#while his soldiers and himself risk their lives on the field

[0rchidm4ntis]

Respite

#micas art #twst #twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #!! potential spoilers in my tags this is your warning!! #drew this thinking about lilia coming home from battles and having a hard time adjusting back to civilian life in the castle #imagine living in the wild for months or maybe even years and then having to act all proper and distinguished the moment you get home #i figured the shift might be pretty rough? hence the unironed shirt. i think lilia wouldnt give a damn about that #cant remember if i read this or if its a hc either but i also feel like he looks down upon nobility a lot. playing house and drinking tea #while his soldiers and himself risk their lives on the field #i had a whole lot of fun painting this. especially the frame!! it was nice figuring out what to engrave on it :D #overall quite happy with how this turned out

[ghostaholics]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄-𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!reader (aside from a single idiom whose origin uses masculine language/pronouns - every man for himself) ➸ SUMMARY: Against all odds, the Lieutenant accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder. Unfortunately, there are witnesses to the precarious situation (just your luck that it would be Gaz and Soap). ➸ WORD COUNT: 2k

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄: don't poke the bear.

Danger in your line of work typically consists of trying to walk away from a mission while still being left completely intact (i.e. the goal is to make it out alive, in one piece). You’ve survived a great number of ordeals: cornered into a shootout with a dwindling supply of ammo, tiptoed your way through a field of pressure-sensitive IEDs, dove towards probable death (with an awfully high probability of splattering onto hot, concrete hell like a bug on a windshield) because your helo was sent tail spinning courtesy of a perfectly-aimed RPG – and really, the list goes on.

It's been child’s play, in the grand scheme of things. An extensive catalogue of life-or-death scenarios accounts for your entire military career. And sure, this might be a bit of a stretch, but you'd wager that none of those instances thus far have been as high-stakes as the current predicament you’ve found yourself in.

Jesus-fucking-Christ. Why’d Ghost have to fall asleep on you?

𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: avoid sitting next to him on the plane ride home. You've had to learn it the hard way.

And the kicker is that this whole thing could’ve been avoided; it didn’t have to be your problem. You could’ve sentenced any one of the other soldiers to your seat. Every man for himself, right? Get off scot-free, have a normal trip back to base with plenty of legroom so that you’re not cramped. Theoretically, it would've been beautiful – a passenger's paradise, the closest you could get to a first-class ticket.

But no.

Instead, play the Good Samaritan; extend your hand out with an act of benevolence. What’s the harm, right? So, you'd spared the poor guy, said you wouldn't mind switching places with him because he'd looked as white as a damn sheet at the idea of being crammed beside this behemoth of a lieutenant who's infamously every FNG's living nightmare.

Yeah, well hindsight is 20/20. Had you known what was going to happen, you would've had no reservations about throwing him under the bus. Sayonara, mate.

Law of the jungle, plain and simple.

To make matters worse, he is, in fact, exhibiting terrible flight etiquette. His head (which is dead weight and feels about as pleasant as a fucking bowling ball, mind you) has taken up every inch of real estate on your shoulder and is practically tucked into the curve of your neck; you’ll need to take a trip to the chiropractor’s after this – several, probably. The edge of his skull mask is digging into you. And, the cherry on top: get this – he’s man-spreading, so his left leg's trespassing into your own territory and brushing against your thigh. Utter lack of regard for personal space.

Incredible.

You’d still rather die than wake him up, though. You're not sure what'll happen if you do, but that's a risk you're not willing to take.

All things considered, an achy shoulder is a much better alternative than incurring the wrath of one angry Lieutenant. He's more subdued in this kind of context. To be completely honest, if you weren't already well-acquainted with him, you'd find it endearing.

From here, it's easy to see the simple rise and fall of his chest, steady and even. Slow inhale in, slow exhale out. He's at peace, a rhythmic lull that matches your own breathing. You can't quite put your finger on the exact moment he fell asleep. (He's got a habit of shutting his eyes and folding his arms over his chest when he isn't in the mood to converse with the other soldiers onboard. But God willing, he would never voluntarily loll his head onto your shoulder.) For what it's worth, he deserves the rest – never been one to do it this soundly as countless missions have taught you that he's usually a light sleeper. You remember him roughly prodding the toe of his boot at Soap's arm once when the Scot was conked out and his snores were a bit loud for Ghost's taste.

Rather odd then, that the Lieutenant even managed to allow himself to doze off like this. It’s too loud, too unsteady – the droning of the plane engine doesn't exactly make for good white noise and the turbulence outside is jostling the cabin around. Moreover, this puts him in a position of vulnerability, and he’s not the type to let his guard down so easily.

But somehow he did it with you beside him.

You try not to think about the implications of that.

𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄.

Because, Soap's just woken up from his nap, the first among the entire company of soldiers in the cabin still sleeping, excluding yourself. His seat's parallel to yours, straight across the walkway within direct line of sight, so he’s got an unobstructed view of you and Ghost. Soap sends a questioning glance in your direction, eyebrow quirked. A look that says, The hell's going on?

The level of your voice is down; it's at a conservative decibel to avoid rousing the others. Yet you convey your distress with the same amount of passion as if you were stuck in the middle of a losing firefight. "MacTavish, help."

Soap works with bombs for a living. Surely, he's capable of defusing situations too.

Alright the man’s a demolitions expert, but that’s semantics.

He blinks like he's trying to make sense of the situation. Though, it's pretty obvious what the problem is here. You're not sure why he’s got to take a moment and contemplate it. You need a solution, now. And he's moving at a snail's pace.

For a second, you think he might sympathize with your plight.

But then his mouth morphs into a shit-eating grin and when he nudges Gaz awake, you know right then and there that you're absolutely fucked.

More witnesses.

Great.

Because that’s just what you need, isn’t it?

Gaz drags a hand down his face. He pans over to his right to figure out why he’s been jolted awake so suddenly, and sees Soap who’s inexplicably, nauseatingly jovial before his eyes land on you.

Much like Soap’s original reaction, Gaz can’t help but offer a quizzical expression. The confusion is evident. His brows are drawn together because he knows that the L.t. wouldn't fall asleep on your shoulder.

Soap's shifting, sliding his hand into his pocket before pulling out his phone. He messes with it – a few taps here, a few swipes there. And then before you're registering what's happening, he's aiming it straight at you, like one of those mums getting a snapshot of their kids in matching jumpers during the holidays.

"Say cheese."

An indignant gasp leaves your mouth. "If you so much as—

"Soap, no. Don't do that." Gaz says from beside him, plucking the phone out of his hands. He tsks him with a click of his tongue. Stern disapproval in spades. The meaning is clear: it’s a big thumbs down from the Brit. He’s not endorsing this type of behavior. “Gone mad now, have you?” he asks in admonishment.

You release a sigh of relief. Finally, some moral support. He's reliable. Your faith in him is unshakable. Always could count on Gaz to get you out of—

"Have to shoot with a wide angle, see? Or else it'll look wonky," he corrects, flipping the phone horizontally before handing it back to Soap.

"Aye, thanks mate.”

Gaz's smile isn't as excessive as Soap's but the smirk gracing his face tells you he's relishing in your misery all the same.

Fucking traitor.

"Knobheads—"

They’d risk their own hides to save you from certain death. You've seen it in Cairo, Valencia, and Seoul. Good men. Good hearts in the right place as well. However, they're also the type to embarrass you at every opportunity – public humiliation being somewhere on that roster as well. And for that, you want to strangle them.

"Rude,” Soap comments pointedly.

"Bite me, MacTavish."

"Just wake him up if it's bothering you," Gaz supplies unhelpfully.

"If you were in my shoes, would you do it?"

"'Course, not," he snorts. "I don’t have a death wish.”

“Well, I also prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much," you whisper furiously, nearly hissing at him.

And Soap is admiring his handiwork, when he coos, “Aw, the two o' you make quite the pair." He briefly twists the screen so that you can catch a glimpse of it, and even from this distance, you can confirm that he's captured the shot. Annoyingly well, to add insult to injury. Angle? Spot-on. Lighting? Brilliant. It's interesting, has character. Black and white photography. He's managed to make a stunning composition and your upper lip is curling up into a sneer of disgust at his artistic eye. How infuriating.

"I'll send this to the Cap. He’ll get a kick outta it."

"Sod off."

"He'll appreciate bein' included."

Gaz matches the energy with an equally gleeful smile, now delighted by the idea. “Hey, and the L.t. he looks—”

“—cute," Soap has the audacity to finish for him.

What.

There are many words that you’d use to describe Ghost.

Cutthroat, maybe. Imposing. Glacial. Taciturn. A stringent set of ideals that makes him the perfect soldier: disciplined, honed, fierce. Intimidating, if he's not fighting on your side – someone you'd much rather have on your team than against, unless you fancied death. He can be a stone-cold terror on occasion. The man’s been penned as a walking horror story by those in the military. Given his iron-hearted demeanor, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree with that statement; there's not much room to call his steel-encased resolve into question.

So, yeah. Above all else, he's certainly not cute.

Your eyes narrow at them. "Congratulations, the both of you have officially made the top of my shitlist."

Soap, indifferent to your crisis, asks, "Want a copy for your wallpaper?"

There's another heated remark waiting on the tip of your tongue, because there's no way in hell that you would and you're ready to tell him off, about to give him an earful.

But somebody else beats you to it.

“Wipe that picture, or I’ll wring your bloody necks.”

Ice surges through your veins. Goosebumps break out across your skin. Because that voice belongs to one person. Oh, Christ. Never in a million years would you want to be on the receiving end of it.

There's anxiety warping in your chest. You're scared stiff, paralyzed with fear in a way that implores you to remain stock-still. The coarse fabric of your trousers bunches underneath your palms as you try not to freak out. This isn't your fault. None of it is.

And here's the worst part: Ghost hasn't lifted his head from your shoulder yet.

But Soap's unfazed. He blinks a couple of times, seems like he's weighing his options – as if there's something else he could choose besides following his lieutenant's command – yeah, right. He wises up, settling for a simple answer in the end. "Alright, Ghost." His smile makes a reappearance, sweet and well-meaning. Troublemaker. "Any chance you'd like a copy before I do away with it?"

"What kind of fuckin' question is that, Johnny?" he grumbles. "Obviously."

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄:

"I take it you don't think I'm cute then. Have I got that right?"

"I'm sorry... mind repeating that again, sir?"

"You didn't have anything to say about Soap's comment."

"I have a feeling that whatever I answer will get my arse handed to me, L.t."

He's smiling in response – like sunshine trapped behind clouds. Despite it being obscured by the mask, you can see his eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes the black charcoal that's lining them begin to crease a bit. "Permission to speak freely, Sergeant. You have the floor."

Your mouth parts in surprise. Well, then. Maybe you stand corrected. And so, you appraise him momentarily, giving it some serious thought. There's more to Ghost than you give him credit for. He's terse and rough around the edges, but respected for a reason. Admirable. Someone you think highly of and has deserved your approval. The mask undeniably provides an air of intrigue. “I suppose you can be,” you start off, gradually warming up to him being more approachable. “When you’re not terrorizing the new recruits, that is.”

#i got lazy again #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fic #cod mw x reader #cod mw 2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley fluff

[uhohdad]

HIS

Another Stalker!Konig x Reader Fic

Summary: Konig has an unhealthy obsession with you. AO3

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Masturbation, Abusive Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, No use of y/n

He had officially lost control over himself.

Konig knew he’d been a little off. Maybe even borderline perverted - but he’s always been good at keeping his darker desires buried with all the other horrific thoughts and traumatic memories that come with his career choices. He was good at that, repressing the difficult things and pushing forward. A soldier has to be.

But you.

You brought it out of him.

It was all your fault, really. You were coaxing the corruption from him, undoing years of rigorous training and discipline.

Not that you were aware. Konig made very sure of that. There were a lot of close calls, too. Decisions he had made out of pure impulse. It’s your fault. He can’t think straight when you’re around, he loses control over himself.

He knows he should quit you. Logically, rationally - he knows this isn’t good for him. It’s not good for you. It’s just not healthy. He should quit you, cold turkey. Forget every little detail he’s learned about you. Stop following you around. Let you free.

He’s tried.

Every time he sees you around base, his gaze is held captive by those beautiful eyes and that silky head of hair, you steal his breath. It’s like he’s lived his entire life in the cruel cold and you were a roaring fire of warmth he’s never known. Your warmth pooled in his chest and spread through his limbs and he could feel you burning beneath his skin. It ignites the complex and dark feelings and he’s convinced that it’s destiny that put you here. That the world was giving you to him on a silver platter.

That you’re his.

Who would be there to watch over you, to protect you? Who will make sure you get back to your quarters safe every night? Who will make sure that the fresh recruits won't get too handsy with you? Who will keep a watchful eye on you in the field - such a small delicate little thing doing such a dangerous job.

But most importantly - who will worship you, like you deserve to be worshiped?

He’s never interacted with you. You probably don't even know he exists. On the surface, he'd say it's because he's nervous. That it’s normal for a guy to avoid a pretty girl. But he knows that it's really because he has to protect you from himself. That he's just an oozing cesspool of unresolved emotional baggage with atrcosious desires. He can't let you too close, no. Doesn't want to hurt you, to dull your light in anyway. He doesn't trust himself with you. Can't control himself around you, throwing caution to wild. He’s afraid of what he's capable of doing to you. What he wants to do to you.

You were his. You just didn't know it yet.

——————————————————————

Friday night was difficult for Konig, as it usually was. It was easy to follow you around base, so convenient that you had both worked together. He was supposed to be there, shielded with plausible deniability and equipped with home field advantage.

A more casual environment was a challenge for him. He didn't exactly blend in among the locals. It's difficult for him - to juggle the harsher risk of getting caught following you around town as opposed to base, while also crippled by his large stature.

At least the team was getting inebriated tonight, it's easier to go unnoticed when everyone’s too drunk to be fully aware of their surroundings.

Watching you have a good time sparks conflicting feelings for Konig. He loves to see that radiant smile. Usually you're so modest, always a polite smile, never letting your face warp. The beer, though, turns your insecurities to ash and your cheeks a rosy blush - you don't seem to hold back as much. Your smile is toothy and face-wrinkling, so genuine, it makes Konig feel like he can't breathe, eyes locked on to you like he's frozen in time. He knows he's not worthy of that smile, but he wants it.

It should be him making you smile like that.

He can hear your laugh from his booth in the dimmest corner of the dingy bar if he tilts his head just right, and listens carefully. Drown out the over-the-top music and incessant pub chatter. He could get intoxicated off your laugh, unrestricted and fueled by the alcohol. It makes him feel so warm to hear your authentic laugh.

It should be him making you laugh like that.

He loves seeing you enjoy yourself, he does. He wants nothing more than to see you happy and he works hard to do so.

And yet you give your joy away to others, - not the polite smiles and fake laugh you dull down for others - the real ones. The ones that come from deep within and give breath to any room you're in. Giving them away freely, and to who? Your co-workers? Your acquaintances?

Over what? A cheap joke?

He bets that it wasn't even funny. Not that you didn't have a good sense of humor, no, he loved your sense of humor.

It’s just... did you really have to rub it in?

You didn't see it, but you really did have the power to make a room so much more livelier. Konig hates not being in the same room as you. And he hates that in most rooms you're in, those hard-headed jocks from 141 followed. You'd been indoctrinated quickly. He can't blame you, you're naive, trusting, still new. You're quick, though, you’ll learn soon enough. You didn't see them for what they really were yet.

Not worthy of you.

Not worthy of your perfect laugh and radiant smile and quick wit and sharp field skills.

He despised that they get a front row seat and he has the wait in the shadows for scraps, working incredibly hard to lap up the leftovers of what you give out to them for free.

Konig gave a long exhale under his breath, closing his eyes and tilting his head back slightly as he tried to will away the vitriol boiling under his skin. He felt himself slipping away to that depraved place and he had to ground himself.

You had that effect on him, making him lose control.

When Soap throws his arm around you, and you don't even seem to notice or care, lost in the story you're telling, your hands waving along with your excited tone, Konig thinks he's about to lose his mind. It feels like you've stabbed him, liebe, why are you letting this happen? Why aren't you shaking his stupid hand off your shoulder and giving him a scowl so powerful he’d never dare to do it twice?

Why are you still laughing and smiling and carrying on when Soap is touching something that belong to him?

When you finish telling a story that Konig is sure was brilliant and wonderful and perfect, Soap leans in inches from your face to whisper something to you. Konig can't read his lips, can't understand what he's whispering in your ear as he half-way embraces you.

Your eyebrows pull as you focus on his hushed voice over the commotion of the bar. Recognition floods you and a cheeky smile creeps across your face.

Konig’s nails are digging into his palms. His mind is racing and that bitter taste in his mouth turns his lips into a scowl.

He watches as you both stand and Soap finally removes his arm from you, finally. It was draped over your delicate shoulders much too long for his liking.

Where are you two headed, though? Off to the bathroom so he can seduce you while you're inibriated? Going to sneak you out of the pub while the rest of the team is distracted, just to push you up against some dingy alleywall, not able to resist another moment without knowing what it's like to kiss your lips?

Or, God help him, what if it wasn't the first time? What if you had already kissed him?

How long has this been going on, right under his nose?!

Konig’s slipping again, his thoughts running from him. Upon realizing he hasn't taken a breath this whole time he forces a few deep inhales, nostrils flared in uncontrollable rage.

This is your fault, you know.

A wave of relief floods him when you two stop at the bar, squeezing between the stools of the counter as you attempt to flag a bartender.

When the bartender notices you both, Soap’s hand finds your shoulder again, holding on for just a little too long as he relays your drink order to the bartender.

That should be him getting you a drink.

That should be him with his hand on your shoulder.

You and Soap are smiling as you chat, he can't hear what about, but Konig is hoping it’s just alcohol that’s to blame for your flushed cheeks.

The bartender returns with your drinks and yet you two linger by the counter, continuing your one-on-one conversation. What’s so great about him, huh? Why aren’t you two returning to the group?

He watched as you press the plastic cup to your lips and take a sip of your drink, eyes trained on Soap as he obnoxiously holds you in conversation. He hates that about the 141 boys. It’s easier for Konig when you’re all in a group, but it always seems like those boys all want their private moment with you.

He knows he can’t blame them, of course they want to talk to you. They can see your light just like Konig can. Liebe, you just don’t understand, they don’t have good intentions with you. They want to control you, dim you, ruin you.

It should be him ruining you.

Breathe. He has to breathe. Through gritted teeth, a snarled lip, and flared nostrils he has to breathe.

He’s suffocating on his own anger and the air in the bar is stuffy. He needs a break, a break from you but he needs to stay and make sure Soap doesn’t try to take advantage of you. Could he even blame him at this point? When you’re looking at him with those doe eyes and giggling like a naive schoolgirl at whatever shtick he’s peddling at you.

You’ve reached the level of intoxication where the alcohol is going down easy, Konig noticed. Not even a grimace as you sip your drink.

You’re shaking your head at Soap, and you give him a point paired with a cheeky expression. You both are finally heading back to the group, and Konig feels safe enough to leave his watch to slip out for some fresh air.

He needs to regroup, find his center.

This is all your fault.

You were acting so irresponsibly tonight. Letting these boys so close to you while you’re inebriated. So vulnerable. Chugging your drinks like you’re trying to make yourself stumble. Being your true, authentic self in their presence. Out in public, for anyone to see. It’s like flashing your expensive jewelry in the shady parts of town. So careless with your light, liebe.

This is why he has to watch you. To protect you. You’re too careless to do it yourself.

He’s got his eyes closed as he rests his back on the brick of the pub, having to remind himself to breathe.

You just make him so angry sometimes.

And then he hears your laugh. That genuine laugh he craved so much to hear. Craved to elicit from you. That beautiful laugh that fills his chest with warmth and makes his stomach flutter.

But it’s too close, way way too close.

He opens his eyes in a panicked jolt and he sees you, pushing open the pub door with your attention turned to the boy following you out.

Konig quickly shuffles backwards, not turning his back away from the action. He slips into the alleyway, body pressed up against the brick to shield himself.

He was always careful to keep his distance from you. He’s so recognizable, easy to pick out in a crowd. A stature you’d remember twice. It’s crucial that he stays on the opposite sides of the room of you, as far as possible.

Thankfully you two aren’t paying very good attention to your surroundings.

Oh, liebe. Always in your own little world. Unaware of the dangers that could be lurking in the shadows. Another reason why he has to watch over you. You’re not watching where you’re stepping, either, liebe. Stumbling as you step to the sidewalk.

What were you doing out here? Coerced from the safety of the herd again by one of them.

Not just any of them - Ghost.

Soap was annoying, sure, but his frat-boy shtick was an easier pill to swallow than Ghost. He was the one he hated more than any of them.

Konig knows you like him.

Simon fucking Riley.

With his perfect accent and tough exterior and mystique that attracted the women like honey attracts flies.

What did Ghost have that he didn’t?

You’re drunkingly humming the song that was playing in the bar. It doesn’t sound so over-the-top when it’s coming from you.

“Rowdy tonight, are we?” Ghost says, never straying from his usual gravely and unimpressed tone.

Konig has to force himself not to mock Ghost. Instead he hopes you can’t hear the sound of him grinding his teeth in rage.

He’s so fucking pretentious, so fucking arrogant. How dare he tease you? And for what, being lovable? What you do best?

Konig can hear you give a long drawn out hum as you think it over, “You have to be, every once in awhile. Good to let it out sometimes.” Konig hears gravel scraping under one of your shoes. “Would you prefer I be extra rowdy once a week? Or a little rowdy everyday?”

You’re so charming. Konig loves the way your mind works, always with your silly little prompts and thought experiments. You were always such a daydreamer, he could tell by the way you get lost in thought. If you totally zone out, and he watches careful enough, he can catch you making slight facial expressions at your own thoughts. He wishes he could pick your brain. Learn you from the inside out, always knowing what you’re thinking.

Ghost lets out a huff and Konig hears the unmistakable sound of a lighter being struck, and his brows pinch. He can’t help but peek around the corner and get a visual on you two.

Ghosts’ lighting himself a cigarette, the flame illuminating his face. Once it’s burning, he holds it between his first two fingers as he exhales the smoke. He passes the lighter to you - since when do you smoke, liebe?

You’re just doing it to impress him, aren’t you?

“Those are my only two options?” Ghosts asks you on an exhale. Even though you’re about to light your own, he still makes an effort to not blow smoke in your beautiful face.

“Well, what else do you suggest I do with my rowdiness? Bottle it up like you?” You say with a cheeky tone. Konig can tell your words are influenced by alcohol. You normally wouldn’t speak to your Lieutenant like this.

You knew you’d get away with it, too. With your devilish smile and teasing eyes.

Konig watches as you put the cigarette to your lips and he feels his cock twitch in his pants.

When the orange flame casts a light on your features it’s like someone took his breath from him. He’s never seen you lit like this before, liebe. The highlights and shadows cast upwards on your features was fit for a painting.

It’s gone in an instant, but you still look so beautiful in the moonlight. You pass Ghost’s lighter back to him. Konig can’t hold back his scowl at the way you brush up against his fingers. He’s hoping it’s just because you’re drunk, uncoordinated.

Ghost holds this cigarette with his mouth as he slides the lighter back into his pocket. He exhales while keeping his gaze forward, “I think the word you’re looking for is discipline, soldier.” His tone is still unchanged, but he gives you a sly glance from the corner of your eyes.

Ghost doesn’t let it show much, but Konig can see from here that even he has a soft spot for you. That’s the light you have, liebe. Able to crack the toughest of exteriors.

“Discipline? Oh, yeah. I remember that one. In the dictionary, it’s the one right next to boring, yeah?” Your whole body is turned toward him, and you’ve still got that cheeky smile on your face, your tone playful.

Could you make it anymore obvious that you want to fuck him, liebe? It’s like you’re slashing Konig with each word, it hurts so much to see you acting so irresponsibly. So intoxicated that you’re flirting with your superior.

Ghost huffs again, and Konig can tell he’s amused with you, even if it came off as annoyed. He takes another draw from his cigarette and flicks away some ash.

“Thesaurus.” He corrects.

“Gesundheit.” You say proudly.

Oh, liebe. You’re practically begging him to fuck you. Pushing your chest out and kicking your feet sweetly and flirting with him like the whore you are.

Breathe. He can’t lose his cool here. He’s trying to soothe his temper, but how can you expect him to do that when you’re acting like this? So fragrantly?

Konig’s teeth are about to crumble under the pressure and his nails are breaking the skin in his palms as he clenches his fists.

This is your fault.

You both take a hit from your cigarette, and Konig can’t believe you’ve allowed him to corrupt you like this so soon. Smoking? What a terrible habit. He’ll have to interfere if you keep it up.

You both still for awhile, basking silently in the nicotine buzz and taking in the evening. The moon was bright tonight, and the street was quiet compared to the overwhelming pub.

Konig watched you close your eyes just a little too long, and he’s wondering how far gone you are. What terrible things will happen if he were to let you out of his sight. Konig’s tired, but he hardly gets rest anymore. It’s difficult managing his career, protecting you, and stay well rested. He can’t forgo the first two, so his sleep suffers.

You’re worth it liebe. You’re all he thinks about from the moment he wakes up to the moment he falls asleep.

But did you really have to keep him out so late?

Don’t you think you’ve put his heart through the chipper enough today?

You extinguish your cigarette on the red brick behind you. You don’t litter, no. How considerate of you to take it in with you to toss. Ghosts is less thoughtful, flicking his butt to the ground and stepping it out with his boot.

You slip back into the pub, and Konig briefly considers pulling Ghost into the alley and ending your fling right now.

He resists his urges, something that’s becomes more difficult the longer he observes you, seething from his alleyway as he watches Ghost follow you in.

He didn’t even get the door for you, liebe. Konig would treat you so much better.

Konig has to let all these feelings out somewhere, and he was far from the battlefield. He opts for the metal bin in the alleyway filled to the brim with empty beer bottles and pub garbage. A firm kick paired with an aggressive grunt imprints the metal with his boot as it knocks over, it’s contents spilling out into the puddles of the alleyway with clinks and rattles.

He takes a few more deep breaths.

He was never like this before. Anxious thoughts were one thing, but this constant feeling of rage and jealousy and obsession boiling underneath his skin has only swelled the more he observes you. He’s never felt like he doesn’t have control over himself, over his actions.

This is your fault.

Konig tries to soothe himself by shutting his eyes and picturing you flirting with him instead of Ghost. That it was Konig who had snuck you away for a drunken cigarette. That it was him you were pushing your chest out for, him you were desperately flirting with.

It does ease the depravity a bit, and he casually slips back into the pub. He was still angry, don’t get him wrong, but his nerves about leaving you alone with them overcame his rage.

So he sits back down in his dingy little corner, keeping an eye on you listening to the story being told and finishing your drink.

He thinks you must be close to calling it quits judging by the way your eyes keep fluttering shut. You’re getting sleepy, holding back a yawn as you stretch your back against the booth.

A few minutes pass, and you say something to the group, probably a goodbye, as you stand and gather your items. You head for he bar and pay your tab, and who other than Simon Riley walks up to the counter as you wait for the bartender to return with change.

He leans against the bar, facing the opposite direction as he turns his head to look at you. Konig’s trying to make out what he’s saying but can’t hear over the noisy pub. You wave your hand at him dismissively.

Good, liebe, shut him down.

Ghost continues, his hands draped casually on the bar behind him. You roll your eyes a bit at him, giving a half-smile.

No. Whatever he’s offering you is bad news. Don’t let him pressure you, liebe.

You thank the bartender oh so sweetly, and turn towards the door as you stuff your change sloppily into your wallet. Ghost slinks from his propped up position and follows you.

Konig’s eyes narrow, watching as Ghost follows you closely behind.

Going to trick you back to his place and then take advantage of you?

What else could it be? Ghost must of saw his opportunity and took it. This is all because you couldn’t act responsibly, liebe.

After a moment passed, Konig follows you two out of the pub and traces your steps. He’s careful, keeping a block and a half between you. Had you not been so inebriated, he might have followed further behind and been a bit more discreet. But you don’t have an eye for detail at the moment and Ghost is too busy guiding you along and keeping an eye on your unsteady strides on the sidewalk to notice.

Konig has to force himself not to jog to catch up in an attempt to decipher the echos of your words as they reverb off the quiet streets.

When you’re back on base, Konig is able to close some distance thanks to the cover of foliage.

The base is mostly empty, the workers and soldiers either home or sleeping in their quarters. Konig’s able to crouch behind some bushes a safe distance from you, able to see flashes of your lower halves through the branches. He's careful to be still as he quiets his breathing.

He’s close enough to hear you both now.

“Thanks for walkin’ me back.” You say, words slurring a bit.

“It’s my job to look out for the team. Especially when they don't know how to hold their liquor.”

Konigs heart pinches in his chest.

It’s his job to look out for you.

“Liquor? I barely even know her!” You say with a proud smile as you fumble your key in your lock.

Ghost gives an unamused sigh.

You finally get your door open, “Night Lt.”

“Goodnight.” He stays stiffly, waiting for you to be safely inside before turning away from your door and heading off. Konig stays in his spot amongst the bushes until he's gone.

He’s glad Ghost left, didn't try to take advantage of you. The interaction still leaves a knot in his stomach. How dare Ghost take care of you, make sure you were safe. That’s what Konig was for.

Once Konig is sure the coast is clear, he sneaks around the side of the building, heading for the small window you had. He’s delightfully surprised when he can see the light pouring from inside your modest quarters.

Usually you had the blinds closed at this hour. Guess you were too drunk to care.

You were too drunk to care about a lot of things, Konig noticed, as he nested into a spot obscured by your window, just the top of his head and eyes showing from your view. You had skipped your shower and forgo most of your normal night routine, your cares dulled by the booze.

This was his favorite part of the day. When he could have you all to himself - he despises having to share you. He enjoys observing you when you think no one’s watching. When you feel safe enough to shed the facet of your persona in charge of social life, and just let yourself be. The real you, liebe.

Of course there was the intoxication - so you weren’t quite yourself - but he still enjoys watching you in your natural environment. You turn off the lights, it takes a moment for Konig’s eyes to readjust, and he watches as you stumble over to your bed, shedding your clothes down to your underwear before collapsing onto your bed.

Konig can’t help the ache that fills the give in his pants as he maps your uncovered features.

It’s like you were sending him a message. A thank you for keeping you out of trouble all day, even though you acting were so difficult.

You’re forgiven.

How can he stay mad at such an engel? When your gorgeous body is on display, just for him. His gaze is tracing the curve of your delicate hips and your perfect ass in those cute little panties. Not for anyone else, not any of those boys on the 141. No, this show was just for him. You even left the blankets off you and the blinds open for him so he could get a perfect view. You’re so considerate, liebe.

Your hands are propped under your head as you drift off and he cant help but imagine himself straddling you, cock grinding against your ass as he kisses along the dip of your back, holding those pretty little wrists down. He’s been able to restrain himself, but the last few weeks the urge is unshakable. He doesn’t know how much longer he can go without sneaking into your room, liebe. He just wanted to know what it was like to be in your space. Where you sleep and decompress and get ready for the day. He wonders how many times you’ve pleasured yourself on that modest little mattress.

His cock is at full attention now, and he can’t help but palm himself through his pants.

He needs to get close you. Close enough to take in all the precious details of your features. Close enough to hear you breathe. Close enough to feel the warmth that radiates from your skin. Close enough to figure out what your shampoo smells like.

You probably wouldn’t even mind.

His gaze flicks over briefly to the lock to your quarters. He wonders if you’re in a deep enough sleep not to stir if he were to pick it.

You’re practically inviting him in. You can’t possibly expect to tease him like this and expect him to control himself? You’re giving yourself to him.

Desperate hands pop the button of his pants, shoving his hand into his waistband in order to find some relief. He can’t stop staring at your beautiful body, liebe. He wants to wake you up with your cunt in his face, already dripping from his tongue making gentle circles around your clit. Too turned on to deny him. He wants you to helplessly come on his face, his grip digging into your plush thighs as he forces you spread and holds you steady though the convulsing of intense orgasm.

He takes a look around, making sure no one was around before pulling his cock out, his grip firm on the base as he pumps himself. He just can’t help it. Not when you’re sprawled on the bed and showing off your body for him.

He’s thinking about how your hands would cling to him, nails clawing to get him off your pulsing clit, but he would hold firm, taking advantage of your sensitively. He wants to you powerless to the pleasure, the only resistance you’d be capable of is desperate and broken pleading as he hungrily commits your taste to memory. It’s the least you could do for him, after everything he‘s done for you.

His other hand presses up against the cool wall, holding him steady as he jerks himself off.

Precum is leaking from him as he pictures you, mumbling sweet nothings and reduced to a trembling mess. You wouldn’t even have it in you fight him as he lines his cock up with your dripping cunt, pushing his tip in and savoring how tight you are as you stretch around him.

He wants to ruin you, liebe. Reduce you to a whining and quivering mess as he pounds into you.

The visual you gifted him had him so excited, he didn’t last long. He spilled come all over the concrete wall beneath your window sill, some dripping to the dirt beneath his feet. His whole body shakes at the intensity of the orgasm, involuntarily hunching forward and choking off any noises begging to escape him. He’s imaging he’s filling you up with his come, staking his claim deep inside you. Claiming his ownership.

He’s still for a moment, taking hitched breaths as he recovers from his orgasm.

Once his thoughts return, the flush on his features transitioned from the warmth of pleasure to the heat of shame, looking to you lying on your bed sleeping, then to his mess scattered outside your window as he crouches outside.

He’s out of control, he can’t help himself, liebe. He wasn’t usually like this. It was just for you - you brought it out of him. It was all your fault, you’ve reduced him to a perverted peeping tom by teasing him like this. Purposefully making him jealous, messing with his emotions, and then luring him back with your beauty. He knew what game you were playing, he was smart enough to understand the power you held over him. He still could not resist you.

You will be punished for how you’ve been treating him, liebe. The tortuous weeks you’ve put him through. He will ruin you. Dig his nails in, train you until you are right where he wants you, never able to hurt him again.

You were his, liebe. You just didn’t know it yet.

Part Two

Original Works Masterlist

#konig #konig x you #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig modern warfare #konig mw2 #konig x reader #könig x reader #könig x you #konig fic #könig #könig call of duty #modern warefare ii #modern warfare 2 #x reader #call of duty #stalker #smut #uhohwriting #fic

[fantasylandloser]

Orders

Paring: Rick Flag x Reader

Warnings: mention of imprisoned reader/ angry Rick/ injury to reader/ mentions of death/ lmk if you see anything else

Disclaimer: what is editing? what is a coherent plot? what is writing?

enjoy :)

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

You weren’t known to disobey orders. Originally you had been trying to get as much time off your sentence as possible and did your best on missions, so that they would continuously use you. Without meaning to you became an invaluable asset to Waller, so much so that she granted you your freedom or at least her version of it. 

She demanded that you go on multiple missions with task force X. Waller also paraded your ‘redemption’ in front of any committee or anyone who had money or power she could use by her side. She made you wear a bracelet that dampened your powers, originally it had been a heavy piece of metal that hung around your neck like a collar before she switched to something more bearable. She also placed you under the eye of Rick Flag. Every mission he was on, you were there as well. His orders led you on and off the field. 

And usually, you followed them. It was easier that way. Usually. 

“You do not disobey a direct order!” Your face was heated from being publicly reprimanded, and the anger you were beginning to feel. You say nothing and avoid his heated gaze not wanting to lose control while your powers were still free. 

“You do not have the privilege of ignoring orders!” He reminded you, angrily. At his words, and the reminder that you were not truly free, you vaguely felt your control on your emotions slip but you continued to stand at attention.

“That’s cold.” Deadshot mutters to Harley, who he’d barely seen since their first mission together. 

“As ice.” Harley agreed. 

They are both surprised by the events of the mission. You’re usually the goody two shoes of the group. In another life you definitely would have been a soldier from the start, but tonight Flag was in danger and you risked the mission and your life to save him. Flag was furious and deadshot had a feeling it was less about the mission and more about you. 

“You listen to me! That’s your only job. That’s all you have to do! What you did tonight was idiotic!” You’re usually more stoic around the group, a measure you’ve taken to protect yourself but the more Rick lays into you the more visibly upset you become. 

It was no secret that you were one of if not the most powerful on the team. So when your eyes start to glow and then your hands, and second later you’re engulfed in the light your power causes, looking like you were about to explode, Deadshot thought it was time to intervene. 

“Your ass would be dead if she hadn’t disobeyed your orders, Flag. And the mission is complete, that's what matters right?” But Rick didn’t care, he couldn’t see past his own rage on what could have happened. 

Rick approaches you, bracelet in hand, the one that he’s the only one authorized to put on and take off. “We’ll talk about the consequences later.” You wordlessly offer him your wrist, that you only now realize is glowing, you focus just enough to get it to go away from that area so it doesn’t hurt him, even though he deserves it. 

'Am I dismissed?’ Is all you say once he’s done, obviously detaching yourself from him. He only nods which is good enough for you.

****

Most people would be happy to go home after a hard day at work and their boss being on their ass, but you lived with your boss. Something else you could thank Waller for.

The ride home was tense, where the two of you would usually debrief. And the house seemed to be even more silent. 

Rick found himself calming down but you were livid. Not that it truly mattered. You were basically just his prisoner, not his friend like you allowed yourself to believe. 

You carried your anger towards him for days. Unwilling to speak and trying to be as far as you were allowed to be away from him. Which was hard considering that the two of you did damn near everything together. 

“Are you really still mad?” Rick huffs, finally having enough when you sparred with someone else, leaving him with a new recruit. 

“No sir.” You say, which only infuriated Rick more. He’d never seen someone detach themself so politely. He really had no clue how you were ever a criminal. 

“Cut the bullshit.” He sighs, running a hand down his face.  “You’re my friend, talk to me.”

“Wrong. I’m your prisoner.” You correct. “Your employee, your slave, those are actually true.”

Rick's face turns dark. “You are not my slave.” 

“I’m not your friend either.” You retort. 

“We were friends a week ago.”

“Then you reminded me of my place. Thank you for that.” You’re sure that no amount of petty will hide how hurt you are. It still wouldn’t hurt to try.

“You disobeyed an order!” Came his booming voice, which you’re sure they heard outside his office. 

“To save your life. Don’t worry I won’t do it again. I learned my lesson.” Rick can’t help but sigh knowing that's not how he wanted the conversation to go.

*******

You did not learn your lesson. Rick stared at you intensely from his spot on the helicopter. Surprisingly he hadn’t said a word yet but you knew it was coming. It had barely been a week since you told him you wouldn’t do it again. During said week you have barely spoken to him, which led him to be nicer than usual because he wanted your friendship back. You were sure that was gone. 

When you and the rest of the squad lands, instead of talking to everyone like he usually does he calls your name gruffly. “My office. Now.” You can’t help the irritation and the slight pinch of dread you feel. Last week the consequences he’d given you were brutal workouts that left you sore for days. You still felt the effects of them and you weren’t in the mood for more.

Once the door was closed behind you, Flag slumped in his chair. He looked genuinely exhausted and you imagine he must be. You wait for him to speak, not wanting to escalate the situation further. 

“Sit down. I know you’re tired.” It’s a trap. You do so hesitantly. 

Rick can’t help the sigh that escaped his lips. He can’t help the fact that he’s exasperated and he doesn’t truly know why. Any leader would be happy to know that the soldiers that stood behind him were willing to die to protect him. And maybe once he could remember feeling that way, but he could also remember being more proud to get them home safely .

 Rick stares at you for a good two minutes without breaking eye contact, before glancing at the clock on the wall. “Do you have something you want to say?” He asks you. Definitely a trap. 

“It’s my job to protect you, sir.”The formality you tack on at the end let’s Rick know how you’re going to try to play this conversation. 

“It is your job to listen to me.” He corrects, which you have to refrain from rolling your eyes at. 

“It’s your job to try to get everyone home in one piece. Including yourself. Also, asshole if you die where the fuck do I go?” You ask, frustratedly scoffing at the look of realization on his face. “When you get over your death wish then I’ll start to listen to you again.”

Rick falls silent again as he thinks over your words. “Am I dismissed?” You ask, the tone of your voice conveying your anger. But you also urgently needed to get away from him. 

“No.” He answers, ignoring your huff of frustration. “Do you have anything else you want to say to me?” 

“You wouldn’t want to hear anything I have to say to you.” Your disregard for respect is noted, but at the moment it’s not what he’s concerned about. 

“You’re hurt.” He says finally, watching as shame creeps up on your face. “What reason do you have for not reporting your injuries?” He asked blankly, his southern drawl making him sound less upset than he was, but you knew better. 

Rick watched surprise take over your face at the fact that he knew. “It’s not that bad.” You tell him. That was a lie though, and the only reason you hadn’t said anything is because you didn’t want to give him anymore reason to be mad over you ignoring his orders. Also you would be pissed to hear I told you so. 

Rick sighs, he‘s exhausted, angry, worried and frustrated and the last thing he feels like dealing with is you lying to his face.

Without another word, he stands from his seat. He’s not in the mood to argue, especially when you’re clearly wrong. When he kneels in front of you, you blanch a little  unsure of what he’s doing when he takes out his pocket knife. 

He makes quick work of cutting your suit to see the affected area. You start to protest but it dies on your lips when he glares at you, leaving you unaware of the pout that settles there instead. You wince once you see the bruised area that leaves your skin discolored. It looks worse than you thought it would. 

“That’s definitely broken.” He states. He presses softly against the bruise, eliciting a hiss from you. You hear him mutter under his breath ‘not that bad’ mockingly. 

Even though you know you shouldn’t say anything and you’re not in the position too you can’t help yourself. “You know a little gratitude wouldn’t hurt.” And because you’re a pain in the ass you add, “Even if I’m just your prisoner.” 

The look he flashes you is bordering deadly. “You want me to thank you for the stupid shit you keep pulling in the field.” You squint at him defiantly, adrenaline still crashing through your veins from the events because you shouldn’t even have the energy to argue with him, but you do. 

“The stupid shit that saved your life? Yeah.” Rick is astonished by your insubordination, it’s new and most likely a product of you being frustrated by your circumstances. He laughs a little, obviously pissed.

You’re surprised when he grips your jaw in one hand and pulls your face closer to him. “I’m only gonna say this once, and you’re gonna listen since you’re so convinced that I own you. “ He speaks slowly. “There are a thousand men just like me. They were trained the same, they think the same, they live the same life as me. There is only one you.” Rick takes in the way your eyes are almost bambi like and basically a window into your naivety trying to avert your gaze. He knows you hate to hear it. You hate being told how special you are, you don’t believe it. 

“Look at me.” You do.He's still holding your jaw, but his grip is softer now and you could pull away, but you don’t.

“Nobody out there is like you. Nobody. And you could really change the world when you get out of this mess, for good. Stop trying to save me all the time. I can take care of myself.” You purse your lips knowing that if it came down to it again you would do the same. He knows that.

“Sir, yes sir.” You say jokingly, your smile wobbly and your eyes wet. “Your best pep talk yet.” You inform him. 

He grins at you exasperated, but willing to let it go. 

“Let’s go to the med bay, before you pass out.” 

#rick flag #suicide squad #rick flag x reader #fantasylandloserfic

[serialadoptersbracket]

Round 2, Match 54: Shōta Aizawa vs. Doctor Carmilla

Submitted kids:

Shōta Aizawa: Class 1-A, minus Mineta, plus Shinsou Hitoshi (total of 20 kids). Mainly Eri, Shinsou, and Midoriya

Doctor Carmilla: Jonny d'Ville, Nastya Rasputina, The Toy Soldier, The Starship Aurora, Ashes O'Reilly, Drumbot Brian, Gunpowder Tim, Ivy Alexandria, Raphaella la Cognizi * Marius von Raum

Propaganda under the cut!

Shōta Aizawa:

1. “This grumpy teacher pretends not to care about his students, sleeps during his own classes and why talk when you can also make annoying children silent by (harmless) force? Yet he loves them and they love him while he doesn't show it all that often.”

2. “He didn't mean to adopt them yet he did and he is grumpy about it. If he goes "those are my kids, damn it" it's not to someone else, it's to himself, with the damn it being a "fuck, why". Yet he is so 100% willing to risk his life for them. Because they *are* his kids now.”

3. “Idk the man is so tired what can I say. Harsh as australias wildlife but bc he doesn’t want them to actually die in the field so he’s trying to make them give up on signing up to risk your lives every day. I just submitted kiryu and I think that kiryu, bruce, and aizawa are soul sisters. They are all very special to me”

4. “Oh he tries so hard to stay scary and detached, keeps threatening to expel students, keeps saying he hates kids, and look at him now. Missing several pieces and risked death multiple times to protect them, at least 3 classes of ~20 students each lowkey adoring him, and literally canonically (not said out loud but it's basically official come on, they live together) adopted a little girl that was found by the protagonist and saved from the mafia. Also personally took the matter in his own hands when another department's student (so not one of his) showed a desire to change course, so much that even if this kid has living and loving parents he's often Aizawa's adopted family in fanfiction.”

Doctor Carmilla:

“Morally ambiguous mother who adopts her kids and makes them immortal both to have a family and a band. What can I say. This family is incredibly dysfunctional and so very fun.”

#bnha #boko no hero academia #doctor carmilla #mha #my hero academia #aizawa shouta #the mechanisms #mha aizawa #dadzawa #eraserhead #serial adopters bracket #round 2 #tumblr tournament #tumblr polls

[c1phyb4ra]

Ghost HC's (SFW & NSFW)

【Hi! It's my first time posting my writing on Tumblr, so apologies for any mistakes in consistency. I'm learning to navigate and format my work. Thank you for your patience <3】

☆My personal angst to comfort headcannons on how Ghost would be in a relationship with you despite all the trauma and suffering he's lived through. I will mark where the NSFW starts if you don't want to read that. My requests are open so go nuts, I'll try my best to do yours :3☆

CW: [For Ghost's past/current struggles] disordered eating habits, paranoia, panic attacks, abuse, gn reader. [For nsfw] praise, body worship, oral reader receiving, gn + afab reader.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

► He had such a rough childhood, living with an abusive father so he's developed a habit of treating you like glass, always worried he'd do something to hurt you.

► Intense insomniac. He's used to not sleeping much due to having to keep an eye out for enemies. He refuses to take sleeping pills out of fear of sleeping through something bad happening. The best you can do is get him to lay with you while you play with his hair. That way he might be able to get at least a few hours of sleep.

► Also struggles with nightmares. He'll hold you tightly in his sleep while mumbling. If he wakes up though, he'll excuse himself to the restroom to calm down before going back to bed. He'll let you spoon him as he tried to go back to sleep again.

► Simon always wears some form of facial covering, having become accustomed to keeping his face hidden. It's like he can't get rid of his Ghost persona when he's just supposed to be Simon.

► Refuses to talk about his work besides his squad mates, such as Soap or Gaz. He hates involving his work with his lover. He wants to have a very firm barrier between those. He can't risk his violent job getting mixed into his domestic life with you.

► When you go out for any reason (whether it be date night or grocery shopping) he's always armed. Always. He keeps a gun on him and has an extra one strapped to his boot along with a couple of knives strapped to the other one. He's very paranoid about being attacked.

► His body has become so accustomed to fight or flight mode that he tends to get very anxious and dizzy. Sometimes he'll get intense panic attacks so he'll shut himself in the bathroom to try and calm himself down. He isolates himself out of fear of burdening or overwhelming you.

► You have to remind him that as his partner, you want to be there for him when he's struggling. He tries to go to you when he's not feeling the best but sometimes he just can't bring himself to do so so he'll shut down in the bedroom and just pace.

► He has a bad habit of skipping meals because he feels the need to punish his body for not being good enough to prevent all the death he sees on the field. Although sometimes when you cook he'll skip them because he feels that he doesn't deserve to eat what you made for him. You'll have to sit and coax him into eating, and sometimes feed him by hand.

[NSFW FROM HERE ON, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.]

► It took him a long time to feel comfortable with the idea of sex. He always worried about not being able to please you, or being too rough. He knows he's strong enough to take down multiple enemy soldiers simultaneously, so he's afraid that he might be too rough with just you there.

► He's very gentle with you, always being careful and asking you if you're alright.

► He loves praise and reassurance. He always prioritizes your pleasure first and loves when you tell him that he's doing good at that. Call him sweet pet names like 'darling, lovie, baby, sweetheart.'

► You called him a good boy once because he helped you put away groceries. That turned him on so painfully much that as soon as all the perishables were out away, he bent you over the counter and fucked you.

► He gets more turned on when he eats you out than when you blow him. He's obsessed with the feeling of your arousal coating his lips and chin. The noises you make combined with the way you taste so sweet to him has him cumming in his pants. Making you cum multiple times from just his tongue feels so validating to him.

► He also secretly likes how your pubes tickle his nose when he plays with your clit. He loves how natural your body is, and is obsessed with every part of it.

► He also really likes how his cum covers your tummy and pubes, seeing you covered in his essence makes this feel more real, like he's really there lovingly fucking his sweet partner.

► As tame as it may seem, he really loves missionary. There's something so hot about him being able to see your face as he makes you feel good.

► He likes to use toys on you that maximize your pleasure, like holding a vibrator to your puffy little clit while he fucks you.

► He goes feral for hickeys. Loves seeing the purple bruises in the shape of your mouth all over his body after a night of passionate loving. He's obsessed with being marked by you.

► Body worship. Giving and receiving. That's his SHIT. He loves telling you how good you look, how beautiful your body is, how fucking well you take his massive cock.

► He loves to trace any scars/stretch marks, it's relaxing to touch and kiss those parts of your body that are unique to you.

► Loves wrapping his hands around your waist or placing them on your hips. Helps him be able to reach deeper spots in you, pleasing you in ways that make you see stars.

► Once you're done, he cleans you up with a warm wet washcloth and kisses any bruises he might leave. He makes sure you pee too because he'd hate for you to get an infection because of him. Once you're all cleaned up he'll bring you water or a snack. Unless you want to just cuddle. He'll hold you closely to him, your bodies melting together so comfortably.

⦅𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔!⦆

#cod mw2 #cod #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost headcanons #ghost angst #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #x reader #x gn reader #x afab reader #ghost x gn reader #mw2 headcanons #cod ghost

[threehuskiesinatrenchcoat]

ask and ye shall receive. the fight is homoerotic i promise

lore under the cut

basic outline:

alejandro isn’t a fan of enhancements but had to get stuff that military absolutely demanded + to keep up. leads one of the rare units that still try to do what’s right and not what’s most profitable. but they have a reputation and they do their job, so they don’t get much shit for it from any higher-ups. alejandro had to refuse offers laced with underlying threats more than once tho.

shadow company soldiers mostly get hired by corporations (elite stuff), enough money and reputation to afford expensive and exclusive stuff. also the reason their work is mostly borderline illegal and unethical jobs. hard to stay ethical when you work for corpos. they’re not pushed to go beyond what the field requires in terms of cyberware but most do anyways.

alejandro has a firm belief that the more complicated something is, the more it's prone to malfunctioning (which is not wrong). he's confident in something that he's used to and which reliably works. he thinks that whatever base required implants he has is enough, rarely upgrades them, and relies more on rigorous training. has more of a brute force head-on fighting style.

graves is on the opposite side of the spectrum, he takes and embraces the risk for the high reward. he won't even consider something objectively obsolete. relies on stealth, speed and quickhacks. can keep up in close range but prefers to keep his distance. one can probably say he’s overreliant on his cyberware.

tbh they're kinda like... a brick nokia and a flagship samsung. one is old, can only do basic functions, but very reliably, and probably will punch through a concrete wall and keep working. the other can basically do whatever your heart desires, but be ready for it to get turned into nothing but a pretty accessory with a bad update.

graves really wants a fun fight out of him, which is why he kind of throws ideas and friendly advice at him while they’re still on the same side, knowing what’s to come. see, graves is arrogant and overconfident in his abilities, but so is alejandro, and he never fought someone fully decked-out with expensive high-end stuff head on, he will lose if he’s not careful. so graves goes easy on him the first time they fight, as a little training session of sorts. next time he won’t, tho, so it’s on alejandro to learn from that and find weaknesses to exploit. and by all means, he might be arorgant at first, but he’s not stupid. he will.

assorted ideas:

- graves tries to hack ale to get the idea of what he’s working with and he manages to do it so fast he’s literally baffled and drags him to get better stuff. bitch you live like this

- makes him punch himself before he does tho. just to prove a point.

- their fighting styles are each other’s weaknesses

- the fact that graves is usually stealthy and just darts around to find an opening for a good hit allows him to ramble endlessly which makes ale so mad

- graves absolutely flirts with ale when they fight (50% to stall for time by shocking him 50% because he actually has a crush)

#cod mw2 #call of duty #phillip graves #alejandro vargas #alegraves #cyberpunk2077au

[analysisn3rd]

Holmes and Watson - why they mean so much to one another

The way I see it, Holmes and Watson are two halves of a whole. This is for many reasons.

First and foremost, they compliment one another personality wise. Where Holmes is seen as cold and calculating, Watson is depicted as warm and welcoming. Holmes can be rather impulsive at times, while Watson has a sort of steadiness and routine to his life, which makes him appreciate his adventures with Holmes further. They’re similar, yet they’re different. They’re both smart, though in different fields and manners, as Watson is more emotionally intelligent and Holmes is more intellectually intelligent. They’re both kind people, despite expressing their care for others and for one another in their own individual manner, where Watson’s way of showing care is more orthodox while Holmes is anything but. Not only do they mean so much to one another, but they also wouldn’t be alive without each other. 

Each of them needs the other to live, quite literally. 

Of course they would’ve made it if they hadn’t known each other; Holmes would’ve solved a few cases for the police here and there, and he would’ve taken cases from Mycroft, but he would’ve never make a name for himself further than that, since all his writings are very academic and that doesn’t really appeal to the people, and Watson would’ve run a surgery and worked as a doctor. Neither of them would’ve been the characters that we know and love now if they hadn’t met one another.

Additionally, I think that, given the circumstances that both of them were going through at the start of ‘Study of Scarlet’, I don’t think that they would’ve lived as long as they had without one another.

As we’ve seen in most of the Holmes short stories, Holmes doesn’t really care much about his physical, or mental, health. He brushes off injuries, even if they are a bit concerning, and although he would care were he to get severely injured during a case, he wouldn’t mind risking it if it meant finding the solution. He continuously endangers himself and the only person to take care of him afterwards is Watson. Without Watson, I think that it’s not unreasonable or illogical to assume that he would’ve died of some wound infection or an illness that he refused to get treated for.

Although it’s not well-discussed in the books, I would say that Watson definitely helped Holmes to stop his drug addiction and on his road to sobriety. He cares a lot about Holmes’ health and he would always be worried when he’s in one of his ‘dark moods’ that he’s on drugs.

Alongside that, he’s a lot happier with Watson. I don’t think he would’ve admitted to anyone (and I would say that the closest thing to admitting it was when he wrote about Watson leaving him for a wife in ‘The Adventure of the Blanched Soldier’ and how upset he was about that), but he’s always been rather lonely. Having Watson, a companion who tries to understand and help him as much as he could, someone who cares about him, someone who loves him (regardless of the type of love), has made him significantly happier. Watson means so much to him; he’s his ‘Boswell’ and he has refused, on several occasions, to help his clients if it meant that Watson wouldn’t be there (and then they’d relent and let them both handle the case). He's always there with Holmes and he's always there for him, he's his "one fixed point in a changing world" and Holmes would be absolutely distraught (as seen in 'The Adventure of the Three Garridebs', where Holmes was quite distressed about Watson getting hurt).

Furthermore, as I mentioned before, Holmes probably wouldn’t have had his ‘household name’ if it weren’t for Watson’s publications. The people (both fictional and real, but I’m talking about the fictional ones here) enjoyed reading about his adventures and it was through them that they got several clients, who were people that Holmes would’ve never reached if he was on his own.

Watson, on the other hand, desperately needed someone, anyone, to restore his love of life after he came back from Afghanistan. He came back a “broken man”, essentially. He hadn’t had any close friends, any relatives, anyone really, and he was completely and utterly alone in London. He needed someone to, for a lack of a better word, “cure” this loneliness that he’s faced after the war.  Holmes was that “cure”. He gave him a “purpose” in life; a “raison d’etre”. He allowed him to help people. He gave him the opportunity to go on adventures, do things that he would’ve possibly never imagined doing, and provided him with excitement, leading him to love life and living again. He helped Watson become who he really is, and not the shell of a human being that he (understandably) was after returning from the war.

They both complete one another, and they’re sort of two halves of a whole. If I were to be a bit poetic, I’d say that they’re the sun to one another’s moon. They both provide the other with light, in different manners, and they both conduct it to the other. They wouldn’t be who they are without one another, very simply. I think the best way to conclude this is to quote The Crane Wives’ ‘The Moon Will Sing’, “I shine only with the light you gave me” is a very accurate descriptor for Holmes’ and Watson’s relationship with one another.

#analysis #writing #character analysis?? #sherlock holmes #acd john watson #dr john watson #holmes #acd sherlock #acd watson #acd holmes #john watson #acd sherlock holmes

[eriexplosion]

I've been thinking a lot about Plan 99. Most of the fandom has, whether we want to or not, because how do you stop thinking about it honestly? Now I've been riding the Tech's Alive train from the start, for a lot of reasons - I won't list them all out, because there's been some absolutely amazing meta on the topic. Shout out to @heyclickadee especially who's done some in depth posts about Tech's probable survival that I cannot recommend enough.

But the thing that I can't stop coming back to and turning over in my hands like a shiny object is the thought of physically disabled Tech. It's a storyline that I think is underrepresented in media, as well as a choice that preserves the narrative stakes while being reason enough for the cast and writers to get as emotional as they did discussing it during the panel. And, frankly, it's a realistic outcome. There's this tendency to hold up character death as the ultimate demonstration of realism in a narrative based around war, but for every soldier that never came home there's a soldier that made it back with permanent injuries that changed their life forever.

But what I'm especially focused on is how it all ties together with the narrative themes that we've seen through the show, and that have been especially prominent in season two. Tech coming back with a permanent disability, especially one that removes him from the field in some way, fits in perfectly with several things.

The first one is of course survival as a whole - we get a lot of focus on this, and the most notable moment is with Crosshair and the ice vulture. "They find a way to survive" and all. But while it's most prominent in Crosshair's storyline, it's not absent from the rest of the batch's narrative. We see their determination to survive, Tech most especially. Episode two is basically an ongoing demonstration of how hard he's able to go even when he can barely move, and we get that long focus on him when the line "I'm a survivor" comes in. Then we get episode four, which is entirely focused on his quick thinking, his unique processing, and how it helps him survive where literally any other human would have been killed.

Tech is a calculated risk taker, but he's a survivor. If anyone could make it through that fall he could, tying his plot in rather firmly with Crosshair's journey through that shared narrative of finding a way to survive.

Which brings us to our next major theme - choices, respecting them and, especially, living with the consequences of your own. Tech made a choice, he looked at the odds and chose to risk himself to protect his family. If he dies here, that's it, that's as far as he has to go and it's up to everyone else to live with his choice and his loss. The consequences of that decision become theirs to bear.

But, if he lives, if he's permanently affected by his choice, then not only are they dealing with the consequences but so is he. Dying is a single choice, living with permanent changes is a series of them. Coming to the conclusion that despite everything he doesn't regret any of it, that he'd do it all again to protect them is a choice too. All of which leads directly into a theme that was most notably laid down by Tech himself in The Crossing - the ability and need to adapt.

If Tech becomes injured enough that he can't go into the field, that's a major shakeup in the fabric of the team as well as his own self image. From the start, Tech has always been elbow deep in the missions. He's in thick of the fight, right there dual wielding to take down enemies, smacking droids with datapads, hacking, and he gets several points where he physically saves Omega. He's not a sidelines kind of nerd.

So what happens if he can't do that? Maybe he's hurt enough that he has to actually stay behind on Pabu permanently, maybe he can go with them and pilot but he can't leave the Marauder, either way how does he handle being put in a situation where he can't be what he was before on the team and they have to go into danger without him there to protect them or help? The team has to adjust to his absence, and he has to adjust to not being able to do Everything and fill every gap. He has to adjust to watching them leave, not knowing if they'll come back.

But they have to adapt. He has to adapt. That's what soldiers do.

Except he's not even a soldier anymore, not in the same way, he might still be a mechanic and a pilot, but he's not the soldier he used to be, and that's another narrative theme hit. Who are the clones when they can't be soldiers? What else can they do, what are their lives without war and fighting? If Tech can't do what he did before, what can he do, how can he help his family, who even is he outside of the role that was given to him?

The final theme that I think ties into this - the second season has put a real emphasis on culture and community, we see communities coming together to support each other in multiple episodes such as with the wookiees, the rescued miner kids, Pabu as a whole. And Tech dealing with the changes that new disability brings provides ample opportunity to see that community support in action.

Pabu is a village of refugees, people who have likely gone through exactly what he's going through. His living would give the opportunity to explore that further and provide yet another link between the Batch and Pabu, another example of their belonging. He can't be as self sustaining as he was before. He doesn't have to be. None of them do, they have a community now and it's okay to lean on them.

I keep coming back to Tribe, too, specifically that quote that got us all right in the heart. When a young one leaves, the trees weep. But when they return the trees sing. As this child has found his new home, perhaps, one day we all will find a new path.

At the time a lot of us thought about Crosshair. Now we can connect it very directly to Omega's kidnapping. Two lost young ones that the trees will sing for when they return. Hopefully we get to see that with Tech too. We've definitely had our weeping, so fingers crossed for some singing to come.

#the bad batch #the bad batch spoilers #the bad batch speculation #tbb tech

[library-child]

How Armstrong Feint became Hangfire

Re-reading ATWQ fueled my brainrot concerning the radicalization of Armstrong Feint. How did a loving father become a terrorist hell-bent on slaughtering children? So I did some research on common risk factors that can make people susceptible to terrorism and checked how they apply to Armstrong. Needless to say, this only made my brainrot worse. Anyway, here are the results.

Social isolation ☑️

The first risk factor is the lack of reliable social connections. You may be all alone or unable to open up emotionally to the people close to you. You might even have trouble interacting with other people in the first place. This can result in feeling alienated. There also is no one to support you when you are hurting or interfere when you start radicalizing.

While having only Ellington's limited and likely romanticized perspective on her life with her father, there are some hints Armstrong may have been lonely. He was a single parent who spent most of his time working alone in the wild. Ellington does say she contacted people who knew him, but she never mentions anyone but her father when talking about her past. This could imply they led a very isolated life. Also, Armstrong's enthusiasm about nature could have something to do with his having trouble getting along with other people. At least, he seemed to prefer plants and animals over people.

Hardship ✅

Intense suffering makes you vulnerable in many ways. If you experience hardship and don't get support, you might become more susceptible to radical views/groups. That's what's so seductive about things like cults or terror organizations, after all: They promise you a community, a sense of belonging, and an easy solution for your problems.

Again, we don't know enough about Armstrong's past. He certainly must have been stressed out by being a single parent and the only bread-earner of the family. And he must have gotten into this position somehow. We never learn why Ellington's mother has never been in the picture. Furthermore, as a nature-loving person, he must have felt extreme anguish at the destruction of his home region caused by the flood. Not to mention the destruction of his hometown and the life he had built for himself.

There is also one intriguing aspect that doesn't get explored in the books, so it's purely speculative: the war that made Colonel Colophon a hero. We don't know when exactly this war happened or how involved the Snicket country was, but it does open the possibility that Armstrong's generation had to fight as soldiers.

Lack of perspective ❓

You're in a bad place and don't see a way out. You don't see the point anymore and don't know how you want to go on. Another allure of terrorism is providing you with a 'meaningful life'.

This one is tricky. Armstrong did have a purpose in the form of a young daughter whom he undoubtedly loved with all his heart. We don't know if or how he intended to reunite with her had he succeeded. We can only speculate if he fell into resignation. Perhaps he was shaken by the futility of his life's work after one tycoon's decision had undone it. Perhaps he realized Ellington was growing up and wouldn't need him in a few years.

Powerlessness and injustice ✅

This is relevant both on a social and individual level. When you live under corruption, tyranny, etc without a way to defend yourself, you're more likely to resort to terrorism. It's also relevant if you personally feel you're being treated unfairly and there's nothing you can do about it.

The social injustice is blatantly clear: Ink Inc. was allowed to destroy Killdeer Fields for profit, and its inhabitants could not prevent it. The flooding must have started several years before the beginning of ATWQ. Who knows what Armstrong and the rest of the town did to fight it, all in vain? We also see how corrupt and incompetent the institutions, such as the police, the official fire department, the press, and the legal system, are in the Snicketverse. This might have been a reason the V.F.D. became successful in the first place: They fixed the failed state.

Armstrong's individual perception is more obscure. He certainly realized he was a victim and probably became increasingly obsessed over this. He may have started out being rightfully outraged by the injustice done to him by Stain'd-by-the-Sea and shaken by his own helplessness. But eventually, he got stuck in this state of mind until he forgot he still had agency and responsibilities.

Over-simplified worldview ✅

You tend to view the world in clear black-and-white categories: You are always the hero, and the others are the villains. You're always the victim, the others the oppressors. You're never responsible for your actions; it's everyone else's fault. You lose touch with reality as you sink deeper into a super simple, convenient narrative of how the world works, and spreading terror and violence is the only right to do.

Hangfire displays this attitude during his conversation with Lemony in book 4. He only points out Stain'd-by-the-Sea's crimes without taking ownership of his own. He equates humanity to beasts trying to survive. There are no morals; every act of violence is just self-preservation. It's kill or be killed, meaning kill the children of Stain'd before they can repeat their parents' mistakes.

Conclusion

What can I say? These books have messed up my brain.

#lemony snicket #atwq #all the wrong questions #hangfire #armstrong feint #fan theory #brainrot

[llondonfog]

(breathes in the silver lore—)

ok i knew i wasn't going to be normal about this and i was right.

so we know that silver grew up very isolated, a fully conscious decision by lilia, away in the mountains outside of the castle where malleus and his grandmother live and the surrounding town. half of me wonders is this because of lilia wanting to get away from townspeople and live more quietly to himself after the war, or is this for silver's benefit? we know tensions still exist between fae/humans because while things are better, sebek wouldn't be getting away with saying such awful things so freely if it wasn't to some degree accepted back home. so is silver being raised away from potentially judgmental townsfolk? just things to wonder.

and then we get to silver telling us that lilia loves to travel and would spend an extended amount of time away from the cabin, which silver would be responsible for. HOW OLD??? HOW OLD WAS HE LILIA?? HOW OLD WAS ACCEPTABLE FOR YOU TO LEAVE A CHILD THAT FALLS ASLEEP INDISCRIMINATELY TO TRAIN, COOK, CLEAN, TEND TO YOUR FIELDS???? (i'm not even about to touch the fighting bears comment i'm still processing that!!!) you're lucky the cabin DIDN'T BURN DOWN!! WHY COULDN'T YOU TAKE HIM???

and that's!! that's what gets me! why couldn't he take silver!! what would have possibly prevented him from showing his son the world when it's something in comparison that malleus, his other ward, never had the chance to do thanks to his royal status? lilia is so proud of his experience with other cultures and being a worldly individual, WHY DIDN'T HE TAKE SILVER? (was it because he stole silver/knew silver was a prince and couldn't risk discovery hmm who knows)

like silver has such a happy face talking about his father and his travels, he's so PROUD of lilia and it absolutely breaks my heart. between being trained like a little child soldier and then being left alone, his standards of what equals love and affection are so low and then he's so damn devoted!! to lilia, he'd do anything for his precious father i just, i'm going to go cry now just leave me here to wallow in my tears

#lettie plays twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland silver #twst silver #LISTEN I LOVE THE LILIA AND SILVER DYNAMIC WITH ALL MY HEART AND SOUL #but lilia has flaws and look what he's done #he's fucked up a perfectly good boy #gave it a traumatized sense of self worth #PLEASE TELL ME UR THOUGHTS AHHHHH #THIS WAS NOT COHERENT BUT NEITHER AM I RIGHT NOW

[mareenavee]

Better To Seek Forgiveness Than To Ask Permission

Hello friends <3 Wrote a birthday gift for @thequeenofthewinter!!! Featuring Young!Ulfric. It's a character study of the moment he decides to peace out from being a Greybeard. (:

I hope you like it, my friend 😭❤️🫂✨ I pulled some inspiration from this prompt from the Arc's archives:

The Prompt

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” ― Mary Oliver

and also, of course, Winter's Ulfric in her fic "In the Midst of Winter." <3

Without further ado:

Better To Seek Forgiveness Than To Ask Permission

Ulfric Stormcloak stands at a crossroads. The two paths are ones he has contemplated abandoning all together—though he knows turning back has its own consequences. He is young—barely trudging through his nineteenth summer. Hearthfire looms. If he does not choose a path, his twentieth year will be spent in silence, too. Some would say he has wasted most of his life up until now atop this very mountain.

Monahven—or the Throat of the World—has been his home since he was a boy. He recalls the day he was made to leave and make a new home upon the mountain. One moment, he had been pelting Balgruuf with snowballs in the fields surrounding Whiterun while their fathers spoke in Dragonsreach—and the next, so it seemed at the time, he’d been relegated to a corner of High Hrothgar. Has it been a decade already? Ulfric is sure, with the disconcerting news the pilgrims bring with them daily, that his time will be better spent elsewhere.

But here is where his conflict lies. His father expects him to honor his calling—all believe it to be his becoming a Greybeard. Below, however, his home might fall to ruin before his eyes, all while he does nothing but shovel snow and contemplate ancient tradition. He did not choose this path, and given the chance to go back in time, he would not have. All this despite how beautiful the Way of the Voice is—but beauty does not win wars.

Ulfric stands in the courtyard of High Hrothgar, and seethes when he closes his eyes. He knows of the Thalmor, and what they have done. So many lives lost—good men and women, some of which he’d known growing up—all for what? He glances at the path that leads up to the peak of the mountain—a path he has heretofore been prevented from walking. He has not mastered the Shout needed to clear the way. Most of the Greybeards, despite their age, have not. Their leader lives alone upon the peak in the harshest of elements. He stares down at the world and lets the chaos continue, despite the power he must wield to have this position.

Part of Ulfric wants to force his way through and make his case. Would the leader, mysterious as he is, release him from his oaths? It would not clear the shame that would fall on his father’s house for abandoning such a sacred duty. His home, though? His people? Would they not be worth the risk? The sacrifice?

In his mind’s eye, Ulfric envisions great battalions of Imperial soldiers marching from the White-Gold tower in Cyrodiil. He has never been there before, but he has seen the bas-relief carvings and gold-framed paintings in other places here in Skyrim. Despite his feet being so firmly planted in the soil of this province, he cannot help but feel a call to action. He has a single Shout, and with it he can make himself as valuable as an outfit of soldiers all on his own. He can turn the tide of the War. He knows this, and yet some piece of him still feels conflicted. -> Read the rest on AO3.

#MareenaWrites #Better To Seek Forgiveness Than To Ask Permission #Ulfric Stormcloak #The Great War #Greybeards #Thalmor #skyrim #skyrim fic #tes #tesblr #tes fic #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fic #fanfiction #fic #fanficblr #writblr #writeblr #Gift Fic #prompt fill

[splenderai]

In the spirit of bringing back Asks but also me just wanting to know but not knowing where to start: PLEASE tell me all about High Card. And about the two you guys in lots of your fanart. Yes I'm taking notes, and yes there will be follow-up questions in this impromptu High Card course.

one of the great things about michael for all who don't know him is that he's fully aware of how much a) i can yap for paragraphs upon paragraphs on end about anything in particular, and b) of a deranged lunatic i can become when it comes to my hyperfixations, at which point the yapping turns into a three-year dissertation, and yet, he still takes the dive and asks me about it with genuine interest. this is one of the many reasons why he is an awesome friend.

[rubs hands together with a wicked smile] thank you for asking about high card !!! sneak under the cut to learn more about the silly show that revolves around playing cards that give you superpowers and the even sillier people who control said cards:

the story is heavily inspired kingsman, and it centers around the existence of 52 playing cards that each hold a unique power. the higher the card's value, the stronger the power that's given to the user, who is called a player in the series. these cards, referred to as "x playing cards," are considered a myth, tied to an old folk tale about the four kingdoms of trapla island that banded together to defeat invaders, the sorcerer who helped turn the tide of the war by bestowing incredible powers to 52 of the land's strongest soldiers, and the crowning of the first king of a unified fourland. the cards most certainly exist, and there's a fight between opposing factions to retrieve them.

our protagonist, finn oldman, gets caught up in this battle while he's out trying to make money at a casino.

he's seventeen (eighteen by the end of s2), an orphan who lost his parents and older brother in a tragic car accident, and is now living on his own after growing up for almost a decade at the sun fields orphanage. he cherishes the place, often going back to visit the kids and lindsey, the kind man who runs the establishment. the orphanage is at risk of being shut down due to money issues, and finn has made it his priority to get enough cash to save his childhood home. he's a pickpocket with incredibly good eyesight, but that alone won't make enough dough, so he goes to the big city to try his luck at a casino. there, he ends up finding himself in the middle of a deadly shoot-out where these guys in suits are using some crazy-ass powers, and they seem to be focused on one thing: a playing card with a pattern on the back that looks extremely familiar. he has one just like that, the only thing he brought with him to the orphanage after the crash and his most prized possession. finn ends up stealing that card during the scuffle and then a car to make a getaway, but he gets followed and ultimately finds himself in a standoff, the barrel of a gun focused on him. he takes one last gamble, and, just like he'd seen the young man in the red suit do, plays his 2 of Spades card. it materializes into a revolver that always shoots in a straight line, and finn uses his great eyesight to disarm his assailant. he thinks he's just about gotten away scott free when the man in red, who was absolutely just dead on the ground after getting obliterated by the assailant finn had just decommissioned, stands up, covered in more red from his own blood, and demands finn give both of those playing cards to him.

and that's how finn meets chris redgrave.

through chris, finn meets the rest of high card, a secret organization working for the crown whose mission it is to retrieve all 52 x-playing cards and return them to the king so that they don't fall into the wrong hands. by day, the members of high card work at the old maid branch of pinochle, a luxury cars dealership. chris, noticing finn's skills, suggests that the young sharpshooter join their ranks. at first, he's reluctant, but when finn hears about the very nice paycheck he could earn, he's all on board. and so, finn begins his tenure as a car salesman slash secret operative under chris' mentorship.

high card is made up of the following individuals:

- leo constantine pinochle: fourteen, holder of the 7 of diamonds, "never no dollars"

his card allows him to transform any sum of money on hand into any object of equal monetary value. he can make a whole slew of weapons with a briefcase of bills, but he can just about only make a snickers bar if he's got two bucks.

imagine the heir to a luxury car dealership business who is stupidly wealthy and goes to a prestigious all-boys school. you probably imagine a short little brat dressed like some kind of snooty british elite schoolboy, looks down on everyone around him, and makes it known that he has both immense power and money. you're right. he also happens to be the leader of high card, and his father (theodore constantine pinochle, can you believe how pretentious their names are) is the president of both high card and the pinochle empire. he's arrogant and prickly, but he's good at what he does (except in the eyes of his father, who barely recognizes him as a son and views him more as an underling who constantly disappoints him... ouch.) he's basically the boss at the old maid branch. i think this series does not have child labor laws. leonard, please do normal fourteen year old things like playing video games and hanging out with your school friends. (he doesn't have any...)

wendy sato: twenty-one, holder of the ace of spades, "love and peace"

her card summons a sheathed blade that holds a very powerful energy once it's unsheathed (will not spoil too much)

oh, wendy. my wife. failgirl supreme. the kind to trip up the stairs and forget her glasses on the top of her head. she's also scary good at swordfighting and physical combat in general. her beloved father owned a dojo where she trained since childhood prior to joining high card. finn and chris are scared of her because it doesn't take much for her to scold them or raise her voice. she's not mean by any means; she just doesn't put up with their monkeying around. she struggles with self-esteem issues because she isn't able to control her card once the sword has been unsheathed, so she feels like a burden to the team when she can't use her full power (or does, and then puts them all directly in danger). at the old maid branch, she is in charge of accounting and the like.

vijay kumar singh: twenty-six, holder of the 3 of clubs, "green green"

his card allows him to manipulate plants, so he is usually seen fighting with vines

vijay. husband. criminally low amount of screentime for this oddball king. he's a gentle soul who is almost like an older brother / cousin to everyone else, especially leo (he tutored leo when the latter was younger, and they get along really well) he is a scholar, currently a phd student and part-time lecturer at the university of cribbage. he loves plants !!! he has a selection of potted plants, all with names, that he keeps at the old maid branch with whom he talks to regularly. the others, aside from leo, think he's a total space case (the autism is strong in this one, trust). he's very logical, speaks really intelligently, and will absolutely go on a tangent about plants and other stuff given the opportunity. so yeah, he might be a bit hard to talk to, but he's really kind and often cooks for the team or brings in sweets. he takes care of like IT and systems management at the branch.

- finn !!! his card is called "neo new nambu," and it's the 2 of spades

- chris redgrave: twenty, holder of the 5 of hearts, "calories high"

his card basically grants him immortality, using up his calories to heal any and every wound (but when he's out of calories, the healing power is essentially gone). a self-proclaimed "immortal ladies man," he is this frivolous playboy who doesn't miss an opportunity to flirt with beautiful women. carefree, witty, and incredibly well-versed in martial arts / hand-to-hand combat. he has an absurd sweet tooth and constantly carries bars of fudge around both for snacking and to keep a nice source of calories on hand. he's in charge of sales at the old maid branch. you think you know chris and what he's all about, but it's really a collection of masks. the true chris ? you'll just have to watch to learn more hehe.

also technically part of high card is bernard symons, an older gentleman who does not go out on missions and mainly stays at the old maid branch to do admin stuff. he's so, so kind, and finn affectionately calls him "grandpa." soft-spoken and is always taking care of the high card members in little ways.

then we have the bad guys. ohoho. the klondike family is a mafia-like organization that wants the cards for their own purposes. they're a funny, vicious bunch led by ban klondike, foxy grandpa in chief.

the assailant that finn deals with that i mentioned before is one of the klondike members ! they're a fun bunch of villains for sure.

that's really the best introduction i can give !!! the series is so much fun. it's not going to win any awards or absolutely floor you with the writing and plot, but if you go in not expecting a masterpiece or anything, it's such a great experience. the characters have outstanding designs (done by the very talented ebimo, who designed the charisma house characters as well !!!), and they are all really fascinating in my opinion. the art style is gorgeous, and the soundtrack is INSANELY GOOD. it's predominantly jazzy, so if that's your thing, you will absolutely love it. the english-speaking side of the fandom is fairly small, but it's full of a ton of really amazing people !!! the one thing that i think might deter you (if i remember what you'd said before) though is that there's no english dub. it has 24 episodes so far (no official news of a season three, but there is a surprise episode 25 being produced right now !!!), so it's not a super long commitment !!! so if you're interested, i would say definitely give it a shot !!! ep1 is outstanding and reeled me right in, so it starts off really good, promise.

and i think that's a good place to stop the yapping. thank you for asking about high card and taking an interest. 🥺✨️🫶

#high card #asks with min #flusterstruck #sending you lots of love and good vibes michael i hope you have an outstanding weekend 🫶 #i think if vijay were older he and liv would get along soooo well #finn would LOVE nox. he'd be like dude you are so cool can you teach me everything you know about fighting and just being COOL #that's enough yapping for one day i will crawl back into my cave

[sitepathos]

“Can you hold my wand for me?”

Disclaimer: Since so many seem to love my first post, I decided to do this “sequel.”

Context: You’re being sent out on a recon mission and to decide to leave your wand with one of the boys.

Price

“Of course, son. I’ll keep it safe.”

This man knows that your wand is very important to you, and if it’s important to you, it’s important to him.

He also feels very honored that you chose him to safeguard your wand, as this shows you not only hold him in high regard, but also trust him with this very important object.

While he’s out of the base, he keeps your wand inside a protective case inside his kit. While he hates to take it into the field and risk it breaking, he takes confidence in the fact he personally oversaw the case’s production and gave orders to spare NO expense in its creation. The outside is composed of a military-grade alloy that can withstand fire, bullets, and even explosives while the inside is covered in soft fabric that cradles the wand, keeping it in place no matter what. And keeping it sealed is a military-grade electronic locking device that can only be opened with a 6 digit code (it’s the date you officially joined the 141).

While he’s in the base, he keeps it on a stand he whittled himself on his desk. While he’s filling out paperwork, he can’t help but look up at it every so often and he smiles when he thinks of all the moments he’s seen you cast spells that have saved their lives countless times.

But God help you if you so much as breath on the thing. He has it the way he wants it and your wand is his responsibility. Anyone found even bumping it slightly out of place will face harsh consequences. Just ask Steve the Rookie.

Steve, entering Price’s office: “You asked to see me, Captain?” Price: Takes his cigar out from his mouth. “Of course, Private. Please, take a seat.” Steve: Sits and accidentally bumps into his desk, knocking off your wand from its stand. “Sorry, Captain.” Places the wand back on its stand.” Price: Breaks his cigar in half, his eye twitching like crazy. “Not a problem, Private. Take 50 laps when you leave. And if you’re not done by sundown, add another 50.”

Gaz

“I’ll take good care of it, Y/N! I promise!”

And he does. Seriously, he immediately puts it in his locker in his quarters and is secured with 3 locks, all of which require 3 different keys.

Soap, of course, tries to get him to give it to him, which he automatically said no. The Scotsman doesn’t know the meaning of the word and keeps annoying him for the next few hours until finally he relents and takes it out of his locker.

Of course, this leads to a whole new argument. “You said look, Soap. You use your eyes to look, not your hands.” “Oh come on, I just want to hold it for a little bit! Maybe we can use some of his spells!” “That’s not how it works, Soap! Or is it…”

This leads to the two of them going out to the training ground, taking turns casting spells you’ve used before, trying to get your wand to do the same for them.

“It’s Leviosa, not Leviosaaa, Soap.” “Keep saying that, and the next spell I try is Silencio, Gaz!”

Despite his protests during this ordeal, Soap is a friend and he trusts him to be careful while he’s guarding this most important item. Just as he does the rest of Ghost Team, Los Vaqueros, and Konig. Anyone outside this sphere tries to hold it, they’re gonna have some problems. Just ask Steve

Gaz: polishing your wand like he’s seen you before. Steve: “Hey, is that Merlin’s wand? I’ve always wanted to hold it. Can I-“ The whole base witnesses Gaz chasing Steve while screaming several threats.

Ghost

“Sure.”

Despite him sounding so indifferent, he’s positively ecstatic that you trust him so much as to leave him with the most important tool to a wizard.

And he’s determined to not let you down.

At first, he was going to keep it in his room, locked in his desk, but then he thought about someone breaking in and stealing it. Sure, the base is full of highly trained soldiers prepped for combat, but he’s an army onto himself and decides that it would be safer if he kept it at all times.

Of course, this leads to a bunch of other problems: Soap.

Once he finds out that the Lieutenant is tasked with your wand’s safekeeping, the Sargent immediately confirms him and practically begs to be allowed to see (hold) it.

He allows the Scot one look, and that’s that. And no, he may not hold it.

“But, Lt, I want to hold it!” “Negative.”

We all know that once this man is given a mission, he will stop at NOTHING to accomplish it. And if people get in this way, he will be the last thing they never see. Steve found that out the hard way.

Ghost: walking down the hall, about to turn a corner. Steve: turns the same corner, but from the opposite direction, and bumps into Ghost, making him drop your wand. “Oh, sorry Lieutenant Riley!” Gives him back the wand and carries on when he suddenly knocked out.

Soap

“The wand chooses the wizard…”

Sure, you chose him to watch over your wand, but he’s sure your wand told you to give it to him! Therefore, he’s a (sort-of) wizard!

This man will brag to everyone on the base! Hell, he’ll even get a hold of Laswell and tell her about his new job as Wand Watcher. “That’s nice, Soap, now can I get back to work? I’m trying to locate a terrorist cell in the Middle East.”

At night, he sits at his desk, drawing your wand into his journal, putting all his energy to painstakingly recreate it on paper. From the the tiny indentations made from you grasping it, to the nearly invisible cracks in the wood. He also writes down all that you’ve taught him about wandlore, from the three supreme wand cores to how wands are sentient in their own way.

Look, as serious as this man is, he cannot resist the temptation of going out to the training grounds and waving your wand around exactly like you and pronouncing the spells as you do.

Hell, Gaz will join in. You have no idea how many times Price and Ghost have walked in on them playing with your wand. “Expelliarmus! Pst… Gaz, you have to drop your gun…” “Oh, right, sorry!”

Look, as much as this man loves to wave his new found responsibility in everyone’s faces, but he takes it very seriously. Also, only he is allowed to wave your wand around, trying to use your spells! So back the hell up, Steve, before you get smacked the hell up!

Soap, waving your wand around at Gaz: ”Bombarda! Bombarda Maxima!” Steve: “Whoa, Merlin left you with his wand? Cool! Hey, think I can wave it around a bit, sir?” Soap: “Away n’ bile yer head!” Steve: “…Uh… excuse me, sir?” Soap: Angry Scottish noises. This leads to Soap chasing Steve while shouting Scottish swears at the poor rookie, Gaz joining in because he’s angry their playtime got interrupted.

Alejandro

“Of course, hermano. On my honor, nothing will happen to it.”

This man’s word is his bond. Every time his squad gets new men, he always delivers the same speech. The moment they become his, he promises that he will never leave a man behind and he will do everything in his power to bring everyone home.

Therefore, he keeps your wand under his watch. Never once does it leave his sight and he denies any and all requests to give it to anyone else. Except Rudy, because that’s his brother. He can be trusted.

If, for any reason, he ABSOLUTELY has to leave the wand behind, he runs to his unit’s barracks, no matter how far away, and locks it in his footlocker, where he keeps all his other worldly possessions, like a photo of him and Rudy as kids and a pistol his father gave him when he first joined the Mexican Army.

At first, he denies his men the “privilege “ of seeing it, much to their dismay. Although, after he gets a few drinks, he allows them to see it. But only for a few moments. He may be drunk, but he still knows this is an important task and he must keep his promise.

As you can imagine, him being named your wand’s guardian causes a bit of tension between the 141 and Los Vaqueros. As Price argues, you’re technically a part of the 141; therefor, one of them should have it. Preferably him. Of course, this causes him to become more protective of it. Unfortunately, Steve was left out of the loop of you leaving your wand with Alejandro and the 141 and LV blood feud over it.

Steve, walking into the mess hall and sees Merlin’s wand left on a table: “Should that be left here? Maybe I should take it to the Captain.” Alejandro, seeing Steve trying to pick up the wand and explodes in Spanish: “Hey, fucking asshole! Trying to steal Merlin’s wand? Did your captain put you up to this?” Steve, confused as hell: “What? I don’t… I’m just trying to take Merlin’s wand to the Captain…”. Alejandro: “You sonuvabitch, I’ll kill you!” Cue poor Steve being chased by the entire Las Vaqueros, all of whom are yelling curse at him in Spanish.

Konig

“Of course, Maus! I’ll keep it safe!”

And oh boy… does he…

Special Order 937 is now in effect. Priority One: Protect Wand Until Merlin’s Return. All Other Considerations Secondary. Teammates Expendable.

Kidding! …But not really. This man may be socially awkward 25/8, but while he’s given this task, he pushes all that to the back of his mind and keeping you wand is the only thing he thinks about.

And he takes it to the extreme!

Like, when he’s not needed in the field or training, he tucks your wand into a safe he purchased just for this task and stands by it, still as a statue and his rifle at attention like the guards at Buckingham Palace. And anyone who gets too close for his liking is yelled at and warned to back up or else. Avery one on the base is terrified as they’ve never seen the Australian this focused (except for Ghost, he respects Konig for taking his mission so seriously). As usual, however, Steve is left out of the loop.

Steve, approaching Konig and the safe: “Hey, I heard Merlin asked you to watch his wand. Do you think I can see it? Just for a moment?” Konig: “No, sir. Please step away from the area, or I will be forced to take defensive measures.” Steve, taking a step over. The yellow line he’s drawn around the safe: “Oh, come on! It’s not going to hurt anyone!” Konig: “So you have chosen death.” He then proceeds to life Steve up in the air and drop him over his knee like he’s done to so many enemies (although he doesn’t do it so hard). Poor Steve is then taken to the infirmary to recover.

Everyone, if you could please leave an ‘f’ in the comments for Steve. He sacrificed his safety for your education. Thanks to him, you know now your fate should you try to steal the wand they’ve been tasked with protecting.

#cod mwii #john soap mactavish #simon riley imagine #john price #kyle gaz garrick #alejandro vargas #konig mw2 #harry potter #Hogwarts

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Rule Number 1

https://www.patreon.com/empyreaniris?fan_landing=true

https://starr-fall-knight-rise.tumblr.com/post/182501791735/master-post

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jzEIdDAB4omdO2JcQVMObfrhLJ5kX4ONmSsLypM1ks0/edit?usp=sharing

Adam had an army.

He also had a baby Celzex in his pocket, but that was beside the point, and secondary only to the army. Had Sunny rolled her eyes at him? Yes, yes she had saying, “Don’t you have enough children already.” To which he had pointed out that Celzex were significantly lower maintenance than all of his previous children.. If he could have adopted an armful of the little fluffballs he would have, but, while he was relatively sure he could get one past his wife, he wasn’t entirely sure he could get an armful.

So today, armed with a rifle, a handgun, two collapsible spears, three knives, and both of his fists, he stood at the head of his army. The Bob shown down from above, ha, he loved saying that, lighting the arcadian morning with cutting rays of blinding, white light. Before him, his waiting army stood on the green, rows and rows of men and women, many of which he recognized.

This was it.

This is where it all began.

He straightened himself, and flexed his shoulders, listening as the SE armor whirred lazily to life.

On the right, the spartans: With their own SE division standing proudly at the front, towering men and women in towering exosuits and bulky armor topped by corinthian style helmets. King James and his Queen Xanthia stood at the forefront. To their left the arcadian army, technically that phrase was sort of a misnomer as almost everyone on arcadia was combat capable.

It would be a safer bet to say that in front of him stood, a fraction of the Arcadian standing army, specifically those who made it their full time job to protect their little planet. The Arcadian SE division also stood out front, though there was a conspicuous hole gaping open in the front ranks, still yet to be filled, despite a few new additions to the fold: previous SE Soldiers Kier Lindsay and Jane, his old MTI Kimball, and the senator’s son Pier. A few other faces had since added themselves to the cause, including old friends from the Bramble and Hathor colony, joining not because they were particularly fond of war, but because they were tired of living in fear of the void.

To the left of them stood the Drev, battalions upon battalions of waiting soldiers eager and raring for battle including every member of the Nakt clan, and quite a few members of Sunny’s home clan growing up. Dzara led a sizable contingent of her own soldiers, and Even kanan had taken up his spear again. Unfortunately, and to Adam’s great dismay Hijan had also taken up her spear. Adam had argued with her for a long time about how she was simply too old to be risking her life, but that argument just proved her point.

She was too old, and if she was going to die, she wanted to do it with a spear in her hand.

It wasn’t a request he could deny the old Drev, who had become like a third grandmother to him, and a surrogate mother to Sunny.

Beyond them stood the odds and ends, their borrowed Celex battalion, who were the least intimidating and probably most dangerous soldiers on the field. Standing close to them was Etium heading a squad of soldiers that included everyone that wasn’t either human or Drev, simply for organizations sake, this including mostly tesraki, but also had the odd rundi or burg to name a few.

They had some Mikes and Lumin around here somewhere, but the were not' part of the combat portion of things.

This was it, the moment they would finally fill the Empyrean to her full capacity.

Members of the old guard stood with him. Nairobi, Admiral Simon, Glados, Conn, Krill, Riss, Dr. Adric, Katie, Celex, and Ramirez, who stood stoic and silent at the back of the group belying his usually expected cheerful demeanor distantly eyeing that hole in the SE line. 

And then, of course, there was Sunny at his side where he always hoped she would be, where she would belong until the day he died.

Their previous mission to find and root out the void had been a bust, but this time, they knew where they were going and what they were doing.

They knew where to look.

Adam turned his head subtly to look at Sunny, resplendent in her shimmering pearlescent armor. Catching his eye, she nodded once, and he needed no other prompting as he stepped forward and held up a hand.

The field around them quieted.

What would he say?

He wasn’t entirely sure.

They waited in silence for a moment, but he didn’t panic. He let the silence draw out as he lowered his head to contemplate his words. What sort of thing did you say to people who might be offering up their lives to death?

Thank you?

That seemed rather route.

Good luck?

That seemed kind of stupid too, the words too week to really grasp the words he felt needed to be said.

In the end he didn’t settle on the words that would adequately express his feelings, but he did come across the right words.

“Are you ready!”

The Spartans chanted, The Drev roared, and the soldiers threw up a shout. All other aliens sort of just looked around in confusion, except of course, for Etium who lost his damn mind.

Their voices died down.

Adam clasped his hands behind his back, feeling as his spine straightened and his chin lifted. A breeze cut pst them tugging playfully at his hair. He set his jaw firmly, “This is it.” His voice carried surprisingly well over the crowd, “No more guessing, no more games, no more sitting back on our collective asses while the void plots against our family, homes and children.”

More chanting rose up.

“Kazna has repeatedly taken the fight to our front doorstep. She has murdered in our capitals, she has come into our homes, but all that ends today.”

Drev spears thundered against the ground.

“Today, we take the fight to her doorstep,”

Shouts.

“We bring chaos to their safehouses.”

Boots thundered against the ground.

“And we take back this universe for our children, and our children's children, and whoever the hell comes after that.”

More shouting.

But he was almost definitely sure they would have cheered him on no matter what he decided to yell about, good speech or no.

“Today we take the Empyrean to victory, or nothing!”

The cheering rose, raised into the sky. Spears clattered against shields as he stood staring down at his waiting army.

He allowed them to cheer for a few moments allowing a small smile to creep up and onto his face.

“There is one thing I need to go over first.”

The roaring of the crowd died away somewhat into confusion.

He paced forward, hands resting gently behind his back as he walked up and down before the waiting soldiers.

In his mind’s eye, he could see everything that came before, couldn’t help but think about all of the things that had to happen to lead him to this moment. How a boy, from mid Mericanda can go from alien obsessed loser to having his own army. In a little over a decade of life, Adam had experienced the first interstellar mission, the first meeting with aliens, a several wars on several alien planets, the rise and fall of diplomatic relations. He had gained grudging respect for and then fallen in love with an enemy. He had befriended a powerful maniacal alien despot. He had learned about the origins of life, stolen god’s spaceship, and involved himself in a cosmic war with his mother in law, all while getting married and having kids.

He was pretty sure it was impossible to have all of that in one life.

Sunny was pretty close.

Krill was close too.

And he was almost positive that there were several things in that list that he had accidentally left out.

It almost made him laugh.

The crowd was still waiting for him, their eyes fixed upon him as he paced back and forth at their front. Never had he thought he would be comfortable in front of a crowd this large, yet, here he was.

He held up a hand, “Listen up, and listen carefully because i will not be repeating myself when we get this started.”  his lazy smile continued filling him with an ever increasing amount of amusement.

“The first rule of the Empyrean crew….”

For the first time in what might have been weeks, Adam heard the low bark of Ramirez’s laugh echoing up from behind him. The marine knew exactly what was coming next.

Adam could sense Krill’s Anima rolling its eyes  against both the laws of physics and anatomy.

Katie, still a bit somber from events proceeding in the last few weeks, had to cover her mouth with her hand.

Dr.. Adric snorted a sudden huff of air, like an amused bull.

Adam smiled, Life hadn’t beaten the joy out of this man

At least not yet.

He lifted his chin and raised his voice to echo out across the field, “First rule of the Empyrean….” He let the statement hang on the air for a long moment before raising his hands, filling the air with a chorus led by his own voice

“Don’t Chuck marshmallows at neutron stars!” 

Adam grinned, “Damn straight.”

And then Adam turned, stiff and straight as he took a step, and wheeled away. 

Heelys , just like riding a bike 

[kaigarax]

Take 574

Porco Galliard x Reader

Quote: “Fall in love by letting your guard down.”

Love, to Porco Galliard, is a primal thing; something even animals can display. Love is not a carefully articulated and crafted emotion that humans have sole possession over but rather a force of nature. And, if love is a force of nature then in turn, falling in love is a natural phenomenon.

Just as how the rain falls from the sky and wind blows across the land, people fall in love.

And, if Porco Galliard were to fall in love, then he would fall in love.

Of course, Porco doubted that he would fall in love anytime soon. Afterall, it can not simply rain in the desert if it so chooses. The conditions of the environment must be masterfully crafted in order for the desired outcome to occur.

And so, for Porco Galliard (or anyone in general) to fall in love, they would have to be in the proper mindset and space. They would have to be willing.

Porco, while accepting the idea of love, was uncertain when he would be willing to risk a vulnerability like that. They were, afterall, in the midst of a war.

Ah, yes. War. Such a small word for such a big thing.

It was almost strange to think how three simple letters were meant to encapsulate so much tragedy and heartbreak. It was almost mind blowing to think about how such a simple word could convey so much pain and suffering. How everything, up to now, in Porco Galliard’s life will have revolved around War.

His youth and innocence seemed to have been snatched away in hopes of procuring a better life for him and his family. His teenage years seemed to have been encapsulated by the preparation of something that should have never happened. And his young adult life would be spent with Porco counting the years down before his contract would finally end. Truly an unfair life. Even love, a right that was owed to him, would be kept on the back burner. Something he might be able to enjoy later.

Perhaps in another lifetime.

---

The sun had long finished setting when Porco had finally pulled himself out of bed and out of his makeshift tent. After a miscalculation by the Jaw Titan shifter, Porco had ended up out of the action for at least twelve hours and behind the front lines.

The soldiers had half hazardly tossed him into a tent before heading off back into battle.

Porco had personally found the tent to be a little unnecessary, but he supposed it was better than alerting the enemy to his position with his smoke. Instead, all the steam Porco produced  would annoyingly be kept inside the small and increasingly hot tent.

There was no medical treatment on the front line (except perhaps a few soldiers that knew mandatory first aid) and Porco was an Eldian. A horrible shifter with the powers of a devil. He would heal as long as he had the will to live and the energy to continue on.

The moon was out now, illuminating the field around him.

There weren’t any bodies that Porco could see but the Shifter could still smell the stench of death. It was the kind of smell that would linger for years, if not decades. It was the kind of smell that one would never forget; especially as it wafted around them and waited for its next victim expectantly.

As Porco makes his way out of the tent, he feels the blood begin to rush across his body making him lightheaded. It forces him to stumble to the ground ever so gracefully, before he lies on his back.

His gaze is cloudy and unfocused as his body attempts to regulate itself.

There’s dirt on Porco’s uniform, and now a bit in his hair, but the Shifter can’t find it in himself to care all too much at the moment. He’s tired and dizzy.

It takes a moment for his vision to clear and the inky black sky to come back into focus.

It’s beautiful.

Tomorrow he would be a killer out on the battlefield. A beacon of light to his companions and a red painted target to his enemies. A cog in the machine that can easily be replaced within a moment's notice. A boy's life might have never meant anything. But not tonight.

Tonight, he was a just boy staring out into the open sky.

Porco’s throat was dry and the sky was clear of any clouds. Stars dotted the black canvas and left the Shifter momentarily wondering if this was a sky he had seen before.

Well, of course he had seen the night sky before, but something about this particular patch seemed rather familiar. Or perhaps it felt different? Porco wasn’t all too sure, especially with the memories of his predecessor invading his mind like the plague.

Nothing was truly his own anymore.

A part of him would always belong to those who had come before him and would soon belong to those who came after him.

Porco heard her footsteps and gentle breathing before she called out to him. Her greeting was a simple one and she hadn’t inquired about any obvious thing that most individuals would have. Instead of asking Porco about why he had left the tent or why he hadn’t brought something with him to rest his head on, she had just silently chosen to take a seat beside him.

(Y/n) (L/n), a girl of many mysteries.

She had once been Porco's childhood best friend. She laughed and joked around with him and the other children. She made bets on simple games and challenged others when she felt as though they had committed an action that has not aligned with her own moral compass. She was playful and curious. Fascinated with everything that went on around her. She was truly, simply and honestly a girl.

Until she had inherited her father’s titan.

It wasn’t uncommon for children to inherit the Titans of their parents, though it was uncommon for Titan Shifters to have children at all. It was usually siblings and cousins that would pass on their Titans to one another. It was said that the bond between family members was stronger than that of one between strangers. And the stronger the bond the more efficient a Titan Shifter would be.

When (Y/n) had inherited her father’s Titan everything had just suddenly changed. Porco wasn’t too sure how or why but he certainly knew when. There was a different look in her eyes the morning after. A different look that… the other Titan Shifters didn’t have.

At the time, Porco hadn’t been able to pin the exact difference between the (Y/n) who had been there then and before. There was a dull and almost sorrowful expression in her eyes. An expression that most children should not have had. Now though, after experiencing more than his fairshare of War, Porco knew that those had to be the eyes of someone who had seen death.

The eyes of someone tired.

It was almost pitiful how much (Y/n) had changed. But Porco would not pity her, afterall pity is only reserved for the pathetic and (Y/n) was certainly anything but pathetic.

Now, (Y/n) watched others as though she knew the inner workings of their minds. As if she had already discovered the deep hidden secrets of other’s hearts and desires. She spoke strangely as well. Often speaking in open ended questions or facts despite seemingly having no proof. She often finished conversations with others, as if already knowing the outcome of the situation.

Porco hadn’t been all too sure who this girl might have been anymore. Expect perhaps, for brief moments like this one.

(Y/n) let out a small sigh as she lay down beside Porco, “summer’s almost over.”

“I guess,” Porco shrugged, “things like the seasons just seem so mundane compared to… well everything else around us.” Porco could feel the tip of his pinky against her own.

“To you?”

“To most, I think.”

(Y/n) hummed in response. The melody was something vaguely familiar to Porco, though he wasn’t quite certain where it might have been from. It was pleasant to the ear and reminiscent of a lullaby. Almost like a song Porco felt he should have known.

The Shifter swallowed, about to inquire about the melody.

“It’s a song from our shared past.” (Y/n) answered, “a gift from the shifters before us.”

It seemed that Porco never needed to ask a question around her when he wanted an answer.

“Before Ymir, and Marcel. Before my father as well.”

“The sky is beautiful tonight.” Whispered Porco.

(Y/n) perked her head up, stunned for the briefest of moments before a gentle smile crossed her features.

It was moments of softness like this that made her seem more human than Porco would have thought possible. It was almost ironic how a devil like her, a devil like him, could seem so much more human than anyone else Porco would have seemingly met.

It was moments like this that brought (Y/n) back into the reality that she and him shared.

“Yes,” (Y/n) let out a small laugh, “it is quite beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one quite like it before.”

“Did the stars in Paradis look this way?” Porco asked, “I mean, are the constellations the same?”

“There are no two skies that are ever exactly the same.”

“You make it sound like you’ve seen thousands of different skies.”

(Y/n) curled her head to the side curiously, “haven’t you?”

Porco rolled his eyes playfully, “not everyone has access to the memories of every past predecessor like you, (Y/n).”

“You know, I really like the way you say my name.”

Porco felt a flush furiously attack his cheeks, “w-what?”

“I like the way you say my name.”

The Shifter shuttered, “why?”

“Well, you have a tone of voice that is similar to my father which makes it familiar and nostalgic. But you also have a slight lisp and place a different emphasis on the second last syllable instead of the last which makes it unique. Something solely unique to you.” explained (Y/n).

“No! I mean, why would you say something like that!”

“Because I have no filter.” (Y/n) smiled, “and sometimes speaking with no filter helps you to become closer to someone else.”

It was moments of vulnerability like this that made Porco’s heart beat erratically in his chest.

(Y/n), his childhood friend.

(Y/n), the girl his brother had loved.

(Y/n), the girl who walked around as if she were in another world.

(Y/n), the lonely and distant girl.

(Y/n).

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I might have had a little bit to drink before coming out here to find you.”

“Titan Shifters can’t get drunk. Our bodies burn through the alcohol too quickly to actually face the normal consequences.” Porco rolled his eyes playfully, “but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Guilty as charged. I just wanted to give you an excuse for my actions if you were uncomfortable in any way.”

Porco sat up, before turning to look at the girl who sat beside him. He was quick to snatch the hand that lay beside his own as he directed her gaze towards his own. She always did things, whether consciously or subconsciously, to make things easier for others. “Why can’t you just ever be selfish?”

Her eyes shone with a glimmer of light, “because I wouldn’t want to take that away from you.”

And there was a warmth that suddenly filled up Porco.

He quickly pulled away from the girl and turned away.

He hated that warmth that made his stomach bubble and his chest soar. It didn’t burn the way it did when he transformed, but it wasn’t the most pleasant sensation either. It made him want to run towards the toilet and puke his insides out. It was the kind of feeling that made his head spin and his gut bubble.

He hated feelings he couldn’t control. Sure, his feelings (and reactions) were normal, but that didn’t mean Porco had to like them.

He hated all those warm and unfamiliar emotions because he knew all too well what they meant.

He knew that his sweaty palms and racing heart meant that he was nervous. He knew that the warmth that filled his chest meant that he was happy about the situation. The flush on his face meant that his body was experiencing a new phenomenon that he didn’t quite have control over yet. And, he knew that all of those symptoms put together had meant that he was falling in love. Or perhaps, he had already fallen in love.

But this love that he held towards this girl would never be something he would be able to act on.

He wasn’t brave and brash like (Y/n).

He would never be able to say something like ‘I like the way you say my name’ without it meaning more than he would ever be able to convey. Unlike her, his words would always hold so much more than she would ever know. Or, perhaps she already did know. Her knowing nature was something that Porco had always loved about her.

He didn’t have to embarrass himself with seemingly obvious questions. Sure, it was sometimes unnerving to think that someone knew that you were thinking, but it was also comforting. Comforting to know that there was someone out there that understood you. Comforting to know that there is someone who cares about you enough to see through the walls you put up and not push you past them.

“Don’t feel uncomfortable around me.”

“What was that, Porco?” (Y/n) asked. The Shifter could feel the girl’s warmth as she hovered barely a distance away from him as she attempted to hear his words.

“You don’t have to go out of your way to make me comfortable.” Porco mumbled, “I already know you don’t have a filter and just say whatever you want. So you don’t have to just do things when you’re trying to make me feel comfortable.”

“Say that again, Galliard.” (Y/n) teased, “I still can’t quite make out what you’re saying.”

“Come on, (Y/n). We both know that you heard what I said.”

“I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

“Of course you did.”

“And by the way, what’s with me just saying whatever I want! You’re practically just as bad! Remember what you said to Reiner the other day?”

“(Y/n).”

The girl wrapped her arms around Porco’s waist and rested her head on his shoulder, “don’t think about things so far into the future all the time, Porco. Just think about this moment right now.”

Hypocrite.

She was always the one living in another moment. Not him. She was always the one who flitted from place to place without a second thought. She was the one who jumped in and out of these moments with him and everyone else. The person who walked around as if they knew so much better than everyone else.

Despite her response though, Porco still asked, “will you be here tomorrow?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“I know. I just want it to be something different sometimes.”

“No you don’t.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because you, Porco Galliard, are a man who tries to live with no regrets. If you really want something to happen then you’ll make it happen. Someone who walks down the path with the least regrets.”

“Says you.” huffed Porco.

“I have walked down so many different paths of regret. But you, Porco, you are someone who will always walk down the path you think best.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, let’s head back to that stuffy tent of yours. The doctor should be coming to check up on you soon.” commanded (Y/n).

“Fine.”

Falling in love is such a natural thing, and the person he felt the most himself around was in fact the girl who drifted in and out of this reality. Perhaps it may not thunderstorm in the desert but it certainly would rain on occasion for the briefest of moments. And, at least right now, no matter how brief this moment, she was his.

Fall in love by letting your guard down.

#attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin x reader #porco galliard x reader #100 ways to fall in love