wore these days. He meant business.

Gaz opened his mouth to explain, but Ghost held up a hand. “Not you. Scout? Why’re you tied up and ‘alf dressed?”

“Oh. Um. So you said not to do anything stupid, and I, um. Did. Secured the top floor and looked into the kitchen and realized it was just Gaz, so I put the gun down.”

"Din't think maybe you should've put pants on first?" Ghost's eyes swept over her critically, taking in the half-open robe and the blush that spread from her chest to the tops of her ears.

“Well. It occurs to me now that might have been a good use of my time, yes.”

“And when I told you not to do anythin’ stupid, you just thought you’d ignore that, roight?”

“Ghost, I am ziptied and embarrassed, can we save the lecture for once I’ve gotten dressed?”

“No. You’re gonna remember it better this way.” Ghost turned his attention to Gaz. “And you! Wot the fuck do you think you were doin’?”

“I— I thought we were—” Gaz looked rattled, more surprised than anything else, like he couldn’t fully put together what he had been doing. His eyes found Rory’s, and stuck there.

Ghost stepped between them, practically growling. “No, I don’t want to ‘ear it. That’s Price’s little girl, you can’t be suckin’ on ‘er neck like a teenage boy just coz she’s ‘ot now.”

Gaz scoffed. “She’s a grown woman, she can do anything she likes.”

“She’s not gonna want to do it with you! You’re nowhere near good enough for ‘er.” Ghost jabbed a finger at Gaz’s chest. “Scout is off limits. For you, for Soap, for me. If you can’t ‘andle that, I’ll tell Price what I caught you doin’ and ‘ave ‘im kick your sorry arse out.”

“Woah, woah, everyone slow down,” Rory said quickly. “It’s fine. Ghost, he just got carried away, he didn’t hurt me, so you can calm down, okay big guy? I’m fine.”

Ghost turned around, the scary, cold light in his eyes fading. “Shite. Sorry, pet. Just scared me, thinkin’ you were in trouble.” He cupped her face with his huge hands and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “But if I ever catch you walkin’ into an uncertain situation ‘alf naked again, I’m gonna put you over my knee, understood?”

Rory snickered. “Kinky.”

Ghost huffed, shaking her head lightly before releasing her and reaching for his knife. “Christ, Scout, you stop that. Why’re you tied up anyhow?” He leaned around her and cut the plastic tie with a quick tug of the blade.

“Oh, we were being obnoxious. I was mad because he was eating my ice cream, he was grumpy because he just got in from god knows where and I was giving him grief about it.” Scout rubbed her wrists. She hadn’t been in the position long enough for it to really hurt. “Childish nonsense. I think we both just wanted to fight.”

“I did not want to fight.” Gaz picked up the tub of ice cream again. “I’ve had my fill for a little while.”

Ghost snorted. “Don’t give me that. You always come home itchin’ for a fight or a fuck. Or both, ‘alf the time.”

“Well. I was thinking about going to see Billie. So I guess you’re right. Was looking for both.”

“Alright, Scout, go get your cute little arse dressed. Can’t ‘ave you temptin’ this degenerate any longer.”

“Yeah yeah. All my fault, I get it.” Rory hopped down from the counter and picked up her gun before trotting back up the stairs. She cleaned up the bathroom and drained the tub, and got dressed in some comfortable sweatpants and an oversized sweater, covering as much skin as possible. She bounced back into the kitchen, sticking her tongue out at Gaz, who was scraping the last bits of ice cream out of the little carton, looking at her smugly. She ignored him and focused on Ghost. “You stickin’ around, big guy? Or heading home?”

Ghost shrugged. “Figure I’d stick around for a bit. Keep an eye on this one, make sure ‘e don’t get ‘andsy again.” He elbowed Gaz, eyes crinkling slightly.

“I don’t need supervision. It was a lapse in judgment.”

“You’ve been ‘avin’ a lot of those lately. Get your ‘ead on straight, Garrick.”

“I get it, I fucked up. No idea what’s gotten into me.” He sighed, shooting Rory a guilty glance. “Just missin’ Bill, I guess. Sorry Scout.”

“It’s fine. I would prefer if we never spoke of it again.”

Gaz nodded, relief written plain on his handsome face. “Yeah. That would be for the best.”

Rory settled in on the couch beside Ghost while Gaz trudged upstairs for a shower. He came back in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and they bickered over a movie for a little bit (Ghost won, and they watched You’ve Got Mail). Ghost got a text from Soap that he was landing, so he left, sternly telling them to behave themselves. Rory rolled her eyes when she locked the door behind him. He could be such a mother hen, always worrying about the silliest things.

Gaz was half watching the movie and half scrolling through his phone when Rory came back. She settled back into he spot she’d been curled up in before, suddenly a bit tense. They’d been fine when Ghost was there, laughing and joking like old friends, but now that he was gone, Gaz didn’t seem to have anything he wanted to say to her, although he kept looking at her when he thought she was paying more attention to the movie.

He snorted softly. “New in town, take me on a whirlwind tour of Hereford. If we still want to hang out after the ten minutes that takes, we can get coffee.”

Rory whipped her head around so fast she felt like she pulled something. “That’s my fucking tinder profile.”

“Got some cute pictures in here. You havin’ any luck?”

“Some. Most guys just want to take me on a whirlwind tour of their dicks, which is fine. Been a while since I got laid and all. But I’m not sleeping with a guy who’s first overture is a picture of his penis.”

Gaz chuckled. “Have we really not figured out that that doesn’t work?”

“I don’t think they care about it not working. It’s a test to see if the other person has boundaries or self-respect.” Rory chucked a pillow at his head. “But honestly, there’s not a lot of charm in this town.”

“That’s what boys’ll get you,” Gaz said loftily.

“Like you could do better, Mr. Big Tough Man.”

He smirked. “Do you want to find out?”

“Ew, no, you’re almost as old as my dad.”

“First of all, no I’m not. I’m not even forty.” He threw the pillow back at her, and it bounced off her scandalized face. “And secondly, I don’t think disgust was top of mind when I was kissing you earlier. Some of those sounds could even be interpreted as enjoyment.”

“Sure, if you’re a delusional old man.” Rory grabbed the pillow before he could chuck it at her again. “And I’m not sure I’d call that kissing, it was more licking, because you’re gross and insane.”

“Watch it, love. You’re gonna get yourself in trouble with that attitude.”

Rory scoffed. “Oh yeah? Are you my daddy now, Gaz? Gonna punish me for bein’ a brat?”

She tensed, realizing what she’d said could be considered provocative. Gaz tensed too, his dark eyes flashing with interest. That stupid smirk of his was becoming a permanent fixture on his too-pretty face. They stared at each other for a long moment, both of them hardly daring to breathe. The sensible thing to do would to leave him there and go to bed. And she was sensible. She was.

But he tipped his head to the side, as though he sensed that she was about to flee. “Is that what you need me to be, Rory? Your daddy?” And fuck, if that wasn’t unreasonably hot coming from him, that gorgeous dark caramel voice that was just a little too sweet, covering wolfish intention. He reached out, his fingers brushing her ankle.

Scout pulled her leg out of his range before he could grip her, and jumped to her feet. “WellthatwasagreattalkI’mgoingtobed,” she said, all the words coming out on top of each other in a nervous jumble. “Goodnight!”

She practically ran upstairs, ears turning hot when she heard Gaz laughing. Oh he was such a bastard.

Image Credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - Banners by @/cafekitsune

[deadweight-at7am]

I'm not going to lie, the holidays make me so thankful I am divorced.

So many holidays were spent "splitting the day" with my ex's family who were absolutely awful to deal with. We'd have to crowd into his grandma's cramped townhouse (it's like half the size of mine) and I'd have to tolerate his idiot family who I didn't like anyway. Not a single one of them. Then sometimes I'd have to tolerate his extended family (cousins and shit) and pretend I cared about them. I'd spend the entire time hearing them drone on on and on about themselves meanwhile sitting there totally invisible. I learned so many things against my will while at these functions. They never treated anyone who wasn't blood like family, so all the non-blood relatives (us poor in-laws) were always relegated to "not important". I'll never forget the year I hosted Thanksgiving and they all browbeat me into allowing his uncle bring his dog to my house. Then when I was trying to make sure everyone split up the cost of supplying certain foods fairly his sister copped an attitude with me. I wanted to punch her through the phone. I never did it again after that time. And we divorced 2 years later anyway, lol. I actually told my lawyer to put in our divorce paperwork a stipulation that we do not split holidays, I get the kids for the full day and he can find time to celebrate with them the day after or something. I just knew that he wasn't going to care about this because my ex literally doesn't take any sort of tradition seriously. If he doesn't "feel like it", he won't. He will not get a Christmas tree, he will not cook Thanksgiving dinner, he doesn't care even though kids definitely look forward to that stuff. He doesn't get it. I told him I would maybe have to forgo getting a real tree in years to come if the prices keep climbing like they have been and he has the audacity to say to me "you don't need a Christmas tree, just don't get one". Excuse you? You don't need a Christmas tree, I have kids that depend on me for providing that little bit of holiday magic. And even if I didn't have any kids I love the tradition, it adds a joy and warmth to December.

And not to mention, the FOOD???? The food situation was always terrible. When my ex and I started dating he wanted to spend the holidays with me and my family because, DUH, the food was so much better. The first Christmas we had together he was gobsmacked at our tradition of "feast of the seven fish". He was obsessed. We didn't do seven fish but my mom makes a lobster linguine and he went insane over it - said it was his favorite dish of the year. Once you taste the good stuff you'll always want more.

Holidays are a time for me and my family to reconnect, for me to cook great food for people I love. It's not for me to compromise and have to "deal with" people and I no longer have to do that ever again. If you do have to do that, I feel for you. I spent many years doing just that.

[ange11icyuri]

Pick a pile ✨🌙💕

@missunderstoodfaerie

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Note: I’m doing cheap paid readings 5-10$ or 10-20$ depending on the reading! So if you would like to go more in detail about your life or if you’re curious about something else romance/ general, whatever it is dm me! I got you. Here’s a list of readings I do/prices.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Now let’s get started! :)

Pick a pile 1, 2, 3 or 4.

This is a general reading, so take what resonates and leave what doesn’t!

How to pick a pile:

Choose a house that you feel the most attracted to, or the house that you’d most likely live in. Whichever house is to you’re calling and then read you’re pile number!

　　　♡

PILE l☘︎︎

For those who chose pile 1, i feel as though you’re not happy with your family, or you might have a broken up family. Your parents might be fighting or going through a divorce, or just conflict in your family, which makes you sad or unhappy. On the other hand I’m also seeing you or someone in your family might be dealing with pregnancy. Someone is becoming a mother. It might be a huge change or even an obstacle to overcome, it might’ve caused a lot of conflict but things will come together, i see a big win is coming. In this time you will be working hard and keeping focus. It might be an ongoing fight and it might be really hard for you but this a lesson you will learn and you will keep moving forward, be strong good things are coming your way.

PILE ll☘︎︎

For those who chose pile 2, there is so much conflict. There’s a secret being kept from you, or someone has been lying to you. Someone was very abusive and terrible to you. They felt guilty so they are either gonna tell you and come clean or they already have. If they have confessed they will try to become a better person for themselves and for you. I do see that you might have a lot of love interests who want to confess their love for you. For your situation, it will be easily resolved maturely and it will be a peaceful resolution. I do feel that either you or your partner might walk away from the relationship though. In this time you and this person will chose to focus on yourself or work. Just trying to do you.

PILE lll☘︎︎

For those who chose pile 3, you feel trapped within a relationship and you just wanna let go. You’ve been thinking of leaving the relationship because you’re unhappy with this person. They are very immature and very emotional and it’s stressful and overwhelming for you to deal with, you would like to be out of it. You will probably come clean and talk about you’re feelings with this person if you haven’t already. You are someone who has a lot of eyes gushing over you, many love interests and you have options. Other people that want a relationship with you. You will come out of the relationship and you will move on from this situation.

PILE lV☘︎︎

For those who chose pile 4, someone might’ve abandoned you or you might’ve separated from a relationship. It was really terrible news and this irresponsible with you’re heart. This caused you to have trust issues or maybe you had trust issues before, but this definitely made things worse. There is a lot of conflict in the situation you’re in definitely dealing with someone who’s stubborn. You feel lost with everything. Don’t worry though because i see that better things are coming for you.

Thank you for reading this post if you’d like a personal reading to know more dm me. Would love to see you soon. Looking forward to talking with you.

🔮

[rivstyx]

Hey! Could I please ask for a NatM fic recommendation? I don't like oneshots or pwp so Idk where to start tbh

YES of course you can my dear anon! it sounds like you're looking for longer, more plotty stories, so here are some fics that may fit that description:

The Barn Raising by PoetryInMotion (7,463 words)

The Old West's barn has been demolished by a fetch-related accident. When they get a new one, the Western denizens throw a good old-fashioned barn-raising party. Jedediah decides to invite Octavius (and both secretly hope that they can kindle a romance between the do-si-do and the two-step).

some classic fluff. if you grew up a yeehaw like me, you'll love the little touches of Western culture; if not, you can still appreciate how damn cute this fic is

Down Then Left by mournwiththemoon (36,024 words, incomplete)

Octavius is balls deep in the closet and a mild midlife crisis. Jedediah just wants to fix the elevator. AKA the corporate loser x mechanical engineer AU that literally nobody asked for.

modern AU that i'm obsessed with. octavius is a sad divorced sandbag, jed is an obnoxious wannabe country singer, and i love them both with all my heart

He Loves Me Not by orphan_account (25,820 words)

Jed stumbles across a stack of unsent/unfinished love letters from Octavius to an unknown person in the museum. Jed sets out to find out who. Not because he’s jealous. No, not all.

big romcom vibes. it's not miscommunication, but it's not not miscommunication

if this was a cowboy movie (i'd give you my boots) by Liviapenn (10,180 words)

There are secret articles in our treaties with the gods, of more importance than all the rest, which the historian can never know.' -- Henry David Thoreau. This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you. -- Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself"

ok this one only sort of fits the bill, but i love it too much not to rec it. it follows jed and octavius as they walk back from the car wreck in movie 1 and tell each other stories about their pasts

living beyond your years (acting out all their fears) by Riv_Styx (16,447 words)

“Go,” Octavius repeated. “Run. I am with you.” Jedediah did the one thing he never thought he was capable of doing. The thing he would have sooner died than chosen of his own accord. He ran. Secret of the Tomb AU. Octavius doesn't make it out of Pompeii; angry and grieving, Jedediah goes home alone. Meanwhile, for Octavius, his whole world changes overnight. The new museum is thriving on the magic of the tablet, but it's not where he belongs. It's going to be a long way home.

oh look a familiar name!

my heart will stop in joy by HungryOnMain (12,433 words, incomplete)

A temporary exhibit, on display at the AMNH for a limited time, brings forth a vengeful force from the past. Terrible, painful memories bubble up from the depths of the minds of everyone on display. They can be taken, and joy restored - for a price.

dark, fucked up, and utterly addicting. i eagerly await every serving. this one says "hey, forget kahmunrah - what else could tablet magic possibly do in the wrong hands?"

Any Weather (series) by EwokRae22 (151,470 words)

On a lucky break from McPhee, Larry brings the exhibits on a winter vacation north of New York. He has everything prepared, or at least that’s what he tells himself. Because nothing can stop Jedediah and Octavius’s useless and oh-so-tiny longing for each other, not even the snow.

a fandom classic! the series follows jed and octavius through some wild adventures and features some genuinely heart-wrenching twists

Cacoethes (series) by Anonymous (25,927 words)

A deeper look into Jedediah and Octavius's experiences during Battle of the Smithsonian, and a look at what could have happened after the end.

take the hourglass scene from natm 2 and turn the homosexuality up to eleven, and you've got cacoethes - though the rest of the works in the series are definitely worth the read!

hope this helps! :D

[48lexr]

As Promised

I filled out one of these character sheets I found for In Iziser, Hero of Cognition and Emperor of Zeneste, as a writing warm-up.

General Info

Name: In Iziser

Nicknames:

• Most prominent: Nuwrrite Emeete, "Hero of Cognition," Nuwrrite sis Nistemiks pijn.

Called Izi by all his friends.

Pronouns: he/him

Age: 18

Gender: Cis Man

Sexuality: Pan

Species: Human

Place Of Birth: Outside of Ir Nouzonif, Zeneste

Current Home: Ir Nouzonif, Zeneste

Big spoilers ahead of here, be warned!

Appearance

Izi has short, brown hair and brown skin and a flat-ish nose. His eyes are green, and he stands at around 5' 6" (167 cm). He doesn't appear particularly fit or trim, but the mass on his bones is definitely muscle from tilling and harvesting rice fields.

Normally, he'll be seen wearing jeans and long-sleeves, even in >100 F (37 C) heat-indexes, since Ir Nouzonif is a very humid place. He's no stickler for colors matching, and often his clothes are permanently stained with dirt.

Personality

Though mostly cheery, he can becomes aggravated easier than normal. Moreover, he can be overzealous and overconfident. He's very openly trusting, although he keeps his early history close to his chest. He's not altogether too proud, though he hates to receive charity, even when he's down on his luck. He looks up to his father, and remembers his words a lot.

Likes:

• Rice bowls. They're his favorite food because they're a) easy to make, b) versatile, and c) filling with the right ingredients. He mostly just adds a couple of fried eggs to his rice bowls.

• Spending time with Hotautebz, the Hero of Mind. Since there's no point in holding back from Hota, Izi feels most like himself when he's with them. Hota's not too judgemental, thankfully.

• His local general store. It's the place where he does most of his shopping, since he knows the price is relatively cheap for the quality of clothing and other daily goods.

Dislikes:

• His authority being questioned. Though he's very insecure about being a leader (in more ways than one), he wouldn't give up the title for his life. He often finds ways to reassert his own authority in that way.

• Lounging around. Izi is restless and likes to me moving about. He likes to rest when he's tired, but he doesn't stay stagnant for too long.

• Burned rice. He believes rice is one of the easiest things to cook, and one of the hardest things to mess up, since it's so versatile.

Known Abilities

Cognition Magic

Cognition magic is the magic of the Irrealis-that which is not real, or cannot be known. Quantum physics lends itself really well to this, as well as knowledge of magic, itself. At a base level, Izi can teleport, become "ghost-like," and sense another person's magic.

Besides that, his skill with the scythe and sickle have been honed for the years since he worked in the rice fields.

Relationships

Family:

• (Mother) Ihine Dolgof, Hero of Life. (Not present during his upbringing.) (See! I told you there would be big spoilers.)

(Father) Äs Xajas. Raised Izi alone. Deceased

(Sister) In Taguchif, Hero of Redacted. Raised by her mother (Ihine Dolgof) in Atepsi to become the Princess of Atepsi.

Friends/Allies:

• Vimir, roommate and best friend. Worked in the rice fields together. Complete airhead.

Eheste Lozerief, Hero of Earth. Simultaneously an ally and enemy.

Hotautebz Az, Hero of Mind. Izi and Hota fit together like the first two tunes in Ralph Vaughan Williams' Sea Songs.

Enemies:

President Sluwfa of Zeneste. The big bad.

Eheste Lozerief. Marginally less bad.

In Taguchif. Even less bad.

Backstory

Izi was born the second of two to the Hero of Life and Xajas. Deciding she couldn't raise two children, Ihine Dolgof forced Xajas to divorce and split their children, since Taguchif was just two, and Izi had just been born. As a result, Izi was raised alone.

He went through elementary school in the rural area outside of Ir Nouzonif until his father died in the hospital with stage four lung cancer. After that, the lawyers who were supposed to transcribe his inheritance and set up a fund, based on his father's will, stole it all for themselves, leaving the, now twelve years old, Iziser to find work for himself.

Fun Facts

• Izi's accent of Ipol has the voiceless uvular fricative, [χ], as the realization of the voiced uvular trill, [ʀ] phonemically /ʀ/. Additionally, his /s/ is realized as [h] in most contexts. In summary, he speaks like a farmer.

• Izi has a big fat crush on Hota for most of the novel. That's really all there is to say on the matter.

• Izi never quite realizes why the lemon tree is so significant for Dolgof and Lozerief.

[monsterslikemango]

Hank Anderson & John Price’s kind of playlist

[leomlarson]

LEO LARSON

full name: leonard "leo" michael larson

pronouns & gender: he/him, cis man

birthday & birthplace: february 9, 1996 (28); ann arbor, mi

location: ocean crest apartments

time in aurora bay: since august 2019

sexuality: bisexual

occupation: art teacher at aurora bay high school

@aurorabayaesthetic

about.

leo is a midwestern boy through and through. he was born and raised in ann arbor, michigan (go blue!) and really prides himself on that. he'll go to bat for the midwest any day.

he's the oldest of three, with two younger sisters who he'd literally die for. his extended family on his mom's side is incredibly tight; his mom and all of her siblings actually bought up a lot of the houses in the same little cul-de-sac, so leo grew up seeing his cousins more like his siblings. lots of game day barbecues that spilled out into the street, riding bikes around town, driving around because there was nothing else to do, the whole suburban experience really

his parents split up when he was nine and he has little to no contact with his dad, who moved across the country after the divorce. he loves his mom but she went through a long period of dating bad guys that hasn't really ended, so he definitely has daddy issues

he's loved art for as long as he can remember, and he was always gifted with it. it started with chalk drawings in the driveway and went from there. he went to a progressive, hippy dippy high school in ann arbor that allowed him to specialize and get together a portfolio for college

leo is. not smart lmao. but he is talented, which is what got him into a joint brown university/rhode island school of design program. doing the whole ivy league thing was really not leo's jam. he felt like he was too far from his family and had a hard time fitting in to the kind of upper class vibe at an ivy, but he was able to find his niche and really focus on his work because of it.

after college, a fellowship brought him out to san francisco. he loved sf, but the kind of snobbery that really repulsed him in college just came out in full force when he was trying to break into the art world. the fellowship was supposed to last two years, but he gave it up after one and packed up his whole life to move south to aurora bay

he's been in town for four years now, and during that time he worked on teaching certifications, sort of because he didn't know exactly what else to do. all he wants to do all day is paint, but he developed such an imposter syndrome on top of a distaste for the established art world, so he figured that teaching art would allow him to do what he loves everyday while also giving him a lot of time to work on his own projects

he got a job at aurora bay high school and lives to project the kind of cool, gay, tattooed hippie teacher vibe that his teachers in high school had. he still does his own stuff and shows at local galleries/maintains a website where he sells pieces. he also does murals all over town, in storefronts, on the sides of businesses, for anyone who wants one at affordable prices. he sells handmade jewelry at local artisan markets. he just loves to make art!

leo is a very simple guy. the only things that really get through into his brain are pretty things. flowers, trinkets, etc. his apartment is immaculately designed, he's always looking out for a cute new piece for his mantel.

family.

mother: bridget larson

father: michael larson (estranged)

sisters: daisy larson, emmy larson

tidbits.

he has a dilute tortoiseshell cat named robert, after robert rauschenberg, who he mostly just calls bob

he actually speaks fluent irish but hardly ever has a chance to use it. his mom is a first generation american and her parents were basically irish nationalists who only came to the states because they were so poor in ireland. they were all about keeping the irish language alive, so his whole family spoke irish growing up

he's a bit of a slut! he is ACTIVE on grindr and tinder and all the things. if your character is too, they've probably hooked up

basically, he's just a sunshiny pretty boy

connections

party buds, hopeless wingman case for @heyits-asher

intrigued by, highkey crushin on @paxton-brady

art friends w/ @cherryxkoch, @maura-cortes, @cassidyxcooke

internet turned irl art friends w/ @lennonhansley

past fwb/on weird terms with @dancingdanvers

neighbors who leo drags into impromptu board game/wine/craft nights @emersonxcassidy, @cricketcampbell

went on a few dates with @atticus-cortes before they both accidentally ghosted each other

ex hookup/helped @esmaxdemirci cheat on her husband in sf

friend/former camper of @caleb-majhi

[untitled-null]

New Adventure

🎵ムーンライト - Hoshimachi Suisei

It's crazy when you think about it. I had my life planned out for the most part. We were married at 22 & 23 -- we were going to build a life together and start a family. I had a general idea of what my future was going to look like -- and it was to grow old together with you.

And as time went by, I took it for granted; took you for granted -- that you would always be there. I trusted you -- that you would always be mine. And I was arrogant about that. ごめん。Had it not been for my arrogance, perhaps it would have been so very different.

Perhaps I would have treated you better. Loved you better. Cherished you more. But alas -- I didn't even know what love was. How ironic that now that I do, I can say that I love you more now that I have ever before, even if you're already gone.

What was once so confidently known has produced in me such complacency, in such that I was forced to lose what I thought was everything in order to truly gain everything that matters.

Your actions shattered me, and I was left broken -- more than you possibly have ever felt before. Was this revenge? Or just desserts for how I treated you over fifteen years ago? I doubt it -- that's just a line from the accuser. But I will say -- do you even know the kind of pain that your actions caused me? Have you ever been betrayed the way you betrayed me? Imagination doesn't even come close to the actual truth of seeing you with someone else. The funny thing is -- of course I called it. Of course I suspected it.

And yet... you know not what you do. And he knew not what he did. Ah -- the power of God's mercy and compassion -- how I long for you both to feel it. 本当に。

あのねー 僕は大丈夫。Throughout this ridiculously tumultuous emotional season -- I've been focusing on developing my interests; working on things that I've been wanting to do for years -- learning Japanese, going to the gym and focusing on eating healthier, and giving myself more time to work on our my business. But most importantly, I'm further deepening my relationship with the one who matters most -- our Creator, Jesus Christ. あのね, He was the one who picked up all the shattered pieces of my heart, and pieced them back together again.

This past year and a half has truly been a walk through the valley of the shadow of death. I lost count of how many times I felt the sharpness of the broken shards in my chest tearing into me. Tears streaming down my face, clutching my chest, and crying out to the Lord, "Why? どうして？　いたいよ！ 苦し。。。It's so painful!" And every time I would feel Him say, "I know... But you're okay. I've got you. Don't stay here; come on. You have to keep moving. I'm not done with you yet. This, too, shall pass." And every time, with His everlasting patience, He would pick me up, piece the shards of my heart together with the glue of His love, and help me through this darkened valley. あのさ, He can do the same for you. Words cannot even describe the unexplainable peace and joy that I've experienced through Him in what I call, "the most painful emotional experience of my entire life."

I had sight for my future -- a direction and idea of where we would be. Eventually successful, with kids as a family. 「We could've been a family just wasting time; you and me...」 was a song lyric that struck me harder than ever before. But the second portion goes, 「But at what price?」

...

I'm completely clueless now. My future is shrouded in uncertainty. I'm thirty-one, separated -- potentially facing divorce. This definitely wasn't what I had in mind. I wanted a wonderful marriage by now. I wanted kids by now. But perhaps... this truly was for the best.

Though my future is shrouded in mystery, I'm finally starting to grow up, little by little. Jesus broke my chains of addiction and He's now forming me into the man He created me to be. The unknown is terrifying -- but you know who else faces the unknown? Adventurers. Perhaps this next chapter in my life will finally be the "adventure" I've always dreamed of. But, though uncertainty is scary, I have nothing to fear; I will be strong and courageous. I will not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord my God is with me where I go. I'll embark on this adventure -- and with the Lord as my party leader, whom shall I fear?

[alyjojo]

September 🏋🏽‍♂️ 2024 Monthly - Leo

Preshuffle: Either you’re separating yourself from people on purpose, you need some alone time, or you could feel like others are pushing you away and you’re feeling unwanted. Either way it’s causing you to feel less confident.

Meditation: A dark figure looking out of a huge skyscraper-like Tower window at the city below them, largely on fire 🔥 Walking away, they leave a cigarette burning in an ashtray, with the intent to smoke it or come back but it’s like they can’t even watch this anymore, they’re going to let it burn out on its own (all of it).

Main energy: Page of Swords

What’s going on in September:

Wheel of Fortune rev, 8 Swords rev, 9 Swords, The Devil, 3 Pentacles rev

Page of Swords nails the dark figure watching from the window 🪟 you couldn’t get a better card for that, it’s definitely your energy. I see you hanging on through the tail end of some very difficult cycle in your life, you haven’t had any real control over how this has gone and it’s been all you can do to just keep moving forward through it. Could have something to do with Pluto’s return to Cap through Nov., the stars are tying up loose ends and so too it seems are you. You’ve grown a lot, overcome a lot, maybe you’ve even ended a lot - friendships or acquaintances you’ve outgrown or people that don’t “get” or support you…you’re still dealing with that, because not only have you grown - others have changed too. Some of you may have been through a divorce, others of you may have lost a parent. I’m also seeing someone who is waiting on certain body parts to “fill in” and not being very happy with what’s there, could be very young or their story is just different from the norm - I’m seeing implants or some kind of plastic surgery being something you’d either hoped for - happening naturally or with makeup or something. Someone here is applying this scrutinizing & watchful energy @ themselves & how they look 😞 Judging yourself too harshly, all of the time. Or you’re with someone that is and you’re expected to finance plastic surgery, a hefty price tag I’m seeing. Or even laser eye surgery, Page of Swords is giving eyes specifically 👀

Some of you simply hit rough times and had to move back home with parents for awhile but that’s becoming a power struggle because they’re trying to control your life - Devil in your feelings. Whatever emotions came with this experience were heavy but you’ve released them as best as you can, you’ve worked though it. Some of you have to feel grateful so it’s like you *can’t* feel imposed upon even though you probably are in some way. 9 Swords clarified by 10 Wands shows the current energy though the month, and it’s constant stress, sleepless nights, being weighed down by everything you haven’t gotten to and the effects of whatever that is…you have a lot plaguing your mind, and need more of the sleep 😴 you’re not getting, worrying about it all. If this is an ex-partner, you’re worried about who they’re with, every night. This could be a couple that gets into a huge fight, one goes to their family/friend’s house to crash for a bit and get some needed space - but then there’s worry and fear over “who is in my house or with them if I’m not?” For that story it’s like shit…Mom is involved now, and probably has it out for your person because she’s biased, naturally.

I don’t see this wrapping up neatly this month, you feel beholden to someone along with uncooperative to others, it’s a fine line you’re having to walk in what feels like a minefield (to you), not making things worse but feeling like they can’t possibly get better. Not yet. Ego is the biggest challenge - whoever feels they are “right” in this matter absolutely will not budge, won’t compromise, won’t give an inch. Either because they are legitimately correct or because NOW they’re in too deep with whatever has happened because of this, it’s like even more things (karma, financial ties, baggage) have been attached or tied to this situation because of the fallout. I hope I’m making sense. If someone is trying to move on, that probably won’t go well. Or the biggest fear is that someone will…or wants to.

Further advice for this: 6 Swords rev & The High Priestess is saying you’re going to go back to this person/situation and you already know this, you just don’t know how - others aren’t cooperating with you right now. Ace of Cups is the goal, and with return here, it’s with the same person not a new one. If you’re separated you might just pop in on them thinking they’re keeping secrets or doing something sneaky with High Priestess - I see the worry, not the reality. That could be what opens the door to communication.

For the plastic surgery story, fear and finances are stopping you, and a lack of moral support to boot. The advice would be to return to what you know or whatever you’ve already been doing…or you could plan on returning to this secretly and just keeping quiet about it, now that you know you don’t have the support of others. Shelve for later, basically, and see maybe then, financially. Omens as an Oracle shows that you will be receiving the signs you need to see - and your own intuition is your best guide ♥️

Signs you may be dealing with:

Heavy Gemini, Capricorn, Leo, Libra & Taurus

Oracle: ✨

31 Omens 🐦

Hawks are messengers. This majestic bird flies high and reaches the realms of the spirit. They bring back messages from both the seem and unseen. Drawing this card speaks of focus and intuition. Pay attention to the coincidences in your life right now. Focus on where you want to go - how high do you want to fly? When you see a hawk, someone is trying to get your attention. Pay attention to serendipity in your life. Be glad, for this is a reminder that you are living in the flow of energy. Things will soon shift for you.

Harmony’s Call ⚖️

Embrace equality and pursue justice, harmonizing the energies to manifest a balanced and just outcome.

Shield of Resistance 🛡️

Employ your shield of resilience, guarding against external pressure while nurturing your internal strength in love and career.

Roots of Stability 🌳

Ground yourself in what nurtures your being, establishing a stable base from which love and career can bloom.

We enter into September as:

Canary Yellow 🐤

“If you talk and do not do, you are like the Canary in his cage; beautiful but useless.”

It is suggested that you move beyond what you believe to be right and accept what is. You may not be doing your true calling. Are you living in a fantasy that you would rather pretend with? This is your opportunity to do it, or let it go. Others will soon see what you are either hiding or denying. Time to wake up or you may find yourself quite embarrassed when your true motive is revealed. Like Canary - he would rather impress than do! Be careful of working too much and neglecting the reality of your life. Do not be the person who feels that he or she will never receive what they are entitled to, and it is easier to pretend that everything is fine. Canary indicates that things are in place for miracles to happen, but they may not if you dissipate your energy. Things are built up in our minds and we are imprisoned by the story we tell about what we are doing. Do not take yourself or the project you speak of so seriously any longer. Stop and consider if you intend on doing what you say, or if you are only talking.

This is a card of realizing we own nothing. We are given inspiration from above, if we dissipate our gifts than we are not fulfilling our promise to Spirit. If you resist your voice, why have one? What in your heart do you know you could do “if you wanted to”?

What is to be learned in September:

Cherry Heart 🍒

“When you accept yourself, you find love.”

Cherry Heart reminds us that we may not be accurately assessing ourselves. If you are drawn to Cherry, consider that perhaps you are being given signs to see, hear or feel a truth, but have yet to accept it. It is also a reminder that you may be distorting your reality in a self-defeating way. Short-changing ourselves is how we hold ourselves back. Cherry Heart is at the core an issue of self-acceptance and seeing miracles in everyday life. Cherry wishes to tell you that prosperity happens with acceptance. She invites you to see yourself as complete just as you are.

Red may be a lucky color ❤️

[citynewsglobe]

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[sofasoap]

YAYY!! I wake up in the morning and chpt 6 is here!!! ( and i plonk back to sleep after reading. oops )

which meant you weren't going to get drunk, you were going to avoid him.

OUCH... that really hurts knowing Sting is avoiding him.

on the mantle, he notices something definitely not left there by him; first, he spots the flowers he gave you, a little wilted and slightly squashed, sitting in a vase that was here when he moved in.

I would have thought sting would threw it away... but i guess if they didn't want it... they would have refuse to take it when Simon gave it to them.

it explained why he was so overly familiar with you. was that why you liked him more? you had to be close with him – closer than simon was with you. were you… involved with him?

Jealousy. Ah. but that does explain why Sting had Anderson with them in the infirmary and also ask him to take them home...

"because you need'ta sort out this thing between you and sting." johnny replies, pushing himself up to stand next to simon and giving his shoulder a firm pat. "you’re a pain in my arse, both of you." he grumbles, massaging the creases in his forehead over the fabric of his mask.

Gaz and Soap the wingmen and good buddies :) they are just worry about their L.T and their friend Simon :) You need to thank them later.

"c'mon, we're good together, we have history!" anderson's words are slurred, leaving no mystery as to just how drunk he is.

Dude, sometimes history doesn't mean SHIT. keep yourself away from Sting!!!

sometimes alcohol really brings out the worse of ppl. or their true nature? I feel bad for Sting. someone they think is a good friend, their good team mate.. and... their true colour shone through. it's such a pity. that word about " judgement of character " bit hits a bit too. a close friend of mine going through bitter divorce had that thrown at her by her soon-to-be ex husband. ...

suddenly price is in his face with a more than disapproving frown, walking him backwards with a firm hand on his shoulder. "get a hold of yourself!" he yells, commanding and abrasive.

oooff. Luckily Price is there to control the situation.

"you don't need to leave." he says, cringing under his mask at the sound of his voice. he hopes you don’t pick up on how pathetic he sounds. "you already have a house." "you have never apologised to me! not even once! after all the shit you've put me through, i have never heard the words 'i'm sorry' out of your mouth!" you scowl at him,

"i– i could've lost you. you could've died and then i'd have to live without you, and i can't do that…"

*sigh* poor Simon. trying very hard. that nightmare of losing his family his love one probably reeling back , when he saw Sting nearly killed themselves during the last mission. and with his history he has so much trouble opening up to ppl. i guess in a way its good Sting has pushed him to confess and face his fear and finally let their feeling known..

and can't help but think about what and idiot he'd been up until this point;

one word : YEP.

"it is, because you're cooking."

... is Simon's cooking edible?? * sweating *

Man how much i wanted to cry at the end confession scene... Simon breaking down, in front of someone he love.. 😭😭

Thank you so much for this chapter... I just love this whole series so much. you throwing us into the washing machine, hang us out to dry and throw us into the dryer, tumbling around again and again. but its all worth it :)

white flag ✹ ch 6

note: hoo boy, this one's a doozy. didn't mean to project so hard with this one, but fuck it we ball ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 5.3k

no use of y/n reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: you reach a breaking point with simon, and he finally realises what he needs to do to fix things.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, some light violence, ghost finally getting his shit together, arguing, kitchen floor romance, fluff

ao3

【prev】 || 【next】

simon didn't see you at home. in fact, he found out from soap that you went straight to the pub with him and the others. you didn't even drop your car off, which meant you weren't going to get drunk, you were going to avoid him.

it stung – a feeling he’s become quite familiar with lately. but you wanted him to leave you alone, to give you space, and seeing as he had no idea what else to do, he would oblige.

he sits at the kitchen table, across from the chair that's become yours through some unspoken agreement. a random book is in his hands – an attempt to keep himself occupied, but he's been staring at the same page for the last twenty minutes and he hasn't absorbed a single word. you are the only thing on his mind, no matter how hard he concentrates on what's in front of him.

slamming his book shut with a frustrated grunt, he gives in to the fact that he's not going to be able to do anything meaningful until you get home. perhaps trying to talk now that you'd be alone would work out better than his previous attempts.

he intends to go straight up to his room when he leaves the kitchen, but for some reason simon finds himself standing outside the door to your room, peering into the darkness through the gap where you'd left it ajar.

he shouldn't go in, he knows that. from the start he'd promised himself to give you complete privacy – he hadn't even set foot in the living room since you'd moved in, apart from the times he brought you hot chocolate and put you to bed. it was the least he could do, offer you a space to call your own, since you really didn’t have much else.

but simon missed you; he missed being near you, the scent of your shampoo and the laundry detergent you use, just basking in your presence. he wouldn't touch anything, he rationalised, he just wanted to be surrounded by something that was you.

it’s dark, but he doesn't even bother to turn the light on, the hall light through the door illuminates the room enough for him to see where he's going. the armchair on the far side of the room is unoccupied, so he collapses there with a deep exhale.

the solitude must be driving him insane, because when he closes his eyes he can almost convince himself that you’re there with him, sitting across from him with one of his books in your hands. the disappointment that washes over him when he opens his eyes to be alone again isn’t rational, but knowing that still doesn’t dull the ache.

on the mantle, he notices something definitely not left there by him; first, he spots the flowers he gave you, a little wilted and slightly squashed, sitting in a vase that was here when he moved in. he feels a fleeting sense of relief at that, he wouldn't have been surprised if you'd thrown them straight in the bin.

but more interestingly, there's a photo frame, something simon owns exactly zero of, so it must be something of yours. he stands up, his curiosity getting the better of him, and takes the frame gently in his hand. tilting it into the light so the photo is visible, he feels a faint smile tugging at his lips at the sight of a younger you surrounded by your previous team.

you’re grinning widely, making bunny ears behind one of your teammates crouched in front of you, while someone behind does the same to you. as his eyes follow their arm to their face, poking out just above your head, he feels a sharp frown pull at his brows.

it’s anderson.

simon blinks a few times, in the hopes the he was simply imagining things – that his hatred for the man and lack of a good night's sleep was causing him to see things, but no matter how many times he looked away and back again, anderson’s face refused to change.

the urge to smash the photo builds up like steadily boiling water the longer he stares at it, so he places it back on the mantle before it gets too strong. why was he just now finding out you used to work with anderson? it explained why he was so overly familiar with you. was that why you liked him more? you had to be close with him – closer than simon was with you.

were you… involved with him?

the very thought makes his heart sink like a stone. his head feels light as he stumbles back out of your room, the acidic taste of bile rising in his throat.

not a moment after the door clicks shut, simon feels his phone buzz in his pocket, pushing his spiralling train of thought to the back of his mind. he pulls it out, the screen lit up with johnny's name on the caller id, but he doesn't want to answer it.

he lets it ring until the missed call notification appears instead. expecting that to be it, simon moves to shove his phone back in his pocket, but it buzzes again before he can get there.

it's a text this time – more of them coming through before he's had time to read the first. with a tired exhale, he opens the messages from johnny.

you coming pub? 20:23 pm

you should 20:23 pm

sting is here ;) 20:24 pm

no. 20:25 pm

why notttttttt 20:25 pm

cmon just get down here 20:25 pm

seriously i think you should come we need you 20:26

fine. 20:28 pm

let's fucking go 20:28 pm

better run tho be quick 20:28 pm

simon breathes a sigh of exasperation, but grabs his jacket off the hook. he doesn't even bother to change his balaclava for a more socially acceptable mask. whatever johnny's reasoning was for getting him to come to the pub, he was secretly grateful for the excuse to go out and see you – whether he would actually get to talk to you or simply watch you from the sidelines.

✹✹✹

slipping in quietly through the side entrance, simon is relieved to find the pub not nearly as rowdy as it is normally. it seems to be only the one-four-one and their associate unit mixed in with the locals, rather than being packed with soldiers like usual.

immediately he spots price, taking up a booth in the far corner, who raises a hand in greeting to him but otherwise stays put. the gesture draws johnny and gaz's attention to him, both of whom give him enthusiastic waves of their own.

he doesn't see you with them, which prompts him to scour the rest of the pub as he trudges over to his comrades. it doesn't take him long to find you over by the bar, though when he spots anderson unnecessarily close to you, he feels like his heart might just stop.

now that he knows you and him have history, simon feels a pit of hopelessness in his chest that he knows won't ever go away as long as he has to see you be happy with someone else.

it should be me, he thinks, a bitter downturn to his lips under his mask. 

"why am i here?" he grumbles when he finally makes it to the booth, choosing to stay standing at the end of the table rather than sitting down with them.

"because you need'ta sort out this thing between you and sting." johnny replies, pushing himself up to stand next to simon and giving his shoulder a firm pat.

simon rolls his eyes to hide the way soap’s words make him flinch. "i've tried. they won't listen to me." he mumbles. he sees price shake his head in a show of disappointment, which only makes him feel even worse about the whole situation. aside from you, the captain’s been the hardest on him for the way he fucked things up, and while the sergeants clearly think he's an idiot, they've done their best to support him.

"then make them listen!" gaz exclaims, "explain yourself, tell them you'd do anything for them," he gestures one hand to where you’re standing at the bar, "tell them you love them!"

"i don't–" he begins to protest as he follows gaz’s hand, but the words die on his tongue when his eyes land on you; the dim lighting of the pub illuminates the way you smile so pleasantly, simon’s heart skips a beat. turning away from you before he becomes too entranced, he shoots gaz a light glare. "keep your voice down…"

"just tell them, l.t." gaz has an easy, knowing smile on his face when he meets simon’s eyes. looking between him and johnny, who wears a similar expression, he lets out a tired sigh.

"you’re a pain in my arse, both of you." he grumbles, massaging the creases in his forehead over the fabric of his mask.

"you're gonna do it, right?" soap grins from behind his pint, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that has simon groaning, but nodding nonetheless. "good lad, i knew you had it in ya!" soap claps him on the back once more before taking his seat again.

before any of them can bother him further, the sound of raised voices reaches their ears from the bar. not loud enough to hear what they're saying, but enough to know that there's a problem.

he's not sure what he's expecting when he turns around; but seeing you pushing a very drunk anderson’s arm off your shoulder with a scowl on your face, simon finds himself stalking over to you before he can even think about it.

"c'mon, we're good together, we have history!" anderson's words are slurred, leaving no mystery as to just how drunk he is. he leans further into your personal space, and simon watches your face scrunch up as you lean away, placing your hand on anderson’s chest to keep him at bay. "you're not seriously into that freak, are you? with that creepy fuckin' mask?"

that makes simon pause. he wanted to rip anderson away from you – of course he did – but he also wanted to hear your response, whether you would denounce him or not.

"oi!" you exclaim, an incredulous tone to your voice. "he is not a freak, don't be so rude!"

the way you defend him makes his heart swell. you also didn't deny what anderson said, and though he knows it's arrogant of him, simon still holds out hope that you don't truly hate him.

with the tiniest smirk under his mask, simon closes the distance, coming to stand at your side between you and anderson.

"sting." he addresses you, meeting your eyes and completely ignoring the annoyed mumbling from the idiot on his other side. "you alright?"

the look you give him is one of surprise and relief, but you don't get to say a single word before anderson is pushing simon's shoulder so they're facing each other.

"lieu‐lieutenant ghost, fancy seein' you here," anderson is clearly annoyed at his intrusion, poking a finger into his chest that gets slapped away just as quickly. "come to show everyone how big 'n tough you are, eh?"

"andy, stop it." you hiss, pushing him back again and stepping between him and simon.

anderson scoffs at you. "why should i? we're not at work, he can't do anything, he's just some random loser." he glares up at simon, a pitiful attempt at intimidation he knows he wouldn't dream of trying if he was sober.

"give it a rest, sergeant." simon grumbles, rolling his eyes at the way anderson puffs his chest out and stands up straighter. 

"y'know, sting was right, you're a huge fuckin' arsehole," anderson spits, ignoring the way you try to keep him away when he steps around you be face to face with simon again. "can't blame 'em for not wantin' to put up with you anymore."

simon flinches ever so slightly at that, but thankfully anderson is too drunk to notice.

"that's enough." he growls, his nails digging painfully into his palms.

"no, no! what th'fuck is your problem, man?" anderson shouts, shoving simon's chest – which doesn't move him, but pisses him off anyway. "you think you're so much better than me, but you hide your ugly mug behind that fuckin' mask like a pussy!" his raised voice draws the attention of the other patrons, and an uneasy silence falls over the room as the background chatter halts.

"just fuckin' shut up," simon rolls his eyes again, shifting his gaze over to you and jerking his head in a gesture for you to move. "c'mon."

"and don't even get me started on sting!" anderson continues, pointing a swaying finger in your face which gets slapped away the same as before. "you're so obsessed with them, it's creepy as shit, everyone knows it!"

"i'm not–"

"they must be a fuckin' freak n'all, to be into you, you're both fucked in the head–"

"watch your fuckin' mouth." simon spits, taking the front of anderson's shirt roughly in his fist. he could insult simon until his last breath, but to drag your name into this ignited the flame of real anger in his chest.

"ghost, let's just go." you grasp his wrist, the one holding anderson, and perhaps if simon could focus on anything other than the smug little bastard he's moments away from punching, he might’ve felt the warmth that your touch brought him.

"–that's why they have go to the bloody psy-psychiatrist all the time, they're fuckin' mental–" the moment the words left anderson’s mouth, simon feels every sliver of restraint he had immediately leave his body; the only sound he can hear is the rushing of blood in his ears as his face twists in rage.

"shut the fuck up." he seethes, rearing his free arm back to throw possibly the most satisfying hit of his life; but before he can land it, his arm is immobilised he’s being yanked away from the sergeant.

suddenly price is in his face with a more than disapproving frown, walking him backwards with a firm hand on his shoulder. "get a hold of yourself!" he yells, commanding and abrasive.

simon grunts and pulls price's hand off of him, leaning around the captain just in time to see you deliver a fierce slap to anderson’s face that resonates in the quiet of the room.

anderson’s head whips to the side with the blow, the shell-shocked expression displaying the clear bruise forming on his cheek and his ego. simon had to admit, the sight of that prick with a bright red handprint on his cheek was incredibly gratifying.

"don't fucking talk about me like that." you spit at him, the most intense glare he's ever seen on you creasing your features. simon notices the way it softens when your eyes meet his, as johnny pushes you away from anderson – who's still reeling from the hit, but nobody bothers to take care of him.

he can't take his eyes off of you. it's like the rest of the world has just faded away and you're the only other person left, because right now, you're the only person that matters.

its drizzling by the time you drag him out by the arm. the damp air has a somewhat sobering effect on him as he allows you to pull him along with you.

"i could’ve handled that." you mutter angrily over your shoulder. you're taking him in the direction of the car park, the orange glow of the lamp posts casting shadows on your irritated expression that he finds himself admiring like fine art.

"i'd do it again." simon replies, still having never once taken his eyes off of your form. when you let go of his arm, having arrived at your car, he immediately feels the absence of your touch. he watches you walk around to the driver's side, meeting his eyes over the car and pausing in your tracks.

you hold his gaze for a moment, before looking down and shaking your head.

"just get in the fucking car." you mutter, opening the driver’s side door and disappearing from his sight. he follows suit without question, the car shifting under his weight as he settles into the passenger seat.

you pull out of the car park without another word, your face hard as you pointedly ignore his eyes on you. the silence between is thick, without even the white noise of the radio to break it.

in some way, simon’s glad you chose him over anderson, that you're driving him home rather than taking the side of that idiot. but, then again, he remembers the history the two of you must have, and he feels mildly guilty for potentially breaking up a long-term friendship of yours. not too guilty, though; the guy was a certified dickhead.

when the tension becomes too much, he decides to ask the only question that's been circling his mind like a vulture since he laid eyes on your photo.

"you know him." simon mutters. it's more of a statement than a question, really. "i saw the picture."

he sees your eyes narrow, his own still locked on your profile as you face the road. "you went through my stuff?" you reply, a small frown pulling at your brows.

"no, i just saw the picture." for a moment, he’s afraid he’d unintentionally started another argument, but his words only evoke a deeply exhausted sigh from you.

"he's just one of my old teammates." you reply, the sadness in your voice tugging at simon’s heartstrings. "i thought he was my friend, but obviously i'm not a very good judge of character, am i?"

perhaps that was a dig aimed at simon too, but he can only really focus on how disappointed you sound.

"it’s not your fault. he’s just a twat." he attempts to reassure you, to hopefully make you feel better, but he can't tell how successful it was.

"i know that now, i just–" you huff, cutting yourself off as you pull up outside home. you shut off the engine, massaging your temples with the same frown still on your face. he's tempted to say something more, but no words come to him.

"nevermind, i don't even wanna think about it." you sigh, quickly getting out of the car and slamming the door behind you. he follows behind, the lights of your car flashing as you lock it, illuminating the way your shoulders are slumped as you disappear into the house.

simon figures you'll want time to cool off after what happened, perhaps a cold cloth for your hand that's undoubtedly stinging after such a powerful hit. the memory is enough to make him smile lightly, a feeling of pride blooming in his chest for you.

he creeps upstairs on autopilot, his gaze lingering on the closed door to your room as he passes by.

it's still quite early in the night, so he's not surprised when he hears your door open and shut again downstairs – you going to sit in the kitchen, he assumes.

he wanted to talk with you alone, without the threat of anderson interrupting him again – and now is as good a time as any.

you're sitting at the kitchen table with your laptop open on some real estate site when he shuffles into the room. he stands in the doorway, watching as you continue sifting through nearby flat listings without looking over to him.

neither of you speak. you're not willing to break the silence first, and neither is he.

for a moment, simon just stands there, staring at you. he can see you watching him from the corner of your eye from where he shifting uncomfortably by the door. he half expects you to tell him to piss off, but to his surprise, you stay quiet. taking your silence as a sign that you aren’t, in fact, revolted by his presence, he inches closer and closer to you until he's standing directly next to where you're sitting.

still, neither of you say a word.

a minute or two passes with him looming over you, watching as you scroll through page after page of available flats, a shadowy figure in your peripheral.

eventually you find a reasonably priced listing, and when you click it, only then does ghost speak up.

"you don't need to leave." he says, cringing under his mask at the sound of his voice. he hopes you don’t pick up on how pathetic he sounds. "you already have a house."

"what? what are you talking about?" your eyes remain locked on your screen as you reply, voice flat and disinterested.

simon releases a shaky sigh, his nerve quickly faltering the longer you continue to ignore him. there's a brief pause as you inspect the words on your screen, before simon brings his hand up behind your laptop and firmly closes it. with an annoyed huff you finally look at him, piercing him with a narrow glare.

"you live here." he murmurs, staring intently back at you, fighting with himself to keep his expression neutral, to stay strong.

with me. the unspoken words hang heavy in the air.

"i can't stay here, there's only one bed for christ's sake." you grumble, brow furrowed as you pinch the bridge of your nose. "my back can't handle sleeping on that sofa forever."

"then sleep in my bed." there’s no hesitation in his words; he would gladly sleep on the lumpy sofa-bed if it meant you would be more comfortable – if it meant you would stay. the sound of your chair scraping the floor echoes in the stillness of the kitchen as you stand up, to be closer to eye level with him. 

"oh what, and leave you on the sofa? in your own home?" you scoff, shaking your head as you step around him.

"well, yeah. you– i…" he reaches a hand out to touch you, stopping himself just above your elbow before he pulls back. the gesture stops you in your tracks, drawing your gaze back to his eyes. "don't leave." he murmurs, just above a whisper.

your mouth opens to respond, but his words catch you completely off guard. your eyes flit down, and he knows you can see the way his hands tremble at his side. he felt so… vulnerable, a word he never expected to apply to him, of all people, but you had that effect on him.

"just stay…" he whispers, a desperate plea as he squeezes his eyes shut to block out everything except you and him. "please…"

another tension filled silence stretches between you. he opens his eyes again, blinking as he meets your gaze. there's a profound sadness there, dragging your features downwards in a frown that sinks his stomach.

your sigh breaks the silence.

"i can't keep doing this, ghost." you mumble, dipping your head and rubbing your eyes.

"...what?"

"this! one minute you're nice to me, then you're a complete dickhead, and then you're back to being nice again." you exclaim, waving your hands around in frustration to amplify your point. "it’s exhausting."

"that's not– i'm not doing it on purpose." he frowns, the internal panic that arguing with you causes rising to the surface.

"this is what i mean! you're just making excuses!" your voice has a desperation to it that strikes him like an arrow through the heart. you turn sharply away from him, focusing your gaze somewhere on the wall.

"then just tell me what you want, for fucks sake!" he pleads, shuffling to stay in front of you and try to coax your eyes back to him. "whatever it is, i'll do it!"

"tell you what i want?" you laugh wryly, looking back to him with an expression he can only describe as offended. "i want you to apologise to me! i want you to say you're fucking sorry, and i don't want to have to wring it out of you!"

your words ring in his ears, bouncing off the walls and back at him like an echo chamber.

"you have never apologised to me! not even once! after all the shit you've put me through, i have never heard the words 'i'm sorry' out of your mouth!" you scowl at him, your eyes glossy with tears threatening to fall as your voice breaks. "thats all i've ever wanted from you!"

simon can't shake off the stunned feeling your words impart upon him; all this time, had he really never apologised? he'd just assumed that you knew he was sorry, without ever having actually said it.

the answer was practically smacking him in the face the entire time, and he still somehow managed to completely miss it. no wonder you were fed up with him – no wonder everyone kept looking at him like he was an idiot.

he's never felt more like a fucking moron than he does in this moment.

he's broken out of his haze by the movement of you sitting back down in your chair, lowering your head into your shaky hands and taking an equally unstable breath.

"you say you don't know what to do– you keep saying you regret what happened, but you never tell me why!" you briefly lift your head to cry out at him, and he just about sees the wetness on your cheeks before it's hidden behind your fingers again.

he takes one large stride to be standing in front of you again. "i was trying to help! havin' any kind of phobia will get you killed in this line of work. i was trying to help you because…" he speaks with a similarly desperate tone, his hands floating uselessly in the space between you. "be–because i care about you."

"well you could've fooled me." you sniffle, lowering your hands slightly, your gaze staying locked to the floor. "why didn't you just say that to begin with? why bother with the tough guy act?"

"it's not that simple…" he mutters, frozen in place, afraid that one wrong move would send you bolting like a cornered animal.

"why?" you cry, tilting your head up to catch his eyes with your own reddened ones, "what are you so afraid of?!"

simons heart beats out of his chest, the rhythm so aggressive he was sure he'd go into cardiac arrest.

"i'm in love with you!" he blurts, the tremor in his hands increasingly obvious as he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. "...that's what i'm afraid of." his voice is little more than a whisper now, the silence following his declaration only serving to hurt his heart further.

when he peeks back down at you, there's a look of pure shock on your face. your mouth is agape, your eyes flickering between both of his, and simon feels as though you're staring straight into the abyss of his soul. 

"and i am sorry, i'm so fuckin' sorry, for everything– all the shit i gave you when you first started, for never givin' you a chance, for screamin’ at you," he continues, his own voice subtly cracking, "i– i'm so… in love with you, and it fucking terrifies me..."

he wanted to touch you, so badly, and with the sheer amount of raw emotion racing through his veins, he can't find it in himself to resist the urge.

simon sinks to his knees in front of you, his fingers grasping your wrists in a featherlight touch and pulling them away from your face with a gentleness he wasn't sure he possessed.

"i– i could've lost you. you could've died and then i'd have to live without you, and i can't do that…" for the first time in a long time, simon feels the sting of tears in his eyes as he caresses the pulse on your wrists with his thumbs, "i'm sorry…"

"simon…" the way you utter him name sends his heart fluttering like a caged bird in his chest. you'd never called him anything other than ghost or lieutenant before now; he never thought he could enjoy hearing simply his name this much.

"i'm so fuckin' sorry, i'll never treat you like that again, i swear." his voice is weak. he presses his forehead to your fingertips to hide the anguish in his eyes. "i'm sorry, i love you, just… just let me down easy, yeah?"

there's another pause, yours and simon's ragged breaths the only sound disturbing the silence.

"why would i let you down?” you whisper from above him. the words send a jolt of shock through him, the implication halting his breathing for a moment as he processes what you mean.

"don’t say that…" he mutters, squeezing your wrists ever so slightly tighter, not quite ready to let go of you yet.

"i'm in love with you, too."

his head snaps up to meet your eyes. "no, you– " he sputters, bringing one hand up to cover his mouth despite the mask still hiding his terrified expression "you can't… you deserve so much better…"

"i don't care what you think i deserve," you wear a tiny smile as you pull his hand away, your tender hold on his wrist mirroring his own on yours.

"i’m– i’m not good for you." he feels the tears building up again, blurring his vision.

"shouldn’t that be for me to decide?"

simon can hardly believe what's happening, when you bring your other hand up to his cheek, caressing his face through the fabric. he still doesn't let go of your wrist.

"i don't… you– i can't–" his tongue can't seem to form the words as he gazes up into your eyes, the kindness and warmth there overwhelming his senses. "i can't be what you want."

"you already are what i want." you sink to the floor as well, lifting your other hand to cup his face with a blinding smile. "i love you, simon."

for a moment, all he can do is revel in the warmth that bleeds through the fabric of his mask from your hands, pushing his face more into your touch like an affectionate cat.

a desperate noise escapes the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering shut. "...say it again?" he whispers the plea.

he feels your lips on the bridge of his nose, and his eyes snap back open at the sensation. "i love you, simon. more than anything." you murmur, shuffling closer when you kneel between his legs and pressing your forehead to his.

simon thinks he could die happy in this moment. to think, all the pain of the last couple of weeks – the last year, really – had all amounted to this, and can't help but think about what and idiot he'd been up until this point; to have waited this long to feel your touch, it was almost unthinkable.

he sighs, his breathing still evening out. "i'm so sorry…" he whispers. he goes to snake one arm around your waist, but hesitates just before touching you. as of sensing his dilemma, you give him a pleasant hum, wordlessly giving him permission to place his hand firmly on your back. he brings you that much closer with it, the feeling of holding someone a novelty to him.

"i'll forgive you, on two conditions." you reply. simon can sense the smile in your voice even with his eyes closed.

"anything."

"one, we talk to each other from now on, properly." you begin, and simon nods as adequately as he can with your forehead still against his. "second, you have to go on a date with me– to atone."

at that he opens his eyes, pulling back slightly and looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "not sure that counts as a punishment, love." 

you chuckle, meeting his sceptical gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. "it is, because you're cooking."

he chuckles, deep and rumbling in his chest, and drops his forehead gently back to yours, allowing his eyes to flutter closed again.

he'd cook for you for the rest of his life if you asked, if it meant he could stay like this, with you.

taglist p1: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @sunshiinegaz , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona ,

@alanalanalanalanalanna , @cathnoneofyourbusiness , @madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev , @clear-your-mind-and-dream , @thrivig-n-jiving , @lesterous , @glitterypirateduck , @slu77ym4nw415ts , @livelaugh-light , @trulylavendedarling , @stateofcatatonia , @rivalriotrenegade , @yoichiislovie , @nirvanaaaonly , @ameliaamareeee , @sapientiia , @thesecretwriter , @susanmukami , @ryze1113 , @stars-andfreckles , @spya1 , @tunaa-luvchrm , @tzutology (p2 in separated reblog)