#this is gonna sound so fucking stupid too but

[evidenceof]

i have just said something ridiculous to you

Joe Toye has a nice face, George thinks. Strong nose, strong brows, and a scowl that George realized he liked to earn. Miles deep into 2nd Battalion's march to Atlanta, George Luz hears an Irish song from across their frozen campground.

happiest holidays, @blood-mocha-latte, my hbo war 2025 secret santa baby!! ♡ crossing my fingers and hoping i did their voices/headspaces justice. this present is brought to you by equal parts mary oliver's 'i have just said,' that you love, and toye's atlanta march predicament™. i very humbly give to you my very first luztoye fic.

I have just said something ridiculous to you and in response, your glorious laughter. - 'I Have Just Said' by Mary Oliver

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December 1, 1942 | 2330 hours Campgrounds, 38 miles from Fort Benning

The butter tastes like nothing on his frozen tongue. George winces at the thin oily film it leaves behind in his mouth after he swallows. Too fucking cold, everything was too fucking cold. A ragged chuckle saws its way through his throat while he watches Perco fight a losing battle against his hard slice of bread. Eventually, he rips it in half, elbow colliding with the tent wall and almost costing them their flimsy shelter. A hundred and fifteen miles and they had to survive off of stale bread and pats of butter.

“The way we live you’d think we’re already at the front of the fucking lines.” Perco’s voice was muffled under a thick scarf. “I don’t know what’s worse. This or shit on a shingle.”

“Come on, we got it made.” George lights a cigarette, and flicks off his lighter in an attempt to sweep away any talk of war. “Sightseeing the backcountry, free food, free clothes. These fuckin’ boots? Babies are the best in General Patton's Third Army, so I’ve heard.” His boot lands back on the cold ground with a pathetic thump from where he lifted it. 

“Aw, shut up, Luz.” Perco shoves him backwards, hard, half a slice of bread still in his hand, but with a grin already plastered on his face.

Just barely missing the tent wall, George regains his balance. “All right, all right. Jeez,” he laughs. He presses his hand on Perco’s head to push himself up, earning him a scowl. “Gonna go find a fire before this thing collapses on us.”

The flap of the tent all but snaps in half when he throws it open. Ice crackles down the drab green canvas like peanut brittle. Outside, cold air smacks against George’s face as he takes in the columns of tents around him that stand frosted and gleaming in the moonlight. The temperature had dropped earlier in the afternoon, but tomorrow promised worse terrain because, as far as George was concerned, God had abandoned 2nd Battalion specifically. Why else would they be the only ones walking all the way to fucking Atlanta? There's thirty eight more miles and not nearly enough bad Sobel impressions in George’s back pocket to last them that far.

With a single drag, he polishes off the remainder of his cigarette. Squinting, he spots Lip and Guarnere in the middle of what looks like an attempt at walking without having to bend their knees. Their frosty puffs of breath mirror the smoke he exhales. He sees Lip’s hand raise to greet him at the same time a bad tune cuts across the field, louder than the muffled grousing from inside the pup tents. Only George whips his head towards the direction of the sound.

“Luz, what’re you up to?” Lip’s voice is firm. George doesn’t see, but he hears the smile in it.

“Better not be doin’ anything fuckin’ stupid. I’m goddamn tired of that pansy chicken-shit officer breathing down my neck all fuckin’ day,” spits Guarnere, digging his hands deeper into his pockets. “Sobel, I mean. Winters ain’t no chicken-shit at least.”

George doesn't expect the polite chuckle from Lip who's quick to follow it up with a stern, “Bill.” At that, Guarnere raises an eyebrow like a demanding child, a look that George knows he never let his ma see. “But he’s right, keep your head outta trouble, Luz. Got enough to deal with while Toye’s relegated to K.P,” continues Lip with a grimace.

George tips his head in the direction of the broken Irish song still flitting in the air. “That him?” The scowl on Guarnere’s face is confirmation enough. “What’d he do?”

“Go ask him if you’re so fuckin’ curious,” Guarnere sneers. “Hey, I’m serious Luz. Give Sobel an excuse to take away passes and I’ll shove a trench knife up your ass.”

George knuckles his forehead to mock-salute Guarnere and gives Lip a wink. “I’ll behave for you, Bill,” he sing-songs. It only takes him a second to quash his finished cigarette under his boot before his feet start moving towards the sound almost involuntarily. He finds Toye hunched over a fire, chin resting on his legs that are folded in front of him. Even tucked into himself, there was something intimidating about his angles. It’s those goddamn broad shoulders of his, wide like no one’s business. Certainly not George’s. He doesn’t recognize the words Joe is singing but the tune’s familiar enough. Once or twice, he found himself straining to hear it in the Toccoa showers. It almost feels like a shame to put an end to it. Almost.

“Thought someone was dying. Your bad singing why they’re making you do this?” chides George, nudging Toye with his boot before he takes a seat on the ground. 

Toye clenches his jaw in acknowledgment, any lingering mirth vanishing from his face. “Luz,” says Toye, already exasperated. George watches him jab the weak fire with a stick. The orange glow casts shadows on his irritated face. Nothing quite like pissing off Joe Toye. He has a nice face, George thinks. Strong nose, strong brows, a scowl that George realized he liked to earn. Even with the darkness under his eyes, Toye looks sturdy.

“Aw, c’mon Toye. Not happy to see me?” His teeth chatter and Toye’s lip twitches into the beginnings of a smile. “Lighten up will ya?”

A gust of wind makes them both adjust their scarves. From under his own, Toye shakes his head before glaring at the stick in his hand. George can see him weighing out the pros and cons of throwing it into the pit. “I did. Look where that got me,” says Toye, eventually.

“Hey, least you’re warm right?” George smiles at him while dislodging a clump of dirt from the sole of his boot to throw in Toye’s direction. When it hits the side of his leg, Toye barely flinches. So it was like that, huh? George digs his heel into the hardened ground, dragging himself closer to Joe. “So what’d you do? You can trust me. Who the fuck am I gonna tell?”

Toye continues staring at the flames like they’d done something to offend him. When he doesn’t answer, George inches forward, tracking cold moisture and mud on his trousers. For a moment he’s convinced Toye isn’t paying attention, but George sees how his eye twitches in time with the sound of his ODs scritching against the ground.

“Toye. Toye. Toye. Joe Toye. C’mon, buddy. Tell good ol’ George,” he says, slightly out of breath as he continues to drag himself closer. 

Bright dots of orange float up into the inky blue night when Toye jostles the firewood with his stick. “Not sure you wanna know, Luz,” he says gravely. “What, you need new source material or something? Running out of punchlines?”

“Me? Nah. Been practicing my Strayer,” says George, grinning. He’s not sure if he imagines the little nod from Toye. “When I get that pitch perfect, it'll last us ’til we ship out at least. You’ll fuckin’ see.” There’s caked mud on the ass of his ODs, he feels it. But now Toye was in perfect prodding distance and that made the journey worth it. With his fist, George nudges him once, twice, but he still looks like a goddamn statue staring at the fire, unmoving. “C’mon Toye. What’d you do?”

Nothing prepares him for how quickly Toye swivels his body towards his. He’s so close that George feels his breath on his cheek when Toye says, “You really wanna know? How about you ask me nice, Luz? Throw in a little favor?”

“Like what…?” says George, schooling his face into seriousness. Were Toye’s lashes always this long? George swears he feels the phantom brush of them against his goddamn forehead. He isn’t proud of the way it makes him miss a beat or causes that slight tremble in his voice. Nothing he couldn’t chalk up to the cold, he thinks. And he fucking would, if anyone asks.

“Like take over with these fires for me, you fuckin’ idiot,” growls Toye in his usual low gravelly voice. The white of his teeth catches the corner of George’s eye, then the pink of his lower lip. Damn. It feels almost too late when Toye thwacks the long stick against George’s chest and he nearly falls backwards. “My arm’s falling asleep.”

Clearing his throat to pull himself together is a decision George regrets immediately. It’s raw and cold like the rest of him. But he can deal with the shards of glass lodged into his windpipe better than the fucking knots that just erupted in his stomach. What was with that? He swipes the stick and turns to face the fire so that Joe is just a smudge in his periphery. From a few feet away, he hears Lieb and Alley laughing mercilessly. The thought of them witnessing all that makes his face burn, but he reminds himself everyone’s huddled in their own pup tents.

Toye's voice, resigned now, floats from beside George suddenly. It’s soft from fatigue. “Kid wanted to know what it felt like,” he says but doesn't continue. 

“What what felt like?” George pokes the fire. There’s a hiss and crackle of wood before Toye replies.

“What it’s like to pick up a skirt,” mumbles Toye, sounding embarrassed, forgiving maybe. “Says he gets nervous easy. He’s a buddy of mine from Dog Company, knew him from Pennsylvania, worked the coal mines together. He’s… you know? All stiff-like. Kinda like—”

“Like Winters?” George answers. “The fuck is wrong with you people from Pennsylvania. You born with a complimentary stick up your ass or what?” George wonders if that was too much, but he hears a huff from beside him—a sound that, from his limited knowledge, is the closest thing Toye gets to laughing. There’s a giddiness in his chest that tells him he’s been wanting to hear that for a while.

“Yeah. Yeah, like Lieutenant Winters,” replies Toye, less grave now. George turns to find him smiling down at the ground almost sleepily. It triggers a fresh set of knots right below George’s belly. It makes sense that the guy would ask Toye, George decides. With a face like that, eyes like that, he could bring home just about anyone he wanted. “Tells me he gets jittery, that friend of mine. Loses his fucking words. Needs practice. Needs advice,” says Toye. 

“Just need a face like yours.” It tumbles out of George’s mouth automatically. God, he wanted to shove one of the burning logs down his throat. But if Toye heard, he didn’t show it. Recovering, George continues, “What’d you tell him?”

Calm as anything, Toye lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t. Gave him a little practical exercise and pushed the guy against a wall,” he says with an even voice. From where he’s turned, the fire illuminates only a portion of his face. Even from a partial view, George could tell he wasn’t joking. Unsurprising; Toye rarely did. “Evans saw.”

“So he served you K.P. duty for jostling a guy? Sounds about right.” George laughs, imagining Evans’ prissy frown. “Your broads usually slam you against walls?”

As an answer, Toye smiles, all teeth, and George stops laughing. 

“It was nothing serious. Wanted to see how well he could come up with one of those lines of his in that position. Said he’s been practicing,” insists Toye. A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of his lip at the sudden shift in George’s face. “I was gentle though, but I think that was the problem. I, uh… I think he liked it.”

There was something about the image George couldn’t quite put together in his mind. He frowns. I think he liked it. 

“You shoulda seen Evans’ face. Kinda looks like yours right now actually, but less red,” Toye grins and George fights the urge to hide his head under his scarf. “Ripped my friend away from me and doled out the punishment. But really, the fucking kicker was him telling me to go see the chaplain. Fucking self-righteous asshole.”

“The chaplain? Since when the fuck do you need to—” Suddenly, it clicks in his mind, and he imagines the scene Evans must have walked into that night. Toye resting a hand against the wall beside the private’s face, the incline of his broad shoulders pointing inward, caging him. Gentle . Those big eyes and lashes too fucking close: Toye looking like the very picture of ease. Only in his head, George erases the face of the nameless PFC from Dog Company and replaces it with his own. Toye’s angles leaning towards him, lips inches away from his face, the feeling of his gravelly voice trailing from the tip of George’s nose all the way down under his shirt. He chokes a bit when he says, disbelieving, “No. Fuck, Toye. Nah, that ain’t right. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” says Toye tightly and looks up to glare at him. George can’t quite meet his eyes. “I was lightening up, remember?”

This close to the fire, George’s hands still feel like ice. “You’re insane, Joe. Fucking insane,” he says, trying to shake off the thought of Toye being close, peering up at a guy through his lashes like a dame. Suddenly, George’s trousers feel tight and his head was spinning in all possible directions.

“Didn’t hurt him. Was only trying to help. I was gentle, like I said,” Toye says lightly, voice already edged with sleep and without a trace of guilt. “Want a demonstration, Luz?”

“What, so you can get caught again? You plan on being K.P. until we’re shipped out?” George hears the higher register in his voice, and feels the way his heart rams against his sternum. He can’t look at Toye so he pokes the fire instead. A hot splinter flies onto his hand and he lets it sting, steering his full attention to the tiny patch of burning flesh.

Toye’s voice is thick with the lack of sleep, but more importantly is suddenly right behind George’s ear, brushing against the tiny hairs he didn’t know existed there. “I won’t tell if you don’t. I can keep a secret,” whispers Toye. George almost moans, but catches himself. It comes out a fumbling huff instead. The tightness of his trousers stop him from moving away.

“Well,” George tries to say. His zipper brushes against his skivvies and he almost jumps. If not for the jacket, the tented crotch area of his trousers would be on full display. Christ, he hopes Toye’s sleep-deprived enough to forget all this by the end of the march. “I can’t.” 

Toye laughs, fully now. George feels it on his nape, the hahas hitting his skin like long-burning coals. God, it felt good. 

“I’ll try it on you one day, Luz,” says Toye. George isn’t sure if he imagines Toye’s palm resting on his hip. It's too much and he feels like passing out. All the blood from his brain seems pool to right down into his crotch. It was getting harder to think, let alone respond. 

“You’re funny,” manages George eventually. Toye’s breath smells like Juicy Fruit, sweet.

“Yeah? I like surprising people like that,” says Toye, like a purr. When he moves away, Toye keeps the smile fixed on his face. The missing pressure of his hand leaves a cold mark on George’s side. So that was real. The affirmation only intensifies the heat below his stomach.

“You make a habit of shoving enlisted men against walls?” breathes George. It feels too good to keep this line of conversation going, everything in his body says so. But George couldn’t trust himself or his faculties. He was still thinking of Juicy Fruit in his mouth.

“Among other things.” Toye smirks lazily at him, and tilts his head up at the sky. George tells himself it’s the fatigue and the proximity to smoke that makes every word Toye says sound flirtatious. This fucking march had everyone acting strange, especially him.

“You are insane,” he says again, voice trembling. No way in hell was this guy a fairy. Didn’t fucking look like one anyway, all broad shouldered and angular. Nothing about him swished: not his fucking voice, or his fucking hips. Shit just don’t add up like that. But neither did the tightness in his OD trousers that didn't feel like it would disappear fast enough.

“A compliment coming from you, George.” Toye buries his face in his palms. “Fuck, I’m tired,” he says, the words drawn out of him like an exhale.

George watches his body sway slightly, tipping almost imperceptibly in and out of consciousness. “You sleep at all Joe?” Toye yawns as an answer; it shudders through him. He was just tired and spread thin, George thinks, they all were. And that got you acting different, that got you acting abnormal.

“No. But Evans still has it out for me. He’s lurking somewhere,” Toye says, not looking up from where George thinks he’s already fallen half asleep. The sharp angles of Toye’s shoulders droop, sagging under the weight of a second day without sleep. George lights another cigarette, finally, to keep his hands from doing something really fucking stupid like throwing a blanket over Toye and shoving his head onto his lap. Shit that guy from Dog Company can’t do, he thinks, feeling an odd barb of possessiveness while looking at Toye’s drooping head.

“Hey, I got this, all right?” argues George, gesturing at the growing fire.

“Shut up, Luz. I’m not looking for handouts.” But Toye’s voice dips in volume, belying the stubbornness in it.

“C’mon, Joe. You can’t be the only one handing out favors from the goodness of your heart,” George offers something like understanding. From his palms, Toye glances up at him, questioning. He’d look almost offended if he didn’t look so soft.

“Twenty minutes. Sleep. We got thirty-eight miles left in the morning and you look like shit,” continues George. Toye’s gaze doesn’t move away from him. So he stares back, feeling a little selfish, tracing Toye’s dark lashes and pink lips with his eyes. He wonders if they’ll ever get to sit this close again. “I’m saying if Evans comes around, I’ll charm him for ya.”

“Yeah?” says Toye, still looking at George, a small smile hooked on his lips. The sounds of the camp feel like they’ve all but disappeared. “Yeah. You’re good at that.”

His cigarette burns down to the filter but George continues to suck on it, unable to fish it out with his shaking hands that he’s hidden in his jacket pockets. They’re warm now, so it couldn’t have been the cold causing the trembling. He can still feel Toye’s laugh ricocheting on his neck.

Toye breaks their little staring contest and faces the fire. “Fine, twenty minutes.” 

“Sure buddy.” George watches Toye’s chin droop down onto his chest and his eyes flutter shut, lashes twitching. He’s asleep immediately. When he’s sure Toye was out cold, George fishes out a blanket from his pack and drapes the whole thing across Toye’s shoulders with a gentleness he didn’t know he had. “Take as long as you like.”

[shineon3]

Winter Warmers, Day 23

Prompt: Omorashi / Word Count: 986 🫣

(Technically it's day 16's prompt but who cares, time is a social construct anyway 🤷‍♀️)

Max shifts on his seat, biting back a whine. The seatbelt was digging uncomfortably into his midsection, and it has been pressing against his overfull bladder for about an hour now. Max kinda felt stupid for chugging an obscene amount of Red Bull earlier, but he couldn’t do anything about it now, and even the mere thought of anything liquid made his whole body clench in hope of not pissing his pants in the passenger seat of Daniel’s car.

Next to him, the brunette is whistling along with the song playing on the radio, absolutely unaware of his boyfriend’s predicament. Traffic is, thankfully, not that bad, and Max can only hope the next gas station is close, because he doesn’t know how long he can hold it.

The universe hears his prayers.

The universe is a fucking dick.

Traffic suddenly picks up, and they’re soon stuck in line. Max wiggles in his seat, uncomfortable, trying to take some pressure off of his bladder, but it only serves to amp the desperation up, and he doesn’t want to move so much that Daniel notices.

“Daniel…?”

The brunette turns to look at him, a soft smile stretching his lips. Max tries to smile back, but it feels forced, tears are burning in the corner of his eyes, and he’s barely stopping himself from jiggling his leg to distract himself from the ever rising need to piss.

“Daniel, when are we gonna get to the next gas station?”

The older’s smile turns into a smirk, and Max has a bad feeling about it.

“All those cans coming back to haunt you, baby?”

Max wishes he could fling himself out of the car window.

“Shut up-”

“Oops. Sorry, sweetheart.”

The car brakes a bit too hard, cutting Max off in the middle of his sentence, and he whimpers, feeling a bit of liquid dribble in his boxers. He tenses, trying to control his body and stop the leak, but the damage is done, the desperation is dialed up to eleven, his bladder is throbbing painfully and his cock is slightly twitching in his pants.

Daniel doesn't sound sorry at all, but Max can't focus on him, can't focus on anything other than the burning need to let go, to relieve himself. It keeps building up, and the road never clears up, and Max is torn between crying and screaming.

And then suddenly, as they're stuck into another endless bout of traffic, Daniel’s hand slowly starts to creep up his thigh until it reaches his crotch, carefully palming at it.

“Daniel…”

He whines, trying his damndest to stay still, feeling stuck between a wall and a hard place. Daniel hums, seemingly focused on the road, but his hand rubs at Max’s clothed dick for a while.

“Daniel, what- what are you doing…?”

“Be a good boy and hold it, ‘kay?” Daniel pats his thigh, tone humiliatingly condescendent, and Max hates that it makes him feel all warm and squirmy inside. “The next gas station isn’t too far. Can you make it?”

The brunette doesn’t reply for a moment, fondling Max’s cock before patting him on the stomach twice, almost making Max choke on a groan, his whole body suddenly clenching.

He nods, trying to hold the tears back. It’s hard, but he desperately wants to be good, never wants to hear the disappointment in Daniel’s voice when it could instead overwhelm him with praise. The brunette pats his thigh one last time before fully focusing back on the road, and the traffic eases up, finally allowing them to move. The road isn’t the smoothest, and every bump, every pothole, every turn makes Max tense painfully, cock throbbing as the need to piss slowly but surely becomes unbearable. Daniel doesn’t help, sneaking a hand in his shorts every time they slow down significantly, to “check if you haven’t made a mess”, unfazed by the blonde’s cheek burning up in embarrassment every time he does so. The closer they get to the gas station, the closer Max gets to relief, the harder it becomes to stay in control. He can feel his cheeks burning every time a bit of piss leaks down in his pants, his muscles slowly getting sore and tired, but he will try his damndest to keep it together.

Daniel makes the turn to get in the station, and Max almost cries in relief. He’s so close, so close to making it! Daniel parks the car, turns off the engine, and Max relaxes.

He made it!

…

To his absolute horror, he can feel liquid slowly drenching his boxers and then his pants. He desperately tries to clench, to stop it, but it’s too late. He’s been holding it for so long that he can’t help it anymore. Tears fall down his cheeks as he scrambles to undo his seatbelt, his bladder slowly emptying itself.

“No, no, no, not now-”

Daniel’s hand grabs onto his, stopping his flailing. The brunette rumbles soothingly, slowly unbuckling the seatbelt Max was fighting with.

“Shh, Maxy, baby, it’s okay. You’re okay, sweetheart. I’m not mad, I promise,” He presses a kiss to Max’s forehead, gently wiping his tears. “You did so good for me, baby, here, let me make you feel better.”

The blonde gasps, some color returning to his pale cheeks as Daniel’s hand slips inside his pants, carefully wrapping around his half hard dick, the friction making him hiss. He doesn’t last long, he never really does unless Daniel really wants to tease him, and he ends up coming all over the older’s fist, cum dirtying his already piss soaked underwear.

Max lets himself float away, closing his eyes, tiredness finally catching up to him. He's a bit startled when Daniel opens the passenger door, his eyes snapping open to meet the brunette’s gentle smile.

“Come here, darling,” Daniel carefully helps him out of the car. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

[mar3ggiata]

the night of the tarantula - 1

simon riley x oc

'All is fair in Love and War'

She sensed something was wrong from the second she woke up. She felt dizzy and lightheaded from the alcohol of the night before, it was still early. She had to go to base for a checkup on a patient, nothing major, but she offered the young Sargent a small meeting even if it was a Saturday. She had gone to bed happy, smiling into her pillow like a fool. It was his presence, just being in the same room as him did something to her. She thought about it all night, his arm nearly touching hers while sitting at the table, the was he would bend towards her, hunching his back to talk to her closely like his words were only meant for her. He was protective, or possessive, driving her home and making sure she got inside her flat. He even pet the dog, was incredibly excited to see him. He'd make a great dad for Jinx…

She thought about what could have happened if she asked him to stay. Maybe she would have offered him a gin and tonic, he would have suggested to drink tea. They had too much already. Maybe they would have made out on the couch. She imagined him sitting in her small apartment, Jinx asleep in his dog bed (moved to the bathroom for the occasion), her legs straddling his hips. She imagined removing his mask with her teeth, covering the scars on his face with sweet kisses, she wondered how he tasted, of beer probably. She imagined him gentle, firm grip on her ass, hands caressing her back. Maybe he was a good kisser, maybe she was going to be the first woman he ever kissed. She imagined him on top of her, while settling down in her bed, she imagined his body between her and the ceiling. He was tall, large and bulky and yet, she imagined him so gentle and delicate. She would have guided his hand between her thighs.

She fell asleep flustered and with her legs pressed together.

The base was quiet, the only noise being the clicking of her boots on the floor. She was early for her appointment, that's what gave her time to realise what was going on. She felt like the few soldiers she passed were looking at her. So strange, she was almost nervous, and for what? A simple chat with a patient? Her heart was beating faster than usual. It was really no surprise there were 4 people waiting for her in front of her office. They know. She turned the corner, she saw them and immediately turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. Her heart jumped in her chest, her legs moving quick without even realising. She heard them shout her name, she was already down the emergency stairs. They found out. It's done, it's done, I'm done. Her bag was nearly flying off her shoulder, she sprinted down the stair, they were following her, telling her to stop. Do they have guns, are they gonna kill me? She knew she had parked just opposite the emergency exit, she always parked there… just in case. She had never thought that day would come. So stupid, she had made a terrible mistake the night before, she knew this was gonna happen...

She got out the emergency door, which flew open, hitting the wall with a loud clang. She was stopped by the muzzle of a gun aimed directly at her forehead. She raised her arms, a small step backwards. Fuck.

She didn't scream, she didn't make a sound.

When the gun was lowered, Simon stood in front of her, hard grip on his weapon.

'Isn't this enough?' Simon turned towards her, twisting his chair. She gripped the counter's edge, her knuckles turned white. 'It's not enough? What more do you want?' He went on. She pressed her lips in a thin line. He really didn't understand her point, nor did he try for that matter. 'It's fine Simon, I'm going without you.'

'The hell you're not'.

He was standing up at this point, she turned her body in his direction. He was scared. She crossed her arms and let out a sarcastic laugh, 'Oh, am I not allowed, Lieutenant?'

'No, it's dangerous, we're not going.'

She blinked a few times, then turned back to the sink and resumed washing the dishes. 'I said I am. You can stay here if you want.'

'Eva, I said n-'

'Don't bother.'

They escorted her in an interrogation room. She felt like crying, she felt stupid and naive. Such a stupid mistake, she was drunk, she didn't think... She kept quiet, her jaw tense, fists clenched. It was a defeat really, and Simon… He must have had that briefing that morning, he… Seeing him pointing his gun at her face made her insides turn, Gaz and Soap stood behind him, same angry, disappointed expression on their faces. Not for the danger itself, she was not afraid she was going to get killed. Just… him, his look, his mask. She knew by betraying him like that, the guy she came to knowing over the past two months was going to be gone forever.

It took Simon a good 30 seconds to have her face the wall and put her hands behind her back, but he did it eventually. Aiming a gun at her wasn't on this year's bingo card. It brought him back to reality really, he went back to being Ghost. He really had thought life was giving him something good for once, you know, he thought things were going to be different. And he would learn to be normal, a normal guy with a girlfriend or some shit, but no. Turns out sweet angel Alba, or better, Eva, is a serial killer immigrated from Italy to America to ruin his life. Eva, the same person he spent Christmas with, the same person who danced the fucking nutcracker Snow Queen bullshit, was a terrorist. Her in her stupid, angelic ballet tutu. He had to take her for what she really was, terrorist. Murderer. Aiming his gun at her forehead was scary. He had never seen his hand shake, and he saw his fingers trembling a little, on the trigger. She, however, she wasn't scared. And it was infuriating, he wanted her scared. Be sorry for what you did, no? No, she wasn't sorry. She looked at him surprised, she looked at the gun, she waited for him to act, patiently. He saw it in her eyes, she wasn't scared cause she knew it was going to happen, like she had rehearsed what she was going to do when, or if, they found out. That was when he felt the most disconnected from her. Thinking about the fact she knew all along, she had planned her escape in case they found her, it made his blood boil. It made him furious.

'I just feel like you don't appreciate what I'm giving you'

She hated that part of herself, but she was conscious she always raised her voice when she was annoyed. The Italian in her. Also, her accent was much more heavy and thick on her tongue. She roller the r, clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth when pronouncing a t.

'How can you say that?' She screamed, her hands on her hips.

'Non urlare', he replied in perfect Italian. He hated when she raised her voice. Reminded him of his childhood. She was loud when she was happy and chatty or mad about her coworkers, but never directing it towards him. When she did he would stay silent until she was finished. She was passionate about everything, even their fights. And the Italian, well, he learned by living with her. He had to. She was tired of English, sometimes she didn't feel like trying. He learned by the way she spoke to Salvo and her sister, he learned vocabulary. She called him 'amore', 'amore mio', 'cuore'. And he liked it better than any other pet name he had ever heard, or tried to use. He never used 'sweetheart' or 'baby' ever again. He learned a few things, cause it made her smile when he spoke it with his thick Mancunian accent. It made her smile that he was trying, and he got good at it. His accent sounded natural, he switched from English to Italian like a professional.

'Non urlare.' Don't yell.

'Spiegami.' Explain.

He was very bad at confronting her, especially when she was this mad, this loud. He went silent, he stood there without moving, he felt trapped. He feared that speaking about something that was wrong would scare her away. He feared to wake up with her bags packed beside the door. Plus, she knew more about communication, and the whole relationship thing, she was always telling him the things he was thinking. She studied criminal psychology, she was a therapist for Christ's sake. He could never win with her, she always outsmarted him. He mumbled some incoherent words under his breath, his shoulders raising in defence.

'See?' She let her arms drop at her sides, 'You feel like I'm not appreciating what you give me, Simo, look at what I gave you!' She raised her arms, pointing to their apartment, their life, their routine. Well it was all hers, really. He had just moved in.

The interrogation room was cold, looked like the ones in the movies. They had her sitting in a chair, the three soldiers standing on her right, rifles in hand. Price and another man were inside, General Shepherd. She sat quietly with her hands behind her back, they had a laptop on the table in front of her. She had prepared for this moment, she had a code word for Salvo, in case she got caught. She knew what to do. She knew what was gonna happen, she kept quiet and kept thinking. Her phone was in her bag, sitting at Gaz's feet. She could ask to call him, tell him to go pick up her dog and take the pink leash. Taking the pink leash meant to take Jinx from her apartment and destroy any evidence she might have that incriminated her, he knew where to find everything. Every sign of Italy, of her family. A picture of her sister hidden in her bookshelf, a teddy from when she was young, her dead brother's shirt from when he was only 16, everything. It only took a phone call…

She looked up to see the door open and a woman step inside, tall, brunette in her early thirties. Price greeted her. Then Shepherd spoke. 'So, Alba… well… Eve, might as well call you Eve…' She looked at him like she was going to jump at his neck and kill him right there. She had never liked him, from the day she came to the first job interview two years ago. And her name wasn't fucking Eve, and he probably knew. She let her eyes examine his hands, his posture, the colour of his socks, rage building up in her chest. He noticed. He was startled for a second.

'…Eve, you sent a text to your sister Maria yesterday night at 2.41am from your apartment, on Campbell Ave if I'm not mistaken.' She looked at the laptop in front of her without replying. They already knew, what did they need her for? It was correct, she was drunk, she was happy, she smoked some weed and texted her sister for the first time in 4 years. A dumb mistake. She did the one thing she wasn't supposed to do. Reach out.

He continued, 'Maria is in the list of people you can't contact as per your contract, you know that.' He took a step close, she didn't raise her eyes. 'We could get you arrested, Eve, your family is dangerous', he continued, she felt her left eye twitch, as happened when she was stressed. She bit the inside of her cheek. '... You were hired and given a second chance under many conditions, but this, the message, is nothing but a betrayal of our trust. We can't have criminals working for the American government.'

He gave a look to his left, the brunette woman spoke to her in Italian. 'Eva, hai capito cosa ha detto?' She had a good accent, but still, a fucking translator? Unbelievable. She chucked, a single puff of air from her nostrils. They brought her so she could not speak Italian. So stupid, ignorant pigs. It was outrageous. Price jumped in, 'Eva listen, this doesn't have to be difficult, you can tell us what you did and why in Italian and Grace here will translate.' She felt her eye twitch again, she was starting to sweat. She needed more time. She took a few deep breaths and waited for them to go on. They did, cause they were impatient.

'You wrote that you missed her, your sister Maria, is that correct? What doest that stand for?'

'Is it code for something, does it have a meaning?'

She started to feel the familiar stinging pain of a migraine at her left temple, her contact lenses suddenly dry.

'You know, this is a good timing to get back in contact with your family, business is moving in Italy as I'm sure you know. Are you planning on going back?'

She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood.

'You know you breached our rules, we had said no contact whatsoever.'

'Eva we don't have time for this, if you could…'

'Grace', she spoke. She felt tears pricking the sides of her eyes, she turned towards the woman. She moved slowly. Her last shot, she considered her options and, well, there was really nothing she could do to get out of the situation. She could feel ringing in her ears, her heart beating so fast she felt like fainting. Her voice was low, but they payed attention now. From the corner of her eye, she almost saw Simon move against the wall, like he couldn't sit still. She almost forgot he was there.

Grace looked surprised to see her directly call out her name. She must feel important right now, thought Eva. Could turn this investigation around. The woman took a step towards her chair. 'Yes, Eva, puoi parlarmi.' So sweet, Grace had told her she could speak Italian to her if it made her feel better, so nice of Grace! She tilted her head, examining the woman's features. She was pretty. And confident. Eva could change that.

'Tu si capace 'e parlà 'o dialetto?'

Silence. The men waited for Grace to translate, but she didn't. Cause she didn't know what Eva said. They were so so so stupid...Grace's expression crumbled when she understood Italian grammar books didn't cover regional dialects, which is a shame, considering it was the first language Eva learned as a child. Still, nice try.

'Pardon me…?'

She didn't bother replying. She turned back in her chair, facing the table and the laptop. She saw her reflection in the black screen. She examined her eye bags, her bangs covering her forehead, her lips. She needed to stay strong, she needed to get a hold of her emotions, like she always did. This was just another day on the job.

The two men in front of her were trying to grasp why Grace didn't understand her dialect, the woman was telling them southern dialects are considered entirely different languages to standard Italian, only natives of the south really understood them. She saw Price rub his hands on his face in a defeated way. She was winning, at least for now. It didn't last long.

'Use her friend.' Said a voice. A deep voice, not just someone, him. Simon. She looked at him for the first time. They gave him their attention, she felt colour leave her cheeks. No...

'She has a friend from southern Italy, Salvatore, he's not deployed at the moment. Call him in. He knows the dialect.'

He was good, she had to give him that. Good idea, bring Salvatore in to talk to her. Good, good. Good soldier, Ghost. She let herself look at him, she didn't bother acknowledging the other two soldiers asking Ghost how he knew that information. It was obvious they were close, at this point. Not anymore, I guess. After this, she could never speak to him again. Good soldier, she had trusted him with the name of her best friend, now he was turning against her. Fair. I betrayed you, you betray me. Fair. All is fair in Love and War. She looked at him with compassionate eyes, he did too. You don't know what you just did. If we're here, in this room, and I have my hand tied it's cause I'm a threat. Don't you feel threatened, Ghost?

Behind that mask, coward, she couldn't pinpoint his expression. His eyes were on her face, her figure, hands cuffed behind her back. He had dreamed of her over and over again, he had imagined her as his pillow when he held it in the darkness of his room. He had envisioned her hands on his body, he had thought about her scent, he was consumed by her. She took that all away, with all those lies. It was gone, it was good while it lasted. She deserved his fury now. She was the enemy, after all.

And what does a good soldier do to his enemy?

I'll let him tell it.

notes: in italian, the abbreviation of the name Simone, Simon in English, is Simo (read Seemo. Simone is pronounced Seemone and not Seemonee, does that even make sense?)

notes: I'm back I'm sorry this took forever ouch

taglist:

@random-fandom-smoothie @lucienofthelakes

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me @asteriadisera

[jayviknation]

Bringing it back by my own demand bc I miss it~

✨JayVik as Basement Yard Quotes✨

(Creds - https://youtube.com/@thebasementyard?si=5caU0Rxnm5f6_hte)

Viktor: I just wanna say this and I don't give a fuck, I will fight this until the day that I die - BLT's are STUPID

Jayce: NO- FUCK YOU, I LOVE BLT'S, HOW ARE THEY STUPID?

Viktor: It's almost a sandwich, It’s almost- almost a sandwich

Jayce: What's missing?

Viktor: THE MEAT

Jayce: and guess what it has- BACON, which comes from where? A PIG

Viktor: IT’S A SUPPLEMENTAL MEAT

Viktor: What do you do? You watch little cars go round and round. WOW. Look at them turn left, so cool, fuck you!

Jayce: YOU PLAY WITH TOYS!

Viktor: I don't play with toys; I play with my kids who play with toys

Jayce: Alright, and the worst day of your life is gonna be when they get old enough that they wont play with you anymore and now you get to play by yourself

*silence*

Jayce to himself: too much, way too much

Viktor: I want a burger BAD right now

Jayce: BRO so bad

Viktor: You like dry burgers or wet burgers?

Jayce: What kinda question is that? I want this thing to come in my mouth.

*Both laughing*

Jayce: What a wild thing to say

Jayce: Before we started recording I started singing 'I saw daddy kissing santa clause'

Viktor: That’s not the one, that’s definately not the song

Jayce: That is it?

Viktor: I saw DADDY kissing santa clause?

Jayce: OH

Viktor: You know how I get, I get exsential crises all the time and-

Jayce: Crises?

Vitkor; Yeah, th-

Jayce: Is that the plural?

Viktor: Of a crisis? Yes.

Jayce: Criseses… that’s not right

Viktor: No, no, it’s crises

Jayce: Chrysler

Viktor: No, Jayce-

Jayce: I’m having fun

Viktor: I hope you are because you sound like a fucking idiot

Jayce: Can I ask a question?

Viktor: No.

Jayce: Can an-

Viktor: I said no.

Jayce: You’re gonna tell me if your last name was money you wouldn’t say ‘here come the money shot’

Viktor: ... no?

Jayce: Yes you would, dude-

Viktor: No, I wouldn’t

Jayce: Yes, you would

Viktor: I don’t say anything when I ejaculate

Jayce: Nothing at all?

Viktor: I mean noises come out but I’m no-

Jayce: Gimmie, gimmie, gimmi-

Viktor: I’M NOT GONNA DO THAT

Jayce: C'mon, jerk off for me right now let’s hear it

Viktor: I swear to god, Avocado-

Jayce: Dude, speaking of silicone- sorry

Viktor: Your turn. Go ahead. Nonono the floor is yours, Chief

Jayce: It's not even a good story

Viktor: He has something in spanish cultures it’s called like, the five wishes, which you say it in spanish by saying-

Jayce: Cinco wishes

Jayce: If you're watching a chiristmas story right now, tell your dad to fucking turn it off

Viktor: and if you don’t have a dad, it makes sense you're watching a christmas story. I’M KIDDING, I’M KIDDING-

Jayce: We're joking, we both come from broken homes

*hysterically laughing*

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Friday - a day SAM MONROE called a 'chill day'. Peace, the only worry was to feed Vinnie, make sure he won't choke or swallow anything stupid.

So when Sam’s finally gotten Vinnie down for a nap, half-lying on the couch, he simply tried to catch a break from all the stuff that had happened during this week. His little boy curled up on his chest, all warm and squishy. Sam doesn’t even mind the weight of him at all, even catching himself wanting Vinnie’s little head to rest against his shoulder. It kind of feels nice..but not like he'd admit it out loud

So in conclusion, everything’s should be fine… until it’s not.

Vinnie shifts, grunting softly as if he's in some pain.

Then he heard the sound of gagging.

“Oh, hell no,” Sam mutters, but it’s too late. Vinnie, without warning, lets out a stream of baby puke that lands all over Sam’s shirt and chest. Sam’s eyes go wide, and his stomach turns.

He can feel the bile rising in his throat.

"Vinnie!" he yelps, but his son just gurgles and coos, completely unfazed. Sam’s face scrunches up in disgust, skin crawling up his back

“Fuck, dude, what the hell is this?!” Sam scrambles to sit up, holding Vinnie awkwardly in his arms, the liquid dripping down his favorite shirt. “God, I’m gonna hurl.”

“Maaaom!” he yells, voice way more high-pitched than usual. “Vinnie fucking puked on me! Get in here!” then he added "please!"

His mom stepped into the living room just in time to hear Sam’s dramatic outburst and this horrified expression painted across his face like he's about to cry.

“Nice,” his mom sighs, the slightest bit of amusement in her tone. "Seems like you're really bonding with him today."

Sam, still holding Vinnie like he’s some kind of toxic waste, groans. “I didn’t sign up for this. Why do I gotta deal with the puke, huh? Where’s the manual for this bullshit?”

“It’s not that bad, Sam. Just clean it up.”

Sam’s face twists like he just witnessed the most hurtful experience of his life “Are you kidding me? You want me to clean this?” He looks down at his chest again, then at his mom, all wide-eyed and incredulous. “No. No way. You clean it up.”

His mom walks closer, already holding out her arms to take Vinnie. “Sam, it's your mess.”

“You’re evil,” Sam mutters under his breath, but he lets his mom take Vinnie. He stands up slowly, holding the end of his shirt so the liquid wouldn't spill out on the wooden floor “I’m not cut out for this dad shit. Somebody kill me.”

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @rssmary @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @r0b-in

[echoxshxrx]

.

[butchrindou]

i’m so pressured with improving myself as an artist and it’s making me lose it because i’m not even doing art for my career but i love it so much. Like i kinda feel useless doing it sometimes, especially since i see other artists and i know damn well i will never achieve that level and im not saying this for people to feel pity but idk i feel like my art style doesn’t fit tr.???3! or like idk. Sometimes i’ll literally cry because i feel like my art style doesn’t fit rindou and she’s literally my muse, she’s the reason why i get so excited to sit down and draw everyday yet i feel like im just stuck sitting somewhere where i can’t do anything special to show my love for her and it sounds silly.. bc that’s a fictional character but still, ive liked this character for so long and i see improvement just from drawing rindou non stop but i still feel like im just barely touching the surface of improvement. Also i feel like i care too much about what others may like vs what i want to try and draw.. i want to draw her raw and literally how i perceive her, her character, her body, every single aspect of her and why she’s so important to me. Yet i can’t do that because i get so scared of the outcome/how my artwork looks/ how others will perceive it. And im not saying im not happy with my art, i am but there’s just ways i want to do it i feel like wont stick out to others which scares me or it will seem ooc of rindou. literally because of this i always have the urge to delete my account and restart and continue doing that till i feel like i perfected her yet i dont think that’ll ever happen even with how much love i have for that character

[vulpinesaint]

listen i am geralt of rivia hater number one but one thing i actually CANNOT stand is when the fandom mischaracterizes him. took one look at this man who speaks very straight-forwardly and matter-of-fact and is a little recalcitrant with his words sometimes and went "haha he communicates in grunts! man who only says 'hm'!" and then won't even write him to speak in full fucking sentences. hello???? hello???????? yes the netflix show was a bad influence on everybody because they were trying too hard to depict geralt as a stoic manly badass but we CANNOT let that distract us from the REAL thing to make fun of geralt for. which are his Constant Unprovoked Monologues

[jrueships]

I HATEEEEE DYSPEXIA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[itsalwaysdark]

i like overthink everything now it makes me feel so dumb. i used 2 be able to just talk 2 ppl but nowadays every single thing im like Is that actually going to make them hate me. Yes probably. and then i just dont respond which makes ppl hate me. this is how it is

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[ronanlynchbf]

and then an overwhelming sense of dread apear.

[vampyriix]

babe wake up dorian made a fursona

[pikachu-deluxe]

headphones well and truly dead now, way beyond salvaging

hate and seethe on planet earth

[unreadpoppy]

so uhm i could really do with some nice asks right now

context below:

[infizero]

ok after listening to the english version of the death note musical....... unpopular opinion i think but i actually prefer the japanese version? dont get me wrong, with some of the songs i do think i might like the eng version more but..... idk i like the lyrics of the japanese version a lot more? and obviously i only know them via a translation but i know for a fact that the entire focus of certain songs are different between versions.

like in the english version of the game begins, L is talking about his strategy to track down kira. but in the japanese version, he's more so talking TO kira directly and saying that he's going to take him down from his "god" status to hell. or mortals and fools, which had a wholeee different vibe in the japanese version being called like a cruel dream. and uhhhh am i insane or was rem's song before she dies an entirely different song? cause in english it was like a sort of generic love song that was pretty chill considering the context, while in the japanese version it was this superrr melancholic and striking ballad she sang while floating around misa.

idk but i really do think i prefer the japanese version. but the og english version is good too!!! i really liked hurricane and the way it ends in particular