#also ive never once been asked to do cleaning

[jellogram]

Whenever people say that Airbnb is way more expensive than a hotel. It just. That just simply is not true. That's true if you want to rent an entire fancy house, which is what Airbnb likes to pretend most of its site contains. Obviously such a rental should cost more than a hotel room. But if you rent the equivalent of a hotel room, like a spare room in someone's house, it is almost always cheaper. And also less damaging to the housing crisis.

If you're looking at the homepage and shaking your head at the prices that's like seeing wagyu beef at a 5 star restaurant and complaining that it costs more than a cheeseburger. Babe that is rich people nonsense you canNOT expect it to be affordable

[hecksupremechips]

Posts about bpd need to stop being so damn relatable to me 🤨

[tittysuckersworld]

i love my brother making me feel increadibly unsafe

[zooone]

NEW FRIEND REQUEST FROM: SATORU GOJO ?!

in which ?! - your annoying neighbor messes up your study plans. and it just so happens that the rich boy next to you in class is also annoying. when you fail a test one day, he's there to help.

words ?! - 4.5k

warnings and content ?! - fluff, swearing, a couple of tiny innuendos if you squint, satoru is a BITCH!, you have a bit of a mental breakdown, 2010 au, satoru calls reader "sweets", no curses au

an ?! - WE ARE SOOOO BACK!!!! its been a year since ive written, and this one was definitely quite the warm up but im so excited to be back ^w^ thanks to @melancholiaincarnate for beta reading!!!

masterlist ?!

she bounced her leg. she looked around. she took a whiff of her candle. she flipped a page.

anything, anything to void the terribly loud sounds of the tv next door.

what an absolutely prime time to be watching tv at max volume, at 11 pm the day before a crucial test. it was terrible. and worse of all, it sounded like digimon. who the fuck watches digimon in college?

it sounded like he had people over too, and though she could only hear a couple voices, they were loud as hell.

turning back to her work, she put her palms against her temples. none of it made sense. none of it. everything always made sense to her. and this pissed her off.

"oh come on!" she could hear through the walls, a man with a whiny voice. watching digimon. rather than her notes, all she could think of was how immature her neighbor was.

she took her textbook, slamming it against the thin walls so hard she thought there'd be a hole. then she'd really have to hear them.

the other side grew quiet, all except for a "whoooooopsie daisy" from the same whiny voice.

was he 13?

meanwhile, the three lounged on the couch. popcorn was spilled all over the floor (due to satoru's inability to sit still), but they all knew that satoru would have to be the one to ultimately clean it. it was his place, after all.

"maybe you should turn the tv down," suguru sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"no way! this is the best part of the episode!" satoru whined, gesturing a hand to the thick tv.

"you say that about every scene. just turn it down before your neighbor sends a noise complaint."

"psh. no way dude. she'd never." he snorts, laying back on the couch. manspreading. like two other people aren't next to him.

shoko chimes in, "what, do you know her or something?"

"nah, no clue what she looks like. but i hear those informational tv shows coming from her dorm every once in a while." he shakes his head like its funny. "anyone who watches those kinds of things won't have the balls to tattle."

"what, as opposed to tough guys like you who watch digimon in college?" suguru scoffs. his legs are actually together like a gentleman. wether or not that was due to the lack of space.

"exactly." and satoru yawns with a frown. he's gotten in trouble with his neighbors so many times that he didn't care anymore. he probably should've been kicked out, but instead they moved him around. which is why he was here now. tv blasting digimon right next to his studying classmate.

the same classmate who'll come to school looking like a tornado flew by, dropping her books down on the desk with a hefty sigh like they weighed as much as her.

"sheesh. you look like a mess." satoru chimes, gazing her figure up and down slowly behind his tinted glasses. however, she could sense his bright eyes without even having to look. "rough night, huh? what's the guy's name?"

"shut up," she scowls, knocking his arm out from behind her chair. he lets out a small pout.

"ouch. that hurt." he shakes his hand, pretending to soothe the pain of his imaginary bruise. "i was just asking a genuine question."

"i wasn't with anyone, satoru, i was studying." she sighs, picking at the skin on her lips. a bad habit she's had since she was little.

"lame." he whined, stretching the 'a' out.

"we have a test today!"

"oh, do we? shucks."

of course satoru gojo didn't have to study. of course satoru gojo spent his night with a woman (probably). of course satoru gojo yawned when the test was being passed out. because he didn't need to study. he was one of the many, many people who was able to get into the college because of status and money. the direct counterpart of her.

she got in through scholarships and grades after having come from a lesser background. she worked hard to be there, unlike satoru and the rest of the school. everyone around her had a stench of expensive cologne. thank goodness for uniforms, otherwise her lower status would be immediately revealed.

not like it wasn't obvious already. everyone was already in their own separate group, leaving her in the dust. which is why she allowed satoru gojo to bother her in class. without him, the only time she would talk was to answer questions.

she was so lost in thought she didn't realize she was staring at him.

"what, d'ya need the answers or something?" satoru giggled in a whisper. the smirk on his face was absolutely unbelievable.

she knitted her eyebrows, turning herself towards her paper. "n-no, just thinking."

"all that studying just for you to think. what a shame."

even through his fucking whisper she could hear the cockiness in his voice. it was so natural for him to just think of things to piss her off. if there wasn't a test, she would be imagining all the ways she would kill satoru gojo.

he was so smug. too smug. and even after the test is over, he would still be,

outright smug.

he stretched his legs out over the desk, shoe almost touching her pencil. his shoe alone probably costed more than she makes in a year. "that was pretty easy, huh?"

no, no it wasn't.

"yeah, for sure." she lied through her teeth. no. she wanted to take her pencil and gouge her eyes out. she wanted to rip all her hair off and eat it. satoru better have been lying.

"i don't get why you studied so much. that was easy as hell." he pouted, twirling his pencil in his hands like it was a graceful ribbon. "besides, why were you studying that late?"

"because i actually care about my grades!" she argued, scowling at him through narrow eyes. she wanted nothing more than to pass that test and slap the stupid grin off his face.

"i know that," he whined. "i meant why were you studying late?"

"i-i don't follow."

satoru laughed, muttering something under his breath about how clueless she was before shaking his head. "i mean, you're a good girl. you don't go out, you have a list and schedule for everything, you make sure you get tons of sleep. so what was wrong with last night?"

what?

was he being nice? and how did he catch all that?

she faltered from responding for a little bit, waiting for the usual punchline to hit. but it never did. he just sat there, genuinely asking.

"u-uh, my neighbor." she spoke slowly, as if anticipating his snarky reply. nothing. "for some reason he thinks its funny to watch digimon on full blast at night."

satoru's eyes widened before he let out a guilty chuckle. she didn't understand what was so humorous to him, but he could make a joke out of anything.

"oh," he giggled. "what an idiot, heh."

"yeah." she looked at him skeptically. no punchline yet. but he looked like he knew something she didn't. surely (hopefully) it wasn't the answers to that test.

later that night, she would go to her dorm, bringing out her keys labeled "365". she pushed the door open and dove face first into her couch. curling up against one of her throw pillows, she lazily grabbed the remote.

looks like it'll be another informational tv show tonight. just something to fill the room and make things seem less lonely. sometimes she envied her loud, annoying neighbor because at least he had friends to be loud with. and she was simply just lonely.

the sounds of the tv show bounced off the walls of her empty dorm. there was a bit of furniture, but definitely not the stuff that she'd dreamed about ever since she was little. this was her dream college, something that motivated her ever since she had the realization she could pick any college throughout the whole world. but,

picking and dreaming was easy. earning the right to go there was not.

one of the terms of her scholarships was to keep up her good grades. and although that was a habit of hers throughout the years, the burnout was reaching her. slowly but surely,

until it all crashed down.

she hadn't even noticed she was crying until she realized the dark tear stains on the throw pillow. the tv show still played, something about some sort of rare animal in its habitat, but she paid no mind. it was just noise to drown out her tears.

she would end up falling asleep on the couch. waking up the next morning, late due to her phone's alarm being buried and muffled in her bag.

and for the second time in a row, she would come to class looking like a mess. an utter mess.

"woah girl," satoru spoke, putting his hands up in a sort of surrender as she slammed her belongings down. "you okay?

she wasn't prepared for this. for the tests to be handed back, for satoru's annoying fucking voice, none of it.

"im fine, satoru!" it accidentally came out worse than intended.

"bad sleep again?" he asked, with genuine worry and confusion in his tone. he wasn't even watching tv that night.

"its none of your business." she set her head down, tears already beginning to swell in her eyes. no. not here, not now, please.

instead of a reply, satoru put his hand on her back. he didn't force it, he did it slow enough to the point that she could shake his hand off if she wanted to. but she didn't. she stayed still.

he took that as permission to pat her back, and his touch surprisingly gentle. in any other circumstance she would be flipping out, screaming right at his face to leave her alone (despite wanting the opposite), but that didn't happen. she welcomed his touch,

his strangely familiar, natural touch.

as if on cue, the papers were passed back. and satoru's face scrunched up when he saw multiple red marks bleed through to the other side of her paper.

"hey, maybe you should-" but it was too late. she lifted her head, turning the paper over and,

she failed.

she failed.

and suddenly the dam holding her raging emotions had fully, fully cracked. all she could do was cry.

the red marks immediately bled throughout the paper as her tears weakened into the test. she crumpled it in her hands, feeling her nails pierce through the paper and into her palms- crescent shaped marks going through both of them.

and the worst part? she looked up. she looked up at satoru's flawless paper and saw he passed.

he passed.

she failed.

he swallowed his saliva, feeling his mouth go dry. a juxtaposition to her drenched paper. "hey, i - you-"

"i know-" she sniffled, "excuse me."

and even through shameful tears, she still showed manners. she stood up and left the classroom. she didn't know where she was going at all. she just wanted to leave.

leave the building, leave the school.

but her legs betrayed her, buckling underneath her as her lungs tried to catch up to her. it felt like her insides were scratching out her throat. and as if on perfect arrival, satoru tried to catch her.

key word; tried.

the sheer force of her fall made him tumble back as well, and she ended up on top of him. and on complete instinct, she curled up in his arms.

"oh, sweets - 's okay -"

"its not - its not -" she repeated, through heaving breaths.

but he wrapped his arms around her as tight as he could, rocking back and forth on the gross school floor as if a mother rocking a child. he pressed her ear right against his heart, where she heard a soft drumbeat. something to fill the space.

"its all okay, sweets. its all okay." he whispered, careful not to startle her. "y'hear me?"

"y-yeah-"

"no, d'you hear my heartbeat? listen." and she did, absentmindedly copying his deep breaths. her lips tingled with how dry her mouth was, but she was now able to think.

she was tired. she was just so immensely tired. she nearly fell asleep in his arms with his heartbeat.

"thats it, sweets, thats it." he looked down, sweeping hair from her heavy eyes. he wiped a tear from her cheek.

"i-i messed up your uniform -" was all she could say, being in the arms of the last person she expected. even through tears, all she could think of was the expensive uniform.

"thats okay. i have plenty more."

of course. of course, satoru gojo could just buy a new uniform. of course satoru gojo just had to be smart and rich. he didn't have to study at all. and he still did better-

"whatcha thinking about?" he snapped her from her thoughts. and looking up at his hypnotizing blue eyes, she couldn't feel any more rage in her system. she was tired.

"nothing." she wiped another tear, sadly laughing at how pathetic she felt.

"how about we take a little walk?" he smiled, his canines showing.

on the other hand, she frowned. "what about th-the lesson?"

"oh, nonsense, sweets." he laughed with such confidence. but his voice lacked a mocking tone to it. "y'already know all of it. i'm sure. you're a smart girl."

and before she could sit and ponder that, he stood up. he lifted her up with such ease, adding a little "upsie daisy" to his action. in fact, he did it with such force that she crashed into his chest.

"easy, girl," he giggled softly, looking at her with such tenderness (despite lifting her like a feather). she glared up at him. "there she is. c'mon, lets go."

their "little walk" would turn into a walk around the entire city. she barely had both the time and energy to have a big long walk, but satoru made it possible.

"oh jeez, walk fast, walk fast," he giggled, a hand on her back as he speed-walked past multiple stores.

"what, do you get nervous around kfc or something?" she found it hard to walk at his rate, her legs still a little wobbly and her eyes still puffy. but she smiled.

"what? nah.. why would i be.." he pouted. at this time, she would be sitting on her couch with an informational tv show playing. but now, she was sleepily smiling alongside satoru gojo. who knew.

"i don't know, maybe you're scared of colonel sanders." she snickered. the thought of it was funny.

"y-yeah. totally."

they had passed multiple stores, the lights in them illuminating the night. she had refrained from window shopping too much, as she knew she wouldn't be able to afford any of it. but one of them was just irresistible.

"look at that dress," she whispered. and even though it was to herself, satoru saw the stars in her eyes as she gazed at it through the window. by the time she could look back at him, he was already in the store, smiling and gesturing at her to follow.

and she did, reluctantly.

"this one?" he picked up the dress from the hanger, taking a look at the fabric and pattern to it. "it is pretty. you have good taste, sweets."

her face went oddly warm at that one.

"and its perfect in time for fall," he continued analyzing the dress, putting it up to her body trying to imagine how she'd look. "go try it on."

"w-what? but -" she tried to grab the dress to look at the price tag. "how much -"

"c'mon, less talking and more changing!" he put his hand on her back again, leading her towards the changing rooms. a smile rested on his face like it was his default. "hey, could'ya do me a favor, sweets?"

"yeah, whats up?" she looked at the dress in her hands. and he slowly, slowly leaned down towards her, his breath close to her neck. it sent dangerous shivers down her spine.

"don't look at the price tag, alright? thats my only rule, heh."

she did as told, entering the changing room and avoiding the price hesitantly. part of her instincts wanted to check, but she refrained.

god, had she really cried that hard? her eyes were still red and puffy and her lips were still slightly plump. she didn't know how she managed to make it throughout the whole city without being judged by everyone. maybe she could blame it on allergies if someone asked.

yet, she turned around and looked into the mirror with the dress on.

the dress' color complimented her features perfectly, making it look like she was glowing as if she hadn't previously cried her eyes out. it was the perfect shape for her figure, but most importantly, it brought a smile to her face. a smile that hadn't shown itself since the college acceptance letter came in the mail.

she burst through the changing room, instantly getting satoru's (who was mindlessly scrolling on facebook) attention.

"oh my-" and the words were stolen from his lips, making satoru gojo speechless for the first time ever. she marked it down in her head as a famous moment in history. "you - you look -"

"its so pretty, satoru!" she smiled, spinning around to see the ruffles of the dress flow with her movements. "and look! its got pockets!"

"its perfect, sweets." he looked at her with lidded eyes, a goofy smile on his face. not the sort of smile that would make her want to slap him, but the kind of smile that made her warm. "but did you follow my rule?"

"yes, i did not look at all." she couldn't keep the smile off her face. fluttering her hands in the pockets of the dress.

"perfect." he grinned. and when she went to go put her uniform back on, her smile faded. she knew she had to put it back on the shelf.

she exited the fitting room, a longing frown on her face. yet, satoru still beamed. "alright, you ready? lets go pay up."

"what?" and he was already towards the cash registers. "but - i don't have-"

"relax, sweets, i got it." he pulled out his card, waving it in the air like it was the key to the pearly gates.

"no - satoru - you don't have to -"

"i said, i got it." he playfully, yet dramatically, rolled his eyes. he was already walking up to one of the registers, somehow with the dress in his hands. did he take it sometime when she wasn't looking?

"thank you, sir." he nodded to the cashier, bag in hand. it happened so fast, too fast for her to comprehend.

and her face was red with shame as they walked out.

"you didn't have to do all that!" she elbowed him. he even insisted on carrying the bag as well.

"oh my, i walk you around the city and buy you something and that's my thanks?" he whined, his bottom lip peaking out to taunt her.

"i didn't ask you to!-"

"im joking," he straightened up again, laughing a the look on her face. "its all on me, i promise. you owe me nothing."

"thats - thats not fair to you, though!" she yelled, a frown on her reddened face. again, it was just allergies.

“so?” he shrugged. it was fair to him. he spent a little bit (a lot) and he got to see the smile on her face. that was fine by him. “i don’t care.”

she didn’t have a response for him. she just continued walking, only a hazy silence separating them. it wasn’t like the silence in her dorm- it was warm and welcoming. perhaps it was the fogginess in her head as sleepiness was slowly overcoming her. but no matter what it was, she felt safe with him.

all she muttered was, “thank you, satoru.” under her breath. and he chuckled.

her breaths were starting to get more shallow, as her strides shortened. “you feel tired?”

she was so tired. she’s been tired,

but she didn’t want this to end just yet.

“could we - uh,” she mentally cringed at herself. what was she doing? “can we go to your place?”

“huh?” he smiled, and it didn’t look like a single thought was behind his eyes. she didn’t want to have to repeat herself. “i mean- sure, if you’re okay with it.”

she didn’t want to do anything, and he knew that. but with the way he slung his arm across her shoulder, she felt a sudden buzzing throughout her joints. she rested her head on his chest as her legs essentially dragged behind her.

“our - my buildings close by. it won’t be long, sweets.” he giggled, and all she could do was nod her heavy head.

the next thing she knew, he was carrying her bridal style in the elevator. the bumps of the elevator car felt oddly familiar, but she was too tired to process all of it. he carried her so tenderly, humming softly as the doors opened. the low vibrations in his chest were a gentle lullaby.

after struggling and stumbling a little, he brought out his keys labeled “367” and he chuckled softly. opening the door, he let out a soft breath. popcorn kernels still cluttered the floor, some smooshed, but he still smiled at the amount of decorations around.

he laid her down gently on the couch, pausing briefly when she stirred, and sat down next to her. he grabbed his remote, manspreading yet again as he scrolled through channels. his free hand idly played with her hair, a gentleness to his touch.

“should i turn on some sorta informational tv show for you?” he whispered, looking over at her like she would respond. and of course, when she didn’t, he just chuckled. “i think i’ll play some digimon. i think you’d like this episode.”

she burst from her bedsheets with such force, her vision nearly went black. the scent around her was familiar as she stared ahead (once her vision was back to normal). how did she end up in her dorm? she could’ve sworn she was..

where was she last night?

as she looked around herself, everything was normal. not a single bit of her desk was out of place, and all her papers were safely tucked away in her bag. she put her head in her hands, wiping her eyes of her sleepiness. thank goodness it was a saturday.

a small ding came from her blocky phone. she swept her feet onto the floor, groaning a little bit when she made contact with the rug. her head hurt. she vaguely remembered bits and pieces of the show she was watching last night. something about monsters maybe?

idly, she picked up her phone. it was already past noon.

NEW NOTIFICATION

facebook? she barely used facebook.

NEW FRIEND REQUEST FROM: SATORU GOJO

she opened up his profile.

Satoru Gojo

is excited about: Digimon.

oh.

now she remembered everything. and that would make sense why she woke up in her own bed.

she scrambled out of her bedroom, hastily putting on her slippers and leaving her dorm with such urgency, her breath was left behind.

“hey! open up!” she banged her fists on door 367. although the time was not obscene, someone looked at her suspiciously across the hallway. “u-um - package for gojo?”

what was she doing? clearly she didn’t look like a delivery woman. all she cared about was getting an answer.

she heard shuffling from behind the door, and as the handle turned, satoru gojo showed himself in nothing more than a tank top and gray sweatpants. the tank top showed off his shoulders and his oddly defined collarbones. it stuck to his tummy, showing the outline of his flexed abs. she was in such haste that when she stopped to stare, a buzzing played in her head.

“oh,” satoru smiled, leaning against the doorframe as he crossed his arms. he just looked so smug. “quite the package you are, sweets. heh.”

“satoru?!” she whisper-yelled once she finally got a grip on her staring problem. “you- you’re my -”

“did you get my friend request?” he frowned, though it was more of a pout. his hand ruffled through his snowy white hair.

“satoru gojo is excited about digimon?!” she recalled from his profile, her mind a haze. she could remember his silly profile picture.

“‘cause i am.” he whined, like it was some sort of obvious statement. his carelessness about this made her brows knit.

then, a softer voice showed itself. “satoru, who’s that?”

a man with his hair tied up (apart from hair in the front) came up behind him. and suddenly, her face went even more red than before, realizing she embarrassed herself by freaking out in front of his company.

“o-oh, you - sorry, sorry, i-”

“you wanna join us? i’m making some popcorn,” satoru giggled, still not answering his friend’s question. “we aren’t watching any informational thing, but i think you’d still like it.”

“is - is this your neighbor?” the black hair man spoke again.

“yup.”

“the one who you -”

“yup.”

she stood there, her pulse in her cheeks, unable to speak. however, he gestured to invite her in. she couldn’t tell if his offer was a joke, but she walked in regardless. as she introduced herself to his company, learning that the man’s name was suguru, and she also noticed a girl with short hair on the couch by the name of shoko.

satoru grabbed the popcorn, a small grin on his face as he walked to sit on the couch. he patted the space next to him. “c’mon, sweets. sit next to me.” he snorted, “i dunno if there’ll be enough room for you, but suguru can stand.”

“there would probably be more room if you stopped manspreading.” suguru scoffed.

nonetheless, she sat down next to satoru, letting him sling his arm around her shoulder again. like last night. “how’d you sleep? did’ya finally get a good night?”

“yeah,” she spoke. when she relaxed her eyebrows, she felt a soothingness to her forehead. she could smell his cologne, being forced to smush up against him when suguru forced himself on the couch. “it - it was good.”

“that’s good, sweets.” he chuckled, shoving a bit of popcorn in his mouth with a grin. his hand rested idly on her thigh, his touch familiar to her. “you looked real tired.”

and she felt it was mandatory to look at him, a sort of desperation in her eyes. “hey, satoru i wanted to - um - thank you-”

“huh? for what?” he shrugged, resting his head on his free hand.

“for, y’know, all you did for me.” she was quiet, and she could feel suguru and shoko’s eyes on them. “i still don’t appreciate how loud your tv is, but - i just- thank you. really.”

“its no problem.” he laughed, taking the hand on her thigh and placing it around her shoulders again. “and i promise i’ll turn it down from now on.”

“thank god.” she snickered. meanwhile, suguru and shoko looked at each other skeptically.

“by the way, i put the dress on your counter,” satoru added, pushing his tinted glasses up. “you should wear it the next time we go out, sweets.”

“next time?” she asked, putting one eyebrow up.

“yeah, next time. i think i’m free tomorrow, actually.”

8.1.24 - WE ARE SO BACK!!!

masterlist ?!

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Sleep

a/n did this need to be this long? No. But is it impossible to not make everything slightly sexual with these eepy boys? Yes. Someone needs to take my phone away. I also have exhaustion fever so this is actually a fever dream. Edited version.

summary: Sleep token with a model reader (preferably fem, but you can totally make it gn) like she's not a famous model, but like she's good at what she does and so eepy boys are like, "ooh they make good sht what if we hire her for an album cover or something"

warning: slightly sexual….?

sleep token boys x reader

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“You’re looking at her like she’s the last supper," ii snorted after a while of watching Vessel practically drool over you. The post-show gatherings were rare. Well, the ones where the team could bring plus ones were. Boys usually stuck around for a quick photo, their way of showing how much they appreciated everyone’s work before they disappeared into the privacy of the back rooms. But not today. And for the very first time, it felt worth it.

“She might be," iii snickered, his eyes equally as pleased with the sight in front of him. “Let me clean your drool”, iv brings a napkin towards Vessel’s lips, one that the lead singer is quick to push away. “She would fit the next album," it’s barely a whispers, but they all fix their gaze on you now.

“I’ve seen her around," iii mutters, trying to think where it was, but the sea of people after a while just goes mushy. “Yeah, because you’ve been liking her pictures," iv says, crossing his arms over his chest. “As if that’s not weird. How the fuck would you know that?”, but the look iii shoots at his bandmate is met with a middle finger. "Vess, we already have the shoot planned for Friday”, ii is quick to interfere. He is always the most put-together one, making sure the plan stays where it should, once the ground rules are placed. "Yeah, but I don’t like what we got,"  Vess waves his hand around, “We need her," and here it is, no longer a maybe but the tone of a man who had set his mind. 

“She could be sleep”, it’s almost a plea as Vess looks among the guys. “Look at her."  Crocking his head to the side, Vess once again lets himself shamelessly admire you. “The hair, the skin, and the eyes, look at her eyes." As if feeling all four sets of eyes burning into your skin, you finally glance their way. And it’s as if, with your gaze alone, you had set off the panic. “Don’t look, don’t look,"  Vess hisses, head down, with iii grasping for his beer that nearly slipped through his fingers. “How old are we, three?”, iv hisses, placing his bottle down, before stepping forward. "Ivy,"  Vess catches his arm, but iv only gives him a serious look before adding, “This is creepy; we need to go talk to her, not gawk like a pack of creeps”. 

You watch him approach you. The confidence oozing off him feels infectious. As if the whole room is pulsing to the beat of him. "Hey," he says as he slides down the booth to get closer to you. "Hi," you greet him, smiling, as you shoot him a little wave. “Never seen you before," his voice is smooth, steady, and perky enough to make you guess that he’s smirking beneath the mask. “Is that why you were staring?”, you ask, watching his eyes. He chuckles lightly before lifting his hands up, “Caught red-handed." And you can’t help but chuckle alongside him. 

“I don’t know if you know...", iv starts after a moment. "Who you are?", you finish for him, and he visibly halts. Because that had been exactly what he was going to ask. “I do; I’m friends with Sam,"  you point to the man in question, who’s posing for a picture with a mask as well. 

“Lucky son of a bitch," iv mutters, watching him for a moment before pulling his gaze back to you. A slight silence falls. “Join us for a drink,"  he says, nodding towards the table he came from. You gaze there, earning a salute from ii. iii just lifts his bottle up. It’s Vess, whose eyes you can’t see, but you know that they are set on you. “Is this a kidnapping?”, you look up at iv. “Most definitely,"  he nods, and you’re quick to follow his actions. “Alright then.”

It feels as if an unexpectedly found puzzle piece that fit to Vess as he watches you in the glass little pool. The mesh material of your dress is soaked and floating all around you. And the rain installation slowly turning from clear to pitch black. Drowning you out in darkness. “That’s it,"  he hears the director shout, “Look up." But Vessel doesn’t even look at the actual footage the camera is getting; his gaze is glued on you. An actual vision in front of him. 

“She’s fucking good; you've got to give her that,"  ii mumbles as he too watches the shoot. All of them are here. They were never here for shit like this, but today they were almost first. “I need a picture with her; can we get her in some promo shit too?”, iii once again pushes the narrative he had been trying to shove down everyone’s throats the moment you agreed. “She might not want to,"  Vess trails off. “Have you asked?”, iii nudges him, like a kid who’s not getting the exact candy he was looking for. 

“Can you get horny from watching someone…", iii changes his tone, but iv is quick to clasp a hand over his mouth. “If you make her feel weird, I will de-ball you myself,"  he hisses, giving him a little shove. The crew helps you step out before someone is quick to drape a dry towel over your shoulders. “Here to investigate your investment?”, you shoot them a smile, surprised to see them here. Mostly because everyone reassured you that they would not be here. 

“I like to follow the process,"  Vessel blurts out. “Hope it’s up to your liking,"  you mutter right as he brushes the strand of hair away from your face. “More than exceeded my expectations." His words throw you off center for a heartbeat before a smile spreads across your face. “Mind taking more pictures?”, iv nods your way. Your shoulders sag lightly as you glance at the screen, “You don’t like these?” “Oh shit, not like that, I mean with us,"  he quickly adds. You look at them. Blinking slowly. “But you... you don’t take pictures like that,"  you frown slightly. You’ve read through the papers their management sent out this morning. There was the underlined part that said no content regarding bad members would be taken. “Just feel like changing shit up,"  Vess glances at the setup. “This won’t do, but I have an idea.”

What follows after that is a slight madman frenzy. You watch Vess explain exactly what he wants from the production team. Going as far as scribbling the placement of objects on paper. “Is he always like this?”, you ask after a moment. “Passionate?”, ii ask, and you’re quick to nod. “When inspiration strikes, yes," iii nods along. “He pretty much fell out of a second-floor bunk in the middle of the night once because a lyric came up in his head and he had nowhere to write it down."  A chuckle slips from ii’s lips, and you can’t help but glance at him. Having him be so talkative feels like a gift in a way. “That’s beautiful,"  you muse, “loving something so much." The boys simply hum in response before the makeup and clothes department ushers them in. 

“Vess will direct it from now; follow his lead; and don’t overthink it,"  the lady walking you back on stage, brushes your hand in reassurance. The place is a lot dimmer now. Yet the lights reflect off the water just as beautifully. There’s a drum set in the middle of the set, with extra support beams intact too. You frown slightly as you hand the tower off to your makeup artist. “Do you mind lying down?”, Vessel asks. “In the water?”, you ask, but Vess is quick to shake his head. “On the drums." You swallow, glancing at ii, who’s already standing by his seat. "Sure," you breathe out, stepping onto the rearranged platforms. His eyes follow your every move, and he’s quick to gesture to his chair, no doubt as a step stool for you to get on. 

“Let me help you," ii says, taking hold of your hands before steadying your steps. “Won’t I break it?", you ask, looking at the drums. “It’s a fake; even if it breaks, it doesn’t matter."  The smoothness of II's voice sends shivers down your spine as you step onto the drums before slowly lowering yourself down. ii’s hands stay nearby, you can feel their warmth but not their touch. Your eyes lock right as you sprawl out. Letting the top of your body bend over the set. 

"Fuck."  It’s so quiet and low that you’re sure you’ve imagined it. Someone warns you about the water before your body and the drums are drenched. “I’ll only hit the plates; don’t get spooked out," ii warns you, yet you don’t have a chance to answer. The drizzle picks up, you gaze up, meeting his eyes, and the sound around you erupts, alongside the flashes of the camera. It goes like that for a couple of minutes. It feels like forever and then a blink of your imagination. And then you’re being pulled back up. “Good?”, ii mutters. You nod, and he mimics your movement. “Good. It will be hard not to see you every time I look at my drums now,"  he admits before stepping aside, the prep team swarming all around you. Making your head dizzy. 

Someone’s saying something about how sets with guitars will be less challenging, and you catch the sight of iii stepping on with a mask you hadn’t yet seen. “Scary?”, he chuckles. "No,"  you say, shaking your head, feeling slightly breathless. “It’s... mesmerizing." He lets out a low laugh. “That’s a first." And within a heartbeat, you’re sitting in the water with iii towering over you. Your hands are snaking up his legs and lower stomach as you arch your head up to watch his face. There’s no way to read his emotions. However, the vein in his neck says enough. You’re aware of the flashes, but it’s as if that part of reality is not there. iii’s body disappears after a while, and then he’s right there, inches from your face, leaning forward to look right at you. 

iv strolls in almost immediately after. Sharing a look with iii as they pat each other on the shoulder. And then the man built on confidence is right in front of you. “Care for a cuddle?”, he muses, sitting down in the water and spreading his legs apart. You just stare at him. Feeling your head spin. “Do I need to sit you down?”, he shoots you a daring look, and you instantly sink to your knees. “You minx,"  he says, shaking his head, “Come on, lean against my chest." You follow his lead, sliding between his legs and letting your back rest against his chest. He pulls his guitar in front of you two. Your fingers slip onto his thighs, then slowly upon his arms and towards his guitar. Before you look up, to find his blue orbs watching you with unmatched insanity. “Get why you left II and III in shambles now,"  he says, ever so slightly brushing his masked lips against your ear. 

You feel in a trance by the time you see Vessel standing behind his keyboard stand. “Do you mind?”, you’re not sure what exactly he’s referring to, but you shook your head. And then you instantly regret not asking because his hands are around your waist as he lifts you onto the keyboard. You let out a slight shriek, and his face instantly turns to you. “It’s okay, it’s okay; just didn’t expect that,"  you’re quick to reassure him. “Just do what feels natural,"  Vess mutters before turning to step in front of the keyboard. You pull one of your legs up, bending it beneath you, and turn slightly so you can face him better. His fingers move over the keys, head down. You watch him for a moment before slowly reaching out. Fingers brushing the exposed part of his face before ever so slightly inching beneath the mask as you turn his face towards you. Trying to figure out why a man of such talent and power wasn’t all that quick to take control. 

“How much freaky is too freaky?”, you ask him. Vess crocks his head to the side before asking, “Have you seen us on stage?” You smirk, bring your other leg over the keyboard, spreading your legs enough to make room for Vessel to stand in between. “Own it then,"  you say, reaching for his hands, moving one to your hip and placing the other in the middle of your chest. “The question here is, what keys are you playing, Vess?” You stare right at him before leaning back. He’s quick to steady you. Leaving his hands where you had placed them before lifting the one resting on your chest up as if he’s pulling your soul out of your body, right as you arch your back. “Fucking vision, fucking sleep,"  Vess grunts under his breath, drinking in the sight of you. 

The photograph shouts cut, and you let yourself breathe for a moment before holding onto Vessel’s forearms as you pull yourself up. “You are something else,"  he grunts, helping you down, and you can tell that his hands linger. “They do say that I’m good at what I do."  You wink at him. “Wrapping four grown men around your finger, you mean?”, he smirks at you before nodding to the side. You glance up only to find three sets of eyes looking at you as if you had been a vision sent by god, or maybe the devil himself. 

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

I don’t know if This is the place where people make requests but I was thinking Katsuki and y/n have been friends since childhood but as they grow up Katsuki takes the hero path and y/n chooses the villain path it’s like the 2nd year of UA Katsuki knows y/n is a villain and keeps it a secret she’s also in the class. I don’t know how much I’m aloud to ask but hiiii and if this gets picked thank you

ouuuu this is such an interesting request ! i luv me some angst once in a while ! this is also probably the angstiest fic ive written rn lmfaoo ! i tried to honour your request as best i could and i hope you like it ! (also yall keep enabling my katsuki friends to lovers addiction its not me its yall sooo🤥..) also here, reader’s family is part of a crime syndicate sorta like the chie hassaikai !

fem reader, blood n injuries, kinda angsty but i cant bring myself to fully write angst so take the bittersweetness <33 katsuki claims he hates reader but he doesn’t, reader has a sorta traumatic backstory but if u squint HARD, reader feels guilty, slight miscommunication trope, lemme know if i missed something !

"how long are you gonna keep doing this ?"

you're rolling up your bloody sleeves when you hear the question you'd been expecting fall from your best friends lips.

"what do you mean ?" you're playing dumb, you know it. and unfortunately, katsuki knows it too.

he narrows his eyes at you, you ignore him "don't give me that shit." he all but growls at you "how many more times are you gonna come to me all fucked up like this ?" you'd expected him to be louder, but you blame that on the fact it’s so late. angrier isn't the term you're looking for, you've known him long enough to know he's trying to hold back his anger. for you. you feel your stomach twisting at the thought.

"as long as you'll have me" you jest, smiling at him. you never took anything seriously. from the time you were kids until now, katsuki hates that about you. "you'll keep taking care of me, won't you suki ?"

you're spoiled, you think everything is a fuckin' joke. katsuki hates that about you.

he huffs, grabbing your outstrechted bruised and bloodied arm "i won't if you keep wakin' me up so late. we've got school tomorrow, you dumbass." his actions are softer than his words, like they always are. he cleans at your injuries with the med kit he has stashed away in his room for emergencies, emergencies being you. you snort and katsuki can barely cover the smirk growing on his face at the sound.

"you're such a goody two shoes." you sigh playfully, but your tone is more loving than playful like you'd hoped.

you'd been hiding your lifestyle from kastuki until you no longer could. coming to him one night heavily injured because you thought he was the only one you could come to, a decision you regret to this day, even as you sit here in his bedroom again.

you'd never meant to get him involved in your mess. katsuki, who's future was so promising. katsuki, who since the ripe age of 5 with starry eyes and bandaged cheeks proclaimed he would be the best. katsuki, who had wanted you to be together when that moment came.

but you had to ruin it. and you're sure that even as he sits there with you and cleans up your wounds, a part of him hates you for it. you don't blame him, how could you ?

you ruined everything. you always do—

you feel a finger flick against your forehead and when you focus again katsuki's eyes bore into yours.

"don't go zoning out on me, idiot. don't go falling asleep on me either. 'f i can't sleep, neither can you." you huff out a laugh at his petulant demand. you hum as he bandages your arm up carefully. " i think i can do that." you sigh.

"i wasn't asking." he retorts, looking up at you seriously "don't go knocking out on me."

you're left speechless at his words. because despite what he says, you know what he means. you've known katsuki for too long not to.

it’s stupid that such a simple sentence has you blinking rapidly, sniffling away the tears forming in your lash line. katsuki sighs. even when you tried acting tough, you’ve always been such a crybaby.

neither of you say a word as he finishes bandaging up your wounds. he insists on rewrapping up your hand and your heart squeezes because you know he’s stalling and it would be time for you to go soon.

it’s for the better, you think. despite your heart tying itself in knots, you won’t allow katsuki to get caught up in them.

he finishes and no words are exchanged. he stares at you, pleading for something you’re not quite sure about, or at least that’s what you tell yourself (you’ve known him way too long not to know what he wants). you avoid his gaze, your eyes growing misty again when you hear him sigh in defeat before he gets up from his bed and leaves the room.

while you’re throwing your jacket on and tugging your dirty boots back on (katsuki was a stickler about keeping his room clean) you can’t help but look around his room. it makes you giggle how he hadn’t really changed that much at all.

he’s thrown out most of his action figures but it seems he just couldn’t separate himself from the all might one’s. he’s still got the all might poster, his pride and joy that he never stopped showing off when you were kids. and then you see something on the shelf where he keeps all his manga.

katsuki walks back into the room and his shoulders visibly sag when he sees you ready to go. you don’t see it though, you’re focused on something on his shelf, he raises a brow.

before he can ask you anything though, you turn to him with a sly little grin, the grin he knows you have when you’re about to say some dumb shit. he hates that about you.

you’ve got a small rubber band looking thing pinched around your finger and katsuki feels his stomach drop.

"you still have this ? " you twirl the braided friendship bracelet you’d made for him when you were kids around your thumb and index finger, giggling when you see katsuki’s expression morph from curiosity to embarrassment. faster than you could blink, he’s already stomping over to you. he wobbles around a little on his bed to reach over your shoulder to snatch the bracelet back.

“don’t go snooping through my stuff !” his fingers are inches away from the bracelet when you switch it over to your other hand. a struggle breaks out where you push and shove at each other. you end up underneath him with him trying to open up your hand tightly clutching onto your bracelet.

“s’not snooping—if it’s just sitting out in the open !” you giggle. he finally manages to snatch his bracelet out of your death grip with a huff and a pinch at your thigh. you don’t miss the way he inspects it carefully before deciding it was unharmed and placing it right back where you’d found it. your heart squeezes despite yourself.

“either way, don’t go puttin’ yer dirty paws on my stuff. you’ll get your germs on them.” he snickers childishly. you’re just as if not more childish because you blow a raspberry at him. katsuki squishes your cheeks out with his hand in response.

you realize you feel a little too comfy, then realize you’re laying in katsuki’s bed and suddenly spring up to try and leave but a hand pushes at your chest, stopping you from doing so. “where the hell do you think you’re goin’, huh ?”

“home ?”

“don’t think so.” he utters simply, pushing you down onto his bed harshly “you’re not going anywhere.”

“katsu—“

“shut up. none of that bullshit you spout all the time” he leans down until your noses almost brush against each other, you inhaling sharply and katsuki grips the sheets next to your head “ if you get yourself in trouble again, i’m the one you’re gonna come bother and i’m trynna sleep. you’re staying.”

the asshole knows exactly what to say to make you feel bad, even if he doesn’t mean to. so you swallow the lump in your throat and concede “okay, fine” you nod “but i gotta leave super early, so don’t be surprised to see me gone when you wake up.”

“s’less trouble for me if you are.” he quips. he’s mean, he’s always been mean. yet his eyes tell a different story. there he goes again with those pleading eyes. the ones that make you want to spill your entire heart and more, to give your life and soul to him. you turn your face away from him.

“stop that.” he whispers, nosing at your neck, your heartbeat picks up and his does too.

“stop what ?” you're playing dumb, you know it. and unfortunately, katsuki knows it too.

“stop trying to act all hard. you know i won’t fall for that shit. those other extra’s might, but i won’t.” he’s awfully quiet. it almost gives you whiplash how he’d went from wrestling you to doing..whatever this was. you don’t mind, despite yourself. “known you too fuckin’ long, unfortunately.”

“yeah” you choke out “yeah, unfortunately.” you feel tears burning in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, that’d be unfair. you’re not allowed to be upset over something you’d caused.

“for fucks sake’s, yn” katsuki goes from gripping his sheets to gripping your wrists, you close your eyes. “ just—fuckin’—“

“i’m sorry.” you whimper, he pauses.

“i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have come tonight, or any other night” you sniffle “i should’ve—you should’ve forgotten about me.”

you’re babbling, you always do when you get in your own head. when you refuse to tell him what’s bothering you, determined to do everything yourself, katsuki hates that about you. though it’s something he can’t really get too angry at you for, cus he does it too.

you’re babbling and you’re crying like you always do because you’re a crybaby despite acting like you’re not, and katsuki hates that about you. that’s why he sighs and flips you both over so you’re laying on top of him. immediately despite your better judgment, despite claiming he should’ve forgotten you, you cling to him like he’ll disappear if you don’t.

you’re clingy. you’ve always clung to him. you’re annoying, spoiled and bratty. you make dumb jokes and you never take anything seriously and you cry easily and katsuki tells himself he hates all of that about you.

because it’s easier to say than admit he’s hopelessly in love with you.

he doesn’t care about waking up late to treat your wounds, he’d stay up all night even if it meant fucking up his sleep schedule just to take care of you. he’d give everything he has just to hear you giggle at your own stupid jokes and he’d offer up every limited edition all might figure he has just to stay here and bicker with you over nothing. he’d always comfort you cus you cry easily and he wants to breathe the same air you do constantly, he’d swallow you whole and keep you safe right next to his heart if he could.

you’re clingy, annoying, spoiled and bratty and all of the above but katsuki would do absolutely anything for you.

so he comforts you as you lay crying into his chest. apologizing about something he has no idea about. he’ll ask and he knows you won’t answer him, but he doesn’t care. as long as you’re here.

you fall asleep soon after and you’re still clutching onto him. he reciprocates by holding onto you just as tightly, hoping it keeps you safe as you dream. it’s a stupid thought, he thinks. but it seems you’ve gone and wiped your germs onto his heart.

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy.” he whispers into the air. you’re still wrapped up snuggly in his embrace and his black sheets. in his room where you’d spent the majority of your childhood together. until you came to him with a snotty nose and big wet eyes and told him you weren’t allowed to come play at his house anymore.

fate must think it’s so fucking funny, because despite you not coming over anymore you’d ended up going to the same school every year afterwards, even now ending up in the same class. and with you sneaking into his room almost every night to have him clean up your injuries.

he knows you’ll be gone in the morning, somehow untangling yourself from his snake like grip. with tired eyes and some treat from that coffee shop you know he likes, your stupid way of apologizing to him. katsuki wants to tell you you don’t have to do that because he’d forgive any crime you commit. he’ll turn a blind eye to whatever you do even though he’s studying to do the exact opposite because it’s you and he loves you. but you’ll get in your own head and start assuming stuff. so he accepts your chocolate covered croissants and splits both with you.

you must’ve hit your head extra hard during your late night excursion to think katsuki would ever forget about you. you’re stupid that’s for sure, and katsuki wants to say he hates that about you. but that’d make him stupid too.

[b1mbodoll]

gabi every time u post what ur thinking abt i am condemned with incurable brain rot :( ive alr sent u an ask abt puppy jake so im here to talk abt sungkitty ! who manhandles u to sit between his thighs so he can ‘clean u’ after a long day, hard in his shorts where he’s been practically edging himself grinding against your lower back, licking at your cheeks and neck and everywhere else. he tuts at you and growls against your neck when he realises what a mess you’ve made a mess of ur panties, pins you underneath him and spends what feels like forever licking at the sticky, milky-white mess you’ve left for him. sucks the sodden material of your panties and pockets them, claiming it’s been forever since you got him a new toy, the least you could do is let him keep these. palms at your boobs and asks what he has to do to have you leaking for him there too, mumbles against your clit that he’s gonna breed you til it sticks. sometimes he hates the way jake is always yipping at your heels, and takes it out on u :( hits your toothbrush when you’re brushing your teeth to watch you gag n tear up, glaring at him so cutely it makes him want to push you to your knees and give you something else to gag on. he always messes with the thermostat in your apartment, he’s a kitty, he doesn’t like the cold all that much, but it gives him an excuse to drape himself over you, knead your thighs and pinch your nipples because they’re poking through your shirt :( shoves jake out of your bed at night because he wants to be the one watching when your pretty tits slip out of your shirt, wants to bite at them when you stop stroking behind his ears, but also suck and lick at them when he’s drowsy and wants to be a little affectionate :(( tells it’s so gross that jake is always peeing on you or in you when you fool around to mark you up, scoffs and skulks around the apartment scoffing abt how a pretty, refined kitty like him would never do something so disgusting, but he will ! has you sucking his cock when you feel his grip tighten in your hair, and suddenly he’s tilting his head to the side, frowning that the first thing you tried to do was pull away when you feel his warmth trickling down your sore throat. you let jakey mark you with his piss, but you won’t let him do the same? he accuses you of playing favourites and makes you swallow every last drop, so hard that it’s painful watching the few droplets that escaped around the girth of his cock trickle down over your tits :( (ik my asks are alw soso long gabi so please don’t ever feel any pressure to answer them or write smth in response, i js wanted to share my thoughts + i hope ur resting well i miss seeing u on the tl :( from ur fairy anon !)

pairings: park sunghoon x f! reader

warnings: hybrids + kitty! hoon + puppy! jake mentioned + masturbation + lactation + oral + anal ment + omorashi

💌: my fairy… i dont even know what to reply to this. i fear i’ve gatekept this for long bcs its quite literally perfection.. i think m gna pass out.

mean kitty hoon is such a little pervert n ur so right he would steal your drenched panties :( takes his time dragging his rough tongue over your clothed cunt because he loves how wet n messy you get 😵‍💫 such a nasty lil thing he 100% uses them to jerk off later 😖 or better yet, uses them to tease puppy! jake :x

“hates the way jake is always yipping at your heels” oh… my god. poor jakey he’s just a little himbo :( feel like sunghoon would try to distract the poor mutt with your messy panties n it works 😓 yunie jerks his cock with your panties n completely misses out on fucking you bcs that’s what hoonie wanted :( whines n begs you to let him breed your overstimulated hole bcs your kitty was sooo mean to him!!

god him asking what he’s gotta do to get your tits leaking… im gonna pass out!!!!!! once he realizes knocking you up causes your tits to leak milk, he’s not stopping until you’re bred properly n his cum fills your womb 😵‍💫 hoonie’s so fucking desperate to taste your milk he doesn’t even care whose cum it is that sticks.. when his cock is spent n the poor thing’s shooting blanks he doesn’t stop… he lets jake be the one to fuck you but he talks the puppy through the whole thing. hisses when jake cums too early n pulls harshly on his fluffy ears to get his attention.

when they’re finished, an obscene amount of cum is steadily dripping from your cunt n it makes hoon’s ears lay flat against his head as he glares at your leaking hole. purchases a plug immediately n every time after they’re done with you, he never forgets to slip it inside, not wanting any more to go to waste before you’re knocked up.

im so weak for omo, you’re soooo twisted for this part… gosh just prim n proper kitty hoon that’s disgusted by jake pissing on or inside his owner :( joins you in the shower n helps clean you off because he absolutely Hates that your filthy mutt is able to get away with such depraved asks.. always sneers at him n complains to you that you’re too nice to him n that you jeed to put your foot down every once in a while.

you listen, n ask jake not to do it for at least a little while bcs your kitty doesnt like it 🥺 jake’s whiney but ultimately agrees n sunghoon’s behavior changes. rather than wrinkle his nose n tell you that you smell too much like jake, he becomes more possessive because you smell like you again. curls his tail around you as you deepthroat his cock n when he cums in your mouth you swallow all of it, peering up at him through wet lashes as you noisily suck his tip.

the sight’s too fucking much for hoonie, you look so pretty on your knees for him n he’s dying to ruin you. uses his thumbs to wipe your tears before placing his big hands on the back of your head and forcing you to take him all the way inside your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat n making you squirm n struggle to pull off. warmth floods your mouth n you choke it down, some of his piss dribbling down your chin and tits, making you moan around his cock. hoon’s soooo upset that you even struggled in the first place and pouts his way into fucking your ass full of cum next, somewhere you havent even let jake use yet <3

[icaruspendragon]

im sorry to ask but i dont know what else to do—how did you do it how did you dig yourself out because it feels like i am choking on dirt and people keep shoveling it onto me and i miss her so much and i dont know how to make this feeling stop. she was my best friend. ive never lived in a world without her before. how did you do it. how are you doing it

grief is so hard and so heavy when we first meet it. it feels like all our arms will ever hold for the rest of forever. and it is, in a sense. once we pick it up, we never really set it down. not fully.

and I don't think it gets lighter, I think we somehow, impossibly, get stronger.

there's lots of metaphors for grief. that's one of them. another one I like to use is that it feels like you're in the grave with them. like lazarus. like yourself. waiting for someone to raise you from the dead. to raise you both.

I've learned a lot about crawling out of the grave. more than I would have ever wanted to learn. like how emptiness is actually quite heavy. or how to pretend like you feel half-alive. but I think the most important thing I've learned is that somedays, we inexplicably end up back in it. and that sucks.

because we just spent months clawing our way through the bugs and the earth. because our soldier-hands have finally breached the surface. because the sun is finally caressing our hell-fresh faces. because for the first time in months we feel like we can finally breath. and then, suddenly, we're right back in the terrible thick of it.

those days make it feel like I'm sisyphus and grave dirt is my rock. or like I'm prometheus and the darkness is my eagle.

but then it's tuesday.

which is to say my brother died on my 25th birthday, a monday. and that day is now a memory that's fuzzy around the edges. single snapshots I know are connected, but I couldn't tell you how. I remember my mother standing in my bedroom and tears and family and phone calls and cleaning my living room because I didn't know what to do with my hands. I remember going to my grandmothers and my phone vibrating off the table and leaving to go get coffee because I couldn't sit still. I remember joking, trying to joke. trying to do whatever I could to make sense of that impossible day. I remember checking my phone and reading and rereading the messages, a mixed bag of congratulations for surviving another year and condolences that my brother didn't, I remember not knowing how to respond to any of them. so I didn't. I remember being surrounded by so many people doing nothing but extending love and kindness to me and never feeling more alone. the world was ending and I was alone. I thought that day would go on forever.

but it didn't.

it ended, as all things do. monday was over and my first day as an only child was done.

and suddenly it was tuesday. and everything was different but also exactly the same.

it was tuesday and my brother was dead. I was so heavy when I woke up that first tuesday. so heavy and confused. I thought the world had ended. it surely felt like it had. but it hadn't. because the world couldn't have ended on monday.

not if it was tuesday.

it was tuesday and my brother was dead but the world wasn't ending. monday should have been our demise, but it wasn't. and it hasn't. and it won't. because just as sure as we have mondays, we'll always have tuesdays.

that's something I've taken a strange comfort in, knowing that we'll always have tuesdays.

the feeling never stops. but I think that's okay. because you're only feeling that way because there was love first. and as much as what I felt on that first tuesday hurts, as much as it suffocates, as much as it consumes, I'd take the hurt and the suffocation and the consumption because the love I felt first will always, always be worth it.

tuesdays will always be worth it.

like yeah, if I loved less, it wouldn't hurt this bad. but I don't want to live in a world where I have to love less. where I was loved less.

I'll take the pain. I'll take the grave days. I'll take the rock. I'll take the eagle. I'll take apocalyptic, earthshaking mondays. I'll take every last wretched bit because goddamn what a miracle it is to love so bad it hurts this big.

I hold that love, his love for me and my love for him, a love that's now become our love in the cage of my ribs while I'm in the cage of the grave. and I dig.

it's monday and I dig.

I dig.

and then tuesday comes.

[xxconnection]

What’s the hardest thing about living on womyn's land

ok i gotta come clean. my instinct was to lie and say the hardest thing is like, the amount of manual labor or idk, staying warm in the winter. but this an easy question. we've asked this question at other wimmins lands and their answer is usually the same as ours: getting along. ive only been on tumbler a couple of weeks and i already see that this problem is here on radblr too.

here on the land right now we're really really lucky because we residents get along. we have our disagreements and bad moments but we love each other and enjoy spending time together. that wasnt always the case here! this used to be a place wimmin didnt even want to visit because it was so unfriendly. now after much hard work, we have more visitors than ever. and the vast majority of our visitors are kind and reasonable wimmin who come here to enjoy the land and socialize with other wimmin. but nobody is perfect yall. kind and reasonable wimmin also do and say rude and unreasonable little things. these kinds of little things can turn into feuds if the wimmin involved dont have the conflict resolution skills to handle it. also, not all wimmin are kind and reasonable! some wimmin are totally unlikable! some wimmin come here with no intention of getting along at all! some wimmin come here to get drunk and throw things! some wimmin attend events just to start arguments! and all of those wimmin still deserve female only space.

so how do we deal with difficult wimmin? how do we deal with difficult moments? we do our best but sometimes there's nothing we can do. sometimes we make it worse. and sometimes we are the difficult ones. me, i have chronic pain and was raised with a "eat or be eaten" mindset. being difficult comes plenty natural to me! but puttin in the extra effort to have compassion even when u feel like being mean is worth it. and so we try and we try again.

we have a great little community here. i really believe that every womon who comes here wants the best for the land. but we all show it in different ways, and some wimmin are perhaps more passionate than others. some have more self control than others. some have more hurt than others. and some had never once been in a space where they could express themselves freely until they came here. even the most calm and collected womon can fall apart if she finds herself in a safe enough space. it's important for wimmin to have space to be ugly and difficult. it's hard to hold that space, but not as hard as not having that space at all.

anyways, thank you for your excellent question. i guess what im trying to say is that being nice can be really hard, but it's important to try. we can practice on each other!

[an0ma1y-th3d0ma1y]

ive been obsessed with this movie for the past week sooo

TRANSFORMERS ONE TICKLE HEADCANONS :33333

‼️SPOILERS AHEAD‼️

Orion Pax

LEE:

- Mostly gets wrecked for being a dumbass 😭

- His worst spots are his ribs, armpits, and abs

- His laugh is pretty chuckly if you just lightly trace around his tickle spots but will get wheezy very quickly

- Gets wrecked by Elita and D a lot, either because he was being an annoying prick or he was just feeling down

- Has a bunch of tickle fights with D, has a 50/50 chance of winning unless D is PISSED

- After he became Optimus Prime he didn’t fight back or squirm a lot in fear he would hurt the others (they don’t give a fuck)

- Overall big dummy who’s also a softie :’]

LER:

- FUCKING JACKASS

- That noise he made in the movie trailer when he was flipping Darkwing off. Yeah he does that shit when wrecking you

- “Coochie coochie cooo! Awe, what’s wrong? Don’t like when I do that?? Eh, I’ll just keep going!”

- Ok listen I know they’re robots and it makes no sense but HE WOULD BE SUCH A BIG RASPBERRY BLOWER.

- D and Bee are his biggest targets (mostly cause he could never get away with wrecking Elita. Still does sometimes)

- His tactic consists of alot of poking and pinching, can and will wreck you if you deserve it (or he just feels like it)

- Easily able to pin down his lee, especially after becoming Optimus prime and getting fucking BIG

- If you just need a pick me up, he’ll be a lot more gentle :) don’t think he won’t tease you though he’s still a dick

- Is one of the only people who can wreck D and actually get away with it (other than Elita, she just doesn’t do it as often)

- overal an asshole (I still love him very much mwah)

D-16

LEE:

- trust me bro if he was wrecked ONE TIME in the movie he would be redeemed trust

- Worst spots are his abs, neck, and overall joints

- EXTREMELY feather ticklish, gets all giggly and squeaky from it

- Will fight for his life while being tickled, you’ll be lucky if you don’t get punched in the face

- Once kicked Orion through a wall while he was tickling him. They both got in trouble and almost got demoted

- Absolutely DESPISES cleaning days for the sole purpose that they have to clean dirt and debris out of his joints

- Elita and Orion have to chase him down and pin him to even get started. (Orion teases him the entire time despite Elita telling him to knock it off)

- PHYSICALLY cannot say tickle. Orion teases him to death for this

- Gets very snorty if you wreck him hard enough, however you can sometimes unlock a sweet squeaky laugh from him

- Orion once got him to squeal after getting his knees, hasn’t let him live it down since

- GRR HES SO CUUUTEEEE

LER:

- oh he’s a fucking DEMON as a ler

- If Orion keeps on annoying him or is just being a dumbass he’ll wreck him till his wires are overheating

- Shakes his hands into your ribs/sides/tummy to get you to shriek

- Not a big teaser (mostly cause he flusters himself) but will say the occasional tease if he feels like it

- “Huh, never thought you sounded like THIS when laughing.. It’s like you’re a whole new person.”

- Chases with him are TERRIFYING. He had to give Bee a break before even wrecking him just cause he scared the poor guy half to death

- Even if he’s brutal with tickling, he’ll be more gentle if you just need a pick me up or asked him for it :)

- Him and Elita are the biggest lers on the team. If they ever got into a tickle fight it’d be never ending (jk he would lose lmao)

- Better hope you don’t piss him off..

B-127

LEE:

- Biggest lee on the team, also the boldest-

- Literal walking tickle spot, you could just poke him anywhere and he’ll flinch and giggle

- A lot more open with tickling than the others, will literally ASK you to tickle him

- He once straight up asked D to tickle him and just stood there with his arms open rocking on his heels. D physically couldn't (he got too flustered)

- Has a very bubbly laugh, will stammer and beg before even being tickled

- “W-wawawait we can talk about this rihight!?-“

- Actually DIES at raspberries, will actually scream. Elita nearly shot Orion after she thought he was killing Bee (he just gave him a raspberry)

- Is so smiley after getting wrecked it takes him so long to calm down

- Overall likes tickling because it grows bonds and it’s a fun silly thing to do :3

LER:

- literally sweetest ler ever

- Just wants to see his lee smile :D

- Isn’t a monster like D-16 but he can still get you pretty badly if he chooses to

- Gives a bunch of lil lovey teases and compliments that will drive you up the wall

- “Ohh, I love your laugh! And was that a squeak too?? You’re ADORABLE!”

- While he’s poking you he’ll make little “boop boop boop boop boop!” Sounds

- Along with the obvious KNIFE HANDS he can also make little electric bolts come out of his fingers; perfect for tickling.

- Can reduce anyone to TEARS with that shit, great for humbling if someone’s getting too snarky or is pissed

- Almost always starts tickle fights in the team, mostly just cause he wants to see them all laugh :D

- Along with not being able to handle raspberries is a raspberry blower himself

- Learned his lesson of ‘don’t give D raspberries’ after he was literally left hooked in the face

- Just a big ball of sunshine :D

Elita-1

LEE:

- isn’t the biggest lee but she’s got her moments :]

- Her worst spots are her hips and back

- Like D she’s a big squirmer, will punch and kick a whole lot

- Orion’s really the only one who can get away with tickling her, if she’s in a good mood that is

- Has a very cackly laugh, however you can get some sweet laughter out of her if you’re gentle and sweet enough :)

- Don’t be so confident, though. You’ll be lucky if you can even get a single poke on her

LER:

- her and D compete for biggest ler on the team PFNJRY

- She can be BRUTAL, especially if Orion or Bee are pissing her off

- She can’t exactly punch them in the face anymore and so she has to make SOMETHING work… luckily, that’s what tickling is for

- Will wreck you until you apologize (and say something nice about her)

- Uses her skills as a commander miner for teasing :3

- “Are you sorry?? I CANT HEAR YOU!!” (playfully ofc PFNRJG)

- Good luck in a chase with her, girlie is FAST

- Wins almost all the team tickle fights unless D is feeling extra mean

- i love her sm RAHHH

Sentinel Prime

LEE:

- okay i know we all hate him but i HAD to include him im sorry

- Worst spots are his ribs, hips, and back

- Has such a dad laugh, gets very cackly and wheezy if you manage to really break him

- His wings are also ticklish :3 you’ll get some yummy snickers out of him if you get em along with some wing flaps

- Protects his weak spots with his LIFE

- Im sorry I don’t have much for him 😭😭

LER:

- FUCKING. ASSHOLE.

- A bigger dick than Orion Pax if that’s even possible

- Will hunt you down and wreck you to shreds if he feels like it (or you’re being a dick)

- If you crumble to the ground he’ll follow you like a hawk and just get your bad spots

- does that fucking THING where he says shitty jokes while you’re laughing your ass off

- “Wow, I didn’t know my jokes were THAT good! I guess I’m just amazing like that, aren’t I?”

- With his size, he’s definitely gonna hold you under your arms and give you raspberries. Sorry, I don’t make the rules

- Digs his fingers in between your ribs or in the dips of your hips and just presses there repeatedly (lazy fuck)

- “Jeez, you’re laughing an awful lot.. I’m not even moving my fingers!” as you’re crying with laughter

- Will not let anyone escape his grasp until they’re completely worn out

- I hate him so much im glad he got snickers snapped

anyways uhhh I hope u guys like these :33333

[is-this-yuri]

have you been doomscrolling? feeling awful about it? do you feel out of control? does it seem your autonomy has been swallowed by the ever present beast that is the internet?

we live in the most overwhelmingly stimulating age of humanity ever seen, and it's only getting worse. our brains are sponges, soaking up whatever we smear them across, and it seems more and more difficult to find a clean surface to rest on. i'm no expert or professional, but ive been born and raised into the internet, and i'd like to hand out some wisdom regarding this.

the main issue: brain poison

since the brain absorbs whatever it's exposed to, media consumption is unsurprisingly going to effect it. the type of media, the amount of media, and the frequency of the media all play a factor.

it's not the internet itself that's bad here. it's the media on the internet, and the platforms designed to suck in our attention and keep it there until we're rotting inside our skulls.

we're never going to escape the internet. it's just a fact of life now, and a tool that can be used for wonderful things. so how do we learn to live with the internet and take advantage of its potential?

treat it like a dietary balance

staying aware of what goes in your brain is just as important as being aware of what you're eating. if you eat carelessly, don't listen to how your body feels after you eat certain things, and ignore any sickness that might result from rotten food, you're going to have a bad time and wreck your guts. the same goes for the brain.

you want to have a good mix of various types of media in the right amounts, or approximately so. if things are feeling bland, maybe diversify. if things are feeling stupid, try something more intellectual. if it's feeling too much, cut back on all of it

the following are three things you can do to maintain a sense of control and awareness over your media diet. this isnt a step by step and is in no particular order, theyre just ideas to carry forward in general any time it could be helpful.

1. digest

this is the process of thinking about and remembering what youve done throughout your time on the internet. it could apply to any period of time. so you might think, 'man, i've done nothing but watch tiktok all day.' or 'i've been scrolling twitter a lot more this past week.'

i feel like most people already do this to some extent, but it manifests as a fleeting sense of anxiety or shame that doesn't lead anywhere. analyze that feeling, and ask if it's really true or helpful.

ask if your media consumption is making you feel less focused, distracted, putting you into a brain fog, making you fall asleep when you don't want to, making you irritable and angry, drawing you into arguments, keeping you awake at night, or upsetting/disrupting you in any way.

digestion also means appreciating the good stuff and recognizing the good feelings you get too. so also ask if it's enriching you, helping you learn something new, giving you a new perspective, exposing you to something beautiful, passing the time, relaxing you, honing your focus, or generally lifting your mood.

2. cut

cut certain types of content from your life once you've decided they're not good for your media diet. block people. move on. tell youtube to stop reccomending that channel. block them. unfollow people. unfollow tags. block the tags. blacklist things. do it. forget the awful things that make your brain hurty. click the block button. uninstall the app. you know you want to

consider removing yourself entirely from websites that are designed to be attention predators. if you consistently feel like youre 'stuck' on a site and cant leave, it's probably best to just delete your account and get out of there. tiktok is NOTORIOUS for this.

i also tend to keep my following or subscribed count low. keeping the stream of content short forces me to find other things to do with my time. this goes hand in hand with things like turning off infinite scroll. it provides an 'end point' where the repetitive action of scrolling down stops bearing fruit, breaking the doomscrolling cycle. the internet is almost an infinite place, and its up to you to build walls around yourself so you arent lost in it forever.

its also important to get off the internet in general sometimes. i know this is obvious, but literally touch grass on occasion. doing anything with your physical body away from the screen will be more enriching than sitting there scrolling for hours. whether it's just a 5 minute walk around your house to stretch your legs or a 6 hour hike every weekend, part of cutting media will mean replacing it with real life. looking at some plants, doing a pushup, or working on a knitting project can be like rinsing your brain sponge under some cold, clean water.

3. curate

the flip side of cutting is curating. you'll want to be looking for media that makes you happy and feels productive or meaningful in some way. anything that not only doesnt make you feel like you wasted your time, but specifically makes you feel like you spent your time well, is a green flag.

keep in mind entertainment just for entertainment's sake is good for you too. you don't have to be watching university lectures and tutorials and stuff all day. finding high quality entertainment, such as personalities you enjoy, good production values, and inventive ideas can be really difficult. find the people who dont make you feel like a cocomelon baby and stick with them. from there you should be able to find similar content.

what's good for your soul is going to depend very much on you as an individual. this is also going to be an ongoing process as not only you but the internet both change and evolve. the important thing about this step is that you Make Decisions about what to consume. even bad decisions! it's all part of the process, and it's all about reclaiming your autonomy.

4. eat your junk food

this isn't a military drill or an exact science. i'm just a guy on tumblr with an intimate connection to his own brain and a LOT of time on the internet. that's my only credential. sometimes i want to turn that brain off and just mindlessly consume without putting any thought into what dirty dishwater is soaking into my sponge. sometimes adhd brain wants me to watch a shitty B movie in recap form so i dont have to commit to a full movie. sometimes i get stuck in the youtube shorts for like 3 hours.

that's fine. the most important part of any kind of self care is that a little bit is better than nothing. even just being aware that youre consuming something bad for you and knowing you arent ready to stop just yet is better than nothing.

thats it!!

now you should be prepared to take back some control over your media consumption. be gentle with yourself and take your time. eventually this stuff will become second nature, and you'll be effortlessly digesting, curating, and cutting media like it's just part of your personality. remember YOU have control over what the internet thinks you want to see. dont let it force feed you nasty slop anymore. let it be a reflection of your mind, not the other way around.

and good luck!

[eisukevint]

gojo satoru x muslim!reader ramadan hcs ✧

lil promt so you all dont come for me: he reverted a year ago and its his first ramadan as a muslim and your husband

a/n: ramadan mubarak !! 9 days of ramadan have passed already dang, time’s passing so quickly. this ramadan has been a little less hard, probably because its not hot ?? anyways, i hope the rest of this holy month may be full of blessings for everyone <3

also, not the first time ive written for jjk but you all dont know that since ive never posted so first jjk work??

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

• he’s so excited like actually, its his first ramadan with you and he wants to make the most of it. he decorates the house with fairy lights and ramadan decorations saying he saw online how people do this stuff when ramadan starts.

• says he’ll stay up until sehri with you but you both end up falling asleep while you were telling him funny stories about your family and you during ramadan. always sneaks sweets during sehri saying he needs that extra sugar to work him through the day.

• drinks an entire gallon of water 2 minutes before sehri ends ‘just making sure i’m not thirsty during the day’ he says as he almost chokes on all that water he’s consuming.

• he feels the burn, like my man is struggling but he’s trying his very best. the first few days are the hardest for him as he’s not used to fasting so if his stomach rumbles he justs tells it to shut up. checks time every five minutes to see if its time for iftar yet.

• whenever you’re reciting Quran, he sits near you and listens attentively. he adores it when you recite it out loud, it always calms him.

• punctual with his prayers, period. makes wudhu before every prayer but when he finds out its not obligatory, he definitely tries to keep his wudhu until isha prayer and as soon as he’s done, he makes a dash for the toilet.

• if any of his students ask why he’s fasting, he’d give an elaborate explanation of what ramadan actually is and why its so important for muslims. theyre so fascinated by the concept that they try fasting with you both for a day.

• he always helps you with iftar, no matter how busy or tired he is. helps you clean up after and you both take turns to do the dishes everyday

• if you say youre gonna pray 20 rakaat for taraweeh, he’ll definitely do the same like he’s committed and actually does it until you see him limping out of the masjid.

• wore his nike air force to masjid once and got them stolen. he was baffled like ??? why would someone steal slippers of all things?

• he thinks jam e shireen vs rooh afza debate is pointless. when he tasted both of them, he decided he’s a jam e shireen person through and through. he’d fight with anyone over this

• tries to not hover all over you during the day when youre fasting but after iftar, he loves cuddling with you <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

its kinda short but my brain’s not keeping up with all the bio chemistry ive been doing so this is it for now :> i might make eid headcanons

[cod-thoughts]

Day 31 of 31 days of COD

Word count: 12.8k

Relationships: team as family, Ghost & Price, GhostPrice

Tags: Angst with a happy ending, protective Price, hurt/comfort, near-death experience, could be read as platonic or romantic with GhostPrice

It happened in an instant, yet time seemed to stretch as the floor crumbled beneath him. The feeling of free fall—a sensation Price had never liked—gripped his gut, the abyss below swallowing him as the air rushed past, his body weightless for a breathless second. Price fell, the floor collapsing in a cascade of rubble and dust. It felt like an eternity, a slow-motion nightmare as he plummeted downwards, the chaos around him blurring. OR Price gets buried, the team freak out, find him, and wonder why the fuck Price was asking about Ghost the whole time he was under? Finaleeeee!!! Going from having three fics on ao3 to this many is uhhh strange but here we are lol. Im excited to write some other longer stuff that i can dedicate my time to and also GhostPrice week in december!! Super excited about that :DD Thanks for joining me on this personal challenge ive wanted to do for a while!! Keep reading under the cut or on AO3

The briefing room was quiet, save for the low hum of the projector and the faint rustle of papers as Captain Price made his final preparations. He stood at the head of the room, his back straight, his hands moving over maps and documents, the map projected on the wall behind him casting a faint glow across his weathered features. His eyes were sharp, focused as they scanned the intel once more, taking in every detail with the kind of intensity that only came from years of experience.

There was a gravity to his posture, an almost ritualistic stillness that had settled over him as he reviewed the mission plan. It wasn’t nervousness; it was something much deeper—the kind of presence that came from leading men into countless dangers and needing to be sure that every piece was in place before the storm began. This mission was different. The intel they were after could be a turning point—the kind of data that might expose insurgent movements, their supply chains, maybe even their leadership. If they could get it, it might be the tipping point they’d been waiting for, but it had to be clean. They had to get in, get out, without leaving a trace.

The stakes hung in the air like a weight, palpable and heavy. Price knew the team trusted him, but he also knew the enormity of this mission. This wasn’t just about intel—this was about gaining a foothold, about ensuring the safety of those who relied on them. It had to be done right, and there was no room for anything less.

Price rubbed a thumb along his jawline, the familiar scratch of stubble grounding him for a second. The door opened with barely a sound, and Ghost was the first to enter, slipping inside like a shadow. His movements were always calculated, deliberate—never a sound more than necessary, each step almost inaudible against the floor. He scanned the room with a practiced sweep, eyes moving from the exits to the corners, taking in everything.

His gaze finally settled on Price, and for a split second, something shifted behind the mask—something familiar, unspoken. He gave a nod, the movement brief but heavy with meaning. It was his way of saying that he was ready, that he was here for whatever Price had in mind. There was a connection between them, one forged over years, through firefights, sleepless nights, and the kind of pain neither of them ever talked about. Price met his eyes for a moment, nodding back. There was no need for words.

Ghost crossed the room, settling into his usual spot, his back straight, posture poised. Price allowed his gaze to linger on Ghost a moment longer, something tightening briefly in his chest. Ghost always had that intensity—that focus that was almost unsettling if you weren't used to it. But Price knew better. He knew what that focus hid, the fractures beneath the surface that Ghost never let anyone see. A moment passed, and Price turned back to the map, forcing his attention onto the routes and diagrams. He needed to focus. He needed to be clearheaded.

The door opened again, and this time it was Soap. His entrance was louder, more casual—an almost exaggerated swagger that contrasted sharply with Ghost’s silent glide. He stepped in, his eyes catching the dim glow of the projector as he let out a low whistle.

“Got us a nice holiday planned, Captain?” Soap said, his voice carrying a hint of sarcasm as he dropped into the chair next to Ghost. He leaned back, one ankle resting on his knee, his body language all nonchalance despite the seriousness of what was ahead. He glanced at Ghost, nudging him lightly with his elbow, but Ghost didn’t so much as blink. He was already looking at the map, his eyes scanning the points marked in red.

Price shot Soap a look, one that was half-exasperation, half-amusement. “Aye, MacTavish. Just the kind of holiday where you might lose your head if you don’t keep it screwed on straight.” There was an edge to Price’s voice, but the corner of his mouth twitched, hinting at a smile.

Soap let out a chuckle, shrugging. “Nothing new there, Cap.” He glanced at Ghost again, clearly hoping for a reaction, but Ghost remained impassive, his eyes fixed forward. It was like Soap’s energy just bounced right off him, but that never stopped the Sergeant from trying. He’d been trying to get Ghost to crack for years, and Price was starting to think it had become a personal mission for Soap.

Moments later, Gaz stepped in, the last to arrive, a clipboard in his hand. His expression was all business, his eyes skimming the notes in front of him, brow furrowed in concentration. He paused at the threshold, offering Price a quick nod before sliding into the chair next to Soap, his eyes still on the paper. He cast Soap a brief glance, raising an eyebrow at the way Soap lounged back in his chair.

“Is this a briefing or a comedy show?” Gaz murmured, just loud enough for Soap to hear. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, his posture much more rigid, a reflection of his own meticulous nature.

Soap grinned, giving Gaz a sideways glance. “Bit of both, mate. Keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?” But even as he spoke, there was a flicker in his eyes—a seriousness that told Gaz he was ready, that they all knew what was at stake.

Price cleared his throat, drawing the room’s attention. “Settle down, lads,” he said, his tone lighter now but holding an unmistakable edge. He glanced at the group, his eyes lingering on each of them for a beat longer than usual. Ghost, unreadable behind his mask; Soap, with his easy grin but eyes that betrayed focus; Gaz, steady, composed, his gaze sharp. Price took it all in before turning towards the map, tapping it with his finger. “Right, listen up.”

The projector flickered slightly, illuminating the outline of an abandoned outpost—their target. The building was half-buried under desert sand, marked with annotations and lines indicating points of interest and likely routes. Price’s voice shifted, taking on that authoritative edge, each word carefully placed as he began the debrief.

“This is our target,” Price began, pointing to the main structure, the wall behind him glowing in the dim room. “Old outpost repurposed by insurgents. We’re going in to gather intel, get out, and hopefully leave without a trace. Ghost, you’re on point. Soap, Gaz, you’ll secure the data once we’re in. I’ll manage comms and fallback. We move in quiet, and if all goes to plan, they’ll never know we were even there.”

His eyes flicked to Ghost, a moment of eye contact passing between them—something unspoken, something weighted. It was more than orders; it was a reminder of everything Ghost had done before, everything he’d survived. And it was also a reassurance—Price trusted him, maybe more than anyone. Ghost gave a slight nod, his eyes narrowing in a way that spoke volumes about his readiness, about his commitment to the task ahead.

“This isn’t just any outpost,” Price continued. “We have intel that suggests the insurgents are using this location to coordinate attacks, and there’s a good chance they have operational plans stored in their comms room. We need that data. If we can get our hands on it, we’ll have a significant upper hand.” His tone left no room for doubt.

The silence that followed Price's words was thick with understanding—every man in the room felt the weight of what was ahead. This wasn’t just about the mission; it was about the lives they could save, the difference they could make.

Soap leaned further back in his chair, a grin playing on his lips. “Think they’ll have a welcoming committee for us, Captain?” he asked, his voice carrying a teasing lilt that cut through the tension for a moment.

Price gave him a flat look. “If they do, Sergeant, we’ll politely decline the invitation.” There was a flicker of a smile, barely there but enough to hint at the camaraderie they shared. “Now focus.”

Gaz spoke up next, his tone thoughtful, his brows furrowing slightly. “What about patrols? They’ve been more coordinated lately.”

“Aye, they’ve learned a few tricks,” Price acknowledged, nodding. “We’ll avoid contact if we can. But if it comes to it, remember—this isn’t about engagement. It’s about getting the intel and getting out clean.” He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze settling a moment longer on Ghost. “We split if things go sideways and regroup at the extraction point. You all know the drill.”

There was a collective nod from the team—a shared understanding that ran deeper than just the words spoken. They’d been through too much together not to know the stakes, not to understand the risks.

Soap leaned forward slightly, his grin fading into something more serious, a flicker of that intensity beneath the surface. “We get it done, then? Pint afterwards, Captain?” There was a lightness in his tone, but his eyes held a sharp focus that betrayed his readiness.

Price gave a small nod, his eyes glinting with resolve. “We’ll get it done, Sergeant. You lot just make sure to stick to your roles, and we’ll be back before you know it.” He paused, letting the words sink in. His eyes shifted to Ghost for a moment, and there was something there—something softer, almost protective. It was fleeting, but Ghost caught it, the look that said Price knew exactly who he was trusting with his life. Price turned back to the map, exhaling slowly. “We don’t take risks unless we need to. Dismissed. We gear up and leave in thirty.”

The men rose, their movements fluid, each one operating with a practiced ease. Ghost stood first, nodding once more to Price before he walked out, that same silent assurance there. Soap followed, giving Price a wink before nudging Gaz on his way out. “Hope you’ve packed your suntan lotion, mate. Gonna be a hot one.”

Gaz rolled his eyes, but there was the ghost of a smile on his face. “Just focus on not blowing something up you shouldn’t, Soap.”

Price watched them leave; the door swinging shut behind them, and allowed himself a moment of stillness. He looked back at the map, the glow dimming now that the projector had clicked off. He stood there for a beat longer, feeling the familiar weight settle on his shoulders—the responsibility, the uncertainty. He drew in a breath, then let it out slowly. Whatever this mission brought, he knew he had the right people by his side. He trusted them with his life. And that was enough.

Price gathered his papers, folding up the map, his movements deliberate, almost slow. There was no rush, not yet. The quiet hum of the room wrapped around him, and for a fleeting second, there was a sense of calm—a moment alone with his thoughts. Ghost’s nod replayed in his mind, the way his eyes had seemed to linger, something unsaid hanging in the air between them. Price frowned, shaking his head slightly as he brushed the thought aside. There was no time to dwell on it. He needed to focus—to stay sharp.

---

The gear room was a controlled chaos of movement, the air heavy with the faint metallic tang of gun oil and the muffled sounds of equipment being checked and rechecked. Price entered behind the rest of his team, his eyes scanning the room as they fell into their pre-mission rhythm. Each man had his own way of preparing, and Price allowed himself to observe them, taking in the reassuring sight of his men getting ready.

Ghost stood off to the side, meticulously checking his weapon. His fingers moved with mechanical precision, ensuring each part fit perfectly, his gloves never faltering. There was something almost ritualistic about the way Ghost worked—a need to have control, to make sure everything was in its place. Price knew that this was Ghost's way of pushing down whatever emotions might be stirring beneath the surface. The mask, the armour, the rituals—they were his defences. And Price understood that better than anyone.

Price found himself watching Ghost longer than intended, recognising the weight of those small gestures, the meticulous need to check, and then check again. It wasn't just preparation. It was a means to settle something internal—a need to keep his thoughts in line, to keep old fears from surfacing. Ghost’s ritual was as much about mental fortitude as it was about operational necessity.

Soap, on the other hand, worked with a kind of casual efficiency that belied the gravity of their task. He was loading rounds into a magazine, muttering something under his breath about the "bloody desert heat," shaking his head as he gave a slight grin. There was an energy to him that Price appreciated, even if Soap’s humour sometimes edged into the inappropriate. Price knew it was his way of coping, keeping the fear and tension at bay.

“Ready for the vacation of a lifetime, Gaz?” Soap called across the room, his tone light, though there was a seriousness to the way he eyed his gear.

Gaz looked up from where he was securing his tactical vest, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Aye, just trying to decide if I need sunscreen or a flak jacket. You reckon the insurgents are the welcoming type?” He shook his head, his expression sobering as he continued, “Just hope the intel’s worth all this.”

Price caught that hint of doubt in Gaz’s tone, and he understood it all too well. These operations were never without risk—always the careful balance of the value of what they could gain against what it might cost them. Price moved towards them, giving Gaz a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He wanted to make sure his team knew, not just logically but in their bones, that this was the right move.

Price moved towards them, giving Gaz a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “It’s worth it, Sergeant. Trust me on that.” He met Gaz's eyes, his voice carrying that confidence that only Price could muster. It wasn’t just words—it was a promise, the kind that came from years of leading men into the unknown and bringing them back.

Gaz nodded, his eyes meeting Price's for a beat longer before returning to his task, his shoulders a bit more relaxed now. Price stepped away, moving towards his own gear, his gaze drifting to Ghost again. The Lieutenant had finished with his rifle and was now adjusting his vest, his movements still deliberate, each buckle fastened with care.

“Ghost,” Price called quietly, moving closer. Ghost glanced up, his eyes meeting Price’s through the slits of his mask, something unreadable there. There was always a barrier between them, a mask that went beyond the physical one Ghost wore. Price knew it was a shield, a means to keep people from getting too close—to keep him safe in ways that had nothing to do with bullets or shrapnel. “You good?”

Ghost’s nod was almost imperceptible. “Good, Captain,” he replied, his voice low, steady. There was a pause, a brief flicker of something in his gaze—a question, a concern that Ghost wasn’t willing to voice. Price didn’t press. He just nodded back, his eyes lingering on Ghost for a moment longer before moving on. He wondered sometimes if Ghost knew just how much Price saw—how much Price understood without needing the words. Maybe Ghost did know, but that didn’t mean he’d ever acknowledge it. “Alright, lads,” Price called out, his voice carrying across the room, “ten minutes. Let’s get ready to move.”

The air shifted, the sense of finality settling in. Each man tightened their gear, their faces hardening, the joking gone, replaced by the sharp focus of soldiers about to step into the unknown. Price watched them, his heart heavy with the weight of what was coming, but also with something else—pride. He knew what each of them was capable of. He knew their strengths, their weaknesses, the way they covered for each other.

For all the risks and all the fear, this was where Price felt at home—surrounded by his men, knowing that together they were capable of the impossible. There was a calm in this ritual, a steadiness that came from the rhythm of preparation, from the unspoken promise between each of them that they would have each other’s backs. That they would make it through.

---

Ghost moved to the door first, giving a brief nod to Price as he passed. There was something in the nod—something more than just acknowledgment. Price couldn’t quite put a name to it, but it was there, a kind of silent promise, an unspoken assurance that whatever happened out there, they’d get through it. Together.

As the men filed out, Price took one last look around the gear room, the empty racks and scattered crates a stark reminder of what lay ahead. He adjusted the brim of his hat, the familiar gesture grounding him before he followed his team out. The clock was ticking, and they had a mission to complete.

The helicopter's descent into the desert was almost seamless, the blades chopping through the still night air, stirring up dust in swirling, glowing eddies beneath the bright moon. The whirr of the rotors faded as the chopper dropped the team about a mile away from the outpost, ensuring they’d approach on foot to minimize noise and detection. The darkness stretched out around them, the cold desert a stark contrast to the blistering heat of the day. It was the kind of cold that settled deep into the bones, unyielding, despite the residual warmth beneath their feet.

Price knelt as they landed, the crunch of sand muffled beneath his knees. He scanned the area, feeling the night settle in around them—heavy, silent, and patient. The whir of the helicopter's blades slowly faded into the distance, leaving behind an eerie quiet, one that wrapped around them like a thick blanket. The only sounds now were the crunch of sand beneath boots and the soft rustle of their gear.

The desert seemed almost timeless, an endless expanse of shadow and stillness, as if the world had paused just for them. Price let his gaze travel the horizon, seeing nothing but the wavering line where the dunes met the sky. There was a sense of isolation here—of being on the edge of something vast and unknowable, and for a moment, Price allowed himself to feel the weight of it. Out here, nothing else mattered—just the mission, just the men beside him.

Ghost took point, moving with precision, his silhouette merging into the shadows. Price watched him, a sense of calm mixed with something else settling in his chest. Ghost moved like a predator—a dangerous presence, and yet, somehow, reassuring. He could feel the eyes of the others on him, but Price’s own attention remained on Ghost, as if drawing strength from the silent figure leading them forward.

Ghost gave a signal, a sharp movement with his hand, indicating they advance. Price followed, Soap and Gaz falling into their staggered formation, each footstep calculated. They made their way through the dunes, the landscape broken only by the dark silhouette of the outpost ahead, barely visible against the backdrop of the starry sky. It was like they were moving towards some ancient, long-forgotten beast, half-buried in sand, its secrets hidden within.

Price allowed his thoughts to drift briefly, but not far; the weight of this mission settled on his shoulders, and his gaze never strayed from the target ahead. They’d planned this meticulously, but Price knew better than to trust plans alone. He knew that plans were just a foundation, a starting point. Once they stepped into the unknown, it would be instinct and trust in one another that carried them through. Anything could happen once they breached those crumbling walls. He trusted his team implicitly—Soap, who could shoot his way out of any mess and still have a joke on his lips; Gaz, steady and composed, never missing a beat; and Ghost, who bore his pain and carried everyone else’s too, though he'd never admit it.

Price caught a glimpse of Ghost’s face from the side, the moonlight casting a faint silver outline on the edges of his mask. Price knew what Ghost was—knew the trauma that lay beneath the skull and the armour, knew the sharp edges and deep fractures that no one else dared to see. And despite that, or maybe because of it, Price trusted Ghost with his life. The darkness Ghost carried made him who he was, made him relentless and fierce, but it was also what made him loyal. Ghost’s loyalty was a rare thing—fragile and powerful, something Price valued more than anything.

As they advanced, there was a moment—one so subtle that even Price almost missed it—when Ghost’s head turned slightly, and he glanced back at Price. It was quick, and from anyone else, it might have seemed like just a check, a leader making sure his captain was behind him. But Price knew Ghost. There was something there, beneath the surface of that cold gaze—a question, perhaps an unspoken promise. Price’s breath caught for a beat longer than it should have.

He offered a nod, a gesture that he hoped would reassure Ghost. The reply was wordless, but it lingered—Price's nod paired with the tiniest inclination from Ghost before his head turned back to the front. Ghost's shoulders seemed to relax, just a fraction. Price had the sudden, absurd urge to say something, to bridge the gulf of silence between them, to reassure Ghost more openly. He knew the silence between them was as much a choice as it was a necessity—words could break something that they both held fragile. But still, there was an ache in Price’s chest—a need to let Ghost know that, despite everything, Price saw him, truly saw him. But now wasn't the time. It was never the time. Instead, Price kept his focus forward, letting the moment dissipate into the night air.

They were almost at the outpost now, each step bringing them closer to the high crumbling walls that loomed above. Price could feel the grit of sand against his skin, the weight of the equipment pressing into his shoulders. A deep calm settled over him, mixing with that ever-present readiness. The weight of what they were walking into was heavy, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. This kind of anticipation, the moments just before stepping into danger, always felt like a paradox—fear and purpose blending together, the tension laced with something almost like peace. It was the awareness that this was where he belonged, in the quiet before the storm, alongside his men.

The outer perimeter of the outpost came into view—a rusted fence with barbed wire, leaning awkwardly from years of neglect. Ghost reached it first, pressing himself against a section of wall where the shadows pooled, his body disappearing into the darkness. Soap and Gaz moved to positions on either side, keeping watch, eyes scanning for any sign of movement.

Price approached next, crouching down beside Ghost, their shoulders almost touching. He could feel the cold radiating from the stone wall, could hear Ghost’s breathing, steady and controlled. The proximity brought a sense of familiarity—a grounding presence amidst the unknown. For all the layers of armour and distance Ghost wrapped himself in, here, when it mattered, he was always within reach. Price let that realization settle in his chest—a kind of unspoken reassurance that kept the anxiety at bay. There was a sense of urgency, but also something else, something less tangible—an intimacy that came from being this close, from trusting someone with not just your life, but the lives of everyone you cared about.

Price shifted slightly, his arm brushing against Ghost’s, and for a second, the weight of the mission seemed to blur, the reality of what they were about to do overlapping with something deeper, something personal. The brush of fabric was such a small thing, and yet Price felt its significance—a moment of contact in a world where physicality often meant vulnerability. Ghost didn’t flinch, didn’t move away, and somehow that made all the difference. He saw Ghost turn his head slightly towards him, the hollow eyes of the mask reflecting the faint light from the moon. Price didn’t move away. He didn’t speak. Instead, he held the gaze, let it linger in the silence, unbroken.

He wanted to say something, anything—to tell Ghost that they’d get through this, that he trusted him, that he understood. But instead, he gave another nod, the same one he'd given earlier—subtle, almost imperceptible. And Ghost responded in kind, turning back towards the structure, signalling Soap and Gaz.

“Stay sharp, lads,” Price whispered, breaking the quiet. His voice was low, steady—betraying none of the conflicting emotions that twisted in his chest. Ghost didn’t look back, but Price could sense the effect his voice had—Ghost's back straightened, the hesitation melting into determination.

Ghost slipped through the gap in the fence first, his body moving like liquid into the darkness beyond, blending into the shadows. Watching Ghost move, there was a quiet kind of power—an artistry in the way he seemed to merge with the environment, becoming part of the night itself. It was something that Price trusted implicitly, even if he couldn’t ever fully understand it.

Price followed, with Soap and Gaz behind them. Inside the perimeter, the outpost felt almost surreal—the air thick with the scent of rust and decay, the crumbling concrete walls stained and scarred. Ghost moved like a phantom, his weapon raised, every movement controlled, and Price found himself watching the subtle way Ghost shifted his weight, the way he paused just long enough to listen before signalling the others.

They entered through a narrow breach in the wall, the darkness of the building swallowing them whole. Price could feel the chill now, a biting cold that clung to the air inside the old outpost, made worse by the staleness. There were old machines, rusting in corners, wires hanging loose from the ceiling. They moved as one—Soap and Gaz scanning the flanks, Ghost at the front, his focus unyielding.

For a moment, Price’s gaze fell on Ghost, watching as he paused near a doorway, his body rigid as he listened for any hint of movement. The lines of Ghost’s silhouette were tense, every muscle coiled, and Price knew that look—it was Ghost at his most alert, at his most dangerous. It was in those moments that Price saw just how much Ghost held in, how much focus and control he needed to keep the chaos in check. There was something calming about watching Ghost work—something precise, practiced, something safe. It struck Price then—how often he looked to Ghost for that sense of stability, how easily he leaned on him in these moments.

Soap leaned in close to Price, his whisper barely audible. “You all right, Cap?” The question was loaded, half a joke, but with an edge that showed Soap wasn’t entirely joking. Price gave a nod, his eyes shifting away from Ghost to meet Soap’s gaze.

“Aye, Sergeant. Just keep your head on straight.” The words were automatic, but there was a hint of warmth in Price’s tone—a reassurance that, perhaps, was as much for himself as it was for Soap. The corners of Price’s mouth twitched slightly, as if to add weight to the reassurance. Soap had always been the one to lighten the mood, to inject energy where the darkness seemed to linger too long. And Price knew Soap was watching him, not just as a subordinate, but as a brother—making sure that Price was steady, that he was ready.

Soap gave a small nod, his own grin returning, if only briefly, before they both turned their focus back to the task at hand. It was moments like these, fleeting and almost invisible in the grand scheme, that bound them together—those small gestures that said, ‘I’m here, and I see you.’

They pressed further into the outpost, deeper into its labyrinthine halls. The air grew colder, thicker with dust, and the sense of anticipation grew with each step. Ghost held up a fist, and the team halted, each man going still. Price could hear the faintest noise—a metallic clang, echoing down the corridors. His eyes flicked to Ghost, who had turned his head just enough to catch Price’s eye. Again, there was that silent exchange—a question, a moment of uncertainty that passed between them.

“Hold position,” Price whispered. He moved forward slightly, his shoulder brushing against Ghost’s. It was fleeting, but it was enough—enough for Ghost to know Price was right there, that whatever came next, they were in it together. That fleeting contact, small as it was, had a weight of its own. Ghost didn’t acknowledge it openly—he never would. But Price knew that it mattered. In the silence, in the darkness, in the moments between life and death, those touches were enough to keep the fear from swallowing them whole.

Ghost gave a short nod, his gaze shifting back to the dark corridor ahead, his weapon raised. The movement was careful, deliberate—he was ready, and Price could see the way Ghost seemed to draw energy from their proximity, the way he set his shoulders, the determination in his stance.

After a moment, Ghost signalled that the corridor ahead was clear, and they moved in further, finally reaching the door to the comms room. Gaz slipped past, pushing the door open just enough to slide through, followed by Soap, who moved to cover the entrance while Gaz worked. Price and Ghost stood just outside, their eyes scanning the dark hallway.

Price took in a breath, the air musty with the scent of age and disuse. He turned his head, his eyes catching on Ghost, who was standing just a step ahead, his focus unwavering. Price could see the tension in Ghost’s form, the slight rigidness of his posture, the way his shoulders seemed to hold the weight of a thousand past missions. Ghost’s eyes were locked forward, but Price knew—he knew what this kind of silence did to Ghost, the memories it brought to the surface, the battles that Ghost fought within himself. Price found himself watching the rise and fall of Ghost's shoulders, the way he seemed to hold himself so tightly—every muscle coiled, every breath controlled.

“Ghost,” Price murmured, his voice low enough that only Ghost would hear. Ghost’s head tilted slightly in acknowledgment, his eyes never leaving the hallway, but Price could tell he was listening. There were so many things Price could say—so many reassurances, so many reminders that they had each other, that they weren’t alone. But those words always felt too big, too loaded, when faced with the silence of an empty corridor. Instead, Price just moved a step closer, his presence a silent promise. Price wanted to say something reassuring, something about how they had this under control. But the words caught in his throat. Instead, he simply stayed close—letting his presence speak where words could not.

The silence hung between them, filled with tension and something else—something unnamed, something they both seemed to understand without ever needing to say it out loud. It was a bond, an understanding that ran deeper than orders, deeper than ranks. And it made all the difference in that dark, uncertain hallway.

The air inside the outpost felt heavier as Gaz worked the terminal, his fingers dancing across the worn keys, a faint clicking echoing in the dark room. Soap kept watch, his stance relaxed but ready, eyes darting around, scanning every corner of the dimly lit space. Price remained near the door, every muscle in his body coiled, his ears tuned to the silence that enveloped them. Next to him, Ghost was unmoving, a pillar in the dim, dusty corridor.

Suddenly, a sound shattered the quiet—a sharp metallic clang, echoing from somewhere deeper within the building, far off but loud enough to make them all freeze. It wasn't the wind. It wasn't the outpost settling. It was movement, unmistakable, a sign of someone or something where it shouldn't be.

Price’s heart skipped a beat, his senses heightening, the tension snapping back into place. He turned towards Ghost, and there it was again—that moment of connection, the silent question passing between them. Ghost’s gaze shifted to meet Price’s, the eyes behind the mask narrowed slightly.

Price spoke quietly, just a whisper. “Hold position.”

He moved closer to Ghost, pressing his shoulder lightly against Ghost's for just a moment—a fleeting contact, but enough to remind them both they were in this together, side by side. Ghost gave an almost imperceptible nod. It was a reassurance, a tether in the darkness that bound them to each other, a way to say, “I’ve got your back”—without the need for words. It was how they’d always operated, their own language carved out of moments like this. Price could feel the air shift, Ghost's breathing quickening just slightly before steadying, their silent understanding unbroken. Ghost gave a short nod before his focus returned to the corridor.

Ghost motioned to Soap, signalling him to take up a defensive stance while Gaz finished extracting the intel. Soap's usual cocky demeanour was subdued now, the smirk replaced with a firm line as he crouched beside the doorway, his weapon raised. In the low light, Price could see Soap's jaw clench, his eyes darting over the shadows with an intensity that betrayed just how much he cared—how much this mattered. Despite Soap’s easy-going exterior, his heart was always in this, and Price never questioned his loyalty. Soap was like a brother who covered his worries with humour, but right now, he was all focus and steel.

The moments stretched out, each second heavy as Gaz kept working, the quiet tension settling in around them like a vice. Price could hear the slight tapping as Gaz typed, the soft breaths from Soap just behind him, and the barely audible shift of Ghost’s weight as he scanned the hallway. The echoes of the metallic clang hung in the air, warning them all of the approaching danger.

Finally, Gaz spoke, his voice low, words clipped. “Almost got it, Captain.” His eyes darted to Price, and there was a certainty there, despite the underlying urgency. He wasn’t panicking. He wasn’t rushing. He knew what was at stake, and he was doing his job.

Price gave a nod, not breaking eye contact with Ghost as he shifted to cover Gaz’s flank. He could sense that Ghost’s focus was locked—completely absorbed yet attuned to Price's movements. The way Ghost moved, the way his presence never wavered, felt like an anchor—Price knew that if everything went to hell, Ghost would be there, an unmovable force that wouldn't stop until they were all safe.

A rustle. Footsteps. They were drawing closer—multiple individuals, based on the rhythm, the overlap of movement. Price's heart sank. Their presence wasn't undetected anymore; the outpost had been disturbed, and now they were going to have company.

“Wrap it up, Sergeant,” Price whispered sharply, his voice just loud enough for Gaz to catch. There wasn’t time left—whatever data they could gather in the next few moments would have to be enough. Ghost caught Price’s eye, the barely perceptible tension there, an unspoken acknowledgment that time was running short.

Soap's voice crackled through the comms, his tone sharp and barely hiding the nerves. “Cap, we’ve got incoming. You can hear them moving, yeah?”

Price nodded, although Soap couldn’t see it, and glanced at Ghost. Ghost had already turned his head towards the hallway entrance, every line of his body tense, his hand tightening around his weapon. There was something almost predatory about him—focused, deliberate, and so unyielding that Price felt a mix of awe and reassurance.

“Soap, Gaz—fall back towards the rear entry,” Price ordered, his voice even but laced with urgency. He turned his head slightly to Ghost. “You take them, Ghost. Get them out. I’ll hold them off.”

Ghost’s head snapped towards him, a flash of emotion crossing his eyes behind the mask. Price could see the protest there, could feel it almost radiate off Ghost, but there was no time. “Move, Lieutenant. That’s an order,” Price said, his voice low but unyielding.

Ghost hesitated, his body rigid. Then, after a moment, he nodded, a tight, almost painful motion. “Copy that.” He turned sharply, gripping Gaz’s arm and pulling him towards the exit. Soap followed, but not before giving Price one last look—a mix of fear and trust.

Price watched them go, the weight of the decision settling on his chest. It was the hardest part of leadership—sending them away when every fibre in his being wanted to stay together, to protect them himself. He turned back towards the direction of the approaching voices, his rifle raised. He could hear the footsteps getting louder, the clatter of equipment as the enemy drew nearer. He moved into position, ready to draw their attention, ready to give his team the time they needed.

But just as he steadied himself, there was a sudden, deafening explosion—a blast that reverberated through the narrow corridor, shaking the very foundation of the outpost. The force threw Price off his feet, the world spinning as he was tossed against the wall. He felt the impact—sharp, jarring—as his shoulder slammed into the concrete, a lightning bolt of pain shooting through his body. The wind was knocked out of him, and his head snapped back, leaving him disoriented. Then the ground gave way beneath him.

It happened in an instant, yet time seemed to stretch as the floor crumbled beneath him. The feeling of free fall—a sensation Price had never liked—gripped his gut, the abyss below swallowing him as the air rushed past, his body weightless for a breathless second. Price fell, the floor collapsing in a cascade of rubble and dust. It felt like an eternity, a slow-motion nightmare as he plummeted downwards, the chaos around him blurring. He hit the bottom hard, his body battered by chunks of concrete and metal, the sharp edges digging into his back and sides. The impact drove what little breath he had left from his lungs, leaving him gasping in the dark.

There was no sense of direction, no up or down—only weight, pressing in from every side, suffocating, relentless. The darkness swallowed him whole, the weight of the debris pressing down like a vice, the air knocked from his lungs and refusing to return. He tried to move, to shift the heavy slabs pinning his legs and torso, but his limbs were trapped, his head spinning, his ears ringing from the blast.

The world was a heavy, suffocating blackness. Price's chest ached as he struggled to draw in even a sliver of air, the pressure of the rubble constricting his ribs until every shallow breath felt like fire. His lungs burned, each attempt to breathe feeling like inhaling shards of glass, the dust clinging to his throat, making it hard to swallow, hard to think. He blinked against the dark, his vision struggling to adjust, but there was nothing to see—just the void, the grit in his eyes, and the crushing silence that wrapped around him like a shroud.

Pain radiated from his side where something heavy had landed, the pressure relentless, digging into his ribs, and he could feel something wet—blood, trickling slowly, sticky and hot against his skin. His body was pinned, constrained by the debris, his muscles screaming with each tiny movement, and he could feel the raw edges of metal and concrete cutting into his skin, every breath a painful reminder of just how bad this was. His legs were twisted beneath him, one of his ankles trapped at an awkward angle that sent waves of agony up his leg with every slight shift.

He was aware of the silence in a way that felt all-consuming, as if even sound had abandoned him. The voices of his team, the comforting rhythm of their breathing, the sound of their steps—all of it was gone, leaving him with nothing but the raw, unforgiving emptiness. His instinct was to move, to fight, but he knew better. Panic was the worst enemy now—not the insurgents above, not the darkness that seemed to press in from all sides, but the panic that clawed at the edges of his mind, threatening to unravel what little control he had left. He had to keep his breathing steady—slow, deliberate inhales to conserve what little air there was. Each breath was shallow, his ribs protesting, but he forced it—forced himself to inhale through the dust clogging his throat, forced himself to hold on to the rhythm.

He focused on what was real—on the ache of his ribs, the throb in his head, the rough scrape of the debris against his skin. Those sensations, painful as they were, were proof that he was still here. Proof that he could keep fighting. He closed his eyes, focusing on the one thing he could control: his thoughts. He needed to stay calm, needed to keep his mind clear. If he panicked now, he was done. The weight on his chest would crush him, the lack of air would strangle him. He fought to push away the pain, to push away the fear.

Calm down, John. Keep your head. He repeated it to himself, each word a lifeline, something to hold on to, his voice barely more than a rasp in the confined darkness. He could feel the roughness of the earth against his fingertips as he shifted his hands slightly, trying to gauge the space around him. His left arm was free enough to move, though every motion sent fresh spikes of pain shooting through his shoulder, but his right arm was pinned beneath a heavy slab of concrete. He clenched his left fist, felt the grit of the dirt in his palm—grounding himself in the physical sensation, using it to ward off the rising sense of suffocation, to keep himself from slipping into the abyss of panic.

---

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were further down the corridor when the explosion tore through the outpost. The sound was deafening, a bone-shaking roar that sent them all reeling, the shockwave ripping through their bodies. Dust and debris filled the air, and for a moment, there was nothing but chaos—the world reduced to a blur of sound and movement, the concrete shuddering beneath them as if the earth itself had shifted.

Soap hit the ground, instinctively rolling to his side, his heart pounding in his ears. The noise of the blast was disorienting, a throbbing pulse that seemed to echo through his entire body. Gaz braced himself against the wall, his face twisted in shock. Ghost, the furthest forward, staggered but managed to stay upright, his eyes wide beneath his mask. The ringing in his ears was almost unbearable, a high-pitched wail that drowned out everything else. He blinked, his eyes stinging with the swirling dust, and tried to get his bearings.

“Price!” Soap’s voice cracked through the haze, panicked and raw, as he pulled himself to his feet. He stumbled forward, his eyes desperately searching through the cloud of debris that now filled the corridor. “Bloody hell—Price!”

Gaz was already moving, his face ashen beneath the grime, his hand on his comms as he tried to cut through the static. “Price, it’s Gaz—come in. Say something.” His voice wavered, the fear slipping through despite his best effort to keep it steady. It felt as though the air had thickened around them, the dust clouding not just their vision but their hope, making everything harder—every movement, every word.

But it was Ghost who seemed the most affected. For a moment, he stood frozen, staring at the place where Price had been only seconds before. The ground where his captain had stood was now a churning mass of shattered concrete and twisted steel—a void where Price had once been, a space that seemed to echo with his absence. The corridor had collapsed, a chaotic mass of twisted metal, concrete, and dust. It felt as though the world had swallowed Price whole, and with him, something in Ghost's chest seemed to collapse too. A cold, visceral dread gripped him, dragging him back to memories he'd long buried—memories of darkness, suffocation, betrayal. Memories that twisted with the present and turned his fear into something almost paralyzing.

But this wasn’t him. It wasn’t him in the dark this time—it was Price. The man who had pulled him back from the brink time and time again, who had been there through every nightmare, every moment when the world seemed to close in on him. Price—the one who had somehow always known what Ghost needed before even he did, the one who had never flinched at the fractures Ghost had tried to hide. The man who had given him a reason to keep going when everything else had fallen apart. Price was somewhere beneath all of that—alone, suffocating.

“Price…” The word slipped out, unbidden, a whisper lost in the chaos around them. Ghost clenched his jaw, forced the thoughts down, forced himself to move. He couldn’t afford to freeze. Not now. Not for Price.

He dropped to his knees beside Soap and Gaz, his voice breaking through the stunned silence, low and forceful. “He’s alive. We get him out. Now.” His voice was more a growl, a declaration against reality—against fate itself. It wasn’t a plea—it was a command, a refusal to consider any other possibility. He reached down, began pulling away rubble, his gloved hands trembling slightly as they moved over the sharp edges of concrete. He ignored the pain, ignored the way his hands ached beneath the gloves, the way his fingers bled from the jagged edges. None of it mattered.

Soap's breath came in ragged gasps as he tore at the debris, his eyes wide and frantic. The dust was so thick it felt like he was breathing in sand, each inhale scraping against his lungs, but he didn’t care. The sweat mixed with the dirt smeared across his skin. His fingers were raw, torn and bleeding, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. He glanced up at Ghost, just once, seeing the determination, the near-manic drive in his movements. Ghost’s eyes were hollow, his face set in a mask of focus, but Soap could see the fear there—the fear and something else, something deeper that he couldn’t quite put into words.

Ghost’s movements were relentless. He worked with an almost inhuman determination, his muscles straining, his hands shaking, but he didn’t slow down. He couldn’t. He remembered the darkness closing in, remembered the dirt pressing in from all sides, remembered the feeling of being buried alive—of clawing his way out. He remembered the betrayal, the way the earth had swallowed him, and the way he’d fought against it, alone. But now, it wasn't just about the past—it wasn't just about his own memories. It was about Price. He couldn’t let Price feel that. Not for a second longer than necessary.

“Ghost, easy,” Gaz’s voice broke through the frantic noise, his hand steadying a metal beam that Ghost had almost yanked free. “We can’t risk bringing more of this down on him.” Gaz’s eyes were wide—fearful, but focused. He was watching Ghost closely, concern evident in his gaze.

For a heartbeat, Ghost didn’t seem to hear him. His breath was ragged, his vision tunnelling on the rubble, on the desperate need to move, to do something. Then, for a moment, Ghost paused, his chest heaving, his eyes locking with Gaz’s. The fear in Gaz’s eyes mirrored his own, and for that split second, Ghost saw it—saw the reality of how close they were to making everything worse. He swallowed hard, meeting Gaz’s eyes for just a heartbeat before nodding, a short, sharp movement. He forced himself to be more careful, more measured, but his hands didn’t stop, his drive undiminished.

“Steady, Simon,” Price’s voice echoed in his memory—an old moment, a different mission, but the tone was the same. That steady reassurance, that grounding presence. Price had always been the one to steady him when the world seemed too loud, too chaotic, too broken. Ghost clenched his jaw, channelling that memory, forcing himself to focus.

“Come on, Cap,” Soap’s voice broke the silence that followed, strained but filled with determination. “Don’t you dare give up on us.” He was talking to keep himself moving, to push away the dread that threatened to take over. His hands ached, his knuckles raw, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t.

“That’s it, lads,” Ghost murmured, his voice hoarse. “We keep at it.” There was a desperation to his words, a plea hidden beneath the steel of his tone. He knew what it meant to lose hope. He wouldn't let them—couldn't let them. Not now, not when Price was still somewhere beneath the debris.

Deep beneath the debris, Price fought to stay conscious. The weight on his chest was crushing, each shallow breath a battle against the pressure that threatened to suffocate him. He was slipping, the darkness pulling at him, the cold seeping into his bones, making it harder and harder to keep his thoughts straight. He needed to focus—he needed to keep his mind clear, but it was so damn hard. He could feel the jagged edge of his radio, barely within reach. It had taken everything to get his thumb on the button, and even now, his vision was blurring, his strength waning. His body screamed at him to give in, to close his eyes and let the darkness swallow him, but he couldn’t. Not yet.

“Soap… Gaz… come in,” Price managed, his voice strained, barely a rasp. His throat burned from the dust, every word feeling like a battle. He forced his eyes to stay open, the darkness pressing in from every side, his head pounding. He needed them to know—needed them to know he was still here.

For a long moment, there was nothing—just static filling his ears, the silence almost unbearable. Then, finally, Soap's voice crackled through the noise, faint but unmistakably there.

“Price? We’re working on getting to you. How are you holding up?”

Price exhaled, a strained smile tugging at his lips despite the pain. “Don’t… worry about me, Sergeant,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even, though it cracked with each word. “How’s… Ghost?”

There was a pause, Soap's confusion almost tangible in the silence. When he responded, his voice was softer, almost cautious. “Price, he’s here—he’s fine. But we’re getting you out first, yeah?”

There was a long silence as Price closed his eyes, a shaky exhale escaping him. Relief washed over him, mingling with the pain. “Ghost... alright…” It was all that mattered. If Ghost was okay, they still had a chance. He just needed to hold on a bit longer. His thumb slipped from the button, the radio falling from his grasp once more, lost in the rubble. He let his head rest back against the broken concrete, his eyes drifting shut. He had done what he could—he just had to hold on a bit longer.

Above, the sound of Price’s voice through the radio was like a jolt—a shock of hope that electrified them all. Ghost’s eyes widened beneath the mask, his hand freezing for just an instant. Price’s voice, weak but alive. It was there, a tether that yanked Ghost back from the edge.

Ghost’s hands moved faster, more precise, his jaw clenched so tightly that pain radiated up his temples. He could hear Price’s voice echoing in his head, that one question repeating—“How’s Ghost?” It made no sense, but somehow, it was everything. The question cut through the debris, through the fear and the chaos, and it was like a lifeline—Price, buried, struggling to breathe, still thinking about him. The absurdity of it, the selflessness, made Ghost want to yell and laugh at the same time.

Ghost felt something loosen in his chest—something tight, knotted with fear. Price was still there, still fighting, and it gave him the strength to push harder, to keep moving. He would tear through every inch of this place until Price was free.

Soap worked beside him, his expression hardening, his movements becoming almost mechanical. His fingers bled, the sharp edges of the debris slicing into his skin, but he barely felt it. All he could think about was Price, and Ghost’s voice—cold and unyielding—saying, "He’s alive. We get him out." Soap’s hands moved faster, his heart hammering as he whispered to himself, “We’re coming for you, Cap. Hold on.”

They worked together, Soap and Gaz moving beside Ghost, each of them shifting the rubble with an urgency that bordered on desperation. The moments stretched, and the dust clogged their throats, but they kept going, driven by a determination that felt almost feral. Each piece of debris they pulled away brought them closer—closer to Price, closer to the one thing that mattered in that moment.

Finally, Ghost’s hand brushed against something—an arm, bruised and covered in grime. His breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding as he reached further, his fingers finding Price’s wrist, feeling the faint, steady pulse beneath the dirt and grit.

“Price!” Ghost called, louder this time, his voice cracking. He gripped Price’s wrist, his own hands trembling. “Hold on, we’re right here.”

Gaz and Soap were there in an instant, their hands working faster, their hearts in their throats. Together, they cleared the rest of the rubble, the dust thick in the air, their breaths coming in short gasps, but they didn’t stop. They wouldn’t stop until Price was out.

The relief was almost tangible when Price's face came into view—dust-covered, bruised, but unmistakably alive. Ghost’s breath caught, his chest tightening with a mixture of emotions that threatened to spill over. Relief, fear, and something else, something so deep it hurt. When they finally pulled Price free, Ghost stayed close, his hand never leaving Price’s arm, his eyes scanning Price’s face, searching for any sign—any flicker of recognition. Price’s eyes opened, barely, his gaze unfocused, but there. He looked at Ghost, and for a moment, there was something unspoken between them—something raw and powerful, something neither of them could name.

“Told you…” Price’s voice was barely a whisper, his lips cracked, his smile faint. “Not… going anywhere.”

Ghost’s chest tightened, a shuddering breath escaping him. He leaned closer, his voice low, almost a growl, thick with emotion despite not understanding where Price was coming from. “You better not, Price. You’re not allowed to.” The words were harsh, but the grip on Price’s arm, the way Ghost’s fingers trembled, betrayed something else.

Soap and Gaz moved in, their hands gentle as they helped lift Price, careful not to jostle him too much. They supported him, taking his weight as they began to move, and Ghost stayed beside him, his hand still on Price’s shoulder, his presence constant. There was something there—something fragile and precious, something that could break if either of them dared to speak it aloud.

As they moved, Ghost felt Price’s head slump against his shoulder, felt the warmth of his breath against his neck, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to feel it—the fear, the relief, the confusion, and that undefinable thing that twisted in his chest whenever Price was nearby. There were no words for it, no place for it in the middle of a war zone, but it was there all the same, a connection that felt deeper than anything Ghost had ever allowed himself to feel before. He wasn’t sure what it was, didn’t know if he even wanted to know. But he knew one thing: he wasn’t letting go. Not now. Not ever.

The roar of the chopper's blades filled the air, sand and dust swirling in chaotic spirals around them. The evac helicopter hovered nearby, its engines a deafening roar, ready to take off the moment Price was secure. Medics moved with practiced precision, lifting Price onto the stretcher, their voices clipped and focused as they assessed his injuries. They communicated in short bursts, almost drowned out by the sound of the rotors, their hands moving quickly but carefully over Price's battered form. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz stood by their eyes never straying far from their captain. Each of them, despite the chaos around them, seemed unwilling to let Price out of their sight for even a second.

Ghost’s gaze was fixed on Price, his eyes tracing the shallow rise and fall of Price's chest, watching each grimace of pain that flickered across his face. He took a step back, giving the medics the space they needed, but he stayed close—close enough to see the way Price’s fingers twitched, his body struggling against the exhaustion that wanted to drag him under. Ghost’s heart pounded, his breath coming in shallow bursts that he couldn’t quite control. The fear was still there, an echo of what he’d felt when Price had been buried beneath the rubble. The panic had been sharp, cold, and unrelenting, and even now, the relief hadn’t fully settled. His hands still shook, the adrenaline not yet drained, and the vulnerability that twisted inside him made him feel raw and unsteady.

Price turned his head slightly, his eyes half-open, searching the faces around him until they settled on Ghost. His lips moved; a whisper almost lost in the roar of the rotor blades. Ghost leaned closer, trying to catch the words, but the noise swallowed them whole, leaving only the faintest impression of what Price was trying to say. Still, Ghost could see it—could see the way Price's lips formed the familiar words.

It'll be okay.

Ghost’s chest tightened, his throat thickening with the weight of emotions he couldn’t express—not here, not now, maybe not ever. Price, even now—especially now—was thinking of him, urging him forward, refusing to give in. It was always like that. Ghost didn’t have the words to explain what that meant, how deeply it struck him, how it twisted something inside his chest in a way that was almost painful. He nodded, his gloved hand brushing against the edge of the stretcher for just a moment before he withdrew, the smallest of touches that was as much for himself as it was for Price—a promise, a reassurance.

Ghost leaned closer, his voice a low murmur that only Price could hear, the words slipping out before he could think better of them. “Just rest, John. We’ve got you.” There was a steadiness in his tone that belied the storm that raged beneath it, a calm that was almost practiced. He needed Price to hear it, needed Price to believe it—because if Price could believe it, then maybe Ghost could too.

There was a faint twitch of a smile on Price's lips, his eyes closing in exhaustion, and Ghost pulled back, letting the medics finish their work. Soap and Gaz exchanged a look, standing a few steps away from the stretcher, their eyes softening as they watched the exchange. There was something in their gazes—respect, concern, a deeper understanding of the bond between Ghost and Price that neither of them had truly understood until now. They didn’t say anything, but there was something in their expressions—something that spoke of understanding, of recognition. They saw it, even if they didn’t fully understand it. There was something between Ghost and Price, something unspoken that went beyond the mission, beyond the ranks and the orders. It wasn’t something they would ask about now, not with the adrenaline still rushing and the dust barely settled, but they saw it. They understood, at least in part.

The medics signalled they were ready, lifting the stretcher with practiced care, moving towards the chopper. Ghost stepped back again, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He watched every movement, his eyes never leaving Price, the knot in his chest tightening with each step they took away from him. He could feel Soap's hand on his shoulder, a small, grounding gesture of reassurance. He turned his head slightly, meeting Soap’s eyes, and Soap gave him a nod—a silent promise that Price would be looked after.

“Come on, Ghost,” Soap said, his voice low, cutting through the noise. There was a gentleness to his voice that Ghost wasn't used to, a kind of recognition of what Ghost had been through, a rare vulnerability between them. “We’ve done our part. Let’s get him home.”

Ghost swallowed, his eyes drifting back to Price for a moment before he finally nodded. He took a step towards the chopper, Soap’s hand still on his shoulder, guiding him forward. He could still see Price, strapped down, his eyes finally closing as exhaustion took over, and even then, there was a calmness in Price’s expression—a trust that Ghost found both comforting and terrifying in its depth. It was a trust that Ghost wasn’t sure he deserved, but he would do everything in his power to be worthy of it.

They climbed into the chopper, Ghost settling across from where Price was laid. The interior of the helicopter was cramped, filled with the noise of machinery, but it felt almost like a cocoon—a temporary barrier from the outside world, a chance to catch their breath. He watched as the medics continued their work, adjusting IVs, checking his vitals, their hands moving quickly but carefully. The sound of the rotors filled the cabin, a steady, rhythmic beat that seemed to match the pounding of Ghost’s heart. He kept his gaze steady, his eyes rarely straying from Price’s face. The journey back would be long, but it didn’t matter. They had Price. He was safe. They had all held on, and that was what mattered.

Ghost leaned back slightly, his body finally allowing itself to feel the exhaustion that had been threatening to take over since the moment they’d pulled Price from the rubble. His shoulders sagged, the tension that had wound itself so tightly in his muscles finally releasing, his eyes slipping closed just for a moment. There were still things to be said, things to face—but not now. For now, they were all still here, and that was enough.

Soap glanced over at Ghost, watching as he finally seemed to relax, even if only for a moment. He exchanged a look with Gaz, both of them understanding the weight that Ghost had carried, the fear that had gripped him. They’d seen Ghost as an unshakeable force for so long that to see him like this—raw, vulnerable—was both startling and deeply humanizing. They didn’t need to say anything—words weren’t necessary. The understanding was enough. They’d all seen it, the way Ghost had refused to let go, the way he’d fought against the rubble with a desperation that went beyond duty.

As the chopper lifted off, the ground falling away beneath them, Soap let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He reached over, giving Ghost’s knee a light tap, just enough to get his attention. Ghost opened his eyes, looking over at him, and Soap gave him a small, lopsided grin.

“We did it, Ghost. We’re taking him home.”

Ghost nodded, his gaze drifting back to Price. The trust in Price’s expression was still there, even in sleep, and Ghost let himself believe, just for a moment, that everything was going to be all right. He leaned back again, his eyes closing once more, and allowed himself to rest. The exhaustion was a heavy blanket that pulled at him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself surrender to it. They were all still here. Price was still here. And for Ghost, that was enough.

---

The medical tent was dimly lit, a warm light casting long shadows across the canvas walls. The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor and the low murmur of the medics filled the otherwise quiet space. Price lay on a cot, his eyes half-open as medics checked the bruising along his ribs and replaced his IV. Every now and then, Price winced, a pained hiss escaping through gritted teeth, but he kept his gaze steady, focused across the room.

Ghost was beside him, seated in a chair, his body slouched slightly forward, arms crossed over his chest. His mask was off—an extremely rare sight, but exhaustion had clearly won over caution. His face was mostly hidden, his head resting against his shoulder, his hair falling messily across his forehead. Price’s hand rested gently in Ghost’s hair, his fingers absently brushing through the strands, the touch gentle, almost protective. It was a motion without thought, almost instinctual, as if Price was grounding himself with each slow stroke of Ghost’s hair.

Soap and Gaz stood a few steps away, their voices hushed as they exchanged quiet words. Soap nodded towards Ghost, a small, relieved smile tugging at his lips.

“Would you look at that?” he whispered, nudging Gaz with his elbow. “Man’s finally asleep. It’s about bloody time.”

Gaz glanced over, his expression softening as he looked at Ghost, the tension in his own shoulders easing. “Yeah,” he murmured. “After the way he was earlier… it’s good to see him getting some rest.”

Soap let out a quiet sigh of agreement, his gaze shifting from Ghost to Price. He hesitated for a moment, his brows furrowed, before he finally spoke up, his voice carrying just enough for Price to hear. “Cap… back there—you kept asking after him. We nearly lost you, and yet you were worried about Ghost. What’s really going on?” There was no judgment in his voice—just curiosity, laced with concern.

Price’s hand stilled in Ghost’s hair, and for a moment, he looked at Soap, a flicker of something—guilt, or perhaps a reluctance—crossing his expression. He withdrew his hand carefully, letting it rest against the edge of the cot. He turned his head slowly, his eyes locking onto Soap’s. “It’s... complicated, Soap,” he said, his voice rough, each word careful. He didn’t want to get into this now, not with Ghost finally getting some rest. “Just... old history,” he added, his gaze softening as he glanced at Ghost, a hint of protectiveness in his expression.

Gaz stepped closer, his expression filled with concern. “Captain, it seemed like more than just history. You weren’t asking about yourself—you were worried about him. We just want to understand.”

Before Price could answer, there was a low noise—Ghost stirring. He lifted his head, blinking as if fighting off the lingering effects of exhaustion. Price opened his mouth to say something—his voice soft, almost pleading. “You don’t have to, Simon. You don’t have to share it, not now.” His eyes held Ghost’s gaze, a gentle insistence, his expression protective despite his own obvious pain and exhaustion.

Ghost turned his head slightly, looking at Price, and for a moment, the tent felt impossibly small, the air heavy with unspoken words. Price was trying to shield him again, even here, even in this state. Ghost felt a mixture of irritation and gratitude—a familiar feeling when it came to Price. He met Price's eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in the barest hint of a smirk.

“They deserve to know,” Ghost said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that made Soap and Gaz both freeze. He looked at the two men standing by, his eyes serious. “I trust them, John.”

The use of his given name—soft, familiar—gave Price pause. Soap and Gaz exchanged a glance, their expressions shifting from confusion to something gentler. The fact that Ghost trusted them enough to share whatever this was carried a significance that wasn’t lost on either of them.

“I was buried alive.”

Ghost’s voice was gravelly, laced with exhaustion and emotion, and his head lifted slightly, his eyes opening just enough to look at them. Soap and Gaz both stared, taken aback—not only because Ghost had been awake but also because he had chosen to speak. There was a rawness to his tone, an edge that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him. It was as though the words had been pulled out of him by force, something too heavy to keep carrying alone.

Ghost shifted in his seat, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward slightly, his gaze distant, focused on some memory only he could see. He drew in a breath, his gaze flickering over to Price, who watched him with a mixture of concern and something else—something protective. Price gave a small shake of his head, his voice low, a whisper meant only for Ghost.

“You don’t have to share, Simon. Not if you don’t want to.”

Ghost hesitated, his gaze softening for a split second. He could see Price’s exhaustion, the bruises lining his ribs, the wince he tried to hide as he shifted. And yet, even now, Price was trying to shield him, to protect him. It made something inside Ghost twist—something that was part gratitude, part frustration.

“They deserve to know,” Ghost replied, his voice firm but quiet. He looked back at Soap and Gaz, and this time, there was something else in his eyes—trust, raw and unapologetic. “I trust them, John.”

Price’s eyes held his for a moment longer before he nodded, the tension in his face easing, though his eyes stayed wary.

Ghost took a deep breath, the air seeming to thicken around them as he prepared himself to speak. “They put me in a coffin,” he began, his voice flat, almost hollow. “With the body of the man who betrayed us. Vernon. They buried us alive—together. No light, no air. Just the weight of the earth and the stench of death.” He paused, a shudder running through him. His fingers twitched slightly as he spoke, as if the memory was a physical thing he could still feel under his skin. “I got out using Vernon’s jawbone. Crawled my way up through the dirt. Every breath I took was dirt in my lungs, every inch I climbed was a fight against death.”

Soap and Gaz exchanged a wide-eyed look, neither daring to say anything. The silence in the tent was heavy, the weight of Ghost’s words settling over them all. Ghost’s eyes dropped to his hands, his fingers twitching slightly as if the memory was still there, in his muscles, his bones.

“I never told anyone,” he said, his voice quieter now, the roughness almost gone, replaced by something raw. He looked over at Price, his eyes locking with the captain’s. “But he knew. Somehow, the old sod knew.”

Price managed a faint smile, his eyes softening. He reached out, his hand resting on Ghost’s forearm, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of his sleeve, the touch gentle but grounding. “You think I'd just miss something like that?” Price murmured, his voice quiet, filled with a warmth that made Ghost look away for a moment. “Not when it’s you.”

The words hung between them, raw and open, and the vulnerability in Price’s eyes was too much—too real, and Ghost wasn’t sure he could handle it. But he didn’t move his arm away; he let Price hold on.

Ghost took a deep breath, the words coming slowly, as if they hurt to say. “That’s why, when you were down there... when you were buried... I knew what it was like. I knew what it felt like, and I couldn’t—” He stopped, his jaw tightening, his eyes closing for a moment as he tried to steady himself. “I couldn’t lose you, Price. Not like that.” His voice dropped, barely a whisper, “Not when I had a chance to do something about it this time.”

He looked back at Price, his eyes narrowing just slightly as if frustration was mixing with the fear he had been suppressing for so long. “And that’s why you kept asking about me, isn’t it?” There was a bitter edge to his voice, but also a resigned understanding. “Even when you were buried, barely breathing, you just had to be thinking about everyone else.” He paused, shaking his head, and then gave a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve always got to be the hero, haven’t you? Never think about what it does to the rest of us.”

Price’s hand tightened slightly on Ghost’s arm, his voice a bit rough around the edges but laced with something deeply affectionate. “You weren’t going to lose me, Simon. You made sure of that.” He paused, a smirk playing on his lips, despite the pain etched across his face. “But you know, you might’ve saved yourself a few grey hairs if you weren’t always so bloody focused on me.”

Ghost’s eyes narrowed, a spark of something lighter flashing there, and he shook his head, his voice coming out as a muttered grumble, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah, well... someone’s got to keep your reckless arse in check, old man.”

Price let out a low chuckle, though it quickly turned into a wince, his hand moving to his ribs. “Aye, maybe so,” he murmured, his eyes closing for a moment, the exhaustion pulling at him.

There was a beat of silence, and then Soap stepped back slightly, nudging Gaz with his elbow. He jerked his head towards the tent flap, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Come on, mate. Let’s give them a bit of privacy,” Soap whispered, glancing at the two men on the cot.

Gaz nodded, his eyes lingering on Ghost for a moment, the understanding deepening there. They didn’t need to say anything else. This wasn’t about them—not right now. This was Price and Ghost, and whatever unspoken bond they shared. They stepped out of the tent, the flap falling shut behind them, leaving the two men in the dim, flickering light of the medical tent, the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the quiet.

Price let his head rest back, his eyes closing, though his hand stayed on Ghost’s arm. The exhaustion was pulling at him, but he wasn’t ready to let go—not just yet. Ghost shifted closer, his other hand coming up to rest over Price’s, his fingers brushing lightly against the back of Price's hand. It was a rare moment of physical connection, something almost intimate in the quiet of the tent, as if he was anchoring them both to the present.

“You’re a stubborn old bastard, you know that?” Ghost murmured, his voice low, almost gentle, the words carrying a weight that spoke of something more—something that sat between the lines, undefined.

Price smiled, his eyes still closed. “Aye, and you’re a bloody handful,” Price replied, his voice fading, but his grip on Ghost's hand remained, even as the exhaustion finally took over, his breathing evening out.

Ghost stayed where he was, his hand resting over Price’s, his gaze fixed on the rise and fall of his captain’s chest. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. The quiet settled around them, the tension slowly seeping out of his body. For the first time in a long time, Ghost let himself relax, his eyes growing heavy. He kept watch over the only family he had left—an unspoken promise that whatever lay between them, he would always be there. And in that silence, with Price's hand still under his, Ghost let himself drift, the ambiguity of their bond both a comfort and a weight, one that he was willing to carry.

The tent fell into stillness, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor a gentle reminder of life, of resilience. In the shadows cast by the dim light, there was an understanding between them that words could never fully convey—a promise forged through shared pain and unyielding loyalty. And as Ghost finally allowed his eyes to close, he held onto that promise, the weight of it both a burden and a blessing. It was more than enough. It was everything.

[hobisstar]

What are you hiding from love?| Yandere!Jk x Reader V Last Part

Summary: Being in a relationship with Jungkook you’ve always noticed the signs, the red flags if you will. Being so in love with him you ignored them, until the people you loved dearly started disappearing one by one.

Warnings: Murder, Jungkook victim blaming ( like he will say i killed you because you are too stupid or whatever), Possessiveness, Mentions of Smut, Controlling, Locking up YN.

Taglist: vante 🫶🏾

A/N: This is made to be scary! That is all. I honestly dont like mixing smut with yandere because i read yandere fics to be spooked not horny lol. This has been absolutely fun to write for you guys! Im so happy how much love it had gotten over the past month since ive been writing it! I love you all so so much! Enjoy!

Its been about two years since Jungkook decided to let yn go on her own! So far, yn has become the owner of the coffee shop, has opened up plenty of them across Asia and plans to open some in The Untied States.

Life has been looking absolutely beautiful for yn! But heres the thing.

Bodies have been discovered. Fresh bodies. Of course going through what she went through with Jungkook, she feared that this was his doing. That the so called hobby has now reached the news channels. Though it says that the crimes has been in only England, it was still capability of it being Jungkook.

“Yn! Are you even listening? Im telling you Namjoon wants to take you on a date!” Joy, yns now close friend that she has gained from opening the coffee shops.

“Sorry, but i dont think im ready to date. The last guy was for 5 years and it didn’t turn out well in the end.” Yn mumbled looking over at the tv that was on the crime scene of the killings.

But what was showed, made yns blood run cold.

What was at the crime scene was dandelions.

The flowers that Jungkook always used to gift her on days he felt like we did something wrong. He would cut the steam off and just leave the flowers to never be able to grow again.

Was he…back?

It was closing time and of course yn being the owner, she decided that it was her duty to close every single night.

But tonight, she couldnt shake the feeling that she was being watched.

As everyone was leaving she saw a guy with a big hoodie on taking his time to clean up his mess on the table. Putting his crumbs inside a napkin then taking the napkin and closing it tightly then throwing it out.

yn watched from behind the counter taking containers from the counter and putting them on the shelf behind her.

This mysterious guy has been coming in everyday. Same time. She never serves him but she knows Joy does and she hates serving him. ‘His glare, it can kill.’ She would say when describing the eyes of this mysterious man.

While cleaning she saw the guy get up and come up to the counter.

Face mask on and glasses… sun glasses.

Its night time.

Maybe it was a fashion statement. Thats what yn left it as. “ Hi sorry we are about to close soon so im gonna have to ask you to leave..” is what she was aiming to say but once she turned around she saw he just left a napkin with hand writing on it.

She grabbed it and began to read it:

“Hi baby! Oh its been such a long time, oh how i miss you. Our child also misses you. 2 years right? That is let you go? Ah, I remember something. Today is our anniversary! Our now 7 year anniversary. Im picking you up at 11! Be ready!

JJK,”

Yn was at this point shaking. Fear took over her body but was trying to hide it. She wasnt doing such a good job at that. As much as she wanted to call the cops, get him arrested, she knew that those cops had no chance in trying to get Jungkook.

Hed kill them all in the blink of an if he even knew that they talked to yn.

When yn got home she didnt let the fact go that when she got there she obviously saw Jungkooks car right outside her town house.

Mind you this is the 5th time this year she has moved. None of the reasons dealing with Kook but they definitely where personal reasons.

She braced herself, once she goes inside her home, Jungkook will be inside.

She could call the cops and run away from home then go to Jins house.

Actually now that Yn thought about it, what if Jin had something to do with it? He was always to calm for her liking honestly. Why was he always just so calm with him? I mean he explained it yes, hes seen it for so many years but why didnt he at least call the cops? Then again was the cops really gonna help him?

Entering the home, it felt like deja vu. Coming home on anniversary and Jungkook was cooking their favorite shared dish.

Spaghetti! Yn liked it because it was delicious and Jungkook probably like it because it reminded him of blood.

“My love! You are right on time! The Spaghetti is hot and ready to be platted. Get comfortable and come eat”

He didn’t need to turn around for yn to know that it was actually him. He colored his tattoos, became more swoll and also cut his long hair.

Yn didnt change anything or didnt get comfortable since this was all just too much for her.

‘Keep calm and go with his plan, yn.’ Thats all she kept telling herself.

Though what was his plan? Drug her? Kill her?

Well, none of those. He wanted her back. If that meant living in this house with her, then so be it. Jin had Bam so, they’d have plenty of time together.

Finally he sat down with two plates of spaghetti and there he was in all his glory.

He had the cockiest smirk while toying with his now new lip ring before sitting down across from yn.

“ Fucking finally, i have you again.”

[nameless-ghoul-trash]

Papa emeritus IV X Ghoul!Mom!F!Reader (Part 1)

Ghouls age different than humans. (Y/N) was a perfect example of this fact. Through her many years in the abbey, she was unchanging, compared to her human counterparts. Keeping almost the same unearthly grace and beauty she had the day they were summoned. She has seen so many faces come and go as she remained to same in appearance.

The quintessence ghoul had been around the abbey for as long as anyone could remember. Summoned nearly 7 generations of Papa's ago, by Papa Nihals grandfather. Before even the ghost project ghouls.

Due to this (Y/N) grew to hold humans, and even ghouls, at arms length. Leaving her private life her own. She was also known to rarely take lovers, if any at all. Tired of grieving the losses of companions throughout her time as a part of the ministry. This never stopped her from being kind, though. She took care of everyone around her. Making sure everyone is fed, clean, happy, and healthy. She had earned the nickname "Ma" and "Mama Ghoul" because of her motherly nature. Little does anyone know she is just that, a mom. A mom who misses her kit.

-

2.7k words

Lightly proof read.

Warning: sodo being a softy?, Cussing

Part 2

-

You looked around the common area, making a mental checklist of the tasks that needed to be done. Placing your headphones in, you quickly got to work cleaning the areas. You were charged with keeping the ghoul dens clean, tidy, and stocked. It was just one of the many chores you completed daily. While most of the ghouls were out doing their own things, you would care for the dens. Ensuring everyone had a nice place to come to by the end of the day. The dens span over the east wing of the abbey. The different eras of the ghost project having their own spaces and one large den for the rest of the ghouls in the abbey. That's where your room was. You were currently in the den for the Imprea era ghouls. This one being made up of 12 bed rooms, only 8 of which were occupied, a common area, and a small but comfortable kitchen. It is the last ghoul den that needed done for the day.

   You make your way around gathering the different "nesting" materials laying in various areas of the room. Folding the blankets, you hang all of them one by one on the blanket ladders. You fallow by placing the pillows in their respective spots and putting the random articles of clothing stung about in the hamper. Wiping down and dusting the needed surfaces, you finish by vacuuming and taking out the trash. Doing a once over of the space, you deem it good enough. Pulling out your headphones, you look over to the clock on the wall. Quarter till noon. Almost lunch time. Turning off all the lights, you make your out into the hall. You would be back later that night. It was your turn to clean up after supper.

Making your way to the dining hall in the larger ghouls den, you grab a light lunch and make your way toward the emptiest table available. You prefer to eat in the ghouls den over the regular dining hall, like most ghouls. Avoiding the crowds and loudness that comes with dining with all the siblings of sin. You avoided them whenever possible. Hearing heavy footsteps approaching, you turn slightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a very unpleased looking Sodo making his way towards you. His tail thrashed behind him violently. Reaching the table, he pulls out his chair and throws himself in it, arms crossed, looking straight ahead. If his body language didn't signale that he was pissed, the heat rolling off his body in waves sure did. Blinking at him, you note the ghoulettes, swiss and rain take a seat further down to long table beside Sodo. You also take notice of the absence of two other ghouls that were typically with the group. Turning your attention back to Sodo, you search for an explanation. "Hey, what wrong?"  You asked Sodo softy. He looked over to you and seemed ready to explode. "They pulled Aether from the upcoming tour. Ma, the fuck are we supposed to do?" His out burst startled you slightly but you were quick to recover. Sodo retracted into himself trying not to let grief and anger over take him. Casting a glance at the others they seem to be in a similar states of distress. Grabbing onto Sodo, you drug him into a standing position with little to no protest. Nodding for the others to fallow you, you leave your lunch abandoned on the table. Leading them all to you room to avoid unwanted attention. "Where is Aether and Mountain?" You asked, opening your door to let everyone in. "Aether is still with Copia and Sister Imperator. Mountain is probably in the garden. He split off after we left practice."  Swiss answered. The taller ghoul did not come to you in search of comfort as often as the others did. You never pushed him to either. He would when he needed it.

    Sitting down on the ground in a circle, you had Cumulus to your left and Sodo to your right. Opening the arms, you let him lean into you. You had always had a soft spot for him. He reminded you of your kit in ways. High energy and a quick tongue. Then again, Rain and him shared similar traits to. You had not seen him in so long. 

   "Okay, tell me what happened." You throw out. Everyone started talking at once, overlapping each others words. "Hey! Okay, one at a time!" You called out. "We were in practice. Everything was fine, but Sister Imperator came in and announced the need for a band meeting." Rain answered first, Cirrus picking up where he left off. "Going on about pulling Aether and summoning a replacement. Blah, blah, blah. We don't need a replacement! Aether is just fine!" She throws her hands up, tail thuding on the floor. "Did Papa know? Was he part of the decision?" You pushed. "I don't think so. He was pretty upset, too."  It was Cumulus' turn to answer. The thought pained you a little. You had met Copia in his early twenties, but only getting to learn who he was as a person when he had become Cardinal. He was awkward but had always been kind and did not ask for a lot. He never treated you any different than he did any human. Occasionally, you would run into each other in the garden or in the halls, and he would always take the time to exchange pleantries or take a short walk with you. He had also asked to help if you were working on chores every now and then. You had become quite fond of him. None of that changed even after he became Papa, though you did see him less and less.

    "He was trying to talk to Imperator with Aether when we were dismissed."  Sodo mumbles into your shoulder. "They can't take Aeth away. I don't understand." Looking down at the fire ghoul, you rubbed his back in a comforting manner. Using some of your quintessence for added affect. "Was it explained why they are replacing him?" You asked. It didn't make much sense to you why they would. Aether is one of Copia's longest standing ghouls. He was also fiercely loyal. They all were. To there Papa and to each other. Everyone stayed quiet for a moments, the tension that had slowly been dissipating started to rise once more. "Sister Imperators' only reasoning was something about the need for someone new. Possibly someone younger."  Swiss's words made your blood turned to ice, tail twitching and ears flattening back. You had heard something similar said by Sister Imperator some time ago. It ended with a certain Papa you had considered a close friend dead.

      Aether was one of the older one in the group, yes, but they had just introduced Aurora to the band in place of Sunshine for this tour. "I'm going to go talk to Papa. See if I can't figure out more of what's going on." You let a pouting Sodo sit up, getting to your feet. "You guys are free to lounge around in here if you want. I'll be back later."  You quickly made her exit, closing the door softly.

------

    Sodo looked at the ghouls around him. Ripping his mask off, he flops back with a groan. "This is turning out to be a shit day. And to top it off (Y/N)'s upset now, too."  Sodo sounded defeated. Sodo had an attachment to the older ghoul. She had always had a way of calming him and getting him to talk. Always being there to help. Burn a hole in his clothes? No problem, she'll add patches. Have a headache? She'll offer to rub your neck and temples. He had always been able to rely on her. So had all the others. "We should probably go find Mountain and see if Aether is out of the meeting yet." Rain suggested. Everyone grumbles their agreements. Collectively, they stood and made their way to the door, Sodo slipping his mask back on.

------

    You had checked the practice room first in hopes of finding Copia. No such luck. You now found your at his office door. Taking a second to breath, you reins in your thoughts. You knew getting attached to anyone would get you in unwanted situations again, but the group had weaseled their way into the spaces of your heart.

    With a sigh, you knocked on the door and waited a second for a reply. After hearing a muffled "Enter," you let yourself in. Moving into the office, it smelt heavily of burning incense. Looking around the room, you take in the different details. From the couch to your right to the little trinkets that litter one of his bookshelves on the left. (E/C) eyes finally settled on Copia at his desk. "Oh! Fiore! Please, sit! What brings you here?"  He scrambled to clean up his desk and make himself presentable. "I am far from a fragile little flower, Papa." You giggled, taking a seat in the chair placed in front of his desk, tail curling up towards your thigh. Soft eyes take him in. He looks like he'd been crying. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy, and his papal makeup smeared beyond saving. "Not all flowers are, cara, some are deadly and have a bite to them. And please! Call me Copia." He graces you with a soft smile.  "Now what brings a bel fiore, such as yourself, to me today?" Sigh softy, you lock eyes with Copia. "Your ghouls came to me about today. What's going on? They are all angry and upset." Copia's faces falls and a sadness seeps deep into his eyes. Slumping back into his chair, he takes a deep breath. "I am assuming you are talking about the Aether situation?" You nod. "Sister is using it as a form of punishment for me. I am not meeting her expectations. This is her way of telling me, "Get your act together."" He says the last part in a mocking manner. A look of shock crosses your face. "I hope she realizes that you are not the only one that she is punishing with this. The entire band will feel this. It will affect them all on an almost catastrophic level! Aether is an important part of the band." A look of desperation falls over his face. "(Y/N), fiore, I am well aware. Ma cosa devo fare? I tried. She would not budge. I realize what is at stake here, but there is only so much I can do!" They both go silent for a couple of moments. Realization settled in the pit the pit of your stomach. He truly had no control over her decisions. Copia rans his gloved hands over his face, smearing the papal paint more. "Is she sending him back to the pit?" You whispered the question.

You half yearned to go back, but afraid of what you would do if the time ever came. You had been in the abbey so long. You would leave so much behind, but what about what you had left in the pit. You were giving up something either way. "Lucifer, no! That is something I would never allow! This could just be temporary. I will figure something out. Sister plans to summon the new ghoul next friday."  9 days from now. You studied him. He looked truly exhausted. "You're going to have to go talk to them."  Copia let out a defeated sigh, "I know."  "They are devastated." "I know. I know."  "So what are you going to do?" He sat in thought at the question. He was good with the ghouls. They were his family, but this was uncharted territory for them all. "Will you help me talk to them?" He seems unsure of himself at his own question. When you didn't answer immediately, he started to ramble, neck and ears turning red. "You don't have to if you don't want to! I just figured the ghouls hold you in a high regard and that -" "I'll help." You cut him off, offering a small smile. "When do you want to do it?"  Copia visibly relaxed. He was honestly slightly surprised that you agreed. "After supper tonight? After they have eaten?" Copia suggested. You nodded. "That'll work. I have supper clean up for their den tonight." 

Copia smiled at you. "Molto bene! Then it is set! Meet at the den around 6:30?"  "That works."  Setting his hands on his desk, he is a little more cheerful.

     "Now that we have a plan, tell me,  il mio fiore, how have you been? Our little chats have grown to be few and far between. I think about you sometimes, though!" His word brings a small blush to your face. "I have been alright, I suppose. Just busy. How have you been, Copia?" 

      "I have been very busy myself. With all my duties as Papa and now the in coming tour. It's has been quite a lot to handle, but we make due. Sister is not always pleased I have found." Copia quiets at the end. "I will get everything under control, though. I just have to, emmm, figure it all out."  He says with what seems to be almost a fained confidence. Like he was trying to convince himself more than you. "You can ask for help, Copia. With all your duties and paperwork." You flick one of the many piles of paper on his desk. "You know that, right? You truly are not alone in this. I'm sure most of us would be willing to step in and help if you just ask."  Copia stilled, as if what you said surprised him. "I could never ask anyone to take on my work. Especially on top of everything you all already do." You giggle softly at him. He is so stubborn.  "Copia, I'm sure it would be fine. Hell, I'll help you get caught up every night after my chores if you need. You have a lot on your plate right now and have to prepare to welcome a new ghoul into your circle soon. That's not going to be an easy feat. I bet you could get it done in no time if you let people help." Copia took in every word.

     The man had always liked you. He had developed a small crush on you in his younger years. He never could quite get over it, but he never acted on it too much, either. The occasional flirty compliment or a small effort to go out of his way to make conversation, but nothing past that.  "I suppose you are right. I appreciate the offer, fiore. Truly, but you have much on your plate as well. I will take your advice and look into getting help."  You laughed gently. Moving to stand up, you offered a small smile. "I hope you do. I have chores the need finished, so unfortunately, I'm going to cut our time short. Thank you for your time. I'll see you at 6:30." Copia makes his way around the desk and over to the door. "Yes, thank you for coming to me. I will see you then." He opens the door for you. Stopping at in the frame, you look back to him. "Oh, and one more thing." He waits a moment. "They regard you just as high. Don't ever doubt your ghouls." With that, you take your leave. Closing the door, Copia strides back to his desk. Taking a seat, he let out a long breath. He has a lot to think about.

--

Bel - lovely

Fiore - flower

Cara - dear

Ma cosa devo fare - but what am i to do?

Molto bene - very good

Il mio fiore - my flower

--

Hello friends! I decided to turn this into a multi part series. I hope you enjoy part 1! I appreciate any feedback as this I my first fic. I am also accepting requests. Thank you for your read!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for asking my mum to clean out the kitty litter trays even though its usually my chore

i drove to doctors and work this morning, i worked 8.30 till 5 she worked 8.30 til 4 and drove home after her shift ended to pick up my dance clothes for me (i only didnt have them because i had to stay late at work since 3 people went home sick).

my friend cancelled on me for dance tryouts so i spend the afternoon crying and eventually choose to go anyway because i was excited for hiphop but by this point my head is pounding.

i get out of work, she drives me to dance and goes to get macdonalds while she waits for me to get out. halfway through dance they mention we are not even doing hiphop today not until next week (u have to pay for the tryouts btw)

i get out 7.40ish. on the drive home im thinking "fuck its almost 8 i havent done any uni study, (i have 2 lectures, a quiz and like 8 readings that need to be done today and tomorrow), i havent spent any time with our cats or cleaned their litter trays yet."

for reference we have new cats and are introducing them into a house with a dog so rn we have them in one room and let them out occassionally while putting the dog out back, while i clean out the litter trays and top them up every day, once a week we empty them completely and clean them out

so we get home and i say "would it be too much to ask if you could please do the litter trays tonight" i try to explain that i have a headache and ive still got a lot of uni homework to do and i havent spent any time with the cats so i'd play with them for a bit while she cleans the trays and then do my homework

immeadiately she starts yelling at me that shes tired, she hasnt been home from work all day, she did it last time, shes done so many favours for me already today and blah blah blah.

the way i see it, first, i clean the kitty litter trays every day and vacuum their room. she has literally never done this, she emptied out and washed a tray last week because i was sick and got home from work and passed out. i (a learner btw so im very stressed when i drive) drove us to her appt and then to work, i worked more hours than her today, i danced all night with a headache, i also have not been home all day, after being cancelled on and then them not even doing the type of dance i wanted to do and i still have to do uni work tonight so i dont think im the selfish one here.

but sitting in my cats room while they eat their dinner i can hear her storm about and slam doors because shes so mad at me but i dont understand am i in the wrong here?

also literally as i am writing this she comes out and goes "tell me when youve finished dinner so i can let the cats out. and DONT leave it too late" while my food is literally cooking as we fucking speak jfc.

i have a bit of a diary where i write when mum is mad at me because if i mention to her that she upset me it never goes well so i write it down to safely let those feelings out and as i was writing this one i just needed some clarity i really cant fathom any reason for her to be mad except egocentrism so perhaps an unbias outsider can shed light?

What are these acronyms?