#an-ordinary-roach

[yuseirra]

I saw a cockroach yesterday... I'm using that experience as an insp o<-< that's what you call "Sublimation", right..

[sixsophical]

There's a cockroach on the desk eating some leftover food that hasn't been cleaned up yet. It seems to be eating with their most front legs like a... mantis? Huh!

Ford had cleaned out his bag a few days ago, dumping everything out on a desk so he could take stock of what materials he brought with him to this strange and fascinating place. In the process he had dropped the rest of Mabel's lemon squares she had given to him before he left on the desk top and forgotten to clean it up.

Clearly, he thought, he wouldn't be dealing with pesky things such as ants or bugs because hey, peculiar magical Offices in pocket dimensions separated from the real world don't get bug problems, right?

And yet here he is, proven wrong.

The first thing he does when he sees the little roach is pick up a book with the intention to smash it. But the next thought is far more kinder.

"What on Earth is a roach doing here?" He marvels out loud as he slowly drops his book again, a thick encyclopedia about architecture.

Ford grabs for his journal and his magnifying glass and hovers over the seemingly normal and innocuous roach, to further study them.

[bub0nicblatt0dea]

[[ le cucaratcha is hurrying over to Jack's burrow to go feAST on those pests!! ]]

[phantasm-ae]

GUYS HELP! i wanna find a book so bad but idk if anyone has written one like this 😭 so like i wanna find a why choose romance (or dark) with a f!mc that’s a pirate captain or the daughter or a pirate and really badass and the m!mc’s that are like princes or like dukes or something like that. it just seems like a really good idea to me but idk 😭😭

(or maybe if someone does a fic abt this idea with f!reader x poly!141 where they’re royalty and all in a poly relationship and she’s the badass pirate captain, so kinda like Pirates of the Caribbean movies 👀)

AAAAA i love love love this... okay okayyy. I added my own twist RAAAA. I hopee you likee thiss

cw: smut, suggestive writing, afab reader x poly141, pirate queen afab reader x poly141, the boys are like... royal here, this is just a short btw AAA

HEADCANON: When you and your pirate crew loot what seems like a standard Royal Navy cargo ship, you take two Royal Navy Guards: MacTavish and Garrick in as prisoner. What starts as strategic ransom turns into something messier, sweatier, and far more entangled than you'd planned. And just when you think it can’t get any more chaotic, the rest of the bloody Royal Guard bellows in --Admiral Price and Prince Riley -- track their missing boys down and wind up entangled in your already unholy mess. Now it’s poly141, too many heated glances, and a dangerously crowded bed. You should’ve sunk the ship.

PAIRING: poly141 x fem reader

It all began when you and your crewmen of the Crimson Marauder looted a royal navy cargo ship. The usual haul -- none too far from the ordinary -- having done this more than you would like to admit in your lifetime. Sacking fat crates of supplies, pilfering robs of silver, a handful of rainbowy spices, lugs of gunpowder, dried meats, and... yellow? gold? gold-yellow-fringed? fabrics meant for some highborn boony wedding, you supposed.

The Fidelity -- you cackled as Roach, your first mate -- voiced it aloud after spotting the grimy and wry thing bobbing all stainless and impeccant on the cyanic open tide.

Brandishing one to three stripes of yellow ochre and black on its sails -- an English ship. Fucking fantastic.

The Fidelity sailed like it had something to prove -- and something to hide. You squinted through Roach's spyglass as he handed the rusty thing in your grasp. The cool metal felt lighter than usual. Almost like the inanimate thing also carried the weight of how breezy the entire situation would unfold.

The wind tugged at your coat, the salty bite of sea spray clinging to your lips like a stifled giggle held back. A cargo ship dressed like a warbird. Flashy. Pretentious. Stupid.

The deck was spotless though, you could give them that. But... too spotless.

Officers moved with precise, military grace, their coats crisp despite the salt air. You caught glimpses of gilded buttons gleaming under the sun, and the unmistakable glint of medals pinned to chests.

You sneered. Royalty, through and through.

“She’s trying to look mean,” Roach muttered, still perched beside you with his boot resting atop the coil of an idle harpoon line. Smirking as he rolled up his sleeves and watched you only hum in agreement.

A hand already up in the air, finger twirling to signal the crew -- a silent command born of years of rough waves and rougher men. A subtle indication to hull their arses ready and steady. Cannons assuredly poised and propped, gunpowder dried and eager among flintlocks and barrels, and swords sharp and burnished under the fierce sun -- ready to taste blood.

You grinned. “Let’s find out if she bites.”

She didn’t.

No thunderous roar, no volley of cannon fire. Instead, the Fidelity slipped through the waves with unnerving calm -- almost too calm. Like a cat waiting to pounce, silent and calculating. The boarding was quick and cruel. You and your crew descended like crows on a bloated carcass. Lazy, familiar, facile. Benign and an amenable picking at that.

Splinters flew, ropes sang, blades met flesh. The Fidelity’s crew folded like linen though. All gnawed and mauled. Some already bruised, bleeding, or too wounded to even lift a hilt. All cantakerous and pathetic skins of blood and flesh. Most surrendered before your boots even hit the deck.

A few tried to be brave.

Bravery bored you. And you made sure to show your appreciation for such dullness and malaise with the sharp arc of your sword. Often suppressing an eyeroll and a yawn whenever you cleaved through their defenses like slicing through rotten wood. Your blade whispered as it swept -- swift, precise, and utterly merciless. Each strike a lesson in futility, a reminder that resistance was pointless. You didn’t need to kill them all -- just enough to remind them that its either they were wasting gunpowder or human capital. Either way, you could almost groan at how stubborn the brave little muskets were. You could at least give them that much for your admiration and pleasantries.

As the rest surrendered, the few wounded, and the majority all bled out and holed through on the deck, you could almost let out a breath of relief once you kicked open the captain’s quarters to find velvet-wrapped crates of untouched tea, ink jars sealed in wax, scrolls with the royal seal.... sloppily disguised as merchant records. Contraband disguised as tribute. Smuggled goods, and worse, correspondence. Oh shady shady, you tsked at the sight.

But it wasn’t until Roach called down from the brig that things truly got interesting.

“Captain! You’ll want to see this.”

The two of them were a mess of bruises and bad attitude. One sat with his back pressed to the wall, blood drying across his brow in a jagged halo, wrists shackled, and a cocky grin half-swallowed in pain. Electric blue eyes glossed over in either pain or exhaustion. Watching you in keen interest. Humming a bit in curiosity as you catch the way his gaze darts quickly from the supple roundness of your chest and back up to your face. Almost guilty and shodden. You scoffed though. Not entirely amused.

The other knelt beside him, posture defensive, calculating gaze unmoved by the sight of you. Brown puppy dog eyes and silken chestnut skin. Coarse and roughed gloves painted in what seemed like the other one's blood. Trying to patch it all up as much as he can with scants of his threadbare handkerchief and scarves. Both wore shredded navy coats -- rank patches barely hanging on.

Officers, you chalked it up. Too polished for simple sailors that was for sure. And too fucking stubborn for common prisoners you concluded by the way the wounded one still tried to reach for his sword despite probably about to lose an arm.

Handsome though. But no one really asked.

“Names?” you asked coolly, circling them like meat you weren’t sure you wanted. Palming the hilt of your sword as you catch Roach quirking his lip up in tittered humour.

The bloody one smiled. “Weel... Depends. Ye plannin' tae kiss or kill us?”

You tilted your head. “You talk too much.”

“Aye. I hear that more'n I ought tae”

Roach leaned in and whispered, “That’s MacTavish. The other one’s Garrick. They’re not just navy -- they’re Royal Guard.”

You raised an eyebrow, weighing the value of keeping two highborn pests onboard versus the headache they promised. Royal Guard meant influence, connections, a hefty ransom if you played your cards right. A nice little thicket of cloisters of coins and more spices if you could tick off that Royal Navy Admiral Price good enough. A smart play, in theory. Very very smart play.

It wasn’t until two weeks of the asshats on board that you realized that, in bloody practice? The theory -- your brilliant, ransom-laced, gold-glinting theory -- was fucking falling apart at the seams.

It was like adopting two particularly handsome raccoons with a taste for violence, zero spatial awareness, and the uncanny ability to charm their way into places they had no fucking business being.

You kept them shackled at first, locked in the brig and kept a good two decks away from your charts, your crew, your liquor, and your patience. And yet, somehow -- somehow -- they were still everywhere.

Jesus H. Christ.

What started as just filling in for two of your deck-men who got the scabies turned into a bloody nightmare.

Garrick with his stupid puppy eyes and his “Captain, I can help, just tell me what needs doing” and MacTavish with that grin, that smirk, and that incessant way of sidling into your space like he owned it.

They followed you.

Literally.

Kyle -- you learnt his name after MacTavish yelped it during a mock brawl on deck, pinned beneath the man’s thighs and shouting, “Fuckin’ hell, Kyle!” with such vigor and vocal intimacy it left half the crew blushing and the other half holding back laughter. And you didn’t even ask. Didn’t have to. The name stuck to him like wet salt. Kyle “Oh-Kyle” Garrick, the Royal Guard turned public ship spectacle.

SOOO "Oh-Kyle", despite every ounce of his well-bred, tight-buttoned composure, had an uncanny way of making himself indispensable. One day he was teaching your quartermaster proper naval coordinates like your crew didn’t pride themselves on controlled chaos and instinct; the next, he was calmly untangling three months' worth of misfiled logbooks like he had lived in your cabin longer than you had. He had the gall -- the fucking gall -- to reorganize your maps. Alphabetically.

You should’ve shot him then.

MacTavish, on the other hand, was a hurricane in human form. Somehow both endearing and insufferable, always a little too close to your elbow, always a little too fond of winking. You caught him once juggling stolen lemons below deck with three of your men like it was a fucking circus. Another time, you found him shirtless, scrubbing the deck with Roach and humming something that sounded suspiciously like a love song -- off-key, of course. When you scolded him for “fraternizing,” he just grinned and said, “Captain, I’m fraternizing with the timber.”

You thought about throwing him overboard. Repeatedly.

And yet. And yet.

They grew on your crew like barnacles. Roach started calling "Oh-Kyle" sir as a joke. Then stopped joking. One of your youngest recruits claimed he wanted to “be like MacTavish when he grew up.” That nearly gave you a stroke. Even the parrot -- traitorous feathered bastard -- preferred their shoulders over yours. And well.... you just had to admit -- they were somewhat truly easy on the eyes.

Infuriatingly. Obnoxiously. Royal-blood-would-boil-if-they-knew hot.

You tried not to see it. Gods above, you tried. But there it was -- in the stupid curl of Kyle’s smile when he fiddled with your maps like he wasn't a prisoner, like he belonged there. In the way MacTavish grunted through training drills, shirt tossed over his shoulder, sweat beading on his neck in a way that should’ve been illegal on royal personnel. In the way they both looked at you -- not with fear, but with that same infuriating little gleam, like they were waiting for you to break first.

You told yourself it was fine. Normal even. A healthy appreciation for enemy assets. You were still in control. Still had the upper hand. Right?....

Right??

It wasn't until you woke one morning to find both of them asleep in your quarters after a drunken menage à trois that you started to suspect -- maybe you never even had so much as a lifted finger on these incensing broods.

Or at least it was probably misplaced somewhere between Johnny's mouth on your cunt, suckling your achy and engorged clit like it was something syrupy and saturnine at the end of a raid -- finally learning his name after screaming it hoarse after he took you from the side where your swore you felt and saw God in between his cock's brutal thrusting and his canine and saccharine mouth on your tits -- and Kyle's fingers tangled in your hair, paired with his mocking and patronizing coos everytime you hiccuped and sobbed out your release from just his fingers or his tongue alone. Both of them taking to your bed and pussy like it was a battlefield they fully intended to conquer, together.

You blinked hard at the ceiling. Blinked again. Because maybe if you stared long enough, the water damage above you would split open and swallow you whole. Mercifully. Quietly. Preferably before Johnny could start stirring again.

Because that? That was definitely his bloody thigh. Still slung across your hips like you were a prize he’d claimed in the name of King and country. One of his arms tucked under your neck. And Kyle -- Oh-Kyle -- was on your other side, shirtless, snoring lightly with his face mashed against your shoulder and a hand, scandalously, still cupped over your breast like it belonged there.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You nearly stabbed them then and there again. But if it wasn't for the lazy grin starting to spread across Johnny's face at the mere shift of your warm skin against his own. His achy and reddening tip starting to chub up and leak pre-cum once more near the tender slit of your vagina or Kyle's fingers starting to tighten possessively over the pinkening nipple of your breast, you vowed that yeah sure, Jan, they would have hung from the hull to the mast.

At first you thought they were only fattening up the plot to escape, betray, and pilfer all your loot in a single wink. Royal Guard and all -- maybe they were trying to gauge the layout of your ship, cozying up to the temperament of your crew and you. And maybe... just maybe you’d wake up to Garrick slitting your throat after Johnny had you too drunk or too well-fucked to notice the blade sliding home -- booning over your men's favor and Johnny flipping your charts while humming sea shanties to a possible mutiny.

But no.

As morning after morning passed, your sex and thighs either plugged up or leaking with their mixed spend, and throat remained blissfully uncut. Your loot untouched. Your maps unspoiled. No mysterious disappearances. No hidden daggers. Just Kyle’s goddamn smile when he handed you coffee like a bloody deckhand, and Johnny's stupid humming while he patched sails or helped Roach scrub dried salt from the gunwale.

They were... helping.

Contributing.

Loyal.

Kyle started bringing you crates before you even asked for them. Memorized your rum preference and the exact way you liked your charts folded. Once, he even punched a crewmate for calling you “boss” instead of “Captain.” (You didn’t stop him.) And Johnny -- Johnny saved your life during a skirmish with a Portuguese cutter, dragging your bloodied body across the deck with fire in his eyes like the thought of losing you was the real mutiny.

Barking orders like a man possessed for Roach to move his arse, tearing fabric with his teeth to stop your bleeding, cradled your face in his palms after like he didn’t give a damn who saw. Like you were his to lose. Like he’d rather sink the whole ship than let that happen.

And after?

Well. After that, their devotion?? got even more.... creative....

Johnny took to sleeping outside your quarters. Said it was to “keep watch,” but you’d catch him shirtless most nights knowing you couldn't resist the flutter of his pec to his arm, cleaning your boots or sharpening your cutlass with that infuriating grin -- daring you to say he wasn’t being useful. You slapped him hard after sucking his dick though.

Kyle, on the other hand, started sneaking into your cabin under the excuse of "nightly reports." But the reports always came with warm hands, eager and sinewy fingers, warmy mouth licking and suckling the fat of your tit just right. Kissing you like he knew it was already dangerous -- like he knew you could gut him then and there, and still didn’t care.

You tried to hold the line.

You really did.

But the line started to blur the night Kyle dropped to his knees in the glow of your lantern and promised you his loyalty with his mouth, not words. Or the night Johnny pressed you against your map table and growled that if you wanted him to leave, you’d have to use your blade -- and when you reached for it, he only grinned wider and said, “Didn’t say I wouldn’t like that, hen.”

Bastards. Both of them.

It was beginning to disturb you, how they didn’t run.

How they stayed.

How they smiled when you issued and quipped out your own orders. How Johnny’s hand always lingered just a little too long at your lower back. How Kyle’s eyes softened when you laughed -- gods forbid you ever laughed around them again.

You cornered them once in your quarters, after a few too many drinks and even more pent-up suspicion. Shirt half-open, your bustier falling loose, and hair mussed, sword already drawn, lip curled in your best don’t-fuck-with-me snarl.

“I know what you’re doing,” you growled.

Johnny raised an eyebrow, head rising from the softness of your thigh. Kissing and licking the fresh bruise near your pussy almost as a sign of penance. “Do ye now?”

“You’re seducing me,” you spat. “Turning the crew. Planning something. You want something.”

Kyle blinked, utterly unbothered, even as your blade hovered an inch from his chest. “Aye,” he said, voice maddeningly casual. “Want you. Thought that part was obvious.”

And Johnny, the bastard, just grinned. “No' everything’s a ploy, Captain. Sometimes we just like what we see.”

You hated them.

You hated them and the way they kept unraveling your world with grins and glances and too much damn charm.

And worse -- worse -- you were beginning to hate how much you were starting to not mind.

So when you finally received the letter -- an official, wax-sealed declaration from Admiral Price himself, stamped with all the pomp and entitlement of the Royal fucking Navy -- you didn't even flinch.

“To the Captain currently harboring His Majesty’s property --” (Already starting off strong.) “-- you are hereby summoned to discuss terms of retrieval and recompense. Failure to comply will be considered an act of war.”

You stared at the letter.

Then at Kyle, who was kneeling to rub balm over the burn on your calf, his touch gentle, eyes wandering glossed over in arousal and fervor at your smooth smooth skin. The sight of your skirt riding high up your thigh making him groan like a man lost and found.

Then at Johnny, who had the audacity to be asleep in your bed, your actual bed, one leg slung over your pillows like he owned the place -- snoring softly, lips parted in a way that made you both want to kiss him and suffocate him.

You crumpled the letter and tossed it into the sea.

They didn’t ask after.

Didn’t flinch either.

Just stayed.

Admiral Johnathan Price arrived three days later though with all the dramatics of a man used to being obeyed. Making you perk an eyebrow in both amusement and bemusement at someone being able to track the Maurauder down in such short notice.

He stepped onto your deck with a slight gait, hands clasped behind his back, beard bristling in the wind, and that narrowed, assessing glare already cutting through your defenses. Tired, dangerous, and somehow still chewing on a cigar like he had time for leisure as his eyes -- slow, calculated, and practiced-- examined the thick coarse of your helm, the masts, sails, and to the soft spill of your breasts from your corset as if you wouldn't notice.

It wasn't until the second part of his rendezvous that you tilted your head a bit in both surprise and confusion, watching the Royal Crown Prince himself, Simon fucking Riley -- sauntering beside Admiral Price like he wasn’t wearing half the Empire’s weight across his shoulders.

You recognized him after a beat. After a flicker of memory -- the dull glint of coin passed through a storm market in Tortuga, a trader laughing as he slapped the copper piece into your palm.

“Rare, that one,” he’d said. “Crown mint. Got the prince’s face on it. Rumor says he’s a ghost -- never speaks, never smiles.”

At the time, you’d laughed. Called it superstition. Tossed the coin into your boot for luck. Now, watching the exact silhouette from the coin move -- cut across your entresol like he already owned it -- your blood cooled.

Same jaw. Same sharp, still grace. Same stare that could unmake a person without ever lifting a blade.

Prince Simon Riley alright.

The masked royal ghost.

He didn’t speak, not right away. Just stood beside Price like a looming specter, face hidden behind that infamous black cloth over his mouth, arms folded like a damn statue. Judging. Watching.

Sizing you up.

Price, however, didn’t bother with greetings. Opting instead to go straight to the bloody point.

“So,” he said coolly, “how long have you been fucking my men?”

You stared.

Kyle choked.

Johnny cackled.

“Is that how the Navy opens all its diplomatic engagements now?” you snapped.

“Only when diplomacy’s already been thoroughly compromised,” Price said dryly, taking in Johnny’s open shirt, your bite mark on his neck, and Kyle’s bare feet. “Jesus.”

You ignore him. Eyes narrowed instead on the royal-born covered in black from collar to boots. “Didn’t know the Navy brought along crown jewels on recovery missions,” you said coolly, voice like cut glass. “Planning to bribe me or blind me?”

Price didn’t blink at that. A slight quirk of his lip as he stood up straighter by the Prince's side. “He volunteered.”

“Royalty doesn’t volunteer.” You stepped forward, ignoring the faint, cursed jolt that rolled through you as Riley turned to face you directly.

His eyes -- visible through the mask -- were pale. Distant. And focused on you like you were the first breath after drowning.

“He does,” Price said, voice low. “When he’s invested.”

That made your brow arch.

“And what exactly is His Majesty invested in?” you asked, gaze flicking pointedly between the four of them -- at Johnny and Kyle, the main bloody problem in the first place, the reason your ship had gone soft with affection and discipline all at once.

Riley finally spoke. Voice deep. Even. And terrifyingly soft.

“You.”

....... huh?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“You can have them,” you said, pointing to the two smug bastards behind you. Ready to hand them over if it meant that you can let these bastards fuck off to whatever port in some highland or springy-marsh just so you could get your life back. Because what the fuck was that? What the fuck was this? A fucking harem on water? A fucking sick bloody joke on some carribbean fantasy??

Christ. You're probably still stuck on that one cave out in the port of Tiago and this was still an illusion. “Take them. Take them for all I care and get the fuck out of my ship and off my waters”

But neither any of them moved. Not the Admiral nor Kyle. Shit. Not even Spooky the Parrot resting on the sails.

Kyle only stepped closer. Johnny wrapped an arm around your waist. And the Prince and the Admiral watched it all, quiet, almost amused.

“Told ye, hen. Yer' irresistible.”

“At this point it’s just a matter of who gets to stay in your bed, don't you think?”

You almost choked.

Yeah. You were gonna need a drink.

Or a mutiny.

Possibly both.

“I should have hanged you both,” you muttered as Price hummed softly in amusement and Prince Riley’s masked quirked up from a smirk at your response — eyes oh so slowly tracing every outline granted from the loose bodice of your shirt to the open front of your blouse. Gritting your teeth, already calculating how far you could jump off the side of your own ship without breaking something vital.

Yeah.

You should have hanged them both. Goddamnit

masterlist

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Convincing Them To Get A Pet

⊱⊰ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, Hesh Walker, Logan Walker, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

You kept bringing stray cats home

Every time you walk through the door, hands buried in the pockets of your tightly wrapped coat, John turns his head and asks "What've you got in there?"

"I don't know what you're talking about" and a meow can be heard coming from inside your coat

He makes you take it off to find a cat and her kittens snug and warm in the inner pockets

"They were cold..." you say sheepishly when he sighs

Ghost

He has to take care of you and now you want a pet??

Says he has enough on his plate with just you

You’re blowing up his phone sending him videos of animals or shoving the phone in his face

“Simon, Simon! Look at this! We should totally get one.”

“…That’s a spider. Why would you want that?”

Soap

He had also been wanting a pet for some time now, he had an exotic animal in mind until you got chickens

"...Are we going to eat it?"

"Johnny, no."

Now he has to wake up early and feed them every day when the sun rises to when the sun goes down

The chickens have grown on him and he's even named them, gets upset when you or someone jokes about eating them

Gaz

Is totally fine with any pet as long as it’s nothing too out of the ordinary, so you got bunnies

You'll let them roam around the house sometimes and Kyle hates when you do that because they tend to chew things and it's somehow always his things

Imagine Kyle falling asleep in your bed with the pink comforters and the adorable fluffy baby bunnies (yes i'm making a reference to that one tiktok)

Roach

Unfortunately for both of you, you are weak when it comes to animals

You’re both fawning over the cats and dogs in the animal shelter, cuddling with the baby goats at the local farm even if they’re chewing your clothes and head butting you

Together you’ve owned your weird assortment of pets; ducks, goats, spiders, snakes etc.

I headcanon Gary is a nerd when it comes to snakes and bugs

Alejandro

In the moment, you manage to convince him pretty easily, until you actually bring home the dog you wanted

Pretends he doesn’t like petting it or getting near it

Even curses when he has to get up at night to let it out for it to use the bathroom

But ofc within a month he’s totally smitten over your pit bull

Spends money on buying it nice collars and food, taking it out for a drive in his truck frequently

When cooking on the grill he always buys extra meat just for your dog

Phillip Graves

I like to think he has a soft spot for animals and agreed to going along with you when deciding what animal to adopt

What he didn't expect was to be pulling into a ranch and looking at horses

He expected to be looking at dogs or cats or a fish even

Now he's helping you muck out the stall for the beautiful pinto you bought

Helps brush her down and keep its mane and tail smooth to enter it in shows and competitions

Keegan

He knew you'd been wanting a pet for a while now because every time you visited someone who owned a pet you'd asked if you could play or pet them

You probably spent longer bonding with animals than with humans

Decided to surprise you with a talking parrot

Every now and then he'll teach it cute phrases like "I love you", the parrot will sometimes pick up some colorful language from Keegan

Hesh Walker

He caved in and originally thought of gifting you a pretty Siamese cat before thinking he'd like to play a little prank on you

As a joke, he gave you two rats, each with a pink bow on them

David would've started laughing if it weren't for you growing attached to them, eventually he did tell you he intended to buy you a cat

The rats were quite intelligent and learned tricks fast and frequently played games so both you and David decided to keep them and forget about the original plan of getting a cat

Logan Walker

He could never say no to you

However, you had owned a dog before, Logan wasn't fond of cats and you didn't want something like a lizard or a fish that would stay inside a tank all the time

The perfect opportunity came up when you had the chance to adopt a baby cow, a calf who had lost its mother

You both agreed, there was extra unused backyard space

The calf was named "Moonpie"

König

You really wanted a pet, but König couldn't understand why

"We already have a pet"

It was an iguana, which König already owned when you moved in with him

You weren't very fond of it because of an anecdote that occurred the first time you were over at König's place; you had seen a long tail in between the couch cushions and thinking it was a stuffed animal or a toy you pull at it only to see the iguana moving

It still freaks you out to this day when you remember how flaky and weird the scales felt

Horangi

He agreed and suggested he be the one to go pick out a pet from the shelter

You stood at the door when you heard his car ready to meet your new pet only to be met with a plastic container

Upon opening the box you're shocked to see he brought home a snake, he just snickers as he picks it up, holding it as the boa wraps around his arm biceps

"You wanted a pet, didn't you?"

Nikto

You had spent months trying to convince him to get a pet, to which he kept saying no to

"Come on Andre, a dog wouldn't be as bad as a kid"

He had no reaction other than just a grunt, but next time he came home from deployment he set a portable crate down

You rushed excitedly when you heard squeals thinking it was a puppy, after three weeks you notice the brownish fur begin to lighten and spots appearing

"Where did you say you got the dog from?''

"Did I ever say it was a dog?"

Post inspired by this cutie:

Everyone say "Thank you Corazòn"

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

There’s no chaos, there’s no drama…

Chaos and drama are Ed’s baseline.

His childhood home.

His experiences on Hornigold’s ship.

Probably the early days as Blackbeard as Ed built a reputation.

And then Ed became so talented at creating the theatre of fear, controlling the chaos and drama to his own ends, he was able to cocoon away, and for a time was probably glad not to feel it directly…

‘The feel of not to feel it When there is none to heal it…’

And now Ed’s numb.

Because it’s all Ed’s known; his brain is built around it. The adrenaline, the cortisol. Without it he feels hollowed out, a ghost.

But think of what Ed’s asking for. Chaos - disorder, panic, confusion. Ed thinks he would rather feel such emotions than safety. He’d rather die in the sturm and drang than live in ennui. Because it’s familiar. He doesn’t know there is anything else. Chaos is familiar, boredom is death.

But Ed doesn’t really want chaos and drama. He wants novelty, serendipity, originality. And he wants love - to receive and experience it. It’s just Ed has only felt the centres of his brain light up by the negative. What he begins to realise on Stede’s ship, and then through meeting Stede, is that the same (better) stimulus can occur from positive experiences.

Ed’s immediately drawn to the knickknacks, overkill, and lunacy. You see the awe and wonder at the auxiliary wardrobe. The delight at finding someone to play dress up. The seventh heaven of the lighthouse fuckery. The dizzy delight of that damn good marmalade. The relief of unburdening to someone who cares. And it just keeps getting better… beautiful clothes, moonlight compliments, conversation and foot-kicking, lazy breakfasts, flirty swordplay, nighttime story-telling, treasure hunts, co-captain brandies… it’s all hitting Ed’s amygdala over and over.

And at the centre of it all is Stede understanding every part of Ed intuitively. Stede explains, ‘Guys like Blackbeard live for adventure… it’s like nourishment for them.’ But Stede doesn’t plan a raiding party, he plans a day of fun. He understands how Ed needs variety better than Ed.

When Stede leaves, Ed tries so hard to recreate the feeling through food and textiles and an on-deck sing-song, but returns to the chaos and drama after being made to feel unworthy, unsafe of any other life. It’ll never again be enough, though. It wasn’t enough before; just a holding place for where a real life could’ve, should’ve been, and Ed knows that now.

In the end, Ed doesn’t choose drama and chaos - he actively revolts against it because he realises it’s killing him. Instead Ed chooses a quiet life in an inn in some backwater with Stede. It’s enough.

The slow whimsy and delight in the everyday is what Ed learns to appreciate. As Roach says, ‘We eat, but how often do we taste?’. Ed can find novelty in the ordinary because Stede knows how to see idiosyncrasy in the seemingly mundane. After all, a successful raid is returning with a half-dead plant now displayed in pride of place.

Stede’s the god of small things really, and whilst he does have an eye for the extravagant, his baseline is set in the minutiae. Stede can inspire wonder in a shared cup of tea. And that’s what Ed needs - to watch the clouds and sunset for the beauty, and feel the quiet wonder of everyday life.

[milolunde]

Triplets Born

Like most things, I started rewatching Sonic Underground for fun and nostalgia and ended up making a version of it for myself in my head. However, UNLIKE most things, I felt I needed to draw it immediately instead of keeping it in my head.

Welcome to the stage Sonic Subternion

There was a time when Robotroplis was beautiful, full of life and peace, a time when it was known as Mobotroplis. Mobians were free to take part in the glory the queendom had to offer. They were free to take charge of their future, build a home, explore the world. But, just after my children were born the evil Doctor Robotnik used his technology to turn our world into a place of terror. Capturing the great realm of Mobotroplis, Doctor Robotnik and his machines turned our paradise into a prison of concrete and metal. 

As the source of Robotnik’s wealth, the aristocrats were left to play their tea parties and lavish masquerades, dooming my people to mechanical graves of servitude. Refusing to bend to Robotnik’s terror, he stripped me of my right as Queen, placing a bounty on my head… and the heads of my infant babies. Imprisoned in my own home, unable to aid my beloved queendom, I was left with a choice: Submit and forfeit Mobotroplis, or forfeit the life of my family. When all hope was lost, the Oracle of Delphius revealed to me a prophecy…

You must give up your children, separate, hide them from the evil that seeks their demise. Someday, you will reunite and overthrow Robotnik as the Lost Council of Four. But you must not act too soon. Cement your place in this destiny, for revealing yourself too soon will plunge your world into catastrophe. 

To give up my babies, to leave my queendom to the hands of Robotnik, then stand idle for years while the prophecy became realized. The Oracle laid before me a destiny where my worst fears were set in stone. Without a choice, I took my babies, smuggled myself and them out of the prison that was meant to be our palace home, and left them on the doorsteps to their true destinies… then fled.

Sonia “Sophia” Windermere

On the steps of House Windermere, Queen Aleena hesitated. The Windermere family had been sponsoring Robotnik since he first began the siege of Mobotropolis. Was leaving her darling daughter in the palm that fed Robotnik truly what destiny demanded? Looking at the lush garden within the tall fence, Aleena stepped through the dead grass to the gate entrance and left her daughter, her beautiful Sophia, cradled in her crib, and ran, imagining herself running with her children through the lush court grass to the grand fountain at the center.

Sonic “Oliver” Oakcrest-Hedgehog

Stepping carefully through the poison oak and already-dead pine saplings, Queen Aleena carried her baby boy through the woods strapped to her chest, arms curled around him in protection from the low branches. Upon hearing the rush of a waterfall, she took a breath and looked down at her baby. Wryly, she smiled at Oliver, who stared up at the sunset sky through the dead tree branches in awe. Untying the woven cradle from her back, she placed the sky-blue hoglet in the blankets, swaddled him tight, and gave him a final kiss before knocking on the cabin door and running back into the trees, arms shielding her face from the pine and twigs in her way. As she ran, she listened as the waterfall hushed and wondered what it would have been like to teach Oliver to swim.

Manic “Maurice” Roach

Fearfully creeping through the ruin of her queendom, the new city of Robotropolis, Queen Aleena held on tight to the handle of her basket. Draped in a cloth, she hoped to disguise the cradle as an ordinary basket for carrying groceries. However, the ornate design of the cradle could not be completely covered, and the shape undoubtedly gave away that it was anything but an ordinary basket. Hoping the shadows and late hour, fifteen minutes before curfew, would keep her hidden, she tread towards her destination. It was a humble home, its front door blocked off and relocated to the narrow passage between the home and its neighbor. She loomed in the alley, hesitating for a moment as the green light flickered above her. Her realm did not have shadows before, but there she stood, skulking through her own queendom. Blinking, she set the cradle down and uncovered it, heart swimming when she laid eyes on Maurice. She brushed his quills, kissed him twice, then soothed her hand across his body, watching as he drifted to sleep with his medallion in his mouth. Finally standing, she covered the basket, rang the bell, and fled to hide for the night before curfew officially arrived. She ran with her eyes forward, knowing if she looked back she would gather her son into her arms in an instant. Tears stung her eyes and she wondered if fulfilling a cruel destiny felt much like being watched: Fingers numb and quills on end as it peered through the back of her throat.

=================

That's it as far as origins go... Sonic does still end up with Chuck a few years after living with the Oakcrest family, and Manic is still super kidnapped after Aleena leaves, but I thought that would lend better to another post. That is, if I have the motivation to make another post lol. I really enjoyed making this one. It's refreshing to get my ideas out somehow rather than just letting them stir in my head until I forget about it. WELL please let me know, of you read this far, if you liked it! I plan to do more with this "rewrite" or "AU" or whatever it is. Not sure what form it will take, but I already have how they all meet typed out somewhere and I look forward to sharing it!

[myntrose]

ೃ⁀➷partners in crime ︻デ═一

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ft: Alastor x gn! reader

summary: It's another night at the hotel. Everyone is lounging around the shared space, or sitting at the bar. With a boost of confidence (and a few drinks) Angel finally asks the burning question everyone had : How did you and Alastor meet?

cw: demi! Alastor, established relationship(married), Alastor and reader meet when they were alive, reader is an assassin , killing and mild gore (it's alastor yall), a lot of petnames, no use of y/n, no beta we die like men

a/n: it's the way alastor got me smiling and kicking my feet. he got me to break my 1 year hiatus LMAO. also, I am aware that he's ace. I myself am somewhere along the demi spectrum, so this fic is purely for comfort n coping. if you don't like it, pls ignore :,D

wc: 1.5 k (1,469 words)

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The hotel common was filled with low gentle music and idle chatter. Vaggie and Charlie were on the couch, talking about everything and nothing. Nifty was running around chasing some poor roach. Even Cherri was here, with Sir Pentious attempting to flirt with her once again.

Husk was behind the bar, in ordinary fashion. Although he was mostly listening and doing his job, he would occasionally chide into the conversation the other two residents at the hotel were having. Angel was in the middle of telling you about how much of a headache Val was, while you gave him you condolences. It seemed like the only person missing was the radio demon himself, who was probably in his tower, making a new broadcast.

"Speakin of which..." Angel, who noticed Alastor's lack of presence, noted "I got a question for ya toots. How is it that tall, red and creepy managed to bag you as a partner? You're sweet and all, I get that. But how did you even meet-"

The loud slam of drinks caused the peace within the hotel to halt . Husk shoots a stern glare towards Angel, almost to warn him, be cautious about asking question's about Alastor and his darling, you never know if he's listening.

"It's alright, Husk" You send him a sincere smile. While he would never trust your husband, he can't help but believe your words.

"Well, Angel, let's start with this. If you've ever wondered why I'm down here in the first place, it's because of the occupation I had when I was alive. That's actually how I met Alastor."

Oh, maybe you were a thief and were trying to steal something from Alastor. Or maybe a detective that was on the case to solve his murders. Or maybe-

"I was hired to assassinate one of his targets."

oh.

You couldn't help but laugh at Angels' reaction. Sure, you were kind to those in the hotel, and definitely not as threatening as most overlords. He, and most people you met in Hell, just assumed you committed some mundane crime and got the unfortunate eternal punishment .

Taking a small sip of your drink, you start to recollect the unforgettable night that would define your current relationship.

It was supposed to be like any other job that you were given. Your employer would hand you a file, you would find the target, and get paid in return. Maybe it wasn't the most ethical way to make money, but hey, you knew how to kill so you made it work.

You had followed your target into the bar, while waiting away in the corner. Though your eyes were focused on them the entire night, you couldn't help but feel another pair of eyes on you.

It was probably some random patron in the bar, you guessed. It wasn't for another hour when you noticed that your target had left the vicinity.

The streets were dark, with the occasional street light every block or so. It was perfect place to finish your job. All you needed was for your target to turn into some alleyway, and as quietly as you followed him, you'd quietly go for the kill-

Quietly. Hold on, why was it so quite?

Looking up the street, you noticed that what was once where your target stood was now empty. There was no way he outran you, given that you would have heard his footsteps. To the right of you were the woods, maybe he took a detour?

No, everything felt wrong. Every single thought in your brain was screaming to run, to grab your gun that was hidden beneath your coat, to get out of here-

"Careful my dear, we wouldn't want you getting hurt now, would we?"

A cold blade found its way to your neck. Two very disturbing facts became known to you. First, was the fact that the blade was already stained red. And second, you were about to be the second kill of the night.

A million thoughts ran through your mind. Was this how you were going to die? How fast could you grab your gun? Would your employer be pissed off that you died in the job? With your eyes shut closed, you waited for the knife to make contact.

"Now now, there's no need to be so scared my dear! My, you look like a deer in headlights!"

...what?

Opening your eyes, you're met with the mysterious man who just had his weapon on you seconds ago. He seemed vaguely familiar, probably having seen him at the bar you frequent.

"It seems that I've caused you quite a scare. Do know that wasn't my intention. I just wanted to see for myself this new assassin I've heard so much about! You've caused quite the gossip, my dear. Makes good conservation."

You continued to stand in silence, with the initial shock of almost dying wearing off now. As mad as you were that you got caught, you were equally confused on just who this man was. With some more listening to his voice, the answer popped into your mind.

"You- you're that new radio host! Alastor, was it?"

Alastor's smile grew at the acknowledgment. "Indeed I am! Glad to know you've heard about me."'

Had anyone walked into the conversation you two were having, they would have assumed it was one between new acquaintances. In which one has a knife in their hand, while the other has a gun.

"You see, my dear, I've heard quite a bit about your line if work. While I am more than capable of... dealing with others, I propose that we work out some sort of deal. One where you can finally stop working for that employer of yours, and actually make a profit off your talents."

Alastor put out a hand, waiting, watching to see how you'd respond. It's been a long night for you, and you had a feeling that this wouldn't be the last time you saw. Plus, if working with him meant you'd finally have to stop answering to your boss, then why the hell not. You take his hand, before agreeing to this proposition.

"...and since then, we've been business partners. Our relationship kind of just happened after a few moths."

It was nice to look back to when you first met your now-husband. Looking around the bar, you noticed that you weren't just talking to Angel. At some point, unbeknownst to you, everyone at the hotel had come over to listen to your story time.

"Well toots, I figured you had to be some sort of crazy to date smiles, but I guess it takes one to know one." Angels says while taking a shot, still reeling with that fact that someone as kind as you was a killer. Head nods and murmurs of agreement spread within the group.

Before you could say anything, a pool of dark clouds appeared to your side. From the shadows, the very man you were taking about stood before you.

"Hey, Al."

He faces you with his signature grin, before turning to the rest of the residents.

"It seems that I've became the topic of conversion while I was gone! It's quite interesting to see how interested you all are in with me and my dear's meeting."

The hint of annoyance in his voice was entertaining, to say the least. You place a hand on his shoulder, barely hovering above it.

"Aww, come of Al! They just wanted to hear how we first met! Besides, it's a fun story to tell."

"If "fun" means almost killing ya for the first time, I'd hate to know what you guys did when you started dating-" "Shut up Angel!"

You answer a few questions that were asked before everyone eventually returned back to their previous endeavors. Husk and Angel eventually sit around with the others in the common room, leaving just you and Alastor at the bar.

"It's kinda funny, now that I look back at it."

Alastor doesn't say anything, promoting you to continue.

"That night, I almost turned down that job. I was painfully tired, and all I wanted to do was go home. It's crazy to think that we wouldn't have met had I not pushed myself to take the job."

Anyone who knew Alastor would know that him asking for a partnership was simply outlandish. Hell, Alastor himself questioned why he was seeking you out in the first place.

No, underneath he knew. He knew from the first time he saw you. It was a different time from when you both officially met. When he saw you, someone so seemingly innocent, skillfully take down a man twice your size, he knew that he had to meet you.

"Well, mon chéri, it's good that you did."

[anonmousegosqueak]

From my poly 141 meet the McTavish ask I wanted to add a few things :)

Origins:

It started as a NikPrice, the two kinda locked in and didn’t move from "friends who are a little closer than just work", until one night they both got decently drunk and made out sloppy and then kinda grinded each otherer' thing rather than exactly fucking.

The morning after they didn’t say a word about it (mainly because while Price barely remembered the sensations and Nik had forgotten half of the things that happened), then a few years later Price met Gaz and the whole MWI happens.

Gaz is kinda into Price (he has his pan awakening from Price, like the mf barely had a few girlfriends when he was still in school, had something short when he first got into the military but then gave up until this DILF shows up and seems to be single) and somehow they end up only half drunk making out in bed. That morning after they kinda have to talk and it can be resumed into "let's keep having a professional relationship and ignore this thing since it happened once and never again".

The never again part hets ignored around a couple of weeks later and they both weren't drunk enough to forget it. In any way. The problem arises when the third time Nik is with them.

Threesome!😇 It's a one time thing and they are all too embarassed to talk about it… you emotionally constipated men…

When Ghost gets into the 141 NikGazPrice is kinda established but at the same time it's not. Like yeah, they may have fucked twice, but it was for relief and nothing else I swear… Until slowly, fucking slowly and months later Ghost realizes he may have some feelings… He hates it, he tries to close himself from acknowledging that he has a crush on… his captain? Serganet? Pilot? Why the fuck does he blush when he sees the three of them toghetger?! It's clearly not envy, and not disgust either, but he kinda wants to be either them or with them.

So slowly (yeah, again) he starts showing a bit more affection. A helping hand here, a compliment there. They don't exactly emd up fucking (yeah, those are a bit out of the ordinary, they are half naked, Ghost is not showing his face yet and is the most dressed one but still tries despite the trauma (TM) and other stuff between the four of them.

MWII! Ghost has to be separed from his lovers stress helpers for a whole week, and call him crazy but Soap is clearly flirting with him. And his genius panic and blushing part is flirting back!?

Oh god… oh no…

Oh.

Oh.

Yeah, he kinda talked about it after the mission and when they went to kill graves he wanted to show something more than just words and soft touches. Even for Johnny. Because of Johnny.

Roach is in MWIII and the story is fucked enough alredy so adding him would only improve shit.

NOBODY DIES. NOT A CHANCE!

Behb

I'm sorry, but what am I supposed to add?! This is amazing! You've covered all the bases, wrote internal dialog, *everything.*

Y'all gotta stop out-doing me in these asks .⁠·⁠´⁠¯⁠`⁠(⁠>⁠▂⁠<⁠)⁠´⁠¯⁠`⁠·⁠.

To call me an author, complement my art, and then turn around and write *this*? As an ask?!

I genuinely don't have anything to add so I'm just gonna say: Y'ALL SHOULD GO CHECK OUT @writer-fennec . I dunno what kinda reach I have but still, if someone reading this goes "dang, that was good" and you hadn't seen their stuff before, go check 'em out. (Also yes, no one dies. Correct. No notes.)

[harveywritings92]

{Ghost messes with the recruits, he sits down at a table with a group of them, he has a plate of two sunny side eggs, bacon, beans and hash browns; nothing out of the ordinary until... he took out a straw pulled his mask up and began to sip out the egg yoke, the recruits all watch in shocked silence, As Ghost keeps his eyes trained on them.]

Ghost: is there a problem?

{the recruits nervously shake their heads.]

Ghost: *goes back to sipping.*

[meanwhile Soap, Gaz and Roach are losing their shit in the background, they were not informed before hand.]

[darth-mortem]

The sixth part of my demon!Ghost AU. During the latest mission, Price discovers that Ghost has his own priorities, which he places above his orders. But is that such a bad thing when the mission is accomplished and all members of 141 are still alive?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Missions, action, minor injury, hurt/comfort, caretaking. 3855 words.

“So who is he?” Soap asked skeptically, looking at the photos of a short, unremarkable man of Latin American appearance.

“Don't let appearances fool you, son.” Price shook his head. ”This weak bastard is part of the inner circle of a drug cartel operating in the United States, Mexico, Colombia, Venezuela, Peru, and Brazil. He was arrested by chance for a minor crime, and only then did they find out who they had caught. He seems willing to testify, but only in the northern part of the United States, where the cartel's influence does not yet extend. We have to get him out of Monterrey and take him to Seattle. Three other cars will be heading in the same direction but on different routes to confuse the enemy, but I don't think it's working.”

“And we have to deliver him alive, right?” Gaz asked, looking at the map.

“Aye.” Price nodded.

“Will the cartel try to free him or kill him?“ Soap asked.

“Good question.” The captain smiled crookedly. “I think we'll find out the answer as we go along.”

You can keep reading here or on the Ao3

The members of 141 fell silent, pondering the information they had received. Escorting important people for whatever reason was nothing new to them, but despite the high level of professionalism of all the members of the unit, something always went wrong. It could be something completely unpredictable, such as a vehicle breakdown or road repairs, or it could be the result of poor reconnaissance, when people who were supposed to be reliable suddenly turn out to be traitors.

“Forty hours on the road.” Roach said thoughtfully. ”If we're lucky, a couple of hours less. Someone remind me why we can't just fly this piece of shit out by plane or helicopter?”

“The Mexicans don't trust their pilots.” Price explained. ”They can't wait for someone from the States either, because tensions in the city and surrounding area are so high that a riot could break out at any moment.”

TF 141 was already on its way, and the briefing was taking place on board the C-17, which would deliver the Special Forces to a military base near Monterrey in two hours. That was where the important prisoner was being held, in the hope that the military would be able to provide greater security and that they were not as corrupt as the local police. Four armored vans were already ready, so as soon as 141 personally checks them for any unpleasant surprises, everyone will leave on their routes.

“We'll drive without long stops, changing drivers every five to six hours.” The captain spoke again. ”Ghost will keep an eye on the narco.”

According to the protocol, at least two soldiers were supposed to guard the prisoner, changing every few hours. However, the lieutenant was no ordinary soldier: he did not need food, water, or sleep; did not get tired; and therefore did not lose his vigilance. An added bonus was the fact that his terrifying aura was capable of depriving any prisoner of even the thought of attempting to escape, let alone any actual action.

Of course, Ghost wouldn't have to sit alone with the criminal in the armored van for forty hours straight. There were only two passenger seats in the cab of an armored van, so someone from the unit would still be with the lieutenant, but not to keep watch, just to rest before getting back behind the wheel.

“I don't like this.” Ghost said suddenly, and all eyes turned to him.

“What exactly, Lieutenant?” Price asked.

“The fact that, according to your plan, I'll have to protect this piece of shit, whom I would gladly kill myself.” Ghost explained with a threat in his voice, and the air around him suddenly became colder.

“None of us likes this.” Soap said reassuringly, gently touching the demon's shoulder. ”But it's our job. Maybe thanks to this piece of shit, we'll be able to catch even worse pieces of shit and take down their whole bloody cartel.”

Of course, MacTavish didn't believe it, and neither did the rest of 141. Most likely, this wasn't the last person in the big drug cartel who would change his mind about testifying once he was in relative safety or even buy his way out and return to his master. This mission was clearly shit, but not all of them were. Often, 141 really did save, if not the whole world, then at least some parts of it, and that was worth any risk, danger, or injury.

“I hate fucking narcos.” Ghost muttered but stopped arguing.

Price thought it would be worth asking the lieutenant about the reasons for his hatred, since before 141 he was unlikely to have been involved in anything related to organized crime. Judging by Colonel Albright's words, the demon was sent into battle in the most serious situations, when there was a direct threat to national security, and therefore he had dealt with terrorists, radical groups, insurgents, but not drug cartels or gangs. However, this could be discussed later, when everything was over. For now, everyone except Ghost was poring over the map.

The routes for each of the four vans had been determined in advance by the Mexican military base officers in charge of the prisoner, so the members of 141 automatically considered them compromised. Taking this way was like voluntarily walking into a trap, but they couldn't deviate from it too much either. First, the vans were likely equipped with GPS trackers, and a drastic change in route could be interpreted as an escape attempt with the prisoner. Second, it would increase the already considerable travel time. Taking all this into account, the members of 141 sought a compromise solution.

Some sections of the route were left unchanged: these were mainly major highways with heavy traffic, where cartel militants were unlikely to dare to attack. However, they had to improvise on narrow, little-known roads, choosing other, often even less known detours instead of the planned ones. The most dangerous sections were those that could not be bypassed, such as bridges or mountain passes.

“If there are a lot of them, we could call Ghost to the battle.” Soap said.

“We'll see how it goes.” Price replied. ”If necessary, one of us will switch places with the lieutenant.”

At the base where 141 arrived, everything was ready for the prisoner's transport. While Price discussed some details with local officers, Soap, Roach, and Gaz carefully checked all the vans for anything suspicious, such as explosives, as well as the condition of the engines and the availability of necessary supplies so that they would only have to stop to refuel. Satisfied that everything was in order, Garrick nodded to Price, who informed the local officers that they were ready.

All four escort teams took their places. The soldiers brought in four prisoners in handcuffs and with bags over their heads. Three of them were decoys, and only members of 141 and the base command knew which van the real one was in. Without revealing their faces, they were pushed into the armored vans and chained to special metal rings welded to the floor.

Price got behind the wheel, and Sanderson and Garrick took the passenger seats. Ghost and Soap climbed into the back, closing the doors behind them, after which MacTavish pushed aside the metal plate covering the barred window. Through it, they could talk to those in the cab, and the sergeant reported that everything was in order and they were ready to go.

The four vans left the base one after the other. 141's car was third in the convoy, which was the best position if the enemy decided to attack right then. However, this did not happen, and fifteen minutes later, each van turned onto its route.

“Hey, you, take this damn bag off me!” The prisoner shouted. ”I can't breathe!”

Soap glanced through the window and caught the captain's eye in the mirror. He nodded briefly, and the sergeant leaned forward and yanked the bag off the narco's head. He seemed to want to say something else but changed his mind when he saw Ghost sitting directly opposite him. The lieutenant, as always, was completely motionless, and even under the cover of his hood, it was clear that he was staring intently at the prisoner and that the look was not a friendly one.

In the plane, Price had entered all possible alternative routes into the satellite navigator, and now he was deciding what to do. One klick further on, he could turn right onto a dirt road, or he could continue straight ahead as it was planned. Assuming that the cartel wouldn't attack the van at the beginning of the journey, especially near a military base, the captain chose the second option and pressed the pedal to the floor, picking up speed.

Soap sighed quietly and stretched his legs as far as he could in the back of the van. He didn't want to talk to Ghost or anyone else in the presence of this bastard. They still had many hours ahead of them, so the sergeant leaned his head back against the armored wall and tried to get some sleep. The prisoner didn't even seem to notice; he cowered in his seat under Ghost's heavy gaze, unable to take his eyes off him, as if afraid that if he did, this huge son of a bitch would kill him on the spot. Glancing through the window from time to time, Kyle and Gary grinned, knowing how the demon's terrifying aura worked and glad that his wrath was not directed at them.

After Monterrey and a few small towns, the landscape began to become more desolate. From time to time, cars passed by in the opposite lane or overtook the van, but they became fewer and fewer. After a while, the desert gave way to hills, and ahead, against the starry sky, dark masses of mountains appeared. Crossing them was the first dangerous section, and Price, gripping the steering wheel more tightly, briefly ordered everyone to be on alert.

Gas and Roach took their rifles, removed the safety catches, and prepared to shoot through the windows if necessary. They were now closed so that the armored glass could protect the soldiers from stray bullets, but Sanderson, who was sitting in the middle, was ready to open them to shoot through both the driver's and passenger's windows. Soap woke up, shook his head to clear the sleep from his eyes, and also placed his assault rifle on his knees. Only Ghost remained motionless, staring intently at the prisoner, whose face was covered in sweat, either from the heat or from fear.

When the road started to climb, Price slowed down. Garrick lowered the thermal imager mounted on his helmet and began to carefully scan the surroundings. Ahead was the steepest climb on this stretch of road and also the narrowest point, a combination that was ideal for trying to stop the car.

“There are heat signatures five hundred yards ahead.” Gaz reported. “Three to the right of the road, five to the left.”

“Not enough for an attack.” Soap said.

“This isn't an attack.” Price answered, slowing down even more so he could brake if the enemies threw a spike strip on the road. ”They're testing us.”

Roach lowered both windows a little. The captain leaned forward, closer to the steering wheel, so that Gary could move as close as possible to the window behind him. The van's headlights should have blinded the people crouching on both sides of the road, and it was dark in the cab, so they couldn't see all the preparations and realize that they had been spotted. The best solution in this situation would be to open fire first, but without 100% certainty that the enemy was ahead and not, for example, a bunch of tourists, this was not an option.

Confidence came with the sound of gunshots and bullets hitting the armored body of the van. Kyle and Gary instantly returned fire, and Price stepped on the gas, trying to avoid hitting the wheels. Soap tensed, leaning forward as if he were about to join the firefight through the barred window. The prisoner, on the other hand, cowered, covering his head with his hands. Only Ghost remained completely motionless, causing even greater terror in the cartel member.

Roach and Gaz didn't know how many enemies they had killed or injured. The van crested the top of the hill and, picking up speed, sped away from the scene of the clash.

The next ambush awaited 141 already on US soil. At that moment, Soap was behind the wheel, and this probably saved the day to some extent. The sergeant's keen eyes spotted the barbed wire on the road, and his first-class driving skills prevented the tires from puncturing and the wire from wrapping around the axle. He also managed to keep the van from overturning, but he couldn't continue driving: the engine stalled, and in addition to the barbed wire, a large fallen tree blocked the road.

This time, the cartel sent more than two dozen of its militants, who surrounded the armored car as soon as it stopped. In addition to Soap, Price and Roach were also sitting in the cab, and the captain ordered them to get out and find a more advantageous position. Gas and Ghost were to remain with the prisoner for the time being, and the lieutenant clearly did not like this order. For the first time since the trip began, he took his eyes off the narco and looked at the barred window. It was almost impossible to see anything through it, but Ghost seemed to be able to understand what was going on by listening. Gaz remained alert, watching the prisoner, who seemed to feel an incredible relief that the creepy lieutenant had finally stopped staring at him.

Garrick heard shots and indistinct commands, but looking at Ghost, he knew that the demon could hear much more. His inhumanly acute hearing distinguished the soft whistling of bullets cutting through the air and the sloshing of blood flowing from wounds; the whispered orders of both enemies and Price; the clicking of bolts; the clanking of equipment; the last breaths of mortally wounded cartel militants... Suddenly, Ghost heard a short cry of pain and immediately recognized Soap's voice. At that moment, he slammed the small window shut with the armored cover and crossed the back of the van, grabbing the door handle.

“Watch him, Sergeant.” He ordered briefly and then jumped out of the van, slamming the door behind him.

His rifle remained on the seat, out of the prisoner's reach, but Gaz was sure that Ghost had left it there on purpose, deciding to deal with his enemies by other means.

Roach and Price tried to sneak behind the enemy lines, while Soap remained in their cover and created the appearance of several people by firing hastily fixed weapons from various points. At first, everything went well, but then MacTavish leaned out too far, and an enemy bullet grazed his shoulder. It was a minor, non-life-threatening wound, but the sudden pain made Soap cry out, and that's what Ghost heard.

In the first second after being injured, MacTavish lost his balance and fell on his back. In his radio earpiece, Price asked him about his status. He tried to reply that he was fine, but then Ghost walked past him with a demonstrative slowness, clutching his scythe in his hand. It was still small, but Soap already knew what this strange weapon really was.

“Hey, Cap, did you call Ghost?” Soap asked over the radio. ”Because he's coming your way.”

Price cursed. He and Roach were almost at their target and could have handled it themselves, but for some reason, the damn demon had decided to disobey his order. This was cause for concern, because who could predict what other orders Ghost would disobey in the future?

The enemies, of course, almost immediately noticed the tall, burly figure approaching them and unleashed all their firepower on him. Bullets struck Ghost in the stomach, chest, and shoulders; one or two ricocheted off his skull mask, and then he was upon them, his slowness nowhere to be seen.

The scythe was small, but that didn't make it any less deadly in the demon's hands. Each swift swing took a life, sometimes several, and soon the remaining cartel members tried to flee, but they didn't get far. Ghost had forgotten his rifle, but Price and Roach had theirs. Coming out of cover, they stood on either side of the demon and quickly finished off the enemies fleeing to their cars.

Silence reigned. Ghost spread his arms, still clutching his scythe in one of them, and streams of white smoke drifted toward him. Price and Roach stepped back and almost bumped into Soap, who approached them, clutching his wounded shoulder.

“What happened to you?” The captain asked anxiously, seeing the blood dripping from the sergeant's palm.

“I'm solid, just a scratch.” Soap replied.

Roach remained silent, unable to take his eyes off Ghost. Having finished gathering what now belonged to him, he slowly threw his scythe into the holder on his back and lowered his arms. Turning around, he saw Soap and almost rushed towards him, carefully hugging him and ignoring the shocked looks of Price and Sanderson.

“Why did you leave the bloody van, Lieutenant?“ The captain asked as sternly as possible.

“I heard Johnny’s scream.” Ghost replied in his terrifying, rumbling voice and turned his eyes, burning from the battle and the devouring of souls, to Price. “I thought he...”

“No, no, Lt., I'm fine!” Soap interrupted, feeling his chest warm with the realization that Ghost had come just for him. ”Here, look for yourself!”

MacTavish removed his hand, revealing the bloody mark left on his shoulder by the bullet, which had torn through the skin and slightly damaged the flesh beneath. The lieutenant stared silently at the wound for a few seconds and then slowly shook his head.

“Demons can't heal.” He said quietly. ”Although I wish they could.”

Then he turned and walked back to the van. Price watched him thoughtfully, and Roach, glancing at Soap, asked:

“What the hell is going on between you two?”

“I don't know.” MacTavish replied, a little confused.

“Cut the chatter.” Price interrupted, rubbing the back of his head. ”Roach, get in the van with Soap and bandage him up. Send Ghost back to me. We need to get that damn tree out of the way.”

Soon, 141 was on its way again. Roach took the wheel, and Soap remained in the back with Ghost. The lieutenant wasn't looking at the prisoner now, his eyes still glowing, but his mere presence was enough to make the cartel member tremble with fear.

“I'm curious about something.” MacTavish spoke, addressing the narco. “Did your friends want to free you or kill you?”

The prisoner did not answer. Soap snorted contemptuously, then lay down on the bench, resting his head on Ghost's knees, and soon dozed off.

The rest of the journey passed without incident. There were probably still ambushes ahead, but Price ordered all possible detours to be taken to avoid further clashes. When the battered van with bullet traces finally arrived in Seattle, it was escorted by two police cars straight to the station where the valuable prisoner was to be held. By this point, Ghost had intimidated the unfortunate man so much with his terrifying immobility and watchful gaze that he looked absolutely happy when he was finally taken out of the car and locked in a cell.

Price, Garrick, and Sanderson remained at the station to give a detailed report of everything that had happened, while the captain sent Soap and Ghost to rest at a hotel, where three rooms had been booked for them.

“Before we head home, we simply must celebrate another successful mission.” Gaz declared. ”It's on you, Lieutenant. See you tomorrow!”

Waving his hand, Kyle went back to the captain and Roach, while Soap gently nudged the confused Ghost toward the exit, where a patrol car was already waiting to take them to the hotel. The lieutenant was silent the whole way, and only when he was alone in the room with Soap did he speak.

“Did Sergeant Garrick mean that I should buy you all alcohol?” He asked. “But I don't have money.”

“You have money, Lt.” Soap smiled cheerfully and began to take off his equipment, then his clothes, under the watchful gaze of the demon. “You're officially in the army now and get paid like the rest of us. Do you remember, along with your ID card, the captain gave you another one, a bank card?”

“Yes.” Ghost replied, watching as the sergeant shamelessly took off his T-shirt and unbuttoned his pants.

“Well, when we're at the pub, I'll show you how to use it.” Soap took off his pants, then hooked his thumb into the elastic of his boxers and winked slyly. ”If you want to see more, you have to show me something too, Lt. Think about it, I'm going to take a shower.”

MacTavish spent a long time in the bathroom, washing off the sweat and dirt, then rebandaging his shoulder. He didn't know what had come over him to say such a stupid thing to Ghost, and he was a little afraid to come out, but when he finally dared, he found the demon sitting calmly on one of the beds. Soap smiled at him, turned off the light, and dove under the blanket of the second bed, hoping to fall asleep quickly, but sleep would not come. After tossing and turning for twenty minutes, MacTavish sighed and looked at the motionless dark figure opposite him.

“Lt.?” He called softly.

“Yes, Johnny?” Ghost replied.

“Remember how you offered to warm me up once?” Soap asked, feeling his cheeks begin to burn. ”Will you do that now?”

The lieutenant didn't answer, but the sergeant heard his bed creak and fabric rustle as he took off some of his gear. A couple of minutes later, Ghost approached and lay down next to Soap, wrapping his arms around him with his blanket on and pulling him close to his chest. MacTavish felt a pleasant warmth envelop his entire body through his blanket, along with an incredible feeling of security and absolute safety.

“Thanks, Lt.” Soap said sleepily and stroked Ghost's shoulder. ”You're so kind...”

MacTavish fell asleep quickly and soundly, leaving the demon to ponder everything that had happened in that room. Ghost tried to understand what it all meant but then gave up, pulled the sleeping Johnny closer to him, and moved his head slightly, touching his chin to the mohawk that was still slightly damp after the shower. Tomorrow he would definitely ask the sergeant what he meant, but now he needed to rest, and if he had decided to do so in the arms of a demon, who was Ghost to argue?

[wing-ed-thing]

... And the Beast (Yonji Vinsmoke x Reader) Part I

Synopsis: You thought your little crush on Prince Yonji was a well-kept secret. Yonji is mean enough to exploit your eagerness to please in the face of his unrelenting cruelty; the thought of actually developing a soft spot for you never even crossed his mind.

Word Count: 6.1k

Tags/Warnings: Naive!Servant!Reader, No Reader Pronouns, Canonically Mean Vinsmokes, But Reader is Kinda Into It, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Name-Calling, Hitting, Reader Fell First, Yonji Falls Harder

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

Notes: Welcome to my current hyperfixation. I guarantee you one hell of a roller coaster. Brace yourselves.

Ichiji had never seen anything like it. 

He had gone into Yonji’s room to talk about something, and from the sight of his brother’s moving lips, it was evident that his question was definitely being answered— by a long monologue, no less. But Ichiji couldn’t hear a word, not when you were zipping around the room, thoughtfully, pathetically doting on his brother as if he were a god. 

None of this would have been out of the ordinary for Ichiji if your position had been that of royal attendant. A butler, a valet, or even one of the maids would have been more appropriate when it came to fussing over his brother so early in the morning, and even if it had been an entire swarm of regular servants, Ichiji wouldn’t have batted an eye. But now that he considered it, Ichiji hadn’t seen a single valet in Yonji’s entire wing. 

In fact, it appeared as though Yonji dismissed all his personal aids in exchange for the company of the royal library attendant. 

The library attendant.

Despite being so far from your typical work environment, you seemed less than bothered by the fact that you had assumed an entirely different job than what you were originally hired for. Rather, Ichiji thought you appeared fairly eager to place yourself at Yonji’s disposal. He could practically see glitter in your eyes, and while he wasn’t exactly surprised— in fact, he was a bit disgusted by the fact that a lowly book roach had the nerve to even think about looking at a member of the royal family in such a way— Ichiji couldn’t help but feel that he’d missed something. 

The library had to have been halfway across the castle, not to mention that Ichiji wasn’t even sure if the library snail was currently docked to either Yonji’s or his own fleet in the first place. 

Yonji’s curly eyebrows creased as he gestured toward himself, continuing to talk— Ichiji still didn’t know what about. Yonji flexed the bare muscles on his bulky arms proudly. 

You held up two nearly identical shirts on two hangers to Yonji’s left, one a bit higher than the other. 

The only real difference between the two was the buttons. The one in your right hand sported large, clear buttons, while the one you held slightly higher had smaller, opaque buttons. Yonji barely spared you a moment of his attention, his eyes flickering to the white shirt with the opaque buttons. His glance communicated enough, and you swiftly placed the rejected shirt back into his ornate, hand-carved wardrobe. 

The two of you had done this routine before. 

Yonji made the shallowest efforts as you swooped in behind him, carefully pulling the fabric over his arms until it draped lightly over his shoulders and chest. He placed his hands in the pockets of his slacks, completely ignoring you as you maneuvered in front of him to begin buttoning his shirt. Yonji spoke over your head as you tucked it into his waistband. 

“Hey!” Yonji’s aggravated growl snapped Ichiji from his trance. Yonji had you by the sleeve, just about tearing your uniform off your shoulder as his nose contorted in a deep snarl. “Where the hell did you put my raid suit?”

“It’s right here, Prince Yonji!” You held up the canister like a precious treasure, eyes glinting at the number marked prominently on the side. Ichiji couldn’t recall ever seeing someone so enthralled by servants' work.

Yonji scoffed, heaving you forward by the corner of your uniform before pushing you back with double the force. He roughly snatched the canister from your hands before he turned to make his way toward the doors. 

“C’mon,” Yonji knocked a hand against Ichiji’s shoulder. “Let’s take a look at that new tech you were tellin’ me about.” 

“Right.” Ichiji nodded, the slightest bit heated that he had been made to forget why he’d visited his brother in the first place. He stood from the plush couch in the middle of the room to follow Yonji. 

“Goodbye, Your Majesties! It has been an honor to serve you today.” Neither brother turned back as you bowed at the waist. The heavy doors closed behind the two, leaving you alone to tend to your chores.

Ichiji considered the closed entrance for a beat before joining Yonji, who strutted down the plush carpet of the hall with an elevated cockiness. Ichiji gave him a once over, studying him with acute curiosity before averting his attention to the view of the sea outside the passing windows. 

“Does the library attendant dress you every morning?” he asked. Yonji let out an obnoxious, bellowing laugh.

“Yeah! And the best part is I didn’t even have to ask!” Yonji cackled in his usual boyish rasp. He shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning forward slightly to narrow his eyes mischievously at Ichiji. “What? You like my new personal attendant?” 

Yonji laughed again as the two stepped into a winding stairwell. The sound resounded upward, bouncing off the stone walls. He squared his shoulders back, a wide, self-satisfied smirk plastered to his lips. Ichiji hummed, trying to decide how invested he was. 

“Retaining a valet or two like Niji and me would be more logical. Perhaps a few chambermaids instead of some creepy roach,” Ichiji frowned. “Your taste in toys has always been… unique.”

“What can I say? I can never get sick of that stupid, wide-eyed face!” Yonji snickered behind closed teeth, tugging absentmindedly on the loose collar of his shirt. Neither he nor Ichiji spared a second glance at the soldiers who greeted them as they made their way across the courtyard. “I could kick it and still get an offer to shine my boots. A proper servant should consider it a privilege to serve.” 

Yonji continued to hiss, and Ichiji hummed again. He had grown tired of the subject, but Ichiji couldn’t help but consider that there was something about your dynamic that he couldn’t quite wrap his head around. 

“All this excitement over a little attention from a servant,” Ichiji muttered. 

Yonji’s self-assured smirk wavered as his pace slowed. He fell just short of Ichiji, who continued ahead. Yonji’s brows wrinkled in disgust, and his lips quickly contorted into a disdainful scowl. He huffed, turning his nose to the side, before widening his strikes to catch up with his older brother.

“I’m being treated the way royalty outta,” Yonji spat. He hardly noticed how the doors to their destination opened in their presence. “What does it matter if I get a laugh out of breaking this one, too?” 

Ichiji didn’t humor him with a response. The two brothers disappeared into the building, both finally tired from talking about you.

***

“Oh my god!” a cleaning woman gasped, quickly slapping a hand over her mouth as she gaped in horror at the sight just outside the window. A crowd of other house servants gathered around her, all careening to look down at the training grounds below. They muttered to themselves in panicked horror, causing more staff to drift from the hall and into the storage room to catch a glimpse of what was happening on the ground below. 

On one side of the yard stood all three Vinsmoke brothers, each donning their respective raid suits as they talked amongst each other. However, the Vinsmoke princes were the last thing the hoard of staff pressed up against the four medium-sized windows appeared concerned with. 

You stood directly in the middle of the opposite end of the training ground. Three large books were stacked on top of your head, and a basket of crisp, green apples was in your hands. You wabbled, teetering slightly as you tried to balance the books. Perhaps you could have if there were fewer of them or maybe if the princes hadn’t chosen an encyclopedia each. 

All the upstairs staff could do was watch as Yonji sauntered over to you and plucked an apple from your basket. He placed it on top of the stack of books, tongue poking out from his lips as he rotated the fruit on top of the book cover until the orientation was to his liking. 

“Don’t you dare move a muscle,” Yonji sniggered. As if he were studying a piece of art, he peered at you tauntingly with one eye closed through a box shape he made with his fingers. He chuckled again, pivoting to retreat to the other side of the training ground. Ichiji and Niji were already waiting for him, sinister smirks contorting their faces to reveal sharp incisors. 

“Oh my god, I can’t look! I can’t watch someone’s head get blown off!” one of the upstairs maids turned from the window to push through the hoard of gathered servants. Her spot was quickly filled in. 

“I wonder what brought on such a brutal punishment,” a laundryman remarked to a pantrygirl. The gathering of servants shifted around to accommodate the new bodies that gathered. “Does anyone know what happened?” 

Cosette had just appeared at the end of the hall as the group's muttering grew louder. Unlike many other servants who gathered around the windows, Cosette had actual work to do in the kitchen storage closet. Still, it hardly took a moment of her standing in the doorway to realize something was terribly wrong.

“What’s going on?” she asked a scullion, a wave of dread washing over her like a bucket of cold water.

“The princes have someone down there that they’re using for target practice,” he answered, gesturing to the top of his head. The scullion ushered her forward, allowing Cosette to slide in at the edge of the very last window. She squinted at the sight below before gasping in horror at the sight of it all.

The books, the apple on top, and the giant basket of more shiny green apples that you gripped in your hands. 

And on the other side of the yard, Yonji was winding up.

“Who is that?” Cosette gasped in mortification. Your form looked more than familiar, but Cosette couldn't see your face from the angle she was looking. In a moment of realization, her eyes widened. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Someone said it was the library attendant,” another servant answered, and Cosette ran into the same question that every other servant in the room considered upon hearing that information. 

What business did the princes have with the library attendant?

Tormenting the staff, especially over the slightest perceived infractions, wasn’t out of the realm of possibility when it came to the Vinsmokes. However, given that your post was strictly the library, and nowhere else, none of the gathered staff could fathom a scenario in which the custodian of the library would even have to make contact with any of the princes—let alone all three. None of them ever held any interest in books, after all.

 Other than Judge, the other Vinsmokes assumed interests that they deemed more valuable than Germa’s extensive archive. Not to mention that all scientific notes and heavily referenced texts on technical information were kept in their own room near the central laboratory. On rare occasions when a member of the royal family wanted to seek knowledge that would enhance their combat abilities, they would have a servant deliver a text, no matter where it was stored.

The books you maintained comprised a vast collection of lesser-used texts. From general encyclopedias to old records and files to more niche topics, most of your domain was compiled during the days that Judge was strictly a man of science and included the extensive accumulation of the late queen. It was primarily due to record-keeping reasons— and perhaps sentimentality— that the Germa Kingdom kept a library attendant at all.

If your head were about to roll with those chances, the rest of the staff would have no hope.

“You better hold still!” Yonji warned. The motor in his gauntlet whirred to life. 

You stared straight ahead with your back erect and your muscles as halted as your untrained body could muster. Your teetering from before had subsided, and while you continued to shake slightly from effort, Yonji couldn’t help but consider that you didn’t look nearly terrified enough. And as you stared directly into his dark irises with your stupidly eager gaze, Yonji decided that he’d give you something to be afraid of for once. 

His winch whipped out of his forearm, the metal wire extending many times the length of his own body as he swung his weapon clockwise in a swiping motion. It barreled towards your head at lightning speed. The horrified screams from the gathered servants above were drowned out by the thundering boom that exploded as Yonji’s winch crashed into the castle wall to your far left.

And for just a moment, before the windows in front of the servants broke and the castle violently trembled, Yonji's winch swiped away the second book on your head. The green apple and the book it sat on fell neatly onto the text directly on your hair before you were blasted into the dirt. 

You tumbled across the training ground as the castle wall dented, the accouterments on your head leaving a trail to mark where you stood. The basket of apples had tumbled to the ground, causing the fruits to roll across the field. The three princes bellowed with laughter as Yonji recalled his weapon. 

“I told ya that you better hold still!” he sneered.

The dust cleared, revealing your overpowered body in the dirt. You lay motionless.

“I think your new toy’s broken!” Niji howled. 

Yonji’s brow creased in disapproval, taking in the sight of pages and apples strewn across the yard. He glanced around wildly, an undetectable hesitancy stalling him where he stood.

“Hey!” He stormed forward, jaw clenched as he kicked a few fruits across the lawn. “Hey! What the hell did I tell you? You better get your ass up!”

You propped yourself up weakly, barely mustering the strength. Yonji’s eyes bored into the back of your head as you tried to pick yourself up. His impatience trumped your efforts as he wasted no time in grabbing you and hauling you to your feet roughly. He shook you with barely restrained rage.

“You got the nerve to disobey me, huh?” Yonji jerked you violently, his grip around your bicep punishing. 

Your head snapped back, and only then did Yonji notice the water pooling in your eyes. The glossiness clouding your pretty irises was enough to redirect his rage into a wide, toothy grin. Self-satisfied, he let you drop to your knees.

“Prince Yonji!—” you cried out just as he turned to walk away. 

His earlier annoyance had just about melted instantly, and in its place came a righteous sense of power and control. Yonji had allowed you to fawn all over him for long enough now, and now that he had broken you, your novelty had worn off. He sighed to himself, letting his eyes close as you slowly stood somewhere behind him. It was time to find something new to play with.

—“That was awesome!” 

Yonji’s eyes snapped open, and without thinking, he pivoted on his heel to face you. The tears that he saw in your eyes were present, but the look on your face was nowhere near the expression of terror that he anticipated. Instead, you looked up at him with pure admiration and a dumb smile on your lips. The complete subversion of his expectations left him at nothing less than a loss as he couldn’t help but stare while you blabbered on about how amazing you thought he was. 

—“considering the width of the cable, the damage amounted to a force of equal magnitude to your highness’s strike—!” 

Yonji shook his head as if the physical motion would reset his thoughts. His hand came up to his forehead as he cringed into his glove. And with a motion of dismissal, Yonji turned away from you once again.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever! Just pick all this stuff up…” You didn’t need to be told twice. You grabbed your basket, ready to chase all the apples around the training ground. 

Just as you were about to reach for your first one, Niji kicked it into a nearby shrub.

“On your hands and knees. You can collect these with your mouth,” Niji taunted. He toyed with another one under his shoe, and lining it up with the side of his boot, he kicked it up into the air and right into the side of your head. “Fetch, doggie.”

“You better pick ‘em up quickly and get those books back on your head, library roach,” Ichiji gruffed. His red light energy glinted, sparking threateningly around his form. “We’re not done with you yet.”

***

Yonji eventually sent you to the medical ward. Although he immensely enjoyed looking at the nasty scapes and bruises that marred your skin, he considered the dirt and blood unsightly. So, when the Vinsmoke family was to be having dinner, you were given strict instructions to make yourself presentable and bring an extra helping of dessert back to Yonji’s quarters.

By the time you arrived, the kitchen was just beginning to wind down, having already presented the royal family with their courses. Cosette nearly jumped when she spotted you just inside the kitchen’s entrance, sputtering out a few more directions to her staff before making a beeline to you. Despite your refreshed uniform, Cosette’s eyes were immediately drawn to the tech bandages that littered your body. 

“Oh my god, you’re alive! Are you okay?” She ran up to you, placing her hands on your cheeks to inspect your head. (Your face was miraculously devoid of damage.) Having seen most of what you had gone through today, her question was clearly rhetorical: “Are you hurt? What are you doing here?” 

You took Cosette’s hands in your own. With the library always being so far away from the main parts of the castle and Cosette’s promotion to head chef, the two of you hardly saw each other anymore. And after what she had witnessed just a few hours prior, she worried about what had happened during the time and distance you had been apart. 

“Prince Yonji sent me to bring back dessert,” you answered, returning your attention to Cosette’s widened eyes. “Do you happen to have any cake?”

Cosette couldn’t help but recoil, hands hovering hesitantly between you. A cleaning boy passed through the tight space where you and Cosette stood. She pulled you out of the way as dirty water from a dish splashed the floor. 

She opened her mouth to address the servant, but your question blocked out any focus she had on kitchen affairs. Cosette blinked a few times as if your words would make sense. Your name crawled from her lips in confusion and concern. 

“What happened to the library?” she opted to ask. The crease in her forehead deepened with distress. She ran a hand down her face to center herself, but a bulky chef carrying the compost bag began to shimmy past the two of you. You pulled her out of the way, and both of you pressed yourselves flat against the wall as the chef passed. Cosette grumbled to herself, rolling her eyes. “Save that thought!” 

She determinedly nodded, pulling you through the kitchen and into the pantry. Cosette tugged the light on before closing the door behind the two of you. Your name left her mouth again in a frantic hiss.

“What is going on? Everyone was saying you were being punished for something. Everyone was watching because Madame Thénardier spied you from the third-story storage closet, and everyone thought you were about to die—!” She waved her hands frantically, pacing herself in a circle. —“And I told everyone to leave once I learned it was you—” Cosette curtly gestured in the air. —“But then Master Yonji hit the castle, and the glass was everywhere—!” You moved in front of her before she could hit her head on a bundle of carrots.

“Cosette,” you stressed, and she stopped for a moment. But only for a moment. You grasped her gently by the shoulders. “I am more than alright. I still work at the library.” You offered her a single, soft nod, but her shoulders remained tense under your grasp. “But Prince Yonji needs me sometimes, that’s all.” 

You glanced off sheepishly at a bag of potatoes. 

“He needs you…” Cosette glanced you up and down. You nodded adamantly. 

Cosette heaved a heavy sigh, drifting away from what you intended as a reassuring touch. She sat herself on a barrel of flour, both arms wrapped around the knees she pulled up to her chest. She puffed out her cheeks, not entirely eager to listen as her back slouched. 

“I don’t doubt that, but…” She nodded a few times in punctuation.

The door to the pantry opened. A cook with a pile of boxes quickly turned back around at the frantic wave of Cosette’s hand, letting the door shut again. She met your gaze, tilting her head to the side. 

“I don’t doubt that, but you almost got your head blown off today… I worry about you… I don’t know if you realize how scary today was.” Cosette trailed off, letting her feet fall back to the floor. She thought, zoning out on a random tile past your knees. “Getting so close to a person who doesn’t have a heart… it’s dangerous.”

The pantry went quiet. 

Noise continued outside. Pots clanged together. Water ran from faucets. The kitchen staff called out to each other; their voices muffled through the door. 

You took a deep breath before you spoke.

“Thank you,” you started. “For being so concerned about me. You’ve always been a great friend.”

Cosette didn’t answer you, and silence overtook the pantry once again, and the kitchen noise continued.

She wasn’t convinced about your safety in the slightest.

And with this talk about the Vinsmoke prince needing you, Cosette wasn’t even convinced that your own words convinced you. 

She remained quiet, at a loss for what to say or even think about the whole bizarre situation.

“I think he really likes me.” You smiled at your shoes.

Cosette most definitely didn’t know what to say to that.

Her shoulders deflated. She toyed with the end of her apron as she quietly considered you. You leaned against one of the shelves, admiring a basket of green peas with a quiet giddiness. 

“I think…” she pursed her lips, following your line of sight to the basket. “I think that perhaps his Highness likes the idea of you liking the idea of him liking you.” Cosette squinted her eyes, facing a random direction, as she lowered her hand in a slicing motion on her opposite palm. 

“You think he knows?” Your eyes widened at the prospect. You bolted up from where you were leaning, slamming the top of your head against the shelf above. “Ow!” You covered the sore spot with your hand. And as you were rubbing away the acute pain, you missed the softness that spread over Cosette’s gentle features. 

She quietly rose from her barrel and took your arm in hers. 

“Come now,” she sighed, opening the pantry door. “Let’s get that cake the prince was asking for. I wouldn’t want to make you late.”

***

You beat Yonji to his quarters, although it was probably for the best that you didn’t arrive after him.

You shut the doors quietly behind you with your shoe, taking in the eerie stillness of his room. It always felt odd being there without Yonji, and anticipating his presence left you with a nervous, looming feeling—like you weren’t supposed to be there. And, at least according to your job description, you weren’t. 

Most of the room was just how you left it. Yonji’s king bed sat opposite the door, with the headboard positioned in the middle of the wall. The microfiber sheets were neatly made just as you left them, and the pillows remained perfectly fluffed. 

All surfaces were clear and freshly dusted except for the circular table in the corner of the room near the door. Two large sake cups sat empty; condensation from earlier had already stained the wooden finish. You spotted the sake bottle on the floor.

You stepped down into the lowered lounge area to collect it and the cups. The two curved, leather couches were usually riddled with personal items, tools, and technical parts—which you were never to touch—but a space next to the table had been conveniently cleared off. 

You could only assume that the princes had been in Yonji’s room while you were in the medical ward. You wondered if you would be punished for your absence later.

The holo-screen glowed in the corner, and a large, detailed map of Germa’s next assignment was displayed and annotated with green and blue markers. 

You stared at the depiction of the sparsely populated city, placing the bottle with the cups on the table. In your other hand, you held the covered plate with Yonji’s cake. The green marker, a more neon color than the matte blue marker, depicted a series of vectors of the same size in various sections of the city, each ending with an “X” symbol. Meanwhile, the blue markings were dotted lines and small, boxed-in buildings. The trail ended at the coast.

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” 

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest, and with it, the cake almost toppled over as you turned to face Yonji. You had expected him to tease you, but he stood silently with his hands in his pockets. His expression was not one you usually saw. Yonji gazed at the holo-map, face grave.

“I can’t say I’m a fan,” Yonji grumbled. His eyes flickered to yours, locking you into an intense stare with a frown. “But you know, now that you’ve seen this—” He pointed a finger at the map, tilting his head to the side.  —“I’m gonna have to kill you.” His face contorted into a wolfish grin.

“Oh, I see.” You glanced back at the annotations, unfazed by how Yonji’s nose scrunched up in amusement. He prowled around the upper level, approaching the two steps down into the lowered corner lounge.

“Mission information is confidential.” Yonji placed his hands in his pockets. He stood directly behind you, the minor elevation allowing him to more than dwarf your form as he quietly blocked your only exit. “For the eyes of Germa 66 only.” 

“The arrows,” the words slipped out of your mouth. “They’re the radius of your winch.” You had most definitely meant it as a question, but the observation came out with more certainly than you anticipated.  

You turned your head for confirmation. Yonji’s chin jutted slightly back in acute surprise, his curly brows knitting together as he sneered. You stared at him silently, waiting for an answer, but Yonji only continued to look at you disapprovingly.

“The arrows are the radius of Your Highness’s weapon,” you corrected (as if that was the issue). 

Yonji’s scowl deepened as he snatched the bottle of sake from the wooden table. Unexpectedly, there was still some left. He flicked off the cap, shook his head a few times, and took a swig.

“Yeah? So?” Yonji circled the upper level, eyeing you closely as you stepped closer to the map. 

There were several levels to the city upon closer inspection. The entire diagram rotated upon your approach, revealing a multi-layered, three-dimensional diagram. The markings followed, remaining proportional despite the new angles. 

“Is this Speleothem?” you wondered aloud. Yonji took another swig of his bottle somewhere behind you.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding distant. You hadn’t noticed. “You been?”

“I’ve only read about it in books.” You reached out to touch the hologram.

The motion sent it into a tizzy, the diagram spinning erratically, causing you to step back. But once the image settled, it revealed an entire blueprint of the island with the green and blue markings still trapped inside.

Speleothem was a nation comprised of a single, large mountain. Uninhabitable on the outside, the people who lived on the island dedicated generations to carving out the dense rock, leaving a vast network of tunnels on the inside and an extremely rocky coast in the surrounding waters. But most critically, at least to Germa, were its five small entrances. 

Two canals passed through the island's base, intercrossing in the middle to split the system into quarters. Just above the water’s intersection, a vertical tunnel had been dug straight through the peak of the mountain to let in natural sunlight. 

You could see the problem. None accommodated the circumference of Yonji’s winch, and the tunnel system was far too narrow to support his typical brute-force attacks without collapsing a massive sector of the island. You wondered why he was concerned with being careful in the first place, too lost in your thoughts to remember where you were.

Yonji swiped the cake platter from your hands. You stiffened as you were rudely snapped from your daze. Yonji laughed at you that time. He turned on his heel, flicking the top off of the container. It clattered to the floor where the sake bottle— now empty— sat once again. 

“The hell are you still doing here?” he chewed. Yonji pushed past you, shoulder-checking you on his way back up the two stairs into the center of the bedroom. The fork that Cosette included already had a second bite of cake on it. 

“I thought you needed to kill me.”

“Not worth my effort,” he announced, mouth still full as he waved a now clean fork behind his head at you. “And I don’t want your corpse making a mess of my room when I have shit to do in the morning.”

Yonji plopped down on a different pair of couches in the middle of the room. The two ornate fixtures boasted intricate designs and velvet seating, both flanking an equally intricate coffee table in the middle, on which Yonji kicked his feet up. The set appeared to be a part of the same collection as his wardrobe, and the craftsmanship was a stark difference from the technologically sleek appearance of the furniture in the lower corner lounge. 

The back of his head faced you as he took an oversized bite of his extra dessert.

You were sure his ignorance of you was your cue to leave. 

You picked the serving lid up off the floor and held it upside down. As quietly as possible, you placed the empty sake bottle and the two cups into it. Yonji didn’t spare you even a glance as you quietly made for the door, unamused by you at the current moment. 

With the apparent raid on Speleothem the next day, he was either very tired or in an extremely good mood. Whatever the case, you knew better than to mess with it. You pressed down the push button at the top of the knob, holding it there as you hesitated.

You should really leave.

You should really leave and take the dishes straight to the kitchen before turning in for the night. 

Ruining Yonji’s fortunate mood and continuing to talk out of term? What a surefire way to get yourself—

“Speleothem uses a water system. That’s how they’re able to keep the tunnels together and carve out more.” Your voice cut through the air. The scraping of Yonji’s fork against his plate died in an instant. You cringed, letting your eyes squeeze closed as you braced yourself. No strike ever came. 

You slowly turned around, hugging your makeshift basket close to your chest. Yonji had an elbow over the back of the couch. His face was nothing less than unreadable as he studied you.

“They have ventilation tunnels that the water gets pumped through, and if those were to be disrupted, I’m sure you—someone—could cause massive structural damage without collapsing the system on something important below.” The words tumbled out of your lips faster than you could stop them, if not for the sheer purpose of filling the uncomfortable silence in the room. 

You could feel his stare boring into you, but you didn’t dare meet his gaze. Out of all the Vinsmoke princes, Yonji wasn’t the strictest when it came to meeting his eye, but it didn’t feel like the appropriate moment to test his generosity. 

He spoke your name, and it sent a shiver through your core. All your better instincts were as on edge as the hairs on your arms, afraid of the powerful man sitting before you. But in a match-up of pure will and power, the fluttering in your chest swiftly outweighed your senses. 

“Yes, Prince Yonji?” You bowed your head. He liked being reminded of his royal status.

There was another beat of silence. 

“Get out.”

“Yes, Your Highness!” 

***

Speleothem was an eyesore. Just a large rock in the ocean surrounded by smaller rocks, Yonji couldn’t say he was particularly pleased about his assignment on an island so dull and fragile. Reiju had, after all, been the one initially assigned to the assassination, but since she had been called for another assignment, Yonji was the one to take her place. 

The entire mission had been too covert for his liking. Unlike his sister, Yonji didn’t have much in his arsenal to cover a large area without compromising the structural integrity of the entire Goddam island. Unfortunately for him, Speleothem needed to be (mostly) intact. 

Yonji couldn’t help but grumble to himself as he fought off another security grunt with a strong uppercut. The sturdy exoskeleton clattered to the side, his compilation of fallen enemies beginning to make a pile around him. A series of high-pitched scraping noises and clicking sounded from just down the tunnel. Yonji ran the back of his gloved hand over his forehead. He despised that he was already working up a sweat, but they just kept coming. 

He ventured down into the main sector to meet the battalion coming his way. Due to the narrow passageways, the footsoldiers practically charged at him in a single file line. Yonji made short work of each one, critically denting their outer armor with each swing of his enhanced fists, but no matter how many times he swung or how many guards fell, more seemed to replace their fallen comrades at a rapid pace. 

The number of troops in front of him didn’t appear to dwindle. By the third round of reinforcements, the dark smirk Yonji typically had during battle had disappeared. He huffed to himself quietly, occasional grunts of effort being the only noise to break the steady rhythm of communication clicks and insect-like scraping. 

When another battalion of guards began to make their way down the tunnel from the opposite end, Yonji was officially annoyed. Even using a fraction of his skills, Yonji could have made short work of the entire section of the island, and he knew it. And if the mission took place at any other location, he could have. Instead, he’d have to play glorified punching bag until Niji gave the signal. 

In the midst of the chaos, Yonji’s eyes flickered up to the tunnel’s ceiling. He had been able to hear the sound of rushing water since the moment he entered.

One of the footsoldiers tackled Yonji from behind, digging his sharp mandibles into Yonji’s shoulder. Yonji moved on instinct, punching up into the ceiling and letting the flood of water wash out the tunnel.

But despite a real lack of excitement, the assignment went off without a hitch. By the end of the morning, Niji and Yonji had safely retreated and were ready to report back to Germa’s central sector, leaving Speleothem flooded and leaderless.

“Smart thinking with the ventilation system! I couldn’t’ve strategized a better distraction!” Niji let out a deep chuckle and smacked Yonji hard in the center of his back. “How the hell did you think that one up?”

Yonji trudged forward, ringing some water out of his orange scarf. While he could fly over the flooding in every other tunnel, Yonji’s raid suit was still wet from the first ventilation duct he broke. 

“Read about it in a book,” Yonji grumbled as he trudged forward. The bite he endured earlier had caused minor damage, breaking the skin just enough for the wound to be irritated by his damp clothes. 

Niji stood behind him, fists on his hips as he let out another hearty laugh.

“You know how to read?”

Yonji hardly heard him, trudging in the direction of his quarters to change into more comfortable clothes.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: He will get better. The soft spot I have for the Germa 66 boys has been absolutely crippling. Alternate names for this fic included "Easy," "Glutton for Punishment," and, of course, "Beauty and the Beast."

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

The Great Prank Wars

— A Jude & Cardan Headcanon

It starts innocently enough— as most things do.

Jude wakes up to find her sword replaced with a bedazzled replica with a pink handle, and covered in glittering rhinestones.

And she's not pleased.

Cardan denies all involvement. (Of course, he does.)

And then he offers to duel with her with it.

Jude is angry for all of five seconds before she realises she can do much better. (Or much worse— depending on perspective.)

She glamors his royal wardrobe so that everything looks like ridiculous, mortal clothes to other people.

Which means—

Which means the high king of elfhame attends his court in joggers with 'SPANK ME' written across the back.

It takes him a while to notice.

The court is scandalized.

But he's too much of a professional in masking his feelings to give his wife the satisfaction of a reaction.

So he pretends nothing is out of the ordinary and kinky normal wear is just his court attire of choice for the day.

Instead—

He plans his revenge.

Nicasia is recruited for the very great cause of filling Jude's entire chambers with enchanted fish that sing terrible sea shanties when she's trying to work.

And then it all escalates.

The Bomb and the Roach soon join in as agents of chaos, leaving behind exploding glitter bombs and magically enhanced whoopee cushions during serious council meetings, Taryn fills her twin's writing desk with magically animated spiders that recite Locke’s worst poems, and no-one knows which side of war they're on and who's winning.

(It's Jude, of course.)

Cardan hires an illusionist to project a lifelike hologram of Jude scolding people randomly throughout the palace.

Jude curses all of his wine to taste like grape juice.

(Cardan hates grape juice.)

Cardan charms the royal mirrors to narrate Jude’s every move in a dramatic voiceover.

“Behold! The mighty and fearsome High Queen of Elfhame sharpens her blade. She’s unsurprisingly thinking about murder again, dear listeners.”

Orlagh formally files a diplomatic complaint after she’s hit with a pie catapult.

A faerie noble storms out after his hair turns into snakes mid-speech. (Cardan swears he hasn't meant to hit him. He'd just been in the way.)

Someone finds an enchanted banana in the war council chamber.

No one knows what it does.

Everyone’s too scared to touch it.

Jude charms Cardan’s throne so that it moo’s loudly every time he sits down.

Vivi starts a betting pool.

Heather is morbidly interested.

Eventually, the High Council calls a formal intervention and they’re all forced to sign a magical truce.

Of course, it never really ends.

They just get sneakier.

But years later, when their children find the records of their shenanigans—

well, let's just say Jude regrets everything.

Tags: @bellamyblakru // @fangirlprincess09 // @1islessthan3books // @thesirenwashere // @nite0wl29 // @jurdanhell // @mysweetvilllain // @clockworkgraystairs // @blog-lady-vi // @the-dark-swan // // @augustintodarkness // @queen-of-glass // @aesthetics-11 // @mijaldraws // @hades-flame // @annejulianneh111 // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @chaotic-fae-queen // @thewickedkings // @thesurielships // @df3ndyr

Let me know if you liked it, and if you'd like to be tagged in more Jude x Cardan content.

[angelmarrowxxx]

the boy i like is from North Georgia, and since he’s smart enough to melt my brain into sticky pink puddles and mean enough to jump in them, i’m gonna let him take me there.

according to that boy i like, in North Georgia, the roaches bleed up the walls whenever you turn on the lights. I am terrified of roaches; not ordinary fear, but a diagnosed phobia. i have it on the little piece of paper with all of my other neuroses.

so, what do i have to do? grab one and hold it in my hand, look at its awful feathery face, the clicking way it struggles as i scream? Stomp them all to liquid the second i see them? Freeze and stare and silently chant, “they’re harmless. they cannot bite, they cannot sting, they’re harmless”.

on the other hand, my Georgia boy may be lying. he does that sometimes. perhaps it is for entertainment or perhaps to capture my attention in a conveniently brutal way. i suppose he knows that whether or not the roaches are there, i will see them.

[sillygoose343]

Songs I Listen to That I Think the OG COD Chars Would Like

Yes, I'm exposing my music taste. No I don't listen to the American and Soviet National Anthems but those were fitting in this case😭

Ghost - Creep (Radiohead)

Capt. MacTavish - Greek Tragedy (The Wombats)

Roach - Shooting Star (Owl City)

Capt. Price - My Ordinary Life (The Living Tombstone)

Gaz - Yes or Yes (Twice)

Cpt. MacMillan - Undertale the Musical - Animation Song Parody (LHUGUENY)

Joseph Allen - I deserve this (Rebzyyx)

Paul Jackson - Hitomania (Sasuke Haraguchi, Teto)

Lt. Vasquez - Shinunoga E-Wa (Fujii Kaze)

Kamarov - Welcome to the Black Parade (My Chemical Romance)

Sgt. Griggs - Levan Polkka (The Hatsune Miku ver.)

Nikolai - Wild Side (ALI)

Ramirez - Magical Cure Love Shot (SAWTOWNE, Hatsune Miku)

Sgt. Foley - Phonky Town (PlayaPhonk)

Cpl. Dunn - All My Fellas (Frizk)

Sandman - Seven (Jungkook, clean ver.)

Grinch - two (bbno$)

Truck - Good Time (Owl City, Carly Rae Jepsen)

Frost - Family Guy Theme Song (Seth MacFarlane)

Sabre - H.S.K.T (LeeHi, Wonstein)

Makarov - let me see ya move! (Lumi Athena, cade clair)

Yuri - GMFU (Odetari, 6arelyhuman)

Khaled Al-Asad - Himitsu da yo (Tuzera, Hatsune Miku)

Victor Zakhaev - Tri Poloski (Davay)

Imran Zakhaev - State Anthem of the Soviet Union

Shepherd - American National Anthem

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

song recommendations for TDSB because its been a while

high and dry- radiohead

my ordinary life- the living tombstone (yes the fnaf song guy)

fourth of july- sufjan stevens

drunk walk home- mitski, this song’s ending gives me chills

I feel like im in a teen coming of age movie, but right now they're at the point where everythings gone wrong- their parents found out and they're grounded, the arcade didnt raise enough money, they didnt get summer jobs at the pool etc etc-

HES NOT JUST A FNAF GUY, HES M Y FNAF GUY

Also fun fact, when my a few greats grandmothers neighbor passed- her estate was passed onto my Grandma. She was a hoarder, not a "roach infested garbage pile" hoarder, but a "if its discounted and I dont buy im losing money" So one summer I spent several weeks basically from when I woke up to when I went to bed sorting through the metric TONS of jewlery, and all the while I looped "My Ordinary Life" Loop? You say- Like played a lot? NO. IT L O O P E D The other people helping out even told me they could tell when I woke up because theyd HEAR the intro for the fucking song and scream. My grandma bribed me 50 bucks to listen to something else (I just turned it down) good times.

ANYWAYS- Yes very Timothy coded.

OH MY G O D IM USING THIS SHIT. IM SAVING RN.

Yeah I get your vibe- I was a bit confused seeing the lyrics end so soon but I get it.