#I did make a different version of the ghost one but that one's got blood and stuff

[rainbow-flavoured-skittles]

this was supposed to be Echo but the spirit of Morro possessed me and forced me to draw him instead

Name: Morro Wu

Alias: Jade Owl

Powers: Aerokinesis, enhanced healing and durability, enhanced senses

Age: 16 (at time of death)

Backstory: Morro's parents abandoned him for unknown reasons, and upon finding him Wu adopts and trains him. He was the only vigilante active in the city, taking Wu and Garmadon's place as its protector. During the Preeminent's first attempted takeover, he is killed in a search for the Realm Crystal, and is brought to her dimension. He becomes the Preeminent's second-in-command and returns to Ninjago years later.

Additional notes: He was the first to have a bird themed name, and Lloyd chose to have a similar name in his honour. The other vigilantes followed suit. He started training at age 10 and became a vigilante at 13.

+ ghost version :)

[dcxdpdabbles]

Can we have more crazy antics of Oldest Batkid Danny!?

In particular order, here are ten things Danny "The Mence" Fenton-Wayne has done after being adopted by Bruce when his parents sold him to a lab:

1. Danny once flooded Wayne Manor before he found out Bruce and Batman were the same person. He thought Batman was a vampire and the running water would stop him. If they all drowned in the process, they at least would not suffer being vampire food.

2. Alfred has a rule that every Wayne needs to work part-time to be humble and appropriate working class. Danny created his own business of leading people on ghost tours and made SURE they always saw one. He purposely pointed at people in school after word got around and whispered, "The spirits want you." Everyone freaked.

3. Dick made ONE comment of people being mean to him in school for being raised in the circus. Danny cut the power in Gotham Academy and released laughing clowns animatronics waving chainsaws into the hallways. They were programmed to avoid "Fellow Circus folk" painting Dick as a hero when he walked his terrified classmates out .

4. During a live interview, Danny twisted the questions on the host, who was attempting to make Bruce look like a bad Father. He then painted Bruce as someone showing severe signs of depression (overly drinking, too many smiles, giving people too many gifts, vanishing from the public eye, and searching for comfort in someone's arm) and then making the host cry by psycho-analyzing him.

5. Organized a protest for affordable housing and kept kicking the gas grenades back at the cops when they were called on him. It took seven people to get him into a cop car in handcuffs, and he was hissing the entire time. When Bruce attempted to bail him out, Danny moved the funds to get the innocent people out and refused to get out of the cell until the cop who punched him cried.

6. He shaved Clark's head because he couldn't scare him with a knife. Clark was more impressed that he did it without him waking up. He left oniomous messages written in what Clark thinks is blood on his walls, saying, "Stay away from my Dad. Keep it in your pants."

7. Armed with a clipboard, Danny habitually throws people out of Bruce's galas. He doesn't even explain himself; he just pops up, points at someone, and shakes his head. A security team swarms the person and tosses them out before they can get a word in. Bruce did not hire that security team. (Danny throws out people flirting with Bruce)

8. He was accused of being Batman or working with him once. He responded with a smile and a gentle, "If I were Batman, I wouldn't have let any of them live." Everyone agreed there was no possible way he wouldn't go for the kill if he had the chance and never questioned him again about it.

9. He Got the words "Peace was never an option" tattooed on his back by a Crime Alley tattoo parlor. Bruce had to then bail him out again when Danny fought off a gang who attempted to mug him as he was leaving the alley with his new tattoo. He had proof it was self-defense and spent the entire news coverage gushing about the tattoo artist's skills instead of the mugging.

10. Every time Bruce brought a new kid after Dick to the house, they were under the impression Danny was a violent, unreasonable person. They were shocked to learn he's the most in touch with his emotions, regularly does self-improvement, keeps up with his therapy, and is so soft with them; he is the walking embodiment of Doting Big Brother. In his hero persona, he is just as gentle and fondly looked upon by the masses. It took them a moment to realize that Danny had copied Bruce's idea of keeping his hero and civilian ID separate. The only difference is that his Hero version is the Brucie, and his Civilian version Is the Batman.

[lostintransist]

Pretty please can you do a ghost version of the gym au? I’ve never laughed so hard reading something before!! Or one where they all end up at the gym and realize that they all know you

I have a different ask that I might go with a poly direction on. So anon, here is how meeting Simon goes 😘

Simon didn’t go to this gym. He was thinking about using it, but it wasn’t his current gym. Leave sucked. He didn’t have fun things or family to fill his time. Only doing physio. His sergeants had cajoled him into trying when he complained that he had to wait for weights at the gym closer to him that had machines and treadmills and stairs and the like.

The space had been designed with lifters in mind. Benches dotted the space, they had more than a single bar, and rack and racks of different types of weights. Simon wouldn’t admit it in front of Johnny and Kyle but he might come back. His eyes flitted over everyone. The space had variety. From muscle mommies to college gym rats to retired folks trying to lift away the reaper the space had room for everyone.

Sounds traveled in the open room. Not really a problem since everyone used headphones or used voices only loud enough to carry over the clicks and thumps of weights. Except nearing on twenty minutes ago now there had been an argument in the corner.

You and a man who had tried to intimidate you with the muscle mass he had amassed drew eyes. Whatever cutting words you used had stung. He left. You returned to your workout; lifts more aggressive than before.

Now, Simon didn’t mean to interact with you. He never really means to interact with women he isn’t paying but it happens.

Having finished his reps Simon set his weight down. The cleaning solution and towels lived in a central location on, what he assumed, was a structure supporting pole in the middle of the space. Standing, he heads for it.

Cleaning them before they were racked is expected here. He wonders how hard he would have to run down recruits to make them start doing that to the base equipment. Sometimes Simon skipped a specific workout in the main gym, slightly worried he would catch whatever the men brought home from their forays into society.

You step in front of the supplies the breath before Simon can. Not a problem. One lesson he had internalized was the ability to wait. Only dead snipers got impatient.

Several presses to the paper towel dispenser and you rip them off. Simon watches as you fold the length over itself to make a more manageable length and then spray it several times. Your hand has only just left the spray bottle when he reaches for it.

The teeth sinking into his arm, swallowing the ink skull on his forearm whole, should not illicit the reaction it did. You glance up at him after you bite.

Instead of shock lighting your eyes and lifting your brows, they narrow and tighten. Pressing more force into your mouth around his arm has Simon letting out the sluttiest of whimpers. Big man didn’t know he could whimper. He locked the sounds in his throat as the eye contact continued. After what felt like forever in a moment, you released him.

“You are not my asshole ex.”

“No.”

Goddamn, the things he would do to be your current boy toy flashed through his mind.

“Still shouldn’t reach in front of people. It’s rude.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You flick your eyes up and down his form and lift a brow.

“You monosyllabic or a sub?”

“Neither.”

The hum of disbelief starts low in your throat. It wraps itself around Simon’s nerve endings. Blood is rushing south faster than gravity.

With a final scan of his face, you can see, you turn and walk away.

Simon speeds through the same process you did, walking a bit bow-legged to the bench he had been using. Sitting, he cleans his weights but knows if he tries to stand the muscle mommies and God will see his affliction.

It really was his fault for not letting you move out of the way. Maybe Simon needed to interact with feral women a bit more often.

Maybe God did see his struggle and wanted to punish him more. Johnny and Kyle appeared. Kyle knelt behind his back, one knee on the bench and Johnny stepped between his spread knees.

“Mate, you need to put that biological weapon away so we can go home.” Johnny looked down at him with such a conflicted face.

“What do you think I been trying to do?” Simon hissed up at him.

Kyle, the asshole everyone thought was a saint, leaned in his ear.

“I bet she would bite you again if you asked real nice and offered a fancy dinner.”

Just like that, all the hard work Simon had put into forcing back the reaction was undone.

“When I can run after you Garrick, remember you train for speed,” Simon turned his head to glare at him, “I train for distance.”

The swallow that sounded in his ear satiated the need to punch the man with witnesses.

Johnny and Kyle made eye contact over Simon’s shoulder and then Kyle disappeared from his back.

When he reappeared at your side Simon tried to shoot to his feet. Johnny’s hand on his shoulder stopped all motion. The sergeant might not beat him on height but that didn’t mean he lacked the muscle to throw down.

Kyle smiled at you and got a smile in return. Fuck. Simon wanted your smile pointed at him.

When Kyle laid a flat hand against his thigh and then pointed to him Simon wanted to run. The man who could face down death, however gruesome the option, wanted to flee when your appraising eyes settled on him.

The shrug you give is accompanied by your phone appearing from a side pocket. Kyle types away on it and then swaggers back to Simon and Johnny.

Settling a hand on Johnny’s waist, he grins down at his lieutenant.

“Got you a date with a woman, L.T.”

“Even if she sucks the soul from my body, remember that I will get you both back for this.” Simon gave them his best Ghost face.

His men simply laughed.

SoapGaz | John Price | Phillip Graves | Ghost | 4 for 1 Special | SoapGaz/Reader NSFW | Phillip Graves NSFW | AO3

Masterlist

[ghostaholics]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

[flamingpudding]

I had a crack idea that I was thinking of so you know in Dan is Klarion au I was imagining a au based off of that one where all of Danny's children are Klarion is like the robin thing for Batman it started off with Danielle when nabu insulted Danny as the Ghost King and Balance

Ever since Ellie decided that she needed to get back in blood so she made the chaotic antihero Klarion and and her suppose it familiar 'cat' Teekl the way to help out her mother and mess with Dr Fate/Nabu Teekl is actually a bear with an illusion on that makes him look like a cat in the human's eyes

Whatever since the anti-hero Klarion in The Phantom family has been passed down each of them giving their own flair to the persona of Klarion with a different animal every time that they had pretending to be a cat

Tell her to finally passed on to Dan it is an honorary sibling thing each of them has their own antihero name once they passed down the title of Klarion

Diana's query and takes after his father's style of dressing and his tickle is a phoenix

First of Thanks for the Ask! Inspirational as always! Helps with my writers block [insert awkward laugh]

Either way because this is split in two asks... you get two version! One focused on how it started and the other on the reveal! Though the might be some little Shorts... Also there is something really funny to me about a giant bear letting Illusionen into a cat... So Enjoy!

(BTW still thinking over the other ask... and working on it don't worry!)

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

Ellie huffed as Danny reprimanded her for her actions. She just huffed crossing her arms. She was just helping Danny. Her mom got a lot on his shoulders and she as the sort of oldest saw that the best. Sure technically Dan was older then her but, he shrunk down to kid level again and now she was the oldest.

Well if she ignored her other brothers but they were only saved recently and still in treatment with Frostbite. So she was the oldest. End of story.

"Ellie you can't just go off like that you know that messing with an Ancient is not-"

"Mom, That Nabu-Guy was being a pain in the a- " - "Ellie!" - "A PAIN, babbling on to much about Order here Order there. How keeping Balance means keeping Order and bla bla bla!" She cut in stopping her mom before he could go on another rant about the Ancients, she needed to treat with respect.

"He doesn't respect you, the Ancient of Balance! You are the literal Symbol of Balance between Life and Death! Aside from being the Ghost King. So of course I had to mess with the one HE mentors!" Ellie added huffing as she crossed her arms.

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ellie, you created an entire alternate persona!"

"Yea so?"

"You used an illusion spell on Fluffels!"

"And? Any good Anit-Hero needs a Mascot." Ellie shrugged once more looking up at her mom before looking over to Fluffels, her pet ghost grizzly that was pretty much double maybe even tripple her size and the fluffiest ghost grizzly you could find in the entire Ghost Zone, and the cutest.

Danny on the other hand groaned, wondering if he had done anything wrong while raising Danielle. Sure he had been a teen himself but good damit why the hell did Ellie decided messing with the Ancient of Order or rather his mentee was a good idea. "I am calling Jazz! You can explain to her what you were thinking!"

He was definitely to overworked and stressed to deal with Ellies mischievousness right now. Well she did call her alternate persona Klarion, Lord of Chaos. Nope! He was not dealing with this right now, so Danny did the sanest thing he could think of. Turning on his heel and walking away. Where to? Who cares maybe he would check in with his old man Clockwork and see what Ellie had actually been up to, instead of just reading through Nabu's complains.

Ellie on the other hand blinked watching her mom leave before calling after him. "Does that mean I have to stop, being Klarion?"

"Mom?!"

"MOM!"

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

"Well hello my lovely Amadillos! Long time not seen!"

Ellie shouted cheerfully as she twirled into appearing hair styled into a horn like form, black suit and she might have over done it a little with the black eyeliner but hey it was an iconic look wasn't it. She smirked as Fluffles growled which translated into a meow for the mortals before her thank to the illusion spell.

The mortal teen looked up at her surprised as she floated down her hand glowing with red ectoplasm (a color change from her usual green ectoplasm that had taken a while to learn from Pandora). Young Justice was currently transporting something of interest to her. Well of Interest for the Justice League, really but Doctor Fate was involved which meant Nabu was involved, which naturally meant she would get involved. It didn't hurt that she would also get to try to try some new tricks.

"You got something interesting there... and I want that." She grinned. Ellie didn't give them long before she acted using the new tricks she had learned.

"Woah! Hey there, watch the pointy and sharp thowies!" She laughed making a quick shield as she blocked some batarangs and arrows before blinking.

"Hey they look different. Robin, did you change equipment? Did you get a new haircut too?" She asked curious but didn't really receive an answer as they ignored her questions and shouted something about distracting her while the others continue the transportation. Still she bend down to pick one of them up twirling it between her fingers. "What gives didn't they have a different design before?"

In hindsight it was probably not a good idea to just abandon her original goal but Robin was making her curious. And she could always find a different way to mess with Nabu. Her mom had given her an indirect okay years ago anyway.

"Teekl!" She called out and only her eyes could see how Fluffles jumped at the call growling in response as he swatted away some of the more annoying Young Justice kids. To the mortals it probably looked like Teekl was using ectoplasm, or well magic, in their eyes.

She used that change to go up into Robins face smirking widely as she looked at the other more closely, trying to get a read on him. "You are different! You aren't the same Robin I meet before!"

She ducked in time avoid Superboy as she hopped back excited with a new idea for her family.

But first she would have to deal with the little chaos and mischief she was creating.

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

".....and that is how I learned that the Robin title is getting passed down. So I was thinking of doing the same!" Ellie broadly stated looking at all her younger siblings before her. "We all get pretty annoyed with the way Nabu treats Mom so there always has to be a Lord of Chaos to 'balance' Nabu out!"

She grinned at her siblings expecting the same kind of excitement she had and they didn't disappoint. Danny had been there for all of them, even going so far as in to find a way with Clockwork to save some of their lives. So of course they all would jump at the change to mess with the one Ancient that was badmouthing their Mother just because Balance didn't entitle Order the way they wanted.

After all Chaos was needed to Balance Order out.

This was going to be fun...

[Follow up part Linked here]

[queen-of-deans-booty]

FFF

Pairing: Castiel x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k (lyrics included)

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Sam and Dean introduce you to their angelic friend, Castiel, and you are immediately enthralled by him. Instead of jumping into something with him, you two take it slow and let the relationship flourish naturally.

Square Filled: FFF by Zara Larsson (2023) for @heavenandhellbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Hunting is something you try to stay out of. It’s not that you don’t think you have the chops to be a hunter, you just don’t want to be one. You’ve never seen the appeal of being one but you admire Sam and Dean for being one. You met them while they were on a hunt. A ghost murdered your coworker and they interviewed you. They seemed like genuine FBI agents until you saw them leave your coworker’s house covered in blood.

You kept in touch with them over the years and now you’re good friends with them.

They invited you to the Bunker to hang out so that’s where you’re heading. You’re in town for something unrelated so it’s nice to see the brothers. You don’t visit the Bunker often so you jump at the chance to when they want you to come. 

Despite their lifestyle, the Bunker is one of the coolest things you’ve ever seen.

When you get there, you knock on the metal door twice. Sam opens it and smiles widely when he sees you.

“Y/N! Welcome!” He pulls you in for a soul-crushing hug. “We just got started.”

“Cool. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Oh, yeah. Hey, we invited one of our other friends. His name is Cas. He’s an angel.”

“A what?” you ask, flabbergasted. 

As much as you try to stay out of their business, you can’t help but read about the different types of monsters they deal with. Still, you’d never thought angels were real. Maybe in fiction but never in real life.

“An angel,” Sam chuckles.

“Okay.”

You walk down the metal stairs and greet Dean who has a beer in hand.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N.”

“You, too. So, where is this elusive angel that I never knew existed?”

“Right here.” Dean steps off to the side and you look at the angel in a trenchcoat. “My name is Castiel but you may use the shortened version of my name that the brothers are so fond of using.”

“Right. For an angel of God, you’re… normal.”

“My true form is approximately the size of your Chrysler building.”

“Good to know,” you nod.

Not only are you starstruck by the angel, you think he’s adorable. If he’s going to be here, you’re definitely going to make an effort to visit more often.

Unusual, we got mutual friends Is it mutual if I kiss your lips? If I'm truthful, then it all depends on your feelings Crucial, how I'm leanin' in 'Cause I'm used to just divin' in I could lose you, that's the consequence of my feelings

Sam and Dean are currently on a hunt hallways across the country where there isn’t great internet service. They don’t know what they’re hunting so they asked you if you could do some research from the Bunker. You’re no hunter but you don’t mind helping them like this. You’re out of danger and safe inside the most secure place in the world against monsters.

Plus, Castiel is here, too. That’s always a plus.

It’s been a few months since you two met and you’ve been coming over every chance you get just to be with him.

Just so you’re not sitting in silence, you hooked up your Bluetooth speaker to your phone so that you can listen to music while you read through the many lore books. You and Castiel are sitting right next to each other; he’s so close that you can feel the heat radiating off him. It’s nearing winter so it’s getting colder outside, but Castiel is a radiator.

“Did you find anything?” you ask him.

“Not yet. Did you?”

“Nope.”

You flip through the book, half-paying attention to the word and half-paying attention to how close Castiel is. The song changes to a romantic tune, and you look up at Castiel who is already staring at you. You briefly look at his chapped lips that also somehow look soft, and you find yourself leaning in.

No! You stop yourself from potentially making a mistake. You’re known to jump into relationships and stay in the fast lane. It’s why you’ve never had a steady relationship with any of your exes. Castiel deserves better. He deserves more. You really like him and you can’t afford to lose him so you can’t be yourself.

You need to change and it starts with him.

Is there a spark for us Or is it just purely platonic? Is this a story arc? 'Cause if it are, it'd be iconic I wasn't gonna ask Afraid of asking you to dance

The best thing about winter is the frozen lakes. You love ice skating but you’re not very good at it. Growing up, you lived in a warmer climate that didn’t get cold enough for any water to freeze, so you took to the activity later in life.

You and Castiel have been hanging out more and more without Sam and Dean around. He might be an angel that will outlive you, but you’re falling for him every day that you’re with him. There’s something so pure about him. He hasn’t been tainted by humanity long enough to see the bad in life. He still believes that people do good simply because it’s right. It’s honestly refreshing to be around someone who still thinks that way.

“Have you ever ice skated?” you ask as you pull your skates on.

“No. I’m sure I can pick it up.”

“Yeah, just wait until you get on the ice.” You step onto the frozen lake and almost fall from being unbalanced. Castiel jumps up and grabs your waist to steady you, and you try to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. “Thanks.”

“Please be careful.”

Castiel steps onto the ice and skates as if he’s a professional. You watch him with a parted mouth.

“How in the hell are you doing that?”

“It’s simply a balancing act.”

“Right.”

You skate but find that your feet move apart when you do. You struggle to stay upright, and Castiel stays near you to catch you if you fall. Most people wouldn’t find this enjoyable but you’re with Castiel so it makes it better. Plus, if you fall, you know he’ll catch you.

“Here, grab my hand.”

You bite back a smile and grab his warm hand. He skates next to you effortlessly, and you cling to his side to keep some sort of balance.

“Do you normally excel at things you’ve never done before?”

“Generally, yes.”

You laugh and continue to skate with him in the freezing cold. You try to turn but end up tripping over your own feet and crashing into Castiel. He is taken off guard so he falls to the ice with you on top of him. Suddenly, you start laughing either out of embarrassment or at the thought of why you decided to do this with him when you know you’re shit at it.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No.”

You put your hand on his chest to hold yourself up, and you suddenly realize how close you two are. Your breath mixes with his in the cold, but neither of you moves from each other. You’re so close that you can close the few-inch gap and kiss him.

“Your nose and cheeks are red,” he says.

“It’s cold outside. Aren’t you cold?”

“I’m an angel. I don’t feel the cold.”

“Lucky you, then.”

Castiel moves you off him with ease and helps you stand. He brings you back to the snow where you can stand comfortably and removes his trenchcoat. Without saying anything, he wraps the coat around you, enveloping you in his warmth.

The blush on your cheeks isn’t from the cold anymore.

Falling for a friend Falling for a friend, ooh Baby, don't pretend That you don't feel it too I know you do

Castiel is truly someone special because you’re walking from your hotel in the freezing ass cold and the snow to get to the Bunker. You have a rental car but there is no use in driving it because the roads aren’t safe for cars. Still, that’s not going to stop you from getting to the bunker where Castiel is.

The picnic basket in your hand is sealed tightly to keep the snow from entering it but everything else on you is covered with snow. Kansas winters are brutal. Three miles normally doesn’t seem like a lot but trekking in twelve inches of snow makes three miles feel like thirty.

When you get to the Bunker, you shake off the snow as best as possible before knocking on the metal door. Pain erupts from your knuckles from how cold you are but your hand is numb so you don’t feel it as much as you should have.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Dean asks when he opens the door.

“I wanted to say hi. Can I come in?”

“Shit, yeah.” He steps to the side and allows you to walk inside. You’re thrust into a warm environment that you’re already starting to defrost. You walk into the library to see Castiel sitting at the table. “What’s in the basket?”

“Just some food. I figure you two are hungry.”

“I don’t eat.”

“I always am,” Dean says at the same time as Castiel.

“Okay, well, here.”

Dean takes the basket with a smile and disappears into the kitchen. Castiel frowns when he sees you shivering from the after-effects of the cold. He can even feel how cold you are from where you stand.

“Come here.” You walk over to Castiel, not expecting him to pull you into his lap. He lifts your hands to his mouth and blows hot air on them, the warmth of it kissing away the numbing from the frostbite. “Baby, you’re freezing.”

Baby? His raspy voice? That’s enough to spring butterflies to life in your stomach. He’s never called you that before. The butterflies intensify when he opens his trenchcoat, wrapping you close to his chest. He leans down and kisses your cold cheek, and warmth blooms from the contact.

You look up at him and he softly traces your bottom lip with his finger, and you part your lips instinctively.

“I really want to kiss you,” he whispers.

You don’t say anything back, You close the gap between you and kiss him softly. His lips may look chapped but they are super soft. His grace dances across your body, warming you up.

You’ve definitely fallen for a friend.

x

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[cod-bin]

Hihi!! If you don’t mind, can you write a piece for Simon Riley and gn!reader where they come avoids him because they’re asexual and they found out he has a crush on them please? Like reader had negative experiences with coming out as ace in the past (people telling them they’re broken/ it’s because they’re traumatised/ they haven’t found the right person yet/ …etc) They don’t Ghost would react badly per se, but they can’t stand the thought of losing him as a friend too. When ghost finally corners them, they cave in and tell him the truth

“I feel the same way but I’m ace and was afraid this would make me lose you as a friend too if the relationship didn’t work” vibes

Of course, I completely understand if you don’t feel comfortable writing this, so please don’t feel pressured or guilt. Have a nice day/night!!

a/n: ofc!! so sorry if this is totally off!! omg I haven’t written in like 2 weeks I’m sorry if this sucks 😭 also I don’t know what to name this

You started avoiding him the moment you overheard it.

Simon Riley—Ghost—saying to Soap with all the subtlety of a man trying not to be heard, “Yeah… I’ve got a thing for them.”

It hadn’t been said with expectation, or even flirtation. Just quiet honesty, like it had been weighing on him for a while. But the moment those words reached your ears, your blood ran cold.

Because if he had feelings for you—you—then you knew what came next. Or at least, what always came next for you.

Awkward rejection. Confusion. Pity. That look like you’d just told them you were a broken machine they needed to tiptoe around.

You’d been told every version of it before:

“You just haven’t met the right person.”

“Are you sure? You’re probably just scared.”

“Is it trauma? That can be fixed, you know.”

Each one chipped away at you until being open didn’t feel brave—it felt like putting your heart out on a table just to watch someone pick it apart.

So you pulled away. Slowly at first. Skipping dinners you normally joined. Stopping by the gym only when he wasn’t there. Smiling a little too brightly when you passed him in the hallway, like maybe that would cover how much it hurt to keep your distance.

Simon noticed. Of course he did. He wasn’t the kind of man who let things slide when it came to people he cared about.

After three days, he cornered you in the empty mess hall.

“You avoiding me, sunshine?”

The nickname used to make you melt. Now it made your throat close up.

“I’ve been busy,” you lied, eyes on the vending machine instead of him.

“Bullshite.”

You flinched at the bluntness, but he wasn’t angry. If anything, he sounded…hurt. Concerned. He stepped closer but didn’t reach for you. Ghost never touched unless you gave him the green light.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” you said quickly, too quickly. “It’s not you. I just—”

He waited. Let the silence stretch, because he knew that was sometimes the only way you’d talk. He was patient with you. Always had been.

So you took a shaky breath.

“I heard what you said to Soap.”

Simon went still.

“And I just…” you trailed off, voice thin and tight. “I don’t want to lose you.”

His eyes softened, head tilting slightly as he waited for you to go on.

“I feel the same way,” you said, so quiet it was barely audible. “I really do. But I’m asexual. And I’ve had people… walk away. Or act like I was broken. Or like I was lying, or just confused.”

You couldn’t look at him. You stared at your hands instead, clenched so tightly your knuckles ached.

“I was scared if we tried anything… and it didn’t work… I’d lose you completely.”

The silence this time was different. Not heavy. Not expectant. Just full of something warm and slow—understanding, maybe.

Simon finally stepped forward, still careful. His voice was low and steady.

“You think that’d change how I feel about you?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I want to believe it wouldn’t. But people say things. And then they… want things I can’t give. And suddenly it’s my fault.”

Simon gave a small nod, like he understood more than he let on. He didn’t rush to reassure you with false promises. Didn’t try to tell you he got it if he didn’t. Instead, he said the most grounding thing he could:

“Tell me what you need.”

That made your eyes sting.

“I need to not be pressured,” you whispered. “I need to not be touched unless I say so. And I need to know you’re not… waiting for me to change.”

Simon moved then—slow, deliberate—just enough to sit beside you on the bench, leaving space between your shoulders.

“I’m not,” he said simply. “Not waiting. Not hoping. I like you. Just you. If that means sitting next to you like this for the rest of my life, I’d be lucky.”

Your throat closed up, and your heart cracked open.

“You’re… okay with it?”

He nodded. “I don’t care what other people think you should be. I care about who you are. And I’ve never seen anything broken in that.”

You felt the tears welling up before you could stop them. But Simon didn’t flinch. He let you cry quietly. No touching. No pushing. Just being there, solid and safe.

Eventually, you leaned your shoulder gently into his.

He didn’t move.

Just whispered, “Still not letting you avoid me, though.”

You huffed a wet laugh and nodded.

“Good.”

☆

☆taglist☆

@h0lydrag0ns

(go to bio to join taglist)

[katyspersonal]

Heolstor might be a Carian in-law, or just a Carian + Ranni tried to prevent his raise too?

So, he has a Moonlight Sword! It is a staple in Fromsoft's games, but in Elden Ring setting, it is a customary gift by a Carian queen to her chosen one

+ not a ring finger, but it reminded me of a ring of purple gemstone that Rennala is depicted wearing (also not a ring finger, funny enough):

So, I wonder whether he also was engaged with a Carian at some point? He is apparently an AU version of The Revenger from Weeping Peninsula whose whole nation got wiped off by Godfrey ( x ), and sorcerers from Liurnia, Carians included, were also enemies of the Erdtree before Rennala's marriage!

I am actually questioning whether it might have been an existing character? 🤔

I was not sure what to make out of the fact that in Japanese original script, Ranni says that now "the night is infinitely far away" besides the fact that 'age of stars' is somehow a different type of the 'night' than whatever it was that she presumably prevented!

But now, seeing that Nightreign's whole poster is an Elden Ring that was altered into a blue version with crescent motives, that Heolstor has Elden Ring inside like Radagon once did, and that he has a sword gifted by a Carian princess to her consort (and maybe their customary ring), I feel like I know just the person that can offer some insight on this situation!

The thing is? The Carian princess in question here is not Ranni, but Renna herself! It is especially apparent by how Lazuli Conspectus sorcerers in Raya Lucaria were already a thing before Ranni was even born, and they wield this crest!

@val-of-the-north explained why the Snowy Crone is Renna in a way more detail in this ( x ) post, but all in all, Renna was long time ago dead and became the four-armed blue cursed ghost herself:

Ranni's motivation is to push the Elden Ring out of anyone's reach as it is the tool to hack laws of nature and people's fates according to your own vision, and allow a presumably more "objective" force (the stars) guide people instead!

But if Renna knew Heolstor, and already was dead from old age (?) by the time Ranni found her, she might have also added something like "Oh by the way there is another guy who will seek to nuke the Golden Order but not for a noble reason that you do, he will seek revenge upon all living after what happened to him, I don't know when or if he will raise but you might want to prevent him from taking the Elden Ring as well :/". So now, along with other things, the Night is also "infinitely far away", because Heolstor did as much as he did through taking the Elden Ring!

Now, I am not sure whether Renna herself was his bride! Could be that, could be someone else but she would still know about him through being family in law. Maybe Godfrey nuking his country even was the actual reason Liurnia became hostile to the Erdtree? The thing is, trolls, close allies of Carians, were traitors of the Fire Giants that sided with the Erdtree during that war instead! A Troll named Theodorix was even glorified as a hero by them. Raya Lucaria soldiers also seem to honor the Golden Order's ways, as they specifically loathe Albinaurics for their "impure blood" and went against Carians because Rennala "was no god, after all" (so, didn't like how divorce effected her). Original Raya Lucaria sorcerers also respect the golden amber along with the stars, as the source of ancient life, as said by Sellen, just that they aim higher for the cold stars!

I was confused, but with the new information, it started to feel like it were Carians specifically who went against the Golden Order! It just meant roping everyone in Liurnia with them too, since they are literally the rulers of the region! And maybe Heolstor's people being killed off and Castle Morne / Weeping Peninsula usurped became the trigger. Something more like 'well when we decided to not do anything about the usurpators we didn't expect they'd eventually usurp us :/'.

At the same time, there is also the whole fact that "night and flame" is exactly what Heolstor inflicts on the Lands Between x)

He must have been in a very close association. Alternatively, maybe he himself a Carian princess that went a very separate way to establish a different territory and country, but the Erdtree could not let someone thrive without their authorisation. -_-"

+ fun fact that might be a coincidence but maybe not: Weeping Peninsula and Liurnia are the two regions where whole settlements tormented by Frenzied Flame exist! A residence of Carians, and a residence of a Carian's consort......

UPDATE: @sahashbelvanie left a comment and:

Yes, seems like the Moonlight Sword restricts him, it isn't necessarily his.

sjhfshdsh Well, folks, perhaps like 70% of the post is cancelled, it is JUST about how Ranni intending to stop him along other things was foreshadowed XD

[otp-after-dark]

Why the beach scene from The Hunger Games still ruins me — and what The Handmaid’s Tale could’ve learned from it

So I’ve been rewatching The Hunger Games this week — mostly because my heart’s still in pieces after what The Handmaid’s Tale just did in 6x09, and I needed to remember what it feels like when a story gets it right.

And once again, I found myself absolutely wrecked by the beach scene.

“If you die and I live, I’d have nothing. Nobody else that I care about. It’s different for you. Your family needs you. You have to live for them.” “What about you?” “Nobody needs me.” “I do. I need you.”

It’s everything I love about them — the brutal honesty, the fear of loss, the raw vulnerability of needing someone without shame.

It’s not about romantic tropes. It’s not about grand gestures. It’s about two people in the middle of hell saying, I know we may not both make it, but I’m not pretending it won’t destroy me if you go.

And what strikes me watching it now — after watching Nick’s arc get erased — is how deeply Peeta’s words mirror Nick’s entire presence on The Handmaid’s Tale.

“I’m nothing." -Nick "Nobody needs me.” -Peeta

That’s Nick. That’s the man who never asks to be chosen. The one who believes he doesn’t deserve it, but still shows up. Still protects. Still sacrifices — even when it costs him everything.

Just like Peeta, Nick doesn’t love loudly. He loves fully. He never makes June owe him anything. He just loves her. And that love — quiet, brave, unconditional — changes him.

And that’s why I’ve always felt these two relationships are mirrors of each other.

Katniss and Peeta worked because their love wasn’t a distraction from survival — it was survival. Nick and June could’ve had that. Even if it ended in tragedy. Even if it broke us.

If the writers really wanted to kill Nick — to have him go down in flames, or disappear into myth — they could have done it in a way that honored his arc and June’s heart.

They could’ve given us a moment like this. They could’ve let her say, “I need you.” They could’ve let him believe it. Let him finally understand that he’s not just a tool, or a liability, or a symbol —that he’s not nothing. That he mattered. They could’ve given us the emotional truth, even in loss.

That’s what love looks like when everything else has been taken. That’s what resistance built on connection really looks like. Not safe. Not tidy. But real.

Instead, we got silence. We got distance. We got June turning away from the one person who saw her completely — and a version of Nick that felt like a ghost before he was even gone.

It’s that the show made it seem like it didn’t matter. That June was fine without him. That what they shared — the blood, the fire, the truth — was just another plot point to move past.

But stories like Katniss and Peeta remind us: Love is the point. Not the distraction. Not the weakness. The reason you fight. The reason you survive.

Nick and June could’ve had that kind of ending — even if it wasn’t happy. Even if it was tragic. It could’ve still been true.

Instead, they buried it. And they called it closure.

[heroesrest64]

Haunting Heroes

Other parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Chapter 9: Weary Wonderment

Chapter Summary: How many times can one person pass out in a day before it becomes a Problem?

You can read the chapter here on ao3

Chapter under the cut :)

“You know, once you get past the torn flesh and mind-melting horror of it all, you aren’t half bad to look at.” You admit, wrapped in a blanket cocoon and clutching a cup of tea that you’re pretty sure Wild made for you while you were passed out at your kitchen table. Hyrule smiles nervously across the table, rubbing the back of his neck in a boyish show of bashfulness.

“I didn’t think you’d actually pass out from seeing me. The first time I saw a ghost myself, I got physically ill, but I guess your body has a different reaction to spirits.” Hyrule hums, pressing a blood soaked finger to his bottom lip. You half expect it to stain, but you’re starting to learn that the injuries on his body are almost purely cosmetic. The blood doesn’t rub off on anything, and despite his dead eye, he can see perfectly well.

“I guess… Why did you even need to see ghosts? For like, a quest or something?” You ask, genuinely curious. Hyrule flushes, his cheeks tinged a pleasant red, and he glances away with a nervous smile.

“Haha, I actually used to have an item to see ghosts… but I lost it. I was really into magic theory at the time, so I kinda… reverse-engineered the spell into a functioning tonic.” Hyrule shrugs, like it’s no big deal. You aren’t too familiar with magic yourself, but that sounds like quite the feat of magical science to you.

“I don’t even know how that would work. Do you think you could show me how to do magic like that?” You ask, excitedly drawing Hyrule’s tome closer to your chest.

“Sure! I-“ Hyrule cuts himself off, looking to the side just as you feel a chill brush up against you. You figure Four must’ve come into the room and is talking to the ghost in front of you, and eventually Hyrule turns his attention back to you.

“Four is asking if you want to talk to the rest of us. Everyone except Time is here.”

“Ah! I completely forgot! I guess I was just happy to get to talk to even one of you, but I can speak to all of you now, can’t I?” You grin, shooting up from your seat. Hyrule begins to float away, guiding you to the office where all of their anchors are apparently gathered.

“Are you sure you can handle looking at all of us? I don’t want you passing out again…” Hyrule frets, wringing his hands in front of himself. You wave vaguely, already reaching for Wild’s tablet which has been charging in the corner of the room since you found it.

“It shouldn’t be that bad. I got used to you pretty quickly-“ You pause, finding yourself faced with the same man from the forest from almost a week ago. Long blonde hair, electric blue eyes. He even has a ghostly version of the tablet clipped to his belt. But that’s not what catches your attention. Instead, your eyes stray to where his right arm should be, only to find a bloody stub. Your throat constricts, bile rising in your throat, and you take a moment to just- breathe.

Apparently the injuries can get worse than a lightning strike through the eye. Wild extends his remaining arm, clutching at the air between the two of you as if to try and catch you. You appreciate the effort, taking his hand and letting him lead you safely to the floor.

“Are you okay? Should I grab you some water?” Wild asks, squeezing your hand in reassurance as you take in a couple more breaths, trying to make sure you won’t throw up while trying to answer him.

“I’m fine- just startled. Are you- okay?” You ask, and immediately regret it. Of course he’s not okay. He’s dead.

“Oh, this old thing? Y’know, getting my arm ripped off probably isn’t the worst injury I’ve gotten, but I guess the blood loss got me in the end.” Wild jokes, leaning back on the balls of his feet, grinning as you try to process his words. He got his arm ripped off. And he’s joking about it.

It’s so absurd that you can’t help but laugh. Luckily, Wild and Hyrule join in, and you move to stand back up to continue finding the anchors in your office.

“Luckily not all of us have such ugly injuries,” Hyrule hums while you walk to where you left Twilight's rock.

“Don’t talk like that… You guys died. Of course it’s not going to be pretty. Even so… You guys are,” You pause heat pooling in your cheeks as you consider what you were about to say. Were you really about to call them handsome after seeing them for only a couple minutes?

To be fair, they truthfully were very handsome, looking almost rugged due to their injuries, but with a charm you were beginning to suspect was a trait all heroes carried.

You only got more of a confirmation when you picked up Twilight's rock and were met with the disheveled man, his nearly brown hair tousled, some slight scratches on his cheeks but otherwise looking less injured than the other two. You do notice his shirt is torn around the shoulder, and when you carefully circle him, there are claw-like gashes raking down his back.

It must be something about seeing the killing strike that sets you off, because immediately after seeing the wounds, you feel your knees lock, and you’re pretty sure your vision goes white for a second. Your doctor will be having words with you if you ever tell them about all of the fainting spells you’ve been having.

“Might wanna slow down there, darlin’. Maybe we should take a break. I don’t want you hurtin’ yourself.” Twilight drawls in a country accent that suits him a little too well. You hum your agreement, pocketing his rock, and are a little surprised when he doesn’t disappear. Does the potion work as long as the anchor is on your person? You suppose that makes sense to a certain degree.

“Why is you anchor a rock, anyway? Everyone else has like cool books and swords and stuff.” You point out, and Twilight looks off to the side like he’s debating whether to tell you or not.

“It’s not just a rock. It’s a Shadow Crystal, a piece of Twilight meant to curse all who touch it.” Twilight explains, and you let out a curious hum, turning the crystal around in your hand.

“Does that mean I’m cursed now?” You ask, feeling a nervous thrill shoot down your spine. That would be the cherry on top of your haunted sundae now wouldn’t it?

“Luckily, no. I can control when it activates now that I’m anchored to it.” Twilight grins, and a little fang pokes out of his smile. how can one man look so cute? Heat trickles into your cheeks, and you quickly look away, conveniently making eye contact with the Master Sword in the next second.

“So Sky is connected to the master sword… Maybe knowing what injuries he has beforehand will help?” You wonder, hand hovering over the hilt of the sword.

“He was the first of us to die that night. Killed in his sleep before any of us even knew what happened.” Twilight bites out, upset by the events. Wild sets a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring look.

“He was stabbed through the chest and bled out.” Hyrule finishes the explanation, looking off to the side. Your mouth is dry, and you swallow hard, trying to imagine what the man would even look like. It sounds horrible. But to be targeted first, and while asleep, no less…

Was Sky such a big threat that whatever villain attacked them needed him dead before everyone else?

You wrap your hand around the Master Sword’s handle, picking it up almost reverently. Sky appears before your eyes, his eyes grey as slate, like a downcast day. Like Hyrule described, there’s a stab wound in the middle of his chest, standing out bright and red against his embroidered green tunic. You take in a sharp breath, but luckily don’t feel like fainting this time. Instead, you feel dread crawl up your spine and an odd sense of loss.

“Do you feel okay? No fainting spells, or..?” Sky frets, voice soft and filled with worry as he floats closer. You swallow around the lump in your throat, offering a shaky smile.

“I’m fine. Better than the last few times. It’s still startling, but I think this is better.” You swing the master sword onto your shoulder, only now realizing that it might be a little difficult to keep a bunch of sacred relics on your person at a single time. It feels a little irreverent to just wear them, but what other choice do you have?

“Who do you want to meet next?” Wild asks, sliding up beside you now that you’ve grabbed all of the known anchors in the room.

“How about Four?” You suggest, a chill brushing up against you at your words.

“His anchor would be this shield over here-“ Twilight calls out, pointing to a shield displayed on the wall. There’s a staff with a red gem on it next to it, which you suspect is probably somebody else’s anchor.

“Four was separated from the group, transported to a wintery landscape where he eventually succumbed to the elements without his equipment. For us, he was only gone for an hour at most. For him, it must’ve been weeks.” Hyrule explains, and you wince at the new information. Each death seems to be more gruesome than the last. Whoever was attacking these heroes did so with calculated intent.

Taking the shield from its wall mount, you finally turn your attention to the cold pocket inside of the room, finally coming face to face with Four. He offers a smile, skin looking bruised from the frostbite he must’ve experienced before his death. Whatever skin isn’t purpled and bruised is pale and tinted a cold blue. He looks like a frail sculpture carved from ice.

“Don’t go crying on me, now.” Four grins, ice-chapped lips tugging up in a way that looks almost painful. You know the ghosts can’t actually feel pain, but to have died from exposure and the cold in such a gruesome way…

“I’m not crying. Say, this person that killed you guys- they wouldn’t happen to still be around, would they?” You ask, jokingly cracking your knuckles. Four laughs loudly, clutching his stomach with the force of the action.

“You really think you could take him on?” He asks, grinning down at you.

“Maybe not, but I could give him a piece of my mind.” Your grin turns wolfish, and Four continues to laugh.

After a while, you turn your attention towards the staff still on display, asking if it might be one of their anchors.

“That’s Legend’s. He was hit with a paralytic pretty early on, but before he could really recover, they shot him through his throat and he bled out. Still managed to do some damage despite all of that.” Wild gives a sideways smile, elbowing the open air beside him. You suppose that’s where Legend is, and pick up the staff to confirm.

Legend looks unamused, swatting at Wild who’s still playfully jabbing at him. Like Wild described, there’s an arrow shot through the front of his throat, the sharp tip piercing all the way through to the other side of his neck. His tunic is stained with blood from the injury, and you quickly look away before you can become any more nauseous.

“Sorry, I know it’s a gruesome sight.” Legend apologizes, voice smooth, and you realize this is your first time hearing his real voice. Before, it was always chopped up lines of whatever you’d said yourself, or words taken from calls you answered on speakerphone. He has a pretty nice voice, you have to admit.

“Don’t apologize. I think you’re beautiful.” You admit truthfully. Past the blood and the bruises, he still somehow carries a boyish innocence. A playful side with a bite to it. Even if this is your first time hearing his actual voice, you know exactly how he speaks, snarky and sarcastic but capable of being serious when the situation calls for it. The tinge of a blush covering his cheeks at your words isn’t half bad to look at, either.

“Wind’s been begging for his turn. We should move on before he explodes.” Sky laughs, floating over to a pure white baton set on a small display stand. You move to pick it up, but Wild’s hand on your arm stops you.

“It might be kind of rough. He’s still…” Wild starts, turning to look behind him. You wonder if Wind is standing there. You have your own theories on Wind, his identity and how he died, but you decide to wait for your friends to explain it to you.

“There’s a basin a little further into the forest. It had rained recently, filling it up, and the rest of us were too overwhelmed. By the time anyone noticed, he was already…” Twilight chokes on his words, covering his mouth with his hand.

“We should have been there for him. Out of any of us…” Sky glares at his hands, seeming broken up about the event, and you frown, taking the baton in your hand, only to see exactly why everyone is reacting how they are.

Wind is… He’s a kid. He can’t be over thirteen, nearly a head shorter than most of the rest of the heroes. You know monsters are called what they are for a reason, but to have drowned a kid so young is still- it feels like too much. Your eyes well up with tears, and you find yourself stumbling forward, hands outstretched to hold the blue tinged child in your hands.

You stumble right through him, and that only serves to break you down more as the tears finally fall and start rolling down your cheeks as you grip at open air. There’s a sniffle from overhead, and you glance up to see Wind quietly wiping at his cheeks and runny nose as his own tears start to spill. They splash on your head, real and heartbreaking as Wind eventually falls to his knees , hugging you tightly as his tears stain your shirt- the only part of him that you can feel, but at the moment, it’s the only part that matters.

“How could they do this to you… sweet boy, you deserved better than this.” You whisper into sodden golden lockes- still dripping with water from the basin that took his life. Wind chokes on whatever his response was meant to be, continuing to cry and attempt to hold you ever more tightly, your shirt becoming soaked as his abilities run wild.

Something warm and soft covers your back, and you peek up to see the dark blue blanket that you usually wrap yourself in when it gets too cold in the office. You also see somebody new- Warriors, smiling down at you, left arm mangled and bloody splotches covering his face and clothes. He’s also wearing a blood soaked scarf which looks suspiciously like the blanket now covering your back.

“I know there’s nothing I can do about what happened… But I promise I’ll do my best to help you guys from here on.” You whisper, reaching up to wipe the tears from Wind’s face before standing fully to address all of the ghosts in the room.

“Time is gone for now, right? In that case, while we wait for him to catch back up with us… What do you guys say to a little outing?”

[cavernsandcod]

BELLADONNA - III

SERIES M.L | AO3 VERSION | PREVIOUS | NEXT CHAPTER

CONTENT WARNINGS: obsession. blood. injury. undertones of violence. medical inaccuracies/oversights, i'm sure. NONCON undressing & bathing. strong language. TBI johnny; a.k.a MWIII spoilers by default. not proofread or edited. (stalker!soap x reader)

WC: 3.3k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: N/A

Ghost arrives faster than he expects.

Headlights flood the cab, forcing Johnny to raise his head from the steering wheel. It’s been pounding the last hour, a thousand knives behind his eyes. 

He gives the rearview mirror one last parting glance. She still hasn’t moved an inch.

He climbs out and shuts the driver's door, kicking up dust as he paces the dirt trail. As Simon’s figure emerged from his vehicle, he cast a shadow on his subordinate. The Jeep idles deep in the woods; the sight on its own is suspicious.

“The fuck is this about, mate?” His voice cut through the crisp air, gravel crunching.

The closer he gets, the more scrutiny his gaze has. Soap had let things bother him more than once. Used a sledgehammer on something that needed a chisel. This felt different.

He’s in his civvie clothes, he looks despondent, and frankly, beat to shit. “That yours?” He gestures to the splotches starting to soak into his gray tee.

“No.” The younger replies, massaging his sore jaw. “No’ all of it.” He spits maroon dots onto the dirt.

The fabric of his black K-95 shifts and his crow's feet wrinkle into what Johnny assumes is a facetious sneer.

“Look— I’ve got no bloody time for your problems, mutt. ‘S bad enough that you ping me all the way out ‘ere for whatever the fuck this is. I’m going.”

When his Lieutenant starts to retreat, Johnny feels his chest strangle with panic. He can’t do this alone.

“Wait, Simon. I need—fuck. I need ye to not judge me right now.” He trails off, placing his palm on the back window, gazing inside despite the tint. Seeing something Ghost couldn’t. He turns to face Simon. “I did something. Somethin’ bad.” His eyes well, voice shaking.

“Promise me ye won’t tell Price.” Ghost freezes, and ticks his head.

He’s seen hell and walked through it. Sent people down there, some more deserving than others. Still, there’s nothing rational running through Simon’s brain. Nothing decent or salvageable to warrant intense secrecy and the sick feeling in his stomach.

“Johnny,” his voice drops low, “what did you do?”

Ghost’s body went rigid as Soap pulled open the car door.

Something mangled—no, someone. A woman sprawled against the back seat, thighs, and arms caked in scratches and minor bruising. Blood matted her hair, dried dark against the upholstery.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Johnny.” He curses, taking a sharp step back.

He’d seen hundreds of bodies, sometimes ones with only bits and pieces left from one of Johnny’s bombs. That’s nothing compared to now.

“I can explain, Lt. She’s— I didnae mean to hurt her. She ran, and I….” He raked his fingers through his greasy mohawk, grey-blue eyes wild. “Help me get her inside, somewhere, and I’ll tell ye everything. I need tae ken she’ll be alright.”

“We can’t do this ‘ere.” His tone is cold and detached, despite the anxiety radiating off Johnny. “Get in the car.”

Ghost gets behind the wheel, refusing to look back at the woman. Johnny isn’t entirely in his seat before he reverses to leave the trail, white knuckles on the wheel.

“What about yours?” Johnny asks from the back, shrugging his jacket off to drape over her torso. Words are coming out of his mouth, but it’s obvious he is a man long gone. May as well be a brick wall while he gazes down at her.

“Worry about yourself.” His teeth grit, head shaking. “I’ll pick it up later. Can handle things like that without killing women in the woods.”

The thought makes his throat dry.

She’s not dead. He’d never forgive himself. As if on cue, Soap puts two fingers on her pulse, even though he’d done it a hundred times.

Still there, but thready.

The vehicle rocks when Simon comes to a complete stop at the exit of the footpath. “Where am I takin’ her?” He looks over his shoulder at Johnny; a deer in the headlights. “Choose quickly. Or I will.”

No doubt that Simon’s ideas involve cinder blocks and the ocean. The flat in the city is soundproofed. Was going to turn it into a home gym. No one would hear her.

No, he needs privacy, time, and plans— Then, the idea seeps in.

His throat bobs with a wet swallow before he can answer. “I have a place, ‘s not far from here, was my gran’s. It’s quiet.”

“Hidden enough?”

Johnny nods.

The drive was tense. Only the rattle of the engine and the occasional rustle when Johnny got restless in the backseat.

She shivers occasionally, fingers twitching. Somewhere, trapped in her horrified shell, she knows this is for the best. Knows not to be so afraid of him. As his blue eyes stay glued to her, he wonders what he’ll have to do to make her see it.

The blood flow stopped at some point, beginning to crust and dry around the crack in her head. Scuffs and pools of the crimson had begun to turn rusty, on his clothes and her skin. A right mess.

He turns his attention out the window. Rural, muddy land with a tight path leading to the cottage he finds familiar. His gran moved out here years ago, further from Glasglow when his grandad was still alive. They were sufficient on their own, raising chickens and planting enough crops for the pair.

She left it to him after he died. Insisted on her favorite grandson having something of hers to remember her by.

It’s a shame he hasn’t been there in years. Left the furniture and a few items of his to rot in there, dusty and forgotten because he can’t ever face his grief head-on.

Rain hits the metal roof the closer they get, hard and fast.

It’s a solid home, intact from the harsh seasons. The gate squeals as the wind blows it open and closed on a loop, in need of oil. Moonlight illuminates the wrap-around porch, the wood splintery and aged. Pearl white paint coats the exterior of all three floors. The fence and garden shed need some work, overgrown with thick brush.

When the car is parked, Simon climbs out with his hood up to keep the rain from his lashes. He opens the back door and begins shifting her without paying any mind to the man at fault. One arm snakes around her tailbone to drag her closer, the other on her arm socket.

Simon bends his knees to avoid hitting her head on the frame. Once she’s out of the car, he lifts her over his shoulder, a palm splayed on her bottom. “Ye don’t want me to—?”

“No.” He bites. “Open the trunk, grab my kit, and get us inside.”

Soap fumbles with the key for a beat too long, unusually clumsy. He only hears it click when Si sighs deeply behind him, acting as if carrying her weight burdened him.

The living room smells faintly of mildew and dust. It’s as nostalgic as it was years ago; couch, armchair, fireplace, crank radio, L-shaped staircase beside the kitchen’s threshold. White sheets cloak the furniture, looking like figures that have caught the two of them in the act.

The elder brushes past him in a huff, intentionally knocking his arm into Johnny. As if there wasn’t more than enough room for him to go around.

Simon does not attempt to be subtle, despite the—sort of—sleeping woman on his shoulder. His boots take every step hard, and Johnny relies on muscle memory to follow behind him like a duckling.

He has to take double the stride to keep up with his purpose walk, fingers shaky on the kit strap. “Lt, I’m real worried,” they reach the top, and Simon opens the first set of double doors, the master, both sets of feet making the floor rattle. “She has no’ made a peep in two hours. What if I…? She’s— Is her neck broken?” Johnny pants. He’s out of fuel, choking on his worry.

“She’s still breathing, you bloody idiot.” Ghost mutters in response.

Metal creaks when Simon lugs her onto the mattress, flicking on the bedside lamp. Yellowish, spotty lighting isn’t ideal, but he’s stitched worse in the dead of night.

“I shouldn’t have,” his voice cracks, accent growing thicker. His eyes were feral with panic, piercing the wide back blocking the view of his bird. Her screams echo in his ears, fusing with the tinnitus. “If she’s— Ah’ll never forgive myself, Si. She just kept fighting, and I couldn’t stop my hands—” 

Ghost doesn’t look back. Doesn’t comfort the only man who knows him better than anyone else. His trained hands tug off her shoes, then the wet socks to ward off frostbitten toes.

“Hush.” He snaps his fingers, pointing to the unoccupied space beside her. Soap rounds the bed in haste, setting the kit down and unzipping it.

Now, they both can truly see what’s been done, one more sickened than the other, which isn’t saying much.

Her clothes were a lost cause, the faded band tee ripped off at the shoulder, sleeve barely hanging on. The sleep shorts had ridden up, smeared with grass and dirt stains. Bruises had formed on the fat of her thighs, kneecaps, her collarbone where he’d grabbed her. Their discolorations varied in stages, some more green than purple yet. Her ankle gave Johnny a phantom pain in his own, how it twisted into the scraped, swollen mess it is now.

Chapped lips parted ever so slightly, her cheek pressed against the pillows. Strands of hair clung to her sweaty forehead like they’d been dipped in honey. Tendrils matted with grime, twigs, and crimson surrounded the head wound, making it impossible for him to gauge it from the right side of the bed.

“Get the fireplace going. She’s ice.” Simon’s calloused fingers prod the bottoms of her feet. His tone is clinical, kicking Soap’s anxiety into overdrive.

Cold. Stiff. Ice means dead, even when her lungs are still functioning.

His eyes zero in on the dusty logs, crossing the room in two strides. Start a fire. Warm and safe. A warm lass, that’s what he needs— By some miracle, it’s still dry enough to ignite. Amber flames bloom quaint at first before they blossom and illuminate the rest of the room, creating a haze of warmth in their vicinity.

“You ‘ave her phone?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Toss it in.”

Johnny, kneeling in front of the fire, clenches his cheeks as he reaches into his shirt pocket.

It’s not contemplation over the morality of the situation. Not second thoughts. Just the feeling of overhauling all his plans, taking a one-eighty in only a few measly hours because of his stubborn girl. He rises once the screen begins to warp and break completely, shifting his focus to what Ghost is doing with her.

Simon digs through the bag without looking; pulling out instruments and supplies from their assigned places.

When Johnny crosses the room again, he’s got a clamp in one hand, and the other gathers through her locks, pulling them apart to tend to the source of all the blood.

“How bad is it?” He probes, rubbing his scar. “When will she…?”

Simon sighs, still refusing to look back as he inspects the laceration. “Have a drink and shut your mouth. Fuckin’ sit down, too, you’re giving me a migraine.”

Clear, antique bottles glimmer from the fire on the chiffonier in the corner, filled with various spirits. It’s not in his nature to question his Luitenant’s word. Supposes he deserves to be barked at right now.

The first toss of whiskey punches his tongue, but he doesn’t grimace. Finishes it in one go to cope with the aftermath of his temper. It’s not quite grief, not quite guilt, either. A feeling he can not make any sense of. After pouring himself another measure, he lowers himself into the chair by the lamp.

“She’s concussed,” Simon finally speaks, peeling open a package of sterile thread and needle. “Gash needs stitches.” He gets to work, the same way Johnny had seen him do in the field a million times. A needledriver held steady, while a tissue clamp manipulates the flesh. Part of him is glad she’s not awake, screaming and tossing around from the agony. Something is bothering him, even though he’s got an intense focus on the state of the sutures. His posture is off, fingers harsh when he tosses excess supplies aside.

Friction stirred in his chest as he examined the rest of her skin, disinfecting each scratch with swabs. “Look, ‘m not going to ask, mate. I don’t want to know. But—”

“Been following her,” Soap professes quietly, watching the brown liquid in his glass rather than holding eye contact. “For weeks now. She… she got scared. Almost called the police. I couldnae let her.”

The occupied hands still momentarily before resuming. Johnny’s always had a few screws loose, often being too much for his partners. Too possessive after a few hours of fun. He’s never gone this far. Watching some woman, obsessing over her until his polluted mind believed she was his.

This wasn’t some date gone wrong, nor a hookup gone sour. It was unbridled violence. Something Simon knew more than the back of his hand, and yet, the taste in his mouth was pungent.

“You’ve gone bloody mental,” Ghost snarls, rounding the bed to stand at her feet. “She’s a civilian, Johnny. Not like us.” With more force than necessary, he tears away a long strip of bandage, the tear accentuating his words.

He fists her calf, raising it as he swirls the synthetic fabric tight around her twisted ankle. “And now, you’ve turned me into a goddamn accomplice.”

“I didnae want to, Lt,” Johnny tiffs, before setting his glass aside and wiping at his lids. “She’s in my head, Sir. All night, all damn day. I tried to stay away. Tried to just… watch.”

“Yeah? And what about her? You think she’ll keep her mouth shut when she wakes up here, with you, of all blokes.”

His head lifts, hand curling into a fist. “I’ll handle it, Sir.”

“That’s what I’m worried about, Johnny.” Simon grabs his kit, taking out a small jar and syringe. “You need to think this through. Soon.” He stabs through the seal and draws a small dosage.

“What are you giving her?”

“Field sedative,” he caps the needle, before gathering the other remnants and zipping up his kit. “It’ll buy you a few hours.”

“You need to clean this place up, and her. Secure all the weapons, or anything she’ll use as one.” Simon’s footsteps retreat toward the bathroom, water running, followed by cabinets opening and closing.

Johnny sucks in a breath, heading toward the wardrobe beside the crackling fire. There are some boxes here, old PT shirts and track pants left in a forgotten go-bag; they’ll do.

With trembling hands, he peels the dirty, torn shirt off her limp form. Liquid sloshes beside him when Simon returns, setting down a small wash basin and cloth on the nightstand.

“Just need to change yer clothes, bonnie. Clean you up.” He mutters tersely as if she was lying there expectantly with her eyes open.

After blindly soaking the washcloth, he drags it along every inch of her skin. First, the rust on her forehead and down the apples of her cheeks. Her neck until he reaches her sternum. Under each breast and armpit, dragging southward to the mossy, cracked knuckles. Until her skin smells of stale soap and something uniquely her, instead of musk and metal.

She slumps when he maneuvers his shirt over her head. It falls mid-thigh, dwarfing her shoulders and torso. The sleep shorts came next, one leg at a time, and extra cautious to not disturb the tight gauze on her foot. He replaces them with baggy sweats after scrubbing her irritated knees, thumbing the waistband when he finishes.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Simon murmurs, noting the linger of his hands on her flesh.

“I can do this.” The whiskey took the feral edge of his voice, but not the rest of him. “When she wakes, I’ll…”

“She’ll have one hell of a headache. Probably disoriented. Might be sick. Might panic.” His voice hardens, “might scream. You ready for that, Johnny? One hiccup and this fantasy of yours is going to get you—get both of you—killed.”

Under scrutiny, he shuts down. Ignores the pungent validity of Simon’s concerns. “I ken, Lt. But she’s worth the risk.”

“If she dies, or if Price gets wind of anything—”

“Ye’d turn me in.” Soap growls, but only with resignation in his tone.

“In a heartbeat.” Simon crosses the room in only a few strides, pulling a bottle of painkillers from one of the pockets. Rattles them before setting them next to the bed. “I’ll be back, Johnny.”

That could mean any frame of time in his language. Days, weeks, months. Maybe an hour.

He’s truly on his own to face the possible consequences. How difficult will it be to make her see clearly? To force her into a mellow mold?

Johnny places a pillow under the bandaged foot to keep it elevated. Gives her head a turn to see if she’s bled through the gauze, but there’s only a few specks. Her skin looks less sickly than before, at least. More like she did.

Following, he begrudgingly shuts the door to the master and heads downstairs. Sorts through all the drawers and cupboards to see what he’s working with. All the canned food is unsalvagable, leaving only his gran’s china plates and mugs. There’s not much in the way of boxes or trash, leaving the place barren when he removes all the sheets off the furniture.

Silence cloaks the room as he sweeps away all the dust and filth. Brings the clutter up to the attic on the third floor and locks it away.

He’ll need a blank slate if there is any chance of this going off without a hitch.

A bead of sweat cascades down his temple when he’s finished with his third trip, morning light coming through the stained windows.

The sound of an engine ebbing in the distance makes him turn solid, hand hovering over his piece. Perhaps someone was watching the place, or Simon had a change of heart to save his skin.

It takes a few moments for him to gather the courage and open the front door. His shoulders drop when nobody is standing there, no armed service police as he was expecting.

Only a box occupies the mat. It’s lidless with handles on the side. Fresh cuts of meat wrapped in paper with dates scribbled on them, a stack of canned vegetables and beans, toothbrushes and paste, and painkillers you can’t get over the counter.

No doubt who brought it without knocking. He said he’d be back, and he’s a man of his word in the strangest of ways.

The stove clicks when he fires it up, channeling the memories of watching his grandmother’s process. All the ingredients begin to simmer in the tall pot, mixing into a perfect meal for someone bedridden and nauseous. Chunks of meat and veg, a carton of broth, and the few seasonings that were still sealed. Once he places the lid on, he takes note of the hours that have passed on his watch.

It’s time for him to get back up there and prepare accordingly for the hell-storm brewing when she opens her eyes.

The steps creak under his feet. All the knives need to be locked away. He’ll probably need to replace the vases and lamps with metal. Everything has to be shatter-proof, all the hard edges of the place need to be soft. Not to mention keeping her here, which will be a task in itself. Based on the very recent past, he’s sure a hurt ankle and head gash isn’t going to prevent her from running.

Unconsciousness begins to fade from her features.

Smaller fingers twitch against his. A raspy exhale comes from her lips. Her eyelids flutter. Johnny goes rigid, scooting closer to prevent any flailing.

Her eyes snap open.

[izzyhandsdeservedbetter]

SHATTERED REFLECTIONS

Shattered Reflections (Part 2)  

Fandom: All For The Game (Nora Sakavic)  

Summary: The two Andrews clash—Original Andrew despises Andrew for failing Aaron, while Andrew resents Original Andrew for having Aaron and not appreciating him. Meanwhile, Aaron is forced to confront the truth: that Andrew does care, even if he never shows it.  

AU!Andrew will be referred to as: Andrew

---  

Original Andrew’s POV  

Andrew didn’t like this other version of himself.  

No, like was too weak a word.  

He loathed him.  

Every time he looked at Andrew—at the hollowed-out cheeks, the way his fingers twitched like he was still reaching for a ghost—all he could think was: You let him die.  

And that was unforgivable.  

Because Andrew had spent his entire life making sure Aaron didn’t die. He had taken the beatings, the deals with monsters—all so that Aaron could live. And this failure of a reflection had fucked it up in the worst way possible.  

So when Andrew turned to him with that shattered, furious look in his eyes, Andrew was ready.  

"You don’t deserve him," Andrew spat.  

Andrew’s fingers curled into fists. "And you killed him."  

Andrew flinched—just slightly, just enough for Andrew to see it—before his expression twisted into something ugly. "At least I tried to save him. You just—what? Pretend he doesn’t exist? Pretend you don’t care?"  

Andrew’s blood ran cold.  

Because the worst part was—Andrew wasn’t entirely wrong.  

Andrew didn’t show it. He never had. Caring was a weakness, and weakness got people killed.  

But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it.  

And now this broken version of himself was throwing it in his face like an accusation.  

Neil, ever the unwanted mediator, stepped between them. "This isn’t helping."  

"Shut up, Neil," both Andrews snapped in unison.  

Neil raised his hands in surrender but didn’t back down. "You’re both acting like this is a fight you can win. It’s not."  

Andrew didn’t care. He wanted Andrew to hurt. He wanted him to bleed.  

Because if he didn’t, then he’d have to admit that the only difference between them was luck.  

---  

Aaron’s POV  

Aaron had always thought Andrew didn’t care about him.  

Oh, sure, Andrew protected him—but that was just instinct, wasn’t it? Some fucked-up sense of obligation. Andrew never said anything. Never acted like he gave a shit.  

But now, watching Andrew—watching the way his hands shook, the way his voice cracked when he said Aaron’s name—Aaron realized something.  

He cares.  

And if this Andrew cared, then…  

His own Andrew did too.  

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.  

Because if Andrew cared, then all those years of silence, of distance, of biting remarks—they weren’t indifference. They were just… Andrew.  

And now Andrew was staring at him like he was a miracle, like he couldn’t believe he was real, and—  

Aaron couldn’t take it anymore.  

He stepped forward, ignoring the way both Andrews tensed.  

"Stop," he said, voice rough. "Just—stop."  

Andrew’s gaze snapped to him, desperate.  

Aaron exhaled. "I’m sorry," he said. "My death—it wasn’t your fault. I was the one who got hooked. It was unfair to you to try and get me sober at sixteen. You were just a kid too."  

Andrew’s breath hitched.  

For a long moment, no one spoke.  

Then—  

"You don’t get to forgive me," Andrew whispered.  

Aaron shrugged. "Too bad. I just did."  

---  

Andrew’s POV  

Andrew didn’t know how to process this.  

Aaron—his Aaron—was dead. Gone. Rotting in the ground because Andrew had been too stubborn, too reckless, too stupid to see the danger.  

And now here was this other Aaron, alive and breathing, telling him it wasn’t his fault.  

It was a lie.  

It had to be.  

Because if it wasn’t his fault, then that meant—what? That Aaron’s death was just some cruel twist of fate? That Andrew hadn’t failed him?  

No.  

Andrew had failed.  

And this Aaron—this living, breathing ghost—was looking at him with something dangerously close to pity.  

He couldn’t stand it.  

"You don’t know anything," Andrew snarled.  

Andrew—the one who still had his brother, the one who didn’t deserve him—stepped forward, eyes dark. "And you don’t belong here."  

Andrew laughed, sharp and brittle. "Trust me. I don’t want to be here."  

Neil, who had been watching silently, finally spoke. "Then what do you want?"  

Andrew looked at Aaron.  

Then at the floor.  

"Nothing," he lied.  

Because what he wanted was impossible.  

He wanted his brother back.  

---  

To Be Continued...  

Tell me if you want to be tagged!

@demon-of-arts @epicmarrowbonesoup @lakeshorediving @sunflover0in0abbys

Part 1 Part 2 (you are here), Part 3

[astralbulldragon13]

Under the Full Moon

A year ago, was when I first got into Gator Boys. There wasn't much content of them back then, and I wanted to share my little story ‘Sick as a Bug’. And to celebrate an anniversary of sorts, here's another story.

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

"There's gumbo on the stove, and plenty of wood by the fire to last until sunup. Remember to keep the ladder up and lock the door."

Those had been Bodie's last words before he descended into the water below. The sky out the open windows was dark, and peppered with stars, not a cloud covering them. Amber had made herself comfortable in a nest of blankets and bedrolls Timmy scrounged up in front of the fire, mismatched eyes transfixed on the dancing flames.

The reason for the elder gator's worry and current absence this night, was due to the full moon that hung in the sky. The mere presence of it had made Bodie twitchy all day, his answers were short and his toned had been clipped as he ferried the poor human over to Timmy’s cabin for the night, a plan the group arranged over the week. Amber had been sore tempted to make a joke about his attitude and ‘that time of the month’, but she couldn’t bring herself to antagonize the poor gator as he descended the ladder into the waters of the swamp and swam away. A smile ghosted over her face as she thought about how it probably would have flustered the big lug, just like…

“Bug?”

Timmy’s voice broke the young huntress from her thoughts, and she turned to look up at Timmy, offering her a bowl of the gumbo and wild rice.

“Figured we’d better eat. It’s gonna be a long night.”

Amber smiled and took the plate with a mumbled ‘thanks,’ before heartily digging in.

Timmy watched her for a moment, a little smile creeping over his face before taking a seat on her right side, keeping in view of her good eye. “You really like gumbo, huh? You always eat it like it’s the first time you had it”

The human nodded, swallowing a mouthful and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Well, it’s always good. And we didn’t have gumbo up where I lived, just stews, and soups. Stuff you can leave in a pot while you’re out in the field and it’ll be done by the and of the work day.”

The gator Half-Blood looked at her, wonder in his golden eyes as he ate his gumbo. “What was it like? Over where you grew up?”

Amber’s expression grew wistful, her expression turning back to the flames, as though seeing through them and into the past. “It was flat, fields of wheat, a bunch of trees, not really a forest, but a grove of trees between the different farms and the road. I would run through those woods every day, looking for toads, birds, rabbits, I would come back to the house covered in mud, scrapes on my knees, and pockets full of whatever shiny thing I could find. One time, I came home with a bunch of feathers in my hair, because I got into an actual fight with a turkey!”

Timmy laughed, imagining a tiny version of the Bug before him, black hair full of turkey feathers and a wide, devil-may-care grin. However, in his mind's eye, he couldn’t imagine Amber without the most notable feature. He looked at his bowl, then back at his friend. “Bug… can I ask a question? Y-You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Amber looked at him, a little smile crossing her lip, as thought she could guess the question on his mind. “Go right ahead, Tim-Tim. Ask away.”

Timmy sighed and looked the human with curious eyes. “How... how did you get your scar?”

The human sighed quietly, reaching up to touch the scar that went from her hairline to below her cheekbone, and a smaller one intersecting it, right under her clouded left eye. "It's okay to ask, I don't mind telling you. It... It happened when I was ten. Our neighbor's stud got out, again, and I thought I could catch him by myself."

Timmy winced. He had seen his share of temperamental horses on Miss Elizabeth's farm and knew to keep his distance from them early on. He looked at her, rubbing the material of the blanket between his fingers. "What possessed you to try that?"

Amber sighed, lowering her bowl to her lap. "I'd caught my Papa's horses before, so that they could be hooked up to the plows or put them up in the barn. Though I could do the same with that stud, he kicked out, got me right in the face."

The young Gator lifted a hand, his fingers hesitant, before brushing a lock of Amber's black hair out of her face. "Your eye... can you see out of it?"

She looked up at him, a little smile crossing her lips. "Kinda? It's mostly shapes and shadows."

"Does it give you any trouble?"

The question was simple, but it seemed to weigh the girl down. She stood, taking her now empty bowl to the wash bucket to clean it.

"Sometimes," She answered after a moment. "I tend to tilt my head, so things are more centered, and I bump into things all the time..."

"What else?" Timmy coaxed gently.

Amber took a deep breath, moving back to their little nest in front of the fire, staring into the flames unable to look her friend in the eye. "... My Ma thought it made me too ugly to marry off to anyone in our town. She kicked me out over it."

Timmy looked at Amber in shock. He couldn't imagine such a painful thing. He looked at her for a moment before reaching out his hand, taking hold of her cheek and turning her face to his. The young Half-Blood's scaled hand traced over the scars. "I don't think you're ugly, Bug. If anything, the scar makes you even more amazing."

Amber looked at Tim, a little smile drifting over her face. "Thank... Thank you, Tim-Tim."

He smiled at her, their gazes remaining locked on each other until Amber notices something.

"Tim! Kel's sakes, I can see your breath! Come on, get under the blankets! I'm starting to see what Bodie was talking about."

The two fussed and prodded at each other until they fell asleep, the fire dying out to embers.

Bodie returned just after dawn, tossing pebbles to Timmy's widow to wake the boy so he could lower the ladder. Upon getting into the house, he noted the sleeping human in the nest of blankets, pillows, and bedrolls that the boy had clearly tumbled his way out of to bring him up... Bodie wondered what went on while he was gone last night.

[dearest-and-nearest]

I'm writing veilguard fix-it fic (basically make everyone an asshole bigot and every single good ending turns out to be shit, lol) and here's my worldstate for it. There's long post under cut + very unpopular choices and views on them, so you've been warned

Levia and Aretha are ghost chars existing only in memories of chars who loved them (Alistair and Anders), Taren still lives. In dai he was an ambitious arrogant idiot, who wants nothing, but to be worshipped. He doesn't care about his clan and elves (so Bellara, who I rewrote to be mix of Velanna and Merril, hates him), he doesn't care about people, he doesn't care about anything but how he looks and how many people obey him. Good thing - he still has connections in politics. Bad thing - Solas can control him, so he can't really do anything (and he hates Solas since he dared to deny him). While he was an inquisitor, Taren often acted reckless and without second thought, not comparing facts, so he was sure Gaspard is a good option as emperor and wardens should leave the Orlais (and he was very outraged when they dared to return after Trepasser). Taren grew up a bit in terms of personality, but he is still very arrogant, selfish and stupid man, who always thinks about himself first, even when it would be better to think about others.

In fact, it's not a good place to live. The only place where situation becomes better (and very slowly and still through blood) is Orzammar. Other places? Well, mages, which situation became even worse through this 10 years, despise Aretha for being templar's whore as they call her, because it was her, who did a lot to show that circles are necessary. Elves, no matter dalishes or ctiy, call Taren traitor, and don't think of him as an elf, he's outsider, someone who traded his race for illusion of power.

Levia's death is forgotten despite all Alistair's efforts. He became his version from concepts to dao: bitter and sarcastic veteran, who knows that even ultimate sacrifice can be forgotten by world it saved. Zevran still mourns her: he became head of house Arannai, but his actions had consequences and now Crows are even more crueler to recruits. They need to break their will, so no one will dare to repeat what Zevran did.

Aretha isn't mourned much too. News about her death crushed what remained from Anders' mind, so he is full abomination now, can't differ himself from Vengeance anymore and wanders in Tevinter, killing and searching for way to bring her back. From the moment he went crazy completely, Anders started to call fuse of him and Vengeance Sacrifice, and even adresses himself as "we". He is also a ghoul, but his mind is such a mess, that despite hearing song, his goal remained "find Hawke", but he is just a shadow of himself now, obsessed with this one idea. He is a ghoul, just so crazy, that even Calling didn't affect him in the way it should. Fenris haunts him, wanting to kill him and give him peace this way, but can't catch him yet.

Meanwhile Carver married Merrill and they moved far away from Kirkwall. He left the templars at the same time his sister had to ran away from Kirkwall because of rebellion (she was a tyrant, when she was a viscount, so in history she remained as Viper (and it's very... kind nickname. People willingly call her much, much worse) and even if she'd survived, she couldn't became viscount again), and that was their last meet. Merrill broke her mirror and wants to help other elves, so she created her own clan from city elves and they all live in forests, travelling and trying to survive. She and Carver have a child together and they're rare pair, who got their happy ending here.

Isabela was given to Arishok, so she ran away and prefers to stay away from large conflicts. She became even more cynical, remains of her golden heart were shattered in the moment Aretha gave her to Arishok, so she trades slaves sometimes and doesn't really care who buys her skills and ship. At least she has this ship, it's already an achievement. She is also very hostile towards qunari, any of them. Through, she is pretty satisfied with her life and has her own happy end too.

In short, it's really dark place, because I'm pervert, I prefer bad endings more. +a lot of good people died, so yeah. And you can understand why I didn't like veilguard or dai, lol

[kindaasrikal]

(Read the TW tags first, just in case)

Give me mentally unstable and probably classified as insane Morro who sees hallucinations but got so used to all of it after decades of dealing with it that no one suspects a thing.

Except Lloyd. Lloyd kinda wants to throw Morro into a deep pool of both lava and water after making him watch horrifying hallucinations and imagery of everything and everyone.

Worse part, Morro has no idea that he accidentally put the green ninja through that. He was wondering why he would suddenly go silent, but got distracted by the beast moving out the walls with blood tainted teeth.

He went to go poke it.

Edit: i wanted to add on to this with a different version. Morro thought the hallucinations that he saw were just there due to his trauma in the cave and the only reason they got stronger was because of him becoming more mentally aware or mentally damaged over the years in the cursed realm. So when possessing Lloyd, he did nit expect the little twerp to somehow turn his head to a hallucination he was actively trying to avoid looking at, but also exclaim “YOU SEE THOSE THINGS TOO??”

The whole mission had to paused by Morro (which left the other ghosts absolutely baffled) when Morro and Lloyd came to the conclusion that if Morro saw those outside of Lloyd’s body, and Lloyd saw them outside of Morro’s possession, then something is up.

They never got to put it together as a duo, since Morro still wanted to be a jerk and take over the realm and so everything else happened. But then after he asked Wu about these hallucinations he sees (without mentioning Morro). Wu came to the conclusion it must have to do with the Devourers Venom, that unlocked a piece of Lloyd brain to allow him to see the vestiges of when the over lord’s dark magic and evil filled the land. He recalled Garmadon seeing similar things. (The thing it ‘unlocked’ was his oni side for Garmadon)

Lloyd took the time to think about this and why Morro saw it too, before remembering that the cursed realm is also the definition of evil and dark magic. The preeminent was awfully possessive of Morro, so she must of claimed him or something that made him slowly start seeing those weird hallucinations.

Lloyd ended up summoning Morro with a bucket of water right next to him so they could have some sort of a decent conversation. Morro was just mopey the whole time but did contribute. I think.

[babygirl-riley]

I’m Sorry Alternative Version

A mission that was suppose to be easy turns sideways as you lay bleeding out, watching Simon panicking trying to save you.

A/N: @batmanunicorns523 hope this is what you had in mind 👀

“Haven’t I given enough? Given enough? Always the fool with the slowest heart.”

Warnings: angst, childhood trauma, trauma, blood, violance, near death, swearing

simon x reader guide

simon x reader fluff/angst

Blood. Crimson. Gasping. Crying. Everything that Simon never wanted to see you do. It wasn’t suppose to go the way it did, just him and you in the mission. Scope out and confirm the target, however the patrol was never spotted as they came from behind the both of you. Everything was fine, took the squad out done. Until more came.

Both you and Ghost retreated or tried to until the group caught up. The bullets lodging into your leg, shoulder, and chest. You fought until the last solider dropped, you didn’t notice or feel anything until Ghost looked at you. An emotion written all over his face. Something you never seen. Fear.

You looked down to see the blood seeping through your winter gear. The white slowly staining into a red. You looked up at him before feeling weak and started to crumble. He looked over your body before saying something. The words left his mouth but you couldn’t catch them. All you heard was ringing in your ears. You became terrified, you could feel your body weakening, feeling nauseous, tired. So when he picked you up and carried you through the snowy mountains, you didn’t feel anything by that time.

You watched as the trees sprinkled the snow to the ground. It would have been beautiful, you always love the trees when they were covered in snow. You blinked slowly trying to look at Simon. Not Ghost. Simon. Ghost seemed calm yet Simon, his eyes told you different. Panic written on them as he searched the area around them, making sure no one followed. He sprinted up the stairs of deck on the safe house, running through the door. You groaned feeling the pain even more. He set you down quickly and softly, hushing you while watched your color fading.

Simon tossed his gear to the side and his gun next to you just in case they did follow. He ran around the house grabbing alcohol, tissues, any sort of fucking clothing. He had to stop the bleeding. That was the first thought that ran through him, no matter what happens your blood needed to stay.

You stared up at the ceiling feeling the nausea come through once again. You couldn’t die not like this. Not with him here. Watching you die. You knew of his past and you didn’t want him to add another haunting to his memory. You saw a blur and you try to focus your eyes to him. His eyes wild, his chest covered in crimson. Panic went through you as you reached for him, he pushed you hand aside. Is that his or is that…Oh.

Simon knelt next to you as he searched which wound to tend; he saw the blood seeping through to the couch. Simon has seen blood many of times, many different ways, how many pints been taken out; this was no different. However, Simon wanted to throw up, watching the love of his life bleed away from life. Watching the color drain. Watching her soul being yanked by death himself.

He got to work quickly working on the one on your thigh. Grabbing a towel to tie above it to stop the bleeding. You moaned as you looked away, feeling your eyes start to shut. “Nuh uh y/n eyes on me!” He yelled sternly. You tried to sob as you tried to. “I know love I know just keep lookin’ at me yeah?”

Simon’s gloves became heavy as the blood was staining them. He took his gloves off throwing them somewhere as he kept working. There was so much and not one being controlled. He couldn’t loose you, you ware his rock, his world. You kept him grounded. If you leave him…

“Fucking hell,” He mumbled putting pressure on your chest. “I gotta take it off,” Your eyes moved to him it seemed like you were there. He nodded as he pulled a knife and ripped through your jacket and other items of clothing beneath. When he saw it, it was nasty, it wasn’t just one hole there was two. He took a deep breath and kept going. The more he worked the more blood came. “Fuck! Fuck! Come on!”

His frustration was clear, which made it clear for you. You were not making it out of this. You frowned. “It’s okay baby.” You whispered your voice raspy, wheezing.

“No, no stop baby I gotta get this,” He shook his head he placed a hand on your cheek, you felt the red warm stickiness stain your face. Tears welling up. “I’m so s’rry baby, it’s okay it’s fuck-I don’t know what to do! There is just so much fuckin’.” His yelling continued as he worked on you.

“It’s okay,” You kept repeating feeling like death was right there grabbing you taking you. You watched as his eyes was full of panic, you knew that look. The look of ‘there is nothing we can do.’ You had to tell him, you thought that it was an asshole move. But he needed to know. “I love you Simon…Riley. I..I lo…” You couldn’t finish as your eyes started to become heavier. Watching Simon yell, as his eyes widened.

Simon starts to panic, pure fucking panic. Simon started to shake you a bit, then again harder. Thinking how he did the same with his mom, memories flashing back and forth. He let out a growl before yelling out your name. Rocking back and forth before inhaling, petting the sides your face begging for your beautiful eyes to open. “Sweethear’ just stay with me! Please! I can’t loose you too! Fuck come on!” His hands froze for a moment then went back to work on the wounds, while the rest of his body froze inside.

Simon thought that this was it, you were out of his grasp. Once your eyes shut his mind will go with. His heart will go down as well. No one will be able to break down the barriers again. He wouldn’t let it happen. His mind went to the happiest moments with you to become more plagued of never going to see this again. Until the bleeding stopped, slowly letting him help you.

It was hours before he got your bleeding to stop, hours of tears, sweat, blood. Simon placed his fingers around your wrist where the pulse would be, weak. Very weak. He leaned back on his heels as he overlooked you. He watched your chest to slowly see it rise and fall. You were breathing barely but you were alive. He sat there for a moment before sitting down all the way taking a large inhale.

Simon felt his body shake as he watched you. You could have been dead right now, no life, paler, no chest movements. He thought about everything that both of you could have been doing that wasn’t here. Simon would have taken you to a beautiful resort, somewhere where no one would bug him or you. Smiling and laughing at nonsense together. Hell he even thought about how you would be in a wedding dress. Walking down to him. Holding you. Kissing you.

Simon felt his lip tremble as he went into a more darker place in his mind. Seeing faces of his dead loved ones, that could have been you as well. Laying with them. All pale and gone. He couldn’t lose you, couldn’t add you to the pile. Simon gulped before pushing himself up, you laid still as he placed with a small sheet on you to keep you warm.

His mind ticked as he stared more thinking and memorizing all your features. This sheet could cover you completely, hiding the fact you were there. Dead. His finger twitch before he snapped his body away. “Fuck,” He whispered, pacing. His heart was thundering against his chest. Chewing his lip. “Fuck!” He threw the med kit across the room as it smashed against the floor. Simon realized that he still had the damn thing glued to his hand.

Simon couldn’t control all the emotions that ran through him. The rage. The sadness. The sorrow. The spite. The relief. Everything, it felt like his blood stream was yelling for help try to cool the home that was burning everything. Simon stood breathing in and out before the radio went off.

“Bravo 7 come in,” Simon stood still the ringing of his ears coming down to listen to the surroundings. “Bravo 7 how copy?”

Johnny. Simon thought he reached up to the button of the walkie. “Bravo 7 copy.”

“Thank Mary herself,” Johnny sighed. “Where ya at LT, tryin to get ahold of y/c/n.” Simon looked over at you, then looked at your radio, which your radio was broken. Bullet got caught inside of it, which he thanked whatever was out there. Maybe that one wound would have taken you. “Ghost?”

Simon blinked a couple of times. “She’s in critical, when can we get extraction?”

There wasn’t an answer for a moment before Price’s voice came through. “How critical?”

Simon bit the inside of his cheek. “She los’ lots of blood, she will need a blood transfusion. I was able to stop the bleed barley. Is there an ETA?”

Price sighed. “The storm is fuckin’ with our sensors,” He mumbled. Simon’s heart started to drop. “We don’t know until the storm subsides.”

Simon looked out the window, he didn’t even noticed the wind that was yelling outside. The snow fighting around each other, covering any sort of distance from the house to outside. Simon looked at you as nothing changed, watching your chest move up and down.

Simon shook his head. “She doesn’ have that time Price.”

“She will have to Ghost.” He replied quickly.

Simon started to chew his bottom lip now. What if he can’t keep you stable? One wrong move and you could be gone. Just like he did with Tommy. Like his mom. Like his neph… “Simon,” His attention was brought back to his radio. “We will keep in touch, just hang on.”

It was a couple hours before you started to stir yourself awake. The nightmares of continuously running and dying, jolted you awake. Your eyes snapped open as you tried to jolt up but felt heavy. You yelled loudly, as the pain flashed through your veins. That’s when panic came in, looking around with your eyes. Where’s Simon?

Simon rushed over as he shut the door watching your body trying to get up. “Love,” He yelled as you still kept getting up. When he reached your shoulders and soft pushed you back down. “Stay still.”

Tears brimmed your eyes as you stared up at him. You winced as the pain worsened and you held back a scream. Simon’s heart sank as he placed his hand on your forehead. Soothing you as he let out soft hushes. Simon pulled out a stim shot, you winced as you bit your cheek. “It’s ‘ight love ‘m right here.”

Your lip trembled as your body started to calm down a bit. “I-.” Your sentence dropped as you coughed.

Simon got up quickly to find a canteen in his pack and to come back and help it to your lips. You drank carefully as you gripped his wrist. You leaned back down panting becoming more leveled breathing. It was silent for a moment as he rubbed circles on your hand. “How long has it been?” You mumbled your voice hoarse.

“8 hours minimum.” His eyes haven’t met yours since waking up. Looking to the side or down.

You nodded as you tried to grab his attention to you. “Whats…hm the damages?”

His eyes looked at your body, his shoulders going stiff. Simon thought about the possibility of you being dead hours ago. That he wouldn’t be hearing the scratched honey of your voice instead just dust and echos. His imagination. His memories. Simon shook himself mentally before clearing his throat. “Ya have 4 bullet wounds, couple of bruises, and loss of blood. Lots of it. Probably need some blood transfusion when we get back.”

You nodded, reality hitting that would mean that you almost died. You flipped your hand around and grabbed his. Gripping it. “Okay,” You whispered. “That’s good.”

“Good?” Simon chuckled. “No not good.”

You gave him a confused look. “I’m ali…”

“You could have died y/n,” He mumbled, his hand shaking a bit before he snapped it out of yours. “Because I didn’ know what to fuckin’ do. You just kept bleedin’ and there was nothing I could do and-and-I panicked, I never…” His voice cracked, making your heart stop. Did you die? Did you have to be brought back?

“Simon.” You whispered reaching for his face to guide him to your eyes.

His eyes were glossy from tears brimming them. You started to tear up. “I’m sor’y,” He whispered. “You almost were gone an’ I don’t know what I would have done.”

You smiled weakly. “Yet here I am Si,” He leaned into your forehead laying it there. “I’m right here.”

Simon sighed and rubbed his hand through your hair. “You’re right here.”

Simon didn’t move from this spot until the radios went off to inform them that they would be an hour out. Simon will never let this happen again, until the day he fucking got taken from the grim reaper himself.