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cynicalrosebud · 3 months ago

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Hello!! I saw your requests are open! So can I ask shy! civilian! reader x Soap (my fav), Ghost, Gaz and Price that reader is gun! nerd? Like reader knows weapons, very well since they play shooting games (only in single player), do research (especially in her novel because she wants to write gun fights.)

Tactical Observer

The rest of dear nonny's request was a separate ask so I'll add it below:

"Oh! I forgot to say by shy! civilian! gun nerd reader that they like to analyse and touch weapons, even if it's fake. But they prefer not shoot, they prefer to watch it."

Oh nonny, you are fueling my lifeblood. Wrote this shit in a coffee and frybread daze over the span of an hour.

Summary: Y/n, a quiet and reclusive civilian with an uncanny knowledge of firearms, is brought on as a consultant for Task Force 141. Her expertise, gained through research for her novel and a deep obsession with the mechanics of weapons, quickly captivates the team. Though she prefers to study and observe rather than engage in combat, her presence draws the attention of Soap, Ghost, Gaz, and Price. Beneath the surface of their professional interactions, a deeper, more complex connection begins to form—one that transcends the battlefield. Unbeknownst to Y/n, the team isn't just fascinated by her skills—they’re enthralled by her. As the tension grows between them, Y/n finds herself pulled into an intricate, mysterious bond that leaves her both protected and adored by all four men.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Y/n had been minding her own business, walking through the quieter outskirts of the city, notebook in hand, jotting down ideas for her latest chapter. Her novel—an action thriller that involved military operations—required a lot of research, particularly about guns. Y/n spent hours reading up on weapon mechanics, loadouts, and modifications. It fascinated her, though she had never been one to actually shoot. She just liked knowing how it all worked.

But her peaceful research day turned into chaos when gunfire erupted nearby, throwing her into a situation she never expected. Ducking into an alley, her heart raced. She knew enough about firearms to recognize the sharp crack of an M4, followed by the deeper, heavier shots of AKs. This wasn’t just a random street brawl; it was organized and lethal.

Before she could react further, a strong hand grabbed her and pulled her behind cover. She yelped but quickly realized her rescuer was a soldier—decked out in gear, with a Scottish accent thick enough to cut through the noise.

“Gaz! Price! We’ve got a civilian!�� Soap shouted into his comms as he shielded Y/n from the spray of bullets.

Y/n stared at him, wide-eyed and shaken, clutching her notebook to her chest. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. She had written about these kinds of scenes, but experiencing it firsthand was a different story entirely.

Another soldier appeared, this one towering over her, his face obscured by a skull mask. Ghost. She recognized him from stories she’d read online, from the games she’d played, but seeing him in person was a different kind of intimidating.

“Who the hell are you?” Ghost’s voice was rough, filled with irritation but also concern. “And what the bloody hell are you doin’ here?”

“I-I was just… I’m just a writer,” Y/n stammered, clutching her notebook tighter. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Stay low and don’t get in the way,” Ghost growled, helping her crouch down further. “We’ll get you out of here.”

Hours later, after a whirlwind of gunfire and chaos, Y/n found herself holed up in a safe house with the team of soldiers who had inadvertently rescued her. She was still processing everything that had happened, but her mind kept drifting to the weapons they carried. They were all so finely tuned, customized in ways that made her writer's brain buzz with excitement.

Soap, sitting nearby, noticed her staring at his rifle. He had seen that look before—usually in people who loved guns. He leaned back casually and grinned. “Yer eyes haven’t left that M4 since we got in here. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours, eh?”

Y/n blushed, shifting awkwardly. “Oh, um… It’s just… It’s a really nice setup. You’ve got a Geissele MK8 rail and a Trijicon MRO optic, right? Solid choice.”

Soap blinked, a little taken aback. He hadn’t expected her to know her stuff. “You know your weapons, lass.”

She ducked her head shyly. “I’ve done a lot of research. For my book. I’m a writer,” she explained. “I do all this research on military operations and firearms because I want my novel to be as accurate as possible… but I don’t actually shoot. I just like knowing how it all works.”

Gaz, who had been cleaning his own weapon nearby, raised an eyebrow. “So, you know all this stuff, but you’ve never fired a gun?”

Y/n shrugged, feeling embarrassed. “I prefer the research. Watching someone else handle a weapon is more interesting to me than pulling the trigger.”

Price, who had been listening from his spot by the window, chuckled. “That’s a first. Most people who know this much can’t wait to get their hands on the trigger.”

Y/n smiled nervously. “I just… like the mechanics, how everything fits together. It’s fascinating.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the tension easing. Soap watched her with a thoughtful grin, noting how her eyes sparkled when she spoke about weapons. He leaned in a little closer. “Yer somethin’ special, Y/n. No shame in that.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words, her heart skipping a beat. Soap’s playful charm was almost as dangerous as his gun skills.

Ghost, who had been standing silently nearby, finally spoke up. “Knowing is just as important as shooting. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Y/n looked up, surprised at his words. For a man who rarely spoke, his approval felt oddly reassuring.

Over the next few days, Y/n became an unexpected asset to the team. While she stayed far away from the firefights, her knowledge of weapons proved invaluable. When Gaz needed help adjusting his L85, Y/n suggested modifications that improved its handling. Even Price asked her for input on some of their loadouts.

“You ever think about joining the service?” Gaz asked one evening, adjusting his optic according to Y/n’s recommendations.

Y/n shook her head, laughing nervously. “No, definitely not. I’m just a writer. I like researching and imagining how things play out in stories.”

Gaz smiled. “Well, you’ve got a good eye, at least. Could’ve fooled me into thinking you were a professional.”

Y/n flushed with embarrassment, but a part of her felt proud. Being recognized for her knowledge was a new experience, and it felt… nice.

Soap had been watching them from across the room, his gaze lingering on Y/n a bit longer than usual. There was something endearing about her shy, awkward manner, and the way she came alive when talking about guns. He’d never met anyone quite like her.

“Oi, lass,” Soap called, walking over and resting a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t we grab some food after this? We’ve got time to kill.”

Y/n blinked up at him, surprised by the invitation. “Um… sure?”

His grin widened. “Good. I’ll even let you pick my brain about my rifle mods. Bet you’ve got some ideas.”

Y/n’s stomach fluttered. Was this Soap’s way of… flirting? She wasn’t sure, but the prospect of spending more time with him made her nerves buzz with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

As the team prepared for their next mission, Soap handed Y/n his rifle again, grinning as she took it into her hands.

“Take care of her for me while we’re gone,” he said softly, his tone more serious than usual.

Y/n nodded. “I will. Be careful, Soap.”

“Careful is my middle name, lass,” he replied, his smile softening as he glanced down at her. “And don’t miss me too much, aye?”

Y/n bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile. “No promises.”

Price gave Soap a knowing look as they geared up. “Keep your head on straight, Sergeant.”

“Always do, sir,” Soap replied with a wink, though he couldn’t help the quick glance he shot Y/n’s way.

Ghost, watching the exchange in silence, pulled Y/n aside before they left. “You’ve got their attention,” he said quietly, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine. “But just so you know… we’re all watching out for you, too.”

Y/n looked up at Ghost, her heart fluttering. “Thank you, Ghost. I… appreciate it.”

Ghost gave her a small nod before rejoining the team. There was something almost protective in the way he spoke to her, and it left Y/n feeling a little less alone. Maybe it was more than just professional concern… she wasn’t sure.

When they returned, the 141 arrived to find their little civilian surrounded by sketches and pages on Soap's weapon of choice, crumpled ideas filling a small trash bin off to the side.

Soap raised an eyebrow, impressed. “You weren’t kiddin’, were ya? What’ve you got for me?”

Y/n hesitated for a moment before handing over the notebook. “Just some ideas… I thought the balance might be improved with a different stock. And maybe try swapping the optic for one with better peripheral vision…”

Soap whistled low. “You’ve got a sharp eye. I might just try these out.”

Price nodded approvingly as he glanced at the notes. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a little armorer here.”

Y/n’s heart swelled at the compliment. “I’m just… happy to help.”

Y/n sat across from Soap, her fingers tracing the outlines of the modifications on his M4. She was shy, but Soap had a way of coaxing her out of her shell. As she explained her thoughts on the mechanics, Soap leaned in a bit closer, his gaze softening as he watched her talk. He wasn’t just listening to her words anymore—he was captivated by her passion.

“Y’know, lass,” Soap said quietly, his Scottish lilt more pronounced as he leaned even closer, “you’re somethin’ else. Never met anyone who could talk about guns like this and make it sound… beautiful.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed at the compliment, and her voice faltered for a moment. Soap wasn’t shy about his interest—there was a hint of playfulness in his smile, but something more genuine in his eyes.

Her heart skipped a beat as she caught his gaze. There was something in his eyes—something soft, affectionate even. And for a moment, Y/n wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was more to this connection than just professional respect.

Gaz noticed the exchange, nudging Soap with a knowing grin. “Careful, mate. Looks like someone’s got their sights set on you.”

Soap chuckled, his eyes still on Y/n. “Wouldn’t mind if she did.”

Y/n found herself spending more time with Gaz as he tinkered with his weapons. He appreciated her insights and enjoyed the quiet moments they shared as she worked beside him.

Gaz would often lean in just a little too close, their shoulders brushing, or he’d offer her a smile that lingered just a bit too long. One evening, as they worked on his rifle together, Gaz’s hand accidentally brushed against hers. Instead of pulling away, he let his fingers linger, his warm touch sending a tingle through her skin.

“You’re really somethin’, Y/n,” he murmured softly. “Don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Y/n looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat. There was a warmth in his gaze that made her feel safe… and something more.

Soap had been openly playful with Y/n, but Ghost had always been more guarded. Still, Y/n couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes followed her when he thought no one was looking, or how he’d linger near her after missions, checking in on her quietly. One evening, when the team returned from a particularly rough mission, Ghost approached Y/n while the others celebrated. He didn’t say much, but his presence alone was enough to make her heart race.

“You did good today,” Ghost said in that deep, gravelly voice of his. “You’ve been lookin’ after us. Makes me want to do the same for you.”

Y/n looked up at him, surprised by the gentleness in his tone. For a man who rarely showed emotion, Ghost’s words felt like a confession of sorts.

“Thanks,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I… I feel the same.”

Ghost’s hand brushed her arm—just a brief touch, but enough to send a shiver through her. There was something protective in the way he hovered nearby, as though he was guarding more than just the team’s safety.

As the team geared up for their next mission, Y/n found herself spending time with Price. The captain had always been a calming presence, his steady demeanor keeping her grounded when things got overwhelming. He’d started inviting her to have tea with him during quiet moments between missions, and Y/n found comfort in those simple, peaceful interactions.

One evening, after a particularly stressful day, Price handed her a cup of tea, his fingers brushing against hers as she took it. His touch lingered, and Y/n looked up, catching the warmth in his eyes.

“Can’t say I’ve ever met anyone quite like you, Y/n,” Price said softly. “You’ve got a sharp mind, a good heart… and I reckon there’s not a man in this team who doesn’t see it.”

Y/n blushed, her heart fluttering as Price’s words settled over her. He was always so composed, so calm, but there was a hint of something more in his gaze tonight.

“I… I’ve never met anyone like you either, Captain,” Y/n whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Price’s hand found hers, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a tender gesture. “John,” he corrected gently. “Call me John.”

The bonds between Y/n and the members of Task Force 141 had been growing stronger every day, but as time passed, the affection each man held for her became undeniable. They had all noticed the way they each gravitated toward her—the protective glances, the subtle touches, the playful teasing that always ended with Y/n blushing. None of them felt jealousy; instead, they shared a sense of understanding that their love for her wasn’t something that needed to be exclusive.

One evening, after another long day of planning and preparation, the team sat around a campfire, Y/n nestled comfortably between them. Ghost sat beside her, his large hand resting gently on her thigh, while Soap leaned against her shoulder, his arm draped around her waist. Gaz sat across from them, his gaze warm as he watched her, and Price, always calm and collected, looked at her with a fondness that had grown over time.

Y/n felt the tension in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if they were all waiting for something to be said, some unspoken truth to be acknowledged. Finally, Soap was the one to break the silence.

“Lass,” he began, his voice unusually soft, “we’ve all been dancin’ around this for a while now. It’s clear we all care about you—more than just mates, if you know what I mean.”

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked around the fire, meeting each man’s gaze in turn. They were all watching her, waiting for her response, but there was no pressure in their eyes. Only love and patience.

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly. “I… I care about all of you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But how… I mean, is this even possible?”

Price smiled, the kind of smile that always put her at ease. “It’s possible if we make it so,” he said gently. “We’ve all had a talk, and none of us want to hold you back or keep you from anyone else. If this is what you want, we’ll figure it out together.”

Ghost’s hand tightened slightly on her thigh, his gaze dark and protective. “We’ll take care of you, Y/n,” he murmured. “All of us.”

Gaz nodded, his usual playful demeanor softened by the seriousness of the moment. “You don’t have to choose between us. We’re in this together, yeah?”

Tears welled up in Y/n’s eyes, but they weren’t from sadness or confusion—they were from relief. She had never imagined that the people she had grown so close to could share their love so openly, without jealousy or resentment. It was a kind of love she had never known, but one she had always craved.

“I… I want this,” she said finally, her voice stronger now. “I want all of you.”

As time went on, the team found their rhythm. They took turns spending time with Y/n—sometimes individually, sometimes together. There was no need for jealousy or competition, because they all knew that Y/n loved them equally, and they loved both her and each other in return. The dynamic was based on mutual respect, love, and understanding.

When they were on missions, they worked seamlessly together, their bond only strengthening their performance in the field. Back at base, they shared moments of intimacy and laughter, knowing that their love for Y/n—and for each other—was something rare and beautiful.

Y/n had never felt so loved or accepted. Each of them brought something different to her life, and together, they completed her in ways she had never imagined possible. And in return, she gave them her heart, her trust, and her love—knowing that, together, they were unstoppable.

#call of duty #x reader #fanfic #request #reqs open #poly 141 x reader #poly 141 #gaz x reader #captain john price x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #unedited #not beta read

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just-jordie-things · 2 years ago

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Hi hi, just so yk i absolutely love you.

If you havent already do you think you could do how jjk men would propose to you (or just gojo i dont mind)

thanks :)

yes i need to be wifed up by these men :3

GOJO SATORU

contrary to popular belief, i don't think satoru would go all out with a fancy restaurant and a huge public display. i think the proposal itself is going to be so casually intimate that it throws you totally off guard when he does it. i'm also convinced that he'd surprise himself when he proposes too.

with both of you having a free night (a rarity!) he'd suggested that you order takeout, sit on the couch in your pajamas, and watch the soapy drama you liked that he had also gotten hooked on.

while he goes to pick up the food, you're at home making the living room the coziest place in the house. he'd only tasked you with grabbing your favorite blankets for the sofa, but you thought it'd be nice to throw up some fairy lights rather than use the too-bright living room lamp. it wasn't much extra work, but it definitely added to the atmosphere.

so when you're boyfriend returned home with your food, he was quite surprised at the romantic, cozy setting you'd created for you two. and maybe it was the dim twinkling of your beloved fairy lights, but there was just something about you that made you glow. and the little box that had carried around for two months now never felt heavier in his pocket.

your back was turned as you washed your hands, babbling on that it was always a special occasion when you both had a night off, and what better to make it special than some string lights and a bottle of wine, and satoru could barely focus on a thing you were saying, too focused on the velvet box in his hand and how he just had to stop carrying it around.

when you turn around to find him on one knee and a twinkling diamond outstretched towards you, there's a squeal of excitement that gets caught in your throat as your shock chokes you up instantly.

"that's- that's a ring? that's an engagement ring? for getting engaged? you want to be engaged? you want to marry me?"

you're speaking so fast that you're stammering, and satoru can't help but laugh a little at your total state of surprise.

"you gotta let me ask, sweetheart-"

"yes!" you've leapt into his arms, almost sending him to the floor at the sudden impact. "yes! yes! yes!"

satoru blinks, holding tight to the small box in his hand, afraid that your erratic movements might knock it out of his hold. although he can't complain as you shower his face in kisses, strawberry lipgloss smearing everywhere you can reach.

"i don't know what people are talking about," he teases as he finally presents you with the ring, sliding it perfectly over your finger. "that was easy"

for the rest of the night, your attention is caught between him, and the sparkling jewelry sitting on your finger. ___

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

megumi, sweet, romantic, adorable megumi, is a fucking disaster.

if he'd had it his way, he would have proposed to you months ago. but it had taken him far too long to settle on a ring (none of them were good enough for you!!) and then of course he had to have a whole plan for the actual proposal. and again, he ran into the same problem. nothing seemed good enough.

where would he even do it? your favorite restaurant that you two frequented so often the staff knew your orders? in the comfort of your home during a quiet moment? the beach at sunset? should he order a pair of doves to release at the exact moment he dropped to one knee?

safe to say, megumi is overthinking the hell out of it. even though he had the ring and knew in his heart he wanted to marry you, and that's what really mattered, he just wanted it all to be perfect for you. he wanted you to be so swept away by it all that you'd remember it forever as a picture perfect memory. he wanted to portray every ounce of love he had for you in this one moment, so you'd never forget how he felt.

noticing that megumi had been on edge for a few weeks now, when a nice night came along and you both had the evening free, you asked him to take a walk with you. megumi wants to stay home and work on the massive speech he was preparing for you, but he's practically incapable of saying no to you, so that's how he finds himself walking hand in hand with you under the stars.

it's a surprisingly warm fall night in Tokyo, with just enough of a breeze here and there to tousle your hair around your shoulders. you both comment you're not sure when the weather had been more perfect.

you're looking at the stars and talking about your days, complaining just a little about an assignment he had coming up that would take him overseas for a few weeks, but megumi tells you he doesn't want to dwell on the future too much, and instead focus on the present.

you giggle.

"i can't help but think of the future when it comes to you," you're teasing, but the words are so sweet that megumi's heart melts a little. "is it so bad i want us to be together all the time?" you stick your tongue out at him playfully.

he squeezes your hand.

"careful what you wish for" he half-jokes back.

again, you laugh, and when he looks at you, there's a warm smile on our lips and a sparkle in your eyes that makes him forget about the cloudless night. staring at you still made his face feel warm, even after all this time together.

"i wish on every shooting star that i can spend forever with you," you tell him, dropping your teasing tone for a softer one.

megumi's heart is officially melted into mush, victim again to your ruthless loveliness.

"you're my favorite person in the whole world," you continue, your smile only brightening when you see a blush rise to his cheeks. "I love you, 'gumi"

he stops walking, and you show no irritation or confusion as he stands before you, staring at you with nothing but adoration.

"you really mean that?" he asks, his voice more of a mumble than he means to be, but with his heart coming back to life and pounding in his ears, it's hard to speak clearly.

"of course" your voice is nothing but genuine, punctuated with an affirming, curt nod of your head.

you effectively make him throw every plan in his mind out the window, and he's speaking before he can even realize this.

"marry me"

his voice is still a whisper, but it's clear nonetheless.

your smile drops as your lips part, and your eyes rounding, unblinking in your surprise.

with his free hand, he reaches into his pocket, and retrieves a black velvet box, only solidifying that he meant what he said.

your eyes travel from the box in his palm, to his again. he chuckles at your frozen features, before pushing the box towards you.

"open it" he murmurs.

as though willed by his command, you reach for it, and flick the top open. there sat the prettiest ring you've ever seen in your life, just your size and just your style. your eyes well with tears, both from the overwhelming happiness and the fact you haven't blinked.

you blink now to will the waterworks to stop from coming.

"what do you think?" megumi asks, his heart thrumming in his chest harder the longer you stand in stunned silence. "forever?"

your lips split into a wide grin, before you lean up to press your lips against his passionately. you're both smiling into the kiss, which makes it a little messy, but you're holding onto each other so tightly and your hearts are beating in sync that it's the most beautiful kiss you've ever shared.

when you finally part, your tears have slipped down your cheeks. megumi wipes them away before helping you try the ring on.

"i love it," you admire how perfect the jewelry sat on your finger. "i love you"

"i love you too, favorite person" he hums, kissing the crown of your head as you're still distracted by the ring.

"i'll have to think of a new wish now" you tell him as your hands intertwine again and you continue your walk.

"i'll make that one come true, too" he winks at you, sending the both of you into a giggling fit. ___

OKKOTSU YUUTA

yuuta had thought about proposing for a long time. he's known he's wanted to marry you since pretty early on in your relationship actually, he's a total romantic like that, but your lives are pretty chaotic so he holds it in and makes himself wait until the timing is right.

even still, it's not exactly a huge ordeal.

you were both lounging, reading your books in near silence together, but it was comfortable. at some point you went from sitting on the couch beside him to laying in his lap, propping your book above your face. he'd been more than happy to be a little more cuddly, his fingers playing with your hair while he continued to read.

but it didn't take long for him to get distracted, until he completely forgot about the book in his hand and was just staring down at you while you read.

yuuta liked watching you read, he even asked you to read to him sometimes. you always seemed the most at peace, your features soft until something exciting happened in the plot. he could almost guess what was happening in your story depending on your face. if something romantic or steamy happened you would blush, if there was a betrayal or major character death your mouth would hang open and our eyes would flit across the page a little faster, and if your favorite pairing had a tragic ending, you'd always be teary eyed. yuuta thought you were just so pretty when you were lost in a book.

he's not sure how long he'd sat there staring at you without you noticing, but you'd turned the page a few times now, too immersed to even feel his gaze.

maybe he shouldn't have sprung such a question on you out of seemingly nowhere, but he couldn't help himself. you were so pretty, and so comfortable with him, that he could pass away and float off into the sky right here. so he speaks his mind freely.

"i want to marry you"

it comes out in a dreamy sigh, and you think he's just being a softie and messing with you, so you giggle, not even looking away from the page you were on.

"sure you do, sweetheart," you murmur, shaking your head just a little. "you just bein' sweet to me because your leg's fallen' asleep?" you ask in a hum.

"no, i mean it," yuuta declares. "i want to marry you. i want to get married to you," he clarifies as if he wasn't already perfectly clear, but you obviously think he's playing a joke on you.

finally, you drop your book, holding it to your chest as you stare at him, studying his features just to be sure he's genuine.

"i want to move in together and decorate our place together and be together all the time," he continues, the lovesickness in his heart reaching his brain and making it all hazy with adoration as he stares at you. "i want to plan a wedding together and invite all our friends and your family and i want everyone to see us get married, and we'll have a huge party after and we can dance together all night. and then when it's over we can go back to our own place, together, and i'll be your husband and you'll be my wife"

your cheeks are gaining more color with every word he speaks. it's more romantic than any book, or any piece of poetry you've ever read.

"okay" you whisper.

"okay?"

"okay," you repeat, nodding your head as you move to sit up, just enough to bring your face to his. "i'll marry you"

his soft smile is replaced with a face splitting grin, excitement flooding through him in an instant.

"really?" he asks, cupping your face in his hands as his eyes flicker between yours eagerly. you laugh, nodding your head.

"yeah, really" you tell him, and you've barely finished speaking before he's slamming his lips to yours triumphantly.

your hands find his shoulders to steady yourself, because your heart was doing somersaults and the sensation was bound to make you dizzy.

yuuta's hands slide around your jaw when you pull away, his eyes half lidded as he admires every pretty feature of your face. he's so overcome with his love for you that he's ready to plan the wedding now.

"i'm thinking fall" he hums.

you hum in return.

"i think you better get me a ring first, lover boy" ___

INUMAKI TOGE

he says 'mustard leaf?' and you just know what he means. jk. but that would be funny, right?

toge actually spent a long time taking advice from his friends to find just the right way to propose to you. in a perfect world, he'd give you a long winded speech about how you light up his life with your angelic glow, but it's a little hard to translate that to onigiri ingredients, so he'll have to improvise.

panda suggests hiring a sky writer, but it turns out those are expensive. also maki had said that idea was corny and lame.

yuuta said that he should dim the lights, light some candles, play some soft music, and pop the question with some rose petals spelled out on the bed. toge liked this idea too, it was romantic and sensual, but again, maki had said this was lame.

gojo said he didn't even need words, and that he should take you to a fancy restaurant, and after dessert, make a whole display of getting on one knee. he'd claimed the action alone was enough to make his intentions clear, and you and everyone around you would know what was happening. toge thought that wasn't a bad idea either, it wasn't often that you two went on classier dates, so it would be special. once more, maki shot it down with a scoff, saying public proposals were tacky and annoying to those around them.

at this point, toge was annoyed and frustrated. every time he thought he'd found the right way to do it, she would shoot the idea down and tell him was terrible, and he was tired of hearing all the negativity without her actually telling him what he should do.

it's not until they've wrapped up an assignment together that he makes his irritation with her clear.

"you're upset that i don't want you to give (y/n) a shitty proposal?" she asks, raising a brow.

toge's frowning as he nods curtly at her. maki chuckles to herself.

"ikura" he curses under his breath. it does nothing to faze her.

"it's not that i don't want you to propose. i do. i know she'll say yes, you're soulmates," maki tells him the first nice thing he's heard her say in regards to his plan. "but you have to do it your way, dummy," she flicks his forehead to solidify her point. "it's gotta come from you. that's all that really matters, isn't it?"

oh, he thinks, finally realizing what she'd been trying to convey all this time.

"so, you know, just do what's right" she shrugs.

they're picked up at the airport by panda and yuuta, and of course, you. panda shows off the cool pikachu balloon he'd brought just for fun, and while maki's telling him that you're adults now and he really doesn't have to bring a balloon for every mission you all return from, you're jumping into your boyfriend's open arms and hugging him tightly.

"i missed you so much!" you tell him, followed by a sweet kiss once you pull away from the hug.

"salmon" the markings around toge's mouth are stretched out as he smiles back at you.

"how was it anyways? easy, huh?" you glance over him quickly to make note of any possible injury, but you don't find anything, and toge laughs to himself at your little routine every time he comes home from an assignment.

he places his hands on your shoulders, making you take a step back before he reaches into his pocket.

"a souvenir?" you grin when he produces a little box.

the black velvet makes you raise a brow. jewelry wasn't usually your thing, so it wasn't common for him to gift it to you.

the rest of your friends are standing around you with dropped jaws and pale faces. here? now? this is when he decides to pop the most important question in any relationship? was he for real?

"jewelry?" you asked, not picking up on the implication of the small size of the square box at all.

but then again, how could you? the guy is proposing to you in an airport, and it's not like he has words to help him.

toge nods, grinning ear to ear, and then reaches over to open the box to show you the sizable ring he'd picked out. your curious expression dropped to shock once you saw the diamond ring, finally getting what this was about.

"oh my god" yuuta mumbles, before smacking a hand over his mouth to keep any other commentary from coming out.

panda is hiding his face behind his paws, afraid that the lack of romantic display would cause you to awkwardly laugh and turn him down. he shifts around to peek through his fur so he could still see, though.

and maki is stunned frozen, just as you are right now, too curious to know what happens next to look away.

toge smiles at you, his free hand reaching forward and cupping your cheek, bringing your attention back to him. his lavender eyes are crinkled at their corners, before he leans forward to gently tap his forehead against yours.

there was more love in one soft gesture than he could have ever conveyed in words, you think. tears prick in your eyes as you stare back at him with your lips parted.

"i love you too," you murmur, your own hand resting over his, pressing your cheek further into the warmth of his palm. "of course i'll marry you"

your friends all sigh in relief before cheering for the both of you. yeah, they'd all been holding their breaths, but they really shouldn't have doubted toge, because you never have and you never will.

you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him happily, and when you pull away you're bouncing as you tell him to, "put the ring on me put the ring on me!"

you're huddled around with your friends, tucked into toge's side as you show off the ring he picked out, even though they'd already seen it because he'd dragged them with him when he was shopping for it. but it's worth it to see you excitedly show it off.

maki supposed the advice she'd given was perfect after all, even if toge took it in a pretty literal and immediate way. ___

not me getting butterflies writing these hehe

xoxo ~ jordie

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mattzerella-sticks · 6 months ago

Text

Y'know what would be a good storyline coming out of Bruce taking on the mantle of Nightwing (briefly)?

If he enjoys it a little too much.

Nightwing is freedom. Nightwing is light. Nightwing is fighting bad guys while smiling laughing throwing out a funny quip.

Things he never gets to do as Batman.

So what if, after things have settled in Bludhaven and Absolute Power has come and gone, Bruce decides to make a short visit and help out again.

As Nightwing.

"People are used to seeing Nightwing in Bludhaven. It makes more sense for there to be 2 Nightwings than for Batman to be here," Bruce argues. "Besides, this will only help you. Make it seem like Nightwing can be there at any moment."

And Dick relents. For now.

Barbara finds it strange (as does Dick) but he waves off her concerns with, "it's just an appearance here and there. Besides, I've never seen him so happy."

Except the odd appearance "here and there" starts to become a consistent thing. And it reaches an apex when Bruce diverts an emergency call from the Titans and makes an appearance in Nightwing's stead and hangs out with them afterwards (they are a little put off by the total 180 in Batman's personality but don't tell him to leave).

I think Dick stages intervention one telling Bruce he has to go back to Gotham and stop being Nightwing because Dick is Nightwing and Bruce is Batman.

"Maybe I don't want to be Batman?"

And the issue ends with Batman renouncing Batman. Saying that if Dick thinks there needs to be a Batman, he should take up the mantle. It wouldn't be the first time. Which leaves Dick speechless.

The next issue picks up in Gotham with Damian fighting crime, getting ganged up on, when Batman descends and helps him out. Except this Batman is Dick.

They debrief and we also get an update on what's been going on with Gotham in the weeks, perhaps months, of Bruce being in Bludhaven and how the rest of the Batfamily are picking up the slack in his absence. We also see Dick picking the Batfamily's brains about what to do about Bruce, if anything should be done about Bruce.

It takes a conversation with licensed medical professional Harley Quinn to give Dick insight into what's going on with Bruce ("trying to feel young again") and how to shock him out of it ("Bats is a stubborn guy. Even if all of you kids gathered around and said how this was affecting you, he'd say that you weren't seeing the bigger picture or whatever other excuse he can think of. What you need to do is goad him into giving up Nightwing and going back to being Batman.")

So Dick corners Bruce one day in Bludhaven and presents a challenge. Rooftop race across the city. First one to finish is Nightwing. The loser is Batman. Bruce, drunk off playing Nightwing, cocky, agrees.

Cue the night of the race Dick and Bruce, both dressed as Nightwing, stand on the rooftop with Barbara between them. She drops the flag and they're off.

It starts with Bruce in the lead, it's been a while since Dick has run these rooftops, but as the race progresses Dick slowly takes the lead as Bruce's stamina wanes.

It also doesn't help that Dick has been chatting the entire time. First nonsensically which Bruce tries to keep up with as well, but as it goes on it's deliberate strikes at the reasons why Bruce is clinging to Nightwing and, in his exhaustion, in his still existing in the 'Nightwing' persona, Bruce actually engages in the dialogue Dick creates between them and the rapport is strong.

Dick gets Bruce to admit how Dick is the kind of person he wants to be and that he thought it was Batman holding him back, and if he dropped Batman he could be the kind of person worthy of having the family he does now.

Dick tells him that it's because of who Bruce was that Dick is the man he is now, and that Bruce has the potential to be like Dick in those regards even while being Batman.

Then Dick brings up Alfred, at the exact moment they reach the statue of Alfred in Bludhaven. A statue Bruce has been avoiding since he arrived. A statue which Dick had been leading Bruce to in the guise of their 'race'. Dick has Bruce confront Alfred and what Alfred wanted for Bruce and how it's a) things he already has and b) he's never too late to change who Batman is and can be.

Bruce takes off the mask and thanks Dick for helping him out, and they hug as the race is over. Dick has won. He is Nightwing. Bruce will go back to being Batman.

However, the night before Bruce is set to return to Gotham, he and Dick are getting ready to patrol Bludhaven together one last time, as Batman and Nightwing, when suddenly another Nightwing appears. And another. And another.

The entire Batfamily drops in wearing their own Nightwing costumes. "What?" Damian says, "we heard that all we need to do to become Nightwing is win a race. Who wouldn't jump at the chance for something that easy." And the story ends with Nightwing looking to Bruce, saying "Fine. One more time." Cut to a full page panel of Dick Grayson leading a throng of Nightwings across the Bludhaven skies.

The Midlife Crisis event is over.

#dc comics #dcu #dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #barbara gordon #dc titans #damian wayne #batfamily #i think seeing bruce in a fun midlife crisis will be a welcome change of pace #dc i know u need a new writer for the nightwing monthly now that tom is leaving i am available

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mildlyromanticperv · 5 months ago

Text

Why would I...?

Eunha x MReader. Fluff. Fighting insecurities.

-Babe, dinner's ready! -You called your girlfriend down to the living room after a couple of hours in the kitchen, today's Friday night and you two planned an evening together to make up for the lost time during the week, her job as professional makeup artist is a 24/7 on-call job and you come exhausted every day due to the physical demand of your construction work.

-Coming! -Her sweet voice echoes through the walls of your shared apartment just like music into your ears. Due to the the small amount of time you've been able to spend together the last couple of weeks, she comes out dressed ready for an outdoors date and her perfume... Oh my god her perfume... Such indescribable scent fires up every nerve of your nostrils filling your heart with a warm fuzzy feeling you can only describe as... Love.

-Sweetie, you didn't have to! I'm disgusting and you dressed up so adorable... -You know you're supposed to be a manly man, hairy chest and all... But being alone with your girlfriend takes out that sensitive side of yours only she can experience.

-Don't say that! I mean I certainly wasn't expecting you to be all dressed up in tuxedo or anything, but you look really handsome tonight. -She smirked at you as she took a seat at the dining table. -Plus, the mere fact that you and I can finally spend some time together makes up for anything. I've missed you so much.

At these words you expres a huge "Awwww" within your brain that you can't quite express due to your sheer focus in plating your dinner, as if you were to cook for the president itself. -I've missed you so much as well, baby, actually today I was told I might speak too much about you... Hehe.

-What do you mean!? -She answers embarassed and blushing, her voice raises due to the thought of you flaunting her among coworkers.

-Yes baby, I can't help but presume my girlfriend. -You shrugged and finally came out of the kitchen ready with the food and a couple of tall glasses, not long after you came out with a fresh bottle of white wine to go with the dinner.

-This all look so awesome! I didn't know you were such a good chef... -She says with a sultry voice flirting so blatantly the whole thing felt like two youngsters discovering their new love. -You spoil me too much, I guess tonight I'm going to have to be extra kinky...

-Eunha, behave yourself. -You say jokingly in a very poorly acted stern voice. -I'm not that kinky... -You blushed embarassed for her teasing.

During the rest of the evening you two engulfed the food with awe and excitement, since there was no words exchanged, the looks between you two flew in a mute ode of romance, teasing and... dirty talk.

After such buffet served on your dinner night the only thing left was to rest the food with a movie in your living room, between you two there was always a banter to choose this movie so both could be pleased... although deep down you always knew that she's the one to win since her puppy eyes are almost impossible to say no to.

-Baaaaaaaaabeeeeee, let's watch scary movies! Pleaseeeeee? -She attacks first with pouting.

-But sweetie, you fall asleep always in the middle of the movie, lets watch something with action... adventure, you haven't seen Lord of the Rings, have you? -You block her first punch and answer with a broad swing.

-No, that's only half-naked dudes slashing and punching, no fun... -She holds her chin thinking. -Why don't we watch a Disney movie? Perhaps Aladdin? -She ducks your punch and then respond with a well placed uppercut right on your chin.

-You know I'm a sucker for musicals... -You say to her with a suspicious voice, enjoying the blatant manipulation she just engaged in. -I still don't know... What about Godzilla? You said you wanted to watch it... -You endure that uppercut and throw an open hand punch straight to her cheekbone.

-Mmmm, maybe... But I'm not in the mood for giant monsters destroying cities, plus I don't like the CGI. -She gets ready for her final blow, she knows the power she holds over you and she doesn't hold herself back. -I wanna watch Inside Out babe. -Finally she uses her signatur pout and holds your arm, pressing herself against you and looks from below into your eyes with her stray puppy eyes.

-Fiiiiineeeee. -You answer reluctantly because you know better than upset your cute girlfriend.

As if an oracle predicted it Eunha falls asleep barely at 15 minutes of the movie, your heart flutters at the feeling of her cheek pressing against your shoulder and her steady peaceful breath.

-I love you so much. -You say to her barely above a whisper not really looking to wake her up, slowly and with stealth you turn off the TV and let her lay down on the couch, placing her head on your lap where you start caressing and combing her hair, she stirs around facing your abdomen and curling into a ball right next to you, luckily she brought a blanket for her feet so you cover her to make her comfortable.

Times such as these, so flawless, so quiet, they feel like frozen in time... Her porcelain skin shines under the faint light of the TV and her pink hair spread along your knees and your lap is the perfect combination for you to have to control your every cell not to wake her up and propose right there and then.

Her chest goes up and down slowly following the quiet sound of her breathing, after just a few minutes in which you're completely sure she's fallen completely asleep you let her head rest on a nearby cushion to go and prepare our bed for a much needed long night of sleep. You lift your girlfriend grabbing her gently by her legs and her shoulders, out of love for your girlfriend you just let her in the bed with her current outfit just taking out her shoes and socks.

Finally you start tidying up and cleaning the kitchen and the living room, you turn off all the lights and proceed to lay down on the bed, holding Eunha from behind as the big spoon.

The very next day you wake up next to a pillow with the scent of your girlfriend, but no sight of her.

-Eunha? -You ask still in the recently awoken state and rubbing your eyes. You quiclñy grab your slippers and stand up looking for her just to find her in the kitchen with a very soothing smell of hot coffee.

-Sweetie? Did you sleep well? -She says as she sees you coming out of the room in a groggy state, her outfit changed from her white blouse and furry blazer to a pink pajama with a cotton coat for the cold, a pair of oversized pajama pants and fuzzy slippers. -I didn't want to wake you up, I know you need a good rest.

-It's fine babe... -Yawn. -Did you sleep comfortable? I didn't wanted to wake you just to change into a pajamas last night. -You chuckle remembering her peaceful expression.

-Yes sweetie, I imagined I might fall asleep so I wore comfy clothes.

-You always think of everything even when you're exhausted, that's so cool!

-It's called paying attention to the details, dum dum... -She chukles as well.

-There's only one thing I like paying attention to and she's making coffee... -You walk around the kitchen counter to hug Eunha. -Thank you babe.

-You can thank me by washing the dishes, dum dum. -She says enjoying the closeness of your embrace around her waist, she enjoys this so much she lets out a quiet hum of satisfaction when you start rubbing her arms.

-Okay mom I'll do it soon. -You roll your eyes playfully, but righ away she smacks your cheeks.

-Idiot. -She says with a big smile.

You then start to wash the dishes and notice something you have been noticing for a few days but never really payed total attention to, Eunha's dish was in the fridge with leftovers from last night, she didn't eat the whole thing.

Usually this wouldn't be weird since she stays fit for her own decision, but this time you ensured to give her a reduced portion, so... Why would she left food on the plate?

You spend the rest of your dish washing deep in that thought, not quite being able to explain yourself why that change in her eating habits.

Could it be for health issues? Nah her childhood illness is gone and she told you doctors assured there's no way she'd have it again.

Is she being bullied? Perhaps her coworkers are just jealous she's so fit, but still... She's very confident on herself, it doesn't add up.

What could it be? Is she hiding something?

Your mind runs wild with the possibilities until she gently pokes your shoulder.

-Sweetie? Is everything okay? -She rests her hand on your shoulder, clearly worried.

-Yeah baby I'm okay, I was just lost in thought, that's all. -Surely you didn't lie to her... but you didn't tell her the whole truth as well.

-Is it because of the new construction site rules?

-Sort of yeah, I have the feeling they're withholding information.

-Well babe don't you worry for now for that, it's Saturday, we have to rest.

-You're right babe. What would I do without you? -You clenched your nose playfully to ask her for a kiss.

-You'd be lost, probably even still at the grocery store not knowing what to buy for last night's dinner. -She chuckles and she tips on her toes to plant a soft kiss on your lips.

-I love you, my sweet bunny.

-I love you two, my handsome puppy.

I think perhaps I should've warned about these sweet times, for diabetic people this might not be good for you.

-What are we going to have for breakfast? -She asks once the coffee is poured and you two meet at the table to discuss your day.

-I was thinking of some grilled cheese sandwiches and smoothies.

-Oh, really? -She looks to one side thinking of it but either way accepts the offer. -Sure babe, but we don't have anything for grilled cheese.

-I know, I'm going to order takeout, I want to spend my morning cuddling with you. -You pout as she do with puppy eyes hoping she'd say yes.

-Okay okay babe... -She chuckles. -Come here. -She takes your wrist and walks to the couch where she sits in between your legs and wrapping herself around with your arms. -Babe I.. I want to ask you something, it's... kind of important.

Your heart beats rapidly, anxious and unsure on what to do, what is she wanting to speak about?

-You know you can trust me, honey, of course, talk to me. -You nuzzle your face in the crook of her neck and hold her tight.

-You... you think... -Her voice fades, speaking in such a low voice it's only a faint whisper in the air. -You think I've put on weight? I... I feel like my thighs and belly are getting bigger...

-Wait, honey, is that why you've been eating less? -You ask clearly concerned.

-I thought you wouldn't notice... -She says with a small crack on her voice.

-Babe... -You chuckle slightly obviously not trying to offend her. -I'm worried you might get sick if you don't eat well, for the rest, I don't care... -You start to caress her arms and belly trying to reassure her. -If you feel that you need to do so, I'll support you exercising or eating more veggies, but trust me. -You whisper closer to her ear with a loving voice. -You're perfect just the way you are. Bigger thighs? You know me, that's my favourite feature from you along with your smile and your aroma... Bigger belly? You're just more huggable.

Your words get to her heart, speeding it up so much she feels her own heartbeat on her ears, she goes red and flustered with your words up to the point a small tear of joy falls down her cheek.

-You... you mean it? -Her voice cracking almost going to cry.

-Babe, I really don't care, you can turn brunette instead of your pink hair, or perhaps go bobcut... Hell, you could go bald, gain weight, stop doing your makeup and I'll still love you with all my heart. -You let go of her belly and spin her around gently so she can face you, then you place your right hand on her cheek very gently, caressing slowly. -You're the love of my life, and there's absolutely nothing that could make me love you less.

She leans into your touch, feeling peaceful and reassured with your words, but the faint thought of her insecurities still linger in her brain.

-But... wouldn't you like me to be thinner? -She pouts avoiding your gaze.

-Why would I? Would you stop being Jung Eunbi if you changed or if you gained a pound or two?

-Well... no, but... -You gently lift up her chin to make her meet your eyes.

-No, right? I fell in love with Jung Eunbi, not the body of Jung Eunbi, as long as my baby is still there, I really don't care how you look. -Right after this you clean up the tear that threatens to fall down her cheek.

-You're just too kind to me, you're just saying those words... -She pouts.

Unable to think of anything else to say than the truth that reigns in your heart you just do the first thing that comes to your mind.

You quickly lean forward and press your lips softly against hers, you close your eyes and hum in content, your left hand wanders to her waist and presses her lower back, pushing her body against yours.

-Would you stop loving me if tomorrow I go bald? -You ask after separating your lips from hers.

Her cheeks are blushing wildly and she looks for her breath softly. -No... I wouldn't, but please don't do it, I love your curly hair. -She chuckles feeling reassured by your words and your actions.

-I won't babe, but you get my point, right?

-I... I do, thank you so much sweetie, I love you so much. -She hugs you and nuzzles against your chest, crying slightly out of pure joy and thankfulness by the thought of you loving her that much.

-I love you so much as well, my sweet Eunha.

#kpop fanfic #kpop gg #kpopidol #viviz x male reader #Eunha x Male Reader #Eunha fluff #Viviz fluff

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typing-catastrophe · 23 days ago

Text

You see me? - part two (stanford pines x hallucination!reader)

series masterlist 630 words | warnings: none* * one sentence that makes allusions to self-inflicted harm, but nothing graphic --------------------------------------------------

"If you keep going, you're gonna end up with a bloody nose." You said, having watched the motion of Ford resting his head in his hand and it slipping off and almost hitting the table one too many times in a row.

You knew he wasn't going to react, but that didn't stop you from trying. He was stubborn, that much was for sure. But so were you. And you weren't going to throw your only chance at getting help, however that might be possible, out the window. You've been wandering around, trying to communicate with someone for so long... You had almost lost hope.

You may not have to eat, sleep, or do anything at all, but not being able to engage with anyone surely wears on you after a certain amount of time. You were even starting to long for mundane things like small talk. And that said a lot.

What would you give for a cashier wishing you a nice day? A passer-by bumping into you and mumbling an apology before vanishing into the stream of people walking down the sidewalk? A single sign of acknowledgement from the man so keen on pretending you're not there...

A frustrated groan startled you out of your thoughts. Ford leaned back in his chair, glasses in one hand, the other sliding across his face.

"I would like to understand as to why... exactly you are doing this to yourself. You clearly aren't staying up to keep doing something, no. You keep doing something, anything really, to stay up. Why?" You could've sworn you saw the corner of his mouth tugging downwards at you speaking up once again. It really wasn't your intention to upset the man, it just so happened that your entire existence seemed to upset him.

"Look, you don't want me here, I understand. But you're the only one who can see me! Believe me, if there was someone else, I would be talking to them, but I can't!" Ford kept his hand on his face, silent as ever. "I would really like to do you the favour of leaving you alone, but unfortunately for you, you're just as much part of this as I am. And I won't stop trying everything in my power to get me out of here!" Slowly but surely his behaviour was getting to you. What was his problem?! How could he be so indifferent?!

After a moment of - again - no visible reaction from Ford, you frowned. "What, did you fall asleep, old man? Am I boring you that much?"

If he was going to keep this behaviour up, your despair would soon turn into anger. And you didn't want to know what would happen if the only physical thing around, you could let out your anger on, was yourself.

"I won't stop trying everything in my power to get me out of here!" Your words echoed in his mind. Now this started to sound a little more familiar...

Your choice of words and following taunting brought him very close to just lashing out at you. He could feel the anger boil up at him, almost as if your annoyance and frustration were contagious. Then again, indulging in the tricks of his mind might just make it worse. So he took a deep breath and then another. He felt himself becoming drowsy, darkness clouding the edge of his conscious thoughts.

He jerked up. No! Don't fall asleep! Don't give in!

"This is so not healthy..." he heard you mumbled from somewhere behind him.

Ford was quite sure that hallucinating someone talking to him also qualified as "not healthy". He abandoned the thought right then and there. No point in psychoanalysing himself, it would only lead to self-loathing and regret. Two things that he already had enough of to begin with.

-------------------------------------------------- thank you for reading <3 comments & reblogs are appreciated series masterlist

a/n: excuse me rq while i go insane over figuring out the actual plot and timeline of this story

@cynamon-ancymon thank you again for the wonderful art of ford and hallucination r!!

#hallucination!reader story #stanford pines x reader #stanford x reader #stanford pines #ford pines #gravity falls #gf #my writing #gravity falls fic #bill cipher #stanford pines fic #gravity falls x reader #slowburn #slow burn #partially proofread #would like for this to be longer #but i think i'll start part three instead

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qqueenofhades · 10 months ago

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what gets me is whenever any of these people says not to vote, and you ask them what the alternative is, they usually throw some tantrum about how it shouldn't be their job to fix this country and they're not expected to know (or start calling you a neoliberal or a bootlicker lmao) and i just. i don't get that? not voting, especially in the current climate, is a big deal. i don't think it's unreasonable to ask anyone who advocates for that what the alternative is. i'm not expecting you, online leftist, to magically know how to fix everything. i am expecting something from you if you're gonna tell me not to vote, especially when we both know that helps the gop. like, how dare we ask them to defend this big choice they're telling us to make?

their position boils down to helping trump and the republicans but any time you remind them of that they get upset. what is the alternative? what plan do they have? it would be one thing if there was another option that they'd come up with, but they haven't and don't seem interested in doing so. mutual aid and organizing is only going to take us so far and it'll be a hell of a lot easier to do it with biden in office than trump

The whole "it doesn't matter who's president/in charge of the government because mutual aid and organizing is the only valid way to do community engagement" is the leftist version of the Brexit nutcases who, and I swear I am not making this up, argued that it was fine if the UK left the EU trading sphere/single market/customs union with nothing to replace it, because "Britain is a nation of farmers and can grow food in our back gardens!!!!" Yes, because you're so devoted to your stupid ideology that you think the large-scale collapse of society, a major world power, a western democracy, and everything else will have no effect, and you can just do your little Facebook mutual aid groups and happily shout on Twitter at anyone who disagrees with you. Never mind the fact that this would obviously and immediately harm vulnerable people the most and that nobody, not even the Online Leftists themselves, actually wants to live in the Violent Revolution Total Anarchy World they masturbate to. Maybe this makes me a neoliberal corporate shill, but I'd rather that the world got better, instead of worse. I would actually prefer that myself, my friends, my family, my whole life, the whole country, and the rest of the world wasn't sacrificed on the Great Revolution Altar, but I shouldn't worry. We have mutual aid. At least as long as a) you have never said anything the Online Leftists even slightly disagree with, since they're sure as hell not the kind of people I would trust to have my back in any large-scale societal collapse, and b) I guess they'll all be growing food in their back gardens too, rather than using any of those dirty "government" or "society" things to supply their basic needs. We're saved! No need to worry. Bring on the anarchy.

Aside from the fact that Online Leftists, as I have said before, think that moral action begins and ends with posting the Right Opinions on social media at the correct timeframe and any other action or engagement with a flawed system or basic reality is heresy, they don't like being challenged -- i.e. "if we don't vote, then what do we do?" -- because a) it questions their authority as supreme arbiters of morality, and b) it means that there should actually be an action in place of cutting out something so consequential as voting, which likewise clashes with their "everything will be fixed by Magical Thinking" viewpoint. They don't want to be asked what to do in place of voting, or in anything at all; they want to think their correct thoughts and judge anyone who doesn't, regardless of how logically incoherent these things are or the inevitable outcome of those decisions, because nothing bad is ever their fault, or even the Republicans' fault, or anyone else at all except for the Democrats and/or "the West." I mean, yeah, if they're going around to preach the Don't Vote Because It's Actually Evil gospel, it's the bare fucking minimum to expect that they have something to offer in return besides Ye Olde Bolshevik cosplay fantasies. Since they don't, they get tetchy when you point that out.

Also, while I know it's the social media fashion that everything has to be the worst thing ever and we have plenty of the "Biden is also a genocidal fascist but I guess vote for him or something" utterly-minimum-standard posts going around, I will point out why that rhetoric is a) wrong and b) unhelpful. (Not that I expect it will make a single difference to anyone who has to get their internet cred by yelling about how Biden is a fascist, but still.) No, Biden is not a fascist by any logical definition of the word, you would have to do a lot of work to convince me that he is personally genocidal beyond what is demanded of any post-1948 American president who exists in an extremely complicated international sphere with long-standing alliances (such as, yes, with Israel) and indeed not quite a bit more progressive than literally every one of his predecessors, and it makes those actual words useless. If you claim that "Biden and Trump are both genocidal fascists," you are utterly effacing those categories as any kind of critical or useful distinction. You can't argue for any difference, you can't point out policy essentials or nuances, you can't make the most basic of empirical observances or come to a judgment on whether any part of that statement is true, because language has been deliberately stripped of meaning and used to score Cool Internet Leftist points. How can we explain what fascism or genocide actually are and what to do about them, if it's just what you call everyone as a matter of course whenever they disagree with you? You can't. That's the point.

Once again: I strongly disagree with the idea of just giving Israel/Netanyahu a blank check to keep committing atrocities, but I also need to repeatedly point out that Biden isn't doing that. His initial unconditional support of Israel after October 7 (which at the time was the correct response) has shifted to a much more measured and conditional approach where he has muted the overtly pro-Israel statements and started talking about a two-state solution and the need to protect the lives of civilians and trying to keep a lid on what could become a REALLY bad situation with all kinds of war-hungry powers eager to jump into the Middle East and blow it completely to hell. As I have said in my other posts, Trump will not do this. Trump will do the exact opposite. Which is why Netanyahu, who doesn't like having his hands tied precisely in the way Biden is doing, is trying so hard to get Trump back in. This also extends to the people who think that the West/the U.S. is the source of all evil in the world, but they're somehow the only people that can make actual choices or have real agency. Everyone else is just an American puppet; everyone is being lied to or manipulated by America/the West; nobody ever chose anything of their own free will; America/the West could roll in and put a stop to everything bad if they "really wanted to," but choose not to because etc. etc., Evil. As such, this completely fact-free belief is basically the central starting point for Online Leftism, which as I have also said, is now beyond useless and verging on just as deranged and actively dangerous as the fascists, especially since they are 100% willing to enable far-right fascism however and whenever they can because something something, That Will Show Us.

Anyway. Yes. Whew.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts #israel hamas war #okay i think i'm done talking about this for today #but yes

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esamastation · 1 year ago

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Part forty-nine of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven forty-eight

There are certain things you can expect to happen when warriors from opposing factions meet. Some of those things don't make it into the reports.

Truth rarely accepted by higher-ups at Shinra is that no one wants to die. It would be obvious to anyone with sense, but it isn't. Because even when they acknowledge that, sure, no one wants to die, they rarely draw the next conclusion. Which is that no one willingly charges into a hopeless battle, knowing they wouldn't make it out alive.

And that includes Wutai troops.

SOLDIERs have been around for years, and they've reshaped the nature of the war being fought in Wutai. That's not only on the side of Shinra either - the Wutai warriors have adapted too. They've learned. And they never, if they were to help it, to try to take SOLDIER head on anymore.

And there are SOLDIERs, not all of them but some, who take full advantage of it whenever they can. Angeal most certainly does. Because there's another truth, rarely acknowledged.

Most people don't want to kill other people.

On a report it looks something like this:

"Shortly after the engagement began, the Wutai troops deployed a diversion in order to make their escape. Unfortunately, this made following them impossible."

In reality it looks like this:

Angeal walks down the path, making himself loud and obvious. The Wutai troops spot him. There's about a dozen of them, armoured men and women armed with gunspears. They aren't expecting him, but they can recognise his uniform. It makes them wary.

They take a few warning shots at him, which Angeal quickly deflects with the Buster Sword. Then he's left with a dilemma quite literally in his hands.

He doesn't usually draw his sword on people. It was easy not to, before, he wasn't really able to use it. Now he can use it, but, uh… if he takes the Buster Sword on a person…

The two sides size each other up. There's a moment of posturing.

"What are you doing here, Shinra?" demands the warrior in lead, wearing captain's colours.

"I'm sorry, but I can't answer that," Angeal says, feeling a little awkward with the sword now. "Shinra business. I'm going to have to ask you to go back the same way you came from."

"You want us to leave, from our home? You have some nerve! Who are you, SOLDIER, what is your name?"

"I am Angeal Hewley - and you are?"

His name might not be as known as that of Sephiroth, but it's known enough. SOLDIER Firsts carry a similar level of recognition as Wutai generals, and his name is usually enough.

He isn't usually holding a huge sword, though, and the Wutai troops look somewhat alarmed now.

Angeal clears his throat and rests the Buster Sword on his shoulder, trying for casual rather than… excessively forceful. "Your name, sir?"

The Wutai squad looks to their captain, who makes a decision. "I am captain Deng Yuto. It is my honour to face commander Hewley in battle." He bows and then grabs his spear and shouts to his squad, "Get ready!"

For a moment it looks like they might actually rush at him - then one of them throws something. It cracks on the dirt road between them, and there's an explosion of smoke, footsteps, confusion.

And then the Wutai Captain murmurs a quiet mantra and brings out a Summon, lighting the acrid smoke in a vivid red glow.

"Here we go," Angeal murmurs, looking up. Before him looms a fiery demon, with flames dancing on its back, behind its impressive horns. Smiling slightly, he tightens his grip on the Buster Sword. "Ifrit, huh? Great - I have been wanting to try these new tricks I've been learning!"

It's not the first time he's been left facing a Summon rather than people, and quite honestly, he prefers it. There's not much honour in fighting people who can't truly meet him at his level. A man's honour can only take so much, fighting against weaker opponents.

But a Summon is something very different.

Angeal waits standing still until the Ifrit attacks, and then ducks out of the way - and then back closer, to get a few hits in, using the Buster Sword to its full advantage. And damn if it's not gratifying, to put his recent lessons to the test!

Ifrit isn't the strongest of Summons, but it's formidable enough and far above the usual monsters of Wutai. This one is a higher level one too - someone put a lot of effort into maturing it. It's one hell of a workout. Being able to swing his sword and feel it do real damage…

"Whoa, what the hell -"

"On guard! Stay alert!"

Angeal falters, realising that the Wutai troops hadn't run away - they'd moved back, but stayed to watch, and now they're watching out for someone else. Quickly Angeal jumps away from the Ifrit's blow and looks where they're looking - up in the trees?

It's… Sephiroth. Who is - what?

"Uh?" Angeal manages, confused - and then Ifrit is upon him, trying to blow him away with a fiery fist. Angeal drags his attention back to the fight and goes about finishing it as quickly as he can. He must've seen it wrong.

Whatever he saw isn't as important as the fact that Sephiroth is here at all. He was supposed to be doing his Alignment practice - why is he here? And… how would he react to all this?

Before he lost his memories, Sephiroth never humoured the Summons - and he too has a reputation. One far worse than Angeal's.

Angeal whittles the Ifrit's HP to zero as quick as he can, and the Summon breaks. Breathing hard, Angeal checks the Wutai troops - still there, frozen in place - and then he looks at Sephiroth.

Who lands, light as a feather, not far from him.

"... What are you doing here?" Angeal manages.

"I was told there was going to be trouble," Sephiroth says, a complicated look on his face, and apparently not thinking there was anything unusual about his own ability to, what, fly? He looks at the Wutai troops instead, eyes narrowed.

"I've got this handled," Angeal says slowly, worried it might turn into a bloodbath after all. "You didn't need to come."

Sephiroth glances at him, and his expression goes cold and inscrutable. "You're worried," he says, sounding somewhere between confused and offended. "Why?"

Because Angeal wasn't planning to fight, really, and he wasn't planning to kill. There wasn't any reason for it. The Wutai squad were just checking out the unusual activity in a place they knew to be abandoned - they weren't geared for an assault. Certainly there might be a full assault later, after they'd confirmed who had taken residence in the abandoned house they might choose to attack them, but that is different. If the enemy planned and executed an attack, even knowing who they were, then of course there would be a fight, but…

Killing these people here and now, when there's no mission and no orders and no point other than to keep them from passing information on… information that would be passed on regardless…

These men aren't a threat to us, Angeal wants to say. But Sephiroth didn't get his moniker for being understanding or merciful. And Angeal isn't sure how he will react now.

Angeal opens his mouth, but before he can speak, the Wutai Captain steps forward. "My name is Deng Yuto," the captain says bravely and brandishes his gunspear at Sephiroth. "I challenge you, Demon of Wutai, for the lives of my men."

Angeal's heart aches for him. The man's spear point doesn't even quiver. Angeal looks at Sephiroth, who probably doesn't even understand the custom he's witnessing. "You don't have to do this. Please. Let me handle this."

Sephiroth looks at him and hums, thoughtful. For a moment, Angeal dares to hope…

And then Sephiroth draws his sword and turns away.

"I accept your challenge."

So, not my favourite chapter ever...

#Fanfiction #ffvii #ff7 #svsss #angeal hewley #sephiroth #shen qingqiu #shen yuan

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rom-e-o · 27 days ago

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Bess and Wolf going to a business dinner with Bob and Ethel and a couple other associates and their spouses. (I imagine this is sometime after Starry is born and the Sunflares opted out for family time.). The dinner is going well; everyone is talking friendly business and such, even Ethel, impressing the hoity-toity associates with her knowledge and savvy (because Ethel is a business badass). At least, almost everyone is talking; Bess is the most quiet one. She engages when she can, but... she doesn't understand the topics like the others. Her business savvy really only extends to a farmer's market stall, after all--nothing at all on the level this group is speaking of.

She suddenly has a call and excuses herself to take it. Once she's finished there, she heads to the ladies room where she hears the voices of the other women from their party, sans Ethel, speaking. About her. Not in the most kind way:

"Well, they've certainly made it longer than I believed they would; I had my money on them splitting after three months."

"You don't think they'll actually wed, do you? A man like Ben Scrooge with a little floozy like her? For a spell of fun and excitement, yes, but to marry? I thought he had more sense."

"Sense does not factor in for any man when young cunt is so easily and willingly at the ready."

"True, but Ben's never seemed the type to throw all intelligence to the wind indefinitely, even for such things. Neither Twin has: Look at Ebenezer. True, he also married a younger and American woman, but at least she is closer to his age and has proven to be quite an asset to the business. She turned out to be a suitable if still questionable choice. Ms. Sullivan--what could Ben possibly see in her?"

"Mmm, I agree. For all the claims of her being a nurse, she seems quite lacking in the field of mental capacity. She's hardly contributed to the conversation all evening, and any contribution she has made thus far has been positively insipid and uninspired."

"You know she only has a job as a nurse of her aunt. And even then, Euphemia was only able to get her into the worst hospital in the city. If that doesn't speak to the girl's lack of intellect, I don't know what does."

"Clearly, tonight has proven that breeding means nothing, as a farmer's daughter is able to speak with more intelligence and insight of the business world than a woman with a pedigree. No wonder Gerald and Effie never speak of her. Mr. Marley must me rolling in his grave at his daughter's lack."

"I can only imagine how disappointed Ben must be with her. He hides it well, but doubtless he's ashamed."

"Mmm. We can only hope that Shane brings him round on her before it's too late."

When the women leave the restroom, Bess hides in the curtains to keep from being noticed. The rest of the night, she's particularly quiet, though she manages to hide the pain of what she overheard well enough that no one is suspicious. But she can't help but wonder.

The next day, she stops by the Sunflares' at an hour she's sure she'll catch them both and asks them if she can get their opinions on something. She explains to them the evening prior. It's much easier to recount than she thought it would be, as long as she has an adorable baby snuggling into her arms and happily suckling away at a bottle. But her vision is still swimming by the time she finally gets around to it: "Be honest with me: Is Wolf... ashamed of me? Or even just disappointed? On some level? I know I'm not exactly... the ideal catch. Or much of a catch at all, all things considered. I definitely leave a lot to be desired."

Secretly, or not-so-secretly, Adonis and Connie are plotting a way to find out the identities of whoever they were dinner guests with. Bob and Ethel will be good informants~ There will be dirt dug up, that's for sure. In the meantime, they both listen to Bess' story. They could tell when she first rang at their flat that something was amiss. Holding Starry obviously helps, but they can see that she's still troubled.

As Bess retells the story, both listen calmly, but Adonis' brow furrows with every words, and Connie's shoulders have hiked up to her ears by the end.

And they have a nice, long chat.

"I-I beg your kindest pardon, but did you just say you're NOT a catch?" Adonis huffed in disbelief. His eyes were wide as saucers, but his brows still pinched and framing deep lines that formed on his forehead.

Bess nodded quickly, almost embarrassed, and he was on his feet a mere second later. "Elizabeth! Now, I will NOT entertain such nonsense!"

"I must agree," Constance said. She stood in tandem with her husband, but opted to drift over to the sofa and sink into the vacant spot beside Bess, her hands going to the younger woman's shoulders and giving her a reassuring squeeze. "You think Wolf would be ashamed of you? Whatever for? You're easily the most brilliant woman he's ever been with!"

"Gods, I'll toast to that," Adonis said, his voice deepening as memories of his brother's older partners drifted through his mind. "Drink to it, as well. Heartily."

Bess blinked back tears before managing a weak reply of, "I-I'm not good enough for him." Like those ladies said.

Starla let out a light burble as a warm tear from above landed upon her tiny fist.

"Love, I've seen the women who aren't good enough for him," Adonis said, lofting a hand to the sky in exclamation. "Years after years - for literal decades, I watched Charlie fall in and out of love. I watched ladies that swooned one moment then turn on a heel and leave him, insulting him and all but kicking dirt in his face on their way out the door." Connie reached over the arm of the sofa to procure a tissue packet from her nearby purse. While Bess cradled Starla as if she was a cooing teddy bear (to be fair, she filled played the role quite perfectly), Connie dabbed her eyes gently. Bess murmured a soft 'thanks', but did not make eye-contact, fearing another incriminating tear would fall.

"Not only are you beyond good enough - you're EXACTLY the kind of woman Charlie needs," Adonis continued. With his long legs, he walked to the flat's panoramic window and gazed out, his lips drawn into a thin line. Constance recognized the nervous movements. He was getting animated, and if left unchecked, it wouldn't be long before he started to raise his voice. "Anybody who can't see that has their head so far up their own arse, they see their own failings as those of others!"

"Their own failings?" Bess repeated, glancing between the two. "On me?"

"They're projecting their insecurities on you," Connie supplied softly. It was treatment that Constance had endured as well, though to a far lesser degree. London's elite ladies had taken to gossiping about the Scrooge twins and the 'Yankee fleshpots' that had ensnared their hearts. Constance had many years of experience as a socialite in New York's most stuffy and yuppie-stocked inner circles, and the metaphorical battlefield had trained her aptly in the arts of parrying crude remarks and humbling perpetrators appropriately. The last time one had dared to imply her lack of intelligence because of her nationality, Constance had engaged her in amicable discussion of recent scientific discoveries. The chat resulted in the other woman leaving in a humiliated huff with the realization that perhaps she wasn't the second coming of glory that she had thought she was, and that her well-bred British sensibilities had failed in a pathetically one-sided match with some orphan from Manhattan.

It was hard, but whatever Constance had experienced was nothing compared to the scrutiny that fell upon Bess. The trust-fund ladies and other members of gentry took joy in looking down their noses at good people like her, all while using them as a merry distraction from the troubling facts that they did not possess any practical skills of any sensible merit. Bess had knowledge of medicine and practical business dealings - whereas the ladies that mocked her couldn't get into their Swiss boarding schools without their fathers pulling strings.

"But ..."

"I venture to say that those showboating harpies have very much in common with the other ladies who tried to woo my brother," Adonis mutters, his voice more terse than it had been before. Then, when his eyes flashed to Bess, they softened again. "All bluster, and no substance. They're jealous."

"Jealous? T-That can't be right."

"I'm quite serious. Whether they'll admit it or not, you are exactly the type of lady they want to be. They want their money, but your life experience. Your stories. Your intrigue."

Constance nodded, giving her soul-sister's shoulders a firm caress.

"When a man’s brother vouches for you like that, dear, that’s a powerful endorsement. He’s seen the women that have come and gone from Charlie’s life … the ones who never connected with him. Not like you. You and him have been magnetized to each other from the day you first reconnected and locked eyes. You are a woman who possesses a key understanding for the important things in life. You are kind, charitable, gentle-hearted and wonderful with children. Plus, you're a dark-haired beauty that is often described in romance novels - long, black hair and rosy cheeks. Blue eyes. A beautiful voice that draws crowds from all across London and beyond."

Bess shook her head softly. "I just ... I feel I leave so much left to be desired. Wouldn't a man like him prefer someone more ... I don't know. And that's the problem. I don't know. I can't even find the words, whereas I'm sure those ladies in the powder room would have n-ooo trouble."

Starla stared up at Bess' tear-streaked face with wide, opaque blue eyes. She reached up and toward her visage, as if if trying to wipe away the tears that were just barely out of reach.

Adonis sighed softly. "My dear, you have been wronged by too many when it comes to understanding your worth and beauty. You respect my brother's heart and soul. You've nurtured him and have helped him heal. Before you came along, he was a mere shell of the lively, albeit maddeningly sarcastic--"

Bess chortled at that.

"--Happy man he is when he's by your side. You don't shun his emotions - you encourage him to feel them. You respond to his romantic gestures and thank him graciously. You ...and correct me if I'm wrong, but you love him HIM for WHO he is, not for what he can give you."

After a moment, Bess nodded softly. "I do."

As the words left her lips, her lips formed a soft, crescent smile. "I do love him. Very, very much."

Adonis smiled. "I know."

Unlike the others, he could see she was truthful. His brother's heart was safe with her, and her heart was safe with him in return.

Constance laid her head on her soul-sister's shoulder. "What a wonderful thing, isn't it? To possess such an enduring affection for another, and to have that affection returned?"

Bess sighed, as if a weight had been lifted. "It ... is quite wonderful, yes."

A little cry came from her lap, and she looked down to see Starla fussing with the tip of an empty bottle.

"Oh, sorry, little one," Bess said, one hand lofting to wipe away a swatch of beaded mascara. "A-All done."

Such was also true for her tears, which had mostly dried by that point.

By the time Wolf rang the doorbell an hour later to pick her up, any suspicious puffiness had long-since vanished.

After paying a quick tribute to Starla, he returned faithfully to Bess' side and looped a casual arm around her waist. He wasn't lewd about his contact, but did pull her close to him, a twinkle in his eye while he did so. "Well, while last night's dinner was perfectly decent, I think I'm ready for us to enjoy a slightly more private evening," Wolf husked softly. "How about it? I made reservations for just the two of us tonight. Dinner and dancing at that new jazz club, Leuna."

"R-Really? T-That place is exclusive. I didn't know they were taking reservations."

"I have my ways," he quipped confidently. Then, by the next breath, the timbre of his voice quieted to a tone more befitting of speaking a private vow. "I hope you'll join me."

Sincere excitement shimmered in his eyes as he issued the inquiry. Behind his masculine bravado was an air of boyish sheepishness. Despite his age and status, at the end of the day, he was a smitten man of flesh and blood laying his heart bare for his woman.

Bess, in all her eternal gentleness, handled it with care and love.

"Nothing would make me happier."

#ask #quill-pen #those women better count their days #oc bess scrooge #oc ebenezar charles scrooge #scrooge x oc

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corvus--rex · 1 year ago

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Lance and Keith started dating early in high school, even before Keith came out and started his transition, and it's now just after college and they're engaged. They've been with Lance's family for the day, Sylvio and Nadia included.

The kids are 6 and 4 and have known Keith literally their entire lives. They were too young during various stages to understand what was going on, but they both know Keith's trans.

Needing a break, Keith is curled up against Lance in the living room, while Sylvio and Nadia are sprawled on the floor with a book each. Nadia's only just learning to read, but she already loves books. She's turning the pages, mostly looking at the pictures, when she looks up, interrupting Keith and Lance's quiet conversation.

"Tío Keef, why aren't there families in my stories like ours?"

It's been about 15 years since he's read a kids' book and doesn't understand where's she's going with this. "What do you mean, munchkin?"

Nadia puts her book down, turning to face him in all the seriousness a 4 year old can muster. "They all have a mami and a papi, but not - not -" her face scrunches as she tries to find the right word.

She doesn't need to find the right word, the realization of what she's asking hits him at full force. He sits up, leaning forward to meet her eyes. "You wanna know why there isn't anyone like me?"

She nods. "It's not fair."

It's an innocent question, but she asked it with such naive sincerity, genuinely upset that she didn't see her own family in her favorite books. It gave Keith an idea. He had a new sketchbook in the backseat of his car, a very recent art degree, and the few creative writing classes he'd taken.

Nadia's books didn't have her family in their pages, but maybe they could.

"Y'know what? I'll be right back."

He ran out to his car and back with the sketchbook, plus the mechanical pencil and ballpoint pen from his bag, and sat down on the floor with her, meeting Lance's confused look asking what the hell he was doing with one that said "trust me".

"Ok, munchkin," he said to Nadia, "If your stories don't have our family in them, how about we make a new story?"

Nadia's face lit up. "We can make a new one? With our kind of family in it?"

"We can, but I'll need your help."

Sylvio was pretending to read his own book, but Lance could see him listening in and sneaking looks at the rough sketches. That didn't last long, the book quickly forgotten in favor of throwing out wilder and wilder ideas for the story with Keith gently reeling him in. Sylvio was not one to be reeled in, and Lance soon joined them on the floor to help wrangle the kids' enthusiasm. They stayed there for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, neither one wanting to leave when their parents came to tell them it was time to go. They only stopped fighting it when Keith promised them they'd work on the story again.

He kept that promise, taking the kids out every few weeks, showing them what he'd done in between when he had time, and them continuing the story and illustrations.

After it was finished, he left it for a while, not forgotten, but resting. Eventually, he pulled the illustrations and their companion sheets of text from the shoebox-like storage box he'd gotten just for this, matching art to words.

Lance came home from work to their apartment that evening to find Keith on the living room floor, bristol board and printer paper in an organized chaos around him.

"Think it's really done?" Lance asked.

Keith sighed and leaned back against the sofa. There was one thing about the book he hadn't told anyone yet, but after the email he'd gotten earlier in the day, he finally could.

"Yeah I do." He paused and looked up, a little bit guilty, but mostly trying to contain excitement. "I found a publisher for it. They're a queer-owned company. I actually sent it off about a month ago and I finally heard back today. They love it."

It had started as a picture book, but evolved since then into something a little bigger. Nadia wanted cats - all different colors, and not little kitties, no she wanted lions. And the lions had to have knights to ride on them. Sylvio was the one to insist on a princess and that she had to be their honorary Tía Allura. Gradually, all of the knights and princess ended up based on people the kids knew, Keith and Lance included. It made sense and Keith loved it and the idea of family including the one you make for yourself.

When it came time for a name for this story of found family and adventures, Sylvio yelled "Defenders of the UNIVERSE!" at the top of his lungs in the middle of the park. Nadia had been taking a break from the playground, sitting next to Keith with her coloring pad. She'd drawn the lions from their story, facing out in a vaguely star shape, their tails meeting in the middle.

Keith asked for her opinion on a story name and also what she was drawing and without looking up from her coloring, she said "Its name is Voltron."

Keith put the two together, and when the book was published, its cover was the lions Nadia had drawn that day, only by Keith's hand this time, framed on top and bottom by the book's name: Defenders of The Universe, a Voltron story.

No one had seen the dedication, not until Keith got the advance copies, giving one each to Sylvio and Nadia in the same living room the story had started in. Nadia climbed into Keith's lap with it, Sylvio squeezing himself in between Keith and Lance on the sofa.

Looking over Sylvio's shoulder, Lance read it aloud.

"For Sylvio and Nadia, the original Defenders, this book wouldn't exist without you. Don't stop reading or dreaming."

#my writing #love Keith being good with kids #trans keith #keith kogane #lance mcclain #vld keith #vld lance #keith x lance #klance #vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender

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ahungeringknife · 1 year ago

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365 May 3-6

After a point Desmond just came to the understanding that his life was weird and he really didn't feel like arguing with it anymore. Coming back from the dead? Near death? Limbo? Whatever did that to a person. He was so beyond his life throwing arguably impossible shit at him.

"I'm home," he said looking at the living room of his apartment that absolutely should not fit as many people in it as it did. And yet.

The first week it'd happened he was sure he was having a new mental break down. But no. That'd have been a reasonable explanation for a bunch of murderers showing up at his door looking like people out of a ren fair. He didn't know why they were there. They didn't know why they were there. When Desmond asked they just grabbed his blackened hand or arm. They were drawn to it. Somehow? For some reason?

Seven languages all roughly saying, "Welcome back," came in a chorus. They could all understand him at least. Whatever fucked up magic or whatever had given him that at least so he didn't have to sift through seven different tongues in his head to pull out the one he wanted.

"I brought bread," he said which got everyone interested. He didn't anticipate people from previous centuries to be picky eaters but they absolutely were. And that didn't even cover Ezio's insanely high standards for olive oil, which he basically drank. But everyone ate bread. Thank god. He always had to go down a few blocks for an actual bakery because of course they wouldn't eat store bread. The bakery knew him on sight now since he'd been going there every other day for a month and bought the exact same arrangement of bread. When they saw him coming in they just packed up his order for him.

"Everyone get their shit done while I was gone?" he asked amid some talking. Some of them could communicate but it was a near thing. Some of them even spoke English, which was cool.

"It was boring, but yes," Ezio said.

"Good. Who wants to make dinner?" Desmond asked, going into the kitchen and taking the bread out.

"Everyone stop looking at me," Evie said. "Just because I'm a woman."

Desmond didn't engage while Jacob was defending his sister's honor, or whatever. After a bit of bickering he called out, "Fine then we're all going to be unhappy and Altair will cook." There was some groaning.

"Fools," Altair said and Desmond was the only one who understood. He got up from where he was sitting on the floor and entered the little kitchen with Desmond. "My cooking isn't that bad... now," he added. Altair, like the rest of them, were not how Desmond remembered them from the memories as mostly wild and blood thirsty twenty-somethings. They were all older. In their thirties or forties. It was still weird seeing Altair in a beard. At least he wore it better than Ezio.

"Yeah you don't burn my pans now," Desmond said. Desmond still helped him figure out what to do. They all knew how to use the appliances by now but other than Connor, Bayek, and Evie none of them had ever had to cook for themselves until they'd shown up in Desmond's life. But like good Assassins they all took to instruction quickly and Desmond just had to tell them what to do and they figured it out.

"How much longer are we staying here?" Arno had come around to the kitchen while Altair was cutting onions with freakish laser precision. Desmond wasn't sure Altair couldn't understand French but he always acted like he couldn't so he didn't push it.

"I dunno. Until you guys fucking leave?" Desmond said. Who knew when that would be. Who knew why that would be or how!

Arno gave him an annoyed look. "I know that. But this is unsustainable," he motioned to the living room which had all the furniture shoved into the corners to make enough room for everyone to sleep. Desmond's bedroom also had some sleeping space on the floor. "Even at our lowest this is too much."

"Well if I want to break my lease I need to pay a fee. And then I have to find a new place that I can afford. And if you guys all fucking vanish one day I'm going to be in a big place all by myself unable to pay. I don't mind having roommates from former head mates but actual normal people? I'd rather die."

"That can be arranged," Altair said behind him.

"Shut it, you," Desmond frowned at him but Altair wasn't even looking at him.

Arno was also frowning. "Well perhaps it would be more useful if we put our minds to figuring out what happened to bring us here instead of what you have us doing."

"If you want to go ahead but I can't afford to feed someone who isn't helping," Desmond said, folding his arms. Because magic that they could all understand his spoken English they could also understand written English. Desmond had found all of them some reasonable paying translation gig work. Desmond knew they all hated it but also had no idea what to do in this century, let alone how to cross a street without almost being run over by a car.

Arno also folded his arms and mirroring Desmond. "I am not a stranger to hardship. But I'm tired of waking up with someone's feet in my face. Also Jacob snores; loudly," he put a pained look on his face.

Desmond grimaced. He could sympathize. Before he could keep going with Jacob Altair tugged his sleeve. He turned around. "Is this right?" and it was still so baffling hearing a hard ass like Altair ask him something so kindly.

Desmond looked over the chopped vegetables Altair had in the pan. He'd added raisins. Always with the fucking raisins with Altair. "Looks fine. Don't cook it too long or it'll turn to mush." He turned back to Jacob. "Look I'm not unsympathetic. I just don't know what to do myself," he said.

"Can we help you? Clearly we're supposed to be here? So we should help you."

Desmond sighed, "I would love that but none of you know how to use a computer."

"... A what?"

"Exactly."

"Is that the little glass tablet you carry around with you?" Arno asked.

"Yes."

Arno looked conflicted. "It seems... confusing but I'm willing to figure it out if it gets me into an actual bed."

"Fine," Desmond said and already knew it was going to give him a headache. "This weekend when I'm free."

Arno smiled. "Great," and he walked off.

Desmond sighed dramatically. "Punk," Altair grumbled, or about as close an approximation as Desmond could translate out.

"I knew you could speak French," and Desmond punched his arm.

"My wife is French, of course I can," Altair said with a grunt. "His accent is so snooty. I hate it."

"He's Parisian," Desmond said.

"No wonder he sounds like a prick," Altair grumbled and Desmond laughed.

--------

Having seven people crowding your space while trying to use your laptop was... something. It sure was something. Somehow they all managed to perch around him without getting in each other's way too and were all staring intently at the screen. Desmond had been talking to them, very slowly, for about three hours now explaining how a computer worked. He typically had all their translation work printed out and then on his days off typed it all into the programs or emails for the clients.

Surprisingly the one who seemed to understand it the best were the two old guys Altair and Bayek. Bayek was especially insane because he was from before the common era. Like the numbers ticked down on the grand time line of human civilization from where Bayek was from. Desmond wasn't particularly surprised by Altair who'd had his head in the future through the Apple for decades. That didn't mean either of them were good at it but they asked the least questions when he asked if they understood.

"I think that's about as much as I can just explain. You have to try it now. Who wants a go?" Desmond asked. He expected Arno to immediately volunteer. Hadn't he been the one excited to help him find a new apartment?

"I do," Bayek said.

"Weren't they still playing with sticks and rocks in your time?" Jacob asked, not knowing what Bayek was saying but getting the idea. Evie smacked his arm, hard, making him complain.

"Sit," Bayek sat. "It's light, hold onto the keyboard area so it doesn't fall off your lap," Desmond said and put the laptop on Bayek's crossed legs. There was a moment of confusion as Bayek figured out how to use the touch pad but then he got it. "I'm surprised you're at all good with this," Desmond said casually.

His answer absolutely floored Desmond. "This is nothing compared to the Isu ruins." Desmond hadn't personally lived through Bayek but he'd been told the story. Bayek was really good at telling stories. "That is actual confusing shit."

"What'd he say?" Ezio asked.

"He said it's nothing compared to Those Who Came Before," he said. "Didn't know Egypt had that sort of tech involvement with the Isu," he said thoughtfully.

"Ask him if it's as easy as it appeared when you did it," Arno said.

Desmond did and relayed it back while Bayek was clicking around on the computer and internet. "He said it's like reading a scroll where the words and pictures move with your thoughts."

"How poetic," Arno said.

"I also wanna try," Evie said.

"Yes, and I," Ezio said.

"Give him a few minutes," Desmond said.

"The keyboard is... confusing. I know what these letters mean but their arrangement is-- quite stupid," Bayek said.

"Yeah, basically," Desmond agreed.

"It also hurts my eyes."

"Yeap. It'll do that too," and he took the laptop back. Then Evie got to mess around with it while Bayek rubbed his eyes. He hadn't blinked the entire time. Then it was Ezio's turn once she'd had a go at it.

"Is there a way to see these mmm- webbed sites in Italian?" Ezio asked.

"Sort of? Just type into the text box in Italian. It should pull up Italian sites."

Watching Ezio pick and poke through what he wanted to ask Google was excruciating. "Ha! Italian," and he scrolled through the search results. Desmond leaned over to see what he was looking at.

"Hey!" Desmond snatched the laptop away. He switched into Italian himself to scold him and god he sounded a lot like Claudia by the way Ezio wilted. "Don't look up boobs on my fucking laptop. Of course I leave you alone for a minute and you're trying to see some tits. What are you? Seventeen again?"

He was going to have to put child locks or something on this thing so these Assassins didn't give his laptop a fucking virus looking up porn. "What can I say. I'm a man of simple pleasures?" Ezio said with a wry grin.

"Banned," Desmond pointed at him in annoyance.

He let everyone try out the laptop. No one was as taken with it as Bayek and Connor somehow almost broke it. Arno at least came away from the lesson and hands on part being slightly confidant in using it. Everyone also complained it hurt their eyes. Because none of them blinked while using the laptop. Blue light was hell of a thing.

They dispersed after that. Bayek, who still sat next to him, said, "Can you show me more things?"

"Sure? Like what?"

"I want to know what happened to Egypt," he said. "And the Romans. And the Greeks. Are they still around?"

"Well Ezio is what you could call Roman," Desmond said slowly. "He lived in Rome, the city, for a while."

"Is Rome no longer an empire?"

Desmond chuckled, "Buddy, they wish."

"... I would like to see what made Rome fall," he said, not in a sad way but rather he was very interested. "And what happened to Julius," his eyes narrowed.

"You're going to love what happened to Cesare," Desmond said and pulled up some wikipedia articles. He showed Bayek how to navigate the site, what the colors meant, what the little numbers next to words meant, and the sources at the bottom. After that Bayek was glued to it. "And make sure you blink," Desmond added. Bayek nodded.

Desmond got off the couch and wandered into his room, flopping down onto his bed. That had taken so long. He picked up his phone and looked at it. It was only mid afternoon. He had a few missed texts. It looked like they were from work. He ignored them. He wasn't paid enough to answer texts on his day off.

----

Desmond was used to being watched at this point even if he couldn't see them. Didn't bother him. This time when he looked across the Goodwill it was Jacob staring right at him looking like he was dying while Evie was trying to find some clothes. Seemed that even after a few hundred years brothers still would rather die than shop with their sisters. He chuckled to himself and went back to ignoring him.

Desmond was more concerned with convincing Bayek and Connor that no they couldn't just walk around shirtless or tank tops all the time.

"But it will get in the way of my movement," Bayek said about the long sleeved shirt Desmond was trying to get him in. It was summer so was pretty warm and Bayek had never existed in any sort of cold weather in his life. His logic was sound for Egypt.

"Yeah but you can't enter most stores without a shirt, dude," Desmond said. Connor was more accepting of full shirts having grown up around Westerners but Desmond remembered being in his head. He always felt too big for in his clothes. Especially Achilles' old uniform that he'd nearly ripped several times from just how thick his arms were.

"But it's hot out. We don't need sleeves until later in the year," Connor said.

"What'd he say?" Bayek asked and Desmond repeated it. Honestly a lot of the time he was just repeating what everyone said so any two of them could hold a conversation. "Why would the time of year matter?"

"Winter?"

"... What is that?"

Desmond pinched the bridge of his nose. "Think like the flood season but instead it gets cold."

"It would get cold in Egypt sometimes," Bayek said.

"No like water turns into ice," Desmond explained.

"But it's not like that now? And there's so much clothes here surely I won't want for them," Bayek said. Everyone had been pretty stunned when Desmond had brought them to Goodwill and it was just filled with more clothes than any of them had seen in one place.

"In winter cold weather clothes tend to go quick," Desmond said.

"Hmm-

"Desmond," he looked over at Evie's voice as she came through the aisle. Jacob was sulking a ways away.

"Sup."

"My brother is useless as ever. I need input on these modern clothes," she said.

"Sure."

Evie showed him two shirts. They looked pretty nice and were fairly subdued, which he expected. One was a feathery blouse, the other was a thin sweater. They complimented her skin color. Desmond didn't know a lot about fashion but he'd seen enough women come into a bar to know what was good. "Which one?"

"I like them both," Desmond said.

"That is not helpful," she said.

Desmond reached over and grabbed the tags. They were both five bucks each. "Do you like them?"

"Yes."

"Then you can get both-

"What?" she asked, confused. "But these are so fancy and high quality," she said. Desmond knew the Industrial Revolution had been going on during Evie's time but fast fashion was a hell of a thing.

"It's fine, they're just a few dollars-

"That's expensive! Are you sure?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Yeah. If you like them we can get them. Make sure you find some bottoms you like too to match."

"Are you really sure?" she asked.

"Yes. And tell your brother to stop looking like a creep and pick out some clothes too," Desmond said.

She rolled her eyes. "He knows no other way. But yes, thank you," she held the clothes to her and walked off.

"Those are expensive though, are you sure?" Connor asked. He understood modern money better than Bayek who was ignoring them and looking at clothes.

"It's about the equivalent of fifteen cents," Desmond said, knowing Connor would understand that.

"Oh! Really?"

"Yeah. Inflation is hell of a thing-- don't worry about it, it's economics," he told Connor who just looked so confused.

"I think I like this one," Bayek said and Desmond sighed when he pulled out the most Dad shirt he could have found. It was a tie die tank top. "Finally something brightly colored. This time is so drab," he scoffed. The worst part was Desmond knew he'd absolutely wear it.

"Okay," Desmond said, defeated. Then he groaned at the sound of some very angry Arabic a few rows over. "Now what?" he looked and saw Ezio harassing Altair about... something? "Excuse me. Before Altair kills his biggest fan boy," Desmond said. "Find a shirt that fits you, Connor," he told Connor and went over to where Altair very nearly had his hands on Ezio's neck.

Desmond easily slotted himself between the two of them. "What's this about?" he asked.

"Ezio says I dress like a woman," Altair pointed at Ezio furiously.

"... What? Also how do you know what he's saying?"

"He's just speaking a different version of Latin," Altair said. "That isn't the point!"

Desmond turned to Ezio. "Did you say he's dressing like a girl?"

"I said he'd look like a fancy lady with his dress," Ezio said and yeah Desmond got why Altair was about to kill him.

"Take like twenty steps back while I defuse this bomb you made," Desmond told Ezio.

"I resent that," Altair growled at him.

Ezio did step back and Desmond turned around to him. "So what did he get you about?" Altair raised a shapeless dress that was very much a dress but it was also shaped like a thobe which was traditionally exactly what an old guy like Altair would wear. "Looks like a thobe to me," Desmond said, realizing what Altair was going for.

"Yes. That's what I tried to tell him."

"But it's a dress too."

"So?"

"Look I don't care," Desmond raised his hands before Altair bit his head off. "You'll get looks if you wear that though and I know you hate being perceived." Altair grimaced at that. "If you want a thobe I'll order you one or find one at a Middle East bodega or something but you should just find some pants and a shirt." Altair huffed in annoyance. "Yeah I know, you hate rules. Get over it," Desmond rolled his eyes.

"I am more annoyed you know me better than myself at times," Altair grumbled, arms folded. "Same as the rest."

"Trust me I really wish I didn't. Either way, we can still get it if you want but I would suggest pants."

"Fine," Altair huffed.

"Connor, Connor," he heard Bayek calling from the end of the aisle. At the least that was something they could do. Desmond watched Connor join Bayek down the aisle and Bayek triumphantly held up an old sleeveless Laker's jersey. Desmond snickered imagining Connor's face of horror at the yellow and purple monstrosity. Connor for his part waved his hands like he didn't want it.

An hour or so later Desmond was finally in line for check out with the others. Evie had taken what he'd said to heart and found a bunch of stuff but everyone else was still too stunned by the variety to pick more than three or four pieces. The cashier was pleasant and had clearly seen weirder shit than a guy like Desmond shepherding a bunch of adults forward to have their clothes rung up and then put into individual bags. The total wasn't even that bad for buying clothes for seven people. The more modern Assassins still gasped or gagged at the price but Desmond didn't flinch at the hundred and seventy dollar price tag.

"That had to be wrong," Connor said once they were leaving.

"What was?" Desmond asked.

"The price-

"You said not to worry. That was a fortune!" Evie cried.

"It was like five dollars," Desmond said.

"That's not what the cash register said," Evie insisted.

"It's the equivalent of five dollars," Desmond rolled his eyes.

"Seriously?" Jacob asked.

"Yes. Seriously."

"That's still a lot of money," Arno said.

"For seven people buying clothes that is a steal. I've seen people buy a single shirt for five dollars," and he chuckled when Evie, Jacob, Arno, and Connor looked appropriately disgusted. Bayek, Ezio, and Altair just looked confused.

"Are these dollars worth a lot?" Ezio asked as they walked down the sidewalk.

"I do not have the brain power to convert to florins," Desmond groaned. "Or dinars or deben across like a thousand plus years okay?" he asked. "Like a shilling?"

"Ah," Ezio nodded.

"If you aren't worried about it neither am I," Bayek said.

"Sounds like a bunch of poor people to me," Altair said, specifically in Latin.

"I would agree," Ezio said absently. Desmond slapped his hand over his face.

"I wasn't poor. That's still a lot," Arno said in something recognizing Latin. Both Ezio and Altair laughed at him. "What?"

"Your accent," Desmond said.

"What of it?"

"Sounds like he's talking without moving his lips," Ezio chuckled. "Open your mouth when you speak," he said loudly. "Or speak with your hands. I can understand you better if you do," and he did indeed wave one hand while talking.

"Can we not do this?" Desmond groaned as they got to the parking lot. He'd rented an actual van for the day just to avoid public transport. He'd gotten them all on a bus or subway individually as they'd appeared but he didn't want to have to watch all of them at once on a subway. He knew somehow, someway, someone would get lost and he didn't want to hunt down an Assassin in a big city. Especially not these guys who could be... a bit stab happy if you bothered them too much. Well except Connor.

They all loaded into the van and Desmond reached into the center console to grab the single dose of pain killers he'd made sure to bring with him. Because he knew and had been right; by the end of this shopping trip he could feel the start of a headache. "Okay everyone buckled in?" Desmond turned around once he'd taken the pain killer. There was still some confusion about buckles for Bayek but Jacob had gotten it for him. They all gave him a thumbs up to cut down on the cacophony. "Great. Who wants lunch?" More thumbs up. "How about McDonalds?"

"What's that?" Jacob asked.

Desmond chuckled. "You'll see," he said and backed the car out of the parking spot and drove off from Goodwill.

-----------------

Desmond was looking over rental listings drinking his morning coffee in bed. Altair and Bayek were both on a blow up mattress on the floor. He'd bought a few over the past month but there was still only so much room. It was going to be so expensive to move. Thankfully now that everyone could operate the laptop or tablet now they could input their own gig work so could do more so long as they weren't blinded by boredom. A single bedroom apartment wasn't enough for eight full grown adults.

There wasn't much reasonable in the city itself but outside the city he could rent a full house. That was doable. And about as expensive as his current apartment actually. He scrolled listings on his phone but did consider just picking a neighborhood outside of the city and calling a realtor to find him a rental house. He didn't even care what it was.

He knew it was light out because Bayek woke up. He was punctual and even with the curtains over the windows Bayek always woke up at dawn. He sat up blearily. "Coffee?" it was the one English word he could say because the word didn't exist in any language he knew. It wouldn't have been invented for another sixteen hundred years for him. Didn't mean he hadn't immediately become addicted just like everyone else.

"Full pot in the kitchen," Desmond said, sipping his mug.

Bayek got off the inflatable gingerly and left the room. Desmond didn't have the heart to tell him no matter how careful he was about it Altair always woke up after he left. On the bed Altair huffed, awake now as well. "You could just go back to sleep," Desmond said.

"No," Altair said softly and that tracked. He sat up. "Do you ever worry?"

"I grew up in the twenty first century, my entire body is just made out of anxiety," Desmond said.

Altair grimaced. "I mean why we're here?"

"Nope."

"Really?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"After the shit I've seen this isn't even the worst of it," Desmond said, sipping his coffee, barely paying attention to Altair.

"How is that possible?"

Desmond looked at him now. "I died, you know," he said casually, like discussing the weather. The only indication that had actually happened was his left arm was fucked up beyond belief. "And coming back from death? Nothing really bothers you," he shrugged. "Certainly not some old head mates."

"Which you won't tell us what that means," Altair said.

Desmond shrugged. "Better that way."

"So you really don't care? Why we're here? Where we came from?"

"Not even a little," Desmond was done looking at rentals. He'd just call a realtor, get them to find him a three bed two and a half bath with a yard. He switched over to Twitter. Perfect turn your brain off activity.

They sat in the dark quiet of Desmond's room for a bit. "What's it like, being dead?" Altair asked after a few minutes. Desmond didn't answer him. "Desmond?" he looked over because Altair's voice was close. He had moved to be next to Desmond's bed.

"You should know what death is like, you've killed more people than me," Desmond said off handedly.

"I've sent people to the afterlife. I've never been to one. The others have grand Catholic ideas. Bayek said he fought gods in his afterlife. But you've died. What's that like?"

"Nothing," was all Desmond said.

"It was nothing?"

"Sure. We'll go with that."

Altair scowled at him. "You're being annoyingly obtuse, young man," he growled.

Desmond looked right at him. "Don't with me," he said in a serious way. It must have been plain on his face because Altair didn't press the subject.

Light spilled in from the living room when Bayek opened the door but it was Ezio behind him who spoke up, "Desmond, Jacob drank all the coffee and there's no more left."

"I made a pot. How'd he drink an entire pot?" Desmond groaned. "Also I know you idiots know how to use the coffee machine."

"No powder," Bayek said in his Dad tie dye tank top.

Desmond sighed. "Okay I'll go to the store," he got out of bed and rummaged around for some pants. Ezio and Bayek left the doorway. "Jacob," he yelled into the main room, "you're coming with me for drinking all the coffee."

"I didn't do shit!" Jacob yelled back.

"You better be dressed when I get out there or I'm dragging your ass to the corner store in your skivies!" and it was a real threat. Desmond changed his shirt and his dead beat dad would have been so proud of him tucking his long sleeved shirt in all the time now. He didn't like it rising up when he lifted his arm, you could see the death damage on his flank too, horrible thick black veins and old burst capillaries. He also always wore a glove now.

Jacob was fuming standing in the living room when Desmond came out of the bedroom but he was fully dressed. The inflatable mattresses had been put away already and the only person with coffee was Bayek since he'd woken up first. "I didn't even drink it all," Jacob complained. "Ezio just says whatever he wants and you believe it."

"Contrary to what he thinks its because the guy can't lie to save his life. Least of all to me," Desmond said. "Now stop complaining," he pulled on his shoes.

When he opened the door to walk out he almost bumped into someone. It was a woman. She was tall for a woman with ash brown hair and old eyes wearing an insanely sharp pant suit. "Veronica?" Jacob said next to him.

"Jacob?" she said with an accent Desmond couldn't place.

"Holy shit what are you doing here?" Jacob asked.

The woman, Veronica?, looked at Desmond, then at Jacob, "That's my question." She looked over Desmond's shoulder then back at Desmond, her eyes wide in an expression just from the way she held herself Desmond took as she wasn't surprised easily. "What are they doing here?"

"Uh... they're my friends?" Desmond said, confused by the line of questioning also who the fuck was this lady? For a moment he thought she was like the others but there was no befuddlement to her, no wide eyed bewilderment. They'd all appeared looking out of time and place. She was not. She was something else.

"Who's at the door?" Ezio came around. "Ah? Maria?" he asked.

"You also recognize her?" Desmond asked.

"That's Veronica," Jacob said. Now the others were coming around.

Desmond looked at the woman who was looking right back. "You also shouldn't be here," she said and it stuck him right in the chest.

"Well that's rude," Evie said. "Don't be mean to our friend, Veronica."

"Do you all recognize this lady?" Desmond asked the Assassins and stepped back into his apartment. He felt better being surrounded by them. Whoever or whatever she was wouldn't be able to fight off seven Master Assassins.

"Of course."

"She was our friend."

"She helped me."

"She knew my father."

"She helped me complete my mission."

They all said almost at once. What the actual fuck? He'd never seen this lady in any of the memories he had but apparently they all knew her. She was a friend. They all knew her by a different name though. "What are you doing here, Melite?" Altair was the only one asking a serious question.

The woman just sort of smiled apologetically. "My name is Kassandra actually," she said. Then she looked at Desmond. "I think we need to talk."

---------

And… that’s it lol Oops sorry If you want to see other scenes maybe suggest some? We should talk about it

138 notes · View notes

cod-dump · 2 years ago

Note

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CONTINUE THE “A BIT TOO MUCH” FIC PLEASE! I WILL GIVE TOU MY SOUL! 🫡🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Oh! A soul yum! *accidentally let’s the soul slip through my fingers and it flies away like a ballon* Huh…

Also check out @ltjvega! They wrote a continuation of “A Bit Too Much” and it’s really good! You can find it by going through the reblogs of the first fic!

___

A Bit Too Much

Part 2

___

Ghost stopped trying a long time ago. He stopped trying to “act normal”, seem less intimidating, act as though he wasn’t scarred for life and could never return to normalcy. He chose to fight because he didn’t have to be human. He gained a reputation of a hard-ass that didn’t take any shit from anyone and didn’t do friends.

Then Soap walked into his life.

Soap and his confident, downright cocky, attitude. Challenging him from the beginning. Ghost, originally, couldn’t believe the gall of this man. But after a bit, Ghost couldn’t help but love how refreshing that was. The man wasn’t phased by his attitude, reputation, the mask. None of it seemed to matter. Soap treated him like everyone else.

After some time Ghost began to look forward to working with Soap. Soap who laughed at his jokes and even shot some back at him. Soap who didn’t view him as a weapon and constantly reminded him that he needed rest. Soap who teased him about how ridiculous his accent was when he spoke Spanish.

Soap who treated him human and reminded him that he was human.

It was no wonder that Ghost found himself craving to be around him. Soap would talk enough for the both of them and Ghost found himself loving the sound of his voice. He remembered being stuck with two boxes full of files that needed to be sorted and Soap offering to help. That evening flew by with Soap telling stories after stories, filling the room with life.

Ghost never thought he would find someone that he would care for again, caring for someone in a way he hadn’t in years. He engaged with Soap as much as possible, slowly opening up to him. Hearing Soap call him Simon— It took every bit of strength to not cry because of how right his name sounded coming off of the man’s tongue.

Ghost looked forward to every interaction with Soap. No matter how short the duration. And Ghost knows he has a hard time showing that he cares, but he thought he was actually putting out there where Soap could see that he cared. That Soap meant the world to him.

Then Soap just started to avoid him one day. Ghost saw him enter the meeting room and when they locked eyes he could tell something was different. There was a brief moment of Soap lighting up before he visibly dimmed. The Scot chose to sit elsewhere instead of next to him. Chose to all but run out of the room as soon as the meeting was adjourned. No words where exchanged, just that dull look in Soap’s eyes before he left.

That hurt Ghost like a bullet through the heart.

He tried to ease himself by telling himself Soap was probably having a bad day and would tell him what was up soon enough. But then Soap avoided him the next day. And the day after that—

Ghost knew that he had to have done something wrong. What else could possibly be going on? He had to have done something to make Soap not want to be around him. Was it the jokes? His blunt nature? Did Soap only hang around him because he felt like he had to? That he pitied Ghost? What did he do wrong? He’s never been good with his emotions. So he quickly turned to anger, the one emotion that he knew very well.

His rampage affected everyone. Recruits especially got the worst of it. He snapped at them often. Punished them during training if one hair was out of place. He knew he was taking his anger out on the wrong people and they didn’t do anything to deserve what he was throwing at them, but he didn’t know how else to express his feelings.

Price finally pushed him to the side after week three and told him to get his act together.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you need to take a step back and reevaluate your actions.”

Ghost apparently rolled his eyes (not that he had a doubt that he would do such a thing, he just didn’t remember doing it) and Price huffed and forced him to sit.

“What is going on, Simon? I thought we’ve gotten past this unnecessary aggression.”

“Nothing is wrong, Price.”

“Five recruits came to me today, at separate times, because you took things too far in training.”

Ghost huffs, guilt creeping through his chest. Price sighs when the man doesn’t respond, looking down at his desk before looking at Ghost, trying to catch his eyes.

“Simon… You know you can talk to me, right?”

Ghost swallows, of course he knew that. Yet why couldn’t he bring himself to tell Price what was going on? Was it because he felt shame that he drove off his first friend in years? That he was just a walking, talking weapon incapable of maintaining a single relationship? Ghost peaks up at Price to see his concerned face, looking at him with such gentle eyes.

“I-“

Suddenly Gaz runs into the office with a recruit, “Captain- Oh! Shit, sorry! I should’ve knocked!”

Price looks from Ghost to Gaz, “What is it, sergeant?”

“Soap’s missing.”

Ghost tenses and sits up straight, turning to look at Gaz, “What?!”

“He ran off a couple hours ago and no one knows where he is.”

“Sir, he’s been gone for two hours-“

Ghost stood immediately along with Price. After security confirmed that Soap hadn’t left the base, the search was on, everyone scouring the base for Soap. While they were looking, Gaz explained what happened that set Soap off.

“He said he left ‘before something did happen’.”

Ghost heart throbbed in pain. Did Soap really think that Ghost was going to get fed up with him? Did he really not know how much he meant to him? Ghost focuses on finding Soap, hoping that he was alright and that they could clear this mess up.

After a bit they split up, Ghost heading outside. Someone had mentioned seeing Soap heading out this way but they didn’t know where he could have possibly been headed. The ground was muddy but the rain would have washed away any prints. Still Ghost searched outside, his hoodie soaked through but he kept looking. He walked through the grounds, tears in his eyes.

He was so afraid something bad was going to happen. That when he found Soap he wasn’t going to like what he found. Ghost came to the training grounds, he didn’t think Soap would come here… then again he didn’t think the man would run out in the freezing rain.

He walked through the grounds, calling for Soap. He was practically begging for the man to answer him. For him to be alright. Panic was practically rushing through his veins as he ran through, coming to the edge of the training grounds. Still no Soap. Ghost had to take off his face mask so he could breathe better considering the mask was soaked through.

He turned around and started to walk through the grounds again, freezing when he hears a noise. He turns his head to the sewer pipes that they used for training and runs over. He slides on his knee’s through the mud and peaks inside to see a huddled figure. Shaking, Ghost recognizes Soap.

“Johnny!”

The man barely moves and Ghost fears the worst. Without thinking he crawls into the pipe to get to Soap, grabbing his leg and shaking him when he had gotten close enough.

“Johnny! Are you alright?”

“Ghost?”

The soft reply sounded like music to his ears, “Yea, it’s me.”

Soap fucking whimpers and Ghost’s heart breaks. He gently crawls further into the pipe, squeezing next to Soap. The moment he touches Soap’s arm and feels how cold he was he couldn’t restrain himself. He pulls Soap against him and holds him, tucking his head under his chin. He rubs his arms in an attempt to warm him up but it wasn’t seeming to be doing anything.

“Johnny, let’s go back inside. You’re freezing.”

Soap doesn’t reply, just shakes in Ghost’s arms. Ghost tries to wiggle out, pulling Soap with him since the man wasn’t making any effort to move. He was concerned about his well-being, both physically and mentally.

Ghost gets out of the pipe and pulls Soap out, picking him up and holding him against his chest before he makes his way back to the main building. He takes him straight to medical to get him looked at, only leaving with the nurses shooed him away. He calls Price and tells him that he found Soap. It didn’t take long for Price to show up.

“Is he alright? Where was he?”

“He’s… I don’t know… He was in a pipe at the training grounds. Was cold like ice when I found him.”

Price’s jaw clenches and crosses his arms. They wait together before a nurse comes to them, telling them that Soap was fine but had some frostbite on his hands, feet, and nose and ears. But she assured them that it would heal with time and it could have been a lot worse if he was out there longer.

“Is he awake?”

“Yes, but I would let him rest. He’s somewhat delirious from the cold.”

Price nods and the nurse leaves. Ghost watches her go back into medical, snapping out of his daze as Price pats his shoulder.

“Give it time. We’ll come back tomorrow and see if he’s up for talking. Alright?”

Ghost nods, “Yes, sir.”

Price looks at Ghost’s bare face, now able to see the man’s expressions.

“Until then… Let’s have a talk.”

Ghost huffs before nodding, letting Price lead him away from medical. From this moment, the clock was ticking down until the moment Ghost would be able to see Soap again.

#a bit too much #fic #fanfic #ask #cod mwii #call of duty #modern warfare ii #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #john price #kyle gaz garrick #modern warfare

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ghostlyeris · 5 days ago

Text

party fouls

read on ao3

Oisín is once again standing in Fabian Seacaster’s house, kicking off the start of a new school year. Once again, there’s a ranger by his side as he holds a glass of dubiously alcoholic milk. And once again, it’s all Adaine Abernant’s fault.

Unlike last time though, he’s nowhere near the beer pong table. And the ranger currently chatting his fins off certainly isn’t Ivy. She had run off half an hour ago as soon as she got wind of Aguefort Twister being played upstairs (it’s the same as regular Twister except they all try to maim each other into elimination), leaving him stranded alone in the kitchen figuring out how to stall time until it wasn’t a party foul to dip out for the rest of the night.

No one leaves a rager at eight p.m. after all.

It’s not like it’s a boring party. Oisín’s honestly not even sure if Fabian could throw a boring party. And no one's been treating him poorly either. He had at least expected that much after helping almost end the world but if anyone has a problem, they certainly haven’t told him. Although he’s not sure how much of that is people actually being chill vs. Fig’s firm insistence that it’s all love now which meant no fighting unless it was all in good fun.

Obviously they couldn’t completely outlaw violence. They’re still Aguefort students after all.

Oisín blinks and attempts to focus back on the tiefling talking to him. Like the last few times he’s tried, his eyes slide right off her face to the bright orange headband she’s wearing. It’s clearly a favorite; there’s several neat stitches holding the worn fabric together. And every time her voice warbles, she fiddles with the folds braided into her neat plaits. In fact, he’s pretty sure she matched her outfit for tonight to it. The warm whites and burnt browns she’s wearing certainly suggest as much.

It’s such a shame that it’s so fucking ugly.

Gun to his head, Oisín can’t tell you what they’ve been talking about for the last fifteen minutes. He just keeps getting drawn back to that ugly, ugly headband and it’s only due to years of ignoring his parents that he knows when to nod and hum in lieu of actually engaging in the conversation.

If Oisín didn’t have such an excellent internal clock, he would swear an hour had already passed just listening to her talk with how boring she’s been. It feels a little mean to think that about this seemingly sweet girl who approached him with a drink in hand just for him, but it’s true. And it’s his mind so it’s not like anyone will hear him.

She’s just…dull. In a normal teenager way. She came up to him with a big smile and a glass of bad baby milk she shoved into his hand and immediately started talking about senior year and Oisín realized he didn’t know how to connect with his classmates anymore.

Was he excited for senior year? He supposes. He just feels lucky that he gets to have a senior year after what he did.

Wasn't it so cool they were this close to graduation? If he even makes it that far. It’s a week into school and he’s already considering dropping out.

Does he have any college plans? In the loosest sense. He's not even sure there's a college willing to take him.

His therapist says he has a tendency for catastrophic thinking. He calls it preparing for any outcome.

The genial smile stuck to his face starts to burn so he lifts the cup to his lips to have a few brief moments of respite. The smell never gets any less strange no matter how many times he’s exposed to bad baby milk. At least the last time he went through this, there was a cute elf to cut through the pain.

He would do anything to have Adaine interrupt this. At least he knew how to handle interacting with her. Mostly. And maybe then he could disappear from this conversation without being rude.

“Oisín!”

Huh.

Look at that. The divine grace of the Elven Oracle saves him again.

His eyes snap away from the headband, greedily searching the crowd until he can see a shock of blonde pushing its way through throngs of people. He stills himself, making sure that he won’t do something embarrassing like wag his tail as soon as he lays eyes on her, and waits.

Ranger girl has completely left his mind, despite still being in front of him. He doesn’t really care if she notices.

Adaine’s more important.

Oisín spends a moment taking her in as she moves through the last few people blocking her way. Unsurprisingly, she’s stunning. She’s wearing her jeans and jacket like she always does. However, the crop top she’s in is certainly a new sight. It’s dark and flowy and Oisín can see sparkles shine under the light as she shifts.

He sends out a silent thank you to whoever is responsible for this gift.

It doesn’t take her long to make it over. The student body is more than happy to part for the party wizard, and those who aren’t get shoved out of the way via some fairly impressive body-checking. She’s so mean. He loves it.

She huffs with exasperation as soon as she stops in front of him. Her face is flushed red; either from exertion or inebriation. “Be easier to find when I need you.”

“Can't you use your divination to know where I am?” He can’t help the smile that curls across his face. Teasing her just comes as second nature at this point.

“Like I’d waste a spell slot on that.” Crystal blue eyes glance down to the cup in his hand. “Bold choice on the bad baby milk after the last time.”

Wh-how? She wasn’t even there for that.

Oisín can feel himself flushing purple underneath her gaze for a few long moments before she finally has mercy and answers the unspoken question. “Oracle, remember?”

Like he could forget. Still, that doesn’t mean he assumes she uses her grand divination abilities to watch him throw up in the street after his first interaction with dairy. It’s worth it though—even if only retroactively—just for the teasing smirk Adaine’s giving him.

Anything would be worth it if it means she keeps looking at him.

She clearly gears herself up to continue speaking, only to get cut off as the ranger steps forward with a hesitant grin.

“Hi!” Ranger girl glances between the two of them.

Adaine raises a singular, perfect eyebrow. “Hi?”

“I’m Laila.”

So that’s what her name was.

“That’s nice,” Adaine replies blandly. Something unspoken must happen in the five seconds of eye contact the two of them make before Adaine turns back to him, and Oisín watches as she moves to fully block Laila out of the conversation. She’s wearing a smile he’s never seen before as she continues. “I need you at the beer pong table.”

He blinks. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” She rolls her eyes but doesn’t drop the smile. It’s a strange one. He’s quite sure that she’s never smiled like this before. He would be more confused if not for the fact that he’s too busy being blinded by the feeling of Adaine’s attention on him. “The most annoying man in the world has been hogging the table for the past hour and a half, but I can’t just kick him out cause it’ll get messy and turn into a huge party foul. So you’re gonna kick his ass and humiliate him so badly he leaves. Okay?”

As if he would ever say no to her. As if he could ever say no to her.

He gives her a little mock-bow, just to watch her snicker. “Well if our party wizard demands it, who am I to deny you?”

“Great, let’s go.” Laila takes a half-step forward to follow and Adaine whips around with a different grin, one Oisín knows she stole straight from Aelwyn. “Bye!”

“Oh, uh, bye! I’ll see you later?”

Wide brown eyes dart in his direction, desperately hoping to make contact.

But he’s already turned to follow Adaine.

“Huh? Oh, sure, later.”

Half a beat later, Adaine’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

#the world sucks today. heres some oisaine to try and make it a little better #adaine abernant #oisín hakinvar #oisaine #fantasy high #my writing

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