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lostintransist · 5 days ago

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Tears of Dreams and Memories | AU

For anyone who needed a happy ending instead of my gut punch of an original, I apparently can be "bullied" by my friends into "fixing" my issues.

After a close call with some creeps, you are put forth by Ghost as the liaison for the 141. A friendship blooms with the whole team and leads to a work visa and a job opportunity with the 141. A job turns into a live-in situation with Simon and a betting pool as to when one of you will crack and finally confess.

AO3 | Original | Original on AO3

Special shout out to an IRL friend and @demothers-empty-blog for helping me get past my slump on this one.

You shouldn’t be running down the halls of the base. You know you shouldn’t be running. But fuck all if they weren’t right on your heels. The men had come back on base drunk and the creepy ones had searched you out. You choked down the sobs that threatened to escape. If you could just get far enough away you might be ab—

You slam into something hard. You had taken the corner fast, a hand still behind you on the wall to help you pivot. You look up, and up, and up. A hard skull mask stares down at you. Blackout paint hides everything beyond the whites of his eyes.

Maniacal laughter starts up from behind you. You can’t stop the flinch that wracks your body. Shifting your aim for the pocket of space between the man and the wall, your socks shift ever so slightly against the inside of your boots. His hand shoots out, grasping your arm before you pass him.

“Wait.”

The tone reeked of a command. No one gave commands on a base like this unless they knew they had the authority to back up the demand. The thump of steps against the thin carpet have you letting out a high-pitched keen and pulling against the bear paw holding you in place.

“Please, please, please let me go.” You barely understand the words tripping off your tongue.

Barbed wire is wrapped around your spine, it pulls tight when two men appear at the end of the hall.

“Ho ho! You found her! Our friend here owes us a good time tonight for bailing on drinks off base.” The blond sways only in his eyes, shifting over your breasts and ass.

The man with the black hair just leers, it’s almost worse.

The man holding you makes no move to let you go or tell off the men who followed you over half of the base for their ‘fun’. A change in the air occurs, a pin of a grenade hitting the dirt.

The hand on your arm tightens. The British accent surprises you, the base had been briefed that a unit on loan from the UK would be joining them for a few months. The line repeated to every man and woman below a certain rank is to leave them alone and if you have any questions submit them to the liaisons.

“Get back to your rooms, you have two seconds to get out of my sight or I will be having a chat with your base commander in the morning.”

They gape at skull man, their drunk minds stumbling trying to catch up.

“What?” The blond questions.

“One.”

Both men start to back up, and the menace in that single word tightens around your throat. You escaped two predators only to land with a stronger one.

“Tw—”

The soldiers take off, the threat finally processes past the alcohol. You pinwheel your arm as their boots disappear behind the corner. You break free of the grip on your arm and start forward away from this new evil. One step is all you can take before arms wrap tight around your chest. He caught your arms too, fingers dangling by your thighs.

All the fight in your body leaves, and your brain decides that there is no escape. Your head rolls forward, you don’t even have the energy to blink.

When your position changes your mind starts recording new memories. Looking around you find yourself on a chair in the kitchen connected to the mess hall. The beast of a man stands in front of you slowly adding hot water to a cup. Your breaths pick up speed, fingers curling on the edge of the chair.

Skull face turns and drops a knee in front of you. He looms close but doesn’t touch any part of you.

“None of that now, I am not here to hurt you. We are just having some tea and then I will walk you to your room.” He speaks with a slow tone as if coaxing a feral cat from beneath a car.

You can’t tell where his accent is from, England for sure but not the common one associated with the country in your mind.

“I..I…I don’t..don’t…like tea.” You stutter at him.

You see his brows draw down despite the mask.

“Well, I will give you a warm cup to hold while I drink my tea then.” His voice is as deep as it should be with the breadth of his shoulders.

He stays on his knee, looking you over until at some point known only to him, he stands. He removes the tea bag from both cups. He adds a splash of milk to both cups and an ungodly amount of sugar. He gives both a quick mix and hands you one. He pops a hip on the stainless steel counter. He’s so damn tall he has his left foot flat on the floor and still comfortably sit on the counter his right foot swaying slightly.

“Can you even,” deep shuddering breath, “call that tea with how much sugar is in it?”

“Can’t call it anything if you don’t try it,” he slips a finger below his mask lifting it enough to fit the mug to his mouth. He wears gloves too.

Once the mask cleared the edge of his jaw you slam your head down. You stare at the tea, the milk slowly swirling into the water. You turn away and take a sip. The idea of milk and water as a drink still didn’t compute but the sugar masked any issues you might have had.

You sip at the drink finishing only about half when the sounds of movement bring your head back to the scary man in the room with you. His hand is stretched out to you. Glancing up and down it you slowly place your cup in his hand. You don’t feel so adrift after the quiet company.

You stand, awkwardly holding your elbows while he rinses the cups and spoon, leaving them in the empty sink. When he turns back to you he motions with his fingers for you to head out of the kitchen. You do as instructed. He picks up the chair on his way out. You hold open the swinging door, manners ingrained from childhood. He nods his thanks, tucking the chair just so below the table.

You don’t move until he looks at you. You let the door swing shut and begin to lead the way back to your room. Once you clear the doors of the mess hall he falls into step with you. You walk the brightly lit halls, walls dotted with darkness for windows. He remains a steady presence at your side until you stop in front of a door that looks exactly like the others.

“Thank you for your help,” you stare at your boots, curling your toes inside them.

“Lock your door tonight.”

With that final command, he turns and walks away. You don’t know where the UK team is staying but it is nowhere near the dorms you slept in. You do as instructed, locking the door behind you after you confirm that your roommate is already in bed, snoring lightly. Sleep comes slowly, a skull mask haunting you behind your eyelids.

✮✮✮

Price stares down at his tea, blinking slowly. He sat in an empty officer’s room. The base commander was courting the 141. He had yet to come out with the goal of this collaboration. He wonders absently if the tip of a flask would make the morning meetings easier to handle.

A file is slapped down on the table in front of him. Ghost sits down, a seat between them.

“I want this one.”

Price blinks at the file, his cup, and then finally his lieutenant.

“It is too early for this. Speak clearly. What do you want?”

In lieu of answering Ghost reaches over and flips open the folder. It’s a personnel file. A neutral-faced woman stares out at him from the small photo.

“I am not helping you get a girlfriend, Ghost.”

His joke doesn’t land. Ghost snatches the mug of tea from his hand.

“Don’t be crass, I hate the team the base commander has given us to work with. I want this one.”

“You want a soldier right out basic who knows next to nothing about this base and has probably never even met the commander to be our new point of contact?” Price can’t keep the exasperation out of his voice.

Ghost slurps at the tea. Price sighs and massages right above his eyebrows. This would be a hard sell to the base commander.

“I’ll see what I can do, now get the fuck out of my face. I don’t want to see you until lunch.”

✮✮✮

The wrinkles on the base commander’s face absorbed light like a black hole. Price stood before the man’s desk, face neutral.

“You want to change from the team of our hand-chosen soldiers to accommodate any need you have on base for a baby? Am I understanding that right?” He flipped through the file Ghost had dropped on the table just this morning.

“My lieutenant has a tendency to eat anyone he doesn’t tolerate.”

“He eats people?” the commander cut in.

“I have no confirmation of if he actually eats people, commander, only that he will chew through any team you give him until they all beg for reassignment. To avoid that strain on your teams I am asking that you give us this one soldier who has been requested.” Price lays the facts out reasonably, tone hinting that the commander would be an idiot to ignore this request.

“How did they even meet? We have strict orders for most of our people to not interact with your team at all,” he tossed down the file on this desk.

“I tend not to ask questions that will only result in a dead-eyed stare. He won’t tell me even if I asked, I’ve learned to roll with what he gives me.”

The commander steeples his fingers, elbows resting on the arms of his office chair. Price noted the power move but was more concerned about what the mess hall would be serving for lunch. He wondered if he could put in a request for a clam chowder, the warm creamy soup would hit the spot.

“Alright, I will reassign your current team and give you this one soldier. The paperwork should be done by dinner. I will have her also move to your section as she will need to be on hand for your team.” The commander leaned back in his chair, “Is there anything else your team needs right now, Captain Price?”

“No sir, everything has been satisfactory. I have a few things to finish up, I will see you at the 1100 meeting.” Price extracts himself from the commander’s office, closing the door behind him.

Soap pushed off the wall falling into step.

“So we getting a new aide? Because Ghost requested one?” He groused. “Ghost who would have bit the aide from the last base if it didn’t mean removing his mask?”

Price smirked, “In all fairness that man was an areshole.”

“Aye he was, but why the request?” Soap pushed open the door they had come to. They were near the training grounds.

“Don’t know Soap. Why don’t we find out?” Price aimed for someone who looked to be in charge.

✮✮✮

You pause, looking around. You were almost sure that someone had just called for you. You look around and see a man waving you down from the edge of the training area. You check that you are clear to cross before jogging over.

“Good, come with me.”

You follow. When you finally slow you are presented to two men. They had to be members of the 141 with skull face. One man, taller than you but not by much kept a trimmed beard, crow’s feet around his eyes. The other man towered over you, almost as tall as skull face, the mohawk added several inches to his height.

“This the recruit you were looking for?” The man who walked you over pointed a thumb in your direction.

“Think so,” the bearded man said. He stuck out his hand, “Nice to meet you, you can call me Price.”

You shake his hand, twice up and down with firm pressure. You had to learn to ‘shake like a man’.

Mohawk man sticks out his hand next, “Soap.”

You shake his hand and nod, turning back to the man who walked you over.

“Is that all, sir? All of us low-ranking members have standing orders to not speak to any of the 141,” you infuse your words with an ‘I’m just doing my job’ tone.

Soap snorts out a laugh, covering it poorly with a cough into his fist.

The man before you stutters before Price jumps in.

“Thank you, that will be all.” He can’t help but smile as you nod and turn on your heel heading back to your task.

As you are walking away you hear Soap’s comment.

“I can see why ‘e wants her, much more spunk there than anywhere else on this base.”

✮✮✮

The news comes down the line of your reassignment to become the sole attendant of the 141. You scarf down dinner, they wanted you presented to the team at 1800. You speed walk to your room, the clock showing a measly twenty minutes to pack your life up to move halfway across base.

You make it, squeaking through the door exactly the time you were requested. The base commander stands, hands tucked in one another behind his low back. He stands looking out the window over a group of training soldiers.

He ignores your presence for a moment before turning towards you.

“Ah, come in. We have a few things to discuss before I introduce you to the team. One question before we start, do you know why you were requested to be our liaison?”

You answer honestly, “Sir, I have not even a singular idea as to why.”

He hums, “We need this to go well. We need to borrow from the 141 from time to time and can only do that if they agree. Your job is to do whatever is needed to secure their agreement.”

Your stomach turns sour at the word choice, do whatever is needed. The military is no different than a pimp, only difference is one gets cheers and free meals at IHOP.

“Of course, sir, I will do my best.”

“Good, now here is what you need to know…”

The meeting takes another twenty minutes; your brain a bit fried when you lift your bag to follow the commander.

You take stock of the nicer flooring and art as you enter the building just beside the commanders. He lived on base since his wife passed nearly a year ago. You enter a room, you would still call it a living room despite all the time in the military.

Soap and a man you haven’t seen sit on the couch intently focused on their game of Mario Kart. They raced along the Rainbow Road. Price and skull face sat at a table near the wall. Price worked away on a laptop and skull face held an e-reader. A fifth man reclined in a chair near Soap, clearly asleep. Feet spread wide, head tipped across the back of the chair, an arm thrown over his eyes.

“This is where you will be staying. Captain Price will be in charge of you until they leave in a few months time. I will leave the introductions of the team to him.” The commander claps a hand on your shoulder, knocking you forward a step.

Price looks up at the motion, pulling a small headphone from his ear.

“Ah, Commander. Thank you for delivering our new aide, we will take good care of her.” He stood, striding over and offering a hand again.

You shake it again, focused on the retreating sounds of the commander. Once the door clicks behind him you feel the tension release slightly from your shoulders.

“Welcome, let’s get you introduced to everyone and then get you settled.” Price smiled at you warmly, the crow’s feet showing it to be a common state for him. “You’ve met Soap, next to him is Gaz.”

Neither man acknowledges their name, too focused on the game. They are on their third lap, neck, and neck for the lead. Gaz drops back slightly and throws a blue shell, effectively taking first. Soap jumps to his feet, shouting.

“You feckin’ cheatin’ son of a whore! Not even Mother Mary will save you after this!” His accent came out thick in his anger.

Gaz just laughed as he crossed the finish line. Soap rolled in at fifth. With their outburst done Price continues his introductions.

“The sleeping man is Roach, he doesn’t speak much so don’t worry if he doesn’t respond to you. And then we have our L.T., Ghost,” Price gestures to the masked man.

You can’t stop the words. They escape, your brain slowing down the embarrassment to exacerbate the stress.

“Ghosts don’t have bones.” Such a matter-of-fact tone. Fuck a duck, why are you like this?

Ghost stands. You swallow hard. He clears the space between you in three long strides. Mother-fucking giant of a man.

“What?”

He asks as if he hadn’t heard, not as if he were offended.

You roll your lips between your teeth, answering a bit louder despite his now closer position.

“Ghosts don’t have bones, so your mask is a bit of a silly choice.”

Every man awake busts into laughter except Ghost. You glance over and Gaz is hanging off Soap, struggling to breathe. Soap is curled forward hugging his stomach. Price smothers a chuckle next to you.

You look back at Ghost, his eyes squint slightly at you. You give an awkward smile.

“L.T. how has no one ever thought about that before?” Gaz is out of breath and falls back into laughter after his question.

Ghost blinks once at you.

“Follow me, I will show you to your room.”

You wince at his back, throwing a glance at Price.

“You’ll be okay, he won’t hold it against you,” the laughter in his voice didn’t reassure you.

You scurry after the man you insulted by accident, wincing at every sound you make. The only sound Ghost makes is the slight swish of his pants as they cross with each step. He leads you down a short hall, turning right at the first choice. There are two doors down this short hall. He taps the second one.

“This is your room. Mine is next door.”

“I am really sorry, I didn’t mean to make a joke of your mask,” you stumble over your words.

“Don’t apologize, it’s a funny thought and the men will take to you easier after the joke,” he replies evenly.

You wince again and look at the door.

“Is there anything I need to handle tonight?”

“No, other than we have a nightly debrief at 2000 in the main room.”

You blow out a short breath. “Okay, I can do that.”

Stepping into the room you are surprised at the single bed, dresser, and desk. Still all military issue but nicer. You drop your bag on the bed, looking over the space. You hadn’t truly been alone since you signed up, this might be an adjustment.

Turning back to the door you startle, Ghost is still standing in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes on you.

“Can I help you with something, lieutenant?” you ask, curious as to why he is still standing in the doorway.

“No. Feel free to join us when you are ready.” He turns away, the sound of his steps quickly fading.

You sit down on the chair at the desk. You put your head in your hands, elbows propped on your knees. How the hell did you end up here? Last night you were running for your life and now you are helping court a specialty group from the UK for the base commander. The only person from the team you spoke to last night had been Ghost. Did he have something to do with this change?

You eventually join the team back in the main room. The 2000 debrief had just been a fancy way of saying they all have a cup of tea before bed. Roach pulled out a deck of cards and you soon found yourself in a game of poker you would lose. You laugh more at the table with these men than you had in all the months you had been in the military. You fell asleep that night a soft smile on your face, the door locked tight.

✮✮✮

The months passed quickly, you became texting buddies with everyone on the team beyond Ghost. He watched you. You noticed but ignored it. He happened to be a grown man and if he had something to say he would have to buck up and use his words.

Roach comes alive through your text conversations, he is full of observations and quirky sayings. He is your favorite texting buddy.

As the time for the 141 to return come crept closer without a hard yes or no from Price about working with the base in the future the commander crept further up your ass. After a particularly unhelpful meeting where the commander ended up yelling at you, you stormed into your room. Throwing yourself face down on your bed, muttering curses.

“Can I help you?”

Your eyes blow wide in the darkness created by your face being compressed into the mattress.

Shit. Fuck. Dammit. You had missed your door and landed on Ghost’s bed. You pushed up from the mattress on your hands and one knee. The other foot already searched for the ground.

“Nope, sorry Ghost. I just had a bad meeting and missed my door,” you can’t help the blush overtaking your face.

One foot on the floor you pull your torso up, ready to turn and race out of the room once your second foot touches the carpet.

“Pause.”

You freeze finally looking up to see Ghost working at his desk. He has a soft balaclava on today, still a skull painted on but much more inviting than the hard mask. He has no darkening makeup on today, you can see dark brows and light, fair skin of England showing through the hole in the mask. You devour the peek into him.

“Sit,” he turns from you pulling open a drawer of his desk.

You shift to do as you are told. He has never been unkind to you, just the opposite actually. The two men who chased you across the base had been reassigned across the country shortly after you joined the team. Neither of you said it out loud but you know that only Ghost had been aware of what happened.

He spins his chair back towards you. He holds out his e-reader. This thing goes everywhere with him. Ghost could be called a voracious reader. You glance between the small device and his face, not touching the offering.

“Pick anything you like, feel free to stay until you feel better.”

You reach forward, fingers slow to grasp. Once you have a firm grip he lets go and turns back to his work. Starting the device a book opens halfway through. You back out to the main page and scroll through the options.

Several of the titles garner a raised brow.

“Didn’t take you for a smut reader, Ghost.”

The only response is a creaking of the chair as he shifts. Your lips twitch with a smile. You choose a title vaguely familiar and start from the beginning. You read sitting on Ghost’s bed until the nightly debrief. The next day you find yourself knocking at his closed door. You’re just going to ask to borrow his reader until you can finish the story.

When he opens the door what could be called a smile reaches his eyes. The edges of them shift together the barest hint.

“It’s on the bed, right where you left off.”

Bashfulness overcomes you, forcing your gaze to swing down to your boots. You slip past him, sitting against the wall feet dangling off the bed. Once the story has well and truly sucked you in you reach down and remove your boots, eyes not leaving the words as they thud to the floor. Ghost doesn’t say a single word as you end up stretching across his bed feet swinging through the air.

A knock at the door jolts you out of the story. Price’s voice comes after a knock slightly farther away.

“Debrief will be a bit late today, 2030.”

You lock eyes with Ghost, remaining silent. As Price’s footsteps walk away you flip to a sitting position and shove your toes back into your boots. You set the reader down, focused on getting the ties just right. Once they feel tight enough you stand.

“Thanks for letting me read, I guess I will come back when you have a moment you can spare it.” You can’t keep your fingers from digging into your pockets. You can’t believe you rolled yourself all over his bed while reading.

“You are welcome any time. If you are close why don’t you take it tonight and return it in the morning?” his head tilts ever so slightly.

“Really?” Your brows rise as does your voice with the question. “If you don’t mind. I can finish the book after debrief and return it before lights out.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he raised a brow as a challenge.

“I’m not saying you do,” you glare at him. “Confirming your level of seriousness is not doubting you.”

“If you say so.”

You stick your tongue out at him.

“Careful with that thing, some could take it as an invitation.” He turns back to his desk as you gape at him.

Did Ghost flirt with you?

You snap up the e-reader, holding it close to your chest as you leave the room. You let the door hang ajar, knowing it bothers him.

You wander into the main room, tucking the small tablet into your side pocket. Setting the kettle to boil you prepare a cup for each man, dropping a preferred tea bag in each. As everyone settles in around the table you finish adding milk and sugar to mugs and passing them out. Ghost sits last.

“Sugar with tea for you,” you place the cup down in front of him and take the seat to his right.

Soap chuckled, “Go’ta say L.T. she’s got you pegged.”

“Too bad we can’t throw her in our luggage for when we head home,” Gaz chimed in.

Price leaned back in his chair, “Well now there’s a thought. How long do you have left?”

You finish your sip of hot chocolate, “Only about a year, but I am not planning on re-upping.”

“Wanna come work for the 141?” Price lifts a brow at you.

“Put that offer in writing so I can get a visa and absolutely,” you grin. With how much Price griped about paperwork you doubted he would follow through on getting you a work visa.

He glared at you, “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Have you known me to do anything less?” you challenge.

“Do the paperwork Price, or I will.” Ghost dropped the statement like a smoking gun to a criminal case.

You smirk down into your cup, taking a sip to avoid a comment. Ghost hates paperwork more than Price and is so meticulous with it because he hates when he has to redo the ‘fucking devil’s work’.

The men leave the table as their tea is finished, rinsing the mugs before settling into the final activity of the night. You stay at the table and pull out the e-reader. The book sucks you back in.

“Is that Ghost’s reader?” Soap’s shocked voice rips you from the climax of the story.

“What? Uh, yeah.” You settle back into the battle, your main character taking a knife to the ribs.

“Did he let you borrow it or…” he lets the question hang, a noose swinging in the wind.

Irritated, you put the tablet down. Turning to look at Soap you reply.

“Of course he let me borrow it. I’ve been using it for a few days.”

Soap’s brows shoot up his forehead, nearly touching his mohawk.

“Really? Well, that’s an interesting development.”

“I guess? Now my character just got stabbed so if there is nothing else I am going to finish this before lights out so I can return it.” You turn back to the table and get absorbed back into reading.

You return the reader to Ghost before bed and only use it in behind the safety of his door until they leave.

✮✮✮

The anticipation of pain has never once made the pain hurt less.

They are leaving, your friends are heading home to the UK. Price is the one who sat you down and gave you the dates. Two days, in two days you would walk them to their plane and have to move on like you didn’t find family in some of the scariest men you have ever met. You hold it together until you get out of his sight.

Tears slip down your cheeks, a silent testament of the love that has grown for them. You slip into Ghost’s room. He should be out right now, off training with Roach. He isn’t.

Asleep with his boots on, Ghost is sprawled out across his bed. One hand dangles out over the edge. You sit against the bed, his arm draping over your shoulder. You hold his large hand in both of yours. You know he is probably awake, but he does you the kindness of staying still. He isn’t wearing his gloves today. Ghost had many healed scrapes and scars to explore. You let your fingers drift over his hand, bumping over every ridge.

You sniff as tears continue to flow down your cheeks, splattering against your shirt. It’s hard for you to believe that you can love these wacky guys to the point of pain at their departure. You slid right into the dynamic of the crew as if they had held a place for you. Cutting off arguments between the 141 and everyone else had become your primary job. You could talk down any member from retaliatory action for both minor and major slights. You toed the lines between both Price and the base commander to find common enough ground for their agreement to be settled. You still didn’t know why they were here, only that an agreement had been reached with you as a go-between more often than not. Now they were leaving. Leaving you behind. Knowing they have jobs waiting for them, for missions to be completed doesn’t ease the ache in your chest.

You stay like that, fingertips drifting over the skin of his hand until the storm in your chest has petered out and the only signs it ravaged your soul are the tracks on your cheeks and the tears drying on your shirt.

You sniff once, sliding your fingers to fit between his.

“I know you’re probably awake, but thank you for letting me use you for comfort.” You squeeze his fingers once before standing.

Scooting out and away from the bed you take care to not look at him. This private comfort you stole from his sleeping form could only be that, private. Seeing his eyes would shatter the flimsy barrier to your heart and you couldn’t afford to lose any more of that worn organ to men across the sea. Your fingers stayed locked with his as you stood, reaching, touching until at last the kiss of his fingerprints whispered their goodbyes.

You close the door softly behind you, heading for the bathroom. Standing before the mirror with the bright white light illuminating your blotchy face you tuck away your pain to deal with in the dark. You scrub your face with cool water and redo your hair. When a soldier with a job looks back at you instead of a woman losing her family you leave the bathroom.

✮✮✮

Two days later you say your goodbyes. Your number is entered into so many new phones and you are repeatedly asked which secure platform you will use to chat with them all. Their flight is scheduled to leave at 0320, at midnight you are scouring the rooms they used confirming everyone has packed everything.

Ghost finds you ass in the air while your hand stretches for a book Gaz had been missing for three weeks. It had fallen between his bed and the wall. When you snag it you pull back triumphant. You see his legs first, glancing all the way up at his face.

“Oh, hi, Ghost. I am just checking everyone got everything before you all leave,” you smile up at him.

He doesn’t respond, just offering a hand down to you. You take it gratefully, pulling yourself up. Taking a step back you look him over. He is wearing his soft balaclava today, he tends to wear them when he needs to be more comfortable than scary.

“All ready to go home? I bet you are going to be glad for an overcast day and a good cuppa,” the happiness in your voice isn’t faked. Ghost has complained to you a few times about the terrible tea here.

“Ready to be home, not looking forward to the flight.” He looks you over scouring your face, his gaze scrapes like steel wool over your nerves. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

The husky tone of his voice catches you off guard enough that you comply without thought. Gaz’s book is lifted from your hands, leaving them empty.

As you stand you hear the buzzing of the bright light above you, the sound of Velcro opening, and the quiet sounds of breaths, both yours and Ghosts. The fingers on your cheek are a surprise, the callouses marking your skin as they trail from your jaw to your eye.

You push your face into the touch, savoring the contact. His thumb brushes against your lips. You flick the tip of your tongue against it, tasting the ridges unique to that finger. He slides away from your mouth, thumb and fingers curling around your jaw and tipping your face up. He kisses you then. Riots start inside your body. Part of you yearns to open your eyes, devour him, touch the breadth of his flesh. The other, stronger part of you screws your eyes shut tighter, taking the gift as it is given and demanding nothing more.

He kisses as if he bottles his kindness and doles it out only for you. The press of his lips against yours will keep you going. He pulls back ever so slightly.

“I’ll see you in a year dove, stay safe,” he says the words against your lips, pressing them together once more. He puts something in your hands as he steps away, his fingers still on your face.

You keep your eyes closed, waiting for some sign it would be safe to open them again. His thumb taps your jaw before drifting away.

“Open your eyes already you silly bird,” the smile in his voice is unmistakable. His fingers slip away as your eyes open.

This mask is down again, you smirk up at him.

“Why am I a silly bird for respecting boundaries you big oaf? If you wanted me to see your face you wouldn’t have asked me to close my eyes.”

He shrugs, “Didn’t think you would let me kiss you if you saw it coming.”

You can’t stop the full belly laugh that erupts out of you. “I don’t know how to respond to that!”

Shaking your head you look down and pause. Your head snaps up.

“You’re giving me your e-reader? Why?” your brows draw together as you look at him.

He shrugs again, shoulders shifting just enough to indicate he didn’t have a real reason to share.

“It’s still logged in, feel free to buy any book that piques your interest.” His hands lift to your face, cupping your cheeks.

Your eyes flutter closed at the contact. His forehead connects with yours, his warm breath kissing your face as it filters through the mask.

“Don’t die before I get there okay?” You open your eyes, staring straight into his. This close you can see the variations of brown striping through them.

“Can’t promise nothin’, but I’ll do my best.” He sounds sincere.

You give in to the urge to hug him. He hesitates before returning the gesture. You stand with him, listening to his heartbeat until you have soaked in the pressure of his presence. You pull back first, wiping at your eyes.

“Let’s get you to your ride, Price will come looking for you soon.”

You grab Gaz’s book, tuck the e-reader in a side pocket, and walk with Ghost to the hanger. The silence between you is comfortable and tinged with the moments you have shared in silence before.

As you get close you wave the book at Gaz who jogs over.

“Where did you find it? I looked everywhere,” he takes the book gratefully.

“Everywhere but under your bed obviously.”

Ghost snorts, walking past you to join Price near the gangplank of the plane. You’ve said all your goodbyes at this point. You only stay to see them off. Everyone but Ghost gives you a hug or a pat on the back as they board the plane. You wave until the door shuts and watch until the dim lights of the wings are swallowed by the darkness.

You blow out a breath and speak into the darkness.

“One year, you can make it one more year.”

✮✮✮

Six months in you can tell things are getting bad for them. It takes longer and longer for replies to come into your messages and when Soap is willing to share what’s happening it is summed up in a single word.

Mole.

They go dark for another three months. Your days are filled with a background of worry and a foreground of doing what you are told.

Ghost is the one who breaks the silence.

>Your paperwork is through, your visa should arrive soon.

The cheer you give in the mess hall has every eye on you. Pinching your lips between your teeth you clean up your tray and slip outside.

>Anything special I should do after it arrives?

His reply comes quick.

>Pack.

You laugh. Some would miss the dry wit with which he pokes at you. You miss him, them.

>I have a few months left before I am out. Should I fly into Heathrow?

>Yes. Send Price your flight details and someone will come get you.

You send a kissy face emoji in response, imagining the eye roll that this would incite.

The final three months slip by like water. Your off time is filled with nailing down travel details and fighting with Price via email over the contract he sent you. He set up a fair contract, but he wanted you on his team so why not ask for a few extra vacation days?

✮✮✮

Soap is the one to pick you up when your flight lands. You drag your achy bones through customs, the clash of accents all around you weighing on your brain.

You set your bags down to hug him. He laughs.

“Miss me bonnie lass?”

You mumble your reply into his chest.

“I’m not anyone’s ‘bonnie lass’.” You nearly match his accent on the words.

“I donne believe you, but tis good to see you back. Let’s get you to HQ.” He looks down at your bags, “This all you have?”

You ignore the prick of judgment the question causes in you. There is nothing wrong with a transatlantic move that only has you bring a carry-on and a backpack.

“That’s it, I pack pretty light. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

He gives you a heavy side-eye.

“Never said there was.”

Conversation falls back into familiar territory as Soap fights his way out of the airport, car inching forward until they are at last out of the city. You don’t fight the pull of your eyelids to meet in sleep as Soap sings along to the radio. A hand on your shoulder wakes you. Soap smirks at you from the other seat.

“Rise and shine sleeping beauty.”

You roll your eyes and focus beyond the windshield at an old barn. You glance at Soap, confused.

He chuckles as he replies, “England is old, we have to reuse what we can.”

“Alright, whatever you say.” You step out of the car, feeling odd to be leaving the left side as a passenger.

You leave your bags in the car. Soap wanted to introduce you to the full team before showing you to the shared flat you would be living in until you could secure your own lodgings.

He is talking about the area, waving his arms this way, and that pointing out the range and the picnic tables. He pulls open a person-sized door beside the massive barn doors.

“We’re home!” Soap calls into the large building.

You step through the door with a shiver, as if someone walked over your grave.

The building might have once been a barn, but industrial beams now held the roof aloft. To the right of the wide-open space a set of stairs led to a second level. A few small doors were scattered around the walls that did not hold the door you came through. The main space held a few long tables bracketed by chairs. Beyond them appeared to be an elevated platform where you could imagine staged fights occurred.

A stream of unfamiliar faces appears and greets you, all rising from the table where books and mugs lay scattered along the surface. Thankfully everyone returns to their task when done speaking with you. Roach catches your eye, he pulls you into a spinning hug.

You let out a squealing laugh as you pat at his shoulders.

“Put me down, Roach!”

He does settle your feet on the ground, hands settling on your waist as he bumps his forehead to yours.

Welcome home friend.

“I’m glad to see you again.” To break the tension, you ruffle his bright blond hair. Roach scrunches his nose and squeezes his hands once before stepping back.

Soap propels you deeper into the building with a hand on your back.

“Where is everyone else?” You glance at his profile, catching sight of a new bump along the ridge of his nose. “That’s new.”

He glances at you, “Price and Ghost will be in their offices, Gaz could be anywhere. And what’s new?”

You press a finger to his face. “This.”

Soap goes a tiny bit cross-eyed looking at the point you touched.

“Rookie caught me slacking.” He looks up and smiles at you. “Ready to see everyone else?”

“Lead on my lovely guide,” you gesture to the hallway before you.

The hallway must lead to a back building, though it sloped downward slightly. Several minutes pass with Soap pointing out bathrooms and kitchens and even your small office next to Price’s. He doesn’t knock as he pops the door open. Kyle is standing, finger-pointing at something on a desk while Price sits peering down at the same. Both men look up, dour expressions melting away when they catch sight of you.

“You made it!” Kyle pulls you into a tight hug that you happily return. “How was your flight?”

“My flights?” You emphasize the s on your last word as you step around Kyle to give Price a half hug along his shoulders. “All four of them were fine, some longer than others though.”

“Soap get you settled in yet?” Price asks as his arm snakes around you in return.

“Not yet, Cap. Figured she would want to say hello to everyone before I drop her off at the roulette flat,” Soap answers for you. You take the opportunity to step back into your own space.

“Roulette flat?” You glance between the three of them as they fight down smirks.

“We keep a flat for new transfers or men in hot waters with their birds who can’t go home. You’re welcome to stay there until you can secure lodgings you prefer.” Price shifts “Have you seen everyone?”

Shaking your head you reply, “Not yet. Still looking for Ghost.”

“Mmm, probably down in the shooting range. If you follow this hallway to the end you will find the range.” John pointed away from the direction you had already come from. “Soap would take you but I need his opinion on something.”

Taking the gentle dismissal you smile and nod, secretly grateful to be able to see Ghost without an audience. Pulling the door shut quietly you let gravity guide your steps further into the earth and this odd base John headed.

A thick metal door, wires encased in the single glass window near the top sat at the end of the long hall. The push bar chills your fingers as you step into the cool concrete room. Six little stalls, open above and below a rib-high counter lined the room. Ghost stood in the fourth one down, feet braced wide as he looked down at the shelf.

To avoid startling him you said something before the door shut fully.

“Hey there stranger.”

His shoulders stiffen as he turns, you watch his muscles relax as he takes in the sight of you. Searching him for changes you let the silence settle between you. He does the same.

You can’t bridge the gap. When tension layers the silence Ghost breaks it.

“How were your flights?”

“Long, my ass hurts from sitting,” you answer honestly.

Ghost nods. His thumbs settle in the top of his pockets.

“Misse—”

The door slams into you, flinging you forward as you fight to catch your balance.

“Bonnie? Aye, why are ye standing behind the door?” Soap looks at you around the door he threw into your back, perplexed.

“Because I like being assaulted with metal sheets,” you deadpanned.

Ghost let out a huff of a laugh. You shoot a glance at him.

“Ready to go lass?” Soap’s question pulls your gaze back to him.

“Where is she staying?” Ghost must not have meant to ask; his fingers tighten at his pants.

“Roulette flat,” Soap replies, happy to answer his L.T.

Ghost nods once and turns back to his shooting range. A series of metal clicks tell you he is readying another round.

You follow Soap from the room, eyes lingering on those broad shoulders until the door separates you. Several muffled bangs follow you to the surface.

✮✮✮

Roulette Flat lived up to its name. You had a new flatmate near every week; the time you came home to find a young member of the 141 having sex in your borrowed bed was the day you threw yourself into the chair opposite Price’s desk.

“I can’t keep living like this John!” You press the heels of your palms into your eyes as if that would wipe the vision of ass you had caught when trying to drop your bag after work.

You had fled the flat and spent the evening taking up a booth at the pub searching for a new flat. Nothing close enough had worked out when you sent off inquiries. Everyone had replied that any roommate positions had been filled or the landlord ‘conveniently’ had another call coming in when they heard your accent.

“My food getting eaten is annoying, but I can deal with that but this?” You sit forward arm flinging wide, “In my bed?!”

John looks sympathetic as you express your frustrations.

“What’s in your bed?” Ghost’s voice surprises you.

Glancing at him towering over you, you let out a huff and leaned back in the chair, defeated. He is wearing of soft balaclava sans eye black.

“Rookies having sex in the bed I am using at the flat.”

“You haven’t found a flat in the month you have been here?” One brow creeps up.

“No, by the time I get a response from any listing the spot is filled.” Frustrated you press hard on your cheekbones before rubbing out the pain.

John and Ghost had been having a silent conversation over your head. You can tell by the way Ghost sighs and folds his arms across his chest and John looks at him expectantly.

“I…Have a spare room.” Ghost drops his shoulders, forcing a face of calm, “If you wouldn’t mind staying with me.”

Smiling softly up at him you think over the offer.

“How about this, you give me a month. If, in a month, you still actually want to offer and not be bullied into it by Cap and I haven’t found a flat I will take you up on your offer.”

Ghost lets out a puff of air through his nose as he uncrosses his arms.

“Wanna go down to the range?” He tips his head to indicate the shooting range.

A deep sadness washes over you. It must show in your face from the way Ghost tightens slightly.

“I would love to do that, and if you aren’t busy tomorrow evening I would be happy to practice with you. Gaz, Soap, and Roach all asked me out for a drink tonight when I rolled in this morning. I would invite you, but I know you already told Soap you didn’t want to go out tonight.” The idea of missing time with him tugs your heart in your chest. You lock eyes with Ghost, warming in the subtle shades of brown in his irises.

Neither of you had found time or the gumption to start a conversation about how things were left a year ago. Frankly, you were worried and slightly devastated that he might not want to explore what might be between you.

John reminds you that you are in his office by a loud clearing of his throat.

Heat flashes through your chest as you snap your gaze to him.

“Much as I love these chats, was there anything either of you needed me for?”

“No,” you stand, pushing up from the chair. “I came by to bitch. Sorry.”

Ghost shakes his head. Both of you head for the door.

John watches the two of you leave his office, leaving a breath of space between bodies. When you clear the frame, you turn and look up with a smile for Ghost. It melts the poor bastard. He reaches out too slow, skeleton gloves barely miss catching your hand as you head for your own office.

Leaning forward John lets the creak of his office chair tell his lieutenant that he saw. Ghost steps back inside and shuts the door, leaning his head on the wood as his body curls around the hand still on the knob.

“Talking to her would resolve this tension for you, Simon,” John interlaces his fingers and rests his chin atop his touching thumbs.

By way of response, Simon slams his head repeatedly. A sharp whistle from John causes him to pause.

“Whatever messages you’ve been trying to send are being missed. If she moves in, then she will at least be close enough to let you have more than one chance at telling her.”

“You are more meddlesome than a matchmaking grandmother John,” Ghost growled to the door.

“Be that as it may, with the pace at which you are moving one of the rookies will try and put moves on her before you can say her name out loud,” John observed.

The hinges creaked under the force of Simon containing his emotions.

“Confirm shooting with her for tomorrow night. I will make that an order if it means you get out of my office and find yourself in hers.”

“Order it,” Simon growled.

John’s brows lifted but he gave the order. Simon moved the door as if its presence holding back the traffic from the hall had offended his entire bloodline. The knock from down the hall drifted followed by your surprised greeting.

God his lieutenant needed a kick in the ass sometimes. John saw how you watched Simon, the simmering feelings went both ways. Now if only someone would shift.

✮✮✮

Roach enjoyed spending time with you. The brightness you brought to the conversations and the way you always included him despite his low likelihood of responding left him feeling treasured. You had slipped away to grab another round of drinks for the table.

“Ah fuck,” Gaz pushed away roughly from the table. “Up, we need to save her.”

Soap and Roach stood, finding you quickly. You were in the face of a man, red in the face, who loomed over you. Your shouts could be heard across the bar.

“You wanna touch women? Real fucking classy of you. No. Don’t look at her. Look at me, the loud American who can happily kick your ass.”

Gaz is the first one able to cross the room and loop an arm around your waist, tugging you away from the confrontation.

They were nearly clear of the door when the man spat a nasty comment about one of the guys and you were gone. They forgot sometimes, that while you might not be SAS, you were a trained soldier. Two body shots, a forehead to the bigot’s nose, and a blow to his knee and he went down like a tree felled.

Spitting on the man who lay moaning on the ground you tossed £20 on the counter before stalking out of the pub muttering to yourself about assholes who needed to learn to keep their hands to themselves and pick up a fucking book.

Roach, Soap, and Gaz all shared a look before following you out the door.

Soap threw an arm over your shoulder as you stomped down the sidewalk.

“I don’t remember you being this feisty when we were in the States lass.”

“That? I had to do something while waiting out my last year. Used that time to work on standing up for women, and myself, more. I started taking more classes about, well everything really. Languages, more sparring, anything they would approve me for to keep me busy while you all dealt with your mole situation.” That brought your feet to a stop. “You did take care of that didn’t you?”

Roach nodded. He had been on that mission with Price, put down a few people who were telling tales that didn’t belong to them.

“Good. Can’t have someone hurt my guys,” you nodded firmly before setting off down the lane again.

“Your guys?” Gaz nudged you in the ribs with his elbow and a wink.

You roll your eyes and bump him back.

“You know what I mean.”

They did, they all knew. Claiming those in your care happened to everyone.

✮✮✮

You don’t wait at the door after knocking. Price had confirmed Ghost would be in his office filling out a shitload of paperwork he had been ignoring. The desk is facing the door, Ghost glancing up from his computer as you slam the door behind you.

No chairs other than the one he is using exist in the space. You sit on the floor with a huff, back against the wall nearest to him. Elbows on knees you focus on breathing and not murdering.

“Is your offer still open?”

The chair creaks as he turns to peer down at you.

“Yes.”

“Good. If it wasn’t I was going to end up playing Russian roulette when I got to the flat.”

“What happened?”

“My underwear have gone missing,” you force the words past clenched teeth. “I had to wash the pair I am wearing in the sink and go commando while they dried.”

He didn’t prevent the show of true emotion from flickering across his face. You caught the tail end of it as you glanced up at him. You might end up with more than you bargained for by letting that problem into the light.

“Would tonight after work be okay then? I need to pop by a shop and get new underwear,” you rest your head in your hands, utterly exhausted.

“I’ll get a bed there by tonight for you.”

He hesitates before resting a hand on your head.

“I bought that long romance series I have seen you slowly renting from the library,” his words are quiet.

His gloves catch on your hair as you look up at him.

“Why?”

A shrug drops his hand from you. He turns back to his computer.

“That’s all I get Lieutenant? A shrug?” You needle.

The side eye he gives you would have scared the recruits. You knew better. He would never hurt you. You send a wink up at him, smirking as he turns back to his computer.

✮✮✮

John took you to a pub for your employee check-in. You had been living with Ghost for nearly a month now. It worked out better than you expected. Ghost kept a clean space and there is a running list of groceries needed that you take turns picking up. On days when the timing allows you to ride into work with him you play DJ. He has a decent playlist on his cracked ancient phone.

You had asked about the phone once when you had been poking around his music.

“Why is your phone so old?”

“Still works,” he didn’t take his eyes off the road.

“Yeah, but it’s so old they don’t even make this charger anymore!” You pointed to the butt of the phone, “And it still has an aux port!”

He grunted in acknowledgment.

“Red light,” you threw out as you glanced up before going back to your perusal of his artists.

Ghost had a hard time anticipating drivers, especially when they were directly ahead of him. You joked that he needed glasses or contacts in front of Soap who immediately took great pleasure in telling you how looking through Ghost’s scope left him with a headache behind the eye he used. The man in question had glared at both of you before stalking off. If he started to use cheater glasses at home and the text size on his Kindle shrunk there was no use mentioning it.

“Still liking the job?” John questions as the waiter drops both drinks on the table.

“Loving it actually. It got a lot easier when I got out of the roulette flat. I was this close,” you hold your fingers apart to the point of a single piece of paper making it through the space, “To killing someone.”

“You moved in with Ghost right?” John takes a sip of his beer, the foam clinging to his mustache.

You nod as you take a sip of your cocktail, “He’s been leagues better as a roommate. No real difference than when you were all back on the base with me.”

A boisterous group of young men draw your attention to the front door. Clocking the way they scope out the room and find the pretty young women and sidle up to the bar around them.

“Any complaints about the work then? Do you think you’re ready to be thrown on rotation for on-site management if we need it?”

John is looking at you but you can’t tear your eyes from the scene before you. One guy is getting all up in the space of a woman who is clearly uncomfortable. She excuses herself from the bar. The monster drops something in her drink smirking to himself as it sinks to the bottom of the glass.

Cutting your eyes back to John you ignore his previous questions.

“Did Ghost ever tell you how we met?”

Confused by the jump in conversation his brows pull together but he replies.

“No.”

“He saved me the night before the transfer from two would-be rapists on base. I took the year I had to wait for my service to be over to practice being bold. There is a man at the bar who put something in a woman’s drink. I need you to watch for a confused woman and tell her what happened. I am going to try and get a picture of his ID and if I have to drink her beer drop me off with Ghost. I should have anywhere from ten to thirty minutes until it takes full effect.”

Standing you don’t give him a chance to argue about your plan.

Simon stands from the couch due to the knock at his door. Checking the peephole he is concerned to see you draped over John’s shoulder. Unlocking the door he pulls it open. John hefts you in, you stumble further into his side giggling as you do.

“The hell happened John? Thought you were going for a quick drink,” Simon grabs your other arm and helps settle you into the couch you had insisted they needed.

“It was supposed to be!” John snaps at him.

“Hi Si,” you coo up at him.

“How do you know my name?” He growls down at you. He should be kinder, you are off your ass drunk.

“I don’t know your name,” you look up at him and put your fingers to your chest in an affronted manner, “The credit card company does. I put the mail on your bed.”

That makes more sense. Those fucking vultures could find him anywhere he moved for longer than three months. He had seen the offer on his pillow and had already shredded it.

“The fuck happened John? She knows her limits,” Simon growled at his captain.

“She saw a woman’s drink get spiked and ended up drinking it in a bid to get a picture of the rapist’s ID.” John crossed his arms, feet wide as he stared down at you. You blanched and went slightly green. Before either man could react you had spewed the contents of your stomach across the rug you had bought to go with the couch.

“Simon,” your voice came out small between coughs, “I don’t feel so good.”

He doesn’t think. Scooping you up from the couch, leaving your puddle of sick where it lay.

“John, grab a sweater from the hook. We are taking her to the hospital,” his words come out harshly from his tight throat.

A captain gave orders, but he also knew when to follow them. He grabbed one of Simon’s hoodies and locked the knob as he followed Simon’s long steps.

“I’ll drive,” John unlocks his car from the fob once it is in sight.

Simon sits in the back seat, clicking you and himself in. He holds you: when the nurse checks you out, when they draw blood, when you fall asleep wrapped in his hoodie an IV in your arm pumping you with fluids. He holds on tighter when you wake up with a soft smile and words of thanks for him.

“Thanks, Simon. I knew you would take care of me.”

“Why did you do that?” His jaw quivers behind his black medical mask.

“You saved me when we met, I figured that the least I could do is save someone else,” the soft doe eyes you point up at him will be his undoing.

He rests his chin on the top of your head before your eyes undo more of the stitches holding his soul in place.

✮✮✮

Simon, as he let you call him off the job, made the worst jokes when grocery shopping. As you were perusing the wine aisle he leaned over the bar of the cart staring at you. When you finally glanced at him like you knew he had been waiting for he hit you with a pun.

“Grape deal on wine today.”

The deadpan delivery causes your lips to quirk even as you fight it down.

“This is not helping me choose a box to take home.”

“Dill with it. We also need pickles.”

That one caused you to laugh out loud.

“Come one big guy, we still have half a store to get through,” You smile as you wave him on, grabbing a boxed wine that wasn’t terrible the last time you tried it.

He loomed behind you, even as he curled over the cart.

“Hey.”

Looking from the eggs you find Simon pointing a thumb to the butter section.

“Butter believe these prices are getting out of hand.”

Snorting, you roll your eyes.

“Butter believe your puns are getting worse.”

“Butter believe you’ll put up with them anyways,” he shot back.

“Oh, will I?” You lift a brow at him as you settle the eggs in the cart.

“You love them,” he winked at you.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s call it unless you plan on selling a leg at check out.”

Simon follows you to check out, paying despite your instance to split the cost, and takes the bulk of the groceries on the way home.

✮✮✮

Roach wouldn’t mention the bet, which is exactly why Gaz brought it up.

Dropping onto the couch next to Gary who played Tetris on an old gaming console Gaz waited.

When Roach finally lifted a brow Gaz launched into his story.

“Johnny and I have a bet going on how long it is going to take for Ghost to make a move on our little liaison. Want in?”

Switching his console for a phone Gary sent money to Gaz with the note ‘Ghost won’t make a move’.

Staring at the phone Gaz hummed as he mulled over the thought.

“You think she is going to make a move?”

Roach shrugged before signing.

I know Ghost won’t make a move, that man doesn’t move unless he is sure.

“And can’t really be sure of someone’s feelings unless they say. I see your point. Johnny said it would take six months and I said it would take nine and a half months. Anyone else I should ask?” Gaz added Roach’s vote to the note app where he kept a running tally of amounts and guesses.

You ask John yet?

“Should I?” Gaz quirked a brow.

Man’s a gossip.

“I’ll go ask him now then. And this should go without saying but I don’t want to run laps until I vomit so keep this to yourself.”

Roach mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key. Gaz pushed on his head as both men laughed.

✮✮✮

When one year slipped by it started to look more and more likely that Roach would be correct.

After the second year tripped into the third everyone got their money back and the bet wasn’t mentioned again.

Everyone watched though, waiting for the seismic shift that would be visible from space.

Instead, the relationship changed by degrees; the frog being boiled when no one was watching.

✮✮✮

Simon poked your skincare bottles from his seat on the toilet. You had been telling him about your day when you stepped into the bathroom not pausing in your story.

Whack.

He glared up at you for smacking his hand.

“Keep touching my shit and I will make you wear it,” you send him a hard side-eyed glare as your fingers work the bubbles of your soap over your face.

Johnny had pissed him off today and the wanker had ducked out before Simon could force him to the training mat for a few rounds. He poked the bottle, the petty need satisfied as the small bottle fell with a sound.

You watch him for the count of seven before turning and rinsing both your hands and your face. Drying both you grab a package from the other side of the sink and bracket one of his knees. Unsure of your plan Simon watches as you peel it open and pull out what looks like a wet wipe. A cloying floral scent fills the room. Even through the mask, the scent is too much, Simon closes his eyes and scrunches his nose. That is when you strike.

A solid grip on his balaclava at the top of his head and one hard tug and his face is free. Exposed. Ugly.

Without a word you set about running the wet wipe over his face as if you hadn’t upended his world. The hand not wiping him holds his chin, tilting him to and fro. The firm pressure keeps him tethered to the reality of the bathroom.

“Damn Si, you need to wash your masks and your face more,” you mutter as you reach for a second wipe.

He searches your face, looking for fear, disgust, hate, anything more than concentration pulling at your brows as you study him.

“Close your eyes, this will take a bit since your eye black is ridiculously hard to get off sometimes.”

He does as requested, savoring the simple touches of your hands. You are gentle around his eyes. Each swipe of your fingers wipes away the darkness from his eyes and a bit from his soul.

Slowly, so slowly he wraps his large hands around your thighs, the give of the flesh before your muscles resistance solid and real under his fingers. He would remember this feeling as he palmed himself late in the night, thinking of you.

His breath caught when your lips brushed the bridge of his nose. Broken so many times it would take a surgeon and a miracle to straighten it out. His father had broken it first; he had been blackout drunk and mean that night. He had been mean every night. His mother set the bone as Simon had cried begging her to leave his father. The other times didn’t matter so much, men who died after they got one shot in.

Leaving his eyes closed Simon soaked up your ministrations, pretending each touch is filled with love and not only companionship.

✮✮✮

It was a known fact around the building that if you couldn’t find Ghost that he would be in the Liaison’s office. Some of the newer recruits whispered they must be together for how often they could be found on late nights sharing a blanket. Each used an armrest as a pillow and would wake the other to stumble home to their shared flat.

A new recruit who went by the name, Stevens, had the gumption, or the ignorance, to ask the liaison in the kitchen, in front of Ghost, if she was dating anyone.

“You got a man, Ms. Liaison?” Stevens swaggered over to the counter where you were preparing your lunch before turning and leaning against it.

You reply without looking up from your sandwich.

“Pretty sure I’ve got fifty-two of them right now.”

He leans into your vision, brow lifted.

“No, like a boyfriend.”

“Oh!” You laugh at your misunderstanding. You had counted the number of men you were in charge of in the group. “No. No boyfriend for me.”

Stevens glanced at Ghost who crumpled his canned drink, fluids spilling over his fist.

“Would you want to hit a pub tonight?”

“Mmm, I’d have to check my schedule to see what time I’m free. Can I get back to you?” You smile up at him. “Where can I find you later?”

Dragging his eyes from the promised death in Ghost’s face he smiled at you.

“I’ll be in the training room about three,” Stevens smiled brightly at you before pushing off the counter and sauntering from the room.

Three o’clock found you nearly getting run over by Stevens as he ran laps around the gym.

He holds onto both your shoulders as he slows down, mumbling breathless apologies.

Ghost’s voice ricochets off the wall behind you as he shouts

“Stevens! Keep running.”

The man winces and pounds his feet against the ground as he rounds the room again.

Understanding washes over you. Simon had seen Stevens ask you to the pub and had taken some kind of offense from it.

Stalking over to Simon you see a wince in his eyes as he catches sight of your face.

Years of living with the man informed your next decision. Reaching up you pinched his bottom lip between two fingers. The soft fabric of his mask did not stop you from pulling down from his towering height to be eye level with you.

Glaring hard into the brown of his irises you raise your voice.

“Stevens, get out of here and be in my office at six.”

Light disappears from behind Simon’s gaze as Stevens scurries from the room.

“He only wants to fuck you.” He struggled to speak around your hold on his lip.

“I’m glad someone wants to, I am really tired of finding orgasms alone in my room.”

Any emotion you could have divined from his face is wiped away at your words.

God if you weren’t so scared of losing the easy connection you had with him you would kiss him right now.

Simon lifts a hand slowly to your hand still holding his lip, pulling it away before gently letting your hand rest at your side. Without a word, he walks away—taking your bleeding heart with him.

✮✮✮

“John?”

He gives a hum of a response, not dragging his eyes away from the dense email on his screen.

“Do you think Simon would get the message that I would like to be more than friends if I climbed into his bed tonight?”

The words before his eyes stop looking like anything he can read.

Slowly lifting his fingers to the bridge of his nose he pinches, hoping to head off a migraine this conversation will most assuredly cause. He had watched the two of you dance around each other for years now. He had hoped that when you took Simon up on his offer of living together that something would have shifted. If anything the two idiots seemed to retreat further into their corners.

“I am not qualified to give you an answer on that.” He ends his sentence with a sigh.

Looking up John is startled to find tears in your eyes. Oh damn. You were serious.

Settling back in his chair John folds his arms across his chest.

“Simon is cautious by nature, approach him like you would a street cat. He trusts you right?”

You shift foot to foot, before nodding once.

“If he were a street cat I could feed him, and give him ear scritches, but he shies away from anything more.”

“Scooping him up and carrying him inside would be the answer now, but Simon has at least three stone on you. Is there something you can do to get him to sit still long enough to have a conversation?”

Whatever skitters through your head is something he doesn’t want to know.

“Yeah, I guess there is something I could do.”

“Alright. Now was there an actual work reason you came to my office?”

“Oh! Yes,” you pass him the file from your hand and launch back into safer topics.

✮✮✮

Stevens appeared in your office at six as requested.

“Why did you invite me out, Stevens?” You swivel side to side in your chair, staring at your keyboard.

“Well, everyone said you were Ghost’s girl, but you wouldn’t have said yes to a date in front of him if you were,” he shrugged as if that logic explained the rift that had opened in your soul.

Sucking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out you feel a plan form in your mind. Your fingers crack when you release them from the tight grip they had on the sleeves of your shirt.

Flicking your gaze up you pin Stevens to the wall with it.

“I am not a girl first off. I am a grown woman. Second, who I am to anyone is my decision to make, not yours. I am rescinding my offer to join you. Now get out of my office and don’t pull shit like this again,” you stand pulling your things together to head to the flat you shared with Simon.

✮✮✮

You found him there, on the couch like his boots had betrayed him and stolen the floor beneath them. One arm thrown over his eyes as his head rested on the back of the couch. Slipping off your shoes and setting down your work bag you walk across the floor, avoiding the creaky spots.

Simon doesn’t say anything when you touch his thigh, but his breathing doesn’t change so you know he is awake.

A singular fortifying breath is all you allow yourself before you set your left knee into the cushion next to his hip and swing your right leg to his other side. When your body moves funny you sit hard on him, hands on his chest for balance.

“Oof.”

Beyond the involuntary sound, Simon remains exactly as before. Sliding a finger below the collar of his shirt you edge up the bottom of his face mask. Your other hand joining in you work it up, gently folding and lifting.

“I thought you were going out with Stevens.” His voice rumbles through you from the bottom up.

“You said he only wanted to sleep with me, so why does it matter?” You keep your tone light, and unassuming as you fold the mask another time, exposing his Adam’s apple. It bobs as you trace a finger over it.

“Why are you here?” The whisper belied the harshness of his words.

“This is my home. Should I go somewhere else?”

The arm not across his eyes shifts, hand settling on the thickness of your hip, holding you in place.

“Home?”

You fold the mask over his lips now, watching as the scar pulls taut at the word.

“Yes. It has my bed, my clothes, the man that I love. What else would I call it but home?”

He stills, a statue of flesh.

“Please,” his voice breaks on the word. “I won’t survive this being a dream.”

The glacial pace lets you see the tears catching in his lower lashes as first one eye and then the other is revealed. His free hand settles on your other hip, the width of his palm firm against you.

He watches you as if a goddess had dropped into his lap, the answer to his prayers.

“Simon.” You cup his cheeks as the ache in your chest escapes in your tone. “Do good things only happen to you in your dreams?”

He closes his eyes tight as if waiting for a blow.

“No, only bad ones do.”

“Let me,” you kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Make this,” trailing kisses down the shape of it.

“The exception,” angling his face up you put your lips on his.

Eternities could have passed in the seconds it takes for him to crumble beneath you, meeting you with the strength of a drowning man.

✮✮✮

Everyone could tell something had shifted. Simon no longer glared at men who talked to their liaison, and you wore a soft smile even focused and ignoring the chaos that drifted past your door.

“I’m proud of you L.T.” Johnny slapped him on the back.

Simon glared at his friend.

“The fuck for?”

Johnny pointed with his chin to where you stood laughing at the punching bag with Gaz.

“Letting yourself be loved.”

Twisting Simon fired off a punch to Johnny’s stomach. The Scot laughed as he danced back, avoiding the hit.

He tsked at Simon, “Careful now or I will have to tell the missus you’re being mean to me.”

Flipping his friend off Simon made his way across the room to you.

Hmm. The missus. That had a nice ring to it.

You relaxed into the hand Simon settled on your back, smiling up at him with a love to eclipse the sun.

He would have never allowed love to grow in him, but it grew around him until a neat little home housed his heart and sheltered it from the storm.

Your place in his home, his bed, his heart told him that however this story ended it would be happier than how it began.

Bonus scene:

Gaz stopped next to Ghost, noticing the hand placement on the lovely little liaison.

“So L.T. she finally make a move on you?”

Ghost glances down at him before fixing his gaze on the distant wall.

“Yes, I did,” you reply.

Cupping his hands around his mouth Gaz yelled to Johnny across the room.

“Looks like Roach won the pot!”

“Canne fookin’ believe it!” The Scottish accent came out thick from the man as he cursed at the floor.

A chill ran up Gaz’s spine as he caught sight of the glower from his lieutenant.

“Give them at least a head start yeah?” You smile up at Ghost.

“Three.”

Gaz takes off running, pulling Johnny along as they tear through the base looking for somewhere to hide from their incensed commanding officer.

“Hey, Simon?”

He turns from glaring out the door his sergeants bolted through to looking at you.

The crook of your finger has him leaning closer until you rub your nose against his.

“Happy hunting.”

He cuffs out a laugh, before bumping your forehead with his own and striding after some men who needed a reminder of what he could do.

Masterlist

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ao3 author #au #but this time make it happy

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bumblesimagines · 9 months ago

Text

Love to Hate, Hate to Love

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Rivalries are supposed to be fun and motivating, maybe even a little brutal. Just the way Jordan likes it. Except, they fucked up and things are so much more complicated.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

~~~

Jordan can hardly hear their thoughts over the booming music, let alone whatever conversation Andre and Luke were having across from them. They strain to hear better but they only manage to catch a few words before giving up and slumping back on the couch cushions with a huff. Their eyes drag around the room where classmates and strangers danced or mingled around them, some grinding and others shouting into their friend's ears. They suddenly find the room too stuffy, too crowded for their liking, and they stand up, snatching a beer can off the table and shoving their way through the party until they find the sliding door leading to the backyard.

Jordan stumbles outside and tilts their head back, taking a deep breath in, pleased to be inhaling something other than smoke, even if they yearn for another hit to silence their thoughts. The substances they took were enough to get them high, enough to make their mind hazy and movements sluggish, but the combined buzz of the powders and shrooms are worth it.

"Well, if it isn't my little Li?" A voice coos and their head turns in the direction of it, finding (Y/N) (L/N) watching them with a lopsided grin. A scowl forms on their face immediately and they shift into the masc form, a somewhat genuine sounding 'awe' leaving his lips. Jordan tries ignoring the way it makes their heart twist. Not many embrace their fem form unless it's a guy trying to get lucky.

"(L/N)," Jordan intends to sound annoyed but they end up sighing the last name and feel a flush creep up their cheeks. (Y/N) giggles, and it sounds adorable, before striding over to them and placing his hands over Jordan's cheek. (Y/N) sways slightly and Jordan catches sight of their blown-out pupils, the black so wide it almost completely covers the color of their eyes. The beer can slips from their fingers and falls to the ground with a clatter but neither pay it any mind.

"You're warm." (Y/N) murmurs and Jordan feels their skin cool, a heavy sigh of relief escaping their lips. God, the house had grown so hot and stuffy with all the people crawling inside it, that Jordan had failed to realize how hot they'd gotten. They hum lowly, eyes fluttering shut and fingers curling around (Y/N)'s wrist. How nice would it be to have a walking AC for a-

Their eyes fly open at the interrupted thought, meeting (Y/N)'s half-lidded ones. If it were anyone else, Jordan might've considered the thought, entertained it even with some flirting, but (Y/N) fucking (L/N). No. No. Unless... No. They were supposed to hate him, and they swore they did! But (Y/N) had a knack for making things oh-so complicated.

It all started their first year at God U during one of Professor Brink's lectures. Jordan had been listening intently, scribbling notes, and answering questions that earned them praise from the professor. Everything had been peachy. Jordan soaked up each praise and approving nod from Professor Brink while smirking at the annoyed glances their classmates shot them until Jordan answered a question, and was rebuffed by a classmate.

"Actually," Jordan's head had whirled around to look at the source of the voice, their eyes locking onto Luke Riordan and then moving onto the figure sitting beside them. (Y/N) grinned lazily, one arm propped on the back of his chair and legs extended out in front of him as if he owned the damn building. (Y/N) (L/N), cousin to Luke Riordan and the beloved nephew of Ted and Janet Riordan. Where Luke controlled fire, (Y/N) controlled ice. Polar opposites but as tight as brothers. "I think Li is wrong."

It was war from then on.

Luke Riordan dominated the social scene and rankings, easily ascending to the number one spot. At the same time, (Y/N) and Jordan battled over being number two: completing homework and doing extra credit, doing extracurricular activities after school, engaging in class, and putting on quite the show during training where they practically tried killing each other. And things got dirty, of course they did. Jordan once locked (Y/N) in the sauna after luring Luke and Andre out and in retaliation, (Y/N) laced their weed and made them miss half a day's worth of classes. When (Y/N) deleted an essay off their laptop, Jordan snuck into his dorm and soaked his fancy clothes with alcohol the afternoon of the gala. Things continued like that, with tension only growing and the bickering intensifying.

Jordan would never admit it out loud but they enjoyed being challenged, even if it infuriated them when it happened in public. (Y/N) consumed just about every waking thought of theirs, their mind constantly wondering what to do next and what to expect from him. They hated him, obviously, but slowly... things changed. Jordan never pinpointed when, but they had some idea as to the moments that changed their relationship with (Y/N).

Like the time Jordan had caught (Y/N)'s father lecturing him, putting him down despite his spot in the top ten and demanding more from a guy who worked twice as hard than the average student. The scene had felt nauseatingly familiar. From the way (Y/N) stared at the ground silently with a frown and occasional flinches to the fact his mother made no moves to defend her son and only watched. Jordan had lost count of how many times they'd found themselves in that exact spot, especially after coming out to their parents. They knew the feeling of constantly being questioned and pressured, being brushed aside in favor of others' feelings. The disappointment from a parent stung like no other, and when they'd ensured his parents had left, Jordan went to the Jitter Bean on campus and got some donuts. (Y/N) had accepted them, with some mild suspicion, but it'd been worth it when (Y/N) smiled after eating the sweet. (And no, Jordan didn't want to think about the fact they'd stared hard when (Y/N) licked his fingers clean or the low noise that emitted from his throat when he bit into the warm, glazed donut.)

And when that moment flickers back to them, they try squirming out of (Y/N)'s hold to put some distance between them. The last thing they need was a distraction, especially with exams coming up fast. But, they find (Y/N)'s hands tighten and pull their face closer. Jordan doesn't fight it, and only melts again when (Y/N) kisses them. His lips are cool, and it makes Jordan flinch at first, but then they find it's exactly what they need. They latch onto (Y/N), hands leaving his wrists to wrap around him instead, and (Y/N)'s arms drop from their face to coil around their waist. His hand slips under Jordan's shirt and they hiss softly, feeling (Y/N)'s lips curve up into a mischievous grin.

"Asshole," They whisper.

"You love it." (Y/N) chuckles, his grip tightening around them before he propels himself into the air with a gust of cold wind and takes Jordan along. They land on the balcony of one of the bedrooms, and Jordan can't help the giddy laugh that escapes them as their high keeps a tight grip on their mind. (Y/N) staggers again and leans back against the railing, only having a few seconds to steady himself before Jordan's hands find the collar of his shirt and they jerk him forward, crashing their lips back together. (Y/N) grunts and nips Jordan's lip for it but the shapeshifter hardly pays it any mind and walks backward into the dark room, pulling his rival along until they both collapse on the bed.

"(Y/N)," Jordan exhales, shifting back into their fem form out of habit, their hands still gripping his collar to keep him close. (Y/N) hums into the side of their throat, too occupied with suckling a mark onto their neck to properly speak, and while Jordan would typically raise hell about being marked, they oddly don't mind now. "Do me a favor."

"What?" His voice is muffled and a shiver shoots up their spine when his teeth drag across their skin. Heat pools in Jordan's stomach and their hands drop to reach down, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and lifting it. (Y/N) digs his knees into the mattress and leans back, fingers hooking around the back of the shirt and tugging it over his head. Jordan lights up like a Christmas tree and (Y/N)'s snicker is cut off with another rough kiss.

"Fuck me," Jordan demands.

A wolfish grin spreads across (Y/N)'s face. "Will do."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘༓∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Things change, obviously.

(Y/N) continues to consume Jordan's every waking moment, but only it somehow intensifies after their hookup. Jordan finds themselves lingering by the door after class, waiting for (Y/N)'s slow ass to finish packing his things or wrap up his conversation with Luke, and they spring out at him with half-hearted taunts or jabs that they end up stuttering through when (Y/N) holds eye contact with them and gives them that godforsaken chesire grin. They ensure to check (Y/N)'s assignments first and provide genuine, helpful feedback when they previously would've deducted points for the smallest of things.

It's not as if they've never slept with anyone before. They had their own little roster of classmates they hooked up with depending on their mood or who was available but as time passed and (Y/N) began answering their texts more frequently, their former flings went ignored in favor of going to (Y/N)'s dorm. Maybe it wouldn't have such an effect on them if (Y/N) were like the others, the flings who preferred one form over the other, but (Y/N) doesn't mind, doesn't care. And while it was the absolute bare minimum, it makes Jordan feel all the more woozy.

Especially in the summer when their parents call almost weekly, asking when they're going to visit them. The university lets students linger during the class-free summer months, for a surprising amount of supes have estranged relationships with their families. The heat becomes unbearable some days, and it makes Jordan feel all the more thankful when they wake up, roll over, and press against (Y/N). They only have to sigh for (Y/N) to make his skin grow colder, and Jordan nuzzles right into him with a pleased smile. Sure, the dorms have perfectly fine ACs, but it's all the better to be cuddled up to the human version of one.

"I'm gonna start charging you." He says, yawning and rolling over onto his side. His arms pull Jordan into his chest, eyes fluttering shut again and cheek nuzzling into the pillow. Jordan smiles despite themselves, their eyes taking in every detail of (Y/N)'s face. Most mornings, they have classes to attend or other things to do, only having a brief time to see each other. But summer put a brief end to classes and the hustle and bustle of student life, giving them all the time in the world with (Y/N).

"Yeah?" Jordan chuckles. "What'll it be? Five bucks?"

"Mmm." (Y/N) makes a noise akin to 'shut up' and Jordan grins, lips parting to speak again but the Supe seems to anticipate it and mushes their mouths together. It's lazy and slow and clumsy but it works at getting Jordan to stay quiet. They immediately relax, and it's embarrassing. They hate how their skin flushes or how giddy they feel. He's like a drug they can't quit and it's infuriating. But the moment doesn't last long, interrupted by a phone vibrating loudly against the nightstand.

"God, is it my parents?" Jordan gives an exasperated sigh, missing the coolness of his skin when (Y/N) rolls away from them to check.

"Nah," (Y/N) replies, sitting up in the bed with his phone in hand. He yawns again, eyes still squinty with sleep, and he types away on the screen. "I told Andre we could train in the gym today. Hand-to-hand combat and shit."

"Oh." Jordan sits up as well. Well, there went the cozy morning they'd hoped for.

Jordan spends the rest of the day working on summer assignments, most of it things Brink personally assigned to them to keep their mind working. While they typically enjoy working on personal assignments, their thoughts drift and weave until they find themselves changing and heading to the gymnasium. There are other classmates around, some using the basketball hoops or running laps, but Jordan searches for the combat room until they find it, until they find him. The fluttery feeling that invades their stomach turns into something bitter.

(Y/N) successfully pins Andre down on the floor, something that isn't much of an achievement considering Andre spends half his time partying or placing bets with Luke, but it's the way Andre's hands land on (Y/N)'s hips that makes a bitter, resentful feeling bubble up in their chest. Andre grins up at him, lazy and almost flirtatious, before (Y/N)'s chain necklace levitates and drags him off Andre. The Supe grunts when his back meets the floor and Andre's laugh echoes in the room. A surge of hot anger rushes through Jordan, not from the cheating but from the look on Andre's face.

"That was dirty, Anderson." (Y/N) says and Andre shrugs as he hops up onto his feet and walks toward his water bottle. In an instant, it becomes frozen solid and Andre groans softly while (Y/N) chuckles. Jordan steps into the room with a clenched jaw and an ocean of feelings swirling around in their head. Andre greets them with a smile.

"Hey, Jordan." He seems pleased with their sudden appearance, almost as if he'd been expecting them. "Mind stepping in for me? I've gotta call my dad real quick." Andre doesn't even wait for a response, slipping his gloves off his hands and tossing them at Jordan before leaving the room.

"What's up with you now, Li? Who pissed you off already?" (Y/N) laughs.

"You did." Jordan snaps, tossing their things aside and shoving their hands into the gloves.

"'Course I did." (Y/N) exhales heavily and tilts his head, the amusement still etched on his face. "What'd I do?"

"You made me love you, asshole."

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #x male!reader #gen v #gen v x reader #gen v x male reader #gen v x you #gen v x y/n #jordan li #jordan li x reader #jordan li x you #jordan li x y/n #jordan li x male reader #luke riordan #andre anderson

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cosmicpack · 3 months ago

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A klance ending.

Where after everything is said and done; Allura lives, Lance takes time off to be with his family (not a farmer, just a break). Lance and Allura break up shortly after the war. They both realize they were two hurt people trying to find comfort in each other, but Allura was using Lance as a rebound and Lance realizes they both deserve better. It’s mutual and only a little awkward.

Keith is helping the Blade of Mamora make the transition into a relief group.

He taken on a leadership position (along side Kolvian and Krolia)

Acxa joined as well and together they convince Ezor and Zethrid to join.

Note: I wish more people added them in post canon fics. I think it’s so funny that they are now Keith’s squad. And I think there is a lot of fun that can be had with those relationships. Whether wholesome as Keith unknowingly expands his found family, or angst as the girls compare their new lives to their lives with Lotor, but that’s another post.

Anyway Voltron has their one year post war meeting. And Keith is telling everyone about the Blade work and how they are working with the rest of the Galra to figure things out.

Lance teases him about them asking Keith to lead and Keith turning it down. When Keith confirms, they all laugh.

Everyone stops laughing when Axca, Ezor and Zethrid show up running towards Keith.

Keith is out of his chair in an instant. He worried something horrible has happened. Is Krolia hurt? What about Kolvian? Did something happen with the blade? There are planets with extreme prejudice against the Galra and they’ve had attacks against their relief teams before.

He’s not ready for what leaves their lips.

Apparently after Keith refused to lead, no one has been able to gather enough support to become the leader of the New Galra government. Keith was an easy pick because of his connections to the Blade, Voltron, and the Atlas. He has fallible connections and experience. No one else can gain the over all support he did.

And you know he’s also pretty. Like unfairly so (for a halfbreed) and somehow the remaining candidates come to the conclusion that whoever can gain Keith as their mate will be the one to lead the Bew Galra Empire.

After all if Keith doesn’t want to lead he doesn’t have to, he can just sit in the arm of whoever is leading. Give the people reassurance that they are in good hands.

So know at least 15 different Galra, from members of Zarcon’s old regime, to High ranking Blade members, anyone who wants to lead the Galra. Are making their way here to try and court Keith and or force him into Marriage/Mating.

Shiro is instantly in over protective Big Brother mode. They need to get Keith out of there.

Kolivan and Krolia had sent Axca, Ezor, and Zethrid for that reason and to back Keith up if he had to fight.

The rest of Voltron is moving to try and help Keith.

But Lance

Lance is a mix between indignant for his friend who has somehow become a trophy for people to win. Enrage that there is talk about people trying to force Keith to mate them. And also a burning need to keep Keith safe.

But there are also old feelings. He’s mature enough now to know he’s had a crush on Keith for a long time now. And now Keith is apparently the most desired bachelor in the universe!!!

Anyhow I think you can have a lot of fun with this

You can have Keith dealing with a lot of stupid/rude proposals

Gossipy Girl squad. They’d do anything for Keith but they are also going to Mike each of these horrible proposals

Jealous and protective Lance

Big brother Shiro

Maybe even bring in the Lions being protective

You can also go the route of lance just declaring that he and Keith are engaged/courting.

He’s trying to get everyone to stop bothering Keith.

But it puts these two, who have been pinning for each other for years in a fake dating situation.

Also Lance suddenly is enemy number one for anyone wanting to ascend to the Galra thrown.

I just think it’s a fun idea

Part 2

#broganes #klance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #takashi shirogane #ezor #Axca #Zethrid #allura #voltron #Galra marriage au

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spliqi · 2 months ago

Note

spliqiii hi!! i remember seeing you talk about a theory regarding higuchi's ability and i was thinking about that now. with innocent purposes. so i wanted to ask if you can redirect me to the posts you made about it? (and/or elaborate when you answer this ask!) no pressure of course <3

aaaa hello!!! here are the main posts i made about it. but i can absolutely just explain everything again because i love to yap and i have even more thoughts on this now than i did back then

it's difficult to say for certain what her ability could be since we know literally nothing except that she has/will have one (thanks to asagiri's vagueposting on twitter). in my opinion it would be pretty strange for her to be the one exception to the 'all authors have cool abilities based on their works' rule when she's such a recognized figure in japanese modern lit. so. here's where i fell down a rabbit hole of trying to figure it out with nothing but crumbs and a dream.

for starters there's a lot of unanswered questions around higuchi. the problems she faces with belonging in the mafia seem normal on the surface but when you look into how highly she's ranked it gets ?????. she leads the command unit with akutagawa, a unit that sits directly below the executives and above the black lizard + the majority of the organization. if she doesn’t bring much to the table as mori and tachihara imply in chapter 14, how did she get so high up? she’s also one of the few characters that report directly to mori himself:

not to mention how she must have joined the mafia fairly recently and reached this position super fast, as her and dazai didn’t recognize each other in chapters 3-4:

she’s presented as a totally ordinary character with "relatable problems", and yet her rank doesn’t match this at all. i could see it if she were on the lower rungs of the mafia, maybe the level of a grunt like oda was, but since she isn’t, all i can think is she must have something that the mafia wants, something valuable enough to make mori look past her poor suitability and give her such a high position working as a bodyguard (bodyguard??????) for one of the strongest characters in the series. and of course the most logical conclusion to draw is that it’s related to her mysterious ability.

i’m assuming it’s not an ultra-powerful fighting skill (as cool as that would be), since that would kind of defeat the purpose of her struggle in chapter 14, and it would be odd in that case for her subordinates to look down on her so much:

plus asagiri denies it outright in this 2019 interview:

after digging around, examining each of her scenes down to the atom and bouncing ideas off of mutuals, i think it would make the most sense for her to have a life support or healing-type ability, especially one that comes with some kind of cost to her own wellbeing. it fits the caring and self-sacrificial nature of her character, and her acting as a "nurse" figure would explain both her connection to mori, a doctor, and also her being assigned to work with the terminally ill akutagawa, despite the seemingly massive gap in their capabilities as mafiosi. if her ability is directly linked to treating his illness it could also give us an explanation as to why it’s been a secret for such a long time, as asgr would have to reach the point in the story where akutagawa's illness is revealed first, and timeline-wise the cruise ship scene where that happened was like. a few days ago lol

we only see her around injured people that she could potentially heal a couple of times, but both of these scenes are interesting. the first is with akutagawa after the cargo ship battle in the first arc:

she reaches out to touch his hand with a little glowy effect, but hesitates when she remembers he doesn’t want her to help him. possibly a touch-activated ability? possibly because she’s conflicted about putting herself at risk when she knows he won’t even appreciate it? this takes place immediately after mori berates her about her worth to the mafia/in comparison to akutagawa, so if she does have a healing ability i imagine it's one she has to use sparingly, to the point that her usefulness is being called into question.

at the end of the chapter he apologizes to her and takes her hand, she starts crying and holds his hand back, and a few chapters later he reappears unscathed and stabbing nathaniel. despite having *checks notes* a broken jaw, a fractured spine and skull, first degree burns from head to toe and being in a coma 😭. which could just be animanga logic. but maybe… just maybe…

the second scene is with mori in cannibalism arc, and this one always gets me bc the direct parallel of higuchi at mori’s side and yosano at fukuzawa’s is wild !?!?!

higuchi and yosano are also both conveniently written out of the plot during the annihilation sequence in 55 minutes, when everybody gets hurt:

so. yeag. it makes sense to me. the healerguchi theory is probably the strongest i've seen for her ability by far lsjdjskjrkrj

i also think this theory links well into the irl author’s work - many of ichiyo's protagonists were "overlooked women" like maids, prostitutes, waitresses etc. if her job does involve her being a nurse to akutagawa you can see the clear nod to ichiyo's stories about vulnerable girls in roles of servitude. plus the concept of her ability physically draining her... dying as a result of caring for someone... (<- guy who's trying so hard not to mention flowers at dusk. and failing):

if higuchi has the ability to transfer her lifespan/life force/whatever based on one of her own characters who died slowly due to her unrequited love for a man with the same name as akutagawa… i fear asagiri’s pen game may have been fire all long

#i'm so sorry ela you probably didn't expect this giant posthfsdhsdgh. i'm Normal i swear #i hope this appeals to your innocent purposes <3 #asks #bsd #higuchi

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presidentdisastraofgallifrey · 1 month ago

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Companions Ranked by how Much the Rest of their Life was Ruined

Not included: companions who only went on one or two adventures or popped in and out of the story on their own

Also not included: Dan and Ruby (not enough info on the aftermath)

Also also not included: Mel (not to the end of her run yet) and Ace (not to her at all yet)

1. Bill: had a good time traveling but then was kept prisoner in a creepy hospital for 10 years and then turned into a cyberman so she still wins

2. Adric: blew himself up at like 15 trying to impress the Doctor, who had been a decent parental figure but then changed and was never around when he was needed and not at all supportive. Also he got tortured a lot

3. Romana: held prisoner and tortured for 20 years and then had to lead Gallifrey through some of their most chaotic episodes with no trauma support at all. To be fair that wasn’t really the Doctor’s fault, but he also didn’t offer the support she needed

4. Peri: had a terrible time traveling where he insulted her constantly and never took her discomfort seriously. Then was not just left behind she was straight up abandoned mid-adventure when she was about to be killed for science. And then she didn’t get an explanation and he didn’t come back and she had no way to get back to her own planet or time so really her only practical option was to hitch a ride from the sleazy blood thirsty warlord who wanted to marry her. And this was only supposed to be a fun 3-month trip, not even a way of life for her

5. Stephen: this isn’t really the Doctor’s fault, but the eu is awfully hard on him. He was a king and had a family only to lose a child, see the others tear the family and kingdom apart, and become a depressed hermit

6. Dodo: the eu is just as hard on her. Apparently she ends up institutionalized, interrogated by the Master, homeless, and then assassinated

7. Martha: gets points for having been completely alone in a hellscape that never happened for a year, and for having to recover from that with her family, but the rest of her life was pretty alright actually

8. Zoe: she was smart enough to realize she’d aged two years and pretty much destroyed her own life and ended up at the center of an experiment conspiracy because she was so desperate to remember

9. Clara: honestly she’s only this high because of the making the Doctor forget her bit. Being stuck dead is awful, but also she has a companion and a tardis and full run of the universe first and that’s really the only way her story could end without her actually staying dead

10. Nyssa: her life was hard but in a way she chose and she got to help people

11. Amy and Rory: It sucked being thrown back in time but they got to stay together and live out full lives

12. Sarah: she’s the type of person where regular life could never bring her joy again after everything she’d seen. Also she did pretty regularly get stalked, kidnapped, and shot, but she brought most of that on herself

13. Donna: gets some points for the initial impact of her ending where she lost all the confidence and experience she had gotten and went back to an aimless and unsatisfied life. But she did find love and have a kid and eventually get her memories back so she ended up alright

14. Susan: she’s in the middle because she did live a decently full life but she also lost her husband and son in horribly violent ways and then got drafted into a universe-wide war where a lot of people saw her as untrustworthy because her grandfather was a draft dodger

15. Rose: got trapped in an alternate dimension but like, with her mom and dead dad and eventually fake version of the guy she loved. Overall it wasn’t that bad for her

16. Jamie: he lived a fairly normal life but apparently as an old man ended up the weird guy on the edge of town that everyone thought the war had driven mad because he’d remembered the Doctor

17. Vicki: she was sort of fine, but also living that far in the ancient past had to be pretty hard on a daily basis

18. Harry: I don’t think the Doctor had really any effect on his life. He’s only this high because he did vanish fairly young

19. Tegan: by all accounts the rest of her life was completely uneventful and she hated every moment of it

20. Yaz: it was sad but in the way you know she’ll be ok and find happiness

21. Polly and Ben: their lives were kind of rough but in very normal human ways so it’s fine

22. Turlough: literally nothing ever happened to him again. I think the eu forgot he existed

23. Victoria: lived a pretty quiet and normal life

24. Jo: there are differing canons on whether or not she got divorced and how many kids she had, but she was alright

25. Graham and Ryan: they were good. They got to be each other’s family and the world’s heroes

26. Ian and Barbara: they were fine actually. I don’t even think their careers suffered

27. Liz: I think she actually ended up better off because of her association with the Doctor

#doctor who #dw #dw lists

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flowersdiceandlove · 13 days ago

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What is the ghost!wwx and LQR one about?

this one is so close to being done. It was supposed to be a cracky fic, but got super angsty in the first half of it bc of the premise. Anyway, what it is is that when WWX was thrown into the Burial Mounds by Wen Chao, he died on impact. It was just too high of a drop and the ground too hard. Instead of becoming a demonic cultivator, he becomes a vengeful spirit instead. I took a lot of things from tgcf for this one, so he's able to get a solid and humanlike form. Bc he's in the burial mounds, he takes in a lot of resentful energy, and so that strengthens him, and his stubborn will power lets him control it and not completely lose his senses. When he escapes from the Burial Mounds, he does the same stuff, still has Chenqing and utilizes the resentful energy and ghosts and corpses. The only difference, is that he's a vengeful spirit. I like to think that canon WWX wasn't so much effected by the demonic cultivation and instead what happened to him, but that's just what I like. In this, though, he is being effected simply for the fact that he's a ghost sustained on resentful energy and emotion, wanting revenge on the people who destroyed his clan and home. In this way, it's similar to tgcf ghost logic bc WWX is able to stick around through will power and he'd probably be ranked as a wrath level ghost (at least) on tgcf ghost scale. It's because he's such a strong ghost that he has such a good human form. He's not trying to pass himself off for anything but what he really is--a vengeful ghost bent on revenge--but when he runs into JC and LWJ, they don't realize he's a ghost. They think the heeby-jeeby vibes, and paleness, and lack of body heat, and red eyes, and all the rest are just side effects of his "demonic cultivation." And, he finds he doesn't want to break it to them that he's a ghost. JC and JYL are just so happy to have him back "alive" that he just can't do it. He can't break their hearts like that, telling them that he's already lost to them. So, he stays and pretends he's still alive and a demonic cultivator. Demonic cultivation actually works as a very good excuse for his more ghostly traits. People don't question why he's getting along with ghost and the dead (he's one of them, they know, he knows. the dead stick together when they can. they help each other.), why he looks so pale and like he might just be one of the dead he controls himself in certain light and at certain angles, why his eyes glow with the resentment of a vengeful ghost, ect. And somehow...people buy it. He has such a reputation that no one questions whether he's actually alive or not. He's also strong enough that simple ghost repellents and anti-spirit things don't work on him (like hua cheng when xie lian put the ghost repelling stuff on the curtains of the shrine).

However, he's being effected by the resentful energy. He feels it eat at him more and more, trying to pull him deeper into its clutches until he's just another mindless, bloodthirsty ghost that kills everyone around them. He was a cultivator in his life, so he promises himself that he won't make it so that he needs to be exterminated or suppressed by cultivators after his death. He will not become that. He will just stick around until he's avenged his clan and home, and then he will move on peacefully. He will not put it upon others to subdue him. He simply will not. He keeps telling himself that, repeating it like a lifeline. He won't make them--especially jiang cheng--have to put him down like a rabid dog. He can't let himself become like that. He is only a spirit, though. He does not have a flesh body to insulate his soul from the resentful energy like he did when alive. When the resentful energy tries to eat at him, it has barely any barrier to stop it. He needs a channel. Something to act as conduit so his soul isn't taking the brunt force of resentful energy. This leads him to an idea.

First, he gets the sword from the cave from the Xuanwu of Slaughter. Then, he goes to the burial mounds, finds his dead body, cremates it, and forms it together with the sword in hopes that it will make him able to increase the amount of resentful energy he can use as well as give his soul the respite it needs when commanding the resentful energy. So, in this au, the sword and his ashes form the Yin Tiger Amulet. He finds that it does give him the boost in power he wanted, but also that it's too powerful. The onslaught is too strong for him. This also uses the ashes thing from tgcf, so WWX has to be very careful about how he goes about trying to dismantle the Yin Tiger Amulet because his ashes are so intertwined with it now. If he just destroys it, he could very likely be destroyed right along with it. He also isn't going to let anyone touch that thing. Those are his ashes!! (again tgcf thing where if you possess a ghost's ashes, you can control or destroy the ghost with them)

So, the Sunshot Campaign ends and revenge is taken, the Wen Clan wiped out, but Wei Wuxian just can't move on just yet. Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli need him still. They need his help in rebuilding the Yunmeng Jiang Clan. They still need him, the only other person left from their destroyed home. He still can't tell them he's dead. Not yet. He just needs to wait a bit longer until things are steady again. Then he can tell them and move on. He also needs to figure out what to do with the Yin Tiger Amulet. His ashes are still tightly interwoven with the metal, and he's feeling like it's also tethering him to this world.

So, he stays.

Then Wen Qing shows up, begging for his help, and he finds he has other unfinished business in this world he needs to take care of before he can rest in peace. So, he rescues the Wen from Qiongqi Way. He takes them to the Burial Mounds. He tells Wen Qing that he absolutely can bring Wen Ning's consciousness back.

His fight with Jiang Cheng still happens. When he's back at the Burial Mounds, Wen Qing keeps trying to get him to show her his gut wound that Jiang Cheng gave him, but he dodges. She finally corners him, though, and he has no choice but to show her. He is a ghost, but Jiang Cheng used a spiritual blade. Because of this, there was no blood (unless he willed it) but there is a glowing cut on his "body" clearly marking him as a ghost cut by a spiritual blade. Wen Qing berates him, asking why he didn't tell her he was a ghost, but he asks if it really matters. Does it really change anything for them and their circumstances. The only thing it really means is that people cannot know he's a ghost. If they knew, they'd all come after him wanting to "eradicate the evil ghost" as "righteous cultivators." So, they keep it secret.

When Wen Ning is back as a fierce corpse, the two of them get along even better, bonding over the fact that they're both dead but still a part of the Wen settlement.

Things still happen and Wei Wuxian looses control. After the Bloodbath in Nightless City, WWX holes up in the Demon Subduing Cave trying to figure out how to dismantle the Yin Tiger Amulet. He's worried he's going to lose control again and he promised himself he wouldn't let this happen. That he wouldn't degrade into a vengeful, bloodthirsty ghost that needed to be exterminated. He needed to do this before it was too late and he really lost himself completely.

He doesn't figure out how to do it in time and the Siege of the Burial Mounds comes. The Wen all die (except A-Yuan, of course) and Wei Wuxian decides to just destroy the Yin Tiger Amulet and get it over with, not putting the burden of his destruction on the others. He breaks it apart, destroys it into millions of little pieces that go flying, and his soul is torn apart right with it with a bloodcurdling scream.

People cheer that the Yiling Patriarch is dead (not knowing he's been dead for years and that the "Yiling Patriarch" was a ghost all along). The Jin don't know that Wei Wuxian was a ghost and certainly not that the Yin Tiger Amulet held his ashes in it. So, they try to piece it back together. Xue Yang makes trips to the Burial Mounds and searches for the shards of the Yin Tiger Amulet. Slowly, they piece it back together and as they do, WWX's soul is pieced back together along with it.

Total honesty, I got this idea from misremembering what the donghua’s Yin Tiger Amulet looks like. Imma put a pic, but I thought the bead in the middle was a red gem. I was like “what if that red gem was WWX’s ashes!?” So, just imagine it being a red gem.

He's confused when he becomes conscious, thinking that he never would again, that he would be completely destroyed. It's all fuzzy at first and he drifts in and out of consciousness as a weak, barely there spirit. After a while longer, he finds how odd this really is. He can feel the shards of his ashes still scattered in the Burial Mounds, but he can also feel another location where his ashes are being pieced back together. He investigates when he can, his soul still weak, unable to do much, and he finds Xue Yang's lab. After years of this, he finds that he can't do this by himself. If he tries to collect resentful energy to make himself stronger, the Yin Tiger Amulet that the Jin are in possession of might be alerted. If that happens, they might be able to figure out what the Yin Tiger Amulet really is, and they would be able to control him with it. He cannot let himself he controlled by the Jin. It would be catastrophic. So, he needs help from a cultivator. Figuring out who is the hard part. It can't be Jiang Cheng bc WWX went to Lotus Pier and saw some stuff. Jiang Cheng would just try to eliminate him if he appeared before him. He can't do Lan Wangji bc as far as he knows, LWJ hates him. He can't go to Nie Huaisang bc he needs an actually competent and influential cultivator, and while WWX knows NHS can be tricky, he doesn't have a good reputation. And, in order to go up against the Jin Clan and the Chief Cultivator(JGY) at that, he needs someone people will trust.

So, after thinking through everyone else and against his better judgement, he goes to the Cloud Recesses.

To Lan Qiren.

Definitely not Lan Wangji. He'd probably eliminate Wei Wuxian before he got a single word out. Lan Qiren, however, is highly respected, and Wei Wuxian feels confident that he could out run the man if needed and escape.

Because he's still weak from the scattering of his ashes and also that he's been purposefully not taking in resentful energy, the wards aren't even able to pick up on him, not even able to sense him as a threat. Sneaking into Lan Qiren's home, he approaches him. Lan Qiren, expectedly, freaks out (Lan style) at his appearance. Something to note, is that WWX looks exactly as he did when he died. 17/18 and in his purple Yunmeng Jiang disciple robes. He was able to change his appearance before because of his power, but now he doesn't have and is purposefully keeping it that way so to stay undetected by the Jin.

Wei Wuxian manages to convince Lan Qiren to hear him out. Lan Qiren plays inquiry, and with his skills, knows that Wei Wuxian can't lie through it. So, he believes WWX and knows just how big of a threat this is that the Jin have the Yin Tiger Amulet. WWX avoids telling LQR the part about his ashes bc he doesn't trust LQR. He just asks that LQR help him destroy the amulet and expose the Jin. He says that the Yin Tiger Amulet is his unfinished business in this world and that once it's destroyed, he'll go. He says he'll help LQR destroy it, telling him how to do it. He already destroyed it once, why would he not again? Why try to move on peacefully after all that's happened? He deserves to have his soul destroyed in this way is what he thinks. It's the best plan.

So, the two of them work together for this. LQR locks WWX up in a spirit trapping pouch or a ghost containing array that WWX agrees to. LQR, after trusting WWX not to cause trouble and be a threat and agreeing to let him out so he can gather more intel for them, makes WWX promise not to let LWJ know about him under any circumstances. WWX agrees, thinking it's bc LWJ hates him and would just eliminate him without letting him explain, and even if he knew, that he still wouldn't allow WWX's spirit to be in this world. LQR really doesn't want LWJ to know bc if he did, LQR knows that LWJ would never let WWX go and protect him at all costs. WWX had agreed to move on after all this, so he's worried it would just hurt LWJ more to lose WWX a second time. LWJ already suffered so much, so he just wants to spare him this pain again.

LQR also pieces together the part where WWX was never a demonic cultivator and only ever a vengeful ghost. In this au, there is a common understanding among the cultivators. Whatever one does as a vengeful ghost or fierce corpse is not to be held against who the person was while alive. They understand that after death, a person can become twisted and so their actions should not be held accountable for it could just be the resentful energy and not the person themselves wanting and doing this. Because of this, LQR has to come to terms with the fact that "Wei Wuxian" died before the Sunshot Campaign even had a chance to really start, and that everything after that point was a vengeful ghost. With principals like his and a rigid following of rules, LQR fights with himself about not blaming WWX for what happened after his death. Wei Wuxian laughs about it.

After gaining enough evidence against the Jin Clan, LQR leads the downfall of them, exposing them and their experiments. He takes the Yin Tiger Amulet into his possession and takes it back to the Cloud Recesses to destroy. It’s been a while since I worked on this and I didn’t reread it so the timeline’s a little fuzzy in my head(also the fact that changed it around a lot while I was working on it), but at some point, WWX comes clean and tells LQR that the Yin Tiger Amulet contains his ashes. Anyway, knowing that Wei Wuxian died an honorable cultivator at the hands of the Wen Clan, he decides that he can't just destroy WWX's soul like this. Instead he decides to try to separate WWX's ashes from the metal. WWX says that he should just destroy it and get this over with, but LQR stays firm. So, WWX tells LQR everything about the Yin Tiger Amulet and tries to help him figure out how to do that.

Even though WWX is still a ghost with ties to the mortal world, he's not as imbued with resentful energy as he was before, so he's more like his previous self. He and LQR have bonding time, and they have been through this entire thing. LQR discovers that by merging WWX's ashes with the metal so stewed in resentful energy, his ashes got linked to that metal and that it was keeping him here, making him unable to move on peacefully. They already went to the Burial Mounds and collected the rest of WWX ashes that the Jin weren't able to since WWX could sense where the pieces were, so they are in possession of all of it.

Anyway, LQR thinks he figured out a way for them to separate WWX's ashes and the metal. Not really wanting to wait any longer, they get to doing so, Lan Qiren draws out the array and puts the Yin Tiger Amulet and the rest of WWX's ashes in it. I forget the specifics of how the do it, but it works. In a way.

--This part was what I was really laughing my ass off about and loved about it. The part I was working towards in writing this fic.--

Lan Qiren resurrected Wei Wuxian.

The metal of the sword lies on the floor, and Wei Wuxian, alive and 17/18, is there too. Lan Qiren can only stare, trying to understand what he just did. Wei Wuxian realizes he's alive and breaths in, a large smile on his face, reveling in the feeling of being alive again. He's been a ghost for so long and he forgot how wonderful living is! He runs outside to LQR's (enclosed and walled) backyard, tripping and stumbling from not being used to walking like this again, and runs around, feeling the sun shining down on him and the grass under his feet, and just enjoying it all, laughing and full of joy.

Lan Qiren rushes over to the door, to watch him because he just resurrected Wei Wuxian. This is bad. He resurrected the Yiling Patriarch.

But, then again. Did he? The Yiling Patriarch was who WWX was as a vengeful ghost. This is Wei Wuxian the cultivator. And, watching WWX run around like this, LQR realizes he was also a cultivator who's life was cut short, ended before his time.

As the one who resurrected him, LQR thinks it's his responsibility to manage this whole situation. First thing he does is get WWX some robes so he's not running around naked anymore. WWX marvels over the feeling of clothes! Fabric!! He's loving every part of being alive again. Even the mundane. When you don't have things for so long, you realize how incredible they are.

oh, wow, this got long. almost done. LQR has a talk with WWX about this all and WWX's like "No way am I doing demonic cultivation again. I never did it in the first place. I was a vengeful ghost. Not a demonic cultivator." The resurrection also gave him the base for a new golden core. He just needs to put work into it and he'll have a strong one again. LQR makes WWX promise to stay here and not let himself be seen. WWX had been locked up in LQR's house before, so he has a lot of stuff to entertain himself and is used to it, so he agrees. LQR goes to tell LXC and the elders about what he did.

This is about where I wrote up to. While I was writing, I got caught up in a part and took it in a direction that I hadn't planned. After that, I felt really stuck on how to proceed and so stopped working on it, trying to think of how to keep going. I'm going to have to delete that and keep going like I had first planned😩 There's really not much more to write to this. LQR is basically just going to keep defending WWX and taking responsibility for him since he's the one who resurrected him. Wangxian is also going to happen. LQR is not looking forward on telling LWJ about this. So, yeah. That's that.

I mostly just wanted to write a fic where LQR resurrected WWX and this is the result.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #lan qiren #wei wuxian #my wips #my writing #my fanfiction #ask game #wip ask game

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graylinesspam · 26 days ago

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The clone language

I will stand by the fact that the vast majority of clones speak Mando'a, but and this is a big but. They do not do it well.

The Commandos are the only ones that speak Mando'a well, including pronouncing it correctly and using the right grammatical structure. The rest of them are simply absorbing words and phrases and using them wrong.

Mando'a is not exactly a closed language but is very rare to be spoken by a non mandalorian anywhere other than the planet Mandalore. But I do think that in their language training the Kaminoans would have offered like an entry level class which consisted mostly of flashcards with translations. The big two languages of the galaxy, Basic and Huttesse, are the only ones that they are taught extensively. There are several other languages they have access to beginners courses for like the Twi'lek and Togruta language, ect. But that's all voluntary learning/extra credit.

The reason Mando'a sticks more is because their trainers speak it. Whether just absorbing the language through osmosis or learning it voluntarily to listen in on the trainers conversations, some pick up a lot of words and phrases. Then those phrases are explained and poorly translated to the rest of the clones. And not just translated in one language. This is a bunch of bored bilingual kids trying to explain a new language to each other. They play fast and loose with the line between basic and huttesse. A lot of phrases are straight up translated into an entirely different grammatical structure, which mixes up the words and swaps some for words from other languages.

Now this is where the generational divide comes in, because the older clones had a lot more time and motivation to learn half way proper Mando'a than the younger ones. They also had time to spend with their generals at the beginning of the war and absorbed a lot form their respective languages. Especially the jedi sayings.

Think about the way that Jedi speak. Super cryptic responses to straight forward questions. Poetic observations, Flowery language. But then sterilized by military formality.

That leads to a lot of the older, especially high ranking clones to develope a formal yet vague way of speaking, kinda like office languages that says nothing with too many words.

The younger men do not understand this at all. They're blunter. Less well socialized by the Kaminoans and more internally minded socially. The elder clones assume they're being perceived at all times and behave according. The younger figure if they're incomprehensible enough, they can't get in trouble for what they say.

The result of which is slang.

The elder clones slang evolved from multiple languages and sayings getting mistranslated. It includes a lot of shortened words from the reg manuals, quotes from the training videos, and jedi sayings they've heard repeated too many times. Sometimes interjected with a pessimistic sense of humor. Eg, "They're on the planet" becomes "they're planetside" becomes "they're dirtside."

Meanwhile the younger clones slang develops in more of a throwing spaghetti at a wall and seeing what sticks fashion. Way less of a logical evolution path and more of a whatever gets a laugh mindset. Eg, taking a piss could be "off gassing" or "Going past the perimeter" or "getting fresh" or "flipping his belt" or "finding a tree" ect. There are too many options, it truly becomes a language at this point. A specific dialect that you have to be taught to keep up with.

There is a bit of a language barrier between the generations. It isn't too bad. Run of the mill "youths and their slang today" kinda stuff. The youngins absolutely use it for evil. Gossiping and joking around in front of the COs without getting in trouble.

Their incorporation of Mando'a follows this pattern as well.

An older clone might say something like "Better one big enemy." referencing the Mandalorian saying "Better one big enemy you can see, than many small ones you can't"

where as a the younger generation might here a phrase like "Hukaat'kama" literally cover my kama, more broadly watch my back/6 and translate it to something like. "your my six", "On me", "Watch my ass", "get on my ass", "you're my ass", "cover me", ...Which is a lot less clear than previous... They might also say something like "my kama" but translate it to mean something more like "Watch this"(boastful) or "watch me"(defiant) or "Watch me"(accepting a challenge). Which is just a blatant mistranslation of the phrase. Or the phrase could evolve past a call to action and turn into an insult. like calling someone a "Hukaat" or a "watcher" for staying in the back all the time. or calling them a "kama" insinuating they're only good for covering. Or saying "loose my kama," to tell them to fuck off. which could also turn into "loose the kama," when theyr'e acting too big for their britches as a kama is usually a sign of rank.

Basically language evolves as it is used. If it's used by more formal people in a more formal context then that is the pattern it takes on. If it's used primarily for mischief and shit talking, that's the form it'll take.

But either way, as fascinating as the clone language can seem to us, it's still a bastardization at heart.

#star wars #clone wars #sw tcw #tcw #clone trooper #clone culture #clone language #mando'a #cleaning out my drafts and found this in there

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y-rhywbeth2 · 9 months ago

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Lore: Baldur's Gate #3

The Law and Legal System

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. There's a lot of lore; I don't know everything. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

The City #1 | Demographics | Law & Legal System | Administration & Government | ??? - WIP

There is a surprising amount of information on laws, and also on the legal system and law enforcement of Baldur's Gate. ...And it's fucking terrible! This is so long because there's so. Much. Terrible.

OK, let's see... corruption, corruption, corruption... • 9/10 crimes never go to trial: the police are your judge, jury and executioners. You do have rights; let's hope they care. • The four classifications of crimes. (Nobles get away with so much. Also, frankly, the clergy.) • The Flaming Fist - the police, the military and the secret police in one nifty corrupt package. • Courts of Law and Magistrates • Alternate courses of justice: The Crews. Also, have you considered praying for your tormentor's horrible death? No, seriously. • The Code Legal: the actual laws, the crimes and their punishments • How the temples might self-police and how a recap on how the law gets... flexible with evil-aligned faiths.

Arrests and Processing Crimes

Baldur's Gate, like most of the Western Heartlands (and frankly, a lot of Faerûn beyond that), follows the precedent set by the Warerdhavian Code Legal in setting its laws. Local variations may occur, but they're near enough the same.

The Code lays down the crimes, which are matched to whatever punishment the law of the land has deemed appropriate.

For the most part, where the Gate is concerned, this usually leads to "cut and dry" cases. The crime and accused will be assessed by a member of the Flaming Fist (or the Watch, if it's in the upper city) who will make their own judgement as to guilt and follow out the punishment as laid down in the Code.

Crimes only go to court in one of two conditions, firstly that the officer assessing the crime doesn't feel that the situation is clear enough for them to make a judgement - and secondly, when high ranking members of society (Patriars, clergy, etc) for whatever reason want to step in and have it taken to court.

The majority of crimes will never see court. "Flaming Fist patrols react to threats with indiscriminate violence," and even those that don't often turn a blind eye.

Once upon a time, like a century ago, Baldur's Gate was known for being a well policed place with a low crime rate and very little corruption. That's... very much not the case any longer. An influx of refugees from the Spellplage and rapid population growth in the back half of the 14th century saw the end of that as the Upper City started closing in on itself and the Outer City was formed, creating a large population outside of jurisdiction. The murder rates are so bad out there that there are whole alleys where people dump bodies called 'snuff streets.'

The extremes seen in the 15th century are a reaction to the increase in the intrigues of the Upper City and the crime rate of the more recent Outer City both spreading into the Lower City. Now the average citizen contends with both of those and police brutality every day. Even prior to the foundation of the Outer City, policing was heavy due to the strength and spread of the Thieves Guid.

There is something of a 75% chance that arrests will not follow protocol: those members of the Fist not inclined to police brutality and starting "bidding wars" (whoever can offer the highest bribe is let go: everyone else gets arrested) are often too overwhelmed with a myriad of other crimes they're trying to handle. The Watch is less inclined to violence and corruption (at least, in comparison), but they're also the Upper City's personal guard and prone to discriminate heavily against the poor (or those who look it) in their arrests.

Due to the upper classes being notoriously self-interested and corrupt, and judges often being in the pocket of the Thieves Guild, there is also little trust in any justice coming from there. Ulder Ravengard certainly doesn't have any. Ulder has been commander since 1482 DR, and held high rank and influence before that. He is "the incarnation of militarism", and his stance when directing the Fist has been of the "the ends justify the means" variety. There is a chance that in 1482, due to Bhaal - at the time too weak to directly influence people - subconsciously urging him to give into his dictatorship leanings and "murderous intentions", that Ulder also led the Fist into an even darker place involving military law and a lot of mutilation and murder, but I'm uncertain how much of that is part of mainstream canon.

Often, if the accused is a noble or a high ranking member of the clergy and the crime is not "serious", they will be let go - perhaps with a slap on the wrist. These groups also tend to police their own behind closed doors to avoid public backlash and scandals.

"Nobles enjoy many protections under the law and in some cases can escape punishment for assault, provocation, or the outright murder of a commoner."

Generally though, they'll avoid such obvious and crude crimes. A lot of noble crimes and schemes involve hiring adventurers - outsiders with no connection to the city or protection under the law - to do their dirty work. More serious crimes will either never see the light of day, or if it can't be hidden, scapegoating and appeasement will follow.

Crimes are only crimes within the confines of the land in question. A crime in Baldur's Gate is not a crime outside its walls, and if a crime without those walls is committed then the legal system of the Gate has no jurisdiction with which to arrest of punish the offender. As such clergy and nobles who must be punished may well receive temporary exile, where they will be appointed to a different temple/sent to live with relatives somewhere else in the realms.

Crimes are also not necessarily crimes if the victim in question is not a citizen (generally classified as never having had their name on official city documentation or owned property within the city).

Technically visitors and foreign agents to the city should have licenses marking them as such and stating that their presence in the city is legal. Without these permits their lives are forfeit to the whims of the "important people". Technically new arrivals should be told by officials stationed at the city gates to report to the High Hall to be interviewed (in case the individual means harm to the city) and then handed their license, but your average visitor is never even told of this law.

"Outer City residents are classified as "visiting economic interests," which affords them some rights. However, with a word from a duke of a peer, that classification could change to "visiting diplomat," which offers numerous perks, or "invader," which is essentially a death sentence." - Murder in Baldur's Gate

Baldur's Gate will nevertheless strive not to be an obviously oppressive hellhole however, as trade cities wish to show a welcoming and tolerant face to the world: merchants will not come if they feel they will be risking their safety. In fact visiting merchants, particularly wealthy ones, are liable to receive somewhat better treatment than the average permanent citizen of the Gate.

Covert corruption is favoured:

"Any rigging of results must be done behind the scenes rather than in public. For instance, you could avoid someone’s being brought to trial, or arrange a prisoner escape."

Offenses are split into four categories:

1) Crimes Against the Lords The name may be subject to change, depending on region and governance; it's likely slightly different in Baldur's Gate. This is essentially crimes against the state officials and nobility.

2) Crimes Against the City Arson, littering, public brawling, carrying weapons in public, etc.

3) Crimes Against the Gods Blasphemy against the gods and their servants (who are their own, outside the box tier of nobles, in a way)

4) Crimes Against Citizens "Low level" offenses that don't threaten to upset anybody important or disrupt the city functioning.

Different realms and city states will also have their own unique laws, for example it's illegal in Baldur's Gate to disobey an order from an officer of the Fist if they're in uniform under threat of martial discipline (loss of an ear, a hand, their tongue, or even their life). While theoretically, this law exists for emergencies, it is very much abused for personal gain.

As said, generally the handling of crimes won't progress past the jurisdiction of the Flaming Fist - who hold many roles: mercenary company, city military, city police, "secret police" (spymaster is a position within the organisation and plainclothes officers are everywhere)... and generally, studying the pattern, it seems that one of the Grand Dukes on the Council of Four is going to be their commander.

Generally, candidates seeking to join the Fist are screened for "strong loyalty and stronger morals." Not sure that's working.

There are usually a few rules regarding investigations amongst Faerûnian law enforcement which should be followed (and watched closely public scrutiny to ensure it is):

• Confiscated items may not be kept. When searching a location, nothing except evidence is to be confiscated. • Items must be returned to their owners, if identified. • Citizens must be kept informed of the whys and hows of an investigation: when you disrupt daily life, somebody must be on hand to answer their questions and explain - leaving out no detail - what is happening and why. "Authorities have very few justifiable grounds for not telling citizens anything they ask about (though “the king’s will” [government business, for which Baldurians would use a different term] is a justifiable ground)." • Magic and magical items involved in the crime must be examined, and typically dispelled, and citizens must be told "the whole truth about what magic was found, where it came from, and what it was intended for" • Disputes over property must be handled in public.

By the 15th century, the organisation has been noted to have become insanely corrupt. Should the Flaming Fist lapse into illegal behaviours like vigilantism, kangaroo courts and police brutality (including cutting out people's tongues and hanging them in their own doorways), the government will generally do nothing to intervene, as long as it doesn't start to affect the patriars (who make up said government). If the commander - or acting commander - happens to be corrupt then the whole organisation generally goes downhill.

If Orin and the Dark Urge have been doing their jobs right, then the ranks of the Fist will have been infiltrated by Bhaalists to serve the interests of the church within the city and its laws.

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Legal Courts

Should a case proceed to the courts it will be taken before one of the dukes, presided over in the courts at the High Hall. There was an attempted (and failed) coup by Grand Duke Valarken a few decades back to seize control of the city saw the patriars succeed in a naked power grab and the establishment of the Parliament of Peers, a governing body composed of mostly patriars and a smattering of Guildmasters and the other wealthy, who can buy and network/kiss enough patriar asses to elbow their way into power.

The dukes have since been able to delegate cases to one of the peers, who will serve as magistrate in their place. This worked out pretty well at first, and then went downhill:

"Proxy judges are not paid a salary, yet a temporary assignment to the High Hall's bench is a plum duty for any patriar, because hefty gifts and bribes flow to the judges from the [Thieves] Guid, from those grateful to be exonerated, and from those hoping to be exonerated."

For patriars who were called upon to handle a case the High Hall has several small libraries containing legal books, civic documentation (tax, property, censuses, etc etc), past court records and other relevant information to aid them with their duty. The libraries are also a disorganised mess, and volunteers from the local Oghmanyte clergy (followers of the god of knowledge, which technically includes legal lore) have their hands full trying to organise it and seem to be the only people who know how to find anything in there.

I have no information on how the court worked prior to the formation of the Peers in the 15th century, but if the Council of Four delegated back then then they most likely still picked from amongst the same people - the wealthy, mostly patriar, citizens of the Upper City who would be in their social and business circles enough for them to know each other.

If the accused desires legal defence, they have a few options.

In order for a legal representative to be considered valid, the court must be informed of your choice ahead of the court date. Sometimes it's only permitted to people who would struggle to represent themselves due to disability or language barriers (Common is not useful for daily conversation, let alone complex legal proceedings).

Baldur's Gate, unusually, has a few rare official barristers one may hire to represent one in court. These are generally far out of the pay range of the average citizen.

"The Realms does not have lawyers, robed and wigged or otherwise. There are some “advocates,” paid orators who will speak in court (always in the presence of an accused, not appearing in their stead) and who might know something of the law and can give advice to an accused. Some advocates are real performers who mimic the voices of people, act out scenes, tell jokes, and engage in furious debate in court—which, being great entertainment, is seldom cut short even by angry judges or rulers, because the commoners like it." - Elminster's Forgotten Realms

Tyrran clergy are also willing to defend the innocent and ensure that trials are fair and free of corruption, and the two groups are likely to overlap:

"In civilised areas (settlements), Tyrrans (inevitably called "tyrants" behind their back by nonbelievers) become legal experts and serve as the lawyers of Faerûn by dispensing advice and "speaking for" accused persons in trials." - Faiths and Avatars

(They still tend to charge for the service, although some will likely go pro bono as Tyrrans are also meant to be devoted to righting wrongs and ensuring the law serves the good of the people) Tyrrans are not a major faith in Baldur's Gate and don't wield a lot of influence, however - and to make matters worse, Tyr has been dead for a generation, and while the god returned in the Second Sundering, his clergy are still in recovery.

Magistrates may have the right to call upon divination spells - cast by mages or clergy - to root out the truth, although the wealthy and the nobility often have privileges and rights regarding this that are unavailable to the common class.

- Alternative Justice

As the citizens do not trust their legal system an inch, the common people band together in informal groups called "crews" for mutual protection. How they function depends on the crew (guarding each other's property, self-policing a shared street or neighbourhood, pooling funds, simply backing you up if you get mugged, etc)

The Gate has an unofficial system called burl, if you're fleeing persecution, be it from criminals or the Fist, and knock on a door three times the people inside owe you shelter and safety, no questions asked.

Another alternate route of justice exists - turning to the gods.

Tyrrans seek out criminals who escaped their sentence and slipped through the cracks - if you can't be brought to justice, they will bring it to you. They also work to change or protect laws for the betterment of people. Prior to the Spellplague Tyr's portfolio concerned the letter of the law, however during his death that passed to Torm (god of loyalty, and thus now loyalty to whatever my liege says is the law) and Tyr's focus is on benevolent readings of the spirit of the law. As said, they have been out of commission for around a generation, so Tyrran activity in the city will only have resumed with legal and divine backing for about a decade or two.

Ilmatari are permitted a tenday's worth of respite, where Ilmater temporarily releases from their vows - technically this is time meant for self-care and mental health, but Ilmatari have been known to use this freedom from their oath of non-violence to shank abusers and tyrants. They also engage in non-violent forms of protest and disruption against corruption and cruelty while under their oaths, and it's generally not a good idea to harm them because Ilmatari are very popular amongst the common people of Faerûn for their charity work.

There is a Helmite faction within the Gate - the Order of the Gauntlet - that covertly sponsors vigilantes. Their calling card is Helm's symbol, branded onto the flesh of either dead criminals or live ones left anonymously on the doorstep of the Flaming Fist.

And then there's Hoar; God of Vengeance; the Doombringer:

"Hoar charges his clergy to uphold true and fitting justice and to maintain the spirit of the law, not the letter of the law. Fitting recompense will always accrue for one's actions. Violence will meet violence and evil pay back evil, but good will also come to those who do good."

In Western Faerûn Hoar's clergy are not many and they do not build temples, but they wander the realms seeking victims of injustice. They listen to their stories, investigate to establish the veracity of their accounts, and if they're satisfied the person is being honest they will track down the perpetrator and deliver ironic punishments upon them. While they're considered criminals in the eyes of the law, to the common people of Faerûn hail them as champions of the underdog. On the darker side, Hoar and Bhaal are allies, and their followers share similar habits and a tendency to be retributive justice for hire. (Though Hoar is in it for vengeance, and Bhaal for the killings and bloodlust.)

Sharrans also present themselves as avengers in a world full of corrupt governments who don't care about you, and go out of their way to try and steal "jobs" from the Hoarites.

The temple of Bhaal will be sending priests up to the marketplaces and other gathering places - likely mostly in the Outer City, where it's impossible to break the city's laws - to listen to people's grievances and offer their services as killers. Bhaalists are also employable as freelance bounty hunters, and are obligated by their faith to train anybody who asks to fight and use weapons and are technically available as self-defence trainers (with an aim of "your opponent should not get back up"). They also usually select criminals for their sacrificial targets, and in private setting will turn these into public displays for the pleasure of the mob.

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The Code Legal

There is no such thing as copyright law or libel and slander laws- unless they're offensive to clergy, rulers, nobility or whathaveyou. Authors on Toril are having great fun with the copyright thing, and often get ripped off by their publishers stealing their work. Also child labour is involved with the printing, but that's not the topic on hand.

When the punishment for a crime is arrest then the highborn, wealthy and influential will be placed under house arrest instead of spending their time in a jail cell.

Crimes Against the Lords A category that includes government officials, rulers, nobility, the extremely wealthy and influential, and generally high priests/temple leaders (are you going to blaspheme argue with somebody who speaks directly to a god? On Faerûn the answer is "no".)

Assaulting a Lord: death

Impersonating a Lord: death

Assaulting or impersonating an official or noble: flogging, imprisonment for up to a tenday, and a fine up to a max of 500gp depending on severity

Blackmailing an official: flogging and exile up to 10 years

Bribery or attempted bribery of an official: exile up to 20 years and a fine up to double the bribe amount.

Murder of a Lord, official or noble: death

Using magic to influence a Lord without consent: imprisonment up to a year, and fine or damages up to 1,000gp

While killing a commoner may be split into murder and justified self-defence, no such clause exists for killing a noble, which is always met with the death penalty.

"In many lands, common-born people are bound by law to defer to their betters, the lords and ladies of the nobility. Even if the law does not require deference, it’s usually a good idea." - Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting

For the Gate, the nobility are the patriars.

Merchants and powerful Guildmasters (the trade guild, not the Thieves Guid) may have the money and connections to worm their way into this special treatment.

"The wealthiest merchants are virtually indistinguishable from mighty lords, Even if born from peasant stock, a merchant whose enterprises span-a kingdom might style himself "lord" and get away with it." - Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting

While you might get away with styling yourself a lord, as Gortash does, the patriars nevertheless insist on maintaining boundaries between themselves and the new money. I believe they've also occasionally introduced fun additional little laws like who is not allowed to wear what (colours, fabrics) so as not to be confused with the wealthy merchants and lowborn of the city with their inferior breeding. True nobility is a matter of birthright, after all.

Still money opens a lot of doors, especially in a major trade hub like Baldur's Gate.

Crimes against the City

Arson: death or hard labour up to 1 year, with fines -and/or- damages covering the cost of repairs plus 2,000gp

Brandishing weapons without due cause: imprisonment up to a tenday -and/or- fine up to 10gp

Espionage: death -or- permanent exile

Fencing stolen goods: fine equal to the value of the stolen goods and edict

Forgery of an official document: flogging and exile for 10 summers (years)

Hampering justice: fine up to 200gp and hard labour up to a tenday

Littering: fine up to 2gp and an edict

Poisoning a city well: death

Theft: flogging, followed by imprisonment up to a tenday -or- hard labour up to a year -or- a fine equivalent to the value of the stolen good/s. Maiming, either through flogging or loss of limb. Baldur's Gate decided to edit this one for the extreme.

Treason: death

Vandalism: imprisonment up to a tenday plus fine - and/or - damages covering the cost of repairs plus up to 100gp

Using magic to influence an official without consent: fine -or -damages up to 1,000gp and edict

Crimes against Citizens

Assaulting a citizen: imprisonment up to a tenday, flogging and damages up to 1,000gp depending on severity

Blackmailing or intimidating a citizen: fine or damages up to 500gp and an edict (presumably in the form of a restraining order)

Burglary: imprisonment up to 3 months and damages equal to the value of the stolen goods plus 500gp

Damaging property or livestock: damages covering the cost of repairs or replacement plus up to 500gp

Disturbing the peace: fine up to 25gp and edict

Murdering a citizen without justification: death - or - hard labour up to 10 years, and damages up to 1,000gp paid to the victim's kin

Murdering a citizen with justification: exile up to 5 years -or- hard labour up to 3 years -or- damages up to 1,000gp paid to the victim's kin

Robbery: hard labour up to 1 month and damages equal to the value of the stolen goods plus 500gp

Slavery: flogging and hard labour up to 10 years

Using magic to influence a citizen without consent: fine -or- damages up to 1,000gp and an edict

Crimes Against the Gods

Assaulting a priest or lay worshipper: imprisonment up to a tenday and damages up to 500gp

Disorderly conduct within a temple: fine up to 5gp and edict

Public blasphemy against a god or church: edict

Theft of temple goods or offerings: imprisonment up to a tenday and damages up to double the cost of the stolen items

Tomb-robbing: imprisonment up to a tenday and damages covering the cost of repairs plus 500gp

"In a polytheistic setting such as this one, it’s important to stand back from any real-life religious views of “absolute good"". - Elminster's Forgotten Realms

"Baldur's Gate has widely adopted a "do no harm" policy when it comes to faiths and organizations operating in the city. Any group is welcome to operate openly so long as the city's important citizens aren't harmed [and as long as they don't disrupt trade]." - Descent into Avernus

"Important citizens" is an interesting distinction. Usually the rule is "so long as citizens - in general - aren't harmed".

A familiar refrain on this blog, which I have already talked about at length, but from a Torilian perspective: just because the god is evil and howling for the blood of the innocent doesn't make their priests criminals for providing it unless they get caught in the act or breach their "understanding" with the government. Evil or Good (or neither), the gods are holy, and to offend any is blasphemy. There are no gods whose worship is illegal in Baldur's Gate, so long as their clergy aren't stupid about it. (Sharrans usually prefer to go underground anyway, because they'd rather preach sedition and do crime than play nice, which will get them outlawed.)

Crimes against the clergy make people nervous, as it is attacking a god, in a way. Still, most crimes against priests fall under either crimes against citizens or crimes against the lords. Generally, high ranking priests are closer to the latter, and lower ranking to the former, though it does depend on the strength and influence of the temple and larger church in the city/region:

"The powerful temples of Faerûn's deities parallel the king's authority. The lowest-ranking acolytes and mendicants are rarely reckoned beneath the station of a well-off merchant, and any cleric or priest in charge of a temple holds power comparable to that of a baronet or lord. The high priests of a faith favoured in a particular land are equal to the highest nobility." - Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting

That said, the clergy are wise not to push their luck too far, as people will risk the wrath of a god if they feel the need to defend themselves, and the law will turn on the temple for disturbing the peace and disrupting trade.

The Gate has four active temples: Tymora, goddess of luck; Umberlee, goddess of the sea; Gond, god of artificers; and - of course - Bhaal, god of murder. The leading priests of each of these - the High; the Wavelord/Wavemistress; the Artificer or High Artificer; and the High Primate/Primistress and the Primate/Primistress - will generally be afforded the kind of treatment and leniency by the law that nobility may expect so as not to offend any gods (though this will not extend so much to the lower ranks of the faith), and of these, Gond's church wields the most power.

As the most recent addition to the four, still in recovery due to their deity being out of commission for a century, the Bhaalists wield the least political power and the existence of their temple is a rumour, however "[the faiths of the Dead Three] still command respect and fear throughout Baldur's Gate." and Bhaal's worship is 'darkly popular.' Also there's a rumour that some important political figure or other is a Bhaalspawn, and it might be the High Primate, but these have always been proven to be smear campaigns.

Beneath these are the other well established faiths, who have shrines (though no temple heads): Ilmater, Lathander, Oghma and Helm.

And then a smattering of every other god on Toril, presumably represented by anything from a handful of priests to one. Also the Banites, who have been doing a fantastic job of climbing the ranks. Couldn't be anything to do with the systemic corruption and tolerance of evil, nah.

Still, clergy will not necessarily bother to take offenders to task and often take offenses against their deity into their own hands. Churches and secular powers tend to have some friction between them, as the government feels that its rules should hold sway while priests consider themselves (and the government) to be beholden to the wills of a higher power that takes precedence over those mere mortals in the High Hall.

Punishments vary according to faith and offense, and may range from placing a quest (gaes) upon the offender, enslaving them to the church, to simply murdering them and discretely disposing of the body. That last one may involve ritual sacrifice unto the deity of the temple, if appropriate. When the offender escapes the temple, the priests may call for the aid of their rural siblings in faith to hunt them down - wandering paladins, the Deathstalkers, etc. Many clergy have some amount of priests that don't stay still.

Churches have their own law enforcement systems. Temple guards are commonly seen, and in larger temples will answer to a paladin. Temples are often home to animals - selected from the deity's holy animals - who serve as security and defence. Certain deities will also have undead bound to the temple's service.

When one of their own ranks is caught breaking a law (say, murder) the priests usually prefer to deal with it themselves. The most common result of getting caught rocking the boat is either for the church to excommunicate the priest, or else for that priest to suddenly, silently be removed from their post and reassigned by the church somewhere else outside of the jurisdiction of the realm with the promise to secular authorities that they will be disciplined, which is accepted. The latter happens "more often than the general public would be pleased to know".

Evil-aligned religions are also held to another set of rules, whose terms are negotiated between the rulers and the church, but generally go thusly:

1) The church owes fealty and service to the government when demanded (assassins, spymasters, mercenaries, whatever) 2) Activities like human sacrifice are to be kept to agreed upon limits: no more than necessary, and the targets must not be "innocents, citizens, or government representatives." - random vagrants and criminals are fine. 3) Clergy must not attempt to overthrow the ruling class, 4) Nor cause too much distress in the general public (people are resigned to the existence of evil and accept and worship the evil deities, but they should not be pushed to the point where daily life is disrupted.) 5) Shrines and temples must be kept out of public view. 6) Keep your identity as a priest and your identity as a citizen separate: the public must not be able to identify you - the Gate has slightly looser restrictions on this, it seems 7) No forced conversions.

#I am screaming internally louder and louder with each piece of information #Also: “There's rumours a political figure - probably the leader of the Bhaalists - is a Bhaalspawn.”#“Nah that's ridiculous. Slander.”#long post #lore stuff

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