#poly rights

[mar-im-o]

The Watcher's hands weave threads of green and gold and red throughout those Grian loves.

And in those threads the Watchers tie souls. Souls bound in love. Souls bound in pain. Souls bound between one another. Some try to fight it--insisting that they are not soulmates, that their soul belongs to another, but it's a tiresome, futile effort to reject the manipulation of the soul.

Not that Grian thinks so.

He's seen how the others react as they try to reject their soulmates. Scott thinks of Pearl constantly, dotes on her well-being, obsessively calls her to him under the guise of toying with her. Martyn sobs for Cleo. BDubs panics when Impulse is too far from him.

The Watcher's threads are strong.

But not to Grian.

"We're not soulmates," he insists one evening, the harsh words riding on the breeze rushing pass their base and off into the ravine.

He's perched atop pointed dripstone, watching lazily as Scar puts the Jellie pandas to sleep. His friend looks up at Grian with a start, brow quirked in a teasing glance. "Oh?"

"Yep," Grian goes on. Clipped wings help him leap from the cake and onto the perimeter of the Jellie Sanctuary. "Big B's my soulmate now. Just so you know."

Scar snorts then turns back the Jellies, feeding one bamboo. "Well, alright then!"

Grian squints. "Seriously. I'm leaving you. Big B and I are running away together."

"Right."

"Far away," Grian says, placing emphasis on the distance as he looks to the sky, pretending not to be drinking in Scar's every reaction. "We're gonna build our own ranch in the mountains. Farm goats."

"Sounds nice."

"Without you."

"Just remember to eat," Scar says with hum, scratching beneath a Jellie's chin. "I'll try not to get us on Red!"

But the red has already infiltrated Grian's soul, shown through a burning in his cheeks. He puffs them out in frustration (a little more bird-like than he'd prefer) feathers at his back fluffing in a similar response as he jumps into the sanctuary.

It spooks the Jellies and a few grumble in response, the one nearly tipping Scar's chair backwards. Scar rights himself with a laugh, finally meeting Grian's eyes.

And he's fine. No hidden jealousy, no subtle longing. Nothing. He's...

He's fine.

Grian puffs up a bit more. "Do you not care if I leave?"

Scar finally seems to register Grian's tone and sobers. He tilts his head, full attention on Grian.

Finally.

"Do you want me to?" Scar asks, and Grian feels like he could explode.

"YES!! We're soulmates! We should be doing what the others are, shouldn't we? Being alone should sound miserable!"

Scar just offers a confused chuckle, looking around the sanctuary as if the Jellies could help him escape. "Well it doesn't sound fun but I don't own you, G. If you want to leave, you can leave!"

"But--" Grian fumbles for words, trying his best to soothe a soul that won't calm. He ends up just crossing his arms. "This isn't how the game goes. Everyone else--they want to be together, they're obsessed with each other. Why aren't we?"

"Because we're not them?" Scar guesses. He's clicked off his brakes so he can move closer to Grian, offering a hand. "Why do you want to be?"

Grian looks away from the open palm.

He doesn't know. He doesn't know why this is so important to him, why he wants to see Scar get worked up and angry and insist that they're meant to be together. He doesn't know why this has him panicking.

Everyone else--their soulmates are their everythings, but no matter what Grian does, Scar's attention can easily find something else. Does that mean he doesn't care?

"Gri?"

Grian sniffs. "You do care, right? About me? You like being soulmates?"

Scar laughs, a bit more genuine in his surprise. "Of course I do! Did you think I didn't?"

"Maybe?" Grian shrugs and, finally, places a hand in Scar's offered palm. Familiar fingers wrap around his, and he's happy to let the sensation calm him. "I just don't get why it hasn't affected us like everyone else. Guess I figured something was wrong."

"Something wrong--?" Scar shakes his head and tugs an unsuspecting Grian forward, the man squawking a bit as he falls forward and into Scar's lap. Scar immediately traps him in a hug, pressing their foreheads together.

When he speaks again it's with a fond smile and a faux British accent. "'I am in your service until you lose your first life'."

The anger disperses at the poor mockery and Grian snorts, making an attempt to shove Scar away. "That's borderline offensive!"

Scar only pulls Grian closer, a teasing glint in his eye. "'I don't want to see him go! I just can't let him go!'"

"Alright," Grian laughs, and he gives in. He melts in Scar's arms, wings a curtain of feathers separating them from the Jellies. And they're alone. And they're together. And Grian is putty in Scar's lap, sturdy arms holding him close. "What's all this then?"

"Proof," Scar says, voice normal again. "And accent practice."

Grian shakes his head. "Needs work. And proof of what?"

"That we're soulmates." Scar's hand moves from Grian's back to his chest, plucking the ethereal thread between them. "The Watchers didn't tie this, Grian. We did. Back when this all started."

"I don't--"

"If we aren't like everyone else, it's because they're all new to this! They've never been bound to someone else before. But we have." Scar's fingers roll into an open palm pressed firmly over Grian's heart. He can feel his heart race at the sensation, and Scar's follows. "We're soulmates, Grian."

And Grian collapses. Tears which threatened his eyes spill and he shifts to wrap his arms around Scar, chests pressed together so that two synced hearts might combine. He buries his face in Scar's neck and Scar holds him.

Scar holds him.

"We're soulmates," Grian whispers to the wind and the evening stars.

And a loyal partner whispers back: "We're soulmates."

[flowinniego]

the chances of poly!stolitz are pretty slim

but never zero

[phoenix-is-the-hottest-thing]

fuck it here's chapter 1 of the vitaseele fic

You can read it here! Do leave a comment if you can I'm going a little insane

[jelliclekay]

I think there should be more poly Cats content, send me your favorite poly ships/headcanons <3

[tiawesomeness]

Like im not poly but i think polyamoury is great. Its like my partner comes with a free friend. Like the extra chip at the bottom of the mcdonalds bag for relationships. Love that

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Rainstar said poly rights!

As many of you have already been told, Rainbur's first mate was Blossomtuft until she died.

She died when their kit was still in the nursery, and Amberthistle (another queen in the nursery with a slightly younger litter) became a sort of mother-figure to her. Rainbur and Amberthistle would thus raise their kits together, but it wasn't until their daughters (adoptive and bio) both became apprentices that they became mates (after almost a full moon of finding excuses to be around each other because they could no longer use the daughter excuse until they were finally pushed to just admit their feelings).

Amberthistle was mates with Hazebird (don't worry if this a surprise, it should be--I didn't decide that they had been mates until now). They broke up for reasons that I have yet to decide, though they did love each other deeply and both continued to be present in their daughter's life. They also get back together in StarClan, which further complicates why they broke up in the first place...if you have any ideas, lmk!

In StarClan, instead of parting to have a singular mate, why not just join together as a poly? So that's what they did!

While they were discussion this, Hazebird admitted that he had had feelings for Blossomtuft for a long time (though refused to admit if putting gross stuff in her food or old bedding in her nest was actually his way of flirting--like a little boy pulling on a little girl's pigtails).

This is probably the first and possibly only 'hetero' poly I'll have, as they're only mates with the opposite sex.

Rainbur's mates: Blossomtuft + Amberthistle

Amberthistle's mates: Rainbstar + Hazebird

Blossomtuft's mates: Rainstar + Hazebird

Hazebird's mates: Amberthistle + Blossomtuft

----

The proportions are a bit off (Rainstar is sadly not a giant lol) but this is the only four-cat poly base I could find! Here the blank version is: F2U Valentine cat couple. by Bluefox002adopts on DeviantArt

[measureyourlifeincake]

i was gonna make a post like "this pride month, pour one out for the polyam folks for having the worst flag"

(and like, i know theres been a bunch of flags, but this is the one i've seen the most)

however! when i went to google the polyam flag, i found this website, where they apparently held a vote for a new flag that accurately represented the community (and, presumably, didn't look like absolute dogshit), and they apparently settled on this one!

i hadn't seen it before, but I think it looks really nice and if you check their website, it seems like they have good reasoning/backing/community support, so I really hope I see it around more!!!

[venusdeservedbetter]

Makoto x Ami x Usagi

Or, “Makoto has two hands”.

[satoruxx]

just saying shoko would be the type of girl to hold your face in both her palms when she kisses you, her fingers brushing over the swell of your cheeks. occasionally she’ll hum and chuckle against your mouth because god are you sweet when you’re all caught off guard and flustered.

while suguru would be the type to put his large palm around the back of your neck, gently tugging your face forward until his lips are on yours—all the while letting his thumb rub over your jaw. his touches are so gentle and yet so sure, and somehow you find yourself nestled in his lap as he continues to kiss you.

but satoru would be the type to tangle his fingers in your hair, wild and messy and yet still somehow soft. his lips are eager as his hands brush strands away from your face at first, before he finally threads them through your hair firmly—doesn’t want you getting away until he’s had enough of you.

[mar-im-o]

Hello hello! with the writing prompts I would love to read a boat boys with number 8 and realizing feelings if you’re up for it :)

8. Reluctantly

-

“We are not soulmates.”

The Watcher’s game has started anew, and it’s with a thrumming headache that Joel awakens. The group is together, anxious buzz in the air as they discuss the rules Grian has explained to them.

Three lives.

The Red Curse.

And they’re bound to their soulmates.

Soulmates…

Which, Joel has since decided based purely on spite and a bit of hunger, is absolute rubbish.

“We’re not soulmates,” Joel insists once more, callused hands busy as he shoves starting resources into a chest. His start has gone relatively well and, frankly, quick, largely in avoidance of his thoughts.

Or to ignore the shocks of pain through his body whenever Etho gets hurt.

Because, according to the rules of this game, Etho is his soulmate.

Etho…

“You keep saying that,” Etho says bluntly. His eyes are shut from where he’s collapsed on the hill with an exhaustion shared between the two of them after a day of building and collecting. There’s a tightness to Joel’s back he’s unfamiliar with, and he can only assume it's a regularity of his partner.

Not that they’re partners.

“Do you want to know who my soulmate is?”

“Is it Lizzie?”

“It’s Lizzie!” Joel insists, entirely ignoring his other half. “My lovely wife who is epic and awesome and one time she pretty much single-handedly killed a wither for me! Bloody incredible, innit.”

Etho lets out a sharp exhale in amusement. “That’s pretty incredible, yeah.”

“So don’t get any funny ideas mister.”

“Hey,” Etho peeks an eye open, raising his hands in a mock surrender. “No need to worry about me.”

“Good.” Joel nods stiffly, turning to consider the space he has to work with. He’s thinking something fun for their base this season. A ship, perhaps.

Not that they’re soulmates at all.

***

“We aren’t soulmates,” Joel says.

Just a reminder. A tired, tired reminder from where he lays in bed, eyes longing to shut as he stares overhead. His entire body aches, muscles and bones singing with the echoes of Death and Respawning. The hearts on his wrist flash yellow in a grim reminder of what’s been lost, and he tries his best not to think about it.

Etho, on the other hand, is making it quite hard to sleep off their mistakes from where he stands over Joel’s bed, finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t say we were.”

“I only share a bed with my wife, Mr. Labs.”

And Etho sighs, the same exhaustion Joel feels ringing through him. “We don’t have enough wool.”

“Go bug Grian for some.”

“Joel–”

The words are tinged with a desperation Joel isn’t used to and it draws his attention towards Etho.

He’s… tired. Vulnerable. A state of being Joel never would have expected to see in him.

Etho, the feared survivor, the fury behind the sword, carrier of destruction and ruin for any leader who evokes his name.

Etho, exhausted, desperate to lay down after a long, long day.

And there’s something within Joel’s chest that flutters and shifts.

And he shifts too, scooting over to make room for Etho in the bed.

Etho falls forward, facefirst into a pillow with a relieved huff, voice muddled under downy feathers as he gives a “thank you”.

Joel smiles. “No problem mate.”

He focuses on the distance between them, focuses on the fact that they are not touching, that they will not touch, until that focus lulls Joel to sleep.

When he wakes curled around Etho’s arm, he quickly makes himself absent.

Because they are not soulmates.

***

“This isn’t because we’re soulmates,” Joel insists.

He’s positively beaming, though, bouncing a bit as he shows Grian his new shirt. It’s a poorly made design, but a functional one with an approximate likeness to Etho pasted on the front, big and baggy and draped over his armor. 

Grian laughs in surprise, head tilted as he attempts to make sense of the craft project. “It’s Etho?”

“Definitely Etho.” Scar agrees. He’d been trying to wrangle some pandas when Joel arrived but has, since, been thwarted by Grian perched on the back of his wheelchair, arms draped over his shoulders lazily.

“And you’re wearing a shirt of him because…?”

“Because I’m his biggest fan!”

It’s the only logical conclusion Joel has been able to come to.

In the days that have passed, Etho has been the only thing on Joel’s mind. He worries about him, heart pounding when he’s out of sight, quick to throw himself into danger if it means it’ll spare Etho the trouble, even finding himself curiously disappointed when they found enough wool to make Etho his own bed.

He’s like a parasite, that one, invading Joel’s thoughts and making his stomach turn all weird and butterfly-like.

It’s ridiculous.

“And you’re not soulmates?” Grian asks slowly, and Joel gives a hard nod.

“Of course not! Lizzie’s my soulmate.”

“The Watcher’s didn’t bring Lizzie.”

“Right,” Joel agrees, “Because she’s too awesome and epic for them.”

“And not at all because there’s another soulmate of yours they wanted to bind you to?”

He hadn’t considered that, really… Joel swallows, trying his best to wet a cottoned mouth. “Lizzie’s my soulmate,” he repeats, though there’s an air of uncertainty to it now. “Not Joel.”

Scar tuts as he strips some bamboo for a few waiting pandas. “How mono genius of you.”

“He means monogamous,” Grian clarifies, and all Joel can do is frown. 

“I don’t know what that means.”

Grian snorts and, finally, leaves his perch, earning a thank you from Scar as he begins work again on their base. “Have fun with your not-soulmate, Joel!”

The words are teasing in a way Joel can’t place and he’s left watching Grian as he heads off to build his cake.

Whatever the taunt, Joel ignores it. There’s no reason to linger on Grian’s tricks.

Because Etho is not his soulmate.

***

“Are we soulmates…?”

He’s… different. Death and Respawn have come again and with it the Red Curse.

It’s nothing he’s not used to. These games tend to go the worse for him, and he finds himself eerily familiar with the curse of blood and death. By all means he should hate it, should hate the way it twists his thoughts and makes him loathe his friends, but he doesn’t. It’s a comfort, really, to fall into the hands of this curse. It’s a sign that the Game’s almost through.

But he can’t think straight. Not because of the usual–not because of his anger towards Grian and Scar or his bloodlust or all the horrible wants that have filled his mind.

Because of Etho.

Because Etho is red, too. Because Etho lost his life because of Joel. Because Etho is pacing the deck of the ship now, struggling to make sense of effects of the curse and watching the tips of his fingers turn gray with their first spilled blood.

And Joel is watching Etho.

The question catches Joel off-guard. “Sorry, what was that?”

Etho turns away, eyes finding the line of Pillagers shouting angrily from behind a wall. “Nothing. I know the answer.”

He does. Since this game’s begun Joel has made the answer to that question quite clear.

They’re not soulmates.

Right…?

“I just–” Etho sighs, leaning forward against the railing to look out past the world border. “Look, don’t get all weird on me. I just–you dying when you fell? That’s been bothering me.”

Joel snorts, watching Etho’s back. “You and me both, mate.”

“I’m not angry,” Etho says. “I’m worried, I guess. Worried like I do about BDubs. And it’s surprised me. Didn’t think I worried about anyone like I do him. And you keep insisting you’re not soulmates and, well, I’m not one to argue! Fine by me!

“But then I saw you fall, and for a split second you were dead and I wasn’t and that second was agony. It was like everything of yours I’ve been feeling for the last month was suddenly gone. I was–I was alone.”

“Sounds nice,” Joel lies. He’s staring at Etho still, brows furrowed, hands kneading between one another as he tries so very hard to ignore the way his heart’s racing and his stomach’s shifting. 

Lizzie is his soulmate.

Not Etho.

“Does it?”

Etho throws a glance over his shoulder and the two lock eyes.

And for the first time since the Game’s begun, Joel stops to wonder if the butterflies in his stomach are his or Etho’s.

“Red life,” Etho says quietly, more so to the air than to Joel. “We’re almost done.”

Joel can’t find the strength to speak. He nods. 

“I don’t think I want to be alone, Joel.”

And he doesn’t either. Mojang above he doesn’t want to be alone, and he suddenly feels it all over. He feels it in the way his heart races and fingers itch to find Etho's. He feels it in the warmth in his cheeks and the pain in his back and the scars on his shoulders and by Mojang he doesn't want to be alone he’s not ready for this season to end.

Etho’s crossing the space now, and something in Joel screams at him to get up, to back away, to put some space between them.

Maybe Etho feels the same. He pauses with a foot between them, red-stained eyes searching Joel’s nervous form.

And Etho smiles.

“Do you think we can have more than one soulmate, Joel?”

And the words still aren’t there. Nothing is there, not the world, not the Game, not the Watchers nor the Curse.

It’s just Joel and Etho.

And amidst that nothing, Joel nods.

The two melt, falling towards each other, eager to close the space they’ve been so insistent on keeping between them. Joel throws himself at Etho, arms crossing behind his neck, chests pressed together until Etho stumbles, back against the mast to steady the two as they slide to the floor.

They’re hugging each other, Joel’s face buried in Etho’s shoulder, Etho’s hands tight around his waist. They’re hugging.

And they don’t let go.

When Joel wakes, it’s dark out, moonlight peeking in from gaps between the deck's planks. At some point the two must have moved under the deck, and they’re together, again, in Joel’s bed. 

For a moment, he considers this all wrong. He thinks he should move out of the way, put some distance between them.

But he doesn’t.

Etho hums in his sleep, and Joel curls into him.

He quite thinks he’d like Lizzie by his side, and maybe BDubs by Etho’s.

And that’s okay.

“We’re soulmates,” Joel whispers to a sleeping room.

And the world whispers back that they are.

[soap-ify]

nsfw , minors dni .

okay but what if poly!141 with owner!price and hybrid pets!reader, ghost, gaz and soap

price adored his taskforce a lot. operating alongside powerful and trained dog hybrids was surely an experience, especially when he himself was just a human and the others treated him as if he was their owner. he started having a thing for it too, especially since ghost, gaz and soap were just so ruthless in the battlefield but with him? they were just some pups needy for his attention!

price thought that he didn't need anyone else other than his three beloveds, but that all changed when you came along.

you were recommended into the team by laswell herself — your reports are nothing short of outstanding and guess what? you also happened to be a hybrid. you were a great fit for the team.

you felt confused and anxious when you first met the whole team. price was more than welcoming, stern yet warm in his greeting as he introduced you to the others and went over the expectations. you were somewhat relieved to find hybrids like you — especially ones that were trained in similar harsh environments in order to be perfect for the military. humans seemed to either despise or fear hybrids — but price wasn't like them.

it didn't take you long to finally be aware of the dynamic they all had.

soap was the first one to be all comfortable and touchy with you amongst the other two hybrids. he was energetic and a menace, wagging his tail while he had trapped you beneath him, your gaze all confused and shy. "ye are such a sweet wee pup." he cooed, smothering your face up with kisses while simultaneously grinding his hips with yours. it wasn't long until you had started to hump against him too, feeling just so horny and warm, puppy ears twitching happily.

gaz had caught you and soap grinding against one another like some damn dogs in heat — which you guys technically were. he was all pouty and moody about the fact that you two were having all the fun without him. how cruel! he was quick to pounce onto the bed, grabbing your face and pulling you into a sweet kiss, eager to taste the adorable new pup in their team. he was more gentle than soap, but playful in his own way too, nipping on your sensitive puppy ears to watch your eyes glisten up with unshed tears while you were lost in this blissful tangled mess you were trapped in.

the night had ended with both of them rutting into you — gaz laying on his bed with you on top of his, his chest pressed against your back while his cock was nicely stretching your tight ass whereas soap was on top of you both, his cock ramming into your soaking cunt so desperately while his hands pawed at your tits through your shirt, both of the pups already so lovestruck by you, their cum dripping out of your holes.

ghost had always kept his distance from you ever since you had joined the taskforce about two months ago. you had started thinking that maybe he loathed you or something, but that all changed when you had sheepishly made your way to him in the middle of the night, visibly shaken up from an awful nightmare you had, your cheeks streaked with tears. you didn't even know why you had come to him out of the other two hybrids or even price. maybe because your room was the nearest to his. ghost would have initially kicked you out, but seeing this new pup so vulnerable pulled at the strings of his heart.

he had scooped you up in his big, strong arms and let your face nuzzle into his firm chest while you laid on top of him, soft sobs leaving your lips while you vented on and on about how the nightmares never stopped ever since you were initially rescued from the place where they tortured and trained the hybrids. a damaged pup just like him, he thought while his large hand gently rubbed the back of your head. your cries had slowly died down into soft sniffles, those teary eyes of yours gazing at his face so fondly — unmasked and fully bare for you. it was the first time he didn't bother putting a mask around you after all.

he had let you stay in his room for the night, his sweatpants lazily tugged down as his cock dragged in and out of your sweet tight cunt, his thumb playing with your clit to make you forget about all your troubles, your head nuzzled into the crook of his neck. he didn’t bother pulling out even when you had fallen asleep, relishing in the way your warm wet walls were wrapped around his shaft, unconsciously clenching.

price had waited until you were nice and comfortable with all his pups. of course he knew about the naughty little things you had been doing with the other three. and even though he had wanted it to happen, he didn’t let the opportunity of teasing you pass away.

he had you splayed on his lap, your mouth clumsily sucking on his cock while his large callused hand delivered firm slaps on the soft flesh of your ass, the sting causing your tail to flinch and straighten up while you whimpered around his cock, sobbing. “tsk, such a bad pet. getting stuffed with my pups’ cocks without me knowing?” he would huff some smoke out after taking another hit from his cigar.

he wasn’t a big meanie though! he kept caressing all the slap marks on your ass after he was done spanking you, his other hand giving you the head pats that you craved so badly from your owner, his cock still stuffed in your pretty mouth.

“be a good girl f’me, hm?”

you eagerly nodded, his hand pulling your head up from his cock to give you a kiss.

sometimes, price would let you all have fun together with him. you and soap would messily be sucking on his thick cock while gaz would be clumsily rubbing his angrily flushed cock on price's hand, pleading to cum since price had been edging him for hours. ghost on the other hand was given permission to fuck you since he was price's good lieutenant — always quick to finish tasks. so while you were on your knees sucking price's cock, ghost was already behind you, working your sweet cunt open with his fingers so he could fuck you later, soap whining besides you since he also wants to be fucked by his lt!

they all were smitten for you, and it was only a matter of fact until you'd fall in love with them too — unless you already were.

[mentally-retired]

as a polyarmous queer person i hate how a lot of queer content is inherently jealously driven

im over here like "hm? there a cute guy? omg babe slay no i dont just say yes i encourage you to kiss him babe."

like omg? my partner? has mad rizz? slay kiss all you want just give me a heads up

i wanna see more representation of that

because polyarmous love is beautiful too

its not any less loving because i have just so much love to give

we are capable of loving so many just as much as we love one, isn't queerness about unique love?

we need to celebrate polyamory more

[montereybayaquarium]

Sneaking out of the office early on a Friday like…

Deep-sea giant isopods use their 14 legs to tiptoe along the seafloor. When the need to move a little more quickly arises, they fan out their uropod and pleopods (their tail and swimming limbs) and paddle away. Either way, they’re getting a jumpstart on the weekend. 

[skellagirl]

Gordon/Barney/Alyx is really really funny to me conceptually bc it's like, two hot geniuses in their 20s who look at the 40-something smartass who hangs around and go 'yeah that guy. we both want him carnally'

[thesims2comics]

Some plants from The Sims 2 <3

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Forming the Pack - Part 1

Autumn Embers Master List

Pheromones aren’t everything, of course, but you’ll get more cohesive group dynamics if everyone has scents that go together. Scent blockers and diffusers are everywhere in common spaces, so it’s not like people who’s scents don’t mesh can’t be around each other. Lots of people with subtler or hard to pin down scents only go au naturel on special occasions with family and their special someone.

Of course, the military is a whole other beast.

Almost every person serving active duty is an alpha, which lends itself to clashes. And alphas, who already tend to have stronger scents, put out even more aggressive pheromones in close proximity with one another. Industrial strength scent diffusers can only do so much. It results in proximity packs forming, alphas who are scent compatible spending more time with each other.

The 141 doesn’t form because of scent compatibility. When Price finds Simon and forms the task force, he doesn’t much care about what they each smell like. Their scents being on wildly different parts of the spectrum is better than if they were too close, Price reasons. His gear smells a bit spicy, Simon’s always has an earthy undertone. It’s easy to avoid squabbling, and only made easier by the way Simon readily assumes his position as John’s second. No muss, no fuss.

The first year passes. It’s hard work, but Simon makes it undeniably simpler. The Ghost has a presence that demands deference from the temporary members of the task force. And because Ghost follows his captain, that deference extends to Price. The two times someone had tried to upset the balance, Simon had reacted with such swift ferocity that Price hadn’t known there was a problem before it was resolved with a neck under a boot.

“Stand down, Ghost,” Price says around his cigar, the third time.

“'S soon as he acknowledges his superiors, Skipper,” Ghost rumbles, staring down at the sergeant who’s face is going an interesting shade of purple with shame and a lack of oxygen. “Yield, corporal.” The sergeant frantically taps Ghost’s boot. Ghost gives him just enough room to heave a breath, and snarls down, “Yield to the Captain.”

“Captain, I yield,” the young man gasps.

“You ever flout orders again, I’ll kill you myself,” Ghost growls.

After that, the mission had gone smoothly.

Days later, it’s just the two of them again, walking home from the pub. It’s a nice enough night for it, and they’re both too jumpy to call a car. Simon follows without comment, just lights a cigarette and falls into John’s wake, like always.

Four blocks from the base, Simon says, “Gotta piss.”

John snorts. “What, you didn’t go before we left? Hold it.”

“Alright,” Simon drawls. Without breaking stride, he lights another cigarette.

Of course, within another block, John becomes too aware of his own bladder. If Simon hadn’t said anything, he could probably have made it. Annoyed, he steps into an alley and behind a dumpster. His nose does not appreciate the assault on his senses, but he’s a soldier, he’s smelled worse. Simon stands guard at mouth of the alley as he does his business.

When he emerges, he tips his head. “Goin’?”

Simon quirks an eyebrow and exhales a cloud of smoke. “Am I?”

Price hums, takes in Simon’s relaxed posture. Without the skull covered balaclava, he’s softer. Not civilian soft - he’s still almost 2 meters of alpha, hardened by military training and torture. But where most military As balk at taking orders when they’re not in the field, Simon looks for ways to let Price lead.

Simon will do what ever John tells him. It’s a realization that probably shouldn’t thrill him the way it does.

John waves him into the alley. “Be quick about it.”

Without comment, Simon hands his half-finished cigarette over and steps into the alley. John contemplates it as Simon does his business. He prefers cigars, but he takes a drag and tells himself it’s just to keep it lit.

But when Simon re-emerges, John doesn’t hand it back. And Simon doesn’t ask.