#because kia completely and utterly fucked me over

[florenceisfalling]

the woes are upon me and i know there are bigger priorities in the world atm but if anybody wants to just toss a coin to their little loser and add a character name with it i'll make you some of my geometric ms paint art like this 👍 no pressure

#commissions #i just dont have a car for the trip i am supposed to make to see my fiancee #because kia completely and utterly fucked me over #some of my meds are in that car too which i will probably be able to get but i am having OTHER stress induced medical problems as a result #i cannot reschedule the trip #so im possibly going to have to spend 6x as much money for flights that take literally the same amount of time #and i literally dont know how much money is currently in my bank account because since my mom died my bank kinda fucked me over too #i also have to worry about getting new glasses because mine are so outdated i really cannot see for shit #im scheduling this instead of posting it because my circumstances might change between now and later tomorrow #but plane tickets are getting pricier by the day so i cant wait forever

[soapybutt17]

Coldest Night

Summary: What if your worse nightmare has come to life?

Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. Simon "Ghost" Riley. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. John "Soap" MacTavish.

Word Count: 1,702

Chapter Warnings: Angst. Character Death(s). Life threatening injuries. Mentions of blood loss. Mentions of violence. Major Spoiler for MW3.

A/N: To the anon that sent me the request, just know that i know you had good intentions, but i am not over mw3 and what they had done to my boy Soap and now i'm just down right sad again. didn't go into too much detail for soap's part cuz the wound is still fresh and my boy did not deserve what happened to him. :'(

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John “Soap” MacTavish

The day that you had learned Soap was KIA, you had fallen to your knees in the middle of the base and had sobbed your heart out. Johnny had always had a special place in your heart. Out of the three, you had worried about Soap the most knowing how his tendency to act brashly had ended with him more injured than he needed to be.

You mourned his death worse than anyone else in the base. You were the one that had to make the call to his family, letting them know about Soap’s passing. How it had been so hard for you to hold the tears as you listened to his parents crying through the other line. You still held a level of professionalism as you explained to his family the next step that was needed to be taken and you would be helping them all throughout wherever they may need you.

Early on, a part of you would begin to blame each and every single one of the boys. They had made a promise to you that they would keep an eyes on each other. But they broke it, you had unfortunately displaced most of your anger towards your husband, who’s already filled with guilt knowing Soap had died under his command, Soap had died saving him from Makarov.

But slowly but surely you began to heal, learning that you should not have blamed anyone of the boys for what has happened—especially your husband. The man was already plagued with his own guilt, Survivor’s guilt as the therapist you had forced all three of them to take had explained. You had your own guilt, knowing if only you had been there for the mission, you could have made difference. But at the end of the day, there was no use thinking of the what ifs. It was about learning to move on.

It was in Soap’s death that you and your husband have decided to retire. The fear of having to lose either Gaz or Ghost haunted you both. It was no a decision either of you would be willing to make any longer. You couldn’t in your conscious allow another meaningless death because of a war be on either of your hands.

Even as the years has passed since Soap’s death, you had never forgotten the man and all the memories that you had shared with him in your time as part of the Taskforce. You were still mourning just as much as your husband, but it was slowly but surely getting better. It had also become your mission of constantly checking up on the two boys, proud that they’ve gotten themselves promoted as Captain and Lieutenant respectfully. They had both deserved it, more than either of them would believe, Soap would have been their number one support should he still been alive to witness it all.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

“Don’t you fucking die on me, Riley!”

Even as hard as you try to keep the wound covered, Simon was losing so much blood that you were slowly but surely doubting if he would be able to make it. It was stupid of him to take the bullet to save you. Completely and utterly stupid of him to do this to you now when he finally has a life to live.

“You deserve to live, you’ve got the Captain and the little princess waiting for you back home.” Simon gasp, even as hard as he tries to be strong, pain was very well written on his masked face.

Your hands dug further onto his stomach where the bullet wound resides. All of your medical training has faded from your mind as panic continued to settle. Tearing your sleeves off, you placed it onto his stomach, hoping it would add to the gauze stopping the wound from bleeding further out.

“You fucking deserve to live too.” You snapped, radioing back up again. A single tear was shed as you were given an ETA of an hour.

Simon might not make it in an hour.

“I want you to promise me something, Rookie.” He coughed, his shaking hand slowly pulled off his mask revealing his pale face, and blood loss was slowly but surely manifesting. “Promise me that you’ll bury me in my home town, not as Ghost, but as Simon Riley.”

You sobbed, knowing what his request had entailed. His past that had once haunted him all throughout his life and his career. He was ready to leave it all behind and live and die finally as the man behind the mask.

“Bury me with me Mum and brother.”

“Okay.” You nod, sobbing now as he clasped onto your hands pulling it away from the wound on his stomach.

“Thank you for being the Mum I thought I could never have again.” He whispered cupping your cheeks with his bloodied hand before his hands fell and his eyes closed.

Death had taken him from you and all you could do was sob, shaking him awake, ignoring the voice of your husband and the rest of the team that had grown concern that your sobs would notify their enemies of your whereabouts, but it truly didn’t matter. You’ve lost Simon, your boy. The man that you had loved like he was your own, and the man you had promised your husband to protect when you had agreed to go on this mission with him.

You had failed Simon, just as much as you had failed to keep your promise with John. You would never see yourself ever stepping back onto a mission again after this. You had vowed to yourself never to because of it.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

“How is he?”

It’s been three days of no sleep for you. You had refused to leave the confinements of the cold plastic chair that was situated outside of the hospital room where Kyle was in. No one, not even your husband could coerce you into leaving your place outside of the room.

John, Soap, and Simon had begun taking turns in giving you food, coffee, or change of clothes. But nothing could truly make you leave your position until you were sure that Kyle was stable and as far away from any sorts of danger.

But you should have expected something like this to happen. A mission gone wrong would always end with someone getting compromised. You were thankful that it was just an injury—as severe as it had been for the past few days, it was better than dealing with a funeral and paper works that come along with it.

You were still shaken up after you’ve been notified that Kyle was compromised. You dropped everything and made your way here in the hospital. All thoughts of work and your obligations were placed in the backburner until you were certain he was going to be alright.

“Stable.” The Doctor’s single word had washed all the relief onto your body. It was all you needed to know.

“Damages?” You inquired.

“Broken collar bone and hairline fracture to the skull, but they will heal. What I want him to focus more on is healing the few bullet wounds to the stomach he dealt with. We were able to remove most of the bullets and fragments, but we will not be certain about any underlying damage until after he wakes up.”

You nod. In the years of knowing Kyle, you know he would be able to get back from this, but knowing the damages that he had to endure because of this mission, there was this fear that just doesn’t seem to leave you. What if there was something wrong that would change his life in a way that no one would help him with.

“When will he be able to wake up then?”

“When he is good and ready.”

You nodded, thanking the doctor for the update. Slumping back onto the chair, you sighed resting your face onto your hand. Only now did you feel the fatigue and lack of sleep finally get to you.

“How are you holding up, Darling?”

Looking up, the sight of your husband was a welcome comfort for you in this very moment. He sat beside you with his arm immediately wrapping around your shoulder. Only now did you also come to realize the shiver that run through your body at the lack of coat.

“Better than Kyle is.” You muttered.

“He’s gonna be alright.” John’s reassurance did nothing to you in the moment, but you held onto it still. Every single reassurance that was given to you, you would take.

“I hope so,” You muttered. “He was supposed to be on drill duties next week.” You hoped a little humor could ease away your worries.

“And he still will when he wakes up.” John reassured with a chuckle. “I’ll make sure of it, My Love.”

“What if he doesn’t come out of this the same way?”

“Then we will help him adjust to the civilian life should it be the choice he makes for himself.” He answered immediately. “We will not know for sure, but whatever happens, it is our duty and our responsibility to make sure all three of those Muppets are well taken care of whether they still work for us or not.”

You nodded understanding very well what he was trying to say.

“I just can’t stop worrying about him. I don’t know how he’s doing right now and what he’s feeling.”

“I worry about him too.” John admits sighing. “But we will resolve nothing if all we do is worry about him and the other two.”

You nodded. Only now did you realize that for the past few days, your husband had allowed you the time to take it all in. How one member of your team being compromised as Kyle was right now would not be the first time that it would happen and you were certain it would not be the last.

You had your duty just like John did. With Kyle now in the clear, it was only time for you to regroup and deal with the mess you’ve left behind in the base.

#John Price One Shots #John Price Oneshot #John Price Oneshots #john price headcanon #John Price x reader #john price x female reader #John price x wife! reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #cod fanfic #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #captain price #x reader #female reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price #captain price x you #john price #john price x you #captain price x female reader #john price angst #simon riley angst #soap mactavish angst #kyle garrick angst

[ramrage]

ghost’s ghost

chapter 1: origin story (feat. date night!)

work rating: T

chapter rating: T

relationship: John “Soap” MacTavish x Simon “Ghost” Riley”

characters: John “Soap” MacTavish, Simon “Ghost” Riley”, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick cameo, John Price cameo

tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Body Horror, Main Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Ghost John “Soap” MacTavish, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Crack, Dark Crack, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Changing Tenses, Not (always) chronological,

summary:

Johnny broke the silence first, laughing, “Okay, this is unspeakably terrible but you gotta admit, it’s kinda funny.”

What?” Simon asked, aghast. His comms crackled with someone saying something important—not quite as important as this, though.

“You’re Ghost,” Johnny began, “and I’m a ghost. Get it?”

Simon groaned though he actually wanted to cry. It was weird. Obviously.

Johnny is KIA which sucks, but it sucks a bit less because he never really… leaves? Here are some vignettes of Ghost and ghostly Soap.

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

ao3 link

Johnny is KIA which sucks, obviously, but it sucks a bit less because he never really… leaves?

They discovered it moments after he bled out, Simon still hunched over his body, frantically, futilely performing chest compressions.

“Watch your six!”

Simon jolted, twisted, and landed two shots in the face of the approaching x-ray before stilling. “What the hell?” That was Johnny’s voice. Was he still…? Simon, hopeful, hazarded another look at Soap’s body. It was unchanged—pale and bloodied and most certainly still dead.

“Bleeding’ fucken Jesus…” Johnny’s voice cut through the din of chaos again, but it came from several meters away from where his body was cooling on the ground.

His boyfriend—whatever the fuck he was—was dead, and now he’s hallucinating. Class.

“Simon, fucken look at me, dammit.”

Simon obeyed, and sure enough, there he was: John Fucking Mactavish. In the flesh.

“Bloody hell, Johnny,” Simon gasped, running to meet him, to fall into his outstretched arms. The pieces didn’t fit together, but relief overshadowed logic. It clarified somewhat the steps taken between point A to B, becoming clearer yet when Simon all but phased through his lover’s body

Sprawled on the ground where he fell, Simon’s wide eyes met Johnny’s wide eyes, both men completely, utterly flabbergasted.

Johnny broke the silence first, laughing, “Okay, this is unspeakably terrible but you gotta admit, it’s kinda funny.”

“What?” Simon asked, aghast. His comms crackled with someone saying something important—not quite as important as this, though.

“You’re Ghost,” Johnny began, “and I’m a ghost . Get it?”

Simon groaned though he actually wanted to cry. It was weird. Obviously.

“Don’t worry yer pretty head, I’ll explain it later. First, get your arse out of here alive, ” Johnny said in a rushed sort of way, as if his life was still on the line. He checked over his shoulder. “Now would be nice.”

So Simon did.

The rest, they say, is history.

———————————————

Now, several months later, they are indulging in a much-needed date night. Date nights are often called much-needed, be it as an excuse for getting a little quality time, stress relief, or simply an effort to keep the romance alive. Such concerns are all the more salient for soldiers, especially when only one of the two is alive.

For obvious reasons, the activities requiring more action tend to be a bust. Take for example last month’s arcade excursion. Who would’ve known it’s hard to play pinball when you can’t fucking touch things? As such, dinner dates prove to be a favorite. They’re a pleasant play at normalcy, and as a bonus, they’re an excuse to try out new restaurants.

This week is Johnny’s choice—a swanky little establishment with romantic lighting and an extensive cocktail menu. Johnny haunts Simon’s shoulder as they enter, looking rather pleased with the overall ambiance.

His question of “Not too shabby, eh,?” doesn’t receive a verbal response, but Simon flashes a subtle smile and its answer enough, all things considered.

That is, Simon can’t exactly say “not at all” without the hostess thinking he’s lost his fucking mind. Obviously, such an outcome isn’t exactly “ideal” in the strictest sense of the word. A smile, however, can pass as a greeting, and apparently it does. Public communication is a game of double-meanings these days.

“Just yourself?” the hostess asks the big scary man in front of her.

“Yeah,” Simon nods, “and my stupid ghost boyfriend.”

He keeps that second part to himself. If she thinks the solo-diner is odd, she doesn’t show it. In fact, she remarks that it’s all “grand” before leading him to an open table.

Along the way, Johnny sends a conspiratorial look. “She got something against Scots? Didn’t even look at me”. He makes this joke every damn time they go out, unchanging in its delivery dripping in mock-offense.

Simon shoots him a sharp “shut the fuck up” glare, same as always, and lets Johnny take the far seat, also same as always. Simon isn’t overly fond of having his back to the door, but he levies that risk against the risk of seeming insane for chatting with an empty seat. All relationships involve a bit of give and take.

The hostess isn’t yet out of earshot when Johnny leans in with a mischievous grin. “You’re looking good, Si. Real good. In fact, so good I’d take you over this table, right here, right now.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “You can’t. Twat.”

“A man can dream, no?” Johnny settles with a shrug. He watches fondly as Simon scans the menu, his lovely little eyes trailing from left to right, left to right. What a human thing to do. What a not-human thing to admire.

It’s not even like he can’t read anymore—he can. It’s just hard to find purpose in it when the only way he can apply it to the world is through a tall, blond proxy.

“I mean it, though. You’re the most gorgeous thing I ever did see.”

Simon blushes for the dead man. It’s funny. Johnny was never quite as forthcoming with the compliments when he was alive. His reasoning was that he was afraid of the openness, afraid of any negative reaction his flirtations would get him. He doesn’t give much of a shit anymore. Dying really puts things in perspective.

Simon looks up from the menu with a shy, fond smile. “Anything stand out to you?”

“You” Johnny responds with a wink, “but if you’re talking about what’s on the menu, hm. Can’t say no to some lamb but…” he trails off and pulls a face, “the hell are fondant potatoes”

“Fondant potatoes?” Simon parrots before scanning the menu with a light frown. “No fucking clue. Sounds pretentious as shit.”

“I’m saying!”

“Fondant potatoes...” he mutters. A few more moments pass and Simon finally shakes his head with an exasperated sigh. “This whole bloody menu is pretentious, Johnny. You won't do much better than fondant potatoes .”

“Lamb with the pretentious potatoes then,” Johnny says after a bit of hemming and hawing. “Sacrifice them real nice for me, eh, baby?”

“I always do.”

It’s true enough, if only because of the all-or-nothing nature of sacrificing, a process Simon has well worked out since they discovered it.

According to legend, Simon was drinking his sorrows one sad night when Johnny nodded to his beer and requested Simon—verbatim— “pour one out for the homie.”

Simon, not particularly amused, grumbled “for the homie” and wailed the bottle across the room. Just as it exploded into a shower of glass and stout, another similarly half-drunk bottle appeared on the table.

They didn’t notice it at first. Johnny was too busy chewing Simon out and Simon was too busy getting chewed out. It was in the silence afterwards when Simon, looking for a sip of relief, reached for the bottle with swaying hands and startled as his hand passed straight through the bottle, as if it wasn’t even there.

“The hell?”

Johnny glanced over just as Simon’s fingertips emerged from the glass. Half-awed with a half-baked conclusion already in mind, he muttered, “no bleeding way,” and repeated this phrase over and over as he tentatively reached for the bottle to test his hypothesis. To his surprise and delight, it toppled at the touch of a finger.

He was beaming when he looked Simon’s way. “Bleeding fucking Jesus. You did it.”

They found through experimentation that successful sacrifices require two things: destruction and intention. Pouring one out—complete destruction—for the homies—intention.

Both are necessary, and as an interesting and limiting caveat, the sacrifice has to be rendered completely useless in one world to transfer to the other.

In other words, when Simon asks the server for two orders of lamb with fondant potatoes—one for here, one takeaway—he does so with the intention of flushing the latter down the toilet. The wine is a different story.

“Cabernet or pinot noir,” Simon hums in feigned contemplation. In reality, he’s waiting for Johnny to stop cooing about “how sexy he sounds speaking French” and spit out a fucking answer. Luckily, the mask does a great job of hiding his annoyance and blush.

“Pinot noir,” Johnny decides with a nod.

“Pinot noir,” Simon repeats.

Johnny groans indulgently as the server pens the order into her notepad, but is merciful enough to wait for her to leave before saying, “y’know, I only got the pinot because you say it so sexy, and I just needed to hear it again.”

“You’re fucking insufferable,” Simon responds, utterly devoted to suffering Johnny for as long as fortune would let him. He keeps that to himself, though. No need to tell the world that water is wet.

Case in point, Johnny’s chin rests easy in his palm, turning his fond smile smushed and insufferably sweeter for it. Death filed away at his rough edges somehow, left him soft. Simon, too.

They shoot the shit over the empty table, basking in normalcy they don’t deserve, and let the conversation take a raunchy turn. As if they’d be able to act on half the things they discuss.

The server returns at a decidedly inopportune moment but bless Simon’s poker face, she has no idea her customer is hearing the tail end of a particularly foul fantasy, courtesy of his unseen companion.

“Call me crazy, Johnny,” Simon whispers once the server leaves, “but it seems like you save the nastiest shit for when we have an audience.”

Johnny doesn’t even hesitate. “Aye, I do. Very intentionally.”

“Well, interested in continuing your little story?” Simon asks with raised brows. He idly spins the wine around the glass.

“I’m more interested in trying that cabernet.”

“Pinot noir,” Simon corrects.

“Ooh, baby ,” Johnny croons, and Simon swears when he realizes his mistake, swearing even more as Johnny gloats his victory. Unable to react in any meaningful way without looking insane, Simon instead opts to glare Johnny down, and he continues until Johnny gets his fill of gloating and turns his attention back to the wine. “Come on now. Give us a taste?”

Simon raises a brow. “With that attitude?”

“I’ll let you call it a cabernet,” Johnny barters. Simon lets him squirm. “Or even pin-not no-were .”

“Beg for it,” Simon dares, donning a shit-eating grin while he waits expectantly.

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Please can I have some pin-not no-were .”

“Try again. Say it sexy this time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Johnny groans, “can I pretty please have the pee-no nwahr ?”

That seems to do the trick and with a satisfied, obnoxious smirk, Simon bats the glass to the floor. “Cheers, love.”

part 2

#ghost’s ghost #my writing #mine #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #soapghost #soap x ghost #ghoap #simon riley #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #simon riley x john mactavish #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #simon riley x soap mactavish #the woes of covering all the tag permutations for your ship #when both characters in question have aliases

[thedevillionaire]

The Twentieth

Okay. ~5,000 words of Underworldian stuff that happens. Well, primarily one thing, really, but not all at the same time. Sort of. Ask me anything, thank you so very much for reading, and...well, here we go.

--- This was not at all how he’d planned for the day of their anniversary to unfold.

In the back of his mind, in corners he’d quite deliberately not lingered for a moment longer than absolutely necessary, he’d known that trouble was possibly oncoming as early as the night before last, the descending fog of nascent illness as recognisable as it was unwelcome. But it had been…at least a year, perhaps close to two, since he’d last felt this way, and he was hoping that he was wrong, and that what were seeming like potential signs of bad news weren’t actually signs at all.

They were.

Cerberus sniffled.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He’d tried, he really had. Discounting those signs as unimportant even as he took precautions because of them, he’d risked nothing, pushed his luck with nothing. He’d even gone to bed several hours earlier than usual last night, and fallen asleep almost immediately on top of that. Unlike his bonded, who’d had a late night and come home at some uncertain hour from one of those social catch-up things she so enjoyed that he was…less inclined towards, even in times when he was feeling entirely well – not that he’d given that as the reason for his disinclination to participate, of course.

Hardly relevant, anyway.

And he’d slept soundly enough that he’d not woken to notice her join him – in fact, he’d been so sapped of energy that from the moment the warmth of the hearth and bedcovers enveloped him, he was out – which just made it all the more ominous that he’d woken feeling like he’d got no rest at all, bone-tired as if no respite had been granted, with a constant, dull headache that so far had refused to resolve, and yesterday’s mild discomfort at the back of his throat sharpening significantly into an active and intrusive concern.

Getting caught in that ridiculous downpour on the way here wouldn’t have helped matters either, he thought bitterly. Although brief, it had been intense, and sudden, and heavy, and though the mercy of Teleport could not have been a more welcome escape, the short time spent in headblurry indecision about whether or not he should utilise it had nonetheless been long enough that his coat had been soaked through. The refuge of the radiant heat of his Office was helping somewhat, at least, and most of his clothing had dried by now – though his hair, which he’d tied back with a loose bow of slender black velvet ribbon to keep errant strands from his face, was still noticeably and uncomfortably damp against his neck. Less so than had he left it unbound, but still…

If he’d ever regretted choosing to walk rather than taking the lazy option before – gods, the damn irony of thinking that the walk would possibly benefit him tonight, of all things – he was sure he’d not regretted it as much as he did right now.

He sniffled again.

Fuck.

---

Closing the folder of Requiem’s surprisingly competently done assignment, he sighed and added it to the small stack of completed works, vaguely wondering if he’d been too generous with the grading. Although he knew the content backwards and could in fact get away with paying very little serious attention, his mind was nevertheless, for the most part, almost entirely on other things.

This was supposed to be the night where, once respective regular mundanities and commitments were out of the way, he would take his beloved to indulge in whichever of the things she most loved to indulge in while on a Visit, utterly at her behest, and completely guilt-free for her with no mandated set goal to achieve, no limitations on immersion, no regulations at all; just an unscheduled and spontaneous trip to the mortal plane, a high-end cocktail bar all dress codes and decadence, and a veritable array of delicious, oblivious Takings there for her pleasure – ahh, darkling, a smorgasbord! – all eyes upon her because nobody, not in the Underworld and certainly no mortal, can compare, and despite his usual personal antipathy towards bothering with the mortal realm, he knew of certain excellences all the same, and he’d put his own preferences aside and simply present her with the glories and spoils she deserved, watch her dance from the shadows and delight in it.

Darkling, I will give you the world.

He’d had every intention of doing precisely that.

And it was also really starting to feel like he was definitely not going to…not going to let this happen, damn it. You’ll be fine, stop putting unnecessary emphasis on transient discomfort, it’s nothing, you know these things pass, just…

He sniffled again, more sharply this time, claimed another tissue and blew his nose, trying to disregard how doing so did nothing much to stop the continuing drip and irritation.

Just get on with it. Honestly. Vaporising the tissue, he took another sip of the honeyed tea that wasn’t doing nearly as much to counteract the sting in his throat as he’d hoped it would, and returned his attention to the job at hand. He noted with distaste as he opened the new folder that yet again it seemed that Hellion hadn’t bothered to proofread the simplest of…

Oh gods.

His breath caught, thoughts ceased, focus helplessly crumbling.

“Hh-hh…”

He rolled his eyes at the inevitability of it, and grabbed another tissue, and another, as the insistent need made itself unstoppably and urgently known.

“Hh-TSCHH-uu! *snff!* Huh-TSSCHH-uu!”

Therion, across the room and in the midst of cataloguing a stupidly confusing array of recently rediscovered and yet unsorted secondgen scrolls, glanced back over his shoulder at Cerberus briefly. “Gesundheit,” he commented offhand, not remotely surprised by this development. Given the constant sniffling that had been going on for the last couple of hours or so, he’d pretty much been expecting that to happen sooner or later. No matter how infrequently the Demon king may catch cold, symptoms were symptoms. Sounding like shit there, boss, he thought, but decided against voicing it.

Cerberus managed a quick thankyou before the demanding urge once again overtook him, and he inhaled deeply, desperately, the force of the sneeze almost doubling him over.

“hhh-AHHTSSCHHUU!”

Therion glanced over again. “You okay, man?”

Cerberus, with a strong sniffle, cleared his throat and made an incidental sound of dismissal. “Mm, fine,” he murmured, which he knew at this point was a complete lie, his head pounding. “Pardon me.” He blew his nose, sniffling again immediately. Ugh. “It’s, um…it’s nothing.”

He returned his attention to Hellion’s paper.

It was, however, no matter his assurance, becoming undeniably something.

Fuck.

---

The hours had somehow simultaneously dragged and flown by, some goals achieved, others – and, to be honest, the ones he’d most been counting on – unfortunately not so.

Cerberus sighed heavily, put aside the last of the assignments he’d reviewed, and, having had quite enough of honeyed tea for one day, poured himself a substantial glass of cognac from the decanter on his desk.

On the plus side, he’d got through a decent amount of the papers, all things considered. On the minus, though, his oncoming cold, rather than resolving into the insignificance he’d hoped for, had instead settled in undeniably, pouring into his head like cement, and he pressed the back of his hand firmly against his nose with enough force for pain to overtake irritation. He vaporised yet another bunch of used tissues, sniffling again, and tried to take his mind off Kia and what she might be thinking, expecting, dreaming, anticipating…

..and what he feared he was not going be able to deliver.

Acceptance of such, however, was still not something he was willing to entertain quite yet.

Damn it, it’s one night. Surely you can at least delay this ridiculousness for one more night. With a lengthy, determined sniffle and heavy exhalation, Cerberus, elbow on desk and hand against forehead, lost himself in a mix of annoyance and self-pity for a moment before an intense rising fury at the situation overtook it, and he frowned, sat up straighter, and drained the glass of cognac entirely.

Do. Better.

With a brief shake of his head, he rubbed his nose and opened the next assignment in the pile, read the name. Ah, Cenotaph, he noted with a slight satisfaction. Shouldn’t be dreadful. Although he nearly always…

His thoughts were jarringly interrupted by the intrusive ring of the telephone, and despite him dearly wishing he could palm this off to Therion, the phone was on the desk, and proximity demanded he be the one to answer. And to make matters worse – apparently that’s possible, and of course it is – he could feel the rising, inexorable need to sneeze again.

No. This is not happening. Just… The idea of being defeated by such a simple, base physical weakness infuriating, he sniffled with sharp determination, crushing a hand clutching a tissue against his nose, and answered the call.

“Demonics.”

Aera took a moment. “Cerbie? Okay, wow. What are you doing in Office?”

I…work here? Cerberus couldn’t quite parse what her intention was, what sort of answer she was expecting. Was that rhetorical, or…? “I don’t… What do you…” He sniffled again, his breath catching momentarily, but he fought the urge back once more, and tried to concentrate on the matter at hand. “What?”

“‘Debodics’,” Aera said in mimicry of the congestion destroying his consonants, her tone flippant and biting at the same time.

Frowning in annoyance, his patience worn thin enough as it was, and in no mood to engage, Cerberus snarled a curt, “I’m fine,” and wiped his nose.

Aera scoffed. “You’re seriously going the denial route? Hate to break it to you, but you sure don’t sound fine.”

“Do you have a point?” Cerberus asked tersely, internally cursing his inability to comprehensively prove her wrong – not that she was necessarily wrong, but that was hardly the issue.

“Godssake, Cerbie, you’re such a…” Aera began, but recognised she was probably wasting her time and decided to just let it go. She knew his pattern with this sort of thing, and so she backed off a little – though by no means completely. “Okay, fine, alright, I could be wrong, maybe you’re not sick after all. So, you know, if you’ve been crying or punched in the face or something, go right ahead and clear that up for me.”

Cerberus, exasperated and increasingly distracted, just wanted an end to it all. “Damn it, Aera, can you please try to tear yourself away from the apparently fascinating state of my health for a moment and just tell me what the hell it is you want? *snf!* And you could be a bit more pleasant to me, you know,” he added pointedly. “It is my anniversary, after all.”

Aera gasped lightly in realisation, the date having escaped her notice completely. “Oh, shit, it is too! Ah, fuck, sorry, happy anniversary. But, no, anyway, this call does actually have a point. I think I might have left a scarf in your Office yesterday. Do you have it? It’s blue.”

You couldn’t have just asked that immediately? Cerberus glanced around the Office perfunctorily, not seeing anything of the kind. “N…” His breath caught again and he scrubbed his hand roughly under his nose, sniffling sharply, and took a moment before trusting himself enough to answer her. “No.”

“Really? What the hell have I done with it, then?” Aera wondered, partially to Cerberus but mostly to herself, before returning her attention to the conversation at hand. “Oh, and bless you.”

“What?” Cerberus frowned in confusion, his head clouded enough that he wasn’t entirely certain that he hadn’t missed or forgotten something that surely he ought not to have been able to miss or forget. “I…I didn’t sneeze.” It was…inescapably true that he needed to, but he’d not…

Aera chuckled briefly, quietly. “You will.”

She hung up.

The freedom afforded him by that disconnection, one staggered, desperate inhale was all it took. And in the moment, he didn’t even care that she’d been right. At this point he just wanted relief.

“hh-HH… Ahh-HEHTSSHhuu!”

“Gesundheit,” said Therion again, smiling grimly to himself. He usually minded his own business about this sort of thing – not that it came up much – and indeed still considered staying out of it altogether now. But he hadn’t known about the anniversary factor before, and playing substitute Leader for a few days was hardly the worst fate in the world, and if not tonight it was almost certainly going to come to that fate soon enough anyway, so…

He put the scrolls aside, walking over to stand opposite where Cerberus was seated at the desk. “Hey, man…”

“Huh-AHSSCHuu! *snf!*” Cerberus groaned. “Gods. Excuse me,” he murmured with a heavy sigh, his head and sinuses throbbing. He sniffled wetly, blew his nose, excused himself again, and looked up at Therion somewhat hazily. “Mm?”

Therion half-smiled, casual, non-committal. “Happy anniversary, dude. Didn’t mean to listen in or anything, just…you know. Overheard.”

A small smile of appreciative thanks crossing his face, Cerberus sniffled again and nodded in otherwise silent acknowledgement.

“Just a thought, though,” Therion continued. “If I had a choice between going home to my mad-hot bonded… How many years now, man?”

A heartbeat. An eternity.

“Twenty.”

“Fucking what?!” Therion stared at Cerberus as if he was out of his mind. “Fuck, man! Congrats and shit, but for real? If I had a choice between going home, like, immediately or staying in Office for a few more hours marking shit I could pretty easily get my Understudy to do, actually? I’d be out of here in a fucking microsecond. But, you know, you’re the boss, man. Do whatever. Just saying.” Reaching across the desk, he picked up Cenotaph’s paper and scanned its contents quickly. “I mean, this looks pretty good, I guess, but, you know, Kia probably looks better.” He grinned as Cerberus gave a dark smile in response, and paused only for a short time, but enough that the pause be noted. “Seriously. You know she’d spoil the fuck out of you.”

Cerberus sighed again, regret, bitterness and castigating self-reproach evident in his eyes beneath a haze of sickness he really could no longer deny. Yes, I know, of course I know, but... “The spoiling really was suppo… hh-HH…” He hastily took another few tissues from the box, burying his face in them just in time to catch another fierce sneeze he had no chance of stopping. “AHHTSCHUU! Goddamnit. Pardon me.” He wiped his nose, sniffling again immediately – disturbingly liquid, entirely ineffectual, and with a weariness behind it that he could not disguise. Looking back up at Therion, he returned to his point. “I’d really intended the providing of spoils to be my job tonight. And this…utter ridiculousness—” He made a vague gesture towards his face. “—was supposed to have improved, not worsened, damn it.”

With another heavy sigh, disappointment palpable, he capitulated. “I don’t suppose you keep any cold medication in Office, do you?”

“Sorry.” Therion shook his head. “Go the fuck home, man. I got this.”

Standing, Cerberus nodded briefly in reply, giving Therion a firm pat on the shoulder as he passed by. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and vanished.

---

And naturally half the damn Underworld seems to be here.

Well, he most certainly was not going to queue.

Ignoring the mixture of hushed mutterings and soft gasps from the others in the Healing centre – none of whom he recognised but it was evident from the expressions on the faces of the…many people staring at him that the reverse was not the case – Cerberus walked to the front of the line with only the most cursory of glances at those who he had no intention of waiting either for or behind, greeted Riviera at the front desk perfunctorily and, abruptly beyond caring to hear any more of the continuing intrusive sussurance, froze the entirety of the waiting room’s occupants under Stasis with a crisp wave of his hand.

Dear gods, shut up. I will set you all on fire and I won’t regret it for a second.

He sniffled strongly. “Aldiss, please,” he said to Riviera, who had already Mindsent the Healing Leader in anticipation of precisely that directive.

“On her way,” Riviera replied. She indicated the Stasis-held others. “Um, is that…are they…?”

“Entirely temporary, just expedient. I’ll undo it soon enough.”

Aldiss appeared beside Riviera at the desk, Mindsending her :Cover me for a bit. Room 5, burns, not serious, mostly dealt with already,: and Riviera duly vanished.

At a loss and clearly awaiting clarification, Aldiss turned her attention to Cerberus. “Alright, what are you doing here?”

Cerberus frowned. Why is everywhere I am apparently a surprise tonight? “I’m ill, obviously. Why else would I be here? I need cold medication.” He sniffled again, as if in emphasis, though not intentionally so, and wiped his nose.

“Again? Already?”

Again? There IS no again. I literally just got here. What the hell is going on? Cerberus briefly wondered if he could be hallucinating this entire sequence of events, so little of it seemed to make any coherent sense. “What do you mean ‘already’?” He winced as his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, which did little more than cause him a different kind of discomfort, a convulsive cough following in short order, his nose running again as a result. He sniffled sharply, repeatedly. Gods. For fuck’s sake. “Excuse me.”

“I’m not giving you anything more if you’ve taken the other lot already.”

“Damn it, Aldiss, do I sound like I’ve taken anything?!”

Aldiss did have to concede that point.

Thoroughly exasperated, Cerberus exhaled heavily in annoyance. “Why is everything always such an ordeal in this place?” And suddenly another strangeness occurred to him. “Wait – what other lot?

“The meds Kia picked up, obviously.”

“What?!” Cerberus, a fresh fear striking him – one he was entirely unprepared for, one that actually managed to distract him from his own discomforts for a moment – stared at Aldiss in unconcealed horror. “Kia’s unwell?!”

With a wry smile, Aldiss shook her head. “I swear I never personally get to experience it, but rumour has it you’re actually quite a clever man, Cerberus, so try and stay with me here, alright?” She looked at him with a certain sardonic encouragement. “The meds Kia picked up for you.”

Unfortunately, this didn’t make much more sense to him, if at all. “But what reason would…” He sniffled again. “Why would she do that?” He rubbed and wrinkled his nose against a building itch, took a tissue from the box on the desk, then another, and tried to stay focused.

Aldiss, in mildly amused bafflement that he could actually be this oblivious, stared at the Demon king as if he was a complete imbecile. “Because you’ve got a cold?”

Annoyance clearly evident despite the hitch in his breath, Cerberus frowned at her. “Yes, Aldiss, we’ve established that, but Ki…Kia doesn’t…” Ah, fuck. Bringing the tissues to his face as the itch became sharply definite, he turned away hurriedly. “Huh-ATSSCHH-uu!” He groaned, sniffling immediately, the force of the sneeze bringing to the fore anew the pulsing headache he’d almost, almostbeen able to forget, his breath still a little shaky as he excused himself. He claimed another tissue and wiped his nose, sniffling again, and took a moment before returning to his earlier point. “Kia doesn’t know about *snf!* this yet.”

“Yes, she most certainly does,” Aldiss countered. “What, you didn’t think she’d notice?”

“Well, of course she’d notice now, damn it, Aldiss,” said Cerberus in open irritation, “but I wasn’t nearly this…”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Cerberus. How long have you been together?”

“As it happens, it’s our twentieth anniversary tonight,” Cerberus replied, a bitter and rueful undertone unmissable despite increasing congestion, “which I am attempting not to completely ruin.” Another sharp sniffle. “Apparently a futile pursuit,” he muttered resentfully, and pressed the back of his hand against his nose in an attempt to see off a newly threatening, vibrantly insistent itch.

“Twenty years and you think she’d miss a thing? She knows you. She knows you really well. How do you not…”

“Ahh-HEHTSSHhuu!”

Aldiss sighed as Cerberus, thoroughly losing the battle, sneezed again, wetly and powerfully, and she passed him a handful of tissues as he murmured both an apology and a thankyou. Looking out at the significant number of people yet to be seen, she allowed him some necessary moments of recovery, then made her point. “Listen, I’m sorry you’ve managed to catch cold for your anniversary but you do have both medication and a devoted bonded waiting at home. Please go there. Kia’s probably wondering where the hell you are anyway, since – if I can I remind you – she knows you’re sick. Oh, and you can undo your…stopping people in time thing or whatever it is now, too, thank you very much.”

“As always, Aldiss, it’s been a delight.” Releasing his Stasis hold with a short wave, the murmurs and mutterings picking up precisely where they’d been cut off as if there had never been a break, Cerberus turned his gaze briefly upon his unbidden rapt audience, disregarded them all equally, internally cursed himself for having even bothered to come to this ridiculous place, inclined his head in crisp farewell, and promptly vanished.

---

Leaning back against the loungeroom wall in weary resignation upon his Teleported arrival home, Cerberus stopped still, his attentions resolutely redirected in an instant at the entirely unexpected sight of his beautiful lifebonded reclining languorously across the couch, dressed – or almost dressed, it could technically be said – in diaphanous babydoll chemise and finest lace lingerie, soft brunette darkestness falling silkenwild around her shoulders, a vision of breathtaking boudoir fantasy he was quite thoroughly unprepared for, and he paused for a moment to simply gaze at her, enchanted.

:Darkling, you are perfection.:

Kia looked up slowly, and with a sultry, indulgent smile, dropped her book onto the coffee table and stretched before sitting up just a little, beckoning him to join her with crooked finger and open invitation.

“Took your time, sweetheart,” she said, gently teasing, and opened the bottle of cognac, pouring a glass for them both. “I’d almost decided to start without you.”

“Love, I…” Cerberus began but was torn from his words unstoppably, unable to do anything about the sudden, desperate need overtaking him, and, expression crumpling and focus destroyed, he had no choice but to give in to it. “Huh-TSCHH-uu! Ah-HEHTSCHuu!” He pardoned himself with haste, groaning quietly.

“Aw, bless you, hon. Come here.” Kia repeated her beckoning motion. She regarded him a moment, frowning in puzzlement. “Where’s your coat?” She’d not seen him leave the house this morning, but she was entirely certain he’d have worn one.

“Hmm? Oh, um…” Cerberus sniffled, wiped his nose and glanced down at himself, not having given any particular thought to his outfit – his standard fine linen shirt, brocade waistcoat, tailored black pants – since leaving Office.

Which was, of course, where he’d left his coat.

“Got rained on. Earlier, that is, not… A while ago, anyhow.” He sniffled again and tried to focus. “In Office. The coat, I mean, not where the…rain was.” He sighed in exasperation as anger at the situation overtook tiredness again. “Honestly, it would be nice if I could at least form a damn sentence!” Gods, what the hell is wrong with you. Get your damn shit together. “Sorry, love. I, um…used Teleport after that, though, so I’ve not really been outside since.”

“Well, coat or not, you were supposed to have given up and come home ages ago.” Kia laughed gently. “You know, like a normal person. Why are you always so stubborn about this stuff?” She caressed his face affectionately as he sat beside her, curled an arm around the back of his neck, and kissed him with warm promise. :And don’t you even dare say a word about not wanting to give your cold to me,: she Mindsent preemptively. :Yes, I know, no, I don’t care, and there is no way I’m not kissing you on our twentieth anniversary.:

“Anyway,” she continued in satin murmur, tracing a finger along the angular contours of his jawline and kissing him again, “you know I’ll spoil you.” She looked at him directly then, sapphire eyes narrowing in challenge. “You do know that, right?”

“I…” He did, but between the desire not to need her to – at least not tonight – and rather for him to be, as he’d so very much intended, the one fulfilling any fantasies, and the desire to just try and forget failed plans and expectations and immerse in her…frankly stunning sanctuary, and his head was far too clouded to explain himself right now, and technically he had left Office early anyway so he wasn’t that late really, especially considering he hadn’t realised that he’d been expected, but what did any of this even matter when this goddess before him was so…very… He sniffled again, claiming a tissue and wiping his nose firmly, and wished he was at least a little more functional because she was so incredibly breathtaking, and that was all he could think about in the moment, really, aside from feeling like he was fairly sure he was going to sneeze again – which, when combined with the first and…infinitely preferable reason that he couldn’t think straight, provided a particularly strange contradiction in where his attentions were directed, and now he couldn’t with certainty remember exactly what she’d asked him anymore, and she was just…gods, she was everything, and his head was a mess and he…definitely had to…

He blinked rapidly, his breath hitching in escalating intensity, and turned from Kia to bury his face in crooked elbow. Gods, fuck, just…

“Huh-TSSCHH-uu! Ahh-HUHTSSHhuu!”

The force of the sneezes combined with the pounding throb of sinus-heavy headache to set the room spinning, but despite that had done very little to quiet the insistent irritation he just could not seem to escape tonight. Another staccato breath and fuck ano… hh-HH ..another and a Mindsent apology because he was entirely unable to voice one, doubling over in thrall to desperate demand, powerful, possessing. “Hhuh-AHTSCHUU! Huh…hh-TSSCHH-uu!”

“Oh, sweetheart, bless you.” Kia indicated the medications she’d collected on the table, though she wasn’t sure there was much point, his ability to focus entirely and…mesmerisingly hijacked. “You should probably…”

Cerberus, with a brief shake of his head, held up a finger in a gesture indicating that she had to wait a moment, the relentless need not done with him yet, and he inhaled deeply, unable to do a thing about it other than succumb once more, and he sneezed again – undeniable, absolute, violently ferocious. “Hh-hhAAAHTSSCHHUU! ..uhh…” A quiet groan and he pressed the back of his hand against his nose, sniffling fiercely, more than a little breathless. “Damn. Sorry.”

“Wow, bless you!” Kia said with softriveted, emphatic appraisal, and flashed him a wickedwarm grin. “Impressive. You should get a prize for that kind of effort.”

“Gods, love.” Smiling wryly despite himself, Cerberus managed a brief disbelieving laugh before having no choice but to give in to sharpburning sensation, his breath catching abrupt, deep, jagged, pleading. “hh-h-huh-TSCHH-uu! Huh-TSSCHH-uu! *snf!* Huh… huhhTSSCHHUU! For fuck’s sake! *SNFF!* Ugh, sorry.” Sniffling repeatedly, he excused himself again with clear irritation even as Kia offered him a tender blessing. He took a fresh multitude of tissues from the box and blew his nose, muttering under his breath that in any reasonable world he’d get to kill at least one person over this, and if…

“Oh, look!” announced Kia with cheery brightness, breaking into his thoughts and picking up one of the medication vials. “You win drugs.” She handed the vial to Cerberus with a kiss to his cheek, effectively short-circuiting his rising fury at the situation, and trailed a languid hand down the length of his arm, dropped her voice to a sultry purr. “I’ll even throw in the glamorous assistant.” She semi-curtseyed, winked in play.

With a soft laugh and a sigh both appreciative and self-effacing, Cerberus accepted and took the meds as proffered, curling an arm across Kia’s shoulders, drawing them closer together, and leant his head against hers, Mindsending a heartfelt, sincere :I adore you.:

“I’m so sorry, darkling.” He ran an index finger under his nose, sniffled quietly, exhaled with dismayed heaviness at the thought of having let his beloved down, in any way. “I really did mean to give you everything you desire tonight.” He sat back again; smiled at her, a little sadly. “And I truly do wish to bring you the world you deserve. All the worlds, come to that.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I know. And I know that you’re, like…literally able to do it, which still just amazes me and will forever, I swear, you’re incredible, but…really, you don’t need to be disappointed. See, I want you—” Shifting her position smoothly, Kia moved to sit on his lap, her legs astride his, and caressed his face in her hands, kissing him with passion burning. “Mmm. I want you—” Another kiss. “—to think for just a minute—” And another. “—from a different view.” Reaching behind his head, she untied the velvet ribbon constraining his hair, allowing it in release to cascade over his shoulders. She wove a gentle hand through freed midnight, tucked a few stray strands behind his ear. “If things were reversed, if I was the one who’d come home sick tonight, what would you have done?”

Cerberus chuckled wryly, softly, as he recognised her viewpoint. He didn’t pretend otherwise. “Anything you wanted, love, as always.”

Kia gave him a knowing smile. “Mm-hm.”

Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him again, slower, deeper. “So, then, babe,” she purred, tracing a trail of kisses down his neck, shoulders, chest, “you should know that you are everything I desire, everything I dream of, and the only way you could ever let me down is to not be with me tonight, and now I am going to order you into the bedroom and you are going to do exactly what I say and that is pretty much what would have happened even with you in perfect health with your perfect plan, because you should know—” She broke off again, kissing him with a craving undeniable, abandoning speech for silksultry Mindsend.

:that all I want:

One hand now twining through his hair, the other first toying with then smoothly untying the topmost bows on her chemise, allowing it to fall away, and she pulled him closer to her again, deepening the kiss at his involuntary resulting moan.

:is…this.:

Another kiss and her hand reaching down, loosening clothing and caressing him to urgency, and he moaned again, curling one arm around her waist and another behind her head, holding her around him and returning her kiss with a fire straight from his soul, feeling her breath quickening, demanding, as she pushed back against him, heat rising. A soft growl, a gasp, a sharp inhalation as they joined together, and she met her beloved’s famed emerald gaze eye to eye, consummate, profligate, incendiary.

“Oh, and sweetheart? Tonight I am going to make you wish you caught cold more often.”

---

#inopportune timing mm-hm count on it #snzfic #my writing #my OCs #cerberus #cerbia #cerberus and kia #and she's absolutely right 😉 #bit of a slow burn but we get there #supernatural soap opera

[sebbybooks]

Never Mine

Sebastian Stan x Fanfiction

Part One

"With my dog as my witness, to whoever was riding my ass if they didn't back off my bumper I was going to stop in the middle of the road and rip their windshield wipers completely off!"

That type of anger coiled around me like a snake, because there was nothing that bugged me more than someone driving bumper to bumper. The long and exasperated breath I just released helped ease the tension out of my body temporarily. Just in time for reason to settle in. Though in reality it wasn't like I was actually going to jump out of my car and confront this road demon. Who clearly needed to take a course on etiquettes of the road. What I did know was that whoever was behind the wheel of the car had headlights that were so blinding I am sure extraterrestrials in space could spot them.

Trying to find the calm in the situation I focused on the road ahead of me. What little road I could see for that matter. Which wasn't exactly much. I had checked the forecast earlier in the day with the report of it showing that there was to be only clear and blue skies. By the amount of downpour before me you would think there was a tear in the sky if that was how rain fell. I just needed to hang tight for a few more miles until I reached my exit to stop for the night.

I had been driving for nine consecutive hours and it wasn't until the third hour I realized I was not cut out for long distance driving. The plane ticket I turned down from my father was starting to look like a missed opportunity. I opted out for Cooper's sake. I just rescued the little guy a few short weeks ago and I didn't have the heart to leave him alone so soon.

Despite having only six more hours of this painful drive I needed out of my car. A hot shower and a bed was calling my name like a siren's call was to a dazed sailor at sea. I was fervidly drawn to it. Granted, I wasn't exactly going the speed limit in my own defense. Simply because I chose to be a cautious driver not a careless one unlike the dip shit behind me. Cooper and I were going to get to Sonoma, California in one piece if I had anything to do with it! I had no intention to speed in the rain even if it annoyed the person behind me. After all I was driving down a one lane road there was literally nothing else I could do but drive forward.

Taking a glance up at my trusty Garmin my gps projected that at this rate I wouldn't make it to my hotel for another hour and a half. Ahead of me the sky was starting to look like a terrifying shade of gray and to top it off the dismal weather was becoming more and more hard to drive in. I could barely see the paint on the pavement. My defrosters seemed to have given up on me as I began to notice that my rearview mirror fogged up as though it was twilight hour.

I needed to pull over to try to wait out the heavy rainfall. The only problem was that I did not know where I was nor could I see where the road even had an end. The cheap gas station coffee was starting to wear off and the pep talks could no longer motivate me. The words of encouragement quickly transitioned into self deprecating quips of "I can not fucking do this!"

I was too far from home to turn back now and hearing a lecture from my dad despite being well beyond the ages of even receiving one, certainly would not stop him from scolding at my absence. I am more than certain that fiancée number three would not mind if I missed their prenuptial celebration. Especially if arriving on time meant I would be showing up dismembered. It was official I was going to die in this storm.

All of sudden like I called upon a bad omen my tiny Kia Forte jerked forward. I thought I accidentally stomped on the gas pedal too hard without realizing it. When it happened again I knew exactly what it was. Clearly the driver had mistaken this for a game of bumper cars. I laid the palm of my hand on the center of my steering wheel and relentlessly pressed my horn. Not sure what that was going to necessarily ward off , but I had to try something in the efforts that they would leave me alone.

Cooper's head shot up from his bed in the backseat. He looked just as displeased and annoyed as I felt. Why wouldn't they slow down? Is the question I could not figure out. I don't know if it was all the Stephen King that I read, but my paranoia was increasing as I started to settle on the possibility that they were now following me.

Maybe I was tired?

Maybe my imagination truly was getting the best of me?

Or maybe whoever that person was also suddenly decided to take the same random exit as I was taking.

I didn't think. I veered my car off to the right and got on the first breakaway from this seemingly endless road. I had no idea where I was headed at this point and neither did my Garmin. It made multiple attempts to reroute itself, but even that could not locate where I was. I took an unexpected detour by driving off into the middle of nowhere with a now stalker in my midsts.

Adrenaline now filling up my bloodstream. I gave my steering wheel the death grip and drove as fast as the tire tracks of my car would guide me. On a midsize billboard to my left I saw a logo for a gas station and a non franchised bed & breakfast saying it was right up the road. I was taking a chance by trusting that the establishment was clean and safe. I just needed to go where a crowd of people would be. The battery on my phone was likely dead and yes this was now becoming the opening sequence for a King novel. I'd laugh if my heart wasn't fluttering as fast a hummingbird's wing.

I managed to make out lights ahead as I neared the petrol station first. However, it just about looked abandoned. The dim white lights flickered around the desolate parking lot. I saw only two freight trucks parked side by side and I immediately thought

. . .hell no.

I kept driving forward in the hopes that the bed and breakfast sign wasn't last updated in the early nineties. I nearly combusted from relief when I finally saw it. Several cars and mini vans lined up with people inside of them probably doing the same thing that I was. I didn't plan on staying the night I just planned on staying long enough to hide out from the rain and from the trouble that still followed my trails.

Luckily there were free parking spaces close to the entrance. It was still hard to make out what the place truly looked like. From my view in the car the rain made it look like it was a melting oil painting. In a swift motion I put my car in park, turned my ignition off, reached in the back to grab Cooper and grabbed ahold of my purse in the other arm. I bolted out of my car for the door.

It felt as though I was running through a hurricane. I was completely drenched. I could barely keep my eyes from closing as I ran up the slippery steps in my worn Toms praying that I wouldn't eat concrete. There was an awning over the door that offered relief from the storm's cruel embrace . Looking down at the fuzzy brown welcome mat I noticed a quote was scribbled out on it.

"some beautiful paths

can't be discovered without getting lost."

As I reached for the doorknob I couldn't help but notice the intricate design. I'm aware of how wrong the timing was to fawn over something so utterly mundane. I just could not conceal the fact that I was a sucker for antiques roadshow and architectural designing. Growing up with a dad that built and reconstructed vintage furniture one might pick up on the interest. It was a white privacy doorknob with hand painted roses, with a Victorian long plated silver keyhole. The sound of distant car door slamming snapped me out of my daze. I turned my head in the direction of the sound low and behold it was that same car. Crazy thing is I didn't see anyone by it.

Instinct guided me forward considering my brain was scrambling with worry. I ushered myself inside and it was as though I fell into a pink wonderland. From the pink carpet to the multicolored pink pinstripe wallpaper. Hot pink roses seemed to have been the main theme for the lobby. There were various black and silver picture frames with photos of pink roses hanging on every wall. On every surface my eyes could catch, red and pink plastic roses sat in circular olive green vases. It was certainly....something. I thought I was doing the most logical thing by coming inside, but it quickly dawned on me that I saw no one around.

"Hello?" I cautiously called out.

I paced myself as I walked up to the front desk, simultaneously looking around for any potential red flags. My right arm was going numb, my little guy was tiny but felt like I was lugging around a sack of potatoes. I wandered away from the desk to poke my head around the place. There was a entry way that led to a dinning area with a handful of seats adorned with of course pink table settings. I was standing next to a spiral staircase to what I assumed led to the rooms. There was only one door that held a sign for a bathroom. Perhaps there was a power outlet I could use long enough to charge my phone to call my dad.

The same door I walked in swung open and droplets of rain was blown in by the wind. A shiver rolled down my spine, sending a myriad of sparks that shot through my body. Turning around a strange sensation filled the pits of my stomach. It felt like butterflies and moths had taken up space there. Excitement and fear. I just stood completely mute like I had never seen a man before. Well to my defense I hadn't seen ones that look like him in my town. Without even seeing my reflection I had an inkling as to the state of my appearance. I was utterly perplexed by how he pulled off the kissed by an ocean look. To embarrass myself further of course my dog chose that moment to shake water off of his fur on to me.

"Really Coop?" I tried to hide my disgust, but he got it around the corner of my mouth! The good looking stranger offered a half smile that probably pitied my overall state.

"Is the black Kia parked out yours?" Even his voiced oozed sex appeal. He angled his frame so he could face me. There was about an arm length of distance between us. His eyes practically bore into my face I suppose waiting for me to say something. Must have been the buzzcut, the facial scuff, or the fact that some creep was still parked outside waiting to do who knows what. But my thoughts were not where they should have been.

I blinked and straightened up my posture. "Yeah why?" I finally answered.

It was a causal question, yet it felt completely random like there was something else to it.Neither of us spoke for a few seconds.The silence was so thick it would take a hacksaw to cut through.

"Well I'll be damned! I didn't think I would get to see you until after you got back from your trip in California." A woman most likely in her late sixties came rushing down the stairs for him. She draped her arms around his body clearly taking him by surprise. Her cotton candy colored pink bouffant made up for most of her height. Sebastian returned her embrace. Although it looked extremely awkward considering he stared at me the whole time and I stood there watching.

"Moe's old truck didn't give you too much trouble did it?" She asked.

"No it still got some life left in it." Sebastian's jaw went slack and he looked from her to me once more. Only this time he was looking at me with a cold glare. Realization suddenly crashed into me like a wild horse.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan fandom #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian oneshot #Sebastian Stan #sebby stan #bucky barnes imagine #sebby Barnes #sebastian stan fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #bucky fandom #bucky barnes fanfiction #fanfic #marvel fanfiction #sebbytrash #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan story #sebastian stan marvel #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fluff #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes

[infinitebells]

so, angst. being moran's childhood bsf so when he becomes colonel you're like "you better come back or i'm dragging you back haha" and he teases you bc "aw you love me that much you'll actually go to war?" and he sees how upset you genuinely are and he's like "of course i'm coming back" but surprise u hear he's kia and you're a wreck so when he DOES come back you're a mess of tears and sputtering bc "you were dead!" cut to him holding u in his arms and telling u he loves u - ruby anon

i have stayed up thinking about this for two nights straight and every time i do i change it up a bit so hopefully my thoughts are more coherent on paper. also i lowkey made myself cry writing this

✧ he was literally your best friend, you were never apart from him for more than a day unless one of your families was traveling

✧ you’d known him since you were both kids, having lived next to each other your entire lives

✧ you two would always be seen running around the town and laughing

✧ he was so so protective of you, he got into fights with boys who would tease you or make fun of you

✧ the older you two got, the more it was painfully obvious that you were in love with each other

✧ through your teenage years he’d do anything to have alone time with you, sneaking into your room at midnight to stay up and talk with you, pulling you to a random meadow so you guys can have lunch, anything to be with you

✧ as you got older though, your parents were less inclined to let you two hang out since moran needed to focus on his education and you needed to learn how to be a ‘proper lady’

✧ hence the need to sneak into your room in the middle of the night to spend time with each other

✧ when he found out he had made colonel and he was being shipped off in two weeks, he was devastated that he had to leave you

✧ that night you could tell something was off with him, he was quieter than usual and couldn’t meet your gaze

✧ when you asked him what was wrong, he didn’t say anything at first, until he reached out and pulled you into his lap so that your legs jutted out over his left leg and the temple of your head was pressed to his chest

✧ he could barely get the words out, his voice so low he was scared you wouldn’t be able to hear, but the way your body stiffened slightly allowed him to realize you did

✧ he held his breath, waiting for you to say something until he felt you shift in his lap, turning so you could face him, legs straddling his waist before wrapping your arms around his waist and putting your head in the crook of his neck, congratulating him with a shaky voice for doing such a good job

✧ he holds you tighter against him, swallowing the lump in his throat

✧ he can feel you trembling in his arms, but he doesn’t say anything until you pull yourself out of his neck and give him a wobbly smile, tears in your eyes

✧ “you better come back or i’ll drag you back myself”

✧ he knows you’re just trying to be your usual sarcastic, witty self to try and push through the reality that the love of your life your best friend is leaving and may never come back

✧ he laughs, grabbing your face and keeping it gently in his hands

✧ “aw, you love me that much that you’ll actually go to war?”

✧ when he finishes talking, the tears in your eyes spill out involuntarily, and your head drops from his hands to try and hide your tears from him

✧ he realizes how upset you truly are, grabbing your face again and bringing your forehead to his, wiping your tears with the pads of his thumbs

✧ “i’m coming back princess, i promise”

✧ when you open your eyes and look up, you realize just how close your faces are

✧ your brain short circuits and every memory you’ve had with him flashes before your eyes, and you realize way too late that “oh fuck i’m so in love with him”

✧ meanwhile in his head, he’s thinking that even with tears in your eyes he’s never seen you look so beautiful

✧ so he brings your forehead to his lips, kissing it softly before pulling you back into him

✧ the next few nights he comes over, you barely talk

✧ he knows how upset you are, so he just keeps you in his lap, brushing his fingers through your hair and telling you random stories to keep your mind off of the fact that he’ll be gone soon

✧ the night before he has to leave, you’re both deathly quiet

✧ you’re on different opposite ends of your bed, staring at the floor

✧ after another few minutes of quiet, you crawl over to him, pushing yourself into his lap so that your legs are once again over his legs and your head is resting just above his heart

✧ he doesn’t hesitate holding you close, breathing in the smell of your hair

✧ you’re scared to ask him your next question, but you push through with a very shaky voice

✧ “can you please just hold me and stay the night?”

✧ he’s quiet, terrified that this could be the last time he gets to hold you

✧ “anything for my princess”

✧ you nod against him, pulling your blanket up over you two before he settles so he’s lower on your headboard, one arm secured around your waist and the other stroking your hair

✧ that night is the only time he allows himself to cry, tears hitting the top of your head

✧ he knows you’re crying, he can feel your body shaking, but he doesn’t say anything. there isn’t anything he can say to make this any better

✧ but when he hears a choked sob, he holds you even closer to him, his eyes scrunching up because when he hears your cries, when he can feel how badly you’re shaking, he never wants to leave you

✧ you’re full on sobbing now, hiccuping every so often as you hide your face in his chest, hands balled up in his shirt

✧ he runs his hands over your back, kissing the top of your head, trying to comfort you

✧ in a spur of the moment decision, he starts humming a tune that had always been one of your favorites, hoping it would help

✧ he feels your shaking start to stop, your cries quieting, the only noise coming from you now is just occasional sniffles

✧ when you finally fall asleep on him, your tear stained face peaceful once again, he stares for a few minutes committing to memory the scene of you sleeping on his chest, hands clutching tightly onto his shirt with his arms around you

✧ once he starts to see the sky lightening, he slowly maneuvers you off of him, staring down at you one last time before leaving his ring with an ‘m’ engraved on it on your nightstand, as well as a note

✧ “i’ll come back for you princess. our story isn’t over yet, i still have things i want to tell you ok?”

✧ when you wake up and see the note and ring, you don’t hesitate to slip the ring on, putting the note in a box of your most precious keepsakes

✧ the first week he is gone, you’re utterly silent

✧ your parents heard that moran was getting deployed, and they knew you were close, so they didn’t try to comfort you because they knew you’d be inconsolable

✧ after a few weeks, you start talking more, but they know you’ll be off unless he’s back home

✧ your friends can’t say anything to help, you just change the subject every time, refusing to hear anyone talk about it

✧ it isn’t until three years later, when you’re 26 years old and he would be 28, his parents ask for you to come to their house

✧ when you get there, his mom’s eyes are red and his father is solemn

✧ your heart drops at the sight, and when they finally spit out the fact that he was killed in action, you stop breathing

✧ everything is a haze, the way they hand you his jacket that he wanted to give to you, his pocket watch that he’d left for you, and a letter he’d written in case he died on the field

✧ you don’t remember how you got home, but when your parents see you with his jacket and the watch with the letter, they know something awful has happened

✧ no tears have left your eyes, but you can hear your mom crying against your dad as you robotically make your way to your room, dropping yourself on your bed

✧ with shaky hands, you open the letter he left

✧ “hey princess. if you’re reading this, that means i broke our promise, and i’m so sorry that i did. my only motivation to come back home was you, and i’m eternally sorry for the fact that i can’t come home and be with you. there was still so much i wanted to do, to say, but i suppose i can tell you here. i love you. not the way that family loves each other but the way that i’m so desperately in love with you that when i think about you my heart beats two times faster, my palms get sweaty, and i can’t help but smile. i wanted to make you mine when i came home, but that can’t happen anymore. i’d give anything to hold you in my arms the way i did before i left, you looked so beautiful in my arms. god i miss you so much. i gotta go princess, but please know i love you so much, even in death. p.s. please keep the jacket, pocket watch, and ring. don’t get sad when you look at them, just remember all the good memories we had okay?”

✧ that’s when the tears fall, and then they don’t stop

✧ you’re screaming, sobbing, and your parents can’t do anything to calm you down

✧ your dad runs to get a doctor because the only way you’ll calm down at this point is with a sedative

✧ your mom holds you but you can’t say or do anything except cry, and cry, and cry because your childhood friend, your best friend, the one you’ve been in love with for years is gone, and you never got to tell him

✧ once the doctor gives you the sedative, your dad goes to the moran household to give her condolences, and your mother stays by your side, wiping your sleeping face with a damp cloth

✧ when you wake up, you’re completely numb

✧ after reading his letter for the first time, you put it in your box along with the note he left you before he first left

✧ for the next few weeks, you don’t speak to anyone. you’re mute, only doing work around the house, saving up for your own place because you can’t bear the thought of being in your room without him

✧ after two months, you leave your parents house, getting your own apartment

✧ your parents are understanding of the fact that you need space to yourself to get away from everything

✧ they help you move, and once you’re finally in your apartment, all you can think of is how badly you wish he was here to live in it with you

✧ you collapse on the floor, crying silently for the first time since you found out that he had died

✧ you had been wearing his jacket because it was cold outside, so you pull it even tighter around you, feeling like your chest was caving in on you from the way your heart throbbed painfully

✧ you didn’t stop crying for an hour, and when you finally did, you grabbed his watch off the kitchen counter, walking out and going to the nearest bar because you needed to be inebriated

✧ by the time you sit down at the bar, you’re completely unaware of your surroundings

✧ you signal the bartender for a whiskey, wanting to indulge in his favorite drink for old times sake

✧ as you’re sipping your glass, without your knowledge, moran is in the corner, drinking his own whiskey

✧ he hasn’t stopped thinking about you ever since he had been pronounced killed in action, wondering what you were feeling

✧ you on the other hand are so caught up in your drink you don’t acknowledge the man who slides onto the barstool next to you

✧ he taps your shoulder, and you turn to see him smiling at you

✧ he introduces himself, and you only nod before turning back to your drink, already tired of the social interaction

✧ he slides closer, asking if you’re here alone, and you nod once again, not even bothering to look at him

✧ he continues to flirt with you, and you only give half hearted replies, getting tired of him already

✧ once you feel his hand come to rest on your thigh, you fly up and clock him in the jaw, sending him flying off the stool and onto the floor

✧ everyone in the bar, including moran, looks up at the commotion

✧ he’s frozen, watching you stand furiously over this man who’s cowering on the floor before you

✧ “i’m very obviously wearing another man’s jacket, i’ve got a ring on my finger, i’m barely responding to you and you still continue to flirt with me? my husband died in the war two months ago but before he left he still taught me how to fight so unless you want your ass beat, i suggest learning some fucking boundaries,”

✧ with that, you storm out of the bar, and moran in a trance follows you, kicking the guy on the floor on the way out

✧ you’re fuming, shaking in anger, so much so that you don’t realize that moran is following you, in awe of how much more beautiful you’ve gotten

✧ by the time you’ve reached your apartment, you’re still shaking, but this time you’ve got tears in your eyes

✧ when you hear a knock on the door, you wipe your eyes and open the door

✧ there stands colonel sebastian moran, and you can’t breathe

✧ he’s there, in a jacket matching yours, black pants, black boots with a brown top, and a gray button up underneath his jacket

✧ his hair is longer now, and he’s bulked out, much taller than you compared to before when he was only three quarters of a foot taller, but he’s here

✧ “so i’m your husband now? i’d love to have had an invitation to the wedding”

✧ he sounds more in awe that you’re here in front of him, but hearing his voice again makes everything crash down onto you, and you collapse on your knees sobbing

✧ he rushes down to your level, closing the door before catching you before you hit the ground, holding you impossibly close to his chest as he devolves into tears, his heart breaking at your heart wrenching sobs

✧ “you were dead! you were dead, you were gone, and, and-“

✧ “i’m here. i’m here and i’m not leaving i promise”

✧ you pull back from his chest to grab his face and smash your lips onto his, tears still streaming down both of your faces

✧ his arms envelop your waist, both of you kneeling on the ground with your lips on each other’s

✧ your kiss is desperate, needing to feel him against you to know he’s really there and not just a figment of your imagination

✧ he kisses you back with just as much fervor, his body pressed to yours because it’s been almost three years and he needs to feel you against him once again

✧ when you finally pull back, you aren’t crying out of overwhelming sadness and shock, you’re smiling with tears of joy in your eyes, foreheads resting against each other

✧ “i’m in love with you sebastian”

✧ “i’m in love with you too princess, but i was supposed to be the first one to say it”

✧ you laugh through your tears, holding him closer to you because he’s finally home in your arms

✧ he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you to your bedroom before laying down against the headboard with you in his arms and on his lap

✧ he peppers kisses all over your face, holding your face in his hands once again

✧ he pulls back once again, looking you up and down

✧ “you look really beautiful in my jacket princess”

✧ “i’d look good out of it too”

✧ his eyes widen before he’s flashing you that smirk that always has you swooning

✧ he promises that he’ll get you out of everything you’re wearing another day, but for now he just wants to hold you again in his arms

✧ he pulls both of your jackets off, kicking his shoes off as you take your own off, before he’s pulling you back to him

✧ you fit perfectly in his arms once again, and when he has your head resting against his chest once again, with your blanket pulled up over you two, he has to hold back tears of happiness feeling you with him once again

✧ “how about tomorrow we start planning that wedding that i missed huh?”

✧ “i knew you’d bring that up”

✧ “well i was planning on marrying you once i came back, and i still intend to”

✧ “good, i wouldn’t want anything else”

#yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #sebastian moran #bells responds #bells’s ruby anon

[gwynbleiddyn]

n7 headcanons;

i’ve been sitting on these for a while, developing them for my own canon and thanks to a recent discussion regarding certain N7s, i decided it’s about time to share ‘em! tagging @omegastation ;) 

ftr, these are purely headcanons made up based on my own interpretations and i’m not imposing these on anyone!! just wanted to share.

what do we know?

N7 is a vocational code within the Systems Alliance Military. aka training directed towards a specific set of skills that significantly enhance an individual’s performance in their field. Interplanetary Combatives Training (ICT) essentially cherry picks officers from every branch of the Alliance military and packs ‘em off to The Villa for what appears to be the training course from hell.

simple stuff, right? best of the best. nothing more, nothing less. 

what do i assume?

to keep it simple, I’m a fan of the idea that N7s are perhaps more morally grey than we’re led to believe. they aren’t the cut and dry soldiers that are the bricks and mortar of the Alliance, there’s something special about them and I believe that’s something up for interpretation in a lot of different ways. this is just my take on it ;)

1. N7 vs Spectre Operatives

N7 is the pinnacle of achievement within the Alliance. N-designation refers to the Alliance Special Forces, and the numbers 1-7 denote the rank. N7 is the cream of the crop, and everybody knows it. 

To that end, those who attain the rank are permitted to wear it on dress blues and armour - the only ICT designation that may be worn. It’s a status symbol, without a doubt. Is it meant to intimidate or impress? Depends on the bearer. But this brings me to my first point: N7s are permitted to distinguish themselves in the same way council Spectres can, even if they express it differently. If we pretend that Bioware are capable of utilizing symbolism for a second, there’s a link there and it’s something that captures my interest. We need to acknowledge the history of the council here too: the fact that Shepard is the first human Spectre makes the link a little more defined - outside of the council, humanity relied on its N7 operatives to get the hard stuff done, just like the council relies on their Spectres. Shepard is the first to bridge that gap, and for me, the first to highlight just how similar these two factions are.

Alliance acting beyond the law in humanity’s best interests i.e Alpha Relay? Send an N7 operative in.

Council dealing with a fragile situation that could potentially break the delicately brokered peace i.e Prothean Beacon / Eden Prime? Send a Spectre operative in.

2. N7 vs Alliance 

Okay, this might seem contradictory, but for me personally, I feel there’s a distinction between the Alliance as a whole and N7 operatives. Kind of like an island within an island, lol. 

It’s very obvious that N7 missions are kept separate from the general Alliance docket, and there has to be some way of sorting out those missions from the standard patrols and recon runs. To me, that distinction lies in whether the mission is mostly legit, or whether it’s a little more grey than they’d like to admit. I keep going back to the Alpha Relay assignment because it’s a perfect example of something that Hackett (and presumably the Committee) wants to keep quiet, b/c it inevitably carries a potentially disastrous fallout if the mission goes wrong.

This is the kind of stuff that makes me wonder how much of a divide there is between a bona-fide Alliance marine and a marine-turned-N7.  Kaidan’s line about acting with integrity comes to mind here, especially in the context of what’s just transpired w/ Udina. I feel like he’s realizing what Shepard’s known all along. Duty conflicts with morality a lot more than it should.

3. N7 dossiers

This point is completely and utterly made up for my own universe purposes, but it’s a headcanon I’m thoroughly enjoying so I’m gonna share it.

Given the risk each N7 undertakes on their assignments, I like to think each N7 operative would have some sort of failsafe in case the mission goes FUBAR and they’re KIA/MIA. This is something I had to think of a solution for in my main fic, and it led me to the idea of each soldier having a dossier which could be unlocked only by other N7s with a shared passcode and specific protocol parameters i.e the operative in question must be formally listed as KIA/MIA before it can be activated. The dossiers contain basic biometric data as well as mission info / past assignments / leads, all condensed down into an encrypted file. Keeps the secret stuff secret, but also allows for another N7 to step in and take over from where the last left off. 

4. Alec Ryder as an N7

Okay, I have so many damn questions about this guy! For now, I’ve managed to headcanon my way through some of his mess. We know Alec was discharged from the Alliance after his illegal AI research in council space, but there is a huge focus on his N7 rank in Andromeda. Most would probably agree that a discharge from service means you lose the right to display your rank, so why is he still toting it around? Even Ellen calls Alec an ex-N7. 

So, again, pretending Bioware didn’t just royally fuck themselves over with plotholes, this leads me to think that N7 rank takes on its own separate ‘meaning’ even after being released from service. It’s (well, in real life terms at least) illegal to display a rank you haven’t earned, but Alec (and even Shepard during ME2 when they’re an Alliance defector) still wears the armour. He earned the rank. He knows it gives him a certain degree of status in Andromeda too; people rely on him for leadership, even outside of his Pathfinder role. We see that much on Habitat 7.

And given what Alec’s done as we find out through the course of the game, I feel like that rank gave him a lot more than just a front to hide behind. 

tl;dr N7s maybe aren’t as morally straightforward as we thought and I fuckin’ dig that idea.

#wow look at all this BS #personal headcanons galore #ref #mass effect #omegastation

[butitdidntmake]

Pride, in the name of...

This was to be my Pride 2017 story. I thought this ticked a lot of boxes. Gender, generation and gay rights, but it didn’t make.

A gay man abused by an 80-year-old woman during a parking row said he believed she thought her age meant she could get away with it. James Sidebottom was called a faggot by antique dealer Patricia Pavey when they clashed over her habit of parking outside this charity shop. Pavey from Lewes in East Sussex told Mr Sidebottom his kind was not welcome. Magistrates in Brighton ordered the 80-year-old former nurse to pay £529 after they found she had told Mr Sidebottom to fuck off back to Brighton. On the eve of the Brighton Pride festival celebrating the gay and lesbian community, the court heard Mrs Pavey was guilty of using abusive words which caused Mr Sidebottom distress. Magistrates rejected claims from Pavey, who lives above her antique shop in Lewes, she had not used the word Faggot and had to check with her hairdresser what the word meant. Mrs Pavey confronted Mr Sidebottom as she was being issued with a ticket for parking her black Kia Sorento outside his charity shop across the road from her flat in the town on February 25 this year. He told magistrates in Brighton he was a proud gay man. “She parks in front of my shop every day,” he said. “People in mobility scooters can’t get in my shop, customers can’t get into the shop. “She puts the boot up all the time so it looks like she’s unloading so people can’t get into the shop. “It’s been going on for years. “I’m in the Conservative Party of Eastbourne and I even wrote to my MP.” The charity shop manager said Pavey had been aggressive towards him. “Your type should fuck off back to Brighton where they come from, we don’t want faggots here, she said.” Asked to identify who had shouted at him, Mr Sidebottom pointed at Pavey and said: “That woman there. “I’m proud I’m gay, I’ve never had to hide my sexuality and I don’t live in Brighton. “I was very angry and that’s when I reported it to police.” Traffic warden Harry Clark said he had ongoing issues with Mrs Pavey. “It’s not nice,” he said. “Aggressive towards myself, shouting, getting in my personal space. “She was shouting so much, I could feel her spit hitting me. “It’s not the first time I’ve encountered her in that kind of manner.” Despite signed statements and live evidence from three witnesses, Mrs Pavey, who represented herself, maintained they were all lying. During a difficult hearing at Brighton Magistrates Court, Pavey said she had been to an auction house, Waitrose and the library on Saturday, February 25. “I put my shopping inside the door and turned round and they were writing me a ticket.” She told the court Mr Sidebottom was already outside his shop. “He started sneering and laughing at me. “He said I’d been there all day. “I said to the traffic warden I’ll show you my books to see when they were taken out but they ran off before I could come back with them. “I deal with traffic wardens every day. “I understand they have a difficult job to do.” The antique shop owner also denied being homophobic. “How can I be? “I went on holiday with my hairdresser and his partner and his mother. “I am not homophobic, I’ve never heard that word before. “I had to ask my hairdresser what that word means. “It’s completely and utterly untrue,” Pavey said. “I called him a liar when he said I’d been there all day. “At the very end I did say to him you’re a fucking liar but that is very unusual language for me. “The parking ticket was rescinded anyway,” Pavey said. “I’ve never heard of anything like it. “I have no problems with Age UK or any other charity shop. “I’m a retired nurse. “I’ve worked with people with AIDS, so don’t tell me I’m homophobic. “If I’m homophobic how is it I’ve gone on holiday with my hairdresser?” Magistrate Mrs Jo King (CORRECT) told Pavey: “This language has no place in a tolerant society.” In his Victim Impact Statement, Mr Sidebottom said: “The whole situation is extremely distressing. “I’m filled with dread at the thought of meeting Mrs Pavey when I go into work. “Just because she is of that generation, she feels she can get away with it.” The court granted a restraining order against Mrs Pavey which mean she cannot contact Mr Sidebottom or park outside his charity shop for a period of two years. Mrs Pavey was ordered to pay a total of £529 in fines, costs and victim surcharge. A furious Pavey said: “I will appeal. “I have been the victim throughout this. “I will have to close my business and move my home because of this.”

ends

[flowercrown-jackson]

Klance Week

Day 1 - Free Will vs. Fate

Lance had never felt more miserable than he has had in the last month. Everything after Keith’s birthday just felt like a depressing haze. Having to break up with him because they weren't fated had left him feeling so down, the fact that they did so because they had actually decided to break up for their own wellness. How absurd.

What a stupid idea that was, and how idiotic they had been to really go through with that.

He knew it was the right choice though, that's why it was even harder to accept it.

Worst part?

Keith seemed fine.

He seemed like he had everything under control it was unbearing to Lance, every time they hung out Keith was so easy going, smiling, carrying on without a single problem; nothing irked Lance more than this fact, but he had intention to let anyone know about this, except for Hunk.

And Shrio, but he figured it out by himself, Lance just didn’t deny it.

Lance continued to drag his feet to his next class, it was the last one of the semester, he also had to go to the Mark Registration and see who his fated was. It seemed like such a hassle, he wasn't even looking forward to it, he was more desperate to get over with it already, he was not in the mood to go and meet a suitor he has to fall in love with some miraculous way.

“You look like death.” Lance looked up from the floor and saw Pidge at the door, hand on hip. She was waiting for him.

“I feel like it too.”

“Is is about it being your Registration day?” She asked as they sat in their usual place.

“Yes?” He wasn't really sure of anything anymore. “Maybe, I don’t know.”

“Is it because it’s the same day as Keith’s?” This made Lance jump.

He didn't know about this. Why didn't he know about this?

“What?” Lance asked with his attitude changing into curiosity. “Is it?”

“Yeah, I thought you knew?”

“Well you thought wrong midget! Is he trying to hide it from me? We’re supposed to be friends, aren't we? That's what he had agreed!”

“Lance, keep your voice down.” Pidge hissed in a hushed tone btu Lance could not care any less.

“Ooooh he thinks he’s so slick! Well jokes on you Kogane, ‘cause I’m gonna be there, your ex!” Lance was standing and shouting and he was pumped. Then he heard someone clearing their throat behind him.

“Mr. McClain,” and of course it was their professor, “I rather take it that you are excited to share your situation with the rest of the class-” “No, Mr. Thyre, I’m very okay with it just being it between Pidge and myself and-”

“Excuse me for interrupting your story, I will just set my things down at the desk and then you will continue with your story, alright?”

There was no other option than to just do as he was said. And he was embarrassed during the whole thing.

-

Walking into the Mark Reg building had never seemed like such a bad thing to Lance when walking by it, but now that he was walking in it the thought suddenly became like a heavy weight on his brain.

There were people everywhere. Excited, elated, sad, disappointed, shocked, some were chatting up with the new person they've met who just so happened to be their fated partner, others sat alone, people with the sad fact of not having an assigned lover, lance recalled the time he asked his aunt Magda why she wasn't married, with a small smile to a young Lance she said, “The one I was fated to died before our Registration day.” It was such a hard thing to digest but now he was low key wishing that something similar were to happen to him, but his wish to not be alone for the rest of his life was even greater.

“McClain? McClain to Box 19.”

He walked to said box and met eyes with a small, round man who sported a white polo shirt and black dress pants, squared framed glassed hung at the edge of the man’s prominent nose making Lance want to push them back himself.

“Evening, I trust you have your documents?” Lance handed the man a manila folder with his birth certificate, college ID, ID and a photo of his mark. “Why the long face, kid?”

Lance sighed and looked at the man before looking away again. “I don’t know, guess I’m just nervous?”

The man stamped the mark photo before placing it on a scanner beside him, looking for his fated already. Quick that was.

“Nah, that’s not a nervous face. Are you dreading this?” He asked with a friendly smile. Man must have been working here for a few years.

“Just a bit.” Lance said truthfully turning to his left, trying to avoid the man’s eyes.

When he spotted Keith.

He looked like a ragged mes. As if someone had tied him by his jacket and dragged him here from campus, he looked completely exhausted and just as bad as Lance who noticed that he had been staring for far too long. Looking back at the man who was now looking grim plummeted Lance’s hopes, the very few he had.  “What’s wrong?”

The man looked back at Lance and cleared his throat. “It seems that, you are not compatible with anyone.”

“What?”

“You’re not fated to anyone. Your mark, it’s the only one in the world. They might’ve died or not even be born yet.” Lance was not breathing properly, it seemed that nothing was going his way ever since Keith’s birthday. “I’m really sorry, son.”

Lance nodded at him, grabbed his folder and gulped.

Groaning he and put his head in his hands. This was just a tad too much.  

He exited the small box and went to sit to the nearest bench available as quickly as he could -he didn't trust his legs to support his weight anymore- he would've never thought that what he was jokingly wishing for was going to come true, this was a complete low blow, just when he thought he couldn't possibly feel a lot less the universe decides to shove him the fact that he has no fated partner, he broke up with the person he was still in love with and the reason why that had happened was now completely worthless.

“Seems like a joke, doesn't it?”

He knew that voice, Lance knew it painfully and he was sure that this was the last thing he needed.

He took a deep breath and mustered a fake chuckle along with an also fake smile to look at the man that was once his. “A lousy one.” Then their eyes met and he left all act behind.

There was no denying the fact that Lance still loved him.

“So,” Keith began, “when’s your Fated coming?”

After someone had been fated, by it in the same country or not, the government would arrange a day where the Fated could meet, in this case, for Lance, there was none.

“What about yours?” He tried to dodge Keith’s question but when he saw the korean squint his eyes he knew he wasn't getting off the hook. “Fine.” He sighed and sat facing Keith completely. “I’m not fated to anyone.”

Keith looked baffled and Lance couldn't stand it. “What?”

“I’m not fated to anyone, Keith! Jesus.” Lance was slightly annoyed because of everything right now and Keith, without doing anything really, was just a set off. “What about you, who’s your Fated?” Lance grumbled out.

“I’m not fated to anyone either.” Keith said silently.

Lance jumped from the cushioned bench they sat on and looked at Keith as if he had grown another pair of arms and legs. “You’re what?”

Keith got up and crossed his arms over his chest. “I mean I was but,” he got a small yellow card that had been opened already, “they were in the army. KIA.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Lance said as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Mmm, I never knew them so it feels weird.”

“Guess it’s back to being single, huh?” Lance chuckled out half-heartedly.

“Oh, uhm, yeah. I guess.” Keith was visibly disappointed.

Lance didn't know if it was because of his soldier partner but he was done. Completely and utterly done.

“You know,” he started with a louder voice than he intended to use, “I’m having a shit day so allow me to be selfish for just one moment please.” He didn't even let Keith answer.  

Soft like cotton candy and sweet like bee’s honey. Kissing Keith will forever be Lance’s favorite thing to do, always.

At first Keith did not respond, he was more shocked than anything; first he had no Fated, then Lance said they were going to stay single though Keith was hoping they could get back together because dammit, even though Lance was stubborn and competitive it was a great relationship and to say that Keith missed the cuban boy was the understatement of the year; but then when he finally caught up with the what was happening he let himself melt into Lance’s burning lips before pushing the tan boy off.

“What are you doing?” Keith knew his face was glowing red but he could not care less, Lance’s actions were too surprising to be thinking about anything else at the moment.

“Don’t you see?” Lance was crying which shocked Keith more. “We’re not fated to anyone, Keith. I mean, I am sorry that your Fated passed away but look, now we can be together again, unless you don’t want to? I just, I know you’ve moved on but I fucking miss you, okay?” He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the few stares he was receiving, it was the Mark Registration anyway, people cried all the time here. “I am just so sick and tired of this universe and fate shit, it’s gone awfully terrible for me and I’ve felt like shit ever since we broke up, nothing is okay but you Keith, you, you’re what I need.” He sniffled and rested his forehead on the pale boy’s chest. “You’re what I want.”

Keith couldn't contain his smile. Lifting Lance’s chin up he said, “Fuck fate, we got free will.” Smirking he proceeded to kiss the, now smiling, cuban boy that he seemed to be extremely infatuated with. 

#klanceweek2017 #klance #this took me all day #im sorry if its longggg #vld #hope you guys like it! #ama writes