#lieutenant burns

[axoltex]

LT BURNS <33 enjoy my art i <3 christian borle

[spineless-lobster]

Okay but the way havers is a MAJOR now (good for him my son is going places) and the way he still calls cap “sir” when he sees him again despite outranking him AUGH DO YOU GET IT?

Havers’ whole thing is giving cap the respect he deserves as he dies, the swagger stick, “sir”, treating him with common human decency, oughhhhhhh

Even in the redding weddy flashback havers is the ONLY one who respects cap in any sort of way

Don’t get me started on “I… I…” “I know…” BECAUSE I WILL START THROWING UP AND CRYING

[z-ppy]

two weeks ago, he was still a student in syria.

isn't this the opposite of what we want to have happen here?

[emmylous-world]

When We Were Young

Chapter 1

Captain John Price x Female oc!Reader (Emma)

Summary: John meets his captains niece and can't seem to get her out of his head.

Warnings: MDNI, Probably will be smut at some part. Violence and Mature themes. Slow burnnnnn.

2,6k words

A/N: I'm baccckkk, I hope you guys enjoy. I proofed read this myself so forgive any mistakes.

Pls leave some likes, comments and reblogs <3

British Columbia, Canada 

John dropped his bags down on the bedroom floor, letting the tension on his shoulders go, the day had been too long for him, been up since the crack of dawn and haven't stopped moving the walls were white, the floors were a tan carpet, a desk was against the wall and the bed sat across from it, the bedding was sky blue, it reminded him of summer in England, spending the days down at the river. He undid the buttons on his military jacket and threw it on the back of the desk chair. John sat down at the end of the bed and pulled his rucksack onto the bed to pull out his files and paperwork, going through the paper, trying to find that damn report to fill out. 

John was staying at his Captain Oscar Powell’s sister; Sheila's place, while in between operations, giving him a warm bed and home-cooked meals, that's all he could ask for and he was very grateful. He got up from the bed and sat down at the desk flicking on the lamp, and spreading the paper in front of him, he knew he should go out and talk with the family, get to know them, but John was too tired even to think straight, socializing made him wanna crawl up in a ball and sleep, and the bed right behind him wasn't helping him with that desire. An hour or so goes by when John finishes the report and puts it with the rest of the finished work. He checks his watch, 16:05, he gets up and changes into sweats and a sweater, which his mother made for him before she passed, it still smelt like her house; cimminon (I literally don't know how to spell it, but I hope yall understand ToT) and fresh laundry. He missed the warmth of his mother's hugs and his little sister’s pestering. He kept their memories close to his heart and cherished them as hard as he could. A soft knock sounded on the door. 

"Hey, dinner would be ready in an hour or so." Shelia says, "You’re welcome to join, I can also bring it up if you like?" He opened the door to talk face-to-face with her. Her face had delicate features, and wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, showing her age, she looked much like her brother, and the familiarity of her face was comforting. To John, the Captain was like a second father, he trusted that man with his life, he knew his Cap had his back and he makes sure he had his.   

“Yeah, of course, I’ll come down.” His voice was hoarse; he cleared his throat and knew his captain wouldn’t be too fond of him not joining him and his family for dinner. She smiled, her eyes crinkling and lit up. He gave her a lop-sided smile back, it did not reach his eyes, he was too tired to care. “Ok, great,” she said and went back downstairs to the kitchen. John’s muscles were screaming as he went to go lay down on the bed, he tucked himself under the blankets and soon enough he fell into a slumber 

John woke to his name being called and shot straight up, panicking. “Hey, dinner’s ready chap,” he heard his captain through the door. “Ok gimme a minute,” he took off his sweats and put on a pair of jeans, the most decent he could get, with it only a few pairs of jeans and a couple of black jumpers. Downstairs the Captain gestured to John to take the seat at the right-side seat at the end, John gratefully took the seat and fell into the conversation. He was asked questions and he happily replied. The food was something John was most excited about, it was hot, and it melted in his mouth, he sighed at the savory taste. He couldn’t compliment Shelia enough. 

“This is so good,” John said after swallowing a mouthful and stuffing his mouth with more. 

“Geez, slow down son, we’re not going back to base anytime soon,” Powell chuckled  

“Sorry Sir, just trying to get as much in as possible, can’t stand those IMPs.”  

Shelia smiled with pride and Powell shook his head. 

“Oh, Emma is coming home next week,” Shelia says with excitement, her smile growing. John was curious who that was, guess he will find out next week. Dinner was done, helping wash up the dishes.  

“Tell me more about yourself” Shelia turns to him with a smile. “I heard you’re good on the field, well the football field.”  

John gave her a warm smile. “Yah, I grew up playing on my school’s team” he put a cup on the rack “Won a couple of trophies in middle school.” 

That’s amazing,”   

“Mhm”      

He let out a breath, thinking back about his best friend from elementary. John finished putting the dishes in the rack, wiping down the countertops, and bid Shelia a good night. When he entered his room, he immediately took off all his clothing except his boxers and crawled into bed, and soon sleep consumed him. 

*** 

The following day John woke a wee bit panicked, still thinking he was at the base and had early mornings. He checked his watch; 09:23 am, that was the latest he had slept in a while, since his last leave, which was 8 ½ months ago. John crawled out of the covers and sat at the edge of the bed, contemplating if he wanted to go back to sleep or go on a run. He chose the latter, he figured that he should at least keep a basic schedule. He got up and put on his shorts and black compression shirt. After putting on a pair of runners, he ran off the road, pushing to see how far he could go.   30 mins had passed, 2 klicks in, he knows that he can go for another few, like a switch John picked his pace up. Around 5 Ish klicks, he turned around and headed back.      

When he arrived, John was drenched in sweat, his shirt sticking to his chest and back. He quickly made his way upstairs, grabbing his shower supplies, he bought a new set of shampoo and conditioner, knowing his little sister would troll and harass him for using a 2-in-1. John turned on the water, gave it a min, and then stepped in, the cool water felt amazing on his sweaty back. Soaking his hair and running his hands in it. He followed the shampooing and conditioning steps, his sister instructed him to do. The shower was done 5 mins later, he had wrapped a towel around his hips, his v-line visible, John looked at himself in the mirror, and his auburn chest hair ran down into a trail past the towel. He flexed his pecs and shoulder muscles, his shoulders were broad, and his pecs were large, he could fit into one of his sister's bras, not that he was bragging. His thighs also were massive making it hard for him to sit in tight spaces. After checking himself out, he looked at his beard, its way past the 5 o’clock shadow and not quite a beard. He was upset that he had grey hairs in some places, screw his father's genes. John let a huff out and grabbed his razor and shaving cream, getting rid of the annoying grey specks. After finishing up, he cleaned up and went back to his room. Putting on a fresh pair of clothes and deodorant, John was ready.  

Downstairs, Shelia was in the garden and Captain was out back doing yard work. Today was the day John learned about the house and yard. He put on a pair of Blundstones, and a navy blue pullover rain jacket. The weather outside was dull, and the smell of rain was strong in the air, it was April, the spring rain came during this month. He walked over to Shelia, he asked her if she needed help, eager to get his hands dirty. 

“Oh Please, the bags of dirt from the lean-on by the shed, could you bring some bags,” she points to the west side of the gigantic house “It would save both Emma and I some trouble.” and John sets off, looking for the shed in the direction she had pointed. The property was huge, he remembers the captain saying around it being 26 acres or so. It was a heritage house, that had been in his family since the 1880s, the house was a massive Tudor house, with vines growing all over the east side of the building. The whole property was surrounded by forest, the whole place made John’s heart swell, the place somewhat reminded him of home or maybe he was homesick, but he missed the country of England, the smell of cow manure, and watching the sunrise on the porch with a cup of tea. After wandering around like a lost puppy, he found a shed with a lean-on, there was a wheel borrow tipped over on its side, and by the shed, he flipped it straight and started filling it up with the bags of garden soil. Once it was full, he started pushing it back over to the gardens, the trip back over was longer than expected, and he reached the garden Shelia was puttering at, emptying the wheel burrow. He stopped and let out a wheeze, the military training did not prepare him for that. 

“Hope that wasn’t too hard,” Shelia remarks, seeing his out-of-breath state 

“Oh no, didn’t even break a sweat.” He broke a sweat,  

Shelia knew that was bullshit, but she also knew that the 23-year-old had that boyish ego that all boys seemed to have, no matter how old they are, John reminded her of her brother; Oscar, but younger, both pretty stubborn and had similar mindset.  

The rest of the week, John spent his days helping in the garden, he also found out that They also had a stable on the other far side of the property, there were 4 horses and a draft, once he found that out, he spent hours in the stable, cleaning, brushing, feeding and what not in there. There was also a barn with multiple farm animals, chickens outnumbering them all. When he asked out them over dinner, He was told that they were Emma’s pride and joy, jokingly saying that they’re pretty much Shelia’s nieces and nephews. John couldn’t stop his curiosity about this Emma growing, he would never admit to his excitement.  

When the following Monday rolled around, John got out of bed a little too eagerly. He put on his best shirt and the cologne his sister insisted on getting him, apparently “it makes the girls weak in the knees” He trusted her, he didn’t know diddly squat about this shit, or about girls for that matter. He hoped to make the best impression on her.  

The flight home was long but worth it. Emma had been waiting to come home since the beginning of the school year in august last year. As soon as she got off the plane, she bee-lined for the luggage terminal, grabbed her stuff, and headed to the arrivals, looking for her aunt, it took some time to spot her, but once she did, she quickened her pace, desperate to get out of the place. She reached her aunt and pulled her into a big hug. 

“It's so good to have you home finally,” Shelia squeezed her. 

“I know, it's nice to finally get out of the city.” 

“Well, we still gotta leave the city and get back to town,” Shelia says as she grabs one of the luggage. “Not quite a free bird yet.” Emma rolled her eyes, rushing to find the exit.  

The car ride home was long, filling her aunt in about everything that happened at UofT (University of Toronto). Diving right into her Anthropology and Archeology classes, and what she did, she was beaming at the topic of going to an anthropology excavation site. 

“We have a guest staying with us for a bit,” Shelia mentions “He’s one of your uncles men, a lieutenant I think?” 

“Oh?”  

“His name is John, I think you’ll like him.” 

All Emma could think about was a man in his late 30s and balding. She just nods, not caring much. Her uncle had some of his men stay over before, this isn’t surprising to her.  

When they finally arrived at the house, Emma couldn’t help but sigh in relief, she knew she was immediately going to go soak in a hot bubble bath. Pulling her bags out from the trunk of the SUV, she walks to the front door, she walks back to the car to grab the rest of the luggage, when she reaches for the duffle bag, a hand already beat her to it, it was not her aunts, it was too big and there were too many scars. She looked up to see who the hand belonged to, and she was taken aback, his face was young and handsome, his eyes reflected the sky, a bright blue, and his hair was short and sticking up and awry as if he was wearing a hat. He put his big hand out for her to shake it. 

“Names John.” His voice was deep, husky, and British. When he shook her hand, the biceps under his black shirt flexed. This was not the man Emma was expecting, so young and so attractive. She told herself to get it together, no need to simp over a man you had just met. 

“Emma” 

He flashed a smile at her, it wrinkled his eyes, making them bright. She couldn’t help but return the smile “Your aunt said you needed help with the luggage?” he spoke in that voice again, she shook her head yes, “Please” was all she managed to squeak out. He grabbed the heavy stuff, Emma had to look away with a bashful look, knowing if she looked any longer, she’d start drooling.  

Once everything was inside and, in her room, she figured she’d unpack tomorrow. Drawing a hot bath in her ensuite, she got out when the water got cold. She got out, dried off, and dressed, she went downstairs and into the kitchen, not realizing that she hadn’t eaten since before the plane ride. Scrounging around the fridge and pantry, looking for anything. After looking for 10 mins, she decided on KD (Mac and Cheese for u Yankee's out there) putting on a pot of water on the stove, and she went back upstairs to grab her book. She sat at the island and read while waiting for the water to boil. 

As soon as her KD was done and plated, she pushed the doors to the den, and groaned at the sight of John passed out on the couch, mouth opened, snoring obnoxiously and with a book laid open on his chest. She turned to go back to the kitchen to eat, but no, this is her house, she just got home from a long 5-hour flight and it’s late, wanted to watch her reality shows, she sat down at the armchair, flicked on the TV and happily ate at her noodles.  

John woke to a clatter, jolting up and knocking off the book that was lying on his lap. He looked up at Emma, she had her mouth full, and the TV was on, playing a trashy reality show. He rubbed his face with his palm, drowsy from sleep. 

“Sorry did I wake you?” She looks at him with her round eyes, her hair wet from a shower. He stopped his mind from wandering to far from the subject, of this beautiful woman in the shower.  

“No, no s’alright.” He yawns, gets up from the couch and picks up his book. He stood there awkwardly for a second, he checked his watch, 21:14, bedtime. He bid her a goodnight and went upstairs.  

Chapter 2 here

[vermillionwinter]

Fever Dream

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian f!reader

Summary: How many chance encounters can you have before you decide fate has intertwined your threads? With the 141 on leave pending an investigation, you appear to Simon, a lighthouse in the distance calling him to safety.

Warnings: Mutual attraction, slow-burn series (our boy's got a lot of work to do), Spicy thoughts-not explicit.

Note: I haven't had the will to write like this in years, but Simon Riley has reawakened a beast, and I need to get all the words out. So, this is a very rusty piece of work, but hope y'all find some enjoyment! Tattoos are the only physical descriptions I believe. the 2nd POV's are bringing me back to middle school Quizilla days.

Quiet. Everything in Simon’s Manchester flat was too fucking quiet, and the air stagnant when he was home. And that silence gave his thoughts the freedom to creep and dance to the murkiest valleys of his subconscious. Wrapping its tarry tendrils around the very memories Simon wanted to keep locked behind the chained door, dragging them out of him to relive every excruciating moment the darkness saw fit to unleash. 

Sitting in the single chair of his small, round table, Simon could catch wafts of soil and decay wrapping him in the tight confines of the damp wooden coffin. His lungs tightened, constricting the oxygen he needed. The fear of no escape webbed its way through the calm fog the prior glass of bourbon provided. It was as if the darkness narrowed in on him, boxing him into the point of full paralysis. The arms of his chairs he gripped tightly in his fists began to transform into the feel of the corpse that once was buried with him. 

HONK!

Simon’s eyes shot open, and he took the deepest breath he could muster as his lungs got used to the feeling of a full inhale and exhale. His eyes darted around in panic taking in every detail of his barren flat. It was sparsely furnished with essentials, one of them being a bed large enough the behemoth of a man could stretch upon comfortably. As comfortable as one could get when they're accustomed to the hard ground or the scantily padded cots.  

Simon shot back the bourbon he originally poured to savor and appreciate relishing in the slow burn it made down his esophagus. What he wouldn’t fucking do to get back out on the field. 

“As soon as we're back, gents, we are boots on the ground finding these bastards. We’ll find Shepherd and every lost Shadow.”

Ghost hadn’t been deployed since he took the last shot at Hassan in Chicago- weeks have passed. Bloody fucking investigation into Shepherd’s and Shadow Company’s off book deals called that all operators on the ops related to Graves’ and Shephard’s stolen missiles had to take mandatory leave pending investigation. Shadows were still getting wrapped up for questioning. There were few still on the run. But they’d find them. They didn’t deserve the courtesy of living their lives in fear. The face of death is all they were due. 

Betrayal. Betrayal got his family killed. Got Simon Riley killed. And now good soldiers lie dead in fields, their graves forever empty; and families lie dead in the streets of Las Almas. Innocent lives taken by those he once defended, defended the 141. 

Glass shattered against the opposite wall before Simon realized he threw the blown sand from his hand. Shoulders sagged, defeated, depleted, ready to give into the quiet of his home. The benched operator stood from his chair and made his way to the shower. He’d clean the mess later. He was alone after all. Always alone. 

Simon walked through the small crowds, prolonging the journey to his destination to walk to a path he didn’t have to squeeze through a throng of people. Wisps of the fresh air sauntered over him, releasing threads of tension into the open. Easing him from looking over his shoulder and checking his surroundings more often than they stayed in front of him. To his relief, no one was following him. Venturing out into society felt like an op in its own way. Having to blend in when you lived your life in anonymity. He wore a different mask in the calm of the world. One fewer people were familiar with than the ominous mask he donned on the field.  

And Las Almas was proof of why. Shephard was a loose-end that needed to be handled yesterday, and Simon couldn’t shake off the constant feeling he would be found. Just as Roba had found him. He couldn’t very well walk around with his most distinguishing feature on full display, a beacon where to strike next. Simon had to stay vigilant. For himself, but most importantly for them. Nothing could get to them. 

Sleep was an elusive luxury Simon would not allow himself since he was dismissed on leave, not that he had the best slumber before then. Running on cat naps, caffeine and spite. The blame and guilt eating away at him, letting those bastards go unseen. And all he wanted was five minutes alone with Shepherd. Ghost wanted the ex-general begging for his life as it left his very body. 

To…

All of Simon's plans of vengeance were halted when you stepped out onto the patio of the bakery he found a form of solace in on leave- emerald lace dress billowing around your body, combat boots peaked through with each step you took. Ethereal. A goddess among man. You were divine and entrancing as you stepped lightly, despite the clunky footwear you chose. He was in the door before he could notice where you sat, but hell he found himself praying at your altar you would be in perfect view. 

La Gouter was one of the few havens Simon had found in the area. The crowd was moderate, but constant. Tea was always fresh, and the man could not resist the warm, buttery treats. Today he sat with a chocolate croissant with his black tea- two sugars, no cream. Balance. 

A book tucked under his arm, he leaned against the mural of Paris- where he had a clear view to the left, right, patio door adjacent to his table, and the entry of the cafe itself. Which also gave him the view of his tea shop muse, and a sudden warmth rushed over him when you looked towards him, eyes honing in on his eyes. Target locked. 

Looking down quickly, he cracked open the book that accompanied him. Laying there waiting to be read, to transport the reader to another realm. A world where he didn’t have to be Simon Riley. Now he could get lost in the spice filled sands of Arrakis. Simon let his eyes settle on the pages behind the orange cover. 

Twenty pages in, half the tea gone, he felt his eyes drifting again. Black nails adorned your lithe fingers-wrapped around a pen you used to write in the notebook splayed on the table. Legs shifting, the slit of your dress exposed more tattoos scattered on your smooth leg. Wouldn't it be nice to run his fingers over the lines of each piece of art that was displayed there? To feel those hands wrapped around him instead? To lay you out in front of him the way your notebook was exposed to you. Lines of intrigue covering both flesh and paper. He wanted to know the webs of thought spinning from your head to paper. The sounds your lips would release at his touches. Were they soft and airy? Low and rough?

Fuck, he shook himself from the lasvicious thoughts (swirling in his head) throwing back the rest of his tea that he dearly wished was bourbon, and left for the gate. But as he threw his trash into the bin, he had that feeling. There was an energy when eyes bore into you. Watched your every move, like you were prey. Their target . Taking in even the smallest of twitches.

Chalked it up to being on edge after Las Almas, but fuck he needed to get back to his flat now. What if Shephard had found him? Ghost had no shortage of enemies that would crave nothing more than to spill his blood. Were the others still alive? Gaz. Price. Soap. But Simon wasn't met with a bullet when he turned around to face whoever was trailing him. No. Simon found curious eyes glistening in the sun- following his every move. Down to the smallest twitch.

Simon felt his heart stutter, a catch in his throat when you flashed a disarming smile, painted in dark red. Stomach in unfamiliar knots, he froze for a moment soaking in your warmth in the moment of vulnerability. He wanted that warmth to blanket him in its softest rays. It was terribly disarming. Blinking out of his stupor, he found tantalizing eyes paired with a shy smile greeting him. But, the brute didn’t know how to respond; his mind was still in conflict. And he left without another glance in your direction, all the while wondering how someone could glow in the dull skies of London. There was enough sunlight to bathe you in its golden rays. The shimmer upon your skin was like nothing Simon had ever seen, your beauty enraptured him. 

You watched the giant of a man turn-hands shoved in his pockets-and leave the cafe, and you couldn’t help the appreciative gaze as your eyes roamed the backside of the man who stopped dead in his tracks and stared at you for an agonizingly small amount of time. Whom you had caught staring at you minutes ago. His gaze, through red lenses, overwhelmed you, a vehement aura exuding and reaching.

He was statuesque, a gargoyle in the flesh wrapped in the darkness of his fabrics, sitting at the small metal table against the bright paints of the Paris mural. You certainly appreciated the contrast. Auburn beard covered a strong jaw, but his face was mostly obscured by the black Everton cap and red lensed shades. The hoodie did little to conceal the firm bulk of his arms, broad shoulders. When he broke eye contact to read his book, shades went to his hat, but angled his face to further obscure your view. A shiver chilled you. Why was he hiding? But you didn’t let your attention linger, though you did want to. You wanted to watch him read, and immerse himself in whatever tale he was venturing through.  

In. Out. In. Out.

The mantra on loop to keep his thoughts focused. Singular. Not focused on red lips pressed against his neck. Teeth grazing a path over a protruding vein. So he ran faster. Faster. Faster, until all he could think about was how to get enough oxygen to his lungs, Lamb of God blasting through his headphones. The opening notes of Walk with Me In Hell leading him through the end of his run. Spent. Overexerted. Exactly what he needed. He’d finally sleep, and just not fucking care what happened next.

Simon released a breath he had not realized he was holding until it left him. Disappointed relief. The tea shop siren was absent from his visit. It was strange. The wanton desire to be in the presence of another being. He was used to alone. It was easier to work when you didn’t have the reminder of how many lives were in your hands. It was effective, and he was damn good at it. You had his mind in a whirlwind of confusion. Not even the women he's fucked stayed with him the way you have. You've never even said a damn word to him, and he was crumbling. Under a spell you were unaware you cast. Synthesizing his dreams to your every whim.

“Fucking Christ.” A soft growl met his ears, eyes slid toward the culprit. And there you were, just as gorgeous and warm without the infrared glow of the burning star above. Even with the snarl across your painted lips, coffee spilled in front of you as you picked up the few items you dropped. The espresso color accentuated the shape of your plush lips, and he wanted to know what the supple flesh felt like between his teeth, tongue sliding in sync with yours. And fucking hell he’s heard your voice, further fueling his mind. Simon’s base instincts were bleeding through more than he would care to admit. Like some horny school boy seeing tits for the first time. He didn’t care for it, wanted it gone. Made him feel compromised. It was consuming him in a time he couldn’t afford distractions. When could he ever?

Your morning started out shit, and seemed to become progressively shittier. You had an assignment due by midnight. The internet at your place was out, and the company had been very little help with an ETA. It had been your day off, but Deana was out with some virus her kid picked up from school and you were the lucky winner to be on rotation that week for the store. All you wanted was the comfort and warmth of a white chocolate mocha, and now that was also ruined as the caffeinated beverage seeped into the porous concrete of the patio. 

You had been set and determined to complete your assignment covering the impact commercial farming has had on the environment and global economics. Then, you saw him. Shades sat atop his same hat, the once full beard had been trimmed, hugging the shapely jaw. You liked it, so much so that you stumbled on a table, coffee slipping from your hands.

You wanted to scream, cry, kick the chair, but instead you blinked back the tears and picked the empty cup from the puddle of cream, sugar and caffeine. Feeling like a bloody idiot for being that damn distracted by a bloke you’ve not actually seen yet. If he walked around without the hate and sunnies, you’d most likely not realize it was him. But hell if the mystery wasn’t all the more enticing.

 You sighed, paying no more mind to the gargantuan on your left-dizzy from the distractions- and set your workstation. Three hours. That’s all you had before your shift at the shop.

You sat with one earbud playing music as you began cycling through your notes finding topic points and sub plots for your outline. The angelic voice of Florence Welsh guiding you through the motions of the ebb and flow of your homework routine. And deep in your concentration and will to see this task complete, you did not notice a dark figure leaving its perch. 

“Excuse me?” you looked to see one of the younger baristas standing with a coffee. “Uh…some dude ordered this for you, and wanted me to bring it out to you?” 

You quirked a brow taking the drink from the nervous kid and thanked them. When they skittered back into the building you took a look around seeing Paris missing one of its Gargoyles of Notre Dame.  A jolt of excitement warmed you when the sweet velvet flow of the caffeine hit your tongue. A perfect coffee to lift your spirits from a perfect stranger.

[theoceansbeyond]

If you have watched both M*A*S*H’s 5 O’Clock Charlie and Hogan’s Heroes’ Happy Birthday Adolph, you would find things to be very similar:

A MAJOR being fooled who wanted to shoot down enemy plane(s) with anti-aircraft weapons;

“Captain”(Hawkeye, Trapper, and “Hoganburg”) and a short Corporal (Radar and LeBeau);

Nazi Germany Jokes;

Plus the flags:

And no worries. Check out the IMDB page to find out their writers… Yeah, Laurence Marks, that’s probably it.

[the-worst-bracket]

[rosemary-morgan]

Connor(RK800) X F.Reader - Safe heaven (Part 4)

(Pictures are not mine! Found on Pinterest/Google - Collage made by myself. OC Steven belongs to me.)  

Many thanks to @fangirl-ramblings 🖤 she has been beta reading for me 🌹 And thanks to all who read this story 🥰

Trigger warning! Y/N is still traumatized!

Read here 👉 Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Connor(RK800) X F.Reader - Safe heaven (Part 4)

Hart Plaza

10 August 2040 - 12:37

Michigan, Detroit

In Connor's mind, the same scene from last night played over and over again. Y/N lying on his body, kissing intimately... It had been beautiful and Connor would have been willing to take another step. But was she ready for it? And what if he would do something wrong? Even accidentally hurt her? He had never done it before. Of course he could exchange all databases about sex and tenderness, but still the android was nervous. He cared a lot about Y/N, and he wanted to make her happy.

"Connor!"

Connor's LED lit up yellow as Hank addressed him for the third time now.

"Oh, sorry Lieutenant..."

Hank frowned as he took a sip from his soft drink.

"What's wrong with you, Connor?"

The android was silent at first, but he felt the need to talk to Hank about his feelings. The two had known each other for two years now and together they had been through a lot. Hank was like a father to Connor. And now here they both sat, in Hank's car, watching and, if necessary, arresting a suspected drug dealer.

"Hank, can I ask you something?"

"Uh huh?"

Hank bit into his sandwich, waiting to hear what Connor might have on his mind.

"It... it's about Y/N."

That's when the old lieutenant's ears perked up and he gulped down the bite before wrapping the sandwich back up in the bread paper.

Hank wasn't stupid. He knew Y/N and Connor had a huge soft spot for each other. But what the two of them were up to in his house, he didn't know.

"I... really like Y/N a lot."

The android sighed as he let himself sink all the way back into the seat and looked outside into the distance.

"Okay. So?"

Hank wondered what was bothering and tormenting the android. Y/N, on the other hand, seemed to be doing better than ever. He knew it was because of Connor, and if Y/N was doing well with the android, then they both had Hank's blessing. But what was Connor racking his brains over?

"Well, last night, we got closer. I... You... Well, Hank..."

"God, Connor, no! What have you been doing on my couch?! I sleep on there most of the time, for God sake!"

"Easy Hank! We haven't done anything!"

"I should hope so!"

Hank grumbled deeply, and sighed another deep "God." As much as he liked the two of them, his couch was not being messed with!

Hank took a big gulp of his drink before looking at Connor, waiting for him to continue talking.

"Connor, come on. What's wrong?"

"I keep thinking about Steven. About what else must have happened that night. I can't stand the thought of that asshole raping her!"

Hank nodded silently as he continued to listen to Connor. He listened to him pour out his whole heart. Hank could understand that this whole story had hurt him and he knew why it had. The lieutenant smiled slightly as it only proved how much Connor liked Y/N.

"Hank, I care a lot for Y/N and I want to be closer to her. But how can I do that if I don't know if..."

♦♦♦♦

"Listen, son. I know it's not an easy situation. Shit, I mean! There's a lot you're feeling all at once!"

Hank could guess how hard it must be for Connor to understand and accept how many feelings were coming at him. That Connor was more unsettled didn't surprise the lieutenant.

"Hank... what else happened that night?"

There had been another interview at the police station, but Connor had not been there. Hank, accordingly, knew more than he did.

"I can't ask her about it! She's starting to get better and I don't want to ruin her mood by bringing up this guy. I just... can't stand to see her tortured!"

"Connor..."

"Lieutenant... please..."

Hank saw that lost look on Connor's face, saw how distraught he was. Hank sighed softly, nodded gently several times.

"Okay. Okay, Connor..."

Maybe Y/N should tell on his own, but he couldn't keep Connor in the dark. The android was so desperate and probably didn't trust himself to approach Y/N about the evening.

"She described everything to me again. And she..."

But he didn't get any further; the suspect was just leaving the building across the street and there was no way Hank was going to lose sight of him, especially since the suspected guy seemed to be in a hurry.

"Shit... We've got to get after him!"

Connor sighed, because the timing couldn't have been shittier. Together with Lieutenant Hank, he left the car. The conversation between Connor and Hank would probably have to wait...

Hank's house

10 August 2040 - 19:14

Michigan, Detroit

Y/N was emptying the dishwasher. She was helping Hank out a bit as long as she got to live with him. In a week, she could then move into her own apartment, which was not far from Hank's place. The thought comforted her, knowing that she would always have a place of refuge if she ever needed anything. Although she was alone more often than not, she felt especially lonely at the moment. She had made great progress with her fears and memories regarding Steven but every now and then, unpleasant memories would come up. As she cleaned up the dishes, she thought of all the times Steven had called her stupid, because she might have burned the food once or, in his opinion, salted it indelibly. Or all the times the kitchen wasn't tidy enough. These many, little things kept coming back to her, hurting her deeply, and Y/N wondered what she had done to deserve such treatment. Why had Steven tortured her like this? After all, he could have left if he had been so unhappy with her. But instead he had chosen to turn her life into a living hell.

The first tears formed in her eyes, obscuring her vision, but she made no sound. She just let the tears run down her face, her cheeks began to glow, until she eventually sobbed out loud. Instantly, she put aside the cup she had been holding and leaned against the counter, burying her face in her hands as she finally burst into tears. Y/N didn't know what was happening to her. But from the looks of it, the pain was still so deep inside her that she wanted to cry. So much had built up inside her.

"Y/N?"

The young woman startled slightly when she heard Hank's voice and when she turned around, she accidentally threw one of the plates on the floor, which then lay in two halves in front of her. Y/N looked at the plate, feeling just as broken and lost at the moment.

"Hey, kiddo. Connor's with... me..."

Hank saw the young woman's face and instantly worried about her. He fell silent, but walked up to her and stopped right in front of her.

"Sorry... I didn't mean to" she whispered, pointing at the broken plate. But Hank just smiled warmly at her and shook his head. What did one broken object matter? Nothing at all.

"It's all right, sweetheart. It's okay..."

Y/N snuggled into the Lieutenant's arms, crying softly as he just held her. Connor watched the whole thing from the living room and suffered with Y/N.

"Hank..."

The young woman sobbed, burying her face deeper against his chest, and he just held her quietly for as long as she wanted. The lieutenant glanced at Hank and the android returned his gaze with a pained expression...

It was still the same night and Y/N came only slowly to rest. It was already one o'clock in the morning, but she was still awake in Connor's arms. It was good to have him around, to feel how much security and love he gave her. At some point her tears had dried up as well, only silence surrounded them both in the arms of the night. Here, in their room, in the soft sheets.

"Nothing was ever right for him. There was always a reason he got violent. Always a reason to yell at me..."

Outside, a heavy summer rain was raging. Now and then you could hear it thundering softly.

"..."

Connor clenched his jaw tightly as he stroked her hair gently, though.

"I was thinking about him. Sometimes... in one moment, these memories come up and I can't turn them off. It's like I'm still seeing everything clearly in front of me," she whispered.

"Y/N..."

"And in those moments I feel helpless, alone and lost..."

Connor squeezed her gently, pressing a kiss to her head, closing his eyes as he did so.

"And that awful night, he tried to.... me..."

The young woman could hardly say it, too hideous was simply the memory of what had happened. She had just seen that knife in front of her, had screamed for him to stop this shit. But his look had been so cold. So empty and cold... as if a demon had looked at her. A soulless being. Yes, that was the correct term.

"Did... he rape you, Y/N?"

Connor needed to know, and he needed to know everything. Hank hadn't told him in the end, because in the end it was Y/N's decision to talk about the details.

"..."

Y/N remained silent for a long time and Connor thought his heart was about to jump out of his chest. Had he gotten too close to her after all? He didn't move, but waited for any reaction from her.

"He... forced himself on me. Tried to take by force what I wouldn't give him. But I didn't let that happen, Connor..."

Hearing her words, relief showed on his face. Connor closed his eyes, processing her words, hugging her tighter again.

"And then he got really angry, hitting me, ripping my clothes, trying to intimidate me. But I wasn't going to take it anymore, Connor. It had to end," she softly stated. "That's when I ran out of the house and called Hank."

Connor remembered the call very well. They had been on the scene within minutes and had found Y/N. Terrified and shaking all over.

"Then I saw him... with the knife in his hand, he had come outside to me. And..."

She broke off the conversation, not wanting to talk about it anymore, not being able to. It was so damn hard for her.

"It's okay. It's okay, Y/N... You go to sleep now..." She had to be very exhausted. "I'll stay with you."

"Thank you, Connor... I'm so glad to have found you. I love you," she whispered as she closed her eyes. Connor had to comprehend her words first, his LED light turned yellow, rotating rapidly, and he blinked a few times before answering her.

"I..." He moistened his lips with his tongue "I love you too, Y/N. Very much..."

You were sleeping so peacefully and I didn't have the heart to wake you. I miss you already and can't wait to hold you in my arms tonight.

The next morning the sun was shining. There was no trace of the thunderstorm that had raged during the night. It was early in the morning when Y/N woke up. She had expected Connor to be lying next to her, but that was not the case. Slowly she opened her eyes and found the side of the bed next to her empty.

"Connor?"

Presumably he had already left for work. As Y/N slowly sat up, she saw a red rose placed next to her on the empty side of the bed. A soft smile crept onto her lips. Connor had also left a little note...

I love you.

Connor

Y/N took the rose and smelled it. A very delicate fragrance emanated from it and she took great pleasure in Connor's gesture. Her heart beat like crazy when she thought of how they had both confessed their love to each other. It had come easily to her lips and she was incredibly happy to have finally said it.

Next chapter coming soon...

[marielle-heller]

So let me get this straight: you want me to reopen the case of a dirty officer so you can clear his name by implicating his partner-- If you just follow me to Kevin’s house right now, I can prove it. You gotta believe me.

Burn Notice 4x16: Dead or Alive

[eluvion]

sometimes i think. abt roy mustang

[roweidens]

Часть 2

<<< Предыдущая страница

Проговорился! Эйден, у нас у всех МАЛЕНЬКИЙ КРАШ на лейтенанта Роу, это абсолютно нормально

Прекрасное зрелище - смущенный пилигрим

Это признание! Эйден наконец-то осознал свои чувства к Роу!

И признал свои чувства

"Под деревом", ты ж наш лесной романтик

Это прекрасно. Наш смелый пилигрим вот-вот готов признаться лейтенанту Роу в своих чувствах

Наш довольный котеночек аж светится. Признание Роу в самое сердце. Прекрасное

[jvhdb]

kim while harry starts a huge fire in a civilian area where people were killed and stands in front of it screaming at god

[searchingwardrobes]

Scarborough Fair: 3/?

Here it is! Just as promised: a second update in one week plus a cute Captain Swan reunion. More like Lieutenant Duckling, but still cute. Don’t get too comfortable, though, because there is major angst ahead (please check tags). And did I mention this is a slow burn? Cause it’s slooooow . . . 

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)

Words:2k+ in this chapter

Chapters: One | Two

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  (let me know if you wish to be removed or added):  @snowbellewells @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18​  @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx​ @zaharadessert​ @huntressandlioness1

Emma heard Anna shriek on the other side of the dressing room door. She chuckled as she finished zipping up the slinky one-shouldered silver prom dress she was trying on. She stepped out to find Anna squealing happily as she spun in front of the one hundred-and-eighty-degree mirror. It was a strapless deep purple ball gown with a sequined, heart-shaped neckline and a wide lavender sash.  

“Your favorite color,” Emma pointed out with a smile. 

“I know,” Anna gushed. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“You both look beautiful,” Ingrid told them from her spot on a leather sofa nearby. 

“Can I get this one?” Anna begged. “Please, please, please?”

“Of course,” Ingrid laughed.

Anna squealed again, and after twirling a few more times in front of the mirror, bounced back into the dressing room. 

“Are you sure?” Emma asked Ingrid once her sister had shut the door behind her.

Her foster mother waved off her concerns with a sparkle in her eyes. “I set a budget, and I checked every price tag just as fast as Anna was pulling them off the racks.”

Emma laughed and then turned back to look at her own reflection. She tilted her head as she examined her reflection, rubbing her hands along the shimmery fabric. 

“It’s beautiful on you,” Ingrid spoke up. 

It was, Emma had to admit. She looked both ethereal and sexy at the same time. She bit her lip as she studied herself longer. It just wasn’t right, however. It wasn’t her.

“When it’s the right one, you’ll know,” Anna told her as she exited her dressing room with the purple gown draped over her arm.

“I thought that was wedding dresses.”

Anna scoffed, “It’s the same with any important dress.”

Emma sighed. “Okay, well then, this isn’t it.”

“Then let’s keep seeing them,” Anna ordered, shoving Emma back into the dressing room. 

Emma suppressed a groan as she locked the door and leaned against it, eying the line of dresses hanging on the wall wearily.  Three dresses down, two more to go. She really hoped one of these was “the one” because shopping wasn’t exactly her favorite activity. She slipped off the silver dress and stepped into a midnight blue a-line dress. She frowned the minute it was on and called out to her family.

“The slit in this one practically shows my crotch.”

“I’m going dress hunting for more,” Anna announced enthusiastically, and soon she was tossing dress after dress over the dressing room door until Emma was drowning in tulle and satin. She couldn’t walk in the red mermaid dress, the black sequined number broke dress code with a neckline that plunged almost to her navel, and the burgundy off shoulder dress made her look like a bridesmaid. 

“Ugh, this is getting annoying,” Emma muttered as she struggled out the door in an emerald ball gown with the world's most voluminous skirt. She tripped, then righted herself, pushing strands of sweaty hair off her forehead. 

“You look like a princess!” Anna squealed. 

“Yeah, like I’m dressed up for Halloween.”

“It really is beautiful Emma,” Ingrid insisted. 

“I liked the silver one best,” Anna put in. 

“Which dress was that, again?” Emma moaned.

“Umm . . . number two? No, dress three. The one you had on when I picked mine.”

Emma collapsed in front of the mirror, yards of satin making a giant pillow around her. “I just need a minute.”

Ingrid and her sister humored her, chatting about plans for prom and what was going on at school. Talk turned to the summer, and they all expressed how happy they were that Killian was coming home. 

“He’ll be there when we get back, at this rate,” Ingrid mused as she glanced at her watch. She looked up at Emma with concern as soon as the words were out and rushed to clarify. “I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

Emma and her foster mother exchanged humorous smiles. It had been Anna who was most excited about this dress shopping excursion, and here Emma was the one trying on every dress in the store. 

“I don’t know why I’m being so picky.”

“Sweetie, I know you well. You want to be comfortable yet still pretty. You don’t want to feel like you’re playing dress up.”

Emma felt tears well in her eyes at how well Ingrid could read her. 

“Sounds like what Killian would say if he were here.”

Anna wrinkled her nose. “If he were here, he’d make jokes about every dress I tried on, and I’d never find anything.”

“That’s true too,” Emma chuckled. 

“I’m glad I got his room ready yesterday,” Ingrid said.

Emma and Anna exchanged humorous glances. 

“You mean his tower, wicked stepmother?” Anna teased.

“Hey!” Ingrid countered, wagging her finger and trying in vain to hide her smile at the old joke. “We renovated, and it’s very nice up there in the attic. It even has its own bathroom.”

“It had nothing to do with keeping your new teenage stepson away from his teenage stepsisters? Cause ew, I’ve never seen him that way.”

“The boy needed a room, Anna! What was I supposed to do, have him sleep with Emma?”

For some reason, that turn of phrase made Emma’s cheeks heat, and she hurriedly scrambled to her feet to hide her reaction. Gathering the enormous amount of fabric in her hands, she marched back out to the sales floor. 

“Can she do that?” Anna asked Ingrid. 

Emma bypassed the section marked “prom,” and found another section of less formal dresses. She scanned the racks, then grinned broadly as she let go of her skirts with one hand and pulled out a dress with the other. Tripping a little, she turned back towards the dressing rooms. 

“That one’s short,” Anna pointed out when she saw it.

“So? Who says a prom dress has to be long?”

“Are you sure it’s formal enough?”

Emma groaned. “Who cares? It’s a dress, and I like it!”

Anna eyed it skeptically. 

“Let’s at least see it on her,” Ingrid spoke up. 

Emma struggled her way back into the dressing room and wriggled her way out of the monstrous ball gown as fast as she could. The pale pink dress that took its place was so much lighter, she let out an actual sigh. There was almost an Anna-like bounce to her step as she went out to show it to her mom and sister. 

“What do you think?”

“You’re beaming,” Ingrid told her. 

“You look beautiful, Emma,” Anna sighed.

Emma admired her reflection. It was a simple dress, in some ways, but it still worked for prom. The fabric was satiny and the full skirt hit right above her knees. She spun and watched it twirl, grinning. She looked at her reflection again, running her hands along the capped sleeves and the edges of the v neckline. The belt at her waist gave the pretty dress an edgy touch that fit her personality perfectly. 

“This is it,” she breathed out. She may not be in love with her date, but she had just fallen in love with her dress. 

************************************************

When they got home from shopping, boxes were piled up at the bottom of the stairs, but Killian was nowhere to be seen. 

“I think he said he’s taking a shower,” Liam told him, “But his phone rang too as he was heading up stairs.”

Emma frowned, feeling disappointed, which was silly. She’d just rushed into the house eager to see him, that was all. 

“I’m going to start dinner,” Ingrid told them, dropping her purse by the door.

“Let me guess,” Liam said to her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Macaroni and cheese?”

“Of course. It’s Killian’s favorite.”

Liam turned to Anna and Emma with his hands on his hips. “Well, let me see them.” He pretended to be stern. “I can’t let you out of the house for prom until I approve of your attire.”

Emma rolled her eyes while Anna just bounced up the stairs shouting, “Let me put it on!”

Since she was no longer five, Emma had no intention of putting on her own personal prom fashion show like Anna. However, after Liam had oohed and ahhed appropriately, asking Anna to spin for him, they both insisted it was Emma’s turn. 

“Before the fashion show continues,” Ingrid spoke up, “I need someone to set the table.”

Anna insisted that she had kitchen duty so Emma could show off her dress. Emma rolled her eyes and complained, but finally capitulated, dragging herself up the stairs to her room like she was being grounded. Meanwhile, Anna went to the China cabinet and started removing plates and silverware. 

“Put out a tablecloth,” Ingrid told her. “Killian’s home, so we’re kind of celebrating.”

Anna had just finished smoothing the fabric when the doorbell rang. Liam was pulling breaded cod filets out of the oven, so Anna went to get it. 

When the door swung open to reveal the man on the other side, time seemed to slow down. Anna stared, mouth slightly agape. The man stood looking down his nose at the seventeen-year-old girl, both hands clasping the top of his ornate cane. Robert Gold lifted a slender hand to the amulet at his throat, a slow grin filling his face as the girl followed the movement, entranced. She then looked into his eyes with a glazed, stupefied expression. 

“Hello,” she breathed. 

“Hello, dearie, you must be Anna.”

She blushed, her hand fluttering at her throat. “Y-yes, that’s me.”

“Your aunt has invited me for dinner.”

“My aunt invited you for dinner,” Anna repeated, her voice almost cracking on a giggle she could scarcely contain. “Of course, come on in!”

She led him into the warm kitchen, filled with comforting smells and laughter. Ingrid froze when she spun around and saw Robert Gold. Liam stumbled, mesmerized, and collided with his wife. 

“Mr. Gold,” Ingrid gushed, fanning her suddenly flushed face with an oven mitt, “to what do we owe this pleasure?”

Gold lightly touched the amulet again. “You invited me for dinner, remember?”

“Oh. Yes, yes! How could I forget? Um, so Liam, this is Robert Gold. He’s new at work, remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” Liam felt light-headed and unable to look away from the man’s cool eyes. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Gold.”

After Liam shook his hand, the three Jones family members gathered in the kitchen simply stood and stared dazedly at the glorious man who had honored them with his presence. He smiled indulgently at them and gestured around the kitchen. 

“Please, go about your tasks.”

They all chuckled with embarrassment and ran into one another in their haste to get back to the business of dinner. It was then that Emma made her appearance. 

“So the reason it took me so long is shoes. Well, figuring out the bra situation and the shoes.” Still not seeing their guest, Emma stopped halfway down the stairs and lifted first one foot, then the other, each clad in a different shoe. “The white high heels are the obvious choice, but call me crazy, or do my pink polka dot Vans look adorable with this dress?”

Emma suddenly froze when she looked up and saw the strange man standing in her kitchen. Like a game of freeze tag, she stood with one foot cocked, her hand pointing down at her sneaker. 

“The choice is obvious, dearie,” Robert Gold told her, walking slowly towards her.

Something inside of Emma, something dormant and rusty, yet primal, shouted at her to run. Warning bells were clanging like crazy in her head, which made no sense. Her family was moving around the kitchen as if nothing were amiss. This man wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t invited, so why did she feel like he was an interloper?

She saw him reach for a gem hanging about his neck as he drew nearer. He stroked it, and instinct again flooded Emma’s veins. She snapped her gaze away from the necklace and narrowed her eyes at the mysterious man. 

“You can’t go to prom in sneakers,” he chuckled, as if Emma were the most ignorant of girls. “Let me show you -”

He reached out for her, but before he could touch her, Emma jerked backwards and shouted, “No!” 

Several things happened at once then. Ingrid, Liam, and Anna all reprimanded her for her harsh tone. When Emma recoiled from the man before her, she lost her balance while simultaneously crashing into a solid form behind her. Hands steadied her, and a familiar voice broke through her inexplicable panic. 

“I say Emma should wear whatever she bloody well pleases.”

“Killian!” Emma exclaimed, spinning around and throwing her arms around him. 

“Did you miss me?” he chuckled. 

“Of course I did!”

“Emma, go upstairs and get out of that dress so we can eat,” Ingrid said from behind her. 

“Oh, right,” Emma said with a laugh. She grinned up at Killian. His hair was still wet from the shower, his skin slightly damp beneath his Pearl Jam t-shirt. “Vans with this dress, right?”

“Naturally,” he told her, matching her grin. 

“That’s what I thought.” Emma gave him one more welcome home hug, then dashed up the stairs. 

“What the hell am I doing?” Anna asked herself aloud. “I was about to set another place, but we only need five.”

“I guess you were thinking of your sister,” Ingrid said. 

“Yeah, that’s probably it,” Anna replied with a shrug as she stuck the extra plate and set of silverware back in the China cabinet. 

“Glad to see you again, Anna Banana,” Killian teased, flicking the messy braid that lay over Anna’s shoulder. 

“You too, Killy,” she teased back, giving him a quick hug. 

No one in the room seemed to remember their strange visitor from moments before. The only thing Robert Gold left behind was a sense of foreboding pressing on Killian’s chest. Outside, a figure stood in the dark, talking to himself as he watched through the kitchen window. 

“What just happened?”

“I don’t know. The Swan girl and the younger Jones boy seemed resistant to my magic.”

“So what does that mean?”

“Nothing. They aren’t immune. They will break. They all do, eventually.”

“You better give me what I want. You owe me.”

“Trust me. I will not fail.”

[lieutenant--reed]

Max Lloyd-Jones as Zach Bloom in Love, Classified (1/?)

[mercuriiarts]

Waking Nightmare

i really like doing these “screencaps” from moments in Killing Alice, and honestly this is one of my fave moments in the first act because it’s when you realise things are a lot more fucked up than they seem in Wunderland.

So yeah, this is when Xiaoli realises that his personal demon is far more than just a dream :) After waking up from a nightmare he goes to wash his face and stares into the face of death. literally.

Grim is my amalgamation of different myths around the embodiment of the cycle of death. They are a forgotten entity, a legendary dead king from the earliest days of the Fae Realm, soon replaced by the Holly and Oak kings, then the Red and White queens. In looks they take on the appearance of the Grim, a black dog that heralds impending doom, and the Grim reaper as a fleshless skeleton with a singular eye (boy who does that sound like?) Both of these have roots in the original meaning of Grim - the saxon god Grimr, also known later as Woden or Odin as the cultures merged due to their similar properties. Grimr is somewhat overshadowed by his later depictions and we don’t actually know how old Grimr is in terms of his religion, but he was a hunter and a king, wearing an iron battle mask (also known as a grimr, to mean fierce warrior, later understood as savage/sullen today) and he dictated the cycle of life into death. Not a god to be feared as it was seen as a necessary part of life, and a consequence of war, which he also stood for (or more specifically, leading the fallen into the next life). the sad thing is that we know very little about these old Briton mythologies due to the repeated colonisation in the early histories (saxons, angles, romans, vikings, normans, etc) so it’s interesting to find the old truths in what rewrites we have left.

hope you enjoyed my little lore dump ;)

we stan a polite death deity that addresses you correctly when threatening you <3

[rowarn]

soap x reader x simon

soap doesn't know how to make you cum on his cock so he asks his trusted lieutenant to teach him how.

sub!reader, dom!simon, switch?soap, getting fucked by soap in simon's lap, wet&messy, cumming untouched, size difference/kink, threesome, fat dick!soap, MDNI

<3 just some horny nonsense that was spinning in my brain!!!

When Simon found out that sweet Johnny was struggling with something personal and even as embarrassing as making you cum, Simon’s mouth moved faster than his brain with an offer he never thought he would utter.

“I could help you out with that,” he had said, making Soap pause, mouth agape. Simon almost rescinded those words, brushing it off as a crude joke.

But then Soap spoke.

“Would you?” he asked, blue eyes glistening hopefully.

And Simon felt his cock twitch in his jeans.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t make you cum, Soap had defended on the drive over to your shared flat. Soap was good with his tongue and his fingers, could make you squirt by just rubbing that sweet little spot inside your gooey cunt.

The problem was whenever Johnny got his cock in you, he just could never get it right. The pace was wrong, the angle was off, he went too deep – anything that he could do wrong, he would do wrong.

“It’s never been like this with other…partners,” Soap shyly whispered. Though it was dark in the truck, Simon knew his friend was blushing in embarrassment, “I-I don’t know what I’m doin’ wrong this time.”

“Well, we’ll figure it out, Johnny,” Simon assured, shoving the door open the second Soap turned the engine off.

You and Soap lived on the top floor and the elevator ride up was stifling. Soap was fidgeting, clearly more than a little nervous about how this night was meant to go.

You and he had been together for a while – long enough to move in together. Simon wondered what finally made Soap reach out for help on this little problem after so long.

But Simon wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d wanted to get his fucking hands on you from the second you bounced into the room, radiant and so sweet in the way you shyly clung to Soap’s arm. You were precious and Simon’s not proud to admit he had gone home and tugged his cock fucking raw over the way you had batted your pretty lashes at him when you looked up at him – so much smaller than him.

He knew he would be a fucking wreck the second he had you within his grasp and fuck, he was right.

His hands were shaking as he held you in his lap, gripping your knees to keep you spread wide for Soap to slot his hips between them.

You were a sensitive little thing, Simon learned. You came so easily around Soaps fingers when he worked to stretch you open for him. If you came so easily then why the fuck couldn’t Johnny get you off from his cock?

You were trembling, wide eyes teary as you watched your boyfriend carefully work his cock into you. The stretch was always so good, always making your eyes roll back in your head. Your cunt was so slick and sticky, eagerly swallowing every inch of Soap. So fucking messy. It made Simon's mouth fill with saliva at the sight of how wet you were, he wanted to taste you so badly.

Johnnys cock was fat, thick and heavy, no doubt burning your poor little cunt with how wide he had you stretched around him. You creamed around him, juices dribbling down his balls and wetting his sweatpants. You even dripped all over Simon who held you in his lap.

When Johnny started thrusting, Simon immediately understood why you couldn't seem to cum. Sure, it felt good, and you were moaning - twitching and gasping every time Soap sunk in and brushed against any sweet little spot inside. But Soaps rhythm and pace were inconsistent and he didn't seem to have any idea how to aim his cock to really hit those gooey spots that would have you falling over the edge into bliss.

Simon took a few moments to admire the scene unfolding right in his lap. You, creaming all over a cock that couldn't make you cum. Soap desperately humping your pretty cunt haphazardly and sloppily. He wasn't even bothering to touch your clit. Beneath his mask, Simon grinned.

It was so cute how Johnny went so stupid the second he got his cock wrapped up in a tight, hot pussy.

“Johnny…” Simon finally spoke, “Slow down.”

Immediately, Soap did as he was told. His pace slowed, careful rolls of his hips replacing the jackhammering.

“There's a good boy,” Simon praised, eyes darkening at the sight of Soap’s ears turning red, “Go nice ‘nd deep You gotta hit all those nice spots inside.”

Soap’s pretty, blue eyes were half-lidded as he watched you writhe and twitch in his Lieutenant’s arms. With every deep stroke, both of them could hear the sticky, wet noises of your pussy swallowing every inch.

One of Simon’s hands trailed down your thigh, inching down and down. Soap’s eyes followed every movement until his fingers finally found your hard little clit. Immediately, your cunt clamped down around Soap’s cock and the Scot moaned.

“You gotta touch this cute little clit,” Simon teased, “If you really wanna know how it feels to have a pretty cunt cum around you.”

Soap nonsensically nodded, blunt nails digging into your hips as he held himself back from fucking you like a madman again. He kept Simon’s words in mind - deep and slow. Aim for those little spots. He knows where they are, he knows where it feels good. Just don't think with his cock - that's all he had to do.

With Simon’s callused fingers swirling over your sticky clit and Soap’s fat cock stuffing you full just right, it came as no surprise when you finally came.

Soap wasn't able to stand how good it felt with how tight you were squeezing around him, pulsing through every wave of your orgasm. You were gushing, creaming sticky and wet all over him. Simon could feel you clit twitching under the pads of his fingers.

With a shout, Soap filled you up with his load, “Fuck!”

As the two of you came down, Simon’s big hands carefully stroked up and down your thighs until their trembling ceased.

“You know, Lt,” Soap panted, looking up at him through his lashes, “I think I could use a little more hands on training. How about you really show me how it's done.”

Even though Simon had quietly came in his own pants, his cock was chubbing up again at those words.

“I like the sound of that, Seargent.”

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