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marigold-hills · 11 days

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june 1: incantation | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 546

Remus speaks carelessly. Mouth framing words like each sound is comfortably familiar – not rehearsed but known, something in his bones and blood and given to him by his ancestors. Broad vowels, silent t’s.

Sirius watches his lips move, the scar bisecting them stretch. Hangs on every dropped consonant like it’s a missed step in the dark. Something in him rejoices at the way Remus disregards elision: a flagrant defiance to Sirius’ childhood elocution lessons.

The joy of watching Remus speak is more than subversion from his upbringing – the moments when Sirius can do it like this (undisturbed and unnoticed)? They rebuild something in him he thought irreparably broken. He wants to fall asleep to it, make a cassette and listen to it on repeat, pretend he’s struggling with the material just to have Remus read to him.

There is something else, too. When he’s Padfoot and wants to chase a rabbit, a part of him feral and untamed – this want he can’t name occupies the same space. Something like this: to eat, to devour, to sink his teeth into flesh. Unnervingly, he thinks, he wants to hurt Remus.

“Cùram-slàinte,” Remus mumbles, “loiceadh.”

The part of Sirius that wants to bite him whines.

To hear him speak in English is a comfort. When he throws Latin-based spells it’s a thrill.

Listening as he builds incantations in Gaelic is the same as watching a storm approach with nowhere to hide. Sirius will stand in a clearing, wait for it to drench him, welcome each heavy raindrop. Thank it, afterward, if it deems him worthy to strike.

“Pads, do you have spare ink? I’ve run out.”

“Anything for you Moony, my love,” he jokes, endearment making Remus roll his eyes at him.

The library is quiet at this time of the evening. The other two of their four are playing Quidditch and Gobstones, respectively, as they always do on Fridays. Sirius keeps the days open, ostensibly so he can study (NEWTs are fast approaching, he should be). He brings his books along but doesn’t keep up with the pretends of actually opening them.

“You know.” Remus looks up from the borrowed ink pot, “you won’t get any studying done through osmosis.”

“Could do.”

Remus pretends to consider this. “Even if, won’t do you any good to learn this.”

He’s right, of course, as their Moony so often is. The dissertation he’s working on has nothing to do with Sirius’ work – Gaelic in the creation of new offensive spells is significantly different than his Exploring antimony and its reference as Grey Wolf in Ancient Runes. He doesn’t want to tell Remus he’s already finished his one (and got a tattoo to match) because then his excuse to hang out in the library would become even flimsier.

(Something he should consider: why the excuse and why the need to be there in the first place. Why watch Remus with such closeness, so differently than he does Peter, or James? But approaching these thoughts makes that feral part of him whine me a wounded dog, so he stays clear and indulges himself.)

“At least take your books out, you big mangy dog,” Remus laughs (sunlight falling onto old moss-covered stone) and reaches out to swipe a hair away from Sirius’ eyes.

NEXT PART

NOTES:

this is Part 1 of a 30 part series of standalone shorts which together make a larger story “The 30 ways you found me. Let me know your thoughts!

in the UK at the end of education equivalent to Hogwarts you can opt to do an extended project - essentially a semi large research paper on your chosen topic. I like to think it’s the same at Hogwarts, and that’s what they are working on here.

Oblivious Sirius is one of my favourites

#wolfstar #sirius black #marauders #remus lupin #dead gay wizards #microfiction #remus x sirius #remus loves sirius #fanfic

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margareth-lv · 1 month

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Mi piacciono molto i tuoi post così ironici, intelligenti ed esplicativi. Non stancarti. Anche da me , che ti conosco solo qui, in questo angolo meraviglioso del fandom, tantissimi auguri di un sereno e gioioso Compleanno.

Cara mia, non avrei mai pensato che i miei post fossero ironici 😉! Grazie per le tante belle parole che hai scritto. E grazie mille di cuore per gli auguri!

Ora, se vuoi scusarmi, continuerò in Inglese. Quello che funziona meglio per me in italiano è ordinare l'Aperol Spritz.

*** *** *** And now for the translation:

@findanserwers : I really enjoy your posts, so ironic, intelligent and explanatory. Don't tire yourself out. Also from me, who only know you here, in this wonderful corner of fandom, many happy and joyful birthday wishes.

@me : My dear, I never thought my posts were ironic. Thank you for the many kind words you have written. And thank you for the birthday wishes!

Now, if you don't mind, I'll continue in English. What works best for me in Italian is ordering the Aperol Spritz. *** *** *** ... and let me go on. In the unfunny circus show our two lovebirds are putting on for us once again, only deeper reflection can save us from the madness. The community we are creating here is of real value. Love, the deep feeling between two people, is the foundation of this community. And we know this feeling is real! The feelings that unite us are also real, even though we are separated by space, languages, habits and mentalities. Sisters, let's keep our faith in the sincerity and purity of what we've seen for so many years! Even if we're shown once again a succession of muscular blondes and still the same Ghost Rider from Transylvania with a grim face, we must believe in the goodness of love!

I propose a toast to all of us: Freedom and whisky, could be Sassenach.

Dear Shippers, slàinte mhath to us all!

Have a great weekend!

[10 May, 2024]

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sgiandubh · 1 month

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Five minutes of Instagram fame

The Brazilian fan is back with more attention-grabbing content, one week after she had thousands of eyes on her London shenanigans. Which I am not going to discuss, simply because I do believe there is no need to give the anecdote more space than it deserves. Enough is enough, and the apparent collective loss of all sense of measure is a sure sign that pause is needed, in that department.

What I am going to discuss, however, is the chutzpah of a 23 year old Nobody, who just wishes to keep those five minutes of fame rolling on and on and on.

Yesterday, she felt compelled to publish another batch of Instagram stories, in which she delivers her Toxic Shipping 101 lecture:

In the process, she basically just rephrases the main Anti Bible arguments, calls thousands of people 'insane', quotes two influential shipper blogs (slàinte mhath, @bat-cat-reader!) that didn't even come close to what I wrote about her, brings on board her mother and grandmother just to explain how upset she was about 'older American women picking up on her'. And ends with a rather pathetic plea for all of us, shippers, to 'seek immediate medical attention'. Same unnerving sotaque Paulista (São Paulo accent), with a posh and very fake tinge of British English. Same incoherent, amateur and immature discourse, endlessly seeking to bring attention to herself, mildly trying to victimize herself. Blah, blah.

I would have given her grace, were it not for this particular argument, in response to a X user asking a rather uncomfortable question, as she definitely has the constitutional right to do:

'OH God, not her again 23 yr old Brazilian trying to be a reporter in London, complete fail. but in BIG OL LONDON, 'JUST HAPPENED' TO Spot Sam, how dumb do you think we all are?'

Answer is the real dumb part of the story, if you ask me, especially coming from a very young woman: 'Forbidden to be a journalist and meet a celebrity in the street. Forbidden to go for a walk as a journalist, paging all my colleagues, ok? I had no clue I could be as scheming as they say I am.'

Ok, buttercup: it is my honest understanding that you want to be taken seriously and treated as a professional, right? Did I miss something, here?

Right. As the daughter of a journalist and a former Government expert in media policies (specifically dealing with media content broadcasting), I am going to do exactly this and honestly ask you, Mrs. Silva:

Do you consider, in all good faith, that you acted like a professional journalist, in this very circumstance?

Do you consider to have kept your impartiality and have you at least checked all the relevant facts and POVs, before slandering all those people on your social media account? Or did you content yourself to report the hearsay shared with you by other bloggers, and just conveniently quoted four random bloggers and commenters?

Have you the slightest idea that one of the commenters who reached out to you on Instagram, questioning your version of the facts, is not even a shipper (and actually, very violently far from being one)?

During the week separating your first post and this reaction to people's feedback, have you or have you not respected your due diligence obligation to contact and engage with the people you so easily treat as a bit less than the scum of the Earth?

Did you or did you not ask for permission to quote their published content on your social media account, especially in a polemic context?

Unlike you, I have diligently perused both your website and your Linked In account. Maybe it is time to tell all those people you have insulted the truth about who you are, professionally, at this very moment:

Marketing student, 3rd semester.

Let me count: 3 internships (correct me if I am wrong), in various junior positions for 1 local media outlet, 1 international corporation and 1 website, 4 different jobs - or should I say 'stints' (3 with your current employer, 1 as a freelancer for a local media outlet).

Still learning. There is absolutely nothing bad about it. But you have still a LONG way to go until you could pretend to be a real voice. And there is nothing in what you posted that could grab my professional attention and make me hire you. Quite the contrary and, believe it or not, I am awfully sorry to say so.

My three free and totally unsolicited pieces of advice:

Always check your facts, always get in touch with the people you plan to write about. In fact, your anger and ego got the best of your professional self and you lost a great opportunity for a paper you could have even titled ' Viagem na Shipperlândia' (A Trip to Shipperland). I would have read that. But you haven't. You preferred to act just like all the other 23 year old girls and make a belly-button story about yourself.

Never bring your family forward in questionable contexts. You expose people who have nothing to do with the irrelevant insanity of a fandom war, to which you contributed your own, perhaps involuntary, dose of chaos and unnecessary drama.

Never lie on your Linked In resume. Potential employers might and will read it. Never write things like:

.. when you also fail to accurately describe your former job position, denoting poor spelling:

Especially when words are your craft, bread and butter. The devil is always in the details:

As I mentioned in a previous post, you could have been my daughter. I have been that 23 year old girl myself, desperate to list every single internship and tempted to inflate language proficiency, in the hope it would land me the job of my dreams. And I have learned the hard way that being a true professional is cancelling your ego.

You'll learn. Until then, stop bitching on things you have no idea about and act like an adult, not an attention hungry teenager. This comes from a place of tough love: sometimes, the most effective life lessons are given by complete strangers.

#fandom #shitshow

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bohobooks · 9 months

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Sebastian sallow one shot: Sebastian breaks a rule just to make reader smile

I love this idea!

○●○●○♡○●○●○

Request: Sebastian sallow one shot: Sebastian breaks a rule just to make reader smile.

Description: Y/N has been having a rough time after the death of Professor Fig. They just go through the motions and fake smiles. Sebastian notices this, and decides he's gotta get to you to make you smile- rules be damned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Honestly, yes. I think they need that." Poppy smiled at the idea Sebastian presented, "It should be easy to actually get you into our dorms, but we need you to go unnoticed by the others. I don't want anyone turning you in because they have a thorn in their side."

Sebastian hummed in thought, the idea coming to him, "I got it! Y/n has a stash of Polyjuice potion! You distract them for the day, and I can disguise myself as you! Although I'm sure I'll need help decorating..."

Poppy thought for a second, munching on the honey bun that Sebastian had brought her to butter her up. "Whats Anne up to? I know she's feeling better, and I feel like she'd love this. She can disguise herself as y/n."

Sebastian grins, "Poppy, you genius little creature. Maybe you should have been in Ravenclaw."

Poppy laughs, "Maybe, Sallow. Maybe. I'll get y/n out of the castle tomorrow... and I'll sneak you our hair tonight at dinner. I'll tuck it into a book and act like you let me borrow it."

Sebastian hopped up in excitement, "Wonderful, I'll write to Anne right away. Thank you, Poppy."

Poppy watched the boy begin to strut away, laughing to herself. That kid was so head over heels for y/n.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Poppy. I love you, I really do. But please tell me where it is you're dragging me?" You force a laugh as your friend pulls you through the back alley of some small hamlet you've surprisingly never been too.

"Just wait-" she pulls you through the narrow exit of the alley, straight into a street out of a fairytale. A cobblestone road, lined on either sides with shops with thatched roofs. Beautiful jack o lanterns line the walkways, and leaves flutter through the air like butterflies. You can't help but take a deep breath, amazed.

"Oh, Poppy." You breathe out, looking at the scene infront of you. There's a flower shop, a bakery, a book store, a clothing store... it's all amazing.

"I thought you could use a nice, calm day. So I brought you to my favorite place." Poppy smiles at you proudly.

"Let's go, we've got lots of shopping to do!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, the Sallow twins stood in the detention room, knowing there was no way they'd get caught in there.

"Poppy's Polyjuice looks like sunshine." Anne watched in amazement as sebastian swirled the bottle.

Her eyes fell back to the bottle in her hand, in which a gossamer liquid swirled, so deeply amber that in certain lights it appeared black. Sebastian looked up from under his brows at his sister, laughing at the apprehensive look in her eyes, "Y/n drank a Polyjuice potion that turned them into Professor Black. They said it looked like someone bottled vomit. you'll be just fine." He held out the bottle and clicked it against Anne's, "Slàinte."

She huffed a small laugh, returning the cheers before downing the bottle. For a moment, the twins felt nothing- then all at once, their bones began shifting. Muscles and skin stretched and shrank, hair growing and changing color.

Before they knew it, they both stood there staring at each other... well. Sort of.

"I never realized how much smaller Poppy is than me," Sebastian chuckled, looking around at his now small frame basically swimming in his clothes.

Anne laughed, but it came out as y/n musical laugh that Sebastian had grown to love so much... the laugh he hadn't heard in ages, "Seb, I'm really hoping you brought their uniforms to change into?"

Sebastian laughed, taken aback by the girlish sound, "Yeah, here. In my bag."

They quickly changed, Sebastian keeping his eyes glued to the ceiling to he didn't see any part of Poppy that she wouldn't want.

"Seb, really. You didn't even put on the stockings?" Anne laughed.

"No way. Those things are like sausage casinos, and if anyone is eyeing Poppy- well, me- close enough to notice I'll punch them in the nose."

"Fair enough, let's go."

The two managed to make it to the Hufflepuff common room entrance unnoticed, and paused staring at the barrels.

"Well, go ahead." Sebastian gestures to the barrels.

"What? Me? Absolutely not!" Anne scoffed.

"I am NOT about to be squirted by this evil thing."

"This was your idea. Besides, you shouldn't get squirted." Anne rocked back on her heels, and took a few steps back, "Assuming you get it right."

Sebastian huffed, approaching the barrels apprehensivly. He brought his fist to the one that Poppy had indicated, took a deep breath and began the knock.

Hel-ga Huff-le-puff

There was a split second where Sebastian winced, completely sure that he was about to get drenched in the foul smelling liquid, but then the door opened.

"Oh thank Merlin," and let out a sigh of relief, "I was afraid you'd be strayed and I'd have to listen to you whine all day."

Sebastian followed his sister, ducking through the enterance, "Very funny."

Entering the Hufflepuff common room, the twins had to keep the look of awe off of their faces. Where Slytherins common room was dark and elegant, Hufflepuff's was cozy and warm. Plants seemed to grow out of every nook and cranny, and the smell of sweets pervaded the air.

Sebastian and Anne could've explored for hours, if it wasn't for the voice that rang out from a couch a few meters away.

"Oh Poppy! There you are!" Adelaide Oaks scurried over, a huge smile on her face, "I was hoping you could help me out a bit with this Magical Creatures essay, I've really been struggling with-"

Sebastian cut her off, "No- uh," he cleared his throat attempting to copy Poppy's way of speaking, "I'm sorry, I mean I can't right now. How about later this evening? Y/n will be on a date with Sebastian. But don't tell her that when you see her, it's a surprise."

Adelaide eyes flickered behind Sebastian, to where Anne was standing, "Oh goodness, I guess she knows now! Don't mind me, I didn't get nearly enough sleep. You know me, mind always on puffskiens. Hehe. Well anyways, got to go. See you this evening byee!" Sebastian grabbed his sister's hand, dragging her towards the dorms and away from a befuddled Adelaide.

Anne giggled, "Did you really just say hehe? What the bloody hell was that, Seb?"

Not letting go of her arm, Sebastian continued scurrying down the hallway to the dorm he knew to be Y/n and Poppy's, "I don't know Anne! I panicked, okay? I don't know what girls say!"

"Well, it's definitely not 'hehe'. Atleast in that tone anyway. You're lucky Poppy is known to be an odd ball."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, "Whatever, come on. Get in here."

The twins closed the door behind them, and turned to inspect the room they were working with.

"This is so cozy!" Anne squealed a bit, looking around. She found her way over to what she knew to be Y/n's bed, picking up a picture frame from the nightstand. Encased behind the glass was a moving picture of y/n, Ominis, and Sebastian. In the center, Ominis is stood with his arms crossed, his face feigning annoyance as y/n pinches his cheeks and throws her head back in laughter. On the other side, Sebastian throws his head back in laughter, then looks at the hufflepuff with such adoration.

"Man Seb," Anne giggles, "You really have it bad for them, huh?"

Sebastian rolls his eyes, "Yes. I do. Now please help me decorate, nosey.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poppy and MC finally returned to the castle later than evening, no longer wearing the school robes they had left in. Poppy had forced y/n to buy a new outfit, telling them that retail therapy is the best therapy. Sweeting then proceeded to drag MC to the flower shop where she proceeded to weave all sorts of matching flowers into her hair.

Y/n had to admit, they felt rather attractive for the first time in a long time. Approaching the barrels, they waited for Poppy to knock, complaining, "I still don't understand why you wouldn't let me get any food from the tavern. I'm starving, Poppy!"

Poppy chuckled stepping towards the door as it opens, "How about this; you go put the stuff we bought in out dorm and I'll start working on my homework for a bit. If you're still hungry we will go to the kitchens."

"Ugh," Y/n groaned dramatically, "Fiiiine."

The trek to Y/n and Poppy's dorm was short, and Y/n didn't see anyone. She figured they were all at dinner, where she wished she was. Opening the door, she is assaulted by the smell of sweets.

Entering the room, Y/n is beyond surprised at the scene infront of her. The beds, desks and normal furniture were missing. Instead, the outside of the room was lined with large, soft pillows and blankets, and in the center of the room were short- almost ground level- tables overflowing with all sorts of foods and drinks. The air was warm and inviting, filled with twinkling lights that y/n quickly realized were fire flies. Fairylights covered the walls, and convering the ceiling was a golden shimmering enchantment, unlike anything they had seen before. Their eyes fell to the figure that quickly stood up from the cushions.

Sebastian.

Their voice was light with awe and wonder, "Seb, what is all of this?"

He walked forward, taking her hand and leading them to the cushions near the food, "Well y/n," Sebastian began, "Since everything that's happened, you've been depressed. Rightfully so, of course. But I missed seeing you smile and laugh. Genuinely smile and laugh, not that show you've been putting on for everyone."

MC sat on the floor, Sebastian taking his place beside them as he continued speaking, "So, I thought to myself: what makes y/n smile? Breaking rules, sweets, the stars, and these freaky little twinkling bugs. It took me a bit, but I managed to put them all together."

The cheesy grin full of pride that sat on Sebastians face was enough to make MC laugh, and the though of someone going through all of this, doing all of this, just for them made them tear up.

"Oh Seb, this is amazing." Y/n threw their arms around Sebastian, pulling away after a moment to look at his face. His eyes flickered to Y/n's lips, then scanned their face.

His voice came breathlessly as he tucked a strand of hair behind their ear, "You look breathtaking, by the way."

Sebastian leaned in, pressing his lips lightly to theirs. In a moment, they pull away just enough, their foreheads still touching and smile on their face, "Seb, if you wanted to make me smile all you had to do was kiss me."

___________________________________

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy oneshot #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts #hogwarts imagine #hogwarts oneshot #wizarding world #wizarding world imagines #hogwarts fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #imagine requests #ask #answer #answered

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leathfaic · 11 months

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"So what do ye eat then, when ye get the choice?" Soap is opening two bottles of beer handing one over to Ghost. He's clueless about what to cook for dinner, might as well ask Simon for some input.

"Chicken and rice. Or I order something." Ghost's tone is nonchalant as he studies the label of the beer he was just handed and Soap decides immediately that he's not gonna follow the plain suggestion actually. He's on leave and deserves some flavour in his food, thank you very much.

"Single malt whisky cask matured?" Ghost' sounds slightly disbelieving. "That is very Scottish.", or disapproving, who knew with the English.

So Soap just snorts, "Had to get ye some of the local stuff, eh? If ye behave ah'll make sure we get some of the beer with tea in for ye."

At that Simon, who was sniffing his beer, looks up, pure horror in his eyes and Soap's snort evolves into a full-on cackle.

He catches himself a moment later, inspecting the almost pouting look behind the mask and decides to drop the topic for now. Instead, he raises his bottle at Simon, "To leave, aye?".

Ghost does the same, their bottles clinking.

"Cheers."

"Slàinte Mhath."

Crisp and cold. Fuck he'd missed beer. Missed a lot of things during that last OP. Food that tasted like actual food was one, bringing him back to his original line of questioning. It shouldn't be surprising that Ghost is not into cooking. He's the only person Soap has ever seen eating anything from the mess with true enthusiasm. Sorts his MREs by how much he likes them too when he thinks no one is looking. Always eating the best first.

"Not much of a cook then?" he keeps his tone light and innocent while sipping his beer. Trying to observe Simon's reactions without making him feel watched.

"I can handle meat," There's a stupid smirk traded between them and Soap would roll his eyes if he didn't have to reign himself in, immediately set ablaze by the stupid joke.

"Learned at a butchers before I joined." Ghost offers up by way of explanation, sounding almost sad. Something must've happened there, something that had Simon ending up in the force. Something that led to him becoming Ghost.

"Well perfect, I'm not terrible but I do handle meat way better in the bedroom." Soap winks at him and this time, to make sure the innuendo lands painfully enough to pull Ghost out of his head.

It does and earns him an exasperated look. Might have convinced him if those brown eyes weren't full of fondness.

He's gonna leave Ghost with the belief that he's not learning to see behind the mask for a little longer: Wants him to feel comfortable. No need to divulge that his tone clearly betrayed that he's got no idea how to cook apart from putting some meat into a pan and put all his hope into some cook in bags. Lots of people couldn't cook, it wasn't a big deal.

Only that it is not just that. From the few things he's told Soap about himself, it makes sense, in a sad way.

Simon, who confronts being gay like being in battle, all hyper-masculine energy focused on fighting through all the hurtful stereotypes and insults his father planted in his head, probably never got to do a lot of things that weren't 'manly'. Makes him wonder where the needle skills come from but only for a split second before he decides he's gonna do something about this then.

"So what is yer favourite food then?"

"Don't really 'ave one." the stoic bastard answers and Soap has to think about the MREs but also has no trouble believing that that is a luxury the other man doesn't allow himself to ponder. Thinks he doesn't deserve it.

Not that'll stop him. Quite the opposite, now he's motivated.

"Alright, anythin ye could be doin with right now?"

He watches Ghost's eyes dart through the kitchen seemingly looking for a clue. Bouncing of cabinets and shelves before he takes a swig of his beer.

"No." he finally answers, sounding like he's withdrawing into himself again. For fucks sake.

Soap smiles at him hiding his exasperation away before it can reach his face, doesn't need his emotions to make this harder on both of them.

"Well too bad, yer at ma mercy." He lets his smile dip into something devilish and revels in the note of alarm in Simon's lovely eyes. It's quickly replaced with confusion as Soap presses a knife into his hands. He stands there, looking for all accounts like a very misplaced ghoul. Very deadly but also kinda endearing.

"Ye can cut the onion, garlic, are chilis fine with ye? If so, cut two of those too and make sure ye wash yer hands after tha'.

They work in silence for a moment, Ghost's dutifully following Soap's command without any complaints. When Soap begins to sear the meat he explains what he's doing and asks for input from Ghost. He's rewarded with warm surprise on the mostly masked features before Ghost starts talking, softer than his usual tone when he's guiding Soap through something job-related, becoming almost reverent when he sees Soap adjust to what he just said. And Soap tries to be careful with his usual ribbing jokes, not wanting to disturb the equilibrium that is Ghost relaxing in his flat.

When the other ingredients are added he takes over again. Talking the lieutenant through the process. Explaining his steps when he knows why they're important and freely admitting defeat when he doesn't.

They drink their beers and cook, Ghost once more following every step that Soap lays out for him and Soap silently trying to impress him. Not that he was gonna admit that to either himself or anyone else.

"Who taught you all tha'?", they're just waiting for the pasta now, the sauce down and bubbling away on low heat, leaning against each other, Soaps head resting on Ghost's shoulder. Outright domestic.

"Ma grannie," Soap smiles fondly at the memory of the tiny woman with her sincere blue eyes. "Told me being a lad was no excuse and Ah'd better know ma way around a kitchen for ma future burd." he winks at Ghost who goes surprisingly red surprisingly fast clearly visible even behind the mask. "When Ah told her Ah'm a buftie she doubled down. Ian she said, refused to call me John ye see forever angry tha' ma da went with the anglicised version, anyways, Ian she said if ye're bringing home another man one of ye will need to know how to cook or for all yer gay love ye'll focking starve." he can almost hear hear as his accent gets thicker and something between wild joy and bottomless sorrow tears through his chest at the memory.

There's a beat of silence before a weird noise breaks it. It's a rough quick sound and it takes Soap a second to realise that Simon just snorted.

"Well thank fuck for grandma MacTavish and her foresight!" he pulls his almost empty beer bottle into the air dramatically and they toast again.

Soap's smile is wide, imagining what his nan's reaction to Ghost would've been.

They might have gotten on entirely too well.

#ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #soapghost #cod mwii #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #cod mw2 #cod #cod hc #I'll be probably putting that in one of my fics on ao3 at some point #but we'll see #enjoy the domestic thoughts #also no soap will never again stop with the “meat handling” jokes in bed #simon regrets ever telling him #and proceeds to shut him up with said skills (not the ones he learned during his apprenticeship)

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scotianostra · 5 months

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I know it's not great, the whisky sauce was in dollops! But it's got to be haggis on January 25th.

They never had any Jura or Talisker, so I settled for a Balvenie and raised my glass to the woman I owe my love of Scottish history, and Rabbie Burns to, My late mother, Slàinte Mhath 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿❤️🥃

Have a great Burns Day/Night wherever you are.

#scotland #scottish #history #edinburgh #tradition #Haggis neeps & tatties #robert burns #Rabbie #makar #poet #whisky

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mikhailwrites · 3 months

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Soaring Ever Higher 4 - Ghoap/Ace Combat 7 crossover

Previous chapter | This Chapter on AO3 | Next chapter

And so, Ghost finally has a chance to make good on his promise... with some interest...

Be advised that this chapter is pretty spicy so if you mind or are a minor, I trust you'll stop reading at # symbol :)

The bar is nice and surprisingly classy, considering the city is on the smaller side. The music isn’t too loud or obnoxious; the overall noise is also bearable. Ghost lets himself enjoy it.

“What can I get you, lads?” the bartender flashes them a broad smile, not even batting an eye at Ghost’s scarred face, which is to his credit.

Trigger also doesn’t seem to mind. Once Ghost took the balaclava off, the bloke did pause on his face, but there was nothing to suggest what he thought of the map of scars. After a few seconds, he nodded and smiled as he held the door open for Ghost.

“Bourbon for me,” Ghost points at the bottle of Woodford Reserve on the shelf. The bartender nods and looks expectantly at Trigger, who seems to be scanning the shelves for something specific.

John shakes his head in mock disbelief. “And here I thought you were a cultured man,” then he turns back to the bartender, “Do you have Lagavulin 16?”

The bartender thinks for a second. “I think so, but let me check; we keep the better stuff in the back.”

Ghost chuckles. “What can I say? I’m drinking Yank stuff with a bloke flying a Yank plane. If you were a patriot, you’d be flying Typhoon like the rest of the base.”

“Somebody knows their jets,” Trigger whistles. “But last time I checked, Typhoon ain’t Scottish-made.”

Their exchange is interrupted by the return of the bartender with two glasses. Ghost says he’ll be paying for both. The price doesn’t really surprise him. “Are you getting the good stuff at my expense?” The money is no issue. He’s just interested in the reaction.

“Why, of course,” Trigger smirks, “it’s not every day I get a free drink.” He raises his glass, “Slàinte mhath.”

“Cheers,” Ghost answers the toast with his glass, sipping the bourbon, sighing in content as it slips down his throat, warming him inside out. “You think I believe you? With the free drinks? Or do you want me to feel special?”

“Right down to the business, aren’t you?” the corners of his mouth twitch. “The thing is, I don’t leave the base often. Don’t have much business outside.”

“And for pleasure?” Ghost watches him intently, noticing a minuscule twitch in John’s left hand, the way his tongue darts to wet his lips. He’s either nervous or pretends to be. Both options are intriguing, if for slightly different reasons.

“That’s complicated,” he lowers his gaze. Now that’s a good tell that he’s just pretending and luring Ghost, tickling the hunter in him by playing a helpless prey.

“It’s really not. When you boil it down, it’s always about pushing, shoving, and exchanging bodily fluids. Nothing complicated about that,” Ghost presses, shifting a little closer and putting his hand on John’s knee.

“Yer not a wooing and romance kind of lad, are ye?” Trigger takes his glass and drinks a bit more of his whisky. The smell of smoke, disinfectant and burnt tyres tickles Ghost’s nose. Christ, he could never stomach peated scotch, but the scent becomes John. It may very well be how he smells when he climbs out of his plane after a mission.

“Is that a problem?” Ghost asks with fake concern, tasting the bourbon once more.

“Didnae say that,” Trigger shakes his head, resting his hand atop Ghost’s. That’s the only permission Simon needs.

He leans closer as he speaks quietly, right into John’s ear. “I want to bend you over the counter and shag you like there’s no tomorrow."

“Damn, not even a second drink? You think I’m that cheap?” Trigger grins, and it’s all teeth and intent.

“Not cheap. I think you know what you want and usually get it. Am I close?” Ghost leans even closer. If he tried a little, his lips could brush the trimmed beard. He notices a pleasant whiff of cologne as well.

“Close enough,” Trigger admits, wiggling a little in a movement intimately familiar to anyone ever sported a stiffer in public space.

“Base or hotel?” Ghost asks, momentarily turning his attention back to the drink. There’s still about half of it left.

John understands and promptly finishes his glass before answering. “Hotel, but we need to do some shopping first.”

“Obviously,” Ghost agrees, tipping the glass back and setting it on the counter.

The moment the door of the small hotel room closes behind them, they’re on each other. John’s fingers tangle in Simon’s blonde hair where it’s long enough on top of his head, nails scraping the scalp. Simon’s lips smash against John’s; tongue, teeth, doesn’t matter. First, Simon presses John against the wall. Then the other man, despite being shorter, retaliates and shoves Ghost back, pinning him to the opposing wall and wedging his knee between Simon’s legs and up until Ghost grunts in both impatience and anticipation.

Trigger’s hands leave Simon’s head and immediately sneak under his tee, feeling him up, kneading at the hard plains of muscles.

“Fuck I love how you’re built,” John gasps between harsh breaths, tucking the tee up, uncovering inch after inch of scarred, pale flesh.

Simon grabs him by the mohawk and forces him to expose his neck. With no hesitation, he licks it with a long, broad and wet stroke before sinking his teeth in. John yelps above him, digging his fingernails into Ghost’s sides with enough strength for it to hurt.

Trigger’s pelvis also moves in a fluid, steady motion, hard-on on hard-on. It’s wild and heavenly, free of any and all troubles. Just like Ghost said back in the bar, when it comes down to it, sex is a rather uncomplicated endeavour.

Somehow, they manage to get mostly undressed and on the actual bed. Simon lies on his back with John braced above him, only heading in the opposite direction. They suck each other’s cock in a perfectly balanced ratio of giving and taking. Well, it’s a little more taking on John’s part once he finds out he can actually fuck Simon’s throat and does so with relentless vigour. Simon, however, uses the situation to his advantage, blindly grabs a bottle of lube and, without John noticing, squeezes some on his fingers before he presses them against his hole. Two at first, and he’s about as gentle about it as Trigger’s cockhead is to his throat.

John gasps and groans at the intrusion, but Ghost sucking him feels too good for him to withdraw. He takes those fingers just like he takes Simon’s prick, at least what he can actually fit into his mouth.

Soon enough, the stretch starts to feel good, and he moves back further to have more. He’s close and feels the orgasm building between his prick and his balls. He lets the cock fall from his mouth to slobber nearly unintelligible “’M close.”

Simon grabs his ass and helps him thrust deeper. He’ll have an even raspier voice for days; he knows it, yet doesn’t care. His airways are momentarily blocked, but he expected it. John grunts and then changes the rhythm to senseless rutting as he nears his peak. Simon adds another two fingers and wedges them in by force, knowing the pleasure and the tension of impending orgasm will numb the pain, morphing it into something else entirely.

John cries out, his voice breaking, and he thrusts one last time as he comes down Ghost’s throat in powerful pulses.

Simon barely lets him have a few seconds before manhandling him, throwing him off of himself and onto the mattress face-down. Once more, he reaches for the lube, slicks his prick and slides into John’s now pliant and lubed-up hole. John moans, hypersensitive and surprised, but he doesn’t move.

“Fuck yes,” Simon growls as he starts thrusting. Fast and deep, he’s way past caring. Bracing himself on John’s shoulder blades, he enjoys the hard body beneath all the more as he knows the other man could stand his ground easily. He could fight Ghost if he wanted to, and even though he wouldn’t probably win, it would be a good fight. And he shags him like that, too. With none of the gentleness and all of the respect.

John grunts and huffs beneath him, the discomfort clear in his voice, but eventually, he starts jerking his hips to meet Simon’s thrusts. His back glistens with sweat, scars starkly pale on the tanned skin. Ghost leans down and tastes the salt and musk—breathes Trigger in as he regains his focus and slows the thrusts to savour this.

Simon drags his fingers through the mohawk, grabbing a fistful of hair barely long enough to get a hold of. He lifts John’s head from the bed and motivates him with a firm tug to look over his shoulder. John’s face is flushed, his lips slick with saliva, his eyes searing despite their colour.

“That all ye’ve got, Si?” Trigger taunts, smirking. His brow furrows, and his mouth forms a pretty “O” when Ghost answers the challenge with a backstab of the pleasurable kind.

Simon can feel the tension inside him rising. The fast, punishing pace he’s set does nothing to stave it off, and he doesn’t even try to fight it. His breath is ragged and Simon groans every time he bottom out. So close…

And then it’s here, rolling over him, dragging him under as his whole body locks for a moment before the muscles seize and his heartbeat thunders in his ears. Simon collapses on top of John. It’s bloody uncomfortable, all hard muscles and hot, sweaty skin, but he barely even registers any of it.

In about ten seconds, his brain reboots, yet he still doesn’t move. Instead, he nuzzles against short hair and the mohawk. Trigger sighs; it sounds content and peaceful, so Simon continues rubbing his stubbly cheek against the trimmed hair.

“Yer a good weighted blanket, Simon,” the Scot says quietly, but there’s mirth in his voice—an almost fond edge.

Ghost hums. He wouldn’t mind staying like this longer, but the discomfort is only worsening. Eventually, Simon rolls off of John, but seeing as the other man didn’t complain so far, he grabs him and squeezes him in a firm hug. He basks in the closeness as he buries his face in the nape of John’s neck.

“Not that I’m complaining, but I haven’t pegged you for a cuddler… ‘s nice surprise,” Trigger speaks again, squeezing Simon’s hands where they hold onto him and presses even further into him.

They drift off like that, because shower can wait, and they wouldn’t be in the military if they couldn’t stand being occasionally gross and disgusting.

I have way too many screenshots, here, have some Eurofighter Typhoon.

#I so enjoy their dynamic #Johnny playing coy is mood #Simon Riley - the weighted blanket #call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ace combat #ace combat 7

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troublemaker203 · 1 year

Text

Murtagh Fitzgibbons x Fem! Reader

Warnings: drinking

Word count: 1461

You were seated at one of the heavy wooden tables and let out a big sigh. The gathering was tonight and for some reason you were not aware of, you felt nervous. As a result, you had barely eaten today. Angus sat down next to you. "Right lass, what's the matter wi' ye?" he asked. "Ye're as white as a ghost. Here, have some wine." He took a jug from the table and poured you a glass. "You smiled weakly as a thank you and took a small sip from the glass. The wine was quite strong. "How's that? Better?" "Yes, thank you." He smiled mischievously as you took another sip and quickly refilled your glass when he noticed you were already halfway. "That's a good lass, drink up now, it'll calm yer nerves." Your cheeks already started glowing and you felt a tingling feeling in your legs. You really should have eaten more today. Maybe a small bite of something would still help. "Angus?" "Hmm?" "Do you know if there's still some bread left?" "Rupert!" he shouted. "What?" Rupert yelled back, from across the hall. "Get the lass some bread, man!" "Get it yerself!" Angus stood up angrily and walked towards Rupert, ready to start a fight. You sighed. "These childish men," you said, annoyed. "Never mind, I'll get it myself," you shouted, and got up to walk to the kitchen. You noticed you were already pretty intoxicated when you took your first step, but at least you weren't nervous anymore. Having waddled your way over to the kitchen, you were grateful to see the lovely Mrs. Fitz. "Och child, are ye all right?" she asked worriedly. "Yes, Mrs. Fitz, thank you." You smiled at her. "I was just a bit hungry, so I was hoping to find some bread." "But of course, sit down lass." Mrs. Fitz pulled out a chair for you and immediately started rummaging around the kitchen, gathering all kinds of lovely things on a plate for you. "Here you go." She handed you the plate and you gratefully took it from her. "Thank you," you said and gratefully took a few bites. After you had finished your food, you thanked Mrs. Fitz again and made your way back into the hall where you were immediately greeted by Angus and Rupert. "Where were ye, lass?" asked Rupert. "I was just getting some food in the kitchen while you two were behaving like children." They both looked at you as if you had just insulted them, which made you laugh a little. "Come on, you two, let's have another drink." You took both of them by the arm, dragged them to a table and sat them down. Rupert immediately poured three glasses of wine and raised one. "Slàinte mhath!" You raised yours as well and took a big sip. You were grateful you had eaten, otherwise you would have been under the table in no time. Now it would just take a bit longer. You could drink a fair bit and all the other men were always surprised at how well you could handle your liquor.

A few glasses later it was nearly time for the gathering and some of the men were re-arranging the tables and seats. Murtagh approached your table and you immediately felt your heartrate increasing. You had a crush on him for some time now, though you had never said a word to him, because, in all fairness, he didn't really look approachable. "Stand up, lass, I need yer seat." You slowly stood up, tightly holding onto the edge of the table, afraid to fall over. "Christ," he said, looking at the empty jugs on the table. He quickly looked around the room, until he found Rupert and Angus, who were sitting drunkenly in a corner. Murtagh made a growling noise, as he often did. "Sit back down." Murtagh grabbed you by your shoulders and carefully placed you back onto your seat and walked towards Rupert and Angus. You couldn't quite hear what he was saying to them, but his tone was angry. After he had scolded the two men, he returned to you. "Right, Y/N, on yer feet. Let's get you to your room." He helped you to stand up and grabbed your arm to put it around his shoulders. As you two started to walk, he quickly realised that this was not going to work. He sighed, before lifting you up and carrying you bridal style out of the hall. "You got yourself a good one, Murtagh!" Dougal shouted after him. "She's drunk, man!" he shouted back, but he secretly didn't mind holding you this close to him.

When he arrived at your room, he opened the door without having to let you go, carrying you inside and placing you carefully on your bed. He took off your shoes and as he was trying to work the laces, you opened your eyes. He looked up at you and you were met with his surly expression, which softened for just a second. He placed your feet on your bed, after he had removed your shoes. He got op and walked over to the small table by the window. A jug of water was resting on the surface. He took it and poured you a glass. "Can you sit up straight?" You nodded, afraid to say no, and tried to get up. It took you a second, but you were finally sitting up straight, resting agains the headboard. "Here, drink up." He handed you the glass of water. "Thank you." "Hm." His familiar sound; a sound which gave you butterflies. Murtagh watched you drink your water, making sure you drank everything. He cared about you and this was his way of letting you know he did. You handed him the glass after you finished it. He refilled it and put it on the table next to your bed. "Don't ever let those fools fill your glass again." You nodded. "Now, I'm needed downstairs, so it is time for you to get some sleep." He turned around to walk towards the door. "Murtagh." "Hm?" He turned around to look at you "Thank you, really." He gave a quick nod, but you could detect a faint smile on his face. You smiled back at him and he went out the door.

-------------------------------------

You woke up from someone knocking softly on your door. "Yes?" you answered. The door opened and Murtagh poked his head into your room. "Were you sleeping?" "Yes, but it's okay." "Are ye decent?" You pulled up the blankets, covering your shift, which was the only thing you were still wearing after you had taken off all of your other layers. "Yes, you can come in." He walked into your room and approached your bed. "Claire sent me." He held up a small object which became visible as he moved closer to the candlelight. He handed you the small mug, which contained a brown liquid of some sort. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Fine, I do have a really bad headache, however." "Yeah, I figured as much. That's what the tea is for. Claire just brewed it." "What time is it?" you asked, carefully blowing on the hot beverage before taking a small sip. "Late. Some people are still downstairs, but most of them have gone to bed by now." You took another sip. "Eh, you can sit if you want." Murtagh hesitated, but eventually decided to sit down on your bed. "Thank you for the beverage." "I said Claire could bring it herself, but she insisted that I should be the one who brought it to you." You blushed, glad that is was dark, so Murtagh couldn't see it. After you finished the beverage, your head felt considerably better. You leaned over to put the mug on the small bedside table and, as you did, your shift slipped off your shoulder, exposing the skin. You quickly pulled your dress up and Murtagh scraped his throat. He looked down and up again, locking eyes with you. "I'm sorry," you began, "I didn't mean to..." "It's all right," Murtagh cut you off, shifting a little closer towards you. "Ye're a bonnie lass, you know." You blushed even harder. "I... thank you," you said quietly, "you're not so bad yourself." He smiled, his eyes twinkling. Your cheeks were glowing and your heart started beating fast when you noticed he was moving closer. You moved closer as well and he closed the gap between you two by pressing his lips against yours. His lips were soft, unlike his appearance, and his beard tickled a bit. He pulled away and looked into your eyes. "Dougal was right," he said, "I did get myself a good one."

#outlander #murtagh fitzgibbons fraser #outlander imagine #murtagh fitzgibbons x reader #murtagh fitzgibbons imagine #x reader #imagine

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