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cordeliawhohung · 4 months

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Sun Bleached Flies - Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part ten of "soft spot"

Healing never comes as fast and easy as you want it to, but you try and adjust to your new life as best as you can. The thing is, there is no going back, there is only going forward, no matter how much you wished it was otherwise.

warnings: PTSD, angst, minor comfort, panic and anxiety attacks, spook and simon are going through it.

wc: 6.6k

A gentle breeze danced through the open window of his therapist’s office, bringing the scent of spring with it.

Moist grass, a hint of rain, freshly bloomed flowers; all hints of something new being born. Except this wasn’t new for Simon. Sitting in an overly calm and quiet room in a chair that was too soft as a man who looked too ancient for this earth flipped through notes of their previous sessions.

This wasn’t Simon’s first time in therapy, and he was certain it wouldn’t be his last. After everything he had endured over the winter, he was required to attend sessions before he would be allowed to return back to active duty. He had only started a few weeks ago, as most of his energy and time had gone into taking care of you, but once you were well enough to go back to work, well, it was time to take care of himself.

“How was your week, lieutenant?” the man spoke up after finally putting his notes down. His name was Gus, and was ex-military. Or, at least Simon assumed he was, judging by the deep and long wrinkled scars that littered his face and the unceremonious use of his rank. “Anything new?”

“It was alright,” he answered bluntly. He was never quite good with the awkward small talk that came with therapy. Something about how he was supposed to bare his darkest secrets just to talk about the weather was unnerving. “Spook started physical therapy this week.”

Usually, Simon never used that nickname Johnny coined for you, but ever since you were taken, he felt as if he couldn’t use your real name. That sharing anything about you was forbidden. Or maybe he was just being selfish, wanting to keep you, even your name, all to himself.

“At least she’s in some sort of therapy,” Gus said dryly. “She still refusing counseling?”

He nodded solemnly. “Says she doesn’t think she can talk about it yet.”

Gus grunted a little as he sat forward in his chair. A pair of frail and shaky hands reached up to remove the oversized glasses on his face before he settled his foggy eyes back on Simon. “Does she talk about it with you?”

“Tries,” he responded sourly. “She used to talk so much about everything; everything except for whatever was hurtin’ her. Always thought she’d tell me eventually, whenever she was ready. But after this shit? I’m fuckin’ lucky to get anything out of her. Even the good stuff.”

Instead of prompting him with another question, Gus stayed quiet as he stared at Simon, and he knew what it meant. That man must have been in the business of fixing broken soldiers for quite some time because it never took him long to figure out what was bothering him. Always struck gold on the first shovelful of dirt. Might as well make things easy and give up the rest.

“Everything that I’ve learned about her past I’ve had to piece together myself,” Simon explained. “Her moms passing she told me herself, but I know her previous partner was a right piece of shit. Judging by the way she hardly ever talks about her father, he probably was no better. She hasn’t told me anything about when she was taken, or what they did to her. There’s some stuff I can figure out. God, there was fuckin’ photographic proof on the damn floor.” He paused for a moment and shook his head as if trying to get his thoughts back in order. “She tries but then just shuts down and I… fuck, I dunno.”

“And what have you told her?” Gus asked as he leaned back in his chair.

Eyebrows drawing together and cheeks scrunching under his mask, Simon tilted his head to the side. “What?”

“I mean, what have you told her? About your past, or your family? Are you making her play the same guessing games?” Gus pressed.

A lump formed in Simon’s throat so thick he thought he would choke on it. He wanted to say that sharing his past was different. How was he supposed to talk about the torture he endured, the hook tearing through his ribs, the slaughter of his family? How their deaths were pinned on him, and he burnt away the evidence of them; what would you say to that? Or if you knew about his revenge, how he traversed a jungle just to kill a man?

He grimaced. Hadn’t you already seen his revenge?

“You’ve been pretty open with me so far, lieutenant, and that’s a lot more than I can say for most of the men I see in here,” Gus continued, “so tell me; what is it that you’re really afraid of?”

Really, therapy wasn’t all too different from being interrogated. In both circumstances, there was someone trying to poke and prod around inside of his head. And in both circumstances, it was never fun when they poked the right spot.

“I don’t want her to think I’m like them,” he finally admitted.

“Her abductors?” Gus clarified. “Why would she think that?”

“I broke a man's arm and shot him as I had him pinned to the ground. Right in front of her,” Simon explained as if he saw Bukin dying all over again. Heard the bone snap and the crunching sound of his flesh grinding underneath his boot. Watched as his head jumped dully against the ground as the bullet tore through his skill.

“You saved her life,” Gus countered.

“I was violent,” he spat.

“So were they.”

“I’m supposed to be better than them.”

“If you were better than them, she’d be dead, son.”

Silence. The breeze continued to drift through the open window, attempting to kiss Simon’s flesh through his clothes, too kind for him to be deserving of it. He continued to stare through the old man as he waited for him to explain himself.

“You brought her home alive. You know better than anyone that being soft comes with consequences. Some good, some bad. Be violent, be a monster; be Ghost in the moments when you’re doing your job. When you’re protecting the ones you love.” Throughout his last few weeks of therapy, Simon hadn’t heard the old man speak with such conviction until that moment. Like the man spoke from experience. “Be soft when you’re with her. Share the stuff that hurts. It sounds like you’re the closest person she has. Certainly the strongest. How is she supposed to be vulnerable with you when you’re the one who’s scared?”

The thing Simon hated the most about therapy was hearing things he already knew but was trying to ignore. Everything would have been so much easier had he let you ramble that night the oxycodone had scrambled your brain. But it was his fault things had gotten that way in the first place. That picture of you that he kept despite his better judgment, leading Bukin right to your door; that was his fault. Selfish of him to hope that you’d be the one vulnerable first as if he didn’t have something to atone for.

Simon let out a heavy sigh as he looked down at his hands. The old man was right, and it was frustrating. “Christ,” he muttered.

“Start with the small stuff. You don’t have to air everything out all at once. Actually, it would be better if you didn’t. Don’t want to overwhelm the poor girl,” Gus assured him. “Remember, she’s a civilian. She didn’t have the resources and training that you did going into that.”

He didn’t spend much longer in that office before Gus sent him away to do his homework: figure out a memory to share with you. Sounded easy enough, but when he had spent countless years keeping things to himself so as to keep others safe, it was near painful. But he tried his best to think of something as he made his way back to the apartment.

You weren’t there when he got home. Not that he had expected you to be, though it still felt wrong. As soon as your wound was no longer needing constant attention, you instantly hopped back into work. He tried to dissuade you from doing so, saying that he’d still have more than enough money to pay for everything, but you wouldn’t hear any of it. Claimed you were tired of being locked up in the apartment all day, even if he was there with you. Though it worried him, he couldn’t blame you, not after everything that had happened there. Every now and then he still found a small, green bead somewhere on the living room floor.

A sigh left him as he stood in the entryway, staring at Boo who watched him curiously from the couch. The window had been left cracked open, and it looked like the little guy had been enjoying some fresh air. Simon tried to tell you that leaving the blinds open was just asking for someone to snitch that you had a cat in the apartment. You had retorted by saying boarded up windows made for a shitty home.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbled to himself.

This was going to be a pain in his ass.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“This guy is getting on my fucking nerves.”

That was the fucking understatement of the year. Méabh lazily leaned against your desk as she glared over at the new branch manager they had hired during your absence. His name was Jace, and he liked to spend his time at work micromanaging all of his employees, including Cheryl, who was able to wire money with her eyes closed after so many years in the business. The poor woman looked like she was one more annoying comment from smacking the overbearing manager.

“He told me I didn’t ask enough security questions on the last transfer I did as if I didn’t ask all the ones that popped up on the screen,” Méabh continued in a droning grumble. “I wish Anna was still here. She did her job and wasn’t a complete cunt about it.”

“Just be glad that you only work part time,” you teased while trying to focus on your paperwork.

“Yeah, for now,” Méabh whined. “I’ll be going full time over summer holiday. Means I’ll get to see this prick twice as often.”

Really, it wasn’t Jace’s hawk-like gaze, or even his annoying nasally voice that got on your nerves. It was his shoes. While most of the girls at the bank wore flats to save themselves from achy feet, Jace wore terribly loud dress shoes. Whenever he walked, it sounded like he wore high heels with the way they clacked on the floor, and with how much he stomped around it was impossible for him to sneak up on anyone.

“Are you almost done?” Méabh then prompted. “I wanna get out of here.”

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know,” you chuckled.

“Thought I’d do the noble thing and keep you company. You know, unless you want Jace to read over your paperwork before you submit it,” she retorted with a playful roll of her eyes.

“How kind of you.”

Luckily for Méabh, or perhaps the both of you, you had just typed up the finishing touches to your work. Not even a minute later the whirring of your computer died down as you shut it off for the night and stood from your desk. However, you made the mistake of pushing with both your hands, and you winced as a zapping pain shot through your left shoulder. Even after all those months, your wound hadn’t fully healed.

“You alright?” Méabh asked as you gathered your items.

“Yeah,” you said, slightly winded. Glancing quickly over at Jace, and poor Cheryl who was still stuck listening to his ramble, you looked back at the young girl before nodding towards the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

Without saying goodbye, or saving your co-worker, you and Méabh slipped out of the building unnoticed and into the fresh spring air. Or, at least as fresh as it could get in the midst of London. It had been months since you last smelt real fresh air. When had it been, back at the end of August when you and Simon had gone on holiday? With the beautiful seaside and mist that tasted like salt? Or was it…

No. No, that couldn’t be right.

“Need a ride?” Méabh prompted.

You pulled your head out of the frigid water, dusted the sand off your knees, and smiled politely as you adjusted the blazer that perfectly complimented your pristine work clothes. You always had a way of bringing yourself back to reality if it meant avoiding an awkward conversation. Always so calm and put together, even with fragments of a bullet still stuck in your body.

“No, I’ll, uhm, just walk home. Thanks,” you excused as your eyes glanced out at the busy streets ahead.

Saying goodbye was awkward. Hell, everything was awkward those days. But like you did with all things in your life, you gritted your teeth and bared it before starting your walk home.

It was strange trying to remember how you used to fit into the world before everything. Sure, you never quite fit in beforehand, squeezing into places too small for you to exist in, but it had become home. But not then. Your edges had become warped, curling in on themselves, retracting into your body. Your piece of the puzzle had shrunk, but everything else stayed the same size, leaving you stuck with a gap that separated you from everyone else.

You were a watcher; a stranger to the very earth that nourished you. You could hear the seagulls rummaging through a pile of rubbish left beside the bin, and you could see the vibrant valley flowers that took up the window of the florist's shop on your left, but it was… blurry. Fuzzy, like the tingling sensation that plagued your arm every now and then when the blood flow was bad. You tried to focus, do anything to make the imagery around you feel sharper, but the faces of pedestrians were empty, like nobody around you was real, least of all yourself.

And then you were home.

It was difficult to tell how long you were standing outside of the door, staring at the empty wood as if it was a mirror. You had just sort of appeared there, like some sort of ghost. Without taking your eyes off of the door, you dug your hand into your bag and blindly felt around for your keys. A part of you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the view Leon had before kidnapping you. Before drugging you and taking you to that fucking basement.

No. Bukin. Simon told you his last name was Bukin, and you weren’t going to give your dead captor the pleasure of using his first name as if you had been friends.

Eventually the keys ended up in the lock and you entered the apartment. A heavy aroma of seasoned chicken filled the air around you, and you heard quiet cursing coming from the kitchen. You rounded the corner and were greeted by Simon cooking at the stove and Boo trying his hardest to trip the poor man. The critter stareed up at him with big, begging eyes as he followed your lovers every step.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, quickly glancing away from his work to look at you.

“You two look busy,” you chuckled, tossing your bag onto the counter.

“I’m busy,” Simon corrected before tossing a playful glare down at the poor cat by his feet. “He’s a menace.”

Humming, you stood next to Simon and glanced at what he had on the stove. It was pretty common for you to come home from work with dinner already started, if not finished. Simon had become something of a chef since taking care of you, and he had some pasta boiling and some chicken frying. He had started eating a lot more protein and carbs since going back to the gym, attempting to gain back the strength he had lost while captured.

“He’s just a baby,” you said, reaching a hand towards the hot pan. With careful fingers, you tore off a small bit of the chicken before blowing on it a little to cool it down. Boo had already stretched up to reach up your thigh by the time you had bent down to give it to him. After a few deep sniffs, he eagerly took it in his mouth and ran off.

“Spoiled rotten, he is,” Simon mumbled.

“He was being so patient,” you cooed, watching as Boo scarfed down his treat in the corner of the kitchen, as if afraid someone would take it from him.

“Patient, my arse,” he chuckled.

A dull beep sounded from the stove, which Simon quickly pressed a button to shut it off. With a twist of the dial, he turned the heat off of one of the burners and you heard the sound of boiling water quiet down before he moved it towards the sink to strain it. As hot steam billowed upwards, you turned your attention towards one of the cabinets where you found yourself reaching up for it. A small stack of china sat on the lowest shelf. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had actually set the table yourself.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that, sweetheart,” Simon said as he sat the still steaming pot on the counter next to the sink.

Shooting him a weird look, you continued in your pursuit. “I can handle getting plates, Simon.”

And you did. Grabbed two plates right off the shelf and held them in your hands as you looked at him as if in a challenge. But you understood why he was still so… skittish. He had spent the last few months doing everything for you. Bathing you, dressing you, making your food; he did it all. It almost felt more vulnerable than bleeding out on cold grass. A burden, that’s what you had become. Just another pet for someone to take care of. And Simon didn’t mind it, you knew that; he never did. Still, it was difficult to rot away in that apartment in good conscience knowing he was caring for someone who more than likely should have been a corpse by the ocean.

Saying nothing, Simon turned his attention back to his work as you walked towards the dining table. You hadn’t even made it halfway there before something crumbled inside of you. A shooting pain ran up and down your left arm, searing your nerves and burning away your flesh. A tingling numbness settled over your hand and the plates you tried to hold so carefully slipped right through your fingers where they shattered on the ground at your feet with a deafening crash.

Your gasp was cut off by a short whimper as your hand reached up to press against your old, yet still aggravated wound. You kept the pressure there as if trying to keep yourself from spilling on the floor, and you looked down at the mess you made.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you cursed. You pulled your hand away from under your arm and looked at your hand as if expecting blood.

“You alright?” Simon asked, heavy footsteps trailing across the floor behind you.

“I’m fine,” you spat, words sharp enough to tear through flesh.

The footsteps behind you stopped, and it forced you to realize the bite in your tone. It also made you realize how your hand trembled and heart stung as if you were afraid, as if you had been running. In an attempt to calm your nerves, you let out a heavy sigh before looking down at the mess you made. A terrible mosaic of broken glass and a now slightly chipped wooden floor spanned the area around your feet. You had ruined two perfectly good plates, damaged the floor, and you were the one snapping?

So much like your father. Being angry at the mess when it was your own fault.

“I’m… fine,” you tried again, softer this time. Empty. “Sorry, I… didn’t mean to…”

When Simon continued to walk towards you, you half expected him to reach for you, and some strange part of you didn’t want him to. Didn’t want his touch. Couldn’t stand it because you knew you didn’t deserve it. Instead, he knelt on the ground next to you, large fingers carefully picking up the bigger pieces of the shattered plates and gathering them into the palm of his hand.

“You don’t have to clean up my mess,” you said softly, lip trembling as you knelt down next to him to mirror his actions.

“I know,” he replied simply. He still cleaned anyway.

Anger was a weird thing for you. It wasn’t often that you felt it without some other emotion accompanying it. Confusion. Frustration. Grief. Shame usually followed shortly after. Truth was, you were angry all the time those days, and it was worse than almost any other emotion you could have experienced. When you had first started your road to recovery, you felt numb, and when you didn’t feel numb you felt terrified. A part of you wished you were still in that stage because you could at least explain why you felt that way. Some sort of self preservation mode your body had forced itself into in an attempt to smother the trauma you had endured over several long weeks. The anger that hid itself away in your chest was something you couldn’t explain. You didn’t know why it was there, but you wished it wasn’t.

So you stayed silent as you assisted Simon in cleaning up the shattered plates. It had remained mostly in several large chunks, but there were smaller, more fine pieces that you’d have to use a broom for. You hated that your hands shook for each piece you reached out for.

“I broke one of my mum’s vases when I was a kid,” Simon said unprompted. You found yourself pausing. As you held what pieces you had gathered in your hand, you glanced over at him, and he must have felt your gaze because his eyes flickered to you before focusing back on his work. “Was an accident. Kickin’ around a football in the living room when she told me not to. I tried to hide it from her until I could fix it, but she knew immediately it was missing.”

“Was she mad?” you asked.

It felt… odd. Strange. Nice. In all the years you had been with Simon, neither of you had really talked about your pasts. All you had gotten or shared were fragments. And there he was, picking up your mess, showing some raw part of himself you had never seen before.

“Upset, but not mad. She never got mad, even when she should have,” he replied, voice unwavering.

A thick lump had formed in your throat that was difficult to swallow. Something fuzzy tingled in the back of your mind, like something was trying to rip a chunk of flesh out of you; a memory. Teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek, you swallowed again before speaking.

“My… father broke a lot of plates when I was younger,” you admitted, staring down at the chunks of china in your hands. “Usually to get a reaction out of my mom. They were her mother’s, my grandmother’s, plates. Eventually she had to end up buying plastic plates when he had smashed them all, but that didn’t stop him from throwing them. He was always…”

So predictable.

Hadn’t you just said that not too long ago? After the shattering of a bowl? More broken china to stain the ground, the carpet, in that basement. You remembered his glare, Erik’s glare - Adakskin - when you told him he was predictable. And you were right. He had done everything you knew he would. A broken dish was always followed by pain. It didn’t matter. It never did. A broken dish was always followed by pain, even if you were the one breaking it.

Eyes watering, you coughed a little as a sharp tickle formed in your throat. Simon, whose eyes had been on you, glanced over his shoulder to see a fair bit of thick steam and light smoke rising out of the pan he had been cooking chicken in. Cursing, he stood to his feet and quickly tossed the pieces of china he had gathered into the trash before moving the pan off the heat.

And just like that, you were back. Still kneeling, still cleaning, still quiet. Your life had become nothing but a blur of time; living in the past and present at the same time. Even at work, at home, with Simon, the past held onto you so violently you weren’t sure you would ever be able to shake it off. You tried telling yourself you could - that you would - but once again you were cleaning up a broken plate. Always cleaning but never clean.

“Hope you like crispy chicken,” Simon sighed. Spatula in hand, he attempted to scrape the burnt meat off of the pan.

Once you ensured every single shard had been picked up, you turned your attention towards the kitchen for a split moment. You attempted a smile, but it felt too big on your face, so you got rid of it the moment it formed.

“I’m gonna change out of my work clothes,” you said instead, crossing through the kitchen to head towards the bedroom. “I’ll, uh… I’ll let you get the plates this time.”

He didn’t say anything in response as you vanished down the hallway, but he kept his eyes on you. His lips tightened into a thin line for a moment before relaxing once more and turning his attention back to dinner. He knew this stage of healing was going to be the hardest. The body had a way of mending wounds that the mind just couldn’t mimic with trauma. That conversation had been the most he was able to get out of you in months, and you still looked terrified.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It had been years since Simon had last smoked a cigarette. He used to smoke regularly when he first joined up, especially more so after his family was killed. It was a good way to keep himself awake on missions, or for avoiding nightmares. He quit when the withdrawal symptoms got bad and he had difficulty with cardio during PT. Now he smoked for the alleviation of stress, even if it only lasted for a moment. Or maybe he did it just to keep his hands moving. No matter the reason, it didn’t change the smoke curling in his lungs as he took drag after drag.

Something had been on his mind since you dropped those plates at dinner the previous night. The empty look in your eyes haunted him almost as bad as the shaking of your hands. It was getting worse. Or, at least, it wasn’t getting better, and that terrified him. He didn’t know what to do to help you short of dragging you off to some therapist, which he knew wouldn’t do any good. Something was building. Something was going to burst, and he didn’t know when, but the pressure was there and there was nothing he could do about it.

So there he stood, off in some secluded area on base, smoking his cigarette with a jaw so tense there were indentations of his teeth on the filter. It didn’t take him long to finish it, and when it had been stomped into the ground with the heel of his boot, he was half tempted to smoke another. Keeping the pack in his pocket, he released a heavy sigh before marching back towards the building that housed his office.

Avoiding as many people in the halls as he could, he quickly unlocked the door and shut it as soon as he slipped inside. The air felt stale, like no one had entered to clean his space in his absence, which was probably for the best anyway. He flicked the light on, and it struggled to fill the room, being dimmer than he remembered it being, but it was enough for the moment. With a press of a button, his computer started to whirr to life, and he sat in his chair as he waited for it to boot up. It had great difficulty starting, and he could hear his SSD grind and whine after being shut off for so many months.

Eventually the monitor lit up, and Simon wasted no time logging in before opening his browser. The last time he had used this computer he had spent all his time and energy searching through houses and apartments and hotel rooms in search of where you were being held. Now, he found himself looking at houses and apartments again, but for a different reason.

He needed to get you out of there; out of the apartment the two of you had been staying in. Too many bad memories stained the walls for either of you to do any sort of healing. And so he searched and searched and found his frustration growing. A one bedroom apartment for 3,000 a month? Christ, the housing in that fucking city was astronomically expensive, and sure he could afford it, but for a single damn room?

So he kept searching. It was difficult trying to find someplace that wasn’t halfway across the city from base that was also still close to your work. He’d hate for you to have to take the tube alone, or walk too far alone at night in the city, especially dressed as fancy as bankers usually were. Of course there was always housing on base, but he wouldn’t be able to bring you with because the two of you weren’t married.

Your wife; they are relocating her.

Even after all that time he could see that woman clearly, whoever she had been, sitting on the floor of the room you were supposed to be in. At the time he tried to shake off the way that statement made him feel. Behind the anger, frustration, and fear, there was something else there. Wife. He had liked the term. He wished it was true. Then he remembered the photos in front of her. Your face; your gorgeous face, trapped in that Polaroid. The tears and blood that stained your cheeks and lips, the way an unforgiving hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at the lens.

Wife. He wanted that, craved it. But that wasn’t the time, not after everything that had happened.

Simon wasn’t brought out of his thoughts until someone knocked on his door, where he found himself glaring at the big hunk of wood. He hadn’t been there in months, and most people should have known that, so why was someone trying to bother him? Still, he gave them a gruff order to come in and he was quickly greeted by Johnny’s wide eyed expression.

“You’re back?” Johnny asked breathlessly as he shut the door behind him.

Well, at least out of everyone that it could have been, it was him.

“Not yet,” he replied simply. His chair squeaked as he leaned back in it in an attempt to relax some. He tried to make a mental reminder to use some WD-40 on it later. “How’d you know I was here?”

Johnny used his thumb to point over his shoulder at the door behind him. “Was on my way to storage to put some files away,” he explained simply, simultaneously shaking the manilla folder in his hand. “Walked by and saw the light peeking from under the door. Figured someone was cleaning, but knocked just in case.” He took a few cautious steps forward, as if approaching a skittish cat. “How’s everything?”

Simon wasn’t quite sure how to answer that question. Things certainly weren’t great, but they could be worse. For example, you could be dead, or still hospitalized. But saying things were great was far from the truth, and he wasn’t exactly keen on explaining every little issue that had been plaguing him as of late.

“It’s an adjustment,” he admitted instead, “but we’re getting there.”

Johnny nodded, getting even closer to his lieutenant. “Spook doin’ alright, then?”

Even after all that time, Simon still didn’t like talking about you with other people, even if it was Johnny. Hell, even talking about you to his therapist made him feel tense. But he couldn’t hold onto you like that forever, keeping you caged in the safeness of his arms where you were supposed to be safe. And he had to come to the realization that his sergeant deserved to know. Simon had been there the entire time; through the hospital, through your healing. The last time Johnny had seen you, you were bleeding out on your way to the nearest hospital.

“She’s back to work. Started physical therapy this week, too,” Simon explained, though he wasn’t sure how much more he could say.

That small bit of information seemed to mean the whole world to Johnny, and his face lit up. “Good, that’s good! Glad she’s doin’ better.” Then, his eyes darted to the monitor. He caught sight of the rental listings lined up on the screen, as well as their crazy high prices. “Searchin’ for a new home?”

Simon’s attention turned back to the computer for a moment where he let a heavy sigh escape him. “Yeah. Figured it was about time I got her out of there. The apartment. Wanted to get her out sooner, but couldn’t when she was still hurt.”

“It woulda been a lot for her to adjust to at once,” Johnny agreed.

Things fell silent for a moment as both men lost themselves in their thoughts, but only for a short moment before Johnny adjusted the folder in his hand.

“Well, I’ll let you continue searching,” he excused himself as he took a step back. “Gotta get this to storage eventually.”

Simon was one second away from wishing the man well before watching him leave his office, but something stopped him. He knew that if he was alone again, his thoughts would go right back to where they were before. That woman in the room. Pictures of you on the floor. The blood. The Polaroids. That fucking hand that gripped your face - the hand that had no fucking right to touch you. Those goddamn pictures.

“I’ll come with,” Simon said, already shutting his computer down.

Eyebrows drawing together, Johnny tilted his head to the side as he paused his retreat. “You sure?”

There was no room for argument. Everything in his office was quickly shut down and put away, and the two men walked through the halls of the building. There were a few familiar faces that threw Simon odd glances, as if surprised to see him there, or perhaps surprised he was still alive. His name was Ghost for a reason.

Neither man said anything to one another until they reached the storage room. Shelves lined up like dominos and spanned all the way to the back wall where an industrial sized paper shredder sat. Large white cardboard boxes rested on the shelves with simple flip open tops, each labeled with either a case or date of some sort. Painfully white lights washed out the entire room, causing Johnny to squint for a moment before his eyes adjusted.

“Hate sorting through this shit,” he muttered as he began to wander through the aisles.

Simon stood in the doorway for a moment, breathing in the scent of old paper and rotting ink. Usually he never had to go into that room; whatever paperwork that he did have that would go there he’d make someone else’s problem. Even then, he found himself searching, eyes scanning the labels on the boxes. Locations, names, dates, everything. Johnny caught onto his search, and watched him for a moment with careful eyes, but still refused to say anything.

“Aye, here we are,” Johnny sighed as he flipped the lid off of one of the boxes. He unceremoniously tossed the file into it before shutting it once again. “Right. Ready to get outta here?”

But when he turned to Simon, he saw the man’s attention was caught by one of the boxes. Salthouse | 8, December. The lid was already opened, and Simon stared blankly into it as if he wasn’t sure where to start.

“Ghost?” Johnny said softly.

Simon’s hands dove into the box decisively where his fingers grabbed onto a small, orange envelope. There was a slight thickness to it, like something had to be shoved in there to fit properly, or too many things had been stacked and folded on top of one another. He wasted no time undoing the brass clasp at the top and pouring the contents into his hand.

A plastic bag full of Polaroids tumbled out of the envelope, and Simon and Johnny were met with the image of your face. Beaten, irritated, and bloody, it was a different image than what they had seen last time, like whoever had collected it shuffled through the images in morbid curiosity. You laid on the ground on your back, no hand gripping your face, but still very obviously out of it. Passed out, probably, or at least on the verge of consciousness.

He wasn’t prepared for the anger that bubbled up inside of him upon setting eyes on those images again. So many regrets, things that he should have done differently. He should have been stronger, faster, deadlier. Should have made Bukin and Adakskin pay for everything they had done to you with more than just a bullet to the head. Should have ripped up that picture of you the moment he got the chance.

“Simon,” Johnny said again. It was rare that the man ever used his lieutenants real name, but it left him before he was able to stop it.

Ignoring him, Simon tossed the orange envelope back into the box before ripping open the plastic bag, nearly scattering the photos all over the ground. He gathered them up into his hands before marching off towards the back of the room, boots hitting heavy against the floor.

“What’re you doing?” Johnny asked, voice a bit more firm.

“No one needs to see these,” Simon responded within an instant. “Everyone knows what happened to her. No one needs to see her like this.”

He approached the shredder that sat against the back wall of the room. It was a large thing, made for shredding stacks of paper all at once with teeth that could eat an entire hand within an instant. A few Polaroids wouldn’t be an issue at all. The thing was, Johnny couldn’t even argue with Simon, because he felt the exact same way. So he stood there and watched as Simon powered on the shredder, gears whirring and whining.

Without remorse, Simon tossed the photos into the shredder and watched as the metal tore them to shreds with ease. Plastic crinkled and cracked until they were all eaten up and spat out into the bag that stored all the other scraps it had thrown up. The thing was, Simon was never very good at fixing things. No matter how hard he tried to be, he always ended up breaking things. His mother’s vase or a man's arm. He could pull a trigger and end someone’s life and yet he felt something convulsing inside of him at the thought of opening himself to you.

But this? This felt right. Destroying those pictures. There was enough evidence on your body and in your mind as it was. He tried so hard to be something else, anything else; but in the end, Simon was a brutal man whose hands were only capable of violence; might as well put them to good use.

tags: @ghostlythots @archonsabyss @crowbird @beware-my-thorns @koko-1025 @nessaasstuff @escapefromrealitysm @babygirl-riley @theloneshadow24 @ashableketchup @violet-19999 @paigetaylor628 @curlygirls-world @gaebestie @datlilwrench @ryisghost @suffering-and-happy-about-it @achelois-is-here

find my taglist here

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soft spot #f!reader

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arbiterlexultionis · 9 months

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Danny and the Spooks

So first things first, my initial idea is that this prompt takes place in a no one knows AU, and Danny somehow gets his ice powers earlier than he otherwise would, though really this could work without those two if need be.

So Danny got his ice powers pretty early in his ghost fighting career, and because he doesn’t have the support from his friends or raw power he would gather up later on he relies far more on Fenton tech to get by. That reliance on weapons means that, upon realizing that his ghost ice 1) doesn’t melt and 2) is Ghost Ice, and therefore can’t really be phased through by most ghost that arn’t him, immediately begins thinking of ways to make long term weapons out of the stuff.

A little while into his experiments with that he’s fighting Skulker and gets thrown into the house of some poor civilian, and while taking cover behind the kitchen counter looks over to see the (slightly disgruntled) homeowner doing the same while holding a 12 gauge.

“You think you can land a shot with that thing?”

“You think it’ll matter if I can?”

To which Danny replies something along the lines of “it will with this” before handing over his latest creation, a 12 gauge slug that’s had some of the material removed and replaced with his ice. Danny distracts Skulker, and his new friend pops up and puts a hole through the spine of Skulkers suit, allowing Danny to capture him. Danny thanks Mr. Civilian, who is apparently a retired Navy Seal or something, and they wind up staying in contact with each other, sometimes helping each other out with stuff and Mr. Seal testing out new weapons for Danny. Then some punk kid(yes a punk kid, doesn’t matter that he’s older than Danny, Danny still refers to him as a punk kid) decided that he wants to help defend the town and starts following Danny around, trying to help him in fights, and just refuses to stop putting himself in danger. Eventually Danny “relents” and says that he’ll let the kid help out, but only after he gets proper training from Mr. Seal, with the real plan being for the training to be way to intense for the kid to make him give up.

One problem though, the kid just doesn’t give up. Like, at all. One day Mr. Seal pulls Danny aside and tells him that Punk has finished his training and Danny gets all exited that the kid finally gave up, only for his bubble to be burst. “No no, he hasn’t given up, he just finished my training. He’s ready for combat.” And well, a deals a deal. So both Punk and Mr. Seal start taking more of an active roll in ghost fighting.

And then another idiot with more selflessness than sense shows up. And another. And, whoops three more just showed up. Eventually, Danny wound up as the accidental leader of a vigilante/ghost fighting organization dubbed the spooks by the local news. Comprised mostly of volunteers, with the best and brightest getting a rank all their own and proper pay, comprised of donations from both normal people and members and “donations” from criminals they stop because it’s not like they need the money now that they’re in prison.

I’m just imagining Danny with this rag tag group of humans doing what they can to help people.

After Danny finally manages to get some time with his friends for a movie marathon, he decides to form a new branch of the group called the R.I.P.D., the Rest In Peace Department, which is basically meant to help ghost fulfill their Obsessions and stuff in a safe, peaceful manner.

Boxy gets a abandoned warehouse full of boxes that’s been covered and insulative materials to keep ghost hunters from tracking him there.

Lunch Lady gets a great big soup kitchen which promptly morphs into a whole ass shelter for anyone and everyone that needs it so long as they’re okay with having Lunch Lady seemingly appear out of nowhere worrying about how skinny they look and shoving food into their arms.

They also have an absurd number of homemade gadgets and weapons. Think like, the entirety of the slingshot channel, ZnA productions, hacksmith and all those other types of channels combined, but their arsenal is hopped up on ghostly BS, as well as stealing equipment from Vlad and the GIW.

Skulker: I WILL MOUNT YOUR PELT ON MY WALL GHOSTCHILD

Fredrick “Dakka” Stevenson, flying the ancient crop-duster they got from old man Elijah and strapped every weapon they could to: I’m gonna do what’s called a pro gamer move.

Every other spooks member on the coms: groans

Dakka: if you want me to stop making lame meme references stop using a lame meme reference as my nickname.

Pt 2

#danny fenton #dp au #danny phantom #fic prompt #fanfiction prompts #story prompt #writing prompt #no one knows #no one knows au

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probablyasocialecologist · 2 months

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‘Refusing to actively assist in a genocide’ is the absolute lowest of low bars, an existentially minimal expectation of a post-war European polity. But that’s where we are. The ranks are closed and serried. It is a hypnotically grotesque spectacle. Meanwhile, in Gaza, the killing intensifies. Genocide has still been on the table all this time, it seems. Every piety about it being the ultimate evil was just so much noise, to be discarded when it became awkward. It now appears that thinking genocide is bad is for the little people. Or perhaps it is a ‘luxury belief’. The most powerful states in the world have enshrined remembrance of the Holocaust in their public places, their calendars, their museums, their education systems. We were given to understand that this was because genocide was the final, absolute line: never, ever again, for anyone. But insofar as Britain and other nations have ignored or assisted Israel’s campaign in Gaza, it turns out that these same states have in fact kept systematic human extermination and ethnic cleansing on the list of possible political options, as rights which they might need to exercise one day. At my most grimly cynical, I fear that this is because the Northern states have concluded that the coming age will take the form prophesied by the Bannonites and neo-reactionaries—a time of sovereign power amidst climate breakdown—and this means they want leeway to operate as they will, at home and abroad, without being bound by any laws or responsibilities, moral or otherwise. Gaza is the end of all pretence to a belief in any law but that of raw force, and as such, it is the proving ground for all tomorrow’s hells.

[...]

The British state is an active and official participant in an ongoing genocide, its politicians and press are running cover, its intelligence services and military are actively involved. The fact that this is still barely in the papers, and that the people who have taken to the streets asking for it to stop have been denounced as hate-filled racists and fanatics, should tell you all you need to know about how much anyone in power or in the press ever really understood or cared about ‘never again’. Perhaps I am naïve, but the purpose of Holocaust education, as I always understood it, was not to teach us that we should obediently wait and see what position pundits and politicians would take on urgent events, and then follow their lead. Nor was it so we could take the long view, see both sides, mutter about complexities, patiently wait for years to pass and for evidence to be gathered. No, the purpose of the quite extensive Holocaust education that most people in this country received was surely so we would know a genocide when we saw it. We were supposed to learn what it looked like so it could be stopped, and so that our perpetual duty to those who died in the camps – a duty consisting of an eternal never again, the magnetic north of personal and political morality – would be rightly discharged, should our time ever come to discharge it. It was so we would not be the ones who turned a blind eye to the removal of our friends and colleagues; so that we would know to speak, to act, to refuse to let it happen without a fight; so that we would never betray a hiding child, never denounce a neighbour, never find ourselves just following orders. Whatever else could it possibly have been for, if it was not to know these things, yourself, in your heart? What can the story of Anne Frank mean to us, as individuals, if it does not mean that we must each of us internalise the lesson that we should never give up a child to genocidaires? And did we not learn, too, that the state would bombard us with propaganda, that the truth would be hidden, and that without effort we would become inured and complacent so that it would not be so simple to see what was before us, and so that many would simply accept what was happening without demur? Were we not warned? We were. A clearly distressed Palestinian man whose mother and family had been killed in the bombardment of northern Gaza was recently manhandled out of a Labour party event in Stockport for the transgression of asking people to look at photographs of his dead mother. In a widely circulated film, Labour deputy leader Angela Rayner stands frozen and silent as he is violently ejected. What has happened to those heart lessons she was supposed to learn? Is this not the very moment for which those lessons were prepared, the moment that we were warned about? If not now, when?

#israel #palestine #gaza #genocide #zionism #uk politics

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clavissionary-position · 2 months

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Ikeprinces Ranked By How Long it Takes Them To Pick Out an Outfit

In a fantasy world where they have more than one or two outfits to pick from. Not to be confused with the time it takes for them to get dressed.

LUKE . He'd wear the same pair of jeans for a week without washing it if he could get away with it. -2 seconds.

CHEVALIER . Since he has perfect mental inventory of every article and accessory he owns as well as where everything is located in his closet, he's able to just grab something and go. 2 seconds.

SILVIO . Carlo carefully assembles outfits for him depending on the events scheduled for that day, laying out two such assemblies each morning for Silvio to glance over and pick from. 10 seconds with assistance.

LICHT . He’s got a lot of button-up shirts and people keep gifting him even more. Yves has helped him organize them by different criteria and this makes it easier for him to pick something. 1 minute with assistance.

SARIEL . It doesn’t take much time to pick out something from a wardrobe that is predominantly black and form-fitting. Everything goes with everything, though that’s not to say he sacrifices taste for utility. 3 minutes.

GILBERT . Some days he admits it, some days he denies it. But there’s a creative joy in dressing oneself. Otherwise he’d never bother with accessories the way he does. 5-10 minutes because he’s a busy and efficient man with rare bouts of self-indulgence.

YVES . Because he knows how indecisive he can get, he plans all his outfits at the beginning of each week by using beautiful bespoke spreadsheets. It’s a really fun and engaging process that also cuts down on stress on the day-of. 1.5 hours at the beginning of every week. 5 minutes every day.

LEON . He wouldn’t be able to pull off the semi-casual heartthrob look without putting in at least a little effort. He’s a good-looking guy and he knows it, and he picks outfits accordingly. 10 minutes.

NOKTO . One could say he spends more time thinking of how to be rid of his outfits iykwim. But he makes a deliberate attempt to be presentable while maintaining a unique sense of style. 12 minutes.

JIN . If a woman is going to go out of her way to dress up and look nice for him, the least he can do is meet her halfway. Plus he loves putting on an outfit while imagining how it’s going to be removed later. 15 minutes.

RIO . The old Rio wouldn't have put the least bit of thought into what to wear. The current Rio puts more life and energy into selecting his outfits as though cherishing the process itself and losing himself to the possibilities. While often discovering some really cute combos. 20 minutes.

KEITH . He waffles around his wardrobe a bit and changes in and out of a couple different looks before always coming back to a tried-and-true combination. 35 minutes.

CLAVIS . Trial-and-error is the best part of deciding what to wear. Why this when you could that? There’s no one right answer but plenty of opportunity to have fun. 1 hour.

#ikemen prince #jin grandet #chevalier michel #clavis lelouch #leon dompteur #yves kloss #licht klein #nokto klein #luke randolph #rio ortiz #sariel noir #silvio ricci #keith howell #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri ranked

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 2 months

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Ghost as the 141 Captain - Wild Rambling #1

What about if Captain Price got captured/was on sick leave/was otherwise unavailable (even, gasp, died)?

You know who the command of the Task Force would go to next (realistically speaking)?

Ghost.

I think of that a lot.

Of Laswell pulling strings to make sure the brass doesn't bring an outsider Captain/commanding officer, to preserve the inner workings of the team.

Of Ghost finally accepting the promotion to Captain (which in my head he's been declining in the last few years despite having served as Lieutenant for enough time to EARN it, because he prefers to be in the field than to be planning things) because he has to.

Of him forcefully being thrust into a position of command, of planning things, of doing paperwork/burocracy, of being in charge.

Of Soap (if he had been alive) and Gaz calling him "Captain" in front of other officers and soldiers and Ghost cringing at it every time.

Of him having to deal with high ranked politicians and officers and not having the patience for it.

Of him losing his temper when someone tries to imply he's not cut out to be in charge because he hurts their sensibilities every time he speaks and acts like they're stupid. (all because doesn't yet have the same balance of bullshit politeness-high efficiency that Price has accomplished, and instead resorting to brutal honesty-high efficiency).

Of him having to take Price's office because that's where all the documents for the 141 are kept and it's just overall more convenient... so he just slaps a piece of tape (which he wrote his name onto to make into a makeshift sticker) over the nameplate on the wall... so it can be removed easily when Price comes back... because that's not Ghost's spot and he knows it.

#ikea writes 💚#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley headcanons #cod headcanons #ghost cod #ghost headcanons #captain john price #headcanon

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watatsumiis · 1 year

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Reader with chronic headaches series - Dottore edition

Yes. this is self indulgent. I deserve it because head hurty and i can just feel its gonna get worse. As bonkers as he is, i think he'd be a great person to have look after you when you're not well (provided you have a close bond with him). Be aware that this is heavily based off of my own experiences with chronic headaches and migraines (and what I do to look after myself when I have them), and is not indicative of everyone's experiences.

Content: Gender neutral reader (implied to have chronic headaches and/or migraines), pre-established platonic relationship with Dottore, just. general Dottore warning, he's a little creepy and likes to keep lists about people.

At first, he's weird about it. He's trying to note down your symptoms and figure out exactly what's wrong, giving you solutions that (surprise surprise) don't work. It would almost be sweet if you didn't know he saw you more as a puzzle to solve at this point.

The idea of chronic illnesses is like a challenge to this man, he's so annoying about it, constantly bothering you about your symptoms, asking you to chart your headaches, where you'd rate them on a scale of one to ten, etc., at this point, he's almost more of a headache than the headaches themselves.

Eventually though, he calms down a bit and starts being actually helpful. He's very observant, so he picks up on the common signals you give off when you've got a headache or a migraine coming on, even if you don't notice them yourself.

When he notices, he'll have someone wordlessly bring you a cool glass of water and your pain relief of choice, sometimes even offer to take over your more menial duties to remove some stress from you.

He takes careful note of what you do to help alleviate them and will replicate those actions, sometimes sternly ordering you around when you're continuing to try and push yourself further. Being of such a high rank, he's easily able to take advantage of it to give you a day or two off.

He'll usher you into a quiet, dark room with a nice cool temperature and a pile of blankets, making sure you're stocked up with plenty of water and your preferred brand of pain relief, while nattering away about what he thinks may be the root cause of your pain this time (as much as he tries to eliminate all potential causes, some still manage to slip through the cracks).

He's uncharacteristically tender with you when you're in pain, especially if he feels guilty for not noticing before it got as bad as it has. He's gentle and speaks in a soft, low voice that's both easy to understand and listen to even through the ringing in your ears.

Though he's used to how your symptoms manifest, it doesn't mean that he worries any less - he still checks up on you just a little too often, but he always tries extremely hard not to disturb you, especially if you decide to take a nap or have a lie down.

He makes sure you're extra stocked up with your favourite snacks, blankets and comfort items, and might even try to find you something simple to keep you entertained that isn't too much strain on your head if you get bored or restless (you're not sure where he got these colouring pages from, but they're well made!)

The amount of documentation he keeps on you is almost unnerving, there's enough there that, even when he's not around, there'll be someone who has been given a briefing and knows exactly what to do to help you.

Once you're feeling better, he scolds you if you overworked yourself or acted too stubborn, insisting that he's a doctor and you should listen to him.

Overall, he's a great person to have take care of you when you're not feeling a hundred percent. He's willing to field almost any request if it'll get you back up and feeling well again.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagarise my writing! This includes posting translations to other sites (without credit + permission).

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 1 month

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If dazai ends up transferring to the PM, how would you feel? 😭

Idk the ADA panels are making me anxious..

Hey hey!

Honestly, I think Mori trying to bring Dazai back in this way wouldn't be a good play on his part at all, and I think he knows this. Dazai has to choose to return himself, otherwise Mori won't end up with an asset at all, just a hindrance. I really can't see that kind of transfer going any way other than Dazai just... up and leaving again first chance he gets. Hahaha

Besides, it'd be a weird move on Fukuzawa's part, and I do believe both Ranpo and Kunikida (as well as Atsushi and Kyouka) would strongly protest - Fukuzawa is shown taking Dazai's advice when meeting with Mori during the Guild arc quite seriously, and even if you think that he somehow doesn't consider him part of the group (I seriously doubt it), Dazai is still an incredible boon to the Agency, especially in dealings with the Mafia or against powerful opponents like Fyodor. It would be a really poor decision to try and transfer him.

While I poked fun at the panels with a couple of memes, I really think Dazai not being there has a lot to do with Fukuzawa's ability - remember that he knows the status of each member of his Agency; of course, with the exception of Dazai.

Also, I seriously don't know if the transfer is going to go through at all at this point. While the Mafia did rescue the Agency members from the Hunting Dogs, it was a traitor in their midst that assured their later capture, and the vampire infection completely ravaged the Mafia's ranks. As far as everyone knows now, it was Fukuzawa and the Agency that "saved the day". Do they still owe Mori? It seems unlike either of them to back out of a deal, but I'm honestly not sure.

If it does still go through, let's think hypothetically on who Mori might take based on what he'd be looking for in a potential transfer member.

Yosano: Obviously he wants Yosano back. But he can't get to her because Fukuzawa guaranteed it.

Dazai: Obviously he wants Dazai back. But I think due to the reasons above, Dazai is safe.

Kyouka: She just left. Also I think Kouyou understands that she's happier here and would not let this happen. Atsushi and Dazai would also not let this happen.

Kenji: Very strong, and recognized as such by Chuuya. However, I don't think his attitude is something that Mori would be looking for. He doesn't exactly scream "operating under cover of night" hahaha

Ranpo: I doubt it, but there could be some advantages. Mori would have another genius tactician for one. However, Ranpo's methods are far removed from Dazai's and Mori's own, and I think he'd have a hard time convincing Ranpo to do anything he doesn't want to... Ranpo is a detective. Case closed. Maybe if Mori had found him instead of Fukuzawa when he was young, but now? No.

Kunikida: This could be interesting. Kunikida is a very moral man; however, he is far from bound to the law (fully willing to break it if he disagrees or thinks it's necessary for the sake of his ideals) and has recently had his ideals and spirit damaged almost to the point of suicide. Transferring him would be devastating. I don't know that I see what Mori would get out of taking Kunikida though, other than weakening the Agency (remember that he's next in line to lead after Fukuzawa). I just don't think there's enough in it for Mori to bother. I also think taking Kunikida would piss Dazai off royally.

Tanizaki: The fan-popular choice. He does, admittedly, make the most sense. Multiple Mafia characters have seen and commented on his talent for assassination. His skills are very useful and his morals basically hinge on Naomi's safety. If Asagiri wanted to elaborate on Tanizaki's character, this would certainly be an interesting way to do it. If Mori can assure Naomi's safety, then he will have Tanizaki's loyalty and a powerful new assassin, and that is what Mori would ultimately be looking for.

Atsushi: Okay, hear me out. Mori has to be well aware of Dazai's creation of a new double black in Atsushi and Akutagawa. He knows full well how powerful the tiger is. Might it be useful to have a double black purely under his command once again? Now, I honestly believe that Mori understands the value of balance in these things and wouldn't take Atsushi so as to have their duo be part-Agency, part-Mafia in accordance with Natsume's tactics. We've also already seen mafia Atsushi in the Beast universe. However, this could be a really interesting way to have reader focus shift to exploring more of the Port Mafia by having our main character literally end up mired in that world. Mori has already worked with Atsushi before (against Lucy), and let's think of what he knows - Fitzgerald set a bounty on him, Dazai recruited him and partnered him with his former mentee, and he's able to work well with Akutagawa (who pretty notoriously isn't a team player). Mori may just find himself intrigued enough to see what the big deal is...

#storyrambles #bsd #bsd meta #<-woohoo finally!!!#thanks for the ask!#i'm sorry to add this but whenever i think of the mafia transfer agreement...#i just think about all the 'being sold to one direction' fanfics 😭

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brw · 1 year

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ranking random marvel men by how helpful i think they are in domestic settings

tony stark – 0/10 cannot cook cannot clean if you tell me otherwise ill bite you he has never cleaned a day in his life and that's okay.

simon williams – 0/10 has also never cleaned a day in his life and sure as hell won't start now.

thor odinson – 0/10 like he thinks he's being super helpful but he keeps accidentally breaking things and smashing plates and making a mess in the kitchen but he acts real cute about it so nobody gets mad at him really.

bruce banner – 1/10 he does his best but disaster follows him wherever he goes. he can't help it. everything that can go wrong will go wrong. he tries to make a nice meal and the fridge breaks so nothing is cold and the oven destroys the meat and the vegetables all get overboiled and he drops the wine bottle and it smashes on the carpet and and and it's just a bad time. he's doing his best.

roberto da costa – 1/10 you didn't marry him for his domestic skills.

bucky barnes – 2/10 keeps putting knives in random ass places n doesn't tell you.

logan howlett – 3/10 look he's a good cook and remembers to stock the fridge but he tracks blood in like at least once a week and it takes forever to remove from the carpet.

remy lebeau – 4/10 points deducted for not washing himself

bishop – 5/10 he grew up in a dystopia with on rations and it shows. the only thing you're eating with him is rehydrated beef or some shit. keeps the cleanest sparsest environment you've ever seen though

hank pym – 6/10 generally good at cooking, cleaning, buying shit etc but uhhh succumbs to the Horrors bimonthly

pietro maximoff – 7/10 will clean everything that gets messy, he likes a clean environment, but hates buying food vocally and gets kitchen rage when making food, his food is very good though

reed richards – 7/10 has made various machines to do washing, cleaning, cooking, laundry etc but cannot be trusted in a supermarket unattended, struggles to cook generally but can be trusted to make a few really good meals

luke cage – 8/10 i don't think he can cook for shit but he is great for remembering shopping and keeping things clean and tidy and we know he's a great dad so .

scott summers – 8/10 cleans everything, has a photographic memory of what's in the fridge and seems to telepathically know when something is broken or needs replacing but the only thing he serves is soup.

sam wilson – 10/10 good at cooking, remembers groceries, loves hosting people, keeps getting nice expensive wines to enjoy over the weekend as a nice treat from all the captain america shenanigans

steve rogers – 10/10 likes to clean likes to cook enjoys just relaxing and doing chores when not captain america-ing, will absolutely pick up stuff for dinner back from a fight with hydra or whatever

#brieuc.txt #making random lists like this for profit #tony stark #simon williams #thor odinson #bruce banner #roberto da costa #bucky barnes #logan howlett #remy lebeau #bishop #hank pym #pietro maximoff #ch: i believe we endure #luke cage #scott summers #sam wilson #steve rogers #i strongly believe sam n steve are the perfect husbands and i wont be swayed

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yandere-fics · 3 months

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Less dark but still potentially, darling being in a relationship before they met their yans, allready taken :3c

♡ How They React To Their Darling Being In A Relationship ♡

♡ Dealing with a human inconvenience is not hard at all for her, since finding out her soulmate would be human, she had always been prepared for the possibility she would need to get someone out of the way before she could approach you, humans are just so silly, she understands that you don't have a way to confirm you have a supernatural soulmate out there but seriously babe? What were you thinking when you chose this buffoon to couple with. Perhaps she merely sees them as a buffoon because you are truly the living embodiment of perfection and can do no wrong in her eyes while everything they do is completely wrong in her eyes. ♡

♡ She won't challenge them with you around or even introduce herself until they are removed from the picture, she knows how stupid humans can be even when presented with their true love ans while she doesn't think you're dumb, she just thinks you're a bit too prone to human naivities, like for example allowing this person to breathe the same air as you. ♡

♡ She'll have to utterly humiliate them in front of everyone to insure even the friends who were close to them will see her as a breathe of fresh air when she finally introduces herself as your soulmate. You'll accept her immediately as soon as they're gone she sure so yeah maybe she doesn't have to do all this work because she could kill them and her perfect mate would love her all the same, nevermind how delusional she is, but she needs to make sure your pesky friends don't plant any stupid ideas in your head that might make you hesitant to give into your obvious love for her. ♡

♡ She sees you with them across the street and while she would try her best to come off softer to not terrify you, she can't stop herself from rushing across the street and snapping their wrist, the same wrist about to wrap around your shoulder casually introducing herself as your mate. Your partner is smart enough to get the fuck out of there and well that clearly shows they didn't even deserve you in the first place. Why would you even want to be with them when their wrist broke so easily? She could protect you a million times better, she'll prove it just agree to let her court you, please otherwise she might get scary. ♡

♡ If you protest, you know like a normal person who is frightened, then she's gonna get a bit more violent. She was willing to overlook your indiscretion by not waiting for your mate, nevermind the fact most humans don't have soulmates so how would you have known you had one, it's still horrible that you were being so lovey dovey with someone else in front of her, she clearly needs to put you in your place just a little bit. Sorry for this but she's gonna have to be mean until you decide you want her to start being nice to you again. ♡

♡ She'll take you to her apartment and allow you to settle in there for a the night, hopefully hold you in her arms if you aren't too fighty and then as soon as the night comes and you've peacefully fallen asleep on her bed, likely due to exhaustion, hopefully accepting that you and her are in love now, she'll go off to find whatever mongrel dared to put their hands on you and then flee, if they were going to touch something that wasn't theirs then they better at least have the courage to stay and try to fight for it, she would have let them have a merciful death for at the very least treating her soulmate the way you deserve but they ran so they must die brutally. ♡

♡ The moment she lays eyes on you, they have been vanished. You had heard the stories of humans in centuries past who had been chosen by a high ranking demon and their partner been torn to shreds, being lit on fire, drowning on air, but you had never heard of anyone having their partner just disappear. You would have reached out to see if they were invisible or something if you weren't frozen in shock trying to locate where the demon responsible was. Meanwhile Nikki is already headed your way fast, preparing to guide you safely into the abode she's prepared for both of you. ♡

♡ The person has been removed so now your relationship with her should be smooth sailing from now on. What do you mean you're mad she killed your partner? Dearest mate, she's your partner now, she knows this might be a bit of an adjustment but you should be thrilled that someone better suited to you than that weak human has come along, you could have never been truly happy with that person, surely you were just settling, you should be so happy that you are one of the lucky ones who has a soulmate. ♡

♡ Hmm it must have been her getting rid of them that way that made you upset, perhaps you wanted her to tear them apart and prove she's the superior mate. She teleported them to the outskirts of the city which is kind of like a living hell so she can't really bring them back for a fight but she'll remember her mate is a bit of a sadistic thing. Don't try to deny it, that has to be why you're upset, there's no other plausible explanation for you not being pleased with her removing them so suddenly. ♡

♡ The boss didn't bother to check whether or not you were in a relationship before she paired Nora up with you. Nora was also so thrilled when she saw your profile and realized you were the one bright light in her miserable immortality to even consider you might already have had a partner. It is a devastating blow to see your partner next to you on a date as she stalks you one night and it certainly makes her angrier with The Boss but this is just a momentary setback because she's willing to become anything for you and surely they are not that committed so she'll do her best to get you over to her side. She just needs to play the long game and be your friend for awhile and she'll get you. ♡

♡ She says that but the moment the moment the date is over and you two part ways, she finds herself pummeling them to death in an alleyway she pulled them into, too worried that you won't ever pick her if they're in the picture. Afterall she's a mess of a person and is very insecure so why would you ever pick her unless she gets rid of her competition. This works for her better anyways, she can now be your everything and soothe you after your partner was found brutalized. ♡

♡ Now she just has to guarantee you'll never find out she was the one who did that. She'll have to make The Boss give her a couple days off for this since she was also the one who gave Nora a darling, not bothering to check if that darling already had someone. Sure you didn't have a soulmate but you still were with a human, Sawyer really needed to start checking and making sure the humans she chose as her matches didn't have another human in the picture beforehand. ♡

♡ Rudie is freaking out but she has to wait, while the law is on her side and she is allowed to kill people who touch her mate, she can't risk killing in front of people and having people realize the knife wounds are similar to the bodies of the serial killings that have been happening for awhile, the law might allow her to kill this person but she still might get carted away from her darling for all the other killings, though being restricted in a special containment room where her darling is legally required to visit her daily doesn't sound terrible, she would still prefer to be able to hold and keep close tabs on her darling so as much as it hurts her to do so, she restrains herself. ♡

♡ Instead she waits for you two to be separated and then knocks you out and drags you back to her place. The pest can be dealt with later, right now she feels like she needs to completely scrub your skin clean because she can feel their traces all over you and having bits of them in her apartment, her sanctuary, is stressing her the fuck out. You'll probably wake up after having been bathed and fully dressed in her clothing meanwhile your partner is still knocked out and tied to a chair in the corner as Runa gathers the materials to torture them, biting her lip and debating on the merits of killing them in front of you versus shielding you from the gore. ♡

♡ She does freak out a bit because she was not ready for you to wake up, she needed more time to come to a decision and when she start crying she starts screaming and stabs your partner in the leg, waking them and screaming in their face how it's all their fault that you're scared and they deserve everything that's about to happen to them because they ruined what was supposed to be a beautiful moment when she finally locked eyes with her soulmate. ♡

♡ What? Oh the stupid waste of space you're using to fill the void of not having a soulmate? She's not concerned in the slightest. Afterall everything in this city is under her command, is in her debt, so if she tells them to bark, they will, if she tells them to dump their girlfriend of a very long time, they will have no other choice, they're in her debt and so she's free to approach you like she would regularly after you partner completely, randomly shatters your heart. ♡

♡ Pay no attention to the fact that after they shattered your heart, the biggest and scariest supernatural is suddenly approaching you, it's of no concern, there's no correlation, do not worry. If there were a correlation then your ex would be dead but since they're still alive, clearly The Boss has nothing to do with this, don't even stress your pretty little head about this. ♡

♡ Seriously don't. Things will be a lot happier if you don't think about how scary this situation is, it will only get scarier if you say something she doesn't like or try to reject her for that stupid mortal who could never provide for you like she can or give you the luxuries and power that she can. They could never love you like she can, she's your soulmate and she's waited quite a long time, don't upset her by dwelling on your past partner, okay? ♡

#yandere oc #yandere lesbian #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere asks #yandere scenarios #my oc mirial #my oc kassien #my oc sawyer #my oc nora #my oc runa #my oc nikolai

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r-2-peepoo · 1 year

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I think Codywan has such a wide appeal and is only growing in popularity (even if they’re still pretty small compared to how huge the whole fanbase is) bc they have a canonical close friendship built on a deep mutual trust so there’s already a foundation for a relationship there (there is the dilemma of ranks but it’s less of an issue imo bc we know Obi Wan isn’t the type to cross anyone’s boundaries like that) but also because it’s simultaneously far enough removed from canon (we see less of them together than other pairings, romantic or otherwise, but still enough that it doesn’t feel forced) that you get quite a lot of creative freedom with them. This works even better when you realise both of them are very reasonable, levelheaded people which explains why so many of the fics about them are just pure fluff or at least hurt/comfort. They provide the best sort of escape from the immediate angst of canon which is why cosy romance really suits them. They’re both also pretty tragic characters and sort of embody the overall tragedy of the entire story in a way so, while angst also works really well, picturing a sadness-free ending for them is always lovely.

Obi Wan’s pain obviously gets more of a focus in canon, what with him being a main character, so it’s so nice to see someone like Cody be able to relieve him of some of it, or at least help him cope. The idea that when you rewatch A New Hope, you could have in the back of your mind that he actually wasn’t alone all that time is just really reassuring to think about.

But also the benefit of seeing so much of Obi Wan is that we know what he’s like as a person really well and so we know he would do exactly the same thing for Cody, hence the real potential for balance in their relationship. I do not think Cody’s pain gets focused on nearly enough in canon (that goes for all of the clones honestly) or in fics, but we can feel safe knowing that if Obi Wan were real, he would be the most accommodating, patient, compassionate person anyone could ever have as their partner or their friend or anything else.

I know I’m just stating the obvious here but there is so comforting about two genuinely kind, good people having a healthy, balanced relationship and that’s why literally no one else compares to them imo. Ik not everyone captures this balances in every fic, but that’s how I view their canon dynamic and how it translates to fanfiction. There doesn’t need to be toxicity because they know how to communicate. They’re definitely both still melodramatic, I mean they are Star Wars characters after all, but it never has to swerve into being unhealthy. They feel like if the feeling of a hug was captured in a ship.

#star wars #commander cody #clone wars #obi wan kenobi #codywan #star wars prequels

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barn-anon · 1 month

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Look K, I know that you want to help that new guy but I'm telling you, it's a lost cause. you know the chances of being able to break a bond that old is low. You've always been too ambitious for your own good. Well just incase you've forgotten, you're no longer some street rat that only needs to look out for themself. We have people looking up to us for guidance now. In case you’ve forgotten. A big reason being how we're the only lifeline for these poor lost people, the miraculous cure to a problem that would otherwise doom those lost souls. Those broken marines can only affect new bonds. Your persistent attempts to break older bonds have met failures here and there. You're lucky R was able to do damage control before word got out. We cannot afford people doubting our ability to do the impossible, so consider this your first and final warning. Your current case? It will be the last time you arrange and oversee breaking an older bond. You're lucky C thinks that highly of you, I had voted to have you removed from our ranks.

Tagged: @kit-williams • @egrets-not-regrets • @bleedingichorhearts

#humans for humanity #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #warhammer 40k

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tariah23 · 5 days

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I wanna know why you're still reading JJK not because it's bad but bc I love seeing you rant about things you love

NATEjajajaaj tbh, I complain about everything I like and everything that I’ve said thus far about JJK, I still feel strongly about because I KNOW that it used to be written way better before but despite all of that, I can honestly say that I still enjoy it a ton. It’s so fun!? I can’t look away?!? I haven’t felt this way about a manga, especially a shounen of all things, in… I really don’t know (I kind of don’t like to count csm since it’s still a seinen to me…). Jjk is joining the ranks of my love for Naruto 🙈……. As absurd as that might sound, it makes me feel nostalgic despite not being that old!!!

It definitely deserves all of its praise as well and I’m not just saying this just because I’m a fan. If it didn’t, I’d definitely say otherwise. I’m glad that everyone is fucking with it! It just made the Guinness world book of records the other day, I kind of want to throw up 😭. Knowing how Gege’s been writing the story lately, he probably doesn’t give a shit. He just wants to finish JJK as soon as possible so that he could get back to doing fuck all. Well… good for him. But, I’m genuinely glad that I got into it! The fans are annoying but that’s to be expected from a mainstream shounen unfortunately. It’s so nice ignoring them though. That’s the only way you’ll be able to enjoy something as big of a series like this tbh.

All of the characters that I’ve liked or loved never got to the point where they were written horribly like, I can say that Gege has remained pretty consistent in the characterization department, which is a plus, since whenever I get into stuff, I tend to pay a lot of attention to things like this especially. Yuuji is still Yuuji, Sukuna is still that petty old bitch, Gojo remained as silly and courageous till the very end (even tho I still wished that Gege could’ve focused more on Gojo’s trauma… it would’ve been nice to see him overcome the burden of being the apex of the jujutsu society… he was so much more than an idol and he still died believing that that was all that he was. Someone who was so far removed from humanity that he continued to tell himself that this would be all that he ever was and that even if his friends and peers truly did love and respected him, they’ll never learn to “understand,” him because he’s so much more powerful than they were. Their lives would never be the same. And he could never make any of them truly happy in the end. I really HATED THAT Gege let that man go to that DAMN airport still holding onto to his loneliness like this 😭😭😭… and then when you think back to that one scene in the story where various other characters were asked about their feelings towards Gojo, and all most of them had to say was that “he’s the strongest,” I just… :(… Obviously, he’s well respected despite his personality but 😭… Gege, you will burn for this-

I do enjoy how ridiculous JJK can get as well. People can talk badly about it all they want but you can’t say that it’s predictable lmfao. This looney toons ass plot 😭!!! I’m kind of here for the shenanigans. It’s been pretty repetitive as of lately though. Mainly the whole Sukuna vs everyone thing that’s been going on starting from Kashimo (his dumbass) right after Gojo’s death… but it’s okay. Outside of my favs being slaughtered left and right 👎🏾☠️. You can tell that Gege is just rushing through the story now though :/. I kind of can’t wait for it to end but I’m still enjoying the ride until the wheels fall off! I want Yuuji and the rest of the gang to be able to enjoy the rest of their lives, man… Gege wrote JJK with a chip on his shoulder 😭.

#tkf replies #the-stray-liger #🥺❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️!!!#I was gonna keep going butsjsjsj

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alifeasvivid · 7 months

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Negotiations, Episode 18 of The Thief of Spades, Season 2 (T+)

>.> been over a year. Also episodes 16 and 17 appear to have disappeared from tumblr, but they are on AO3. I'll have to remedy this later.

Chapter Rating: T+ Warnings: None Summary: Alfred strikes a deal with Gem-A. Feliciano attacks Ludwig. Arthur and Kiku avoid the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Word Count: ~2800

Read here on AO3.

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It would have been more fun if she had locked him in some dark interrogation room with a cold metal table, a two-way mirror and only one lamp hanging from the ceiling, Alfred thinks. Instead, he sits in Lucille Bonnet’s office which is well-lit and tastefully decorated with lush reds and warm caramel browns. He had insisted on holding onto the spinel even when a pair of her employees (more like henchmen as far as Alfred is concerned) came and abducted him.

They are standing outside the door.

“Alfred,” she says with a careful smile, “Or do you prefer Mr. ‘Of Spades’?”

“Ha. Alfred’s fine,” he says.

Lucille nods. “Bien.” She perches herself primly in her office chair with the elegant comportment of someone much older than herself. “Now then, you might think you’re only here because of the red spinel in your possession, but—”

“Actually I don’t think that at all,” Alfred interrupts out of nerves more than any intention to be rude. If he can actually pull this off, it will change everything. “I think I’m here because you want to know how I know the real story of it. You probably also want to know how I got ahold of the California Bubbly morganite and why I gave it back instead of fencing it.”

Lucille’s excessively cordial demeanor fades into a more focused, business-like air. “That is quite clever of you, hm? To the point then. I would like to know all of those things, Mr. Jones and I can assure you that you would very much like to tell me.”

Alfred nods. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise. I’ll just level with you, Miss Bonnet,” he says, placing the spinel on the fancy leather blotter on her desk. “I’ve deciphered the code that’s used by the more powerful and high ranking members of the Gem-A since the beginning. I’m sure you know that means I can access any of the most confidential records of your organization at any time. I’m sure you also know what kind of information those records frequently contain.”

In an effort to seem unaffected by Alfred’s statement, Lucille first pulls out a white cotton glove and examines the spinel with her loupe; once she is satisfied that it is the correct stone, she removes the glove and folds her hands on her desk. “And how, exactly, did you do that?”

Alfred meets her serious gaze with his own to match. “I found a cipher. In the library of a manor formerly owned by one of Gem-A’s previous directors. I can find anything and everything now, as I’ve demonstrated by discovering one of your current directors’ mistresses and by knowing that it was a member of the Gem-A who stole and concealed the Blood Oath Ruby.”

Lucille waves one of her hands gracefully and dismissively. “So you found an old journal and decided you had also found a conspiracy, is that it?”

“Something like that,” Alfred says flatly.

“Well, we’re constantly in the process of digitizing all of our old records anyway, so who’s to say that we will even need this code for much longer?”

Alfred smirks. “You and I both know that the only way to keep anything hidden these days is to keep it off of a computer. Besides, I know that many of the most confidential and damning records pre-date the organization. Some of the ones I’ve seen are over three hundred years old and plenty could be older. I found that journal tucked in between some encyclopedias in a massive, old library on someone’s private property. There are tons of records stored the exact same way.”

Lucille’s eyes widen only briefly before her expression becomes placid again.

Alfred leans forward. “Somebody could do a lot of damage while you’re trying to put everything out there for any hacker to find. Somebody might even get a damn good offer for that information from the GIA.”

Lucille lifts her chin and glares at him. “Point taken. So what is it you want?”

“I want out.”

“Pardon?”

“I don’t want to be the Thief of Spades anymore. I want out.”

“So stop stealing things,” Lucille says simply.

Alfred shakes his head. “You know it doesn’t work like that. The Thief of Spades has a reputation. I can’t just suddenly drop off the grid, the CIA, Interpol, they’ll leave the case open. Not to mention I haven’t exactly made a ton of friends in underworld, right? If I just disappear, they’ll always be looking for me. I have to go out with a bang. One last job.”

Lucille raises her eyebrow. “And what do you think that we can do for you?”

“Le coeur de filou.”

“And I suppose you are blackmailing us into letting you steal it?”

Alfred shakes his head. He pulls a small usb drive from his pocket and slides it over to her. “No, I want it legitimately. I want to buy it from you and then I want you to let the Thief of Spades steal it. At the upcoming gala for it.”

“And you have legitimate money for this?”

Alfred nods. “Yes, it’s all on that flash drive. I own a building. A huge, luxury residential building here in London. The current market value is worth more than the alexandrite, let alone the revenue from leasing. It’s under a clean identity, not mine.”

“Who then?”

“Charles Foster. He was my grandfather. All the information you need is on that stick. It’s all above board, I swear.”

Lucille nods and then looks at the usb drive held by her delicate fingers and then up at Alfred. “Indeed, you do seem quite sincere. Yet I find myself having difficulty believing you. You know our code. You know that you have this entire organization at your fingertips now. Why is it you want so little? If we do this for you, how can we be assured that you won’t decide you don’t want ‘out’ as you say and use that information against us?”

“I do want out,” he says emphatically. “I want it more than anything. I want a normal life.”

Despite everything, Lucille a romantic at heart and grins slyly now as the realization dawns on her: Inspector Kirkland. “In only a few short years, the Thief of Spades has become an internationally-known jewel thief who lives for nothing but the best, who goes to parties and rubs elbows with some of the wealthiest, most powerful people in Europe and gets away with whatever he likes. What is a normal life compared to that?”

“It’s everything,” Alfred says. “I don’t want anything to do with your organization. I have enough money to last me three lifetimes. The one thing the Thief of Spades can never have is a family, a… a home. I have people I love now,” he says quietly. “I want to be with them and I want to make beautiful things instead of stealing them. Look, if you ever see me messing with you guys, you have my permission to just take me out right then and there.”

Lucille smiles softly. “It is alright, I’m convinced. For our sake and yours, I am very pleased for you. Let me go over this information and if the property is worth as much as you say and can be purchased legitimately from ‘Mr. Foster’ then we have a deal.”

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“What’s that damn look on your face?” Romano demands, poking his twin in the chest. It dawns on him what Feliciano is probably intending to do given that Ludwig is still in sight out the window of their cafe. “Feli, if you go after him, you’re dead to me.”

Feliciano can’t even find enough thoughts that aren’t about Ludwig kissing him to roll his eyes at Romano’s ridiculous statement. The chaste sweetness of the kiss makes it all the more romantic and precious in Feliciano’s mind. After so long seeing Ludwig stern and seemingly detached, such an expression of affection must mean that he has strong feelings for Feliciano after all.

In this state of joy, he tears off his apron and dashes out the door. He cannot let this moment slip away or he fears he will lose Ludwig forever.

“Ludwig!” he cries out. He beams with all the love he feels when Ludwig turns around, placing his phone in his pocket.

Ludwig is so surprised by Feliciano calling out his name, so surprised by the sweet expression on his face and even more surprised when Feliciano runs toward him, jumps into his arms and kisses him all over his face. Ludwig holds him tight, forgetting that anything in the world exists but the two of them in this moment, forgetting his work and his oaths and all of it. He kisses Feli softly on his lips, lets it linger as he sets him down.

Feliciano places his hands on Ludwig’s cheeks and looks into his eyes, once such an icy blue in his mind, they now seem a precious silver. “Ti amo. Ti amo I have love you for so long” he says. “So long and I thought… I thought you…”

“I know,” Ludwig says, suddenly very aware that they are standing outside on a busy sidewalk. He lets Feliciano lead him back into the cafe, enamored of the way the he keeps kissing Ludwig’s hand and he can feel his cheeks growing very warm. He pays no mind to Romano fuming and neither does Feliciano. He feels truly happy for the first time in such a very long time. Distantly, he thinks, surely Arthur Kirkland would understand.

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Arthur has been allowed to go back to New Scotland Yard and resume working on normal cases, with the Agents calling him in only a few times a week. Arthur takes this to mean that they are easing off of the Thief of Spades case, which would really be splendid since Arthur is almost certain that Alfred might actually intend to quit his life as a thief. There might finally be a light at the end of the tunnel.

For this reason, he is initially rather pleased when he receives a call from Honda.

“Mr. Honda, ah,” he’s never sure how to greet the man. “It’s… good to hear from you.”

Kiku stays silent on the phone for just a moment too long. “Good evening, Inspector.”  His curt tone sets Arthur immediately on edge. “Ah, if you’re calling for any updates on Alfred, I think you’ll be pleased to know that I think I might be close to convincing him to give up his criminal life altogether.”

Kiku remains quiet for another very long moment. His affection for Alfred and his admiration of Inspector Kirkland are regrettably far outweighed by his need to protect his own interests at this point. “I had hoped it would be so, Inspector.” He sighs. “But I believe your view of the situation might be clouded. According to my knowledge, Alfred is in contact with the Gem-A, which is sure to put him in great danger—both from them and from Costa and Clark. To complicate matters further, he has not contacted me in far too long; I have learnt all of this information secondhand. You may have noticed by now that… perhaps, Alfred is not always the most adept at gauging the level of risk he is undertaking.”

Arthur frowns, wondering what Alfred could be doing directly contacting Gem-A, but presses on. “Yes, I had noticed that,” he says. “He’s got a bit of a blindspot when it comes to assessing threat levels as they pertain to himself. He bites off more than I think he can chew, but, Mr. Honda…” he blushes and thanks the heavens that Honda can’t see him. “I’ve grown… a lot closer to Alfred. I doubt I need to elaborate further than that given the many eyes and ears you have everywhere,” he pauses to let the polite accusation sink in. “I really do think that… I can convince him to leave the Thief of Spades behind.”

On some level, Kiku genuinely believes that Arthur is right. The detective is very persuasive with his strong conviction and staid charisma. His competence and pragmatic nature have impressed Kiku from the first moment he learned of him and he would be very glad to have someone like Arthur working for him, but things have already gone too far. Alfred is apparently determined to be far more reckless than Kiku had ever anticipated. “Inspector, I know that you speak the truth as far as you know it. But I have known Alfred longer than you have. There is nothing that can compel him to give up the life he has. He has always spoken at length about freedom and doing as he pleases with little regard for anyone else and that is what is most important to him.”

Arthur’s brow furrows more. “With all due respect, Mr. Honda, I do not believe that Alfred is currently as free as he thinks he is. I think he is starting to see that. I know that I—” he breathes deeply and exhales the words he has been trying in vain to say to Alfred, “Perhaps I cannot offer him complete freedom. I am not wealthy or well-connected. I’m an ordinary man with an ordinary life and an ordinary family, but I love him. Maybe he doesn’t need so much freedom anymore, maybe what he needs now is a home.”

Deep in Kiku Honda’s heart is a wistful romantic child that aches for Arthur’s words, but there’s too much on the line. Just as that dreamy-eyed child had to be smothered inside of himself, he must now perform the same cruel kindness on Arthur. “Your sincerity is admirable, Inspector. But you will never find such sincerity in dear Alfred. You are trying to steal a heart that isn’t there, trying to trap a thief with bait that holds no interest for him. What I admire most about Alfred is his ability to act with absolutely no regard for anything other than his own desires. To many people, this is not an admirable quality and I would not blame you if you were one of them.”

Arthur understands Honda’s indirect language quite easily: Alfred doesn’t love you and he will undoubtedly use your feelings to betray you. Fist clenching at his side, Arthur bites his tongue. It’s possible that not terribly long ago, Arthur would have believed him. If memories of Alfred’s smile, his touch, his body, his paint all over Arthur’s chest, in his own bed weren’t so easy to summon, Arthur would believe him, but now he knows he is right and it wouldn’t surprise him at all if some Japanese billionaire, quasi-legitimate businessman had ulterior motives. It would be more shocking if he didn’t, considering that his access to information is far greater than Arthur’s.

“I see,” Arthur replies diplomatically, playing his cards close to the vest. “So what does all this mean, then?”

“It means I am in the process of organizing his extrication from London.”

“Give me a little more time,” Arthur demands, though in a steady tone.

The romantic in Kiku’s heart echoes Arthur’s plea. After another long moment, he says “Very well, Inspector. There are still aspects that are not yet completed and they will take some time to resolve. If you have truly convinced him to abandon the Thief of Spades, I will call it off.”

The call is disconnected after that.

“Fuck!” Arthur shouts in frustration, almost throwing his phone at the couch in the living room. Is Alfred insane? Truly. Arthur can think of no other explanation as to why he would do something so idiotic as to stop communicating with the one man who holds Alfred’s life and freedom in his hands, never mind getting involved with the Gem-A. Doesn’t he know that Honda wants to take him away? Does he even care?

Abigail appears in the room, somewhat alarmed. “What’s wrong, Artie?”

“That was Kiku Honda. He’s already in the process of executing a plan to remove Alfred from London, from Europe in general. He’ll follow through with it if I can’t convince Alfred to give up the Thief of Spades.”

“Well, weren’t you saying that you think he might do that?”

“Honda doesn’t seem to think there’s much chance.”

“What do you think?”

Arthur looks down at his phone. He still has no way of contacting Alfred, but he can contact Gil and Gil can contact Matthew. And with the clock ticking and not even a vague deadline given, maybe Arthur can finally say what he needs to say to Alfred. “I think Honda will need a good deal of luck because I’m the only one who has ever caught the Thief of Spades.”

#ukus #usuk fanfic #thief of spades au #likes are love #reblogs are life ^-^

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edgy-ella · 3 months

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My biggest hopes for Sonic x Shadow Generations

This sounds cliche as hell, but watching the trailer for this game made me feel like a little kid again. Sonic Generations is one of my favorite games of all time and I still vividly remember when it was announced. That being said, I, like many other Sonic fans, thought it was a bit weird that Generations was next up on the remaster train once leaks started to circulate about it. The game has been available on places like Steam for over a decade and still looks and plays fantastically, unlike games like Heroes and Unleashed which remain stuck on their original console gen or the Adventure games which desperately need a visual touch up at the very least.

But if they’re going to remake Generations, I’m glad that this is the route they’re taking with it. I’ve always been a big Shadow fan, so I’m thrilled to see him get his own side story in Generations that explores his past adventures alongside Sonic’s main campaign. Especially since, let’s face it, levels like Westopolis aren’t nearly as fondly remembered as levels like Green Hill or City Escape. This is a good opportunity to go back to old concepts in a better engine and really make them shine. The original Generations did this with Crisis City and the Silver boss fight, so I have faith in Sonic Team’s ability to do the same thing again this time around with the more Shadow-centric content.

(It’s also a great way to reintroduce Shadow to newer fans in preparation for the next Sonic movie)

But, outside of general polish, what do I want out of this game? I’ve 100%’d the original Generations, so I feel like I’m in a better position than most to share my thoughts.

1. Consolidate Time Attack with Story Mode

In Sonic Generations, there are two main gameplay modes: the main story, and a separate time attack mode. The latter of which is notoriously buggy, at least on Steam, prone to crashing when loading a level or otherwise just not tracking your times and high scores at all. There’s a reason why playing all of the levels in time attack mode is the game’s rarest achievement on Steam, even more rare than 100%ing the game or beating the final boss without getting hit.

But even if those issues were fixed, I’d still like to see the separate time attack mode removed altogether. If you have a really good run of a certain level in the main story mode, that time will not transfer over to time attack, effectively making your best time worthless since it won’t be put on the online leaderboards. The times you get in time attack mode also don’t bleed over into the main campaign, so if you S-rank a level in one mode, it won’t carry over to the other.

In my opinion, this is really bad game design, and I think Sonic Team knows this. Games released after Generations like Forces have done away with this issue by simply getting rid of time attack mode and tracking all your best times in one place—the main story campaign—and pulling leaderboard placings from there. That’s what I want to see for Sonic x Shadow Generations.

The one argument I could see against this is that Generations has a surprisingly robust customization system that allows you to buy and equip different skills and power ups for Sonic to use in each level. This includes the Chaos Emeralds after you beat the game, which naturally let you play as Super Sonic to blitz through any level with reckless abandon after you get 50 rings. This level of customization can make it difficult to judge the skill of players in a vacuum, which is why a developer may want to bar them from use in a leaderboard setting, especially Super Sonic.

I don’t agree with this mindset. I’d argue that allowing all the different skills and power ups for time attack serves to create a stronger sense of community, as it enforces players to test out different skill setups and share their results with others. I can picture an active community debating amongst themselves which skills would be the best to use on each level. If Super Sonic/Shadow is too much of a concern, then either ban them from the leaderboards like in Forces or create a separate leaderboard just for them.

2. A Stricter Ranking System

Sonic games really fluctuate on how easy or hard it is to get the highest rank in every level. Games like Adventure 2 and 06 can often feel too demanding of the player, which also isn’t good, but Generations falls firmly on the other end of the spectrum. It’s really, really easy to S-rank everything in this game.

Don’t get me wrong; I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing, and I much rather prefer a lenient ranking system over one that’s extremely strict. But when it’s too easy to get S-rank most of the game’s levels, it kills a lot of the game’s replayability. Generations has surprisingly robust level design that I don’t think a lot of people would expect from a boost game, but the game rarely encourages you to take advantage of it. If the most straightforward route gets you the same results as the one that you need precise jumps and quick reflexes to get on, why bother going off the beaten path at all?

Outside of the ease of S-ranks, the time gaps between each rank is also way too big for a game like this. Let’s use Green Hill Act 2 as an example. To get a C-rank you need to beat the level in 11 minutes. To get a B-rank, you need to beat the level in 7 minutes. To get an A-rank, you need to beat the level in 3 minutes. To get an S-rank, you need to get an A-rank and beat the level without dying.

See what I mean? The time gaps here are way too big. In my opinion, they should all be within a minute or even less of each other. Seriously, who the fuck spends 11 minutes on Green Hill Act 2? I can literally only think of one level in the entire game that I ever spent more than ten minutes on, and…

3. Fix Planet Wisp Act 2 omg

Planet Wisp Act 2 is without a doubt the worst level in Generations. Some of the physics at the end of Crisis City Act 1 are a little weird (imagine that), but PW2 is just unbearable. It’s way too long, feels extremely repetitive, and most of the level forces you into a 2D platforming section during a Modern Sonic level. Its poor quality is especially an issue because, while it make not look it, this is the last level of the original release of Generations before the final boss fights.

I don’t think that there are any easy changes you could make to this level that could fix it. I get why they’d want to make it longer than usual since it’s the last level of the game, but when the level feels like a chore to get through, all that work comes off as padding rather than feeling climactic. I honestly think that it would be better to just start from scratch.

If I’m being honest, I’d even go as far as to use a different world from Colors instead. Generations has way too many big grassy areas as is. That’s something that Shadow will help rectify for this remaster, as he will naturally pull from more urban and sci-fi than Sonic, but the point still stands.

4. Mephiles?

Mephiles is a lot of people’s favorite Sonic villain. I am not one of those people. His plan sucks, his design sucks, his lore sucks, his boss fights are underwhelming. The only good parts about him are his voice acting and music.

Weirdly enough though, I’m…kind of hoping he shows up in Sonic x Shadow Generations?

I mean, if there ever was a time to bring him back, now would be it. There’s a long standing fan theory that the Time Eater, the main antagonistic force in Generations, is what’s leftover of Solaris/Mephiles after the events of Sonic 06. Both characters are shadowy time gods, the Time Eater is capable of pulling the bad future from Sonic 06 (Crisis City) even after the events of that game were erased from history, and the Time Eater really doesn’t have any origin or backstory otherwise. I don’t have a source on this, but I’m pretty sure that Ian Flynn supports this theory too.

While it looks like Shadow’s campaign in Sonic x Shadow Generations will mostly focus on his origin story and the Black Arms (which I think is the right move if part of Sega’s goal here is to reintroduce people to the character before the next movie comes out), it’d be a huge missed opportunity to not include Mephiles in some way, shape, or form. His beef with Shadow feels way more personal than his (almost nonexistent) beef with Sonic, so putting him in the Shadow campaign would be a natural fit. I would also love it if the game confirmed the Time Eater=Solaris theory, but I can also understand why Sega wouldn’t want to go that route. Distracting too much from the Black Doom stuff that they obviously want to focus on will just muddle the game’s narrative, which I’d bet will be much stronger than the one in the original Generations.

And…yeah, that’s all I got for now. What are you guys’ hopes for this game?

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonic x shadow generations #sonic generations #classic sonic #black doom #ella essays

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