#and that almost makes it worse???????? that they are so loyal to each other even as he’s keeping a massive secret?

[vvienne]

I literally woke up in the middle of the night like God will dark rise is so fucking screwed. The line that’s like. “Everyone wanted to kill the Dark King.” What’s the part where he looks at Violet helplessly, haunted, almost pleading for mercy? But of course he reveals nothing of substance to anyone. Elizabeth is too young to understand but the reader knows what “Her relationship with that boy was…unnatural” can mean. Tying him to bedposts? Failing to strangle him? What else? Never not even once seeing beyond a mythological identity Will himself didn’t know he had? What did he think was the reason? That he was just intrinsically hateful? Of course he says nothing. Of course Violet can’t trust him- he’s given her nothing as painfully real as what she’s given him. So he gives her the sword hoping at least he can die at the hands of someone he loved, but even that doesn’t work out - she gives the sword to a Visander still furious at SARCEAN. The pattern continues; no one looks at Will, who vomits when he realizes what’s happened to James, Will who is much of a liar and killer and sneak as Elizabeth accuses but nonetheless wants to be different. Even when he doesn’t remember his own past. There’s no way out for him that doesn’t hurt. Hope this obsession passes soon given the one and a half years of waiting required for book 3

[tojirights]

I absolutely love your Alastor smut! Is there anyway you can make one where your Vox’s ex and Alastor decided to somehow show off to Vox how much reader loves his c*ck more?? A special broadcast maybe?? Please keep up the great work!

a/n: i love vox but if there's one thing i love more, its making him feel inferior to alastor 😍 this is soo good. REQUESTS OPEN! 🩷

tags: 18+ smut nsfw!

vox thought alastor couldn't get any worse, there was nothing that shit-for-brains demon could do to enrage him more. that was until valentino told him that alastor had a new pretty little thing hanging on his arm. "he WHAT?!" vox's voice cracks from the sheer force he puts behind those words. valentino snickers, watching vox run to his security room.

and there you were, locked arms with that fucking deer demon, walking down the street. you looked absolutely enthralled with that fucker! "you've gotta be fucking kidding me..." he growls, static filling his vision. as if alastor can sense that they're being watched, he winks at the camera and pulls you down a more secluded path. vox puts his fist straight through the screen before pacing around the room. it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before his ears pick up that voice, that shitty radio voice.

"good evening viewers!" alastor begins, making vox's head spin around. the tvs were blank, just audio playing through them. he's about to smash the rest of them when something catches his attention. he swears he hears a familiar noise, your noises specifically. then he hears you panting, and blood rushes to his groin first and then his face. "thank you for tuning into a very special late night broadcast." alastor's voice sounds... breathier.

"what the fuck is-" vox mutters to himself before his eyes go wide. "o-oh god." you moan, sounding far too sexy. and enjoying yourself far too much. "yes alastor, fuck. that's so good." your whines play out, filling the room and vox is just about to lose it. "is alastor fucking your ex?" valentino leans against the doorframe, a smug look on his face. "you’re so tight, my dear. your cunt was made for my cock just as i was made for radio." he laughs to himself, his hands finding your hips as he fucks you over his desk.

this little plan of his was working just as intended. he asked, of course, if you'd be interested in ruffling your exes feathers a little bit and you agreed. this special broadcast was only being shown directly to vox through his security. not a single other soul would be able to hear you but vox. it sent a certain chill up your spine, knowing that he was definitely listening. every thrust of alastor's cock presses you harder into the desk, bruises sure to form later in the evening.

"that's kinda hot, yknow-" "SHUT UP VAL." vox feels as though he's about to implode, anger coursing through him in a way he's sure he's never felt. "i am going to finish him. both of them. they won't live this down."

valentino covers his mouth to stop from laughing. "it sounds like they're about to finish each other." and he was right. your breathy little moans are a dead giveaway. "please, please your cock feels so good. g-gonna cum." vox paces the room, plotting your downfall but his cock is hard as a fucking rock in his pants.

"such a good girl, you are. you sing so pretty my dear." alastor grunts, pressing the head of his cock up against your cervix before he feels you clamp down around him. with every pulse of youe orgasm, alastor follows. "cum alastor, p-please fill my pussy." you gasp, riding out wave after wave of deep pleasure. vox should turn this off, he should walk away but he can't make his feet move.

and after alastor finishes deep inside of you, filling you to the point of it leaking down his cock, he lets out an almost sinister chuckle. "thank you my loyal viewers for tuning in for this one of a kind show! we hope you thoroughly enjoyed."

the room is silent after the broadcast ends. that is, until velvette clears her throat. "was that alastor fucking your bitch?" she raises a brow, a slow smirk spreading over her lips when she sees vox's face.

"no one talk to me. i have business to attend to." and with that, vox disappears, leaving valentino and velvette to themselves.

"bold move, i gotta hand it to him."

[bindeds]

✦﹒ ．𓈀 willy wonka x reader nsfw headcanons (+18) — thank you so much for the love on the last post, here’s another! as always, gif credits go to @thisgameissonintendo ! dialogue is at the very bottom, thank you!

mlist. requests. general wonka headcanons.

he’s into a specific kind of bondage; he likes tying you up using ribbons, usually only on the wrists but would tie other parts of you if he’s pent up.

DEFINITELY talks you through it, especially if you’re the one who’s pent up

glances at you across his shop while he’s working, and it’s the type of glance where his head is hung low as he’s talking to customers but he’s looking up to give you a knowing look, something you knew all too well; you are definitely doing it in his office later.

one time, he had a small piece of chocolate hanging between his teeth as he was jotting something down on a clipboard. You asked him innocently about what he was doing, and he said he was testing his own samples. You said you wanted to test them out as well, and went ahead and bit the other end of the chocolate. He went ROUGH on you that day, but now every time either of you have a piece of chocolate hanging from your lips, the other takes it as a sign that they’re in the mood.

he’s very hands on and LOVES biting you everywhere—your neck, shoulders, thighs, breasts, nipples, you name it

that being said, he is also very much into hickeys, too. something about biting then sucking the sore spot to soothe you … it was almost like you’re his personal chocolate; not something he made but something made for him. By the end of it you’re always covered in bruises, but he makes sure to bite you only where the sun doesn’t shine UNLESS you’ve done something to make him jealous

speaking of jealous, he’s definitely not the jealous kind EXCEPT when it comes to other performers or, even worse, the other three chocolatiers. If they were still allowed in the chocolate business, willy always pulls you along by the hand if you ever so much as look at the other chocolate shops. Oh, and going over earns you ten more hickeys on your neck.

Despite not being the jealous kind, I’d still imagine after a long day, if he knows you spent it with other people he would definitely mention it in sighs as he presses his lips on your skin.

Other times, he prefers to worship your body. To treat it like porcelain, to lay you down on his bed as such. He’s indecisive when it comes to this; he loves seeing you unscathed but tasting your skin makes him feel like you’re truly his.

if you ever do it in public (which is going to be a very rare occurrence because unlike his chocolate, he does not like sharing you with the world) he would definitely put his signature overcoat on you to cover as much of you as possible, he could care less about him being spotted but you? that was the same as letting you down, selling you off when you both vowed to be loyal to each other with pinky promises.

would put on music using a record player if you both are at home. He hums to the tune absentmindedly up until he’s on you and loving you. He loves old romantic songs specifically, and some jazz never hurt anyone. though if you don’t like it, he’s more than happy to stick with elvis presley and paul anka, and some other artists too, of course.

LOVES an abundance of contact, skin on skin, physical intimacy—the works. Because of this, he doesn’t usually opt for taking you from behind but if you ask for it, he would bend down with you, covering your back like a blanket as he whispers sweet praises into your ear, or perhaps nipping at your jaw or neck. On missionary, he can barely keep his lips from your own, too.

forehead touches!!! He loves pressing his forehead to yours, something about it is just so intimate and so meaningful to him

keeps his dress shirt on but completely unbuttoned out of habit, but he just looks so good in his slightly oversized shirt so you don’t complain

he loves what you love, and has nothing against you grabbing his hair as he eats you out. But relating to my very first point, he definitely appreciates when you let him tie your hands back so he does all the work. He likes taking his time, similar to making chocolate, eating you out has its stages and he cannot afford to rush any of them even if you are pent up or impatient.

he doesn’t like talking about your relationship with noodle. Seeing as noodle is a smart girl, he’s always afraid that she might think about these things and he likes to preserve her innocence, especially with the things they have been through. He wants her to experience what’s left of her childhood to the fullest, so even the faintest mention of you and willy being in his office sends his hands over noodle’s ears.

loves when you ruffle your hair if both of you are in an intimate position such as missionary.

He likes seeing the aftermath of just how much you do to him later on, from the crumples in his clothes to the scratch marks on his back.

definitely is a service top, as someone who grew up knowing how to please and catch the audience’s eye, he’s just so used to living for the reaction, and you’re no exception. Every moan he draws out of you is a token he keeps in his coat pocket for the difficult times.

is into begging, specifically begging you for anything. He’ll beg to bite you, beg to enter you, and sometimes he uses this to let you know it’s completely fine if you ever change your mind, but he never whines. He always keeps his composure about it.

“Oh honey, you’ll let me mark you all over, won’t you?” He asks, brown eyes heavy with the twinkles of the quiet night. “You know I can’t stand to leave you hurting. It won’t hurt for very long, just a taste.”

“What’s that now, darling?” while he’s pumping you full of his fingers

“That’s it, deep breaths,” he would say breathlessly as he sinks into you. “You can take me, can’t you princess?”

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos as he’s picking up his pace after hearing that oh-so familiar whine you let out that told him you were close. “I’m coming too, angel.”

[magicmarkeruser]

*NSFW* To Starboard (OPLA Shanks x reader)

AN: all i can say is GAW DAMN i am a depraved slut for this man. Where my depraved girlies at

Warning: just smut, piv, cussing, nothing violent (does an already missing arm count?)

***

Your crew prepared to dock as the distance between the island and your ship shrank, windmills on the terrain growing larger and larger. You're standing on the main deck, hands on your hips as you inspect your crew bustling about. They're a loyal lot, you helped most of them from worse situations, therefore they feel indebted to you. Yes, you were a pirate with a sun bleached black ship and a hefty bounty on your head, but you led a life of ease. You weren't too worried about looking over your shoulder or becoming the biggest and baddest in the East Blue, as long as you could feel the wind brushing your shoulders and the sun kissing your skin you were happy. That didn't mean you never indulged in the pleasures of this world though. You had a little more than a collection of fancy shotguns in your cabin, one would even call it an armory for the Marines; and you had a notorious romantic streak across the sea. You didn't mean to break a few hearts here and there, but you just got bored after a while and needed to run off once again. Some flings came back though, begging for more.

"Raise ALL THE SAILS you fucking rat!" Your first mate yells at the new boy. You smile and begin to intervene, but come to an abrupt stop. A ship with red masts sails by to your right. You turn your body to face the passing ship, your hand finding the rigging to steady yourself as your eyes scan it's entire deck. Finally, you lock eyes with the captain who had already been looking at you. Red-Haired Shanks. He was elated to see you and you knew it, but you didn't betray any emotion on your own face. The two of you mirror each other, slowly pacing towards the back of the deck. Your ships were no longer facing side to side by the time you reached the quarter deck. Shanks' seemed anxious that this would be it, until you turned to make sure no one was watching you on board. You turn your back to your crew to look at him once again and prop your foot up on the cannon in front of you, hiking up your skirt to reveal a leg. Your hand holds your skirt up to your mid thigh, only enough to reveal a frilly garter. Your little show was heaven sent. Shanks' eyes widen and he fervently yells something unintelligible, his crew answering back. You drop your leg down and walk back to the main deck, a smile threatening to tear your face. Your ship had been docked and you waited for someone to drop a ladder for you to get on the harbor. You glance back at the Red Hair's ship, and sure enough it was reeling so hard to the right that it was threatening to tip over. Some people on the harbor watch in confusion as the ship's hull is almost fully exposed at the dramatic turn, then carry back on to their business once the ship was set straight back to the docks.

"Whaddya think that's all about cap'n?" Your navigator asks you, her eyebrow cocked as she looks back and forth between you and Shanks' ship.

"I wouldn't know," you coyly reply, and begin your climb down to the port. You jump off the ladder and smooth down your skirt. Suddenly you became captious about your appearance: was your skin as smooth as it used to be, did you smell like a sea dog, was your corset tight enough, was your hair in place? What were you doing? You weren't the eager one in these moments, but seeing Shanks excited you. Some of your crew work to tie down the ship, others walk to the nearest pub. You stand a moment longer by your ship, droplets of sweat beginning to form at your bandana. Then, his ship is anchored down once again a couple docks away from you, and you begin your slow walk down the port. As you make it down the boardwalk, you catch a glint of red in your peripherals. Butterflies swarm within your lower belly. Shanks is half running to meet you in the middle, slowing down once he's mere feet behind you. The town is bustling with people, yet they remain unaware of the electricity sparking between the two of you. You only give Shanks a small turn of your head and smile, and continue walking a little slower, not looking back at him. He follows behind you, his hand reaches for yours. Your fingers grazing against each other in a dance of their own. You're unaware of the compass of your own body (pussy) as you guide Shanks to a small inn. You continue in a dream like state as you enter the parlor, get a room key, and lead him upstairs. As the two of you stand in the poorly lit narrow hall, Shanks pulls you back down to earth the moment he pushes his hips into your ass. You turn the key quicker at the feel of his hardening cock.

"It's been too long darling," He whispers onto the skin of your neck, "I've missed you so much." He keeps whispering sweet nothings until the door clicks opens and you're both inside. Shanks shoves you back into the door, not giving you a moment to react after closing it. Your back is pressed onto the wood but you don't care. Shanks' lips find yours and you're both kissing in an urgency you didn't realize you were holding back. He nips your lower lip softly, asking your permission, and you let him slip his tongue in to meet yours. You moan into the kiss, causing Shanks' to buck his hips into yours. His hand rakes down from your clavicle to your breast and further to your waist. Hand? You break away from the kiss with a small push to his chest and yelp at his missing arm, hitting your head on the door behind you.

"Fucking hell Shanks, how'd this happen??" You push his cape off fully to reveal the empty sleeve and look up at him, gaping. Shanks only sighs, whispering something under his breath and uses his only hand to reach for yours. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, you look down at it and back up, giving him a quizzical look. He leads you to the small bed and sits you down. He tells you what had happened only days ago on this same island. You find yourself snapping your hands up to wipe the unwanted tears pricking through your lashes. Shanks clicks his tongue.

"It's just an arm love, don't sully your pretty face over it," Shanks gently pries a hand from your face and kisses your tears away, whispering a "please" between the kisses. His mouth finds yours once again and you relax into him. Heat rises between your bodies and you're pulling his face into yours. He quickly releases you to remove his straw hat, tossing it to a side table before he returns to your lips. Things grow sloppier, Shanks let's go of your lips to latch onto your neck, leaving blooms where his teeth sinks into and pulling out a faint cry from you as he sucks on your most sensitive spot. In your daze you hear Shanks unbuckling his belt and tossing it across the room. His hand becomes frantic as they begin to tug at your corset or his own shirt, so you stop him. Shanks eyes glint with confusion, but you only smile at him as you reach for him. You gently pull his shirt out of his waistband and over his body, he complies and crooks his neck forward to let you pull his shirt off over his head. You then get up from the bed and kneel in front of him. His eyes say something different now, you cannot quite tell what though. Something had possessed you in that moment. Here you were gently prying Shanks' shoes off, pulling his trousers down and over his ankles. Once you finish undressing him he reaches for you again, but you push his hand away and stand before him. Slowly yet not so much, you unlace your corset and drop it to the floor. You unclasp your leather belt with its pistols hanging on the sides, and push your skirt down as well. Shanks' already hardened cock twitches at every article of cloth being removed. You finally remove the flimsy chemise and bloomers, a pirate didn't need ten other extra undergarments. You reach for the garter on your thigh but Shanks raises his hand.

"Keep that on" he says, his voice now gruff with pent up desire. He reaches for it and pulls you in between his legs, your hands find their place on his shoulders. His hot breath hits your stomach, causing your pussy to clench around nothing. He looks up at you with blown out pupils, you both remain still for a moment. The spell breaks and he pulls you down into his lap in the middle of the bed. You whimper at the sudden sensation of his cock against your clit, and you grind down onto him to feel it again. His eyes threaten to roll back and he grabs your face down to kiss him once more, his hand then traveling down to your breast where he pinches and rolls your nipple between his fingers.

"Fuck Shanks-" you begin but get cut off by his mouth latching onto your other nipple. His tongue swirls and sucks onto you and you let out a small cry. Your hips push down towards his cock again, but he doesn't let you sink down on him so this time you use a hand to play with his tip. He becomes merciless with his mouth as you tease him, and finally releases both of your breasts to stop your hand and hold your hips still.

"Shanks please- fuck- please I want you so bad- I need you.." you spill out as you fail to make contact with his skin again. He only smiles and softens his grip.

"So have me" he says. You blank for a moment, then use one hand to line his dick with your entrance and slowly go down on him. He's too big. You let out something between a moan and gasp as you slowly push him back out and in again. Shanks is struggling to hold himself together too, letting out shaky moans of your name. After a few slow attempts, you seat yourself fully onto his cock. The stretch makes your head buzz and you rock back and forth, stirring obscenities out of the both of you.

"Fuck-ck you're so tight...hhh you're so..fuck..wet- listen to how fucking wet you are for me" Shanks half mutters half groans as you ride him with a quicker pace. You have one hand on his shoulder and another on his thigh to stop yourself from toppling over. His own hand is holding you by the hip, attempting to guide you to bounce harder onto him. He grows impatient and suddenly between strokes, Shanks fucks up into you and causes you to wail. His eyes turn into obsidian and he grabs your waist, pulling you into his body as he lies down with his cock still inside you. Your cheek is pressed into his chest and before you protest, Shanks snaps his hips upwards into you causing you to muffle a scream with your fist. He continues to fuck you for what felt like eternity. Driving his cock so far into you at this angle you begin to see stars. His one arm keeps you mercilessly pinned to his body.

"Shanks I'm gon- I'm gonna cum- FUCK" you hardly finish talking before that familiar feeling shoots up through your nerves and into your brain. Your thighs quiver aggressively around him and Shanks let's out a hoarse groan as his own orgasm erupts out of him. You feel your cunt heating up, filling with his cum as his strokes slow down. His arm loosens around you, finding your hair and brushing it as he cooes you through your orgasm. You try to slide off of him, but he keeps you there.

"I'm not letting you get away from me this time," Shanks murmurs into your hair, pressing kisses where he spoke. He knew you didn't like sticking around. He knew you were afraid of getting attached only to possibly get hurt, he knew the last time you had seen him you were dangerously close to leaving everything for him, causing you to live a flighty life. You roll off of him and sit up, failing to give him your strict glare once you look back at him. His eyes are begging for you to stay, pleading with love he'd been desperate to show you. His hand reaches for yours once more, grasping it with a firmness that feared you'd fly away again.

"I know you feel the same, i know you use others to forget about me-"

"Shanks you lost your fucking arm in a blink of an eye what if it's your lift next-"

"So why won't you take that risk?" He asks, he's sitting up now too, desperation filling his voice, "because I sure as bloody hell would do it for you. I love you!" You stare at him in awe, your eyebrows overwork themselves as your mind tosses around in its anxieties.

"I love you too..." you answer mindlessly. You betrayed your own code. Fuck it if it meant not hurting Shanks anymore. The two of you sit there, eyes boring their deepest desires into each other as the setting sun greets you through the stained window.

[tenjikyu]

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 - 𝘧𝘢𝘺𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘣𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ what happens when chifuyu is forced to break it off with you ?

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ gn!reader , angst to fluff , forced breakup , lots of crying , vv sad chifuyu :( , kinda short sos .

chifuyu seriously had no idea what he was doing.

the look on your face was an expression he vowed to never have you make at the beginning of your relationship.

“i’m sorry (Y/N), but we should really stop seeing eachother. i’m not happy with you and i want to end it.” he spits out, almost choking on his own words. it felt as though something was blocking his airways, punishing him for breaking your heart.

“okay…” your voice speaks out, tears of your own flooding your cheeks.

as you slowly walked away from your beloved boyfriend, you couldn’t help but wonder. where did you go wrong? he didn’t seem unhappy 3 days ago when you two went to the arcade with hanagaki and tachibana, did he? when did this begin?

your only bodily response was more tears that were protruding down your face, nose crimson red and eyes slowly puffing up. you walk away slowly, assuming he no longer wanted to be around you.

“godamnit” chifuyu gets out before his own tears flood down his cheeks.

only a few hours earlier, your father had sat down with your boyfriend, unbeknownst to you.

“i don’t want you dating my child and i think i’ve made that very clear.” your father almost spits in disgust at your appalled boyfriend. break up?? with you?? no fuckin way??

“you’re a good for nothing delinquent who does nothing but heat up other boys. the only times i’ve even seen you, you’re beat up and injured! how long before you get (Y/N) involved in your violence, or even worse, lay a hand on my child.”

“ I WOULDN’T DARE RAISE MY HAND TO (Y/N).” the blonde screeched, overwhelmed and stressed. why now? why did he have to do this right before such a big holiday? did he want to ruin your christmas??

chifuyu knows you splurge about him to your family, that’s how your father knows so much about him, including what he gets up to when the sun goes down. but you never spoke ill of him, so why is your dad getting so defensive?

he’s proven on multiple occasions he’s a total gentleman to you! and he gets the same treatment back from you! you open doors for each other, make food for one another, come racing over when one of you is sick e.t.c. why do this now?

but..

in the back of chifuyu mind, he starts to wonder.

what would happen if you got dragged into this? what if someone uses you as a way to get information?

it’s obvious to anyone that chifuyu is a loyal man, and his loyalties lies with keisuke baji, takemichi hanagaki and you. there’s no chance he wouldn’t give away valuable info to keep you protected, anyone in toman could see just how dedicated he is to keeping you safe.

this thought runs through his head as he breaks up with you, just 2 days before christmas. before his christmas battle.

the next two days were a shitfest. you father didn’t take into account how this would affect you. you had locked yourself in your bedroom, sobbing to the polaroid photos of you and you beloved boyfriend that you took together everyday.

of course, you’re mother does everything to comfort you after hearing what had happened, however you were inconsolable.

“mom, this is the boy i thought i was going to marry, you don’t just get over that.” you sigh. no amount of hugs could help you.

“in my opinion he was only a setback. you should be greatful he’s gone.” your father speaks up.

. .

. . . .

wait…

you practically yanked the door off its hinges, startling you mother who was sat on your bed in another fruitless attempt to console you. you had only just heard what your father said to himself, and in that moment you knew why chifuyu had broken up with you.

“IT WAS YOU! YOU TOLD CHIFUYU TO BREAK UP WITH ME, DIDN’T YOU”. you bawled to your father, his face in total astonishment that you had spoken to him in such a manner, especially on christmas night.

“YOU DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT HIM, DO YOU DAD?? I SING HIS PRAISES EVERYDAY BUT ALL YOU TAKE HIM FOR IS A STUPID DELINQUENT! MAYBE IF YOU GOT TO KNOW HIM MORE, YOU’D SEE HE CARES ABOUT ME MORE THEN ANYTHING!” you scream towards your stunned father, guilt piling up in his stomach.

knowing what you had to do, you chucked a coat over your pijamas, your family yelling at you to come back inside.

you didn’t care, you had to get to your boyfriend.

though you didn’t make it very far, as chifuyu was stood right outside your house with tears welling in his eyes. he was battered beyond belief, uniform thrashed and body more blood then skin. he had a serious injury on his ankle and his bike was parked next to him.

“chifuyu..” you mumble out, running towards him, your arms opening wide.

“(Y/N)-” he couldn’t finish his sentence as you crashed into his embrace, one of your arms caress waist, with the other embracing his beaten cheek.

he held onto your shoulders, huddling into your warmth. he could only pray to the gods above that you’d forgive him.

“i’m so sorry (Y/N), please… i can’t do anything without you by my side. the entire fight i felt sick to my stomach, but not because i had been struck multiple times in it. it was because i couldn’t bare the thought of not being with you on christmas day. your tears were sewn into my memory, and i just couldn’t handle it.” he chokes out, huddling closer to you in a seek of comfort.

“it’s okay chifuyu, i forgive you.” you coo, his face was beaten to shit, but chifuyu could never not be adorable to you.

you were just happy to have your boyfriend in your arms once more.

in the distance, giggling can be heard from your mother as your father watches the interaction.

“i don’t know why you even tried breaking them up, don’t you see how whipped (Y/N) is for the kid? they do everything together. chifuyu has stayed over multiple times and had dinner with us so much i’m surprised he hasn’t pre-proposed.” she laughs.

“i guess i’ll take that hit. in my defense though, that kid only seems to come over when i’m not around!” your father complains, however your mother just holds his face.

“well, after these past few days i wouldn’t blame him if he avoids you all together.”

[yuri-is-online]

ooohh 500 already?? it feels like the 300 special was just a few weeks ago ✧⁠\⁠(⁠>⁠o⁠<⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠✧ can i get prompt 6 with ace and deuce together?? hehe congrats again, more milestones to come!! (⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

6. Crowley has decided to put together a murder mystery for the whole ball and you've been the first one "killed." Whoever is playing detective seems really upset about that.

So I was uncertain if by together you meant Aduece + Yuu or Ace + Yuu and Deuce + Yuu. As it stands, I had an idea for Aduece + Yuu and requests for Ace and Deuce separately, so this post will contain Aduece + Yuu. I'm confused just writing that, but I hope it makes sense. If this is not what you wanted, you are more than welcome to make a second request. There is no time limit on that.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, what's worse than one angry guard dog? Two angry guard dogs! Or is it two and a half if you count Grim I guess. The other event requests can be found on my masterlist.

Aduece

"And our first victim for tonight will be the prefect! I would have expected them to be the last victim how very odd." Crowley almost sounds sympathetic and you almost sound interested, you even let out a little "oh no" almost relived whoever was playing the murderer had decided to give you such a nice excuse to sit the next rounds of what you are certain is going to turn into a massive dick measuring contest. Grim does not share your gracious nature.

"This is bullshit!" He thrashes around in your embrace making grabby paws at the gathered crowd as if he is really going to make Mr. X regret killing you. "Just my hench human's name got pulled, why's that mean I gotta go?!"

"Aww, Grimmy, it's ok, we all know you'd be next." Ace laughs but there's a strange strain to it. He's run his fingers nervously through his hair several times now, and now that you've noticed he tries a more familiar smile, dropping his hand to tap his thigh instead. "Don't wait up for us, ok? Juice and I aren't going home anytime soon." You roll your eyes at the joke before giving both your friends a quick hug.

"For luck." You say with a quick wink before shuffling yourself and Grim up to the balcony soothing him with promises of food that you're sure will still be up there.

As soon as you are gone all pretense between the two drops as they both look at the identical cards they had been bickering over just a few moments earlier.

"I still think we should tell the headmage." Is what Deuce says, but he's missing his usual determination Ace finds so cute and yet so annoying every time he suggests the three of you cut class. "When he was explaining the rules he clearly said that there was only supposed to be one ca-"

"Then he can just deal with looking stupid." Snaps Ace. "It's not like he ever does anything else. Look can't you hear what they're saying about Yuu?" It's a low blow, they both can hear the snickering of the usual suspects, but Deuce grinds his teeth particularly sharply to find so many new people joining in. "They think it's funny." Ace says, voice dropping low and deathly serious with what he tells himself is just the intention to rile Deuce up. They both look up at the gallery, Yuu looks.... happy. Content with their lot as if they never expected any other outcome. It's beautiful, that carefree smile that turns into a pure beam once they notice the two of them looking up at them, and there is something breathtaking about knowing only the two of them can bring it out.

That seals it. Lovely as it is, the sight is wrong. You should be down here between the two of them laughing at the loosers who thought they were good at hiding themselves among the masses. Surprisingly, it's Deuce who takes the lead, turning away from Yuu and placing a firm hand on Ace's shoulder to convince him to do the same.

"It's probably one of the guys from one of the other classes." Class 1A wasn't completely loyal to each other, this was NRC after all, but all of them like the three of you. And they all knew better than to do anything to you when Ace and Deuce had you sat snugly between them like you had been all night. "If I had to make a guess, it's probably one of the guys from Leona's class."

"What makes you think it's an upper classmen?" Whispers Ace, shaking himself together and yanking Deuce back to the center of the ballroom to get a better look at the crowd.

"They wouldn't be afraid of us. And any Savanaclaw students in Leona's class would have a bone to pick with Yuu after that whole incident with Azul." It's surprisingly solid reasoning from Deuce, real proof he could probably hack it as a Magic Marshal, and Ace makes sure to take note so he can tease him about it later. But he's not entirely sold on it being pure skill that's gotten Deuce this far.

Seriously Ace thought beastmen were supposed to be good at hunting.

"Hey there, buddy." Ace throws an elbow into the Savanaclaw extra's side (partially to throw him off by annoying him but mostly to keep Deuce from jumping him immediately). "Having fun tonight? I'd have thought a big guy like you would find this whole thing boring."

"What's a fresh punk like you know about that?" His snort would be low and intimidating if Deuce wasn't so angry. "It's always the weakest links that get picked off first, I don't have to worry about shit till later."

"Oh you mean like Epel?" The upperclassman stiffens at Deuce's question, line of sight snapping away from their oblivious friend and back to the now maniacly grinning freshman who has decided to forcefully elbow his other side. Ace gives a laugh that would make Floyd proud as Deuce continues. "Cause I know you wouldn't be planning on him being your next victim, unless you really are as dumb as you look."

"What the hell are you!"

"Oi headmage!" Yells Ace, making sure to flourish the detective card in a way he very smugly thinks only he could. "We got your guy, bag him and tag a better one in next time, yeah?"

A general groan comes up from the crowd with how quickly the game is over, with Crowley quickly agreeing to another round as you once again find yourself sandwiched between your bickering friends.

"Oh come on there's no way the headmage intended for you to be the detective." Ace huffs, head firmly rested on your lap so he can glare up at Deuce resting on your shoulder. "I'm the one always taking care of you two, clearly it was intended for me."

"I'm the one who caught the killer though." A kinder version of that manic grin is firmly fixed to Deuce's face as you sigh and check the time on your phone wondering if they'll get in trouble with Riddle if they stay up here with you longer.

"Boys Boys, you're both pretty." That shuts them up, but maybe not for the reason you think. "But won't you lose your heads if you stay here much longer?"

"Eh I'm sure Riddle will understand." Ace smiles and though Deuce sputters in hesitation he makes now move to leave. "Besides, if he does not, we'll just bunk with you tonight."

"You're worth the trouble." Says Deuce, with a bit more force than usual and you sigh.

"Honestly, I should be saying that to the two of you." And though it should be said with a bit more meaning, instead you say it with a laugh.

A laugh that's quickly returned.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Stitches

Mark Hoffman x GN! Reader

A/N: Wtf, I had this basically finished work in my drafts all this time?? Anyways, enjoy.

Summary: After Mark Hoffman's true identity has been revealed, his personal apprentice has to step in.

Warnings: Angst, Blood

Notes: Hurt/Comfort, Takes place in between SAW 6 and 7

Words: 1800

"Almost done..."

You were in the very same warehouse as the participants of the current game, tinkering on some of your mentor's latest inventions.

Mark would never openly admit, but while he was the mastermind behind most traps, it was your finishing touch that made them possible.

Not bad for a basically self-taught engineer, right?

As your eyes wanderes to the timer on the top corner of the livestream, you realized that this test was almost over. To not get distracted you had muted the old TV. However due to the proximity, most of the dampened screams would still dring to your ear.

Gladly, the more you get used to all of this, the more selective your hearing becomes - so you had already fallen deaf to them.

You huffed while trying to lift the heavy tool onto the workbench again, not bothering to wait for Mark to help you. Taking a sip of water, you watched the subject reaching the final part of his test.

Unbelievable that it’s already been one year since you’ve become the next generations Jigsaw’s apprentice, assisting Mark with every game ever since John and Amanda had passed away...

...and in your eyes, the sacrifices you had to make were all worth it.

Grabbing a towel to pat off the sweat from your face and chest, your mind wandered back to the day you had revealed yourself to him. Being a mere admirer of Jigsaw's work and philosophy, having found out Detective Hoffman's double life on your own.

But he was different than John Kramer and Amanda Young. Played by his own rules, which you oddly sympathized with.

Why giving those dangers to society - like Seth Baxter - a second chance? They shouldn't be allowed to roam freely. No, all they deserved was to be put down for good, after experiencing what their victims had.

You remembered Mark's hands on your throat the second you confessed to him. Couldn't blame him, though - last time someone told him "I know who you are", there was a shotgun draped to his neck shortly after.

The mere fact that you had survived this encounter, let alone having been declared his secret accomplice, made your chest swell with pride.

After all, you had gained somewhat trust and respect of basically the most misanthropic person on earth.

After a while of negotiation Mark had been impressed by your skill, both physical and mental. Having figured out his identity when not even the police or FBI couldn't...

...furthermore, your almost obsessively worship of his every action was exactly the kind of ego stroke he just couldn't reject.

And so you ended up his loyal subordinate, working for him from the shadows and taking every wish as your command.

Over time, the two of you had become a lethal combination - complimenting each talents and evening out the other's flaws.

It was pretty obvious that he was a sociopath, unable to sharw any personal bond with anyone. You may have shared a heated fling or a passionate night occasionally, but that was it.

This man was just using you, and you have been equally deranged enough to enjoy this. Addicted to the thrill of adrenaline that came to being associated with him.

You’d follow him blindly - even if it meant your own death.

Speaking of...

You jumped at the sound of a heavy steel door opening, immediately cocking your gun towards the entrance - force of habit...

...yet instead of a threat, something even worse came inside.

"Mark!"

This was certainly not the first time you had seen him covered in that much blood, but this time was different - it was his own, and much to your surprise made you freak out.

The man mutely limped towards your workshop, only a dirty cloth covering his torn cheek. "Shit, you're going to get an infection..."

Rushing to get the first aid kid while he threw the reverse bear trap onto the table, you figured this was not the time to ask about what exactly happened.

Not that he'd be able to answer anyway even if he wanted to, given his current state.

You couldn't help but laugh as he tried to snatch the medical supplies out of your hand. "You know you're allowed to need help sometimes, right?"

He furrowed his brows at you, and while most normal people would be intimidated by his demeanour, you found him almost adoringly stubborn.

"Now come here, would you..." you ordered as he finally let go off of the kit, worry present in your tone.

The man grunted approvingly, making you laugh. “You know, Amanda was right: You really are one of the last cavemen.”

Good thing he wasn’t able to talk right not - otherwise he’d advise you to never take that filthy name into your mouth ever again if you wanted to keep on living.

When he was finally sat, you carefully evaluated the wound - even though on the inside, it was hard to keep it together seeing him that way.

You were amazed at his composure up until now - the pain must be agonizing...

There was no time to lose either, a major blood vessel was torn and he was still actively losing a lot of blood.

Much to his luck, you were prepared for every eventuality. Glad you took those anatomy and first aid lessons back in the day, you just knew with your kind of profession that would pay off someday.

You quickly cleaned both hands from the motor oil, before pouring a whole bottle of your mentor's booze over them and the wound.

Deeply concentrated, you stuck out your tongue as you started patching him up. Hoffman warily eyed your every move, every stitch you so carefully placed to reconstruct his facial features.

This whole time, Mark had one hand firmly placed on your knee, squeezing ever so slightly. You were almost done, admiring his strenght to not even flinch as you patched him back together.

“Too bad for that handsome face, though...” you mumbled to yourself, speaking faster than your mind could catch up on. Not that he’d care about appearance or something like that anyway. “But men with scars are pretty handsome, you know?”

You handed him a mirror, scolding him to not touch the wound as he evaluating your handiwork. "The gentleman is allowed to thank me now” you chuckled as you noticed he wasn’t sure if he could talk again now.

"That bitch is gonna pay for this" he finally spoke, still a little slurred since he'd need to get used to the feeling.

"You're welcome" you rolled your eyes, still cheerful before busying yourself with bandaging his hand as well. “There's not much I can do with a fracture like this, but it'll probably heal itself. Just try not using it too much. Punch with the other hand, maybe? Haha..."

“We need to go” he stated with that gravely voice of his, face contorting in pain as he tried to clench his fist. "Jill tried to kill me. She got away, the police is most likely on their way."

"Ten steps ahead of you." There was enough time to understand the mess Hoffman had gotten himself into later. So for now you quickly threw both your identification papers in the fire barrel that had kept you warm until now, before turning to him.

You softly pushed him down onto the chair again, no words needed to tell him he should rest and let you handle this for a change. Just packing a bag with all the necessities, covering the workshop in gasoline and you were good to go.

“How sad...” you thought, turning around to watch your work go up in flames “I was just done with the tool.”

As if Mark knew what you were thinking, he rubbed some circles on your back before pushing you to walk faster. "We can always make a new one. Let's go."

The future might be uncertain, but one thing you was sure of: Soon, Detective Mark Hoffman would officially be a wanted criminal...

...but as long as you had each other, there was still hope for a good ending to this story.

"It's not over, but I need to stay incognito from now on" he uttered a little out of breath, your old car shaking a little as the heavy man entered the backseat. "You'll need to make the preparations and anything else I can entrust to you."

"Of course" you acknowledged, rummaging in your bag until you found what you were looking for. "Everything you want."

Just when you were getting the srynge into his field of view, Mark would panic, painfully grabbing your wrist to stop you.

"No..." he was so utterly exhausted, yet terrified of the possibility to be forcefully put to sleep like his victims and himself once.

“Mark...calm down” you cooed understandingly, your palm rubbing his cheek. “C’mon, it’s me after all. There's just morphine in there, it's not enough to knock you out. I promise."

Being such a control freak, it was hard for him to be at the mercy of another. Yet he nodded mutely and rolled up his sleeve to inject the pain medication directly into his bloodstream.

After all the fucked up things happening, sometimes he’d forget that there was actually one person he could trust.

"You know" he sighed, sinking deeper into the car seat as the drug showed it's effect, making him slowly but steadily relax. "You're everything I have."

“That’s the morphine speaking” you giggled, trying to keep your eyes on the road and he couldn't think but wonder if you always had such a soothing voice.

...and with you humming so sweetly, the sunset light illuminating your skin like this...have you always been this beautiful, or was he really just high?

“Maybe" he ultimately spoke, deciding he'd have to figure it out after everything was over. "Or it just makes me talk about things I usually keep to myself.”

You cracked a smile at this half-assed answer. Typical - but you admittedly liked even this part about him.

“Only this last game...” he continued stammering, and it was actually cute to see this softer side of this brute of a man. “John Kramer’s work is almost done.”

“And what are you going to do afterwards? Any plans, boss?”

With him being on the backseat, your eyes would only briefly meet through the rearview mirror...

...and what you saw may be the same man you knew for so long already, and yet so different.

Happy, somehow.

Smiling for a change. Genuinely and wholeheartedly, not this fake one he'd put up to fit in with society.

And you knew this one was just for you.

“When this is all over, I want it to be you and me.”

[soullessdianthus]

𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘

Summary: Reader's everyday life had been turned upside down since she had been recruited to Ghost's team. As a young, but prominent soldier she had to face many obstacles, but there was one in particular that made her blood boil ━ Commander Phillip Graves of Shadow Company. Little did she knew, that the blonde man with angelic was face going to make her suffer and bleed, wishing for the embrace of Death to swallow her whole. Y/C ━ your callsign Also posted on my ao3 ⟶ 𝕏

A/N: Basically, a whump where Graves is torturing the Reader after trying to frame her for a federal crime. Then Ghost finds out. Dark themes ahead.

Warnings: graves, canon typical violence (blood, guns, implied sexual harrasment), gore (desc. of tortures), angst, some sprinkles of comfort at the end

Word count: 7.6k

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐄

For as long as you could remember, the commander of Shadow Company made you feel uneasy. At first, you couldn’t precisely determine what was wrong – with him or you. There was this strange feeling, an odd hunch regarding Phillip Graves. Thank God, you didn’t work for him. 

The whole collaboration thing that General Shepherd had with them was bizarre. A private military company? As far as you knew, they were called mercenaries, not some elitist soldier group. Their commander was oddly loyal to the general, it almost seemed like their bonds were far more complicated than a paycheck. 

Soon enough you realized he was his executioner, a war criminal literally. 

But your colleagues kept chastising you for making such hideous assumptions about higher ranks. You rather quickly learned not to share too much of your personal opinion with the other cadets. 

Thereby, your voice of reason and concerns were sealed within your own mind, left to take roots. Particularly when you sat on your own on the side of the training grounds just after lunch break. Your gaze was focused on the fellow soldiers battling with the obstacle course, although your thoughts kept spinning in a never ending cycle – analyzing the latest mission, what happened step by step, what went wrong, what you had done poorly. 

That was your key to survival – repeating the excellently executed tasks and never letting yourself slip up. Because there won’t be a second chance. 

Some may say that you were an overthinker. That such shredding of each event into smaller pieces might mess up with your brain or worse – sanity. 

But who the fuck cared about your sanity in a military? All of them had their hands tainted with blood, all of you had done some things that a perfectly ordinary person would find atrocious. 

And sometimes you were ashamed of that. There was a time, at the beginning of your service where you couldn’t face your God at all. The evening prayers ceased, as the shame pooling in you forbade you from reciting the lines. 

In spite of that, what wise people used to say that “time heals wounds” became your truth. You reconciled that death would be following you no matter where you would go. And each day, over and over you tried to omit feeding her greedy pit of a stomach.

Until you met Graves –  in many ways he resembled your friend reaper.  But he was far from being a friend. Mowing the fields of living, leaving corpses behind – “claw one’s way” was his motto. But there was a charming shell of a man that many seemed to fall for. 

A soft, rounded face covered with shallow frowns and not so many scars. Short, yellow hair kept impeccably brushed to the side, beard usually trimmed or shaved. And those piercing eyes of his. Phillip’s glance balanced on the edge of calmness and hatred. Only thanks to his brows could you tell the difference.

Some of your colleagues from the cadet group stalked behind you into the shower room as soon as you returned from the latest mission, still drenched in sweat and the scent of war. Pestering, but not about you of course. 

Since you passed all of the tests, you were amongst the few lucky ones that got introduced to the lieutenant's team. It wasn’t just any ordinary lieutenant, it was Ghost. Infamous man who wore a skull mask. Belonging to his division felt like joining some exclusive special forces. Which, in a way, was true. 

But at the end of the day, you were just a private. You have heard from your current superiors that you might have the potential to make it to sergeant in the next few years. Only if you stay alive, that is. So therefore it became your priority. 

Another week began, but you stopped counting days in the calendar. Every morning when you woke up, you checked the temperature and the schedule for the day. The decision of not tracing the days of the week seemed more… soothing. You were not counting the days until your demise, so what was the point of knowing if it was the third or fourth of the month?

Within the short period of time you have spent in the army you learned that time is the most precious thing in the world. The minutes, the seconds of you breathing in and out, devouring the essence of living. 

Time was fleeting and you were ready to do everything, not to let it slip away. 

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈

As the new week started, a new mission was approaching. All you knew was where to report, in what type of gear with what kind of weapon. You were just a private after all. So when you happened to find yourself, sitting on the bench amongst the fellow soldiers, his raspy voice echoed like war drums. The thuds of Ghost’s steps synchronized with the beating of your heart and the loud sways of helo’s propellers.

There it was – the adrenaline. The sweet hormone that kept you going. 

Tonight’s objective was crystal clear – ambush, then break in the building and search through it, looking for a man called Barnet. He was a federal agent, yet allegedly he was involved with illegal weapons dealing in and beyond the country’s borders. Now, he hired some mercenaries to protect his ass. Your group, with the help of Shadows, was supposed to capture that man alive for further investigation.

After another happy landing, you abandoned the helo and walked toward the gathering point where some Shadows were already standing. To your misfortune, Phillip was standing beside them.

And until your last step, you tried to manifest that he wouldn’t notice you this time. Well, the universe wasn’t too indulgent for you lately. 

━ There she is! 

“Oh, fuck me, everything but not him again”, you thought to yourself, making your way to the rest of the group. Your fingers clenched tightly over the M4 rifle you were carrying. 

━ Commander. 

You tried to keep a professional facade, referring to him with his rank. There was no time for a small talk as the clock was ticking. 

━ It have been a while, wasn’t it? ━ Graves turned his body towards you, causing a dozen of eyes landing over your frame. Somehow, the tactical vest and your equipment began weighing on under their curious looks. The lieutenant’s was the heaviest of them. ━ Let me tell you something, doll. I’ve never thought I’d meet someone colder than Ghost here. Are you always like this, huh?

━ I’m not cold. Just focused on my job, sir. 

He kept drilling a hole into your soul by looking a little too long to your liking with his blue eyes. They were the color of the ocean, of the sea you missed so much. God, how long was it since you last let the waves splash over your ankles?

━ That’s appreciated, soldier. 

Only then he returned to evaluating the situation with Ghost. In a matter of seconds you were supposed to enter the battlefield. Therefore you had to get your act together.

Breath in and breathe out. Try to focus on the commands, but count the prime numbers in your head at the same time. The simple mathematics helped you in distress.  At least the technique helped with your panic attacks through the years prior.

Within the next twenty minutes you found yourself with one of your teammates, callsign Omen, on their way, clearing out the second floor, left wing of the building. Since he was physically bigger than his partner, it was you who was going first. In case of need, you would quickly disappear behind the corner – you weren’t as easy to spot as he was. 

The building itself seemed to resemble a school or some sort of city council – the countless hallways and rooms made it an ideal layout for a shoutout with the enemy. Apparently, from what the two of you heard through the radio, Ghost was right after the target. It meant the mission was about to end.

Mrs. Laswell was right, calling it an “in and out” type of operation. All that was left to do was to keep your position until your lieutenant captured the objective. 

Because there was no sign of the opponent’s forces nearby, you and Omen split to sweep through the rooms departing from the long hallway. Perhaps, hiding some mercenaries?

You found yourself standing in front of the locked doors. Your heart slowed down by now, your body wanting to refuse to stay in combat mode. With a few firm kicks, you broke down the blocked doors to find yourself facing… an office or an archive.

The room had no windows and it was almost dark inside, the light from the hallway illuminating the interior. An uneasy sensation creeping up your spine. Plans and stacks of files laying on the table’s surface, pulling you closer. Hanging board, closed laptop still plugged in and a pot of recently brewed coffee. 

In that moment, as you stepped inside the room, you sealed your fate. Your curiosity became your doom, but you didn’t know that yet.

As your gaze wandered through some handwritten notes on the board, you heard a clunking sound of a metal bin rolling next to you on the ground. For some time you couldn’t register what exactly happened. 

Suddenly you began to run through the hallway, before “the bin” exploded. The recoil of the grenade made you stumble forward until your knees and fists hit the concrete ground.

For a moment there was silence. Blissful silence. 

Then the muffled thuds of someone’s steps blended with the squeaking noise ringing in your both ears. The fear pooled in your stomach, causing you to gasp for fresh air. You only noticed their presence as you saw the tip of their shoes right in your face.

The vision in front of your eyes was blurry, the image shaking uncontrollably. It felt almost like you were drunk, but you were clearly not. You were very much sober. 

The tight straps of your helmet dug into your head and temple like they were squeezing your brain out. The helmet weighed down on your poor head, so you tried to take it off – fingers awkwardly struggling with the straps.

The person standing in front of you grabbed you by your arm and helped you get on your feet. Then another set of arms wrapped around your back, but this touch was different – you knew this one belonged to Omen. A colleague, a friend.

Your heart was swaddled with warmth for a minute, until the other person decided to open their big mouth.

━ Come on, doll, we’re leaving. ━ A familiar, southern accent almost made your blood boil.

If God was real, he was clearly turning your life into a comedic spectacle of misery. Of all the possibilities it had to be him. 

━ Can you walk? ━ Omen asked and it was the first thing you registered correctly. The buzzing noise finally freed your eardrums, now leaking with blood. You nodded, but his hand was still belaying behind you. ━ What was that?

━ Some pre-installed grenade, I think. 

“Or someone rolled it beneath my feet”, you thought about that being a possibility too. You always considered other scenarios. It wasn’t your first encounter with an explosive, you knew the pre-installed ones usually weren’t rolling down the ground and you hadn’t nudged any cord. 

Besides, how come the Shadows and Graves suddenly happened to be there? 

Maybe your friends were right and you have already lost your sanity. Perhaps you went absolutely crazy, but that madness made you want to place together the sequence of events. You needed to understand what happened, because something was off. 

And there he was, walking on your right – Commander Graves, the reaper. It seemed that him and his Shadows were escorting the two of you to the gathering point as you were still numb after the explosion. He walked with his chin high, eyes sparkling with confidence after a successful mission. The aura that surrounded him made you feel like a prisoner of a warhound. 

Why?

Everything following “your salvation” blended together into one mush. Omen was a good friend of yours and he made sure you were not seriously injured. Only when the two of you sat on the bench inside the helo, you told him the whole truth.

━ There was something in that room. Something important. Papers. 

━ And they secured the evidence by destroying it with that grenade? ━ He was quick to follow your pattern of thinking, but it still wasn’t enough. You had a feeling it wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

At the end of the day, Barnet got arrested and by this time he should be escorted by the Shadow Company to the FBI associated facility, meanwhile Ghost’s team was on their way back to the base. Everything from now on should have felt steady. 

But it didn’t.

━ Wounded? ━ Lieutenant interrupted the conversations that were being held between the teammates. 

━ Survivor of grenade here, sir. ━ Omen pointed at your bloodied earlobes, the dried liquid staining your neck. As the tall Britishman approached, you sent your colleague a death stare – you didn’t need his attention like this. You were alive, therefore no one should worry. 

━ Can you hear? ━ Ghost leaned over his knees to reach your level, his dark irises looking over you to search for far more serious wounds. You nodded after making sure your hearing was intact.  ━ Then you’ll be fine, Y/C. 

He patted your shoulder before turning around to take his own seat. How lovely of him, a very worried superior he was.

During your way back to the base, you tried to calm your own thoughts. There was a need to stop them from crushing over you, your head still hurt like hell. For the first time in a good while, the thoughts felt overwhelming rather than helpful. You tried to brush them off, but it was unsuccessful. 

You really needed to lay down and rest. A cup of tea would be lovely. 

When the helo landed on the grounds of the British Army’s facilities and everyone slowly was walking away to take a shower and rest, you stayed behind going at your own pace.

And so did Ghost. A lone wolf.

━ Sir? ━ The masked man hummed, joining you on a walk to the barracks. ━ Would you find some time for me tomorrow? I really need to talk to you about the operation and the explosion. 

━ It’s related?

━ I think so, yes, sir. 

━ You think? Are you sure, you’re not wastin’ my time, Y/C?

It took a moment for you to reply, but now you were entirely sure. Your gut feeling never failed you before. 

━ I would never waste time of a lieutenant, sir. I’m sure about that. ━ You tried to conceal the smirk twisting corners of your lips, but it became almost impossible with Ghost’s stupid questions. So you played along.  

━ Alright, we’ll figure somethin’ out. Now, take a good rest and watch that head of yours, private. Don’t lose it. 

Ghost could be funny sometimes, if you got to know him a little better. And of course, if he didn’t eat you earlier on – he could be an incarnation of a Behemoth himself sometimes. Even you were afraid of him at first, but that fear grew into a familiarity. 

Little did you know that you were being watched by a shadow as you spoke with your superior. The all-seeing gaze already began consuming your poor, oblivious soul. You already were a victim of his mischievous plan. 

Yet, you still had a chance for an absolution.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈

A warm shower, good sleep and a few pills of paracetamol was all you needed to regain most of your strength after the latest mission. Despite a new day beginning, sun hovering over the horizon, your head or rather thoughts were coming back to the events of last night. Nervously picking up the cuticles and pinching your own skin, trying to let go of that obsession. 

Yes, obsession. It became pathetically weird at this point, you had no physical evidence to show your superior. Perhaps, you were just overreacting or your mind got to the breaking point? 

None of that. You shook your head to the sides, brushing the fragility and doubts away. 

You were not weak, if you happened to be in his team. Ghost’s team. You were observant, noticing the smallest details – the superiors commented, after the successful recruitment to special forces. 

A voice of reason led you to the women’s bathroom and straight to the sinks. At this time of the day, the facility was empty, so you enjoyed the silence and loneliness. You turned on the tap, before splashing your face with cold water. 

“Breathe in and out, soldier”, you instructed yourself. 

As you calmed down a little, you dried off your face with paper towels. Soon after, you found yourself on the way to Ghost’s office. While you were walking down the hallway, you noticed the presence of Shadows. They were still sticking around. Just, you didn’t know why and probably won’t even know – you were only a private after all.

So to ease your curiosity, you decided to believe they were here for another collaboration. You shouldn’t be so nosy – that’s what your mother used to tell you, when she caught you eavesdropping on a conversation you were not supposed to hear.

━ Good morning, sunshine!

Graves suddenly placed his palm onto your shoulder, causing you to flinch. Fuck, you almost never flinched. Its weight felt abnormally heavy on your body, just like he was pulling you down hills with him – back to the gates of hell. 

━ Jesus Christ ━ you murmured quietly, barely audible. Your eyes shooting up to him, smiling like an idiot  ━ are you scaring everyone like this? 

━ Not particularly, no ━ Phillip grinned, exposing his pearly white teeth. ━ Would you mind going for a walk with me, soldier? There is… a matter we have to discuss. 

━ To be honest, I was on the way to my lieutenant’s office.

━ Why?

When he asked you this simple, one-worded question, you knew Graves was playing a sort of game with you – trying to squeeze as much information out of you, before you realized. But you were far from naive, you were an equal player in the game of shadows. 

There were no obligations towards the commander, he wasn’t a part of the army. So therefore, you decided to bluntly lie.

━ I don’t know, he called me in this morning. 

━ Bet he can wait a lil’ longer. Come on, I’ll take the blame, sugar.

For a couple of seconds you stayed behind, rethinking the decision you've already made. But then your legs aligned with the pace of his steps. The bold curiosity drove your actions. You decided to follow him outside of the building for a walk. 

It was quite a nice day outside. Clouds covered the blue sky, but it didn’t seem to be raining until the evening. It was pleasantly warm, a little too dry to your liking as the dust floating off the ground dirtied your trousers. 

The two of you followed the path near the fence between the storage buildings – armory, garages. Captain Price liked to call it a dumpster and he was right about that. 

The silence that fell between you two wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the pure anticipation of the other person’s next move – will he start a small talk? Because you wouldn’t. Or maybe Phillip would be straightforward with you? But about what exactly? 

━ So ━ you finally spoke out, letting your hands collapse at your sides ━ what was so important that had my superior to wait?

Your gaze landed on his face, searching for any tiny spasms of facial muscles. You needed something to work with. To figure him out.

━ I could have asked you the same question. 

━ I already told you, sir – I don’t know why the lieutenant called me in. 

━ No? ━ Graves suddenly stopped and turned his whole body towards you. A truly natural response was to face him too. ━ Weren’t you two talking in private yesterday? Following the return to the base, no? 

━ Ghost was worried about my ears, I was bleeding after the explosion. You saw it yourself, sir. Why does it matter anyway? 

He had the audacity to speak freely, to admit, that he had kept an eye on you yesterday. The arising question on your mind was: why? Why was he monitoring you?

━ You two seem to be quite close. ━ Graves continued poking the hornet’s nest.

━ He’s my lieutenant.

It took every inch of your willpower to withhold the fastened beating of your heart. You couldn’t be delusional, not right now. Ghost was just your superior.

━ Is he though? You make me wonder ━ he turned his head to the right, before clicking with his tongue. On purpose Phillip was keeping you on edge, waiting before you finally snap ━ if he plays a part of this venture. Is Ghost also involved?

━ What the fuck are you talking about? 

You finally raised your voice at Graves, annoyance flooding your veins. Nothing coming out of his mouth made sense, he was wasting your time here. 

━ I’m afraid you’ve been caught red-handed, sugar. Trying to destroy the evidence of your contribution to illegal weapon trafficking. Some money on the side, huh?

You snorted, amused by this sickening accusation. And until now, you thought your deductions were childish and foolish. Until Commander Graves opened his mouth, spilling more nonsense.

━ You think I planted the grenade? That’s bullshit, Graves. You ━ you took a step forward and your pointing finger dug into the material of his tactical vest, just above the dip between the collarbones ━ were there. You saw everything.

The last sentence came out more of a whisper, carefully threatening him that you knew he was fucking around with you. But he had orders to complete. The commander of Shadow Company would do everything for the sake of good fucking show. 

━ ‘m afraid I have to take you for further interrogation, soldier. 

Graves suddenly grabbed your forearm with a force you would never expect he would bare. At that moment you were confused, standing between a rock and a hard place – should you obediently follow him for “a talk” or should you resist his actions? Phillip was not your boss, he wasn’t in place of authority.

But, there was a hesitation if you should punch him or not. 

━ You can’t do that without my superior presence. ━ You struggled against his grip, looking around and searching for any witnesses. To your misfortune, again, there was none. The training grounds were empty.

━ See ━ he managed to pull you with him, while he made his way to the magazine nearby ━ this is a military rule, princess. It has nothing to do with me.

Graves was playing dirty, when he finally dragged you inside the empty hall. You clung to the both sides of his vest, before smashing your forehead against his face. The blonde man stumbled backwards, cursing loudly, calling you all sorts of names. It had to hurt like a bitch, if all might Phillip Graves was whining like a little boy kicked in the balls. 

━ You little– Fuck!

You tried to pass by him, before one of his Shadows revealed his presence, standing between you and the doors. Then another man emerged from the darkness, until you counted three of them in total. 

“Great”, you thought. 

A deep breath of not so fresh air filled your lungs. A hint of moisture hit your nostrils, while your sight was still getting accustomed to the dim lighting of the hall. Slowly you began to worry as you happened to be cornered by the Shadows with no one by your side. It made you vulnerable – like a wounded animal to a vulture.

━ What is this really about? ━ A simple question was asked, when you carefully tried to back out as far from the reach of his loyal soldiers. The situation was getting far more intense than you thought. 

━ You’re related to Barnet’s scandal or at least you're messing up the evidence, all I have to hear is a confirmation.

Commander, whose hands were dirtier than anyone you knew, wanted you to confess. Ironic, wasn’t it?

━ Don’t make this harder than it has to be, doll ━ Graves wiped his bloody nose with a material of his sleeve, slowly walking in circle around you, a lamb to the slaughter ━ just face the consequences of your own actions. 

━ You know it’s not true. I have nothing to confirm, sir. 

If you were the same person you were years ago, you would fidget with your silver medallion. Praying for courage in a situation like this, facing the personification of evil. But that necklace was laying forgotten in the abyss of your drawer. 

The painful truth was, you were left all alone in an uneven fight. 

━ I was afraid you would say so. 

With the slightest nod of his head you noticed the change in soldiers’ stance. They were about to charge at you and that familiar, eerie feeling in your bones. So you did all that you could to prepare for the upcoming attack. 

When the first soldier swung with his clenched fist towards your face, you swiftly managed to avoid it. Then, you succeed another time. But by omitting the hits you wouldn’t last long, so the next strike had to be blocked. 

Your forearm acted as a shield, when you tried to charge forward the Shadow. The second soldier joined the brawl, kicking you in the back of your knee. The punch in the joint made you stumble.

You decided to push away the first opponent and then with all your body mass, pin the second Shadow to the ground. Your arms wrapped around his thighs and you fell onto the soldier with a thud, punching his jaw with your clenched fist. 

The adrenaline made your nervous system numb to the pain you inflicted upon yourself. If not for the blood staining his jawline, you wouldn’t notice when your knuckles began to bleed. 

As soon as the pinned Shadow’s hands gripped your waist tightly, trying to push you off, you knew the outcome of the fight. Even if you had an upper hand for a split moment. There was no magical foreseeing – a simple conclusion told you, that you against the three of them was an already sealed result. 

But you had to put up a fight – you wouldn’t allow yourself to cross the gates of heaven or any other sort of afterlife if you hadn’t tried.

A sudden yank on your hair, made you cry out and fall off the soldier laying on the ground. Before you managed to get up, the third Shadow, until now standing still and watching, kicked you in your ribs. And then another time.

And another.

You stumbled to the side of your thigh, gripping the aching side of your bones and flesh, blood spilling beneath the surface of your smooth skin. Breathing, such a fundamental ability to live, became harder with each passing second. 

Your mouth fell agape, greedily trying to swallow some air, searching for a boost of energy. 

The three demons abused your position on the ground as they began kicking you around – aiming for your stomach, ribs, arms. It almost felt like you were their soccer ball. 

Graves stood tall near the raging chaos with his arms crossed over the tactical vest. Only when one of his puppets smacked you across the face, causing you to fall onto your stomach, he intervened. 

━ Not in the face, idiot! She’s quite pretty, isn’t she? Would be such a waste to permanently mutilate such a face. 

The blonde man crouched down and gripped your jaw, taking a closer look at the red mark pulsating on your cheek. It seemed that he was savoring the hurt look on his victim. The commander smirked, finally acknowledging the fear in your eyes. 

The taste of copper spreaded over your tongue, it felt disgusting and made you lightheaded. Only then the pain they inflicted on you began to sink in, causing all of your limbs to become extremely warm. Almost like the tongues of flames were dancing over your skin. 

If the Shadows kill you that night, will you become a martyr? Or would you be remembered as a traitor as Graves wanted to?

They swept you off the floor, upholding your fragile body by hooking under your armpits. Your head craved to hang low, but your consciousness needed to follow their movements, trying to predict what they would do to you next. 

 ━ I don’t like repeating myself, soldier, but I’ll give you another chance ━ Graves leaned in front of you, his hands resting upon his thighs. He became irritated that you hadn’t broken already ━ were you involved with Barnet or his partners in smuggling the federal weapons? 

━ I’m just a private, you fucking fuck! ━ You spat out the truth, brows narrowing close to your eyelashes. ━ I. Did. Not. 

His blue gaze wandered somewhere behind your back. Graves nodded and a sudden wave of stabbing pain spreaded around your kidneys. You cried out, spine arching, pathetically trying to escape the ache. 

Then they would give you a few seconds of break, you trying to breathe through the pain. But the cycle would continue as the Shadow behind your back kept electrocuting you over and over and over. 

The motherfuckers tased you. And they would not stop until you were a panting mess, limp within their hold. Poor mind of yours fried, barely holding onto the debrises of sanity. 

When your body reached some sort of limit and your vision became blurry, you really began to think you were to die tonight. In a matter of hours, you would have to face your friend – death and let her mock you for such an early encounter. 

But at least, you would not die untruthful to yourself.

Within the next couple hours, when your consciousness was wandering between the limbo of the Sandman’s realm and the reality, you gradually managed to understand the truth. 

That night during the operation Barnet, you saw something you never should have. The office and the crumbles of it. There was something inside so fragile and precious that made a person in a position of power command Graves to frame and torture you. As you were the only witness of it.

And for whom Shadow Company worked for?

The picture became crystal clear and you laughed like a madman. A trickle of blood dripped down the corner of your mouth, when they kept inflicting pain onto the poor soul of yours. And your young body too, staining it forever.

General Shepherd’s hands were not as clean as everyone thought so. He had to have something in common with those weapons being smuggled to the terrorists. Shepherd might have been afraid that you knew that, so therefore he needed you dead. Even though you hadn’t managed to read any of the notes before their destruction.

He wanted you buried six feet under the ground with no gravestone. No monument. 

And you know what they say – if you don't know what it is about, it’s probably about the money.

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Although the pieces of puzzles fit together perfectly, their borders clinging tightly to each other, you hadn’t experienced satisfaction at all. 

The exhaustion became helpful at some point, separating your body from all the pain you’ve endured during the last couple of hours. The blood on your cuts dried up, but the smell of it made your stomach turn. 

You couldn’t believe that the scent and sight of blood would make you lightheaded, ever in your lifetime. Not as a woman of course, they see much more blood than the average man. 

But all of the beatings that those demons inflicted upon you was bearable. Painful obviously, but bearable. If your assessment was correct, they hadn’t broken any bones till now. The split skin on your collar bones, separated with the sharp blade of the knife could be stitched up. With good care the scars would eventually fade. 

If you survive this interrogation. 

Your grunts and whines filled Phillip’s ears, yet he still craved more than this. He hadn’t heard you scream and he would extort those sounds from you pretty soon.

The Shadows dragged you to sit at the wooden chair near the old table, your shoulders slowly sinking to the furniture’s backrest. They gave you a break as their knuckles were bloodied and scratched. Perhaps, they were thinking of another way to push you into the Behemoth’s maw. 

The time between your interactions passed quickly. Your eyelids closed loosely, but you heard the surroundings very well – the gravel crunching beneath the soles of their shoes, the way they shifted their weight. You noticed that, all of it. Your mind was alerted and aware. 

━ Have to give that to Ghost, he trained you well ━ Graves dragged another chair near yours and sat comfortably in it. Too close to your liking though. ━ But you must be tired, don’t you?

━ I’m fine.

A whisper hummed in the storage hall, filling the silence between your breaths. Those which might be your last ones. 

━ You look shit to be honest ━ the commander put his hands in the air, just like he didn’t want it to sound like an insult. ━ It didn’t have to come to this, doll. You wouldn’t have suffered if you just confessed when I asked you to. 

You scoffed, raising your head to face him with a look full of disgust.

━ That false confession is a death sentence. 

Graves shifted in his seat, getting closer to you as he leaned to your ear. One of his hands pushed the loose strands of hair behind your cartilage, while the other rested on your thigh.

Your whole body tensed, when his palm squeezed the soft flesh of your inner thigh. It wandered far too close to the crotch, even through the material of clothes. 

When your hands shoot to grab his, the Shadow standing beside grabbed your left arm and pinned it to the table’s surface. Your other hand’s fingers were entangled around Graves’ wrist, trying to stop him from moving any further. 

You had heard that he was wicked and unpredictable, but not to this extent. 

━ Listen up ━ he said so quietly it might have eluded from you, if you didn’t pay enough attention ━ I’m being generous here and giving you one, last chance, princess. Confess and you’ll be under my arrest. No further harm will happen to you, if you behave, that is. 

The audacity of this sickening man never stopped surprising you. You knew perfectly well what he meant by being under his arrest, what it meant to be Phillip Graves’ prisoner. It was a fate far worse than death. 

Your eyes were locked on his mischievous smile, twisting soft cheeks and underlining the wrinkles on his forehead. He was abusing his power and was perfectly aware of that. It was you against the devil. 

━ Come on, be a good girl. ━ He tried to persuade you with the sweet words and empty promises. It was kind of insulting, Graves thought he would convince you to change your mind. ━ Just say it was you, hm? 

But little did he know, your pride and stubbornness was far greater than his. 

You hung your head low again, before chuckling softly, shoulders trembling. It caught him off guard, you noticed. Graves probably thought you’ve gone far from sanity. 

Naturally you were weary of the pain, of the constant soreness in your muscles, the painful stretch of dried up blood. Yes, you were scared of upcoming tortures, you already admitted to that before yourself. But you would never forgive yourself if you weren’t true to the beliefs that got you here in the first place. You couldn’t let them frame you. 

Not this motherfucker in particular.

━ Go fuck yourself.

Then it was you who spilled out some words coated in pure hatred, almost an exorcism to make him go away. Your faith in your truth was strong. Graves’ hand released your thigh with a disappointed look on his angelic face, instead forcing your right forearm into his chest. He was keeping your limb too tight, while the other one was still pinned to the table.

Another Shadow appeared in the corner of your eye, slowly making his way towards your splayed out hand on the flat surface. Only then you noticed the thing he was holding. 

“Fuck.”

━ Alright, the hard way it is. ━ Phillip said, savoring the building fear in your eyes as your shrinking pupils were following the outline of the drill. A simple machine you would put your furniture together.

But in the right hands it would be a torture device.

━ You can’t be serious. You c-can’t– Y-You–

He shushed you, cradling your right arm within his hold. One of the Shadows stood on the other side of you, squeezing the elbow and your wrist so roughly, it almost made the bones pop out of the joint. 

Your instinct was to try and wiggle away, but the two men held you steadily. The third one flicked the power button and you looked at the small, but pointy drill turning with a mechanic sound. 

━ No, no, no, no, don’t, DON’T! 

The panic and fear overtook your stoic strategy. Only then you began being truly scared of their sinister games. You pleaded, you fought back, you begged until you screamed so loudly, there had to be someone hearing you from the outside. The pain of your flesh getting twisted and ripped off, made you want to vomit, if not the screaming tightening your throat muscles.

Then the drill stopped. You estimated it hadn’t even reached your bone, yet. But the crimson, syrupy liquid climbed up the length of the metal part and trickled to the sides of your assaulted forearm. 

You were breathing loudly, gasping for air. A droplet of sweat rolled down your temple. Every single finger of yours was trembling, muscles spasming from the pain. 

Graves reached one of his hands and forcefully squeezed your jaw and cheeks. He forced your pretty face to stare directly at him. Then, when he noticed how salty tears were overflowing your waterline, he grinned.

━ Look at me, soldier ━ Graves gave an order, but you were not his subordinate. He had to yank your head and dig his digits into your flesh again. ━ Look. At. Me!

The Shadow continued the assault, turning the power back on. This time, he expected resistance from the hard tissues so he pushed harder. 

Your shrieks filled his ears like cathedral music, a gospel of his liking. The tears streaming down your face finally reached his palm that was squeezing your face. Graves wanted to have a good look at all the scowls of ache. 

You swore you had heard the bone cracking, a muscle perforated already. White, blunt pain blinded your senses, only the warm embrace of the commander sitting across you kept you aware that you were still in the land of living. 

Your stomach was hurting – God, you were going to puke. 

━ What’s the meanin’ ‘f this?!

The voice of your savior, echoed somewhere in the back of your consciousness. The mechanical drill stopped its work and you actually felt it when it was ripped off your forearm. You whined, letting your eyelids shut. Blood splashed across the table. 

The two Shadows remained by your side, meanwhile Graves stood up from his seat and took a walk towards the intruders. 

You felt the familiar smell of tobacco, a very specific species of tobacco used only for cigars. 

━ Captain, I can assure–

━ Assure what? ━ John Price said, venom and hatred rolling down his tongue. He was pissed and dear God, you don’t want to anger this man. ━ That you mutilated one of my soldiers? Who gave you the order? 

Graves pressed his lips into a thin line.

━ General himself.

━ Why? ━ Ghost raspy voice sounded next to your limp form and it made you feel protected.

When you opened your eyes, you saw him towering over you even when he slouched to reach your level. You forced yourself to form a subtle smile, because somehow, the fight was over. You were being taken away from the monster that Graves was. 

━ She destroyed the only fucking evidence, trying to cover her own ass.

The lieutenant took a quick look over your body, you felt his gaze roaming on yourself. He was looking for serious wounds, but the one on your forearm seemed to be the nastiest one. 

Ghost helped you rise up from the chair, securing you in the straight line by holding onto your shoulders. Before he did that, he seemed to ask nonverbally with his dark eyes if you could walk. You nodded weakly. 

━ She’s a private under my command ━ Captain Price kept lecturing the blonde man, standing still like a tree. ━ If she had been accused, I’m the one to take her for questioning, not you. This is my team, my base and you will follow my rules, is that clear? 

You couldn’t exactly point to the moment where you walked past Price and Graves. Your eyes were so heavy and the main focus was to keep walking forward. If not Ghost upholding your posture straight by holding onto your arms, you wouldn’t be able to stand by your own strength. 

Despite the stories you had heard about him being rough, he wasn’t with you, at all. His grip was firm, but no digit of his calloused fingers dug into the beaten flesh of yours. Should a soldier ever feel comfort rather than dread in the presence of their superior? Was this normal? Were you? 

━ I had my own orders, the intel pointed out she was a suspect. Apparently ━ he took a deep breath in, keeping his anger on a leash ━ there was a misunderstanding. I apologize for any… inconveniences. 

━ I’ll talk to Shepherd about this one, you stay out of it ━ Price stated, before turning around on his heel. He was walking behind the two of you. ━ Oh, and you owe this lady an apology. Better be a good one, boy.

No. 

You wanted to scream that word over and over. If Graves ever bothered you again, you would gouge his blue eyes out – gladly looking at the soft tissues getting stuck under your nails, Phillip’s blood staining your hands. Ghost felt when your body tensed under his grip as he led you out of the storage hall. Of all people, he could sympathize with you the most. 

You walked in silence, only the echo of the gravel mixed with sand echoed in your ears. The chilly, evening breeze awoke your senses, although it didn’t give you more strength. Your hand clutched to Ghost’s, when you felt your stomach shrinking.

━ God ━ you leaned over your own knees, gasping for air ━ I think, I’m gonna… ‘m gonna puke.

He followed your poor soul to the side of the road. Before you could deny his help, Ghost was collecting your loose strands of hair and holding it firmly behind your neck. 

━ That’s alright. Take your time.

He wasn’t angry or disappointed with you. Ghost wasn’t rushing you as you tried to catch your uneven breath. The lieutenant just stood there, holding the hair out of your face in case you would vomit.

But you hadn’t thrown up at all. You just crouched there gasping for air, pressing your wounded forearm to your chest, blood staining the military shirt. Your limbs began to shiver, but not from the low temperature. Only then you allowed yourself for a display of any weaknesses, for a way to express your pain and exhaustion.

━ I d-didn’t do any-anything. I promise.

Your tone sounded broken and he couldn’t bear it. His stone cold heart couldn’t withstand the look in front of him. Ghost pulled you up from the crouching position, before pressing your forehead into his chest. He could still hear your quiet sobs, your blood surely staining his clothes too. But he didn’t care about some piece of cloth. 

━ I know.

Ghost was already soaked with blood of all the lives he ended miserably, but to be stained with something that belonged to you? That was something different. To him your blood could be the red wine that turns into the blood of Christ during each mass.

The lieutenant wrapped his arms around your back and kept one palm on the back of your head. Ghost caught the glimpse of your tired eyes and all he could see was himself. A reflection of sort, only a shard perhaps. When everything he had held dear to him – the dignity and humanity of Simon Riley, was taken away from him all those years ago, all he needed was a solace. 

The man didn’t have to say much, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to hear him pity you. But Ghost’s presence was enough, his warm and gentle touch made you feel somehow protected. 

Perhaps it was the exhaustion causing you to melt into his embrace, because how could you feel any special, different from your teammates in his beautiful, dark eyes? He was your lieutenant for God’s sake.

Would he console the others if needed? Or maybe he sees you as weak? A fragile package that needs to be handled with care? Why was he so sympathetic with you of all the people? 

You stopped thinking and sank into the feeling of his soft and clean shirt that covered the man’s sternum and chest. You brushed the idiotic thoughts away, because you deserved that kind of affection. 

You deserved to be held close and to feel safe. 

And in his arms it all became very real. 

Even for a moment.

━ Come on, moppets ━ Price’s now calm voice, broke the heated thoughts and raging emotions as he got closer to them. ━ She needs to see a doctor.

A/N: The end of this fanfic has an open sort of ending so therefore I can write more comfort with Reader/Ghost in the bonus chapter if you would like to. ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

[baldurs-gape]

True Freedom

Tadpole or not, 200 years of habit was hard to break. The fact Cazador had offered to ally himself with the party in exchage for Astarion had been sickening. Even worse was that the answer wasn't an immediate "no" or "fuck off" which Astarion had really been needing to hear. Instead they had reached a stalemate of sorts that was to be resolved over a glass or two of wine and blood. If only Astarion hadn't been pulled aside into a lavish room and told to make himself presentable; which meant finery, demurely revealing clothes and a complete wrapping up of the personality Astarion had managed to tease out during his freedom.

While Astarion was sorting himself out, Cazador glided back to the rest of the party with a small, almost apologetic smile.

"You'll have to excuse the boy, he's been acting under my orders."

"Your orders mean nothing, not when a tadpole has ousted you," Gale replied, finger raised and wagging to drive his point home. "Astarion's been free for the first time in so long."

Something akin to pity made Cazador's face twist into a mockery of emotion. "My dear, you are too young to understand such things. I didn't want to hurt you, but allow me to prove my point. Astarion, as always, has been loyal to me and only me."

Even Halsin looked a little put off by that, face scrunching up in concerned disagreement.

"Are you saying he feigned being in love?"

Laughing lightly, Cazador shook his head. "I am so sorry if he has hurt your feelings. Astarion has always been a bit on the greedy side when it came to feeding his ego. But the only thing that boy loves is himself."

"I refuse to believe that!" Gale stood up, helpless to do anything in the face of such words. No spell could refute the words, make them fall on deaf ears.

"Very well. Allow me to prove my point. If you'd be kind enough to make yourselves invisible, I'll permit you to be present while I talk to the boy."

Exchanging glances, the group nodded to each other. Vials of potions of invisibility were distributed and murmurs for scrolls and spells filled the air. Eventually, they were all invisible and headed to the room where Astarion was veritably lounging, a goblet of something deep red in his hand. He looked comfortable and cocky in a way he hadn't been at camp. In fact, he looked right at home.

"Tell me, my boy, how have you ingratiated yourself with the be-wormed group?" After a beat, Cazador added, "Tell me like you'd tell Petras, be concise and clear so he could easily understand."

"Master-" Astarion swirled the liquid in the goblet before setting it aside, "-even Petras could do it with ease. As long as he can remember who is who."

"And who, exactly, is who?"

"The group is made up of six core members, they each have their weaknesses. Take Wyll for example, a desperate boy at heart in need of feeling like he could be a hero and his daddy would approve of him at long last. Simper about monsters to him, present one bigger than yourself and he'll be eager to become the shining night to your damsel in distress."

"Good. Who else?"

"Lae'zel, all that's needed to win her over is to give her a decent fight. I've calculated that a 60-40 ration of losses to wins is enough to keep her at peak attention. Let her win 60% of the time so she's not disheartened but grind her to dust the other 40% of the time. Give her a hard fight plus a hard fuck and she'll do all the fighting for you."

"That's two, what about the other four?" Through it all, Cazador stayed impassive, watching Astarion who seemed hesitant for a moment until Cazador pressed, "Tell me, little one."

"Shadowheart is a mean bitch. A bottle of wine and some barbed comments and she's your new best friend. Meanwhile, Karlach is the opposite in a way. She wants a friend, she craves touch since her engine has been contained. A friendly shove, a pat on the back with some praise and she's putty."

"That leaves Halsin and Gale, am I right?"

"As you always are." Astarion smiled though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Pitiful really. A tree hugger who likes sex almost more than nature. Bend over in a field of flowers for him, let him be as animalistic as he wants and he'll be like a pathetic puppy, ready to roll over and do as told." Swallowing, Astarion looked away from Cazador who stood, waiting and immobile. "Then there's Gale. Discarded and demoted. Marvel at his silly little cantrips, praise him for any spell and give him a bit of good old mortal romance. All he needs is some admiration to wrap him around your little finger."

Cazador nodded. "I see. That will be all for now. Be good and stay quiet until Godey comes to fetch you."

Like that, Cazador marched out and the invisible group followed like disillusioned ducklings. Back in the room Cazador had set aside, they all slowly turned visible again.

"As you can see, he has always been working for me. He needed your protection and needed to bring you to me. Initially you were to be a meal but I see now your value in fighting against The Absolute." Looking them all in the eye in turn, Cazador spoke, "Drop the foolish endeavour of keeping him 'safe' and being his 'friend'. Allow him to return to my side and I'll offer assistance in the fight to come with some of the bravest and best spawn. They'll make you forget Astarion and the heartbreak he's wrought."

Anger and disappointment made for a bitter mix. Without having to really even discuss it, the group trailed out, Halsin's arm around Gale. The soft "but I loved him" was met with "I know, me too", voices drenched in heartbreak.

With the group out of the way, Cazador sent for Godey to fetch Astarion. His wayward spawn was harshly shoved to his knees even as he glanecd around desperately for the others.

"What have you done to them? Where are they?" Panic clawed at Astaion's throat.

"Left. They weighed up your worth against mine and made the obvious choice. Did you really think you could win against me in any race, little one?"

Face falling, Astarion snarled. "You monster! I hate you!"

Staring impassively down at him, Cazador watched. "When you're quite done." He waited a beat but Astarion remained silent. "If you're so miserable here then I release you. No more compulsions. Go if that's what you desire. I have no need of you."

For a moment Astarion didn't move. Then he was scrambling to his feet and staggering towards the door, eyes wild at the prospect of escape.

"That's it," Cazador sneered. "Run if you want to. I've already replaced you, no doubt so has your little party of so-called friends. You'll be crawling back here in no time, you'll see."

"Never." The word was near enough spat as Astarion turned and scurried towards freedom. He had to find the rest of the group, give them a piece of his mind about being left behind. But he could maybe forgive them because, deep down, Astarion knew his help was worth less than Cazador's. Maybe, if he hadn't given his cold dead heart to two people in the group, he'd have chosen the same.

It was only back at the Elfsong that Astarion caught up with his friends. Near enough tumbling through the door in desperation to get home and share the news of his freedom, he clattered through the door. Icy silence greeted him and cold eyes stared.

"Well," he huffed, trying to break the strange mood, "an apology would be a nice start."

"I don't think my father would approve of me apologising to a monster," Wyll called, eyes narrowed to a glare.

"If you want an apology, I'll need to start winning our sparring sessions under my own merit." Walking closer, Lae'zel had her sword in hand in a rather unfriendly merit. "Even if by some miracle our ratios swap."

Gulping, Astarion tried to place the words and the hostility. He eyed as Halsin approached, looking more heartbroken than angry. "I would have helped protect you without you needing to trample my heart. Gale's heart. You could have always said no to my advances, especially if my wildshape caused you more harm than pleasure."

Helpless, Astarion glanced towards Karlach who snorted. "Don't look at me. Even your gaze repulses me now, let alone your touch."

"I had to say all that!" Astarion's voice buckled. "What did he tell you?"

"Nothing." Gale stepped next to Halsin, eyes red rimmed and puffy. "You did all the talking. Were we ever worth anything to you?"

"Just take what's yours and leave," Shadowheart butted in. "You're not welcome here but it seems I'm the only bitch mean enough to say it. Gather your belongings, you have a minute."

The group parted and Astarion hesitantly walked past, head turning to keep an eye on Lae'zel and her sword. Once past them, he darted for his bed where he kept things stashed. Except, truth be told, none of it was his, not really. Everything was stolen, borrowed with no intention of returning. There was only one thing that was his and only his. Grabbing the flimsy, moth eaten blanket he'd taken from Cazador's palace, he had one more thing to do. Dressed in his old clothes, the only ones he could truly call his, he headed for the door.

"I didn't mean any of it. You don't understand, if I didn't say what he wanted to hear, how he wanted to hear it, he'd have killed me! Now he's set me free." His words went ignored as the group sat on the couches, turned away from him. Desperate, Astarion threw one more thing out, wanting Halsin and Gale to look at him, to maybe see the truth in his eyes. "I love you!"

Shadowheart approached and gave him a flat look. "Your silver tongue isn't going to get you anywhere. Go running back to your master, little spawn. You already took more than your fair share from us. There's nothing left for you here."

Just like that, Astarion trudged out of the Elfsong. He looked back over his shoulder and watched as Shadowheart closed the door in his face with a finality that made something ache with terror in his chest. The whole world was his oyster yet the only place he wanted to be was now forever denied to him.

In the tavern, the mood was somber. Nobody quite knew what to say and Gale intermittently sniffled as his broken heart's jagged edges caught on hiw raw emotions. It was safe to say they were all in various states of shock, the betrayal of their companion sat heavily upon them. They stayed up late into the night, half expecting Astarion to try and sneak back in. Instead there was a knock on the door.

"Do you think it's him?" Gale whispered to Halsin.

It was a blessing yet a curse to find Dalyria on their doorstep. She looked behind Wyll, as if searching for someone. Shifting to block her view, Wyll tried to be kind. "Can we help?"

"Please. I don't know how you did it. He was always the favourite. But if Cazador has let him go, maybe he'll let the rest of us free too."

Nostrils flaring in annoyance, Wyll shook his head. "We did nothing. Astarion returned to his master as he wanted, of his own volition."

A small laugh escaped Dalyria. "No. Astarion would never return by himself. He was always plotting his escape, even when he could barely move, he promised me he'd get out and he'd try and take us with him. Promised through a broken jaw and barely intact throat."

"If he set you up to this, please, just leave. We know what he thinks of us, heard it right from his mouth. You'll need to take up the matter of your freedom with Cazador, that's not something we can do for you."

Dalyria's face fell. "I don't know what you heard. But I had to help him get ready for his meeting with Cazador. He said that if anyone can help it would be you. Even if you didn't think him worthy enough not to trade away for more firepower. I've never seen him so hopeful. Or healthy."

Uncertainty took root in Wyll. As much as he didn't want to believe Darylia, wanted to stick to his own truth that Astarion had used them, it just didn't feel so true now that the harsh burn of hurt had ebbed away.

"Stupid istik!" Lae'zel's words snapped Wyll to attention and he turned to find her. The others were also migrating towards the other side of the large room where she was sifting through what Astarion had left behind. Or rather, all of Astarion's belongings. There were pouches filled with insignificant magic trinkets and the emroidery on the canvas simply read 'snacks' in a rich purple. In another bag were healing potions, scrolls, alchemical ingredients. Not to mention the armour and weaponry that Astarion had been so fond of. "The she'lak only took what was literally his."

"What does that mean?" Gale looked helpless, hands fisted in his robes so he didn't clutch the snacks bag to his chest in place of where he wanted to hold Astarion.

Eyes closed, Halsin took a deep breath. He was beaten to speaking by Karlach.

"I think it means we made a real mess of things, soldier. Astarion always said Cazador was a master manipulator."

"We need to find him," Halsin said softly. "We have connected some dots but missed the picture as a whole."

It was easier said than done. Baldur's Gate was sprawling with ample places for Astarion to hide, especially given his knack for getting into places he shouldn't.

"He used to spend time in the graveyard," Darylia offered. "He probably went there."

An odd place for a vampire to want to spend time. There were a few other places to search first, taverns and houses they'd gained access through via not quite rightful means. Astarion wasn't in any of them. Reluctant to believe Darylia, Halsin and Gale made their way to the graveyard. Shadowheart was already there, searching with Wyll.

"Over there!" Karlach called as quietly as her excitement allowed. "By my parents' graves!"

Sure enough, a lone figure was huddled by the headstone of a grave near Karlach's parents. He didn't move when the others stood around him.

"Astarion? What are you doing here?" Halsin asked. Slowly, he sank to his knees within reaching distance but he held back from reaching out.

Slowly, Astarion turned to look at him and eyed all the others.

"Come to do what I couldn't?"

"Which is?"

A stake clattered on the ground by Halsin's knee.

"No! Little star, never!"

Gale joined Halsin on the cold ground but he didn't hold back from extending a hand and squeezing Astarion's shoulder. "What were you going to do instead?"

"Go to the palace." The words were nothing more than a whisper. "He said I'd go crawling back and he's always right. It's the only place where my presence is accepted in this world."

Swallowing thickly, Gale had to hold back his tears. "But all those horrible things you said?"

"It was what he needed to hear. I didn't want-" Astarion cut himself off, eyes squeezed shut. "I didn't want you to see what he could reduce me to. And you needed him for the fight. Between him and I, we all know who has more value."

"You do," Halsin rumbled. He copied Gale and reached for Astarion. Rather than just touch, he tugged and ended up with a lapful of cold, shivering vampire.

"I have nowhere else to go. Just wanted to see one last sunrise. He'll take it from me, no doubt. Wanted to see my grave in the light just once."

Sure enough, it was Astarion's grave they were sitting by. Something made Gale's throat tighten but he pushed through it.

"Come home. Come back to us."

"I'm not welcome there anymore."

Various murmurs of disagreement went up as the others tried to reassure Astarion that he was actually very much welcome there.

"You left most of your shit at the tavern," Shadowheart grumbled. "I'm not cleaning up after you."

Something akin to a wet laugh bubbled out of Astarion. They had a long way to go yet before things were fixed again, nothing was resolved yet. But there was hope and that had to be good enough for now.

[promptthebear]

Kissmas Day 9

Prompt: Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x Reader

CW: Female reader, lots and lots of swearing (It's Sandor c'mon now), reader is pregnant, some mentions of canon typical violence. If i forget anything please let me know!

A/N: Hello! This is a little different from the last few fics I wrote. I was going for like something cozy? So the pacing is a little slower and it's sort of a "not much happens but there's vibes" kind of fic. Hopefully you all enjoy it. I just really wanted to give my boy a story where he's safe, well fed, well rested, and doesn't have shit trying to kill him for like five minutes.

It was still dark when Sandor awoke, and colder than a wight’s arse. He could see the earliest light of dawn, though, through a nearby window. Pale yellow rays were starting to kiss the tops of the large, gloomy pines that encircled your cottage, and he knew it would be several hours yet before the sun would provide any proper warmth.

Grumbling and cursing under his breath, Sandor pushed back the furred hide that served as a blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He hissed when his feet touched the floor, the chill so fierce it bit at his soles, even through the two layers of woolen socks he wore. Everyone, from great Kings to common fools, knew that Winters in the North were bitterly cold. But it was one thing to hear the tavern stories and another thing all together when you were trying to live through it.

He wondered, as he tugged on his boots, why he didn’t make for the Free Cities and Dorne like the few remaining knights did when the whole world finally fell apart in flame and ruin. Yes, the stories of the fine wines and glimmering cities where even beggars could be Kings might have been exaggerated, but it couldn’t be any worse than here. At the very least, it might be nice to live somewhere your piss didn’t freeze midstream and your cock didn’t stick to your hand each time you used the privy.

Sandor turned the idea over in his mind, finding that its appeal grew with each passing moment. However, any thoughts of leaving vanished the instant he glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of your face peeking out from under the edge of the blankets. Your expression was peaceful, almost serene.

He leaned over you, his hair falling around his cheeks like a curtain, and placed a quick kiss against your temple. You stirred slightly in response, your eyelashes fluttering as a soft moan escaped your lips.

“Whassamatter?”

Sandor chuckled and reached out to deliver a gentle pat to your side before answering.

“Nothing. Gonna go cut some firewood. I’ll be back before you’re up.”

You mumbled something in reply, too faint for him to make out, before sleep’s embrace claimed you once more. He chuckled again and fondly shook his head.

At one point, nobody wanted to spend a night in his bed, not even when he'd gone to a brothel. Those girls had been too frightened of his face to give him more than a few hours at most, leaving him to wake to a cold bed and empty purse the next morning.

You, on the other hand, were comforted enough by his presence to stay through the night. You even claimed you slept more soundly when he was with you. It had taken a while before Sandor believed you, but after over a year of waking with you warm and content beside him, he was starting to see that you’d been telling the truth.

The bedroom door squeaked as it opened, which made the large, shaggy dog the two of you kept leap to its feet and growl deep in its throat. Sandor shushed the animal, which immediately bounded over from its spot by the fireplace, tongue out and tail wagging at the sight of its master.

“Stupid mutt.” Sandor said, as he began to rumple and massage the dog’s ears. “Good thing you’re loyal, or else what use would you be?”

The dog, which you’d so cleverly called Nameless because Sandor had refused to give it one, eagerly leaned into his touch and gazed up at him in squinty eyed delight. You’d found the poor beast roughly around the same time Sandor had been able to walk again, where he’d been left to die in some abandoned crofter’s hut.

At first, Sandor had wanted nothing to do with the animal. As far as he was concerned, you didn’t need another mouth to feed, what with him still half crippled and you were only able to set the most basic of rabbit snares. There had barely been enough food for the two of you, let alone a walking gut disguised as a dog.

He’s a big, black dog you’d insisted on just like your crest. If that’s not a sign from the gods, I don’t know what is.

Bugger the gods had been Sandor’s reply, but in the end, he’d yielded, if only to have some peace from your griping. Since then, Nameless had followed Sandor around like a second shadow. He’d cursed the beast and the bitch that whelped him each time he got underfoot, but eventually this gave way to begrudging acceptance and finally a quiet sort of affection.

Whoever left Nameless behind had, whether they knew it or not, forfeited a skilled hunting dog. Despite his sweet nature with people, he could catch rabbits and squirrels as skillfully as any wolf, which kept you and Sandor well stocked with meat despite the North’s unforgiving climate.

Once again, Sandor found himself questioning why he’d chosen to live in the frozen arse end of the world as he tried to open the front door. A thick layer of ice had settled over the tiny cottage you called home, a parting gift from last night’s storm.

Despite ample shoving and force, the door was refusing to cooperate. With each attempt, the aged wood groaned and creaked as though in protest, but wouldn’t budge. Though he couldn’t see it, Sandor had a feeling the damn thing had frozen shut in its frame, which was a much more common occurrence than he would’ve liked it to be. With a muttered oath, he threw his shoulder against the wood, swearing louder at the shock of pain that came after.

A thin sweat had broken out on Sandor’s brow when he finally gave himself a moment to breathe, half slumped against the bastard door and wishing agonies upon whichever fool god made ice to begin with. He stole a glance over his shoulder, hoping the racket hadn’t woken you, and was greeted with the sight of Nameless. The dog was sitting a few feet behind him and watching the entire process as though it was a Mummer’s show Sandor was putting on especially for him.

“Are you just going to look? Or are you going to be helpful for once in your sorry life?”

By way of response, Nameless rose to his feet, stood for a moment, squinted at Sandor, and then let out a quick, loud sneeze that sent forth a spray of drool and dust motes into the chilled air. Satisfied, the dog sat down again with a bump, and stared at his master. He cocked his head to one side, and spread his mouth wide in a lolling, doggy grin, as if two of them were sharing some sort of secret joke.

Sandor couldn’t help but grin back, albeit a little lopsidedly, before returning to the problem of the door. Once upon a time, he could’ve split the bloody thing in two with the heel of his boot and a well-aimed kick, but he had been a different man then. The Hound, with all his strength and rage, had died with Gregor the day they both went over the falls. Now, all that remained was Sandor, who had to huff and puff and struggle with frozen doors just like anyone else.

When the door finally gave way, it did so with a mighty crack, which shattered the morning air in a flurry of loose snow that tumbled off the roof and bits of ice that shimmered like diamond shards as they fell.

Sandor stumbled outside, shoulder first since he was mid shove when the door decided to open. Instantly, he was blinded by the sheer, sterile whiteness of fresh snow and sunbeams that cut like yellow knives after the dimness of the cottage. For a moment, he had little choice but to wait and lean against the door frame while his vision cleared.

Despite the early hour, the woods were already awake and teeming with life. Around him, Sandor could hear all manner of birdsong, as well as the chattering of squirrels and the far off call of a solitary deer.

From behind the cottage came the sounds of the sheep, small, squat, shaggy creatures with more wool than brains between their ears. They bleated mournfully from inside their little shed, hoping it would get them fed all the sooner, but their cries stirred no pity in Sandor’s heart. He could hardly stand the sight of the fool things, with their empty eyes and the way they ran in panicked, useless circles every time they were frightened.

When you’d first asked Sandor why he hated the sheep so much, he told you it was because he had no patience for anything, man or beast, that was too stupid to know how stupid it actually was. You’d laughed at that, a bright, musical sound that made warmth bloom in Sandor’s chest, but you hadn’t left the matter alone like he’d hoped.

As far as you were concerned, there was no point in wasting time hating something so pathetic and harmless and so you persisted. If Sandor was stubborn, you were twice as much, pestering him with that unfaltering cheerfulness each time you went you to feed the damn things. Eventually, he relented, the name and reason tumbling from his lips like rain after a drought.

Mycha.

From the ashes of Sandor’s rage, shame had blossomed, and with it a thin, choking vine that clenched a little tighter around his heart each time he’d thought of the boy. He’d lived what felt like a thousand different lifetimes since that fateful day by the river, and no matter how much he’d drunk, fought or fucked, he couldn’t seem to shake that one particular ghost. It was as though a small part of Mycha had always been there, slowly poisoning what little shreds of goodness Sandor had managed to grasp hold of, and for a while, he supposed that was what he deserved. Until you came along.

You, who had dragged Sandor out from the water when he was little more than a half drowned corpse. You, who had set every broken bone, stitched every wound and fed him spoonfuls of broth even when he’d cursed you after each one. With your constant, stubborn, infuriating cheerfulness, you had talked Sandor into talking, smiled him into smiling, and somehow loved him into loving you back. You had become the sun that rose and set on each day of Sandor’s life. You were what got him up in the mornings and kept him working until dusk. The thought of losing you, or worse, having you cast him aside, scared him more than dragons, others, and his cunt brother ever had.

That was why, in the end, Sandor had chosen to tell you the truth. At least then you’d hear it from him, instead of whatever exaggerated horseshit the village gossips would invent. Ugly as it was, Sandor knew honesty would be his friend in this matter, and he’d had more than his fill of liars after spending so much time in service to the Lannisters.

And so you came to know the whole sordid tale, one dreary morning in the sheep shed. He spared no detail, no matter how gruesome it was or how poorly it reflected on his character. If you were going to keep loving him, it was best you knew the sort of man you’d chosen, lest the truth curdle what little affection he’d earned.

At first, Sandor wasn’t sure how you were going to take things. He half expected you to try to brain him with the bucket of sheep’s feed, then drive him off in a hail of shrieking and chunks of dung. Tears were also a likely possibility, though you didn’t really seem the type. But learning that the man who you’d let into your home and bed had the blood of an innocent child on his hands could make anyone behave strangely.

When he’d finally got up the courage to stop staring at his boots and look into your face, you, as always, surprised him. You were smiling at him, that same warm, gentle smile that Sandor remembered from the moment he’d woken up in your arms.

I know is what you’d said. I’ve always known, and I love you anyway.

You’d reached for him after, setting aside your bucket so you could bring your hand up and caress his scarred cheek. Sandor had leaned into your touch, like it was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart into a million pieces. Of course you’d known, who in all the Seven Kingdoms hadn’t heard the stories about King Joffery’s rabid dog and the things he’d done? He should’ve given you more credit.

From there, it had been easy enough to tell you why he hated those sheep. Their cries, the sheer terror in their eyes each time he approached? They reminded him too much of that boy, and regardless of how you felt about it, he was not entirely certain he’d ever be able to forget. It was one thing to have your forgiveness and another thing entirely to be able to forgive himself.

Give it time is what you’d told him And let me worry about the sheep. You’ve got enough to do around here, anyway.

The sound of Nameless’ barking is what suddenly tugged Sandor from his memories and back into the here and now. Somehow, the dog had managed to squeeze past him without Sandor noticing, and he was now diving face first through the fresh snow, on the hunt for grouse tracks and anything else that would provide a decent chase.

Sandor watched for a moment, unable to hide the smile playing about his lips. The sight of the big dog, now sporting a healthy dusting of snow across his shoulders and muzzle, was enough to brighten anyone’s mood. He supposed, after almost starving to death on his own, the idiot creature was simply happy to be alive long enough to see another day.

The two of them would go and check Sandor’s traps later. With any luck, they’d snag a rabbit or two that you could roast for supper and have plenty of bones left for Nameless to enjoy. But, in the meantime, you wouldn’t be cooking anything if there wasn’t any wood for the fire.

It hadn’t warmed up any by the time Sandor walked to the woodshed. The snows frozen crust crunched under his feet as he walked, while his breath floated away in thick, white clouds that dampened his beard. His axe, stuck blade down in the stump a few feet away from the woodshed, was a welcome sight.

It was by no means half the weapon his greatsword had been, but Sandor found comfort in the way its worn, wooden handle fit snugly into his grasp and in its blade that thirsted for pine sap instead of blood.

Before long, the sound of logs splitting filled the air, mingling with the soft creak of trees in the wind and an occasional bark from Nameless. Sandor quickly found his rhythm, letting the weight of the axe guide his arm on the downstroke and pushing aside each long with his other hand to be stacked in the shed later.

He went on like that for a while, cut, push, another log, and do it again. The repetition of the work was soothing, almost meditative. It brought a sense of peace to Sandor the way only busy hands could.

Cut, push, new log, do it again.

It was like the axe was an extension of his arm, with the beat of his heart matching each thud of the blade and his breath moving in time as the axe swung through the air. There was most likely going to be a fresh tree fall after last night’s winds, no doubt with plenty of new wood for Sandor to haul home. It probably wouldn’t hurt to bring a length of rope and the sledge when he went hunting with Nameless later. If they didn’t catch anything, at least they wouldn’t be coming home empty-handed.

The young pine he was currently working on was halfway gone by the time you’d made an appearance. Sandor hadn’t heard you at first, too absorbed in what he was doing. It was only after you’d said his name for the third time that he’d finally stopped and turned to look at you over his shoulder, squinting at you as though he wasn’t quite sure who you were or where he was.

“What are you doing out here?”

His tone, like everything about him, was gruff. You smiled at him all the same, knowing that for Sandor, gruffness and worry were often interchangeable.

“Came to check on you. You’ve been out here for hours.”

Sandor glanced upwards and was surprised to find the sun sitting squarely above his head. A sheen of sweat had also broken out over his arms and forehead, and he could feel where it was pooling in the hollows of his back. With a sigh, he set aside his axe and removed his heavy woolen cloak, before turning back towards you.

“Have you been asleep this whole time?”

The slight tilt of his chin in your direction indicated your odd choice of garments. Born to a wilding father and shepherd’s daughter, you always swore the North in your blood kept you from ever truly feeling cold. Still, a sleeping shift, boots, and knit shawl tossed hastily about your shoulders was a questionable choice in midwinter, even for a Northern girl.

You shook your head and gestured back towards the cottage where steam had fogged up the windows.

“I started the laundry, wanted to make use of the sunlight while we still have it. I figured it didn’t make much sense to change until my other clothes were dry, and then I could wash these next.”

Sandor listened to your explanation, his face unchanging save for an arched brow. When you finished, he raised his arm and pointed back at the cottage with a thick finger.

“You should be inside, you fool, woman. You’ll freeze your tits off out here.”

You laughed before wrapping your shawl a little tighter around your shoulders and closing the space between you and Sandor with a few steps.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. I’m a Northerner. I don’t get cold. We’re not as pampered as you Southern city types.”

Sandor grumbled softly and shook his head, something about “tongue lashing harpy bitch.” There was no venom behind his words, however, only affectionate resignation. Instinctively, he brought his hand to rest on the curve of your stomach, a protective gesture towards the child you’d been carrying for the last five months. You reached up for Sandor’s face, cupping the scarred side as you usually did against the palm of your hand.

Sandor’s eyes fluttered shut in response to the touch, and for a moment, years seemed to fall away from his expression. He turned his head slightly to the side and pressed a kiss against the skin of your wrist. You loved seeing him like this, vulnerable and content. It was like a glimpse into the past, when he was young and full of hope. However, his eyes opened all too quickly, and he was back to being the Sandor you knew. Older, grumpy, and entirely done with your nonsense.

“Inside. Or I’ll sling you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and bring you there myself”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he’d do no such thing, not while you were pregnant, anyway.

“Fine. But I want a kiss first.”

There was more grumbling, but Sandor did as you asked, catching your mouth against his while his hands snaked down to encircle your hips. You leaned into the kiss, pressing your body as close to his as you could get while still keeping your feet on the ground. His beard was coarse against your cheeks, and he smelled faintly of the woods and sweat. The heat of him seemed to envelope you, like a familiar blanket.

You stood like that for a while, the two of you bathed in morning sunshine and kissing as though you’d never get a chance to do it again. When Sandor tried to pull away, you chased him, closing the space between your mouths by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him downwards. This kiss was a little messier and rougher than the first, most likely due to Sandor’s surprise, but you didn’t mind. It was only when you nibbled at his bottom lip that he broke the kiss off in earnest, catching your two hands in one of his and trapping them against his chest.

“None of that. I told you, go inside.”

You stared up at Sandor and pulled your mouth into an exaggerated pout.

“One more? Please? And then I’ll go, I promise.”

Sandor swore softly under his breath and used his free hand to adjust the front of his trousers before leaning down to claim your mouth again. For a moment, it seemed as though you were going to get your way. Sandor had brought his other hand up to twine in your hair, which only served to deepen the kiss. You welcomed it eagerly, opening your lips and running your tongue against the seam of his mouth. He let out a groan in response, the hand that still held yours squeezing tight. You squirmed against him eagerly, trying to wrap one of your legs around his and haul yourself upwards, your hips seeking the friction they so desperately craved.

This, however, didn’t have the desired effect. Sandor began to laugh, and then placed his hands on your shoulders, gently pushing you back so you could no longer reclaim his mouth.

“I’m not a tree, you little minx, so stop trying to climb me. You said one more, you’ve had one more, and now you’re going to go inside or else.”

One look at Sandor’s face, and you knew there was no use in pushing your luck. With a long, suffering sigh, you stepped away, already mourning the absence of his mouth and hands on your body.

“Fine. But I better see you again before it gets dark. I’ll need to wash those clothes you’re wearing, and I’m not warming up your dinner twice.”

Sandor grunted, the noise vaguely affirmative enough that you took it as agreement. You turned to head back towards the cottage, only to stop mid step when you felt the familiar sting of an open hand strike your ass. You spun back around, your shawl spinning about your shoulders, and stared at Sandor, who grinned wolfishly back.

“That’s not fair!” you sputtered, your already pink cheeks flushing deeper.

“Nothing ever is,” came the reply.

You shook your head, turning once again to leave. Sandor let you do so without further torment, watching the way the sunlight made your hair glisten and the subtle swing of your hips as you walked. Nothing was ever fair, but sometimes things got close, even for an old dog like himself.

[starlightshadowsworld]

If you could change things in the Riordanverse what would you do differently?

... Do you want a list?

I will attempt to keep this brief, because there's are many things I would change and this isn't even all of it.

Jason gets his memories back. He's more feral either way, and we continue the theme that every Roman demigod is cursed in some way.

Jason's existential crisis isn't Greek vs Roman, it's I was raised to be an ideal that I can't be attained... And I I don't know what to do.

It's I was raised by wolves and than a leigion, I don't even know how to human like others do.

The Seven are actually a family and don't disband when everything is over. No love triangle between Hazel, Frank and Leo. Piper and Jason never end up together. Get rid of the Percy Jason rivalry.

Percy never becomes Praetor and Camp Jupiter look for Jason. And celebrate when he's returned to them, so much so they're willing to hear the Greeks out.

Jason makes friends with Grover, Clarisse and Will while at Camp Half Blood.

We get the scene of Jason decending onto the battlefield in the Titan war and defeating Krios. He's not all powerful but Jason's strong and he fights like a one man army.

Percy almost loses it when he finds out Jason fought Krios "When I catch you Zeus... I mean Jupiter!" Combo moves between demigods, the seven using their skills together.

Camp Jupiter is nowhere near ad loyal to the gods because they pretty much abandoned them.

Octavian, Reyna and Jason were friends at some point. Gaea takes advantage of Octavians visions and turns him against them.

The Eidilon that strikes Camp Jupiter was possessing Jason.

Camp Jupiter is split up between those following Octavian and those following Reyna and Jason. To the point Jason's old cohort refuse to fight against him.

When Percy and Annabeth fall into Tartarus, Jason dives after them and tries to catch them. But while Tartarus pushes them in, it repels him.

They all take losing Percy and Annabeth bad, Jason takes it the worse and feels he needs to be the old Jason. And realises no he doesn't, because everyone else is there with them and he's not alone.

Group hug after Jason meets his dead mother. When Jason looks at Cupid he sees his father.

Jason meets Jupiter who tells him he does care, that's why he kept his distance. And tells Jason he couldn't be more proud of him.

The Roman and Greek demigods didn't fight in the civil war. The Romans weren't pro slavery, none of that. They were close for years but Gaea turned them against each other.

Having the Greeks think the Romans stole the Athens Parthenos and that the Greeks stole the Leigions eagel. The gods decided to fix their fighting by having them forget each other.

This is solved when Percy, Frank and Hazel return the Eagle and Reyna, Nico and Hedge return the Parthenos.

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕊𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ @miya-akane request: Ok perhaps one more req since i need nore gaming fanfic in this app

Gaming with s/o that kins Akito and Ena like I used to req before perhaps? I want to req him along when i first req but i knew you didn't wrote him yet so I go ahead and took my chance again

(Perhaps with kaveh if you don't mind)

-🌹

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ YES WE DO!! Omg I love this idea sm ^^ And thank you tor waiting <3

Also you asked for Kaveh too, right? I'm not going crazy... RIGHT?! Well even if you didn't... I did him 0w0 Hope you like it! ^^

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

✧ Ga ming didn't mind your personality at all, if anything he found it quite charming

✧ you're feisty but also very loyal...

✧ it's almost intriguing how you can change between moods so quickly... in one second you're lovey dovey and then you're suddenly pointing out his mistake like madman

✧ but he finds it adorable, same goes for you being tsundere! He loves how your anger just washes away when he kisses your cheek and gets replaced with blush and shy expression while you try to play your cards correctly

✧ whenever you fall into anger because of whatever reason, he's gonna stop you from doing anything that caused it if possible and take you to bakery or some restaurant in hopes to calm you down

"Hey, hey! Let's drop it and go get some dim sum! I'm REALLY craving for some right now... you can't finish what you're doing later! Besides, a little break can't hurt, can it?"

✧ he also adores how loyal you are to what you love! He loves dancing too and totally understands why you'd get so competitive

✧ then again... he does his best to help you stay away from the troubles when you get emotional over it

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @vodka-glrl @miya-akane - come get your dim sum lover!

✧ Kaveh finds you both adorable and hard to deal with...

✧ don't get him wrong, he loves you very dearly but when after long day at work you get mad at him for tiniest mistake... he's starting to consider if Alhaitham really is this bed... after 3 seconds he realizes he is in fact worse than you

✧ but something that you both share is complaining about your passion!

✧ of course you're determined to achieve your goal and fing it enjoyable somehow, do does he! But when you're running to a deadline set by client or yourself... you can't really not get upset

✧ pulling all nighters together? Pulling all nighters together. It's like your night date by now, when you're both keeping each other company to not go crazy

"Uh... I swear I'm so tired... I'll go get myself another coffee. Do you want some too? I'll make it exactly as you like it, so don't worry."

✧ you're either cheering him on when he gets angry and maybe even fight for him, or try to calm him down

✧ he always tries to calm you down BUT if someone clearly deserves to be yelled at... he just looks the other way and pretends he's so captivated by something he can't hear what's happening

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot - come get your architect beuty~

[pixiecactus]

one of my favourites gendrya moments that got completely eviscerated by that awful show/hbo is this one:

“Child,” said the singer, “put up that sword, and we’ll take you to a safe place and get some food in that belly. There are wolves in these parts, and lions, and worse things. No place for a little girl to be wandering alone.” “She’s not alone.” Gendry rode out from behind the cottage wall, and behind him Hot Pie, leading her horse. In his chainmail shirt with a sword in his hand, Gendry looked almost a man grown, and dangerous. Hot Pie looked like Hot Pie. “Do like she says, and leave us be,” warned Gendry.

as someone who was reading the books around the time that got's third season was airing (at least in my country was in late 2013/early 2014), even as young as i was back then i could see that show!gendrya was devoid of their book dynamic that made me ship them in the first place. if i'm being honest the only show!gendrya moment i like, is when they first meet each other on season one and that's it.

book!gendry wanted them (arya and him) to leave their little group behind because the boy could see that the other children were dead weight, he's harsh about it but it's true, and when he brought it up to arya, a girl who cares so deeply about the people around her and their suffering, they obviously have a disagreement, this gets burried by the moment that arya decides to trust gendry with her identity, because "only gendry was different" and because the queen was after him too.

i derailed my train of thought a little bit (sorry that happens a lot in my posts), but what i was meant to be writing is that, even when he was opposed to the idea, gendry protected and nurtured this group of little kids, all while being a kid himself, exactly like arya did.

book!arya stark's passing presence in book!gendry's life, changed him, for the better i may say. but i'm a book!gendrya shipper, so my opinion is obviously biased. book!gendry is devotedly loyal to arya, so much that we actually see him, going from a figure that dislikes and distrusts nobility, that helps arya realize that northern/tully men commit awful crimes against the smallfolk too, to a child soldier helping in a quest for revenge for the treason commited against the starks in the riverlands. and i'm not even going to dabble in the "look at my boy, he's taking care of orphaned children now" once again.

show!arya stark's passing presence in show!gendry's life ain't worth shit. and it infuriates me so much. they made show!gendry a soft boi, with an immense "lacking a backbone" problem. i can resume show!gendrya relationship into: "two people that met as children (even when clearly 25 year old joe dempsie couldn't pass as a 16 year old boy), little girl had a crush in the older boy, i guess you can say older boy broke little girl's heart (referring to the "i can be your family" scene), then a lot of years pass between then, not even acknowledging that they knew each other once in that time, and they meet again, older boy who is a man now gets a "wow, she's hot now" moment and they are now both sexually attracted to each other (yay! ig...) but of course little girl, who is a woman now, is a wickedly threatening force and a murderer, and man is such a nice guy that people think he could do a lot better. they fuck. man makes a godamn awful marriage proposal to woman, but she's too far gone to even contemplate the idea, and to even let herself recover from the trauma she has endured. and woman breaks man's heart"

if that's your thing and you ship show!gendrya, more power to you. it's not a bad thing at all, it's just so lackluster to me in comparison, even when book!gendrya hasn't taken a turn forward in the romantic direction yet. and to be honest, even i have to say that the actors did a great job portraying a romantic couple even with the awful writing in the show, but for me show!gendrya lacks a deeper connection between them, and i'm not even bothered over the fact that they didn't end up together

rip book!gendry, you would have hated class traitor show!gendry so much

ps: i think this need to be said in an environment as tumblr but i'm not hating at all joe dempsie and his gendry's performance, he's just an actor doing his job, he's just being told what to do.

[ravengards-rogue]

dont take any of this too seriously. just spewing my thoughts. some rdr2 / johnigail stuff. mostly talking 2 myself. a lot of spoilers lmao

i really. i really like the relationship that john and abigail share both in rdr2 and later in rdr1. and what i like about it is that it, explicitly, is not a story of true love.

don't misunderstand, i think john and abigail love each other to death and ever after. they share such a deep and solid relationship and both make mutual connections to each other over the course of the game. but what makes them compelling to me is the deep realism rooted in their romance and the way that love is depicted as choice rather than fate.

rdr2 poses this more than once through out the story, with the most obvious example being mary-linton and arthur. when presented the choice to leave the gang or go with mary, arthur chooses the gang due to various internal and external factors. but the implication remains that things might've been different had arthur learned how to choose other things. himself. his future. etc. there's examples of this with hosea and bessie (said by hosea himself "she knew what i was"), with dutch and his varying models of young women. the van der linde gang chooses the outlaw life chronically, habitually, instinctively.

abigail joins the gang as a working girl. she sleeps with most of the camp, and then with john. they're sweet on each other. and she has a boy that she believes to be johns. john is hesitant to believe that (and maybe some of that is warranted) but most of it is him being a complete jackass. the kid is born. john is presented the option of fatherhood. he, like the rest of the gang, comes to a point where he feels he must choose what is going to take priority in his life.

(and this is important - because in my mind, so much of this pressure is so self-imposed. it's inherited in the way most sons inherit from their father or like most younger brothers inherit for their older ones. it's possible no one told john to choose explicitly. not then at least.

but well, john has seen this all play out before. and loyal men choose the gang, almost always. the gang is family, was family before jack and abigail. and if john owes anyone loyalty, it's dutch who raised him as a golden boy)

john, for better or worse, chooses neither. he leaves the gang entirely, for a year which is a huge point of contention. he leaves both things behind. he doesn't choose. he doesn't want to choose. but he comes back, and presumably makes the choice made many times before him. he chooses the gang and completely shafts responsibility of fatherhood and husbandry. but there is obvious uncertainty there.

the choice john makes to leave is interesting when you consider it thematically, and you consider arthurs specific advice to john before his death - that you can't be two men at once. something that is reiterated to john in the epilogue and that he acts on in rdr1. it's also interesting when keeping in mind some hidden dialogue hosea has with john, in which john says he knows that jack is his.

to me, john understands very well whats going on around him. and that his actions are informed explicitly by that choice.

and this to me is what makes his relationship to abigail so interesting. john is no doubt a loser, a deadbeat, and a bum (he is my favorite character) - but all of this information together makes me interpret his actions (coldness towards her and jack) not as genuine resentment but an externalized projection and defensive mechanism.

johns uncertainty is not towards jack being his or even towards abigail, but a baseline questioning of the violence he's been steeped in his entire life. what was once a simple, intuitive choice to be an outlaw is called into question by the legitimate possibility of something else.

arthur has a line to john, where he says that if you don't think jack is yours - why does it bother you so much? and it's a good question indeed, why does any of it bother him so much? why does abigails nagging bother him so much? why is it that john chooses to be actively antagonistic towards her when he could choose to simply be apathetic or choose to reject or stonewall her?

a lot of it is projection. its hypocrisy on johns behalf. he unloads his questioning and beliefs about the gang unto abigail who serves as a semi-constant reminder of his own problems. abigail during the main story game doesn't ask john to choose, but john knows that he has too. that's what that whole thing leads to.

when the gang starts to fall apart and when jack gets kidnapped, john immediately changes his tune. he's in clear disarray. the seeds of doubt planted in his head about dutch during blackwater only get increasingly extreme and as the game goes on into guarma and johns prison arc. he starts more clearly distinguishing where his loyalty will lie as the game closes, john is finally encouraged to make the cemented choice of jack and abi and not gang life (not all at once and something he will continue to struggle with) but he makes it all the same.

and then all of that intersects with abigail. and this to me is where the basis their relationship stems from because it's largely abigails influence, personality, and persistence that allows john not to make the same mistakes. abigail doesn't ask john for love, but she refuses to yield to him when it comes to jack. i know so many people see abigails nagging as nagging, or clinginess - but in my mind, it's simply her not letting john get away with being wishy-washy. abigail makes herself known and doesn't relent even when john continuously acts like a massive dick. she's not a pushover about it though either.

abigail loves john and probably understands him better than people give her credit for. especially with her calling him silly so often (a WHOLE different meta post) it's out of genuine love for john and in many cases, a genuine concern for john as a person that she acts the way she does. she gets on his case because she doesn't really want to give up on him, even though she probably very well could.

and she'd definitely be more at peace if she did lmao.

at a human level, abigails constancy and her both 1. not taking johns shit when he acts like a dick and 2. still wanting more and whats best for him is probably one of the base reasons john has full strength to make it out. and john knows that. abigail chooses john. she wants to choose john. she believes in him and so much of that contributes to the fact john doesn't end up somewhere much worse when the main story ends.

but again its not easy. for either of them. and it's not something that works until john gets his shit together. their relationship doesn't mend overnight, either. in the epilogue of the game, you see them face the same struggles they did through the main story. but like i said, abigail is no pushover. when john keeps choosing outlaw life, abigail leaves because she feels there's no helping him and john has to prove himself to her once more. he has to choose them.

(a lot of people critique abigail for being unfair to john and i understand that - but i think its mostly fear. john was in that life for years, and to abigails there's no telling if that siren song will take over and uproot her life again or not. i do think many times john took up the gun in the epilogue were completely fair, but i dont think abigails reaction is unwarranted.)

but again. again. the core of their love story is about choice. both john and abigail make the choice to choose their family and their love is founded on learning to choose each other. abigail straightens john out, and his character in rdr1 is so much more mellow than he is in rdr2. his loyalty to abigail is fierce and consistent, and john knows he owes a lot to her and never loses sight of that in the years they spend peacefully together.

he likes that abigail gives him shit and a hard time because he knows he deserves it and that it was one of the only things stabilizing him during some of the most tumultuous and difficult times of their life together.

they have such deep and genuine love for each other, built entirely in trying to believe and trust in one another and hold onto love in an era where everything was constantly at stake. it's not fairytale romance, but tried and true connection and choice. i love you because i chose you and i'd keep choosing you. they are so awkward with each other for so long because of the nature of their relationship to each other and that truly endears them to me all the more.

they just. they are so in love. but its not a fairy tale. and its not a case of john getting the girl because he's the hero or whatever. john loves her so much and she loves him and it all took a while and none of it was perfect. but it was real. so so so real between them. ack.

[shihalyfie]

Why do people like Saban dubbing digimon but really hate 4kids for dubbing anime?

To be honest, I don't think that's quite the case. I think most people who tend to have apologia-level worship of the Saban Digimon dubs also have similar sentiments towards 4Kids dubs. It's "my childhood", so it's sacred and you're not allowed to say anything bad about it.

That said, it is true that 4Kids is the one usually thrown under the bus to blame for radical dub changes while Saban is treated as "comparatively loyal (for the time)". This is misleading at best. If it's loyal for the time, it's by a very small margin, and certainly not enough to claim that it's "practically the same" as the Japanese version as many do.

Saban's Digimon dub looks closer to the original because all of the surface elements supposedly look closer:

They kept almost all of the names in Japanese and only gave them "nicknames", unlike other dubs that changed the names radically! (Except they functionally never mentioned those "nicknames" again after the first time, and no matter how many letters each name may share in common with their Japanese versions, that doesn't change the fact they treated most Japanese names like hot potatoes because they sound too Japanese.)

They left the setting in Japan instead of making it a fictional American city! (Except they tried to do that until the number of Tokyo landmarks made it too recognizable, and it's still something they were able to get away with because the Digital World is prominent enough in the narrative for them to not worry about it too much.)

They didn't cut any episodes! (Probably the only one that does hold legitimate water in comparison to 4Kids actually cutting entire episodes at times, but one also has to consider that Digimon is a heavily serialized narrative where dropping an episode would create serious problems for the story, whereas you could get away with a dropped episode from 4Kids' longer properties with filler episodes since more of their shows were based on manga.)

They didn't make any huge changes to the overall plot! (Almost nobody watched Adventure or 02 for the plot alone, and it's only natural that slowly changing every single line to suggest completely different characterizations from their Japanese counterparts would have a massive effect, especially on 02 where it didn't have an extremely linear in-your-face plot that offset that to some degree -- and even then, Adventure wasn't completely immune, because it didn't stop Koushirou and Mimi's Japanese characterization changes from still remaining relatively unknown in the English-speaking fandom.)

"The Digimon (American) English dub didn't change that much" is the biggest lie the fandom will ever feed you, yet it still persists to this day because people will look at these surface factors and call it a day (and even worse, because this myth persists, fewer people will be inclined to check it out in Japanese and confirm whether this is actually true or not). It's never been about how many actual changes there were; it's about how many were noticeable. Few people talk about how there's actually a significant difference in how dub changes were handled the moment Disney took over (late Tamers to Savers), because it's hard to notice unless you actually have seen the Japanese version. Fusion gets treated like a laughingstock dub just because people were actually able to watch it in Japanese first and see how much got changed later; in terms of actual changes, it's not that much worse than Adventure or 02, it's just that it happened during a time it was less socially acceptable to do that.

So because of that, Saban is seen in the lens of a localization company that did its best to be "loyal" in a market where the 4Kids method of drastic changes were more dominant, when in fact they were aggressive about it in different ways (and you can see a very fair share of derogatory, dangerously-racist-leaning comments about Japanese media, writing style, and content from people who were involved in Digimon localization, so it's frankly kind of absurd to imagine they were doing all of this because they cared so much about loyalty to the origin). On the flip side, it is on record that a lot of 4Kids' radical changes were actually requested by the Japanese side itself, because they themselves wanted to push something that would be appealing to the American market, and 4Kids would sometimes go as aggressive as they did specifically because they got the Japanese licensor's blessing to go as hard as they wanted.

(I actually personally prefer 4Kids' original music and theme songs to the Digimon ones -- they come off to me as feeling like they have a lot more genuine spirit put into them -- but that's just my personal subjective opinion, and everyone has their own music tastes. Anyway, that's a digression.)

I personally don't think it's productive to be mad at the dubs themselves. This was all more than 20 years ago, the market was very different, the attitude towards localization was different, Japanese companies had their own varying stakes in the situation, and most importantly, what happened happened and I'm not going to blame kids for watching the only thing that was accessible to them at the time and developing an attachment to it. I don't think there's any point to speculating how Digimon would have been accepted in the US/UK/etc. if it hadn't been changed so radically, because the fact is, we don't live in that alternate timeline, so we won't get anything useful out of fixating on that idea too much.

The only thing I have negative feelings about regarding the American English Digimon dub is, simply, the way the fandom still talks about it. With things like Pokémon or One Piece or Yu-Gi-Oh, where everyone already understands that 4Kids made super drastic changes, if you say you're talking about the Japanese version because what you're discussing wasn't in the dub, people will easily believe you and acknowledge you're talking about something different, but if you try to claim the Adventure or 02 dub was different enough to merit a distinction, you get called nitpicky or accused of being delusional. This is what I really wish would stop. The dub was different! I know localization discourse loves to conflate "different" with "bad", so people don't want to admit that their childhood dub changed a lot, but it did! That's reality! Please don't make this more frustrating to talk about than it needs to be!

[radicaldadood]

Rise drabble y'all yep yep featuring urs truly foot!Leo <3 Forgive me it shouldn't be this long- A drabble ain't even a drabble anymore- Edit: pss I drew this drabble

You wiped the blood on your lips, keeping your eyes narrowed at the man you once knew.

"C'mon (Y/n), we don't have to keep doing this. Just surrender yourself to us. To me. Simple as that and we won't have to fight each other anymore." His husky voice rings in your ear.

Again. As if this will be the last before you yield.

This is amusing to him. The chasing, the game between cat and mouse. He catches you and you fight back. Then he let you escape on purpose. Everytime. Then it repeats like a routine for the both of you.

You know. He knows you know because that's why he allows you to escape. That shit eating grin he often wears to pissed you off on purpose.

How did it get to this?

New York falling apart. Almost every inch of the cities there is no place where the Shredder doesn't own.

People feared for their lives day and night. Unable to risk themselves to go out to look for supplies.

That is your duty. Looking for supplies for the others before curfew. And everytime he always seems to get in your way.

How did he turn out like this?

You remember laughing with him. Pulling jokes together. Playing video games together. Having midnight snacks together because you guys would suffer insomnia almost every night.

He was always so cheerful. So loving. Loyal and caring. He was the face of the team. A leader. A friend. A brother. A son.

What had happened to that Leo?

What gave him away?

What did he miss?

What did he lose?

Thunder cracked upon the sky, snapping you back to reality. You hardened your grips on your sword as you stood your ground.

On the wrong time, your mind decided to occupy you once more by torturing you with stupid flashbacks. You eventually fall for the blue clad throughout the years knowing him and the guys. You two were the closest friends. A duo. Two peas in a pod. You were inseparable. But you decided to bury your feelings deep down, afraid you would ruin your friendship.

You cringed at the thought. You liked- no- loved Leo.

But this isn't Leo.

Leo is no more.

Replaced by this…monster.

Poisoned by another monster. A monster that is much worse than him.

The rain drops reminded you again of the present. The turtle in front of you has been patient with you all evening. You're quite lucky to find out that he hadn't lost his patience after he turned his back on his family. Which means there is still part of Leo left in him. And it pains you deeply.

He pulled a grin, tilting his head while raising his hand and gestured to you to make your last call. It's always like this. He would ask you the first time for you to surrender and you would decline. He'd ask again and you'd give him the same answer. The third same request will be his last warning and you guys would spar after you gave him your final answer.

And tonight as always, you still refuse to give him what he want.

He shrugged, raising his shoulders before cracking his neck and gave his sword a couple of warm up swings.

You stood your ground, waiting for him to give you his special attack like he always does. He didn't take off his smile before speeding himself towards you. You let out the breath you've been holding, embracing yourself for the impact as he charge at you.

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