#kinda want to write a part two

[static-radio-ao3]

@jegulus-microfic // may 22 // prompt: control // words: 1169

“We should eat soon. Do you have any preference?” James asks as he glances into his rearview mirror.

“No, I'm easy,” Regulus replies. He swipes at his phone again, mindlessly opening the calculator before closing it again. He's been alternating between the calculator and the weather app for the better part of an hour now, nothing else to do on his phone and a deep reluctance to have an actual conversation with James.

He looks up at James when there’s no response. It takes a second for his own words to register and with a sigh he adds, “I meant easy to please.”

Again, the double meaning snatches James’ attention. “I'm just not picky,” Regulus grounds out.

“Yeah,” James scoffs. “I can tell.”

Regulus drops his phone on his lap, turning his head to give James his full attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” But evidently it is not nothing, because James waits barely a second before continuing with, “It’s just that you barely waited for the bed to get cold.”

“Excuse me?” Incredulity bleeds into his voice.

“I heard that you went out a lot.”

“With my friends.” Late nights wallowing on the couch were only accepted for so long until they started tugging at him with impatient hands, dragging him out of the house and into this club, then that one.

They told him that the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else, but Regulus never did take anyone home. Any pair of hands that didn't belong to James made his skin crawl.

“And we all know how your friends feel about you,” James says harshly.

“Okay, seriously, what the fuck is your damage, James?” Regulus twists in his seat, staring holes into James’ side profile. His messy hair and wire-frame glasses. His cheeks are flushed with anger, but Regulus doesn’t think James has anything to be angry about.

“What's my damage?” James asks, eyes flitting over to Regulus. “What are you, twelve?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

Regulus laughs, short and joyless, before dropping back into his seat. His eyes fall shut as he lets his head thud against the headrest. “And I remember, suddenly, why this didn’t work.”

“Yeah? Was it your incessant need to be in control?”

“No, actually. It was your complete and utter inability to listen.”

“Oh, I think I hear you loud and clear,” James scoffs, and Regulus resists the urge to just crawl out the car window. He’s slight enough, he thinks he could fit. As a matter of fact —

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

“You heard me, stop the fucking car.”

“Regulus, you're not walking all the way to Sirius' house. We still have three hours to go.”

“I don't care. Stop. The. Car.”

“What's your damage?”

“My damage is that I'm stuck in a car with you with nowhere else to go!”

It's silent for a beat. Then two.

“Well, I'm sorry you feel that way,” James says eventually, before harshly twisting the dial to turn up the volume.

They drive to the roadside restaurant in silence. Or well, as silent as can be with the music playing loud enough that Regulus can’t hear himself think. Just as well. He wasn’t thinking anything nice.

James makes the executive decision to pass by a drive-through, probably to prevent having to spend more time in each other’s company than strictly necessary. Regulus can’t say that he minds.

No words are exchanged as they eat, but when Regulus reaches for his drink in the cupholder, James speaks again.

“Do you still like vanilla milkshakes?” He inclines his head toward the cup in Regulus’ hand. James always teased him about choosing the most boring flavor, but vanilla is a classic and Regulus stands by it.

Regulus has the urge to make a snide comment, but he swallows it down. Glances over at James, tense in his seat, both hands on the steering wheel. It unnerves Regulus a little, seeing James like this. He is supposed to be loose limbs and easy smiles. Not… this.

“Yeah, do— do you still like those cherries?” Regulus asks, holding out his cup for James in case he wants the maraschino cherry that sits on top of the whipped cream. James plucks it out of the swirl with ease, like they never stopped doing this.

“Do you still go to the diner down the street?”

They used to go often. The 24/7 diner, red and white tiles on the walls, cracked leather in the booths. They spent late nights there, when studying took priority over cooking and everything else was closed. Appearing again on a Saturday morning, soaking up the alcohol that still lingered in their systems. Salty and sweet kisses shared next to the jukebox.

“No, it—” Regulus catches himself before he says something embarrassing like it hasn’t been the same without you. “It’s been a while,” he says instead.

“I see.”

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, black spots swimming in his vision. Then, before he can chicken out, he asks the first thing that comes to mind.

“Does your mom still collect those novelty plates?”

James laughs at that, the sound of it comforting and familiar, and he seems to relax in his seat. Even if just a little.

“She’s actually moved on to novelty shot glasses. My dad had to get rid of five plates he’d bought in advance. I still have them, though. I just know she’ll return to the plate thing soon enough.”

They pass the time like that, dragging up memories and habits, questions flowing between them. Regulus finds that he likes it. He’d missed James’ easy nature, his way of telling stories. He also finds that he is secretly relieved that James hasn’t changed a lot in the time they spent away from each other.

Do you still? Say yes, say yes.

Do you still forget to clean your glasses? Do you still keep a picture of you dad in your wallet? Do you still like your coffee the same way? Do you still—

Say yes, say yes.

“I got the internship, by the way,” Regulus says at some point. He’s not sure how much time has passed, but stretching fields of green are slowly giving way to houses again. “The—”

“—one at the publishing house?” James cuts in excitedly. His head whips to the side to look at Regulus, joy evident in the little crinkles around his eyes. “No way!”

Regulus’ heart stalls and stutters. A heavy beat in his chest. Say yes, say yes.

“I can’t believe you remember that,” he breathes.

Silence stretches between them and for a moment, Regulus thinks the conversation has died down again. It was nice while it lasted.

But then, so soft like he hoped Regulus might not hear, “I remember everything about you.”

Do you still? Say yes, say yes.

“James. Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the car.”

Say yes, say yes.

Thankfully, James doesn’t need to be told a third time.

[puppyeared]

its so hard to watch time pass when things like careers and assignments exist. what do you mean im supposed to take that seriously

[watchyourbuck]

Hi there! :)

For the writing prompts:

“W-who did this to you?”

Buck shouldn’t have shown up at Eddie’s door like this. Not today, not like this. But he has nowhere else to go.

His hand trembles before reaching forward, knocking once, maybe twice. It definitely slides down the wood after, and he has to support himself on the concrete wall to avoid hitting the floor.

Behind it, he can hear Eddie’s steps. He’s talking to someone on the phone, but it seems shallow. He thinks he’s about to hang up.

“Eddie-,” he tries to call, but his voice is faint and undetermined.

Please.

Please open the door.

Then it opens.

The scene in front of him is out of a horror movie. “Buck?” Eddie says, eyes wide, heart in his throat. His phone hits the tiles, a click ringing in his ear.

The man is showered in red. Blood that he can only assume is his going down his body and staining his clothes. He blinks. His lip is busted. Oh, dear god. His knuckles are- his wrist is broken.

“Help,” Buck says, and this is the day Eddie thanks his military training, because he’s able to catch Buck in his arms before he passes out.

It’s possibly hours later that he wakes up. He’s laying down on something, either a couch or a bed, and his head is heavy with pain. He tries lifting his arms but something is pinning him down. “E-Eddie,” he calls, unaware the subject of his need is sitting right in front of him.

“Who was it?”

His eyes adjust at the speed of slugs, and he has to force himself to sit up. He blinks until the world makes sense. “Eddie?”

There’s tears. Salty, whimsy, slow tears going down Eddie’s face, but he’s never looked less sad. Buck gulps. Eddie’s angry.

“Who did this to you?” he asks, breathing heavily. He’s sitting on a chair, legs spread and elbows on his knees. He’s covering his mouth with his fists, observing down Buck’s body.

He hesitates. “Eddie-,”

“Buck, for the love of god, who did this to you?”

This is his fault. After everything Eddie said, after all the things he warned him about. This is his fault.

He tries to move his wrists. One’s broken for sure, the other feels… twisted. He sighs, wondering if maybe he’s in less pain now that his receptors are going wild, focusing on too many alarms at once. “I-,” he starts, cutting himself off.

Eddie wastes no time. He rises from the chair and sinks back down, kneeling in front of Buck and grabbing his face with both hands.

Buck realizes he doesn’t know how to treat him now that he’s so incredibly… unglued.

“Tell me,” he pleads, but it’s an order. He knows him too well. This is the last lock before he unleashes a monster he hasn’t seen in years. “Tell me before I find out myself.”

Buck breathes, glancing down at Eddie’s lips. It’s only a moment he allows himself glory before spilling his guts with truth.

This is his fault.

“I told my dad about you.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Consider this my Wip Wednesday!

I’m very tempted to write a second part to this where Eddie confronts the Buckley parents. What does the crowd think? I’ll read u!!💗

tagged by @jamespearce9-1-1 @daffi-990 @hippolotamus @malewifediaz @wildlife4life @eddiebabygirldiaz @callmenewbie @jeeyuns & @thewolvesof1998 (haven’t been able to get to some of your works yet! but I will tonight, thank you!!💗✨)

also tagging @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @lover-of-mine @fortheloveofbuddie @evanbegins @smilingbuckley @giddyupbuck @cowboydiazes @try-set-me-on-fire @your-catfish-friend @honestlydarkprincess @honestlyeddie @disasterbuckdiaz @buckleyobsessed @mattsire @loserdiaz @wikiangela 🤍

[quinn-pop]

yet another oc that only exists because i wanted to write something very specific

(middle is a little older, hence her scar healing. i like to think she gets a glass eye at some point)

anyway this is mira! (they/she) since that wip is almost 20k words and counting i won’t give away too much but long story short she’s the result of meta going “one last time, i promise” and adopting yet another kid

also galaxia kinda indirectly picked the name :)

i’ve mentioned before that i headcanon that pretty much all astrals are autistic and this is just kinda an extension of that. whereas meta tends to suppress his emotions and conform to others, mira…doesn’t. she gets uncomfortable and upset and lashes out at people easily, and working through their emotions is no small task.

the main reason i chose to write them that way was for the sake of narrative but i’ve grown attached to it because there’s a lot of ideas there i’d like to explore. stuff about navigating emotions and relationships when existing is so suffocatingly uncomfortable. it’s not something i could center around Kirby himself, but i think it makes sense with a post character development meta knight.

they are very loved (omg oldee cameo???)

kirby was definitely very excited to have younger siblings after being used to being the youngest in the room for so long!! (with the like. one and only exception being gooey.) he’s super affectionate with both of them and wants to have a close relationship one day, but for now mira is pretty unappreciative of that fact lol. they don’t like being pestered for hugs

everyone else is okay tho

(i know that’s hard to read. oops. “obvious bite marks”. siblings being siblings.)

mira also has a very love/hate relationship with the egg kid, being so close in age they kinda Have to get along but in typical sibling nature they also fight a lot. sure it’s probably rough for a while but i think in the end they’d be good buddies. maybe not as close as Kirby and Bandee but still.

anyway i have a lot of thoughts and am very busy but. i’m really enjoying writing about all this lately it’s been fun ^^

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I'm sorry, but why don't we talk about Witch Hunt more? Seriously, I think it might be my favorite DAO DLC. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the hell out of Awakening. Leliana's Song is good. The Golems of Amgarrak is... eh, bad. I didn't really like that one. The Warden's Keep, The Stone Prisoner, and Return to Ostagar are all amazing and I love them.

But Witch Hunt??? Y'all. I can't. I'm too emotional right now.

I have at least one dynamic from each game that I'm obsessed with. For DAO, it's the dynamic between romanced!Alistair, Tabris, and Morrigan. I've talked before about the dark ritual and stuff in this post, so let's just say that my Tabris, Rose, very much has unfinished business and a score to settle with Morrigan.

Tabris and Morrigan grew so close throughout the entire journey of DAO, y'know? Close enough that Morrigan claimed she thought of her as a sister, and Tabris felt the same way... and then in one single moment, it's just shattered.

There were signs that Tabris ignored, like the way Morrigan dismissed all the circle mages and claimed they should be left to their fates since they "allow themselves to be caged like cattle." Or how she disapproved every time Tabris wanted to help those down on their luck. Or, worst of all, when Morrigan disapproved when Tabris chose to kill the Tevinter slaver instead of making a deal with him to use the lives of the remaining elves to grant her more power... one of those caged elves being Tabris' father.

But she gave Morrigan the benefit of the doubt; she's sheltered and only had Flemeth as an influence and teacher, of course she's unempathetic and selfish, but there is good in Morrigan's heart. She can learn to be more empathetic and to care for others.

At least, Tabris believed that until Morrigan confessed that she's known about the ultimate sacrifice and the dark ritual from the beginning, that Flemeth sent her with the wardens with a purpose that Morrigan intends to follow through with. It's devastating and it broke Tabris' heart.

She just learned that a warden has to die to stop the blight, and that warden could be her or Alistair. Not only are they romantically involved, but they've been through all of this shit together, they're the only ones who fully understand what being a grey warden is like. They carry the burden on their shoulders, and they're probably going to lose each other to the archdemon.

And Morrigan waits until she's at her most vulnerable to ask that of her.

Again, I've gone into more detail about that before, but at this point Rose is done with people deceiving her. She's done with Morrigan... except she's not. It's the betrayal and knowing Morrigan got what she wanted that causes Rose to go searching for her.

To Morrigan's credit, she does give some answers. She claims she didn't thing the archdemon would show itself so soon, and she did what she had to because she didn't wish to see Tabris hurt or die. I believe her, and to an extent, Tabris believes her... but Morrigan still doesn't get WHY it's a betrayal.

Morrigan's right: She will never understand Tabris, and Tabris will never understand her. She can insist it's not a betrayal all she wants, but it absolutely is, and Tabris has never allowed anyone who crossed her to just walk away... except for Morrigan.

Until now.

Hearing that Morrigan manipulated her way into the trust of this Dalish clan so she could steal their book and run is just further evidence in Tabris' eye that she hasn't changed. Maybe it was always foolish to believe she could.

So... she stabbed Morrigan.

She didn't do it to kill her; Morrigan is the daughter of Flemeth and a powerful mage with healing magic, a mere stab isn't going to kill her.

No, it's about what the stab represents: "I am done with you."

And how the scene plays out? It's so dramatic and good, just the way everything slows down, the music, how they make eye contact as the stabbing happens just....

I know it sounds really bad, and this is the part where I remind everyone that I ADORE Morrigan, but the stabbing ending is so satisfying from a story-telling standpoint for my playthrough.

It's so tragic and it hurts and I hate it.... but I love it, y'know?

I love Witch Hunt, like I haven't even talked about Ariane and Finn, or how the circle just has all these books on Dalish artifacts and translations of elvhen, or how other eluvians can be found with a shard from the broken one in the dalish origin.... like you're telling me that Merrill had a piece of the puzzle? If she had the knowledge, she could've found a working eluvian to study?? I'm going to gnaw my own leg off--

Listen, I could gush about this all day.

But now that I've completely finished DAO, it's time to replay DA2.

[feyd-meowtha]

A Pain That I'm Used To Ch 13: Haunted House

When Paul awoke the dawn was grey, highlighted in blues and yellows where the rising sun hit the frost. At some point while he had been asleep the fire had burned out and the embers twinkled in the hearth, playful and inviting. Paul spared a look at Feyd who was lying with his eyes closed. Something about the stress in his shoulders made Paul suspect that he wasn’t actually asleep but he couldn’t be sure so he didn’t disturb him, thinking it best to let him rest. Coaxing the fire back to life was a quick task and soon they were once again toasty warm, the thin layer of ice that had formed on the windows thawed and dripped in miniature waterfalls onto the window-sills making rhythmic pattering sound.

[aeolianblues]

the real fiction in a lot of band AU fics is the amount of time bands seem to have on the evening of a show!

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday! 💛

I actually scheduled this WIP post yesterday to be posted today just because we had a new internet provider set up today and I didn't know if there would be any issues. Luckily, it seems to be running great! Keeping it scheduled to post though!

A decently long WIP this week, with both Elyse and Balgruuf getting some sense talked into them after their argument about her fine. I'm probably posting a good chunk of a chapter of The Perfect Storm here 😅

I'm tagging quite a few of you this time!! Hehe :3 But of course no obligations to share if you don't want to! Tagging @thequeenofthewinter, @pitiable-arisen, @throughtrialbyfire, @bostoniangirl21, @your-talos-is-problematic, and anyone who wants to share their WIPs! 💛

------

“Odahviing told me that you said that Jarl of Ahrolsedovah was helping you, protecting you by giving you shelter in his palace.” Paarthurnax stated, his words spoken to her, though it came across as more of an observation than anything. “Has this now changed, Dovahkiin?”

Elyse scowled frustratedly as she huddled against the wall atop the Throat of the World, her borrowed and oversized clothing given to her by Arngeir from the surplus donations left for the Greybeards held tightly against her body. “He was,” she grumbled, watching as the old dragon slowly moved to shield her from the most frigid of the winds. “Until he took matters into his own hands. The person I was trying to hide from decided to try and fine me for... reasons. I responded by ignoring it, because I didn’t commit any crime! Is wanting independence and the ability to make my own decision a crime?!”

Paarthurnax’s eyes narrowed towards her with how heated she was getting, so she took a few deep breaths before tilting her head back and sinking down into the snow beneath her. “But it was Balgruuf who took that from me instead, by handling my fine.”

 “Did he tell you why he did so?”

“... N-Not really, no...”

That was a lie, and she knew it. Paarthurnax likely did too. He’d yelled that she was endangering Whiterun. But she didn’t know any more than that – how exactly was she endangering the hold? Or was he just frustrated that she hadn’t done anything and used that as an excuse?

“Then how do you know that he was, in your own words... ‘taking matters into his own hands’?” The dragon’s head lowered towards her, in a manner reminiscent of when she was a child and her father would kneel down to talk to her to let her know that what she had done was either wrong or reckless but didn’t want her to think that she was in trouble. “Perhaps... He thought that he was helping. That you would be safer if he were to do so. There are many questions which can be asked... But can only be answered by him.”

Elyse wavered in her frustration towards Balgruuf, before shaking her head, allowing it to bubble up once more. “It doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t discuss it with me first.”

“Hm. That is... True, yes, but would you have done it yourself even if he were to discuss the issue with you?”

She knew that he was correct, and frowned as she folded her arms over. “I... I don’t like burdening others with my issues. It just drags others into the chaos that has been my life since I made that stupid decision to leave Cyrodiil years ago. Balgruuf took on enough of them by letting me into his home...”

“Have you considered... That sharing your burdens may make them lighter? This Jarl seems to be looking out for your best interests, Dovahkiin. That is not something to be taken lightly. The Greybeards have also spoken to me of this Jarl... this Balgruuf. When you brought war to High Hrothgar to stop the unruly eldest, he was one of the few who did not want violence to dictate the peace. Who did not throw vitriol or bitter words. If this is true, I doubt that malicious intentions are behind his actions.” Paarthurnax rose once more, allowing the frozen winds to once more brush against her, and forcing her to stand up and conjure a small flame in her hands to counter some of the cold. “You should talk to him... That will help with clearing your mind and easing your burden. Perhaps the same will go for him too. I would imagine that he would be worried for you, as would everyone else that you left behind.”

As much as she wanted to argue back with him, something stopped her. Her anger had fizzled out, and had been replaced with a gut-wrenching anxiety. People would be worried. It was the middle of winter, she had left on her own without a word of where she was going... And she had left in what was worse than a bad mood. For all that they knew, she could have gotten herself killed.

She needed to get back to Whiterun.

“Sahvot, Dovahkiin. Have faith. Things may not be as bad as you currently perceive them to be.”

---

"I don't know what you are expecting me to say, Balgruuf. That you want me to pity you over this situation? That you want me to give you a little pat on the back and say 'there there'? Because if you do, I am most certainly not-"

"What? No, Irileth, I just-" Balgruuf took a deep breath as he ran his hands down his face. "Look, I am just trying to get my head around this all," he stated, starting to pace back and forth across his bedroom. He hadn't even wanted to be there in the first place, but after being caught in his study with some documents which needed reading through by Frothar – who had promptly tattled – he had been kicked out of there to get some rest. "Surely not having a bounty which was getting bigger by the week is a goodthing? I don't get what about that was enough to make Elyse angry or leave the way that she did!"

Irileth let out a frustrated puff of air from her nose. "Because you made an important decision about her without her. It's damn well obvious!"

"I needed to protect Whiterun-"

"And you promised to protect her."

"I-" His throat felt dry as not a single word came to him at that direct statement which made him freeze in his tracks. When he had made the decision to pay off that fine, his intentions had been to do achieve both of those statements – protecting both Whiterun and the Dragonborn. Getting Ulfric off both of their backs had to have been beneficial, he had been certain of it. The looming threat of an attack had been on their doorstep, it had been pushed back to give them space to breathe. But now… he was feeling uncertain. Uneasy.

"You welcomed her into Dragonsreach so that she could be safe."

His jaw tensed as he turned his back to his housecarl, and pressed his hands into the top of the drawers which were to his side. For a moment, he took in a few deep breaths to calm himself, in the hopes that the point had been made and he could take a moment to just think.

"For all that she knows now, all it takes is Ulfric Stormcloak throwing his demands about for him to get what he wants."

Irileth's words were both eye-opening yet horrifying. He had always appreciated her bluntness and her ability to assess a situation, but hearing it all directed at him now…

"How long will it be until you hand her over to him, saying that it's for the good of Whiterun?"

He had messed up.

"I would never-!"

"And how would she know that, Balgruuf?!"

[stxrshxpxd]

autumn

pairing: 90s professor hugh grant x reader

word count: 3k

warnings: student x teacher

prompt: reader falls for her university professor and she thinks it just might be a mutual feeling…

requested by anonymous <3

September.

I had seen Mr. Grant twice in passing on my walks across campus and through the seemingly endless hallways of marble flooring and dark stain wooden arches, on my little quests to navigate my way through my new university. The first time I had turned my head rather indiscreetly and nearly walked into a massive pillar as I studied his locks of brown hair bouncing away from me along with his rushing steps. The second time I had felt a stab deep in my stomach at the sight of him across the library, pulling his hand through said locks of brown hair, before ending his short conversation with the headmaster and quickly disappearing again.

My third encounter with him came on a September morning with ambiguous weather. I sat watching the strong sun begin to beam through the patchy coat of clouds and chase the morning mist away. As the doors opened to the lecture room I expected a large pregnant belly to enter first, but instead that pain in my stomach returned at the sight of Mr Grant marching inside. There were scattered whispers and mumbles around the room. I had no one to whisper to, and so I took a deep breath and secured my gaze on the bronze buckle of his belt and bit the inside of my cheek.

“I take it Mrs. Sherman hadn’t told you who would be filling in for her,” he chuckled at the palpable surprise in the room. “Well. It’s lovely to meet you all. I’m Professor Grant. I do recognise a few faces around the room.” His gaze hopped between students and he gave a handful of them soft smiles, skipping over me. “Well… Mrs. Sherman went into labour on Sunday and now has a little baby girl at home.” I noticed he spoke with his whole face and half his body, smiling, raising his brows and opening his arms in celebration at the happy news. “So, I will be teaching the rest of your Literary Analysis course this year.”

The sun had come to lay across half his body and was making the silver ring on his pinky glow brightly.

“I heard you’re reading Sense and Sensibility,” he said and a few of the students nodded in silence, backs straight and ears eagerly open. Mr. Grant swiftly pulled out a small, weathered copy of the book in question from the back pocket of his black suit trousers. For some reason that act made the stabbing in my abdomen worse. I held in a sigh at the fear that everything he did would make my stomach wrench in agony.

October.

The rain was beating aggressively against the large windows to my right and added to the soundtrack of Mr. Grant humming between his nods as well as tapping his index finger softly against the desk he was half sitting back on. I had lost track of what the student behind me was saying about Children of the Corn but forced myself to hurriedly tune back into the monologue once I felt Professor Grant’s eyes resting on me occasionally. I anticipated his question and I searched my mind quickly.

“That’s a very nice analysis, Thomas, thank you. Y/N, what thoughts did this story provoke for you?”

I couldn’t recall a time when I had properly shared my analysis directly with him before. My written words about Sense and Sensibility had been met with a seeming intrigue on his behalf though.

I greatly appreciate the depth of your character analysis. It shows you have a strong sense of morality and can view a person from a number of perspectives without favouring one. That is a very helpful tool. I am eager to hear more of your thoughts this year!

I had read the scribbled comment at the bottom of my short essay over and over, and right now they were the only words in my brain.

“Um, well, I think King has an incredible way of creating an atmosphere with just a few words. It’s quite remarkable.”

Mr. Grant nodded and smiled in agreement. Finally my thoughts caught up with me and I stammered on, all the while staring at the previously hidden forearms now sticking out of Grant’s rolled up sleeves.

“And, um… the thought that followed me all the way through the story is the exploration of religion in the modern world. Oftentimes I feel that religion is this untouchable and completely unstoppable thing that is, sort of, ironically out of our hands. You know, do we create it or does it create us?” Professor Grant’s smile grew slightly and I looked away, desperately trying to not lose my train of thought to the beauty of his pale, soft face.

“And also what is the difference between religion and cult, what defines them? …And why is one seemingly the pinnacle of good and the other inherently evil, if the line between them is so blurred, or indeed can’t be drawn at all? …Is ruthlessly shunning and marginalising people not just as bad as brutally killing them in a corn field? It’s just a choice of mental or physical death really. Except there isn’t a choice.”

I looked back at my professor once I had gotten my sentences out. He nodded slowly and pondered calmly with that satisfied smile on his lips, as I sat half panicking in the silence. All I could hear were my words echoing in the air between us.

“And do you think it should be stopped? Religion.”

He tilted his head and I took a deep breath in, in the midst of my light panic. He chuckled sympathetically with me, realising the magnitude of the question he had just asked.

“Yes and no, of course… I just think that it’s been a hell of a long time since society existed without religion, it might well be very healthy for us to step back and consider the world without it.”

“So, yes?” Mr. Grant suggested for me with a charming grin and an eye with a big twinkle in the centre. I laughed shortly and looked down at my nervous hands toying with my pencil.

“So, maybe,” I responded, looking up again. He chuckled and nodded once more and combed his fingers through the left side of his hair, only for it to bounce right back to its previous position.

November.

My eyes ached as I sat with my head hanging over my borrowed copy of E.M. Forster’s Maurice, reading the same line over and over again. I had read the book a few years earlier and adored it, but re-reading it now as the time was nearing 11 pm on a Friday night the words carried little meaning. Even my own words in my neat notes appeared increasingly alien.

The library was lit up softly and was about as silent as it could possibly get. It felt wrong to move and make sound as I stared out at the vastness of the room and the hallway outside of the library walls. Suddenly, just as my gaze had fixed sleepily on a framed painting hanging in line with my eyes, a person startled me as he came walking down the hallway. It was Professor Grant.

I shortly pondered the concept of fate as he turned his head casually and locked eyes with me. A smile came upon his face and he steered his steps inside the library without hesitating. He was in his usual black suit trousers and tight belt, a button-up without a tie, and a long coat and knitted scarf draped over his forearm. Under his other arm sat a thick stack of stapled papers caged in firmly against the side of his ribs. Shortly again I pondered the concept of jealousy now, before he spoke and washed my mind clean of everything else.

“Why aren’t you at that big dormitory party?”

Mr. Grant sat on the edge of my table and glanced down at me. He tossed his stack next to my stuff, at which my eyes scanned it and noticed several little notes and markings in red ink scattered throughout the text. I concluded that he had stayed late in his office to mark essays.

“How do you know about the party?”

He laughed quietly and looked around the room momentarily, allowing me a few seconds of shamelessly staring at his strong jaw as he looked away from me.

“Kids always think they’re very secretive. My hearing and deductive skills are excellent in fact.”

I smiled when he looked back at me, but the sentiment of the smile faded quickly from inside me.

“Do you think of us as kids?” I asked in the most neutral tone I could manage. He was only fifteen years older at the absolute most. He couldn’t be a day over thirty-five.

Mr. Grant’s soft stare dropped down my body in stages, seeming to halt at my collarbone and ribs and then my hinged hips where his gaze settled a short while.

“No,” he decided after a moment’s silence.

I didn’t know how the rest of that conversation was meant to go or indeed how to deal with the apparent tension that had built in the quiet room. Instead I backtracked to his initial question of why I was in the library on a Friday night.

“Well… You set an essay due Wednesday, didn’t you,” I chuckled breathily and impulsively looked down as I closed the book in my hands. We both gazed down at the cover and it felt like a strange form of eye contact. When I looked back up I saw a soft smile on his lips.

“That’s one of my favourite books.”

I exhaled and responded quickly.

“I will choose my words carefully.”

My professor’s smile grew and he met my eyes with his visibly tired ones, shaking his head.

“I trust you.”

Something in the air made me feel as though our conversation was coming to an end and it made me sad, which was why I grabbed onto a bit of substantial conversation I could find in our repertoire.

“I’m not big on parties anyway.”

Mr. Grant had crossed his arms now and nodded with the remnants of a smile.

“I understand.” He thought for a second and licked the corner of his mouth. “The parties in your future will be much more up your alley, when you’re an esteemed author. Trust me.”

He spoke of me being a revered published writer, yet all I felt like was a silly teenage girl as I tried to control my blushing cheeks at his sweet words. And then a soft groan escaped him as he reached to grab his essays again and stood on his long legs, clearly on his way to exit again.

“Just don't forget your old Literary Analysis professor when you’re famous,” he demanded sweetly and I simply kept smiling and blushing as he headed out, leaving me with my own company again. I had to fight to stop grinning and I found I was on the verge of breaking a sweat under my knitted jumper.

December.

For a few weeks now I had noticed an increase in stares between me and Professor Grant. I had found him resting his eyes on me several times across the room and once I thought I had made him blush, simply by looking up and meeting his eyes. He had looked down quickly and stuck his one hand into his hair, tensed his brows and stared down at his books again. I had mirrored his actions but hadn’t been able to make a single note for the next few minutes, completely consumed by the idea of letting my lips gently kiss his brow bone and feel him soften at my touch.

I was currently wrapped up in another one of those thoughts as I stared out the window, where light snowflakes were falling and slowly but surely forming a thin white coat over the lawn. I could hear his voice loud and clear as he was in the middle of a lecture - something about anti-heros apparently - but I wasn’t listening to the words. In my mind my lips were attached to his jaw and my fingers rushing to unbutton his shirt. Just as my mouth had reached his collarbone, his real life self changed his tone of voice and I tuned back in.

“Right, we’ll continue this tomorrow for a bit. And we will also have a chat about the exam in two weeks. So, bring all your anxieties and questions tomorrow and we’ll talk it through. Does that sound alright?”

I scanned the room quickly to find all the nodding and smiling students begin to toss their books into their bags and I scrambled to do the same, but once my eyes turned back to the front of the lecture room I found Mr. Grant on his way over to me.

“Hi,” he uttered quietly with a kind smile and I returned it. His hands were in his trouser pockets and his head tilted slightly as he looked down at me.

“I heard,” he began, glancing away at the last few students leaving the room. “from Mr. Holland.. that you’re doing quite well in your Creative Writing class.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I shrugged and laughed shyly as I fidgeted with the pages of my notebook.

“Now, I would hate to find out you have a favourite class that’s not mine, but,” Grant sighed jokingly and then gave me another soft curl of the lips. “I would love to read some of your writing if you wouldn’t mind. I promise to give you nothing but praise, of course.”

I chuckled and had to force my mind out of the gutter of imagining what type of praise he might give me.

“No, I want your critique,” I nodded, still anxiously toying with the notebook that conveniently enough held a lot of my creative writing drafts and half-ideas. Mr. Grant nodded back and swivelled around to my side of the table as I began flicking through my notebook to the sound of my umming and ahhing nervously.

He had planted his large palms on the table and his head hung between his broad shoulders as I finally decided on a page that felt somewhat representative of my work. His thin-rimmed glasses had been pushed up into his hair for the majority of the lecture, and he pulled them down now as he focused his eyes and mind fully on my text.

He was so close to me I could feel his scent begin to fill my nose, and his tricep was nearly brushing against my shoulder. I studied the few veins on his hands as his fingertips instinctively held the paper down against my table.

“It’s really good, Y/N,” Professor Grant finally concluded with his voice just a step above a whisper. “Really good.”

I looked up to make shy eye contact again and found his expression had changed from his sweet, composed smiles he would usually give me. There was something behind his spectacled eyes that suggested conflict. I realised there were just a few inches separating us and the urge to stand up and press my lips to his grew quickly, until I simply couldn’t fight it.

Pushing my chair back and half standing up, I planted a desperate kiss on his already slightly parted lips. For a second everything stood still and I wasn’t sure if he was kissing me back, but at least he wasn’t pulling away. Then I felt those gorgeous hands coat my sides, if only to help stabilise me as I staggered to my feet. It felt like everything happened within the space of a nervous heartbeat. Soon he backed away a step, his warm palms being the last to leave my body. Grant anxiously threw a glance behind him at the half open door as he wiped his bottom lip with his thumb. The sounds from the hallway came back to me again and regret washed over me with such power it nearly made me lightheaded.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I breathed.

“No,” he simply said and shook his head. The empty space in the air made me feel like he was supposed to or wanted to say something else, but he didn’t for a while. His eyes hopped from one corner of my face to the other and his chest rose and fell with his stressed breathing. At last his gaze settled on my lips.

“Y/N, you’re…” He rubbed his forehead and took a few more steps further away from me. “You’re very special and I really admire you… There’s just no way this can happen. You understand that, don’t you?”

He turned around to find me standing in the spot he left me, horrified by my own actions.

“And you have no idea how common it is to fall for a professor. It’s a very peculiar relationship; a student and a teacher… It happens. It’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, okay?”

Fully knowing I was going to be excruciatingly embarrassed by this incident maybe for the rest of my life, I nodded.

“Really, it’s alright,” Professor Grant spoke in a warm voice with a definite sadness behind it. My whole body was vibrating with nerves and heartache and I managed to move my stiff limbs enough to pick up my books and bag.

“Okay,” I exhaled, wanting so badly to believe him. I left his concerned expression behind as I passed him and stepped out into the hallway, managing to catch the heavy sigh he let out behind me. Even still, with embarrassment weighing down my steps, the only thing I could think of was the incredible feeling of his lips against mine and his hands holding my waist. My insides ached as I realised I would never be allowed to kiss him again. Hell, I wasn’t even allowed to kiss him this time. My lower lashes held heavy tears as I stomped outside and kicked my boots through the fresh snow, heading towards my dorm.

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

the heist!mark brainrot is consuming me…, just imagine mark n the viewer meeting for the first time as little kids to shoplift candy or smth together ╥﹏╥

the (brain)rot consumes!! I can relate

my dear anon... LISTEN. I am a big advocate for childhood friends captaineer, it's one of my favourite headcanons, but a childhood friends AU for the heist partners? that's something I hadn't considered until now. and it's adorable. I had to write something for it asap because I was INSPIRED. I hope you enjoy💖 thanks for sparking the idea!

Heist!Mark x reader (not explicitly romantic at all it's more about the friendship in this one) | Words: 1,317

You are in the kitchen of your shared home base, unloading the groceries your heist partner has just bought, when you pick up a bag of sour candies, smiling quietly to yourself. He's always been a fan of them.

Turning the packet in your hands, an old memory drifts to the surface of your mind:

You don't remember exactly how long ago it was, but you couldn't have been much older than maybe ten.

Your father was busy working, and had reluctantly sent you to the store with a small list after you insisted you could handle it on your own.

You slipped the folded piece of paper out of your school bag and scanned the list of items. At the bottom was a note that read, ‘Remember to stay hydrated, kiddo! :)’

You walked around the supermarket collecting the few things on your list and placed them in your trolley. On your way to the checkout, you passed through the candy aisle and slowed to eye the products on display.

‘Aren't you going to get anything?’

Your head perked up, shocked at the sudden voice addressing you.

There was a boy next to you with dark hair, looking at you inquisitively. He seemed to be about your age. He might have even been slightly shorter than you.

You must have been standing here for longer than you realised if it had prompted him to ask you about it.

You shook your head.

‘Why not?’

‘Oh, um. My dad only gave me enough money for what we need,’ you said timidly, showing him the list.

‘Ohh, that's too bad.’ Then, a small yet undeniably mischievous smile appeared on his face. He glanced discreetly up and down the aisle. ‘You know you can just — ’ and he took one of the small packets of candy off the shelf and slipped it swiftly into his pocket.

Your eyes went wide, stunned. Both from the fact that he was suggesting you steal, and at the speed and subtly with which he'd enacted the crime, as if he'd done it dozens of times before, if not more.

‘What are you doing?’ you spoke in a harsh whisper.

‘It's no big deal,’ he said in a lower voice than before, but one that still felt entirely too loud. He slipped another bag into his pocket.

You did not want to associate with this boy any longer.

You pushed your trolley away and towards the checkout, handing your items to the cashier.

You were unhappy to find the boy waiting for you when you exited the store, shopping bag in your hand.

‘What do you want?’ you asked, a little standoffishly, frowning at him.

‘There's no need to be rude,’ he said with a small pout. ‘Y'know, I think I might have seen you at school a few times.’

To your dismay, he followed along as you started walking home. When you pressed him, he simply said, ‘Hey, I'm not following you! I live down this way too, I promise!’

As the two of you walked, he chatted annoyingly by your side. What was more annoying was that you found you didn't mind his presence. You were a quiet kid and you didn't have many friends. Having someone to walk home with you was kind of a nice change of pace.

Just as you thought this, though, you immediately chided yourself mentally. You and him were not friends. You weren't going to be friends. This boy was a criminal and he wasn't even sorry about it.

You frowned in thought.

Oh no, what if he got caught? What if you went to juvenile jail for being an accomplice to theft? What would Dad say? What would Mom say? What if—’

‘Hey, are you listening to me? You haven't responded to anything I'm saying.’

You simply sighed as he pulled you out of your thoughts.

‘Are you still mad about the candy? I told you it's not a big deal.’

You stopped as you realised you were approaching your front door. The journey seemed to have gone a little faster than usual.

‘Really?’ you finally replied in an exasperated tone. ‘That was no big deal for you? That was stealing. Stealing is wrong.’ You couldn't believe you had to spell it out to him.

‘They won't notice a couple tiny bags of candy are gone. My mom says big companies that own supermarkets are greedy. They make loads of money anyway and don't pay enough taxes.’

‘Does your mom know you're a thief?’

‘W- well, no, but-’

‘That’s what I thought.’

He looked a little disheartened.

‘Please don't tell anyone. I'm sorry if I upset you,’ he said quietly, looking down.

You hadn't really expected an apology from someone like him. You sighed again.

‘I won't tell, but don't expect me to just go along with it. And don't act like we're best buds all of a sudden. We don't know each other. You don't even know my name!’

‘Well, what's your name?’

You gave him a slightly surprised look before telling him your name, albeit hesitantly.

‘Look, I have to get going now…’

You fumbled with the shopping bag as you reached into your coat pocket, feeling for the house key, when you suddenly felt something that wasn't there before. It made a crinkling sound beneath your touch.

‘You didn't.’ You pulled the candy out of your pocket. ‘When did you—?’

The boy grinned at you.

‘I thought you could have one of mine.’

‘I don't want your stolen candy!’

‘Judging by how you looked at it earlier, I think you do. And besides, stolen treats taste better!’ he called out, already walking away.

‘Wh- SHH!’ You hoped none of your neighbours had heard.

‘I'm Mark by the way! See ya, buddy!’

You stood outside the front door, dumbfounded.

Finally you let yourself in. Your dad wouldn't be home yet for a while.

You put the shopping away and sat down at your kitchen table, staring at the stolen goods in front of you.

You could try to put it back but… that would be more suspicious.

You figured, the deed had been done. There was nothing you could do now, so you may as well make the most of it.

You tore the edge of the packet and popped one of the candies in your mouth, savouring the sweet and sour combination on your tongue.

Maybe Mark was right. It did taste extra good. But maybe it was just because you'd been craving it.

What a weird kid.

‘Stealing is wrong, huh…?’ you mumble under your breath. You look down at the candy in your hands. It's not the same brand as the one from back then, but you imagine it tastes more or less the same, from what you remember.

Present day Mark is the one to pull you out of your musings.

‘Hey, what's with that face you're making? I know that look, buddy. Are you contemplating your life choices??’

You chuckle softly.

‘Just… got reminded of something. I suppose I got lost in nostalgia for a moment.’

‘Oh yeah? Penny for your thoughts?’

You turn and smile at him.

‘This just made me think of an annoying little boy stealing candy from a supermarket. And his reluctant acquaintance who ended up getting dragged into his antics for the foreseeable future.’

It takes a second for it to click.

‘Ohhhhh.’ You watch as realisation turns to him smiling fondly at the memories, which turns to him snapping his attention to you with a fake-offended look.

You laugh at his expression.

‘Wait, hey! Annoying?!’

‘Mhm.’

‘Excuse you, I was a wonderful, sweet and positively charming child.’

Your laughter rings out in the kitchen, full of mirth, and he shakes his head at you with a familiar lopsided grin, and you are so grateful for the cheeky little boy who approached you that day.

[raiiny-bay]

the degenerates: out of context

[heatmiiiiser]

Ggrrr I wish disenchantment was better. I binged it all because I'm sick somebody talk to me about this.

[namazunomegami]

“Kindly consider the question: what would your good do if evil did not exist, and what would the earth look like if shadows disappeared from it? Shadows are cast by objects and people. Here is the shadow of my sword. Trees and living beings also have shadows. Do you want to skin the whole earth, tearing all the trees and living things off it, because of your fantasy of enjoying bare light? You’re a fool.” - The Master and Margarita

[secretmellowblog]

Random, but. It’s fascinating how “Valjean and Javert written by someone who thinks cops are Good” is so radically different from “Valjean and Javert written by someone who thinks cops are Bad.”

Like, for me the number one Thing that will determine whether I enjoy someone’s take on Valjean and Javert are whether they realize that the police/prison as an institution destroyed both of their lives, and is the villain of both of their stories XD.

But yeah it’s really fascinating! Both in adaptations and in fanfiction, the tone/interpretation with which the plot beats are handled can change so much about the characterization. All the adaptations/fic start off with the same basic plot beats but so much can be changed and colored (for better or worse) by the way the author chooses to interpret them

[medicbrainrot]

long is the road outta hell into misery (divinity, part 1)

No matter how well a plan is made, no matter how much preparation goes into briefings and gear checks, no matter how much training is done, sometimes all hell breaks loose, and the inevitable happens: the mission goes sideways. 

Task Force 141 had been sent on a mission to seize intel from servers on an enemy base. They had been split up into teams to search for the information and load it onto flash drives before making a clean exfil. But alas, life doesn’t always go as planned. The smaller teams were effective for infiltration, but it also meant that they were more vulnerable to being cornered by the enemy.

Ghost and Jaguar had been sent to one side of the base, but as they were getting ready to leave for the RV point for exfil, they got separated.

Ghost was almost frantic, searching their side of the base for Jaguar, determined to not leave her behind, when he heard a piercing scream that he immediately knew meant she’d been captured. 

He ran down a few hallways following where he thought the scream had come from, and as he rounded the corner, what he saw made his blood run cold.

Artemis, one of the bright spots of sun in Simon’s life, was being held at knife point by an enemy soldier.

Ghost’s voice was quiet, but laced with firm, intense anger. “Let her go.”

“Ghost, it’s okay.” Jaguar pleads, a note of strain in her voice. “Don’t give them the flash drive.”

Ghost looked past her and to the soldier behind her. “You’re a dead man walking, pal. It’s the way it goes.” His voice was sharp, his hands level as he prepared to shoot. “You either let her go, or I kill you and you still let her go.” He growls, his pistol aimed firmly in their direction.

“How are you so sure you won’t hit her too!?” The soldier sneers, pressing the knife firmly against Jaguar’s throat, causing her to flinch.

“What makes you think I’ll miss?” Ghost hisses, his anger fueled by his concern for Jaguar. He was ready for anything, he would do anything, to make sure that Artemis got out of this alive. “Now let. Her. Go.”

The soldier presses the knife tighter against Jaguar’s throat, causing a thin line of blood to appear.

“You need to get out of here.” Artemis whimpers. “We’re running out of time.”

Ghost’s breath came sharply through his teeth, the pistol in his hand starting to shake. “Don’t give me orders, Jaguar.” He hissed at the soldier. “If you kill her, I’ll make sure you have a slow, painful death.” He vows. “Do you understand me?” He readjusted his grip on the pistol. There was a 50/50 chance this would go the way he wanted it to, but they were running out of time and options.

“The longer I hold you here, the higher the chance I have of reinforcements showing up.” The soldier says. “And like your little girlfriend said, you’re running out of time.”

“You are making every wrong decision here, asshole. Either drop the knife and walk away, or I’ll kill you. There is no third option.” Ghost said firmly, not a hint of emotion present in his voice.

“I think we both know at least one of us isn’t walking away from this.” The soldier huffs a laugh, tilting the flat side of the knife inwards, further opening the wound on Jaguar’s throat. 

Ghost’s hands flexed around the pistol as he adjusted his grip. “Last chance.” He said, in a voice that could’ve made ice run through anyone’s veins. 

“Fuck you.” The soldier stated, pressing the knife deeper.

Ghost’s voice was completely devoid of emotion. “You’ve made your choice.” He fired a single shot, causing the sound to ring through the surrounding walls. 

As soon as the bullet connected with the enemy soldier, both he and Jaguar dropped to the ground. Jaguar fell to her hands and knees, coughing slightly as blood dripped from the knife wound.

“Fuck.” Simon said, the edge in his voice softening. “Artemis. You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

He pulls her close, helping her grab kerlix and saline from her med kit to flush and bandage the wound on her throat. 

“This will sting.” He warns as he cleans her throat. “Hold still, okay?”

She nods silently as he tends to her, a stray tear making its way down her face.

“Did he hurt you anywhere else?” He asks her gently, ignoring the cooling body lying on the floor not too far from them. He began to check her over, gently tending to her. “Does anything else hurt?” He asks softly.

“No, it was just the knife.” She answers.

He nods. “Don’t worry, we’ll get through this.” Simon promises.

“Alright, you should be good for now. Let me know if you start getting lightheaded.” He says as he finishes bandaging her.

Artemis gives him a soft smile. “You might just replace me as the medic.” 

“Never.” He replies, a small smile forming under his mask. “Just breathe, you’re okay.” He opens a water bottle and hands it to her.

“We need to meet up with the rest of the team.” She says as she takes a few careful sips of the water.

Ghost nodded. “I agree.” He looked around the room as he put the medical supplies away. “Can you stand?”

“I’m okay.” Jaguar nods. “Just a little shaken.”

Ghost nods again, taking her arm. “It’s not every day you have a knife held to your throat.” He helped Jaguar to her feet, supporting her by the waist as she stood back up. “Just take it slow and steady.”

“Yeah.” She says quietly.

Ghost’s gaze was steady as they prepared to move forward. He glanced behind them, seeing the soldier he’d killed, lying face down in a pool of his own blood.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” His voice is quiet, laced with guilt. “If I had been here sooner, then…” He trails off. “I hope you can forgive me.”

“It’s my fault.” Jaguar shakes her head. “I didn’t clear the room fast enough, and he cornered me.”

“Don’t blame yourself. We both made mistakes, but we’re both here. That’s what matters.” He looks down at her, placing a hand under her chin before pressing a kiss to the top of her head through his mask. “Come on, let’s get back to the others.”

As they approach to meet up with the rest of the team, Soap’s eyes widen when he sees the bandages around Jaguar’s throat. “What happened?” He asks.

Ghost looks between Jaguar and Soap. “A little misunderstanding with a knife. She’s fine now.”

He looked back at Jaguar, keeping a close eye on her. She was tough, but everyone has a limit. Simon just hopes she’ll be okay.

“Bastard cornered me.” Jaguar explains. “But I guess my scream carried far enough, Ghost heard me.”

“I wish I had been faster.” Simon says softly to her, a note of sadness in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” She confirms, gently tugging a strap on Simon’s vest. “I’m okay.”

Simon caught the tug, looking down at her hands. “Is something wrong?” He asks, voice gentle as he lets her tug the strap.

“No, just fidgeting.” Artemis says, shaking her head.

“If you say so.” Ghost replied. His eyes were soft as he looked at her. He placed a finger under her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. “Are you ready to finish the objective?”

“Yeah, let’s finish this.” Jaguar said firmly, looking him in the eye.

Ghost nodded, steeling his nerves before turning back to the rest of the Task Force. “We’ve made it this far, we’re almost there. Let’s get this done.”

As they approached the exit, he spoke up. “Everyone stay alert. We still have enemies out here.”

They finished the rest of the mission with no issues, finding a few more key pieces of intel before crashing the enemy servers.

As soon as the mission was declared completed, they started the exfil process. Jaguar went back and forth between the soldiers, attending to any wounds they acquired throughout the mission. Ghost kept an eye on her, letting out a sigh of relief when exfil came. 

He had been suppressing his emotions the entire mission, and was reaching a point where he wouldn’t be able to for much longer.

One the way back to base, Simon sat next to Artemis, trying to gauge how she was doing. “Are you alright?” He asked softly.

“I’m okay.” She nods.

“Good, I’m glad.” He says, a small smile crossing his face.

When they arrive back to base, Jaguar grabs her med kit in preparation for debriefing before heading to the med bay to restock and help with any casualties.

“Jaguar, wait.” Ghost calls to her. “I’ll come find you when you’re done and walk you back to the barracks.”

“Alright.” She smiles gently at him. 

When Artemis was done in the med bay, Simon was waiting for her just outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

He held out his arm for her to take, and they started walking over to the barracks together. “Stay close, okay?” He said. Simon had something important to tell her, but he wanted to make sure they were alone before saying anything. 

“Okay.” She said, wrapping her hands around his outstretched arm. 

Simon looked around before opening the door to his barracks room, gently closing the door behind them, sliding his mask off as he does so. 

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you, Artemis.” He started quietly, avoiding eye contact as he spoke. It was obvious he was a little uncomfortable with what he wanted to say, but he pressed onward.

He cleared his throat before continuing. “I care about you…a lot. In a way I’ve never felt about anyone before…I…I love you.”

Her eyes widen in surprise, but a smile crosses her face, a faint blush accompanying the smile. “You…you love me?”

His eyes meet hers for the first time since he started speaking. He nodded once, holding eye contact. “You heard right.” He smiled. “I love you.”

Simon knew he hadn’t been this emotionally vulnerable in a long time. He had never admitted feelings like this before, much less out loud to someone else. But he knew he needed to tell her, especially after what had happened today. 

“I love you too.” She replied softly as she carefully wound her arms around him, being mindful of the bandages on her throat.

Simon wrapped his arms gently around her, pulling her into a strong, secure hug.

He kissed the top of her head, a wide smile splitting his face. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to tell you that.” He whispers.

“Probably about as long as I’ve been wanting to tell you.” She giggles softly.

He let out an emotionally charged sigh, before laughing. “Then we’re both a pair of idiots, aren’t we?”

It was amazing how quickly things could go from horrible to perfect.

“Maybe.” She laughs as well. “But that makes me your idiot.”

Simon let out another amused laugh, before pulling away slightly so he could press his lips to hers. “Well then maybe I’m your idiot too.” He smiles into the kiss, his arms tightening around Artemis slightly. 

A/N: Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated!

Masterlist

[the-way-astray]

i must be the only (kind of) unironic aldella shipper in this entire fandom.

(ranting in the tags)