#Eh whatever who needs extensive tagging

[spiderh0rse]

BEHOLD my p1 Dude plush all cozy in bed

Original image under cut

Altogether i think i did a pretty good job at making the changes look good at a first glance :>

[ramrage]

ghost’s ghost

chapter 1: origin story (feat. date night!)

work rating: T

chapter rating: T

relationship: John “Soap” MacTavish x Simon “Ghost” Riley”

characters: John “Soap” MacTavish, Simon “Ghost” Riley”, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick cameo, John Price cameo

tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Body Horror, Main Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Ghost John “Soap” MacTavish, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Crack, Dark Crack, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Changing Tenses, Not (always) chronological,

summary:

Johnny broke the silence first, laughing, “Okay, this is unspeakably terrible but you gotta admit, it’s kinda funny.”

What?” Simon asked, aghast. His comms crackled with someone saying something important—not quite as important as this, though.

“You’re Ghost,” Johnny began, “and I’m a ghost. Get it?”

Simon groaned though he actually wanted to cry. It was weird. Obviously.

Johnny is KIA which sucks, but it sucks a bit less because he never really… leaves? Here are some vignettes of Ghost and ghostly Soap.

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

ao3 link

Johnny is KIA which sucks, obviously, but it sucks a bit less because he never really… leaves?

They discovered it moments after he bled out, Simon still hunched over his body, frantically, futilely performing chest compressions.

“Watch your six!”

Simon jolted, twisted, and landed two shots in the face of the approaching x-ray before stilling. “What the hell?” That was Johnny’s voice. Was he still…? Simon, hopeful, hazarded another look at Soap’s body. It was unchanged—pale and bloodied and most certainly still dead.

“Bleeding’ fucken Jesus…” Johnny’s voice cut through the din of chaos again, but it came from several meters away from where his body was cooling on the ground.

His boyfriend—whatever the fuck he was—was dead, and now he’s hallucinating. Class.

“Simon, fucken look at me, dammit.”

Simon obeyed, and sure enough, there he was: John Fucking Mactavish. In the flesh.

“Bloody hell, Johnny,” Simon gasped, running to meet him, to fall into his outstretched arms. The pieces didn’t fit together, but relief overshadowed logic. It clarified somewhat the steps taken between point A to B, becoming clearer yet when Simon all but phased through his lover’s body

Sprawled on the ground where he fell, Simon’s wide eyes met Johnny’s wide eyes, both men completely, utterly flabbergasted.

Johnny broke the silence first, laughing, “Okay, this is unspeakably terrible but you gotta admit, it’s kinda funny.”

“What?” Simon asked, aghast. His comms crackled with someone saying something important—not quite as important as this, though.

“You’re Ghost,” Johnny began, “and I’m a ghost . Get it?”

Simon groaned though he actually wanted to cry. It was weird. Obviously.

“Don’t worry yer pretty head, I’ll explain it later. First, get your arse out of here alive, ” Johnny said in a rushed sort of way, as if his life was still on the line. He checked over his shoulder. “Now would be nice.”

So Simon did.

The rest, they say, is history.

———————————————

Now, several months later, they are indulging in a much-needed date night. Date nights are often called much-needed, be it as an excuse for getting a little quality time, stress relief, or simply an effort to keep the romance alive. Such concerns are all the more salient for soldiers, especially when only one of the two is alive.

For obvious reasons, the activities requiring more action tend to be a bust. Take for example last month’s arcade excursion. Who would’ve known it’s hard to play pinball when you can’t fucking touch things? As such, dinner dates prove to be a favorite. They’re a pleasant play at normalcy, and as a bonus, they’re an excuse to try out new restaurants.

This week is Johnny’s choice—a swanky little establishment with romantic lighting and an extensive cocktail menu. Johnny haunts Simon’s shoulder as they enter, looking rather pleased with the overall ambiance.

His question of “Not too shabby, eh,?” doesn’t receive a verbal response, but Simon flashes a subtle smile and its answer enough, all things considered.

That is, Simon can’t exactly say “not at all” without the hostess thinking he’s lost his fucking mind. Obviously, such an outcome isn’t exactly “ideal” in the strictest sense of the word. A smile, however, can pass as a greeting, and apparently it does. Public communication is a game of double-meanings these days.

“Just yourself?” the hostess asks the big scary man in front of her.

“Yeah,” Simon nods, “and my stupid ghost boyfriend.”

He keeps that second part to himself. If she thinks the solo-diner is odd, she doesn’t show it. In fact, she remarks that it’s all “grand” before leading him to an open table.

Along the way, Johnny sends a conspiratorial look. “She got something against Scots? Didn’t even look at me”. He makes this joke every damn time they go out, unchanging in its delivery dripping in mock-offense.

Simon shoots him a sharp “shut the fuck up” glare, same as always, and lets Johnny take the far seat, also same as always. Simon isn’t overly fond of having his back to the door, but he levies that risk against the risk of seeming insane for chatting with an empty seat. All relationships involve a bit of give and take.

The hostess isn’t yet out of earshot when Johnny leans in with a mischievous grin. “You’re looking good, Si. Real good. In fact, so good I’d take you over this table, right here, right now.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “You can’t. Twat.”

“A man can dream, no?” Johnny settles with a shrug. He watches fondly as Simon scans the menu, his lovely little eyes trailing from left to right, left to right. What a human thing to do. What a not-human thing to admire.

It’s not even like he can’t read anymore—he can. It’s just hard to find purpose in it when the only way he can apply it to the world is through a tall, blond proxy.

“I mean it, though. You’re the most gorgeous thing I ever did see.”

Simon blushes for the dead man. It’s funny. Johnny was never quite as forthcoming with the compliments when he was alive. His reasoning was that he was afraid of the openness, afraid of any negative reaction his flirtations would get him. He doesn’t give much of a shit anymore. Dying really puts things in perspective.

Simon looks up from the menu with a shy, fond smile. “Anything stand out to you?”

“You” Johnny responds with a wink, “but if you’re talking about what’s on the menu, hm. Can’t say no to some lamb but…” he trails off and pulls a face, “the hell are fondant potatoes”

“Fondant potatoes?” Simon parrots before scanning the menu with a light frown. “No fucking clue. Sounds pretentious as shit.”

“I’m saying!”

“Fondant potatoes...” he mutters. A few more moments pass and Simon finally shakes his head with an exasperated sigh. “This whole bloody menu is pretentious, Johnny. You won't do much better than fondant potatoes .”

“Lamb with the pretentious potatoes then,” Johnny says after a bit of hemming and hawing. “Sacrifice them real nice for me, eh, baby?”

“I always do.”

It’s true enough, if only because of the all-or-nothing nature of sacrificing, a process Simon has well worked out since they discovered it.

According to legend, Simon was drinking his sorrows one sad night when Johnny nodded to his beer and requested Simon—verbatim— “pour one out for the homie.”

Simon, not particularly amused, grumbled “for the homie” and wailed the bottle across the room. Just as it exploded into a shower of glass and stout, another similarly half-drunk bottle appeared on the table.

They didn’t notice it at first. Johnny was too busy chewing Simon out and Simon was too busy getting chewed out. It was in the silence afterwards when Simon, looking for a sip of relief, reached for the bottle with swaying hands and startled as his hand passed straight through the bottle, as if it wasn’t even there.

“The hell?”

Johnny glanced over just as Simon’s fingertips emerged from the glass. Half-awed with a half-baked conclusion already in mind, he muttered, “no bleeding way,” and repeated this phrase over and over as he tentatively reached for the bottle to test his hypothesis. To his surprise and delight, it toppled at the touch of a finger.

He was beaming when he looked Simon’s way. “Bleeding fucking Jesus. You did it.”

They found through experimentation that successful sacrifices require two things: destruction and intention. Pouring one out—complete destruction—for the homies—intention.

Both are necessary, and as an interesting and limiting caveat, the sacrifice has to be rendered completely useless in one world to transfer to the other.

In other words, when Simon asks the server for two orders of lamb with fondant potatoes—one for here, one takeaway—he does so with the intention of flushing the latter down the toilet. The wine is a different story.

“Cabernet or pinot noir,” Simon hums in feigned contemplation. In reality, he’s waiting for Johnny to stop cooing about “how sexy he sounds speaking French” and spit out a fucking answer. Luckily, the mask does a great job of hiding his annoyance and blush.

“Pinot noir,” Johnny decides with a nod.

“Pinot noir,” Simon repeats.

Johnny groans indulgently as the server pens the order into her notepad, but is merciful enough to wait for her to leave before saying, “y’know, I only got the pinot because you say it so sexy, and I just needed to hear it again.”

“You’re fucking insufferable,” Simon responds, utterly devoted to suffering Johnny for as long as fortune would let him. He keeps that to himself, though. No need to tell the world that water is wet.

Case in point, Johnny’s chin rests easy in his palm, turning his fond smile smushed and insufferably sweeter for it. Death filed away at his rough edges somehow, left him soft. Simon, too.

They shoot the shit over the empty table, basking in normalcy they don’t deserve, and let the conversation take a raunchy turn. As if they’d be able to act on half the things they discuss.

The server returns at a decidedly inopportune moment but bless Simon’s poker face, she has no idea her customer is hearing the tail end of a particularly foul fantasy, courtesy of his unseen companion.

“Call me crazy, Johnny,” Simon whispers once the server leaves, “but it seems like you save the nastiest shit for when we have an audience.”

Johnny doesn’t even hesitate. “Aye, I do. Very intentionally.”

“Well, interested in continuing your little story?” Simon asks with raised brows. He idly spins the wine around the glass.

“I’m more interested in trying that cabernet.”

“Pinot noir,” Simon corrects.

“Ooh, baby ,” Johnny croons, and Simon swears when he realizes his mistake, swearing even more as Johnny gloats his victory. Unable to react in any meaningful way without looking insane, Simon instead opts to glare Johnny down, and he continues until Johnny gets his fill of gloating and turns his attention back to the wine. “Come on now. Give us a taste?”

Simon raises a brow. “With that attitude?”

“I’ll let you call it a cabernet,” Johnny barters. Simon lets him squirm. “Or even pin-not no-were .”

“Beg for it,” Simon dares, donning a shit-eating grin while he waits expectantly.

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Please can I have some pin-not no-were .”

“Try again. Say it sexy this time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Johnny groans, “can I pretty please have the pee-no nwahr ?”

That seems to do the trick and with a satisfied, obnoxious smirk, Simon bats the glass to the floor. “Cheers, love.”

part 2

[v5hadow]

WIP Wednesday

Royal Strikers: Chapter 1 Scene 2.3

haha.... Not where I wanted to be when I posted this, as the end still has a (need to write this here) thing still and definitely needs a little smoothing, dialogue tagging, action, etc. especially towards the end. but man it's close enough after most of a month for an initial post. I'm already guessing next week is either a filler-ish bit or the next section of Futaba's Lost and Found Services since the ending of the next major scene eludes me and has for a little while. And today one of my tarot deck also was a snarky little thing about this story it seems. Like needed sass, but that isn't the deck to do that normally.

Yuuki looked up and behind him to look at Akira as he said, “And well, Akira’s here and is supposed to be hanging out with his friends all summer. What are his parents going to care if he, and by extension Morgana, is in Tokyo or Kyoto or wherever?”

Akira took a deep breath in. “That’s… true.” 

“Can confirm, they did literally say ‘have fun in Tokyo or whatever.’” Morgana tried teasing between purrs.

“Soooo. What is your mom going to say about a few weeks of skipping rehab?” Ann asked as she toyed with the small knitted doll of a red cat.

“Mom seemed fine if my docs were,” Ryuji answered while waving his hand. “And I already promised my docs I’ll be doing the exercises I can outside of their offices and to not overdo it.”

Makoto added the question of “What about grades or money?”

Ryuji looked at Makoto seemingly confused on the question but responded, “Eh, I can likely still do so? Mom’s normally pretty good about most things involving me and school, and she’s never really questioned too much about money?”

“Just using Aki and-“ Yuuki started before stopping as he got squeezed by Akira with the arm around his waist. He flusterly continued, “Nii…Makoto’s presence in the group should help you.” 

Ryuji leaned back into his chair, about to tilt onto two of its legs. “You all are way too worried for no reason.” 

“And you two don’t have to be so attached right now.” The grumbling from Morgana caused the two to shift, Yuuki slightly away, only to keep a grip on Akira’s hand. Akira near immediately adjusted to use his partner’s shoulder as a pillow and finished with sticking his tongue out at the cat-like monster .

As the boys moved, Futaba gave an especially rough pat as she told him, “You have no room to talk, Morgana.”

Haru hid a little laugh before telling the protesting creature “Mona-chan, you’ve been getting pets from Taba-chan and I since we came up here.”

“He’s just jealous about not getting much attention from Lady Ann in comparison to her omiyage,”Akira quipped. 

Ann gave an exaggerated sigh, though still smiling as she stated, “If he wants pets, all he has to do is ask.” Morgana very quickly left his space with Futaba to twirl around Ann’s legs before eventually ending up in her lap getting more pets.

“Frankly Mishima, I'm surprised you aren’t the most free since Akira is here.” Yusuke said as he closed his sketchbook.

With a slight wince, Yuuki explained, “I have a summer job my parents insisted I get. Otherwise yeah, I probably would be.”

Haru quietly asked, “Do you think they made you get a job to keep you away from Akira?” “I’ve met them and yeah totally possible.” Ann’s voice held a fiery dislike. 

“Agreed.” Ryuji also not looking especially happy. 

“Maybe, I don't know. I think they think I’m getting up to something scandalous since I stopped being volleyball captain a few weeks ago.” Yuuki received a few sympathetic glances and a squeeze of his hand. 

“Remind me how that happened again? The becoming captain bit.” Ryuji asked.

“Dr. Maruki.” Yuuki quickly interjected before anyone else could answer. 

“More like all the team recognizing him as the one who did the most after Shiho jumped to correct things. It happens to be close timing though.” Ann insisted.

Makoto backed Ann’s statement up with the fact, “You wouldn’t have still been captain if it was just Maruki’s doing, Yuuki-kun.”

“I didn’t do that much! I barely apologized to everyone I hurt because of Kam-him. And I’m still pretty bad at volleyball.” Yuuki curled a bit into himself, breaking Akira’s hold on his hand while doing so.

“You are good at making sure tasks get done without hounding people about it and just generally organized.” Futaba listed off.

Akira scooted Yuuki back over to hug him as he said, “You looked pretty good whenever we caught your practices.” 

A small raise in Yuuki’s mood began as he denied their claims.“You are very biased.”

“And you have that one video I saw!” Haru tried her hand at arguing the point of Yuuki’s skill.

“Star player of the match of several games during the spring, apparently.” Makoto agreed.

“Between you and Sumi, at least I’m not the only sports person!” Ryuji raised his fist for a bump.

“You all have way too much confidence in me.” Ryuji started to lower his hand which brought with it his mood. Yuuki rolled his eyes before finishing the fist bump before Ryuji could finish pulling his hand away. He then said, “I still can’t believe, of all the things that happened around New Years, that’s the thing that stuck.”

“I find it refreshing that you have the everyday recognition of what you’ve done. Most things the rest of us have done ebb and flow with our popularity. Even worse as a group.” Yusuke spoke up.

Yuuki sighed before reminding everyone, “On the note of everyday and thieves, I’ll also have more moderating to do too on the Phan-site due to everyone ELSE being off for summer too. It’s quieter, especially compared to last year, but not something I can completely ignore.”

“Hey, you’ve got a team to help with that!” Futaba loudly announced while pointing at Yuuki. She looked around the room before shrugging as she continued, “Not that anyone here but me is really gonna help with it. But Chihiro-san and Midorikawa would be very disappointed.”

“Aww, Yuuki, you sure can’t put it down for yet another vacation for us?” Akira teased while pulling Yuuki even closer again.

The smaller boy pulled a little away before smiling at his boyfriend. “I’m sure, but I’ll definitely be trying to keep it down.” “Though holidays never seem to work out in our favor.” 

“Yeah, Christmas Eve sucked from every direction.” Ryuji nodded along.

Futaba agreed, “The site’s backlash didn’t help and beyond then things got weird.” 

Ann added, “Everything third semester was weird.” 

“Agreed.” Haru nodded. 

“Golden Week I know was pretty rough for you, Akira.” Makoto sympathized.

Akira shook his head as he said, “My hometown is pretty weird every so often at that time of year, but was thinking Hawaii.” 

“Wow, do you guys have shit luck.” Ryuji joked.

Yuuki grumbled out, “We weren’t even-“

Ryuji cut off his friend, saying, “Yeah, yeah we know you were sorting your head back together after your boyfriend talked to your Shadow.”

Yusuke attempted to correct, “Ryuji, I believe he was referring to you and Ann having to bunk the night in their room.”

“Oh, I thought you were going to say something about when Ryuji dragged the three of you to hit on girls.” Ann added.

Yuuki practically squeaked out, “When do you all think we got together?!” He then fairly quickly covered his mouth and cheeks with his hands.

A cacophony of answers, most seeming to indicate last summer. 

Haru was the last to answer, stating, “Oh I thought it was right before you all met me, while I had Morgana.”

Said cat laughed as he lept on to the table. “Closer but nope, it was while Akira was in hiding.” 

“What do you mean December?” Ryuji shouted. 

Futaba rolled her eyes as she corrected, “It was November.”

“How, how are Morgana and Futaba the only ones even close on that?” 

“Did Akira ever tell us?” Makoto questioned the rest of the group.

“He literally told you all to leave right before their first date!” Mongana defended.

“Seriously, Aki.” Yuuki muttered as he buried his face into his boyfriend’s shoulder.

Ryuji defended his assumptions, “I thought he meant their first since he didn’t die!”

“Same!” Ann seemed to express for most of the rest of the group.

“The only time they almost went on a date before November got almost immediately crashed by Shinya.” Futaba almost cackled from her spot by the window.

Ryuji rubbed the back of his head as said, “Felt like I’d run into those two near Takeshita Street almost every time I was at Harajuku last year.”

“I thought the planetarium… No, nevermind.” Makoto shook her head. 

Morgana rolled his eyes, before explaining, “Yuuki always had a Phan-site excuse, right?” A round of agreement from everyone. “And you all would join and neither ever argued?” 

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Ryuji narrowed his eyes

 “Not much, just all of you, including Sumire-chan and Akechi, had more successful potential dates than the lovebirds?”   

Neither of the boyfriend pair paid much attention once Morgana took control of the conversation. Instead Akira focused on reassuring his partner. “What, if anything it’s funny they think we were dating for longer than we have been.” Akira shrugged, mostly with the shoulder the smaller boy wasn’t on. “That’s a lot of almost dates they can think of honestly.”

“It's not really funny, it's more-” The alarm of a phone rang out in the middle of his sentence. Yuuki finished his sentence as he fished his phone out of his pocket as he stood up, “Frustrating.” 

“And embarrassing?” Akira softened as he asked.

“A little?” Yuuki then raised his voice back to something the entire room could hear as he shut off the alarm, saying, “And unfortunately, that alarm was my signal that I have to head out.”

Ryuji patted his friend’s arm as he confirmed, “Junes, yeah?” He got a confused nod but definitely didn’t stop a smile from starting to come back.

Both boys sitting on the crate bench were up and approaching the stairs.

“Good luck!” Makoto offered.

“Take no prisoners!” Haru playfully encouraged.

Futaba leaned back, taking up more of the ledge. “We’ll likely just shoot the breeze until dinner, so don’t worry.”

Yusuke took that moment to interject, “In that case, let us speak of modern art and-

“Anything but that. Hey Yuuki, I'll join you!”

“You want to potentially end up in front of a grill?”

“Yeah, nope. See ya.”

“At least it isn’t the bear mascot costume.” Akira’s jovial mood spread confusion across almost all the teens.

Makoto expressed her disbelief with a “But the mascot isn’t a bear?” 

“Where in Japan do they have a bear mascot?” Haru tilted her head to the side. 

“No idea but apparently Inaba. But I need to go before I miss my train.”

“Bye, Yuuki!” Ann smiled and shot a fast directing glance at Akira before returning to the departing Thief, who took a deep breath. She then quickly tried to bring the focus on to herself and a modeling gig she did in a Junes a few months ago.

“We’ll talk more tonight?” Akira softly asked.

“Definitely.”

“Stay here?”

“Of course. All you had to do is ask.”

(insert yuuki kissing corner of akira’s mouth, Akira fully on lips) 

“Stealing kisses now?”

“Only yours”

Akira was slow to tune back to the world around him as he sat back down. The group had moved on to listening to a story of Yusuke getting cheap vegetables but was swiftly interrupted by Ryuji asking their leader, “Your hometown for real has a Junes with a bear mascot?”

[annie-mit-ie]

Glimpses: Part 16 (Kathryn Hahn x Fem!Reader)

Part 1 // previous chapter <<< >>> next chapter

Summary: A lot is happening.

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: hello again! I was away on a family vacation over the weekend and am sitting in a car on the way home. This is, one again, entirely written and edited on the phone so pls be kind 🥰

Moreover, I can’t believe how many people loved and reacted to the last part. Good confidence boost! Hope y’all will enjoy this lighter chapter as well - a new rollercoaster is already awaiting around the corner ;)

Tag List: @danvers97 @zafirosreverie @srtamercurio @wanatag @pulledbythestars17 @plantowl @spacehahn @sarahp-stan @agentbrownierso @our-blood-is-our-ink @fruityhahn @emril-osvigne

_____________________________________________________________________________

“You told her WHAT?” Jennifer looks at Kathryn in disbelief.

Kathryn, who is sitting on the couch, tea in hand and a wide smile on her face, looks at her manager. “That I think I am in love with her. Yup. I did that,“ she takes another sip. „Because, you know, I think I am.“

She smiles to herself and looks at her tea before she continues talking. „I can’t stop thinking about her. I want her around. Preferably at all times. I know I haven’t talked to her or anyone about it, but really… the whole thing with Jeffrey really made me realize… I couldn’t touch that man. At all. I couldn’t even bring myself to think about it. Because of her. I really do think this is it, Jen.”

Jennifer looks at Kathryn and for a moment both woman fall silent. “I just… I don’t think it’s a good idea. You might be at the height of your career right now. I just have a gut feeling.”

“Eh,” Kathryn waves the remark off with one hand. “You’re wrong.”

Not giving it another thought, she sips her tea and sits in silence, as Jennifer shakes her head and leaves the room, running into Agnes who is just about to enter. Agnes reminds Kathryn that she had to leave for today’s set in a couple of minutes and collects whatever she needs with her.

Agnes seems to be in a very good mood and occasionally checks her phone to stay on track as she leads Kathryn out of the room towards the car she had called for her. The women slip into the backseat and Kathryn immediately lets her head fall back and closed her eyes.

Lately, whenever she does, she can see your face. She doesn’t mind that you didn’t say anything back after she confessed to you. After all, it was her fault for calling right after work where people usually still need her. Right after she poured her heart out, someone came running towards her and told her to meet the director for an urgent arrangement. Obviously, Kathryn had to hang up right away as the project is top secret and the actors are not allowed to have their phones on set at all to keep it that way.

Seeing the tears on her face, the crew member didn’t say anything about the rule and never planned to report her for using a device in the first place. You saw him on you screen for just a second and realized Kathryn had to leave immediately. Both of you smiled and it felt wrong but at the same time the way her eyes looked made up for it and her apologetic good bye forced your heart to skip yet another beat.

Back in reality, Kathryn opens her eyes again and smiles at Agnes who is placing her hand on Kathryn’s. “You okay, K?”

Kathryn nods. “Better than ever before. I just wish she was here, you know?”

Agnes knows.

Today’s shooting is long and Kathryn’s body aches as she falls into bed that night. Tomorrow will be just as long, especially since the crew has to leave the area for a 2-day-shoot in the mountains. She sighs as she leans up against the headrest to type out a message telling you about it all. This week, time is tight and she hasn’t had enough of it to properly talk to you again. Especially with Jennifer following her every step to make sure she takes care of herself.

Preparing for the long shoot, Kathryn puts herself in a kind of trance, especially since her scenes will be mentally and physically demanding. Two days later, she snaps out of it as Agnes and her sit in a car on their way back to the hotel. Weirdly enough, she is full of energy and beams as her team wants to go have dinner tonight to celebrate the end of the week.

She immediately strips and hops into the shower before getting ready for dinner. Thinking about how it’s only gonna be her and the team, she ditches an extensive make up and is just about to just put mascara on as it knocks on her door.

Expecting Agnes or Jennifer to pick her up, Kathryn wants to just ask for them to let themselves in. But something holds her back, so she gets up and opens the door herself.

It’s you. You, in all your beauty. Your hair the way she likes it best, some make up, an outfit that tells her you know she is on her way to dinner. Kathryn is not able to form any words and just continues staring at you as you fiddle with your hands and shoot her a shy smile.

For a moment, neither of you speak or move, until you take a sharp breath. “I am in love with you, too”, you hear yourself say, before you launch forward, cup her face with both hands and capture her lips with yours.

The kiss is long, but sweet and she holds you close after it ends. “Y/N… you are here… you are real…”

There are tears in her eyes as she reaches up to move a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve missed you so much. Oh god.” She sighs into your ear as she wraps you up in a tight hug while the door falls shot behind you.

A few seconds pass before she lets go and finally faces you. Realizing she isn’t in a position to talk, you take the lead, “I heard you’re going out for dinner?” She nods and cups your face to kiss you again. Hard. Wanting.

“Hold on!” You stop her. “We gotta get going, hm?”

Once again, she nods but you also feel your self slowly being pushed towards the wall behind you. Eventually, your back meets it with a thud, blowing some air out of your lungs. Looking at her, your chore burns and you bite down hard on your lower lip because you can feel yourself spiraling, wanting her, slowly giving in.

“Kathryn…”, you say her name, nearly moan her name. Teasing her with it, you want to see what effect it has on her as you let it roll on your lips. You are finally just about to give in as it knocks on the door again.

Realizing what had just happened, you jump back and remove yourself from Kathryn by ducking under her arms that are resting to your side. She takes a breath and flattens her shirt before running her hand through her hair as she opens the door. It’s Agnes.

“Boss? I’m - oh! HEY Y/N! Nice to see you found each other.” There is a short moment of silence in which she takes in the situation and realizes how out of breath Kathryn, highlighted by the cheeky smile you’re spotting in the background.

She coughs. “The limo is waiting. I’m here to pick you up, the others want to leave.”

Apologetic, she nods once and closes the door behind her again. Kathryn shoots you a short smile, grabs her blazer and your hand and leads you out of the room, following her right away.

The trip is nice. The whole team is there and you recognize Ben, the hairdresser, who is standing with Agnes and Jennifer, right away. As always, the manager acts professional and polite but keeps her distance while Ben wraps you up in a tight hug as he tells you he missed you. There is also a young blonde, whose name you don’t quite understand - Agnes introduced her as the set’s make up artist - and another assistant, who is responsible for all things regarding the project Kathryn is still working on. She seems very busy and organizes something after welcoming Kathryn shortly.

Quickly, you realize that Kathryn invites everyone out for a nice evening as a thank you for their work. She is one of the few people who realize that it takes a team to bring life into a character and it just makes you fall for her more. She shoots you a smile and lets her hand run over your arm before getting into the car where she sinks into the soft limo-seats.

Within the group, you look like you belong. No one would raise any suspicion asking who you are, especially since Kathryn’s set assistant, who is a local, organized a table at a restaurant far away from where the paparazzi would assume an actress would go out to.

The groups time at dinner is great. Once again, Kathryn takes the time to thank everyone and ask about their time and if anyone needed anything that she could provide. Occasionally, she would touch and squeeze your leg under the table and look directly into your eyes as you talk. You love when she puts her arm around the back of your chair to completely face you and take in every word you say. Sometimes, she would even run her index finger over her lip and bits down on it - a common thing she does that makes you forget every thought you’ve ever had. Other than Kathryn, everyone else also seems to be very interested into the stories you tell and they all make you feel like you are right at home, which is a welcomed change to how ex-partners treated you. Not that you and Kathryn are an actual thing.

When dinner comes to an end, everyone is high of laughter and slightly tipsy you are the last person to slip into the car. Kathryn is already sitting in the back of the long couch that fills out the limo. Sitting down, you move a little too fast, prompting her to use your momentum to pull you closer and plant a short kiss on your lips.

Immediately, you pull back and look at the others in shock as you realize you guys weren’t exactly open about it all, but no one seems to think about it any further. Jennifer types on her phone as the make up and hair artists discuss next week’s looks. Only Agnes really realizes and shoots you a wide smile as your eyes meet. Softly, you smile back and, having gained new confidence, lean into Kathryn’s touch who is playing with your hair and place another kiss on her lips before she wraps an arm around you and you just lean against her side.

Back in her hotel room, you sit down on her couch as you are unsure what to do with yourself. Agnes, who organized the whole surprise with you, organized a separate room for you where you put all your stuff this afternoon which is why you seem a little lost right now. She is an angel. Right after Kathryn’s confession, you called Peter who gave you his number just in case you ever needed him. He not only connected you with Agnes - he also offered to take you to the airport. With their help, you managed to get to the woman of your dreams within a couple of days.

Kathryn’s head pops out of the bathroom. “Make yourself at home, honey! It’s all yours as well.”

She shoots you a small smile before she pops back into the room. Sitting there by yourself for a minute, you try to take in everything that is happening tonight and are just starting to wonder where you’re gonna sleep as Kathryn walks back into the bedroom. Locking eyes with you, she walks straight towards you before plopping down next to you on the other side of the couch you are currently sitting on.

A soft smile plays along her lips and her eyes glisten in the bright moonlight that’s coming in through the open window. A light breeze is ruffling through her hair and the whole scene is soaked in dark blue light as the night makes your eyes heavy and you sink into the cushions.

For a moment, you sit in silence as she lets her head fall back with closed eyes and her hand rests on your ankle, slowly caressing it with her thumb. She smiles.

Suddenly, she straightens her back and sits up again, facing you. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You say back with the softest voice you have in you.

“I am so happy you are here. I feel like I can finally breathe again.” Her face lightens up, elevated by the moonlight.

You need a moment to comprehend what she has said before you respond. “I feel like there is no other place I’m supposed to be at.”

Fully focusing on you, she nods as she takes in your every thought while her smile widens. Another breeze comes in through the window and you realize one again how incredibly beautiful you think she is.

Actually,” she takes, “I really don’t want to change that. I would like to have you here.”

For a moment, your brain wonders if she wants to offer you a job - which, absolutely is dumb - but you remember to listen to her as she continues speaking: “If you want to… you can stay. Here. I would love that.”

You feel honored but at the same time you feel like this situation of not talking things out will continue if you don’t take the chance and step up.

You move a little closer to her, rest your elbow on the back of the couch and place your hand (that has been propping up your head) on her cheek, fingertips softly touching her hair. For a blink, you sit there and take in the moment of intimacy before you move a strand of hair behind her air and place your palm against the back of her neck, caressing her slowly.

“Kathryn…. I wanna be with you.” You decide to rip the bandaid off. “I want to hold your hand, kiss you, I want to spend any possible moment with you and just… be.”

Once again, she nods. “I want that, too.”

You both smile. Moving forward, you cross your legs as you take a seat right next to her to take her hands into yours. Her eyes shoot up and she looks at you in anticipation.

You take in a deep breath and collect your confidence to ask a question that makes your heart rate go up so far Kathryn would probably be mad at you for. Right as you open your mouth to talk, the brunette blurts out what is lying on your tongue. “Please be my girlfriend!”

You stare at her in disbelief. It’s what you wanted, but hearing her suggest it is a completely different story. “Please,” she repeats, “I know this isn’t gonna be the easiest ride but… in the short time we’ve been… together… I just.. I want to be with you. REALLY be with you.”

It’s time, it’s time and you can’t hold onto you anymore. You launch forward and pin her down on the couch. Her hands fall over her head and disappear in her wild mane. She looks at you with open eyes and widened pupils as a cheeky grin finds its place on your face.

“Yes! Let’s do it!”, you say before finding her lips and kissing her until both of you can’t breath anymore.

It’s not the romantic situation you’ve always imagined. It’s not the grown-up situation of being with someone older you expected. But somehow, it’s perfect. You remember the countless times she drove you mad. The times you had to hold back. The dreams you’ve had about her and somehow it just seems fitting that this is how she becomes yours. Breathless, on the other side of the world, on a spontaneous surprise after blurting out sweet confessions. After all, you are head over heels for each other which put you in the position you’re in in the first place.

Remembering all the hot longing glimpses she’d thrown your way tonight, you go in for another kiss and deepen it quickly, becoming one with her under the calming moon light.

[egcdeath]

Since you said we can send in request😄 how about a bachelor party for Steve and reader. Full of fun and romance.

bottoms up

summary: steve tells you all about his wild bachelor party. 

word count: 1.2k 

warnings: excessive drinking, terrible decisions, fluff, basically a crack fic, i barely use dialogue tags in this so you’re just gonna have to guess who’s talking

author’s note: this was supposed to be a drabble. 

you can find my drabble masterlist here and my regular masterlist here <3

It had been a long, exhausting weekend of celebration. Of course, it was exhausting in the best way possible, but between the extensive spa days, bar hopping, and seeing more male strippers in one night than you'd seen in the entirety of your life, you were really looking forward to curling up in bed with your fiancée.

It seemed Steve was feeling similarly to you, as he was already pajama clad and sprawled across your bed by the time you arrived home.

You quickly freshened up and joined him on the mattress, slipping under your duvet and cuddling up to Steve.

“How was your weekend?” Steve asked, rubbing circles on your back.

“Exhausting. I could probably sleep for years.”

He chuckled softly at your statement, “well, don’t do that. Wanna talk about it?”

“I’ll tell you over breakfast tomorrow. I don’t think I have the energy to come up with the words right now,” you aimlessly played with the hem of his shirt. “What about you guys? Why don’t you tell me a bachelor party bedtime story?”

“It was… a lot. I almost called you several times. Let’s just say that Sam... stopped me.”

“That bad, eh? Tell me everything,” you gushed.

“Well we were supposed to go camping. I don’t know who decided that was a good idea. Actually I do, it was Thor. It took about half an hour before Tony was starting arguments with everyone. I think he was getting moody about having to be in the outdoors away from all his tech, and something about how bachelor parties aren’t supposed to be like this. We didn’t even get to dinner before he insisted that we find a nice hotel to stay at for the night, and go to a club.”

“You guys don’t really seem like campers anyway. What happened after that?”

“I was getting there before you interrupted me.”

“There was a natural lull in your story.”

“Whatever. So we pack everything up and go back out to town. There was some boujee ass hotel Tony knew about and took us there, but there were no rooms. So he was like ‘make room’ and the staff told him that they would try but they just needed a minute. So Buck suggested that we go to the hotel bar, and we did. The only problem is that alcohol doesn’t have the same effect on some of us that it does with others, so Thor had to break out the Asgardian mead. And he had a lot of it.”

“Oh no, I feel like this is not going in a good direction.”

“You’re absolutely right, because one second I’m sitting in a hotel bar, and the next I was half conscious on a private jet.”

“Steve! You did not black out. That’s not very responsible of you.”

“I was peer pressured! Besides, I don’t think I did anything too bad. Did you not get super drunk for at least one night?”

You pondered the question for a moment, “hmm. Go on.”

“So I wake up on a private jet, not like a Quinjet, but like, a real plane. No idea where I am or where we’re going. Sam is the most sober among us by the time I’m awake, but still pretty drunk. Keep in mind I’m also a little out of it. I ask him where we’re going, and he told me Las Vegas. At this point I’m not surprised, but I want to call you to let you know that I’m no longer in New York, and I start to take my phone out of my pocket to call you, and he flips his shit. He grabs my phone and dunks it in a glass of water, and starts saying that if I use the phone on the flight, our flight will crash.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. Now I’m phoneless, but I’m not really mad. Honestly, I thought it was funny in the moment. My memory’s a little blurry, but I feel like we laughed ‘till we landed.”

“Please tell me that the crazy events end here.”

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Steve chuckled.

“Christ, Steve.”

“So we get off the plane and at this point, I realize that Bruce must’ve left before we boarded. I don’t even blame him. This trip probably would’ve made me Hulk-out too. Anyway, we take an Uber to our hotel. Our poor Uber driver, he was so starstruck and excited to have Avengers in his car, but like, everyone was completely out of it. And to make things worse, Bucky threw up in the back.”

“No,” you gasped.

“Yeah. It’s only a matter of time before tabloids get ahold of that. Remind me to call our PR person in the morning.”

“Got it.”

“We finally get to this hotel, and I guess at some point while I was blacked out, Tony had booked us some penthouse suite at one of those really nice hotels. I can’t really remember how we got up there, but I know it was a struggle. I was just glad to be able to go to sleep in a real bed. By the time I wake up, I desperately need an Advil and a call home. Unfortunately, I can’t have either, since everyone starts insisting that the best way to beat a hangover is to drink more. To be fair, I slept in pretty late. So it’s kind of a reasonable time to drink now. If you consider time zone differences. That aside, I’m sipping on a beer when there’s a knock on the door-“

“I feel like I’ve heard enough of this story.”

“That’s fair.”

“But I’d also like to hear more. But this is stressing me out.”

“I made it back in one piece, what more do you want from me?”

“I want you to get a new friend group,” you whined.

“Is it bad that I want the same for myself?”

“I think that’s perfectly reasonable.”

“Okay, so back to the knock on the door. I’m getting a little nervous, because I specifically told the guys no strippers. That was just a can of worms I didn’t want to open. And I think there’s gonna be a stripper at the door, but nope. Who opens the door? Fucking Loki. I don’t know why they came, or how they found us, but they were ready to party. Suffice it to say I do not remember the majority of that day. All I can say is that there was way too much gambling happening, and if I found out that Tony is filing for bankruptcy, I would not be surprised.”

“That is… wow.”

“I’ll give you one more thing before you go to sleep. Someone got married to a stranger. They’re gonna get it annulled but.. I did attend a wedding ceremony where an Elvis impersonator was the officiant,” Steve leaned over to his bedside table and turned off the lamp that was dimly illuminating the room. “Goodnight.”

“You are such an asshole! You don’t get to leave me on a cliffhanger like that.”

“I need you to be excited and engaged for when I finish my story tomorrow!”

“Fair,” you huffed and snuggled closer to your fiancée.

“Was it Sam?” you asked after a moment of silence.

Steve quietly laughed at you instead of responding.

“Nope. It was definitely Bucky. I’m right, right?” you pressed.

More silence from Steve.

“No way. Thor?”

His snickers became louder at this, and you gasped.

“I said I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“I don’t like when you keep secrets from me,” you prompted, trying to guilt trip your partner.

“Fine. It was Thor. But that’s all you’re getting from me for now.”

“Oh my god. Why wasn’t my bachelorette party as exciting as yours?”

[masterwords]

A Certain Moral Flexibility

Notes: Imagine a world where Hotch didn't join the BAU after SWAT, instead he went into the CIA. There isn't much plot here, I had a whole lot of ideas planned out and this kind of just went the way it went. However, I think this is more fun as maybe an intro to a continuing fun-fest Mortch CIA AU. HUGE thanks to @kirstenseas for the brilliant idea and inspiration! (~5000 words)

Warnings: Eh, it's pretty tame, honestly. Hotch is a CIA sponsored hit man, so there is that. A brief mention of spouse & child loss, vomit, everything I could think of is tagged below.

**

“You're sure this is the guy?” Hotch asked, skimming the file in his hands. The face in the photo was familiar, he'd worked with the mole before. Suspected mole. That was a distinction his mind had never made before - he held the file and he knew they were guilty, or if they weren't, they'd done something to get themselves on the list and the paycheck would take care of any lingering feelings of guilt on Hotch's end. But this time he couldn't shake the suspected part, he knew the guy, hadn't seen him in years now but he'd know that face anywhere. They'd worked together in S.W.A.T a lifetime ago. “He doesn't read like a mole.”

“Oh, so you know more than I do now smart guy?” Samson asked, cocking an eyebrow. Hotch's lip twitched. He didn't like Samson and he especially didn't like being called names. He also didn't like coffee shops, especially this one. There were people everywhere on computers, phones, electronic extensions of their hands and eyes. There was a young man near the door that was taking photos of them, probably mocking the only two old men in the place. "Watch yourself."

“Not what I meant.”

“Right. Well, hot shot, that's him. That's the guy. He's about to get a big payout, you need to take care of things before he does or he's gone. He'll be in the wind so fast and we'll never see him again. It's a matter of national security.” Another name. Hotch narrowed his eyes, pictured a little red dot between Samson's eyebrows and nodded in understanding. If he didn't live by some vague semblance of a moral code he would make good on his fantasy, but not this time. It wasn't killing Samson that gave him pause, it was all of the witnesses. It was the punk with the phone uploading his face to whatever his social media drug of choice was. “You take care of him or it'll be your head on the chopping block.”

Threats. He really hated Samson. “Your bedside manner needs some work,” Hotch muttered and Samson laughed, spraying specks of his scone all over the table. Shame, Hotch thought, he had been planning to eat his muffin but that was lost now. He pushed his plate to the side without blinking.

“I'll keep that in mind,” he replied with a wink. Hotch didn't flinch, didn't smile, didn't even blink. He was sitting there in a hipster coffee shop full of people half his age who thought they were so clever, unsuspecting keyboard warriors lost in their internet arguments over a world they barely understood. There was a time in his life he would have enjoyed a place like this, a different lifetime when he could still see the world in pure color and the thought of other humans didn't fill him with contempt.

He didn't like this. Something felt wrong, the way Samson was sure this FBI Agent was a “traitorous scumbag”, such a master of words. Hotch had nearly sidestepped the CIA and entered the BAU, had learned how to profile a person based on behavior, found it intriguing if not a little dull in the end. It lacked a certain quality that the CIA offered in spades, and he'd thought it was many different things over the years but he was entirely disillusioned now and understood it was simply the sanctioned killing that put a smile on his face anymore. Not even a real smile, even that was gone.

This Derek Morgan profiled like a stand up guy, though, and nothing about his history made him look like a person who would betray their country or even their friend in a game of cards. He'd been offered promotions and turned them down, so he wasn't motivated by power. Hotch settled into the seat, picking at his muffin, staring into Agent Morgan's face. As Samson scribbled his signature and paid their check, Hotch considered whether his gut was worth following, worth dying over if he was wrong. He would certainly end up in a very strategic accident if anyone even knew he was considering not fulfilling his assignment. Questioning Samson, a man who held more power in his spidery hands than anyone had a right to.

Hotch was already dead. He'd watched his pregnant wife die beside him, felt the light inside of him snuff itself out when her eyes closed for the last time. He was a broken shell of a man, physical wounds that would never heal served as a constant reminder of his loss. Every day he waited for a reason, some excuse for Samson or another big wig to order him a bullet between the eyes, cut his brake lines, poison his coffee. He supposed he didn't actually want to die, he didn't drive anymore – if he couldn't get there walking, he wasn't going to get there at all most days. Public transport, packed airline flights, he covered his bases. No one wanted him dead enough to hurt innocent civilians yet, but he knew he was a monster to use them as a shield. If they chose the coffee, may as well kill him anyway because he wouldn't go without it. His life was void of pleasure, except coffee.

He let Samson leave first, sat and finished his muffin in silence before heading for the door. On his way out, he snatched a phone from a young man's hand and snapped it in two, the glass from the screen splintering beneath his fingertips. The memory card snapped with the phone and it brought a smile to his lips – he'd gotten lucky, wouldn't have to spend extra time digging. It was rare that his theatrics came through for him – maybe it was a sign. He saw blood when he handed it back to the young man.

“Stop taking pictures of strangers. A lot of people wouldn't be as understanding as I am.” He smiled a wolfish grin at the young man and left with the understanding of two things: first, whatever photos had been taken of him were already on social media so breaking the phone was just some pointless fun and two, the young man's account was being scrubbed clean if facial recognition was doing its job. You can't put photos of a ghost on social media. All he'd really done was break an expensive phone and he didn't feel bad for that, a new one would be out in a matter of months that would have rendered the broken one obsolete anyway.

The house he found himself holed up in was big and empty, with ripped wallpaper and a crumbling foundation. He wondered as he peeked in closets and flicked light switches on and off how long the CIA had owned this particular property, how they'd curated it to look just unassuming enough to be inconspicuous. The house was clearly not lived in, but always teetering right there on the edge – the family must have just moved out, it's in limbo. The lawn is just this side of unkempt, the exterior paint isn't chipping but it needs refreshing. there is a rough patch in the yard where a For Sale sign occasionally hung. Agent Morgan had been under surveillance for months, maybe longer, that much was obvious. He ran his hands along the dusty blinds, peeked through the window at the house across the street. Agent Morgan's house, or one of them anyway. Upstairs the house smelled like urine, probably cats but maybe rats too. Carpet held onto memories better than anything.

“I need you to check on something for me,” he said, staring down at his feet as he spoke, shielding his face from watchful eyes. Cars peeled around corners in the garage, spewing their exhaust as they sped by. Agent Gideon nodded, looked the other direction. This meeting wasn't happening. “At the coffee shop downstairs, ask Amber for the receipt for table 12 – cinnamon scone, blueberry muffin and an americano.”

“What do you need from me?”

“There's a name on that receipt. Do some digging.”

“How long?”

“I can drag it out three days, maybe four. Text the number at the bottom of the receipt when you're certain. I don't need to tell you what'll happen if you breathe a word of this to anyone...”

“Not a peep,” Gideon replied quietly, always glad to inject a little levity into their conversations. It wasn't going to come from Hotch so he may as well.

Careful to avoid detection, Hotch kicked off his shoes and set up his chair before getting to work on his weapon. He loved this bit. The delicate dance of parts clicking together, satisfying, locking in place of something that looked so much like something he'd played with as a child in the backwoods of rural Virginia only this wasn't make believe. It sang its siren song as he worked, his fingers itched to get locked in place.

He hoped Agent Gideon took his time. Not too much, but enough that he could breathe. It had been so long since he'd had occasion to just sit. He'd been all over Mexico for months, holed up in Beirut before that. He never really knew what he was doing but he supposed he did it well, they kept handing him more. This one felt like a suicide mission, killing a decorated FBI Agent, but even that couldn't sour his mood. Suicide mission and vacation looked dangerously similar in his line of work.

Agent Morgan walked in and out of his house too casually for someone being watched by the CIA. Hotch's suspicions increased tenfold when Morgan didn't so much as look over his shoulder as he hefted his grocery bags through the front door. He opened his door for neighbors, left it hanging wide open while he watered his grass, walked his dog without a care in the world. Alarms were going off in Hotch's head. He took a deep breath, looked around the room, listened to the pigeon warbling on the power pole outside. The urine smell was stronger where he stood, where the sunlight heated up the carpet. The alarms quieted and he sat himself down, peered through the blinds again, watched Morgan haul in the last bags of groceries and visit with his neighbors. He closed his eyes, saw Morgan's face clear as day in the darkness and took a deep breath.

The smell of urine faded and was replaced with the smell of a car's exhaust and hay. He looked to his right and there was Morgan, bundled up in a puffy jacket, head covered in a knit cap that fell over his ears. Hotch looked at his hands, covered in thick wool gloves and he spoke. His voice sounded softer in his fantasy, almost gentle and very human. That was always how he knew it wasn't real.

“It's freezing,” he muttered, and Morgan laughed. His laughter was warm and light.

“Yeah. It's been freezing the whole time, you new here?” he asked, fiddling with the seam on the finger of his own glove. “This is taking for fucking ever. You hear anything out there?”

“Just two idiots talking shop, nothing interesting,” Hotch replied, his earpiece buzzing with the voices of two men he didn't know arguing over pizza restaurants. They'd been holed up in the garage for hours now with nothing to keep them warm but a small space heater that rattled too much to use while their targets were parked outside the door. Hotch was freezing, his teeth chattered as he listened and he moaned about it every so often to Morgan who seemed just fine.

“How'd you get stuck on this god forsaken stakeout?” Morgan asked, rubbing his hands together. “They don't usually send guys like you out.”

“Guys like me?” Hotch asked, folding his arms over his chest, pulling his coat tight indignantly. He knew very well what Morgan meant but he wanted to hear it. “What does that mean?”

Hotch shivered in his chair, squinted through his scope and watched. The muffin and coffee were not sitting well in his stomach, he felt sick. The thick feeling of saliva coated his mouth and he swallowed it down, blinking hard, squinting to see faint shadows moving behind Morgan's curtains. His fantasy shifted as his stomach churned, softened just enough to offer him peace from his angry stomach.

“You okay?” Morgan asked, sliding closer to Hotch in the garage. The car had gone, they'd turned the heater back on and huddled in close. Hotch nodded and shivered, wondering if he was okay or not. They'd been on this stakeout for almost a full day with no sleep, no food and only small intervals with heat. His fingertips were painful and he knew that as bad as that felt, the numbness that would follow would be infinitely worse.

“What'd you mean earlier? Guys like me?” Hotch asked, nearly touching the space heater now with his bare hands. Morgan laughed his golden laugh.

“Suit and tie,” Morgan muttered. “You know what I mean. You're the guy that hands out the orders, not the one that takes them.” Hotch rolled his eyes, wouldn't dignify that with a response. He was just as capable of field work as Morgan was. They sat in silence, huddled close together for warmth and the time passed slowly. As day gave way to night and the temperature dropped painfully low, they heard another car pull up and turned off the heater reluctantly, listened intently to the people inside. Teenagers, it sounded like, there to make out in the abandoned field beside the garage. It happened often in spots like this, secluded and broken down. People having sex, drug deals, murders. That's all places like this were good for. That no one ever seemed to wonder about the garage at the edge of the property spoke to just how self-absorbed most people were.

Days seemed to pass slower out there, and Hotch could feel fingers of cold twisting up his spine, into his head. He was losing feeling in his toes. Morgan kept looking at him funny and he couldn't figure out why.

“You don't look good,” Morgan pointed out as sunlight broke through a dusty window at the top of the garage. “You okay?” Hotch gulped down some bile and nodded. Sure, he was fine, he thought. Maybe he was dying of hypothermia, maybe not.

His stomach lurched, shattering his fantasy and he cupped his hands to his face, losing the contents of his stomach unceremoniously all over himself. Maybe he wasn't so far off with the poison idea, he should have known better than to eat with Samson. He'd never been able to turn down a blueberry muffin. Abandoning his post momentarily, he cleaned himself and the carpet up. When he finished scrubbing it was the cleanest patch of carpet in the place and he got back to it. It was unpleasant, but he did feel better.

Morgan stretched his arms out, pulled Hotch to his chest, wrapped him tight and Hotch wondered how he was so warm. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Hotch mumbled, burying his freezing nose in Morgan's chest. He didn't feel sick anymore, he felt peaceful and warm. With Morgan's arms around him, he felt a strange light in his chest, something hopeful for the first time in years. Like he had something to live for.

Hotch blinked, felt himself losing his focus. The lines between fantasy and reality felt hazy where they were usually solid. He arched his back, looked around the room, named the objects he saw, the things he heard, sucked the smell of urine in deep and let it out. At his feet sat a phone, not a new message in sight. He normally had no trouble with his fantasy integration, he could sit for days without moving. Something about this target, this assignment made him uneasy. So far it had been barely 24 hours and he was losing it. He saw movement behind Morgan's curtains and put his eye back to his scope, finger resting gently against the cold trigger. There was a clear shot, plain as day, he could take it now and be done with it, let his soul be sorted later. He could.

He didn't.

Morgan's arms were around him and he breathed his scent in deep. They didn't make a sound as they wrapped up in eachother's embrace, knew they were just as much being recorded as any of the suspects outside but what happened in the silence was enough to warm him through. A moment more of peace, and then there was the sound of tires on the dirt outside and voices. Hotch sat up, pressing his gloved hand to his ear to listen with renewed vigor.

“That's them,” he muttered, squinting. Morgan pulled out his binoculars and approached the door, pressing his face to the small opening between two boards. The men outside sounded gruff, Hotch thought, not the type he wanted anything to do with. Morgan confirmed that notion quickly, backing away from the door.

“They're getting out of the car,” he whispered, dropping the binoculars and pressing his hand against his gun. Hotch stood and mimicked the movement, wondering if his freezing fingers could pull a trigger if necessary. They stood listening to the men talk in their ear pieces, listened to the crunch of dirt and rocks beneath their feet as they examined the perimeter of the garage, tugged on the door that was chained and locked from the outside. Hotch glanced at the rope ladder hanging from the roof, the hatch closed but unlocked. It was their only way out and it suddenly seemed foolish. He wasn't exactly afraid, just unsettled. He and Morgan pressed together and backed toward the ladder, knowing that they may have to use their exit sooner rather than later if things went awry. They weren't there for action, just to listen, but the things the men were saying made it sound like they'd bitten off more than they could chew. Back up was miles away, they were on their own.

“You go up first,” Morgan hissed. “I'll be right behind you.” Hotch shook his head no, that wasn't how it worked. He was the senior agent, he had to be the last one out. The door rattled on its rotting hinges and daylight broke through the cracks.

“Little piggies!” called a voice from just beyond the door. “Let me in or I'll blow this house down!”

Morgan began climbing first and Hotch watched, waited for him to touch the roof before he grabbed hold and hefted himself up, rung by rung. The door splintered off of its hinges and Hotch climbed faster, reaching for Morgan's outstretched hand, feeling the pull in his shoulder as the man hoisted him out into the morning sunlight. They heard shots from below and scrambled across the pitched icy roof, wondering at their predicament. Their vehicle was in the mix of junked cars behind the garage, Hotch could see it but the men were blocking their way down. Morgan grabbed Hotch's hand, gripped it tight and pulled him close.

“We gotta jump,” Morgan whispered, his lips tickling against Hotch's ear. They both looked at the ground, it wouldn't kill them but it was going to hurt. “You wanna go first or should I do the honors?”

Hotch volunteered. He'd sent Morgan up the rope first to save him, he may as well jump first. If the men were waiting they would see him hit the ground, be on top of him quickly and Morgan could wait it out, maybe get away. Hotch inched toward the edge, Morgan's hand still gripping his until the last moment and he let go, pushed off and soared out away from the garage. He felt his body hit the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He gasped for breath, squinted into the sunlight to see Morgan on the ledge waiting for his chance, waiting to see if the men were watching. Hotch couldn't breathe, couldn't move.

The phone buzzed at his feet and he blinked stupidly, breaking out of his trance. He glanced down, saw it buzz again and reached for it. Abort, it said. He peeked through the blinds, no movement across the street. The house was dark. His phone rang and he answered it, held it to his ear without speaking, without breathing. “It's a set-up,” the voice said. “Get out of there.”

Hotch shut off the phone and pulled it apart, snapping the SIM card between his fingers and slipped away from the window. He thought about the assignment again, the smell of the house flooded his senses and he recognized something just under the astringent urine, something foul and he felt sick again. His fingertips tingled, his toes hurt. So this was the way it went, not a bullet or poisoned coffee, something slow acting, dousing the carpet or maybe the blinds. It didn't matter. He carefully pulled his weapon apart, he'd be damned if Laverne wouldn't be shown respect even if these were their last moments together. He wiped her down with shaking hands, last respects from a dying man, spending his last seconds of life on his precious girl and squeezed his eyes tight against the harsh sunlight. Fantasy barged in on reality, a coping mechanism when the pain set his nerves on fire.

Morgan was standing over him smiling. “You're not very graceful,” he said, extending his hand to Hotch who still lie on the ground, struggling to breathe like a fish out of water. “Get up. You gotta get up.” Hotch didn't take his hand, he thought maybe he was dying. Morgan crouched, cupped his face in his hands and shook his head. "Hotch, get up now. You hear me? Now."

With Laverne in his hand, he stumbled out of the room and toward the stairs, gripping the railing as tight as he could. He didn't rush, wasn't sure he wanted to live through this because what happened then? Someone had set him up, his life was as good as over whether he lived or not. He should have killed Morgan, he knew that now. Whoever it was that wanted him dead was going to take them both out, they wouldn't stop. He stumbled on the stairs, feet went out from under him and he crumpled, knocked into the wall and stopped at the base winded and hurt. It wasn't so bad, going this way. If he hadn't fallen down the stairs, it would have been painless anyway. Probably more than he deserved.

He woke in a hospital, that much he was sure of. A bag suspended above his head pumped something cold and thick into his veins, he felt it course through him. He hated it. Why couldn't hospitals be as efficient as whomever it was that decided to poison him? They'd had the decency to leave needles and machines out of it. They knew he'd kick his shoes off, he always did, and it was easy after that. They barely had to try, he did most of the work himself. There was someone beside him and he inclined his head to see, just barely able to make out a face that felt so familiar now he would know it anywhere. The smell of a crisp mountain morning, of cedarwood and sandalwood and crisp cotton drying in the sun.

“Agent Morgan?” he rasped, confused. Was he still in the house? Had it all been a dream? Part of his fantasy? He was losing it. Paranoia, he'd been warned, was a dangerous symptom of the job.

“Hey,” Morgan said softly, as if they were friends, as if they knew each other intimately. Hotch was confused and Morgan could see it on his features. “Don't worry. When you're up to it, I'll fill you in. Just rest now.”

He didn't do resting, it didn't agree with his system. The longer he was forced to lay there the more restless and agitated he became. He was snapping at Morgan, at the nurses, pulling out his IV every chance he got regardless of consequences. Morgan thought it was funny and finally decided that Hotch was lucid enough to share what little he knew with him. Hotch wasn't sure he cared to hear it from the smug man sitting beside him and yet he had no choice, no one else came. It was just he and Morgan and two police officers posted up right outside of his door, either keeping them inside or keeping others out, he wasn't entirely sure and neither would have been terribly surprising to him.

“I was just playin',” Morgan began with a smirk. “I don't know much, it's way above my pay grade...” Morgan said, leaning over Hotch's bed. Hotch's lip twitched. “I do know that you were supposed to kill me and you didn't, now we're both here on protective detail while Agent Gideon handles the pile of shit we stepped in.”

“Just my luck,” Hotch muttered, closing his eyes. He imagined taking that first shot, Morgan with his key in the lock, a paper grocery bag in his arms. Saw the blood, the groceries flying all over the front porch – a few cans of beans rolling down the stairs, cilantro hitting the ground, a jug of juice exploding. He smiled. “I should have taken the shot.”

Morgan laughed. “Yeah, probably. Have I thanked you yet for waiting?” His features went solemn just briefly, long enough that Hotch could see that he was scared. Maybe he had no idea what he'd done to get on a list, maybe he knew, but he was afraid. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Hotch felt remorse.

“No,” Hotch groaned, trying to sit up. His back ached. He felt like he'd aged twenty years, his joints screamed at him. Remember falling down the stairs? His muscles asked him and he had to admit, he'd forgotten that detail again. It came and went in blurry flashes. Had he fallen down stairs or jumped from a roof? Was he in a house or a freezing garage? Fantasy had blurred with reality in a way he hadn't experienced before. It wasn't terrible, it kept him busy, but the way Morgan's arms had felt around him couldn't be real, it was too good to be real.

“Well, when we get out of here maybe you let me take you out to dinner?”

“Is that supposed to be the thank you? If it is, I think I'll pass...on account of just having been poisoned and all.”

“You're not getting anything better than all of this...” Morgan said, smirking. Hotch had to turn away lest he smile in return, let his guard down. He was already vulnerable, wearing nothing more than a thin hospital gown, exposed from the waist down beneath the papery sheets. “I guarantee it.”

Hotch laughed, it hurt his head. “Really wish I had taken the shot.”

“Nah. You don't. Know why? You were enjoying the fantasy too much. Can't blame you, look at me.”

Hotch rolled his eyes. He hated this guy already. Memories flashed before him, memories of their time in S.W.A.T, why he hadn't tried to keep in touch when they went separate ways. He was insufferable. Kind, generous, gorgeous and completely insufferable. “I can see why they wanted you dead.”

Morgan laughed. “Ditto.”

Agent Gideon came by later to let them know it was taken care of, they were both safe. He and his team had sorted things out. Hotch had a new Director to get to know after Samson, the real traitor, was arrested. Hotch was wholly unsurprised by the revelation that his boss was a traitor, he had all the markings. It was almost too easy, and he supposed that was just the way of it - there would be another Samson, and another, because that amount of power bred stupidity.

He would have a new Director and he just hoped they wouldn't try to kill him right away while Morgan had to return to work. Hotch was holed up in the hospital for days as the poison was worked out of his system and no one came to visit him after Morgan left. Prior to this assignment he would have liked it that way – he hadn't let anyone in since his wife died, preferred having no connections, no complications, but there was Agent Morgan's smile and he found himself lying in that cold hospital bed wondering if his arms were really as warm as they'd felt in his dream. He was making himself sick, soft and sentimental, it was definitely time to get out of the hospital and on with his life.

Morgan made good on his promise and took Hotch out to dinner. He showed up at the hospital when Hotch was discharged, gave him a ride away from that place. Hotch hadn't been inside of a car in years, hadn't trusted it, still wasn't sure he did but there was Morgan sitting beside him and for some inexplicable reason he trusted him.

“I've got a new assignment,” Hotch said, picking at his salad mirthlessly. “You won't see me again after tonight.”

“Well, then...let's use this,” Morgan replied, sipping his wine and holding up a hotel room key. It dangled from his fingertips and Hotch stared at him for a moment, caught somewhere between laughing and hailing the waitress for their check. “Let me thank you properly before you become a ghost.”

He did laugh. Long and hard, and Morgan followed suit. Then they hailed the waitress for their check.

[cocos-cocoapuffsarenotforsale]

His Little Witch~~Part 8

MASTERLIST

Part 7

Main Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Background Pairings: Harry Potter x Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley x Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood x Neville Longbottom, James Potter x Lily Potter, Draco Malfoy x Pansy Parkinson

Tags: SMUT, Swearing, Controlling!Tom Riddle, Controlling Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Possessive Tom Riddle, Soulmates, AU, CANON DIVERGENCE, Minister of Magic Tom Riddle, Out of Character Tom Riddle, nice Tom Riddle, Dumbledore and Tom get along, sane Tom Riddle

Taglist: @chewymoustachio, @peachsnyder138, @marvelous-glims, @ingeniouscollectionthing, @thedarkshiningknight

A/N: Special thanks to @thedarkshiningknight for reaching out to me and inspiring me to continue this story. As of now I am planning on writing 12 parts though it could be more. Love you all so much and I hope you guys like this new update!

————————————————————————

“C’mon guys, just a quick visit. An hour at most.” You were currently trying, unsuccessfully, to convince James and Sirius to let you visit Hogwarts.

“Y/n, you can’t even leave the grounds. Tom made sure of that with that bracelet,” Sirius huffs annoyed.

“You guys are telling me you can’t figure out how to get it off? Really losing your touch eh Padfoot, Prongs?” Ok, you were trying to goad them into helping you but it had been six days. Six days of being locked up in the manor. Tom hadn’t been home yet but he had sent Lily and Remus to tutor you for the time being. Lily and Remus had been staying with you as well, not wanting to be away from their mates for too long.

“Nice try Y/L/N,” James says pointing an accusing finger at you. “But you are not going to suck us into this. We know better.”

“You damn well better,” Remus mutters as he enters the room. “If you two help her, the Minister will have your necks.” 

“Don’t worry about us, babe. We aren’t gonna be tricked by a rebellious eighteen-year-old.” Sirius boasts cockily. Remus shakes his head, not quite as sure of that as Sirius was. Sirius tugs Remus down on his lap and nuzzles into his face into Remus’s neck.

“Get a room you two,” you grumble. You normally didn’t mind their affectionate displays but after being away from Tom this long you were getting grumpy.

“Aww, don’t get grumpy just cause you haven’t gotten any lately,” Sirius teases, causing you to throw your book at him. He flicks it away with a chuckle.

“Nice try, love,” he chuckles, only irritating you further. You huff and stomp out of the kitchen and towards your room. You had to find a way out of this house.

“Y/n, you ok?” You heard Lily ask as she trailed behind you. You fling yourself down on the bed as soon as you enter your room, frustrated at the whole situation.

“No, I haven’t seen Tom in six days and he’s off hunting some maniac. We haven’t been apart for this long since we found out about each other. One day is hard enough but it’s been 6 days and no word. Just a couple of check-ins with Percy in the fireplace.” You grumble into your pillow.

“I know sweetie, James, and I haven’t been apart for more than a week since we found out we were mates. And that week was hell.” Lily replies softly, rubbing a hand up and down your back like your mom used to do when you were upset. 

“Why were you apart for that long?” You ask, turning to look at her and wiping the tears from your eyes.

“It was the last time Gavin Grindelwald went on a rampage, Harry was little and they needed all hands on deck, even then James and Sirius were Minister Riddle’s right hands. So he had to go with the Minister and his guard to try and hunt Grindelwald down. It took them seven days to catch him that time, and then he escaped a couple of years ago. They couldn’t track him down that time, and now he’s back.” Lily lets out a shaky breath and you can see her hands are trembling a little.  

“Lily? Are you alright?” You ask, reaching out and putting your hand on her shoulder.

“It’s just he vowed revenge on all those who caught him last time, mainly Minister Riddle but James and Sirius too. To be honest I’m a little relieved they aren’t out there this time. But then I remember how much of a target-” she stops herself remembering who she’s talking to. Her cheeks turn bright red in embarrassment. 

“Then you remember how much of a target Tom is and by extension I am. And your husband and best friend are responsible for protecting me.” You finish for her. Her face immediately turns apologetic. 

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She says softly.

“It’s ok, I know I’m a target. I’m sorry that James and Sirius have been assigned to me. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” You whisper as more tears well up in your eyes. You couldn’t stand it if James and Sirius were hurt because of you. How would you ever look Harry in the eyes again? And if something happened to Tom, especially if he was protecting you…

You would die of heartbreak.

————————————————————————

“Little Witch,” you awake to Tom’s hushed voice.

“Tom?!” You ask excitedly as you open your eyes to find him leaning over you.

“Hey love,” he whispers, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“When did you get back?”

“Just now, I’m sorry I woke you, I just missed you so much.”

“I missed you too Tom. I’m glad you woke me,” you sit up and wrap your arms around Tom’s neck.

“Did you catch him?” You ask after a moment, Tom stiffens at your question and that’s all the answer you need.

“Not yet. But the first task is tomorrow and I have to be there to keep up appearances. We don’t want people to start freaking out. And I missed you. I’ve got the best people on it.” He assures you, nuzzling his face into your hair, and inhaling your scent.

“Except for James and Sirius,” you grumble under your breath.

“They have a much more important task, you.” He replies placing a quick kiss on your nose before standing up and heading towards the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going, Minister?” You ask suggestively. 

“Well, darling, I’ve been working for nearly six days straight and I haven’t had time to shower. So I thought before I crawl into bed with my lovely mate I’d better get cleaned up.”

“Why don’t I help you?” You walk over to him and slowly start unbuttoning his dress shirt.

“I would love that, my Little Witch.” He replies moving his hands onto your hips. He quickly pulls your shirt over your head and throws it onto the floor.

“No magic?” You ask as you slid his shirt off his shoulders.

“Sometimes the muggle way is fun,” he whispers against your lips. You hurriedly undo his pants and he kicks them along with his boxers off to the side. He fingers the top of your pants and slowly eases them and your panties off. 

“My beautiful girl,” he whispers as he places soft kisses along your inner thighs.

“Tom,” you plead, breathless.

“Yes, Little Witch?” He scoops you into his arms and carries you to the shower stall. He switches the water on before testing the temperature. Once he has determined it to be satisfactory he sets you down in the shower.

“Tom, need you,” you whimper, he backs you against the shower wall and lifts you up by your ass.

“Where do you need me, Little Witch?” Tom asks as he grazes your pussy with his hard cock.

“Tom, please,” you beg as he twists your already pebbled nipples.

“Where, love?” He asks with another brush of his cock along the lips of your glistening pussy.

“My pussy. Please, Tom. Please fuck me,” You plead, making him smirk in triumph.

“Anything for you mate,” he mutters as he lines himself up with you. In one quick motion, he thrust himself into you making you gasp at the sensation.

“Tom,” you let out a low moan causing him to growl as he nips at your neck. His deep and hard thrusts build your pleasure and push you to the brink.

“Cum for me Little Witch,” he commands in a gruff voice. You allow yourself to give in to the pleasure and let yourself come apart around him. He groans, feeling you tighten around him and he finally releases his seed into you. He stays inside you until he begins to soften and then he gently eases out and sets you down carefully.

“That was quite the welcome home, Little Witch,” he teases, walking under the stream of water.

“I missed you a lot. And it’s not as though I had much else to do,” you grumble, remembering that you were supposed to be mad at him.

“We talked about this already,” he huffs, rubbing shampoo in his hair. 

“No, you talked about it, and ignored everything I was saying.” You move to help him rinse out his shampoo. You may still be pissed at him but you couldn’t resist touching him after being apart for so long. Stupid fucking mate bond, you think to yourself annoyed.

“Love, I did listen, I just disagreed. I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger,” he replies as he squirts some shampoo into his palm and motions for you to turn around. You comply and he gently massages it into your hair.

“Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the world,” you argue, switching places with Tom to condition his hair for him after he rinsed the conditioner out of yours.

“Yet you’ve sustained how many injuries there? And the Manor is safer, when I created that bracelet for you I also made sure you were added to the wards, the Manor will protect you. That’s why I prefer you to remain inside while Gavin Grindelwald is still at large. The grounds are protected but it’s safer inside the Manor.” He explains as he gently massages conditioned into your hair. You try to think of a good response while you both rinse out your hair and step out of the shower, but you draw a blank. Dammit, why did he have to make good points?

“I’m not a prisoner, it’s not fair to keep me locked up,” you reply tugging on your silk bathrobe.

“No, you aren’t a prisoner. But you are my mate and that makes you a target for my enemies. I will do whatever it takes to protect you, even if it pisses you off. I’d rather have you hate me and be alive than love me and be dead,” He whispers in a pained voice. And that’s when you remember what you had heard about his past. Tom’s father abandoned his mother when he found out she was a witch and in her heartbreak, she ended up dying right after giving birth to Tom. Tom had been raised in an orphanage that was overrun with children and never really received much love. Then it had taken him 20 years to find his soulmate, someone he could love and be loved by.

“Tom, I could never hate you,” you place a soft kiss on his lips and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers as his grip on you tightens.

“You won’t,” you promise, nuzzling your face into his neck.

“So can I go to the first task tomorrow?” You ask, making him groan in annoyance.

“Of course, why not? It’s not like there is a psychotic maniac out there who tortures people for fun and has a vendetta against me and anyone I care about.” He replies sarcastically.

“So it’s a yes?” You ask playing dumb as you pull away to get a better look at his face.

“No, absolutely not. We still haven’t caught him. He’s planning something big, and it could easily be happening tomorrow. It’s the first task in the Triwizard Tournament, he knows I have to be there, there will be a large crowd, parents, students, teachers and other citizens. It’s the perfect target. I will not have you go there and be put in danger.” He argues.

“Tom, I’ll be fine, I’ll be with you. There’s gonna be plenty of security measures in place. It’s probably safer for me to be there with you and tons of Aurors than stuck at home with only James and Sirius. Plus Harry’s competing tomorrow, I have to be there and so do James and Sirius.” You plead, looks like this argument was going to be harder to win than you thought.

“No, no. I can’t put you at risk like that. I will not lose you too. Not when I finally found you.” He says harshly, his jaw tightening.

“You aren’t going to lose me. I’ll be fine Tommy. Please.” You beg, throwing him your signature puppy dog face. 

“As adorable as you look, you aren’t going to win this with a puppy dog face.” He says smirking at your childish attempt at making him change his mind. Alright, time to switch tactics then.

“What about this?” You ask sliding your silk, black bathrobe off your shoulder and showing off more cleavage.

“Nice try, that isn’t going to work either.” He chuckles, we’ll see who’s laughing in a couple of minutes…

“Alright,” you pretend to give up.

“What?” He asks confused. You ignore him and turn around before shrugging off your robe and slowly sliding it off. You walk over to the bed before climbing onto it and laying down in the middle. Putting yourself on full display for Tom.

“I said alright. Sex isn’t going to convince you to let me go tomorrow.” You say, gently running your hands over your breasts, flicking your nipples softly. You see Tom straighten up and watch you carefully.

“Need some help there, Little Witch?” He asks confidently.

“No thanks. You didn’t want sex,” you reply, running your right hand down your stomach and cupping your pussy.

“No, I said that sex wouldn’t convince me to put you in danger tomorrow.” He argued.

“Well, since I don’t get to have any fun, ugh,” you moan as you rub your clit, “then you don’t get to have any fun.” 

“C’mon love, don’t be like that,” he groans and you can see him hardening at your moans. 

“All you have to do is say yes Tommy,” you tease, spreading your legs wider to give him a better view of you.

“No, love, I won’t say yes.” He argues but you hear his voice crack when you let another moan.

“Then neither will I.” You tease, sliding your index finger into your pussy slowly. “Aw, Tommy please, just say yes. Then we both can get what we want. Please Tommy say yes.” You beg. You see his guard falling.

“Fine, but you stay by my side the entire time understood?” He relents.

“Yes Tom, I understand.” You agree.

“Now can I help you take care of your problem?” He asks, eyeing your pussy hungrily.

“Yes Tommy,” you whisper breathlessly. He is on you in a second, sliding into you just as quickly. His thrusts are slow and deep, teasing you as you had just teased him. 

“Faster Tommy, please,” you beg. He shakes his head, his face breaking out into a smirk.

“Not yet love,” he says before capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. 

“Please Tommy,” you whimper as he rolls your other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Your wish is my command,” he replies before thrusting into you faster and harder.

He locks his lips with yours as he thrusts in and out of you, deep and hard. 

“Tom,” you moan as you near the edge.

“Let go, love, cum for me” he commands gently.

“Yes Tom, agh,” you groan as you give in to your release.

“Good girl,” he praises before he stiffens and shots hot jets of cum inside you. 

Once you both come down from your high he gently eases out of you and tucks you under his arm. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead and then buries his face in your hair. 

“I love you,” he whispers softly. 

“I love you too Tommy. Everything is gonna be ok.” 

“I can’t lose you Little Witch,” he mutters, his voice raw with emotion.

“You won’t Tom, I promise.”

————————————————————————

Part 9

[mxpseudonym]

Everything There Is

Pairing: Tommy x OC

Summary: Florence and Tommy are in this together.

Request: “Hi! Can you do a Tommy x oc or reader as his wife in an arranged marriage where she is also a business woman and their marriage was a sort of contract and their relationship is mainly professional apart from sex n all, and Tommy comes home all worn out and she asks him to share with her and tommy is reluctant but she assures and reminds him that she is capable of protecting the family, Charlie and Tommy too. And then they just kiss and Tommy leans into her or something. Thank you!!” 

Length: 1650 words (allegedly)

Warnings: Underlying tones of forced/arranged marriage

A/N: Hello sweet, tender anon. This was a joy to write, especially Charlie 🥺. What a sweet angel.

--

Florence Heywood had been meeting with Tommy for two years about his investments. At first, Shelby Company Ltd simply needed advice from her property management company about renting and leasing. However, Florence and Tommy quickly found they were both as ambitious and calculating as the other. Unlike her other clients, Tommy didn't gaff at her suggestions of overseas ventures or buying big. It was a joyous union. Even Florence's mother didn't understand her dedication to the company. However, it was the senior Mrs. Heywood's father, who left the business to his granddaughter.  

"Don't you have enough, dear? You've come so far, not just as a woman, but as a business owner," her mother said after being told that grandchildren were not a priority. Florence wanted more. She was a modern woman who craved a legacy and a family name that honored her grandfather's work. 

"Enough of that," Tommy said, sliding a few signed documents into a folder before turning to her. "I told you to stop being so easy to read. Now, what's wrong?" 

Florence rolled her eyes but was thankful when Tommy went to pour them some whiskey. The upside to meeting at Tommy's home was that the rules were nonexistent. She didn't even have to leave her shoes on.

"My mother wants me to get married soon, probably have kids," she groaned. "She's set me up to go to the pictures with a banker on Friday."

"Isn't that what most women want?" Tommy walked over and handed her a glass of amber liquid. 

"You'd be surprised," Florence said, then sighed. "I'm just scared." 

"Florence Heywood is scared of something? Hard to believe." Tommy shook his head. 

"My grandfather left me his business when it was just one tiny office on Victoria Street. He put everything he had into it to make something of our name and pass something on. What if some prick weasels his way in and ruins it all? It’ll be his to gamble away. Or starts mistreating my employees. It's the stuff of nightmares." She shivered and looked to Tommy, who nodded in understanding. 

"We Shelby's want to do the same thing. Work hard enough to have what the toffs do- the opportunities and good fortune. My brothers and I fought side by side with those fuckers in the war. We get the shell shock, blow our bloody brains out, fuckin' live with demons, don't we? But they got everything, and we got nothing. Nothing changed." Tommy said. Florence was surprised to hear him talk with her like this but certainly didn't stop him. "But I have my family and my son. Anything less than success is unacceptable. You're right to be critical. You've got to know who's on your side." 

"Easier said than done," she mumbled. "How is Charlie, by the way?"

"He's with his tutor now. Won't stop talking about that train set you told him about last time," Tommy chuckled. Florence's grandfather's spare room that had the most extensive train set she'd seen. She was happy to tell Charlie all about it, but now he was intrigued.

"I'll happily take the blame."

"Hope you've got something planned to remedy this in the near future."

"I will talk to Father Christmas," Florence offered with a laugh. She sighed and thought of all of what Tommy has worked for and her as well. "You know what, Tommy? You and I are doing it. We're making a name for ourselves. Even when no one understands what we want, we have a vision." Tommy smirked, noticing that the strong drink was already making her eyes a bit glossy.

"And what is it that we want?" He asked. She raised her glass and motioned for him to do the same.

"Everything there is." 

In life, Tommy wasn’t often surprised. Sure he was blind sided now and again, but his cynical nature taught him to expect the worst. A few weeks after his optimistic toast with her, Florence arranged a meeting on the grounds of having a new venture for him that would challenge his ability to be two steps ahead. The last thing he expected was a marriage contract. Like any other venture, she laid out the facts, including Tommy needing to do something good for his image as a new politician. 

"This is really...something." Tommy looked over her detailed work in a slight daze. 

"I know, and please don't think I take this lightly. I'm just thinking about Shelby Company Ltd and Heywood Capital, establishing a bloody empire," Florence explained. Tommy could see the stars in her eyes as she thought about the possibilities. It was her promise that locked him in, however.  

"Tommy Shelby, I will protect you if you will protect me. That's as good as any marriage, isn't it?"  

Tommy thought about it for a few days. Florence Heywood, a woman he'd call his friend and one of the savviest people he knew, wanted to get married in the name of a legacy. He could hardly believe it when he picked up the phone and called her office.

"Everything there is, eh?"

It took several hours of negotiation, a prenuptial agreement, and the presence of a lawyer. Still, in the end, he said yes. 

For a while, the Shelby's referred to Florence in the form of the question, "isn't she that woman who manages Tommy's properties?" And Mrs. Heywood gave Florence an earful for getting engaged without ever bringing Tommy around for tea. But after a bumpy start, the rest went rather seamlessly.

One year later, Florence was sitting in her own lovely office in Arrow House with Charlie on her lap. She hadn't planned on reading to Charlie every night, but Charlie would sooner sneak out of bed in his pajamas and ambush her in her office than miss her reading to him. And he did. 

"Both parties should review the completed document carefully to ensure that all relevant deal points have been included," Florence read softly. Charlie was nearing a deep sleep, so Alice in Wonderland was sneakily replaced by the contracts she was in the middle of reviewing.  

When she heard the front door close, she stopped to check her watch. It was a quarter past 9 PM already. She followed the sound of Tommy's footsteps going up the stairs then quickly descending moments later. He was panicked, she could tell. If not from his steps, from the way he burst into her office. 

"Sh!" Florence placed a finger to her lips. Tommy let out a breath of relief as he ran a hand through his hair. Tommy came over and placed a hand on Charlie's head, then a kiss to his forehead. Florence was surprised she received one as well.

"He couldn't sleep?" Tommy asked quietly, eyes looking to the papers in her hand.

"He wouldn't allow it without a story. Tonight's is Once Upon a Time There Was A Walk-Up in Camden Town," she mused then pressed her own kiss to Charlie's head. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's fine."

"Is it fine, or is it nothing?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"It's," Tommy sighed once again, thinking about his day, his week even. The Russians, the Irish,  hell, Arthur, and fucking Linda. Christ. 

"Tommy," Florence's voice cut through the smoke and mud, bringing him back into the present. She stood smoothly, expertly shifting Charlie to her hip. "I know you're stressed. I just want to remind you that we promised to protect each other, right? Whatever it is, we figure it out together."

Tommy reached up and cupped her cheek.

"You're right, we promised. I promised." He leaned forward and kissed her softly. It took everything for Florence to remind herself that there was no place for weak knees when holding her child. "Let's put him to bed, and I'll tell you it all, Mrs. Shelby."

--

Tommy Tag List: @soleil-dor; @amysteryspot

[hasquetzorkukudoneanythingwrong]

Quetzal woman: the movie

(Pt. 1)

For ages, humanity depended upon the gods to provide, care for, and guide them. How the gods viewed humanity varied greatly. Some saw humans as pawns, and that their rightful place was under their boot. Other gods cared greatly for humanity, they found joy in helping them. Eventually tho, humanity gained independence from the gods. They developed technology and sciences that lead them to no longer have need for the gods. Many gods hated this, seeing this as the ultimate blasphemy. But others still, found joy in their newfound independence, tho were sorrowful at no longer being needed. Regardless of the feelings, it could not be avoided that the gods were no longer needed, and so the gods shut themselves away, as to not interfere. Even in times where humanity seemed to need their protection again, they would not interfere. Or atleast that's how it should've been...

The mesoamerican goddess, Quetzalcoatl, watched upon the humanity she cherished so much, as they marched onward without her. But in recent times, it seemed like they may have needed her guidance once again.

Quetz: ...humanity is not doing well. Starvation, war, the changing of the climate, corruption, and so on. Many humans have the resources to change it all singlehandedly, but choose not to in favor of hoarding said resources greedily. They need our guidance once more...

Then a mysterious voice spoke up, it was not clear who they were, but what was clear was that they were powerful. More so then even Quetzalcoatl.

Voice: we are not to interfere Quetzalcoatl. Even in their darkest moments, we are to no longer meddle their affairs.

Quetz: they clearly need it!

Voice: you said it yourself, they have the resources to help themselves. Even if those resources are currently in the hands of greedy and selfish individuals, things will eventually take a turn for the better. It has happened before and it shall happen again.

Quetz: I understand what you mean... I'd love for humanity to overcome this hurdle, and reach great new heights. But... they are currently lost. Even a nudge in the right direction would be enough.

Voice: interference is interference. No matter how small.

Quetz: *sigh*

As this went on, Quetzalcoatl noticed something specific in the tropics, near the Caribbean. A lone young man, on an isolated beach, was being attacked by creatures who should no longer have a place without the gods.

Quetz: look upon that island!

Voice: hmm?

The young man was being attacked by sirens. Horrid bird like beasts, that were long lost once the Greek pantheon was no longer needed by their people.

Voice: what!? Sirens?!

Quetz: that young man is being attacked by them! Now can I interfere?!

Voice: hmmm... fine. But this is only because it would seem the Greek pantheon is interfering in mortal affairs themselves. It was only a matter of time.

Quetz: yes!!

Voice: but before you go, make sure they longer interfere in mortal affairs! No matter how long it takes, but once it's done return to the heavens at once. You understand?

Quetz: of course!

Voice: then go! He doesn't have much time!

The the sun goddess left, and went to save the young man.

At the beach.

???: wtf are these things?! Some kind of bird monsters?!

Sirens: *horrendous screeching*

???: I should've brought backup, I'm fucked now since I'm alone!

Then suddenly, a large storm appeared overhead. Lightning struck and thunder roared!

???: wtf!?

Then a huge fireball flew from the clouds, striking the earth near the sirens. The impact left the beasts flying, even injuring them.

???: holy fuck...

The sirens weren't done yet, but they focused their attention on the impact sight instead.

Then, arising from the impact, was Quetzalcoatl.

???: woah... she's... beautiful...

The sirens immediately went to attack her, but were met with tremendous force. Powerful flame attacks, along with lightning and wind aswell. She was a force to be reckoned with.

After the beasts were taken care of, the goddess went over to the young man and offered her hand to get him off the ground.

Quetz: are you ok?

???: yeah... I am now. Are you... a goddess?

Quetz: si, actually. I am!

???: oh... wait! For real?!

Quetz: si! I am the goddess Quetzalcoatl!

???: well... if it wasn't for the lightshow and that monster beat down I wouldn't believe you... that was amazing...

Quetz: gracias! Now I've told you my name, what's yours?

???: oh! Right, my name's Rex! Nice to meet you... Quetzalcoatl...

Quetz: you can just say Quetz, and nice to meet you too Rex!

Rex: Quetz huh...?

Rex: wait a minute, if you're real then, how come we don't hear about you and the rest of the pantheon anymore?

Quetz: because humanity no longer needs gods. So we shut ourselves away. The only interaction anymore is once a human goes to the afterlife.

Rex: oh... I mean, I'm not one to question the choices of gods but... sometimes it feels like we could still use a bit of help...

Quetz: I agree actually, but we aren't supposed to interfere anymore. The only reason I can now, is because it seems others have decided to interfere themselves.

Rex: ah... explains the... birds.

Quetz: right, I need to find out whose involved and put a stop to it, then return.

Rex: oh... how do you plan on doing that?

Quetz: well... I planned to blend in with humanity for the most part, until I can find whoever is responsible.

Rex: oh! OK.

Quetz: um... but I'll need some help doing that... I don't exactly have access to normal human things...

Rex: I can lend a hand...

Quetz: oh really?! I mean, I don't want to impose.

Rex: I insist, you literally saved my life. And you're a literal goddess! It'd feel wrong not to help!

Quetz: gracias! That's so nice!

Rex: of course!

Eventually the two leave for Rex's current living space on the island.

Rex: make yourself at home! It's not much but it'll do...

Quetz: oh... it's not so bad.

Rex: gracias! So... any idea how you're going to start looking for whoever caused those... things to show up?

Quetz: well... the only surefire way is to look out for other signs of divinity. Creatures such as those are a pretty good sign. But I'm note sure where else they'll show up...

Rex: there's also the fact that you can't just bust in and kick their asses like that so easily. It was whatever last time because there were no witnesses other then me but... it'll be crazy to see a woman just... do those things!

Quetz: that's a good point... how do I handle that?

Rex wasn't sure, but then he looked over at a shelf of books nearby, and inspiration struck!

Rex: hold on

Quetz: ok...

Rex went over to the shelf and picked up a comic book, then showed it to the goddess.

Rex: you could be a superhero!

Quetz: eh...? Ques eso?

Rex: these heroes with amazing abilities and colorful costumes! They protect people for good and righteousness and such!

Quetz: oh! That'd be amazing! That's exactly why I'm here so it fits!

Rex: yeah! But we need to make a costume...

Quetz: hmmm...

Rex: oh! I know, back to our homeland! Kinda...

Quetz: eh?

Rex: it's been a while for you, but the people of Mexico have invented a new type of fighting style called lucha libre, it fits the superhero image perfectly! They wear masks, and perform bombastic moves that look like flight! It'd fit you perfectly!

Quetz: wow! That sounds increíble!

Rex: then let's make you a lucha hero!

After an extensive montage of gathering the materials, learning the moves, and practicing a bit, Quetzalcoatl was ready to be a lucha themed superhero! She wore a red leotard, with red boots and gloves, green cape, and a red and gold lucha mask!

Quetz: wow! With this, I feel like a new me!

She said this with much excitement as she floated off the ground.

Rex: I'll say! It's incredible!

She zipped towards Rex, grabbing him by the shoulders, with a grateful look on her face.

Quetz: thank you so much Rex! You've been a big help!

Then without thinking she kissed him as thanks. After she finished tho, she realized what she did and the two got embarrassed.

Quetz: ah... sorry about that...

Rex: no it's... fine... kinda nice actually.

Quetz: really? Well... gracias...

The two stood together awkwardly, before an emergency broadcast was heard on the radio!

Radio: emergency alert! Emergency alert! There seems to be a huge whirlpool in the middle of a highly trafficked fishing spot in the sea, and it appears a large monster is at the center!

Rex: looks like it's time for your debut!

Quetz: looks like it! Let's go!

Then Quetz picked Rex up, ready to take him to the location.

Rex: uh...

Then boom! They were gone!

Meanwhile, in a secret underwater base, a shady old man is discussing his plans with an unseen partner.

Old man: charybdis has been unleashed master, just as you requested.

Master?: excellent! These foolish humans have gone long enough without us gods. soon, with enough sacrifices, I'll regain my full power then they'll see!

Old man: and you shall grant me great power in return for assisting you, right master?

Master?: of course! I always make good on my promises! Just do not screw things up!

Old man: of course not! I am an unparalleled genius! I shall make no mistakes!

Master?: see to it that you don't! Or there will be consequences!

A/N: so! Finally the first part of the movie event rewrite! Took too long, and the event's long since over but here we are! Hopefully I'll finish it off in one more part, but I'm fine with 3 parts! Hope you guys like the story!

Tags

@hasspartacusdoneanythingwrong @haspaulbunyandoneanythingwrong @hasishtardoneanythingwrong @hasereshdoneanythingwrong @grievouslyxorvia @exmeowstic @renmeo @kazosaurus

[gumnut-logic]

Hi, love your work, kinda new but not think in coming up on like 2 years of actually reading fanfiction, one this i still dont know what the diffrence between TOS and TAG, i assume one of them is they tv show, the other mabey the movie or the og tv show. IDK. Anyway love your work its really amazing :)

Welcome to the fandom ::hugs you:: This is a great place. Pull up a chair ::hands you some popcorn::

Okay, a little intro to Thunderbirds fandom:

TOS or Thunderbirds: TOS is short for Thunderbirds: The Original Series (you may encounter such terminology in other fandoms that have multiple reboots - TOS is always the first series, like Star Trek: TOS). In Thunderbirds, TOS solely refers to the supermarionation television series from 1965. Sometimes it is also written as Thunderbirds (1965).

Because I’m me, here be Virgil in TOS:

TAG stands for Thunderbirds Are Go, the 2015 CGI remake.

Here be Virgil in TAG:

Now, this seems simple, but it isn’t. Because between the two of these incarnations there were several movies:

Thunderbirds Are Go (TOS Movie, 1966)

Thunderbird 6 (TOS Movie, 1968)

Thunderbirds (2004) - Live action reboot

The first two were extensions of the TOS TV series. The 2004 movie, however, was a complete reboot/reimagining and has some new characters added to the cast.

A couple of resources for finding information about Thunderbirds:

Thunderbirds Wiki - a good go to place for all canon info. I have been known to poke around in there for research while writing fic

Thunderbirds IMDB - for a list all all the incarnations.

Because the fandom is over 50 years old we have an amazing mix of ages, experience, interpretations and loves in our community.

A few fandom indiosyncracies you might trip over on the way in:

There has long been confusion as to the birth order of the Tracy brothers, particularly who is considered older between John and Virgil. For a long time, Virgil was considered the middle child. However, one line in TAG in ‘Grandma Tourismo’ had John referring to Virgil as his ‘big brother’ and there is alleged proof from Sylvia Anderson that Virgil was the second son floating around fandom. Consequently, there are some fics with Virgil as the middle child, some with him as the second oldest. It generally depends on when you entered fandom and personal preference. Ultimately it doesn’t matter, cos Virg is Virg and we love him no matter when he was born. Same goes for Johnny. Enjoy all fic anyway.

Fermat and Onaha are from the 2004 movie. Correct me if I’m wrong anyone, but Fermat is Brains’ son and Onaha is Kyrano’s wife and Tintin’s mother.

Much of the ‘canonical’ history of the Tracy family is derived from sources other than the original TV series as there were some publications like annuals and magazines released during the early years - @willow-salix might be able to add to this because I am far from an expert on TOS, but this includes things like:

Gordon’s hydrofoil accident

Gordon’s Olympic medal

Virgil’s attending the Denver School of Technology

Lucille Tracy

A whole bunch of things that pop up from time to time.

This fandom also has a very strong fanon base - character explorations that become headcanons and are explored by multiple authors. This includes things like:

Tracy Industries

Virgil’s need for coffee every morning

Gordon swimming every morning

Scott running every morning

All sorts of wonderful character development that the shows did not have time for

Now, I’ve learnt most of this from reading fanfic myself and trying to hunt down facts, so I’m no authority. There are plenty of fans who’ve been in this fandom much longer than I (I’ve been here just over two years, but I’ve written a lot in that time and pretty much know TAG backwards as a result - my TOS knowledge isn’t anywhere near as good). Peeps who know more than I, please feel free to add to this :D

Thank you so much for your kind words about my fic ::hugs you lots:: This fandom has only itself to blame. You guys just keep encouraging me to write more and it keeps happening. You guys are amazing - I know you’ll get sick of hearing me say that, but it is true ::group hug:: I’m just glad you’re enjoying my fic.

If there are any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m sure myself or someone who knows more will be able to add to this little intro.

Nutty

(still stunned by the support this fandom gave my fic yesterday ::bug-eyed:: wow. So love you guys)

PS EDIT: Forgot to mention the boys ages - they vary. @willow-salix ::hugs you:: There is official documentation of the age of the TOS characters, but the TAG characters appear to be somewhat different. Each fan write has their own preference and since it is all in fun, eh, whatever. We love the boys, no matter their ages :D

[brella-boi]

for the write a fic post: chili goes to therapy

Ya'll are just not gonna leave my son alone are you

Title: Doctor’s Home Tags: Cursing, bad english, bad therapist, Chili, Tai. Words: 1500

For weeks a certain someone decided to start making an effort to make amends. He would come every couple days with a pizza or a movie, hang out, and let his sister roam around while he fell asleep halfway through. In a way it was interesting to see someone you’d consider an asshole suddenly show a change of heart, but on the other hand Tai was curious of any ulterior motives that inkling had bubbling underneath the surface.

For one, Tai never trusted Chili. Not one bit. Not after seeing how he treated Mint. Several times, in fact. Though, he gave him the benefit of the doubt. Tai came over to his home a few times, tried to learn different things from the inkling. Granted, he did learn a few things that Mint was no help with, like which neighbourhoods to avoid, using the splatting weapons in turf wars, and general paperwork. Although it was a grueling process. Not only because the inkling held a heavy accent Tai found hard to understand at times, but also because he was so forceful and rude about everything. How did Mint find any part of that inkling appealing or tolerable is beyond him. To Tai, Chili was simply an asshole. An interesting asshole.

He quickly noticed how differently he acted around the vicinity of Mint, and immediately took interest in that.

Now, Tai may not know much about psychology, but he is well versed in the medical field. That’s close enough, isn’t it?

The next time Chili decided to show up at their apartment Tai was prepared. So prepared in fact, that he made sure Mint was still out and about in town and the two of them could get some private alone time. So when he finally knocked on the door, Tai was ready to answer with a smile.

“Hello Chili. I was waiting.”

The inkling grunted as a way to greet the octoling, focused on finding the other twin he was hoping to meet instead. “Mint’s stuck in traffic or what’s up?”

Tai tapped the wooden door rhythmically as he closed it behind Chili. “Hm. Yes.” They weren’t, but Tai wouldn’t pass the opportunity of an excuse like that.

“‘Aight. Ya won’t mind if I snag the couch for myself then.” He didn’t need an invitation, or a denial, he did as he pleased regardless of the answer he received.

“No. You can sit down.”

But the inkling stopped halfway, his eyes grazing across the living room. He wasn’t an idiot. Hearing Tai agree with anything, or say how he was waiting set his suspicions off. Something wasn’t right.

“Nah. Actually I’ll stand.” He watched Tai stalk towards the small island separating the living room and kitchen, and continued his tapping against its stone surface.

“I think you want have a seat.”

The two boys squinted at each other, neither of them budging from their place in the staring contest.

“‘Aight, I’ll bite. What do ya want from me? More teaching? Money? A beating?” Tai slowly approached the inkling as he continued talking. His height became more apparent with each step he took. “Silent treatment, eh? Or is my vocab too advanced for ya to understand? Damn, if only Mint was here to help ya out and translate like a good kind sibling.” By now the octoling stared down Chili from how close they were, and Chili felt himself leaning backwards and away from Tai who only continued to press forward. This was awkward. “The fuck ya want dude.”

“Hm. You want to be good boy, yes? For Mint? Sit.” He straightened up again, and let the inkling fall backwards into the couch with a dumbfounded expression.

Be good? A good boy? Him? Chili? He didn’t know what to say at the clear display of not-giving-a-fuck. There were times where this strange octopus would get into a specific mood. A mood that is both creepy, intimidating, unsettling, but also weird as fuck to deal with. When he does you cannot reason with him at all. Mint called those moods as a ‘crazy-scientist awakening’. Chili feared this was one of those moments.

“Good.” Tai flashed a faint smile as he himself took a seat on a chair across from Chili. He leaned back and inspected the tense inkling eyeing him suspiciously.

“I know what you play.” Chili raised an eyebrow and Tai continued. “Why?”

“Why what.”

“Why so nice beside Mint? You are jealous?”

Chili folded his arms with a bored expression. “Of what? There ain’t nothing Mint has I don’t.”

“Hm. Yes. A big home, good job, many friends... A boyfriend.” His eyes averted. One mental checkmark to Tai’s list of theories. “You are jealous.”

“Whatever ya think it is, Mr. Know It All, yer wrong. Newsflash, I’m also friends with Hiraeth and the system, and I don’t need a huge home or fulfilling work. So whatever’s brewin’ in yer head, stop it.”

“You sure? Why no talk with Mint for.. Hm. Weeks? But you talk with system. It make no sense.” Tai paused to think, his fingers tapping against the arm of the chair in thought before returning to waving around as he spoke again. “Unless… Halcyon say you are close to Pensacola. Very. And you ask me to slap you, like he. So,” he grinned toothily at Chili, excited to see the reaction to his theorie’s consensus, “You was scared of Mint because you like them, and Hiraeth was faster, so you run away. But now because he and Pensacola is gone, you come back. No threat, no worry. Yes~?”

Chili stared incredulously at the octoling who single handedly deciphered his entire motivation towards Mint in the most broken inklish he’s ever heard. It almost felt like an insult. This guy he knew for less than five months somehow found himself digging so deep inside him it was embarrassing. Has he really been hiding it that bad all this time? No, others never found out. So what gives Tai the right to know?

“Ha! Ya must be out of yer god damned mind. I’m done here. Have fun interviewing some other sucker that easily falls into your trap.” He stood up from the seat and took a step towards the door before a sudden sharp pain knocked into his neck.

He whipped around to face the smug octoling still sitting in the chair, but now brandishing a nerf gun in his hands aimed towards Chili. Before he could speak again another bullet smacked him in the eye and he doubled backwards from the sudden shock of it.

“Sit down.”

“What the FUCK is yer problem?” Shot again. “Stop it! Agh-! Fine!” He sat down into the seat once again with arms raised above his face to shield from any more oncoming bullets.

“Am I right or wrong.”

“You’re fucking stupid. OW-”

“Wrong answer.” Tai loaded another few rubber bullets into the gun. “I ask again. You like Mint?”

Chili stuck his middle fingers out at Tai through the shield and felt another three bullets pelt him in the stomach. “AgH- I ain’t gonna fuckin’ tell ya!”

“So yes. Okay.” He whistled at the hiding inkling who now sported a faint blush. “I won’t tell. But you are asshole.”

Chili groaned, “What’s new.”

“No. You are idiot. You pretend like you are good.”

“I’m trying real fuckin’ hard, so thanks.”

“You are happy to pretend? Only pretend? You are lying. Lies will bring death.”

Chili felt like his words got lost in translation. It was probably some octarian analogy. But he understood what he meant regardless. “Yer not a therapist Tai, ye don’t get a voice in this.”

“I am doctor. I have experience.” He did not, in fact, have experience in the mental health department. Ask him to stop bleeding? Place stitches? Sure. Ask him about depression? Anxiety? Relationship advice? Maybe not the best idea.

Chili huffed. He didn’t know about any of his prior experience, but he didn’t deny his medical knowledge was extensive. “I don’t need another therapist. So shut up and mind yer own fuckn’ business.”

Negotiating with Chili was brutal. Nothing goes into his head without going in one ear and out the other. Neither did he have the nerves or stamina to punch him like his friend to bring him to his senses, and he felt like he wasn’t being taken seriously either. What was he to do? The nerf gun would only get him so far, and three more shots did nothing but prompt more cursing.

“Stop lying to Mint. Is all I ask.” Tai stood up with a frown. “You are lost up here-” he tapped his own head as he headed towards the door, ”-and you are bad to me and you friends. You need understand what you are wanting before you lie again. Go. Think about it.”

Tai held the door open for Chili who looked like he was about murder Tai with his gaze alone. Red in the face and hands curled into fists. But, he stood up and wordlessly stepped outside the door as instructed. The octoling watched him with a solemn face and slowly shut it once he disappeared beneath the stairs.

“Ayayayay… So stuck up his own ass it’s impossible to get it out.”

[japiform]

Logs: Explain what the fuck he’s talking about

[[mind the tags]]

Helmsman: Have you ever been in a building after it's closed for the night? The darkness? The dead air? The faint feeling of unease, like you're somewhere you shouldn't be? The darkness?

You're the only one there, looking for something. Maybe the way out. Maybe for answers.

Maybe the store hasn't been open for years. The darkness. The overgrown plants, crawling over the ground and walls. The smell of brine. The water in your boots. Are you being watched or is that your imagination? Surely you've already been at this hallway. Did one of the tentacles move? Are you alone?

And finally, you find it. The husk of what was once a man. One who laughed and fought and loved. It's eyes behind the goggles are dark. It's twitching in the hold of the ship. The ship twitches in extension of the man. The darkness.

Are you alone?

Grand: You are not alone, but the atmosphere makes you tense, makes your keen eyes dilate wide to get as much out of the lights you brought as possible. Your boots splash in the salt water, and you wonder where the fuck the rest of the empress's entourage is. Surely she had some sea fucks with her to keep this massive place running.

It isn't important, except that it makes you tell your clowns to keep their guards up as you descend into the bowels of this abandoned place. It's going to take a bit, the empress's ship is so fucking massive. But that's alright. You're patient.

Ish.

Every moment he is off is another moment he could be dead. But at least you know generally where to go. You've been on Her ship before. Though, motherfuck, it was not like this.

When you get to him, you are relieved, motherfuckin gratified to see his form twitching. You hope it's not just some errant tentacle fuckery of the ship, you've never seen one so... overgrown before.

Well. Nothing for it. Give him a little slap on the cheek. "You alive in there motherfucker?"

Helmsman: Static electricity zaps the Grand Highblood's hand, the spot where he touched the Helmsman clammy and hot and viscous, somehow. But the Helmsman's eyes snap open, barely emanating any light at all before they slip closed again, unseeing.

On closer inspection, he's breathing shallowly from dry lips, mustard blood dripping shallowly from every orifice. It looks uh. Bad.

Grand: Ouch. Spicy. Still, the zap, the eyes coming open, the breathing reassure you that this isn't a totally fruitless endeavor.

Still. Oof. That's a big old yikes, you don't know if your mediculler can fix that shit. Ugh, what a mess he is, stubborn bastard. "Aight, where the fuck is my nerd?" You look at the clowns behind you. One of them better have brought the helm tech with them.

Devoteer: The small crowd produces a troll that can be succinctly described as cereal box shaped, and he dips his jagged horns in a sign of reverence towards GHB before fumbling for his toolbag. "If I may, Your Grand Whimsican, this Technicrusher will do everything in my power to preserve the life of this... of the helmstroll, if that pleases you." Behind a faltering, whiny speech is a troll who's had to disconnect many a half-dead helmsman from their block in his time. But the Devoteer has never in his life seen a helmsblock this... overgrown...

Grand: Oh, yep. That's a nerd, you'd know em anywhere. "I want his pump goin and his pan in there fuckin somewhere. Tell us what the fuck to do and we'll get it done. If I've come all this way for him to burn out, imma be real fuckin pissed, you pickin up what i'm puttin down?"

Devoteer: "I am indeed, picking it up, Your Unholiness." You sidle around him and inspect the helmsblock, before plucking a waterproof pen from your bag and marking off some of the smaller tendrils in dark purple. "These are the connections to his cardiovascular system, his life support, and the main nutrition and waste tubes. All the rest need to be cut away- about an inch at least from his body." Looking at the state of his nutrition tubes makes you faintly ill, but you keep the green out of your gills.

"Al- also I'm going to need a small supply of nutritionslurry, high in vitamins, a jar of mind honey, and some cauterizing knives. Is that amenable, High Priest?"

Grand: You click your tongue. "Easy enough, brother mine. I definitely got the last bit, at the very fuckin least." They drop into your hand quick as miracles, and you hand the gruesome weapon/medical tool over. You look over the crowd. "Aight, who brought the nerd?" A motherfucker raises his hand with a wave, clearly not paying that much attention now that his duty's done. "Give him his fuckin goods, what do you need, an invitation??? Mind honey. Nutrition slurry." You snap a few times, and the goody bag gets passed forward like you're in fuckin schoolfeeding. Whatever, if it works.

"That gonna do you aight, or are we gonna need someone ta go shoppin?"

Devoteer: "This is perfect, Beloved Dreamer. I'm going to need some space." You put your goggles on, and get the fuck to work. It's incredibly loud and messy, the knife slicing through tendrils like a hot blade through butter. Which is basically what it is. Pieces of helmsblock go flying as you shear it away, leaving something that looks a little less like a H.R.Giger painting and more like a person.

Wiping your hands clean with a microfiber cloth, you take the vials and hook the Helmsman up to a rudimentary IV drip, methodical as always. "Now um. A-as soon as the honey enters it's system it's going to become a bit of a lightshow in here, but it'll keep it's psionics cycling until it stabilizes. Be careful removing it, it's limbs are. Rather delicate."

Grand: Oh yes, the smell of burning flesh. Acrid, meaty enough to make you hungry, smoky enough to make you sneeze. You aren't sure how the rest of your mirthful are taking it, because you're definitely not paying attention, but you're vaguely interested enough in the work to observe the whole time, make sure he isn't taking unnecessary risks with your prize.

"Damn, we love a light show," you look over at your clown friends (turns out they weren't all doing the best), and get a few nods. "Quick question though, brother. How likely are his limbs to be any use, and what's the risks in not givin a shit?"

Devoteer: You give them one look and shake your head. "Even if, er, they weren't looking due for sepsis, it would take a real medical miracle for them to be of any use again, sir." They're uh. More hole than flesh, to put it lightly.

Grand: "Sick. May as well take em off and not deal with the hassle then, gimme that knife brother," you hold out your hand so you can get your tools back. You don't know if this fucker knows how to carve through bone instead of helm tentacle, but you sure the fuck do.

... Might wanna wait for that light show though.

Devoteer: You hand him the knife and step back into the crowd just as the Helmsman stirs, sparks beginning to crackle around the goggles as his eyes open just a sliver. And then the screaming starts, teeth bared as red and blue light fills the large room in a one-troll supernova.

It's only for a few seconds though, before it starts winding down as the psionics cycle erratically. His specially made goggles- the one thing between him and GHB being a pile of troll shaped ash- crack under the display of pure uncontrolled psionics.

The air is sharp with the smell of ozone.

Grand: Oh, that's neat, isn't it? Look at him go, he's like a one man firecracker. You grin big and wide at the sight, let him run himself out, and hope he isn't going to be choking on blood from screaming.

Alright, let's get this shit done quick. You step up into his shit and start cutting away tentacle and limb alike, until he is a lump of torso, head, hair, and probably just... so much rot. Just, an unfortunate amount of rot. You'll take the effort to make sure you cut as much of the sepsis as possible without getting to his innards, but.... Eh. That's about all you can be bothered with. You'll just make sure the medicullers go real hard on the germ killin shit, so he don't rot much more.

Dumbass motherfucker.

Helmsman: The screaming has become coughing, before he settles down with a whimper, curling into himself now that he isn't forced upright by the helmsblock. For how tall of a troll he once was, he looks small. Maybe he'd always been a small troll, under all the sass and vitriol and power.

It's hard to say.

Grand: ... Ain't that almost sweet... You hold him close, fully aware he could vaporize you if you're not careful with them damn glasses, but still finding it a bit...

Somethin. You can't say. Sad, maybe. Pathetic.

Any fuckin way. No need to linger. "Aight, motherfuckers. Job well done, head the fuck out, don't trip on tentacles or i'll make ya the butt of the next sweep a jokes. Keep ya eyes peeled, but i doubt there'll be much else excitin." There's a few laughs, a few groans of disappointment, but they do as you say, because you are fuckin king.

... And the king's gonna need a shower after this, because this battery is decidedly rank.

One step at a time, though. No need goin quick and jostlin all his lively bits until he ain't got no life left in him. One step at a motherfuckin time.

Helmsman: Despite the chill of GHB's skin, Helmsman takes comfort in it, craving any amount of warmth against his feverish form. As he tucks himself as close and comfortable as possible, the ship around the parade of clowns becomes even darker, emergency lights flickering off as the biggest asset to the empire goes silent.

Behind his eyes, the Helmsman fitfully dreams of being swallowed by a goat the size of a sun.

Grand: At least, finally, he can be completely asleep.

[royalcordelia]

The Secret of Distance (2/?)

Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn’t easy, but they’re more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story). 

Notes: If you want to be tagged when the next chapter is posted, I can do that! I’ve seen others do that, and wanted to throw it out there.

~~*~~

Gilbert had grown so accustomed to the rattling of the window on the side of his face, that as the train slowed to a stop, he roused from his sleep. Around him, passengers shuffled on tired feet down the aisle of the train, but Gilbert squinted tiredly, adjusting to his surroundings. Where was he again? 

Outside the train,  a sign was lit up by electric lights: “Welcome to Toronto, Ontario.”

Oh, that’s right, he thought to himself, I’m going to medical school. At 4:30 in the morning it seemed. As he grabbed his trunk, his brain felt like it was trudging through mud. He’d left PEI on a ship to the mainland, then situated himself on the train for a fifteen hour trip. And he had kissed Anne. 

That woke Gilbert up. He had kissed Anne at exactly noon yesterday, and she had kissed him back. He kissed Anne. She tasted the way he expected sunshine would taste if you could jar it like honey. She fit perfectly against him when he pulled her close, drawn to him as strongly as he was to her. Soft hair framed her face, feathery tufts that grazed his fingers when he held her cheek. He’d never forget the sight of her, so beautifully grown, yet so breathtakingly Anne . The thought was distracting enough that he didn’t realize his footsteps had slowed to a halt in the middle of the path. 

He might’ve stood there forever, burning the memory of Anne’s kiss into his mind, but a drunkard rambled past him, colliding with his shoulder. Gilbert stumbled on his feet, righting his coat on his shoulders with a bristled frown. He needed to find his new apartment before he was swept away into whatever unsavory things happened at four in the morning.

From one of his hidden inside pockets, he pulled out a note in Miss Stacy’s familiar script. 

Gilbert, 

Emily couldn’t get you into a boarding house because of your late admission. She does, however, know a young man who has an extra room in his apartment. He’s agreed to let you board with him, and will leave the door unlocked so you may let yourself in. You’ll find Ronald Stuart at 293 North Sunset St - the right hand apartment. 

Good luck on all your endeavors! I know you’ll exceed beyond our expectations. 

Your Exceedingly-Proud Educator, 

Miss Muriel Stacy

Gilbert didn’t know much about this Ronald Stuart, but had sent the young man a letter telling him when to expect him. Part of him was glad he wouldn’t be living under the supervision of an owner of a boarding house, like Anne certainly would be. If he found this Ronald Stuart agreeable, they could become close friends and enact their own rules, answering only to themselves and to each other. 

The house on 293 North Sunset St. was a sizeable place built of bricks the same color as the PEI roads back home. Gilbert snuck as quietly as he could up the creaky stairs leading to the door of his new apartment, before twisting the door knob. Stubbornly, it refused to budge. 

Gilbert peaked at the house number, then his note, then tried the door again, this time with more strength. Maybe Ronald hadn’t gotten his letter in time? Maybe he’d forgotten to leave the door unlocked. 

There was nothing to do about it. He rapped his knuckles hard enough on the door that the noise likely could be heard by the next door neighbors. Even so, the door remained closed. The chilly August air was beginning to sink into his bones. Gilbert knocked again, more aggressively this time. 

“I hear ya, I hear ya!” came a voice from inside the house. Gilbert took a step back from the door, steeling himself for whatever would come once the door opened. A shadowy figure appeared behind the curtains before the door swung open. 

Gilbert cleared his throat. “Mr. Stuart?” 

The fellow before him was a tall one, lanky with hard angles. His dark hair was a mop upon his head where long, straight hair stuck out in all directions. Long eyebrows quirked back at Gilbert, who clenched his jaw. 

“Gil?” the man answered back. Gilbert cocked his head. No one called him Gil. Not even Bash or Anne. 

“Yes, that’s me. Gilbert Blythe. The door was locked, otherwise I’d have let myself in.” 

Ronald ran a hand through his hair, tousling it into an even greater mess. He stepped aside and let Gilbert enter the space. 

“I was real glad was Dr. Oak reached out to me about you coming to stay,” Ronald explained with a yawn. “The last fellow who stayed here graduated last spring, and I’ve been having trouble paying for the whole apartment myself. It’s not much, but it’s plenty for two men to share.” 

Gilbert pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to his new roommate. Inside was the first of four years’ worth of rent payments. Bash had promised to send Gilbert his share of the farm’s earnings in plenty of time each month for him to pay his debts. 

“That reminds me, this is for you,” Gilbert said. Ronald only tossed the envelope on a nearby table and leaned against it, tired eyes examining his new roommate. 

“You drink?” he asked. Gilbert couldn’t tell if the man was offering or judging. 

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. 

“You snore?” 

Gilbert frowned. “...Not...that I know of?” 

Ronald shrugged and headed up the stairs. 

“We can talk in afternoon. I’m going back to sleep. Your room is up the stairs on the right. Mine’s on the left. There’s one more empty room, for guests I guess, if you ever have any.” 

Gilbert bit the inside of his cheek. Would the people from home ever come all the way to Toronto just to see him? Adjusting his cases in his hands, Gilbert took a deep breath. 

“Alright, thank you.” But Ronald had already gone. 

Outside, the street echoed silence around, giving it an eerie stillness. If he hadn’t been so tired, he might’ve felt the weight of being so far away from home and his family. But exhaustion prevailed in numbing his thoughts, and he found his bed without any welcoming ceremony. Laying fully dressed on top of his blankets, Gilbert fell deep into sleep. 

~~*~~

“You a novelist or something?” 

Gilbert looked up from the kitchen table and found Ronald in the doorway. He must’ve looked like some sort of writer, with pages upon pages of inked words spread across the table in front of him. A mug of coffee steamed at both places and at the table, and Gilbert nodded down to it. Ronald accepted it appreciatively, sipping it with a satisfied smile. In the daylight, and perhaps after bathing, the man seemed to have a sophisticated air about him that came solely from his looks and not his attitude.

“No, I’m just writing some letters home. There are a few people who’d want to know I made it here in one piece,” Gilbert replied, somewhat nostalgic for home. His gaze found the opening line of the paper in  front of him: My Anne...

“Where is home, anyway?” 

“Avonlea, PEI.” 

“That far away, eh? No wonder you wandered up to the house so early this morning. Can’t say I’ve ever heard of Avonlea, though.” Gilbert nodded politely, not sure how much Ronald Stuart wanted to share about himself or how much he wanted to share in return. “I’m Ron, by the way. I apologize that I’m not terribly friendly before seven in the morning.” 

Gilbert chuckled and shook his head. 

“I guess I didn’t realize the trip would be over sixteen hours. Sorry for waking you up.” 

Ron got up from the table, grabbing some bread from the breadbox and shoving a piece into his mouth. 

“What made you want to come here, anyway?” 

“Ah, my teacher from home knows Dr. Oak. I was initially intending on attending the, uh...well, the Sorbonne in France, but I changed my mind.” 

The expression on Ron’s face told Gilbert he was not convinced.

“Yeah right, you just weren’t accepted. That or you can’t speak french.” 

“No, I was accepted - or as good as, anyway. I just chose not to go.” Gilbert paused. “But you’re right, I don’t speak french very well.” 

Ron’s jaw dropped. 

“I didn’t take you for an idiot, Gilbert.” 

Gilbert straightened his shoulders, crossing his arms defensively. 

“It’s a long story, one that I’m sure would make perfect sense if you were to hear it.” He paused. Would this Ronald Stuart be convinced that genuine love was more valuable than an educational opportunity? “But to tell the truth, I’d like to just write these letters and get them sent out before the post is collected in a few hours.” Ron held up his hands in surrender and trekked back up to his room. 

Returned to silence, Gilbert tilted his face to the sun pouring in from the kitchen window. He wondered if Anne was enjoying the same warmth on her first day of school. Picking his pen back up, he continued to write.

My Anne, 

I cannot think of a more wonderful way to start a letter. It does my heart such good knowing that wherever you are, you might be anticipating this specific correspondence. I’d like to begin this particular letter by informing you that I have made it to Toronto safe and sound - albeit at four in the morning! I haven’t been a train for such a long period of time since I traveled with my father. Should you still desire to be my penpal (though I hope you’ll want to be a much more than penpals) you’ll find my complete address on the envelope. North Sunset street is just as beautiful as it sounds. 

Have I beat around the bush with enough formality? I may as well jump right in.

Anne, what a fool I’ve been. I’ve had sixteen hours to compose the perfect way to reveal to you in extensive detail all the ways I’ve been a fool, but I fear I don’t have your gift with language, so you will just have to tolerate my inadequate explanations. As Diana might have informed you, I never received your letter, and for the sake of clarity and fairness, I’m going to assume that you never received mine.  

I want to eradicate every doubt in your mind. Anne, I never had any real, genuine feelings for Winifred. I have learned the hard way that there is a vast difference between enjoying someone’s company and genuine love. When you love someone, you don’t just enjoy their company. You ache until the next moment you see that person, yet they’re always with you - in your mind, in your heart. The extent to which I adore you and take pride in your existence is so overwhelming that I wonder why I thought I could ever settle for anything else. Is it bold for me to hope you feel the same way? I truly do love you, Anne. 

With all that disclosed, I’m certain there are times when I made you feel like I didn’t care for you at all. For that, I hope you know how very ashamed and sorry I am. You won’t ever feel like that again, I promise. If, in our separation, you grow doubtful or lonely, I’ll be on the first train bound for Charlottetown. 

As for follow up questions: 

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, when in heaven’s name did you start to have feelings for me? Most days I was certain I’d never win your heart, but then I’d catch you looking across the classroom and think maybe it wasn’t so hopeless after all. 

Did you receive the letter I left you in your room? You never said anything, so I wondered. Oh! And what did your letter say? I’m so bitter that it disappeared.

Are you well? How are you adjusting to being away from home? I know Green Gables was so precious to you. How is Queens? Do your new classmates adore you, yet? I’m certain they do.

I’m sure I will have more questions the more I fondly remember each encounter I’ve had with you, but for now, I won’t bombard you. 

As for me, I’m better now that I’ve arrived to Toronto and have unpacked all my things. My roommate, Ron, is a peculiar brand, and it’s still unclear as to whether or not he is - as you’d say - a kindred spirit. So far, I have my doubts. We’ve known each other all of eight hours and he’s already called me an idiot. But we have our own bedrooms, and there’s more than enough space for the two of us, so I can’t complain. Class begins tomorrow, but I’ve some final paperwork to complete. I hope to explore the campus and learn all the hidden nooks where a medical student might read and daydream about his love back home.

I still have to write to Bash, and I want to send this as soon as possible, so I’ll conclude here. I miss you terribly already. Yet, how thankful I am that we got the time we did. 

Know that I remain always 

Yours, 

Gilbert 

(PS:  My roommate called me Gil at our first meeting. I’ve not decided if I like it yet, but maybe if you call me by that name, I’ll warm up to it.)

(PSS: Is it too much trouble if I ask you to enclose a picture of yourself, or something that I can keep on my bedside table that will remind me of you?)

Gilbert had just folded the letter up and sealed it, when Ron came back into the room. In his hand was a picture frame that Gilbert recognized immediately. 

“Who’s this?” Ron asked. 

Gilbert snatched the frame, eyes icy. 

“Were you going through my things?” 

“I was just leaving some clean linens, and I saw it on your table. Not trying to pry, but I’m...curious.” 

Gilbert peered down at the frame, and felt a wave of homesickness sweep over him. It was a photograph he’d had taken shortly before Hazel had come to live in the house. It had been difficult to find a photographer who wouldn’t fall prey to their prejudices. 

“It’s my brother and my niece,” he explained. Ron seemed to sense the thin ice he stood on, so he nodded. 

“She’s sweet,” he commented, nodding down at Delphine’s bright eyes. 

“The sweetest,” Gilbert agreed, pushing away the photograph when he felt his throat close up. They were silent for a few moments when Ron fixed his eyes on Gilbert.

“Why didn’t you go to the Sorbonne?” he asked evenly. Gilbert matched the serious gaze, unashamed of his choices.

“I would’ve had to marry a girl I didn’t love, and leave behind the one I do.” 

Ron’s face didn’t change, but the lack of judgement was slightly promising. 

“Family and love, huh? Wish I could relate.”  Then he spun on his heels and headed toward the front door. “Well, I’m off.” 

“Oh, uh, bye?” 

The tense, awkward air in the room evaporated when the door slammed behind Ron. A long exhale left Gilbert’s lips and he grabbed a clean sheet of paper. This letter to Bash continued much like his letter to Anne’s had, full of apprehension about Ronald Stuart and anxiousness about the impending start of school. He’d exhausted all of his mildly uninteresting topics before he added:

I do have some news that might interest you. Anne and I are...well, I don’t know for certain what we are. Courting? Yes likely. More than friends? Absolutely. Together? In every way a man can be together with his love across 1000 of distance. I ended things with Winifred and ran like a madman through Charlottetown to see if Anne would give me one last shot. She did. Thank god, she did.

My courtship with Winifred actually ended two weeks ago, as poorly as you can imagine. But I did right by her in every way I could, and respected her enough to be honest that I could not be with her if it’s Anne that I so greatly adore. Not that I said Anne by name, but Winifred knew. She made me promise not to tell anyone until she could safely leave Charlottetown, which is why you are just hearing about this now. Though I regret having humiliated her to the point of returning back to France, I feel so much...lighter, happier. Knowing that Anne cares for me the way I care for her leaves me feeling confident I made the right choice. I think Winifred will see that one day, too. 

I miss you, Bash. Delly too. The more I’m here, the harder it is to imagine that I’ll be living without you. I can barely remember what it was like when it was just me - without my brother, without the laughter of the baby. There’s a room here for guests if you ever want to visit, but I’ll come home when I can. Something tells me if I stray from Avonlea too long, something vital in me will starve.

I love you all. I hope the harvest is going well.

Your brother, 

Gilbert.

With both letters sealed and addressed, Gilbert stepped out onto the new streets, drinking in the Toronto sun as he made his way toward town. 

[isobel-thorm]

Tagged by @playstationmademe  to make a list of things my Deputy would say as a FC5 companion. Thanks, Love!!

Deputy Nic Raylan

With Fangs for Hire

Boomer - “Who’s a good boy, huh? Who’sa goo’ boy? You! YES YOU!”

Peaches - (singsong) “Who’s hungry for a buncha jackasses?” 

(by extension) Horatio: “Oh my God, look at you go. I’m never eating bacon again.” 

(Also this is very Locked Out of Eden specific but) Timber: “Ooooh. Good boy. I wanna take you home with me but John’ll kill me if I bring home another animal... ... .. I mean it’s karma though, isn’t it? He owes me.” 

With other Guns for Hire

Nick - “Can you see my house from there?” // “Fly high, Buddy.” // “Knock those fucks out of the sky.” // “Nick n’ Nic, back in action.” // “Tell Kim I said hi. You’re treating her right, right?” 

Adelaide - Various agreement/knowing laughter whenever Addie has some innuendo-filled comment.   LoE specific, whenever Addie’s got a comment about John’s performance in bed: “I can neither confirm nor deny... but you’re right.” 

Sharky - (upon arrival/joining him and the Dep) “Hey, Babe.” // “Sharky, hon, take it easy on the danger, huh? I can’t lose you.” // (if he sets a field on fire in a fight) “WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT CONTROLLED ENVIRONMENTS?!”  // (If they come across anybody who’s got one of the Sharky-roasting people) “Right, and you’re perfect by comparison, huh? Dick.” // “Hey Shark, I need to steal a bottle of your booze later.” // “So Shark, if you’re Dom, and Dep’s Brian, that makes me Gisele right? It better make me Gisele.” 

Hurk - “Whatever you do, aim away from us with that thing, please.” // “So uuuhhh... your dad any closer to figuring out who rigged his car to blow yet? Not asking for any particular reason. Heh.” 

In Combat

seeing an enemy - “I see a little bitch.” , “Where’s Sharky for this? (like the guy in Predator) I see you.” 

sneaking - (hums Mission Impossible theme song until the Enemy Awareness white bar starts)

killing an enemy - “Lights out!” / “Take that!”/ “Night night!”

Hurt - “Fuck that hurts. Ow.” 

Downed - “You know I told you about the whole thing with my Dad a while ago but that doesn’t mean I don’t need help now.” // “Need a little help before you tag me back in, Babe.”  // “I’m too pretty to die, come on!” 

Driving

Entering a car - “Leggo!” / “Zoom zoom. Hey, do you remember those commercials? That shit was wild, why was it a kid?” 

Reckless driving - “I’ve seen better drivers at the street races I used to be a flag girl for. Would you slow down?” / (at passing civilians) “GET OUT OF THE WAAAAAAAAY!” 

changing radio stations - “Gotta be SOMETHING good on.” 

Idle

“Is is fucked up that when I start to wonder who’s worse, these guys or my dad, I’m not exactly sure?” 

“Can we take a breather for a second? This whole ‘running around the county trying not to get shot’ is way too much cardio. And I was a cheerleader back in the day.” 

“God this place is gorgeous. If you take away the murder and mayhem, that is.” 

“Hey, you need a drink? I need a drink. And some other adult activities. We should head to the Spread Eagle.” 

Location-Specific:

At the Prison she’ll hover nearby Whitehorse. She’ll ask him how he is. Depending on how long the PC is around/how many times they visit, Whitehorse will start off assuring her that he’s fine, eventually he’ll sound playfully put out and insist that she should stop asking and worry about herself. Post Faith’s final confrontation, when she asks him, he’ll either be silent, tell her “you know” or “I’m not remotely okay.” She’ll hover even closer. She’ll also refer to him as “Dad” post-confrontation. 

At Seed Ranch: (Non LoE compliant) “I ever tell you I was one of John’s dirty little secrets back in the day? We had some fun here. X rated fun. Man I wish he didn’t go crazy. Eh, maybe that’s just the dry spell talking.” / LoE complaint: “I uuhhh... wouldn’t wanna sit on that couch if I was you ;)... or touch that bookcase. Or go by that counter... you know what, maybe you should just... not touch anything for a bit.” “My favorite spot is that overlook there. You can see for miles.” / LoE Complaint, New Dawn Edition: “Are you an artsy person? What else should I paint on the walls here? They need a little more life.” 

Hey why not make it a tag game? I’ll tag @amistrio @shellibisshe @geronimo-11 @chyrstis @dep-yo-tee @risenlucifer and anybody else who wants to do this.

[hddnone]

Title: Through Rainbow Lights Square: 017 - Cheeseburgers for @tonystarkbingo​ Pairing: None (but verse is Bucky x Tony) Rating : Teen Tags: character death but not really, Under Grounds verse Summary: Running into Thaddeus Ross is never a fun time.  Word Count: 1,211 

Note: This is a follow-up to The Under Grounds and won’t make much sense without it.

**

Tony blinked away the afterimage of rainbows as he walked into Rhodey’s diner. Life was certainly still irritated at him given the vibrancy of the colors, or at least Tony thought that the colors mimicked her mood. The more lurid, the angrier. The softer, the happier.

Rhodey disagreed, but then again Rhodey rarely did much that pissed Life off - well, that she found out about.

Tony tossed out a greeting to where Rhodey was behind the bar, serving a patron.

Rhodey’s composed face gave him all the warning he needed. Tony schooled his expression into blank politeness, and that’s all Thaddeus Ross saw when he looked over his shoulder at Tony.

“Tony,” Ross greeted, too amused.

Tony tried not to grimace. “Ross. What in the universal constants has led you to bless us with your presence today?”

He took the seat next to Ross, knowing it wasn’t much use trying to avoid the conversation. Ross oozed his way wherever he wanted to go, though thankfully that wasn’t Tony’s coffee shop today.

Still, he felt bad for Rhodey.

“Rumors have it that you’re collecting more mortals.”

“Do they?” Tony acted as if he was interested. Rhodey set a steaming cup of coffee down in front of him, and Tony nodded his gratitude. He never got tired of the stuff, and Rhodey made just as excellent a cup of he did himself. “I’ll also take a cheeseburger with extra cheese.”

Ross snorted, and Tony ignored him. Ross only had an untouched glass of water in front of him, the guy had no taste.

“Anything I can get you off the menu?” Rhodey asked Ross politely, smiling hard.

“No,” Ross said, not bothering to hide his disdain.

“And here I thought rumors had us famous for our fries,” Rhodey replied, too bland for Ross to take as an insult though he glared anyway. Rhodey winked at Tony. “One cheeseburger, extra cheese, coming right up.”

Rhodey disappeared into the kitchen, and Tony was sad to see him go.

“Maybe you should break out of your box, order something. The fries are fantastic, but I recommend the cheeseburgers,” Tony prodded.

“I’m not one who plays at being human.”

Tony laughed. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Then what are you doing, Tony?” Ross asked, but Tony knew better than to try to reply. He already had his own answer. “Squandering your power, serving coffee to humans.” Ross gestured at the mug, his lip curled, and Tony took a fortifying sip just to watch Ross’ eye twitch. “When are you doing to be done with this ridiculous game?”

“You know the answer to that one.” Tony made Ross wait for him to take another sip of coffee and set the mug back down. “I’m done when I decide I’m done.” He smiled his widest grin and didn’t care how obviously fake it was. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

Ross glared and took his time levering himself off the barstool. Standing, he towered over Tony, but Tony refused to let the power move get to him as they matched hard gazes.

“Watch your step,” Ross warned.

“Don’t let the door smack you on the way out,” Tony replied with cheer.

Ross turned and marched out, and Tony breathed a sigh of relief when his form was swallowed up by the rainbow streaks of color.

The visitors of Rhodey’s diner saw what they wanted to see out of the windows - a busy street or a quiet countryside or whatever. Tony only saw the rainbow colors that was Life’s stream, which was actually outside the windows, though sometimes if he focused he could transmit images that he’d gathered from a human. Those pictures always seemed flat though, to Tony’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t have the full memory to pull from to flesh it out, or if Life was intentionally stopping him from seeing the Earth he would never get to visit. That seemed petty enough for her, to stop the colors from blending properly to give Tony the full picture.

So he stuck with the rainbows for now.

“I don’t like him,” Rhodey said as he slid the cheeseburger with extra cheese in front of Tony.

There was a basket of fries too, and Rhodey hopped the counter and took up Ross’ old seat before he pulled those over to himself. He stuffed a handful in his mouth and glared at the closed door.

“Who does?”

“But what worries me is that he’ll get what he wants anyway.”

“Eh, he doesn’t have enough power for that,” Tony dismissed, though his gut churned.

Ross didn’t have enough power, but Rhodey had a point. He had a way of collecting people, and if enough people owed Ross their power - he might just have enough for whatever it was he wanted to do.

Tony didn’t know what that was, and he didn’t think Ross would tell him. Not unless Tony’s powers were promised for his use, somehow. Tony grimaced. Watching his step was sounding like a good idea, though because Ross had been the one to say it he wanted to reject it.

“He did have one part right. Those rumors about your mortal collection are circling around hard,” Rhodey warned and then popped a few more fries into his mouth.

“Just rumors,” Tony assured. The second went back through to Life, just as normal. Still only got the one.”

Rhodey snorted.

“What? He’s helpful! You should think of getting one, you know.” Tony gestured around at all of Rhodey’s options.

There weren’t too many occupants in the booth, though there was quite a range. While Tony specialized in humans from Earth, Rhodey catered to sentient life from all planets in the galaxy. He could certainly use an extra pair of hands or tentacles or claws or whatever it may be - the kitchen menu was extensive, though at least Rhodey’s magic took to cooking better than Tony’s did.

Which really just made Ross a dick, no surprise, for not trying anything, especially since the human cheeseburgers and fries were divine. Tony took a bite of his cheeseburger and moaned.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t need to hear you.” Rhodey gave Tony a side-eye that had Tony already dreading what was going to come out of his mouth. “I’m just worried about you. Your magic output has to be -”

“My magic output is fine.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a sour puss.”

Rhodey sighed. “I’m not going to apologize for caring about you.”

“I’m fine!”

“Yeah, and when is the last time I believed you when you said that?”

“You’re a chronic worrier, that’s not my fault.”

Rhodey rubbed his forehead. “Just be careful, alright? I don’t like that Ross is sniffing around for another go at us, not now when you’re whittling away your magic keeping humans from their proper destinations.”

Tony’s heart ached at the thought of watching Bucky walk through Death’s door now. “I can’t -”

Rhodey held up a hand to stop Tony. “I know. Just - like I said, be careful.”

“I will be,” Tony promised.

The look Rhodey gave him said that Rhodey didn’t believe him, and Tony thought about protesting again.

No, he decided. That was fair.

[otterknowbynow]

Altean Home Economics (10/?)

Goo is great, but Hunk sure would feel better if they had kitchen access.

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It’s been quiet on the bridge for nearly an hour now, and Shiro wonders if there’s something else he should have said, if he should have made his position clear more gently. It doesn’t make any sense to delay their arrival at the Blade headquarters, of course, but if he were in her position -- he’d want to know, he realizes. Of course he’d want to know. That doesn’t mean they can afford the delay or the distraction, but if there’s a way to reassure her they can come back, sometime, when things are less pressing.

“Allura,” he starts, turning to where she’s taken Coran’s place at the helm, but she raises a hand to cut him off. 

“I’ve set a course for Entuk, so we should be alright leaving it on auto-pilot for a while,” she says, finishing a quick set of keystrokes before she backs up from Coran’s station. Her tone is brisk and businesslike, though he guesses that’s the result of training in diplomacy her entire life so far rather than a reflection of her actual level of calm. “I suppose when we get there we’ll arrange everything to take us the rest of the way to Ulaz’s coordinates.” The way she says Ulaz’s name sounds wary, at least to Shiro, and he’s pretty sure she could input the entire course right now if she really wanted to. He’s reminded again how little she seems willing to trust Ulaz -- by extension, to trust him. He sighs. 

“Alright,” he says, trying not to let defeat bleed into his voice. “I’ll leave that to you and Coran, then.” She nods, but doesn’t say anything more, and the bridge slips back into silence apart from the quiet intermittent beeps of the navigation system.

--

The lab, unlike the bridge, is humming with activity, though none of it verbal. When Keith walks in, he sees Pidge absolutely in her element. She’s surrounded by the tiny containers she brought in from the kitchen, and her eyes are bright with interest. The containers are arrayed around her in a semi-circle, and she’s using a bunch of tiny spoons of some kind to scoop bits of them into equally tiny glass capsules. Behind her are several machines on another table, all blinking with various lights and buzzing, apparently warming up. To Keith, they mostly look like variations on a microwave, though he’s not about to tell Pidge that. 

“Making progress?” he asks lightly, putting the stack of matching containers he’s carrying onto the desk between them. He’s carefully labeled each one with the button combination that produces it from the querlay, and under that the output the screen showed him, which he assumes must be the name of whatever grain or pudding-type thing he’s collected there. Pidge raises her eyebrows seeing all the Altean markings in his small precise script. 

“Well, I’ll be making more now! Where did all these come from?” Only Pidge, Keith thinks, could be this excited about a bunch of weird unidentified bits of stuff. He explains as best he can, repeating the pieces of Coran’s technobabble he remembers and watching her face as subtly as possible to make sure he’s making some sense. When he finishes, she nods, eyebrows knit together. 

“So, we know these are staple ingredients for Alteans, and I’m sure I can even figure out the common names for what they are given how you’ve labeled them -- thanks for that, by the way.” She looks up at him at this. 

“No problem.” 

“-- but the main thing we need to figure out, really, is if we can eat them and not die.” 

“That does seem to be the goal, yeah.” She frowns for a second before nodding firmly. 

“Okay, let’s get to work.” 

Once Pidge walks Keith through her procedure for collecting the samples, the lab slips into a routine, the hum of the machines, the click of opening and closing the containers, and the flipping of pages as Pidge looks up Altean words the only sounds. 

--

The kitchen is the quietest it’s been since they first arrived. Hunk’s various dough mixtures line the edges of the counter in the pantry, and he and Coran have settled onto a couple of stools at the opposite end of the main kitchen island from where Lance continues to sleep. 

“Ira was the one who taught me most of what I know about baking, really,” Coran is saying over a mug of what Hunk has figured out is some kind of Altean tea. “He was technically my mum’s second cousin, but I don’t know that we ever got that technical about it. Unlike baking, which of course, he was very technical about -- Ira could talk about fat-flour-liquid ratios for vargas at a time! Fascinating man.” Hunk nods over his own mug, which is full of just hot water. He’s not sure Altean tea would agree with his digestive system, and if he’s going to take the risk of alien food poisoning again, it’ll at least be for something more exciting than tea. 

“He sounds a lot like my mom,” he says. “‘She always says -- said -- says that the mark of a good baker is that they could make a pound cake in a kitchen on the other side of the world with nothing labeled in English, and that she absolutely could, even without a scale or balance or anything.” 

“Seems like you take after her,” says Coran. 

“Guess so.” He says. “Well, I hope so anyway -- she’s a great person to take after, you know?” He’s a bit surprised, but not terribly, that his eyes are tearing up. Missing his family is never exactly a difficult emotion to achieve. “Wow, it must be getting late if it’s time for this level of homesickness, huh?” 

“Ah, well,” Coran says, standing up and stretching. “Perhaps it’s time to let sleep take the lead, eh? Keep us from slipping too far into the world of nostalgia.” 

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” 

--

On Entuk, the outpost is less than quiet, but not as loud as might be expected during more active parts of the day. There’s the usual hum of early morning, as the market sector is starting to fill with vendors. Councilor Yeskia is the only member to have arrived in the chambers yet, although she figures the others will get there soon enough. They’ve got several issues on their shoulders these days, and without clear solutions to any of them she hasn’t been sleeping much. 

The marketplace sounds from outside the chambers might be more reassuring if she weren’t so aware of the absence of some of the usual ones -- no rumbling of the eatery querlays or screams of youngsters out for early sports practice. There will still be the gatherings, of course, but this sun cycle is a strange one, that much she has to admit. 

Yeskia takes a deep breath and stands up from her spot at the councilors’ table -- she can’t sit for the last few moments before the others arrive. She needs to think.