#full on writing fanfic about it

[waugh-bao]

KEITH: Charlie is very strong physically, and you don’t want to be on the end of a drummer’s right hand. He put Mick across the table in Amsterdam once during that period. Mick and I had been out for a drink and I’d lent Mick my wedding jacket. Mick got pissed and when Mick gets pissed he gets sloppy. We went back to the hotel and Mick wanted to talk to Charlie: he said something on the phone like, “Where’s my drummer?”

CHARLIE: He annoyed me, so I went storming upstairs and told him not to say things like that.

KEITH: There’s a knock at the door and there’s Charlie Watts, dressed in a Savile Row suit, tie, hair done, shaved, cologne. He walks across to Mick, grabs him and says, “Never call me your drummer again” — bang. On this table is a great silver platter of smoked salmon. Mick was on his back on the silver platter, which started to shoot down the table towards the open window. I’m sitting there. I’m watching Mick and I’m going to let him go, but then I thought, “That’s my fucking wedding jacket”, so I grabbed him!

CHARLIE: The bottom line is, don’t annoy me. It’s not something I’m proud of doing and if I hadn’t been drinking I’d never have done it.

(2002)

[nothingbizzare]

To be a sunflower looking at the sun

[tea-earl-grey]

i think taking a queer theory class would really fix Seven. not just in the obvious way of learning about compulsory heterosexuality & amatonormativity but also seeing that so much queer art is about the deconstruction of personhood and embracing inhumanity & imperfection. and the fact that her very literal struggle with being "human enough" is something marginalized people lived with for centuries (albeit more metaphorically than literally).

[loadedberetta]

my brain cannot function until I write this out

Ghost has a one-night stand with Reader and she gets knocked up

TL;DR she can't find Ghost, all she knows about him that his name is Simon and he's a soldier since they knew each other for about an hour before hooking up.

Ghost leaves for a mission, isn't home for almost a year. in that time, she somehow, somehow finds a lead on him. (Christ maybe she meets Gaz's wife in maternal care while she's pregnant I'm unwell)

then she's introduced to Price and eventually brings the kid in a carrier when Simon arrives from a mission.

he's not mad she got pregnant, he's not mad she's asking him for child support, he's mad at himself because he didn't tell her his last name so the baby couldn't have his last name.

(he asks her out on the spot, nobody can convince me otherwise)

[thespookiestparker]

The Price Of Freedom

A/N: hello everyone!! it feels very weird to be coming back to this blog with a new fic but I’ve been trying to put this together for months, I’ve finally torn myself away from the game for long enough to write about it lol enjoy!

p.s. I also made this playlist after I romanced him for the very first time and it was what I was listening to if you want some ✨mood music✨

Summary: Astarion struggles with his newfound livelihood now that he isn’t bound to Cazador

Pairing: Spawn!Astarion x GN!Tav

CW: Angst (That gets resolved), blood mention/description (kind of inevitable with a vampire but 🤷🏻‍♂️)

Over your time traveling with your newfound friends, you and Astarion had grown to be what you considered close. When everyone else had bedded down for the night, the two of you would more often than not find each other.

It had taken time, and you honestly weren’t sure it would happen. For a while, you were left to wonder if Astarion even liked anyone at camp, let alone you. Sometimes, he’d let things slip, though.

Like when you threw a pile of shit at that goblin’s face, he’d let out a soft chuckle. Short and sweet, something you’re sure he didn’t mean to set free, but he did nonetheless before the fighting had broken out. Or, a week later, when you’d started to catch him sneaking glances at you over the campfire as you spoke to Gale or Wyll. You could’ve sworn that a flash of jealousy flashed in his eyes from time to time, but you’d never tell him that you noticed. You didn’t want to embarrass him, even if he would never admit to feeling that kind of emotion.

It all came to a head at the party that was held at your camp with the tieflings from the emerald grove, when he’d asked to sneak away with you for the night for some ‘fun’. Something about him had seemed…off that night when you looked back on it. Astarion had seemed too composed for someone who’d been drinking. The vampire hadn’t said much about his past by then, other than that he’d had a master in Baldur’s Gate who had treated him like he was less than nothing. You could tell that pity wasn’t the answer here, that he would only take offense to something like that, so instead you showed him respect. He was a formidable ally, after all, you couldn’t afford to lose him, even if you hadn’t developed feelings for him.

Now, you were almost inseparable. Every time you fell in battle, he was the first to rush to help you up, and at first you weren’t sure if it was because he’d smelled your blood or if he was genuinely trying to help. That was, until you saw his eyes widen in a way you’d never seen before and only a few times since, vulnerable concern etched into his pale face. It made a pang of guilt explode in your chest that you’d ever thought any less of him.

Every day seemed to allow you to peel away at his prickly, impatient, and overall grumpy layers to get to the man beneath. The softer, more broken elf that had been hiding behind all these nearly impenetrable walls that he only seemed to let down around you, though it had been only partial to start. Even if someone else in the party was able to take a glimpse, you were slowly piecing together the whole picture.

Or at least, you thought you were.

It was the night before you were to reach Baldur’s Gate when the next one of those walls came crashing down around him, startling both of you.

You sought him out in the night, as you usually did, but when you peered into his tent, it was empty. Before you had time to process that, you heard his voice in the form of a deep growl behind you,

“What are you doing?”

Your body whipped around to face him, immediately noticing how he was towering over you. The blood on his chin glistened in the faint light of the moon, catching your gaze before his eyes of the same piercing red did.

You must’ve had a fearful look on your face because he seemed to snap back into his own mind, his expression going from a feral sort of anger to something akin to the familiar loving and vulnerable look you’d come to adore. But this was different. There was a deep sort of pain in his eyes, it made you instinctively extend your hand to him before he tore himself away.

“Don’t touch me.” he spat, his voice guarded and icy. He nearly pushed past you to get to his tent, to shroud himself in the familiarity of complete darkness and isolation.

“Astarion, wait—“ you tried, your hand hesitantly floating between the two of you as he angrily gripped the flap of his tent.

“Just. Leave me be. For tonight.” His voice was nothing more than a whisper just before he disappeared behind the red burlap of his tent.

The heaviness in your heart was devastating and cold, but you left him alone for now and decided to sit by the fire instead. Keeping watch over your sleeping friends as tears spilled silently over your cheeks.

All you could think about was comforting him, holding him in your arms until the pain seeped out of him in waves. But you weren’t about to go against his wishes, so instead you let your emotions run free until you fell asleep. You didn’t mention anything to the others in the morning, and you didn’t want them to notice. Astarion’s business was his own to share, not yours, so you weren’t going to let your emotions get in the way of that. He deserved privacy after all this time, you weren’t about to get in the way of that.

The next days distanced the two of you as your group explored the city. He seemed just as closed off as when you’d started your adventure, if not more, and you were afraid that nothing could get him to open up to you again. It seemed like the others may have noticed as well, though it wasn’t exactly a secret. The silence between the two of you was loud enough to be heard miles away.

“OOO! A circus! Can we go?!” Karlach squealed, gesturing to a sign that displayed a brightly colored poster for something called ‘The Circus of The Last Days’.

Maybe not everyone had noticed. No one else had said anything to contradict you, so you didn’t touch upon it.

“Sure, we can go.” You chuckle, trying your hardest to seem normal right now, for Astarion’s sake if not yours. You lead everyone into the circus, past the elf and the ghoul at the gate, and you all end up splitting off until it was just you and Astarion. You half expected him to distance himself from you again, since he’d seemed to need to be alone, but then his words from last night echoed in your mind.

“Just for tonight”

You weren’t sure why he’d suddenly wanted the distance, but you didn’t want to question it. He was well within his rights, but you couldn’t help the worry gnawing in your stomach that you were constantly pushing down.

All of it was interrupted when he slipped his hand in yours, a discreet maneuver that would’ve gone unnoticed by anyone looking at the two of you, before you felt him squeeze it. A wordless apology, which you happily accepted for now. You could talk later, for now, it felt safe to be enjoying the circus amidst the chaos that was your lives.

“Darling, do you think a statue of me would be too much for our little camp?” He asked, his normal smug confidence radiating from him as he posed next to a nearby tent. It was owned by a mud mephit and his wife, who were conveniently named Boney and Stoney, and advertised statues made of the likeness of any passersby willing to pay their price.

“It costs 5,000 gold!” You laughed, shaking your head at him as you tugged on his arm in a vain attempt to pull him away from said tent.

“So? Don’t you want something to immortalize my beauty for all of eternity?”

“I don’t need it, I already have you.”

The love and care you shower him with never ceased to take him off his guard, but he smiled regardless and continued on with you through the circus, enjoying the frivolous nature of the it all.

Days of traveling later, once your party had not only found Cazador, but made sure he was good and dead, you decided to at least attempt to breach the subject when he seemed to be more stable. Your relationship was so fragile that something this deep and painful could shatter it, which was exactly what you didn’t want.

That night, you found him just as you always did on nights like these, sitting by the dying fire as the rest of your friends headed to their separate corners of your dwelling for the night.

“May I join you?” You ask softly, gently touching his shoulder now that he’d been the first one to make physical contact earlier that day. You always let him take the lead on things like that because you wanted to let him be the one to make the choice of whether or not he wanted that kind of affection, knowing he had so little of his own autonomy for so many years. Even if he had expressed to you that it was becoming easier to differentiate you from those sorts of feelings.

“Of course, darling, always.” He responds in a similar tone, turning his head to look at you as you sat yourself beside him which made some of his stark white curls fall into his eyes.

“There have been times when you seemed to…” You pause, considering your wording for a moment, “...disagree with that statement.”

“That was different, I was…not myself.” He seemed almost disgusted by something, presumably something about himself or the way he acted last night.

“I’ve never seen you that way, it was almost like you were—”

“A vampire?” he interrupted, and you rest your hand over his where it lay on his knee,

“Someone else…You know that I see you for more than what you are. That I always have.”

“Regardless, I am lucky that you saw me in that state and not anyone else. I haven’t been that disheveled since I was first turned, and anyone else would only see a monster, which frustrates me all the more,” without letting you speak, he continued. Seeming to be fueled by the traumatizing anguish that lies within him, or at least some of it, “because it isn’t fair! I didn’t ask to be a monster! No one told me that I’d be cursed this way, and I regret not dying that night on the street—“ he exploded into a rage, though it was like the one you had seen the night he came back to camp. The same deeply seeded pain behind his eyes was ever present as he roared such hurtful words. He stood quickly, turning away from you as shame diffused from his being.

“Astarion…” You cried, holding out your hand for him only to see him flinch away. As if he was afraid you would hurt him, which made a burning pain spread through you emanating from your heart. It felt wrong, like you’d only made things worse without intending to. The tears that welled in your eyes came without your permission but you were helpless to do anything but keep them from falling.

“What?!” He whirled around to face you, his face spattered with tears. A level of distress and anger you hadn’t seen from him since Cazador’s passing. You’re suddenly reminded of the image that was him, kneeling over his former master’s lifeless body as he sobbed. Shirtless and covered in blood.

It had broken your heart to see him that way, but he’d needed that moment to let what had just happened wash over him. To finally be free.

You snapped back to reality when Astarion seemed to realize what he’d said, and how it had affected you as he roughly rubbed at his tear-stained cheeks.

“I…I don’t really think that way. This…all of this…has been… a bit much for me. Knowing that he forever changed me. That I’ll never truly have a chance to be something other than a monster in the eyes of most–”

You step forward, once again extending your hands but stopping just before you make contact with his skin to ask silent permission from him. He nodded with little to no hesitation, urging you on before you gently cupped his cheeks and continued to speak, “I don’t think that you’re a monster…You’ve said it yourself, you are so much more than he made you. I, for one, fully believe that. If you don’t believe it yourself right away, that’s more than alright, because I’ll be here to remind you. Every step of the way.”

He almost can’t look at you, more salty tears threatening to spill from his red and puffy eyes.

“I…don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to right now. All that you need to do right now is to rest. We both should.” You answer gently yet firmly, starting to pull your hands from his face before he grabbed one of your wrists.

“Don’t,” he started, an air of desperation in his words, “I…I haven’t been the kindest to you, and I apologize for that, but I don’t want to be alone. Please.” You hadn’t planned on leaving him, but usually touch was something that had made him uncomfortable so you were simply ending the contact even though he seemed to take it a different way.

“You won’t be alone…I’m here.” You reassure, moving your hand to his shoulder instead while letting him hold your wrist. “But I stand by my statement. Come on,” You lead him inside his own tent, bedding down with him for the first time since the night he’d come back to camp covered in something else’s blood, though it would be far from the last.

[secretmellowblog]

For me the ‘canon homoerotic subtext’ between brick!Valjean and Javert is really more about the parallels between Javert and Eponine, who are explicitly set up as character foils.

Brick!Javert isn’t obsessed with Valjean like he is in adaptations. He’s not psychosexually obsessed with hunting him down; he really doesn’t seem to think of him as being any different than any other criminal—- he doesn’t think about Jean Valjean much at all until after Jean Valjean saves his life.

But after the barricades, Javert’s sudden weird desperate emotions about Jean Valjean are like a twisted mirror of his character foil Eponine’s weird desperate emotions for Marius.

Some guy takes pity on them, and extends them a bit of basic impersonal kindness— and they react by descending into this violently self-destructive suicidal admiration built on self-loathing. They’re both described as making themselves the “dogs” of Marius/Valjean, the dogs of people who barely remember they exist.

And anyway! I think there is potential to explore things there in analysis and fanfiction

[astroselene]

no need for a hiding place

in which Sirius has to almost die before he realises he might deserve love, after all. pairing: sirius black x reader words: 1.5k tw: brief mention of blood, hospital setting a/n: because we all know sirius isn't really dead :)

-------------------------------------------------------- The hum from the machines attached to Sirius’s unconscious body was even as you dozed by his bed, your head propped on your arms. Between fits of restless sleep, you could hear nurses rushing down the corridors of St. Mungo’s and bits of conversation here and there outside Sirius’s room. It had been two days since you had faced the Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries, Sirius coming out barely alive and rushed straight to the hospital. You hadn’t left his side since.

You brain kept replaying the events from the scene of the intense battle, curses flying everywhere, sometimes not knowing whether you had hit a friend or foe. Then suddenly there’d been a rushing sound as a curse had flown past your ear, and you had watched with horror as it hit Sirius straight on his left side. It was like everything had happened in slow motion as he’d fallen to the ground. You were certain you had lost him as you fought your way to him, dread filling your heart as you took a look at him on the stone floor. There had been blood oozing out of a deep wound from his side and he was lying at an odd angle, looking like a rag doll.

All you’d been thinking when he fell to the ground in front of the veil that if he died now, you’d never forgive yourself for not telling him how you felt.

You squeezed his hand on the hospital bed, reminding yourself that he was fine and still here, as relief kept washing over you.

Joining the Order of the Phoenix a year ago, you of course knew who Sirius Black was. Like the rest of the wizarding world, you thought he had committed the murders he had been imprisoned for almost 15 years ago now. You had been recruited to the Order by an old school friend, burning at the chance to do your part to in the resistance against You Know Who. Thus, you were rolled into the ranks, first on the outskirts of the Order, moving towards the inner circles after proving your value for having a lot of useful connections in the muggle world. Your muggle job also made for a good cover for protecting yourself.

You had met Sirius Black at the headquarters, his childhood home, now knowing the truth about him. Against all your better judgement and the logic you prided yourself on, you had at some point come to the realisation that you’d fallen hopelessly in love with him. You had tried telling yourself he was not exactly the knight in shining armour of every girl’s dreams - he was practically prisoner in his old home, still a wanted criminal in the eyes of the law and most likely not in the mental headspace for any kind of romance.

Your heart didn’t seem to care about all of these logical trivialities though. Instead, you found yourself laughing at his witty remarks, looking for ways to get to know him better and spending increasingly more time at the headquarters. One day you noticed that between you two there had developed a feeling of mutual trust and respect, even admiration, at least on your part. Sirius confided in you about his hatred for having to stay in the house that represented everything he despised now. He told you funny tales from his school days, and talked with warmth about the Potters and his old friends, and with coldness about his family. He never talked about his days in Azkaban and you never asked. He seemed to respect the fact that you didn’t pressure him, and never judged him. You didn’t let your previous misconceptions about him get in the way of getting to know the real him – the brave, thoughtful and intelligent man you had fallen hard and fast for.

And you wondered whether he felt the same – sometimes you caught him looking at you when he thought you couldn’t see. At first, he’d been in a hurry to turn his eyes away when you caught him, but lately something had changed. He maintained eye contact, even sought your eyes out with his own when there was an inside joke to be shared in the middle of a general conversation, and you could’ve sworn you kept seeing a playful glint in his deep grey eyes, reserved just for you. But you always told yourself you were imagining things because of your own feelings and naïve wishes.

Your fitful sleep was interrupted by a brush of fingers on your cheek. You slowly opened your eyes to see Sirius watching you through half lidded eyes.

“Hey you,” Sirius said. His voice sounded a little croaky.

“Sirius!” you gasped, feeling a rush of blood to your head for sitting up so quickly.

“Are you alright? How are you feeling?”

You brushed Sirius’s hair away from his face. It had gotten longer again during his months at Grimmauld Place. He kept talking about cutting it but you loved how it framed his high cheekbones and the way he had to keep tucking it behind his ears.

“I’m alright,” Sirius said quietly. He frowned, “What happened? At the ministry, I was about to....“ he focused in the distance, trying to gather pieces of memories from his muddled brain.

“Everyone’s fine, Harry’s safe. The prophecy was destroyed,” you soothed him. “You got the worst of it. You’ve been out cold for two days.”

Sirus’s shoulders sagged with relief. He looked back up at you and you felt his fingers on your cheek again.

“What about you? Are you alright?” His voice was gentle.

“I’m okay. Now that you’re awake anyway,” you smiled at him.

Your fingers were still in his hair and you stopped breathing at the look on his face. He was so close, smiling a tired smile up at you.

“I should get the healer,” you said. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” Sirius grabbed your arm, “have you been here the whole time?”

You felt heat rise on your cheeks. You weren’t actually sure he had wanted you there while he was unconscious, but you’d found you couldn’t leave his side either, not until you knew he was going to be okay. You were fidgeting with a loose piece of thread on Sirius’s bedsheet, your mind already going into overdrive, instinctually preparing for rejection.

“Well… yeah. I may have had to tell them I was your girlfriend, they wouldn’t have let me stay otherwise. ‘Family and close relations only’”, you huffed out an awkward laugh, “I’m sorry I said that, I shouldn’t have, I’m obviously not your girlfriend or anything, I just needed to…” you trailed off. “I just needed to know you were okay.”

You felt Sirius’s finger under your chin and he lifted your face to search your eyes with his.

“Would you like to be?” he asked quietly.

You blinked and thought your mouth must’ve been hanging open too, while you searched for your suddenly lost skill for speech.

“Would you like that?” you asked incredulously.

“Yes,” he said simply, like it was a no-brainer.

And it really wasn’t, not to him. He had known for a long time how he felt for you, but not fully admitting it to himself. His heart squeezed at the thought of you sitting by his bed for the past days, waiting for him to wake up, being always so sweet to him, so kind and caring. He knew what little he had to offer in his situation wasn’t what you deserved, but seeing your eyes light up at his answer, your beautiful smile breaking out, made him believe that maybe it was possible for him to have happiness after all.

You sat up closer to Sirius, taking his handsome face in your hands. You leaned in and touched his lips softly with your own, and at that moment you knew all the worry of the past few days and months had been worth it, all your previous heartbreaks and hurts were soothed out right in that moment. You knew Sirius was what you had been waiting for.

Sirius moved his hand at the back of your head and pulled your face against his more insistently. He kissed you with determination, like a man on a mission to show all of his buried feelings for you in that moment. His tongue brushed your lower lip and you gasped, opening your mouth to get more of his taste, more of his kisses, more of him.

Sirius leaned back but only far enough to press his forehead against yours.

“Blimey,” he barked out a laugh, “haven’t done that in ages.”

You laughed with him against his lips. “Gotta make up for lost time then,” you said.

He pecked your lips and hummed, but it turned into a small wince when he shifted on the bed.

“Hey, stay still, I’ll get the healer. I have to let them know you’re awake,” you said, worried now. You didn’t want him tearing up his stitches. The wound had been closed magically but it wouldn’t keep if he kept moving a lot.

“Whatever you say, ma’am,” Sirius winked at you.

You reluctantly moved away from him, but now you knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He was going to spend the rest of his life showing you exactly how he felt, no longer needing to hide from anything or anyone.

[reds-skull]

Dual Loop

[AO3]

(Note: TW for suicidal idation, mild gore, self harm, depression. That being said, there's no MCD, and it has a happy ending. This one is a little heavier than my usual stuff, stay safe <3)

So... I expected this to be like... 5-6k words. It ended up being over double that. Enjoy!

Also, I decided to have a sort of mini post-script in comments in AO3, so you're welcome to check it if you're interested!

The 141’s common room might be Soap’s favorite. It’s nothing fancy, a couple of ratty couches shoved into one corner, and a kitchenette in the other. It doesn’t have a TV like the other common room, and they have to constantly clean off mold from beneath the sink.

Soap wouldn’t have it any other way, as it has something no other room on base has - his taskforce. Despite not having much to do, just lying beside Gaz and shit talking the rookies with the Captain is pleasant, Ghost moving about in the kitchen.

He watches the giant man turn around and reveal a steaming mug of (probably) tea, and decides to call him over, “oi, LT! Come over ‘ere, I’m sure ye got some horror stories from your recruits.”

Ghost’s dark eyes drag over him for a few tense seconds, before he responds, “got paperwork to finish, MacTavish.” he nods toward the others, “Garrick, Captain.” and leaves.

His displeasure must’ve shown on his face, because Gaz reaches over to pat his head, “awwh, maybe you’ll convince him next time Soapy”.

“Awa’ wi’ ya, yer messin’ mah hair!” he bats his hands away, pouting at Price’s laughter.

The Captain’s moustache twitches with a hidden grin, “Simon values his alone time, Soap. It’s nothing personal.”

“I know, I know. Wish he could stay around at least one night, though…” he frowns.

“He will in his own time.” Price groans as he gets up from the couch, “right lads, rather not stay out of bed after eleven. Don’t go to sleep too late.”

Soap and Gaz both answer “okay dad!” in unison, cackling when Price flips them off as he exits the common room.

They fuck around for a little longer before calling it a night as well and separating ways to their barracks. He spends a while tossing and turning in bed, mind too restless for him to fall asleep.

Maybe there’s one thing he’d like to change about the common room, and perhaps in the 141 in general. And it all starts and ends with the masked bastard they call Ghost.

What they have right now is fine, relatively close work relationship, joking around on lookout duties, trusting each other with their sixes. It’s good.

Soap huffs and finally settles down under his scratchy blanket. He battles with opposing emotions, daydreams of him and Ghost being close, closer than a Sergeant and a Lieutenant have to be, and anger at his own ridiculous thoughts.

He falls asleep to memories of brown eyes staring at his.

Soap wakes up to a knock on his door. He quickly blinks away the remaining drowsiness in his mind, and reaches for the handle.

Out of all the people he expected to find, Ghost was definitely not one of them, “morning, Johnny.”

Johnny? Soap tilts his head, “LT, did something happen?” they must have gotten some time sensitive intel about their latest target, if Ghost himself has to come and get him first thing in the morning. Last he heard, they were operating within the UK…

Ghost’s eyes crease in a way he’s never seen, and for a moment Soap wonders if he’s still dreaming, “no, was about to go to mess. Know you were gonna go there soon.”

“Oh” he says intelligently.

Ghost lets out a half-laugh,  “you coming?”

His brain finally wakes enough to process his invitation, “oh! Uh, aye, just gonna change…” he motions awkwardly to his rumpled clothes.

“I can wait.” Ghost leans back against the wall, and Soap slowly closes the door. He stares at it for a second before walking to his closet, pulling out a shirt and a new pair of pants. His mind wanders as he automatically goes about getting dressed.

He never sees Ghost before noon, and that’s if he’s lucky. The masked man doesn’t eat with them in mess, wakes up before the sun rises, and begins working before most soldiers have blinked away the last of their sleep. It’s… certainly a first.

Then again, you shouldn’t really look a gift horse in the mouth. He adjusts his fatigues and exits his room. Ghost is still leaning against the wall, motionless as a very foreboding statue.

He wordlessly motions Soap to start walking, and they make their way to mess. They should bring Gaz and Price along, really take advantage of Ghost’s practically unheard of great mood. Gaz’s room is just a few doors from his, he could knock as they pass-

Ghost places a hand on his shoulder and stops him. Soap opens his mouth to question him, but not a second later, Gaz’s door opens, almost hitting him square in the face, and Kyle busts out.

“Oh shit- sorry Soap, didn’t see you there.” Gaz straightens his baseball cap, and clocks in Ghost’s presence, “Lieutenant, sir! Didn’t see you either.”

Soap tenses. Well, there goes that once in a lifetime opportunity to see Ghost actually socialize with the team-

“All good, Garrick. In a rush to get the chocolate pudding?” Ghost asks calmly. What the fuck?

“Yeah, Smith texted me.” Gaz grabs his arm, dislodging Ghost’s, “c’mon, we have to get there before they run out!”

He lets Kyle drag him, throwing a cautious look back at Ghost, relieved to see he’s still following. As much as he wants to reach mess fast, no pudding in the world is worth leaving Ghost behind.

Mess, expectedly, is chock-full of hungry soldiers, and the table serving the pudding is barely visible between the bodies.

Soap almost instantly loses all hope of reaching the table in time, but Ghost once again surprises him by diving head first into the crowd. His reputation and imposing appearance clearly aids him in making his way to the table, and Gaz sends him an incredulous look.

“Am I seeing things, or is the Lieutenant carrying two cups of pudding for us?” Gaz grins.

Soap can’t help but join him, “aye, don’t know what’s gotten into him today, but Ghost is certainly in a special mood.”

“Hearing Simon’s in a ‘special’ mood doesn’t calm me in the slightest.” the Captain’s voice appears behind them.

“Come and see for yourself, Cap. It’s a bloody miracle!” Gaz subtly points to Ghost, who at last reached them with the prized puddings. 

He hands each Sergeant a cup, and greets the Captain, “I know you don’t like this sweet shite, Price. Maybe they’ll have sausages tomorrow.”

Price blinks a couple of times, “right… well, let’s get to our table. You two better eat some actual food before you start shoveling that garbage into your mouths.”

They sit down, Gaz taking his right, and Ghost his left. He takes a moment to marvel at the simple act of Ghost existing in a nonwork related situation, a calmness in his movements that Soap didn’t know he needed to see. He has to temp down a goofy smile at the sight.

It really shouldn’t shock him anymore, but Soap senses all three pairs of eyes in the table snap to Ghost, who rolled up his mask above his mouth like he doesn’t care if anyone else sees, and started eating.

“It’s… nice to see you here with us, Ghost.” Price says slowly.

“Wouldn’t want to miss this five-star meal.” Ghost points his fork to the grey sludge on his tray. He decides to go along with whatever Ghost’s odd behaviour throws at him.

He elbows him gently, “hey, LT” the giant man hums, “why did the skeleton need to go to the barbecue?”

Soap waits for a beat before continuing, “because he wanted to get a spare rib”

Gaz groans to his right, absolutely done with his awful sense of humor, but Ghost…

Ghost smiles. It crinkles the scars bisecting his lips in an unexpectedly endearing way, and his dark eyes crease into little half moons, and his stomach drops because fuck, he’d do anything to see that smile again.

Those brown eyes linger on his, and Soap knows he should look away, that his infatuation could be dangerously visible on his face, but he can’t.

Price saves him after all, “Kyle, you got recruits in 20, make sure they don’t pass out in this heat.”

Gaz just groans louder.

“I’ll go with ‘im.” Ghost pushes away from the table, Kyle jumping from his sit, “you will?! I mean, uh, the more the merrier, I guess.” and rushes after him.

Price’s eyes meet his, and Soap gives him a hesitant smile, “told ye he was in a special mood.”

The Captain picks up his tray, “can’t say I’ve ever seen Ghost act like this in the time we’ve known each other.”

And that’s saying something, coming from Price. Soap has only been on the team for a few months, the newest member of the taskforce, but even he can tell this is unprecedented. It worries him a little, if he’s honest. People don’t just… wake up one day and decide to completely change everything about the way they act.

But then again, Ghost isn’t like most people. That has also become obvious very quickly.

He could write a book worth of Ghost’s little oddities, like the way he shoves knives up his sleeves even while on base, how he likes to go to the gym at night, how he somehow has a mask for every occasion.

It’s infuriatingly charming, it makes him want to know more, find all the little things that make Ghost the way he is, open his chest like he does with explosives, and see the way everything ticks. Find that off switch that keeps the Lieutenant calm, learn which wires go where.

By now, Soap can confidently say he knows a lot about Gaz and Price, but Ghost remains an enigma to him. Today just solidified that.

Price rises from his chair, stretching his back with a groan, “do remember you have paperwork due today, Sergeant. You don’t have time to play with your Lieutenant until that’s on my desk.”

Fuckin’ hell. He forgot to finish that last night. Dejectedly, Soap answers, “yes sir.”

Writing down reports might be Soap’s least favorite part of his job. They went on a mission, killed some guys, found a bloody USB stick, came back at an ungodly hour. Why does he have to write several pages on that is beyond him.

After hours of semi successfully trying to harness the last of his attention span towards that, Soap enters Price’s office to place the accursed reports on his desk. The Captain isn’t there, but that way there’s no risk of him giving him even more menial tasks.

Soap wonders about base, searching for someone to entertain him (perhaps someone very specific, whose name starts with G, and ends with host).

He eventually comes across Gaz in the larger common room, “how was training with Ghost?”.

Soap flops down onto the couch, jostling Kyle, who kicks him in retaliation, “was a lot less annoying than with you cunt.”

He gasps theatrically and puts a hand over his heart, “you don’t mean that!”

Gaz laughs, “no, but…”

“...but?”

Gaz’s brows furrow, and his tone becomes more serious, “we had a… surprisingly deep conversation. He kinda helped me through a few things, with responsibility and death and... Never expected him to be this understanding.”

Soap puts his legs in Gaz’s lap, getting comfortable, “you told me before that he cares, even when it doesn’t look like it.”

He still remembers the talks both Price and Gaz gave him, about Ghost. They were quite protective of their most legendary member, and for Soap it cemented his love for this taskforce; they don’t act like other teams he’s been on at all. They actually care about each other, beyond watching the other’s six.

Gaz sighs, “I still stand by that, but the reason I said it is that Ghost usually doesn’t show it. And if he does, it’s in a roundabout way.”

“Where is he now?”

“He dragged the Captain out of his office after we finished with the rookies. Dunno to where.”

Soap pouts, crossing his arms and staring at the ceiling. Everyone gets to have one-on-one time with Ghost but him, it seems. It feels only a little unfair.

Gaz coos, “are you sulking because our scary Lieutenant didn’t come to spend time with you today?”

“Ah’m not sulking!” Soap kicks Gaz, the Brit giggling and pushing his legs away, “and you have no place to talk! I was alone the whole day doin’ steaming paperwork!”

Kyle picks his legs back up, giving them a comforting pat, “you’ll have tomorrow, and the days after that. I don’t understand why you’re in such a rush.”

He exhales roughly, “what if he won’t be in a mood to talk after today?”

“Then he’ll just go back to how we all know Ghost to be. Was that that bad?” Gaz asks.

“...no.”

“There you go. Now, I heard there’s a footie match with Scotland in a few minutes-”

Soap reaches for the remote before he could finish the sentence, “they better fuckin’ win this time!”

Scotland did not win this time, but he and Gaz enjoyed shouting at the players and howling whenever they missed a goal. As much as he complained about not hanging out with Ghost, Kyle is as good company in his eyes.

Gaz left him after the match, too tired from a day of standing in the sun and running after recruits, leaving Soap alone with his thoughts. 

The hour was still too early for the gym to be completely empty, and he really wasn’t in the mood for some small talk, so Soap made his way to the shooting range. The lights were on, but he’s not likely to be pestered if he takes the furthest stall.

He stops in his tracks when he sees someone leaning against the opening. No, not just any someone.

“Ghost? What are you doin’ here at this hour?”

Ghost kicks off the door frame, “waiting for you.”

Soap brows furrow, “but- how did ye know I’m gonna-?”

“You’re predictable.” Ghost drawls, bone-white skull mask reflecting the moonlight, “also heard you were sulking from Gaz.”

He steps closer to the Lieutenant, “I was not sulking! It’s just…” he looks away, “you were busy, I get it-”

Ghost puts a hand on his shoulder, directing him to the step in front of the shooting range’s door, “I understand. Wanted to see you as well.”

“Ye did?” a little voice in his head cheers loudly. Soap shoves it back into the hole it crawled out of.

“Affirmative”, they sit down, knees knocking into each other. Soap expects Ghost to move. He doesn’t. “Noticed the looks you were giving me all day.”

Soap grimaces, “I was just-”

“Confused?” Ghost’s eyes are hidden in shadows, but he can still feel the weight of that stare on him, “that’s what I wanted to talk about, Johnny.”

There’s that nickname again. Ghost has never called him that.

“I decided something this morning.” Ghost looks away, to the dark training grounds and the base, “I’m… tired. Done in. So I’m not going to try anymore, I’ll take whatever I can get, and if it means this little bits of time with each of you, then so be it.”

Soap feels even more out of the loop than before. Furthermore, he’s even more concerned. What does Ghost mean by “not going to try anymore”?

“Ghost-”

“Simon”, Ghost corrects him, “I like it when you call me Simon.”

“I… I never called you that.”

Ghost’s head bows, his shoulders tense, “...right. Go on.”

“You- I’ll be honest, Yer worrying me. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy seeing ye finally talking with us, hanging out with Gaz and Price, but Ah just… are you solid, Simon?”

Simon lifts his head then, the meager light from the range finally allowing Soap to see his eyes, and it feels like a knife in his chest.

This calm demeanor has had for the whole day… isn’t from him being relaxed and content.

No… that’s the calm of a man in the gallows. Accepting his fate. Waiting to die.

Simon’s eyes crease again, his voice almost brittle, “I am, Johnny. Really. I understand now that I’ll never escape this. It’s fine. It will be fine as long as I have you, and Garrick, and Price.”

“What is ‘this’?” Soap wants to help, wants to know what is making those brown eyes so somber, but Simon is keeping something from him.

A gloved hand lifts, takes hold of the mask, and with it Soap’s breath, and slides the fabric and skull off.

Blond hair, curled when the strands have enough length, long nose that has been broken and reset one too many times, and scars, so many scars. Dark eyes surrounded by darker paint, running down pale cheeks.

Soap couldn’t have imagined a more heart-stopping face under that mask.

“You’ve asked this before, and I always answer. All it does is bother you, makes you sad, angry. I don’t want to see you burdened like that.” Simon murmurs, face oddly relaxed.

“I’m already worried, you numpty, so just let it out.” irritation bleeds into his words.

And the man simply smiles, an emotion Soap can’t identify in his eyes, “you never saw me as just the Ghost. Somehow, you can read me even through the mask.” Simon leans in a little closer, “always liked tha’ about you.”

The lights in the range abruptly cut off, plunging the both of them into inky darkness. Soap swivels his head to the rest of the base, where everything is dark as well. That… that shouldn’t happen. They have a generator, a backup source of power for situations like these.

Awareness prickles at his nape, an air of danger that isn’t supposed to permeate their home base.

Soap attempts to get up, “I’m going to check what-”

Simon pulls him back down, grip gentle, “stay.”

“What?” Soap turns to where he knows Simon is, nothing but a silhouette in the night now, “what if something happened, we should-”

“You won’t be able to fix this, Johnny. They destroyed the generators before going for the main power.”

“How-?!” flashes of light cut him off, distant explosions at the walls on the other side of base. Soap’s heart starts beating faster at the echoing sounds of battle crossing the desolate grounds, shots and screams and-

“Ghost, someone is fuckin’ attacking our base, we need to warn the others-!”

Simon doesn’t let him go, “too late now.”

“Too late- are you just going teh leave Price and Gaz-”

“They’re dead.” Simon’s voice is terrifyingly cold, no shadow of a doubt in it, “or, they will be within the next few minutes.”

Soap slumps back, shock shooting through his limbs, “how… Simon, what…?”

How could he know? He can’t, right? Gaz and Price… they can’t just be dead like that…right?

“Soap”, Simon pulls him closer, bodies leaning against each other, “what I’m going to ask of you is selfish, and weak of me, but I-” Simon exhales shakily, “I can’t do this anymore.”

His hand moves to his belt, and Simon pulls out a revolver, one of the models they have on range. He places it in Soap’s hand. Without uttering a word, Simon rearranges Soap’s fingers to be on the trigger, and lifts the barrel to line with his head.

He instinctually flinches away, but Simon hold’s on him tightens, keeping the gun aimed at himself.

“Simon-”

“Shoot me. No matter what I do, I can’t save all of you. I can’t watch you die anymore.” Simon’s voice quivers, “I can’t- can’t see your eyes like that, looking through me-” he feels the tremors in Simon’s body travelling down from his arms to their joined hands.

Soap shakes his head minutely, eyes wide open staring at Simon’s dark form, “Ah don’t want teh kill ye, Simon.”

Simon’s finger caresses his, gently lowers to his trigger finger. “I know, I’m- I’m sorry, Johnny. But you won’t remember any of this.”

Soap’s breath catches, his body frozen in shock, “don’t-”

Simon squeezes both of their fingers on the trigger.

Soap’s body startles awake, breaths coming out in small puffs. He rips the blanket off his sweaty skin, sitting up in bed.

This… nightmare, was more realistic than anything he’s ever experienced. He can still feel the revolver in his hand, Ghost’s pressed against his, pulling the trigger-

A knock startles him from his thoughts, and automatically Soap rises to open the door.

The last person he expected to see was Ghost.

“Morning, Johnny.” he greets.

Ice-cold shock shoots through his veins along with a sense of déjà vu, “Ghost…”

Ghost tilts his head, eyes narrowing, “...you solid, Sergeant?”

“A-aye.” snap out of it, it was just a fuckin’ dream, “something happen, LT?”

Ghost takes a moment to answer, “no, I was about to go to mess. Came to ask you to join.”

Soap nods, opening the door wider to step through, “yeah, yeah of course. Let’s go.” He starts walking towards mess, stopping after a few steps when he notices Ghost isn’t following.

“You’re going like this?” Ghost motions to his shirt. His moth-eaten, sleeping shirt.

Fuck. “Right. Give me a sec” he rushes back to his room, shutting the door loudly behind him.

Soap violently opens his closet and drawers, pulling out the same clothes he did in his dream. Because that was all it was, a dream. A stupid nightmare, not a premonition of any kind. Because people don’t get visions of their friends’ untimely death the night before it happens.

He just needs to screw his head on right. He opens the door again, giving Ghost a sheepish smile and restarting their walk to mess.

When they almost reach Gaz’s door, Soap stalls. He’s about to move again, scolding himself for even entertaining the idea that Gaz is about to burst out, just because it also happened in the nightmare-

Except he does, not a moment later, “Oh shit- sorry Soap, didn’t see you there.” Gaz rights his hat, stare drifting away to Ghost, “Lieutenant, sir! Didn’t see you either.”

Soap turns to look at Ghost as well, only to find him already looking at him, with wide eyes and stock still body.

“...Ghost?” Gaz asks after a few seconds of silence.

Ghost blinks rapidly, “affirmative. You’re in a rush for-”

“The chocolate pudding in mess.” Soap finishes for him, gaze still boring into Ghost.

Every single thing that happened in the nightmare…

“Yeah, Smith texted me.” Gaz continues, oblivious that he’s simply reciting lines from a predetermined text. “Are you two sure you’re alright-?”

Ghost’s arm shoots forward to grab his, something akin to fear and rage in his eyes. Soap gets dragged away with a considerable amount of force, his legs almost tripping on nothing. He can hear Gaz exclaiming behind them, but all of his attention stays on the bastard crushing his bicep.

“Ghost- fuckin’ hell, let me walk-!”

The Lieutenant is silent, walking with quick strides and shouldering the door to the training grounds open.

“Simon, stop-”

Ghost slams him against the outer wall of the base, Soap hissing when his head bounces off the rough concrete.

“How long?” Ghost growls.

“Wha’?”

Ghost shakes him once, shouting, “for how long have you been stuck?!”

Soap stares up confusingly, “stuck- what the fuck are you talking about?!” he yells back.

“The time loop, Soap! You fucking remember yesterday!”

“Time loop-” his muscles slacken, the fight instantly leaving him, “...it wasn’t a nightmare?”

His hearing becomes muffled with the sound of blood rushing past them, vision blurring. Ghost’s grips becomes lighter, until it leaves him completely.

His voice is gentler when he answers, “not a nightmare, Johnny.”

“I-” he looks up at him, “I killed you.”

Ghost stiffens, before he exhales roughly and turns away from Soap, “fuck…”

They stay silent, and the reality of their situation sinks in. They’re both stuck in a time loop, like some kind of steaming sci-fi movie. Soap wants to laugh, part of him grasping desperately at the notion that this must be some sort of prank. But he knows Ghost wouldn’t, couldn’t have known what happened in the “nightmare” otherwise.

Their conversation in the dark resurfaces in his memory, “Ghost… this is the first time I’m repeating a day.”

Dark eyes return to his, a sort of relief loosening Ghost’s muscles. He nods, taking in a slow breath, “good. Wouldn’t want you hiding it from me.”

“How long have you been stuck…?”

Ghost hums, eyes unfocusing, “stopped counting after the second month.”

“Steamin’ Jesus…”

Things start clicking in Soap’s mind rapidly. Ghost’s odd change in behaviour, the way he knew when each and every event in the day happens, how he knew where to find him…

When the attack will begin…

Ghost’s entire speech before it… how he’ll never “escape this”...

“You gave up.” Soap walks around Ghost, attempting to catch his eye contact, “yesterday. Is that why ye wanted me to kill ye?”

Ghost avoids him again, murmuring quietly, “thought it would stop it.”

“You-” realization hits him, “you thought you’d stay dead. Have ye never died in the loop before?”

Ghost sneaks a hand under his mask, scrubbing at his eyes, “never had anyone else kill me. Killed myself plenty, but whenever I tried getting killed by someone else… never works.” the gloved hands retreat from under the balaclava, marred with greasepaint, and it strikes Soap just how tired Ghost looks. Body bowing under the invisible burden of countless days, countless deaths.

Simon doesn’t have anything left to give. A flicker of determination lights up in Soap’s chest, a decision to do anything to lessen that burden.

“Then go on, tell me the rules of this shite.”

Ghost squints, “the time loop?” he sighs, “day resets when I die or kill myself, and if I don’t, it will the moment the clock strikes midnight.”

Soap nods. It sounds like it’s not Ghost’s survival that is the requirement to break the loop. Then…

“Ye think if we manage to save everyone, we’ll stop repeatin’ days?”

Ghost leans back against the wall Soap was slammed into earlier, “undoubtedly.”

Soap tilts his head at Ghost’s solemn tone, “but…?” he prompts.

“It’s impossible.”

“C’mon LT, you can’t just-”

Ghost pushes off, stomping to tower over Soap with a sudden burst of movement, “you think I haven’t tried everything already, MacTavish?! I can save one of you, but the other two die. If we separate, you all die. If I tell everyone about the loop, Price reports me to medical because he thinks I bloody lost my mind, and if I don’t, I can’t explain how I know an attack is incoming.” Ghost exhales harshly, “I tried… everything.”

Soap doesn’t back down despite the sheer amount of rage dripping from Ghost’s tone. Because he recognizes what that rage is hiding.

“But it’s different, now.”

Ghost’s shoulders drop, “yes. Now I fucked you over as well. We’ll never escape this.”

Soap shakes his head, “we haven’t tried doing it together yet, ye can’t jus’ give up!” he decides to risk placing a hand on his shoulder, “please, Simon.”

He didn’t expect the words to budge anything in Ghost’s grim resolve to abandon hope, and he watches in astonishment as Ghost sighs and nods, “alright, Johnny.”

Soap wonders what has happened to Ghost before, what he has experienced with other versions of himself that made him trust him so readily. A pang of jealousy at them rings through him, that they got to see Simon open up to them.

What could they have told him? Which one called him ‘Simon’ first? When did Simon start calling him ‘Johnny’?

A heartbeat later, he shook it off, choosing to be grateful to them instead. Without them, Soap isn’t sure he would’ve been able to convince Ghost.

Soap smiles at him, letting his arm fall from his shoulder, “right. What intel do we have?” approaching this as any other mission is probably the only way he could keep from losing his mind.

He watches as Ghost enters the same mindset, “Power shuts off at 2125, but a rat causes a malfunction in the generators at the start of the day. I can’t wake up before 0600, so I can’t catch him.”

“Do ye know who it is?”

“Affirm. Got access to the cameras once, they leave base at 0530.” Ghost continues, “we can’t prevent the power outage, if we can’t fix the generator. Main power failure at night comes from somewhere outside base.”

So they’ll have to fight in the dark in any possible outcome… 

Soap is reminded of the explosions he heard yesterday, “what about the charges that went off?”

Ghost sighs, “they run along the outside, placed approximately at 2136.”

“I’ll be able to disarm them.”

“They’ll catch you before you get a pinky on ‘em.”

“Well, good thing we got infinite tries, aye?” Soap smirks. “Wait… will the loop reset if I die?”

“I…” Ghost looks away, ���I don’t know.”

Soap frowns, looking at the recruits making their way to the training grounds. Gaz should arrive here soon…

“We should test it.” Soap reaches for Ghost’s sleeve, telegraphing his movements clearly so the man doesn’t spook.

Ghost bristles, “Johnny-”

He rolls the dark fabric back, revealing a long blade hidden beneath it, “I killed ye when you asked, only fair you do the same.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember.” Ghost mutters quietly, allowing Soap to take the knife despite his verbal protests.

Soap flips the blade in his hand, offering the hilt to Ghost. He doesn’t reach for it for several long seconds. “Ye rather I do it myself? Won’t be pretty.”

Ghost’s frowned brows regard the blade, before he takes it with a heavy sigh, “turn around.” he orders gently. Soap complies, feeling his heart rate jump at the touch of gloved hands on his nape. 

He’s not sure if it’s fear or exhilaration.

The hands tilt his head forward, and the tip of the knife barely scrapes the ends of his hair.

Ghost almost whispers into his ear, “relax. I won’t let you feel a thing.” he angles the knife so the blade will drive straight into his brain with a push, “tell me when you’re ready, Johnny.”

Soap takes a big breath in, forcing his muscles to loosen. He just needs to trust Ghost. Trust Simon.

It’s… scarily easy to.

“I’m ready.”

The world goes dark in a blink.

Soap opens his eyes to the sight of his barrack’s ceiling. He sits up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. It felt painful for only a short moment.

Well, that answers his question, he muses to himself.

As the minutes trickle by without a knock at his door, Soap becomes worried. Where’s Ghost?

He quickly changes to his fatigues and walks out, feet taking him to Ghost’s door at the very far end of the hallway. It’s surrounded by supply closets and sits at a dead end, so most people don’t pass through here, making it unnaturally silent for how crowded the other parts of base are.

Soap knocks on the only door with a nameplate, “Ghost? Ye there?”

Nothing. Soap tries the handle, finding it unlocked, and slowly pushes in, “hope yer decent, LT…”

He spots Ghost sitting at the edge of his cot, elbows resting on his knees and eyes staring blankly at the bare wall in front of him.

“Simon?” he carefully walks over, crouching in front of him, “...ye solid?”

“...Didn’t reset.” Ghost eventually murmurs, jaw tight under his balaclava, “your death doesn’t reset it.”

Soap sits back on his haunches.

Ghost continues, “they found me, Price and Gaz. I didn’t- didn’t just want to leave your body there. They…” his voice breaks, and he clears his throat. Soap’s gut wrenches. “They apprehended me and shoved me in a cell. Interrogated me ‘till midnight. Never seen Price that angry, Gaz-” he shakes his head, as if to expel the memories, “kept screaming, threatened to come into the cell to off me, and-”

“Simon.”

Simon gets up with no warning, hands flexing by his side, unable to meet his eyes, “I’m- Johnny-”

Soap rises to his feet as well, and in the spur of the moment wraps his arms around Ghost, pulling him into a tight hug. Instantly, Simon sags into him, his head dropping to his shoulder.

He was callous to think Simon could kill him and think nothing of it. This is not the Ghost he knew a few days ago – this is a Ghost that saw his team die again and again, stuck in a loop he couldn’t break, for months.

Soap doesn’t think he could conceive of a crueler method of torture.

“Ah’m sorry.”

Simon’s fingers twist into his shirt. 

“Promise me… that you won’t die.” Simon whispers, sounding so much like a young child, afraid of the monster under his bed, and not like a decorated SAS operator. “I can’t- can’t-”

“I’ll do my best.”

He feels Simon’s head shake, “promise.”

“...I promise.”

They stay silent after that, holding onto each other like they’ll fall apart once their hands retreat. Soap lost in regret, and fear, and unfathomable worry, that Simon really will just give up. Even with him here, stuck in the same loop.

They may have all the time in the world, but how long will it take until there’s nothing of Ghost left to save?

They leave Ghost’s room, hands still unable to leave the other. Soap wants to get back to making progress on their mission, but he worries Simon’s drained. As if sensing it, Simon squeezes his hand, making Soap look at him.

“I think we should tell Price and Gaz.”

Soap blinks, “but ye said it never worked?”

Simon nods, eyes half-lidded, “Because it was only me. They won’t be able to excuse it with hallucinations when two people experience the same thing.” he lets go of Soap, his hand instantly mourning the loss, “they’ve left mess already, if they’re still behaving like usual.”

Right. This is new territory for Ghost, so he can’t rely on previous days anymore, “I’ll call Gaz, can you get Price?”

“Affirm. We’ll meet in the Captain’s office.” the Lieutenant turns to leave, and Soap opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, wanting to say something to encourage Ghost, or help him in any way, before he gives up and pulls out his phone.

The call rings only twice before Gaz picks up, “where were you this morning?! You missed the chocolate pudding!”

“Good morning to you too, Kyle.” he huffs, “had to deal with an emergency.”

Gaz instantly starts interrogating him, “what? You alright, mate?”

“Aye, but we need to get to Price’s office.”

“Copy. Stay safe, Soap.”

“You too.” he ends the call, and makes his way to the office. Anticipation roils in his gut. He had a hard time believing the time loop, and he saw it first hand. How are they going to convince the others of it?

Gaz is waiting outside the Captain’s office when Soap arrives. He gives him a reassuring nod, before knocking on the door.

“Open.” Price’s gruff voice calls.

Ghost is already inside, leaning against the far wall, and if Soap didn’t know better, he’d look as composed as he is every day. But he does know better, and the tension in his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Right.” Price addresses Soap, “Ghost told me he and you have something important to tell us, and that it absolutely can’t wait for later, so let it out.”

Soap looks towards Ghost, a little lost with how to begin.

He regrets letting him start when he simply states, with no prior warning, “We’re stuck in a time loop.”

The office is quiet for a few seconds, before Gaz half-coughs, half-laughs. Soap sends him an unimpressed stare when he sees his lips tighten in an attempt to stay silent.

Price doesn’t sound amused in the slightest, “...if this is some sort of joke, it’s not very funny.” his tone becomes gentler, “but if you’re serious, Ghost, we can go to medical-”

Ghost takes a step towards Price, “I’m not having a psychosis episode, John.”

“Son-”

Soap intervenes, “Ah’m also in the loop, Captain.”

“MacTavish, this is not the time to fuck around!”

Shite, this is not working at all. He watches Ghost deflate, practically hears him give up again. He can’t watch him like this.

“Gaz” he turns to Kyle, “Smith texted ye in the morning, that’s how you knew about the pudding, right?”

Gaz’s brows shoot up, “yeah? How did you…?”

“There’s going to be a football match with Scotland today, ye were gonna invite me to watch with you.”

“You could’ve looked that up, Soap.” Price doesn’t sound convinced, but his expression loses the edge of anger it previously had.

“Scotland is gonna lose 0-2.”

The Captain sighs, “the match is at 1900, and even if you’re right, it still can be a lucky guess.” he leans back against his chair, “look, I can tell you’re serious about this, but I’ll need more proof before I can believe something like time loops exists.”

There must be something that could prove it, something one of them said that he shouldn’t know-

“Your favorite food is sausages, a specific recipe your father made. He died when you were nineteen, and you haven’t had them since.” Ghost murmurs. Price freezes, and his head turns slowly to stare at the Lieutenant.

“...I’ve never told that to anyone-”

“Garrick’s biggest fear is to watch his squad die.” Ghost continues, “he feels responsible for any injury any of us get, any loss. When one of us goes on a solo mission, he stays awake for as long as he can so he won’t miss any information about us.”

Gaz gapes, “How-”

“Price calls me Simon because he worries I’ll stop being used to the name.” Ghost crosses his arms, almost hugging himself, “Garrick was mocked during basic, was called weaker because he showed care to other soldiers, until he beat the records on several tests.” he doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

The Captain removes his hat, brushing a hand through his short-cropped hair, “fucking hell. Okay. I believe you.”

“Yeah…” Gaz shakes his head, “alright. You two are stuck in a bloody time loop. How do we get you out?”

A weight lifts from his heart. Soap smiles in relief, and it broadens when Ghost finally looks at him.

“There’s going to be an attack on our base this night. At least two of you will die, caught off guard.” Ghost explains, the soldiers in the room listening with rapt attention, “we need to keep you alive.”

“A surprise attack? How is that possible?” Price frowns.

Soap joins in, “they sabotaged emergency power this morning, and they’ll cut off the main source tonight, while breaching the south wall with explosives. And ‘fore ye ask, we can’t fix it, unless any of ye know how to operate a generator.”

“Do we know who it is?” Gaz asks.

“Anthony Simmons. Our latest target.” Ghost grounds bitterly, “think we disrupted his business enough he decided attacking an SAS base is worth the risk.”

Simmons… responsible for most illegal arms dealing in the UK. He must’ve joined forces with some of the 141’s enemies to have enough manpower to storm a base, but then again, those aren’t hard to come by, are they?

“Wait,” Gaz frowns and turns to face Soap, “how many times have you repeated a day to know all of that?”

“This is only the second time for me. Ghost has been stuck for… much longer.”

“And out of those loops, how many times have you tried telling us?” Price looks over to Ghost, concerned.

“...Twice.” the masked man answers, like it doesn’t twist Price’s features in shocked anger.

“Twice”, Price scoffs, “I’m… do you really trust us that little-”

“He trusts you plenty, Captain.” Soap cuts him off, hands clenching and nostrils flaring with anger, because he won’t let him insinuate Simon hasn’t been trying, “ye don’t trust his word, you always jump to the conclusion he must’ve lost his mind instead of telling the truth. You’ve done the same today, and if Ah wasn’t also stuck in this shite, ye would’ve sent ‘im to a shrink ten minutes ago.”

“Soap…” Gaz tries to placate, but he ignores it in favor of sending death glares at Price.

“Johnny.” Ghost breaks his resolve, “enough. He doesn’t need to apologize for something a different version of him did.”

Price sighs, “I don’t need to, but I will. I’m sorry, Simon. For not believing you.”

Ghost’s eyes widen, and Soap thinks they become a little shinier. He drops his head to the ground, clearing his throat. “Don’t worry about it, Captain.”

“We should each tell you a secret.” Gaz says, “something that will instantly make us know you’re telling the truth.”

“Good idea.” Soap hums. He hates approaching this day knowing they’ll likely will have to repeat this conversation again, but if they could speed it up tomorrow it’ll make it less demoralizing. “Do ye have anything in mind?”

Gaz blinks, and looks away with a bashful smile, “it’ll have to be something I would never admit under any other circumstance… yeah, I think I got something, unfortunately.” he plays with the strings on his sweatpants, “Captain, you remember Farah and Alex?”

The names are unfamiliar to Soap, but a glint of recognition lights in Price’s eyes, “of course. What about them?”

“Uhm… fuck, I really would not say it if it didn’t help you.” Gaz’s voice lowers, “I might be a little… interested in them.”

“...In what way?” one of Price’s brows lift inquisitively.

Gaz pulls on the bill of his baseball hat to hide his face, “in a romantic way.” he almost whispers.

“Oh.” the Captain softly exclaims. “That’s… completely fine, son-”

Kyle hides behind his hands and groans, “can we please not talk about it, sir?”

Soap pats Gaz’s shoulder, “we won’t ask, mate.” he grins towards the Captain, “yer turn, sir.”

Price sighs, and strokes his beard in thought. When he grimaces, Soap knows he found a suitable secret.

“When I was about fifteen, I smoked my first cigarette. Couldn’t take more than a couple of breaths of it before I puked.”

Gaz removes his hands from his face to point at Price, “there’s no way this is the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done!”

Price gives him an unimpressed look, “I puked directly on my crush at the time.”

“...Oh.” Gaz winces in sympathy.

“Yes, ‘oh’.” Price rolls his eyes, “now, let’s get back to that attack. You got anything else we can use, Ghost?”

“Affirm. I know how each of you dies.”

Soap almost laughs at how chilling that statement is, coming from a guy dressed like the grim reaper.

Ghost shoots him a look that makes Soap sober up, “Price leaves his office at 2122, gets caught on his way to our common room. Garrick fights along a few other soldiers from the rooms next to his barracks, they all die to a frag. And Johnny…” Ghost’s eyes meet his, “Soap’s the only one with a decent gun inside base at the moment of the attack, so he runs off to help the others. He dies last, with an empty mag and a knife in his throat.”

Soap swallows around the bitter taste on his tongue at the mental image of Ghost finding his body like that, “You said ye can save one of us, but never more. What happens then?”

“Only reason you’re saved is by either knowing of the attack beforehand or by acquiring gear.” Ghost grounds, hand flexing in an odd way, and Soap realizes he’s fidgeting with the knife up his sleeve, “and as I’ve said before, I can’t warn you because you won’t believe me. I can’t carry enough gear for four.”

“But we know now.” Gaz interjects, “we can go to the armory, ask them for our vests and rifles.”

“We can. But that won’t save the rest of the base.” Price sighs.

“I have no reason to believe it’s necessary for breaking the loop.” Ghost states firmly, arms crossing.

The Captain’s brows lift, and he narrows his eyes at the Lieutenant, “you… we can’t just let the base fend for itself, while we know something’s going to happen.”

“I don’t care-”

“Simon Riley, I swear to all that’s good and holy if you finish that sentence-”

“I can’t care, Price!” Ghost growls, hunching over the desk menacingly, “I can’t save three people, you think I can afford to try and save hundreds?!”

Price stares at Ghost, his expression mellowing. “We have to try.”

Ghost lets out a laugh that sounds closer to a sob than anything else, “sick of trying, Captain.”

Price pushes off his chair, and puts a hand on his bicep, “I understand, son. I… can’t say I can imagine what you’ve been going through.”

Ghost takes a few deep breaths, nodding slowly and gently stepping away from Price’s touch, “we’re burning daylight. We need to come up with a plan.”

Soap wants to pull Ghost into another hug, the way he did this morning, but he doesn’t think that’s what he would want right now.

Instead, he says, “I got an idea.”

“Soap, Gaz, what’s your status?”

He lowers into a crouch, walking along the outer wall of the base, “solid. Still not in position.”

“Copy, you got twenty before power’s off.” Ghost’s low tone rumbles over their comms.

The area surrounding the base is made up of mostly flat land, to allow the huge floodlights around the walls to illuminate it and leave no place for a hostile (or a confused tourist, mostly) to hide.

Tonight, this will be a disadvantage for their side, as they won’t have any cover if they get caught by hostiles out here.

Gaz, whose been walking in front of Soap, motions him to stop, and points to one of the watchtowers above them. The soldier on duty seems to be alert, and Soap resists the urge to hold his breath while they wait. Not a few seconds later, the soldier startles, and pulls out his radio. He exchanges a few words with the caller before getting up and leaving the tower. That would be Price’s work.

The Captain reconnects to their line, “Watchtower’s empty, boys, you’re clear to proceed.”

“Copy.”

They continue their careful walk to the wall between this watchtower and the next - the planting site for the charges that will breach it.

Their plan, which was mostly Soap’s idea, is to separate to 2 teams; the first stays on base, making sure the soldiers are gathered together and ready for an attack, and the second slows the infiltration of Simmon’s men.

Both teams have to do so covertly, since they’ve come to the conclusion that even if they alert the higher ups of an approaching attack, without any more concrete evidence than ‘two of our elite operators are stuck in a fucking time loop’, nobody would believe them. They decided that Price and Ghost will stay, as they have higher ranks and therefore are able to order around more soldiers with less need to explain their reasoning.

Soap and Gaz, then, were left to be here, waiting for the hostiles to plunge the base into darkness.

Before leaving, Ghost pulled Soap to the side, his eyes a fake veneer of professionalism, but shaking fingers betraying him. Soap only gave him a smile, a soft punch to his shoulder, and walked before he could allow his nerves to show.

Because he is nervous, in a way he hasn’t been on a mission since he joined the 141. Not because he’s afraid to die, but because he doesn’t want Ghost to hurt any more than he already is.

Soap promised Ghost he’ll try to not die - and he will drag himself back to him with broken arms if he has to.

“Two minutes to power shutdown, get ready.” Ghost rips him away from his thoughts.

Soap flips his NVG’s over his eyes, blinking while they get used to the muted green-blue hues. Gaz ahead of him does the same.

“Copy, in position and ready.” Gaz radios back.

The seconds trickle by slowly, Soap feeling his heart rate rise in anticipation, and mentally chiding himself for being this anxious. He shouldn’t, considering he knows he can’t die (or stay dead, really). But somehow, the stakes feel higher than any other mission he’s been on before.

Maybe just like Simon, Soap too can’t watch someone he cares about fall apart.

The power shuts down, the electrical hum that previously filled the night air abruptly cutting off. Sop checks his clock.

2126. Ten minutes left.

He quickly pulls out the several kilograms of explosives he packed into his tacvest. Ghost gave him an approximation of the enemy’s trucks parking locations, but he hasn’t spent enough time in his previous loops here to give him exact coordinates. Soap decided to stay on the safer side, and pack more than he would’ve.

He throws the packs of C4 a good distance from Gaz, as the last thing he needs right now is to explode both of them. It might not be enough, but hopefully it will slow the hostiles down enough for their soldiers to realize something is wrong.

In the unnatural silence, Soap can hear the engines of several trucks approaching their position. Gaz clicks off the safety on his assault rifle. He gives one last check that the explosives are connected correctly to each other and the detonator, and returns to Kyle’s side.

His heart screams that they’re not going to win this time around.

“Hey Gaz?”

“Yeah?”

Soap gives in to the sinking feeling in his gut, “if I don’t make it… can you make sure Ghost doesn’t see my…”

“I won’t, Soap.” Gaz reaches for him, putting an arm around him as much as he can with all the gear on them, “let’s try to not get to that, though.”

“Aye.” he can make out the shapes of trucks filled to the brim with hostiles hurtling towards the base. Gaz switches the sights on his gun.

“You got about 5 seconds before they reach the explosives.”

Soap’s finger hovers over the detonator, counting under his breath.

Three…

Two…

The trucks roll over the half-circle of charges around them. Soap presses the button.

One second the vehicles are there, the next a flash of light blinds them both. Even though he knew to squeeze his eyes shut, Soap could still see colorful shapes dancing in his vision when he opened them. A smaller explosion shakes the ground, Simmon’s men screaming at the surprise attack. Serves them right.

Unfortunately, they regain their footing quickly enough, and soon bullets started ricocheting off of the base’s walls.

“Soap! On your two, three hostiles!” Gaz shouts while aiming to his left, fire messing with their NVGs.

Soap shoots two men down, the third ducking away and only getting grazed. He takes out a Semtex, throwing it in the last man’s direction and averting his attention to Gaz right as he yells.

“Kyle!” he watches in horror as a bullet rips through his thigh, a matching wound in the other. Gaz goes down hard, with grunts of pain and bared teeth. Soap runs towards him, shooting another hostile down, but he’s not fast enough.

Gaz stares at him, eyes full of horror, gaze flickering back to the fight when a bullet almost hits his head. He’s stuck, unable to get to cover, fate practically sealed.

Soap slides to a stop. He changes course to the nearest wrecked truck, more mangled steel than a vehicle. The lingering fire singes his arm hairs, but he doesn’t feel a thing.

They’re trapped, pushed against the wall with no backup in sight. They may be able to fend off by themselves, but the moment they run out of bullets…

He lifts a shaky hand to his comms.

“Ghost?” Soap whispers.

“Soap. What’s your status?”

He swallows thickly, “Don’t come to the wall.”

“What?” Ghost’s voice sharpen.

“Ah’m sorry, Simon. Gaz, he’s- his legs are fucking shot, they’ve got us surrounded, not gettin’ out of this alive-”

He cuts himself off when he hears a small sigh, clothes rustling on the other side, Price’s voice shouting from far away, “SIMON DON’T-”

And like a curtain at the end of a show, Soap’s vision goes black.

Soap wakes up with a sharp inhale, clean air jarring, when all he smelled a moment ago was smoke. He jumps out of bed, changing quickly and running out of his room.

He almost runs into Ghost in his hurry. Ghost, who was on his way to his room.

“Easy, Johnny.” he gets caught by his shoulders.

Soap pants, “Ghost- it was my fault, I should’ve placed the explosives farther ahead, detonated them later-”

“Sergeant.” Ghost squeezes his arms lightly, “I’m not mad.”

And he really isn’t, when Soap actually takes the time to look at Ghost, he discovers him completely calm.

“...You expected this to happen.”

Ghost’s eyes crease, in the way Soap has learned means he’s smiling, “this is what always happens. I’m just happy I ended the day before all of you were dead.”

Soap feels his lips twist downwards, adrenaline leaving him unmoored and tired. He’s not sure if he’s telling it to Ghost or to himself, when he says, “we have to keep trying.”

Ghost doesn’t answer, instead letting his hands fall away. “You got a new plan?”

A door behind them opens loudly before he can answer, “where’s-” Gaz turns his head to them, “oh, Soap! And Ghost. C’mon, we need to go to the cafeteria, Smith texted me-”

Soap drops his head, slightly irritated for having to repeat this conversation again, but happy to see Gaz nonetheless, “aye, there’s chocolate pudding in mess.”

“Yeah! How did you know?” Kyle gives him a lopsided smile.

He sighs and throws a thumb behind him, “stuck in a time loop with Ghost.”

Gaz stares at him before a laugh erupts from his throat, and he bends over giggling. Soap allows him a few moments before he comments, “are ye done?”

“Fuck mate you can’t do that to me this early in the morning, the look on Ghost’s face-” he laughs a little more, before forcing a serious expression, “yeah, yeah I’m done.”

“Good. You have a crush on Alex and Farah.”

Gaz freezes for a moment, and his brows shoot up, “how the fuck- how do you even know who they are-”

“I don’t. Ye told me yesterday.” Soap frowns, “or, well, today… was yesterday for me.”

Ghost taps him on the shoulder, “we need to get going, Johnny. Earlier we get everyone together, the more time we got to prepare.”

“Right”, he takes Kyle’s arm, nudging him in the direction of Price’s office, “let’s go.”

Gaz makes a confused sound, “prepare for what?”

Ghost mutters quietly, so lowly that Soap almost misses it, “another death.”

Fifteen times. They’ve tried fifteen times since that day.

The first three were similar, the same plan as before with minimal variation. One time, he went out with Ghost instead of Gaz. Soap ended up with a bullet to the shoulder, incapacitated and waiting to die. Ghost made sure he didn’t wait long.

After that, they tried telling more people. Alert the soldiers at the watchtowers, supply others with weapons. For the most part, they didn’t believe them, even when Price and Gaz vouched for the credibility of their story. And when they were believed, it wasn’t enough. The base too big, their enemy too strong.

On the fifteenth try, Soap managed to slow the infiltration with precisely placed explosives, toppling a recently vacated watchtower over the entrance. Ghost was alone, using the cover of night to pick off anyone getting close to the barracks, where most soldiers are at the time. Gaz and Price were with Soap, leading the charge on the main group of hostiles.

It went well. They reached 2240, the furthest they’ve ever seen.

Maybe it was that fact, or the fact that Soap has done this so many times, each day starting to blend together, each defeat the same shade of bright red.

He doesn’t know what it was, but he lost focus, and while the others were fighting ahead of him, he got blindsided by a heavy body slamming into his.

The hostile tackled him to the ground, and Soap barely managed to get his arms up in time to block the knife heading for his throat. He grunted as the blade dug into his forearm, and attempted to push off the enemy. The man was built like Ghost, big and muscular, and Soap might’ve been able to win, if he wasn’t on his fifteenth day.

But he was, and the hostile breaks his guard, stabbing Soap in the chest, then the shoulder, then the stomach. Soap can’t breathe, but by instinct alone his arm reaches for the pistol at his hip, and shoots the heavy bastard three times in the head, until the body drops.

Every single part of him hurts. Most of all, the vile taste of another loss on his tongue, and a broken promise.

Soap futilely tries to get the lifeless body crushing him off, but his muscles feel like jelly, and every small movement shoots fire through the several holes littering his torso, making more blood bubble up.

So Soap gives up. He clicks his radio on, listens to the others check in, notice his absence. He knows he should say something, let Ghost know this loop is a bust and restart, but…

He finds he doesn’t want to. For once, he just wants to stay here, bathing in his own blood, pain so blinding he can almost pretend it’s not there.

“MacTavish, fucking answer me! What’s your status?!” Ghost’s voice sounds… frantic. Soap doesn’t like it.

It takes a lot of effort just to click the button to answer, “s’rry, Ghost. Ah’m… Ah’m here.”

“...Johnny? Where are you?”

He coughs a little, a flush of cold making his vision swim, “in general? Stuck.” he laughs at his own stupid joke, the sound turning into a bitten off cry when pain shoots through his body again. “Fuck-”

“How bad is it?” Ghost asks, gently, in a way Soap doesn’t think he’s earned to hear from him.

“Bad. H-hurts.” Soap feels tears run to his hairline, “but Ah don’t want to die. Don’ want ye teh die. I can survive, just-” a whine rips from his throat without his permission, “just a wee bit over one hour till midnight, righ’?”

“I’m not going to let you keep suffering-”

“We are s-so close.” Soap’s eyes cease to see, blood loss taking his vision and plunging him back into the darkness he grew to despise more than anything, “Ah don’ want teh do this again, Ghost… please…”

Ghost sounds more muffled when he murmurs, “I’ll see you in a few, Johnny.” a finality in his voice that tells Soap he’s putting a gun to his temple yet again.

“No…” Soap wants to beg, but talking is starting to become more difficult than it should be, “Simon… please… don’t…..”

He hears a gunshot, and then nothing at all.

When Soap wakes up, he doesn’t bother opening his eyes. He knows what he’ll see, the same ceiling, in the same washed-out white shade, bathed in the same morning sunlight of the same fucking day.

It must’ve been a few minutes of him drifting into uncomfortable consciousness, when there’s a knock on the door. Same one he’s heard all the way back when this shit started.

“Soap? You still there?” Ghost asks behind the thin plywood. Soap can hear the handle rattle as Ghost checks if it’s locked.

Apparently, ‘yesterday Soap’ locked it. He couldn’t remember if he tried - it’s been weeks since ‘yesterday’.

“Johnny?”

How did Ghost survive this long alone? The world around him oblivious to the glitch in time, lives around him continuing like normal, as if they aren’t also stuck?

A heavy weight squeezes his lungs, a despair in a magnitude he’s never felt, the knowledge they’re not going to ever escape this caving in his rib cage. Soap keeps his eyes closed, because if he opens them, he’ll need to face another day, fight and die, like he won’t just do it again in the next.

The flimsy lock on his door clicks, and it slides open slowly, “I’m coming in”, Ghost warns, not that Soap cares.

He’s facing the wall, but he can sense Ghost walking towards the bed, and sitting down after a few moments of silence. Soap lets one eye blink open, still staring at the wall in front of him. Somehow, with just his presence, Ghost lends him strength.

Soap clears his throat quietly, words spilling out before he can stop them, “I don’t know if I can keep going.”

A hand finds his calf, slowly caressing him through the thin blanket, “we can stop.” Ghost murmurs, his tone similar to the way he talked when he understood they’re not making it out this time.

“Stop? And what, stay stuck?” Soap scoffs.

The hand warms his skin, more than this sun ever could, “yes.” Soap hears clothes rustling, “give up. But that’s not what you want, is it?”

“An’ how do ye know what Ah want?” anger starts bubbling within him, Soap regretting his harsh tone a moment after he lets it out. Ghost doesn’t deserve it, never does.

The hand leaves him, and Soap raises his head in alarm, because if Ghost leaves, there really is no point to continue-

His eyes widen when he sees him, mask in his hand, knee coming up to rest on the bed. Gentle blond curls almost glowing in the sunlight, brown eyes like dark pools that anchor him in the spiral he found himself in.

Simon’s thin lips move slowly, Soap enchanted by the way they pull on the scars, “I know, because you kept me going.”

“But-” Soap brings his knees up, “Ah didn’t know what ye were going through before. Didn’t know it really is…”

“Impossible?”

“Aye…” he drops his head to stare at his own lap. A gloved hand appears at the edges of his vision.

Ghost nudges his shoulder softly, “move over.”

Soap blinks up in confusion, and scoots closer to the wall, allowing Ghost to sit beside him. The bed was certainly not made for two people their size, and their bodies are pressed together. It’s comforting.

“That day wasn’t the first time I tried to get you to kill me.” Ghost lets out eventually.

Soap stares at him, “what happened the other times?”

“You got mad.” Ghost smiles sadly, “threw the gun away, as far as you could. Grabbed me by the face and forced me to look, really look, at you. And you talked.”

“And what did Ah say?”

Ghost’s light eyelashes flutter, “you’d always let me know, before anything else, how much of a ‘dafty’ I am.” Soap laughs a little at that, while Ghost continues, “then you’d say that I’m not allowed to give up.”

Soap frowns. “Why?”

Ghost turns to stare at him, “you said I haven’t seen everything this world has to offer yet. You promised to show me, if I stay. You were so…” he sighs, mind clearly far away in an unreachable fantasy, “determined. Sure that you could change my mind. I didn’t understand why you cared so much.”

Soap’s heart hammers loudly in his chest, his own words swirling with distant memories. Of yesterday, and the days before it.

“I called you Johnny, once, on a whim. Wanted to see your reaction.” Ghost huffs, “and in all the days I’ve been through, you never acknowledged it, never told me to stop. Always smiled wider instead.”

“Simon…”

He leans closer to Soap, their noses almost touching, “I know you want to live, because you made me continue living. I know how you look when you lie, and you never lied to me.”

Soap exhales shakily, “but Ah’m not that person anymore. Neither of us are.”

Simon wraps a hand around his nape, pulls his head to rest on his shoulder, “no. But we haven’t seen everything yet. We’ll keep changing, and maybe we’ll become something better by the end of it.”

Soap buries his nose in Simon’s neck, “and what if we won’t? What if this is really how the rest of our lives is gonna go?”

What if there really is no way out?

“Then… Then I’ll be glad it wasn’t alone. I’m glad it was with you.”

In the safety of strong arms, a warm body beside him, Soap nods. In acceptance of their unknown fate, of their hopeless endeavour. An understanding, that they have to try anyway.

Because trying and failing is worth something too, if they get to have this small moment; so insignificant in larger scale.

And yet nothing means more to Soap, than the fingers drawing small loops on his skin.

He doesn’t know how long it takes for someone to take notice of their absence, but it becomes obvious that it has, when both Soap’s and Simon’s phones start buzzing with no end.

Soap pulls away first, after several minutes of gearing himself up to it. Doesn’t make the jarring shift any easier. He leans over Ghost to grab his phone from the bedside table, and cringes when he sees the number of missed calls from Gaz and Price.

His phone rings again, and he swipes a finger to answer, “he’s still not picking up- Soap?!” Gaz’s voice becomes louder, as if he put the phone back near his mouth, “where the fuck were you?! I’ve tried calling you all day mate!”

“Uh- Phone was on mute, sorry.” he mumbles.

Soap winces a little at the answering sigh from Gaz, “...alright. You solid?”

He doesn’t know why that innocent question made tears well up in his eyes. Soap quickly wipes them away, not fast enough for Ghost to miss, though. “Aye, Ah’m good.”

Soap can tell from Kyle’s voice he’s not entirely convinced, “good. Wanna come torture the recruits with me?”

He smiles softly, closing his eyes, “yeah, think I’d like that right about now.”

Gaz laughs a little, “I’ll see you on the training grounds?”

“See ye.”

Soap tosses the phone on the bed, scrubbing his face. He looks up at Simon, who stayed close for the entire call, “what’s on the table for us today? Are we gonna tell ‘em after training-”

“Take the day off, Johnny. You need it.” Simon gets up with a groan, stretching his back and reaching for his mask. Soap stops him with a gentle hand on his wrist.

“Ye need it too. Come with me.”

Simon’s brown eyes turn a honeyed color in the bright morning light, “...alright.”

It’s been a while since Soap had what almost felt like a normal day, acting like tomorrow will come. Betting on who could come up with the weirdest exercises with Ghost and Gaz was more fun than anything he’s done since entering the loop, shooting the shit with each other and trying not to crack up when the recruits would look at them with bewildered eyes before hurrying to follow their orders.

In the afternoon, they went back to the common room, Gaz inviting them to watch the football match with him. Despite knowing Scotland will lose, Soap agreed, and they even managed to drag Price to sit with them.

And at that moment, Gaz throwing sunflower seeds at the screen, Price confiscating the bowl with a wide smile on his lips, and Ghost’s thigh pressed to his, eyes mirthful, Soap realized something.

He wants to have more days like these. Ones where he can just exist with his team, his friends, the people he holds most dear in the entire world. 

At about 2100, Gaz and Price say their goodbyes, leaving Soap and Ghost by themselves, TV off and the rest of the room silent. As the clock ticks closer to the attack, it feels as if all of his muscles twist tighter, a coil ready to snap.

He didn’t notice his leg started bouncing, until Ghost stops it with a firm hand. “I can stop today right now, if you want.” he asks.

Soap’s breath hitches, and he’s instantly thrown back to the first day, shaky hands wrapped around his, pulling the trigger-

“No.” he blurts, “I- I don’t want ye to…”

Ghost scans his features, before nodding and standing up, offering a hand for Soap. He takes it, a bit flustered when Ghost doesn’t let go.

“We can leave, then.”

“Leave?”

“The base. For tonight.” Ghost offers, “I have a place in mind. Will take us about thirty to reach it.”

Soap frowns, guilt gnawing at his heart, “and the others…?”

Ghost lowers his gaze, “won’t remember a thing.”

He swallows his feelings down, nodding weakly. It hurts, to let them die and do nothing to stop it, but they both know it won’t matter by the end of the night.

They would’ve been dead a dozen times over if it did.

Ghost leads him outside, motioning him to stay low and quiet as they reach the northern side of the wall surrounding the base. The Lieutenant kicks at the fence, a section surprisingly loose, enough for them to crawl out and into the grassy hills outside. Soap sends him a look, to which Ghost just shrugs and says, “I’ll report it when we reach tomorrow.”

When, he notes. Not if.

He continues walking beside him, his figure almost melting into the night skies, save for the bone-white skull mask he grew to love.

A gale brushes upon them, the tall grass and bushes sway along with it. It’s… peaceful.

Until a far away explosion rattles the earth.

Soap freezes, hand pulling on Ghost’s. He knows his eyes must be desperate, when they meet his.

Ghost delicately untangles their fingers, to instead wrap a supporting arm around his shoulders. He leans in to whisper, “just a little more, Johnny.”

It’s odd, how those arms can instantly make Soap feel safer, that voice guiding his mind away from base, to a little bubble of their own.

They walk up a small hill, where at its top stands a single, ancient looking tree. Soap marvels at the place, the fact that somewhere like this exists so near to their base, oblivious to the horrors of their endless deaths.

Ghost sits down, ignoring the crunch of dry grass beneath him, and lays back to stare up at the stars. Soap, as always, follows.

The sky seems endless this way, like his tether to the ground can break with a small tug. Stars shine brightly across the darkness, tiny specks that are still so beautiful despite being so far away.

Soap turns his head to look at Ghost, those brown eyes almost black now, reflecting the universe back at him. It makes something hurt in his chest, reminds him just how much he has to lose, if he chooses to give up.

And Soap finds he really, truly, doesn’t want to give up. If only to see the stars again, feel a cooling wind against his skin again, laugh with Gaz and get a pat on the back from Price, lay back and watch colors swirl in Ghost’s, Simon’s, eyes.

“I want to try again, tomorrow.” Soap whispers, watches the moment Ghost processes the words, “and the day after that, and after that, until we reach an end. Whatever it may be.”

It brings him a significant amount of joy, that he has learned to tell when Ghost smiles by now, “whatever it may be.” he repeats.

Ghost’s wristwatch beeps three times, and Soap stares at it as he brings it closer to his face to read.

“Two minutes to midnight.” he informs.

Soap sighs, wishing the day wouldn’t have to end so soon, and yet also eager to get up and fight, “I’ll see ye in a few, LT?”

Ghost drops his arm, nodding resolutely, “always, Johnny.”

The stars melt into the void as they stare into each other’s eyes. 

A new day greets Soap, as it always does. This time, however, it feels different.

Soap gets out of bed, diligently dressing up, before a knock sounds on his door. Without opening, he knows whose behind it, and asks with a smile, “did ye ran outta bed today, Simon?”

“You’re just slow, Soap.” a muffled answer comes back, making him smile wider.

He unlocked the door, taking in the sight of Ghost. Same dark clothes he wears every single day (even before the loop, if he’s being honest), but the look in his eyes…

Seems like they both needed yesterday.

“Ready to talk with Price and Gaz?” Ghost motions with his head towards the hallway.

Soap cracks his knuckles, “let’s get teh work.”

Five minutes to power shutdown. The watchtower above him has been cleared, Price’s orders to the soldiers doing their work. Soap finishes planting the last of the charges, nerves somewhat settled by the fact he knows this part will work. There is a comfort in knowing exactly how a mission will go, for once. Well, this part at least.

“Got an eye on you, Johnny.” a low voice murmurs to him through their comms. Soap huffs fondly, sparing a moment to glance back at the base, searching for a sniper glint.

He smirks when he finds it, knows Ghost can read his expression with the scope he’s using, “only one? I’m offended, LT. Don’t think I deserve your full attention?”

“Think you’ve earned it?”

Soap makes a show of thinking over it, “hmm… What if I say yes?”

“Then I’d say you’re right, Sergeant.” Ghost radios back with a warmer tone. “Remember your promise?”

“Of course.”

A promise to try. A swear to fight. A vow to live.

“This is Price, me and Gaz are in position, what’s your status?”

“Explosives are set, in position.” Soap answers.

“Two minutes to power shutoff.” Ghost warns. Soap clenches his jaw and backs away, detonator in hand.

Their plan for this loop is similar to the last one, with Soap dropping the watchtower on the infiltrating group, while Gaz and Price take point at the barracks. They made minor adjustments to positions, using the intel they’ve collected in the previous run, and one major change.

This time, Soap has Ghost to watch his six.

He’s been through this so many times, he didn’t need to watch the clock to know exactly when the lights will go out.

The darkness makes his breaths quicken a tad, but Soap grinds his teeth and pulls the reins on his own mind. Even if they fail today, they have an infinite amount of tries.

He takes a sharp inhale, covers his eyes, and detonates. The familiar sound of dozens of tonnes of metal crashing down is like music to his ears, and Soap opens his eyes to watch bullets flash through the night sky. Ghost picking off the remaining hostiles.

“How was the light show?”

Ghost sighs, putting on an air of irritation that Soap has learned to see past, “splendid, Soap. I’d put a picture of it right next to the definition of a pyromaniac in the dictionary.”

Soap begins running towards the barracks, knowing he has mere minutes before the hostiles reach it, “ye say the sweetest things teh me, Simon.”

“Wasn’t a compliment.” Ghost mutters, “I’ll meet you on ground in ten.”

“Copy.”

The barracks building fast approaches, dark windows flaring every few seconds with gunfire. He’s about to rush in when a hand wraps around his nape. Soap reaches for a knife he slipped up his sleeve when he hears a gravelly voice near his ear.

“Thought we’re not runnin’ off on our own anymore.” Ghost murmurs, scolding him lightly.

Soap sags against his grip. “Attacker doesn’t get me for another thirty-four minutes.”

“Don’t care. Haven’t been through this version of the loop enough times to know where every hostile is.” Ghost guides him to the direction of the side door, “be careful.”

Soap nods, skin feeling cold when Ghost releases him. They make their way down dark hallways, NVGs on, echoing bullets getting closer and closer. Someone runs out of a door to their left, and Soap has mere seconds to figure out which side they’re on.

Tactical vest, rifle in hand, ready for combat. A clean shot through the head and the man is dead.

The air around them is charged, his lungs almost choking on the tension, but his hands are steady on his gun, as years of military training drilled into him.

“Soap, Ghost, we’re getting overrun in block B! Where the fuck are you?” Gaz pants into his mic, choppy gunfire slips around his voice.

“Clearing block A, but Ah can come yer way-”

Ghost cuts him off, “we are on our way to you, Garrick. Don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“Copy.” Gaz clicks off. Wordlessly, they start running.

So many things can go wrong, finish their loop early, make them fail. Before, it felt like the entire world was fighting against them, the very fabric of time and space coiling around their throats and smothering their lungs.

Ghost sprints ahead of him, a long blade in hand as he opens the door to block B, and the knife gets buried into an unlucky hostile.

Things are different now. Soap lines a shot with another bastard trying to flank Ghost. The Lieutenant turns to give him a thankful nod.

They have to be different.

Block B houses the 141, among other squads. Usually at this hour, its hallways are empty and quiet, the occasional sleepless soldier drifting towards the common room.

Tonight, barracks have been turned into cover for both friendlies and hostiles, every uncleared room a possible hiding hole for a henchman waiting to blow a hole in their face. Soap and Ghost find the rest of their taskforce in the middle of shooting enemies running between the rooms.

“What’s the situation, Captain?” Ghost crouches down beside Price, peppering a few shots when hostiles pop their head to return fire.

Price grunts, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, “fuckers keep crawling out like roaches up ahead, we can’t push forward like this.” He glances at Soap, “got anything left that we can use, Sergeant?”

Soap mentally runs through the supplies he gathered this afternoon from the armory, “got five Semtex, three frags, a drill charge-”

“Give me a Semtex.” Ghost orders, lifting a hand without looking away from the target-rich hallway. Soap places it in his palm, curiously watching him throw it on a hostile rolling to cover. The man had too much momentum to stop his slide, and he shouts when he realizes he’s just brought a grenade into a room full of his teammates.

A loud explosion, and Soap whistles lowly, “feckin’ ruthless, Ghost.”

The 141, along with the rest of the soldiers who have been sleeping in block B until the base was invaded, use the break in the enemy’s defences to push forward, overwhelming the henchmen and making them scramble back to avoid death.

As they fight, Soap notices a group of hostiles around a single man, seemingly protecting him. When one of them moves, he catches a glimpse of their face, and his blood boils over.

Anthony Simmons, in the flesh. The man responsible for the attack.

Soap knows, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, that Simmons isn’t the one responsible for the existence of the time loop. He had no way of knowing, that attacking the base will cause time to break around Soap and Ghost.

But he has watched his teammates, his friends, get shot by his men countless times, felt unimaginable pain, helpless when that pain broke him, broke Simon.

Soap knows it’s not his fault, but fuck if he’s going to let him walk out of this intact.

Before anyone can stop him, he breaks into a run after Simmons. The man has lost more of his henchmen at this point, his little circle of soldiers dead at his feet, so he fled deeper into the building. The rest of his men, however, still stand between Soap and Simmons.

Soap pulls out his knife again, this time intending to use it, slipping under thick arms that try to wrestle him down, and stabbing his opponent in the ribs. He quickly slits his throat and continues the chase.

Voices ring out of his comms, a mix of concern and anger from his squad. Soap plans to ignore them, until one stands out.

“You fucking promised me Johnny, don’t do this to me!”

His steps falter, and after a beat he decides to answer, “Ah’m going to end this, once and for all. In pursuit of Anthony Simmons.”

“You’re going after Simmons alone?!” Gaz grunts, clearly in the middle of fending off an enemy.

Ghost’s voice is dripping with rage, “is he really worth killing yourself for, Sergeant?”

Soap can tell, behind that furious voice, that Simon is scared. That anger for Ghost is a smokescreen for anything else.

…They are the same in that regard, aren’t they?

“No.” Soap realizes, “it’s not.”

The comms are quiet. He scans the way ahead, understands that Simmons has no other place to hide besides…

“He’s in our common room. Waiting for backup around the corner.”

“...Copy. We’re five minutes out.” Ghost sighs, previous anger fizzling out.

Soap stares ahead, at the familiar path to their common room, now dark and lifeless. It’s a path he never walks alone, and today will not be any different.

His team arrives one minute early, bloody and bruised and worse for wear, but alive, so blessedly, wonderfully, alive.

“Gaz, keep an eye on our six, Ghost, Soap, with me.” Price commands, back straight and weapon at the ready.

They take measured steps to their common room, small noises and grunts like gunshots in the silence. Simmons sounds agitated, whispering orders into his radio. He clearly didn’t expect anyone to follow him, evident by the door he left wide open, and the fact he left his gun to lean against the wall.

Ghost walks ahead, footsteps perfectly noiseless, slinking behind their target like a predator circling its prey.

Soap cringes inwardly when his boot connects with the end of the couch, a small thunk alerting Simmons. As unprepared as the man was, he still noticed, head perking up and hand dropping from his comms.

Shite.

Simmons gets up with a sudden flurry of movement, hands instantly on his weapon. Ghost attempts to apprehend him, but the man starts shooting wildly all around him while screaming, “not gonna let you 141 rats fuck with me again!”

Simmons swings his gun to his left, and Soap watches in horror as the barrel lines with Price’s heart. He makes the split second decision to tackle the Captain.

They both grunt when they hit the floor, Soap feeling hot pain spread through his shoulder. Bastard got lucky.

Ghost takes the opening to Simmons’ right, and Soap barely sees the meager light in the room reflect onto his blade before it slices into Simmons’ neck. Ghost twists it once, and pulls it out, allowing the body to fall.

Gaz rushes into the room at that moment, spotting Ghost looming over their target’s dead body, and him and Price still on the floor, “fuck- Captain, Soap, are you broken?”

Soap pushes off Price with a groan, the Captain answering, “negative. Soap, what’s your status?”

Price places a hand on his shoulder, one that would be comforting in any other scenario, but in this one makes him yelp in pain. Price pulls his hand away, Gaz crouching down beside him to inspect the gunshot wound, “shit, Soap’s been hit.”

Soap’s mind transports him to the last loop, to Ghost’s unshakeable decision to reset before he could suffer any longer, and blurts out, “jus’ a gunshot wound teh the shoulder. I’ll live.”

He turns his head back to Ghost, the giant man standing above him like a fucked up guardian angel.

The power chooses at that moment to come back on, blinding all of them. They flip their NVGs up, rubbing their eyes and groaning, when Soap notices Ghost’s watch beeping. They make eye contact.

“Two minutes to midnight.” Soap whispers. He reaches with his uninjured hand to Simon’s, making him sit back on his haunches. He brings the watch closer to his face, senses Gaz and Price huddle around it as well.

Four pairs of eyes watch the little clock tick closer and closer to midnight with bated breath. Thoughts begin to whirl in his head, that perhaps this wasn’t the answer, that there is just no possible solution to this wretched loop.

2359…

0000.

Midnight. Soap looks up, sees his shock reflected in Ghost’s dark eyes.

They’re free.

The 141’s common room might be Soap’s favorite. It’s nothing fancy, a couple of ratty couches, a kitchenette. No TV, and near-constant mold under the sink.

Soap wouldn’t have it any other way. Sitting here, chatting with Gaz about nothing and everything, laughing when Price acts in a way that reminds all of them how old he is, feeling Simon’s arms wrapped around him, Soap wouldn’t change a thing.

Well… one thing has changed. A clock has been mounted on the wall, along with a calendar.

Time continues moving. Soap knows his future will hold unmeasurable amounts of pain, that his end might be closer than he thinks it is. That their little common room will eventually fall silent, for good. But Soap also knows he will get to have more days like these, memories of incomparable comfort and soul-deep calm. Moments that are worth the pain.

And it’s that knowledge, that makes hope bloom in his chest. In his heart, and in deep brown eyes, that now crescent for him more than Soap could’ve ever wished for.

[lillymakesart]

my new OC: cempaka!

she is based on the story/universe that my friend @haydardotjpg's OCs indra and yuwei exist in! pls go checkout haydar's art he is amazing!! his ocs can be found more easily on his ig but if you're lazy this is his oc indra (cempaka's one-sided love interest) and yuwei (indra's fated lover)

also, cempaka means "magnolia" in malay!! (she gets a flower name bc my name is lilly which is also flower c:)

bonus first iteration under the cut!

i accidentally had "poinsettia" flower in mind when i did this iteration instead of an actual magnolia, hence the color scheme. but yeah, this is as self-insert as it gets LOL like she's literally MEEEEEE but still very different and i love her as she is <3

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 23

Jaskier wishes on dandelions every time he sees one. He wishes for inspiration, his hair to look nice during this next performance, his rivals to lose, Geralt to be unwounded in his next fight, he wishes, he wishes, and he wishes. One day, he wishes that Geralt would love him back. When Geralt starts being nicer to him in what Jaskier can only assume is his awkward attempts at flirting, Jaskier begins panicking over the possibility his wish came true and he unintentionally brainwashed his friend into feeling romantic feelings for him. Geralt, meanwhile, is wondering why Jaskier has flirted with him for a decade at the least but suddenly seems so confused at Geralt's courting attempts.

[crimsonkenjii-writes]

Take Your Child to Work Day

Tomioka Giyuu x Wife!Reader • Kimetsu Gakuen AU

Synopsis: You and Giyuu couldn’t find a babysitter in time so Giyuu opted out to taking his son to work with him

A/N: I had Dad!Giyuu brain rot so then drew Giyuu reading to his son and then I thought of this idea as I was drawing so now I'm writing it lol

CW: none just fluff ♡

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

“Are you really sure you're okay with that? Would the school be okay with that??” You ask your husband, taking another glance down at your phone to catch the time. You both needed to leave the house soon to get to work. However, you couldn’t leave your son home alone. He was too young to be left in the empty house unmonitored. But calling off of work wasn’t an option either. Your husband had offered to take his son to work with him.

“I mean, its a school. Its always filled with kids. I'm sure they won’t mind, especially if I explain what happened. The babysitter called last minute saying she got sick and couldn’t come today, its no one’s fault.”

You place your hand on top of your child’s head, still feeling worried about the time crunch and who would watch over your son. “Hmmm I guess. You sure he’ll have a spot to sit down and stayed entertained?”

“I’m sure.” Your husband responds, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth to reassure you that everything would turn out just fine. You smile back at him, looking at the time once more and taking note that you both didn’t really have much of an option anyways. You bend down to reach your child’s gaze, cupping his chubby cheeks into your palms.

“Okay, Sweetie. You’re going to be going to work with your Papa today. Make sure to behave and do what Papa says, alright?”

A wide grin appears on your child’s face, excited at the fact he’d get to spend all day with his dad. You start to place kisses all across his face, squeezing his cheeks and telling him how much you’ll miss him and to have an amazing day. Standing back up to place a kiss on Giyuu’s lips.

“Okay, I got to start heading out, take care. I’ll see you both later.” Giyuu gives you a goodbye as you rush out the door. Now looking down to his boy who already had his arms outstretched for his father. Giyuu bends down to grab ahold of him and lift him into his arms.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun today! Lets pack you a lunch super quick and then head out, okay?”

-

Giyuu’s larger hand held onto his son’s much tinier hand as they both walked onto the campus. Giyuu having to take much shorter strides for his son’s shorter legs to keep up.

“Here’s the plan, I’m gonna take you to the teacher’s office and you can sit at my desk. I have plenty of paper and markers there for you to draw with. I’ll also try and snatch some crayons from Uzui’s class if you’d like. But I’m going to have to be in the gym for my classes, okay? I wont be next to you all day, but I’ll still be here. You okay with that?”

“Yes, I’m okay with it!” Your boy cheered out, excited to be at his father’s desk. Already imaging to pretend to be his father at the desk and feel like a real teacher.

Giyuu walked into the teacher’s office, deep down hoping no one would be there to question why he had brought his child to work. But alas, almost every teacher was still at their desks, organizing through papers and planners to prepare for the day. He slightly grimaced to himself to see the full room.

“Oh, Tomioka-san! You’re here, you’re later than usual.” Kanae beams out. Her eyes slowly scan down to see a much smaller looking Giyuu attached to his leg. Her eyes instantly light up as she gets up from her seat. “Oh my goodness!! Tomioka-san! Is this your little boy?! He’s looks just like you, he’s so adorable!” Giyuu swallows, knowing that Kanae’s voice had reached the rest of the teachers and all heads turned to him instantly. Kanae resting her hands on her knees as she bent down to greet his son.

“Nice to meet you, Little Tomioka! I’m Kanae!” She smiles brightly. Your son starts to grow shy and clings on more to his father as he mumbles out a hello.

“Tomioka! You brought your son?!” Rengoku’s voice booms loudly standing up from his desk to catch a glimpse. Giyuu simply nods as Kanae straightens out her posture, “May I ask why?” She asks Giyuu.

“My wife and I couldn’t find a babysitter. The one we hired called in last minute apologizing that she couldn’t make it because she got sick. So I decided to take him with me.”

“Where the hell are you gonna keep him?” Sanemi asks aggressively, his intimidating eyes glaring at Giyuu. Arms crossed over his chest as he stayed seated in his chair, spun around to be facing the two.

“At my desk, of course.” He answers coolly. He looks over at Uzui was was curiously peering over the desks to get a look at Giyuu’s son. “Uzui, would it be alright if my son borrowed some crayons from the art room?” The tall man nods in agreement, a small smile on his face. He had to admit, a little version of Tomioka was indeed adorable. Even if he wasn’t the best of friends with his father, he wouldn’t deny a young child some crayons to help keep them occupied.

Rengoku walks over, standing beside Kanae to greet your child. A smile a lot bigger than his usual one making his eyes crinkle with joy. He voice booming out loudly as he greeted the small boy. Your son jumps, scared off by his voice and hides more behind Giyuu’s legs. Rengoku apologizes and kneels down, lowering his voice and hold out his hand for your son.

“Its Uncle Rengoku,” Giyuu calls out to his son. “You’ve both met before, though I’m sure you were too little to remember. No need to be so shy, say hi.” He pats the top of his child’s head to help reassure him. Now that your son was looking at him, he remembers a vague memory of hair that looked like fire. Still too shy, he waves hello from behind his father. Rengoku lets out a laugh, finding the boy adorable.

“He’s just as reserved as you!” Rengoku speaks as he stands back up. Giyuu lets out a small puff of air through his noise, a small smile as he looks down at his son.

“I have my free period first thing, I could keep your son companied while you’re teaching your class, Tomioka-San.” Kanae speaks out.

“That would be great, thank you.” Giyuu answers. He grabs a hold of his son’s hand and guides him over to his desk, lifting him to set him in his chair. “I have to get going real soon, okay? Kanae-san will keep you company for now. I’ll miss you, be good, okay?” Giyuu places a kiss on his sons forehead before heading out of the office to the gym.

-

The whistle screeches loudly as Giyuu blew air into it.

“No resting! Keep running! Looking at you, Agatsuma!”

The yellow haired boy groans, huffing out loudly as he tried to pick his pace back up to a jog again. It was already second period, meaning its already be a little over an hour since Giyuu had seen his son. He knew he would be alright, but his mind still wandered, hoping he was gleefully coloring on the spare papers on his desk. Kanae was a very nice women and very good with children, he knew she’d be able to soothe him if he did start to get anxious. Though it was second period, meaning she probably had headed to her class already. He hoped his son wasn’t too lonely now. There should at least be another teacher in the room, right? Hopefully no one too intimidating… Giyuu shudders at the thought of his poor son having to be alone in a room with Shinazugawa. Hopefully Rengoku had his second period as his free period.

“Tomioka!!” A voice shouts out behind him. Giyuu turns to see Sanemi walking into the gym, his son on his hip with tears rolling down his red cheeks. His little fists rubbing his puffy eyes.

“What happened?” Giyuu asks concerned, his attention no longer on his students as he reached out for his upset son. “You didn’t scare him, did you?”

“Asshole, I’m actually great with kids. I have a ton of younger siblings you know. Your kid was just crying ‘cause he missed you. Couldn’t get him to quiet down, all he did was ask for you.” Sanemi looks at your son as he passes him on to Giyuu. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but Sanemi actually looked concerned for the young boy. Maybe Sanemi really was a lot softer than Giyuu thought.

“ ‘M sorry, Papa. I just missed you…” your son hiccuped out through sobs, his small fists now clinging on to Giyuu’s track suit as he buried his face into his father’s chest. Giyuu combed his fingers through his son’s hair to help soothe him. “It’s okay, I’m here now. You can just stay in the gym with me, you can sit on the bleachers.” He brings his attention back to Sanemi who’s eyes were still trained on the boy. “Thank you for bringing him, Shinazugawa.” Sanemi nods, eyes darting back to Giyuu’s son. Satisfied to see that he’s finally calmed down and starts to walk out of the gym.

“Tomioka-Sensei!!!” A student yells loudly, “Is that your son?!” Giyuu suddenly remembers that he in the middle of a class. None of the students were doing their laps anymore and were all sparkling with joy as they eyed the small boy in his arms.

“I didn’t tell any of you to stop running!” He shouts at the students. They all jump at his command and go back to their physical activities.

-

The bell rings and all the students immediately run up to Giyuu who was standing beside his son who was sat on the bleachers, little legs swaying happily.

“Tomioka-Sensei! Your son is so cute!” A dark red headed boy chimes out first. His maroon eyes sparkling with joy as he stared at the little version of Giyuu.

“Kamado, what have I told you about those earrings?” Giyuu scolds.

“I apologize! They’re my father’s! But can I say hi to your son? Please?!” He beams, barely able to contain his excitement. His other friends gathered behind him, most of them also looking eager to say hello. Giyuu sighs in defeat, “Yes, but don’t bombard him, he can get shy.” Giyuu turns over, holding out his hand for his son to call him over. His son hops to his feet and runs to grab ahold of his father’s hand. His little eyes peering up at the students gleaming at him. Tanjiro gets down on his knee to get eye level with the boy, a sweet smile on his face as he speaks gently.

“Hi, Tomioka-kun! How are you? Happy to be at work with your Papa?”

Your son smiles at the mention of his father and nods excitedly. Tanjiro can feel his heart being squeezed, he found him just too adorable. Reminding him of his baby siblings back at home. Nezuko next to her brother, peering happily at the young boy also seeing her own younger siblings in him. Bringing her hand to pat the top of your son’s head.

“Tomioka-Sensei, I didn’t know you had a wife and family.” Zenitsu lets out quietly. He found his son adorable, but felt too nervous to get any closer. The boy with the unbuttoned shirt next to him just staring in silence with a certain twinkle in his green eyes. A girl with a ponytail on one side of her head with an adorable butterfly clip standing along with the group of kids but looking more spaced out than the rest. And finally another girl with inky black pig tails and blue eyes looking excited beside her. Though stepping closer to also greet the young boy, crouching down besides the Kamado siblings.

“Your son looks just like you, he’s super cute!” The girl chimes out.

“Thank you, Kanzaki.” Giyuu responds, peering down at his son. He looked a lot more comfortable with this crowd. Most likely because they were much closer to his age compared to a room full of adults. Giyuu cant help but smile to himself, watching his son enjoying the attention he was receiving.

-

Finally back home after a long day, Giyuu sighs as he opens the door with his son on his hip. You were already home and started on dinner, immediately wiping your hands on a towel to meet your two favorite boys at the door.

“How was it?” You ask excitedly, reaching out your arms for your son was doing the same for you and calling out "Mama". Immediately kissing his soft cheeks and squeezing him tight to you in a warm hug. Leaning over to give Giyuu his greeting kiss.

“It went well, the teachers were helpful and cared for him when they could. Though he did cry when Shinazugawa was with him.”

You gasp, “Oh no, did he scare him? He can be pretty intense sometimes…” you loved Sanemi but even you had to admit he can be scary to look at.

“No, he’s actually really good with kids. He was crying because he missed me. It was probably scary for him in such a big, unfamiliar building without his Papa.” Giyuu smiles at his son, moving some stray hairs out of his face. “Right? Uncle Shinazugawa was nice? You were just missing me?”

Your son nods at Giyuu’s words, remembering how nice the white haired man was. Remembering how he doodled funny images onto the paper with him. How his grip was too strong he ended up breaking half the crayons. Remembering how when he started to cry that he brought him into an embrace and rocked him to try and soothe him. His thumb wiping away tears that continuously rolled down his cheeks.

“Shinazugawa brought him to me in the middle of my class and all the students were staring.” Giyuu adds on. “It was too hot out so we had class inside so he was able to sit on the bleachers. Not much else happened after that. Just more teachers and students greeting him and telling me how identical we look.”

You smile at your husband, “That’s great to hear. I’m glad it all worked out. Now let me continue with dinner, you two must be hungry, I know I am!” You set your son down and walk back to the kitchen, Giyuu following behind you to help wherever he could.

[bumblingbabooshka]

The worst trope in the universe is when someone accuses character A, who is part of a real or fantasy or coded minority, of doing something bad and everyone's like "That's just your prejudice against [real or fantasy minority]!" and it turns out character A actually did do that bad thing and everyone else was stupid for not believing they did that bad thing.

[italoniponic]

Caught | Trey Clover

Synopsis: Because of your difficulties with alchemy class, you asked for Trey’s help to study. However, as Heartslabyul is full of problems and crazy people, the moment between you two is interrupted. Many, many times.

Trey Clover x gender neutral reader / fluff / a bit of comedy / established relationship / use of “you” pronouns

Word count: 1327k words | Masterlist

Notes: This was something I wrote a long, long time ago. It was basically lost among my fics files but since it’s Trey, I decided that I could share a little bit of “general Trey appreciation” once in a while. Stan the baker glasses boy to good cakes and better kitchen skills!

Caught

Trey’s voice was sweet and clear, filling the room with an incredible sense of comfort as if you two were actually in the kitchen preparing a cake together. But he was only reading the contents of the book of alchemy. Nothing else.

You were split on whether the idea of asking your boyfriend to help you study had been good. On the one hand, the theoretical content seemed much more understandable when it was explained by him. On the other hand, having Trey by your side in bed and having his voice so close to your ears was also becoming an immense distraction.

What to do in such cases? You were at a crossroads between pushing yourself to pay attention and not falling into the temptation of putting your head on Trey’s shoulder to finally fall into the world of dreams. His bed was large and comfortable, the cotton blanket had a very nice smell of cinnamon.

“Are you paying attention to the alchemy lesson?,” Trey asked suddenly.

The question shook you a little, putting you back to reality. Despite this, his tone wasn’t impatient. In fact, it was quite teasing.

“I’m trying,” you replied. “But next time, we’ll study in the library. It’s too comfortable here.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?,” Trey raised one of his eyebrows, his smile widening more.

“Because... uh... you... your room... I d-don’t have to answer! Just believe me!”

Trey let a little laugh slip away. 

How difficult it was to please such a simple person sometimes! But he understood what you were saying. He was also almost dozing off himself with the first-year’s alchemy theory book, a part of the subject he thought he would never have to deal with again in life. It was the reason Trey had become used to writing down Crewel’s lessons so as not to fall asleep in class.

However, being there reading that boring content on a bed that practically begged for someone to take a rest in and right next to the one he loved the most, his desire was to stretch out and leave study for later. 

Just to lay side by side, no much more than that. Letting the afternoon go by while they held a tea party in their Wonderland. 

But if anyone caught them in those conditions, Trey would hear a lecture from Riddle as if his own mother, Mrs. Clover, were there.

“Why don’t we go to Ramshackle, then?,” he suggested.

“The ghosts always interrupt us and Grim gets bored very easily. It would be the two of us running after him and preventing some good old chaos,” you explained, laughing a little while remembering how the cat must have been sleeping alone in your room. “Well, only when I’m around at least.”

“Heartslabyul is a quieter dorm in your opinion?”

“Of course I do. You all have a great leader and an amazing, super-responsible and caring vice…,” you touched the tip of the young man’s nose. “... that is you!”

Trey smiled and stared into the depths of his beloved one’s eyes. He was happy that his company was so dear to you and you saw him in such a positive way. This made Trey wish to reward you for words and confidence. Could he make you a cake? Maybe a pie? A Coconut “little kiss”? Or, who knows, another type of kiss.

Noticing the new glow of Trey’s big honey eyes behind his glasses, you had a small premonition of what you were going to receive. 

You closed your eyes and waited for Trey to get closer. When you two could practically feel your breaths collide, someone knocked on the door.

“Clover-senpai!,” you both moved away the moment Deuce entered. “Ace is making the flamingos fight and helding bets on them!”

You held back from asking how the whole thing was possible when you heard your boyfriend take a deep breath.

“Grab the flamingos’ food and drive them back to the fence. It won’t take too long before they stop fighting,” Trey explained. “And hit Ace on the head for me.”

Deuce nodded and gave a small embarrassed nod to the couple. The door quickly closed, welcoming again the comfortable silence of the room.

You approached each other again, returning to your original positions. You held Trey’s nape, preventing him from escaping again and he held your free hand. The book of alchemy became a mere souvenir, forgotten somewhere in the blanket. You could feel Trey’s lips rubbing so close to you when a squealing sound suddenly became audible. 

The door opened yet again.

You somehow jumped in the best spy action movie stunt move off the bed and stopped with your knees on the floor to face Ace, whose torso was clamped by some pink flamingo’s legs. However, that’s not what the freshman came to warn you.

“Clover-senpai! Deuce is choking on a hedgehog cub!”

“How?!,” you both questioned at the same time.

“I… m-mean… the flamingo may have accidentally made a shot on the hedgehog and it flew right into Deuce’s mouth. At least the poor thing didn’t fall into the flamingos stable like last time,” Ace scratched his hair, half relieved, half worried.

“Are you talking about Deuce or the hedgehog in that last part?,” you asked more concerned.

“It doesn't matter,” Trey interrupted. He was getting tired of all this. “Do the Heimlich maneuver and Deuce will be able to spit out the hedgehog. Now, stop throwing things at him! And don’t make the flamingos fight anymore!”

“O-okay.”

Ace then paused for a moment, thinking about inquiring about your presence there but he ultimately gave up. Instead, he closed the door and ran away. More quacks were heard along the way — the flamingo very happy for the new ride.

You two gave up on trying to kiss again and just layed together on the same pillow, equally tired. You turned to face Trey’s exhausted expression but you smiled as you saw him play with one lock of your hair. Trey took off his glasses for a moment and closed his eyes, enjoying that moment of silence while it could still last.

You also closed your eyes, hugging your boyfriend’s torso. The scent of cinnamon — with light touches of vanilla — seemed stronger than before. Suddenly, peace was reestablished and you were in your own world again. Nothing could interrupt this sweet moment.

“Trey! I swear I’ll exterminate this entire dorm someday!,” Riddle opened the bedroom door and entered in pure rage. “A group of seniors did the favor of burning three cakes in the kitchen! Flamingos and hedgehogs are all over the place! Roses everywhere! Ink spilled where even the Queen of Hearts could doubt! And... u-uh... er… eh!”

Riddle suddenly stopped, his eyes stuck on the bed where the couple were together and were trying to sleep. Trey sat down and stared at his childhood friend, although completely blurry. And the fact alone that he was trying to focus his sight in vain was quite nervous and intimidating. But mildly unintentionally. 

I said, mildly.

You turned around in time to see Riddle’s face intensely colored red and he looked away.

Extremely embarrassed, Riddle walked around a few times until he finally reached the exit and closed the door quietly. Or at least, you both wanted him to stay that way.

“Anyone who dares to interrupt Trey and the Prefect’s moment of intimate privacy again will lose their heads!,” Riddle threatened the whole dorm in a loud voice.

Trey hid his face in his hands, wanting the floor to swallow him. He knew that Riddle tried to help you with all the good intentions but he couldn’t have had the most awful time to misinterpret the situation you were in.

It was the first time you had seen your boyfriend so embarrassed and flustered since he was forced to sing at a surprise karaoke night organized by Cater.

“L-library?,” you suggested hesitantly.

“Please…”

[grungepoetica]

literally i'm still in awe and processing the jellicle ball.

like. victoria grove new jersey natives mungojerrie and rumpleteaser. bustopher winning the body category and having a gladys bentley insprired costume. tumblebrutus in the morehouse varsity jacket. jennyanydots in general. skimbleshanks singing in spanish. jellylorum and gus being explicitly related. junior labeija as gus. everything about macavity. tugger and misto kissing on stage. grizabella. grizabella and sillabub. the nyc street ambiance when grizabella goes to the heavyside layer. so much love and queerness.

happy pride. what a way to end my june.

[anto-pops]

The Serpent's Paramour CH 2 - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Snarky, post-Azkaban Sebastian makes his grand debut

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit language

Chapter 2 can now be found here on Ao3 !

Your dreams were fleeting. A flurry of images and voices alike assaulted your mind as you slept, some instilling fear in you while others left you confused, but despite your best efforts, you couldn’t recall a single one of them. Every time your emotions started to drag you from the depths of your nightmares, an invisible force was pushing you back down, forcing you to remain stuck somewhere between consciousness and the catatonic-like state you found yourself in. A weightlessness had settled over you and dulled your senses as your eyes darted rapidly behind your eyelids, trying and failing to will your body into obeying your commands. It was as though your brain was awake but the rest of you simply… wasn’t. 

The unsettling feeling only worsened the onslaught of visions that assaulted your sleep addled mind. 

After nearly an hour of warring with your own limbs, movement began returning to you. It started with your feet; you could wiggle your toes with some effort, then eventually rotate your ankles fully. Bending your knees came next, followed by your fingers flexing and your shoulders loosening. As soon as your upper body started responding fully, your eyes snapped open, and your pulse skyrocketed as you were met by the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling. 

Correction– it was a bed canopy. One that had most certainly not been in your rented room at the tavern. 

Hastily, you shot up, your hands fisting in the thin cotton sheets in a bid to ground yourself as you tried to figure out where the hell you were. The four-poster bed you’d been sleeping in was enormous, and the sheer curtains that hung from the wooden bars overhead had been tied up to reveal an equally large room. The walls were a dark blue, illuminated by the moonlight that spilled through the floor to ceiling windows to your right, and the darkness that surrounded the moon outside told you that it had to be the middle of the night. How long had it been since you’d been snatched from Bainburgh?

Cautiously and quietly, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and planted them on the cool floorboards, none too pleased to discover that your boots were nowhere to be found. Looking around briefly revealed that all of your belongings were missing, most notably your wand, and that fact ignited a spark of fear in your heart. Your palms grew sweaty in the span of a few seconds, and you frantically started searching for something– anything– that you could use as a weapon. 

The mahogany dresser across the room had a few trinkets and potted plants on top of it, but nothing substantial or pointy that you could use for stabbing. There was a small door to the left of it that you made a beeline for and threw open, stunned to find a spacious bathroom on the other side. Once again, there was pathetically little at your disposal to use for protection, but you still ripped open every drawer in the hopes that something would stand out and prove useful. 

In the midst of your frantic searching, a sign of life made itself known outside the double doors of the bedroom. Two voices, both distinctly male, talking to one another as they made their way inside the room. Poking your head around the bathroom door, you watched as the strangers crossed the threshold of the entryway and halted in their tracks, their gazes zeroing in on the empty space on the bed you’d previously occupied. There was no way to gauge their expressions– seeing as they had masks on that concealed the bottom halves of their faces– but their eyes widened in blatant surprise as they scanned the room to presumably look for you. 

“Guess the lady is awake,” said the one on the right. His black bowler hat cast a shadow over his icy blue eyes, and he side-stepped his companion to move further into the room. His gait reminded you of a wolf; predatory and calculated as he hunted his prey. 

The other man didn’t move out of the doorway, but his red hair brushed across his shoulders as his neck swiveled in your direction, spotting the sliver of your face that had been peeking around the doorframe of the bathroom. “Playing hide and seek are you? You’re not doing a very good job of it.” 

Bowler hat followed his associate’s line of sight, his narrowed eyes fixing on you before gesturing for you to exit the bathroom. You didn’t move a muscle. “Come on girl, if you’re up and moving then the boss is going to want to see you. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” 

“I’m not going anywhere until you bastards give me my wand,” came your even reply. You were grateful that your voice didn’t crack and betray just how scared you were, but you were certain your reluctance to leave the bathroom was doing that for you. Neither man seemed threatened by you in the slightest, and something akin to annoyance flashed in the redhead’s dull, gray eyes. He was probably irritated that the job of escorting you to his boss now fell to him.

He took a leisurely step forward, and your grip on the doorframe tightened as a result. “Alright, I’ll be nice about this. Your presence is requested downstairs, so if you could be so kind as to move your ass on your own, I would be much obliged.” 

“Do I have a choice?” 

The two men said nothing– opting to instead glance at one another as a silent, mental exchange transpired between the two of them. The hard, unyielding glint in bowler hat’s eyes made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, and you decided then and there that you adamantly refused to willingly set foot outside the bedroom without a fight. 

“I’m not going anywhere until you pricks give me my wand and the rest of my belongings.”

The red headed bloke in the doorway pinched the bridge of his nose through his mask, and he sighed loudly before throwing his hands out in exasperation. “We don’t have your stuff, but maybe if you go downstairs, you’ll have better luck retrieving it. Just a thought.” 

 “You’re really bad at lying,” you fired back instantly, your tenacity growing stronger as you came to the conclusion that both men were feeble-minded. 

“And I’m growing tired of your attitude,” bowler hat interjected, taking a few steps closer to you. “I liked you better when you were asleep. Hurry up and come downstairs–” 

He didn’t get the chance to finish. A split second later, you had bolted out of the bathroom and were running for the dresser in the bedroom, grabbing the first thing nearest to you to throw at his stupid, ugly hat. It ended up being one of the smaller potted plants situated on the edge, and the dirt inside the pot flew out of its container to spill all over the man before shattering against the hardwood floor. His hands flew up a second too late in an attempt to protect his face from the torrential downpour of soil that cascaded down the brim of his headwear, and the string of curses that fell from his lips were ignored entirely as you grabbed for a candelabra next. 

Without hesitating, you jumped forward and swung the three pronged pricket down atop bowler hat’s head, and a yowl of pain erupted from him as he dropped to the floor clutching his hat tight to his skull. You whirled around, preparing to do the same to the second goon who separated you from the other side of the doorway, but you drew up short when you turned to find his wand leveled at your chest. 

His eyes were wide with obvious shock as he readjusted his grip on the handle of his wand, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet as his eyes flicked between you and the man groaning on the floor. “Merlin’s bloody balls, relax woman! Don’t do anything you’ll regret–” 

Not one part of you regretted flinging the candelabra at him in the next second. In fact, you felt a sick amount of satisfaction when the thick, metal base of the decorative holder smacked into his forehead, and as soon as his wand bearing hand flew to his face to feel the extent of the damage, you were running to skirt around him and exit the room entirely. 

It was all for naught, however, seeing as an unseen force suddenly suspended you in midair in the doorway. You shrieked indignantly, your feet kicking out behind you in a pathetic attempt to fight the invisible, magical hold that prevented you from going anywhere. “Put me down, dammit!” 

“The hell I will,” bowler hat grit out as he pushed himself to his feet, and as you rotated fluidly in the air, you saw that it was his wand that maintained the spell holding you. “You’re wilder than a feral animal.”

The redhead groaned softly as he stood straight, a semi-circle bruise from the candelabra’s base already making its home in the center of his forehead. “Wait, we were told not to use magic–” 

“Fuck what the boss said,” spat bowler hat. “Ain’t no way I’m letting her get within an inch of me after that insane display. Just walk ahead and get the doors open, I’ll move her ass into the dining room myself.” 

Your hands flew to the hem of your nightgown in an attempt to keep the material from riding up your bare legs, which in turn prompted you to roll around listlessly in the air. There was another beat of silence as yet another mental exchange transpired between the two bruised men, and all the while you struggled against the magic keeping you off the ground. It didn’t matter though. In the end, the ginger fellow conceded to the others demands and walked out of the room and down the hall, and you were easily levitated down the wide staircase after him with bowler hat hot on your heels. You were half tempted to grab onto the edges of the walls to hold yourself back from being moved any further, but your captor must have assumed you would try something like that, because you were kept wholly in the middle of the staircase and the hallways that followed. 

It was hardly important now, but you realized that the house you now found yourself in was huge. 

The two men moved quickly, barely giving you a chance to take in the scenery around you before you found yourself inside the aforementioned dining room. There was the distinct sound of a chair being scraped against the wooden floor before bowler hat maneuvered your suspended body into the seat, shoving you into the velvet cushions with more force than was necessary before glowering at you from under the rim of his dirty headwear. 

He angled the pointy end of his wand at you as he growled, “Don’t even think about running anywhere, or I’ll petrify you and let you sit there frozen solid. Understood?” 

“Whatever,” you scowled, digging your nails into the armrest of your seat. “Anything that gets you out of my face faster– I’m tired of looking at your abhorrent hat.” 

“Big words coming from the girl wearing pajamas,” he shot back instantly, but he still ripped his chapeau off to reveal the salt and pepper hair beneath it. The color alone had you thinking that he had to be at least fifty years old. 

“At least my pajamas aren’t covered in dirt. It’s a fitting look for you though; you already struck me as a spineless worm.” 

You could tell there were at least a hundred different things the man wanted to retort with, but he seemed to bite his tongue before throwing his hands in the air and stomping towards the double doors leading out of the dining room. His red headed partner looked to be at a loss for words as he slouched in the doorway, lingering in place for a moment before striding out after bowler hat, and a weary sigh slipped through your clenched teeth. 

You might have gotten the last word in against him, but that still left you trapped in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by equally unfamiliar people, and hopelessly without magic. The entire property had to be warded against apparating, because even that seemed impossible to accomplish. It appeared that you would have to bide your time and make your escape later. At least, you would if you survived that long. 

It seemed like whoever the ‘boss’ was wanted you alive, though. Judging by what the two men had said earlier, it didn’t sound like their employer had even wanted them to use magic on you. Not that you’d given them much choice, but still… 

You had never been more confused in your life. What the hell was going on? 

As you sat quietly waiting for whoever was in charge of your abduction, you took the opportunity to take in the cavernous room with unwavering precision. Aside from being spacious, it was also equally barren. Very little decor lined the walls or littered the tables strewn throughout the room, and the smell of dust was unmistakable. If you had to guess, you would assume that the house was typically empty on a normal day and was only being utilized currently as a makeshift base of operations. That, or the people who stayed here simply didn’t care to keep their space clean. 

It was also nigh impossible to overlook the unmistakable stench of dark magic. It seeped through the walls and hung heavy in the air, making your skin crawl and your stomach lurch. That realization alone had you reevaluating the sort of people you found yourself surrounded by. 

In the half hour you sat by yourself in the dining room, you’d taken note of every possible exit. There were eight windows, four of which looked like they could be opened, and three sets of double doors. One of those entryways was the one you’d been brought in through, so you knew it led to the second story of the house, but the other two remained a mystery. You had to assume one paved a path to the front doors– a path to uncertain freedom– but you weren’t sure how many dark wizards lingered in the yet-to-be-seen corridors. Without your wand at your disposal, you were almost afraid to find out.

Hindsight was twenty-twenty, and you silently cursed yourself for never having taken Natty up on her offers to teach you wandless magic all those years ago. 

You were suddenly pulled from your thoughts when a booming voice reached your ears through the doorway straight ahead, and you stiffened in your seat when the telltale sound of something hitting the wall caused the doors to rattle violently. Maybe you were just paranoid, but the pained groan that followed the noise had you thinking a body was to blame for the hinges creaking in protest. Remaining composed and unafraid seemed a little bit difficult after that, but you didn’t have time to dwell on your trepidation. The doors before you were thrown open with indisputable strength, the massive wooden slabs ricocheting off the plaster of the house with a deafening bang– and if that wasn’t enough to set your teeth on edge, the overpowering smell of dark magic that flooded the room most certainly was. 

An imposing figure stood in the doorway, all broad shoulders and long legs as a muscular pair of arms crossed over an equally defined chest. He had to be well over six feet tall, his unruly brown curls adding to the wild, dangerous look he had going for him, but you didn’t balk before him like your body demanded. Chin held high, you glowered at the black-clad dark wizard in an unspoken challenge, daring him to come closer even though you had no means of defense at your disposal. 

“You’re a hard woman to find,” drawled an eerily familiar voice, and a barely there crack formed in your resolve as you scrambled to make sense of why he was here. It was impossible. It had to be. “I heard you dropped a tree on some of my Ashwinders in Cragcroftshire. You’ve made quite a reputation for yourself, I’ll give you that much.” 

Things had just gotten a lot more daunting. 

Sebastian Sallow strode into the dining room leisurely, looking confident and comfortable as he sidled up to the opposite end of the table to flash you a smirk that made your heart hurt far more than it had any right to. The boy who had turned your whole world upside down years earlier was standing a few feet from you, gazing down at you expectantly as though there was nowhere else in the world he was meant to be. Last you had heard he was in Azkaban serving a life sentence for the murder of his uncle, but that assumption went right out the fucking window now. Had he escaped? Was his sentence reduced? Had he even ended up at the prison in the first place? For all intents and purposes, Sebastian looked content, healthy, and definitely not like a former inmate. The only thing that gave away his true nature was the pungent smell of dark magic that radiated from him and the deadly glint in his dark eyes– one that you had seen once before while in the catacombs all those years ago. 

After four years without so much as hearing a whisper of his name, he was responsible for bringing you here? 

Your shock had to have been evident on your face, because Sebastian’s smirk transformed into a full blown grin as he slowly made his way to your side of the table, pinning you with a predatory stare that never wavered as he got nearer and nearer to you. Even if you weren’t dressed in measly pajamas, you would have felt exposed. Those piercing eyes of his seemed to look straight through you, and with the added fact that your wand was missing in action, you had never felt more vulnerable. 

Instead of sitting down across from you, Sebastian swiftly plucked up the chair from directly beside you and turned it around so he could straddle the seat with his hands folded over the top of the backrest. The motion drew your attention to his arms, and you dimly realized that you’d overlooked the massive tattoo that stretched down his neck, then presumably over his shoulder and along the entire appendage before the ends of the design frayed out on the top of his hand. What little of it you could see looked strikingly like sharp, jagged lightning coiling around his right arm, and you briefly wondered if the inky pattern signified something else entirely. 

When your eyes flicked back up to his, Sebastian was studying you with a curious expression on his face, and your nails dug into the skin of your palms as you clenched your fists in your lap. There were too many questions racing through your mind– most of which had to do with how the hell he was even here in the first place. You wanted to ask him if he had broken out of prison, or if all of this was some long awaited revenge scheme he’d concocted over the last four years to get back at you for remaining complacent in his incarceration. You wanted to ask why in the nine-hells he was associating with Ashwinders of all people, and why they were evidently referring to him as their boss. 

You wanted to ask, but you couldn’t formulate the words. Your mouth opened, closed, then opened again, and Sebastian just smiled all the while, clearly enjoying the sight of you rendered speechless. “Take your time, I know I’m good looking. Go ahead and get all the ogling out of your system now.” 

The condescending comment did more to snap you out of your stupor than anything else, and you gave him a nonplussed blink before glaring daggers at the cocky sonofabitch. “What the fuck is going on here?” 

“I guess you haven’t been paying attention. That’s alright, I’ll refresh your memory. I had my men track you down outside of Bainburgh and place you under a sleeping charm to bring you to me here,” he gestured at the vast dining room for emphasis, ignoring your burning stare as he continued explaining. “We set up a temporary residence here while we scoured the countryside for you with nary a hair of luck until a few days ago, which I’m sure you can recall. You know, because of the tree and everything? Anyways, I’ve just been informed that apparently after you woke up, you smashed a plant against Devlin’s head and threw a candle holder at Joshua’s face. Nice work, by the way. Those two could stand to get knocked down a peg or two and they went against my express orders to not use magic on you– which I gave them hell for, mind you–”

“What do you want from me, Sebastian?” Your question was laced with indignant anger, but it was the way you practically hissed the brunet’s name that made him stop talking. He sighed dramatically, the entire situation seeming more like a joke to him than anything, and his nonchalant demeanor only enraged you further. What was wrong with him? 

“You’re no fun, all work and no play. You remind me of Devlin,” he muttered the last part, and you damn near shot forward to shove him out of his seat and make a break for the door. 

“Are you serious right now?” You snapped at him, growing angrier when he cocked an expressive brow at you. “You sent your lackeys to chase me through the Highlands before kidnapping me and stealing my belongings, and now you have the audacity to crack jokes? What. Do. You. Want?”

The larger man considered your outburst for a few tentative beats of silence. He audibly ground his teeth together, his fingers flexing briefly before he narrowed his eyes. Then in the firmest tone he’d used thus far, he said, “What I want is to cure Anne, and that ancient magic of yours is going to help me do it.”

The tension that filled the room following his statement was thick enough to cut with a knife. Sebastian didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer any additional information, and didn’t so much as blink as he held your incredulous stare. Beyond being stunned that he actually thought you would willingly help him, you were astonished to hear that Anne was even alive after all this time. Ominis was the only person who ever deigned to stay in touch with her, but after you’d distanced yourself from him during your sixth-year, you’d unwittingly fallen out of the loop regarding Sebastian’s twin. What was she like now? Did Sebastian even know? 

You found it sorely difficult to believe that she would have been willing to speak to him after everything he’d done. 

Sebastian could practically see the plethora of thoughts racing through your mind, and he pursed his lips as his eyes started to roam down your rigid form. He looked more serious now than he had since setting foot in the dining room, and you tensed further under his scorching gaze as you tugged the hem of your nightgown lower down your legs. The blasted thing dated back to your fifth-year and had served you well enough during your travels, but now you desperately wished that you had bought something that covered more of you. 

“You must be hungry,” he stated next, and the random change of topic practically gave you whiplash. 

His old wand had to have been destroyed by the Ministry after his arrest, because he drew an unfamiliar one from somewhere on his person and flicked it towards the table to conjure up a kind of feast you hadn’t set eyes on since your time at Hogwarts. There was a platter covered in chicken, as well as bowls overflowing with mashed potatoes, salad, and a colorful assortment of vegetables. He’d even taken the liberty of including a carafe of wine with the impromptu meal, and your eyes went wider than saucers at the sight. However, you made no move to indulge in the hearty spread, still reeling from all that had transpired in the last five minutes. 

Sebastian looked at you expectantly– waiting for you to start eating with raised brows and an innocent smile on his face. Naturally, your first thought was that he’d poisoned the food, and your hands stayed firmly grasped in your lap as you narrowed your eyes at the empty plate in front of you. 

Picking up on your thoughts easily, Sebastian chimed in, “Why would I poison you if I need you alive?” 

“Well you’re just full of surprises, I would hate to assume otherwise and end up foaming at the mouth on the floor.” 

“Just eat the food, I promise it’s not contaminated with anything. You’re–” he cut himself off, seemingly debating on whether his next comment was worth saying, but he could hardly hold back now that he had your attention. “You look like you need it.” 

He didn’t wait for your reply, leaning over the back of his chair to spoon a hefty dollop of mashed potatoes on your plate despite the chilling glower you shot his way, and before he had the chance to deposit any more of the food in front of you, you were yanking the serving spoon out of his hand with surprising speed. Sebastian’s eyes were comically large as you tossed the utensil back into the bowl and dragged your plate closer to you, plucking up the fork to your left to prevent him from getting anymore… bizarre ideas. 

“You’re a lot snappier than I remember,” he mused as you aggressively shoved the fork into the fluffy potato concoction. 

You worked a small amount onto the prongs before fixing him with another glare, “And you’re a bigger prick than I remember.” 

To your surprise, he laughed. The sound was as light as it was gruff, and he shook his head faintly as you brought the fork to your face to sniff the food. It smelled fine– looked fine– but you still took the tiniest bite to work over your tongue before swallowing. It was good, and the revelation had your stomach voicing its approval in the form of a low growl, much to your dismay. Sebastian simply watched, waiting for you to get a few bites in before he rocked back in his seat and started talking again. 

He expertly twirled his wand between his fingers as he started, “I have it on good authority that there’s an old, long forgotten relic hidden away in one of your precious ancient magic sites. My men and I had been scouting the place out for a while but it’s locked up tighter than a miser's purse, and I was a day away from throwing caution to the wind and just blowing up the entrance when I had an idea.” His twirling ceased as he angled the tip of his wand directly at you, and you froze with your fork wedged between your lips. “I thought, what if like calls to like? What if instead of trying to pick an ancient magic lock, I just use an ancient magic key?”

Your brow furrowed as you set your fork back down on your plate, and Sebastian followed the movement with a disapproving look. “You should have just tried blowing up the door,” you murmured. 

“Oh, believe me, I thought about it. But I seem to recall a certain someone telling me all about the safeguards and traps that can be set off if a site is breached by someone without the same power.” 

Dammit. Now that you looked back, you had divulged the details of your past escapades to Sebastian, retelling the tale of how Ranrok had unintentionally activated an enchanted Guardian statue the size of a tower after setting foot in the Gringotts vault. The fleeting memory of Professor Fig made you wince, and your frown deepened immeasurably further. “How do you even know the relic is in there?” 

Sebastian tipped back in his chair again and spread his arms wide, the utter size of him failing to escape you. When had he gotten so… big? “How did I ever find information on the things I wanted? Research.” 

You shot him a dry look, “That’s incredibly vague.” 

“Is it?” The smug bastard flashed you a wide grin, showcasing a matching set of dimples on either side of his cheeks. 

If he was right and there truly was a relic of some sort hidden in an ancient magic site, how had you never come across it? At this point there were very few locations in the region you hadn’t discovered yet, and you’d always strived to be thorough in your investigations. Isidora’s darker abilities called for nothing less, and considering you knew next to nothing about the volatile magic you’d ignorantly absorbed beneath Hogwarts, you left no stone unturned during your explorations. 

Sebastian didn’t know about the repository, though. He hadn’t been there– had already run off in the wake of his uncle’s death and abandoned you to deal with Ranrok yourself. All this talk of needing your ancient magic amounted to just needing your ancient magic, nothing else. He was none the wiser to your darker abilities that had you scrounging around dilapidated ruins in the first place, and you had no intention of cluing him in now. You were suddenly grateful that he’d left you to fend for yourself all those years ago, seeing as he’d now come galavanting into your life in pursuit of your powers. Again.  

History really had a funny way of repeating itself. 

You leaned back in your chair and crossed your spindly arms over your chest, pursing your lips as you stared Sebastian down. “Say you’re right and there really is some age-old relic buried in the pits of an ancient magic site. Why would I help you? You haven’t exactly done a bang-up job of making a good impression here.” 

The pout that stretched across his face positively dripped with mockery, “What, is my hospitality not up to your standards? Should I have replaced the platters with fine china, or provided you handmaidens to freshen up before having you brought downstairs? My apologies, your highness.” 

“You’re an asshole,” you grit through your clenched teeth. The sting from your nails biting into your biceps was the only thing that distracted you from the overwhelming urge to maim him with your bare hands.

With an exaggerated sigh, Sebastian rose from his seat and rolled his shoulders before winking down at you, “And you don’t have a choice in the matter, princess. Get used to my mediocre living standards, you’re going to be here for a while.”

Indignant anger surged to life in your veins, and your magic practically screamed with the desire to be released. “So, what? I’m your prisoner now? I can’t stay here–” 

“You’re my honored guest,” Sebastian clarified with a taunting bow, his head dipping well below his waist as he swept his arms out at his sides. “You can go wherever you please within the house, but you may not leave. None of my men will harm you, you have my word.” 

His word didn’t mean a damn thing to you and he knew it. The mention of ‘his men’ only served to infuriate you further; these were the same shoddy sorts of people the two of you had relentlessly dispatched in your fifth-year together, and the fact that he was now associating with them only deepened the trench of distrust that yawned in front of you. “Do your underlings know that you used to ransack their camps with me back in the day? Why would they take orders from you?” 

He waved you off with barely there interest, “The past is the past, don’t you worry your pretty little head about any of that. As for why we’re working together, call it a mutual understanding. I scratch their back, they scratch mine.” 

For the love of Merlin– “What kind of mutual understanding? What do you get out of this?” 

Something flashed in his dark eyes then– something cold, sinister, and calculating– and you couldn’t stop yourself from shrinking back in your seat even though it pained you to appear demure in front of him. Then the look vanished, replaced with the indifferent mask he’d worn since setting foot in the dining room. “I can’t tell you all of my secrets now, can I?”

“So you expect me to just take your word for it? Believe that I won’t be stabbed in the back at the first opportunity–”

“Believe whatever you want,” he snapped. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he rolled his eyes and stalked towards you, and you had to physically crane your neck back to maintain eye contact with him when he stopped mere inches from you. He picked up your abandoned fork with his tattooed arm to bring some of the mashed potatoes to your lips, and your cheeks burned with humiliation. “But you will be here a while, so I suggest you get comfortable, princess.” 

Your hands shook with blatant anger as you smacked his hand away from your face, sending the fork clattering across the table and leaving a trail of mashed potatoes in its wake. “Don’t call me that,” you hissed at him.

Sebastian’s boisterous laughter echoed throughout the room as he spun on his heel, striding towards the doorway he’d come through earlier, and as he vanished around the corner and the doors shut behind him, you were left alone once more.

Only this time with more questions than answers. 

[purdledooturt]

drink break

Summary: Astarion didn't often run into Tav awake when he drank from her at night - not since the first time, anyway. But he can't say he doesn't enjoy it.

Note: I'm extremely grateful to the members of Cinnamontails's discord for their part in getting this out of WIP hell - it's so cool being surrounded by other creative people and there's something about it that pushes one to keep creating, so please come and join us! They also helped me come up with our fruit-based nickname for Astarion 🤠 [AO3 Link]

Tonight, Astarion was at peace.

He often took on first watch – he would take the time alone to hunt, get a break from the chatter of his companions, and he would read uninterrupted, winding down from a full day of travel or exploration or combat. It was the benefit of being an elf – he’d seen his companions running on less-than-ideal amounts of sleep, and their performance always suffered when they were poorly rested. Meanwhile he was free to hunt, crawl back into his tent, trance for four hours and be back to his usual perky self. He liked to lord the fact over Lae’zel, who begrudgingly agreed that being able to enter into a trance was a lot handier than needing to sleep – he cherished what wins he could have over her.

He had nowhere to be tonight – he had drained a bear the night before, spotting it sniffing around towards their camp chest which had just been restocked with supplies carefully catalogued by Gale. It wasn’t much of a challenge, and probably the closest he would have to a restaurant experience as a vampire, but the bear was extremely filling, and he didn’t want to be picky. He was feeling sated enough and didn’t really need to hunt, so he took the time to catch up on his reading while he sat watch, lounged on his carefully stacked pile of plush pillows at the entryway of his tent, enjoying the sounds of the forest and the mild breeze on his skin.

He greatly valued these moments. He occasionally wondered if this was how he would have spent his nights if he were still alive (minus the outdoor aspect of it). Often, he would look up at the sky and think about his old life at that wretched castle, and it would steel his resolve to never return. He prized his freedom, however temporary, and other than the occasional intrusions from his guardian, his mind was his own. His companions (tadpole included) made for far better company than his siblings. His companions listened to him and there was a friendly camaraderie that the surlier members of the group refused to acknowledge. They never told him to be silent, never tried to sabotage him, never told him he wasn’t good for anything but lies and seduction. They valued his input, and he, in turn, begrudgingly depended on them. It was the closest thing to friendship for him (although he couldn’t tell exactly what it was the stopped it from completely crossing over).

But what he appreciated the most was the ability to manage his own hunger. Gone were the days of mind-numbing starvation. Gone were the days where he fed on rats and bugs, getting what little sustenance he could from fetid and rotten blood. He was free to hunt as he pleased, though he stuck with animals as he’d been requested to, save for the times he got to bite into the necks of the less-friendly thinking creatures they encountered.

The most delicious of all, however, remained his first. Which reminded him —

Tav, their leader, had offered herself for a drink this morning, and he was waiting until she was well within her dreams before he wandered off to top himself up. While he didn’t explicitly need to feed, he always took her up on her offer as he couldn’t miss the opportunity to have some of her blood. Hers, for some reason, cleared up his mind the best.

He decided it was a good time to do so when Halsin woke up to take over – the two elves had an arrangement where they took turns to watch while the rest of their companions got their eight hours (or as close to it as they were afforded to). It worked out for everyone, and it meant Astarion would get his me-time guilt-free. He watched as the druid wandered towards the fire with blocks of wood and his beloved set of carving tools – he was in the process of creating little wooden trinkets for some of the party, after Shadowheart had requested he made her a little trinket of what animal he thought she would be if she were a druid. She got a little wooden goldfish the next day, which she carefully hung at the entryway of her tent, dangling like a sad, friendless mobile. She was so very pleased, smiling wider than usual as she cooed over the gift, and Astarion was surprised that the idea of being a forgetful fish didn’t offend the Sharran.

Neither of the elves said anything – they were both very good at keeping silent, not wanting to interrupt their companions while they slept. Astarion pulled himself up, leaving a folded note about camp chore allocation he’d been left one day as a bookmark. Wordlessly, he headed towards Tav’s tent as Halsin began carving away – tonight’s project seemed to be Karlach’s, and it looked to be a bear that looked more like Clive than an anatomically accurate one.

Astarion pushed past the flaps of the tent, careful not to let too much of the light from the campfire through. He didn’t want to admit it to anyone, but he was a bit soft on Tav, wanting to make sure she got her rest and was inconvenienced as little as possible by his feeding on her and accepting her generosity. Normally he would find her sleeping peacefully, exhausted from the day’s travels, and he would sup just a bit generally as a dessert before he left for his bedroll feeling lighter and happier.

He blinked at the sight in front of him as he let the tent flap fall behind him, and the sliver of light that came through from the campfire shrunk into a line and then nothing. His dark vision meant he could see her clearly even without the light.

She was hunched over, in such a poor posture he had to actively bite his tongue to not comment on it. Her hair was showing signs of chaos – she always was a bit of a wriggler in her sleep, and so her hair often tangled from the back (or so he noticed – he also noticed it tangled worse when it was freshly washed, as was the case tonight). With one eye open and the other closed, she lifted a finger at him in a gesture that he took to mean as ‘hold on’, while she chugged down the contents of her waterskin.

She looked charming. Adorable in a very unruly, wild gremlin kind of way.

She popped the cork lid back on the skin, smacking the top of it with practiced precision. Keeping one eye closed, she began to lay back down on to her bedroll, her hand gesturing towards him with palms up, inviting. Tensing her core, she brushed the hair from her neck and pushed her hair up on to the pillow, making things easy for him to access. She closed her eyes.

“Are you awake?” he whispered, as he began to kneel alongside her. Was she… sleepwalking?  Was she conscious? He’d never run into her awake for feedings since they started their arrangement. She adjusted her position as she laid down, laying her entwined fingers together over her stomach like a princess in a coffin, ready to rest. It was a comical sight with the unruly bedhead looking like a nest-crown.

The eye closest to him fluttered open briefly. She muttered, “yes,” like a childish princess impatiently waiting for her true love’s kiss. He wanted to snort at the sight.

“Shall I come back another time, darling?” he asked, still keeping his voice low. He watched as she pursed her lips and let out a forceful sigh through her nose. It had been a while since he’d fed from her while she was awake, and while the first time went better than he expected he didn’t want things to be awkward given how intimate the whole experience tends to be.

“It’s fine,” she replied, muttering under her breath. She cleared her throat quietly. Her voice was a bit scratchy despite the water, and Astarion wondered if she was perhaps getting sick. Humans were always so susceptible to illness. He wondered if the ground was too cold for her despite the bedroll. Maybe the bedroll was too thin?

Ah – he really was soft on her. The others must not be allowed to know, but he tried to scan through his inventory in his mind. He may be able to spare her another blanket to tuck under her bedroll, just to stop the cold from seeping into her back. But he’d have to do it in a way that made her think she “made him” give it up.

He enjoyed teasing her – it was so easy when she was so gullible.

He began to position himself over her neck, like he often did when she was in deep sleep and lightly snoring. “Well, at least you’re not snoring this time.”

Her eyes popped open and her mouth fell slack in shock, and she smacked his chest lightly, though she tensed when she noticed that he had his arms over her like a makeshift cage. Why did everything about vampirism hinge on sensuality? “I don’t snore,” she argued. She was on the verge of pouting, staring up at him as he hovered over her. Her eyes looked so large and so round in the dark. He could stare at them forever.

“You convince yourself that, darling,” he said with a smirk, as he lowered his mouth towards her neck. He could hear her heartbeat speed up, thudding loud in the silence of the tent. Gods, teasing her was just so fun. Excitement made her blood taste a little different. He made sure to let his breath hover over her skin. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

She tilted her head away to give him easier access to her neck, almost reflexively. He glanced at her from his periphery, noting the full pout and frown that marred her eyebrows. Petulantly, she snorted. “Absolutely not do I snore,” she whispered furiously, relacing her fingers together over her diaphragm. She closed her eyes again, but the small pout remained. It looked like it could be dispelled with a kiss, but he wasn’t about to test his luck.

He shushed her, enjoying the way she shivered from the base of her spine from the sensation. He knew a thing or two about appealing to someone without actually touching them. Breathily, he whispered, “Now, now – let’s be professional about this, darling.”

“Yes, let’s,” she said, quickly sparring against his flirting like she always did. Gods – he loved the sparring. It kept him on his toes, and not in the fight-or-flight manner he had grown accustomed to. “I always am. I think this is a you problem.”

He sighed again, dreamy and content. His hand found its usual place against the other side of her neck to keep her still. “I do so love dessert,” he muttered – his lips brushed against her skin closely before he bit down and began to feed. She stiffened at the action – she always did, even when she was asleep, but she remained stiff. He rubbed slow circles against the skin of her jaw near her ear. He pulled away briefly, keeping his lips mostly against her, to whisper, “relax, pet.”

She melted under his touch upon instruction, and he resumed his meal. He hummed in appreciation.

He tried to take little – he was still full, after all, and he didn’t technically need to feed. He just wanted to accept the offer, selfish as he was, to help clear his mind. He gave the puncture site some kitten licks, cleaning up the remaining blood, leaving nothing wasted. “Let me wipe that up,” he said, as he pulled back and straightened back to sitting position, studying his companion who now seemed to be at the edge of sleep. Her head lolled back as if trying to follow the sound of his voice.

“M’kay,” she slurred, as she began to turn on her side. He knew she was a side sleeper – she liked to sleep with her knees tucked up towards her chest and one hand tucked under her head. She often complained about pins and needles the next day, but never did anything to change her sleeping position. He knew she drooled, too, when she was extremely tired – he usually wiped the drool off when he was cleaning her up post-feed. “Thanks.”

“Do you… want water, darling?” He asked, as he tipped out some of the healing potion they kept explicitly for clean up into a clean handkerchief. He approached her and gently held her chin as he took care in dabbing the handkerchief against her wound. He checked for drool – nada. Good.

“D’be nice,” she muttered, her words fading into silence as sleep began to take her back into its arms. “Thanks, melon.”

He frowned. “Excuse me, darling – melon?” Where did that nickname even come from?

She hummed in agreement. “You’re my melon,” she said simply as her voice gave way to a light snore. Her breathing evened out, betraying slumber.

He shook his head as he took her empty water skin, making his way out of the tent and towards the big cauldron they used for clean, potable water. Halsin watched him with mild interest as he carefully refilled the water skin, before cautiously punching the cork back in place. No words were exchanged as he strode back to Tav’s tent, sliding in to find her with her arm stuck up.

“Gimme,” she muttered, and he rolled his eyes to hand the water skin to her. She sat back upright, eyes lidded and hair still a mess. “Gods, I’m so thirsty tonight.”

“That’s because you drool.”

“I do not,” she disputed, lips wrapped around the mouth of her water skin, but he was amused to find her reach up to her cheek anyway. She grumbled, before taking a big drink – he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d emptied the damn thing again. She gulped down the liquid greedily, before she let out a light ‘ah’ as she put the lid back in place.

Astarion’s hand shot out, offering to take the item. With a confused look, she passed it to him, and he put it back on top of the crate she used as a makeshift table. He stood and prepared to leave. “Thanks, Astarion. You didn’t have to do that,” she said softly, with a dopey smile that made her eyes crease at the corners in the way he adored. It made her look so innocent.

Never one to let opportunities pass, he countered, “well, nice of you to remember my name now, my dear. You called me a melon a few minutes ago.” He didn’t address the rest of her statement. He didn’t know how to deal with gratitude – so he didn’t.

She laid back down, closing her eyes and trying to paint herself as a picture of peace. It didn’t seem like she noticed his avoidance. “I didn’t call you ‘a melon’,” she clarified, though it did nothing to demystify the topic to Astarion, “I called you ‘melon’.”

“Yes, okay, darling – but where in the hells did that comes from?”

She frowned and one eye cracked open. “I thought you knew Elvish. Isn’t that ‘friend’ in Elvish?”

Oh. She meant ‘mellon’, but she used the wrong tone, didn’t elongate the correct syllables, and got essentially nothing of it right. He pursed his lips together, unsure of whether to correct her. It would be funnier to… not. Plus, he found he wasn’t very pleased with being called ‘friend’, but he was somehow fine with being called ‘Melon’. It was… cute. And it was special because no one had ever used that pet name on him before. He could let it pass.

“Yes,” he lied, “well, you just butchered the pronunciation a tiny bit, darling, but I see what you’re going for now.”

The single open eye rolled. “That’s what I get for being friendly. Get out of here, you melon.”

He scoffed. “Well, goodnight, my sweet,” he whispered, as he turned to head out of the tent. He cast her one final glance. He could make out her beady little eyes peeking at him and the telltale crease in their corners betrayed a grin she tried to hide beneath her threadbare blanket. He could imagine the little wrinkle her nose would make when she made such a face – it was his second favourite feature of hers.

He felt the intense urge to bundle her up and take her away – she looked so vulnerable and innocent at rest, and the fact that she trusted him while she was in this state gave him conflicted feelings. A part of his mind told him she was an idiot and the perfect target – too trusting, too naïve, too stupid. Fell quickly for a pretty face and a kind word. His insidious mind whispered there must be an ulterior motive to it all – a fetish or some such she was wanting to fulfill. Surely no one was this kind? This giving? If she were in Baldur’s Gate she would have followed him to slaughter without question. And he would have led her there, and the world would have been less bright without her in it.

It made his phantom heart clench. Another voice in his mind asked – what does that make you? You fell quickly for a pretty smile and a generous heart.

Well. It seemed they were just two fools meandering around.

“Sleep well.”

She let out a sleepy chuckle, followed by an impressive yawn. “Goodnight, my melon.”

Astarion emerged from Tav’s tent to find Halsin still carving away, deep in focus. The larger elf looked up at him and his expression softened, before returned to his work with a slight smile. The vampire walked over to his tent, slid in, located the spare blanket he was going to bait Tav into taking in the morning, and laid down to prepare for his trance. He was surprised to find his cheeks hurting.

As he closed his eyes, he thought of melons and wood carvings, and the faint scent of the rosewater that always lingered in Tav’s tent.

Tonight, Astarion was at peace.