#simon you asshole
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bluegiragi · 1 year ago
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work it out (part 2)
early access + nsfw on patreon
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mokeonn · 1 year ago
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"But if college was free, then people would abuse that and get useless degrees" hell yeah I would! If I could go to college without debt I would make it my job to get a degree in every little thing that interested me. I'd get a doctorate in film studies. I'd have a bachelor's degree for every science I like. I'd try to learn at least 5 languages with varying results. I would learn something "useful" like coding and then follow it up with a ""useless"" degree like art history. I'd be the world record speed run holder for getting every degree possible.
But I can't afford college without going into massive debt, so instead I spent the last 5 years trying to figure out what I am passionate enough about to consider going into debt over, because unfortunately being passionate about everything is extremely expensive to pursue.
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disgustingtwitches · 1 month ago
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A Rose In Harlem
You're stuck in a romcom with your new asshole neighbor, Simon Riley
Masterlist
PART 1
A rose in Harlem starts to bloom…
***
Simon despises New York. But, truth be told, he hates every big city; they're all too loud, too crowded, and too filthy. Too prone to tragedy and attacks. He much preferred the solitude of the countryside, miles of quiet stretching in every direction. As long as he had one of his squad mates snoring close by and the soft chirp of crickets, he could sleep far better than he ever did now.
Because right now, someone decided that playing Shakira at nine in the morning on a Sunday was acceptable. The ceiling shook with every kick of the bass. Simon stared up at the ceiling, frustration gnawing at his patience. He considered himself a patient man, but his sleep was sacred. He barely got any as is; nightmares he refused to acknowledge, waking up in cold sweats, insomnia from irregular missions. He’d fallen asleep just as the sun rose. And now it was… 9:01 AM. He groaned while he rolled off his mattress on the floor and stretched, muscles tight as ever.
Throwing on some sweatpants and a hoodie, he headed next door, ignoring the little doorbell with a camera on it.
He pounded on the door, adjusting his mask. Nine bangs and the music finally stopped. A feminine voice came through the speaker,
“Can I help you?”
“Your music’s too loud.”
There was a pause.
“Welcome to Harlem,”
That was all he heard before the music up again-louder than before. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath in. Go to your happy place, his mandated therapist told him. He doesn't have a fucking happy place. His childhood home? His shitty flat back in London? In his new, somehow shittier apartment in New York? He thinks that the back of his eyelids are the happiest place he knows of, just blank and dark. On some days he wishes that he'd stay in that darkness for good.
He clears his throat and opens his eyes, looking at the stupid little camera in front of him. He pounds on the door again, harder this time. The door seemed to flinch under his fist. The music didn’t stop this time, just lowered.
“Jesus, you knock like a cop.”
The voice on the other end sighed, annoyed. The fucking audacity.
“Lower your music. Surprised no one else has complained.”
“Because they know how to mind their business. Keep banging on my door, and we’ll have an issue.”
Simon laughed internally. Did she really just say that? He was big enough to make any threat against him ridiculous. Or maybe the camera makes him look smaller than he is. He leaned in towards the camera, finally acknowledging it.
“We’ll have a real issue if this keeps up.”
“Oh really?”
“Really.”
“You’re real bold, you know that? Coming in here, smoking those nasty-ass cigarettes, stinking up the place. Then banging on my door, telling me what to do? Go fuck yourself.”
Simon’s fist clenches as the music turns back up to full volume. He has half a mind to kick down the door and throw those speakers out the window. Maybe the listener too. But he was working on his temper, so as he walked out of the building, he looked up where the nearest hardware store was.
It was nearly 3 AM when the drilling started. Right on the wall behind your headboard. What the fuck? You groan and cover your head with your pillow. Who the fuck is drilling at this time? You think for a moment, then remember that big fucker who was pounding at your door earlier. Of course, it's him; of course, he'd be the type of asshole to do some shit like this.
Ten minutes passed, and the drilling stopped. Thank God. Just as you were about to drift off to sleep again, it started back up. You bang on the wall repeatedly out of frustration. There is a moment of silence. Then you hear a few bangs back, mirroring your own before continuing to drill.
You feel like screaming.
“Piece of shit. Wanna wake me up in the middle of the night? Act like you don't have any fucking sense?”
You mumble to yourself, throwing on your slippers and a hoodie. The drilling keeps going as you walk out your door and head to his. You repeatedly press the doorbell indignantly. The whir of the drill stops. You brace yourself to face that hulking mass that you stared at through your doorbell app earlier. Fists clenched in your hoodie pocket and chest tight, breathing hard and fast, still worked up. You think of the right words to call him, something that would cut deep. But after a moment, you realize he's not going to answer the door. Pussy. You say to yourself before turning and storming back to your place.
It was quiet for the rest of the night.
***
You're disoriented when your alarm goes off, eyes blearily looking at the screen, trying to read the time. You drop your face into the pillow, groaning in exhaustion. Ishta wanted to meet you for coffee before work today, which means she wants to talk for at least thirty minutes. You contemplate texting her and calling off the rendezvous, but she gets in a mood when you do that. And you are not in the mood to deal with that today. You roll out of bed and get ready for work.
As if the day couldn't get any worse, the elevator's broken, so you have to use the stairs. Your mood sours with every step down, thinking of all the bullshit that's happened in less than 24 hours. Fucker knocking on your door, talking crazy to you, then waking you up in the middle of the night? Acting like he can do whatever the hell he wants. The hallway reeks of cigarettes.
You bump into someone while walking out of the foyer, distracted by your thoughts and phone, checking to see what time the train is coming. You almost apologize then stop yourself when you look up. It's him.
You're pretty sure he's wearing the same clothes as yesterday: a black hoodie and sweatpants with a face mask. Does he wear that because it's flu season or because he wants to hide his face? Probably the latter.
“You're gonna make people nervous running around like that.”
You don't try to hide your face of displeasure. He is unaffected, catching his breath slowly and deeply. His dark eyes lock with yours.
“Am I making you nervous?”
He asks in a tone that's almost taunting. You roll your eyes, taking a deep breath.
“No.”
“Then why do you care?”
His question upsets you a little.
“Because I'm a decent person,”
Is what you settle on. His eyebrow twitches. You don't like how heavy the air suddenly gets. You adjust your bag and step around him, rushing to the subway.
***
Ishta giggles zooming in on the man on your screen.
“He looks tall. And strong.”
You sigh, taking your phone back and tucking it into your bag.
“He's an asshole.”
“He's hot.”
“You can't even see his face!”
You groan, exasperated. This is the first time you actually get to lead the conversation, and the topic isn't even about you.
“I knew it was only a matter of time when I saw that stupid Chick-fil-A open up here. Now we have him running around like he owns the place.”
You sigh into your tea, trying to calm down. Ishta is enjoying this much more than you.
“They opened another one up at 181st too,”
Ishta smirks, leaning back into her chair.
“Do you think I'll be seeing any big, strong, mysterious men in my neighborhood anytime soon?”
She laughs when you make a face. Putting your cup down, you groan.
“He's British.”
Ishta waves her hand around, gold jewelry catching the light of the rising sun.
“Oh babe, he can't help it. You know, I heard it's a genetic thing.”
Her smirk turns into a wide smile when you chuckle at that. Maybe today won't be so bad.
Wrong.
You are blindsided coming into work, forgetting your very important presentation with the museum's benefactors. It takes ten minutes just to pull up the slideshow and they all seem unimpressed and bored. Halfway through, your manager calls for a quick break and meets you outside in the hallway.
“What is going on in there?”
She whispers in a harsh tone, leaning so close you can smell her ridiculously overpriced perfume. You bite your lip, avoiding eye contact.
“I'm sorry, my neigh-”
She pinched the air, manicured fingernails held up to your face.
“I don't care what you got going on, just don't embarrass me like that again.”
It takes all of your strength not to smack her hand away. She stares at you, waiting for a response. But you keep your mouth shut, knowing that if you open it you'll likely lose your job. She pulls back, straightening out her skirt.
“Try to be more engaging. And you look like hell.”
The rest of the presentation goes without a hitch, the benefactors perk up when you start spouting some technolect bullshit about the newest artifacts your department has been working on procuring. Your manager soaks in all the praise like she had anything to do with the newest developments in your department.
The lack of sleep is catching up to you when you're sitting at your desk, staring at the same email for twenty minutes, trying to remember how to tell someone to jump off a bridge professionally.
As per my last email,
You hold the backspace, erasing and writing the same sentence over and over again.
“RISD giving you a hard time with the Hiroshige prints?”
Ishta’s voice startles you, her tall frame hovers over your shoulder. You feel a headache forming right between your eyebrows.
“I don't know what they want from me, they seemed so eager to work with us before.”
“Their board of trustees got a new member, total cunt. The Met is having a hard time too.”
“What the fuck is her deal?”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, nearing a total meltdown. Ishta places her hands on your shoulders, taking deep breaths.
“Just close your eyes and think happy thoughts,”
You roll your eyes but humor her, mimicking her breathing.
“Think of getting more grant money. Chocolate cake from the bakery down the street. And your hot neighbor's barrel chest-”
“Knock it off, he's so insufferable.”
You smile, playfully knocking her hand away and waving her off.
“I need to focus now, so go.”
She blew kisses at you while walking away and you turned back to your computer, a small line blinking on a blank screen.
Just following up on my email below. Let me know if I should be talking to someone else about this…
After spending too much time writing your email, you leaned back in your seat, checking your phone absentmindedly, opening your doorbell app and playing the videos of whoever walked by. Miss Dowdy with her miniature pinscher, Nina bringing her groceries, a masked figure donned in all black tucking a cigarette behind his ear.
“Am I making you nervous?”
His words replay in your head, uninvited and relentless. You don’t like the way his voice makes you feel. It crawls under your skin, makes your stomach twist.
***
Your bed feels softer than usual when you flop down on it with a groan, slipping into deep sleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. You jump when you hear a bang. Groan when you hear another. Grit your teeth at the third bang.
Hammering. This jackass is hammering in the middle of the night. Blood boiling, it takes all of your strength to not scream and bang your fists on the wall like a madman. Your head hurts from clenching your jaw while you slip into your slides and storm next door.
You press the doorbell rabidly. It takes a solid minute before the locks click and the door swings open. You stare at the tattoo sleeve that peeks out from under the hoodie he rolled up to his elbow before looking past him and into his bare apartment. It's clean but empty and cold; there is a mattress and a huge TV on the floor, a single chair at a small table, some weights, and a milk crate. He leans against the doorframe, blocking your view.
“Evening.”
He’s insouciant, lighting a cigarette as he addresses you, his calm cutting deeper than any words. Your vision blurs with red, fists trembling at your sides, shaking with the force of your restraint. He catches it, and the corners of his lips twitch upward, like he’s savoring the storm he’s pulled from you. It takes everything in you not to lunge at him, but the bitter knowledge of how futile it would be keeps you rooted in place.
“You're an asshole.”
The words make him hum in acknowledgment, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke into his apartment.
“Don't know what you mean. You're being very hostile to me right now, angel.”
The disparaging pet name sends you over the edge, you snap.
“Don't act stupid. You keep doing that shit and I'll take that dumbass hammer and…”
You keep going like this until your anger subsides, blood no longer molten, just under a simmer for now. His face is stony, eyes unnervingly dark and devoid of any emotion. You wait for his response, the silence stretches for longer than you're comfortable with. He looks down at your chest briefly.
“Chilly out here, huh?”
He finally says, twisting his body to grab an ashtray from the countertop next to him. You furrow your eyebrows, confused.
“What?”
Then you glance down-and your stomach drops. You forgot to put on a bra before coming out. Mortified, you cross your arms in a desperate, clumsy motion. The shame burns hot, but it’s fleeting, quickly overtaken by a rage that feels twice as strong now. If that’s even possible. He cuts you off before you cuss him out (again).
“Start the music later and I'll stop.”
You want to argue. Be stubborn. Lie just to spite him and wake him up bright and early next weekend. But you’re too damn tired. And he’s too damn good at making your life miserable when he wants to. So you sigh, rolling your eyes with the kind of exasperation that feels like defeat.
“Fine. Yes. Whatever. Just stop banging on the fucking wall.”
He stubs out his cigarette, shoving the ashtray aside like it’s an afterthought. He turns, stretching lazily, his arms braced against the doorframe, looking every bit the smug bastard he is.
“What’s the magic word?”
“Fuck you.”
That gets him. His split lip twists into a crooked grin, sharp and mean, but somehow entertained all the same. For a moment, it throws you off, and you realize this is the first time you’ve actually seen his face. All of it. Every nasty scar and shadow he hid underneath that mask.
He snaps his fingers and points at you amusedly.
“Yeah, that’s the one. Night, angel.”
And with that, he shuts his door, leaving you in the hallway alone to stew in your frustration.
You tuck your annoyance away while lying down to sleep, you've spent enough time stressing over that man and you'll be damned if he messes with your sleep anymore than he already has.
***
"A mattress on the floor and some weights? That's it?"
Ishta's voice crackles through the phone, entirely too enthusiastic about the details you're sharing. It's clear her concern lies more with Mr. Asshole than with you. She's already connecting dots you wish she wouldn't.
"You know guys like that always have good dick,"
She says, tone smug.
"All they need is a bed and a pull-up bar or something. The rest takes care of itself."
You sigh, leaning on the windowsill and opening the bedroom window, letting the cool air hit your face.
"Is dick all you think about?"
"Maybe if you got some decent dick in your life, you'd be less stressed. How do you think I keep so calm?”
“You said it was kickboxing last week.”
You wedge the phone between your shoulder and ear, twisting the cap off a bottle of rosé. She continues,
"Well, that too,"
Her voice is light and breezy, like this is just common knowledge.
"But it's all about balance—therapy, exercise, and, you know, some mind-blowing se-ex."
She drags the last word out, sing-songy and teasing, the grin in her voice unmistakable. You can picture her lounging somewhere, phone in hand, not a care in the world. You roll your eyes and take a sip, the tart sweetness of the wine softening your irritation.
"Dick is more trouble than it's worth."
That sets her off, laughter bubbling through the phone. It’s the kind of laugh that makes you soften; it’s contagious, disarming, and you hate how it pulls the corners of your mouth up despite yourself. She catches her breath,
“Oh, please. You just never got good dick.”
“I've gotten good dick!”
“Not recently!”
You finally give in, a reluctant laugh slipping out, satiating her smug amusement before you bid her a quick adieu and hang up.
Putting on something soft and slow, you hum along, the melody wrapping around you as you sip your wine. The night feels calm, city heat radiating from the sidewalks finally cooling down, loud music being played a block over. Leaning out the window, you take in the cool air, only to startle when you spot him sitting on the fire escape, smoke curling lazily from his cigarette.
“Jesus fuck! ”
You jump, heart pounding as you clutch your wine glass.
He looks at you, unbothered, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he takes a slow drag. You’ve seen his scarred face before, but now you really take it in: the crooked nose, proof of who knows how many fights; the slit through his eyebrow, jagged and uneven; the deep-set eyes that seem to pierce right through you; and a jawline that looks like it could cut glass.
He shifts, catching you staring, and for a moment his brow furrows, like he doesn’t like it. But then, he talks, voice low and calm, smoke puffing out between his words.
“That true?”
He asks, breaking the silence as he exhales a plume of smoke.
You blink, caught off guard.
“Is what true?”
He flashes a smile, like he just thought of a joke.
“You never got good dick?”
Your face gets hot,
“Do you usually listen to people's conversations?”
“Only when it pertains to me.”
“How do you know I was talking about you?”
“You familiar with a lot of men who sleep on the floor?”
You twist your face, disbelief etched in every feature.
"No. I am not."
"Yeah, didn't take you for an easy lay."
He tilts his head, a flicker of smugness dancing in his dark eyes.
"Need some good dick?"
You cringe, the audacity hitting like a slap to the face. He shrugs, unapologetic, like he's just offered you a drink instead of an indecent proposal.
"Offer stands. You know where I am."
"Unfortunately."
You mutter, disgust laced in the single word. He drinks up your venom, savoring the bite in your tone. He places a hand on his chest, feigning hurt.
“You wound me, angel.”
Does he ever take anything seriously?
“Are you always such a jerk off?”
He points at you, cigarette dangling between his fingers.
“You know, you like calling me every name under the sun, don't you wanna know what it actually is?”
“What? Your actual name? Thought you preferred ‘asshole’.”
He snorts,
“Might as well, seeing as you've got that down pat.”
He cocks his head, shadows cutting across his face, deepening the scars and crooked edges of him. His face was rough, but you always liked character—distinct features that tell a story.
You don't say anything, trying to hide your flicker of curiosity by sipping your wine, but he sees right through you.
“Simon. Be sure not to wear it out. Yet.”
“I like ‘asshole’ better.”
“Does have a nice ring to it, doesn't it?”
He stands, towering from your perspective as you perch on the windowsill. He stretches, a casual movement that feels anything but. Your eyes betray you, catching on the faint trail of hair that starts at his belly button and disappears under his waistband. He’s definitely doing this on purpose.
“Night, angel.”
He winks, self-satisfied.
“Bye, asshole.”
Your voice has softened, more playful than biting. He flicks the butt of his cigarette onto the street below before looking down at you.
“Good girl.”
The words are tossed down like a gauntlet, casual and deliberate, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. Your stomach twists, warmth spreading before you can clamp it down. You frown, annoyed—at him, at yourself, at how easily he gets under your skin. You sit back, swirling the last drops of wine in your glass as you watch him slip through his own window, vanishing into the dark. You hate the way his words echo in your head.
You're not gonna fuck your neighbor. Don't fuck your neighbor.
next
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ghouljams · 26 days ago
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Another Christmas fic teaser because I'm having so much fun with it
“Not a thought in that pretty little ‘ead is there?” He asks, his fingers gripping your hair tight to pull your head back, you moan your pleasure for him as he gives a hard thrust into you, your bleary eyes focused on the white wall. “Course not,” Simon grunts, a huff of laughter edging his voice, “Would’nt’ve responded to my ad if there was.”
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sgt-tombstone · 4 months ago
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okay wait hear me out: Soap with a shaved asshole
BUT (wait, listen, hear me out)
Ghost is the one who shaves him, and he does it with a straight razor
semi-regularly, Johnny finds himself face down in a pillow, his ass in the air trying to stay as still as possible while Simon spreads his cheeks, lathering shaving cream in his ass crack, the knife-sharp edge of the razor pressed against his sensitive skin, hands holding the skin taut to avoid cutting him, giving him the smoothest shave he’s ever had, all so Simon can fuck him better
he spends the entire time nearly vibrating in place, trying to stay stock still so Simon doesn’t accidentally cut him, but his cock is hanging between his legs and every scrape of the razor on his skin has him twitching, trying to get friction, unsure if he wants to flinch away or press back into the razor’s edge in Simon’s hand
sometimes he swears that the shaving is more erotic than the sex that comes after
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hollypies · 3 months ago
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Fuuuck I don't want to draw backgrounds anyway why do I get randomly dizzy and see black spots . What's that about
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cod-dump · 1 year ago
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Soap: Have you never lost anyone close to you? What would you do if say… Ghost died
Gaz: Is he actually dead this time or just fucking around again?
Soap: Actually dead. What would you do?
Gaz: Before or after I start laughing?
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pixelpaladin24 · 2 months ago
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nickbutnodick · 19 days ago
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i watched mufasa today and was writhing in agony the whole time. partially because it was ugly. partially because the plot sucked. and not as much because i had horrifying period cramps.
#seriously tho i despise that movie#i did not want to go see it#but i also didnt want to be an asshole to my uncle who bought us tickets#it was a shit movie tho#hated it#i could point out a billion things i hated about it#EVERYTHING was cgi#every single character and the entire background#like atp just make an animated movie#but no instead i had to watch this weird uncanny valley between animation and reality#where everything is mildly unrealistic and weird but also way too realistic and weird#why do the lions growl and roar and whimper like lions but also talk like people#that bit was so weird#especially bc the lion voice never sounded anything like the people voice#one second youre growling like a wild animal and the next youre fucking james earl jones#like wtf#also it was odd to me that little kid mufasa was voiced by an adult and little kid kiara was voiced by a kid#like do the kid lions have human child voices or not?#it was so god damned confuzzling#the lions' faces were so emotionless. simone and pumba were annoying and unfunny and ugly as shit. the plot was bland and predictable.#i swear to GOD bro#you could have written all of the characters better.#give mufasa understandable and relatable flaws and attributes instead of making him Perfect#give taka understandable and relatable good bits and flaws instead of making him Evil#the characters had no nuance and no arcs#like i thought it would come into play that taka had undying loyalty to mufasa bc that was like literally how he was introduced#like his entire character from. the. START. was giving up his own honor for the safety of mufasa#but then he betrayed him? like what kind of a plot point was that?#also those white lions SUCKED as characters too#they had no nuances just malice
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indianchindian · 8 months ago
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Against the delusional Edmar shippers hating on Felicia for no reason:
Seriously I searched Twitter (proudly deadnaming it) for some Edvin and Felicia content and I go through these:
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What is old Edvin to you? He's growing and evolving as a person and this picture seems to be bad and I don't support smoking but please move on!
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PR stunt my fucking ass!
.................
Like how delulu can those people be? Edvin and Omar had amazing chemistry in YR especially their intimate scenes but that's because they're really professional and had an AMAZING intimacy director! No doubt! Period! Exclamation mark!
Why tf are people hating on Felicia for nothing? Or because she's dating Edvin and both of them are being (slightly) public about it. And that you can't fetishise Edvin and Omar together anymore?! Or that you can't imagine yourself with Edvin as a tweet suggested??? Why the fucking delulsions and hate when Edvin and Omar HAVE ALWAYS BEEN FRIENDS BEST????? HUH! Plus Omar and Felicia are really close, like look at this adorable picture 😭
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(and Edvin liked, lol)
And look at this
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And this
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Literally look at Omar's comment!
And this
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And this
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These guys literally left supportive comments 😭😭
Edvin and Felicia are dating. Omar is besties with Edvin and Felicia, and I look Friends Best at a literal level. I had my fair share of beef with delusional shippers before them so seeing this really pissed me off big time. Also, why tf is Felicia being hated on just because she's dating Edvin and that she "changed" him for the worse like I can't with the misogyny! As much as I don't support smoking, Felicia isn't to blame and people change if THEY choose to! Edvin and Felicia seem happy, but again I'm not to be intrusive when I'm a stranger to them irl, and same goes to you! I love Edvin and Omar's chemistry, but I 200% ship them AS A FICTIONAL COUPLE BECAUSE THEYRE ACTORS DOING AMAZING AT THEIR MOTHERFUCKING JOBS PLEASE STOP BEING ASSHOLES AND START TO ACCEPT REALITY!
It's actually refreshing to see tweets and replies supporting and defending the couple it's just that this triggered my beef for delusional shippers in the past
Like this post (misunderstood this lol lack of sleep maybe?
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ccrites · 9 months ago
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Signal Lost
I've had something happen to me that's so incredible and that I could have never hoped, something so touching and so unbelievable that it made me rethink a whole lot of stuff: a wonderful reader on Ao3 started reading my long-form fic (101k words!!!) and commented basically every chapter after a certain point. And wow, I would have never thought something like this might happen.
And yeah, it is my first fic with plot in it, yeah I will never believe it to be perfect, but it's good enough. And receiving all those emails from Ao3 really was the highlight of my days over the course of which I saw said reader slowly go through all my favorite parts!
And so I wish to give it some spotlight here, while I'm finishing up my school year and work and whatever! I will post this here for now, but I will drop chapters every few days and make a Masterlist for it this weekend. (nvm I don't have the energy to do this any time soon lmao) I have too many loose ideas in my head so this is just to pass the time till the brain worms wiggle all in the same direction
So without further ado:
Link to AO3 here : Signal Lost - a John Price x reader fic
----- here's a blurb to pique your interest!
“I don’t think I’ve ever received a document as classified as this one. What am I supposed to do with it, Kate?” he says, dragging his thumb across the pile of papers, each file filled with more ink than the last.
“You asked for proof, there’s your proof,” Laswell says.
“You said you’ll bring someone competent, and who can help us, this doesn’t tell me shit.” He stares blankly at the screen, tired. She stares back.
“The Captain specifically asked to keep this under wraps.”
He rubs at his face, scratching at his beard. It’s getting long again.
“Who is he, anyway?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
He groans again, picking up the file on top. No photo, no name, no age, no height, weight, no nothing . And he thought Simon was secretive.
“What can you tell me?”
“It’s the closest we’ve ever gotten to him. Did things a particular way.”
He shifts through the papers. “And the discharge?”
“Left after the entire team got wiped out. Messy stuff.”
“That why he doesn’t show his face?” He bends forward, grabbing the cigar from the ashtray and bringing it to his lips.
“John.” Her voice carries a heavy warning.
“Just sayin’,” he says, biting around the cigar with one side of the mouth. “What kinda captain doesn’t go down with his men?”
“Got enough guilt as is. You’re lucky I convinced them.”
They both remain silent. They know the missions would be a slippery slope. One wrong move and a war is started. He puffs a cloud of smoke.
“Anything else?” John asks.
Kate looks to the side, her face illuminated by another screen. He can see her hesitate, her lips are pursed in a thin line as if she’s debating her options.
“You’ve worked together before.”
His face lights up. “Finally! Who?”
Her face immediately hardens back up. “Can’t tell, John, my hands are tied.” She sighs. “You were still a Lieutenant.”
Years ago then. He mentally catalogs everyone he’s ever worked with, but he knows that at that age, he was throwing himself at every available mission, wanting to make a name for himself. “So an old fart then? How’s that gonna help us?” If the guy was a Captain when he was still a Lieutenant, and he felt himself grow old, he can’t imagine who Laswell is bringing back from the dead.
Laswell’s face distorts, he knows he’s pushing her buttons, but he has to know.
“Not older than you John.”
His eyebrows raise. “Oh?”
---
or
returning to the military to hunt Makarov is hard enough, to do it with your past lover is even harder. a "friends to lovers to enemies to friends and back to lovers" story
---
Tags and other CW: will be posted for each chapter containing warnings for more hardcore stuff (i.e., torture and angst namely), but this is a fanfic, with smut, so if you want all the tags feel free to check the ao3 link bc there are a LOT and I am lazy to retype them all here
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lurafita · 9 months ago
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Twisting Fairy Tales
Today's edition: Cinderella
Featuring: Magnus in the role of the non-evil Stepmom Raphael and Simon in the roles of the non-evil Stepsiblings Clary in the role of Cinderella Alec in the role of the crown prince who is so much more interested in the stepfather of the weird girl who keeps talking to the ducks in the royal pond Jace, the crown prince's first knight who is very much interested in the weird girl and wishes she would step away from the creepy ducks And Izzy in the role of the younger sister of the crown prince who would really rather talk to the Bane brothers than the princes to foreign kingdoms that hher parents have lined up for her.
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ebbpettier · 6 months ago
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i love wayward son but as someone who worked at a renfest his whole childhood (and is desperate to work for one again but money's tight) i have an ULTIMATE NITPICK
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boypussydilf · 1 year ago
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the montage of cake ruining shit in ooo by Doing Cat Things… the thing i vaguely half-remember from an adam muto interview abt fionna fucking things up in magical worlds sometimes bc shes coming from an angle of reacting like it’s a Video Game or something…. and simons whole. the way he interacts w absolutely everyone he doesnt feel a need to be “okay” for… I think our main cast might be the Making The Situation Worse gang. theyre here to roll up and ruin everything. cake is magic now but she still has the mind and perspective of a normal cat, fionna doesn’t know how to interact with any of these universes from the perspective of them being unique worlds with real people, and simon just wants to make a fucking beeline to trying to shut his brain off. this is going to go poorly ❤️
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lesbianwyllravengard · 2 years ago
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I've decided that in any kind of 'Simon and Daniel are brothers' headcanon I will always insist that Simon is the younger, whether that's younger brother or younger twin. My reason for this is entirely because he reminds me a lot of my younger sister, and when we were kids and my brother and I would get in trouble for misbehaving she was always perfect and she'd point it out. "I didn't say that bad word, mommy", "dad, I wasn't yelling", "I ate all my dinner", and I could absolutely see Simon doing that shit with Markus and the Jericrew. North and Josh are fighting and Simon's sitting there pleasantly like "I wasn't arguing, Markus😌" absolute whore for approval and favour
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devilsskettle · 10 months ago
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dinner in america is such a “take what you want from it and leave the rest” movie for me because i do think it’s very cute and i can buy into some of the wish fulfillment nature of the story but admittedly there are some parts that really don’t work for me, there are some parts that fall a little flat either in terms of the characters or humor, and the pacing is a bit of a challenge tbh. but it’s unbelievable what the human brain can overcome by virtue of simply Just Liking That Guy
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