#why isn’t John Scottish?

[queenofmean14]

Y’all. I am cackling over here about Polin fans complaining about the lead couple not getting enough screen time and too many stupid subplots.

Welcome to Shondaland hell, kids! No one gets what they want.

[the-froschamethyst4]

He’s just a bit older

𖤐Pairing: Soap x Younger F! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: smut, older Soap young Y/n, age gap, P in V, eating out, language, dads' best friend

AN: If you’re not comfortable with this age gap type of stuff this isn’t probably for you. By age gap I mean early 20 year old Y/n and early 40s Soap

Y/n is Price’s daughter and she’s had a bit of a crush on her dads best friend, John Soap MacTavish

But Price is caught up at work that he forgot him and Soap are meeting up to watch the soccer match (football for the Europeans)

Could Soap and Y/n get away with fucking each other without Price ever knowing

——————

———————

“Y/N! I’m going to work!” Price yells at his daughter.

“OKAY!” She yells back. She had gotten out of the shower and was going to hang out with her boyfriend Hunter.

It was their 10-month anniversary, and she was very excited to hang out with him. Sure, they hang out almost every day, but she was just excited for today.

She brushed her teeth and blow dried her hair, she even spread her favorite lotion on her skin to smell good for Hunter. She even put on some light make up on as well.

Y/n grabbed a bright pink tank top and white tennis skirt. Hunter and Y/n were going to see the Barbie Movie together and she was very excited.

Y/n grabbed her purse and went downstairs and was going to wait for Hunter to come and get her for the movie. She played on her phone and looked at the time, sure she got ready a bit early at least she'll be ready.

As she took a couple of photos of her outfit and captioned them with 'Date Night with @/h.hunt14' she smiled seeing the likes and comments she was getting from her friends.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"PRICE!" She looked up from her phone and looked at the front door hearing a thick Scottish accent.

"Soap?" She asked as she got up and opened the door.

"Hey, Y/n. Where's your dad?" He asks with a case of beer in his hands.

"Umm work? Why are you here?" She leaned on the doorframe, crossing her arms and looking at her father's best friend.

"He invited me to watch the football game."

"Well again, he's not home," she mumbled.

"Yeah, I see that. So, could I still come in? Your dad already knows I'm supposed to be here."

"I guess," Y/n let him inside and he placed the case of beer of the kitchen counter.

"Where are you going?" He asks, cracking open a beer.

"To the movies. Hunter and I are going to see the Barbie Movie together for our 10-month anniversary." She smiles when she brings up Hunter and Soap smiled hearing that she found someone to be with.

"That's cool," he smiles before taking a sip of his drink.

"I'm going to text my dad and see if he knew you were supposed to come this early."

"Yeah," he agrees.

Y/n: *Dad, Soap is here. Is he supposed to be here this early?*

Price: *Ah shit, I told him to come early, I didn't expect him this early, tell him I'll be home around 2-3*

Y/n: *K*

"My dad said, he'll be home around two or three. Just make yourself comfortable," she says as she went back to the couch. "I'll be leaving around one for the movies." She yells him.

"Okay, yeah sure," Soap said as he watched Y/n head back to the couch. He looked at her skirt seeing it raise up went she plopped down on the black couch.

He saw her white panties and smirked just a little bit but soon wiped it away. He remembered this isn't right, this is his best friends only daughter.

---------

Some time has passed, and Y/n was now waiting on her boyfriend to show up. She was texting him asking him where he was and all but no answer.

She ran her hand through her hair and let out a soft sign, Soap had turned on the TV to watch a pre-game before the actual game. He looked at Y/n seeing her being distressed.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"He's not answering the movie starts in a like 30 minutes..." she said.

"Did you try calling him?"

"I didn't want to bother you though."

"It's fine, go ahead," he says as Y/n went upstairs and called Hunter.

But it went straight to voicemail. "Hey, Hunter, are you coming to get me, or did you forget about me?" She kind of laughs at the 'forgetting' part. "Just text me or call me back and let know what's going on."

She walks back downstairs sitting next to Soap again. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back ignoring her phone now. Maybe he's on his way and can't answer her?

"Everything okay?" He asks.

"I don't know," she said as she looked at Soap. "If you think something is going on with your partner...would you keep texting them or would you ignore them?"

"What do you mean? Are you expecting him of something?" He asks, placing his beer on the table in front of them.

"No, but...he's just been...distant I guess."

"How so?"

"Like now, he's ignoring me, sometimes will just flat out not talk to me for a long period of time, I have to start conversations, I have to make plans and invite him to join-LIKE NOW I asked we should see the Barbie movie, he said 'cool that's fine' like he wasn't really interested." Her eyes looked red and glossy; she seemed like she was about to cry.

"Hey, hey, it's okay...the best thing to do is get rid of the problem...if it was me...I'd break up with them, but you love him, I know you do. I can see it in your eyes that you love him. But that's up to you," he said.

The tension between them was hot now because they understood each other. Was it sexual? No, it couldn't be. Price would kill both of them if he caught them.

Soap looked down at Y/n's lips seeing lip gloss on them, her lips were plump and looked so soft it he kissed them. He bit the corner of his bottom lip as Y/n played with her fingers. It was like she was thinking about something, and she was.

She looked down at his crotch seeing his bulge in his pants. She gulped and looked up at Soap.

Y/n didn't hesitate, she crawled on top of Soap's lap. Soap put his hands up he didn't know what to do with them. She just smiles and moves them to her waist.

She then placed her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Wow...your fingers...they...they are like magic, this is so calming," he chuckles.

Y/n giggles too. "I mean...I don't know? I do it to myself sometimes, it feels so good."

"Yeah," he coos, he looked up at her. His hands moved from her waist down to her butt, she moans slightly. He leans forward and kissed her neck, earning another moan from her.

He pushes up the bottom of her white skirt and grabbed at her soft bare ass cheeks. His lips felt so good on her collarbone and neck.

"F-Fuck-" she moans.

Soap then snapped back into reality. Soap looked up at Y/n staring into her eyes. "W-we shouldn't b-be doing this," he stutters a bit.

"My dad won't know...and neither will Hunter. This will between you and I, Soap."

"No, no, we can't," he moved his hands back to her waist trying to push her off his lap.

"Fine..." she got off his lap. She stood at the doorway before walking to her bedroom, but she turned back to Soap, she brought her leg up and flashed her panties to Soap.

"Don't-Don't do that, Y/n."

"Oh, come on, Soap. You know you want it," she says as she began to walk away, and Soap got up and followed her to her bedroom.

Y/n sat on the edge of her bed, she crossed her legs and looked at Soap with a smirk on her face. She uncrossed her legs, and she lifted up her skirt again exposing the front of the panties.

They were white, lace with a small pink rose in the middle.

"Come on, Soap, my dad won't know," she smiles at him.

"Fuck," he closed her bedroom door and Y/n smirked knowing he finally got his attention.

"Come on, Soap," she said.

He walked to her, and she started to remove her tank-top and Soap grabbed her skirt and pulled it down. His hands went to her panties and pulled them off as well. He rested his hands on her thighs and looked up at her with a smirk.

"Are you sure, he won't know?" Soap asked.

"Promise, he won't be back so soon, and he always values his work first."

"That's not true, he values you."

"Not really," Y/n closed her legs and covered her exposed area and looked down at him. "Why do you think him, and my mom got a divorce? Because he worked so much and valued his work over mom and me, that...they called it quits..."

"But...he talks about you a lot when we hang out."

"Doesn't matter...he sure as hell doesn't show it..." She looked down at him, his hands slid up her thighs and rested on her exposed hips. His hands soon went around to her butt and gently squeezed, earning a soft moan from her.

"He talked about you when you were high school and how you were so nervous in freshman year, you were scared if you and your friends would drift apart but you all stuck together through high school..." Soap lifted up the end of the skirt. "You were nervous about your Prom thinking Hunter wouldn't show but he did..."

Soap then moved forward closed to her area, she could feel his hot breath on her. "...Your Senior year...you were crazy nervous about a test that was 100% of your grade...you passed...and...he took you out for dinner..." he then licked between her folds earning a moan from her. She grabbed his hair and leaned on her elbows.

"S-Soap-"

"Senior Prom...you left early because you were homesick...you wanted to spend the rest of you night with your dad because you...he may be lonely when you were out..."

Y/n's grip tightened on his hair that she got a groaned from him. She looked down at his eyes as he kept licking her and talking to her about what her father has said about her.

Y/n always thought that Price valued his work over her...Price is a good father, he's been to all her soccer games even when he had tuns of work, he'd put everything on hold just to go watch her play.

Even when she joined the dance team, he put everything on hold just to go and watch her.

She realized how more present he was in her life versus her own mother...hell...her own mother told her that she should go live with Price because she didn't want to deal with Y/n and all her actives during school that Price was there even when she didn't want her there.

Soap licked between her folds some more and started to insert two fingers inside of her. He started to move them in and out of her quickly, she moaned his name and let go of his hair and started to grip the sheets on her bed.

"H-Holy fuck," she moans.

"He was mad...when you and Hunter first broke up...he thought he would...have to kill him because he...broke his little girls' heart..." Soap mumbled. He looked up at her and hummed a little bit.

He stood up and pushed her on her back. His hands slid up her shirt, he felt her bra and unhooked it with one hand and got it off her chest. He pushed her tank top up exposing her breasts to him.

She ran her fingers up her stomach to the tank top to keep it out of his way. His hands went to her sides and looked down at her small body as his big, veiny hands just caressed her.

"You fit my hands so perfectly," he mumbles and kissed her neck and moved up to kiss her lips.

His hands roamed all over her, his hand then started to fiddle with his belt and started to remove his belt and pull his pants down, he removed his shirt and then pushed himself against her clit.

"H-Holy-" she moans.

He started to fish himself out of her boxers and pulled his boxers off his lower half.

"I-It's not f-fair that I'm fully clothed and y-you're not..." she moans.

"You're not technically fully clothed...you're just in a skirt and tank top, you don't have panties and a bra on..."

"Half naked but still."

"Fine," he quickly rips her skirt off her lower half and pulled her tank top over her head. "There...now we're even," he smirks.

"G-Good," she mumbles and Soap without warning pushed himself inside of her.

He thrusts were sloppy but soon started to pick the pace even more and she let out a satisfying moan that made his head spin. Hearing her moans make him feel like he's doing such a good job.

To tell the truth. Soap wasn't that experience. Price always teased him about how needs to get out more and have some more experience with a woman. He only had 2 girlfriends in his life and a wife and wasn't that experience.

His hand cupped her face and rubbed his thumb under her eye, he watched her face and smirked seeing her face become so red and watching her expressions change as well.

"Goddamn, I d-didn't think I w-was that good," Soap groans.

---------

Price looked at his phone seeing the time, but he also knows that Soap's 'waiting' on him at the house. Price looked at his computer and saw he has 5 more emails and then he can be done.

He answered them and then texted Y/n.

Price: *Hey, I'm almost done soon, let Johnny know I'm coming soon, and we can watch the game*

Y/N: *.....*

Price just looked at the dots on the screen letting him know she was typing.

Y/n was on her stomach as Soap was hitting her from the back, she was a moaning mess as she couldn't even type properly. She only got a few words typed out but couldn't even hit the 'send' button.

"H-He's a-about done s-soon..." she moans as Soap gripped her hips and smacked her butt watching his handprint form on her left cheek.

"Then...w-we better h-hurry..." she could feel him smirking behind her.

She dropped her phone on her bed and gripped the bedsheets. She felt her stomach start turning, she was about to cum. He could feel her about to cum, he gripped her hips even tighter knowing he was going to cum as well.

"Holy fuck," Soap moans and so does Y/n. She felt herself leak onto his dick and he pulled out and she felt his cum leak on her lower back.

Y/n was panting trying to catch her breath as Soap rested his forehead between her shoulder blades and kissed her shoulder.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No...I'm okay...I need to c-clean up..." she sat up and moved off her bed, Soap fell on his back on her bed and looked up at the ceiling and heard the water start.

He looked at her bathroom seeing the door open, and he could see her figure in the shower, he rubbed his temple and grabbed his boxers and jeans putting them back on.

DING DONG

"SOAP, CAN YOU GET THAT!?"

"Yeah," he grabbed his shirt and put it back on and walked downstairs to go answer the door. He looked through the glass and saw Hunter. He opened the door with some force making Hunter jump a little.

"The fuck you want?"

"Who are you?" Hunter asked, he looked around to make sure he has the right house. "Is this the Price's?"

"Yeah, it is," he crossed his arms over his chest.

Y/n had a towel wrapped around her waist and a towel in her hair. She walked downstairs and saw Hunter at the door and Soap intimating him.

"Hunter?"

"Who the hell is this guy?" Hunter asked pointing to Soap.

"He's...my dad's best friend..." she said.

"Why are you wet? Did you get out of the shower?"

"Wow, no shit Captain Obvious," Soap said.

"Soap..." Y/n warned. "What do you want Hunter?" She asked him.

"Just wanted to come by and say I'm here...come on...let's go to the movies but I see...you're not even ready...and...this guy is here," Hunter tried to intimidate Soap back but of course, Soap isn't scared of some random ass kid.

"Are you...KIDDING ME! WHY THE HELL WOULD I GO TO THE MOVIES WITH YOU NOW!! YOU IGNORED ME FOR THREE HOURS AND ALL OF A SUDDEN YOU SHOW UP!! I AM NOT GOING ANYWHERE WITH YOU!!" She slammed the door in Hunter's face and leaned against the door. "Holy fuck...is he fucking serious?" She asked, looking up at Soap.

"I see now what Price was talking about."

"What?" She asked.

"You can definitely handle yourself to where...you don't even need a guy..." Soap smiles.

"He said that?"

"Again, kid, he talks about you all the time...even when you think he doesn't think about you or talk about you, he does...and he's very grateful and thankful to have you in his life," he said, leaning down and kissing her lips.

"I know, he loves me and all...but like I said...he only loves his work...I have to go get dressed now..." she said, walking up the stairs.

--------

1:30PM

Price got in the driveway and saw Y/n's car and Soap's car, he smiled at his daughter's car, a 1967 Chevy impala, it was Price's first car and he found back it in a garage at his old home where it lived for probably 20 or more years, he fixed it up just for her. She takes care of it like it's her child.

He grabs his keys before entering his home. He unlocks the door and opens it seeing Soap on the couch, a beer in hand and Y/n sitting on the love seat far from Soap reading her book, her legs to her chest as she looked up from her book seeing her dad walk in the door.

"Hi dad," she says with her usual sweet smile on her face.

"Hey, lovely..." he sets his stuff down at the door and grabbed a beer from the fridge. "Has the game started, MacTavish?" Price asked as he plopped on the other side of the couch.

"Nah, not yet Price..." He smirks before taking a sip from his beer.

"Damn, if I knew you were coming this early, I should have been home earlier."

"Nah, it's good," Soap looked at Y/n who hid her red face behind her book.

Y/n left the living room and headed to her bedroom.

Price looked at Soap before taking a swing on his beer.

"I know you two had sex while I was gone," Soap spit it his drink out, he coughed and wiped his chin before staring at Price.

"What?" He choked out.

"Soap, I have cameras around the house for Y/n's protection while I'm gone...I saw them go off when you two were alone and I have one outside her bedroom door, you two went in and you shut the door, you came out an hour later fixing your shirt and opened the front door to Hunter asking for her, you both handled it pretty well, I should say...Just...don't let that ever happen again, you got it?"

"Yes, sir...and...sorry..."

"It's fine."

"Are you going to tell her, that you know?"

"No, I'll let her know that you two didn't do anything..."

[witchthewriter]

𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!    

a/n: I made a quiz ‘Which Son Is Your Old Man’, so you can find out once and for all who you would be best suited to!

Warnings: swears, mentions of violence, smoking, drugs

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ      

𝐉𝐚𝐱 𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

・Yes, he does spend a lot of time doing club business. But it also means he’s home randomly throughout the day. 

・His speciality is making breakfast; eggs, bacon, toast, french toast, waffles etc 

・Yes, he did develop the skill from all the one night stands he’s had...

・But hey, at least now you’re the one that reaps the reward!

・Doesn’t snore in his sleep, but does toss and turn a lot 

・Sometimes he has really really bad nightmares. He doesn’t want to wake you up, so he goes and has a smoke outside

・Really loves chewing on ice cubes. When you get McDonalds, he’ll eat everyone’s ice from their drinks (obviously after their done with it)

・When you’re feeling down; physically or mentally, he’ll read to you. Jax bought you a new edition of your favourite book for your birthday and he’s so used to holding it in his hands by now. 

・Really likes when you light candles when he gets home, he prefers them over the overhead lighting 

・Doesn’t like loud sudden noises - definitely has undiagnosed PTSD. He’s gotten really good at hiding it, but some days - when he has really long showers, you know it’s a bad day 

𝐎𝐩𝐢𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧

・When he isn’t doing things for the club, he loves to work in ‘the shed’. 

・He has a lot of projects going on - making garden beds for Gemma’s events, 

・Opie usually ends up trekking dust, shredded timber and so on throughout the house. You make him have a shower as soon as he’s finished working outside. 

・But you can’t lie, he does create some beautiful things. 

・He made a dining room table - and the detailing was so amazing you nearly teared up

・Opie is great at painting as well, honestly, he’s just good at general renovations. Somehow he knows how to do stuff around the house - unclogging drains, fixing pipes, changing lightbulbs, stopping leaks etc

・Opie’s like your own handy man! 

・Secretly a cat person. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t mind dogs. They’re great, but cats are so unpredictable - without the risk. He finds them so interesting. 

・Loves Disney movies, especially the cartoon version of Robin Hood. You’ll find him humming the song about Robin and Little John 

・Likes that he towers of you and will put things out of your reach just to rile you up

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐬 𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝

・Actively cleans up after himself and you. 

・Really likes a clean home, and he’s lived on his own for a long time, so he knows how to run a house

・He also grew up around a lot of women, so he knows how to cook some great meals 

・Chibs was also whipped into shape by these women, so that’s why it’s ingrained in him...

・Knows a lot of Scottish drinking songs, and he always sings them when he’s had a few too much to drink

・And his voice is actually quite lovely 

・He also sings in the shower 

・A loud gruff Scottish man singing in your shower always brightens your day 

・Automatically turns the kettle on when he gets home (and will make tea for two, knowing exactly how you like it)

・Not a lot of random visitors, he likes to keep business and his home life separate. Even though the club is his life, he likes having his own space 

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐰𝐦𝐚𝐧

・Many, many takeout and movie nights

・Especially when he’s been gone on club business

・Does the washing and folding for both your clothes. It was his main job when he lived at home too. 

・Also mows the lawn without a shirt on, so that’s...a fun sight to see (he likes showing off in front of you)

・Loves the movie Avatar; would definitely go into a deep dive of how it all works and how they created it. 

・Would die if you showed interest in it as well. You bought him a book about the characters and he spent a whole afternoon reading it

・Surprises everyone with how much he loves books 

・A man of few words, he actually has really profound things to say. Some of it can be really poetic...

・Likes having his shoulders rubbed, and in return, he massages your feet 

・Is really good at looking after you when you’re sick. He has a lot of homemade recipes; soups, oldwives tricks etc. (Except the term ‘oldwives tricks’ shouldn’t be overlooked. A lot of their 

𝐓𝐢𝐠 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫

・Rescue dogs galore 

・Tig hates seeing any animal hurt, but he has a special place in his heart for dogs

・Big fucking snorer, and is out as soon as his head hits the pillow

・Hates cooking but doesn’t mind doing the dishes - yeah he’s fucked up that way

・So you handle the food; he’ll get the groceries, but for the love of god he cannot make a proper grown up dish

・In return, he doesn’t mind doing the vaccuuming and mopping (he would so dress up in a maid’s outfit and do it)

・Whenever he wakes up in the middle of the night, he goes into the loungeroom to watch cartoons - like popeye

・Cried while watching Titanic btw

・Oh and has a stash of different types of drugs. Nothing too hardcore though. 

・He also makes you have an unregistered firearm so you can protect yourself 

・Also loves comic books. He’s a DC kinda guy...yes, his favourite character is Joker

[blue2black]

COD incorrect quotes, but their from TikToks I saw and are now buried somewhere deep in my likes:

PART 1

—————————

*in an Uber*

Soap: And I find out that my parents are like, related.

Gaz: Like, their siblings?

Soap: Yeah like, blood siblings.

Gaz: Is that why you walk weird?

—————————

Soap, walking up to Ghost with a camera: Cheese!

Ghost: What is this? 🤨

Soap: I really think I can��t treat you anymore.

Soap: The fact is…

Soap: I’m in love with you. 😍

Ghost: The fu-?? 😨

—————————

Graves: Come on sweetheart, give us a smile.

Graves: Geez Louise, must be on your period. HA HA HA!

Valeria: …

Valeria: Let me drive a seven ton semi-truck over your torso and I’ll be smiling throughout my entire prison sentence.

—————————

Gaz: Nik is so old fashioned.

Laswell: Oh, really?

Gaz: Nik is so old fashioned that he doesn’t even watch TV.

Gaz: Like, when he wants to kick back and unwind he just goes on long fishing trips with Price.

Gaz: And Nik doesn’t listen to any new music, he just listens to a bunch of metal mixtapes that Price sends him.

Laswell: Wait, John sends Nik metal mixtapes?

Gaz: Nik is so old fashioned that he really struggles showing affection.

Gaz: Like, he rarely hugs me or anyone of that matter.

Gaz: One time I thought I saw him and you holding hands underneath a table from afar, but then I got closer and I saw it was just him and Price.

Laswell: Nik and John were holding hands underneath a table? (.-_.^)

Gaz: Well, yeah, but it really more like a good old fashioned handshake. You know? Like, the prolonged kind where two old school guys don’t let go of each other’s hands while sitting side by side listening to a briefing.

Laswell: Kyle…are Nik and John dating?

Gaz: What? No, Nik isn’t dating Price!

Gaz: Most of the time when Nik and Price hang out, they just get in fist fights with each other.

Laswell: They get in fist fights??

Gaz: Yeah, I can not tell you the number of times I’ve overheard Nik and Price go into an office, lock the door and just fist fight each other.

Gaz: I mean, the halls positively echo with the sound of flesh smacking up against flesh, furniture bumping against the walls…

Gaz: And not for nothing, but I think old fashioned Nik is winning pretty much every one of fights based on how loud I hear Price moaning-

Laswell, getting up: OKAY-

(Gaz knew what was going on, he was just fucking with her like the lil shit he is.)

—————————

Price: I just don’t wanna see you get hurt, okay?

Price: Those people up there can kill you!

Price: I know you think you’re tough, Farah, but you are fucking 5 feet tall!

Farah: I AM 5 FOOT 5! 😡

—————————

Laswell, getting ready to order food: Alright, what do you want?

Soap: Hamburger.

Laswell, parroting: Hamburger.

Soap: Chips.

Laswell: Chips.

Soap: Fart.

Laswell: Fart.

Laswell: 👏🏻 SOAP. 🤬

Soap: HEHEHEHEHE *evil Scottish giggle*

—————————

Valeria, dressed up: Okay, how do I look?

Diego: Like a woman about to go forth in sin.

Valeria: Oh, good. Exactly the look I was hoping for. 😉

—————————

—TEXT—

Scottish Bastard: hey

Scottish Bastard: ghost

Scottish Bastard: HELLOOO

Scottish Bastard: simon?!?!

Scottish Bastard: are you there??

Scottish Bastard: ………

Scottish Bastard: just imagine

Scottish Bastard: you and me

Scottish Bastard: in a room

Scottish Bastard: with nothing on

Scottish Bastard: OILED UP

Scottish Bastard: and ready to mingle

You: What the fuck are you on about?

Scottish Bastard: now that i have your attention

Scottish Bastard: i have an idea >:]

—————————

Soap and Price, waiting for exfil: ….

Soap: …

Soap: Last night I dreamed I was a bottle of ketchup, and you were mustard.

Soap: Which is weird, because usually you’re mayonnaise in my dreams.

Price: 🤨???

Soap: Why do you suppose that is?

—————————

Ghost: When I die…

Ghost: ✨Viking funeral✨

Ghost, handing Gaz a gun: You shoot the shot.

Gaz, cocking the gun: Okay.

Ghost: If you miss, you kill yourself.

Gaz: Wait, what- 😨

—————————

*in an Uber pt 2*

Soap: Well, I’m shocked—of course.

Gaz: This is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.

Soap: I mean, that’s dramatic.

Gaz: No, it’s not dramatic! Your parents are-

Soap: That’s dramatic!

Soap: Listen…I was shocked at first.

Gaz: At first??

Gaz: You’re not shocked still??? (ಠ_ಠ)

—————————

(Nik being the cool dad to everybody in 141)

Nik, answering his ringing phone: Hello?

Norris: Hello, sir, I'm the Colonel working for Captain John Price. I have Sergeant MacTavish in my office.

Nik: Okay, what did he do? 🙄

*Norris looks at Soap*

Soap: 😢

Norris: *sighs* He punched another solider in the genitals.

Norris: Three times.

Nik: OH MY GOD, DID YOU JUST SAY GENITALS? HAHAHA-

Norris, listening to Nik laughing his ass off through the phone: THAT IS THE FUNNIEST THING I'VE HEARD ALL DAY-

Norris: *looks at Soap*

Soap: *smiling proudly*

Nik: OH MY GOD, he is so funny! 😆

—————————

Ghost: Don't touch me, Soap!

Laswell: Can you guys like, stop having relationship issues while I'm trying to hack into their security?

[rookiesbookies]

Soap What if AU based on the new skin?

This is based on that new CoD skin where he has the funky face mask. Soap you sexy sexy lad I love you

Make sure to hit up my master list (pinned on profile) and my AU list (linked on master list) for more. The fic is under the cut-

And a quick thank you to my lovely mutuals @shotmrmiller and @ohmygraves - my dyslexic butt couldn’t do it without you both *MUAH*

Amidst the chaos of battle, a figure emerged from the smoke and dust. Clad in unfamiliar gear that glinted menacingly in the sunlight of the desert waste, a muzzle or mask of some sort over his nose and mouth. As the soldiers on the battlefield tensed, the world slowed, and for a moment the dust settled so they could lay eyes on the man.

The breaths of the soldiers Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, and Captain John Price caught in their throats, and a chilling realization dawned upon them, slithering up their spines and making their skin crawl - it was John MacTavish, Johnny, or what seemed to be him.

The Soap had returned, but not as the valiant ally they once knew.

Simon, Kyle, and John stood frozen in disbelief, their eyes wide with shock and horror at the sight before them. They had seen Soap die. It was irrefutable. The hole in the head, blood seeping into the cracks of the cement. blank, dull eyes, so different from the usual vibrant feverish blue.

They had mourned his loss and buried his memory deep within their hearts, they had buried their brother in arms and brother at heart.

Yet, here he stood, wearing the insignia of the enemy, his blue gaze ice-cold and unrecognizable from the warm and bubbly Soap they once knew.

He was just how they had last seen him. Due to Scottish Highlander genetics, he had never been a scrawny kid, always broad and covered with coarse hair. He was still built like a rugby player, just as wide. The only difference was a dent in his temple, it was just large enough to see, and the ventilation face piece he was wearing drew attention away from it. Scarring had turned some of the hair over it white.

Unlike the wound on his head, his death was still fresh, even after over two years, in his teammates’ minds. Not a day would go without a somber moment for him, a memory making them all laugh. A team of four now cut down to just three. Like a table, if anyone put pressure on where the missing leg was it would fall- all having to take a moment and walk away from each other before quietly reconvening.

When he looks over the three of his past teammates, it’s as if they aren’t even human. To him, they are prey.

No witty remarks were leaving his mouth, not a quip or joke. Johnny just barked orders and raised his gun.

“Captain!” Simon quickly tackled Price out of the way, through a door, and into a side room of the building. “This isn’t a good time for sightseeing.”

Price barked an order at Ghost and Gaz, they quickly moved out of the building without what they came for. Now they’re directive changed.

They had to talk to Laswell.

“I brought his body back, it was recovered. Why is he out there now, alive, and against us?” Price yelled. He wasn’t yelling at Laswell, as much as he just happened to be emotional and yelling to express himself.

“We’re both asking the same question right now, John.” She said, calmly. “I sent out word and I’m running it up the flag pole as we speak.”

“I want to know who let someone else get ahold of his body. He should be buried and resting,” Price said, white knuckle gripping Laswell’s desk.

“And I agree, but we can’t change the past. We need to figure out what happened and what to do now.”

“I can’t kill him,” Price whispered, looking down at the desk, “even if it means letting him rest again if we can’t save him, I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

“That’s an incredible jump to a conclusion,” Laswell said, raising an eyebrow.

“He deserves to be at rest.”

“I never disagreed.”

“I-I know,” Price breathed out, before walking towards the door of her office, “let me know when you get answers.”

It was days before John Price heard from Kate Laswell.

“John, I think I have a lead,” she said quickly, the second he answered her call. “They outsourced the transportation of the body to a third party. When I looked into it, they were owned by a shell company with a suspicious name.”

John groaned. “What do we do with that information?”

“I think Grave’s Shadows got to him,” Kate said, her voice softer. “It’s not unthinkable that they could have done something to his mind.”

“He was dead,” Price spat, “I held his cold lifeless body on the heli ride back to base. No heartbeat, no breathing. We’ll talk about this later.”

When Price and Laswell were briefing the team on a new mission, however, was when things hit the fan.

“An unknown transmission,” Kate mumbled. “Think it’s our answer? It’s address looks like its coming out of an American base.”

“Well, let’s answer it,” Price said gruffly.

“Hey, old friend,” Graves’ accent sounded, invading Price’s ears. “I heard you had a run in with our latest advancement.”

Price noticed the background. The outline of Soap’s silhouette stood in the dark, back lit.

“Why don’t you say hi to our newest team member, Razor,” Graves says, waving Johnny forward.

John could practically hear Simon’s eyes roll at the code name they had given Soap. It was truly something Soap would have never been given or picked, a clear jab due to it being another bathroom supply. It was far from his personality and clearly Graves’ sense of humor.

“You know that’s not his code name,” Price practically growled.

Kate put a hand on Price’s shoulder, “what did you do to him?”

“Well I did nothing,” Graves said, “it’s amazing how far medical advancements have come, truly. The best part is, he’s the perfect soldier.” Graves hummed, “just perfect at following orders.”

Price couldn’t watch anymore, Johnny was like his son- the whole team was, but Johnny reminded him so much of his younger self. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his heart rate. He was amazed Simon had stayed silent this long, no quid or snippy banter, and he was sure Kyle didn’t even know how to react.

Price didn’t quite know how to react either. On one hand, Soap and more importantly Johnny was alive, he was healed. On the other hand, he was a shell of his former self and far from the witty and friendly sergeant he once served with.

Simon looked like an animal in a corner. He was coiled up in himself, his arms crossed, and Price could see his knotted eyebrows under the mask.

Price only wanted to hang up the call. To throw the computer out the window nearest to him and possibly a chair as well.

“I’d like my sergeant back, Graves.”

“Hmmm, I think he’s mine now. It was my medical services that brought him back, Price.” Graves spat back. “Well, I’m glad you’ve made your introductions!”

Graves hung up the call. Price stood up and walked out the door. Simon stewed in his anger. Kyle went to go get his mind off it. Kate had some calls to make.

————

Hoped all of my lovely readers loved this. Sorry it took so long, 1.2k is nothing to sneeze at. I’ll probably do a follow up part but if you’re a veteran of my page you know Imm really bad about part twos.

If you loved it: hit up my inbox, like, reblog, and leave me a sweet little love note in my comments for more all are available options.

If you didn’t love it: pop on into my inbox, tell me what you want to see.

As stated up top- my door is always open, make sure to hit up my master list (pinned on profile) and my AU list (linked on master list) for more glimpses into my brain like this one. I love hearing what you want to see and I can only truly know that via comments and ESPECIALLY inbox messages

I love you all, be good, play nice, and keep reading on <3

[sleepiexx]

A Breath of Fresh Air

John “Soap” Mactavish x fem!Reader

Note: loosely based on my travel experience a few months back when I was flying alone for the first time but fucked up and got really sick and had a good cry in the airport bathroom.

Summary: (Y/N) is having a terrible day at the airport, luckily for her a very handsome Scottish stranger is there to help her out.

Warnings: reader has a panic attack

Word Count: 1673

The airport is a daunting place. First, you have to go through TSA. 30 minutes to an hour of being treated like a criminal, throwing away any drink you had to calm the head ache you’re sure to have, shoes off, going through some futuristic metal detector, all ultimately just standing as a reminder of the possible doom you face just getting on a plane. After that, there’s a million letters and numbers that you have to decipher to get where you’re going. Gates, terminals, baggage claim, why was there a difference? It all makes no sense, especially when it’s your first time traveling solo and the day just isn’t going your way.

To begin with, (Y/N) woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She didn’t wake up until 30 minutes after her alarm went off, completely off-setting her perfectly timed out plan for the day. She had to scramble to get ready, throwing on leggings and a sweatshirt, feeling like a total wreck. After that, she had to rush to call a cab because of course, she had no one else to drive her. While in that cab, it seemed the driver was having a similarly awful day because he was snippy with her the entire ride, topping it all off by dropping her in the wrong place.

She didn’t even realize until she checked her ticket again while going through TSA and realized she was 13 gates over from where she was meant to be. She’d heard before that for international flights, you’re supposed to arrive at the airport 4 hours before you’re set to board. She didn’t travel often, but when she did, she was taught to always follow this rule. Yet with her sleeping in, she was behind schedule.

After TSA, she looked around desperately at the signs for some sort of guidance on where to go, getting lost was the last thing she needed right now but fate just seemed to have it out for her.

Lost and late, she had somehow managed to get both lost and late. Her heart rate spiked at the thought. She could be stuck here in this country where she had nowhere to even stay the night rather than in Scotland where she planned to be all because she was a heavy sleeper this morning. She panicked, breathing becoming harder and harder, embarrassment peaking as she couldn’t stop tears from streaming down her face. The embarrassment only seemed to make breathing an even more impossible task. She felt like she was dying, gripping at her chest as her heart pounded.

A hand tapped at her shoulder, filling her with dread. Why couldn’t everyone just leave her alone? It’s not like she’s about to give anyone directions when she herself is lost. She turned to her side to face the man who had tapped her. He looked roughly her age and to put it in simple terms, he was hot. He was muscular with a handsome face and blue eyes that you could just drown in. A Mohawk that (Y/N) would be aching to run her hands through under any other circumstance, but she had no luck in circumstance today. God why did he have to be hot? It felt like public humiliation, being all overstimulated and overwhelmed in front of the whole airport, and now in front of the pretty stranger.

“Look, I know it’s none of my business.” He began.

God, no. Please, why god?

“But you kind of look like you’re having a panic attack, and I know some breathing exercises that could really help if you want.”

Oh? He was… offering to help?

She sniffled, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her sweater before nodding, “Yeah, I’d- uhm, I’d really appreciate that.”

His lips quirked up into a smile, “Alright, let’s sit down first.”

He guided her to a bench on the side of wherever it was in the terminal they were.

“Okay, can you try and follow my breathing?” He asked. She nodded and tried to sync up with his breaths.

“Breathe in,” he muttered, breathing in and silently counting in his head, watching as (Y/N) did the same. “Hold,” she did, “And breathe out.”

They continued the cycle a few more times before the man could see that she had visibly calmed. He wondered what had gotten her so worried in the first place.

He couldn’t help but voice his curiosity, hopeful that he could find a solution, “If I may, do you know what’s got you so stressed?”

Her lips curled into a deep-set frown before she reluctantly admitted her issues, “I don’t know where my gate is.”

“Well I can help with that, pull out your ticket, I’ll point you in the right direction.”

It was only now that she realized he had an accent, something European. Her brain wasn’t running on 100% so she couldn’t exactly pinpoint what country, but she figured something like Finland or Ireland.

Disregarding her side thoughts about his accent, she reached into her carry on to pull out her ticket. She retrieved it, flattening out some of the wrinkles it got in her bag before handing it to the man.

“Hey, looks like we’re headed to the same place.” He said, pulling out his own ticket to compare, “I think we’re sat next to each other too. We can head there together.”

A wave of reassurance washed over her. They started towards the gate, he seemed to know where he was going so she followed.

“I really appreciate you helping me.” She told him, “I’m (Y/N) by the way.”

He smiled at her, face lit up like a beam of sunshine. “I’m John, but you can call me Johnny if you like. Nice to meet you.”

She smiled back, “You as well.”

Johnny was very charismatic. He led the conversation with no issue and never once made her feel like her anxiety was showing.

“So, what’s got you headed to Scotland?” He wondered aloud.

“I’m moving there.” She answered, “Are you from there?”

“Born and raised. It’s a wonderful place, you’re going to love it.”

After more small talk, they made it to their gate with time to spare. All of (Y/N)’s worries were quelled.

“What’s your favorite soda, (Y/N)? I’m going to grab us some from the little shop over there.”

“You don’t have to do that, I’m fine.” She assured.

John shook his head, “I want to. Besides, you’ve just had a panic attack, you need to get some hydration in ye’.”

She wouldn’t refuse his kind deed, simply telling him her favorite drink and letting him get it for her. Thanking him profusely for it, of course.

They continued talking as they waited to board the plane, and even after they eventually boarded. Johnny had been right, they were seated right next to each other. On the plane, (Y/N) shared one of her ear buds with him so they could watch a few movies together on her laptop. She found out he was actually hilarious, with his commentary on the movie making her laugh harder than she’d ever laughed before. She saw it as a win every time she got him to laugh just as hard.

They spent hours talking and getting to know each other. The flight she had dreaded, turned out to be not as bad as she had expected. As the 7 hour flight came to an end, she was unexpectedly really disappointed. She spent all this time bonding with this man, only to likely never see him again.

She frowned slightly as they waited to get off the plane.

“What’s got you all upset again? Thought I’d done a good job keeping you laughing, am I really that unfunny?” John joked.

(Y/N) shook her head, “Nah, you’re hilarious Johnny… I’m just kinda bummed I won’t see you again.”

He hadn’t thought about it, but it really bummed him out too. Thinking on his feet, he grabbed a sharpie they’d previously used to draw with. He pulled her arm towards him and began to write on her wrist.

“What, leaving me a drawing to remember you by?” She joked, trying to get a glimpse at what he was writing but ultimately failing with his head in the way.

He finished, moving his head and showing her wrist to her, numbers written neatly on her arm so she could actually read it later. “My number, so you can see me again. I’ll be your first new friend in Scotland, how’s that sound?”

As she beamed at him, he pulled her wrist towards him once more and wrote something else on it. She waited until he moved so she could see what else he had to say. He drew a little shark smiling at her with its razor sharp teeth.

“And that’s a cool shark, to remember me by.”

She burst out into a fit of giggles, John falling victim to her contagious laugh and giggling some as well. Basking in each other’s presence.

They stayed together at the baggage claim, Johnny grabbing (Y/N)’s bags for her, and waited for their friends. Eventually, they both spotted their separate friends holding signs with their names on them.

“I guess this is goodbye.” She muttered.

“I guess it is,” he frowned, turning to look her in the eyes, “You think maybe I could take you out sometime?”

“Like a date?” She asked.

“Only if you want.” He said with a shy smile.

In a rare moment of boldness, (Y/N) kissed Johnny’s cheek, telling him, “I’d really like that.” Before skipping off to greet her friends.

Having noticed John in his dazed state, his own friend walked up to him, looking in the same direction he was staring at.

“What’s up with you?” They asked.

He continued staring off into the distance at her, before grinning and looking at his friend, “I think I’ve just met the woman I’m going to marry.”

[mikhailwrites]

Soaring Ever Higher 4 - Ghoap/Ace Combat 7 crossover

Previous chapter | This Chapter on AO3 | Next chapter

And so, Ghost finally has a chance to make good on his promise... with some interest...

Be advised that this chapter is pretty spicy so if you mind or are a minor, I trust you'll stop reading at # symbol :)

The bar is nice and surprisingly classy, considering the city is on the smaller side. The music isn’t too loud or obnoxious; the overall noise is also bearable. Ghost lets himself enjoy it.

“What can I get you, lads?” the bartender flashes them a broad smile, not even batting an eye at Ghost’s scarred face, which is to his credit.

Trigger also doesn’t seem to mind. Once Ghost took the balaclava off, the bloke did pause on his face, but there was nothing to suggest what he thought of the map of scars. After a few seconds, he nodded and smiled as he held the door open for Ghost.

“Bourbon for me,” Ghost points at the bottle of Woodford Reserve on the shelf. The bartender nods and looks expectantly at Trigger, who seems to be scanning the shelves for something specific.

John shakes his head in mock disbelief. “And here I thought you were a cultured man,” then he turns back to the bartender, “Do you have Lagavulin 16?”

The bartender thinks for a second. “I think so, but let me check; we keep the better stuff in the back.”

Ghost chuckles. “What can I say? I’m drinking Yank stuff with a bloke flying a Yank plane. If you were a patriot, you’d be flying Typhoon like the rest of the base.”

“Somebody knows their jets,” Trigger whistles. “But last time I checked, Typhoon ain’t Scottish-made.”

Their exchange is interrupted by the return of the bartender with two glasses. Ghost says he’ll be paying for both. The price doesn’t really surprise him. “Are you getting the good stuff at my expense?” The money is no issue. He’s just interested in the reaction.

“Why, of course,” Trigger smirks, “it’s not every day I get a free drink.” He raises his glass, “Slàinte mhath.”

“Cheers,” Ghost answers the toast with his glass, sipping the bourbon, sighing in content as it slips down his throat, warming him inside out. “You think I believe you? With the free drinks? Or do you want me to feel special?”

“Right down to the business, aren’t you?” the corners of his mouth twitch. “The thing is, I don’t leave the base often. Don’t have much business outside.”

“And for pleasure?” Ghost watches him intently, noticing a minuscule twitch in John’s left hand, the way his tongue darts to wet his lips. He’s either nervous or pretends to be. Both options are intriguing, if for slightly different reasons.

“That’s complicated,” he lowers his gaze. Now that’s a good tell that he’s just pretending and luring Ghost, tickling the hunter in him by playing a helpless prey.

“It’s really not. When you boil it down, it’s always about pushing, shoving, and exchanging bodily fluids. Nothing complicated about that,” Ghost presses, shifting a little closer and putting his hand on John’s knee.

“Yer not a wooing and romance kind of lad, are ye?” Trigger takes his glass and drinks a bit more of his whisky. The smell of smoke, disinfectant and burnt tyres tickles Ghost’s nose. Christ, he could never stomach peated scotch, but the scent becomes John. It may very well be how he smells when he climbs out of his plane after a mission.

“Is that a problem?” Ghost asks with fake concern, tasting the bourbon once more.

“Didnae say that,” Trigger shakes his head, resting his hand atop Ghost’s. That’s the only permission Simon needs.

He leans closer as he speaks quietly, right into John’s ear. “I want to bend you over the counter and shag you like there’s no tomorrow."

“Damn, not even a second drink? You think I’m that cheap?” Trigger grins, and it’s all teeth and intent.

“Not cheap. I think you know what you want and usually get it. Am I close?” Ghost leans even closer. If he tried a little, his lips could brush the trimmed beard. He notices a pleasant whiff of cologne as well.

“Close enough,” Trigger admits, wiggling a little in a movement intimately familiar to anyone ever sported a stiffer in public space.

“Base or hotel?” Ghost asks, momentarily turning his attention back to the drink. There’s still about half of it left.

John understands and promptly finishes his glass before answering. “Hotel, but we need to do some shopping first.”

“Obviously,” Ghost agrees, tipping the glass back and setting it on the counter.

#

The moment the door of the small hotel room closes behind them, they’re on each other. John’s fingers tangle in Simon’s blonde hair where it’s long enough on top of his head, nails scraping the scalp. Simon’s lips smash against John’s; tongue, teeth, doesn’t matter. First, Simon presses John against the wall. Then the other man, despite being shorter, retaliates and shoves Ghost back, pinning him to the opposing wall and wedging his knee between Simon’s legs and up until Ghost grunts in both impatience and anticipation.

Trigger’s hands leave Simon’s head and immediately sneak under his tee, feeling him up, kneading at the hard plains of muscles.

“Fuck I love how you’re built,” John gasps between harsh breaths, tucking the tee up, uncovering inch after inch of scarred, pale flesh.

Simon grabs him by the mohawk and forces him to expose his neck. With no hesitation, he licks it with a long, broad and wet stroke before sinking his teeth in. John yelps above him, digging his fingernails into Ghost’s sides with enough strength for it to hurt.

Trigger’s pelvis also moves in a fluid, steady motion, hard-on on hard-on. It’s wild and heavenly, free of any and all troubles. Just like Ghost said back in the bar, when it comes down to it, sex is a rather uncomplicated endeavour.

Somehow, they manage to get mostly undressed and on the actual bed. Simon lies on his back with John braced above him, only heading in the opposite direction. They suck each other’s cock in a perfectly balanced ratio of giving and taking. Well, it’s a little more taking on John’s part once he finds out he can actually fuck Simon’s throat and does so with relentless vigour. Simon, however, uses the situation to his advantage, blindly grabs a bottle of lube and, without John noticing, squeezes some on his fingers before he presses them against his hole. Two at first, and he’s about as gentle about it as Trigger’s cockhead is to his throat.

John gasps and groans at the intrusion, but Ghost sucking him feels too good for him to withdraw. He takes those fingers just like he takes Simon’s prick, at least what he can actually fit into his mouth.

Soon enough, the stretch starts to feel good, and he moves back further to have more. He’s close and feels the orgasm building between his prick and his balls. He lets the cock fall from his mouth to slobber nearly unintelligible “’M close.”

Simon grabs his ass and helps him thrust deeper. He’ll have an even raspier voice for days; he knows it, yet doesn’t care. His airways are momentarily blocked, but he expected it. John grunts and then changes the rhythm to senseless rutting as he nears his peak. Simon adds another two fingers and wedges them in by force, knowing the pleasure and the tension of impending orgasm will numb the pain, morphing it into something else entirely.

John cries out, his voice breaking, and he thrusts one last time as he comes down Ghost’s throat in powerful pulses.

Simon barely lets him have a few seconds before manhandling him, throwing him off of himself and onto the mattress face-down. Once more, he reaches for the lube, slicks his prick and slides into John’s now pliant and lubed-up hole. John moans, hypersensitive and surprised, but he doesn’t move.

“Fuck yes,” Simon growls as he starts thrusting. Fast and deep, he’s way past caring. Bracing himself on John’s shoulder blades, he enjoys the hard body beneath all the more as he knows the other man could stand his ground easily. He could fight Ghost if he wanted to, and even though he wouldn’t probably win, it would be a good fight. And he shags him like that, too. With none of the gentleness and all of the respect.

John grunts and huffs beneath him, the discomfort clear in his voice, but eventually, he starts jerking his hips to meet Simon’s thrusts. His back glistens with sweat, scars starkly pale on the tanned skin. Ghost leans down and tastes the salt and musk—breathes Trigger in as he regains his focus and slows the thrusts to savour this.

Simon drags his fingers through the mohawk, grabbing a fistful of hair barely long enough to get a hold of. He lifts John’s head from the bed and motivates him with a firm tug to look over his shoulder. John’s face is flushed, his lips slick with saliva, his eyes searing despite their colour.

“That all ye’ve got, Si?” Trigger taunts, smirking. His brow furrows, and his mouth forms a pretty “O” when Ghost answers the challenge with a backstab of the pleasurable kind.

Simon can feel the tension inside him rising. The fast, punishing pace he’s set does nothing to stave it off, and he doesn’t even try to fight it. His breath is ragged and Simon groans every time he bottom out. So close…

And then it’s here, rolling over him, dragging him under as his whole body locks for a moment before the muscles seize and his heartbeat thunders in his ears. Simon collapses on top of John. It’s bloody uncomfortable, all hard muscles and hot, sweaty skin, but he barely even registers any of it.

In about ten seconds, his brain reboots, yet he still doesn’t move. Instead, he nuzzles against short hair and the mohawk. Trigger sighs; it sounds content and peaceful, so Simon continues rubbing his stubbly cheek against the trimmed hair.

“Yer a good weighted blanket, Simon,” the Scot says quietly, but there’s mirth in his voice—an almost fond edge.

Ghost hums. He wouldn’t mind staying like this longer, but the discomfort is only worsening. Eventually, Simon rolls off of John, but seeing as the other man didn’t complain so far, he grabs him and squeezes him in a firm hug. He basks in the closeness as he buries his face in the nape of John’s neck.

“Not that I’m complaining, but I haven’t pegged you for a cuddler… ‘s nice surprise,” Trigger speaks again, squeezing Simon’s hands where they hold onto him and presses even further into him.

They drift off like that, because shower can wait, and they wouldn’t be in the military if they couldn’t stand being occasionally gross and disgusting.

I have way too many screenshots, here, have some Eurofighter Typhoon.

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Spillways (Chapter 1), A Gilded Age fanfic

(The title is taken from one of my favorite Ghost songs, which is about confronting old wounds and pain in order to heal so you can move forward.)

Faceclaims for George and Randolph Stewart

Contents: Prologue

Word count: 1400

Summary: All of New York society is in a tizzy over the news: The Earl of Galloway is in town with his son, the 30 year old (bachelor) Randolph.  Marriage-minded mamas are on the prowl but the Earl and his son eschew most of the lavish parties and teas they’re invited to...except to a certain tea with Agnes Van Rhijn and her niece, Marian.

Rating: Everyone (Ratings will be *by chapter*, so subsequent installments might differ in their rating.)

Author's Notes: This is a canon-divergence story beginning a few months from episode 5 of Season 2. This is obviously not going to be historically accurate, also I'm from America and I've only gleaned a cursory knowledge of the Scottish peerage from my reading and basically am just using the titles, locations and names as vehicles for these characters please just go with it lmao

DISCLAIMER: I am not affiliated with The Gilded Age in any way beyond being a fan, I do not own the Gilded Age characters nor am I using them for any commercial purposes or making money from this, this is just basically word fanart of the show

Lovely divider is by @muchomago

“Oh, Bannister, Mrs. Russell is fit to be tied!” Jack exclaimed, coming into the house with the morning papers.  He set them on the counter nearby before hastily washing his hands at the water basin and then sitting at the table, a cup of coffee waiting for him.

“Hmm, why is that?” Bannister asked, his full attention on his ham and egg breakfast.  The rest of the servants and Peggy at the table, however, were now looking at John with rapt attention.

“It’s about that Earl and his son, isn’t it?” Bridget asked, fork suspended with some greenbeans skewered on it. 

“They finally accepted an invitation, haven’t they?” Mrs. Bauer added in.  “I knew they would!  She entertained a duke, after all.”

“‘Fit to be tied’ means she’s enraged, Mrs. Bauer.  Not pleased.” Peggy said kindly. “The Earl has likely declined.”

“Oh, I never know these expressions that people use here...” Mrs. Bauer lamented.

“He declined an invitation to Mrs. Fish’s Newport home, why on earth would he have accepted one from Mrs. Russell to dine in her gaudy house?” Armstrong said to Mrs. Bauer. 

“He has declined an invitation from nearly everyone except Mrs. Astor.  She had them for a tea ten days ago.” Bannister said, finally contributing to the conversation.

Jack looked dejected.  “Well, it's no fun when you all already know the gossip!”

“Never mind,” Bannister said. “I don’t want a single one of you to mention the Earl in the presence of our mistress.” 

“Why’s that? Did-”

“It’s not our business, Bridget.” Peggy said. “Trust me.” 

With that, the table returned to chatter of the day’s work and other things.  Bannister shared a knowing look with Peggy.  They had both been there when the invitation to Mrs. Astor’s tea with the Earl and his son had arrived and Mrs. Van Rhijn had raged.  Peggy had not divulged the contents of the rejection letter she’d had to write but she let Bannister know it had been…uncharacteristically angry, even for Mrs. Van Rhijn. Bannister knew it was serious, as invitations sent by Mrs. Astor were never rejected.  Never.  It was best the staff stay on their toes around their mistress until the Earl left New York.

The young ladies at St. Mary’s were in a bit of an uproar. 

An Earl and his son were visiting today!  

Not a one of them concerned themselves with the purpose of the visit: to inspect the school that they intended to donate to.  Lord George Stewart was ancient, at 70 years of age.  A widower, but he had shown no interest whatsoever in remarrying all these years.  However, his son Randolph was the perfect age for some of the girls’ widowed mothers, and so the whole lot of them plotted and schemed ways to present them favorably to the young lord to be.  

Francis Montgomery was brimming with happiness at her own father’s recent marriage.  She was determined that her favorite teacher, Miss Marian Brook, should have the same happiness.  How to thwart the other girls’ plots would be difficult, but not impossible. “You know better than to fear any challenge, my dear…” her own father would often say to her.  Marian deserved Randolph Stewart, Francis thought to herself.  If she married him, then she would one day be a countess!  

“Francis, you’ve been mixing your colors for a few minutes now.” Marian chided her, snapping her out of her plans. “Please begin the assignment.” 

“Yes, Miss Brook!” 

Francis began to paint (the assignment today was a lovely, small arrangement of pink roses).  She kept glancing to the door, for any minute now the Earl and his son would pass by their class to see the students working.  She had her plan.  Any minute now…

“Please continue with your work, girls!” Marian reminded them, as a flurry of chatter rose up and died down just as quick.  The Earl himself had not come to this particular class, he was talking to the directors in the hallway.  Randolph Stewart, however, had decided that watercolors were very interesting indeed.  

Smiling at them all as he walked in, he went straight for a slightly flustered Marian. 

It had been a small moment, but Marian had suddenly noticed Francis frantically glancing at her and silently motioning to look to the doorway.  Apparently a man had been watching Marian teach for god knows how long and now was making to introduce himself.

“Apologies.  I didn’t mean to gawk.” he said with a slight chuckle.  “I am Randolph Stewart.” He quickly raised her given hand and kissed it lightly as Marian gave her name.  He did not remove his gaze from hers for a few moments.  “Forgive me but you…are not like the other teachers.”

“No, she isn’t!” Francis piped up.  “She’s my first cousin, once removed.”

“Ah, so you are related?” Randolph responded.

 “Through marriage.  I mean, she herself isn’t married but-”

“That is quite enough, Francis, thank you.” Marian said stiffly. She smiled nervously at Randolph, who seemed to be trying not to laugh, digesting this new fact. He seemed to look at her in a new light.

“Thank you so much for your father’s donation to the school!” Marian said, trying to change the subject.  “The private schools for boys seem to have no shortage of patrons, you’d think at least a respectable girls’ school wouldn’t have to practically beg.”

“I completely agree.  Girls struggle enough as it is no matter their station in life and it’s our responsibility to help them out in any way we can.” Randolph gave the girls another smile as he continued to talk with Marian.  She informed him that she lived with her Aunt Agnes and Aunt Ada, before the latter had married and moved out of the house.  The talk turned to women’s suffrage. 

Not a single one of the girls was truly painting now, all had their eyes on Marian and the handsome Randolph. Francis knew the opportunity to put her plan in action was fading fast…

“Miss Brook’s and my Aunt Agnes is a great patron to the school as well!”

“Oh?  Is that so?” Randolph looked to Marian again, curious. “ Your Aunt is supportive of your…teaching endeavors?”

“Not in the least.  She almost had a conniption when she found out.”

“Really?  Surely teaching nice young ladies to paint is respectable enough for a woman of your station?” 

Marian’s eyes flashed with enthusiasm before becoming serious. “I said those very words to her!  She still would not budge and insisted I had dragged our family’s name through the mud.” Marian said, a slight hurt in her voice.

“The family name…Brook?  I apologize but it isn’t a name I recognize from New York.”

“Nor should you.” Marian said. “My aunts were from Pennsylvania before my Aunt Agnes married Arnold Van Rhijn and moved here.”

“Hmm..my father knew a family named Brook many years ago.”

“Might they be the same as my Aunt’s family?  She seemed rather… flustered at news of your father in town.”

 “Oh? Perhaps.  Why, however,  would your Aunt be worried about a family name from Pennsylvania being ‘tarnished’ in New York?”

“My great-aunt, Aunt Agnes’s mother, was a Livingston of Livingston Manor!” Francis declared proudly.  “Miss Brook belongs to Old New York, just as my own family does!”  

There!  Now, surely after knowing of Miss Brook’s family, Randolph Stewart would be enticed to know Miss Brook better!  The peerage of Europe loved old families.  “Perhaps they will have you over for a tea so you may talk of further patronage to the school?”

Randolph smiled sheepishly and shuffled his feet, staring at Marian. Marian was mortified. 

“Really, Francis!  It is not appropriate to interrupt others in order to strongarm them into accepting-”

“I would greatly appreciate an invitation if you are kind enough to give it.” Randolph said quickly, in a matter of fact manner. He winked quickly at Francis.

“Please do not feel obligated-”

“Not at all.  In fact, I am quite…anxious to obtain a tea invite in order to meet with a member of the esteemed Livingstons.  Being a Lord’s son and all, it's quite an appropriate association, don’t you think?” Randolph’s eyes were twinkling with mischief and Marian finally caught the meaning. 

“I would be happy to have you call on us, Mr. Stewart-oh, um- Lord….?”

“Please. Call me Randolph.”

Francis gleefully grinned as she dutifully returned to her painting.  

---Chapter 2---

[raisindave]

[Chapter 2] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

Calling it a “whole women’s dormitory wing” was bold. What you encountered was more of a broom closet at the end of a hallway, with all the modern amenities of ceiling tiling that you’re almost positive is covered with asbestos. On the bright side, you had the luxury of having a bathroom to yourself, diligently marked by a yellow sticky note taped to the door with the word “Women’s” on it.

The sound of the familiar beeping of your standard-issue wristwatch forced you to remember that you were in an unfamiliar bed. You slap your hand down on the watch beside your bed, lazily running your thumb along its edge to flick the off button. Begrudgingly dragging your sluggish body from the heavy comfort of your warm blankets, it was time to get up and report for duty. Whatever that duty was.

Stepping down your hallway, you spy the unmistakable classic military special of pale oak circular tables signifying a mess hall: pale green linoleum floors, creased and bumpy from age, wear, and harsh climate. Almost on queue, a chair screeched backwards, detecting motion as you rounded the corner.

“Salsaaaa, nice to meet you. I’m John, but you can call me Soap.” You couldn’t easily forget his mohawk hairstyle, paired with the thick Scottish accent aligning with the flag emblem on his profile. “That’s Kyle Garrick. We call him Gaz.”

Gaz smiled and raised a hand in a dutiful wave, rising to hike over to greet you. Tall, slender, with dark, kind eyes that didn’t match the vicious demeanour you’d expect with someone with his confirmed kill count.

“Big fucker is Ghost, but you’re welcome to call him-”

“We’re going rucking, be geared in 20,” ‘Big fucker’ interjected, commanding the air out of the room.

Your eyebrows furrowed, a sly smile tugging at your lips as your eyes darted to gauge the reaction of your newfound comrades. You hadn’t gone rucking in ages—one of the perks of being a specialist. There was no way they were saying you had to go rucking with them. The thermostat said the outdoor temperature was a crisp -32 c, and the sun had no intention of rising for at least another two hours.

So much for being “just a translator.”

Ghost finally rose, though you wish he didn’t. His size triggered your fight or flight response, and Ghost would raise your hackles if you were a dog. That pale, skeletal mask crudely stitched onto a dark balaclava was like something straight out of a nightmare. You can see how this mask might effectively intimidate enemies, but you struggle to understand why he’s wearing it around comrades. You keep your gaze forward and back straight as instinctive compliance kicks in. Heavy, rhythmic footsteps approached you.

“This isn’t a vacation,” he leaned forward, penetrating your field of view, “lives are on the line, Corporal.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Words were jutting out of you as if you’d just been punched in the gut.

Rucking is not for the faint of heart. At least, not for you. For all you know, it could be a piece of cake. However, specialists usually get a pass to dodge rucking requirements with the excuse of study or practice. Price must have assumed that position, seeing as he was absent. A lack of training, compounded by a beyond hostile climate, meant the pack of equipment on your back was immensely heavy, even at a stationary position outside the base, especially not at the ass crack of the morning.

Ghost was leading the group, three perfect soldiers dutifully wearing their snow camouflage like they were born to it. The three of them were elegant, armoured troopers, willing and able to snuff the life out of a person in an instant. You, however, look like a tire company mascot. The smallest possible issue for the thermal pants left masses of unused fabric on your ankles and wrists. At least the elastic-based balaclava was snug on your face. White puffs of steam from everyone’s mouths stated the obvious: It’s fucking cold.

The boys didn’t make it easy either, dropping into dead sprints at indeterminate intervals, scrambling up cliff faces. Digging the heels of your boots into the snow, a slide down a small hill offered an infinitesimal break from the weight on your shoulders, swiftly followed by the next task of rising to your feet and catching up.

Air burned into your lungs, scorching your throat and searing into your chest. Cold, sweet spit floods into your open mouth. It’s hard to think straight when every ounce of energy goes toward lifting each foot out of the sinking snow, but it’s harder even to consider having to scan for hypothetical enemies in this condition.

“I take it they don’t go rucking much in the Shire, hey Salsa?” Called a Scottish voice from the top of a sheer hill you hadn’t even considered climbing. That’s a tally of two jokes about your height, and it’s not even been 12 hours.

He’ll have to settle for stern eye contact as an answer, which he smirked back at and disappeared behind the hill. Lacking dexterity thanks to the subzero climate, gloved fingers fumbled to grip powdery snow as you heaved your knees up to support the climb. Hot puffs of white steam cloud your vision and the top of the hill.

The scenery was beautiful, at least. A moment's pause gave your body a short moment to stop aching in strain to let you consider the view. Cresting sun over the frozen territory, a blanket of muffling snow made the whole world sound wonderfully silent. This virgin wilderness is like something out of a Bob Ross painting, and it could almost make the rucking worth it. Almost.

“We head back to base camp. Keep up.” Ghost’s husky Manchester accent cut through the silence; it took your frozen mind a moment to register his barbed comment. His frigid gaze sends a chill through your core that the sub-zero climate could never achieve.

Downhill was easy until it wasn’t. The boys made it look easy, gliding over the snow like it didn’t affect them. They even had the nerve to talk while they outran you easily, Gaz jumping up to swat at heavy tree branches, dumping snow on Soap, who ran behind him. Their boots don’t even sink into the snow like yours do. They don’t fumble, or wheeze or sweat. It was Soap who approached your narrow field of view, he had turned around to wait for you to jog along.

Pockets of hot and cold air settled in all the wrong places. Sweat pooled under your blazing hot thermal jacket while the promise of frostbite kissed the exposed skin on your wrist. There’s something sickening about the overstimulation, screaming into your conscience with each step.

Wordlessly meeting his unreadable blue eyes, he gripped the back of your pack, heaving it free from your shoulders, slipping his arms through the loops. Featherlight relief flooded into you as you unburdened your shoulders from the pack. Having adjusted to carrying all the extra weight, you almost effortlessly kept pace, finally feeling the cold air fill your lungs.

You finally had the opportunity to take in more details of your comrades. The three were nearly indistinguishable from behind, all in the same standard-issue winter armour and gear built for this type of climate. However, Ghost clearly stood about half a head taller than the other two, striding through the snow in steps that counted for two of yours. Gaz bounced along, only tailed by Soap, who seemed entirely unfazed by the extra weight. Showoff.

“Sergeant.” Ghost barked, jolting you to attention.

Raising your gaze once again, you caught Soap as he shrugged off your extra pack in one fell swoop, holding it limply toward Ghost. Sometimes, it was hard to tell if Ghost was mad; his resting demeanour seemed agitated. In this case, he was pissed off. That much was written in stone. The way he turned and locked his gaze on you, it sucked heat out of your face. Closing the distance between you two in only a few steps, his immense height blocked out the sun as he stood the closest to you since you started rucking before the sun was even up. Looking up at him through snow-covered eyelashes, he flicked his arm, flinging your sack into your chest, knocking the wind from your lips.

“Toughen up.”

For the remaining distance, you put your heart and soul into keeping pace, refusing to allow yourself to consider slowing down and risking the wrath of the Lieutenant. At this point, you were running on the fumes of shame and sheer willpower.

It took the remaining strength you had not to drop and lay on the floor like a starfish. Alas, once again, appearances take priority as you tried to go for that smug nothing hurts me disposition despite the situation on the hike. Pushing closed your quarters' door, you finally shuck off the remaining thermal layers after returning your body armour and pack bashfully to Ghost in the makeshift armoury. Peeling off the second pair of pants, you lay on the cot, overworked muscles radiating heat, thighs scorching to the touch.

Rifling through your bag for a fresh edition of the same standard t-shirt and pants you’ve been prescribed for years, eyes caught the white envelope Laswell handed you yesterday. You clumsily ripped the seal, unfurling a new SIM card, and a smile warmed your face. At least you’ll be able to make a call. It made you wonder if she knew you’d be on edge and needed a pep talk from a familiar voice. If it’s 09:00 here, it’s got to be… 22:00 in California. With luck, he’ll pick up.

On days like this, Uncle Chucky was your lifeline. A voice of reason, a bastion of wisdom, a tad bit of an alcoholic, and someone who’s been in the military since before you were conceived. Chucky is the kind of person that makes the world go round,’ but too much of him will drive you crazy. Delightfully stubborn, pleasantly infuriating, and a damn good sense of humour. The familiar phone number was an effortless dial.

“What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m usually so confident, so sure-footed, I’m so on edge, and they can tell.” Your voice was thick with irritation, picking at your fingernails with your phone pinned between your shoulder and ear.

“You said you felt on edge when you first landed in Somalia, but those nerves passed the second you started working.”

“Somalia was different. I had other specialists with me, not just soldiers.” You kick the toe of your boot on the doorframe, “not to mention other new faces with which I could blend in. This time, I'm the sole outlier.”

“That’s the thing when you get yourself in the military, my love.” An audible sigh came from his side microphone before he spoke again. “The big fish picked on the little fish. Eventually, you survive getting pecked at long enough to chirp at the people below you.”

“It’s fucking gross. It’s like a boys' club. I’ll never be in their circle, not really.”

“That’s it, I’m pulling the plug,” you shook as an unbecoming booming voice rose from the speaker, “Enough with the pity party. They’re testing your limits, and you’re letting them win. Get - a fucking - grip, Lua.”

Your head spun at the change of tone, enraptured by shock as his burst of agitation faded into something more patient.

“Baby love, I know you can do this, and if you weren’t qualified, they wouldn’t have chosen you.” Chuck breathed into the mic, stifling a laugh before speaking again, “Y’know, in my final years in the Marines, whenever someone tried to puff up their feathers at me, I’d imagine them crying listening to Mr. Brightside. Works every time.”

Laughter erupted from you as your mind wrapped around the sentiment. A gentle tear streaming down Ghost’s mask as he hiccuped back tears, listening to the whimsical musings of The Killers. Calmness and confidence swirled into your chest, breathing a satisfying breath for the first time in what felt like months.

“On the Brightside, heh, I got a stupid little nickname for being a fucking moron at my first meeting… They’re calling me Salsa now. Apparently, I was slipping and fumbling, and it looked like dancing.” You smirked, nipping at the raw skin around your fingernails.

The unmistakable snort of someone inhaling their drink in laughter burst from your speakers.

“They call you Salsa?”

“Mhmm.”

“My love, Salsa is … “ he smothered a laugh.

“What?”

“Salsa is an acronym. It- it means ‘Student Aviator Lacking Situational Awareness,’ they’re fucking with you.”

A spark of shame sliced across your brow. You thought they were being sweet and endearing… giving you a cheeky nickname to welcome you to the crew. The reality was a thinly veiled malicious jab at you. They found humour in your nerves about being a lone female, surrounded by strangers, in a place where nobody would be able to find you if you disappeared. As quickly as your shame faded, a new emotion manifested: white-hot rage.

“I gotta go. I love you, Chuck, I’ll be in touch.” swallowing your bile to donate the last few moments of calmness to your precious uncle before the end call button clicked. Like that, you shrugged into your quarter-zip and tore down the hall.

They had the nerve to be in the gym as if the morning ruck you’ll feel in your bones for days was a lazy evening stroll. Something about how they carried on as best buddies, humiliating you in code while smiling to your face, made your blood boil. It made you question if Soap knew Ghost would give you an earful if he took your pack off your back.

“Y’know, that’s real fucking sweet of you,” your voice cut into the small gym. “Pretending to be nice to me.”

Stepping forward, you closed the distance as eyebrows furrowed over blue and brown eyes. They even had the nerve to look shocked, their dumbfounded faces looking like a deer in headlights. Your jaw worked before you spoke.

“Salsa… Student Aviator Lacking Situational Awareness?”

Soap huffed out a laugh, but a sharp look from Gaz extinguished his smile.

“Funny, it takes a big man to make a girl feel like shit as soon as I step into your little clubhouse. Don’t worry, I won't be here for long.” Take extra care to accentuate every syllable, resting your palms resting on your waist to avoid the possibility of you throwing a fridge at them.

“We were just being cheeky,” Gaz spoke up for the two, “didn’t mean anythin’ by it.”

“Cheeky? Picking on someone who’s burdened with having a different skillset from you. What’re you, five?” You spat back.

“We’ve all been jabbed at when we’re the new guy, we’ve all been at the butt end of some banter.”

You bit back the creeping urge to spit back that your situation is nothing like his. Of course, those two knuckleheads didn’t have the empathy to grasp the situation from your perspective. You blinked, simmering in your thoughts. Wrath, translating into a simmering rage, washed into you. Working your jaw from side to side, you ended the silence.

“Cheers.”

Before anything had time to register, you were walking down the hall toward your linen closet of a bedroom, fingernails digging into your sweaty palms. White hot rage darkened your vision, electrified by a simmering sense of self-consciousness. In an instant, you snapped out as you caught Laswell’s gaze past your furrowed brow, dissolving your demeanour, manifesting your most polite smile to shield her from any indication that everything isn’t peachy. You took the opportunity to duck into the bathroom. Despite her unique ability to follow you, you deemed it a safe option. However, you genuinely had the excuse to take a much-needed shower. A precious opportunity that you refused to let pass.

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Master List

[mattspinksjoyblog]

Jesus Is A Big Deal! | Thesis #3

“Jesus, name above all names Beautiful Saviour, Glorious Lord Emmanuel, God is with us Blessed Redeemer, Living Word”

- Naida Hearn

“Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed the heir of all things, through whom also he created the world. He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power. After making purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high...”

- Hebrews 1:1-3

“He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross.”

- Colossians 1:15-20

In my last thesis, I wrote on how the Gospel is GOOD NEWS. Well, Jesus Himself is that good news! He is the Gospel!

Unfortunately, most people don’t understand why. Not that I have fully grasped Him by any means. But, with every passing year I see more and more how He’s the big deal… and nothing else compares. None of our efforts, none of our accomplishments, none of our problems, no power of hell, no church or personal growth strategy can even come close to Who He Is to us and for us!!! Of course, He is a real and most beautiful person to know! The best Friend, the most kind, most effective Lord, the Lover of our souls, Jesus is, and really so much more every day. To interact with Him in the day to day is to know life itself!

“Your love is better than wine, headier than your aromatic oils. The syllables of your name murmur like a meadow brook. No wonder the maidens love you!” - Song of Solomon 1:2-3

“Eternal life is knowing thee, who art the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.” - John 17:3

Experiencing Jesus personally is the greatest experience of all time! To know the fountainhead of all existence, and the most important Word of God, He’s mind blowing beyond all language. The saints and mystics of all the ages have struggled to describe what it’s like walking with Him. Everyone who meets Him says with exclamation, “He is good!”

Yet, even this relationship with Jesus can sometimes be misunderstood by the very ones meeting with Him.

Far too many times the church has spoken of our relationship with Jesus as something that we have to maintain. We’ve come under the delusion that some of us have done things to get closer to Jesus than others, or that some folks aren’t close with Him. We’ve misunderstood Who He Is and what He’s done.

God has never wanted conditional relationship with man.

God is unconditional Love.

And, in Christ He has sealed permanent union with everyone!

See, Jesus isn’t just the best person ever to know!!! He is that, but so much more!

Jesus also holds all the cosmos together in Himself.

Jesus also is fully God. And, He’s fully man. The early church leaders spent hundreds of years pondering this and clarifying this, and for good reason!

Jesus is the New Creation. He is uncreated, yet He assumed the created order!

One of the biggest deals that we need to grasp is that Jesus himself keeps ALL OF GOD and ALL OF MAN together. Jesus keeps all of the blessings of heaven and all the fullness of the created order in ONE! He descended into our depths, and now fills all things!

Here are two stunning quotes from Scottish theologian T. F. Torrance:

"God loves you so utterly and completely that he has given himself for you in Jesus Christ his beloved Son, and has thereby pledged his very being as God for your salvation. In Jesus Christ God has actualised his unconditional love for you in your human nature in such a once for all way, that he cannot go back upon it without undoing the Incarnation and the Cross and thereby denying himself. (T. F. Torrance, “The Mediation of Christ,” 94)

“Perhaps the most fundamental truth which we have to learn in the Christian Church, or rather relearn since we have suppressed it, is that the incarnation was the coming of God to save us in the heart of our fallen and depraved humanity, where humanity is at its wickedest in its enmity and violence against the reconciling love of God. That is to say, the incarnation is to be understood as the coming of God to take upon Himself our fallen human nature, our actual human existence laden with sin and guilt, our humanity diseased in mind and soul in its estrangement or alienation from the Creator. This is a doctrine found everywhere in the early Church in the first five centuries, expressed again and again in the terms that the whole man had to be assumed by Christ if the whole man was to be saved, that the unassumed is unhealed, or that what God has not taken up in Christ is not saved. The sharp point of those formulations of this truth lay in the fact that it is the alienated mind of man that God had laid hold of in Jesus Christ in order to redeem it and effect reconciliation deep within the rational centre of human being.” (T. F. Torrance, “The Mediation of Christ,” 48-9)

What we don’t understand is that Jesus didn’t just become a man… He assumed all of humanity into Himself.

He gives us a whole new world to live in. When we see Jesus, we see the whole world saved!

“The renewal of creation has been wrought by the self same word who made it in the beginning!” - Athanasius

Jesus, in himself, brought heaven to everyone and everything! He answered the prayer “on earth as it is in heaven.” Jesus entered into sin, sickness, darkness, and death… and He transformed it once and for all. When we come to see Jesus, we find the greatest Person to relate to, but we also find the perfect relationship between God and man ALREADY THERE including us. And, if we have God, we have everything! Jesus unites us to the Trinity!

We never need to try to get to know God, we’re included in Jesus’ knowledge of God wherein we can freely partake and experience. Jesus isn’t just the Word, He became humanity hearing the Word, and appropriating all the blessings to us. “And they shall not teach, each one his neighbor and each one his brother, saying, 'Know the Lord,' for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest.” - Hebrews 8:11

“Jesus is the fulfilment and embodiment of God’s Holy and righteous act or dikaioma, and also the embodiment of our act and faith trust and obedience towards God. He stood in our place, taking our cause upon Him, also as the Believer, as the Obedient One who was Himself justified before God as His beloved Son in whom He was well pleased. He offered to God a perfect confidence and trust, a perfect faith and response which we are unable to offer, and He appropriated all God’s blessings, which we were unable to appropriate.” - T. F. Torrance

This is the end of religion!!! Jesus ends the climbing of ladders to try to get closer to God, or to try to get heaven’s blessings, or to try to get free! We have all of that already in Him! This is Jesus’ finished work. He is the Finished Work.

“All the way to heaven is heaven, because Jesus said, "I am the way.” - Catherine of Siena

Most of the things that Christians are trying to get in church, we already have freely in Jesus. We don’t even need to take the blessings. Jesus received them for us. (Yes, we still want to notice them in Him, and therefore actually experience them, of course, but it’s all already ours!)

Jesus is, and did, more than we can possibly imagine, and 99% of our church issues would resolve within a few years if we simply began to share with one another the magnitude of Jesus and what He’s done. He is the Word that has made everything sweet! Looking unto Him, we find Creator, Redeemer, Savior, Friend, Brother, Lord, revelation of God, and revelation of man! We find, in Christ, relationship with God, and heaven on earth!

“There is very much rubbish about, brethren. Preach you Christ, and Christ, and Christ, and Christ, and nothing else but Christ. Let the dogs bark. Go on preaching Christ crucified.” - Charles Spurgeon

____________

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If you want, check out the video that accompanies this blog…

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: What do you think about John Oliver? (The British American comedian and talk show host.)

I honestly have no strong opinions about John Oliver only because I haven’t avidly watched all he’s done. What I have seen of his HBO show ‘Last Week Tonight’ left me lukewarm if not indifferent.

In England Oliver followed a well trodden path of most British comedian-satirists. He went through the Cambridge Footlights comedy club as a student at Cambridge - the seed bed of talent that included half of Monty Python, Douglas Adams, Stephen Fry, Hugh Laurie, Richard Ayoade, and other notable writers and actors. But after that he reached what I say the second tier of British comedy fame by doing comedy gigs at Edinburgh every year, appearing on lots of BBC light hearted satirical news panel shows, and then briefly a podcast for the Times. So not a stand out success story.

But I don’t really blame John Oliver for that. It’s just how the comedy culture is in the UK. There just isn't that much room in Britain for non-standup comedians. It’s a very small ecosystem. If you're a stand-up (and I suspect, if you're represented by Avalon, the big UK comedy agents), you can get on the panel shows, do one man comedy tours, and probably get a sitcom gig - and thus make a decent living. If you're not quite that sort of comedian, or more of a writer/character comedian, you either scrape a living from Radio 4 for writing gigs, or you look elsewhere.

America came to Oliver’s rescue. He only really got visibility when his run of the mill stand up routines caught the attention of the producers at John Stewart’s Daily Show where he started as a writer. And the rest is history as they say with his own weekly satirical news show on HBO ‘Last Week Tonight’.

I don’t think it’s controversial to say he’s still not really known back in the UK. He’s an American citizen now from what I gather and so I’m sure he’s not too bothered given his own glittering achievement in the US.

But how may I explain why I feel underwhelmed towards the comedy of John Oliver?

I was comparing notes about the differences between American and Brit humour with an American work colleague who was at Harvard and almost did stand up comedy as alternative career in NYC but bombed. He really liked Oliver and really liked his humour. I couldn’t understand it until it dawned on me that Oliver’s brand of humour isn’t really British per se but very Americanised. I find a lot of his humour revolves around shouting things in a state of exasperated disbelief. In effect Oliver has that British sarcasm which, in the British accent, comes across as authoritative to the American ear and therefore more humorous. But he also has that classic American shouting and gawping aspect which typifies American comedy styles.

I think that type of humour isn’t really British and doesn’t go down too well as I think Brits prefer humour that is either more surreal or dry but delivered with more restraint, at least when it comes to political humour. I suspect a lot of Americans see him as the token ‘funny British guy’. That plays very well to American audiences. But I doubt being British in-and-of-itself isn't as easy to add to your comic persona if you're performing to a Brit audience.

Not to get meta but I think Oliver wants to have his cake and eat it. I get the suspicion that his performance is a performative in the sense that he plays what he thinks Americans like about British humour but it’s utterly watered down to the American market - in other words as dull as dish water and not very risqué or edgy that Brits are used to - or were until the cancer of woke infecting British comedy, case in point the canceling of foul mouthed but funny Scottish black comedian Jerry Sadowitz from the Edinburgh Fringe festival).

Worse, Oliver comes across as too polished for a Brit audience - “All tits and no teeth” as one comedian writer friend of mine at the BBC told me once.

I think if you see enough of his own show ‘Last Week Tonight’ you can lift the Wizard’s curtain and see the simple formula played on repeat each week.

Leaving aside the low hanging fruit easy gags (e.g. against Trump and Republicans in general). I have no issue going after politicians - I loathe them all - but it’s just not funny. Going after corporates is also fine. But I don’t think it’s particularly informative most of the time and especially where he is liable to misunderstand or twist facts. Not surprisingly his views on gender affirming care for children (ie mutilation and sterilisation of pre-pubescent children) is predictable hot mess of sheer ignorance and virtue signalling.

It’s not so much a criticism but as much older friends have pointed out that in many ways he’s mimicing an iconic satirical news show from the 1960s, David Frost’s ‘That Was The Week That Was’ that first broadcasting in 1962 and was a satire hit charting and subverting the changing nature of British society and cultural life in the 1960s. It didn’t last long but what it did was explode a satire bomb under British society for decades to come. In many ways it paved the way for Monty Python and Private Eye (a satirical magazine that still is the bane of the British political, media, and arts establishment).

Oliver’s show doesn’t have the comic wit and charisma to pull off great satire.

For me the irksome problem with Oliver is that he’s consciously manufactured being a British guy playing at being an American version of a British guy doing comedy. So the way he acts just doesn’t seem quite right to Brits looking in. Something smells off even as he looks and sounds so sanitised.

His brand of satirical comedy of speaking truth to power schtick doesn’t work in the UK if only because it’s already been done very well (Stewart Lee) or done really bad (Nish Kumar).

Moreover BBC shows like the long running ‘Have I Got News For You’ would be our equivalent of the Daily Show but as a panel show. Over its twenty odd years it been really good or just averaging, but it ticks that box of British self-deprecating style of humour while also dishing out cutting barbs. But whatever Oliver does still doesn’t come close to what British satire does (or used to do). 

Thanks for your question.

[ridingthechaos]

Sanity Isn’t The Void.

CHAPTER ONE

Directory

“Empathy, the least you could do is have empathy.”

That sentence resonated with Silence as he went through life. It was the first sentence Price had said to him when he first joined 141. He remembers distinctly the night he was rescued from his father’s grasp, Vladimir Makarov is a horrible father. Silence looks almost identical to him, except he doesn’t he doesn’t have the horrible hairline. As he adjusted his mask he realized just how lucky he was not to be in his father’s grasp.

“Silence, you in here?” It was Soap, was he coming check on Silence since he was taking so damn long? A sigh came from the masked male, “I am, yes, come in.” His Russian accent was thick today. Soap slowly walked into the room coming to find Silence glaring at his face in the mirror.

Soap let out a disappointed sigh, rubbing his mohawk with one hand, “Lad, you aren’t your father. There isn’t a need to glare at your reflection.” He walked behind Silence and tentatively placed his hands on the male’s shoulders. The shorter male flinched under the other’s touch, “I know, but It feels like I am.” Silence murmured, turning to face Soap. Soap huffed, “You’re coming with me to see Price.”

Before Silence could protest he was picked up by Soap, “What?! No! Johnny put me down!” His protests went unheard as his mask slipped onto his face and he was hauled to Price’s office. Silence stopped fighting against Soap halfway there, only to get a satisfied huff from the Scottish male. Price had been expecting these two, but he hadn’t been expecting to see Silence just casually dangling from Soap’s arms.

“Well ain’t that a sight to behold.” Price chuckled, taking Silence from Soap. The Russian male scoffed as he was passed around like a cup of coffee when the squad can only make one cup. Soap saluted to Price and then walked off, probably to go harass Simon.

Price sighed as he sat down across from Silence, “Son, how many times do I have to tell you that you aren’t jack anything like your father?” Silence slid down slightly in the chair he was sitting in, “Maybe until the day I die by his hands.” A shocked sound came from Price. ‘Killed by his hands?’ What does Silence mean by that? Does the younger male know something that Price doesn’t? If so, what is it? So many questions are being raised and there aren’t enough answers.

“What do you mean by that?” Price asked, leaning forward onto his desk with a concerned glance. Silence chuckled dryly, he stared up at his superior’s face with a look that said ‘you already know’. John gasped, gaping at Chris. The boy was telling the truth? Makarov was planning on killing him? His own son? Dang, father of the year right here. All the while he hadn’t taken his mask off.

|

|

|

The mission had been running smoothly, no casualties had happened and everything was going well. Until Silence heard a familiar voice of Russian and broken English, he froze, nearly dropping his rifle. Silence could hear Price on his earpiece, but he couldn’t focus on what he was saying.

“Chris.”

The voice was sickeningly sweet and made Silence’s chest squeeze with a sense of nostalgia. Why must he be here? Why? Slowly, Silence turned towards the man he knew as his father. He visibly swallowed when he saw the scarred and feared male, “Makarov.” He said with a shaky voice. Price’s voice was warning him to get out of there, to not engage with Vladimir Makarov. But every inch of Chris’s body was disagreeing and was positively tempted to engage.

“Daww.. Don’t be like that to your father, I raised you, you ungrateful brat.” The terrorist of a man hissed towards the soldier. How odd how these two were related when they acted nothing alike, “No. You aren’t my father. You will never be my father.” Silence backed up, he was starting to tremble. Makarov opened his arms towards Chris, “Come on, my boy, come give your father a hug.” He approached the masked male, a thin lipped grin on his face. The yells to not engage from Price were growing louder, more distinct. But he still didn’t listen.

Makarov was approaching so close to Silence, the shorter male was close to having a panic attack from this. He didn’t want to be hugged by this man, knowing full well how it would end. Then it was intercepted by Ghost, god bless Simon. One of Simon’s daggers was pointed dead at Makarov’s face, he was the placement between the two. Vladimir growled, “Let me see my son.” A dark chuckle was ripped from Ghost’s throat. He put himself more between Makarov and Silence, “No, he is not your son.” Silence was breathing slightly easier, thankfully.

Silence was having a relatively hard time breathing, but he still pushed through. Vladimir growled and walked away, odd, he wasn’t putting up a fight. Ghost turned to Silence as sighed, it wasn’t everyday that the only Russian soldier on the British unit got face to face with his father. Simon crouched down to Chris’s height, “You alright, mate?” Silence nodded, he was still terrified though. Ghost stood back up to his full height, “Come on, let’s get you back to the team.”

As they walked back to the team, Price was finally heard by Silence, “You alright, kid? Back with us?” A shaky ‘yes’ left Chris’s lips, he was still on edge. Simon chuckled beside Silence, still guiding him back to the team. They had an eventful day, it was a day they were glad to be over with. The other three were grateful to see Chris, “Hey buddy.” Gaz greeted, ruffling Silence’s hair.

“Alright, Kyle, give the boy some space.” Price chuckled pushing past Gaz and Soap, “Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t have to be, we all have our issues, but it’s like a big family.” Chris’s eyes twitched under that mask of his. He hadn’t been expecting to hear that from Price of all people. But he nodded, “I’m not okay,” he let out shakily, getting a lot of concerned stares from the other four men, “I saw the years I spent with.. Him, before Simon placed himself between us.” Ghost chuckled, now ruffling Silence’s hair himself.

He let out a surprised squeak, not really expecting probably the toughest person in 141 to ruffle his chaos of hair. Soap then hauled Chris over his head like a loaf of bread, “Let’s go celebrate the success of this mission, aye?” Silence blinked slowly as Johnny spoke, absolutely confused how this twig of a Scottish man could lift him over his head.

At least everything was okay.. For now.

[childofdratchet]

friend:what Oc do you regret making for CODMW2(remastered and 2009)

me:This-

•[SAMUEL JAMES BARNES•]

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

               ~•~•~•~•~•

          Soldiers-OTHERWISE

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

                ~•~•~•~•~•

Name:Samuel Barnes

Age:32

Gender:Male

Nickname(s):Sam, Sammy, Tasmanian Devil(Soap gave him

The nickname)

Alias(Es):Tasmanian Devil

TimeLine:Modern WarFare

Rank:Sergeant

Regiment:12th Infantry Regiment

Status:M.I.A

Birth Date:12/28/1990

Death Date:10/1/2024

Occupation:(Outside of the military) Highschool teacher(PE)

Affiliation’s:None Yet

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

               ~•~•~•~•~•

                “I don’t want to kill anyone.. I just don’t like bullies, no matter where they’re from.”-CAPTAIN AMERICA, MCU

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

               ~•~•~•~•~•

Skin Tone:Pale

Eye Color:Purple-ish-Blue

Hair Color:Brunnete

Hair Length:Short

Height:6’0

Weight:Unknown

Scar/Burns/Marks:a large scar across his back and a massive burn on his right shoulder.

Tattoo’s:A Phoenix Tattoo On His Back, That Has Writing Saying ‘Freer Than Scotland’

Physical Enchantment’s

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

               ~•~•~•~•~•

    “People are laying down there live’s for their country.. I wanted to protect mine and protect other’s so they didn’t have to die..”-SAMUEL BARNES, 2009

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

               ~•~•~•~•~•

Personality:He Is A Very Quiet but Strong and Protective Man, But he can also be very sweet and shy when he want’s. But he has terrible anger issue’s, which is good on the battlefield.

Fear(s):Acrophobia, Coulrophobia, Agrophobia and Virgintiphobia.

Likes:Reading, Hiking, Singing, Cooking, SwordPlay, Drawing, Archery and Horse-Riding

Dislikes:Abusers, Pedophiles, Zoophiles, (Any kind of philes), Predator’s and His Father

Habit(s):Zoning Out, Randomly lashing out in either Spanish or Gaelic, Drawing, Clinging onto someone when he’s a little scared

Flaw(s):Unknown/Classified

Talent(s):Hitting a high note in a song, Actually getting along with ghost And Mimicking other people’s accent’s and Voice’s(no matter the gender)

Reputation:A cold, rude and aggressive man who will kill you in an instant..

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

               ~•~•~•~•~•

   “I’m not scared… why, your ask?. Because me and my teammate’s are gonna end this god forsaken war..”-SAMUEL BARNES, 2021

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

               ~•~•~•~•~•

Love Interest:Classified

Friend(s):John “Soap” McTavish(BestFriend), Simon “Ghost” Riley(basically his 2ND in command), Captain John Price, Erwin König(HAH- he take’s the cake(, Gaz, Horangi and Alejandro Vargas.

Enemy(ies):Phillip Graves, Vladimir Makarov and General Shepard

Relationship(s):None

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

               ~•~•~•~•~•

  “if I could, I’d be taking away the every war.. so nobody lost any family member’s or died”-JAMES BARNES, 2019”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

               ~•~•~•~•~•

Characters Abilities

Weapon(s):Guns, Knives, Swords, Bows and Axe

Preferred Weapon(s):Bow and Swords

(On the scale of 1 - 10; 1 being terrible and 10 being best)

Agility:8/10

Hand-To-Hand Combat:10/10

Long Range Accuracy:10/10

Defense:9/10

Offense:11/10

People Skills:4/10

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

               ~•~•~•~•~•

    “This year is going to be hell with how thing’s are going..”-SAMUEL BARNES, 2020

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

               ~•~•~•~•~•

BirthPlace: Scotland, Edinburgh

Family:Charles Barnes(Father, Scottish) Maria Barnes(Mother, Latina)

Character BackGround:Rumored to be in a Spanish-Scottish Mafia(which isn’t true at all)

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

               ~•~•~•~•~•

  “No no, no.. I don’t take order’s from you, only ghost, price, Soap and König.”-SAMUEL BARNES, 2022”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

               ~•~•~•~•~•

     “I give you all, a very fond farewell.”-SAMUEL BARNES, 2024

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

               ~•~•~•~•~•

Funeral Song:The Last Goodbye-Billy Boyd

#codmw2 #oc

[lizisshortforlizard]

Living Dangerously - Chapter 23

Jurassic Park’s animal handlers: none of them ever mentioned by name in Michael Crichton’s original novel. Who were they? What were their lives like on Isla Nublar? Did any of them survive the disaster?

A year in the life of those responsible for the care of the dinosaurs. Many people would kill to have their jobs.

But would they die for it?

Jurassic Park novel/Jurassic Park film (1993)

Viewpoint: 3rd person female oc

Wordcount: 70.7k (23 Chapters) [incomplete]

Warnings: dinosaur attack/car crash, brief mention of parental abuse, alcoholism, f-bombs and other bad language

Tagging: @heresthefanfiction @ocappreciation @arrthurpendragon @howlingmadlady @wordspin-shares @starryeyes2000 ( @themaradaniels are you interested? Totally fine if not!)

Read on Ao3

Chapter 22 | Chapter 24

Owner of a Lonely Heart - Yes

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes." A blatant lie. How could she be? Her heart was broken. Lizzy blinked wearily, her eyes were puffy and sore from crying most of the night. She was running on empty. "Are you? When was the last time you had a day off?"

"I honestly don't remember." Muldoon answered after thinking for a moment. "Every time I have a day off something bad happens. Usually involving you. Now, Sorna."

He explained the situation to her, in full. Site B was experiencing behavioural problems with a new species, someone had gotten an involuntary dactylectomy, could the resident ethologist arrange a visit to work it out?

”Did they take?” Lizzy asked.

”Take what?”

”Dr Ruso’s fingers, did they take? Is she alright?”

“The raptor ate them.”

”Oh, bugger.” Lizzy went faintly green, not helped by her excessive caffeine intake that morning. “Down in one or did she chew them first? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“The wording in the report is ‘consumed’, I believe.”

“Outstanding. This wee troublemaker does sound interesting." Lizzy admitted. "Even though I much prefer herbivores. Why can't the baby come here? You know I hate flying?”

"Like I told Baker, the paddock isn't ready."

"So she doesn't go in the paddock, right?"

“I draw the line at you keeping a dinosaur in your room, Armstrong.”

”Not my room!” She scoffed. “…Kathy’s room.”

”They won’t send the damn thing here without an action plan. And I want you prepared if and when you fly over. So, any ideas?”

"I'm a bit stumped." Lizzy admitted. She was so tired and scrambled she just couldn't think. "But I know someone who might be helpful. Someone who thinks outside the box. You won't like it.”

”Why not?”

”Because you already know her too.”

***

“You ring h-“

“No, you ring her.” Muldoon frowned at Lizzy. They were both sitting on couches in front of the phone in Hammond's bungalow. John-dear-call-me-John was back on the mainland, so they’d commandeered somewhere more private for the top-secret matter, where they wouldn’t be interrupted.

Lizzy wrinkled her nose. “She doesn’t like me.”

“And she likes me even less. The feeling’s mutual. Do it.”

“Gerry could-“

“This isn’t a family reunion. Go on, pretend she’s your best mate."

"Oh, no bother! While I'm at it I'll see if I can fake a Scottish accent too!” Lizzy pulled a face at him but sighed in resignation and dialled the number of Dr Sarah Harding’s last known whereabouts.

“Put her on speaker.” Muldoon insisted.

“Why?”

“I want to know if she's being uncooperative.”

Lizzy rolled her eyes. Bullshit, you just want to know if she calls you names.

It took so long for Sarah's team member in Kenya to track her down that they started to wonder if she was keeping Lizzy waiting on purpose as a power move.

“Well, well, well. Lizzy Armstrong.” Dr Harding the Younger did not sound at all pleased, when she eventually deigned to answer the phone. “What has it been, three years we’ve managed to avoid each other?”

Lizzy laughed, trying to sound brave and not at all like she was going through a break-up. “Hey, Sarah-“

“What’s Costa Rica like? Loud, I imagine.”

“Oh-“ The insult wasn’t lost on her. “It’s great. Just great.”

“How’s Dad?” Sarah asked in her West Coast drawl.

“A flirtatious nightmare.”

“Sounds about right.” She replied dryly. "Hey, don’t fall for it, okay? I’ve already had one stepmom. Though I should let you know, he prefers blondes."

Get to the point Muldoon mouthed at Lizzy.

"Listen, I need a favour."

“You need a favour?” Sarah mimicked her voice. “You want my advice? Why is that?”

“Got a Carnivore problem. I’m Herbivores. Always have been."

“Not everyone on that island is." She said accusingly. "Are you telling me that Robert Muldoon is clueless too?”

“I will go back to Kenya-“ Muldoon said quietly. “And I will throttle her.”

“I heard that.” Sarah crowed triumphantly. “He’s there, isn’t he? Hi, Robert!"

"Just answer her questions, Harding."

"Aw, you're getting mad at me already, this is like old times!”

“What happened between you two?” Lizzy whispered, how had she ended up in the middle of an international argument?

“Hurry up, this is costing money.” Muldoon dodged the question. “Get it out of her somehow, threats, blackmail, talk her to death-"

"Right. Sarah, someone had their fingers bitten off."

"Then just euthanise the damn thing and be done. You're working with zoo animals now, Lizzy, get used to it. At least if you’re chomped, you already have a lawyer.”

The sharp ache in her chest took her by surprise. Not anymore she didn’t.

"No, listen-” Lizzy felt she was about to snap any moment, which her fellow ethologist would simply revel in.

“Sarah…” Muldoon warned.

“First name? Shit! You are annoyed.” She chortled. “Okay, fine, I’ll cut the bull. Shoot.”

“The woman who lost her fingers, she maintains the animal tricked her. It's showing unprecedented intelligence. More than they anticipated. They-“ Lizzy hummed, then decided to trust Sarah with more information, even if it made InGen look bad. She had to give if she wanted to get. “They can’t manage it. And we can’t euthanise either. Not an option-“

“Right, I’m going to stop you there.” Sarah interrupted. “I don’t even want to know what kind of science experiment Dad’s fallen into over there, God knows John Hammond's a tricky devil, but you gotta nip that in the bud.”

“Why, what is it?”

“It’s dominance hierarchy.” Sarah Harding announced, as if it were obvious. “Dominance gone way too far.”

“But that doesn’t make sense, this is a female.” Lizzy countered. Females normally didn't have the hormone levels which led to aggression of this scale.

“Female raptors-“ Sarah started.

“Raptors?!” Lizzy squeaked. How did she know?!

“-as in a bird of prey; what did you think I meant, doofus?” She could hear the disapproval positively dripping from her tone, all the way from Kenya. "Female raptors are the most dominant sex. And usually bigger than the males. Ha, lucky for some.”

”But it can’t be, she hasn’t anyone to be dominant over!”

”Except her handlers. And there aren’t any males at all, so…” Muldoon shrugged. “I suppose Harding might be correct.”

“Do you think-“ Lizzy started, then stopped, shaking her head. It seemed pretty far-fetched.

It was known that reptile embryos could change sex while still in the egg, depending on the temperature of the outside environment on the other side of the shell. The difference between male and female was less than a few degrees Celsius. Furthermore, Lizzy had a fact niggling at the edge of her thoughts, just out of grasp. Something about adult females of certain species being able to change sex in the absence of males. Was it fish? Or maybe amphibians?

Could dinosaurs change their sex in response to either temperature or an uneven breeding ratio?

Increased testosterone would explain some of the baby raptor’s aggression.

Were the embryologists, was Dr Wu really positive beyond doubt that the infant was female? Had anyone actually checked? But these animals were custom-designed in a lab, with all their genes carefully selected, so realistically, what were the chances?

Sarah spoke again, distracting Lizzy, and the thought was simply gone from her foggy brain, messed up from lack of sleep and heartache.

“Uhhh, still here, losers. But your reaction when I said raptor made me guess this is a bird species you’re talking about. Maybe a super-rare one. I’ll get it out of Dad somehow, even if you won’t tell me.”

Close, but no cigar, Sarah.

”Let me guess, captive-bred? Single infant to survive past hatching? Spoiled only child syndrome?” Sarah kept questioning.

”Correct on all counts.” Lizzy confirmed.

“Hmm. Has it imprinted?”

"Huh?"

"Im-print-ed." Sarah spelled it out. "It’s a bird. Don’t make me spell it out here, Lizzy."

"Hang up." Muldoon told Lizzy. "No more details."

"No, no, no, c'mon-"

Lizzy panicked and slammed the phone down with a quick bye Sarah, thanks!

"Interesting input. Even for her.”

“Oh, she is very good. It’s infuriating.” Lizzy wondered if her fourth cup of coffee in two hours was overkill. So tired.

"Your first idea paid off, so what's the next one?"

“I need to talk to Isaac.” Lizzy decided. “About this raptor behaviour, and imprinting. He's our resident bird guy.”

”Too many people know about this already. We probably should have gotten Harding to agree to an NDA.”

”Take too long. I’ll tell Isaac as little as possible. Casually drop it into the conversation. Oh-“ Lizzy snapped her fingers. “Larry worked with herps. Back in Oz. I could speak to him, too.”

He was such a fountain of knowledge on reptiles, Lizzy hadn’t been able to resist calling him Crocodile O’Reilly.

“Harris first. One at a time. I’ll leave it with you.” Armstrong looked better now, he thought. She'd started in Hammond's bungalow paler than usual and subdued, but arguing with Harding about behaviour had brought a bit of colour back into her cheeks.

Good.

Their radios crackled, echoing through the empty rooms.

“Robert, are you around, over?” Richardson sounded anxious. "That depends." Was the answer.

“Got a slight issue in the Triceratops paddock that requires your…considerable expertise.”

“What now?”

“Trikes charged Harding’s Jeep. He and Julian are stranded in the paddock, no radios. Could you, eh- could you go in there and rescue them?”

"Oh, right enough, look." Lizzy stared and pointed at one of the video monitors in Hammond's living room, displaying an overturned Jeep in the middle distance.

“Do it yourself, bloody prat.” Muldoon muttered under his breath, before replying to Richardson with something much less insulting, then to Lizzy. "Why is it my job to fix everything?"

"Maybe stop being so good at it?" Lizzy shrugged as she grabbed her water bottle, assuming she'd be tagging along to lend a hand.

"Well, congratulations, Armstrong. For once, it’s not you causing mayhem.”

Lizzy groaned as she followed him out of the bungalow. “They better be okay. I really, really don’t want to phone Sarah twice in one day, 'specially not to tell her that Gerry’s been gored by a Triceratops!”

***

Tom cornered them as they were quickly loading the tranquiliser guns into the Jeep before heading out on the rescue mission.

“Where have you two been?” He looked them up and down suspiciously. "Kathy put me with Liz again today, but I haven't been able to find her for ages."

“Obviously weren't trying hard enough.” Muldoon looked less than thrilled. "You're coming too, then?"

“We’re the only others that can fire these dang things, since your Team Leader refuses to learn how to use one.”

“Not for lack of trying.” Lizzy muttered. She’d done her best to persuade Kathy to take a few practice shots as a bare minimum, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Guns were dangerous. And that was that, as far as the pacifist from Minnesota was concerned. "Oi, get in the back, you."

Tom narrowed his eyes but didn't argue. Time was wasting.

"Got any guesses why the Triceratops have taken such an intense dislike to our park transport?" Muldoon asked as they gunned it down the maintenance road to the paddock. “They’ve been fine until now.”

Tom yelled up front to them. ”Travis said they mixed in two juveniles a few days ago. There’s eight in the group now. Told me they got protective of the kids. Made a ring around them pointing outwards.”

”Like-" Lizzy started.

"Elephants." Muldoon finished for her. "Fan-bloody-tastic."

"How fast do these go?" Lizzy asked, tapping the Jeep door beside her.

"Probably not fast enough. Fast costs extra around here." Muldoon reminded her of Hammond's rather ironic go-to phrase.

"Oh." She replied with little humour. "Oh, wonderful."

***

"This way seems really stupid." Lizzy protested.

"Oh, I agree. But this is the way I've been told to go about it, since I'm not in charge of this species, he is. You two can still leave if you want to." Muldoon said dully as Richardson opened the paddock gates for them.

Lizzy and Tom looked at each other, but neither of them moved a muscle. They knew the risk but neither of them were willing to let Muldoon go it alone. It was madness but they had no other choice if they wanted Gerry and Julian out of the paddock any time soon. Help was a long way away.  

"Seatbelts off, then."

"Why?" Tom asked.

"Just have a feeling. If they attempt to flip us..."

Better if you're able to get out of the way sharpish. Lizzy knew the end of that sentence. There was a reason you never bothered with a seatbelt in safari vehicles.

Kathy's quiet voice addressed them over the radio as they proceeded through the gates.

"Muldoon, I don't suppose-"

"Yes, she's with me."

"Oh, balls. Of course she is!" Kathy very nearly swore. "Bring her back in one piece, or don't bother coming home, over."

"What about me?" Tom grumbled.

Some distance downhill, the trikes had gathered around their watering hole towards the rear of their enclosure. Destroying InGen property was apparently thirsty work. Lizzy grabbed the binoculars out of the glovebox and counted. Sure enough, six adults, one significantly larger than the others, and two little ones in the middle. All accounted for.

"We still haven't had any radio contact from Yamada and Harding, either their handsets are smashed, thrown on the ground, or still in the Jeep I suppose, but I'm fairly optimistic-"

"Ha!" Lizzy's laugh escaped before she could stop it.

Muldoon gave her a sharp look. "-fairly hopeful, they've made for those trees over to the right. Bit cramped for the adults to get in amongst them. Kennedy-"

"Way ahead of you, boss." Tom was loading up, checking the sights, ready to discourage any dinosaurs from approaching them.

"How's your aim?" Lizzy asked. She'd heard 'pretty darn good' but not seen for herself so far.

“Listen here. I can hit a playing card side-on from fifty feet."

"Fortunately, trikes are quite a lot bigger than playing cards." She couldn't help teasing him.

"Shut up."

"Quiet, you two." Muldoon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Let's get closer to the trees, it's our best bet. Harding and Yamada can run to join us, before the herd gets suspicious.”

”And then we make our way out slow and steady so as not to piss them off again?”

”That’s the idea.”

They trundled closer, but their destination was still a good half kilometer away. As she got a better look into the dip of the land where the water was situated, Lizzy spotted the wreck of the other Jeep.

"Oh, shit." She whispered. "They've really gone to town on that."

"See anything else?" Muldoon asked. Any bodies? was what he meant.

"Nope. No sign. I'll keep an eye on the herd until we reach the trees." Lizzy confirmed.

They were halfway there when through the lens she noticed the larger trike raise her head at the sound of the Jeep rumbling closer. The dinosaur’s frame visibly stiffened, and Lizzy swore she saw the nostrils flare as the frilled head sway slightly back and forth. They were upwind from the herd, the dinosaur could smell them and her body language meant only one outcome. Lizzy had spent enough time in Africa to know what was about to happen.

"She's going to charge." She warned.

Muldoon instantly hit the brakes and cut the engine in one movement. "Are you sure?"

The next few seconds were critical.

Lizzy didn't dare blink, holding her breath. Nothing else happened, and for a moment, she thought they might have gotten away with it.

Then the big trike tossed her head and snorted angrily, moving forwards in their direction. First at a slow amble, then quickly switching to the deliberate trot of a bull elephant who was going to teach you a lesson for daring to trespass on his land.

"Definitely charging!" Lizzy threw the binoculars on the floor and looked for something to hold on to. "Move!"

She was thrown back against her seat by how quickly Muldoon got the Jeep going again, bouncing over the uneven ground.

Have to get the trees between us and her. Circling back to the gate will take too long.

"I can take her down." Tom matter-of-factly said and got ready to stand up in the back of the moving Jeep.

"Too late for that." Lizzy yelled back at him. "She's mad. It'll make things worse."

If Triceratops were anything like their modern-day counterpart, the rhinoceros, attempting to tranquillise could just fuel them with more rage before they finally collapsed. And it was unlikely the dose Tom was using would be big enough to drop her. The trike was simply too angry. But she could do a lot of damage with a few extra seconds of berserker-mode. Shooting at her now could cost lives.

God, she moves quick. Lizzy felt her stomach rising into her throat when she realised they might not make it to the trees in time. It occurred to her that nobody on the island had seen the trikes at full speed before. It was just assumed they weren't fast enough to be that dangerous. Then again, hippos didn't look like they were built for speed either, they were soft wobbly herbivores. But they were one of the most deadly animals on the African continent.

"Uh, you might want to step on it, boss." Tom was rapidly losing his cool.

"Good, because I've been watching my speed until you said something!"

The trike disappeared from view as she pursued them up the hill, and in a way that was worse, not knowing where she had gone. Wondering if she had given up or would suddenly appear ahead of them, cutting them off.

Then the head frill, followed by the rest of the dinosaur appeared, now at an angle, side-on to the Jeep instead of behind them. The hill hadn’t slowed her down at all.

Muldoon knew it was far too late to change direction, he'd end up wrapping the Jeep around a tree trunk. But she was headed straight for intercepting the passenger side, where Lizzy was sitting.

"Guys, guys, guys, watch out-" Arnold's voice reached them over the radio, for once sounding alarmed, along with him was Kathy's desperate cry of do something, Ray!

The Jeep was trapped between the dinosaur and the trees, but the trunks were too close together, too sharp an angle for the vehicle to fit through to safety. And slowing down was not an option.

They could only hope to outrun her, but she was close now, alarmingly close.

Time ground to a standstill in the few moments before the crash. Lizzy saw the lumbering shoulder of the Triceratops in slow-motion headed straight for a collision course with the flimsy metal door beside her. She could see every detail of the dinosaur's skin, dusted with red river-mud, before-

“Liz, move!” Tom yelled at her.

“Oh, shi-“ She leaned away, scrabbling at her seat, but it was too late. The Triceratops tossed it’s head and-

BANG

A hellish screech of dinosaur horn on metal and the whole Jeep rocked, the horizon skewed sickeningly and vertigo rushed in as their ears popped from the impact.

…

Lizzy blinked and shook her head, registering there was broken glass everywhere, all over the Jeep floor and the dashboard, in her hair. The windscreen was completely gone. She wasn’t on the passenger seat anymore, and the space where her thigh had been, moments ago, was now occupied by the crumpled-in door. She hadn't hit her head and blacked out, but she appeared to have teleported two feet to the right.

Her legs were still hanging over the central console, miraculously unharmed. And the rest of her body was wedged between the steering wheel and Muldoon. They'd been spun around by the impact and were facing into the trees, low branches poking through the non-existent windshield.

“Come in guys, come in, aw jeez, aw shit-“ Arnold’s voice jolted them back to reality. Still alive. Still on Nublar.

"Are you two alright?"

Tom managed a shaky Jesus H. Christ from behind them. He’d scooted to the driver’s side in the nick of time, grabbing hold of a seatbelt and pulling himself.

Good thing we didn’t have our seatbelts on.

Lizzy quickly took stock, she could thankfully move all her limbs. Everything important was where it was meant to be. "Think so." She pointed at the branches in front of them. " Hey look, we made it.”

“Get back with Kennedy, can’t bloody move.”

Tom reached over, grabbing Lizzy around her waist and yanking her into the back seat. They huddled together, the rear passenger side had also taken a thrashing and was practically concave, half as long as it was before.

“Just a scrape, I think. As long as the wheel arch isn't knackered…” Muldoon was muttering.

“Just a scrape?” Lizzy was incredulous. “You call that a scrape?!”

"Sshh, quit yelling." Tom elbowed her. Her ears hadn't popped back yet. "Goddamn, where'd she go, anyway"

All three of them searched, looking around the paddock frantically for the dinosaur.

But the big trike seemed satisfied by their lack of movement, deeming the Jeep no longer posed a threat. She was trotting off jauntily back to her herd, grunting as she went.

"So how do we get out of here now, hm?" Lizzy asked. "Two Jeeps and five people down. Think Richardson will give it a try next?”

”Not bloody likely.”

“You folks okay down there?” Came a faint yell from somewhere above them. The West Coast drawl of Gerry Harding, thankfully alive.

"Armstrong?" Muldoon turned around.  "Do me a favour and put that ridiculously loud voice of yours to good use."

Lizzy yelled for Gerry and Julian to come and join them. Now.

After a moment there was rustling and thumping from a short distance away and both men dropped to the ground from where they’d been perching in the trees waiting for rescue.

“Hold on, make sure I can turn the damn thing first, or it might be a sprint back to the gate after all.”

Lizzy recalled the mistake she’d made of walking through a field of cows on a school trip. Most of them had calves, she and her friends had feared for their lives and ended up throwing themselves over the gate at the other side. But getting out of the trike paddock could be so much worse.

The Jeep reversed and then limped around in a large circle, making an ominous crunching noise every few seconds.

Lizzy leaned over. “Are you sure we shouldn’t walk? They clearly don’t like the Jeeps anymore.”

”Oh, undoubtedly. But it’s not you that gets a bollocking for losing two Jeeps in one day. Richardson will find a way to blame me for the other one, somehow."

"But - he's the one that told you..." Lizzy pointed out.

"Yes, I know. Everybody in."

“In where?” Harding complained. “You’re missing half your seats, Muldoon.” “Hang off the back.” Tom said, helping Julian up and keeping hold of his arm. “Hitch a ride, boys."

"For Christ's sake..." Harding muttered.

"C'mon Gerry, hurry up!" Lizzy tried to move things along.

"She's heard us." Tom stared into the distance. "Incoming."

"Guys, you gotta make a move-" Arnold warned at the same time.

Sure enough, there was the faint sound of thundering feet, and it was all systems go.

Muldoon started to move off while Gerry was still reaching for Lizzy’s hand, trying to climb her side of the Jeep.

She grabbed for him before he was left behind and attempted to haul him onto the vehicle, but he weighed significantly more than she did, and missed his footing on the way up. Lizzy was pulled clean out of her seat.

“Fuck!” Lizzy shrieked as her feet were suddenly waving in the air. She tried to hook her knee on something, anything for traction but she was slipping anyway while Gerry continued to overbalance, the material of the seats leaving scorch marks on her legs.

“I got you-“ Tom fumbled and grabbed at her belt with his free hand before she slid out of reach, roaring at the effort of having to keep three bodies from flying to the ground.

Lizzy’s bad shoulder was screaming as they raced along. She could hear the trike bellowing from dangerously close by, feeling rather than hearing her feet pounding the Earth beneath them through the Jeep tyres.

She couldn't bear it, the pain was so bad that she just closed her eyes and hoped. Prayed she and Gerry would make it out alive.

Can’t let go, can’t let go. Can't let him fall.

Gerry mistook her pain for fear and started telling her over and over: it's okay, it's fine honey, we're almost there- while wondering himself if he was about to feel a trike horn in his undercarriage.

And then, safety. The reassuring rattle of one set of paddock gates closing behind them, and then the second. Kathy and Ray cheering over the radio. Richardson yelling something about them all being stupid bloody idiots, and Muldoon replying with a few choice words that silenced him quickly.

They had made it. Somehow.

Lizzy just hung limply over the back of the seat even after Gerry had let go of her hands, willing some life back into her frozen arms.

"Oh, boy-" He dismounted the Jeep bed with an effort and doubled over once he was back on solid ground, hands on his knees. "Ol’ pacemaker’s getting a workout today. I haven’t climbed a tree in years.”

"Everything alright? Still four of you back there?" Muldoon asked, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

"Oh Christ!" Lizzy finally got out of the Jeep herself, thinking she might topple over, her knees were shaking so much. "Let's never do that again."

”Agreed.”

“Still in one piece, Liz?” Tom patted her shoulder, and she nearly threw up. Lizzy winced before she could hide it, hoping nobody had seen.

“Just about.” She fibbed through clenched teeth, trying not to think about how she would be in agony the next morning if she didn’t get hold of some ice soon. Her joint was complaining mightily after the effort of stopping fifty-something Gerry from stumbling to his doom.

She leaned on the un-wrecked side of the Jeep, trying to make the world stop spinning.

“What’s wrong with that shoulder?” Muldoon had noticed and confronted her.

Tears pricked in the corners of her vision and she hastily blinked them away. “It’s fine. Just playing up again.”

He wasn’t convinced. ”You aren’t living up to your family name.”

“Ha-ha! Have you tried to lift Gerry recently?”

“Hey!” Came a yell from nearby. “Have you tried María's ice cream?"

They squared up to each other, but Lizzy was the first to look down.

“Leave it.” She warned in a low voice, tired of keeping up the fight today, of all days. “Please. It doesn’t matter. Leave it.”

"I'm serious, Armstrong. You're not alright, are you?"

She yielded. "I need a bit of ice. Maybe a lot of ice."

"Let’s get you back then. Won’t find any out here.”

***

They’d abandoned everyone, still arguing over who was going in which Jeep back to base and whether to bother retrieving the smashed vehicle or leave it in the paddock as a sort of Triceratops stress toy, 'enrichment' they would call it.

Muldoon had given up on trying to find ice cubes in the kitchen, since they would melt too quickly anyway, and was trying to chip a small glacier out of the upright freezer with a knife while Lizzy waited perched on the countertop, cradling her arm.

“That’s the shoulder you injured when you were in school, and you wouldn’t tell me how.” “Uh-huh.”

“Do you want Harding to check it? I’d dare say he owes you.”

“No. I’m fine. What’s next, inside leg measurement?” She grumbled.

“I have the same problem. Mine is from years and years of shooting. Go on, why does yours ache when it rains?”

Lizzy was exhausted. She wanted to take her ice, and go find a nice bit of floor to lie down on for a while. It didn't even have to be clean. Talking to Sarah and the trike incident had distracted her temporarily, but now she had time to think, her heart was hurting again.

But maybe this was as good a time as any to tell someone other than S-...her now-ex, as much as she hated reliving it. How much more traumatised could she possibly become in one day?

“My mother did it. Dislocated it.”

“Your own mother?”

“Yep. Popped it right out of the joint. Made a horrible noise.” Lizzy was terse, clipping her syllables. “She was drunk at the time. I’d like to say it was an accident, but...-“

Well, that complicates things. Muldoon realised.

Lizzy kept talking. “-I didn’t look after it properly once it was popped back in, cue me shooting from the wrong side for the rest of my life.”

“Bloody Hell, Armstrong…”

”Happy? That you finally got it out of me?”

”Not sure.” That was true enough. Maybe he preferred the not-knowing.

”Don’t worry, now we can both pretend it didn’t happen.” She smiled tersely as she held out a clean tea towel for her own personal iceberg.

“Will that last you?”

”Maybe half an hour.” Lizzy nodded.

“Anything else I can do?” To him at least, the sentiment fell a bit flat. Muldoon wasn’t sure he’d be up for telling anyone about an experience like hers either.

“Forget I ever told you that. Thanks for the ice.” Lizzy hopped down from the counter and hurriedly made her escape, in search of a flat surface to collapse on.

***

Thanks for reading!

Remember that seatbelt safety is very important if you *aren’t* on a dinosaur island. Please buckle up 

[ariannapeterson]

Parliamentary action in Scotland Nicola Sturgeon

Nicola Sturgeon will be succeeded as SNP leader and first minister of Scotland by Humza Yousaf. Many people, including Ms. Sturgeon, thought of him as the SNP establishment’s preferred candidate.

The health secretary received more support from MSPs and MPs than any of his competitors. The Deputy First Minister and John Swinney both stated that Mr Yousaf would “finish our journey to independence.”

He is a more seasoned leader than the other two aspiring figures. He has been employed by the government since 2012, serving in roles including minister of transport and secretary of justice.

After a very competitive leadership contest, his supporters claim that he is the finest communicator and most qualified to unify the party and maintain the power-sharing agreement with the Scottish Greens.

Humza Yousaf, a personal friend of Ms. Sturgeon and the “continuity candidate,” is typically viewed as the candidate who would attempt to continue the work of the outgoing first minister.

One of three contenders has pledged to use the legal system to prevent the UK government from thwarting Ms. Sturgeon’s divisive gender recognition changes. He asserted that the party can only achieve independence by continuing to advance “progressive values.”

However, he has made it clear that he would not appear in court until a lawyer certifies that he has a good chance of succeeding.

Humza Yousaf has disavowed Ms. Sturgeon’s scheme to exploit the upcoming election as a proxy referendum. Rather, he declared that he would work to create a “consistent majority” in favour of independence because it “isn’t good enough” for surveys to indicate that 50% or 51% of people agree with it.

However, he has made an effort to appeal to the more eager proponents of independence by suggesting that a special election for the Holyrood might be held to gauge public sentiment towards leaving the UK.

Additionally, Mr. Yousaf disputed that the party officials were exerting every effort to give him the victory in the leadership contest. This was a retort to those who claimed the shortened campaign was done to increase his chances of winning.

Additionally, he has stated that he is open to hearing objections to contentious plans for a new national care service and the bottle return programme.

“Follow my lead,”

Humza Yousaf declared on BBC Scotland’s Sunday Show during the competition that he was “his own man” and would carry out his plans as such.

According to his detractors, Mr. Yousaf has “failed upwards” and has not accomplished much during his tenure in office. He was dubbed “the worst health secretary in history” by Labour’s Jackie Baillie, who also claimed he now aspires to be “the worst first minister in history.”

Kate Forbes, another SNP leadership contender, was the most critical. During a live STV discussion, she said to Mr. Yousaf, “The trains were constantly late when you were in charge of transportation. The cops were so overworked when you were in charge of justice that they were close to collapse. Additionally, our wait times are at an all-time high now that I am in charge of healthcare.

The arguments between Mr. Yousaf and Ms. Yousaf played a significant role in the election. Mr. Yousaf said that his rival’s stances on social issues including homosexual marriage, transgender rights, and abortion would force the party to “lurch to the right.”

But Humza Yousaf has also questioned why he did not cast a ballot in the 2014 referendum on gay marriage. He claimed that the reason was that he had to go to a crucial meeting about a Scot who was sentenced to death for blasphemy in Pakistan.

The first minister at the time, Alex Salmond, said on Sky News that Mr. Yousaf skipped the vote due to pressure from a Glasgow mosque. Mr. Yousef has categorically refuted this assertion…Read More

Source: The Wall Street Times

[meichenxi]

SpeakGaelic: a guide!

Sabhal Mòr Ostaig, the national centre for Gaelic language and culture, recently worked with BBC Alba to produce videos, audio and a website called SpeakGaelic. 

There’s videos, an online course, support for tutors, multiple new podcasts, Youtube, various things airing on TV. The actual self-taught online course is only one part of how much this resource has to offer! So here’s some of the things I’ve been looking at. 

1. The website itself

 https://speakgaelic.scot/all-online-courses/

This is just the whole website: explore at your leisure! At the moment they have finished up to around A2 level, and are working on producing higher level content. 

Each topic has a series of 8-10 mini-lessons that are sometimes more duolingo style, and sometimes with videos.

I...actually prefer to use the teaching resources for tutors (linked below) than this course for a few reasons. My main problem is that the vocabulary they present to you is far too fast (in one lesson they might give you 20 words for different Scottish towns), which is fine if you just need to choose the relevant words for where you are from, but in order to pass the quiz to get to the next level you have to get ALL of them right. And Gaelic spelling takes a while to get used to...

There’s also no writing / spelling practice, but to pass the level requires you to write things. Which. Feels counterintuitive! You can learn any level without passing the tests, but it’s annoying because it means your progress isn’t saved to an accurate place. I emailed them about it and got a friendly response back, but this isn’t something they are planning to change. 

2. The classroom materials

 https://speakgaelic.scot/classroom-materials/

Now THIS is where it gets exciting. These are materials designed in theory for tutors - full lesson plans, worksheets, everything - but they are accessible to learners too. In fact, I think they’re much better than the online course. 

Why? Because everything is STRUCTURED. You are given practice, and told what to do, and there are grammatical explanations. (NB: all of these exist in the online course, but not in one handy document for you to look over in one place.) 

You have all of the learner content....

...and you ALSO have teacher content:

‘If learners need more time and practice with the vocative case’ > that’s me! And it shows you then exactly what you should do next. Whereas the online course doesn’t have that option for customisation at all. Most of the worksheets are included in the lesson plan, and some are on the main page. Absolute bliss. 

3. The SpeakGaelic learner podcast

https://open.spotify.com/episode/6x5b901Zj8ky0UsMM4SzZM?si=00c361fe5ffc4f0d

(If you don’t have Spotify, you can just search ‘SpeakGaelic’)

This is an audio version of the lessons above, and goes into more detail - with information from three different native speakers - into some of the grammar things that the course doesn’t really cover in that much depth. There’s conversations you can listen to, and it’s all targeted at complete beginners. If you listen to any other Gaelic podcasts you’ll recognise the presenter, John Urquhart!

After each episode, there’s also a special episode - scroll down to the bottom - with conversation about different topics relevant to the day’s lesson with two of the presenters. Great for providing extra information!

4. The Youtube channel

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ppoHU_ece7o&list=PL_U7jPRkbJZtFegaqKKT8MrZnV7ugwHAG&index=1

Ok, so there’s a LOT of content here. First you have the A1-A2 lessons, around 30 minutes each. Despite what the name suggests, these are not the same as the audio podcasts. They have Joy (who presents the online course) but they also give some extra video clips and information about cultural things too!

They’re a little slow, but a good supplement to the material given above. As far as I can tell, there are only 13 of this particular series (and 13 for A2) but the YouTube channel SpeakGaelic itself has hundreds of episodes of everything that goes into the online course. All the videos can be found there. 

This includes all audio and conversations, as well as snapshots on individual learners and some cultural information. 

They also seemingly have started marking some grammar videos! Check out this playlist for more grammar: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pq9_0ht4L3Y&list=PL_U7jPRkbJZu0uq_6wpzCgZcpddGDU76D

5. The intermediate podcast: Beag air Bheag

https://open.spotify.com/show/34wGOU9sDTE7Vzg0qMexfv?si=314cbbb294b648ec

Once you’re a little further on in your journey (I...can’t understand these yet), there are a few other podcasts on Spotify also by the BBC Radio nan Gàidheal. This is one! This is totally in Gaelic, but spoken fairly slowly and designed for intermediate learners. 

6. The old site: learngaelic.scot

https://learngaelic.scot

Check it out! I...actually prefer this site and the way it teaches. It has some bonuses over the old one - good vocabulary sections, plus a really great directory of Gaelic courses online and in person, as well as a dictionary, and so on. 

It goes all the way up to B2, so is a better choice if you have more than a little Gaelic. 

It’s also a brilliant directory of media in Gaelic - you can watch lots of videos with transcripts in Gaelic with a dictionary, as well as finding native-level material. You can sign up to their newsletter and get weekly Gaelic information too. 

It also has links to Speaking Our Language!! Which is an absolutely wonderful resource from the 90s teaching Gaelic one conversation at a time, and also goes up to a fairly high level. These are all updated for The Modern Age: i.e., they all have PDFs and transcripts, as well as links to the grammar points for whatever lesson you’re listening to. Far more advanced than anything the new site currently has. 

I might do another post once I’ve explored this website a little more! 

7. Bonus: Gaelic with Jason

Finally, one extra! The other main resource I’m using is Gaelic with Jason (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rAE_iLRh4g for example). 

He has a whole bunch of free Youtube videos, but I’m actually doing his paid online course - it’s by the best value for money I know from any course, Gaelic or otherwise. If you have the money for it and like immersive learning with a board and just being chatted to, I’d highly recommend you give it a go. He also has loads of Gaelic books for learners, which are wonderful too, and a folktales and traditions course for intermediate learners. Can’t talk about this man enough. (https://gaelicwithjason.thinkific.com)

---

Once again, I’d really encourage you to check out the teaching materials: I personally find them way more useful than the online course for learners specifically. I’m looking at the teaching materials in conjunction with the audio on YouTube and then the podcasts on Spotify.

All the best!

- Melissa