holnnetd

[holnnetd]

Op can't be more right, I still remember that one comment I got on the 5th August of 2024, telling me that my fic was good and I will never forget you Fluli. You are invited to my birthday party anyday.

"i don't comment on ao3 because i don't wanna be annoying or weird" skill issue + you greatly underestimate the power dynamic here, writing multi paragraph comments is like feeding a bunch of deeply insane and possibly starved ducks at the park and watch them go completely mad over having received a piece of bread

[holnnetd]

Amen to that random person on the internet, amen.

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[holnnetd]

Im abso-fucking-lutely obsessed with the way the artist draws this bafoon.

Look at the glass in his hand. Please, you can't look at him and think "oh yeah, he looks like a sweet guy.😊" NO! HE'S AN ASSHOLE!! EVIL ASSHOLE

Look at his evil face!

EVIL POUT

EEEEEEEVIL POUTS

[holnnetd]

I'm like yes you humane fools, come here to mama, let me see what got you so hooked you had to go onto my profile! Spam me! Hahahaha!

one tumblr thing i will neverrrrr understand is writers who don't like spam likers. i can think of two differnt (non-cod) writers i follow who say they'll fully block people who spam like their posts. why???? like you can literally filter out "likes" in your notifications if you just want to see comments that badly lmao

[holnnetd]

So.... rape fanfiction

Warning: talk about rape, assault, stalking and touchy topics, mentions of other crimes like killing, torture, etc.

Read at own risk.

So I've seen several posts talking about how the OP hates rape fanfiction and how it should be just stopped. And here I am to give in my two cents:

First, I don't condone rape, in fact I don't condone ANYTHING that happens without consent, may it be touching, helping, advice or opinions. If the person of interest does not want you to do something, don't do it.

Second, I, myself, am a rape victim. I was raped, sexually assaulted before the age of 15 for several years, I have been stalked and got death threats, insults and whatnot from my rapist. I pressed charges, they were dropped and now I live to hate the judicial system.

Third, why do I think that rape fanfiction is okay.

So, as we established, I'm not a random person talking about something I do not know about, I survived various sexual assaults against me. And I will speak only of my experiences.

Do I think rape fan fiction is bad? Yes and No.

No, because these fanfictions are fictional (fanfiction). They do not represent the real world and the author probably doesn't want the reader to get raped by some fictional character. Rape fanfiction is written and consumed predominantly by survivors, or people that have sexual preferences for such thing, but don't want to act them out, because it's literally rape.

Sure, I get the point of "SA survivors should not read about it because it's a bad coping mechanism" and I know that it might look odd for someone to read something they'd hate to experience again, but reading about such traumatic experience can help the healing process. The reader can stop reading at any time, maintaining a feeling of control about a situation they previously haven't had the control over, and authors have the control of stopping the text. Also, reading fanfiction is the first step into slowly being okay with intimacy, after being terrified of it -because of assault-.

By making all rape fiction disappear we would just censor it fully and make it out as a —more than it already is— taboo topic, to never speak about it, which would have some pretty negative results.

We are progressing as a society that speaking up about things that happen against your consent is fine, that you're strong for that and you should not hush about being raped.

If people start hushing about it, this will put shame on people that were raped, because the topic will be immediately shut down, because it will drain the mood. And we certainly don't want the low rate of people speaking up about rape to drop to zero.

We have come as an author community to normalising things if they are fiction while keeping the "oh fuck, that's bad... I probably wouldn't do that..." factor in real life.

We agreed that writing about killing isn't a huge deal, because most of people wouldn't go out and start killing people after reading a horror genre, because it's BAD and we all know it. And we all have morals.

People write gore stuff, and people watch gore stuff. We don't point fingers at them and say, "hey, you are watching a victim in a horror movie get cut in half by a saw, you probably want to cut up people too!" Because we know that it's not real. Yes, there were saw murders, they happened, and films not only romanticise but also spread such content.

So where do we draw a line? What is okay to consume while being acknowledged as fiction and what isn't?

Also, yes, rape fiction can be bad, as it can trigger survivors to relive their past traumas. That is why EXPLICIT content warnings are extremely important. Blocking users, or tags of such nature is a great prevention of you —to people that don't want to read contents of such nature— don't stumble upon this media.

And to whoever doesn't tag their warnings properly, fuck you. Really, it's not hard. Sure, won't look as aesthetic as you want it to be, but sucks to fucking suck. Fucking give correct warnings, tell the consumer what they will consume before they bite off more than they can chew because of your ignorance.

But please give me your share of thought. I just gave my silly opinion on a topic. I'm no one but a person online sharing my experience, don't tell me off, because I only take constructive criticism.

Also, it's a safe space for anyone. If you want to talk, my account is absolutely open for anyone. I'm open minded.

[holnnetd]

König and his past

I've done too much research...

He's still a handsome young man, but now he holds a rifle and skiis.

WARNING: just some canon mentions of violence, I don't think it's bad, nothing else, yeah I'm being tame

"Ich will ein Jagdkommandos werden." This boy, now a young man, 21, four years of service behind him, never stopped to scare the living hell out of you.

"I'm sorry, you want to become a Jagdkommandos? Young man, you're aware you're 21?" You ask him, turning your head around to look at him.

Still same after all these years, worrying and fussing over him. He smiles, scratching his cheek as he leans against the kitchen counter, eyes follow you as you wash the dishes.

"Mhm." He muses, arms crossed over his chest.

As much as you haven't changed much, he did. Physically, mostly. The boy that was about half a head taller then you, towers over most furniture in your house. The upper cabinet you never organise because it's a little too far up? He can easily reach and grab the muffin tray you thought you once lost.

Mentally? Did he change? Sure. He became confident. That's about it. The anxiety is sometimes still palpable, mostly when he doesn't take his meds, which he clearly doesn't.

"I mean, I became a Gebirgsjäger pretty quick. Two years in the Alps is soothing my nerves, sure, but I want something more." He adds, now placing both his hand on the counter behind him, tapping his finger repeatedly on the wood.

"You can't keep still." You conclude, reminding him that this was the exact reason why he couldn't become a sniper. Because he couldn't keep still.

"It's not the same."

"Sure."

"Liebes, I can qualify. And if not, I can reapply again. And if they don't accept me I will just stay in the freezing cold, skiing all day." That's far from what he does everyday, but he'd rather tell you that's the main activity.

He couldn't imagine how you'd react if he told you he climbs 15-20 km every day, carrying around 30 if not 40 kg of equipment, shooting birds when he's bored—Sure, shooting birds in your free time is not up to the code, but he's still salty about not being accepted as a sniper. If he can shoot a bird from half a km away, in the freezing temperature, he should be allowed to shoot people—, and drinking tea from melted snow.

"You don't skii around all day in summer."

"I climb."

Sigh.

"Why Jagdkommandos? I'm already terrified you won't come back home, and I'll only get an ice cube of a man at my door."

"You were terrified I'd die in bootcamp."

"You could have!"

"The computer isn't doing you any good, just reading about how soldiers die in the most tragic ways isn't healthy. It's giving you anxiety. You think any phone call will be to notify you that I'm dead in a ditch."

Guilty as charged. In some down time you do scroll through the web, reading all about military and how many die, or the stories of dead soldiers being shared by devastated family members. Whenever he's back you fuss over how many soldiers across the world die, only for him to tell you that he didn't.

"But what if you will be dead in a ditch?"

"Then my ghost will come back and haunt you." He laughs, walking up behind you and placing his head on yours, glancing down at the dishes.

It's a comfortable moment, a soft beat of silence and some bodily warmth.

"What do the Jadgkommandos do?"

A smile perks up at the edge of his lip, and he wraps his arms around your waist. Of course you give in.

"Kill."

Your brow furrows and you lightly elbow him to his side, drawing out a hearty chuckle from him.

"What? They do." Another jab.

"Fine, fine. Other then rigorous training? They are like the elite of elites. Badass. But I can't tell you a lot. I'd have to kill you if I did."

It's not uncommon for him to talk boldly, never keeping his tongue to himself around you.

Sometimes even literally.

From time to time he'd come up to you, wrap his awfully huge arms around you, and then just lick your cheek before walking off, no words said at all. And you sit with a confused expression on what the fuck that was supposed to mean.

"How long are you staying?" You finally ask him, and he hums in thought. "Week. Then I'm going back to the mountains."

You nod lightly.

...

Something is off.

"What? You want me to leave early?" He asks, a light smile tugging at his lips.

"No- no. That's not it. It's just—" and that smile of his drops. "—I'll have a guy over. I don't want him to get the wrong idea."

"A guy?" The questions comes out slowly, his brows furrowing, as if he wanted you to repeat yourself. "Wrong idea?" Surely he misheard.

"Is something broken? I can repair it." He quickly chimes in, figuring "a guy" is just someone that wants to help a lady in distress.

"No.. no. Nothing is broken."

"Then why is a guy coming over? And why would I need to leave?"

There's no reason to. No, no.

"I... wanted to spend time with a friend. He works at the butcher, and—"

"You want to have Konrad over?" Well if that's not a damn betrayal, he doesn't know what is.

"...How do you know him?" You ask softly, placing the dishes away before taking off the gloves and looking up at him. His arms let go of your waist, and you think you can finally have some space, but he just grabs your ribcage and turns you to face him.

"Warum zur verfickter Scheiße willst du Konrad hier haben? In this house."

"I—"

"You know that he had his dick in half the women in the whole city? Him? That fucking guy?"

Your words stay stuck in your throat, not uttering a word. Not because of what he said, but because of his disapproving gaze, the deep eyes boring into your own. The shimmer dimming.

His hands hold tightly onto your ribcage, and you know he could break in a rib if he pressed a little harder.

Maybe something more then just his appearance changed.

"No." He shakes his head, letting go of you.

"Absolutely not," he repeats, turning on the balls of his feet to lean against the counter.

"Mh-hm." He shakes his head.

His foot taps, and he walks out of the kitchen, putting on his boots and grabbing a jacket before leaving without another word.

"█████! Wait!" You call out to him, quickly biting your tongue at the use of his name.

He came back in the evening. Footsteps heavy. He took of his boots, placed them neatly next to yours and walked to the bathroom, washing his hands.

You tip toe down the stairs to peek around the corner. "Kleiner..." That Nickname never changed over the years.

"Are... are you fine? Is he fine?" You question, walking into the bathroom to glance over his side.

He gruffs out a noise, before drying up his hands on the white towel, turning to glance at you.

"Alles ist okay." He then adds, ushering you out of the bathroom with a hand on your lower back.

Away from the bloodied sink and stained towel.

"It's late." He adds, ushering you to your bedroom, before lightly pushing you into bed.

Or well, what he perceived as lightly.

His trousers and shirt were both quickly discarded and he climbed into your bed with you, hands gripping onto your waist, only to pull the shirt up a little and wrap his arms around your bare skin, not saying a singular word more.

"Can you stop pulling my shirt up?" You just question, looking down at how his hands are perusing to tug to get it off fully. Seems like a little skin of your waist wasn't enough.

"I need to feel your skin." He murmurs, trying to tug it off. "Mama let me do it whenever I felt down."

You're not his mother.

"Fine."

"Hm...," he smiled and buried his face in the bare skin of your chest, pajama top discarded on the ground.

Exactly one whole person asked me to write part three, and I can't ever deny my precious content consumers a little food. @demothers-empty-blog yes I did it for you 😘

[holnnetd]

König and his past

Mmm a vision ✨

WARNING: I don't think there's anything crazy about it, brief mention of domestic violence ig

He had grown a little older now. Barely a year. Now he's seventeen, finally old enough to...

"i want to join the military."

Clank.

His eyes flickered to the spoon you just dropped, letting it fall back into your soup with a splash.

The soup droplets land on the newly washed white tablecloth.

Silence.

"Hear me out-" he wants to start explaining but the look you give him dimmed his hopeful gaze.

"██████."

His head drops, his fork idly turning the meat on his plate.

"I told you not to call me that..." he whispers.

His real name. Before he started eating properly and grew into a young handsome man, you called him sweetie, sweetheart. Now? That doesn't feel appropriate.

He is tall, gained muscle mass and looks like a proper young adult, a patchy beard growing in, one which he refuses to shave. It's soft, the little hairs probably tickling his face.

But he pressed, stubbornly persisting that he didn't like the name because that's what his father named him.

Said that his mother too used any other pet name, anything but █████.

You sigh.

"Military?"

He falls silent again, but a twinkle of hope lights up in his deep blue eyes.

"My grades are sh— erm.. not well enough to pass. And others at school hate me anyway..." He ponders moving the meat around, leaving a smudge on the white ceramic plate from the sauce.

"It's not like they would miss me."

"Kleiner..." You sigh, but find no words to disagree. You yourself were in highschool not long ago. You know how it is to be bullied.

"You shouldn't be around death..."

"I shouldn't be around a lot of stuff. Like a hateful environment. Or people forcing me to take drugs."

"And military is any better?"

"No drugs."

Touché.

"Why do you want to join the military?" You ask, trying to find the reason for why military in specific.

His tongue glides over his upper teeth in silence.

It stretches uncomfortably long and you reach for your spoon again, thinking this will end.

"I don't want to be weak."

Your expression turns from concerned to pity. He more then once expressed how he blames himself for what happened with his mother. Because he wasn't strong enough to protect her then.

"He went to military too." You remind him, placing your hands on the table.

"...I know..."

"You wanted to be different."

"I am not like him. He," sigh, "I want to protect those I love. He did too,... he wanted us to stay together but... in the wrong way." Even at an young age, he comprehends things most adults can't. His father did what he did. His motives were pure, but the very rest was what made him bad. Horrible. There is right word to call him.

He is a fucker that deserved to die for what he had done.

"What if you die?" You ask, looking at him with those worried eyes and he bit his chapped lip, letting go of his fork as he leans back into his chair.

"I won't."

That is by far not good enough reassurance to send him off to the military.

"I'm sorry, I can't... I cant allow y-"

"I want to protect you."

"I know bu-"

"My Mama died because of me."

"No"

"Yes."

"███—"

"Doch!" He rasps out, standing up from the chair with more vigor then intented. The chair falls back and you flinch at the sudden noise.

"Oh mein Gott." It dawned on him the same second, how he raised his voice, how you flinched away, how much it brought him right back to his past, this time not as an innocent boy watching his father scream at his mother, but now he saw his father in himself, screaming at his wife.

His eyes immediately flickered and his lungs felt empty.

"Oh mein Gott, Scheiße—" he dropped to his knees in front of you, grabbing your hand and clutching it.

"You—"

"I'm sorry— I'm so sorry— I shouldn't have raised my tone, please I'm sorry. I'm like him— I'm so sorry. I—"

It broke your heart to read through the document, while the young man sit next to you, perched and looking over your shoulder to ensure you sign it.

It's the parental consent form for joining the military. He's 17, only months away from 18, yet he decided that he wants to join the military right now at this moment. Or well, in a month, when he's expected to appear for the bootcamp or something.

"Are you sure?"

"Never been more sure."

You run your tongue over your teeth before looking at the last line. "Guardian signature".

Click and with a flick of your wrist, the ink embeds itself into the newly printed paper, signing off your consent to let him join the military.

You've never seen him so... smiley and happy, absolutely delighted to have joined a force where he will kill people for money.

And there you saw, that rare smile, one that reminds you of his late mothers.

The tender, happy smile.

"For my country, and for you. Especially for you." He said at the porch of your little house, hugging you close to him before he left for bootcamp, to partake in basic training.

[holnnetd]

König and his past

I've been pondering...

One day we all agreed that König is a mamas boy. But also, how does it translate to his younger years?

Warnings: major death scenes, abuse, abuse against minors, a lot of blood, kinda sad, domestic violence, THIS IS ONLY FICTION, I DON'T CONDONE THIS SHIT

Blood, blood, blood and even more blood. A young teen. Barely past his puberty.

A boy and his mom, and his dad.

She couldn't protect him, because she was weak herself.

"Love is a beautiful thing, ██████." She said to her son, combing her hand through his shaggy hair, blood already dried on her face. Despite the abuse, and the saddening days, she never lost her softness, nor that sweet smile.

"You will know how nice it feels one day." She added, smiling down onto the boy in her lap.

He barely remembers her eyes anymore. Even pictures seem to blur in front of his vision.

But he could remember the soft smile and chapped lips, kissing his head and rushing him back to his room as she heard the front door open.

His father wasn't... bad... Not until his mother mentioned a divorce. The tense air turned to a stench of blood.

He loved his son, somewhere deep within. Surely...

But not enough.

Just short after his sixteenth birthday, that love diminished. Little König, long before he got his name, stepped in, tears in eyes as he stood in front of his crying mother, shielding her from the swinging fist of the much bigger man.

And the man couldn't care who he hit, as long as he hit someone that day.

And with a rough hand he grabbed onto the boy, landing a single hit to the scared big blue eyed face, before a knife pierced his back with a shrilling screech.

And the man landed on the ground, coughing up blood through rage filled screams and curses. He let go of the boy, only to change his victim and take the knife out of his back, tearing up more of his own flesh.

If he went down, he would take someone with him.

And that day, the little boy lost both his parents. Both of them crumbled on the ground while he was covered in their warm blood and holding a broken nose.

After the realisation that both his parents were gone, for good, he tried, really tried to grab onto his mother, apologising for stepping in. He shouldn't have, maybe then his father would have been calmer. Or he should have been the one to stab the disgusting, bad man. He—

"Hallo?" An uncertain voice, phone in hand already talking with the police.

The handle of the door opened and you were greeted with the absolute look of a carnage. It's a blood bath.

Your eyes widened and the phone clacking on the once unstained hardwood floors.

"██████, hey, hey. Hey. Oh my god, oh my god." You repeat in your own mother tongue, staring at the child whimpering and crying.

You ran up to him, dropping to your knees and wrapped your arms around him, lightly pulling him away from the dead body of his mother.

"M-i-" he sobbed loudly, "-iss..." The little voice came out so broken as he buried his face into your shirt, apologising profusely while calling out your name.

You're not Austrian, moved into a little house as a way to escape your own worries and finalise the dream of owning a little something for yourself and maybe a dog. You started studying in the same small city because they conveniently had a college with your specific expertise.

Their house was no more then 5 meters away from your cozy home. Sure, you heard cries and shouts from time to time, but which couples don't fight?

It wasn't until there where some serious screams from one side and then a loud -the walls are thick in Austria, so the noises must have been loud- sounds of falling.

You kept the window to the side of their house open, to hear whatever happens better.

And whenever the father left, you would visit your neighbours, checking in on the bruised mother.

She had a kind smile, and soft tone, always reassuring that she fell or hit herself. That she had a boy and they played sports often.

She loved her husband too much to say anything out loud.

Whenever you came around, the boy didn't speak. He barely peeked around the corners to look at you or silently sat somewhere in the same room. He didn't have a warm smile.

Actually, as far as you remember, he never had a smile on his face. Just that gloomy sad expression, brows furrowed upwards.

You told them that they could stay at your place if... something happened. The mother just smiled with a nod.

It has been going on for a year, until you finally decided to find the bodies.

The police came not long after, taking pictures and asking you about details while König still tried to calm down and stop waiting from the loss of his mother.

The questions were standard protocol, long and easy to answer, some might have made you feel guilty, but that's the police's job. Why didn't you step in before? Are you sure you weren't in contact with the father? Do you think either of them could have seen other people?

The boy still wasn't able to answer. So you brought a heavy blanket from your house and wrapped it around him, staying by his side since then on.

And since then on he refused to leave your side as well. The questioning by the police was only able to happen if he could hold onto you and feel you near him.

And that was probably the very first times you've heard him speak a complete sentence.

With a lot of pleading and some connection accumulated from living a small city where everyone knows eachother, you got to be his legal guardian.

It took months and a lot of documents, but finally he came home to live with you, for good.

It was normal for him to develope feelings for you. May those be an unhealthy dependency or a sickening obsession to stay by your side, see you as a motherly figure.

You did took on that roll after all. He was hard to separate from his mother, much less from the neighbour that bow called him sweetheart and babied him, despite him not only being taller and stronger, but also not that far from your own age.

[holnnetd]

Hehehe, two moody teens going at each others throat. Look at them fighting! make them kiss

Also the name "Begbie" caught me so off guard.

Hello fellow human,

I've seen your main list (wait I forgot how it's named), anyway, I've seen at the very bottom there is a little "Graves" mention but no Graves 😔 so I've come to request you.

....

In my golden days I've been writing a lot of stuff about him, but I didn't post none, but I want to see your take on my idea. If you so condone ☺️

Graves and reader both under the command of Sheph. And both of them fighting like siblings for his attention, by any means digging holes beneath eachother just to be the favourite.

hiiii <333 sorry this took years :( i actually really enjoyed writing reader and oc in this one, so they might get reused for a sequel :D

You jiggled in your chair as you checked your third account. God bless Shepherd’s fat paychecks! Closing your laptop, you made your way down the barracks, smoothing out the wrinkles on the arms of your shirt.

"Begbie! Get your ass in here!” You called out from the other side to the door to your second in command. 

“One sec!” You heard stumbling around, something falling, hurried steps. Begbie opened the door panting, only half of her face visible, blue eye darting around. 

“You caught me unprepared, Commander.”

“Try jacking off in the evening. Now, I just got news from daddy dearest, a general briefing in one hour. This could be huge for us. I want you to warn the Arrows and meet me back in the hall.” Begbie just nodded at your commands and closed the door again.

You took care in preparing yourself for the video call. Not that you wanted to appear particularly attractive to Shepherd, ew, but you felt the need to always show up impeccable, so that your looks wouldn’t be attacked lowly. Especially by a certain someone who enjoyed kicking you when you were already down. 

“General,” you chirped enthusiastically some hours later, “and Graves,” you added unenthusiastically, “good afternoon.” Shepherd greeted you back neutrally, while Philip Graves didn’t even respond, his gaze away from his camera, almost as if he had much better things to monitor around himself. The smug aura that surrounded him, the pleasure he got from diminishing you, was still evident over video call. You would have liked to chew him off, but right in front of your employer? No thanks. You did roll your eyes to Begbie though, to which she just shrugged.

“As you know, I’ve already engaged both of your services for this operation. I trust that both Shadows and Arrows will work together to retrieve the package.” Shepherd stayed in silence for a second more than normal, and it would have been daft not to get the implicit warning in it. Stop fucking around and get the job done.   

Well. You’d try. 

“Task Force 141 will be there as well, but their objective is different. Try not to mind them.”

“Understood, General.” You heard a tsk then, and your eyes flew to the side of the screen. Indeed, it was him again. Rage rose in you before rationality could rein you in.

“Excuse me, Commander?”

“I’m sure you won’t mind them, Commander,” he mocked, smiling sardonically, “not the way you were begging for a crumble of attention from Price last time.” The blood in your veins chilled altogether, and you felt like dying that he’d decided now was the right moment to push that knife in. 

“I don’t know how this concerns the assignment,” you settled on through your teeth. It wasn’t an outright denial but it was the truth– you were sure Shepherd didn’t give a shit who you tried to sleep with, and why would he. But Graves liked to put you in uncomfortable situations to try and diminish your power in everyone’s eyes because, at the end of the day, you were competitors. That was all there was to it, really. 

 “Right. It doesn’t,” said Shepherd, thin lips in a hard line, and you wished, you wished it could count as a win for your team, but unfortunately he just sounded like he was sick of both of you and Graves and not that he was siding with you. 

//

“I think he’s psychosexually obsessed with you.”

“What?” Your exclamation was almost unhearable as the driver drove on the bump with a little too enthusiasm. And frankly you hoped you heard Begbie wrong.

“He wants to have sex with you but can’t so he takes out his frustration this way.”

“You have to stop watching Youtube videos every time you’re not working.” You sighed, rubbing your nose. You didn’t particularly care why Graves had it for you; it was obviously some form of male chauvinism in response to having his source of income threatened. The funniest thing was, your Arrows weren’t even trained for the same tasks as Shadows. Existence in peaceful union was possible, if only you and Graves could find a way to get off each other’s backs. 

“I’ll try to ignore him harder this time.”

Begbie raised an eyebrow, and oh– again with that smug smile! Could the people around you go one second without implying something?

“Will you only talk to Captain Price?” You glared at her. She was a formidable unit but a terrible gossip.

“He didn’t seem interested and I’m not that pushy.” Admitting it gave you heartburn but it was the truth. A true soldier knows when to retreat. 

“Aw. You should still try, though,” she cradled her jaw with her hand, “see how Graves responds…”

“And you should try to keep your head on your shoulder before it gets blown off. Understood?”

//

“Yes, yes…”

“Commander,” you greeted as you walked to the other car, Begbie on your heels. Graves was talking to another Shadow of his, and 141 were nowhere to be seen. You were all supposed to at least meet at the start and then go your different ways.

Graves had his hands tucked in his vest, blue shirt under. Hair meticulously fixed, soft tan on his face. Many things about him could be criticized, but his looks weren’t part of it. He made no attempt to conceal the fact that he was checking you out as well.

“Commander.”

“Oh, so today I got a hello, huh?” So long for trying to be mature about it. Your mouth had another complete conscience of its own. Graves smirked and settled on his feet.

“Now now. It’s too early to listen to your nagging, and we have a long day ahead of us. How are the ladies?” A vein in your forehead twitched. Not all Arrows were women but the majority was and this, too, was something he always poked at.

“Oh, so they get a handshake, huh?”

“They’re fine. How are the bottoms of the barrels doing?”

“Splendid and thriving. Hard not to when-” his words died on his tongue when another humvee entered the clearing, Captain Price and his Sergeant Gaz exiting the vehicle. You quickly shaked both men’s hands with a smile on your face. Despite your cheer in seeing trustworthy allies again, a voice whispered from your right.

//

It was done. Could it have been done a little more carefully, with a little less spilled blood? Probably. What mattered was that the “package” has been retrieved in decent form, and that Shepherd would be pleased. Thankfully, you and Graves had split roles evenly and managed not to get in each other’s way for the rest of the time. When seen from afar, he was almost bearable. You and Graves called Shepherd from a makeshift tent, 141 and its charming captain already gone. 

“General, the package is already on your way,” you smiled, your arms crossed on your chest and hands resting below your armpits. You could almost feel the air puffing up in Graves’ chest.

“Not thanks to her, General,” said Graves, “almost drove us into a ditch!” You chuckled bitterly, and this time the eye roll was right in front of Shepherd.

“I did not. In fact, had I not changed the course, we would have been done for. But it is typical of you to just change the facts for your personal interest.” You could feel the wrath raising through your neck, the molten lava hot blood pooling your face. Graves, on the other hand, didn’t look bothered at all– he was still smiling through it all.

“Nervous, Commander? Jumpy?” He implicated something you did not care to decipher, the quirk of his mouth, the winkle in his eyes bothering you, unsettling your heart. Driving away, as always, you schooled your features and turned back to Shepherd.

“General, I do not think the Arrows and Shadows should work together any-”

“I’ve had it with both of you,” Shepherd interrupted you, hand on the bridge of his nose. The tone of his voice was exhausted, perhaps even begging, and you remained silent. He continued.

“You’re adults with an important position and influence. I cannot have you bickering right in front of me like a couple of moody teenagers, or worse. Every time you put this act on, I lose some of the respect I have for the both of you.” You felt a breath being kicked out of you, and settled down. Shepherd then made his last regards and closed the call, leaving you in the improvised room with Graves, silent on your side. Eventually, you turned to him when you felt him staring at you. 

“Happy now? We are both idiots in our boss’ eyes.” You spoke freely, no one around to act shocked at your obvious antagonism towards the man. He laughed, again, the fool, and you had half a mind to shoot him there and then.

“I’m my own boss, baby. Try to remember that.”

“God, do you ever get less corny?” 

From outside the tent, Begbie and the senior Shadow present, Lerch, shamelessly eavesdropped on their commanders.

“He’s playing the long game,” said Lerch, and Begbie nodded. 

“I think there’s quite a long way to go, still…”

[holnnetd]

You're fucking with me OP, they like... jump out? Like for real?

Yknow this whole time my only experience with sex was through fanfiction and I thought the description “his cock sprung from his boxers” was a hyperbolic statement till me and my husband got it on and when i tugged his pants down it quite literally sprung out 😭

once ages ago i was with getting it on my partner and i got uppercut by his so like i guess we're fighting.

[holnnetd]

Dating Johnny, but...

Simon still wants you dead 😄

(not proofread, so so so so not sorry)

Johnny MacTavish, in all his glory. Or well, in all your glory. His hands paw at your chest beneath your shirt while his lips are latched onto yours with a sickening excitement.

Lately, you've had a hard time getting a moment together to yourselves. There was always something to do, or someone interrupting.

So when you get half a second to yourself, quickly rushing into the nearest unlocked room, you find that your hands can't exactly detach from eachother.

Not until there's the sound of a door handle being pressed. Not that it matters to the blue eyed, it'd be all fine with him if anyone wanted to watch what sins are about to be commited. But you whip around to look at who's entering, and it's Simon.

That fucker.

"Fuck, stop-" you cough out, trying to get Johnny to stop eating up your jawline and cheek. "Why?" He groans, before his eyes flicker to the deep brown ones, staring at us.

And that bastard doesn't move an inch.

Which one? Neither fucking moves.

"Ghost." John murmurs with a sigh, before pulling away to face him fully, hands still groping at your chest with no shame.

"Price is searching for you." He responds gruffly, staring at his teammate before his eyes flicker to your own, judging. Pretty obviously too.

"Aight', I'll be right back." He groans, unhooking his hands from under your shirt and straightening up to leave, but not before placing a wet smooch on your cheek.

Simon stares at him leave, before the door closes and you're both left alone. He flicks the light on and stares at you once more, with a tad more judgement then you'd think he could give you.

"Price is with his missus."

He huffs at your comment. A man of little words and a bland sense of humor. "Right."

...

"What is your problem with me?" You finally ask, readjusting your shirt.

"You breathe."

That's not much of an answer. 'your existence' hahaha, so funny.

"You don't?" You scowl back. Really mature of him. Stop you and Johnny from making out because what?

"Are you jealous?" That seems to make his brows crease discouragingly. Hah, how could you say that?

"'m sorry?" His tone comes out baffled as he places his arms over his chest, directly staring down at you. Literally and methaphorically.

"You should be. You're trying to break me and Johnny up since the day you figured out we were dating."

Only a gruff and a twitch of his nose as response. "I can have you buried in less then a day, you know." It's wasn't even a question. He knew you know. You knew he knew. Anyone who came across him knew.

"You'd do that to Johnny?"

Another gruff. This time no added comment.

He didn't answer the question.

"Are you jealous, Simon?"

"Ghost."

"Are you jealous because I stole your crush, sir?"

A twitch of a nose and he turns to face the door, grabbing the handle. But you decide to do the most drama movie thing ever,

quickly speeding to him, hand on the door to shut it back closed while glaring up at him.

He doesn't flinch, or react for that matter. His eyes just slowly trail from the door to your fierce ones.

He says nothing, always choosing to not speak first.

"I will do whatever with my boyfriend I please. I don't care if you have some massive crush on him and would rather be in my place. Queue up, bitch." The words come quickly and with surprising coherency, no stutters or mispronounced words.

And then you grab the handle too, or well, grab his hand still on the handle, before quickly slapping his hand off and pulling it down, exiting the room just as quick.

You don't realise in the moment of annoyance how his eyes widened. Nor how quick his hand retracted on it's own as it connected with yours.

To say that he was shocked someone so below him talked to him like to a child, cursing him out to his face, was an understatement.

Of course, you had attained the immunity to being massacred by Ghost the day you became someone important in his mates live, but holy fuck.

That attitude of yours needed some serious fixing.

Right after he fixes the bulge in his hand, whilst staring at the hand you touched accidentally.

[holnnetd]

Man, look at his silly ears

fanart of THIS POST , by - @holnnetd hare König WHICH i very much enjoyed because i love hares and rabbits and bunnies of sorts very nice very cool

[holnnetd]

bite sized snack

[holnnetd]

Let's talk literature.

Nvm, just have some more Hare!König because fuuck, I need his silly little tail and pretty soul-less eyes and those legs. OMFG

Legs.

Hare!König has some strong legs canonically, but FUCK Hare Hybrid!König crushes unripe watermelons like it's a grape between his fingers with those thighs.

Talking about those legs of his. Hare!König would in any situation where he sits, want you to step between those legs of his. He'd love to have your legs barely brushing against his huge legs. He doesn't strike me as a lap-straddling guy, no, he's more open for you to sit on his thigh and look at him smash some guys on his switch.

Hare!König enjoys being licked. Why? Hares get licked as a sense of dominance. While cats do the opposite, they lick to assert dominance. He strikes me awfully as someone who'd want you to rest on him and pepper him with kisses, being licked in any shape of form is just a way of making him feel manly and boosting his ego.

Hare!König sleeps barely covered. Unlike bunnies, hares don't dig themselves into the ground, but make shallow little holes and sleep in those, making them look like they are playing hide & seek while failing miserably. He does that too. Even if you cover him up at night he will kick his cover off of his body and wake up without anything covering him. His shirt? Whole chest uncovered. Pants? One pant is up to his thigh while other down, waistband exposing a good majority of his v-line.

Hare!König that's just so ridiculously horny for no reason. He cums too fast, really. God forbid he gets those hands of his on your body. One squeeze of your ass and he's already semi-hard, tip red and angry. Send him a picture in lingerie or nothing at all? He's fisting himself there on the spot. That comes from the "heat" all around the year aspect. He basically has the horniness level of a teenager that discovered how to search up "big boobs" on their mom's laptop.

Hare!König that really likes eating greens. Refuses to touch a carrot, but loves to eat a whole bowl of salad with tomatoes and vinegar sauce. Drop in some olives and he could eat it all day long. Low-key prefers greens over meat, but keeps a very strict one to one ratio so he stays big and strong. Ridiculous mommies boy.

Hare!König who enjoys sweets. So, so much. REALLY loves pastries with fruits in them. Give him some warm apple pie with a scoop of ice cream and he's sold, ready to pop a ring out of nowhere and get on his knees. Maybe lock you to show off that you're the dominant one from now on. You can bake? You two are practically married. Cozy little partner that makes cakes and cookies and bread and oh... Please don't tell him more, he couldn't possibly handle the fact you are even more perfect then you are.

[holnnetd]

You better shoot me too because I'm coming for both Price and human sans 💔

A Scar to Remember

Pairing: Phillip Graves x Ex!Soldier!Reader

Author's note: *Butter's voice* "KILL JOHN LENNON. KILL JOHN LENNON." Look I love Graves. Phillip Graves is my husband. But my husband is a war criminal. JK PHILLIP GRAVES APOLOGIST.

Inspired by: @holnnetd Grave's Fic

The bar was dimly lit, hazy with cigarette smoke and the lingering scent of spilled whiskey. The kind of place where men like Philip Graves went to forget things. Or, more accurately—to drink until nothing mattered anymore.

You watched him from across the room, perched at the bar, legs crossed, a drink untouched in your hand.

He was slouched over a glass of bourbon, gaze unfocused, a drunken haze wrapped around him like a second skin.

It had been months since the last time you saw him. Since he put that scar on you. Since he betrayed the 141 and left them for dead.

And now he was going to pay for it. He just didn’t know it yet.

You moved slowly, deliberately, letting the heels of your boots click softly against the wooden floor as you approached.

Graves didn’t react at first—his shoulders were tense, but not alert.

“Need some company?” your voice was smooth, teasing.

He finally looked up. And for a second—Nothing. Just the glazed-over eyes of a man who had spent too much time running from ghosts.

You gave him a slow, knowing smile. “Didn’t think I’d run into a man like you here.”

Graves huffed a laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. “A man like me?” he muttered, voice hoarse, laced with exhaustion.

You leaned against the bar, letting your fingers toy with the rim of your glass. “Wrecked,” you mused. “Looking for a way to drown it all.”

His eyes flickered. Something lazy, intrigued. “Yeah?” he murmured. “And what is it you think I’m drownin’?”

You shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

Graves stared for a second then he smirked. And that’s when you knew you had him.

You let the conversation flow, let the drinks keep coming—though you hardly sipped yours, just watching, waiting.

Loose-limbed and warm from one too many drinks, he let himself be pulled by the hand of a woman who had been eyeing him from across the room.

A woman who felt familiar in ways he couldn't name.

You led him through the back door of the bar, out into the cool night air, where the sound of music was muffled, where the world slowed.

He smirked, hands finding their way to your waist.

"Feisty little thing, aren't you?" he murmured, voice thick with whiskey.

You said nothing. Just swayed, slow and deliberate, your body pressed close to his, your warmth bleeding into him as the wind ghosted along his skin.

He exhaled, dragging his fingers along your hip, slipping under your shirt, feeling the bare skin beneath.

His thumb brushed over a raised scar. He froze.

His fingers lingered, tracing over the ridges of the scar, a scar he knew, a scar he had put there himself.

A hand slid to the back of his neck. Another curled around his shoulder, holding him in place. And your lips, warm, familiar, dangerous, brushed his ear.

"Don't you dare move, Philip Graves."

His breath hitched. At that moment he knew exactly who was holding him. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed his thumb harder into the scar.

You winced.

"You here for me, darlin’?"

Her breath shook. You tightened your grip on the back of his neck. And in a voice that was barely there, you whispered—"I wish I wasn't."

For the first time in years, he felt something close to regret.

His lips ghosted along your jaw. "You gonna kill me?"

You exhaled, slow and shaky. A single tear slipped free. "Not me."

That was what did it. That was what made his chest tighten, ache, burn.

The door behind them opened. Boots hit the floor. He already knew who it was.

“Philip.”

Price.

Ghost.

The moment was gone. But for that single breath of time—You had held him. You had been his.

Graves exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. Then, he turned his gaze back to you. “Well, darlin’,” he muttered, voice dry. “Didn’t know you liked it this rough.”

Now, you were the one who was going to watch him die because he deserved this.

The cigarette burned between your fingers, its ember flickering in the cold air.

You inhaled slowly, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling through your nose, watching it curl into the night.

They had him inside the safe house. Philip fucking Graves.

Bound to a chair. Moments from death. And you were out here. Not inside. Not watching. Because if you saw the light leave his eyes, you weren’t sure if you’d feel satisfaction or grief.

The first time he kissed you, it had been reckless.

A mission gone sideways, an adrenaline-fueled collision, his lips tasting like whiskey and war.

"You and me?" he’d muttered against your mouth, breathless, grinning. "That’s a dangerous fuckin’ game, sweetheart."

You had smirked. "Good thing I like danger."

And that was how it started. With the illusion that you could ever love each other without consequence, Graves had always been a man of war before anything else.

You took another drag, exhaling slowly.

"You here for me, darlin’?"

The words still echoed in your skull.

The way his fingers had pressed into your scar.

The way his voice had dropped when he asked, “You gonna kill me?”

You clenched your jaw. Because he had known.

From the second he recognized you, he had known how this was going to end. And he had accepted it. That was what killed you the most.

Not even that you still loved him. But the fact that he never begged. You weren’t his to save anymore. And he wasn’t yours.

The door behind you creaked open.

You didn’t turn.

Didn’t acknowledge the way Price’s boots scraped against the gravel, the way Ghost loomed silently behind him.

"Any last words?" Price asked, voice low.

You took another drag, eyes flickering toward the window where you knew he was sitting inside. You exhaled, letting the smoke curl into the dark.

A silence stretched between you. A long, heavy pause.

You just shook your head. Slow. Somber. Final.

Price exhaled softly. Then, after a beat—he turned and walked inside.

You didn’t follow. You just stood there, staring into the dark. You had finished your cigarette, the last ember flickering out beneath your boot as you crushed it into the dirt.

And moments later, a single gunshot shattered the silence. You heard it echo through the dark, a final, merciless sound that marked the end of Philip Graves.

The end of everything.

And before you could stop it—before you could swallow it down like you had every other emotion tonight—You sobbed.

A sharp, raw, broken sound tore from your throat, your knees nearly buckling as grief ripped through you like a bullet.

He was gone.

Then—Boots. The sound of a door opening. Voices. Price and Ghost were coming.

And just like that—You shut down.

The sobs stopped instantly. Your body went still. Your face turned to stone. The grief still sat in your chest, coiled tight like barbed wire, but you buried it.

Price reached you first. He saw something in your face—maybe the lingering wetness on your cheeks, maybe the way your arms had locked around yourself like you were holding your ribs together.

He didn’t hesitate. He just pulled you into him.

Strong arms wrapped around your shoulders, warm and steady.

A silent comfort. A moment of understanding. His breath was low, steady, his grip firm as if shielding you from the weight of what you had just done.

You almost let yourself fall into it.

But then, your voice came. Flat. Empty. "I’m okay."

Price pulled back slightly, searching your face.

"I’m okay, Cap." Deadpan. Emotionless. Numb.

He gave you one last squeeze before letting go, nodding. "A'right."

Ghost had been watching.

And unlike Price, he didn’t believe a word.

Because he knew.

Knew what grief looked like when it was buried too deep. Knew what real numbness was. Knew what it meant when someone’s face went blank, when their body went still, when their words came out dead and hollow.

You weren’t okay.

Ghost didn’t say anything. He just watched.

Watched as you shoved your hands into your pockets. Watched as you took a deep breath, exhaling like it meant nothing. Watched as you turned and walked toward the waiting truck, moving like a ghost of yourself. And as you climbed into the back seat, staring blankly out the window, he finally muttered, voice so low it was barely there—"Fuckin’ hell."

Because he knew. You had left something behind in that room. Something you would never get back. And you would spend the rest of your life pretending you hadn’t.

[holnnetd]

Graves and one night stands...

Graves, that has an old old habit of picking up girls from bars, taking them to a hotel nearby and fucking till sunrise before abandoning the wreckage with a charming smile and a "That was great, sweets", leaving no trace behind him.

Any girl he might have banged that tried to reach him? Found out he is non-existent other then the memory of his hands on skin. No profiles anywhere, no-one remembers him and the charming words don't fit in anyone else's mouth just as well.

No connection is the best kind of connection a man of his status can build. He doesn't really feel guilty, no, they were blessed by his magic wielding dick after all. He might have some superiority complex, yeah, but that's not the point.

The point is, picking up ladies is no problem for a man with an equally skilled silver tongue. A small compliment, a little laugh and a long enough southern drawl makes him sound almost exotic anywhere else he goes.

What also is exotic anywhere he goes are women he has an uncanny feeling of meeting already.

They look awfully similar to eachother, but always a different name and no memory of him.

Whatever, must be the alcohol pushing his type onto the appearance of other women.

What's great about it is that the vaguely familiar women always feel the best. The most delightful cunt and prettiest sounds.

Not that it matters in the big picture. His routine is to work, drink, fuck and kill. Maybe squeeze a small party here and there when the team deserves it.

And the clock ticked the fuck hour, so he's sitting at a bar in yet another city, indulging in some alcohol and the sight of sweethearts in the dim light.

"You don't look like a local." A female voice draws him out of his thoughts, making him glance to the side where you slid over to him, settling on the empty stool.

Wonderful, less work for him. "Haha... is it that obvious?" He smiles, before glancing down at the glass being pressed into his hand.

A fresh whiskey on the rocks.

"It was watered down." You nod at the barely touched glass in front of him, the ice long mixed with the alcohol.

You've been watching him, hm? That's fun.

"I haven't been offered a drink from anyone yet." He chuckles, looking into the glass. Just a habit of checking for any visible drug.

Its funny, in retrospect, who would drug a man that's willing to get into anyone's pants for a quick fuck?

"I can't say I'm not positively surprised tho." He muses before taking a swig, not too large, just enough to get the taste and burning feeling.

"Where are you from?" Your voice feels awfully appealing to his ears right now.

"From 'round the world." He chuckles, looking over your posture. A leg over the other and a straight back. Not drunk, he notes.

And a smile from you pulled him in, just a little more. The alcohol must have hit because you look similar as well. Beautiful magnifying eyes, that he would swear he'd seen around-

"You must work a travel-friendly job, hm?" The words pull him out of thought.

"You could say that." He'll indulge your questionnaire. It's almost a script he follows,

Small chit chat,

"Let me guess, do you.... air travel? Are you a pilot?"

Some useless questions he wouldn't normally entertain,

"Keep on guessing."

"Okay... A journalist?"

"I wish."

"Alright... maybe..."

Then he moves onto complimenting,

"...maybe you're a surfer? Or you do some sport?"

"Eh, not exactly. I don't do sports." Other then killing, but that's not that much of a sport.

"Oh wow, you have me in a pickle."

"Don't worry, sweetheart, my job isn't that interesting. You look like you work somewhere appealing. I can swear I've seen you somewhere? Are you a model? Actress?"

You laugh so sweetly too.

"You flatter me. No, no, I'm nothing of that sorts." You hold your hand out and he takes it, brushing his lips over your knuckles.

"Phillip." He quickly introduces himself, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

"Apate." As many names around the world he heard, Apate was never one of them.

"Unique, what's the origin?" He smiles.

"Ah, just Greek mythology I believe."

And then finally he goes for the win.

But this time he got surprised with you tugging on his hand, initiating the leave.

He laughed softly, placed a pair of $20s on the bar before following you right out.

The alcohol must have been stronger then usual, because he couldn't remember how he found himself in a bed, with your hips straddling his, skillfully moving them up and down.

The night was nothing more then snippets of you absolutely obliterating him.

"Come on Commander, be a man, stop whining." Your voice would cut through the loud ringing in his ears.

He didn't tell you what he does for work.

"Jeez, you're so pliant after comming," you muse out, hips connecting back with his. His mind feels mushy.

"Fuck-" he groans, hands holding onto your hips as his thumb rubs into your skin.

The scar.

That fucking scar.

The scar he himself left. It's a specific one.

Raw and still fresh.

"Fuck..." he repeats, eyes awfully heavy.

"You won't remember me the next time either." Your voice rings out.

And the film cuts.

The next morning he wakes up with a scorching head ache and blood dripping down his nose.

He was fucking (sleeping with) the enemy the whole time.

[holnnetd]

Dating Johnny, but...

okay, I got a thought.

John MacTavish is just a delight. Gets midnight zoomies, eats a shit ton, energetic, weird, PRETTY, (LOOK AT HIS EYES AHHHHH) just matches your vibe to the maximum.

And there is Simon.

Simon finds Johnny delightful too. He'd rather die then say that out loud. And he feels awfully protective over him. It's his lad, a man he'd die for on the battlefield. He always swears it's nothing more then brother-ship, but everything knows he's treating him a little differently then he is his captain.

And when you started dating Johnny, shit went to hell. Simon is confused, because he hated you just for looking at Johnny with pretty eyes. He never hated anyone just because. But here he was, scoffing at you and vaguely threatening to bury you alive for hanging onto his Johnny teammate.

What does Johnny do? Just bask in the chaos.

His favourite lad and bonnie are growling at eachother? Get him popcorn, because he's watching and enjoying this shit.