#earth tones have had me in a chokehold

[sarcastic-clapping]

mid-century modern….save me mid-century modern. mid-century modern save me.

[reds-skull]

There’s Something Odd About Sergeant MacTavish

[AO3]

This monster of an oneshot got me in a chokehold the moment I started writing. Had a lot to say about this version of Soap and Ghost, apparently.

Friendship is not on the field manual, he told Johnny a long time ago. No protocols for personal relationships between soldiers, no set procedures for what he asked for, so many months ago.

Despite that, what Ghost and Soap have can’t not be friendship - not with the way they practically spend all their free time glued to each other. Morning, sipping tea and coffee together. Noon, checking in before splitting for their respective duties. Afternoon, lunch and paperwork in Ghost’s office. Evening, relaxing in the 141 common room. Bid each other goodnight, go to sleep, rinse and repeat, ad infinitum.

His routine used to numb him. Same shite, day in, day out, only finding excitement on missions. 

Johnny, in his own annoyingly endearing way, ‘blew it all teh high hell’, as he would gleefully shout after shaking the earth to its very core with an explosion.

And Simon, as much as he puts on a front and complains, wouldn’t have it any other way. Or… no.

Better not be greedy.

His schedule was clear for the rest of the day, something that in the past would’ve irritated him to no end (nothing worse than wasting time). Now, however, it just gives him a chance to trail behind Johnny.

His blue eyes flicker over the training recruits, sharp as ever as they search for weaknesses to correct. Ghost can pinpoint the exact moment he zeroed in on a soldier, his jaw working before he shouts, “Rogers! Put yer arms higher, don’t give ‘em easy access teh yer throat!”.

Soap stomps over to the pair, forcing Rogers’ hands to the right position. His Sergeant makes another round, tapping a boot at the back of another recruit’s knees. Ghost narrows his eyes when he sees the man open his mouth to retort, but the soldier thinks better of it. It may not be his lesson to teach, but Ghost wouldn’t pass an opportunity to put an idiot in his rightful place.

The second half of the recruits, who have been watching and learning from their peers’ mistakes, start talking in hushed voiced among themselves. Ghost doesn’t pay them any mind until Soap’s name comes up.

“There’s something… odd about Sergeant MacTavish.”

“Right?? He’s not this annoying usually.”

Ghost’s lips pull back in a sneer.

“Lieutenant Ghost must be rubbin’ off on him, the bloody bastard”

“Oh, you know they’re doing a whole lot more than just ‘rubbing’-”

Ghost places a hand on both the recruits’ shoulders, making them jump. They both turn their head comically slow to stare up at him, “s-sir, we… we just-” 

“I don’t think you two are training hard enough, if you’re sitting ‘ere chatting like old ladies.” Ghost squeezes their shoulders, a gesture that would almost be comforting if not for his ice-cold tone, “think two weeks at the latrines will really make you appreciate the Sergeant.”

The recruits don’t dare talk back to the Ghost, so they’re left with gaping mouths. Ghost gives them a shove forward, making the two stumble, “go on then, bathroom’s not gonna clean itself.”

The rest of them are deathly quiet after the interaction. As they should’ve been from the start. Ghost internally sighs, refocusing back on Johnny. Who has noticed the commotion, and is now gazing at the retreating backs of the misbehaving recruits.

Ghost watches the muscles of his neck twitch, and Soap rolling his shoulders with a face of mild discomfort. It goes away quickly enough, and his Sergeant goes back to screaming at the soldiers, but he still makes a mental note to investigate that at a later point in time.

He keeps to the sidelines until the recruits are dismissed. The hungry soldiers practically run to mess, and while Ghost does his best to walk around them towards Johnny, when they finally fuck off Soap is nowhere to be found. 

Ghost stands alone on the training mats, uselessly swiveling his head.

Friendship is not on the field manual, and blasted schoolboy crushes on your subordinates most certainly aren’t.

Ghost wishes he could say he knew when it started. Maybe, knowing the root of the cause would’ve allowed him to chop down the entire tree. Somewhere between Chicago, Soap’s life almost slipping between his fingers, and now, he fell in love.

Even thinking about it makes him want to scoff. Those words don’t fit someone like him, someone with enough blood on their hands to fill several swimming pools, someone that keeps everyone at arm’s length, so mistrusting of his surroundings he wears a literal skull mask everywhere he goes.

But how else would he describe it? That warm feeling that spreads through his chest every time Johnny smiles up at him? The urge to let a brief touch linger, the need to stay near him at all times? That desperate part of him, that wishes for more?

Love is a disgustingly soft concept, not made for men like Ghost. But it’s what Johnny means to him. Johnny is love, simple as.

If only it was simple as.

Ghost has been looking for him the entire day, since the incident on the mats. For someone as loud and bright as Soap is, he sure can just fuckin’ disappear with no trace. He’s about to give up for the day, a bitterness weighing heavy on his tongue, when he spots a familiar shadow walking around the edge of the base.

It’s a more wild area, a small bit of thick forest, a place usually reserved for sniping drills. The figure appears between trees, slowly walking deeper.

Ghost quickly catches up, trailing the man. Only when he’s in reach, he notifies Soap of his presence.

“Didn’t know you could physically be this quiet, Johnny.”

Soap doesn’t startle, nor does he turn to acknowledge him. They both stop walking.

Ghost tried to lean over to see his face, but his Sergeant turns away. “Ah know when Ah need to shut it, LT.”

“Never stopped you from going loud anyway.”

Soap huffs, “aye, guess no’”.

Ghost waits for him to elaborate like he usually does, the growing silence unsettling him more and more. Did those recruits really bother him that much?

“I sent those tossers to the latrines, you know.”

Johnny glances at him, before returning to watch over the quiet forest, “I know.”

Soap knows their opinion is worth fuck all, young wankers still wet behind the ears. He should know, he’s worth a hundred of them, on the field and off.

Johnny eventually breaks the silence, “think it will just make things-” he exhales heavily, passing a hand through his hair, “let’s jus’ go back to base, LT. Sorry I disappeared on ye.”

“Don’t worry about that…” Ghost lets his words trail when Soap starts walking without him, head seemingly drowning in thoughts. He follows him, overcast by his shadow.

He thinks the dark is playing tricks on him when he sees the muscles of Johnny’s back convulse weirdly.

Ghost tries to fight it. That all encompassing want, need, to have Soap. And while he’s no stranger to war, this enemy is one tough fucker.

The Ghost, most feared soldier in the SAS, survivor of the worst of the worst. Bested by fucking emotions. He felt like he was winning, for a while there. That no one could tell, just what’s going on behind the mask.

As the days go on, though, it is clear people are catching on.

“I haven’t seen Sergeant MacTavish around Lieutenant Ghost as often anymore…”

And people love to fucking gossip. 

“Think they had a fight?”

“A love quarrel, perhaps”

The resounding laughs make him grasp his fork tighter. Couldn’t they at least wait long enough to be out of earshot of the person they’re talking about?

“No wonder the Sergeant has been this pent-up. Just heard Christopher got yelled at again, for being late by two minutes. Two minutes!”

Ghost is about to show them what yelling really is, when another Lieutenant comes by and shuts the bastards right up. He turns his eyes to Johnny, who is sitting in front of him, like every morning.

Unlike every morning, he doesn’t drink his coffee. Or speaks. Just stares at his breakfast.

“Johnny? Alright?”

Soap snaps his eyes to his, the blue in them looking almost… red? No… must be the light.

He blinks rapidly, and they return to their usual blue-grey, “aye, LT.”

“Not hungry?”

Soap smiles, or at least tries to, ending up with more of a grimace than anything, “think I’m catching something, not feeling up to it today.”

Ghost hums. Could explain his demeanor as of late, “get to medical after mess, I’ll take care of your assignments for the day.”

“Ye really don’t have teh do that-”

“Soap.” Ghost uses his commanding voice, “...let me take care of it.” he adds in a softer tone.

Let me take care of you.

Johnny smiles, a small but genuine thing, “...thanks.” he gets up, not before patting his bicep, “next time we’re in a pub, I’ll get ye a drink.”

Ghost basks in the brief contact, “it better not be the shite you like.”

Soap laughs as he walks away, “no promises!” 

He can’t help the smile spreading on his lips. Love is a dumb concept, not made for him, but…

But fuck if it doesn’t make him feel elated, to hear that voice happy and laughing.

It used to scare Ghost, how colossal those emotions he felt for Johnny were, at first. Would keep him awake at night, spiraling into haunting himself with lines of thought.

‘What would I do if he died? How would I go on?’

It used to scare him, how at those moments, he knew he’d give anything to make sure Soap lived. Fuck his life, fuck the SAS, fuck the world, if Johnny MacTavish wasn’t a part of it.

Soap is damn lucky he loves him so much, if only because he wouldn’t go train these fucking daft idiots instead of him otherwise. Ghost is starting to understand why Soap is getting more agitated these days.

He ended their exercise early, when one of them managed to break a finger by misplacing it when shooting a rifle. It’s like they never held a damn firearm in their whole life.

Fucking hell. He needs to punch something, before he punches someone.

As he gets closer to the gym, Ghost starts hearing shouts. Sounds more like a damn fight ring than a military workout. The recruits are doing something stupid again, he can already tell.

Looks like he might end up having to punch someone instead today. That’s fine by him. He cracks his knuckles.

At least he’ll get to release all this energy somewhere.

The doors smack loudly into the wall behind them when he opens them, and very quickly his theory is proven right. In the center of the room, a large crowd formed a ring around two fighters, the grunts and cracks of punches thrown drowning in the circle of soldiers.

He starts making his way through, recruits snapping their head to shout at him before closing their mouth with a click when they realize who they’re talking to. The crowd begins dispersing, some attempt to run off before they could feel the wrath of their superiors. All the while, Ghost lets his anger build, ready to crash it all down on the unfortunate bastards that decided today is a good day to re-enact Fight Club on base.

When he reaches the center, that rage comes crashing down, alright.

The view of Soap’s bloody form, nose running red and knuckles redder, makes it all fizzle out. His opponent staggers away, clearly the loser of the match, but Ghost doesn’t give a fuck about him.

“What the fuck are you doing, MacTavish?!”

His Sergeant heaves a breath, spitting out a bit of blood, “what does it look like, LT?” he answers, an edge of sarcasm underlining his words. Ghost is well versed in Soap’s insubordination, but it was never directed towards him. Not like that.

He doesn’t look away from Soap’s eyes when he growls to the group, “out.”

The soldiers falter for a moment, so Ghost turns to them, snarling, “OUT! Before I make you all do ten more laps around base!”

They all practically sprint out, leaving Soap and him alone. Johnny holds himself up shakily, adrenaline still coursing through his veins, searching for another face to punch. Ghost grabs his bicep, and wordlessly drags him to the showers.

Trains of thought rush through his mind, trying to find reason in Soap’s actions. Anger and worry mix, most of all the frustration that comes with being unable to help.

Something’s clearly bothering Johnny, and Ghost doesn’t know where to start fixing it.

He sets the Sergeant down on a bench, and goes to search for a first aid kit, when Soap huffs, “yer overreacting. We were just sparring.”

Ghost slams the kit next to Johnny’s thigh, the man not flinching even a bit, “what was going on out there was not ‘sparring’, and we both know it.”

Soap’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t retort. Ghost takes his bruised hands in his, examining the torn skin on his knuckles.

“Johnny-”

Soap groans, “aye, I know, I fucked up.” he scrubs his free hand over his face, wincing as Ghost sanitized the wounds, “I’m sorry ye had to go and deal with the recruits. Guess it was all fer nothin’-”

“The fuck’s up with you?” the words come out not as gently as Ghost hoped they would.

Johnny glares at him, “oh, don’t you start as well! We all know what’s wrong with me, don’t we? Everyone’s got somethin’ teh say about MacTavish, about how Ah’m too loud, too annoying, too distracted.” he pulls his hands away from Ghost’s, when the muscles under his skin strain against the tension lining his form, “Ah know! Ah’m fuckin’- Ah’m tryin’, alright?! Don’t need ye teh start tellin’ me that as well!”

Ghost leans back, knowing full well shock must be written all over his features, but Johnny’s too far deep in his own head to recognize it. 

“Johnny-”

“Ah’ll do better, sir, Ah just- they were talkin’ shit, and Ah had teh-”

“You’re enough, Soap.”

Johnny’s brows fly up, “...huh?”

Ghost sighs, “you’re good enough already. You’re the only one that comes close to beating me in sparring, excluding Gaz. You can make bloody bombs on the go with generic kitchen appliances. Your shots land, even when you’re tired and broken. You keep going, even if everyone else gave up.”

Soap’s eyes soften, and Ghost takes his other hand, starting to treat it as well, “the recruits can’t tell their asses from their mouths, Johnny. They don’t know what it truly means to be a good soldier, a good man.”

He lets his fingers gently graze Soap’s, “you’re… important to all of us.”

You’re important to me.

Johnny looks down at their hands, “I… I could be better, though.”

“You could”, Ghost agrees, and Soap’s eyes gaze up, “we all could. Won’t come from destroying yourself, though, Sergeant.”

Soap nods slowly. He breaks the contact, raising to his feet and rolling his shoulders, “aye. Thanks, LT.”

Ghost follows him when he chucks off his shirt, eyes trailing on the bruises littering his back. The thickly corded muscles (that Ghost will refuse to drool over, even if they are undoubtably impressive) twist as Johnny takes out his towel for the shower.

Ghost is about to turn around, let his Sergeant have his privacy, when those muscles start convulsing, like he thought he saw back in the forest. He hears Johnny hiss, and decides to voice his concern, “you seem tense.”

Soap turns around, a sheepish smile on his lips, “uh, aye, probably all the… ‘sparring’.”

He nods, back straightening in determination. Finally, something Ghost can fix. “Give it ‘ere, then.”

Soap blinks, “huh?”

“Come ‘ere, Johnny. Can help with that.” he guides Soap back on the bench, walking around and settling behind him. 

Ghost takes off his gloves. He hasn’t given a massage to someone else in… years, probably. But he’s sure he remembers enough to help Johnny, even a little bit.

The moment he rests his hand on his Sergeant’s shoulders, he has to hold back his surprise. The muscles are so tense, they feel more like rocks than damn flesh and bone. He pushes away the shock, and begins slowly kneading them. By Johnny’s appreciative hum, Ghost reckons he must be doing something right.

He tries digging in a little into the solid muscles, but soon enough his fingers ache from the resistance. “You feel tenser than Price when he runs out of cigars.”

Soap gives him a half-laugh, “can’t say Ah had anyone teh give me back massages, LT.”

“No bird back home?”

That makes Johnny fully laugh, “no, Ah’m not… not the type teh keep someone fer that long.” he groans at a particular twist of Ghost’s hands, “where did ye even learn teh do this? Ye should consider changing jobs.”

He trails his hands down, mildly concerned that the muscles don’t get any less tense, “had a sister-in-law, she had muscle cramps when she was pregnant…”

Johnny turns his head to stare at him, “ye got a sister-in-law??”

“Had.”

He didn’t elaborate, but from Soap’s silence, he knows the other understood it wasn’t divorce that took her away.

“Ah’m sure she appreciated it.” Johnny sighed, “Ah know I am.”

Ghost smiled, patting his Sergeant’s shoulder, “feeling better?” he flexes his sore hands. Soap’s muscles certainly don’t feel any less tense. At least he seems cheerier.

“Aye, now I owe ye two drinks.”

Ghost goes to leave the showers, “just stay out of trouble next time.”

He hears a small, “...yes, sir.” before the door closes.

If someone were to look inside his head, it will very quickly be clear just how much he’s infatuated with his Sergeant. They might ask, ‘why not tell him?’.

Ghost could never. His vocal cords weren’t built for such soft confessions, his fingers not shaped for holding. And even if they were, Ghost is not one to ask more than he can receive. Being around Johnny as much as humanly possible is enough.

It has to be enough.

Still, he can’t help that ache in his heart, deep in his rib cage, that wishes it could hold Johnny, and never let go. It’s one he can ignore, like most of his aches, on the daily, but…

Soap isn’t around now to distract him. They were sent on separate missions, Johnny on an intel run, and himself on lookout duty, over this slimy bastard or another. Ghost doesn’t give a fuck, mounting his aches on the man behind his crosshairs. Can’t even fuckin’ shoot the bloody man, because he’s ‘too valuable’ or some shite.

He returned a couple of days ago. Soap’s squad is still out there, had some delay in their exfil. When he asked Price about it, apparently he didn’t have clearance to know more.

The Captain barely managed to kick him out of his office before Ghost went on a rampage.

Only after a long, painful, empty week later, does he finally hear some good news - Soap’s team will arrive in a few hours.

Ghost’s feet take him to the tarmac, and only once he sees the distant shape of the helo, does that ache subsides. He impatiently walks to the doors before they open, making sure to be the very first to see Johnny.

And when he, at last, sees him - those blue eyes were not all that blue.

Bloodshot, darkened by the shadows of the helo that seemingly wrap around his figure, Johnny didn’t spare him a glance before stomping off. The rest of the squad trickled out of the chopper, and Ghost saw 3 body bags in the back.

“You heard what happened on Soap’s mission?”

“He fucked it, right?”

“Well, it was more of Rogers’ fault, the idiot got caught and cornered. Sergeant just had to save him.”

“‘Had’. Should’ve left him for after the intel. Should’ve known it was rigged to blow. Isn’t he a damn expert at that?”

Ghost barely listens after that. They all filtered into the briefing room, generals looking furious. Soap didn’t even have time to change, still in full gear and absolutely covered in grime and blood. He has his arms crossed, and to Ghost it almost looks like he’s holding himself together.

It takes hours for them to finally leave, Ghost’s team dismissed before Soap’s. He stays behind, listening to the muted screams of the COs, before the doors slam open, his Sergeant walking away with unexpected speed.

Ghost, as he always does, silently follows.

He catches up to Soap while he’s struggling to remove his gear, movements uncoordinated, agitated, tense.

“Johnny.” his Sergeant ignores him. Ghost gently takes his hand, and lifts it off the straps of his vest. “I’ll get it.”

Soap, for his part, turns his head away. Ghost’s heart squeezes horribly when he feels the shakiness of him. It takes every cell in his body to not give in to the urge to wrap his arms around Johnny, a feeble attempt to shield him from it all.

“Ah’m…” Ghost slowly takes the vest off, and starts working on the various tools strapped to his hips, “ye told me Ah’m good enough.” Johnny whispers.

“You are.” the shaking in Soap’s limbs worsens. 

He’s still not looking at him. “The… the mission failed. Because of me. Three recruits are dead. Because of me.”

The lights in the armory flicker. Soap crosses his arms again, forcibly. 

Ghost risks crouching down, catching Soap’s eyes, “you didn’t know-”

“I SHOULD HAVE!” Soap’s voice quivers, the flickering light casting a shadow over his eyes. Yet, Ghost can still tell how much he’s hurting.

Ghost gives in.

He pulls Johnny into a hug, ignores his thumping fists, “let go- Ghost, let go of me!” Soap growls. He can almost feel Johnny’s heart thump hard against his chest as well, and he presses closer.

“Making a mistake doesn’t erase all the good you’ve done before.” he murmurs to his warhawk. Johnny’s hands stop trying to push him away.

“You’re a good man, Johnny.”

Soap grasps tightly at the back of his hoodie, “stop-”

Ghost softens his tone, “I’m serious. I…”

I love you. I love you as you are. I love you because of what you are. I love you I love you I love you-

Ghost swallows thickly around the words clawing their way up his throat, “let's go back to the common room, hm? I’m sure Garrick and Price will be happy to see you.”

Soap lets his head rest on Ghost’s shoulder, “at least someone is…”

Ghost delicately raises his head, “I’m happy to see you as well, Sergeant.”

Johnny’s answering smile may be only a shadow of its usual brightness, but it eases the ache. They leave the armory behind, the lights instantly stopping their flickering.

It hurts, sometimes, to love someone so wholly, Ghost discovers. Love makes you want, and for Ghost, that never panned out well.

And yet, he wouldn’t see a world where Johnny didn’t mean so much to him.

Soap knocks his knee to his, the action negligible in the eyes of others, but for his heart it means everything.

They haven’t moved an inch away from the other since their talk in the armory. Ghost was about to leave, let his Sergeant catch some well needed rest, when they were called back to action.

Less than 24 hours since the failed mission, Ghost and Soap are on their way back, accompanied by a fresh batch of recruits. He can tell Soap is determined to fix his mistakes, finish the objective, and get everyone out alive.

Johnny’s knee starts bouncing, his fingers dig into the flesh of his forearms, teeth ravaging his lower lip. Leaving dark red behind.

Ghost watches him for a moment, before intervening.

“What’s on your mind, Sergeant?” he lowers his head to privately whisper in Soap’s ear.

Johnny stops his movements for a second, “the mission, sir.”

“What about the mission?” Ghost lets a hand rest on his shaking leg.

Soap sighs, finally letting some tension bleed away, “Ah need… I can’t fuck this up.”

“You won’t.” Soap opens his mouth to argue, but Ghost continues, “you won’t. If something goes bad, it’s on me. I’m your superior, I’ll take the blame.”

Displeasure paint’s Johnny’s features, “ye shouldn’t do that fer my mistakes.”

I would take on each and every sin you committed, if only to lessen your burden a tad, if I could.

“It’s my job, Johnny.” he takes his hand away, “stay focused, now. Landing in 5.”

Soap frowns, the thoughts passing through his mind almost visible through those turbulent eyes, “...aye.”

The compound reminds Ghost of his time working as a butcher. Walls stripped to their foundations, rooms gutted and wiped clean. Dark gunpowder mixes with dried, flaking blood. The carcass of an animal, a bloody maw for them to pass through.

The farther in they walk, the more signs of life appear - makeshift covers, forgotten MREs, recently discarded ammo magazines. Hostiles that need to be dealt with.

In the brief he received on the helo, Ghost learned that the compound splits into two sections here: a research facility, where the intel was supposed to be, and a base for the soldiers protecting the sensitive information the former building contains.

“Soap”, his Sergeant turns to face him, previous anxiousness hidden away behind his professional facade, “take Alpha 1-3, 1-5 and 1-6, go clear the research facility. Might still have intel to salvage from there.”

Johnny recognizes the opportunity Ghost is giving him, “aye sir!”

“The rest of you, on me!”

He can’t waste time watching Soap’s form disappearing behind the corner. As much as he hates separating from him, if they do find intel, Ghost knows it will ease the guilt gnawing at Johnny.

Ghost clears hallway after hallway, finding only a handful of hostiles. The soldiers are obviously unprepared for another attack at this scale, still licking at the wounds Soap left on them. It all goes smoothly, far too smoothly for Ghost’s liking.

He learned to not trust his luck far back, in rooms with smoke-stained, peeling wallpapers, and broken beer bottles.

Static from his comms makes the hair on his nape raise, the crunching unnatural and disturbing. “Soap? Alpha 1-3? How copy?” he attempts to decipher the white noise, straining his ears to hear the almost-there words.

A shrill scream cuts through the buzzing, “-NO! GET AWAY-!!!”

“Johnny?! Answer me, now!” fear, a chilling venom, spreads through his veins.

The other recruits look back at him with a similar terror. Bits and pieces pass through their radios, “I DIDN’T MEAN IT, PLEASE-!”, “-I’M SORRY, I’M SOR-”, “-HELP!!!-”

“S-sir?” 1-4 wobbly asks, “what do we-”

Ghost bursts into a sprint, holding his radio tightly, “Soap! This is 0-7, we’re on our way to back you up!” he addresses the recruits, “keep yourselves sharp, and stay together! This could be a trap!”

A chorus of “yes sir!” sounds behind him, lost in the winding halls of the compound. His boots thump the tile floor with the beat of his heart, his fear carved into the burning in his lungs.

A deep rumbling takes over the static, the recruits wincing and pulling the comms away from their ears. A primal fear, one Ghost hasn’t felt since digging himself out of the grave, spreads through him.

“...LEAVE….. ME………”

Yet, something else rises within him. That voice… the words leave an ache in his heart.

“Sir… whatever the fuck that thing is… We can’t just go there, right?” Alpha 1-2 asks him, the rest nodding in agreement.

Ghost wastes a moment to tower over him, “your teammates are stuck with that thing. Are you going to leave them to die?”

“N-no sir.”

“Louder!”

“NO SIR!” the dread washes away from the recruit’s face, determination replacing it.

Ghost sharply nods, “then let’s move!”

He’s not leaving any man behind today. No matter what’s waiting on the side - a deranged hostile or a damn fairy tale monster. They go out as a team.

Ghost tries to push away the voice he didn’t hear yet, the glaring silence a hole burrowing into his chest. Nothing could distract him enough, the ache growing and growing. But he can’t sink just yet.

Soap still could be out there, incapacitated in some way, or without comms. Possibly having to go dark, in light of the thing that rumbled through their radios.

He’s not optimistic, never tries to be.

But he can’t accept defeat.

Only Johnny’s body would be the final nail in his coffin.

The first recruit their group encounters is alive. Covered in blood, catatonic, and deep in shock, but alive. Ghost attempts to question him, but it becomes clear the man doesn’t even hear him.

He leaves one soldier with him, ordering him to call for a med evac. The rest continue with Ghost, disturbed by the state of their teammate but obedient to his commands. He doesn’t voice the questions that keep rising in his mind. Ghost needs them as sharp as they could be about now.

The winding hallways open wider in the next turn, and the scene in front of them only confuses him further.

The first thing Ghost registers is red. His first instinct is to call it blood, but the webs covering the walls are very much not blood. They’re… unlike anything he has ever seen.

The recruits are the second. Alpha 1-3 and 1-6… the rest of the missing team. Except…

Don’t think about it. There’s no body.

Yet-

“Rogers”, he calls for 1-3, who’s crouching over 1-6’s still form, “give me sitrep, now!”

Rogers’ eyes are wide, akin to a prey animal cornered by its hunter. He looks anywhere but at Ghost, mumbling lowly. In frustration, Ghost twists a fist in his collar, and drags him up, “answer me! Where is Sergeant MacTavish?!”

“He’s not- not him- n-not him-”

Ghost grits his teeth, growling, “speak clearly.”

“There’s something wrong about Sergeant MacTavish!” Rogers finally spits out, tears springing from his frantic eyes, “that’s not- he did this- he did this!” his breath hitches on sobs, arm weakly pointing to the crimson tendrils hanging from the ceiling around them.

Fucking hell. Bastard lost his mind.

Ghost lets go of him, vitriol evident in his voice when he grounds, “stay here. All of you.”

He takes a step towards the red mess, when a hand grasps at his pant leg.

“Y-y-you can’t go there! Don’t go there! It hurts!!!” Rogers cries, the other recruits trying to gently pull him back.

Ghost gives him a cold stare, “stand down.”

Rogers, in the recesses of his mind, understands the threat for what it is, and lets his shaking fingers fall away from his leg.

The recruits look up at him, all expressions lost, and they don’t dare follow when Ghost leaves them behind, steps dead silent.

Whatever this shite is, he’s getting Soap out.

Whether it’s alive or dead, it doesn’t matter. He won’t let him rot in this literal hell.

Johnny deserves so much more than that.

The red webs become thicker, the deeper he traverses. They now cover the walls, the floors, every single inch of the compound’s structure.

Deeper into the beast’s belly Ghost goes.

The rumbling they heard on comms now echoes among these walls, a heavy breathing of a thing he dreads to identify. Every instinct in his body tells him to run, every step a monumental task to reject the need to turn back.

But he can’t. Not without Johnny.

Even the light is covered now, red beams barely peeking among the webs. Ghost attempts ignoring his current reality, if only to try and submerge the fear clawing at his very cells.

What he imagines instead, is him.

“Creeping Jesus, sir. Yer seeing this shite? Right out o’ a horror movie.”

Ghost can almost hear his lilting Scottish accent, the rough way it sounds the words.

“Ye fit right in, already got the outfit an’ all. Guess that makes me the helpless lass runnin’ awa’ from ye.”

His eyelids flutter, at the memory of Soap’s cheery tone, when he’s trying to joke but failing at holding his laughter back.

It sends a stab of pain through his heart, but Ghost would prefer that to the all encompassing terror. A distraction he welcomes, perhaps too openly.

It makes him lose his focus, and his boot crunches loudly on the red floor.

Ghost freezes, breath caught in his lungs.

“....LEAVE….!!!!!!”

The webs pulsate, winding tighter around the concrete walls. It shakes the entire building, threatening to collapse on everyone. 

Ghost’s hands shake, even as he strengthens the grip on his rifle.

The world doesn’t matter, things both understood and incomprehensible, if Johnny isn’t by his side.

He rounds the corner, the lights flickering, the world blinking in and out of existence.

In front of him, is a figure.

As red as fresh blood, as twisted as corded muscles, as imposing as a knife to the throat.

The origin of the crimson strings.

His legs refuse to move, and Ghost is left helpless for the first time since he donned on the mask. His eyes drag down the imitation of a man.

Beneath him, a chest cavity is cracked open. The body is laid crumpled on the floor, a dark warhawk popping against the bright reds.

“......WHY….. ARE YOU HERE……..?”

Ghost understands the source of his ache, why his heart twists at every word of the bloodied man.

“...Johnny?”

The red man quivers, veins pulsating.

“......GET OUT……..”

Ghost inhales sharply, using every drop of willpower to make his legs unstick and move.

“I’m not leaving without you.”

The red tries to catch on Ghost’s boots, try to pull him away from the bodies.

“.........I TRIED… TO KEEP IT IN…… BUT THEY HURT ME… THEY HURT THEM…….”

He recognizes the rumbling sounds for what they are now.

Soap is crying.

“Who?”

“.....IT WAS A TRAP…..THEY BLAMED ME…AND THEY WERE RIGHT…I WASN’T ENOUGH…….NEVER ENOUGH……….”

The webs pull strongly at his right leg, and Ghost falls to the ground with a grunt.

“You’re enough, Soap. I told you, this time I take the blame-”

“IT WAS ME, GHOST! IT WAS ALL ME!!!”

The walls shake with the force of his voice, Ghost hastily covering his ears with a wince.

He crawls forward, inch by inch.

“Johnny-”

“I KILLED EVERYONE! LEFT THEM DEAD…. THEY TRUSTED ME! THEY TRUSTED ME!!!”

Ghost strains his muscles against the tendrils, belatedly realizing the contact is burning through his clothes.

“Who? Who did you kill?”

He can almost reach him… Just a little more…

“OUR TEAM, GHOST! I- I KILLED THEM!”

Ghost frowns, “they’re not dead, Johnny.”

The red man halts, his exposed heart thumping. His face is a mangled form of muscles and veins, eyes dark red and glassy.

“....DON’T……..DON’T LIE…………..” the man heaves, heart stuttering, “.....THE AMBUSH……I COULDN’T HOLD IT TOGETHER……….”

Ghost is close enough to see Johnny’s face, red splattering his pale cheeks, face twisted in pure anguish.

Hands around his chest, as if he tried to physically push the man back in and failed.

“I saw them. Alpha 1-3, 1-5, 1-6. They were scared shitless, but they’re fucking alive.”

Red tears drip down the crimson man’s cheeks, some falling on Ghost and burning his palms.

“......DON’T LIE-”

“Johnny.”

The red man closes his mouth, tilting his head and finally looking at him.

“Do you trust me?”

Ghost reaches a hand, but the man flinches away.

“......I TRUST YOU…….”

It hurts. Every touch of that crimson substance shoots pain throughout his system.

But more than that, the tone of his voice, the defeat. Ghost’s heart hurts with his.

“Let me help you, Johnny.”

The man shakes his head minutely, leaning back as far as he can.

“.....I’LL HURT YOU……”

Ghost lays a hand on the crimson man’s hand. It does hurt, it hurts a lot.

“Then we will be in pain together.”

Ghost uses the last of his strength to shoot up, wrapping his arms around the man.

The muscles convulse, red enveloping him. It feels like hugging thorns.

He squeezes harder.

“......WHY…?”

The heart, beating so hard it shakes Ghost to his core, feels so fragile between them. He pulls one hand away to gently cup it.

“I… I kept things from you as well, Johnny.” Ghost confesses, “I was afraid, you’d see the bloody mess inside of me, and run away.”

The heart in his hand beats louder.

“It doesn’t matter how ugly the things you hide from me are.”

He looks at the red eyes.

“I’d love you in any form you take.”

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The crimson heart melts, taking with it the man, and the webs that twisted around them. Ghost falls to his knees, body curling in on itself in pain. He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing harshly.

A hand on his cheek lifts his head carefully. He cracks his eyes open.

Blue greets him.

“Simon…” Johnny whispers, eyes filling with tears, crystalline drops.

Ghost lifts his hand, ignores the aching. It holds nothing compared to the balm over his heart.

He doesn’t know who pulled the other first.

All that mattered at that moment, is the hesitant touch of their lips.

It tasted like a vow.

‘You may hold my heart

If I can hold yours.’

[spro-o]

So I’ve seen that you draw the sins and other’s characters with different ethnicity’s, I was wondering if you had any specific races for them? I just find your art style so beautiful, but I was curious if anyone was a specific race you head canon them as.

sorry for taking so long!! house md hyperfixation had me in a chokehold (binged all 8 seasons), but anyways!!

i've been think about this and here are my ideas :3 btw, these are for a modern!AU (in which i'd HC that all the events happen in England, since the likelihood of you encountering such a strange group is much higher in a city like London), since if i was sticking more closely to canon it'd be pretty boring since they'd all be Scottish 💀

Meliodas (+ Zeldris): BRASIL NÚMERO UM CARALHO ‼️‼️ sorry but there's just something about them,,, they'd def be Brazilian (and mixed, in terms of skin tone)

Diane: Scottish (and Black) - this one i don't really have proper reasoning for aside from the vibes that the giants' land has just fits best with where it is canon - rocky landscape with few trees, pretty cold, etc. and also i don't know where it started but the collective HC of Diane being Black has made it so that i genuinely forget she's real pale in the canon

King (+ Elaine): English - the royal vibes make me think posh English lads - they are absolutely the British stereotype and feed into it unknowingly (they'd be rather pale, with a tendency to get freckles)

Ban: Russian (or any other flavour Slavic) (i feel too guilty and self indulgent HCing him as Polish,,,, but i want to😭) - i also HC him as albino in the modern!AU, if we're being more realistic, which i should def do some fanart of sometime

Gowther: South Korean - methinks it just fits with their fashion sense and mannerisms - they absolutely indulge in all kinds of Korean and Japanese dramas/shows/movies (they'd be on the tanner side)

Merlin: Welsh - mage,,, wizard lady,,,, speaking niche languages,,, yeah, Welsh,, tho i do think she has somehow managed to learn like 7 different languages and visit close to every country on earth - something something endless pursuit of knowledge (i think she'd be pretty pale, as when she isn't out on the other side of the world, she's indoors, barely getting any sun)

Escanor: Spanish - also would have dark skin, since i HC one of his parents as being Moroccan. source? reason?? my beautiful brain

Elizabeth: French - same reason as King and Elaine, the typical royal vibes just drew me to these decisions (tho, alternatively, i do think she would also fit being from England) (either way, she'd also be pretty pale)

so yeah!! thats what i came up with, but id be very curious to hear any other ideas/HCs y'all have :3c

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Honor and Espionage Part One

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 3284

Summary: The newest member of the team is abruptly introduced to Aramis’ wife- a high-ranking spy for the Musketeers who may be in over her head on her new assignment.

Notes: The chokehold that Aramis has on me is unreal. I love this man to the ends of the earth. Also, I had to make another Les Mis reference. Expect a lot of them in these imagines. 

Warning: Mild violence, some steaminess, the usual for these boys

Find more Musketeers: HERE

-

D’Artagnan still didn’t understand why they were there to begin with. The assignment made sense enough. Gather information, don’t approach the targets, and try not to cause any fights while at it. But the four of them had sat in the noisy tavern for hours now and there was no sign of anyone remotely resembling the treacherous representative of Savoy they were meant to spy on. 

“What if he doesn’t show up?” He whispered to the man across the table.

Aramis raised a brow. “Do you doubt Treville’s intel?” He smirked with his usual teasing mischief and patted the younger man on the arm. “Don’t worry, D’Artagnan. I’m sure our patience will be rewarded with at least something interesting.” 

He gazed over at the man Ambassador Laurent was supposed to be meeting- presumably to discuss secret information regarding the King’s plans of trade with Spain. The well-dressed middle-man bellowed flirtations to the woman whose back was turned to them, his face reddened with how much wine she’d brought him. Judging by the disinteresting angle of her head, his efforts were very much wasted. 

Then the woman stood and said something they couldn’t quite hear, but made Aramis’s brows furrow. She drew her hood up over her curled hair and slinked out of the tavern through the back entrance. The man stretched his arms and walked over to the counter to order another drink. 

D’Artagnan’s brain rushed around dozens of thoughts and settled on the possibility that the mystery woman could have been working with the ambassador. If not, she may have heard something of interest from the drunk and could be passing it on to another party, possibly even worse than the ambassador. 

“I’m going to go see where she’s off to,” D’Artagnan said.

“Wait-” Aramis started, but the young man was already halfway across the room. 

Aramis let the woman’s voice echo in his head. He may not have heard her words, but he knew that tone. He knew the curve of her neck and the curl of her pinned-up hair. But before he could follow D’Artagnan, and thus the woman, Athos’s instruction prevented him. 

“He’s here,” Athos hissed, motioning with his eyes for Aramis to remain where he was. Sure enough, the betraying bastard waltzed into the tavern with a grin on his face and an arrogant air about him. So, despite his nerves itching for him to move, Aramis remained while D’Artagnan sought out the cloaked woman. 

D’Artagnan moved without a sound down the alley behind the tavern, eyes scanning for the slightest motion to reveal where the woman had gone. A flash of cape caught the lamplight. He followed. The suspicious air about her exit further confirmed his suspicion that she was not just another bar wench looking for extra funds. Something else was certainly afoot. 

Inside, a roar of commotion stopped him in his tracks. He tried to decipher what the frantic people inside were shouting and could make out one word. 

“Poison!” 

He stepped forward and felt something metal touch the back of his neck. A click rang through the dark. 

“Don’t take another step.” An arm snaked around his neck and the barrel of the pistol moved to his chin. The woman spoke close to his ear. “Who sent you? Who knows about me?” 

“Madam, I assure you, I don’t know what you’re-”

She tightened her hold on his neck. “Do not play me for a fool, sir.”

The tavern’s occupants poured out of the front door in a panic. The Ambassador returned to his carriage and disappeared. 

Both D’Artagnan and the woman sighed with the same frustration. “Damn.” 

D’Artagnan’s brow furrowed in confusion. The woman stiffened. 

“Do you work for the ambassador?” She hissed. 

“Do you?” 

Another click cut off their conversation. 

“Let the boy go.” 

The woman turned, spinning D’Artagnan along with her. Her arm around his neck twitched and her tone changed with surprise. 

“Porthos?”

The Musketeer let his pistol fall to his side. “Y/N?” 

“You two know each other?” D’Artagnan squeaked, the pistol still pressed to his head making him increasingly uncomfortable. 

“Y/N.” 

Your heart fluttered, any semblance of control now betrayed by your excitement. You let your arm fall away from the young man’s chest and turned back around, facing the opening of the alley. There, caught in the lamplight, dark eyes glistened with adoring astonishment and a smile played across his lips. 

You gasped. “Aramis?” 

Forgetting where you were and the threat you’d just posed upon his compatriot, you dashed across the space dividing you and through your arms around him. His hands cupped your face as if making sure it was really you and pulled your lips to his. 

D’Artagnan, still breathless and reeling, whirled his head back and forth, from Porthos, to the couple, back to Porthos, back to the couple. 

“Would someone like to explain why Aramis is in the arms of the woman who just tried to kill me?” He exclaimed. 

“You followed me,” you quipped, taking a step forward in confrontation. Aramis tsked and held you back with an arm around your waist. 

“We were simply unaware of your being here, darling, otherwise I imagine things would have gone very differently.” He purred and pressed another kiss to your cheek before turning back to the younger trainee. “D’Artagnan.” He held out a hand to him, then to you. “Allow me to introduce Y/N D’Herblay, Captain of the Musketeers Covert Intelligence, and,” he held you tighter, “my wife.” 

D’Artagnan clamped his mouth shut to prevent his jaw from dropping in surprise. The smooth-talking Musketeer was married?

Horse’s shrill protests echoed down the street as the ambassador’s carriage tried to cut through the crowd of people trying to find out what happened. You laid a hand on your husband’s chest and urged him deeper into the shadows. 

“Perhaps we should continue this introduction elsewhere, else my cover will be revealed,” you said. 

He nodded and led you back into the tavern with a hand on the small of your back. 

D’Artagnan, mouth now agape, watched the two of you go. 

“But-” 

“Come on,” Porthos huffed, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him inside. 

-

While Athos and Porthos dealt with the poisoned man you’d just met with, the other two Musketeers secured a private room in order to keep you hidden from any other investigating parties. Aramis’s hand never left yours, leading you and the man you’d nearly killed upstairs. 

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, darling,” you said once the door was shut behind you. “But what are you all doing here?”

“We could ask the same thing,” D’Artagnan exclaimed. 

You scoffed. “This is my assignment.” You turned an angry gaze on your husband. “Who is this?” Your voice rang through the room. Aramis held up his hands to try and calm you. 

“A moment, dear.” His charming smile was betrayed by anxiety in his eyes. “We mustn't lose our heads. There is a dead man downstairs.” 

“That she likely killed!” D’Artagnan quickly regretted his words, receiving warning glares from both of them. 

You let out a low sigh and removed your cloak, pacing across the small room. It was only then that Aramis saw how your hands shook. 

“I didn’t kill Baffier, I was using him to get closer to the ambassador.” 

Aramis nodded. “And you think Laurent killed him to prevent him from passing on information?” 

You looked at him with wide eyes and a fear that shot through his heart. 

“I don’t think the poison was meant for him.” 

Aramis’s face fell. Unable to bear the loving worry in his eyes, you turned to the open window to breathe in the night air. 

“You think Laurent knows about you?” D’Artagnan asked. Aramis was at your side in seconds, taking your hand in his.

“It’s ridiculous,” you sighed. “My life has been threatened countless times-”

“Countless times?” Aramis exclaimed. You raised a brow. “Sorry, love. Continue.” 

Your breathing turned shaky and you looked away again. “But to have someone die in my place…” 

Aramis lifted your chin with his finger, eyes alight and staring deeply into yours. 

“If you think your position has been compromised, then it is too dangerous for you to remain here. We must return you to Paris immediately.” 

You shook your head and pushed away from him. “All Laurent knows is my name. Thanks to Baffier- God rest his soul- I now have an invitation to a very important dinner where I will hopefully learn the extent of the ambassador's plans.” 

“You can’t be serious,” your husband exasperated. “We have no way of knowing if all he knows is your name. Baffier could very well have been the one to sell you out, or even poison you!” Deep brown eyes pleaded with yours. “You cannot continue.” 

“Fortunately, dear, you are not the one who gives me orders,” you snapped. “This dinner has been what Treville and I have been working toward for months. I’m not going to let a small threat get in the way.”

“I doubt the dead man downstairs would agree with your assessment of this threat level!” He shouted, more out of panic than of anger. 

“She’s right, Aramis.” Athos, having come from the havoc downstairs, closed the door behind him as he entered.  “A barmaid confessed to mixing Y/N’s drink and that Baffier accidentally drank from the wrong cup.” He crossed the room to the couple and spoke again before Aramis could interject. “But she cannot surrender the opportunity to get the closest to Laurent we’ve ever been.” 

“But you’ve just said it!” Aramis exclaimed. “One attempt has already been made on her life. How is that possibly not enough to convince Treville sending her would be a mistake.” 

“The barmaid said that it was Baffier who threatened her into poisoning Y/N’s wine,” Athos said. “He hadn’t the chance to reveal the truth about her to Laurent because the fool fell on his own sword. Y/N’s mission will go on as planned.” 

Aramis stepped forward, but you took his arm to calm him. 

Athos turned to you. “When are you set to leave for the ambassador’s estate?” 

“Day after next,” you answered, hand still on your husband’s shoulder. The lie formed a necessary lump in your throat. You just needed to buy yourself some time.  “The dinner is to celebrate his success as an advisor to the king.” Your last words were thick with irony. 

“Then you’ll have plenty of time to prepare and we’ll have plenty of time to ensure you aren’t walking into a trap.” Athos nodded and headed back for the door. He motioned for D’Artagnan to follow. “Everything is taken care of downstairs. The local authorities are taking Baffier and the barmaid.” A small smile crept onto his lips as he looked between the two of you. “And the room is paid for through the night. We’ll reconvene at dawn.” 

The two men left and the room fell into a tense silence. You began to pace again. 

“We agreed when we married that we wouldn’t interfere with each other’s work,” you sighed. “I know it isn’t easy. Lord knows how many nights I’ve spent wondering if you were alive or dead.” You stopped, feet firm on the ground and head high. “But I have to do this. It may be the only way to know the extent of Laurent’s plans.” 

Aramis closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and returned his gaze to yours. 

“I know.” 

You were taken aback. Frankly, you hadn’t expected the argument to be over so quickly. Usually, the two of you could debate from dusk til dawn. But Aramis knew that when your mind was set, there was no changing it. Still, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins forced your tongue. 

“I still don’t understand what you are doing here to begin with. Treville can’t have sent you to keep an eye on me, he trusts me more than that. I wonder-”

Aramis stopped you with a kiss. 

“My love,” he started, breathing a sigh against your lips. “We haven’t seen each other in weeks. I had hoped our reunion would be a little less argumentative.” Soothing hands traveled up and down your spine. He moved his kisses along your collarbone. 

“In all of the fuss, I’d almost forgotten how much I missed you,” you laughed, tangling your fingers in his chocolate-colored locks. 

As suspected, the room- and your adrenaline- were put to very good use. 

-

Aramis woke to an empty bed and for a moment a wave of panic rushed over him. He sat straight up and called out your name before he saw the sun outside his window and remembered Athos’ instructions from the night before. Ease comforted him, but only for a moment. He remembered why you were here in the first place and a new set of worries filled his mind. 

“You’re late.” Porthos peaked through a crack in the door. “May I come in? Are the two of you decent?” 

Aramis let out a deep sigh. “It’s just me. Y/N must have already gone downstairs.” 

Porthos swung the door open. Perplexion painted his features. 

“No, she hasn’t.” 

The two exchanged a glance of frustrated understanding and Aramis hurried to collect his clothes. 

“I should have known,” he muttered. 

“Why would she have taken off?” Porthos asked. “We’re here to help her.” 

Aramis secured his trousers and pulled his billowing shirt over his head. He grabbed the rest of his belongings and met his fellow musketeer at the door with a scowl. 

“Exactly.” 

Porthos held out an arm to stop him. “What’s that?” He jerked his chin at the table beside the bed where a small roll of paper sat with a ribbon tied around it. Aramis picked it up and held the thin fabric between his fingers. You’d worn it in your hair the night before. The parchment contained a single sentence written in your delicate handwriting. 

“I have to do this,” Aramis read with a grimace. He crumpled the page in his fist and gave a ferocious glare to his companion. 

“Don’t look at me,” Porthos huffed. “You’re the one that married her.” 

Aramis shoved past him and thundered down the stairs where Athos and D’Artagnan were waiting. Athos turned and his face fell with confusion to see only the two men descending. It took only a moment and a glance at Aramis’s fiery and frantic expression to understand. 

“She’s going alone, isn’t she?” He sighed. He ran a hand down his face. “I suspected this may happen. That’s why I secured the room, so that you may keep an eye on her.” Athos glared pointedly at your husband. 

“I assure you, if I had known her plot I would have tied her down,” Aramis said. Porthos raised a brow, earning a smack. “Not like that, you idiot.” 

D’Artagnan, who’d been silent until now, coughed and looked guiltily down at the floor. “She left around 5:00 this morning.” 

Aramis had his hand on his collar in a flash. “You saw her leave and didn’t think to, I don’t know, wake me?” 

“Actually,” D’Artagnan gulped. “I spoke to her.” 

“I fail to see how that helps you in this instance.”

“I let her go because she’s right.” The younger man gently removed Aramis’s hands from his shirt and took a cautious step back. “If the ambassador so much as theorizes that we may be onto him, it would be much more dangerous for her than if she were to simply go alone.”

“Then why did Treville send us if he's the one that assigned her?” Porthos asked. 

“He sent us to find out who Laurent was meeting and why, not to infiltrate his likely well-guarded home,” Athos said. He thought for a moment, noting Aramis’s chest heave with his breathing. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t observe from afar just in case anything goes amiss. Laurent’s estate will take nearly all day to reach. We should leave now.” 

Aramis was the first to the door, but he was stopped by the youngest member of their group. 

“What now?” He hissed. 

D’Artagnan reached a hand into his pocket and held something in his fist. “She was afraid it would be too dangerous to have on her person and asked me if you’d look after it for her.” 

He opened his hand, a small band of gold sitting in his gloved palm. Aramis picked it up. The inscription glittered in the morning sunlight and pierced his heart. 

L’amour Vainc Tout. 

Love conquers all. 

He brought the ring to his lips and muttered a prayer against the metal that you were right. 

-

The carriage jostled, worsening the nerves that twisted your stomach. You took a deep breath and attempted to clear your mind. Whispers of the night before teased your memory, the phantom of Aramis’s lips still burning your skin. You glanced out of the window at the French countryside, nearing the Savoyan border. 

He’d be awake now, worried and probably furious. No. Definitely furious. You could see his fuming face now as the other musketeers likely tried to calm him. The younger one- D’Artagnan- would hopefully have told them what you’d said to convince him to let him go. Athos would see the logic and would prevent your husband from acting rashly and storming Laurent’s estate. 

You hoped. 

Either way, by the time they arrived, you would be well into your mission of charming Laurent and his rich companions to gather the information Treville needed in order to sway the king’s opinion on Laurent and his treachery. 

“If I could halt all the violence in the world so we didn’t have to do what we do, I would,” Aramis had whispered as you laid together in the darkness of the night before. 

You’d laughed against his chest. “No, you wouldn’t.” In between words, you had kissed up the length of his neck until you reached his lips. “Because neither of us would know what to do with ourselves if we didn’t have something to fight for.” 

Aramis remained in your thoughts for the rest of the journey, though when you saw the grand house come out from over the hill, you forced his smile to the back of your mind and, like a lever in your chest, switched on your flattering facade that allowed you to do your work with a smile. Ever the perfect spy. 

Your legs ached from the hours of travel and you took a moment to stretch them as you stepped out of the carriage and onto the stone path that stretched through the front gardens and up to the ambassador’s mansion. The sun had already started to dip below the horizon and servants lit candles in the parlor. 

“This way, Madame…” The butler began. 

“Mademoiselle de Valjean,” you beamed. You took the invitation you’d procured from Baffier and handed it to him with a graceful motion. “I’m a close friend of the Duchess of Savoy and I’m just dying to make the ambassador’s acquaintance.” 

“I’m sure you are.” A new voice sounded from the shadows. A maid lit another candle and revealed a dazzling pair of hazel eyes alight in the flame. She put on a smile that matched your own as you hid your surprise well. The woman you only knew as Milady de Winter crossed the parlor and took your hands in hers. “Madame de Valjean, how lovely it is to see you again.” She said your false name with a knowing glint in her eye. 

This was going to be more difficult than you thought.

-

[missrosegold]

always the fool with the slowest heart - Merman!Dabi x fem reader snippet

(Well, this is the title! I got the name from Gilded Lily by Cults, because that verse has me in a chokehold. This is not the full story but a small taste of what’s to come! I have so much editing to do, good lord. Enjoy!)

The next morning you find yourself walking down the slightly overgrown trail through the forest that leads towards the private beach behind your relative’s house.

It doesn’t seem that anyone has used the beach trail for some time. The dirt path is slightly overgrown with leaves and vines from the surrounding underbrush, but you can still follow the well-worn path easily. You’ve used it enough over the years that you know the path like the back of your hand, and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as the sound of the beach grows louder, despite how tired you feel.

You didn’t sleep as well as you thought you would. You were restless last night, and you swore that you heard that strange humming echoing either in your head or on the breeze at random points during the night while you slept, causing you to wake up sporadically during the night.

You still have no idea what could have been behind the humming. You spent the morning thinking about it as you changed into your swimsuit, figuring that even if you couldn’t find what was causing the odd sound, you could at least enjoy some time on the beach before the sun got unbearably hot in the afternoon.

You push back some of the large palm leaves blocking your view of the beach, and you raise a hand to your eyes as you’re momentarily blinded by the sun beating off the white sands. You breathe in the smell of salt water as your eyes adjust to the brightness of your surroundings, and you’re pleased to see that the beach hasn’t changed in your absence.

The beach behind your aunt and uncles house is a large open stretch of sand and water that leads straight out to the open sea, past some flat rocks that jut out of the clear blue water with small coral growths scattered around the bases. The beach itself is surrounded on both sides by two large rock faces some ways out, closing off the beach and keeping it hidden away from your relatives’ other neighbors. Your own private slice of paradise.

Looking out to the left, you spy a large crevasse a few feet away from where you’re currently standing, carved into the steep rock face that you know leads to the private grotto that you used to swim in for hours at a time. You wonder what it looks like now—

Suddenly the low humming from the night before cuts through the warm air like a knife, snapping you out of your brief reprieve. You can hear it echoing out of the grotto clear as day, easily overpowering the sounds of the surf, almost as if it’s being sung directly in your ear. You don’t even realize that you’ve subconsciously made your way over to the entrance of the grotto, until you’re standing almost directly in front of the daunting rock crevasse, completely enraptured by the strange sound.

Now that you’re closer to the source of the sound, you conclude that whatever is making it must be human because there’s no animal on earth that could make a sound so otherworldly. You also realize in that same vein that it sounds distinctly male. The rich, low tones almost lull you into a trance as you stand on the beach, swaying lightly on the spot, before you’re able to snap yourself out of it.

Was there really another person here with you? You didn’t see any cars last night when you checked, and there was no way anyone could get down here using the same trail that you had without you noticing. Maybe it was one of your relative’s reclusive neighbors? But that didn’t make any sense, they had small beaches on their properties, there was no need for them to come to your side. Unless it was someone completely different.

The thought makes you pause. The only other way someone could come to this side of the island aside from driving would mean they had to swim it. You know there’s another set of homes about twenty minutes away that have a series of docks that people used to anchor their boats and swim off of. While it was certainly possible that someone who was a strong swimmer could make the trek from there to here, Keigo had made it clear yesterday that this side of the island was off limits due to the bad undertow, and that no one was suppose to be anywhere near here.

So who in the hell was making that sound?

As quickly as the humming started, it dies off again, leaving you standing in front of the entrance to the grotto, unsure of what to do. After a moment of debating with yourself, you sigh and quietly make your way into the grotto, not wanting to alert whatever or whoever was in there of your presence. You side step several large rocks at the front of the entrance as you make your way into the main chamber, and step out into the sun-lit cavern, making sure to keep your footsteps light to avoid them echoing off the walls and giving away your location.

The grotto itself is beautiful. It reminds you of a cenote, as the cave’s walls are still largely intact, blocking out the rest of the outside world, but the rocky ceiling had caved in some years ago, allowing a great deal of sunlight to stream into the cavern, basking the cave in a warm glow. It has a large pool of water in the middle of the cavern surrounded by the ledge that you were currently on. There’s one large, flat rock a few feet away from where you’re standing, that’s slightly elevated and sits almost directly in the middle of the clear water that you used to lounge on when you visited. It was perfect for sunbathing as it stayed directly in the middle of the sun’s reach for the majority of the day without ever getting too hot, and you often ended up dozing off on it. The deep, craggily walls block out most of the sounds from outside, keeping the interior of the cave quiet and peaceful, the occasional sounds of water lapping up on the walls can be heard echoing throughout the cave, but aside from that, there are no other noises.  

It’s so quiet, it takes you a second to register that you’re not alone. Someone is in the cave with you, and they’re unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, because they’re very clearly not human.

And they’re sunbathing on your rock. Just like you used to.

You blink, once, twice, absolutely mystified at the creature currently sunning itself on the large rock before you.

You can’t believe what you’re seeing. It should be impossible, there’s no way the creature before you is real. They can’t be. You barely dare to breathe, believing that if you do, it’ll shatter the admittedly beautiful illusion that is lying, stretched out on his back, before you on the rock.

You are looking at a merman. There is no other word to describe the breath-taking creature in front of you. You’ve read enough stories about them and watched The Little Mermaid enough as a child to know one when you see one, and what you’re looking at is very clearly a merman.

And he is gorgeous.

His top half looks like that of a human male in appearance, but there are some noticeable differences, namely the torn, translucent fins on either side of his head where ears would be on a human. Creeping closer, you swear you can see what look like small gills on the sides of his neck, and larger ones on either side of his ribs, but he doesn’t seem to have any problems breathing oxygen, as you can see the steady rise and fall of his chest from where you’re standing.

His hair is shockingly white and spikes up in different directions, presumably from the salt in the water, and his skin is a similar pale colour, giving him the illusion that he’s glowing in the sunlight. Scanning further down his body, your illusion is broken as you take in the multitude of dark scarring that riddles his (admittedly very well-defined) torso. Long, ugly gashes crisscross up and down body, starting from his jaw and run down to his abdomen and arms, and it doesn’t escape your attention that each finger is tipped with a long, black claw. The scarring extends further down to his lower half, where the man fades, and the fish takes over.

His tail is stunning, despite the obvious damage done to it. The scales at the top of his tail that aren’t affected by scarring, are pure white, just like his hair, but close to the middle, they start to fade in colour until they’re completely black near the end of his tail. His large caudal fin has seen better days – the delicate webbing of his fin is completely ragged, almost as if something sharp had been sliced thought it multiple times – and you wonder what could have caused all the scarring that litters his body. Your thoughts are interrupted as the merman suddenly shifts and turns over onto his side so he’s facing your direction, nearly making you gasp at his sudden movement, but his eyes remain closed and his breathing doesn’t change, allowing you to relax a little, and release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in.

Now that he’s changed positions, you’re able to get a closer look at him: He’s massive. You don’t know how big he is exactly from where you’re standing, but if you had to guess, he’s probably around thirteen to fourteen feet long from his head to the tip of his tail. He’s so long that half of his tail is hanging off the rock and even then, he still manages to make the large, flat rock look small in comparison.

You know that you shouldn’t be standing about ogling him. Despite how fascinated you are by him; the rational part of your mind is screaming at you to get as far away as possible. This is a creature that could easily kill you without so much as a second thought. One look at the sharp, black talons on his fingers confirm it. Judging from the plethora of scars that litter his body, he’s gone up against things in the sea that are a lot bigger and scarier than you, and lived, so he probably wouldn’t think twice about tearing you in half if he woke up and noticed you staring at him, before continuing on with his nap.

You don’t know what you’re going to do about your discovery, but you can’t be bothered to worry about that right now. For now, you’d leave, and maybe you’d come back later once you thought of a plan, but currently, you had no way to defend yourself if he woke up and deemed you a threat, and you didn’t want to stick around to find out what he’d do to you if he did.

But, on the other hand; maybe he wouldn’t be here if you came back again. Maybe this would be the only opportunity you’d ever get to see something like him. You didn’t bring your phone with you, so it’s not like you could take a picture of him. All you could rely on was your eyes and your memory.

You decide one last close-up look of the merman wouldn’t hurt anyone. As you slowly move closer to the end of the ledge you were standing on, a small surge of water splashes up onto the ledge, soaking your bare feet and startling you. You let out a yelp of before you can stop it, and slap a hand to your mouth, but it’s too late – the shrill noise is already bouncing around the walls of the cavern mockingly – and you watch in horror as the merman’s eyes snap open, and he bolts up-right impossibly fast.

You know that you should be booking it out of the grotto while you still have the chance, but you can’t. You’re rooted to the spot, completely hypnotized by the creature in front of you. It’s absolutely ridiculous, but the only thing you can bring yourself to think of in the moment is that his eyes are the brightest shade of blue that you think you’ve ever seen.

His feral turquoise eyes flick around wildly before they find your own, and you watch as he immediately tenses up – deep turquoise pools that rivaled the clearest seawater, boring into your own. Unblinking, and unwavering.

To his credit, he looks almost as stunned to see you, as you are to see him. You gawk openly at each other, neither of you willing to blink first, but in the end, he recovers from his initial shock quicker then you.

The torn, translucent fins on either side of his head flare out, as an inhumane hiss claws its way out of his mouth. The gills on the sides of his neck and ribs also flutter out, making his impossibly large frame seem even bigger, as his wicked black talons hyper extend and dig into the rock under him, leaving gouges in their wake. His powerful, scared tail slaps once against the rock irritably, sounding like a whip cracking as it echoes off the walls of the cave, all the while, his piercing blue eyes never leave your own startled ones as he leers down at you from his perch.

You flinch, reading for him to launch himself off the rock and onto you, presumably to claw your eyes out with his razor-sharp talons – but that doesn’t happen. Instead, a fearsome snarl tears itself out of his throat, and your eyes widen impossibly as he snarls at you in a voice that sounds like it hasn’t been used in a very long time:

“Get the fuck outta here!”

[the-stray-liger]

Okay, so Things are definitely happening in Episode 18. Suletta coping in her usual, unhealthy Suletta-like way, with the remainder of Earth House recognizing how unhealthy it is for her to be acting the way she is, and Chuchu in particular encouraging Suletta to give Guel and Miorine a piece of her mind. Which... kind of falls apart, fast. Rather than meet Miorine, Sulettta uses the opportunity to have a heart to heart with the Aerial, and learns the truth of what the Aerial is, or rather, WHO it is... and that Eri no longer needs her. As Suletta is trying to make sense of it all, Eri tells her to let go of both her and her mother for her own sake, and ejects Suletta from the cockpit, and is met by Prospera, who Suletta seeks comfort from, only to be left drifting alone by her mother, who tells her to go to school and live her life.

In a surprising turn of events, Prospera... lets Suletta be, because Eri wanted her sister to live her own life. This is probably the kindest thing Prospera has done for Suletta, when previously she'd done nothing but manipulate her own daughter for her own ends, and from her own subdued actions and tone of voice... it feels remarkably genuine, even as she tries to suggest to Eri that they take her along anyway, but in the end agrees with Eri to leave Suletta alone for her own sake. But even then, it's only served to hurt Suletta all the more, especially as she is desperately trying to find a way forward, and is unable to do so on her own. Miorine cast her aside, even if it was to protect her. Prospera and Eri cast her aside, because Eri wants her sister to live a normal life, and Prospera does so at this point because Eri asked her to, and Prospera herself has no real need for Suletta as Aerial's pilot anymore. She is, as Lauda states... "empty." As hurtful as his words are, he's right in a way. At this moment in time, Suletta's a puppet with her strings cut, struggling to find a way forward out of the darkness she's found herself in.

But then of course there's the B-plot, with Guel and Miorine struggling to find support for Jeturk Heavy Machinery in the wake of his father's death. Prospera reveals that they have a Gundam in development, which angers Miorine, but as Prospera points out, the Schwarzette was a joint venture between Jeturk and Shin-Sei, before the latter was acquired by GUND-ARM Inc.. Miorine refuses to deviate from her vision to have GUND-ARM remain a medical tech company, but plans to bring Aerial to Earth to help de-escalate the riots, but without fighting. Only time will tell how that works out for them, but in the mean time, they confront Shaddiq, who had been attempting to sway Prospera to her side, but is interrupted from his under the table bullshit by Guel and Miorine. Shaddiq then takes that opportunity to declare himself their opponent in the race for the presidential seat.

Meanwhile Martin confesses what he did, trying to convince himself that what he did was the right thing to do, but SURPRISE BITCH, IT'S SECELIA DOTE, calling him a dirty double crossing rat while looking like the cat that just caught the canary. She's found a BIG scoop, and she's not about to let Martin go any time soon. I'd feel sorry for him, because while what he did makes sense from a certain point of view, he still sold out Nika without understanding her side of the story, believing her to be no better than the other terrorists when the viewers know otherwise. Thus, this doesn't make me feels as sorry for Martin as I thought it would, and instead feels more like Karma getting the guy in a chokehold.

frst of all I need t oknow who the FUCK let Secelia into that room. Like she has a talent for making things worse why the hell is she in there

This episode left me so confused. Is Eri trying to protect Suletta by breaking her heart too? From what I read in the short story, Aeria's priority has always been protecting Suletta from Prospera. Eri wants Suletta to be free, is that why she also broke her heart? And what about Prospera. Prospera wanted Suletta to come along but agreed with Eri in which she should be free. Does she care about Suletta after all? Like you said, this was the kindest thing Prospera has ever done by Suletta.

But I'm also realizing that Suletta has had no agency in anything since the start of the series. She's always doing what someone else wants, be it her mother, Miorine, or even Aerial. And now for the first time those bonds of dependency are broken. It destroyed me to see Suletta cry so hard but for the first time she is truly free and she is empty. What is she gonna do with that freedom?

Another thing I actually loved about this episode was EL5n. He really has reached a level of desperation where he doesnt' care about the consequences anymore because he knows what's waiting for him at the end of the line. He knows he's going to be scraped like El4n and he's like hey might as well explain what I'm about. I have come to really like El5n after all because I'm a garbage lover and also because his story is as sad and heartbreaking as El4n. He's a teenager who got genetically manipulated to pilot gundams and had to throw away his identity only to be killed when he isn't useful anymore, and he has become increasingly more desperate, and he is empty because he also has no agency over anything. Him telling Norea and Nika the truth about himself was probably the only act he has ever had control over.

ngl I was really excited for the Schwarzette reveal. I thought we weren't gonna see it until a final battle or something. I'm so worried about Guel and Miorine too. They're going againt Shaddiq, with Prospera as an "ally". Shaddiq has ties to earth and a whole team of shady lesbians who support him, and we know Prospera is manipulating Miorine to do what she wants. And Guel is getting dragged into this as well. It's funny how Miorine is going to earth now. Will she realize her dreaming about going to earth for freedom was childish once she gets to see the situation there? (I have a lot of trouble following through with these bits because I'm not very brigh so I'm also hoping they will dub this into spanish soon so I can keep up with the company stuff)

anyway what an episode. my brain is mush

[sofoulandfairaday]

Please can you tell us about:

Madame Lestrange

Rigel Lestrange

Glory and Gore

And the marriage counselling one (the premise of this already has me in a chokehold)

This is very very long so I will put it under the cut. Thank you for the ask!

Ch.11 - Madame Lestrange Contrary to popular belief, Bellatrix Black was thrilled with her wedding day: the food was perfect, the music was perfect, the groom was perfect. In the whole history of weddings, there had never been one more perfect than hers. Or 1972. Bella & Rod's ridiculously expensive wedding day and all of its shenanigans, including but not limited to: a mopey and very drunk Rabastan losing his virginity, Bellatrix and Andromeda's last conversation, the Dark Lord's failure to RSVP and the trouble it caused, and (ofc) the wedding night *wink wink*

Ch.26 - Rigel Lestrange 1975. A very sad one, quite gory too and definitely not for the faint-hearted, but also one of my favourites to write because I've always been fascinated with Bellatrix's missed motherhood. (All my readers know what I think of TCC by now, and anyway, this story takes place from 1969 to 1981, so no Delphi). The day of her miscarriage.

Ch.39 - Glory and Gore 1979. Still unwritten. The story of the third time the Potters defied Lord Voldemort. It's basically a long battle sequence with a special focus on Barty, Severus and Rabastan (Alastor Moody is horrified with this new generation of Death Eaters). By reading Regulus' journals, Bellatrix realizes that the gold cup her Master entrusted her is a Horcrux. When he later summons her, she chooses not to tell him that she knows (Bellamort moment, idk if smutty or not yet). Rodolphus visits his mistress (who is NOT AT ALL a shameless self-insert, nooooo) to make amends for stuff he did previously; they make peace, but it's pretty clear that they are not going to last.

The Lestranges go to couples therapy A comedy; still unwritten but fully outlined.

Ch.1: The explosion 1996. The Lestranges are having yet another Earth-shattering row that just so happens to blow up almost half of Malfoy Manor. Narcissa and Lucius threaten to notify the Auror Department of their whereabouts unless they agree to go to therapy. They recommend a Diagon Alley marriage counsellor who worked wonders for them: she's discreet, will keep quiet for money and has a strong stomach. Bonus: they show up either Polyjuiced or with some other shitty disguise and are immediately found out.

Ch.2: Mr and Mrs Lestrange's marital problems General bickering in their second session, we get a look at the therapist's notes. They are the worst patients ever, but she takes them on as her personal project. Both of them hate her but they really don't want to end up in Azkaban again. Rabastan finds out they are going to therapy and immediately he tries to hijack their third session. He is quickly put in his place.

«Roood» Rabastan practically sang, plopping down onto the couch, right between the couple. «Bella. You didn't tell me the lady was a hottie». He winked at [insert name]. She did not look impressed. «Rabastan, I presume». «Oh, you guys! You talked about me! Wait», his tone darkening in mock horror, «did they do it in a weird way? While discussing their sex problems?» Rodolphus looked ready to murder him on the spot. [he proceeds to basically sexually harass her and cause a disruption to their therapy session] «I do, Rabastan. I do. I find you utterly fascinating» she said, staring at him over her glasses. «In your opinion, on a scale from one to ten, how much do you use sex and alcohol to numb the pain of an unfulfilling life, completely devoid of ambition and genuine connection?»

Ch.3: The Lord Voldemort Factor The Lestranges are absent from one meeting or another.

«It's important that you try to be present for these appointments without too much rescheduling, Bellatrix. It shows that you are making an effort for each other, that you care about the other person's time». «The only thing I care about is my Master's time!» «See? She always does this! She's flaky». «Who are you calling flaky?!» «We agreed there would be no name-calling». Bellatrix shot him a triumphant look. «And we also agreed there would be commitment».

Lord Voldemort inquires after them and finds out (either from a terrified Lucius or from a still butthurt Rabastan) where they are. He decides he has to see for himself. Our dear therapist is terrified, but then again his disguise is the worst one yet. Truly laughable. Voldemort has her cancel all her appointments for the day so that they can have a longer session (he desperately wants to be included). It's not like she can refuse.

«It would be my professional opinion that you try and find a balance, an arrangement that works for all parties. Something to satisfy Mr Lestrange’s frustration, Mrs Lestrange’s exhibitionist behaviour, and Mr... Um... the Dark Lord's need to be the centre of attention». «We murder Rodolphus?» «It would be my professional opinion», she straightened her spine, «That you have a threesome».

Ch.4: Yet another satisfied client I'm still not sure whether I want them to divorce or not lmao. What I do know is that there will be a plot twist. Let's just leave it at that.

[softsnzstuff]

I bring questions 🍊

Favorite fictional world?

What’s a food you want to try?

What was the last book you read?

What’s a movie you wish you could see for the first time again?

If you could have any superpower, what would it be and why?

Favorite ice cream flavor and toppings (if any)?

Do you collect anything?

Favorite candy bar?

What’s your phone case?

What’s your favorite condiment?

(I have a google doc full of questions that I use for daily polls in a server I run lmao 😭)

Hello bestie! Don’t think I forgot about you. I’ve just been pondering my answers to these amazing questions!

•Favorite Fictional world?

Okay THIS is the question I’ve been hung up on for an hour because damn.

I thought the answer was easy - wizarding world - because who doesn’t want to be a wizard?? But there’s like. So many good options here.

SO my official answer is actually Doctor Who. Which is kinda silly bc it takes place legit on earth?? But I’d just have the ability to be the companion and travel? Like the 11th Doctor IS my comfort character. He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel special and loved and that’s so silly to say out loud lmfao rip but he’s all I had when I was having a rough time like ages 13-17 and so yeah. That’s my final answer. Doctor Who reality.

•A food you want to try?

I have never tried a macaron??? And they look so good but I have no idea what to expect!? So I really want to try one I’m just scared it’ll disappoint lol.

•Last book you read?

“All This Time” by Mikki Daughtry and Rachael Lippincott

I finished it in like three hours. Ending was….something.

•A movie you wish you could see again for the first time?

Damn this is a good one. For the very first time????

“Wet, Hot, American Summer” is a contender because it’s funny as shit always, but it hit different that first time. I was on the floor laughing my ass off. Like that film? Peak comedy for real.

But if I’m going for a more serious option… maybe “Rent” (2005) or “Harry Potter”.

•What superpower would I have and why?

Listen I’ve thought about this for YEARS. Because at first it was flying and then it was invisibility and then it was telekinesis.

But like in terms of cool shit - maybe something like Wanda Maximoff where I can dream walk and make people see things or let myself see things?

•Favorite Ice Cream Flavor?

I’m usually a milkshake gal. Either classic cookies n cream with the hot fudge drizzle OR peanut butter chocolate ((but only if I’m at Baskin Robbins)).

HOWEVER if we’re talking exclusive ice cream only - it’s a tie between “Circus animal cookie” from this local shop by my house OR “chocolate malted crunch” from the Thrifty’s inside RiteAid lol

•Do you collect anything?

Too many things. I collect certain coins - mostly diff variations of the quarters. I have a display book that has all of the 50 states series. Then I have a second display book with 49/50 state national parks ((looking for that last one god dammit)) and now I’m collecting the new series of historical women!! And it’s so cool bc the George Washington on the front is a different one than the other quarters! I also have like a silver penny and some other random rare ones from the past that were gifts.

I also collect Featherly Friends birds from Target ☠️ they have me in a chokehold, what can I say?

•Fave candy bar?

Chocolate candy bar? Twix. Hands down. But candy in general I actually go for strawberry or cherry sour punch straws. 🤤

•Phone case?

Okay so this do be my mental illness but I can never ever decide on one theme or pattern for a phone case and most of the decorative ones seem flimsy?? So deadass mine is a two-toned pink otterbox case 🤣

And before this it was a two toned purple otter box case. And even before that. A two toned blue otter box case 🤡 I’m just very clumsy okay

•Fave condiment?

It’s gotta be a tie between Ketchup and Ranch - however I think ketchup is more versatile? Idk it’s pretty even but I’m usually satisfied with one of those

(Pls note. Get out of here with that Fuckin Kranch shit I don’t want that here 🤣🤣))

[majoringinsarcasm]

Ineffable Rewatch: S2E1: The Arrival (aka so much happened in universe in like the span of 12 hours max)

Angel! Crowley is the cutest thing in the world. Worked closely with Upstairs about the design of her nebula and also seemingly had no idea that it was going to be “\shut down” in about 6.000 years.

Aziraphale introduces themselves but gets none in return. They know about the end of the world Timestamps as well as about where Earth is going to be and the current designs for the humans.

I’m not up to date on my Bible lore but I know different angels as well as demons get put in charge of different things. Seems Crowley was a creator, specializing in the stars and the galaxy, and I’ve seen a poster or something going around on Twitter that describes Azira as a cherub, which Neil in a post said it meant a new angel and not the high ranking kind of cherub. In short Azira is a baby angel with the biggest instant crush ever and Angel! Crowley works high enough to make the stars, but didn’t pay attention when they were talking about humans and Earth. Probably due to lack of interest rather than not having clearance to hear about them.

In season 1, God in the voiceover said Crowley was the only demon who had imagination. Her reason for falling, asking questions and pointing out how things didn’t make sense and wanting explanations for things others just went along with, seemed to carry over into demonhood. Because you need to be able to rebel against what you’re told and what you see in order to imagine something different in the first place.

Angel! Crowley also sees the stars as having a purpose outside of human involvement. “It’s not just put here to twinkle!”

Also jumping ahead an episode or two but. “If I was the one running it all I’d like it if people asked questions. Fresh point of view.” And with Azira saying “I remember the angel you were” maybe that carried over to the end. Accepting the job in Heaven and taking Crowley so they can make the changes Crowley talked about long ago.

Shax checking in with Crowley is not allowed. Hell doesn’t keep a close eye on its people but it’s still not an accepted thing she’s doing. They also replaced Crowley but Heaven didn’t replace Aziraphale. Hmmmm

Heaven has not talked to Azira since the end of the world didn’t happen. He does not report to them, but it’s implied he hasn’t done any big miracles since Heaven can still sense them or monitor them.

Nina remembers her regulars, which having worked in food service, same

Heaven operates under strict rules but they could also be self regulated. Uriel and Michael can’t replace or take over for Gabriel right now. Everyone on that side seems to be in a chokehold half of their own making.

Bentley has a car phone which I don’t know if I noticed in the first season but I think it was the same back then. Wonder if that’s a different number than the cellphone or if Az is just telling his shop phone to call the car itself.

They know each other so well it hurts. Crowley can tell what’s up based on the tone of his voice. Also I think Az wanted something to calm Crowley down bc he knew the news would upset him.

“Is this something I can help you with?” And Az’s little shrug followed by Crowley downing the espresso and leading them out of the coffee shop. “Doing good again, angel?” was just cute to me

Maggie my sweet she just like me for real I did not do much as a teenager.

Crowley never needing his glasses in the bookshop because he doesn’t need to hide his eyes and also feels comfortable there. Wah

“Do we know a Jim?” The combined lives of the two of them are there from the start!!! It’s we need to get him out, get him far away from us. And when Crowley switches to “the life I carved out for myself” Azira hits him with the “I thought we carved it out for Ourselves” because for the last few years it really has been We Ours Us. They were already Us you see.

Crowley and her foot stomping tantrum bc she doesn’t have an outlet for her anger. once again she’s me. Also letting off lightning, demon power or Crowley power? Could she do that in Heaven too? She makes rain later on is that just a regular miracle thing or special weather affinity?

“I feel like your exactly and my exactly are different” foreshadowing for the end with “Nothing lasts forever” being taken two very different ways. Just the way they understand each other So Well All The Time but when it’s very important they make assumptions or miss the mark on what the other means

Azira refusing to look at Crowley when she’s in pouty wife mode / devastated by emotions and can’t process mode

“Just breathe that’s what humans do” this season really plays with how humans work and how the occult beings act like them. Anger, love, office bullshit

“There is no question of replacing the supreme archangel” AND FUCKING YET

Muriel sweet baby bean hello dear. 37th order scrivener. Wonder if the higher ranking ones deal with more sensitive documents?

OK SO might make a longer post about this later but they are NOT YET FREE OF HELL OR HEAVEN. For the simple fact that Beezelbub can just appear in the Bentley and the angels can just come to the bookshop. They are called traitors and so far have been ignored but as of episode one they can still be called upon and interrupted. Being on their own side means nothing in practice because the people they are wanting to escape from can still keep tabs on them.

THERE IS SO MUCH ANGEL CROWLEY LORE AND JUST CASUAL TALK also scaring the cherubs (new angels) with made up punishments. Azira was hinted at being a cherub. No wonder they’re so broken for so long. Who knows how many fake things they were told in the beginning especially after angels started falling.

So anyway Book of Life drama in season three I’m watching for you

PROTECTIVE CROWLEY THIS ENTIRE SEASON YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS

Maggie doesn’t drink. This is not significant I just enjoy her so much she is just chilling with her crush who she just learned is taken she’s lonely she’s sweet and awkward I love her

When good old fashioned lover boy started playing I Lost My Mind

They are sooooooo petty wives during the apology dance but. Az apologizing so much in the past I need to see them do the dance in period clothing please please please

1650, 1793, 1941 that popular year

THEY ARE SO POWERFUL TOGETHER??? Like maybe it’s bc they had Gabriel as a channeling rod and I say that because the laser indicator thing was purple and Gabe’s eyes are purple but I saw some people say it could be their combined power colors (Az as blue and Crowley as red)

Az Looking away as Crowley speaks only to snap back to attention when they say We Do It Together like

Heaven. Hates. Aziraphale. At least Michael and Uriel do uggggh get her outta there.

But also the petty energy with Michael and Uriel is So Funny to me.

Also I know we’re seeing the office of Heaven. But is there an outside the angels can go to or is Heaven just an office and the view is just for decoration I must know!

Michael also calls Az a former angel but I know this is meant symbolically bc Az was not made human it’s just interesting to see how ppl refer to them now

This episode sets up A Lot and smoothly leads into the next one. The shared life stuff and all the We stuff made me even more crazy now that I can process it. Angel Crowley lore knocked me on my ass and all the hints through the rest of the season has me eating my fingers. James, long for Jim, short for Gabriel. Loved that like it’s very fun to say.

[tb-gerschutz]

Ten

Word Count: 5,698

Trigger Warning(s): graphic depictions of violence, dying, nightmare, dirty talk, cursing

Summary: Anaysha and Oberyn travel to King's Landing for the Ultimatum Duel, and they determine whether they live or die.

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ANAYSHA

"No!" I shouted toward my father, who had the Red Viper in a tight chokehold. "Don't do it! Please!"

My father slowly turned his head to me as I was about to fall to the ground. He had the evilest grin spread across his face. It was almost like a demon took over him and controlled his every movement. I had never been more terrified of a grin in my life.

"Don't do it, please!" I shouted.

"Or what?" he asked in a sneering tone.

I hobbled forward a few steps, holding my battered side with one hand and a beautifully crafted Dornish spear in the other.

"You'll deeply regret it if you do," I said.

"Oh, I'm sure I will," he responded, clicking his tongue a few times.

My father then let go of the Red Viper, who fell to his knees and struggled to breathe. He was too exhausted to even try to put up more of a fight, which devastated me. He was a man who put up a lot of fight in the face of evil, and now, he wasn't doing that. On the other hand, my hope started to revive when I started to believe that my own father wouldn't have the heart to kill my lover.

Apparently, I was wrong.

Just as the Dornish prince was slowly rising to his feet, my father took his sword and drove it through the Red Viper's chest with as much force as a dragon has. Almost immediately, the victimized Dornish prince went limp, his fighting energy immediately diminishing.

"No!" I shouted, with tears pouring out of my eyes.

My world shattered once the sword plunged into his chest. Everything—everything around me—stopped and froze in its place. The man that I thought would have a lot of fight left in him—the only man that I genuinely loved—was now defeated. Never did I think that he'd ever be defeated. But at least he was able to try and fight until the end.

Once my father thought that the Red Viper was dead, even though he wasn't yet, he walked away with the intent on leaving him for dead. I rushed to his side, holding his head in one hand and his bloodied abdomen in the other. His breath quickened, and even though I didn't see it or feel it, I somehow could tell that his body was going numb with every passing moment. Moments that felt like eternity.

"Don't die on me. Please," I begged persistently. "Please don't go."

I had one last vain effort in mind, so I leaned in close hesitantly and softly pressed my lips against his as my heart shattered even more than it already did. A couple tears leaked out of my eyes as I struggled to keep it together for the Viper. He was slowly drifting away from this earth, and despite thinking that I had it...I had no control. I had no control over the Red Viper and his slow, slow death.

He ran his finger from the back of my head toward my cheek, using his thumb to wipe away my tears. Unlike me, he had it together and didn't cry even though he was slipping away. Slipping away from this world. Slipping away from me.

"You can't leave me," I cried. "You have to keep fighting. Keep fighting for me."

"I'll never stop fighting for you," he said, wincing at the pain he was in. "I'll just be in a faraway place doing it. Just know that wherever I am, I'll always love you."

And with that, he slowly slipped away with one last exhale, his eyes slowly closing one final time. His body suddenly went limp, soon becoming lifeless. That was the moment when my heart exploded, and the world around me became no more. The Red Viper was my world, and now...he was gone.

"No!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Apparently, doing that got the attention of my father, who turned back around and marched toward me with purpose. He tightened the grip on his sword and drew it back to get a full swing.

"No. Please," I begged. "Don't do it. No!"

* * * * * *

And that was when I sat up in the bed and woke up in a cold sweat. I was gasping for air, trying to snap myself back into reality in a quick fashion, but nothing seemed to be working. To my luck, however, the Red Viper was right there next to me, having been awakened by my awful cries.

"My love, what happened?" he asked as he slowly ran his hand up and down my back.

I wiped the beads of sweat that were forming on my forehead. "I—I guess I had a nightmare. A bad one."

"What happened in it?" he asked with a soft voice.

I exhaled a shaky breath, remembering the awful nightmare I had. "We were at war with my father. It was the final battle that we'd been anticipating for a long time. At the climax of it all, he killed you. Plunged a sword right through your chest. I held you in my arms as you slowly withered away. Then—then, he—he killed me. I woke up before it happened, but it was just so frightening."

"Shhh," he said, pulling me in and embracing me tightly. "It's going to be okay. It wasn't real. It was just a dream."

I bruised my head into his bare chest, crying uncontrollably into him. I considered myself lucky that I had someone like the Red Viper here to comfort me. Then again, I never knew considering his typical nature.

"Go back to sleep, princess," he said, gently stroking my hair. "You're okay. You're okay."

We eventually settled back into bed after I was reassured that I was okay. Of course, I was okay. I had the Red Viper with me, which is all that I could want right now. He was right here to protect me just like he promised, and I couldn't ask for anything different.

As I slowly fell back asleep, I cuddled up close to the Red Viper, still being shaken up after the nightmare I experienced. But there was no denying the fact that I was finally safe once again, even though...I was already safe to begin with. Still basking in the Red Viper's security, I consciously laid my head down on his bare chest, finally growing comfortable with him. He was slightly stirred awake and saw me falling asleep on him, showing a crooked grin as he looked down upon me.

He took this further in stride by slowly falling back to sleep, keeping his arm tightly wrapped around me and gently tanging his fingers into my hair. It was at this moment when I finally was able to put my full trust into the Red Viper. It was also the point when I knew—deep down—that I was madly in love with the Red Viper of Dorne...Oberyn Martell.

* * * * * *

Once the sun had the chance to peak over the horizon again, I found myself slowly stirring, doing my best to wake up for the unpredictable day ahead. Even though Oberyn and I had received word about the Ultimatum Duel, we never once worried about it. Instead, we pushed it off to the side because we didn't think it was a matter we should worry about. After all, with enough fire, we should be quite able to win and live to fight another day.

I was trying to get out of bed and get ready for the trip to King's Landing, but I felt a hand grab onto my wrist and drag me back in. It was only Oberyn's, but it made my heart skip a beat. It was in a good way, of course.

"Easy, hungry lion," I said with a chuckle. "We have a long journey ahead of us today."

He lightly caressed the back of my shoulder, debating whether or not he should leave light kisses on it. His face was so close to my shoulder that I could feel his hot breath lightly tickle my skin.

"Can't we stay? That way, I can spend all my time ruining you instead?" he asked.

I smiled to myself, but I knew I had to keep it together. "I'd love to, but we have to go to this Ultimatum Duel or else we both die. And quite frankly, Oberyn, I don't want to miss the opportunity to send a strong message to my father."

He stopped and quickly got out of the bed, moving to my side and kneeling down in front of me. "Wait. I heard you call me by my name. Did I hear that right?"

"You did," I simply answered. "Did you expect any different?"

He lightly chuckled menacingly, gently grabbing my neck and moving my head so that I'd be directly looking at him. "I expect that next time we're alone, you'll scream it for me."

My heart was skipping several different times after hearing that slip off his tongue. But I knew that I couldn't accept this invitation. This open invitation to let him fuck me. There was an Ultimatum Duel happening, in which my and Oberyn's lives were on the line.

"I promise that I'll do that the next time," I said, "but right now, you have a duel to fight, and I have one to watch."

We eventually found the strength to get out of bed and pack up for the journey to King's Landing, and a terrible realization had just washed into me. There was a big possibility that both Oberyn and I would die as a result of losing this duel. And it made me fear for Oberyn's life. Granted, I have constantly feared for his life ever since our first meeting, but none of that worrying was as great as what it is right now. Maybe it was because the feeling was too great to be ignored at this point.

While we took one last stroll among the grounds before the ship left, Oberyn and I decided to keep our minds off the duel by holding a conversation that concerned my father.

"Why do you think he's the way he is?" I asked. "My father...why is he like this?"

Oberyn clicked his tongue several times. "It's hard telling, princess. It could be one, a couple, or multiple causes. It's just a matter of which one."

"If it helps any, my father had quite the tragic childhood," I added. "His father—my grandfather—would emotionally and verbally abuse him quite a bit. Out of all of the children, my father got the worst of it. My grandfather would blame my father for his failures, even though my father had nothing to do with it. Plus, he was cold and heartless...just not the best father to my father."

"That's awful," Oberyn remarked, "but we don't know if that's the actual cause."

"I don't think we'll ever know," I responded, continuing to walk with the Red Viper. "My father is a complicated man whose past is quite clouded. And unless we talk with him face-to-face, which seems ultimately impossible, we won't ever know why he's like this. Ruthless and evil."

"You know what else is ruthless and evil?" the prince asked. "This Ultimatum Duel."

My mind shifted back onto that topic, but now, I felt as though I had the courage to speak out about my concerns for this duel. "About this duel...I'm awfully worried about it. I'm worried about you. What if you die?"

He turned to me and held both my hands tightly, staring directly into my eyes. "Trust me, Anaysha. I'm not going to die. Not when you've given me so much to live for already, and I doubt you're done doing that."

"Of course I'm not," I chuckled. "You welcomed me into your kingdom of Dorne with open arms. You gave me more than what I could ask for. Hell, you saved my life! I have to keep returning the favor, don't I?"

"You can certainly go ahead and do that," Oberyn said with a smile, "but just know that everything I do for you is just out of the goodness in my heart."

I kept those words in mind as we both ventured back to the palace, reminding Oberyn's highest aide about the rules and inner workings of the palace. Turns out, there weren't as many rules as I thought there'd be. Then again, I grew up in hell for all of my life so far, so I didn't know the difference.

"Can I add a rule?" I asked Oberyn.

He placed his hands on my back. "Of course you can, my love. After all, you're a guest here. We have to make you as welcome as possible, don't we?"

"Just make sure everyone here is accounted for," I said to the aide. "I want everyone here to be treated with the same respect His Royal Highness and I receive, and I don't want anyone dead or missing when we return."

"As you wish, Your Highness," the aide responded. "I'll make everyone's well-being a priority."

"One more thing to add," Oberyn piped up. "When and if I come back alive with my lover here, I want you to follow closely to Dornish tradition by having you and many others hail me as a hero."

I whipped my head toward Oberyn. "That's a thing?"

"It sure is, my love," he answered. "It's one of many traditions here in Dorne. Don't worry. You'll catch onto all of them eventually."

And soon, we were off, boarding the boat that'll take Oberyn and myself to King's Landing. I was anxious for our arrival there, both in a good and bad way. The good, being that I had the opportunity to visit a new place that I'd never been to before. The bad, being that myself and Oberyn might not make it out of there alive. There was definitely a good chance that we'd lose this duel, which is a chance that I don't want to encounter.

As the ship sailed along the beautiful blue waters, I couldn't help but look out and take in new sights that kept presenting themselves to me. It was absolutely stunning to not only see the blue seas, but also the creatures that roamed them. I had never seen such beautiful yet dangerous creatures like these before—which included a variety of fish. I was so fixated on all of them in the sea below that I didn't see that Oberyn had joined me at the head of the ship.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he asked.

I glanced over to him, then back out to sea. "It certainly is. It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Next to you, of course."

Oberyn smiled and chuckled in a low tone. I could see his cheeks turn as red as the most beautiful rose in Westeros.

"Stop it," he snickered in a teasing way.

"Well, you know it's true," I added. "You're fucking gorgeous."

One of his eyebrows hooked upward, and so did one side of his mouth. "Fucking gorgeous? Never thought those words would slip off of a woman's tongue."

"Well, that thought just became a reality," I added.

We shared a chuckle together, our smiles filling almost all our faces. It once again made my day, knowing that I was one of the only people—if not, the only one—who had the exclusive ability to make Oberyn Martell laugh, let alone...smile. But that thought soon moved to the back of my mind when Oberyn pointed out something in the sea ahead. Something beautiful yet seemingly dangerous.

"Look out there," he said, pointing out to a creature in the far sea and placing his hand on my lower back.

I looked out to see an absolutely beautiful humpback whale coming to the sea's surface. My heart thumped louder than ever as the anticipation for what was coming next kept building up to an ultimate climax. The dark gray, white-bellied creature—so beautiful yet seemingly destructive—eventually jumped out of the sea, landing back into it on its back and continuing to swim in the beautiful, unexplored sea.

At the sight of the whale jumping, I gasped, having been shocked by how beautiful that whale that I witnessed was.

"Wow," I finally said after picking my jaw off the ground.

"Amazing, isn't it?" he asked, speaking low into my ear.

I hesitated before speaking again. "It's more beautiful than I imagined. I do have to apologize, Oberyn, but I hadn't seen something like that before."

"Seen what before?" Oberyn asked.

"A whale," I responded. "In all of my eighteen years of living, I hadn't seen something like it before."

He whipped his head toward the side to face me. "You haven't seen a humpback whale before?"

I nodded. "Nope. Never had that opportunity until now."

And as we continued on with the journey, I soon realized that it wouldn't be much longer before we reached King's Landing. It wouldn't be much longer before we stepped foot on the land that might bring death to the both of us.

* * * * * *

We eventually arrived at King's Landing not terribly long after, and I have to say...it was grand and bright. To put it in simpler terms, King's Landing was like the Iron Islands—with some old architecture and age-old traditions—and Dorne—with a particular brightness and some structures with new architecture—had a baby together...and it definitely was a beautiful brainchild.

Upon the boat being docked, Oberyn offered his hand to me, making sure that I got off safely. Of course, I felt drawn to take it, mainly because I considered it a symbol of safety...and I had no choice but to accept it since Oberyn made me feel more welcome and safe than I felt back home.

But before we stepped on the solid ground, a particular young man—whom I assumed was an aide to King Stark—met us there, bowing in respect to both Oberyn and myself.

"I appreciate the gesture, young man," I said with a smile, "but you don't need to do that for me. We're all people, and we're all on the same level. I don't want to use my position of power as a way to disrespect others who don't have that privilege."

The aide smiled. "Thank you for that generosity, Your Highness. Westeros hasn't seen a princess as generous as you in a long time. Might I ask...who are you? I hadn't seen such a face like yours before, even though I thought I saw it a long time ago."

"I'm Anaysha Mullendore Sparr, the Grand Princess of the Iron Islands," I answered.

"Oh! That's where I've heard those last names," the aide exclaimed. "Your parents are well-known throughout Westeros. We all spoke of your mother in goodwill, but your father wasn't the same. However, King Stark would be most pleased to know of your arrival."

I nodded. "Yes. Unfortunately, my father hasn't let up on his antics. We're here for the Ultimatum Duel set to take place at high noon."

The aide's expression changed, as he glanced over at Oberyn. It was like he turned as white as a ghost. "Of course. I'll show you two to the arena."

The closer we got to the arena, the more my fear for myself and Oberyn's lives worsened. I mainly worried for Oberyn's life, only because I was so protective of him. At this point in our relationship, he was mine...and I was his.

I clutched Oberyn's arm tightly, my heart pounding relentlessly against my chest. Multiple large beads of sweat formed on my forehead and occasionally dropped down to the soil below. Apparently, he took notice of it, which didn't shock me one bit, considering he vowed to protect me from my father.

"Are you okay, princess? You're shaking awfully bad," he said.

"Mm hmm," I replied. "I'm just—I'm just afraid of letting you go. If I let you go, I might not get to hold you again. That worries me."

Before we entered the arena, Oberyn made us stop in our tracks, turning to me upon stopping. He took my face into his hands, hesitating before placing a soft kiss on the top of my head.

"You have nothing to worry about, princess," he reassured. "Just promise that you'll trust me on this."

"I promise," I responded simply.

As it neared closer to noon, Oberyn and I found ourselves under a tent that remained adjacent to the ground where the fighting would take place. I was clad in a dress that was colored in different shades of light blue, with different gold accessories—such as a belt and accessorizing chains—adorning it. Meanwhile, Oberyn was clad in brown armor, with a beautifully designed Dornish spear to accompany it.

"Have you considered putting on heavier armor?" I asked. "You know, so someone can't easily stab you."

"But heavier armor will restrict my movements," he politely protested as he sipped on the drink he had, "and I need all the movement I'm able to do in this fight."

"Fine, but will you consider putting on a helmet at least?" I begged.

He smiled, acknowledging my pleading but still standing by his decision. "Not in the slightest, princess. Not when this fight might be easy to win."

I lifted my head to lock eyes with him. "Don't think so highly of yourself. Too much cockiness might be your downfall. I do have to ask, though...whatever do you mean by easy to win? My father isn't an easy man to win against, especially when he's in a particularly bad mood. If he's like that, he'll have a heyday with you, and he'll almost guarantee our deaths."

"Oh, I know," Oberyn said. "It's just that—it's just that rumors are flying quickly. Apparently, the military general for your father is here to fight this duel, not your father. Hell, your father isn't even here to witness this duel go down."

My brows furrowed, my anger slowly boiling to the surface. "He's not even here?"

Oberyn shrugged. "Evidently not."

I was beyond pissed. How could my father do such a thing? He had all the courage to set up this Ultimatum Duel, but he didn't have the balls to come here and fight Oberyn like a man. I consider Oberyn more of a man than my father, not only because of his kind heart but also simply because he showed up. Oberyn showed up like a man to step up to an extremely dangerous and possibly deadly challenge, and my father—that poor excuse of a father—didn't even consider traveling here to face his challenger.

Now, I know who I should put more of my trust into.

"That bitch of a coward!" I exclaimed. "He didn't have the balls to show up to his own fight, the bastard!"

"Calm down, princess," Oberyn said, firmly grabbing my shoulder. "Getting heated isn't going to be of much help in this fight, now is it? Just remain calm, and leave it to me."

Before long, the man known as "The General" stepped out onto the fighting field, yanking out his sword and pacing around with purpose. With each step, he sent fear down my spine, but it wasn't as much fear as I had for the Red Viper at first glance. Now, I am stronger. Stronger than before, all thanks to Oberyn.

But just before Oberyn went out to fight against The General, he turned to me and looked upon me with the softest eyes that I've seen from him yet. We eventually fed into our impulses and shared a passionate kiss with one another, not wanting to let each other go. As he placed his spear-free hand on my back, I used one of my hands to grip onto the outside of his shoulder tightly and used my other to feel the skin at the back of his neck.

I didn't want to let him go, especially since this possibly could be the last time I kissed him. It could be the last time he and I had the pleasure of making physical contact with one another. And if this was the last time I'd kiss him, it was certainly the most pleasurable experience I ever had.

As soon as Oberyn grabbed his spear, he marched out to the fighting field, but not before I left Oberyn with some words that would hopefully motivate him enough to win.

"Promise to not leave me alone in this lifetime," I said.

"Never," Oberyn promised. "Trust me when I say this, Anaysha. Today's not the day I die. You can guarantee that."

I assumed my place in a high-rise gallery specifically for those of higher ranks. But it was only myself, King Stark, and his highest aide who were there. My nerves skyrocketed to a new high, and I didn't let it show, for I didn't want the general public to see that I worried greatly for my possible death. I had to show that I was as strong as steel and not willing to break under immense pressure. I had to show that I was much better than my father. Strong and ruthless yet filled with grace and mercy.

He twirled around his spear for all the crowd to see, and it was safe to say that they were wowed. And to show that I was amazed by his spear-twirling skills, I flashed him a smile as Oberyn faced the crowd, beaming with pride. He then turned back to "The General' and continued the fight without any hindrance whatsoever.

"Haven't they told you who I am?" he asked with boastfulness.

"A dead man walking," the man also known as Dravor Caerlight snarled, swinging his sword at Oberyn.

But Oberyn used his spear to clash with the sword's blade, defending his body from being harmed.

"I am Oberyn Martell," Oberyn said, as he and Dravor circled each other as if they were two predators waiting for the other to lower their guard, "the crown prince of Dorne. The lover of Anaysha Mullendore Sparr, for whom I'm fighting for."

My jaw dropped slightly upon hearing those words. Even though I knew that he'd be the one fighting for my fate, I didn't think that Oberyn would openly declare that he's fighting for me during this duel.

The fight went on for some time, with both Oberyn's spear and Dravor's blade colliding multiple times. Each time, the Viper somehow managed to evade Dravor and remain alive. He was lasting much longer than I thought he would, considering Dravor's size and the assumption that my father would be here to fight. It was quite entertaining to watch, sure, but it built up my anxiety to a point that it could've been considered debilitating.

At some point in the fight, Oberyn was once again knocked to the ground, but instead of rising back to his feet with ease, Dravor was ready, putting his foot on Oberyn's chest as a way to torture him before his death. Oberyn, at this point, was struggling to breathe and was knocking on death's door. I was tempted to say something out loud, but I bit my tongue several times out of fear that Dravor would abandon his duel with Oberyn and brutally ambush me in front of everyone.

Thinking about Oberyn's words earlier on, I knew that I had to say something in order to make him continue fighting. He's too strong to be portrayed as this weak and helpless.

"Keep fighting, Oberyn. Keep fighting," I shouted, deciding to swallow my pride anyway, even if there were consequences.

Dravor kept his foot on the chest of Oberyn, staring into his eyes and plotting his murder methodically and carefully. Meanwhile, near-helpless Oberyn turned his head to the side to try and glance at me from a sideways point-of-view. And even though we locked eyes, Oberyn could see me desperately pleading for him. Oberyn needed to fight back if he had any chance at living. He shouldn't give up this easily. I wouldn't let him.

"Fight, Oberyn! Fight!" I shouted in a last-ditch effort, my breath hindering in anticipation.

And that was when Oberyn had a sudden burst of energy. An energy that can only be described as a flame of anger and rage. It was like a switch flipped, and he became the conquering Red Viper that I had only heard about in fairy tales when I was younger.

He used his spear to stab Dravor in the shoulder, in a place the armor didn't cover. While Dravor screamed in pain, Oberyn rolled out from underneath The General's foot and rose back to his feet, clashing with him multiple times again. With every chance he got, Oberyn stabbed Dravor in places that included the abdomen, the other shoulder, both legs, and plenty of other places.

So far, the chest remained unscathed.

"It would be wise if you shut the mouth of that girl of yours," a distracted Dravor snarled, "before I go up there and shut it myself."

Still irate, Oberyn boldly ripped Dravor's sword out of his hand, chucking it off to the side instantly. To torture him even further and to closely ensure his win, he ripped off Dravor's chest plate and too chucked it far away from the action, capitalizing on the action with another sharp jab to the abdomen.

"If you speak so poorly of her, you speak poorly of me," Oberyn shouted. "And I will not tolerate such disrespect from those who support tyranny that is defined by the cruel Brandeth Sparr!"

I smiled enough to show my dimples, but not enough to show my teeth. I even had to bite my bottom lip to keep from cheering, for it would distract Oberyn and lead to his loss. I couldn't do that when he was so close to securing a victory.

"Surely, you hadn't seen him this angry, Your Highness," King Stark said to me.

"I've seen a glimpse of it," I confirmed. "I consider myself lucky that the rage wasn't directed toward me."

"Then, you'd be in an entirely new boat," the king responded.

One by one, Oberyn managed to rip off most of Dravor's armor, which surprised me considering that Dravor was lauded as a strong, intimidating representative of the Iron Islands. But now, he was being purely embarrassed by the Red Viper, which I am quite happy about.

"Say one more ill word about my lover again, or I will make sure that you never speak any word again," Oberyn snarled as he paced back and forth in front of Dravor, waiting patiently for an opportunity to strike again.

Dravor slowly rose to his feet for a last-ditch effort. An effort that I considered an utter failure.

"I'll—I'll never—never," he snarled in between his fits of wincing in pain. "I'll never—never—stand with such a dirty traitor like your lover. Never!"

Apparently, that was enough for Oberyn. Then again, Oberyn had enough a long time ago, but he wanted to torture Dravor further just to prove that he was in the wrong...and the Red Viper was destined to live on.

He used his leg to knock Dravor flat on his back, and without hesitation, Oberyn took his spear into both hands and drove it through The General's chest as he bellowed, allowing him to be paralyzed for only a second before immediately going limp.

And with that, Oberyn and I's fates were sealed.

He yanked his spear out of dead Dravor's chest and immediately faced the crowd with a proud smile as he was applauded for his victory. By this point, I was giving Oberyn a standing ovation, smiling as I did it. I didn't even show him that I had to pick my jaw up from the ground at the sight of Dravor's death, for that fact was considered inconsequential in comparison to the moments unfolding right now.

He and I locked eyes once again, and I continued to give him the standing ovation that he deserved. Oberyn had once again saved my life—and this time, his own—and I had to show him that I greatly appreciated what he did. Once I got the chance, I met Oberyn back at the place where we were before this duel even started, and boy were we in great spirits.

As soon as we locked eyes again, we ran toward one another, cheering as loud as the crowd was before it all died down. In a moment of pure joy, he swept me off my feet in a tight hug, spinning me around several times before putting me back down.

"That was incredible," I said. "I'd never seen you fight with such ease and grit like that."

He shrugged, becoming humble with his fight to victory. "It was quite simple, really."

"But how'd you do it? How'd you kill him so quickly?" I asked incredulously.

"It's simple, princess," he started, grabbing his spear as part of his explanation. "Since I knew that a simple Dornish spear wouldn't be enough to kill a mountain of a man like that, I coated the tip of it with manticore venom, so that he'd succumb to his injuries quicker."

I nodded and smiled, knowing the negative effects that manticore venom can have on a human...and let's just say that these effects are not for the faint of heart to know about.

Oberyn then pulled me closer to him with one of his arms as we walked away from the arena with the intention of heading back to Dorne. Nothing could bring us down from that victory, for our fates were sealed and our lives were still intact. I was even proud about the fact that this victory would send a strong message toward my father, who would most likely be pissed upon hearing about the result of this duel.

And even though I worried about the hellstorm that might emerge from this, myself and Oberyn can now go into it proudly, becoming stronger than what we were before and becoming the pure personifications of the message we sent my father:

We are here...and we're coming for you.

[eyeseeyoudreaming]

LIGHTYEAR TEASER

Let's go waaay back to the OG Toy Story when Buzz had a toy-life crisis after watching that Buzz Lightyear commercial.

"The world's greatest superhero, now the world's greatest toy!"

Lightyear is the story about the real person Buzz Lightyear in the Pixarverse.

This crystal looks like a MacGuffin. Also a reference to the OG Toy Story when Buzz meets Woody, "Do you people still use fossil fuels or have you discovered crystallic fusion?"

But this scene right here! Just look at that color palette and overall tone. Dreary, lonely, sad, smog-filled but also a sort of last ditch hope for humanity.

Time period is before/ pretty close to the beginning events of Wall-E. Humans are starting to master space exploration. But the Earth isn't ruined yet. The droids already have a similar color, shape and texture to the ones that existed around Wall-E. Even the same little names! Look at my boy Eric. I will kill ANYONE who hurts my boy Eric...

Speaking of last hope *wink* the Star Wars fan in me died and came back when I saw how they took the setting of Luke's ship on Dagobah. There will be tons of Star Wars easter eggs in this movie.

And if you spot it real close, you can tell Buzz and that droid are hiding from something with a bright red light coming out of the shadows. A bright red light that looks super similar to these bulky yellow drones (This whole scene is a huge callback to Darth Vader's big entrance)

With a few hundred or thousands of these droids, I'd buy that someone wants to take over the galaxy. The purple color palette tells us that this guy is one of Zurg's henchmen. The V wings just scream "I'm a baddie Eeeeooowww!!" The ship is similar but definitely different from Lightyear's.

BUT it is whoever is in THIS container, that is the one and only true hot girl baddie of the summer, Evil Emperor Zurg! Ok I'll stop...

Whoever Zurg is, definitely ain't human. Just look at that Alien language! Mysterioussss....

There's still a lot that isn't clear. Like who is this Hawthorne? A beautiful black love interest that sounds alot like Uzo Aduba?

Is she related to that handsome admiral guy?

Who did those green tentacles belong to?

What kinds of intelligent alien life, will we see? Because there will definitely be aliens! It's like a rule.

Why is that cat giving off nightmare fuel vibes?

And more importanly! Will my space boi get to spread his wings and fly?

Or will he lose an arm...again?

We know Buzz Lightyear is a test pilot for Star Command. My theory is that his spaceship might be the first to travel in lightyears, unlocking the gates for real exploration throughout the entire galaxy if not the universe. But history shows that whenever you have explorers, you also have conquerors. Is Star command's true purpose to create a galactic empire? Anyway during one of the tests, Buzz crash lands and sees something he isn't supposed to see. Then he something-something plot and has to go on the run and steal his ship, only to be pursued by security. Then something something climax and bam! He stops Zurg, possibly at the cost of his own life.

Overall, I get the feeling Buzz is a tragic hero. Either he doesn't come home, can't come home or straight up sacrifices himself. Maybe all of the above! The fact that they got Chris Evans sells it to me.

One thing is for sure! Disney and Pixar are going to have a chokehold on everybody's wallet to infinity AND BEYOND!

https://youtu.be/BwPL0Md_QFQ

[ackermanbitch]

Teenage Dirtbag (Peter Parker X Reader) Part Five

a/n: lets just act like i havent fucked up the plot multiple times bc civil war is confusing also ive changed this chapter like twice now

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

warnings: cussing, steve like very briefly manipulating reader for his cause, vague and badly written action scenes

word count: 2.7k

"Why do I need to know all this Steve? Natasha and dad were pretty clear about keeping me in the dark." She whispered, sitting on a step in the stairway. Everything was so much more complicated than (Y/N) thought. She was now stuck in the compound with Wanda and Vision, feeling a sudden weight on her shoulders, too much weight for someone her age.

A few days after her afternoon with Ned and Peter, Happy told (Y/N) she needed to head to the compound for reasons he couldn't explain. Of course, she agreed without a second thought, not thinking it was a big deal.

It was a big deal. An enormous deal.

Steve was a criminal, and her dad was after him. She hated herself for it, but she was definitely on Cap's side. His pitch made more sense to her than her dad's. The Avengers just can't do what they need to if they're held back by a list of rules. She also tried to look at the entire situation like the trolley problem.

There were lives lost in New York, Washington DC and Sokovia but taking down the villains undoubtedly prevented more lives from being lost.

Steve, Bucky and Sam had a mildly stable plan at the moment to meet (Y/N), Wanda, Clint and some guy named Scott at an airport in Germany where the quinjet was being held.

"Because I need you on my side, (Y/N). Maybe your dad will listen if his own daughter is the one talking." Steve explained, his tone sounding slightly frustrated.

(Y/N) clenched her jaw, gripping the phone in her hand tighter as she spoke. "If I'm talking? I'll only help if I don't actually have to talk to him until this whole thing is solved. He will actually blast you to pieces if he finds out you're the one who told me."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures (Y/N). Trust me, I never wanted you involved in this, but I know you can help, whether or not Tony even knows you're with us."

"What if he like- never speaks to me again? And what if you lose this whole thing and go to prison Cap? What happens to me, hm? I feel like you just haven't thought this th-" The sound of a faraway explosion interrupted her, making her stand up and jog up the stairs to the kitchen where Vision and Wanda were.

She hung up on Steve, shoving her phone in her pocket with one hand and pushing open the door with her other one, "Wanda? Did you guys hea-" She paused, seeing Clint try to fight Vision with his fists.

(Y/N) felt like her legs were stuck in cement as she watched Vision hold Clint in a chokehold, seemingly winning the fight until Wanda fought against Vision, sending him flying through a few floors and then deeper into the earth.

Clint sighed in relief, running up to the teen and taking her hand. "C'mon kiddo, not long before he gets back up."

-----

"Is this kidnapping? I feel like this is kidnapping." (Y/N) asked, sitting in the front row of the van, leaning forward to talk to Clint.

"Unfortunately, yeah, we kidnapped you. But we're not taking you against your will or anything. And just because Steve wanted you here, doesn't mean I agree with it." He mumbled the last sentence, pulling into a parking spot.

He pulled open the side door after hopping out of the front seat, "Now, what are you do-"

"Watching, listening and running." She mumbled, pulling her backpack out of the van and throwing it over her shoulder. "God, that was a brutal trip, this Scott dude snores like crazy. Funny guy though, you should see his magic tricks." She giggled lightly, stretching while 'the Scott dude' introduced himself to Steve.

"They tell you what we're up against?" Cap asked, crossing his arms.

"Something about some psycho-assassins?"

Steve nodded, "We're outside the law on this one."

"Insane understatement..." (Y/N) scoffed.

"One question, does she have superpowers I don't know about? I mean, I have no problem with her being here or anything I just don't know why someone would bring a teenager to something like this." Scott asked, gesturing to her with a nod of his head.

"Distraction. Just in case." She deadpanned, still stretching.

(Y/N) sat on the roof of the parking garage, a pair of binoculars in her hands. She had a bottle of water in her lap and her backpack sat next to her, it was a nice setup.

Things started out tame as Steve walked out into the open, Tony and Rhodey landing in front of him. She could somewhat hear what they were discussing, the echoing making it easier to hear even from her distance.

Tony suddenly cupped his hands around his mouth, yelling a code name (Y/N) definitely did not recognize.

"Underoos!"

She saw him swinging through the air before Cap did. What looked like insanely enlarged spider webs stuck to Steve's shield, ripping it from his grasp like it was nothing.

She looked through her binoculars, her eyebrows furrowing. Who the hell was this guy? Have I seen that suit before? Why is he making small talk at a fucking battle?

"Cap-Captain. Big fan, I'm Spider-Man."

His voice cracked a lot.

(Y/N) lowered her binoculars, gasping. She didn't even listen to her dad's ranting, squinting at the stranger in the red suit.

When she did focus back in on the present, things had escalated a lot more quickly than she expected.

"Great, alright there's two on the parking deck, one of them's Maximoff, I'm gonna grab her." Tony reported.

"Got two in the terminal, Wilson and Barnes and.. Someone else is on the roof of the parking deck Tony- Jesus, it's (Y/N)." Rhodey gasped, focusing in on the girl to see her grabbing her backpack.

Tony paused mid-air, whipping his head around to look for her but she had disappeared just as quickly as Rhodey had pointed her out.

"Fuck, that was quick." She cussed under her breath, sliding down the roof and hopping off to land on someone's car, climbing off a lot more carefully than her last jump. She took off through the lot, making her way to the terminal. Tony was frozen in the air, trying to comprehend why and how the hell she was there.

"What should I do, Mister Stark?"

"Forget what we discussed, after her, now! She's headed for Barnes and Wilson!" He yelled through comms after a few seconds before going after Clint and Wanda again who had successfully gotten much farther than he wanted them.

"It's working (Y/N)." Clint confirmed, making the girl grin to herself.

The Spider-Man cleared his throat, "On it, sir!" He responded hesitantly, swinging to the windows of the building.

(Y/N) sprinted in the same direction as Bucky and Sam, her eyes focused on what was in front of her, not the stranger in spandex about to crash through the window.

She let out a scream as she was tackled to the floor, rolling a good twenty feet. The rub burn from the carpeted floor stung like fire but it was better than if he tackled her while she was on the tile. There were still a few pieces of glass from the broken window that cut her arm and face, not going unnoticed by the masked man.

When they stopped, the stranger sat on top of (Y/N), "He-" He quickly switched to a... Really terrible Queens accent? "Hey, I uh don't wanna hurt you or an-"

He was suddenly cut off, (Y/N) punching him square in the jaw with all her strength but it wasn't the flesh of her knuckles that hit his face, it was- metal? When did she put on the glove of what looked like Iron Man's suit? He didn't really care what it was, it hurt like a bitch.

While she was running, she had pressed some buttons on her watch, displayed on a holographic screen, letting red and gold metal encase part of her wrist, all of her palm and her knuckles, leaving her thumb and fingers bare. Tony gave it to her for self-defense when she turned fifteen, matching the one he wore himself.

"Ew, get off!" She screamed, "Stop freaking out!" He screamed back, webbing her more dangerous hand to the floor. She gasped in disgust, immediately shooting a repulsor through the substance and barely missing the masked man's face.

"You are so lucky that didn't hit you, you creep!"

"Creep?! I-I'm just trying to do my job, lady!"

"While straddling me?! Sure!"

"Straddling you?!"

"He's what?!"

Both Sam and Bucky yelled through comms at the same time, promptly turning around, Sam taking flight and Bucky sprinting back in the direction they came.

"I didn't mean t-" Spider-man was cut off again, Sam quite literally swooping in and picking- no ripping him off of (Y/N), throwing him in the opposite direction of her. "Creep." Sam mumbled, landing and putting his fists up.

"Thank you!" (Y/N) scrambled to her feet, taking off once again with a huff, "Ugh, why don't I work out, this is terrible!" She groaned but continued running as fast as possible anyway.

"We can only give you about two minutes, you better run like hell." Bucky's voice came over comms, and if she could run any faster, she definitely would. "Got it." She responded quickly, sliding down the middle of the escalator and hopping off at the end, losing her footing for a split second.

"Shit, this is terrifying." She mumbled out of breath, practically crashing through the doors that led to the open space where all the chaos was taking place.

(Y/N) finally slowed down, leaning over to put her hands on her knees, wheezing slightly. When she looked back up, she saw a truck flying through the air before hitting the ground, lighting up on impact.

"(Y/N), quinjet, now." Steve interrupted her thoughts, her feet almost moving on their own again as she ran under and around different vehicles and storage compartments to stay out of Tony's sight. She caught up quickly, running close behind Wanda.

Everything was going to plan, that is until Vision completely cut them off, burning a deep line in front of them with the stone.

"Captain Rogers, I know you believe what you're doing is right but for the collective good..."

(Y/N) sighed defeatedly, her shoulders dropping.

"You must surrender now." Vision finished, Rhodey and Tony landing on the ground behind him. Soon, a guy in a really cool cat suit, Spider-Man and Natasha joined them in a lineup.

Wanda gently nudged (Y/N), making her look up and notice one of Cap's hands behind his back, signaling for (Y/N) to get the hell out of there. She slowly backed up as the rest of her team moved forward, waiting until her dad and Spider-Man, her biggest threats at the moment, to be distracted before she turned on her heel and ran.

She ducked behind some stacked crates that were pretty far from the commotion, pressing her back to one while she tried to catch her breath. All that running, and for what?

"I won't make it to the jet Steve." (Y/N) sighed, slumping against the wood.

"That's fine kid, you did great." That was the last thing she heard from him before everything went to shit.

She wasn't paying attention to whether or not Steve made it to the jet, slightly distracted by Scott becoming the size of an apartment building. She watched as Spider-Man swung around and around his legs, Tony and Rhodey hitting him in the face and finally him crashing to the ground. As he was falling, he smacked poor Spider-Man with his enormous hand, sending him hurdling towards none other than (Y/N).

She gasped, ducking as quickly as she could. He hit the crates right above her, landing on the ground with a less than graceful thud not so far from her.

The teen slowly stood up, some pieces of broken wood falling off of her as she did. She carefully made her way to his unmoving body, readying her repulsor again as he lifted up his hand to pull his mask up. He obviously didn't notice her, pulling off the red fabric so he could breathe a little better.

"Parker?!" (Y/N) shrieked, falling back on her ass and scooting backwards immediately.

Peter gasped and mimicked her movements, quickly pulling his mask back on.

Tony landed, stomping over to the two. He pointed a finger at Peter first, "You, you're done. Done. Get up and I'll call Aunt May. And you," He turned to (Y/N), "Are dead. Absolutely dead. I don't even know what I'm gonna say but we are having a long long talk after this."

She dropped her head in shame and Peter laid back on the concrete, still trying to catch his breath. She waited for Tony to be back in the air before getting up and slowly making her way to Peter.

"Spider-Man? Seriously?" She started, staring him down.

"Please don't tell Ned." He mumbled, sitting up and taking the mask off once more.

"Of course I won't, I'm not an asshole Parker just very... shocked. You're not exactly the super-hero type but uh fuck me for judging a book by it's cover I guess." (Y/N) said bluntly, offering her hand.

Peter stared at the hand hesitantly, looking back up at her.

She let out a quick 'oh' before smacking a small blue button on the metal around her wrist, watching it fold back up into a chunky but clearly expensive watch.

"That's what's shocking? You're the one helping the guys your own dad is fighting against." He shot back, now taking her hand and mostly pulling himself up with a little help from her.

"Yeah yeah, I'm a real supervillain, I know." She rolled her eyes, letting go of his hand once he was standing up straight. "By the way, I like this costume much better than the one I've seen on Youtube."

"Ah, this is all Mister Stark." He mumbled in an embarrassed tone, suddenly finding the ground extremely interesting.

"I know, saw it in his workshop. No idea who it was for, but I did help him with the design of the spider on the chest, the one he originally thought up was kind of tacky." She admitted, pointing at the black marking for emphasis.

"Oh, uh- thank you." He smiled, his cheeks tinted slightly red at the thought of wearing something that she worked on.

She waved a wand in dismissal, "Ah, it's nothing. Not like I made your web shooters or anything important."

Peter furrowed his eyebrows at her statement. He dropped the conversation there, but he knew it wasn't 'nothing'. That spider represented him, it represented The Spider-Man. Maybe if he keeps the suit, people will soon see that little spider design as a sign of hope and rescue. Every time he looks at that spider from now on, he'll think of h-

"Are you okay? Did I punch you too hard?" (Y/N) questioned, not so gently grabbing Peter's face and moving it back and forth frantically.

Peter hadn't realized he'd stopped walking, turning bright red in embarrassment. "Oh-oh my god, I'm so sorry!" He apologized, watching (Y/N) sigh in relief and drop her hands. "I didn't even realize I stopped walking." He laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, looked like you were having a little inner monologue moment there," She teased, "don't worry about it, my dad does it all the time." She finished with a smile, turning back around to keep walking.

a/n: lets pretend i knew that the quinjet was in an entirely different country when i was writing the last chapter 😔

taglist: @preciousbabypeter

[eirist]

In the Heat of the Moment

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T

Note: For Day 3—Nami’s Day—of the ZoNa Days event (at @zonamievents). I’m already late but still posting it. It’s unfair if it’s only Zoro who gets an entry.

In the Heat of the Moment is by Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds. I still have The Umbrella playlist to thank for being such a good company.

Summary: "You're getting sappy witch. Sounds like you care about me."

The rain hadn’t let up from the moment it began to pour down.

Which should not have been a problem in the first place… the Straw Hats have their very own weather expert-slash-navigator extraordinaire after all.

If only said weather expert-slash-navigator extraordinaire didn't get distracted, arguing with a certain green-haired swordsman.

"This is your fault!" Nami complained, rubbing her arms with her hands in a poor attempt to keep the emerging chill away.

​Somehow satisfied, she folded her arms across her chest as she sulkily glared at the rain which has now completely turned into a steady downpour.

​Luckily she was able to pull the man with her towards an alcove in the town's wall before they got drenched. It was an uncomfortable fit, as they were almost pressed to each other, but it'll do.

​Zoro was snarling beside her. "This rain is MY fault?" He huffed. "Right! It's my fault coz I absolutely can make it rain on a whim!"

Nami turned sharply towards him, glaring daggers. "If you hadn't gotten lost—" 

"I DON'T GET LOST!" 

"—like the idiot that you are," she continued ignoring Zoro's outburst, deliberately raising her tone and effectively drowning his retort with her shrill voice. "Then we wouldn't be stuck in here ZORO!" Her voice jumped another octave when she said his name. "In. HERE!" She repeated the words, making sure to emphasize them and hoping to drill it straight into his thick, dumb skull. 

"Tch! Then you shouldn't have followed me!" The former bounty hunter groused.

​"Besides, aren't you supposed to be good at predicting the weather?" He commented sardonically. "Shouldn't you have known that it’s going to rain today?" 

Nami gaped at him disbelievingly. ​And heat rose to her cheeks.

​She gave his shin a good kick for that.

​​"Ite!" 

​"I know that!" Nami practically shrieked at him. "That's why I followed you here to tell you about it! Is this the thanks I get from making sure you don't get your dumb self lost in this island while a storm is brewing?!"

"Again woman, I DON'T GET LOST!" Not the one to be deterred, Zoro raised his own voice to match hers. "And damn it! Stop kicking me!"

​"Bullshit!" The ever-feisty navigator exclaimed. "That a load of crap and you know it!"

​She angrily poked his chest with her finger. "If I leave you to your own devices... We. Would. Never. Find. You!" She punctuated each word with a prod on his torso. As if that would actually make the idea sink unto him. "I don't want Luffy and Chopper whining about how you are lost and that we should find you!

​Zoro grabbed her hand to stop her from poking a hole in him. Grasping it firmly he all but shouted back at her. "I will be fine! I will find my way back to the Sunny!"

“Hah! Fat chance of that happening!” 

​They were almost nose to nose by this time; all the while scowling at each other, both waiting for the other to back down.

Now only the sound of the rain falling heavily down the soaked earth can be heard as they continued their stare off. Along with the sharp intake of breaths coming from the two of them because honestly, their shouting matches can be quite arduous.

​As the glowering continued; Zoro thought he caught a glint, a spark from behind Nami's eyes before those warm brown orbs widened.

​In what could only be a realization that their current position is leaning towards… precarious. It was also not helping that his own eye had darted all over her face, taking in the flush on her cheeks. Despite it coming from indignation, she still looks...

 ... pretty.

​He almost choked at his thoughts. When did he turn into that shit cook?

Zoro inhaled sharply and realized what a wrong move that was. He caught a whiff of Nami’s signature scent. Sweet with an undertone of zestiness that reminds him of her mikan fruits at their peak of ripeness—that certain moment that makes you want to steal one so you can taste them...

​The color on her face deepened and Zoro wasn't sure if it was because she was getting angrier and angrier by the minute.

Or... If it was because she saw that his stare lingered for more than a second or two at her lips. ​"Screw this!" He grunted, instantly averting his gaze. He felt his face heating up and to get out of their rather 'awkward' situation, he immediately resorted to his favorite defense mechanism whenever he faces off against this orange-haired devil incarnate.

Losing his temper on her. 

"You are not my keeper woman!" He snapped at her before immediately stepping out of their sanctuary and into the rain.

That made Nami snap to attention. "Hey!"

​Without another word Zoro turn around and started walking away from her despite the torrential rain.

WALKING. AWAY. FROM. HER.

While it’s raining cats and dogs. 

 "Zorooo!!!" He heard Nami screeched his name, horrified that he would actually leave her alone. There was no way he was getting back in there with her. Not when it occurred to him that he was only a second away from grabbing her...

...and kissing her.

​He walked in faster strides when she called him again. He had to get away from her. He needed to get away from her.

Far away.

​Because honestly she was driving him crazy lately with all these thoughts of wanting to kiss her surfacing every moment whenever he was with her.  

And who knows what the repercussions are? This is Nami they're talking about. She would probably sic ero-cook and even Luffy if he dared to even try. Or rat him out to either Robin or Usopp or both.

Or charge him more than what his current bounty is.

He winced at that.

​For now he needed to get away and calm himself so he can reflect...

​There was no warning as something collided at his back, almost making him stumble down the wet ground.

Did someone just attack him?

​But the presence wasn't threatening, even if its arms were wrapped around his neck in a chokehold, throttling him.

"YOU DID NOT JUST LEAVE ME ALONE THERE RORONOA ZORO!" Nami deliberately yelled at his ear, probably making his ear drum shatter and rendering him forever deaf. In a split second the Supernova realized that Nami… had jumped him.

​"Hey! Get off witch!"

"No!" "Get off!" "I said no!"

​"Get off now or I'll--"

Her hold around his neck tightened. "Or you'll what?" Nami hissed right in his ear in a tone so dangerously low that an actual chill ran down Zoro's spine. He gave her arm a light slap, a silent gesture to loosen her hold because she was cutting off his air. When she didn't relent, he effortlessly bounced her up his back.

​With a squeak of surprise, her arms slackened and he was able to finally draw in some air.

Nami’s hands grabbed at his shirt in an attempt to prevent herself from slipping from his back. Zoro tried to shake her off him. But the cat burglar swiftly clung onto him by locking her legs around his waist.

His remaining eye widened at that. 

"Nami!"  ​ "Stop trying to shake me off Zoro!" Nami protested as she held on to him tightly. Her knee knocked against his katanas and he scowled. "Then stop strangling me damn it!" "You deserve it you ass! Leaving me alone like that! Wait until the others hear about this you brute!" ​ Zoro muttered an expletive under his breath. Nami is a real witch!

He can feel her sliding down his back again. She was having a hard time clinging onto him because his shirt and her arms and legs were all wet from the rain water.

"I'm charging you for all these Zoro!" She muttered against his ear, her breath hot against his skin… a stark contrast from the cold rain water falling down on them. "The hell you are!" He managed to retort. She was speaking from his blind side and even as he tilted his head, he cannot see her face or her expression.

The next thing he knew… her fist had descended on his head.

“The hell! Why did you hit me?!”

“Because you are a moron.”

“That’s it get off me!”

“No!!”

​They continued struggling against each other, right in the middle of the rain that was soaking them to the bone.

​And Zoro realized then and there that Nami was quite nimble. She had quickly managed to change her position from his back to his side with her legs still locked around him.

He really didn't know what to do with that information, except it's going to be really handy once he gets the chance to...

​​​Fuck! ​​ She had hit him on the head with her fist ​again.​ That’s twice already.  Why are her punches hurting him so much? Was it clad in haki?? "Argh! Nami stop it!" He tilted his head towards her so he can growl and glare at her all at the same time.

She just gave him a haughty serves-you-right grin.

In retaliation he bounced her against him again. 

​Which was a wrong move. Because all it did was rubbed her breasts against him and press her closer to him.

It was a good thing the rain was drowning them.   Though it did made her yelp in surprise. He’s good with that.

​"Argh! Stay still Zoro! I swear if you drop me down I'm going to—"

“To what?” His steely eye met hers. This time it was his turn to challenge her.

Nami’s hold around his neck tightened, probably because her grip on him was slipping again because she was just as wet as he is and also because she still wants to choke the shit out of him for leaving her alone earlier.

She lifted her chin slightly so she could gaze back at him even as the rain water continued trickling down her face.

Was it just him or Nami’s quite comfortable where she is right now?

He knew she was trying to give him the evil eye. But it was hard to do that when the droplets of rain keep clinging to her lashes and she had to blink them away in a manner that affects him greatly.

And there was it… that familiar glint, that spark he saw when they were back in the alcove taking shelter from this rain.

“Look Zoro,” she finally sighed. “I just wanted to make sure you will come back to the Sunny in one piece and not get stranded in this weather."

​Zoro blinked. He was not expecting that.

​Then his face broke into a smirk. "You're getting sappy witch. Sounds like you care about me."

“Y-y-ou!” She stammered.

He grinned at her as she sputtered, her face turn absolutely and adorably red.

To think, he actually high-tailed it out of there earlier with his tail between his legs all because he can't face the realization that he wanted this woman.

But there was no denying it now. Amidst this rain it was very clear. That was all he needed.

He finally decided to take a chance instead of running away from it like a coward. ​

He tucked a strand of her wet hair behind her ear. "You can punch me or charge me later Nami," was all he said before he pressed his lips on hers.

Her body jerked in surprised. His arm instantly wrapped around her waist to secure her as one of her hands grasp at his shirt tightly.

​He swore he heard and felt her murmur 'oh fuck' against his lips before she deepened their kiss.

​They pulled apart slightly for air. Zoro hauled her up a little and Nami was about to lean down to for another kiss…

“A-choo!”

They looked at each other in surprise. Nami’s hand automatically covered her mouth as her face turned red again… this time for a very different reason.

“Ehem!”

They both turn their heads towards the sound and saw an elderly man standing a few feet away from them under an umbrella.

He was shaking his head as he looked at them.

“You youngsters should just get a room you know. You risk getting sick doing things out here in the open that should be done privately.”

[animatedrapture]

RINTOBER: [ Achilles' Heel ]

word count: 2,222

suna rintarō x reader

tags: ambiguous end, implied major character death, angst, implied sexual intercourse, toxic relationship, detailed pain(?)

song: achilles come down - gang of youths

a/n: HALLOWEEN SPECIAL because... death...?

a HUGE thank you, once again, to my wonderful wife, love of my life, bby @toffees-main 🥺 for proofreading the final piece and preventing me from sounding like a dumbass like, twice. also, thank you to @newfriendjen and @kaitycole for beta-reading the initial draft!

"Rin, Rintarō, I love you!" You shouted from the bleachers; a proud smile decorating your features as you cheered for him right after he'd hit the ball to the other side of the net, securing EJP Raijin another point—so close to winning.

His gaze and yours were two opposites of a pole with a pull unparalleled—a pull science can only wish to decipher. He finds you as he rotates through the set up and there's a beam in his eyes, making him break out into a grin you just know he couldn't find it in himself to reserve for later.

That day, that match—Suna Rintarō was named the MVP of the game. He owed it all to you and the swell of his heart with each cheer he heard from you; your voice distinct as if it were the only one that mattered in that whole gymnasium. Perhaps, at least that time, you truly were all that mattered to him.

But not anymore.

The first—the first was the lack of replies, the dryer replies. I love you's met with Love you's and very little effort to hide the lack of sincerity beneath. It began through texts until it was the quick, snipped tone laced with the parsimonious manner he answered you. The act of it was much like an attempt to deprive you of water until you're but withering rose in his grasp that he would rather replace than try to plant again and save.

Just how long were you willing to go without the water you needed to stay alive?

"Rin, love, I'll prepare dinner for us tonight, come home early, okay? I'm cooking your favorite!"

"I'll try," was his reply as you watched each of his hasty movements through your shared bedroom.

"I prepared you a bento, too. It's on the kitchen counter," you continued as he attempted to ignore the way you looked at him similar to the way you look when you're lost and searching for something. He hums in response, and just as he was about to reach for the door, you call out to him, "Rin, where's my goodbye kiss?" in the usual tone you would pull back then when he would forget and pepper you with kisses in retaliation, offering an apology before heading out.

He looks back at you with exasperation, "I'm late, Y/N." He doesn't wait for you to answer before he has the door shut close.

That's how you know he also forgot the food you prepared on the kitchen counter.

Foolishly, the answer to the question was that you were willing to wait until your next life for his love to drown you into bliss again. It's that answer that's disrespectful to the mystery of reincarnation—but you're everything Suna Rintarō wanted you to be; that is, if it was a fool he wanted you to be, you would play the part better than any award winning actor to have ever lived could. Even if it was a miscreant he wanted you to be, some sort of heretic to the laws of the world and the conditions of love. You'd be everything he asked of you. After all, who were you if not his other half?

Who were you if not water to shape into whatever container he put you in, right?

The second—the second was the lies that slipped past such sinful crimson lips. Oh, by the heavens, as if the lack of fondness in the timbre of his voice as he spoke to you wasn't enough to put cracks to the cemented foundation of you and him. Cruel, it's so cruel—you wonder if you're lacking somewhere, have you changed? Are you no longer diamond in the sea of glitter—? Worth not of his time nor the beating of the caged heart you thought you've acquired?

Now when he speaks, even the very sound of his voice reverberates like a sharp spear piercing through your chest without mercy—as if you're Spartan in the Battle of Thermopylae. The lies that come along with them about how training ended late again, or that he's travelling for a match again—Huh? No, you don't have to come, Y/N. I need to focus.

Did he have to lie about who he's with, what he's been doing? It's laughable. As if you wouldn't kiss away the taste of anything that lingered in his lips, if it was blood, alcohol or the lips of another girl. Rintarō, did he not know you enough to know you would surrender to his will no matter what mud followed his footsteps?

Ah, but, what would admitting such things do to his pride? Maybe it's that—or maybe he liked the way the lies were like lemon and salt to a fresh wound. You think, you never thought you could be so masochistic.

Third—the third is the sharpness of his gaze. It's the same gaze, same pair of eyes you've loved for such a long time and you fail not to love to this very moment. You're softer than clouds but now most hollow in comparison to the unacquirable stars among the cosmos—you think they're there but they're just a burst of light, something that has probably died lightyears ago.

It's like chokehold, the fourth—the fourth is like chokehold and he, the assassin. Ruthless—he's ruthless when he looks at you as you're not more than a tedious chore to him and the ring on your finger held no promise of relentless love greater than what a deity could offer.

Foolish—you're foolish. Delusion is a coping mechanism to the ones whose realities have been robbed in front of them—delusion is what you're supposed to call it when you fill your head with all the excuses and all the things you tell yourself have to change. You used to be a masterpiece. A masterpiece to him; as though you're Holy Grail found in a gallery of things that could never begin to hope they would ever amount to you.

Delusion is ignoring the liquor in his lips, the intoxicating smell of his cologne mixed with alcohol and cigarette smoke. You're confused and your reality that seems to have been distorting more often than usual. You question the strings that premeditate fate when it's you feeling the drunkenness and hangover the next day when it should be Suna and the tabloids of "Suna Rintarō spotted in yet another bar." You wonder if each sunset and sunrise you watched with Suna was a mere fever dream when it's you who vomits on the toilet. You, who sobs on the bathroom floor.

"Sfumato," your friend tells you, "The gentle blurring of edges to make rendered objects appear as one with their environment." The edges blur when you call that delusion as love—you only have to wait long enough before both are truly one and the same. The pain disguised as martyr sacrifice to the greatest allegory of love to exist. This is what you're told. They say, "Y/N, you've confused love with delusion," and yet you don't listen.

You don't listen most of all when you're back underneath him but you feel like you're being bloodied all over, stained like wine to a white dress. Yet you allow yourself to indulge in the kisses he's abated you of, you revel in each time you ask him to tell you he loves you and he finally does as he luxuriates you of your desires and of your whines for love—nevermind that he was doing it for himself. After all, it is as the word suggests, a luxury.

Suna Rintarō had become a luxury you couldn't afford, therefore, he did not have any business of giving himself to you. Not unless he wanted to.

Is there such thing as a free reign over the heart of someone? Hand it over as they will but how long would they truly allow you to borrow it—? Borrow it because one never truly surrenders such a vital thing to human functioning. Yes, you are and you have been delusional to believe so.

"You own the entirety of my heart, Y/N," you're unsure whenever it echoes in your head. He brings you enough torture, why must your own brain create such clamor in your head. Was such pain necessary? Is pain to love much like Adam's rib to Eve?

"It's a promise ring, bunny," he said as he tucked your hair behind your ears—his gaze is intense, almost like you would disappear from his sight if he looked at anywhere or anything but you.

You stared at the ring that shone under the light of the restaurant, your vision blurring at the tears welling from your eyes and you try your best to choke in the sob that involuntarily escapes you.

"Hey, Y/N, what are you cryin' for?" He questioned with a chuckle, looking at you with amusement dancing in his eyes while his thumbs reached out to wipe away each tear that betrayed you—falling down your cheeks as he cupped your face.

"I-it's nothing, I—I'm just happy, love," you answer him through your tears.

There's a smile playing across his lips, he tells you, "'m just making a promise that I'll marry you one day, bunny, is all."

You nodded eagerly with a wide smile even as the tears that left you continued to fall, "I'm making a promise to say yes, Rin. No matter what," you answered him through your sobs, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Guess I should start practicing to get on one knee then, yeah?" He laughed as he pulled you closer, his arms around you, you giggled along with him—it felt like you were molded together to form one perfect piece, like the act of staying there for all of eternity, in each other's arms, would turn you into one. Entangled together in all the right ways—as if Rapture has befallen the Earth and that was your final state as did the universe.

The fifth—the fifth is the screaming, the fights. Who would have thought you would break like a mere twig stepped on in the darkest forest on this Earth? It was under his shoe did you break from; each word that left his mouth was scathing—they didn't feel like a stab or pins and needles to the human heart, they felt like burns of acid that slowly ate at your decaying soul, breaking heart, dwindling sanity.

"I don't get it, Rin! Why do you treat me like this?!" You screamed through your tears, your chest heaving as your lungs tried its best to support you, even when it's already been punctured by the shattered pieces of your heart that continued to beat in separate shards, digging further into your lungs, damaging your ribcage, piercing your throat.

"Please, God, just tell me what to do—Rintarō, tell me what I need to do to turn us back to the way we were, please," you begged, falling to your knees and you let the shattered items on the floor puncture your skin. You felt numb yet your whole body was buzzing. The pain from the pieces of glass from under you doesn't register in your brain because all you can feel is the pain that was spreading from your chest and out into your whole body.

Under his mercy had he turned you inside out and greedily taken every part of you—everything you surrendered on your own volition until you were nothing, not even a shell of yourself but more like a ghost floating through the air. It looked like a battlefield—and perhaps it was. Love was never something you come out alive from. Love was greedy, selfish, treacherous. Love is like an assailant you allowed to enter in the safety of your own home.

"Don't you get it? Y/N, I don't love you anymore!"

No. You think, no. No, it repeats in your head, over and over. Denial. You were in denial, at this conjecture, you were aware of even this.

"I stopped loving you long ago, Y/N. You were dumb enough to stay." Has he always been this truculent towards you? You wonder but you can't recall anything else but the echoing of his words. Words he used like a champion of the battlefield, liberating away the life of his enemies.

No. Don't say that. You don't mean it. No.

Suna thought you would be the arrow to his heel—the one to bring him to his knees in the most torturous of ways. In reality, maybe you were more his heel than the arrow. He was both Achilles and his actions, the arrow that brought him to his own demise.

Sixth—the sixth was sickening grief. You're so unfair. You're so selfish. How could you run away from him, only to scream his name and the tormenting shout of "I love you" that haunted him awake or in his slumber. How could you be so cruel? To let him fall to his knees in front you the way you made him to. Ruthless—you're so ruthless. The pain was the excruciating kind, crashing towards him like ocean waves bringing him farther from the shore and near to wherever you were now. How could you leave him like you did?

After all, what was he if there wasn't you?

📞 violet is calling... all content featured belongs to ©️ animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.

[johnkrrasinski]

illicit affair;

full masterlist

Pairings: Professor!Andy Barber x female!reader (AU) 

Word count: 2,898

Warning: SMUT!!!! fingering, blowjob (male receiving), dirty talk. (MUST BE 18+) 

Summary: you had been crushing on your sexy professor, Andy Barber since the beginning of the semester but he made it hard for you to focus in class. lucky for you, he was willing to give you the best lesson in your life though. 

a/n: this one’s written for @stargazingfangirl18​ and @navybrat817​‘s shameless hoes for chris writing challenge. i picked the prompt “your professor has a different kind of extra credit in mind.” hope you like it! leave a like and comment. enjoy! 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

There he goes again, captivating the entire room with that dashing suit and tie, making it difficult for you to breathe. Andy Barber was the professor of your criminal law class. To say he was attractive would be an understatement. The man is the living embodiment of every girl’s wildest dreams. When you first took the class, with the hopes of becoming a social worker, you didn’t expect it to be this challenging. You were confident in your own work ethic and in being a fast learner. No major was too onerous for you to ace.

Until Andy Barber walked into the class on that first day and you realized he was going to teach you for the entire semester.

You had never had a man spellbinding you this badly before. You had a few crushes here and there, but not once did they make you feel the way Andy Barber does. And you knew that it was inappropriate to lust after your professor but, it wasn’t a crime if he is a divorcé and the whole class could relate, right?

It wasn’t only wrong but it was also cruel and unfair that he succeeded in making you lose every bit of your focus whenever he was around. No matter how hard you try to pay attention to what he is lecturing about, your mind would always drift away to nasty places that you shouldn’t even be thinking about visiting. No matter how hard you try to simply open your laptop and type away the vital points that you would need to memorize for final exams, you just couldn’t. It’s like you were paralyzed by his magnetism and oh, how well did he do it.

Like how you currently had a pen stuck between your teeth as if you were fellating it because you were imagining what it would be like to have those plump lips of his on yours and so your pen had to take the beating.

You didn’t know whether he noticed you at all from where you were sitting, you always choose to sit in the middle row, where you could still see things clearly on the board but you didn’t have to feel so exposed because sitting on the front row means everyone who sat behind you could see every movement you make and you would have to deal with the uneasiness of the proximity between you and your professor gave you and you had no wish to make it worse for yourself.

It wasn’t only that he was insanely good-looking but he was also a gentleman. He always charmed the class with his humorous comments and witty jokes while he was doing a lecture or simply when he called out a student who fell asleep. He always made himself available for his students who were confused about the subject or needed guidance on some complex topics. He always greeted the class with a warm smile and he always tried to understand the struggles of being a college student.

You had lost count on how many filthy dreams you had about this man, and how many daydreams you had lost yourself in during his class or simply when you were wide awake. He truly got you on a chokehold. A part of you would sometimes wonder, how could anyone divorce this man? If he were your husband, you would feel like the luckiest woman on earth. You wouldn’t ask for anything else in life.

“Any question…?” He ended today’s session by allowing the students to raise their hands if they needed some enlightenment.

Several students raised their hands and presented their questions and he answered them all eloquently. When there was no more question asked, he dismissed the class and all of the students got out of their seats and exited the room. You were still stuck amidst of your fantasy where Professor Barber was devouring you like you were the last tasty meal on earth and he hadn’t been fed for a month. The thought of his mouth lapping your juices as his beard creating delicious friction on your inner thigh alone was enough to soak your panties.  

You didn’t realize that the class was over until everyone had left and your professor called out your name. There were only the two of you now in the room.

“Y/N? Y/N! Class is dismissed.” He shook you out of your daydream with the gentleness of his voice.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, sir I was- I’m gonna leave now.”

“Are you alright? You zoned out a little there.”

“Yeah, I’m okay, I just- I… I was thinking… of… finals. Yeah, I was thinking of finals.”

“If you need a brief tutor, I wouldn’t mind.”

“No, no! It’s fine, really, I’ll manage. Have a good day sir.” You hurriedly pack up your laptop and stationery and you immediately ran for the door. But you were abruptly stopped by his voice that had slightly shifted its tone.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Miss Y/L/N, do you have a minute?”

Oh shit. This is it. This is where he is going to interrogate you for always being absentminded throughout his entire session and you are probably going to say something really idiotic and you are going to embarrass yourself or you might even spill your own secrets and he is going to get you suspended and then-

“Yes, sir.” You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Come here, have a seat.” He pulled a chair from one of the tables and placed it across his seat.

You nervously approached him and sat down as your hands trembled because if there’s another word to describe Andy Barber, it would be intimidating. His charisma isn’t only appealing but could also conquer his interlocutors.

“I’ve noticed that your grades have been slipping lately, why is that?”

“I just- I don’t know, maybe I’ve been really tired, sir. College can be really stressful.”

“I understand. But what puzzles me is that I did some background check on you and your grades in other subjects are doing really well. In fact, you had kept a solid 4.0 GPA for two years in a row now. So, what is the problem here, y/n?”

You gulped. Fucking hell, how the hell were you supposed to answer that? “Oh, don’t worry, it’s simply you being so ridiculously hot that you have been distracting me every time you’re lecturing. Maybe, I don’t know, if you could just bend me over on your desk and make me your girlfriend, that might help me take my mind off you.”

“I just- I’ve had a lot in my mind, sir, and it’s just- this subject is really hard,” you spoke meekly. “I promise, I will work really hard on my finals, sir. I won’t let you down.” You hoped that it was convincing enough so that you could carry on with your day and not sit here like a scared mouse.

“Final starts in two weeks,” he reminded you. “How are you going to convince me that you could wrap an entire semester within only two weeks when you have other courses demanding equal attention, y/n?”

“Um, I don’t know, maybe I’ll ask a friend to help me study. I’ll do whatever it takes to pass the test, sir. I give you my word.” Goddamnit, what the hell was he doing to you? Of course, you weren’t going to ask for anybody’s help, you were always the one who was giving help to your fellow classmates instead of needing one. Now you were just making silly excuses to get you out.

His brows furrowed. You knew he wasn’t going to buy your answer so easily. Andy took his job very seriously and it disappointed him to the extreme when one of his students wasn’t doing well in his course. It made him feel like he didn’t do enough in educating these young people. So when one of his students didn’t fulfil his expectations, he was going to address it and solve the problem together.

There was a silence that lingered between the two of you until he broke it off, “how far are you willing to go to pass this class, y/n?”

“Anything sir, I-, I care about my grades. I know I don’t show it enough but I won’t fail you this time.”

“Anything?” Suddenly, the expression on his face transitioned into something impish.

“Yeah, anything at all, sir.”

“How about I offer you a proposition?” His tone was sultry.

“You do something for me, and I’ll make sure you get an A+ on your test. You don’t have to worry about failing.”

“What do you have in mind, sir?”

Instead of giving you a direct answer, he stood up from his seat and sat on the edge of the table. His hands were folded on his propped up thigh.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time, y/n and I want an honest answer. No bullshit or the deal is off.”

You were taken aback by the word that he just used. It wasn’t very in-character of him to cuss, especially in front of a student. You didn’t know if he was a completely different man outside of the university, so this was certainly something you weren’t used to.

“O-okay…”

“Why are you failing in my class, y/n?”

You bit your lip so hard you thought it might bleed. Your lips quivered as tears began brimming in your eyes. You were scared of telling him the truth but you knew if you lie again, he would see right through you and you would end up failing his class for real and there will be no second chance. You refused to retake the same course next semester when you could be getting closer to getting your degree.

You drooped your head down in defeat. The eye contact was overwhelming you and you sucked it up and gathered every last bit of dignity you had in you to give him an answer.

“I… I’m attracted to you, sir.”

He nodded. What you didn’t see was a wicked smirk forming on his lips, as if he knew what he was going to hear when he made you confess. “Go on.”

“I can’t stop thinking about- about making love to you, sir.” you stuttered your words. You cringed at your own words. There was no way to unring the bell now. You just humiliated yourself in front of the person whose attention you wanted the most. He disclosed your dirtiest secrets and this was going to be your doom.

“Good girl. Now, we better not stall any longer, yeah? I’ve got another class in twenty minutes.” He sat back on the chair and ordered, “get on your knees.”

“Wh… What?”

“You heard me. On your knees, I won’t tell you anymore.” his tone sent a shiver down your spine. You didn’t know what was happening but you were excited. You got on your feet and before you could even take a step, he stopped you. “No, no. Crawl.”

You stared at him incredulously as if he had just told you a joke. But you did what you were told to anyway, fearing that you would disappoint him before the act could even begin. You got on your knees with your hands on the floor and crawled to between his spread knees.

You waited for his next instruction with your hands on your thighs as your head hung low. “Take off my pants.”

Without further delay, you undid the zip of his pants and pulled the waistband down along with his boxer briefs, just enough to let his enormous cock spring free. “Good girl. You listen well. Now… you know what to do.” He rested his forearms on the arms of the chair and leaned back on the headrest nonchalantly whilst still maintaining his gaze on you.

Shit, you always fantasized about him using your body but you weren’t actually experienced. Yes, you’ve had a few casual hookups now and then, but it was nothing like this. Your professor who seemed to really enjoy turning you into a puddle by simply commanding you around like his own personal sex slave.

“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t act like you haven't watched porn.”

You start by doing what you had learned from a few pornographic videos which is by stroking him with your hand and then you wrap your lips around his shaft. The taste of his pre-cum mixing with your saliva made you moan. His hand then went to grab a fistful of your hair to push you forward until his tip hits the back of your throat.

“Ah, fuck. That’s better.” Then he took the wheel from there, using your hair as leverage to guide you up and down at a moderate pace. He grunted as he threw his head back against the headrest. “Shit, that’s good. Keep going, baby.” A part of you was a tad elated when he praised you for something you had very little experience in. The ecstatic look on his face amplified the dampness in your panties, your body begging for more. He kept using your face to get himself off and you felt him convulsed in your mouth. He quickened his motion and then released deep inside your throat.  

A few seconds later, he pulled himself out after his cum painted your trachea. “Get up and bend on the table,” you did what he says and pressed your cheek on the wooden surface. “Who knew a 4.0 GPA student like you would be such a dirty slut? You might fool everyone but you can’t fool me, baby.”

He lifted the hem of your plaid skirt and smacked your buttocks with both of his hands, leaving a fiery red handprint on your buttcheeks. You yelped as it echoed on the walls. He pushed aside the crotch of your underwear, and he inserted two of his fingers inside soaked holes, scissoring you wide open for him. You moaned in pleasure as you gripped the edge of the table.

“Fucking slut. I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet for me?” You didn’t answer as you continued to cry out. He smacked your left bum once more, “answer me!”

“Yes! Yes, sir.” You stammered between your ragged breathing.

“Is this why you can’t get your shit together? ‘Cause you keep fantasizing about my fingers buried deep in your needy cunt?”

“Yes sir…” your voice quaked.

“Extra points for honesty.” He retreated his fingers and replaced it with his cock. The unwarned intrusion sent a jolt through your body. You squealed in shock as you closed your eyes, trying to adjust yourself to his size. “Ah fuck, you’re so tight.” His hand went to your hair once more and grabbed a fistful of it as he began driving his hips forward. The friction in your G-spot sent electricity through your veins.

He didn’t waste any time by picking up the pace as he lifted your head and brought it closer to his, making you look up to him. “Does that feel good, baby? Is this how you imagined?” He kept thrusting brutally in between his foul words. “yes… Sir. You feel so good around me.” He pecked a brief kiss on your lips and kept pounding you like an animal.

A few more violent strikes and you clenched around him, pushing him to the edge along with you. “Cum baby, show me what a dirty whore you are.” You shut your eyes as you felt the tightening coil in your belly and then it burst, your orgasm dripping all over your thighs. Andy was so close to his climax and a few more deep-seated thrusts, he reached his own and he ejaculated deep inside your womb.

You tried to regain control over your breathing with Andy still engulfed in you. A few minutes later, you both came down from your highs as Andy pulled himself out of you. He put his pants back on and threw himself back on the chair. You stood up on your wobbly legs as you felt your panties squelch with both yours and Andy’s cum blended.

You straighten your rumpled skirt and shirt, as Andy did so with his tie. “You should go, don’t you have another class?”

“I do, but… Did I pass the test, sir?” you batted your lashes at him. The fear and agitation that were there ten minutes ago had dissolved.  

He chuckled at your coquettish remark. He stood up from his chair and closed the distance between you. “Yes sweetheart, you passed the test.”

You beamed as you bit your lip once more. “If you got another test for me, I wouldn’t mind…” you spoke timidly.

“You really are something, aren’t you?”

You shrugged, “I’ve got layers, sir.”

He looked at his watch and realized that he only had five minutes left for his next session. “You are dismissed… For now. I’ve got more lessons that I’d like to teach you, baby.” He winked at you and pecked your lips.

“I’ll be looking forward to our next class, sir.” You packed up your bags and exited to the hall. Looks like you just bent every rule of the university, but you had no doubt in mind that you would do it over and over and over again for your favourite professor.

[barnesandco]

Eat the Rich: Chapter 1

Eat the Rich Masterlist

The Avengers are tasked with tracking down an elusive thief, and retrieving the grand amounts of money she has stolen. Even after capture, she turns out to be impossible to break, save for a mystifying interest in Bucky.

Written for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s #jamiesmadwritingbash, under the Robin Hood AU prompt, with the dialogue prompt “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing, running around with the end of the world on her his arm?” in bold in this chapter.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: mentions of nightmares, memory loss and recovery, brief mentions of Bucky’s Winter Soldier days, and canon-level violence. Lots of frustrated Avengers. A bit of flirting.

A/N: I can’t decide if I want this series to make people laugh or cry, so good luck. Please comment and reblog! 

Divider by the fantastically talented @whimsicalrogers​!

The Avengers are confused. Perplexed and far out of their depths, they’re strewed about the meeting room with variants of displeasure on their faces. Bucky wears the biggest scowl of all, sitting ramrod straight in an armchair intended for postures far more comfortable. The source of their malcontent hovers in a hologram above the conference table, somehow managing to look bored while handcuffed and bound to a steel chair in the most secure interrogation room in the Compound.

You’re a thief. A crook who has been stealing big money from bigger people, in a slew of prominent heists that eventually led to the Avengers’ recruitment to your case. High stakes burglary isn’t their field, but when certain people threw their weight around, demanding a serious investigation, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes had no choice but to play detectives to one elusive criminal.

A flirtatious one, too, Bucky thinks, remembering your first confrontation, as he traces the seams of his metal arm with the softer pads of his flesh fingers. 

Sam, Nat, and Bucky had tracked you all the way to Paris, where, one night, Sam gave chase while Bucky waited to intercept you on the predicted escape route, in an alley behind one of the classiest bars in town. Their prediction had proved accurate, and you had pretty much run straight into Bucky’s waiting arms. 

The ensuing fight should have been an easy one, and Bucky made the awful mistake -- the mistake he hadn’t made since meeting the Widows in the Red Room -- of underestimating a woman, and he ended up paying for it. 

His fists clench in his lap at the memory of how you had pulled a very Widow move on him, and he had wound up on his back with your thighs around his neck in a chokehold almost gentle. You had leaned over him to tie his hands together, and left him panting, out of breath, and with the taste of rust in his mouth. Clambering off, and wiping away the blood at the corner of his lip, you had then said, “I look forward to our rematch, handsome,” before disappearing into the dark, French night.

“Barnes?” He hears Stark call, and he blinks. “You still with us, or are you daydreaming about your girlfriend?” The room grows silent, and Bucky can sense suppressed smiles and silent glares, the latter aimed at Stark from Steve.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he grouses, letting his metal fingers dig into his kneecaps.

Sam, coffee abandoned on the table in front of him, eyes twinkling says, “We heard her through the coms, Barnes. In Paris, and in Buenos Aires.”

“And Oslo,” Peter pipes up, and Bucky falls back into the memory of autumn frost crunching under his feet, the reverberations of the orchestra in the opera house as he followed your coat-tails -- you played violin, because why the hell not -- down the busy street. Power-walking turned to running, and you had ended up in a crowded, posh bar with Bucky backing you into the wall in the hallway leading to the restrooms, holding your hands in one metal fist behind you.

Still, you had been unperturbed, trying to distract him with gemstone eyes while he called backup -- Stark, soaring in stealth mode above the fjord. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing, running around with the end of the world on his arm?” You had asked, gesturing toward his metal shoulder, no struggle, no flight or fight. 

Red-lipped smiles, you had given him, and he had been so close to pulling out the handcuffs until a trio of burly security guards had appeared, your backup, apparently, and engaged him in enough combat to allow you to escape. 

“She seems to like you,” Sam finishes piercing the haze of another battle lost, less violently at least, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like her,” is the best he can come up with, and he stands, moves towards a window overlooking the grounds, addressing the bulletproof glass, next. “What I would like is for us to get the money back so we can all go on our merry way and pretend this ever happened.”

The room falls quiet at that. Every person here is acutely aware of the fact that they’re no closer to getting the money back -- nobody could ever spend the amounts you’ve stolen recently, so quickly; FRIDAY’s run simulations on it -- and you haven’t budged under the interrogations you’ve faced thus far.

Barton enters the room as soon as he gets off the quinjet, still in his typical Bed Stuy uniform -- ripped jeans and purple t-shirt -- and Bucky, alongside Natasha and Sam in the observation room behind the one way glass, can see the angle he’s going with. 

It’s almost cliché, or maybe it’s just Clint, so relaxed and loose-limbed with too much pizza in his system and likely smelling of one-eyed dog -- Bucky adores Lucky, but he’ll never admit it -- the way he turns his chair around and sits, resting his chin on folded arms atop the back of the chair. 

For a moment, Bucky worries he’s fallen asleep right there, until his blond head lifts ever so slightly and he says, “Would you like something to drink?” 

You quirks a smile. “I’d like a proper introduction. What, were you raised in a barn?” The smirk is teasing, but there’s no bite, like you’re greeting an old friend with an inside joke. Barton traces the edge of the table.

“Almost. Ever heard of Waverly, Iowa?” He asks. 

You shake your head, and then, grin, informing, “No, but I have heard of you, Clint Barton.”

“So you didn’t need an introduction.”

“I’m a prankster, can’t you tell?” Bucky thinks of the navy blue dress in Prague, the tiny but powerful stink bombs you had kept in a thigh holster, how you had left them coughing. 

“Jokes are all well and good but, uh, stealing isn’t so funny,” Clint answers., sitting up, and Bucky can hear in his hardening tone that he’s starting to get serious. 

“Depends on who you’re stealing from,” is your flippant response.

“Also depends on who has to get the money back, too, and let me tell you, we’re a little tired of playing games.”

“Then I guess I win, right?”

“Are you sure you don’t recognize her? Her tactics seem familiar,” Sam says, and the sensation that has been aggravating the nerves in an unlocatable part of his brain since he saw her for the first time worsens, but Sam’s question is addressed to Nat.

“She’s not Red Room, if that’s what you mean. The Widows were trained to be merciless. She avoids getting more physical than she needs to,” Natasha answers, retying the band on her braid, flaming red hair coiled over her shoulder.

“She broke Bucky’s nose,” Steve points out in protest. 

Nat shrugs, leans forward to doodle on the notepad resting on her knee. “If it was me, I might have knocked some teeth out. Maybe pulled a knife or garrotte.”

“You have to tell me where you get those sting-y things,” you say the moment Nat enters the room, eyes sparkling and wide with awe. Bucky winces as he remembers the short-circuit from that little electric disc. The engineers in the bank had been pretty troubled by the thought of what could’ve caused that kind of damage to the internal systems, until he his fist around one of their necks gave them something else to worry ab--

Steve’s hand on his shoulder startles him back to the observation room instead of Hydra’s clutches, and he says, “Hey, Bucky, how’s it going?” with a nod to the room in front of them. Vibranium cuffs peek out from under the large, green hoodie that envelopes your form, making you look deceptively soft.

“She wants to know where Nat gets her taser discs.”

“You’re eager for those even after you’ve felt how much they hurt?” Nat asks calmly, and Bucky imagines an ice-cool smirk on her lips as she reminds you of how exactly you were captured. It was the tasers that brought you down, after Sam, Steve and Bucky flew and ran you to exhaustion through the streets of Algiers, costing Stark some collateral payments. He hadn’t minded too much, just been happy to have you in custody, finally.

“They look like they’d be fun to use. Pretty handy around certain metal armed men, too,” you suggest playfully.

“Yeah, he isn’t going to talk to you, but I’ve been looking forward to this chat of ours, so why don’t you start by telling me your name.”

“I don’t have one. I’m a ghost story,” you say, and Bucky assumes Nat is looking unimpressed, because you press forward with the joke. “You’re going to need a medium to talk to me.”

“And where do you suppose I find one of those?”

“You have one. Isn’t Bucky Barnes a ghost story, too?”

Sam’s about to name what is sure to be another way to cause unnecessary injury when Bucky butts in. “It doesn’t matter how she hurt me or how she could have hurt me,” this, with a glare at Natasha, who smiles down at the paper. “We have a burglar with billions stashed away and a buncha angry billionaires breathin’ down our necks to find it.”

“Well why don’t you give it a go if you think it’s so easy?” Looking up from the hangman sketch, Nat fixes emerald eyes on his, reminding him, once again, of the unusual interest you’ve taken in Bucky. One that started with mid-battle conversations of a different nature, and that has extended into custody. Something that’s been bugging Steve, his protective instinct whirring into overdrive -- Bucky sees his eye twitch from across the room at Nat’s remark -- no more so than during Steve’s turn to question the captive.

“You guys are all taking your turns playing Good Cop Bad Cop, but I haven’t seen Robocop yet. Why is that?”

“You left him tied up in Paris–”

“There’s an innuendo in there somewhere,” you sing-song, head tilting rhythmically from side to side. Bucky clenches his fists in the observation room.

“–so he isn’t much obliged to see you,” Steve finishes, bypassing your interruption.

Playful eyes with laser determination, unperturbed by locked rooms and handcuffs, focus on a spot just above Steve’s shoulder, almost looking through the glass, even though Bucky knows it’s just a mirror for you. “What a shame. I was hoping our little back alley tussle wouldn’t scare the big, bad White Wolf away.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Are you going to tell us where the money is or do you want formal charges and a jail cell?” He asks, shifting so he blocks your line of sight, folds his hands on the table, and broadens his shoulders, all-Captain and no-nonsense.

“Giving up on me so easy?”

“I wouldn’t call it easy, miss. We’ve been looking for months and tried just about everything to get you to cooperate.”

“Not everything.”

“She’s yawning,” Sam proclaims indignantly, glaring, shocked, at the hologram where indeed, the source of their troubles is yawning, like you could fall asleep, tied up and all. “Unbelievable.” He shakes his head, and Bucky stops a snort from escaping. He’s seen all kinds of interrogations, faced a fair few, too, and this woman is just warming up.

The ensuing discussion and debate continues for hours, until the sun sets behind the window Bucky’s standing by, and what silences them is the thump with which Clint puts his hearing aids on the table in front of him. Sam’s coffee wobbles dangerously, and everyone sighs as Clint wordlessly tells them to shut up. Murmurs of agreement to rest and get a fresh start tomorrow echo through the room, and Bucky catches Barton’s eye, and receives a wink. 

Later that night, in his room, Bucky knows he’s not going to get a minute of sleep. It’s just an intuition, something his very bones are telling him, and he sees no reason to dispute it. Under the throbbing ache in his head, there’s an itch in the grey matter of his mind, somewhere he can’t reach, and he twists and turns. The feeling is recognizable as the vexation inflicted when he’s on the verge of a memory, but those return either by dream or by sense these days.

Dreams are for the bad memories, the days of the Winter Soldier, his subconscious loosening whatever locks his mind placed to compartmentalize the pain, to stuff it all away. The nightmares, the terrible memories leave him shaking, but therapy helps. By a few percent, but when the load of pain is as heavy as his is, every small burden taken off his shoulder helps.

Sense brings back the time before Hydra, although it’s sometimes hard to believe there was one. Steve’s face buried in his shoulder, be careful, Buck; Romanian take out, his mother’s hands; faucet dripping, water running out; oranges exploding on his tongue, a month’s salary plus overtime from working at the docks for that sweet rush once a year. The Depression, the first war -- trench memory brought back by a rainy run in Central Park, the scent of muddy petrichor in the air -- snowfall in the Alps, Dugan’s cigar. His body remembers, and then shows his mind the way.

However, this, this infuriating personality that has him incensed and restless, she isn’t in his mind in any capacity, but Bucky thinks he knows her. Or that he might have, once. And he needs to know her, again, because he hates not knowing. The nightmares hurt, and the memories of what he’s lost do, as well, but not knowing, existing in the strange limbo between certainty and loss, it’s unbearable. If this woman knows him, if she’s another key to another past, another piece of him, he has to talk to her.

“FRIDAY?” He asks groggily, sitting up. 

The screen in the wall across from him blinks blue in acknowledgement, along with a “Yes, sir?”

“Is Steve up?” 

“Captain Rogers is awake and having a cup of coffee in the kitchen, Sergeant,” FRIDAY tells him, and Bucky curses at the idiocy of consuming caffeine at this hour of night -- whatever’s in that shit works even on the serum and that can’t be good -- replacing his sweatpants with jeans once more and heading out to find his friend.

Steve has his back to the entryway, deep in thought -- dumbass, anyone could sneak up on you like this -- when Bucky comes in and clears his throat. The mug in Steve’s hands looks comically small, and Bucky sits down across from him at the island, reaches forward to take it from him, and downs the remaining half.

It’s just one more testament to how disturbed Steve is -- as if the careless consumption of coffee at midnight wasn’t enough -- that he lets Bucky steal his coffee. Blue meets blue in the silver dusting of moonlight, and Steve tries to locate Bucky’s purpose in his eyes before asking him for it verbally. “What is it, Buck?” He’s tired, too many missions weighing on those eyelids, but too worked up to let them close, to find rest. What Bucky’s going to say won’t help.

“Let me talk to her.”