#The Lawnmower Man 2

[adamwatchesmovies]

Lawnmower Man 2: Beyond Cyberspace (1996)

What circumstances could’ve possibly led to the making of Lawnmower Man 2: Beyond Cyberspace a.k.a. Lawnmower Man 2: Jobe's War? There couldn't have been too many fans of the original thanks to its flagrant disregard for the source material, terrible special effects and hammy characters. Even if you did enjoy it unironically, this sequel isn’t for you because it directly contradicts the ending of the first film before repeating everything it did in the last act for about an hour. At best, this picture can be enjoyed as something that’s “So Bad It’s Good”. Even so, it doesn't measure up to its predecessor. This is a movie without an audience.

Six years after the events of the first film, now 16-year-old Peter Parkette (Austin O’Brien) lives in a cyberpunk Los Angeles with a group of runaway teens. This futuristic society’s favorite pastime is navigating through virtual reality, which makes them vulnerable to the megalomaniacal Jonathan Walker (Kevin Conway) and the Chiron Chip he's developing with the help of Jobe Smith (Matt Frewer) - now legless, disfigured and living nearly entirely in cyberspace. What the corporate tycoon doesn’t realize is that Jobe has sinister plans of his own; plans only the Chiron Chip’s creator, Dr. Benjamin Trace (Patrick Bergin), can thwart.

Forget the “dun, dun, dun!” ending of The Lawnmower Man. Forget the fact that Jobe’s body was clearly disintegrated, that he went on a murderous rampage sending cyberbees after people and setting others on fire. In fact, forget most of the movie. Remember only the vague idea that Jobe was experimented upon until he became a galaxy-brained virtual world wizard. As for whether you should remember that he’s evil or not… I’m not sure. The film has an obvious villain in the form of Jonathan Walker but he eventually gets supplanted by Jobe, who wants to become a cybergod and rule over all humanity. First, he has to destroy the real world by ruining people’s credit ratings, making ATMs spit out money non-stop, and messing around with the water & power supply. He knows that within minutes, such disruptions will have people jacking onto the internet so hard they’ll never want to jack off again. No, that’s not me making a joke. I’m demonstrating what the funniest part of this movie is. Not the special effects (which are actually better than the ones we saw in 1992); the constant stream of unintentional references to masturbation.

If it wasn’t obvious already, the film’s writing is ghastly. It’s only been six years since Jobe’s ascension, making this Blade Runner-lite LA as convincing as low-budget 1996 CGI. It’s clear Farhad Mann - whose name appears in the end credits at least 5 times - really wanted to make a cyberpunk movie but couldn’t figure out how to make this set this sequel in the future while still featuring the same boy Jobe befriended when he was a simpleton. Speaking of that friendship, we’re told that Jobe suffered burns on 80% of his body, that his legs had to be amputated and his face was reconstructed. Is that why Peter recognizes him immediately? The film doesn’t even do the obvious thing, which is to have Jobe appear as he originally did in Cyberspace and then morph his appearance to look like his current self to create that bridge. That’s a nitpick, really. This film is loaded with dubious security measures, technology that makes no sense and relationships that would have even aliens who’ve never encountered people raising their eyebrows. Why Dr. Cori Platt (Ely Pouget) and Dr. Trace suddenly fall in love, no one could say.

Beyond Cyberspace/Jobe’s War is inferior to The Lawnmower Man in every way, and since its plot is basically a repeat of the former’s last act, there’s really no reason to watch it, except one. Without a doubt, this film features the best “we don’t really know what hacking is like” scene of all time. Instead of a password, we've got a mathematical equation that needs to be solved. Said equation then turns into a virtual maze the characters have to navigate through. Combined with the techno jargon soup, it’s a laugh-out-loud riot that plays out like a cross between magic and an FMV video game puzzle. I wish I could commit to memory the exact words exchanged but it’s impossible; those lines could never be written down or uttered by a person whose sanity is intact. For that alone, Lawnmower Man 2 might be worth checking out if you like bad movies and you had a great time with the first. (May 7, 2022)

[ricksanchezbignaturals]

never forget what they took from you

[aardwolfpack]

Matt Frewer as Jobe Smith in Lawnmower Man 2: Beyond Cyberspace.

[scifipinups]

Camille Cooper Lawnmower Man 2: Beyond Cyberspace (1996)

[rwpohl]

the man who fell to earth, nicolas roeg 1976

[cruorlupus]

I watch this on repeat every 2-3 nights and it’s always funny how Apple had everything set up for them 28 years ago. They could have literally just used this clip to announce the Vision Pro.

Also I like this design more.

[planetary]

mutual 1: okay but this scene was actually so homoerotic LIKE… (clip of a 2001 show about dudes morphing into dinosaurs that aired on adult swim)

mutual 2: just made a sandwich (dark blurry picture of maybe a sandwich)

mutual 3: commenting “can i have a bite” on mutual 2’s post

mutual 4: (reblogging a bunch of pictures of bloody knives and bathtubs with red glitter editted over the blood)

mutual 5: my boss just texted me and asked me if i can stay late to eat broken glass this friday. i hate this fucking job

mutual 6: does anyone else get really turned on thinking about high-speed rail in the US

mutual 7: my cat fell asleep on me

mutual 8: (tier list of which video game mans pussy tastes best)

mutual 9: hit like if you think the girl on the left is just as beautiful as the girl on the right <3 (picture of a lawnmower next to picture of a water tower)

mutual 10: (after reblogging an anime poll with an essay in the tags) Anyway if you dont vote for FMAB to win in that poll block me for real

mutual 11: people who care enough about tumblr polls to block each other over are so pathetic lmao

mutual 12: why are you guys saying smoking weed is ableist 😭

mutual 13: people who don’t understand why smoking weed could be considered ableist are so fucking stupid

mutual 14: hey gugys just watched a movie toduay (14 gifsets of the movie)

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag. 

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had. 

God, you’d never have friends like that again. 

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen. 

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up. 

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment. 

A city now filled with killers. 

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil. 

Not good. 

Shit. Karver, where did you go!? 

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US. 

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air. 

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed. 

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy. 

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.” 

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been. 

So that was where you came in. 

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.  

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.” 

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty. 

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back. 

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips. 

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple. 

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses. 

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing. 

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured. 

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper. 

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same. 

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come. 

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder? 

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death. 

Your mark has been met. 

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow. 

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze. 

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman. 

The Reaper. 

Oh, what would they think of you now? 

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times. 

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all. 

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries. 

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete. 

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling. 

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set. 

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group. 

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play. 

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching. 

“Hm,” their command affirms.  

 Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–” 

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different. 

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances. 

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow. 

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit. 

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys. 

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant. 

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat. 

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate. 

Price grunts under his breath. 

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask. 

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?” 

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over. 

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves. 

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion. 

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’. 

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand. 

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all. 

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.” 

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell. 

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate. 

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.” 

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer. 

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?” 

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in  – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book. 

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit. 

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over. 

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted. 

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm. 

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before. 

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows. 

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture. 

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.” 

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head. 

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant. 

The room is more silent than Ghost is. 

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.” 

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow. 

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.” 

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time. 

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered. 

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague. 

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim. 

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes. 

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.” 

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders. 

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now! 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.” 

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do. 

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping. 

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself. 

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission. 

And Ghost. 

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks. 

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt. 

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work? 

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky. 

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.  

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch. 

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens.  He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.” 

“Sir!” 

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been. 

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back. 

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself. 

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest. 

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly. 

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily. 

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time. 

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen. 

But there were ups to this constant downward slope. 

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market. 

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.” 

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks. 

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters. 

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky. 

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull. 

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean. 

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me. 

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

 Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt. 

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant. 

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice. 

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked. 

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point. 

If I had known…you frown. 

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.” 

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it. 

Like blood lining the street. 

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you. 

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you. 

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver. 

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins. 

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch. 

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days. 

Your Captain scurries after. 

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type. 

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude. 

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle. 

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case. 

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth. 

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement. 

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?” 

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.” 

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms. 

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?” 

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’ 

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat. 

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’ 

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves. 

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report. 

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued. 

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom. 

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat. 

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race? 

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute. 

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted? 

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound. 

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.” 

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit? 

“Now that’s dark.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights. 

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore. 

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you. 

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?” 

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how. 

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left. 

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely. 

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath. 

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets. 

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles. 

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare. 

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious. 

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.” 

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh. 

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow. 

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way. 

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around. 

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you. 

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around. 

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led. 

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–” 

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it. 

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after. 

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you. 

Boxed in. 

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it. 

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you. 

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it. 

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you. 

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps. 

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious. 

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah! 

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!” 

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs. 

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement. 

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.” 

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant. 

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that. 

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow. 

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee. 

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.  

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time. 

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter. 

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant. 

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now. 

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip? 

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side. 

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate. 

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years. 

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated. 

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks. 

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet. 

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should. 

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors. 

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth. 

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong. 

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you? 

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[rhey-007]

I can't help falling in love with you

serial killer!Max Verstappen x reader || 18+

Summary: Moving back to your childhood house was never in your plans, but after your parents' death you couldn't let go of it. After moving in and meeting your new neighbor everything seemed to fall apart, but you're too oblivious to notice the obvious.

Warnings/Tags: 18+, GORE (gutting), mentions of smut, kidnapping, restraining, torture, violance, female reader, creepy/jealous/yandere Max

A/N: It's Halloween y'all! So I decided to write a Halloween horror story :)) It's the first time I wrote something like this but I feel like it's good. And I've been writing it for past 2 weeks and can't seem to finish so there will be a part 2 on Sunday 😭 + sorry for typos 😬

Wordcount: 4364

P2

༶❃.✮:▹💀◃:✮.❃

Moving back to your childhood house was never in your plans. But there you were, standing in front of the small, falling appart house taking a deep breath and opening the creeking door. The noise was so loud you could bet the whole street heard it.

After one last breath you slowly walked in. The inside looked just as you remembered, but old, dirty and dusty. Family photos hanged where they always did – you were surprised your parents haven’t taken them down after you left – an old bouquet of dead flowers stood on the welcoming console – you already planned on keepping them as you loved collecting dried flowers.

Walking further in you noticed your old drawings still hanged on the fridge door – neither of them dirty or ripped – as well as all your magnets from various family trips. In the living room your baby blanket layed on the sofa.

It surprised you, everything as for right now showed that your parents never forgot about you even though you didn’t have any contact. You wondered if your room looked the same as you left it, and it did. You always thought your parents would change it into a home gym or something like that but it was left untouched, only your favourite teddy bear was missing.

Roaming the house further you’ve found it in your parents’ bedroom on the nightstand. Tears started to fill your eyes, you were so cruel for them for the past few years and they never forgot about you, even tried to have you as close as they could even though you were far, far away. Warm hands creeping around your waist shook you out of your trance.

“Hey, it’s okay...”

Your boyfriend George whispered and placed a kiss on top of your head before spinning you around and pressing against his chest into a tight hug. A few tears fell down your cheeks, wetting George’s shirt but he didn’t mind. You were greatful you had him, especially in such hard times.

After you calmed down the two of you went back downstairs to bring inside your suitcases and boxes with stuff. A young man, new neighboor, caught your eye when you left.

He was mowing the grass, or rather struggling with turning on his old lawnmower, and he noticed you too. He gave a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his neck while a soft blush appeared on his face. You chuckled a little and asked George to come over with you and offer help.

The man agreed with a sigh and soon you were standing in front of your neighbours house. It was way bigger and prietter than yours, which made you wonder and imagine what it looked like inside. It looked like a mansion outside so you thought it had to look so bougey inside too.

“Hi, we’re your new neighbours. Well... kind of... I lived here as a kid”

You explained quickly with a sweet smile.

“I’m Y/N and this is my boyfriend George, can we help you?”

You introduced yourself and George before offering help which the man reluctantly agreed to.

“I’m Max, nice meeting you. And I’m sorry for the problem... I really need to buy a new lawnmower but don’t really have time...”

Max sighed and smiled awkwardly at you while George tried to turn on the machine and you chatted with Max. He moved in a few years ago so he might have known your parents.

He admitted he was an owner of quite a big company, that was why he lived in such a luxury but you wondered why he opted for a small house in the suburbs instead of a flat in the middle of the town. He on the other hand, found out that you were a daughter of his late neighbours.

“They were good people”

He said, but you knew better. Max watched you closely as you talked, watched how your dimples showed when you smiled, how your ginger hair shined in the sun, how you fiddled with your fingers as if you were anxious but your demeanor said otherwise. Just in those few minutes the man was able to memorise your behaviour and ticks.

After a few tries and some digging in the engine, your boyfriend finally turned the machine on.

“There you go buddy”

He smiled kindly.

"Now excuse us, we gotta head back to unpacking”

He politely excused yourselves before leaving.

“I wish I could help but knowing my luck if I turn this shit off right now I won’t be able to turn it back on later. But! Maybe you could come over and eat supper with me and my friend? Will 6pm be okay?”

“Oh um... I-I'm not sure... We don’t want to be a burden...”

“Oh you wouldn’t, believe me. Daniel loves meeting new people and I could pay off the debt... Sooo? “

"I’ll have to ask George but I’m sure he’ll agree”

“Great! Then see ya later, good luck!”

“Good luck to you too!”

You waved goodbye before rushing off to help George with a heavy box. He insisted on carrying it in by himself, but you knew better to not let him or he’d break something, again...

༶❃.✮:▹💀◃:✮.❃

By the time the evening came you were done cleaning almost the whole house and unpacking just the most necessary things. George wasn’t keen on eating supper with the newly met neighbour and his friend but you’ve managed to convince him with a fun time afterwards. It always worked.

You changed from your house clothes to something more suitable but still comfortable for a meeting and left dragging your boyfriend behind yourself. You didn’t even manage to knock or ring the doorbell when a tall, dark haired man opened the door and let you in.

"I’m Daniel. You’re new neighbours right?”

He greeted eagerly, shaking your hands like crazy. The man was full of energy which terriffied you a little, but it quickly changed further into the night.

“Daniel don’t scare them!”

Max’s voice rumbled in the kitchen .

“Come in, don’t be scared. He’s just excited! "

Walking into the kitchen you could finally take a good look at the interior. It was just how you imagined it to. Modern with a hint of vintage, light walls, golden chandelier hanging above the glass table and fully equipped and up to date kitchen – which you could only dream about. It was beautiful.

You sat down by the table after George pulled a chair for you, as he always would. You’d never thought you’ll find yourself a true gentleman but there he was, all yours. Inhaling the scent of the dish made you remember about saturdays at home.

Your mom used to always make lasagna on saturdays, it was so delicious, you remembered it’s taste even now when you haven’t eaten it for years – and you won’t anymore. Max sitting in front of you with a huge smile made you realize the table was fully set and Daniel and George already started to eat.

“Something wrong?”

The man asked quietly to which you responded with a slight shake of your head and a smile, before trying the food. It was delicious, so delicious you couldn’t believe the blonde made it.

„Homemade or ordered? "

Asking bluntly you felt George's elbow poke your side. It wasn't really polite from you but Max didn’t care.

„Homemade. I know it tastes too good, but I tried my best and it paid off”

The man admitted. He wasn’t affected badly by your question, instead responded with a warm smile that didn’t seem to ever fall. Your honesty impressed while your beauty amazed him.

The supper was enjoyable. Daniel turned out to be a really sweet guy, just a little overjoyed, considering the fact he scared you a tad at first.

Following the meal came board games and wine, even though George wasn’t happy to compete with Max against you and Daniel, but you kind of addpoted the tall man. He was too cute to ignore, making your boyfriend hella jelous, but you were going to recompensate him that later anyway.

The two of you won every round of whatever game, which didn’t please Max. You could see it. You could see the way the vain on his forehead throbbed while he struggled with George, how his hands curled in fists every time Daniel laughed at him, but he tried not to explode as best as he could.

You felt bad for the blonde. Daniel later explained that he was a bad looser but worked on it and that such session was good for him. It made you feel relieved at least a little bit.

When the night started to fall and more and more yawns escaped your lips George decided that it was time to leave. You reluctanlty got up and gave Daniel a huge goodbye hug before shaking Max’s hand and leaving the mansion with George’s arm wrapped around your waist.

When you made it to your new bedroom – which was an old guest room – you insisted on pleasing your boyfriend just as you promised, even though he said you didn’t have to as he knew you were tired. But you were too stubborn and soon George layed underneeth you half naked as you undressed yourself, his hands roaming your body.

Sitting up the man wrapped them around your waist pulling you closer while his lips planted soft kissed along your jaw then down your torso. You couldn’t bother to close the curtains, no one could see you anyway, especially in the dim light of your small nightstand lamp.

But a feeling of someone watching you was constantly appearing in the back of your head.

After you, left also Daniel, leaving Max alone in his huge house - as always. The man didn’t feel alone in it, not anymore knowing that a beautiful and georgous woman like you lived just across the street.

Instead of cleaning the mess Max made his way upstairs to his master bedroom. Not turning on the light but instead opening the curtains letting the moonlight in, the man sat on his bed watching every your move, trying to remember every detail about your body and how it moved.

He wished he was the one laying on the bed, surveying your body, touching your soft, pale skin as you undressed, instead of your stupid boyfriend.

The blonde couldn’t believe someone like George was able to pull you, such a sweet and mesmerizing creature. Have you not noticed his humongous, terrifying eyes staring into your soul? It was quite long since someone caught Max’s eye the way you did. All of them were awlays already taken, but not for long...

༶❃.✮:▹💀◃:✮.❃

A few months passed since you moved back to your childhood house. Those few months were very calm and enjoying although you always had a feeling someone watched you. Watched your every step, every move, everything you did. Also some of your things started to disappear, or maybe it was just your amazing ability to loose them.

All the free time you had, you used to bring the building back to life. It looked way better than before. Fresh, pastel yellow paint graced the outdoors walls, pots filled with red flowers hanged from the ceiling on the porch, a white, wooden swing sat there too.

The only thing you still had to work on was the lawn, but you needed George’s help who worked longer hours than you, coming back home late in the evening, drained from life and any energy.

You told him multiple times to change the job as the money wasn’t adequate to working hours nor the amount of things he did, but he refused saying he won't be able to find a better one.

Sometimes you wondered if he enjoyed the work and exhaustement, that's why he refused to leave. Him not having a job wouldn't have changed much anyway, you've earned more than him anyway and your salary alone was able to cover all the expenses.

Max saw that too. He noticed how you struggled alone with the lawn, just to quickly give up and go back inside, how you did all the chores around the house by yourself which clearly pissed you off.

He noticed that your boyfriend came back home late, not able to please your needs or at least talk with you. If it was him on George's place he wouldn’t care if he was tired or not, instead being all over you the moment he came back home, doing everything you needed him to and more, talking with you about everything and nothing.

He couldn’t let you suffer because of him. No... He had to do something about that.

One night George didn’t come back home at all, which made you worry. He could either be cheating on you or something happened, there was no other option.

To addition to your worry he didn’t answer your calls nor texted back. It was midnight when you heard a car pulling up, you shot up from the couch and run up to the window just to be disappointed immediately.

It was just Max coming back from work. It was weird though, he never came back so late. You sighed and decided to call it a day and try to contact your boyfriend the next day. But he didn’t answer then either, nor the next day.

You finally decided to go to the police station and report his missing. They took it immediately and they assured you they’d try their best to find him. But they didn’t succeed...

༶❃.✮:▹💀◃:✮.❃

That day George was back home way before you, wanting to surprise you with a dinner he was about to make, then try to clean the house as much as he could.

He walked into the house, not bothering to lock the door behind himself, then stepped into the kitchen and dropped the bags full of ingredients onto the kitchen counter.

After changing into home clothes, George started to prepare everything needed for the spaghetti, when he felt a huge pain in the back of his head and his vision went black.

The man woke up after a few hours, to the sound of classical music and sharpening knives. He tried rubbing his head, but was restrained, tied to a chair in a dark basement.

„You finally woke up Georgie”

Russell heard a voice say, but was unable to tell who the person standing in front of him was, because of the darkness. The lamp hanging above his head barely lightened him, not reaching far into the room. The man walked up to George and put his sharp knife under his chin, making him look up.

„You thought one dinner would be able to recompensate Y/N all the time she has to spent to keep the house in a good condition?... "

A sharp laugh vibrated through the room, until it suddenly stopped and the knife pressed against George's neck.

„You're funny "

The strange man stepped closer to George, the light finally hitting his face. Max smiled maniacally, he was going to have whole lotta fun...

Russell’s head hit the metal table, almost knocking him out before Max splashed cold water onto his face.

„Uh, uh, uh. No sleepin, we haven’t even started "

The man strapped him down then approached a trolley, his fingers running through the various torture tools he owned.

„What should I use first... "

Max wondered out loud while George tried to release himself, without success.

„Wha-what do you even want from me?! What have I done?! "

He screamed into the dutch'es face after he turned around, holding a pair of scissors then cutting George’s sweater in half.

„Oh you know well what you've done. If you were smart enough, you'd notice I even said it”

The man could feel Max's cold finger run down his chest to his abs. He picked back his knife and pressed it to George’s stomach, pushing it slowly in and listening how the man screamed in pain.

When the knife was deep enough, he made a sharp move, opening him up and revealing his intestinal tract.

„Looked at these beauties... "

Max peaked inside, opening the wound more and more while Russel choked on his tears. He breathed heavily, which was hard because of the toument, fear spreading through his whole body.

„Is this really... J-just about me... Not having time?... "

He managed to choke out while looking down his body, the sight made him sick. Max's fingertips were already covered in blood, from touching the intestines, his lips spread in a horrific smile, eyes shining in awe at the sight.

„I knew... I knew there was something wrong with you... You better stay... Stay away from her! "

He tried to fight, but the slightest move turned into an unbearable agony.

„Well... It's not like you’re gonna do anything about this lover boy. Not anymore at least... "

Max shrugged and flashed George his white teeth then his hand dipped inside his stomach to soon pull out the large intestine. Russell cried out in pain, closing his eyes which angried Verstappen.

Throwing the organ to the ground he opened his eyes with force. He clipped his eyelids pulling them softly out so his humongous, blue eyes could stay open the whole time and watch the terror.

„You're gonna watch how I ruin you, either you like it or not... "

The man whispered into George’s ear, his hot breath made a shiver run down his spine, their eyes locked. Max's hand traveled back to the wound, slowly creeping inside.

„I want you to say it... Say sorry for your absence... "

He whispered once again before straightening up and watching George from above. He studied his face, how his nose scrunched at the pain, eyes desperately trying to close and chest rising and falling rapidly.

He liked that sight. No. He loved it. He loved to cause him pain, thinking it was fair and well deserved. The man pulled out his small intestine, inch by inch, waiting for the apology.

„I-I'm sorry okay... I-I tried... I tried... I should have... I should have changed the fucking job god!... I fucked... I know I did... But it's not a reason to kill me you psycho!”

With one sharp pull his small intestine was out and on the ground, blood splattered everywhere, some sticking to Max's face. In that moment he looked like a true serial killer and George started to fear about you.

„That's the only thing I wanted to hear. Now... See you on the other side”

With that words Max reached for George’s heart pulling it out with one go and finally killing the man. He then stripped him off the meat and the skin from the face, hanging the later made mask obove his desk.

„Well... It surely was fun... "

„Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help falling in love with you... „

༶❃.✮:▹💀◃:✮.❃

It was a month since you last saw him. The first few weeks you cried yourself to sleep which hurt Max. It hurt him to look at you in that miserable state, crying over a man that didn’t even deserve you.

Weirdly, he was the only person able to fully comfort you. He invited you over for dinner or supper every day or visited you to join eating so you wouldn’t be alone, he helped you around the house – even hired a maid in the first weeks to help you.

The man was so sweet and caring, he made you forget about George by the time Christmas came. He then thought he finally had a chance with you until you appeared on his porch, holding a hand of some strange man, introducing him as your new boyfriend.

“Max, this is my new boyfriend, Sergio. Sergio, Max is my neighbour – obviously – and my close friend”

You smiled up at both men as they shook each other’s hands, Max gripping Checo’s tightly giving him a death glare. Max understood you tried to finally move on and live a normal life, but why couldn’t you move on to him?

After all those things he had done for you, all the nights he’s spent by your side, all the money he’s spent on you, you chose some stranger over him?

Blood boiled in his vains thinking about it and watched your new boyfriend hand him a Christmas gift. He accepted it only because of you, smiling sweetly when you were leaving.

‘’I don’t think he likes me...’’

Sergio whispered as you walked away but you just shook your head with a chuckle.

Checo was just as sweet as George. You tried not to compare them together but it was too hard. You've noticed they were really similar, but Checo had way more time for you than George did.

You've also noticed the change in Max's behaviour, it wasn’t anything big but after a year of your friendship you knew when something was wrong, you just couldn’t figure out what. It started when he met Sergio and from then on he was so cold towards him, not like towards George.

The vain on his forehead was about to pop every time he saw you two together, everytime you smiled because of the Mexican, every time you laughed because of him.

„Was he jealous? "

You wondered but pushed that thought aside. He couldn’t, he was your friend after all.

Sergio was a dream boyfriend, a knight on a white horse. He helped you around the house, didn’t rush your relationship letting you get used to him before doing something and most importantly he truly listened to you and didn’t ignore even the stupidest of your fears or needs, not like George.

But the dream quickly fell appart when you let down your walls and the two of you got too comfortable around each other. He moved in with you without even asking, as his landlord kicked him out.

You couldn’t understand why thought. He had a well paid job yet couldn’t affort a low budget apartment? Well, turned out he lost it some time ago and haven’t told you about it.

From that time he stayed home all the time, doing shit, occasionally leaving in the evening for a few hours. He was really stressed and frustrated, sometimes rising his voice at you when you did something wrong, but then quickly apologising and offering a massage to comfort you.

But that aslo passed rather quickly and with time his shouting became a daily thing. One day he hit you. A juicy slap across your face, leaving a red mark.

You were fighting over his shouting again but this time he didn’t hold back. That’s when you found out how he really was.

Brutal, disregarding your opinion, caring only about sex and a ‘maid’, in one word – despot. Yet he was so sweet at the beginning. You felt fooled...

You were too scared to tell anyone, so scared the man would hurt you even more and you had enough of bruises and cuts you tried so good to cover.

No one seemed to notice it, beside Max. He didn’t want to mention them though, as he figured you wouldn’t like to talk about it.

Every time he invited you over for dinner you either didn’t come because Sergio didn’t let you, or came just for a few minutes before the man burst in and dragged you back home angrily.

Max couldn’t understand why you just didn’t kick him out and leave him. Only two months after Checo started to be aggressive he disappeared. You felt so good when he didn’t come back home for a few days straight and quickly threw away all his stuff. You finally felt free...

༶❃.✮:▹💀◃:✮.❃

Kidnapping Sergio was the easiest thing ever. The man wandered through the two , eventually stopping by one if the alleys and walking in. He lit a cigarette and watched the stary sky while waiting for a dealer. Soon a car parked in front of the alley, a hooded man walked out making his way towards Checo.  

„Here” 

He handed him the money and stretched his other hand waiting for stranger to give him the drugs. The man quickly took the money then tazed Checo, getting him unconscious.  

Slowly opening his eye, Sergio grunted in pain. His body was stiff, half naked, laying on cold metal. The man looked around, the only thing he was able to see was himself, but he could hear footsteps from behind. Trying to roll his head up, he noticed his hands tied to some machine and a back of a man, quietly humming an Elvis song.  

„Well... Well... Well... Look who has finally woken up... "

The Dutch smiled from ear to ear, making his way over to Perez.  

„Verstappen?! I knew there was something wrong with you! You better let me go or-"

„Or what? "

The blonde cut in.  

„It's not like you're gonna do something about this. You can’t afterall... Besides... You deserve it” 

Max hissed turning on the machine that bit by bit started to stretch Sergio's body. The Mexican screamed, wiggling and trying to break free but was tied too hard, only giving himself more pain.  

„You son of a bitch! You're a fucking monster! "

He shouted and spat on Max's face. The Dutch frowned and only turned up the speed slightly, after wiping his face.  

„I am a monster? Maybe tell it to Y/N, after all... You were the key hurting her. Not me... Now. You better apologize” 

He hissed and increased it even more, the screams and noises of breaking bones and muscles filled his ears, they sounded like honey. But Sergio wasn’t going to apologize. Nothing was going to make him to apologize for what he'd done. He'd rather die than say it.  

„Fine... "

Max sighed unsatisfied finally raising the pace to maximum. Sergio’s body teared in half, blood splattered everywhere making the man groan in pleasure and lick the blood off his lips.  

"Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you? "

[stervrucht]

First line tag game

Thank you so much for the tag @thefreakandthehair! It's so interesting to see everyone's opening lines!

RULES: post the first lines of your last 10 fics/chapters posted on AO3 (if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics) and try to draw some conclusions

I don't have that many fics up on AO3 yet, so I added three of my recent ficlets.

1. Proximity - Steddie

Eddie is hot-wiring the RV when he should have noticed. 

2. Encore - Steddie

David Bowie plays on the radio and Steve drums his fingers along the steering wheel of his car as he contemplates. 

3. Grass - Steddie

Steve is already sweating as he pulls the lawnmower from the garage. 

4. Confess - Byler

“You lied.”

5. The Graveyard Shift - Steddie

Steve watches the arm of the clock move; watches as the minute marker finally jerks forward — one minute closer to the end of his shift. 

6. (Un)broken - Harringrove

“Don’t sweat it, Harrington. Today’s just not your day, man.”

7. Gravitational - Steddie

Eddie wakes up with a gasp.

8. Where were you? - Steddie

They have fallen into a rhythm—a fatal kind of dance Eddie isn’t sure he will survive.

9. Blood crawls where it can't go - Steddie

There is something wrong with Eddie Munson.

10. A world away for lovers - Steddie

“It’s for the best.”

Conclusions: I guess I just kinda dive right into the action don't I? Also, more Steve POV than I expected.

No pressure tags for @steddie-island @sleepy-steve @wheneverfeasible @dame-zoom-a-lot

[l-norris]

Canadian GP 2024 Recap

This is becoming a series now I fear.

This race was utter madness and I was in SHAMBLES by the end of it.

Enjoy me going crazy for the next few paragraphs.

As last time, numbers in brackets are laps. (That I definitely didn't forget to add the first few laps)

PRE-RACE

- Ruth Buscombe calling Esteban "Estie bestie"😶‍🌫️

- Beautiful anthem!

- Apparently Yuki was late for the anthem? Bro's getting detention💀

- Zak and Toto chatting away

- Landoscar spotted‼️

- Danny Ric getting his shoes cleaned like the king he is

RACE!

- The intro is playing and I'm anxiously chewing on my fingernails already

- Accidentally had German commentary on - disgusting

- It's pissing down by the way.

- This one will need actual strategies... rip to Ferrari.

- Logan outqualified Checo just as a reminder

- Saubers starting from pitlane

- Carnage? Yes? No? We'll see.

- The pre-race anxiety keeps building up

- Formation lap starting!

- We get it Crofty, they resurfaced the track.

- Formation lap complete.

- IT'S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO

- No crashes into the first two turns?

- Nevermind, someone went flying (Pierre pushed Checo into the grass)

- George is still in the lead! YIPPEE!

- Charles fumbled😞

- Carlos fumbled too😭

- Horrible day for Tifosi 2.0

- Kmag gaining like 100 positions in 2 laps

-Funky Danish man just FLEW to P4

- CHARLES ENGINE ISSUES? DON'T DO THIS TO ME

- 1st yellow flag. Oh Logan...

- At least he's back to pace

- Lewis binning it

- Fernando almost kissing the fucking wall lmao

- Kmag 8 second pitstop rip

- Daniel apparently did a false start🫣

- It's not raining anymore apparently but no slicks in sight just yet (understandably so)

- Hulk is holding onto these full wets like a lifeline

- Hulk train!

- Daniel 5 second penalty😮‍💨

- Max is closing in on George

- Lando closing in on Max and George

- Yeah, uh... Haas fumbled btw

- Lando keeps setting fastest laps

- Max went wide omg

- Lando is catching Max (17)

- DRS enabled (18)

- Oscar fastes lap (19)

- HELP THIS IS SO NERVE WRACKING

- LANDO OVERTOOK MAX

- LANDO ON THE WAY TO THE LEAD

- HE'S LEADIIIIING (22)

- AND MAX PASSES GEORGE AS WELL

- Oh my God this is stressful

- Lando is driving like his life is depending on it

- I mean... it kinda is.

- both Ferraris out of the points by the way... sigh

- quick toilet break, hope I don't miss anything

- Jinxed it. I missed a crash. Hm.

- SAFETY CAR. (26)

- ... Of course it was Logan... poor man

- Lando missed the chance to pit😭

- There's still hope for Lando.

- He pits (27)

- ... He came back in third...

- "FUCK!" As Lando once said

- Let's hope Lando can pick up the pace again after this

- Charles retiring?? Restarting the car?? Idk man.

- HUH??? Also on slicks? (28)

- Safety Car in (29)

- 40 laps to go

- Pain and suffering

- Ferrari fucked it

- Lewis is probably rethinking if he wants to join Ferrari after all rn

- And Charles is back in the pits😮‍💨

- Charles is getting lapped now. Fun. (37)

- Lando is my last hope

- I'm so tired (no literally I should be getting ready to go to bed lmao)

- DRS would be nice right about now

- IT HAS BEEN ENABLED (40)

- We have 30 laps to go and I'm seriously debating on whether I should just go to bed

- Pierre is on slicks (41)

- And immediately bins it (but saves it)

- Lando is lawnmowing

- Charles is retiring (43)

- I can't do this no more

- Slicks are coming out

- Lando stays out??

- Overcut? (44)

- OVERCUT!

- ... nevermind...

- And George got Lando too🫣

- Nevermind ahaha he's back up in 2nd

- Max complaining and setting fastest laps continuously.

- Checo fucked his rearwing

- Carlos binned it

- Which made Alex bin it

- Safety Car 2.0

- Both Ferrari out😮‍💨

- Both Williams out🫣

- I'm seeing a pattern here.

- oh no hopefully I'm not jinxing it

- Max is pulling away... yawn...

- 7 laps left

- George binning it while trying to overtake Oscar

- Let Oscar cook Goddammit!

- Oscar has to deal with Lewis now

- Aaaand he's gone.

- Oscar is struggling man

- Merc boys battling it out over P3

- Yuki destroying that one damn bollard everyone ignores consistently (thank you king)

- Lando wanting a Safety Car (same)

- But alas... Max Verstappen wins once more.

- I honestly turned off the broadcast as soon as the top 3 crossed the finish line

- I stayed up late for THIS???

- Conflicted whether it was worth it or not tbh

- Like yes it was an exciting race BUT😭

- I want my McLaren double podium RIGHT NOW

All in all, it was a pretty chaotic race. Yeah. That sums it up pretty well.

[halevren]

FHJY Spoilers || my live thoughts as I watch episode 8

I am playing tomodachi life as I watch this. if anyone is curious, I named my island Yorb Island. I just restarted it

IT'S OUR TIME IT'S OUR YEAR

The lip syncing

see you at basrars! goodnight everyone

"Confirmed to be dead" NO. she is confirmed to not be on the mortal plane, perhaps she simply is chilling in the astral realm (I don't want her to be actually dead she looks too lovely)

licking baby..... :(

the lobster bisque

"Gorgug's roots of never being good" CRYING

I feel adaine right now. I am in such a point where I am very antisocial

glassblowing!!!

This disadvantage stuff is actually making me stressed

There's something beautiful about the bad kids not really caring that Kristen doesn't have magic, they still love her. A true "would you still love me if I was a worm?" She has nothing to offer right now, and yet, her friends move her more than anything

Riz can't focus :(

LYDIA 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

OH NO.... ADAINE.....

A d100???????????????????

91?!?!!?! oh no

ADAINE?!!?!??

FLASH OF RED??????? HUH???? WHAT??? WHAT IS GOING ON??

Not Cassandra???? Familiar scream???

"Maybe it's not your fault at all"

"Yeah I definitely killed her..."

Fiendish aura??

"I out wretchrot on it!" "oh good..."

"I thought it was because he was a straight man wearing the pride armor"

"Are you talking about emo music...?"

Lala Embers..

AW DON'T CRY

I feel like the cup of tea..... would be the worst idea

"All drums welcome!"

"What the fuck are we doing?"

there's a nudity tent

There's nothing wrong with a body 🔥

CASSANDRA WAS MARRIED?

I can't wait to see all the theories after this episode

"I don't want to talk about it"

"Do you want a bardic" no one wants fig'd bardic 😭😭😭😭

oh thanks goodness he has meticulous notes

Theothantic silence

There's so much information being thrown at us

Gods could always remember dead goda

"I thought you were dead" oh my

Lucy was possessed...

AYDA MENTION!!!!

OH MY GOD AYDA MENTION!!!!! ADAINE MENTIONED AYDA!!!!

Alter Emo

"It's all natural, man"

"sexy"

BUCKY!!!!!!!!!! BUCKY BOY!!!!!

24 point starts have to be the red crystals

I love all this theorizing. This feels like a debriefing

"Wretchrot is so fucking god at his job."

Minor illustration running drills 😭😭😭😭

"That's my owl bear!!!!"

"8 foot Fabian on the field next week"

"You know how you see the unknown? You shine a light on it."

"Pop off my first prayer"

A 6TH LEVEL SPELL SLOT?

a lot of invisible naked people

I want to partake in this festival

FICUS

MURPH IMMEDIATELY PUTTING HIS HEAD IN HIS HANDS AFTER FIG TURNS INTO WANDA CHILDA 😭😭

not a mosh pit environment

4 1/2 long pipe??!!? ;!

"You wanna get fucking high?"

RUBEN

"Fig had to take a shit."

"Why are there so many naked old people at your house?" "I don't know man! I don't have anything to do with that."

Gorgug disliking Ruben is so good I can't stop giggling

MY CLERICAL GNOMANCE

There is. Something going on.

PRINCIPAL GRIX

RIP RUBEN???? DISINTEGRATE???

NEW MAP!!!

I can't believe Ruben is the front man of MCG

COUNTERSPELL

"don't do this...."

OH NO. OH GOD.

oh god.......... dildo lawnmower

"I've had sex before!"

IT WAS ALL UNDER THE TARP

NOOOOOO WILMA AND DIGBY!!!!!!! NOOOOO

"Ruthless... So they were into fucking machines?"

"These are your champions, Grix?!?!!?!"

"You're not perfect order."

Save the turtle!!!!!

yeah -5 movement. that's tough.

FABIAN TURN 🔥🔥

26 to hit 🔥🔥

they're all just from this summer 😭

"I'm in"

REMOTE ACCESS

That is a four!!!

GAMER POSE 😭

"We got him Porter."

The shoe rack

"Come with me!"

So many nude gnomes

MURPH CANCELLED A CRIT INTO A MISS

"♪I'M GONNA SAVE YOU♪"

DIMENSION DOOR

SO MUCH GOING ON WITH WANDA

"But that moment of terror does happen, 'cause I want him to feel it. I want him to know what would it feel like if the most important thing in his world disappeared."

LISTENING TO A PODCAST AT A MUSIC FESTIVAL

CLOBICA!!

He's not raging???? Let him rage!!!

Bypasses the shield?!?

STUNNED??

What A Day.

Can the air elemental go up Grix's butthole?

Intelligence saving throws

ALLY GOT THE 3 MUSKETEERS

D12 bardic??????

42 POINTS OF PSYCHIC DAMAGE?

NOOO CLOBICA

Rip Clobica

FOR THE LAWN AND FOR PLEASURE

HE BYPASSES'S GRIX'S SHIELD

Wilma and Digby to the rescue!

Kristen healing 🔥

11 points to Riz </3

33 POINTS OF FIRE DAMAGE?

the little mini displays of what's going on is so cool and cute I love them

Four parents on a battlefield is too many

MY CLERICAL GNOMANCE GIVING OUT BARDIC INSPIRATION

THE VULTURE

Gilearean!

THE COMPLICATED WOMEN PODCAST

I love the CW

BIG GRIX

I love Lou and Ally's energy together is so good

RIZ GUKGAK

"If I take 5 stress tokens—"

HE'S ABOUT TO WHAT? TAKE OVER WHO? RIZ NO!!!!!!!!!!!

NOOOOOOOO RIZ IS GETTING MIND CONTROLLED

"I'm mad at you for asking."

NOOO HE GOT A ONE NOOOOO

HE'S GONNA HIT THE TUBE

FINALLY HIS BAD ROLLS HELP

omg the vulture

"Yes. Abso-fucking-lutely, Brennan. Ally Beardsley is at a place of doubt and uncertainty with this move."

hey hirlie

OH MY GOD THE BACKDROP

THE CULTURE DIMENSION???

WHAT?????? WHAT????? THAT'S WHERE IT'S ENDING????????????

[papasbaseball]

Raphael x Tav (Clubs and Spades: Chapter 1)

Pairing: Raphael x F!Tav

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Alcohol

Summary: Tav finds herself on the bad side of the President of the Fae Run Country Club. She agreed to work there as a favor, but he's determined to make her life a living hell. Will they both make it out of the summer without catching feelings?

Word Count: 2,187

Notes: I changed some of the names to help blend in the characters better with the AU setting. Here is a translation if you would like to know:

Tav - '' "Tav" Baldur

Karlach - Karlie Ackerman

Raphael - Raphael Hope

Mizora - Ms. Zora

Wyll - Will

AO3 Link

If all the stories were true, the president of the Fae Run Country Club was the Devil himself. I’d had the fortune of not running into him all summer, enjoying the close proximity to what otherwise might be considered ‘good people’, as I served drinks, folded towels, and did whatever else my manager had sent me to do. That particular day, I limped after my coworker Karlie — the cooler filled with ice and Evian between us making us as useful as a horse with a lame leg — as we brought the beverages out to the 8th hole of the golf course. The community carts had been forbidden from use, much to the dismay of my shoulder.

A quarrelsome two stood beside the green, too rich to stop their argument for us. The one’s shoulders were cast back, face tilted up as if God was also privy to the conversation he was having with the pink-faced man. I’d seen a dozen of his type infesting the green lawns of Fae Run. What set him apart was how quickly he cut down the man with words I’ll never know, courtesy of the lawnmowers. Weak arms were quickly uncrossed and the WASP wannabe buzzed back to the safety of the clubhouse hive.

“Ha!” Karlie scoffed, setting her end of the cooler down with a hard rustle of ice. “Bob had that one coming for a while.”

There were a half dozen members named Bob, but she came to know every one of them over the 8 years that she’d been working there. I’d barely met any of them and I’d been there for 2 months.

“Is Bob a problem?” I asked, setting my end of the cooler down. The ache of carrying it almost a mile thrummed in my arm, thrilled to have been released.

“I certainly wouldn’t want to be his server at dinner,” Karlie said. Her face fell and quickly she was tucking her polo back into her khaki pants, slicking back the wild fly-aways the walk had earned her.

“Ladies.” The remaining man approached us, his shirt unbuttoned past regulation to show off the tan earned from hours spent by the poolside. “Less chatting more working, yes? I would hate to have to speak to your manager about disciplinary action. I want this golf course as immaculate as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” Karlie replied.

“You’re breaking the dress code,” I offered, nodding to the undone button and soft curls of chest hair it guarded. If he wanted everything to be perfect he could start with himself.

He whipped off his sunglasses, mouth disgusted as he gave me a once over. “What is your name, girl?”

“Tav,” I said.

“I doubt that.” He hooked the glasses into his illegal shirt and turned to Karlie. “Ms. Ackerman, does Tav have somewhere to be?”

She stumbled over her words, unable to make eye contact with him.

“I know you are short-staffed,” he cut in, “but I could make much better use of her as my personal caddy for the day.”

“That’s not the job that I applied for,” I said. I had no interest in following some dumbass who only got to his position in life because his daddy foot all his bills and covered up all his mistakes. It was bad enough that I was working here — I owed my friend Will a favor — but I refused to sequester myself to such agonizing mediocrity.

“All employees of the Fae Run Country Club are required to know how to perform any duty they may be called upon at the drop of a hat,” he said. “Clearly you’ve missed training in more than one area.”

I opened my mouth to shoot back a retort when I heard Karlie’s voice tremble.

“Mr. Hope, please.”

She could have poured the chest full of ice over me and it would have been less bone-chilling than those three words. My eyes dart over him, trying to place those features to the portraits of board members that hung in the hallway leading to the main office. Maybe the sunglasses and casual attire had fooled me, but the disappointed frown was unmistakable: I was standing before the Devil.

“Tell your boss to make the necessary shifts,” he said. “I will take care of our darling Tav, here.”

Karlie tucked tail and turned back to the clubhouse. The sun baked a degree hotter with each step of hers, pushing me further into the custody of the Devil of Fae Run. The urge to run after her pressed itself, but I held it back. I couldn’t get myself fired: I still owed Will for lying for me, getting the charges dropped, and scrubbing my record. I just needed to get through this summer free and clean.

“Don’t worry, I will take good care of you,” he said. The words reeked of lies, but I tailed after him anyway. His cologne whipped back with the breeze as I followed him to the golf cart. The sweetness and warmth sent a shiver through me. It must have come from abroad, the undernotes speaking of warm sands and late-night dinners, and probably costing twice my seasonal salary.

I hesitated as I slid into the fine leather seat next to him, not any further than I had to, and watched as he turned the key.

“You really think I am going to bite you?” he said. He pressed the pedal and the cart jerked forward.

I slid further into the seat as I saw the sharp grass zipping by the floorboard more quickly than I would like it to. His chuckle at this was quiet under the whine of the cart. It was going to take more than the threat of turfburn for me to take his treatment lying down. I couldn’t refuse his orders, but I didn’t have to like it.

“You were threatening to fire me and Karlie a few minutes ago.”

“Was I?” he asked. “You’re not very good at listening, Tav.” The corners of his lips pulled back in disgust. “What is your real name? Tav sounds like something you’d call a dog. Although, you would make a pretty picture fetching my golf clubs.” He paused at the thought.

“My friends call me Tav,” I said. Mr. Hope steered the golf cart back onto the path and I almost gripped his leg to steady myself as the cart wobbled back onto its steady charge forward. I tucked my hand quickly under my black golf skort, taking comfort in the weight of my thigh.

“I’m not your friend: I’m your employer.”

“If you want to know it so bad, why don’t you just look it up when we get back to the clubhouse?” I should have bit my tongue, but Mr. Hope was not going to be calling me by my government name if I had anything to say about it.

The cart coasted to a stop, the clubhouse within sight. “If you want me to call you like a dog then you can get out and run after the cart like one.” He nodded for me to step out. “Go on, Tav.”

My legs were still twitching from the hike out to the 8th hole and I was maybe enjoying the custom fans on the cart a little too much. But between that or telling him my full name, I stepped out, cringing as the sun baked my skin once more. It didn’t take long until he was pressing the cart forward. He drove it just fast enough that I was always on his heels, no matter how hard I ran.

As my sneakers thumped the white pavement I imagined they were stomping that stupid handsome face of his. It looked all-natural – there was a small scar on his forehead and plenty of wrinkles that cut from his amber eyes – but the soft curl to his hair and all-linen outfit told the world that he could afford plastic surgery if he wanted to. He could probably afford to buy the plastic surgeon too if the rumors were true.

Mr. Hope parked the golf cart with the herd of others after what felt like a day of running. I heaved heavy breaths in and out, hands on my knees as I considered a nap on the blinding concrete.

“I’m surprised that you made it, Tav. Such a good girl.” Mockery highlighted his voice, but the words caught me off guard. I turned them over in my mind, wondering what other sweet praises the Devil liked to stab with.

“It was a piece of cake,” I lied.

He turned and headed towards the clubhouse, tossing a come-here whistle over his shoulder. I scrunched my face up, swallowing the nasty names I was already starting to come up with for him. I’d share those later with Karlie and Will.

The clubhouse wrapped its welcoming chill around us. I didn’t even mind the goosebumps on my arms, rubbing them only once as I followed him back to the foyer. He pulled out his phone and shot off a quick text before stopping a server carrying a saran-wrapped tray full of chicken salad croissants to the meeting room.

“Have you seen Ms. Zora?” he asked.

“I’m right here.”

Ms. Zora’s white polo and black skort could have gotten her mistaken for club staff if it wasn’t for the glowing pearls that encircled her swan-like neck. She was the secretary for the board and seemed to have a habit, I noticed, of showing up when you least wanted her to.

Raphael waved off the server, not even watching as she scurried away, head down muttering a prayer of thankfulness. He gestured to the walls and ceilings of the foyer.

“Where are all the banners that we ordered?” he asked.

Ms. Zora rolled her eyes, huffing a sigh of exasperation. “Supply chain issues. Don’t worry: I got us a full refund and have contacted that little print shop down the road.” She laughed, “You should have seen how grateful they were that I wanted everything ASAP and at a discount too.”

“I do not care about a discount. I want this foyer decorated now,” he said.

“I’ll give them a call,” Ms. Zora smiled. Her cunning gaze soon fell on me, her smile dropping with it. “Is there a reason why you are here Ms. Baldur?”

“Oh, so she does have a name?” Raphael laughed. “Ms. Baldur is my caddy for the day. I do have to say, I have grown quite accustomed to calling her Tav, though. It has a certain peasant charm to it.”

My clean-cut nails bit into my palms as I balled my fists up. Just get through the day, that’s it. If he used my name any more times I might have to start going by my full name just to get the stink of him off of it.

“I need to go make that call,” Ms. Zora excused herself. He didn’t watch her leave, instead smirking and staring hungrily down at me as if I were the chicken salad sandwiches.

“What are you looking at?” I asked.

“Ms. Baldur,” he said, rolling the r with a flourish. “Such a nice ring to it. Maybe I’ll call you that if you do a good enough job today. Please me and I’ll please you.”

“I-“ He knew he had turned my nickname into an annoyance. I expected him to sprout horns any minute now. “What makes you think that I want you to please me? Can’t I just do my job?”

He turned, heading back out to the golf course. A group of men had managed to gather in the few minutes we’d been inside, chattering and guzzling Bud Lights as if they were college frat boys born again in the heat of the summer.

“Raph!” one of them exclaimed. “What took you so long?”

“I was just making sure everything was ready and attending to a few stray animals.” He looked at me with that remark, before continuing, “Nothing exciting.” He popped his sunglasses back on as the cloud cover retreated. My eyes were drawn once more to the unbuttoned violation. I stared a bit too long as I found his eyes peeking out the peripheral of the shades, waiting for mine to see them. He gave a smile and I went off to his golf cart to sulk in my rosy cheeks.

They chatted and chatted until one of them finally clapped his hands together in anticipation. Beer can after empty beer can clunked into the trash can, and one by one the carts started.

“Out,” he said.

“What?” I said.

“Do you have cotton in your ears? Out. You want to be named like a dog, you’ll run like a dog.”

I got out, folding my arms as I watched him get in. “I thought we were done with all this.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are, but I’m not done with your lesson, Tav. If you keep up, I’ll drive you back after the 18th hole.” And with that, he backed the cart out and zipped off after the pack.

[paramouradrift]

for the WIP game—"Zuko's Man Pillows" (2023) because i am dying to know what man pillows are

Oh boy. You went right for the smut.

The idea for this fic came about suddenly and without warning and strangled my optic nerve for a few days before inertia carried me on to other projects, but essentially it boils down to this: Sokka likes big breasts, so Zuko becomes a bodybuilder. The man pillows are Zuko's enormous pecs.

It's pure, unfiltered porn with plot from start to finish. The first scene I wrote was Zuko getting railed by Jet because Jet is a top and they're friends with benefits who work at the same gym. Sokka comes in later wanting to work out after recovering from a broken leg, and Zuko becomes his personal trainer. It ends with Sokka getting ploughed repeatedly by Zuko after a sexually tense dinner date post-Sokka's transformation into a mildly fit guy. Lots of muscle worship and bondage.

I wrote up about 2 pages of prose and 4 pages of bullet point outline, and I had every intention of finishing it and posting it to AO3, but alas. For the time being, it skulks in the back of my mind like a fat spider in the corner of the garden shed, waiting to jumpscare me when I need to get the lawnmower out.

WIP game master post

[exit-path]

Tumblr Post Compilation: A Masterpost

First of all, let me tell you what you're about to see.

This is a list of 118 "funny tumblr posts" taken from YouTube compilations in 2016. I tracked down all these posts on tumblr myself in Nov 2021. The post is broken up into two parts, and is available under the cut. Each of the links is named after a snippet from the actual post (effectively the "punchline"), and clicking on it brings up the full post, which you can reblog and interact with.

These posts are nostalgic to me because I watched these YouTube compilations before I came to tumblr. I recommend you scroll through these posts, as they bring up a form of humor that's rarely seen today which, I think, has almost been lost to time. Also, if you want to learn how to do this, there's some insight as to how I did this at the end of the post.

(This masterpost is a revision of this post, necessitated because the hyperlinks don't work anymore.)

1. outrageously angry man returning a lawnmower and it was our dad

2. Italian exchange student said “Look, the compressed horse.”

3. “im eminem!” “and I’m skittles?”

4. I JUST MISTOOK ANOTHER STUDENT FOR A TRASH CAN

5. he ate the reeses cup then stabbed himself with the epipen

6. “GODDAMMIT, MR. NOODLE.”

7. school on lockdown because someone put weed in the vents

8. Can’t cheat with those big ass galaxy phones

9. weirdly self-conscious about wiper blade speed

10. My brother told me not to slam the door and yell “Guess who’s home, motherfuckers”

11. drove by traffic camera 6 times thinking it was funny

12. drill sergeant made kid carry around potted plant to replace the oxygen he wasted

13. A list of things that do not offend people:

14. kid grabbed seagull out of air, all his friends were like “again tyrone?? really??”

15. “LOWERCASE LETTERS ARE FOR THE LOWER CLASS”

16. drunk man proposes to tree, gets rejected

17. “i’m on my way, the traffic is just slow, i’m coming” “mom i called the house phone”

18. a kid’s phone started siri, TEACHER STARTED EXPLAINING IT AGAIN

19. “watch my stuff” what if someone comes and actually tries to steal it

20. our goats think that now whenever they pee they get a treat

21. “it’s for your own good”, mom deleted the internet explorer icon from my desktop

22. a girl called me a lying slut because I was with her bf a lot. we’re siblings

23. I watched an old couple set off their car alarm and drive away… now that i think about it-

24. Rules to learning English: their our know rules

25. a kid got expelled for pretending to be russian for 8 months

26. a girl said she had two moms and a boy started crying, he said it wasn’t fair she had two

27. when a girl changes her clothes in front of you, she hasn’t spotted you in the tree yet

28. my mom is telling me “get a good job” but my heart is telling me “marry rich”

29. my parents split after they made me. i am a volcano. follow for more geological humour

30. I’m saying “excuse me” but I really mean “why the fu-”

31. nun goes “I’m allowed to look at the menu I just can’t order”

32. Hospitals are so weird

33. handed their BLIND SON a menu and he’s like “ah… thank you… I’ll just… read this”

34. on April Fool’s his mom called to say she was in labour, dad laughed and hung up on her

35. “why do I fear bears? because Chester Zoo is 30 miles away and bears can smell fear”

36. dropped her ipad but held tight to her pizza

37. her parents faked a british accent in front of her until she was 7

38. really religious girl who told people off if they swore, gets sworn at

39. he took her to the supermarket to watch the lobsters fighting in the lobster tank

40. so i was the official shia labeouf myspace but i was in fact a 12 yr old canadian kid

41. subway thief told suitcase has “a bunch of laptops” ends up stealing a dead dog

42. “I guess working in fast food just wasn’t my cup of tea”

43. I waited until the professor handed back the papers and angrily asked where mine was

44. so i started trying to kill classmates with my mind

45. my favorite thing is ask 14/15 year old kids on dates if they want a kids menu

46. I blacked out in Disney World, woke up with Mickey Mouse putting a cold towel on me

47. “wanna date me? yes: smile no: backflip” and she did a backflip

48. “do you wanna kiss” “excuse me” he pulled out a bag of hershey’s kisses

49. when beyoncé asked all the single ladies to put their hands up I looked at my bf and

50. 7th grade, his world of warcraft friends threw him a virtual birthday party

51. “she’s the bro and y’all bitches are the hoes”

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

We are so fucking back, baby! Since my birthday weekend is coming up, I decided I’d put up a poll so we can see what absolute mess of a movie I’ll have to sit through! And since it is my birthday, I’ve decided it should be a movie based off of one of my favorite authors: Stephen King.

1. Stephen King directed his own story while high off his ass on coke. It’s about killer trucks and has a soundtrack comprised of AC/DC songs.

2. The contentious compressed adaptation of King’s most ambitious series, starring world’s sexiest man Idris Elba.

3. A movie about incestuous vampire werecats which features a slew of cameos from people like Ron Perlman, Clive Barker, and child murderer John Landis.

4. Imagine if Alien was delirious and the chestbursters went up your ass and were also called “Shit Weasels,” also everyone is psychic and Morgan Freeman is there. That’s this movie.

5. It’s a movie about a killer laundry press. This might be the greatest concept of all time.

6. Cheap-looking killer bat movie at a textile mill. I think I started watching this one once and got really bored.

7. You know what everyone loves? Remakes of beloved classics! How does the second theatrical adaptation of the book that put King on the map fare? Considering this is probably your first time hearing about it in years, not well!

8. You know what’s generally a better idea? Remaking movies that aren’t bonafide classics! The original was good but had room for improvement, so did this film deliver? Ehhhh…

9. This movie has so little to do with King’s story he demanded his name be taken off it so they couldn’t bank on the King brand.

10. King has had vampire stories adapted to great effect, but werewolves? Decidedly less so. Roger Ebert went as far as to say he thought this was a parody of the original novella… but he still liked it, so there’s hope.