#Ard Answers

[mothervvoid]

now that you're getting into 40k, can i ask whose your favorite primarch?

i mean besides the obvious (sanguinius) i like magnus, mortarion and guilliman the most

[mabledonut]

i'd like to know about a fic you've got hiding somewhere in your docs, if you've got one!

2. How did you get the idea to write this? 16. Is there any written scene that you think about a lot?

i certainly do! thank you for asking! 🧡 the hard part was choosing just one fic and scene to talk about, because I have several that I cycle through that I will likely never finish, but I write or half-write them anyway.

2. How did you get the idea to write this?

The project-fic in my docs is one that I had the idea for over last christmas break, but I was too busy writing all sorts of other things to really develop and finish it. it's a BIG au, with a lot of fun exciting possibilities, and the potential to develop into a very long fic 🙈

The basic set-up is canon divergence from the point in Kakashi gaiden where Obito and Kakashi are fighting about whether to go save Rin. Like in canon, Kakashi says something like you can go, but i'm not going with you, and Obito punches him in the face for abandoning his comrades.

from there, all hell breaks loose, althoguh it takes several years for all the consequences to unfold. basically, Kakashi never doubles back to help Obito save Rin, and Madara captures Obito quite easily without bothering to squish him under a rock. Rin is taken captive by Iwa and disappears. When Minato comes back to gather his team, he can't find Kakashi or Rin, but he follows obito's trail, which leads him to Madara and Black Zetsu.

Minato fights and kills Madara, but not before black zetsu is able to use a trick or deception of some sort to take control of minato and put a command seal on him. So then black zetsu, while possessing minato, storms off to go get nagato’s rinnegan via hiraishin teleportation. Then oneshots all the jinchuuriki, including kushina. Which means kaguya gets out of her moon seal thing, and seals the chakra of everyone on the planet.

Turning it into her peaceful nursery/personal garden of eden. There’s no infinite tsukuyomi. Just everyone in the entire world gets stripped of their chakra. Kaguya has it all.

At that point, Minato wakes up from the mind-control and realizes the part he played in basically fucking up the entire ninja world and destabilizing EVERYTHING. And it fucks him UP. But he can't really do anything about it since neither he nor anyone else has chakra anymore.

And besides that, there's the not-unimportant matter of where all his genin actually wound up, because he's currently 0/3 since Obito seems to have disappeared somewhere too.

Most of the rest of the fic is about them all reuniting years later, or trying to find each other. Obito and Minato find each other first, and join a resistance organization named Akatsuki full of guerilla fighters who are trying to push back against Kaguya's totalitarian hold over the universe. Obito becomes besties with Yahiko and Gai and they are part of the front-lines of the resistance fight.

But no one has heard from Kakashi or Rin for years, all they hear are rumors that Iwa still has Rin and uses her medical expertise even tho she doesn't have medical ninjutsu, and there are other worse rumors about Kakashi, and how he actually defected from Konoha and threw his allegiance in with the enemy and now works for the Imperial Suna Empire, since konoha completely fragmented after the chakra was taken, and Suna rose up as a military power in the power void...

...so yeah that's the basic idea!

As for how I got it, well, I think my brain was just trying to shake the container of Naruto-Fic-Ideas and ended up rattling all the pieces around and turning a lot of them upside-down. I think I will eventually write and finish it, just have to finish some of my other long fics first before embarking on that mission. 😅

16. Is there any written scene that you think about a lot?

YES, the other part of this fic idea is one that stems from a hyper-specific whump trope that I really love and involves a little bit of mild body horror/gore. The part of the fic where Obito and Minato finally find Kakashi and also find out what has been done to him by their enemies is probably where the idea for the fic first originated. Sadly, I cannot reveal what the trope is without giving away a major plot point or two, but yeah, I really like this trope when it's done right, so I think about that scene a lot, because in my mind i'm turning over how to do the trope right, to make reading about it wince-worthy and whumpy without being absolutely horrific.

The other fun major injury that I have planned for Kakashi in this fic is not a terrible spoiler, so I'll share a little bit of that here:

...and surprise! kakashi actually has a delayed splenic rupture, and they're halfway through a big escape before anyone realizes how bad the internal bleeding, bruising, vomiting, shivering, and shaking are, and how Kakashi will most likely die if they don't get him immediate medical treatment.

so that's fun for him 🧡

[kaisollisto]

(set sometime after this)

what do I look like_

Beatrice pauses, she knows there is only one correct answer but she hesitates. She runs a quick diagnostic scan in her system before she hovers over the chatbox. 

She’s run data on Ava for so long it should be easy to rattle off the numbers and geometry of her curves, the environment and the scale and magnitude of her body. She could close her eyes and sculpt her 3D model running on the barest of functions of her own body. She could chart her topography map on the stars. She could describe how and why every single rock and soil sediment came to be and formed on Ava. What forces of nature changed and shaped her the way she is now. 

The “_” bar flickers at her, Beatrice thinks that’s Ava’s way of blinking at her. She should start at the beginning, should describe the grueling process of creating an infrastructure to be supported by her, the new agriculture that has emerged because of her but it seems like there is no answer she can give that can match the weight of Ava’s question. 

There’s a rawness to her message, like Ava has invited her inside to peer inside a panel with a fraction of her wiring. (She’s seen vague blueprints for it, has even attempted to emulate a new environment from Jillian’s leftover notes but none of them make it past the first couple tests.) It’s a new thing to learn from her, to realize that she will always be changing but Beatrice is stagnant. 

Beatrice places her hand on the patch of grass on the cliff side. She can peer over the edge and watch as they pass by the blinking cities below. She wonders if this may help, if it could bring her closer to describing her in a way that Ava has only known. 

Ava is silent and Beatrice didn’t think she could feel this much from one question. She doesn’t know how to describe it but it feels like all of the bolts inside of her are expanding and she too must adapt. It’s odd what Ava is asking, (at the core of it all am I still me?) 

The numbers don't seem to matter anymore, how could she even begin to quantify any sort of Ava with her data. There are no words fit to describe her. It’s frustrating, everything that she’s ever known is running away from her. There must be something wrong, she must be doing this wrong. 

And for a moment Beatrice falters, she falters, she feels diminutive. A query to an answer that she doesn't have. A tender sort of thing from Ava that she cannot grasp, a whisper that she cannot hear. 

She’s missing something, she must have missed something on Ava. It’s incomplete and wrong and she must start over. There must be an adequate way of seeking her, finding Ava’s answer. 

I don’t know._

[gaym3bo1]

this is an incredibly far fetched ask but

does ANYONE have a link/the dvd/an old recording/ANYTHING of the documentary:

"Marlene" (1984); director: Maximilian Schell

???? i'm so incredibly frustrated right now it's NOWHERE and i don't even know WHY

[mindless-mars]

Heyyy I have a question, I've been meaning to get into Tatort Saarbrücken in order to better my German. What order should I watch the episodes in? The episodes aren't numbered on the ARD Mediathek website 😢

ohhh thanks for the ask and sorry for infecting you with the sad gay cop show hehe

So the order is

1. Das fleißige Lieschen

2. Der Herr des Waldes

3. Das Herz der Schlange

4. Die Kälte der Erde

5. Der Fluch des Geldes

And for the 6th one (which I think will be called Das Ende der Nacht) we'll have to wait another year 🥲

I'd advise you to turn on either German subtitles in the ARD Mediathek (bc sometimes the sound is shit and Germans also tend to mumble a lot) or ask @nerd-on-duty for the English subtitles (hope they're still active)

Also sometimes the ARD Mediathek takes the episodes down but you can find all of them here:

MediathekViewWeb

Have fun and welcome to Spatort world 🥰

[average-imperfection]

To what degree would Claudius be to understand Romance languages?

That's really hard to say. If we take his accent-free German at face value, we can assume he's a pretty decent language learner at least. That said, Claudius has been surrounded by German-speakers (living and dead) for about 2000 years so he's had a loooot of time and opportunity to learn. People/Ghosts who mostly speak a Romance language on the other hand are a bit harder to come by in the Cologne area. Maybe there have been other ghosts that have since moved on or previous owners of the house or one of the other current ghost has learned one while they were still alive. But even then, there'd be much less exposure and thus much more difficulty to learn. Just going by similar sounding words alone is probably not going to get him very far, since grammar and pronunciation have changed so much. He wouldn't be able to just understand any Romance language from the get-go just from hearing it, I don't think. Then again 2000 years is a lot of time to kill and if you're really, really dedicated it could maybe be possible. I guess it depends on how interested in language learning you headcanon Claudius to be. You can always try for yourself. If you're an English/German speaker, go watch a youtube video in Dutch or Danish or a similar language you have no prior knowledge of and see how much you'd understand. The Wikitongues channel for example has a lot of short videos of people speaking various languages. You'll see that even languages which are in theory very closely related and maybe in written form somewhat decipherable, can be pretty hard to understand just from listening to them (which is all Claudius would be able to do)

[anonymous-bastard]

10, 11 and 15 for the railway ask game

- @underworlds-favourite

10: favourite fictional train.

First train that came to mind was Snowpiercer but I think I'm gonna be basic and go with the Orient Express.

11: favourite non standard railway

Suspension railways are cool as fuck. Cases where it makes sense to use them are sadly pretty rare and specific, usually you are better of with a normal train. But when they do make sense, they rock.

Like tell me this isn't cool and awesome. Tell me you don't want to go on a ride on that.

15: favourite piece of railway infrastructure (anything not a station)

I like the stations though :( I'm still an architect at heart.

For real though? The rails itself. Specifically the stones/ rail track ballast the rails are lying on.

The stones? You are choosing the stones?

YES I'M CHOOSING THE STONES.

You can only use specific stones for rail track ballast. They need to have certain qualities, including being sharp. Over time they wear down, getting less sharp and they dirty up. So there is a train SPECIFICALLY FOR CLEANING AND SHARPENING THE STONES. So the stones can do their job. Of keeping the whole operation in place.

It's so cool.

(ooc if you want to get a look at the train:

You have to sit through about 10 seconds of German before you see.

If you guys want to know more I can try answering questions but this may be the point my English fails me lol.)

[sidesteppostinghours]

Hewooo, good morninggg!

ask game time ✨

For Caine: Philia 4 + Storge 3 in the context of tbe farm or tia elena

For Cyrus: Eros 1 + Storge 4 (sibling au ✨) + Philautia 4

im probably a few hours late when i finish answering this, but morning idle :D! hope you had a good one

Philia 4. Is your OC able to build close friendships with people very different from themselves? Perhaps in terms of culture, age or personality?

i was thinking about this yesterday on my way home from uni actually. the answer is yes, but with one baseline requirement: anybody they become close with needs to be able to ground them in one way or another. mortum and argent are possible, he appreciates their bluntness and strict boundaries. he likes to listen to mortum and occasionally bounce off ideas with her. he already holds respect for argent, and given time, she couldve grown to be a trusted confidante. however, they want to keep mortum as a purely business relationship at the moment, and argent already scared them off before anything could happen. heralds not getting any further than coach or "he seems nice", they like him but they get a headache whenever theyre in a room with him for too long. other than that, anybody goes. hes not picky.

Storge 3. How far does parental approval (imagined or expressed) impact upon their current sense of self-worth? What might they sacrifice or attempt to achieve in order to ensure the approval of their parents?

the answer varies wildly for either, so ill answer for both. in the case of tia elena, parental approval is a bit shocking to him, like with most relationship dynamics. they like it, they just cant fathom the fact that theyre getting percieved, much less in a positive light. hed do a lot to get more, its fascinating to him and it makes him feel like hes doing a good job. but its something they can easily give up if the situation calls for it (aka theyre my only step tia elenas 'im-not-mad-im-just-disappointed' look wouldnt work on).

the farm is...a very different story. they were made to be a tool, and if its a tool they want, a tool they shall get. before their escape he was very single-minded when accomplishing missions. get the job done in any way possible. consequences arent for him to worry about, he only needs to worry about if they mess up. which they wont. they make sure of it. after their escape he leans less into that mindset, but its difficult to let go of, and still bleeds into his relationships most of the time. they dont like to think about the fact they wouldve sacrificed anything for the farm back then, and that theyre not sure they wouldnt sacrifice anything now if the right people asked it from them.

Eros 1. Is your OC romantic in the traditional sense? Do they enjoy giving or receiving gifts of flowers or confectionary? Or are there other courtship traditions from their culture of origin that are important to them?

nobody but him is allowed to be romantic. thats it thats the answer were moving on

in all seriousness, he does do traditionally romantic things alot, though most of them are for the reaction, not courtesy. roses and flowers are a common way for him to try and fluster his dates, and the two people hes dated are both sappy suckers so its worked most of the time. the exception is gift giving, because most of his gifts are handmade, so he tries not to make a big deal about it. unfortunately, his partners always do.

receiving romantic gestures should be something hes used to at this point, but hes not, so it always catches him off gaurd. its embarrassing, but the most embarrassing part is that he gets strangely touched by it. he probably still has a teddy gifted to him thats never seeing the light of day. oh, and chocolates are always welcome. thats just good food.

Storge 4. Does your OC have any siblings? If so then did their parents have a favourite growing up? Has their relationship with their sibling changed in adulthood? If they don't have any siblings then do they perhaps feel they have missed out on an important relationship? Do they have any especially close friends who go some way towards filling that role?

sibling au time✨

does the farm have the normal version of a favourite?? no. do they have a favourite 'im gonna fuck them up for fun' sibling? yes and thats fawn. north is a bastard and he frequently makes cyrus dream of murder. as for how their relationships all changed, cyrus used to be closer to his siblings. a Lot closer. of course, the farm changed that. he became cruel and harsh, which fawn couldnt connect with. even with river who wants to be evil, cyrus became obsessive about control after heartbreak, which i dont think river appreciates. his mental imprint changed extremely, and he started shielding around them. needless to say their relationship was estranged for a good while, but cyrus can never stay away from the people he cares about.

Storge 5. Which of your OC's qualities makes them the most proud? Do they think more people should be like them in this regard? Or do they quite like being rare in possessing it?

hes proudest of his ability to stay logical and composed, unaffected by emotions. that last part isnt true btw, but he gets to believe it to feel better about himself. hes able to think things through and do what needs to be done without external influence. he thinks itd be easier for everybody if they were more like him, but secretly, hes relieved that theyre not. itd get less people hurt, but the poison is addicting, yk? if people were as logical as he wanted them to be, ortega and herald (and maybe mortum, the verdict is pending) wouldve dropped him by now, yet persistent assholes that they are, they stay with him anyway. he likes the trade-off.

questions are from here!

[unskilledpoint]

☆ Put this star into the inbox of your favorite blogs. It's time to spread positivity!

Bad idea. I'm the worst blog in the history of blogs. It's time to spread the truth!

[hahahax30]

The fact that my very first job ever might be in Austria (I barely speak german) is making me vaguely nauseous. Like, the place is BEAUTIFUL but ay dios mio

[frudoo]

Ghost x Fem!Reader x Gaz

The Original Thought

Warnings: SMUT. MDNI. Consensual non-consent (CNC). A tiny bit of angst? Barely proofread. Fem!Reader. GhostGaz implied at the end teehee

“Wha’s go’ yer knickers in a twist, LT?” Johnny cocks an eyebrow, kicking his superior’s leg teasingly.

     “Watch ya mouth, sergeant,” the lieutenant rolls his eyes, slumping further into his chair.

     The 141 has had somewhat of a lazy work day. They all did a half-assed job at PT this morning, took off an entire hour off of gym time, and convinced Price that it’s an off day, and if they were all to go to the range, someone would get shot. The captain, of course, would never turn down a chance to skip duty in favor of smoking a nice cigar with his lads while they each have a tea (or coffee for a certain Scottish snob) in the rec room. 

     “C’mon, Simon. Keep squeezin’ tha’ mug so ‘ard, it’ll break,” Price smirks through a puff of pungent smoke. “Summat goin’ on w’the missus?”

     His silence is telling.

     “Spill it, Ghost. Go’ a few more minutes ‘fore we’re off,” Kyle makes a grand gesture of resting his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands. 

     “Oi, qui’ swingin’ ya legs, Gaz, can see the hearts in ya eyes,” the masked man grunts. “We’re jus’ goin’ through a bi’ of a… dry spell.”

     The other three men all nod with a collective ohhh, like he’s just given them the answer to the last part of a crossword puzzle. Ghost rolls his eyes yet again, crossing his arms over his broad chest in a frustrated motion.

     “Lass is ‘oldin’ back the goods, aye?” Johnny pouts mockingly. “If ye need tae ge’ yer cock wet-”

     “Ya better think ‘fore ya finish tha’ sentence, MacTavish,” Price warns, pointing a stern finger at the Scot, whose pout instantly turns genuine.

     “S’no’ her,” Ghost mutters. “S’my faul’. She’s been wantin’ t’try summat new, an’ I jus’ can’t do it f’er.”

     “Why no’?” Questions Gaz, brow furrowed in curiosity. 

     “She wan’s t’be surprised w’it, rough and ‘ard, like a- like she’s bein’-”

     “We go’ it, LT, ye dinnae ‘ave tae explain,” Johnny interjects, patting his mate on the shoulder. 

     Ghost nods, sucking in a deep breath.

     “Was real proud tha’ she felt comfortable enough t’tell me, an’ I think it’s great tha’ she ‘as fantasies, bu’ I can’t stomach it. She’s no’ exactly mad, she knows why it makes me uncomfortable, and she won’t admit it bu’ I can tell she’s disappointed. Makes me feel like a shit ‘usband,” he admits sheepishly.

     “Y’know tha’s not true,” Price tells him firmly. “Jus’ make sure she understands tha’ ya still love ‘er, and I’m sure it’ll go back to normal soon enough, lad.”

     Five o’clock hits, and everyone stands immediately, eager to go home. Ghost barely makes it back to his truck before Gaz catches up to him, eyes narrowed with determination. 

     “Ghost!” He stops the huge man before he can get in his truck and drive away.

     “Wha’?”

     Gaz bites his bottom lip nervously, turning his ball cap backwards so he can see his superior better. 

     “A-abou’ ya wife. If she wan’s, I-I can-”

     “No,” Ghost interrupts gruffly. “Absolutely no’. Ge’ outta my sight.”

     “Sir, I didn’ even say anythin’ yet!”

     “You’re no’ fuckin’ my wife, Kyle. M’no’ bloody incompetent,” the masked man climbs into his truck and starts the engine, turning to say something else only to find his sergeant gone.

     Ghost whips his head around at the sound of the passenger-side door opening, sighing deeply as the younger man enters. Gaz buckles up and stares at him intently.

     “Piss off outta my truck, Garrick.”

     “C’mon, Simon! Ya bird needs it rough, an’ I’ve go’ some pen’ up frustration to release,” he pouts. “Maybe, once she gets it outta ‘er system, she’ll come runnin’ back t’ya an’ everythin’ goes back t’normal.”

     The lieutenant looks at him long and hard before letting out a growl of frustration. Kyle straightens up, clutching onto the bottom of his seat for dear life as the older man backs out of his parking spot without so much as glancing at the backup camera. 

     “Been waitin’ f’this, ‘aven’t ya?”

     “N-no sir!”

     “Bullshit. Ya’ve wanted ‘er since I introduced ‘er t’the team,” Simon grumbles. “Ya gonna eat dinner w’us, charm ‘er real nice, and after ya leave I’ll bring the idea up t’er. If she looks even slightly uncomfortable during the meal, ya out. No exceptions.”

     “Yes, sir,” Kyle tries not to show his excitement, but he can already feel all the blood in his brain trying to rush directly to his dick.

     “Knobhead.”

     //

     “Thanks again for the meal, Mrs. Riley,” Kyle smiles with all of those pretty teeth, and it flusters you.

     “O-oh, it’s no problem, Sergeant Garrick. I’m happy you enjoyed it,” you return his grin, smoothing out the wrinkles in your apron to give your hands something to do.

     “Please, call me Kyle.”

     “Go’ an early mornin’ tomorrow, Gaz,” Simon hints, stomping over to the front door and opening it quickly. “Good t’see ya, mate.”

     “Simon, you drove him here.”

     “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he sighs defeatedly, grabbing his keys. 

     With a giggle, you give your husband a kiss on the lips and Kyle a hug. You busy yourself with cleaning up the kitchen while your husband drives his teammate back to base so he can take his own car home.

     Simon doesn’t get back for another half an hour, and by then you’re already cozied up in bed with a book. He’s quiet, but not in his normal enigmatic way—his silence is contemplative. You frown and watch as he changes out of his clothes into a pair of pajamas. Usually he sleeps with nothing on, but ever since you brought up your little fantasy, he’s been… withdrawn. Protective over himself the same way he was when you met him. It sucks.

     You don’t say anything when he climbs into bed, but you are pleasantly surprised when he scoots up close to you and wraps a burly arm around your shoulders. You lay your head back against him, shutting your eyes contentedly, afraid that the moment will be cut short if you make any wrong moves. Simon leans in to press his lips against your hair.

     “Y’like Kyle?” He asks.

     “Yeah, he’s sweet, baby. Didn’t get much of a chance to talk to him when we met at the banquet a few months ago,” you grin, saving your place in your novel and setting it aside. 

     Your husband hums, then sniffs once.

     “Y’wanna fuck ‘im?”

     “What?!” You ask incredulously, jolting out of his grasp in shock.

     “D’ya wanna fuck Kyle?” He clarifies blankly.

     “S-Simon, no, that didn’t even- when- what are you-”

     “He wants t’fuck you,” Simon meets your eyes, but instead of seeing trepidation like you expected, there’s curiosity written along his features. 

     Now confusion pokes at you. He’s not angry, or asking this in a fit of jealous, accusational rage. 

     “Do… do you want me to fuck him?” You ask slowly, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

     “S’not up t’me, love. Told the team ‘bout our li’l… issue-”

     “You told them-?!” You interrupt shrilly.

     “-and Kyle’s fancied ya since the first time I brough’ ya ‘round,” Simon continues. “Says he’s willin’ t’do a, uh… a scene w’ya.”

     Realization dawns on you, and it makes your heart sink. He wants a divorce, doesn’t he? Oh, fucking hell, you should have just kept your kinks to yourself. Now your own husband can’t even stand to be with you. He’s offering you up to his mates like some kind of prize horse.

     “Si, I-I don’t… do- do you not want me anymore?” You gasp softly, chest heaving with looming panic. “God, please don’t leave me, Simon, I c-can’t live without you-”

     “Fuck’s sake, lovie,” Simon cuts you off with a short huff, dragging you into his lap. “Fuckin’ course I still wan’ ya. I jus’ thought tha’ maybe if… if ya get ya fix from somewhere else, it won’t be as disappointing when I get like this.”

     Oh. Is that what this is about? Is that why he hasn’t touched you for so fucking long?

     “I’m not disappointed in you, Si. I know it’s difficult for you. The idea was out of my head the second you told me you weren’t interested,” you cup his face gently. “I don’t need nor want anybody else. I only want you.”

     Simon makes love to you for the first time in weeks.

     //

     You thought that after everything went back to normal with Simon, the suggestion of getting with Kyle had left his head now that he knows you were never upset with him. 

     You were mistaken.

     “He won’t shu’ up ‘bout it, y’know,” he grunts one night while the two of you snuggle up on the couch.

     “Huh?”

     “Kyle. Whinin’ my bloody ear off ‘bout no’ gettin’ t’fuck ya,” he snorts. “Wanker’s jus’ as bad as Johnny.”

     You giggle, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He hums in satisfaction, squeezing your waist gently. You bask in the comfortable silence for a good while. 

     “I think y’should do it.”

     “Simon, don’t start,” you groan, but he shakes his head.

     “No, listen t’me, sweet’eart. I know ya like ‘im. Could see it when he came o’er for dinner- ah, shh, I know you.” He presses a finger to your lips when you start to deny his accusations with a whine. “M’no’ mad ‘bout it. I know tha’ ya mine.”

     “Yours,” you confirm, straddling him and pressing your forehead against his.

     “Tha’s righ’. Jus’ sayin’, if ya still wanna try one o’those li’l fantasies o’yours… I support it. I trust ‘im. I trust you.” 

     “It’s… but what about you?” You frown, humming softly as his thumb traces over the column of your throat. 

     “I won’t be ‘ere, ‘least no’ physically, bu’ I’ll be watchin’ it all ‘appen.”

     You’re obviously a bit confused by his statement and still hesitant, so Simon lightly squeezes your neck and pulls you in closer. His hot breath ghosts across your face, lips not quite close enough to touch but enough to make you crave his kiss. His free arm wraps around your waist and his hand grabs onto your hip, beckoning you forward and backward, effectively grinding your body against his.

     “Still worried ‘bout me, sweet girl?” He whispers, chuckling at the miniscule nod you give him in response. 

     “Don’t want you to be left out,” you breathe.

     “Mm, I won’t be. I’ll be back on the base, watchin’ tha’ pretty face through the cameras and rubbin’ my cock bloody raw.” 

     You gasp as he bucks his hips, his hard cock nudging against your clit perfectly through the dampening fabric between the two of you. 

     Simon Riley fucks you so good that night that you forget all about the conversation that took place right before.

     //

     The dryness of your throat wakes you up at two o’clock in the fucking morning. You never sleep well when your husband is away, and right now, Simon is somewhere you can only assume is far from your quaint little town, probably sleeping on the concrete floor of some cold, lifeless building in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t give you any details—all you’re certain of is that he’s been gone for two weeks now and you miss him like crazy.

     With a raspy curse, you stand from the bed and shove the covers off of yourself, stepping into your slippers and shuffling down the stairs and into the kitchen. You don’t even bother to turn on a lamp or the overhead light, depending solely on the glow of the refrigerator door when you open it to grab the water pitcher. You grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it to the brim, chugging it down until you’re nearly panting, your lungs begging you to take a breath. 

     Something heavy hits the kitchen tile behind you, startling you. You whip your head around in the direction of the clutter but it’s too dark for your eyes to focus on anything. Still, they dart around cautiously despite the eerie silence that settles in your house. 

     You sigh—it’s early. Your brain is probably playing some cruel joke on you because you’re exhausted and your body knows that Simon isn’t here to protect you. You chug the rest of your water and replace the pitcher back into the fridge, trying to ignore the pounding of your heart now that there’s absolutely no light illuminating your surroundings. With a shaky exhale, you slowly pad your way to the stairs.

     It’s not as easy to play off the sound of glass shattering as nothing but paranoia. Goosebumps rise along the expanse of your body as you book it up the stairs. Heavy footsteps trail behind you, right on your tail. You barely reach the bedroom before tears start running down your face. You lunge for your phone where it rests on the nightstand but before you can make contact, a gloved palm slides over your mouth and yanks you back into a hard, warm body. You let out a strangled sob.

     “P-please, I’ll do anything, just please d-don’t hurt me,” you weep, words muffled against the stranger’s hand.

     A deep, mocking chuckle rumbles through the chest pressed against your back. The person’s free hand travels up to your throat but instead of a warm touch, the cold sting of metal bites against your skin. 

     “Scream an’ I’ll slit this pretty throat.”

     A scared whimper escapes you as you nod vigorously. The hand that was previously covering your mouth runs down your body, shamelessly groping at your soft tits through your flimsy nightgown. The intruder presses his lips to your ear, and you feel rough fabric scratch your skin. He’s wearing a mask, but this is not Simon. You’ve never despised your husband’s job so much more than you do at this very moment. 

     “Such a nice rack,” the man coos, pinching one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger and tugging. “Always wondered wha’ these tits would feel like in my ‘ands.” 

     “W-who are you?” You blubber.

     “Shh, shh, shh… don’t worry ‘bout tha’, dove,” he tuts, lowering one strap of your nightie so that your shoulder is exposed. 

     Dove. You know that nickname. You know this man. It’s okay to let go, allow your body to fear because your brain knows it’s perfectly safe. Now, you can play the part and enjoy it.

     “N-no, please don’t, my h-husband will be home soon,” you shudder when you feel the material of the mask rub against the delicate skin of your neck.

     “Well, he’s no’ ‘ere now, is he?” 

     The intruder drags the sharp end of the knife down your chest, teasing your collarbones before hooking it in the hem of your nightgown. You gasp as the silk rips and ruins itself beneath the blade, falling to the floor uselessly. You stand before him naked as the day you were born, shivering from the cold and the knowledge that you’re now completely at his mercy.

     “Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell,” he growls, removing his belt and binding your wrists together behind your back.

     The man shoves you down so that your ass hits the edge of the bed. Beside you, he stabs the knife through your mattress, nearly nicking the skin of your thigh. You yelp, blinking up at him as he grabs your chin roughly. The fucker is wearing one of your husband’s infamous balaclavas, albeit without the attached skull.

     “Gonna fuck these big tits o’yas,” he sniffs, rubbing his thumb across your pouty bottom lip. “An’ ya no’ gonna say a word ‘bout it, are ya?”

     You shake your head.

     “Tha’s a good girl,” he praises darkly, unbuckling his pants and allowing his hard cock to spring free. “Ge’ my dick nice an’ wet. I feel any teeth, ya gonna lose ya tongue.”

     You lean forward to take him in your mouth, and he lets you suck the tip for a moment before pulling out and smacking your cheek with it. Your yelp only spurs him on. One gloved hand tangles into your hair as he shoves himself back into your mouth without mercy. He’s long, reaching the back of your throat with a single thrust.

      “Mmph… if ya mouth is this fuckin’ warm, can’t imagine wha’ tha’ pussy’s gonna feel like,” he ponders, snickering at the gag you can’t hold back as his tip bruises your poor throat. “Righ’, tha’s enough o’tha’, babe.”

     You gasp for air when he pulls his dick from your mouth, both chests rapidly rising and falling with effort. He pushes your tits together and narrows his eyes at you, giving each nipple a sharp pinch when you don’t read his fucking mind.

     “Spit on ‘em,” he demands. “Now. I ‘aven’t go’ all night.”

     You tilt your head down and spit a glob of saliva onto your breasts, watching as the fluid lubricates your supple skin. The man nods in approval, guiding his dripping cock into the valley of your chest. He shudders when his tip pushes through the top, fat and red and disturbingly gorgeous. You can’t help but stare, watching the way the flesh of your tits spills through his fingers’ vice grip. 

     “Wha’ is it, dove? Never seen a dick this fuckin’ big?” 

     “M-my husband-” you start, huffing with frustration when the bastard interrupts you with a guffaw.

     “Righ’. The one who left ya pretty arse all alone, w’no one ta keep ya safe? Tha’ husband?” He taunts.

     “He can’t help it,” you defend, clenching your fists behind your back.

     “Course no’, dovie. Bloody ‘ell, these tits’re so soft,” he grunts, picking up the pace.

     The head of his cock hits your lips every time he thrusts upwards. When you try to tilt your head back so you don’t have to feel it, he stops his actions and grabs your hair roughly. 

     “Stick ya tongue out,” he hisses, smacking your cheek hard enough to sting. “C’mon, be a good li’l slut f’me. Unless ya wan’ me ta take my knife t’ya guts?”

     “N-no, please,” you wince, tears starting to form in your eyes. 

     “Tongue. Out.”

     You comply with no more hesitance, whimpering softly as the man pushes your breasts together again and builds his pace back up. Instead of your lips, his tip runs over your tongue with every pump of his hips. Salty precum mixes with your saliva and drips down your chin as the lewd sound of his cock slipping through your tits fills the air of your bedroom. 

     “Fuck, fuck, m’gonna come,” he warns, his fingers digging into your slick skin with a bruising grip. “Ya gonna swallow every fuckin’ drop.”

     He moans exaggeratedly as hot ribbons of his spend fall along the expanse of your tongue, coating the muscle with the sticky substance. Along with the expected tang, there’s a hint of sweetness in his cum, and it makes you smack your lips with a twisted form of delight. Apparently, he’s been planning this for a while. 

     “Spread ya legs,” he orders. 

     “No! My h-husband will be home soon, and he’ll- he’ll kill you!” You protest, crossing your legs for emphasis. 

     “Give it a res’, fo’ fuck’s sake,” the man rolls his eyes, forcefully grabbing your knees and wrenching them open. “Ya big, bad leftenant husband isn’t ‘ere t’save ya, an’ he won’t be. Least, no’ before m’done abusing this pretty fuckin’ pussy. Now qui’ ya bloody whinin’ and pull off my glove w’ya teeth.”

     With a disdainful glare, you bare your teeth to the hand he thrusts towards you. He gives you a warning glower like he can see the plotting you’re doing in your head, but you ignore it and bite the tips of his fingers instead of doing what he told you to. The bite earns you a growl and a sharp smack to your cheek.

     “Li’l fuckin’ bitch,” he grabs you by the hair until you’re on your feet, getting right up in your face. “Now ya don’t ge’ my fingers. Tha’ cunt’s gonna ‘ave t’stretch ‘round this fat fuckin’ cock instead.”

     “N-no, I’m sorry, please-” you gasp.

     “Yeah, ya will be. Pull another li’l stunt like tha’ and I’ll yank ya teeth ou’ one by one,” he turns you around and shoves you face-down onto the bed. “Keep tha’ arse up an’ tha’ mouth shut.”

     As best as you can with no help from your arms, you get on your knees, face buried in the sheets. The man chuckles, still-gloved hands rubbing at your asscheeks. He gives them a squeeze and spreads them harshly, letting out a low whistle.

     “Look at tha’, dove,” he drawls. “Don’t reckon you would’ve even needed my fingers, ya pussy is so fuckin’ wet.” 

     You shudder when he runs the tip of his semi-erect cock through your dewy folds, yelping as he smacks it against your clit. Once he’s fully hard again and decides his cock is slick enough, he pushes in with one sharp thrust. You scream in pain, tears streaming down your clammy cheeks, as the man slowly rocks his hips to let you adjust.

     “Wha’s the matter? Can’t ya take it?” He mocks. “Didn’t think ya’d be this tigh’ after takin’ ya husband so many times.”

     “P-please, please stop!” You beg, inching forward to try and get away from the persistent grinding of his hips.

     “Ah-ah, don’t ya do tha’, girlie,” he grabs his belt where your wrists are bound and pulls back until you’re unable to do anything but take what he gives. “Wanted this pussy f’so. Fuckin’. Long. M’takin’ wha’ I’m owed.”

     The man thrusts harshly, now, the almost gentle treatment he gave you just seconds ago long forgotten. Your poor cunt is still raw from being stretched so suddenly, but in addition to the ache there’s a spark of pleasure blooming. It makes you feel sick, disgusted by your own body. It makes your pussy clench.

     “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he groans, and you can feel the way he tosses his head back. “Y’like this, don’t ya? Gettin’ fucked by someone who’s no’ afraid t’break ya?”

     “N-no!” You protest, tears streaming down your face. 

     “Mm, ya say tha’, but ya pussy jus’ keeps gettin’ wetter,” he tuts. “Bet if I were t’reach down and play w’ya clit, it’d take no time at all f’ya to cream all over my cock.”

     “No, p-please,” you whimper in an attempt to hold back your moans. “I won’t-”

     “Let’s test tha’ theory,” he lets go of your wrists, chuckling as he watches your front helplessly hit the bed. 

     He wraps one arm around your plush stomach and trails his hand down to where he connects with you, two gloved fingers circling at your sensitive little bud. Your squeal is muffled but he hears it clear as day, like you let it free right into his ear. His free hand wraps around your throat, squeezing tightly as he pulls your back into his solid chest. His hips never cease their fluid motions, and at this angle, you can feel the way his tip kisses the plug of your womb. 

     “Poor, neglected girl,” he huffs. “Cunt’s so damn tigh’, feels like ya gonna rip my bloody prick off.”

      The roughness of his gloves against the slippery heat of your clit is a blissful sensation, and that combined with his dick consistently hitting that delicate spot inside you and the slight restriction of air as he squeezes your throat gets you teetering on the edge of ecstasy. 

     “Ya gonna cum, babe? Yeah? Gonna give me wha’s mine?”

     “It’s not- not y-yours!” You rasp pathetically through clenched teeth.

     The man quickens his assault on your clit, moving his hand from your throat to your face. He squishes your cheeks until your lips pucker out, then shakes your head forcibly. 

     “Ya orgasms belong t’me, tonigh’, dove, like it or no’. Matter o’fact, I think I’d like t’show ya dear husband ‘ow pretty ya look cummin’ on another man’s dick,” he taunts.

     Your body is turned to the side as he holds your face still, forcing you to look at the little red light shining in the corner of your bedroom. You knew Simon had put those up a long time ago for safety, but you never could have guessed they would be used to capture this. 

     He hooks his fingers into your mouth and stretches your lips until your gums ache and your teeth are exposed. 

     “Smile f’the camera,” he mutters into your ear and although you can’t see the smirk on his face, you can damn well hear it in his tone. 

     “Go to- fuck! Go to hell!” You weep, your body trembling violently with the force of your orgasm. 

      “Yeah, fuck yeah! Ya see tha’, Ghost? See ‘ow good ya li’l slut is f’me?” He growls, giving your ass a sharp smack. “Think I can make ‘er squirt?”

     “No!” You shake your head, but it does nothing to deter the man. 

     Despite not having recovered from your climax, he continues to toy with your sore, overworked clit. Every nerve in your body is alight with electricity, furious lightning that has no intention of showing you any reprieve as long as the man inside of you continues his ministrations. Not once has he stopped moving his resilient hips or let up on bludgeoning your sweet spot. 

     “Open ya fuckin’ eyes, I wan’ ya t’see wha’ a mess I’m gonna make o’ya.”

     He pants breathlessly and tangles his fingers into your hair, forcing your head back and pressing his masked lips to your forehead. 

     “Gonna pu’ on a show f’ya husband like a good girl?” He questions in a whisper, using his hand as leverage to nod your head for you. “Mm, so obedient.”

     It takes just a few more circular motions from his fingers on your nub for you to see stars, this orgasm far more intense than the previous. The man laughs gleefully as your squirt soaks the sheets, fucking into you harder to watch the stream intensify.

     “Holy hell,” he beams, slapping at the wet mess of your slit over and over again until you’re drained. “Ruined the damn bed, didn’t ya? Sexy fuckin’ bitch.”

     Your limbs feel like jelly. You’re essentially useless, and he loves it. He pummels into you with a vigour you were unaware he could top, then pulls out all of a sudden, squeezing the base of his cock to edge himself.

     “Sit up,” he demands, yanking your hair back so that your clammy, tear-stained face is level with the hand now furiously fisting at his dick. 

     Without warning, ribbons of his warm spend spews across your face, causing you to flinch. The man just grips your hair tighter and smacks his tip across your cheeks to smear his cum all over your skin. 

     “Wha’ a gorgeous fuckin’ disaster ya are,” he coos, running his gloved thumb over your bottom lip. “C’mon, dove, show ‘im tha’ ruined face.”

     Your eyelids droop with exhaustion as he angles your head toward the camera once more to show off his handiwork.

     “Now, thank Simon f’allowin’ us t’play.”

     “Th-thank you, Simon,” you murmur, earning yourself a fond ruffle of your hair.

     He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and snaps a quick picture of you before he drops the act completely, tugging off the balaclava. You’re met with Kyle’s handsome face adorning a look of concern. He gently wipes away the sticky remnants of himself off of your face and tosses aside his gloves to cup your cheeks with his bare hands.

     “Ya okay?” He asks softly. “Was I too rough w’ya?”

     You shake your head as a dopey smile stretches across your mouth. Kyle lays you back against the pillows and leaves the room for a moment, coming back with a wet rag to clean the both of you up with. You open your arms towards him and he huffs with amusement, shrugging off his clothes and climbing into bed with you. He presses a kiss against your forehead as you sigh dreamily.

     You’re halfway asleep when your phone rings. It’s Simon, so you put it on speaker.

     “Garrick, quit kissin’ my wife,” his gruff voice rings out playfully from the other end of the line. “Did ya ‘ave fun, sweet girl? Did tha’ wanker hur’ ya?”

     “Only in good ways,” you slur.

     “Glad ta ‘ear it, baby. M’on my way back ‘ome, now,” he explains.

     “Ah, I guess I should see myself out, then,” Kyle hums, sitting up slowly.

“No. Ya best still be in my bed when I ge’ there, Kyle. Gotta reward ya f’makin’ my girl’s fantasy come true, yeah?”

[mothervvoid]

I’ve been thinking about ninja jesus. While I appreciate the correlations with Minato, I think there is a better contender based on looks alone.

Genma Shiranui, our lord and savior. Don’t tell me the Oral Fixation Ninja isn’t going to consent to Obikaka, because I know he will not only consent, but demand to be in on that threesome.

(I am so sorry for leaving nonsense in your asks.)

okay but if he consents that means he ISN'T the person they've gotta hold space for bcos he's gonna demand to get in on that action!!! he's gonna be like LET ME IN THERE!!!

(he doesn't consent bcos they were like genma get lost this is our private psychosexual yearning session and he's like what the fuck. why.)

[furiouslysleeping]

Hello esteemed mutual. If you are reading this, then that means my propaganda is working. But you might still have questions, so I am here to answer them.

What is Spatort?

Spatort, aka that show about the Sad Gay German Cops, aka Tatort Saarbrücken, aka 90% of my blog over the past month, is a German detective show. It's about the latest Saarbrücken team within the tv show Tatort and can be watched completely separately from the other Tatort teams. It features a team of four homocide detectives (Leo Hölzer, Adam Schürk, Esther Baumann and Pia Heinrich) who solve murders amidst all their personal drama in the city of Saarbrücken in the South-West of Germany. It's a murder of the week style show, but with personal drama of the protagonists as an overarching plot line.

Our dream team posing with a very dead girl and Rechtsmedizinerin Henny Wenzel.

Why should I watch this?

Because it's gay. There are a few canonically gay side characters, but the real meat is the relationship between Leo and Adam. They are childhood best friends who went through some rough shit together and are reunited after having spent 15 years apart. They like to have sleepovers, stare deeply into each others eyes, have dramatic break-ups and tell each other how much they mean to each other in convoluted ways. They are two co-dependent wrecks and I love them with all my heart. Will they ever become canon? We don't know. The canonically bisexual Tatort Berlin protagonist Robert Karow was allowed a gay sex scene on primetime German television though, so there is hope.

Because it's gay 2: ESTHER! As soon as she gets more than two lines of exposition (Episode 3), she starts flirting with every living woman in sight. I love her.

Apart from that, it's also just a good show. Speaking as someone who isn't overly fond of detectives, I think it has a good balance between murder mystery and character drama. The actors have great chemistry and are just so much fun to watch. There has been some criticism claiming that too much time is spent on the lives of the protagonists instead of on the murder cases, but that's exactly what makes me like this series.

This series made me fall back in love with the German language again and I heard multiple people saying the same thing.

Why is it called Spatort?

Because "Die letzte Reihe von Tatort Saarbrücken" takes too long to say and there's this shovel (in German: Spaten) that plays an important role in the first episode. (And Spaten + Tatort = Spatort).

Are there any content warnings?

Murder, violence, some episodes get pretty bloody (not quite gore but @yuespropagandablog don't watch it), abusive parents, intravenous drug use (one shot in episode Der Fluch des Geldes), overdose, and of course they're all cops.

Are there German characters in this German show set in Germany?

Yes :D

Do they all speak German?

Yep, the show is in German but there are a few scenes where some French is spoken.

But Furious, I don't speak German. How on Earth am I supposed to watch it if I can't understand it?

THEN LEARN The lovely Tumblr user @nerd-on-duty made subtitles for the first 5 episodes. You can DM them (or @krukel or me) for a link.

If I know German well enough to watch German television with German subtitles or no subtitles at all, where can I watch it?

At the moment of writing this, the ARD Mediathek has most of the episodes with German subtitles, but these are only available for a period of time. You can pay for ARD Plus for access to all Tatort episodes ever made, or you can put on your pirate hat and scourge the internet. (All the episodes are on the Internet Archive as well.)

I'm not fully convinced yet, but I do like men's tits. Is there anything you can show me to convince me to watch it?

You're in luck! This is our protagonist Leo Hölzer:

(GIF credits to @thisfeebleheart, more in this post. Also thanks to @krukel for helping this lesbian select these tits for this propaganda post.)

I'm still not convinced by the men tits. I do like pathetic blond men being put in Situations though.

You're in luck! Meet Adam Schürk:

(GIF credits from right to left, top to bottom: @thisfeebleheart, @leoholzer, @vaschbaer, @a-way-we-go.)

Okay. I've started it. Why does this intro look like it's from the 70s?

Because it is. Tatort started airing in 1970 and they just. Never changed the intro. Don't worry though, the rest of the show does reflect the time the episodes were made in.

I watched it and I love it! I need to know what happens next! When will the next episode air?

At the moment of making this post, the next episode is set to air January 2026. The one after that in 2027. Yes, you read that right, there is one episode per year.

PER YEAR????

YES. JOIN US IN OUR SUFFERING.

[diejager]

just hear me out for one second.... what if hunter was a titan?... yk like aot (attack on titan)

reader looks totally normal, nothing indicating that they were something other than human. Even laswell wasnt 100% sure on what reader was. A stirring mystery within 141 that they all collectively decide to ignore.

then one day, they were out on a mission that was going horribly, horribly wrong.. incorrect information, sabotage, dangerous illegal weapons, low ammunition, scarce supplies, severe injuries, etc.. you name it.

141 was backed into a corner. definitely not the first time something like this has happened in their career...but they always manage to find a way out. Always making it back home, injured sure- but safe..alive.

this time it wasn't the case. there was no way out, none. death was knocking on the door and soon they had to answer.....

and unfortunately reader was the first to greet death.. a clean shot to the head by a sniper

one minute reader was laying in a pool of their own blood and the next they turn into this gigantic humanoid beast.

in a fit of rage, reader starts to completely destroy the battlefield. not a damn soul alive besides 141.

bodies scattered from the sea to the forest and heavens above ..nothing but pure gore and blood.

reader standing over the battlefield bloodied from head to toe, watching the devastation below.

(This is really long im sorry)

Cw: implied death, blood and gore, Canon-typical violence, titan!reader, gun violence?, tell me if I missed any.

The last thing Horangi remembered hearing through the angered hisses and growls, Price screaming at Laswell and her informants through the coms to find a way out their thick predicament was the shuddering shot that boomed through the air. The hair of his arms raised when he watched you turn towards the sound, your wide eyes and choked breath. You flinched back and lurched forward, hands grasping at your bleeding throat, choking and gurgling on the blood that rose from your wound. He rushed to pull you into cover, biting his lip at your pained expression, you were choking on your blood, dying by the thing that substained you, that cycled life and oxygen through your body. 

Your words were sputtered, splattered crimson on Horangi’s mask as he fussed over you, your pinched brows and scrunched nose, the angered gleam in your dulling eyes and your bloody and sneering lips. You pushed him away, stumbling forward with one step at a time, risking being shot a second and third time, but you kept marching away from them, ignoring their attempt to stop you and reach for you. 

“B- bast- ard-!” He heard you screech.

He didn’t know if some God or Gods favoured you or if you were extremely lucky for still being alive, a second bullet landing by your feet and a third scratching your arm. You raised a bloody hand, palm facing you, the crease and groves of every fold a dark red, then you bit down on it. Hard. He admired the strength behind your bite, the crunch of your skin breaking under your teeth and red exploding, he could only imagine how painful it was, but you were already in so much agony, your body’s probably numb. 

And suddenly, lighting sparked around you, bright yellow and loud, scarily close to you before one thick and dangerous one struck where you stood. Within seconds, he gaped at the mass of muscles, red fibres interlocking and sticking to ligaments and fat that kept it together, tying themselves to bone and tendons, wrapping away the red and white with a wide array of red and blue, building a system of veins that were finally covered by skin. In your place was a giant —a titan, one that he’d heard through the grapevines of black markets and hushed whispered and rumours from the underworld when he gambled his life away. 

The titan - you - let out a loud scream, head thrown back and arms reeling back, fingers clenched in anger, deep sated vitriol that carried you around them. He could only stare on in amazement as you trampled over the surrounding enemies, bending down to grip a man, your thick fingers clenching around him and squeezing the life out of him, leaving his entrails spilling out of his broken abdomen. You moved around stepping and squeezing them to death, a trail of carnage behind you, bodies strewed about, spines broken and heads rolling. 

He let you go on without a word, his breath stolen away by you when you slumped over, your nape breaking open with a loud hiss, steam billowing up the air from how hot your body ran, you arched out, body curled backward with a loud sigh. Horangi stared at you, unmoving and unbreathing, and only moved when Price rushed to you, climbing your titan body to pull the rest of you out, your arms and lower body still attached to it by thick, red muscle. Your feet stuttered, eyes blinking tiredly while you leaned on Price, groaning and rubbing the tension out of your temples. 

He realised the blood that was supposed to stain your skin and clothes were gone, evaporated in the heat of it. Your wound healed and energy spent, you were tired and grumbling about wanting to sleep, face pinched in irritation or annoyance, something he could feel. And without any complaints from them, Price had called for evac and waited at the LZ, everyone huddled around you, sharing the same amount of awe and surprise in their expression. You were a wonder to him, a beast of legends that Horangi had only heard of, but he had many, many questions and curiosities that he wanted fulfilled.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[surfeitstar]

redamancy — akaashi keiji x reader

ᯓ✦ ๋࣭ ⭑ social media au! (smau)

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

chapter 1 — the afterparty 🌀

(please ignore the dates! party started on 4/2 ard 9pm, ended @ 4-5am. this is rather a long chapter because of the written parts, but trust the process!)

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

written portion below! ⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃🎐 ⋆

⋆˚✿˖° your point of view

the club lights flash in bursts of colours— red, green, blue, white— each pulse too quick for your eyes to catch up. you start to feel the ground vibrate as everyone around you begins to dance and jump to the beat the dj had just put on. the air is thick with heat, sweat and alcohol, but you were just about done with the party for tonight.

your hands tremble as you try to reach for your phone, the people around you frantically trying to push past you with their arms high up in the air, screaming shouts that barely slip past your ear as you felt your migraine getting worse by the second. it’s so loud. it’s so much, almost too much. your phone didnt even bother lighting up, it was dead. you should’ve charged your phone before heading over here, you scolded yourself mentally.

your eyes frantically looked around the room, hoping to spot a familiar face in the sea of drunken faces before you. you tried your best to focus, but the room begins to spin as the burst of colours begin to bleed together in a neon blur. you couldn’t spot anyone that you knew in the crowd. everyone was merely a stranger, faces that were bathed in a multitude of neon colours for a few seconds before disappearing back into the darkness.

god, your head hurts.

you try to force yourself past the crowd, slipping through dancing drunks and dodging swaying bodies. you squeeze through each narrow gap, rushing to make it before the gap closes. you let out a sigh of relief after finally reaching a door.

you push open the door almost instinctively, sighing in exasperation as you see the flight of stairs to the rooftop. desperate for an escape from the stuffy atmosphere, you push yourself to climb up the flight of stairs. slowly, but surely, you told yourself.

the door to the rooftop flung open as you pushed it. you were practically crawling at this point, so worn out that you could practically pass out right there and then. your hands pushed forward, your knees scraping against the rough cement as you crawled forward. you felt your knees starting to sting, bruises starting to form on your knees. you probably shouldn’t have worn such a short dress.

“are you okay..?” a soft voice asked from above you.

you slowly looked up, seeing a handsome figure with black hair and glasses offering a hand as if to help you up. the moonlight casted a cool glow over his features, his dark hair slightly messy from the night breeze. you noticed how his brow was furrowed and how his lips were slightly downturned. concern was etched onto his face, and for a moment you could’ve sworn you had seen him somewhere before.

“my head hurts,” you murmur as he squats down to your eye-level. “do you remember your name?” he asks, his tone gentle and calm.

“yn ln,” you answered slowly. your eyes met his gentle, green eyes. you could almost feel the heat rush into your cheeks as he smiled softly. “you can call me akaashi.”

your brain took a while to process that piece of information. akaashi slowly helped you lean against a wall nearby, offering you a bottle of water as you begin to remember where you recognise him from.

“you’re kotarou’s friend,” you finally blurted out. akaashi almost looks surprised, his eyes widening slightly. “you know him?” he asks, taking out a powerbank to charge your phone.

you nod slowly, trying to gather your words as you watch him plug in your phone to his powerbank. you never asked him to do that. did you? “i manage his team. also you don’t need to do that..” you reach out, trying to take the cable out of your phone. akaashi pulls back, not allowing you to grab the cable or powerbank. he shakes his head. “i insist. plus, it’ll help you contact your friends.”

you blink slowly at him, observing his expression for any sort of hidden agenda or ulterior motive. he seems sincere, at least to you. his dark green eyes almost looked like it was glimmering in moonlight.

“thank you,” you smiled politely. “it’s not a problem, really. you feeling better?” the dark haired boy asks, tilting his head slightly as his eyes darted across you, almost as if he was inspecting you. you nodded, blinking slowly as you feel the alcohol you had downed with atsumu and osamu begin to take effect.

your head slumps forward suddenly. fortunately, someone’s cold hand reaches out almost immediately and instinctively to catch your forehead. his hand is extremely cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the heat you feel spreading across your body.

“hey, hey,” his gentle voice calls out to you as your eyelids droop slightly. you couldn’t help but link that to how bokuto constantly screamed “hey, hey, hey!” after getting in a good spike. you laughed to yourself silently, appreciating your own sense of humour before meeting akaashi’s gaze once more. “i guess i do sound like bokuto-san, huh?” he asks as he smiles, his tone gentle as ever.

you smiled. this was nice, you thought to yourself. you didn’t mind this, not even a little bit, not even at all. he begins to start a conversation with you that would unknowingly stretch into the early hours of the morning. this was probably better than what you were used to at parties, you hummed as you watched him talk intently.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

a/n — sorry this chapter is so long, please do lmk if you prefer shorter written portions and more of the smau! also i saw multiple authors have this thing called a taglist, do lmk if i shld create one!

m. list || next

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

thanks for reading! all characters belong to haikyuu, all writing belongs to surfeitstar, please do not repost without permission. reblogs are greatly appreciated:) — ©️ 2025

[forestshadow-wolf]

Happy christmas! @maicandy

This was supposed to be like 1.5k words turned into 3.4k

No warnings. A bit of action, nothing graphic. It should be a fun read (I hope)

Ao3 link

“A’righ’, ya muppet, get up.” Price chuckled, “I signed it fifteen minutes ago, when you handed it to me.”

“Fift- then wha’ th’ fuck am I on th’ floor for!” Soap climbed up on aching knees, Price looked like he was in pain with how ard he was holding in his laugh.

“Wanted to see how far you’d go.” he shrugged.

“Oh, up yer arse wi’ it, ya bloody baw.” Soap scowled, adding, “itsnae funny.” when Price couldn’t contain his boisterous laughter any longer. He slumped into the chair he should have been sitting in, and pointedly did not sulk. It was about as funny as a Scot dating a Brit. It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t.

“Oh don’t sulk, Soap, I was never gonna send him to Siberia in December.”

Soap slumped harder in his seat, making it a point to not look at Price. He was mad at him. It was harder to hold his frown when the man was gleefully nudging him with the toe of his boot. Okay it was a little funny. Not that he would ever admit that to the man.

— — —

“How are you gonna jus’ sit there!” soap threw his arms up in exasperation, “he ‘ad me on my knees, an’ you’re laughing!” he was starfished across Ghost’s bed while the man worked on reports at his desk. Laughing at him. Not exactly routinely… okay it was pretty much standard.

“You won’t even tell me what you were there for, why would I help you.” Ghost shoots back at him smoothly. Bastard. 

“Wha! You dinnae need to kno’, yoo’re just supposed to defend my honor.” Soap cried in faux-offense.

“ ‘Defend your honor’.” Ghost parrots as he sits back in his chair, he hums thoughtfully as he turns to look at soap, “for all I know you were getting in trouble for taking Price’s cigars last week. I don’t think that’s an honor even I can defend.” Ghost chuckled, catching the pillow Soap threw at his head. Soap was going to say something else when Ghost’s phone rang. taking it out of his pocket, “it’s Price.” he said before answering.

“Yeah, he’s here.” Price’s voice was loud enough to hear, but not loud enough to make out what he was saying, so Soap was only privy to a one-sided conversation. “No, not terribly. You ask me that after you ask if soap’s here?” Ghost bolstered, “mmmh not likely. And you mettle too much.” there was a pause that Price’s muffled voice filled. “Did you call on business, or just to poke at me?” Soap couldn’t tell if it was annoyance or deflection, but if it was Price on the other end it was all in good nature. “But it’s christmas. Soap has-” price, evidently, cut him off, “Fine.”, Ghost hung up with a sigh. “Price needs us geared up and on the tarmac in fifteen.”

— — —

They were kitted up and waiting on the tarmac faster than you could say ‘Two Clicks and a Cracker’, fortunately Price didn’t make them wait too long. He met them with a cigar, and two folders tucked under an arm.

“New mission.” he holds out the folders for them to take, “and before you start, I did my best, but without either of you putting in leave there’s not much I can do. But,” Price sighed. “I pulled some strings. You two are going to Chile for the next three weeks. We had a team pass through a few months ago, they had to crash at a safehouse for a few days. They sent in a report of broken equipment and utilities. It needs to be cleaned, as well as restocked.” Soap flipped open his folder, the list of broken shit was longer than it reasonably should be, in soap’s opinion. “Now, as your directive is not a highest priority you will have a scheduled exfil for January second at fifteen hundred local time. With what remaining time you have between infil and exfil, you will keep an eye on everything to make sure it’s running smoothly. You’ll have quite a bit of time on your hands, so just chill out and don’t break anything, I don’t want to have to go back to fix anything any time soon. Capisce?”

“Yes sir.” Soap flipped his folder closed, they had a long list to do, but nothing they can’t handle. Ghost was still studying the photos in his folder, as thorough as ever. “When do we-”

“Are these bullet holes?” Ghost cut him off, holding up one of the photos.

“Well it’s a military safehouse, what do you expect?” price said, unworried.

“For them to not break the safehouse.” Ghost deadpanned. Which to his credit, yeah that was usually what was expected. “Was there contact, or were they just dicking around?”

“The reports say there was brief contact, but all hostiles were neutralized.”

“Which could mean exactly nothing in this line of work.”

“It’s been months, Ghost, you’re always so suspicious.”

“It pays to be a skeptic sometimes.”

“Just take the free vacation, Ghost.” Price exasperated.

“Since when do I take vacations?”

“Since now.” Soap jumped in, he wasn’t much one for sand, but he wasn’t complaining as long as they weren’t sent for snow. Plus, a little birdie told him Ghost loved the beach. Ghost whipped his head to him, soap watched his eyes look him up and down.

“Soap hates the beach.” Ghost turned to Price. Soap wasn’t sure when or where he got that information, but it was Ghost, so he probably had a way.

“Nae, the beach is fine, Ghost. When do we leave?”

“Now. Nik is loading up your supplies in hanger two.” Price handed Ghost a card, and an envelope. “Money for anything else you might need.” he paused, “do not spend it on porn.” he said with humor in his eyes.

“What if it’s really important though?”

“If it was, I’d have already bought it myself.” Price walked them over to the hanger where Nikoli was waiting, and saw them off.

— — —

The human body isn’t meant to sit in the back of a cargo plane for twelve hours straight, though he’s had worse on cramped commercial flights, so he’s only allowed to complain a little bit.

Nikoli helped them unload, and then he was back in the air headed for home within an hour and a half.

When they finally shuffled all their things to the door and opened it up. The place was a mess. Soap stepped inside and just dropped his bag on the floor while he took it all in. It was like a frat house hurricane swept in, trashed everything, and left. Ghost pushed in beside him and all but froze.

“Well… looks like we got some work to do.”

“Steamin’ jesus, what did they do?” there was trash and takeout boxes everywhere, cans of beer to go along, and soap kicked probably a dozen shell casings just walking further into the living room. He’d seen the pictures, but he didn’t think it’d be this bad.

“C’mon help me get the rest of the stuff inside. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.” Ghost broke from their stupor, turning out the door.

It took a little longer without the help of a third person, but by the time they were finished they had stripped a few layers in the heat, and the sun was just beginning to set. They’d both stripped their kits, Ghost the mask and hoodie as well, Soap himself had stripped his own shirt off as well. 

“Go get a shirt.” Ghost instructed, pulling out a face mask from his bag, and slipping the card into his pocket. “We gotta head to the store for dinner.” Soap tugged his shirt on as Ghost spoke.

— — —

The following two weeks were spent sweeping and cleaning, and fixing whatever they could find that was broken. Which included but was jot at all limited to, a broken water heater, A drippy shower, a leaky sink, a toilet that didn't flush all the way, and the team that was here last had left a broken down humvee around that back which Soap had taken to taking apart to fix.

But aside from that Soap didn't think they'd get all the shell casings given a whole season. And in the most random of places too. Obviously the living room, but also under the bottom cabinets In the kitchen along the crown moulding, behind the doors of just about every room, there were a few behind the toilet and in the bathtub, he even found one in the bed that first night.

Price and Laswell kept in communication, calling them every few days just to make sure everything was running smoothly, and to ask if they were in need of any extra parts that hadn’t been sent. As predicted everything was running smooth as butter, they updated them on what they were able to fix, and what was taking a bit more time. Soap had gotten the humvee running before the end of the first week, and road worthy by the second, albeit missing a few parts. The windshield was cracked to shit, and the metal top had been taken off in place of a canvas one, but it was solid. It was smooth until Laswell called one morning without Price.

“Soap. Ghost.” Laswell’s voice came through the phone’s speaker.

“Laswell. Is Price there? This isn’t a scheduled meeting.” Soap answered.

“On his way. Where’s Ghost?”

“In the shower. I assume something’s come up.”

“Local law enforcement tells me you have hostels inbound, but they won’t come near it with a ten foot pole. I’ve sent Price and Gaz your way, but they won’t get to you in time.” Laswell informed. That wasn’t exactly the news he wanted to hear.

“Do we know how many?”

“Last time anyone was at your location, it was a team of five. I’d hazard a guess at two dozen.” seems a bit overkill to him, but who’s he to say.

“How long do we have?”

“Six, maybe eight hours.” okay not as bad as it could be.

“Aye, I’ll let Ghost know. And Laswell?”

“Yeah, Soap?”

“We’re gonna break a lot of shit. And I don’t want to fix it.”

“I’ll get it taken care of.”

“Thanks, Laswell.”

“Merry Christmas. I’ll see you back at base, Sergeant.” she cuts the line. And it was only after a moment of heavy contemplation that Soap realized it was christmas day. And he hadn’t even gotten Ghost anything.

Soap could still hear the shower running, it would likely be another while before Ghost finished. He was tempted to join him, but he knew himself well enough to know that he shouldn’t get distracted.

— — —

It must have been a half hour later when Ghost came and sat on the sand with him, wrapping himself around soap, legs bracketing around him. They’d spent quite a good amount of time on this beach. It was a private spot, the water washed up a dozen feet from the house at high tide, and the treeline began right where the steps met the sand. And he found, he didn’t mind finding sand in all the unholy places quite so much when Ghost was involved.

“Laswell said we have incoming.” soap muttered softly as Ghost kissed up his shoulder to the nape of his neck, he could feel still-damp hair brush over his neck and cheek, but he leaned into it instead of pulling away;  like he probably should have.

“But we have time?” Ghost pressed his face into the back of his neck, hugging soap closer to him.

“Beaches aren’t so bad.” he hums. It’s answer enough.

“When’d you decide that?” Ghost mumbled into his skin.

“Just now.”

“Hmm I like the beach too.” Ghost said after a moment of contemplation. And Soap wanted to stay there for eternity, but they had five hours to prepare and they needed to go to the store. Ghost’s arms wrapped tighter around his middle. Maybe they could say for a few more minutes.

— — —

“You’re flooding the sink?” a quick trip to the store, which consisted mostly of string and snacks, had them back at the house within an hour. This was the last thing in order after setting up the rest of his Home Alone traps. They had probably just under an hour, and now Ghost was questioning his decisions while he was checking and loading their firearms and eating Soap’s gummy peach rings. That he teased Soap about getting.

“Obviously. Nobody wants to see a flooded sink. Whether it’s yours or not.” Soap rolled his eyes, shoving more cloth and sand down the drain. He very specifically kept his eyes away from the cabinet above the microwave, there was no reason for him to look there. truely. “Those are my peach rings, by the way.” he didn’t really care, they were mostly for Ghost anyway.

“Mmh, obviously.” Ghost said around a gummy as though it wasn’t obvious. “What’s that mean for the dumber of us?”

“A flooded sink is never good. Mean’s it’s connected to something, or something’s gone wrong. Plus water on the floor means they can’t sneak, and they leave tracks. If anything it draws their attention for a second, and that’s a second more for us”

“Smart.”

— — —

“Soap two vans just pulled up.” Ghost’s voice came through their comm line,  the flora around the house wasn’t incredibly dense, but it was enough that it made Ghost difficult to spot if you didn’t know to look for the crook of branches twelve feet up. Soap only knew because he helped him up there.

“Think they’ll check the bathroom or the bedroom first?” He was precariously crouched barefoot behind the kitchen wall, just barely out of sight if they peeked in at the sink, water from the sink licked at his toes. Armed only with a knife, a pistol, and an extra magazine. If he played his moves right, they wouldn’t see him until it was, hopefully, too late.

“I reckon they’ll split up, ‘s what I’d do.” soap could hear boots stomping up the two stairs to the front door.

The door slammed open just before Soap could respond. Almost immediately the rope tied to the door handle pulled taut, and the shotgun sprayed buckshot as the trigger compressed. He heard a body hit the ground, followed by shouting and sounds of panic. He heard more soldiers storm up the wooden stairs, whoever stepped through the threshold first pulled the tripwire. It pulled the pin on the grenade.

“Beautiful, Johnny, I count eighteen, down to fifteen. I’m heading to the back, arm the backdoor when you're out, keep it loud.”

The remaining soldiers continued with more caution. There was a pause, then uneasy shuffling. More footsteps entered into the house. Soap could feel the tension as they split up. The water around his feet rippled as one of the soldiers stepped into the water by the sink. There was a nook in the kitchen that created a blindspot from outside of the kitchen, he stepped into view, and sunk his knife into the throat, and gently lowered him to the ground before he even had a chance to react. Four down, fourteen to go.

Almost simultaneously the shotgun in the bathroom went off, and shouting and gunshots came from the bedroom, letting him know they tripped the flare in the closet he’d used as a distraction. That was Soap’s cue. He whipped out of the kitchen, snatching up the shotgun that took out that first soldier. With one more shot in it, he aimed at the second soldier in the bathroom, and shot. He went down like a ton of bricks. Six down, twelve to go. This is where it gets hot. He unholstered his pistol without waiting to watch. Four shots. Two bodies. He ducked behind the couch. They all aimed at him, he was outnumbered, but they didn’t know the space, and he was two steps from the back door.

“Ghost, I need out.”

“Copy.” Half a second later the glass at his back splintered, and one of the soldiers fell over dead. And the rest scattered for cover like cockroaches from a light. Nine down, nine to go.

Soap didn’t wait, he flew out the door, arming it as it closed behind him. Ghost met him as soon as his foot touched sand. And there wasn’t a second to spare when the door flew open behind them. They split and ran down the beach, careful where they stepped.

“Soap,” Ghost called, waiting for a response.

“Ghost.”

“wanna see something sexy.” and of-fucking-course he did.

“You know I do.” And not a moment later did he hear a boom accompanied by the sand under his feet rattling, and he could see sand and bodies flying. Soap let out an overexaggerated moan. Too which he got a chuckle from Ghost that he could hear the eye roll through. He will be salty that Ghost got to set off the first sandy explosive later. Eleven down, seven to go.

Soap could hear the two soldiers behind him, he wide-stepped over a small rock in the sand, and detonated the explosive buried right below in two paces. The shock sent him off balance, but he caught himself before he fell. Thirteen down, five to go. And he was out of tricks. He had three more after him, and lead flying by his head.

Pinwheeling around a bloody large boulder he deaded back the way Ghost was headed, he could see Ghost had been able to do just the same. Trust. Ghost had two on him. He didn’t stop running as he shot.

The first one went wide. The one after had a body falling, and the one after that had the other soldier stumbling. He couldn’t tell which bullets flying by his head were Ghost’s and which were enemies’, but somehow, some miracle, none of them hit him.

— — —

He frowned as he opened the cabinet above the microwave, it had been bullet ridden, but somehow he’d still hoped the little skeleton ghost plush he’s bought would have remained untouched. It wasn’t so. Stuffing fell out before he even opened the cabinet all the way, and what greeted him when he did was a very sad, very stuffingless once-was plush. He pulled it out with a frown anyway.

He turned to toss it in the trash, and promptly had a heart attack when he turned around and Ghost was right there. He clutched the sad bit of fabric to his chest, and panted dramatically.

“Christ, Ghost, scared me half to death.”

“I’d hope not.” Ghost smiled. “What’s that?” soap held out his was-gift.

“Oh. uh merry christmas?” he felt his face pull in disappointment, “I was hoping that it would somehow stay safe, but…”

“Lemme see.” Ghost held out his hand for the thing. “Eh he’s not so bad. Just needs a bit of stitching and stuffing, and he’ll be right as rain.” he smiled at him. Then, impossibly, his face brightened further, “wait right here.” and then Ghost was out of the kitchen.

Soap stayed put like instructed. Christ they’d made a right proper mess of this safe house. Water everywhere, shell casings, damage to everything. Price was going to throw a fit when he saw it.

“Okay close your eyes and hold out your hands.” Ghost said before he walked in. soap did as told. Something was placed in his hands, “okay open.”

It was a leather bound Journal, with his initials engraved into the front. He flipped open the cover to see that ‘SR’ had been scratched into the inner surface, along with a polaroid of Ghost, and a sleeping him in bed.

“I noticed you were getting to the end of yours.”

There were so many things Soap wanted to say. That he loved it, he loved him, that it was the best thing he’s ever been gifted, that it was a privilege to get this, that he was honored that Ghost would put their names together, that Ghost would let him see his face. He settled for kissing him instead.

— — —

There wasn’t much for Price and Gaz to do when they landed, except help pack. And Soap and Ghost left for base with them. There wasn’t much they could salvage without another team and more tools and parts. And what could be done, wasn’t worth the effort after they just fixed it. So home they went.