#sergeant Moody

[leatherandmossprints]

‘An Interlude’ by William Sergeant Kendall (American, 1869-1938)

[ghostlyangels1204]

Brutal Ghost, a man built for battle. Cold, detached, unemotional Ghost, scaring every new recruit off with a single glare. Moody, brooding Ghost who doesn’t entertain small talk that doesn’t interest him. A sergeant adopted a puppy? Uninteresting. Someone is going for tea with their grandmother? Don’t care. Ghost who Price silently worries about, all the time.

But,

Simon Riley who crashes into bed with you, his large, cold hands coming under your shirt to steal your warmth away. His chest vibrating with a chuckle as you gasp, failing to squirm away from his cold touch before he pulls you closer to him.

Simon Riley who wakes up before you, his feet slapping against the pavement in the light morning sun, running just a little faster than during his mandated drills, to get home to you just a little quicker.

Simon Riley who wakes you up with a steaming cup of your morning brew, settling down by your side, his hand sweeping your hair away from your face to gaze at you. Kisses peppered all over your face, a soft smile growing as he watches your nose scrunch up from the interruption of sleep.

Simon Riley who puts your favourite mugs on the highest shelf, the one you can’t reach, just so you can ask for his help. “There ya’ go shorty,” a wry smile on his face as you grumble at his quip.

Simon Riley who just HAS to have a hand on you at all time. His digits engulfing yours when you walk around shops together. A soft hand resting on your lower back as you wash dishes. He grasps your hip, his face nesting in the crook of your neck as you both rest on the sofa after a long day of doing nothing.

Simon Riley who seldom uses your name, a grumble of, “darlin’”, or “angel”, maybe even a, “my love” bouncing off the walls of your shared space.

Simon Riley who wanders local markets in his free time, spotting something sparkly that is way too expensive, only to walk home with a small bag in his hand containing the pretty gift for his pretty girl.

Simon Riley who is convinced the dryer is eating his shirts and hoodies, only to spot you curled up on the couch engulfed by the offending ‘missing’ article.

Simon Riley who sends you pictures of fluffy little cats who saunter up to him on his morning runs, seemingly unintimidated at his gargantuan size, just to imagine the smile and giggle you let out when you see them.

Simon Riley who was made for unwavering devotion to you.

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Hey idk if you'd do this but bucky barns x reader who has bad period cramps and how he'd help hcs? Xx

Bucky’s Girl on her Period Headcanons

•Bucky is very considerate when it comes to your period, he never wants you to be in pain

•It took you a while to express your discomfort, especially before you two were sexually active, though he can always tell when you’re not feeling well and he tries to help you

•He was almost like a puppy, he knows you’re not feeling well and he tries to bring you things you like, at first he brought you your favorite meal from the place down the street but he would bring it while you were bloated and nauseous which would annoy you, then he would end up worrying that you’re not eating since he knows you, you love to eat…he quickly learned not to say that though as you immediately took it to mean he thought you were fat

•Your mood swings confuse him to no end and right when he thinks he has an understanding of your mood, you’re crying

•He snuggles you whenever you get weepy and it’s his favorite time oddly enough because when you cry you get snuggly and when you get snuggly you get tired and fall asleep on his chest, making him feel like he’s made you feel better, at least enough to rest

•When you finally express why you’re not feeling well it seemingly registers to him all of the times you were clearly uncomfortable but brushed it off

•He does research on the internet that night for hours, learning everything that’s going on with your body (since men in his time weren’t taught about this subject) but also trying to figure out common ways he could help, if not just to make you feel less moody if he couldn’t relieve your pain

•He took some things he learned online too literally so the first time he goes shopping for you he gets way too much, coming home with 6 boxes of tampons (all the correct brand and size which impressed and surprised you), 2 plastic bags full of 15 different kinds of chocolate, and 8 new stuffed animals

•He expressed to you instantly that it doesn’t bother him that you have your period and he can’t believe that there are men in the world that are so uncomfortable with something so natural that they’ve made his Princess feel like she needs to hide it from him lest he be disgusted by you, Fuck that

•He sets to making you feel comfortable right away, getting you your heating pad and setting a nest up on the couch, turning on your favorite movie and snuggling you close, massaging your lower back

•Bucky downloads a period tracking app on his phone and fills in the dates and symptoms he notices and that you express so that he can tell around the time that it’s going to happen; from that moment on he is always prepared for that time of the month, and if he’s not prepared at least he’s never confused when it happens

•He has a secret stash in his closet of a box full of chocolate, he also keeps several boxes of the tampons you prefer to use since you always seem to forget to buy them on time, though whenever you need it he always surprises you by being willing to go to the store and buy them for you if he’s all out

•Bucky was truly stunned at the fact that men wouldn’t go to the store to get tampons for their women, a women that you’re in love with, a women that’s in love with you, a women that is going through something that men will never have to suffer through and they don’t have enough compassion to go get them the only thing they really need? The Sergeant doesn’t consider himself a ‘good man’ in any sense but Bucky doesn’t understand modern men at all

•One thing Bucky noticed is that you seem to be in quite a bit of pain almost every month, and upon asking you explained you have worse cramps than normal women, often being debilitating for you to the point that you can’t stand up straight; it took some time to convince him that you’ve already been to the doctor and that physically your okay, there’s nothing that can be done to fix it, you just have to suffer, he doesn’t appreciate that answer

•Bucky mutes your phone at this time of the month, telling Tony whenever he calls with a request or Fury when he calls with a mission to fuck themselves, his Princess is in pain and he needs to take care of you

•He gets Banner to get you a script for some stronger pain meds for when you desperately need them, not willing to give them to you all the time but at least to be able to sleep at night or have a nap when the pain is really bad

•There is a hall closet full of blankets and pillows for use when he builds you a nest to sleep in so you don’t have to move, Bucky actually finds that he enjoys caring for you, it makes him feel useful and loved when you look up at him with your big beautiful Y/EC eyes and smile at him

•About 6 months after you start dating, Tony clears out and gives you and ‘Your Cyborg’ your own floor in the tower to stay in and Bucky fixes up a whole room with a large nest of your blankets on top of a king sized mattress that sits on the floor in front of a TV, it has an air conditioner, a bathroom full of products and a basket in the edge of your nest that he always keeps stocked with chocolate and snacks; this is mostly so he doesn’t have to keep setting up the ‘nest’ over and over since you enjoy it at all times of the month, and it’s so big your beefy soldier boyfriend can fit into it with you and all of the stuffies he bought you before and after you told him about your period (the fact that Bucky believed the way to make you feel better when you were ‘sick’ was to buy you stuffed animals touches your heart in a special way, he’s the worlds greatest assassin and still your sweet teddy bear)

•You often find yourself getting a massage, either your lower back or even better your crampy tummy, appreciating the relief his inhumanly strong hand brings to you, the massage is often necessary to help you sleep at night and he rubs your stomach until you drift off

•It took a bit of time for the Soldier to allow your flesh to be touched by his vibranium hand however as he realized he was able to use it to help your hot flashes he tried to relax himself enough to allow you to hold it; Bucky now even enjoys watching you wrap your body around his metal arm which never warms up, the metal staying constantly cool which allows you to get some relief from the hot flashes

•For being a man from the 40s Bucky is very sweet and attentive when it comes to your time of the month, he hates seeing you in any kind of pain so seeing you in what is basically unnecessary pain is something he’s strongly driven to relieve for you

•Bucky is the best boyfriend you’ve ever had, never having expected him to be the kind of man comfortable buying feminine hygiene products at the store for you, you appreciate him more than ever and you are damn sure he will not be getting away from you any time soon

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

[hahaifolded]

HAPPY HISPANIC HERITAGE MONTH! In honor of HHM and Día de la Independencia en Mexico (September 16th), here is a little thing I wrote in celebration. I tried finishing this in time for yesterday but alas, life happens. Hope y'all enjoy my weird thoughts!

141 x Mexican!Fem Reader - Al Pastor and Allies Summary: Soap really loves Mexico, especially its women. Tags/Warnings: MDNI, Some Spanish dialogue, SPANISH CURSING, and slight sexism Word Count: 1666

“Why is Alejandro making us pick up lunch? asks Ghost, which sounded more like a whine than a question. 

“He has some things he needs to handle and thought it would give us a chance to see more of Las Alamas,” informs Price who’s directing the boys to the place that Alejandro recommended. 

“Don’t be like that. Live a little. If you’re lucky, we might meet see cute on the way,” jokes Soap. He hits the moody lieutenant on his shoulder to further sell his point. Ghost glares at the Scotsman while Gaz laughs at his fellow sergeant’s antics. 

“Cute or not. I’m just happy we’re off base,” adds Gaz. Ghost just sighs heavily. He didn’t see why Alejandro couldn’t pick up lunch. He actually knows Spanish. Now they’re stuck with Soap’s way-too-confident Spanish. However he couldn’t complain too much as the smell of savory meats fill the air.

After turning the corner, the UK squad arrive to the renowned taqueria that Alejandro obsessed about, an open concrete structure that had a small counter, large grill, and tronco de al pastor towards the back. And it’s clear that Alejandro isn’t the only one who loves this place as the place is packed. All of the mismatched plastic chairs and tables are filled and the line to order is out the open entrance. 

“I guess we wait,” says Price as he goes to the end of the line. Gaz and Soap follow. Ghost grumbles but joins them. The four immediately jump into a lively conversation. Or more like Soap talks and the rest listen. As they moved up in the growing line, Soap went on and on about how beautiful Mexico is. 

“And the women,” he groans in approval, “Guys, if we’re lucky we might leave with some very fond memories of the place.” Gaz and Ghost groan while Price shakes his head. Price looks around the place, hoping that no one heard the crude remarks of his sergeant. Soap notices Price’s wandering eyes, but mistakes it for something else. 

“What is it cap’n? Something catch your eye,” he asks, curiosity dripping in his voice. He looks around too and stops when he notices the lone woman standing behind them. She’s too engrossed in her phone to notice the SAS team. Soap signals her out with a quick flick of his thumb. “This one catch your eye? She's a nice looking one. If you don't jump on that, I will."

Smack.

“That’ll do,” Ghost grunts out, smacking the back of Soap’s head. 

“Siguiente!” yells the woman running the counter. So engrossed in their conversation, the 141 did not realize it was their turn to order. Price ushers Soap forward. The Scotsman pulls out his phone and reads Alejandro’s order to the woman. The older woman reads back their order which Soap confirms. However, before she informs them of their total, a voice from behind speaks up.

“Cobra al güero doble!” The four men turn around to see the woman that Soap had pointed out talking. The woman at the counter asks why you wanted to charge them double.

“Porque este ojete anda hablando de las mujeres mexicanas como si fuéramos animales!” She’s clearly pissed. And she’s not the only one as many people start to boo at the UK boys. 

“What’s happening?” loudly whispers Gaz. Price and Ghost just shrug. 

“I think she’s mad,” informs Soap. He moves away from the counter. He walks towards the woman with his arms out. “Nena, por qué no nos calmamos y hablamos?” But instead of calming the woman down, Soap further infuriates. 

“Nena! Quién putas de crees?” She moved towards Soap but before she can put her hands on him, a booming voice stops her. 

— — — 

Before you can put your hands on the man with the Mohawk, you hear Alejandro’s voice. 

“What’s going on?” He rushes in and stands in between you and the Europeans. The place quiets down at his presence.

“Este hijo de su puta madre,” you began but Alejandro ignores you. 

“It’s been an hour. What happened? Qué fueron a matar el chivo?,” he asks the four men in front of you. You couldn’t believe it. He was checking on them, not you. 

“The line was long and Soap here made himself a friend,” the man in the mask informs. Alejandro looks to his side and finally notices you. 

“Eey, qué haces aquí?” He tries to pull you in for a hug but you push him off. 

“No mames Alejandro. No ves que voy a madrear a este güey y aquí andas saludándolo como si fuera un amigo,” you say. Alejandro looks at you then to the men. He smiles.

“Oh que bueno ya conociste nuestros aliados para este misión.” He pulls you to his side and faces the men. He introduces them as Taskforce 141 and you to them as lieutenant to the all-women squad here in Las Alamas. You’re aware of the 141 but you expected a much more respectable team. 

The 141 stare at you. This was such a horrible first impression on their part. Especially for Soap. “Alejandro, can you tell her that I didn’t—“

“You can tell me yourself!” you spit out. 

“Sorry, I just thought—“

“Yeah, you saw a brown face and fucking assumed, didn’t you? But guess what, some people bother to learn a second language unlike you, gringo?” Soap starts gasping for air, trying to talk his way out of this. Ghost and Price are embarrassed while Gaz just laughs at the whole situation. 

“Oiga, cálmate,” Alejandro adds. You just snap at him, informing the colonel of Soap’s crude remarks about the local women and you. Alejandro is fully aware that Soap was messed up, but tries defend him for the sake of the mission. 

“Look, kick his ass later but now they’re our allies so let’s just forget about it,” he begs. You scoff. You weren’t going to let this go. How could you work with someone who clearly doesn’t respect you or your team? But before you can rebuttal, the 141 captain butts in. 

He grabs Soap by his arm and pushes him towards you. “Apologize,” he commands. Soap spits out an apology, saying how he just wanted to express his deep admiration for this country and its people and meant no harm by his comments. Price pushes him back and adds, “Do forgive him. He’s just a dumbass at the end of the day.” Soap sheepishly smiles.

Price puts his hand out and continues, "Let's start over. I'm John Price, captain of the 141. And these are my men." He re-introduces the other three, Gaz, Ghost, and your favorite, Soap. "As captain, I am appalled by my soldier's actions and will punish him accordingly. But for now, let me pay for your meal. It's the least I can do for your troubles."

You take his hand. "Thank you, Captain. Real kind of you." He moves to the side and lets you walk towards the counter. You grin at Alejandro and begin to order.

All of their jaws drop to the floor as you begin to order. Despite the team having basic Spanish, they all understood that you had ordered 50 tacos de al pastor.

"Y una agua de jamaica por favor," you say, finishing of your order. As the woman sums up the total, you pull Price from his arm. "Cobrale a el, mi sugar daddy va pagar." You rest your head against his arm. The woman informs Price the total. He slowly pulls out his wallet, in disbelief. Lucky for him, he had enough pesos to cover your order.

The woman hands you your ticket. "Gracias," you say in a sing-song voice. You leave the men with a smirk on your face.

Alejandro laughs at them. "She was picking up lunch for her girls." he informs.

-- -- --

Alejandro and the 141 take a seat as they wait for their order. While they catch up, Ghost stares at you. You were talking to the man in charge of cutting the meat. The Lieutenant was impressed. It wasn't everyday that someone was able to get the upper hand over Price.

"Hey, eyes over here," Alejandro warns Ghost. He didn't like the eyes that Ghost was giving you. Ghost rolls his eyes and returns his attention to the table. Which ended up being futile as you join them, standing behind Price and Alejandro. You immediately engage in conversation with your colonel.

You're so lost in your conversation that you mindlessly start to play with the back of Price's head. So touch-starved, Price leans into your touch.

"Our cap'n is going to fall asleep if you keep doing that," Gaz jokes. You stop and look down to see Price's eyes closed.

You let out a soft laugh. "Let him. Poor man must be tired." You smile and take a sip out of your straw. Gaz couldn't help but stare at your smile. It was contagious.

"What're you drinking?" asks Gaz without thinking. He wasn't sure if he was on your good side.

You hand him your drink. "Try it." He hesitates but takes your wide smile as encouragement. He takes a sip and groans in enjoyment.

"Wow, this is good," he says. He couldn't help but admire your kindness. You just met him and were open to sharing your drink.

"Can I try?" asks Soap as he reaches for the cup.

"No." You grab your drink of Gaz. Gaz, Price, and Alejandro laugh while Soap just deflates. Ghost huffs out, not amused that you rejected one of his sergeants.

You glare at the Lieutenant. "Have something to say? Dilo, o qué, te falta huevos." Ghost's eyes widened, shocked that you called him out. Before he could say anything, your number is called.

"Pues, that's me. Thank you again for lunch. Real excited to work with you guys." You throw them a wink and leave to grab your food.

The 141 all stare at you. This mission might be more fun than they expected.

Thanks for reading! - Fold's Page Guide + Masterlist

Author's Notes: I really hope my Spanish is correct here. I can speak it confidently, but when it comes to spelling, in any language really, I fumble. Also let me know if y'all want a completely English version. I did not provide translations cause I think you can still understand without it but I can if needed.

This was just some random thought that came to me so I said fuck it, why not share it! Very self-indulgent for me. Would love to yell at these guys just for fun!

Is Soap OC here? I don't know. But all I know is that he's a man and men tend to be stupid so that's my reasoning.

[jedipoodoo]

Hi Liz!

I was wondering if you could do a F reader x Hunter where she gets her period and she’s moody and needs comforting. Currently in pain right now and need some fanfic to read.💕

The plot of this one came to me in a fistful haze last night and made me go to bed late as I desperately tried to write it all down before I forgot it

It's You (Sergeant Hunter x Fem!Reader)

Notes: Blood, periods, hormones, cuddles, hurt/comfort. General fluff, Hunter is trying so hard to be a good partner.

"Just leave me alone!"

You screamed, slamming the bathroom door shut. You half expected Hunter to come running after you, knocking on the door begging for forgiveness, but there was silence in reply. Well, at least he was listening to you.

You sat on the toilet to change out your menstrual product, resisting the urge to gag at the smell. You could handle a little blood, but this was mixed with plenty of other stuff.

And it wasn't just your hoo-ha, the rest of you smelled gross too, from your pits to your breath to your hair. You wondered how Hunter could stand to be around you when you smelled the way you did.

Even after you'd changed, you sat on the vac-tube, waiting for what was ready to come out of you to come out, where you could be certain it wouldn't leak out all over your clothes and make you do yet another load of laundry. Your bum was starting to get sore and you were losing feeling in your toes when there was a knock at the door.

"Cyare? It's me."

You didn't bother to groan quietly, he'd just hear you anyway. You cleaned yourself up, washing your hands thoroughly to make sure to get all the blood and gunk off them.

"I know you don't want to talk or hug or do anything, and I don't know what I did wrong but I just want to say that I'm sorry and I hope you'll forgive me."

You sat on the floor with your back to the sink, watching the door. You wondered if he'd try to open it and get you to say something.

He took a deep breath.

"And before I leave you alone for the rest of the day- and I promise that I will! -I just have one last thing to give you."

You groaned even louder this time, "Hunter, I told you, I don't want a hug-"

A chocolate bar--your favorite kind--was slipped under the door. King-size. All for you.

Your mouth watered, and your stomach rumbled over your cramps

You snatched up the candy bar and ate with the ravenous hunger of a nexu. You could hear Hunter chuckling as he turned away from the refresher door, and guilt churned your stomach. You had been so mean to Hunter, and for what reason? He only wanted to help, even if his persistent nagging drove you over the edge constantly.

You threw open the door, catching Hunter by surprise. He was halfway down the hall, and you sprinted after him, chocolate smeared across your mouth.

"Woah!" You nearly took him off his feet as you tackled him, arms clinging to his waist.

"I thought you didn't want hugs," Hunter chuckled, so he clearly wasn't upset.

"I said I don't want a hug from you. That's entirely different from me giving you a hug." You insisted.

"Is it now?"

"Shut up!" You warned him, burying your face in his muscular back. Hunter obeyed, staying still so that you could take your fill of whatever you wanted from him.

"I'm sorry I've been such a brat." You mumbled after a few minutes.

"You're not a brat, you're just on your period."

"That doesn't mean I can just be rude to you," You said, more of a berating to yourself than an explanation to him.

"Hmm..." Hunter thought for a moment. "As Sergeant of Clone Force Ninety-Nine, I hereby grant all the women of Clone Force Ninety-Nine a monthly "Grouch Pass", where they are allowed to be a bitch during the week of their period."

"I'm the only woman on Clone Force Ninety-Nine!" You said, unable to control the laughter bubbling in your stomach.

Hunter just grinned at you, "Well, congratulations then!"

You came around to his front to hug him, guiding his arms around your shoulders so that he could finally give you a hug. His arms happily settled into place, and he rested his cheek against your hair.

"Hunter?" You said softly.

"Yeah, Cyare?"

You bit your lip, hesitating. "Does it bother you? How I smell when I'm on my period?"

"What do you mean?" He had to be joking. He had a stronger sense of smell than a wookie, and he was trying to convince you he didn't care about how much you smelled like a rotting corpse while you were on your period?

You took a step back from Hunter's embrace, running your fingertips across your oily forehead. "I mean, there's all the stuff like the blood and...everything down there, and I know my pits stink when I'm on my period, and everything gets greasy so fast."

Hunter took a long time to answer your clarification, which was never a good sign.

"I'll admit it's not the freshest scent, but, I mean...c'mon, it's you."

You stared back at him blankly, "what do you mean?"

Hunter shrugged, looking you up and down, "It...it's you. I love you. It really doesn't matter to me what you smell like.

It was so sweet and so awkward at the same time, but your face flushed with heat all the same, and you buried your face in your hands.

"How am I supposed to just...I don't-" you spluttered nervously, "You can't just say things like that!"

Hunter chuckled softly, and when you peered through your fingers he was wearing an osik-eating grin.

"I can, and I did."

"I'm gonna kill you."

"If you do, you'll never get the rest of those chocolate bars."

"Where are you hiding them, you monster?"

Hunter pinched your chin to make sure you looked up at him.

"I'll tell you if you say yes to a movie night," He whispered, running his thumb along your bottom lip.

The candy wrapper crumpled in your hand and you bit down on your lip. The kriffer knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"Does this movie night involve cuddling?" You asked as he leaned in, your foreheads dangerously close.

"Maybe," He chuckled.

You laughed softly. Encouraged, Hunter pulled you into another hug.

"Don't worry, you can talk and complain about bad directing choices and out of character choices all you want."

"You sure know how to make my night, don't you?" you teased. You placed a hand on the center of his chest for balance as you kissed his cheek, and Hunter covered your hand with his own.

"Hey," He chuckled, "It's you."

[androidetwink]

Headcanons of Connor if he were human (I'll make one as an android)

Divorced parents. His mother took custody of him and his father took his little brother.

Twin. He was born an hour before his brother.

He has misdiagnosed ADHD.

He suffers from post-traumatic stress and anxiety attacks. Currently, he is medicated.

He has OCD, thanks to growing up in a demanding and perfectionist environment.

He had an abusive mother who manipulated him psychologically. He physically and mentally exceeded his body to achieve perfectionism.

He was in a ballet academy during his childhood and part of his adolescence. He resigned from the academy due to the verbal abuse he suffered from his classmates.

Gay, very gay. He discovered it after having his first time with a woman and discovered that it was definitely not his thing.

His father was a sergeant in the army. Firm and moody. I didn't visit him.

Dog lover (canon) but, above all, big, hairy dogs.

Before studying at the police academy, he almost studied marine biology. He even had a scholarship to study forensic sciences, but he declined it.

Daddy issues and mommy issues. He definitely doesn't have a good relationship with his parents.

After graduating and getting his first job, he left home and never returned. He doesn't talk to his mother and declines phone calls from his father at Christmas.

He has a fixation on older, authoritative and large men.

He likes video games. Especially Resident Evil. He identifies a lot with León.

He has a good relationship with his younger brother. However, his brother does not get along with him very well.

He likes Mexican and Thai food.

He likes anime. He has collectible figures and posters in his gamer room.

I hate politics.

He is autistic.

He likes to draw in his free time, as well as watch marine documentaries.

He likes to listen to podcasts about serial killer stories while cooking.

He is egocentric. He likes to be flattered. He has a fixation on praise and compliments.

He is identical to his father, physically, but has his mother's eyes and freckles.

Dream of having an animal shelter.

[captainpains]

Hunter is a Dad (Sergeant Hunter x reader)

Trying to finish my @clonexreaderbingo card. Some short stories coming soon. Enjoy💕

Prompt: “I hate you.”

Warnings: gn reader, established relationship, teenage moodiness and antics, parenting, so short

~~~~~~

“I hate you!” Omega shouted.

She stomped down the hallway and slammed the door to her room.

Hunter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Omega wanted to go to a party that Lyana and some of the teenage girls on the island were having that night. But the batch had a mission to prepare for, and Omega had a responsibility to help with the preparations. She was obviously really upset about not being able to go.

“She’s growing up Hunter. It’s normal for her to want to go out with her friends and skip out on responsibility.” You gave your boyfriend a comforting pat on the back.

“I know.” He grumbled. “That doesn’t make this any easier.”

“You’re never prepared for the first time your kid says that they hate you.” You chuckled. Hunter looked at you with an unamused look. 

Hunter flopped down on the sofa. He knew the day would come when Omega wanted to do anything but spend time with them. In all honesty, he had hoped that the day would never come. But it seemed that it was inevitable. 

“She has a responsibility to fulfill. And she knows that.” He said, frustrated.

“She also just wants to be a normal teenager. I was far from responsible when I was her age, always sneaking out and breaking the rules. It’s part of growing up.” You explained as you sat down next to him.

You remebered when you would sneak out to parties and dodge the law. You were so young and free. But also so stupid. You'd told Omega so many stories from your youth, in hopes that she wouldn't make the same mistakes you did. However, you were also aware that those tales could be used for insperation.

“Besides, Omega’s a good kid. She’s very responsible and y’all did a great job raising her.” You took your boyfriend's hand and kissed the back of it.

“Don’t sell yourself short, cyare. You did a lot too, for her and for me.” Hunter said with a small smile.

“Thank you, dear. But, I think Omega should be allowed to go to that party. We can trust her to make the right decisions.”

“I think you're right…” Hunter sighed again, “I know she can handle herself, and it's not like she can't finish her tasks tomorrow before we leave.”

“Great, I’ll go tell her that she can go and then we can have a nice relaxing evening to ourselves.”

You stood up from the sofa and went down the hallway to tell Omega the good news.

“Meg?” You knocked on her door, there was no response.

“Hunter and I had a talk. We both think it’s okay if you go.”

Still no response.

“Omega? I’m coming in now.”

You opened the door and gave a little chuckle. The window was open and Omega was nowhere to be found.

“Dear, I think she took inspiration from me for this one!” You yelled to Hunter down the hall. 

He just sighed. He was so done with this.

[ram-bam-writes]

Reluctancy pt. 1 [Kyle Garrick x NB Reader]

A/N: An idea I had for an Enemies to Lovers medium-slow-burn fit series with my precious cheeky Sergeant. As always, updates are sporadic, so lemme know if you wanna be tagged. Not a lot of Gaz love out there and I plan to change that. 

Summary: Gaz finds himself in an interesting position when the Captain of a troublesome organization ends up on his front door with surprising injuries and promises of intel he doesn’t trust.

CW: Mentions of injuries (not explicit), some cursing, Gaz being a moody bastard, mentions of blood, etc. [As always, CWs will change with each chapter accordingly]

Word Count: 2466

[Pt.1] [Pt.2]

This whole thing was stupid. It’s bad enough that your team essentially overthrew and exiled you. But what was worse was who you had to confront for help.

You’d been dancing around TF141 for a while now. They aren’t very fond of you and your team’s style, thinking you to be too much at times. But those interrogations needed to be done — you needed the intel. And you got the intel. So what was the problem? You’d studied them for ages, sneaking around them at any given chance. They’d done much worse than you and your team.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. The only thing that matters is you find a certain Sergeant to help you with your current situation. The Captain would never hear you out, and the Skull and Mohawk duo looked all too terrifying to deal with. So the next best thing? The Sergeant they all seemed to trust. If you can gain his, you can gain theirs and fix this stupid ordeal.

You wince as you take a step towards the barracks at the 141’s current base. They were currently stationed with a few other SAS operatives after doing a couple inside jobs with their help. Your head spins a little when you climb the stairs, using your previous intel to figure out the Sergeant’s room.

Knock knock knock…

You’re greeted with the sight of the younger, more spritely member of the 141. For a moment, you catch a glimpse of that soft, lazy smile he offers. But those dark brown eyes can only grow darker, a low growl coming from his lips.

“Got a lot of nerve coming around here, mate,” comes his low tone, and he pulls a small blade from his belt. “Gimme one good reason not t’finish ya where you stand…” A threat and a half if you’ve ever heard one. This will be a bit more difficult…

You grip your side again, a throb of pain rippling through your body. It punches the wind out of you, something you try to ignore. You’re a bloody Captain, for crying out loud! You can take a few kicks to the ribs, and even more knicks from a blade.

“I’ve got intel. You’ve got shelter.” You state cooly, trying to save face by gritting your teeth and offering a scowl. “I think a deal is set.”

Garrick raises his brow and he takes a single step closer. “Come again? I’ve got a criminal here an’ you ‘spect me to help ya?”

A low growl resonates from your own throat this time. 

“Listen. I don’t want this any more than you do, but I’ve got somethin’ you want, and I don’t reckon either of us want the current situation with the Cartel to get any further out of hand, hm?”

He opens his mouth to argue, brows furrowing in the process. But he stops the moment you cough, arms coming up to cover your chapped lips. You both look to find blood on your arm.

“Fuck…” you murmur, eyes fluttering as you collapse forward.

Garrick doesn’t catch you, and you find yourself crumpled on your knees in front of the Sergeant.

“32 point 26 degrees North, 116 point 18 degrees West.” You manage to choke out, just as he begins pushing the door closed.

That gets him to pause.

“Tecate, Mexico.” He doesn’t move, simply staring at you as you speak with blood in your mouth. “There’s a major Cartel system there.”

He exhales through his nose, turning to look both ways outside of his door before grabbing you by the bicep and dragging you inside. You’re plopped onto the floor, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you. Garrick paces, eyes flicking you over.

“Why should I trust those coordinates, mate?” He inquires with disdain in his voice. “I’m not lookin’ to get my team ambushed for the second time.”

“Third” You correct his words before you can stop it, earning a glare from the Sergeant. “… and you can trust me because it’s true. Any drone footage can prove that. Big trucks go in…”

You cough up more blood, eyes shot and body trembling.

“Lots of small cars go out. Shipments.”

The Sergeant stares you down for a good, long while. His gaze flicks from your blood-soaked lips to your injured waist, arm protective around the sensitive area. He analyzes you, figuring every little detail out. He’s always been the observing type.

“So you want a place to shelter in return, then?” He cocks his head to the side. “Or perhaps some medicinal aid.”

You scowl. “I’m fine. I need that Cartel Camp destroyed before they smuggle anything else in or out.” “Or before your team gets to them.”

You suck in a breath. Had you been that obvious? No, he’s trying to show power over you. “No. Before they hurt my team.” He makes a sound of understanding, one that’s laced with sarcasm. “Tell me then, mate. How’d they get captured?”

This man knows how to press all of your buttons, and knows how to interrogate. You know that’s what he’s doing. He’s breaking you down, flooding you with questions that he knows you’ll struggle to answer as time goes on. You can only keep this lie up for so long. 

But you can bite one bullet and save yourself from another.

“I was careless.” That gets him to look at you more directly. “They got my team, and now I’m here. I want them back before they’re smuggled for money.”

He inhales through his nose, looking rather irritated by the situation. No, not quite irritated. More… inconvenienced by it. He raises his foot and pushes you down by the shoulder, eyes narrowed.

“If I fix up these scuffs to find you were lying to me…” he purrs, eyes darkening with every second. “You’ll never get yourself sorted when I’m done with ya…”

You let out a grunt as your back hits the ground. The action causes your torso to stretch, your ribs pressing uncomfortably against the surrounding muscles. 

“I don’t need—“

“You say that one more time and I’m gonna drop you out o’ my window.” His eyes bore into yours. “Take yer gear off. Let me get you right as rain. And then get me the bloody photos from your intel.”

You don’t argue when his foot presses your shoulder more, lips parting to yell out in pain. He releases his foot after a moment, allowing you a chance to breathe. “Fuck…”

Impatiently, he reaches out and grabs your tac vest, tearing at the velcro straps and throwing it elsewhere in his barrack. His hands grip the black tac shirt you have on, unzipping the half-zipper before yanking it over your head. You cry out again from the sudden jerk to your arm but he pays no mind. 

Somewhere deep down, you want to abandon this whole thing. Get away and start all over. But your men spoke of unspeakable means to end the Cartel, and you can’t let them get their hands on that base in Tecate. Not when a list of every Cartel base from here to New York is laid out in plain text. Not while your men have the means to some terrible bio weapons.

The bloody traitors.

“Bloody hell…” Garrick murmurs, taking a look at the bruising along your right-hand side. A good majority of the lower ribs were covered in deep yellow, purple, and red bruising, not to mention the cuts and scars along the rest of your torso and arms. “Right… first things on the list: cold pack, gauze, and anti-bac. Give me a moment.”

You cower a little when he stands at his full height. You weren’t intimidated by him, not necessarily. But the thought of him treating your wounds was a blow to your ego you weren’t interested in taking. Not by a long shot.

“Just get me the supplies and I’ll fix it myself.” You bite back another groan as blood seeps past your teeth. “Then you can take care of the intel.”

“No.”

You glare at the Sergeant’s back as he stretches up to grasp the med-kit on the top of the fridge. 

“No?”

He turns to face you. “There’s sharp things inside this kit. I’m not takin’ my chances, Chav.”

You exhale your frustrations. “Why do I get the feeling that’s an insult…”

“Because it bloody well is.”

His hands grasp your biceps, splaying you out on the floor beneath him as he rips a pack of gauze open. “Don’t move or I might make this hurt on purpose…” 

You hold your breath as Garrick’s hands work the gauze around your waist. After a few wraps, he places a cold pack on your side, wrapping it a few times with gauze. Peeling off the seal with his teeth, he pulls open the pack of anti-bacterial wipes and eases the wet fabric over your wounds. Your body tenses at the burning sensation, eyes squeezing shut as you fight through your own pained sounds to keep some semblance of dignity in this situation. 

A few minutes pass before he hauls you up again, setting you down a bit more gently on the couch in the living space of his barrack. He crouches down in front of you, pulling on his tan gloves.

“I’m going to get photos of that base from you, and if you want to stay unbroken, I suggest you waste no time getting those to me, Chav.”

[bleedingcoffee42]

Shit I've rambled on Discord when asked a simple question( Who do you think would be good at talking dirty in bed?) one I did not answer but instead wrote these.

BoB boys in the sheets, under the cut.

Nixon I think is the smooth one. Be the guy who is upfront about trying something he learned on a trip to Tibet, in a stairwell at Yale, in the barn at boarding school, or from that dumb slut behind the gay bar on Rt. 35 South of that sketchy Circle Motor Lodge. He'll describe whatever kinky shit he wants to try like one of those ads for Scotch were it's about Oakey infusion from century old barrels, the grains harvested by virgins and strength of alcohol like the stalwart heroes of old Scotland who created so many colloquialism about scrotums; when men were men and Vat69 wasn't bottle shelf liquor. You'll get played like he plays his Mozart, fingers dancing over the keys and body loose, rhythm flowing through his entire being. Also big into praise kink. The guy who can talk you into doing things and make you enjoy it even if you never want to do again

Speirs is both ends of the spectrum from "My fair lady 😘" to "When you speak to an officer, you say Sir!".   Never know what you'll get and he can flip the switch at a moment's notice.    Adrenaline Rush Sparky is 'bend you over the desk and say whatever the hell he wants' and then there is 'uwu you are my greatest treasure' Ron who will babble like you're the goddess he  worships and do so the entire damned night.     He balances hot and authoritative with weird stories about lovers in the tempest of hell.  Never know what you'll get.   Competitive though, so he tries to outdo himself.   Good luck getting on top of him.    And the bitch has stamina.

Lipton!!!!    Boss in bed, but delivers.   Gets away with everything he says, because he knows what buttons to push.   Likes to hear 'Yes, sir' too much, but you gotta scream something or you'll never see the light of day.    Nobody believes he's like this except Speirs, who considers Carwood Lipton to be a closely guarded secret.  Will say shit under his breath that makes you do a double take and then walk off leaving you wanting.  Oh it was you First Sergeant.

I think Winters would come out with some unhinged shit to say.  The kind of thing that makes you stop mid-fuck and tap out because it’s just a mood killer and dries everything up like the Sahara.   Possibly farming metaphors.   More probably the kind of moody things that make DeEtta want to choke him. He can pull it off though, but it is influenced by his work stress situation at the time. Make him take a bath and relax first, it will go better. From the field and pissed about upper management he rides frustration instead of fornication. Nixon likes to argue and twist one off so he doesn't mind plowing those fields or cultipacking those furrows.

Welsh would say the same stuff but get away with it.  NO farming metaphors, but every sarcastic thing he said in Carentan.   Especially ‘Flash’ ‘Thundaaaaaah’.  He laughs while he says it though, laughs around whatever he’s doing with his mouth that will earn him a visit to the confessional. (At least according to Kitty)

Guarnere would definitely say some nasty nasty stuff but be doing something so beyond what you ever imagined letting some guy do to you anyway, and it's beyond fine.   The reason for wet dreams for at least the next twenty years.  

Toye.    Yeah.    See him as the quiet type until he gets in the foxhole and gets fired up.      Something something 'dug coal together when we were 19'.  A boxer, he knows where to land every hit and has you against the ropes the entire time.   Sings off key while he’s cleaning up after but you do not feel like the sticky floor of some dive bar more like a private performance from Sinatra.  Even if it is off key.

[darkworkcourier]

66 or 75 with soap and ghost? :0

both? you said both? yes? :D yes.

66. Staring At The Other’s Lips, Trying Not To Kiss Them, Before Giving In

"It's tradition," Soap says.

That's a lie. Ghost knows it's a lie. He's certain that Hogmanay is some kind of fever dream of a bunch of cooped-up Scots eager for partying catharsis. They have weird rituals throughout the year anyway, with haggis and whatever, but this one that Soap's insisting on—

"No," Ghost replies, firmly.

Soap pouts. Pouts. Bottom lip out and all. And no one could blame Ghost for staring. Soap's an easy man to stare at, handsome as they come, features arranged perfectly. It's just that when he's insisting that it's Hogmanay tradition to kiss the first person you see regardless of who they are, it's hard to think of anything else.

"Don't make me kiss Price," Soap complains. "If I turn around and he's there, I'm gonna have to."

He's right. Price is right there, three glasses of Scotch deep, throwing his hat up like a graduation cap and giving a too-pleased, drunken 'wheeee' as it falls back down. And Gaz is encouraging him, approaching with dangerous intent and a fresh bottle in hand.

Which means they're all going to get more pissed, and then Ghost will probably to do something he'll regret.

Might as well get it over with now.

He pulls his mask up quickly, swooping in and pressing his lips to Soap's. They're just as warm and plush as he imagined; however, he'll never admit that Soap's surprised gasp does something to him. That's for the tomorrow edition of him to work through while holed up in a quiet, dark corner.

When he backs up, Soap's looking up at him with wide, happy eyes, like he's seeing Ghost properly for the first time. Ghost, in turn, shoves his hands into his hoodie's pockets and tries not to look too moody. "Happy?" he asks.

"Very," Soap replies, and pulls him back in for another one before he can say no.

75. Kisses Meant To Distract The Other Person From Whatever They Were Intently Doing 

"Hey. Hey, eyes on me, Sergeant."

Soap does his best, but the most he can manage is rolling his head vaguely in Ghost's direction, eyelids feeling too heavy to accomplish much more than a weak blink. It's easier to let them rest.

"Johnny."

"'m here," Soap mumbles. He feels one of Ghost's hands over his, pressing hard to the weeping wound on his abdomen. He's aware how close it is to his stomach, but the worst of the pain is smothered by every chemical his brain's seen fit to give him. The pressure snares some of that pain to the surface, and he hisses through his teeth.

"You have to stay with me, Johnny," Ghost says, voice heavy with command. "That's an order."

Soap thinks he smiles, even though it feels like puppetry, pulling all the wrong strings to make his face work. "Aye aye, sir," he mutters.

However much time passes, Soap couldn't say. All he registers are Ghost's hands on him—one over his, the other on his face—and the frantic radio chatter that fades in and out of his hearing. He's far more focused on staying awake for Ghost's sake—staying alive. It's harder than it looks, and he's cognizant of how much effort it takes to breathe, to swallow, to blink.

Ghost says his name again, lower now, less like a lieutenant and more like himself. Like Simon. That strikes Soap as funny.

Simon says stay awake.

Simon says don't leave me.

Simon says I love you, you absolute bastard.

Simon kisses him like it's the last thing he might ever get to do.

And when he does, for just a second, it's easier to breathe.

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

It's the little things (5)

Previous / Next

Queuing with the food tray in their hands, Gaz was talking Ghost's ear off, telling him all about the ... he didn't even fucking know, but from time to time he grunted or nodded. The fucking queue was slow as hell that day.

Gaz knew Ghost was barely listening, but he still kept talking. Long ago he had adopted as one of his goals making the Lieutenant feel more human, by being around him and interacting with him, even if it had been one-sided at first.

When Sgt. Garrick was recruited by Captain Price, he could barely exchange greetings with Ghost. Most days he didn't even hear his voice. Of course he didn't know the details, but for the tiny, sparce clues mentioned while chatting with Price, and seeing Simon's face in Las Almas, Kyle knew something bad had to have happened to make Ghost... Ghost.

Given Ghost's gear choice, one would think he'd be a cold-hearted bastard. And he was, but also... kinda not. Gaz had seen him carry another wounded soldier on his back without a single grunt for hours until they got to exfil. If Ghost noticed the sentry was tired, he'd send them to bed and take over the watch. He was always there, silent, stoic, reliable.

So the first time Ghost sat down with him at the mess hall, unprompted, after seeking him out, Gaz felt fucking good. And when it kept happening, he felt even better.

The queue advanced slowly, and Gaz laughed when he heard the grunt coming from behind the balaclava. They could see from there that Price and Soap were already at their usual table, and Riot was standing near them, chatting with a couple of privates.

"Man, I wish my girlfriend had those tits" A Corporal queuing in front of them commented to his fellow officer.

"Whose tits?"

"Vega's. Saw her the other morning in the swimming pool"

Oh man.

Gaz tried as hard as he could to not burst into laughter, seeing Ghost silently glaring at the back of the Corporals' heads.

"It's a shame about her face though"

"Yeah, but you really don't have to look at her face"

Oh boy. Gaz kept looking at Ghost, whose eyes were narrowed to barely two slits. He could almost imagine the following day's news. Murder at the mess hall. At least that would get the queue moving.

"She trains every morning with a group of the privates. Today they were doing squats"

"Bet that's why her ass is that big"

Yep, there was about to be murder. Gaz giggled when Ghost leaned in, his head looming over the Corporals.

"We could find out"

The two Corporals yelped and looked up, turning pale at seeing the towering Lieutenant behind them, clearly pissed.

"Sir... sorry, sir..."

"We were just..."

"Meet me in the gym in one hour and we'll see if it's true. You're going to do squats until your arse grows bigger or you pass out" Ghost growled, his accent thicker than ever. "Don't make me hunt you down"

The rest of the time in the queue was awkward, with the Corporals shuffling their feet and the Lieutenant right at their backs, murdering them with his eyes alone. Gaz enjoyed it greatly.

And to top it off, by the time they got to the food, they had run out of custard. Fucking hell.

Gaz and Ghost made their way to the table where the rest of the team was waiting, Price and Soap engrossed in something about explosives, and sat down, the Sergeant was beaming, the Lieutenant moody.

Sitting next to him, Riot moved her custard to Ghost's tray, and he looked at her, confused. She shrugged.

"Saw there were just a few left and saved you mine"

Gaz smiled knowingly when Ghost's whole demeanor softened. He wondered how much longer would it take. Maybe he should make a bet with Soap, given how invested he was.

[silverskull]

Chenford + UC school + Noah

&Chenford + noah is just a friend

&Chenford + Tim gets jealous of Noah

&Chenford + Chris finds out Lucy is with Tim 💕

This fic is for the most wonderful anon/anons on Tumblr who persistently pepper my ask box with fic suggestions. Whether you are one person or many, you make me so happy. To think that there's someone out there who is actively enticing me to write is the strangest sort of good feeling, and I love you, nonnie.

I actually wasn't very enthusiastic about the whole Noah and Chris and Tim thing, but when I started to combine the suggestions with one another, it came out as something I wasn't expecting. I hope you don't feel cheated, and more importantly, I hope you enjoy. 💖 (5000 word fic in full below, but a kudos or comment on AO3 is always much appreciated, as are rebloggios!)

“Wuh-oh.”

Lucy spun quickly on her heel, the handcuffs on her duty belt clanking in protest as she turned and smashed directly into the solid wall of Sergeant Grey’s chest. 

Grey sighed, pushing her back gently and dusting himself off with a wearily raised eyebrow.

“Forget something, Officer Chen?”

“Uh, no, Sir,” Lucy stammered, looking for the quickest route around the Watch Commander, “I, uh, just need to, uh… check if-”

The station’s automatic doors breezed open behind her, wafting the smell of exhaust into the air of the lobby around them.

“Lucy?”

Too late.

***

“Tim is just…” Lucy twirled her shot glass on the slick surface of the bar table, absently glad she’d worn short sleeves, because she’d already left her elbow in the puddle of spilled liquor at least three times since they’d sat down. The flame of a small centrepiece candle wavered and blurred before her as her thoughts drifted and her eyes unfocused.

“Just… ‘a friend’?” Noah finished for her, grinning and bumping her with his elbow as he downed his own shot. He winced at the burn, then waggled his eyebrows at her.

Lucy rolled her eyes and threw back her tequila. “I don’t even think you could call us that any more.” She’d succumbed to gloominess, only agreeing to go out with the UC gang because being alone in her hotel room would mean no-one was keeping track of her drinking. They’d had a long day of lectures and written tests, and when she finally got to check her phone, there wasn’t even a meme from Aaron. It was as if she’d been completely forgotten by everyone she cared about.

“Psshh.” Noah blew a messy raspberry, slapping the puddle of liquor and sending a small tsunami of droplets across both of their laps. “It took you nearly two weeks to tell me you had a different boyfriend. I thought for sure you and Bradford were married.”

“Wh- Noah!” Lucy slapped his shoulder, half amused, half embarrassed. He leaned away from her, smirking, but only long enough to pull them two new bottles of beer from the shared ice bucket. “Chris Sanford. Tim Bradford. It’s not that hard.”

“Don’t they have any other varieties of surname down in Mid-Wilshire? How am I supposed to tell them apart?”

“You’d know them if you saw them,” she murmured, uncapping her beer and taking a deep swig.

“Oh really?” Noah asked, intrigued. His eyes glimmered with quick humour and he sat up straighter. “I can picture it now: Chris Sandyford, ace attorney. Tall, blonde, preppy. Probably played lacrosse in high-school.” 

Despite herself, Lucy burst into a fit of laughter. Noah continued, painting the air with his fingers.

“Timothée Bradburn. Dark, skinny, moody. Hair a little too long for a cop, but suits his ‘aesthetic’. Loves to read, but only paperbacks. Trademarks the word ‘asshole’.”

Lucy had bent double, gasping for breath, balancing herself with one now-soaked arm on the wet table.

“I don’t care if he was your TO,” Noah continued, “I’m rooting for Bradburn. Team Tim, all the way.” He raised his bottle in salute to Tim, commencing a ripple of cheers from the rest of their group.

“Oh my god.” It took her a solid minute of wheezing and coughing to recover, and Noah smiled innocently at her the whole time, calmly sipping from his beer and clapping her enthusiastically on the back.

“You are never invited to Mid-Wilshire. Just so you know.” She poked him in the shoulder when she could breathe again, to emphasise her point.

“Oh yeah?” He smirked, bending low to the table and hiding his face behind his beer bottle and a small stack of coasters. “Well, I’ll just have to be discreet. You’ll never see me coming.”

She swiped a splash of the spill at him and he dodged, toppling his bottle into the coasters. He lurched forward to save it at the same moment as Lucy, and between them the candle went spinning around the table, tipping onto Lucy’s lap and splashing wax all over her jeans.

“Ow! Ow ow ow! Hot!”

She leapt off her stool, desperately trying to knock the melted wax away, but it had soaked through the material and was already stinging painfully against her skin.

At a loss, Noah looked helplessly at their friends, all shouting and pointing at once, unintelligible and useless. Reflexively, he grabbed his beer bottle and sloshed it at Lucy.

Foam. 

Bubbles and foam.

Bubbles and foam and a merciful - if slightly sour - coolness spread across her legs.

There was silence for a moment.

Lucy ran her hands across her soaked jeans, shaking off the residue and shoving her hair out of her eyes.

Someone snorted. Another coughed. Then a giggle. Soon the entire table was convulsing in laughter, passing napkins and coasters across to Lucy, helping her dab off her jeans and her stool and her arms. Noah grimaced apologetically, cleaning the table in front of her and handing the quenched candle to an exasperated waitress.

“If it helps, this has given me a great idea…” he said, arranging their stools back beside the table and gesturing for two more beers from the bucket.

“I don’t think I want to know any more of your ideas tonight,” Lucy said, sitting gingerly on the slightly sticky seat and eyeing him suspiciously.

“No no, you’ll like this one, I swear!” He uncapped their drinks, clinking the bottles together carefully. “I’ve finally thought of your UC nickname… ‘Hotpants’.”

Lucy choked, spraying beer back onto the table and saturating the sleeve of Noah’s sweater.

The gang erupted in laughter again, pelting Noah with napkins and coasters.

Lucy was glad she’d gone out with them.

Who needed memes from Aaron anyway?

***

“Detective Foster. Good to see you again.” Grey reached beyond Lucy to shake hands with Noah. “Lopez has a desk ready for your report.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Noah grinned cheekily at Lucy as Grey took a step back. “How you doin’, Hotpants?” He pulled her into a quick hug, pecking her on the cheek before she had time to react.

Lucy swallowed a slightly hysterical giggle, shoving him back with a tight grip on his arms.

“Good, all good. I didn’t expect to see you here today,” she answered, frowning. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course!” He slipped his arm around her back, leaning in close to whisper conspiratorially, “Lopez wanted someone actually good at UC to draft the Army of Freedom report for the DA.”

She jabbed him lightly with her elbow, knowing full well that her amusement was showing on her face. Grey shook his head at her, rolling his eyes and folding his arms.

She’d almost forgotten her urgent need to get out of there.

The doors swished open again.

“Lucy?”

Shit.

***

“Tim is just…” Lucy rolled her sushi over once more in the bowl of soy sauce. It was far too saturated to eat now, but she’d lost her train of thought, and with it, apparently, her appetite.

“Just… jealous?” Chris finished with a snort, tossing back another California roll.

“What? No!” Lucy tamped down on the wave of protective indignation that surged within her, sighing and dropping her chopsticks onto her plate. Wine it was, then. She settled back into the couch. “No. He’s just… just…”

“A walking billboard for ‘defund the police’?”

“Chris!” She dropped her wine glass onto the table so fast, it nearly sloshed over the edges.

“No, no, babe. You know I don’t mean you when I say that.” Chris patted her on the arm, still fully focused on the platter of sushi in front of him. “But the movement has a point. And moody hardasses like Bradford are exactly the kind of cop people are scared of running into. I’ll never understand why you’re so patient with him.”

Lucy scoffed, the burn of wine and soy sauce tasting bitter in her throat.

“Our job isn’t to be everybody’s friend.”

“Hold on, hold on…” Chris chewed and swallowed another roll, raising his hand for her to wait. “You want me to give teenage thieves a second or third chance; but Bradford can just roll up on someone, slap on some cuffs, throw them in the system, and that’s all part and parcel of the job? Lucy! Come on!”

“You don’t see the same city we do.” She reached for her wine again, closing her eyes. This type of conversation was never worth the energy. “We see people on their worst days. For some of them, they’ve embraced it and decided to make it everybody else’s worst day too. For others, it’s just a hole they’ve fallen into. Throw them a ladder and they’ll find their own way out.” She sipped her wine thoughtfully. “We’re responsible for making that judgement. Every day takes a toll on you. Tim is just…”

Her mouth wouldn’t form the words.

Upset? Lonely? Broken-hearted?

How would someone feel after being broken up with by 2022’s answer to Pamela Anderson?

“Tired,” she finished, lamely, taking a larger gulp of wine than she’d intended.

“Sure, but can you imagine having him over for dinner?” Chris had moved onto the sashimi, delicately considering both the tuna and the salmon. “You, me, and Tired Tim?” He decided on the salmon, dropping even more wasabi into his soy sauce. “I mean, our first date was awkward enough, what with him and Ashley. What would we do with him here?”

“Well I thought we were going out for Mediterranean,” Lucy began, her tongue nearly wrinkling in horror at the amount of wasabi now coating Chris’ salmon, “But, hey - what do you mean ‘awkward’?”

She waited while Chris chewed thoughtfully, her mind’s eye providing her with a technicolour highlight reel of enoki pancakes, cyborg bodies and Tim’s cynical smile; salty sea air and tiny grains of sand peppering through the recollection of his fingertips brushing her arm, his cologne wafting across the breeze, his eyes deep and dark beside her in the subtle light of the beach torches.

“Well, they were obviously entirely mismatched,” Chris said, throwing her a look of forbearance. “Ashley is sweet and kind and outgoing - I mean, she’s not that different from you.”

It was Lucy’s turn to snort, feeling her forehead crease sceptically. 

“No, no - let me finish!” Chris laughed, finally looking away from his food and reaching for her hand. “She’s all those nice bits of you, sure. But she’s not tough. And she’s obviously got no tolerance for asshole behaviour. He spent that whole night talking to you. Turned to you. Looking at you.”

Suddenly, the images in her head were taking on a different tone.

The warm orange glow of the flickering flames on their skin. 

The soft velvet brush of Tim’s dinner jacket against her arm. 

His knees bumping hers below the table time and again, and again.

She shook her head vigorously, trying to dispel the sudden rush of heat along her neck, the goosebumps tingling over her arms.

“He must be exhausted trying to keep up his ‘nice guy’ image for her. Maybe one of these days she’ll realise he’s just not-”

“Tim-” Lucy closed her eyes, changing her mind and reaching out a stalling hand towards her boyfriend. “Chris, let’s just drop the Tim stuff for now. Please?”

Chris smiled agreeably, chuckling and topping up her wine glass.

Cheap wine, good sushi and the companionship of a charming man.

What more could she want?

***

“Mr Sanford. Detective Harper is all set up for you in the conference room.” Grey turned slightly, gesturing to the corridor behind him.

Noah laughed, the sound at odds with the seriousness of Chris Sanford’s face.

“They make Sergeants work as greeters in Mid-Wilshire too? Sheesh, this place is tough!”

The only thing saving Noah from a severe Sergeant-Grey-Disapproving-Frown was his cheeky grin, and Lucy averted her eyes as he murmured a goodbye in her ear, squeezing her arm and wisely removing himself from the situation, promising to meet up with her later for lunch.

Grey, usually so composed and unruffled, seemed to Lucy to have a glint of mischief in his eyes as he looked between her, the departing detective and the arriving attorney.

“You’re up to date on the entire Elijah escapade, I take it?” Grey asked Chris, his arms still folded and his posture relaxed and at ease. There was no way he wasn’t enjoying her obvious agitation at the sudden influx of attentive men.

“Of course,” Chris replied, loosely shaking his briefcase. “Can’t wait to put him away for a couple of centuries, at the very least.”

Grey smirked, nodding approvingly. “You and me both.”

He didn’t leave, but Grey moved away, looking out through the glass doors as if waiting for someone. Lucy half wished he’d stayed beside her.

An awkward silence descended in his absence.

“So…” Chris was addressing her, scuffing one foot anxiously on the floor, his eyes darting between hers and anywhere else in the lobby. “It’s been a while.”

She coughed out a laugh. Given their jobs, it was unlikely they’d never run into one another again. If he’d just stayed for five more minutes at her apartment that night, this would have been dealt with already. 

Well. She might as well get it over with.

“Yeah.” She knew she was picking at her own nails, and she made a conscious effort to stop, grabbing her duty belt tightly instead. “Um, how are you?”

Chris paused, staring at her incredulously.

She bit her lip, feeling the mild sting of guilt roll up along her shoulders.

“I’m… I’m shit, Lucy.” He glared at her, his mouth falling open on his last words. “I feel like shit. I thought we were tight. I thought things were good, thought we were ready for the next step. And then you dump me? Ask me for my ‘playbook’? What the hell sort of bitchy, high school, mean girl move was that?”

Lucy was feeling at least three different shades of guilty - the mildest one being that of dumping a guy she wasn’t fully invested in. Another was certainly more of the high school variety - her? Lucy Chen? A bitch?! Never! Everybody adored her!

The third was one she’d grown accustomed to: the guilt of being in a relationship with one person, whilst clearly head-over-heels for another. This was a feeling so familiar to Lucy, she’d only noticed its absence once she and Tim had finally made their status openly official. Every time she grabbed his arm in the station now felt natural and right; every time she held his hand in front of their friends felt like she’d landed safely where she belonged; every time she cuddled in to him, kissed the edge of his jaw while they watched old movies on the couch with Tamara and Kojo, she felt like she was home. Home and safe and loved. Exactly where she was supposed to be.

Not that it was any surprise, but Chris obviously didn’t share the same internal ideation as Lucy.

“And now - what? You’re hooking up with the first out-of-town, greasy-ass detective that shows an interest in you? I thought you had higher standards than that.”

Suddenly, Lucy found she didn’t care how ‘high-school’ Chris found her moves to be.

“Excuse me?!” The disbelief in her voice raised the end of the question to a higher pitch than she’d have liked.

“Oh come on.” Chris waved his hand towards the corridor where Noah had disappeared just moments ago. “As if I couldn’t see that guy fawning all over you. What? Just because he wears a hoodie with a leather jacket, it makes him catnip?”

Lucy was caught somewhere between confusion and hilarity.

“Are you seriously gatekeeping who I talk to right now?”

“Well maybe if I had paid better attention when we were together this wouldn’t be happening!”

“Ugh, Chris…”

“No. Lucy, seriously.” Chris stepped closer to her. “What is this? What’s happening right now?”

“Chris-” She took a step back, raising her hands to keep the distance between them. “It’s not whatever you think it is.”

“Then what?” The pleading look on his face was genuine; puppy-dog eyes, beseeching eyebrows and all. “What? You needed danger? A serial killer tried to murder me! You need a do-gooder hero? I’m all ears! Tell me who to save, when to let them off the hook - I’ll listen. You want to put the bad guys away for life? That’s literally my job!”

“Chris, come on. Stop being ridiculous.” He was unnerving her now, too close and too needy, and nothing like the genuinely nice man she used to date. Her mouth took control of the situation before she had a chance to process the thought. “I never felt the way about you that you wanted me to. I wasn’t in love with you.”

The silence fell heavily between them, Chris’ face drooping in disappointment. Lucy was suddenly very aware that her boss was still standing well within earshot, Grey shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other as the doors slid smoothly open in front of him for a third time. 

“Lucy?”

There was no fucking way this day was happening to her.

***

“Tim is just…what?”

Sleep was still clinging to the edge of his words, a yawn overtaking the end of the question as he rolled away from her and stretched his arms over his head.

“Tim is just about to wake up, obviously,” she answered, shuffling onto her side and sliding her hand across his chest as he uncurled from the foetal position. 

There were many revelations that came with having Tim Bradford in one’s bed, but one of the most surprising to her was how small he made himself in sleep; feet tucked up under her legs, head snuggled into her shoulder, one or both hands wrapped tightly around her chest or arms. He didn’t seem to notice, and she had no intention of bringing it up, but it still made her heart flutter fiercely when she woke before him and found him knit tightly and securely into her side.

“Who are you talking to?” he asked, still yawning widely, his hand finding hers and lacing their fingers together on his stomach.

“Only the best boy in the whole world.”

From his bed on the floor beside her, Kojo snuffed out a low ‘woof’, clearly recognising the words that applied to him, and him only.

Tim snorted, nuzzling his nose into her forehead.

It was one of their rare weekends off together, and with no alarms or deadlines, they’d (eventually) fallen into deep sleep, waking only once the sun rose high and bright above the buildings opposite, flooding their bedroom with warm, golden light.

As much as she loved their vibrant city, Lucy couldn’t think of any more perfect way to start the day.

“Are you happy?”

At first she thought he’d fallen asleep again, murmuring nonsense into her temple. She pulled back to look up at him properly only to see his eyes, still languid, but very much awake and focused on her.

She blinked and shook her head, almost laughing.

“Why are you asking me that?”

It had the sound of a Tim Test, but not the feeling, and she wanted to decipher him a bit more before she inadvertently agreed to a weekend of jogging, or something equally as unappetising.

With his answer, he took her by surprise again.

“Because I’m happy.”

She and Tim had been thrust together in Mid-Wilshire, and she’d never been fully sure of Grey’s reasoning. Pairing Tim with Jackson would, on paper, have made far more sense, and probably would have been exactly what Percy West would have wanted. Grey wasn’t a rule breaker; never went out of his way to upset anyone’s applecart; so he must have had his reasons.

Whatever they were, it had either worked out - or backfired - spectacularly, and they remained the only Rookie/TO pairing that had ever completed their entire probation together since she’d arrived at Mid-Wilshire. Grey (probably) hadn’t expected their partnership to develop in quite the way that it had, but beyond a raised eyebrow or a knowing smirk, he never commented.

As far as she was concerned, she’d never seen Tim as a ‘project’. He’d started as a necessary pain-in-the-ass, developing, slowly, into someone she could rely on, could learn from; someone she could repay with the same opportunities he provided for her. Eventually, he became part of the furniture of her day; safe and comfortable and inviting, in his own way. Jackson and Nolan had never quite understood her, but she hadn’t needed to explain herself to them. Tim was just Tim. 

She never admitted to anyone that she’d been half-terrified going out into the world without him on her first proper day as P2. She’d bumped his number up on her speed-dial list, ensuring the phone’s voice-command would recognise her words and call him if she had to yell. It had all worked out fine, and, in retrospect, she was glad she’d had that extra time with Jackson. But it hadn’t stopped her secretly missing Tim’s gruff commands, the snarky roll of his eyes, or the days he’d quietly buy her lunch and walk away and leave her if she insulted him with payment.

In all that time he’d been rude, or tolerant; biting, or thoughtful; angry and miserable, or accepting and good-humoured. It had taken him time to show her all the facets of his personality, and she was still one of the rare few who ever got to see that much.

But to see him happy?

To see him happy, and to know he was happy?

To have him admit that he was happy?

Voluntarily?

This man was still full of surprises.

She surged up into him, kissing him hard and firm and fierce. She’d let go of his hand and her fingers combed through his hair, trying to pull his head as close to her as she could, stroking through the short hairs and along the warm skin of his neck.

He didn’t seem to mind her sudden attack, looping his arms tightly around her waist and drawing her in to him, one leg wrapping around the back of her knees, his fingers slipping cool and certain under her t-shirt and along her ribs.

She’d have been happy to keep going, but his stomach rumbled and he eventually pulled back, eyes closed and lips smiling, his nose and forehead pressed softly against her own.

“I’m very happy.” The words were nearly more a feeling, flowing from her mouth into his across the short space between them. “Very.”

He opened his eyes then, his pupils blurring before her, until he moved back and, still smiling, dropped a kiss onto her nose.

“Good.”

Kojo grumbled again, assuming he was still being spoken to, and Tim snorted, rolling away from her and throwing back the covers. Lucy groaned.

“Where are you going?” She couldn’t help that it sounded petulant, and she buried herself further under the blankets to add weight to her protest.

Tim’s voice was muffled as he pulled yesterday’s white t-shirt over his head.

“I’m hungry.”

“Ugh.” Lucy kicked her legs indignantly under the covers. “Kojo? Do you want to come up into this warm, cosy, comfortable bed with me instead?”

She heard the dog hop upright, his nails ticking along the floor as he scrambled out of his bed and around the room to the foot of hers.

“Kojo. Sit.” Tim’s voice was no-nonsense, and Kojo immediately complied, his tail thumping happily against the bedpost as he obligingly switched allegiances. “Only good boys who stay off the furniture get bacon and eggs.”

“You are literally - No. Fun.” Lucy complained, shuffling herself up against the headboard.

Tim threw her look as he opened the door, eyebrows raised, sly and suggestive. “I’m going to feed the dog. And the teenager.”

“The teenager is already fed!” Tamara’s voice sailed through the open door, tinged with long-suffering tolerance. Kojo abandoned Lucy’s bed, happily scampering out through the door to Tamara, closely followed by Tim.

Lucy pounded her fists into the comforter, watching the three of them gather outside around the kitchen island.

“Is everybody just gonna leave me this morning?”

“YES!” Tim and Tamara yelled together, Kojo adding a sharp bark to the cacophony.

Lucy grinned, throwing back the covers and clambering out of the bed.

There was nothing else she needed.

There was nowhere and no-one she’d rather be with.

She was exactly where she was supposed to be.

***

“Sergeant Bradford, I’ve been waiting over thirty minutes for you.” Grey admonished, pointedly checking his watch.

Tim threw his hands up, gesturing behind him to the departing armoured SWAT van. 

“Do you know how hard it is to manoeuvre a tank through rush-hour traffic?” He checked his own watch, making a face when he saw the time. “The last guy would never have made it to you this fast.”

“There was no ‘last guy’,” Grey replied, his eyes darting almost imperceptibly to Lucy. “Lieutenant Pine seems to have invented this post just for you.”

Tim cocked his head, refusing to take the bait, his eyes narrowing as he realised that Lucy had company. “You okay?”

“Bradford!”

Lucy didn’t have time to reply, interrupted by Noah’s enthusiastic greeting as he saluted Tim, followed closely by Lopez, her eyes sharp and curious. Tim nodded politely at Noah, taking a step closer to Lucy.

“Foster. What brings you down from Victorville?”

“That would be me,” Angela said, crossing her arms and looking at Lucy. “Noah can’t remember the licence plate of your truck.”

“I don’t have a truck,” Lucy answered, shaking her head, utterly disconcerted by the change of conversation.

“That’s what I told him.”

Noah rolled his eyes at Angela, holding out his palms to Lucy.

“The truck you came in to the club the other night.”

The pieces clicked into place, but Tim spoke before she could say anything.

“That was my truck.”

“Ah,” Noah grinned mischievously at her. “I should have realised that.”

“Wait, wait…” Chris’ voice startled Lucy, having almost forgotten that he was still standing beside her. He was blinking furiously, shaking his head in confusion. “What is going on here?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Nyla arrived on the scene, her words laced with irritation. “I’ve been waiting fifteen minutes in the conference room for you, attorney.” She fixed Chris with a glare that would have withered mould, coming to a stop beside Angela and unconsciously mirroring the same disgruntled stance.

“That’s my cue to leave,” Noah made a wry face at Lucy, tapping her elbow once. “Hey, Bradford! You joining us for lunch?”

Tim raised his eyebrows, which Noah seemed to take for answer, tossing another grin over his shoulder as Angela shunted him back down the corridor before her. 

“I thought we were taking Tamara for lunch at that college welcome afternoon thing?” Tim sidled up to Lucy, slipping his hand into the crook of her elbow. She frowned at him, shaking her head.

“That’s next week, you know that!”

“Oh,” he said, shrugging lightly. “Must have got my days confused.”

“Bradford! My office. Ten minutes!” Grey shot them an exasperated look, throwing his hands in the air and stalking off through the lobby.

“You, with me. Now!” Nyla was just as frustrated, shoving Chris on the shoulder and giving Tim a knowing glare. Chris stumbled once, his eyes flicking between Lucy, Tim, and Tim’s hand, now moving from Lucy’s elbow to the small of her back, turning her gently away from the others and towards himself. She heard Nyla repeat her order, and the shuffle of shoes on vinyl as she herded her charge off to the conference room.

“You ass.” Lucy pulled her hands out of Tim’s grip, slapping him gently in the chest. “You did that on purpose.”

His smile turned into a grin, and he bent down to her, dropping a quick kiss on the side of her lips.

“Did what?” His face radiated innocence, but the bright twinkle in his eye gave him away.

She glared at him, but there was no heat in it.

“Okay fine,” he admitted. “It’s been a long morning, I couldn’t help it.”

She squared her shoulders primly. “Thank you for your honesty.”

He chuckled once, stepping closer to her and wrapping his fingers into her hands. His face became serious.

“Since I’m being honest, I might as well tell you… I also lied to you.”

She felt her heart drop, the blood draining rapidly from her face.

“You…” She paused to swallow, tightening her grip on his fingers. “Okay. About what?”

Tim smiled sheepishly, tilting his head to one side.

“I am jealous. A little. Of Foster.”

Her heart thumped once, painfully, and she felt relief flood through her with a rush, coming out in a breathless laugh.

“Tim…”

“He got to spend all that time with you in Sacramento, and I didn’t. All that time without seeing you, without talking to you? Do you realise that’s the longest I’ve ever gone without hearing your voice since the day I first met you?” The question was gruff, but she knew him well enough to read the emotion behind it.

“I thought you’d have enjoyed the peace and quiet,” she quipped, giving him an out.

Tim shook his head, his eyes focused on her. He wasn’t taking it.

“It’s my own fault that I missed out.” There was an unfamiliar, wistful smile on his face, and she tugged on his hands, pulling him down to her level.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of. You and I - we were inevitable. We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

And without thinking, workplace be damned, she kissed him.

“Bradford!”

Grey’s voice ricocheted around the glass walls of the lobby, and Tim pulled back from her with a grin.

“See you at lunchtime?”

She nodded happily, her forehead still pressed against his.

“BRADFORD!”

“Wuh-oh.”

[banjoandthepork]

"One group John continued to see a great deal of was the Moody Blues, who lived communally not far from Weybridge. The Moodies regularly hosted Saturday night open house parties, at which the best hors d'oeuvres, the best booze, and the best dope were always there for the taking- along with the best-looking starlets and models. (It was at one of these parties, in fact, that I encountered my very first miniskirt). For John, however, the main attraction was the Moodies themselves, who --their relentlessly somber music notwithstanding-- were probably the funniest bunch of people John and I had ever met. 

A typical Moody Blues routine featured their original guitarist Denny Laine (now better known as one of Paul McCartney's Wings) in the role of a crusty old sergeant major, and the rest of the band as a platoon of raw recruits. Whenever Denny barked out his orders, the others would respond, to hilarious effect, as if they didn't have a clue -- tripping one another up, and marching out of step and into walls. As comedians, they all boasted a flawless sense of timing, and invariably left John and me laughing so hard we could scarcely breathe. "

-Pete Shotton, The Beatles, Lennon, and Me (aka John Lennon: In My LIfe)

[anewkindofme]

I read the new chapter of the anonymous verse and OMG so CUTE!!!

You mentioned it briefly in your but I'm an Avery verse, but how does Owen handle April's time of the month when she's regressed vs when she's bigger? I low-key see him doing the exact same thing as George Sr in Young Sheldon and PANIC buying everything he possibly can, while April's just in the car absolutely MORTIFIED at her Dad doing the absolute Most

Thank you!!!

So in my verses, Littles don’t regress during their time of the month. It’s their body’s way of protecting them because let’s be real, they’d be terrified about why the heck am I bleeding? And all the tummy aches. That being said, similar to how Jackson and Alex don’t fully drop but yet aren’t acting entirely their biological age, it can lead to those with a period acting a little younger and clingier.

Which does happen to April sometimes. But many times, she also becomes like a moody teenager. Similar to those chapters of “My Boy” when Jackson is pissed at Mark but acts more like an angsty pre-teen who’s going through the phase of scowling, slamming doors and sassing the hell out their parents.

Owen freaked out the first time. Because in spite of being a doctor and having a sister, I feel he’s just one of those types to be like “oh my god, what am I going to do?” Whereas April is like…can you just go get me some pads and Midol? Why are you acting like I’m about to die or something?? And in reality, he was just worried about her being in pain.

But then yeah, they go to the store and it’s a total George & Missy moment. Btw, love the reference, their relationship is so cute. Honestly, very much how I picture April and Owen. Especially when he gets all drill sergeant with her when she starts acting out. He’s very much riding the line of “she’s tough enough to figure this out” and “yeah, she’s still a kid, she needs my help”. Like I’ve talked about it before but he’s the dad who is not going to freak out over a bruise or her falling down or getting minorly sick. But he still has his moments of protective daddy.

Anyway, back to your question, yeah, she’s just like “it’s pads…and Midol…will you relax?” Until she texts Meredith or Megan who then calls Owen and tell him he needs to relax or else April will feel like she can’t go to him. But then they give him some real advice on how to help and it all works out.

He gets better as time goes on but as we saw in that chapter of “My Boy”, he’s still asking if she has everything and if she’s cramping. As she rolls her eyes and acts annoyed because “oh my god, you’re embarrassing me”…

But when she got her first period, I headcanon because she had all sisters, her family just didn’t care and she was on her own with any emotions surrounding it. So not that she’d ever say it out loud but she does appreciate it.

Also, Owen isn’t one to react much to her thinking he’s embarrassing or being too much. He’s just like “okay, cool, so anyway…you got your kit on you?” I don’t know if you’ve seen this episode where he’s just talking April’s ear off when she’s trapped in the bubble and doesn’t leave as she’s basically like “Ew dad, get out of my room!!” until he’s paged and has no real reaction. That’s basically their relationship summed up haha.

Ask me about my fics!!

[coffeeandbatboys]

Hi!!! I'm @bad4amficideas (dirty r18 sideblog because real people know main 😱) Congratulations on your followers🤯

I would like, please and thank you, to request a matchup. Of course if you want to delete this message I completely understand! (In advance, sorry for my English)

I am a woman (going ancient if you follow internet nomenclatures. middle ages welcome back i swear) I'm demiromantic pansexual, who thinks herself as shy and introverted... with a poker, resting bitch face worthy of Crosshair (or a soaked kitten). Depressed, socially awkward, and sometimes really misanthropic -even with my family and I love them-, though people like, always said I'm real kind and sweet, and hardworking ??? 🧐kinda clumsy/akward (not best at self esteem ik). Moody, really stubborn, conscientious, dignified/honorable, loyal, passive agressive, spiteful (...actually I'm a very shy decent girl but I don't recommend touching my people, I cry with rage so I make you feel guilty while I bite you) and when it’s something that I’m passionate about, I’m a force of nature, I feel myself shine and people irl seems to like talk with me about fandom ☺️ I can and will ramble for hours to end. Relaxed I'm a daydreamer, kinda scatterbrainer (some say I think to fast and can't keep up with my mouth) I love read fiction/fantasy/myth at times with romantic touchs, lots of smut and daydream. I collect merchandise expecific plushes *hunting lula atm ❤️‍🔥, damn why i must be european! This is chirithy and courage and lopmon hunting all again... but i got them. Just wait lula, wait 😈😈😈😈*

I am a little alienated from my body because id like it, but I am a ciswoman with Little chest and a lot of ass. long brown hair, freckles 🥰, on light skin and a very pretty 🥰 gray-green eye color, some say blue.

That was very long. A thousand pardons and congratulations again!

Welcome! (And don’t worry, your English is very good).

I’ll let Helena take it over from here 🩷

Helena: hello, friend!

After reviewing the information given, and some conversation with a regular at the shop, I have decided to pair you with Sergeant Sinker of the Wolfpack!

gif by @kamino-coruscant

Sinker was always taught by his non–vode superiors on Kamino that he was property of the GAR and nothing more. So once the two of you are officially together, he can’t get over the fact that you’d choose him. Just the thought makes him fall in love a little more every day.

Sinker has a dry sense of humor, so you can expect some witty banter from him. When you’re not feeling the best, he’ll know when to set the snark aside in favor of helping you. Sinker can be patient when the situation calls for it. It may take a while, but the two of you will begin to enjoy each other’s presence even when it’s just a comfortable silence.

He thinks nothing bad about your clumsiness. If you are to trip while he’s close enough, this man will catch you before you get hurt. And when it comes to self esteem, he has no problem telling you—or showing you—how much he loves you.

He will support you whenever you face a problem that you’re passionate about (and he will have internal heart eyes watching you go after it too). He admires your dedication and loyalty.

After getting to know you and your hobbies, he'll find himself actively seeking out shops that sell plushes and intriguing fantasy books so he can bring one home to you (with the his dad's General's help, of course).

As for your body image, a negative thought will never cross his mind unless you bring it up. He thinks that you’re just as beautiful inside as out. And he will feel so incredibly lucky to have someone like you to love.

Well, here’s his comm link code…I’d stick around for a little while longer but I gotta go—customers lining up!

400 follower celebration at Midnight Oil caf house

[elfrootenthusiast]

Take this as permission to ramble about an oc <3

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY CASSIE TIME

every1 look @ her outfits........ if u dont want to read th worlds longest oc lore dump u can go in #party rat, #cassie, or #boss cass and learn literally everything u need 2 know abt her frm context clues

SO THATS CASSIEEE my mgs oc ✨ aka cassandra aka cass aka party rat aka my baby

looong story short she was your classic mgs child soldier with a streak of bad luck until she tried to KILL big boss in the late 1960s. she was one of the first poor bastards he took under his wing and following the dubiously canon events of the san hieronymo incident she became one of the original members of the foxhound unit: solitary shrike.

obviously that code name sucks ASS and honestly so did she; she was moody, rude, violent and didnt work well with others. absolutely no joy or whimsy until she met some british asshole named lance hewitt, codename bengal tiger, and got paired up with him. they proceeded to survive a catastrophic near death mission that changed the trajectories of their lives FOREVER on account of they emerged from it so ride or die for each other that they began matching each others freak to an inadvisable degree.

she changed her name (surprise her given name isnt cassandra. only 3 people in the whole world know what it used to be and im not one of those people) and her code name to reflect the "new her" she wanted to cultivate after facing death, branding herself "party rat." the goal? fill whatever life she had left with as much joy, love & fun as she possibly could. she was going to sing as loud as she wanted, dance as wild as she felt like, and finally stop holding herself back from fully connecting with the people around her. to solidify this, as well as to show her complete and utter over the top devotion to him, she took on lances last name, finally becoming the cassandra hewitt we all know + love

now a member of the MSF cass works as an engineer sergeant, chief mechanic, & generally invents a bunch of highly questionable weapons and machines. she also operates on the field as a demolitions expert for her squad, which grows to include an absolute dickhead named joaquin gutierrez, or mangey jackal. though she tries to embrace her new party spirit and the "peace and love" vibes of the time, he singles out bengal for some intensive one on one training and eventually pushes him to the point of breaking, making cass snap and quite literally bite his ear off. but like. he was fine. and everyone got better. and she taught him how to do the hustle as a peace offering. nothing a little disco cant fix.

back to the Plot: she eventually gets wrapped up in the creation of metal gear zeke, and was one of the weak points exploited by paz that allowed her to hijack it later on. she meets her canonical end during the ground zeroes incident, dying alone in the lower levels after sending her squadmates ahead to buy time. she blowed up </3

in alternate timelines where she survives she loses her left arm and occasionally her leg below the knee as well. as a sole survivor she becomes tangled in a web between big boss, zero, and cipher, creating a PMC of her own in order to pick up the pieces and continue the legacy left to her. she also begins raising the clone sons of her late best friend as her own but THATS neither here nor there <- dont even worry about it if the others survive she manages to slip from the attention of the higher ups and settles on creating a relief network with amanda valenciano libre, an old friend from her time in the msf. no matter what, cass maintains a stubborn belief that unless shes seen the bodies of her friends theyre still alive, which means she cant rest until shes found them. even if it takes Nine Years

ANYWAYS LIKE. tldr: shes like if pinkie pie had a party cannon that killed people for realsies