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aquaquadrant · 1 year

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something is different this time

Warnings: implied shipping, death, complete disregard for the bastardized mess of a family tree the limited lifers are playing with currently.

Summary: It’s different this time, Bdubs knows. But he can’t explain why.

A/N: Welp, Limited Life did it to me again. This can sorta be considered a follow-up to my other little Ethubs ficlet, but it can still stand alone. Hope y’all enjoy, pls reblog if you do! I’d appreciate it! <3 - Aqua

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

something is different this time

“I’ll go first,” Impulse calls over his shoulder, “just in case they trapped it, okay? You do have to-”

“I believe you, I trust you,” Bdubs says readily. The clock Impulse gave him during the first session is still in his pocket, ticking away.

(“How about we don’t do it, this time?” Impulse asks, holding out a clock.)

Clocks have always been important to Bdubs, even before this game put a timer on his wrist. A meaningful gesture from Double Life. A pointed callback from Third Life. It’s different this time, Bdubs knows. But he can’t explain why.

Impulse is waiting for him at the top, chuckling down at him from a cobblestone pillar as he flounders his way up the water elevator. Expression as open and pleasant as always. As Bdubs surfaces, Impulse hops down and through a portal on the other side. It doesn’t even occur to Bdubs to be cautious as he follows his former husband.

Chills race across his skin. Purple swirls fill his vision. The scent of ash chokes the air. A familiar sound pricks at his ears; his dogs, sniffing and whining. Happy to see him, surely-

The world erupts around him. Bdubs respawns back home with the explosions still ringing in his ears. For a second he’s frozen, blinking rapidly as everything falls into place. He pulls up his communicator and stares at the chat.

BdoubleO100 blew up.

He doesn’t have much time to process this by himself. Cleo is rushing over, eyes wide and mouth open in shock. She says nothing as she stops just in front of him at a small lip of stone, looking down at him, her axe hanging limply at her side. He looks back up at her, just as speechless.

They have keep inventory on. Impulse’s clock is still in his pocket.

“That didn’t work out so good.”

His voice is hollow, shell-shocked, even to his own ears.

Cleo crouches at the ledge of stone, resting her arms on her knees. Her axe sticks out at an odd angle. “Nether trap?” she asks quietly, a knowing look in her eyes.

Bdubs nods. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t get my dogs back.”

“No, and they killed you.”

“They killed me.”

“Nether boogie.”

“Okay!” Cleo nods firmly. She straightens up, hefting her axe onto her shoulder. A furious grin splits across her face, pulling at the seams of her patchwork skin. “So, we kill them, right?”

“Yes,” Bdubs breathes. He grips the iron pickaxe in his hand, his knuckles turning white. There’s still a few hours on his timer before he turns red, before he’s technically allowed to kill. He doesn’t care. He’ll kill right now.

Cleo nods again. “Yes, including Etho,” she presses, studying him intently.

“Oh… my… gosh,” Scar gasps as he hurries over to join them, his dogs at his heels, of course. Very freaking funny.

“Every single one of them-” Bdubs breaks off as his mind processes what Cleo said. He pauses for a moment, jaw working soundlessly, before the words start flowing. “Etho wasn’t there, Etho was down in the basement- it was Skizz, Tango, and Impulse, and they all… sabotaged me- Etho was in the basement, he knew nothing about it. As far as I know.”

Cleo exchanges a glance with Scar. “I don’t believe that,” she says bluntly.

“Uh, I was talking to him,” Scar interjects. “He knew.”

“He knew,” Cleo agrees, almost pitying.

Bdubs’ breath catches.

(“Etho,” Bdubs says, “I feel like if this whole thing falls apart, alliances and stuff- it’ll still be you and me. We’ll still stick together.”)

He doesn’t want to believe it. He wants to trust that Etho wouldn’t betray him.

(“I believe you, I trust you.”)

He wants to believe it’s different this time.

Later that evening, Bdubs finds Etho on the stairwell connecting their bases. Almost like Etho was coming to see him at the exact same time. They sidestep around each other, shifting into place across from each other. They almost fall motionless at the exact same time. No matter how many lives and worlds pass, some things never change.

“Alright, so,” Bdubs starts.

“So,” Etho says. He stands with his hands in his pockets, simply watching Bdubs. His expression is impossible to read; seems like it always is, these days.

Bdubs tilts his head. “How much’a that did you know, was happening?”

There’s a pause before Etho answers. “Very little.”

“Very little,” Bdubs echoes, frowning. It’s not as certain as he’d like. He doesn’t know why Etho didn’t leap at the chance to completely, vehemently, deny all knowledge of the plot. It’s what Bdubs would’ve done. “I saw ya in the basement,” he offers, like a life preserver for Etho to latch onto, to claim plausible deniability. “I saw you in the basement, we were all upstairs-”

“You know, Tango, he’s got a poker face!” Etho insists. “I… I had no clue.”

Bdubs’ mouth falls open. “It was Tango, again?”

Etho shrugs. “Was it Tango, or was it Impulse?” he asks, pulling up his communicator. It almost sounds like he wants it to have been Impulse. “I don’t even know. Like, I- I- that’s how out of it I am.”

“I don’t know!” Bdubs runs a hand through his hair. Even if it was Tango who actually set off the trap, Impulse was clearly in on it. Impulse willingly led Bdubs to his death. Etho didn’t know about it. Etho didn’t betray him. Scar must’ve misunderstood something, or else he’s just telling lies again, as always. It’s a relief, to be sure.

Etho puts his communicator away, glancing back towards his base. “I’ve just been-”

“I ha- yeah,” Bdubs blinks, nods, “okay-”

“- I’ve just been buildin’,” Etho hums, “bein’ a good boy.”

Bdubs reads between the lines; ‘I wouldn’t have betrayed you.’ He leans back against the iron railing Etho’s built into the stairwell, exhaling slowly. He takes the opportunity to tease Etho for the railing’s incompleteness, a bit that Etho immediately picks up on with a laugh. And for a moment it’s like nothing’s different, like it’s the old days again.

Then a snickering Tango and Impulse sprint down the stairwell towards them, fleeing from a volley of arrows sent by the mountain.

“Oh hi, Bdubs, how’s it goin’?” Tango jabs as he passes, jumping over the railing. “Gotta go!”

“Bdubs!” Impulse greets him cheerfully.

Both of them are yellow; technically off-limits. Bdubs doesn’t even consider this as he notches an arrow.

“Who was it?” he shouts, letting the arrow fly. Impulse and Tango are laughing as they sprint around him in wide circles, dodging his arrows with varying success, telling him he can go back for his one surviving dog. “Who was- I don’t want no dog!”

“It was Tango!” Impulse defends, still chuckling. He doesn’t seem very apologetic.

Well, there’s Bdubs’ answer.

Etho doesn’t intervene, simply raising his shield and taking a step back from Bdubs. Somehow, that hurts worse. He’s cautious; Bdubs doesn’t blame him. This game has everyone on edge. But he can’t help but feel like Etho should know, despite the game and the alliances and playing the part and the clock in his pocket, that Bdubs would never aim at him.

(“I got your word on that, right?” Etho asks.)

Later that evening, Bdubs dies to a TNT minecart placed by Etho.

BdoubleO100 blew up.

It’s different this time, Bdubs tells himself. But he can’t explain why.

#limited life smp #life series smp #traffic smp #ethubs #my writing #i swear yall the next part of from eden is almost done #i just couldn't resist

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sentientcave · 4 months

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And They Were Roommates

Part 2!

Sooner than I thought I'd get it done, but I ended up with more time today than I thought. It's moving day! This one goes out to the two people who read this so far (ilu), and also the dream of affordable rent and friendly, walkable neighbourhoods.

Part 1 Here

Fem!SoapxFemReader

~2.6k

Alcohol mention, SFW

MDNI - 18+ Blog even if this is you know, pretty tame at the moment

Your apartment is on the third floor of a walk-up, with a little balcony off the living room, and a decently sized kitchen. The rooms aren’t too small either, and your landlord has never cared about you putting holes in the walls or painting, only that you’re quiet and you have not once been late paying the rent. She lives on the first floor, and you have a sort of pleasant, neighbourly relationship with her. It’s easy enough to like a landlord that doesn’t raise your rent arbitrarily or drag their feet on repairs, but Leslie’s also a handsome, handy butch, and her wife, Amelia, is a wispy artist, and you’ve always been on the cusp of wanting to be properly friendly. You let her know before you head off to work that you have a new roommate moving in today, and that there would be a bit of noise in the afternoon.

“Oh, you found someone? Good. You want them on the lease?” she asks.

“I don’t think she wants to be. She’s just giving me cash so I can pay it. Is that alright?”

Leslie nods. “Sure is, honey. Thanks for letting me know. Oh, and I want to do a check on the radiators before the cold weather hits— Shouldn’t need into your apartment, but the pipes’ll be clanging something awful. It’s supposed to be cold and rainy Monday, so I’ll turn on the heat, and you can text me if your rads don’t warm up.”

“Alright. Thanks Leslie.”

She laughed. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re just saving me paperwork and a trip up the stairs. I’ll be standing by this afternoon if you need the door taken off the hinges to get any furniture through.”

You head off to work, humming to yourself. There’s time to stop for a take out coffee too, something you’d been denying yourself for the last few weeks to conserve money, and the barista gives you an extra shot of espresso, just because she missed seeing you.

God, you would have hated moving away. This neighbourhood has been good to you, and starting over somewhere else would have been hard. You recognize most of the faces around you, and often get a smile or a nod when you pass by, or even a good morning from a few. It feels like being part of a community. You unlock the door to the shop, and you don’t bother locking it behind you while you quickly get things set up.

The bell above the door jingles just as you’re about to go and flip the sign. “You know, you should really keep that locked when you’re not open,” John says. He’s an irregular regular, the sort of customer you see every few days for a couple weeks and then not at all for months at a time. You like him— He’s always polite, and he always takes your recommendations seriously, and comes back to tell you what he thinks. He’s older, but in a non-distinct way where he could be anywhere from 30 to 45. The muttonchops kind of make it hard to tell.

“A customer coming in a minute or two ahead of time is not terribly concerning to me, John. And the shop is open, I just haven’t flipped the sign yet.” You do so, and dust your hands together, like you’ve just accomplished some great feat.

“What if I wasn’t a customer?”

“What, like a robber? I’d give them the money from the till and then ring up the cops so they can stand around and be useless a while.”

His stern expression cracks into a smile, the crows feet around his eyes deepening. “Alright, fair enough.”

“You’re here early. Usually don’t see you until lunch hour. Got a busy day ahead?” You absently straighten a pile of books on the table by the door before you return to your perch behind the counter to sip your coffee.

“Yeah. Helping one of my sergeants move this afternoon. Someplace in the neighbourhood, but you’ll be closed long before we finish.”

You hadn’t realized he was military, but now it seems obvious. He’s got that straight-backed, keen-eyed look to him that could belong to few other professions. “Oh, are you Jamie’s captain?” you ask, connecting the dots. It's too close to be a coincidence.

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re her new flatmate?”

“Yeah! Ha, I guess you’ll get to see how I live. Always weird when a customer crosses the threshold of familiarity.”

“Didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“We don’t— Not yet, anyway. I’ve had an ad out for over a month, she’s the first person who’s responded that I think I could actually live with. You would not believe the number of guys who responded thinking that a picture of their dick counted as a reference.”

“Did Jamie give you references?”

“Yes, her old landlord, her LT and her Captain— Guess that’s you. But I met Ghost last night, and I didn’t really think I needed to call the other numbers after meeting Jamie.” You shrug. “Although looking back on it, I guess getting a vibe check from a giant in a balaclava is maybe not the most legitimate reference I could have received.”

“You ever think you might be too trusting?” John asked, leaning against the counter. He didn’t have a tendency to use his size to intimidate, but he was looming over you now, giving you a stern glare that you’re sure his newer recruits have nightmares about. You’re not intimidated though. You’re too familiar with him by now to be worried. He’s just got this protective, almost fatherly streak to him, and a bit of paranoia that makes more sense now that you know it’s coming from his military background.

“Have you ever thought that you might not be trusting enough?” you ask sweetly. “Not to sound trite, but I’ve found that when you approach things with an open mind and heart, things work out. But maybe I’ve just been lucky.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t been eaten alive,” John grumbles, moving away from the counter, shaking his head.

You just shake your head too, picking up your phone so you can text Jamie.

I met your captain!! Well I already knew him but I didn’t know he was your captain

The response comes in almost instantly

UR BOOKSTORE GRIL<

GIRL<

NO FOCKIN WAY<

???

caps got a crush on ye. dirty old man >:( <

Dinny wry kitty ill fight im 4 u<

You hear John’s phone ding. He glances at the screen and laughs, and then looks over at you. “Jamie just told me to square up.”

“Wouldn’t be fair. I bet she fights dirty,” you tell him. “Is that why you call her Soap?”

He laughs again, his broad shoulders shaking. “No, but it might as well be.”

John buys a couple of old westerns and heads out soon after, leaving you to putter around the shop. You get a few customers through, though not many. Fridays are never very busy. Saturday and Sunday are always the busiest days of the week, and the days that the little book shop is open the longest. From what you've gathered, Bruce, the owner, makes most of the money to keep the place going by renting out studio space upstairs. The second floor is a wide open room, and the third floor a maze of little studios. There's a bulletin board behind your counter with all the workshops and events listed. Bruce lives at the other end of the first floor, and you rarely see him. The bookstore was something for his wife, who had gotten bored and moved on to pottery, and then glass blowing, and was currently occupying a studio upstairs and writing a novel. Sometimes she asked you to read chapters of it, and you had to come up with polite ways to tell her that she needed to put a lot more work in that wouldn’t get your ass fired.

Jamie texts you updates on the move, mostly complaints about how she didn’t think she’d need so many boxes, she didn’t think she had that much stuff, as well as a picture of her reclining on a couch while Gaz and Ghost lift it into the air, with the caption RIDES HERE that you receive just as you’re locking up the store.

They gonna carry you the whole way here?

no :( LT said im 2 heavy <

rude fucker <

You should reconsider your no killing in your spare time policy Just this once

ur rite. <

only after ahm dun mvoing tho<

hes useful 2 me yet<

You giggle and stow your phone back in your pocket, picking up your pace so you'd have time to do a quick, last minute clean of the apartment and shut Red Herring in your room so he doesn’t make a run for freedom while the doors are open.

He never listens when you tell him he doesn’t have what it takes to make it out there alone.

You happen to glance out the window when a pickup truck pulls up in front of the building. John and Gaz climb out. It’s a smaller model, and the couch from the picture is strapped sideways across the short-box bed with a pile of boxes stacked neatly underneath. A blue sports car pulls up behind it, and Ghost unfolds himself from the passenger side while Jamie throws her door open and hops out of the driver’s side. You head downstairs to meet them at the front door.

As soon as she sees you, Soap runs over and throws her arms around your waist, picking you up bodily and swinging you around, like she’s a soldier returning from the war and you the long suffering wife awaiting her return back home. You shriek with laughter and hold on tight, worried that she’ll drop you. Not that it’s all that far from the ground. Maybe it’s just kind of nice to be manhandled by a big strong woman.

“Missed ye,” she says in your ear.

“Jamie, we just saw each other yesterday,” you remind her, still laughing. “We just met yesterday.”

“Pff. No matter.” She gives you one more spin before setting you down. “Awlright, let’s put these big strong lads to work, aye? If ye ask nice Gaz’ll prob’ly take off his shirt.”

“I think he should keep it on, actually,” you say dryly.

“Yer right, kitty, don’t want to get distracted while there’s a job to be done. I’ll take my shirt off for ye later, since yer insistin'.” She loops an arm over your shoulders and presses a quick peck to the side of your head before letting go and dashing back over to the vehicles, giving you no chance to say that you most certainly had not been insisting.

No one lets you help, beyond opening doors and helping them navigate corners, but you suspect that you really only would have slowed up the process. They make carrying the couch up the stairs look easy, and the whole job is done in under an hour, despite the three flights of stairs. Soap moves her car to the lot, taking the space Leslie indicates, and you walk up together, Leslie telling her the laundry hours and letting her know that she was welcome to paint her room any colour she liked.

“Hey, John,” Leslie says peering in the open door with a grin. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

John turns a curious shade of pink. “Ah, well. Things have been busy. No time for workshops.”

“Well, you’re welcome back any time. Bring your friends, even.” She claps Soap on the shoulder as she turns to head back downstairs. It strikes you that she only came up to say hello to John, who had done his best to avoid her the whole time they’d been moving boxes. “Nice to meet you, Jamie. You’d best be good for our girl.”

“Ahm always good,” Soap protests. “Ask anyone.”

Leslie glances over at Gaz, Ghost and Price, who shake their heads in unison.

“Awlright, ask anyone except these bastards. They dinnae appreciate me. Even when I was going to order them takeaway and git ‘em a few pints.” She pouts, leaning against the doorway dramatically clutching her chest. “Ahm misunderstood in my own time.”

Leslie chuckles. “Well, she’s a handful. Good luck with that one, honey,” she tells you as she trots back downstairs.

You shuffle Soap into the apartment and close the door so you can release Red Herring from the confines of your bedroom, where he’s been yowling his displeasure for the past hour. She flops over the back of the couch, landing upside down with a sigh, and pulls out her phone, head tipped over the edge of the seat. “What do ye lads want? A Chinese? Or somethin’ else?”

“We also don’t have to stick around.” Gaz looks around at the others. John is looking at your bookshelf with interest, and Ghost is crouched in the hallway, greeting Red Herring. Gaz gives you a sheepish smile. “Or, uh. Maybe we do.”

Soap hauls herself into a more upright position, both hands still holding her phone. Her core strength must be unreal. You briefly wonder if she has actual, honest-to-god abs. “You want ‘em gone, kitty? Hens only?”

It strikes you that whatever this group has going on, it’s more than a little codependent. Better to get used to them now. “It’s alright. I’ll hang out in my room if I run out of social battery. Used to do that when Fern’s friends got to be too much.”

Soap tosses her phone down and flips her legs over the side of the couch and then to the floor. “Oh no, kitty. Dinna start off bein’ accomodatin’ when ye’d rather not be. I can tell ‘em to fuck off. Weal. I can tell Gaz and the captain to fuck off. I have ta drive LT home. No cabbie in his right mind will take the poor fella.”

“Not even the one’s not in their right minds,” Ghost says mournfully. Somehow, he’s coaxed Red up onto his shoulder, and is wearing the fat orange cat like a fur stole. You can hear the cat purring from several feet away. “For some reason, I make people nervous.”

“Couldn’t be the eye black and the fuckin’ skull motif, LT,” Soap says.

“Couldn’t be the size of you either,” Gaz adds.

“Sweetest pup I know,” John agrees. “People just don’t trust these days. Sign of society collapsin’.” He winks at you.

“What’s the word, kitty?” Soap drapes herself over your shoulders and nuzzles against your hair. Her nose runs along the curve of your neck, and it doesn’t seem to bother her even a little that the other three are watching with fascination. They're trying to be subtle about it, and failing miserably. John has a book in his hands, holding it upside down. Gaz is pretending to study a picture on the wall. Ghost is… Well, Ghost isn’t pretending to be subtle. “Want ‘em to go?” Her voice sounds a little breathy against your ear, and you’re not at all sure what to do with the electricity that shoots through your whole body. “Have us some girl time?”

“They did just help you move,” you say slowly. It’s taking a moment for you to collect your thoughts enough to speak. “Would be rude to send them away without a meal, right? Plus Red just got settled into his new nap spot.” You gesture at Ghost, who’s carefully walking over to the chair to sit, holding his shoulders very still so as not to disturb the cat, his eyes still turned your way.

You're not totally sure what Soap thinks is girl time, but you think it might be several shades more intimate than you're used to.

“Aw, yer too good ta my lads, kitty.” Soap kisses the spot right in front of your ear and lets you go. Without her solid body holding you up, you briefly consider melting into a puddle all over the floor, but manage, somehow, through sheer force of will, to keep your knees from buckling.

Leslie was right. You definitely have your hands full.

#cod mw #call of duty #Fem!SoapxReader #fem!soap #soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #And They Were Roommates #Cave Writing #I had to reel myself in from doing a whole bunch of world building for no reason but still couldn't resist some #I just love to set a table #so to speak #I think there will be girl time next part tho #You can't tell me that the rest of the 141 would be normal about Jamie though I would not believe it for a second #She wouldn't be normal about them either

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