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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

Hi!

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

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

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

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

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

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

Word Count: 12.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A city now filled with killers.

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

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

Not good.

Shit. Karver, where did you go!?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So that was where you came in.

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

Mostly because of situations like this.

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

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

None of this was going to plan.

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

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

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

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

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

A man, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

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

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

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

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

Have they seen murder?

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

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

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

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

Your mark has been met.

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

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

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

The Reaper.

Oh, what would they think of you now?

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play.

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

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

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

“Hm,” their command affirms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brows furrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Price grunts under his breath.

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

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re right. It’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room is more silent than Ghost is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Ghost.

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

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

Mutt was the worst of them.

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

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

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

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

Your ears twitch.

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

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

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

“Sir!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

But there were ups to this constant downward slope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If I had known…you frown.

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

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

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

Like blood lining the street.

You force yourself to run faster.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t look away.

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

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

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

Your Captain scurries after.

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

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

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

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

I need new intel. Badly.

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

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

Your cheeks heat.

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

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

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit?

“Now that’s dark.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

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

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

They had died a long time ago.

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

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

Stop that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

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

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, where are we–”

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

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

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

Boxed in.

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

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

You don’t bother watching him drop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A wide grin is stuck on you.

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

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There were few people worthy of that.

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

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

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

You’d never had sex before.

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

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

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

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

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

You could forget about it. You should.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did they do this to you?

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howtodolife · 5 months

Text

Luv You

summary: Reader says the safe word during a scene and Jungkook takes care of her.

Jungkook × f!reader

genre: smut (initially), fluff

Dom!Jungkook × sub!reader, descriptive smut in the beginning, rough sex, dirty talk, vaginal sex, sexual innuendos, light insecurity, Jungkook calls reader "doll", reader calls jungkook "kook", (I'm new to this idk now 😭) overstimulation, aftercare, sweet talk, reassurance.

"Oh my god", you barely managed to get out as Jungkook thrusted inside you, fast-paced and sharp. You tried to keep them in, but your moans reverberated in the room, loud and unmuffled, in addition to the groans that Jungkook let out every 2-3 thrusts. He had an expression of pained pleasure painted on his face, trying to keep his pace even and stable as he tried not to lose his mind over how beautiful and ethereal you looked, even with your hair disheveled and your mascara almost running down your face, he loved this sight, which caused him to go harder. "Jungkook", you finally managed to say. "Yes, doll? He answered "is too much", you whimpered, already exasperated due to work and even more overwhelmed from coming two times during this session, one managed solely by his fingers. You were too overstimulated and hypersensitive to every touch of his, your whole body aching, it was overpowering. "Just a bit more love, you're doing so well, you look fucking perfect", he heaved. But it was too intense, you couldn't see nor think straight, so you blurted out. "Kook- red please, no more". All of the rustling and shifting ceased; movements suddenly came to a stop. You shivered at the sudden loss of contact there and felt his grip on your body loosen, leaving bruises you knew he'd take care of.

You tried to catch your breath as the rough grips were now replaced by feather-light touches, as if he were treading on glass shards, afraid one mis-step could ruin it all. "Babe?" He hesitatingly asked "You okay?". He put his boxers on and caressed your thighs, giving you the time to settle down and regain your cool. He wiped you with a wet cloth, got the two of you cleaned, changed the soiled bedsheets and the other rituals that follow afterwards, all while enquiring about whether you were all right or not. He grew more concerned with each passing moment, nervousness going through the roof, wondering what's gonna come after this.

After everything was done and cleaned up, you finally got the chance to snuggle up to him. You were sitting on his lap in a foetal position as his back rested against the headboard. He felt warm and cozy, which made you wind back and feel utterly at ease, he smelled good and his skin felt soft, making you scoot even closer, if that was possible. Jungkook held you in his arms, one hand caressing your back and thighs, offering reassurance. "I'm sorry I went too far, Y/N-" he rambled and you stopped him before he started going down this rabbit hole again "it's alright, Kook, I was already tired and exhausted from work. I know you'd never do anything to hurt me", you reassured. He sighed loudly at that and you could feel that he was extremely jittery and afraid that he messed things up. He would never do anything to sabotage this relationship he has with you and tries his absolute best to be the perfect person for you. You are the girl who makes him want to be a better person and Jungkook wanted to wake up next to you his whole life. You are the love of his life, his muse, and he'd beat himself up forever if he lost you. "Kook?" You reached out, snapping him out of his thoughts, "hmm, doll", he answered, looking eager to hear out what you had in your mind. You lifted your head from his chest and put your hand on his face, looking into his eyes, a determined expression on your face "It's alright, love, I promise you didn't do anything to hurt me and nothing bad happened.I was just already overwhelmed. I love you and I trust you, Jungkook. I hope you know that. Really, it's not because of you." Jungkook's face visibly relaxed at that, and he smiled, letting out a deep breath. "Okay, I understand."

You laid your head on his chest and he peppered your head with soft kisses, hands finding their way here and there, tightening around you sometimes. You would sometimes let out a giggle and he swore he felt his mood uplift at the sound. "Was i good, though?" You enquired, curious. Jungkook chuckled at that, "You were beyond good, y/n. You looked so fucking amazing, the day i get into some sorta trouble because of how you look is not far. I swear you're made for me" You smiled, heart fluttering, but at the same time, bewildered. "I came back home after a full day of work, Kook, I couldn't possibly have looked that good", he nodded at that, smiling, "nuh uh, you always look pretty, as a matter of fact, you look even prettier when I have my fingers inside of yo-" "Oh my god, babe, what the fuck" Your eyes widened and you panicked due to his crude language, not expecting it. He laughed at that, his face scrunching up, you loved hearing this sound, it made you feel euphoric, though you would've cherished this scene more if it wasn't for him teasing you "I love all of your moans and whimpers, and the fact that you have those pretty sounds coming out of your mouth because of me makes it even better. goddamn, you're so perfect, doll" You were rendered quite speechless so you just hid your face in the crook of his neck, snuggling into him, letting out a hum. "Hm okay, I'll stop now since you decided to act all cute" he heaved out. You could feel him smiling against your head, though.

A few more hours passed, all of them spent in pampering you, the night grew darker and more silent, tiredness finally taking over as you felt drowsy in his arms.

"I love you, doll."

"I love you, Jungkook"

Writer's note: OH MY GOD GUYS, there goes my first imagine sksksk please please tell me how it was, any criticism is welcomed (be nice though) reblogs and replies are appreciated. 😭💗 <3

Don't repost (stop being an asshole)

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misc-obeyme · 1 month

Note

omg okay this was originally going to be an ask about what you think the ring of wisdom may look like because i wanted to try and hunt something down that was similar to buy (mc has both the ring of light and ring of wisdom by season three I think, and i own the ring of light irl)

BUT THEN i went on the wiki and found out it's made of brass and iron, and also learned that u treasure created the ring of light look since it never appeared in canon (i can dream of them making the other half but unlikely as Solomon is a side character, sad)

AND THEN i was reminded that Michael gave the ring of wisdom to solomon so he could control demons more easily and not have the giant strain. But why give it to him? Why this specific sorcerer? Why aid in that?

So now I'm in a rabbit hole of wondering WHEN solomon got the ring. And if it was after the brothers fell, did Michael do it on purpose? Was he aiming for solomon to become powerful enough to even control the seven of the brothers? AND HOW DID HE FIND SOLOMON AT ALL? I have so many questions now

- ✨ anon

Hmm well if I remember correctly, Solomon gives MC a ring when they become a full fledged sorcerer, but I didn't think it was the Ring of Wisdom that he gave them? Perhaps I misinterpreted that part??

(Side note, I'm almost glad they aren't like to make Solomon's Ring of Wisdom just because OH THE TEMPTATION.)

Anyway, the question is how the heck did Solomon end up with that ring in the first place??

Oh, friend. You have unlocked a CC Solomon Theory because I've thought about this a lot.

I'm going to put it under a read more because of OG and Nightbringer spoilers!

We know almost nothing about the Ring of Wisdom. I can't remember if it's been mentioned in Nightbringer at all. And there may be more instances of it in OG that I'm not remembering. But here are two of the relevant parts:

This is from Lesson 2-2 of OG. He says he used it to create pacts with the 72 demons. Now, it's obvious that Asmo is one of those 72 demons, which means Solomon wouldn't be able to make a pact with him until after Lucifer & co fell. However, I don't think that means that Solomon didn't start making all his pacts before they fell.

This is from Lesson 29-5 in OG. And he says that Michael gave him the ring at a point in his life when he was lost, etc.

What does that mean? Is that before or after Solomon met Barbatos?

Now, there is also a part in Nightbringer where Solomon says that he met a friend back when he was locked up in the basement. He says that his new friend's family came to get them, but that they would come back from time to time and talk to him. He promise the friend he would be a good sorcerer so he could protect humanity.

What if that was Michael?

If it was, maybe Michael gave him the Ring of Wisdom around this time. Maybe Michael did it because he wanted to help Solomon protect humanity.

But this is also the story Solomon couldn't tell MC entirely. He stops part way and says he doesn't have the courage. Which means something else happened then, too. Probably something bad.

So I dunno, this is just a theory. But it could explain why Michael gave Solomon the ring to begin with. If it happened before the brothers fell, his motivation could have purely been to help Solomon protect humanity.

Of course, it's possible that wasn't Michael at all and was actually someone else. In which case we would be back to square one with the question of why Michael gave Solomon the ring.

It would be rather sinister if Michael gave it to Solomon after the brothers fell for the sole purpose of Solomon being able to control them.

It makes sense that Michael would need a human for this because he can't make pacts with the demons himself. But maybe Solomon didn't want to do what Michael wanted him to do and therefore decided to do his own thing instead. He only has a pact with one of the brothers, so he's not exactly going through with that idea.

If Michael is Nightbringer, this could explain why Solomon said that Nightbringer made him who he is. At the same time, it's pretty clear from Solomon's conversation with Nightbringer that he disagrees with Nightbringer and is kinda defiant.

But if Michael is Nightbringer and he's always wanted to control the brothers, that could explain why Nightbringer wanted MC to make pacts with all of them. Perhaps by creating pacts with the brothers in the past, MC has strengthened their pacts with the brothers in the future, too. That could make it easier for MC to control them, especially to control them all at once.

Which is kinda the point of the Ring of Wisdom. As you said, it's meant to allow someone to control multiple demons without it being as draining on the body.

Unfortunately, I still feel like I don't have enough evidence for any of these theories to say for sure that I think they're right. I kinda always thought Solomon's friend was Michael because to me that seems like the scenario that makes the most sense and fits with the Ring of Wisdom situation.

But in the end, I'm hoping they will reveal more about this part of the backstory. Even if I'm totally wrong, I would still very much like to know why Michael gave Solomon the Ring of Wisdom. Because that feels like a really big deal and so far all they've done is just kinda mention it briefly.

ANYWAY well you see I spend too much time thinking about this stuff. But I also have many questions! Here's hoping we get the answers soon!

#like if they wanna give us more questions that's fine #but they gotta at least answer some of these from freakin' lesson 2 of the OG #because we have been waiting LONG ENOUGH #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me solomon #obey me michael #obey me spoilers #✨ anon #misc answers

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jahiera · 9 months

Note

You mentioned in a previous Astarion analysis post:

"But, I think, given his behavior, his casual flirtiness, his "You want to lose yourself in me," (another line I can squawk about endlessly in terms of character analysis)"

I am encouraging you to squawk. I think you've got a really good grasp of his character and I love your posts!

UPDATE***written during EA

@littlemisstrancy Sorry for the late reply! I fell down another rabbit hole of replaying haha.... Aww, thank you! I'm so glad, a good grade in Astarion is a Normal and Reasonable thing to want to achieve. But YES, I find his entire sex scene to be extremely interesting (going off of what Larian said that, paraphrased, nonsexual intimacy with some will mean more than sex with others, because of the nature of the relationship.)

What I find most interesting about Astarion's romance scenes is that the scene itself is remarkably much more syrupy than he, by nature, really is. We can point to, "darling," "my love," as evidence of his tendencies for the dramatics, yes, but given that these are petnames he'll throw out to a Tav he hates as much as a Tav he enjoys, the surface meaning and connotations of dramatic flirtations and even more dramatic pre-sex speeches.... shifts.

The way we filter these interactions shifts because we have to filter what is, at first glance, a typical romance scene, through the lens of the character giving the spiel. If Astarion associates dramatic seduction and slinky purring as simply the easiest way to get what he wants--or, perhaps, more than that, the expectation, the only way for this interaction to occur, because hollow dramatics/play-acting have been likely the only pseudo-""romance"" he's engaged in in the 200 years he's been with Cazador, that changes the meaning of everything, including the line: "You want to lose yourself in me." <- sure laddie, just keep objectifying and disconnecting yourself from the experience itself and repeat the habits of behavior that you've learned from 200 years of being someone else's toy and tool where you weren't even a willing participant in what was happening, merely a mandatory one. that'll be really great. no backfiring here whatsoever.

Okay, sorry, under the cut the rest of this goes because I went off on three different tangents to try and tie them all back together again. This is mostly my background reasoning for above. WHAT DOES THE REST HAVE TO DO WITH TAV. Honestly I'm not sure anymore I started talking and then I didn't stop talking.

It feels like so much of the overarching realities of their circumstances fall away for Tav, but it also haunts the entire interaction with Astarion. Shallow charm. Winning over people. A pretty face opening doors. I'd chalk it up to sexy-video-game-scene-writing if it were any other game, but the other romance scenes aren't nearly so grandstanding and are written I think intentionally to subvert that, so this is an Astarion Thing, and likely goes deeper than that first glance. As it stands, Astarion barely even knows who he is now that he's outside of Cazador's control. "Another thing that I've lost." -- His personhood has been nonexistent, and he's been a tool, and he's been, for lack of a better word, dehumanized to the fullest extent for an insurmountable amount of time. So of course the thing he learned best is that the easiest way to get what you want, or get what you need, is to be easily projected unto. He can't keep the facade up for very long, I don't think, but in that scene his "don't ask too many questions just look at how hot I am" mindset is fully on to me.

The thing is that his circumstances with Tav here are entirely different than the ones he's been in before, but just because the circumstances are different doesn't mean that the behavior will be different, or that habits formed out of severe distress/torture in his own words will be so easily let go of. My ULTIMATE POINT is that charm and flirtations are things Astarion clearly separates from himself and his actual beliefs, and he treats what we conceive as "charming" behavior fairly flippantly--once again, that "my love," means... not... a lot. we just met 2 weeks ago, pal. And I don't think he's interested in using it like that anymore, because he's not making a super great effort to be perceived as likeable. It comes out mostly in scenes where flirting and charisma are expected of the interaction and then they're pushed to their most exaggerated format, when he isn't actually typically like that in other conversations. Dramatic and foppish, yes, and enjoys ridiculousness in several formats, yes, but not nearly so egregiously saccharine, at all.

If he is starting to give a fuck about Tav, or even the group, that's something else to grapple with, and it's still at this point I think partly wrapped up in the idea that Tav makes for a "good ally." His scenes where he says: "we're more alike than I thought" "You're stronger than I gave you credit for," feel more genuine and honest to me in some ways than his sex scene speech. His fondness for Tav and his idea that strength/power/security can be found by sticking close to Tav can be true at the same time, in an interesting dance between his growing connection to them and his general ideas on people, power, and control.

So secondary: is Astarion a manipulator who's using this sex scene to control Tav emotionally and that's what he's got going on here? Eh... maybe yes and no? He wouldn't ask Tav if he wasn't interested--as seen by how he'll shut you down if he can't stand your guts. If he's using sex for that, it's up in the air, open to interpretation, depends on your HC, I can see both interpretations and I'm not going to claim one is more true than the other, since there's evidence for both "manipulating" and "not manipulating" and to me, the truth falls somewhere in the middle. I'm sure the thought has probably crossed his mind, but I don't actually think he's good enough at charm to follow through on that, which I will now elaborate on in INTRICATE detail....

Astarion isn't actually concerned about being likeable, or wanted within the group--or, rather, he may be concerned about it (because there's both safety and danger in a group setting), but he also isn't concerned about it enough to not advocate entirely for self-preservation and selfishness at generally every turn. He also isn't concerned about winning over the group enough to abdicate his firmest belief: that the tadpole is an advantage they should use, and a power he intends to keep.

And, if you relent to the group, he calls you spineless in the face of everyone else. So he's not afraid to insult you, Tav, either, certainly not to preserve some loose semblance image of ""charming,"" which he's already really bad at maintaining in general, because his brand of everything can just as easily piss people off as compel. Bad taste central.

Hell, his intro scene displays this best: He lures you in with a silly little lie that makes him sound weaker than he is ("You can kill it, can't you? Like you killed the others!") and then he strikes when your back is turned. Shallow charm is an accessible tool, he doesn't have the patience for long-lasting plots or extended slinky charm. Or if he does, and he's been manipulating all of us, he's not doing a great job, since half the party is making faces at him the whole time. Buuut....

During the mirror conversation, if you tell him vanity is a weakness:

(Text - Astarion: It's an indulgence, I'll grant you, but a weakness? A well-presented face can open a lot of doors.)

There is an awareness of beauty and charm that Astarion references often. He isn't really afraid to objectify himself for his own means, or being perceived as weaker than he is (except in certain circumstances). He knows these things are quite relevant, socially. Beautiful people are treated better. Beautiful people typically can get away with more. Actually I could probably approach this from a Class and Wealth related lens too, because his history as a magistrate probably also influences this mindset a lot, but that is. a THIRD separate essay.

He seeks to be strong enough to beat Cazador, at least partly through the same means that Cazador himself uses. The tadpoles give us absolute authority, in the end, and Astarion has zero qualms inflicting onto others what was inflicted onto him when we use them. But prior to the tadpole, what tools did Astarion have at his disposal? Very few, and most of them revolved around empty charm, quick-thinking, and trying to predict unpredictable moods and then enduring whatever came of those moods. That hollow charm falls under these kinds of tools, which gave him very short-term influence over at least the people he would lure back to Cazador. Likely the only form of control or power he had within all of that, and where he himself was without control as his entire being was under someone else's thumb. And those habits will likely persist for awhile, until he relearns who and what he wants to do and be outside of Cazador's purview. Which could mean anything, this is not to make him sound softer than he is or sweeter than he is. His vainglorious bitch syndrome is 4D chess of truth and not truth, empty cloying, vicious lashing out, and 10 degrees of identity issues wrapped up in all of that, so it's difficult to pin down just one thing as Real or Not Real, and I don't think even he knows what's Real and Not Real right now.

#Hi Sorry. Guess who can't shut up. That's me.#astarion #bg3 meta #bg3 #This is fairly incoherent rambling.... I didn't actually have an end in mind when I started talking so you can hear the #pepe silvia meme vc in the background here #COMPLEX CHARACTERIZATION indeed. I want to bite down and chew on him #I'm still not sold on any of this either -- my interpretation of him shifts with the wind and every other thing he says #But these are my first.. initial... thoughts anyways...#thank you again for asking! so sweet of you hgfhghf

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allmyocsarebritish · 2 months

Text

A passion for exploration

(Known in my notes as ahkaeology)

Pairing: Ahkmenrah X reader

Warnings(?): Grave robbing

A/N: okay okay I know it's really odd that a wednesday blog is now posting for natm but I went down a rabbit hole and I'm afraid I lost the entrance. History nerd has shown through well and truly :')

Also my first multi part fic :D

Title is courtesy of my mate Abi using AI

Ch 1

Grave robbing

Was desecrating the tombs of these once honoured, omnipotent kings of Egypt really something you were willing to do? Had the circumstances preceding the grave robbery been less bleak, the answer would have undoubtedly been an definitive no. These rulers commanded the uptmost respect in life, and here you were, excavating the only memory that remained. There wasn't a day that went by during your expedition in which guilt did not infiltrate your mind, suffocating your conscience and depriving you of any sleep, even before you came close to finding an ancient tomb. But it wasn't like you had any other choice.

Pushing down your gnawing feelings of dread, you trekked on through the Egyptian desert. Rough sand brushed against your lower legs beneath your simple, calf-length skirt, chafing at the skin. You were the only one of the troupe resigned to walking, as the youngest and the lowest class. Astride camels, the two men had a better view of the surrounding plains, though the blank, barren flats stretched on long beyond the horizon.

"The valley of the kings shan't be too far from this place" called Lord Carnarvon, map still in hand.

You held back a scoff, rolling your eyes as you knew he wasn't looking at you. If only he would admit none of you knew where you were going. The only clue you were given was that the gold rich landmark was announced by a grand pyramid at the end of a hollowed valley consisting of a multitude of others. What a shame that this was the Egyptian desert.

Filled with pyramids.

Days and days stretched on of travel, and eventually, you stopped counting the sunrises, resigning to the fact that this would only stop when the valley was found, however long that took.

As with most great things, the discovery of the valley occurred at a time when you least expected. You had taken advantage of a small oasis, resting for a few hours and permitting the camels an indulgent drink. Howard Carter dozed beside you, hat pulled low over his face, in order to shield his resting eyes from the blazing fire of the sun. Carnarvon had taken his liberty and ran off, or so you had hoped. No, in fact he was continuing the investigation alone and on foot, clutching a worn, shoddy map, which was twinged a grimey brown with years of filth accumulated around the edges of the paper. He never strayed far, though attempted to work out his bearings, using the wind or some pretentious bullshit you never bothered listening to. No, you were perfectly content drawing in the sand with a stick you had found and claimed an hour or so prior.

You were more than unimpressed when the sketches you had so tediously etched into the sand were scattered by Carnarvon sprinting back to the small camp. Jolted awake, Carter sat up sharply, alarm etched across his features.

"Blimey, good sir! You gave me quite the fright!" He exclaimed as you nodded in agreement.

"Are you alright?" You asked, though your eyes may have given away your disinterest (had either man been paying an ounce of attention).

"Shh!" Carnarvon interrupted your pleasant concern, to which you rolled your eyes and began attempting to recover your drawings. "Carter, good sir! I dare say I've found it. I've discovered the pyramid!"

A bold statement, and not the first time either. No, twice prior you had been dragged into the colossal ancient skyscrapers, only to find they were far from your true destination. Empty of any treasure or historical worth beyond the buildings themselves, you continued on, fruitless. Grand structures were quite an obvious goldmine, and previous grave robbers had left the tombs void of, well, anything.

Though of course, it was more than worth it to explore this fresh discovery, not taking any chances.

Time was of the essence, or so you were told. Camels saddled up in record time, you were hoisted up from your seat on the floor by Carter, borderline dragged up.

"Come, young Y/N, you heard his lordship. We may have found the Valley. Hurry on, now" his words were gentle, still treating you as he had done in your childhood, despite the fact you were now 19. It was something that you both appreciated and hated simultaneously. Howard was kind to you, much more so than Lord Carnarvon, who cared as little for you as you did for him. The mutual disinterested made for some long, awkward silences, and many threats to leave you in an unknown grave.

Still dragging you by the arm, Carter began to untie his camel, before finally letting go of you. The rush was honestly needless, you had been expeditioning for months at the least, what harm would a few mere minutes cause? But the men were adamant, and there was no arguing, especially not from a useless child as yourself.

"Can I at least keep my stick?"

Recieving no reply from Carnarvon and an incredulous stare from Carter, you concluded the answer was yes.

The journey from the oasis to the pyramid was shorter than anticipated, though still rather long. Another day passed, spent entirely wandering through the desert. Exhaustion washed over your entire body, and it was a war every minute to keep your eyes open. But, alas, you must continue, and eventually your trek drew to a close as with further examination, it became clear this pyramid was not what you were searching for.

Disappointment and rage filled Carnarvon upon the realisation that this was, in fact, not the Valley of the Gates of the Kings, but rather a singular, sandy pyramid. "Why, there must be some mistake!" He complained impetuantly, always one to shift blame elsewhere. You exchanged a look with Carter, who for once was willing to admit the incompetence of the troupe's leader. After all, what were the chances that a random pyramid would mark the infamous, esteemed valley?

From a distance it appeared mighty, though in fact that was more than likely a mirage caused by the monochromatic nature if the desert. Upon further examination, however, the pyramid was far from the grandeur anticipated by Carnarvon and Carter. Huge gashes and rifts in the brickwork jumped out from metres away. Crumbling brickwork was cratered, resembling a sponge with many holes, as dusty gravel avalanched down the sides of the architecture at every other interval. Overall it was worn and aged, therefore more likely to be looted and barren.

"I do say it's worth taking a look around, my lord." You spoke, addressing him clearly. Carnarvon waved his hand dismissively, wishing you out of his presence.

"Yes, yes. Go ahead child." Did you expect that? No. Did you need to be told twice? Also no. A small grin gracing your features, you took off into the pyramid.

Racing across the gravely surface of the desert, the sand provided a slight level of resistance. Nevertheless, you persevered onwards, stride refusing to falter. Basking in the glorious heat of the warm Egyptian sun's rays casting down on your face, you closed your eyes as you ran, chin tilted upwards. Naturally, this obscured your vision, rendering you blind, and therefore leading you to miss the gaping hole in the ground.

A short squeala of surprise passed your lips as you suddenly found yourself unexpectedly falling through the earth. The drop was rather long, and you landed in a heap on the floor of the dugout with a large thud. You weren't aware of how long you were unconscious, but judging by the severe lack of any source of light, sunset had passed. Pain shot through your body, coarsing through your veins and ricocheting off each of your bones in turn. Head pounding, you groaned slightly, trying to work out what in the hell just happened to you.

Darkness continued to fill the room, prompting you to fish within one of your pockets, pulling out a match and striking it aflame. The hidden chamber was large, that much you could tell even despite the dim lighting. Blinking twice as you began to, very slightly, register your surroundings, you noticed the sheer obscurity of this interior. You'd heard of the saying 'paintings that seemed to follow you around the room', but this gave a new meaning to those words.

No, wait.

Those paintings were moving, and not metaphorically. Eyes widening, you began to notice everything in the tomb writhing like a cluster of cobras. Onyx black cats prowled upon shelves, worn linen bandages slowly unfurling from being bound around each of their limbs. Animated drawings of men, deities and horses alike moved naturally, as though it were a perfectly normal occurrence. Shabti servants, the colour of oxidised copper and ranging from 5-30cm tall formed an army scattered throughout the tomb. Then, slowly, as though delaying the inevitable, your eyes trained upon it.

The sarcophagus.

Shuffling away rapidly, your back hit the decrepit wall of the hidden grave. The embodiment of terror plastered over your face, you watched in horror as the coffin began to violently shake. Your blood ran cold as bangs from the inside began to echo across the acoustic chamber. The rusted hinges were worn and flimsy, and the bolts began to unscrew from their holdings. Padlocks had become frail with ages and popped open, one almost smacking you square in the forehead, to which you responded with a short yelp. For a moment, all movement ceased, as though whatever was inside had begun to listen to the intruder in their grave. You took liberty of the fleeting moment, and began to craft a way out. The quiet was short lived, however, as, with one final, mighty heave, the final lock was broken.

The sarcophagus had been opened.

Your breath caught in your throat, the air thick and suffocating as you watched a wrapped hand emerge from the tomb. The coffin lid was ajar, though it didn't take much pushing to be removed almost entirely. Almost at once, the creatures residing in the grave marched forward, crowding their newly awoken master. Hidden in the shadows, you froze, hoping to remain unseen and ignored, and thus leaving unscathed. Soon enough Carter and Carnarvon were bound to find you?

Right?

A huge open grave couldn't be subtle, you only missed it as you eyes were closed. A stupid decision really, and you mentally cursed yourself.

You remained rooted to the spot on the freezing floor, as the reanimated corpse continued to rise from its grave. Surely this was an affect of your concussion; for all you knew this was just an unconscious dream. Besides, with all the travel in the desert, dehydration had undoubtedly left you delirious. It was at that split second of slight relaxation (if you could call it that) in which you spied the piles of treasure sloping at every corner of the tomb. What could you say - you were a grave robber. Carnarvon would be so proud - if you returned alive that was.

It began to claw at the ancient, frayed linen covering its face, causing your heart to race: it thumped so hard you swore you'd be given away. Praying you didn't go into cardiac arrest, you continued staring bug-eyed as the bandages unfurled in front of you, like the dramatic unveiling of an innovative new invention. Closing your eyes for the second time that day, you winced, raising your arms to shield your face from the horrors you were undoubtedly about to witness. Bile rose in your throat as your mouth drew dry. Images of rancid, rotting flesh peeling off bones flashed through your mind, prompting your whole body to tremble.

'I'm just delirious. Any moment now I'll open my eyes to be met with a chamber of riches.' You thought to yourself. Awoken mummies were the stuff of fairytales, and despite what Carnarvon and Carter believed, you were most certainly not a child.

Your internal monologue was cut short however, interrupted by the gentlest of touches placed on your arm. It prompted you to flinch away instantaneously, a soft whimper escaping. Eyes shooting open, you came face to face with the pharoah himself. And he was not what you had anticipated.

He wasn't the scary mummy you were expecting, he was a teenage kid.

Kind, cerulean eyes rimmed with a smoky black eyeliner stared into your own, azure oceans plagued with concern. Concern for you. Such a colour must have been pricelessly rare, sapphires amongst stones.

His golden, tanned hand had felt cold and lifeless against your arm, yet the heat it had radiated was electrifying, continuing to shoot jolts throughout your entire body. His skin was soft and smooth, betraying the fact that this royal had almost certainly never worked a day in his life.

Slightly unruly brown curls and a toned slender figure - he was actually rather cute.

"Are you alright? You seem a little... Lost?" He queried, to which you seemed unable to form a response.

"I- what.. who? What's going on?" You managed, stumbling over your words as your voice cracked slightly.

He gave a small smile, clearly sympathetic of your utter confusion, before gesturing at a golden tablet, as though that were supposed to help you in any way. Noting your expression of utter bewilderment, the undead Pharaoh elaborated.

"That's my tablet, blessed by Khonsu himself. It holds the power to awake the dead at night," he gestures to himself and the cats, who stared at you, blinking and unsure whether it would be safe for them to approach. Then, he pointed to the paintings in the walls and dragged his finger towards the mass of shabti dolls, both of which watched you with the same confusion. "Along with anything else resembling a life form that finds it's way into the presence of the tablet."

"Right." You answered, holding your head and still in shock.

"You needn't be afraid, you know. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Thank you, that is a relief." You swallowed thickly.

He hummed in response, smiling with an amused frown at the fact you feared him.

"So, who exactly are you?" You asked after a short yet not uncomfortable silence.

His lavish outfit betrayed the royal status he claimed in life, only accentuated by the Red Crown, or Deshret supporting a golden snake - the symbol of monarchy- resting atop his sarcophagus. Around his neck fastened a Usekh collar, adorned with teal and umber jewels and beads, and topped with golden accents. Sleeves of cloth draped over his arms, the fibres of the fabric woven with pure gold. The metallic shine of the element was evident in the chromatic sheen of the cape resting over the Pharoah's shoulders. At his waist there hung a Shendyt kilt, fastened with a cloth belt, also elaborately decorated. Beautiful gold jewellery decorated his figure, your eyes drawn in particular to the stunning gold bracelet cuffs he supported on either wrist, encrusted with gemstones, potentially aquamarine or topaz. Once again your attention was drawn to his face.

"I am Ahkmenrah, fourth king of the fourth king. And you are...?"

Stunned into silence for a moment by the regality of the ancient king before you, you blinked and paused briefly before answering.

"Y/N. Y/N L/N."

"So, Y/N, what are you doing in my grave?" Ahkmenrah asked you, barely trying to surpress an amused smile. Your cheeks flushed as you tried to form a lie. This ruler seemed nice, and regardless, you couldn't exactly tell him you were intent on raiding his tomb for riches.

"It was an accident. Really, it was. I was running, and, well, I wasn't exactly looking where I was going."

"Clearly." He smirked. "Why were you in the desert though? Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but you don't appear to be Egyptian."

"What? Oh, no I'm not. I'm English. I came out in an expedition with two other men; Lord Carnarvon and Carter. They're archaeologists." You winced at the manufactured truth. It wasn't entirely a lie, that was what the men claimed to be. Though all your troupe really planned to accomplish was glorified tomb-raiding, a fact that made you sick.

"And they left you here?" Ahkmenrah questioned incredulously, unable to fathom why on earth they would abandon you like this.

"Well, no. Not exactly. They allowed me to go check out the pyramid about 10 yards south, but, as o said, I fell down a hole." You blushed again, this time due to your own stupidity and clumsiness. This was not how to earn the respect of an esteemed king.

Ahkmenrah frowned. "So how long have you been down here?"

"Uh. I don't actually know, I was unconscious for a short time. Or possibly a long time, that I'm not sure of either."

Concern once again crossed the young Pharoah's face. "You poor thing! Are you alright? You're not concussed, are you?"

"Probably." You shrugged, further alarming him.

The next few hours were spent talking to Ahk, discussing everything from the legal affairs of ancient Egypt to the cats that accompanied him in his tomb. Over the course of the night, the two of you had grown closer, both in terms of friendship and literal distance. Most of the other inhabitants of the grave had deemed you safe, returning to their regular routine, and the most curious of the mummified cats, an (aptly) Egyptian mau apparently named Tivali, had become rather taken to you. Eventually, the exhaustion of the day had caught up with you, and you slumped against Ahk's shoulder. Revelling in his presence, contentment washed over you as, for the first time on your quest, you relaxed, finally at ease. Perhaps it was delirium, but in your sleepy state you swore you felt his fingertips grace against your cheek, the ghost of his lips pressing gently against your temple.

"Sleep well, my dear."

#night at the museum #natm #natm ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah x reader #rami malek #rami malek x reader #egypt #ancient egypt #history #egyptology #archaeology #natm fandom #natm fanfiction #natm fic #night at the museum fanfic #natm au #egyptian pharaoh

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writingintheshadowsforever · 1 year

Text

Imagine Shuri revealing your true heritage to you

"Shuri wait" Okoye demanded catching the Princess by the wrist as she started in the direction of the dorms.

Shuri came to a stop looking over her shoulder with a guilty expression. "We can't just leave her here Okoye."

"And we can't just whisk her off to Wakanda right now with everything that is going on. Do you really think now is a good time? Okoye argued nodding her head towards Riri who was standing off to the side arms crossed over chest. A single foot tapping the ground as she tried to stay calm. She still didn't know why they were so obsessed with you all of a sudden. Sure your fighting skills was badass but surely Wakanda had better warriors.

Shuri ran both of her hands through her hair letting out a long sigh. The General was right now wasn't the time for this, but how was she suppose to carry on with the mission. After this jaw-dropping revelation Erik Killmonger wasn't suppose to have any relatives. She searched every corner of his past and the unpleasantness to make sure. This very day never came a day where another secret relative with direct ties to the throne came out of nowhere. Did you know who you really were? Did your father tell you about Wakanda, and your the history of your grandfather? Were you currently trying to follow in his footsteps and seek out revenge on them right now. It struck her that your father had also attended this same school. Is it why you chose to go MIT as well?

Shuri was going down the rabbit hole of possibilities and it was about to drive her crazy. Okoye moved to stand in front of her and took a hold of her chin gently. She tilted her heads upward to capture her gaze. "Breathe Shuri just breathe" Okoye soothed her rubbing her back. "The girl isn't going anywhere we can return for her another day plus isn't it best we make sure. She truly is his daughter before approaching her."

"Okay does someone want to tell me what is going on?" Riri blurted out.

Shuri's head snapped in her direction with a look or urgency. It made Riri regret speaking up as she shrunk back. "Have you been in her room before?"

Riri answered with a small nod.

"Does she have any pictures of her father?"

"Yeah she got one but she keeps it on her all the time. Its in her locket and she never takes the thing off. Its like her most prized possession her and her pops were real close." Riri informed her speaking in a way that made it clear she knew exactly how you felt. It was one of things you and her bonded over when y'all first met.

"Okoye the locket we need it" Shuri demanded.

"Hold on" Riri spoke up anger in her voice as she walked over to the two. "What's all this about anyway?"

"It doesn't conc-"

"Naw man I didn't tell y'all that so you could go take it from her. The locket is like the last thing she got to remember her father by. All of his other belongings went up in flames when their house caught fire. The picture is everything to her I'm not just going to stand by why you go take it. Not without an explanation" Riri said.

Okoye raised an eyebrow at the young girl's bold behavior. She noticed the way Riri was clenching her fists, and how her mouth twitched. She was nervous and maybe even a little afraid of what would happen next, but she wasn't going to back down. Even though Okoye wouldn't ever admit it Riri had just won a few brownie points with her. She didn't think the girl had it in her. "Easy Riri we're not stealing it we just need it to confirm a theory."

"Well it better be one hell of a theory if it's worth giving her a mental breakdown" Riri replied.

"I have reason to believe that your friend is my long-lost cousin who's father was a Prince of Wakanda" Shuri finally told her.

Her fists unclenched as her eyes widened in surprise then squinted in disbelief. Her hands came up to grip her head as she tried to come to terms with the truth. "Wait what?"

Okoye shook her head. "May I retrieve the locket now with your blessing Riri?"

"Um yeah" Riri waved her off as she started fiddling with her fingers.

Neither of them knew how the General was able to separate the necklace from your neck. After she returned just five minutes later with it in hand. She promised you can to no harm and didn't even notice her enter your dorm. Okoye handed the locket off to Riri surprisingly for safekeeping.

Riri didn't say anything just stuffed it in her pocket, but she appreciated it.

A Week Later

Riri wasn't kidding about the mental breakdown you were going to have if your locket went missing. When you came out of the bathroom to find your locket missing from your nightstand. Where you left it while you gave your face a quick wash off because of the sweat accumulated from the fight. You freaked out and destroyed your entire dorm trying to locate it. At first you assumed that maybe you misplaced where you put it, but deep down you knew it wasn't true. You never misplaced the locket not a single day in your life since your father gifted it too you. Before he departed on what would be his final mission, but at the time neither of you knew that.

You held onto that locket the way a person dangling off a cliff held onto the hand keeping them from falling to their death. The locket was your last connection to your father. The only thing bonding you to him still at least in your mind. So you knew without a doubt you didn't misplace it, or just toss it somewhere carelessly. The second theory that came to mind was Chad and his friends followed you to your dorm. They saw the opportunity to get payback for the beat down you gave them and took it. But if you had been thinking clearly you would’ve realized that you left Chad and one of his lackeys laid out in the courtyard. So it was highly unlikely either of them regained consciousness in such a short period of time, or one of his friends gathered up the courage to follow you to your dorm after the display of your fighting skills.

But you weren't thinking with your head instead your emotions were in control, and just like your dad. When your temper got the better of you it meant destruction and pain. Especially for the target of your anger you tracked Chad and his friends down that same night. At the sight of you stalking towards him with a look of pure hatred in your eyes. While him and his buddies were in the woods at a bonfire party, and away from the school-grounds, and the safety that the rules and policies granted them. The first time y'all faced off sent chills down his spine he dropped his beer, and attempted to run. But with blinding speed you were on him in a matter of seconds. Chad found himself pinned to the ground with his arm pulled upward in your grip. Your hand pushing his face into the ground not caring the dirt was filling the side of his mouth, and one of his nostrils.

His eyes squeezed shut as his screams of pain filled the air when you planted your foot in his back, and yanked on his arm. It felt like you were trying to rip it out of the socket. You leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"One. Chance. Where. Is. My. Locket." You practically growled pausing at each word.

"I don't know I don't know please y/n please." Chad babbled tears pooling up into his eyes. He was the co-captain of the swimming team and had an important meet coming up. If you broke his arm he would be out for the a couple of months.

"Stop lying to me you cocky son of a-" You were cut off when a body slammed into yours knocking you off of him, and to the ground. You and the rescuer rolled over each other. Both of you trying to get the upper hand you managed to plant a foot in the ground. On the fourth roll that put you on top, and push the mystery person down onto their back. Whoever it was struggled to get you off but a swift and hard punch to the nose made them stop. There was a sickening crunch after the blow letting you know their nose had broken. Blood poured from the injury some of it coating your fist as you brought it down again. This time striking the rescuer in the mouth a groan of pain, but at least you didn't knockout a tooth.

Well good for them but shame for you, so you hit the person again in the mouth. They brought a hand up pushing it up against your face, you knocked it away. Then struggled to pin both of their free arms under your knees. You caught a glimpse of the rescuer's face lit up by the flames of the raging fire. It was none other than Liam Hanes the captain of the swimming team, and Chad's best friend. He hadn't been in the courtyard earlier when the two of you got into it. But no doubt did he hear about the fight, and probably plotted some revenge against you.

All you saw was red as you were finally successful in pinning his arms. Now with complete control over him instead going for the face you turned around and slammed your knuckles down onto his taut stomach. His legs kicked out as he screamed in pain "Stevens calm the fuck down its not that serious."

"Yes it is that locket is all I have left this isn't funny. What did you and your friends do with it?" You cried back.

Liam saw the pained look in your expression and knew this had to do with so much more than Chad giving you a hard time. It was personal and if he couldn’t convince of their innocence. There was a good chance him and Chad would leave the party in stretchers tonight. Another rapid shot to the ribs followed by a kidney punch left him winded, and tears in his eyes. He didn't know you could be so ruthless.

"I was at....." He paused taking in as much air as he could only to expel it again to plead his case. "At swimming practice when the shit went down y/n. I didn't hear about the fight till an hour ago here got damnit. Listen to me we didn't do it we were going to dump some paint on you as payback tomorrow in class. Stevens I swear on my mother's grave it wasn't us." His voice got louder as did the desperation in his tone. As you bunched up his shirt in your hand to pull him up a bit. Your fist pulled back as you stared him down.

But when your eyes met his and he swore on his deceased mother that it wasn't him. You had no choice but to believe him because the pain of losing a parent that you loved was one that only so many people knew. And no one spoke on the deceased if they didn't mean it. You let him go and stood up looking around. Some kids were watching the fight go down with their phones up recording. While others were too drunk and caught up with themselves to pay attention.

Chad stood a few feet away clutching his right shoulder. While it wasn't broken you probably did strain so badly till it sprained. He would have to go to the doctor tomorrow.

"I'm sorry" you murmured your apology barely reached his ears, but he nodded. No one tried to stop you from leaving Chad was more concerned with his beaten and battered friend.

You returned to your dorm that night and cried yourself to sleep. The next morning you checked the lost and found with no such luck. As the days went by your mood got worse as you were forced to accept that it might just be gone for good. It wasn't just a normal locket with a normal picture. Your dad specially made it for you out of some precious metal he'd been holding onto, and the picture in it was a mini digital photo reel. It had all of your best memories with him installed it so you could always look back.

You became a ghost around campus, and while no one messed with you in the past. Because you would literally beat the living hell out of them. Now everyone was steering clear of you as if they could see a dark cloud of despair floating above your head.

This went on for a week until out of the blue a knock came from your door bringing you out of your thoughtless trance. Music was softly playing in the background something to just keep you aware, but nothing you really cared to listen to.

Whoever it was knocked again a bit more forceful this time. "Girl come on and open this door I know you in there. People are starting to stare and they looked scared for me. What did you do?"

You threw yourself out of bed hurrying to yank the door open to see if it really was her. The voice sounded familiar but it'd been so long in your head since you heard a friendly voice. You had to be sure you weren't being delusional. Indeed it was Riri Williams who was behind the door dressed in a simple black shirt, tight dark blue jeans, and had a pair of black Nikes on as well.

"Where the hell have you been Riri" You exclaimed throwing your arms around her neck, and burying your face into her shoulder.

She stumbled back from the force of your hug not to mention you had a couple of inches on her in height. But wasted no time in returning the hug. "You didn't hear your girl got whisked away to Wakanda for some outreach program."

You let out a low whistle as you pulled back to look her in the face. "I heard that wasn't sure if it was a rumor or not. How was it?"

"It was eventful I mean don't get wrong Wakanda is beautiful and all but it was a lot" she said.

You finally released and stepped aside to let her in, and missed the way she was trying to gauge your reaction about her mentioning Wakanda.

You closed the door and went over to sit beside her on your bed where she was already located. "I've heard stories about the beauty of that country. I bet the sight was breathtaking, but what happened that made you come back here so fast?"

"Well I know you heard the queen died over there and everything. Things just got crazy afterwards and it didn't feel right to be there" Riri told you. Letting out a sigh afterwards and falling backwards on your bed.

You did the same but scooted over so your head was on her shoulder. "I actually didn't hear about that and I'm sorry you were there for it. I've been out of the loop these past couple of days my locket is gone, and I can't find it."

"Oh yeah I saw Liam and Chad on the way here one of them has an arm in a sling, and the other has a bruised up face with a bandaged nose. I'm guessing that was your doing. She felt your head move against her shoulder in a nod, and let out a little laugh. "Damn I actually feel sorry for them."

"No more sorry than I do I'm surprised neither of them snitched on me. Plenty of kids got the evidence on their phones pretty sure they could've gotten me kicked out of school."

"Well I for one am happy they didn't it was just a misunderstanding after all." Riri tried to reassure you wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"It doesn't change the fact my locket is gone" you whispered burying your face into her chest.

"You mean this locket" Riri whispered in your ear with a tone of excitement. You looked up to see your locket dangling in her hand, and tears flooded your vision. She managed to slip it around your neck somehow as you sobbed into her chest. Of course you wanted to question her on how she got it. But for now you were just overcome with emotions at being reunited with the thing you valued most in the world. The cool touch of the metal on your neck felt like your father clasping your neck as he looked down at you with that proud smile on his face.

"There's my little solider" He would whisper

Riri brought a hand to your hair and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Its okay I know" she repeated over and over letting you get it all out.

"How did you get it?" You asked in between hiccups.

"I found it in the brush near where you beat Chad up that day. It probably came off while you fighting them." She lied smoothly hoping you wouldn't pick up on it. She had rehearsed it a hundred times over during the plane ride back home, and the walk over here.

Shuri caught her by the wrist just as she was leaving and placed it in her hand. "I'm going to assume y/n is going to be looking for this."

Riri opened her hand to see the locket and her eyes widening in realization. "Hell yeah I can't believe I almost forgot it homegirl is probably freaking out still." She had been through so much these past couple of days, but you were her main concern just like that. "Wait is her father who you think he is" she asked curiously.

Shuri gave her a nod the expression on her face going stern. "Do not tell her about it we have no way of knowing how she will react. I'll be there in a few days to talk to her after I take care of something"

Riri assured the Princess of Wakanda she had no desire to be the one to deliver such big news. After all she could barely comprehend it herself.

"I can't believe it was there the whole time" You said with a joyful chuckle.

"Well you know you get pretty heated during those fights. I been telling to learn some damn control" Riri joked with a grin.

"Oh please you be egging me on all the time especially if I'm fighting for you" You laughed lifting your head from her chest to look down at her.

"Hey don't act like those guys don't have it coming plus its not like I don't repay you back. Who does all of your chemical engineering homework for free?"

"You do but don't get a big head about it that has nothing to do with my major. I was shoved into that class by force" You reminded her playfully digging all of your fingers into both of her sides.

"Stevens" she squealed out your last name immediately trying to roll away, but she should've known better. You were an expert at pinning anyone down which is why she hated no despised tickle fights with you. She never stood a chance but luckily for her you were in her debt for finding the locket.

Her laughter was cut off as you pressed her lips to her's in a hesitant but adoring kiss. Your fingers stopped moving against her ribs as your hands rested on her waist. Riri froze up at first but started kissing back the second she realized what was going on. The kiss lasted for maybe two seconds before you pulled away

"Thank you Riri god I freaking love you."

The confession made her speechless too much was happening too fast. Of course she downplayed her relationship with you that day with Shuri and Okoye. She didn't know what they wanted with her, and didn't want them to know about you. While the two of you weren't together then she had definitely been feeling you for a while.

"I love you too" Riri said after a few minutes not wanting you to think she didn't feel the same.

"Mmmm I know" You whispered head resting on her chest again.

Three Days Later

You thought your relationship with Riri would be good after the two of you finally confessed your feelings for each other. Things were okay after the kiss you and her now had a habit of crashing in each other's dorm more often now. And the making out was awesome but you felt like she was keeping something from you. What bothered you the most was you didn't know if it was the new relationship, or whatever happened in Wakanda eating at her.

Every time you tried to talk to her about the trip she would either deflect or completely changed the topic. You didn't think the two things were connected at first until you started noticing the way her gaze would linger on your locket sometimes. When she thought you weren't looking and the guilt on her face as she stared. Like she knew something about your dad that you didn't. You wanted to trust her and let it go but it was your dad. There was still a lot of mystery surrounding his death, and what happened. Which you expected from the beginning when news of his passing finally reached you. But the file the agent gave you was completely blacked out not even telling you where the mission was.

So it was impossible for you to just move on. While you weren't going to twist her arm about it you were going to ask, and pay attention to the way she answered. If Riri lied then you would know.

You were on your way to meet her at a nearby cafe for the conservation. But when you opened your door to leave your dorm you came face to face with Shuri. The Princess of Wakanda.

Your jaw-dropped in shock as you took a step back into your room. She took the opportunity to come into your room, and kick the door shut with her foot.

"Y/N Stevens we need to talk."

Um if you're looking for Riri then I was actually on my way to her right now." You told her with a nervous smile as your mind went haywire. There was no way she was here for you right?

"Riri is actually the one who told me where to find you. She's been worried about you, these past couple of days texting me to come and clear things up with you as fast as possible."

Now she had your attention as your phone slipped from your grip as you were in the middle of texting your girlfriend. "What?"

The phone would've slammed into the floor if it wasn't for Shuri dashing forward to catch it just inches from impact. She tossed it on your bed and took a seat in the desk chair. Leaning forward she rest her elbows on her knees and jutted her chin towards your bed. "You might want to sit down for this."

"What could you possibly know about me that Riri wouldn't be willing to share if she knew too?" You asked.

"Sit down please then we can talk" Shuri demanded again.

You were getting ready to head for the door determined to get the answer out of Riri yourself. When her next words made you freeze up, and your blood run cold.

"Your father Erik Stevens aka Killmonger was a Prince of Wakanda just like his father before him. Prince N'Jobu and that makes you y/n Stevens a Princess of Wakanda as well."

You whirled around eyes widened in shock and they practically bulged out of the sockets. At the sight of her holding up a gold chain with a large purplish black ring on it. The ring was identical to the one your father wore all the time around his neck. It matched the material your chain for your locket was made out of. You squinted your eyes as you realized it was your father's ring. But that was impossible it had to be everything she just said had to be a lie. The room started spinning as you stumbled over to Shuri hand reaching for the ring.

But you fell short as your body collapsed and you lost consciousness. The last thing you remember is Shuri lunging forward to catch your body in her arms. Right before your head hit the floor, and you could swear you heard your father's voice clear as day.

"There's my little solider."

Tag List: @lizlil @darkmemesworld @rhayanm @aliives @angel-bi666 @agustdeeyaa @liliana-byers @lightskintedsblog @marice23top @filmsbyhyuna @shuriswhore @vevethirst @londyn-loves-u @iwillbeabitch @klackyb @ziayamikaelson @taleiakirby @awolfcsworld

#mcu imagine #marvel imagine #black panther imagine #killmonger imagine #shuri x reader #shuri imagine #riri williams x reader #riri williams imagine

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dnd-smash-pass-vs · 5 months

Note

Wait what's the thing about gold elves killing eilistraee followers as big eilistraee simp i never heard of this. What do I have to blame Corellon "Known Bitch" Larenthian with now?

...oh boy. I don't have the most time today, but I can always rattle off elven lore. idk why, I just got obsessed in the rabbit hole for a year for some reason, despite not being my favorite.

Ok, are you familiar with the evermeet debacle? Gold elves decided to make a new elf-only land by ripping out a chunk of heaven itself and throwing into the sea? Dark elves mentioned basic water displacement exists, and how every time gold elves try high magic it goes wrong and even wipes out entire elven species? Got banned for eternity even after being proven right, basically for insinuating that a Gold Elf plan is capable of fault. Well after everyone rebuilt from the widespread slaughter of most life on continents worth of coast, thier arrogance boiled over and the main gold elf nation tried to subjugate all other elves. Starting with the country which was Eilistraee's capital of worship. That was the start of the Dark Elf decent, as the country on the other side of the coast started fighting thier way through every nation between the two, using worse and worse means in a desparate attempt to get to dark/green elf nation they'd subjugated. Starting with fire, eventually leading to demons and undead. but. Um. Gold elves got sick of 3000 years of failed subjugation I guess, because they made a magical eternal nuke that wiped it off the face of the planet. Specifically with high magic, which comes through Corelleon and he has sole control over, able to just turn it off at any time. note that it took drow high mages running in and having to manually turn it off, even if Corellon somehow didn't register it happening he still had to approve for it to keep going endlessly. Remember, this nation that was vaporized was Eilistraee's place. The prime dark elf nation realized this was now a war for survival, went full feral cornered animal, and the other elves turned the dark elves into drow. Corellon even barred them from the afterlife, took away much of thier elven powers and cut them off from his love. like, for all elves and nations, even those in other planes or completely uninvolved. If you wonder why Lolth even has power, it's because when they made thier descent there was just her, a god of hedonism, and the slime god. Eilistraee had lost most of her influence because all her worshippers had been vaporized. The gold elves had destroyed all influences of good, so lolth had free reign. I made an unhinged video on it after like a year of reading up on every elf I could find and trying to boil the script down. not the most proud of it since I was barely conscious by the end of editing so there's weird pauses between some lines, and...holy shit looking back I forgot subtitles. I'll need to add those when I have a moment. but if you're interested in the full story. 13:05 for the war, 14:35 for the dark elf part. Or the whole thing if you want to hear a listing of all elves, as I learn that I'm not actually biased against them like I thought, just specifically against the Gold elves and Shadar-Kai. And the lythari, but I don't actually have anything against them, I just think the insistence that they aren't lycanthropes is a bit dumb.

youtube

#not tournament #answers

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theredtours · 1 year

Note

Pls spill the tea this is my new niche rabbit hole of knowledge

Anonymous: GIVE ME THE DETAILS BESTIE

Okay, so here's how it all went down, below the cut, because it's a lot:

A couple weeks ago, someone (assuming hiloy, as they're like the main character for the rest of this stuff) had played both All of the Girls and Need over a discord call. A sneaky second person then recorded said discord call and leaked bits of the songs to Twitter.

Cue the insanity. The leaks sent some people into a blind fury trying to find the rest of the song, while also simultaneously upsetting those who had been vaulting it. One such vaulter was, as previously mentioned, hiloy. They then took to a site for leaks and started trying to get a sale going.

Initially, they were trying to get an individual person to buy, but when the price was too astronomical, and after several days of back and forth, hiloy finally settled on allowing a group buy to happen. Now, I've never been part of a group buy before, so naturally, when I was sent a link to the discord server where it was all happening, I was intrigued. Here was my first glimpse at how the trading/selling world works. To stay in the server, everyone had to donate at least $5. The set goal was $2600, and that was going to purchase both "All of the Girls" and "Drama Queen."

Easy peasy, I thought. Man, I was wrong. The server blew up almost immediately, with people threatening the seller, demanding they leak other songs or get reported. Within a matter of hours, people had donated over $1k, and with that, hiloy leaked a small snippet of "Forever Winter," as a treat. Then, the server got nuked.

Thankfully, they had a backup. As soon as the back up was, well, back up, everyone was re-invited and the madness continued. In the middle of it all, "Forever Winter" leaked. While it wasn't true that it was hiloy who had leaked it, the person who did so did it under that name, so HUNDREDS of people flocked to the server to donate. The rest of us just ran with it, saying things like, "Yeah, they leaked it to prove that they have the goods." Was it dishonest? Yeah. But did it work?

Well, we hit the goal within I think like, 10-ish hours? So I'd say so. Everyone was cheering and partying it up in the group chat and then... right afterward, the server was nuked again. And so was the backup. And the backup backup. I then took to the leak site, and tried to get re-entry. I even messaged hiloy on twitter. Everyone just told me to wait for the leak. So overall, I was not impressed and felt pretty scammed. In all honesty though, I felt worse for the big donators. Someone had dropped almost $300 and then lost all access.

Fast forward to today, after a few days' silence (which I am told is pretty normal; transactions apparently usually get converted from funds to crypto), they just... Showed up on the leaks site. But the problem was, "All of the Girls" was not HQ, like it was promised. The backlash was almost immediate, with people calling out hiloy left and right for misinforming the server and trying to scam everyone out of their money. Hiloy then had the nerve to turn around and tell some of the donators that they should be grateful to have even received what they did.

And then all hell broke loose, again. See, the part I didn't tell you was that, provided all went well with this first group buy, hiloy was going to be selling off "Need" and "This is What You Came For (Demo)" to another group buy next. I guess this really unnerved someone else who had them, because basically right afterward, we got the second leak out of nowhere. My best guess was that they leaked "Need" and "TIWYCF" to keep hiloy from being able to make any more profit off those who just want the songs.

I'm sure I missed some of the drama, but that's honestly like the shortest summary I could give of it. It was absolute chaos. Wouldn't have missed it for the world, though.

#basically it's been the most insane weekend/week ever #or at least since 2014 #swiftiemere #ask #text

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luffyrose · 1 year

Text

Dc x Dp Blurb #3

It's late, I'm tired and on my phone so it's weird writing here but I must share this one instantly.

So, I saw a Trans Danny AND Trans Jazz thing earlier and I lost it. The idea that they both are is so good to me, and I have so much angst for it.

Just, neither of their parents even REMEMBER that they're trans. Like Danny's their son, Jazz is their daughter....but only because they know they have one daughter one son and clearly that was correct, not because they remember they're both trans. Acceptance through negligence basically.

Also side note but totally an au where the kids at school know and are like "Hell yeah you go!" About the trans stuff. Dash will push Danny into a locker but if he hears someone deadname his nerd friend he's taking a note from the ghosts and breaking shit.

Now the crossover aspect that's been invading my brain. Danny is visiting Gotham temporarily for something and is just like not hiding that he's trans, he's got a lol pin of the flag on his bag. Class trip with the Fentons being some of the supervisors, they came along to see if Batman was a ghost, and Danny us just very tired at this point. He's king of the realms, come to a midpoint with his 'rogues' after realizing it was more a ghost thing than a hate thing for 99% of them, and finally become friends with most of his class even if Dash still liked to mess with him.

Walking through the museum they're touring with Lancer, and a class from the local high school, Danny ends up near the edge of his classmates group next to the other school group. They're not avoiding one another but also not really talking, but this one kid just goes, "nice flag pin," before showing off the bisexual and polyamorous ones they have.

It's Tim. Because he saw the flag and went :O friend time. And also no one he talked to was with the group he was in, so he'd rather talk to this stranger who probably won't treat him differently since he doesn't know him.

The two talk as they are going, some of the other Casper high students chiming in since hey if a kid is nice to their weirdest classmate they're pretty okay in the books. (50/50 if the class know Danny is Phantom but they totally know he's different from all the osha violations in his house and most of them are so worried after really paying attention after they became friends).

Randomly Jack and Maddie come out of nowhere and grab Danny talking about something to do with ghosts, much to the apparent tiredness and even slight distaste on their kid's face, which they didn't even notice. Tim is unsure what is happening but seeing the dislike on the whole class's faces and some worried looks Danny got he's now wanting to go all detective on him because hey Danny's fun to talk to! Totally not because he's very very gay-

So after they leave, he causally tries to learn more about the two and why the class seemed to hate them, even why Danny himself didn't seem to want to be anywhere near his parents. Of course he tries to be subtle.

"So you're parents seem pretty accepting of you being trans, that's good!"

Maybe not so subtle, in his defense, he hasn't slept recently. Danny tried to smile at it though but completely failed, just giving up and slouching as he shrugged.

"More like they don't even remember."

So now Tim is concerned and confused, but much to his luck, the tour is over and the Casper students are leaving. He's worried about his new friend, even if they exchanged numbers, so he goes down a rabbit hole. Not only does he find suspicious stuff about this small town that was heavily deleted from many things, but he finds that Danny has a sibling. It's evident to him they're also trans from the few pictures before and after but the sibling's name isn't anywhere to be seen so he tries to dig deeper.

He pauses before going further down though to respond to some of Danny's messages. But his sleep deprived brain decided 'let's just ask'. So he asks a bit of questions about Danny. Like what's his town like? Any other family? Are they fine with you being trans, because he'll totally beat anyone who's not, etc. Danny answers them and in turn asks about the Waynes, mainly because Danny is not entirely convinced Bruce himself isn't weird like Vlad, but he does acknowledge that he's at least not evil.

Eventually Danny offhandedly mentions Jazz is trans to, and Tim being the detective he is is like "huh..." and asks if his parents were accepting of Jazz too. It's a while before he responds but Danny just says;

"They don't remember we are trans...so no problems or anything with it..."

Tim doesn't get the chance to say anything about it as Danny asks about something about him being poly and what his dad and siblings thought. Of course he replied but his mind was also reeling from the fact that Danny's parents literally don't pay attention to their kids enough to not realize both kids are trans.

They keep in touch and Tim puts investigating on the back burner some since while kinds neglectful they seem to be decent enough parents.

He regrets that though as Danny doesn't message him for nearly a month. It worries him enough to put that investigation back to the forefront. Of course he finds osha violation city in the Fenton's house, as well as the actual paranormal activity happening. What concerns him the most is that apparently the town hero, a ghost boy, is missing...from around the same time Danny stopped messaging.

It's a week into trying to find Danny that he gets a message from his number, except it's not Danny. It's Jazz. She asks Tim if Danny had gone to him, she was trying everyone since no one knew where he was. This sparks a big ol search.

Danny meanwhile ended up with a hero (any but Clark or Bats cuz we want some rarer family dynamic, the good juice) after crash landing, most literally, right by em. The hero, I'm thinking Hal or Barry idk, is too busy trying to help this random powerful teenager who was bleeding way too too much to not have some regeneration ability.

After some drama of trying to find Danny, and Jazz, Tucker, Sam, and Tim knowing identities(Danny's included) because Tucker accidentally hacked around and found out, hero parent of Danny shows up with said boy closely in tow to a meeting after their surprise break from league work and Tim just jumps up and doesn't even remember that Danny doesn't know his identity.

Danny panics initially but quickly realizes it's Tim and finally gets back in contact with Jazz and all of his friends/classmates who had most definitely stormed a GIW lab in his absence. The league is confused and it's a whole mess before Danny trauma dumps on em and Tim as RR just admits this all started because he saw the trans pin.

My brain is rambling too much for this now, but basically lotta trauma, the league appalled and Danny getting a good family after everything is settled. His classmates so visit him and Tim, Kon, and him date because I feel like Danny would meet him, learn he's a clone (after being very gay for a moment) and just be like "heck yeah, my younger sister is a clone" which also caused more panic but like gay trio.

I'm gonna go sleep now, enjoy the angst and randomness this blurb is-

Remember these are free to take and do whatever you please with them, it's just random ideas/thoughts that I have but don't plan to do anything with for the foreseeable future!

#danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny fenton #dc comics #ghost king danny #dc #dcmultiverse #tim drake #dash baxter #jazz fenton #jasmine fenton #I just think that their parents not remembering because they still have one son one daughter and not realizing it swapped is so angsty #like #that's almost worse than them not accepting because hey #they just don't care enough to even notice nor remember #they use the right names and pronouns sure but only because they already sometimes forget their kids names when they've been focused #tim is horrified by this #and he hyper focuses on stuff so he KNOWS you can still pay attention to others #it's like a bare minimum and they still failed it so he's baffled #then Danny goes missing #and Tim is like “welp- fuck” and chaos ensued #meanwhile Danny was crying in a blanket with a cup of hot coco with his resident new parent rubbing his back #it's the spiderman meme when Danny shows up with hero #and the whole halfa thing was already a mess to explain #so he just trauma dumped instead if explaining it to the league #didn't help much but hey at least they couldn't all adopt him #tim and kon dating him was just a lil spice and happy to the idea #also the class being chill with danny was some good spice #cuz I love dash having standards and just befriending danny after a bit because it was just teenage angst things

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youaintnothinbuta · 9 months

Note

hello i am back ! thank you sm for your last post, i really enjoyed it!! anyways i have fallen down the jd rabbit hole. could i request a jd x reader where reader is very affectionate but jd is hesitant bc of veronica (he saw her suicide but moved before he knew it was fake and feels super guilty) then reader starts to get a little more distant because of the lack of reciprocation on jd's end. anyways this is gonna go on for too long, could u make it end with reader finding out what happened and reader comforts jd, and he just suddenly melts from the affection. (IM CRYING THIS DOES NOT MAKE SENSE I'M SORRY )

Summary: ^^

Pairing: Jd x reader

Warnings: mention of suicide, pretty much all warnings that come with anything heathers related. also probably typos and grammatical errors cos I’m tired

Word count: 774

Request something here !

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Relief washed over you when you heard the familiar creak of your window opening. Looking up, you found your boyfriend, Jd, gracefully climbing into your room, a mischievous glint in his eyes as always. He got comfy beside you in your bed, snuggling up as he pulled your diary towards him, trying to peek.

“No.” You snapped it closed and popped it on your bedside table, telling him off.

“You’re really never gonna let me read that thing?”

“Maybe one day, when we’re 40 and I randomly find it after having forgotten about it for years.” You replied.

Jd laughed with a little shake of his head.

The evening went by much per normal, him climbing back out your window to head back to his own home, “I’ll see you at school,” he says as you shut your window behind him.

You let your body sit heavily on your bed, sighing. He had never been the most affectionate, you figured that was just the way he was. But lately he’s been even less affectionate. He’ll still let you be touchy with him, cuddling him and kissing on him but everything on his end has pretty much dissipated. Not even an arm around you as you walk together anymore. It felt like this big wedge was being driven through the middle of your relationship, and he -for some reason- wasn’t noticing it.

Another week or so passed, and the distance between you two had grew exponentially. You couldn’t entirely blame him, for you somewhat adopted this mindset of ‘if he wants to be distant, fine, I can be distant too.’

But it had gone on for too long now, and had gotten worse than you ever thought it could. You barely even talked at school, you just sort of sat together in this weird unresolved silence.

You had had enough. One evening you got yourself out of bed and marched yourself over to Jd’s house, not planning on leaving until you figured out what his deal was.

“Jd, I can’t do this anymore.” You wasted no time, immediately speaking as you crawled though his window, startling him.

“Y/N—”

“What are we doing?” You stood in front of him, arms crossed.

“What?”

“What are we doing? You and I. What is happening?”

His confusion was evident, his voice a mix of curiosity and bewilderment, “What are you talking about?”

“Jd, don’t be a dick. You're distant. We barely talk. You haven’t even held my hand in a month. I feel like I've lost you. Have I done something wrong?”

Jd's sigh carried a weight, his figure rising from the bed. “Y/N, I…” he hesitated, the words escaping him reluctantly, “My ex— she hung her herself in front of me. It haunts me. I just feel guilty and I'm terrified that I might drive you to the same point.”

The room fell into a stunned silence, your mind grappling with the enormity of his confession. Your mouth opened to speak, only managing to stutter incoherently. Before he could continue, you closed the gap between you, enfolding him in a heartfelt embrace. Silence enveloped the room, broken only by the sound of your steady breaths. “I had no idea,” you whispered softly, your voice carrying a mixture of sympathy and understanding “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Jd choked out, unsure exactly of what the emotions his brain was trying to process were. You shook your head against him slightly, still holding him in a hug, “I can’t imagine how heavy that must feel.”

Jd winced, beginning to cry into your shoulder, tears starting to flow without reservation. That was the first time anyone has ever acknowledged how much pain he has experienced, ever. Your touch was a silent reassurance to him that he could let his guard down.

Amidst his quiet sobs, you murmured calmingly to him, “Shh, it's alright, Jd. You're not alone anymore. I'm here for you.” Your voice was a steady presence, comfort in a way he’d received from no one except his mom when he was a kid.

As his tears subsided, you held him a little tighter, your fingers tracing soothing circles on his back. “You don't have to be afraid with me,” you whispered, your words carrying the weight of your sincerity. “I'm not your ex, Jd. I just want to see you happy.”

His grip on you tightened, his vulnerability a testament to the trust he was beginning to place in you. He gave you a watery smile. “Thank you,” he managed to whisper, his voice raw, “you wanna just stay here tonight?” He asked. You nodded, getting comfortable in his bed.

A/N: LMFAO I’m so sorry this is SHIT but I had already left it sitting in my inbox so long and I didn’t wanna keep u waiting any longer. I kinda gave up with the end so sorry I hope it’s okay I tried to stick as closely as I could to the request 😭🫶🏼

#jd x reader #jd x y/n #jdronica #jd x you #jd x veronica #reader x jd #jason jd dean #jd #jd heathers #jd fanfic #jason dean heathers #heathers fluff #heathers jd #heathers the musical #heathers #veronica sawyer x jason dean #jason dean #jason dean x reader

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lurkingshan · 7 months

Note

Hi....If you don't mind, can I ask, what are your top 10 (or top 7) favorite media (can be books/ manga/ anime/movies/tv series)? Why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before......Thanks....

Thank you for the ask, I don't mind a bit! Though I will say that this particular question sent me into a minor existential crisis, because how on earth could I ever pick just 10 things that I love across all media. I don't know if y'all have picked this up about me yet, but I consume vast amounts of media, like...unbelievable amounts of media, it is my great joy in life. I consulted @bengiyo about how to approach this question, and he suggested a frame to help narrow it down: what are my favorites that someone else recommended to me, that I then felt compelled to recommend to others? Hope you don't mind the tweak! As always, keeping this in the realm of Asian media for this blog, here is what I got:

What Did You Eat Yesterday?

When I met @bengiyo and @waitmyturtles I learned very quickly that this was their all-time favorite, and if I didn't like it we were gonna have a problem (jk but not really). I hadn't watched it on my own because until recently (shoutout to our savior Gagaoolala) it was quite inaccessible and I hadn't yet stumbled onto @isaksbestpillow and found her amazing subs. Luckily, I have impeccable taste and WDYEY is in fact a masterpiece, so they watched me watch it, I lost my mind over how unique and brilliant and technically flawless it was, and we are now all bonded for life over our love for this show, which just returned for a second season and will hopefully continue forever. I love it so much I have even started reading the manga, and I am not a manga girlie by nature (I prefer reading prose), so you can be assured I absolutely will not be shutting up about it anytime soon.

Go Ahead

Credit for this one goes to @ginnymoonbeam for watching it first and then sending up a flare for me as a fellow cdrama enjoyer that this one was worth prioritizing immediately. I love big sprawling family stories that unfold over time, I love digging into intergenerational family trauma, I love good dad characters, I love found family dynamics, and I love a well done romance subplot embedded in a much bigger story, so this show hit so many of my sweet spots. It's #1 on my list of modern cdramas and I would recommend it to anyone.

Mo Dao Zu Shi/The Untamed

Speaking of cdramas, I must give a shoutout to @dangermousie who wrote this post summarizing their favorite danmei novels, which I found when I went looking for recommendations and was trying to figure out a way into this segment of Asian media. I admit I am a bit bougie about my reading material and modality, so I really can't deal with machine translations or reading on html pages, and thus I still have not read some of these as I am patiently waiting for official English translations to become available (me and 2HA are gonna have a party in 2024 I tell you what). I had already heard of The Untamed, of course, because I am a human person who lurks in online spaces, but reading the novel got me significantly more interested, and I quickly fell down a months long rabbit hole that included consuming the novel, the show, and copious amounts of fanfiction. This story is so complex and layered and full of fun mysteries and meaty moral quandaries and interesting family relationships and has an A+ second chance romance and one of my all time favorite characters to boot; it really took over my brain for a minute. And while it hardly needs me to recommend it given how popular it already is, I'm still gonna do it whenever I get the chance.

Mo Du/Silent Reading

And while we're on the subject of danmei, let me give a shoutout to my favorite modern danmei novel, which was recommended to me by an IRL friend who is not on tumblr. Mo Du is a sprawling mystery novel that spans five major interconnected cases, and it centers on an exceedingly competent police captain, Luo Wenzhou, and a young business heir/super genius, Fei Du, who start out with an adversarial relationship (but I bet you can guess what happens next!). The crime stories in this are almost shockingly intricate and every detail comes together in the end without a single loose end, which is impressive enough on its own, but somehow the author (Priest, who some of you will know as the writer of Faraway Wanderers aka Word of Honor) manages to also write a perfectly paced, incredibly compelling love story between the two leads that is layered with complex trauma and psychological hot buttons and secrets and lies that unfold organically alongside the mystery. I am in the middle of re-reading it right now and my love for it only grows stronger. The gif above is from a recent attempt to adapt this into a live-action drama that got quickly canceled, but honestly, the less said about that, the better (though Zhang Xin Cheng will absolutely remain the Fei Du of my heart). With China's censorship laws, there will be no faithful live action version of this story, so I highly recommend reading the novel.

Pachinko

While we're on the subject of novels, I must mention another IRL friend recommendation: Pachinko. This one is a sprawling multi-generational family historical fiction epic that tracks the lives of a Korean family that is forced to migrate to Japan during Japanese occupation in the early 20th Century. Y'all, this book is amazing, and it has now been turned into a television show airing on Hulu that is also quite good (though structured quite differently, but that's another post). I learned a ton of real history in the course of reading this, and I found the journey of Sunja and her family so compelling. The book has a real intersectional lens and digs deep into themes of oppression, racism, class disparity, and sexism, and is rooted in Korean values around filial piety, respect for hard work, religion, moral condemnation, and of course, the importance of food to communicate.

The Great Indian Kitchen

youtube

Switching gears, let me give a shoutout to this Indian film that my bestie @neuroticbookworm recently recommended to me and @waitmyturtles. This film is about a modern young woman who enters an arranged marriage with a family of high status (though maybe not of the kind you think) and explores her experience of oppression as a woman in a very patriarchal religious setting. The story is really compelling, I learned about a common experience for women in India, the narrative ended in an unexpected place (in a good way), and I really enjoyed the watch. And this film is on YouTube with good subs which I linked above, so it's quite accessible.

Be Melodramatic

Let's get back to dramas, shall we? I credit this one to @kdramaxoxo, who recommends Be Melodramatic constantly, and thank goodness because otherwise this under appreciated gem would have never landed on my radar. This is a beautiful story about a group of friends who move in together in the wake of personal tragedy and tracks their progress as they heal and move on from their hardships. The themes of grief and growth and change are quite poignant, the relationships, both platonic and romantic, are all very compelling, and the music is beautiful. If you haven't seen it yet, what are you waiting for (@nieves-de-sugui this is definitely a good one to add to your list).

Make it Right

Time for @bengiyo to get another shoutout. This is a Thai bl classic that doesn't get the love it deserves, and he is its number one promoter. I don't know when I would have gotten around to watching this if he hadn't recommended it so highly, and I'm so glad I did. I wrote about this one, why I loved it, and why I think it's under appreciated, and I highly encourage others to give it a try.

Coffee Prince

We will end on an OG kdrama classic, which I watched early on in my kdrama journey thanks to a recommendation from an IRL friend who said it was the best version of the well worn Asian drama genderbend trope that they had ever seen, and my god were they right. Not only was this my first Gong Yoo drama (a life changing experience in and of itself) but this one really took me by surprise for how sharp and progressive it was about gender fluidity, sexual identity, and the struggle toward self-acceptance way back when it aired in 2007. I recommend this one to everyone, and its a great entry point for people who prefer queer media and have (justified) suspicion of mainstream kdrama's treatment of queer narratives.

#what did you eat yesterday?#go ahead #the untamed #mo du #pachinko #the great indian kitchen #be melodramatic #make it right #coffee prince #drama recs #danmei #shan answers

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boo8008 · 8 months

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Three Months - Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Fem!Reader Chapter 01: Quadriller

Prologue | Chapter 01: Quadriller | Chapter 02: Mince

Series Summery: Its been one year since The Bear's soft open, and with everything running smoothly, Carmen's lost in his thoughts, until the final table of the night is seated.

Chapter Summery: Carmen arrives in New York, happy to get away from the disaster of one Berzatto Family Christmas. You and carmen however both seem to be too nervous to talk to each other…for now.

Quadriller (v.) to make criss-cross lines on the surface of food, as part of food presentation

Word Count: 2,821

My Notes bb: I’m sorry its so late tonight but I kept going down rabbit holes on information about actual food journalism and I also noticed I have a habit of explaining a lot and putting in random details that I think are important or cool but again this is my first Fanfiction I'm actually sharing so feedback is welcome. I will tell you now that nothing much happens this chapter save for reader and Carmy being introduced, but I do have a plan on that front its just again I'm overthinking stuff lol. Anyways I hope you all enjoy!

2019 (January)

Carmen:

It was peaceful in the kitchen as Donna cooked over the stove, flipping pancakes and frying bacon as she smoked. Carmen, Natalie, and Mikey were sitting at the table as they all joked and talked about something or another. Donna placed the food on the table and they all dug in, each getting a small stack of pancakes and some bacon. Carmen was looking up at Mikey as he poured the syrup, laughing at whatever he was saying.

As he looked down he was confused, written in syrup, “Fuck You Carmen” was on top of the pancakes.

Carmen looked up feeling panicked, only to see the fork stuck atop the plate of cannoli. He looked around to see the far end of the table flipped over and a car that had crashed through the front room. Mikey was yelling at his mom and a horn was blaring, not loud enough to cover the infinite sounds of a million timers going off behind him, along with a smoke alarm. When he turned around to make them stop all he saw was black billowing smoke coming from the kitchen.

Carmen jumped back to reality as the stewardess lightly shook him. Almost as soon as the plane lifted off the tarmac at Chicago O’Hare International Airport he was out like a light. He spent every second sense Christmas Eve beyond stressed and anxious. He was thankful Michelle and Stevie had agreed to let him come stay with them in New York after the new year.

He hoped they hadn't changed their mind as he crossed into the baggage claim area, only to be greeted by Michelle and Stevie, who was holding a sign saying “BEAR-zatto” with a poorly done drawing of what Carmen thinks is a bear. He chuckled at the gaudy neon pink and glittery sign, happy they went so far as to let him come, let alone pick him up and make a sign.

“Oh there he is, Carmen!” Michelle called, waving him over after finally seeing him. “We were starting to think you bailed on us. How are you? How was your flight? Everything go okay?” She asked, now hugging him before pulling back to look at his face.

“Good, yea, fine, the flight was-the flight was good I slept through most of it,” Carmen said, still hazy with sleep as he rubbed the side of his face.

“Glad to hear it! Beats our flight back. It felt like it was just crying babies and turbulence; couldn't sleep once,” Stevie chimed in, pulling Carm into an awkward side hug thanks to the just-barely-too-big-to-be-comfortable sign and Carmen’s duffle bag and backpack. An affirmative ‘hm’ was all Carmen could manage, unsure how to respond. Lucky for him, Michelle loves to talk and knew how to keep the conversation going.

“So which of these bags is yours?” she asked as the carousel began spinning and (somewhat violently) ejecting bags. “And how do you like your sign? Stevie’s friend made it; she's kinda like his family's Richie but a bit more-”

“Normal?” Stevie finished.

“Exactly, yea, she thinks of that type of shit a lot,” Michelle continued. “She thought it would be a cute thing I guess, said something about how helpful it would be to find us sense we’d stick out and more welcoming than that one.” She gestured in the direction Carmy came from, where he passed a sign with standard corporate text that read ‘WELCOME TO NEW YORK’ and a flat drawing of the city.

Carm was only half listening as Michelle raved on about how the girl did cutesy homemade things all the time and began to ponder why with Stevie, the two knowing the chatter didn’t really interest Carmy as more than background noise. He was on the lookout for his bag which held his prized knifes and chefs whites, just about everything else fit in his beat up duffle and backpack. He would have preferred to keep them with him at all times in an airport just to know they didn't get ruined or damaged in anyway during their transport. But he could also understand why the TSA would say to not bring knifes on a crowded, compact tube that floats in the sky. As soon as he spotted the black metallic cased bag carmen stepped and forward and grabbed it, checking the lock on the side as he stood next to his cousin.

“Jesus Carmen what do you have in there, fucking launch codes?” Michelle asked, seeing the overprotective suitcase.

“My knifes,” was all Carmen mumbled in response hoping it would do. Michelle just shook her head while Stevie nodded, both in disbelief at how weird he was about his tools.

“Anyways, as I was saying,” Michelle began, turning to lead the trio out to their car. “She's nice, and she's making us dinner tonight so don't be a dick. She's not a chef but god damn does she make a good baked chicken parm.”

You:

Waking up already today felt nervous. You only had work and dinner with Stevie and Michelle and whoever-the-fuck that you couldn’t remember the name of right now but the thought of work was mixing with it. Having to meet new people was one thing that you saw as dreadful and anxiety inducing; who else could you need to talk to outside of work besides Stevie and Michelle? And having to schedule and deal with interviews with busy high end chefs was another thing. A thing where the problem mostly came when you tried to get things explained in simpler terms than the hoity-toity French or Italian words they chose. Sure you knew what quadriller was but not everyone knew what it meant.

You could understand where they were coming from though in some cases. Mainly the Michelin star worthy ones who put so much pressure on themselves and the chefs under them to deliver perfection for an expensive dish made with the best ingredients. From what you could tell they mainly did it for the people that truly and deeply loved and enjoyed food and would save up to eat at such high end restaurants. It all led to them feeling drained at the end of the day, when the last thing they wanted to do was to explain something they knew so well they’d forgotten it was a name for something.

Luckily today all you had to do was schedule and write a few more paragraphs on your Top Food Trends of 2018 article for your editor to see. You were still working on it and it needed a better name but that wasn't a priority right now, it was mainly getting the bulk of it done and written in words that were more than bullet points and shortened words. And you got off early enough that you had time to run home and hop through the shower before headed to the grocery store on your way to Stevie and Michelle’s. It was the first meal for the new year of your bi-weekly dinners and you knew they probably didn't have much to cook with sense getting back from their Chicago Christmas Trip. Normally Michelle would have stories about someone named Donna doing something crazy and while it was a little funny, when you gave it a seconds thought it made you sad for her family and her that she ended up the way she did. It was something you gotten drunk and emotional talking about with her and she could see your point but that's as much as you could remember of that conversation, besides asking her what the fuck seven fishes had to do with Christmas.

You picked up all the ingredients you would need for chicken parmesan, garlic bread and a tub of gelato, Michelle always had some wine that would go perfectly with whatever pasta so you didn't worry about that. Hopefully the sign you made had gotten Michelle’s cousin’s attention and gotten them out of the airport in a timely manner before traffic hit so you could get a start on dinner as soon as you got there. They had given you a key a year ago so you could get in and start on dinner on days when they were running late, which was often, but you didn't mind as long as you got your fill on non-work related human interaction for the next two weeks.

As you brought in your load of groceries, you saw you were right as far as the low-stocked kitchen. You connected to their bluetooth speakers and started a podcast you'd been meaning to catch up on and got to work. You'd comment on some parts to yourself and got lost in thought on the topic they were discussing and in no time you were putting almost everything in the oven, the bread could wait until 8 minuets before so it was al ready at the same time and the gelato was already in the freezer.

It all seemed perfectly timed as your podcast ended and you were about to start another episode as you heard the front door open.

“God it smells so good!” you could hear Michelle call from the front door. You heard Stevie talking to someone and the sound of suitcase wheels and baggage moving through the front door. Michelle rounded the corner still in her coat and pulled you into a hug. “How are you? How was your week?”

“Fine, not a lot happening in the office so…” you trailed off as you hugged her back. “Got off early enough to shower before I got here.” She pulled back, finally taking off her coat as she headed towards the wine cabinet and Stevie rounded the corner with a beat up duffle bag slung over his shoulder and the neon pink sign you made.

“Hey,” he greeted happily, followed by your name and as best a wave he could manage with a heavy duffle bag on him. “Let me put these down in the guest room and we’ll come actually say hi.” He jet pass the kitchen eager to get the bag off his shoulder and get his coat off and was quickly followed by the third person you still couldn't remember the name of. Cameron? Cory? Conner? Either way he gave you a vague nod of acknowledgement as he rushed pass you seemingly faster than Stevie. He had on a thick wool coat and a baseball cap, but besides that you didn't get a good look at him.

“So should we do the chianti or the pinot noir?” Michelle asked using her mocking tone on the fancy words, bringing your attention back to her as she held up the two bottles.

“Chianti,” you chose. “I like the label more, its prettier.”

“That's one way to choose wine.” she said. She came back over to your side and pulled out the bottle opener as you grabbed the glasses. “Also I'm apologizing now if Carmen’s an asshole about dinner but it runs in the family.”

“Its cool, can’t be worse than Stephen…or you.”

“Oh fuck off,” she said with a smile, pouring the wine. “Who was he again?”

“The guy who wanted to be a ‘chef’ and narrated the whole time I made dinner and couldn't tell me what was wrong with the food besides ‘you just didn't do it right’,” you mocked his dumb voice as you remembered the date. “I mean I know I’m no Gordon Ramsey but I know what I’m doing in general.”

“Right that guy, Jesus your taste in people sucks,” she smiled as she slid the glass to you.

“Yea yea,” you said, taking a sip of your wine as you looked at the timer on the oven and went to put the bread in the oven. “I’d rather have actual input from someone than that shit though.”

“What shit?” Stevie asked walking back into the kitchen, finally relieved of the duffle.

“Vague shit,” Michelle said, vaguely.

“The best kind of shit,” Stevie pulled you into a hug as he finally said a proper hello to you. He turned some to the guy who entered earlier, Carmen you now knew. “This is Carmen, he's a chef, the one I was telling you about with the Noma and stuff.”

“Right, yea, hi,” you greeted, introducing yourself even though Stevie just did it for you, you'd cringe about it later. This is why you don't like meeting new people.

“Hi, your-your the journalist right?” Carmen stuck his hand out to shake yours, and now that he was right in front of you you got a good look at him. Crystalline blue eyes and dirty blonde hair that was all mess and curls, he looked tired and anxious. Even his clothing said so; a long sleeve white shirt pushed up to his elbows and jeans both of which seemed rumpled from the flight. You did take note of his tattoos, a snail on his forearm, and a Pyrex measuring cup with the world on the other, you saw on the hand shaking yours the SOU on his fingers.

“Yea food and stuff,” you said, bringing your attention back to his face. All around he was handsome but you could sense the same nerves you had on him. It was a relief when Stevie came back from putting his coat away asking how your Christmas was, saving you both from an awkward conversation.

“Not bad,” you responded. “My parents went to Arkansas for family or whatever and said their sending me some stuff and I got to buy myself a nice dress and no one bothered me over the holiday, an all round a success in my book.”

Just then the oven went off, and you took up Carmen's mumbled offer to get the heavier pan with the chicken and pasta while you grabbed the bread and plates, deciding to come back for the utensils and cheese. Michelle took charge of hers and Carmen's glasses sitting them across from each other as Stevie took his own and the bottle. You had to admit, it felt nice with everyone helping. You came back to the table before realizing you left you own glass, and that you would be sitting next to Carmen and would definitely need it to talk to the stranger.

Finally returning and looking to the table before sitting down you did one last check that everything was there; napkins, plates, forks all checked. The other three were already digging in as Michelle whispered something to carmen that sounded a lot like ‘don't be a dick’. You took one last second and turned on a relaxing playlist for the meal on a low volume and sat down.

“So,” you started. “How was your guys’s Christmas?”

“Shitty.”

“Awful.”

Stevie just frowned and shook his head in response as the other two responded in unison.

“That bad, huh?” you asked, finally serving yourself. Michelle avoided by chugging her wine and Carmen did the same by stuffing his mouth.

“I think its better if we don't talk about it,” Stevie said breaking the silence.

The rest of the meal passed well enough though and everyone seemed to like the gelato with the meal. Carmen didn't talk much, too stuck in his own head thinking about how he had to start looking for a job ASAP. What didn't help were the thoughts of how pretty you looked when he walked in, and especially now that he was closer seated next to you. Your hair and dress styled perfectly with some better suited shoes for the slippery winter weather outside. He quickly talked himself out of pursuing anything with you though, having the small bit of sense to not bring you into his fucked up personal life full of anxiety and stress and pepto. He didn't even know what to say to you now. How would he know what to say on a date? He knew you knew something about food but wasn't sure what exactly it was you knew. What if it was just something to pay the bills and you didn't actually like being a journalist on food? There were too many unknowns for him to be comfortable with anything other than small agreements and answers that were as short as possible whenever he was asked something, and he noticed you doing the same thing.

You did your best to not be awkward with Carmen but you both had a wall put up to keep the newcomer out. If it weren't for Stevie and Michelle talking about their plane rides and new years eve stories your pretty sure it would be silent between the two of you. They tried to get you both involved but it was clear enough that wasn't going to happen… not tonight at least.

#carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fic #the bear hulu #the bear fx #carmy x you #carmy x fem!reader #jeremy allen white

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