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[proxima-writes]

title: in a feud with her neighbor

bonus scenes now available

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 5621

summary:

Five times you think Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever, and the one time he isn’t.

author’s note: this is so self-indulgent. i hope you guys enjoy it! if you like this work, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment because they make my day 💕

special thanks to the angels who helped with ideas: @dreamingofdaddydin @jksprincess10 @mydailyhyperfixations @funnygirlthatgab

additional warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, no use of y/n, story contains visual graphics, everyone pretend the 12 ft skeleton was available in 2003 and you could stream TV shows, no sarah, no outbreak, neighbor feuds, enemies to lovers, oral (explicit f receiving, non-explicit m receiving), semi-public sex, making out in a pool, reader is a menace and arguably the bad neighbor here, unprotected p in v, use of sex toys, praise kink, pet names, dirty talk. let me know if any are missing!

Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever. 

Your issues with him started on your first Halloween in the neighborhood. You had moved into your new home a few months prior, thrilled that you finally managed to escape the horrors of apartment living. You were now the proud owner of a little single story two bedroom craftsman style home, complete with fenced in backyard and a pool. 

You loved your little house and the neighborhood was ideal, quiet but tight knit. The neighbor to your left, an elderly woman named Betty, had invited you over for tea and cookies and given you the lowdown on the neighborhood gossip.

The neighbor to your right, Joel Miller, she said, was a wonderful man. Polite, kind, and not too hard on the eyes either. You hadn’t met him yet, but with a glowing review like that, you couldn’t wait until you did.

She had also mentioned that the neighborhood goes all out for Halloween. They even hosted a contest for the best decorated house. Your mind already raced with the possibilities.

You loved Halloween. In Texas, the stifling heat finally eased around that time, dropping to a slightly more tolerable range in the 80s with cooler nights. You loved seeing all the displays in the stores and how abandoned storefronts would be overtaken by whole companies dedicated to Halloween. You watched all the horror movies you could and on the weekends you’d seek out local fall festivals because you’re a sucker for candy apples and funnel cake.

No one ever decorated at the apartment complex you previously lived in, so you were extra excited to decorate your house and yard. You bought fake tombstones and plastic skeletons for the yard, spider webs and little ghosts to hang in the trees. You carved two pumpkins to set on either side of the steps leading up to your front door and made little ghost statues out of tomato cages, foam balls, and white fabric. You even strung purple lights through your hedges. 

You were totally going to win the decorating contest. You were confident that you would.

Until you woke up Halloween morning and Joel Miller had somehow decorated his entire home in the time that you had been sleeping, blissfully unaware.

The man had somehow managed to set up an entire army of skeletons, including a handmade wooden jail stuffed with ones trying to escape. There were some posed on the house itself, climbing up the sides and the roof. He had some coming out of the ground, red spotlights fixed on them for an eerie glow. But perhaps most impressive of all was the twelve foot skeleton with glowing red eyes that was posed near the makeshift jail, holding the door open like it was releasing the trapped undead soldiers.

Joel Miller had the motherfucking twelve foot skeleton. You wanted one of those so bad but it was always sold out. You checked every nearby Home Depot for months trying to find one and here Joel Miller has one, taunting you.

He won the decorating contest, sweeping the victory from right under your feet.

It may seem silly, but that was the moment you decided Joel Miller was the worst neighbor ever.

When you were buying your first home, you had been meticulous in calculating your finances in order to comfortably afford the purchase. You did not, however, account for having to repair your air conditioning system within less than a year of moving in. This made a significant dent in your savings, which led you to cut your expenses elsewhere.

One such expense was your internet. Why? Because it turns out Joel Miller, asshole neighbor, doesn’t password protect his router and you can just use his.

It’s not like he would notice.

_________________

Joel stares at his internet bill in confusion. This is the third month in a row that he’s been charged for going over his data allowance. That doesn’t even make sense. He’s the only person in his house and he only uses the internet on his phone to check the news and sometimes play Candy Crush. It’s why he got the lowest data plan in the first place.

He tries to think of what he could be doing differently, but comes up short. Hell, he’s not even home most of the day. He works long hours at different contracting jobs, so his free time is spent watching TV (cable, not connected to the internet), and sleeping.

But then it hits him. The overage charges never happened until you moved in. 

Joel powers up his ancient laptop and has to Google search what a router is. Turns out, he doesn’t have a password set on his. Which means, if his hunch is correct, you’ve just had free access to his internet this whole time.

He learns how to set a password and, more importantly, he learns how to change the name of his router. 

He needs to send a message, after all.

_________________

You’re about to start another episode of Grey’s Anatomy, courtesy of your friend generously sharing her Netflix password, when you receive an error message. 

No internet connectivity. Try again?

The little WiFi connection icon is missing from your toolbar. You investigate further, opening the list of options and scanning them for Joel’s, conveniently titled Miller.

But instead you find a new name.

GetYourOwnWiFi. And it’s password protected.

“Son of a bitch,” you hiss.

Joel Miller’s tree is always dropping debris in your yard. The limbs have grown over your shared fence line and on windy days you have to deal with extra pool clean up on top of the usual mess it makes of your yard, twigs and leaves ruining your perfectly manicured backyard oasis. 

You’ve asked him to trim the branches. Left him notes on his door and in his mailbox, but he still hasn’t done it.

Today you��re sending a new kind of message.

He’s going to wish he’d listened when you asked nicely. 

_________________

“What the fuck,” Joel growls when he gets home just after sunset. There’s piles of leaves and twigs littering his front porch, almost to the point that he can’t see the concrete slab beneath. 

There’s no way this just happened through the force of nature. It’s been a perfectly clear day in Austin and besides, there’s no trees at the front of his house for this kind of mess to fall from.

Which can only mean…

His eyes spot the bright pink Post-It note stuck to his door and he curses under his breath as he stomps up the porch steps and rips it down.

Here. Clean your own mess up for once. 

xoxo

Joel crumbles the note in his fist, taking deep breaths as he heads for the garage to grab a broom and a trash bag.

He’ll get you back.

He always does. 

You love animals, especially cats. Unfortunately, being allergic, you don’t have the option to have one of your own all the time. 

When you spot the first neighborhood stray, your heart lights up with excitement. It’s a little black and white cat with bright green eyes that walks right up to you while you’re getting your mail, winding its lithe body between your legs and purring against you. You stoop to pet it, mentally reminding yourself to wash your hands before you touch your face, otherwise your eyes would be itchy for hours.

“Hello, little baby,” you murmur, rubbing a hand down the length of its back. “How are you?” The cat gives a strong meow in response. “Oh, are you hungry? Let’s go see if I have anything I can give you as a treat.”

Back inside your house, you locate a can of tuna and dump it into a small plastic bowl. The cat sits patiently on the porch, tail flicking in anticipation. It hops down and shoves its little face into the bowl as soon as it’s within reach. 

“So cute,” you say, giving it one last pat on its back before returning inside.

_________________

There’s a cat sitting on Joel’s porch, watching him as he parks his truck. It’s the second time this week there’s been a cat lurking around his property. The first one he found out in the backyard, tearing up his flower beds.

The neighborhood had never had an issue with cats before, so he has a sneaking suspicion that you’re, once again, the root cause of his suffering. 

His suspicions are confirmed when he sees you on the porch one day, laying out a row of plastic bowls filled with what he assumes is cat food. At first he’s annoyed that he’s right, it is you feeding the cats, which is why they’ve been terrorizing his yard, but then you turn around and he’s struck by how utterly gorgeous you are. 

This is the first time Joel’s ever actually seen you. He’s usually out of the house before dawn and back after sunset, which must not coincide with your schedule since you’ve never run into each other. He remembers Betty, the older woman who lives to your left, telling him about meeting you.

“Gorgeous girl, that one. You two would probably hit it off,” she said as he hung a picture frame for her.

“Don’t go playin’ matchmaker, Betty,” he replied. 

But damn, seeing you now in a pair of little shorts that hug your hips and ass just right and a tight white t-shirt that shows off the tiniest bit of skin above the waist of your shorts is making him think he should have taken Betty up on her word.

Joel’s so distracted that he almost misses the way the cat on his porch hits one of his planters with his paw, knocking the ceramic over and spilling dirt all over the ground.

“Fuck!”

_________________

There’s a note on your door the next morning, a torn piece of paper with a familiar scrawl of messy handwriting that could only belong to one person.

Stop feeding the cats or you owe me new plants.

-Joel

The note actually makes you giggle. Betty sees you on your porch and beckons you over to hers.

“What’s got you gigglin’ like a schoolgirl?” The older woman asks.

“What? Nothing,” you reply too quickly.

“Wouldn’t happen to be a note from a certain tall, strong, and handsome young neighbor of yours?”

“No, definitely not.” 

She smirks at you. “You better quit terrorizin’ that poor man, honey.”

“Now, Betty, where would the fun be in that?” You say brightly as you head back to your house, the sound of her laughter following you through the door. 

There’s a package on Joel’s porch when he gets home from work. He doesn’t remember ordering anything, but he wouldn’t put it past himself.

He brings it inside without thinking twice or checking the label, chucking it on the counter with the rest of his mail as he searches for a box cutter in his junk drawer.

Joel cuts through the packing tape, lifting the flaps and rifling through the packing paper to pull out the contents.

It’s another box, light pink with the image of a hot pink u-shaped device on the top. The text across the top reads REMOTE VIBRATOR in black script.

He nearly drops the box in surprise, fumbling it in his hands. He’s certain he didn’t order this. 

Joel pulls the shipping box back towards him, keeping an eye on the vibrator like it might grow legs and run away. He flips the lid over to inspect the shipping label, his eyebrows rising as he reads your name and home address instead of his.

He looks at the toy again, mind whirling with images of you on your back, remote in hand as you bring yourself pleasure. He coughs, clearing his head and adjusts himself in his jeans.

He searches the junk drawer for a sheet of paper and a pen.

_________________

You’re staring at the delivery confirmation email from Lovelies, panic creeping down your spine. It says that your new toy has been delivered but there’s no package in your mailbox or on your porch. You’ve checked everywhere.

Which means it was either delivered to one of your neighbors or someone stole it.

If you’re being honest, you’d rather someone stole it than to have to go knock on Betty or, god forbid, Joel’s door to ask if they accidentally received your sex toy delivery. Your cheeks heat at even the thought of Joel knowing what you ordered. You head back inside empty handed.

Later, when you open your door to feed the cats, you’re surprised to find a box on your welcome mat. You set the bowls of food down and carry it inside, your excitement mounting. 

But when you open the box, you’re mortified to find a torn piece of paper on top of the packing material, Joel Miller’s familiar handwriting on the sheet.

Interesting choice

-Joel

“Fucking asshole,” you mumble, crumbling the note and tossing it to the side. You pull your new toy from its box and turn it on. “Huh. Fully charged.”

Your jerk of a neighbor won’t ruin your night if this little gadget has anything to say about it.

It’s Joel’s one day to sleep in and you’ve been blasting your music all fucking morning. He’s already got his head shoved under his pillow but the sound still filters through, ruining his chances of any extra hours of sleep to make up for his lack of it during the week.

He rolls out of bed with a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand across his beard. He heads downstairs to make coffee, the heavy beat of your music chasing him through the house. He can feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind his eyes.

Joel tries to tune it out. Really. He does. As much as the two of you butt heads, he doesn’t mean anything by it, not really. He doesn’t want to be an asshole, nor is he trying to be one. 

But if you don’t turn your music down soon he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

He gives you another hour. He’s feeling generous. But when the music just keeps playing, he finally snaps. 

Joel shoves his feet into the work boots beside the door, paying little mind to the fact that he’s not wearing socks. In fact, he’s still in his sleep pants and ratty old t-shirt but he’s too far gone to care.

Once he’s in front of your door, he bangs on the wood with his fists. He waits for a response and when he doesn’t get one, probably since you can’t fucking hear him, he bangs again. There’s movement from the corner of his eye and he turns his head to find Betty watching him, lips tilted in a smirk.

“You okay with this?” Joel asks, gesturing vaguely to your house to indicate the noise level inside. 

“Don’t be such a party pooper,” she replies before shuffling inside. He turns back to the door to pummel it with his fists again but he’s surprised to find it open.

“Howdy, neighbor,” you say, eyebrow raised and arms crossed beneath your breasts.

Which were currently covered by the tiniest bikini top he’s ever seen. His eyes trail lower, over the expanse of your stomach to the matching bikini bottoms that peek out past the folded waist of your denim shorts.

“Uh,” he says, followed by a strained cough. “Hi.”

_________________

Joel Miller is standing on your porch dressed in a threadbare t-shirt and gray pajama bottoms that sit low on his hips, a strip of soft tan belly peeking out from above the waistband when he stretches an arm up to run his fingers through his dark, messy curls.

Christ, you think. The man is prettier than Betty gave him credit for.

“Can I help you?” You ask. His eyes snap from where they’d been lingering on your chest and you straighten your back just the slightest bit at the knowledge he’d been checking you out. 

Joel clears his throat. “Your music is way too loud.”

You roll your eyes. “Does it hurt?”

“Does…what hurt?”

“Always having a stick up your ass.” 

Betty barks a laugh from her porch and Joel’s head turns so fast you have whiplash just watching him. He throws his hands up.

“Who’s side are you on, Betty?!” He shouts. 

You’re bent over, laughing so hard your stomach hurts and tears form at the corners of your eyes. When you finally catch your breath and return your attention to Joel, he’s got his hands on his hips and an impressive furrow between his brows.

“Listen, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m about to go out by the pool and have a drink. Wanna join?” You ask. 

“I don’t have my suit with me.”

“Well good thing you’re just right next door, huh? Go get it. I’ll leave the door unlocked,” you tell him before shutting the door in his face.

_________________

Joel returns to your house thirty minutes later, showered and wearing his swim trunks and a new t-shirt. He wipes his sweaty hands against his chest, not entirely sure why he’s nervous. He’s just having a drink with his annoying neighbor to hash out all the issues. No big deal.

Your music is still playing when he enters your house, giving the door a courtesy knock before letting himself in. The front door opens directly into the main living space, a large sectional couch facing a TV mounted between two windows to his right and a dining nook to his left. Your kitchen is nestled in the corner, just past an opening to a hallway that he assumes leads to the bedrooms. Your place is bursting with colors and textures and patterns, from the floral blanket draped over your velvet couch to the leaf patterned wallpaper and natural stone backsplash in your kitchen. You have tea towels hanging from your stove that say “ANOTHER ONE BITES THE CRUST” with a picture of a pizza, and an impressive looking bar cart that houses a variety of liquor bottles and glassware.

There’s a splash from outside and Joel sees that the sliding glass door to your patio is open. He steps onto the concrete deck, surveying the backyard oasis you’ve created for yourself. The pool is on the smaller side but still, it’s a pool, and Joel’s a little jealous of it. You’ve got chaise loungers lined near the edge and matching chairs that surround a little fire pit further out in the yard. There’s string lights hung from the shade canopy that extends from your house. 

You pop up from beneath the surface, your hair slicked back from your face and little droplets of water clinging to your skin. Joel stands there, unsure of what to do, until you swim to the ledge closest to him and drape your arms over it, regarding him with keen eyes.

“Hi,” you say. He swallows, the nerves returning as he tries desperately to not let his gaze fall below your neck.

“Hey,” he replies. 

“There’s beer in the cooler. Grab me one?” You ask before ducking back beneath the surface. He can see you swim towards the edge of the pool that the loungers face. He grabs two beers as instructed, popping the tops with the bottle opener fixed to the lid of the cooler. You break the surface once more, swimming over to where he sits on the end of one loungers.

Joel passes you the beer and you tip it towards him in thanks before taking a deep pull, your lips wrapped around the lip of the bottle and distracting him monumentally. 

“So, you’re the Joel Miller, huh?” You ask. “Tell me about yourself.”

The two of you talk for what feels like ages. He learns that you’re a software engineer and you work a typical 9-5 schedule, which is why he’s never caught you around the neighborhood before. You don’t like to be outdoors much, preferring reading and catching up on your Netflix shows. You have two brothers, both of whom are older than you and live on the opposite side of the country, but you visit them around Christmas. You love animals, but have major allergies so you settle for fleeting moments with the neighborhood strays and occasionally watching your best friend’s dog when she goes out of town. 

He tells you about his work as a contractor, which he’s been doing since he was fresh out of high school and had no idea what to do with his life. He talks about his brother Tommy, how they work together on most projects and they want to start their own contracting business, but that’s a dream for another day. He mentions he’s more of a dog person than a cat person, especially because he has a grudge against the orange neighborhood cat that is still tearing up his flowerbeds. 

Joel loves the way you laugh, bright and full bodied as you toss your head back and bring a hand to your chest each time. You talk with your hands a lot, which is funny because you keep letting go of the pool ledge and scrambling to grab it again when gravity pulls you down in the water. If he doesn’t give enough detail in an answer, you’re not shy about asking him for more information, like when he said his favorite color was blue.

“Okay, but what shade of blue?” You asked.

“Just…blue?” Joel asked, clearly not understanding your question.

You rolled your eyes. “Men. I like lavender. Not just purple. Purple is a range of shades.”

“I guess…navy?”

“Now you’re getting somewhere, big guy!”

The conversation lulls as you share your drinks in companionable silence. The Texas sun bears down on his back, his t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his sweat slick skin. He bites the bullet and reaches behind his head to tug the damp fabric off, leaving him in just his swim trunks. He doesn’t miss the appreciative once-over you give him.

You extend a hand to him. “Help me out?””

Joel grasps your hand in his, marveling for a moment how small it is in his broad palm. He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice the michievous look on your face, or the way you plant your feet to the pool wall for leverage.

You give a sharp tug with both hands and he goes toppling into the pool with a surprised shout.

_________________

You’re laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. The look on Joel’s face as you tugged him into the pool will be burned into your memory for years to come. You’d been waiting all afternoon for the man to take his shirt off, not only because you were admittedly dying to see what was hiding beneath the fabric, but also because you wanted exact a little neighborly revenge for stomping over to your house to tell you your music was too loud.

You’re feeling mighty accomplished, right up until you feel a hand wrap around your ankle and you get pulled beneath the surface with no warning. 

You open your eyes, chlorine stinging them as you see Joel torpedo towards the shallow end of the pool. You give chase, breaking the surface with a gasp.

“You asshole–”

Joel cuts you off by wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you close and tipping his head down to capture your lips with his. He kisses like a man starved and he tastes like sunshine and chlorine and the beer he’d been drinking as his tongue slides hungrily against yours. He uses his arm to press your body to his, but it’s not close enough.

You wrap your arms around his neck and lift your legs to circle his waist, your center grinding against his rapidly hardening length. Joel trails his hands up and down your back, stopping to grab rough handfuls of your ass as he groans against your mouth.

“Fuck,” he curses. “This little fuckin’ bikini has been torturin’ me all day.”

“Why don’t you just take it off then?” You offer. He pulls back to watch your face as his fingers find the strings of your bottoms beneath the water, giving both sides a quick tug until you feel the material fall away. His hand creeps up your back, pulling at the strings holding your top together around your back and neck until they, too, fall away.

Joel walks the two of you forward until your back collides with the rough stone of the pool wall.  He presses a muscular thigh between your legs, boxing you in with his body. Your hips jerk at the sudden pressure and friction against your bare pussy, a moan slipping from your lips as Joel presses kisses to your jaw and neck, nipping the delicate skin with his teeth.

“You gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, the deep timbre of his voice making a shiver dance down your spine despite the Texas heat. “Those sounds are just for me, isn’t that right?”

You nod your head quickly and he rewards you with another toe curling kiss. Your hips rock against his thigh and he swallows every little whimper as his hands explore your body.

“Joel,” you whine. His fingers pinch and pull your nipples before he soothes them with sweet circles of his calloused thumb.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asks. One of his hands slides across your thigh and your breath hitches as he brings it dangerously close to your pussy before trailing it back down. “You need somethin’?”

“Need you to touch me.”

“That right? You want me to take care of that pretty little pussy?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Please.”

“So polite. Where’s all that attitude from earlier, hm?” Joel asks, sarcasm dripping from every word. You narrow your eyes at him.

“I can be rude, Miller. You want that instead?”

“Trust me, I know, but I think I like you better when you’re beggin’ for me,” he replies with a grin. 

Joel’s hands grab onto your waist and he hoists you up onto the ledge. His broad shoulders press against the back of your thighs and his arms drape across your hips. He smiles at you, mouth tauntingly close to where you’re desperate for relief. You lean back on your elbows, the concrete warm against your bare skin and the sun washing over you.

“How about you show me those nice manners one more time?” He asks. 

You grit your teeth. “Joel, I swear to god I will go inside and lock you out–”

Your threats are cut off by your startled moan as he licks through your folds, broad swipes of his tongue from your fluttering entrance to your aching clit. His sweet brown eyes are sinful as he looks up at you from between your thighs, devouring your pussy like his last meal. His nose rubs against your clit each time his tongue dips inside of you and you’re quickly reduced to a writhing mess.

You shift your weight to one arm and reach down with the other to tangle your fingers into his hair. He moans appreciatively against your cunt, the vibrations making you keen. When your hips start to fight against his hold, his lips wrap around your clit, sucking and rolling it with his tongue.

“Fuck, fuck, just like that,” you babble, trying to keep your voice down as you balance right on the edge of your orgasm. He hums again, tongue swirling over your clit until that final thread snaps and you free fall into oblivion, fingers curling tightly against his scalp and making him groan as he works you through your release.

Your limbs go boneless in the aftermath and you collapse against the ground, an arm over your eyes to block out the sun. You hear the sound of water sloshing before Joel lays beside you on his back, arms beneath his head. He turns to look at you, his bright smile making your heart flutter in your chest. 

And when he extends an arm out for you to snuggle up against him, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Joel Miller isn’t such a bad neighbor after all.

“What do you mean you thought I was the asshole?!” Joel asks indignantly as he leaves your bathroom. He’s got a towel held up around his waist and you’re finding it hard to concentrate on his words at this exact moment.

You’ve just finished showering together after your outdoor activities, where you returned his poolside favor with some attention of your own. Now, you’re laying on the bed in your own towel, tired from the sun and the sex. 

You’ve also just admitted that you thought he was the worst neighbor. An asshole even. And now he’s looking at you like you’re insane.

“You stole my internet!” He exclaims. 

“You can’t prove that,” you reply, maybe a bit too quickly. He raises an eyebrow at you, but you refuse to back down.

“Fine, but you put all those twigs and shit on my porch.”

“They were from your tree, I was simply…returning your property.”

“And the cats?” He crosses his arms. “Because of you, my flowerbeds look like shit and I’ve lost two planters.”

“Not my fault they can sense you’re the weak link. They’re asserting their dominance. Hiss at them or something,” you say with a shrug.

Joel gapes at you. “You can’t be serious.”

“Look, it’s water under the bridge now, right? What can I do to make it up to you?”

He’s silent for a moment before a mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“Where’s that toy you bought, sweetheart?”

_________________

Joel’s got you on your back, your wireless vibrator placed snugly inside of your and against your clit. You’re glaring at him because he’s stopped you from another orgasm. He’s quickly becoming obsessed with that fire in your eyes and the curl of your lip when you’re mad at him.

He presses a trail of kisses from your ankle to the inside of your thighs, nipping the sensitive skin close to your pussy just to hear you gasp. He continues across your abdomen and your breasts, stopping to lavish attention to each sensitive nipple, your back arching against him for more.

“Joel,” you whine, squirming beneath him. He stretches up to capture your lips in a kiss, your lips dragging across his in the most addicting way. His cock slides against the smooth skin of your hip, making him groan. With a flick of his thumb, he turns the toy back on. “Oh, fuck!”

“Want you to come for me this time, baby,” Joel tells you. “Then I want you to come all over my cock, okay?”

You nod, back bowing and muscles straining as your writhe against the vibrations. Joel sits back on his heels to watch you, the way your mouth is dropped open in a silent shout and how your eyes find his at the exact moment you start to come undone.

“Oh my god,” you pant as Joel swiftly removes the toy, the pink silicone shiny with your release. He tosses it to the side and presses his cock to your fluttering hole, sinking inside of you with a deep groan. Your walls are still clenching with the aftershocks of your orgasm as he begins to thrust, slow and deep.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he growls. He uses a hand to press one of your knees closer to your chest, his fingers wrapped tightly beneath your knee. 

The change in angle gets him deeper and his pace grows faster in response to your moans. He can feel you start to pulse around him, each drag of his cock out of your cunt getting harder as your walls squeeze, desperately trying to keep him inside. 

“Touch yourself,” Joel commands. “Wanna see you come for me again, pretty girl, come on.”

Your fingers find your clit, swirling through the mess of slick coating your folds. Your eyes are glued to him as you work yourself to the same rhythm of his thrusts. He knows you’re close when your eyes start to flutter, your head dropping back against the mattress and your thighs going tight against his hips.

“That’s it, good fuckin’ girl, just like that,” he growls as you come with a shout of his name. “Christ, you look so damn good.”

You blink at him, your eyes hazy and your smile languid as he chases his own release, using your sensitive cunt for his pleasure. When it gets to be too much, too close, he withdraws, fisting his cock with rough strokes until he comes in thick splashes against your belly.

He collapses on the bed beside you, both of your chests heaving with deep breaths. After a moment, he uses one of the towels to wipe you clean, tossing it to the floor. You glare at him. 

“You better put that in the hamper later,” you admonish. He pulls you into his side. 

“So, why exactly did you think I was an asshole neighbor?” He asks. To his surprise, you blush, mumbling something he can’t make out. “What?”

“I said because you beat me at the Halloween decorating contest.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. You have the twelve foot skeleton and I’m jealous.”

“I’ll get you as many skeletons as you want,” Joel laughs. You smile at him.

“Sounds good to me, big guy.”

_________________

The following Halloween, there are two twelve foot skeletons in the neighborhood, and they live right next door to each other.

Joel Miller taglist: 

@huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727  @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfelll @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @evyiione @leeeesahhh @tloubarbie @afterglowsb-tch13 @loveliestofthoughts @theviewfromtheritz @brittmb115 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @switchbladedreamz @casa-boiardi @tonysterco @rvjaa @ladymunson @sexpoisoned @trisaratops-mcgee @decemberdolly @spookyemorockbabe @reader-without-a-story @katmoonz @simping-soldat @mswarriorbabe80 @orphanbird95 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @gingersince97 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @manazo @bigboiseason123 @bean-is-reading @darlingpedro @silkiers @pascals-cat @bbyanarchist @therealcap @pedrosgrogu @dreamingofdaddydin

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #no use of y/n #joel tlou #joel x reader #pre outbreak!joel #enemies to lovers #hot neighbor

[lunarw0rks]

Hi! Is it possible to get an imagine where Ghost accidently walks in on reader changing (they're together and reader doesn't mind) but Ghost kinda freaks out and insists he can wait outside until they're done. I feel like with his past he'd constantly worry about invading people's privacy/violating them in anyway, so maybe just some fluffy reassuring him that he's ok and he makes reader feel safe? Sorry if that's a lot 🫶

༄ Poise | Simon Riley

Warning(s): !!brief references to ghost's trauma/SA!!, established relationship, mentions of sex/nudity, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, gn!reader

₊˚ෆˎˊ˗ Word Count: 1.2k ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ- ♡‧₊˚✧˖ 「 AO3 VER. 」 A/N: Tried my best to handle this topic respectfully. Definitely an underused, under-discussed part of Ghost's character.

Simon Riley was a complicated man, to say the least.

But he never intended to let his complications rub off on you — no matter how much suffering he voicelessly endured to ensure that.

Whether it was weeks into the relationship or months, his walls were still standing tall. Certain things: he just couldn't do with you. Reviewing old photographs of himself, going to a park where children run joyously with their parents, nor could he do anything to invade your privacy.

To you, your involvement with him was at a pivotal point. Where there wasn't a need to be bashful around the other and withhold the petty grievances.

Though, Simon's skeletons were anything but quaint.

There was weight to them; weight you only bore a measly tinge of. He never told you details, only bits and pieces of what he had been through. Those serious talks were scarce and short-lived — forgettable, even, if it weren't for the woeful nature of his past memories.

『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』 • 『 ♡ 』

Per usual, he had gotten up long before you. It was a typical sight; laying in the empty bed unsure if Simon was even home, because of his default stealth. Even though you knew he wasn't beside you, your fingers outstretched to his side, palming the sheets that had gone cold in his absence.

With a drowsy sigh, you peeled back the plush comforter, revealing the remnants of the lustful night before. Or, the lack of remnants, considering you were still rid of your clothes.

Through the curtains, the risen sun engulfed the shared bedroom, illuminating its lackluster decor — at least on his portion of it. Little decor, no pictures or clutter out, clothes folded and hung neatly as he would with his uniforms on base.

After a few minutes of gathering your strength, you climbed out of bed and approached the dresser, giving your fatigued eyes a rub. You dug through the clothing piles until you found an outfit suitable for a slothful day in with him.

You set the pickings on the edge of the bed. Following, you were slipping into a fresh pair of undergarments, listening intuitively for any sound of your lover, which wasn't an easy task.

Simon ambled up the staircase, on his way to the ensuite washroom to retrieve the watch he took off to shower. In his mind, you were still fast asleep, especially after last night. His fingers clamped around the knob, opening it with slowness.

In a matter of seconds, he was poisoned with a sensation of unbearable discomfort, as well as disgust towards himself. Seeing you, nude and vulnerable rather than slumbering in the bed.

"Shit, I'm sorry, love." Unlike before, he handled the door with haste — closing it like he had just walked in on a stranger.

Your mouth remained slightly agape with bafflement, paired with a feeling of unease for him. You were only changing, and it wasn't the first time he had seen you undressed. This wasn't a little hiccup in the day, nor an off-beat moment that you could laugh at later on.

Something gravely upset him, and it wasn't your bare skin.

Quicker than before, you changed into the remainder of your outfit. As well as fixing up the rest of your appearance; an excuse to figure out how to approach the subject.

You exited the bedroom, giving the door a gentle close. No sign of Simon down the hall, not in the living room, either. You checked the office next, finding nothing but another uninhabited space. Lastly, you crept through the kitchen with wary arms folded across your chest.

Then, you caught a glimpse of Simon's unstirring silhouette through the window. Slouched while sitting on the steps of the deck; a thousand-mile stare into the garden.

He didn't flinch when the patio door shut behind him, not even when you sat beside him on the steps.

"This isn't about me being naked, is it?" You spoke into the crisp mid-morning air, feeling the unforgiving bite of it overwhelm your exposed skin and lips.

Simon scoffed at your poor attempt to lighten the bleak mood, giving you a brief glance. If only things— if only he were that uncomplicated. "No, it's not you. Nothing like that."

You nod your head, trusting that his blunt nature wouldn't allow him to stifle a thing as serious as that. If he truly wasn't attracted to you or your frame, you wouldn't be resting your head on his shoulder.

For a few minutes; the conversation stopped. Only the occasional passing car in the distance or an animal or insect chirping. The leaves blew gently, until the breeze eventually found the both of you, sending a bitter, unforgiving autumn wind.

The silence was fine; it was common with him. But it wasn't fine when you knew he was swallowed by sorrowful thoughts.

"Can I..." You began, still keeping your head pressed firmly against his solid shoulder. "Can I ask what's wrong? Why you wouldn't stay in the room?" Asking what happened was too far, and you were already walking a narrow line. He wouldn't hold it against you if you got too invasive, but that wasn't a chance you wanted to even consider.

Simon's flashbacks hadn't ceased for a minute. Not since he shut the bedroom door behind him and sat out here.

The worst part? None of it was your fault. It had nothing to do with your bare skin, not even him catching a glimpse of it. His inner voice had him convinced he overstepped; that he made you feel used and violated by proxy.

He sighed heavily, saying a thousand words with a mere exhale. "Things you don't need to hear, sweetheart. Trust me on that." That was one way of putting it lightly, considering the gravity of what he had endured years ago.

"Listen, Simon," your fingers roamed along his shoulders, caressing down his back, careful to avoid the scars he didn't want you to touch. "I feel the pain you walk around with, I do. Every moment we're together, it doesn't rest."

He nodded his head slowly, closing his eyes for a moment to absorb the bleed of your words. You weren't sugarcoating the rawness of how his past affected you, nor were you judging him for it.

"But you didn't hurt me, alright? You did nothing wrong." Your voice couldn't have reached deeper. The tightening of his chest had uncoiled a bit, soothing his silent episode of derealization.

Simon's shaky fingers found your cheek, caressing against your chilled flesh with a tender firmness, "don't think I deserve you and that bleeding heart."

Your brows knitted with benevolence, returning the same gloomy gaze his amber eyes were emitting. Following his words, you shook your head, gripping his wrists gently.

"You do deserve it," you retorted gently, "nobody makes me feel safe like you do." You had never said something more truthful. He really did make you feel safe, in every sense. Intimately, romantically, even just as another human being you decided to spend your time with.

"C'mere." Simon murmured, shortly before nudging your head in the direction of his lap, allowing you to lay against him completely.

Whether he believed you or not, that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he hit the jackpot with you. Someone who didn't tip the scale, who didn't need to be privy to his every sorrow.

You were there purely to be there for him, expectant of no rewards or praises — though Simon would definitely give them soon enough.

In his own, deeply complicated, way.

#mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #mw2 fanfic #simon riley #task force 141 x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley headcanons #ghost mw2 x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod headcanons #cod x gn!reader #cod x y/n #cod x you #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #mw2 ghost #ghost headcanons #simon riley x you

[zelphin124]

Idol Error meets Idol Fresh (Short Story)

Finally, the long awaited prize for @zucchiyeni, I am sooooo sorry it took so long to get to..

These short stories were the prizes of the honorable mentions in the SeasonTale Creative Challenge.

Whew, now, onto the story!

~o0o~

"That's like, totally unrad bro."

Error glanced down at his watch again. 5 minutes... they were five minutes over the meeting time they were supposed to speak with him, and it ticked him off.

Error was one of the most famous independent singers in the entire multiverse. He had rewards for his skills in rapping and voice tuning. Despite his inefficiency with technology, he produced some of the most captivating videos and VR experiences known to mankind. It was said he only had one producer, but to this day, no one could figure out who it was.

And the contractors wanted to hire him.

He told himself it was stupid. He knew that they would take his rights to his music if he agreed to their deal... yet the price tag wasn't something he couldn't refuse.

His producer seriously needed a raise.

"Dude, you can't fire me! I won't be the vibe anymore! The town's countin on me radical skills!"

Error rubbed his head, hearing the younger guy talk in the room with the contractor. All he could think about was how annoying his voice sounded. The way he talked, and the way he yelled... It was ticking him off even more.

He decided he wasn't going to wait any longer. He stood up, banging on the door to the office. "HuRrY Up," he hissed. "I d0n't g0T a11 d@y t0 wa1t f0r y0u."

The conversation stopped, and rapid footsteps were heard before the employer, wearing a bright smile, opened the door. "Error!" He smiled with glee. "So happy to have you here, just give me maybe 5 more minutes as I deal with this hobo mkay?"

"1 d0n't h@vE m0r3 t1m3," Error glitched, adjusting his outfit. "T1m3 1s m0n3y."

"But of course," the small skeleton shuddered. "Right, Fresh, I'm going to need you to leave. Unfortunately, we will not be renewing your contract and that's final."

"But lad," Fresh, a tall-appearing skeleton begged. "Tis is ma only source of income! I can't produce any more music unless you chill and let me have the rights to my own voice yo!"

Error grimaced in disgust at his rainbow outfit. He was a walking kid's toy, with trinkets on his outfit that made no sense and the style skill of a two-year-old. However, he didn't like the look of the contractor's outfit either... it was all black with a white undershirt. Very boring, in his opinion.

"I'm sorry, but there's nothing I could do."

"Wh@t d0 y0u m3an, yoU dOn'T hav3 th3 r1ghts t0 yoUr OwN v01c3?" Error gestured to the hobo, considering what he said earlier.

"Totally unfair, brah!" Fresh explained. "In the contract, they steal the rights to your voice, music, everything! They only pay a pretty penny until your rates drop because of their unrad standards!"

"Wait, no, that's not entirely true-" The contractor had a pleading look in his eyes, glancing at Error and grabbing the scruff of his sleeve.

Error immediately shot his hand out of his reach, looking at him in disgust. "N@h, that's BS r1GhT th3rE. I'1l c0nt1nuE t0 b3 ind3penDenT."

"But-" The contractor flattened his face with a defeated look. He glared at Fresh as Error walked out, but not out of earshot. "You just ruined our chance to make a big buck, prepared for your entire career to be ruined."

The scrape of a chair echoed through the hall. "Too bad you already did lad."

Error rubbed his head, unable to comprehend what had just happened. He really needed the extra cash, but with the terms he overheard and the reviews from other artists stuck in contracts with the company, he saw no benefit. Even the Star Sanses were stuck with them for six more years, unable to produce their own stuff. It made Error wonder if the instant fame was worth it for them.

Not like he experienced that desire. He had posted his music one day and it caught fire quickly, each of his videos going viral the moment it released.

Yet, nothing paid him enough to give his producer the raise she needed. Most of the money he made himself went back into his production and to pay his own bills.

"Yo broski, wait up!"

Error cringed, clenching his fists together as the footsteps behind him got louder. As if this hobo couldn't get any more annoying...

"Sorry about the lazy impression back there bud, I tots wasn't having the best convo of all time. But I know your music and I must say you're pretty rad and wanted to ask if you wanted to collab sometime." Fresh rambled, before stopping and taking a few big breaths.

Error glanced Fresh up and down... well, more up than anything. He raised an eyebrow and continued walking. I don't have time for this...

"C'mon broski!" Fresh bounded after him. "I won't let you down and I can add some sick beats to your vocals!"

"1 h@v3n't h3arD yOuR mus1c beFor3." Error glitched, adjusting his clothes once more. "YoU juSt g0t f1r3d, wHy shOulD 1?"

"Look look look," Fresh immediately pulled out his phone to search for examples of his music. Even Error was surprised at the rate he pulled it up while keeping up with his pace.

The song played fancy and radical tunes, ones that Error had never heard before. There were some parts he liked, but the main melody of most of them sucked in his opinion. Error then explained to Fresh the few parts he liked while everything else was trash.

Fresh did not seem disheartened in any way. "Thanks for the feedback broski, I will take it into account! I could lend you the sounds for a collab, just one brah."

Error scoffed, turning around to face the rainbow once more. "Tw0 w0RDs, m@ss1v3 mAk30v3r," Error gestured to his entire outfit. "Y0u'R3 n0t l0Ok1nG l1kE th@t 1n mY v1d30."

"Really brah?" Fresh frowned, unzipping part of his outfit to show the inside of it. "You think this is lame? It's better than the lazy hobo that you're wearing."

"Th1s 1s f@shi0n, thAT b3l0nGs 1n th3 DumPSt3r." Error fired back, getting more angry by the minute. He snarled and waved his hand in dismissal, walking towards his car.

He didn't see the devilish grin of a cunning idea wrap around the parasite's face. "Relax lad, why don't we let yo cute producer decide? The collab would be made by her anyway~"

Error stopped dead in his tracks, glitching in and out at the mention of his producer. There's no way this loser could have figured out who she was... right? The fact that he even talked like that about her fueled his fury. How disrespectful of him.

If it weren't for his popularity, Error would have strangled him on the spot. However, people were starting to look and point them out, as he was being recognized. Fresh knew this, he saw this... and he laughed about it. They both knew Fresh was taunting Error.

"I'll make it stop if ya wish to collab, broski," Fresh shrugged, rezipping his coat.

Subconsciously, Error pulled the strings from his eyes as they continued to glitch, showing his anger. "N3-3-3-v3r." He hissed, holding the strings around his fingers. "N0 0-0n3 wh0 diSr3sp3ctS m3 @nd m-m-my c-cr3w w0rkS w-w1th m3."

"Hope to see you on stage then broski, when you come crawling back to me!" Fresh bowed, the silver on his clothes blinding Error when the sun reflected off of it. "I'll personally be your rival. It'll be easier to get popular that way."

"D0n't f-forg3t a-a-ab0uT th@t s-stup1d c0ntr@ct y0u siGn3d." Error unlocked his car, seething.

"What they gonna do lad, fire me? I'm on my own," he gives a mocking salute to the rap star. "And I'll be the one to take over your career. Good luck broski..." his eyes turned a scary shade of purple. "You'll need it."

Error was incredibly puzzled by Fresh's behavior as he drove home. The only word he could use to describe it was childish, yet it still got under his nerves. Usually, threats don't bother him as they don't get very far. But this one... it was very unsettling.

The rap star would make his way home in silence before eating his favorite meal and collapsing in bed to sleep. Despite all the things he tried to do, Fresh stayed fresh in his mind, and he was unable to shake the feeling that something was about to go seriously wrong for him.

Little did he know what kind of battle for his career this rainbow hobo would bring... And the rivalry it started to this day.

Even then, his producer stayed loyal to him, and Error still made music as usual. Security was increased, and he was able to get his producer a raise due to the song rivalry with Fresh, despite never collabing. Error always thought Fresh's music was childish and inexperienced, especially when the song was putting him under the bus. He believed he had the real roasts when he finally put the song together to tick off the parasite back.

But after the song "Fresh to Rotten Fruit" was released, Error was unable to sleep. He pissed off the rainbow parasite... and the threat on his life and his producer's life was too serious to be ignored.

And Error couldn't fix it without ruining his career.

#idolverse #idol error #idol fresh #error sans #fresh sans #utmv #undertale au #sans au #seasontale creative challenge #short story #writing #Again sorry this took so long #I'm tired

[writtenontheport]

Hey, would you write Anthony Lockwood x reader, in which George and Lucy are fed up with the reader and Lockwood arguing and lock them in the basement for the whole night until they reconcile, and at the same time profess their love for each other. Thanks in advance

Skeletons in the Closet but it’s Actually Just Us

Anthony Lockwood x (gn) reader

Warnings/Tags: Romcom levels of fluff, You’ve Got Mail level of romcom, no suggestive content, Lucy and George friendship, They are deeply fed up, ‘Locked in a cupboard until they confess’ trope, Lockwood is a silly guy, confessions, Reader is a bit of a grumpy person, Valid tbh when the love of their life is some self-sacrificing bozo, A bit of angst given the nature of the Problem, mentions of death,

Notes: Just reviewed all the romcoms I’ve watched these past few weeks so this might be extra cheesy. Also I am rereading your request, anon and I am so sorry but I misread it so BAD 💀But also I changed the time a bit from it being night to it being right after a case! I’m so sorry this isn’t how your request put it 😭 I have terrible reading skills VERY LOOSELY EDITED AND SHORT

Summary: You and Lockwood are unable to voice your own feelings for each other, which frustrates Lucy and George enough to take action. An argument, locked storage, and a heart to heart about the nature of your world later, you’re setting up… a date..???

Anthony John Lockwood was an annoying prat who strutted about like a peacock in desperate need of a slap. Now this frustration is usually the result of something smaller; minute, you might even say, but today— oh, today.

“You ran straight into danger—“ You repeat yourself for what must be the 4th time the past hour. Anthony is sitting across from you in the kitchen “—even though George and I had specifically warned you—“

“Lucy went in too!” He blurts, throwing his shoulders up.

“Keep me out of this,” Lucy hisses, narrowing her eyes at him, “I actually brought iron chains with me.”

You gesture at her wildly, nodding in vindication as you turn back to Lockwood, “Exactly. Lucy knew what she was doing, you were just being reckless! I basically had a heart attack when that Visitor nearly ghost-touched you because you—“

“I didn’t need you to push me aside and put yourself in danger, though!” He hissed, just as frustrated. “I knew what I was doing. I’m very well aware of how it looked like, but I swear I knew what I was doing. Even if… I did need your help getting out of the trouble I put myself in after.”

A pregnant pause hangs in the air, frustration and worry laying under tension so thick you could it with a knife. You look away first with a defeated huff. Lockwood raises a brow and his lips split into a wobbly smile, the charming bastard. He lounges back into his seat and rests one arm on the table in front of him— a gesture for your hand. The look would have been more impactful if a bruise wasn’t already forming on cheek and there wasn’t blood drying on his brow. Still, you make your way over to him to fix his tie (which had gotten caught on banisters during the case) and push his collar up. He beams at you when you pat his jacket neat, but you’re still upset.

“Reckless… stupid prick…” You mumble, brushing his hair with your hands.

Under you, Lockwood’s grin grows just the faintest bit soft as he lolls his head back just to watch your frown.

“I think, hear me out, this is just because you’re worried about me,” Lockwood hums.

You scoff, tugging his tie down harshly, “Someone has to with how little you seem to worry about your own life. Like, seriously Anthony? Our lives are on the line—“

“Want to go on a date?” He asks, interrupting you. You choke on air and quickly let go to swat at his chest. Even if he meant that jokingly, something blazing seemed to unfurl in your chest and stuttered your breathing. You’re usually warm around Lockwood, human heater that he was, but this was a feeling that had your palms clammy and your teeth burried into your lips.

“Now is not the time to joking, Lockwood,” you grit out.

“Well I’m not. I really mean—“ he starts, but the sound of a clang startles you both. Lockwood springs up and takes your hand in his, putting himself between you and the basement door. You look around to find Lucy, but her chair’s empty and pushed in. Worry seeps into your bones with a familiarity like the hand holding yours.

“Lucy? George?” Lockwood calls out, stepping closer to find the door ajar.

Distantly you hear both of them call for you and Lockwood, sounding distressed. You push yourself in front of Lockwood into the spiral staircase down, dismissing the small click of his tongue from behind you.

“You’re being reckless now,” He whispers harshly, which you ignore.

It’s a quick trip to the bottom (with Lockwood likely frowning the whole way down), as you rush into the basement. Lucy and George are standing by the ‘high security’ storage room, something unreadable and determined in their expressions. You rush forward, checking on both of them and giving each a hug after.

You flutter about them both, brows furrowed in worry, “Are you two alright? Are you hurt? Is everything—“

From behind you, Lockwood’s hands rest on your shoulders then rub up and down along your arms in a soothing gesture. “What’s happened?”

Lucy gives George a look, and he clears his throat to say, “We found something in the storage. I couldn’t see it that well, and Lucy—“

Lockwood, the absolutely reckless prick, was already making his way inside. You take a breath through your nose and follow right after him, sending reassuring smiles to Lucy and George as you step in. You whip back to glare at Lockwood’s head, ever the reckless hero he was.

“Lockwood don’t just walk in without even hearing about the situation.” You check a shelf for the sources you keep locked away, Lockwood taking the opposite. A quiet moment passes as you run a hand along the line of the shelf, trying to sense for anything out of the ordinary.

“Probably a Visitor took a break from being in one of our… usually foolproof containers.” He looks over a small, see-through box to check for any cracks or breakage.

You whip back to glare at him, feeling not only worried, but frustrated as well. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t have just waltzed in, Anthony. This is exactly what I mean when I say you’re completely reckless sometimes—“

The door to the high security storage clicks closed, and you both startle. You make your way over to push the door open, but the lock is keeping it shut.

“Shit,” Lockwood rasps out. Yeah, that’s fair.

When you got home from the case that day, you didn’t think the rest of the night would be spent being locked in the basement storage for the next morning. After a quick argument with Lucy and George (who promised to be back whenever ‘you two (you and Lockwood) had stopped arguing and acting like idiots’) where they had insisted they wouldn’t be too far and to just yell for them if anything went wrong.

Now, Lockwood sat beside you with your backs to the door. Lucy had had the foresight to leave you behind with medical supplies, and you found one of George’s sticky notes on a tray of quick snacks. Messily scrawled in the way only George ever could, was Get yourselves together, thanks.

If getting yourselves in order and making up looked like awkward silence and Anthony’s self-soothing stretching and everything you did to self-soothe, then it was looking fantastic. Lockwood had yet to say anything but a few curses when he tried to open the door, though he’d given up half an hour in. Now it was just you two munching on biscuits in a semi-awkward silence.

“I meant it, you know,” He says suddenly, as you’re patching him up and cleaning his wounds. His eyes don’t mean yours when you look up, but you know what he means.

“It was a terrible time to suggest that kind of thing, Anthony,” You bite back, careful to dress his wrist properly.

“I meant it though.” He says sincerely; challengingly. He was always like this, baiting for you to fight back or ague for more, even if you could never tell why.

“Then we’d go on a date, do whatever it is people who like each other do, then I…” you rest your fingers over his open palm, and he slides his own in the spaces between yours “… I watch you throw yourself into danger— into sure death and just wait for either our talents to dry up or for either of us to die?”

“No,” he hums, peering at you through his long lashes, “Well, sort of, just—“

“What else, Anthony?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.” He squeezes your hand and you purse your lips. Here you are with someone you love dearly wondering if the next time either of you go out there someone dies.

“Then how would you word it, Lockwood?” You want to hope, voice cracking under the weight of your need. Your soft heart lurches from the thick walls of your chest— through the ribs and the muscle and whatever the fuck else was there— reaching with its sharp claws for a scrap.

“We… go on a date. Because I like you and you like me, and because even without the problem hanging over us, we could die at any minute. I, for one, wouldn’t want to waste any of it I could have with you, now or after.” Like a ray of hope, the twinkle in his eyes. Like a ray of hope, that punchable, kissable grin. Your heart lurches and your breath stutters.

You take a free hand to tuck loose strands of his hair out of his face, humming, “How are you so sure I like you, Lockwood?”

“I don’t,” he admits sheepishly. He’s boyish like this, whispering and grinning at you with something not so cocky and infuriatingly cute. “Just a guess really.”

“George told you.” Even though you never told George.

“George did tell me he had a theory, yes… Backed it up with evidence and everything”

You glare at him for a moment, this ray of hope your heart has chosen to cling onto in these times and troubles, and find yourself faltering.

“One condition. Then we can go on however many dates you want for however long you’ll have me,” you offer, dropping your hands down to look proper into his face.

“Anything,” he says easily, shuffling closer to you.

“Try not to be so reckless. We can’t have you dying before even the first one— or any of them, understand?” You pinch his nose lightly, earning a gentle swat back from him.

“You have to try, too. I can’t lose you either.” He brings your hands to his lips, pressing kisses along each knuckle.

I love you goes unspoken, but he sees it in the way you smile so warmly at him, and you see it in the way he holds your hands like it’s the world. Not today, but maybe someday you will tell each other. Today you yell for George and Lucy to finally let you both out and face the world hand in hand.

A/N: I’m such a fan for the “couple who’s not yet a couple bicker endlessly with each other over every little thing” cause I find it so cute. I am a ‘love at first argument’ girlie to the core. Some of my most major crushes have been people I argue with near constantly. Also, because you didn’t anon specify I flipped a coin and it landed on (gn).

Side note: This is especially short because I’m still thinking on how to go about a few things I’m writing. Been having ideas for an angst fic for either Lockwood or Lucy (x reader, ofc) and continuing George’s series because I am deeply in love with him

#anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #portie writes fanfic

[new-dinosaurs]

Qianlong shouhu Han et al., 2023 (new genus and species)

(Select bones and schematic skeletals of adult [a] and embryonic [b] individuals of Qianlong shouhu, with preserved bones in gray, from Han et al., 2023)

Meaning of name: Qianlong = Qian [alternative name for Guizhou] dragon [in Chinese]; shouhu = guarding [in Chinese]

Age: Early Jurassic (Sinemurian?)

Where found: Ziliujing Formation, Guizhou, China

How much is known: Three partial skeletons of adult individuals and five clutches of 3–16 eggs containing embryos.

Notes: Qianlong was an early sauropodomorph. It is notable not only for the exceptional preservation of its fossils, but also the fact that these specimens appear to be associated with nests, thus offering valuable information on their growth and reproductive behavior. As has also been found for some early sauropodomorphs, such as Massospondylus from the Early Jurassic of Southern Africa and Mussaurus from the Early Jurassic of Argentina, Qianlong appears to have laid its eggs in breeding colonies with adult individuals potentially watching over their nests. Qianlong was additionally similar to these other early sauropodomorph in being bipedal as an adult, but likely quadrupedal as a young juvenile.

Rigid, hard-shelled eggs have been found in multiple groups of dinosaurs, including tetanuran theropods (such as birds), hadrosaurids (duck-billed dinosaurs), and titanosaurian sauropods, as well as their closest living relatives, the crocodylians. As a result, it was long assumed that all dinosaurs probably laid hard-shelled eggs. However, recent evidence has suggested that the eggs of early dinosaurs may have instead had flexible, leathery shells, more similar to those of most lizards and some turtles, with rigid eggshells evolving several times in later dinosaur groups. The eggshells of Qianlong appear to have been leathery in structure, lending support to this hypothesis.

Reference: Han, F., Y. Yu, S. Zhang, R. Zeng, X. Wang, H. Cai, T. Wu, Y. Wen, S. Cai, C. Li, R. Wu, Q. Zhao, and X. Xu. 2023. Exceptional Early Jurassic fossils with leathery eggs shed light on dinosaur reproductive biology. National Science Review advance online publication. doi: 10.1093/nsr/nwad258

#Palaeoblr #Dinosaurs #Qianlong #Early Jurassic #Asia #Sauropodomorpha #2023 #Extinct

[landoffreaksandfrogs]

what type of youtubers would the trolls be? Karkat would definitely make rants and reviews of romance movies, Kanaya would make makeup or fashion tutorials, Sollux has an IT channel he made so people stop bugging him (nobody ever bothers checking it instead of asking him)

quick spitballed ideas bc this is such a cute prompt

aradia - reviews of inaccurate halloween decoration skeletons. theyre not rated on anatomical accuracy but by how much swag they have. most of her other videos are short clips of her livevlogging her day and telling short stories, but shes funny and witty so they do numbers. very low effort and low cost, but shes having fun.

tavros - CARD PACK UNWRAPPING. guy who in no way can afford his hobby but keeps getting these card packs for his channel. surprisingly relaxing to listen to while you have him minimized in another tab while you do something else. he goes over each card in the deck and their effects as well as rarity.

sollux - basically what you said. IT guide on walking through common computer problems. horrible mic quality, but really helpful information.

karkat - ABSOLUTELY would be a movie reviewer. no facecam but for whatever reason has CRISP mic quality. somehow NEVER peaks his mic despite all the screaming he does. he loves media analysis and getting pissed off over fandom drama so hed probably also do breakdowns of scandals in fandom spheres, and somehow almost getting sued.

nepeta - SPEEDPAINTS. and like. flipnote hatena style amvs. obviously very amateur but its a very cute art style and she has no concept of copyright infringement.

kanaya - makeup tutorials and fashion reviews. would definitely be like that one youtuber who reviews the accuracy of historical fiction dresses in film and tv. everytime the virgin mothergrub is in the background of her videos her comments are spammed with "MOTH MOM REAL"

terezi - animated shitposts. like. grinchs ultimatum, garfielf, shit like that. REALLY bright colors and shitty linework with windows moviemaker transitions. no one knows who she is and shes never done a face reveal so shes a total enigma. there are deep web theories that her videos are anti-empire propaganda.

vriska - flarping tutorials. genuinely. she goes over mechanics, spells, class breakdowns, even shares stories of her own flarp campaigns. VERY passionate about it and kind of has an asshole youtuber persona. posts an apology video like once a month then goes on like nothing happened. replies to every mean comment.

equius - weightlifting videos. dead silent. just grunting and metal clanking. no editing. addresses every comment in every video. lots of heavy breathing. very uncomfortable. almost like performance art in how desolate it feels.

gamzee - cooking videos. its as bad as it sounds.

eridan - showing off everything in his hive and talking about it. his guns. his outfits. ranting about pollution. each video is an hour long. its mostly just him complaining or bragging about the stuff he owns.

feferi - has a live feed of her cuttlefish pen going constantly. posts animal care videos. posts music. does challenges. her youtube is kind of an inconsistent mish-mash of content but one thing remains: you will watch her cuttlefish.

#ask #anonymous #PHEW this was a long one let me know if you guys have any other ideas

[bemusedlybespectacled]

so, I'm thinking a teensy bit more about character death and, specifically, the death of a main character in a comedy show that I'm actually okay with. I'm talking about Death in Paradise.

Just as a primer for people who weren't raised by teaboos, it's a murder mystery comedy show, the premise of which is that there is one white British detective inspector guy who solves murders with his group of local cops: basically Midsomer Murders but on a fictional Caribbean island.

The comedy is always that he's some kind of socially awkward nerd who clashes in some way with his otherwise-entirely-Caribbean office, especially his black female second-in-command, even though they've at this point had four different DIs and I don't know how many changes of supporting characters.

The first two seasons, with DI Richard Poole, are your typical cozy murder-of-the-week-type mysteries. And then the third season starts, and the first mystery of the season is who killed DI Poole.

Like, it literally opens exactly like a normal episode, with a cold open establishing the suspects and showing us the murder victim before cutting to the jaunty theme tune and opening credits. It's just that this particular murder victim is the main character.

And then the plot progresses in exactly the same way, with a different white British nerd guy leading the investigation, because THE PROTAGONIST FOR THE PAST SIXTEEN EPISODES IS DEAD.

Now, some key differences between this show and OFMD:

It's a murder mystery show, so the rules are inherently different. No Muppet physics here: people die all the time and they die in totally normal ways, like getting stabbed with an ice pick or drowned in a fish tank or turned into a science class skeleton.

While this was the first time a main character was killed off, it was not the first time the DI had been killed. The pilot had Richard solving the murder of the previous DI, only for it to be revealed that his black female second-in-command of that episode was the murderer (Camille Bordey, his actual #2, isn't assigned to him until the very end of that episode). Like, shocking twists about characters you thought were "safe" was established in the very first episode.

The death actually affected the fucking characters and the fucking plot.

It's been like ten years since this episode aired and I still really like this episode, even though it gutted me the first time I watched it (and I don't like the later seasons nearly as much). Like, it's not my favorite (that's 2x06), but it's definitely in my top three. Because even though this is the episode they killed off DI Blorbo From My Britbox, it's also an episode about him.

The comedy is toned way down because the entire office is gutted by his loss. They have to do mundane things like call his parents to tell them he died and review CCTV footage and wait for lab data like it's just a normal case when it's not. At every step, there's a "what would Richard have done?" moment. And even though this is the episode that introduces the new DI, Humphrey Goodman, the summation at the end is entirely about Richard, with this pretty sweet line:

You know, bizarrely, I'm the only one who never met Richard Poole. But during this case, I… I feel as though I've got to know him a little. Mostly by the effect he had on those around him. But it seems we all forgot one very crucial thing: he was a detective. A good one. I think he made a discovery, had a theory about what he discovered, and then sent home for evidence to corroborate that theory. And in doing so, he has, in essence, solved his own murder.

His presence is felt throughout the entire episode, even though he's only alive for the first three minutes or so. His death is disappointing (especially for those of us who shipped him with Camille), but it actually has an impact.

So when they brought back Camille in S10, years after she was written out, they also brought back Richard: Camille imagines having a conversation with him when she’s worried that her mother is going to die, and he gives her advice and comforts her. And that scene makes me cry every time I watch it, because it's clear that she misses him as much as the audience does.

We didn't get that in OFMD. We didn't get an acknowledgement of how Izzy impacted the other characters (except Ed, in the weakest way possible), or even them looking sad for longer than two minutes. We sweep past it immediately and go directly to a wedding and then Stede and Ed settling down together.

There’s no gravity to it. There’s no time to process the loss. Hell, for the characters, there ISN’T a real loss. And if the characters don’t care, why should we?

#our flag means death #izzy hands #writing #death in paradise #personal #ofmd s2 #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2 finale complaining #ofmd critical

[melonteee]

As a social media celebrity yourself, what type of social media celebrity/streamer/influencer do you think each of the straw hats would be?

ME????

LMAO well Luffy wouldn't even BE a social media user he'd just be in SO many videos of other social media celebs cause he's insane and friends with everyone and he has a fanbase he doesn't even know about who compile all videos he's managed to slingshot himself into.

Zoro is just fitness, he's managed to monetise his training thanks to Nami's help (Nami takes 80% of his earnings.)

Nami doesn't have a channel herself but she manages everyone's channels and platforms and appears here or there to slap the guys around if they're fucking up their image HHH

Usopp is an insane high level gamer who streams and is watched for his perfect accuracy in first person shooter video games but CANNOT handle horror games and only plays those on special events.

Sanji has a cooking channel but people watch him cause they think he's hot (he doesn't know this) and he is always like "men do NOT like this video only WOMEN can like this video" and ppl genuinely don't know if he's joking or not.

Chopper does reaction videos cause he's cute and everyone just enjoys seeing him yjghjh

Robin streams horror games back to back and she never reacts apart from calling the gruesome creatures 'cute'.

Franky does DIY videos and originally it was just his hands but when everyone discovered he only works in speedos he immediately gained more followers.

Brook uploads song covers and original songs, everyone thinks he's some kind of vtuber skeleton and don't believe him when he says he's real jgdgdf

Jinbei does book reviews I just feel this in my heart, puts on glasses and is very professional about it.

Vivi does vlogs because she's a cute little princess everyone likes fhjgkd, will feature the strawhats a lot

#ask

[sincerely-nines]

I had a dungeon meshi and dr.stone inspired ranchers au... I called it delicacies and dungeon masters (its jimmy, Jimmy is the delicacy)

Jimmy was a young aspiring chef from the cuisine guild who just got his license to open his own restaurant, but just buying the rundown burnt down building for it cost him everything, so he gets his ingredients through hunting and foraging...

Except hes just a little tasty avian with not adventuring or monster hunting experience and so he gets his butt kicked and almost eaten by scary monsters...

Until he finds a little fire freak with terrifyingly sharp teeth passed out in the woods and gives him his food. They get attacked by skeletons, Tango kills them, and Jimmy makes a tasty dinner of their marrow and the fungus that animates them, and it's the tastiest thing Tango's ever eaten because the man does not eat anything but burnt porkchops.

Anyways, Tango declares his undying loyalty to Jimmy and promises to make him all the cool equipment and work at his restaurant and help him hunt monsters in exchange for being fed tasty meals.

Also he has a pet ravager and he can turn blue and did he mention he was the dungeon master of that evil castle looking over the entire region? No? No. He didn't and he keeps forgetting to. Jimmy has thr BBEG making him a refrigerator and he doesn't know it. Also he keeps almost chomping on Jimmy and has to save him from being eaten by the monsters they hunt while using him as bait.

There is also a tavern and brewery run by dwarf impulse, gem, and oli, a high class fancy restaurant run by scott, pearl, and cleo, a street vendor run by scar, and a guild quality ensurer/food critic in avian Grian who always gives restaurants terrible reviews (who def does not completely cave if given a slab of mixed seed suet)

Came up with a bunch of recipes using minecrafts mobs

Really it was about Jimmy waking up with Tango's shark teeth too close to his through.

THIS IS SO GOOD OH MY GOD!! i have been meaning to check out Dungeon Meshi and my brother has been bugging me to watch Dr. Stone so this might be the final push. I also just. REALLY love fantasy food a lot, i spend a lot of time in games just cooking food lol. im really curious on the recipes youve come up with. I also love that. Jimmy is just so tasty that he's used as bait. (Tango would know) And yes, housewife Jimmy and his husband, the BBEG. This is MY definition of domestic fluff.

#this is my dream version of that one show where one guy hunts and the other guy forages and then they cook with that #also tango only having eaten burnt porkchop is so silly but so real #oughhh theyre so silly i love this so much #this is hitting a niche i forgot i absolutely adore #team rancher

[bookaddict24-7]

REVIEWS OF THE WEEK!

EVERY WEEK I WILL POST A VARIOUS REVIEWS I’VE WRITTEN SO FAR IN 2024. YOU CAN CHECK OUT MY GOODREADS FOR MORE UP-TO-DATE REVIEWS HERE.

___

8. That Time I Got Drunk & Saved A Demon by Kimberly Lemming--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

First five-star read of 2024 🙏🏽

My friends have read this book and LOVED it, so I don't know why I'm lowkey surprised by how much I enjoyed this. I thought it would be a cheesy and slightly boring read (I didn't read the synopsis, okay? Sue me.) But what I got was SO far from that. Full of adventure, heart, sexual tension, and hilarious sass, I found myself laughing and paying rapt attention.

I loved the MC and her responses and commentary. I can see myself re-reading this just to highlight all of her sass. She's one of those contemporary characters set in a fantastical world that helps keep these kinds of stories light and fun. There's a scene where the demon just stares at her like "Okay, so we are definitely getting married" and I don't even blame him. This woman is a BADASS.

I loved their exploration of their world and how quick it was. Some readers might want more setting development, but honestly? I'm happy with how light and straightforward it was. I also really liked the side characters and how the demon just takes out anyone he wants, especially if they threaten the MC.

This was fun and everything I wish that other cozy fantasy book had given me. The new editions of the other two books have already been preordered 😌.

___

9. The Thing About Jellyfish by Ali Benjamin--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

THE THING ABOUT JELLYFISH perfectly encompasses the tortures of middle school, the changing of the people we once called friends, and the effects of grief and how a child's mind may twist in ways that might help them comprehend the reality of death.

Ali Benjamin does a fantastic job of drawing out the history of her MC and her friend. The way they both changed and how the MC came to choosing to stay silent verbally for the majority of the book. Watching her trying to find reasons for why her friend has died was heartbreaking. I can't imagine being a parent in that situation, where you know you can't help your child comprehend the change in their reality.

Also, middle school is a cruel place for a lot of kids (hi, I was one of its victims) and the levels of evil some of these kids get up to is truly astounding. It broke me a little watching this friendship fall apart and this poor, young MC having to remember the last moment she saw her friend alive.

Sometimes things just happen and this whole book is, ultimately, a great source for children grieving. Life can be messy, confusing, and sometimes heartbreaking. Benjamin's novel is beautiful and this is another one of those middle grade books that I think adults AND kids should be reading.

___

10. The Skull by Jon Klassen--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

If no one has read any other Jon Klassen books, then they're in for a surprise. If they have, then they'll recognize the eeriness of his writing.

You can't tell me that the hat books aren't creepy (there's a couple of pages where the big fish CLEARLY eats the little fish in the long grass). This guy is morbid and props to kids' authors who can write a book both for kids and adults.

The artwork was beautiful as always and the story was a very, very quick read. Perfect for those 5-7 year olds who want to try something themselves but don't mind a talking skeleton or skull.

This also got reeeeeeal dark at one point and I was just thinking of how some of the Gen Alpha kids are.

Highly recommend--especially for those littles who love a little spooky with their bedtime stories.

___

11. The Fiancée Farce by Alexandria Bellefleur--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Romantic, at times funny, spicy, and full of characters I wanted to punch in the dick, THE FIANCÉE FARCE was entertaining from beginning to end.

Much like many of my reading experiences, I jumped into this without knowing what I was getting myself into and imagine my joy and surprise when the trope of "marriage of convenience" popped up. I loved watching these characters fall in love with each other, and I loved seeing the thwart the horrible people in their lives. I also loved that one of the MCs has a massive love for reading (shown through her family's bookstore).

Was this the best romance I've ever read? Not really--it had some pretty obvious climactic points and some very over the top villains--but it held my attention and I fell for the couple. I loved that one helped the other find her confidence that had been stripped from her at a younger age.

One of the things that keeps me from giving this a five star rating is how...in a bubble this story feels? Like, we meet other characters as they serve their purpose (as is the usual) but if they're not in the scene, it's like they don't exist. There's one scene where one particular character doesn't speak and it's a pretty pivotal moment for the reader to pay extra attention because this is a huge hint about this character, but Bellefleur doesn't even hint at it? It's like that character is deleted from the scene. This is like taking the adage of "when you're with me, I only see you" and using it to the max.

Other than that, this was an entertaining and sexy story of proving assholes wrong and falling in love despite you believing that you're not deserving of love. Highly recommend for enough looking for a cute romance full of family drama and fake relationships!

___

12. Ana On the Edge by A.J. Sass--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Such a powerful story!

One of my favourite messages that ANA ON THE EDGE could potentially give young readers that it is OKAY to be in the process of trying to figure out who you are, but also that it's okay to not have all of the answers at once.

We see the MC struggle with their identity and their relationships throughout the whole book, especially because their world has always seemingly had such clear cut gender norms (Ice skating is a huge part of her world). I can't even imagine trying to find who you are when everyone around you is imposing who they think you are on you.

I also enjoyed that we got to see some of the more pivotal relationships in the MCs life and that messy in-between with friendships when big changes happen--like sudden schedule changes, or new friendships blossom. While this book tackled pretty big topics, I liked that its core it was still truly an MGLit book that explored the importance of friendships and keeping the good ones alive (even when life gets a bit hectic.)

Finally, I adored the relationship between the MC and their mom. I loved that they were a team and even though it took a little bit of time, they had some good communication between the two of them. There were some heartwarming moments and I loved seeing them understand each other better as the story progressed.

I think this is another great LGBTQ+ book to have in my back pocket for when I need to recommend great Queer books to readers!

___

13. Mindy Kim & the Birthday Puppy by Lyla Lee and Dung Ho Hanh (Illustrations)--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

It's been a while since I picked up the last MINDY KIM book but this was just as cute as I remember the last two books being. There were some moments that made me tear up a little, but I'm just an emotional mess sometimes.

I loved seeing Mindy come into her own with her brand new puppy. A couple of my best friends have a puppy and as I read Mindy's adventures (or misadventures), I thought of how difficult it was for my friends to parent a brand new puppy. This is a kid's book, so I'm not surprised Mindy was able to be so successful so quickly, but in reality, puppies are a lot more work than what was shown here. BUT this didn't take away from the story at all! I love that this could be a really great resource for littles who want a puppy, but need a further understanding of the responsibilities behind it.

And much like the last two books, there were some important topics explored here: how families might look, grief, multicultural traditions, and responsibilities one might take on.

Another great addition to the series and I'll hopefully be reading the next one soon!

___

14. Suddenly by Isabelle Autissier--⭐️⭐️.5

I had a lot of expectations for SUDDENLY by Isabelle Autissier, but we all know expectations are sometimes the death knell of a story. The cover enticed me, the synopsis further pulled me in, but the clunky translation full of thesaurus-level words and the random time-jump totally took me out of the story.

Normally, I DNF books that aren't working for me because hi, I have a massive TBR to get through before I die. But I will give Autissier this: she wrote a very intriguing beginning to her book. I wanted to see these characters survive and thrive in their new environment. A morbid sense of intrigue had me continuing the story as they mercilessly killed creatures I never thought someone could kill so coldly, and as they had massive introspection about their super privileged lives (and their first world ignorance about their importance in the grand scheme of things.)

These two characters were severely unlikable, but I couldn't help but get attached. I felt such a mixed bag of emotions towards the FMC and when the time jump happened, I felt further disconnected from not just her, but the story as a whole.

I'll be blunt: the second part of the book (or more like 3/4 way through the book) ruined this for me. I understand the importance of seeing the story of the "after" but I hated it. I think it went from being an interesting exploration of survival and humanity to the superficial experience of society marking you as a hero for surviving. I get that this is also the point: the further examination of how society is in (the character's) reality vs. the truths they realized about the societies they had grown in and how wholly unprepared they were for the battlefield of survival. I get that, but I still disliked it. From there, I felt like the story dragged and my attention wavered even more.

And don't get me started on the ending--the page I thought was going to be the last page was a better last page than the actual last page.

Overall, I liked the first half of the book. Despite the dark aspects, the gut churning choices, and the heartbreaking conclusion, I enjoyed that part. The second part of the book brought the whole story down for me.

___

15. Fake Dates & Mooncakes by Sher Lee--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

FAKE DATES AND MOONCAKES was a pretty straightforward and easy read, but listen, it was FUN. This felt like I was experiencing a K-Drama or C-Drama. It was such a good time--the dramatic twists, the threats against the middle class guy dating the rich guy, and the CRAZY RICH ASIANS-like trip and event? Freaking amazing. LOL the love interest literally waits for the MC outside of his school standing by his Ferrari. This is juicy Asian-drama level stuff and I ate. it. up.

The romance was adorable and sweet and I won't lie, I sometimes forgot these were teenagers--not because of anything gross, but because these two were so mature in their actions and how they interacted with each other.

The familial relationships were so sweet and I loved how they clearly had each others' best interests in mind whenever something pivotal happened. They were adorable and I loved them.

Reading this was like experiencing some of my favourite Asian dramas again, with a dash of CRAZY RICH ASIANS. It wasn't an earth-shattering read, but five stars for solely being entertaining and making me smile with giddiness. If you want a cute gay story with some truly cute moments, then you might like this--especially as a read for when the warmer weather finally returns!

___

Have you read any of these books? Would you recommend them?

___

Happy reading!

#Book Reviews #Book review #book reviewer #on books #on reading #book blog #book blogger #Features #readers of tumblr #books #booklr #bookish #bookworm #bookaholic #book list #my opinion #my writing #long text post #reading update #2024 reading #read #reading #reader #books books books #books and reading #books and literature #books and novels #Reviews #Review

[questforgalas]

Tags/Warnings: None except massive creative liberties taken for the Hereford I'm creating versus actual Hereford based on the google searches I've done. Sorry Hereford

Masterlist

WC: 5k

Flower symbolism: Ghost's bouquet: Orange lily (hatred), thyme (courage), dark crimson rose (mourning) Soap's Bouquet: Heliotrope (devotion), marjoram (joy), sunflower (adoration)

This fic is rated Mature

For those who prefer Ao3

Years from now, when life decided to show a little of its kindness everyone seemed to always be talking about, and Simon softly swung on the porch, the late highland breeze rustling the soft grays blending with fading blonde, a perfect cuppa lovingly made in hand, he’ll look back on those moments when fate’s hand had gently nudged against his back. A gentle guide through the darkness he had made his sanctuary. Consuming him. Light forgotten years ago after wandering alone for so long. But the gentle hand nudged him along, letting him stumble away from familiarity until a pale sliver broke through the impervious dark. 

One moment sat at a rickety kitchen table on a foggy morning in Lithuania, staring at a sleep-mussed mohawk unable to decide which direction it wanted to stick, blue eyes starting to chip away at barbed walls. 

Another stood at the front doors of Hereford, welcoming Johnny home for the first time.

Hereford may have been a mighty name within the military, but it was small. The grounds were easily monitored by the pair of watchtowers standing above the sturdy concrete wall that drew the boundary between the base and the unassuming countryside beyond. Those coming and going only needed to pass through one gate manned by a veteran guard whose idle chatter did a better job deterring unwelcome guests than the host of soldiers living within. The short drive merged into a roundabout encircling a flagpole dutifully watching over the souls below, flag flapping in the morning breeze carrying the faint calls and answers from the training fields. 

The largest building on base was home to the administration offices. It was one of the oldest buildings on campus, originally home to an old, abandoned school building that was long forgotten in the mid-century when the town decided to move the school closer to their center square. By the time the military found it, the sun had dulled the red bricks, and ivy threatened to break through the second floor windows, but the building previously forgotten in the countryside stood intact with a layout ready to house a sizable operation. So, the military moved in, the walls were erected, and sleepy Hereford gained a little hum. 

In the middle of an October morning, the brick felt cool against Simon’s shoulders while he stood within the shadows cast across the front walk, kissing at the curb where Price and Garrick stood. If the sergeant and captain looked behind them, they’d see nothing out of the ordinary. Just their lieutenant in his favorite black sweatshirt, his favorite skeleton print gloves, and the skull balaclava that was like a second skin. Arms crossed against his chest, legs stretched out, and Simon made sure his eyes looked more bored than Price through the annual budget reviews. 

They didn’t need to hear the jackhammer that had replaced his heart since Price gave them the signal. They didn’t need to see the twitch of Simon’s finger every time he heard the rumble of an engine nor how every muscle was locked as if ready to jump into a fight. 

Or more like run from one if he was being honest with himself. 

A litany of curses directed at none other than the man himself sprinted through his mind to accompany another deep breath in hopes to try and steady the erratic thump in his chest or to settle the sickening swirl taking residence in his stomach. 

At least Garrick’s piss poor job at hiding his nerves was taking the attention away from the renowned lieutenant literally hiding in the shadows. Price had barely finished giving the order before Garrick bounded out of their kitchen where he and the lieutenant were in the middle of unpacking their spoils from the market, abandoning the half-empty bags on the counter and narrowly missing a collision with the corner of the kitchen island. Though he did remember to grab the dark green jacket hanging off of a kitchen chair - the same jacket he liked to don when the team frequented their favorite pub in town.

“Hugs the muscles just right,” he’d say with a wink.

Standing next to Price, the sergeant vibrated. He tried to sell nonchalance - popping a bubble of gum and heaving a sigh up to the clouds as if he were some teenager being forced to greet his annoying relatives and not one of the deadliest men to walk this planet - but the never ending shift of his feet and inability to just stand fucking still betrayed him.  

“0930,” He checked his watch for the fourth time in fifteen minutes. “Should be ‘ere.” 

“Relax, Sergeant,” Price assured. At least the captain had enough professionalism for the lot of them. “Maybe give the clock a chance, hm?” 

As if waiting for the command, a Jeep rolled up to the gate.  

Garrick went still. 

Price straightened. 

And Simon …

Simon felt time slow as the Jeep passed through the gate, taking approximately half a century to reach the roundabout and another millenia before coming to a halt at the curb where Price and Garrick stood. 

The passenger door opened. 

First came the voice. The deep timber calming Simon’s jackhammering heart. 

Second came the laugh. The thunderous joy chasing away the clouds in Simon’s mind. 

Finally came the man. And he was everything Simon remembered. 

Of course, such a ridiculous thought deserved the barked out laugh Simon felt in the back of his mind, but Simon reminded his taunting brain that they left the realm of logic back in a cabin in Lithuania. 

Soap unfurled from the front seat, waving goodbye to those in the vehicle, and Simon took the moment to fully take him in, confirming that those three weeks emblazoned in his soul weren’t an illusion. 

The mohawk that haunted restless sleep hadn’t grown in. The stout highland warrior hadn’t sprouted seven inches. The crystal blue eyes at the front of every waking thought hadn’t morphed to some terrible shade of, well, anything that wasn’t what they already perfectly were. 

Soap stood on the curb of Hereford base with a duffle bag in hand. 

He was home. Hereford was his home. 

And the very thought electrified each cell in Simon’s body. 

“No way,” Garrick chuckled under his breath, and turned his gaze on Price. “Y’are really lettin’ a bloody mohawk on the team? Oh, I didn’t think this could get any betta. Fuck was I wrong.” 

“Bloody stupid if ya ask me,” Simon responded from the shadows. “Not even close to regulation.”

“Oh yeah?” Garrick looked back. “And masks are?”

“Recruit duty. A week,” Simon said, keeping his eyes on their arrival. 

Garrick laughed, “Sure thing, sir. Right on it.” 

“Sergeant MacTavish!” Price’s gruff voice brought the attention back front. The captain took a few steps to the curb, meeting Soap halfway, and clasped their hands in a firm shake that the Scot met with equal fervor. “Welcome to Hereford! Or welcome back, I should say.”

“Och, don’ count only steppin’ foot on the tarmac as a true visit, sir. ‘Onored to officially see tha place.” Soap’s gaze wandered, taking in the concrete and fields he’d call home now. “Thank ye agin for tha call, Captain. I ‘ope I live up to tha 141 standards.” 

“Wouldn’t ‘ave given ya the call if I didn’t think you were up to it, Sergeant.” Price gave a firm nod and dropped their hands. Then he gestured for Soap to continue on, bringing attention to the two other soldiers waiting.

Briefly, the Scot’s eyes landed on Garrick, giving a charming smile that was a match for the other sergeant’s own, but as Garrick approached them, Soap flitted his gaze over his shoulder. As if finding Simon was as natural to him as breathing, the Scot’s eyes landed on the figure waiting in the shadows. 

Simon didn’t hide away from the blue gaze, locking theirs together, and the bright smile on Soap’s face fully unleashed. 

And fuck, wasn’t Simon helpless to fight the smile behind his mask.

The moment was broken by Garrick eating up the distance to Soap in two quick steps, hand already out for the Scot to take. 

“John MacTavish,” Soap greeted, tearing his attention away from Simon and concentrating all of that charm on the man in front of him. 

“Kyle Garrick,” Garrick answered, returning the shake. “But you can call me ‘Gaz’. Glad to ‘ave ya onboard. Been lookin’ forward to not bein’ the only sergeant these two geezers ‘ave to boss around.” 

“Aye, got some practice wi’tha’ already,” Soap laughed, eyes flashing at Simon again. “‘Nd ye can call me ‘Soap’.” 

“Whateva ya say, fuckin’ new guy.” 

“Och. FNG ‘nd I ‘aven’t even stepped in tha door, eh? Tough crowd,” Soap laughed. 

Garrick joined in, a soft punch landing on the Scot’s shoulder. “Just takin’ the piss. Come on.” And with that, Garrick slung his arm around Soap’s shoulders, guiding them towards the front doors. They paused when they stood before Simon. “I do believe y’are familiar with our resident Director of ‘ospitality,” Garrick said gesturing towards the lieutenant. 

“Aye. Good tae see ye agin, Lt,” Soap said. He lifted his hand, letting it hang in the short distance between them. 

“Sergeant,” Simon answered, grasping Soap’s forearm and giving it a squeeze.

“Huh, I just got a grunt when ‘e first greeted me,” Garrick said. “And ‘ere I thought I was your favorite sergeant.” 

“‘Nd I thought ya were supposed to be the interrogation prodigy, Gaz,” Simon answered.  

“Captain, I’d like to file a complaint. Mental warfare by a superior.” 

“As you can see, Sergeant MacTavish, we ‘ere in the 141 value professionalism above all else,” Price said striding up to join the group. His eyes may have been narrowed, but there was no questioning the fondness softening their lines. “Welcome aboard. Sergeant Garrick will show you to the rooms and give the lay of the land. Lieutenant, with me. We’ll all rendezvous at 1130, copy?”

“Copy that” rang out in unison. 

“Right this way, Soap. Y’are ‘bout to learn the best part of this merry little gang of ours, and that’s the perks.” With his arm still slung around Soap’s shoulders, Garrick flipped the charm switch to full power, falling into the role of tour guide as he steered them to the front doors. A smile had been plastered on Soap’s face ever since he stepped onto the curb, rapt attention fully on his new teammate and eyes sparkling with something more than the morning sun crawling through the sky. Garrick opened the door for the Scot with a flourish, nudging the newcomer along, but just before the pair disappeared from view, blue eyes flashed back in the direction Simon stood, pausing for a beat as they met the lieutenant’s gaze before Garrick nudged them along. 

Once the door shut with a final click, Simon felt himself take his first full breath since the Jeep pulled up to the gate. 

“That went well. Surprised Gaz didn’t tackle the poor lad the moment he got out of the Jeep,” Price said. A cigar had appeared between his lips, and the faint click of a lighter popped  from behind his cupped hands as the cigar puffed to life. Words muffled around the brown paper. “We’re not that bad to spend time with. Are we?” 

“Yar idea for a game at the pub was ‘Who Can Come Up With the Most Battle Strategies in One Minute’,” Simon answered. Price hummed around the cigar. “At least I suggested knife throwin’.” 

“Point made,” Price grimaced. “Well then, let’s do what we do best. My office. Got a batch of intel ya might like.” 

“Music to my ears, sir.” 

With an ease and familiarity that comes from years of blood forged trust, the captain and the lieutenant fell into step alongside each other and made their way to Price’s office. The dull, cream hallways seemed a little more vibrant. The drone buzz of the offices had a little more energy. And the sun, Simon thought, shined on Hereford a little brighter that day. 

The countryside’s crisp autumn air gave way to chilly winter frost. Down in town, green wreaths sporting festive red bows hung from every old gas lamp, and the shops lining Main Street wrapped their windows in garlands and baubles and enough lights that could probably be seen all the way from Credenhill. The private residences didn’t disappoint, either. Entire streets dressed in their best, each neighbor outdoing the other with whatever holiday cheer could fit on their front bricks. Each front window on every floor sported a candle on the sill, the fake flames flickering at each other like neighbors waving in passing. Even a few menorahs could be found standing proud in the largest window of houses scattered around town. 

Locals milled about the evening, shuffling through slush on the brick sidewalks. Shop owners closed on another day. The din of young locals still unable to pass through the doors of the pubs spilled out from the cafe into the streets amongst the more weathered townsfolk making their way to their favorite watering holes. 

It was December in Hereford. Cheer and magic. Bright and social. 

Simon hated every bit of it. 

The Prancing Dragon was too crowded, more folk in town either on break from uni or back home to visit for the annual festival. 

Every first weekend in December, Hereford transformed into a Dickens novel: wooden stalls erected in the town square covered in white lights and more red ribbon than a gift store, a feast of smells enticed all who walked through the food market, and mulled wine was passed out freely, even finding its way to some sneaky young lips. It was the highlight of the year for many who grew up in the area, a signal of the holiday season and a reason for the close-knit town to gather together in cheer and merriment while they all waited for the pinnacle of the evening: the lighting of the town tree. 

(Starting about a decade ago, if a night of Hanukkah overlapped with the celebration, a large menorah would be brought in to stand next to the tree, and both would be lit for all. None of the 141 talks about the first time they witnessed it and each suddenly suffered from overly watery eyes.) 

Naturally, the anticipation for a storied tradition called home to all who’d wandered far, no matter how long they’d been gone, and the wall, no the mass, of bodies between the back corner booth of the Prancing Dragon and the bartop proved just how many had wandered away. 

Tucked far away from the crowd, Simon rested between an icy window and the bench of the booth, his broad shoulders curling in as he wedged into the corner where brick met wood, keeping a vigil on the throng of people invading. 

Soldier habits and all that. 

“Muppets Christmas Carol is a fuckin’ classic, Gaz, and yer outta yer mind if ye think otherwise.” Next to Simon, Soap sat hunched over a glass of scotch cradled in his hands not too dissimilar to how one would handle a lover. The windows more than likely hadn’t been updated since the pub was constructed before town memory and offered little protection from the cold outside, but the Scot seemed content bundled in a black jumper and blue jeans. A light flush brushed across his cheeks, surely thanks to the other glasses already swimming in his system, and though his words were passionate, his smile was all cheer. 

Since Task Force 141 was formed, many soldiers had been welcomed to prove if they were worthy of the final coveted spot. Eager to prove if they belonged with the best of the best, and more importantly, for most, prove if they belonged at The Ghost’s side. 

None of them made it past their first mission. 

When they would stand before Price, tail tucked between their legs while they gave their excuses for transfer, none could give the captain more than half-baked reasons and muttered apologies. But Price didn’t miss the way their eyes would dart to the hulking figure leaning against the wall, anxiously looking as if the boogie man had finally crawled out from under their childhood beds. 

That was all until Soap. Nearly two months in, and the newcomer had fallen into place with the 141 so seamlessly that it was a wonder how they’d managed without the demolitions sniper all these years before. His skills had yet to be fully displayed, a fact the Scot regularly reminded them of, but there was no questioning the comradery forged between the four soldiers. 

“Not my fault I’m a consuma of quality films, bruv,” Garrick teased over a pint. 

“Always been a fan of the classics, myself. Not quite the season without A Christmas Story,” Price chimed in beside him. 

“See, that’s a quality film.” Gaz pointed to the captain, pleased with the addition. “Not Michael Cain runnin’ ‘round with puppets.” 

“Absolutely un-fuckin’-believable,”Soap grumbled. “Bunch of eejits wit’ piss poor taste.” 

“Careful Gaz,” Simon interjected. “Ya know Scots and their anger.” 

“Tha’s tha Irish, ye bampot,” Soap said around a sip. 

“What ‘bout you, Lieutenant?” Gaz asked from across the table. No surprise to anyone in the group, a dark green jack hugged around his shoulders, complimenting his dark skin under the dim glow of the pub’s lights. It was early into the night, but a few lads and ladies had already tried to grab the eye of the young soldier, hoping chestnut eyes would glance their way. “What’s your favorite ‘oliday movie?” 

“Don’t ‘ave one,” Simon answered honestly. 

“Bullshit. Everyone ‘as one,” Gaz insisted. 

“Guess I get to prove ya wrong then.” 

“Elf? It’s A Wonderful Life? Any Christmas carol?” Gaz rattled off titles, voice raising, full of disbelief, as Simon remained impassive to each one. “Not even the old claymations? Rudolph?!” 

“Negative.” Simon sipped the bourbon waiting in front of him, and in the corner of his eye, he noticed Soap’s rapt attention on him, watching as the glass met the lieutenant’s lips he briefly exposed from under the balaclava. 

Though the persona of Ghost was a handy reputation to have trailing behind him on base, a crowded pub on the cusp of the holiday season would be less welcoming to a skull adorned mask skulking in the corner, so, like he usually does when given the chance to be off base but not on mission, Simon wore one of the plain, black balaclavas. Easier to blend into the shadows, easier to be forgotten. 

“Next thing y’are goin’ to tell us is that y’are secretly the Grinch hidin’ under that mask,” Gaz said. 

“Takin’ yar presents right under yar nose.” 

“Loyalty means nothin’ these days I see.” 

“Maybe I’ll leave ya one.” 

“Now tha’s tha ‘oliday spirit. Right generous of ye, Lt,” Soap chimed in. 

Simon nodded at the Scot. “See? Soap agrees.” 

“‘Cause Soap agrees with everythin’ ya say,” Gaze countered. 

“Yoo jist haud on!” Soap sat up.

“English!” rang out around the table. 

“Tha’s not true,” Soap continued, unphased by the outburst. 

“Whateva ya say, mate. Ya know what is true?” In a fluid motion, Garrick downed the remainder of his pint before thudding it back on the table. “I’m out of a drink. ‘Nother round?

“Cap’s buyin’, aye?” The captain grumbled at the wink thrown his way, but his glass did a poor job at hiding the smile beneath the beard. He downed the final drops of bourbon and prodded at Garrick’s side, prompting him to scoot out of the booth. Garrick intended to take his spot back, but before he could plop back into the worn wood, Price swooped an arm around his shoulders and steered him into the crowd.

Blame it on decades of experience, but a prick of panic jolted through SImon’s body the moment the sergeant and the captain were out of his sight, swallowed by the growing mass of bodies. Instinctively, his eyes darted around the room, clocking their surroundings to determine…

“Wha’, exactly, do ye expect tae ‘appen in a pub in tha middle of Hereford, Lt?” Amused blue eyes cast a sidelong glance his way. Soap wasn’t outwardly laughing, but the glint in his eyes said enough. It shouldn’t have surprised Simon how the sergeant pinned exactly what he was doing without so much as glancing at him. Unnerving, really, how easily the Scot could read him as if Simon were a language he’d studied his whole life. 

“Good to know yar surroundin’s, Sergeant. Or ya forgettin’ yar trainin’ already?”

“Oh, aye. ‘Nd which threat exactly is top priority? Tha group of lasses who willnae stop lookin’ at Gaz or the group who willnae stop lookin’ at ye?” The glint in Soap’s eye sparkled now. 

“They’re not lookin’ at me.” 

Soap snorted into his glass. “Righ’, ‘nd I’m tha Queen of England.” 

“Bloody insultin’ to Lizzy.” 

“On a first name basis are ye?” 

“Didn’ know? Grab pints togetha every week.” 

The Scot didn’t bother to hide the laugh this time, a bright, joyful sound bursting from his chest that had Simon pondering what magic in this world he needed to possess in order to bottle it and save it forever. Maybe it was the bourbon, or maybe it was the way Soap always managed to put him at ease with just a smile and a flash of those crystal eyes, but Simon felt himself relax. As he slumped into the booth, his legs stretched out under the table, and in their claim for territory, he felt the knock of his knee against Soap’s. Simon froze for a beat and noticed at the same time when Soap’s glass froze on its way to his mouth. He waited for the Scot to tell him off. Knock his knee away with a laugh and a joke, and continue their conversation like nothing happened. But Soap’s knee remained resting against Simon’s, and the lieutenant watched as the glass continued its path to the sergeant’s lips, trying to ignore the searing heat radiating through his jeans.  

“Gonna go talk tae ‘em?” Soap asked, bringing Simon back to above the table. 

“Wha’?” he eloquently responded. 

“Tha ‘ens. Gonna go talk tae ‘em?” Soap asked again, but he kept his eyes on the table, shoulders stiff. 

Simon didn’t answer right away. Dating preferences weren’t exactly what he would consider a top priority topic to discuss in the last few months since Soap joined the force, and it was a topic he personally avoided regularly. He contemplated what to say, which words would satisfy the question but keep the veil over that fiercely protected part of him. Finally, he settled on, “Not exactly my type.” Whether it was because of their hair color or which chromosomes they possessed, Soap didn’t need to know. 

The Scot eyed him for a moment, not scrutinizing, but searching, a subtle furrow in his brow that always appeared when he worked through one of the complicated formulas for his explosives, searching for where the math had gone wrong. Simon wasn’t sure if he found what he was looking for, but the furrow softened and he gave a quick nod. “Aye,” he said. “Not ma type either.” 

Silence settled around them, a familiar feeling from their days in the cabin. Neither feeling the need to fill the space, content with existing in each other’s presence. The clamor of the pub surrounded them, Garrick and Price nowhere to be seen, and for these moments, in their corner booth at the Prancing Dragon, it was just Soap and Simon. 

“So, really not much of a Christmas guy, huh?” the Scot asked, breaking the silence as he absentmindedly swirled the amber liquid in his glass, gaze on the lieutenant.

“Not my favorite, no,” Simon answered. 

“Gonna go out on a limb ‘ere ‘nd guess more of a Halloween guy?”

“Easier to fit in.” 

Soap chuckled, another beautiful, bright sound. “Aye, course.” Simon watched Soap take a slow sip, euphoria taking over when the liquid touched his lips, “Fuckin’ beautiful,” muttered into the glass. “So really, wha’ is it?” 

 It took Simon a moment to realize the question was directed at him. “What is wha’?” he tilted his head at the sergeant. 

“Why don’ye like Christmas? Bit of a ‘ard thing tae hate, ‘onestly.” 

Simon shrugged. “Never been a fan.” 

“Never?”

“Never.” 

“Bad present or somethin’?”

Ya could say that. “Or somethin’.” 

For a moment, it seemed like Soap would ask more, one eyebrow rising higher above the other causing that furrow to appear again, but whatever sentence got stuck to the tip of the sergeant’s tongue remained there. Instead, the sergeant gave a soft hum as he finished the scotch in one, long sip and continued for them. 

“Always been a fan. Growin’ up, all ma cousins lived ‘round tha corner, so tae speak. Ma mum’s brothers and sisters all stayin’ put after gettin’ married, ‘nd Da’s sisters lived just tha town over. Fifteen cousins, if ye can believe it. Would take over tha neighborhood, runnin’ ‘round playin’ games ‘nd causin’ all kinds of trouble.” Simon sat quietly, watching as Soap got lost somewhere that wasn’t the pub. The corner of the Scot’s mouth turned up and his eyes went soft. “We hosted every Christmas. Christ knows why, not like we ‘ad tha room. Mum and Da worked ‘ard, and we ‘ad a good life, bloody good life in fact, but no bells and whistles, if ye know wha’ I mean. But every Christmas Eve, all of clan MacTavish and all of clan Fraser clamored through our door.

“Mum and ‘er sisters would make a haggis. Och, Lt. When I tell ye it’s tha best haggis ye’ve ever ‘ad, I mean ye need to try all tha other haggis in Scotland before ye try ma mum’s Christmas Eve haggis ‘cause it’ll ruin all tha others for ye. Fuckin’ perfection wha’ it is. Anyway, the evenin’ was a lot o’ eatin’ ‘nd drinkin’. ‘Ad ma first sip of scotch at a Christmas Eve when I was a wee bairn, maybe eight. Ma older cousin, Jamie, snuck it tae me. ‘Ated tha stuff.” The chuckle that passed his lips was fond, his fingers tapping at the empty glass. But under the fondness, a melancholy tone floated beneath with a distant sadness Simon had never heard from the Scot before. “Alls tae say, some good memories ‘round Christmas. Was ‘specially fond of Christmas mornin’. The quiet after all the raucous and the merriment. When i’was just me, Mum, Da, Alisa, ‘nd Moira sat round the livin’ room. Openin’ presents.” Soap’s eyes dimmed, focused on a place beyond the pub’s walls, and a look Simon couldn’t place crossed his features. “Great memories.” 

That last part was said barely above a whisper, as if meant more for the Scot himself instead of being shared with the world. The clamor of the pub continued undisturbed, oblivious to the quiet moment Simon was careful not to break. Neither of them spoke. Soap tapped away at the glass, and Simon observed. He wasn’t sure where the sergeant wandered off to in his head, unflinching while he bore holes into the grains of wood. The pinch of his brows was harsh compared to the softened corners of his eyes. Broad shoulders hunched as if trying to disappear into the booth or curl in around the sergeant to protect him. Perhaps both. It was then that Simon recognized the look for what it was. 

Bitter sadness.

“Ya miss ‘em,” Simon stated. 

Soap jumped at the sound of the lieutenant’s voice as if he’d completely forgotten about the man’s presence. “Aye, yeah. Yeah. I miss ‘em,” he responded. 

“When was the last time ya saw ‘em?” 

“Couple o’ years.” 

“What’s keepin’ ya?” 

Soap didn’t answer. His entire body stiffened, shoulders rising to his ears as if preparing to strike at the next word said. Simon would recognize the reaction anywhere, intimately familiar with it. “The job or somethin’?” he said, echoing Soap’s out he’d handed him earlier. 

Soap hummed, not looking up from the table. “Or somethin’.” 

There was more to the story, Simon seeing for the first time that there were many layers below the ones John MacTavish chose to show the world, and understanding better than most that sometimes that was a battle many were willing to die to protect. So, he decided on tactical redirection. 

“Really fifteen of you fucks?” 

That did it. 

A laugh burst past Soap’s lips, loud enough to startle the few groups lingering nearby, but neither soldier paid them any mind 

“Aye, tha’s right. Fifteen MacTavishes runnin’ ‘round the country of Glasgow,” Soap said. 

“Fuckin’ nightmare,” Simon responded. 

“What’s a nightmare?” Price interjected when he appeared at their table, a tray of drinks in his hands. The drinks clattered against the wooden tabletop, and once each found its new owner, Price settled back into his spot across from the sergeant and the lieutenant. 

“Soap ‘ere ‘as fifteen bloody cousins,” Simon explained as the three men clanged their glasses together. 

“Fifteen of you lot? Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Price responded.

“That’s what I said,” Simon added. 

“Breedin’ like bloody rabbits up there.” 

“Not much else tae do in a Scottish winter, sir,” Soap said, winking. 

Price sipped the fresh bourbon. “Don’t know how you deal with it, frankly. Bloody nasty.” 

“Cause I’m not a soft London boy,” Soap quipped. “Speakin’ of, where’s Gaz?” 

“Caught the eye of a lass up at the bar,” Price explained. “10 quid he’s not back on base tonight.” 

Soap sat up, straining his neck to get a view through the crowd. “Ye got eyes on ‘im Lt? Can ye get a read?” 

“Negative. Too crowded. Y’are goin’ in blind, Sergeant,” Simon answered. 

“What tha ‘ell. I’ll take tha’ bet.”

Soap was out 10 quid the next morning.

#tay writes #call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain price #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #ghost x soap #soap x ghost

[alittlebirb]

Some irreverent chaos from the MCC 24 Green Geckos!

Gem saying Oli is too loud and him replying "you can turn me down to zero if you don't want to hear my ~funny bits~!"

TapL saying he didn't vod review Turtle Run and everyone demanding he watch it RIGHT NOW, OPEN IT UP RIGHT NOW

I also need to mention this is the first time I've watched Oli and his sound effects+music is the best thing I've ever heard

"Do we know left from right? That's important to know before we start doing call outs. If you need a reminder just keep an L by the side of your screen." -Gem

Oli and Gem getting excited over saiko posting their fanart for the event

"They really know how to make me look like an anime protag!" -Oli

"Are we doing a cage stream? We will be doing two cage streams! But for this I've been freed from my cage!" -Oli

5up saying he's getting "bored" of SOT and he needs to "spice it up"

THEY'RE GOING TO BE DOING A ROTATING SANDKEEPER???

Oli freaking out over his sound and Gem shutting him down that she "does NOT want to hear about his tech problems right now."

"If you eat a burger, it slows you down." -TapL

"You are the mother duck, we are the ducklings. Go forth." -Gem to 5up in MD

TapL immediately following that up with a series of obnoxious quacking noises

Oli just flying through an empty map after he died, until he finally figures out how to teleport to mid

The disaster of that fight with Yellow, compounded with the fact that Oli turned his narrator on during the fight. That deadpan robotic voice describing their losing fight while Oli frantically tries to turn it off was a work of art.

Everyone just marveling over how cool MD is while watching the last fight

Oli's FAT DUMPY breaking the elevator

"This is it, after all the pvp teams are like, YES!, their mental high note, here is where we crush their mental." -5up, employing psychological warfare in SOM (Sands Of Mart)

The unhabitable conditions of the block rooms, with pillagers and skeletons breaking their concentration every 2 seconds

Oli and Gem occasionally fighting like bickering siblings

Oli accidentally dropping a "fucked up" in Gem's presence and immediately covering it up with "messed up"

Gem giving the brutal review that "our coms are rougher than I thought it'd be, not gonna lie."

"That remix helped nothing and hurt everything." -Gem

TapL spilling a "dollop" of water on his keyboard

"I've had a big scream!" -Oli

"I need to get my energy out in a stabby game, where I can punch and kick and flail!" -Oli

The chat calling them "the green anxiety's"

Half of the team getting frozen during the vote and demanding a recount

Oli beefing with Joel in the chat over the wait for 5up to rejoin

Oli giving Sapnap permission to pee, and TapL truthing that he didn't wash his hands

5up going through the most stressful experience in his life attempting to reconnect to MCC with the weight of 40 people's expectations on his shoulders

Gem calling TapL "our little green boy" as he flies in RSR

"I got a kill on Sparklez, so that's good. Gotta keep the old man down-" -Oli

TapL calling the way Illumina hit Purpled off the edge and won second round "sexy"

Oli coming in and interrupting 5up's pep talk, and Gem shushing him

TapL digging a hole in mid during SB, getting ferreted out by Pink, and then proceeding to slaughter 3/4 Pensioners

Oli asking if they can take Hamnah and Jojo, and Gem just responding with the most affronted "no."

TapL and Gem winning the second round!

"We've got our spirits awfully down for a team that's in 5th!" -Gem

TapL talking about how, when he was rushing to find a Turtle Run vod, he instead found results on a place called Turtle Run in Illinois

Gem being very rudely awakened about the amount of lava present in the BB map

Oli getting lost about how to get down to middle even though that was what 5up's pre-game pep talk was all about 😭

TapL whaling on Captain Sparklez and screaming "I'M SORRY. I STILL WATCH YOUR VIDEOS!"

"I got shot by The Gay." -TapL after getting killed by Scott

"Not THE GAY!" -Oli

"We don't follow rules 5up, we aren't even listening to our own words!" -Gem

TapL producing an AI generated sentence as an example of Things He Would Say In SOT

Oli eloping with Martyn in HITW during the Mega Chicken Vote, making them the only two HITW enjoyers in the dome!

TapL planning to speedrun AR and putting together a hype playlist (which sadly does not include the Jellyfish Jam from Spongebob SquarePants)

Just the wildly different vibes between each stream, with Gem and 5up being very chill, Oli blasting the loudest hype music available, and TapL listening to the MCC Update video on accident

Both TapL and 5up once again freezing??? 5up straight up crashing????

"They should just give us stimulus coins, for the oopsie." -TapL

TapL predicting his win the second time around and dubbing it TurtleGate

Oli narrating his AR journey and consistently improving the whole way through!

Everyone on Green finishing in a row, aside from 5up who finished a single place apart from them

The absolute travesty that was HITW getting chosen over GR. Who decided this. One of you is going to pay for this. 👁👁

TapL saying he's reaching for the moon this HITW round because it was Techno's philosophy, and getting first place!

"How are you feeling?" -TapL

"HOT." -Oli

Gem and 5up asking Oli if he knows what the colored walls mean in SOT, and the dead silence when he says no (as a funny lil joke, just a silly jest)

"No risky things!" -5up

"Oh no, I did risky things!" -Oli

"...I need to be unlocked." -Oli

5up getting locked in at the end, and Oli declaring "that's showbiz, baby!"

TapL putting on videos of cats to relax

"The reddit predicted us 9th...and I guess they were right!" -Gem

"The reddit can read me like a book." -Oli

TapL putting on the Benny Hill theme during DB

This MCC was a straight up fever dream.

Green Geckos finished MCC 24 in 9th place!

#mcc #mcc 24 #tapl #5upps #geminitay #theorionsound #this was quite an eventful mcc #i chose this team because it had high energy but tbh it might've been a little TOO much energy #might fuck around and watch noxcrew live next mcc <3 #I can't wait...my man Grian's glorious return to mcc next month PLEASE #hope everyone had a fun and sexy mcc!!! !! <33333 ! #birb's mcc recaps

[steddieunderdogfics]

I’d like to rec @dodger-chan’s Rocky Horror themed series Let the Sun and Light Come Streaming Into My Life which is a collection of Steve!centric fics about his exploration of queerness through the film Rocky Horror Picture Show

Eddie features throughout, and the fourth fic Eddie (Dinner) features them getting together

The whole series is approx 10k long so I hope it’s okay to rec all as one

Also want to warn that one of the fics is post s4 canon compliant so heed the tags as it gets quite sad

It's Astounding (No, It's a Skeleton) by dodger_chan

@dodger-chan

Rating: General

922 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Rocky Horror Picture Show References

Summary:

As of yesterday Steve didn’t have a favorite movie. Robin had been sending him home with a new one to watch after every shift they worked together. Most of his reviews had been “fine, I guess” with forays into “so boring” and the occasional “I couldn't follow it so I gave up halfway through.” Steve shares his new favorite film with Robin.

Let the Sun and Light Come Streaming Into My Life

Complete, 4 works, all General Rating

Thanks for the rec!

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

#steddie fic recs #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #stranger things #rocky horror picture show references #general

[mbrainspaz]

Horse industry job listings will be like “come run my ranch for me in the scenic foothills of the Rockies! Live in position as a trail guide! *gorgeous pics of horses and guests having fun*”

But if you show up for an interview this owner is mean, doesn’t pay her employees, there’s garbage everywhere, and she neglects her animals and feeds the carcasses to her dogs. 🫢

That one was from a review on a jobs board I read this morning. The last trail ride ranch I went to a work-a-day interview for had piles of broken furniture everywhere and animal skeletons woven into the fences and I watched them leave a 4 year old horse tied to a fence all morning with no water before putting him to work. The owner is still texting me months after I turned the job down, trying to be my personal business mentor. God gives all his dude ranches to his most deranged land owners.

#horse industry #animal abuse #job search blues #Joanne exotic

[poptivist]

morse code vid & a review of BOOKS in tøp history

so, as everyone knows, ned's cozy fireplace had an ad that used morse code. here is that ad and a visual.

please let me know who to credit as the owner of the screen recording

and because nobody i know has any idea what to make of "BOOKS" -- and they have tried -- here's a look at books as they appear in tøp's body of work. just for the hell of it.

here we go!

2016: the cancer cover.

in the cancer music video, a person narrates their own impending death from cancer, and it's accompanied by an explosion books bursting out of a bookshelf. these green circles are just highlighting that this music video also included repeat book designs, like ned's cozy fireplace does.

that video and this one are by the same animator and designer, chris schoenman, who presumably didn't want to make like nine million different books. (but there could be more than one reason.)

the speaker in this song is consuming this media; there's a couple books on his coffee table.

our speaker is writing their own story with their descriptions and instructions to their family as the video goes on.

among the this person's collection of stories are some twenty one pilots songs. we'll see this later too.

2016. heathens.

these drawings on the wall are not books, but they are related to books, as we will see in just a moment. it's reasonable to say these drawings represent something this character feels or thinks about, in some cases over and over.

nico and the niners, 2018.

next, we have tyler/clancy in nico and the niners packing his backpack. we don't see him physically put this red pamphlet/book in his backpack, but given that the scene starts with a bed covered in stuff, shows him packing, and then shows a bed with nothing on it, we can assume the pamphlet got put in too.

the backpack is left for the kids to find along with the bandito clothes.

we know from The Outside that the kids keep the bandito clothes and presumably the backpack with its contents, including the red pamphlet/book.

the leave the city visuals also make a point to show a backpack left behind.

speaking of leave the city visuals:

these visuals fade from trench as a real place to drawings on the bedroom wall in dema.

like heathens, we can assume these drawings depict something that the person who drew them thinks about. because we recognize what's shown, we know they reflect what clancy knows or believes about his world: the figure of the vulture, the neon gravestones, the cage from hoty, the tree from trees and so on.

next:

2021. the vialism pamphlet, released at the same time as choker. it reads "to live fully is to sacrifice all". this is important because it's the first and only time we know what one of these pieces of media the character is consuming is explicitly telling us.

the black pamphlet is a visual parallel for what josh is reading in choker.

2021. christmas saves the year.

we see here that santa also has drawings on his wall. and -- like the speaker in cancer -- is taking in media that includes twenty one pilots stories.

santa's drawings include things he observes in his world (the snowmen, the noodly skeleton and alien keys) and things he believes -- or at least speculates about (the radiant cosmic rays that defeat the snowmen).

this csty video is actually deep af, and i spent six long weeks making a vid on what i think is happening here if you want to watch it. be gentle. i'm doing my best.

these drawings on the wall are a parallel to the drawings on the wall in other places in that they show things the artist thinks or believes about the world they live in.

2022. tyler owns at least two books. they're right there.

2023: ned's cozy fireplace.

lastly, here's some of those same dema-and-trench drawings on the wall in ned's home, looping him firmly into those shared concepts about the neon gravestones, compass E, etc, and a written continuation of The Outside in the form of a letter.

and that's that on that for books in the history of tøp. i think this has absolutely jack to do with why the morse code says BOOKS, but it seemed neglectful not to at least review the topic and see what we can see. what i see: some as-yet-undefined significance in what we take in and how it informs how we understand our world.

fun little fact: the bourbaki group play a foundational role in modern mathematics and it's likely that some of your school textbooks cited bourbaki in the back of the book. so we've all consumed bourbaki book content at some point.

#twenty one pilots #twentyonepilots #fan theory #tyler joseph #josh dun #lore #dema #trench #lua #ned #ned's cozy fireplace #ahhhhhhhhh #books as a word has ceased to mean anything #whatever