#sit stand desk uk

[hurtspideyparker]

Peter places an envelope on Tony's desk.

Tony looks up confused, "huh? What's that for?"

"It's for you," he points awkwardly at the plain blue envelope, held closed with a Darth Vader sticker.

"It's not my birthday kid." He snaps the protective face shield back down as he picks up his soldering iron, sparks flying as he gets back to work.

"I know that I, uh. It's from, it's for. It's yours. I gotta go, see you later Mr. Stark!" Peter hikes his backpack up tighter as he skips out of the lab.

Tony grunts in acknowledgement without looking up, eyes focused on the searing metal in front of him.

* * *

"Tony? I thought you were gonna have dinner with me after Peter left," Pepper saunters down into the workspace in a flattering pair of jeans and baby blue blouse.

"I was. I am. He left like five minutes ago," Tony waves at her without taking his eyes from the computer he's typing on.

"Happy drove him home two hours ago. Come, have a nice sit down meal with me." Pepper wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind, kissing the top of his head.

"I can have a sit down meal. I'm sitting right now, bring the carbonara down here and it'll be a proper date," Tony replies.

"Yeah, you me and your computer. How romantic. Tony, come upstairs- what's this?"

Tony glances up to see her holding a blue envelope.

"Uh, it's the kids."

Pepper flips it around, "it says To Mr. Stark From Peter on the back."

Tony just shrugs and goes back to typing on his computer.

The delicate glue of the sticker is undone under Pepper's sharp nails as she opens up the envelope and pulls something from inside.

"It's illegal to open someone else's mail y'know," Tony teases.

"Tony this- god you are such an asshole!" Pepper smacks Tony on the back of the head with the envelope.

"Ow! What the- what did I do now! I was just joking about the carbonara thing... mostly."

Tony finally meets Pepper's eyes of scorn. She tosses something in front of him with a huff.

"Tony, he even used a Darth Vader sticker. Do you know how adorably geeky and topical that is? You have got to start paying more attention to the living breathing people in front of you instead of your machines. Dinner is ready, please come upstairs."

Tony watches her leave as the clack of her heels fade away with every step. He's not sure what Darth Vader has to do with missing dinner, but he's quick to get up and start to follow.

He pauses before he makes it out the door, turning to finish the last line of code before he forgets the function. He pushes something off of his keyboard to type and press save.

Tony can't remember the last time he looked up from his work long enough to consume solid food. He's so ready to carb-load with some Italian food, turning away from the computer and blue envelope.

Tony's eyebrows furrow. Hm. Darth Vader sticker.

Tony turns back around and picks up the envelope from beside his keyboard.

This must be what the kid was yapping about earlier. Tony sticks his hand inside and finds a card, pulling it out.

"Father's Day it is," the front says in bold lettering with a picture of Yoda crudely hand-drawn with a sharpie and green highlighter. Tony flips it open, "celebrate you we must" is written in the middle of the page.

Below is a message in smaller writing; "Thank you for everything Mr. Stark, we wouldn't be here without you!" with a blob of sharpie that looks suspiciously like it's scribbled out a small heart, then signed "From Peter, Dum-E and U" each name written in their own unique handwriting.

"Friday, what day is it?"

"It is Sunday June 16th, also celebrated as Father's Day in countries such as the United States, Canada, and the UK."

Hm.

Tony stands there and stares at the card for longer than he'd ever admit before looking up at Dum-E.

"You help with this?" he asks, pointing at the card.

Dum-E chirps happily, twirling his claw around.

"Your hand writing's terrible."

* * *

Peter enters the lab slowly, an unsureness to him that's out of character.

It's Wednesday, his usual day for coming over to Tony's workshop. He hasn't heard anything from Tony since Sunday, not that he usually does. Still, the quietness has unnerved him. He's not sure what he was even expecting from his mentor; silence is probably the nicest response he could hope for after embarrassing himself like that.

"Hi Mr. Stark," he greets once he spots the older man sitting next to a complicated tangle of wires.

"Hey kid, can you go to the computer and run the command I have open for me?"

"Sure thing!" Peter says as he dumps his backpack onto the floor and jogs over.

The two get into an easy rhythm and Peter's practically forgotten why he was nervous in the first place when, "hey grab us some sodas will you," Mr. Stark asks him.

Peter walks up to the fridge in the corner of the room when he notices something new.

In the center of the silver metal lies a single piece of paper, stuck to the refrigerator with a plain magnet seemingly scrapped from some old hardware in the lab.

Tony has his Father's Day card displayed like some dorky parent whose kid got a half-decent report card, showcased on a fridge like a toddler's finger painted masterpiece.

It makes Peter so happy he can't wipe the stupid grin off his face the entire time he's grabbing sodas and delivering one to Tony.

The older hums a thanks without looking away from his project, but as Peter turns away Tony's own face contorts into a pleased smile all of his own.

The two share identical smiles all afternoon, hidden behind soda cans and computer screens.

[shotmrmiller]

since i'm rambling about self inserts? (is that it?) now you're miserably turning over on the bed, pulling the comforter over your head because you wasted a whole whopping 70$ for MW3 only to get an unfinished game and a piss-poor half-assed shock value main character death.

You fall asleep thinking about what you'd do differently- how johnny wouldn't die so needlessly, maybe even convince Captain Price to let Johnny put a bullet in Makarov's head in that helo.

And when you wake, your surroundings are different. The bed is too small when yours is a king, the innerspring mattress creaks when you sit up, even though you explicitly bought a memory foam.

The walls are spartan instead of the personalized decor you had. Looking over the edge of the bed, the floor isn't carpet. It's an ugly, white vinyl tile.

Where the fuck are you?

Your hands are callused but the only time you even got one was when you tried your hand at gardening, only to eventually realize you could kill a cactus with your brown thumb.

Hopping out of bed, you beeline to your bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror. Almost everything is the same. Eyes, hair, body, height.

Only difference is your flesh. It's littered with scars- both old and new. A thick, pink jagged line across your clavicle (a blade?), a puckered star shaped keloid above your hip bone (A gunshot wound?)

Stepping back out into the room, you carefully survey the space around you. A tac vest you swear you've seen before hangs on the back rest of your small chair.

Two black glock-19's sit on the desk. How do you know that? You don't know lick about weapons.

There's a large sheathed blade by your nightstand table. Didn't Rambo have one of those?

Suddenly, it hits you like a ton of bricks. You're dreaming. Jesus. Maybe you should start reading some smut fanfiction before bed to get Simon in your-

A knock at your door pulls you out of your degenerate thoughts.

oooookay.

Padding quietly to the door, the metal of the handle feels shockingly cold. How wildly vivid.

"Ye- what the fuck?"

What the actual fuck?

"Language."

...

Your mouth gapes in utter disbelief. "Simon?"

His dark eyes narrow behind his skull mask. "Chummy, are we?" He steps forward, forcing your neck back at an uncomfortable angle to keep your eyes fixed on his. "You and I, Sergeant, ain't friends. It's Ghost to you. Clear?" he snarls.

You swallow thickly. "C-Crystal, sir."

He tips his chin forward. "Get decent, I'm to take ya to the debriefin' room."

what?

"Now."

Spinning on the balls of your feet, you hastily dress, and grab the vest on the chair. UK flag on it. Tactical. Heavy as hell.

Your hands move on their own, and fingers smartly clip buckles, pull up zippers and close the pockets- as if you've been doing this your whole life.

What is happening?

When you get to wherever it was you were going, you're met with more recognizable faces.

Captain Price stands in front of Laswell, bulky arms crossed as he speaks to her in a hushed tone.

Gaz sits on a chair with his head hanging back as he blankly stares at the ceiling, trademark cap in place.

And then there's- "Bonnie!"

Johnny.

"Good to see Simon dinnae eat ye on the way here."

Simon Ghost doesn't react to the jibe at all.

Why are you sitting in the middle of the 141 listening to Laswell debrief about Hassan? Why aren't you waking up yet? You're lucid. The sharp sting of your nails digging into the palms of your clenched hands isn't dulled.

"Good hunting."

This can't be happening.

This isn't real. The heavy helmet strapped to your head. The weight of the bulky tac vest full of equipment. The painfully tight straps around your thighs. The way the rifle feels in your hands, solid and dense.

Not real.

Until you're offloading with Bravo Team in Al-Mazrah on the search for Major Hassan. The tall grass grazing your pants, the NVG's over your eyes to help you see in the dark. The harsh recoil of a weapon you've only ever used in a video game. The gurgling sounds of the enemies as they choke on their blood by your feet. The bullet whizzing past you, clipping your cheekbone. The burning sting of it, white-hot pain.

Real.

It feels fucking real.

[vivwritesfics]

No Need To Ask

Chapter Eleven - Going Home

The Norris' were a notorious crime family in the UK. One of many. With Norris, the head of the family, running operations with his son, Lando, they work to keep Y/N Norris, Norris' daughter protected. Life in a crime family wasn't something they wanted for her.

But with tension with one of the Spanish crime families rise, Norris and his now deceased wife come up with only one plan, offer their daughter to the Sainz's or risk an all out war.

Warnings: Smut! Cheating!

1.7K words

Series Masterlist

Where the fuck was Oscar?

It took four days before Y/N was stomping through Carlos' house, heading towards his office.

It was only recognisable by how heavily it was usually guarded. Not today though.

Pushing up her sleeves, Y/N mustered all of the courage she had and pushed her way into Carlos' office.

"Okay, where the f"

But she stopped in her tracks when she looked at her husband.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. Against the desk was a woman, one Y/N recognised to be a member of the kitchen staff. Carlos' eyes snapped towards the door when Y/N walked in. He continued to thrust, his pace bruising as he stared at his wife.

The woman hadn't noticed Y/N as she laid flat on the desk, breasts bouncing with his thrusts.

"Can I help you, Querida?" Carlos asked, his pace never faltering.

The woman let out a particularly loud moan and threw her head back. She must have felt somebody else in the room, because she opened her eyes, seeing Y/N standing there.

"Mi señora! ¡Dios mío, señora mía!" The woman cried as she shuffled back on the desk, pushing Carlos away as she did so.

The woman gathered up her clothes and ran out of the office. Carlos simply pulled up his trousers and buckled his belt, sitting in his desk chair. "Can I help you?" He tried again.

But Y/N was still just standing there, her mouth open in shock. She knew it wasn't a marriage of love, but she never expected this.

When she said nothing, Carlos went back to his paperwork. Like he cared for nothing, he scribbled his signature across papers and dismissed her from the room.

Y/N obeyed. With her fists clenched at her side, she marched out of the office and down the hall, down to her room. Surely this had to be grounds for divorce. Surely this meant she could go home. Surely… Surely…

No. This happened in every Mafia marriage. Unless it was born out of love, the wives were nothing more than ornaments, decorations to make the mafia leaders look better. Carlos cheating on her would only mean something if he really loved her. But he didn’t. Their marriage meant nothing, and she meant nothing.

There wasn’t much that could make things worse for her. She was stuck a house that didn’t feel like her own, surrounded by people that could easily kill her, with a husband that didn’t love her.

But, as life always did, it made things worse. So much fucking worse.

After three hours stewing alone in her room, there was a knock at the door.

“Go away!” Y/N shouted as she turned away from the door. “I don’t want to see you!”

But it wasn’t Carlos that threw open her bedroom door. Señora Sainz, as Y/N was supposed to call her, opened the door. “I have some news for you, Y/N,” she said, letting herself into the room.

“So, what, you’re not going to test me on my Spanish now?” Y/N spat as she looked towards the window.

Señora Sainz shook her head. “It’s about your father.”

Y/N turned towards her. Her tone wasn’t filling Y/N with a lot of confidence. She looked towards her mother in law, her breath hitching. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said and strode forward to wrap her arms around Y/N. “Pack your things, you and Carlos are going home tonight.”

“No,” Y/N said instantly. “I’ll go alone. Carlos doesn’t need this distraction.”

But Carlos had to go. All of the Mafia bosses either had to go or send somebody in their place. Sainz was sending Carlos, since Y/N had to go already.

Silently, she packed her things. There really was no getting away from Carlos.

Before midnight Y/N and Carlos were on the private jet, heading to the UK. They didn’t sit near each other, at least not at first. She made a point of sitting as far away from Carlos as she could. But then, as they got closer and closer to England, Y/N stood.

She stretched her limbs and walked across the plane taking a seat beside Carlos. “This is my fathers funeral,” she said and Carlos looked up at her. “And I don’t want to see you. We’ll have to sit beside each other at the ceremony, but, other than that, I want you to stay away from me.”

Carlos chucked and shook his head. “Querida, you must have realised if I wasn’t fucking you, I’d have to be fucking something else,” he said and crossed one leg over the other.

She ignored it, pushing on. “And, you’re going to tell me what happened to Oscar. I know he’s not in Spain anymore, so you’re going to tell me where he is.”

Again, Carlos shook his head. He stood suddenly, his hands on the arms of Y/N’s seats as he leaned over her. “You’re forgetting who’s in charge here, Señora Sainz,” he growled with a wicked grin.

They didn’t break eye contact. Y/N’s chest was heaving, but she wasn’t going to back down. Not in this rare moment of bravery. “I’d divorce you if I could,” she spat.

Carlos laughed again. He sat back in his seat and let out a laugh. “You know, querida, you are funny. Have you ever heard of a divorce in our world? No? Because they don’t happen. The only way you’re going to leave me is if you’re dead.”

When they touched down in England, it was cold and miserable. But it was always cold and miserable.

Y/N couldn't look at Carlos as they drove back to the house she had grown up in. She kept her focus on the radio. Carlos didn’t try and make conversation, and Y/N was grateful. She couldn’t talk to him at that moment.

When they pulled up at the Norris house, Y/N quickly jumped out of the car. She ran up the steps and through the front door, two men grabbing her arms as soon as she ran through them. But, as soon as she realised who she was, they let go of her.

Leaving Carlos behind, Y/N marched her way through the house. If Lando was going to be anywhere he was going to be in his fathers – no, his office. It was his office now, just as he was head of the family.

He wasn’t Lando anymore. He was Norris.

The office wasn’t guarded like Carlos’s was. Lando didn’t need it. Y/N knocked gently and pushed her way into the office.

As soon as Lando saw his sister, he was on his feet, walking over to her to wrap her in her embrace. No longer was Lando this ruthless guy, not compared to Carlos. Lando squeezed his arms around his sister. “I’m so happy you’re here,” Lando whispered as he kissed the top of her head. “How is married life treating you?”

“Lan, please,” Y/N mumbled, cheek pressed against his jacket. “Dad is dead and the man I’m married to is the last thing I want to talk about,” she answered.

Lando nodded his head. “I’ve had a separate room set up for him,” he said and Y/N thanked him. “Do you know how long you’re staying for?”

“No,” she answered as he sat back behind his desk. Y/N sat in one of the chairs opposite him, not missing the way that Lando tucked his paperwork back into its folder.

“Well, the heads of family are having a meeting at the end of the week, so you and Carlos will have to stay for that,” Lando said, nails drumming against the wood of his desk.

Her arms were crossed over her chest as she looked towards the window behind him. “I don’t want to go back,” she whispered. “Oscar isn’t even there anymore, and I don’t know what to do without him.”

Lando sucked in a breath. “Oscar is… back in Australia. With Mark.”

“What?!” Y/N jumped up out of her seat. “What do you mean Oscar is in Australia? Why is he in Australia?”

“It’s what’s best for his safety.”

“Did he decide this? Or did you decide this?” She asked, hands on the desk as she leaned towards her brother. “Or, better yet, did Carlos decide this?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s happened, and there’s nothing any of us can do about it.”

***

No, Oscar did not decide to go back to Australia. After he’d had the shit beaten out of him by Carlos’s men, he went back to Australia, back to Mark.

He could have gone back to England, could have gone back to the Norris family, but what would Lando do? He was the one who had given his sister away. But Mark, Mark was the most powerful man in Australia. Mark could do something about it.

Oscar hadn’t grown up in a crime family. He’d grown up relatively normally, but when he’d gotten into some trouble as a kid, Mark gave him his only option. To join the Webber family, to train up through the ranks, and then to go off to England to work in a different family. He was meant to be a mole, but the Norris family had nothing to hide, nothing they were keeping from Webber.

But Oscar was assigned to Y/N, to looking out for her, watching over her. When She went off to Spain he went with her, protecting her, watching over her.

Oscar knew how he felt before they went to Spain. He knew how he felt and he could do anything about it. And then he met Carlos. Carlos was terrifying, but Oscar wasn’t scared. He’d dealt with worse than Carlos.

But now he was back in Australia, sat in front of Mark as he went over the blueprints of Carlos’s house. He’d only spent two weeks there, but he’d learnt everything he needed to know. The entrances and exits, where all of the men were stationed and everybody’s schedules.

If anybody could fuck up the Sainz family, it was Oscar.

And that was exactly what he was going to do.

Taglist (open): @multi-universe21 @formulas-bitch @gills-lounge @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @carlossainzwho @f1lov3r @samaib11 @charli123456789 @queenofmanydreams @ironmaiden1313 @vellicora @glitterf1 @80sloverry @lightdragonrayne @moonayu @bellsalabanccini @topguncultleader @handsupforamiracle @cmleitora @ashy-kit @jenniferrvsesi @barcelonaloverf1life @sbella13 @nicolettecallednikki @darleneslane @thehufflepuffavenger1 @champagneproblems17 @aespie @yukheizcigarettes @rewmuslupin @hollie911

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Part 3: Let's Have a Baby

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: MDNI, mentions of canon typical violence and death (ofc), implied child loss Note: The much-awaited part 3 of The Captain! Thank you so much for all of your support! And don't y'all, Part 4 is brewing ;) Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

“Mohawk’s gettin’ particularly long, Johnny boy. When’s the last time you took any off the top?” Freyja asked, tugging at the end of a long strand at the back of his head.

“Dinnae dae that!” Soap whipped his head around and gave her a look of playful irritation. “If it weren’t for that wee barra in your belly I’d knock ya one, lass.”

“You wish, tough guy.”

“Just you wait, soon as y’return to full duty, we’ll have a square go, ye fuckin’ weapon.”

“I’ll block off my calendar.”

She and Soap had grown rather close since they all returned to England following the mission. As promised, Ghost spoke with Price, who convinced Kate to transfer her to the 141 permanently. While she was on desk duty for now, being on the same team would be tremendously helpful in keeping their schedules in sync. The couple could carpool to and from the base together, and John would do his best to keep them from being deployed at the same time.

Plus, she got to spend all her day with her friends and husband, which was a phenomenal change of pace from their previous setup. It was far less lonely being surrounded by the bustle of the busy base and having other friends to talk to besides Price.

They had a standing ‘play date’, as Price called it, every Friday night, where they watched movies, played board games, and ordered takeout. Board games usually ended in a heated exchange between her and whichever unlucky soul had crossed her (usually during Catan), her normally fiery temper heightened with each month of pregnancy that passed. There had been several instances of Ghost scooping her up in his arms and hauling her away to cool off before (any other) objects were lobbed at someone’s head.

One time, Freyja was in rare form when Gaz refused to trade for a material she desperately needed, and whipped a pointed dinner knife in his direction.

“What is with you guys and throwing bloody knives at me?!” he cried, throwing his hands in the air as Ghost dragged her off, screaming obscenities in various angry-sounding languages.

Soap jerked the blade out of the wall. “Dunno if I should be turned on or terrified,” he had said thoughtfully, turning it over in his hand. 

“BOTH, YOU SLIMY, CHEATING MOTHERFUCKERS!”

Catan was banned for a few weeks after that incident, and Freyja gave Kyle the following day off as an apology, though he insisted it wasn’t necessary.

Freyja lowered herself into a chair on the other side of Soap’s desk and leaned her head on her fist, watching him do his paperwork. She’d already finished for the day but was waiting for her husband to fetch her and bring her home to prepare for another Friday with the boys.

“So, Captain, any big plans for this weekend?” Soap asked, still scribbling away at the stack of forms in front of him.

She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Nah. It’s our anniversary on Sunday. Have a routine visit tomorrow to see how the baby’s growing. Nothing crazy.”

“Anniversary?! You didn’t tell me that was comin’ up!”

Her eyes rolled with a chuckle. “Soap, we aren’t showy people. Never have been,” she started, adjusting to sit straighter after having slid down in the chair a bit. Her round belly had started to weigh down her body a few weeks back, and she was starting to feel the effects of back and neck pain. “We weren’t together for very long when we got engaged, if you’d even call it that. We got married a few days later, as soon as we got back to the UK. Didn’t want to waste time, given our line of work.”

Johnny laughed at this, tossing his pen into a mug he fashioned as a stationary holder. “Oh, I’d bet he just loved slappin’ his name after ‘Captain’, too,” he joked with a raised brow.

The image of a spinning circle on a computer came to mind because that was exactly what she was doing. Buffering, her mouth open slightly while she processed his comment. Her mind screamed at her to say something, anything, but nothing came out as she stared at the Sergeant.

He clearly picked up on her inner turmoil, because he asked, “What? What’d I say?”

Goddamn pregnancy brain. “Ah…Nothing. He didn’t like me taking his name, actually,” she mostly muttered, unable to find a way out of the conversation at this point. “He asked me not to change my name and I did it anyway.”

“I don’t get it, why wouldn’t Ghost want ya to change yer name?”

Freyja sighed as she rubbed a hand over the top of her bump, a recent habit for comfort. The baby hadn’t been particularly active that day, only offering a bit of shifting. “You’d have to ask him, John.”

She rarely called him John, so he knew the conversation was over on her part. “How’s your back?” Best to change the subject and move on. 

She was grateful for it. “Terrible. Even sitting here is bothering me.”

Soap lit up and he practically jumped to his feet. “I can do that thing I saw Ghost doin’ last week!” He was already in front of her before she could even answer.

He had been relentless ever since he caught their cute little private moment in the kitchen when she was supposed to be getting herself some fruit to snack on. Simon followed shortly after, offering to get her fruit bowl together for her so she could sit down again. Craving some semblance of independence, she instead offered to cut up her snack while her husband took some of the weight off her back.

“Walked myself right into that one. You just want an excuse to grope my belly.”

“Me? Never! M’offended that y’would say such a thing, Bonnie,” he feigned hurt feelings, pouting with his best puppy dog eyes.

“Alright, fine! Come’ere, I’ll show you,” she laughed, high up in her chest. Freyja pulled herself up with his hands and moved them to the more open space in his office. “Alright, so I’m gonna stand here—“ She turned to press her back against his chest and took his wrist in her hands. “—then you just wanna put your hands flat like this—“ She flattened his palms just under the swell of her stomach, by each point of her pelvis. “—and now you carefully pull up. Emphasis on carefully.”

She groaned at the sudden relief, her head falling back against Soap’s shoulder as he just barely lifted her stomach. 

“There w’are. Steamin’ Jesus, how’s such a wee thing so bloody heavy?”

“Yeah, now imagine carrying that around with your back twenty-four-seven.”

They stood silently for a minute, soaking in the relief from the lack of pressure on her disks. A small hand dragged across the underside of her stomach, pressing against Soap’s hand. His chest rumbled against her back, but he held steady.

“Will anyone be coming for a visit? When she’s born?” It was bold of him to bring up such a sensitive subject, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“No.”

“And you’re alright with that?”

“I have everyone I need right here, Johnny. Who else outside my husband would give my back a break and hold my giant belly?” She reached back to jokingly slap his cheek a few times.

“Where’s that husband o’ yours at? It’s gettin’ late.”

A soft knock on the open door had her turning her head. “I’m comin’, Jesus,” Ghost said, approaching with his hands in his pockets, t-shirt tight as ever. He took in her smiling form, intrigued by the scene in front of him. He smiled beneath his mask, eyes crinkling slightly. “How are my girls?”

Freyja flinched, a hand flying to her belly at the sharp kick. She sported an angry pout. “Ow! That hurt, you little–”

“Be nice. She can’t help that I’m her favorite.”

She pulled out of Soap’s hold, sad to lose the help on one hand, but thrilled to see Simon on the other. “You’re so obnoxious. I’m literally creating her organs and limbs, making sure she has ten fingers and toes, and I don’t get so much as a single hand or kick. But the second she hears your stupid voice, she’s suddenly an MMA fighter,” she complained, shoving at his shoulder. “Un-fucking-believable. I hate you.”

“Mmm, sure you do. How will I ever get back in your good graces?”

“I want Chinese tonight.”

“I think I can manage that.” Ghost bent down to gently, but briefly, touch his forehead to hers, one of their familiar gestures to refrain from more overt displays of affection on base. She would occasionally give him a peck over his skull mask, and they often shared passing touches, but neither partner was a huge fan of PDA. In the comfort of their own home, they were much more obvious, even around the other members of the team. Just not on base (save for a quick romp. Or two. Or– y’know what, never mind).

“Aw, lookit ya wee sook,” Soap cooed, nudging Ghost with his elbow as he walked past, gathering his things to head home.

She giggled and patted Simon’s pec. “He really is!”

Simon grumbled but guided Freyja to the door with a hand on her lower back. “If you lot keep talkin’ nonsense around me, I’ll pop a gasket.”

“It’s not nonsense, Simon. It’s a beautiful language. One that your people just so happened to smother into near extinction,” she sang, pursing her lips in a challenge as she looked up at him walking next to her.

“OOO, sick burn, lass!” Soap smacked their hands together, laughing heartily.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

~*~

Simon checked the time on his phone again with a deep sigh, shaking his head. He detested getting to work anything past ten minutes early, and it was currently five past six. Freyja had told him to go ahead and toss their baby bag in the car, which he had done ten minutes ago. He insisted they keep their ‘go-bag’ (her word, not his) with them, either in the car on errands or on base during the work week.

The area around their front door was littered with broken-down cardboard boxes from various toys and furniture from the nursery. The Task Force had turned out to be extremely generous uncles, to the point where the Rileys hardly had to buy anything. Johnny and Gaz were by far the worst listeners, continuing to purchase mountains of clothes long after Freyja and Ghost begged them to stop. Enough clothes that she would never have to wear the same outfit twice for the first year of her life.

Not even born yet and already spoiled rotten.

Her boots weren’t in the tray by the door, so she must have gotten to that part of her routine, at least. He pushed off the door frame in their entryway, making his way toward the living room. “Frey, what are you doin’? We’re already five minutes late–”

He cut himself off when he laid eyes on the sight in front of him – his wife, now 39 weeks pregnant, attempting to contort her body around her bump to lace up her boots. Simon allowed himself a moment to watch in amusement before clearing his throat and grabbing her attention. “Do you need help?” he asked, about to kneel in front of her.

She grunted and shook her head, then tried to smooth the mussed-up fly-aways that had started to poke up at the edges of her tied-back hair. “No, I can do this. I just did it on Friday.”

“Darling, that was three days ago. There’s no shame in askin’ for help–” He stopped again at the icy glare thrown his way, crossed his arms over his chest, and sat in the armchair across from her. “A’right, if you insist.” He had long noticed that she sometimes struggled to accept help with tasks she could normally complete on her own, if not for a protruding bump being in the way. He knew if she really needed help, she would ask.

This time, she propped the heel of her boot on the coffee table and attempted to stretch over her belly. She was proud of the strength and flexibility she had been able to maintain throughout her entire pregnancy, up until now. Not many people could say they could even see their feet this far into their pregnancy, let alone tie their shoes. After another minute of huffing and puffing, fingers just barely unable to graze the laces, she held her foot out to her watchful husband and sighed. “Fine,” she mumbled, crossed arms mimicking his.

He smiled softly under his mask, blue eyes twinkling with silent laughter as he slid to his knees at her feet, pressing the sole into his chest. “Thank you,” he praised, taking his time to focus on doing her shoes up at the tightness she liked to support her ankles, but allow breathing room at her calves. As he finished up the second foot, he heard a quiet sniffle and jerked his head up to meet her eyes.

Bloody hell, not the waterworks again…

He gently pushed her legs apart and settled between them, his gloved hands covering and rubbing her knees. “What’s wrong, love?”

Freyja wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then used the neckline of her t-shirt to swipe at her wet cheeks. “Nothing, I’m just annoyed. Feels like I can barely function on my own.”

“If I recall, you’re the one who insisted on working until she’s born.”

“Fuck you.”

“Promise?”

She playfully shoved his shoulder, rolling her eyes as she scoffed. 

Ghost pulled his mask up to his nose, just enough to steal a long, soft kiss from her, fingers still gripping her thighs. When they broke apart, he swooped down to press wet kisses on her belly. Freyja put the fabric back in place with deft fingers. “A’right, we sorted?” He smacked her thigh twice when she nodded and offered her hands to help her stand. “Good, you know how I am about bein’ late.”

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll be an early bird like her daddy.”

“Better than always being late like her mum.”

“Low blow, baby. Low blow.”

They made jabs at each other back and forth the entire ride to base (lovingly, of course) and during their walk to their offices, only pausing for the occasional passerby.

~*~

Kyle handed off a steaming mug of tea to Ghost, taking a small sip of his own as they watched the recruits spar with Soap. Most days, the three of them worked with the privates for a few hours, varying from marksmanship, hand-to-hand combat, etcetera. Ghost tugged his mask up enough to enjoy his caffeine, the steam dampening the wrinkled fabric.

“How was your weekend, Ghost?”

He hid his subtle smirk behind the cup, the memory of their anniversary evening at the forefront of his mind. Ghost met Gaz’s gaze with a side eye, to which the Sergeant snorted with a throaty chuckle. Gaz fixed the brim of his hat lower to shade his eyes from the sun better. “Shouldn’t have asked,” he said, a bright, cheeky grin on his face. “Change the subject.”

Ghost thought back to that morning, snickering himself and cradling the mug with both hands. “Frey couldn’t tie her boots this morning.” He tried to hide his amusement, he really did. But both men burst into deep laughter, Gaz shamefully covering his eyes with his free hand as he imagined the Captain working around her stomach.

“Bloody hell, poor thing.” When they finally composed themselves, Kyle took a deep breath and wiped a stray tear from his eye. He sighed and placed his now empty mug on the ground, his hands now hanging onto the lip of his tactical vest. The Brit observed the training session, occasionally glancing over at Ghost to gauge his mood. Maybe he should mind his business, but Gaz also wanted to be a good friend to the Rileys. In the end, he decided to take the plunge. “I see it, y’know,” he said, choosing a careful tone.

Simon turned his head fully to shoot him a probing look, urging him to continue.

Gaz sighed to himself. In too deep, now. “Just something I’ve noticed. Seems like she’s done this before, s’all.”

Damn Kyle Garrick and his perceptiveness. How long had the Sergeant been sitting on that thought, watching and observing her mannerisms? Simon stood staring blankly at his companion, unblinking for too long. His heart clenched painfully, twisting and beating violently against his ribs. When his eyes did finally come back into focus, he covered his face again. “As you were, Sergeant,” he commanded, his tone stern and unyielding. Neither of them noticed the Scot break away from the recruits, reading a text from his phone.

“I don’t mean to pry, sir–”

“Lt?” Soap held the device up, brows knotted together. He didn’t make much of an effort to hide his emotions and was concerned. “Price needs ya, sir. Said he’s pretty sure yer wife’s been in labor for the last hour.”

The trio quickly appeared in her office, where she sat behind her desk, beads of sweat on her forehead as she typed away at her computer. John shrugged helplessly and then scratched at the stubble under his chin. About an hour into their daily morning meeting, where he brought her peppermint tea while they worked over files and potential recruits. They were mid-discussing her scheduled c-section when he noticed her breaths sporadically shake, or the muscles in her arms tightening for seemingly no reason. Price asked her if she was okay and was brushed off every time he prodded at her; when he finally had enough, he decided to call for reinforcements.

Freyja glared at the men, mainly aiming it at Price. “Traitor,” she growled, continuing to work through another contraction.

Simon tossed the keys to their car to Price, who swiftly snagged them out of the air and slipped behind them. In the meantime, he tucked his mask into the back pocket of his jeans, his slightly overgrown blonde hair and the top of his head sticking up. He sat on the edge of the desk, looking down at her as she attempted to ignore his presence. His foot slipped a little on the floor, and he found a small puddle trickling across the floor from the space under her chair. “Anything you want to tell me?” he asked, impossibly soft and gentle for a usually deep, gruff military man.

“No.” She was an accomplished sniper and a skilled linguist and had been deployed on hundreds of special missions, interrogations, and rescues during her military tenure. She, however, wasn’t very convincing when it came to lying to her husband, especially when another sharp pain rippled through her body, forcing her to flinch.

“Wanna try that again?”

Her eyes watered uncontrollably, her lip trembling as she tried to keep herself together. The notion didn’t last long, and her head shook from side to side.

“How long?”

“Long enough.”

“Hm.” Simon turned her chair with his shin until she faced him. As he suspected, dark wetness was creeping up the fabric of her jeans. “We should get going then, yeah?” He tilted his head to the side, watching as she grabbed his hand in a fierce grip.

“Simon–” The woman choked on her tears, panic starting to claw its way up her stomach and wrenching her tight throat. “The OB’s out of the country,” she whimpered, barely a whisper.

“I know. Seems that she’s taken after her old man, like y’said,” he offered in an attempt to give her some comedic relief in her state. Simon could see the panic attack set in, and while he knew he couldn’t stop it, he could at least lessen its effects some.

“I was kidding.”

He smiled softly at her and squeezed her palm, drawing soothing circles with his thumb. “Don’t think she’s quite old enough for sarcasm, there, sweetheart.” He got down to his knees in front of her, sitting back on his heels, just under eye level now instead of towering over her. A familiar position for them as of late. “Looks like we’re doin’ this the old-fashioned way.”

She started crying hysterically now, nearly crushing his hand and cradling her belly. “Simon…I–”

“I know.”

It was as if their audience had completely disappeared, leaving just the two of them for what should be a private moment. But Soap and Gaz were still pressed to the wall by the door. In the months they had become close friends with Simon’s wife, she was almost always composed, her moments of hormonal rage the only outlier they witnessed. They’d never seen her such a panicked, blubbering mess, but Gaz had an idea he knew what it was about, even without specifics. For that reason, he chose to keep his distance and advised Soap to do the same with a tap to the shoulder.

“This–This isn’t the plan. I wanted…they’re supposed to take her out. I don’t want to push again.”

“I know,” he repeated. “I’m sorry, love, but you’ll have to.”

“Can’t we just–” A gasp cut her off, her features pinching together in pain while she rode out yet another contraction.

“No. We can’t.”

“I can’t do this again, Simon! I can’t!” Her chest heaved and she sobbed, struggling to catch her breath. Panic attacks had become more frequent during her pregnancy. There had been about five or six instances where an odd feeling or uncomfortable pain had anxiety washing over her, sending her into a spiral until they could get to an emergency room or OB, snapping at them to ‘just fucking check, for fuck’s sake’. This was definitely one of the worst. All of her meticulous planning, down to every nitty-gritty detail to ensure she didn’t have an episode went right out the window because a certain impatient Riley was eager to make her exit and simultaneous entrance to the world.

The world was collapsing around her, dark and suffocating. The cold pit dragged her back to what seemed like another life, where she lay curled up in a hospital bed, sick and hot and in the worst agony she would ever experience. Her bones burned and ached, struggling to sit still yet unable to move at the same time. Price’s phantom touch ghosted up and down her bare back in that place, brushed her sticky hair off her forehead, pressed a cold towel to her neck as violent sobs and forced, unnatural contractions tore through her—

She blinked when different, gloved hands slipped under her hair, the warmth of her skin bleeding through the material as he cradled her face. Her fingers slipped down to dig into his tattooed wrist. “You can, and you will. Take a breath,” he took a deep breath, guiding her through the exercise. He held the air in his chest before letting it out in a slow exhale, which she mimicked. Ghost summoned Gaz over and rose, pulling her up with him. “Good girl. Can you walk?”

When she nodded, Kyle slipped into the space beside her, offering his forearm for support. She knew Simon could have handled her himself, but it warmed her heart to see him leaning on their friends. John had been a great support system when Simon deployed on his own, but having so many hands to hold made her feel loved and understood.

“A’right then, let’s have a baby, yeah?”

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[spectres-n-soap]

Let's Sit and Watch the Clouds - Soap x reader x Ghost

Content Warnings - Pregnancy, pregnant body, afab reader, throwing up, angst and Ghosts backstory

Ghost pulls up to your flat building. Rain pitter pattered on the roof of his truck, the sun was unable to shine through the clouds despite it being early afternoon. Not unusual for the UK but seeing this dingy flat building in the rain made his gut twist. He knew that you were capable of defending yourself. There was a reason you were on the task force. He took a deep breath and let go of the steering.

Ghost knocks on your door only once before it swings open. You look ready to throw a punch for a second until you relax slightly when you see it's him. "Oh. It's you."

"Don't sound so happy." Ghost comments dryly.

You weren't sure why you had given into Ghost. You certainly weren't sure why you had let him in. Ghost walks around the flat again, taking in the changes that had happened since he left yesterday evening after you had kicked him out. You had begun to clean out the second bedroom. Now you both sat at your table. The silence was unbearable.

You got up from your chair, the need to keep cleaning making you antsy. He watches you as you move into the nursery, sits a second longer until following you. The entire room looked different. The bed frame was taken apart, the desk moved probably to your room. You push the spare mattress against the wall, breathing heavy. Ghost takes a step forward then steps back. You turn to him, a thin layer of sweat on your forehead already. Ghost can't help but take you in completely. Your maternity shirt hardly fit you, your breasts were heavy with milk. He meets your eyes, pushing away the urge to look at your body more. To take in the changes pregnancy has given you.

"Are you just going to stand there looking stupid or help?" You grumble and that forces him from his head.

"What do you need?"

You point to the mattress and the bed frame, "These need to be taken out to the trash. The crib will be arriving in a few hours." Your tone of voice automatically went to soldier mode. Which works fine for him apparently. He spends the next few hours moving stuff around. Including times of stopping you from trying to move the couch yourself.

"I'm not weak." You snap at him as he tries to stop you from hauling in the box with the parts for the crib.

"Never said you were." He says, "Just saying you should let me-"

"Fuck off Ghost. I'll do what I damn please - oh fuck !" You curse, doubling over and tears blur your vision.

Ghost rushes over, your name falling from his lips in a panic. You try to breathe through the pain. You're a trained soldier , you think, Braxton Hicks are nothing ! But that didn't stop the tears from falling.

" Breathe. " Ghost whispers, his hands grabbing your shoulders gently as he kneels down to look at you, "Like me." He breathes in a pattern and you try to do the same. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you do your best to follow his lead. You can't stop thinking about Soap. Your heart hurts as you think about him. The pain slowly eases and you slump against the box. You look up at Ghost, worry clear in his hazel eyes.

"Just Braxton Hicks." You mutter, tiredly swatting Ghost away.

Ghost purses his lips but doesn't open his mouth as he watches you waddle to the kitchen sink. You cup your hands under the cold water and splash it against your face. Ghost remembers Beth and her pregnancy with Joseph. He grimaces at the stab of grief at his heart. Beth had been stubborn as a bull too, although not nearly as often or as much as you.

Tommy had worried over Beth constantly, so much so that their mother had to take him aside to talk to him. Ghost could still clearly hear her voice.

"She's nesting dear." She had said, "Your worrying isn't going to stop her." She took one of Tommy's hands into her own, "Help when she asks and when she's not looking." She had said the last part with a breathy laugh and a wink.

Ghost clenches his fists shut and tries to look unbothered. Tries not to see Beth when he looks at you still hunched over the sink. Then he turns and moves the box into the nursery "Have you gone paint shopping?" He asks you when you toddle into the room with a look of indignity in your eyes.

You narrow your eyes at him, "No, not yet."

Ghost walks past you, "Well c'mon then. Let's go get some paint."

Ghost has never, ever , been so grateful for the patience being a sniper taught him. You look between two different cards that are just a few shades different from each other. Watching you hem and haw over these two colors has definitely put him to the test. Now he understood why Tommy came back from the paint shop looking like he had returned from war. "What do you think?" You ask, holding up one of the cards.

"Looks good." He rumbles. You throw a paint brush at him, which he catches. "What?"

"What?" You mock him, "Don't just say it 'looks good.'" You do little air quotes when you speak those two words. "What do you think?"

"I think we've been staring at colors for the last two hours." 

You scoff and put the two colors away, an acidic glare in your eyes as you grab a yellow shade. "You're jokin'." He grumbles.

"No I am not." You say with a devilish grin that reminds him of Soap as you walk off towards an employee standing near by. He swears under his breath and quickly follows.

"C'mon LT." Soap said, his voice clear through his mic. "What's yer favourite colour?"

"Its black." You deadpanned as you crawled through the sewer system. Your mood had been thoroughly soured when Price revealed you were the only one small enough to fit into the sewer.

"Yer no fun lass and I don't recall ye bein' promoted to Lieutenant."

"I'll be promoted before you." You grumbled.

"Its blue actually." Ghost said.

You turn your mic on, "Its blue actually." You said with a high pitched, annoying nerd know-it-all voice with a snort to top it off. You pushed a few strands of hair from your face before grimacing when you realized your hands were wet.

"Hilarious sergeant. That'll be 20 push ups."

"You can make me do 20 push ups when you're the one crawling through a sewer." 

"Whats yer least favourite LT?"

"Yellow."

"Get out of my flat Ghost." You grumble as he holds your hair away from your face as you lean over the toilet.

"Not the nicest thing to say to the person holdin' your hair from your face."

"Shut-" You are cut off as more bile rushes from your stomach. You cough and hack, tears in your eyes from how many times you've thrown up.

"Are you still sure that your little combination isn't doin' this?"

"Have you ever been pregnant Ghost?" You ask, leaning back away from the toilet bowl and flush it. He narrows his eyes at you, "No? Then shut up."

Today was meant to be dedicated to painting the nursery and setting up the crib. That was what the two of you had discussed when Ghost had shown up earlier that morning. Turns out your stomach had other ideas as you had spent the last twenty minutes throwing up everything you had eaten from that morning and the night before.

"Get out of my flat." You repeat and Ghost shakes his head.

"I said I was gonna take care of you. This is part of it." You groan loudly and dramatically.

[emsgwenstan]

Holding on to our family

{Larissa Weems x fem niece reader.}

Words: 2k

Warnings: flashbacks, angst, hurt.

Note/summary: after Larissa’s death, y/n heads back to nevermore to tie some loose end or attempt to anyway.

2 miles to Jericho. That’s it. You know how far the township is from the airport like the back of your hand, but for the first time you wish you didn’t because then the sickening feeling wouldn’t be so prominent. You remember the first time you traveled to Vermont from London, you were 14 and she happily greeted you at the station in Burlington.

The sun was unwelcomly shining and casting rays through the branches, she loved the sun, the shadows whipping over the car from the ungodly speed you were doing. “Auntie lissa I’m scared.” You said. “Just go slow sweetheart, I’ll tell you when to change gears.” She smiled. “Ok, oh my- don’t you get scared passing other cars!” You shrieked. “You will be fine just concentrate on your side of the road. I promise you will be ok.” She said. And you believed her. If only she could see you now.

Passing by the Jericho sign you slowed down to take the turn off for nevermore’s drive way. ‘12 minutes’, you thought opting not to speed trying to drag it out for as long as you can. Once the iron gates came into view, your heart paced quicker. The nostalgia filled your senses as you recall how your nevermore days were the best of your life, you had friends, you did well in school, you had the privilege of having a single dorm with your own space and privacy and it was all thanks to her.

Larissa was the one who helped you on your darkest days, lightest and every other one in between, it started from the day you were born, your mother was absent and you father was always busy with his company and running off with his abundance of secretaries. She is- well was your fathers sister, your aunt consequently, but you forgot that most of the time, she was more like both the parents you needed in one, every holiday she would come back to the uk and visit, doing everything she possibly could, like teaching you to drive.

Putting the car in park in the lot that displays ‘reserved for principle L.W.’ You stepped out, the whole 6 feet of you, plus the extra inches from the heels you had on, straightened your blazer, did up the button then smoothed out your signature Weems, platinum blonde hair. The cobblestone clacking the whole trek, as expected once you rounded the corner many eyes set on your figure, students and teachers all going quiet and whispering to each other. Some you still remember.

Not stopping until you climbed the stairs to her office you made it on top of the mezzanine, your eyes flicked to her hanging portrait on one of the far walls. Pacing to the painting you admired it for a moment before you slid it aside to retrieve the spare key. For the first time in two years you stepped through the threshold of her office, it felt weird, wrong, the fire wasn’t alight, her laptop wasn’t resting on top of her desk, but everything else remained in exact place as the last time you saw it.

You walked around the desk to sit in her chair, just like you had many times before. “Here my sweet, sit here, it will be easier to do your homework.” She’d say. “Thanks lissa, you’re not leaving though?” You asked. “No, I am done for the day, but I’ll be right here on the lounge reading for a bit.” She said coming to stand behind your place in her chair, she pressed a kiss to the top of your head and walked over to lay down with her heels removed and legs slung over the edge of the couch. How you missed her.

As you sat tears started to well in your eyes, you discarded your sunglasses tossing them onto the table and rubbed at your eyes. Just then the door rang with a gentle knock. “Y/n?” A small voice asked as the door cracked open. Lifting your head from your hand a small smile graced your face. “Enid, hi.” You said standing, walking over to her with open arms. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come up here.” She said coming into your embrace. “Yeah well I had to some time.” You said. “I missed you.” She huffed into your chest. “I missed you to little lycan.” You said pulling back with wet eyes and a sniff. “Heeyyy, I love the hair.” You said groggily playing with the pink and blue tips. “Thanks.” She said sadly.

A moment went by when she spoke again. “I miss her too.” She said looking around the room. “Yeah.” You mumbled. A noise emanated through the door, you looked at Enid quizzically. “Um that’s Wednesday.” She said spinning on the spot and going to open the door, the girl really was like a storm cloud, literally black and white, just like how Larissa had explained. “Hello Wednesday.” You greeted. She peered at you unblinking until she looked you up and down. You extended a hand for her to shake and hesitantly she did so. “Y/n Weems, I’m Larissa’s niece.” You explained. “She told me a lot about you… don’t worry I don’t bite.” You said looking at Enid. “Well biting isn’t really a worry for you I suppose is it.” You said trying to ease the awkwardness. The look on Enid’s face was priceless, completely red. Wednesday on the other hand her scowl dropped immediately. “Hey that’s what happens when your added to this one’s close friends story on instagram.” You said giggling.

“You look like her.” Wednesday spoke, most likely her way of a shot at a compliment. “Thanks.” You said. “Ok wens we should go now.” Enid said dragging Wednesday behind her. “Horrified to meet you Wednesday.” You said, she peered over her shoulder and smirked, that gave you hope in possibly being on her good side. The door closes behind them and you paced to the middle of the room. ‘Guess I should consolidate with the staff.’ You thought with a sigh. “You will be fine, I know you don’t like talking to people but I’ll be right there the whole time, just waiting in the car.” She said. “I’m so nervous.” You expressed fixing your necklace in the mirror. “I know but you will feel so happy and relieved when you’re done.” She said standing behind you giving a squeeze to your shoulders. “What if they say they don’t want me as an employee?” You asked. “They would be silly not to consider you.” She said guiding you towards the door. In the end you got your first job at the mayor’s office as the receptionist, all thanks to the encouragement of her.

A while later finally finished meeting and greeting a few of the staff to let them know you will be staying for the week, all of them looked at you sympathetically as if they felt sorry for you, but you knew even when Larissa didn’t express it, that not one of them knew her or even cared enough try take some of the schools stress off her. You saw how it would take a toll, how tired she would be but never gave up and she never gave up on you. “Try again.” She nodded. You shifted for the second time and became the spitting image of your father. “Oh dear-.” She laughed, you cackled at the situation. “Out of everyone to pick.” She continued to laugh. “Ok your turn auntie lissa.” Your 15 year old self said shifting back to yourself and perching on her bed.

You hadn’t bothered to go backdown to the car and bring up your bags yet, when you return into the office you go straight to her quarters door. That damn door, how a piece of wood can be so imposing is beyond you, although once the door is unlocked and the hinges creak open you may never walk back out. You slid the key into the hole and twisted until it unlocked, you lent up against the architrave and observed the room, again everything in its place. Pacing inside you went and flopped on her bed, toeing off your heels and kicking them off the mattress, you snatched one of her pillows and hold it to yourself curling your legs up towards your stomach.

For the next hour you laid in the same position hugging onto the pillow like a life line, her sent still remaining. Pachouli, bergamot, vanilla and almost the faint smell of English breakfast tea. You scrolled through the photos in your phone’s gallery, seeing the ones from when you were born and an early twenties Larissa holding you, looking down at you as if her whole world just lit up. The timeline continued on all the way up to your early graduation from college, with Larissa holding onto your waist and you with an arm slung around her shoulders. You turn off your phone and break down sobbing into the pillow.

———

Two days have passed and all you had done is go through Larissa’s photos, clothes, trinkets and make up. You would take one piece of jewellery and wear it during the day just to feel a little bit closer to her, then when night came you would place it back in the exact spot you had taken it from. Nothing was boxed or packed, you couldn’t find it within you to place her things in a crammed space and send them home, this is what she has to show for her life and packing it away didn’t feel like an option.

Over the next two days you hung out with Wednesday and Enid, taking them into town, going to the weathervane, or just for a drive. You never really noticed how much you missed nevermore until now, unless perhaps it wasn’t the school that you truly missed, the memories are bittersweet, only now do they feel tarnished and painful, nevertheless it’s nice to know that you have a home a true home that comes with a chosen family, on the outings with the girls you were mistaken for being Enid’s older sister, to which you’d correct, though the mistake can be made since she’s 16 and you 23, only 7 years apart.

Returning back to school grounds you opted for a walk down to the lake, it felt like just yesterday you had won the Poe cup, having Larissa cheer you on from the side lines. You remember that even before you celebrated with your team you ran straight to her and embraced her with a joyful scream. It was nearing dawn and you decided to go back to your- her room, where you could use sleep as a procrastination.

“Larissa I’m an adult I can do anything I want!” You yelled. “Yes daring I know that but-.” She began. “No! Stop trying to keep me here, I want to go and experience things myself, I will not be rooted in one place like you, I actually need a life!” You exclaimed. Larissa straightened up and cleared her face of hurt emotions, turning into a stern look. “Fine.” She said. Your stomach churned. How disappointed she is. However you stuck it out and left, but before you could reach the door Larissa stopped you and wrapped her arms around your neck and breathed an I love you, one you didn’t return.

You sat up straight in bed gasping as the memory fades from your eyes, you look around to see the dimly lit room still and quiet through watery vision. “I’m sorry.” You whispered into the room. “I’m so so sorry… I love you too, I love you so much.” You said with your voice breaking and your throat sore. It displayed 3:02am on the clock resting on the bedside, you dragged yourself up and out of the tangled sheets to make a tea for yourself wrapping a blanket over your shoulders and back to keep warm.

With the beverage in hand you sat on the floor leaning against the end of the bed in front of the fire place, you were exhausted, the loop of the memory on repeat making every run through more painful. It was true the whole thing was real, you had been irrationally irritable that day, when you visited Larissa to tell her you were thinking of travelling alone across the world, the worst part was that Larissa was the one who actually encouraged you to travel and explore but to be careful and safe and yet you threw her support and generosity and care back in her face as if she were a monster. 

It only took 2 weeks until you were back in contact with one another, Larissa was relieved to know you were ok and you were relieved she forgave you as well as listened to every ‘I’m sorry’ you had to offer. Turns out going back to London to pack and prepare without her wasn’t fun or adventurous at all, if you were to do something, anything, you wanted to share the experience with her, because Larissa wasn’t just your aunt, no, she was practically your mother, roll model and your best friend. That was the last time you visibly saw her, two whole years ago, you would do anything to go back and wrap yourself around her frame and never let her go.

With the tea finished and cup discarded, you went back to bed in hopes of a restful sleep, but of course you weren’t that lucky. The next morning you felt tired and drained in every way, you spent the day walking the grounds, visiting Ophelia hall to see Wednesday and Enid, and finally ending the day with sitting on the floor of Larissa’s walk in closet to flip through the box she kept her year book, newspaper clippings and sentimental things, but it wasn’t just hers it was your things to, the nevermore newspaper from 6 years ago when you had been early excepted into a prestigious university, the hair clips she would put in your hair every time she came to visit when you were little, Polaroids from over the years and dated notes from significant days in the past.

“Y/n, are you ok sweetheart?” She asked looking up at you from her arm chair in the corner of her room. “Yeah…” you said quietly, looking down. “I wanna tell you something.” You murmured. Larissa slotted the bookmark in between the pages of her book and gave you her undivided attention, you pulled out a piece of paper and gave it to her to unfold. “I can’t say it.” You said pacing about the room. You could hear her unfolding the paper and the silence that followed, but a giggle interrupted the raging thoughts in your mind. “Oh darling… that’s ok, that’s wonderful, you shouldn’t be afraid to tell me such a thing. Come here.” She said, you turned and walked to her with your head down, as you sat lightly on her lap snuggled into her chest and tightly wrapped arms, she spoke again. “I love you no matter who or what you love, if you’re interested in girls or boys, vampires or werewolves I don’t mind……. can I tell you a secret?” She asked. “Yeah.” Larissa inhaled and slowly exhaled before she whispered in your ear. “Really?!” You said sitting upright. “Mhmm.” She smiled. “Oh, I was wondering why you didn’t like that nice man we spoke to at the grocery store the other day.” You said, in response Larissa laughed.

11/5/2019- y/n came out to me!

You traced her cursive handwriting at the bottom of the note you handed to her that day with a smile and placed it back in the box as well as putting the lid back on. Standing back up and turning the light off, you had a strange feeling that something wasn’t right, but ignored it. You grabbed the blanket from the bed and threw it over yourself going towards the office to turn off the lamps and stoke the fire before a knock on the door was heard. Walking over to it you opened the door to be met with one of the staff holding a few papers.

“Evening y/n, these were dropped off this afternoon, I thought I should bring them to you… sorry it’s late and I interrupted.” She said holding out the stack. “No it’s ok Melanie, I appreciate that thank you.” You said taking papers. “You have a relaxing night.” She said turning on her heels to leave. “You too.” You said closing the door. Wonderful, just what you wanted, letters with principal applicants, schedules of new school developments, an obituary form and a mediocre memorial service for Larissa. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You said. Somehow you internally corrected yourself with the word ‘language’ as if you could hear the statement about to come from her.

Another knock, you rolled your eyes. “Come in.” Nothing but a stretch of silence. “Melanie, if you forgot to tell me something you can come in.” You said walking back to the door. Nothing could have prepared you for what lye behind it, you opened the door and the wind was knocked from you lungs. No. This isn’t real. “Wow, I’m going insane.” You said peering into those bright cerulean eyes, dropping the blanket from your shoulders. When her hand extended to cup your cheek, almost immediately tears ran down your cheeks. “You’re not real.” You breathe. She stepped closer to run her other hand over your hair. You could feel her. You could see her. You could smell her.

You stood still as if you could blink to hard and she’d be gone. “Hello my darling girl.” She said with a smile. As brief as it may be and as much as you didn’t want to you rubbed your eyes knowing she will be gone in a moment trying to flea from this torment…and yet her grip stayed prominent, her smell still lingers and her form remained. You were in pure shock, you brought your shaking hands to her face to trace at it just to be sure. She was there, she was here, she was home and she was finally back exactly where she’s supposed to be, with you.

“I have a lot to explain, but firstly…” she began. “I love you.”

@sabraaabra

[uramilf]

Dangerous Game - Matty Healy x reader smut

A/N: Guys this is FILTHY. Like the most unhinged deranged smut I’ve written so far, fair warning. It’s set around Christmas 2022 as it mentions the guests at the UK atvb tour, just for context xx

Warnings: SMUT. Cheating (yes cheating is wrong but it’s just a story, if you don’t like it don’t read it please!) Some BDSM, cockwarming, light anal AH SOZ, spanking, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected sex, spitting, biting etc, degredation, dom!Matty

Stepping out of the lift, I straightened my skirt and checked my hair in the reflection of the shiny metal doors as they closed. I was playing a dangerous game with the short skirt and tight blouse, but I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride on catching a glimpse of myself.  A few months into working at Dirty Hit as Matty’s assistant, and I still tried my hardest to look nice when I knew I would be with him. I knew it was wrong. Every morning I left my own boyfriend in our shared bed after he told me how beautiful I looked. He looked prefect on paper apart from the fact that he wasn’t Matty, and that I often wondered during sex if Matty would do a better job. Sometimes I wanted to tell him exactly who I was trying to look beautiful for, so that I would be free to do whatever I wanted with my gorgeous co-worker. But even then, I wouldn’t be able to make a move on him. He had a girlfriend too, Ella. And she was perfect, a literal model. He wouldn’t even look twice at me.

I walked into the Matty and George’s small shared office. I loved George, but I was glad he was taking the day off for once. Matty looked up from his laptop when I entered. “Morning, love. You look pretty.” “Thanks,” I laughed, sitting down opposite him, trying not to let my face turn red or allow him to see how thrilled I was. “Busy day today?” “Not hugely. Still a few things to sort out for tour, but y’know, I’m getting there,” “That’s good,” I nodded, opening my own laptop. It was never awkward with him, but there was a certain tension in the air every time we were alone. It was as if he could tell that I was actively trying to act appropriately around him, and maybe like he was doing the exact same thing.

We worked quietly for 20 minutes, and as I was checking the guestlists for each show I noticed that his girlfriend’s name was missing. “Hey, Ella’s not on the guestlist for the first London show. Should I put her on?” Matty looked up abruptly, jaw clenching slightly at the mention of her name. Had something happened between them? He relaxed his face and his eyes softened when he saw my worry. “Um, no thanks love. She’ll be out of the city for a few days. Visiting family.” I saved the document and shut the laptop, standing up from my desk. “I’m gonna go get a coffee, you coming?” “Sure, babe. Two minutes.” BABE? What the fuck was he trying to do to me? I didn’t know how long I could stay around Matty without accidentally telling him exactly how I felt about him. A feeling of guilt overcame me and I shook all thoughts of Matty from my head. 

---------------------

On the way back from our coffee run, Matty and I stood quietly together waiting for the lift. When we had been walking back from the Starbucks down the street, our hands had brushed each other multiple times and it was all I could do to not kiss him right then and there. The lift doors opened, and we stepped in. I opened my mouth to speak but Matty didn’t give me the chance. He grabbed my waist and pushed me against the wall, staring straight down into my eyes. “Fuck this,” he almost spat at me. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend there’s nothing going on with us anymore.” I felt as though my throat was closing over. “Matty,” I said in a voice which was barely a whisper. His eyes softened. “Matty, I have a boyfriend. You have a girlfriend.” His jaw tensed again. “She left me. She left because she could see how badly I wanted you. And as for your boyfriend, are you seriously saying you’d rather have him than me?” I raised an eyebrow. “What? You know I’m right. He’s too boring for you. And he doesn’t look at you the way I do. Shit, can he even make you cum?”

The lift doors opened and he sprung away from me, leaving me with wide eyes and red cheeks. Jamie got in the lift as we got out, and I prayed he hadn’t seen anything.  “Morning, you two. Y/n, have you had a chance to look over those guest lists?” “Yep, all done,” I managed to say, voice breaking under the pressure of nearly being caught with Matty’s hands on my waist and lips a fraction of an inch from mine. The second we made it back to the office I turned and locked the door. “You’re right,” I blurted out. He looked at me with raised eyebrows.  “Yeah?” he smirked, approaching me like an animal stalking its prey. I felt small, but safe, around him; like I knew he could absolutely ruin my life, but chose not to. Like he could turn around now and tell me he was joking, and that he didn’t really want me. But he didn’t. Instead he shoved me back against the wall, the cold surface touching my bare thighs and making me shiver. “Right about what, exactly?” “He can’t make me cum,” I whispered, not looking him in the eye.  “Right.” Matty lifted my chin and forced me to look into his eyes, “And why is that, I wonder?”

“Because he’s not you.”

Matty kissed me then; hard, rough, needy. His hips rolled into mine as his tongue slipped into my open mouth, brushing against my own. I moaned into his mouth and he grabbed at my waist eagerly. One of my hands tangled in his hair, the other feeling desperately up and down his bicep, which seemed to have grown a lot recently. Shit, all that working out was doing wonders for him. Matty’s hips bumped into me again and he groaned. I could feel him getting hard in his black trousers and a wave of heat rushed through me. Just as the kiss was deepening, his phone rang. He pulled away, fumbling in his pocket and rolling his eyes. “Hello?” he snapped. “Oh, hi mate. Sure. Yep. I’ll be there in a second.” “Everything okay?” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Adam’s outside. Says he’s got some paperwork or something I need to look over before tour. I’m gonna run down and grab it, okay babe?”

When he left, I checked my phone and sighed. My boyfriend had texted: Miss you baby. When u coming home? I texted back: Miss you too, not sure yet, pretty busy here x I still felt a little guilty, but slightly less so after feeling Matty so close to me like that. After a few minutes of me trying to calm myself after our encounter, Matty walked back through the door. I draped my arm around his neck and kissed him again, but he pulled away after a few seconds. “Hey gorgeous, can we finish this later, yeah? I have so much fucking work to get through here.” “Oh. Yeah, sure.” “Sorry, babe. You know I want you, like, right now. But Adam’s shitting himself about getting this all done. In the meantime can you get Taylor, Lewis and Charli’s teams on the phone and go over the details for the UK shows, please?” “Of course,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. Back to being an assistant. Maybe he didn’t want me that badly after all. 

I was wrong. 20 minutes into my phone calls with various celebrities’ teams and managers, Matty sighed and looked up at me. “Fuck, babe. I can’t work when you’re sat there looking like that. C’mere.” I stood up and walked to his desk, sitting down on the edge. “What’s wrong?” I smiled teasingly. Matty laughed and gestured to the obvious bulge in his trousers.  “But you have so much work to do!” I feigned shock and Matty rolled his eyes. “I know that was a dig at me, but you’re actually right. It’s ok, I think we can do both.” I raised an eyebrow as he unbuckled his belt and tugged his trousers and boxers down. That shut me up. He was huge, dripping precum, a thick vein running up the side of his cock from base to tip.  “Sit,” he commanded. I wasted no time in doing what I was told, straddling his lap and grinding down on him, my clothed core rubbing against his cock. He let out a deep groan from the back of his throat. “Darling, if you want me all to yourself tonight, you need to let me get my work done. Sit.” This time I lifted my hips and positioned myself right over his cock, pulling my thong to the side and sinking down onto him. We groaned out in sync as a wave of pleasure washed over us both. I mentally begged him to move, to do something. But I knew he wouldn’t. I sat there whining into his ear and clenching around him for a further ten minutes. I tried to sneak my hand down to touch my clit but he grabbed my wrist and threw it back over his shoulder. “Behave,” he smirked, not looking up from his computer. 

Finally, Matty finished what he was doing and looked up at me, still perched on his lap, trying not to grind my hips downwards. “The rest of this can wait until tomorrow. It’s time you got some attention, yeah baby?” He moved his laptop, notebooks and papers to the side and lifted me by the waist onto the desk, pushing my shoulders so I ended up flat on my back with my legs spread, him now standing between them. I whined at the empty feeling and Matty shushed me gently before pushing into me again. He threw his head back as he thrusted into me. I wasn’t used to the stretch required for me to fit around his cock, and it felt perfect. The sound of our combined moans and his skin hitting mine filled the room, but neither of us cared to stay quiet. Matty pulled out of me again and I could have screamed in frustration, but he didn’t give me time to complain.

“Hands and knees,” he commanded, and I obeyed. He groaned when I pushed my ass towards him and placed a firm smack there, making me giggle with giddy anticipation. Instead of fucking me again, Matty sat down in his chair so his face was level with my cunt and leaned forward to lick a stripe straight up my core.  “Shit! Oh, Matty, please!” His tongue teased at my entrance, flicking back and forth, his rough, calloused hand sneaking around to find my clit and rub light circles over it.  “Does he ever do this to you, baby?” “Yes,” I gasped. “But it doesn’t feel as good as this.” Matty’s tongue ventured further away from my cunt and I gasped. “Matty, wait. No one’s ever done that to me before.” “Ssh, baby. You’ll like it.” With that he flicked his wet tongue over my asshole, making me scream out.  “Oh fuck!” He did it again, and again, building up speed into a proper rhythm. The thought of letting a guy ever do this to me had never even crossed my mind, but holy fuck, it felt good. As he continued to kitten lick over my hole, he thrusted two fingers into my wet cunt and I could feel myself tipping over the edge at last.  “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” I cried out, nails digging into the cold wood of the desk, clenching around Matty’s fingers. My vision was overcome with a bright white heat as I came on Matty’s hand, screaming his name. He pulled his fingers out of me and I saw him flick his tongue over them, closing his eyes in bliss. “Fuck, you taste good.” He placed his thumb on my lip and whispered “open,” before spitting into my mouth. “Don’t you think you taste good, love?” I swallowed and nodded quietly, eyes never leaving his.

Matty gave me some time to recover, but I noticed he was still hard. He was the first guy to give me an orgasm in six months, as my boyfriend was seriously lacking in experience and confidence. I wasn’t gonna let the favour not be returned. I pulled my skirt back down to cover my thighs and dropped to my knees in front of Matty. He was in the midst of pulling his boxers back up over his hard-on, but I stopped him. “Fuck, babe. You’re so desperate for me you should be ashamed of yourself,” Matty smirked down at me. I just rolled my eyes and licked his tip, relishing the sound he made. I tested the waters, taking his tip fully into my mouth and sucking. I could taste his salty precum and moaned around his cock, making him echo the sound. Slowly taking more of him into my mouth, I looked up at him through my eyelashes to see his head tipped back, eyes shut in ecstasy. His hands found their way to my hair and grabbed a fistful each, forcing me down further. He hit the back of my throat and I gagged a little. A groan of “Good fucking girl” made its way to my ears. He guided my head up and down, fucking roughly into my mouth.  “Fuck, I’m so close,” he stuttered, his cock twitching in my mouth. He spilled his cum onto my tongue with a loud moan of my name and I pulled away, swallowing while staring straight into his eyes. “C’mere,” he breathed heavily, pulling me up to stand close to him. He grabbed me by the hips and kissed me hard.

“You’re actually incredible, you know that, right?” Matty asked softly, brushing my hair behind my ear. I didn’t look at him, just smiling. “Have you never been told that before?” “Not really, no.” “Well you deserve someone who’s gonna tell you that every day of your fucking life, darling.” “Someone like you?” I grinned. “Exactly,” he smiled back.

--------------------------

I hadn’t gone back to Matty’s house. It seemed too obvious. Instead I headed home and changed into a tight dress and put some makeup on, some stupid excuse about meeting up with work friends for a drink spilling out of my mouth. It wasn’t entirely a lie. 

Matty had opened his front door and pulled me inside before I even had a chance to knock, lips meeting mine immediately. He was still in his work clothes. Not for long, I decided. He dragged me upstairs into his bedroom, shoving me down on the bed and yanking off his shirt and tie. I almost let out a moan at the sight of his toned stomach and muscular, tattooed arms. He slipped my feet out out my shoes and kissed all the way from my ankle to my thigh, pulling my dress, stepping back in feigned shock when he saw my lack of underwear.  “Someone’s being a bit cheeky tonight,” he whispered. “It gets worse, no bra either,” I joked. “Fuck!” Matty exclaimed, reaching down to pull my dress straight over my head. He stood there with his mouth open for a moment or two at the sight of my tits moving with my deep breaths. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, grabbing my thighs and spreading my legs. He knelt on the bed between them and dropped down to take one of my nipples into his mouth, one hand trailing down my stomach towards my clit. He continued to suck on the skin of my breast and circle my clit with his thumb as I moaned out his name. “Fuck darling, you make the prettiest noises.” Matty moved up to my neck to place a messy kiss there, and I cried out when he sunk his teeth into my skin. He stood up to undo his belt, but kept his trousers on. I raised an eyebrow. “Pretty girl, I think it’s time you got a little punishment for all the times you’ve given me a fucking boner in work this week.” My eyes widened in shock. “Four times this week, babe. It’s only Wednesday.” He reached for his tie from the floor and told me to get in the same all-fours position I had been in earlier. This time, he grabbed my wrists and tied them together behind my back, forcing my head down into the mattress.  “Okay, pretty girl. You’ve got me all worked up four times this week, and I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose. So I want you to count your punishments, okay?” I nodded, letting out an excited whimper. I heard the belt buckle clink and clenched my cunt around nothing. A sharp sting landed on my ass and I yelped. “Count.” “One,” I breathed. Another. “Two.” Another. “Three.” “One more, babe, You’re doing well.” He brought the thick leather down on my soft skin once more, the sensation burning pleasurably.  “Four.” “Good girl.”

Matty grabbed my tied wrists and pulled me up so my face was no longer in the sheets. “Are you gonna take my cock again like a good little slut?” I just whined in response. “Words,” he grunted. “Or do I need to remind you what your punishment is?” “Yes, Matty. I’ll be good for you,” I whimpered. He let go of my wrists, my upper half dropping back onto the mattress. Without warning, he pushed into me hard and established a fast, steady rhythm. I cried out as he found my g-spot effortlessly.  “Fuck Matty!” This only encouraged him, and he thrusted deeper, harder, all the while groaning my name. He alternated between grabbing handfuls of my ass and placing firm slaps there. Each time he hit me I clenched hard around him, ripping a moan from his throat. 

After around ten minutes of hard, rough, rhythmic thrusting, Matty grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled out of me, cumming all over my back. “Fuck, love. How are we ever gonna share an office again without me getting a boner?” I laughed at him while he untied my wrists, wincing when his hand brushed the sore skin of my ass.  “Oh, darling, I’m sorry if I hurt you. I know I can go overboard sometimes.” “Are you seriously apologising for the best sex of my life right now?” Matty grinned at this. “Are you joking?” “Absolutely not. You’ve met my partner, you know he’s not doing any of that.” I glanced at the clock. “Oh shit! He’s gonna be wondering where I am.” “Text him and say Charli drank too much and you’re staying with her to look after her. I’m not letting you go home by yourself at this time of night. Plus, I need to take care of my pretty girl.”

After I had made my excuses to my boyfriend, Matty cleaned me up in the bathroom and carried me back to his bed, tucking me in under the sheets and curling up beside me, his head on my chest. I had a hand in his hair and one of his was exploring the skin of my stomach underneath my borrowed t-shirt.

“Get some sleep, love,” Matty yawned. “You’re gonna be sore tomorrow.”

[saintsenara]

SORRY I KNOW ITS WEIRD ASKING A HP TUMBLR BLOG FOR LIFE ADVICE BUT IM SO CURIOUS HOW DO YOU MANAGE YOUR TIME

this is a genuine answer.

i think it's very important for there to be no doubt about the fact that - without medication - i would be fucked. there are plenty of non-medical ways of helping to manage adhd, but stimulant medication is the frontline treatment for a reason - no matter what the latest moral panic says. you cannot girlboss your way out of having an incurable neurological condition - and i will be honest that the few people in my life who think that you can are also the few people in my life i consider to be actively contemptible.

time management starts and ends with easily having executive function - and "easily" is the operative word. i can - of course - survive without medication - but i do so while stalked by a constant state of nervous energy which is just exhausting. not least because it ruins my sleep.

[the experience of realising that - no - you're not semi-nocturnal, you've just never before been properly calm the first time you take your pills... exquisite.]

and when i'm in the state of relative normality that legal amphetamine use brings, i manage my time by...

1. wearing a watch

no checking the time on my phone - i'll just get distracted by scrolling.

2. setting huge numbers of alarms

beat time-blindness with this one weird trick.

bonus points - if you're someone who finds it hard to switch between tasks or gets stuck hyper-focusing on things, then set the alarm and then put the device it's on far enough away from you that you have to move in order to turn it off.

3. putting everything on the wall

if you are dopamine-challenged, the best tip i can give you is that you are deluding yourself if you think you can use normal diaries/planners/to-do lists. this is why you probably have cupboards full of them.

stick everything on the wall, where you can see it, and set it up in a way that you can easily move tasks around [i.e. by using a whiteboard you can erase, or sticking your planner inside a plastic wallet and writing on it, or by having everything on sticky notes you can move around].

numbered task lists [i have to do x first, then move onto y] are a no-go - because if you don't do x, then you won't move onto y. but having groups of tasks - organised by urgency or difficulty, for example - which are right there in front of you can be selected from work much better with the adhd brain.

4. being a shark

by which i mean, being constantly on the move. desk chairs are the enemy. never sit still.

if you have adhd - and, to be frank, even if you don't - you will find that doing something physical while you need to concentrate on a task improves your ability to focus on that task. it also helps with managing time-blindness, task-switching, hyper-focus which is to the detriment of what you're supposed to be doing, and being easily distracted.

when i'm at work i literally never sit down. i use a standing desk [which, if you have a diagnosis of adhd and you're uk-based, counts as a reasonable adjustment your employer has to provide for you, fyi], and i have an under-desk treadmill [which i had to pay for myself, which i do not regret in the slightest] for tasks which really need a lot of effort to power through.

at home, i have an adjustable desk which i use as a standing desk or which i sit at while using an under-desk bike [which i use when i'm likely to get stuck hyper-focusing on something and need not to be - like if i'm writing fic but i need to meet up with friends at a certain time - because it's really uncomfortable and it therefore compels me to get up] or an exercise ball [the effort of not falling off really helps with concentration].

obviously, these types of movement are possible for me because i'm not physically disabled - it will look different for everyone, but any level of physical movement [including using fidget toys] helps with time management by improving focus.

5. body-doubling

this is a classic adhd-and-productivity thing, which means having someone physically with you while you work. they're not there to supervise you [or indeed to engage with you at all] - they're working on their own things - but the way that the adhd brain is primed for pattern recognition [and is very good at mimicry] means that you end up falling into the same rhythm as the other person.

if you need to complete something in a finite amount of time, then having someone you can body-double with is really useful, because you're less likely to get distracted from or overwhelmed by the task at hand. similarly, having a double helps prevent you getting stuck hyper-focusing.

6. owning my shit

everyone - even the most neurotypical of people - is late, or misses deadlines, or forgets meetings, or puts off tasks sometimes. it will happen no matter how brilliant your organisational system is. it's part of life.

but if you have adhd, it's very easy to fall into "well, this is just what i'm like" thinking - both self-critically ["i can't improve this, i'm a fuck-up"] and self-indulgently ["he has no right to be angry at me for being late for his party, he knows i have adhd"].

untrue. if you struggle with time management you have a responsibility to get a grip on aspects of those struggles which inconvenience other people. you will have to be quite strict with yourself in order to do this - i've ended up in a position, for example, where i'm always extremely [and often inconveniently - i do a lot of lurking outside the function waiting until it's time to go in] early for things. this is because i know that if i give myself an inch ["oh, i can wait fifteen minutes before leaving, it'll be fine!"] then i'll take a mile ["fuck, i should have left half an hour ago"].

so too with tasks. that "you can do this later... just go on your phone for a bit" voice is the devil speaking. do not listen.

i'm afraid that i've not found this becoming more intuitive with time - i have to be constantly strict with myself, in a way that neurotypical people don't - but it's just the way it is, you just have to do your best.

be community-minded about the things you need to do, be proactive in identifying what your weak areas are and thinking about how you can get around them [as i've said, mine is being late, and so i'm always hyper-alert about not slipping into complacency around this] forgive yourself for the odd slip, say sorry without caveats to people you inconvenience, thank people who are gracious, and extend grace in turn.

7. taking every bit of help going

i'm open about my diagnosis at work - which is a piece of good fortune which isn't available to everyone.

[although, if you're uk-based, a diagnosis of adhd counts as a disability under the equality act - your employer is obligated to make reasonable adjustments for you, you can't be dismissed just for having adhd, and you are entitled to bring a claim of disability discrimination if you are not provided with reasonable adjustments. you are also entitled to apply for an access to work grant - which provides financial assistance for adjustments which fall outside of the reasonable costs your employer is legally obliged to incur.]

i have adjustments at work [not only my standing desk, but things like permission to record meetings and to have all instructions issued in writing] and i feel absolutely no shame over it. if i can get something for free from the government to make my life easier, i will take it.

i am also absolutely shameless about taking advantage of my colleagues to help with time management - using them as body doubles, or asking them to get me from my office so i'm not late to things, for example - and i take advantage of my friends and family along the same lines.

human beings are social creatures - this is literally what we're designed to do - and it's incredibly important to reject the "i owe nobody anything" paradigm [which is one of the most egregious crimes of modern, poorly-regulated therapy]. i receive support, and i repay it turn by doing things for the people who help me.

8. constantly having a little treat

i am a grown adult with three degrees and a mortgage. i have also been known to use a star chart for a little flutter of pride in myself.

if you have a time management triumph, give yourself a little treat. you deserve it.

[sourcreammachine]

LOONY PARTY MANICFESTO 2024 SUMMARY

[not a pejorative, party founder Screaming Lord Sutch was himself bipolar]

tdlr: “we are fighting this election on the basis of CHANGE… LOOSE CHANGE as this is all we’ll have left under a labour/conservative government”

💷ECONOMY

reduce taxes to 5%

get rid of value-added tax as it adds no value

ban the tipping of flies

convert number 10 and number 11 into a hairdressers called Government Cuts

abolish stamp duty because stamps are too expensive

fit airbags to the stock exchange, ready for the next crash

halve dole queues by making jobseekers stand two-by-two

improve quitters’ self-esteem by encouraging them not to start in the first place

🏥PUBLIC SERVICES

employ 80.00 teachers, police officers and nhs staff

reduce pregnancy from nine to seven months

reduce hospital waiting lists by using a smaller font

reduce class sizes by shrinking desks and making students sit closer together

glue unruly pupils together because if you can’t beat them, join them

give pensioners an ice lolly allowance when temperatures exceed 70°

🏠HOUSING

build five million new homes

aid “levelling up” by providing free spirit levels

🚄TRANSPORT

fill five million potholes

introduce an ROT to make sure all roads are carworthy

fit vehicles with a bungy rope to save fuel on the return journey

save money on paint by painting double-yellow lines where you CAN park rather than where you can’t

create the world’s biggest carwash by punching holes in the channel tunnel

👮FORCE

send all MPs who misbehave to rwanda

reduce net migration by making sure all nets are secured firmly to the ground

make terrorists wear little bells so we know where they are

replace border guards with GP receptionists to stop anyone getting in

introduce a court of human lefts

reduce prison overcrowding by releasing innocent prisoners

oppose capital punishment as it is not fair to londoners

🌱CLIMATE

wind farms to be constructed across the country where all will be encouraged to break wind

get more green cars on the road, with politicians having fluorescent green so everyone can see them coming

paint the grey squirrels red

greyhound racing will be banned to stop the country going to the dogs

puddles deeper than 7cm will be marked with a plastic duck

🗳️DEMOCRACY

MPs will have to sit in stocks during surgeries while constituents throw custard pies at them. companies to be encouraged to design new stocks, to be sold at the stock exchange

introduce a “cooling-off period” to allow voters to change their mind

replace the foreign secretary with a UK one

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

All Along the Watchtower

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: some military jargon, mild angst, brief mentions of sexual activity in the past, brief mentions of violence

Summary: Sgt. Rory Sinclair with the Special Reconnaissance Regiment of the British army has been called on to assist with a joint US/UK operation. Quickly discovering that her Commanding Officer for the mission is a man she's met before...

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis. Will also be available to read on AO3.

October 13, 2017 09:37 - Special Reconnaissance Regiment Headquarters, Stirling Lines, Credenhill, Herefordshire, United Kingdom 

Rory sat in her cubicle, grey plastic walls surrounding her, free of any personal items. Scouring hours of footage shot during a scouting mission in thermal vision, taking note of timestamps and important location details for her report, she couldn’t help but taste the acrid pang of jealousy. It was the duty of her and the other SRR operators in the office to painstakingly comb through reports and footage, collecting intel. The nerve center for army intelligence. Keyboards clacked and phones rang as information was filtered and passed along to where it was needed.

"Sgt. Sinclair."

A deep voice broke the monotony around her, it was one that few ever heard unless the powers that be deemed it so. She’d only heard it once before when her transfer to the SRR was approved. Spinning in her seat at her desk, she rose to stand, her hand raised in a salute as she stood at attention. "Colonel Rourke, Sir?"

Rourke, a man with decades of experience as part of the British army, stood at her desk. Brusque and stern, he was a bulldog of a man trapped in an office space. He would have been more comfortable leading a fleet of tanks rather than an infantry of analysts. "At ease, soldier." She relaxed, hands held behind her back as he continued, "I don't make a habit of personal visits, but I've just left an important meeting and I need your attention for a moment, Sergeant."

"Of course, sir."

“Follow me.” Leading her away from the bullpen she was sitting at and towards a quiet corner, a potted plant was the only company there. Free from prying eyes and ears, he turned his back to the rest of the room, and lowered his voice. "There's a joint operation happening between the Americans and the SAS, and they require our assistance. However, they're looking for boots on the ground experience, and a fair portion of the SRR operators currently available for missions of this sort of nature just don’t have that. But you –"

She nodded, her face falling somewhat. She'd only transferred six months ago and was still settling in. The SRR HQ provided a different type of work than she was used to, but she appreciated the change of pace it gave her, utilizing a different portion of her skill set. It also meant she was closer to her father rather than being half a world away in the middle of a war zone – but a soldier could only be at peace for so long. 

"I understand you were transferred here to clear the headspace, but I can’t think of anyone better suited. You have an impressive record, Sinclair. A real asset. You’ve a history with counter-terrorism, been in the thick of it, and I have a Station Chief with the CIA here who wishes to speak with you."

It wasn't a question or an offer. She had been selected. An honor bestowed upon her. There was no turning it down. Not that she would. Ambitious, career-oriented – she had no reason to say no. Walking past the cubicles of operators, it was a stark contrast to where she was less than a year ago. The ground no longer shook as bombs dropped overhead, bullets didn’t tear through the air or rip through kevlar, it was quiet here. Safe. She still played an important part in the war effort, but without the risk to life and limb. The blood no longer dripped from her hands, though that still didn’t make her clean. 

The colonel stopped outside a large meeting room and opened the door for Rory, directing her inside with his hand. The room was empty except for one woman with a coffee and a laptop sitting at a long table. Dressed in business casual clothing, she looked prepared for a day at the office compared to the soldiers around her wearing their uniforms. Looking up, her face serious, she tilted her head in Rory's direction but spoke with the Colonel, "Is this her?"

"Yes, this is Sgt. Sinclair."

Like a child being spoken about between a parent and a teacher, she was recognized as being there, but not as part of the conversation. Things had been set in motion, all of which she had yet to be made privy to. Rory was no stranger to working on a need to know basis, moving up the ranks meant for much of her career she often merely had to follow in the direction she was being pointed. This was certainly no different.

"Good to meet you," the American said with a nod of her head. "I'm Kate Laswell." Holding her hand out to the open seat beside her, she directed Rory to it. "Take a seat."

Appearing sure in her steps, even while the stress took hold, she stopped at the table and took a seat, exhaling her breath finally as she settled into the chair, still trying to hold the proper decorum expected of a soldier. 

"You can relax, Sinclair. It's just you and me." Laswell looked at the Colonel and the door quickly closed, leaving the two women to sit alone in the large, echoing, blank slate of a room. She sipped her coffee, her eyes shifting to the screen of her laptop before speaking again. "I assume the colonel didn't reveal much about what's going on here, did he?"

Shaking her head, the short choppy locks of her chestnut bob hovered around her neck. "No, not really. Just that you're looking for boots on the ground?"

"Not exactly. We have the boots, it's more so a certain expertise." Kate glanced over at the younger woman, her brow lifting. "Why's a soldier like you working behind the scenes?"

Rory stretched her neck from side to side, cracking her knuckles. A cigarette suddenly seemed like a very good idea to her. "It was suggested I take a transfer from the field after I completed my last tour.” Glancing over at Laswell, she noticed the woman had begun looking right at her, scrutinizing her. “I spent the last several years in Iraq during the civil war. Working with CIA, PMCs, whoever my unit was assigned with." Her eyes fell to her fingers as she started to pick at the hangnail on the edge of her thumb, the skin underneath as sore and raw as the memories.

"Off the books?"

She cleared her throat and returned Laswell’s eye contact. "Oftentimes, yeah."

Kate paused, her head tipping to the side. "Seen some things, huh?"

Rory tried to get a read on the woman, it was hard to get much from her face or her demeanor. There was empathy or at the very least some form of understanding. Was she a soldier in the past? Or just an overpowered cop like some of the other CIA agents she'd met? She scratched her brow, clenching her jaw. "Did some things too."

"Not afraid to get your hands dirty then." Laswell’s face never seemed to change, her mouth drawn in a straight line as she folded her hands on the table. 

"I did what was asked of me."

"Like?" The station chief seemed genuinely interested in her, trying to get a beat on her all the same. Both of them were in the process of figuring out who they were about to get into bed with. 

"Primarily I focused on targets of high importance to prevent further incursion from the insurgency. Assassinations, interrogations – been there, done that."

"Assassinations?" Kate's voice rose, her interest piqued.

"I”m SSC trained. Ran a fair few missions that left me in some nests in high towers."

"A sniper, huh?"

"Yeah. When needed."

Nodding, Laswell’s straight face seemed to break for just a brief moment into a nearly unnoticeable grin. "How many confirmed kills?"

"High importance targets? Thirty three. I lost count of the random sods," she said with a shrug.

Laswell sipped her coffee, unfazed, hearing news like that was just a walk in the park for this woman. "No stranger to deep recon then?"

"It's in the name,” Rory confirmed. “It's what the SRR does. It used to be part of the SAS, but broke off and focused on the intel part of things. It’s why I was specifically transferred here and not just put on leave. Command didn’t want to lose someone with my experience."

"You have some connections with intelligence?"

"I have friends at MI6."

"Good.” Laswell’s attention fell on her completely. “Well Sinclair, I have a friend who's running this op – he's SAS – and you sound like just what he's looking for. If you're up for it, of course." 

Rory contemplated the decision for a moment, she hadn’t thought she’d be back out in the field quite so soon, and considering the fact that none of the details of the mission were being revealed to her until she agreed to come, she assumed she was heading into some real shit. Her hands slipped from the tabletop and into her lap, a tremor shaking through them out of sight, before she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Great." Laswell shut her laptop and scooped it under her arm as she stood, collecting her coffee cup in her other hand. "Come with me."

Her brow lifted. "Just like that?" She was well accustomed to the bureaucracy and strict measures the British army seemed to enforce, things didn’t just happen, not without cutting several layers of red tape and after being passed through multiple hands first.  

"Just like that."

She stood up and followed behind the Station Chief, keeping pace with her as they moved through the halls. Rory was in no position to argue, nor would she want to, it was nice not to be beholden to the rigidity of the chain of command. This was more cavalier. Very American. 

"So, you straddle the line between spy and soldier, huh?" Kate asked, her eyes kept forward.

"Sort of like you, I assume?" Rory asked with a sideways glance, her lips curving into a half grin.

"Sort of." Kate huffed out a laugh. "Yeah."

They turned the corner and headed down the stairs, the reverberations of their shoes on concrete bouncing off the walls. Once an RAF base, now the headquarters of the SRR and the 22 Special Air Service Regiment in the midlands, it was sprawling with large open fields. Out on the parade, a helo sat waiting, it’s rotor warmed up and the blades spinning. There was no time to grab her things, it was get up and go, the moment she said yes she was being tossed from the frying pan into the fire. The urgency was clear, she had likely already been transferred and meeting Laswell was simply a courtesy. 

Ducking under the blades, the shadow of each one cutting across the sun as it broke through the dense cloud cover above, Laswell pulled open the door of the helicopter. “Head inside,” she said with a tip of her head towards the waiting entrance into the vehicle, raising her voice to be heard over the engine. 

Rory climbed in and looked over at the row of seats, noticing another soldier sitting there, already strapped in. His face stern as he shifted, adjusting his hat, the overwhelming scent of cigar smoke drifting from him. Scratching at his cheek, his nails dragging through a thick fuzz of facial hair, he glanced over at her and then turned back to Laswell who took the seat across from him. "I assume this is the one, Kate."

"Yeah, John, this is her.” Laswell pulled on the front of her jacket as she sat back and got comfortable. “Sergeant Sinclair, meet Captain Price."

Rory's brow furrowed for a moment at the name. It was familiar, but she couldn't pinpoint how. Was it one she'd seen in a report? As she strapped into her seat, steely blue eyes measured her up before turning his attention to lighting the Villa Clara cigar he’d pulled from one of the pockets of his vest. 

"Nice to meet you, Sergeant."

His voice was deep, rumbling, and it stirred something in her. She was no stranger to appreciating someone’s timbre, but this was something different. He seemed so familiar, she couldn’t place how, but she knew it. Intimately. And then the memory hit her – the bathroom stall. Five years prior, one night in a bar. The sheer chance of them meeting like this damn near improbable. Her stomach dropped. Jesus. His face was nearly recognizable beneath the facial hair that hadn't been there the first time they met. His voice had become more gruff, lower than she remembered. The cigar he was currently smoking gave a clear indication as to why. Swallowing down the embarrassment that threatened to burn at her cheeks as she looked at him, gauging his reaction to her name - if he recognized her the way she suddenly did him, he didn't show it.

"Good to meet you too, sir," she said. Her gaze fell to her hands, remembering how it felt when he had held them. Trying her damnedest not to look at him, she preferred to appear nervous over the mission and not the man who had suddenly become her commanding officer. 

Tugging at the tactical vest he wore, Price tilted his head back, puffing on his cigar and looking out the window as the helicopter began to move, the inside shaking as they lifted up off the ground. 

There was no backing out now.

Laswell passed her a tablet, and started giving her the brief. “That is Igor Zorokov, Russian oligarch and alleged trafficker. Weapons, drugs, information…people.” Rory’s eyes locked on the screen, scanning through images of the man. Older, blond, in relatively good shape. Not the type someone might assume as a master criminal upon first inspection. “He has ties around the globe, but his stronghold is in Eastern Europe. Supplying several military coups with funds and weapons, he’s a dangerous man with people at disposal in his back pocket, and we have reason to believe he’s funding terrorist activities.”

“And we’re investigating him? Or taking him out?” Rory needed to prepare for exactly the type of mission this was going to be. Recon was one thing, taking someone’s life was another. 

“Erring on the side of caution. The Russian government could easily sweep just how far his global reach is under the rug if he’s brought to light, especially since it’s been beneficial for them. We want to find out who he’s funding and put a stop to the pipeline he has through his many ventures.”

Rory hummed, muttering, “Putting a tourniquet on before cutting off the arm.” 

“Exactly." Price's voice cut through the roar of the engine. "First stop is Kastovia, have a friend who’ll meet us there and get us into Russia undercover.”

“Nikolai?” Laswell asked.

“Yeah.”

It was clear these two weren’t just casually paired together for the mission, there was a long-standing relationship. Trust. She certainly understood how being a soldier who just so happened to have a friend who could get into the places they normally couldn’t would be beneficial, having an American ally even more so. 

“I hate to be a bother, ma’am," Rory spoke up, "but I’m not exactly prepared.” She felt damn right naked. Her duffel was down in the red brick complex below that was steadily getting smaller and further away. Her gear, her weapons, all of it was disappearing out of view as she sat there in her fatigues.  

“No need to worry about that, Sergeant.” Price replied instead, blowing out a stream of smoke. “Nik’ll have us covered when we land.”

All she had to do now was sit back and relax (as best she could) and try not to let her mind stray too far afield as the memories flashed before her eyes of the man who sat six feet from her.

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

"Not what I came for." John 'Soap' MacTavish x F! Reader

Summary: No one gets under your skin the way Soap does. It's gotten so bad, that you need to get the hell out and you request a transfer. But Price has one rule before he'll let you go, talk to Soap. To bad Soap has no interest in just talking.

Pairing: John 'Soap' MacTavish x F! Reader

Warnings: 18 + Only- Explicit Smut, Misunderstandings, Enemies to Lovers, language.

Cross Posted on AO3

“I could have gone anywhere, John,” you sit across from Price in the well-worn leather chair he’s placed across from the mahogany desk. “I’m the best sniper in the entire UK, I had over a dozen organizations that wanted me and my gun but for some reason, I chose you and your merry band of fucking idiots.” 

“Harsh words, love,” he smiles, leaning back in his chair and nursing his brandy, “only half of them are idiots, let’s be fair.” 

“I want a transfer,” he straightens, putting the glass down on the desk. “I can’t keep doing this every day and acting like I’m fine. This is not what I came for, Price.” 

“Okay,” he nods slowly, “I’ll start the paperwork…but you have to do something for me.” 

“What?” you groan, already hating the way this conversation is going. 

“You have to talk to him.” You open your mouth to protest and he raises a hand silencing you, “the paperwork isn’t started, I’m still your commanding officer so you’re going to shut your damn mouth and listen.” You grind your teeth before setting on a frown, Price sighs exasperated. “While the world is large, the world of intelligence and Spec. Ops is not, you’ll have to see him again at some point. Might as well leave things on a good note.” 

“He’s such a fucking prick, he’s making me transfer, John!” You stand pressing your hands on the desk, “how am I supposed to leave things on a good note, when he’s insufferable?!” 

Price leans back with a grin, “be the bigger person, darling.” 

“Fuck I hate that,” you groan, “for once in my life I don’t want to be the bigger person. I want to tell him what a fucking arsehole he is, and that if I never have to see him again in my entire life, it will be too soon.” 

“Well, then say that, but at least talk to the man. Then you’ll get your transfer.” Price looks smug, arms crossed over his chest and you let out a shout before slamming the door to his office shut behind you. 

It doesn’t take long to cross the base with the pace you’ve set yourself and in a matter of moments you’re pushing the mess hall doors open. You quickly glance around before seeing the other members of your team in the corner, eating lunch. “Soap MacTavish!” you shout, the whole room going silent as he turns to look at you, his mouth wide open food still partially chewed in his mouth, fuck, he’s disgusting. “Get the fuck out here,” he fails to move so you shout again, “Now!” 

“Aye, Lass, I’m eating my lunch. Lemme finish before I’ve got to deal with you and your squawking.” Your blood boils and you rush across the room, hands on your hips staring him down. He takes his time, turning his head to glance at you, “Ya know, Lass, I’ve always had this fantasy of you looking down at me, but it was never while I was eating my lunch.” 

“What was the fantasy?” Ghost asks with a smirk, and you glare at him, but of course, nothing phases him. 

“Well,” Soap sighs dramatically, “I was on my knees,” he pauses running a hand over his chin, “ah you know what L.T. I was enjoying some lunch in that fantasy too. But it wasn’t food, I was eating.” He smirks up at you and you want to hit him right in the middle of his perfect face. 

“You’re despicable,” you shake your head disgusted, “I wouldn’t let you within five feet of my pussy. I think I’d get an STD just from you breathing on me.” 

“Somebody get me a tape measure!” he shouts, “I need to see if I’m within five feet of Her Majesty.” Simon chuckles, Gaz looking between the two of you with interest. 

“You wouldn’t know what to do even if I let you get within five feet. All men are the same, useless and disappointing.” 

“You want to make that wager?” 

You could never resist a wager. Folding your arms over your chest, you nod, “What are the terms?” 

Soap goes slack jaw, his eyes widening as he takes in a trembling breath, his voice growing deeper as he slowly stands pushing his chest against your folded arms. “I can make you cum, with nothing but my mouth, no hands. I can eat your perfect little pussy till you're screaming my name and when I do,” he licks his lips, his eyes hungry with the mental picture, “when I do, you’re going to go back to the Captain and tell him you’re staying with the 141.” 

“How did you-” your words falter, noticing Simon holding up his phone with  a text from Price displayed. You growl, teeth clenched, “and when you lose? When you realize you’re not as good as you think and I fall asleep from boredom?” 

“Then you can leave,” he crosses his arms over his chest and leers down at you, “you can run away to Kortac or the Shadows.” 

“I’m not running away,” you drop your arms, pushing your face into his, “you’re the reason I’m leaving, Johnny! If you treated me like a goddamn teammate instead of a burden, I’d never leave this team.” 

He swallows hard, opening his mouth to say something when he snaps it shut, narrowing his eyes, “Do we have a wager or not?” 

Heat floods between your thighs, imagining him looking at you from between them, his lips glistening with your juices. You’ve always despised how attracted you are to him, remembering the first mission where you got paired up together on that rooftop in Madrid, sharing jokes and stories over a cup of weak coffee, and a cold churro. It was the perfect night, the moon high in the sky illuminating his face as he smiled at you. The last time he smiled at you. 

You have to leave, you didn’t sign up for this shit. “It’s a deal.” 

You turn from the room, hearing his boots thud behind you, Simon and Kyle shouting obsecentities behind you but you tune them out heading from the barracks. “Where do you want to do this?” you glance over your shoulder, catching Soap's eyes as they glance up from watching your ass sway back and forth. 

No one is following, thank fuck. You’re about to let Soap eat your pussy, you can’t imagine if you had an audience as well. The thought is tossed out of your brain when your wrist is grabbed from behind and you’re pulled into a darkened room. It shocks you when you feel his lips press incessantly against your own, his tongue swallowing your gasp, a whimper softly escaping when he presses you into the wall, his hands massaging your breasts. “No hands,” you gasp, each word punctuated with a moan. 

“Fuck,” he pants, his mouth against your neck, “that was a stupid fucking rule.” 

“What?” you mock, “Can’t get me off without using your hands? I think I know the way this deal is going to work out. Maybe I can find some man in Kortac who’ll treat me right, I heard they got this big fucker that could split me in half.” 

Soap fingers the switch on the wall and you take in the empty classroom, “on the desk,” he orders, stepping back and tossing off his fingerless gloves, before locking the door. “We don’t want an audience when I make you cum, though I’m sure the entire base will hear you by the time I’m done.” 

“Promises, promises,” you taunt, going over to the desk, and going to unbutton your pants, sliding them down your legs. You bend over, unlacing your boots when you hear a thud as he drops to his knees. 

“Put your hands on the desk,” he nudges you forward till you bend in half, your cheek resting on the desk. “Don’t fucking move unless I tell you to.” 

His hands graze over your ass, and he goes to pull your panties down when you tsk, “Hands remember? Or is your memory that short, Captain?” 

He growls something deep in his chest, turning you over, popping up to his feet, and leaning over you with a hand on your neck, putting the faintest pressure. “Do you ever fucking stop?” he shouts, spit hitting your cheek, “you and your fucking mouth are going to get you into trouble.” 

“Is that why you hate me?!” you spit back, leaning forward and getting in his face. The hand around your throat tightened just slightly, but for once he stayed blessedly silent. “Is that why you’ve treated me like shit since Madrid?!” Your voice breaks and you take a deep breath, the hand around your throat letting go, as his brows furrow with confusion. 

“I-” he stutters, shaking his head, “I don’t hate ya.” You hiccup, the tears spilling down your cheeks, “I never hated ya, Lass.”

“Then why?” you whisper, “why have you done everything you can to get me to leave?” 

“You got shot in Madrid,” his words make you pause, the tears streaming down your face as he takes a shuddering breath. “You got shot, and it was like it didn’t even phase you. You kept going, kept running that fucking mouth for hours, and it wasn’t until we got back to base that you collapsed in my fucking arms.” He closes his eyes, his grip on you tightening, before they slowly open, “I fell in love with you on the rooftop, and in an instant I lost you, and you didn’t even care.” 

“Johnny-” 

“This was stupid,” he pushes himself off the desk, running his hand over his mohawk, “I should have never made this stupid bet.” 

“I agreed to it,” you sit up, his eyes on you as he takes in the damp spot on your panties, licking his lips. “And I want you,” he stiffens, watching as you remove the bottom half of your clothing, baring yourself to him. “I do a lot of stupid fucking things,” you lean back on the desk, dropping one leg to the table and your knee propped up on the other side, “but letting you eat my pussy, is not one of them.”  

You take two fingers, spreading yourself wide so he can see the slick coating your fingers, before you hold them out for him. The balls in his court and you wait. 

“Steamin’ Jesus,” he groans, sliding to his knees and grabbing your wrist before sliding your fingers into his mouth. He moans around them, his eyes sliding closed as he sucks them clean, before they open hazy, watching you. “Do you want this?” he asks, you can feel his breath on your pussy, sending a jolt up your spine. 

“Yes,” you whimper, your head dropping to the table when he surges forward pulling your legs over his shoulders and diving into your cunt. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, eyes closed, as his tongue swirls at your clit, his nose running up and down. He flicks it back and forth fast, his saliva mixed with your slick creating a mess all over his chin as he sloppily sucks your clit into his mouth. 

You prop your body up on your elbows and glance down, almost cumming as you take in his eyes dialated and watching your every move. He spears his tongue, sliding it into your wet cunt, the sounds are damn near pornographic you’re so wet. “Touch your tits for me, sweet girl,” he orders, your hands sliding over your breasts as he watches you twist a nipple before letting out a whimper. “Such a good fucking girl.” 

“Hands,” you remind him, breathily, “this is cheating.” Neither of you mentions how you hands fail to stop moving. 

“Aye,” he grins, “but they’re not my hands are they?” 

“You bastard,” you groan, your head dropping back, “you found a fucking loophole.” 

“You love it,” he groans, burrowing himself back into your heat. He groans, the vibrations traveling through your body, “you taste so fucking sweet, I could eat this pretty cunt forever.” 

“Go ahead,” you pant, feeling the coil in your belly tighten, “I’m not fucking going anywhere.” 

He pauses, his breath heavy and you let out a moan before lifting your head, watching as he licks his lips and stares at you. “Did you mean that?” he asks, voice deadly quiet, “you’re not leaving me?” 

“I will if you don’t let me fucking cum!” you shout, screaming his name when he puts his mouth back on you, a soldier on a mission. “JOHNNY!” you shout, grabbing onto his mohawk and bucking your hips into his mouth, “oh fuck!” Your pussy clenches, and you go to shut your legs but he holds you down, his tongue working inside you as he wrings every drop of pleasure out of you. You push him away when the oversensitivity turns uncomfortable and he stands, smiling down at you, your chest rising and falling fast with your heavy breath.

“Tell me,” he pulls you forward with a yelp, wrapping your legs around his waist so you can feel the hard press of his cock against your weeping cunt. “Tell me,” he commands again, leaning down to press his face into your own, keeping your eyes on him. 

“I love you too, you asshole,” you wrap your arms around his neck, “every since that rooftop in Madrid.” His hold on you tightens, and he presses his forehead to your own, “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to be the weak woman on the team. I thought it was fine…until it wasn’t. I woke up three days later in the hospital alone, waiting for you to show up. And you never did.” 

“I was there the whole time,” he lifts his head, “I left when you started waking up and got the doctor and left. We lead a dangerous life, lass, I didn’t want to risk my heart.” 

“I thought you thought me weak, that I was a burden to you.” 

“No,” he shakes his head, “you are not a burden to me.” 

“We’ve both been fools,” you hold him close, getting lost in his eyes, “can you ever forgive me?” 

“Oh love,” he groans, pressing his lips to your own, “can you ever forgive me? I’ve been a right bastard to you, you didn’t deserve it.” 

“I forgive you Johnny,” he repeats the sentiment back, using your own first name, none of the silly nicknames or call signs. “Do you mind if I stick around for awhile longer?” you ask, running your hand over his cheek as he smiles. 

“Oh lass, you’re staying right here, right where you belong.” 

[hurricane-heatt]

i think you would really knock out of the park a fic featuring martian + politics, like something to do with a politician in campaign and the guy writing his speeches/polishing his image, like the dude that tells you what tie to wear because it would show your allegiance to x cause. (sending you much love, xoxo)

oh my god GOOSE ur a genius.

u may ask which political system is this to that i respond what political system! this is based off vibes. there are some uk references tho!

hope u like it!

Mark rests his glasses on the bridge of his nose, looks up from the latest clause he’s working through, to see Sebastian in the doorway. He sets his pen on the desk, the sound of it tapping reverberating against the rest of the room.

He tries not to laugh at Seb, leaning against the too-tall door in a picture of exasperation. He fails, and Sebastian scowls at him.

“It’s the stupid tie, you know, the one that’s a funny length.” Said tie is slung around his neck, wonky and crumpled, a stark contrast to the fitted and pressed shirt, tailored trousers, shiny shoes. Every single part of him is slick and presentable, bar tie and, as always, his hair. Ever unruly, curls poking out from the ponytail.

“I’m sure it’s the tie that’s the problem. Listen, I think the maroon one-“ Sebastian tuts.

“Come on, Mark. You’re no amateur.”

Seb’s got a point, and besides, years of doing this means Mark knows when to pick his battles. Ties aren’t one of them, hasn’t been since that first election attempt. Neither are professional titles - Mark hasn’t called Sebastian ‘sir’ in years, and Sebastian hasn’t called Mark ‘Mr Webber’ since the day they met.

“C’mere, then.” Mark stands from his chair, the legs scraping awkwardly along the floor. “Can’t wear the red one-“ Seb continues on, as Mark wraps an end of the tie around the other. Mark knows why, but lets him ramble on. Besides, the tie is maroon.

“-because the right honourable Ferrari fucks will get pissed about it.”

Mark raises his eyebrows, just a hint, enough for Sebastian to read it, wince and retract his statement, as practised over and over. “The Ferrari party and I reached an amicable agreement-“

Mark isn’t the press, or the other members of the house. “Don’t start, I wrote you that speech.”

He did. Sebastian blushes a colour nearly the rosso corsa of the opposition, and swats Mark on the arm. The tie is tied, sits snug and tight at his neck. He smiles. “Better?” It’s black, with a single silver bumblebee pin tacked to the tail of it. It’s Sebastian’s new thing, new passion project. It’s doing well with voters, particularly the young.

Mark’s fingers tug at the lapels of Sebastian’s blazer, puts a knee between his legs. Seb looks up at him with wide eyes, wanting, but then seems to remember himself.

“These are ironed, for once, so no.”

Fine, maybe later. He leans down slightly to instead kiss Sebastian on the cheek, where the embarrassed blush is fading to his usual pink tinge. “Handsome. Can we run over this?”

Another eye-roll, but he’s smiling at the compliment, lips spread wide and pulling at the corners. “I’m plenty good at reading through your boring stuff on my own.” But he still moves towards Mark’s desk either way.

[allycat319]

Unlikely Affection Chapter 1: The Interview

Authors Note: Hey everyone! I altered the student time line at Hogwarts just a little, They would start school at 12, making Aurora 17 and legal in the UK by the time she begins her relationship with Snape. 

This story will follow closely with the movies and we are starting at Goblet of Fire. The first chapter is just after school starts in the fall. 

The story will be mature in later chapters and will me marked with a *. 

Sitting in McGonagalls office always made me nervous, but this time I was interviewing for a position as a teachers assistant. The interview process was open to fifth years and higher and not that many interviewees signed up, usually because they were scared of getting Snape. I heard that the last assistant he had was a girl from Hufflepuff and the second day, he made her run out of the classroom in tears.

My head of house smiled as she asked me the standard interview questions and I gave her my best answers. I was hoping to be her assistant, but I would stand for Sprout or maybe even Flitwick. McGonagall smiled as she told me she would be proud to have me join the ranks of teachers assistant and my heart leapt with excitement. "Aurora, since you are keen when it comes to potions. I think it would be fitting if you were to be assigned to assist Professor Snape." My smile quickly turned to a frown "But Professor Snape hates Gryffindors. I can guarantee you he will not want me as his assistant." the stern older witch shook her head "Nonsense! I think you would make the perfect assistant, and you are just bullheaded enough to put up with Professor Snape. Now, do you accept the position?" I hesitated for a moment but nodded "Yes Professor." She smiled and clapped her hands together excitedly. "Perfect! He has a free period at the present moment, head down to the dungeons and give him this note, he will instruct you on what your duties will be once you get there." She said, grabbing a roll of parchment from her desk and handing it to me. "Yes Professor, thank you." I smiled and walked out of her office.

As I made my way to the potions classroom my stomach started to twist in knots. I've known Professor Snape for five years now. I know how he is and I shouldn't be nervous, but just the thought of having to deal with him with no one around to save me was terrifying. When I arrived at his office door, I took a deep breath before knocking quietly. "Enter." A firm voice replied from the other side of the old wooden door. I pushed the door open softly walking into his dark, damp office. Snape was sitting at his desk with notebooks and parchments surrounding him. 

He looked up at me and grimaced before returning to his grading. "What do you want, Astrill?" My heart started to thud in my chest as I approached his desk, "Sorry to interrupt Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall instructed me to give you this." I spoke quickly, extending my hand which held the rolled up parchment to him. He snatched it from my hand and began reading. He looked at me over the parchment and cocked an eyebrow. "So... You are my new student assistant." I smiled and nodded "Yes, sir." he continued to scowl as he resumed marking classwork. "Very well, you will report to me during your free period, you will be helping the first years not be complete dunderheads." he explained, not once looking up at me, he continued "With the Triwizard Tournament disrupting the year, I can't imagine that your help will not be somewhat tolerable." He glanced up at me and cocked an eyebrow, I smiled again, "Is there something else I can assist you with, Miss Astrill?" He asked, his gaze returning to the parchment on his desk. "Oh...no sir." I said quickly and he flicked his wrist in the direction of the door. "You may go now." I nodded and shuffled out of his office, closing the door quietly behind me. 

I stopped halfway up the spiral staircase leading away from the dungeons, leaning against the cold stone. "I guess that could have gone worse." I mumbled to myself before heading to Gryffindor Tower to get ready for dinner. 

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Which members promotions were your favorite so far? Hobi might win for me because that listening party was super fun and Lollapalooza was crazy. Also More sits at the same table as SMFpt2 for me as far as being really shocking and exciting when it dropped!

***

Hi Anon!

Nothing beats Yoongi’s D-DAY tour for me. My god what an experience. I was fortunate to attend multiple stops and I still have fever dreams in the middle of the day remembering how hard I was screaming along to Burn It and Huh, how my friend burst into tears during Snooze, how I choked up a bit during Life Goes On and finally lost it on The Last. The encore tours gave me the emotional equivalent of a blood transfusion. Seeing Jimin, Namjoon, and Jungkook on stage in a proper concert setting for the first time in almost a year, was really the best parting gift and I’ll always be grateful to Yoongi for it. I love that man very, very much.

That cute practice session Yoongi did for the ‘I’m so cute’ or whatever challenge with Jimin too, subbing ARMYs with screaming plushies and the live he did reading fan messages teasing us about his seven tattoo… and then that cheeky reveal after the tour ended…

Yoongi gave me everything and more with his album and the tour.

Other members too:

- SeokJin going to Argentina to promote The Astronaut with Coldplay was incredible. The planning and organizing behind that feat couldn’t have been easy but somehow they made it work and LatAm ARMYs were finally able to see at least one Tannie for the first time in a long while. That really was amazing.

- Taehyung’s Tiny Desk performances are 🤌🏽

- I loved how Jimin really thought outside the box with his promotions, choosing to go on many really fun Korean variety shows. These are shows BTS either hadn’t done ever or in something like 5 years. A lot of my K-ARMY friends loved how Jimin seemed to prioritize them fully in ways that hadn’t been done for a while.

- I tried hard to attend Joon’s small concert but work commitments didn’t allow that possibility, but I also really love his promotion choices. My partner (surprisingly) has become a tiny bit obsessed with Joon’s Tiny Desk performance lol, so I suspect Joon has gained a new fan.

- Think I’ve already talked about how Hobipalooza was the concert highlight of 2022 for me. Hobi had such a short time to put everything together, and I’m proud of him for going out of his comfort zone a bit sending out invites and throwing the launch party. I loved seeing him just celebrate his success, seeing the other members chill out and have a good time.

- It was nice seeing that at least one member did not forget Europe exists with their promotions (😭), so I’m glad Jungkook could make the trip over to promote Seven in the UK.

The rapline’s album projects are easily some of the best releases this year in any genre for me. And I’m not even trying to be biased. Corroborated by critics reviews, each album is a solid, cohesive, and cerebrally stimulating piece of art and I’m so proud of them for putting it together. It’s easy to see how BTS has become the biggest band in the world when you have these three men who can stand as respected artists in their own right, being the bedrock of the music created by BTS for the last 10 years.

Jimin’s debut with FACE ended k-pop in 2023. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the industry as we know it, life as we know it, Jimin as we knew him, ended in March 2023. What Jimin did with Set Me Free Pt 2 still gives me goosebumps when I think about it. That song was a warning shot, a small mercy to the industry to warn them in advance of who Jimin is prepared to become as a solo artist and as Jimin of BTS, and I cannot overstate how excited I am for his next project. FACE as an album is the complete package. His songs are just good. Like, actually good. Good enough to play anywhere and any time. That’s the kind of music Jimin makes. Imagine hearing Face-off in a concert arena… imagine hearing the intro play before he comes on stage. Can you even imagine….

Lol I’m starting to hurt myself with these imagines.

Taehyung’s album too is very good (though these days it only gets plays from me in the evenings). And while Seven isn’t my favorite release, it’s still a well made song that Jungkook of course has done a phenomenal job with. Twice now he’s had to promote it outdoors in very bad weather and he’s kept his vocals stable and well projected. He’s working hard and I’m hoping it translates well into work done for his solo album debut later this year.

I have almost no complaints in the debut solo showcases from all the members, in their promotion styles, and in the overall presentation. These albums were all very decent and respectable first showings from the members of the biggest group in the world. The response from the general public and professional critics has been very favourable, and the fandom has supported each member to be as successful as one would expect for anyone from BTS.

I’m a very happy ARMY in Chapter 2 ^_^

[brooklynbadboys]

An emotional and sporadic Newsies UK description for those unable to watch.

This is going to be a long one.

As you walk in there is theming under the stalls, like 'strike' signs. If you are sitting in Mahatten you walk up a staircase to a pathway. The stage is huge with the scaffolding in the centre. Above the audience, fire escapes span the walls, which are also themed. There is so much on the set from the scaffolding to a Santa Fe sign, hammocks, newspapers, washing lines, and a large window. One newspaper is lying on the stage with a spotlight

ACT ONE

The Overture begins, but the Santa Fe prologue doesn't start the show. Race picks up a pape with a spotlight as he smokes his cigar. He calls the newsies down. The Newsies begin pouring up the stairs into the walkway of Manhatten seating and alongside the stage. Henry ziplines across the audience and onto the stage. The newsies do a dance number and sell papes, trying to sell them to the audience too. A man comes along with a cart of fruit. Buttons steals an apple, as Ike distracts the man, and they give it to Tommy boy. The newsies then fall asleep across the scaffolding and hammocks.

Santa Fe Prologue begins at the top of the scaffolding. Jack's 'penthouse' has a lot more theming from having a little roof he made to small art pieces. The song is done very similarly to Newsies on Broadway.

Carrying the Banner begins and there are Newsies EVERYWHERE. Race gets his cigar which he continues to smoke the entire show. Newsies get ready throughout the audience, grabbing clothes from the washing lines and putting them on across the audience. If you are sat at the front of your section, they sing directly at you, which is amazing until you are crying and make eye contact with them. The choreography is on another level and seeing the newsies running across the audience pathways and staircases is like nothing I've ever seen. The nuns also appear from the stairs in Manhatten and walk down to the stage. They are carrying boxes and handing out coffee and rosary beads. Splasher sits alone on the edge of the stage looking upset and a Newsie hands him food and he cheers up.

When the song ends, after a very long applause, Wiesel comes down from 50+ft above on a platform with his newspapers. The Newsies buy their papers and walk along the pathways, asking the audience who wants a paper and giving them out.

The Bottom Line begins with newsies taking naps across the theatre and stage with their caps over their faces. Pulitzer’s desk comes out and is on a small platform made of stacks of newspapers. They lie there the entire song. A chandelier comes down and hangs above the desk where Pulitzer sits.

After the song, Snyder appears and chases Davey, Les, and Jack who run across the audience and the fire escapes. The chase ends with Jack sliding down a large slide into Medda's theatre. The set has lights that read out her name. Jack shows his paintings and all the paintings are different to the ones on Broadway minus the Pulitzer standing on the newsies painting.

That's Rich is now a dance number with the bowery beauties. One of the Bowery beauties takes a big pink feather from their costume and sticks it to Les’ cap. The Newsies sit on the floor by the stage and watch the show. During the song Medda says “hey baby, I was just talking about you” and points to the newsies on the floor and they argue over who Medda was talking about.

I Never Planned On You/ Don't Come A-knocking has the newsies dancing with spotlights surrounding the bowery beauties as they dance. Again, it has much more dancing than Newsies on Broadway.

Katherine walks across the fire escapes in the audience and watches the entirety of The World Will Know.

In Jacobi's when Jack asks who will take Brooklyn, all the newsies hide and two newsies put their bags over their head and sit there unmoving. Katherine walks down from the fire escape and onto the stage.

Watch What Happens has the newsies bringing out Katherine's desk but not a lot of change happens here. At one point Katherine puts her feet up on the table whilst singing. Having her watch The World Will Know makes a lot more sense for the story and her motivation. Is now the time to mention how incredible Bronté Barbé is?

Katherine also watches Seize The Day, this time as she takes notes. During Jacks speech the newsies face and audience. Crutchie holds onto his rosemary beads necklace and prays to himself. Seize The Day is 2 parts and probably double the length. The choreography and amount of tumbling is insane. Jack and Davey dance too, unlike on Broadway. The talent it took to choreograph and perform the number is phenomenal. Newspapers fall from the sky and also get thrown into the audience by the newsies. In the middle of the song, the Newsies do a role call, shouting out their names. Henry gets thrown into the air and tears a paper in half. Nothing I say can do this number justice. I can't remember a lot of it because I was watching through tears. This number often gets at least one standing ovation.

Newsies rip up papers and throw stacks of them to the ground. The fight with the bulls seemed a lot harsher and involved Les grabbing onto a rope and getting lifted 20+ft into the sky and shouting for help.

Santa Fe is also similar minus, behind Jack, a bright yellow light looking like the sun forming and slowly getting brighter throughout the song. Micheal Aelahomka is so incredibly talented and the ending note was breathtaking.

ACT TWO

The King of New York involves a lot more tables and dancing. Les gets his own tap solo. The newsies use the tables as cars and drive them around with plates as steering wheels. Lights come from the ceiling towards the end and Newsies grab onto them and spin. The lights begin to rise and Newsies swing above the audience. The number ends with Katherine putting on a statue of liberty looking crown made of spoons and holding an apple.

Letter From The Refuge is such a jarring shift from The King Of New York and it works so well. Crutchie is alone on a bed in the middle of the stage with a couple of newsies lying beside him. Mike is one of them and lays with his head on Jojo’s stomach. Crutchie’s eye is covered in a red/black bruise and bruises are visible across his body. As he sings, Snyder and another man watch down on him from both ends of the stage on the scaffolding. It is eery as you may not notice them at first, but they are there the entire time. After the song ends a newsie wakes up and helps to carry Crutchie out.

Watch What Happens Reprise doesn't have a lot of changes and the only thing I recall of The Bottom Line Reprise ends with the newsies pushing out Pulitzer and his desk into darkness and fog.

Brooklyn's Here begins, and a group of girls stand at the stairs of Manhatten. The girls are Brooklyn (!!!!) and they changed lyrics, such as 'That's our cue, girls, it's time to go slummin' and 'we're the girls from the beaches of Brighton'. The Brooklyn newsies go down onto the stage and dance. Spot sang into a little girls face during our perform. The newsies stand with signs of the names of the audience areas, such as the Bronx, Flushing, and Manhatten. After the song, we are introduced to Spot Conlon who is one of the girls we saw.

Something To Believe in didn't have any changes that I noticed.

Once And For All has newsies walking across fire escapes across the walls and on the pathways, carrying lanterns. This is the first time the theatre is ever fully dark. The papers are thrown between the newsies in front of the audience. The slide is used as Newsies slide onto the stage. Toward the end, two newsies swing above the stage (Mike and Mack), throwing newspapers down to the audience. The song ends with the children’s crusade newspaper falling from the sky and hanging in front of the entirety of the scaffolding. A large silhouette of Jack shines behind it.

As the Newsies, including Brooklyn, surround Pulizer's office, they are stood across the fire escapes along the walls. They are everywhere you look and staring down threateningly to Pulitzer as they punch their hands and slam their fists.

Finale seemed to have a lot more dancing too. Crutchie appears wearing a policeman hat and arrests Snyder wearing it. Katherine puts on a Newsies hat that matches her dress and dances alongside the newsies for the number. The show ends with a Brooklyn girl tumbling across the stage as she lays the newspaper that started the show back in the centre.

The show is incredible and the most magical theatre experience I have ever had, and I can't imagine anything will ever beat it.

[m-jelly]

Shy levi high school headcanons where he is pining over reader and will do anything for her attention

@kenkopanda-art <3

Tag list: @levisbrat25 @ladycheesington @skittlelover69 @strawberrybunny123 @li-anne @nyxiieluna @galactict3a @notgoodforlife @demonsimp6

High school Levi headcanons.

(secondary school for others like me in the UK)

He saw you in class when you started school. He had an instant pull to you. He has no experience with girls, so he wasn't sure what to do or say.

He talked with you with the help of his friends. You came to be part of his friendship group.

He made sure he was always close to you when in a group. He'd sit next to you or stand next to you.

It'd take him time to talk to you alone, possibly a month max. He'd make an excuse for it to be with schoolwork.

You'd pluck up the courage and ask him to study with you. However, once you do one study session together Levi will always want to be around you.

You and Levi would study a lot together and soon you'll hang out without schoolwork.

Levi would take you out for tea at a nice cafe, but say it's to hang out as friends.

Levi would try out things you are into, so if you love video games he'd go over to Mike's place to play his gaming system. Levi wants to have things in common with you and to talk with you.

He'd walk with you to and from school, share transport with you, or sit next to you on the bus.

Eventually Levi would always be at your side and around you.

Levi wouldn't confess to you by talking to you, but in fact leave you a note. The love note would be in your locker, bag, or desk.

Levi would be very nervous waiting for your reply to his love note and would assume you don't want him because he thinks very little of himself.

You would reply in person and enjoy how cutely he blushes. You'd give him a little kiss and tell him that you have felt the same way all along.

You both would take it slowly being a couple and not do anything in the bedroom until you were both eighteen. You'd be a very caring couple that many people would say is true love.