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you finally confess your attraction to the hot priest and he's like "oh darling, I thought you'd never ask" and proceeds to bite your neck and turn you into another catholic priest
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Come on, now, op. We all know squidward doesn’t go to the club.
He’s one of those “I’m not like other gays” gays who goes home to a bottle of wine and his obscure 50s vaudeville records, and then mopes because he can never find a boyfriend.
guys idek what to say i'm speechless,,, only thing i can say right now is that i'm so glad that i'm caught up with the manga because it's only going to get crazier from here on out and i'm all for it
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Her hand subconsciously feels to the left side of the bed, reaching out for his hip, but when her hand feels cold sheets, she sits up, eyes bleary with sleep as she looks around. He’s gone, his clothes gone from the floor, and for a moment, she feels a blistering sting in her chest when she looks at her dead husband’s photo sitting on her bedside table. What a fool, she thinks as she throws her legs over the side of the bed and grabs the robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Slipping it on, she walks into her daughter’s room and leans over the crib, ready to pick her up when her eyes widen as she stares at an empty bed. Panic floods her and she tries to calm down, thinks that JJ maybe got his sister out and put her in his bed.
She hurries to his room and opens the door, eyes bulging out of her head at this point. His Spider-Man bed is empty. Her feet carry her downstairs and in a flurry of worry, she runs around, checking the den, the dining room, the kitchen, the shed outside, there’s no sign of him or her children. Tears flood her vision as she grabs her phone inside on the bar and tries to fumble it open, only for the front door to crack open and someone start to yell, “Mummy!” Before a stern voice hushes them.
She runs to the front door and sees Simon cradling Morrigan in one arm, his other on the back of JJ’s shoulders, pushing him in the door with a quiet but firm, “Don’ wake y’er mum up.”
Her phone falls to the floor, and she runs to her children, yanking the baby from him, jostling her into a crying fit, as she wraps the other hand around JJ’s head and pulls them in for a tight grip.
“Mummy?” JJ asks, concern flooding his voice as Morrigan cries harder. “What’s wrong, mummy? Why are you crying?”
“Mummy’s not crying,” she says and shushes Morrigan until the baby is in hiccups and hands her to him. “Take Morrigan upstairs to her crib. I need to have a word with Simon.”
JJ takes the hiccuping child from her and he can’t help but say, “Mummy, Simon took us for ice cream!” She finally notices the brown stain on JJ’s pristine white shirt and the remains of chocolate around his mouth. “But Morrigan didn’t eat any. Uncle Simon gave her a bottle.”
“That’s good, baby,” she responds with a tight smile. “Take Morrigan upstairs, okay? She needs a nap.”
“Yes, mummy.”
He leaves and she stands, whirling on him, and he can tell he just lit a Roman candle the size of a mortar. “Love,” he starts, and she cuts him off with a swift and crisp slap that sends his face snapping to the side.
“You cannot just take my children without telling me!” She all but yells. “Letting you in my home is one thing but my children! Don’t you ever take my children out without waking me ever again!”
“Love,” he calms, not bothering to massage the stinging in his face. “I ‘ad everythin’ under control.”
She feels the storm brew in her throat, the tears in her eyes. “My children. My babies. His—our children.”
Simon reaches up, takes her face in his hands. “Look at me,” he says. “You were asleep. Peacefully. You were tired. You ‘ave been so tired. So exhausted from everything. I didn’ want to wake you.” He looks at her. “I took them out for some ice-cream so you could ‘ave a restful sleep with no one to bother you.”
Tears spill over and she manages to muster, “No one is going to hurt my children.”
He stares at her, copper eyes boring in hers as he promises, “Love, I would never hurt your children. I would never let anyone hurt your children.” He holds her firm in his hands, eyes ever-strong. “I would never let anyone hurt them. Or you.”
“They’re all I have left,” she cries. “My babies.”
“I know,” he says softly, brushing a hand over her cheek. “And I would die a thousand times before I ever let anyone hurt them.” He leans down and presses his forehead to hers. “Love, I would never hurt them.”
She feels the tears drip down her face as the pain in her chest begins to subside. “I woke up and you were gone. They were gone. I…I feared the worst. That he’d gotten them. That they’d taken you all.”
“No one is going to take us,” he murmurs, shutting his eyes. “I swear to you. No one is going to take us.”
Her hands clench in his hoodie. “You were gone.”
“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, I shoulda left a note. I jus’ didn’ think you’d wake up ‘fore we got back.” He pulls away and cups her cheek again. “Love, you’ve been so tired. I jus’ wanted you to rest.”
“I know,” she agrees, even as he wipes her tears with his thumbs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I slapped you, I’m so sorry,” she cries again.
He snorts and kisses her cheek. “Soap teach you to ‘it that ‘ard?” A surprised laugh bubbles out of her, and she can’t help but smile as the tears fall. “There’s tha’ smile,” he cooes and kisses her forehead. “God, I love tha’ smile.”
Her cheeks get hot and she reaches up, wiping her face. “I’m sorry.”
“Nah, love,” he shakes off. “Don’t be. I’d react the same if I were you.” He takes her hand and kisses it. “Go check on them, yeah? I’ll make you something to eat.”
She nods and turns, pausing at the staircase and looks at him. “I thought you left me this morning,” her voice is soft, just short of broken.
He looks back at her, takes off the face mask he always wears in public and affirms, “Never.”
if this is something you’re interested in, I’d love to see Simon accidentally losing his temper and making it up to you <333 he’s just a big guy and doesn’t really realise how intimidating he can appear! he’s the sweetest though :(
Taking some artistic liberties with this because I refuse to give men the right to yell as the president/princess of this here blog!!
All day you've felt the distance between you and Simon. A gaping, empty hole in your normally cozy, quiet home. Of course, you'll give him the patience he always affords you, you'll give him time and space if that's what he wants. But you can't exactly work out what he needs when he'll barely speak to you.
His silence doesn't soothe the anxiety in your gut telling you that you're the source of the problem.
Eventually, you find yourself breaking, sitting on the couch responding to an email, going through the motions with robotic thoughtlessness. You're so strung out by your own anxiety, yiu find yourself crying, little pathetic sniffles as you try to convince yourself to grow up and push your feelings aside.
"Bird?" Snaps you from your self pity. Sends your hands flying up to wipe at your eyes. Fruitless, seeing as he's already noticed your tears, a concerned look furrowing his brows.
Before you can protest, tell him you're fine, he's kneeling before you on the rug, still at your eye level, despite the fact you're sat on the couch.
All coldness is gone as he takes in your ruddy cheeks and watering eyes, pulling you into his chest the minute he realises why you're crying, why you're hiding from him.
"Are you mad at me?" You hiccup, wiping your runny nose absently on the back of your sleeve as you wait for an answer, only to see Simon look so utterly broken at your question.
"Wha-Why would I be angry at you, hm?" He soothes, thumbs brushing gently across your tear streaked cheeks.
"Haven't done anything wrong." Simon murmurs into the hair at the crown of your head, a large hand rubbing soothing circles into your back.
You feel like an idiot, so worked up by your own thoughts, your imagination.
"Barely talked to me all day."
"Oh baby." You're soothed with such gentleness you can't help but to cry more, sniffling fat tears into the fabric of Simon's shirt.
Jostling slightly, Simon keeps you pressed into his chest as he joins you up on the couch, his free hand cradling the nape of your neck, keeping you close.
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Mate is a traditional South-American, caffeine-rich, infused herbal drink. Argentinian costumes dictate that, depending on the additives or the way in which it’s served, one can send secret messages using mate.
Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, dr!g use, minor character death.
A/N: another update so soon?! Don't get used to that.
Sargento Mayor Rodolfo Parra watched pensively at Alejandro as he recounted his meeting with Avispa. The Colonel was incensed, gesturing wildly with his hands as he paced around the barrack they shared when they had no time to go home and rest.
Alejandro had very strong opinions about the woman, although he kept himself from calling her vile names. Even in his fury, he had his limits. Besides, his catholic mother would never forgive him for talking ill of a woman, no matter how frustrating she was.
Rodolfo noted that and kept it at the back of his head, while he listened to his childhood friend turned superior vent about Avispa. He kept quiet for most of the interaction, besides humming and assenting to show Alejandro he was paying attention as he unfastened his boots.
Alejandro had a lot to say, even after they were both laying down on their cots, looking at the ceiling. Whenever Rodolfo thought he was done, Alejandro would break the silence with another remark.
“As if I'd let a fucking killer for hire use the Fuerzas Especiales as a crutch to complete her assassination job,” Alejandro grumbled mostly to himself, but loud enough for Rodolfo to hear.
“So, you wouldn't even consider it?” Rodolfo sighed, the only sentence he uttered since they entered the barrack.
Alejandro sat up on his cot, glaring at his friend in disbelief, “would you, pendejo?!”
Rodolfo simply snorted a laugh, having expected that reaction from him. “It wouldn't be the first time we've worked with PMC’s or contractors from other countries. It's kind of part of the job, Ale.” He stretched over his cot, groaning softly as he relaxed. “You mentioned she had a Southern Latin American accent, didn’t you? She’s probably a part of that group…” He trailed off, remembering an old report on the Amazonas.
“It's not the same thing, those collaborations were approved by legal organizations, like the CIA,” Alejandro sighed, rolling his eyes, “she's not. What if she makes shit hit the fan, eh? Who could we report that to?”
“I hear you on that, hermano,” Rodolfo sighed, turning to his side to look at Alejandro sleepily, “on the fact that no legal responsibility will tie her or restrain her actions. However, since she’s trying to collaborate with us, it means she also won't have anyone come help her if shit hits the fan. If she fucks up, we could just drop her to the wolves, pretend we never worked together, and fix it.”
Alejandro stared at his friend, his frown softening just a fraction as his words echoed in his head. He watched Rudy yawn and fix a blanket over himself, and laid himself back down. He stared at the ceiling in silence, reflecting on his options.
Rodolfo was right. Los Vaqueros were the only insurance that Avispa would even survive squaring up to el Sin Nombre, and they could deny her support if he so wanted it. He spent another half an hour weighing on the pros and cons of allowing her in their circle, and the thought of having the choice of backing out made him think more about the positive outcome it could bring.
“... Maybe.” He spoke in the quietness, Rodolfo’s soft snores the only reply he got.
Bar Marcela was once again the chosen venue for the meeting, but this time Alejandro got there first. He had sent Ricardo a coded message to set up another meeting with Avispa, and now he only had to wait. He nibbled on his nachos without hurry, making sure he tasted them thoroughly to compensate for the last time. He could practically feel Marcela’s eyes on him, even though she was in the backroom at the moment.
Avispa met his eyes the moment she walked in, and her quiet steps led her straight to his table. She sat down wearing a knowing smile on her face, and it ticked Alejandro to see it.
“I knew you would reconsider it, Coronel,” was her greeting, helping herself to one of his nachos. She ate it and hummed at the taste, while Alejandro’s glare was fixed on her. “What are your conditions?”
“You turn in every information you gather to us, no matter how small it may be, before you act out on it,” he began, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll facilitate a quarter at my base so you can lay down and lick your wounds if needed, but I won’t insure your safety out of it.”
Avispa watched him thoughtfully. Of course, she always knew she wouldn’t depend on him or the Special Forces to keep her safe from the cartel. There was no way in hell a legal, government-backed military would publicly endorse her.
However, she was a big girl, and this wasn’t su primer jineteada. She was confident she could take care of herself.
“Muy bien,” Avispa agreed with a small grin, offering him her hand to shake it off.
Alejandro didn’t take it. Instead, he stood from his seat, staring down at her as he handed her a scribbled piece of paper. “Go to this address tomorrow, be ready to move into my base.”
He wasn’t particularly happy to take her in, and his face showed it. Despite this, he had preemptively chosen a private room in a corner of the barracks. Long ago, it was used by drill sergeants to watch over the recruits. But after the transformation into the base of operations of the Special Forces, it had been modified to house soldiers with disciplinary issues, and hidden cameras had been installed. It would be perfect to keep an eye on her movements in and out of the barracks. Of course, that information wouldn't be passed down to her.
At 0900 hours sharp, Avispa walked into the Vaqueros’ base of operations. Her eyes darted around as a guard led her to the women's barracks, partially to create a mental map of the installations, but also to admire the sheer size of them.
She could spot a few soldiers looking at her through the windows and she wondered how many others were not in her line of sight. She knew it was a tactical decision, to make her know she would be constantly under surveillance. That thought followed her as she entered her private quarters.
Her eyes studied her provisional accommodation, moreso trying to locate hidden cameras than checking out the bland bedding and the too-small window that looked out into the internal patio. Resigned to not being able to pinpoint the surveillance, she put down her duffel bag on the bed and opened it, pulling out a change of clothes and a smaller backpack.
As she's about to take her t-shirt off, she looked over her back, raising an eyebrow at the guard whose eyes were still fixed on her. “...May a señorita have some privacy?” She questioned, her voice almost sickly sweet.
The guard stared at her for just a moment longer before stepping back, although Avispa predicted he would only be one or two feet away from the door. She rolled her eyes, changing into a pair of jeans and a breezy top.
It was only moments later that Alejandro walked in, knocking twice on the door frame to announce himself. “How's your suite, princesa?” He greeted her in a teasing tone.
“Like a dream, Coronel,” Avispa matched his tone, flipping down on the cot and taking her tablet, scrolling through it, “good job hiding the cameras, I couldn't find them.”
Alejandro snorted, a sneer stretching his lips. Of course she would be smarter than to assume he wouldn't have an eye on her at all times. “Breakfast is at 0630, lunch is at 1400, dinner at 2100.”
She nodded at the information, glancing at her watch before sitting up and tilting her head a little. “I suppose I can get hot water at the kitchen any time of the day, right?”
Alejandro blinked at her and nodded slowly, slightly intrigued at her reason to require it. “Fancy a coffee, then?”
Avispa grinned and shook her head, swinging her legs over the edge of her bed and sliding her chanclas on, before pulling out a thermos from her duffel bag. “No, mate.”
The bitter taste of the yerba was thoroughly enjoyed as she slipped on the metallic straw. It had been a few days since she had been able to lower her guard enough to give herself time to enjoy a good mate. The beverage woke her up more effectively than a cup of coffee, and she took her sweet time browsing through her tablet as she drank it.
She scribbled down some words on a notepad, and later laid down on the cot, staring at the ceiling. That's all they could see in the footage. They saw no signs of her trying to install boobytraps, or hiding weapons, or anything else. Just a woman by herself, watching the time pass.
It all changed about an hour before dinner, when she took her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. She followed her mental map of the base expertly, tracing her steps back to the entrance and walking out, not a word heard from her lips to the guards who questioned her where she was going, or when she would return.
A/N: the worst crime commited by the COD fandom was to forget how unhinged Rudy can be.
