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lisenberry · 7 months ago

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141 when they find out reader has been crying:

(an earlier brain worm had me expanding this to all of them)

Price: He pulls you into his office and shuts the door. It barely closes before he turns on you, crossing his arms and looking down with his chin tucked against his chest. He rocks back on his heels once, twice, while he waits for you to spill.

You can only blink up at him, willing your tears not to fall while he's watching you so intently.

"What is it, sir?" You finally chance the use of your voice, but instantly regret it. Your miserable croak isn't hiding anything.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me why you've been crying." His tone is gruff, like sandpaper over rock salt, but his eyes soften imploringly.

For a minute, you want to tell him everything, but instead you just give in and cry harder. For a moment, he looks disappointed, but he simply pats you awkwardly on your shoulder and grabs a box of tissues from his desk drawer.

He motions to the sofa in the corner where you sob quietly for a half hour more while he finishes his paperwork. He doesn't know what's going on, but he's not going to let you do it alone.

Ghost: It doesn't matter where you hide, he finds you. The kitchen? He's in and out three times. Tea, a spoon for his tea, another tea. He crowds your space each time, no matter where you stand. Forcing you in circles as you try to keep your face averted.

For a silent man, he manages to make as much noise as possible to distract you to the point of almost asking him, "What the fuck, Simon?"

You finally move to a bathroom stall, but before long you hear the door open and two large boots stop just beyond the door. You know it's him by the size alone.

You hold your breath for a beat, and then two, so long that you wonder who is going to give in first. You know you've got about 3 minutes before you pass out. But just as you're about to stand up and face him, he turns and leaves without a word.

Exactly ten minutes later, he finds you in the rec room, dragging someone by the neck. It's not until Ghost kicks the man's knees out from under him, forcing him to kneel in front of you that you realize who it is. Some asshole from the other team who was giving you a hard time in training this morning.

With Ghost's knee pressed painfully between his shoulder blades, he grits out, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! It won't happen again!"

He's not the reason you're crying, but watching his face turn ten shades of purple does make you feel a little better.

Gaz: He keeps his distance and hates to see people cry because it always makes him cry, too. He doesn't know why. Movies, talk shows, commercials, they just get him right in the feels.

But every time you look up, his golden eyes meet yours, glistening with empathy. You simply shake your head at him and go about your day, until eventually, you get a text.

You mad at me?

-No, I'm fine.

You sure?

-Yep.

Fucking xxxx again, innit?

Of course he'd be the one to guess right. He paid the most attention, listened when you talked and remembered every detail. To be honest, he'd been the one you confided in the most for that reason.

He took your silence as a confirmation.

I hid some ice cream in the freezer. Unless Soap got to it first.

Soap: You head back to the kitchen again in search of the contraband ice cream, hoping it's the good mocha chip flavor you love, only to find Soap has beaten you to it. He innocently scoops out the last bite before seeing your face crumble and guiltily tosses it into the sink.

"Och, shit. Was that yours?"

"No, it's okay." Could this get any worse?

After dealing with these four, you just give up and slink back to your room.

"You know what you need?" He charges you before you can get any further.

"No, Johnny, don't!" Not one to listen, he pulls you up over his shoulder in one swoop and fireman carries you out to the gym.

"We're going to sweat it out, yeah? Always makes me feel better. Whether it's fighting or fucking is up to you."

You finally laugh at the absurdity of it, for the first time all day.

#call of duty #captain john price #141 x reader #task force 141 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #price x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader

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sim0nril3y · 9 months ago

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Deployment

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: The time has come. It's his first deployment since you've become a couple. The goodbyes are difficult. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), lots of angst, talking of leaving, talking of dying, canon-typical swearing.

One more night. One more night in his arms. What if he didn’t come back? What if he got hurt? What if he went missing? Honestly, you weren’t sure that you could cope with the never knowing what happened. Please, please, let there be some type of miracle that might happen so that Simon wouldn’t have to go. Things had been going so well, it simply wasn’t fair. If only he had any other job in the world. If only he was still a butcher, or something normal like that. Why now?

“Sleep.” Even with his eyes firmly closed Simon commanded you to rest. “You have work tomorrow.” Simon sounded tired, you supposed it was 2am, he had a right to be tired. “I don’t care.” You answered with a sad and quiet tone, eyes fixed on his sleeping frame in the pitch blackness that filled the room. “The morning is going to come whether you sleep or not.”

There was silence for a moment and Simon wondered if you had actually listened and then he heard it. Sniff. Then quiet. Sniff, sniff. Then even more silence before. Hck. Sniff. Sniff. His eyes pried open, adjusting momentarily before finding your face crumbling with emotion, lips firmly frowned and trembling, eyes filling fast with tears that were trickling down your face and soaking the pillow beneath you.

“Babe.” He whispered, reaching out to gently touch your shoulder, squeezing in a comforting way. “Don’t… Don’t bloody cry.” Simon whispered, his own voice a little thicker than usual. “Oi, c’mere.” Then pulling you across the sheets into his arms, holding you to firmly in his strong arms. “You dozy bloody moo…” He whispered, soothingly rubbing your back in small circles as you hiccupped and sobbed into his throat. “I know, I know.”

Honestly, he’d never had to deal with this before. Of course, he’d been around other colleagues and watched how hard it’s been for them to be away from their loved once. For him, it had been a very long time since he’d been in this place before and it was never like he had someone waiting for him to come home. It added an entirely different layer of fear, there was that fear of exposing you to danger but there was always a fear of leaving you. It felt like it hadn’t been that long since he’d learned to love you, allowed himself to let someone new into his life and now there was the possibility it could be all ripped away in an instant. Simon wanted more time, but that wasn’t something he was going to be afforded.

Still, even as your tears flowed Simon just held you, strong and tight in his arms, shushing you and caressing you so gently until your body just succumbed to exhaustion. It brought him pain to think of you being apart from him in mere hours now, sobbing yourself to sleep without his strong arms and his kind words. Fuck, it had never been this hard before.

The following morning Simon was up bright and early to finish his checklist. It seemed that you were restless too and that early awakening lead to you following him around like a lost puppy, eyes watching the clock as if counting down the seconds. “Babe, I’m just going to put some fuel in the car. I’ll be back. I promise.” He’d assured when your eyes had filled with wayward tears as he nabbed his keys. “Sweetheart, can I take a piss in peace, please?” He’d begged as you chased him into the bathroom for the second time that morning. “I’m just going to get a loaf of bread from the other freezer, stay here.” He'd commanded as he unlocked the back door. “Babe, if you wanted to join me in the shower all you had to do was ask…” Simon had purred before you two fell into the steamy shower.

Later that morning you were munching down some toast, eyes fixed firmly on Simon as he made himself a strong tea. It was difficult thinking that tomorrow morning you would be going through this routine on your own. The thought alone was enough for a lump to stick awkwardly in your throat. “Right…” Simon began then, causing you to push down any of those awful feelings and focus. “I’ve left a list of numbers over there…” Turning he held his mug in hand and nodded in the direction of a lonely notepad, it was full of names and phone numbers and occupations. “Reckon they’ll be able to fix any problems you might run into, alright? I’m not gonna be able to be in contact all the time, so I need to know that if there is a problem here, or with you, or with the car that it’ll be covered.”

“Right.” You agreed gently, taking another solemn bite of toast. “Against my better judgement…” Simon continued, stepping across to sit opposite you at the kitchen table. “I’ve added you to my car insurance, use it when you need it, please don’t write it off.” There was almost teasing to his tone. “My driving isn’t that bad…” You grumbled and this only earned a smirk as he took another sip of his tea. “I’ve got all the utilities set up. The mortgage is on direct debit. I’m even paying that kid down the road to come a mow the garden whilst I’m gone, he’s happy to be making a little extra money and it’s one less thing for you to worry about, which means one less thing for me to worry about.” Simon explained.

A frown found your lips. “I’m capable of looking after myself and the house, you know…” Simon lets out a soft sigh then and replies. “I know, babe. I…” He seems to pause, as if taking a moment to find the right words. “I like to know that I’ve covered every possibility at home so I won’t have to worry when I’m out there…” Simon said it like out there was a very distant place, very cold, isolated and very far from you. “Okay?” Silently he was asking you to just trust him and give him these final few hours to make sure everything was set up in a way that gave him comfort, the comfort of knowing that you were safe at home. “Okay.”

The way that you watched the clock on the wall was like you were begging it for more time, making some kind of trade so that Simon wouldn’t need to go. Regardless of what you promised the time still came. There he stood loading his bags into the waiting cab, you stood a couple paces back wanting to give some space. “Let me drive you-” You attempted to persuade. “It’ll be too hard.” Simon answered with finality.

He closed the boot with a shunt and then turned to be looking at you. “It’ll be better to leave you here at home and then call you once I arrive on base. Okay?” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself too. “C’mon now…” He muttered, watching as finally the emotion broke over your face, all that strength crumbled and the tears began to trickle once again. “Oi…” Simon muttered, wrapping you into his warm strong arms. Those same arms you wouldn’t feel again for month. Your last embrace. “It’ll be easier like this. I promise. Easier for you. Easier for me.” Simon whispered, squeezing you so tight in his bulging arms. “I love you.”

It was something so rare and so emotional that you actually gasped, glancing up at him through your watery eyes. “Love you too.” Your words came out less controlled, spoken through a sob. “Love you.” You added, as if to make up for the initial emotional sentiment like Simon might have not been able to hear you over the lump in your throat. “Call me-” “I will.” There was a solid promise.

Then one final kiss. It was searing, his lips pressed against your own so hard that you thought he might bruise you. You never wanted this kiss to end. You didn’t want him to climb into the cab. You didn’t want his promises or his declarations of love and devotion. No, you just wanted him…

A second later Simon detangled you from his arms and climbed into the cab. He knew that one of you had to be strong in this moment and that you were never going to be the one to walk away, so he needed to. Even if it hurt more than being fucking shot Simon needed to step away. He had duty. He had honour. Someday maybe you’d understand, or maybe you never would, but he hoped that at least you’d find some type of normality without him around…

Once he’d arrived on base Simon got back into a routine seamlessly, everyone thought of him as the emotionless and stoic ‘Ghost’. That was all that he wanted to be to these people. The less they knew about his life the better, that way he could shield you from anyone using you against him. He’d never forgive himself… however, there was one person that needed to know. Officially, he needed to speak to Price, if the worst should happen you’d need to know.

It was late. Far too late to be doing all this, but Simon knew that his Captain would still be up. Rapping his knuckles hard against his door a voice called out and in he stepped. John sat at his desk, pouring over paperwork on his desk and gifting Simon a very tired smile as he entered. “Captain.” He kept his voice firm and professional as he entered. “Lieutenant, what do you need?”

For a moment Simon stood quietly, mouth pursed as if he racked his brains for the right words. “My next of kin…” “It’s blank – like we discussed.” About to dismiss him when Simon spoke again. “I need it changed.” John seemed shocked by these words, the argument that they had over not having one and now to have him so quickly change his mind. “What do you need from me?”

John blinked, once then twice before collecting a form from his desk. “Just jot their details down…” Passing over a pen as he watched Simon began to diligently fill in the boxes. His hand-writing was just as he expected, messy and haphazard, but his mind only went to Simon’s homelife… John wondered, did he have someone special? Who was it? What were they like? How long had they known each other? What was the relationship? All these questions that John wanted to ask, but knowing Simon wouldn’t get a single answer. “If I die, tell her.” Yanked back to reality with one simple sentence. “Not some letter. No some top brass. You tell her, Captain.” Sliding the piece of paper back in his direction. “Don’t tell her how - she won’t cope with that.” John nodded. “For fuck sake, don’t show her a body if there is one. She’d never sleep again.”

“Need you to make sure she gets access to my pension. I want every fucking penny of it going to her.” Simon placed down the pen hard on the table. “My house. My car. The shirt off my dead fucking back. I want it all going to her. Okay?” There was desperation in his tone. This was a conversation they were meant to be having 6 weeks ago, with legal and suits around to sign it all off. Not the night before he was going to be put on a plane into a warzone. “Simon-” “John, please…” He didn’t need to see the rest of his face to know that Simon was in anguish, his eyes were enough. “I’ll see that it happens.”

Masterlist | Ask | 10-04-2024

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machveil · 19 days ago

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CoD Headcanon: Fashion Pt 2

my first Fashion post was legitimately what I think they’d wear day-to-day - let’s talk about gag fashion that they’d wear for shits and giggles! Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish, Gary “Roach” Sanderson, Keegan Russ, König CW: some suggestive content

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

I’ll say it. my headcanons are correct - Simon has a good sense of humor when it comes to shitty skeleton themed clothes. it doesn’t matter if it isn’t funny to anyone else, if it gets a chuckle out of Simon he’ll buy it. he’s a sucker for skeletons, even outside of Ghost he enjoys a skeletal aesthetic. bad puns? terrible graphics? something that makes your eyes roll? it’ll be purchased and hung in his closet

again, I’m just correct, Simon is a proud munch. for as much crap as the 141 gives him for owning ridiculous prints, Simon will shrug them off. he doesn’t care, he knows what he likes and he might as well buy funny clothes about it. same with the bad skeleton prints, if Simon sees a print relating to being a munch he’s buying it. granted, it’s more at-home loungewear for him, but if someone asked him to wear it out he would at the drop of a hat

John “Soap” MacTavish:

I don’t think I need to explain the first shirt. we’ll all just nod our heads and agree, “Yeah, John owns that.”. moving on to the D&D shirt, we all agree Johnny is a nerd, right? and chaotic man that he is, why wouldn’t he buy this? he definitely wears this when he actually plays, calls it his ‘lucky shirt’ (he rolled one nat 20 the first time he wore it and he’s deemed it lucky)

okay, look, we all agree Johnny is freaky. we should all also know that he openly advertises he’s freaky. he has no shame, just a lopsided smile and joyful voice asking, “Hey, did you like my shirt?”. he’s so immature about it, stupid smile on his face as he laughs to himself. he definitely buys the 141 gag shirts as holiday gifts - he doesn’t fully expect them to wear them, he just gives them out to have a laugh

Gary “Roach” Sanderson:

I will say, with my whole heart, Roach still dresses how he does in my original post. even at home for the most part, it’s just been grandfathered in that that is his wardrobe. that said, Gary is still a silly guy - he has a handful of funny shirts as lounge and sleepwear. he doesn’t say anything about them, doesn’t crack jokes about them, he just appears in them

a lot of the goofy items he owns are for your enjoyment - I mean, he’s not the one that’s going to be consistently reading the print. he specifically bought the ‘Your Mom University’ sweater with the intent to make you groan and roll your eyes. he can be really endearing about them though, if you’re up for it, he’ll rock-paper-scissors you, winner picks a goofy shirt for the other to wear

Keegan Russ:

I’ll address the garlic bread shirt first, I suppose. you can’t tell me average man Keegan Russ, at home on leave, doesn’t have garlic bread in his freezer. I know his ass loves it, he just gives me that vibe. he’s the type of person to just have garlic bread on hand at home, he would eat that shit as a midnight snack. I saw this shirt and it just clicked that, yes, Keegan P. Russ is a slut for garlic bread

he’s petty. if you’ve read my Keegan Russ fics you know I write him as a petty asshole because that’s how he shows love and affection. he owns shirts printed with petty phrases on them because it gets a laugh out of him. if Keegan were to meet a teammates girlfriend for the first time you can’t tell me he wouldn’t be a dick and wear the first shirt. he’s straightforward and blunt, the second shirt is just true. I rest my case

König:

Horangi bought him the suggestive prints - König only wears these on leave, in his home, no plans on seeing anyone. does König think they’re funny? begrudgingly, yes, he does. the ‘Choking Hazard’ shirt makes him snort whenever he sees it, Horangi knows how to make him chuckle, he’ll admit that. König would rather be shot at than wear them in public though, he can already imagine the stares and whispers people would send his way

he did, however, buy the ‘good in bed’ and ‘existing’ shirts. I think he saw they were in his size, weren’t too baggy on him, and bought them on a whim. they’re definitely loungewear, but he’d hypothetically wear them around friends. they’re more so for him to chuckle at and go about his day. overall, he doesn’t own too many odd shirts, but the ones he does own are (mostly) meant to be worn at home

Honorable Mention - apples to all the CoD characters:

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icyg4l · 2 months ago

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PAC: Romanticize the Fall 🍂

Hello beautiful people! Welcome to the season of fall! I hope you all are having a wonderful start to this season. Today's reading will be all about how you can improve your fall by adding simple things to your routine. If you would like to book a reading, go to my pinned post and check out my guidelines and then click on my booking website to confirm the details. So without further ado, select the pile that resonates with you.

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (1-3)

Pile One: As I was pulling for this pile, I heard the word "pathologize". It basically means to treat someone as abnormal or unhealthy. You guys may be Vitamin D deficient or are prone to depression/anxiety. You may even struggle with OCD or BPD. There is nothing wrong with acknowledging this properly. The best form of action may be for you to get diagnosed in order to fully enjoy this season. It feels like you need something to look forward to when it gets cold. Try to get out of your house and see what's going on in your community when it comes to fitness. If you're trying to save money, look out for some free fitness sessions. Go attend a pilates session if your school has one. You give me 2000s soccer mom vibes. Just show up and you will see how quickly your life changes! Your health will become of utmost importance to you. Treat it as such. You only have one body so treat it with kindness while you're still here. Lock in and you will see the world more clearly.

Cards Used: 8 of Swords, Prince of Cups, King of Cups, 10 of Discs

extras: ibs symptoms. seasonal depression. freedom. jimmy fallon. attachment issues. snoring. pleasers. mirror by the bed.

Pile Two: Pile Two, I can tell that you have a playful side to you. You're someone that is tapped in with you're inner child. I am seeing a kid run in front of their tv in their pajamas and admiring what's on it. You should get back to doing that. Make it your goal to watch something that you loved to indulge in as a kid. For some of you, it was Spongebob. For some of you, it was Hannah Montana. For others of you, it was Henry Danger. Grab a snack after work or after school and just watch whatever your childhood self loved! Another thing that you could do is bake cookies to welcome in the fall season. I am seeing those pumpkin sugar cookies that Pillsbury makes in my third eye. Eat some pumpkin/chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream! Buy some fall chips from Trader Joe's. Engage with your senses, lovely!

Cards Used: The Moon, 4 of Discs, 6 of Discs, The Emperor.

extras: italiano. foxy brown. vic mensa. doughboy. fallen branches. freezer burn. retired partier. wintrust bank. forman mills.

Pile Three: This diva! Baby, if you are feeling lonely, then you need to open up your mouth! If you want some company, then just say that! You're way too prideful and it's costing you in human connections, whether it's romantic or platonic. Some of you could be into ghost stories or conspiracy theories. There is someone around you that is into the same shit. By refusing to make connections with other people, you are rejecting a part of yourself. Some of you may be traumatized by past experiences. Others of you may be in a codependent relationship. It's time for you to branch out, babe. I am channeling the movie 'The Perks of Being a Wallflower' (hopefully your experience is nothing too similar like this movie lol). I am seeing two people walking through the leaves, talking enthusiastically to one another. You don't have to dream about it! Actualize it, love!

Cards Used: 2 of Cups, The Devil (RX), 5 of Discs, 3 of Cups.

extras: brass kunckles. humming at night. spooky season. pride events. hamptons. labor day. simon says. comic book nerd.

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chronicbeans · 1 year ago

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Ok, for the Apartment Complex AU, hear me out:

Costume party turned murder mystery after someone gets "stabbed" (stabbed in quotation marks because the whole thing is probably staged). Cue OG Simon getting to be a detective for a bid, anddd Winter King being the main suspect for a lil while

Everybody is going to be fighting for such a long time. Fionna is probably the one to get "stabbed", since she mainly just wants to watch the chaos go down.

OG Simon is thrilled to be detective, running around and finding clues while dressed as Sherlock Holmes. Winter King is the main suspect for a long while, since he puts on this whole "I am going to be the flamboyantly rude character" for a long while, until he begins to get genuinely annoyed by OG Simon's questioning, and breaks character. After he's no longer the main suspect, it immediately goes to Freezer Simon.

Freezer Simon isn't wearing any costume, mostly because he sees himself as the costume. He's probably walking around on all fours, looking like some sort of creature from the underworld due to his disjointed and broken limbs. He's way too excited to be drinking the fruit punch, though, to actually be paying attention. He tends to answer all of OG Simon's questions with "I was stuck in the freezer for a while. I have no clue what is going on." (Which, to be honest, he was actually stuck in the freezer for an hour...). At some point he gets sad that he's the main suspect, and crawls back into the freezer Exorcist style.

M&S Simon is probably standing in the corner, talking to Ice King, like "Did you do it?" "Maybe." "THAT'S NOT AN ANSWER I NEED TO KNOW FOR THIS PARTY!" "A wizard never tells his secrets, nerd!"

Every Simon is suspecting that it is one of the other Simons that is the killer. It turns into a whole argument. There may or may not be a fist fight at some point. Fionna has probably fallen asleep at this point.

Meanwhile, Ice Marcy is standing in the corner, thinking to herself. "I did it. She refused to give me candy corn, saying that I couldn't eat it, so I pretended to stab her. I didn't expect this to happen, but I at least have candy corn."

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99redragons · 1 year ago

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Part of the Madness Ch.1 - Better Now

Simon's home, and he was a lot of recovery to do and a lot of learning how to value himself.

Gen, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, PSTD, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Injury

Read on AO3 Ch.2

Simon sighed as Minerva left, listening to the disgruntled public leave after the walls came down. He just lay there on the couch, thinking, her words replaying over and over until he couldn’t stand it.

“Simon, you’re showing signs of post-traumatic stress disorder.”

He had wanted to laugh at her words, but all that came out was a squeak of air.

“It’s perfectly normal with the amount of stress and trauma you’ve endured.”

He sat up, suddenly, and turned on a light. It had gotten dark so quickly while he was laying there.

He groaned, his face in his hands messing up his glasses, and slogged over to the kitchen, opening the fridge out of habit more than thought. His freezer hummed at him, taunting him, tempting him—

He slammed the fridge door without getting anything and settled on snacking on trail mix.

The closet doors stared at him, making him freeze. The cage Evil Choose Goose once occupied now shoved inside it. He dragged a hand over his face and chewed his dinner. He’d have to do something about that.

Forgetting and remembering again, she’d said. His life seemed to be an endless cycle of remembering and forgetting, As Ice King, as a partner, as a surrogate father.

But that was Before, he complained to himself. He’d had enough of forgetting. He was better now.

Wasn’t he?

He felt exhausted, emotionally, felt like he’d done a marathon and in a way he had. All of those worlds were messed up in different ways and the stress of nearly becoming- deciding to- almost putting on the-

He nearly slammed his fist into a wall, instead gripping his hair tight enough it hurt. He let go, quickly, and forced some deep breaths to calm himself. He’d acquired some measure of self-control over the last twelve years, no longer hurting himself, or dressing up as Ice King in desperate need to cope.

Or so he’d told himself. It had all been for Betty, he’d thought. Years spent researching, experimenting, trying to figure out doing magic as someone completely, utterly human. He’d...given up, somewhere along the line on saving her, and it just became an obsession. Just like his obsession with artifacts. With princesses, if he counted the Ice King, which he went back and forth on.

Everything had been so dreamlike then, no idea of who he was, how to be a human person at all.

Was it even for Betty, at that point? No, it was just about his own feelings.

He’d wanted it over.

It was just all too much.

He shook his head of Betty, of Ice King thoughts, and went to bed.

In the morning he woke up to a rapping on the metal doors of his enclosure/house. He blearily blinked his eyes open, called “I’m coming!”, crawling out of bed. He stretched, padding over and yanking open the door.

“Simon! Geez!” Marceline hissed, covering her eyes.

He looked down, oops. He was only in briefs and a rumpled dress shirt. He must have barely undressed before falling asleep.

One pair of pants and a cup of coffee later, he settled down with Marcy at the kitchen table. She looked a bit haggard, more so than her normal half-dead look, wearing a beat-up old band t-shirt, hair messily styled—but that could just be her punk style that he didn’t understand. His stomach twisted in guilt. He’d done this.

“So, uhh, Simon? You called to let me know you were okay, and I’m glad, but where the hell were you!? Finn seemed to think you were fine when he left you, but…” she floated a bit nervously, the energy infectious. “You know Finn.”

Simon didn’t respond for a minute, letting the coffee kick in while he figured out what to say.

Slowly, with a few halts and ‘Oh, Simon’s, he told her everything, even the bits about the Winter King and the dead universe. Then it came time to tell her about almost putting on the- he was really going to-

“Simon, are you okay?”

He blinked with a start—he’d trailed off after telling her about the unexpected warp to GOLBetty and seeing the Lich destroyed, then...

“You didn’t really- you weren’t really going to do it, were you?” She ventured quietly. She sounded hurt, almost angry.

“I…” he started, and the room in the air was thick, Marceline’s worried gaze stifling, and he ran his hands through his hair, messing it up, beginning to breathe harder. He had to, he had thought he had to, he couldn’t believe he’d almost-

“Woah, Simon, breathe,” his Marcy floated in front of his vision, briefly, and he saw the flash of white of his own hair and deteriorated further, shivering with horror, was he cold? Cold, oh no, was he-

“Simon, breathe,” she commanded, firmer, and he slowly realized he was hyperventilating, tears falling down his cheeks as he truly realized what he’d almost done.

“I’m s-sorry, Marcy,” he croaked, hiccuping as he tried to regain control of his breathing, hands tightened into fists in his hair.

The room felt too small, he backed away, stumbling down off the chair, quickly on the floor, and Marceline rushed down to meet him, calling his name a few more times.

He let a few sobs escape him, guiltily, struggling to get control of himself- how could he break down in front of Marcy? He felt hot, unraveled, suffocating.

He struggled with the panic until her voice eventually led him back to himself. His breathing slowly, painfully evened out.

“S-sorry,” he mumbled again, and Marcy’s pained face filled his vision. He shifted uncomfortably. Lukewarm coffee was handed to him on the floor, and he busied his hands with it to avoid looking back at her.

“Do you want one of these?” She asked, spreading her arms, and he accepted gratefully. Her embrace may be cold, but it always reassured him.

“It’s okay now,” she said after a long moment, though it wasn’t. “But don’t you do something like that, ever,” she added severely.

He nodded furiously. “No, no, I think I’m- well, that doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.” He sweated.

“It was never a good idea, Simon!” Marcy threw her hands up in frustration. “The whole thing! You just disappeared, Simon! It scared the shit out of me,” she paused, her voice softening, “Seeing GOLBetty, the crown, did you think of what would happen after fighting the Scarab? How you would get home?!” She cried, and he flinched, and she seemed to pause and contain herself only slightly before adding “And you didn’t even say goodbye, or tell me of Finn or anyone about what you were trying-“ her voice broke-

“I tried,” he started, voice croaking.

“What?” She stopped in confusion, lowering slightly from where she’d flown up to the ceiling.

“I called you, before I did it. I wanted to tell you, I did. But…” he recalled how happy she’d sounded, how excited to be with PB, and all his apologies and needs seemed so small.

“You didn’t say that you were going to GOLB!” She cried, nearly a hiss.

He winced. They were both silent a minute, the old fashioned clock ticking, until Marceline sighed. “Just, please. If you feel like doing something stupid, don’t. Or tell someone. Please.” She pleaded.

He nodded, haltingly, drying his cheeks and climbing back up the chair. “I saw Minerva yesterday, it was one of the first things I did.”

“You survived the Mushroom War, Simon, that alone is a lot. It’s been a long time and you haven’t really talked to anyone about it, have you?” He hadn’t. He couldn’t. He’d been Ice King.

“That’s good,” she offered, a bit surprised, and it showed, but she was genuine.

“I’m, uh, going to move out of this place.”

“Thank Glob.”

“Huh?”

Marceline looked at him like he was stupid, which he probably was-but-

“This place is fucking creepy, Simon!” She said, hands up again. “You seemed happy to be able to teach something, to have a job, but this being where you live is-“

“Invading? Dehumanizing? Soul crushing?” He offered, head down on one arm while he fiddled with his near-empty mug with the other.

“Er, yeah, I was going to say dumb, but, yeah.” She managed a little toothy half grin. He gave her a sad one back.

“Why don’t you crash at my place tonight, Simon. When do you see Minerva again?”

He ended up agreeing, packing up his creepy obsession closet to get rid of a lot of the spell junk before a bag for himself, and they left.

* * *

His hands were shaking, he noticed. They hadn’t stopped since his panic attack. Or even sooner, maybe? He wasn’t sure. He wrung them together as he laid on Marcy’s newer, non-horrible couch she’d gotten a few years ago. He was alone for the time being as something had come up in the Candy Kingdom. He bumbled around, deciding to take a shower, and nearly shrieked when it went cold without warning.

His vision went blurry, the tub beneath him felt too far away-yet, it felt

Cold cold familiar we have secrets of snow magic and life cold scary comforting grounding COLD—

He shut off the water, leaving him shivering. Laughter echoing in his ears, his eyes shut lest he see things that weren’t there.

It was like just after being uncursed all over again, he thought. The voices, the desire for cold. He thought of it as trauma at first, but it could be touching, having, almost wearing the crown again were having lasting withdrawal effects on him. Stupid, of course it couldn’t be easy to just be in the crown’s presence again and then not have any effects, even if they’re just psychological. He was tied to that thing for a thousand years, even if the one he had for a little while wasn’t his crown, he’d feel them. He nearly slapped himself. How could he think it would be fine, the ice would always find him, the whispering… no.

Marcy found him later on the couch hiding under as many blankets as he could find, teeth chattering with the phantom sensations of cold.

“Simon?” She asked, and he noticed PB behind her, both wearing very concerned expressions on their faces.

“Have to st-stay warm,” he said by way of explanation, and understanding crossed their faces, Marcy drawing close and touching his forehead. He suppressed a flinch just from the cold of her skin.

“Simon, you’re burning up!” She exclaimed, and PB came rushing over to feel as well.

“What? No, no, I’m fine, just took a shower-“ he croaked.

“You’re sweating bullets!” PB went full doctor-mode on him, and they slowly pried the blankets off him till-

“At least he’s wearing underwear-“

“Oh my Glob, what is this!?” PB cried, after they fully un-cocooned him, and he looked to see her looking at the long gash running down his arm from the bear, red and angry. “This looks infected, Simon, did you clean this?”

“Wh-what, yes, that’s days old-“

“Days?? Simon, this is a serious wound!” He heard, and she touched it and he went pale before everything went white.

#simon petrikov #simon petrikov fanfic #fionna and cake #fionna and cake fanfic #fanfic #angst #hurt/comfort #99redragons art #my writing #potm

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devildompossum · 2 years ago

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Ok so things we know

1. In the og game each of the brothers represents the seven lords in tsl, which was likely written by Simon in an attempt to process the war and the loss of lucifer and the brothers

2. MC often takes the place of Henry, mostly by Levi but I'm sure I could find it in events if I felt like looking rn

3. Events happening in nightbringer seem to imply a direct correlation between the past and the present, like mc suggesting lucifer hide the credit card in the freezer from mammon

4. Simon HASNT written tsl in nughtbringer. This is mostly implied by Levi not knowing what it is when you get transported into the story, so I guess you could also argue that he just hasn't found the series yet, but I doubt Simon would have written any sizeable chunk of a book series that close to his own trauma after only a year since the fall

So there's a decent argument to be made for mc being at least partially the inspiration for Henry in the same way the brothers were the inspiration for the lords. Which, especially with Levi, is pretty beautiful when you think about it.

Like ok. So you have to live with this random person and you hate being around people let alone strangers. And yeah maybe you're a bit more antagonistic than you need to be, but you're so used to people being negative about your interests (and maybe you have a self loathing problem). But then this stranger goes through a huge amount of effort trying to learn about your favorite series to gain your friendship and it becomes something that ties you two together. (And yes maybe it was part of a ploy, and you will be mad at them later but you'll also forgive them later). They become your best friend, your Henry, your everything just like the book. You complain together, rewatch the movies and point out where the books were better together, your relationship isn't Just based on the book but it is an important part.

But then they get sent to the past, to a time no one likes to talk about, when you and your brothers are filled with so much grief and pain and still struggling to adjust to the darkness. To a time when you hurt, so bad. When you didn't know who you were and didn't have any friends and desperately needed one. And you meet again and become friends. And it's slower going this time around, but they know exactly what to say to make you feel better and they introduce you to new shows and don't roll their eyes when you talk about the things you like that you're just now discovering. And someone from your past sees that, someone who it still hurts to think about much less see again so soon. And that someone, who is dealing with his own grief and pain and hurts just as much seeing you again, sees your growing friendship and it inspires part of his novel. The main character takes shape in his mind watching you and your friend, and he writes the perfect outsider to a group of struggling brothers who love eachother but don't know how to express it. And he writes a novel (and another and another and another) and publishes it a world away from both of you under a pen name.

And years down the line, after you've found the book series unknowingly based on your family and become utterly obsessed with it and memorized every trivia piece and collected all the merch, a random stranger moves into your house.

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me levi #im. having so many thoughts

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questions-from-d87 · 1 year ago

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oc-tober day 5 - choice

♤ adeline makes a bold choice on a mundane tuesday evening.

♤ 816 words

♤ prompt from @oc-tober2023

♤ im super behind on prompts lmao, hope yall enjoy this one while i work on catching up :)

Adeline sat in the red patterned auditorium seat next to her mother. She glanced at the broken clock on the wall and took in the smell of the auditorium, slightly woody and reminding her of her home's basement, as she watched Simone dance across the stage with grace. Older than her by just a year, Simone was everything Adeline wanted to be, with her long, flowing ginger hair, big eyelashes, and incredible ability in terms of dance.

“Mom, I wish I could do that,” Adeline said, looking to her mother with starry eyes. Watching these performances for so long, she’d known that this was what she wanted to do for years. It wasn’t hard to tell - when she watched them, she had a special sparkle in her eyes. It was like magic to her.

“Oh, honey, I know,” her mother said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “But you know boys don’t do that.”

Her hair was getting long now. Her mother had been asking when she would cut her hair every time they went to lunch. She’d chuckle awkwardly and say she was going to eventually, and Simone would tell her to get off Adeline’s back.

🔍 am i trans

🔍 am i trans quiz

🔍 how to do bun hairstyle

The lights in her apartment were off. She laid on her bed, the room illuminated only by a string of cheap fairy lights hanging on the wall. Glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling in various colors.

She sat up and slowly got to her feet, in her comfy socks, white tank top and bulldog pajama pants. Eight o’clock. It was about time she ate something.

She walked out down the hall and into the living room. She flicked on the TV - Guy Fieri's voice filled the apartment as he talked about 20,000 dollars. That would be nice.

She opened her freezer and pulled out a frozen macaroni and cheese she'd bought from the grocery store the day before. Slowly and carefully, she peeled up a corner of the film, then tossed it in the microwave.

It was getting harder to hide lately - the hair, the constant shaving, the three thrift store dresses in her closet she was too afraid to wear. It was starting to be a little too much to deal with nobody knowing.

Her phone chimed with a text from Simone. A picture of her cat.

| Nala is soooo sleepy! 🐱🐾

She chuckled softly. The way Simone texted was corny, but she was glad she at least wanted to talk to her.

| aw!! give her some pets for me :))

Adeline suddenly had a stupid idea. A really stupid one.

i think

She hesitated. Should I really do this?

i think im

The microwave went off. She shut off her phone.

She grabbed a fork from her silverware drawer, lifted the plastic film and started stirring. She got a little lost in thought. Simone must be confused about why she spent so long typing before leaving so suddenly. But she needed someone to know about her. She might lose her mind if she had to hide it from everyone for much longer. And she thought it might take her a bit to gather the courage.

She put it back in the microwave and picked her phone back up. Before she could think twice about it, she sent the text.

| i think im a woman

Immediately, she went to back out and delete the message, but Simone had already read it.

| I don't know what you mean 😅

She sighed exasperatedly. She hadn't expected her to understand right away, but she really didn't feel like explaining.

🔍 trans woman wikipedia

She screenshotted the given definition - "A trans woman (short for transgender woman) is a woman who was assigned male at birth." - and sent the screenshot to her.

| Oh I know a girl like that at work! Her name is Georgia 😃

| So you're a trans woman?

| yeah

| Does anyone else know yet?

| not yet

| just you

| please don't tell mom

| Got it 😃

She smiled down at her phone. This went better than she expected.

| Let me know if you need any makeup tips! I've done years of stage makeup 🤣🤣🤣

The microwave went off again. It was done.

| thank you :))

She tucked her phone into the pocket of her pajama pants and took out the mac and cheese. A little pepper, garlic powder, and salt, and it was ready, if still a little hot to eat. She grabbed a bag of chips from off the top of her fridge - she deserved a little treat for doing something so brave, she thought - and sat at the table, turning on a show she'd already watched on Prime Video.

And after she'd finished dinner, she went and put on her favorite blue dress for the first time since she tried it on at the store.

#oc tober #adeline stuff #cecil writes

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dicaculus · 1 year ago

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Title: A Pile of Hot Metal and Dirty Dishes

Artist: Crankyfossil

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Magnus Bane/ Alec Lightwood

Wordcount:42,462

Summary: Magnus Bane is the Head Chef at Encanto and doing just fine. Or that’s what he tells Simon the therapist, his boss Raphael, orders him to go to. Magnus is a genius in the kitchen, his food is art, but if he starts a fight with one more disrespectful customer, he’s gone. Simon is useless though, going on about Magnus using work as a means to distance himself from meaningful relationships, and emotional walls that could rival a fortress. What does he know? Magnus is fine. Then everything goes wrong. His best friend, Catarina and her daughter get into an accident. His eight-year-old niece, Madzie, is the only survivor and Magnus finds himself going from cool uncle Magnus to the only parent Madzie has left. To make matters worse, Raphael has replaced him while he’s on leave. Alexander Lightwood is a menace. He’s careless, breezy, and annoyingly good at everything he does. Magnus can’t stand him, but with Madzie refusing to eat his cooking and his hands full, Magnus needs all the help he can get. Along the way, Magnus begins to realize there’s more to life than seared cod and lemon dressing, and maybe, just maybe, it’s a life that he wants Alexander Lightwood in.

This fic was created for the Malec Discord Mini Bang 2023.

READ ON AO3

CHAPTER SEVEN

Magnus sleeps terribly that night. He tosses and turns in his bed, their fight running through his head on repeat. Behind his closed eyes he sees the hurt of Alec’s face from the things he’d says. Terrible things that Magnus hadn’t meant but had said in anger, anger that wasn’t really directed towards Alec, he mostly upset with Raphael. If Magnus could go back in time, he never would have pulled Alec into that freezer or would have stopped their conversation the moment Alec admitted Raphael had offered him Magnus’s job. Instead, he’d taken it out on Alec and now he lays in bed, full of regret, surrounded by Alec’s spicy scent on his sheets, too afraid to pick up the phone and apologize. Then he thinks about Madzie, Madzie, who was still mourning and healing the fresh wound of her mother’s death. She’d really taken to Alec, opened up to him about Catarina and whenever he was around she smiling and laughing. How he was going to break this to her and how she would take it, he had no clue. So he doesn’t tell her. Instead, Magnus spends the morning acting like everything was fine, and he doesn’t feel like he just ruined what could have been one of the best things that happened to him.

Magnus skips the restaurant’s lunch that day, not ready to endure the stares from the servers and his other chefs just yet, especially not Raphael. So he sits in his car for as long as he possibly can without compromising his job even more before entering the restaurant. Magnus keeps his down, entering the restaurant, not making eye contact with anyone and ignoring anyone who greets him.

Magnus begins his prep work for dinner service, but instead of it being the distraction he hopes cutting onions would be, he finds himself noticing how quiet the kitchen is and just how different it is without Alec. There’s no music for him to turn off in a huff, no singing to endure, or someone trying to distract him every few minutes. Magnus hears every sizzle, every pop of oil, and every cut being done with knives, and it feels almost eerie. But he carries on. He’ll get used to the silence again. He was fine before Alec pushed his way into his heart and he’ll be fine now.

Eventually Raphael finds him. He pushes the swinging kitchen doors with two hands, then stomps to the front of Magnus’s station, putting his hands on the metal table and leaning forward.

“You had no right driving Alec out of here! This is my restaurant—”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.’ Magnus grumbles with an eye roll.

“You better find me a replacement, fast.” Raphael demands.

“Why?” Magnus asks, setting his knife down to cross his arms. “You didn’t need my help with the last one you sprung on me.”

“Magnus!”

Magnus sighs, deciding not to argue further. “Okay. I’ll find someone.”

Raphael puts out the job listing that day, and by the end of the night, the restaurant’s email is flooded with resumes from chefs, all wanting the chance to work at the restaurant and with Magnus. So Magnus spends most of the week conducting the interviews, asking the same monotonous questions. Magnus interview people through the restaurant’s lunch meeting on the other side of the restaurant and somehow every applicant is worse than the last. There are applicants who aren’t qualified but apply, regardless.

“Like a certificate or something?”

“Yes, a culinary degree, like you get from graduating culinary school”

“Oh, I don’t have that little piece of paper. But there are guys driving on the street without a license. They can’t drive, so, you know.”

“My signature dish? I’m famous for my grilled watermelon with saffron mashed potatoes and key-lime asparagus.”

“I’m sorry, did you say grilled water melon, saffron mashed potatoes and key lime asparagus?”

Chefs who Magnus wants to strangle.

“Am I a team player? I get along great with people. Really, I’m actually a big people person!”

“Oh, I’m a such a people person! I can’t wait to get to know you all on a personal level!”

And chefs who are just an immediate no.

“Am I a team player? I’m a team player so long as everybody follows my lead.

“My signature dish? I wouldn’t say I have one, but my specialty is in the beef area. I deal with meats all the time. Sausage, beef, slaughtering pork. I find butchering an animal almost meditative.”

“Why was I fired? There was a misunderstanding between me and the head chef and the owner.

“What about?”

“Oh..I misunderstood that they were married and started a relationship with the owner. But, I think we parted on amicable terms.

God, he misses Alec.

—---

It’s a week before Madzie mentions Alec.

“Why doesn’t Alec come to see us anymore?”

Magnus had been dreading this moment and that exact question. She asks at bedtime just as Magnus leaves her room after tucking her into bed. He sighs and leans against the door frame, deciding how to break it to her gently.

“We had of a fight.”

“What about?”

What didn’t they fight about? His insecurities, paranoia, his trust issues. His false accusations of Alec trying to steal his job, his kitchen and everything he’s worked for.

“Just grown-up stuff,” He says dismissively as he tries to end the conversation. “Nothing you need to be concerned about sweet pea”

Madzie sits up in her bed and squints at Magnus. “How come you don’t wanna tell me?”

Magnus sighs. “Madzie, it’s not that I don’t wanna tell you—

“Is Alec ever gonna come back?” she asks, her eyes suddenly glassy with tears

Magnus shakes his head, trying to hold his own tears back. He walks back into Madzie’s room and sits on her bed, wrapping her in his arms as she cries.

“No, he isn’t, sweetpea. I’m sorry”

—

He holds Madzie as she cries about Alec. Magnus knew she would be upset, but he didn’t think she would be this upset. Alec really had an impact on her, becoming a friend to her, a teacher, an adult she could trust and count on, someone who made her laugh and probably made her forget about the trauma she’d endured. Magnus is filled with guilt. Maybe he’d moved too fast, falling for Alec’s charming laugh, silly jokes and warm smile. Perhaps he should have waited, not brought Madzie to the restaurant that day, and hired a babysitter despite her protests. Maybe he should have kept the relationship quiet for a while, not invited him over and kept him out of Madzie’s life for a while longer, so she wouldn’t get attached and not reel over yet another adult suddenly being gone from her life.

Magnus wakes up late the next morning, forgetting to set his alarm with everything from last night. He rushes out of bed and yanks the door open, calling down the hall.

“Madzie! I forgot to set my alarm, we have to get going or you’ll be late!” He shuts his door assuming she’s heard him and go to his ensuite to get himself ready, but when he doesn’t hear her familiar footsteps, he opens his door again. “Madzie, you awake? We have to go!” Once again, no response. Magnus walks down the hall and peers into Madzie’s bedroom but it’s empty with her bed messy and unmade, but he heard Chairman’s familiar cries for food. “Are you feeding Chairman?” He heads to the kitchen but finds it empty except for the cat who paces his in front of his bowl.

“Madzie!?”

At that moment, it’s like time stops. He’s frozen in place with his heart racing in his chest. He checks every room and they’re empty. Magnus rushes out of the apartment, going downstairs hoping maybe she’s at a bus stop or decided to take a walk, but she’s gone. Magnus goes back to the apartment and checks again, hoping she already went to school but her lunch is in the fridge, her homework from the night before still on the table and her school bag open on the floor beside the dining table. The apartment is empty and Madzie is missing.

Magnus stands in place, unsure of what his next steps should be. Should he call the police? That’s what people did when someone was missing, right? Magnus unlocks his phone, opening the dial screen. But he pauses as he’s about to press numbers. That felt like an overreaction. Maybe he should wait a bit or look at other places first. But where else could she have gone? Madzie was a shy child. She wasn’t fond of strangers, so it’s unlikely she would have gone with anyone she wasn’t familiar with. Before he can stop himself, Magnus finds himself tapping a familiar contact.

“Magnus?”

Magnus sighs in relief that Alec even answers his phone call. He’s not sure he’d do the same if the roles were reversed. “Alexander, it’s me. Is Madzie with you?”

“No? Why would be she be with me?”

Panic sets in again, his heart thudding in his chest. Magnus sniffs, tears welling up in his eyes and falling down his cheeks. “I woke up late this morning, and she was gone. I told her about us last night. She was so upset I was hoping she was angry with me and went to see you”

Magnus hears rustling on the other end, indicating Alec getting up.

“Are you at the apartment?”

“Yes”

“Stay there, I’ll be there soon, we’ll find her Magnus”

True to his word, Alec arrives quickly in his familiar car, Magnus yanks open his passenger door and the pair begins their search. They check bus stations, the train station, the park down the street she played at, but she’s not there.

“ She could be anywhere.” Magnus cries, letting his face fall into his hands.

“Magnus, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll find her.” Alec reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. Magnus leans into his familiar warm and comforting touch. She’s a child, so she’d probably go somewhere familiar, somewhere she knew.”

Images and scenes from various fictional and true crimes series he’d watched circle in his brain. She could be anywhere, with anyone who could be doing who knows what to her. Was she stuck? Was she injured? Cold? Hungry? Magnus shakes his head, trying to rid his brain of scary thoughts.

“Madzie only went to school and the restaurant, sometimes the park down the street, but only with me or a friend, never alone.”

Alec nods and strokes Magnus’s back. “Okay, why don’t we go back to the apartment? Maybe she decided to come home.”

So the pair drive in silence back to the apartment. Alec’s hand clenched tightly on the steering wheel while Magnus looks out the passenger side window, desperate to find a glance of Madzie on the street. Once there, Magnus jogs ahead of Alec, racing his apartment while praying to every god he can think of that Madzie is there.

“Madzie!”

But once again, the apartment is empty. Madzie is nowhere to be found. Magnus loses it. He crumbles to the ground, overwhelmed by his emotions. Catarina trusted Madzie in his care and she went, lost who knows where, with anyone. He sobs in his hands for a moment then feels Alec’s body slid beside him, then his arm wrapping around his shoulder and squeezing him.

“We’re going to find her, Magnus.”

He lifts his head and wipes his tear stained cheek. “I let her down, Alexander. I feel like I made a mess of everything.” He shakes his head. “I should have known better than involving you in her life so fast. It was too soon after her mother, she got attached too quickly.”

“Magnus, you’ve done your best.” Alec says gently, “Sure, maybe we moved too quickly, not only for Madzie but for you. Madzie isn’t the only one grieving a death. As for her letting her down, I think you’ve done everything you could, given her everything she needs—”

“What she needs is her mother.” Magnus gasps and pulls himself to his feet.

Alec slowly stands. “Magnus?”

“I think I know where she might be.”

Magnus flies down the stairs with Alec on his heels. They get into the car and Magnus directs Alec towards the cemetery. The drive isn’t long. In fact, they’re probably driven by the cemetery multiple times that day without giving it a second thought. Alec pulls into the parking lot and Magnus, looking out his window, gasps and taps on the glass with his finger when he sees Madzie’s familiar red jacket.

“There she is, thank God!”

Magnus leaps from the car the moment it comes to a stop. He runs into the cemetery, deciding screaming his niece’s name in a quiet cemetery where he can see a ceremony taking place wouldn’t be his best idea. When he’s within earshot, he calls her name.

“Madzie!” She turns to Magnus, hearing her name being called, and accepts the hug Magnus pulls her into when he’s close enough. “Are you all right, sweetpea? Please, don’t ever do that again.”

“I’m sorry, Magnus”

Magnus pulls back and squeezes her shoulders while looking her in the eyes. “I was so afraid something happened to you!”

“I’m afraid I’m gonna forget her.” She cries, her eyes and cheeks wet with tears.

Magnus looks up at the grave stone behind Madzie for the first time and notices the date. Today would have been Catarina’s birthday. Magnus curses himself for not remembering and squeezes his niece tighter.

“We’ll never forget her, I promise. We can come here whenever you want, okay?”

The pair stay at the grave until Magnus decides they need to go, since he has to work that night. He holds her hand as they walk back to Alec’s car. Alec hugs Madzie and tells her he’s glad she’s okay, then helps her into his backseat. He drives them back to Magnus’s apartment. The drive is quiet except for the soft sound of the radio, but it’s comfortable and feels like it had been before with the three of them. Magnus thanks Alec before leaving the car but Madzie lingers, taking her sweet time unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Aren’t you coming in, Alec?”

Alec shakes his head. “Not today, sweetheart.”

Madzie scoffs, looking between the two adults. “Guys still mad at each other?”

“No,” Magnus says, “Come on, go inside. I’ll see you upstairs.”

Madzie sighs but finally leaves the vehicle. Magnus watches her enter the building before turning back to Alec.

“You know-”

They laugh awkwardly, and Magnus clears his throat.

“I just wanna say I’m sorry, Alexander.”

Alec shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I actually wanna thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“Yeah,” He continues. “I thought a lot about what you said about me not having the guts to go after what I want, and you were right. That’s why I took a job in San Francisco.”

Magnus’s heart drops to his stomach.

“The executive chef at a new restaurant.”

Then it shatters.

No, this isn’t what Magnus wanted, or maybe it was what past Magnus wanted but present Magnus wanted nothing less. He wants to tell Alec he didn’t mean those things he’d said that night, he’d learned to love working with Alec and if he was being honest the kitchen ran much smoother with him there and the kitchen became a much nicer environment with him in it. Magnus wants to cry and scream at Alec, begging him to stay, come back to the restaurant and work with him again, but he can’t.

“Well, that’s great.” Magnus says instead with a fake smile, and his voice is tight, empty of emotion.

“Yeah?”

Magnus nods, not trusting himself to speak again.

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Yes, you could have. You’re such a talented chef you never needed me. “That’s not true”, he says instead.

They talk for a few minutes longer before Alec leaves, having to start packing for his move. Magnus waves goodbye until his car is out of eyeshot. Magnus takes a deep breath and buries his feeling in the same way he’s used to before entering the apartment. He’s got work tonight.

“Guy at table seven said if he wanted it cremated,” She smacks the plate on the counter in front of Magnus and Raphael, “He wouldn’t have asked for it rare.”

Magnus inspects the steak, poking it with his fingertip to check the doneness then notices just how pink it is inside. “That is rare.”

The waitress rolls her eyes. “Apparently not rare enough.”

“Any rarer, and I'd milk it!”.

“Look, these are ad-agency people.” Raphael interrupts, “They spend a lot of money here. No tantrums tonight. Just fire another one.”

Just fire another one? It’s like Raphael was unaware of how expensive of a cut the tomahawk steak is. But instead of arguing, Magnus turns around and orders the refire.

“Fire one rare steak on the fly.”

“Rare steak on the fly.”

“Where is the chicken roulade for six?”

“How are the quail?”

“Great, chef.”

“Pick up! Terrine, carpaccio.”

But only five minutes later, after the newly fired tomahawk steak is sent out, the kitchen doors fly open with the same waitress, a scowl on her face.

“From the asshole on seven again. He wants to know whether you’ve ever seen a rare steak before.”

Magnus scoffs to himself, gripping the counter tightly, and breathes through his nose. It’s like every emotion he’s buried, put away and not dealt with comes bubbling to the surface. Everything with Alec, Raphael’s anger towards him, how much he hates cooking this snotty food, the insistence on finding another chef, which he still had not done, and now the steak.

Magnus is done.

“You said table seven?” The waitress nods nervously. Magnus makes a fist on the counter and lets out a deep breath. “Let me handle this one darling, go take care of your other tables.”

Magnus doesn’t wait for her response and instead heads into the walk in. He picks up a raw tomahawk steak, holding it from its very large bone, and leaves the kitchen through the doors. Magnus ignores the gasps, and looks of shocks from other customers and walks through the restaurant, finding the asshole from table seven. Magnus barely hears them over the way his blood boils and heart pounds in his chest. Magnus spots table seven and when he’s close enough, he stands behind the asshole and drops the raw on the plate. The plate shatters underneath the sudden weight of the steak and the table is in shock.

“Rare enough for you?”

“Are you out of your mind?” The man screams.

“Yeah. That’s why I’m in therapy.”

“I’m so sorry.” Raphael apologizes coming out from somewhere in the restaurant. “I’ll get you a new tablecloth.”

“No, please, let me take care of that.”

Magnus grips the black tablecloth and pulls it out from underneath all the dishes, managing not to disturb anything before he tosses the tablecloth to a nearby server. Magnus sees Raphael, who glares at Alec with a fury he’s never seen before and Magnus knows he’s fired. So he unties his apron and throws it at the man.

“That felt so good.”

With that, he leaves the restaurant through the front door, ignoring anyone who calls his name and drives home.

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dotcie · 2 years ago

Text

「2」 ━ you're the knife i turn inside myself.

》 PAIRING: simon 'ghost' riley x afab!reader 》 NOTES: no use of y/n, no mention of name, weight, hair style, or skin colour 》 WARNINGS: p-in-v smut | reader wears panties 》 CHAPTER: 3.6k | 2/3 [masterlist] | title is a kafka quote | posted on AO3

Simon realizes someone broke into his flat the second he opens the door.

The feeling makes him sick. That sort of dread that reminds him of his childhood; like waking up sweat-drenched from a nightmare. Like being Simon, and only Simon again—a tight, suffocating feeling at the back of his throat. He's immediately on edge, butterfly knife in hand. Ready to kill, ready to disappear again. Out of London, out of the country, out of reach to whoever was dumb enough to seek him out in this quiet residential part of Brixton.

He would have to get rid of them quietly, inform Price, and go under the radar for a while. It would be a challenge—a whole fucking carnival of problems he would rather not deal with on medical leave—but he could do it. Despite his injuries, he could do what he always does; survive.

It’s a professional job. Clean and barely noticeable. Simon can smell and feel the atmosphere of invaded personal space just as much as the hint of perfume in the air as he quietly steps inside. The light beam from the corridor illuminates part of the monotone living room that came pre-furnished. It's somewhere between the middle of the night and early morning. He can hear the muffled sounds of his neighbors' tv through the walls, and cars on the highway out west. There’s a rattling noise coming from the kitchen. A dog barks in the distance. Nothing seems out of place, he notes.

He moves along the empty hallway, stays close to the wall, takes the corner to the living room, tightens the grip around his combat knife, and—

"For fucks sake," Simon grunts out on the exhale, low and defeated, but you can tell he's pissed by the way his eyes narrow and his accent drips through. "Could have hurt you."

You're standing in the dim light of his kitchen; between clean counters, blank cabinetry, and undecorated walls. Your smile is weak, but the following shrug suggests a complete lack of shame. Simon can barely see both, because you are leaning back into the small freezer, rummaging around.

"Do you have anything remotely edible in here, Lieutenant?"

It’s been over a year since your mission in Sicily—three months since you last spoke to each other on the phone. Simon doesn't like the idea of you snooping around in his place; you notice too much. Everything is an evaluation, a fact-finding mission.

You can hear the click of his knife folding back instead of an answer. His lungs audibly expand, then deflate.

"How'd you find me?" he asks, the taste of ash on his tongue.

The freezer door closes with a thud, shutting out the cool air caressing your face. The feeling lingers—almost as cold and consuming as his voice. You lean your hip against the counter, cross your arms, and face him with a small grin tucking at the corners of your mouth.

"Price," you say with another shrug. "He asked me to check on you."

Simon lets out a huff, turning away to take off his leather jacket. He gives you the smallest, almost imperceptible headshake; his tension restrained but noticeable.

It's hard to read him like this—with the simple, black balaclava on—but you can tell by the way he moves that he’s in pain; the limited motion in his shoulder, and the way his eyes flinch when he hangs up his jacket in the hallway.

"He said you were in bad shape last time he saw you."

There is a deliberate pause sweeping into the space between you, standing in silence like strangers. It's somewhere between the middle of the night and early morning. The kitchen is dark and cool, dimly lit from the streetlight across. The air filled with a suspense that does nothing to dull the headache thrumming against Simons' temples. His pain meds are wearing off, and you are here, and he doesn't know how to handle the sudden proximity, so he stays quiet, alert; ready to bounce any second like a cornered animal.

He stares at you like you owe him an answer, as if it isn't obvious that you are here for him. You won't ask why you're still his emergency contact, or why Price thinks you never broke up in the first place. You didn't correct the Captain either—who else was there to call, except you? Who else would drop everything to check on him, when he's distancing himself from everyone again?

"I'm fine," he tells you, each word a knife.

"I didn't ask," you say back, matching his tone.

You expect a fight—nearly crave one—but he keeps completely still; fixating on you with half-lidded eyes, contemplating a thought. Like too much time has passed since you last saw each other, and now he can't decide if you’re friend or foe.

They say love is intensified by absence, and when you look at him, it eats you whole. He's the opposite; not good with letting people in—never has been. You can see the hard darkness in his eyes, pulsing with vigilance and rage. It's nothing new, you never know what side of him you'll encounter after a long time apart, and you're always ready to be devastated by it.

"Do you—" you begin in a tone that says you really don't want to begin at all. "Do you want me to leave?"

The question hangs heavy in the air, weighted down by the memories from the last time you saw each other; the kisses, whispered confessions, and all the time and space in between. His bloodshot eyes rank over you, and you give him the space to assess his feelings, letting each second slowly pass by.

"It would be easier if you did," he tells you slowly, each word deliberate.

"That's not what I asked."

"Doesn’t make it any less true, y'know?"

His arms cross over his chest while his eyes bore into your skin, deep and antagonistic. He looks out of place in the middle of this domestic scene, dressed in civilian clothes: a pair of jeans, a black sweatshirt with his hood pulled over the mask. You can see in his eyes that he's actively fighting a defensive response; watching him physically swallow back something vicious he is close to spitting out instinctively.

"Been a while," he adds after a moment of heavy silence.

"Yeah," you reply. "It’s good to see you."

There's another sharp pause. His eyes fixate on a spot behind you, almost as if annoyed.

He doesn't want to hear it.

His sleeve rides up his arm when he lifts it to pinch the bridge of his nose, and you find your eyes drawn to the familiar movement. Patches and bruises cover his arm, but that's not what holds your focus—it's the texture of his pale skin. The smooth expanse of his forearm, now lined with muscles and veins.

"Don't need you here," he says, eyes closed.

"I know," you coax, wishing he did.

You have been doing this dance for five years now. Feels like a lifetime, you think, not because you hate it, but because in the context of your relationship, it is too much and at the same time, never enough. Because his chin dips down at your words, because his eyes open and harbor regret. Because his shoulders sag. Because despite everything, he missed you.

Simon has never been good at letting things go; awfully bad at telling you no in the oh-so-human desire to be loved. His sorrow is palpable; it slips in the cracks of your teeth when you give him a sympathetic smile. It means: It's okay. It's okay. Take your time.

That night you crawl into his bed, in his shirt, under his sheets, and press your cheek against his shoulder. You don't talk. It is real and comfortable and warm; just like the rest of him. You can hear the thump thump thump of his heart, so very much alive and whole. Shadows dance upon the bedroom walls, cast by the flickering street lights that seemed to conspire with the haunting whispers of what-ifs and impermanence.

Simon murmurs something you can't understand, drifting into sleep. His breathing steadies as he squeezes your hand, pulling you closer, warm fingers sliding through yours. It's a calm and cool night, and you fall asleep soon after, curled and twisted together; clutching each other's hands like you fear losing another in the dark. It's not sexual, it’s not romantic—it just is.

Everything you want to say that night, you swallow.

In the morning, the silence between you feels warm and orange; deliberately unfilled. You know he's awake by the way his breathing steadies, so you trace your finger on the back of his injured shoulder, spelling out wishes you cannot bring yourself to say out loud.

When he slowly turns around—aching and panting from the pain of his injuries—you lift your fingers to his jaw, cradling the bruised over his cheekbones and broken nose; varying shades of purple, black, and sickly yellow merging over his swollen skin.

"You look rancid," you whisper, fingertips tracing across his jaw.

He hums in response, still somewhere else in his head.

"Like a mushed avocado."

Last night, he didn't want to take off his mask at first. It made you angry to feel denied, to feel like after all this time, he really thought you would accept anything less than the full picture. Now you run your thumb over his skin, and Simons' body betrays him in the dip of his chin—melting into your palm; pale eyelashes fluttering, slits of brown peering at you.

"Pretty sure the other guy s'missing his head," he mumbles. "Splattered the fuckers brain all over the wall."

His voice is hoarse, and there is a distracted quality to it; like his attention is split between you and a far-away thought.

"Gross," you comment unimpressed, pulling your hand away.

You want to get out of bed to get some water from the kitchen, but his hand grips the back of your shirt and holds you in place. He yanks you back, arms wrapping around you; pressing you back into his chest while his nose drapes the nape of your neck. You groan in protest, but don't put up a fight.

"Stay," he says, baring his teeth against your ear.

It’s not a question, not a request; just a word. You sigh a deep and bearing sigh, but the anticipation is there—and it builds. Both of his hands gently brush under your shirt, over your belly; rough fingertips pressing into soft skin. His palm trails down your abdomen, under the seam of your panties, and stops right over your pubic bone. His hand covers your mound and gently pulls up, making your clit throb at the movement. Rivulets of pleasure start to ripple across the nerves in your thighs—up along your spine, down into your toes. You inhale sharply at the feeling, leaning into his chest. Suddenly wide awake.

"Need you to want this," he whispers into your shoulder, lips barely leaving your skin.

"C'mon," you mumble, "Pity fucks have never been my thing."

You feel his brittle, split lips curl into something like a smile against you.

"If you want me to touch you," he begins slowly, words rolling off his tongue in a gravelling sound. "I need you to say it."

"Fuck you."

There is a quiet laugh rumbling through his chest behind you.

"That’s what you're here for anyway, innit?"

You still haven't talked about what exactly it is that you're doing here. After you called it quits about three years ago, you rather quickly ended up back together again and somehow, it just continues to happen. You were once more that what you are now, but you still care for him. Price was worried when he called, and so were you—heart still beating fast from seeing the Captain's name on your display. Face still numb from the quick pleas of: oh no, no, please. Please don’t tell me he's dead.

Simon runs his hand along the lower curve of your breast, trailing kisses down your neck. Goosebumps begin to form and you decide that for a little while longer, anything outside his bedroom might as well not exist. It's just you and him. You and him.

His fingertips trace across your sternum, over your nipples, and eventually rest across your throat, long fingers wrapping around the soft skin as you lift your chin. He stays like this; one hand in your panties, one loosely gripping your throat. Your eyes squeeze shut, and you contemplate if this is a good idea.

"You still into this?" he asks, voice deep and low.

You can't feel anything except his mouth on your ear, and his length pressing into you—and it's promising, so promising, that it's almost enough.

"Sometimes," you say, voice raspy. "Depends on—" Breathe. "Depends on whose hand it is."

He hums while his fingers lift from your throat, one after another, just to lay back down on your hot skin again. The thought of where this is going pools heat between your legs, and the words spill from your lips quietly, almost as if a confession, when you whisper: "I like it right now."

"Course you do," he says smoothly. "Always fuckin' starved for me."

The warmth of his chest presses closer to your back. Under different circumstances, his arrogance would annoy you, but all protest dwindles as you feel his thumb parting you, rubbing up and down, up and down with even pressure, until you are writhing under his touch. He spits in his hand and then begins massaging you with increasing pressure, rubbing and circling his fingers all over your wet heat. His touch beckons a subtle moan from you. The shivers run through you in waves. He's being mean; knows exactly how to touch you, how to make you squirm for him.

How to make you beg for it.

You almost forgot what it is like to be held and touched like this. The insatiability of it all—how intimate, how familiar it feels. The betrayal of your body is cathartic, your mouth forms a perfect O once he starts flicking his fingers over your clit.

"Oh," you choke out. "Fuck me."

You're not sure if it’s an expression of frustration or a direct request.

His grip around your throat tightens, holding you firmly in place—just the way you like it. Simon pinches both sides of your mound in response. He moves his fingers back into your heat, rolling his thumb around your clit without actually touching it while sliding a finger inside you. He pulls it out only to thrust in two, then starts to pump into you slowly.

"Fuck me," you breathe out again, but this time your intentions are clear.

Simon pushes you forward, grabbing your hip to move you into a good angle. His touch is not gentle, but you don't need it to be. You hear him fiddle with the heavy blanket and his briefs, while you wiggle yourself out of your underwear. It's frantic and hectic and so, so desperate, that you accidentally knock your elbow into his already bruised ribs—making him grunt out in pain.

"Sorry!" you choke out immediately, "Sorry. You okay?"

You try to turn around to take a peek at his face, but Simons’ hand is already in your hair—pushing you back in position, panties wrapped around your knees as he shoves you forward.

"S'alright," he says in a rush, teeth gritted together. "Just—fuck, keep still, yeah?"

"Charming."

"Shut up."

He gets the blanket out of the way and maneuvers himself out of his clothes, careful to not put too much pressure on his injured shoulder. His movements are hasty and rushed; a continuous reminder that he wants you just as much as you want him. Once you feel him close—the tip of his cock rubbing and sliding against your wet cunt—you reach behind and wrap your hand around his length, guiding him to you with an impatient noise.

Your eyes close, lips parting in a gasp as he pushes himself inside you.

"Fuck," he pants again, spreading possessive hands over your stomach, gripping your waist to pull you closer, "Thought about this a lot."

He moves his hips backwards, pulling himself from your wetness entirely, before guiding himself slowly back inside of you. You arch your back to push your hips into him, soft noises spilling over your lips. All you can think of is: Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck this out of me.

And he does.

For a brief moment, you are out of sync—then you settle into an even, lazy rhythm. You whisper how good it feels, words broken by another moan as he moves against a spot that makes you shudder. It sends electric pulses through you, every muscle between your thighs clenching as you hum in pleasure. You let him press you into the mattress—one hand gripping the soft flesh of your angled thigh. He ruts into you over and over and over again without any rush. It's sloppy and tired in the best sort of way; without much effort, just you and him fucking in the bright morning sunlight, familiar and warm. You press your cheek into the pillow, gripping the headboard to give him more friction while his hand pushes your t-shirt out of the way. It trails over your spine, your lower back, and comes to a halt at your hips again. You like him like this; dazed and fixated on you.

You both shudder when he starts pounding into you more frantically; skin damp where you press together. It’s a heated, gratifying feeling, and after a couple of harder thrusts, you reach between your legs to draw fast circles around your clit.

"Look at me," he pants, gripping you harder. "I want to watch you fall apart."

Your mind is blank, you don't think—instantly looking over your shoulder to meet his glassy eyes, and it takes you by surprise; the way he looks at you, the way your orgasm rips through every fiber of your being like a wildfire. His name falls from your lips and he is louder now, no longer able to contain himself as you tense in his arms. He holds you through it, sweat dripping down his temples and neck. You taste it when he presses his lips on the corner of your mouth until his orgasm dies its own, slow death.

Your ears are ringing. He kisses your neck, your cheeks, your shoulder, your hair, and you can't stop smiling.

For a moment, everything is just as you need it to be.

You take a shower together afterwards. When you get dressed, the bedroom windows are open, and a comfortable silence hangs in the air. Rain is batting down on London, and the air smells like spring, dirt and wet asphalt. Simon just looks at you from the bed, watching your every move. He's half lying, half sitting against the headboard, listening to the rain and basking in the quiet lull of the morning.

When you were still together, you used to spend many mornings like this. He always liked the lazy, quiet hours with you—seeing you bare-faced and relaxed in a way nobody else ever got to see you. Private, domestic, and so goddamn pretty. His throat goes tight at the thought.

"Maybe you should stay," he hears himself say.

You reach for his t-shirt on the floor, looking up in surprise.

"Why? I thought you don’t need me here."

You let your voice go deeper when throwing his own words back at him with a small grin, imitating his voice and accent dramatically bad.

Simon ignores the jab.

"Because," he starts instead, folding his arm lazily behind his head, "we are good together."

"We are horrible together."

"Naah" His disagreement sounds casual. "We take care of each other."

"Sexually, maybe. Besides—"

You pull the shirt over your head, and he watches your tits bounce in the movement.

"I was asked to come here because you should be in the hospital instead of playing civilian."

"I don’t like the machine sounds," he says flatly.

"I’m here because no one else puts up with your bullshit," you point.

"You're here because you can't stay away from me."

"Oh, fuck off."

You wipe some damp hair out of your face, loosely pointing a finger at him.

"I tried dating you, Simon. Didn’t end well."

"You’re standing right in front of me. In my clothes. Glowing from the way I fucked you 20 minutes ago, and I’m gonna make ya' some breakfast in a second."

He narrows his eyebrows, watching you with a half-lidded, statisfied expression.

"Can't be that bad, hm?"

"Well," you say, making a face. "You're emotionally unavailable, chronically avoidant, fucking bad at communicating, horrible at any conflict resolution that involves emotions, you smoke too much, don’t understand basic dating etiquette, never told me you loved me, push people away constantly, think a retirement plan is overrated—"

"I love you."

It’s a bloodless crime. Still, saying it out loud doesn't help his breathing, and it sure as hell doesn't ease the pain.

"Simon—" You sweep a hand through the air in a please-don't-start gesture.

He makes a sound like a laugh in the back of his throat.

"I know," he says. "It's fucked."

"You’re fucked," you say gently, tender; as if you are saying something much kinder.

It's incontestable. He doesn’t answer; Simon exhales a humourless laugh instead. He looks out the window, lets his eyes roam to the dark and stormy sky, and shakes his head in a silent gesture of acceptance.

It means: maybe you deserve someone else, but I'll always want you.

— NEXT PART. — SERIES MASTERLIST.

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gale-sky-and-sea · 7 months ago

Note

Fae sits down on an uncomfortable looking sofa and sigh.

"It isn't every day that I meet someone with the same beliefs as me. Even Simon and the other Fairchilds don't see quite eye to eye with me, the Vast didn't save their lives as it had mine."

She pauses, looking at Wichita.

"I feel like you want to ask more. Feel free to."

They get up again, heading to the kitchen. He grabs two coffee mugs and starts making some tea, then looks through the freezer for something. They pull out a container full of frozen cookie dough, putting each scoop onto a pan and preheating the oven.

There was a light knock on Witchita's door, and a voice called out from behind it

"Hey, is Witchita Falls home?"

Sèra put on the best friendly voice she could despite the anger in her that's been bubbling for a week since she found out what happened to Casey.

@researchercase

She peeks through the curtains, only to promptly slam them shut when she sees who's outside. Yet another stranger. No good has ever come of her speaking to strangers, and it never will.

Outsiders are dangerous, darling. Don't bother with them.

That's what he always told her, but she's not listening to him anymore.

She opens the door wide, determined not to be afraid of who waits on the other side.

"I am. Who are you?"

#tma rp #tma oc #wichita falls #Gale f.

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justthehiddleswrites · 3 years ago

Text

It’s Just a Pumpkin | Adam x Charlie

A/N: I finally finished something. A miracle. So this takes place a few months after Bleeding Hearts.

Pairing: Adam (OLLA) x Charlie Bock (OC)

Summary: Charlie is excited for the spooky season and can’t understand why Adam is so against it.

Warnings: mentions of past trauma (night terrors), most fluff, light angst

Adam and Charlie Masterlist

Thank you for reading and enjoying my stories and work.

“No.”

“But it is just…”

“Charlie, no.” His voice growing more terse.

“They were on sale at the Farmer’s Market. I was going to make pie later on.”

Adam stood up and walked to the doorway connecting the kitchen to the living room. His robe open and he hadn’t bothered with pajama bottoms that morning. “I can smell them, Charlie. Those are not pumpkins for eating. They’re pumpkins for….” His lips curled up into a sneer. “…carving.”

Charlie’s chin dropped towards her chest, her brown curls sadly bouncing. “I didn’t think you could tell the difference.”

Adam rolled his eyes, but only because her head faced the floor. “Well, it’s another note to add to your Adam notebook.” He stood there, watching her. Charlie’s eyes staring at the swirls of dirt and dust obscuring the pattern of the worn linoleum of their shared kitchen. His resolve and anger quickly melting away.

“I’ll give them away at the hospital on my next shift.” she commented, her voice hardly louder than a whisper. “I’m sure they can go to someone who gets to celebrate the holidays.” She shook her head from side to side as she spat out the words.

Of everything they had ever argued about, and at this point Adam had lost count of the number of things, nothing had left a sore spot with Charlie as much as Adam’s utter and bitter hatred for Halloween.

“It’s a bastardization of All Hallows Eve in order for the capitalist machine called the American economy to eek out more money for the consumers.” he countered the first time they argued over it. Back in July, when Charlie first brought up the idea of decorating.

“So what?! Maybe I don’t mind that! Maybe I enjoy the one day of the year where I got to pretend to be someone else?! Anyone else besides who I was. It was a night of escape and fantasy, Adam. Of magic.” She plopped down in the chair not too far from him that evening. “Why can’t I have that?” He sighed, holding his head in his hands. Something Adam found himself doing on a more and more frequent basis since he met Charlie. “Because you don’t need it anymore.”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT I NEED?!” Charlie yelled, only to regret it as Adam stood and walked into the bedroom, taking his beloved Gibson with him, without another word. She quietly slipped into bed that night and Adam pulled her close against him without another word.

Now every time she even mentioned “October” or the “holiday season”, he would leave the room, sometimes slamming doors, but usually not. Charlie did her best to chalk it up to Adam’s “moodiness”, his demeanor. But she knew it was something else. And she didn’t dare ask.

She sighed. “They will be gone by tomorrow, Adam. And until then, I will put them outside, okay?”

He gave a brief nod. Charlie walked towards him and gave his lips a peck. “Now, when is the last time you had a hot meal?” She pulled him towards the couch with a laugh.

Charlie snored softly next to Adam as he slipped out of the covers and made his way to the spare bedroom. He sat at the end of the bed, balancing Charlie’s laptop on his knees, while he logged onto Zoom. A familiar face popped onto the screen after he spent about twenty minutes fiddling and curing.

“Adam.” Simone’s pleasant tone rang out. “It’s been too long since we spoke. Is everything okay with Charlie? The nightmares?”

Adam frowned. “About twice a month, unless she pulls double shifts at the hospital and then every night until she gets proper sleep. I believe you call it ‘self-care’.” He rolled his eyes at the last bit. “I didn’t exactly coin the term, Adam.” Her lips pulled into a thin smile. “This isn’t about Charlie. At least not entirely, is it?”

“No.”

He watched as Simone pulled out a calendar and flipped the page. “Oh, I see.” Her shoulders slumped, and she takes a deep breath. “Adam, sometimes a pumpkin is just a pumpkin.”

He nodded, his face twisting in pain. “I know that, but…” his voice trailed off and he looked away.

Simone tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “Tell me about your first Samhain together.”

Adam’s head snapped towards the screen, his eyes flashed for a moment and then he slumped to his side. “It was about four months after we met…”

Charlie woke up the next evening to find Adam gone. She checked the spare bedroom and then the living room. She heard something hit the kitchen table and she walked in to find Adam’s back hunched as he worked on something. A smile creeped over her face. “Are you tinkering with the microwave again, darling? Because I don’t want to have to buy…” She walked in front of him and stopped speaking as he set down the kitchen knife.

Adam spun the pumpkin around to reveal a crude jack-o’-lantern face carved into the pumpkin. He twisted his hands on top of the table. “My artistic talents lie elsewhere.” He responded softly.

Charlie smiled as she sat down and took his hand, squeezing it. “You didn’t have to do this. I was willing to—”

“—Halloween reminds me of Eve.” he blurted out. “Particularly jack-o’-lanterns. And pumpkins.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Don’t be. I should have told you, instead of ignoring it.” He exhaled sharply.

Charlie smirked at him. “Perhaps you could tell me about it and we could incorporate some of it around the house?” She raised a brow. “Unless Simone already suggested that.”

Adam’s eyes grew wide. “How did you…?”

“You never say you are ignoring your feelings, you just say you don’t have them.” She stood and went to make her evening coffee. “Have you eaten?” Her hand poised on the freezer door handle.

“Not yet, I was busy ensuring I didn’t chop off a finger.” He moved to grab a cordial glass from the cabinet.

Charlie took his hands and counted all ten fingers. “All accounted for.” She laced her fingers with his, pulling him close, wrapping her arms around him. “Love you.”

He leaned down and inhaled Charlie’s scent, her bay rum soap still lingering from her shower the night before. “I love you more.”

#only lovers left alive #only lovers left alive fanfic #only lovers left alive fanfiction #only lovers left alive fluff #adam #adam fanifc #adam fanfiction #olla fanfic #olla fanfiction #adam x charlie

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crazyspookies · 3 years ago

Text

ZRS9Part1

Well, Well, Well, Well, Well, Well, Well, Well, Well, Well, Well, Well, Well, Well, Well, Well, Well...look who’s here

it’s me!

and also

Him

Alright so there’s a lot of stuff ive been thinking about S9, some of it good some of it bad, but i told @siriusmistake (wink ;)) that i had some strong feelings about Van Ark’s presence in the plot so this post is sponsored by them and consists on me flailing about stuff lol Also this is long oops here we go

1. Van Ark is alive Reveal

If you’ve been around long enough, you’ll know i’ve always suspected this so just to get it out of the way: i knew it

Many of us did to be fair. Now let me tell you a story “fenn im not here for a history lesson” Well aren’t you.

2. A History of Belief

This is the part where i talk about all the clues and theories about Vana Ark bein alive, you can skip it if you wanna lol. Back in...S5 there was not one but TWO occasions where i thought there would be a “van ark is alive” reveal. Once, in M3 (yes i looked it up) when we infiltrate Abel the first time and there is a moment we talk to Lobatse where we go into one hut and it’s full of cryogenic freezers and i thought “that’s it, here he is”. Same happened when we infiltrated abel as a spy and Sigrid took us to see the cryofreezers.

Why did i think that? My reasoning was that 1) Unless we see someone’s body we can’t really be sure they’re not dead (hello paula, hello sarah, hello simon, hello p-, you get the gist). 2) Sure, we hit him with a rocket launcher; but then again we did too on our first day and we’re fine.

Mostly. I theorized that maybe we damaged him enough to warrant him a few years out of the game. We got told that New Canton took care of the body but, at the time, Sigrid hadn’t showed her true colors yet so it would have been easy for her to just move things around to get it for herself and put him in cryo. Then S7 gave me a red herring by making me think, for the space of a single afternoon, that there was a possibility that Sage was Van Ark. I was real on the fence with this one because i saw the flaws in my theory but also. Didn’t regeneration change Peter’s face just enough not to look immediately recognizable? Was Sage Van Ark faking a nice attitude? Seemed a bit too crazy, but also someone compared van ark, dr.tomorrow and sage together.

Still, it felt too crazy. Right? ...RIght??? And to quote myself “I don’t trust van ark to know how to even fake how to be useful and kind to society and create ways to make a better community and be sensitive to other’s emotions for as long as Sage has been doing it. He can’t be that good an actor. the part where he might be alive and got a new face is not that crazy though.” So true past me, so true. Still, we did get something juicy in S7M25-26 that gave us a clue to Van Ark being alive, besides other things. We go with Maxine to a facility where Sigrid had created some nanotech capable of nullifying the regeneration abilities, in case she needed them to take care of Van Ark. True love right there fellas. HOWEVER, the nanites were in “regeneration mode”. Hmmm well isn’t that interesting. Obviously it gives us a clue that all the above could be true. That Sigrid got Van ark’s body and tried to speed up his regeneration. Now in retrospect it has more connotations still. More on that later.

Also in S8 sam goes ahead and drops one big “well we never did see his body” so

3. He’s Alive! So what.

Amelia: quite a shoker huh! Every one of us who has been expecting him to show his ugly ass at any moment: this bitch again huh So, he’s alive. Not that much of a surprise, considering. Still, the reveal comes around and i can’t help but think that the thing i care about most is how they’re going to pull this off. Van ark being alive by itself is of not much consequence to me anymore as plot device. Bringing a big baddie back - and this is the very first Big Baddie himself- it’s a risky thing to do. Is it the right thing to do? Maybe, if done properly. Or in a way i like lol. And honestly s2s hasn’t given me a lot of confidence when it comes to handling old and sensitive character related topics in S9P1 (looking at you, sam’s-being-opened-up-without-consent-and-injected-with-another-being thing and no one batting an eye about it. Especially not Five who def has no traumatic experiences related to medical torture and being injected people in their head, no sir). So yeah, it’s a risk, and it’s an old baddie anyway, we’ve killed him once already, we know his whole shebang already, he’s old news.

Indeed, Leslie, THE DRAMA. His reappearance is important to me, for the most part, because it’s bound to unbury some very angsty, dramatic little feelings on any Abel character that’s had to deal with him before. Especially Peter. Five too but that’s headcanon territory.

I mean it’s almost fine when we were in the UK. Terrible, sure, but feels...distant enough? We suspected this might happen, we just have to go there, kill him again, deal with whatever has to be dealt with and come back. Easy peasy yeah? Five’s used to this. There’s a little knot in their stomach and kind of a guilty giddiness to get moving already. They think it might have been born out of necessity, because if you dread whatever might happen every time you go out on an (dangerous, possibly deadly, possibly traumatic) “adventure” you’re bound to end up dead. And Van Ark just feels so far away now. The closer we get to scorpion base - and to Van Ark- the tighter the knot in their stomach gets. The closer we get to him the realer it feels, the easier it is to feel old rage bubble to the surface. They look at the others and have to wonder what they feel. In the silence of the desert night they feel their fingers twitch and the scenarios where they meet him more and more real. In the silence of the desert night, the distant gidiness becomes an ugly kind of excitement, mixed with dread and anger when they think how killing him again might feel and their fingers twitch. For good this time. And, if they get to Van Ark quick enough, they can stop Peter from doing something stupid. They look at Peter, and worry. Peter who’s been wrecked by guilt for for years, Peter who’s been suicidal for years, Peter who only now, very recently, has started to want to get better, to make small steps towards doing so. Peter who has a fucking burn cube sewed on his chest. Peter who’s already died twice because of all this shit. It could help Peter move on, Five knows that. For him to see how much he’s changed, how far his come, to look at the old fucker in the face and tell him to go fuck himself. However they’d rather not risk it. They’ rather not end up in a situation where Peter feels he has no choice. He’s been doing well lately, no need for Van Ark to fuck it all that up. They look at Janine and wonder if she’s thought the same, or if she just refuses to even think it at all while dealing with her grief over Tom to even consider the scenario of losing someone else she cares about. (Might have gotten excited here didn’t expect that lol Also i did a little post about five changing classes in dnd to a Paladin while making this post and ooohhh because i went to read about paladins and about how they’re all about protecting the innocent and delivering justice, and yes that is a generally very Five thing but also found this little gem “[...] Or are you an embittered loner sworn to take vengeance on those who have done great evil, sent as an angel of death by the gods or driven by your need for revenge?“ and isn’t this DELICIOUS. Especially after all that nonsense i just wrote up there) (Also like that moment we learn that Peter has a burn cube sewed up, i swear to GOD s2s you better fucking not.).

4. Ernie

Ok So. first time we see Van Ark he’s behind a door, unconcious and hooked ona machine and Bakari tells us he’s not in charge of anything, he’s one of the experiments. Obviously the first thing that crosses my mind is both:

and

Janine said no :( She did say we had to get to the uk first and then come back deal with him but how would be even do that. Two birds one stone is what i’m saying. But then we actually meet the guy and oh boy.

5. M15-16

1) “ERNEST VAN ARK: Hello there. Hello! So thrilled to meet you. Do shake my hand. I’m Ernest, by name and by nature. [chuckles] Sorry, my little joke. Ernie Van Ark at your service… is nobody going to shake?”

By now i was real worried because...i really don’t think i’d enjoy a redemtion arc for this character. Amnesia? Not unless he goes right back to being a villain afterwards. This guy chose all the bad things he did with 0 guilt, it would rightly piss me off to see anyone forgive him just becasue “oh he’s helping now”. Not after everything that happened. It’s still a very funny scenario though dsfsdf just the abel crew infiltrating this base, scared shitless because this old nemesis is going to recognize us and welp no he doesn’t??? and he’s looking young?? and hes kinda nice???

2) “JANINE DE LUCA: You look… young.”

i wonder what that’s about. I think that this is a mix bewteen him being actually younger and also like. We’re all 8 years older. My Five was 26, now they’re 34 it’s been a long-ass time. Guillemete says he’s middle aged so he could be somthing like 45-55? I’ve always guessed him to be early 60′s in S2 so it should be a big enough difference for us to be like “WOAH he looks REALLY YOUNG” so im going to say Earnie looks to be in his early/mid 40′s.

3) “ERNEST VAN ARK: [...] when they caught wind of his immortality… well, I’m told he had a mishap with a rocket launcher.”

4) ERNEST VAN ARK: “A few scrapings from him ended up on the black market, a little pink and gray matter.Red Scorpion Base purchased them, knew they’d be useful. The cells were inert. The base kickstarted the regeneration process, got them to sort of regrow into me. Took some work, but here I am, all his intellect, none of his memories. It’s my regeneration they want to study, of course.”

Ok so this is a lot of info in one place and also puts thoughts in my head about future etc. After a year since this i’ve had time to come down from feeling kinda pissed but let me tell you, by this point both me and my Five were immenseley frustrated. For many reasons. The main one being the “i don’t know if s2s can pull this off seeing how things have gone”. The “he’s not the original and i can’t confront him the way i pictured” is frustrating but i think it can be interesting precisely because it challenges the characters expectations and introduces a different kind of tension.

From a character standpoint my Five¡s about to lose it. They’ve been on edge the whole way here and i’ts been getting worse. The recent situation with sam has left them wondering if they can feel safe around their own friends, if they should cut away from Abel, at least for a while if not longer, when all this is over. And then this guy. This guy who looks and sounds like Van ark but isn’t him in theory but has the potential to be anyway and how DARE HE NOT REMEMBER WHAT HE’S DONE.

And that’s the most fun about this situation for me if we are to keep in close contact with Ernie. All those frustrated feelings no one can properly take out on him because he’s not the original van ark so he technically hasn’t done all those terrible things but god his stupid face is right there and is bringing all of it out anyway.

And besides, he could be faking it. Ernie sounds suspiciouly like the person Van Ark was faking to be when we met him the first time (i don’t think this is the case though tbh) and I imagine Five remembers his warning right before they blew him up. ”PROFESSOR VAN ARK: [static] Runner Five, I do hope you can hear me. I’m broadcasting on a wide band of frequencies just to say – I know your face, I know your name. I do not forget, and I do not forgive. I will come and find you. When you least expect it, I am going to destroy you.”

And even if he wasn’t faking there’s other matters too. This is one of those big “people can change/nature vrs nurture/ etc kind of deals right? Sure this isn’t the original van ark, but he has been formed from the same brain. A man that chose eugenics as his core belief and did genocide, torture and murder about it. The potential for him to choose it again is always there and it makes me nervous to have him around, and leaving him at Red Scorpion Base also makes me nervous because even as an experiment, he’s dangerous. His regenerative abilities are dangerous in the wrong hands. Probably the panagea is one of the things that have been made thanks to it but you know how this kinda things goes: taking the thing and using it to make weapons and super soldiers and the like, as the Guillemete comments here:

“GUILLEMETTE FELIS: [...] Genetic material from Ernie was used to treat a life-threatening injury Henderson suffered some months ago. The results were�� dramatic. Your quarry is no ordinary soldier. His endurance is enormous, but his personality, unstable. You will know what I refer to. I believe your own Sven “Psycho” Mountback was treated with a similar but less advanced treatment in Poland several years ago, leading to his current… psychological situation.”

So not the current treatments are unstable, makes you think how can Bakari be so sure the panagea works at all. Also wtf are they doing in Poland.

5) “ERNEST VAN ARK: No no, nothing like that. I always wanted to visit England. I don’t suppose you met a politician named Sigrid? I’m told we were in love. It sounds terribly romantic.”

WHY WOULD THIS BE RELEVANT SDFSDFD Earnest says that Red Scorpion Base (or their top dog i guess) got a hold of the flesh and kickstarted the regeneration process (and i have some STUFF Ive been thinking about when it comes to that), so it sounds like he’s spent whatever concious life he’s had in Red Scorpion Base mostly under supervision, probably. Make sure the investment doesn’t run away. How do you feel about that Ernie. I feel like this guy is mostly “the research here is v important and complicated and i am part of it all so im not really going to think about the fact that i am a piece of property because why would I bother” I justc an’t believe we’re not going to see more of him you know? S2S can’t just present us with this guy and then be like “ok thats all you’re going to see of him ever”, wouldn’t make sense. Also what is this research? We just get that one sentence and i’m already like hmmmm that’s weird and suspicious”.

I imagine that once he became fully concious he must have had questions about himself but it doesn’t sound like he was given too many details. “A misshap with a rocket launcher” doesn’t really tell us whether he knows he was murdered or not, but “im told we were in love it sounds terribly romantic :)” we can tell he doesn’t know Sigrid’s dead and also that whoever told him that either didn’t know the details of their relationship, or did and just didn’t tell him because why would they tbh. SOunds like he was told somethign among the lines of "You were a v smart scientist who lived in the far-away land of the uk, working towards a big cure to save humanity (that's how you got your regeneration powers!) and you and the prime minister were in love :o) And then there was an accident/some terrible spies shot you with a rocket launcher "

Also SDFSDF bless Peter for being like “im gonna kill him” right away when we come across Ernie in the greenhouse like YES THATS WHAT I WAS SAYING!! Peter your brain is huge and so very wrinkly I knew you’d be with me on that one.

I also understand Ernie calling for help, it’s the smart thing to do and i just Love the idea that from his point of view we’re obviously the bad guys. I mean he’s been told we’re spies, to hide away, and now we’re talking about killing him right in front of him sdfsdfs

I just want so badly to bully him. I want to be forced to take him with us and i want his presence to make everyone high strung and uncomfortable and terribly snipy and the whole time he has no idea why everyone hates his guts so badly. Does he even know that the zombie apocalypse was partly his fault? I bet not. I want to tell him we killed him and also his terrible fascist wife. I just think it’d be neat.

6. THEORIES

OKAY so like when i was making up theories about what could happen with Van Ark i remembered something about S7M25-26. Upon reading the transcripts i realized a couple things.

At the time, we had a wriggling hand we cut from a zombie that had bitten Peter and gotten his regeneration abilities. Veronica guided us to a water treatment plant where Sigrid kept a nanotech machine capable of nullifying Van Ark’s regeneration in case she needed to neutralize him at some point, so we set off there to see if it worked on the P-Hand and maybe even be able to use that technology to help Peter lose his so that he felt more like a person, less like a monster who can put everyone he loves i danger. Feelings that are still relevant seeing as we haven’t tried a treatment on him yet (most of the research was destroyed but i think Sage had some stuff too??, i need to check a bunch of stuff to know what happened with this whole thing exacly). And also Ernie, who is also a danger. It will be interesting to see what’s his opinion on his regeneration.

In any case, when we get there we have a terrible misshap and the hand starts growing fast as hell instead of dying.

“ VERONICA MCSHELL: It appears Sigrid’s treatments stimulated growth.”

Well. Isn¡t THAT interesting. Peviously I thought was that Van Ark's body in general might not have been extensiveley damaged, and that Sigrid had gotten it and worked to save his life. In Red Scorpion Base we are told that "A few scrapings from him ended up on the black market, a little pink and gray matter" so i thought that maybe he had been blown into pieces. But now i’m thinking that there is a couple possibilities. Veronica at some point says that sigrid threw failed experiments to an automated furnace. Makes you think.

Clones. Maybe there wasn’t enough of Van Ark’s original body to regenerate, so Sigrid started experimenting with unknown degrees of success and burnt off the failures in the furnace.

We don’t know how many failures there might have been or how many successes. I can’t imgine she’d make more that one if she succeded, but there’s no way to tell. It could be that she herself sold the kickstarted flesh to Red Scorpion Boss although I don’t really see Sigrid doing that with Van Ark though but then again, who knows lol. There’s also the possibility that someone else found the research/got a hold of the pieces of Van Ark she hadn’t used and has been selling them around, after all how did that flesh end up in the black market? It0s just flesh from a dead man, no reason for it to be there unless you know exacly what it is so whoever put it in the market knew exacly what they were selling. If there’s enough bits of van ark to go around, maybe that’s what’s going on in Poland? Who do i see taking bits of van ark, kickstarting their regeneration and selling either the flesh or even clones to the highest bidder? Could be anyone. Could be Valmont, seeing as he has plenty of contacts, could be someone new. I don’t think he’s the top dog at Red Skull base necessarily but i don’t discard it. Whoever it is they obviously recognize us and know what we’re all about and they know to be weary of us. Either our reputation in the uk has reached other countries or this is someone who has been to the uk/we’ve dealt with one-on-one.

Guess we’ll see what happens.

#zombies run #zrs9 spoilers #theorizing babaeyyy #long post #fennel's zr recaps

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flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 3 years ago

Text

Irresistible Danger - Part 60

Synopsis: After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,229

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

Author’s Note: We’re back! Omg y’all...I finally have a path to the ending for this fic! After this chapter, I’m planning for there to be 5 more chapters until the end, which will give ID a total of 65 chapters. I’m still working on writing and editing these last chapters, but I’m pretty confident in that timeline :D I also plan to post each Friday again, so there should be chapters now through September 10th, if all goes according to plan.

PDA

You woke with a smile the next morning, partially because of the happiness filling your chest like a balloon. The other part was because the warm body behind you, accompanied by a rasp of beard on your shoulder and soft lips on your neck, signalled that you weren’t alone.

The florid orange rays coming in the large windows told you that it was still early, the sun barely risen above the horizon. Turning over onto your other side to face Negan, you took in his tousled hair and heavy-lidded gaze.

“Mornin’ doll,” he said, voice raspy with sleep.

“Morning,” you whispered back, pressing a kiss to his irresistible mouth. “No crack-of-dawn meetings today?”

His lips quirked against yours. “Nope, thank fuck,” he murmured, before rolling atop you and spending a good portion of the morning taking you apart with pleasure, then putting you back together piece by piece with cuddles and toe-curling kisses.

When he later glanced over at the clock and saw that it was almost 10am, he gave a groan and flopped onto his back with a forearm covering his eyes. “Much as I’d love to stay here all day, I gotta go with a couple Saviors to check out one of the nearby outposts. They reported some concerns about their fucking security measures, and also requested a few more men be stationed out there to help divvy up their shifts, so I wanna go see if there’s any fucking issues for myself.”

While you felt a tiny thrill that he was so willing to tell you this information, to let you know about his duties as leader, you also had a moment of worry about him possibly assigning more men out to work the outpost. “Is that the one you brought Simon in from a couple weeks ago?”

Knowing exactly where your thoughts were headed, he said, “Don’t get your fucking panties in a bunch, doll. If the outpost needs more hands, I was planning to send a couple of my newer Saviors.”

Pleased at this response, you smiled and leaned in close so your mouth was hovering mere millimeters from his, before whispering, “I’m not wearing any panties to get in a bunch.”

Before he could react, you rolled out of the bed and strode to the bathroom, putting a little extra swing to your hips. The growl and unmistakable rustling sound of sheets being thrown off was your only warning before Negan scooped you up into his arms and marched into the bathroom.

An hour later and you were both sufficiently clean (after first getting extra dirty against the shower wall), and you saw Negan off from his rooms with a kiss and warning to be careful. He gave an arrogant smirk at that, which got him an eye roll and playful shake of your head as a response.

You watched as he strode down the hall towards the staircase, shoulders encased in leather and his whistle echoing off the walls. While they’d never dare ask him about it, you couldn’t help but give a little smile at the thought of his men wondering why the hell their usually punctual leader was almost ten minutes late to leave for the outpost...and why he seemed so happy about it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Unable to contain your excitement over the events of the night before, you headed over to Ben’s room not long after Negan left. Thankfully he was there, having just returned from finishing up serving breakfast. His roommate was out this time, so you were able to huddle across from one another on his bottom bunk and catch him up on your conversation with Negan.

Ben listened intently, mouth slowly falling further and further open as you went on. When you got to the part about Negan admitting he wanted only you, and called you his partner, Ben let out a whoop of joy and threw his arms around you in a hug.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed. “That big lug is head over heels for you.”

The two of you chatted happily for a bit, before you left and wandered back down to your own room. It had felt like forever since you had a chunk of time to just relax in your bed without over analyzing or stressing over something Negan-related. Gone was the weight of that padlocked box of questions, which made both your brain and subconscious very happy. The three of you snuggled up on the bed and spent the next couple of hours finishing your re-read of Harry Potter before it was time to head down to the kitchen for dinner prep.

Today’s menu consisted of lasagna using leftover deer meat thawed from the freezer, with the signature side of rolls. Trixie had unofficially promoted herself as being in charge of roll duty, making sure the dough was the right consistency and the ovens at the perfect baking temperature. She wasn’t rude about it, but the little bit of authority she showed when instructing another staff member how to properly knead the dough seemed to fulfill her need to be seen as a knowledgeable and important part of the staff. And in all honesty, none of her feedback to the others was incorrect, so rather than reprimand her or say she was out of line, you had caught her eye at one point and given an almost imperceptible nod of approval. This caused her smile to beam so bright that it was a wonder you didn’t need sunglasses.

As it turned out, you weren’t the only one who had noticed Trixie’s presence and been keeping a stealthy eye on her. Andrew, a member of the food prep crew, had been not-so-subtly following Trixie with his gaze lately, and today was no exception. He was an attractive man in his early 20s with shoulder-length black hair and kind brown eyes, a much more appropriate candidate for Trixie than her previous choice.

It seemed safe to say that Trixie was aware of the attention as well, as she found every reason possible to flounce past where Andrew was busy loading trays of lasagna into an oven. At one point, she even stopped to chat briefly with him, and out of the corner of your eye you saw her toss back her head and laugh at something he said. If it seemed a bit overly dramatic to you, well, Andrew didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her reaction caused him to fumble with the tray of pasta he was holding, almost spilling the entire thing onto the ground. He thankfully saved it at the last second, otherwise you would’ve had to interrupt and lecture the two of them about focusing on their work and not chit-chatting. And you didn’t want to do that, not when Trixie finally seemed interested in a guy more her age who was actually available and seemed to genuinely like her.

Despite your initial tension with Trixie, you now realized that she had just been struggling to find where she fit in, to feel like an important part of the community. She’d initially been scooped up and led astray by Amber, but thankfully she had found her way back on the correct path and was making progress at getting along with the others, rather than isolating herself and using condescension as an emotional wall. Someone like Andrew, who was kind-hearted and considerate, not to mention absolutely captivated by her, was exactly what she needed.

Focusing your attention away from young romance and back to meal prep, you spent the next forty-five minutes making sure everything was baked to perfection before sending out the first trays of lasagna and rolls. However, your mind kept randomly returning to Negan, almost unable to contain a secret smile each time you remembered where the two of you now stood. The usual worry and second-guessing had been replaced by the stability of knowing how he felt, and each time you remembered his words from last night a flutter of butterflies went off in your stomach.

Negan had told you this morning that the outpost he and a small team of men were going to was less than an hour’s drive from the Sanctuary, so he planned to be back around dinnertime. Sure enough, about 20 minutes into when the first round of food was being served, you saw a small group of Saviors enter the cafeteria and settle down at a table. You guessed that they were the ones who had been out on the mini mission, and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing them back safely and with jovial expressions on their faces. You could always tell when things went wrong on a run, due to the overall aura of the men who returned, but this time they were smiling and talking animatedly with one another. Hopefully this also meant that Negan was in a happy, and perhaps affectionate, mood when you went to visit him later...

It was as if your thoughts had conjured the man himself. You were out in the cafeteria with a large water pitcher, making rounds to refill empty glasses for people, when a hush in conversation made you still and look up.

And there he was, standing at the entrance to the cafeteria with his signature leather jacket unzipped just enough so that the edge of a white tee peeked out over the top. He scanned over the tables like a king surveying his domain, looking both intimidating and absolutely delicious with the arrogant way he held himself, as if he had no cares in the world but was also ready to take on anything.

When his eyes landed on you, those sinful lips quirked upwards at the edges, and you swore that even from the distance of half a cafeteria you could see his golden gaze light up at the sight of you. He moved, striding with determination and purpose to close the space between your bodies. The breath caught in your chest at his beauty, at the raw masculinity and almost animal magnetism that surrounded him.

He stopped mere inches away, and you gazed up at him in both welcome and a bit of confusion. Trying to act calm and unaffected, and not show how much you wanted to grin and launch yourself at him, you said, “Welcome back.”

Your eyebrow cocked in question when he shook his head with a low chuckle. “Oh no, doll, that won’t do at all.” And with that, he wrapped an arm around your waist and lowered his head...

And kissed you in front of the entire Sanctuary.

A wave of shock jolted through you, at the same time as your body automatically responded, molding itself to his. Your brain was flatlined on the floor from the unexpected move, while your subconscious ran around it in circles screaming with excitement.

You could practically feel all the astonished stares from community members, as they watched their all-powerful leader break one of his cardinal rules and kiss you to within an inch of your life. And dear god, what a kiss it was! His lips were firm yet gentle, his tongue just barely tracing your bottom lip, as if he couldn’t help but steal a little taste. He wasn’t holding back, and the primal part of you recognized that he was publicly staking his claim for all to see. There could be no question after this moment that you were his, and that he wanted everyone to know it.

When he finally pulled back, you could only look up at him with what must’ve been an utterly dazed expression, if his pleased smirk was anything to go by. Glancing to his left and then right, his brow furrowed and expression turned serious as he bellowed, “What the fuck are you all looking at?”

His words had the desired effect, as eyes dropped back to their plates and the community stuttered back to action, obviously trying and failing to act like something monumental didn’t just happen. You’d have given a lot of points to know what they were all thinking, but you didn’t see any angry expressionsand no one had said anything or acted out of line, so hopefully that was a good sign.

Negan’s warm hand rubbed comfortingly up your bare arm, and it was then that you noticed he didn’t have his gloves on. That also sparked the realization that he wasn’t carrying Lucille, which was strange since he always had her on his person when making an appearance in front of the community.

Now that you’re thinking about it, did he even have her this morning, when he left?

You thought back to when you had kissed him goodbye and watched as he walked down the hallway. Surely he’d have taken her with him to the outpost...but you honestly couldn’t remember seeing her up over his shoulder. You had to just be forgetting, because there was no way he’d leave her behind.

That train of thought was brought to a halt when the hand on your arm trailed down along your waist and settled possessively on your hip. “I wanted to put in a request for one of your staff members to bring two servings of dinner to my room, for Simon and yours truly.”

Before you could ask if he needed time alone once you were done with dinner, he provided the answer. “We need to go over the fucking outpost inspection results, but I’ll come and find you once it’s done.” It was the second time he’d done that today, answering a question before you had the chance to voice it out loud, which was a sign of how well he was coming to predict your thought process.

You were still a bit in shock at all of this, especially how he was discussing his evening plan with you so publicly and audibly, as if to show that you were more than just his in a physical sense. He was broadcasting to the community that you were what he had already told you last night: his partner. His voice had been low enough that only the nearby tables would’ve heard, but you knew every moment of this interaction would be spread across the entire community within minutes after he left.

Giving a smile and trying to look like ‘yep, this is completely normal, no big deal, I am totally not internally screaming with joy and wanting to climb his fine ass like a tree’, you replied, “Of course. I’ll have it sent up immediately.”

“Thanks, doll,” he said with a final smirk. Then his face morphed back into the intense, badass expression of the Sanctuary’s leader, and he strode out of the cafeteria.

You were left standing there, still a bit shell-shocked by what had just occurred, but also giddy as hell over it. That emotional high was only slightly dimmed by the awareness that now, with Negan gone, you were the sole center of everyone’s attention. A quick scan of the cafeteria showed that most community members were trying not to openly stare. However, the lack of chewing and frequent side glances thrown your way as your legs finally unfroze and started back towards the kitchen were proof that they had all seen Negan’s display of affection.

While the rest of the community might’ve at least been making a feeble attempt not to obviously stare, the same couldn’t be said of the kitchen staff. At least a couple of them must’ve witnessed what happened when serving trays of food, and those members must’ve scurried back to the kitchen to report it to the others. Every single one of them was staring in wide-eyed silence with a mixture of shock and fascinated curiosity when you walked back through the swinging doors.

Even though your face felt heated and you were a bit off-kilter, you still managed to sound slightly firm when announcing, “Alright folks, back to work. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief when they didn’t argue, but a couple of them did give knowing grins, Trixie included, though at least they all seemed good-natured about it. Trying to act as though your world hadn’t just been spun off its axis with that public kiss, you went over to Ben, who was the only one that had stayed fairly composed the entire time. In fact, his eyes danced with mirth and he was obviously trying to hold back a smirk, so you felt only minimally evil when telling him of Negan’s request that two servings of dinner be taken up to his rooms for him and Simon. Ben gave a playful glare when you told him to take up the food himself, saying it loud enough that some others heard, making him unable to say no without looking a bit suspect.

When the tray was ready to go a few minutes later, you quietly murmured to Ben as he passed by on his way out of the kitchen, “Say hi to Simon for me.” The words caused a hint of pink to flare in his cheeks as he gave a halfhearted glare. You almost felt guilty for teasing him, but knew Ben would more than forgive you when Negan came through on his promise to get Simon his own room.

Though the kitchen staff still threw glances your way here and there, they quickly fell back into their usual routine and no one made any direct comments. You were safe from scrutiny...at least for now. At least no one seemed to have any extreme concerns about what had happened, making you wonder how many of them had suspected what was going on between you and Negan before now.

Once dinner and cleanup were over, you headed back up to your room. Negan had said he would come find you when he was ready, so you planned to just lay back and relax until then.

Oh, who were you kidding. After that kiss, you were totally going to sit on your bed and think about all the dirty things you wanted to do to him the moment the two of you were alone.

Trying to convince yourself that you could be at least semi-productive and pretend to have a hobby other than fantasizing about the leader of the Sanctuary, you pulled the copy of Harry Potter off your bedside table. You were just opening to the first page, planning to restart it again from the beginning, when a firm knock sounded at your door.

Pulse jumping with excitement, you rose from the bed and didn’t even hesitate to cross the room and reach for the doorknob. It never occurred to you that it might be anyone other than Negan, let alone for it to be the last person you’d have ever expected to see at your door. But things had been going so well today that it was almost as if fate was bored with your happiness and wanted to add some drama to the mix.

Totally ignoring the warning prickle that ran up your spine, you opened the door with a welcome smile. It quickly died on your lips at the sight of who was standing on the other side, hands on hips and eyes throwing daggers your way.

It was Amber...and she looked pissed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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